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harbouredsoulss · 2 years

Note

I don't know if you're taking requests now, but if you do could you maybe write a one-shot with reader being on rhaenyra's place in brothel, but only they actually 'done it'?

I literally said in a previous post that I was going to try and get to requests later but as soon as I read your request, I HAD to write it.

I hope you don't mind but I did it as Daemon x Rhaenyra Targaryen instead of Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Again, I wanted to thank everyone for all the love given on my previous work. You can check out UNHOLY here.

I hope you enjoy!! 🥰

AFTER DARK | DAEMON TARGARYEN

Summary: see request above!

Warnings: 18+; incest [sorry?], sex; penetration; unprotected sex; mention of oral sex; minor mention of blood; bodily fluids; teasing; swearing; mention of pleasure house(s)

I also want to add that I used a website for the High Valyrian. So I apologise in advance if it is incorrect.

Don’t hesitate to like, reblog or comment! 🥰

A03 link

Word Count: 2.4k words

There was a kind of giddiness to her step as Daemon led her into the bowels of the pleasure house, a coy smile upon her lips.

Men and women were scattered about, bodies intertwined, becoming one.

It had been unexpected, their journey here.

Daemon had taken her hand, and showed her what life beyond the Keep had to offer a princess disguised as a pauper; a boy nonetheless.

He was always a step behind, cloaked in shadow, observing as she marvelled at the city’s sights.

“It is truly something…” she began, losing all thought as they walked its winding paths.

The prince smiled, amused, as he watched her skip along, twirling and spinning, her hand clutching a tankard of ale that sloshed at the sides, threatening to spill.

The lanes were littered with people, some breathing fire, playing games, whilst others were seen coupling in dark archways, ignorant of those around them.

Her steps faltered when she saw them.

The prince and princess happened upon two women, both strangers shadowed by the night, yet illuminated by the stars. They were swept in one another’s arms, half naked with their breast exposed, toppling over their corsets, mouths claiming one another in a feverish fashion.

Rhaenyra crept closer, curiosity becoming the better of her.

“This… is nothing…” Daemon had whispered to her carefully, lips grazing the lobe of her ear, teeth nipping at its flesh.

His fingers toyed with the fabric at her waist, the warmth of his breath, tickling her skin, a sharp contrast to the cool air of night, raising the hair on her arms.

Rhaenyra found it hard to swallow, a lump settling in her throat. Her lips skimming his as she turned to face him.

She inched away from him gently, till their faces were mere inches apart, so he could see the silent question in her eyes, begging him to show her – to take her where she could really see something.

Like a moth to a flame, Daemon obliged, whisking her away, and vanishing off the streets no sooner after having decided where to take her. Daemon needed no convincing.

Rhaenyra didn’t know what to expect on arrival, given she had little education on the matter at hand. She was, however, amazed, to say the least, at how many couples could be found outside the establishment, hands and mouths all over one another.

Their steps did not falter as Daemon led the way inside, ladies and men alike begging for him to notice them. They reached for his arms, chest and face – any part of him they could get their hands on.

The Rogue Prince never shrugged them off, never shied from their touch. His only reaction a smirk on his lips as he pushed on.

It had not taken long for him to find them a room, if one could call it that.

The generous space was filled with all kinds of people scattered about.

There were men who coupled with other men, some inviting women to join, whilst other men found companions in women, alone, their hands groping, mouths and tongues lapping at one another, moving faster and faster as their partners voices grew louder and louder.

Daemon encased her with his body, wrapping his arms around her, watching as she took in the view surrounding them. They stood within the centre of the room, a sliver of moonlight shining through a crack in the rafters above, illuminating them where they stood.

Rhaenyra bit her lip as she watched a young couple, both of the same sex, nakedly fondling one another’s cocks. One of them, a dark-haired lad caught her staring. He held her gaze as he continued to pleasure his partner, even as he crouched down before him, taking his cock in his mouth.

Her cheeks warmed at the sight, her heart quickening. She was quick to turn from his gaze.

This time, however, as her eyes wandered the room, she saw a woman, hair, blood-red, cascading over one shoulder. She lay bent over a table, head thrown back, mouth gasping for air as a man grunted behind her, fucking her at a frantic pace.

“Fucking is a pleasure, you see...”

Daemon’s face leaned into hers, fingers grazing her own, lips brushing against her cheek. His voice was low and steady, intent on fixing her attention.

He knew how alluring this place could be. He had been near six and ten when he had first ventured into an establishment such as this, his prick roused at the sight of a bare breast.

“For the woman as it is the man.”

At first he kissed her gently, a lingering peck on the lips, hands cradling her head, keeping her close to him.

“A marriage is a duty… yes,” his voice husky, and laced with desire, “But that doesn’t stop us from doing what we want.”

Daemon pulled away from her slowly, hands holding her at a distance, eyes watching as she took in his words.

“From fucking who we want.”

He claimed her lips, fast and unrelenting, teeth biting into the plump flesh, drawing blood.

She held onto him, the back of his neck, nails tearing into his flesh.

He spun them around, hands drifting down to her waist as they moved together.

Rhaenyra gasped as he nudged her back against the brick wall, the harsh foundation scraping her skin through the thin material of her shirt. He didn’t seem to notice, or care.

Daemon was captivated by the feel of her body pressing against his own, the taste of her lips, the torture of it all driving him to the brink of insanity.

He allowed his lips to trail the length of her neck, teeth scraping, and marking her milky flesh, doing all that he could to ensure there would be marks left behind.

His fingers toyed with the string of her shirt, tugging and pulling playfully until the material started gaping to one side, exposing her breast. A groan escaped him as his fingers begun caressing the visible flesh.

Daemon leaned back to admire the sight before him; Rhaenyra exposed and wanton.

He took in the exposed breast, staring at the pink, perked nipple, a stark contrast to the creaminess of her chest. His expression, dark and contrived, offered Rhaenyra no notion as to he was thinking.

Unable to gauge his thoughts did not deter the young princess, instead the excitement within her thundered loud enough to cloud her own. Removing any and all doubts.

She was panting now, chest rising and falling quickly, body responding in a way it never had before. She felt overcome, replaced by an imposter.

Rhaenyra made to kiss him again, desperate to have his lips back on hers. She tried to pull him towards her. The princess was too slow. Daemon had intercepted her plans, spinning her around, placing both of her hands against the wall, his own mirroring hers.

They were both ragged and panting now, their every movement eagerly anticipated.

His desperation; tangible, with the hardness of him felt every time she pushed back against him. She purposely rubbed her body against him, relishing in being the object of his desire.

Gripping her by the waist, Daemon stalled her movements. Using those deft fingers, he began toying with the seam of her pants, the eagerness to rid her of them, almost palpable. She whimpered as he teased, slipping a finger between the junction of her thighs, the material of her pants chafing against her skin.

“Please,” she begged, not quite knowing what it was she was begging for. He tugged her pants down till the material pooled at her feet. Her sex hardly visible, masked by the overhang on both the front and back of her shirt.

Rhaenyra let out a whine as he went to cup her then, her sex throbbing at his touch. The sound of her voice fused with the others around them, creating a cacophony of pleasure.

There were no words that came to mind, none would do justice for what she was experiencing in that moment as he touched her, fingers rubbing her softly between the slickness of her thighs. He went to enter a finger gently, giving her a taste of what was to come. She relished in the sting as he added another.

Rhaenyra, body trembling as he continued to fuck her with his fingers, eager to return the favour, turned herself to face him. She claimed his lips with her own, running her hands over the planes of his shoulders, right over the cloth of his shirt, taking in the contours of his body.

She tugged the shirt free from his pants, moving her hands underneath, following the pattern of hair on his chest, moving her fingers down towards the seam of his pants, touch cool, leaving ripples of gooseflesh in her wake.

A hiss escaped him, as her hands ventured lower, fingers skimming his flesh, nails lightly scraping the length of him. She gripped him in the palm of her hand, unsure of what was expected. She had seen others touch their partners so. Some rubbing them slowly, or frantically, whilst others used their mouth to provoke a release.

Rhaenyra didn’t know what it was Daemon wanted.

She met his gaze, looking up through her lashes, cheeks tinted pink as she continued to stroke him.

Doing her best to replicate what she had seen the others do. Daemon watched in turn, mouth agape, tongue swiping the sweat from his lips as he grew harder in her hand.

Fires sparked around them, the warm light exposing the sheen of sweat that trickled down their faces, soaking into their skin.

The movement of bodies around them flickered in the corner of her eyes. Daemon took that moment of distraction to nudge her back against the wall, hands slipping from one another; his control waning.

He clutched her hands in his, pinning them behind her back.

She resisted his grip, jolting her body backwards and forwards, letting out a hiss through clenched teeth as his grip tightened. Daemon ignored her frustrations, getting off on the power he was able to exude over her.

He brought his mouth down and around the tender flesh of her breast, and took the opportunity to bite down. His tongue flickering against her nipple, teasing.

Daemon was pushing for a reaction and found it in her cries as he took the bud between his teeth, tugging and blowing on it gently, alternating between the two actions.

He whispered sweet nothings against her skin, relishing in her pleas, “Iksis bisa daor skoros jaelā? ñuha lips bē aōha naejos, ēngos tasting aōha ñelly.” Is this not what you want? My lips upon your breast, tongue tasting your flesh. Daemon continued his torment, releasing her hands, emitting a low sound in the back of his throat, the sound reminiscent of grunt, offering a warning to the princess. Should she act out of turn he would punish her for it.

“Oh skorkydoso nyke crave naejot sagon iemnȳ ao, naejot feel se warmth hen aōha ñelly wrapped around nyke.” Oh how I crave to be inside you, to feel the warmth of your flesh wrapped around me.

Rhaenyra’s body shuddered against him, his whispered promises, shallow breaths like a caress against her skin.

“Keligon talking, se qogralbar nyke already.” Stop talking, and fuck me already.

The princess likened herself to clay. She was putty in his hands.

Her desperation burned like an inferno.

Rhaenyra watched on in eager anticipation, a ghost of a smile on her lips as she watched her lover rid himself of his clothes.

She reached out to him, placing each hand on a shoulder, steadying herself as she went to jump upon him, hooking her legs around his waist.

The prince caught her swiftly, grunting in response as he made to steady his footing, pressing her body closer than before, the hardness of him sliding against her stomach.

Her voice, a breathless a rasp in his ear, begged him to take her hard and fast.

The prince obliged her request, sheathing himself inside her, taking her as quickly as time would allow.

A grimace marred her features, as she stretched around him, adjusting to the intrusion.

Pain, bordering the line of pleasure spiked through her. The feeling was unlike any other, and triggered an onslaught of nerves as the sensation sharpened.

Daemon didn’t anticipate any other kind of response after having been with a maiden once before. He studied her carefully, took in the slight pout to her lips, and stalled himself inside her, allowing her more time.

After what felt like eons, to Daemon at least, his sense of control slipping with every second that ticked by, Rhaenyra offered him a shy smile, and nodded her head, silently urging him to continue.

It was with small movements, pushing himself deeper, sliding out slower, forming a steady rhythm, that the burn began to fade. Rhaenyra soon began meeting him thrust for thrust, jutting her body forward, relishing in the feel of him.

The pain grew dull as they carried on, her voice growing hoarse as she begged him further. His hair stuck to forehead, sweat mingling with her own. He pressed his lips against her shoulder as he rutted into her, suckling and biting the soft flesh, adding to the marks already left.

Their voices joined the chorus around them, everyone else in that room seeking their pleasure, sounds growing harsher – louder – as they grew closer to climax.

The prince watched his princess through blurred vision doing his best to study her as she drew closer to her climax. He moved a hand between her thighs, fingers brushing where they were joined, her arousal soaking his fingers.

He brought them to her lips, smearing them against her. Her tongue licked it, face frowning at the taste.

She met his gaze, unsure. He held her eye and brought those same fingers to his own lips, tongue lapping at the taste of her. Rhaenyra could have collapsed in his arms right then and there. The sight of him tasting her – enjoying her – was enough to spike her pleasure, that feeling deep within the pit of her stomach rising as Daemon used every part available to him to bring her closer to release. Rhaenyra didn’t know what she was chasing, only aware of something building inside her, begging her to chase it, to get as close to that feeling as possible. “Māzigon sir dārilaros,” he whispered, voice veiled by his arousal, “release aōla naejot nyke.” Come now princess, release yourself to me.

#daemon targaryen smut #daemon prince #house of dragon #targaryen #daemon targaryen #smut #hotd #game of thrones #house of the dragon spoilers #Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen #young rhaenyra #rhaenyra targaryen #Daemon Targaryen oneshot

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harbouredsoulss · 2 years

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#gatekeep, gaslight, girlboss

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harbouredsoulss · 2 years

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Highly Suspicious | Aaron Hotchner | Chapter One

There is no rhyme or reason for this gif I just wanted one with all the cast!

I've really enjoyed writing this, so I really hope you like it!

Please, please, please, don't hesitate to comment, like, and reblog 🥰

Pairings: Aaron Hotchner x OC [Josephine 'Jo' Andrews]

Summary: Please click here for a synopsis

Warnings: series overall will be 18+; fluff; friendship; first person pov

Just wanted to note that this is only the beginning of the story, therefore nothing super duper exciting is happening. We are just getting to know Miss Andrews and her relationship with the team.

ALSO: I don't typically write in first person mainly because I am more comfortable writing in 3rd person. So... I guess this is a bit of an apology if this is crap. You are probably wondering why I wrote in 1st person if I feel more comfortable in 3rd. The short answer is that the words came to me quicker in 1st than 3rd (for this particular story).... so 1st person POV is what I've chosen.

A03 link

Word Count: 2.6k words

Chapter One

The sentiment at the end of each case was always the same. A forlorn feeling loitering like a sky ready to storm; if only we allowed.

Exhaustion lingered tight all over, behind my eyes, running up and around the muscle of my thighs; a reminder of where I’d been and what I’d had done.

The pressure to compartmentalise and leave behind each job, preferably unscathed, wasn’t easy. Perhaps for some, but for others it left marks behind.

I had cushioned myself between Emily and the window of the Jet, nestling my head in the crook of her neck, watching the act of decompression at its finest. It was a game of cards, one in which I’d seen them play many times before, though I had never played.

I usually lacked the energy; more-so the patience, for the game.

That and Reid was a genius who was very rarely beaten. I didn’t find myself to be a ready, worthy opponent.

Instead, I watched whoever dared oppose him, which at that moment, was Emily, so I settled myself in as spectator.

JJ sat across from me, her brows furrowed, tired eyes skimming the contents of the pages in front of her. I knew what she was doing. It was the same thing she always did on our travels home.

It was a habit, one in which I’d tried to help her break, yet couldn’t.

Every case we took, on our journey there and back she reviewed the other cases; the ones put aside, deemed less of a priority. Although she tried her best to hide it, I knew she reviewed them throughout the cases we were on, keeping tabs on situations she felt certain would escalate.

It was guilt that kept her in this cycle. Not that JJ had anything to feel guilty about. We couldn’t take on every case sent to her.

“Everything okay?” I asked her, doing my best to stifle a yawn.

She looked up, eyes meeting mine own, a soft sigh escaping her lips. I could see the heaviness of it all, the prominent lines adorning her forehead, the set of her jaw – she’d been clenching again – the strain was plain to see, and it worried me.

“Fine,” she responded, stretching, moving her neck from side to side, her groans mirroring the sounds of her body moaning in protest, the stress fleeing her body, “I just wish there could be a day where I’d open one of these folders and find nothing. No requests. No deaths. No crimes. Nothing.”

A laugh, an all-knowing, weary laugh, one that lacked its usual vigour escaped my lips.

“Wouldn’t that be lovely,” I retorted, “though we’d be out of a job. I wouldn’t even be mad.”

Tiredness leeched from me coherent words of comfort to add to the conversation, words that would offer JJ any kind of reassurance or comfort. I tried not to feel too guilty.

Instead, I nuzzled further into the warmth of the body beside me, offering a heavy sigh as a response, one that I hoped could convey my feelings of solidarity.

The fatigue, the kind that often nestled its way deep into our very bones, grew stronger, a sting ever-present behind my eyes. I had known that it wouldn’t take too long for my body to give in, allowing the heaviness of the day to lift like fog and sleep to swallow me whole.

I tried to resist, instead, I did my best to focus on the voices around me.

I focused on Morgan first, studying him. His eyes were closed, body slumped peacefully in his seat, mind clearly captivated by the music streaming through his ears, lips humming its tune.

Dave caught my attention next; I could hear his voice coming from further up the jet where I knew he’d be seeking refreshment. The time of day never a bother, he was always ready for caffeine. Distance unable to stop him, he still managed to interject himself into the heckling the card game had evoked. His own jabs adding fuel to the fire.

“You know,” Emily piped up, eyes gleaning with mischief, “you could make this really interesting Rossi. If you joined us.”

“Emily, if I’m going to wager on anything, it won’t be with me playing, it will be on Reid winning.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped me, laughing harder still as my gaze fell to Reid, who sat before me, a smug smile on his lips, hands moving quickly as he shuffled their cards.

“Hey now,” Emily protested, “have a little faith.”

I clung to their teasing, finding comfort in their jabs and laughter, watching as Rossi, having finished making his beverage, stood behind Reid observing as he dealt the cards.

There was something about these people – my family – that warmed me. If I thought too hard on it, I was sure to cry. Instead, I turned my attention outward – back to them and did my best to enjoy these moments – savour them. They won’t last forever.

But for now, it would be enough.

I was always mindful of the many eyes and ears within the small confines of the jet, aware that if I allowed myself a moment to linger too long on Hotch that I would open myself up to curious glances.

Instead, I allowed myself mere moments to take in the sight of him. The line of his mouth was thin, eyes tired, ringed with the kind of darkness I could only fault as a lack of sleep.

He did his best to appear relaxed, leg crossed against the other, hand fisting a crystal glass filled with what I hoped to be, for his sake more than my own, water. The other held his phone, the artificial light illuminating his face.

There was no denying that something was eating at him.

I had seen him with Jack, and understood that having had him made Hotch susceptible to the kind of feelings one would have after dealing with a case as gruesome as the one we left.

Abuse was something I could never fathom. Let alone violence against children.

Time, a relative thing, one I could never quite track as well as I hoped, passed as I watched him. I hadn’t realised how much until I caught him quirking his lips to the side.

He was smirking at me.

I blushed, embarrassed at having been caught staring, the heat warming my cheeks.

He offered a nod of the head, lips still quirked, eyes trained on mine. I matched his gaze, eyes lingering for a time. I willed him to see in mine that I saw him. That he was okay. This was okay. Embarrassment be damned.

Feeling satisfied after a moment or two passed, I looked away, cataloguing the rest of the team, seeking comfort from their nearness, and allowed myself to slowly fall into a slumber.

Their voices drifted off, growing ever so soft as I was called to sleep. It wasn’t unlike myself to fall asleep on the jet – any moving vehicle – head slumped against someone’s shoulder or resting gently against the windowpane. It was amusing to say the least, as I was always the first to fall. It was only a matter of guessing how long exactly it would take.

It was a game the team often played, taking bets walking onto the tarmac, making their way towards the jet. A wager Rossi was happy to take.

Scarcely, I won. I managed a victory or two on our shorter flights, though the vast majority I lost. My willpower not strong enough.

Dreams, often plagued by vivid memories of the past, pulled me under without hesitation, feeding into my weariness.

It was no surprise, after the week we had had, that this time my dreams decided to take me back to a time where things in life were steadier, clearer – less confusing. Where everything had begun.

I was taken back to my first day as an Agent at the BAU. There were introductions being made between myself and Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, my new boss.

He had walked in with an air of self-possession one could only place as having come from such a tenured experience as a Senior Officer at the BAU.

We stood next to one another, Section Chief Strauss sitting comfortably behind her desk observing us both.

The tension in my body was palpable, nerves ever present. I wiped my hands as discreetly as I could, behind my back. I kept them there, crossed behind me, a perfect excuse to hide the nails that had been chewed to the bit.

Within that same memory, I could recall the ghost of a smile on Aaron’s face, arm extended ready to take his hand in mine own. It was a firm shake, one that reminded me of something my father had once told me. Something about being able to tell a lot about a person by the firmness in which they shake.

All I could think – hope – at the time was that Agent Hotchner couldn’t feel how sweaty my palms were.

He was polite throughout our formal greeting, seeming genuinely pleased to have me joining his team.

“It’s great to have you,” he responded quickly after the general introductions had been made, eye contact never wavering, “we have great need of someone of your talents.”

I was well aware that at that moment my face, and neck were flamed red.

“Thank you,” I offered in reply, releasing my hand from his grip, maintaining my smile, “I can’t wait to get started.”

I was asked questions, from both Strauss and Hotchner, regarding my time in the counter terrorism unit. They paid compliments on the work they had reviewed, expressing confidence in my ability to tackle a new role at the BAU.

Much of the conversation surrounded my accolades, traversing from the beginning of my career up until this point. Although I had already been hired for this new role, Strauss wanted to analyse my experiences. I believe this was more for my new boss’ benefit rather than my own. I was proud of my achievements but couldn’t help but feel self-conscious with the attention they were acquiring.

It got to a point, thankfully, where the conversation grew stagnant, Strauss having had dissected as much of my work as she could, steered her attention to the paperwork on her desk, all but for a moment before turning it back to the male beside me.

“Have you gotten a chance to read over the case I left on your desk?”

“I’ve already gathered the team; we’ll be debriefing on the jet once we’re done here.” Agent Hotchner answered.

Strauss nodded and looked to me, “I understand there has been no time to adapt to your surroundings, albeit that is the nature of the job. If you have no objections, I can clear you to start with the team today.”

“You want me to start now?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No Ma’am.”

The eagerness I tried to stifle all morning churned.

I understood the nature of the job, having had worked in law enforcement and completing a stint in the counter terrorism unit. I was aware that both jobs were vastly different to that of working as a profiler. There were elements in each that overlapped one another, but this was different. I knew the nuisances of behavioural analysis; mode and method of it all.

My role was to look through the eyes of a criminal, to understand them – my own biases aside – to use that information to find and apprehend them.

“There is some paperwork that needs to be completed first,” Agent Hotchner spoke up, looking to Strauss before turning back to me, “but if you have a go-bag at the ready, I don’t see a problem with you completing it once we return.”

I knew what the implications were if things went wrong; but this was a chance to prove myself.

They were both looking to me now, Strauss no longer seated. Both awaiting my answer.

I didn’t make them wait long.

“It’s in my car,” I responded, stifling a smile, “I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect on my first day; I thought it would be safe to bring it just in case.”

That seemed to have settled things and brought our meeting to an end.

Strauss, not one for luck, wished me well and bid us goodbye.

I followed Agent Hotchner out of the room and towards what I could only presume to be the teams meeting room.

The convergence point, having been the round table, adorned with papers, tablets, folders, and the like. The chairs, seven of the eight, were already filled by the members of my new team. They were engrossed in the information being presented before them, eyes scanning the pages, and images of the case files.

Agent Hotchner rapt his knuckle on the door garnering their attention. They looked up, leaning forward in their seats, interest piqued by what I could only assume was the addition of my presence.

“Everyone this is Agent Andrews,” he looked from his team, one by one, and brought his gaze back to me, face masked, giving nothing away, “She’ll be joining the team and starting on this case. We’ll be moving the briefing onto the jet. They’re needing us on the ground as soon as possible.”

I stood there, taking in the sight of my new team, watching as they had begun to clear up around them, readying to leave.

They didn’t hesitate to acknowledge my presence with a chorus of welcome as they each rose from their seats and made their way to where I stood.

I was first approached by a woman of small stature, her height adjusted by a pair of sparkly black chunky heels.

“Penelope Garcia,” she offered me her hand to take, a dazzling smile lighting up her face, “welcome to the team!”

There was something comforting about her presence – something that gave off an iridescent kind of glow that emanated from her, enough to put me at ease.

Perhaps it was the way in which she chose to present herself, bright colours adorning all her clothes, and accessories. Soft tendrils of bleach blonde hair framing her face, bright blue eyes shielded by a pair of ruby red glasses. She was joy personified.

Derek Morgan, and David Rossi were next, with Agent Rossi sure to stress his preference of being called Dave, followed by a laugh and a firm shake of his hand. Emily Prentiss followed quickly offering a quip on my getting used to the boisterous bunch, kindness radiating from her. Dr. Spencer Reid, had followed behind, the last in the room to introduce themself. He gave me a smile, one just as kind as the rest.

Though I was quick to realise that we were missing someone.

Agent Hotchner must have noted my puzzled expression, watching as I looked around the now empty room. He responded with a wry smile, “you’ll meet our Communications Liaison, Agent Jareau, on the Jet.”

I smiled in response observing a strange feeling – one I couldn’t quite place – trickle through me as we stared at one another, his brown eyes piercing mine.

We didn’t stand there for very long, yet it was long enough to observe the energy that flowed between us. It was calming.

I often found my superiors intimidating, especially those of the opposite sex. I didn’t allow that to impact my performance or stop myself from reaching new heights. I managed to make it this far in my career, I wouldn’t let my own insecurities or egotistical men get in my way.

Therefore, it was an odd experience, the emotions that aired themselves freely as I stood there with him. Perplexing to say the least.

That feeling, whatever it was, fizzled abruptly by the clearing of his throat.

“We better get going.”

I gathered myself, mentally shaking my head. Time was of the essence and we were the only ones standing idly by in the conference room, the rest of the team already having left, making their way to the Jet.

“Yes,” I breathed, voice low, “Sir.”

Taglist: @louderfortheback, @clarasmoon

#aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #smut #aaron hotchner x reader #david rossi #derek morgan #emily prentiss #spencer reid #jennifer jareau #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x oc #highlysuspicious

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harbouredsoulss · 2 years

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Feeling very overwhelmed with all the support on my latest fic, UNHOLY 💕

For those who have read, liked, reblogged, or left a comment, I’m very thankful for you!! It means so much 🥰

I also wanted to share that I’m working on another fic at the moment for Daemon Targaryen x OC. So far it’s looking like it’ll be two parts. I’ve already got 1k written out for part one.

I’ve also gotten some requests, for Daemon, which for now, I won’t be able to get to, but plan on trying later.

For my Criminal Minds fans Part One of Highly Suspicious will be dropping today! You can check out the synopsis here.

Aside from that, Happy Friday from my little corner of the world ✨

#criminal minds #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #aaron hotchner

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harbouredsoulss · 2 years

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Well… UNHOLY, my cheeky Daemon Targaryen x OC story was a hit. People seem to like it. I think I may have to write more.

There are ideas💡 brewing, stories unfolding! Let me know if that’s something of interest.

Keep and 👁 out !

#daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #hotd

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harbouredsoulss · 2 years

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UNHOLY | DAEMON TARGARYEN

Did I use the gif of Daemon and Rhaenyra... yes I did. They're both so fucking hot. I don't care how wrong it is. If I believed in hell I'm sure I'd be going there 😅

This fic was inspired by the recent episode of House of the Dragon and Sam Smith's unreleased song 'Unholy'.

Please, please please, do not forget to like, comment and reblog!! 🥰

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x OC [Elaena Targaryen]

Summary: A secret rendezvous between a Prince and Princess. What more could you want?

Warnings: 18+; incest (sorry?); sex; penetration; unprotected sex; minor mention of blood; oral sex; mention of bodily fluids; teasing

I also want to add that I used a website for the High Valyrian, so I apologise in advance if it is incorrect.

AO3 link

Word Count: 2.8k words

There was a charge of electricity that sizzled between the Prince and Princess, the anticipation almost palpable. They stood across from one another, gaze never faltering, the vacant iron throne their only witness.

It was late in the evening, the sconces on the walls burned dimly, casting shadows across their faces.

Her eyes, a violet light, guiding him.

The princess had escaped her room, guards none the wiser.

She had evaded them at every turn, with their voices too loud, footsteps a thunder with every step taken; no doubt which path they would take.

Though if she were to be found, unaccompanied by her Kingsguard, it wouldn’t come as much of a surprise. She was known to been found on many occasions traveling empty halls, reading in odd places, the novelty of finding her unchaperoned, wearing off as the years went by.

Except tonight was different, for tonight had purpose.

There was no aimless wandering, marvelling at the surrounding view of the keep, the endless library offering no more a temptation than that of the kitchens. Her interest for the evening had already been garnered.

It was a note left by her bedclothes, written on a piece of cloth, a scrawl of writing requesting her presence, no signature at the bottom.

There needn’t be a name for she knew who called for her.

It was agony waiting for time to pass, letting her lady’s maid wash and clothe her, all the while pretending to grow weary with sleep.

As the evening went by, and the castles inhabitants wound down for the night, Elaena found herself readying to leave her chambers.

It didn’t take much to prepare as she went dressed as she was, taking a robe as a sort of shield and source of warmth, given the corridors of the keep grew especially cool of the evenings.

Her aim now was to leave undetected.

Men of the Kingsguard remain posted outside her chamber door throughout the night, protecting her from those who may mean her harm, yet they also protect her from herself and any shenanigans that may befall her. Tonight, it was Ser Harrold Westerling who stood guard.

It was often Ser Harrold that lingered when she couldn’t sleep, following her about the castle, making sure she did not find herself in any trouble.

For many reasons, this being but one, brought them closer, brokering a trust that wounded her to break.

Familiarity aside, Ser Harrold could not know where she went this night.

Much to her surprise, there was a secret entrance, one her conspirator made clear was there, hidden in her chambers, the details written in the note they had left. It concerned her to think of a secret door having been there all along whilst she has remained none the wiser.

The hidden passage, not too difficult to find, was dimly lit, the torches on the walls offering little in the way of light. The cool, frigid air howled all around her, skin turning to gooseflesh, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand. It did little to deter her or to wane the excited she felt humming through her. She was more than ready to reach her destination.

The map, if it could be as called such, what with it having been scrawled roughly on the scrap of cloth, guided her perfectly, though she felt the journey was never ending. A sigh of relief escaped, just as her path was met with a door, one that stood ajar.

Voices, that of drunken guards, drifted through, alerting her of passers-by, beseeching her to bide her time till they had passed.

It took only a moment or two of silence before she declared the coast clear. Stepping out from the darkened passageway, she found herself illuminated in the light of the great hall, the iron throne a stone throw away.

“I see you found your way,” a familiar voice called out.

There was a figure perched on the throne, face obscured by shadow, the flames of light illuminating just enough for her to see it was The Rogue Prince awaiting her arrival. Elaena took a hesitant step closer, surveying the space around them, making sure they were truly alone.

“Issa sepār ao se nyke.” It is just you and I

Daemon Targaryen pulled himself to his feet stalking his way towards his princess.

He stood before her now, back to the iron throne, mouth quirking to the side, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, the necklace that adorned it shining dimly in the light.

He drew closer, each step an echo in the empty hall, eyes never straying from hers.

“What a beautiful Jewell,” he whispered, fingers thumbing the Valyrian steel, “the person who gifted you such a thing, must think very highly of you.”

Elaena stood as still as her body would allow, doing her best to control her breathing.

“An admirer indeed,” she answered in turn, a gasp escaping as his finger teased the tender flesh of her chest.

He smiled wickedly, the corners of lips rising.

Spreading his fingers out, Daemon discarded the necklace, turning his attention to where he could feel the steady rhythm of her heart, the blood of the dragon thrumming through her veins.

Flexing his fingers, Daemon moved them lower, thumb kneading the softness of her skin.

Her heart beat quickened, thudding, harder and stronger against the cage of her ribs, as his touch lingered.

Fingers merely an inch from the curve of her breast, Daemon delighted in teasing her flesh; pinching and kneading as he went along.

Her robe a disastrous shield, bared to him the thinness of her night dress, the exposed buds of her breasts, hardened by the rawness of the night. There was no fire to mind the cold, the heat of each other’s bodies their only source of warmth.

Maintaining her gaze, Daemon eased his thumb lower, rubbing against her hardened nipple, teasing and tugging, forcing a whine to escape the princess as pleasure spiked right through to her core.

Both their eyes widening as the sound echoed around them.

The thought of the guards – anyone happening upon her in this state of undress, so exposed – drove him wild. The attention-seeker, deep down inside of him, wanting them to be found.

Elaena looked down at the hand caressing her breast, watching his attentions, unable to comprehend the magnitude of the situation.

Pleasure wasn’t novel to her, she had sought it on numerous occasions either on her own or in a pleasure house, but with Daemon it was something profound. Each time always like the first.

“It’s… madness.” She managed to uttered, voice husky with desire.

She struggled to find her words, thoughts growing more erratic as her lover inflicted his attentions further, bringing his lips to her breast, tongue teasing her through the thin fabric of her shift. She was being driven mad.

There didn’t seem to be much room for coherent thought.

Daemon used his tongue to tease the Princess, suckling her sweetly, using his unoccupied hand to venture up the column of her neck to the expanse of her jaw, gently prying her lips open, slipping two fingers inside.

Wetness pooled between her thighs as she swirled her tongue around the pad of his fingers, sucking and biting them lightly.

“Iksis bisa skoros jaelā?” Is this what you want? He asked.

Daemon’s voice a steady rasp against her flesh.

He slipped his finger from her lips, smearing saliva across them, leaving a trail across her cheek, down her neck and back to her breasts, swirling carefully around the perked nipple.

“Kostilus.” Please. She begged.

Her whimper was enough to undo him. His plans to savour her – this moment – almost ruined. All by the sound of her neediness.

Eyes boring into hers, Daemon brought himself to his knees. He grabbed the hem of her shift lifting and gripping it tight in his fist, the wet between her thighs exposed.

He stared, mesmerized, and leaned his face closer; lips close enough to touch.

He breathed in deep, taking in the musky scent of her.

Elaena was sure her face burned red, cheeks warming at the sight before her, mortified by what he was doing.

Out of the many men she had taken to bed none had shown her this close attention. Daemon had never done so in the past. It was a first for them.

His name, a moan on her lips as he used his tongue to tickle the flesh above her clitoris, fingers, two of them, teasing the seam of her, rubbing her slickness all around. As she looked down, she could see the hardness of him, straining against his pants, begging for attention.

She longed to have him – taste him.

A whine escaped her as he inserted his two fingers, introducing her to a steady pace, pumping inside and out, thumb rubbing lazy circles on her clit. All of his attention focused on finding that secret spot inside, one he hoped to become very well acquainted with.

Elaena was a mess as Daemon continued his torment, fucking her slowly with his fingers.

She gripped the back of his head, tendrils of icy blonde hair, tangled in her fingers as she kept him close.

He managed to maintain his cunning smile, his wicked, ever-present grin never faltering. His tongue caught between his teeth as he looked up at her, admiring the reaction he elicited with his touch.

“Kostilus.” She begged again.

Much too soon a feeling of emptiness found her as Daemon withdrew his fingers. He brought them to his lips, relishing the taste of her.

Elaena watched on in an overwhelming haze brought on by her impending gratification; her climax begging and clawing at her now, demanding release.

“Come,” he commanded, bringing himself to his feet.

She took his hand, allowing him to tug her toward the Throne. He sat down carefully, manoeuvring himself in a way that would avoid the sharpened blades that made up the Iron Throne. She kept his gaze, watching as he made himself comfortable.

They were silent for a moment, Daemons heated gaze washing over her. Moving his hand beneath his trousers he took hold of his cock, rubbing it up and down slowly, teasing himself before her.

Elaena watched on, bottom lip caught between her teeth, hands itching to take his place. Wanting more than anything to be the source of his pleasure.

He released his cock, freeing it from the confines of his trousers and beckoned her forward with the tilt of his head, a silent invitation.

Arousal slicked between the apex of her thighs, desire begging her to move forward, and mount her prince.

Looking over her shoulder, wanting to be careful, Elaena made sure they were alone. Afraid of what would happen if they were found, less afraid of fucking him on the Iron Throne.

“Iksā ȳgha” you are safe, he assured, eyeing their surroundings carefully.

She made to move towards him, her decision having already been made the moment she agreed to meet him after dark.

He held out his hand, guiding her closer.

“Take off your robe.”

An easy command, one she had no qualms in following. Elaena eased the heavy material from her shoulders and offered it to him. He wrapped it around his back, lifting his bottom half up, doing his best to be shield them both from the sharpness of the blades.

His thoughtfulness tugged at her, the love she had for him intensifying – her love already regarded as limitless, ever expanding, in that moment, overpowered every fibre of her being.

Carefully she begun to straddle his waist, griping the hem of her dress, allowing it to pool at her waist. He placed her hands on his chest, squeezing them gently, guiding her, just before letting go. An unspoken offer of assurance.

“Avy jorrāelan, ñuha dōna,” I love you, my sweet.

Daemon cupped the backs of her thighs, pulling her closer.

They sat like that for a moment, taking in the erotic scene before them. Daemon’s cock lined against the seam of her, rubbing gently, up and down, coating itself in the slickness of her. Biting her lip Elaena let a groan escape as he guided himself inside her, finally giving in.

She threw head back, the throes of pleasure overwhelming – driving Daemon wild.

Elaena squeezed her eyes, a faint hiss escaping her lips as he guided her down, engulfing his length. He fucked her slowly, trying to build a rhythm they could both enjoy. Her pleasure just as valuable as his own.

He eased himself, inside and out, unhurried, and ignorant of her pleas, enjoying the unhurried pace he chose to set.

Daemon moved his hand to where they joined, palm flush against her stomach, thumb rubbing circles furiously, placing all his attention on her sex.

She quivered in his arms, voice hoarse, pleasure drenching every sound that escaped her.

Blood rose where her nails scarred his skin, Elaena’s lust manifesting through her hands, marking him.

Daemon quickened their pace, the sound of skin on skin, echoing throughout the hall, the sound bound to alert any guard patrolling nearby.

“I’m… I’m... fuck.”

She was at a loss for words.

Meeting him, thrust for thrust, bucking wildly as his cock found the right place, nestled deep inside her.

Hard to find if ignorant, effortless if one took care. He found her point of release, taking her hard, with every whimper and moan she threw his way, bringing her to the precipice of release.

His own pleasure mirrored her own, his composure threatening to crack as the heat of her tortured, clamping down around him.

Drunken laughter, barely perceptible, reached Daemons ears. He did not slow his pace, determined to bring her the release she desperately craved.

Instead, a plan began forming in his mind, as he gripped her waist, preparing himself to stand, only stalling his thrusts to take her with him as he stood.

He swallowed her shriek in a sloppy kiss, refusing to allow her to draw attention to their antics. He slid out of her, placing her on unsteady legs.

The sudden absence caused her to whine and pout her lips.

He eyed her playfully, clucking his tongue.

“You’re a greedy thing, aren’t you.”

Not allowing for a response he grabbed her hand leading her swiftly and silently, to where she had entered, the door of the secret passage hidden by shadows in the far-off corner of the hall. It offered enough protection should someone enter to investigate.

He backed her onto the door, one hand gripping in his lovers, the other lifting her shift, exposing the apex of her thighs, her glistening sex taunting him.

“Come…” she whispered, voice husky – breathless, “finish what you started.”

He let go of her hand, all but driven to madness, and gripped her backside, the palm of both hands kneading her softly. She wrapped a leg around his waist, tugging him closer.

“Jaelan aōha orvorta iemnȳ nyke.” I want your cock inside me.

There was no hesitation.

Daemon lifted her roughly, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Gaomagon ziry aōla.” Do it yourself.

Biting her lip Elaena rose to the challenge and gripped his length in her hand and used the other to squeeze his arse and pull him closer, guiding him back home.

He fucked her relentlessly – almost furiously, intent on finishing what they had started.

Their lips lingered close to one another, their ragged breaths mingling, fanning across their faces.

“Iksā ñuhon.” You are mine.

He liked to remind her of that when they were like this, rutting against one another like animals, his cock buried deep inside, both of them feral for one another’s touch.

The declaration always gave her chills, the reminder never needed, yet craved deeply.

Daemon brought her closer to her climax, the need to own her release almost turning him into an animal.

It was oft a beautiful, messy thing, watching her release. Her eyes were often scrunched tightly, gaze avoidant as it washed over her.

Though not this time. This time her eyes remained wide and defiant as she held his gaze. Her voice was hoarse, moans of pleasure turned to whispers, teeth digging into the skin of her lip, blood threatening to spill. Daemon found it mesmerising.

He slipped out, finishing himself on her stomach, the heat of his release sticking to skin and cloth alike. A smile tugged at her lips as she looked down taking in the mess he had left, and looked back up meeting his heated gaze.

They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, chests heaving, bodies convulsing, vision foggy – moving in and out of focus. Their releases washing over them.

Him holding her.

“You, Daemon Targaryen, are mine.”

And to him, truer words had never been spoken.

#daemon targaryen #smut #daemon targaryen smut #house of the dragon #game of thrones #westeros #hotd #house of the dragon spoilers #hotd fanfic #daemon targaryen x oc

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