#daemon targaryen fluff
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The Salt In My Blood
You were the beloved Jewel of the Realm, the youngest Targaryen born to Alyssa and Baelon. Though your nature resembled more a lamb rather than a dragon, you posed a threat at court, for a single word out of your mouth inspired a thousand actions from The King and The Rogue Prince. Thus, your match with the Lord of the Iron Islands.
Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader x Dalton Greyjoy | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, targcest (sister!reader), reader has valyrian features (silver hair, violet eyes), power imbalance, graphic depictions of violence/assault/murder/death, canon divergence/inaccurate timelines, ye old misogyny, fuckedupedness of men, smut (dub con, loss of virginity, piv, biting, marking, breeding kink, corruption kink, baby trapping, cockwarming, cunnilingus), internet translated high valyrian, angst, social commentary, typos, etc.
A/N: !!mind the warnings!! This is really yucky because it is. all men do is hurt women. Also I did basic research for Dalton Greyjoy and just used him cuz I needed a character. idk what he's actually like and I'm 99% sure this timeline doesn't add up so, just roll w it ok? Ok. If my internet translated high valyrian sucks, well, it be like that. And surprise surprise i made another song for a fic because i should make use of my music degree while im jobless 💔
my heart goes out to @arabellasleopardcoat because her fic capital really poked my brain and got me fired up enough to write/create again, even if just for this fic. i love you.
Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @thebullship @sa3losa @sloanexx @azperja @happilyhertale
Father, father, shining star, save my brother from the war. Mother, mother, hold me close. I fear brother won't come home. So, I pray, night and day, I do my duty here. Find me, oh [a] husband, so fierce with not a fear. Father, father hears my prayer. Mother, mother dries my tears. All my strife ends tonight for my husband's here.
"But what if someone sees," you whisper.
Daemon clutches your hand tighter as you hurry down the hall. He looks over to you, your expression matches your shaky voice.
Perhaps, had the conditions been different, he'd be softened by your words. The ferocity of his protectiveness would have made him stop in his footsteps and clutch your cheek. Perhaps he would have promised to safeguard you.
But these conditions did not elicit such urges from him. No. It stoked the fires bacchanal in his gut. The stolen taste of your honeyed lips in the garden was not enough.
Daemon finally brings his darling sister into his bedroom, and there, he answers you, "who would dare spy on the king's heir, the prince of the realm?"
Your breath quickens at the sound of your brother locking the door.
The prince of the realm stalks over to you, a dragon gazing upon a meek lamb.
Again, you whisper, "what if someone finds out?"
Daemon could growl. He almost did as he grabs your waist and sinks his head into the crook of your tender neck. You don't even react when he does this, save for your gasp.
Oh, how like you, how docile and doe-like, never one to raise your voice, or fight back, especially not with him.
"Let them find out, sister," he claws your clothing, "then they will not steal you from me."
You are so pliant as he squeezes you, so soft as he roughs you back to his bed. You let him handle you like he did your dolls growing up. He treated them with less than a quarter of the gentleness you would,; they'd end up tattered and broken because of him by the end of your playing session, much to your heartbreak.
Though you cried about it, you never once held it against him, because each time, Daemon would wipe your tears and apologize. He liked breaking your dolls. He liked being your comfort.
He knew without a sliver of doubt you'd let him do the same to your body. You'd let him break you, then kiss the tears off your cheeks. You'd let him, for he was your star, and you were his doll.
Daemon presses you beneath him. He lays you down where he sleeps. He kisses you, the way he has sometimes imagined he would while touching himself, or while in the arms of another. His long, silver hair falls cascades down his shoulder, joining your long, silver hair that's spilled on his pillows.
For so long, he's denied himself of you, because you were too pure, too darling to be tainted.
You whimper as he pushes your skirts up, bunching them by your ribs.
But now, it's all different.
His mouth suckles his way to your neck.
"Daemon."
Now, it's not about denial. It's about what's right. It's about what you deserve.
"Daemon-" you whimper when he reaches into the waistband of your smallclothes, "-wait."
He breathes hotly against your jaw. His hands grab your knees and parts them for himseld
You push his shoulders back, catching his attention. He is displeased, and not even your glassy eyes could quell it. He warns you with an annoyed sound.
You gulp but mutter anyway, "this is wrong."
"Wrong?!" snaps he.
You tense at his anger, yet even then, you caress his cheek gently, "I am to be married to Lord Dalton Greyjoy."
"And you would have me believe you want him?" Daemon quips, "that you do not want me?"
You push yourself up on your elbows. Tears begin to spill down the corner of your eyes, "Daem-"
"Why do you think I am doing this?" He pushes himself against your core.
You whimper at the contact. He is hard.
He grabs your wrists and pins them to your sides, "I do this for your sake, little girl. To save you from your prison."
You gulp and blink rapidly, your silver lashes lace with tears.
The slightest semblance of remorse flashes on your brother's face.
With your head lifted, you watch as Daemon brings his hands to your ankles instead. He rids you of your shoes and chucks them over his shoulder.
Slowly, he strips you naked until you are left in nothing but the jewelry and the stockings he bought you one before.
You cover your breasts, and he lets you while he kneads at your slightly parted thighs.
His eyes are glued on your womanhood, on the curls that don't see the light of day and the flesh that's never been touched by a man.
Daemon clenches his jaw as his fingers inspect the heat there. The two digits find molten wetness flooding your entrance. You make a breathless sound and squeeze your thighs, trying, with pointless effort, to stop him. His eyes flick to your face, the look of embarrassment, of shock, of pleasure visible to him. He debates forcing your legs.
He licks his you-coated fingers and tuts instead, "open."
You look at him, your Daemon, with the faint line between his brows. You close your mouth and lick your lips. Your hands find their way back to your breasts.
The sight is maddening, especially with how the jewel of your necklace looks between the squished mount of flesh.
"Open," he commands with less patience.
Daemon watches his darling princess part her legs for him. His trousers strain more than it did already.
He watches you closely and motions with a finger, "those too."
You do not immediately comply. In fact, you look at Daemon with pleading eyes. He raises his brows at your bratty demeanor, and shakes his head, "are you disobeying me?"
You see the threat in his eyes.
"Kessa nyke mazverdagon ao rūnagon aōha dīnagon?" Shall I make you remember your place?
You shake your head and pipe softly, "daor." No.
Finally, you reveal your breasts to him.
He smirks, "good girl."
Your brother kneads your delicate flesh and grinds his clothed groin against your weeping cunt. The sound you emit makes the feel of the clothes on his skin unbearable.
His grabs your hands and places them on his waistband. He looks down at you as he rids himself of his top. By the time his burning chest is free, you've gotten half the wits to undo his breeches.
His eyes don't leave you as he takes off his shoes.
You timidly pull his pants down, sitting up slightly as you do. You make a soft sound when his manhood flings free. Daemon shoves you back and does the rest himself.
"Daemon. I don't think-"
Your voice is crushed by the feel of his cock sliding into you. A rush of heat ripples through your body. He leans down and kisses your shoulder as you whine.
"Enough," he pants. He uses all his restraint not to fuck you dumb then and there. He grabs your thighs, pressing them into your chest. He can feel your tension. If he fucks you now, he could leave you unable to walk straight. But as sweet as that sounds, he doesn't actually want to hurt you, not that way.
Daemon sinks down to your jugular and kisses you there before he brings his hungry mouth to your breast. He sucks and nips, imagining it being heavy with milk for his babe, the babe he'd put into your belly.
The thought makes his moan and rut his hips.
You make a strained sound and your hands to push his arms. You call his name again, soft and shaky.
Daemon tries to ignore you, his hand coming to your lonely breast on the other side, but the persistent call of his name makes his sigh.
He lightly grazes your nipple before he releases your flesh. He trails kisses up your skin until he lands on your face, your face, which was now wet with salt.
"You need to relax. Mmm?" he coos, kissing your lips, "skoro syt gaomagon ao limagon? Hm?" Why do you cry?
You adjust beneath him, repositioning your thighs, digging your fingers into his nape. You whimper, "lēkia."
Daemon's belly burns. Look at you, crying for your older brother.
"Kessa, ñuha hāedar?" Yes, my little sister?
"Iksan zūgagon," you mutter, tears streaming down your temples. Your nails scratch up his scalp. I am afraid.
Daemon, selfish as he is, does not like the fact that leaves your lips. His brows furrow. He rubs your thighs in an attempt to comfort you. He kisses the corner of your lips, "hen lēkia?" Of your older brother?
You shake your head quickly, rubbing your thumb on his jaw.
His brows furrow tighter. His hold on your thigh tightens, "hen bona Āegenka Āzma?" Of that Iron Born?
You stay still. You take a moment before mumbling, "Viserys said I should marry him for my own good-"
"Fuck that cunt Viserys," he spits angrily.
Your lips quiver.
The anger in Daemon's chest dissipates as you rub the deep line between his brows. He props himself up, sinking a hand by the side of your head. He looks down at you.
"You cannot protect me forever," you whisper, finally relaxing beneath him.
Daemon watches as you lick your lips.
You gulp, "I am a Targaryen princess. I have duties to the realm, to my family."
"Your duty is with me," he grabs your hand, bringing it to his chest.
Your violet eyes sparkle as you examine his features. You tuck the long tresses that block his face behind his ear. Your belly ignites at the fierce beauty of your beloved brother.
"I burn for you," Daemon says, "I know that you burn for me."
"But Daemon-"
The gentle thrust of his hips stifle your words.
"Enough," Daemon repeats this time softer, head sinking back into the crook of your neck, "you have always belonged to me, and you know it."
You whimper and instinctively mold your body against him. Your legs tighten around his torso as his thrusts grow more and more confident.
Daemon kisses you, delighting in the gasp you give when he plays with your pearl. He muffling the sound of your mewls with his mouth.
"They insult us all by daring to mix dragon blood with fucking sea squid," he pants, "you were meant to carry my seed, be my bride."
You moan, feeling a foreign force in your belly.
"I will not let that sewer monster be the one to make you a woman," Daemon licks a stripe up your neck.
You tangle your fingers into the roots of his hair, "Daemon."
His nails scratch up your sides, "twas I that watched you blossom into womanhood, tis I that should be the one to take it."
Neither of you speak after he says this. You both simply whimper, wordlessly agreeing your bodies were made for each other.
The prince had not a single care in the world. He urges you to scream out to him with the flick of his pelvis. He didn't care if anyone could hear, neither did he care that anyone would see the viscious marks he was leaving all over your throat.
You were better than he had ever imagined, and he was determined to make you his. He was intent on emptying his balls in you, over and over again, until you could take no more, until you were too exhausted to leave, until your body had no other choice but to carry him a child.
And when he finally does spill into you, coming with a grunt and a soft, "you're mine," you, the virgin princess finally understand the fuss over sex, and reply to him with an, "I love you."
Daemon fucks you until his bed is soiled with a mix of your come. He fucks you until every minute movement from him makes you shiver and whine. He fucks you until your skin is marked with tender bites. He fucks you until you beg for respite, and then he keeps himself inside you after.
You were a worn little thing, and yet you managed to have the energy to still cling to him as you dozed off.
He kisses your temple and sleeps soundly, knowing he's done it; he's made you his. That was irrefutable. Only a madman would deny him of you now. He basks in the pleasure of your body, and in the knowledge his baby sister so wholeheartedly trusted in him to let him do this.
One can only imagine, then, the mortified horror you felt when you were given to Lord Greyjoy anyway.
This was not part of the plan. You were meant to meet Daemon. He told you you were going to speak to the king together, and yet here your eldest brother was, ushering you towards your captor-husband to be.
"My princess," Dalton says, reaching a hand to you.
You stare at his glimmering eyes, finding nothing but malice and lust behind them. You turn to your brother for help. You do not want to touch this man.
Viserys offers you none and looks away. It hurts when he does so, especially since he does so with such apparently scorn. He smiles at the man, "greet your lord. You will soon be wed to him, sister."
You muster enough artificial interest to smile and take the man's hand. Goosebumps form on your skin when he kisses the back of your hand.
He notices and chuckles, rubbing where he kissed, "such demureness. Do not be frightened of me, my dragon. I would not hurt such a pretty thing."
You clasp your hands together after he releases you.
"Not unless you ask," he adds, bursting into a laugh.
Neither you or Viserys return the amusement. In fact, the latter's face contorts at the distasteful joke. His nostrils flare, "you dare jest such uncouth things in front of your king?"
Dalton Greyjoy is unbothered, but stifles his laughter. He clears his throat and bows, "my apologies, my king. Tis the Ironborn in me. I cannot help my nature, much like you cannot help yours."
You feel light headed the entirety of this interaction. The room feels like it was closing in on you, and you kept glancing at the door, praying that your other brother free you from this torment.
He does not do so. He does not come. In fact, you do not see Daemon anywhere the entire day.
Dalton keeps you by his side, taking your arm in his as he makes you stroll him around the Red Keep. You do so, of course, no matter how strong the urge to run away and hide from him was. The entire time, Dalton recounts his stories of battle, his stories at sea, his stories of life. He's sincere enough, but you are not interested in the slightest.
"I think you'd enjoy the feel of sea salt against your skin, just as much you enjoy the whip of the clouds," he grins with genuine enthusiasm.
Any response you have is put out by his next words.
"I can introduce you to my salt-wives."
"Salt-wives?"
"Aye," he says proudly, "I'd say I have about twenty, but I cannot assure you its accuracy."
You are horrified. Finally, you have the gall to pull away, "what?"
Dalton chuckles, somehow amused, but his brows furrow, as if irritated, "we Ironborn keep salt wives in our ships, to give us comfort and warmth when the sea gets too rough. Is this princess so sheltered to not know this?"
You curdle when he reaches for your neck.
"You needn't be jealous. You'd be my one and only rock wife."
You scowl at his condescending tone, "I thought that was just a wives' tale."
He laughs. It is rich, amused, and foreboding. He shakes his head, "it's about as much of a wives' tale as your dragons are, princess."
Later that night, you weep at the king's feet, begging him not to marry you off to such a man.
Viserys does not hear it, and it is only then that Daemon finally appears.
When he does, it's as if the gods themselves breathed life into you. Quickly, you run into him and sob into his chest.
Daemon holds you tightly and glares at the king, "what have you done to her?"
Viserys scoffs. The dark room, illuminated only by the fireplace and a few lit candles, feels to him like it's darkened because of Daemon. He shifts where he sits, "I? I found her a husband."
Daemon's eye twitches, "you gave her to me! You said it just this morning."
You look up at Daemon, hopeful at the sound of his words.
"I said I would think about it once you report your patrol at the City Watch to me."
Daemon releases you to impose on his brother, "I kept your city clean from crimes and safe for the people."
"And where did you go after?" Viserys narrows his eyes.
You rub your arms as you watch your brothers argue.
Daemon does not respond.
Viserys turns to you, "tell your beloved sister where you went after your patrols."
Daemon does not move.
Your chest tightens at the silence, "... Daemon."
The said man opens his mouth, "I went to get a dri-"
"A whorehouse!" Viserys blurts, rising from his seat to glare at Daemon. He turns back to you, pushing past him, "I would know. I paid every whore in Fleabottom to seduce him."
Your heart leaps into your mouth, "w-what?"
Daemon is stunned.
"See now," Viserys is close enough to clutch your cheeks, "your beloved brother is a man like all the rest. No more is the dragon righteous than the kraken."
Your eyes begin to fog with tears. Your hands begin to tremble. Why was he doing this to you?
"Greyjoy is no less a dog than the rest of us. He at least, is honoring a tradition. Daemon honors only his cock."
You turn to Daemon, hoping to find this was not the case, but his expression says it all. Youlet a pained whimper, "you teach me so cruelly, brother."
"I teach you," he swipes your tears with his thumbs, "for your own good."
"You fucking--"
You scream in terror as Daemon lunges at Viserys. You reel back and watch as the two crash down to the floor, the younger of the two finding the upper hand. They roughly struggle against each other.
It only takes another scream from you, begging them to stop, for the kingsguards to burst into the room.
You can no longer stay screaming when Daemon grabs Viserys by the collar and slams him repeatedly against the ground, especially not when Viserys claws at Daemon's face to get him off. You dash forward just as the guards order the prince to stop.
You grab Daemon's arm, and out of instinct, he swats you back, hand hitting your nose with rage powered force.
You shoot back into a kingsguard, feeling your face throb in pain.
It takes Viserys screaming your name for Daemon to stop.
The impact of hitting the armored man makes your back twinge, but it does not hurt nearly as much as the back handed hit you received from your brother.
The kingsguard catches you and stands you upright. He quickly asks if you are alright, but doesn't wait for an answer because he then shoves Daemon back, putting himself between him and you when he tries to come near.
Daemon glares in offence.
"Throw him in the fucking dungeon," Viserys spits out as he is helped up by another guard.
Daemon fights back, but is no match against three guards.
He screams your name as he is dragged off.
You clutch your face as he tells you he didn't mean to hit you. You face throbs as he tells you he loves you, and only you.
For once, you doubt his words.
Viserys comes to your side, placing a gentle hand in your shoulder. You watch as he commands a servant to get something for your hit.
He clutches your cheek that was struck and sighs, "if you wed the Red Kraken, you will strengthen our hold on the Iron Lands. Dalton Greyjoy is a formidable warrior. I couldn't think of a more capable man to safekeep the Jewel of the Realm."
As he stroked your hair, you realized that Viserys was right. It didn't matter who it was, all men were the same. When your septa warned you of men's depravity, you believed your brothers to be the exception. Now, you knew exactly why you were called-
"Little lamb," Viserys coos, "I only want what is best for all of us."
You were too naive to believe in good things.
And so you marry Dalton Greyjoy the next day.
The haste with which the wedding is prepared is to prevent you from changing your mind, you figured. That, and to keep Daemon in prison for the least amount of time.
Part of you wanted to visit him, but part of you wanted him to suffer. In the end, you realized you were too weak to behold your brother as a prisoner.
Daemon screams and bangs at his bars, demanding he be released. But the prison guards have handled worse and throw cold water at him to shut him up.
He knew by the time he was free, he would be too late to stop your marriage, but still, he meticulously planned what he would do the moment he was.
That night, after the wedding festivities were over, Dalton takes you to your room and makes you his wife.
"It's been a while since I've had a virgin," Dalton says, caressing your cheek, "don't worry, I will be gentle."
You want to scream, you want tofight him back, but you remember you're not a virgin, and fear paralyzes you. You mumble, "m-my dragon riding."
Dalton pushes back bour silver hair and kisses your shoulder.
You can't help but think of Daemon in this moment, but it makes you feel sick, and so you will him out of your head. You mumble again, "my dragon riding may taken my womanhood."
Dalton pulls away and stares at you for a moment.
"I- I was told as a child, it happened to many Targaryen princesses."
He pulls his hands, which were on your hips, away then shoves you down on your bed. He smirks as he undoes his clothing, "then I can be rough with you, aye?"
You quiver at his gaze.
He laughs, shaking his head, "didn't I say I would not hurt you? Unless under your request?"
You push inch back as he crawls over. He grabs your ankle, then the other, causing you to panic. You instinctively kick him off, but instead of being deterred, he is excited.
"Sh, sh, sh," he hushes, "it will not be unpleasant, my dragon."
Your skin pricks with gooseflesh when he removes your shoes, your socks, and sneaks his hand up your skirt.
You whimper and turn away, finding you could no longer kick back when he seizes your knees.
"Please-"
"Shhh," he hushes, giving you the first solemn look he has this entire day he's been smug, "I've had much practice from my salt wives. You, my rock wife, will taste the fruits of my practice... as I taste you."
You gasp when he suddenly rips your underwear off.
" I swear to you, your body will enjoy it, even if your mind wants you to believe otherwise."
You muffle your mouth with your palm when you feel Dalton sink in between your thighs.
He was right.
The entire time he touches you, it feels like your skin was being scorched. Your heart was not in it, but your body twisted in pleasure. You hated that you longed for Daemon, even after the fact you were not enough for him; he was still the only one you still, and this moment proved it.
You were brought to tears at how pathetic it was. Tears streamed as you reached your peak, one of the many you receive from your... husband.
He handled you with carnal instinct, just as Daemon did, but unlike him, Dalton did not kiss your tears. In fact, he did not kiss your face once. It is you that initiates such a thing, amidst the throes of your lewd pleasure. He grabs your jaw when your lips connect, and quickly releases his load into you after.
Your peak is cut short because he pulls out just when you reach it.
You watch as he rolls over and goes to sleep without another word.
The next morning, the servants call you Princess Greyjoy and it haunts you.
"No need to look so sullen, wife," you hear over your shoulder.
If the cold from the early morning wasn't enough to make you shiver, the kiss on your shoulder was.
The ship rocks as you tear your gaze away from King's Landing, King's Landing that looked so tiny now from where you stood. A sea of tears laid between you and the home that will never be yours again. You turn to Dalton. He leans his elbows on the edge of the ship and looks up at you, "we can do many things to liven your mood."
You watch him as he rubs your hips. Your stomach curdles but you manage to offer a smile, "I... am flattered, but I do not want to distract the captain of this ship."
Dalton chuckles and straightens up, "trust me. The crew would appreciate it if you did."
You squeak when he yanks you into him.
"Right boys?!" he calls loudly, "shall I make a salt wife out of my rock wife?!"
The crew cheers and it makes your skin burn in mortification.
The next thing you know, you are thrown over his shoulder. He slaps your ass and takes you to his quarters. The crew laughs as he does.
You helplessly grunt when he drops you on his bed-- your shared bed. You silently peer up at him as he stares at you. You are releived he paces across the room, towards his table. He grabs something and chucks it at you. You flinch but manage to catch it.
He sits on the table as you inspect the pouch. You open it, finding herbs inside.
"I heard you've been drinking that," he says.
You look up at him.
"Haven't you?" he asks.
You smell it and wretch. It smells exactly like-
"Moon tea," Dalton says, making your blood run cold, "for the bastard in your belly.*
You are frozen in your spot. Your stomach drops when he stands and walks over. He grabs your chin. It is not harsh, but it strikes fear in you anyway.
"I asked you a question, wife."
You open your mouth, but no words come out.
"HAVE YOU BEEN TAKING THE FUCKING TEA OR NOT?" he screams, grabbing your neck.
Your hands fly to his grip. Your fingers attempt to pry him away.
You wheeze when he squeezes you. Your flail your legs and try to kick him off. You can't. Just as your vision begins to go dark, he releases you. You fall onto the bed and frantically try to catch your breath. You cough and hear him smash things around the room.
As so you behold the man who said he would not hurt you unless you asked him, brutalize the furniture.
You think your chances are better in the sea rather than on this boat. You slowly maneuver towards the door while he is distracted. Just as you are about to sprint, he grabs you and throws you back down on his bed.
"You stupid slut!" he screams, "you think you can run?!
You try to scream for help, but the pain in your throat when you try to stops you. Not a second later, you scream anyway.
He slaps you across the face, promptly silencing you. The sting is ten times worse than what Daemon did.
"I was promised a Targaryen princess, not some whore of a dragon!" he screams, kicking the chair by his desk across the room. He laughs angrily, shaking his head, "dragon riding, my arse."
Your heart drops as he storms over, "who's the father of your bastard child?!"
Indistinguishable sounds leave your lips.
"ANSWER ME!" he demands, grabbing your shoulders, dragging you to your feet. Your head recoils at the sheer force of it. You take a moment to steady your head.
Your eyes search Dalton's enraged features, hoping to chance upon a sliver of compassion... in vain. The sound that leaves your mouth is response to the bruising squeeze of your arms. You cannot help but whimper as tears stream down your cheeks, "you're hurting me."
He is further angered by this. He gives you a powerful shake. Your head lashes back again and you scream.
"Give me a name!" erupts the lord.
You no longer have it in you to hold your tongue, and so you confess, "Daemon!"
Dalton releases you. He is repulsed, "your brother?" He scoffs, "you revolting, little worm," he slaps you across the face, making you lose your balance.
Before you crash into anything, he grabs you again and keeps you upright. You can feel your cheek and lips swell at his assault.
"And here they had me believing you were some meek lamb," he laughs dryly, brushing your hair back, "you're nothing but a whore, grown from perversion and abomination."
Your expression hardens. You glare at him and rebut, though your head was pounding, "and your sea rituals are more righteous than my family traditions?"
Without another word, Dalton shoves you back, propelling you into his desk. Your skull crashes against the edge with a horrendous thud.
You fall limp onto the floor. Dalton cares little if you were dead or unconscious. He walks out of the room right before he can witness the red staining your white hair.
Dalton is no fool. He knows better than to disfigure a Targaryen princess.
He walks towards the wheel of the ship and continues the course to what his crew believed to be a shortcut to home. In truth, he was bringing the ship to its doom, to face you with with a trail of the sea.
He would crash the ship into a chokehold of rocks, and if you survived, if he found your floating body, he would keep you, as you proved your resilience. But if you were swallowed into the depths, if he was unable to find you in the debris, he would praise the Drowned god for your riddance.
The same want with his crew.
Of course, there was a bit of this that felt like suicide, but he knew he was too vengeful to die, so he knew he had nothing to fear.
When the Greyjoy ship finally reached the rocky pass, Dalton was promptly warned of the danger by his lookout, who he obviously ignored.
He ordered to hoist the sails, and, blindly, the crew followed, even through apparent worry.
It didn't take very long after for the ship to crash into the cliffs.
The crew clamors. They scream and panic, turning to their captain that could not care less. He pretends to steer them to safety, but he actually slammed them further into their demise.
The deck begins to crumble. The mast snaps. The sails break off. Dalton calls to abandon ship.
The crew don't need any more convincing.
One by one, each man for their own, they try to escape with their life.
By the time Dalton jumps off the ship, the thing is half submerged in the water, crumbs of it on the side of a rock.
It was pure chaos.
Dalton swims far enough from the destruction, and knows the gods smiled upon him and his decision when he sees a large wooden slab he can climb on.
He does just that and looks out to his crew, helping the ones that manage to swim over, commanding the others calling for help to simply swim or drown.
He looks around, trying to make out a body of a woman, a blob of a dress, a head of silver hair in the aftermath.
"My wife," he screams, "has anyone seen my wife?!"
He wasn't concerned, of course. He just wanted to know his fate as a husband, but this did make for a good alibi.
His surviving men look and swim around for you. They find no trance.
Dalton presses his lips, "little dragon couldn't fly away."
They take refuge in a cliff. Lord Greyjoy tells his crew not to bitch and panic because they will surely be found by a passing ship soon enough.
He had planned this shipwreck after all.
By the time Dalton and his remaining men were saved, a flash of red circled in the setting sky, hovering over the massive rock that held the shipwreck that bore the sigil of Greyjoy.
Caraxes screeches as his rider commands him to get closer to the scene. The dragon hesitates but eventually lands on the cliff. Waves crash upon the area, causing the beast to bleat when he is wet.
Daemon is frantic as he gazes upon the destruction. He is distressed unlike he's ever been. His voice is distinctly desperate and hysterical. He screams out your name, even though it was nothing against the roar of the splashing waves.
He heaves heavily as he erratically decides to dismount and jump into the water.
As he wades, he tries to convince himself that what he was doing was for naught. Perhaps you were not here to begin with. But the gut feeling was overwhelming; it was sickening.
He tries to believe that bottom feeder, Greyjoy, saved you before his ship crumbled. He tries to convince himself that cunt's lust for you was enough reason to keep you alive.
But he remembers the servant he threatened with a knife whilst demanding to know which route your ship would take. He thinks of how he almost shit himself while confesssing to Daemon that Greyjoy planned to pass through a rocky region as a shortcut. But Daemon's flown over that area, and knew it was out of the way to the Iron Islands.
After squeezing out what's left from that servant, Daemon's face falls when he mentions that rusted octopus had an argument with a servant girl that came to serve the princess a cup of tea.
Daemon was no fool. Dalton was a butish barbarian. If he found out you were drinking Moon Tea, he would do his worst on you for blemishing his pride.
And so he swam. Daemon swam, dove down, and searched for your body until he had to stop because Caraxes was getting restless. He commanded him to calm down, but he could only do it so many times until he, himself, was the same.
He eventually gets back on Caraxes. Daemon can't bring himself to leave just yet however, and finds himself praying to whatever god out there to return his love back to him.
Caraxes circles the area one last time before heading off. For some reason, Daemon feels the urge to check underneath a large slab of shattered wood. He commands his mount to lift it, and the dragon screeches as he does what he can with his hind legs.
The sound that leaves the prince's mouth is what could be described as pure anguish.
A head of silver hair floats up and wafts in the water along with a tattered dress. Your body garnered a horrid tone of grey and you were missing your shoes.
Daemon cannot contain the tears that gush out of his eyes.
Caraxes carries your body in his claws all the way to the Keep.
The way in which he commands his ride to set your body down is frantic and incredibly detailed. Part of him realizes Caraxes probably recognized you, considering the way he laid on his belly and sniffed you as Daemon buckled to his knees and lamented over your stiff and frigid body.
He speaks to you in High Valyrian. His salty tears drip on your salt water drowned body. He promises he will never trick you, never argue with you, and never make you cry ever again if only you open your violet eyes.
He rocks back and forth with you in his arms, unsure which of you he was soothing by doing this.
He swears he will turn the sea red with blood and burn the whole Iron Islands to avenge you.
He is incredibly uncomfortable of the chill of your skin. He shakes his head, telling you dragons must not be kept cold. He kisses your face in an attempt to warm it up. He recounts a time where you accidentally spilled candle wax on him, burning his skin, and tells you that you still need to make up for your offence. He tells you he will forgive you if you simply hold him back.
Viserys had to account for three dragons by the time he found out what was happening, one was Daemon, whose grief morphed into murderous spite. He threatened to slay anyone who wanted to take you from him. Not again. Another was Caraxes, who refused to leave his heartbroken rider's side. The last was your dragon, who felt the loss of your connection, and went into a rabid state mourning.
It takes 5 people to secure your dragon in the pit, 5 people to subdue Caraxes, and 3 people to separate Daemon from your corpse.
The king takes a moment to clutch your hand. His face flinches. Where once your hand was so warm, no warmth now remained. He steps back and watches the maesters cover your body and take you away.
#daemon fanfic#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen#daemon x reader#daemon targaryen fanfic#daemon smut#daemon targaryen smut#daemon fluff#daemon targaryen fluff#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon smut#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#dalton greyjoy#dalton greyjoy fanfic#dalton greyjoy angst#dalton greyjoy smut#hotd angst#daemon angst#daemon targaryen angst#greyjoy angst
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Hey! Saw you were looking for requests. I've seen Alicent's child!Reader manipulating Daemon into being on the Greens side. What about Alicent's daughter accidentally seducing Daemon? Like she's innocent and doesn't realise what she's done but Rhaenyra is not happy about it. (Rhaenyra still loves Daemon and can't get over the fact he is fall for her half-sister)
say yes to heaven
daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader
synopsis: your uncle always had a soft spot for you, but everyone else could see it was something more.
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your mother hardly ever touched you, let alone brush your hair. she was smiling, a pleasant one, as she followed the brush with her fingers, carefully raking through. it was quiet, the only sound was the crackling of the burning wood, candles flickering around you as you gazed into the mirror, eyes honing in on her face.
she put a hand on your shoulder, a hesitance to it that you wondered if she thought you wouldn’t notice. “you looked lovely today.” she commented, her fingers still going to play with your hair, “prince daemon couldn’t take his eyes off of you.” there was a twinge of disdain in her voice. your mother, after all these years, still couldn’t stand your uncle and half-sister. if she could avoid them all together, she would.
you grabbed the lock of silver hair from her fingers and brushed it forward. you looked down at the table in front of you, and noticed the silver hairbrush that your uncle had acquired for you on one of his many travels. you grabbed the silver hairbrush, giving it to your mother, “he was telling stories from his time in the kings guard.” you tried to brush off the tension, but alicent had grabbed the brush with reluctance.
“riñnykeā, come.” your uncle’s voice whispered in your ear, you turned to see his back, already walking off. you rolled your eyes, following closely as he walked. he was walking quickly, and you had to lift your skirts to try and catch up to him, “umbagon!” you shouted, and he slowed just enough for you to match his stride.
you were smiling now, a laugh just on the tip of your tongue as he bumped into you. you laughed, and shoved him lightly, “what is it you have to show me? is it so important that we have to practically walk half the keep?” you turned back to see the path you had been walking. it was far now, and daemon shrugged, “i know you’ll like this.” his eyes lingered, catching your gaze, you blushed and instead looked to the ground for the rest of your trek.
daemons eyes blazed with satisfaction as he saw you practically leaping up and down with joy. you grabbed him, pulling him into a hug as you still continued to squeal. he laughed, watching you light up was what he lived for.
“i assume the walk was worth it?” daemon raised his eyebrows, and you nodded, “very much so.” you grabbed the sword, grabbing it off the table it had been set on. you hissed slightly, and ignored daemons warnings of the metal still being hot. your fingers brushed over the large targaryen emblem, etched onto the swords hilt. there was a weight to it, but your body seemed to adjust. you swung it towards him, smiling, “perhaps the rogue prince would like to spar?” you looked at him, smirking as you brushed his shoulder with your blade.
hung on his hip was dark sister, and daemon couldn’t resist a challenge. he unsheathed it, watching as you stood firmly against him.
rhaenyra could hear the clashing of swords and laughter as she walked. the closer she got to the training room, the more she recognized you, and daemon.
she put a hand on the door, the commotion was now getting louder, and you were laughing more. daemon’s shouts could be heard, but they were in good spirit. rhaenyra swallowed thickly, and pushed the door open.
daemon had finally caught you. you had cut him on his cheek, and decided that running around the training room was apology enough. but he had finally caught you, dropping your blade, you laughed in his arms. “i’m sorry,” your finger moved to wipe the blood from his cheek, “i ruined your handsome face.” daemon hissed slightly at the contact, but shook his head, “you gave me a memory, riñnykeā. a story to tell.” he knew there was nothing more you loved than hearing his war stories, or his stories from his time as king of the narrow sea.
you nodded, “i guess so.” your hand lingered on his cheek, and you caught yourself staring into his eyes for too long, and your head dipped in embarrassment. you pulled away, but rhaenyra had already seen you.
rhaenyra couldn’t shake the nauseous feeling that crashed upon her. swallowing the rising bile wasn’t enough.
“daemon.” her voice sounded steady, there was no shakiness to it that would reveal how she felt. there was disgust, disgust that daemon was currently holding you, barely her sister, in his arms like a wife.
you were pulling away from him, but daemon held you in his arms still, his hand snaking around your waist, pulling at the skin. he looked at rhaenyra and raised his eyebrows, “what?” he sounded hostile, his jaw clenching as he stared at his wife.
you looked between them and realized there was something that neither of them were saying. you grabbed his hand, it was warm to the touch, but you peeled back his fingers, “thank you, uncle. for my gift, but i must go now.” you stepped back to retrieve your blade, tossed to the ground like an afterthought, daemon dipped his head slightly, “yes..” he trailed off, his hand swinging like dead weight as it fell from your waist. his head turned to rhaenyra, his mouth opening, but you were already too far to catch his words.
alicent glared at the blade, wrapped in one of your finer silks, sitting on your bed. you were at your vanity, removing your jewels, you began to undo your hair, preparing to brush it.
“what did rhaenyra say again?” alicent looked away from the blade, warily towards you. you shrugged, “nothing. all she said was his name and they stared at each other for a moment until i left.”
alicent hummed in response, and sighed, “are you to sleep with the blade now? not even your brothers sleep with their weapons.” her comment made you slid your eyes towards her, before scoffing, “my brothers might not sleep with weapons but they have slept with half of westeros.” you grabbed the silver hairbrush, and raked it through your hair, “my uncle gave me a gift that is more than just a weapon.” alicent stayed quiet, and moved to brush your hair, “i think daemon wants to give you more than just a sword.”
it was a week before you saw daemon again. you had been training with your new blade during, hoping to impress him with improved skills.
you had moved towards the stuffed sparring dummy, full of hay. your sword struck it, a deep slash appeared on the dummy’s stomach as you pulled your sword back. you huffed, staring down at your mark with pride.
the sound of clapping echoed out into the room and you turned, seeing your uncle with his shoulder leaning against the doorway. he continued to clap as he walked towards you. excitedly, you walked up to him, “what do you think?”
daemon neared you, grabbing your face in his hands, leaning down, he brought his lips towards yours, “magnificent..” and he brought them down, crashing against yours, you felt his teeth against your lips, moaning as you kissed him.
you dropped your blade again, your hands moving to grab at his back, pulling him closer. he pulled back, drawing a breath, he kissed you once more, “show me, show me again.” he panted, his voice sounded shaky, but his grip on you was determined.
rhaenyra couldn’t stop him. she had begged, pleaded that he leave you alone.
“how could you?!” her cries had been heard across the keep, horrified that her husband would present you with such a gift.
not for the fact that you were her sister, but because he was her husband.
but he was a man, a man she loved, even if he was corrupting her younger sister right before her eyes. she had seen him slip away, knowing where he was off to. all rhaenyra could do was sit in front of the fire, and try not to vomit up the contents of her stomach.
“show me again.” daemon pulled at the shoulder of your dress, his fingers pulling at the fabric. you shuddered at the cold air hitting your bare skin, and did as he said, moving gracefully as your sword cut through the air. daemon watched you, his eyes enchanted by your movements, he couldn’t deny himself of you. finally, with a frustration to it, he pulled your dress down from the shoulder, the fabric tearing roughly as you gasped. nearly dropping the sword, you pawed as your dress fell around you in ribbons.
daemon didn’t miss a beat, “show. me. again.” he demanded, his voice was powerful, showing of the authority he once had.
“yes, my prince.” you whispered, and continued to cut through the air, smiling as you did so.
#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader#daemon targaryen angst#daemon x rhaenyra#daemon targaryen fluff#daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen smut#house of the dragon#hotd smut#hotd angst#hotd fluff
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Alpha!Daemon Targaryen meets his Omega
The king had taken you in upon realizing that you were an Omega.
You were the daughter of Vaemond though he would never acknowledge you as his as you were just a bastard, though you were also the first Targaryen offspring of any kind that was an Omega in nearly 100 years. There were a few Alphas such as Daemon and Corlys but no Omegas.
Viserys ensured you were given the best education possible (considering you didn’t present until you were 14 and had lived as an orphan until then) and kept you close with constant guards, unwilling to risk a rouge Beta deciding that fucking a Targaryen Omega would be fun.
You became quite close with Rhaenyra and neither of you was usually seen without the other. You had arrived in the palace after being found by a guard in the street only about 2 weeks after the beginning of Daemons war in the step stones.
You had been told plenty about Daemon by your best friend who admitted she had had a little crush on him before falling in love with Ser Harwin Strong. You wondered quite a bit about the rouge Prince but for the most part you put it out of your mind.
You didn’t meet Daemon until 3 years later, you had settled into being a lady and for the most part gotten a handle on life in the capital, so of course someone would show up and turn it on its head. The smell washed over you almost instantly as he knelt down before the king, handing over his make-shift crown and you froze. You had always been tense around Alphas, it’s just common sense when you’re an Omega, especially one without any kind of defense training which you didn’t have since you had guards at all times but you do wish you could feel safer in knowing you could protect yourself, at least a little bit.
His scent though…it washed over you in waves and you were overcome by the rush of calm and need your Alphas scent delivered you. He was in the middle of hugging his brother when his body went stiff and you knew he smelled you too.
“Help?” You whispered to Rhaenyra, her looking over you and realizing what was happening fast.
“Are you sure? It could only be-“
“Your Omega brother! This is wonderful! Y/n is the only Omega in the castle, where are you child?” Rhaenyra pulled you down and through the side door, having avoided the guards who were listening to Damon’s shocking news.
“You do know you can’t avoid him, right? Daemon is…tenacious to say the least.” She teased and you smiled a bit as you both quickly made your way outside and into the gardens.
“I understand but I don’t want all of those people watching like it is their own affair.”
If anyone understood you in the world it was her, for the most part at least. You were only alone in the Godswood for about 5 minutes before you heard footsteps and looked up to see her father walking towards you with a battalion of guards.
“Go, it’s okay. Get back to your room, you’ll be safer there than anywhere else. I’ll handle my father, go!” She pushed you and you stumbled back before running through the bushes of flowers and trees, only just having looked back to see if she had followed when you plowed into a firm, hard body.
“You must be Y/n.” He spoke and you nodded your head cautiously, taking a step back but his face softened. “Don’t be frightened. I know my reputation but no harm will ever befall you while I am here lovely Omega.” His face was smirking but the thrumming bond that snapped in place the second you smelled each other was weighing down on you, pushing you to relax. “I mean what I say, you are safe my sweet Byka rūklon. I am your protector now.” (Little Flower)
He held out his arm, I suppose trying to be less intimidating and I enjoyed it quite a bit having heard the tales of Daemon Targaryen, rider of Caraxes. Everyone said that you couldn’t help but feel fear when he stared down at you, an intimidating presence to say the least but all I felt from him in that moment was adoration. I took his arm after a brief pause and he smiled, his face relieving itself of that signature smirk and led me back to the castle. “Oh Good! You’ve found her brother.” The king spoke as he stood by the door with my guards who moved to stand behind me before Daemon stopped them.
“You two have been relieved of your duties.” They looked stunned for a second but given that its Daemon that said if they quickly took off before he decided to have their heads removed from their bodies for standing too close to me.
“Brother? You can’t possibly think you can protect her alone, you have duties to-“
“I very well could protect her alone! However I will choose guards to stay with her who won’t lose her in a throne room whenever she decides to go for a walk. I need men far less stupid and I will appoint them when we return to Dragonstone to marry. You’ll love it there Byka rūklon, I promise you. Let us go, the flight will take about 6 hours.”
“You’re leaving already? Daemon, don’t you think-“
“I would like to marry my Omega as soon as possible, you understand that brother. Nothing that need be too planned, we will marry in the ways of our ancestors. I will wait until you and Rhaenyra can be there, I’m sure my Omega wants her friend there, don’t you Byka rūklon?” I nodded quickly.
“Please? It would feel wrong without her…Alpha.” I added Alpha at the end, seeing how much he longed for it by the look on his face.
“Anything you want, always.” Daemon pulled me close to his chest, kissing my head and I welcomed the comfort he now delivered me, his scent flooding my senses and effecting me greatly. “Will you bring her things for her my dear niece? It will be greatly appreciated.” I could tell Daemon was rushing as he began moving again and I knew how much he hated these people and this place, pulling me towards the exit with the King and my friend behind to see us off I suppose. Rhaenyra had told me how much Daemon preferred Dragonstone to Kings Landing, less conniving, conspiring people there and one less Otto Hightower who I admittedly didn’t like either. Speaking of whom.
“Daemon, leaving already?” We we’re almost at the door to the front gates when he had cut him off, looking at me the entire time. He had always stared at me and struck me as the sort of Beta I needed to be protected from. My guards always kept me at least a good 5 feet from him making me incredibly grateful that they answered to the King directly and never the Hand.
“I would like to be back on Dragonstone with my Omega as soon as I can, not that it’s any of your business.” I could hear my Alphas distaste in his voice as he practically spit the words at him. As Otto took a step closer I tightened my grip on Daemons hand and he looked down at me curiously, seeing I wouldn’t take my eyes off of him and that seemed to be enough.
“Well we will certainly miss your presence in our halls my dear Omega.” Daemons hand was gone from mine so quickly I barely had time to look up before he was pressing him to the wall and choking the life out of him.
“Daemon!” Viserys shouted, watching his brother but keeping the guards from stopping him, turning his head to me.
“You think you get to call her that? You think that’s appropriate for you Beta?! No one calls my Omega that but me, you disgusting old bat!” Otto was making a choking noise and while I enjoyed it I knew I had to calm him now before the Hand lost his head. While Daemon would be in his rights to protect me, many would dispute it and we surely wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.
I reached out, placing my hand onto his shoulder and while his muscles tensed for a second they quickly relaxed again. “Alpha. It’s okay.”
“Why do you fear him? Answer me quickly Omega.” He warned, his hand tightening and a quiet whine coming from Otto.
“I am uncomfortable with the way he looks at me, however the guards never let him close. All is well…Please Daemon? If you kill him leaving now is not an option.” I reminded, his hand releasing the man instantly and turning to me before he collapsed to the floor.
“His eyes will never linger on you again Byka rūklon, you have my word…brother. I will see you in a few days. Do not bring this snake with you.” He turned to hug his brother as Rhaenyra hugged me close.
“Hop on Syrax and come visit often, okay? You can stay a few nights, escape Alicent and skip your schooling with me.” I teased feeling her giggle as she held me.
“I promise. I’ll come a few weeks after the wedding.”
“Weeks?”
“You’ll be busy afterwards, trust me. I know Daemon. He has the blood of the Dragon, and it runs hot. Be safe, and good luck in the sky. Hold on tightly.” I was confused for a moment before understanding her meaning. I had always hesitated to get onto Syrax with her, scared of falling off but now it’s not Syrax I’ll be riding.
My hand was taken again and pulled out the door and towards the big red beast in the courtyard causing me to pull back, Daemon turning to face me and smiling at my nervous face. “It’s alright Byka rūklon, I won’t let you fall.”
“What about getting eaten before I even get onto him!?” He snorted, holding me to him tighter and leading me forward, the dragons eyes on me as we got closer.
“Caraxes understands more than you think, he feels what I feel for you and he would never hurt you because that would hurt me.” The white haired man took hold of my hand and held it in his with his other arm around my waist, holding my hand in his up to the giant scaly creature. “You are the only person other than me that he will feel the need to protect. All dragons protect their riders mates, but Omegas even more so.” He leaned into my much smaller hand and I felt his cold scales on my skin, Damon moving my other hand to stroke up his snout.
“Rytsas Caraxes.” I knew my pronunciation was shit but the Blood Worm made a purring noise that rivaled my own with how deep and lovely it was.
“That was wonderful. Has Rhaenyra been teaching you?” I nodded my head.
“So that we could talk without most understanding, especially the Queen.” I giggled, continuing to pet the Dragon who leaned his head into my body which would have knocked me over had Daemon not been behind me holding on.
“Lykiri!” Daemon commanded though he just continued leaning into me.
“It’s okay…I like it.”
“Hmm…just wait until you are carrying my child. He will never want to leave your side. Aegon the Conquerors Omega was nearly always with Balerion when she was with child, he was a protective beast. Knowing Caraxes you’re going to have an even harder time being alone.” He teased and while he meant to make me laugh it actually sounded quite nice to be honest.
“We’re going to be the best of friends, huh?” He trilled out a wonderful sound but unlike the sound a bird makes the ground nearly vibrated with it, it was so deep. “I think I like the sound of that.” I told Daemon whose hand traveled down from my waist to cup my sex through my dress making me gasp as my body became tingly.
“Then we’d better get started, shouldn’t we?” He spoke in my ear, causing my body to shiver excitedly. “I’m going to fill you up so full there will be no doubt that you are carrying my child, and no Beta will dare lay eyes on you again! You will spend the rest of forever filled with my children, Gods I want to fill this cunt so desperately! All mine!” He growled, his other hand now squeezing my tit as he kissed my neck roughly.
“All yours Alpha! Whenever you want, forever!” I was becoming very turned on but just as quickly as he started groping me, he stopped and lifted me over his shoulder roughly, climbing up onto Caraxes and placing me in front of him so I would not fall off.
“Hold on Omega.”
“You think!?” He cackled at my shout and I rolled my eyes.
“Riding dragons is what you will be doing the rest of your life, enjoy it, there’s no way to get away from it now.” His threat was playful but I considered it for a moment…I don’t think I want to get away from this. This is perfect.
#hotd season 1#hotd#hotd x reader#daemon x reader#daemon fanfic#daemon smut#daemon x y/n#daemon targeryen x reader#daemon targaryen#daemon imagine#daemon targaryen x oc#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen x female reader#daemon targaryen imagine#daemon targaryen x y/n#daemon targaryen smut#daemon targaryen fluff#daemon fluff#hotd imagine#house of the dragon#caraxes#daemon targaryen fanfic#matt smith
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Hi! For the bingo: Daemon Targaryen & courting?
Mirror (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)
Warnings: Targaryen reader. Mature situations. Mature language. A bit of angst, incest, and innocence kink.
Summary: Courting. Daemon’s version.
A/N: Everyone who writes Daemon fics has tackled this trope. I missed oneshots so bad.
There was little King Viserys wouldn’t do for his lovely daughters. During your childhood, there were two of everything. Two Septas, two dolls, two play daggers. For as long as you have been alive, there have been efforts made to make things fair.
No doubt, it was the legacy of your mother. Your father was nice enough, but you doubted he had the foresight to try to avoid sibling rivalry. Queen Aemma’s influence had been greatly missed after her passing.
It had been then when the problems between you and Rhaenyra had started. Your relationship had gotten even more rocky when she was named heir. The situation had turned so bad, even your father had noticed. And just as if it were one of his models, he had demanded perfect symmetry in all aspects.
The same rooms. Same number of servants. Same number of dresses you were allowed to own. An even split of your mother’s jewels.
Unfortunately, there were things not even King Viserys could fix. This was one of them, you thought, as you sat on one of the rails of the dragon pit.
Daemon and Rhaenyra race on their dragons in the open sky right above you. They shriek in laughter and shout things in High Valyrian. You are not sure which you resent more. Rhaenyra, for dragging you along with the promise of tending to Syrax or Daemon for interrupting your time with your sister.
It seemed as if all you did was fight now. The occasion where you did not was rare, and so, intrusion on it was not welcome. But at the same time, you can’t help but wonder if Rhaenyra is playing a cruel trick on you, dragging you here so you can see what you are missing.
Despite your best attempts at keeping yourself calm, you can’t help but feel rage bubble up in your throat. Rage, and a deep sense of failure. You had heard even Laena Velaryon, younger than you, had managed to claim a dragon. Was this why your father had chosen Rhaenyra to be heir and not you?
It felt cruel, and hurtful. Not only did your uncle always pay more attention to Rhaenyra, but now you had to watch them do things you couldn’t do. Go where you couldn’t follow, and made you watch them go.
They dismount a few feet away from you. With them, comes all the hassle and fretting of the dragon keepers. Caraxes always takes a long time to settle after going flying, and so, you relax in your seat. You hope enough time might go by, they forget about your existence and you can slip out unnoticed. It would save you the embarrassment of having to hear them flirt and tell you everything as if you were a child.
No luck for you today, though. You smell it before you see it. Sweat, leather and the unmistakable stink of dragon. Your nose scrunches up, and you jump off the railing just in time to avoid your uncle’s ruffling of your hair.
Rhaenyra snickers a little. Despite the dragon ride, she looks as royal and regal as ever. It’s a feat you admire and despise greatly.
“Trying to sneak up on me?” You frown. You don’t need any further embarrassing. Being startled and falling into the mud would have been just the cherry on top.
Daemon ignores you, tugging on your braid.
“No dragon yet?”
“No.” Your answer it’s harsh, and perhaps a bit rude, but this feels as if they are targedly mocking you. Daemon raises his eyebrows, looking on the edge of apologizing, if such a thing it’s even possible for him. Rhaenyra, more used to your moods, just rolls her eyes.
“Let her be, Kepa.” She whispers, as if you are not there. “She is always like this.”
“Pouty?” Daemon tilts your chin up with two fingers. You jerk your head away, glaring daggers at him.
“Bitter.” Rhaenyra speaks, and you glare at her instead. You do not understand why she is so mean, lately. Her being named heir has not done anything good for your relationship, but you had tried your best to play nice. She didn’t seem to care.
“I can hear both of you.” You complain, but they just laugh. Angrily, you stomp off.
You feel too jittery to go back to your chambers. It would make you more angry, if you were to go inside the castle so soon. It’s too pleasant of a day to be spent cooped up at the Red Keep. Too preoccupied with your thoughts, you don’t notice someone is following you.
Your feet lead you to the training yard. It makes sense, in a way. This is where you have been coming the past few months when the castle got too small to house both you and Rhaenyra.
Early in the morning as it is, the yard is empty. Save for your sworn shield, of course. While Rhaenyra had gotten Ser Criston Cole, handsome and dornish, you had gotten Ser Harwin Strong. Riverlander, just as handsome and with a clear infatuation with your sister.
But kind. Unbearably so.
“I figured your meeting with the Princess would not go as planned.” He explains, as he helps you out of your cloak and jewelry. Ser Harwin helps you put on some protective gear before handing you a wooden sword.
He has been teaching you swordplay for the past few months. Not so much for self-defense, but as a way to curb your more violent impulses. When you feel like you might throttle Rhaenyra or perhaps smother her with a pillow, you come to him.
It's good. You have not learned a lot, but there is something utterly satisfying about hitting someone as hard as you can. With wooden swords and against Ser Harwin, you know there is no real possibility of hurting him. He is much taller and stronger than you.
There is also something satisfying about blocking his blows, too. In the smacking sound, in the effort it takes. You understand why men enjoy battle so much, finally. When you walk away, you are always sore and bruised, but your mind is finally quiet.
“I have just resigned myself to an arranged marriage.” You say to Ser Harwin, as you block his sword with great effort. “All the men in the court are panting after her, it’s no use.”
And you do think you are on the right, this time. Too often, you feel overshadowed by her, and seeing your uncle and Ser Harwin on the same day just confirms it. You have no chance at finding true love, not when every man here only has eyes for her.
You didn’t necessarily were a romantic person, but a bit of attention would be nice. Feeling desired and admired in the way Rhaenyra was. They even called her the Realm’s delight, for Gods’s sake.
“Are they after her? Or her tittle?” Ser Harwin tries to disarm you. You hit harder, a low blow aimed to his ribs that he avoids with little effort.
“You tell me.” You pant, a little out of breath. It was something you frequently wondered yourself, but never about him. Ser Harwin clearly wasn’t hoping to be King. What he wanted was something much more carnal. You had seen the way his eyes trailed Rhaenyra’s figure when they were together in a room. He appreciated her personality, perhaps, but he clearly wanted to bed her.
You loved teasing him about it. For such a big man, he could sure get sheepish.
“Fair.” Ser Harwin chuckled, raising his wooden sword again. You liked that he was very good-humored. He didn't mind your teasing. “But think of the bright side. If someone is after you, they are really after you.”
You frowned. He had a point, you supposed. If a man were about to pursue you, it might be because you are a Targaryen, or because of your valyrian looks. But never because of the Iron Throne. With baby Aegon existence, you are certain that whatever your place in the succession line is, plenty of people would have to die for you to even have a weak claim to it.
“Wise words for one so young.” The voice startles both of you. As if you were children caught with their hands in the cookie jar, you freeze. Ser Harwin even drops his wooden sword. “You should heed your knight, niece.”
“Uncle.” You answer, casually. You know Daemon. If he senses weakness, he is going to pounce. While Ser Harwin has given away already that you are not exactly doing something your father approves off, you are not going to have your Uncle thinking he has something to blackmail you with.
Daemon ignores you, choosing to attack the weak link. He tuts at Harwin.
“Poor form. And a poor trainer. Leave us.”
Harwin hesitates. He is not supposed to leave you alone and unprotected. Much less, with your uncle. Daemon it’s not known for his trustworthiness.
“With all due respect, Prince Daemon, I am not allowed…”
“Leave us, boy.” Daemon’s tone turns harsher. Channeling all the authority he has as a Prince. Now, your sworn shield can’t refuse. It’s an order, not a suggestion. But Harwin remains where he is, looking to you for approval.
Your uncle’s eyes flash dangerously at the defiance. You look at Harwin and nod. He leaves.
You twirl your wooden sword. Daemon smirks.
“Commendable.” He gives a slow clap. “Very loyal guard dog, you have there.”
“You could learn a thing or two.” You answer, vicious. The human equivalent of an animal biting down and refusing to release its jaws. By the brief look of hurt on his face, you have touched a nerve.
But soon, his expression smooths down into a vicious little smile, to match yours.
“So this is where you have been disappearing to.”
“So?” You ask, all nonchalance.
“Feisty.” Your uncle kicks Harwin’s discarded wooden sword away and unsheathes his. Whatever this is, it’s long overdone, you realize. You are bouncing with pent-up anger and frustration.
Daemon strikes at you, hard. The flat side of his sword hits your ribs. It hurts even with the protections Harwin makes you wear, a dull sting on your torso.
“If this was a real fight, you would be dead.” His tone is smug. You cannot take it, and so, bang your wooden sword against his hip.
“And you would be unable to walk.”
Your uncle laughs, coldly. He is angry too, you realize. In that messy way he gets, sometimes. Teeth bared in a cocky grin, still high on the thrill of riding Caraxes and chasing Rhaenyra.
Despite your best attempts, you are no match for him. He is a seasoned warrior. He has been at war for the last couple of years. No amount of anger can match his technique. Soon, he has you disarmed and cornered, Dark Sister at your throat.
“Not bad. I might even bruise.” His tone drips condescension, but there is something odd going on in his face. His pupils are blown, his chest is heaving, and there is no way it’s with exertion. While you were panting and begging for a respite, Daemon hadn’t even worked up a sweat. “You need a real sword.”
“Perhaps. But then Rhaenyra gets one, and this is only mine.” It’s more honest than you would like, but you are still trying to decipherate what exactly he is feeling. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glassy. You feel confused.
“Is that why you want a husband? To have someone only yours?” Daemon suddenly is much closer, twirling the end of your braid between his fingers.
You scoff, and push him away.
“That’s none of your concern.”
You storm inside the Red Keep, scowling. Finally, it seemed, Daemon and Rhaenyra had managed to run you off the castle’s grounds.
The encounter is barely given a second thought. You decide to keep yourself busy for the rest of Daemon’s visit to King’s Landing. Knowing him, he is due to get exiled soon. There is no point in worrying about it.
You fill up your days with activities, be it harassing some tutors, your Septa, or even visiting orphaned children in King’s Landing. That activity is one you and Ser Harwin particularly enjoy. It fills you with joy when you get to run around and play in the mud with your stern guard having no choice but to tag along. You have even caught him smiling when little girls ask to braid his hair.
Things are surprisingly calm. You would have expected your uncle to be involved in a scandal by now. Yet, there are no rumors of him bedding three whores in one sitting, nor there is an irate Otto Hightower asking your father to send him away.
Until one night, you find a jeweled sword resting on your bed. It’s small, but you can tell from the sharpness of the blade that it is made from Valyrian steel. You start training with it the next day, getting used to its weight. If Ser Harwin thinks anything of your sudden interest in doing more than hitting him, he doesn’t show it.
You are not surprised to find your Uncle waiting for you after your morning practice. At first glance, the courtyard is as empty as when you began your training. Despite it, you can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching.
Just as you are entering the Red Keep, sweaty and ready for a bath, Daemon steps out from the shadows.
“You look so grown up in riding attire.” He says, from beneath some trees. “Almost didn’t recognize you.”
“Almost didn’t recognize you, either. No scandal in nearly a month?” You start to loosen your braid, accelerating the process of getting into your bath as you walk. There is nothing you want more than to just soak in hot water and let the warmth wash away your soreness. “You must be getting old.”
“Youthfulness is in the spirit.” Daemons hurries to reach you, falling into step right beside you. You resist the urge to walk faster if only to see him struggle. Power play. Always. Push, and pull, and don’t let anyone else get the upper hand.
“Ah, that makes sense.” You slow down your steps because while you enjoy angering your uncle, you would rather not anger him too much. “You have the spirit of a child.”
“I’ll take that as the highest of compliments.” Daemon ruffles your hair, uncaring that’s matted in sweat. You make a face. “Did you like your gift?”
“Depends.” You give him a feral little grin. Your uncle looks at you, as if deciding whether he wants to bite or not. Knowing him as you do, you know he can’t stand the intrigue.
“On what?”
“How many of Rhaenyra’s necklaces you had to melt to get the sword.”
“That blade is worth at least five of her necklaces.” Daemon boasts. You give him an unimpressed look.
“Huh. Then I like it.”
“Not love it?”
“It wasn’t ten.” And with a cheeky grin, you are off towards your chambers.
You don’t see Daemon for a few days. You hear him, unfortunately. He is everywhere at once, yet never wherever you are. You know of him in the shape of rumors and hearsay.
When you go fetch yourself a tea tray in the kitchen, your uncle is in the middle of the servants. “I heard last night he was with four whores!” As you ask a maid about your sister’s whereabouts, he is her chosen companion. “Princess Rhaenyra went out to race your uncle, Princess.” And of course, when your father complains, Daemon is in the midst of it. “He insulted Otto and then walked out of the council meeting.”
Despite your wishes, your uncle starts to occupy more of your mind’s space than you would like. You keep wondering what he is up to, each rumor more outrageous than the last. You cannot help but wonder if it’s you who was prompted him to wreak such havoc. The idea of having such power over him, that an offhanded comment can cause such a reaction, makes something tingle in your stomach.
You find him next in the gardens. Alicent and Rhaenyra are fighting again, a nasty thing that soon turns into a screaming match. That's a dynamic you have stayed out of, since you had memory. While Alicent and Rhaenyra were friends, you never felt anything towards Alicent besides a slight sympathy. She seemed nice enough, but she was not your friend.
Rhaenyra and you loved in the same way, you see. Possessive, harsh. As Princesses, you never learned to share. You wanted your person to be only yours. Alicent was Rhenyra’s, and so, you stepped aside.
When she married your father, you weren’t exactly pleased. But you had the emotional detachment Rhenyra lacked, being too close to the situation. In time, you had come to understand that it wasn’t like she had a choice, either.
So, it wasn’t like you were going to break with tradition now. To avoid their screams, you had decided to pace the gardens. Daemon seemed to have the same idea because you find him sitting on a bench with a book in his hands.
“Came to join me?” He asks, voice smooth like honey.
“Rather to escape the screeching.” You sit by his side, curiously peering at the book he holds.
“A Cautionary Tale For Young Girls.” Daemon’s smirk is the only thing that gives him away, that, and the fact that the book is written in High Valyrian. “Most illuminating read. You should try it.”
You laugh, despite yourself. His lips twitch into a more genuine smile, less full of smugness and bravado.
“I was getting lonely.” You say, softly. The admission surprises even you. “You are with Rhaenyra all the time.”
Don’t go where I can’t follow, you wish to say. Don’t take her from me. My other half. But you don’t speak the words aloud, from fear of him repeating your confession. You don’t want to beg Rhaenyra for affection, not when you have been competing with her all your life.
Daemon makes a face, as if pained of what he will say next. He seems wary of hurting you. You wonder if that means he cares for you, in his own twisted way. It’s not often he worries about what others think.
“She has a dragon.” No matter how gentle the tone, it hurts anyway.
“I miss her. Not you.” But it’s a lie. You know it’s a bad pattern, and you shouldn’t miss him, but you are so used to competing for affection that Daemon has become both your rival and the one you crave. The weeks without him have been lonely and taxing. No matter if it was you who pushed him away and didn’t care to reach out after.
“I remember you two were close.” Something must change in your face because your uncle reaches toward you, gently squeezing your arm.
“We used to be. She is just… So angry, all the time. And has all these new people. Admires, prospects…” You feel like a fool. There is a deep sense of unfulfillment and being wronged yet at the same time, you know you are being unreasonable. This was always going to happen. You can’t share the Iron Throne, and she has always been your father’s favorite. Rhaenyra was always going to be the heir.
“Which one am I?”
You shrug.
“It's not like I care.” But you do. You do care, despite your best sense. Because you want to be his favorite. You have always wanted to be someone’s favorite, but Daemon has a special brand of devotion for those he cares about. You wish you could be counted on that list, lately. By the smile on his face, Daemon can probably tell. “And it's not like before she didn't have things that were only hers.”
"I thought you shared everything.” Your uncle tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear. You lean into the touch, closing your eyes.
“She has Alicent. Had. Still does.” You know when the time comes, Alicent will be there for Rhaenyra. They are tied together by destiny in ways Rhaenyra and you are not.
“The curse of the younger brother.” With your eyes still closed, his hand gently brushing your hair back, the words do not feel as if they are being spoken aloud. The gardens around you feel muffled, distant. Perhaps it’s the soothing touch, or the deep pang of sadness in your chest, but you do not understand what Daemon means.
“I beg your pardon?” You open your eyes, giving him a confused expression. Not only is he muttering nonsense, your uncle is much closer to you than he was before. Daemon’s forehead is nearly pressed into yours, his thumb now gently rubbing across your jawline.
“Viserys and Rhaenyra are the same.” He explains, tracing your cheekbone next. As if he is keen to learn your face from touch alone, carve it on his mind. It makes you smile slightly. The pain from mourning your innocence is very much still there, but it doesn’t feel like it’s tearing you apart. “Just as you and I are the same.”
“I…” You are not sure of what to answer. Naturally, it makes sense. You can feel it in your bones, but you can’t quite articulate the thought.
Daemon’s thumb presses against your lips in a downward motion, closing them.
“We could fly off tonight. Go to the Free cities, marry. No one would care.” His tone is fervent, urgent. Pleading with you. You keep quiet, and so does he. The silence stretches between the two of you. Your mind races.
Just as your lips flutter behind his thumb to answer the proposal, your uncle speaks again.
“We are free, you and I. But the Iron Throne chains them.”
It’s then you realize it was not a proposition, but rather an explanation of the thoughts you were unable to articulate. And perhaps it’s the sting of rejection or the deep sadness that has taken root on you since the death of your mother, but you cannot keep the words in. They come flowing, tumbling, rushing out of your mouth.
“I want to be a girl forever.” You say to him, starting to tear up. “I am not ready to be a woman.”
You are scared, you realize. No longer are you a girl playing to be a woman, dressing up in your mother’s jewels and dresses. Five years down the line, you will be married. Ten, it will be you who is a mother.
Your uncle gathers you into his arms, painfully soft. You would have never believed Daemon capable of such a tender touch.
“You can’t be innocent forever.”
“Everything is so complicated now. I just… I don’t want anything to change.”
You whisper against his neck. It’s a doomed wish. You know already it’s too late for it. No longer are you an innocent, no longer anything is the same. It will never be.
“Not all changes are bad. There can be pleasure in losing one’s innocence.” Daemon kisses your temple. “And I intend to show it to you.”
That night, the two of you sneak out of the Red Keep.
“I wanted to give you something only yours.” Your uncle says, as he leads you down the Street of Silk. Both of you are wearing rough cloaks, for discretion. You cling to his arm, afraid of getting lost in between the strange sights and smells.
There is so much to see and so much to hear. People laughing in the streets, singing, drunkards and patrons from the brothels mixing. While you are familiar with the streets of King’s Landing, you have never seen them at night. It’s both frightening and exhilarating, watching the city come to life in ways new to you.
There are no children in sight, only adults. The message that Daemon hoped to convey by bringing you here is loud and clear. You are no longer a girl, you are a woman. And so, instead of sleeping soundly in your bed as you have done all your childhood, you get to enjoy the wonders of the night.
The crowd gets even more rowdy as you pass the bigger pleasure houses and walk towards the ones that are at the end of the street. Secluded as they are, they spark your curiosity.
“Where are we going?” You ask your uncle, tugging at his arm. “Inside one of those? Why?”
“They cater to tastes that the rest do not.” Daemon comes to a stop in front of one, and takes off his hood. The woman at the doors takes one look at his hair and quickly ushers you both inside a room.
The room is bare except for a couple of chairs and a bed. You examine everything closely, noting the inferior quality of the furniture. These are not the kinds of chairs you are used to, at the Red Keep. After a while, and only when you notice no one else is hiding inside, you lower your hood. Being overly cautious never hurt anyone, after all.
“What tastes?” You squeeze Daemon’s hand. He gives you a puzzled look. “You said they cater to tastes…”
“You will see.” You are saved from the wait to know what he means by the door opening. Two servants, dressed in little clothing, step inside. Men, near your age. They are completely unique, yet similar. You get the feeling they are not simple servants, even though they serve you and Daemon goblets of wine.
You stare. You do not understand why they are not leaving.
Your uncle steps behind you, to whisper in your ear. His arms circle around your waist.
“Look at them.” He presses a chaste kiss just behind your ear. “Really look.”
So you do. One of the men is tall and strong. Almost wide. All bulging muscles. He has dark hair and light colored eyes. The other man is slightly slender, yet strong either way. He has lighter hair and a much sweeter face. They are both handsome, yet you do not understand what game Daemon could be playing.
“You wanted something only yours.” He mutters, kissing the crown of your head. He perches his chin on top of it. “Most girls, they don’t get to choose whom they lose their innocence to.”
It dawns on you then. He wants you to choose one of the men to… Well. It’s a nice thing to do, but so undeniably Daemon it hurts.
Feeling mischievous, you turn around in his grip.
“And I can choose any of the men in this room?” You smirk. Your uncle’s brows draw together, in disbelief.
“That’s the point, yes.” Daemon speaks slowly, as if explaining to someone particularly daft. Or innocent. “I’ll pay for it, don’t worry.”
“Good.” You smirk, and kiss him. You feel him smirk right back against your mouth.
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Dragon's Dreamer - Part I
Summary: Winning races is child's play compared to waking up naked, and tangled in the sheets with none other than Daemon Targaryen himself. Not only that, but you're also the daughter of Otto Hightower?
pairing: Daemon Targaryen x modern!reader
word count: 3009 words
“Cunt!”
You shift your gear, and manage to slow the car a little as your opponent, Blaze moves in front of you as a means to block your path. You swerve to the right, in a way to overtake Blaze.
This race was not going your way, clearly. Actually, not just the race, but your whole day was just horrible. What with your landlord not fixing the water problem in your apartment and then to top it off, he had the audacity to increase the rent. Dick face.
You mentally curse the person whose face you first saw this morning, blaming them for the mess your day has become. Then you remember it was your black cat, Storm. Instantly, you retract all your curses because, well, Storm's your baby, and he can never bring bad luck.
Teeth gritted, hands firmly on the wheel, you refuse to let Blaze have the upper hand. Today is not the day you lose a race, especially when there's money on the line. Your engine roars as you slam the gas pedal, and send your car surging forward.
You can tell Blaze has noticed you trying to overtake him, as he tries to block you again, but you're not letting that piece of shit take your cash home. As he moves to the right, you swerve left this time, and slip past his car and zoom past the finishing mark.
You drift to a stop, a bright smile on your face as you savour the victory. Your chest is heaving, your blood is pumping, and your adrenaline is still running high. Blaze screeches to a halt behind you, his face a mix of surprise and frustration. You can hear the roar of the engines and the cheers of the crowd.
The cool breeze feels amazing on your hot and flushed face as you step out of your car, heart still pounding. Before you can fully get out of the car, a screech escapes you as you are lifted off the ground and spun around.
It's Emma, your best friend, grinning from ear to ear, and cheering your name. "You crazy bitch, you did it! I could kiss you right now!" they exclaim, as you wrap your arms around their neck to keep yourself from falling.
Emma sets you down, both of you laughing and catching your breath. The high from your victory is buzzing through your veins. You can feel the eyes of the crowd on you, and Blaze begrudgingly walks over, a forced smirk on his face.
"Lucky win. No need to get too cocky," Blaze mutters, trying to save face but you can see the annoyance in his eyes.
"Cut the bullshit, and face it, she smoked you fair and square. You're just a sore loser." Emma retorts, their tone sharp and unapologetic. They stand next to you, with their hand around your waist.
You can't help the smile that spreads you, and raise a brow at Blaze, "No, no. You're right, Blaze. Maybe it was a lucky win, but when I wake up tomorrow, I'd still be a winner, and you'd still be stuck to the same old loser routine. Tough break."
Blaze scowls at your words but doesn't say much, clearly irritated. Laughter erupts between you and Emma as Blaze retreats, the cool breeze carrying away the tension of the race.
Emma turns to you, placing a kiss on your cheeks. "You, my girl, deserve a few drinks. How about after you collect your prize, we hit The Hop House? First round's on me," Emma suggests, a mischievous glint in their eyes.
You grin at Emma's suggestion, feeling the thrill of the victory still coursing through your veins. "Hell yeah, when have I ever turned down free drinks?" you reply, feeling the rush of excitement and accomplishment.
The two of you head off, with Emma's arm around your shoulder, ready to drink the night away. Your pool of cash awaits, and calls your name. our pool of cash is calling your name, and you've got plans for that moolah – rent's getting paid, the fridge will finally be full, Storm will get a new toy, and that PlayStation plus subscription is getting renewed. Because let's be honest, Joel Miller and Arthur Morgan are calling your name.
Nothing can ruin your night, or the following day.
A groan escapes you, and son of a bitch does your head hurts, as you lift it from the pillow. You squint your eyes at the blinding sunlight stabbing through the curtains, regretting every decision made last night. Your head's pounding like a drummer in a metal band, and you're pretty sure a family of woodpeckers set up shop in your brain overnight.
Sitting upright, you realise that the room's a blur, and you rub your temples like that's gonna magically fix the hangover. A pathetic whine escapes you because going to work with a hangover is the last thing you want to do. Dealing with Rhys and his relentless flirting on top of this pain? No, thank you.
"Oh good, you're awake."
You flinch so hard, you might've set a record for the fastest, most ungraceful wakeup in the history of hangovers. The screech that escaped your throat is a sound you vow to never repeat. Like, ever. You whip your head around, and regret it immediately. The room spins, and you grab onto the edge of the bed for dear life.
You blink a few times, trying to focus on your surroundings. The blurred room starts to come into view, revealing a place that's definitely not your messy apartment. Because no way in hell is your room this big, nor does it look straight out of period drama.
You're stuck in some fancy-ass room with curtains that look like they belong in a royal castle. And speaking of fancy, there's a guy sitting across from you, looking like he just walked out of that show that your sister watches and sends you edits and facts about.
The guy is broad, like, shoulders-for-days kind of broad, and tall enough that you gotta tilt your head back a bit to meet his eyes. He's wearing a black coat, the ones that Lords wear in a historical drama, complete with shiny buttons and intricate embroidery
He's got long, silver hair, and violet eyes? What the fuck? You squint at him, convinced you must be seeing things. Violet eyes aren't a real thing, right? Because if they are, you need to meet God immediately and demand why you weren't given a pair.
"Easy there, little girl," he says with a smirk, cutting off your eye-colour investigation. You're still trying to process the silver hair and violet eyes when he leans back in his chair, all casual-like.
You're sitting there, staring at this dude with silver hair and violet eyes, feeling like you just stumbled into a weird dream. But, nope, this is real, and he's calling you "little girl." Rude much?
"Motherfucker, don't call me little girl. The last guy who tried that got a black eye," you retort, because, seriously, who does he think he is? You might be in an unknown place, but you're not about to let this silver-haired dude talk down to you.
"Oh, the daughter of Otto Hightower has a bit of fire in her," he chuckles, raising an eyebrow like he's enjoying this little exchange. That smirk on his face? It's practically begging for a fist.
"First of all, who the heck is Otto Hightower, and secondly, who are you?" you demand, your arms, crossed defiantly, suddenly feel a lot heavier, and when you glance down, it hits you.
You're naked. Covered only by these flimsy silk sheets, you're clutching onto them for dear life. You pull the sheets away to look down, to see that you're naked from head to toe. Your face snaps up at the man sitting in front of you, only to see his amused expression morph into a wide grin. Great, just great.
"Oh, don't worry, little Hightower, I've seen it all before," he says with a teasing glint in his violet eyes. You're not sure whether to be annoyed or embarrassed, but you quickly decide on a mix of both.
"Alright, first of all, stop with the 'little Hightower' crap. Call me by my name or don't call me at all," you declare, mustering all the confidence you can while wrapped in those flimsy sheets. He leans forward in his chair, still grinning like he finds this whole situation amusing.
"Fair enough, little Hightower," he says, emphasising the last two words just to irk you.
You shoot him a death glare, but he just laughs. "Alright, Silver Fox, let's cut the crap. Where am I, and how the heck did I end up here?" you demand, deciding to take charge of this weird conversation.
The silver fox tilts his head to the side, a confused glint in those violet eyes, while his head rests on his fist. "Did I fuck you too hard to make you lose your memory?" he smirks, clearly enjoying the banter.
You roll your eyes, unamused. "Trust me, if that were the case, I'd remember it vividly. Now, are you going to answer my question or keep making terrible innuendos?"
"Oh, good one, little Hightower. After the passionate night we spent, I reckon your father would have no choice but to wed us. Could you imagine, the pious and eldest daughter of Otto Hightower, and Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue prince?" he teases, his tone laced with amusement.
Daemon Targaryen.
You can't help but let out a chuckle, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. The laughter bubbles up within you, gradually turning into a full-blown, almost maniacal eruption. It's almost too surreal, and you find it hard to believe that this isn't some elaborate prank your sister pulled.
You remember all the times you had scoffed at the complicated family tree, and the absurdity of season 8. Your sister had insisted you give it a chance, and now it seems like she's turned the tables on you, dropping you into the very world you dismissed.
The daughter of Otto Hightower. The guy that pushed his daughter into the bed of the walking dead and practically handed her a one-way ticket to the chaos express. Seriously, why couldn't you be the daughter of someone sensible, like Ned Stark? The guy was practically the gold standard of fathers in the messed-up Game of Thrones world.
House of the Dragon, you loved it because it was much better than Game of Thrones. You also loved Rhaenyra, your bisexual baby, she could do no wrong in your eyes. Aegon was relatable, what with your mommy issues, I mean sure the guy was… Well, you pause, realising you might be here a while if you list out all his issues.
Viserys, if he weren't a king, you would bash his head in. First the guy pressures his wife for an heir, then he kills her. The only good thing the man did was make Rhaenyra the heir. Then the guy is a dick to all his other children. If Viserys had no haters, you were dead.
Rhaenys, and Corlys. The DILF and MILF of the Seven Kingdoms, and possibly even Essos. Well, followed closely by Oberyn, and Ellaria. . Rhaenys, your queen, held a pedestal in your heart so high you'd gladly sacrifice yourself just for the privilege of sharing the same air. And, oh, when they say black don't crack, Corlys was living proof.
Laenor, now there's an underrated gem. Honestly, the best guy in the whole series. He accepted the Strong children as his own, raised them as his own, all while hiding who he truly was. Then there was Laena, sweet and fiercest Laena, who you'd willingly walk into fire to protect.
Helaena and Luke. Your precious little babies whom you'd preserve and hold forever if you could. They're the kind of innocence you'd fight the Mountain for. Your little dragons, the only ones who you would kill anyone for.
Jace, your sweet gentleman, the kind of guy who'd rescue kittens from trees. The type that makes you believe chivalry isn't dead. Truly, Ser Harwin's son, and you loved both the father and son, for being the way they were.
Aemond was…well, Aemond. Complicated, pitiful, and a source of both frustration and fascination. You loved Luke, but you also loved Aemond. So you were honestly conflicted when he had lost his eye but gained Vhagar.
But the Daemon gave… a whole new meaning to the term "complicated." It's like he took a crash course in creating chaos and then decided to make it his life'
"You find something amusing, little Hightower?" He's still grinning, but now it's more like he's enjoying a private joke.
You roll your eyes, shaking your head slightly. "Please, just call me by my name. I've had enough of your 'little Hightower' nonsense already. And I'm not finding anything about this situation amusing, trust me," you reply, your tone a mix of irritation and disbelief.
Daemon's grin widens, clearly revelling in your exasperation. He checks his nails, before crossing his arms casually, silver hair cascading down his shoulders. "Alright, name it is, little Hightower."
You shoot him a glare, but he pays no mind, seemingly unfazed by your annoyance. "So, care to explain how I ended up here in this…room?" you ask, your sarcasm dripping like honey.
Daemon chortles, the sound echoing in the room. "Well, my little Hightower, it was quite the surprise, I must say, having the pious daughter of Otto Hightower, bursting into my room, begging me to take her maidenhood. I suppose I should commend you for your bravery. Not everyone dares to enter the lair of the dragon."
You arch an eyebrow, your irritation growing. "You do realise that storming into someone's room and begging for deflowering isn't exactly a standard move, right? I'm not some damsel in distress, and I certainly didn't come here to beg for anything."
Daemon's violet eyes gleam with amusement as he tilts his head, considering you. "Ah, a damsel with a bite. I like that. It's not every day a woman challenges me, especially in such… unconventional circumstances."
"I didn't burst into your room, and I certainly didn't beg for anything. I have no idea how I got here, and I'd appreciate it if you could provide some actual answers."
His grin fades slightly, replaced by a more contemplative expression. "Well, that's a bit disappointing. I was hoping for a more scandalous tale to spread across the Seven Kingdoms."
"Sorry to disappoint your highness, but my life isn't a series of scandalous escapades. Now, can we focus on the matter at hand?"
"Fine. Last night, upon my return from Flea Bottom, what greets me? You, sprawled in my bed, slumbering in all your naked glory, like a celestial offering. It was quite the unexpected revelation," Daemon remarks with a grin, his eyes dancing with mischief.
You glower at him, the reality of the situation sinking in. "Look, I've already told you, I have no idea how I got here. I didn't plan this little rendezvous, and I certainly didn't intend to become some sort of surprise package in your bed."
Daemon's amusement persists as he hands you his white tunic. "Oh, don't sell yourself short, my dear visitor. Not everyone gets the privilege of waking up beside Daemon Targaryen. Consider it an experience worth cherishing."
As you reluctantly take the tunic from Daemon, still wrapped in those flimsy silk sheets, you shoot him a look that could melt steel. "You know, waking up beside you is not on my list of life goals," you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than to him.
Daemon seems unfazed by your displeasure. "Life has a funny way of surprising us, doesn't it?"
You scoff at Daemon's casual attitude, shooting him a pointed look as you begin to struggle into his oversized tunic. It's a struggle not to trip over the lengthy fabric, but you manage to maintain at least a modicum of dignity.
The tunic hangs loosely on you, and you shuffle towards a massive mirror, still holding onto the silk sheets as if they're your last shred of dignity. The room spins a little less now, allowing you to navigate the unfamiliar terrain with some semblance of grace.
As you catch sight of your reflection, you scream. No, it's not because you suddenly transformed into a Targaryen dragon or something equally absurd. It's the realisation that your once normal, probably slightly neglected, hair is now ginger.
Ginger hair.
The ginger hair revelation hits you like a ton of bricks. You stare wide-eyed at the reflection in the mirror, desperately hoping this is just some bizarre dream. You reach up, running your fingers through the vibrant strands as if expecting them to revert to their usual colour with a simple touch.
You take a deep breath, trying to accept the bizarre turn your life has taken. As you gather your courage, the room starts to spin again, and a wave of dizziness washes over you. Before you can protest or question Daemon further, darkness creeps in at the edges of your vision.
The last thing you hear is Daemon's voice, distant and muffled, as you succumb to unconsciousness. The world blurs and fades away, leaving you in a disorienting abyss. The sensation is akin to tumbling down a rabbit hole, but there's no Wonderland waiting for you at the bottom.
#daemon fanfic#daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen fanfic#daemon targaryen x female reader#daemon targaryen fluff#daemon targaryen smut#daemon targeryan#daemon targaryen x oc#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen x y/n#daemon targeryen x reader#house of the dragon#hotd x reader#hotd x y/n#hotd x you#hotd x oc#daemon x reader#daemon x oc#daemon x you#daemon targaryen x modern!reader#modern!reader
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SUSPICIOUS SILENCE.
Modern!Daemon Targaryen x pregnant!wife!Reader
WARNINGS: Family fluff, hinted lactation kink lol
WORDS: 986
NOTES: Here is the fluff everyone (me lmao) wanted!! Love me some nice happy family scenarios with our favorite men, tbh. And I'm stuck in limbo with Object of Desire right now! This is not beta read!
Daemon was working from home today to take care of your daughter while you were out for brunch with Floris, his nephew’s wife that’s also winding down the halfway mark of pregnancy just like you.
And although it’s around your toddler’s daytime nap time, it’s too quiet when you open the front door to your penthouse. Suspiciously quiet.
You should be hearing Daemon talk on the phone or type on his keyboard, very rarely even doing the cleaning. But the door to his office is ajar, the light is turned on, however, there’s complete silence.
As you walk towards it, peeking into the room, you notice it’s vacant, the large office chair empty.
You frown, and continue to walk along the hallway. There’s nervousness creeping up on you, mostly because Daemon would’ve messaged you if he decided to go outside with your daughter, and you start to rub your protruding bump in a reassuring manner. That is, until you stand in the door to the living space; the sight you’re greeted with immediately melting your heart.
Daemon is lying on the sofa, bare chested and a towel still clutched in his right hand, and your little daughter is firmly tucked into his left side, her cheek pressed against his chest with his hand resting on her back.
The sight of your little daughter sleeping soundly in his arms is enough to make you smile. Despite his rough exterior, your big, tough husband also is a loving father who doesn’t hesitate to do anything for his family.
You walk over to him, and press a gentle kiss to his forehead which slowly makes his mesmerizing blue eyes creak open. Squinting them to adjust to the brightness of the room, he doesn’t move a muscle besides that to not wake the sleeping toddler up.
Daemon gazes up at you with a soft stare, before finally speaking with a low voice. “Hello, darling. How was your day?”
Caressing his arm tenderly, you smile at him. “It was alright. You two are enjoying some quality time, I see,” you whisper. “Had a nice nap?”
“Aye, we had quite a fun time. Wanted to take a quick shower while she was asleep, but she woke up and needed me to comfort her.”
You gently fondle your daughter’s hair, smoothing it as you both just watch her for a moment. “I’ll watch her for a little while if you still want to take a shower,” you eventually propose.
But your husband isn’t having any of it. “Nah, how about you join us now, and we both take that shower together once this little monkey’s in bed, mh?” His hand clasps around your wrist, and he gently tugs you towards the sofa, not giving you any chance to reject his offer.
His proposition makes you chuckle softly, and you feel your cheeks turn red. If there is one thing your husband knows, it’s how to take care of you, too. After the birth of your daughter, you’ve been feeling insecure about your body, especially with the weight you’ve gained throughout the pregnancy. But there hasn’t passed one moment where Daemon hasn’t made you feel desired and wanted by him, and the look he currently gives you is enough to send your hormones raging again.
Throwing the towel aside, you sit down to his right and snuggle up against him. His right hand snakes around your waist, instinctively coming to rest atop your swollen belly, and you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his irresistible scent.
The toddler stirs slightly in her sleep, but isn’t too fazed by the slight commotion of you joining them on the sofa.
“You do make a convincing argument,” you whisper, licking your lips.
Noticing the sudden flush of color that appears on your cheeks, a mischievous glint flickers in his eyes. He nudges his nose against yours, and it’s enough to coax you to kiss him. It’s soft, barely more than a peck, and you’re struggling to keep yourself composed hearing his next words.
“I can convince you of far better things once we’re all by ourselves, darling.”
You chuckle at his remark, and place your hand atop his on your bump, squeezing it softly. “Make sure to keep that promise. Don’t want to hope you’re just all talk,” you tease, your eyes flickering between his and his lips. “There are two things I definitely need your help with, Daddy.”
Briefly glancing down at your swollen breasts, already producing enough milk as if they mean to provide for twins, you can spot the exact moment Daemon’s brain processes the innuendo.
You follow his line of sight, lingering a tad too long on your full breasts, and chuckle as you notice his breath hitch in his throat.
Daemon gives you a teasing look, the blue hue of his eyes almost eclipsed by black at this point, and bites his bottom lip. “I’m sure I can assist you thoroughly with whatever you need, darling.”
Running a hand through his hair before you slowly rise from the sofa, you giggle as you see him pout. “Let’s see then how well you follow through on your promises, Daddy,” you say, bringing your index finger to your lips as if you’re in thought. “Maybe we should ask Rhaenyra to take our girl for the night? Jace is just a few months older, and he’s completely besotted with her. We haven’t had any alone time in ages, and I’m sure she and Harwin won’t mind.”
You can’t see the look on Daemon’s face at your suggestion, for you make yourself on your way to prepare the afternoon snack for your soon-to-wake daughter, but you hear him sigh loud and clear, and it’s enough to make you grin and your heart flutter. Just the anticipation of finally having some well deserved alone time with him again makes your blood run hot.
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→ A True Victory.
gif credit
pairing: daemon targaryen x lannister!reader.
rating: explicit.
warning: polygamy, established relationship, breeding kink, creampie, light sub/dom dynamics...
word count: 2.4k
summary: the newly-crowned king of the narrow sea returns to court victorious, but his greater triumph is crowning you with the dragon sigil.
PART II: A DRAGON'S GLORY.
PART III: A LIONESS'S HOME.
masterlist | ao3
YOU LIKE HIS NEW HAIRSTYLE, in fact, the prince never ceases to enchant you by his sharp looks, and the ridiculous amount of shameless sighs and lingering eyes on him confirm that you're not the only one who's quite taken by the prince. However, any sign of infatuation on your side is masterfully hidden under a cold façade. You sip from your wine and keep on exchanging the silly topic you're having with the other courtier ladies. Untill another, more of importance, is brought up.
“I heard that Lord Corlys is seeking an alliance with one of the free cities.” Lady Redwyne says.
“To the son of the Sealord of Braavos, or so I've heard.” Lady Strong remarks, before her lips press delicately on the rim of her goblet.
Joselyn Redwyne's puckered lips tighten in distaste, “Oh, that is awful to hear,” Her eyes drift momentarily to the King who's laughing along his brother on something the Queen has said, “The King mustn't stand by and do nothing about it. The retreat of the Velaryons' fleet will weaken the royal navy, thus, will put the King's reign in danger.”
“I do not think so,” Lady Strong answers, “Now the Prince is back at court victorious, and the two royal brothers made peace with eachother. The realm is stronger than ever. Isn't that right, my lady?” She turns her head towards you, a taunting grin visiting her lips.
A cold smile slips into yours, “The house of the dragon is at the height of its strength, Lady Strong, one more fleet or less cannot prove that his Grace's grasp on the realm has faltered.”
“Even when your prince husband fled to Dragonstone with two thousands men of the City Watch?” Lady Redwyne says.
Your grip tightens around the stem of your goblet. That again. They must always rub it in your face; your husband's abandonment of you, they're impudent enough to do so; it gives them a large amount of self-satisfactory to make a lioness of the rock who's wed to a fierce and royal dragon cornered, humiliated even. You smile at her, nevertheless; you'd never rise to the bait. Instead, and like the dutiful lady you are, who harbours great love for her husband, you choose to defend him.
“My prince husband had his personal reasons to pass some time alone on Dragonstone away from court.” Your gaze shifts to the prince, and fuck, he's looking at you, smirking. Your eyes lock for a moment before they flit back to the old lady. “And as Lady Strong just said, the Prince is now home, triumphant with the Triarchy destroyed. The realm owes him a lot.”
“Dear me, such a shame he did not want his wife's company in his time of solitude there.” The old lady murmurs.
The anger that has been huddling within your chest since the Prince's return finally snaps, and you decide to let it out on the old hag that chose not to keep her mouth shut. The moment your lips crack open, ready to shoot a snarky remark at her, you feel a very familiar warmth surronds you from behind.
“A shame indeed,” You hear the usual drawl in your husband's voice, “But such cold and grotesque island as Dragonstone is no suitable place for my delicate lady wife. Do you not agree, my ladies?”
“Prince Daemon.” Your company of nattering ladies all dipped in short courtesy for him.
You allow yourself to grin, just slightly, before you press your lips purse into thin line.
Your husband's hands perch gently on your shoulders, his thumbs squeezing a bit, and you shiver under his touch. His rough-padded fingers trail up to your neck, tilting your head aside so he can look at your eyes. You have the famous green eyes of the Lannisters, and they're burning no less than the wild fire. “Her Grace, Queen Alicent, has just mentioned to me the new additions to the gallery. Would you care to tour me around, my lady?” His thumb traces your cheek in a circular pattern. His public show of affection has been one of the perks you take huge delight in once. How he'd kiss you, caress you in front of the court. Abashedly, declaring his love and devotion to you. You took sick pleasure in making the ladies at court jealous and envious of your position. The woman who has it all. That what some would call you, and how would they not. You're the younger sister of the Lannister lord twins; a high-born lady with generous wealth, who happened to catch the interest of the King's younger brother, he took it so far that he named you the Queen of Love and Beauty after he's won an attorney, and decorated your head with a crown. Offending both his and his wife's houses. But he doesn't care. And perhaps that's the most alluring trait that made you fall in love with the handsome prince; he's taken you as a second wife, in the tradition of his house. He didn't care about the havoc he faced for that, and your family didn't actually mind as it comes back at them with the advantage of having you marrying a royalty.
A dragon marrying a lioness, it made quite the shake in the realm. And everyone acquiesced to the viciousness of your love.
Daemon could've sworn that the fire in your eyes is more lethal than Caraxes', and the Rogue Prince is fond of playing with yours. You smile cordially at your husband, “Of course, my love.” Then you turn to your companions, “If you will excuse us, Your Ladyships.” You remove his arms from around you, but he offers you his elbow, and you have no choice but to accept it.
You two walk into the palace in silence. Your feet clanging against the corridors floor, your hand still latches onto his arm. Once in the gallery, Daemon orders the servants and guards out. When he makes sure that you two are alone, he takes the opportunity and leans into your neck, pressing light kisses on your anointed skin.
“How I have missed you.” He whispers desperately as he inhales the sweet scent of the Lysene oils he's used to gift you. You almost give in. Every resolve you solidly built to fortify yourself against him is falling apart at a mere touch of his. You truly love him, and he truly owns you, body and heart. You're his precious prize, therefore, he cannot treat you as such, and you'll make sure that he'd pay for hurting you. He's your husband, your lord, your prince, your beloved. But you're a lioness of the Rock, who holds great pride, and your dragon wounded it deeply.
You shake away from his touch, “Oh have you?” Turning your head to face him, your feigned smile finally drops. “Well, I have not.”
You step forwards, making sure his body warmth is fairly away from you.
He strides towards you, “(Y/N), darling...” His steps come to a haul when you spin around to stop him.
“You cannot go and abandon me in an overnight, and come back after four years like nothing happened, Daemon!”
The latter stills on his spot, looking at you blankly, “We were at war, love, what did you expect from me?”
“You did not fly to Dragonstone because you were at war, Daemon.” You hiss at his face through gritted teeth.
“I was at one with my brother.” He replies frankly.
“And you deemed that leaving me, your fucking lawful wife, here suffering from courtiers looking at me sideways, and whispering the foulest things behind my back, to the point they don't have any sliver of courtesy and say it in my face, would be a great notion? How smart of you, husband.”
A small yelp escapes your throat as Daemon's hand clasps on your forearm and drags you behind him, splaying you open at one of gallery's walls. His face is few inches away from you, his hot breath slamming your soft skin, searing like the one his dragon produces. Your own grows ragged. His violet eyes pouring into yours. Glowing amethysts clashing with scalding emeralds.
“I did not take you with me, because if I did, you going with me into exile would have condemned the entirety of your house as well.” His tone is calm. However, the fires within his eyes tell you otherwise. “And who ever dared to hurt you in my absence, I shall gouge their tongues myself.”
A shudder sweeps over your body, you know your dragon is true to his words. However, that will come later. “But I'm your wife, Daemon.” You murmur breathlessly, “The one you fought the world for, or do you not remember?”
Your husband grins wickedly, “Of course I remember.” He tugs a strand of your golden hair behind your ear, “Do you think I shared interests with Lord Corlys only for the sheer lust for victory and to taunt my kingly brother?”
“Wouldn't put it past you.” You say in whisper, “You did it to win your post in your brother's court back.”
Daemon chuckles, “Can't deny I did.” His slender fingers twirl a tress of your hair, “Nevertheless, it came clear to me, after four years in exile, three of them at war, that there is no victory can compete with the one I've achieved of having you.”
A crimson hue smudges your face, and your prince pops your nose playfully. “Ah, here she is, my good kitten.”
Kitten, is the pet name he's given you when you show hints of your more submissive side, that only him gets to see it. The wild lioness that everyone is intimated by turns into putty in the prince's hand. Her resonant roars turn into delicious mewls when the dragon coaxes the worst out of her.
His hand is warm against your cheek when he cups your pretty face. He roams your body up and down with his eyes. You're wearing a sleeveless dress, made of green velvet. The fabric was a present from him. The colour brings out the green of your eyes, and the golden embroidery patterns accentuate the gold of your mane. You lean into his touch, and his hand grazes up to your mane, grabbing it a tad to make more available skin for him to feast on.
You whimper weakly, your body is already raging with need; four years deprived of this... of him. You never imagined you'd have to go celibate after you married Daemon, he always had you in his bed, fucking you almost every night, teaching you the arts of love and carnality in his sheets, the ways of hedonism you never thought of before. He pleased you and taught you how to please him. And you did so eagerly.
His hands touch your bare arms, pressing your hands and bringing them up to his lips, kissing each knuckle and fingertip of yours. You giggle and he grins. Daemon dips again and trails a line of open-mouthed kisses on your neck, jaw, and chin. He decides to look at your eyes before he presses his lips against yours. Your breathing is heaving, your eye are half-lidded, and before you know it, his lips are on yours. Hungry, lustful, and burning. Daemon grasps your shoulders as his lips crushing against yours, growling desperately in your mouth. Then his hands drop to your skirts, you help him lifting them up, and shuffling your undergarments down.
“Gods,” He hisses as he slips a finger inside of you. “You're as tight as you were at our wedding night.”
“Daemon, please...” You moan when you feel his thumb brushing your clit. “Please...”
“How cruel of me,” He remarks, a hint of mockery tinting his voice, “Leaving my wife unfulfilled and unsatisfied.”
You slap his chest playfully, “For four years you fucking twat.”
He grips on your hair again, with a bit more force this time, “That's no way to talk to your prince, my lady.” He kisses your lips again.
You laugh between the kisses, “And that was no way to treat your lady wife, my prince.” He groans in irritation, “Your lioness became hopeless to the point of considering returning to her original den, Casterly Rock.”
Daemon freezes, “What?”
“See, husband?” You sassed, “If you had been a little more late, you wouldn't have found me here.”
He grumbles, “Then I would have mounted my dragon and come to you, darling, and nothing could've stopped me from taking you again like I did first time.” He turns you around, your breasts pressing against the cold wall.
“Oh, shall I test the waters, my prince?” Your eyes squeeze shut as his fingers hit that delicious spot of you. He hasn't forgotten.
“Do not tempt the dragon, darling,” He snarls next to your ear, “You'll only get burned.”
“I've taken much more harder things, Daemon.” Your chuckle is interjected by moans.
“You're taking much more today.”
He continues to touch you, to ease your skin, with his lips and hands. His fingers coax your insides untill you're begging for his cock. He knows exactly where to touch you, earning your submission once again.
He clasps your hands, your fingers interlocking, as he thrusts deeply into you. All wet and warm for him. You gasp, your body craving for more. And Daemon knows, from the way your walls are sucking him up greedily and eagerly. His tip kissing your cervix each time he snaps his hips. You spin around and cling to him in desperation; your arms around his neck, and your legs around his waist.
“Ah... ah... Daemon...” Your head snaps backwards, and his lips are on your neck. “Give it to me please, husband, please!”
Daemon doesn't stop untill he gives you both, his and your high. And he fucks his seeds through your pleasure. In hope of a child will be born nine moons from now. You quiver, tears streaming down your cheeks. Your hands clawing at his back, and you bury your face into his neck. You don't wish him to see you crying. Daemon does indeed relish in watching you submit to him, but he never is fond of weaklings.
But Daemon senses the shake of your chest and sees the shinning beads on your face.
“What is it darling?” He tugs your hair away from your forehead, cradling your face in both hands, “Speak to me, love...”
“Never leave again.” Your words came out hushed, fragile.
“I never will.”
#daemon x reader#daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen x reader#prince daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen headcanon#daemon targaryen x oc#daemon targaryen x you#Daemon Targaryen x y/n#house of the dragon#game of thrones#daemon targaryen imagine#daemon targaryen fic#Daemon Targaryen fluff#daemon targaryen fanfic
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{A fool of a brother}
//Fannon!Teenage!Daemon x Fannon!Teenage!F!Reader//
Daemon travels to the Vale to retrieve a particular lady Arryn. (Read part two here)
Daemon had heard of you, mostly from his elder brother the king Viserys who held a soft spot for you in his heart, being the only sister his wife Aemma had.
Quite honestly speaking Daemon was jealous. Jealous of how his brother would compare him to you at every mischievous stunt he pulled to gain his older brother’s attention. Daemon knew so much of you and your life through the letters you wrote to Aemma, the ones he would secretly steal. He heard of the tales of your beauty and simply shrugged them off, you didn’t have the light blonde or silver valyrian hair that your sister did but inherited your father’s hair that you would braid and throw over your shoulder.
You were a devout follower of the faith the back of your hair veiled with a translucent blue veil that showed the colour of your house. Daemon had accumulated so much information on you that it was driving him mad. He wanted to take caraxes to the vale and demand to see you and he probably would have if his brother didn’t need him by his side.
Daemon didn’t understand why everyone who met you seemed so captivated with you. You weren’t a dragon rider like Rhaenys, You weren’t a warrior like Visenya and you certainly weren’t Aegon.
When Aemma had given birth to a healthy baby girl, she grew frail from the childbirth and it was uncertain as to whether she would live after the intense labour she endured. Blood seeped down in the sheets. Viserys didn’t know what to do, Aemma pleaded to see you one last time every time she was on the brink of unconsciousness, he should have been smarter and summoned you to kings landing at the start of the pregnancy.
Aemma was in and out of unconsciousness her body drenched with cold sweat.
“What is happening brother?” Daemon asked standing at the door of the bedchamber not daring to enter.
Viserys opened up his eyes red from the constant rubbing and worrying.
“Lets go for a walk, keep the handmaidens with the Queen” he said moving out to the corridor waiting for Viserys to join him.
“What is it? Is Aemma not to live through this?” He asked his hand holding Viserys’ shoulder.
“I am not sure of it..the maesters..the maesters seem bloody useless” he sighed “she wants me to get her sister, the lady Arryn from the vale” he sighed rubbing his face once more. “There is no time, Daemon” he said
“Pity” he said. He didn’t plan on telling his brother he would retrieve you for him if that was what he wished Daemon truly loved his brother and would happily ride caraxes to bring over this mysterious lady Arryn he had oddly even dreamt meeting. Perhaps he had wanted to do this for himself instead. He dreamt of you to be a kind, quiet woman an innocent one over whom he could hold an advantage over.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He placed his dragon riding vest over his body. Approaching the red sleek dragon caraxes patting its snout and pressing his forehead to the dragon’s side calming it.
Caraxes had a shrilling cry that could very much deafen a person. It was a miracle Daemon’s hearing remained as is. He climbed onto caraxes swiftly pulling to the skies above. He would get you to comply with his wishes and get you to kingslanding and win his brother’s approval. How difficult could you be?
The journey took hours but caraxes felt the adrenaline running through Daemon and felt the same letting out shrill cries. Free in the skies away from kingslanding approaching the gloomy climate of the Vale, Daemon could see the Eyrie. You would be there. His curiosity to see you drove him mad. Caraxes circled the stronghold of the Arryn’s as Caraxes let out excited whistles waiting for Daemon to order him to unleash fire on the castle.
Daemon had other plans, fire was the last thing he wanted in this situation. His dragon resting on the bridge destroying a little of it as its weight pressed on the brick.
Elys Arryn the lord of the Vale walked out of the Eyrie wondering what the Targaryens could possibly want now.
“My prince, what brings you here with your mighty dragon?” He asked attempting to smile and seem friendly to the obviously large dragon and the rogue prince before him.
“No true Targaryen would pass on a chance to ride their dragon” he said caraxes standing anticipating his next command.
“I am here on order of the king” he said in a bored manner. Arryn men, he hated them.
“And what does he require ?” Lord Arryn asked impatiently clearly confused by the sudden appearance of a prince.
“That is for me and lady Arryn to discuss. You know, your half sister” he said smirking
“He has demanded for my sister?” The Arryn lord asked. He didn’t trust Daemon especially not with you.
“Yes he has, now bring the lady Arryn out. I wish to see her” Daemon said his fingers brushing the pommel of his sword Dark Sister. He would be ready to cut down any lord if he was denied. If the king was denied.
You walked out in the bridge of the eyrie. Making your way through the crowded lords. Everyone eying you, what business did the king have with you? Or was it the prince Daemon playing one of his pranks and attempting to sway another woman. It was known that Daemon was to be betrothed to a lady in the Vale, was it you? Prince Daemon disliked by the high folk of the vale. The words of your house being ‘as high as honour’. Daemon had no honour, no modesty and was indulgent in all he pleased. The rogue prince of the seven kingdoms known for deflowering young women.
You approached him, you wore a light blue gown the colour of your house. You were a proud Arryn. A year elder to your sister Aemma, you were NOT fond of king Viserys you hadn’t forgotten the anger you felt when the king had chosen your younger sister as his breeding livestock. The young girl having experienced miscarriages that had weakened the live in her. But viserys relented, he wanted a male heir. It should have been you, you were the older sister why was it you who should have been chosen not your little sister. You should have protected her. She was so young— the guilt ate you up from the inside. You were just a year older but yet you would happily sacrifice yourself in her stead. Viserys loved your sisters silver hair and that was the reason as to why she was chosen. You didn’t know whether to think your dark hair a boon or a bane.
A white veil over the back of your dark hair with a headband embroidered with beautiful pearls. The cuffs of your gowns had little designs of golden coloured birds. You were a sight to behold.
Daemon felt his mind go blank the moment he saw you. How could his brother have passed on you? Perhaps his brother regretted his impulsive choice.
“My lady, I have heard tales of your beauty but none of them do you any justice” daemon said truthfully, you stood with your back straight almost contemplating what to say.
“My prince, is it true that the king has requested for my presence?” You asked plainly. What does Viserys want now?
“It’s more of a command my lady” his eyes lingering on your body taking all of you in. “You look absolutely beautiful” he said complimenting you again. Unlike other women you didn’t blush nor grow embarrassed. Your mind filled with rage over the fact that viserys had the nerve to send for you like a dog.
“And why is it he commands for me?” You asked suspiciously
“The king does not require a reason but I shall tell you the truth the queen has given birth” he said waiting for you to ask him more questions
“And the babe is healthy?” You asked “is it a boy?”
“A healthy baby girl” daemon confirmed “they are thinking through names”
“That’s wonderful news” your sister’s pregnancies would not end with a daughter you knew, viserys would still long for a male heir as demanded by the council and his people. But you were happy that a babe survived the trials and was born healthy.
“The queen is weak, the queen wishes to see you in case she does not make it” daemon explained seeing his stubborn you would be if he kept you in the dark.
“And I suppose you’ve come to take me on dragon?” You asked.
“Smart one aren’t you?” He smirked looking at caraxes who screeched loudly. “You have never ridden a dragon have you?” He asked extending his hand for you to take. You looked to your half brother nodding and telling him you would be back sooner or later. As much as Elys would have liked to keep you safe in the eyrie he could not go against the king’s or queen’s orders.
“What a pity a Targaryen never experiencing what it is to be a dragon rider”
“Well you must remember that I am half Arryn because of my father’s blood” you said accepting his gloved hand.
“But yet you share the blood of the old king and the good queen just as I do” he said in a persuading almost seductive tone. His hand holding yours pressing it to caraxes scales so he would get comfortable with your presence. You patted the beast lightly. Daemon tutted holding your hand firmer onto the dragon’s scales. His hand was bigger than yours but still fit it perfectly. Daemon must have felt it as well.
“Can you climb my dragon or do you need assistance?” he asked mischievously as you stood beside him looking at his dragon Caraxes
you looked at the red beast before you. “yes I am quite capable of climbing, thankyou” you retorted. How the hell does one ride a dragon? Caraxes was smaller in size as compared to other dragons but yet you felt as though you were scaling a hill. Like hell you were going to ask Daemon for help. Your feet slipping off Caraxes. Suddenly you felt strong hands on your thighs pushing you up his hand squeezed the fat of your thigh slipping to brush against your ass as he climbed behind you setting you in the front of him. He had a smug smile on his face as he held you infront of him his hand wrapping around your waist. “You are taking quite the liberty in touching me”
“Vile accusations” he smirked his face close to yours to gorge your reaction. You quickly turned your face away at how close he was you could feel his breath on your lips and it was inappropriate, an unwed lady travelling in such close proximity to a man such as Daemon?
“But I would have to hold you like this when we take flight…unless you wish to fall off?” He said smirking his eyes boring into yours. “With your consent of course”
“Just take me to the Queen, my sister” you said cutting him off. You weren’t going to trust Daemon or his intentions. Caraxes lifted of off the bridge of eyrie as he swept the clouds with his wingspan.
Daemon’s mind was filled with ways to annoy you and get your attention “why are you unwed?” He asked pretending to be genuine but he just couldn’t hide the smirk.
“Why are you unwed?” You repeated the question directed to him.
“I’m sure you’ve heard I’m betrothed to the bronze bitch” he scowled thinking of the brown haired woman who donned armour of house Royce.
“Bronze bitch?” You asked you anger aroused so very quickly “you speak so crudely of a beautiful woman?”
“Beauty? A sheep would be more fuckable” he said chuckling at his own comment. Would it be okay to throw him off his own dragon? You thought.
“But sadly you lack a few things the lady Rhea does not” you returned his smirk.
“There is nothing desirable that I lack” he laughed
“Oh— but you do” your smirk growing “you lack character”
“Character is not required for a prince like me” he retorted his smirk faltering just slightly, the prince trying to not take offense to your insult
“Yes but you are a mere second prince, the spare” you said looking straight at the sun behind the misty clouds.
“A second prince of the seven kingdoms and the heir to the crown” heir? You looked to him
“I wasn’t aware you were named heir” you said feigning surprise.
“I wasn’t” daemon frowned “but sooner or later, the Queen cannot give my brother a son. You should treat me with more respect for if I become king..”
“You really think Viserys is going to name you his heir instead?” You laughed at his idiocy “he’s going to keep trying and trying until finally a boy is born from Aemma” your fingers tightening around the reins.
“Aemma has had years to provide viserys an heir if she cannot I suppose he’ll have to find another cunt to sink his cock in” he spoke in anger, you turned your face around looking at him bewildered by his statement. You were going to smack him across the face once you reached kings landing.
“What if I tell Viserys of this?” You said, he would obviously be extremely upset. He would probably banish daemon and hurry the wedding preparations for daemon’s marriage to Rhea. That would mean daemon would be in the Vale.
Daemon grabbed a hold of your face “if you do that I cannot promise you that I will not exact revenge” he said all sense of friendliness lost.
“What could a second son with no prospects do to me? You would do well to marry into the Royce family. Perhaps you should even take her name..” you chuckled. Daemon was seething with anger his hold over you grew tighter almost as though he was trying to hurt you.
“If I wasn’t knighted I would—” he started
“You have no honour you might as well do what you must.” You said. You heard him cuss you out in soft mutters trying to control his anger. The ride back was too long. Daemon no longer wished to talk to you. Amidst the silence he suddenly said
“Lots of words from you, Queen who could have been” he smirked. He didn’t know you had no attraction or desire to the iron throne unlike himself.
“Lots of words from you, Daemon Royce” you retorted quickly. Daemon rested his head on your shoulder as you put your hand on his face to push him off but he relented stubbornly placing his chin deep in the crevice of your shoulder bone. “Call me Daemon Royce and I promise you. I will make you wish you never met me” he said trying to make you believe he that his threats were very real.
“I cannot believe we both are of same age” you grumbled “you are so immature it is no wonder God made you the second born” you said annoying hun even further. He threw some more insults at you which you threw insults back. The entire journey was a pain in the ass, the two of you yelling at each other at the top of your lungs. By the time you both had reached kingslanding you were sure you had lost your voice. Daemon’s voice and turned gruff and quiet as well. You attempted to climb off his dragon carefully to which he pushed you off when you were a few feet from the ground.
“You little sh—” you said getting back on your feet praying that no one saw the embarrassing fall and whelp you let out. Your legs had gone numb from the dragon ride but you wouldn’t spend another minute in the annoying prince’s presence. You truly felt for Rhea Royce. You walked out of the dragon pit ignoring everyone in your annoyance. You came for your sister. No one else. Daemon was quick to follow your lead
“Quite impolite as well not only to a prince like me but others as well” he noted “you didn’t wish any lord or lady on your way. Do you even know where you are heading?” He asked pulling the back of your dress to bring you to him your back hitting his chest with a thump sound.
“What in the seven hells are you doing now?” You asked your eyes squinting with irritation.
“Winning my brother’s favour, I brought you here. You see he gave me no order I did this out of my own goodwill. That makes me a good man” why the hell was he trying to convince you he was a good person?
“So the king gave no order— you abducted me!” You yelled punching him in the arm. Hard.
“And now you attacked a prince! Are we equal now?” He said rubbing the spot with his hand.
You ended up ignoring him or you knew you would end up spitting more insults at him. But well, now your anger for the Targaryens is split amongst the two brothers now. Daemon led you to to the room Aemma lay in. And you rushed in attempting to shut the door on his face. His strength overpowering you throwing open the door.
King Viserys looked up at the two of you from where he knelt next to his wife Aemma who was unconscious. Daemon shuffled his feet almost nervously before saying “I’ve brought her for you” King Viserys looked in disbelief between his brother and you. He got up from his bed giving his younger brother a silent hug which spoke a thousand thankyous. You sat on the bed next to Aemma trying to wake your sister gently “Aemma” you called her eyes flickering open before shutting them due to the brigtness of the room. The contrast between the darkness of her sleep and the sunlight spaying on your face and hair.
“Sister? Am I dreaming, Viserys?” she asked weakly.
Your eyes filled with tears at the sight of her so vulnerable. How much you had missed her. You didn’t know whether to hug her weak self so you placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “I’m here Aem” you said brushing her sweaty clumps of hair with your fingers. Aemma seats herself on the bed to get a better look at you “you look just like father” she smiled “and you an Angel Aem” you smiled weakly trying and failing to hold back your tears. “I did it..I gave birth to a healthy babe. A girl” she said “not what the realm wished for but I am happy nonetheless” she said gently her eyes tearing up at the disappointment Viserys must have felt.
“Fuck the realm” you blurted in the presence on the King, the prince, and the the Queen, your sister “I am proud of you, mother would be proud of you. You did so well” you said pulling her to you as you stroked her silver hair.
“Have you seen the babe?” She asked “No I have not” you responded “You see, I was abducted and brought here by the prince Daemon” you jested trying to lighten your mood. Aemma sent a polite smile to daemon “I hope she didn’t cause you any problems” Aemma laughed asking Daemon. “Oh she did, but that’s a conversation for another time” he smirked. You couldn’t help but chuckle at your sisters remark maybe even Daemon’s.
A handmaiden brought in the baby to Aemma and she gently handed you the tiny babe wrapped in the softest of cloths. Viserys sat beside Aemma kissing the top of her hair. Daemon again stood at the door almost ready to leave. But then he looked at your face in that sunlight. Holding the tiny babe with silver hair in your arms. He saw the way you smiled looking at your sister proudly and then you looked at him and your smile didn’t vanish. It stayed as you held the baby in your arms. “Have you seen her? Have you seen our niece?” You asked Daemon. Your long argument almost instantly forgotten when you had your niece in your arms. This was your family as well, Daemon was your family as well. You didn’t want him to leave for some reason.
Daemon cautiously took a few steps further and then a few more standing a few feet away from the bed looking at the babe. “For heaven’s sake— she won’t bite you. Come closer” you barked. “She won’t, but you look like you would” he said ignoring Viserys’ glare. Aemma couldn’t help but laugh at your bluntness. Daemon scoffed standing right over you and the babe now.
“she looks like you brother” Daemon said and you quickly countered “No, she looks like my sister.”
Before the two of you knew it the both of you were arguing once again once again, and from behind both Aemma and viserys sent each other knowing looks.
Though you weren’t what Daemon had expected you to be he wasn’t disappointed in the least, in his heart he still believed his brother was a fool for passing on you.
#Daemon Targaryen x reader#daemon x reader#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd imagines#Daemon Targaryen imagines#daemon Targaryen#Daemon Targaryen fanfics#daemon Targaryen x female oc#daemon x oc#Daemon Targaryen fluff#daemon Targaryen imagine#daemon#dark!daemon Targaryen#a song of ice and fire x oc#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire x reader
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SHORT HAIR SUITS YOU – D.T. x FEM!READER
fluff, smut. english isn't my first language 🫶🏻
"Gods be good." You closed the book that was resting on your legs once you saw Daemon entering your chambers. Covered in blood that you prayed to the Seven it wasn't his. You got out of your warm bed, stood on your feet, and approached Daemon. He stepped back when you tried to cup his cheek, that gesture made you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Is that blood yours?" You asked while you analyzed his face, looking for any wound or any sign that let you know that he was hurt. His silver hair was soaked in blood, his garment too, but Daemon shook his head, and you let out a sigh of relief. He finally ended the Crabfeader, you were gonna be able to have your husband back. You checked his clothes asking yourself why the hell he didn't wear armor to combat, and why the hell didn't wait for Viserys' men. Your back tensed when you found half of an arrow stuck in his chest, really close to his armpit. Did he fly all the way here with that in there?
"Ser Criston." You walked past your husband, out of your room, and quickly got the knight at your door's attention. "Could you call the maids, please? I need them to run a bath for prince Daemon. Oh, and we will need Grand Maester's assistance as well." The knight nodded, and left.
You got in your chambers again and helped Daemon with his clothes. He was trying to do it by himself but the obvious signs of pain on his face and the hisses escaping his mouth moved you to help your husband. You undid his belt, and Dark Sister fell to your feet from around his waist. Before you helped him to sit down on your bed, you took his trousers off, and you noticed that he had another wound a little below his knee. For the shape of it, you would say that it had been another arrow as well.
"You want to do it yourself?" You asked him. The arrow remaining stuck in his chest needed to be out so could keep undressing him. Daemon shook his head.
"You do it." The prince said, and he bit his lower lip down, closing his eyes. His head rested on your belly as you firmly grabbed the piece of wood. "Take a deep breath." You recommended him and he did as you said. When his lungs were filled with air, you pulled out the arrow. A shiver run down your husband's spine but he didn't complain, not even a groan left his mouth. A little bit of blood came out of his wound, staining your nightgown that was already ruined because of Daemon's hair against the fabric, but you couldn't care less.
As you both waited for the maids to arrive, you stayed in that position as you caressed his long hair. Finally getting some rest after days.
Then you carefully removed every layer of the clothes he was wearing from his body. The maids were already in the room, getting the water ready for the prince. "Oh, Daemon." You swallowed nervously and you could hear a stifled whimper from the maids when you discovered prince Daemon's chest. He had two open wounds, the one the arrow that was stuck in him did, and another one on his lower abdomen. His skin had bruises everywhere, but it was even worse around his wounds. They were covered with dry blood, the colors purple, black and red decorated his white skin, and it didn't look good.
The maids left and it was just you and Daemon in the room. The prince walked naked to the bathtub. The windows of your chambers were getting foggy as the smoke came out of the water. Daemon slid into the bathtub, letting the hot water cover his whole body and feeling all his muscles relax. You grabbed the sponge and you knelt next to the bathtub, dipping the sponge in the water. You felt your hand burning, You could be the wife of a dragon but you were still sensitive to these things. Daemon hissed and you apologized when you started rubbing his chest, careful to not touch his wounds.
"Why didn't you wait for King Viserys' aid?" You rubbed the blood out of his neck and Daemon just looked at you with his eyebrows raised. You pressed your lips together and nodded. No words were needed, but you still thought that it had been a dumb move to not wait, yet you were so proud of your husband for what he just did.
You cleaned his face, his white skin returning to its normal color and then you focused on his hair. It was so long, probably the longest you can remember Daemon having it. You started by undoing his braid and then you asked him to sink his head into the water so you could wash the blood away. He felt in heaven, this was why he did not let himself be killed at the Stepstones. He didn't need titles, he didn't need his brother's aid, he didn't need the Stepstones, he just needed you brushing his hair while humming a song to him. Daemon could die at that moment.
"Your hair is really long. I shall braid it again once your wounds are treated." You kissed one of his temples once you were done with his hair and you stood on your feet. You helped the prince to get out of the bathtub and you moved behind him to cover his body with a towel. His back had big bruises all over it and you could guess it hurt badly when he hissed after the fabric fell on his shoulders You apologized right after and Daemon turned to look at you. His facial expression was soft, his eyes were kind and he looked at you with hope because the night he left for the Stepstones, Daemon thought it would be the last time he would see you. The prince held your chin up between his thumb and index fingers and he attached his lips to yours. His shoulders relaxed and both of his arms traveled down the length of your body to hug it against his while your lips moved together.
"I fucking missed you." Daemon groaned against your lips and you hummed, agreeing with him. Your husband's hands were already working on the back of your dress when the Grand Maester knocked on the door of your chamber. Daemon's kisses moved from your lips to behind your ear. "Don't." He murmured and bit the lobe of your ear, making you whimper. You placed your hand on his abdomen, feeling the blood running down it and meeting your fingers.
"Daemon, you're still bleeding." His kisses on your neck didn't stop because he didn't care about what you were saying. You had to bite your lip down to stop yourself from moaning. "Come in!" You said loud enough for the Grand Maester opened the door right after. Daemon's kisses stopped immediately, his forehead resting on your shoulder, defeated. Your hand went to caress his hair as you giggled at his reaction. Daemon sat on the bed again and took one of your hands between his, playing with your fingers and kissing your knuckles while the old man treated his wounds. If it had been you in Daemon's place, you would have been crying and panicking all the time while the Grand Maester poked at your wounds, trying to find any more pieces of the arrows, cleaning and removing the hard sticky mess that formed on the surface of them. But it was Daemon, and he didn't like to show any weakness or any sign of pain. Sometimes he would squeeze your hands, other times he would hiss, closing his eyes shut and then opening them again, sending deadly glances to the old man. Your kisses on the back of his hand stopped him from picking up Dark Sister from the floor and do only the Gods know what to the maester.
"I'll be right back." You announced him and Daemond let himself fall backward, completely defeated on your bed as he nodded. You accompanied the maester outside of your chambers and closed the door behind you. The Grand Maester told you how to take care of Daemon's wounds and to not allow him to tear out the stitches. He had done it before, thinking that his wounds would heal on their own, and of course they did not. You understood and quickly got back inside your chambers.
You let out a sigh after seeing what your husband was doing.
"I really liked your long hair."
"I liked it as well."
Daemon was in front of your full-length mirror, completely naked and with the Maester's scissors in hand, giving his beautiful long and silver hair some deadly cuts. "Let me help you. You will completely destroy your hair." Daemon was way taller than you so you had to grab the chair at your desk for the prince to sit down and be within your reach. You didn't ask him why he did it but the short hair made him look different, more mature, as if he was trying to escape the Rogue Prince. Maybe that was the image he wanted to give to his brother now that he had finally taken the Stepstones.
You couldn't save the lenght of his hair because he had already cut some locks of hair really short when you decided to intervene before it got any worse. The new haircut fit him better, the short hair sharpened his features but at the same time made him look softer. Of course, you would never say that to him because he would go crazy. "Handsome." You stated once you were done. You moved between the prince and the mirror and using your thumb and index finger to hold his chin, you made him look up at you. You fixed his hair as the prince's eyes looked at you with pure adoration. Both of his hands caressed your hips over your nightgown. You enjoyed his gentle touch until his fingers started to clutch at the thin fabric covering your body, slowly revealing your legs to him.
"You must rest." You said, knowing his intentions.
"Haven't you missed me? Because I fucking have." With the skirt of your nightgown completely clutched in between his fists, he pulled you closer to him, almost sitting you on his lap. "You were on my mind every single day... and every single night." Daemon looked up at you, dutifully. "You were all I could think about on the battlefield. About being between your legs again and how wet you'd be when I told you that we had taken the Stepstones." Daemon got up from the chair slowly, his hands sliding your dress off your body at the same time and you didn't resist him undressing you. If you left out the fact that he came home covered in his own blood, he would have been right about what would have happened when he told you that they had won. But his words at that moment were doing the same effect.
Your hands dug into his short hair once he connected his lips with yours. The pulls from your fingers on his scalp were softer when he had long hair, but now his hair was short enough to make him groan against your lips every time you pulled from his hair. Daemon walked you to the bed, his hands never leaving your waist as he carefully laid you on the mattress. He held his weight using his hands on both sides of your head, his hard cock pressing against your belly. Your lips were swollen once Daemon finally moved from them to focus on your neck, making you squirm under him. Your hands traveled down all his back, being really careful with the bruised skin under your fingers, feeling his muscles clench under your palms, until you got to his ass. Daemon's tooth brushed against your neck as his lips sucked harder on the soft skin of it after your hands squeezed his butt.
The prince's hand moved to cup one of your breasts, the whimper you let out sending electric waves down his spine. Using one of his legs he parted yours even wider, the firm holds on his cock helping him to rub his cock up and down your slit. As much as you wanted to hook your legs over the swell of his ass and let him fuck you so hard that the morning after you would have people questioning if you were okay, as much as you wanted to feel his hips slamming into you and he his hands digging into your hips from holding you in place, Daemon was hurt, so the fewer efforts he made, the better for his recovery.
"Let me do it."
And Daemon didn't object. He took your place but instead of lying on the mattress, Daemon sat with his back against the wall so he could have a perfect view of you. You used one of your hands to steady yourself on top of him, and with your other hand, you grabbed his cock by the base of it to help you sink it inside you. Daemon opened his mouth in a perfect 'o' form, letting out a moan and sinking his nails into the flesh of your waist. You let your head fall backward and bit your lower lip, being careful to not press onto Daemon's wounds with your hand on his abdomen.
You started by rolling your hips, feeling his dick brush the deepest places inside you. The sex with Daemon had been always amazing, even when you two weren't married, but you could count on the fingers of one hand the times he let you ride him, and when he did, it was basically him bucking his hips upwards, and taking the lead. He just loved to be in charge, taking you from behind while his fingers work on your clit and he mumbles the dirtiest things in your ear, having your legs over his shoulders as he pounds into you, even sitting on your dressing table and having your legs around his body and your nails scratching down his back.
His chest heaved as he gasped for air when instead of rolling your hips, you bounced on his dick. Daemon couldn't help but move his hands to your hips to help you go up and down his cock. Your moans muffled and died onto the skin of his neck as the muscles of your thighs began to burn. He really tried to let you have your way with him, set the pace and guide him, but he had missed you so much and you needed to feel him closer. Every time he leaves your side, you don't know if you'll ever see him again. Daemon leaned to trap your lips with his as he couldn't help but buck his hips upwards, meeting yours. "It's fine. I've got you." Your husband mumbled in your ear and right after he started kissing the sensitive skin behind your ear. You knotted your fingers into his short hair while you rolled your hips adding more pleasure to Daemon's thrust.
He didn't care about the pain as long as it was accompanied by you clenching around him. You moaned his name, feeling your throat go dry as your legs closed and shook, stopping him from thrusting into you anymore. Daemon came inside you, allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder but still holding you in place so you won't waste a single drop of him.
"We will fly tomorrow morning to the Stepstones." Daemon continued kissing your neck while you both came down from your highs. You knotted your fingers into his hair and used that grip to pull him closer to you as you hummed feeling his lips working on your neck.
"We?"
"Yes. They will name you Queen of the Narrow Sea."
#house of the dragon#house of the dragon smut#house of the dragon fluff#house of the dragon angst#hotd x reader#daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen fluff#daemon targaryen angst#daemon targaryen smut#daemon targaryen scenario#daemon targaryen x fem!reader#daemon targaryen reaction#daemon targaryen x reader#game of thrones#game of thrones smut#game of thrones fluff#game of thrones angst
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The lure of the inappropriate - Daemon Targaryen x female!reader
Summary: You are stuck at a ball with your husband Daemon Targaryen. You are both bored and a rather silly conversation suddenly turns into a moment of pleasure.
Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader
Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW;
Author’s note:
English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:
Word count: 1.8 k
Other stories of mine
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Your laughter fills the almost empty table where you sit with your lord husband Daemon Targaryen.
You are at a boring ball. The music is boring, the food doesn't taste good, the lords and ladies present annoy you even more. But luckily the wine is good.
And as a member of the royal family, you are expected to be present.
So you've started a rather silly conversation, but at least it makes you laugh.
"And what does a good wife do when she's angry with her husband," Daemon asks you, grinning. He is eager to hear your answer.
"What does a good wife want when she is angry? Does she want diamonds? Silk dresses? Does she want gold and jewels from her husband's kingdom? Or does she want something... something else?" he asks you, leaning a little towards you.
You laugh slightly again.
"I don't know what a good wife wants when she's angry with her husband... But I do know that when I'm mad at you..." you say, thinking for a moment.
"Well... then I don't want stupid gifts... then I want to yell at you and argue and throw things at you... until we have sex," you say to him. You try to suppress a slight grin.
Daemon raises his eyebrows slightly.
"Ah... I see..." he says softly. He leans forward a little again. You feel his warm breath on your neck.
"And... what do you want after that?" he whispers softly in your ear.
You bite your lip lightly.
"After sex?" you ask him softly. You turn your head towards him and see by the look on his face that he is waiting for your answer.
"That you cuddle with me... and say sweet nothings in my ear...", you say softly and smile slightly.
Daemon looks at you slightly amused, "You would settle for sweet nothings?" he asks you. You grin just slightly. He leans towards you again.
His nose gently caresses along your ear. "You don't want me to grovel before you? That I bend my knee? Don't you want to rule over me? To be in charge?" you hear him whisper.
But you shake your head slightly.
"No... I know I rule you..." you say softly.
"Because I know I'm the only person you have affection for... I'm the only person you cuddle with and say sweet nothings to...", you say softly and smile at him, as he leans slightly back.
Daemon drinks from his wine and looks at you. His eyes sparkle a little. "So you rule me..." he says with a slight smile.
"You know, all the other women in this room might look at us and be jealous. And the men may look at us and wish they had what I have..." he says and takes your hand. Gently his thumb strokes the back of your hand.
"But what do you see when you look at me and rule me?" he asks you and smiles, "Do you see what all the others see? Or... do you really see me as I am?"
You smile at him, "I see you as a cruel but great warrior who would always protect me...", you say gently.
"But I also see you as the gentle husband you are... who just caresses and cuddles me...", you say softly.
Now he grins at you, "And what do you love more? The cruel warrior... Or the gentle husband?"
He leans forward and gently caresses your cheek.
You chuckle lightly, "I love them both... but I prefer my gentle husband who lies in bed with me at night..." you say softly.
His finger comes to rest under your chin. He pulls you a little closer and gently kisses your lips. You taste the sweet wine you have been drinking all evening on his lips.
"And what does your gentle husband get in return?" he whispers against your lips.
"He can have sex with me every night," you say cheekily, smiling a little.
A curious look flits across his gaze, "Every night, huh?" His smile turns wicked, "And what about during the day?" he asks softly.
You laugh softly, "Well... yeah... sometimes we have sex during the day too..." you say softly.
His smile becomes greeter, "Sometimes? That's not an answer," he pulls you a little closer to him again, "I hope it's more often than that," he whispers in your ear.
You laugh softly, "You know very well that we have sex often enough during the day." you say with a smile.
Daemon's grin gets bigger again, "I hope it stays that way"
His lips move closer to your neck.
"Because... I wouldn't want my little wife to be unsatisfied," His hand wanders over your thigh as he speaks.
"Your needs must always be satisfied... I made you my wife... and so it is my responsibility to make you happy... to give you everything you could ever want," he murmurs softly as his lips hover over your neck.
Then he gently kisses your neck. You bite your lip as you feel his lips on your soft skin.
"We are at a ball... Daemon..." you whisper and try to be serious, but your breathing becomes heavier.
"Yeah... We're at a boring ball. So what do I care about the others? I've had enough of small talk," he says softly.
Again he slips a finger under your chin and you can't help looking into his purple Targaryen eyes.
"Don't you want to go? Do you want to leave all these fools behind?" he asks softly. He smiles, "Do you want to be alone with your gentle husband?"
You notice how his hand slides further down your thigh and moves under your dress.
You bite your lip again lightly as you feel his fingers leaving small circular motions on your bare thigh.
His hand now slides further up your thigh, closer to a specific spot. And you know what his destination is.
You bite your lip harder and are sure you are about to taste blood.
"You seem tense..." he whispers to you.
"Daemon," you just gasp.
He looks at you, "Do you want me to stop?" he says, barely audible.
You stare at him for some time. Your breathing is still heavy.
"If you slid up any further, you'd feel how wet I already am for you..." you whisper to him.
He pauses for a moment.
"That's pretty naughty...", he finally says softly.
"But I'd be interested to know how far you're willing to take this even further..." he whispers in your ear.
His hand slides up even further.
You whimper slightly and suppress a moan as his fingers slide over your already damp small clothes.
"Daemon," you whisper, but it sounds more like a gasp.
You close your eyes.
You hear him chuckle lightly.
"Open them. Open your eyes and look at me," you suddenly hear him say.
You slowly open your eyes and look at him. He sees the fire in your eyes. You feel him push your small clothes aside. His middle finger slides through your wetness. Slowly he glides his finger through your entire folds until he reaches your sensitive pearl.
"Daemon," you gasp again, letting your lip disappear between your teeth once more.
Daemon just smiles.
He leans in slightly and gently kisses your neck.
Without warning, he lets his finger disappear into your warm interior. On the soft skin of your neck, you feel a smile caress his lips as you spread your legs a little for him.
His finger thrusts into you. You hold onto the edge of the table. Involuntarily, your walls clench around his finger, you hear him chuckle softly. It feels so delicious to have him inside you, even if it is only his finger.
His gaze is now fixed directly on your face. Watching your every move. Watching closely what reaction he can evoke in you.
"Look at me. Look into my eyes and let me see you," he suddenly chimes as his finger continues to thrust into you
You look at him with your big purple Targaryen eyes. Your heavy and rapid breathing is only drowned out by the music, chatter and laughter in the hall.
His finger moves faster, deeper and deeper.
You whimper slightly. Your hips move slightly towards the movement of his hand.
"That's right, my sweet," His voice lowers to a low, seductive whisper and his voice sounds almost predatory, "That's right. Look me in the eye and give me what you have. All of you," he whispers in his deep voice.
You whimper more and more. His finger thrusts faster and harder. With each thrust, his palm rubs over your sensitive pearl. You feel the pressure spreading through your lower belly. You grip the edge of the table tighter until your knuckles turn white.
"I'm close, Daemon..." you stammer, closing your eyes again.
But Daemon wants to see you. He wants to watch you as you come on his fingers, in the middle of a ball.
"Look into my eyes," he whispers, "Look into my eyes as you come on my fingers"
You comply with his request and look into his eyes again.
His finger thrusts into you faster and suddenly you notice him inserting another finger.
"Gods..." you whimper. Your walls clench around his fingers and try to pull him in deeper. And with the next thrust, his palm strokes your sensitive pearl again, sending you over the edge. Daemon grins at you.
You bite your lip hard. But Daemon doesn't stop thrusting and your climax doesn't seem to stop.
You are about to moan. But then you grab his waistcoat and quickly pull him closer to you. You let your lips crash down on his and kiss him so that you don't moan loudly. He swallows your moan with pleasure. His fingers thrust into you more gently, slowly the thrusts dry up. You are still kissing and you are breathing heavily as he slowly pulls his fingers out of you.
"That was pretty naughty," he says softly, chuckling slightly.
"But I have to admit. I quite enjoyed it," he smiles mischievously at you.
You're still breathing heavily, but a slight smile curls your lips.
Then you see him take his wet fingers into his mouth. Slowly he sucks on it and cleans it. Your eyes grow wide. "Daemon!" you say, your cheeks flushing.
"What?" he asks you.
"The food was terrible... At least I can enjoy dessert," he just says and winks at you.
You just laugh lightly as he gently kisses your cheek.
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Dragon of Dorne - Chapter III
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A tense silence had shrouded the hall shortly after, a thick presence that coiled around them all. Daemon watched his niece with a leering gaze. Try as he might, he could not withhold the infatuation that budded within him.
Despite Rhaenyra's persistent petting, the exasperated glances Jacaerys shared with his betrothed, and Lucerys' hidden smirks of horrified amusement, Daemon found his gaze could not be pulled away from the girl.
Daemon could not look away if he tried, even when she turned towards Aegon to share fretful smiles and indulge him with conversation so he may leave their nephews be.
Daemon leaned closer towards the table when Alaynha turned to Aemond, sharing hushed whispers and fruitive glances towards a quiet Lucerys.
Daemon's eyes softened when she laughed alongside Helaena, the two sisters conversed sweetly over insects and paintings, and he could not help but notice how the girl would preen at Alicent's every word, would smile shyly at Otto's nods of approval and would grin unabashedly at her father's acknowledgement.
Here was a girl who was surrounded by love from a family which was not wholly hers. Here was a girl bathing in affection - Daemon should have been jealous, his blood should have curdled with envy at the sight of someone receiving such outpouring, unconditional love.
Instead, his heart grew heavier with such great need he almost lost his breath. Daemon was not sure what he needed, just that there was an ache and an emptiness that lingered fresh beneath the scars and nightmares of his battles hard-won.
There was a part of Daemon that had awakened at the sight, to see such goodness able to exist within the walls of King's Landing.
There was a part of Daemon, dark and cruel, that wished to corrupt it and nurture it to feed the hole in his heart so he could feel anew.
Daemon didn't know what he wanted, but he would do anything to try and make the sinking feeling tearing at his soul stop.
It did not take long for the tense silence to simmer into an agonising echo of rage - with Alaynha far too distracted talking to Aemond, Aegon had grown bored quite easily.
His taunting words grated at Jacaerys' patient countenance. And when Aegon had stood between him and his betrothed and laid an offer, quiet and bare, with pride tinging him words, anger roiled within Jace's heart as he leapt from his seat.
The loud thud of his fists against the wooden table caused the room to hush, eyes fixed upon the seething brunette boy as he hunched over the table. Aegon did not even look ashamed when he returned to his seat, sharing an amused glance with his brother, who had taken Jacaerys' impulsive actions as a threat against Aegon and stood to his defence.
Alaynha watched on with cautious eyes, the hand holding her cutlery knife twisted it in her grasp as she tensed within her seat, eyes hardening as she prepared to move to defend her kin if she must - her gaze flickered between her nephew and brother, the grip on her knife tightening as she pursed her lips in an attempt to stay composed.
But with her twitching fingers, her trembling body and her raging eyes, Daemon knew. The girl looked like she was out for blood, the calming waves of naivety and shyness she had previously radiated were drowned out by the shrieking fire that begged to make itself known.
Daemon found himself enamoured at the sight of her restrained anger, wondering what potential hid beneath the walls she caged herself in. Wondered what her anger was like, what her violence held, what her touch felt like when the dragon in her blood burned all that came across its path.
He could understand the girl's vigilance. The last time one of her brothers had held their own against Daemon's children, and Rhaenyra's, Aemond had lost an eye. She would not allow her brothers to lose to them again.
Jacaerys spoke, his words strained as he toasted to his uncles, and then to his newfound aunt - pretending Aegon's words had only been in jest, all to keep his mother happy and his grandsire at peace. Jacaerys' eyes glimmered as he regarded her, only looking away when Aegon turned to him with a fierce glare.
No one spoke for a few moments, all silently staring into the depths of their empty plates and drowning cups before another voice spoke - a toast to Alicent, she said.
Rhaenyra's voice was thick with emotions, and a glance towards Alicent would show her eyes were full of unshed tears as she regarded the words of her oldest friend with the highest esteem.
The Targaryens - half-blooded and whole - sat in an amicable air of content despite the tense toasts shared in honour of Aegon and Aemond, and in rejoice for the cordial toast from Rhaenyra to Alicent.
There were tentative smiles shared between the women as food was passed around the table, but Alaynha did not fail to notice how her eldest half-sister avoided her with every laugh and every whisper.
She could not help the despair that settled in her heart, she had hoped she would gain another kin tonight but she was sure Rhaenyra would prefer to see her as an enemy. Perhaps as nothing, if she could help it.
Alaynha pushed around the food on her plate, much too anxious to try and sate her cramping stomach from hours of starvation as she traversed the skies upon dragonback.
There was a bark of laughter from across the table, Alaynha did not have to lift her head to know that it was her father's. A gentle smile pulled across her face as she peered up to watch him - at least he had found some peace in such a reunion. And truly, that was all which mattered.
Instead of her father's wilting gaze, her eyes caught the blazing fire that burned beneath the violet hues of Daemon Targaryen.
It was only then, seeing how concentrated he was, how his eyes singed her skin and his smirk sped up her heart, that she realised his eyes were not the only ones upon her.
A glance to her left showed the guarded eyes of Aemond, the stare growing more manic as he also realised the prey laying under Daemon's predatory gaze was none other than his sister.
Still, he kept mum - he did not want to ruin this for his mother, not when she was glowing in a way he had thought was diminished and extinguished, never to spark to life again. But it has - in this moment now, Alicent was set alight, talking with the woman who had everything she had ever wanted - choice.
Alaynha's gaze flitted back to her plate, cheeks flushed under Daemon's heated gaze, and she was not sure whether she wanted him to stop.
A flicker of guilt welled up in her throat, disgust curdling inside her gut - this was her half-sister's husband. This was her uncle. Although Rhaenyra may not acknowledge her, Alaynha was not half as cruel. She would not take what is not hers.
Daemon liked to think he could have taken his eyes off of his niece should he wish, but there was something tempting about her. There was a streak of Targaryen hidden behind her half-blooded soul that called to his whole one - where like searched for like.
She was quiet and meek, pretty and dainty. A doe in the wild, a lamb ready for slaughter. But when she spoke of her dragon, the High Valyrian slipping off her tongue with ease, there was a likeness which shone through.
There was something wild about her - something grim and feral that hid beneath layers of manners, polite greetings and shy smiles.
She was a gentle flame, a flickering candle yearning to be guided and fed to cause a roaring blaze.
Daemon's gaze eased off the girl as he followed Jacaerys' rounding figure towards Helaena - she sat next to her grandsire, lost in her world of dreams and insects. That is until a hand presents itself to her, and an offer for a dance is made.
Helaena reaches for Jacaerys' hand with glee, and although her brother's watch with irritated stares and suspicious eyes, Alaynha watched with an indulging smile that Helaena returns tenfold as she grips Jacaerys' hand tighter, allowing him to lead her.
Alaynha watched the pair in quiet admiration. She knew that Rhaenyra had previously proposed Jacaerys wed Helaena - her mother thought it mad. But seeing her sister's grinning face and hearing her joyous laughs, Alaynha feels she would have been much happier with Rhaenyra's child than stuck in a loveless marriage with her brother, both bound by a duty they do not want.
She remained stuck in her thoughts, smiling unconsciously at the sight of Jacaerys spinning Helaena around in buoyant moves. It was the touch of something rough and calloused against her back of her hand which snapped her out her reverie.
Her hand was resting against the back of her chair as she had twisted in her seat to admire Helaena's dancing with Jacaerys, and it twitched at the unfamiliar sensation. There was a sharp intake of breath, had that been her?
Her eyes darted towards what had caused the sensation, she thought it to be Aegon since Aemond sat on her other side - but her eldest brother's hands were soft and pliant, the hands that brushed against her own were worn, like that of a warrior.
Her eyes found fingers calloused by the use of heavy weaponry, scarred by light scratches and gashes, brushing against the back of her hand.
A soft caress that called to her.
She followed the hand up, up, up.
Oh.
Her gaze wavered for a moment, her vision wobbling as she looked up towards the man who thought himself brave enough, worthy enough to call to her. To ask for her. It was then she realised the room had plummeted into true silence, the guards much too hesitant to shift from their positions in fear the sound of their scraping armour would send the room into utter chaos.
Those around her watched as she regarded the man in front of her with a curious gaze.
Daemon Targaryen.
There was a part of her that felt she should not be surprised by his audaciousness, but she was sure her mouth had parted in surprise as she gazed into his eyes with a wide and curious stare.
Daemon did not dare to glance around the table, so sure he would be met with the sight of Rhaenyra stiff with wrath, his brother frothing at the mouth with indignation, and the suspicious gazes of her brothers and Alicent.
Instead he smirked softly, the feeling foreign upon his face, as he lifted his hand, palm facing up. Another offering - a chance to dance.
Alaynha reached up easily, as though she was reaching out based on simple instinct. But the stifling sense of hostility, which drowned the room, seemed to make her hesitate. Her eyes flickering between her brothers, as though she was almost asking their permission.
Daemon and his niece had not spoken again after their introductions, and even now he regarded her in silence. He knew he wanted to hear her voice again, to hear the High Valyrian slip off her tongue in rolling waves. There was a fascination that had seeded within him, one which slowly began to blossom and bloom.
He simply wanted to see where this sweltering feeling of temptation would go.
Daemon had a feeling he already knew, but a distant glance towards Rhaenyra's seething form had him feign ignorance to his own scheming desires.
Daemon did not wait for Aegon and Aemon to grant her permission, nor did he wait for her to accept his hand. He reached for her hand, holding it firmly in his grasp, "would you do me the honour, dear niece? I believe it is only right to offer a dance to the niece I have not known of in so many years."
His words were light, and he did mean every one. But he also held back on what his mind begged him to spill and confess. It seemed Daemon's words were enough to convince an aching Viserys, his voice strained as he prompted his daughter - "yes. Yes, dance with your uncle, dear. It would make me most happy to see my kin get along."
Perhaps Viserys should have known better than to encourage, but Alaynha had already been rejected by a sour Rhaenyra - perhaps Daemon's persistent acknowledgement of the girl would force Rhaenyra to accept her one day.
Alaynha relaxed at her father's words, assured she would not upset anyone as she stood and nodded in agreement.
Daemon led her close to where Jacaerys and Helaena still spun in graceful circles.
The sound of music faded into a melody that was new and bold. The violins were a layered chant of whispers and echoes that rung through the hall and enchanted the ears of its audience.
Daemon loosened his grasp on Alaynha's hand, letting it fall to her side as she simply watched him. A smile twitched upon his face, a brow raising in question - "well?"
Alaynha coughed, his words pulling her from her musings as she took a step back.
She glanced beside them, where Jacaerys and Helaena danced with child-like glee - holding each others arms like they were infants playing a simple game and not a man and a woman living in the ghost of their past.
Alaynha looked back at Daemon, her breath catching as she took in his fierce stare - she felt as though she was drowning in the vision of him.
The gentle tune reverberated across the hall, and Alaynha lifted a hand between her and Daemon. The tips of her fingers were so close to brushing against his jaw that they almost trembled - her palm faced him. Waiting.
His eyes glimmered with intrigue, his shoulders rising as he straightened his posture. He lifted a hand of his own, his left meeting her right.
In dances such as these, etiquette was key. That was what Alicent and her Septa had taught her, it was of modicum to stray from touching.
So when Daemon's hand brushed against her own, she had to suppress a flinch and fight off the shiver that crawled down her spine. His palm felt warm against the cold-bitten flesh of her own. Her hand dwarfed against his, and she could feel every mark he had suffered to earn his titles throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
The Rogue Prince.
Commander of the City Watch.
King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea.
He had rejected all titles but one, and the Rogue Prince stood in front of her today - a tall and lumbering figure who bore the expression of a man starved.
She nodded at him, and they began to dance.
The tip-toed around each other with graceful steps, when they would let go of each other's hands during one step they would immediately find it again in the next.
"Why would you ask me to dance, Uncle?"
Her question sounded innocent, and though he had given Viserys a reason he deemed acceptable, it did not mean Alaynha found it believable.
She may be the youngest child of Viserys, but she had grown up with the boy who did not want to be a king, a soldier burdened by the sacrifices of his past and a dragon dreamer who did not know how to escape the fates she had forseen. She was young, yes. But not naive.
"Is it truly so hard to believe I simply wanted a dance to learn more of my niece?"
"When you have tried so hard to not associate yourself with my brothers and sister, you should understand why I do - find it so hard, that is."
He pursed his lips, and when they spun around each other before switching hands, he took a step closer. Daemon took a deep breath, the scent of citrus and berries coating his tongue as the warmth of Alaynha being stood so close burned him through his clothes.
"They are not the same as you."
"Because they carry the blood of Hightowers? Well, it would do you well to understand I am no different to them, Uncle. For it was a Hightower who raised me with love and affection, when all the 'true' Targaryens - as I'm sure you refer to yourselves - fled the Seven Kingdoms and left my father to rot on his deathbed."
Her words were tainted with venom, anger that was hidden deep and caged away had been sparked to life. Daemon found the sight amusing, but if he let that be known he was sure the girl would walk away from him now.
"My apologies," he whispered softly, "I believe I have some reparations to make then, if I am to get your approval."
"And why is it that you crave such a thing, Uncle?"
"There are many things I crave that I cannot explain away," he glanced towards her lips, relishing in how she flushed darkly at the action, "but I would be more than happy to show you instead."
His eyes now bore into hers, pupils dilated as his heart beat wildly in his chest. They had merely danced in simple circles, and yet he found himself losing his breath the longer he breathed in her scent. The longer he held her hand - the flesh was supple and soft, felt soothing against the calloused gashes of his own.
She parted her lips, tongue rolling as she got ready to answer. Her eyes flickered over his shoulder briefly as they spun around each other once more, and when she came to face him again, her expression was blank, and her lips held tight.
Daemon did not need to turn to know who had caused such a thing.
Still, he could not blame the girl for her reaction and instead gave her a nod of reassurance as his hands twitched in an attempt to intertwine his fingers with her own.
They continued like that, spinning around each other in slow circles as the melody began to fade and stretch with dramatic pulls and frantic strums played in a frenzy.
There was then a silence, an opportunity to breathe as they stood still for a moment. They were much closer than when they had started, and their dance had caught the attention of all those in the hall who watched with raptured attention.
Even Jacaerys began to stumble in his steps as he tried to watch one aunt at the same time he danced with the other.
Daemon drew closer in anticipation. His hand that was pressed firmly against the palm of hers began to drag down her wrist, and the sensation of his fingers brushing against her hand, and then her wirst and arm caused goose-flesh to rise. He bit his lip in quiet amusement. His hand in question had reached for her opposite shoulder, where he brushed back strands of pale hair before winding his arm around her waist.
He tugged her closer, a reassuring warmth funnelled through him. Her eyes darted between his earnest gaze and the raging form of her half-sister, but a soft jerk pulled her back to him, and a kind smile eased her racing heart.
A moment to breathe.
It was then the music came crashing back, what must have been seconds felt like hours but Daemon had been prepared.
He pulled Alaynha flush against his front, his skin growing heated as he felt her form press against his own. He kept his sneaking desires to himself, taking to spin around the hall with calculated steps as Alaynha wrapped her arms around him with wide-eyed surprise.
Daemon glided them across the floor, spinning and turning. They never missed a step, and Alaynha found herself lost in the vertigo of their endless dance. Their feet moved in synchrony as their breaths melded into one, and Alaynha had simply lost herself to this moment now.
A breathless laugh escaped her. The sound was an addictive melody that Daemon found he would drown himself him if he had the choice. He smiled, a grin so broad and free that it felt foreign upon his face.
A glance over his shoulder would show a simmering Rhaenyra, and it was the only thing that stopped him from joining Alaynha in her joy.
She clutched him tightly as she tried to move in step with him, her hands winding around his neck and brushing across the scarred flesh hidden beneath his collar. Daemon's breaths stuttered at that, but for once, in perhaps a decade, he felt no need to turn from a gentle touch and instead leaned into it.
A haggard cough broke through the music, the musicians trailing their notes off-key as Daemon and Alaynha came to a stop. She pulled her hands away from their place around his neck, and they came to rest at his chest as she pushed against him softly.
Her head turned towards her father, expression tight with concern as she saw the man unable to catch his breath. She would have tried walking to him, but Daemon's touch was unrelenting.
She spared her uncle a look and saw his eyes filled with the same unease that settled in her heart.
Alicent ordered the King to be sent to his bed, Otto chiming in to have him receive milk of the poppy to ease his pains. Alaynha watched with sad eyes as her father's ragged form was carried away by his personal guard, the man much too weak to raise his head and deign a goodbye.
Her eyes followed him as he exited the hall, fixed to the door even after it had been closed. There was a comforting brush across her waist, where Daemon rubbed light circles atop her dress.
But it was Alicent's voice which brought her back - "why not continue your dance, my sweet? I was enjoying it quite so much."
There was a pleasant smile on her face, but Alaynha could not dismiss the suspicion held in her eyes as her mother regarded Daemon. Her grandsire simply looked amused as he nodded his ascent.
"As you wish, muña."
She agreed with ease, already turning back to peer into Daemon's waiting eyes. Her hands were still pressed against his chest, and a shudder ran through the man as she dragged them up to wind around his neck.
They dance for a few moments more, their steps in line with the gentle strums of the violin. But their moves are much more stilted, the joyous atmosphere tainted by the truth of her father's health - the man could take his last breath any day now. Such a truth threatened to drag her down with misery and dread.
It must have been only minutes before they were pulled to an abrupt stop - a powerful thud echoes through the hall as the lean figure of Aemond Targaryen stood above those in the hall.
Rage poured off of him in tempestuous waves, but he composed himself - head held high as he regarded the swine placed in front of him with disgust, and the boy sat across from him with murderous craze.
"A final tribute - to the health of my nephews."
Alaynha tensed, so sure of where his words would lead him that even as she paused with Daemon instead of her arms dropping from his neck, they tightened. In gross anticipation, she held her breath, fingers pressing into the rough and scarred flesh of Daemon that he almost gasped at the heady sensation that tumbled through him.
"Jace. Luke. And Joffrey," he continued, his hardened eye moving to each nephew, "each of them handsome, wise..."
There was a long pause, and Alaynha could see Aegon's lips twitch in amusement as well as Helaena's earnest gaze. A glance back to her uncle, who watched Aemond with narrowed eyes, was enough to restrain a familiar twitch of amusement spreading across her face.
"Hmm. Strong."
Alaynha finally slipped her handa from Daemon's neck, taking in Jace's figure that trembled with anger at Aemond's words.
"Aemond-" Alicent's voice was tinged with exasperation, but Aemond did not allow it to stop him.
"Come, let us drain our cups - to these three Strong boys."
Alaynha watched as Aegon, ever the supportive brother after Aemond had lost his eye, raised his cup almost immediately. Helaena replied to his speech with a light round of applause and a tender smile.
Alaynha could only stand next to her uncle, unsure of what he would do to her should she so openly support her brother in front of him.
"I dare you to say that again."
Jace held his head high, a challenge.
Aemond turned to him with ease, "why - twas only a compliment."
He began to stalk towards Jace as the boy stumbled towards him with a wrathful temper - "do you not think yourselves strong?"
His words were met with a resounding punch to that of his unseeing eye - Rhaenyra called to her eldest son but he paid no mind.
Aemond had barely shifted, turning back to Jace with a bearing grin.
Where Alaynha had previously been hesitant, she now began to seethe as years of resentment over what these Strong boys had done to her brother came crashing over her in waves.
She watched as Lucerys marched for his brother, but Aegon got to him first - slamming the boy face-down against the table.
Jace moved to Aemond again, and at that, Alaynha moved forward, simmering in rage - a dagger falling easily from the clasp in her sleeve into her awaiting hand.
Aemond pushed Jace to the ground with ease, and a large hand wrapped around Alaynha's wrist to stop her from what would have been a glorious rampage.
Daemon tugs the girl harshly, throwing her behind his back as he watches the scene unfold with speculative eyes. When she tried to round his solid figure, he reached back - his hand scrapes across the pristine blade held in the princess' hand, and it closed over the blade and her wrist in a tight grip.
He paid no mind to the sting as his flesh tore open, and blood began to spatter upon the floor beneath them. But there was a moment of hesitation that overcame him when he heard her sharp intake of breath, and he knew he must have cut her flesh open the same.
The two began to bleed freely in the hall of the Red Keep, a small pool of blood leaked between them as their blood mixed into one.
Daemon felt light-headed, his skin burning where his bleeding gash met hers. But he steeled himself, watching the scene unfold with unforgiving eyes.
It was when Rhaenyra stood with her eyes blazing as she watched him hold her half-sister, a hand on her swollen belly as she called to him silently, that he found himself reluctantly letting go.
He clenched his fingers around his gaping wound. Alaynha hid hers behind her back, hopeful that her brothers nor mother would see the blood that stained her gown.
They stepped away from the pool of blood with ease, stepping in opposite directions.
Alaynha walked to Aemond's side with graceful steps, and Daemon stood as a barrier between her family and Rhaenyra's.
They shared a weighted gaze, unsure of what it is they were searching for.
Daemon looked away first, staring passively into the bright eyes of Aemond instead.
The man hummed, a smirk painting his face before he rounded his uncle and walked away. He paused by the door, peering over his shoulder - Aemond watched Daemon as he spoke, a glimmer of a challenge in his eyes, "come sister, tis late. I shall see you to your chambers."
"Of course, Aemond."
She walked to her brother, holding Daemon's gaze with every step. As she walked past him, his injured hand seemed to reach for her own, but with Aegon taking Aemond's words as a silent order for himself, he stepped between the two and led his sister away.
Daemon didn't turn, lest they take his glances for weakness. But he stayed silent, listening to how the sound of her soft footfalls melded into the silence, which haunted the Keep during the late hours of night.
He stayed still for a moment longer, wondering if she would turn back.
Rhaenyra sent her children away, his own following them with practised ease. His eyes met Rhaenyra's, which wobbled with a darkness - an endless wrath that threatened to boil over should he make one more wrong move.
She turned to Alicent, her shoulders sagging with relief when her dearest friend took her hands - Alicent took a glance at Daemon, apprehension colouring her features as she thought her next words out carefully.
Rhaenyra plans to leave tonight.
Alicent did not want it to happen.
Daemon could not let that happen.
"You only just got here, Rhaenyra."
Alicent's voice was heavy with reminiscence, poisoned with the longing desire to relive the days of her childhood before she had been sold to Viserys like a brooding mare.
"You cannot leave. Don't."
Perhaps if Rhaenyra stayed, she would grow used to the presence of Alaynha. Of her other siblings, too.
Perhaps she would enjoy Alicent's company once more.
Perhaps she would be happy at the Keep, and she would love Alicent's children enough that she would not order them killed when it came time to claim the throne of the Seven Kingdoms.
Would it be Daemon who took a sword to their throats? Would she have them killed in their sleep? Or tortured for all the kingdoms to see, in fear of retaliation? Would she have them poisoned or stabbed or beheaded? Would she wish them away? Would she kill them with her bare hands if she could?
Perhaps.
Daemon wanted to stay. Curiosity poked at him with growing force - a gnawing and aching sensation that flooded his body when his mind flitted back to the girl he had only just met.
It had to have been her beauty - her moonlit hair, her glowing skin, her bashful laughs, her gleaning smiles.
It had to have been her dragon - Grey Ghost was a wild dragon, and for her to have tamed him with such ease and become his rider only sang to the idea she had dragons blood burning through her veins.
It had to have been her words - coy and hesitant, shy and calculated.
It had to have been her darkness - hidden within the depths of her soul, easily prodded if one knows how.
Daemon knew how. He remembers the look on her face when she mentioned his dismissal of her brothers and sister. She cares for her family, deeply and true. She had given away her biggest weakness, and Daemon could not let such an advantage slip through his fingers unsullied.
There was an ache growing within Daemon, in the very place his curiosity had seeded and grown.
Rhaenyra wantes to leave, but Daemon would do what he had to, to ensure they stay.
Taglist: @kelssssxd @esquivelbianca @chynagirl13 @luanasrta @kemillyfreitas @americanprometheuss @clarap23 @pet1t3 @your-favorite-god @hypocritic-trash-baby @esquivelbianca @serving-targaryen-realness @toji-girl
Tags in italics - couldn't tag blog, sorry.
#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen smut#dragon of dorne#house of the dragon#hotd x reader#hotd fandom#hotd x oc#hotd fanfic#hotd#daemon x reader#daemon targeryan#daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader#daemon targaryen x oc#daemon targaryen x y/n#daemon targaryen x female reader#daemon targaryen fluff
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You'll Remember You Belong To Me
Loving and leaving Daemon were the two best things you ever did in your life. He disagrees with the latter, however, and is convinced you'll come back.
Mafia!Daemon Targaryen x Estranged!Reader | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, modern au, toxic!Daemon, mom!reader, exes trope, manipulation, typos, etc.
A/N: HI everyone. it's been so long since I've written anything ): I JUST CANT WRITE HUHUH but inspiration struck me so im running with it!! this is inspired by You'll Be Back from Hamilton so I suggest you give it a listen! Also it's kinda fucked up so read dis with care!!!!
Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @thebullship @sa3losa
"Papa!" a hushed but excited voice calls.
Daemon grins and gets down on one knee. The little boy with burning white hair runs towards his papa's open arms and jumps into them.
Daemon embraces and kisses his son. He then throws him over his shoulder as he stands, making him giggle. The man asks as he head over to the open door, "where's mummy?"
"Cooking with Vivi."
"Oh," Daemon walks inside and takes his shoes off, "do you and Visenya help mummy cook?"
The boy cheers, way too loudly to his father's taste, "YES!"
Daemon immediately hushes the boy and sets him down. The boy is red in the face and giggling. Daemon gives him a lopsided smile and brushes his bangs out of his face, "remember what I told you, lovie? About keepin' a low profile."
The boy nods, "it's our secret mission," he raises a finger to his lips, "a surprise for mummy!"
Daemon chuckles, "very good, Baelon."
Baelon grins from ear to ear.
"Now, before we surprise mummy, tell me where you put the phone I gave you."
"I hid it underneath my toy box! Mummy never looks there."
Daemon pinches his son's cheeks, "good boy."
Baelon giggles under his breath.
"Remember not to let your mother catch you when I call again, okay?"
He nods.
"Right," Daemon stands, "you can go tell mummy daddy's home now."
With that, Baelon runs off and practically busts a lung screaming, "PAPA'S HERE!"
Daemon follows the child, and hears a high pitched squeal from the kitchen. Soon enough, his beloved Visenya is running towards him, "PAAAPPPAAAAAAAAAA!!!!"
Daemon scoops up the little girl in his arms and covers her face with kisses, "ah, my baby girl."
He twirls the girl around and after a 360, he is met with a deathly glare. Daemon smirks, "hello, baby girl."
"I am not your baby girl," you snap as you march towards him. You mutter under a groan, "and you're not supposed to be here."
Visenya tightens her arms around her father's neck. At a point, her blonde hair looks like it was Daemon's. He blows a raspberry onto her neck, his eyes on you the entire time, "my place is where my family is."
It takes everything in you not to explode, but you don't; you'd never do that in front of your kids.
Daemon knew that well.
That didn't stop you speaking your mind though, "this is from the man that uprooted our life in King's Landing because of a business plan gone wrong."
That makes Daemon tick. He puts down Visenya, much to her displeasure. The girl claws at Daemon's jeans, wanting to be in the arms of her father again but is ultimately ignored. "You knew what you were getting into when you married me."
"That's why I know better than to let the man I once loved conceal, lie, and cheat on me."
Your words really sink into him when you pick up Visenya when she burst into tears. Of course, she wanted nothing to do with you and so desperately clawed out to him, but the image was really sobering.
At least for a moment.
"Give her to me," Daemon says.
You glare at him and mouth threats laced with curse words.
Baelon runs up to him with a toy bus, "papa, can we play?"
Daemon looks down at his son and smiles. He crouches down, "of course, darling," he looks up at you, "we'll play with Vivi."
Visenya immediately wrangles out of your arms and you have no choice but to set her down.
As much as you wanted to grind his guts, you knew your children loved their dad. They so obviously missed him dearly.
Daemon sprawls belly-down on the floor without hesitation. Visenya and Baelon fall into their usual play mode and you take a deep breath before heading back to the kitchen to finish cooking.
By the time you were finished and calling for them and their joke-of-a-father to come to the table for lunch, you find yourself alone by the dining table waiting for seemingly nothing.
You were about to go get your kids, that is until Daemon walked over.
Your face immediately morphs into distaste. It makes Daemon chuckle, "that bad?"
"Where are my babies?"
"Our babies are napping," he says, pulling a chair back. He sits down and tilts his head, "I'm here though."
You make a disgusted face.
Daemon laughs. He missed your face very much.
You cross your arms, "what did you do to them?"
"You're accusing me of doing something to my children?" he chuckles in disbelief as places a hand on his chest.
"They never need to take naps."
Daemon shrugs, "you don't play with them hard enough."
He realizes his mistake when your face contorts.
"I didn't hurt them," he waves his hands, "I just made them chase each other around until they burned out."
"Good then," you point to the door, "leave."
He narrows his eyes in offence, "I promised I'd be here when they woke up."
You throw your head back in laughter, though you found no amusement in his words, "that wouldn't be the first time you lied."
"I've never lied to Baelon or Visenya."
"You think you deserve a consolation for that?" you snap, turning around to lean on the sink. You wash your hands even though you've just washed them, "I told you I would leave. I told you I would leave you if you kept up your bullshit."
Daemon stands and walks towards you.
You don't look back but you knew he was closing in. You didn't need to look; you could feel him. You knew exactly what he would do because you knew him like the back of your hand.
This was why before he could do anything, you turned away and flicked water into his face.
Daemon stills in his spot, taken off-guard.
You decide to finish cleaning up before you eat.
He wipes his face, "and I told you you'll be back."
You scoff as you tidy the counter, "am I the one crawling back?"
"Is that what you want?" Daemon raises a brow as he walks over.
You still in your spot when he drops to his knees.
"I'll crawl and beg," he whispers as if it was something solemn.
You watch him inch closer and before you have the brain to move, you let out a gasp when he grabs your thigh.
It didn't help that his palms were warm and your skin was cool from wearing shorts and damp from washing dishes. It didn't help that you hadn't been touched for so long and that your skin grew goosebumps.
It didn't help that he had it all figured out.
He kissed your thigh once and the next moment, he had you pressed against the counter, nose to nose, forehead to forehead, nearly lips to lips.
Daemon traps you between his arms, hands gripping the counter on both your sides.
You could smell him so clearly now. It did something to your stomach. Your hands wanted to instinctively reach out to him, but you thanked the gods you knew better than that.
"I'll atone for my sins whichever way you want," he murmurs, "just let me see my kids."
You press your hands on his chest, ready to pull him away, "I know better than to believe you."
Daemon waits for you to push him back. When you don't, he doesn't hide his smile. He grins and takes your hands, kissing them.
Your breath is pulled out of your lungs.
He shakes his head, "you don't have to believe me. You just have to watch me."
It wasn't right, but the feeling of his lips on your skin was too familiar to resist. Daemon kisses your hands, up to your wrists, up to your shoulders, then your lips were trapped between his teeth and you were pulling him in.
The only reason you stopped was because Visenya walked in on you, scratching her eye, asking if she could have help getting a plate of food.
You watch as Daemon smiles at her. You watch as your daughter giggles as her papa gives her a plate and kisses her cheek before telling her he's going to go wake her brother up.
You watch as he carries Baleon and sits him down next to him. You watch him dote on them and it nearly makes you forgive and forget all he's done.
Daemon knows better than to think you'd do anything of the sort.
And even though you sit across from him holding a look of spite, he gives smirks back and prepares you a plate.
#daemon targaryen fanfic#daemon x reader#daemon targaryen x reader#house of the dragon fic#house of the dragon fanfic#daemon fanfic#daemon targaryen#house of the dragon#daemon angst#daemon targaryen angst#hotd angst#daemon fluff#daemon targaryen fluff#daemon x you
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you tore my world in two
daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader
synopsis: giving birth to a targaryen child was never easy
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
you were writhing. your hands clutched at the bed sheets before you as another scream rippled from your throat. you didn’t feel anything that wasn’t the feeling of your body being torn apart.
“the child-“ your midwife panted as you felt her hand, “finally!” she shrieked, and the need to push arrived again, and you screamed, heavily as you cried.
daemon was watching you from the doorframe, he was frozen with shock as he watched you, his heart pounded in his chest as he watched you cry.
the baby made no noise as you finally birthed it. a slap on the back of the baby’s chest was heard but no cry. your face was wet with tears, your brow drenched with sweat. your blood was falling onto the floor in puddles, red, sorrowful puddles.
daemon couldn’t take his mind off what he had done to you, what this child brought onto you. now the child couldn’t even give his own mother the decency of crying, a reward for the price you had paid.
you beckoned daemon to look at the child, your eye lids were slowly wavering, you started to feel the heaviness of your body, and you felt yourself slip off the edge of the bed.
daemon ran towards you, his arms catching you before you hit the stone cold floor. you were light as a feather, blood still pooled from between your legs and your skin was colorless, even your white hair was graying. he was watching you die, he was holding you as you were dying.
you awoke slowly. your eyes were crusted shut, your body felt tight and you felt this emptiness within you. you could barely see the light in the dark room, a small candle lit beside you. a lady walked up to you, and you recognized her suddenly, “my lady.” she greeted you, a smile of joy mixed with relief evident on her face as she saw you. you managed a smile, and you drowned out her voice as she called for the others, and you tried to recollect your memory.
“my lady.” a voice called to you from the door and you turned, watching a small bundle move in the hands of the nurse. your heart jumped with joy as you saw your child, “a boy.” she told you, and you couldn’t help the tears in your eyes as you picked the child into your arms.
“where is she?!” you heard shouts coming from down the corridor and you immediately recognized them.
“daemon?” you called you, and the nurses jumped back slightly as he burst into the room, his face was covered with dirt, and he smelled of dragon.
“daemon.” you cried, happy to see your husband, and immediately he embraced you, gently as you whimpered slightly.
“i was so afraid..” he paused, and swallowed thickly, “you tore my world apart when we first met, and you tore it completely to shreds last night.” he kissed your forehead and noticed the little baby in your arms, “i didn’t know what to do..” his voice trailed off as he looked at you, and the relief in his face was truly heartening.
“i love you so much, my love.” he kissed your forehead, again, repeatedly to show his love, “more than you’ll ever believe.”
the baby cried before you could respond, and you cooed, happy to hear the noise you so desperately fought for.
#daemon targaryen angst#daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen fluff#house of the dragon angst#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fluff#daemon targaryen smut
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coaxed you into paradise - c. 30
Description: The life of Saera Targaryen told in four acts. She was her father's forgotten daughter, cast aside as she looked nothing like her mother. Her younger days were spent beside her uncle. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her older sister. She returns to seek solace in the arms of her uncle, that she's loved all her life.
TW: death, murder, sexual assault, assault in general.
(Coaxed You Into Paradise and High Infidelity Rewrite.)
masterlist for this series
Chapter Thirty: Blood and Cheese II
The Dragons descended into Westeros with avarice, and with avarice their dynasty continues onwards. Blood against blood, dragons against dragons. The Targaryens have conquered the six-kingdoms, yet their their biggest enemy is themselves.
Alyssa, the princess was always drawn to the ocean. She liked the feel of the waves on her knees, the rough sand on her barefoot. She holds her son, Aelor, close to her bosom. "Where could your father have trailed off to?" she mused, staring deep into her son's eyes.
Aemond days ago.
Alicent would not provide her a clear answer.
Cordelia peeks through the small curtain that hid Alyssa's body. "The Queen calls for you, princess." she bowed. Alyssa's eyebrows merged into each other. "It is far too early in the morning for conversation," she smiled, hoping to dismiss the handmaiden.
"I-I, well the Queen was very firm. It would be best to follow her, princess." the handmaiden stuttered, knowing something that her lady did not. A creature of doubt builds inside of her ribcage. Alyssa was no stranger to war.
Her real father, Daemon Targaryen, fought thousands of them before she was whelped into the world. "Is it important?" her frown deepened and the handmaiden nods. "Very well, prepare my gown and take good care of Prince Aelor." she commanded while rising to her feet.
A dragon does not cower behind the four walls of her bedroom. She fights all her battles, the same.
Alyssa takes a step forward, entering the threshold of her good-mother's bedroom. There were pastries scattered on the table, a warm cup of tea waiting for her.
"Your grace." she curtsied, then licking her chapped lips. "Alyssa, how kind of you to join me." Alicent smiled with a knowing stare. There was something behind those brown irises that unnerved her. "Have you seen Prince Aemond?" she inquired with a cautious tone.
"Your grandfather is dead and the soldiers march for war against Rhaenyra." Alicent says frankly, no longer interested in sugar-coating her words. A gasp escapes her mouth. King Viserys was dead? "I have sent my son away to make negotiations with House Baratheon." she adds, her eyes filled with much more sorrow than usual.
Alyssa tries to calm herself down, but her heart was filled with anger.
"You thought it would be fit to usurp the rightful Queen?" she questioned, still trying to keep her tone soft.
"King Viserys told me before he died, that he changed his mind."
"- thought that Aegon was deserving of his titles." Alicent lied.
Alyssa clenches her fists. "- but that isn't the truth, isn't it?" she argued, wanting nothing more than to jump into the arms of her beloved husband. If Aemond was beside her, she'd convince him - they'd defect and crown the rightful Queen.
"You need not lie to me. If I had been in your shoes, I would've done the very same. It is not everyday that a woman's son becomes King - but even the blind could see that Prince Aegon is not a worthy heir." she presented clear, and offense strikes the Queen Mother's face.
"He is greater than his father. He listens to his advisors." Alicent grits her teeth, unamused at Alyssa's defiance. "- and I assume that you believe yourself to be his advisor." she antagonized. "You were the King's advisor too, but that did not save you. My Queen, I apologize for my brashness, but you do not wish to be free, you merely wish to create a window of your prison." Alyssa scoffed.
Queen Alicent was about to respond, but a knock halts their argument. Her uncle, Lord Larys Strong, marches inside of the chambers. "Queen Alicent, Princess Alyssa." he curtsies, quickly sashaying to Alicent's side.
He leans forward, whispering a few strings of words, but the premise was clear enough for Alyssa.
Prince Lucerys Velaryon was dead, and Aemond had been the one to butcher him.
Saera takes a deep breath, in fear of what Rhaenyra was capable of. "One cannot even imagine the pain she's feeling right now, I fear that she'll do something. She'll want to get even." the White Princess breathes, playing with the bracelet on her wrist.
"- that means that Alyssa and Aelor are in danger?" Daegon inquires, his eyebrows merging into each other. He couldn't bare the thought of harm coming to his twin sister.
Daemon presses his fingers to his lips.
"Rhaenyra will not harm them. We are her strongest allies, losing us could mean losing the war." he gave his informed opinion. "- still, you are right, love. Alyssa and Aelor will not be safe in Kingslanding."
"We are caught in a limbo, then?" her eyes narrowed. "We must get our daughter back, yet we are stuck here - and the mere sound of our arrival could mean death." she takes a sip of her wine.
She was trying to keep up her stone-cold facade, so that her son wouldn't be rattled, but all she wanted to do was cry. Her mind couldn't help but drift off to Alyssa. She must be scared.
Daemon places a tender hand on her shoulder, already aware of the inner workings of her mind. He gives her stare, promising her that everything would be fine in the end. "I have spies in Kingslanding. I'll attempt to have Alyssa back - Aelor, I believe will be safer there."
"We shouldn't involve ourselves in this war, muña. It is between Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Aegon. Let us flee to the Free Cities, take everyone and never return." Daegon suggests.
Daemon glares at his son.
"Dragons do not run with their tails in between their legs. We fight our battles, and Rhaenyra's battle is our own. The same blood flows through our veins." he corrected, wholly understanding of his son's cowardice. "Viserra and Daelon are children, in times of war, horrible things happen to children." Daegon defends.
"But we are here, all of us to protect them. A house united, is a house unbreakable." Saera breathed, and only then did Daegon's eyes softened. "- and when war is over, the dragon feeds."
Aelor's face was soft - almost the same visage as his grandmother. There was a smile on his face, oblivious of the torment that was to ensue, Ser Criston takes a seat beside Alyssa. "He is safe, but not for long." he whispered, so only Alyssa could hear his opinion.
"He is guarded by four walls, and a dozen guards. Surely Princess Rhaenyra will not harm us? Not Aelor?" Alyssa frowns, the knight shakes his head. "She may not harm you, but she will harm Prince Aemond's son. She will seek revenge." he scowled.
Alyssa couldn't do anything but blame her husband - her good-mother, and everyone involved in supplanting Princess Rhaenyra. "Then you must make it your personal goal to protect Prince Aelor." she pleaded, staring deep into his honeyed eyes.
"I shall do my best, but it is not a guarantee." Criston bows.
Rhaenyra takes a deep breath, staring at the men in front of her. “Mysaria mustn’t know of this,” she asserted - knowing that the whore was on her sister’s side. “- I want you to execute Prince Aelor.” she commanded, dropping a few gold coins on the table.
“It will be done, my lady.” the older man replies with a smirk.
“What’s your name again?” She raised her eyebrows.
“My name’s Blood.”
“And I’m Cheese.”
Saera wasn't one to wait for the proper timing. She had her mind set on one goal, and she'd exert all of her efforts into getting it.
"Lady Mysaria, what are you doing here?" Alyssa frowns, holding Aelor close to her chest once more. "There is a clear passage back to Dragonstone, your mother intends for you back within a fortnight." Mysaria informs, taking a step forward.
"What about Bluefyre? Aemond? Aelor?" Alyssa asks.
"You may take Aelor, but the dragon and your husband must remain." Mysaria made a decision of her own. "I cannot leave without them." Alyssa says clearly, hoping to provide salvation for the ones to be left behind. "You forget that it was your husband who betrayed you first." Mysaria articulated, her voice suddenly becoming cold.
Alyssa's heart breaks, recognizing that the woman wasn't lying. "He murdered a child, your cousin." Mysaria attempts to sway the Princess. "- I have not spoken to him since before that night. I'm sure that if we were to have a conversation, things would be clearer." Alyssa defended, it was her right and oath.
When she vowed to marry the One-Eyed Prince, she also vowed to be understanding, to always present alibis when it came to him, and to always be loyal, even when the circumstance proved to be difficult. "I wish that it was that easy, but we do not have much time. We cannot leave right now, but tomorrow - use the secret passages that your uncle taught you. Meet me in Princess Saera's solars, and we shall leave for Dragonstone."
Princess Alyssa couldn't sleep. Her heart was beating rapidly, threatening to come out of her chest. She was tossing and turning, unable to find even a blink of rest. Today, she was a spoil of war - a prisoner in her own home, but tomorrow, mayhaps, she'll be free.
Why must it all come down to this? A year of marriage with her much beloved husband was turning into another tragic tale. Alyssa wished nothing more than to be free of the narrative, to live somewhere where these - things couldn't come near her family.
An object falls loudly on the floor, Alyssa reaches for the dagger underneath her pillow. "Aemond?" she cleared her throat, "Princess," a gruff voice replies, and another man steps into the light. It was not her husband - it was a different man.
He was broad and tall, he had a stubble on his chin. "Who are you?" she pointed the dagger at him. "I'm Blood, and my brother is Cheese. We were sent here to murder your son." he says casually.
"Not him," she shielded her son away from their view. Aelor, was unfortunate enough to be laying beside her on the bed, instead of his own room with the handmaidens. Blood and Cheese must've known, but who could've sent them?
"A son for a son," Blood grins.
A chill ran down her spine.
Princess Rhaenyra?
"What did she pay you, I shall double it?" Alyssa pleaded, vulnerable in her thin nightgown, her body almost bare to the eyes of the intruders. It made her feel dirty, tainted almost.
"Gold does little to deter us, Alyssa." Blood takes a step forward, only a few inches away from her. "Then you'll have to go through me." Alyssa bravely defends. "That will not be hard."
She stands up from the bed, remembering all her lessons with Prince Daemon. Even when she's standing on the bed, her head barely reaches Blood and Cheese's forehead. He tries to move his hand forward, but Alyssa manages to sever his little finger.
"Cunt," Blood mumbled, anger pumping through his veins. He raises his free hand, slapping Alyssa across the face, sending her on her knees. "You are still a little girl eh'. You can't defeat me." he antagonized, commanding his brother to pull her back.
Cheese carries her with ease, dragging her on the floor. "Please I beg of you, if Prince Daemon or my mother finds out about this - no god shall save you." she cursed at them, fighting through Cheese's malevolent hold. "Take me instead, please!" she screamed, in shock that no one has heard yet.
"Do whatever you want with me, but not my son." she cried.
Cheese chuckles, pressing her back to his chest. "Whoring yourself out to us? Desperate." he teased, and Aelor cries loudly.
Blood carries Aelor by the neck, muffling his cries of agony. "Maybe when we're done with this little runt, we'll fuck a bastard inside of you." he chuckled, opening a window and threatening to let go of Aelor. Tears began to flow harder from her eyes, Valyrian whispers of revenge, until Blood lets go.
And her son falls to his death.
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#daemon x reader#daemon targaryen x oc#daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen x reader#prince daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen headcanon#daemon targaryen fic#daemon targaryen smut#daemon targaryen imagine#daemon targaryen fanfic#daemon targaryen fluff#house targaryen#house of the dragon#daemon headcanons#daemon prince#daemonism#hotd daemon
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On dancer reader, can we have some motherly moment between reader, Baela and Rhaena, with a little Daemon participation, please? (would love to read something about their relationship)
yes!! I love this idea, this is a little blurby. Also Daemon being a total girl dad!!
Masterlist | part one | part 2
There wasn’t a scarcity of children in the Old Palace, all your half sinblings, step siblings and even cousins filled every extravagant room the palace had to offer. Luckily, Daemon and your quarters were rather secluded, spacious marble floored rooms over looking The Sunset Sea, the orange hue of the dusk painted your chambers every evening.
This particular evening, Daemon had taken Baela dragon riding. Moondancer had finally grown large enough to be saddled, a shiny purple leather saddle with a gold moon pendant was worn by the young creature. The curtesy of his niece Rhaenyra, she gifted Daemon and by extension you, a clutch of eggs, four magnificently coloured orbs for the babe within you and the many more to come.
You had lounged out at the Mirrored Palace with your family, some painting away with the newest oil colours from Bravos, the others brawled with each other as you embroidered away a red tunic with gold threads. You hadn’t noticed until the hour of crow that Rhaena wasn’t amongst you. You excused yourself, trailing away at the gardens to find the little white haired beauty, instead you found her handmaidens who told you she was in her chambers.
“Rhaena?” You called out, her small frame sat by the lit hearth that held her egg for over a year now, and many more years elsewhere. You huffed, holding onto the chaise rests to lower yourself onto it. “What’s wrong darling?” You pet her head.
“I- I wonder if the egg for my sister would hatch,” she sulked, you knew this to be a sensitive subject for her, she placed her egg down and looked up at you apologetically for her abruptness. Both girls had firmly decided that the child within you would be a girl and then proceeded to pick an egg from the four Rhaenyra had sent.
“Maybe it will, maybe it won’t,” you smiled at her, patting the space next to you for her to sit as she cradled her egg. “I do not know much of dragons, I don’t understand it like you do, your father does.” You hugged your arms around her.
“What I do know is, the dragons do not make you who you are,” you stated, a truth you understood about your husband. Caraxes a mere extension of who he was and the fire within him.
“Father seems to think otherwise, everyone in our bloodline has one,” Rhaena pouted as she rest her head against your shoulder “even mother did.”
“That isn’t true, Rhaena,” you cooed “your father wants nothing more than to help you claim one some day, should you ask him he will tell you all the same.”
“Then why doesn’t he?” she questioned, her purple eyes filled with moisture, her bottom lip jutted out and darkened cheeks heated.
“kesrio syt iksā tolī byka,” Daemon’s voice rumbled from behind you, he stood leaning against the posts of the veranda, still in his riding clothes as he approached Rhaena. You are too little.
Rhaena appeared sheepish as she made space for Daemon before plopping herself onto his lap. “I’d rather you be little, chubby and alive rather than a dragon rider. I wasn’t one until I was nearly six summers older than you.” He tickled her tummy making her giggle before resting her head against his shoulder.
“I miss mother,” she reminisced making Daemon turn to you uneasily.
“Well,” you spoke up, pointing at the window where the skies had already darkened “when I miss mine own, I look at the stars.”
“The stars?” Rhaena looked confused.
“Look at them, think of Laena and pick a star that might appear to be her,” you smiled at her “that way, every night your mother can visit you.”
Rhaena looked for a moment, you could see her eyes darting all over before she picked one, her eyes softened “that one,” she whispered pointing at the star.
You later in the week had been met with crucial urgency as your handmaiden huffed, running to you about your husband. Daemon nearly loosing his mind at an ungodly hour in the morrow as he went to rouse Baela. She wanted to see the sun rise from high above the skies, he would have taken Rhaena along with him. He stroked Baela’s pretty hair to rouse her from the pouted dream she had been dreaming, Baela groaned and grumbled, burying herself further under the sheets “papa, no.” She whined as Daemon pulled her.
Instead of chuckling at Baela’s adorable protests, his gut filled with horror as his daughter’s bed was stained with blood. No, no- not his sweetling. He shook Baela harder this time to wake her, looking over her face and arms to find any sign of injury before yelling at the guards to fetch his you and the Maesters.
“Are you hurt? Baela, you must tell me what happened,” he urged her, Baela appeared confused until she saw the blood standing her night gown until she too mirrored her father’s terror.
“Papa, am I going to die?” Baela cried, her bottom lip wobbling. Daemon tried to remain calm as he shook his head, nothing would happen to his daughter. His urgency wasn’t met with enough speedy response, he grew impatient for the Maesters to arrive. “Everything will be fine,” he rocked Baela in his arms.
You burst through Baela’s bed chambers, huffing and cradling your bump as your took in the scene infront of you. The stained bed, the terror on Daemon and Baela’s face, the staining on the lower half of Baela’s nightgown. You shoulders slumped in relief as you slapped a hand over your thudding chest to calm your breathing.
“Daemon she is fine,” you calmly stated.
He began to look at you like madness had filled your head as he gestured to all the blood, how were you not loosing your mind. Merely weeks ago you pulled the entirety of the Old Palace upon your head when Baela cut her elbow from a fall. He shook his head, clutching Baela harder.
“Daemon, she’s flowering.” You sighed, trying to pull Baela away from his tight hold, she looked confused between the two of you.
Daemon frowned “she’s too young,” he shook his head once more, once again refusing to let his daughter go.
“I flowered at eight, she in nine.” you stressed, once again trying to pull Baela away as the Maesters finally came to the her chambers.
The two appeared worried until you spoke without looking at them, asking them to leave a essence of milk of the poppy behind. Baela’s handmaidens we’re ordered to draw a bath for the young girl. “Go on darling,” you nodded at her to clean up as they stripped her sheets.
Daemon still sat on the footrest, looking a little calmer than before as you came to stand in front of him. He groaned, resting his head against your belly before pressing two kisses to it over your robe. “She is fine, Daemon.” You reassured once more by squeezing his shoulder.
“I was so sure-“ he shook his head. “She’s flowering?” Daemon looked up at you, your fingers pushed back his hair as you nodded looking down at him.
“She’s growing,” you stated making Daemon grunt once more, finding the thought of his little girls growing so quickly displeasing.
“See after her? Please,” he requested, you nodded before moving behind the divider when Baela sat submerged in her tube, only her head popped out of the milky water.
“I am not dying?” she asked, still confused. You shook your head.
“It’s your moon blood, it shall happen for every turn of the moon,” you said making her grimace.
“Every moon!” She exclaimed making you giggle.
“Unfortunately so darling,” you smiled at her sympathetically.
The handmaidens brought chamomile tea from the kitchens for you to lace with a drop of milk of the poppy. Enough to make the rumbling pain in her belly heel, her handmaidens wrapped her in thick cloth before helping her back in bed.
“This tea is going to heal her?” Daemon paced by the foot of the bed.
“Don’t be daft Daemon,” you glared at him chicken mothering down your neck. He knows well enough that one cannot just heal away moon blood. “It’s for the pain.”
Rhaena had long awoken and found herself situated next to her twin sister, she appeared a little nervous about the blood but curious. She hugged her sister a little too tight making Baela swat her back before succumbing to her hold. The two of you left the girls to rest as you pulled Daemon out of their rooms.
You couldn’t help but chuckle as you thought over the brave Rogue Prince loosing his bearings over moon blood. He glared out you, making you laugh even harder, choking out apologies as you clutched your bump trying to stop. He groaned all the way through, dragging you back your shared bed chamber as your fit of giggles just wouldn’t stop.
“You can either stop giggling like a child, or I can make you,” he warned, his own lips faltering as they curled upwards with your giggles.
#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon fic#daemon fanfic#daemon x reader#daemon targaryen x you#daemon targaryen fluff#girl dad daemon#hotd baela#baela targaryen x reader#rhaena targaryen#rhaena targaryen x reader
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i. a game of westerosi whispers.
pairing. daemon targaryen x fem!reader
synopsis. the five rumours about you that made the rounds amongst the court and the five times your uncle taught you to use them as a weapon. read part two here!
warnings. niece!reader, targcest, canon misogyny, mentions of infertility and starvation, attempted rape (not daemon), kinda manipulative behaviour from daemon ig, angst, fluff, smut (heavy petting, fingering, dry-humping). disclaimer!! reader + rhaenyra's age may not be accurate to the time of events but i don't feel comfortable writing about daemon going after a minor, so just roll with it.
word count. 5.5k
taglist. @nyctophilic0vitnir
hyde's input. i wrote this on a whim with no clue what the actual plot was gonna be other than the last sentence, so enjoy whatever this clusterfuck of words is. ngl, i felt a little iffy writing targcest but hey, at least it serves as a reminder that i’m 100% not into this shit irl. also, thank you so much for the reaction towards my first (and only other) daemon fic, dressed in white, i'm completely shocked at how many people actually read it and enjoyed it. you're all cute for giving it notes :(
bearing the targaryen name was as much a burden as it was a blessing.
while on one hand it came with dragons and power, on the other it came with prying eyes and hushed gossiping. it was a fact of life: as sure as the sun would rise come the morning, a targaryen’s name would be the centre of the capital’s gossip.
so, why on earth would you ever have believe yourself exempt from this rule, solely on the grounds that you were the second born daughter and not the apple of your father’s eye?
the first rumour was always the worst.
“i heard she threatened to feed herself to her dragon after the king named her sister as his heir.”
“no doubt that’s how she claimed inheritance over dragonstone!”
it hadn’t mattered that you’d never wanted, nor asked, for dragonstone, just the same as it didn’t matter that you’d happily cheered your elder sister’s future ascent to the dreaded iron throne. the ladies and lords who filtered through your father’s name-day feast had staked their claim over the truth, all so humoured by the thought of you, screaming like a small babe and stomping your foot like a spoilt brat, threatening your father with violence against yourself, that they failed to search for the source of such gossip, blindly believing it for the sake of a laugh and fuel to strike up a conversation within the great hall.
like wildfire, the rumour did spread.
lords whispered it into the ears of their dance partners, ladies who would then make their way back to their tables to share the news amongst those sat around it, all of whom would retire to their chambers and muse upon your supposed temper tantrum with their maids and knights, who’d filter out into the streets of king’s landing and spread the word like it were a plague, till even the rats in the sewers were aware of your untrue outburst.
by the next morning, you were branded the scorned princess.
“gossip is where truth goes to die.” he’d startled you out of your own self-pitying thoughts, back pressed up against the tree in the godswoods and book laying open across your knees, not a single page turned in what had to have been well over an hour.
“uncle,” clutching at your heart, your dizzied fright had blinded you to the way the man above you burned his eyes into what little he could see of your developing bosom. with the summer heat in full-swing, you’d taken to lowering the necklines of your dresses and the prince had taken to despising that you’d once dared to hide such a delectable sight beneath layers of clothing. “’tis not wise to sneak upon a woman armed.”
a charming smirk branded his face as you tugged the hem of your dress half-way up your leg, shamelessly letting him gaze upon your supple skin and the dagger sheathed in it’s own miniature scabbard against your calf.
a gift, on the name day in which you had turned ten and seven, from the very man who casted a shadow over you now. (”you told me you wanted a piece of old valyria, little dove. so there you go, your very own valyrian steel.”)
“just the same as it ‘tis not wise to sulk in public spaces, niece.”
“i was not sulking!” the book snapped shut as you rose to a stand, defensive in the way you held it pressed to your chest. his jaw clenched, what little morals he owned swallowing down whatever undesirable comment he had for you newly covered breasts.
his attention redirected itself to your mouth, lips red from the way you'd shamelessly gnawed upon them through all your distressing thoughts, the bottom one jutting out against your own consciousness.
“my brother’s new born babe aegon pouts less than you.” daemon mused, hand reaching out to swipe his thumb over your puckered petal, teasing himself with what they’d feel like pressed against his own. “if your concern is the whispers, ignore them. the cunts in your father’s court mean only to make themselves believe you are lesser than them. they’ll tire by the morrow and move on to someone else in our house to discuss, nyke kivio ao bisa.” i promise you this.
daemon was glad you’d never read into his words too much that day, least he’d have to admit to feigning a drunken state and causing a scene in a brothel that very night just to get your name out of their mouths.
the second time you found your name floating the keep’s halls was a few years after the first.
“they say the princess scarcely bleeds. barren, that’s what the grand maester called her.”
“regardless, she lacks the shape of a proper woman. i’ve seen men with hips more apt for childbearing than her’s.”
once more, no one took notice of the times your handmaidens had stripped your bed clean of bloodied sheets, nor did they pay mind to the fact you’d rushed out your father’s wedding to alicent hightower, dress sporting a bloodied stain and eyes filled with tears of embarrassment.
the scorned princess being also the barren princess? it made for a better story than the truth: a combination of stress induced starvation and lack of sleep had lead to an irregularity with your moon’s blood.
the room around you had long ago emptied itself of guests, those who remained behind either too drunk to make it out of their seats or in too high a spirit to retire to bed.
you were one of the former, head resting against your crossed arms which had found purchase on the table. never having been fond of drinking, it had only taken a few cups of dornish wine to render you inebriated, and thus your pity party had began, lamenting your own withering reputation to whichever poor, unfortunate family member had been a great enough fool to sit themselves next to you.
“father thinks me ruined, hic,” your sentence paused to make space for your drunken hiccups, which served to cover up the little sobs your body shook out. “i heard him speaking to the hand about how he’ll never, hic, find someone to marry a, hic, princess who can not, hic, give any heirs. ziry emagon daor gīda eptan issa, hic, lo ziry iksos drēje!” he has not even asked me, hic, if it is true.
“ao gīmigon skoros ao jorrāelagon naejot gaomagon, byka dove?” you know what you need to do, little dove?
you shot up straight, no longer caring that your face was stained in tears, mind too busy wondering why daemon had been sat next to you and was not off with some whore, indulging in a victory fuck to mark the end of the celebrations for his return as king of the stepstones.
you voiced your curiosity, hand instinctively curling around his own as he reached out for you, the scraping of his chair ringing in your ears when he inched himself closer.
“can i not want to spend time with my niece?”
“yes but we, hic, already broke our fast together this morning.”
“and yet i never managed to speak with you, your father was too busy with his gloats on my return.” he spoke no word of lie, the king had been an unstoppable force of laughter and joy ever since daemon had given him his crown and the crabfeeder’s sword. a part of you had been endeared, watching how he reminisced on his and his brother’s younger days, filling daemon’s cup with wine every time it had emptied, a smile on his face like no other you’d seen since the passing of your mother. “now, you’ve yet to answer my question.”
“your, hic, question?”
“you make for an endearing drunk, little dove.” giving your hand a gentle squeeze, there was nowhere for you to hide from the fondness in his eyes as he brought your intertwined fingers up to his lips, brushing them over the expanse of your knuckles. a chill ran down your spine and a fire lit within your loins. “my question was regarding those who speak on your fertility, or supposed lack thereof. do you know how you must handle this?”
“if i did, do you believe i’d have, hic, made myself so familiar with the wine this evening?”
the prince laughed, you smiled. something sinful flowed through your veins as you took note of his posture, how his whole body was pointed towards you, how his back hunched over enough for him to lean down and level his eyes with yours, how he didn’t seem to take notice- or, if he did, didn’t seem to care- of the remaining guests stares being glued to you both, analysing each detail of your interaction.
“and here i thought you’d turned to drinking to cope with the absence of your favourite relative in these past years.”
“i accepted corlys', hic, absence years ago, kepus.”
“just for that,” he pushed his chair back, hand dropping your own as he stood and straightened out his wrinkled clothing. “i shan’t be telling you what to do about these rumours.”
before he could walk away from you, your hand shot out and grasped at his wrist, foolishly believing you carried the physical strength to hold him in place.
“no!” you were certain everyone who remained in the hall had heard your panicked exclamation, but it mattered little as the desperation to have him near, to have him guide you, to have him tell you how to make everything better took over your sanity. “please, i only, hic, jest! tell me what to do.”
for what felt like an eternity, and was only a mere few seconds, daemon stared down at you, blank in the face. his eyes narrowed in on the tear tracks down your cheeks, and an unspoken- and impossible- vow was made in that instant: he’d pay any price to ensure you’d never cry again.
“what you need to do, niece,” he leaned down, till his lips were near pressed against your ear, ghosting over it with his hot breath and the faintest brush of his moving mouth. “is make sure your future husband fucks you so full of his seed that no one dares question your capability of carrying on the targaryen lineage.”
there still remained plenty a drunken fools and dancing buffoons by the time you decided to retire for the evening, yet you payed no mind to their wandering eyes as you let daemon guide you out the hall and escort you back to your chambers.
you’d awoken the next morning to an aching head and a burning cheek, unsure of whether daemon had pressed his lips against it before bidding you goodnight or if that was but a drunken dream.
the third rumour came not shortly after.
“did you hear about the princess and ser criston? apparently she’s requested he train her in combat.”
“the only combat she wants is within his bed.”
no one cared to enquire on the truth of why a young princess would request to be trained in the arts of the sword, just the same as no one cared to address the fear you’d been left with after an attack on your life within your own chambers, when a knight, angered with his dismissal from the city watch after breaking his vows of chastity, had decided to seek revenge on the king on a personal level, a fatherly level: stripping his daughter of her purity.
your night dress was nothing but torn rags and his breeches were halfway down his legs by the time ser criston had burst into the room.
and though he may have failed at stealing your virtue, he’d succeeded in stealing your safety.
the first few nights, you found no comfort in your own bed, seeking out your elder sister and crying into her welcoming arms till your body grew tired from the sobs and your eyes had dried up. your return to your own chambers had been under certain conditions, your father unwilling to risk putting you in harm’s way again, and thus a collective of knights stood post outside your door at all hours of the day.
none of it made any difference when you fell asleep, however, your slumbering mind taking to bombarding you with nightmares of sweaty palms on your skin and the putrid smell of the knight’s breath as he forced himself atop your helpless body.
when you’d asked ser criston to educate you in manning a sword, he’d taken no interest in asking for a reason, understanding what had been ailing you without you having to relive it through verbalising it.
he was surprisingly patient with his teaching, not caring for the number of times he’d need to repeat himself, nor the plethora of time you’d struck him in the face with the wooden training sword he’d bestowed you with.
but ser criston did not go easier on you, did not lessen the blows he’d deliver your way on account of you being smaller, frailer, nor for the simple fact that you were the princess. he pushed your face into mud, he bruised your skin with his blows, he worked you till you were short of breath and drenched in sweat. all in all, you’d believed him to be a great teacher. perfect, even.
until you found yourself disarmed, a boot digging into your shoulder to keep your back pinned to the ground below and the end of a sword barely gracing the skin of your neck.
“ziry kostagon daor hīlagon nykeēdar gīda lo ziry ropatas hen hen nykeā lōgor.” he could not hit water even if he fell out of a boat.
the heel of daemon’s boot dug further into your shoulder, unknowingly grinding into a bruise you’d earned two days prior, a fair price you’d payed to at last disarm ser criston for the first time.
the man above you glared down in your direction as a series of giggles erupted from your chest, the man already irritated from hearing how you’d taken to training with the cunt in shiny armor.
“ziry kostagon’t sagon sīr quba, lo ziry pyghagon ao isse se tourney.” he can’t be so bad, if he beat you in the tourney.
“urnēbagon ziry, byka dove, ao kostagon find aōla zālagon lo ao tymagon rūsīr perzys.” watch it, little dove, you may find yourself burnt if you play with fire. as if to punctuate his threat, he pushed the edge of dark sister harder against your skin and you felt the unmistakable sting of skin prying itself apart under the sharp pressure. the faintest line of red trickled down the back of your neck, staining your skin and straining daemon’s breeches, much to your own unawareness.
“īlon’re zaldrīzoti, keepus. perzys kostagon daor ōdrikagon īlva, mērī excite īlva.” we’re dragons, uncle. fire can not harm us, only excite us.
the next few moments passed in silence, save for the occasional screech of a bird or the rustling of leaves in the wind. and all the while he was gazing down at you, eyes hooded and chest heavy with each breath. he was contemplating something and you longed to know what.
it went far beyond a longing to know, you wanted to be in his mind, wanted to split his skull in two and burrow yourself in whatever space he may have left for you, taking up as much of his mind as you physically could.
meanwhile, he thanked any god who may exist that you had no insight into his maddening thoughts, safe to imagine you laid out atop his bed and with his hand around your throat rather than the blade of his sword, every rise and fall of your chest punctuating another delicate whine for him to swallow with his own deranged grunts.
only after he’d sheathed dark sister once more did he speak.
“i will inform ser crispin of his dismissal from training you.” it was not a request but, rather, an order. the kind of thing you’d typically quarrel with your father over, yet with daemon you were too busy melting into a puddle under the warmth of his stern tone to care.
“and why,” as he interrupted your own efforts to stand, hand grasping your arm and swiftly pulling you to your feet like you weighed no more than a bird’s feather, you lost your footing, sending you barreling against his solid chest. he stood taller this way, your head having to tilt further back to hold contact with his eyes. “would you be doing that, uncle?”
“because you’ve no need for two swordsmen to train you. it’ll only lead to conflict in training methods.”
“how so?”
“ser crispin is a technical man, commanding the style in which you move and the strategies you must implore to predict his next blow.” his face inched lower, closer to yours and invaded your space in a way only he could. “my training is more... hands-on.”
the fourth rumour was the one you cared the least to disprove.
“i suppose it is only expected that she follow in her family’s tradition.”
“still, i do find it odd how she can lust after her own kin, her uncle! i guess not even the rogue prince’s niece is blind to his charm.”
perhaps the spiders around you were finally beginning to use their countless eyes, staring the truth in it’s face and choosing to spin their web of lies around it, a step forward from their usual habit of spinning straw into gold and staking barbarian claims against your honour.
if they were going to talk, least it be with some truth.
because while no, you had not begged daemon to bed you like the ladies claimed, nor had you followed him out of the castle and spied on his depraved actions in fleabottom as the lords had said, you certainly could not deny there was something going on.
from touches that lingered on the training grounds, your hands clinging onto him long after he’d pulled you back to your feet and his hands remaining on your cheek long after he’d whipped away the traces of dirt.
to public interactions deemed far too intimate for an uncle and his niece, even for the house of dragons. countless feasts passing where neither one of you were keen to take your eyes off each other, whether your bodies were pressed right up against one another in a dance or a sea of people stood between you both on opposite ends of the hall.
two tourneys, one for prince aegon’s first name-day and another for the upcoming marriage between rhaenyra and your cousin, laenor velaryon, and in each the events had played out the same: daemon would stride in on his steed, dressed in the most ridiculous armor one could find, and request your favour, boldly and unabashedly before every gossiping housewife and envious lord, only to defeat his opponents and ruffle some more feathers when declaring you as the queen of love and beauty.
which lead up to this moment in the throne room, the king looming large over both of you from the pile of swords despite his visibly worsened health, anger decorating his features as he spied the wreath of flowers upon your head, still present hours after the rogue prince had crowned you for the second time.
the first time, he’d overlooked it, laughed it off.
the second time, he’d felt his blood boil, shoved his second wife’s hands off him as she whispered in his ear of how his brother meant to ruin his daughter in the eyes of potential suitors.
if the king were half as smart as he was kind, he would have seen the truth in queen alicent’s worries.
“please, father, don’t be so ridiculous! daemon has merely been training me.” you had the nerve to smile at him after he lay the allegations of your indecent meetings at both your feet, trampling them under your pretty words as though they were far too implausible to even entertain with anger.
“i thought ser criston was aiding you with your sword skills.” your father replied, his full-fingered hand curling over the edge of his armrest and supporting his weight as he leaned forward, as though to get a closer look at you.
“there was a conflict of interest.” daemon answered in your place, to which viserys scoffed and kept his eyes on his daughter.
“how so?”
“his methods, i did not find myself... responding as well as i do to daemon’s.” it was only a half-lie, for while you would still argue that ser criston was just as skilled with a sword as daemon, there was no competition when it came to who could hold your focus. in ser criston’s lessons, you’d counted down the minutes till you were free to rest, while with daemon you would often implore him to skip whatever small council meeting required his presence and remain with you on the field. “i have grown good enough to disarm him, though my uncle denies it happening.”
“‘tis my niece who negates the truth of how the rain that soaked us both lead to my sword slipping from my grasp.” the king watched, disgruntled, as daemon spoke towards you, holding you captive in his gaze in a way that was dangerously easy, a power the monarch could recall his beloved first wife held over him. “what she showed was an act of luck, not good swordsmanship.”
when neither three of the targaryens spoke, the echoes of celebrations within the gardens began to travel through the air, as if to mock the king, reminding him that he should be out there celebrating the union of not only his daughter but the realm’s alliance with the lord of the tides becoming stronger than ever, instead of trapped within the seat that brought him nothing but gripe and before his two political headaches- his brother the original, and his daughter the most recent.
the king heaved a sigh.
“very well, you’re dimissed.” he waved what remained of his hand, the stump where fingers once lived a sickening reminder of how his body was slowly falling apart. with a nod and a curtsy, you both made to leave the king’s presence, only for his voice to ring out once more. “not you, daemon. you and i need to discuss something.”
with you bidding them both goodbye, dress trailing behind you as daemon allowed himself to glance back just once, the doors slammed shut and trapped the two bother’s within.
viserys pulled himself off the throne, hardly feeling as a blade sliced through his decaying palm. while the king grew closer, daemon grew bolder, traveling up the steps and meeting his brother midway.
perhaps an act of kindness, to spare him the trouble of exhausting himself.
more likely a show of disregard, to remind him that he wasn’t one of the puny the lords who sat within the small council, ready to be pushed and pulled in whatever direction the king sent them.
“pray tell, brother.” the younger doned a smile and clasped his hands behind his back. “what is it we need to discuss?”
“my daughter.”
“i’m fairly certain it’s rude to discuss a lady when she is not pres-”
daemon was cut short, words dying as a sense of shock took over him upon viserys’ hands clasping the collar of his doublet.
“if i so much as hear of you putting your hands on my daughter without her permission, i’ll-”
“kill me? have me sent to the wall? turn me into a eunuch?” all sounded like awful outcomes, yet the prince wondered if getting his hands on you, even if it was just once, would make it all worth it. he decided not, for he was certain he would find no antidote to the poison of tasting you other than to taste you again and again and again, till his blood ran dry and his skin melted off his bones. “and if she permits me to? what if she is the one to put her hands on me?”
“then i will see to it that you both perform your duties as servants to the crown and have your affairs in order under the eyes of the seven.” he spoke like a king, distant and unfeeling, a man who’s only job was to lead the realm.
and so daemon graced him with an answer fit for a king.
“are you saying what i believe you to be, your grace?”
“yes. i’m saying i would wed you to her.”
the fifth rumour is when you decide enough was enough, the time had come to use their own love of gossip against them.
“the king’s expected to announce her search for a suitor soon.”
“i do pray for her future husband, whoever he may be. it’s doubtful he’ll find any joy married to such an ungrateful, infertile harlequin.”
every step you took that evening was calculated.
from the seat you sat at the royal table, trading your usual post beside rhaenyra for one next to daemon, to the number of lords you entertained with a dance and a laugh, three to be exact: one of them your soon-to-be brother by law laenor velaryon, another the son of the hand, ser harwin strong, a fierce knight and the object of your sister’s desires, and, lastly, cregan stark.
the stark was by far your father’s most favoured suitor when it came to your hand, anyone with a pair of working eyes could see. where his first born’s marriage had secured the relationship between the crown and the sea, his second daughter's would secure that of the capital and the cold, unfeeling north.
only, your father had made one fatal flaw in his game of chess: he’d mistaken you for a pawn, when in truth you were a rook, unwilling to be moved so easily.
betrayal was your initial reaction to the news of your father’s meeting with the starks, an encounter he had not even the good graces to include you in.
your second reaction was defiance.
and, so, you laughed with the stark lord, you let him refill your goblet as he spoke tales of his travels south to the capital, you danced with him before the entire court and stepped on his toes enough times till he politely dismissed himself, claiming he was in need of relieving his bladder before he left you in the centre of the dancing pairs.
just in time for him to swoop in.
“ao jāhor mazverdagon nykeā sȳz ābrazȳrys, byka dove.” daemon wrapped you in both the safety of his arms and the use of your ancestral language, guiding you into the next dance. you will make a fine wife, little dove
“nyke pendagon lo issa valzȳrys jāhor agree rūsīr ao.” i wonder if my husband will agree with you.
matching the other couples, daemon commanded you to spin in his grasp, hands firm as one held onto yours and the other made repeated contact with your waist, spinning you faster and faster, till you tumbled over your own feet and had nowhere to turn to but his strong, dependable hold, hands splaying out on his chest as his own found rest upon your lower back.
even that was not enough for the man, who squeezed you closer to his own bod.
“you’re tired, niece.” the swirling pairs around you turned their heads at his voice, exaggerated in it’s volume as he at last addressed you in a way they understand.
“so very tired, uncle.”
“then i shall escort you to your chambers. the dark hallways of the keep are no place for such a defenceless lady.”
the weight of your father’s stare followed you out of the banquet halls, lungs only refilling with air when you round the corner that leads upwards, the steps to your own chambers lit with torches and manned by several guards who stood guard at your door.
the same guards who payed no mind to how you welcomed your uncle into your chambers.
the same guards who likely felt against their back the vibration of your own body slamming against the shut door.
daemon was a force to be reckoned with, hands coming down to cage you against the wooden surface and render you defenceless to the incoming attack against your mouth.
there was no patience in the way he kissed you, mimicking a man starved for weeks who’s at last been handed a morsel of bread. neither was there gentleness, lips moving with yours in a frenzy of clashing teeth and knocking noses. it was nothing like the books you’ve read, where a pretty princess at last convinces the honourable knight to kiss her, pulling back immediately to stare in bewilderment.
nor was it how rhaenyra had explained kisses to be: boring, unexciting, a waste of time.
daemon licked his tongue into your sweet mouth, chest shaking under your palms at the satisfied groan he released. you caught up with his pace, lips finally moving to the rhythm he’d set, no longer being lead but rather fighting to lead him in the dance of your mouths.
when he pulled away, the hunger in his eyes could only be levelled by that of his dragon’s as it flew into battle, thirsty to burn everything beneath it.
“ao issi tolmiot tolī gevie naejot sagon jurnegēre rȳ issa raqagon bona.” his voice lulled you out of your trance, confused, even if just for a moment, as he spoke to you in your blood’s tongue, instead of one the guards outside your door would understand. it dawned on you slowly that he spoke only for you in that instant. you are far too beautiful to be looking at me like that.
“raqagon skoros?” like what?
“raqagon nyke mazverdagon ao biare.” like i make you happy.
the prince wasted no time in stripping you bare, knowing he’d lose the ounce of little control he had left if he were to gaze upon your heaving breasts and your glistening cunt.
he settled for sneaking his hand under the layers of your skirt till he found his holy grail.
“you’re soaked, little dove.” he spoke in pure awe, as though he hadn’t lay with a thousand whores and tasted every kind of woman the realm had to offer.
daemon was no stranger to maidens nor the feeling of touching them, yet none had ever welcomed him in as much as you, no fear in your darkened gaze as you spread your legs further apart while the middle finger stroked over your velvet lips which dripped with honey and ached to suck his digit in between them.
it was as though you were made for him alone, body trained to take anything he’d offer, and he tells you so as he made contact with your aching bud, calming the buzzing nerves with slow strokes.
“is that nice, niece?” you nodded your head and were met with a disapproving look, quickly correcting yourself with a loud moan. “is kepus making your little cunt wet?”
“yes!”
he rewarded your precious reply with the breeching of your hole, his finger forcing it’s ways into your tight walls as he released his own noises of satisfaction.
the descent into madness was swift from then onwards, with daemon knowing only the feeling of your sticky walls clamping down on him as your eyes rolled back and your mouth fell slack would be enough to sedate him. one finger became two and he watched you mold yourself into the perfect little whore for him, unabashed to call out his name and beg for more.
“have you touched yourself before?” his breath was haggard, as if he was the one having his insides toyed with by you, chasing his inevitable peak with wanton groans and sporadic kisses to your throat, collarbones, chest. “or are mine the first hands to touch this precious cunt?”
when you hit your crescendo, it was with shaking limbs and desperate cries, hands having found home in the tresses of his hair, pulling on their roots as he kissed over your chest, fingers continuing their repeated assault on your entrance till your essence dripped down to his elbows and you shook your head in protest to his touch, his pretty baby too sensitive from her first peak.
he let his resolve slip moments after bringing his soaked fingers up to his mouth, the taste of you sending him to all seven hells and back for all the things he longed to do to you. arms caging around your frame, he lay his forehead to rest against yours as his hardness began to grind against your waist.
“just wait, my little dove.” even as he put on a show, he was mindful to sweet talk you with the names he called you, aware you were not ready yet for all the things he longed to call you, preferably as you lay face down in his sheets, your sweet flower on full display and ripe with honey for his taking. “wait till i paint your insides with my seed, filling your little womb up till it swells with my babe.”
much to his own preference, daemon shortly spilled within his breeches, soiling his clothing in an uncomfortable manner he'd need to clean up later.
in all his years he’s never fought as hard a battle as the one to lead you to bed, all the while you begged in your mother tongue for him to take you, for real this time, to fill you with his cock even after the sun had risen and the royal guards stormed your room demanding answers for the king.
as he finally parted ways with you, this time for sure pressing his lips to your cheek, daemon nodded curtly at your guards who refused to meet his eyes and he swallowed down his amusement, the walk back to his own chambers filled with only one topic: how long till the news reached the king's ears.
after all, the ladies of the court never were good at whispering.
#daemon targaryen smut#house of the dragon smut#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen fluff#daemon targaryen fic#daemon targaryen oneshot#daemon targaryen imagine
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