#daemon targeryen x reader

[hisfavegirl]

Haven Of Harmony - Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader.

Summary : Your marriage with Daemon became more harmonious after the birth of your twin sons, Daemon also decided to bring his family to move to Dragonstone and settle there. Your happiness increases when you share the happy news.

You sat on a carved stone bench overlooking the vast expanse of Dragonstone, the cool breeze carrying with it the sound of roaring dragons and the laughter of your children. Your silver hair shimmered in the sunlight as you watched your five children soar through the skies on their dragons, their figures cutting against the blue heavens.

Your eldest, Maegon, led the group with his fierce determination, his bond with his dragon, Verathor, evident in every dive and turn. Vaelya followed close behind, her graceful dragon, Nyserion, matching her fiery spirit with elegant precision. Aerion, as daring as ever, performed daring maneuvers on his dragon, Aurion, his laughter echoing through the sky.

Below them flew Aelor and Vaegon, the youngest of the brood, though no less skilled. Their dragons, Elyrax and Thalaxion, moved in perfect harmony as they joined their older siblings in an impromptu mock battle against Daemon, who flew on Caraxes.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you saw your husband struggling to keep up with the coordinated attacks of his children. Caraxes let out an annoyed roar when Vaelya and Nyserion swooped low and nipped at his tail, causing Daemon to grumble in irritation.

“Is this how you treat your father, you little wretches?!” Daemon bellowed, though his voice carried no real anger.

Maegon grinned triumphantly from atop Verathor, pointing his blade toward Daemon in mock challenge. “You taught us too well, Father!”

Aerion joined in the teasing, circling Caraxes with a wide grin. “Looks like you’re getting old, Father! Maybe it’s time you retired to the ground!”

Daemon’s face twisted into a comically exaggerated scowl, making you laugh even harder. “Insolent brats,” he muttered, though his smirk betrayed his pride.

Just then, Vaelya swooped low beside Caraxes, her long silver braid whipping in the wind. “Leave Father alone!” she called to her brothers, her voice indignant. “He’s still the best dragonrider!”

Her brothers groaned in playful annoyance, teasing her for being their father’s favorite. “Of course, she’d say that,” Aerion quipped, rolling his eyes dramatically.

As you watched the exchange, your heart swelled with pride. Your children were not only strong and fearless but deeply bonded to one another. Despite their teasing, their love and respect for Daemon — and for each other — were undeniable.

When the battle ended and the dragons began their descent, your children landed one by one, their faces flushed with excitement. Daemon was the last to dismount, shaking his head as he approached you. “They’re insufferable,” he muttered, though his smirk revealed his amusement.

You chuckled, reaching out to smooth his windswept hair. “They’re just like you,” you said, smiling fondly.

Daemon grunted, pulling you closer as your children ran toward you, their laughter filling the air. Vaelya threw her arms around Daemon, while Maegon and Aerion excitedly recounted their victory. Aelor and Vaegon tugged at your sleeves, eager to tell you about their dragons’ latest feats.

Surrounded by your family, you felt a deep sense of contentment. These were the moments you cherished most — the laughter, the love, and the unbreakable bond that tied you all together.

You gazed at your family seated around the long, grand table in the hall of Dragonstone, the warm glow of the torches casting flickering light upon their faces. Daemon sat at the head of the table, his silver hair catching the firelight as he leaned back in his chair, laughing at something Maegon had said.

Maegon, ever the confident eldest, was recounting his latest dragonriding exploits, his hands gesturing animatedly as he described how Verathor had outmaneuvered Caraxes in the skies. Vaelya, seated beside him, rolled her eyes playfully, a smirk on her lips as she cut into her roasted lamb.

“You only won because Father let you,” she quipped, her silver braid swinging as she turned to Daemon for confirmation.

Daemon chuckled, raising his goblet. “I’d never let any of you win. If Maegon bested me, it’s because I trained him too well,” he said, winking at his eldest son.

Aerion, sitting next to Vaelya, grinned mischievously. “Maybe next time we’ll team up, Vaelya. Even Caraxes wouldn’t stand a chance against the two of us.”

Vaelya narrowed her eyes at him. “You’d just slow me down, Aerion.”

Across the table, Aelor and Vaegon were engrossed in their own conversation, their young faces alight with excitement as they talked about their dragons. Elyrax and Thalaxion were already developing distinct personalities, and their bond with the youngest twins was clear.

You watched them all with a soft smile, your hands resting on your belly. The babe within you kicked gently, as if sensing the joy in the room. Daemon caught your eye and raised his goblet toward you, his expression softening.

“To the Lady of Dragonstone,” he said, his voice warm and full of affection. “The one who holds us all together.”

The children joined in the toast, their voices overlapping as they cheered. You smiled, feeling a deep warmth in your chest as you looked around the table at the family you and Daemon had built together.

This was your sanctuary, your joy. The laughter, the teasing, the love—it was all you had ever hoped for. And as you listened to the lively chatter and felt the gentle movements of the babe you carried, you knew the future would hold even more of these cherished moments.

As the lively chatter at the table quieted, you cleared your throat softly, drawing everyone’s attention. All eyes turned toward you, and you suddenly felt the weight of your unspoken news. Daemon, seated beside you, tilted his head in curiosity, his sharp gaze locking onto yours.

“What is it, my love?” he asked, his voice laced with concern and intrigue.

The children, scattered along the grand table, paused their conversations. Vaelya arched an eyebrow, Maegon leaned forward slightly, and Aerion exchanged a curious glance with the twins, Aelor and Vaegon.

You hesitated, your hands instinctively moving to rest on your stomach, hidden beneath the soft fabric of your gown. The secret you had kept for months felt heavier now that you were about to speak it aloud. But the love and trust of your family gave you strength.

“I have something important to share with all of you,” you began, your voice steady but soft. You glanced briefly at Daemon, who was now watching you intently, his expression unreadable. “It’s news I’ve kept to myself for a little while, but I think it’s time you all know.”

The children exchanged glances, their curiosity growing.

“What is it, Mother?” Vaelya asked, her tone eager yet calm.

Taking a deep breath, you finally said the words. “I’m expecting another child.”

For a moment, silence filled the hall as your words settled over them. Daemon blinked, his eyes widening in shock. “Another… child?” he repeated, his voice almost a whisper, as if trying to confirm what he had just heard.

“Yes,” you said with a small, nervous smile. “We’re going to have another baby.”

The children erupted into cheers and exclamations.

“A new sibling!” Aerion grinned. “That’s incredible!”

“We’ll have to prepare the nursery again!” Maegon added, his initial shock giving way to excitement. Even the twins, usually more reserved, looked genuinely thrilled, their identical smiles lighting up the room.

Vaelya leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a teasing smile. “If it’s another brother, I’ll have to teach him some manners. I’m already outnumbered as it is.”

Daemon, however, remained quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on you. Then, without a word, he rose from his seat and crossed the distance between you. Gently, he cupped your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours before a wide grin spread across his lips. “You kept this from me?” he asked, his tone half-amused, half-incredulous.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you admitted sheepishly.

He laughed, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “You’ve certainly done that, my love.”

As the children continued to celebrate, Daemon pulled you into a warm embrace, his hand resting protectively over your stomach. The warmth and joy that filled the hall were palpable, and for the first time in months, you felt completely at ease. This was your family, your strength, and your greatest happiness.

You stood by the window of your chamber, gazing out at the vast, dark sea stretching endlessly before you. The soft whisper of the waves blended with the cool night breeze, brushing gently against your face. The moonlight bathed the room in a silvery glow, casting shadows that danced across the walls.

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the sound of footsteps behind you until a familiar warmth enveloped you. Daemon’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you gently against him. His hand rested lightly on your growing belly, his touch both tender and protective.

He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his breath warm against your hair. “You shouldn’t be standing so long,” he murmured, his voice low and full of quiet affection.

You leaned back against his chest, finding solace in his steady presence. “I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice soft. “The sea… it calms me.”

He chuckled lightly, the vibration of his laugh rumbling in his chest. “And here I thought you might be admiring something else,” he teased, his tone playful but his embrace tightening ever so slightly.

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Perhaps I was,” you replied, tilting your head to glance up at him. His silver hair gleamed in the moonlight, and his sharp features softened as he looked down at you with a rare, unguarded expression.

Daemon leaned down, his lips brushing your temple as his hand gently caressed the curve of your belly. “Our child grows strong,” he whispered, pride evident in his voice. “And you—you’re remarkable, carrying them.”

You closed your eyes, letting the moment sink in. The weight of his words, the warmth of his touch, and the rhythmic sound of the waves all melded into a perfect harmony. For a fleeting moment, it was just the two of you and the life you were bringing into the world, wrapped in the quiet serenity of the night.

You walked slowly through the garden, your hand resting gently on your growing belly. The warm sunlight bathed the blooming flowers around you, and the gentle breeze carried the scent of jasmine and roses.

Above, the thunderous roars of dragons echoed through the sky, mingling with the bright laughter of your five children. You stopped for a moment, tilting your head back to take in the breathtaking sight.

Their dragons darted through the clouds, weaving intricate patterns as they chased one another. Maegon led the playful pursuit, his determined shouts urging the others to keep up. Vaelya, ever the fierce competitor, followed closely, her dragon’s wings cutting through the air with precision. Aerion, with his clever tactics, swooped around to intercept them, his laughter carrying down to you.

Your youngest twins, on their slightly smaller dragons, joined the game with enthusiastic squeals, their dragons roaring proudly despite their size.

A soft smile spread across your face as you watched them, your heart swelling with pride and joy. They were so free, so full of life, their bond with their dragons and each other unbreakable.

Your hand moved gently over your belly, feeling the faint but certain movements of the new life within you. “They’ll be waiting for you,” you murmured softly. “And I’m sure you’ll join them up there one day.”

Lost in the moment, you barely noticed Daemon approaching until you felt his arm slide around your waist. He followed your gaze to the sky, his lips curving into a smirk.

“They’re a pack of wildlings,” he teased, though his voice was full of affection.

“And you love it,” you replied, leaning into him.

He chuckled, placing a protective hand over yours on your belly. “Maybe one day, there’ll be even more dragons up there.”

You smiled at the thought, your gaze still fixed on your children as their laughter and the roars of dragons filled the sky. It was a moment of pure peace, a reminder of everything you had built together.

You walked alongside Daemon toward the lair where Caraxes rested. The sound of your footsteps echoed softly against the stone path as the faint roar of dragons filled the air.

When Caraxes saw you approach, the great red dragon lifted his elongated neck and moved forward with surprising gentleness. His sharp, intelligent eyes locked onto you, and instead of focusing on Daemon, he lowered his head and began to sniff curiously at your belly.

You couldn’t help but smile as Caraxes let out a low, rumbling growl of recognition, as if he understood the new life growing within you.

Daemon crossed his arms and let out an exaggerated huff. “Traitor,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes at his dragon.

You laughed softly, reaching out to pat Caraxes’ snout. “It seems he knows before anyone else, my love,” you teased, your hand brushing over your belly. “Perhaps he’s just more in tune with me than you are.”

Caraxes nudged you gently, a surprising act of care for such a fearsome creature, and you giggled at his affectionate gesture.

Daemon rolled his eyes, though the corners of his lips twitched with amusement. “I’m the one who rides him, feeds him, and yet here he is, fawning over you.”

You turned to him with a playful smile. “Perhaps he’s simply acknowledging the mother of your children—and his future rider’s parent.”

Daemon smirked and stepped closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Or perhaps he’s just testing my patience,” he quipped, though his voice was filled with warmth.

Caraxes let out a low, satisfied rumble as though he had won some unspoken contest. Daemon shook his head but pulled you closer, his protective gaze shifting between you and his loyal dragon.

You turned your head toward a dark cave not far from where Caraxes rested. A strange feeling prickled at the back of your neck, and you tilted your head slightly, as though straining to catch a faint sound.

Daemon frowned, his brows furrowing as he noticed your sudden distraction. “What is it?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes scanning the mouth of the cave. “I… I thought I heard something,” you murmured, your hand unconsciously moving to your belly. “Like someone calling my name.”

Daemon’s gaze followed yours to the cave, his expression turning skeptical. “There’s no one there,” he said firmly, stepping protectively closer to you. “Are you certain it wasn’t just the wind?”

You shook your head slowly, unsure. “It didn’t sound like the wind. It was…” You paused, struggling to find the words. “It was faint, but… familiar.”

Caraxes let out a low growl, his head snapping toward the cave, as though he, too, sensed something.

Daemon’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword instinctively. “Stay here,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“No, Daemon,” you said quickly, grabbing his arm. “If it’s nothing, there’s no need for you to risk yourself.”

He hesitated, glancing back at you, then toward the cave. “You’ve been restless of late,” he said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Perhaps it’s just your mind playing tricks on you.”

You nodded reluctantly, though you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling creeping through you. Daemon led you away from the cave, his arm wrapped protectively around you, but your gaze lingered on the dark entrance, wondering what—or who—you might have heard.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The quiet, soft whisper calling your name seemed to grow louder, more insistent, despite the absence of any visible source. You turned back towards the cave, your heart pounding in your chest. It was as if the very air around you had thickened, filled with a sense of foreboding that you couldn’t ignore. The wind had shifted, but it wasn’t the change in temperature or breeze that unsettled you. It was the call.

Daemon, still standing by your side, noticed the subtle shift in your demeanor. His sharp eyes followed your gaze towards the cave, then back at you, reading the unease in your posture. He knew you too well, and he could sense that something wasn’t right. But when he glanced back at the entrance to the cave, he saw nothing that could explain the anxiety that seemed to settle in your bones. “What is it?” he asked again, his voice tinged with concern but still a hint of uncertainty. “What’s wrong?”

You swallowed hard, trying to push the mounting anxiety down, but it was no use. “Daemon,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, “do you hear it? The calling… it’s still there.”

Daemon furrowed his brow, shaking his head. “I don’t hear anything. It’s just the wind.”

But as you spoke, Caraxes, the great dragon, shifted his position. His massive body, usually so relaxed and calm, became tense, his eyes narrowing, his nostrils flaring. The dragon, a creature so in tune with his surroundings, seemed to sense something you couldn’t. The silence that hung in the air grew thicker, almost oppressive, and Caraxes let out a low, guttural growl, his massive head turning toward the cave, his wings flexing in readiness.

You instinctively took a step closer to Daemon, your breath shallow. “Caraxes… he’s acting strange,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but there was no mistaking the concern in your tone. The dragon had never acted like this before, his movements sharp and watchful, his attention fixed on the cave, as though waiting for something to emerge.

Daemon turned back to the dragon, his expression hardening. He was no stranger to the instincts of his dragon, but this felt different, more urgent. He glanced at you, eyes searching your face, trying to read the fear that had crept into your expression. “We should go back to the castle,” Daemon said firmly, his hand reaching out to guide you. There was no hesitation in his voice, no argument. He had seen enough to know that something was wrong. He didn’t need to be convinced.

“I don’t like this, Daemon,” you muttered, still unable to shake the unease in your chest. You could feel your heart racing, the thumping echoing in your ears, the voice still faintly calling your name, but growing more distant with every passing second. It felt like something was waiting, something watching from the depths of the cave.

Daemon’s grip on your arm tightened, pulling you back towards the path leading away from the cave. He wasn’t taking any chances. “We’ll deal with it later, if necessary. Let’s go back now, before anything happens,” he said, his tone firm, almost protective.

You didn’t argue. The last thing you wanted was to be close to that cave any longer. You felt the presence of something lurking, something ancient, that you couldn’t fully understand, and it was pulling at your very soul. Daemon’s protective instincts had already kicked in, and you couldn’t deny that you felt safer with him by your side.

As you turned to leave, you glanced one last time at Caraxes, still poised and alert, his eyes watching the cave as if he too were waiting for something, or someone. The dragon’s unease mirrored your own, and it made your pulse quicken. What was it that lingered in the shadows of that cave?

But Daemon urged you forward, guiding you back towards the castle. The call faded with each step, the heavy presence lifting from the air, though the feeling of something unresolved still weighed on you. You weren’t sure what had just happened, or if it would come to anything, but you knew that something was out there. You could feel it deep in your bones.

As you returned to the safety of the castle, you could only hope that the strange pull from the cave was nothing more than a fleeting moment. But in the back of your mind, something told you that this wouldn’t be the last time you heard the whisper.

You sat with your daughter, Vaelya, in her room, gently brushing and braiding her silver hair. The soft glow of the afternoon light filtered through the windows, casting a warm hue over the room. She sat quietly, her hands resting on her lap, but her eyes sparkled with excitement as she handed you a small piece of fabric.

“I finished this today,” she said proudly, showing off her neat stitching. The design was simple, but her careful work and attention to detail were evident.

You smiled warmly, running your fingers over the stitches. “This is beautiful, Vaelya. You’ve done such a wonderful job.”

Her cheeks flushed at the compliment, but she beamed with pride. “I want to learn how to make clothes,” she said, turning to look at you with a determined expression. “So I can sew something for the new baby when they arrive.”

Your heart swelled at her words, and you placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “That’s very thoughtful of you, sweet girl. I’m sure your new sibling will cherish anything you make for them. And I’ll help you, if you’d like."

Vaelya nodded enthusiastically, her small hands gripping the fabric tightly. “I want it to be perfect. Something they can wear when they’re little and keep forever.”

You couldn’t help but smile, pride and love filling your chest as you looked at your daughter. She was growing up to be such a kind and caring soul, and moments like this reminded you of just how special she was. “It will be perfect, Vaelya, because it will be made with love.”

Vaelya looked up at you with her big, earnest eyes, her fingers toying with the edge of her fabric. “I hope the baby is a girl,” she said softly, almost shyly. “Sometimes, I feel lonely when my brothers go off to train with Father. They’re always together, and… it’s just me.”

You paused for a moment, your heart aching for your little girl. Setting down the comb, you leaned forward and cupped her face gently in your hands. “Oh, sweet one,” you said tenderly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “I know it’s hard sometimes, but your brothers love you so much. And they’re never too far away.”

Vaelya nodded, her gaze dropping to her lap. “I know. But it would be nice to have someone to stay with me—someone like me.”

You smiled warmly and pulled her into a comforting embrace, stroking her hair as you whispered, “Perhaps the gods will hear your wish, my love. If they will it, then you may just get the sister you dream of. But even if the baby is another brother, he’ll still be a part of our family and love you just as much.”

She rested her head against your shoulder, her small arms wrapping around you. “I’ll love them either way,” she murmured, her voice muffled. “But I hope the gods are listening.”

You chuckled softly, kissing the top of her head. “We’ll have to wait and see. But no matter what, you’ll never be alone, Vaelya. You have a family that loves you more than anything, and that will never change.”

You leaned back slightly, looking into Vaelya’s eyes with a playful smile. “You know, my sweet girl, there’s something special about being the only daughter in this family.”

She tilted her head, curiosity lighting up her silver eyes. “What’s that, Mother?”

You brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and said with a grin, “It means you’re the one who gets spoiled the most. Your father can never say no to you, can he? And your brothers? They’d move mountains just to see you smile.”

Vaelya giggled, her mood lifting. “That’s true! Father always lets me ride with him on Caraxes, even when my brothers have to wait.”

“Exactly,” you said, laughing along with her. “And when you want something, who’s the first to come running? It’s always your brothers, trying to outdo each other to make you happy. Don’t tell them, but I think you’ve got all of them wrapped around your little finger.”

She beamed, a spark of pride in her expression. “Maybe being the only girl isn’t so bad after all.”

You kissed her cheek and added, “It’s not bad at all. You’re their princess, Vaelya, and they’ll always treat you as such. No matter what, you’re cherished and loved beyond measure.”

Vaelya hugged you tightly, her arms wrapping around your waist. “Thank you, Mother. I feel much better now.”

You stroked her hair and whispered, “Good. Never forget how special you are, my darling. You’re the heart of this family, and nothing will ever change that.”

You jolted awake, your breaths coming in uneven gasps. The room was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window, casting long shadows on the walls. You instinctively turned to your side, finding Daemon still deep in slumber, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He looked so peaceful, oblivious to the torment that plagued your mind.

You ran a trembling hand over your face, trying to steady your breathing. The voice—no, the thing—had followed you even into your dreams. This time, it wasn’t just the echo of your name whispered in a way that sent chills down your spine. No, this time, it was accompanied by the piercing gaze of two glowing yellow eyes, their stare burning into you as if they saw through every layer of your being.

Your hand instinctively moved to your belly, seeking the comfort of the life growing within you. The faint fluttering movements of your unborn child eased you slightly but did little to dispel the unease that had taken root.

You exhaled slowly, trying not to wake Daemon as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. The cold stone floor against your bare feet sent a jolt through your body, grounding you momentarily. You paced quietly, your mind racing. Was this a warning? A sign? Or simply your imagination conjuring something from the depths of your fear?

Your gaze flicked to the window, the same one you had stared through earlier that day. The ocean beyond looked endless, and for a moment, you thought you saw something moving just beneath the surface of the moonlit waves. You shook your head, dismissing it as a trick of your exhausted mind.

A soft sound from the bed startled you, and you turned to see Daemon stirring. His hand reached out, searching for you in his sleep. His brow furrowed when he found the space beside him empty.

“Love?” he mumbled groggily, his voice thick with sleep. He sat up slightly, rubbing his eyes before his gaze found you standing near the window. “What are you doing? Come back to bed.”

You hesitated, debating whether to tell him what you had seen—what you had felt. But the weight of it was too much to carry alone. Slowly, you crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, your back to him.

“The voice,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It was in my dreams tonight. But this time, it wasn’t just a voice. There were eyes—yellow eyes—staring at me. Watching me.”

Daemon sat up fully now, his concern evident in the way he placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “Yellow eyes?” he repeated, his tone sharpening. “What else?”

You shook your head, clutching his hand for strength. “That’s all. But it felt so… real, Daemon. I can still feel them, as if they’re watching me even now.”

Daemon’s grip tightened protectively. “Whatever it is, I won’t let it come near you or our children,” he said firmly, his voice laced with determination. “I’ll find out what’s behind this, I swear it.”

You nodded, leaning into his embrace. Yet, even as his arms wrapped around you, shielding you from the world, the memory of those yellow eyes lingered, a haunting reminder that something—or someone—was waiting in the shadows.

You woke up to the warmth of sunlight streaming into your chamber, bathing the room in golden hues. Your hand instinctively reached out to the space beside you, only to find it empty. Daemon’s absence was unusual. You turned your gaze to the window, noting that the sun was already high in the sky—a clear sign you had slept in later than usual.

Quickly, you rose from the bed, your movements a little slower due to the weight of your pregnancy. After a moment of washing and dressing with the help of your maidservants, you made your way toward the Great Hall, curious as to where your husband might be.

As you approached, the lively chatter of your children reached your ears, bringing a small smile to your face. Entering the hall, you saw all five of them gathered together, their silver hair gleaming in the sunlight as they talked animatedly. Each of them was full of life, their bond as siblings evident in their laughter and shared smiles.

“Good morning, my darlings,” you greeted, your voice warm. They all turned toward you, their faces lighting up at the sight of you. Vaelya was the first to rush over, wrapping her small arms around you as she glanced at your growing belly.

“Good morning, Mother,” she said sweetly. “We were just talking about dragons.”

“Of course you were,” you replied with a chuckle, brushing her hair back affectionately. The boys approached next, all of them brimming with energy as they greeted you.

Despite the joy of seeing your children, your eyes scanned the hall for Daemon. “And where is your father this morning?” you asked.

The children exchanged glances before Maegon, the eldest of your triplets, answered, “He left early. He said he had something to handle with Caraxes.”

“Something important,” Vaelya added, frowning slightly. “But he wouldn’t tell us what.”

You nodded, trying to hide your concern. It wasn’t unusual for Daemon to disappear for a time, especially when it came to matters involving Caraxes, but his absence felt different today. Something about it unsettled you.

“Did he say when he’d return?” you pressed gently.

Aerion shrugged. “No, but he told us to take care of you.”

Your heart warmed at their father’s thoughtfulness. “Well, I suppose we’ll see him when he returns,” you said, smoothing over your worry with a smile. “Now, tell me more about these dragons you’ve been discussing.”

For the moment, you decided to focus on your children, listening as they excitedly shared their thoughts on dragon lore and their dreams of flying. But in the back of your mind, the question lingered: where had Daemon gone, and why hadn’t he told you?

You watching your older triplets—Maegon, Vaelya, and Aerion—engaged in their Valyrian lessons. Their voices rose and fell rhythmically, perfectly mimicking the fluid cadence of the ancient tongue. They had taken to the language naturally, their silver-haired heads bent over their scrolls as they recited lines of poetry and prose with pride and precision. You couldn’t help but smile, a deep sense of pride swelling within you.

Not far away, your two youngest children sat on a soft rug, their giggles and cheerful chatter filling the room. They weren’t yet old enough for formal lessons like their elder siblings, but their curiosity had already begun to bloom. The maester patiently read to them from a large tome, recounting tales of your family’s storied history, while they listened with wide, fascinated eyes. Occasionally, their little hands darted out to point at the illustrations, followed by an excited string of questions.

You leaned against the wall, your hand instinctively resting on your growing belly. The faint movements within reminded you of the life you were nurturing, the next addition to your family. Your children, your legacy, were everything to you. Watching them thrive—both in their studies and their play—filled you with an overwhelming sense of fulfillment.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. Turning, you found one of your trusted handmaidens waiting. “My lady, everything is ready for your midday meal,” she said with a bow.

You nodded, glancing back at your children one last time before you stepped into the room. “Come now, my little dragons,” you said warmly, your voice drawing their attention. “It’s time to eat.”

Your older children exchanged a quick look before closing their scrolls, standing to join you with polite smiles. The younger two bounded toward you, their excitement spilling into laughter as they took your hands. The maester rose as well, bowing respectfully before excusing himself.

As you walked with your children, you felt a deep sense of contentment. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you had built something truly special—a family bound not only by blood but by love, trust, and the indomitable strength of your shared lineage.

You sat at the head of the table, your five children surrounding you, their laughter and lively chatter filling the room. Maegon, as usual, was up to his tricks, teasing Aerion by slipping a piece of fruit onto his plate when he wasn’t looking. Aerion caught on quickly, retaliating with a playful shove that almost knocked over a goblet.

“Careful, boys,” you said with a laugh, shaking your head. Vaelya rolled her eyes dramatically at her brothers, muttering something about how they were always so loud during meals, which only made the twins laugh harder. The younger two watched with wide, amused eyes, their small hands clutching at their cups as they giggled at their older siblings’ antics.

Despite the warmth and joy around you, your eyes kept drifting toward the door. Daemon had been gone since early morning, and his absence weighed heavily on you. He was rarely away from meals, especially when the whole family was gathered. A seed of worry had taken root in your chest, and no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, the feeling lingered.

“Mother, are you all right?” Vaelya’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. Her sharp, observant gaze was fixed on you, her silver brows slightly furrowed in concern.

You smiled softly and reached out to squeeze her hand. “I’m fine, my love. Just a little distracted.”

Maegon leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “Father’s probably off somewhere brooding over his sword. Or maybe Caraxes is keeping him company.”

Aerion snorted, but it was Vaelya who scolded her brother. “You shouldn’t say such things. Father will be here soon.”

Her words, though confident, didn’t entirely reassure you. You forced yourself to smile again, hoping it was enough to ease their concerns. “I’m sure he’ll join us shortly,” you said, though you weren’t entirely convinced yourself.

As the meal continued, you did your best to focus on your children, laughing at their jokes and encouraging their conversations. But every so often, your gaze would flicker back to the door, your heart silently willing Daemon to walk through it and ease the growing unease within you.

The soft crunch of gravel beneath your feet echoed through the serene garden, the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze offering a soothing accompaniment. Yet, despite the tranquil surroundings, your thoughts were anything but calm. Daemon’s prolonged absence gnawed at your mind, an unwelcome companion to the unease that had lingered since the strange dream.

You stopped by the edge of the fountain, its crystal-clear water reflecting the late afternoon sun. Your hand instinctively rested on your growing belly, seeking comfort in the steady rhythm of life stirring within you. The memory of those piercing yellow eyes from your dream resurfaced, sending a shiver down your spine.

Was it just a dream? Or something more?

You tried to push the thought aside, telling yourself it was nothing more than your imagination playing tricks on you. Yet, the way Caraxes had reacted near the caves, the whispers you’d heard… it all felt too coincidental.

The garden, usually a place of peace and joy, now felt slightly different—like the air itself was heavier, the shadows longer. You glanced around, your sharp instincts picking up on the faintest rustling in the bushes nearby.

“Daemon,” you murmured under your breath, your voice filled with a mixture of longing and worry.

But no one answered.

You continued to walk, your hands tracing the blooms of the roses you passed, their soft petals grounding you for the moment. Yet, your mind remained restless, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming, something just beyond your understanding.

For now, all you could do was wait—and hope that Daemon returned soon to ease the storm inside your heart.

The dim light of the late afternoon barely penetrated the entrance of the cave as you stood there, frozen in a mix of awe and apprehension. The cool, damp air from the cave brushed against your skin, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of earth and something more—something ancient, something powerful.

Your heartbeat quickened, a steady drum in your chest, as your eyes adjusted to the darkness. You took a tentative step forward, then another, the sound of your soft footfalls echoing faintly against the stone walls.

And then, you saw them.

Two glowing yellow eyes pierced the shadows, the very same eyes that had haunted your dreams. They watched you, unblinking, radiating an intelligence and intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

A low, rumbling growl filled the cavern, deep and resonant, reverberating through your bones. It wasn’t a sound of anger, but one of acknowledgement—a call, an answer, a connection.

As you stepped closer, the massive form of the dragon began to take shape in the dim light. Its scales were a deep shade of black, glistening faintly like polished obsidian, with streaks of gold running along its massive body. Its wings were folded close to its sides, but even so, you could sense the sheer power they held.

This was the creature that had been calling you. The voice you’d heard in your dreams, the presence you’d felt lingering in your thoughts—it was this dragon.

You took another step forward, your hand instinctively resting on your belly as if to shield the life growing within you. The dragon’s eyes shifted briefly to your hand, and you could feel a strange, almost protective energy emanating from it.

It lowered its massive head, bringing its snout closer to you, and let out a soft huff of warm air. The gesture felt like a test, as if it were gauging your courage, your resolve.

You reached out with trembling fingers, your heart pounding in your chest. As your hand made contact with the dragon’s scaled snout, a surge of warmth and energy coursed through you. It wasn’t just the touch of a dragon—it was a bond forming, a connection being forged.

This dragon had been waiting for you.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you whispered softly, “You’ve been calling me, haven’t you?”

The dragon let out a low rumble in response, its eyes closing briefly as if in agreement. This was no ordinary creature—it was a dragon of destiny, one that had chosen you, not just as its rider, but as its equal.

For the first time in days, the unease that had plagued you lifted. In its place was a sense of purpose, a sense of belonging. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you wouldn’t face them alone.

You stepped out of the dark cave, the sunlight momentarily blinding you as the dragon followed closely behind. The ground beneath you vibrated faintly with each heavy step the massive creature took. Its obsidian scales glinted in the light, making it appear both menacing and magnificent.

As you lifted your gaze, your eyes met Daemon’s. He stood a short distance away, his sword still sheathed, his chest rising and falling as though he’d run to find you. His expression was a mixture of shock, concern, and something else—awe.

His sharp eyes left yours and shifted to the beast that loomed behind you, its golden eyes meeting his for a moment before it let out a low, rumbling growl that reverberated through the air. Caraxes, perched on a ridge not far away, responded with a hiss, his long neck stretching out as if to assert his dominance.

“Gods,” Daemon finally breathed, his voice rough with emotion. He took a step toward you, his eyes darting between you and the dragon. “You’ve bonded with it.”

You nodded, your hand instinctively moving to rest on your swollen belly. “It has been calling me, Daemon,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. “In my dreams, in my thoughts. It was waiting for me.”

Daemon’s gaze flicked to the dragon again, his jaw tightening. “You entered the cave alone?” His voice held a hint of reproach, but it was overshadowed by the amazement in his tone.

“I had to,” you replied firmly. “This bond… it was meant to be.”

The dragon behind you lowered its massive head, releasing a deep, resonating growl as if to agree. Daemon’s lips parted slightly, and he shook his head in disbelief. He took another step closer, now standing directly in front of you.

“You never cease to surprise me,” he murmured, his hand brushing your cheek briefly before sliding down to rest on your belly. His other hand gestured toward the dragon. “What do you plan to name this beast?”

You turned, looking back at the dragon whose glowing golden eyes still watched you intently. A name formed in your mind, as if it had been waiting there all along.

“Aryx,” you said softly, the name feeling like a perfect match for the creature’s power and grace.

Daemon tilted his head, considering the name before nodding approvingly. “Aryx,” he echoed. “Fitting for one as formidable as this.”

You smiled faintly and looked back at him. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Daemon smirked faintly, his usual arrogance returning to his expression. “Worry me? You’ll be the death of me one day, woman.” His tone was teasing, but the way his hand lingered on you spoke volumes of his relief.

With one last glance at Aryx, Daemon turned back to you. “Come. You’ll have to explain all of this to the children. And I suppose you’ll want them to meet your new companion.”

You chuckled softly, feeling the weight of his arm wrap protectively around your shoulders as he led you back toward the keep. Behind you, Aryx released a mighty roar, the sound echoing across the cliffs, declaring its presence to the world.

As you walked alongside Daemon toward the training grounds, you could already hear the excited chatter of your children and the occasional roars of their dragons. The sight before you warmed your heart: Maegon, Vaelya, Aerion, and the twins were bustling around, preparing their saddles and checking their dragons. The bond they shared with their mighty companions was unbreakable, and it showed in every gesture and movement.

Daemon glanced at you with a knowing smirk. “They’ve grown so much,” he said, pride lacing his tone. “Soon they’ll rival even the best riders in the Seven Kingdoms.”

You nodded, your gaze never leaving your children. “They are remarkable,” you said softly. “But that is no surprise—they take after their father."

Daemon chuckled, his arm brushing against yours. “And their mother, who seems determined to keep surprising me.”

As the children mounted their dragons, Daemon turned to you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Come, let us join them. You shouldn’t just watch from the ground.”

You shook your head with a smile, placing a hand on his arm. “Not yet. Go with them, Daemon. I’ll follow soon enough.”

He raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued, but he didn’t press further. “As you wish,” he said with a shrug, leaning in to kiss your temple before walking toward Caraxes.

You watched as your family took to the skies, their dragons soaring into the clouds with powerful wingbeats. Their laughter and cheers echoed down to you, filling the air with a sense of joy and freedom.

Once they were high above, you turned back toward the path leading to Aryx’s cave. The dragon waited for you, his golden eyes watching your every move. With steady determination, you approached and climbed onto his back, feeling the surge of power beneath you as he rose to his full height.

“Let’s give them a surprise,” you murmured to Aryx, and with a mighty roar, he took off.

The wind rushed past you, and the exhilaration of flying filled your chest. As you ascended higher, you spotted your family in the distance. Your children were the first to notice, their astonished faces turning toward you. Vaelya’s delighted laugh rang out, and Maegon pointed, shouting something to Aerion.

Daemon turned, his eyes widening in disbelief as Aryx flew closer. His smirk grew into a full grin as he shook his head, clearly impressed.

You and Aryx joined the formation, gliding gracefully alongside your family. The children circled you, cheering and calling out to Aryx, who responded with a roar of his own. Daemon guided Caraxes closer, his voice carrying over the wind.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time, my love!” he shouted, his grin unrelenting.

You laughed, your heart swelling with pride and happiness. For a moment, as you soared through the skies with your family, all was perfect, and the world felt entirely yours.

As the wind rushed past your face, you couldn’t help but feel a familiar exhilaration coursing through your veins. This wasn’t your first time in the skies; you had flown before, though on Caraxes, with Daemon close behind to guide you. Those moments had been thrilling but restrained, as you were a guest on his dragon, not its rider.

But this—this was different. Sitting atop Aryx, feeling the immense power beneath you, was a completely new sensation. His every movement responded to your unspoken commands, the bond between you forming as if it had always been there.

You recalled Daemon’s words from years ago, the first time you’d mounted Caraxes. “You have the blood of the dragon in your veins,” he’d said, his voice steady with confidence. “It’s time you learned what that means.”

At the time, you’d been nervous but determined. Riding Caraxes had been a test, one that you had passed. Even then, you had felt the connection, the sense of belonging that came with being a Targaryen, a child of fire and blood. But riding another’s dragon, no matter how trusted, was nothing like this.

Aryx was yours. His golden eyes mirrored the fire that burned within you, and his roars seemed to echo the strength you had always carried. It was as if he had been waiting for you all along, waiting for the right moment to be claimed.

Now, as you soared alongside your family, you understood what it truly meant to be a dragonrider. Your mother’s legacy, the Targaryen blood that coursed through your veins, had made this moment possible.

Your children’s cheers and laughter brought you back to the present. Vaelya waved enthusiastically, her silver hair whipping in the wind. “Mother, you look magnificent!” she called out, her voice brimming with excitement.

Daemon, ever the watchful husband, guided Caraxes closer. His eyes gleamed with pride as he glanced at Aryx, then back at you. “I should have known you wouldn’t settle for anything less than your own dragon,” he teased, his voice warm.

You smirked, feeling more confident than ever. “I am a Targaryen, after all,” you replied, your tone playful but resolute.

The skies were alive with the sound of dragons and laughter, and for the first time in a long while, you felt utterly complete. This was your family, your legacy, and your destiny. The dragon within you had awakened, and there was no turning back.

As your feet touched the ground, the adrenaline of the flight still coursing through you, your children came running toward you with wide smiles and eyes alight with excitement.

“Mother, you were incredible!” Maegon exclaimed, his face flushed with admiration. Vaelya nodded vigorously, her silver hair shimmering in the sunlight. “You looked so powerful, flying alongside us!”

Aerion smirked, crossing his arms. “I think Aryx suits you better than Caraxes ever did,” he teased, earning a chuckle from his siblings.

You smiled warmly at them, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “It seems I’ve made the right choice,” you said, glancing back at Aryx, who settled on the ground behind you with a proud huff.

Daemon approached you then, his expression softer than usual, though his eyes still carried that glint of mischief. He placed a hand gently on your stomach, his touch warm and familiar. “The blood of the dragon runs strong in you,” he murmured, his voice laced with pride.

You chuckled softly, resting your hand over his. “And in them too,” you replied, glancing at your children, who were now animatedly talking about your flight.

Daemon leaned closer, his voice low so only you could hear. “You continue to surprise me, my love. First, you claim a dragon, and now you carry another part of our legacy.”

You met his gaze, your smile softening. “This is only the beginning, Daemon,” you whispered, a sense of quiet determination in your tone.

The moment was filled with the warmth of family, the strength of your bond, and the unyielding pride of being part of the Targaryen legacy. Together, as the dragons roared softly in the background, you felt unstoppable.

Time seemed to move swiftly, and now you were in the final months of your pregnancy. Your growing belly made every movement more deliberate, yet you couldn’t help but feel restless under the watchful eyes of Daemon, Maegon, and Aerion.

They had practically barricaded you in your chambers, determined to ensure you rested properly. “Mother, you need to think of the babies,” Maegon would say, his tone a perfect echo of Daemon’s sternness. Aerion, equally protective, would add, “You promised to stay in bed. Don’t make us get Father involved.”

Even Vaelya, your usually gentle daughter, seemed to side with her brothers, albeit with a softer touch. “It’s only a few more weeks, Mother,” she’d plead, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders as she helped adjust your pillows. “You’ll see your dragon again soon.”

The restriction stung most when you thought of Aryx. The bond you had formed with your dragon was unlike anything else, and the thought of not visiting him made your heart ache. Yet every time you mentioned it, Daemon would shoot you a look that left no room for argument.

“I’ll not risk you or our children,” he declared one evening as he sat beside you, his hand resting protectively on your swollen belly. “Aryx will wait, but these little dragons need you here.”

You sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “I’m surrounded by dragons,” you teased lightly, though the frustration lingered in your voice.

Daemon smirked, leaning closer. “Indeed, and they all take after me,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

Despite their protectiveness, you couldn’t deny the love and care surrounding you. Even if it meant enduring the confinement for a while longer, you knew it was born of their devotion to you and the new life growing inside you.

Despite the strict orders from Daemon and your sons, you rarely followed them to the letter. You valued your moments of freedom, however small, and the garden became your secret escape.

Whenever Daemon and the children flew together with their dragons, you took the opportunity to slip away from your chambers. With the help of your most trusted handmaidens and guards, you ensured no word of your little excursions ever reached your overprotective family.

Clad in a simple cloak to conceal yourself, you carefully made your way to the garden. The fresh air and the vibrant colors of the flowers felt like a reprieve from the monotony of your confinement. You would sit beneath the shade of a tree, your hand gently resting on your swollen belly as you gazed up at the sky.

Above, the sight of your children soaring through the air on their dragons filled you with pride and joy. You could hear their laughter echoing through the clouds as they raced one another or practiced aerial maneuvers. Aryx’s occasional roar would mix with the sounds of the other dragons, a reminder of the bond you had with him, even if you couldn’t be by his side.

You often whispered to the babies in your belly, “One day, you’ll fly too. Your siblings will teach you everything.”

When their flights ended and they descended back to the ground, you made sure to return to your chambers before anyone noticed your absence. The guards and servants who had kept your secret offered you subtle smiles, understanding the importance of these small moments of peace.

But you knew it was only a matter of time before Daemon or one of your children caught on to your little rebellion. And when that day came, you were sure there would be a lecture—likely from all of them. Until then, you relished these fleeting moments of freedom under the open sky.

As you sat beneath your favorite tree, the soothing breeze ruffling your hair, a familiar voice broke the peaceful silence.

“Mother!” Maegon’s voice echoed through the garden, firm and laced with disapproval. “Why are you not in bed?”

You flinched slightly and turned to see your eldest son striding toward you, his silver hair shining under the sunlight. Aerion followed close behind, his arms crossed, wearing an expression that mirrored his brother’s irritation. Vaelya trailed behind them, her lips pressed into a thin line, clearly torn between supporting her brothers and sympathizing with you.

“I needed some fresh air,” you replied, trying to sound casual as you adjusted your position under the tree. “I promise I’m being careful.”

“That’s not the point, Mother,” Aerion said, his tone exasperated. “You’re supposed to be resting. Father specifically said—”

“Oh, your father,” you interrupted with a soft laugh. “He’ll scold me enough when he finds out. Do you really have to add to it?”

Vaelya stepped forward, her expression softening as she knelt beside you. “Mother, we’re just worried. You’re in your last months, and we don’t want anything to happen to you or the babies.”

Her gentle words tugged at your heart, and you reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know, my darling. But I promise I’m not doing anything reckless.”

Maegon knelt in front of you, his hands resting on his knees. “At least let us bring you back to your chambers,” he insisted, his voice softer now but still firm.

“And what of your flight practice?” you asked, tilting your head playfully.

Aerion shook his head. “We’ll return to it after we make sure you’re safely back where you belong.”

You sighed, knowing there was no arguing with them. “Fine,” you relented with a small smile. “But you’ll have to help me up. Your little siblings are making it quite difficult for me to move around these days.”

All three of them immediately moved to assist you, their concern evident in their careful movements. As Maegon and Aerion supported you on either side, Vaelya stayed close, keeping an eye on you as if to ensure you didn’t try to escape their watchful care again.

As you walked back toward the castle, you chuckled softly to yourself. “You’re all so much like your father,” you murmured, earning a collective groan from your children.

“Someone has to be,” Maegon replied with a smirk, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

As you walked back to your chambers with Maegon, Aerion, and Vaelya, you felt the sharp pangs of contraction intensify. Your hand instinctively went to your swollen belly, your breathing becoming shallow as you tried to hide the pain from your children.

“Mother, are you alright?” Vaelya asked, her brows furrowing in concern as she stayed close to you.

“I’m fine, sweet girl,” you replied, offering her a reassuring smile despite the discomfort. “Just help me get to my chambers.”

Once inside, you eased yourself onto the bed, your breaths coming heavier. “Maegon, Aerion,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “Go find your father and bring him here. Tell him it’s urgent.”

Both boys nodded, though worry was evident in their expressions. “We’ll bring him right away,” Maegon assured you before he and Aerion quickly left the room.

Vaelya stayed by your side, her small hands reaching out to hold yours. “Is it time, Mother?” she asked softly, her voice a mix of excitement and nervousness.

“It seems so,” you said, stroking her silver hair to calm her. “But don’t worry, my darling. Everything will be alright.”

She nodded, though her grip on your hand tightened as another contraction hit you. You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths to steady yourself.

“Shall I fetch the maester?” Vaelya offered, her tone eager to help.

“Not yet,” you said, squeezing her hand gently. “Stay with me for a moment. Your brothers and father will be back soon.”

The two of you sat together, the room filled with a quiet tension as you braced yourself for what was to come. Despite the pain, you found comfort in Vaelya’s presence, her strength reminding you of how much she was growing into her own.

You exhaled shakily, gripping Vaelya’s hand as another wave of contractions rippled through you. “Vaelya,” you said softly but firmly, “go now and fetch the maester—”

Before she could respond, the door swung open. Daemon strode in, his expression a mix of worry and urgency, followed closely by Maegon, Aerion, and your younger sons, each looking equally anxious. Behind them came the maester and a group of midwives, already prepared for what lay ahead.

Daemon’s violet eyes locked onto you immediately as he crossed the room in quick strides. “I told you to rest,” he said, though his tone was less scolding and more laced with concern. He knelt beside the bed, gently taking your free hand. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you managed, though your voice wavered. “It’s time, Daemon.”

Vaelya stepped aside as the maester and midwives moved to your side, their practiced hands beginning preparations. Your sons stood awkwardly by the door, unsure whether to stay or leave, until Daemon turned to them with a commanding but gentle tone.

“Take your sister to the other chamber,” he said, glancing back at Vaelya, who hesitated for a moment. “Stay together and wait for news. I’ll come for you when it’s over.”

Vaelya nodded, her lip trembling slightly as she cast one last glance at you. “Be strong, Mother,” she whispered before Maegon gently guided her out, his arm protectively around her shoulders.

Once the door closed behind them, Daemon turned back to you, his hands moving to steady you as another contraction surged through your body. “You’ll be alright,” he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring. “I’m here. We’re doing this together.”

You gripped his hand tightly, drawing strength from his presence as the maester gave quiet instructions to the midwives. The room filled with focused energy, and despite the pain, you felt a surge of determination. Soon, your family would grow once more.

You screamed as another wave of pain tore through you, your grip on Daemon’s hand tightening until your knuckles turned white. The maester and midwives moved swiftly around you, preparing for the imminent birth, but your focus was entirely on the searing discomfort and the man at your side.

Daemon leaned in closer, his voice low and soothing as he murmured, “You’re strong, my love. You’ve done this before, and you’ll do it again. Breathe with me—”

You shot him a glare sharp enough to rival the edge of Dark Sister. “Easy for you to say,” you snapped through gritted teeth, your tone biting despite the exhaustion. “You’re not the one pushing out your insufferable offspring.”

Daemon smirked faintly, though there was a flicker of guilt in his violet eyes. “Fair enough,” he murmured, brushing damp strands of hair away from your face. “But you’ve always been stronger than me. You’ll survive this, as you always do, and I’ll be here every step of the way.”

Another contraction tore through you, cutting off any retort you might have had. Instead, you groaned loudly, your head falling back against the pillows. Daemon tightened his hold on your hand, his face now entirely serious. “You’re almost there,” he said firmly, his voice unwavering. “Focus. You can do this.”

Despite your irritation, his presence grounded you. As much as you wanted to yell at him for being infuriatingly calm, his unwavering support gave you a sliver of comfort amidst the chaos.

With a guttural scream, you pushed with every ounce of strength you had, your cries echoing through the chamber. Tears streamed down your face as the pain overwhelmed you, but you didn’t stop. The maester’s voice was a distant murmur, urging you to keep going, but all you could focus on was the burning pressure and the sound of your own labored breathing.

From outside, a deep, resonant roar cut through the night—a sound that sent shivers down the spine of everyone in the castle. Your dragon’s call was filled with raw emotion, almost as if it mirrored your pain, your struggle. It was a bond deeper than words, one that transcended distance.

Daemon’s hand was in yours, his grip firm yet reassuring. His voice, usually so confident and commanding, was filled with worry as he whispered, “Almost there, my love. Just a little more. You’ve got this.”

The roar of your dragon grew louder, shaking the very walls, as if demanding your triumph. It was a primal connection—beast and rider, enduring the agony together. The sound gave you strength, a reminder of the power that ran through your veins.

You cried out, gripping the sheets with trembling hands as the maester urged you to push once more. The pain was overwhelming, your body strained beyond its limits, but you knew you were close. Tears streamed down your face as you screamed again, the sound of your agony echoing through the room.

Outside, the roar of your dragon reverberated through the castle walls, a deep, mournful sound that seemed to resonate with your very soul. It was as if the creature could feel every ounce of your pain, sharing in your struggle even from a distance.

“One more push, my lady,” the maester’s voice broke through the haze. “You can do this.”

With every ounce of strength left in you, you pushed, your cries blending with the primal roar of your dragon. And then, suddenly, the tension broke, and the room filled with the sound of a baby’s cry.

Tears of relief and joy blurred your vision as you collapsed back onto the bed, trembling and breathless. Daemon’s grip on your hand tightened, his own eyes shining with unshed tears.

“It’s a girl,” the maester announced with a small smile, carefully wrapping your daughter in a soft cloth before placing her in your arms.

You gazed down at the tiny, wriggling bundle, her silver hair already glinting faintly in the dim candlelight. Her cries quieted as she felt your warmth, her little fists opening and closing as if reaching for you.

Daemon leaned closer, his hand brushing gently against the baby’s head. “A daughter,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s perfect.”

Outside, your dragon’s roar softened, almost as if it, too, was calming down now that the ordeal was over. You smiled weakly, kissing your daughter’s forehead as you whispered, “Welcome to the world, little one.”

You cradled your newborn daughter gently in your arms, her tiny fingers curling around your thumb. Her soft cries had subsided, and now she rested peacefully against your chest. A smile spread across your face as you admired her delicate features. She was perfect in every way.

The door creaked open, and you turned your head to see Vaelya standing there, her silver hair glinting in the candlelight and her violet eyes wide with joy. Her small hands were clasped together, trembling slightly as if she couldn’t contain her excitement.

“She’s here,” Vaelya whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “My sister…”

You beckoned her closer, and she hesitated only a moment before rushing to your side. She gazed down at the baby in awe, her eyes shimmering with tears. “She’s so small,” she murmured, brushing a finger gently across her sister’s tiny hand. “She’s beautiful.”

Before you could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. Moments later, the door burst open, and your four sons came rushing in, their laughter and voices filling the room.

“Where is she?” Maegon demanded, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on the bundle in your arms. Aerion followed closely behind, shushing his younger brothers even though his own excitement was barely contained.

Vaelya stepped aside reluctantly to give them room, though her protective stance didn’t go unnoticed. Each of the boys took turns peering at their new sister, their expressions a mixture of fascination and pride.

“She’s tiny,” Aerion observed with a grin, his tone teasing. “Like a hatchling."

“She’s a princess,” Maegon corrected him, his voice firm. “And she’ll grow into a dragon, just like us.”

“She already has,” Vaelya interjected, her voice soft but unwavering. “She’s my sister.”

You watched the scene with tears in your eyes, your heart swelling as your children gathered around you. They bickered playfully over who would protect her the most, but their love for their new sibling was already evident.

As the noise subsided, Daemon stepped back into the room, his gaze falling on the six of you. He didn’t say a word but crossed the room to stand by your side, his hand resting on your shoulder.

“She’s ours,” you whispered, looking up at him with a smile. “All of them are.”

“And they’re perfect,” Daemon replied, his voice low with pride as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple.

Vaelya turned to Daemon with wide, pleading eyes, her excitement almost tangible. “May I name her, Father? Please?” she asked, her voice soft but filled with hope.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, glancing at you with a small smirk. “Do you think you’re ready for such a responsibility, little dragon?” he teased, though his tone was warm.

Vaelya straightened her shoulders, her expression determined. “I am. I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

He chuckled, nodding. “Very well, then. Let’s hear it.”

Vaelya hesitated only for a moment before stepping closer to you, her gaze fixed on her baby sister. “Her name is Nyelarys,” she announced proudly, her voice steady. “It means ‘radiant one’ in High Valyrian. She will shine brighter than the stars, and her fire will be as strong as any dragon.”

The room fell silent as everyone absorbed the name. Daemon tilted his head, a rare softness in his expression as he repeated the name quietly to himself. “Nyelarys,” he said, testing the sound. Then, he nodded in approval. “A fitting name. You’ve done well, Vaelya.”

Your sons, standing nearby, each murmured their agreement, though they couldn’t resist throwing in a few playful comments about who would teach Nyelarys to ride a dragon or wield a sword.

You smiled at Vaelya, your heart swelling with pride. “It’s perfect,” you said softly, stroking her hair. “Just like you.”

Vaelya’s cheeks flushed with happiness, and she looked down at her sister with a radiant smile. “Welcome to the family, Nyelarys,” she whispered.

You smiled warmly at Vaelya as she gazed at her baby sister, her silver hair shining in the soft light of the chamber. “Would you like to hold her?” you asked gently.

Vaelya’s eyes widened, and she looked at you, almost hesitant. “May I?” she asked softly, her voice filled with wonder.

You nodded, adjusting Nyelarys in your arms before carefully passing her to Vaelya. “Of course. Just be gentle.”

Vaelya sat on the edge of the bed, her movements careful and precise. She cradled Nyelarys in her arms, her hands supporting the baby’s head the way you had shown her. For a moment, she simply stared at her little sister, her expression a mixture of awe and adoration.

“She’s so tiny,” Vaelya whispered, a smile tugging at her lips. “And beautiful.”

You watched the tender moment, your heart swelling with pride. “She’s lucky to have a sister like you, Vaelya,” you said softly.

Vaelya looked up at you, her eyes shining. “I’ll protect her. Always. Just like you and Father protect us.”

Your throat tightened at her words, and you leaned forward to kiss her temple. “I know you will,” you murmured.

Nyelarys let out a soft coo, and Vaelya laughed quietly, brushing a finger against the baby’s cheek. “I’ll teach her everything I know,” she said, her voice filled with determination.

The sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway, and you both turned toward the door just as Daemon and your sons returned. Each of them held a cloth-covered bundle, their faces alight with excitement.

“We’ve chosen the perfect egg,” Maegon announced proudly, his voice echoing in the room. Aerion added with a grin, “Father made us climb the hardest path to find it.”

Daemon smirked, holding up the egg he’d chosen. “Only the best for our little princess,” he said, his tone teasing as he walked over to you and Vaelya.

Vaelya glanced down at her sister, then back at the egg. “It will hatch,” she said with confidence. “It has to. She’s one of us.”

You exchanged a knowing look with Daemon as the boys gathered around, their excitement filling the room. It was a moment that reminded you of the strength and love within your family, one that would endure for generations.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[therogueflame]

Dragonseed

Hi my horny little fuckers (affectionate),

This piece is based on this ask that requested breeding kink daemon so like...you know i went all out.

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WC: 6.7k

Summary: A night of unrestrained passion blurs the lines between power, devotion, and desire.

Warnings: 18+, rough sex (p in v), oral (kinda? f!receiving), multiple positions, creampies, breeding, possession, talk of pregnancy, obsession with legacy, targcest, dirty talk

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Wife!Reader

MDNI!!!

The blood of Old Valyria coils hot beneath your skin, an ancient river that hums through your bones and shudders in your breath. It is a birthright and a curse, a fire no ocean could drown. In the towering halls of Dragonstone, where the stone still remembers the beat of leathery wings and the roar of beasts who ruled the sky, you move as though you were born from the very heart of the mountain. Silver glints at your temples beneath the wavering torchlight, a crown by blood if not yet by name, and your gaze carries the weight of a hundred generations who refused to kneel. You are a Targaryen, daughter of a house shaped in fire, and tonight the blood of your ancestors drums louder than ever, answering the pull of the man who stands just beyond the threshold.

Daemon is your husband now, tied to you by oath and ceremony and the raw, unbroken thread of your shared bloodline. The union is so new that the scent of burning oils still clings faintly to the hem of your gowns, that your chambers have not yet been stripped of the lonely air of a maiden's room, that you still wake some mornings and marvel at the iron weight of a ring on your finger. There has been little time for tenderness and even less for patience. The feasts were endless, the faces eager and expectant, the smiling lords and ladies who whispered in corners about the strength of your bloodline, the power of your children to come. You had smiled too, wearing the mask expected of you, all the while feeling the restless fire building beneath your skin with every passing hour you spent at Daemon’s side, untouched and unfinished.

Now, finally, there is no one left to watch. The last servants have retreated. The heavy oak doors have been drawn shut. The night belongs to the two of you alone.

You feel him before you hear him, a shift in the air, a gathering of something too potent to be named. His boots strike the stone floor with a slow, deliberate rhythm, echoing up the length of the corridor, a hunter’s patience wrapped in a soldier’s stride. When you turn to face him, he is already so close that the torchlight trembles against the broad line of his shoulders, painting his hair in violent shades of gold and red, his eyes catching the light and reflecting it back to you with a hunger that strips you bare. His presence crashes over you like a tide, stealing the breath from your lungs, and still you stand, shoulders squared, chin lifted, refusing to look away. You may be his wife now, you may ache for him with a need that gnaws at your very soul, but you are Targaryen too, and you will not go to him meekly. He must come to you.

He does.

He crosses the last few steps without breaking eye contact, every line of his body coiled and burning with a heat that has long since left patience behind. When he reaches you, he does not touch you, not yet, but the nearness of him is suffocating. The heat of his skin leaches into yours, dizzying, relentless, making your heart hammer wildly against your ribs. His voice, when it comes, is roughened from restraint, low enough that you feel it more than hear it, vibrating through the narrow space between your bodies.

"You think I have not imagined it?" he breathes, and the hunger in his voice has teeth. "How you would look with my child growing inside you? The curve of your belly, heavy with our blood, with our fire?"

The words strike you like a physical blow, tearing away whatever fragile composure you had clung to. Your lips part, a sharp breath escaping, but you catch yourself before you can give him the satisfaction of seeing you undone so easily. You tip your chin up a fraction higher, your pulse roaring in your ears, and meet him blow for blow. When you speak, your voice is soft but steady, threaded through with a challenge you do not bother to hide.

"Is that all you want from me?" you ask, and even as you say it you know you are taunting him, daring him, beckoning the beast that lurks just beneath his skin.

For a long moment, he says nothing. His eyes roam your face, greedy and reverent all at once, and then his mouth curves into something that is not quite a smile, something sharper, something older. He moves then, closing the final sliver of space between you, his hands finding your waist with a grip that is possessive and unyielding, strong enough to remind you that you are his and always have been, even before the vows were spoken. His forehead presses to yours, and for a heartbeat he simply breathes you in, his fingers digging into the rich fabric of your gown, his body trembling with the effort it takes to hold himself still.

"No," he murmurs, his voice a prayer offered at the altar of your body, his words sinking into your skin like claws. "But it is where I will start."

The last of your defenses crumble then, shattering like fragile glass beneath the weight of him, beneath the certainty that there is no undoing what has been set into motion. Whatever waited between you all those endless nights before the wedding, whatever unspoken promises passed between glances across court, whatever fevered dreams you nursed in the dark when no one could hear you cry out his name, all of it is nothing compared to this. This is real. This is fire. This is the dragon you married coming to claim what has always been his.

And you, daughter of the same flame, do not fear the fire.

His hands tighten at your waist, anchoring you to him, and you feel the tremor that runs through his arms, a thread of restraint pulled tight enough to snap. For a moment, he simply holds you there, his forehead resting against yours, breathing you in like a man starved. The space between your bodies vibrates with the force of everything unspoken, every vow that lived in your blood before it ever passed your lips.

His movements are slow and carefully deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine. As his fingers locate the fastenings of your gown, he undoes them one by one, his knuckles lightly brushing along your spine. There's no rush or tearing of fabric—his actions are marked by a reverent devotion, a deep and intense admiration that leaves you quivering. The air is saturated with his scent and warmth, and every touch exudes a profound, overwhelming devotion.

The weighty cloth slides off your shoulders and gathers at your feet, exposing you to him. For a moment, Daemon remains still and silent, his eyes sweeping over every part of you as though he intends to etch your image into his very being. His hands drift to his swordbelt and the fastenings of his tunic, moving deliberately slow, his gaze never leaving you. Each movement is a declaration, a vow, a challenge.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough, scraped raw by everything he’s been holding back.

“You were made for this,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing low across your belly, slow and reverent, like he’s already imagining the shape of his child there. His eyes drag up your body, heavy with want, his breath shuddering. “To carry my blood. To give it form.”

He leans in, mouth nearly at your ear, every word shaped around hunger and certainty.

“Let me fill you. Let it take.”

The last breath of distance dissolves between you, and Daemon’s hands transform from languid to fervent, no longer restrained or patient. They carve into your skin, leaving fiery marks of ownership that sear like a brand. His mouth crashes onto yours with a ferocity that eradicates any possibility of doubt—a kiss that steals the very breath from your lungs and ignites a wildfire in your veins. There is nothing gentle in him now, nothing tender. Only a blazing inferno of hunger and an unwavering, unbreakable devotion.

You surrender to him, mirroring his hunger with your own, your teeth grazing his lower lip in a possessive claim of your own. Your fingers clutch the fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer, as if sheer willpower could dissolve the boundaries separating your bodies. His growl reverberates against your mouth, a dragon's deep rumble that sends molten heat cascading through your veins.

He guides you backward with deliberate steps until your spine meets the unyielding cold of the stone wall. The stark contrast of temperatures—his searing skin against your front, the icy chill of ancient Valyrian rock at your back—elicits a gasp from your lips. Daemon captures the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with practiced dominance, tasting you, consuming you. His hands cradle your face, fingers weaving through your silver hair, tugging just enough to expose the vulnerable column of your throat to him.

"Mine," he breathes against your pulse point, where your lifeblood thunders beneath the skin.

"Yours," you echo, a fierce promise and an ancient truth.

His teeth graze your throat, sharp and possessive, before he soothes the sting with his tongue. You arch against him, hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric still separating you from his skin. With a growl of frustration, you tug at his tunic, desperate to feel him, all of him.

"Take it off," you command, your voice low but unyielding. A queen's demand, even now.

His eyes flash with heat at your tone, a smile curving his lips that's all predator. He steps back just enough to pull the garment over his head in one fluid motion, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, marked with the scars of battles won and lost. Your breath catches at the sight of him, at the coiled strength evident in every line of his body. You reach for him, hands splaying across the warm skin of his chest, feeling the thunderous beat of his heart beneath your palm. There is a symmetry to this moment, a rightness that sings in your blood. Targaryen to Targaryen, fire calling to fire.

He catches your exploring hands in his own, bringing them to his lips to press fervent kisses against your knuckles, your wrists, the sensitive skin of your inner arms. Each touch is a brand, each breath a claim. When he releases your hands, they fall to the lacings of his breeches, working them free with trembling fingers.

His eyes follow your movements, pupils blown wide with desire, his breathing growing more ragged with each passing second. When you free him from the confines of his clothing, he hisses through clenched teeth, his hands flying to your hips with bruising intensity.In one swift movement, he lifts you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he presses you against the wall. The stone is cold against your back, but you barely notice through the haze of heat enveloping you both. His hands slide beneath your thighs, supporting your weight with effortless strength as he positions himself at your entrance.

For a heartbeat, he pauses, his forehead pressed against yours, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that steals your breath. In this suspended moment, something passes between you that transcends mere desire—a recognition, soul-deep and ancient. The bloodline that binds you together, that separates you from all others, pulses between your joined bodies like a living thing.

He snarls "Mine" once more, a primal claim, before he impales you with a brutal thrust, filling every inch of your slick, tight heat.

The overwhelming sensation is almost unbearable—more intense than you ever dared imagine, more carnal and raw than your wildest fantasies. Every inch of you is electrified by the way his thick cock fills you, how Daemon dominates and claims every secret, sensitive crevice of your body. It’s a delicious torment, a fierce collision of agony and ecstasy, as if you’re being violently split open only to be remade entirely. The brutal, unyielding fucking merges with tender intimacy, each shared breath, every lewd glance, and each heated caress building to a climax that shatters all restraint. Your body is a willing vessel, hips thrusting and desperate to meet his relentless thrusts, the two of you locked in a wild, naked abandon. His every thrust drives you to the razor’s edge of ecstasy, keeping you there as your nails tear into the glistening, sweat-soaked muscles of his shoulders—a mark he brands upon you as you brand him in return. The cry that escapes your lips is a fierce, primal scream, a raw mating call that resonates with the ancient pulse of lust passed down through generations.

That guttural cry is the embodiment of your passion, bridging the scant gap between your bodies with the force of your urgency. His name is enunciated in every moan—a declaration, a desperate plea, a demand for submission, and a surrender so complete. Its raw power unspools the last shreds of your control, leaving you with nothing but the searing heat of him, the undeniable confirmation that you were forged solely for this carnal conquest. Not a moment passes when you aren’t hypersensitive to his every movement: the hot rush of his breath against your skin, the insatiable hunger in his eyes, the relentless pressure of his thrusts. Every part of you is consumed by his raw nearness, his unquenchable desire, his absolute certainty in this savage dance of lust.

This, this, this is what your flesh and blood scream for.

In the midst of the lust-fueled fire, only he exists—Daemon, the center of the universe where everything else is reduced to smoldering cinders beneath the blaze of his presence. Even the coarse stone pressing at your back and the crushing grip of his hands fade away beneath the incendiary passion he ignites, until it’s impossible to tell where you end and he begins. It is as though he has embedded himself within your very soul, rewriting your essence in a language of searing desire.

Every forceful, calculated thrust is a symphony to your fevered heart—slow, deliberate, yet impossibly potent. With every deliberate motion, every promise fulfilled and vow cemented in the heat of your shared passion, your senses shatter. Your breath nearly escapes you from the intensity of his presence, and each deliberate drive shoves you deeper into vulnerability. The measured pace is deceptive; underneath lies the savage fury of an unbridled storm. Standing on the precipice of obliteration, you can feel the raw, destructive power of his desire, knowing with absolute certainty that you are destined to be engulfed without escape. At a moment’s pause, as he buries himself deep within you, his ragged breaths hit your neck like incendiary whispers. You feel his dominance everywhere—those hard, sculpted planes of his chest against your bare skin, his iron grip seizing the soft curve of your thighs, and the overwhelming fullness where your bodies merge. Even the chill of the ancient stone behind you is eradicated by the blazing intensity he thrusts into you—a relentless, consuming passion that permeates every fiber of your being.

When he resumes his savage onslaught, his expertise as a seasoned lover becomes undeniably clear—each thrust like a masterstroke that has conquered a thousand hidden desires. His eyes burn with an intense, animalistic heat, and his taut muscles ripple beneath his skin like a living, sinuous serpent poised for an all-consuming, torrid encounter. He is indiscriminate and unstoppable in his desire, his determination an intoxicating force that engulfs you completely until you yield without reservation. His raw strength is overwhelming—a magnetic presence that obliterates any gray area between agonizing pleasure and unmitigated ecstasy. Every whispered, breathless moan, every racing heartbeat, all your fleeting moments of awareness are claimed by him, as each powerful, relentless motion peels away your defenses until nothing remains but the hot, desperate fire of his need.

His forceful, unrestrained thrusts penetrate you with a brutal intensity that leaves you gasping for every precious breath, every second undone by the raw physicality of his touch. Your lips meet his in a fierce, ragged clash, a desperate moan escaping as every deliberate drive plunges you into a vortex of unfiltered, overwhelming desire. The slick, heated contact of his skin upon yours—soaked in sweat and unabashed lust—sparks a tormenting ecstasy that razes every coherent thought. Each powerful thrust is a calculated siege on your senses, dismantling every barrier until you are completely at his mercy. You grasp him with desperate, animalistic fervor, your nails carving savage lines into the taut muscles of his shoulders, a crimson trail attesting to your fervent claim. His eyes, dark and dilated with raw need, mirror the relentless rhythm of his body, drawing you into an inescapable spiral of rapture and submission.

Just when you believe you can take no more, he shifts his hips with calculated precision, thrusting up and deeper into you with unyielding force that makes you scream and writhe uncontrollably. The cry that erupts from you is primal—a raw and frantic admission of surrender that shatters the silence and fills the space between you with a shared, undeniable lust. That haunting sound reverberates within you, unraveling every last thread of resistance until you are stripped bare, reduced to your most elemental, primal self by the insatiable demands of his passion.

Your eyes find his, barely focusing through the haze of his relentless pace as the air is punched from your lungs with his every movement. His gaze is smoldering and fierce, a storm that promises your ruin and deliverance all at once. This deliberate, unyielding rhythm draws you impossibly closer until you can no longer tell where you end and he begins. The heat is almost unbearable, a fiery consummation that binds you tighter with each hard thrust of his body. You lose yourself in it, in him, abandoning all control and letting the vivid sensation overwhelm every part of you.

He drives you to the ultimate brink of sexual oblivion, pressing you against the hard edge of ecstasy with the relentless force of his body and desire. Every thrust quickens, each movement more insistent than the last, as you drown in the intoxicating musk of his skin and the searing heat of his arousal, burning as fiercely as your own. In this vortex of raw lust, the cold stone behind you and the desperate grip of his hands vanish, overwhelmed by the incendiary passion he ignites within you. It is not merely intimacy—it is a voracious claiming, a deep consumption that invades every secret corner of your being, stripping you bare until every gasp and pulsating heartbeat testifies to the sheer power of his carnal need.

You become liquid desire, a living flame flickering in his orbit, completely lost in him as your last threads of resistance disintegrate. In a single, instinct-driven motion, you wrap your legs more tightly around his waist, pulling him even closer, urging him deeper into your core.

He growls in a low, guttural tone—a sound blending triumphant conquest and unyielding demand—while his hands grip you with such intensity it seems as if he plans to merge your flesh into one unbreakable entity. Despite the harsh bite of the stone against your back as he pounds into you with ferocious intensity, you welcome the stinging pain—a delicious reminder of this moment's brutal reality. In that overwhelming surge of animal passion, you exist solely within his heat, his raw, primal drive, surrendering without hesitation to the way he fills you, claims you, and ultimately owns you.

Your voice, a shattered echo of his, finally finds strength to call out his name—a plea and challenge intermingling in your trembling sighs. He responds with one savage, unremitting thrust that robs you of every breath and thought, and for one earth-shattering, ecstatic moment, you feel yourself unraveling completely. Yet his relentless hold grounds you, a forceful reminder that there is no escape from the fierce, binding union between you—no escape from the chains forged of raw, unyielding desire.

Sensing the shift in him, you feel the mounting tension as he loses even a fraction of his control. An urgent need courses through you in tandem with his, compelling you to pull him ever deeper. With your legs tightening around his waist like steel, you drag him further into a frenzy of lust. He growls again, raw and victorious, as his fingers claw at your skin and his savage drive accelerates, sending a seismic pulse of pleasure from your spine that consumes your very being.

You are submerged in him, lost in the cavernous depths of his body and the ferocity of his desire, with no relief in sight—only the all-consuming, suffocating sensation of being utterly possessed, merging with his primal force and burning need. Your voice shatters again, this time into a sound that is neither a plea nor a command—merely the cataclysmic release of every pent-up desire reverberating in the charged space between you. The air trembles with your mutual, raw surrender.

He silences your cry with a searing, possessive kiss, his mouth crushing into yours with an intensity that declares him your absolute master. As his rhythm spirals into a chaotic, unbridled tempo, you realize that his own self-control is crumbling, mirroring the uncontrollable passion that engulfs you both. In that fraught moment, he is as lost in desire as you are, and that mutual surrender propels you both deeper into a swirling maelstrom of pleasure, pain, and primal need.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice a rasp cutting through the haze, demanding to see your raw, unguarded desire as he prepares to seed you with his essence. His pace falters, growing erratic as both of you crest toward complete dissolution, his fingers digging deeper, his breaths raspy against your heated skin, all building to an orgasmic crescendo that threatens to shatter your resolve.

"Say it," he growls, his voice stripped down to its most elemental edge. "Tell me what you want."

With a voice raw from desire, you break the silence, every syllable dripping with unabashed longing: "Your seed. Your child. Fill me."

That declaration shatters his restraint; his last grip on control snaps, and his movements become wild and desperate, discarding any semblance of rhythm in favor of raw, unfiltered force. He captures your mouth in an insatiable kiss—a declaration of conquest that swallows your cries as his pleasure explodes, threatening to overwhelm you both. You melt into him, body and soul, as every muscle convulses in a fevered embrace, pulling him further in a perfect, feral union.

With a guttural roar echoing off the ancient stone, Daemon pushes you beyond the point of return. His body rigidly melds with yours as his fingers mark you with bruises while pulse after pulse of his seed floods deep inside you, a scorching, undeniable imprint of his desire. The exquisite overwhelm of his heat and raw power fills you completely; his body trembles as he releases, forehead pressed to yours, murmuring your name with the fervor of prayer and salvation.

For endless moments, you remain joined, trembling in the aftermath, your bodies slick with sweat and desire. The world slowly reassembles itself around you as your heartbeats slow, but nothing seems as real or as vital as the weight of his body against yours, the lingering heat where you remain joined.

When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, stripped bare of artifice, a raw intimacy that feels more profound than the physical joining of your bodies.

"It will take," he murmurs against your temple, his lips brushing your sweat-dampened skin. There is certainty in his voice, a conviction that brooks no argument. "Our blood is strong. Our line will continue."

His hand slides between your bodies to rest possessively over your lower abdomen, as if he can already sense the new life that might be forming there. The gesture is both tender and fiercely possessive, a dragon guarding its most precious treasure.

You let your head fall back against the stone wall, your chest rising and falling with each labored breath. You close your eyes, savoring the weight of his palm against your skin, the imprint of his body still throbbing within you. The ancient blood of Valyria sings through your veins, harmonizing with his, creating a melody as old as dragonfire itself.

"Yes," you whisper, your voice hoarse from crying out his name. "It will take."

Your mind is crystal clear, filled with utter conviction—a knowledge that blazes as intensely as the fires that consumed your house. The union of your bloodlines feels inevitable, inscribed by the same ancient magic that bound your ancestors to dragons. His seed is inside you now, potent and alive, seeking the perfect fusion that will perpetuate your lineage.

Daemon's breath comes in rough, heavy bursts against your neck, gradually steadying as his body recovers—but still he remains wrapped around you, refusing to yield even an inch of space between your bodies. The intensity of the moment lingers; the shared heat, the raw physicality of his passion, keeps you both locked in place, savoring the powerful aftermath. His lips brush your ear, your temple, pledging an intimacy that transcends mere words, and his arms tighten for a moment before he finally pulls out. As he sets you down on shaky legs, you feel his semen immediately begin to drip down your inner thigh. It is a visceral reminder of his possession, and he does not let it go unclaimed.

Daemon drops to his knees before you, his hands clamping over your hips with bruising strength to keep you steady. His thumbs dig possessively into your soft flesh, spreading you open as his mouth descends, and the heat of his breath scorches against your exposed core. There is a certainty in his movements, a confidence that none of him will be wasted. "Not a single drop goes to waste," he rumbles, his voice resonating against your skin. A moment later, his tongue sweeps upward, licking up his cum and your juices in one deliberate stroke.

The sensation is so surprising, so intensely erotic that a ragged moan escapes your lips. Your fingers thread through his hair, unsure whether to press him closer or push him away from the overwhelming sensitivity. He decides for you, his grip tightening as he feasts on the mixed evidence of your fucking, groaning against you as if savoring the finest delicacy. When he finally stands, his mouth is shiny with your combined fluids, his eyes heavy with renewed lust.

"You taste like us," he says, his voice a deep rumble that sends waves of pleasure coursing through your hyper-sensitive body.

Without warning, he lifts you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as if you weigh nothing. You allow yourself this moment of surrender, resting your head against his shoulder as he carries you to the bed that awaits across the chamber. The furs are soft beneath your back when he lays you down, a stark contrast to the unyielding stone that has left marks across your skin.

Daemon follows you down, his body covering yours like a living blanket of heat and muscle. His hands frame your face, thumbs brushing gently across your cheekbones in a gesture so tender it makes your heart ache with its unexpected gentleness. After the savage claiming against the wall, this shift in his touch is almost disorienting. His gaze sweeps over your face, searching, memorizing, his expression raw with an emotion that transcends mere desire.

"Wife," he breathes, the word heavy with meaning, with possession, with promise.

In that single word, you hear everything—the weight of your shared blood, the responsibility of your line, the fierce protection he offers, the claim he stakes. You reach up to trace the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the slight rasp of stubble beneath your fingertips. This close, you can see the flecks of indigo in his eyes, the subtle variations in the silver of his hair, the thin white scar that cuts across his left eyebrow.

"Husband," you answer, and your voice carries the same weight, the same claim.

His lips capture yours again, softer this time but no less consuming. The kiss deepens, languorous and exploring, as if you have all the time in the world. His hands move with deliberate slowness now, mapping the contours of your body, learning you inch by inch. The urgency hasn't dissipated—it has merely transformed, like dragonfire banked but still smoldering, ready to ignite at any moment.

You arch beneath him, your body still sensitive from his earlier claiming, yet already hungry for more. This is what the blood of Old Valyria demands—insatiable, endless, consuming. Your hands trace the hard planes of his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your palm.

"Again," you whisper against his mouth, a command rather than a plea.

His answering smile is predatory, a flash of teeth in the dim light. "Greedy," he murmurs, the word a caress against your skin. "But I would expect nothing less from a true dragon."

His mouth traces a burning path down your throat, lingering at the pulse point where your heartbeat races beneath his lips. Every touch is deliberate, a stark contrast to the frenzied claiming against the wall. This is a different kind of possession—slower, deeper, more thorough. His teeth graze your collarbone, marking you with gentle bites that send shivers cascading down your spine.

"I will give you everything," he promises, his breath hot against your skin. "Every drop. Every heir. Every kingdom."

Your body responds to his words as much as his touch, a liquid heat pooling between your thighs where you're still slick with his seed. His hand slides down to cup your breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak until you arch into his touch, seeking more. His fingers find you impossibly wet, your body still quivering from your first release yet already desperate for more. The combination of your arousal and his seed makes his entry effortless as he slides two fingers deep inside you, curling them against that spot that makes your vision blur at the edges.

"So responsive," he murmurs, his voice dark with approval. "So ready to be filled again."

Your hips roll against his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure, more of him. There is no shame between you now, no hesitation—only the raw, primal need that pulses in your shared blood. His thumb circles your sensitive bud, drawing tight, deliberate patterns that have you gasping his name, your nails digging into the corded muscles of his shoulders.

When he finally withdraws his fingers, you whimper at the loss, your body clenching around nothing. He brings those same fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight is obscene and intoxicating, a visual representation of how thoroughly he intends to consume you.

"Turn over," he commands, his voice a velvet rumble that brooks no argument.

You comply, rolling onto your stomach, the furs soft against your sensitized skin. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, kneading the firm flesh, spreading you open to his gaze. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and yet there is power in your surrender—in knowing that this man, this dragon in human form, craves you with such intensity.

He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back, his hardness nudging insistently between your thighs. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice a ragged whisper as he positions himself at your entrance.

"I want you to feel me for days," he growls, his hands gripping your hips, raising you slightly to align your bodies. "So that every step you take, every breath, reminds you of who you belong to."

With one brutal, powerful thrust, Daemon slams into you, filling you so completely that you lose all sense of the world around you. A hoarse, involuntary cry tears from your throat as he stretches you, deeper than before, claiming every inch. The angle is intense, searing, and your muscles clench instinctively at the invasion, already on edge from the relentless sensations. Your fingers dig into the furs, desperate for something to ground you as he starts to move inside you with a punishing rhythm that leaves you gasping for air. His body is a heavy, solid weight on top of you, his chest smothering your back as if he intends to merge with you entirely.

He fucks you with ruthless purpose, with the unyielding strength of a dragon laying claim to its hoard. Each thrust is a declaration, a physical vow that will not be denied. The sheer intensity of it has you teetering on the brink of another climax, and you hear yourself whimpering, half-formed words of need slipping past your lips. Nothing else matters but this—the firestorm he ignites within you, the raw, visceral connection that makes everything else fade to insignificance.

His breath is hot and ragged against your neck, and each exhalation sends a shiver coursing through your body. One arm supports his weight beside your head, the other snakes between your damp bodies to cup your breast, thumb grazing your hardened nipple in time with the pounding rhythm. The friction of the furs, the unrelenting force of his thrusts, the way his fingers press into your flesh—it all becomes a maelstrom of sensation, drawing tight, unbearable coils of pleasure in your core.

With each violent thrust, you feel your own climax building, impossible to hold back. He drives into you harder, deeper, slamming you into the mattress with an intensity that feels as if it will tear you apart. His lips are at your ear, his growls vibrating through your body, too caught up in his own fierce need to offer even an ounce of mercy. Every second brings a fresh onslaught of sensation, the friction and fullness pushing you to the brink again and again.

The world shrinks to nothing but the feel of him inside you, the relentless pace, the overwhelming pleasure building to a fever pitch. It is too much, almost painfully exquisite, and you know you are lost. Your nails rake down his arms, a silent plea for more, for everything.

"Say it again," he demands, his voice rough with exertion and need. "Tell me what you want from me."

You turn your head, cheek pressed against the furs, words spilling from your lips without thought or hesitation. "Your seed. Your child. Your empire." Each declaration punctuated by a particularly deep thrust that makes you see stars behind your eyelids.

His rhythm falters for a moment, a groan torn from his throat at your words. His hand slides from your breast down to your stomach, splaying possessively over the flat plane where his child might already be taking root. The thought of it—of your womb quickening with his seed, of your body changing to accommodate the heir you'll create together—sends a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you. You push back against him, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor, a silent demand for more.

His teeth graze the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder, nipping hard enough to leave a mark. "Mine," he growls, the word vibrating against your skin. "Every inch. Every breath. Every drop of your blood."

The possessive claim ignites something primal within you, and you feel yourself tightening around him, your body responding to his dominance with a pleasure so intense it borders on pain. The coil inside you winds tighter, tighter, hovering on the edge of release.

"Come for me," he commands, his voice hoarse and strained. "Come on my cock.”

The command itself is enough to shatter the last of your restraint. Your climax crashes through you with devastating force, your inner walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that tear a guttural groan from his throat. The intensity of it steals your breath, your vision, your very sense of self as pleasure consumes you entirely. Your body convulses beneath him, every muscle drawn taut as the sensation radiates outward from your core, setting every nerve ending alight.

Daemon doesn't slow his pace, fucking you through your orgasm with relentless determination, prolonging the waves of pleasure until they blur into one continuous, overwhelming sensation. You're barely coherent, reduced to gasping sobs and broken pleas as he drives you higher, refusing to let you descend from the heights. Your vision swims, tears of raw sensation blurring the world around you as your body surrenders completely to his relentless possession.

His rhythm grows erratic, his breathing harsh and labored against your ear as his own release approaches. His fingers dig into your hips with bruising force, holding you in place as he drives deeper, chasing his pleasure with single-minded intensity. You can feel the tension coiling in his body, the slight tremor in his powerful thighs as he reaches the precipice.

"Take it," he groans, the words barely human. "Take all of me."

With one final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsing as he floods your already-slick channel with another hot rush of his seed. The sensation of his release triggers another aftershock within you, your body milking him instinctively, drawing every drop from him as if your very existence depends on it. He collapses against your back, his weight pressing you deeper into the furs, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your sweat-slicked skin.

For long moments, neither of you moves, too consumed by the aftermath of pleasure to do more than breathe. The world slowly reassembles itself around you, the distant sounds of the castle filtering back into your consciousness. Your bodies remain joined, his softening length still buried inside you, his seed trapped deep within your womb. The thought sends a fresh shiver of satisfaction through you—the knowledge that even now, life might be taking root, a new thread in the tapestry of your ancient bloodline.

Eventually, he shifts his weight, his body heavy and warm against yours, the drag of skin on skin making you shiver despite the heat still lingering in your blood. He doesn’t speak, just moves with uncharacteristic care, pulling you with him as he rolls onto his side. His arm locks across your waist, solid and unyielding, anchoring you to him as if he would not suffer even an inch of distance. He does not withdraw. He stays inside you, buried deep, the stretch of him a slow, aching throb — both relief and torment. You are full in every sense, body trembling with the aftershocks of being taken, claimed, worshipped. And still, some part of you aches for more.

His lips press to the back of your neck, a breath of warmth, a kiss that lacks the violence of earlier and carries something quieter. Gentleness from Daemon is rare. When it comes, it feels more dangerous than his rage. It feels real.

“You are magnificent,” he murmurs, the words rough and low, colored by exhaustion, possession, and something deeper that trembles beneath the surface. His hand slides from your hip to the softness of your lower belly, splaying wide across it, as if he can already feel the beginning of something there. His palm lingers with weight and meaning, fingers pressing into the flesh with unspoken promise.

“Carrying my seed. Bearing my name.”

Your breath catches. Not from the words, but from the way he says them — like a vow. You turn your head slowly, limbs still heavy, and find his eyes in the flickering glow of the fire. They are dark with satisfaction, shadowed with something fierce and unreadable. The silver of his hair clings to his temples in damp strands, tangled and wild, and there’s something feral in the way he looks at you. Like he would tear the world apart to keep you like this.

“Our name,” you whisper, voice hoarse but steady, your eyes locked on his.

Something in him stills — not in anger, not in resistance, but in reverence. And then he leans forward and presses his forehead to yours, as if to say yes. As if to say always.

[paulyenvol6]

To Lose Yourself (Chapter 2)

Contains: little bit of fighting, flirting, invasion of privacy

Wordcount: 3,055

Masterlist of this story

She sighed deeply and entangled her hands on her stomach.

"What is it now?" Alicent asked with a clearly annoyed tone and arched her neck to look at her little sister that rested her head on her legs.

"Nothing," Anissa answered at once.

"Then why are you sighing like this? I can't concentrate on my book."

"Sorry," she spoke and rolled her eyes.

In this moment the door sprang open and Alicent accepted the fact that she wouldn't be able to read a little longer before supper so she put her book down. Anissa had lifted herself from her position and curiously looked at their father who had his face drawn with fury.

"Father, is everyhing alright?" Anissa asked with a friendly tone and despite sensing that his face softened a little when he put his eyes on his youngest daughter Anissa couldn't ignore his tense mouth. Otto sat down on the bed and ran his hand over her head and then pressed a kiss on her forehead.

"Yes. Just a little encounter with the king's brother."

"What happened?" his daugher asked and watched him with big eyes.

"That's not of importance for you. Don't worry, sweet child, nothing I won't be able to fix."

Anissa nodded with her head and then glanced at her sister.

"Can we please do anything? I'm so terribly bored and Alicent just wants to read all the time and so I've been staring at the ceiling for hours now."

Otto chuckled quietly while watching Alicent prepare herself to give a snappy answer but raised his voice before his eldest daughter could respond.

"I don't think there's enough time to do anything before supper, my dear. But afterwards we can do something. The three of us could go on a walk through the gardens, what do you say? Perhaps we will see some stars."

Anissa tilted her head thoughtfully but then nodded.

"Fine... But can't we go into the city? I always love it so much to see all the hustle and bustle and there is so much more going on than here in the keep."

Otto sighed and took his daughter's hand in his. "I know that you love it but it can be dangerous, sweetheart. There are drunk people that want to harm others and I don't wanna risk it. Here in the keep there are always guards that look out for us."

Anissa rolled her eyes but instantly regretted it when her father raised his eyebrows.

"Anissa. Don't be disrespectful."

"I'm sorry," the girl murmured and rolled to her other side. Otto's face softened up and he straightened up.

"No need to feel sad, daughter. It's time for supper now and I'm sure we will have a good time in the gardens. The sky is very clear tonight."

She nodded despite still not feeling entirely content but what else was she to do? Her father got off the bed offering her his hand and Anissa took it unwillingly.

"I'm not even that hungry," she continued to mumble and this time it was her sister who glanced at her.

"Must you always complain about everything, sister?"

This time she didn't bother to answer and just adjusted her dress so she looked presentable for supper. Once both sisters were ready to go Otto guided them out of the room and then to the familiar chambers of the king. Anissa nibbled at her thumb which her father commented with a dangerous look and a slight shake of his head. The girl sighed feeling very frustrated and annoyed for some reason but obeyed her father.

"Otto, Lady Alicent and Lady Anissa," were the words that brought her attention to the king who spread his arms to welcome the little family.

"Thank you for dining with me tonight."

"It is an honour, your grace."

Anissa followed her sister inside the room not paying any attention to her surroundings which instanty led to her almost bumping into a shelf.

"Careful," Alicent quietly hissed and gripped her arm to guide her to the table.

"I can do it on my own," she complained trying to shake off her sisters hand but she determindely glistened her eyes at her.

"Obviously you can't. Why can't you just behave yourself for once in your life?"

Anissa decided not to let this escalate although there was a thunder roaring inside of her. It seemed like everyone wanted to anger her tonight and she couldn't wait until she would finally be in her bed. The servants brought the food to the table which, to be fair, looked delicious which was why she didn't notice the way Viserys glared at the door. Only when it opened her attention was drawn away from the plates and she almost rolled her eyes again watching Daemon strut through the door.

"Brother. I'm glad you made it."

If Anissa hated anything more than the rogue prince it was the way Viserys seemed to be blind to the flaws and crimes of his brother. Family was important, sure, but he was the king and he couldn't just let everything slide when it came to Daemon. He should have been punished long ago for how he did whatever he wanted to without even asking for the king's leave while everyone else at court was forced to buckle up before the king.

Now the rogue prince gave everyone at the table a smug smirk that made Anissa want to throw up but it probably would only enrage her sister and father so she stared back without an expression. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction and pay attention to him so she dropped her gaze to the table seemingly busy with deciding what food she craved.

If Anissa had looked up she would have seen Daemon observing her with relish. He had always found it pleasurable to have his eyes on her and not only did she look particulary nice tonight, he couldn't help but imagine the face of Otto Hightower if he came too close to his precious daughter. If he looked at her the wrong way. Or gave her a blatant compliment.

"You look nice," he suddenly said following an inner voice.

Anissa's eyes shot up and in the way her face tensed in surprise he knew he had done the right thing. It was simply too good. She took a glimpse at her sister as though she was looking for help in what to do which Alicent replied to with a gentle hit against her upper arm, signalising her to answer politely.

"Thank you," the girl said avoiding his eyes which made him smirk.

"You're very welcome."

She really was a pretty thing, Daemon thought and cut the meat on his plate feeling very entertained and content with the way this evening was going so far. Of course he hadn't been thrilled when Viserys had announced to him that he expected him at supper because the prospect of spending his evening with Otto Hightower while he could be in a brothel at the same time was terrible. But it also meant that he got to take a closer look at Anissa and play his favourite game in the world: Intimidating Hightowers.

"I've heard that you are to host a ball in the near future," he spoke while leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Anissa was seemingly caught off guard as she hadn't expected to be involved in a conversation with Daemon tonight. She despised him just as much as he did her so what was he doing? Was he trying to mock her?

"Yes. So I've heard," she said much more quiet than she had intended to.

"Then look out for your big sister. I heard that she's very eager to be the center of attention at the moment."

Now Anissa looked at him for the first time tonight and frowned at him, almost forgetting that she was supposed to look angry and disgusted.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh you haven't noticed?"

The girl turned her head to Alicent seeking answers, but she merely shook her head looking equally shocked.

"I don't know what he's talking about either," she claimed and Daemon couldn't surpress a chuckle.

"Perhaps this is not the right time to discuss this. But you might ask her later. She knows exactly what I mean. Just like your father and… quite frankly my dear brother know."

Of course Daemon was referring to the way Alicent was literally being dragged to Viserys at the moment as Aemma had passed away a few months ago and of course Otto had seized the opportunity to present Alicent like a prize in front of Viserys in order to enhance the power of his family name. But it seemed like Anissa was oblivious to her father's plan because she only questioningly glanced at her sister who gestured her to be quiet.

"I still don't know what he's saying, sister. Just eat."

Daemon was more than amused watching the girl stare at her plate seemingly weighing up whether she was supposed to dig deeper to find out what was going on or if he was just toying with them. She didn't seem to come to make a choice but instead started to listen to the conversation between Viserys and Otto, looking much less confident than before. Daemon also paid his attention to something else now feeling quite self-satisfied with himself and starting to eat his food. But his eyes remained on Anissa.

He desired her and wasn't afraid to admit it to himself. He had observed her for quite some time now and his craving for her only grew more intense. His hate for Otto and the way he would be able to hurt him if he touched his youngest daughter was only a part of his desire. In its core he wished to claim her and make her his own. He wanted to touch her, feel her body and be the reason for her pleasure.

But Daemon wasn't sure whether to make a move yet. He couldn't risk getting exiled by his brother or even executed for defiling Otto's daughter. He was one of Viserys' closest companions after all not matter if he liked it or not.

And that was what Daemon did for the next couple of days. He watched her, thought about her more often than was appropriate while his anger against Otto grew simultaneously. He would give everything to humiliate him the way he did in all these small council meetings and although he didn't act, the plan in his head prospered.

And then something happened that changed everything.

It was late afternoon when Daemon was once again boiling with anger. Otto had had the audacity to embarrass him in front of his brother by sending him to his chambers like he was his pet. Of course he had refused when he asked him to get a letter from their allies in Pentos that had received the hand of the king earlier and that he had forgotten in his rooms but Otto had taken his twisted ankle as an excuse to send him.

Daemon had grinded his teeth, clenched his jaw but found that he had no choice but to follow his command despite fighting the urge to smack his enemy across the face. And now there he was in Otto's room feeling like his maid as he searched the table for the letter. There were countless books which made Daemon think that the page might be in one of them and so he started to browse through them.

But he stopped when his eyes suddenly scanned beautiful elegant handwriting and frowned. This wasn't a normal book. He turned it around to look at the book and narrowed his eyes as it was just a scarlet red cover with no title giving away what kind of book this was.

He knew that this wasn't what he was supposed to do at all but suddenly Daemon was caught by curiousity and opened it again to go to the first page.

'April, 6th,' it said and that was the moment he realized what kind of book this was. He had just found the diary of one of the Hightower girls and Daemon smirked crookedly. This was getting a lot more interesting than he had expected and not eager to let this go, he read the first words on the page.

'We visited mother's grave today which I was really scared of. Father is very quiet at the moment and doesn't talk a lot but Alicent says that he just needs time to process everything.'

He stopped to measure when Anissa might have written these words. When did Otto's wife die again…? She must have been 13 if Daemon was correct. He browsed through the book not really interested in reading the thoughts of a 13 – year old although he still couldn't help but think that he would be able to use his found in some way. He believed that her more recent entrys would probably be a lot more intriguing and skipped to the one from three days ago.

'I think I lost one of my earrings today when I went to the stables with Alicent. We searched the ground for almost an hour but didn't find anything so I guess I have lost hope. She told me that she would keep her eyes open, but searching for an earring in the straw is pretty much like searching for a needle in the straw.'

Daemon scoffed turning the page around and started to believe that this might be completely unimportant to him. All she did was write about her day and he wondered if her life really was that boring. He browsed through the pages loosely running his eyes over a few words until he saw a very familiar word: 'Daemon'.

Without giving it a thought he looked at the top of the page. August, 29, so it was around a month ago. Daemon sat down on a chair placed the book on the table and started to read, every thought of why he had come here in the first place gone.

'I'm sitting in my chambers currently and I'm feeling a little lost. Father is in a very bad mood and so is Alicent I believe, but unlike with father I can't figure out why. Father is angered because of Daemon of course, just like he seems to be all the time. It gets really annoying because it seems like every time there is a small council meeting he comes back to his rooms boiling with fury. I don't know what they are fighting about all the time but father curses him like he has burned down a city or something. Of course I don't like Daemon after everything father has told Alicent and me. He is arrogant and self-centered and I hate the way he acts like he stands upon everyone else. I wish someone would just put him in his place for once in his life because I would love to see his face when he feels uncertain and insecure. But what troubles me most right now - and it pains me just to write these words down - is that I catch myself thinking about him at times. I hate him of course. I really do. But I have no choice but to admit that he is a handsome man. I don't want to think this way of course but I enjoy looking at him although he makes me so angry at the same time. There is just something about him when he smiles or crosses his legs like he always does. I feel miserable because I think that way and that is why I will never in my life tell anyone about it, not even Alicent. It feels like I have sinned because I am not supposed to think that way about any man and especially not a man that gives my father such a headache. I have to somehow get rid of the feelings and I start to think that the best way is to get married. If my mind is with another handsome lord I will only think about him and forget about Daemon's beauty. Yes, this is what I'm going to do. I'm not eager to marry and I don't wish to court the way Alicent does but perhaps it is the only way to fight this disgusting desire in me.'

Daemon sank back in his chair not being able to process what he had just read. He stared at the pages for a moment and then a smirk formed on his face.

'What a naughty girl,' he thought and put the book back down. Who would have thought that the Hightower girl was such a needy little thing fantasizing about her father's biggest enemy?

He had always seen something bratty and defiant in her but he wouldn't have thought that she would go so far as to feel attracted to him out of all people. Daemon couldn't help himself and imagined her sitting here in this room nervously glancing at the door every now and then, scared to get caught writing these shameful words.

Her brown eyes which she loved to flash at him so impolitely being all round with worry… He chuckled quietly and then remembered what he had come here in the first place.

Daemon coninued his search for the letter and eventually succeeded. However, his mind was absent all the time thinking about Anissa and what he had just found out. It definitely changed a lot but Daemon wasn't yet sure about how to proceed now.

He still desired her for once because he had this special affection for her and of course to use her for his initial want to humiliate her cunt of a father. And now she apparantely wanted him too… It would definitely make things easier for him, he thought while tidying up the table so there would no evidence for his explorations.

He couldn't wait to see her again, that much he was certain about and smiled feeling the most relaxed and content he had in weeks.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@archerxnn @aleemendoza2425-blog

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

And the Dragons danced

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader x Daemon Targaryen

Warning: threesom, p in v, m|m, ass play, anal, name calling (whore, slut), incest, cursing, tal of children, talk of pregnancy, breeding kink, absolute filth

Wordcount: 1 926

Summary: Daemon had to keep his promise, but he can still find pleasure and fun in other ways.

A/N: This is a little belated birthday present I made myself.

Night has fallen over the never sleeping city. But the outside noises of King’s Landing were drowned out by the sounds inside one royal chamber. Soft small moans of a woman and the low grunts of a man echoed through the chambers.

Daemon was slouching in a chair in the corner of the bed chamber he shared with his wife. His legs spread wide, a lazy grin on his lips as he watched the scene unfold before him.

His wife wasn't his at first. No, she was a spoil of war. When Rhaenyra took Kings Landing, he took Aemond’s little wife for himself.

A beautiful thing she was. Shy at first. She had feared Rhaenyra’s wrath if she acted on the feelings she slowly developed for Daemon. And she was fiercely loyal, especially to Aemond. So much she had spent more than half of the days praying in the sept.

She still is a very beautiful woman, especially after the birth of their two sons. His nephew was a lucky boy, he thought back then when he first saw her. Now, he could only grin when he remembered she was his too now.

Aemond sat against the headboard. Looking up at his precious wife, holding her hips. Guiding her body to move with his in a slow, sensual rhythm. Her eyes closed, biting her red-painted lips. Head thrown back in ecstasy. Her hair cascading down her back like a waterfall.

He grabbed her hips tighter. Her flesh moulding under his fingers. His print slowly blooming on her skin. His other arm slowly snaked around her body. Pulling her closer to him, impale her deeper on his cock. His arm slung possessively over the small of her back. 

He panted into her neck as she rode him. Nuzzling her skin, her scent and her perfume enchanting his senses. His hips bucked up into her with each of her downward thrusts. Her small whimpers spur him on to go deeper, harder. Cause her to squeal more.

Daemon chuckled. Seeing the desperation in his nephew's eye. “Still upset that she gave birth to two of my sons?” He taunted. Knowing how much it annoyed the young prince’s seed had not taken yet in their sweet wife’s womb.

Aemond glared over his wife's shoulder. His grip on her grew more possessive. A small whine escaped her as he hit a special spot deep inside her. He kept hitting it, her body trembling like leaves in the wind.

“It should have been me that filled her womb first. I was her husband first.” He growled. Sounding like a perpetual child instead of the fierce warrior he knew he was. Daemon just snickered, loving how his nephew still got riled up on this.

“Maybe my seed is just superior to yours, nephew,” Daemon smirked lazily. “I am pure-blooded.” He taunted. Hinting at Aemond’s Hightower blood.

His own cock was straining against his breeches. His hand gently palmed it over the fabric of his trousers. Lazily, watching their wife gently move up and down Aemond’s cock.

Daemon had been unfair the second time he filled their wife with his seed. Every time Aemond had filled her, he had taken her two times more. He wanted to tease his nephew. 

But Daemon was a man of his word – sometimes. He promised, the next two children would be Aemond’s. And he would keep this promise. Not for Aemond, but for their beloved wife.

But Daemon needed relief. Badly. His cock slowly hurt, His hardness growing and stiffening the longer he watched.

“Turn!” Daemon demanded suddenly. Undressing himself slowly. His fingers lazily unfastening the strings of his breeches. Letting the garment fall to the ground with a thud. He stood there only in his white linen shirt, slowly stroking himself as he stepped closer to the bed.

Their wife turned her head. Her doe eyes watching him hungrily. Daemon's smirk grew. She reached for him, but he shook his head. His tongue clicking as he waved her off. “Not tonight, my dove. I promised our dear Aemond not to touch you until you are with his whelps. And I am a man of my honour.”

Aemond scoffed and rolled his eyes at his uncle’s words. But he complied anyway, flipping them. He was now on top of his sweet wife. His hips continued to thrust into her. Small whimpers and moans of delight escaped her lips.

Daemon could swear he grew even harder by only hearing her small noises. The linen shirt felt too restrictive suddenly. With reckless speed he ripped it off his torso and through it carelessly onto the floor.

He took an oil from the small table in the corner next to the chair he had occupied. Coating two of his fingers in the sticky liquid. “My sweet, I think it's time to relax our Sapphire Prince a bit more. Don't you think? He is so terribly tense all the time. I blame the council meeting today. There was only me and him who were competent enough to come up with better taxes. But I won’t bore you further. You would only dry up from boredom. And your dragons do love your wet cunt so much.” He cooed.

Daemon moved onto the bed. Naked in all his glory. His lazy grin turned predatory. “My dove, would you assist me?”

Their wife nodded gently. Her small hands glided down Aemond’s side. The younger Targaryen shivered as he felt his wife’s nails running down his back. 

Daemon played with the puckered hole of his nephew's rear. Grinning as Aemond moved his body back. “Whore.” The Rouge Prince mumbled with a teasing chuckle. Withdrawing for a moment, punishing his nephew.

Daemon's grin darkened when her hands were splayed on Aemond’s bottom, “Thank you, my sweet.” 

He watched as Aemond’s hips stilled with the help of their wife, her grip soft yet firm. A groan of protest escaped the young prince’s throat. “Ssh, nephew. Patience."

Aemond whimpered when Daemon gently moved one coated digit inside his rear entrance. His seeing eye closing as he felt Daemon slowly push inside his rear.

“Relax, nephew. You are all tense. I cannot fuck you if you keep resisting.” Daemon cooed softly. Kissing Aemond behind his ear. A gesture he learned from their wife. The younger Targaryen shivered, relaxing more.

Soothing hands gently traced his face. His wife smiling up at him. “How can you still be so soft with all this corruption and depravity around you?” Aemond gently wondered. Looking down at her. He leaned down, kissing her gently. His own stiff member still logged inside of her warmth.

Daemon eased his fingers slowly inside his puckered hole. Stopping whenever he felt Aemond slightly pull away. “Ssh, dear nephew. I am nearly in. With one finger.” He teased.

His words were a threat. And Aemond knew that. He had taken Daemon quite a few times now. Knowing that the older Targaryen’s cock was big. He needed the preparation.

Daemon watched them, a small grin playing on his lips.

He used the opportunity to slowly move around. Hearing the small whimpers of his nephew. His finger slowly moving in and out with an obscene quelching sound. Soon he added another, opening him wider. His fingers scissoring around his steadily relaxing rear.

“Good boy.” Daemon praised him. “Such a good boy. Isn’t he, my dove? I bet his rod is twitching inside you. Don’t fret, I will make him move inside you again soon enough.”

Aemond moaned softl as Daemon hit a spot deep inside him that shot a spark up his spine. Daemon hit it a few more times before he retreated from his hole.

At the loss of contact, Aemond whimpered. “Slut.” Daemon growled, spanking Aemond’s arse cheek a bit harshly. His handprint blooming red on the light skin. The younger Targaryen crying out at the pain. His cock twitching inside their wife. A small moan escaping her lips.

Daemon smirked down at them. Their reaction music in his ears. Seeing the desperation in their wife in her eyes. “Ssh, my sweet. Soon I will give you the pleasure you are owed.”

He grabbed Aemond’s hips and positioned himself behind him. Taking the oil and coating his member throughly. “Brace yourself, nephew. I promised our wife two children born of your seed.”

Daemon slowly surged forward, the head of his member breeching the tight ring of the younger Targaryen.

Aemond whined and whimpered as Daemon slowly and steadily slipped inside of him. His toes curling. His fingers digging into the soft pillow their wife’s head rested on.

After Daemon let Aemond adjust a bit, the elder Targaryen began to move his hips. Groaning softly as his cock slid in and out of Aemond.

“Nearly all the way in. Shit, you are tight. I can’t decide which hole I love to fill more. Your bowls or our wife’s cunny.” Daemon filthily growled.

Aemond glared icily over his shoulder. Too stubborn to admit how good it felt - to feel his uncle’s cock slowly breached his rear with a maddening pace.

The man beneath him bit his lip harshly. The mix of pleasure and pain intoxicating.

A soft touch at his face made him open his eyes. “Stop that, you only hurt yourself.” His wife whispered, freeing his lower lip from his teeth. He kissed her thumb gently. Nearly forgetting he was impaled on Daemon’s member.

She gasped too, making Daemon smirk. “Did I cause him to hit something inside you, my dove?” He did it again. Her eyes rolled into her skull, her legs trembling. “Seems like I get to fuck our wife after all, nephew.” He taunted.

The later slammed harshly inside his nephew’s rear. Hitting a special spot deep inside Aemond.

The young dragon groaned. He fisted the pillow tighter which upon their lovely wife lay.

Daemon sped up. Causing Aemond to move with him. His rigid cock moving inside their wife’s velvety walls. Making her whine and moan in desperation.

“Look at her, dear nephew. How much pleasure we both bring her.” Daemon nuzzled Aemond’s neck lovingly. He had pushed his white hair to the side for better access. Aemond shivered at the small nips on the back of his neck.

“I can feel her trembling. She is so close. Are you close too, zaldrīzos? I can feel your arse clenching. Come on, lēkianna. Come for me. Gift our sweet wife your seed. Let her receive your child.”

With a low groan Aemond emptied himself inside their wife, triggering Their wife’s own peak. Her high-pitched cry echoing through the halls of the Red Keep.

Daemon roared as he came. He held his nephew’s hips still. His grip bruising. His eyes rolling back as he filled Aemond’s hole with his seed.

Both Targaryens collapsed onto the bed. Small groans escaped their wife’s lips as they lay upon her. Their weight causing her difficulty to breath.

After catching their breaths, Daemon dislodged from Aemond’s buttocks. The later groaning lowly. Daemon’s seed slowly trickling out of Aemond’s used hole.

Aemond fell to the other side of their wife. He curled into her side. Gently holding her middle as his head rested upon her breasts. “I hope this time it takes root. I miss her cunt, nephew.” Daemon quietly mumbled, turning to them both. Daemon nuzzled the top of her head softly. Kissing strands of her damp hair.

Aemond chuckled. “I hope so too. I miss being the one humping your arse, valzȳrys.” He replied with a mischievous grin on his lips.

Translations:

Zaldrīzos – little dragon

Lēkianna – nephew (son of my elder brother)

valzȳrys - husband

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[glennussy]

so starved for content I might go to the real hellsite (wattpad)

[realangelahernandez]

I’m so sad… time for an x reader fan fiction

[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.

[hauntedfictionland]

You're serving cunt? There's a war going on and you're serving cunt?

Gif: @hoosbandewan, @peachysunrize

[moonlight-joy]

Whispers of Fire

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: You are a healer with Valyrian roots, summoned to Dragonstone to tend to Daemon after a battle. Your forbidden past with him resurfaces when you realize that he still carries a dragon’s flame for you, even as he fights to stay loyal to Rhaenyra.

Pairing: Reader/Daemon Targaryen

The summons to Dragonstone arrived just after dawn. You had barely finished tending to a village boy’s fever when the raven’s sharp talons scraped across your windowsill. The parchment was sealed with the sigil of House Targaryen, its weight pressing heavily in your hands.

Prince Daemon Targaryen requires your presence.

You read the words over and over, your heart pounding like dragon wings against your ribs. It had been years since you last saw him—years since you left King’s Landing behind, escaping the whispers and the shame. You thought you had buried the past in the ashes of your old life. Yet here you were, summoned back to the man who once set your soul ablaze.

Daemon. Your dragon. Your ruin.

The journey to Dragonstone was quiet, the sea mist clinging to your skin as the castle loomed ahead, dark and imposing. By the time you reached the keep, night had fallen, casting long shadows across the stone halls. You were led to a chamber lit by flickering torches, the scent of fire and salt thick in the air.

And there he was.

Daemon sat near the hearth, a goblet of wine in his hand, his silver hair tousled and his tunic stained with blood. His violet eyes flicked up as you entered, narrowing with recognition. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the past hanging between you like a specter.

“You haven’t changed,” he said at last, his voice low and rough. “Still stubborn as ever.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “And you’re still reckless,” you replied, your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. “Some things never change.”

His lips quirked into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. “Like you and me?”

The words hung in the air, laden with unspoken memories. You shook your head, stepping closer to examine the gash on his arm. “You shouldn’t be drinking,” you said, your healer’s instincts taking over. “It’ll slow the healing.”

Daemon chuckled, a dark, bitter sound. “I’ve survived worse.”

“And you’ll keep surviving if you listen to me.”

Your fingers brushed his skin as you cleaned the wound, and he tensed beneath your touch. The silence stretched between you, heavy with everything left unsaid.

“Why did you leave?” he asked suddenly, his voice quieter now. “You never gave me a reason.”

You stilled, your heart aching at the rawness in his tone. “Because I had to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You set down the cloth, meeting his gaze once more. “And what answer would have satisfied you, Daemon? That I couldn’t bear to be your secret any longer? That I knew I would never be more than your fleeting desire?”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you saw the fire in his eyes—the same fire that had drawn you to him all those years ago.

“You were never a secret to me,” he said softly. “You were my everything.”

Your breath caught, the confession striking you like a blade. “And yet you married her.”

“Duty,” he whispered. “It was always duty.”

You stepped back, shaking your head. “And what am I, then? A distraction from your duty?”

Daemon rose from his chair, closing the distance between you in two swift steps. His hand cupped your cheek, his touch both familiar and foreign. “You were never a distraction. You were the only thing that ever felt real.”

The air between you crackled with tension, the years of separation melting away as desire flared to life once more. You knew you should pull away—that you should walk out of the room and never look back. But you couldn’t. Not when he looked at you like that, as though you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

“Daemon…” you whispered, your resolve crumbling.

His lips crashed against yours, the kiss searing and desperate. It was a kiss filled with longing, anger, and regret—a kiss that spoke of all the years you had lost. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as his arms wrapped around you, holding you as though he feared you might vanish again.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. “Say it,” he murmured. “Tell me you still feel it.”

Your heart thundered in your chest, every part of you screaming the truth. “I never stopped.”

The room blurred around you as Daemon lifted you into his arms, carrying you to the bed. The weight of his body pressed against yours, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. His hands were rough and calloused, yet they touched you with reverence, as though he were rediscovering something sacred.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your skin, his voice a plea and a promise. “You’ve always been mine.”

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your fingers tracing the scars on his chest. “No matter how much we try to deny it.”

His mouth found yours again, the kiss slower this time—deeper, more deliberate. He tasted of wine and smoke, a reminder of the man you had once loved and the dragon he had become.

Clothes fell away, forgotten on the floor as your bodies pressed together, skin against skin. Daemon’s touch was both familiar and foreign, each caress reigniting the fire that had never truly faded.

As he moved within you, the world faded away, leaving only the two of you—two souls bound by fire and fate.

Afterward, you lay tangled together, the weight of reality slowly settling back over you. Daemon traced lazy circles on your skin, his expression softer than you had ever seen it.

“What happens now?” you asked quietly, your voice laced with uncertainty.

He sighed, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We figure it out. Together.”

“And her?” you whispered, the unspoken name hanging between you.

Daemon’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Rhaenyra is my queen. But you… you’re my heart.”

Tears pricked at your eyes as you cupped his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Then don’t let me go again.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice fierce with conviction. “I swear it.”

In that moment, you knew that no matter the cost, you and Daemon would always be bound by the flames of your past. And as long as there was fire, there was hope.

The whispers of fire between you would never fade.

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[tootiredtobenice]

*being obsessed with fictional blonde psychopaths is a crime*

me:

[novaursa]

Good evening love

I was thinking about that last night!

When Daemon and Rhaenyra goes to brothel they sleep together and obviously she’s pregnant and coz it’s just before her wedding (we will says it just before) everyone thing it’s Leanor.

She gave birth to a little girl all Targaryen looks. They’re was always some rumors but since she looks like every targ it’s easier for her. Harwin played dad role for her and she’s really protective of her brother.

more time passed and everyone can clearly see that she looked exactly like daemon physically and mentally.

And it’s finally during the funeral of her aunt, Daemon see her and he understand that she is his. She’s everything he want and have a special bound with her (first child, heir of the throne, powerful dragon)

Fire in Her Veins

- Summary: During Laena’s funeral, Daemon recognizes you as his own blood. 

- Pairing: (daughter) targ!reader/(father) Daemon Targaryen (platonic)

- Note: The reader is the firstborn child and only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. The reader is also bonded to Vermithor.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sea air on Driftmark is filled with salt and sorrow, the crashing waves of the Narrow Sea providing a mournful backdrop to the solemn gathering. You stand with your brothers on the stone cliffs of the island, your hands clasped tightly together in front of you as the funeral procession moves solemnly forward. Lady Laena’s casket is adorned with pearls and driftwood, her body wrapped in the traditional Velaryon colors, and you can feel the weight of your family’s grief pressing heavily upon your shoulders.

The mood is somber, the sky above gray and heavy, as if even the gods mourn the loss of Laena Velaryon. The Velaryon banners flap in the wind, and from where you stand, you see the faces of the royal family—Alicent and her children, all clustered together, keeping their distance from you and your brothers. Their green dresses stand out like bright flames against the dark ocean and black mourning attire. 

You feel a familiar pang of protectiveness as you glance toward your brothers, who are standing just to your right, their small faces grim and pale. You notice how Jacaerys keeps his head down, avoiding the stern gazes from across the gathering. You recognize the unspoken tension between the two halves of the family, an invisible line that divides you all.

Behind you, you hear the murmurs of the court, soft whispers that seem to follow you wherever you go. They speak of many things—the death of Lady Laena, the grief of her husband Daemon, and the unspoken truth that seems to hang in the air around you. The truth of who you are. 

"She looks more like him every day," you overhear a noblewoman whisper, though she thinks she is being quiet enough to go unnoticed.

And you know who they mean. Not Laenor Velaryon, who raised you as his own. Not Harwin Strong, who shielded you when you were small, his fierce protectiveness marking him as a father figure in your life. But Daemon.

Your eyes, so like his—stormy, burning with fire—scan the crowd until they land on him.

Daemon Targaryen stands just beyond the gathering of mourners, his face half-hidden beneath his hood, his silver hair blowing in the wind. There is something wild about him, something untamed, as though he belongs to the sea and the sky more than he belongs to the earth. He looks broken today, mourning his wife, but in his eyes there is a flicker of something as he catches your gaze—recognition, perhaps.

Your heart beats harder, and you lift your chin, a Targaryen through and through. You are not afraid to meet his gaze. In fact, there’s something in you that draws you closer to him, though your feet remain rooted to the ground.

Daemon's eyes narrow, the brief glint of recognition becoming a full realization. His mouth parts slightly as if he is going to speak, but no words come out. You see the flicker of memory in his gaze, a moment that stretches back to the night you were conceived—the night Rhaenyra escaped into the shadows of King's Landing, into his arms, if only for a single stolen moment.

The likeness between the two of you is undeniable, your shared features as plain as day to anyone who cared to look closely. Your high cheekbones, the curve of your lips, the storm in your gaze. And there is something more than just the physical—an energy, a fierceness that burns in you as much as it does in him.

"Y/N," Daemon murmurs your name under his breath as he steps forward, moving as though drawn to you by some unseen force.

You do not step back. You hold your ground, standing taller, your spine straight. You are not the little girl who needed protection anymore. You are Rhaenyra’s daughter, the rider of Vermithor, a dragon like no other. 

Your brothers shift uncomfortably beside you as Daemon approaches, and you gently place a hand on Jacaerys’ shoulder, a silent reassurance that you will protect them. They are yours, just as much as you are theirs, and no one, not even Daemon, can change that.

“Do you remember me?” Daemon’s voice is low, so low that only you can hear it. His eyes never leave yours.

Your lips part, but words fail you for a moment. You do remember him through your memory as he was a ghost—and the stories your mother told you, the truths she revealed as you grew older. You remember the fire that courses through your veins, the unyielding bond with your dragon, the instincts that set you apart. It all comes from him.

"How could I not?" you reply, your voice steady, even though inside you feel like a storm is brewing.

Daemon’s lips twitch, but it’s not a smile—it’s something darker, something more conflicted. He glances toward your mother, Rhaenyra, who stands a little ways off, her eyes firmly fixed on Laena’s casket. There is a tension between them as well, a history that lingers in the air, unspoken but understood.

“You look like her,” Daemon says quietly, but his eyes say otherwise. He knows you look like him. 

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. You have always heard the whispers, the stories, but standing before him now, there is something more intimate in the way he observes you. He is seeing himself in you, recognizing the dragon fire in your blood, the legacy of your shared heritage.

“I look like myself,” you correct, your tone sharper now. “I am my mother’s daughter.”

“And mine,” Daemon replies, his voice a murmur carried by the wind.

You hold his gaze, your heart thudding in your chest, but you do not back down. For years, you had wondered what it would be like to stand face to face with the man whose blood flows in your veins. Now that you are here, you find that you do not need his acknowledgment. You do not need his approval.

You are who you are, no matter who claims you.

"I didn’t need you before," you say, your voice low but firm. "I don’t need you now."

The wind blows harder, carrying your words with it, and Daemon stares at you for a long moment before he nods, almost imperceptibly. There is something in his eyes now—perhaps regret, perhaps something else entirely.

"You are strong," he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. "That much is clear."

You nod, not offering him anything more, and you turn away, your brothers following you as you lead them away from the cliff’s edge and back toward the safety of your family. The tension in your shoulders slowly fades as you walk away from Daemon, though you can still feel his eyes on your back, watching you as you go.

As the sea crashes against the rocks below, you feel a sense of finality, but also a strange kind of peace. You are your mother’s daughter. You are bonded to a dragon as mighty as Vermithor. You do not need anyone to tell you who you are.

And yet, you cannot help but wonder what it might mean to carry the fire of both Rhaenyra and Daemon, to have the blood of two dragons raging inside of you.

[princessbellecerise]

Happily Ever After

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

summary | How the Yandere!HOTD characters would react after being told by your father that they cannot marry you

warnings | Smut, mentions of pregnancy, yandere behavior, public sex, violence, mentions of death and sword fights

this fic is eighteen plus. minors please do not enter

divider by @princessbellecerise

Jacaerys Velaryon

Prince Jacaerys grows desperate upon being told he cannot marry you

The usual level-headed and reasonable Prince that people are used to seeing quickly goes out of the window and is replaced by a man desperate to do anything to have you

Not having you by his side was not part of his plan, and it’s simply not an option

Jace absolutely refuses to have anyone else as his partner, and he’ll be damned if you marry anyone but him

After being told no by your father, Jace begins to spiral

Anyone can see that the Prince is clearly not happy, and his behavior starts to become panicked and irrational

Rhaenyra tells him to let it go; to let you go but she doesn’t understand. How can Jace let you go when you’re everything he’s ever wanted?

He tells, no begs your father to reconsider, tells him that he can’t imagine spending his life with anyone else but you

Jace tries to get him to see just how in love the two of are, but unfortunately your father still tells him no. And it’s nothing against Jace, he reassures the prince, but it’s just that—much to everyone’s surprise—your father has already made arrangements to betroth you to someone else

You of course have absolutely no knowledge of this, and you’re stunned when your father apologizes to Jace but it’s still a big, fat no

He sends you both away and tells you not to ask again because everything is final. And even when you burst into tears, begging your mother to not let him do this, your father doesn’t budge

“This alliance is vital for our House, Y/N. I’m sorry, but you will not be marrying the Prince.”

That night, you go to bed absolutely devastated and of course, you want nothing more than for Jace to comfort you. You wish to sneak out and go to his chambers like you normally do, but your father is smarter than you anticipated

As if he knew exactly what you intended to do, he asks Rhaenyra to place a royal guard at your door

No one is allowed in and no one is allowed out, which makes your plan of seeing Jace impossible

You beg and you plead, but the guard does not budge. He simply tells you go back to bed and alas, you do not see Jacaerys that night. Or any night after that

It seems that your father is intentionally keeping you away from the prince, whisking you away every time he tries to approach or arranging your schedule so that you do not run into him

Additionally, there seems to be a guard present for every little thing you do, so sneaking away isn’t an option

If you do so happen to even see Jace, it’s only through fleeting glances and the lack of contact begins to drive you both insane

You can’t stand being away from one another and time is running out. The only reason your family is in King’s Landing is because your father was there for business, but soon he will be finished and you’ll have to go back to your homeland. Without Jace, to marry someone else

The sheer thought of it gives you anxiety, but you’ve exhausted your pleas and by now you know that your father won’t listen

There’s nothing you or Jace can do to change his mind—or at least, that’s what you think

Two days before you’re supposed to leave though, a sudden knock on the door shocks you. When you open it, you’re expecting it to be one of your family members, but nothing—absolutely nothing—prepares you to see Jace standing on the other side; the guard knocked out, Jace’s fist bloody, and a wild look in his brown eyes

When you ask him what the hell happened, Jace responds by telling you that he can’t live without you, and that he was willing to do whatever it took to make you his

He couldn’t let you leave without doing something, and so that night, the prince takes you in every position that he can think of. Missionary, doggy style, against the wall, on the balcony

Anything to breed your pretty little cunt, anything to make sure that his seed takes

Jace hates it, he hates breaking the rules and as heir he knows what he’s doing is wrong

He knows that impregnating you while not being married could potential ruin him, you, and his mother. He knows how the greens would react to a bastard having a bastard, but he’s so afraid of losing you that he doesn’t care

Jace risks everything that night just to make sure that you stay by his side; and it works

A few days later, you still end up leaving with your family but on the journey back home you pray to the Gods that your plan works

You pray that Jacaerys’ seed takes root in your womb and to your utter excitement, you prayers come true

A few short weeks after returning home, you notice that your moon blood hasn’t come and you start to get sick nearly every morning

You’re barely well enough to attend any meetings with your so-called ‘betrothed,’ and it doesn’t take long for someone to catch onto your symptoms

When your maids discover what’s going on, they immediately tell your mother, who in turn tells your furious father

When you finally break the news, you swear that you had never seen him get so angry before. Had your mother not been holding him back, you were sure that he would’ve strangled you where you stood

Alas though, as much as he wanted to wring your neck he knew that harming the future Queen of Westeros would not be a wise decision

After all, there were no doubts about who the father of your unborn child was, and as soon as the news broke your father had furiously written to Rhaenyra and informed her of the situation

As soon you arrived in King’s Landing, you were all but thrown into a wedding gown, modified to fit over your stomach of course

But either way, you and Jace get exactly what you want—the opportunity to spend forever together, and six moons later, a healthy, chunky baby that just so happens to be born three moons sooner than anyone expected

Aegon Targaryen

Aegon is angry when your father tells him no

And it’s not just because of the rejection, it’s also because he knows—Aegon knows that the only reason he says no is because your father doesn’t think he’s good enough for you

In fact, your father flat-out tells him this, and to make things even worse, your father declares that you’ll marry his brother instead—the responsible, honorable Aemond

Like hell Aegon would ever let that happen

You are the one thing Aegon has that Aemond doesn’t. Someone to love and genuinely care for him, and Aegon isn’t going to let that go so easily

He has half a mind to draw his sword and kill your father on the spot for even suggesting such a vile idea, but you beg him not to. Despite heavily disagreeing with your father’s decision, you tell Aegon that there’s other ways to get him to change his mind that doesn’t involve bloodshed

Surprisingly, Aegon listens to you but you should’ve known it was only because he had already thought of something worse

You didn’t know it, but when Aegon lures you into his chambers the next day, he’s come up with a plan

He knows exactly how to get your father to change his mind, and his plan starts the moment he has you naked

Unfortunately, it’s not the first time you and Aegon have fucked so bedsheets are no use to him. No, your lover has to get a bit more creative than that

Somehow, Aegon convinces you to try something new and you end up bent over the Prince’s balcony as he fucks you from behind, his cock driving in and out of your slick cunt

It’s the middle of the day and what you’re doing is beyond risky, not only because you’re not married, but also because literally anyone could look up and see the two of you

You see, the Prince’s balcony just so happened to overlook the training yard, and though it was empty at the moment, Aegon knew exactly when it got crowded

All he had to do was wait for his chance, fucking you so good that you didn’t even grasp the situation

You were none the wiser as to what was happening, eyes closed as you basked in the pleasure. You moaned his name and clenched around his cock, feeling a familiar pinch in your stomach

Just as you reached your peak, you began to hear shouting from below

Startled gasps and a few screams had your eyes flying open, Aegon smirking as you caught the attention of at least twenty people—one of whom was your father

He stood, horrified as the prince locked eyes with him. Seemingly taunting him as he rutted into you, moaning and still fucking you against the railing

Aegon swore that he had never came so hard in his life—expect maybe on your wedding night less two days later, the memory of your father’s face and the satisfaction of getting what he wanted fueling what he calls, “The best fuck of his goddamn life.”

Daemon Targaryen

Daemon is amused upon being told no

He’s amused and it’s because he never really asked for permission in the first place. It was more like…a courtesy warning, and he only did it because he knew you were too scared to tell your father yourself

After all, the Rouge Prince has a reputation and it’s not exactly squeaky clean. Daemon’s track record with his wives is why your father said no, but he should’ve known that no isn’t in Daemon Targaryen’s vocabulary

In fact, Daemon merely laughs in your father’s face, declaring that the two of you will be married in a fortnight, regardless of what your father says

Show up or don’t, Daemon doesn’t care—but you will be his wife

And of course, your father protests, appalled that the prince is so bold

He even goes as far as to complain to the King, but Viserys is old and weak. There’s seldom that he can do to fight Daemon anymore except threaten to exile him again, but Daemon isn’t afraid of punishment

He’ll gladly leave the hell hole that’s King’s Landing, but he makes it clear that if he does, Westeros will never see him or you again

He relays this threat to your father, and in his desperation to keep you away from the Prince, your father all but flees in the middle of the night. Making sure that no one except those loyal to your House know where he’s taking you

Despite your protests and your attempts to alert Daemon, you’re dragged on a boat and shipped off to a far away land, one where your father hopes the Prince will never find you

He even goes so far as to change your hair and make up a fake identity for you, but he was a fool to think that he could ever cross Daemon Targaryen

If the Prince wasn’t annoyed with your father before, then Daemon is most certainly furious when he learns that he’s all but kidnapped you

He sets to work on finding you almost immediately, and he swears once he does he’ll kill anyone that helped with this ridiculous scheme

He starts his search by fiercely questioning all of the guards and servants that were tending to you. And because he’s Daemon Targaryen, it doesn’t take long to get the answers he’s looking for

With one look at Caraxes, the so-called men that were loyal to your house end up folding pretty quickly. Daemon has them all but fighting each other to give up your location, though unfortunately their honesty isn’t enough to spare their lives

In his pursuit to get where you are, Daemon leaves a trail of bodies

He kills anyone that he suspects of helping your father, though his rage won’t be satisfied until he confronts the man himself

And what do you know—your father truly is a fool of a man because it turns out that he took you to Pentos. Pentos, the land where Daemon Targaryen lived for years

Why he thought that was a good idea, no one knows. Perhaps he thought that hiding you in plain sight would be enough to fool Daemon, but unfortunately the rouge Prince is much too smart for that

And due to all of the connections Daemon has in the city (and his dragon) it takes him less than a week to locate you

He finds you hiding just on the outskirts of the city, in some rundown village. You look miserable as you chat with some of the locals, hatching your own plans to escape and somehow get back to Daemon

Your father was asleep in the house that you shared, though the beat of Caraxes’ wings are enough to alert you both, your father waking up and running outside just as Daemon lands in front of you

The Prince wears a smirk of triumph as he dismounts his dragon, taking in your father’s horrified face and laughing

He enjoys the moment almost as much as he enjoys the way you immediately run to you, ignoring your father’s protests and shouts to come back

It’s obvious who you choose by the way you hang onto Daemon, hiding behind him while Caraxes roars

There’s a moment where everything seems to stand still, and Daemon drinks in his moment of victory before slowly gesturing you towards his dragon, helping you mount

As you climb onto the red beast, Daemon slipping in the saddle behind you, the last thing your father sees is the smirk that adorns Daemon’s face

Lilac eyes with with his own, and then, Prince’s lips utter a single word

“Dracarys.”

Lucerys Velaryon

Poor Luke is devastated when your father rejects his proposal

It took all he had to muster up the courage to even ask, and now he’s crushed that he won’t be able to marry the love his life

Not only that, Luke genuinely cannot see himself with anyone else. You’re it for him, and he’s determined to be with you no matter what

Call it young love or maybe just sheer stupidity, but one night Luke sneaks into your chambers and hatches a plan

He tells you that there’s a way for you to be together, a way for you to have your happy ending after all. All you have to do is come with him, and he’ll take you to a place where no one, including your father, can come between you two ever again

And that night, when you flee with the Prince on the back of Arrax, it almost feels like a fairytale. You’ve never felt more alive than you did as you watched the Red Keep disappear into the night

With your heart beating as fast as Arrax’s wings, you and Luke run away, neither of you thinking of the consequences, or caring

You’re just so happy to be together that everything else falls into the background. Caught up in your own bliss, you and Luke flee to Essos where the Prince has arranged for you to be married

Like he promised, no one is there to object or to stop you from becoming one. They’re all too busy in King’s Landing looking for you both, your mother distraught and your father wondering what happened to his youngest child

Likewise, Rhaneyra nearly collapses when she finds out that Luke is missing, but Daemon reassures her he’ll be back. He doesn’t know when, he tells her, but he has a sneaking suspicion that when he does you’ll be in tow

And what do you know—four moons go by and it turns out that Daemon was right. You and Luke return to King’s Landing after all, and upon arrival you’re greeted by your weeping mother and your

concerned father

They both have so many questions—where have you been, what happened, why did you run away?

And everyone is so focused on questioning you, so relieved that the Prince isn’t dead after all, that they almost miss the glaringly obvious bump that’s concealed behind your blue dress

Almost

You try to hide it as best as you can, but when your father pulls you in for a hug you know that he can feel it. The horrified expression he wears when he pulls away confirms this. And when you back away, placing a loving hand over your stomach and settling into Luke’s arms, that is when he also takes note of the matching Velaryon pins on your clothes

“We have something to announce,” Luke tells his mother excitedly

You both share a loving look, and Rhaneyra’s eyes are ready to pop out of her skull when Luke places a hand over your stomach and grins

“Y/N is with child.”

Aemond Targaryen

Aemond takes your father’s words as a challenge

Despite how irritated he is at being flat-out rejected, he decides not to lash out or show any emotion really

For Aemond, keeping a level head is important. It allows him to plan, to strategize like he’s always been taught and to be able to stay one step ahead

He supposes he’s just like his grandfather in a way, and it’s obvious that your father underestimates just how far Aemond is willing to go for you

The first man that your father agrees to betroth you to only lasts about five minutes in the duel Aemond challenges him to

The second fairs a little better, though not by much. By the third, your father is furious and it’s become a game for Aemond to see how fast his opponent can last before they ultimately meet their maker

He wears a smirk the entire time he’s fighting, easily ducking and dodging and occasionally striking which wounds the man heavily. It’s obvious that he’s going to win, again, and the sobs and screams from the Lord’s family are hard to miss

They sit next to you in the crowd that surrounds him and Aemond, and every time Aemond lands a blow your father flinches, muttering under his breath how it was a mistake to ever let you meet that man

You on the other are ecstatic, occasionally locking eyes with Aemond and sending him encouraging smiles

You pray after each duel that your father will finally change his mind and allow you to marry Aemond, but it’s not until after the fourth duel does he agree

After a particularly bloody and grueling fight, there are no more proposals. Every Lord that had ever considered asking for your hand is now too terrified to even speak to you, and with the lack of marriage offers your father has no choice but to admit defeat

He agrees to marry you to Aemond, and of course, Aemond feels victorious. He smugly thanks your father for his reconsideration, shaking his hand and promising that he won’t be regretting his decision

[therogueflame]

The Diplomat

Hi friends,

Since I'm a Daemon girly through and through and horny as fuck, I imagined what it would be like to have terrible, angry sex with Daemon. None of the fics were hitting the spot, so I wrote one instead. There are two parts to this story, but the second part can be read as a standalone if you squint a little. Here is part one, enjoy!

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Summary: Your marriage to Daemon has been marked by tempers and tempests, but when he proposes setting the Riverlands ablaze, the need for reason has never been more urgent.

WC: 9.4k

Warnings: 18+, just fluff and a lil suggestiveness, no use of y/n, light descriptions of fem!reader, kind of a little jumping around (let me know if i put too many sword dividers in)

Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

MDNI!!!

The small council chamber was thick with unease. Though the warm spring breeze drifted through the high windows, stirring the black banners bearing the sigil of House Targaryen, it did little to lighten the atmosphere. The men gathered around the long oak table wore the weight of the discussion in their stiff shoulders and furrowed brows.

Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, spoke first, his voice measured but edged with authority. “The Blackwoods insist their knight acted in self-defense. He claims the Bracken lord drew steel first and would have struck him down had he not defended himself.”

Across the table, Lord Lyman Beesbury adjusted his spectacles, his aged face lined with worry. “Regardless of intent, a Bracken heir lies dead. His father demands retribution, and he’s mustered men to see it done. This feud risks spilling over into open conflict, my lords.”

“It has always been this way between the Brackens and Blackwoods,” chimed in Lord Tyland Lannister, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. He leaned back in his chair with an air of indifference. “Their hatred for one another is practically tradition. Why should the crown involve itself in their petty quarrels?”

“Because they are sworn to the crown,” Otto replied sharply, his gaze narrowing. “Their lands and titles are held in service to the Iron Throne. If we do not intervene, their conflict will destabilize the Riverlands and undermine royal authority.”

Daemon scoffed loudly, drawing every gaze in the room. He lounged in his chair, though his posture was more calculated than relaxed. His dark eyes glittered with impatience. “Destabilize? Spare me your dramatics, Otto. This is nothing more than two dogs fighting over scraps. Let them tire themselves out.”

“And when those scraps include burnt villages and dead smallfolk?” Otto countered, his tone clipped. “You would have the crown turn a blind eye while the Riverlands descend into chaos?”

Daemon leaned forward then, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “I would have the crown remind them who they answer to. Send riders, summon their lords to kneel before the throne. If they refuse, then you send swords.”

Lord Beesbury sputtered, his hand trembling slightly as he adjusted his quill. “Violence is hardly the answer, my prince. Surely, diplomacy—”

“Diplomacy has done nothing but embolden them,” Daemon snapped, cutting him off. “Every year, it’s the same. Bracken blames Blackwood, Blackwood blames Bracken. It’s a waste of the crown’s time and patience. They need to be reminded that their squabbles end where the Iron Throne begins.”

“You speak of violence as though it’s the only solution,” Tyland interjected smoothly. “The Riverlands are already tense. A heavy hand might unite them—against us.”

Viserys, who had remained silent until now, raised a hand, commanding the room’s attention. His weary expression spoke of a man burdened by the crown he wore. “Enough,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “This matter is not so easily solved. Both houses have their grievances, and both claim to act in the right. I will need time to consider our response.”

Daemon’s chair scraped against the stone floor as he rose, his movements sharp with irritation. “While you consider, brother, they will act. And your indecision will be seen as weakness.”

Viserys’s gaze hardened. “Do not mistake thoughtfulness for weakness, Daemon.”

“Call it what you will,” Daemon muttered, turning on his heel and striding from the chamber, his dark cloak billowing behind him. The remaining lords exchanged wary glances but said nothing, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.

Viserys sighed heavily, the sound of a man long accustomed to the burdens of the throne. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair as he watched the doors swing closed behind Daemon’s retreating figure. For a moment, the chamber was silent, save for the distant cries of gulls from Blackwater Bay and the faint murmur of activity in the Red Keep below.

“This council is concluded,” Viserys said at last, his voice quieter now, the fight drained from it. He rose from his chair, and the lords followed suit, their expressions a mix of relief and unease.

“Your Grace,” Otto began, stepping forward as the rest of the council prepared to file out. His tone was deferential, but the gleam in his eye betrayed his eagerness to press his point. “Might I suggest—”

“Not now, Otto,” Viserys interrupted, waving him off. “I’ve heard enough for today.”

The Hand of the King inclined his head, though the tightening of his lips spoke volumes about his displeasure. One by one, the council members departed, their whispered conversations trailing behind them like smoke.

Viserys lingered for a moment after the chamber was empty. The answers would come, but not today. 

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

Daemon stormed through the halls of the Red Keep, his boots striking the stone floor with forceful purpose. Servants and courtiers scattered at the sight of him, their eyes darting to the crimson and black of his cloak, the Targaryen sigil embroidered in rich gold on his tunic.

The prince’s mind churned with frustration, the council’s deliberations replaying in his head like a wound he couldn’t stop picking at. Otto’s pompous tone, Tyland’s smug indifference, Viserys’s endless dithering—all of it grated against his pride.

By the time he reached the chambers he shared with you, the heat of his temper had reached its peak. He flung the doors open with enough force to make them shudder against the stone walls.

Inside, the room was a picture of calm. Sunlight filtered through the open windows, casting soft, golden light across the chamber. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, mingling with the sweet warmth of spring.

You sat near the hearth, cradling your young son in your arms. His small fingers grasped at a strand of your hair, his innocent laughter filling the room as you smiled down at him. The sight was a balm to any who might witness it—anyone but Daemon in his current state.

The nursemaid, standing a few paces away, froze at the sight of the prince’s thunderous expression. Her hands faltered mid-curtsy, and she looked to you for guidance, her face pale.

“Out,” Daemon barked, his voice sharp enough to cut. He didn’t bother looking at her as he strode into the room, his dark eyes locked on you.

The nursemaid hesitated for only a moment before gathering the child in her arms and retreating swiftly, her footsteps nearly silent against the rush of Daemon’s presence.

When the door closed behind her, Daemon’s pacing began, each step a sharp, deliberate motion that mirrored the storm in his mind. His hands flexed at his sides, as though longing to grip the hilt of Dark Sister and channel his anger into something tangible.

“This is what passes for leadership now,” he began, his voice low but vibrating with suppressed rage. “My brother, the king, sitting in that gods-damned chair, twiddling his thumbs while the Riverlands teeter on the edge of chaos!”

You set your book aside, folding your hands in your lap as you watched him. You had seen Daemon in this mood before, his temper a force of nature that could not be stopped but only weathered. It was better to let him speak, to let the storm rage until it spent itself.

“I told them what needed to be done,” he continued, his pacing growing faster. “Ride out, demand their fealty, remind them who they serve. But no—Viserys would rather sit and think.” His lip curled as he spat the word, as though it were a curse.

Daemon’s pacing was relentless, his steps carving invisible lines into the chamber floor. His voice rose as he continued, his words dripping with scorn. “Otto’s solution? Send letters. As if words written on parchment will mend generations of blood feuds! And Tyland—he all but shrugged! ‘Let them fight it out,’ he said, as though it’s his lands that will burn when the fighting starts. Useless, the lot of them.”

He paused, finally turning to you, his dark eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and expectation. “And my brother,” he growled, his hands clenching into fists. “The great Viserys, King of the Seven Kingdoms, paralyzed by his own fear of making the wrong choice. He’ll sit there until it’s too late, as he always does, and then expect me to clean up his mess.”

You met his gaze calmly, though you could feel the weight of his fury pressing against you like a tangible force. “Daemon,” you said gently, your tone an attempt to temper the flames threatening to consume him.

But he wasn’t ready to be calmed. “No,” he snapped, cutting you off before you could say more. “Don’t tell me to let it go. You weren’t there. You didn’t see the way they looked at me—like I was some brash fool for speaking sense. They undermine me at every turn, and Viserys allows it!”

His voice echoed off the walls, and for a moment, the room fell silent. The distant sounds of the Red Keep seemed impossibly far away, muted by the tension that filled the space between you.

You rose from your seat slowly, smoothing the fabric of your gown as you crossed the room to stand before him. He watched you, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger, his jaw tight.

“I’m not telling you to let it go,” you said softly, placing a hand on his chest. His tunic was warm beneath your palm, the steady thrum of his heartbeat betraying the tempest within. “I’m asking you to save it for when it matters most. You’ll have your chance to be heard again. But not if you burn yourself out now.”

For a moment, Daemon said nothing. His eyes searched yours, his expression still tight with frustration, but the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. He placed a hand over yours, his fingers curling around it as if anchoring himself.

“They don’t listen,” he muttered, though the edge in his voice had dulled. “Not to me. Not unless I force them to.”

“Then make them listen,” you replied, your tone firm but kind. “But not like this. Not in anger.”

His lips twisted into a smirk, though it lacked its usual sharpness. “You think you know me so well,” he said, his voice softer now, almost teasing.

“I do,” you replied simply, holding his gaze.

Daemon sighed, the last of his anger bleeding away as he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was strong, almost possessive, as if you were the only thing grounding him in that moment.

“You’re too clever for your own good,” he murmured into your hair.

“And you’re too stubborn for yours,” you replied, earning a low chuckle from him.

When he pulled back, his expression was lighter, though the frustration lingered in his eyes. “The feast,” you said gently, steering him toward a different focus. “Rhaenyra’s wedding is in a few days. You should be thinking about that, not letting the council get under your skin.”

Daemon snorted, but there was no heat behind it. “Unity,” he muttered, echoing words he had likely heard too many times already. “A grand spectacle to pretend the realm isn’t fracturing beneath us.”

You arched a brow. “Then let them believe otherwise. Isn’t that the game of thrones you so enjoy?”

He let out a short laugh, the sound both bitter and amused. “You’ve been spending too much time around me.”

You smiled, brushing a hand along his arm. “Perhaps.”

Daemon released a long breath, the tension in his shoulders finally softening as he stepped away, his gaze drifting toward the open window. The warm spring breeze ruffled his silver hair, and for a moment, he looked less like the fearsome rogue prince and more like the restless man you had come to know so intimately.

“The wedding feast,” he said, the words tasting foreign on his tongue. “A spectacle of union for a realm that can’t even decide which house to favor in a petty feud.”

You stepped closer, your tone light yet pointed. “And yet it’s not the realm’s union we’re celebrating, is it? It’s Rhaenyra’s.”

Daemon turned back to you, his expression softening further at the mention of his niece. His lips quirked into a faint smirk, and he tilted his head. “I’ll admit, the girl’s managed to surprise me. Agreeing to wed Laenor Velaryon of all people. I thought she’d have burnt the keep to ashes before conceding.”

You chuckled softly, reaching for his hand. “Perhaps she learned from someone that rebellion isn’t always about fire and blood. Sometimes, it’s about choosing when to bend, so you can strike harder later.”

He raised a brow at that, his smirk deepening. “If you’re insinuating that I’ve taught her anything resembling restraint, I fear you’ve misunderstood me, my lady.”

“Not restraint,” you countered, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “Strategy. She’s clever, your niece. As clever as you are, and just as stubborn.”

Daemon’s gaze softened further, and he let out a quiet laugh. “She’ll need that stubbornness to endure what’s ahead. The Velaryons are not without their pride.”

“And neither are the Targaryens,” you replied with a small smile. “It’s fitting, really—a match to unite two ancient houses and bolster the realm’s strength. A necessary union, no matter how imperfect it may seem.”

He sighed, his free hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “A necessary union,” he echoed. “And yet, Viserys sees it as more than that. He thinks it’ll heal old wounds and inspire loyalty. As if a feast and a wedding can undo years of division.”

“Maybe it can’t,” you admitted, your voice softening. “But it can remind people of what’s worth fighting for—family, unity, the realm’s future. Even if it’s only for a night.”

Daemon looked at you then, his expression unreadable. But there was a warmth in his gaze, one that seemed to melt away the last of his earlier frustration. He pulled you closer, his hands settling on your waist.

“You have a way of making everything seem simpler,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Even when it’s not.”

“It’s a gift,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Now, will you let me dress you in something appropriate for the feast, or will I have to endure your complaints the entire evening?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Oh, you’ll endure them regardless. But yes, my dear, I’ll wear whatever ridiculous finery you deem fit. I wouldn’t want to shame you in front of the court.”

“Nonsense, perish the thought,” you said with a grin, resting your forehead against his.

For now, the storm had truly passed, and in its wake, a fragile peace remained. The feast loomed ahead, a symbol of hope for some and an illusion for others. But in this moment, there was only you and Daemon, and that was enough.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The grand hall of the Red Keep was resplendent, its vaulted ceilings adorned with streaming banners bearing the sigils of the realm’s great houses. Flickering torchlight and the warm glow of chandeliers lit the space, casting dancing shadows over the lavish feast laid upon long trestle tables. The scent of roasted meats, fresh-baked bread, and spiced wine filled the air, mingling with the murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

Rhaenyra sat at the head table beside her new husband, Laenor Velaryon, her expression poised but faintly distant, as though she carried the weight of the realm’s gaze with practiced indifference. Her silver hair was woven with pearls, and her gown shimmered with dragonfire embroidery, every inch the picture of Targaryen majesty.

The lords and ladies of the realm had gathered in full force, a sea of vibrant colors and glittering jewels, their movements a choreographed dance of subtle rivalries and unspoken alliances. Among them sat the Brackens and Blackwoods, carefully separated and positioned at opposite ends of the hall. Their faces were schooled into neutrality, their hands busy with goblets of wine or trencher bread, but the tension between the two houses was palpable to those who knew where to look.

You were seated at Daemon’s side at a table reserved for the royal family, a position that afforded you a perfect view of the festivities—and the undercurrents of unease beneath them. Daemon was dressed impeccably in dark crimson and black, his usual defiance tempered into a sharp elegance that suited him well. His expression was unreadable as he sipped his wine, but you could see the way his gaze flickered over the room, cataloging every interaction, every veiled slight.

“They’ve managed not to kill each other—for now,” Daemon murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear. His eyes flicked toward the Brackens and Blackwoods, a glint of amusement mingling with his sharp scrutiny.

“Give them time,” you replied dryly, reaching for your own goblet. “The wine hasn’t yet worked its magic.”

Daemon chuckled, his smirk deepening as he leaned closer. “Or its mischief.”

You arched a brow at him, though you couldn’t help but smile. “You seem far too entertained by the prospect of chaos at your niece’s wedding.”

He shrugged, his gaze shifting back to the hall. “Chaos keeps the night interesting.”

Before you could respond, a herald’s voice rang out, calling for the first dance. All eyes turned to Rhaenyra and Laenor as they rose from their seats, their movements graceful as they stepped onto the polished floor. The music began, a lively tune that seemed to ripple through the hall like a spark catching fire.

The lords and ladies soon followed, filling the floor with a swirl of color and movement. Laughter and applause echoed as couples spun and twirled, their steps weaving together in intricate patterns.

Daemon leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming idly against the table. “Are you going to make me dance, too?” he asked, his tone teasing.

You smirked, leaning closer to him. “I was going to let you off easy tonight. But if you insist…”

He groaned in mock exasperation, earning a soft laugh from you. For a moment, the tension of the evening faded, replaced by the warmth of shared humor.

But even as the festivities unfolded, you couldn’t shake the sense that the peace was fragile, a veneer that could crack at any moment. The Brackens and Blackwoods were not the only ones walking a fine line tonight, and in the shadow of the Iron Throne, every move felt like a gamble.

Daemon’s groan was followed by a mischievous grin, the kind that always made your chest tighten and your resolve weaken. “You’re insufferable,” he said, though there was no heat to his words as he extended a hand toward you.

“And you’re predictable,” you countered, placing your hand in his. His fingers wrapped around yours, firm yet careful, as he guided you from your seat.

The music shifted as you both stepped onto the dance floor, the melody lilting into a slower, more intimate tune. The crowd parted, eyes subtly following your movements as you took your place in the center of the floor with the rogue prince at your side. You could feel the weight of their attention, but you were no stranger to it.

Daemon’s hand rested lightly on your waist, his other holding yours as he began to lead you in the dance. His steps were confident, fluid, each movement purposeful yet unhurried. “They’re watching us,” he murmured, his voice low and for your ears alone.

“They always are,” you replied, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You’re hard to ignore.”

His smirk deepened, his thumb brushing against your hand. “And you,” he said, his tone softer now, “make it impossible.”

You rolled your eyes at his flattery but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. The dance brought you closer, his hand at your waist pulling you just shy of propriety, but enough to make your heart race.

The world around you seemed to fade, the music and laughter becoming a distant hum as you moved together. Daemon’s presence was magnetic, his intensity grounding yet exhilarating, as though the two of you existed in a world apart from the one where alliances were made and broken over cups of wine.

“You’re rather light on your feet for someone who pretends to loathe courtly things,” you teased, letting him spin you gently before drawing you back into his arms.

“Don’t mistake talent for affection,” he replied, though his smirk betrayed him. “I’d burn this entire hall if it meant avoiding another round of politics.”

“And yet, here you are,” you said, your tone light but pointed. “Dancing at a wedding, pretending to tolerate the people you claim to despise.”

“For you,” he said simply, his voice low and sincere in a way that made your breath hitch. “Always for you.”

For a moment, the tension of the feast melted away, replaced by the warmth of his confession. But it was fleeting, a stolen moment in a night that promised anything but peace.

As the dance came to an end, Daemon held your gaze, his hand lingering at your waist. Applause filled the hall, but you barely heard it, your focus locked on the man before you.

“You’re going to set tongues wagging,” you said softly, stepping back as decorum demanded.

“Let them wag,” he replied, his smirk returning. “They’d do it anyway.”

The spell was broken as the music shifted again, and other couples moved to fill the floor. Daemon led you back to your seat, his hand brushing against yours one last time before he turned his attention back to the feast.

The hall was alive with revelry, yet beneath the surface, you could feel the fragile balance of the evening teetering. The Brackens and Blackwoods had kept to themselves so far, but there was no denying the sharp glances exchanged across the room, nor the tension lingering like a storm on the horizon.

Daemon, of course, noticed it too. He leaned toward you, his voice low and conspiratorial. “How long do you think it’ll take before someone breaks the peace?”

You gave him a sidelong glance. “Hopefully not before dessert.”

His laughter was soft but genuine, a rare moment of levity in a night that felt like a game played on the edge of a knife.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The revelry continued unabated, the music and laughter rising to fill the cavernous hall. Goblets were refilled, plates heaped with delicacies, and the scent of roasted quail and sweet pastries hung heavy in the air. Yet, despite the vibrant atmosphere, an undercurrent of unease persisted—an unspoken tension that seemed to ripple just beneath the surface.

At opposite ends of the hall, the Brackens and Blackwoods remained in their carefully orchestrated positions. Their eyes rarely wandered toward one another, but when they did, it was with the kind of simmering disdain that no amount of protocol could conceal.

Daemon leaned lazily back in his chair, one arm draped over the back of your seat. His eyes roamed the hall, sharp and assessing despite the deceptively casual posture. He sipped his wine, his smirk growing as his gaze lingered on the Bracken table.

“They’re twitching like hounds on a short leash,” he muttered, the words meant only for you.

“You’re not helping,” you replied, though your own gaze flickered toward the Blackwoods, where a young lord’s hand gripped the stem of his goblet just a little too tightly.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of a raised voice—a sharp, mocking laugh from the Bracken side of the hall. Heads turned as Ser Amos Bracken, a stout man with a ruddy complexion, leaned back in his chair, his booming voice carrying over the din.

“Tell me, young Blackwood,” Amos said, his words dripping with condescension, “is it true your family still claims descent from the First Men? Seems a bold thing to boast when all it’s earned you is a table in the corner.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter followed, and for a moment, it seemed as though the insult might go unanswered. But then, a young Blackwood lord—tall, lean, and barely out of boyhood—rose from his seat, his face flushed with anger.

“And yet we’re here,” the Blackwood retorted, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. “Unlike your ancestors, who’d sooner kneel to any conqueror who offered them a scrap of power.”

The hall fell silent.

Daemon’s smirk widened, and he leaned closer to you, his voice a low murmur. “Here we go.”

You shot him a sharp look, but before you could reply, the tension in the hall snapped like a drawn bowstring.

Ser Amos Bracken surged to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. “You’ve got a sharp tongue for a boy who hides behind his mother’s skirts!” he barked, his meaty hand slamming down on the table.

“And you’ve got a lot of nerve for a man whose house clings to its titles like barnacles to a sinking ship!” the Blackwood shot back, stepping forward.

The two were separated by the breadth of the hall, but the air between them was charged, their mutual hatred igniting like dry kindling.

From his place at the head table, Viserys rose, his voice booming over the commotion. “Enough!” he commanded, his face flushed with the effort of asserting authority. “This is a wedding feast, not a battlefield!”

The hall quieted, though the tension lingered like smoke after a fire. The Bracken and Blackwood men glared at one another, their hands twitching near their sword hilts despite the king’s warning.

Beside you, Daemon watched with unveiled amusement, his smirk never faltering. “Viserys will tire of this soon enough,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And when he does, the real fun begins.”

You sighed, your hand reaching for your goblet. “It’s a wonder we ever manage to call ourselves united,” you muttered.

The feast continued, but the mood had shifted. The Brackens and Blackwoods returned to their seats, though their tempers simmered just beneath the surface, waiting for the slightest provocation to boil over.

And in the shadows of the great hall, as wine flowed and music played, you couldn’t help but wonder how long this fragile peace would last.

The feast dragged on long after the first sparks of conflict had settled into the deep, tense silence of uneasy truce. The Brackens and Blackwoods remained seated at opposite ends of the hall, their eyes darting sideways, but never meeting. The music played, but it seemed faint, muted by the hum of strained politeness. The air was thick with the weight of unsaid words and the knowledge that the night was not done with its drama yet.

Daemon’s hand never left your side, though he barely spoke throughout the evening. His gaze, sharp and watchful, moved across the hall with the same intensity he had shown in the small council, as if he were cataloging every movement, every slight. Yet, when he turned to you, the ever-present amusement lingered in his eyes, softened by the flicker of warmth that only you could evoke.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

Finally, the night wore on long enough that the revelers began to tire. The hall was slowly emptied of its guests, many of them still nursing their drinks, their conversations lowered to murmurs. It was only then that you and Daemon rose from the table, both of you feeling the weight of the evening—its many unspoken tensions—and the need to retreat from it all.

As you made your way through the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, your thoughts were heavy, your feet quickening to match the pace of Daemon’s long strides. The air had cooled slightly, but the heat of the feast still lingered in your chest, the pressing weight of what had transpired and what might yet come. You were both silent, the quiet of the corridors filled only with the faint sound of your footfalls.

Upon reaching your chambers, the door was barely shut before Daemon’s mouth found yours in a fierce kiss, a hungry press of lips that spoke more than words could. It was a fire that hadn’t been stoked since the tension of the council, since the weight of the evening’s events, and now, it erupted between you both, a spark turning into a blaze.

His hands were quick, unhurried but firm, as they sought the fastenings of your gown, the fabric brushing over your skin like a whisper. He pulled you closer, his breath warm against your ear, as he murmured words that had no need for meaning—just the undeniable presence of him, the demand of his touch. You responded in kind, your hands threading through his silver hair, pulling him even closer, your own lips demanding, pushing, surrendering.

The world beyond your chambers ceased to exist, only the feel of his body pressed against yours, the heat of your skin mingling in the dim light of the room. The frantic pace, the shared desperation—this was the only way to truly escape the suffocating expectations of the night, of the court, of the world that always surrounded you both.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as you moved together, your bodies in perfect sync, the world beyond the stone walls forgotten. And when it was over, when the storm had finally subsided, you lay together in the coolness of the sheets, breathing heavily, the weight of the night still lingering but now softened, shared between you.

For a moment, there was only quiet, the kind that spoke of an intimacy deeper than any words. But eventually, Daemon’s voice broke the silence, his tone low and thoughtful.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his fingers trailing lazily down your arm. “I expected you to have more to say about tonight.”

You shifted slightly, propping yourself up on one elbow as you looked at him, his silver eyes darkened by the faint candlelight, the weight of the evening still present but subdued now. “What more is there to say?” you asked, your voice soft, though a trace of the earlier tension remained in it. “It’s all a game, isn’t it? A dance between houses, between power, between… everything we can’t control.”

Daemon’s lips quirked into a faint, almost rueful smile. “Not everything is a game,” he said, his voice low, his hand coming to rest on your waist. “But sometimes it’s the only thing worth playing.”

You let out a small laugh, but it was tinged with weariness. “And we’re all just pawns.”

He turned toward you fully now, his eyes sharp but softer, the edges of his smirk fading into something more sincere. “Not pawns. We’re the ones pulling the strings, whether we admit it or not.”

You met his gaze, searching his face for any sign of doubt or calculation, but found none. For all his cynical remarks, for all his posturing, Daemon was a man who knew the weight of power—and the way it could be wielded.

And yet, there was a part of you that wondered if, beneath it all, he still feared being pulled into the same web of politics, of manipulation, of being a player rather than a kingmaker.

“I suppose we have no choice but to play,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now, more resigned. “And if we can’t win, we make sure no one else does.”

Daemon chuckled, the sound low and dark, and he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead. “That’s the spirit. And if the night’s mischief didn’t satisfy you, you can always count on me to make things interesting tomorrow.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers idly tracing patterns along his chest. “Let’s sleep first,” you said, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you. “We can fight the battles tomorrow.”

Daemon’s arms tightened around you as he kissed your hair softly. “Tomorrow, then. But for tonight, let’s leave the world outside.”

And as the flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, you closed your eyes, the weight of the night finally lifting, knowing that come the dawn, the battles would still await—but for now, you were content to simply rest beside him, the world outside a distant echo. ▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The next morning, the tension that had hung heavy over the wedding feast still clung to the air in the Red Keep. Even the rays of sunlight filtering through the high windows of the small council chamber seemed to carry an oppressive weight, as if the very castle itself was holding its breath. The room, normally filled with the dull murmur of routine affairs, now buzzed with the friction of yesterday’s simmering conflict.

Viserys sat at the head of the table, his usually placid expression marred by a faint crease between his brows. The day after Rhaenyra’s wedding feast, it seemed the wounds were still fresh, not just in the eyes of the Brackens and Blackwoods, but in the silent resentments of the council members who had grown all too accustomed to the tense dance of alliances.

Daemon sat with his usual relaxed posture, though there was no hiding the coldness that lingered in his eyes. He had never been one to mince words or tolerate the games of court, and today, it seemed, his patience was thinner than ever.

The council’s discussion was still focused on the aftermath of the previous evening’s altercation. Some spoke of ways to soothe the ruffled egos of the Brackens and Blackwoods, but it was clear no one quite knew how to do so without further escalating the situation.

Lord Mervyn, a portly noble with the tendency to speak before thinking, suggested, "Perhaps we should offer them gold—some measure of coin to settle their quarrels, a show of goodwill."

The Master of Coin, Lord Ormund, a sharp-eyed man with a wry sense of humor, laughed aloud, his voice cutting through the tension. “Gold?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “And where, pray tell, do you expect to find this coin? We are in a constant state of debt, Mervyn. Should we start selling off the castle to please the Brackens and Blackwoods?”

The room shifted uncomfortably, though Lord Mervyn, his cheeks growing redder by the second, remained silent, his suggestion now hanging in the air like a poorly timed joke.

Daemon rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Perhaps we should all just stop speaking entirely, seeing as it’s become a contest to see who can drone on the longest about the same petty squabbles.” His words were not aimed at anyone in particular, but they struck a chord in the room.

The rest of the council fell into a strained silence. Viserys sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead as if to ward off the growing headache he surely felt. “Enough,” he commanded, his voice quiet but firm. “Let us take a break for now. I will consider all your suggestions and call upon you when I have come to a decision.”

The meeting, like so many before it, ended without resolution. There were no clear answers, no easy solutions to the brewing tensions in the realm. The room emptied slowly, each member of the council filing out, their faces etched with the same frustrations.

Daemon stood quickly, brushing past his fellow lords without a glance, his movements sharp and restless. He had never been one to tolerate idle chatter, least of all in a place that made him feel like a caged animal.

With a grunt, he headed for the exit, intent on blowing off steam in the training yard. It was there that he could find his peace, if only for a moment—away from the endless plotting and bickering of the council.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The council meeting had ended in a tense, uncertain silence. Daemon’s comments had left the room heavy with discomfort, and the usual murmurs among the lords had subsided into a quiet unease. The entire realm could feel the tension as it thickened in the Red Keep, especially with the lords now speaking in hushed tones about Daemon’s latest tantrum. His temper, unchecked and untamed, was becoming too much even for his own family to ignore.

You, however, were no stranger to Daemon’s anger, and as much as it threatened to boil over, you knew something had to be done. The matter was already critical—his pride had endangered everything, and the last thing you could afford was another of his impulsive decisions damaging the realm.

You had not attended the council meeting; there was no need. You knew that the key to solving this issue would lie not in words spoken around the council table, but in private action, taken swiftly and subtly.

When the last of the councilors had left the chamber, you’d already made your way to Viserys’s solar, your mind fixed on a plan. The moment you stepped into the room, you could sense the quiet weight of the king’s exhaustion. His shoulders slumped under the weight of the crown, and there was a weariness in his eyes that had grown familiar over the years.

He turned slowly as you entered, a faint glimmer of recognition in his gaze. “So, it’s done then,” Viserys remarked, his voice low and heavy with the same tension that clung to the walls. He knew. The moment Daemon’s rage had been unleashed, it had been clear that something would need to be done, but you had taken no part in the council’s discussion.

You closed the door softly behind you, moving closer to the king. “Daemon’s actions cannot go unchecked any longer, Your Grace. The Brackens and Blackwoods have made their demands clear, and the council is growing restless. This will escalate if we don’t step in quickly.”

Viserys’s lips tightened in a frown. “And you have a solution?” he asked, though the weariness in his voice suggested he was more than ready to hear one.

You nodded, settling yourself beside him at the table. “I do. I’ve already considered it carefully.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity but no doubt. “Speak plainly, then. What do you propose?”

You hesitated for a moment before diving into the details, your voice steady and measured. “The Brackens are proud. They demand recognition, something that will soothe their wounded egos and quell their desire for vengeance. We offer them a royal boon—a land claim that will satisfy their pride and keep them from seeking bloodshed.”

Viserys listened intently, his gaze not wavering. You knew that he understood the importance of keeping the peace, especially in the wake of Daemon’s volatile temper. “And the Blackwoods?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he sought clarification.

“The Blackwoods are more about justice. They’ll demand the life of the knight who wronged them, but we can’t allow that. Instead, I will offer them exile to the Night’s Watch. It’s a compromise—justice without bloodshed.”

Viserys nodded slowly, considering the weight of your words. “And how do we prevent Daemon from knowing about this?”

You smiled softly, though there was no humor in it. “That’s where you come in, Your Grace. This needs to be seen as your decision—your action. We will stage a public reconciliation ceremony, where both the Brackens and Blackwoods will swear oaths of peace before the Iron Throne. The realm will believe it was your command. Daemon will not suspect a thing.”

Viserys stared at you for a long moment, his expression shifting as he absorbed the intricacies of your plan. You could see the internal conflict on his face—he had always strived to maintain the appearance of unity between himself and his brother, but there was no denying the mounting pressure to act swiftly. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he sighed, his shoulders drooping.

“This will anger Daemon,” he said, the words heavy with the weight of a decision he knew he would have to make. “He will not take kindly to being excluded from such an important matter.”

You nodded in agreement. “I know. But we cannot afford to let his temper ruin everything. We need to act swiftly, before the situation spirals beyond our control. The realm depends on it.”

Viserys stood slowly, walking to the window and staring out over the city below. You could see the exhaustion and the weariness of ruling in his every movement. Finally, he turned back to you, his expression resolute.

“Very well,” he said, his voice carrying the heavy authority of a king. “I will handle it. But you must understand, this may not be the last time we face such a challenge with Daemon.”

“I understand, Your Grace,” you replied quietly, your voice resolute. “But for now, we act. This will prevent any further escalation, and it will protect the realm.”

Viserys gave a small nod, a faint trace of a smile appearing on his lips as he stepped forward, his resolve hardening. “Then we proceed as you’ve outlined. You’ve made it clear that Daemon cannot know, and I’ll ensure that the public sees this as my decision, not his. It will work.”

You bowed your head slightly. “Thank you, Your Grace. This is the only way forward.”

As Viserys turned back to his window, the weight of the crown settling back on his shoulders, you knew that the plan was in motion. The Riverlands would be pacified, the Brackens and Blackwoods would be brought to heel, and Daemon would never suspect that it was you who had orchestrated it all behind his back.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The quiet hum of the Red Keep was always present in the early morning hours—footsteps echoing down long hallways, servants bustling with preparations, the distant sound of metal clashing as the guards went through their drills. But in the stillness of your chambers, there was no sign of movement save for the careful glide of your quill as it moved across the parchment. The dim light of the hearth flickered, casting shadows across the room, and the quiet whisper of ink meeting paper was the only sound you allowed yourself to hear.

The plan had been set into motion after a whispered discussion in Viserys’s solar. He had agreed, reluctantly, that action needed to be taken—but he had trusted you to carry it out. You had laid out the details of the diplomatic approach, and while it was Viserys’s seal that would adorn the letters, the intricate work, the precise wording, and the careful manipulation were all your doing. The king, though burdened by his crown, knew you were the one with the strength to handle the delicate negotiations.

You’d already sent word to the Brackens, a carefully worded letter crafted with precision. To them, you’d extended an olive branch wrapped in gold. A recognition of a contested land claim, something that would soothe their pride without pushing them too far. You had given them a reason to let go of their anger, without allowing them to feel they’d lost face.

Now, it was time to turn your attention to the Blackwoods.

You dipped your quill in ink once more, the tip gliding across the parchment. This letter was more delicate—more intricate. The Blackwoods had a deep sense of honor, and while they were willing to settle, their thirst for justice could not be ignored. You’d offered them the exile of the offending knight to the Night’s Watch, a compromise that would keep his life intact while still serving a form of justice. It would appease their pride, for their enemy would face punishment, but without the bloodshed that would only fan the flames of rebellion.

Each stroke of the quill was deliberate, forming words that sounded gentle but carried the weight of authority. You wrote as Viserys would, sealing your words in the king’s name, though it was clear to both of you that it was your own hands guiding the outcome. Viserys’s approval had been given with the understanding that the matter would be handled quietly, behind closed doors. The lords wouldn’t question the king’s actions—they would simply follow his lead, as they always did.

The letters were ready, each addressed to their respective families. You carefully rolled them, ensuring no trace of ink stained the edges, before sealing them with the king’s seal. You paused for a moment, looking at the waxen emblem, the sign of Viserys’s rule. It was a symbol of power, but it also carried the weight of everything you were trying to protect.

Ravens were summoned, and you entrusted them with the sealed letters. They would carry your carefully crafted words far from the Red Keep, bearing messages that would shape the future of the realm. And while Viserys would ultimately take credit for the decision, it was you who had orchestrated it all.

With the letters dispatched, you turned your attention to the next step of the plan: ensuring that the public reconciliation ceremony would go smoothly. But for now, you allowed yourself a rare moment of quiet. The ravens were on their way, and there was no turning back.

The small council chamber fell silent as Viserys took his seat at the head of the table, his weary eyes scanning the gathered lords. The air was thick with tension, remnants of Daemon’s outburst still hanging in the room.

“Let us be clear,” Viserys began, his voice steady but firm. “The situation with the Brackens and the Blackwoods has been resolved. There will be no bloodshed, no more open hostilities.”

Daemon, who had been sitting quietly, his expression simmering with frustration, leaned forward slightly, his voice low but sharp. “And you believe you can simply end this, without consulting me?”

Viserys’s gaze met his brother’s, unwavering. “I did not consult you, because this matter required swift and delicate action. It needed to be handled quietly, with the authority of the crown, not driven by emotion or pride.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, but Viserys continued, his voice cool. “I’ve sent a message to both houses. The Blackwoods will receive the justice they desire, but in a way that preserves peace. The Brackens, meanwhile, will be granted a significant boon—a recognition of their claim to disputed lands. A small price to pay to prevent further bloodshed.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “And what of my role in this, brother? What role do I play in this ‘delicate’ matter?”

Viserys looked at him, unflinching. “Your role, Daemon, is not to interfere. You are the Commander of the City Watch, but this was not a matter for the City Watch. It was a matter of diplomacy. Of keeping the peace.”

He paused, allowing the words to settle in the air. “The reconciliation ceremony will take place before the Iron Throne. Both the Brackens and the Blackwoods will swear oaths of peace, under my direct orders.”

Daemon opened his mouth to speak, but Viserys raised a hand, silencing him. “The matter is settled. There will be no further discussion. The lords of the realm will see this as a wise move—one that ensures peace in the Riverlands.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, his expression softening as he glanced around the room. “Now, we move on. We have more important matters to discuss. The realm cannot wait.”

The silence in the room was palpable as Daemon, his temper barely contained, stood up abruptly. His chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as he stormed out, leaving a tense stillness behind him.

Viserys turned to the remaining council members, his voice once again calm. “Let us proceed with the agenda.”

And with that, the council resumed, but the air was thick with unspoken words.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

You weren’t expecting to find yourself outside the council chambers today, but the moment you heard raised voices echoing through the halls, you knew something was amiss. You didn’t need to hear the words to understand what was happening—Daemon and Viserys were locked in yet another heated argument.

As you neared the door, you paused, quietly listening to the tension that hung thick in the air between the two brothers. You knew this wasn’t a casual disagreement. No, this was deeper, more volatile than anything that had come before. Daemon’s temper was a fire that could not easily be quenched, and Viserys’s patience had long since reached its breaking point.

“—and you’re willing to let them do this without me?” Daemon’s voice rang out, full of disbelief and fury. “You sit there in your throne and make decisions that should be mine to make!”

Viserys’s voice followed, sharper, colder. “I am the king, Daemon! Not you. And you’re not in charge of the Riverlands. You’ve made it abundantly clear that your temper will only make matters worse, and I will not let you jeopardize everything we’ve worked for.”

You couldn’t help the tightness in your chest as you slowly opened the door. You knew that Viserys had been under pressure, but hearing the raw anger in both of their voices made your heart ache.

Daemon’s eyes snapped to you as you entered, his features momentarily softening when he saw you. But it didn’t last long. His frustration was too much to hide.

“You heard all of that, didn’t you?” he growled, his words aimed not at you but at the air around him. “He undermines me, as always.”

Viserys, still seated at the council table, gave a weary sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s for the good of the realm, Daemon. Your actions, your temper... they’ve made it impossible to move forward.”

Daemon took a step toward him, eyes blazing. “And you think I haven’t sacrificed enough for this family? For you?”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on Daemon’s arm gently, though the weight of the argument still hung between the brothers.

“Daemon,” you said softly, “let’s not do this now.” Your voice was calm, but firm, a gentle anchor amidst the storm. “You can talk about this later, after you've both had time to breathe.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his eyes still locked on his brother, but his posture softened ever so slightly as your touch worked its magic. He exhaled deeply, frustration still etched in every line of his face, but he made no further move toward his brother.

Viserys looked between the two of you, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. There was a faint flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he stood, straightening his robes. “I’m done with this conversation for today,” he said coldly, and Daemon shot him one last, bitter glance before Viserys turned to leave.

As the door closed behind the king, the weight of the room seemed to lift, but Daemon’s anger still simmered beneath the surface. You could see it in his clenched fists, his furrowed brow, and the way his shoulders tensed with each breath.

You didn’t say anything at first. Instead, you gave him a moment to calm himself, knowing all too well that a conversation now would only lead to more frustration. Slowly, Daemon turned to face you, and when his eyes met yours, they were softer, though still clouded with the storm of emotion he was struggling to contain.

“You shouldn’t have heard that,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, the anger in it fading, replaced by a weariness that had settled deep within him. “It’s not for you to hear.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “I know you’re frustrated, Daemon. I don’t like seeing you like this.” You paused, your gaze steady. “But this fight... it’s not one you’re going to win. Not now.”

Daemon was quiet for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all this,” he admitted, his voice raw and vulnerable. “I don’t know how to make it stop.”

You held him a little tighter, feeling the weight of everything pressing on him. “I know. But we’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to do this alone.”

His arms tightened around you as he buried his face in your hair. For a moment, the tension seemed to lift, and all that remained was the two of you, holding on to each other in the quiet aftermath.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

A week passed since the resolution of the Bracken and Blackwood dispute, and while Daemon’s anger had simmered down to a quiet brooding, the tension in the Red Keep was palpable. The lords had spoken their piece, the council had concluded their deliberations, and the kingdom, for now, appeared to be at rest. Yet you knew better than to believe in a calm that came too easily. The peace had been achieved—quietly, subtly—without Daemon’s direct knowledge.

It had been your plan, executed with careful precision. The letters sent under the king’s seal, the meetings with the Brackens and the Blackwoods, the subtle maneuvering to avoid bloodshed—all of it was your doing. Daemon remained unaware of your role in it, and you intended to keep it that way. His temper, as volatile as ever, had quieted somewhat since the ceremony in the throne room. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the quiet between you both was fragile, and the whispers of the court only added to the unease.

The public reconciliation between the Brackens and the Blackwoods had been nothing short of a spectacle. The Iron Throne witnessed their sworn oaths of peace, pledging loyalty to the crown under Viserys’s direction. And while the ceremony had been regal and well-executed, the true work—the work done behind the scenes—remained a mystery to most.

But not to you. The weight of the success felt heavy, and you knew it would not stay secret for long. Even as you stood in the shadows of the throne room, observing the lords of the Riverlands make their pledges, you could hear the faint murmurs beginning to stir. First, it was a passing remark. A raised brow. Then, it grew louder, until it was impossible to ignore.

It was Daemon’s wife who had orchestrated it, they said. Not Viserys, not the king—Daemon’s wife. The rumors spread like wildfire. How had she managed to bring two feuding houses to the table? How had she secured the peace when all seemed lost? The whispers spoke not of Daemon’s involvement, but of your quiet influence. It was you who had orchestrated the peace—through your diplomacy, your steady resolve, and your deep understanding of the delicate balance that held the realm together.

At first, the whispers were faint, almost unnoticeable. But the longer the court simmered in its quiet post-celebration lull, the louder they became. A glance here, a sidelong comment there, as courtiers spoke behind their hands, careful not to draw too much attention. You overheard their theories—the reader of the letters, the one who had soothed the lords’ tempers, the one who had convinced the Brackens and the Blackwoods to lay down their swords.

Daemon had been busy in the training yard, his mind focused elsewhere, and so the whispers were a quiet storm that he hadn’t yet noticed. Yet, you knew it was only a matter of time before he pieced it together. For now, you kept to your silence. Your role in the peace had been deliberate. The credit, you were certain, would fall to Viserys. He was the king, after all, and it was his decision in the eyes of the realm. But it didn’t make the whispers any less insistent, nor did it quiet the growing suspicion in your heart that your husband might soon learn the truth.

You didn’t seek attention for your actions; your only goal had been the realm’s safety. But with each passing day, you could feel the weight of what you had done. Viserys had given you the freedom to act, trusting you to handle it, and you had. But now, as the court grew more talkative and the truth became less veiled, you couldn’t help but wonder: When would Daemon learn the full extent of your involvement? And what would his reaction be when he did?

The whispers only grew louder as the days wore on, echoing in the hallways and chambers, but for now, you remained tight-lipped. The peace had been secured. The rest, for the moment, didn’t matter.

part two

[paulyenvol6]

To Lose Yourself (Chapter 3)

Contains: crossing of boundaries, Daemon not taking no for an answer, angst

Wordcount: 3,317

Masterlist of this story

"Pleeeeease Alicent," she begged close to getting on her knees to show her how important this was to her.

"Sister, you're putting me in a very ugly and uncomfortable position by doing this."

Anissa formed her lips into a pout giving her her best puppy eyes that she just knew Alicent couldn't resist.

"Please. It would be so much fun and father is never going to find out."

"But what if he wants to speak with you and can't find you in the keep? He certainly doesn't need to be a genius to figure out that I might have taken you with me."

Anissa took her hands firmly putting everything in her eyes as she was determined not to give up just yet.

"He won't. He's so busy today that he simply won't have the time to check up on me. And if he can't find me he will surely assume that I went to the gardens or… the library."

Alicent rolled her eyes shaking her head.

"You in the library? He certainly will not look for you there."

"Please sister. I'm just so bored here in the castle and now I have the chance to go into the city for once and you can't deny me."

Alicent threw her head back sighing loudly hinting at the fact that she was about to break which gave her sister new hope.

"Oh seven hells, Anissa! Why do you have to drag me into this every time? You should've just asked father for his permission to go out as well."

"You know that he would've forbid it after what happened last month. And then he obviously would be even more suspicious if he suddenly can't find me. Please Alicent, just this once."

Alicent crossed her arms almost looking like she was sulking. "You're always saying this."

"It will be so much more fun and you know this."

She thoughtfully observed her sister clearly fighting with herself but then eventually dropped her shoulders.

"Fine. Alright. I'm taking you with me but I swear to the gods if father finds out you're going to take fully responsibility which I already know is not going to work because he is going to blame me but at least you will try and tell him that it was all you."

Anissa excitedly nodded restlessly shifting in her chair until Alicent broke out in laughter looking much less strict all of a sudden.

"Stop it already," she chuckled poking her sister in her side.

~~~~~~~~~~

Half an hour later the two sisters strolled around the city Anissa holding Alicent's arm tightly. She knew that at this point her sister was happy about her being with her because the day was lovely, the temperature was just right and both were in a thrilling mood.

"Look over there, Ani! Are those parrots?"

They rushed towards the sellsman watching the birds in awe not being able to keep their mouths shut.

"Woww. Do you think…," Anissa started but Alicent was quick to lift her eyebrows giving her a serious look.

"You're jesting. Father will literally kill me."

Her sister accepted her words shrugging her shoulders and so they watched the parrots a little longer before Alicent pulled her sister with her.

"We're going to the library now because you're only here because of me and you should be grateful and so we're gonna do what I want now."

Anissa commented her words with a roll of her eyes but found she had no choice but to comply and follow her although she would've loved to visit the little shops in the center of the city instead. It turned out to be a draining time for the girl sitting still on a bench between the many bookshelfs while there were all sorts of people sneaking around her. She generally had problems sitting at the same spot for a longer period but additionally being quiet? It was horrible. And yet taken by the prospect of visiting one of the taverns later in case she would be able to persuade her sister Anissa followed Alicent's order and endured the silence until she returned to her seemingly surprised by her wild sister's good behaviour.

"I'm done now. We can go."

"Thank the gods," Anissa spoke a little too loud and rushed to the door as though she couldn't wait to leave. Alicent couldn't surpress a scoff and quickly followed her outside where both exhaled loudly.

"That was exhausting," Anissa sighed closing her eyes and moving her head so the sun could shine on her face.

"You sat on a bench for an hour," Alicent giggled taking hold of her arm once more and led her towards the center of the city which made her sister glance at her full of hope.

"Where are we going?" she carefully asked trying not to make the question sound suggestive in any way.

"To the center," Alicent smirked and now Anissa jumped up and down dugging her nails into her sister's palms.

"Oh Ali, really?"

"Calm yourself," she complained though unable to hide her amusement.

"You deserve it, my dear. I don't think I have ever seen you sit still for so long. Maybe, just maybe you're finally growing up."

Anissa tripped at her words only helplessly clinging to Alicent's arm at the last moment which she commented with a scoff.

"Forget everything I have said."

~~~~~~~~~~

Later that day Anissa giggled while trying her best not to stumble over her own feet.

"Shh, sister," Alicent whispered almost dragging her with her. "We really don't want father to catch us the last second."

"Sorry," Anissa spoke equally quiet and concentrated on where she stepped.

"Do you have all your stuff? Your coins and the things you've purchased?"

The girl felt her pockets and nodded. "Yes. I think so."

"Good. Don't show them to father and if he asks you where you got it from you'll say that I bought it for you as a gift, alright?"

Anissa nodded again but disapprovingly shut her eyes. "Do you really think I'm so stupid that I would run to him and show all of this off?"

"I never know with you," Alicent whispered staring ahead of herself but jolted when she felt her sister pinching her arm.

"You idiot," she complained but Alicent slapped the back of her hands.

"Stop it. If you want to prove that you're not stupid then shut up now because we don't want to get caught."

Anissa rolled her eyes but realized that her sister was probably right so she walked by her side in silence until they stood in front of her chambers. Alicent exhaled loudly looking like a big weight had just dropped off her and squeezed her sister's hand twice.

"We did it. You will not speak to anyone about this, am I clear? No servants and no little friends of yours. If you do father will find out and we'll never do something like this again."

"So you plan on doing it again?" Anissa asked with a smug smile.

"Shut up. Maybe. Go to sleep now but first hide your purchases safely."

Her sister nodded and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek.

"Goodnight. And thank you."

Alicent finally broke into a smile as well but then was fast to turn around and rush to her own chambers.

~~~~~~~~~~

To anyone who observed Daemon he looked completely relaxed and at peace.

That was probably the case for most of his social interactions. He seemed indifferent and unreachable. Above everyone and everything. And he certainly thought this way in many situations especially when it came to the boring topics discussed in the small council meetings but tonight even the mighty rogue prince had something on his mind. There was this plan that had formed in his head for the last couple of weeks that concerned the youngest sweet daughter of Otto Hightower. He had let it stir for a while solely focussing on watching her but then after his encounter with Anissa's diary the circumstances had changed. His plan had somehow become realer and yet he hadn't been sure if he was supposed to act at first.

He wanted her so badly and he wanted to own her with every part of his body. The thought of her secretly desiring him as well had only worsened it and the past days had been tormenting for him especially when he sat on her opposite during supper. All of this had led him to this very moment because Daemon had planned to act tonight. Why, he didn't know. Perhaps it simply was a deep lust that no whore of the street of silk could satisfy but he needed her in more ways than observing her beauty across the room. He wanted to feel her tremble beneath his touch, see the lust for him in her eyes mixed with her regret and shame about her cravings.

Daemon felt his chest falling and rising quickly and he abruptly stood up. He would act now. He knew about her true feelings and as he would consider himself experienced he would be able to make her want him even more if he started to touch her. Daemon simply had to play into her yearning for him and then he would have her at his mercy, not only enjoying her pretty body but also punishing Otto Hightower for all the times that he had humiliated him.

His emotions had taken over now and blinded by passion Daemon left his room knowing exactly where he wanted to go. Anissa was probably fast asleep right now and there was no better opportunity to catch her alone with him. Fortunately for him the corridor was dark except for a few torches at the wall but no one would make him out with the hood of his cloak covering his silver hair. Nevertheless, he didn't hesitated when he stood in front of her door and quickly sneaked inside to be welcomed by darkness.

At first, he wasn't even sure whether the girl was actually lying in her bed but when he heard steady breathing he smiled to himself and approached her bed. To wake her up Daemon chose to lighten up a few candles as he didn't want the room to be completely dark anyway and once he had ignited three of the candle sticks he heard her turn around in the bed.

He observed her, then saw her blink as it seemed like she needed a moment until she realized that this wasn't a dream. Her face was drawn with surprise and Anissa instantly let out a shriek which Daemon was quick to cover with his hand on her mouth.

"Quiet," he whispered pushing her back on the bed. That was the moment when she seriously panicked and started to fight him by kicking his upper body and squirming in his grip but as he was obviously stronger and more skilled than her he managed to keep her down by her shoulders.

"Stop fighting. You don't stand a chance. Just shut up and stay still," he said and Anissa mumbled that he couldn't understand due to his hand still surpressing any sound leaving her mouth.

"I'm gonna remove my hand from your mouth but if you scream I'll put it back and keep it there for the rest of the night."

He could see her eyes widen in panic at his words but nodded. Daemon watched her precisely for any new attempt to shout for help while slowly lifting his hand from her mouth but Anissa pressed her lips together staring up to him with tears in her eyes. She was incredibly scared and intimidated and quite frankly overwhelmed with what was going on right now. She had just woken up and couldn't comprehend the surreality of the situation. She felt her bottom lip tremble while Daemon seemed content with the way she kept her mouth closed.

"Good. Now you're gonna listen to me."

He couldn't even end the first word before Anissa began to speak but fortunately she did it with a low voice.

"What are you doing, let me go. At once. Get out, you're not supposed to be in here. And let me go, seven hells, you're hurting me."

She was referring to his firm grip around her shoulder but Daemon was sure that she was definitely exaggerating because he had been careful not to squeeze her too tightly.

"Be quiet. I like you better that way."

Anissa furrowed her eyebrows close to tears as she felt his hand holding the side of her face.

"Stop it. I want you to leave now or you're gonna be in such big trouble. My father–"

"Your father is going to find out about this and I will make sure of that, sweetheart."

Anissa writhed and tried to escape from his hands but wasn't able to move an inch.

"Daemon, stop it. I mean it."

"And I mean it when I say I want you to shut up now."

She let out something that sounded like a cry but Daemon ignored it, pressing his hand on her mouth again and pushing her further down on the bed so her head was lying against the cushions.

"Let me tell you a little story, sweet girl. I haven't told it anyone else so it's truly a big honour for you. A couple of days ago I was searching your father's room for a letter I was meant to bring to him like I was his servant or something. Well, in hindsight, I don't mind because I found something very interesting. Can you imagine what it was?"

He seriously seemed to expect an answer because he apprehensively watched her with lifted eyebrows and even loosened his hand pressed on her mouth giving her the chance to speak up.

"N-No," Anissa weakly said panic flooding her system because she really couldn't guess where this story was going.

"Too bad. Well, I'm going to tell you. I found a book. A little scarlet red book that I browsed through by chance but I was very quickly on the hook."

Now the girl anxiously started to have a presumption of what he was talking about and uncomfortably shifted in an attempt to move away from him hoping that he was too busy talking to notice it. Of course he didn't and instead dragged her back.

"Ugh uh. Don't even try it. Anyway, I found this book to be very intriguing and so I spent a little time reading it and I found a very interesting page. Can you imagine what it was?"

Anissa hated him so much. He was humiliating and mocking her and she wished she could close her eyes fall asleep to find out that all of this had just been a nightmare.

"Answer me, little whore," he hissed painfully burying his fingers in her flesh on her cheek.

"N-No," she answered once again but this time Daemon gave her an evil smile.

"Oh I think you do. I think you can pretty well remember those sinful words you wrote down in there. And your shameful thoughts about someone you're supposed to despise. Is it hard, mhm? To hear your father and sister rant about a person you secretly desire? Is it hard to keep a straight face? Is it hard to live with these dark thoughts? Imagining what it would be like to get what you want?"

Anissa wanted nothing more than to get out of this situation and yet she felt her heart pounding faster listening to his husky voice only that she didn't know if it was led back to her fear or the slight warmth she felt creeping up between her legs.

"Have you ever thought about what your father would say if he read those words? If he found out that his precious little girl thinks about me when she is alone? Thinks about my touch and my hands on her body."

Gods, why did he know how to push her buttons so well? Because obviously he was right and she had thought about Daemon more times than was appropriate and in ways that the gods would not approve of. And she had punished herself for this by asking the gods for forgiveness although she had never really had a connection with the great sept of Baelor. But what she had learnt was that desires like these were shameful and so Anissa had tried to get rid of her guilty conscience by praying. Of course it hadn't worked and right now despite her air-cutting fear and anxiety Daemon did nothing to reduce her sinful cravings.

"Let me go. I don't know what you're talking about but I want you to leave."

He chuckled lowly a sound that made the hairs on her arms stand up and put a single finger under her chin adjusting her head so she couldn't avoid his intense gaze.

"I don't think you want me to leave. You know why I'm saying this? Because I saw it all written down, little one. I know that you want me and I know that you feel ashamed about it. I know that all you want is to please your daddy but you can't fight this burning desire inside of you. You want me in ways that are not fit for a noblewoman but no matter how hard you try and surpress it these thoughts come back to haunt and consume you every time."

Anissa gulped loudly very slightly pressing her thighs together feeling both flustered by his eyes that didn't leave her face for a moment and the obscenity of his words.

"Don't fight it," Daemon eventually whispered well-aware that he already had her right where he wanted her. On the verge of breaking and utterly in awe of his presence.

"You and me both know that it's true. And I can make you feel even better than in your mind. I can make you feel things that you can't imagine."

"I want you to leave, you bastard," Anissa spitted in his face eyes so small now that Daemon couldn't see the white in it.

"Now, now…," he soothed her his thumb brushing over her temple but his touch didn't have the wanted effect on her because captured by a new fear she began to fight again pushing against his chest while her legs tried to hit his center. Daemon was caught off guard for a brief moment but quickly pushed her back down enclosing his hands around her upper arms now as she seemed to fight more than he had expected.

"Shh, sweetling. You don't wanna do this. I know you don't like getting told what to do but you're smarter than this. Why don't you listen to your inner voice? Or the throbbing heat between your legs? I bet if rip your undergarments apart I'm going to find you dripping for me. In fact, why don't we find out…"

Anissa was still processing his words when Daemon's hand reached to her hips tucking at the fabric of her nightgown in order to pull it up.

"No, no, Daemon, you can't," she shrieked perhaps now realizing the urgency of the situation.

He couldn't touch her, this was… this was unspeakable, unacceptable and she couldn't allow her dizzy mind to drift off now just because his eyes did things to her.

"Let go, little one," he purred grazing her chin and then leaning down to capture her lips in a soft kiss.

His lips felt good on hers, gently nibbling at her bottom lip but this was wrong on so many levels.

All she could do was think about her father and sister who would probably disinherit and exile her if they knew that she was lying underneath Daemon Targaryen right now who was so much closer than appropriate.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@archerxnn @calmingmelody96 @aleemendoza2425-blog

[meteoramp3]

me reading at 3am knowing damn well I've got school tomorrow:

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

Aemond, Aegon, and Daemon headcanons - with Male Reader wearing a really elegant dress to a party?? Maybe abt how they react to you being all dolled up ;) Suggestive would be nice too. How they react to Reader with makeup etc.

The Targaryen boys reaction to Y/N presenting as more Feminine At a feast

Aegon

Initial Shock, followed by Amusement Aegon, would initially be taken aback. but his surprise wouldn't be rooted in disgust. It's more like a bewildered fascination. He might chuckle,

Aegon, for all his flaws, appreciates beauty. If Y/N looks genuinely stunning in the dress, Aegon will notice. He might leer a bit, eyes raking over Y/N. "That colour suits you... surprisingly well."

He'd tease relentlessly. "Are you trying to steal the Queen's thunder, darling?" or "Who are you trying to impress, hmm?" But laced within the teasing would be a possessive edge. "Don't go thinking you'll be dancing with anyone but me tonight, dressed like that."

"You're Making This Hard"Aegon would grumble about the dress being a distraction,

The change in Y/N's appearance would undeniably spark Aegon's lust. It would be an undeniable turn-on.

Throughout the feast, Aegon would find himself stealing glances at Y/N. He'd be watching the reactions of others, gauging their shock, and feeling a sense of wicked pride that Y/N is the cause of it all.

Once they're alone, Aegon would waste no time. He'd be rough, pulling Y/N close and kissing him hard. He wants to claim every inch of Y/N

The dress itself becomes a prop in their intimate encounter. He might lift the skirt to gain better access, leaving it bunched around Y/N's waist, a visual reminder of the evening's transgression.

He enjoys the act of undressing Y/N, the silk of the dress sliding over his skin. He might even use the fabric to tie Y/N's hands to the bedposts, a wicked glint in his eyes. The novelty of the attire as a tool for seduction is too tempting to resist.

As he takes Y/N, Aegon deliberately smudges the makeup

Afterwards, sated Aegon might murmur, "Wear it again sometime... just for me." He'd bury his face in Y/N's neck, not wanting to admit how much he actually enjoyed the spectacle.

Aemond

Aemond is initially speechless. He's accustomed to Y/N in masculine attire, and the sight of him in a dress, adorned with jewels and makeup, momentarily renders him utterly captivated.

A possessive instinct flares within him. He wants to be the only one to witness Y/N like this, to know that this side of him is reserved solely for their private moments. The thought of other eyes lingering on his husband ignites a possessive fire.

He makes a point of staying close to Y/N throughout the feast. He's a silent, imposing presence, his hand resting on Y/N's waist, a clear signal to any potential admirers.

He makes a point of staying close to Y/N throughout the feast. He's a silent, imposing presence, his hand resting on Y/N's waist, a clear signal to any potential admirers.

Later, in their chambers, Aemond's control slips. He corners Y/N, his silver eyes burning with desire. "You are magnificent," he whispers, his voice rough with suppressed longing.

He trails kisses along Y/N's neck, his hand gently caressing the exposed skin above the dress's neckline. "Did you do this for me, husband?"

He is eager to peel away the layers. He slowly unlaces the back of the dress, his movements deliberate and sensual. He wants to reveal every inch of skin.

He pushes the dress off Y/N's shoulders, letting it pool at his feet. Aemond's gaze intensifies, lingering on every curve and contour now exposed.

In the aftermath, as they lie tangled in the sheets, Aemond softly kisses Y/N's temple. "Do it again," he murmurs, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "But next time, do it just for me."

Daemon

He'd approach Y/N slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving theirs. When close enough, he'd lean in, his breath ghosting over Y/N's ear, "Impressive. You wear it better than half the women here."

Throughout the feast, he stays close, his hand possessively resting on Y/N's waist. He enjoys the way heads turn and whispers erupt. He's always relished stirring the pot.

If anyone dares to make a snide remark, Daemon's smile vanishes, replaced by a dangerous glint. A quiet threat, a reminder of his power, is usually enough to silence them.

The sight of Y/N in the dress would ignite a fire in Daemon’s blood. He’d become increasingly impatient for the feast to end, his thoughts drifting towards the possibilities that awaited them in their chambers.

Back in the privacy of their room, the carefully applied makeup wouldn’t last long. Daemon would deliberately smudge Y/N's lipstick with a passionate kiss

The dress might suffer a tear or two in the heat of passion. Daemon wouldn't apologize. Instead, he'd whisper promises of pleasure against Y/N's skin, his words as intoxicating as his touch.

He pins Y/N to the bed, his voice a low growl. "Tonight, you are my queen, and I will worship you accordingly."

Daemon will whisper praises in High Valyrian, celebrating Y/N's beauty and boldness

He doesn't necessarily prefer Y/N dressed this way all the time, but the novelty, the audacity, the sheer captivating beauty... it ignites a fire in Daemon that he can't resist.

He doesn't treat Y/N fundamentally differently. Y/N is still his husband, his equal (or at least, the closest thing Daemon allows), The dress is just…extra.