YOU’RE THE ONLY THING THAT I PRAY FOR. (3/3)
Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader
WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/Targcest (uncle & niece), p in v, slight degrading kink, slight breeding kink, this is plot with a whole lot of smut at the end, Valyrian wedding, mentions blood
WORDS: 4.6 K
NOTES: So, this Valyrian wedding is somewhat different to the one in Precious Delights. I took the Daemyra wedding for inspiration, and kinda blamed it on Grandmaster Benifer not being that educated on Valyrian customs (Maegor was just keen on marrying his niece and didn't care of the formalities).
Pentos' desperate need for an alliance against the Triarchy has really played into your hands when Daemon and you first arrived in the Free City. Two full-grown dragons descending not too far away from the city's borders didn’t go unnoticed, meaning it wasn’t long after that you’ve been summoned to the flamboyant castle of Reggio Haratis, the Prince of Pentos.
Never before have you had the chance to marvel at Pentoshi architecture – or Essosi architecture in general – and were completely in awe as the gates of the castle opened to invite you inside.
Even now, roughly a sennight after your relocation from the prince’s castle to an equally impressive manse, it’s still as mesmerizing as before; not as monotonous and undemanding as the architecture and tapestries harbored in the Red Keep.
Reggio Haratis is generous enough to host you and your uncle, and has very recently offered to give you permanent residence in Pentos and gift you the manse you have occupied for no less than seven days. It’s a generous deal in exchange for the intimidating presences of your dragons, considering that with the manse also comes its farms, lands, vineyards, and wood.
And of course your uncle hasn’t hesitated any moment to accept it – not if it keeps you away from Westeros.
You know Daemon has his own way of keeping tabs and staying informed of your family’s going-ons. He’s well aware of everything that’s happening in the Red Keep since there are several people lingering in it whose favor he has earned long ago that now are working as his spies and informants.
They are procuring enough information to keep your fluttering nerves at bay, since Daemon is attentive enough to let you in on many of the things that happen in King’s Landing. And hence you know that the court is in a state of uproar, and your father balances between anger and despair, though you’re not aware that he has made it his personal mission to bring you back to the Red Keep sooner or later.
Unbeknownst to you, this is one of the reasons Daemon all but presses to wed you, because it will not only solidify your relationship in an official way, but it also will make it easier for him to keep you safe should the king’s mission succeed.
You’re standing on a tuckaway terrace of the manse, overlooking the gardens and extensive fields that frame and surround it.
Reggio has been generous enough for you to carry out the ceremony in private with not many witnesses, other than the officiant, the Prince of Pentos himself, and the two servants that always tend to your and your uncle’s needs, present.
Ancient robes hug your bodies, and a matching headpiece rests on your head. They are pale white with reddish edges similar to the blood that trickles idly out of the cut on Daemon’s bottom lip. The shard of Dragonglass is still clutched between your fingers, while your other hand holds his chin.
A gentle smile adorns your face, and though you want to watch the blood trickle out of the cut you have just caused, you can’t seem to tear your eyes off of his. The light of the evening sun is caught in the lilac of his eyes, reflecting and making them appear even lighter.
As you hand him the shard, you briefly glance down to where your hands meet, before your gaze is fixed with his again, and as the sharp edge pierces your lip, you’re far too lost in the comfort of his presence to wince.
This is all you’ve ever wanted.
Some of the blood amassing at the cut is gathered by the pad of his thumb, the touch so intimate it sends a shiver down your spine and heat to your cheeks. It is used by him to draw the Valyrian glyph for blood on your forehead, and you draw the supplementary glyph for fire on his.
Knowing the scars that scatter all over his torso, scarring his pale skin, you’re not surprised to watch him cut the palm of his hand without any sign of discomfort or pain. He has endured far worse, and this is just too easy for him.
However, the same can’t be said about you.
You surely have hurt yourself plenty of times before, but it has never been on purpose, and never with something as sharp as the shard of dragonglass is. But that is the last significant step that has to be made to strenghten your one bloodline, to seal your union and signify that you are bound to each other.
Daemon must sense the slight apprehension that spreads through your veins, and tries to comfort you and calm the raging storm of your fears by gently taking your hand in his, before the coldness of the fragment nestles into your open palm. “Issa sȳz,” he hums calmly, bowing his head once in a reassuring manner. It’s alright.
Nodding meekly, you exhale a deep breath in the exact moment the dragonglass pierces your skin. The pain is delayed, and for a brief moment all that clouds your mind is the rush of your warm blood, and the sight of it so quickly filling the hollow of your palm.
“Hen lantoti ānogar,” the priest cites, “va sȳndroti vāedroma.” Blood of two, joined as one.
You tilt your head back up as Daemon unites your hands in a firm grip, and do not dare to look at where your hands meet.
The sensation of your blood trickling out of the cut has already been very adamant, but with Daemon’s blood combined, several droplets all but seep out from your joined hands, gathered in a goblet your soon-to-be-husband holds underneath.
A ribbon in a style similar to the robes you wear is tied around your hands, binding you to one another.
“Mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr. Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteksi,” is said in the background, but you’re far too distracted by Daemon bringing the goblet full of your blood up. Ghostly flame, and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires.
He holds it out to you, allowing you to be the first to drink, and you comply.
Capturing the goblet between your fingers, you raise it to your lips, not hesitating one moment to take a generous sip. Daemon follows suit, and though the goblet is lowered by him, you two do not move otherwise.
“Hen jenȳ māzīlarion, qēlossa ozūndesi.” A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness.
There is a thick tension between the two of you, and you gaze longingly into each other’s eyes. Only slowly there crawls a grin on your husband’s lips, matching the impish one that’s draped across yours.
You brush some strands of his silver hair behind his ear, before your hand comes to rest on his cheek, the pad of your thumb caressing it gently.
Daemon’s gaze flickers between yours and your nicked lip, and he only slowly dips his head towards yours just in time with his free arm snaking around your waist.
Despite the seriousness of the moment, there is a slight tint of amusement in the officiant’s tone as he voices the last part of the vow, clearly just as ecstatic about you being newly wed as you two are. “Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo, rȳk kīvia mazvestraksi.” The vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.
It is then that Daemon’s lips finally claim yours, and the taste of copper spreads on your tongue as his swirls around yours. The kiss is shy of being gentle, yet it doesn’t lack any passion or care. You have kissed plenty of times before ever since your arrival in Pentos, but none of them has ever felt as significant as this kiss does.
To state it in the words of the Faith, you’re one heart, one flesh, and one soul now. Each other’s from this day, until the end of your days. And you finally feel whole with that prospect, the large chasm that has clasped inside of you filled by Daemon’s undeniable love.
Reggio Haratis has spared no expenses when it comes to the celebration of your newfound unison. There are a handful of other people present, mostly some friends and acquaintances you both have made during your brief stay at the prince’s castle.
In Westeros, you would have celebrated your marriage with a large feast in the Throne Room with no less than three hundred people present, following the strict rules and customs the Faith of the Seven prescribes.
But in Essos, it seems to be a bit different.
The large dining room is lavishly and opulently adorned by tapestries and ornaments, a goldish hue pervading the entire room with the sun that’s shining through the large apertures and tied-back curtains.
It truly is a wedding for your caliber, though there’s no royal family accompanying you two.
Everyone gathers around the large dining table that stands in the center of the room. They are all dressed in a similar fashion to you and your husband now, having changed into more elegant clothes not long after the ceremony, but the expensive textures and patterns of yours give away that this evening solely revolves around you two.
The dinner and customs are far less formal than the ones back home, and with none of your guests being ill-mannered or impolite, a relaxed and open atmosphere characterizes the evening.
There’s chatter and laughter everywhere while the food is served, quite a few bottles of wine emptied already, and not one thought of a possible bedding ceremony crosses your mind – because there’s no reason for it.
Daemon and you have been on top of each other quite regularly, the Pentoshi way of living probably one of main reasons with your insatiable hunger for each other being the other.
And thus, you’re not afraid of the thought of bedding Daemon once supper is over for your body has had quite a few days to get thoroughly adjusted to his sheer size.
Only as the Prince of Pentos raises his glass does your breath hitch in your throat for a moment, not knowing what to expect from him.
The room falls silent almost immediately, and if not everyone has gathered what’s about to happen, they certainly do the moment Reggio rises to his feet.
“Let us toast to this exceptional match,” he starts with much eloquence, his choice of words bringing a warmth to your cheeks.
Daemon smiles at you, and clasps a hand around your thigh. As you lean closer to him to hide your blush, he chuckles and rests his forehead against the side of your face.
“Behave,” he chastises in a teasing manner, squeezing your thigh once. “Or do I have to teach you manners first?”
Daemon’s words do little to help with the blush on your face, the warmth spreading from your cheeks right down to the apex of your legs, causing you to shift and squirm slightly to soothe the aching.
Your host isn’t oblivious to what’s going on right in front of him, and merely chuckles, “I’ll try to keep this short.”
You take in a deep breath, and Daemon nods, a silent invitation for him to keep going.
The prince speaks of your bravery to leave your House behind, of your undeniable love for each other, and how the Old Gods must have brought you together. He boasts of the strong bond you and your husband have, and how that alone is a testament to the Gods themselves.
Everyone around you applauds as the speech ends, and Daemon raises his cup to toast with your host. “Hear, hear.” Bringing your own cup to your lips, you empty what feels like your fifth cup of the Lyseni sweet red they have procured only for you.
You grab Daemon’s hand when the applause drowns out again, and squeeze it gently. Gazing at him lovingly, he leans in to press his lips to your temple.
“Ivestragī īlva jikagon naejot ēdrugon, kessa īlon?” he mutters against your skin, and you sheepishly bite your bottom lip, bowing your head. Let us retire to bed, shall we?
“Nyke pendagon kesā dōrī epagon,” you reply. I thought you would never ask.
Squeezing your hand back, you follow suit as he stands up from his seat after he has announced your departure and thanked everyone for the lovely evening. A hand of his rests at the small of your back to lead you towards your shared chambers, the lacking guests finally allowing you to catch your breath.
He snakes his arm around your waist on your way, and pulls you tightly against his side, his hand traveling a bit lower than what’s appropriate.
“Daemon,” you scold him, placing your hand above his to put it back on your waist.
As you look at him, you’re greeted by a wide grin adorning his face. “I am sure you can forgive me,” he teases, his hand finding its way to your arse again, groping it roughly enough to make you yelp. “I just can not resist you, not in the prospect of us finally being able to truly celebrate our marriage.”
You shove at his chest on your way into your chambers, chuckling softly, but to no avail as his grip only lets go of you in order to close the door.
And suddenly, there’s a thick tension hugging the two of you.
You briefly glance around the room, noticing the many, colorful flowers the servants have placed on your bed; all of which can only be found in Essos. Everywhere stand lit candles, their flames flickering and dancing in the soft, Pentoshi gust of breeze that sweeps past the lightweight curtains concealing the floor-to-ceiling apertures.
It seems inviting to push the silk aside and step out on the balcony, yet your husband beats you to it and pulls you against his sturdy frame by grasping your wrist, taking control over your movements.
A soft gasp slips past your lips as you find yourself pressed against his body, the heat and his scent emanating from him driving you insane with lust already. You look up at him with half lidded eyes, your desire for him plain.
Standing on tiptoes, you tilt your head up to press your lips to his jaw in a chaste kiss, and trail some more down the curve of his throat, causing a soft hum to rumble in your husband’s chest. The gold, embroidered vest he wears is slowly pushed off his shoulders while the feeling of your lips on his skin distract him, falling to the ground and pooling around his ankles.
“Let us not waste anymore time,” you whisper, your fingers almost eagerly fumbling with the laces in the front of his trousers.
With every passing moment, you spot his breathing growing heavier, his body burning hot with desire. You sigh softly, “let us indulge ourselves in each other as much as we want, even if it means we will not leave our chambers in the morrow.”
His eyes peer deeply into yours when you tilt your head back, the mesmerizing lilac hue completely eclipsed by black.
He brings a hand to the back of your head, holding it steady as the other clasps around your thigh. Your flesh is squeezed harshly under his tight grip, but you can’t bring yourself to care for there suddenly are not more than a few inches separating your lips from his.
But instead of kissing you, Daemon bows his head down enough to press sloppy kisses to your neck, licking the side of your throat. His hand slides up to cup your clothed cunt, and you have to hold onto his broad shoulders for dear life, not risking your shaky legs to be the reason you fall onto the ground.
“My darling wife,” he rasps, and hearing him voice it aloud for the first time sends a shiver down your spine. “I should have taken you to Pentos a long time ago.”
With that, he spins you around and pushes you towards the bed. Toppling forward, you catch yourself and tightly hold onto the wooden footboard of it, crouched forwards and basically presenting him your arse.
Daemon hums, clearly pleased by the sight, and approaches you with careful steps.
You try to catch a glimpse of him from over your shoulder, not meeting his lust-filled gaze for long enough since he is quick to press your head forward again. When his hands fist the neckline of your dress, goosebumps start to prickle on your skin, coaxed by the warmth and roughness of his fingers.
“‘Twas a mistake to wait so long,” he says, but it’s clear he’s speaking to himself.
Then, the laces in the back of your lavish gown tear with an agonizing ripping sound, but the thrill of it doesn't allow your heart to grief the now ruined gift of your host.
The skimpy underclothes you wear follow the Myrish lace just as quick, exposing your whole body to him faster than you could have wished for. His fingers trail slowly along your spine, and he chuckles as he watches your body tremble beneath his featherlight touch with a jolt of pleasurable excitement.
His thick digits inch lower and lower, but never touch where you need him most. It’s agonizing, and your patience runs thinner and thinner. Your breathing is just as heavy as his own, and the tension has you moaning softly.
And then he suddenly drags two of his deft fingers through your soaked womanhood, the ambush eliciting a shuddered breath to fall from your lips. Yet you also welcome it and eagerly buck your hips to chase the friction they grant you, which prompts him to seize your hip with one hand, the tips of his fingers digging into your flesh to keep your body still.
The lack of freedom to move feeds your impatience, and your head bows forwards with a sigh. “I-I can hardly take this any longer, husband,” you breathe, trying to make your frustration not too obvious.
Another ambush overtakes you as Daemon connects the back of his hand with your cunt, the collusion sending a stinging pain through your body. He tsks in a manner that’s meant to scold a child, having heard it plenty of times before when he was around his nephews and nieces.
“You can’t take it any longer? What a shame,” he teases. “If you’re feeling so overwhelmed, then perhaps I should stop?”
Remaining still for a moment, the weight of his heavy gaze pierces through your skin, and you’re glad he can’t see you rolling your eyes. You know that he has no intention of stopping, and he knows that you don’t want him to either.
However, it seems he’s partly forgotten that you two share the same blood, and although he considers himself to be witty, you’re not lagging behind him.
“Oh, you want to stop?” you ask, a mocking edge to your otherwise strained voice. It is clear he’s taken off guard by your words, having expected you to beg and whine for more. “My, what a disappointing turn of events. I was so keen on experiencing you tonight. I–”
The rest of your protest dies on your tongue as he slides two digits inside without a warning, effectively silencing you.
A jolt of pleasure surges through your body that has you clinging to the footboard of the bed, your knuckles blanching from the force. The moan you release is wanton, and brings a blush to your cheeks that’s intensified by the mocking scoff Daemon releases.
Your legs are nudged further apart by his foot knocking against yours, causing you to be off-balanced for a moment in which he’s snaking his arm around your waist to support your frame.
His chest is pressed flush against your back now, and you feel his breath fan over your ear, the heat emanating from him seeping into your skin.
“I would not deprive you of that satisfaction tonight,” he rasps into your ear while his fingers pump into you at a pace that has your toes curling already, making it difficult to keep your composure. You don’t have to look at him to know he’s smirking, his amusement at the little back and forth of your flirting is perfectly audible. “My darling wife is brimming with pleasure already, but I am just getting started.”
Your eyes widen at his teasing, and if anything, it only makes you want him even more. As your head lulls back against his shoulder, you release another moan, dizzy with lust.
With every passing second that you don’t have him inside of you, you grow more and more relentless. “Don’t you dare stop now,” you moan. “If you do, I shall feed you to Silverwing.”
Daemon lets out a breathy laugh at your words. “Quit being a brat, wife, or else I truly need to punish you to stop you from being so reckless with your words.”
You slightly push yourself up against his chest, but don’t manage to do more than hum in return at his words, the jolts of your impending peak coursing through your veins like liquid fire.
There is a brief loss of friction that doesn’t diminish the pleasure that clouds your mind, induced by Daemon’s desire to withdraw his fingers to fill you with his stiff cock instead.
Just in time with him aligning himself with your throbbing entrance, breaching your tightness to stretch you out with one, swift thrust, you topple over the edge.
The spasming and shaking of your body has Daemon’s breath hitch in his throat, a strained ‘seven hells’ slipping past it that you barely register with you losing a little bit of control over your body.
Your back arches against him, and he seizes the opportunity to set up a reckless pace from the very beginning on.
“Well, now, if that isn’t a disappointing turn of events,” Daemon mocks with an amused chuckle, using your words against yourself. “I can… can not believe that’s all you can take, my dear.” There is a strain in his voice, one that tells you his mind is just as fuzzy with pleasure as yours, amplified by the way your cunt is clenching and unclenching around his hard cock.
Daemon has both hands on your hips now, pulling you back halfway to meet the mercilessness of his thrusts. Each time the heavy sac of his stones slaps against your sensitive cunt, you feel it spasm again, bolts of pain and pleasure alike piercing your flesh.
“I thought you would last longer, my sweet wife,” he groans, the term of endearment emphasized by a thrust harsh enough to coax a breathy gasp from your throat. “A sore disappointment.”
At this point he’s all but assaulting your body, using you for his own pleasure like you’re not more than one of Flea Bottom’s common whores, pounding you hard enough that your vision whitens.
Incoherent words and sentences are falling past your lips like a prayer, occasionally interrupted by his name, chanting it as if you’re praying to the Seven.
His grip on your hips is bruising, squeezing your flesh so tight you’re not sure if it brings you more pain or pleasure. But it’s something in his words that makes it all so exhilarating, reigniting the fire inside of you.
Daemon is chasing his own peak with the will to fill you up with his seed, marking you as his and making his claim on you visible to everyone. But his stamina doesn’t seem to be able to handle the tightness of your cunt for any longer, running thin and threatening to burst at any given moment.
It takes all your strength to hold onto the foodboard to keep yourself steady and upright, not wanting to topple over with the weight and intensity of his thrusts. But your slowly approaching high doesn’t make it too easy for you.
Your second peak takes its time, but Daemon can tell it’s on its way, the clenching of your walls and trembling of your legs a telltale sign for him. One of his deft fingers comes to your pearl, and he proceeds to rub the bud with frantic movements that make sure to push you over the edge just in time.
Your mouth hangs open, and there are no other sounds than breathy whines and hiccuped gasps slipping past your lips, the ability to speak completely taken by his cock repeatedly brushing the sweet spot inside of you.
“I will not last any longer,” the man behind you grunts, the damp strands of his silver hair falling in front of his face. He buries the hand that’s not between your legs in your hair, pulling you upright against him.
His hips are angled, allowing him to snap them into yours deeper and more precisely. “Peak for me again… now,” he all but commands, and it’s the sharpness and determination of his voice that eventually has you doing just that.
Your arousal oozes out of your spasming cunt, coating the palm of his hand, the length of his cock and the sac of his stones altogether.
Your head tips back in bliss, and hot streams of pleasure obscure your senses. The way your cunt is choking his cock makes it difficult for him to help you through it all, struggling to keep it together just a few moments longer. He’s brought you to such heights of pleasure that your mind temporarily blanks.
“Please,” you find your voice again, though it’s strained and resembles a whimper. “Put a babe in me. Fill me up with your seed… please.”
It might have been him being on the brink of his release already, or the meaning and significance of your words, but it is the trigger for Daemon to spend himself inside of you with a loud groan.
“Gods be good,” he grunts, connecting his lips with the curve where your shoulder meets your neck as he works himself through the blissful high. Even as it subsides, he doesn’t stop and bites through the overstimulation, determined to fuck his seed as deep as possible and put a child into your belly.
You’ve grown incredibly sensitive and overstimulated by now, and can’t fight against your body’s reaction to squirm out of his grasp to escape the uncomfortable feeling. But he doesn’t allow you to, keeping you flush against his firm chest.
The soft whines you release, however, humor him, and he tilts his head to rest his forehead against the side of your face.
“Let your foolish father come for you. I shall slay every man that even dares to look at you,” he rasps. “I possess you, you belong to none other than me.”
A blush spreads on your cheeks as his words sink into your mind, and you turn your head to meet his eyes for the first time ever since you’ve entered your chambers. The meeting of your gazes is intense, and you swear you can feel his flaccid member grow hard again.
You take his hand and bring it in front of you, placing it on your stomach. Without further encouragement, he starts to rub his palm over your skin as if his seed has already borne fruit.
“Let him come,” you whisper, licking your lips. “I have waited years to be with you alone, and to have you all by myself. And now that I have gotten my will, I will not give it up without a fight.”
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