#barbie girl is offically becoming the soundtrack to my hotd writing
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● Superbia
Pairings: Daemon x Fem!Twin Reader
Word Count: 2.3k
Content Warnings: Incest, Heavy implications, Rich people being terrible, Cheating, Slight changes to the canon but let's face it, there's worse things happening in the world than me using this fictional world as my barbie dream house
A/N: So this is the second story I have posted on here, the first I've written for Daemon! Feedback is always appreciated, and I hope you enjoy ✨️
She can't breathe.
He steals her breath every time and she hates it. He loves it, of course. Relishes in every opportunity to do it. Prick.
Not that a tiny part of her doesn't love it, albeit deep down. Like how she loves him and hates him, in equal measure. A perfect balance of deep love and deep hatred.
She had no choice but to love him. It is an inherent truth, rooted in her bones. They came into the world together, they have always been bound together. That was what started her hatred in the first place.
She could never be as she was, taken as an individual. No matter what she did, she and he would always be 'the twins' whether they liked it or not.
He liked it. He loved himself, so of course he would relish a replica.
She hated it. She loved him, but never knew if he truly loved her for who she was, or just as an extension of himself.
Not that it mattered, they were taken as one. Two bodies, one soul.
It was the most pronounced as children. Exasperated nannies would seek 'the twins' from their hiding spots. Their parents would discuss 'the twins'. Visiting Lords and Ladies would fuss and coo over 'the twins'. The only separation was 'the boy' and 'the girl', when talk of marriage reared its head.
There was some hope for separation as they grew older. They shared blood deeper than most, but that blood was split between two bodies. Bodies that began to become noticed.
His body was noticed for its power, its grace, its strength. It was desired, it was talked about around the seven kingdoms. He was named. They stopped being 'the twins.'
Her body was noticed for its use. How it could benefit others, never her. She was named, albeit under a veil. Princess. Your Grace. Sometimes she suspected that after so many years of being 'the twins', people had forgotten her name.
He teased her with her name. Called her by it. Made sure only he used it. It sounded better coming from his lips anyway.
It didn't stop her frustration, merely cooled it for a time. He called her other names too, names that were not meant for use by them, with each other.
She loved him so dearly in those moments. Even as children he would call her names he shouldn't. When they hid from a nanny, or a maester, giggling in dark corners. When she crept into his bed seeking comfort during a storm, or refuge from a nightmare. Those names soothed her, her name soothed her. Reminded her that he knew her, he saw her for who she was.
But they were not made for peace and harmony. When she loved him, she loved him fiercely. When she hated him, she did so with equal ferocity.
He did it on purpose, she knew it. The girl, the lady, would barely have a toe placed on the streets and he would be there. Sometimes sparring in the yard, showing off. Sometimes offering an arm for a guided tour. Always doing it to irritate her. He never cared for those girls, he simply used them in his games.
She refused to do the same. She would not stoop to his level. If she had wanted to, she could. Every Lord's son was keen to take her hand in a dance, compliment her beauty, invite her to their own castles in a pathetic attempt at chivalry.
He always told her she did not want chivalry. She did not deny it.
To have a man simpering over her was the furthest thing from her desires. She did not want to be placed in another gilded cage to be shown off. He always found her when she hid. Not that she was ever hiding somewhere so elusive. It made her laugh when her father's guards would attempt to get her back inside. One glare would have them retreating. She knew it wasn't her they were afraid of, but she could dream.
He never forced her to go back, to rejoin the dismal parties. He found them just as tedious. They were meant to be the focus of every guest, put on display for every Lord to examine like a piece of meat. They stayed on the outside while they could, protecting each other.
There had been talk of marrying them to each other, especially with Viserys betrothed to the Arryn girl. But why just keep power when you can expand it?
They had the Vale secured, why not plant roots in The North? The Reach? Even Dorne?
Their fate is sealed and torn apart at once. A concerted effort is made to remove the twin image. Twins are two halves of the same person. Twins come together, they are an eternally united pair.
But they are not to be bound to each other eternally. They must be separated.
Guards are placed outside their doors. Maids sleep in her bedchamber. He is still granted freedoms she will never be allowed. She is trussed up, fussed at, preened and plucked. He is allowed to roam free.
The rare times she loves herself are when she is simply herself. Hair loose and flowing past her shoulders, a simple shift dress on, reading by her window and occasionally glancing down to the training yard.
Hair tightly braided, boots hugging her thighs, the clouds surrounding her as she takes her dragon to the skies and feels the rush of the wind on her face.
She is not allowed those things anymore. She is not allowed to be anything but the perfect image of beauty and grace, trotted out in front of every Lord in the land.
He at least has some choice. He freely rejects many eligible girls, though entertains those who he knows are a possibility for him in her eyes. The girls she thinks he could take, could steal her place in his bed, by his side, on his dragon.
They are welcome to him, she thinks in those moments. They see the smile, the strength, the beauty, the perfect Prince. They don't see more and they don't want to see more. They are girls, simpering for a prince, she is a woman who yearns for a man.
Two can play at any game, and she finds it easy to take a seat at the table. She can catch any man's eye, give him a smile, touch his arm, laugh politely, make him feel like there's nobody else in the room. Make him believe he really has a chance.
When all the girls are sent back home, she doesn't rush to him. She lets him come to her, which he always does.
He teases her with the names of every girl who'd ever looked at him, wondering which one he could possibly choose. He expounds on the virtues of the North, the Reach, even Dorne. He could be the dragon who conquered it, he teases.
She does not believe him, she knows he says such things to tease and irritate her, and she hates him for it but revels in her own superiority. He will always choose her, they are a pair.
What she doesn't expect is that someone else chooses her.
She had, naively, as loathe as she was to admit it, thought she had bought herself more time. Claimed that every man who desired her hand needed to be properly considered. She couldn't rush such an important decision.
A decision that was never hers to begin with.
She did not choose her husband, her husband did not choose her. Her father and his father simply moved their pieces on the chessboard and fates were sealed.
He is not a bad man, her betrothed. By all accounts he is one of the better choices that could have been made. He is from a powerful house, he is handsome, strong, chivalrous. He is an excellent swordsman, a keen archer, he has an appreciation for music, art, and good wine, he even makes her genuinely laugh at times.
For anyone else, the perfect husband. A man who would take care of her, love her, give her beautiful children and a happy union.
But all he would be to her was at best a companion, and at worst a vehicle for her worst impulses. She did not cry or scream or lash out in frustration when their betrothal was announced. She beamed, her smile lighting up her face. She held his hand, whispered things to him, played the role of the smitten bride-to-be.
He hated it, and she enjoyed his hatred. When the whispers emerged that she was to be betrothed, he started spending most nights outside the castle walls. She gave up waiting for him, refusing to be a pathetic damsel. One night, feeling particularly dissatisfied and bored, she stole away from her room. She was never afraid of maids or guards, they couldn't harm her.
If she was to be married, she wanted to know what to expect for the rest of her life. The guards outside her husband-to-be's door were easily lured away, and he was even more easily lured once she got inside his bedchamber.
The coupling satisfied her needs at a base level, but no more. She had hoped him being so receptive to her illicit visit would make him see she was not a timid girl waiting to be claimed, alas he was..adequate at best. They would have no problem producing children, but she was not willing to spend the rest of her life being forced to truly satisfy herself by her own hands.
They were never less twins than the run up to her wedding. For the first time in her life she got a taste of autonomy, even as she was marched towards another man to keep her. She was still Princess, even her betrothed rarely used her name, but she felt the change.
She had thought that her twin would batten down on revenge, find some pretty little thing who would extend his power and be left sitting in her beautiful cage. Alas, his capacity to surprise her did not cease.
He created a name for himself on the Street of Silk, rumors abound that he had taken a whore as his mistress, what respectable Lord would allow his daughter, allow his name, to be attached to such a man?
Not that he cared, he had what he wanted. He could fight, fuck, and flout his defiance freely.
She tried to forget about him, but how can you forget that which is part of your very soul? You cannot forget your heart,your blood,your flesh and bones. It is always there, with you.
She was held up as a beacon of shining morality. The model child. The perfect twin. A lady, through and through. She would marry the perfect young man, her children would inherit a great house, she would live a blessed existence.
He came to her, one night in the week before she was to be wed. He was waiting in her chambers, playing with a knife and lightly gesturing to her with it as she came into the room. She swatted it from his hands, strode to her bed.
He knew where she had been, she didn't deny it. She had needs, and what better man to satisfy them than the man who was honor bound to just that?
That pushed him over the edge as she knew it would, delighting in the way they came together like animals, tearing each other apart.
Her wedding day was everything it should have been. The sun held in the sky, basking the city in warmth. She wore a beautiful dress, the crowds cheered and threw flowers at her feet. Her father beamed proudly as she took his arm.
There were whispers of course, how tragic for the bride that her own twin would rather be out sullying his name than be there to witness his sister's most glorious moment. But the whispers became cheers as the Princess kissed her new husband, held his arm so proudly as they walked out of the Sept together, looking every inch the perfect couple.
And now she can't breathe.
She had accepted that her wedding feast would be celebrated without the one person she cared about in attendance. Part of her had wanted him to storm in, cause a scene and revel in his worst impulses and another part had felt proud that he couldn't face her, that she was free to take the spotlight.
But he never did things like she expected or wanted him to. He did indeed storm in, but he did not cause a scene in the way the worst part of her had hoped. He did not charge in atop a horse, high above everyone else. He did not swing a sword at the objectors, the whisperers. He did not rip open her dress, throw her on the table and claim her in front of everyone.
He held her gaze as he walked into the hall, never looking away from her as he slowly walked towards the head of the room, where their family and her new family were gathered. His hand would ghost over the pommel of his sword and move away again. As he walked up the steps to the long table she sat at, she held the perfect surprised expression, a hint of annoyance, a hint of curiosity.
He apologized for his interruption, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt her new husband watch her, reaching for her hand. She took it, her gaze locked on her other half. When he sat at the end of the table, she felt complete.
He would not have her that night, but she would have him forever.
#daemon targeryan#daemon targeryen x reader#daemon fanfic#hotd#hotd fanfic#barbie girl is offically becoming the soundtrack to my hotd writing#not complaining
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