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syrma-sensei · 2 years

Text

→ A Doe's Trap.

gif credit.

pairing: daemon targaryen x baratheon!reader.

rating: explicit.

word count: 3.9k

warning: daemon targaryen is a warning himself, usual westerosi agendas.

PART II: A GOLDEN LOCK.

masterlist | ao3

COURT IS INFINITELY BORING; the flashing red colour on the outside walls is merely a clever cover for the ennui of what's happening inside. And the Small Counsel is, Seven Hells, dreadfully, the most tedious place one can choose to spend time in. King Viserys, however, is persistent on having his younger brother in his counsel. His Grace has given his orders and nobody, not even the Rogue Prince, can refuse his liege's commands.

Nevertheless, even his royal duties and counsel obligations get habitually interrupted by certain cunts. After several replacements for his job —stirred by those cunts— the prince, eventually, takes the post of the Commander of the City Watch, and he isn't pleased one bit. The supposed city protectors are nothing but lost and lowly scum. But he knows better, that cunt of a Hand wants nothing but to offend the Prince and his potentials, such an elaborated attempt to irritate the hot-tempered prince; the current heir to the Iron Throne is nothing but a mongrels tamer. But if the bearded wanker thinks himself subtle, then he's terribly mistaken, thus, Daemon accepts the challenge. Because after all, if he truly wants to be King someday, conducting with the riff-raff is a good way to prepare himself for the role, rather than transacting with sickly old men who swagger through the glories of their ancestors and making none of their own.

Tonight though, to his bother, he has to take a break from his new duties, for King Viserys has blessed the court with yet another of his many festivities. Queen Aemma, his cousin and sister-in-law, is with child, again. The celebration is held in the Red Keep's grand yard under the full moon's glimmer. And to his surprise, Daemon finds himself rather enjoying himself in the fresh air.

His violet eyes are fixated on the table where the King and Queen are seated, two vacant chairs next to them. One is his, and the other is Rhaenyra's, his beloved niece. His gaze, however, is not, by any chance, drawn to the royal couple, rather, the ones who escort the Queen. That specific one, with the blue eyes and dark hair. The Baratheon Lady, his precious doe.

She stands next to her queen as one of her most trusted ladies-in-waiting. With a bright mind, and pure soul she has captured the hearts of most men, and the Prince is no exception. The niece of Lord Boremund Baratheon is sent by her lord uncle to represent their house at court in her aunt's stead, Lady Jocelyn Baratheon, Prince Aemon's widow. Once the Prince saw her, she stirred something familiar within him. Something he thought he'd not feel as he fucked his way through almost every whore of the Street of Silk. The place that provides him maidens whenever he desires to claim their innocence. What's better than a whore maiden but a paramount and maiden lady?

Virtuous isn't a word one can label Daemon Targaryen with. Rather, the Rogue Prince has an equivocal proclivity for those of virtue, of purity. He cannot brush off the image of that beautiful doe clinging to his shoulders and sobbing in delight beneath him, while he rams inside her virgin hole as he deflowers her. He fantasizes her calling his name as she willingly gives herself to him, as he fucks Mysaria in the recent days, and his high would be unmatched. The only thing can outdo it is having the doe herself in his bed.

The doe senses his heavy gaze, and her sapphires lock with his amethysts, and she tries to hide her sheepish smile. Gods be good, he can't decide wether he likes that smile of hers, or the cries she'd be making when he's inside of her. His predatory eyes follow her slender figure after she dips in courtsy for the King and Queen, excusing herself. He traces her golden gown, the one he'll have much pleasure ripping it off of her and see what she's treasuring beneath it.

“Good evening, Prince Daemon.” The doe bows to him, then he sees clear blue eyes looking straight into his, the plumping heart between his ribs skips for a moment, “Congratulations on your new office!”

“Why, thank you, Lady Baratheon.” His tone is solemn.

“Please do not call me as such,” The doe bites on her lower lip adorably, “We're much more familiar with one another.”

Ah, the red cheeks, they're definitely his favourite, and perhaps what's more delightful is making them grow redder.

“Much more familiar? Hmm.” Daemon teases, “Then why did you not come and congratulate me when I first got appointed as the Commander of the City Watch, my lady?”

Daemon's grin goes wider as his tiny trick makes her cheeks flush with dark crimson.

Tearing her face aside, she says under her breath hotly, “Gods,” Then her eyes are staring back at his face again, adding hastily, “I'm terribly sorry, my Prince! The instant I heard of the marvelous news I looked for you everywhere to do so, but...”

Her blue eyes dart everywhere but his face now. Daemon purses his lips into thin line, tugging a dark lock behind her ear. “But what, my lady?” His tone is bored, unamused, supposedly.

“Please, let me explain, Your Grace.” He nods, granting her her wish. “I did want to be the first to congratulate you. But when I couldn't find you anywhere, they told me you're making new arrangements for the City Watch; to ameliorate the state of the soldiers.” She adds breathlessly, and Daemon can clearly imagine her breathing heavily after he sends to her highest high. “So, I presumed you were occupied with much more important matters, and I couldn't bring myself to take from your valuable time.”

Oh, isn't she delightful? So sweet, so caring. Does he deserve such consideration? Of course not. Should he take it? An absolute yes. How not? And she's practically showering him with it.

Daemon twists his lips, grinning. “In that regard, I should forgive you, my lady. But on one condition.”

“Name it.” Her answer comes immediately.

Ah, he does like those moments when her Baratheon blood rises, when she shows signs of challenging and daring, and the confident feature she wears is truly pretty.

So, Daemon indulges her. “I want you to honour me with a dance, my lady.”

“A dance?” She arches a dark brow quizzically, shockingly.

“Does it not rise to the doe's expectations?” He teases her again.

And for the second time, it remarkably works. “Did I give such an insinuation to the dragon?” The way her brow switches from puzzled to intrepid puts the Prince under a charm. The irony, how effortless and unintentional her gestures are, but oh, the way she wraps him around her beautiful fingers. How bewitching she is.

“It is said that dancing is much similar to battling.” She adds, “I dare not stand against you in the second, but dare I say, I enjoy doing the first with you. It is a sliver of reminiscent of what fighting by your side might be like on the battlefield.”

It's Daemon's turn to raise an eyebrow. “You wish to dance with a dragon, little doe?”

“Yes, very much so.” She says it with utmost thrill.

“Even if it might get you burned?” He asks her, eyes glistening with something menacing, but the doe does not see it.

“He won't hurt me.” The certainty in her eyes makes Daemon's head whirl. Perhaps he isn't the only one under a charm.

“What you speak is true.” His smile is gentle this time, and what he speaks is also true. Lust did indeed blind him at first, and the desire to defile her has driven him mad for quite some time. But no, after getting to know this doe, his delicious prey, he cannot bring himself to hurt her. But has his craving for claiming her ceased within him? Not once. It's been like raging fire, huddling and jostling in his chest, and taking hold of his head. It's like a curse afflicted upon him. He's no patient man, and the gods have put him in a laborious test. But again, since when the gods are indulgent with man? But Daemon Targaryen is as unyielding as them as well. And he'll be so until the gods get bored of him and give him what he wants. Daemon, however, won't wait for gods to get lenient. He shall take it by himself.

They dance, the dragon and the doe. And the shy lady is back again as her face turn red as she is spinning between the Prince's arms, holding his hands. Their feet move in such harmony with the music, and they capture everyone's eyes. Her face is close, so close to his, and hers is as dark as blood. Her fresh breathing is on his face, and the dragon inside him goes feral. He wants her. Gods, He utterly and wholly wants her.

The music comes to a stop, and a cheered applause rages from around them. King Viserys is the strongest clapper, and the Queen shakes her head at her husband's excessive excitement.

The dancing comes to a pause, and the King raises a toast, and the feast for all is set. The guests eat, drink, and laugh. The King gets drunk soon enough, and the Queen becomes tired. Viserys keeps on drinking, while Aemma retires to her chambers to rest. The Prince is next to his brother and niece, thinking of the doe who's nibbling on her food ever so delicately.

It is a rare thig she is, to be born a Baratheon and have a tender character. It's known that the stags are of vigorous spirits and adventurous endeavour. But unlike her house and himself, she seems quite enjoying herself at King's Landing's court. That, however, does not nullify the hints of fury within her soul. She's a daughter of a stag after all, and stags have always attracted the eyes of dragons; his great-grandmother, Queen Dowager Alyssa Velaryon, married Rogar Baratheon, lord paramount of Storm's End, their wedding is known as the Golden Wedding. And Daemon's cousin, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, is half Baratheon herself from her mother's side, Lady Jocelyn Baratheon. Daemon still remembers how Caraxes was enthralled by his doe when they first introduced them to eachother; she has Valyrian blood after all. He smiles at the memory, she has the dragon and his rider enchanted.

“You're quite taken by her, uncle.” Daemon's ears prick at Rhaenyra's High Valyrian.

“Quite the woman she is.” He replies in their mother tongue.

“Indeed.” She nods. “She is quite taken by you as well.”

That piques his interest, his niece has all of his attention now. “Oh, really? How did you learn that, Princess?”

Rhaenyra chuckles. “Oh, uncle, you have no idea how much smitten she is with you.”

Trying to conceal the curiosity eating him up, he clears his throat. “How so?”

“You have a reputation, uncle.” Rhaenyra remarks, “But the lady refuses to believe it exists, claiming that she knows you better. She sees you as her knight in shining armour.”

A queer sensation clasps on the Prince's heart. And for a moment, he feels as if someone has kicked the air out of his lungs. He directs a wavering smile to his niece.

“How unfortunate.” Then he falls silent, and speaks very little for the rest of the night.

After an hour of feasting, the music replays, and a merry yet drunken enrapture sweep over the place. From his seat, Daemon looks for his doe and he finds her laughing at some stupid jest cracked by Ser whoever the fuck he is. When their eyes lock again, she smiles at him sweetly, but he doesn't return it. Instead, he stands up, and maneuvers his way through the drunken singing and wobbly dancing.

It was an ill decision to come here from the outset, but what choice he had when the King forces him to attend the banquet that's held in the next royal's honour. The one might brush him off from his current line to the throne. Daemon, sometimes, thinks that his brother taunts him deliberately, and perchance he's pulled by other hands.

He directs his indignation upon his royal brother as he threads his way to his private chambers; where he's going to drink himself till sleep, and maybe giving his cock a hand-fucking before falling asleep. Momentarily, he thinks of visiting Mysaria, but no. He needs some solitude away from everyone else.

Once in his chambers, he shrugs off his formal attire and slips into more comfortable clothing. Before he starts his drinking session, he hears soft knocks on the door; he grumbles. Perhaps the one behind the door wants to be the victim of his wrath tonight.

Striding down to the door, he opens it sharply. He freezes.

“Prince Daemon.”

Gods, how does she do it? Putting off that raging fire within him onto ice just like that. Mayhaps she is an enchantress after all.

“Lady (Y/N).” He responds.

“Is everything alright, my Prince?” The concern in her eyes tugs the strings of his heart.

“Yes.” For the first time, Daemon finds his lying unconvincing. Seven Hells.

“Then why did you leave the feast in such manner?” The doe inquires, brows knitted, “You made the King worry.”

Of course, she came here upon an order by his brother.

“You made me worry.”

Daemon regards her, then he retreats back to his chambers, leaving the door open. A private invitation for her to follow him inside which she obliges to.

“What caused you distress, my Prince?” The eager concern in her voice makes him melt. A strange mixture of sensations coil at the tip of his stomach. It is the first time she comes to his private chambers, and he feels as if he led her into a trap. The poor doe, she doesn't know she just entered the dragon's den, and in his current state, he has no guarantee of what he might do next. He is mad.

“You.” Daemon spins around and faces her, she stands a few steps away from him. “You cause me distress.”

Gasping, her dainty hand rises to her now heaving chest, and her blue eyes widen. “How could I ever do so?” Daemon takes a step towards her, and her eyes are focused on his figure. “My Prince, I implore you to—”

Seven Hells. His doe can be annoying when she becomes rather talkative, sometimes. And it is a perfect moment to silence her in the way he most desired; his lips on hers. And oh, they are much more delectable than he ever imagined, and he could've sworn he can sip wine from them.

The doe stands still, eyes as wide as saucers, as he claims her lips as if he is the thirstiest man alive. When realization casts upon her at last, she pushes him away. Daemon whips his mouth looking at her. She's horrified.

“Do forgive me.” Daemon looks at the floor, not bearing to gaze at her scared face. “But I've been wanting to do this for a long while.”

When she doesn't answer; he dares look up at her face again. A more questioning expression adorns her face instead of the terrified one moments ago. She doesn't flee, nevertheless. Which is a good sign, Daemon supposes. He narrows the gap between them, cautious steps as if he's afraid that the doe to run off.

“I desire you.” He confesses, “Gods, you're the one I lust for the most.” His hands reach for her reddened cheeks. “I want to have you. Let me have you... please.”

“How can I let you have me, and we're not wedded, Daemon?” He sees two thin strings of tears rolling down her cheeks. She tears her face aside. “Gods, they warned me about you.” She sobs, “They told me to steer clear of you, but I didn't listen.” A hand covers her mouth. “The Queen even promised my lord uncle to match me with another to prevent your dark reputation raising questions about my virtue.”

Any ounce of sense left in him until this very instance is blown away now. The Prince's hands latch onto her forearms, and he draws into a vicious kiss. He tastes the salt in her tears and he's fuming.

“You're mine.” He whispers against her mouth, “Mine. You belong to the dragon, and anyone dares to think of having you, they'll have to deal with fire and blood.”

“Daemon, please...” She cries. “I do not want it.”

The Prince cradles her face softly, his hot breath licking her face. “Tell me, what do you really want, little doe?” He brushes the tears away, “Tell me what you wish for and I shall grant it for you.”

His fragile doe gulps, looking at him with the eyes of a prey begging for mercy between its predator's jaws. “Do not allow us to be separated.” She weeps, and her heart feels heavy.

“No, no, little doe,” He says in whisper, “Not a single soul can separate us, my little doe. Give yourself to me. Let me corrupt you...” He inhales, he's almost begging, “Let me defile you, and they'll have no choice but to let us be.” He leans to her ear, adding, “Let me fill your belly with my child.”

“Do not let another have me, my dragon, please.” She clutches into his chest, beseechingly.

Daemon's violet eyes dart over her face, before he plunders her lips again. His hands adroitly baring her, layer by layer, until she stands naked before him. Through her blurred mind, the realization of her nakedness casts upon her. She gasps and tries covering herself.

Daemon, on the other hand, laughs, shaking his head with such amusement. “Do not shy away now, little doe.” He makes her lay down on his bed, removing her hands from the parts she attempts to hide. “Let me see your beauty.”

Daemon has to pin her hands on the either sides of her head to make submit to his request. He looks at her body, and she turns redder and hotter than Caraxes's fire.

He has to admit, she exceeds any fantasy he ever had. And now she's all his to claim. The Seven be fucked, this is the one who deserves worshiping, perhaps she is The Maiden herself, and mayhaps he can be her Warrior.

“Fuck.” Daemon hisses, “You're beyond anything I've ever imagined.”

“Daemon...” Her voice is breathless, “I-I feel queer things in my stomach.”

The Prince laughs again, kissing her temple. “They are good things, my lady, worry not.”

She nods, unsure of what might happen next. Daemon isn't going to disappoint her. Although the strain in his loins is unbearable, he takes his time to spread what he dares to call... affections upon her. His rough-padded fingers massage her shoulders, his lips lavish her erected nipples, and his mouth leaves no spot of her soft skin neglected.

When his fingers reach her core to fondle, she asks him about the moistened sensation. He shushes her, and tells her it's normal and a good sign. He brushes her clit and her moans become uncontrollable, he enters a digit and she screams.

Daemon laughs and grins as she's innocently grinding against his fingers, chasing something building inside her belly, she tells him. He adds another, then another, and her virgin drawers can take no more and flutter around his fingers with a sigh of his name leaving her mouth.

“Is this why people lay with eachother, my Prince?” She asks when recovers from her high, sweat glistening on her forehead, “Even when they don't want to have children.”

Daemon chuckles amusedly. “People fuck for many reasons, little doe. Pure pleasure is what, sometimes, one only seeks.”

“The Seven forgive me,” She says in something akin to shame, “But I want you to fuck me, Daemon.”

The words, coming off her tongue so effortlessly, make the blood travel straight to his cock.

“It might hurt you, though.” He warns.

“No,” She raises her chin stubbornly, “You won't hurt me.”

Before he gets off the bed, he kisses her. Then, he starts to take off his cotton tunic. He glimpses at her, and he finds her tracing his moves, intrigued. She gulps when he slips his dark trousers off, her pure eyes witnessing a man's cock for the first time in her life.

He chuckles, and cannot let the chance slide without a tease. “You like my small dragon, little doe?”

“I wouldn't call it small, my Prince.”

The latter throws his head backwards as a loud laughter bursts out of his chest. “Yes.” He lands a knee on the bed, dipping further to her face, bringing her hand to touch him. She looks up at him then down at his cock, as her hand faintly brushes the dripping tip. She shivers and he grins. His hand never letting hers crawl away. She gathers some courage when she sees him delighted, and her fingers curl around his cock, squeezing gently as he twitches. Daemon grunts deeply as her inexperienced hand caresses the bulging veins of it, and he feels himself coming. With a groan, he removes her hand away. He didn't want to scare her off with loads of white strings slamming her stomach and face. Rather, he wants it deep inside of her. “Open your legs for me.”

She does so, but uncertainly. He positions himself between his legs, wrapping her legs around his sculpted waist. Inevitable tears pour from her eyes as he thrusts himself into her, and Seven Hells, her virgin cunt feels heavenly. How her walls suck him up greedily even though he's yet to move.

With a hoarse voice, the doe whispers his name over and over, as he takes her slowly while his hair is ghostly brushing her arms around his neck. She cries and begs, and he kisses and reassures her that he'll give her what she wants. She tells him it's building again, and he hits that innocent spot of hers again and again until the fluttering he felt around his fingers is now happening around his cock. He's already at his limits and his seed fills her waving cunt.

“Well done, little doe, well done.” Daemon eases her quivering body.

When he pulls out of her, the Prince is utterly surprised when the doe flips their positions, as she straddles him instead. Their liquids are oozing from between her legs onto his muscled stomach. Shock is blatant on his face as she bites on her lip unsurely.

“What is this, little doe?” He teases, “I supposed this was your first.”

She lolls her head down timidly. “I've always wanted to do this with you, everyday when I look at that painting in the Queen's chambers.”

Daemon is well aware of what picture his doe is referring to. That salacious portrait Queen Aemma has received as a gift from Lys. It's called: The Seven Arts of Love. Perhaps his sister-in-law has kept it as a mockery of the belief of the Seven. He'll never know, or perhaps the Seven made her keep it, so his doe would witness it and mock him with her straddling him on their first night. The notion stirs him to the bone, and his cock is painfully hard now.

“Perhaps another time.” He cups her breasts softly. “This position is not meant for the first time.”

A surprised yelp escapes her mouth as he flips her again beneath him, clicking his tongue. “If you want to ride a dragon, little doe, you have to tame him first.” He leans down, his silver hair dangling over his shoulders, “And believe me, it is not as simple as you might think.”

“We shall see, my dragon, we shall see...”

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