#Daemon Targaryen oneshot

[happilyhertale]

The Rogue Prince - Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: After a stressful day that leaves Daemon in a bit of an angry mood, you decide to give him some relief. But in a different way than you usually do.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x poc!wife!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Minors do not continue reading!

Author’s note: Hey you (: A one-shot Daemon story requested by Anon 🖤 It took me some time but I hope you like it! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 3.5 k

Other stories of mine

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You didn't have to look up, just the way the door slammed open was enough of a sign for you to know - Daemon was pissed. He entered without knocking, his armour clattering against itself.

In a mixture of snorts and grumbles, your husband strode into your chambers. As you lifted your gaze, your warm hazel eyes met the captivating intensity of his purple eyes, sending a shiver down your spine. Your curious gaze wandered further, discovering the mess of dirt and the almost macabre pattern of dried blood clinging to him. Uncertainly, you put aside the book you were engrossed in and approached Daemon, who was already in the process of freeing himself from the constricting confines of his armour. But before you could approach him, a piece of his armour flew into the far corner of the room.

"It will not improve your mood if you damage your armour," you say gently and help him to open his armour.

He just looks at you and his gaze makes you shiver a little again.

"What do I care about this fucking armour?" he hisses.

You look at him and your hands continue to work on the buckles and remove the chest piece.

"You want to tell me what happened?" you ask quietly.

There is a brief silence in your chambers and you use the time to admire his muscular chest, visible under his shirt. His body does not fail to bring you to ecstasy.

You look into his eyes again as he begins to speak.

"None of these idiots in this council understand the importance of cleansing our city of these filthy criminals! Not one!" he hisses.

You nod at him and try to concentrate on his words and not let his body distract you.

Your hands continue to work on the buckles of his armour.

"The city is full of disgusting creatures. They steal, they kill, they rape and none of those cunts at that council table give a shit!" he continues to hiss.

"But you do," you say softly and his eyes meet yours.

"I will teach these people to fear the golden cloaks again," he says in his deep voice.

You smile slightly and take off the last piece of his armour. Your fingers begin to take off his shirt.

"First we have to clean you up," you say gently.

Daemon's soft chuckle, markedly different from his previous behaviour, resounds through the air as he spreads his arms and asks you to release him from his shirt. His shimmering silver lengths fall over his shoulders, framing the network of scars etched into the skin of his neck and nape. These battle-scarred marks, created by victories and fire, are revealed in all their glory.

Your fingertips run tenderly over these well-deserved scars, your soft olive hue a striking contrast to his pale skin. You relish these imprints of his commanding prowess on the battlefield, each scar telling its own story, a testament to his unwavering leadership qualities. Daemon watches the movements of your fingers and notices how your gaze is fixed on his chest, unable to avert your gaze.

"Are you sure you just want to bathe me?" he murmurs, and your gaze jumps to his eyes.

You smile slightly, "Yes, I do," you say seriously and take his hand, leading him into the adjoining bathroom. Daemon grunts in disappointment, but lets himself be led along. The bath is quickly prepared and warm steam rises from the tub.

Daemon stands next to the tub of hot water and begins to open his trousers. As they slide down, you can see his already hardening arousal, but you avert your gaze and go to a small dresser in the corner of the bathroom.

Daemon watches you, a grin on his lips.

"Oh come on... You can't ignore my needs like that..." he says, but you interrupt him.

"Into the warm water with you," is all you say as you look through small bottles on the dresser to find the right one. You have these little vials from your home in Dorne, filled with different elixirs, and this time you want to put him in the right, stimulating mood.

Daemon grumbles something unintelligible, but obeys and gets into the tub. His gaze is fixed firmly on your back.

"Will you at least keep me company?" he asks, and you can hear in his voice that he is getting impatient.

You turn to him and smile, "No... at least not in the water," you say softly.

With two bottles in your hand, you stride to the bathtub. In the soft, flickering light created by candles, Daemon's gaze fixes on you and you can see an unspoken desire in the depths of his eyes to just grab you. But instead of giving in to temptation, his hands grip the edge of the tub. He leans back slightly and lets you pleasure him, a sign of trust he has only in you.

You kneel behind him, set the vials aside and carefully remove the hair ribbon from its silken lengths. As the ribbon gives up its hold, his hair falls gracefully over his shoulders. The once shining silver strands, now clouded with dirt and sweat, literally crave your touch. You gently begin to work water into the lengths, and the soothing rhythm elicits a contented murmur from Daemon as his eyes are gently closed.

Your hand wanders to a vial, its lid giving way with a soft, melodic pop at your careful touch. At this slight disturbance, Daemon's eyes flicker open to take in the unexpected intrusion.

"What's that?" he murmurs. You smile slightly, "Lavender oil... I like it when your hair smells fresh," you say soflty.

Daemon reflects your soft smile, "All right... If my Dornish princess wants me to smell like a silly bush from the garden, I don't think I could refuse," he mutters. With a smile, you apply a few drops of oil to his shiny silver locks and enjoy the feel of his long strands gliding through your fingers as the accumulated dirt runs effortlessly down.

After pampering him with your grooming, you rise and hand Daemon a towel. With a synchronised movement, he accepts the towel, and as he dries himself, you return to the bedroom with the other vial of elixir. Daemon follows you silently, his shapely form wrapped in the loosely hanging towel.

"Now you're going to take care of my needs?" he says to you, a cheeky smile around his lips. And at that moment you notice the bulge under the towel. You smile, "Lie down on the bed," you say.

Daemon's smile widens, like that of a child who finds an unexpected, delicious treat. He complies with your request and lies down in your marital sanctuary - the very bed where he makes you squirm and beg every night. But this night it will be different.

With an expectant gaze, Daemon watches your every move. How you slowly take off your dress and walk towards the bed. You crawl onto the bed and his hands reach out longingly to pull you close.

But you push them away, "Hands by your side," you say and move to sit astride him. Daemon looks irritated, but he obeys. You take the bottle and open it while Daemon watches you closely.

"More lavender oil?" he asks, "You know I'll have trouble commanding my men if my whole body smells like a flower bouquet" he says.

With a soft chuckle, you murmur, "Not a hint of lavender..." as the delicate scents of osmanthus and patchouli dance around you, washing you with their stimulating embrace as you place a few drops of the oil on your warm palm. Daemon's eyes remain fixed, transfixed by your hands as you set about the task of massaging the oil into his powerful chest.

"And I don't think you'll have any problems commanding your men.... No matter how you smell..." you say softly.

Daemon can only growl slightly as he slowly feels the effect of the scents and his arousal presses harder against you. You can feel a slight movement of his hips as he tries to grind against you. You stare into his eyes as your hands continue to glide over his skin.

"Don't move," you say to him. Daemon grunts, but he obeys - again.

You hear his breathing become more irregular as your hand turns to his belly. Slowly you massage the oil into the muscles of his belly, but your hands are unstoppable. You sit up a little and release him from the towel and his hot length springs free. It twitches wildly as you begin to rub his pubic hair with the oil. It twitches even more wildly as your hands turn to the shaft of his cock, which almost invites you to let yourself sink onto it. Daemon grunts impatiently, wanting to move his hips again, to somehow get close to your cunt.

"Don't," you just whisper, and your hands begin to wander up and down. You hear him gasp, see his hands gripping the sheet beneath you tightly. Your hands slide faster as his member literally pulses. Daemon breathes faster and faster as he chases his climax and you can already see the first drops of his release coming from the tip of his cock. You lean down and lick them away and hear him hiss.

"Woman, you will be my death," he whispers breathlessly. You just look up at him, grinning a little, and bite your lip. Your hand slides up and down faster.

It also increasingly excites you that he could just grab you, push you onto the bed and thrust into you, but he does not. He lies there and lets the feelings and actions wash over him.

When suddenly you feel a strong twitch in his member and Daemon spurts his hot seed onto his belly. He grunts loudly and watches you pump the last drops of cum out of his cock. He breathes heavily and closes his eyes briefly. His head falls back on the pillow.

"I think I need to take another bath..." he mumbles.

But you only smile, "I'm not done with you yet," you whisper. Daemon opens his eyes and looks at you in irritation.

You notice how he slowly softens in your hand, but it is not over for you yet. Slowly you slide further down and push his legs apart. You kneel between his legs and your hand gently moves along his shaft again. Daemon hisses slightly as you lean down.

You take his softening member into your mouth and begin to suck. The remnants of his cum unfold their salty taste on your tongue, but you love the way he tastes.

Daemon gasps, "What are you doing?"

But you just grin slightly and push him all the way down your throat.

"Gods...", Daemon gasps, but you notice that he is getting hard again.

But then, with a pop, you release his cock from your mouth. He is breathing heavily and still looks irritated, his cock hard again and standing in all its glory.

Daemon's heavy breath echoes from the walls of your chambers. You move and lie down beside him. You bite your lip gently and lean forward, kissing his neck softly. Your tongue is like pure fire that hits his skin and could cause new scars. A hot, arousing fire. His hips rise again with arousal and his hand reaches for the back of your head to move your head down. But you stop caressing his neck and look at him. You shake your head resolutely and Daemon pulls his hand back grumbling.

His voice fails in his throat and nothing more leaves his mouth as he slowly loses control. A growl sounds from him and his back arches slightly as your hand begins to caress his chest.

A moan escapes him as your nails leave light marks on his skin.

"Stop it, love," he murmurs. "You're driving me crazy" But you see his cock twitch wildly and you know he doesn't want you to stop. His hands reach into the sheet again and you know, that it's taking all his will not to grab you. Gently your lips graze over his neck as your fingers gently move down, teasing him. You feel the remnants of his previous climax and you see him bite his lip as you slide through it. His eyes are closed and you can see him enjoying this. Your fingers gently caress his abdomen, following the light hair to your destination.

A moan escapes him again. His hand suddenly reaches for your arm and you gasp softly, feeling his fingertips dig into your arm, showing you how much you're already teasing him. But you are not finished yet.

Daemon tries to concentrate on staying calm for your sake.

Once again, you can't stop your fingers from stroking his pubic hair as your smile widens. You watch his expression as you caress him.

A sharp intake of breath comes from his throat. He feels nothing but your touch. His fingertips dig further into your arm, but he finds it hard to stay still. You feel his muscles twitch and he just wants to pull you closer to him and take control of the situation so he can use your body as he wants.

But he forces himself to stay still. He forces himself to enjoy the passive role for once.

Your fingers gently graze the tip of his hard manhood. You bite your lip as you feel it twitch. As you close your fingers around the tip and the twitch shoots through your fingers.

"Ops...", you say softly, with an air of innocence, but Daemon knows you are not innocent and it's impossible for him not to react to that – a soft hiss escapes him.

His back arches slightly upwards and he grips your arm even tighter. His head turns towards you. His eyes are still closed, but you feel his lips seek yours. But you let him suffer. Let him feel what it is like to be on the receiving end of something like this.

"Is this what I put you through every night?" he suddenly asks softly, still keeping his eyes closed. You hear a slight breathlessness in his voice.

You smile again, "Yes... Every time you tease me..." you whisper.

You feel at your fingertips how his arousal continues to make itself felt, and the drops wet the tip of his cock.

"You like that, don't you?" you whisper.

He responds with a low growl, as if he's too busy enjoying it to reply with words.

His fingers disengage from your arm and sink to the bed, holding them still. It works up to a point. But you see his fingers clench into fists again and again.

You lean forward again and gently kiss his neck. Lightly you let your teeth sink into the skin. Again you hear a slight growl.

But still your fingers do not touch his hard member. Teasingly you only stroke his tip, refusing to embrace it completely. You feel it twitch violently again and again. Almost desperately it wants you to touch it. And again a moan escapes Daemon's throat.

You notice his breath quickening, and your own smile turns into a wicked little grin.

His fingers clutch the sheets on the bed as his muscles tremble slightly. You can feel the tension building inside him.

"Stop it... stop..," he murmurs, his voice strained by the desire to just grab you.

You continue to nibble on his neck. Your fingers, meanwhile, are stroking his pubic hair again, your caress growing rougher.

"Would you like me to touch you?" you whisper. With this question you have sealed his fate.

You see him contort his face almost painfully, trying to resist his urge. It would be so easy for him to give in, to just turn and take you as he wants. You see the inner struggle in him. The Rogue Prince who never begs, never bows to any command. The dragon who needs control over every situation. But still you see his breathing quicken, his muscles tremble slightly, he moistens his lips.

"Yes..." he whispers after a while, almost defeated.

But then his fingers move to your hips, wanting to grab you and force you closer to him. You slap his hand away.

"No, Daemon. Get your hands off me," you whisper warningly in his ear. You underline your momentary power and nibble lightly on his earlobe.

Your fingers now find their way to his balls, your fingernails gently scratching the now taut skin and he hisses again.

It's a struggle for him to take his hands off your hips. He doesn't want to. But he obeys.

You continue the torment, your fingernails almost driving him mad.

"You know you'll pay for this, you little pest," his voice sounds a little hoarse.

But with each word his voice grows softer and is now just a low murmur as his body continues to tremble with desire. You have the power over this moment, and you know it. You smile just slightly, knowing you will pay for this, and a feeling of anticipation spreads through you.

"Please," he murmurs suddenly. His breathing is quick and heavy. Right now he is nothing more than your plaything. The Rogue Prince on the verge of begging.

You bite his neck again, "Please, what, my love?" you whisper as your fingernails continue to tease his balls. He hisses again. His hips jerk a little, desperate for a touch.

His mouth opens and closes as he tries to find words to say what he wants. It's all gasps and moans and deep, animalistic noises now.

"Please... I need more...," he finally murmurs weakly. He can't say much more, he wants you too much. You know it. He knows it. You both know it.

A low grumble escapes his throat as he hisses again. He clenches his teeth as you grab his balls. He tries to take a deep breath to keep his voice low, but he can't stop his voice from shaking. "Touch me...", these are the only words he manages to say.

Your hand continues to grip his balls, squeezing them gently.

You kiss his neck, "My Rogue Prince...", you whisper.

He is silent now, looking at you with half-closed eyes, his breathing heavy.

You continue to kiss and nibble on his neck as your hand holds him tight, enjoying this newfound power over him. "If you keep this up, I swear we won't leave this bed for at least twelve hours. And I will make you suffer,“ he hisses, his last attempt at exuding dominance.

You smile at him, your fingers now slowly stroking along his shaft.

"I wouldn't mind," you whisper.

His hard manhood is dripping with precum. Your hand wanders along his hard manhood. It twitches violently as you rub the pecum over its tip. He gasps and grunts.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" you whisper as you nibble on his neck again.

"Yes...!" Daemon suddenly groans. You're playing with fire and you know it. Your teasing only drives him closer to his climax without you actually touching him. But you embrace him fully now, and the sudden rough touch makes him grunt loudly. Your hand wanders up and down, your other hand starts massaging his balls again.

"Then come for me, love...", you whisper. You are also breathing harder by now as your hand slides along his hard manhood. He is moaning uncontrollably by now, his manhood twitching. His eyes are closed and his hips are twitching.

His fingers dig deep into the sheet as he makes sounds you didn't think he was capable of. But his moans turn into hisses as your hand works faster.

He pulls your head towards him and kisses you fiercely, almost desperately. He holds nothing back now and you let him.

"My wife. My Dornish princess. My queen. I am yours. Only yours.", Daemon gasps and you feel the twitch move from his balls up into his cock.

And then he comes. Again his seed spurts onto his belly, while your hand does not slacken in its movement. You're still kissing him and he moans and whimpers into your mouth.

Daemon releases the kiss, still breathing heavily, his eyes closed. Softly he whispers your name, smiling.

"You're cruel, you know that? Cruel and beautiful," he whispers.

You giggle softly and watch the movements of his face. After a few deep breaths from him, he suddenly moves. So suddenly that you gasp slightly. Your eyes grow wide as he suddenly hovers over you. You stare into his violet eyes, his cum dripping onto your soft, olive skin, creating a complete contrast. Daemon slides his finger through it as it continues to drip, just as you did on his skin before. A dark grin on his lips.

"I'm going to make you pay even more cruelly for this..." he murmurs and before you can say anything, his lips meet yours and his hand finds its way between your thighs. Your whimpers echo through your chambers as his hand grips your cunt roughly.

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[targaryen-dynasty]

GUILELESS.

Daemon Targaryen x Martell!Reader

The streets of Flea Bottom most definitely were not the place a noblewoman like you should seek out at night, but tonight marked one of the last nights you got to enjoy your freedom for you were to wed in four days.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT–MINORS DNI; CNC, DUB-CON, p in v, roleplay, profanity, tiddy fucking, degrading, punishing, humiliating, public sex, slight oral (m receiving) and overstimulation, blink and you‘ll miss the breeding and size kink, vague description of fem!Martell!Reader (dark hair, dark eyes, small body)

WORDS: 2.6 K

NOTES: Killing two birds with one stone with this thing. Written for this and this request.

The streets of Flea Bottom were in an uproar with hundreds of gold cloaks roaming around to restore law and order in the foulest and most lawless district of the Westerosi capital. It most definitely was not the place a noblewoman like you should seek out, but tonight marked one of the last nights you got to enjoy your freedom for you were to wed in four days.

Your reddish gown had been replaced by the clothes of a boy. A wide, black tunic and gray breeches hid your body, and your long, brown curls were covered by a black cloak. The boots you wore were surprisingly more comfortable than the sandals you wore around court, yet they were not at all appropriate to be paired to the finest, dornish silk you usually donned.

On your way through the dimly lit alleyways, you bumped shoulders with more than one commoner that fled the scene you were too eager to see. Coming closer to the source of the agonizing screams, you stopped just short of the crowd, barely out of the alleyway.

To your left was a pillow house, the ornate lamp of gilded metal and scarlet glass swung over the door casting you in a red light. You tried to move further and squeeze past the wall of curious bystanders, before your wrist was seized by something firm that caused you to gasp.

“A lady like you should be careful wandering the streets alone at such hour,” a deep voice drawled out. As you turned around, you immediately noticed who had you in a tight hold, the long, silver strands of hair peeking from beneath the helmet a dead giveaway–just like the surcoat depicting the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen that none of the other gold cloaks around you wore. Daemon Targaryen, Lord Commander of the City Watch.

You straightened your back, and decided not to show any of your emotions. Especially not the nervousness that soared through your veins. “I shall have you know that I am no lady,” you replied sternly, though there was a slight tremble in your smooth voice, “I am to be a princess soon.”

That seemed to amuse the man, your intimidation tactic clearly not working. “Oh, you most certainly are,” he replied with a mocking tone, “that is why I have found you in Flea Bottom, hm, dressed like what… a little boy?” Now there was a slight hint of uneasiness accompanying his words and presence, which had a shiver running up your spine. “As your princess, I command you to let go of me,” you pressed, trying to tug your arm back – but to no avail.

“You are a feisty little thing,” the gold cloak murmured with a sly smile. “It is a shame you are nothing more than a pretender. You would have made an excellent wife.” He didn’t even allow you to give him a reply, before his hand found the back of your neck to shove you into the pillow house to your left you had examined not long before.

Upon stumbling inside, you noticed that it was no pillow house but a simple brothel instead. Older wenches with more flesh to their hips and a used appearance did not hone the low quality the common room presented itself in. Considering the size of the crowd in front of the etablissement, it was surprising to spot not so many patrons inside.

“I–What–”

“I shall have you punished for those treacherous antics,” he barked, effectively cutting you off. The light tap he gave your rear caught you off guard, however, it was solely a ruse meant to distract you from both his hands grabbing the waistband of your breeches and undergarments to rather forcefully tug them down your body. It was nothing else than luck that the tunic you wore was long enough to cover your cunt for anyone that dared to catch a glimpse.

You gasped, and seized his hand on your hip that threatened to dive forwards between your legs. “My lord,” you protested, pretending that you did not know whose chest was pressed flush to your back, “you should not– I–”

Before you could protest even more, he had hauled you up against the breastplate of his armor, and you could merely look at him from over your shoulder, your dark eyes filled with lust. You started to struggle against his hold, yet his muscular arms snaked around your frame made it obvious you didn't stand a chance.

“Please, no,” you whimpered.

“Silence,” he bellowed, carrying you through the common room of the brothel to an alcove that granted you just some more privacy. While you were dropped unceremoniously on a chaise standing nearby, he brought a large hand up to the back of your neck, applying a good bit of pressure so you were kneeling on the chaise with your arse up and face down.

From behind you, you could hear a satisfied groan, no doubt spotting the glistening shimmer on your cunt from how aroused you were. When his calloused finger dragged through your soaked mound, you could not stifle a moan to leave your lips.

“Please, stop, my lord, I am still a maiden,” you whimpered, trying to get back up only to be pushed down again forceful enough to have you grunting just once. “Stay,” he warned, and you were foolish to not obey his command. You could faintly hear his hands fumbling with the buckles along the breastplate of his armor, your heartbeat pounding in your ears loud enough to almost drown out every other sound, removing them and allowing the steel to fall to the ground – piece after piece following in its wake. “I am betrothed,” you tried to reason.

You gasped as his hand served a firmer slap to your arse this time, the gentle rubbing of his palm not at all mending the stinging pain. “And you still will be once I am done with you,” came his stern reply. He dragged two fingers through your mound, from your entrance to the little bud, retorting to rubbing mindless patterns over it that had you pushing your hips against his fingers for a moment to chase the friction. Despite the moans that left your lips, you tried to snake your hand between your thighs to cover your cunt and arse, but he was quick enough to capture both your hands, bringing them together behind you to pin them to your back with one hand.

The gold cloak was skilled enough to unlace his breeches one-handed, freeing his cock out of its confines. “I shall refrain from spending my seed inside of your cunt for I do not desire to dishonor your betrothed,” he mumbled, his voice taking on a rougher edge.

“Do not do this, please,” you released a shaky breath, and every protest that threatened to follow caught in your throat the moment he dragged the tip of his cock through your swollen folds, resuming the movements he had previously made with his fingers.

The attempt to resist him was cut short when his cock breached your core, pushing into you at a teasingly slow pace that had you drawing in a sharp breath. “Your betrothed might get to breed you, but I took your maidenhead. You do best to remember that when he lays his filthy hands on you,” he groaned. The moment you stretched around him, all you could choke out was ‘yes, yes, yes,’ being in a stupor because of his cock.

With his hand still around your wrists, he pulled you onto his cock until his hips pressed against your rear, taking his time to adjust to your tightness. The ‘Gods’ he muttered under his breath didn’t go unnoticed by you, and it appeared that he didn’t know where to place his free hand as it squeezed your arse, tugged on your hair and eventually settled in the curve of your waist.

He pounded into you with reckless abandon, the tip of his cock brushing the spot inside of you that had your vision grow blurry over and over again. With your face pressed into a pillow resting on the chaise, you were not able to spot the feigned anger and jealousy blazing in his eyes. The only thing that made you aware of the amusement he found in that situation was the tone of his husky voice, making it more than clear that he had a smirk on his lips. “When I am done with you,” he rasped, bowing forward to put more of his weight on your small frame beneath his. “You shall desire no one else’s cock but mine.”

“Yes–” he interrupted your answer with a hard, percussive thrust, and then another, and another, until you couldn't focus on anything else but the delicious pressure inside your cunt. You pushed your hips back against him, and he reared up to pull you back with each of his thrusts, meeting him halfway which resulted in the lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin bouncing off the walls. The position you were in, with your face pressed into the pillow, granted you some sense of feigned privacy, because otherwise you would have noticed some curious eyes lingering on you two whenever one of the customers or whores decided to prowl the scene unfolding.

“Let’s see how much you desire your betrothed’s cock after this.”

When his hips stilled, and the pleasure in the pit of your belly eased, you propped yourself up on your hands with his vice-like grip suddenly gone. You looked at him from over your shoulder, and if you were not so lost in the sight of him behind you, you would have pouted when he gripped the neckline of your tunic to rip the linen to shreds as if it was nothing, exposing the last bit of your body to the sticky air of the brothel.

His skin was glistening in the dim light the candles granted, small beads of sweat highlighting his muscles. His upper body was defined by numerous cuts and scars, a testament to the dangers he had survived in his short life already. As he glanced down to where his clock disappeared inside of you, strands of his silver hair fell into his face, framing his chiseled features. You were so focused on enjoying the view that you did not immediately catch on to what he had said to you, the words not registering in your mind.

It seemed that his patience was not infinite as he grabbed your waist and hoisted you up as if you weighed nothing, settling you down on the cold floor so you sat on your haunches. He sat down on the chaise with his legs spread, his thick cock flush against his lower stomach, and straining as he leaned back, hands resting on his muscular thighs. You tilted your head, affecting a look of defiance. His eyes flickered over your frame, taking in every exposed inch of skin, and he couldn't help but smirk. “I said I shall not dishonor your betrothed, did I not?” he said, and almost dismissively waved his hand in order for you to continue.

You took that as your cue to use your hands and mouth to coax him towards his peak, however, when you reached to grasp the base of his member, the dragon in front of you merely tsked. Without saying a word, he bowed forwards and brought his paw-like hands to the sides of your breasts, squeezing them together. At the realization of what he had in mind, your eyes widened in surprise, and when he raised an eyebrow with a slight tilt of his head, you knew what was expected of you.

While his hands merely released your breasts to allow you to lean forwards, it was your hand that fisted the base of his cock, still thoroughly lubricated with your arousal. You positioned yourself so his cock rested in the Vale between your breasts, only for him to squeeze them together around it again. “Good girl,“ he praised, and you craned your neck to give a teasing lick along the slit at the tip of his cock, which prompted the prince to take in a sharp breath.

He replied by bucking his hips up, his cock bumping against your slightly parted lips. While he smirked at you in a smug manner, you released a surprised gasp, your eyes flickering between his violet ones and his cock. With his hands on your breasts, he kept them pressed tightly around his member, using the crevice between them to race for completion. You raised and lowered your body in rhythm with his hips, licking and kissing the tip of his cock whenever it came close enough to your lips.

His fingers pinched and brushed the perky buds of your breasts, causing you to release one whimper after the other. It was a titillating sight, watching how your expression shifted to a more focused one as you moved your body for his pleasure, ignoring the throbbing at the apex of your legs as best as you could.

“What an obedient, little wench I have found on the streets of Flea Bottom,” he groaned, his voice raspier, indicating that he was close to reaching his peak. “So willing to please the Lord Commander of the City Watch. Do you like watching me fuck those perfect teats of yours?” You couldn't help but whine, a slight blush creeping onto your cheeks at his words like they were the most embarrassing thing you had ever heard. Dornish people were known for their sexual licentiousness, but that man in front of you seemed to top just that.

“Will you claim me, my lord?” you asked, innocently batting your eyelashes at him. But with his peak approaching him rather quickly, the last threads of his patience seemed to snap as he growled a ‘Tis husband for you’ in return, the thoughts of your well-schemed ploy long forgotten at the aspect of spending himself all over you, claiming you. With a strangled groan, Daemon reached his completion, his cock spurting between your breasts and onto your chest, throat, lips and even your tongue. The pinch on your perky buds turned painfully tight with the pleasure soaring through his veins, causing you to squirm a bit, and it took a moment for the tension to slowly subside.

He watched with hooded eyes as you licked his seed off the skin your tongue could reach, and when your hands came up to peel him off of you, there didn’t come any objection from him. You wrapped your lips around his cock, and took as much of him down your throat as possible. He breathed heavily as he bowed forwards, looming over you as he took in the debauched sight in front of him.

Daemon shivered and grunted as you cleaned him up, the overstimulation making him sensitive to your touch, and he fisted your hair to pull you off of him. With the remnants of his seed still on your chin, you smiled up at him, and you could see his flaccid cock slowly growing hard again. You rested your cheek on his thigh, staring up at him as you lazily tugged him to full hardness again

“Gods,” he groaned, the bump in his throat bobbing in anticipation. “I love you, t–,” you replied, the last word catching in your throat as he hoisted you up to straddle his hips. His hard cock was nestled between your bodies, and your arms immediately wrapped around his neck, fingers entangling in the strands of his silver hair.

“I am going to make you peak, and then I am fucking you until you can no longer walk and you are carrying my child,” he mumbled into the curve of your neck, sucking in your skin to leave some faint marks. “Just to show you how much I love you, wife.”

General Taglist: @aemondx @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #hotd fanfic #daemon smut #hotd daemon #daemon targaryen #daemon fic #daemon x reader #daemon x you #daemon fanfic #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen smut #daemon imagine #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen oneshot #hotd daemon targaryen #hotd smut #hotd imagine #hotd fic #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon smut #house of the dragon daemon #house of the dragon fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon stannies

[my-on-and-off-writingstuff]

Troublemaker | Daemon x reader

Summary: the three times Daemon is harassed by a tiny toddler. 

Warning: Age gap of around 10 years between reader and Daemon. Furthermore, Daemon did not marry Lady Rhea Royce. 

93 AC

At two and ten Daemon Targaryen had escaped his teacher. instead he preferred to spend his day underneath the Weirwood tree. The young prince was laying at the root of the tree with arms underneath his head while sleepily looking up at the sky. Somewhere he can hear one of his teachers call out to him. Without doubt wanting to enrich him with an ancient batter or the doom of old Valyria. Something he had learned about a thousand times. This morning has already been filled with sword fighting and while he rather would have ridden his dragon Caraxes he knew sneaking out the Dragon pit would be almost impossible. God knows what his brother Viserys was doing, and he was not really planning on finding out as his brother was probably going to snitch him to his teacher anyway. 

Something was tugging on his hair and annoyed he hoped his eyes looking around for the culprit that had interrupted his nap. With a frown on his forehead, he looks at the tiny toddler sitting content at his side. Their little plump fingers going through his hair and occasionally give a sharp tug. Other than the two of you the Godwoods is empty. No nursemaid or servant to be found. The little one was babbling content noises. Judging by the snit of her dress the little toddler was not a servant’s babe but a child of one of the noble ladies residing in the keep.  

He tried to ignore the toddler and closed his eyes again. It is not his responsibly to take care of a little girl that what the servants are for. A screech interrupted his rest once again and his eyes quicky found the little one once again. This time you were crawling away from him towards the table underneath the roofed area. The table was covered with a long cloth, hanging of the edge of table almost to the ground, the table was decked with silverware and set for a quick lunch. He knew the curiosity of toddlers and while you had crawled your way there, judging you age he knew you were old enough to be learning how to stand so he made his way towards you quickly. For such a little thing you were quick and had almost reached the table. He carefully scooped you up, but your little fist had managed to grip on to the tablecloth and with Daemons motion of scooping you up you had managed enough force to pull the silverware from the table. 

The silverware was clattering to the ground around Daemons feet, wine, and food clinging to his clothing. He groaned but to your amusement the sound of the silverware and his frustration made you giggle. A soft and innocent sound which Daemon had to admit made his heart melt. “Oh, you are enjoying this, little troublemaker.” His voice made an adorable smile spread on your face and he softly tickled you to make you laugh again. He swung you around back to the tree to sit down and keep you out of harm’s way. 

The sound of the silverware clattering to the ground had attracted maids and other public to see what was happening. As the maids were quickly and quietly cleaning up the mess you had made. A woman came running in. She let out a sign of relief when noticing you. Her color of her hair and eyes matched yours and Daemon was positively that it was your mother. “Oh, my baby.” The woman exclaimed while quickly gathering you into her arms. The little toddler did not seem to like being ripped out of Daemons embrace, who you had considered to be your friend as the toddler started frowning and making grabbing hands towards him. “I am sorry for the trouble she has caused my prince.” The woman apologized quietly while soothing her daughter. Who’s lip was starting to wobble. “Next time do not let her out of someone’s sight as she might not be so lucky.” He scolded the woman, which he recognized as one of the ladies of a noble house who had just arrived at court for the festivities. 

“Of course, my prince, thank you for watching over her.” The lady made a courtesy towards him. Daemon only nodded and walked past the woman with all intention to make haste and find new place to relax but your baby talk made him halt. He turned around towards you and with his index finger lightly fluttered over your little face. “She is a troublemaker that one.” And with that he took his leave. 

___

A few weeks later he was walking towards the courtyard to practice some sword fighting when he noticed a presence behind him. He looked over his shoulder and abruptly stopped when he saw you waddling behind him. “Ah the little troublemaker has mastered walking.” He said to the little toddler. Unbeknownst to him the door of the room you and your family was occupying was left open and when seeing him walking past you had seen your chance and followed him. You made grabby hands at him, and he saw that as a sign to pick you up. Content of being in his arms your hand grabbed at his long hair.  

“Och, little one let’s not do that.” He untangled his hair from your little hands but as soon as he freed his hair out of your grip your hands were back into his hair. He simply gave up and continued his way towards the courtyard where the training sessions were held. Along the way ignoring the glances of the people around him. 

His sword fight teacher raised an eyebrow when he saw the young prince come his way with the small toddler in his arms but said nothing. Only looked on in amusement when Daemon carefully sat the toddler down on a bench gave you a wooden dagger to play with, to keep you occupied and distracted. “She is a troublemaker that one.” Was the only thing the prince acknowledged about the toddler before focusing on the training. Somewhere in the middle of the training a maid who had been sent to look for you had taken you away. Which had resulted in your cries echoing across the courtyard displeased with being taken away while you had been playing with the wooden dagger and had been watching Daemon train with wide eyes of amazement. Daemon almost had snatched you out of the hands of the maid when your disagreement with the situation had made itself known. But decided against it as you were not family of him. His eyes followed the form of the maid who quickly carried you away.

___

Two months later he was properly introduced to the little toddler it was the name day of your older brother. His father, Viserys and he had made his way towards the garden where the party was held. His father properly introduced his brother and him to the family, and your mother stumbled over her words as she properly met the prince still aware of the time, he had scolded her for not watching her child.

The royal family had sat down on the provided chairs which were placed around the garden for the parents to be able to socialize and the children to run around and play. As soon as your little eyes had found him you had made your way towards him. Daemon had not noticed you sneaking up on him until you were tugging at his clothes. Your mother tried to distract you but to no avail. “Y/N, baby come here” You had only looked briefly towards your mother before again tugging these times more urgently at his clothes. Daemon looked down at you, the same smile on your little face as when he had first met you and again his heart melted. He picked you up and sat you in his lap. 

From there you had a great view and was watching other kids play around you while also sheepishly eyeing up the cakes standing on the table. Daemon quickly took notice of the cakes when he saw you attempting to crawl on the table. “Ah see your little trouble side is coming out again.” He spoke quietly to you making sure his brother could not jest him about talking to a toddler. You let out an adorable giggle at the sound of his voice and again tried to move closer to the cakes. “You just can not help it, can you?” Daemon kept an arm around your stomach to make sure you did not fall or lose balance before plating one of the cakes onto a plate and putting it in front of you. A little scream came from your mouth as the little cake you had been eyeing was now in front of you. 

Without much hesitation your hands grabbed the cake and brought it to your mouth. You leaned against Daemon with the cake in your hands clearly content with your position. Daemon let out a soft groan because of the crumbs that were falling onto his clothes. Your mother had given up on trying to coax you away from the prince. With a full belly and a comfortable position, you had quickly fallen asleep in Daemons arms. However, every time when your mother would try to lift you out of Daemons arms and give you to one of the maids. You would stir and start whining which ended up with Daemon being annoyed with your mother and telling her you were fine in his arms. He ignored his brother who was trying to stifle his laugh across from him at the table clearly finding it amusing how much his brother was wrapped around the toddler little finger.

In the end Daemon was the one who had carried you back to the castle. Nobody allowed to get you out of his arms. He loved the feeling of that responsibility, caring for you was slowly but surely one of his favorite things. While his brother was jesting that you had imprinted on him like a little baby rabbit. Daemon could only relinquish in the feeling that you had chosen him to do so.

Slowly he placed you in your bed. He brushed your baby hairs before leaving the room without another glance. Missing the little smile that graced your lips even in your sleep.

___

111 AC

Daemon was nervously tugging at the collar of his jacket while looking around the great hall trying to not meet the eye of a single spectator. The great hall was transformed into a magical place where the wedding ceremony was going to take place. Sun light was lighting up the room making the golden and white wand decorations handing from the walls shine. Flowers were wrapped around the columns and the tacitly pleased around the room. You had planned it out to the last detail even the broach on which tied the cape and his jacket together. 

You had gifted it to him last night. It was a golden dragon midflight with its wings stretched out. It was unlike the Targaryen crest, and he had never been gifted something this thoughtful. For its eye was a single ruby. “For the color of Caraxes scales.” You had proudly stated while pinning it to his wedding attire so that it would all be ready for tomorrow. Like he said you had planned everything. Before he could properly thank you, you had all but ran out the room. Screaming back at him that he would have to wait one more night. 

Once again, he roams the space, and his eyes briefly meet your parents. While he practically had to beg your dad for your hand your mother was already wiping her tears away. Your father was a little less pleased as he glared at Daemon with a stoic face. Your father was not a fan of the 10 years age gap, as well reputation of rogue prince. However very much like Daemon you had both of them wrapped around your finger from a verry young age. Every marriage proposal you had rejected in favor of this one. After all you had dreamed about this wedding for ages and what you want you would get even if your dad was not totally aboard with it. As a father he had his concerns and Daemons reputation did not paint him in a favorable light. 

The music starts playing and Daemon shifts his attention to the big heavy doors. The doors are opened by two knights and within seconds you are making you way down the rows of people. You were wearing a heavily decorate golden gown with flowers and little stars on it. The trail of wedding dress is in a long trail behind you, shifting the flowers that mark the path towards the altar on the ground slightly. In your hair is a grand diadem set with rubies and diamonds. Around your neck is a necklace set with stones where part of it drops downs and settles between the valley of your breast. The necklace together with the drop earrings was his engagement gift for you. You had only worn them once before showing them off at their engagement feast before locking them up and saving them for your wedding day. 

 You had almost reached the altar and Daemon reached out his hands to help you up it. You looked like a goddess with the sunlight warming your face and making your dress sparkle. You take his hands in yours and squeeze it to reassure yourself that this is all happening, and it is not just a dream. The maids in charge of the trail delicately place it around you when you stand in front of your soon to be husband before they take a step back. The septon comes forwards and hushes the crowd. You smile nervously at him, as if you had only just noticed the crowd. 

 “Who is giving away the bride?” the septon asks. “I am!” your father voices bellows through the sept. He climbs the stairs of the altar and slowly takes of the beautiful made cloak in your house colors. The cloak is heavily decorated and reaches all the way to the floor. “You sure about this honey, we can still make a run for it.” Your father tries to joke but you see the emotion in his eyes. “Yes father, he is the man I want to marry.” You sneak a glance at Daemon who is tense, clearly having heard the conversation and you father offering you a way out. Your father only nods a response before kissing your forehead and returning to stand next to your mother. 

 “Now who is to claim her?” Daemon reaches out to the servant who is holding his cloak. As he unfurls the cloak the crowd gasps at the sight of the cloak. The cloak was of a black fabric and looked velvety of texture. The dragon was made from red thread but in the light of the sun it seemed to reflect and glimmer. Just as your house cloak this one reached the ground as well. the chain that would hold the cloak around your shoulders was made of gold and the clasp was another dragon quite similar to the broach Daemon was wearing. He now understood why you were persistent on that dragon. 

He stepped closer to you and your usually scent invaded his senses. He smiled at you and carefully wrapped the cloak around you before fasting it. His finger ghosted over the rounding of your breast before he dutifully stepped a step back. keeping the appropriate distance between the two of you. “With the exchange of cloaks, the bride has passed from the protection of her father into her husband’s protection.” The septon declares before moving to take up the wine cup. 

He leads the prayer and blesses the cup before giving it to Daemon. Without breaking eye contact Daemon takes a sip out of the cup. tasting the bitter taste of the wine before swallowing it. He takes the cup to your lips and tentatively tilts it so you can take a sip out of it. “Let this wine be the first of many things they will share between them,” The septon once again declares before taking the cup away. 

 The septon then gestures for the bride and groom to take each other’s hands. “Repeat after me.” Daemon for the first time during the ceremony looks at the septon and from the corner of his eye he sees you doing the same. “With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife.” Daemons eyes are back on yours while he repeats the septon. “With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife.” You feel your cheeks warm at his words and can’t help but look at the way his lips move while speaking his vows. The septon now turns to you. “With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lord and husband.” Without hesitation you repeat the words and intuitive take a step forwards. Daemon places his hand up your waist. 

“Then in the power invested in me by the faith of the seven I declare you man and wife as they are one flesh, one heart, one soul now and forever and may they live a long and fruitful live.” Before the septon has even finished his speech Daemon pulls you into his chest. Your hand bracing for the impact lays on his chest. With his free hand he tilts your chin upwards and presses his lips against you. The world around you goes silent, no longer are you hearing the clapping of the invited lords and ladies. Your whole attention and senses are dedicated to the prince in your arms. A prince you can now proudly call yours. You feel his free hand roam its way down to your butt. The Septon clears his throat obviously uncomfortable at the sight of that and reluctant Daemon ends the kiss. “You are stuck with me, little troublemaker.” You smile up at him blissfully still in his warm embrace. “I would not have it any other way.”  

___

Part 2

#daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen x reader #Daemon Targaryen #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen oneshot #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fancficton #house of the dragon imagine #game of thrones #hotd

[endless-ineffabilities]

rogue ink

Daemon Targaryen x f!reader

word count: 3.4k ▪︎ masterlist

themes/warnings: fluff, language, very brief mention of smut

The reader is devastated at the loss of her precious journal, worried that it might fall into the wrong hands. And who better else to discover it, but the Rogue Prince himself?

It was a small thing.

A small, leather-bound journal. Filled with accounts of your days and nights, your deepest thoughts, your pains. An unassuming object, sort of tattered from use.

And it had been missing for three days. The gods were not good.

You searched everywhere. Every corner of your chambers, in all the pouches you had especially sewn onto your dresses, practically every inch of the Red Keep which you have called home ever since your family was invited to King Viserys' court.

And yet it was nowhere to be found.

It was immediately noticeable to your inner circle that something was amiss, but you just shrugged it off. One person you did confide in, however, was Princess Rhaenyra herself. The two of you quickly grew close after her former companion, Alicent, was sent off to wed some wealthy, Southern lord.

"So what if it has gone missing? Perhaps you have simply misplaced it? Anyway, we could easily get you a new one, y/n."

Your head swiftly turned in her direction, "I appreciate your tone of confidence, Rhaenyra - "

She nodded, making a playful show of curtsying.

" - but... I've scrolled down personal matters in those pages. Especially when it concerns..."

She paused in her step. Hands clasped behind her, she leaned forward, "Ah. I see."

When it concerns Daemon. But it need not be said aloud.

Rhaenyra has been privy to some of your musings about her beloved uncle. Only the ones that you would ever let befall on another person's ears, that is. Some of it... well... would be more than enough to make any maiden blush.

"How could I forget?" Rhaenyra smiled, "You fancy Daemon." Then her face turns sly, "He fancies you too, you know. But of course, I know why you would be reluctant to engage with all of... that."

Your hand reaches up in an attempt to hide your face from shame, "Gods, what would happen if anyone at court were to find it? It would only be so easy to determine that the thing is my possession. I've written my father's and mother's names on it, and yours, and Daemon's..."

"What's the worst that could happen?" Rhaenyra wrapped an arm around your shoulders, keeping you steady, "This court of sycophants never runs out of fodder for their dull conversations. Your journal might be spoken of for a day or two, then they shall move on to something of lesser import."

You sighed deeply, a mask of calm appearing on your visage, though Rhaenyra knew better.

It will be alright. Another half-truth. This loss will soon be a trifling thing.

If only...

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Daemon Targaryen has been having quite the interesting time as of late.

The pages of your small, tattered journal feel light on his fingertips, but he might be inclined to say that the mere feel of the parchment is exhilarating.

These thoughts were yours. These secrets, these desires were yours.

Truthfully, he has not been completely shy about his admiration for you. His precious dove. His sweetling. You thought nothing of it, knowing full well how he is. The Rogue Prince has been known to possess countless paramours.

And you are damned if you would allow yourself to be one of his mere passing fancies. To be bedded one night and forgotten the next.

He once thought that his admiration is not well-received, until one morning, when he watched as an object fell out of your dress as you sprinted down the hallway, headed to only the gods knew where. You bumped into several ladies of the court, mumbling rushed apologies, only to be met with irate stares, but you went on without any mind to them.

Daemon failed to hide the smile that sprung from his lips. He quietly shifted to the spot where you dropped something, and that's when he saw it. Your journal.

It could only be yours. Who else would scroll down that thinly veiled warning on the first page, dedicated to any stranger who might deign to read it?

Daemon, of course, believed himself immune to such threats and he hurriedly found a secluded place to sit down and immerse himself in the woman who has managed to take sanctum in his mind.

And his heart, but the notorious prince would still be loath to admit that.

A few pages in, with amusement dancing his eyes, his chest felt warm at the image of you inking these thoughts onto the parchment.

Then came – “Once more, if you might be a nosy intruder, turn away now, or the very worst fortunes shall fall upon you. I swear this on both the old gods and the new.”

Perhaps I should stop. After all, she just might impale me with mine own Dark Sister if she found this in my possession. Daemon’s hand hesitated as he was about to turn the next page.

He had half a mind to close your journal, partially resolved at returning it to your chambers without you even having to notice its loss, but his eyes were quickly drawn to the following words…

“I finally saw Prince Daemon Targaryen this morning.”

How could Daemon stop his perusing at that moment? He read on with renewed interest, yearning to know more of what you think about him.

“By the gods, he is as beautiful as he is infuriating. I was made to be the cupbearer in today’s small council meeting, and the Rogue Prince strolled in, well in the middle of the discussion, without any mind as to the disturbance that his late arrival caused, if any. Not a care in the seven kingdoms. He paid absolutely no mind to me, standing there in the corner.

But I saw him.”

Daemon found himself rolling his eyes. Of course, he would give off the worst impression upon the first moment she glanced at him. But then again…

She thinks me beautiful. Vanity had allowed him to glaze over the part where you call him “infuriating”.

I suppose I shall have further use for your precious book, my sweetling.

And so the next few days were spent raking your journal for passages about him. Daemon knows full well that doing so can be deemed a violation of your privacy, but if he can use this to get closer to you, then this is something that simply must be allowed.

In his eyes, it may even be necessary. He needs this. Wants it, even. He wants to get under your skin, and these pages all but symbolize that very thing.

After all, Daemon swore that he shall only read the parts wherein he is concerned, and that is well within his right, is it not?

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“Daemon is indeed something to behold. Yes, my opinion still stands.

However, I am not certain what to make of him. Is he to be trusted? No. Bloody well not. Is he kind? That is not really a word anyone would use to define him.

But… there is something… something in his eyes. Daemon is much more than the rogue scoundrel that his moniker deems him to be. He is more than just ‘dangerous’ or ‘unpredictable’ or a potential ‘second Maegor’ (Truthfully, I find it hard to believe that last thing). Daemon is… more than that.

I just can’t find the words to encapsulate him. Perhaps words never can.”

The days pass quickly, and Daemon finds himself opening your journal now and again.

He cannot help it. The more he reads, the more he learns of you. But that is not the only reason. He is also discovering himself, as it turns out - an image of himself that he has not entertained before.

Not only The Rogue Prince, but a person of greater value than his notorious misdeeds. He believes that you see something in him that not even he can see himself.

Something more. Something… good.

Though his intentions prove to be not entirely innocent, as is the usual case. He comes upon one specific part, with your penmanship turning into a nervous scribble. It is as if you were wary that someone might be looking over your shoulder and deign to discover what salacious scrawls you have put down about the Rogue Prince.

Daemon’s eyes hurriedly glide over the ink, basking in what he reads.

“I must confess something.

I know it is quite unbecoming of a lady. Of a maiden. But in the last hour of the owl, I…

I…

Oh, gods. I pleasured myself to the thought of him.

You know. It can only be him. Daemon.”

“Seven fucking save me.” Daemon finds himself cursing with delight at what he just read. So his sweetling does want him in return. Oh, you cannot even imagine what I will do to you…

“We have grown quite close, him and I. Daemon is… Daemon is aflame. There can be no better word for him. He is fire incarnate, and I am not afraid of getting burned.

Or… I don’t want to be. I just. Want. Him.

I want to feel him. I want to feel his lips on mine. Not long ago, he leaned in close and his musk enveloped me. His lips very nearly grazed my cheek. Silly me could not come up with a witty response then and there. A shame. But can you blame me? All I could think about was snogging the fucking Rogue Prince himself!

Ha! Gods!

Perhaps I have gone insane.”

Daemon chuckles freely, alone in his chambers, your journal firmly between both hands. Any clueless onlooker would think it strange, as the Rogue Prince does not make a habit of exhibiting such behaviour. The pleasure in the tone of his laughter rings true and genuine.

If it becomes known that the reason for this is the Lady Y/n, then only a fool would dare deny the centre of their prince’s affections.

“But I cannot deny it.

I cannot have him. I shall not… he is… he does not seem willing to devote himself to just one lady. One wife. There is never a lack of gossip about the prince’s exploits in the Street of Silk, and a hundred other brothels besides.

His need cannot be sated it seems. I… surely, I will not be enough to sate it.

And I won’t allow myself to be one among many paramours.

If I am to love, I have to be chosen as the only one.

However…

Mother spare me.

However… I find myself imagining Daemon’s hands roaming freely across the planes of my skin, fondling my chest, his fingers drifting downward until they are buried in the heat of my soaked cunt.

When the castle is asleep, I find myself writhing in my sheets, thinking about the prince’s massive co – “

A knock echoes across the chambers. Daemon’s head shoots up immediately, irritation blooming across his face, but his cheeks remain flushed from what he just read.

Who the fuck is this?

His squire enters, a gangly young lad of six and ten. He bows hurriedly, and with a shaky voice, he implores, “My prince, you are being summoned by His Grace King Viserys to the small council meeting.”

Has that blasted formality come round again so soon? Daemon shrugs, turning back to the pages. Though he can hardly focus with the snivelling interruption still present in the room, who risks arousing his master’s anger when he speaks once more, “Forgive me, my prince, but I have been instructed to report with - ”

“Will you remove yourself from my sight willingly, or shall I do it for you?”

“M-my prince… I…” The squire nearly stumbles backwards at Daemon’s wroth.

“Leave. The small council will have the privilege of my presence in due course.”

And so, Daemon is again left alone, his squire’s rapid footsteps practically bolting out the doors.

Smirking, he greets your journal like an old friend. “Now, where was I?”

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Your newly gifted journal boasts of a far more opulent appearance than its predecessor. Rhaenyra made sure that the Maesters bound only the finest parchment and leather for this very thing; the cover even has gold and red embossments, as well as inscriptions in High Valyrian.

You were reluctant to accept such a gift, but Rhaenyra was persistent. And everyone knows, there is no refusing the Realm’s Delight when she has her heart set on something.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to know of the whereabouts of your journal… well, your old journal now.

Nestled in your usual spot in the gardens, you turn your new journal over in your hands, admiring the handiwork of the Maesters.

The rear possesses the inscription - Isse otāpagon hen ñuha ojūdan udra, se isse ōños hen skoros pirtra hembar… - which Rhaenyra explained as roughly translating to - In remembrance of my rogue ink, and in joyous anticipation of what lies ahead…

You did not fail to notice the deliberate placement of the word rogue, which can only be Rhaenyra’s doing. Clever.

Rogue ink. Rogue Prince. Am I to call myself Lady Rogue now?

“My Lady.” His voice calls out, nearly startling the journal out of your hands. Oh fuck.

“Prince Daemon,” you swivel around to his voice, and sure enough, he leans against one of the tall hedges, studying you. Not a care in the seven kingdoms, as always.

“Good morrow, sweetling.” He saunters over, permanent smirk on his lips. “That is a lovely thing you have got there,” he says, gesturing to the new journal in your lap.

“Why yes, it is.” You lay it down beside you, and he promptly picks it up without even asking for your leave.

“Isse otāpagon hen ñuha ojūdan udra…” He reads, the High Valyrian sounding musical on his tongue. Far better than how you attempted to voice out the same words.

“Hmm.” He hands it over, and sits right next to you, stretching his long legs in front of him.

“Rogue ink.” He mumbles thoughtfully, glancing at you.

“It was Rhaenyra’s idea.” You say, your throat suddenly feeling dry, your heart racing from his proximity.

“Ah, yes. I was very sorry to hear of how you lost your journal. Rhaenyra said you were quite devastated.” Daemon lies plainly. His beloved niece never shared this with him, for she knows you would not approve.

“She did?”

“I do recall, yes.”

“Oh.”  You clear your throat, choosing to let it pass. “Well, she was awfully kind in giving me this as a replacement. I could not thank her enough.”

Daemon smiles, casting his gaze downward, as if he is privy to a secret that is kept from you. Does the handsome bastard know something?

“It is a shame that I could not find it,” you sigh, “I am still perturbed by the thought of someone whose intentions are unsavoury, reading all that I have written.”

“Whatever would you do to them, were you to find out their identity, my sweetling?”

You shake your head slightly at the name he has given you. Anything to distract from the warmth spreading across your face. You lean in closer, suddenly, much to Daemon’s surprise, “Would you let me wield Dark Sister, so I might teach them a lesson?”

Daemon swallows, the sight of your darkened, mischievous expression spurring him on.

“I might,” he leans in, “but I am far too fond of myself to allow something like that to transpire. Besides,” his fingers languidly trace your jawline, “I have read that you are far too fond of me to do such a thing.”

Your stomach falls, the sensation so sudden that you simply freeze in place, with Daemon’s warm breath still fanning your face.

“You…”

Your face scrunches in a mixture of what can only be shock and anger and embarrassment. Daemon only finds it endearing. Adorable.

He starts, “Now, sweetling, try not to be cross - ”

You do not let him finish. You punch him in the shoulder, hard, making him lean away. Your legs seem to have a mind of their own, because you find yourself pacing quickly.

Gods, I just assaulted a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. More pacing. Who cares? It’s Daemon, and he deserves it.

The sound of his laughter echoes in the gardens, grating in your ears.

He stands, pulling something out of the pocket of his trousers, and presenting it to you. Your little, rogue journal.

Wrenching it from him, you can only ask, “You stole it from me?”

He looks appalled, “No, I would not do that. I found it. It might occur to you to thank me. Who knows what could have happened if anyone else besides me discovered your precious journal when you dropped it in a haste.”

“Thank you?” You stare him down, your left hand squeezing your journal firmly, threatening to destroy its very structure. “Why did it take so long for you to return it to me? Did you… did you…”

“Read it?” His eyes rake your face, over and over, enamoured by the passion he sees.

You say nothing. Of course he has.

“You must forgive my curiosity, sweetling. I could not help myself, plainly, to have some glimpse into your mind, into your heart… I simply… I had to.”

You soften a little at that. “Did you read everything?”

Daemon steps forward, overwhelming your space once more, “Not everything. Not quite.”

He gently pries the journal from your fist tucked beside you, and you watch as he flits through the pages as if it were his own. He whispers, “Only what you wrote about me.”

“Gods.” You desperately look toward the sky for some respite, not finding any.

He lands on the page he was searching for, a smile spreading across his face. “I am flattered, my lady, about how you envisioned us in what can only be… very compromising positions.”

“Enough, Daemon, please…” you bite your lip, as his hands drift across your stomach, settling low on your hips, pulling you flush against him.

The journal has been discarded by your feet, and Daemon only has eyes for you. His voice is genuine when he says, “You have written about me as if I were… someone else. Someone more.”

Your eyes catch how his tongue flicks across his lips. You start to give in, and say, “Daemon, I write only what I see.”

His lips are curled in their familiar roguish way, when he drifts even closer, tilting your face up at him with one hand.

“Daemon…”

“Sweetling… let me give you something to write about.”

In true Daemon fashion, he does not reign himself in. 

His lips land on yours. The impact catches you by surprise, making you take a few steps back, and he promptly follows suit. Your bodies move in sync, until your back collides into one of the marble plinths.

His tongue pries your mouth open wide, snaking past your teeth in a frenzy. Without breaking the kiss, he takes your hands, and guides them to the back of his neck, so that you might hold him in turn. You do, burying your fingers in his silver tresses.

Your lips battle each other, and Daemon tilts your head back so that he might advance more. A low growl escapes his chest as his teeth carefully clamp down on your bottom lip, pulling at the flesh.

He pulls away, pleased at how swollen your lips have become due to his work, “If I were inclined to write as you do, the words would doubtlessly be a tribute to you, sweetling.”

You did not expect that.

Still reeling from the taste of his mouth, you finally smile, though wryly, “You could only be telling me what I wish to hear. Soften my anger at how you invaded my most intimate musings.”

He nods once, one hand reaching up to lean on the plinth above your head. His violet eyes bore into yours, burning with unmistakable desire.

“I could indeed.” He kisses you again, his lips briefly pressing against your own, with a gentleness that is quite unusual for the Rogue Prince. “But mayhaps I shall prove to be quite convincing.”

You take a deep breath, peering up at him in a haze. Your shaky nerves finally settle, and you drink him in. Your rogue muse. The object of your affection, as he now knows. “Prove it then. My new journal is in need of fresh accountings. What better thing to write about than the taste of your lips…”

Another kiss, and another.

“I am yours, sweetling.”

Been a while, loves! Hectic stuff + writing ruts can tend to cause such breaks, but I'm glad to be back and writing again ❤️

Yes, it seems that I sometimes take weeks (even months) to update series works. But then I'll get oneshot ideas, and they get done within a day (like this one). I can't explain it either 🙃

But anyway - series updates up... soon enough!

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen oneshot #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen imagine #matt smith

[houseofhyde]

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

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

DAEMON TARGARYEN MASTER-LIST

DAEMON X READER (MY OCS)

Happiest With You

A Risky Game

Runaway

Somebody I Used To Know

The Calm After The Storm

Everything Goes According To Plan

Fire & Blood

Stay With Me

Unforseen

DAEMON X LEYLA HIGHTOWER

Second Choice

Daddy’s Girl

Baby Blues

DAEMON X ELYS STARK

Unexpected

Moon Tea

Favourite Child

My Loyalties Lie With You

Haven’t I Given Enough?

Underestimate

DAEMON X RHAELLA TARGARYEN

Half-Blood Rivalry

SERIES

The Other Sister

He’s back

Jealousy, Jealousy

Dear Motherhood

A Mended Heart

#daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #house targaryen #fanfiction #matt smith #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #daemon targaryen oneshot #daemon targaryen ff #daemon targaryen headcanon #prince daemon targaryen #prince daemon x reader #hotd headcanon #hotd fanfic #hotd daemon

[sapphire-writes]

Mine to Lose

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

warnings: language, sensual themes, I imagine the reader as a sibling to Rhaenys (so cousins with Daemon).

summary: Your return to the capital reignites the flame between you and Daemon.

note: a little Daemon drabble I’ve been playing around with!

word count: 1.2k

masterlist

It had been several years since you had been in the capital. But after much consideration, your husband had allowed you to stay with him at court. 

Venturing down the halls you stopped outside the doors to the throne room. You could hear the soft sounds of High Valyrian being spoken inside. The doors were slightly ajar, and you peered through the opening. 

Daemon and Rhaenyra were lost in conversation; Daemon observed his niece with a hungry expression on his face. You felt your breath catch in your throat. You had not seen Daemon in years as well. 

“Cousin,” you call as you enter the throne room, throwing open the doors, and causing the pair to leap away from each other. You force a smile on your face. 

“Rhaenyra,” you say, sweetly, as Rhaenyra scurries over to you. Her face is flushed, cheeks rosy. A necklace adorns her neck, Valyrian steel catching the light.

“Sodjisto,” she croons, as her small frame reaches you. You engulf her in a hug, stroking her silver hair, your eyes locked on Daemon. You’ve always been more of an aunt to Rhaenyra than a cousin. 

He is standing tall, hands crossed in front of him, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Dakogon, byka zaldrīzes. īlon ūndegon bē tolī,” you tell Rhaenyra, stroking her cheek. 

Run, little dragon. We catch up later.

Rhaenyra gives her uncle one last longing look, before squeezing your hand and leaving the throne room. 

The silence she leaves in her wake is palpable between you and the Rogue Prince. 

“It has been too long,” Daemon says, breaking the silence. His smile is predatory as he crosses his hands behind his back, his broad chest on display. 

“Rhaenyra is just a child,” you scold, cutting to the chase. You saw the way he looked at her. 

Daemon moves towards you, his strides are long, his face the picture of ease. He is circling you, as a dragon in the skies would its prey. 

“I have missed you.”

The words are salt in an open wound that never healed, despite your time apart. 

“You have a funny way of showing it,” you tell him. 

“I am surprised he does not keep you locked up at Casterly Rock.”

You understand which he Daemon refers to. The man you had been married off to at first chance; your father’s hope that the match would keep you far away from Daemon.

In truth, you had been a prisoner at Casterly Rock for the beginning of your marriage. You found the stony fortress depressing, with little to occupy yourself. 

It appeared that both of you had been carted away to opposite sides of the realm. 

“My lord husband is a member of the small council, his place is at court, as is mine. Aemma enjoys my company.”

“Does your husband?” he asks, a smirk ever present on his face. 

You clasp your hands in front of you, lacing your fingers together, fiddling with the rings that adorn your fingers. 

“My husband prefers the company of common whores to that of a princess. It seems I have a taste for men of that nature,” you tell him, bitterness evident in your tone. Though you did not care for your husband, there was a shame that came with knowing you did not fulfill your duties as a wife. 

Daemon cocks his head to the side, taking in your words, realizing the implication.  

“I never put any whore above you.”

You meet his gaze. Daemon’s lower lip protrudes in a pout, his brow furrowed. As he looks upon you he cannot imagine the stupidity of your Lannister husband. You are an exquisite creature in Daemon’s eyes. 

“You may choose to believe what you wish,” you quip.

Daemon clicks his tongue before it finds purchase between his teeth. 

“Let us retire to your chambers, my head between your legs will quickly silence that sharp tongue of yours.”

You stare each other down for a moment, the side of your mouth tugging upwards slightly.

“How is your wife? I hear you have not been to the Eyrie in many moons,” you throw the accusation like a knife. 

If Daemon is right about one thing, it is your sharp tongue, your wit. 

“I came to court to have the marriage annulled,” Daemon tells you, causing you to scoff. 

“I suppose Viserys told you off.”

A beat. 

“He did.”

You lace your fingers behind your back and begin walking away from him. You look at the Iron Throne and feel Daemon’s gaze burning a hole in the back of your skull. 

“Marriage is simply a political agreement. Why not put a child in her and be done with it?”

“I do not see you with a child, married nearly a year. What do the maesters say to that?”

Though you still face away from him, a smile curls on your lips.

“That fire licks the walls of my womb. Inhabitable for a lion cub.”

You can feel his presence behind you, his breath on the back of your neck. Daemon has always had the ability to slowly creep up on you. A terrifying thought to some, but not you. 

“But not a dragon.”

You turn to face him. Daemon’s eyes search your face, as though memorizing every feature.

“Stop that.”

“Do not deny it.”

“Viserys is already distraught at your return to court, and now you seek to provoke him further?” you question, raising a brow at the Targaryen prince, “What is your business with Rhaenyra?”

“I only wish to adore my dear niece.”

This earns a scoffing noise from you, along with a glare.

“You said similar things to me once.”

Daemon’s smile widens. 

“And I adored you, didn’t I?”

You can feel the blush creeping up your cheeks but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking away. 

“She is just a child.”

“Rhaenyra will not be a child forever.”

“And then? You are a married man Daemon.”

Daemon sighs deeply.

“Did anyone question the Conqueror when he took two wives?” Daemon asks, bringing a hand to stroke your cheek. His fingers leave a trail of fire atop your skin in their wake.

“Did they question Maegor with his?” he continues, eyes dropping to your lips as they wet them.

“No, they nearly tore the realm apart instead,” you told him, “you never listened during our lessons, did you?”

Daemon drops his hand from your face, the loss of contact chilling. 

“Hard to hear the maester with your thighs around my head,” he remarked.

You stick your chin up at him, cheeks hot.

“That never happened,” you tell him, as he chuckles. 

“Perhaps I am misremembering,” he concludes. 

The tension between you is thick, it clings to the walls of the throne room like fog. 

“It is my understanding you shall be participating in today’s tourney?” you ask to clear the air. You are both in the capital now, plenty of time to continue arguing. 

“Does that worry you?” Daemon asks. You shake your head. 

“You are a skilled fighter,” you compliment. Daemon looks you over. 

“Shall I have your favor?” he murmurs, taking a step closer. You tilt your chin to look up at him. 

“Should you ask,” you answer, a soft smile on your face before he covers your mouth with his, fingers fisting in your hair, pulling your body flush against him.

taglist: @tempt-ress

note: if you would like to be added to my taglist, just let me know!

#daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon x you #daemon x y/n #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x y/n #hotd daemon #hotd imagine #daemon oneshot #daemon targaryen oneshot #daemon targaryen imagine #hotd x reader #hotd fic #house of the dragon #fanfic writer

[harbouredsoulss]

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

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

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

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

I hope you enjoy!! 🥰

AFTER DARK | DAEMON TARGARYEN

Summary: see request above!

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

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

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

A03 link

Word Count: 2.4k words

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

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

It had been unexpected, their journey here.

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

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

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

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

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

Her steps faltered when she saw them. 

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

Rhaenyra crept closer, curiosity becoming the better of her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

“Fucking is a pleasure, you see...”

 

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

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

 

“For the woman as it is the man.”

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

 

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

 

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

 

“From fucking who we want.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rhaenyra didn’t know what it was Daemon wanted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her desperation burned like an inferno. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[refiwrites]

ready to risk it all for daemon targaryen tbh

#matt smith #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon series #game of thrones #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #house of the dragon x reader #hotd imagine #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen oneshot

[diamantar]

PROPUESTA DESESPERADA

→ Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!OC [Rhaella Targaryen]

✦ Sinopsis: Para proteger a su padre y hermana, Rhaella está dispuesta a pactar con quien más detesta: su tío.

✦ Advertencias: Incesto / Diferencia de edad / Violencia / Enemistad / ¿Confort?

✦ Palabras: 4437

✦ Nota: ¡Comentarios, likes y reblogs son muy apreciados! ♡

Rodeados de un aura de profunda tristeza, Laenor y Rhaenyra intercambiaron sus votos y los espectadores contuvieron el aliento con el corazón tenso. El estrés dolía en los hombros de cada uno, el comienzo de días de celebración terminando en una boda apresurada a causa de la violenta muerte del amante del Velaryon.

Rhaella inspiró profundo y juntó las manos al frente, absoluta furia dominándola ante el hecho de que Alicent, bañada en color verde, silenciosamente declaró ante los invitados que los Hightower estaban en desacuerdo con las decisiones del Rey. Todos en la mesa principal habían quedado atónitos y sin capacidad de habla, susurros esparciéndose en otras casas ante tremendo escándalo. El impacto fue tan fuerte que anuló la percepción de la joven Targaryen, y ciertamente ignoró las señales que presagiaban una velada desastrosa.

Recordar la traición de la Reina generaba deseos de tomarla del cabello y estrellarla contra el suelo, pero de pronto, Viserys, estando de pie en medio de ambas, tambaleó y en un parpadeo cayó. Jadeos resonaron e inmediatamente los cercanos intentaron auxiliarle, aunque no sabían qué hacer al no presentar dolencias obvias.

—¡Llamen a los sanadores! —gritó Rhaenys tomando el control y evitando que un nuevo caos.

Rhaella se arrodilló y desesperada buscó alguna señal que la guiara, al tomar las manos del Targaryen notando que, bajo uno de los guantes negros, faltaban una gran cantidad de dedos. Terror la cubrió al darse cuenta que lo que creía se derrumbaba, en solo unas horas entendiendo que Alicent era una amenaza y la buena salud de su padre no era más que una fachada.

—Princesa, lo siento, pero debe hacer espacio —indicó Ser Harrold, quien a un costado tenía a un agitado sanador.

Sin pensar agarró la extremidad que ofrecía y se puso de pie, inconscientemente apretando tan fuerte de su palma que el caballero hizo una breve mueca de dolor.

—Hermana —llamó Rhaenyra rodeándola de la cintura y alejándola de la escena.

—Papá… —murmuró preocupada intentando no llorar.

—Estará bien, tranquila —aseguró, aunque ni siquiera ella sabía si eso sería así.

Laena se acercó para abrazarla desde el otro lado y en silencio vieron como lo examinaban, Alicent moviéndose por el perímetro en clara incomodidad hasta que fue a buscar la corona que yacía en el suelo. El trío se tensó de inmediato y Rhaella abrió grande los ojos sintiendo un insulto que sus desagradables manos tocaran algo tan importante, la Hightower ignorando a todos y en silencio yendo a donde transportaban a su marido.

—Iré —anunció Corlys sin perder tiempo, a paso largo siguiendo el grupo y dejando a Rhaenys para consolarlas y cuidar de su hijo.

—Lamento que sucediera de ésta manera, pero… felicidades en su unión —dijo Laena con una triste sonrisa, enseguida abrazando al chico.

El masculino arrugó el ceño y se hundió en la familiaridad, así llorando con algo más de soltura mientras escenarios de futuros catastróficos se generaban en la mente de la Targaryen menor.

—Maldita perra de los Hightower —escupió con un enojo que no combinaba con la angustia general.

—¡Rhaella! —regañó su hermana, enseguida mirando los alrededores y deseando que nadie le hubiera escuchado insultar a la reina.

—Ser Harwin —llamó al liberarse de quienes la sostenían, casi ni dejando que hablara antes de inclinarse a su oído—. Busca a Daemon y llévalo a mi habitación. Es importante, no debe escapar.

El Strong la observó unos momentos en profunda reflexión y asintió, enseguida partiendo a cumplir la orden.

—¿Qué harás? —preguntó Rhaenyra disminuyendo la distancia.

La joven la miró a sus violáceos ojos y sintió el pecho oprimirse en cariño, las emociones del día provocando que realmente apreciara a quienes amaba.

—Tengo un plan para cuidarte.

—¿De qué? —frunció el ceño.

—Todo —rió con desgano—. Alicent te abandonó y nada detendrá a Otto de impulsar a su nieto al trono.

—Soy la heredera —dijo de inmediato con tono ofendido.

—Dudo que a ellos les importe demasiado. Una mujer jamás reinó y cantarán cada razón por la cual no eres adecuada, además…

—¿Qué?

—Papá tiene una enfermedad, algo le sucede a su cuerpo, en el suelo lo descubrí —confesó, una nueva ola de angustia haciendo que se le cerrara la garganta—. Tu mayor apoyo está debilitándose.

Rhaenyra apretó los labios y arrugó la frente, su estómago y pecho tensándose en conflicto.

—¿Cuál es tu idea?

—No es el momento ni el lugar —susurró apreciando los pocos presentes—. Mañana te explicaré.

—Esperar en intriga es insoportable —inclinó la cabeza tomándola de la mano.

—Confía en mí, debo pulir unos detalles antes de informarte.

La primogénita se le quedó viendo y abatida asintió, agarradas a la otra acercándose a los Velaryon y notando la duda que tenían ante la secreta conversación. Rhaella hizo una sonrisa torcida y desvió la atención felicitando a los recién casados, enseguida compartiendo sus lamentos por Joffrey Lonmouth.

—Aguardemos por noticias en el patio, éste lugar no es apropiado —comentó Laena aún sosteniendo al joven, disimuladamente señalando los restos líquidos del fallecido.

—Si, por supuesto —asintió Rhaenyra colocando una mano en la cintura de Laenor.

Avanzaron hacia las puertas y la segunda en línea al Trono de Hierro hizo lo mejor para tapar la sangre de la vista del Velaryon, un pequeño empujón de su madre animándolo a no frenar. Miradas curiosas y apenadas se posaron en ellos a medida que avanzaban, los recién casados debiendo fingir sonrisas a quienes los congratulaban.

—Será mejor que vayan a los dormitorios, tendrán calma allí —indicó Rhaella con la frente arrugada, las interacciones en tal desequilibro emocional fastidiándola demasiado.

—Avisaremos cuando existan novedades —informó la superior del grupo, su expresión generalmente severa no dando lugar a replicas.

Laenor asintió y su hermana eligió acompañarle, Rhaenyra dándole un vistazo a la menor antes de partir.

—¿Cómo te sientes? —preguntó Rhaenys.

—Preocupada y confundida —suspiró antes de cerrar los ojos y negar con cansancio.

—El acto de la Reina fue todo un espectáculo, los murmullos continuarán durante meses.

—No lo menciones que me hierve la sangre —encajó la mandíbula, cualquier agotamiento borrándose en el fuego que se encendió en el pecho.

—Temía que ésto sucediera, sin dudas a Rhaenyra le esperan desafíos para llegar al trono.

La joven le miró poco agradecida por sus conclusiones, algo en la forma de hablar entregándole escasa confianza.

—Soy consciente.

Trató de ignorar el tema y en conjunto caminaron a uno de los jardines, con la mayor elegancia posible sentándose en uno de lo bancos a mirar el cielo. Rhaella apenas notaba lo que sucedía alrededor y perdida admiró el anochecer, por dentro aliviándose de no ver a Caraxes por los cielos.

—Princesa Rhaenys, Princesa Rhaella —llamó Ser Harrold con paso calmo y una mano en el mango de la espada—. Traigo buenas noticias.

Ambas se pusieron de pie y escucharon, con sonrisas respirando en paz al oír que Viserys había despertado y conversaba con normalidad. La única explicación de los médicos fue un pico de estrés a causa del trabajo y los horribles eventos del día, así que estaba reposando con visitas limitadas para evitar agitaciones emocionales.

—¿Podré verlo?

—Deberá consultar con el Gran Maestre.

Rhaella asintió y Rhaenys dijo que fuera a los aposentos de su padre mientras avisaba a los demás, a lo que la femenina tomó la oportunidad y desapareció por los pasillos. Consultó con Mellos y minutos fueron otorgados, con aura amable ingresando hasta que apreció la presencia de Alicent. La observó con dureza y se encaminó al sillón donde el hombre descansaba notablemente apaleado, una sirvienta acercándole una silla.

Sonrió y lo agarró de la mano viendo que la otra estaba completamente vendada, en el proceso avisándole que la boda terminó sin más novedades y podía reposar tranquilo.

—Qué alegría —murmuró cerrando los ojos y dejando caer la cabeza en el respaldo—. ¿La familia está bien?

—Preocupada por ti, pero Rhaenys fue a dar las noticias de que estás vivo —rió intentando subirle el espíritu.

—Si mis parientes siguen dándome disgustos o sorpresas, no sé cuánto más tiempo pueda decir que lo estoy —suspiró elevando ambas cejas.

—Lo sé, se arregla un inconveniente y aparece otro —coincidió en el proceso de mirar a Alicent de arriba a abajo.

—Hija… —apretó su mano llamándole la atención—. ¿Tú cómo estás?

—Mejor ahora que puedo hablar contigo.

Viserys sonrió y la miró conmovido.

—No pierdas tu tiempo con éste viejo, intenta encontrar a alguien y ser feliz… Eso me dejaría tranquilo.

—¿Sugieres que busque un esposo?

—Nunca me has dado problema, así que puedo otorgarte ese beneficio.

Rhaella miró el suelo con una mueca de gracia e inspiró profundo antes de inclinarse y hablarle en secreto.

—Tengo alguien en mente, pero no te gustará —dijo, de alguna manera intentando verse inocente y apenada para apelar a su sensibilidad.

—¿Quién? —frunció el ceño al tiempo que se sentaba más derecho.

Ambos se miraron en silencio y él pareció comprender, anonadado empezando a tomar color en el rostro por el impacto.

—Shhh —negó suave como si hablara con un niño—. Tengo un plan, es por una buena razón, pero debes confiar en mí.

—No, Rhaella, no…

—Quieto, debes estar en paz —señaló con más volumen para que Alicent la apoyara y así cortar la conversación.

—Las indicaciones del Gran Maestre fueron claras —añadió la Reina poniéndose de pie—. Dormir te hará bien, llamaré para que te preparen.

Viserys separó los labios con intenciones de pelear, pero enseguida se rindió a las ordenes de su esposa.

—Hablaremos pronto, ¿de acuerdo? —acarició su mano con ambas suyas.

—Reconsidera lo que has decidido —dijo con el ceño fruncido.

—Es por un bien mayor, para mantener el nombre de nuestra familia y evitar futuros problemas —dijo exudando confianza—. No te preocupes, de verdad.

El Targaryen la miró inseguro y negó cerrando los ojos.

—No hagas nada imprudente hasta que me expliques qué pasa por esa cabeza tuya.

—Primero debo saber si él estará de acuerdo por lo que pasa en ésta cabeza mía —rió dándole unas palmadas—. Hay cosas que no sabes, así que mantenerlo cerca será beneficioso en varios sentidos.

—Siempre has sido la más sensata, aunque ahora…

—Poseo buenas razones, es decir, tú sabes del desagrado que le tengo.

—Justamente, temo que los eventos de hoy te hayan dañado el juicio.

—Somos la Casa del Dragón, nuestras mentes no trabajan como las del resto —guiñó un ojo, pero Viserys no estaba tan jovial como ella.

Intentó calmarlo y quitarle las molestias, pero fueron interrumpidos por Mellos y Lyonel Strong.

—Lo siento, Princesa, pero el Rey debe descansar.

Asintiendo, ella se puso de pie y lo abrazó entregando las buenas noches. Se encaminó a la salida y le miró una última vez notando la suplica en sus ojos, por lo que sonrió e hizo un gesto de despedida antes de cerrar la puerta.

Ya a solas, suspiró y frotó las sienes a paso pesado hasta ver a Ser Harwin custodiar la entrada de su habitación.

—¿Ha esperado mucho? —preguntó parando frente a él.

—Lo necesario.

—¿Pudiste cumplir?

—Absolutamente, Princesa —confirmó, disimulado echando una mirada a los aposentos.

Rhaella entrecerró los ojos e inspiró profundo intentando calmar los repentinos nervios.

—Gracias, eso será todo por hoy.

Avanzó unos pasos y amagó a tomar el pomo cuando él estiró un brazo, rígido evitando que le dejara. Ella sostuvo la extremidad al haberlo chocado y miró sorprendida con los labios entreabiertos.

—Vigilaré, si necesita ayuda llame o haga estruendo.

—D-De acuerdo —respondió algo descolocada.

Harwin prolongó el momento unos segundos y liberó el camino, Rhaella tragando y centrándose antes de ingresar. La habitación estaba en penumbras y la luz de las antorchas del pasillo desapareció una vez que cerró la puerta, las velas esparcidas cumpliendo un rol mucho más débil que las grandes llamas.

Los rincones estaban oscuros y avanzó lento mirando alrededor, naturalmente llegando al tocador y enfocándose en quitarse la joyería.

—Empezaba a pensar que me dejarías aguardando toda la noche.

Incluso si sabía que estaba allí, su voz la sobresaltó y provocó que trastabillara en los simples movimientos que realizaba.

—Vengo de visitar a tu hermano —respondió sin girar—. ¿Te interesa saber?

—Hace años que su salud no es óptima, dudo que lo sucedido hoy sea otra cuestión que logre sorprenderme.

—¿Por qué no hablaste? Nadie sabía —recriminó con cierto enojo.

—No me inmiscuyo en los asuntos de los demás.

Rhaella lanzó la cabeza hacia atrás y soltó una fuerte risa sarcástica, la cual duró poco para continuar con los accesorios de su cabello.

—En todo caso, la salud de papá es solo una de las razones por las que te llamé.

—Escucho —anunció indiferente, y ella podía imaginar que estaba cruzado de brazos con una expresión completamente aburrida.

La joven Targaryen inspiró y detestó el enorme nudo en su estómago, los nervios y la ansiedad enredándose como dos serpientes que la comían desde adentro.

—Más allá de si tus intenciones con Rhaenyra son amorosas o por conveniencia, tenerte cerca sería un gran beneficio en más de un sentido. Sé que tu lealtad a la Casa del Dragón es inquebrantable y que, a tu muy retorcida manera, intentas cuidar de todos —confesó, vociferar aquello generando cierto disgusto—. Pensé que con la boda los problemas se habrían solucionado, pero entonces Alicent decidió convertirse en la molestia principal. Hasta hora creí que al menos estaba de nuestro lado cuando no intentó empujar a su primogénito como heredero al trono, pero hoy su fidelidad claramente cambió y ya poseé dos hijos varones que ofrecer.

—¿Vas a pedir que los mate?

La pregunta la tomó por sorpresa y elevó ambas cejas antes de soltar la respiración que guardaba en una risa aireada.

—Es una idea tentadora, pero no.

—¿Entonces?

Rhaella apretó los labios y decidió terminar después con el cabello, así volteando y enfrentando por primera vez al hombre. Se hallaba a unos cuantos metros, cerca de su cama, y estaba apoyado contra la pared en la posición que había pensado. Aún usaba las ropas de la celebración y lucía bastante arreglado considerando que desapareció con una rapidez espectacular cuando el caos estalló.

Inclinó la cabeza y juntó fuerza, por un momento desanimándose al recordar que no era más que una niña intentando atrapar a un rebelde y violento adulto para sus planes.

—Te propongo un matrimonio, conmigo —indicó lo más natural posible.

Daemon elevó ambas cejas en absoluta incredulidad. Silencio cayó entre ambos y él no dejó de verla mientras su mente iba a completa velocidad, varias ideas surgiendo y pareciendo hacerlo entender.

—¿Cuáles son tus razones para caer en ésta conclusión?

—Mi padre, Rhaenyra y el futuro de los Targaryen —resumió, acto seguido dando un paso y juntando las manos en la espalda en señal de que aún tenía la palabra—. Siendo mi esposo tendrás una gran cantidad de beneficios, considerando que ahora estás en absoluta desventaja...

—¿Disculpa? —interrumpió despegándose de la pared.

—Déjame terminar —dijo seca sin mostar debilidad al repentino destello de amenaza—. Durante mucho tiempo has estado lejos de casa y al regresar solo tuviste ojos para Rhaenyra, lo cual no es algo que me moleste, pero dudo que hayas sido capaz de apreciar la profundidad de la conexión de nuestras almas como amigas y hermanas. Independientemente de la ley, ella ya ha comunicado que seré su heredera, y siendo mi esposo podrás avanzar y saltar a todo los hijos que Alicent y mi padre generen. Nuevamente estarás segundo en la línea de sucesión, como consorte, aunque no importa mucho el rol que ocupes cuando mi buena imagen ante el pueblo opaque tus… caprichos y te tomen como un digno referente —explicó con el corazón acelerado, por dentro deseando verse tan firme como sus palabras sonaron.

Daemon, que lento caminaba por la habitación y acortaba la distancia, tenía la mirada igual de afilada que Hermana Oscura.

—¿Has pensado en profundidad la propuesta?

—Al principio consideraba la forma de ayudar a Rhaenyra cuando los gustos de Laenor se desvían de lo que se espera de nosotros, pero luego del espectáculo de Alicent entendí que tu participación es sumamente importante para frenar a los Hightower —realizó una pausa y miró a un costado ligeramente nerviosa por lo que iba admitir—. Como segunda heredera al Trono de Hierro no deseo reinar junto a cualquier idiota, o peor, que me obliguen a dejar mi puesto y los hijos de Alicent sean los siguientes en línea. Ningún Targaryen merece estar al poder si son parientes de Otto.

—Sabias palabras —coincidió de inmediato—. Sin embargo, podría pasarte como a mí y los hijos de tu hermana podrán ser proclamados por encima de ti.

—No importa —aseguró de inmediato—. Los originales de ésta familia son mis padres, tú, Rhaenyra y yo, mi verdadero interés es que el poder se mantenga entre nosotros.

—Así que propones una boda conmigo para elevarme en la sucesión, ¿pero luego indicas que plácidamente harás que me aleje de la corona por los hijos de mi sobrina? —preguntó con sorna—. ¿De ésta manera esperas convencerme de ahogarme en otro matrimonio?

—¿No has entendido todo lo que he implicado? Deseo que nos unamos para que también puedas estar con Rhaenyra y en secreto engendrar los hijos que supuestamente serán de Laenor. Acepté ser heredera para quitar a los Hightower, pero no me opondré a que los descendientes de mi hermana y tío tomen la corona.

Daemon quedó en blanco y paró su caminar, sus ojos violetas buscando que tanta falsedad había en esas declaraciones.

—¿Hablas en serio?

—Absolutamente —asintió sosteniéndole la mirada—. El único problema será que empezarán a presionar para que nosotros tengamos hijos, y no sé si es algo que podamos evitar cuando necesito que vivas en la Fortaleza Roja y no huyas como con Rhea Royce.

El hombre guardó silencio y pausadamente la observó de arriba a abajo, a lo que ella retrocedió cruzando los brazos.

—No —frenó su inspección con suma sequedad.

—¿Qué? —fingió desentender.

—No me mires así.

—¿Cómo? —acortó la distancia con una pequeña mueca, un atisbo de gracia empezando a pintar sus facciones.

—No me analices, veme a la cara —gruñó entre dientes.

—¿Tímida? —enarcó una ceja.

—Disgustada, como siempre que tengo la desgracia de ver tu comportamiento.

Un musculo del rostro de Daemon tembló en señal de que el comentario molestó.

—Si seremos hombre y mujer en algún momento deberás entregarte a mí, como dijiste, esperarán que hagamos descendientes.

—No será ésta noche, debo preparar mi estómago para soportar las nauseas —arrugó la nariz y le dio la espalda levantando ambas manos al cabello, así enfocando los nervios en quitar el resto de decoraciones.

—Ciertamente Rhaenyra y tú son muy apegadas, pero difieren en muchas cosas —comentó posicionándose a centímetros de su cuerpo, apenas doblando el cuello para hablarle al oído.

—¿Cómo qué? —disimuló interés mientras con un hombro lo empujaba, pero su fuerza no bastó y él siguió clavado en el lugar.

—Ella se entregó a mí de inmediato, entusiasmada por experimentar lo que puedo ofrecer.

—Lo sé, pero, ¿qué sucedió contigo? —volteó un momento y realizó un movimiento desdeñoso a su zona baja—. Cualquiera mataría por tocar a mi hermana, ¿bebiste mucho o fue la edad?

Daemon borró cualquier signo de burla y en un borrón la abrazó por la cintura, la mano libre yendo a sostenerla alto en el cuello. Inmediatamente, Rhaella, llevó ambas palmas a los dígitos que amenazaban con cortar el aire y desesperada intentó liberarse hasta que él la aprisionó contra el tocador.

—¿Por qué provocar cuando me habías cautivado? —preguntó con supuesta inocencia, la manera tétrica de hablar enviando intensos escalofríos—. Tus palabras sobre mi lealtad inquebrantable y deseos de proteger la casa Targaryen llegaron a mí, ¿por qué arruinarlo?

—T-Tú empezaste —contestó, la garganta sufriendo al no tener espacio para funcionar.

El hombre chasqueó la lengua y negó, sus labios yendo a rozar el borde de la oreja izquierda.

—Sé que no te atraigo, así que yo solo estaba viendo si serías capaz de excitarme, nada más.

—Pervertido —gruñó alejando la cabeza, pero la mano del hombre tenía total control de posición.

—Claro que no, jamás dormí con mi exesposa, ¿eso no habla bien de mí? No fuerzo a mujeres incluso si es por deber.

—So-lo porque e-ella no te gustaba.

Daemon tomó parte del mentón y tiró la cabeza hacia atrás, así haciendo que le mirara a los ojos. Guardaron silencio entre ocasionales sonidos de la Targaryen por la constricción e incomoda posición, el pulgar masculino acariciando la suave piel.

—Eres tan bonita, Rhaella —confesó con inesperada calma, y eso la hizo fruncir más el ceño—. Para bien o para mal, no deberías enfadar a los hombres si sabes que no puedes ganarles. Te tomarán y harán lo que quieran contigo, y luego deberás vivir con las pesadillas.

—¿Estás acon-sejándome de ésta manera?

—Una demostración gratuita y libre de consecuencias —sonrió, enseguida aflojando el agarre del cuello.

La joven pudo respirar mejor y casi expulsó un suspiro de alivio, su pecho subiendo y bajando con rapidez ante el nuevo flujo de aire.

—Vaya manera de hacer que te aprecie —gruñó viéndolo con nula simpatía.

Daemon elevó la mano de la cintura y corrió algunos cabellos rebeldes del femenino rostro, luego acariciándolo con admiración.

—Rhaenyra es una niña, y tú aún más, por eso no actuaré en ustedes. Aún así, me gustaría ser quien te enseñe para que te acostumbres a lo que vendrá cuando debamos compartir cama.

Ella se sonrojó y desvío las pupilas a mirar por la ventana más cercana.

—Tarde para ti, alguien más ya me ha enseñado —dijo con notable vergüenza, pero no se comparaba a la pena que sentía por dentro.

—¿Qué? —inquirió en voz elevada.

—No importa —dijo de inmediato—. No importa quién o cómo, mi único interés es que aceptes y defendamos nuestro hogar...

Daemon la silenció subiendo la mano hasta su boca, por un momento mirando al frente e intentando que sus emociones no se descontrolaran.

—¿Quién sabe de ésto? —preguntó al tiempo que libreaba los labios.

—Rhaenyra, solo ella.

—Eres más joven que tu hermana, aquel que te tocara debe ser ejecutado —gruñó con el puente de la nariz arrugado, la mueca en sus labios dándole un aspecto casi salvaje.

—Fue con mi consentimiento, estábamos en una relación —defendió de inmediato en tono preocupado—. Me cortejo y a los meses decidí que lo hiciéramos, me respetó y cuidó de mí... Su madre ya no trabaja aquí y desconozco dónde está, así que olvídalo.

—¿Olvidarlo? —preguntó al tiempo que la soltaba y la hacia girar—. ¿Sabes el riesgo que tomaste?

Rhaella jadeó sin saber qué hacer, tensa dejándose atrapar nuevamente contra el tocador mientras analizaba la expresión de su tío.

—Si, pero confíe en mi juicio y él resultó ser lo que esperaba —explicó rápido—. Tomé precauciones, mi cuerpo no ha cambiado y sigo sangrando.

—¡Aún así!

—¡Déjalo! —exclamó harta amagando a empujarlo, pero la frenó un golpe de la mano masculina en la mesa donde se poyaba.

El ruido sirvió para cortar el ambiente y los dos se miraron en silencio, agitados aguardando que el otro atacara hasta finalmente deslizarse a una silenciosa tregua.

—Te juzgué mal, ustedes dos son demasiado parecidas.

—Ciertamente, solo que mi deseo no está dirigido a ti.

—¿Podrías tratar?

—¿Rhaenyra te es insuficiente? —consultó ofendida y empezando a exaltarse de nuevo.

—Jamás, pero estaremos juntos de aquí en adelante, al menos debería gustarte un poco.

—No te odio, y creo que eso muchísimo considerando lo que acabas de hacer.

Daemon suspiró e hizo una sonrisa entre divertida y abatida, una palma escabulléndose a sostenerla de la mejilla.

—Lamentaría el susto si no lo considerara necesario, es peligroso si no sabes con quién tratas.

—Entiendo, pero no te perdono —respondió simple.

Rhaella, con una sinceridad extrema que solo parecía salir con su familiar, le observó en blanco y prosiguió a comentar que al día siguiente iría a explicar el plan a Rhaenyra.

—Puedo hablar con Viserys —ofreció Daemon irguiéndose y dejando de atraparla entre sus brazos.

—No, solo lanzarás mi idea a la basura —rechazó de inmediato—. Yo me encargo de ésto, a menos de la etapa inicial. Él confía en mí y ya le he dado una idea de lo que haré, solo debe enterarse de las razones. Conmigo basta para convencerlo.

—Niña autosuficiente, siempre fuiste su favorita —sonrió yendo a quitarle los últimos dos adornos del cabello.

—Por supuesto que no, no posee favoritas, simplemente tengo más favores porque no genero problemas.

—Pero pronto le darás un gran disgusto pidiéndome como tu esposo.

—Mi primer acto de rebelión, qué desperdicio… —cruzó los brazos.

—El primero que él conoce, porque moriría si le dijeras que mantuviste una relación secreta y perdiste la virginidad.

—��Saber no te da derecho a comentarlo tan libremente! —chilló dándole un sutil golpe en el pecho.

—Lo siento, pero es información que absolutamente no esperaba de ti.

—Por eso es mejor hacer las cosas en calma y sin ruido, puedes actuar en paz y vivir como quieras. En cambio tú, que siempre llamas la atención y provocas escándalo, terminas con más restricciones que libertades.

Daemon, enfocado en sacar los ganchos que mantenían las trenzas en lugar, guardó silencio y por largo rato ninguno dijo nada. Rhaella cerró los ojos y disfrutó como aquellos dedos entrenados para la guerra desarmaban con delicadeza el peinado, por primera vez relajándose en todo el día.

—Incluso si me detestas y sueñas con que caiga de Caraxes para nunca aparecer, disfrutaré de nuestros momentos como pareja.

La confesión la desconcentró de su paz e hizo que elevara los parpados, aunque la tranquilidad permaneció incluso cuando él se inclinó a su misma altura. Le observó atenta y permaneció quieta cuando empezó a acortar la distancia, las respiraciones mezclándose hasta que ella giró la cabeza unos milímetros. El rechazo fue increíblemente pequeño, pero hablaba volúmenes de la reticencia hacia él, y Daemon depositó un ligero beso en la comisura más cercana antes de retroceder.

—Buenas noches, esposa.

El término envió temblores a cada rincón de la femenina y miró como iba hacia la puerta, al salir sintiendo que un enorme peso la abandonaba. Con la mano hábil rozó su cuello y una chispa de furia brilló en la boca del estómago, absolutamente entendiendo que ella era la más parecida a su padre: sin dudas detestaba la forma de ser y actuar de Daemon, pero jamás podría odiarlo.

#hotd #house of the dragon #la casa del dragón #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen oneshot #hotd x oc #hotd imagine #hotd scenario #hotd scenarios #daemon #aemond targaryen x reader #oneshot #oneshots #imagine #imagines #scenario #scenarios

[happilyhertale]

Revealing council meeting - Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: Looking for your husband, you find him in the council chamber, already waiting for the other councillors to arrive. But you realise that the stress of the last few weeks is still weighing heavily on him...

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Minors do not continue reading! Oral (m receiving)

Author’s note: Hey you (:

A little one shot Daemon story that came out of fooling around with the lovely @autumnhymns – my other Daemon wifey. We both wrote this story without discussing exactly how, what happens... soo enjoy it! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 2.5 k

Other stories of mine

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You open the ornate door to the small council chamber and exert overwhelming pressure with your small figure. The massive wood gives way with a quiet creak and grants you entry. The room unfolds before you - Daemon, who is at the centre of the room, has taken his usual place at the polished table. His forehead is furrowed with lines of concentration as he studies a parchment spread out in front of him.

At the sight of your husband engrossed in the affairs of the realm, a sense of worry flickers in your heart. Night after night you have lent him a patient ear, kneaded away the tension in his shoulders and endured his frustrations with the less competent members of the council. But tonight he is already waiting for the upcoming council meeting, and the look on his face is one of frustration.

You enter the room, and the door closes with a resounding bang. Daemon, momentarily startled by the abrupt closing of the door, looks up and his eyes meet yours with a mixture of surprise and fleeting vulnerability. However, this brief moment is quickly replaced by his characteristic composure. A subtle smile graces his lips, while your own smile reflects the shared recognition of a familiar connection.

You walk towards him, your dress rustling with every step. Next to him, you come to a halt, place your hand on his arm and gently caress his firm muscles through the fabric of his shirt. Daemon looks up at you, still smiling, "A sight for sore eyes is always welcome at the table..." he murmurs, "...I must admit I was expecting to see the other councillors"

You smile at him as his hand reaches up and lightly caresses your cheek, the look in his violet eyes meeting yours.

The stress in his eyes doesn't go unnoticed and now you frown.

"You've been very stressed lately, my love," you whisper.

Your hand glides up and down his arm and the feeling sends a slight shiver down Daemon's spine.

Like two magnets attracting each other, Daemon leans forward a little and you follow his movement - your lips meet gently. Until the kiss is interrupted slightly as you feel a smile forming on his lips.

"But you're right... I'm very stressed... Would you be kind enough to help me de-stress tonight?" he whispers against your lips.

You giggle slightly and shake your head gently. "You're impossible," you whisper, but his grin doesn't falter.

You gently take his face in your hands and your fingers glide over his rough skin as an idea occurs to you.

"Let me ease your stress, Daemon... Until the other council members arrive," you whisper, mirroring his grin.

Daemon chuckles lightly, "I think I like where this is going," he murmurs as his mouth glides along your cheek, paving the way with kisses. His hand moves to your bum and grips it lightly, kneading your soft flesh.

"I want you," Daemon whispers and nibbles lightly on your earlobe.

Your smile widens and without hesitation, you get down on your knees and Daemon looks at you, a little irritated, until you crawl under the table and take a seat between his legs. You smile at him and bite your lip lightly - hidden by the table and tablecloth, you start to undo his belt.

Daemon growls slightly, "Love... The others will arrive soon..." he whispers. But the bulge in his trousers says otherwise, pressing further and further against the fabric of his trousers as you begin to open his trousers.

"Then you'd better keep it down," you whisper cheekily in reply.

Daemon growls again and his hands clench slightly on the table. He's excited by what's in store for him, but at the same time he's a little distracted by the fact that the rest of the small council could walk in at any moment. He is torn between his duty and your body. The pull of his desire is stronger than the call of duty. He growls again, leans his head back a little.

You free his already hard manhood from his trousers and bite your lip even harder. Even after all these years of marriage, you can't get enough of that magnificent cock. You look at Daemon and notice him watching you again, the purple in his eyes unrecognisable. Your hand begins to glide lightly up and down his long shaft, feeling the familiar vein on his hot length.

Daemon hisses slightly and then you hear the door to the council chamber open and the other councillors enter the room. Low murmurs fill the chamber and you see Daemon look up.

But you don't stop.

He hisses again, but says nothing. He clears his throat briefly so as not to appear conspicuous. His hands are still gripping the edge of the table and he looks down at you with a mischievous smile. The other council members are chatting amongst themselves, barely paying attention to Daemon - and they don't notice you kneeling under the table. But the fact that you are not supposed to draw attention to yourself excites you both. Daemon is completely consumed with lust for you and another low growl escapes him as your hand continues to move up and down. His hips move slightly to create more friction. Barely noticeable, but you don't miss this slight movement as he tries to move his hips towards your hand.

The other council members greet Daemon briefly, but he only nods to them.

As the greetings of the other council members echo through the room, you lean forward slightly and enclose his hard member with your tender lips. Meanwhile, your eyes are fixed on Daemon as you gently suck on the tip of his cock. His eyes close briefly and he bites his lip for a moment.

The movements that follow make Daemon's hands grip the edge of the table even tighter. Up and down your head moves, wetting his hot length with saliva.

The voice of your father, King Viserys, rings out and now you know that the council meeting has officially begun.

Daemon is very busy suppressing other noises that could give you away, but he is still fully focussed on his feeling of pleasure. He tries to listen to King Viserys' words, but to no avail. Whatever your father is talking about is just background noise to him. In his mind, and compared to what you're doing with your tongue under the table, Viserys is talking about the most boring thing in the world.

While your gaze remains focussed on Daemon, watching his face closely, you move your head up and down slightly faster. As you hollow your cheeks a little and start sucking, a low moan escapes Daemon and your head suddenly bangs against the tabletop. Daemon gasps briefly, but reacts immediately and quickly slams his fist on the table. Viserys pauses for a moment and the other council members look at Daemon, but his expression gives nothing away. Viserys looks slightly irritated, but turns away from Daemon again and continues talking. Daemon exhales a little heavily and tries to look normal - but it's getting more and more difficult.

Your tongue slides around the tip of his cock while your hand glides up and down its length. The salty flavour of his precum is already spreading on your tongue. You suck on its tip again and your hand slides up and down faster. When a sudden violent twitch goes through Daemon's entire cock and you briefly lose him from your mouth. But Daemon suddenly leans back, gasps loudly and closes his eyes, and as your lips encircle his cock again, he reacts with another violent twitch. He can no longer control himself, an "Oh gods!" escapes his lips. The other councillors look in his direction, startled. When Daemon remembers where he is, he opens his eyes again. He looks at the irritated faces of the councillors. "Forgive me," he says quickly and clears his throat slightly.

"If you can't contribute to the discussion, then please shut up, Daemon," Viserys says to him, somewhat annoyed, and turns back to the others without waiting for an answer.

Your movements slacken briefly, but when the council members start discussing again, you resume your movements. It proves difficult at first, however, as you have to make an effort to suppress a slight laugh as you begin to suck again and listen to the council members' words.

Daemon closes his eyes briefly and feels the heat rising inside him. You know exactly what to do to him and how to do it - and it's driving him crazy right now. He moans slightly again and can barely sit still, finding it harder and harder to control himself as your tongue and lips work wonders.

But the slight moan leaves his lips again as the underside of your tongue glides over its sensitive tip - his cock twitches again.

King Viserys glances in Daemon's direction again, annoyed. Daemon coughs quickly, "It's... It's nothing," he says, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Er... Just... I just had to think of something," Daemon mumbles. He looks down at you briefly and sees you trying to stifle a giggle as your lips still cup the tip of his member.

"Bloody hell," Daemon whispers to you, and he slides one of his hands under the table, into your hair. At first you think he's going to stop you, but his hand just stays in your hair as you take his entire length into your mouth. The council is discussing trade agreements with the free cities or something equally boring - Daemon only catches bits and pieces.

Viserys looks over at Daemon, raises an eyebrow questioningly and shakes his head slightly. Suddenly you gag slightly and your throat tightens around the tip of his hard manhood - Daemon hisses again.

"Well... Daemon..." says Viserys, now visibly annoyed and not just slightly, "Maybe you'll just listen and stop disrupting the meeting."

Otto Hightower suddenly chuckles slightly. Daemon's eyes fall on him and he gives him a snide look. The only reason that stops him from taunting him is that Otto has no idea what pleasure he's feeling right now. The way you're kneeling under that table right now to suck his cock and not even the cup bearer would do that for Otto.

You suck harder and another twitch runs through his hot length, you whimper slightly.

Daemon focuses on you again, feeling his body literally quiver as you continue to pleasure him, "Yes... I'll be quiet," he finally mumbles as he squirms slightly in his seat. His mouth is slightly open and he looks back down at you. The rest of the council resumes the discussion. Daemon glances over at Viserys and sees the annoyed look on his brother's face. But he averts his gaze just as quickly to focus entirely on what you're doing with your mouth. He leans back slightly; it's not easy to let yourself go completely, to savour the feeling of pleasure without letting on. He clutches the tabletop with renewed vigour.

More and more precum fills your mouth and you take his member deeper into your mouth. Almost pleadingly, you look up at Daemon, literally begging him to come in your mouth.

Daemon can't suppress the next hiss and you feel his hand suddenly tighten its grip in your hair.

The others are still talking about the politics of the realm, you just pay attention to the salty taste on your tongue and the way Daemon's breathing quickens. And just like you, Daemon doesn't care about anyone else at this moment. He is even more indifferent to the fact that he is in a room with the men who make the most important decisions for the realm. He growls slightly and tries to control himself. He squeezes your hair tightly in his hand and tries to hold back.

When Daemon groans again, Viserys speaks to him warningly. "Daemon. For the last time, if you have a problem, just say so," Viserys says angrily. But Daemon just shakes his head slightly. Viserys looks annoyed, but turns back to the others. Otto gives Daemon a suspicious look, but can't explain why he's behaving so strangely. Finally, he turns his gaze away and nods at Viserys.

But you are not distracted and continue to suck, Daemon's hand in your hair tightens and you feel his cock twitch violently. You look up at him again and the moment your eyes meet, the next twitch runs through him and you taste his cum. You can't suppress a slight whimper while your eyes are still focussed on him. Breathing heavily and groaning softly, he pours into your mouth.

The other council members are still chatting while you suck him off.

Daemon moans slightly again and looks down at you, his body shaking formally while your lips are still wrapped around him, but he feels relieved. He looks at you with a mischievous smile, "How does it taste, my love?" he whispers softly.

You smile and swallow all his cum. You lick his hard manhood clean, still smiling.

"Daemon, what did you say?" says Viserys suddenly. Everyone looks at him again. And before Daemon can answer, you crawl out from under the table. The others see you now and look shocked, a murmur of outrage goes through the council chamber - but Viserys is the most shocked of all. He stares at you, his daughter and Daemon in shock. 

"Y/N?!" your father finally says.

But you just smile and stand next to Daemon, still a little dazed by the situation. You kiss him gently on the cheek, "You taste delicious, love," you whisper softly.

Everyone stares at you in disbelief, but you don't react to their stares. Daemon's arm goes round your waist, he pulls you gently towards him and whispers in your ear, "You're a cheeky girl and I love you for it"

You just smile and bite your lip. Until your father's voice rings out again and you are brought back to reality, "Y/N! This is not acceptable behaviour!"

You look at him now, "Forgive me, Father," you say quietly, feeling everyone staring at you. But you're not really sorry, you enjoyed it.

You smile at Daemon again, "I'll see you later, love," you whisper and turn to leave the council chambers.

Daemon's eyes follow you as you walk away. Even after you leave the room, his eyes remain on the door. He smiles and gives the other council members a smug look. When his eyes meet Otto's again, he smiles triumphantly, as if to rub his nose in what a great wife he has. He's never cared much for their opinion, and that's not going to change now.

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Tag list:

@hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemonds-eyeball @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @valeskafics @dreamlandcreations @hopelesswritergall @wetbichlibrary

#prince daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x reader #the rogue prince #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen oneshot #matt smith #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon smut #daemon stannies #prince daemon #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x niece!reader #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryen x

[targaryen-dynasty]

A FINE LINE (BETWEEN LOVE AND HATE).

Daemon Targaryen x female!Reader

"I would rather feed my sons to the Dragons, than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken, usurper cunt of a King." Your husband’s words still lingered in the back of your head and drove you mad with fury. 

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; non/dub-con, canon typical incest/targcest, p in v, size kink, choking, size difference, oral (fem receiving), darkish Daemon Targaryen

WORDS: 1.9 K

“I would rather feed my sons to the Dragons, than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken, usurper cunt of a King.” Your husband’s words still lingered in the back of your head and drove you mad with fury. 

Two guards pushed the doors to the Chamber of the Painted Table open to reveal your husband standing in front of it with several members of your small council standing besides him, studying the map. Upon your arrival, everybody bowed their heads, muttering distinct “Your Grace’s” until your voice shushed them. “Leave us,” you announced, an unfamiliar sternness laced within your voice. 

Once the doors fell shut and everyone was out, there was no holding you back. 

You charged at Daemon, fury blazing in your lilac eyes. “You would do what!?” You all but yelled, and as if he was surprised by your outburst, the second son of Baelon Targaryen had to take a step back. “Feed your sons to our Dragons just to not have them at Aegon’s court?”

While the thought of Baelon and Viserys being present at the court of your half-brother was angering you, too, the thought of their father recklessly mentioning to feed them to Caraxes and Silverwing was frightening you. 

Deep down you knew he would never go that far, but just that he deemed it appropriate to say something like that made your blood boil. Especially in front of the traitor Hand, Otto Hightower. You had married the so-called Rogue Prince back then, yes, but that did not mean he had to show that demeanor towards his children. 

You stood between Daemon and the Painted Table, standing so close to him, your nose was almost brushing against the column of his throat with your head tilted upwards. 

“Have you lost your mind!?”

In an instant, Daemon had herded you against the large table, the edge of it pressing firmly into your arse. The gleam in his eyes was mischievous, indicating that–even though you were the Queen–he was your husband and secretly the one in charge. 

“Do not be an insolent brat,” chided his deep voice, sending a shiver down your spine. “You and I know we would never take it that far.”

You scrunched your nose in what one could muster as disgust at his choice of words and his demeanor towards you. “I dare you to speak about us in that consideration again,” your voice was sharp. “It was not I that said those things.”

“Gaoman daor care skoros emā vestās iā daor,” Daemon spat with venom laced within his voice, yet the slight twitching of his mouth indicated that he was amused by your fury. I do not care what you have said or not. “Nyke vestan ziry se nūmāzma ziry.” I said it and I mean it. 

“That Hightower cunt does not deserve the satisfaction of extinguishing your claim to the Iron Throne, and having our children run around court as that halfwits squires. Dārilarossa issi.” They are Princes. 

His large hands had made themselves at home on your waist, squeezing your flesh in a not-so-gentle manner to distract you from the topic at hand. But even though you gasped, it did not quite work. 

You released a dry chuckle, only for him to clasp one hand around your throat instead. If it wasn’t for the unpredictability of his actions and words, you would have found it charming how he switched between the common tongue and High Valyrian while he spoke. But there was little to no charm whenever the Rogue Prince stood in front of you.

“Bisa iksis daor aōha iderennon naejot mazverdagon,” you warned with a strained voice, though you made no attempt to free yourself of his grasp–something in you clearly enjoyed that side of him. This is not your choice to make. 

It seemed your words had hit something in him, because without saying anything else, he hoisted you up to sit upon the Painted Table, the warmth of the candles beneath seeping through your gown, and pressed your back flush down against the surface. 

“Gaomagon nyke jorrāelagon naejot ivestragon ao bona ziry olvie olvie iksis ñuha iderennon?” His looming presence leaned forwards, towering over yours. With his tight grip on your throat you were not able to move, pinned to the table. Do I need to remind you that it is very much my choice?

“Kostilus,” you retorted, the same mischief flickering in the lilac of your eyes, that previously shone in his. Perhaps.

A smug smirk spread across Daemon’s features, and soon enough, he covered your mouth with his, licking into yours and kissing you deeply, standing in stark contrast to his previous demeanor. He waited until you were short of breath, forcing air into your lungs. “You are just as desperate as the other whores before you.” 

When no response was forthcoming, Daemon loosened his grip on your throat slightly, letting you catch your breath. 

You bared your teeth at him, but as much as you had to say, eloquence was not a strength of you in that moment, especially when he put you on one level with the countless women he had taken before you, “Nyke vēdros ao.” I hate you. 

It was Daemon’s turn to chuckle, cocking an eyebrow at you. Deep down he knew you didn’t mean it, not when you always reminded him of just how much you needed and loved him. “Kesā vēdros nyke sīr olvie tolī istin iksan gaomagon lēda ao,“ he teased, raising an eyebrow at you. You will hate me so much more once I am done with you.

With one hand curled around your thigh–the skirts of your dress long bunched around your waist–he pulled you just a tad closer towards the edge of the table and into contact with his body, his hard member pressing against your clothed mound. 

Defiantly, you buried your hand inside the tresses of his silver-blonde hair, dragging him down against your mouth. The kiss was sharp and hard, a scrape of teeth and the taste of blood which caused Daemon to growl against your lips. 

He deepened the kiss and allowed your other hand to make quick work of the laces in the front of his breeches, freeing his hard member from its confines as you pushed his breeches barely down enough to free his stones as well. 

When he withdrew his lips from yours, you couldn't stop yourself from pouting, followed by him tsking at you as if he was scolding a child. “Keligon bona.” Stop that. 

Without sparing you another glance, he all but tore your smallclothes off your body, exposing your slick core to the cold air of the large chamber. As his finger brushed your mound, you bucked into his touch. “So wet, so needy, and not so bold anymore, mh?”

You huffed in return, and when your husband leaned forwards again, trailing hot kisses over the exposed skin of your low-cut neckline, you clasped your arms around the back of his neck to keep him right there. 

The tip of his cock dragged through your folds in a teasing manner, barely pushing in only to pull out right away. 

You were desperate for him to take you right there, and with the heels of your feet coming up to dig into his arse, it was you who forced him into your tight core in one, solid push. As Daemon groaned against your skin, you shuddered, arching your back into his body. 

His cock stretched and filled you exactly how you craved, every notch and vein palpable and brushing the sensitive spot within your core. 

With him being entirely in your grasp, it was your task to move, rocking and rolling your hips against his to get the angle just right, to seek the place that made you see stars. His hands settled on your thighs, gripping hard enough to surely leave some bruises. 

Each of his grunts and groans was muffled by your skin, his mouth occupied with sucking and nibbling on it, leaving marks he would trace with his tongue in their wake. 

The thrusts of his hips were off rhythm with your ministrations, meeting halfway but still amplifying the pleasure you both felt. 

As he fisted your hair to tug your head sharply to the side to grant himself even more access to your neck, you gasped, the sound quickly replaced by a quiet moan.

“Nyke iēdrosa gaomagon daor shijetra ao.” I still do not forgive you. 

Daemon chose to say nothing in return, which angered you even more. Tugging as harshly on his hair as he had tugged on yours before, you dug your nails of the other hand into the back of his neck, claiming him in your own way. 

His other hand splayed across your belly, slowly grazing down to the apex between your legs, seeking your little bundle before his fingers started to circle around it. 

You were so close and ground your hips against his fingers, reveling in the way he seemingly lost himself in the pleasure, too. 

And then, a stinging sensation washed over you as Daemon pinched your pearl, the pain intense enough to have you peaking a few moments after. “Daemon!” You exclaimed a bit too loud, the following sounds shushed by his lips on yours. 

Maybe it was the way you spoke his name in such surprise and despair, or maybe it was his own desire for you and the sweet relief, but his peak hit him shortly after yours, hips arching up as he spent himself inside of you. 

Shards of pleasure, as sharp as the blade of Dark Sister, prickled through your body, intensifying with the twitching and throbbing of his cock. It shuddered through you like the repercussions of both your peaks, his panting just as loud as yours. 

With one hand braced next to your waist, he propped himself up and studied your features with his softened gaze turning back to something sterner in the blink of an eye. You reached to cup his cheek with one hand, gently squeezing it to remind him of what you had said, and he just scowled at that.

“Emagon ao ryptan skoros vestan?” You asked as there came no reply. Have you heard what I said?

“Eman,” he said in an annoyed manner, tilting his head sideways. I have. “Kostilus kesan ērinagon ñuha dāria toliot lēda bisa.” Perhaps I can convince my Queen with this. 

Daemon pulled out of you, tugging his flaccid cock back into his breeches, before he sank to his knees in front of the Painted Table—face on one level with your cunt. He admired the way his seed oozed out of your core, forcing it back inside of you with the pad of his thumb pushing it in.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch him carefully, and the wink he flashed you sent shivers down your spine, more so when his mouth found your cunt. 

The chuckle he released as you gasped vibrated through your core, diminishing the uncomfortable feeling of the overstimulation and igniting a new heat to fill your veins.

His tongue swirled over your pearl before he closed his mouth around it to suck, and your legs were draped over his shoulders as his tongue sent a burning pleasure straight through your core again, making you desperate for more. 

Maybe his words were not as bad as you had thought after all.

#daemon targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #daemon imagine #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen oneshot #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon fanfic #daemon fic #hotd smut #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #daemon x you #daemon x reader #daemon x y/n #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #hotd daemon #house of the dragon daemon #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon fanfic #daemon targaryen x y/n #house of the dragon smut #house of the dragon imagine

[my-on-and-off-writingstuff]

When pregnancy takes over | Daemon X Reader

Summary: based on this request: Hey, dear! if you are taking requests could i get a daemon x pregnant fem!reader, from discovery, to body changes, mood swings, weird cravings, difficulty finding a sleeping position, to delivery. Just him being a good husband and father and helping her regardless of the situation, with a lot of fluffy please?

warning: Cursing, child labor.

Daemon walks into the room he shares with you happy to be able to finally hold you in his arms after a long day having to listen to Otto Hightower go on and on about... Well, he did not remember. “Y/N?” he does not see you immediately and he scans the room and the adjoined bedroom but no trace of you. Neither can he find a note or something else that would point him in your direction. he reopens the door to the room and peaks around the corner in the hope of finding one of the servants or even better one of your maids.

However, the hallway was empty. He cursed under his breath as panic started to rise. You normally always left him a note or send someone to him to let him know where you were going to be. But he had nothing to go off now. He was wrecking his brain trying to figure out of you mentioned someone thing but as far as he knows you only mentioned going out riding but that was this morning, and you never were this late. Right? He was pacing the room trying to figure out where you could have gone. What if something happened to you?

“My prince?” As fast as he can he turns around to see one of your maids in the doorframe. Not remembering her name, he walks towards her. “Where is my wife? Tell me you have seen her!” “She went to the maester my prince, she left 15 minutes ago.” The maid’s eyes are wide while she is looking everywhere except at him words flowing from her mouth. The girl was starting to say something else, but Daemon just brushed past her running to the domain of the maesters nothing else than his wife on his mind.

Two guards were stationed in front of the door of the maester, guards he had assigned to her. At least he had found you however his panic did not subside. You would not have gone to the maester if it was not for something serious. He opens the door, and they slam against the wall. Both his wife and the maester look at them startled. The maesters hands are hovering on your stomach. A scowl comes on your face when you see Daemon standing there panting after having run all the way from your shared room to the basement where the maesters domain is.

“Daemon what are you doing here?” he slowly steps forward and stands opposite of the maester. His hand grasps yours and he slowly makes circles with his thumb across your hand. “I could ask you the same question?” you look up to the maester who nods before your attention is back on Daemon. “I have not had my monthly, I am late by two weeks.” His eyes find yours before meeting the maester as to double confirm. “I still need to do some tests, but I am quite sure the princess is expecting.” Daemon lifts you in his arm, curling you against his chest. “We are going to have a baby!” “Yes, my love we are going to have a baby.” you confirm while a happy tear makes its way down your face. Daemon takes your head between his hands while prepping your face with kisses. “We are having a baby.” He smiles and captures your lips.

___

Daemon was supposed to come back from a two-week trip. He was sent to deal with a lord that did not want to pay any taxes to the crown. The king had sent him after Daemon had created a little political. He had bashed in the head of a lord’s son who had made some remarks about you and Daemon had lost it. Slamming his fist in the arrogant man’s face and not stopping until the king’s guard had forcibly moved him off the man.

Normally if Daemon was supposed to come back from a trip you would have been waiting at the dragon pit for him. But with the recent development and the increased nausea, you opted to stay within the castle walls. Nestled into the couch with a blanket around the lower half of your body reading a book Daemon had brought for you. However, every few seconds your eyes would flit to the door checking if he was already here. Any time now he was supposed to walk through the door at least that’s what the maid said when she announced that Caraxes had been seen flying above Kings landing.

Sounds could be heard from behind the door and expectingly you looked up from your book to find your husband standing in the doorway. “Daemon!” you breathed out quickly standing up from the couch. The blanket pooled around your feet showing off the slight baby bump you had developed. You were now 16 weeks pregnant, and you had started to show quite a much more when he was away. His eyes draw to your stomach.

Daemon walks towards you fast but before he reaches you, he stops. Hesitantly he looks at you before breaching the last few steps between you. He carefully takes you into his arms. Hugging you to his chest before going down on one knee. His hands find your bump. You smile down at him, as he looks up at you amazed. “She has grown so much in so little time.” he kisses the bump and your hand rests in his hair. “How are you so sure it’s she?” you ask while enjoying the moment of seeing your husband so attentive and tenderly. “I just do.” You hit him softly laughing while kissing his forehead. “That’s not a reason.” He rises up and captures your chin with his thumb. “I am always right.” a cocky smile is resting on his face, and you can’t help but laugh out loud at these words.

“Love, you are almost never right.” He playfully slaps your behind before twirling you around. “You know I think your breast got bigger as well.” “Daemon!”

___

You sniffle after finally reading the last chapter of the book. The book you had been reading for days and it unexpectedly turned out to have a very sad ending. “Oh gods, not again.” Daemon signs from his chair across from you. Closing his own book and standing up from his chair. Carefully he lifts you up from your chair and places you back down on his lap. He was trying to console you and soothe you. His thumb circling on your back and the other thumb was brushing your cheek while he was talking nonsense to get you to stop crying. Your belly was just slightly in the way.

Against all odds Daemon has been very supportive when your mood swings started to hit you in full force. He had been supportive when you had started to cry when your favorite flavor of cake accidentally fell, or when you cried about Caraxes being chained down in the dragon pit with no other dragons who like him. Hell, he loved the moments when your anger shone through especially when that anger was not directed at him. He still talks about how you called Otto a cunt in front of the entire court when he had made an underhand comment about Daemon.

“I can’t help that I feel this emotional Daemon.” You hiccup while trying to escape his arms feeling guilty about showcasing your emotions. “I know love I know.” he keeps you within his arms pressing light kisses on your forehead. “You don’t know anything Daemon, this is all your fault.” Your anger is making its way to the forefront and with wide gestures, you gesture to your stomach. “It takes two to make a baby, love.” You hear Daemon try to not choke out a laugh at your expression of anger. “Yeah, but you are insatiable.” This time his laugh is full-blown.

When he calms down, he takes your face in between his hands and kisses you’re your anger melts off you and you melt against him. The reason why you cried, and the anger Daemon provoked in you long forgotten. As his hands brush away your tears you close your eyes. “Are you tired, love?” You nod and lower your head against his chest. “let’s get you to bed.” He carefully lifts you into his arms and walks towards the bed.

“Even if I get angry, I still love you.” You mumble against his chest. He laughs softly while sliding into the bed next to you. You lay your head on his chest. “I love you the most when you get angry, you get all fierce and riled up.”

___

You sighed and closed the book you were reading. Your husband did not look up from the book he was reading. Both you and Daemon had made it a habit to read in the solar while enjoying some tea. Or well in Daemon’s case some wine with it. To attract his attention without asking for it you sighed again. You did not want to be a bother to him again, but your cravings had made themselves known again and you could not exactly fly out yourself to get them. Not that daemon would ever allow it.

“Dae?” you asked softly when he did not look up from his book. He slowly lifts his head. His finger traces the paper of the book, and you have to mentally drag yourself away from his hand to concentrate on getting him to do your bidding. “You know those sweets we enjoyed in Lys, with the Pistache?” Daemon closes the book fully and his gaze lands on you. “I do, why? He looks uncertain at you slowly realizing what you were probably after. “Would you be able to get them for me?”

You stand up from the chair you were sitting in and go to stand behind him. your belly is slightly in the way when you lay your arms around his shoulder, hugging him from behind. You rest your head in the crook of his neck. Smelling his familiar scent as it engulfs you. “I can ask the kitchen to make them for you.” His hand finds one of yours as he connects them together. “Nooo, it’s not the same.” You whine as you place a kiss just below his jaw. Knowing that kissing that spot makes him weak.

“You don’t expect me to fly across the Narrow Sea to get you some sweets, are you?” you can feel he is smiling when he speaks the words, and you know that you almost have your way. “I mean, I am not the only one that wants them.” You smile at him and gently caress the now reasonable bump for emphasis. A bit longer and you would not be able to see your feet anymore. “The babe was not even there yet.” He stands up and pulls you flush against him. Kissing you before bending down to press a kiss against your belly. “Well let’s go then, up for a little ride?” You smile at him. “Of course.” You hook your arm through his and the two of you make your way to the dragon pit to sate the little dragon inside you.

___

You groan and for the thousand times this night, you try to turn around to find a comfortable position in the bed. A soft snoring sound comes from your right, and you promptly turn your back to it to block out the sound of Daemon sleeping so peacefully. You never knew you could be so jealous of somebody sleeping. But no matter what you did you could not find a comfortable position. The babe was kicking like it was running away from a dragon, and a burning feeling made its way up your throat every so often. You stared out of the window, and you could not decide which side was worse, the slow glow of the light streaming through the window indicating that it was in fact becoming morning or your husband sleeping.

Slowly you turn back on your back, and silently wish that you could lay on your stomach. However, a big bump had been restricting that movement for months now. An arm is slung over your belly. The little bastard inside of you immediately calms down. And you huff out a sigh of annoyance. “You should have woken me up sooner.” Daemon softly raps out in his morning voice as his thumb softly strokes your belly. “I did not want to wake you; you had a long day.”

‘It also my child, if you are suffering, I should be too.” His other arm sneaks underneath you and he pulls you against him. You rest your head on top of his chest and for the first time this night, you feel at peace. Your insides are silent, and your head is elevated enough to not feel the heartburn. “Thank you.” You yawn while closing your eyes. Daemon only hums and presses a kiss on your forehead. “Yeah, yeah get some sleep, before the maids are barging down our doors.

___

“Where the fuck is Daemon?” You rip the cloth away from your forehead, the cloth that only seconds ago was laid on your forehead by one of the maids. Another one was trying to console you by taking your hand. But you wanted none of it. At this moment in time, you could not stand anybody’s touch. The only touch you wanted had been banned from the delivery room. or to quote the old twat tasked with delivering the baby. “A delivery room is no place for a prince.” A prince he could be, but Daemon had known full well how to create that baby so the least he could do was to help you through it.

“Milady the delivery room is...” “yeah, not a place for a prince, I do not care, Lily go fetch him.” The maid in question dropped whatever she was doing before all but running out of the room. Another contraction hit and beads of sweat were gushing down your back and forehead. “My lady let me wipe it away.” You grunted through the pain. “No, no, I only want my husband.” As the contraction finally subsided you rested against the pillows.

“Milady it is time to start pushing.” you reopened your eyes after having closed them after feeling the last contraction ebbing away. “No, no not without my husband, I need Daemon.” You did not care that the words sounded desperate, but you needed him. So many women passed away in child labor or the consequences of it. There was no way you were going to spend your last possible moments without Daemon and if you survived, the first person you wanted to see your child was him. “Please milady be compliant it is the best for you and the babe.” You desperately shook your head, tears gathering. “I will be compliant when my husband arrives you old goat.”

The old goat in question sighed and moved a bit back to give me some space and busied himself with the making of a paste. Your own maid softly brushed the hair out of your face and with a little constraint, you were able to tolerate it instead of shaking her off. “Daemon?” you asked her softly. “Is coming milady do not fret.” You nodded and closed your eyes again, trying to rest a little before the next contraction would hit. Not so secretly wishing that this torture would end. If you survived this, he was not getting another child.

The doors of your room were dramatically thrown open, scarring everybody who was inside. Without opening your eyes, you knew who had just entered the room in his usual dramatic ways and you smiled. He had come. Your Targaryen prince was here. “My prince, I have tried to talk to milady, but she does not want to listen, a delivery room is no place for a prince.” You had never been this mad at a person before and if you could, you would have sacked the maester from his job, however, it was a little late for that as the babe was well on its way now. “I remember when I took my vows that I promise to be with her, wherever she goes I go, she wants me here, I will be here.” With that Daemon turned his back to the old goat and sat in the chair next to the bed.

His hand found yours, with his other hand he took the cloth from one of the maids and carefully caressed your forehead with it. “I am here love.” He softly kissed your lips when he saw the contraction hit. “He told me to be compliant.” You huffed when the next contraction ebbed away. Daemon let out a laugh and touched his forehead with yours. “Never become compliant love.” You laugh at him and the pain of being in labor slowly fades away.

Daemon was there for every push every contraction. Holding your hand, cracking jokes, wiping away the sweat and tears. At one point he moved behind you, so whenever the contraction was done you could rest against him. “You know I can see the little top of his head.” At this point, Daemon was hanging over you trying to get a glimpse of the baby. “Well, if his head is out then he can get himself out without bothering me.” You hissed when another contraction hit. “Just a few more pushes, just a few more.” He kisses your neck. Finally, with a last push, the baby slides out of you.

Tiredly you close your eyes, however not for long until you hear a tiny cry. Your little one is alive, strangely you feel empty without the babe, and you know you have to do some more pushing. You almost push him out of the bed. “Go, go look if the babe is healthy, I do not trust that old goat.” He smiles at you adoringly and gives you one more kiss before happily going to bother the maids who were tasked with cleaning the babe. You hear his chattering with the maids as he is hurrying them along so he can hold his child. Just as the maids are cleaning you up Daemon turns back to you with the babe in his arms. Daemon looked so attractive, with his happy smile on his lips, his hair all tousled up, his clothes wrinkled and the little one in his arms. It almost made you want another one.

“It is a boy it seems that I was wrong in my prediction, Y/N you gave me a healthy boy.” You laugh and stretch out your arms for him and the babe. “Can the woman who did all the work hold her son then?” He smiles and comes forward. “I don’t know, I could argue I did all the work.” You huff and shove his shoulder softly. He laughs and kisses you before settling the baby in your arms. “He is wonderful.” You softly touch the cheek of your son while looking up at your husband. “Thank you for standing by me during my pregnancy with all my demands.” “You deserved those demands, but I do not want to see the city of Lys for a little while I cannot eat one more of those sweats.”

#daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon x reader #house of the dragon #daemon #daemon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon fancficton #hotd #game of thrones #daemon targaryen oneshot #daemon x you #daemon targaryen x y/n

[endless-ineffabilities]

turning red

modern!Daemon Targaryen x f!reader

masterlist

themes/warnings: jealous!Daemon, reader has a crush on Daemon, language, semi-PDA

Jealousy rears its ugly head, when someone (stupidly) attempts to woo you in front of Daemon.

"So who was that?" Daemon asked suddenly.

He's been leaning closer and closer to you in the booth, trying to drown out all the noise. The club was in full swing, and this normally isn't your scene, but one of your friends managed to drag you out with her tonight.

"Who was what?" You raise your voice at him. Daemon feels your breathing on the side of his neck, and he enjoys it. He likes how close you are.

"That fucker who tried to ask you out."

"Oof," you lean back, "Bit hostile there, Daemon. He's a... friend of Abby's. Apparently she's trying to set us up."

"I didn't know you needed some help in that department." He threw his shot back. A fireball. He offered you one as well, but you grimaced at him, claiming it wasn't to your taste. At which point he playfully pinched your cheeks and called you, "little chicken."

You narrow your eyes at him, taking a sip of your own drink. "Well, I don't. I get plenty of action, I'll have you know."

He smirks, ready with a comeback. "Is that so, darling? As your neighbour, I have some rough idea of whether you bring back company to your apartment. And, well... I haven't really seen any."

"You don't know everything, Daemon Targaryen."

"No?" He suavely pushes his hair back with one hand, knowing it'll get your attention. As if your attention could be diverted anywhere else with Daemon sitting so close, in his perfectly-fitted black sweater, smelling deliciously of sage and cedarwood. "But I do know you. You don't warm up to people easily. Especially not to lousy guys like him."

You don't want to get fazed by the intense gaze he's giving you. You think you're so used to it, and gestures like that are Daemon's bread and butter. No wonder he has so many fawning over him.

But... well. Maybe it's the alcohol coursing through you, or it's the fact that you've been crushing over your white-blonde neighbour ever since you moved in the building, but you feel warm all over.

And you feel the urge to just lean over and kiss him.

In true Daemon fashion, he notices.

"You look like you want to kiss me, darling."

"Huh?"

"Got you all tongue-tied," he smugly says. "Don't worry. I've been told I have that effect on just about everyone."

That got you out your daze. Silly girl with her silly crush.

You shake your head. "So humble, Daemon."

"Though it's only you that I wish to have that effect on."

You nearly spit out your drink, righting yourself just in time. "What did you just say?"

"I think you bloody heard me."

You sigh. Is this another one of his games? Does he see you as just another conquest? "Don't even try to pull anything on me."

To his credit, he genuinely looks taken aback. "What makes you think I will?"

"Well, I know you. I've seen how you use your charms, and how people fall for it. Every. Time." Your head spins. Could be the booze, could just be Daemon's presence. "But not with me. I won't let you - "

"Do you really think you're just like everyone else to me?" He smirks haughtily. "Do you not have eyes? I have tried, over and over, to just - "

"Hey there, beautiful. Glad to see you're right where I left you." Tobias, the aforementioned guy your friend is encouraging you to hook up with, slides in the booth across from you, an easy megawatt smile on his face.

Daemon Targaryen could have rolled his eyes all the way into oblivion. From the corner of your eye, you swear Daemon scooted even closer, his arm sliding on the back of your shared seat.

"Hey man, how are you?" Tobias greets, reaching a hand out to Daemon, "I'm Tobias."

"Daemon."

Their hands shake firmly, just once, but Tobias makes a show of wriggling his fingers as he pulls away.

"Damn. Firm grip you got there, man."

Daemon slyly smirks and raises a pale eyebrow in response.

"So," Tobias says, immediately uncomfortable after a few seconds of silence, "how do you two know each other?"

"Oh, he lives across the hall from me." You say nonchalantly. What else is there to add? That you've held a torch for Daemon since a week after you moved in, when he offered to help you carry a bookshelf into your apartment, and you ended up bickering over the better wallpaper to put up in your kitchen?

He wanted the one with the complex deep red pattern, whilst you favoured the more neutral navy blue and light gray.

After a long while, you found yourselves sitting on your living room rug, a couple of cold beers downed between the two of you.

"Is there one with red and light gray?" He blurted out, as he lay down on his side.

"Huh?" You were confused at first. Lying down on your stomach mindlessly swinging your feet behind you, you had thought that you hadn't felt that comfortable with anyone in a long while. Especially not in the first few hours of meeting them.

"The kitchen wallpaper." He pointed that way.

"Oh? There must be. How come your colour still gets chosen?" You respond playfully. "It's not like this is your apartment."

"It's a compromise isn't it, darling? Besides, I have a feeling I'll be spending plenty of time over here."

"Will you now?" You had said, a blush spreading across your cheeks. You hoped he would.

And he did. Since then, the two of you would constantly come over to each other's apartments.

Well, save for those days and nights when he had someone over. And those were quite often, much to your chagrin.

Back in the club, Daemon adds to Tobias. "We're very close. I practically live in her apartment."

"So," Tobias gestures at you and Daemon, "are you two...?"

"No!" You exclaim a bit too quickly.

"That's great! I mean, for me." Tobias beams and winks at you.

Daemon stares blankly at him, lips curling in thought. His fist clenches on the table, and he feels compelled to drive it straight through Tobias' shining veneers.

"How so?" Daemon asks, his tone turning condescending, as if speaking to a clueless child.

"Sorry, man?"

"How is that great for you? Do you actually think you've got a chance with her?"

"Look, I don't want any - "

Daemon's voice casually drips with poison. "Do you honestly think I would allow this to fucking happen?"

"Daemon!" you elbow him lightly in the ribs, but he doesn't budge one bit. Give this blonde prince one too many fireballs and he runs his mouth the first chance he gets.

Tobias raises his hands in mock surrender. His happy-go-lucky demeanor has faltered, and he shirks back from Daemon's glare. "As I was saying, I don't want any trouble. I just like her, and honestly, it's her choice whether she wants to hang with me or not."

Daemon continues to crowd you in your booth, his leg pressed against yours, his arm caging you in from behind.

You tell Tobias, "I'm sorry about him. He must be getting drunk." Then to Daemon, "Could you give it a rest, please? I don't understand - "

Then Daemon... oh, Daemon... smashes his wanting lips against yours.

His hands hold on to your face, keeping you in place. The both of you have pushed further in the booth, with you pressed against the velvet wall.

Your lips move, hungrily, seemingly on their accord. Or simply acting on what you have desired, what you have craved for the past year. What has only been in your imagination until now.

"Wait," you actually manage to pull away, silly girl, and notice that Tobias has vacated the booth. "Tobias..."

"Do you want him?" Daemon questions, one hand tracing your collarbone.

"No, but..."

"Do you want me, darling?"

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes. "You know i do."

He smiles knowingly. "Tell me to stop," he presses a kiss against your neck, "and I will."

A laugh escapes you, free and unbridled. This must be the effect of having your heart known.

"I think," you say, "if I tell you to stop, I'll regret it for the rest of my goddamn life."

He says nothing, merely tilts his chin to you, beckoning you closer.

But before your lips meet once more, a figure turns up at your booth, clad in a shimmering sequin dress.

Your friend Abby slams her hands on the table, startling you. Daemon merely throws her a look over his shoulder, irate at the disturbance.

"Heeey, girly." She winks at you. "Hey, Daemon. Am I interrupting something?" She sinks down in the opposite booth, and daintily leans forward on her elbows, cupping her face in her hands.

"Yes." - "No."

"No, it's alright." You repeat, giving Daemon a quick side eye. "What's up?"

"I was about to ask, but I can see now why Tobias hightailed it out of this booth with his tail between his legs."

Daemon snorts at that. "Weasel," he mumbles under his breath.

"He's nice enough," you tell Abby, "but not for me."

"Oh, I totally get it." She wags her eyebrows at you and gestures to Daemon, when she thinks he isn't looking. But he notices, and the exchange causes him to smirk.

She stands, "Trust me. I predicted this ages ago. It's about damn time."

Your face heats up, but Daemon just responds with, "I absolutely fucking agree."

"See you, lovebirds." She sings, finally sauntering away.

"I thought she'd never leave." Daemon dramatically sighs, turning back to you.

"Be nice." You scold playfully, smiling. He merely gazes at you, his girl, before casting his gaze downward.

"Now," his hand snakes up your knees, crawling torturously under your skirt, then pauses. "Where were we?"

"Fuck it. Let's get out of here."

would y'all believe me when I say that part 3.1 to fire like yours is almost finished at 5k or so words, but I'm still not too satisfied with it? (what a drag) well oh well, I'll post it anyway tomorrow.

Hope this Daemon short makes up for it (even just a little tiny bit) 🖤

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen oneshot #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #modern!daemon targaryen

[houseofhyde]

ii. a game of westerosi chess.

pairing. daemon targaryen x fem!reader

synopsis. the six chess pieces in the king’s game and how your uncle calls checkmate. read the first part here !

warnings. niece!reader, targcest, possessiveness, themes of sexual/romantic ownership, alicent slander (im sorry, i love her, but this is daemon’s pov and we all know that man wakes up every morning and makes the conscious decision to be a hater), daemon being a filthy pervert (affectionate), smut ( masturbation, breeding kink, voyeurism, dacriphilia, virgin kink- if that's even a thing-, implied bi!daemon )

word count. 11.3k

taglist. @nyctophilic0vitnir​

hyde’s input. yes, i could have just made them get married after the events in part one. no, that wouldn’t be as fun as watching daemon suffer. i went and fucked myself over a little though because i never realised how much i’d struggle to write from his point of view without the fear of making him too out of character or his behaviour feel, idk, fake? empty? idk what the right word is but yeah. i caught the flu and have had sick-brain the whole time while writing this so who knows if the writing is even comprehensible lmao :)

disclaimer: i’ve never played chess (i'm too dumb for that) so pretend any incorrect comparisons are simply because there’s different rules for chess in westeros <3

when daemon targaryen was five years old, no more than a mischievous little babe who haunted the halls of the red keep, there was no one greater in his eyes than his older brother.

his older brother who bonded with the largest dragon; who snuck wine into his cup when the adults were occupied with their political indiscretions; who stood up for him even in times where he was the culprit. 

his older brother who had the longest winning streak in the whole of the red keep when it came to chess.

from maesters to the king, and ladies in waiting down to his own mother, there was not a single person within the castle who could face viserys targaryen in the game of strategic moves and walk away undefeated.

it was an understood fact: viserys targaryen was a master at chess.

one day, after catching his younger brother, moon-eyed and fresh-faced from wondering the dragonpit in search of a dragon to claim, and now spying upon his winnings against a pretty maiden, viserys had called the boy over. with daemon captivated by the sight of the chess board, the older of the two felt the cogs in his brain turning, an idea spawning.

you see, when one becomes the best at something, there is no more challenge. no fun to be found when you’re no longer sat at the edge of your seat wondering if this person will finally be the one to best you. and, so, viserys thought if no one else was good enough to beat him, he’d need to create a worthy opponent.

enter onto the scene, daemon targaryen.

with him being but a child still, viserys began his teaching with what captivated the little boy most: the figures which sat atop the checkered board.

“this, brother, is the pawn. it’s the least worthy piece, but do not let that fool you into thinking it is weak, for anyone may wield power if they work hard enough. a pawn may become a queen, just as a fool may become a lord.”

the rogue prince, now a man of three and thirty, awakes with one thing on his mind: his niece.

he’s always been a restless sleeper, not even in dreams would he escape the havoc of his own head and the inner-workings of it. and, though he’d scarcely recall the images his sleeping mind would conjure, the evidence comes in the state he’d find himself in: sprawled diagonally across the bed, the pillows which had once provided rest for his head now scattered along the floor and the bedsheets- which scratched uncomfortably on his skin, a slick of sweat oozing from his pores and leaving him looking glazed, like a freshly cooked hog at a feast- now a wrinkled tangle around his waist, trapping his legs in the cotton confines.

he spies the familiar lick of sunlight casting through the closed curtains, affirming that dawn has indeed passed and a new day is upon him.

running a hand over his face, a disgruntled sound escapes him, sluggishly moving himself to sit up right, that familiar yet new ache in his back flaring up and begging for release in the form of stretching limbs and extended muscles. age has begun to sneak up on him, grabbing him in it’s clutches and reminding the egotistical man that he is just that: a man, not a god, much to his own displeasure.

the hand departs from his face only to pause midair. a smell, heady and musk infused, reaches his nostrils. it’s dirty and grimey in every way yet enticing him to seek it out again, to sniff out wherever the odour is coming from and bury himself in it till he suffocates.

tentatively, he retraces his movements till his fingers dance over his face once again and realisation kicks him like the hoof of a horse, hard and with a lingering pounding.

only, the pounding comes from his crotch rather than his skull.

the smell is you, in all your dribbling, soaking, honeysuckle glory, stained on his skin like the slaves of volantis are stained with ink.

another inhale floods his senses with the memories from last night, replaying the feel of your bodies pressed together in dance, and your hand squeezing his almost painfully tight as he leads the way to your chambers, and the eager spreading of your legs as he at last satisfies his hunger for you- a hunger which had started sometime after you’d first began to present the figure of a woman, all supple breasts and pouting lips and silhouettes made of dresses that hid from view the naughty parts of you your uncle’s cock ached to see.

the voice in his head, which more often than not drives him to behave erratically, this time is but a whisper, a seduction of craving and curiosity that has him slipping his hand further down, brushing over the fine line of his lips and awaiting entrance as he parts his mouth open, brushing his stained digits over his tongue.

a jolt of heat burns down his spine while the sweet tang of your taste invades his senses. like biting through a lemon, the taste should repel him in every way, flood his soul with shame and leave him disgusted in himself.

instead, he licks his tongue in a silent plea for more.

the thought of never bathing again crosses daemon’s mind, unwilling to wash away the evidence of the peak he’d driven you to with nothing but his fingers. gods help the world when he finally gets his cock in you, for he’s likely to become a deranged, dirty shell of a man too busy getting fill after fill of your pulsing cunny to ever plunder himself into the oil-infused waters of a bath.

you’d be so sweet for him, a little harlet for him to mold and bend and break into every which-way he desires you. and it’s that thought, plus the taste of your dried essence, which has the rogue prince’s cock stirring beneath the tangled sheets.

desire awakens much like a dragon would: slowly and, then, all at once, eyes wide, chest huffing and puffing, and body arising from the ground.

the prince kicks the tangled sheets off, no thought given to whatever corner in the chambers he tosses them towards, eyes and hand and mind too focused on the once flacid organ between his leg growing more solid and red in the tip as the moments pass.

“fuck...” he means to only think it, yet speaks it aloud into the solace of the room as the warmth of his hand makes itself familiar with his cock.

he gives himself a tug, dry hand meeting the movement with resistance yet the layer of skin which conceals his soon-to-be seed soaked slit retracts enough to allow the blushing head of his cock to poke through. while he’d typically prefer to wet it with a whore’s cunt, or slicken it with whatever mindless ointment he could find laying around, daemon finds himself gathering his own saliva and spitting a fat drop of it into the palm of his hand.

the glide of his digits over the organ becomes easier, allowing him to work himself into full-blown hardness, cock taking over the use of his brain and sending him into a state of restless lust, demanding to be fed and satiated with the emptying of his stones, preferably into the warm, pulsating, tight cunt of his little dove.

while the prince does debate his ability to throw on a robe- or, even, roam the halls in his nude glory- and seek out your likely sleeping form, to watch as you startle awake with the breaking of your maidenhead and cry out for your uncle to fill you with his spend till you’re swelling with his bastard, he decides he prefers the thought of making you wait a little longer, see how much he can test the limits of your impatient desires.

after all, a maiden always feels best when her cunt’s as soaked as her crying eyes and her mouth’s spewing plead after plead, begging for his cock.

while one hand works over himself, the other sneaks it’s way back into his mouth, lust bursting into bright colours as he licks over the taste of you, soaking it into his bloodstream and making you part of his genetics- just as he is part of yours.

daemon allows his eyes to slip shut, sinking into sweet fantasies and mental pictures of bouncing tits and blood stained sheets, only to reopen them within an instant at the sound of his chamber door slamming against the solid wall.

“oh my!” a young girl dressed in rags turns her back on him as quickly as she notices his naked form, as if allowing him to compose himself and make himself presentable. “i’m so sorry, my prince! i would have knocked but he said i should simply let myself in!”

daemon makes no attempt to find cover.

“do whatever it is you need to do.” he speaks with a tone far too relaxed for a man who’s still got a grip on his cock. if anything, the raggedness in his breaths comes from his frustrations of losing the flavour of you on his tongue. “don’t stop on my account.”

she hesitates upon facing him again, eyes clearly wandering off from her own commands and glancing down at his exposed crotch more times than he imagines she’s comfortable with. from the look of her, she’s young in age- likely only recently blossomed into a woman- and, at the thought of his being the first cock she’s ever seen, he feels himself grow closer to his peak, a sick and twisted satisfaction buzzing through his veins at the possibility of giving the sweet girl her first sense of visual arousal.

when the shock passes, yet still lingers in her features like a harsh cough irritates the throat, she makes her way fully into the room. in her arms, a tray with a mass of food, enough to feed a lord and his men for several nights. without a word, she lays the assortment out on the large table within his chambers, hands shaking under her own nerves.

meanwhile, daemon slows the flick of his own wrist, teasing his cock with the impending satisfaction. a smile, too faint to be seen yet present enough that he feels the slight stretch of his lips, births itself as he considers who this offering of a feast may be from.

“what’s this about, girl?” he throws the question out into the air, clear amusement in his tone.

“the king, my prince.” just as he expected. “he’s ordered this be sent to you.”

and so it begins, he thinks.

his brother is buttering him up, showing a sign of good-will to have daemon in his good graces when he orders the rogue prince betroths himself to the king’s pretty daughter, her supposed virtue now a pile of crumbled ruins in the eyes of the court. as if he needs convincing to take such a sweet young thing to wife, the perfect little bird made of blonde hair, valyrian blood, sugar-coated cum and the sweetest song of whimpers and pleas.

“then make sure you let my brother know how eager i am to receive his feast.” he can feel himself reaching the edge of his peak, tethering off the edge and seconds away from painting his hand white with wasted seed.

perhaps the serving girl will lick it clean for him.

“of course, my prince.” once finished with the arranging of the feast, the maiden straightens out some wrinkles in her skirt- though it does nothing to clean up her looks- and begins to make her way back toward the entry to his chambers. “the king will be surprised to see you so agreeable, though it will help soothe his unease, my lord.”

“his... unease?” daemon’s movements stop, the air runs dry and the girl visibly stiffens, hand curling around the door handle and clenching it as if it is the only thing giving her support.

clearly, she’s said something she shouldn’t have.

“i must go, my lord.”

“unease over what, girl?”

“you... you don’t know, do you?” she’s beginning to irritate him, speaking in riddles and shaking like a leaf in the winds of winter.

“answer me clearly or i’ll have your tongue.” the girl can not see the way he moves off the bed, nor the way he spies his eyes towards his trusted sword propped against a wall, but she certainly hears the loud thud of his feet meeting the floor, feels the darker shift of energy in the room as the rogue prince makes a threatening advance towards her.

“ser gerold royce, my prince...” he’s near certain she lets out a pathetic whimper, like a wounded doe. “he’s proclaimed himself as lord of runestone.”

the world comes to a stand still as her words flood over him.

while the prince is frozen in his spot, face an empty canvas devoid of emotion, the young girl makes a swift exit, wise enough to not wish to stick around long enough to bare witness to the hot-headed prince’s reaction. the slamming of the door on her way out seems to startle him back into motion, naked limbs striding across the room and grabbing at the door. he twists the handle and gives a harsh tug, strong enough to have the wood smash as it collides against the wall.

the door does not open.

he attempts again, and again, and again, and is met with the same resistance each time. only then does it dawn on him- the feast, the unease- this was never about his brother keeping him in his good graces.

this was about the king keeping him locked away in his chambers.

“next, you’ve got your knight. while still not a very point-worthy piece, this holds power in the way it moves, jumping over pawns like a real knight slices through his enemies with the point of his sword.”

four days pass by slowly within the confines of his chambers.

at first, he rages. pacing the floor till the plush carpeting runs thin, hacking away at hand-crafted furniture his ancestors had sat upon and broken fast at, mouth dropped open in a bellow of impassioned words of all the things he plans to do once he gets his hands on his older brother, most of which start and end with his grip on the king’s neck.

then, he tries rest.

it’s a hopeless attempt, though, as the thoughts are running far too rampant for him to ignore the fact he’s confined within his room, not a clue of what his brother has done in regards to runestone’s rebellion. then come the thoughts of you, his little dove, likely hurt, and confused, and needing your dear uncle’s guidance on how to continue onward, how to outsmart the wretched ladies within your father’s court, how to ensure you do not wind up married off to some boring oaf of a lord, with not a drop of valyrian blood in his veins.

after sleep evades him, and rage consumes him once more, he switches to pleasuring himself, hand squeezed tight around his cock and working over the sex organ till he’s completely spent, his sack drained and nothing but pathetic droplets of seed painting his skin by the eight, ninth, tenth peak he drives himself too, fuelling the fire of his lust with past rendevouz- the pentoshi whore he’d fucked in front of her own husband, the nights he’d spent in the streets of silk in rooms where cups and cunts were shared amongst the crowd, the young knight who’d sought him out after a tourney and cried out as daemon stretched the tight pink hole of his arse- and with future desires- the slapping of his stones against your pearl as he takes you from behind, your pretty eyes struggling back tears the first time he fucks his cock into your silky wet hole, the sick, and nasty, and down-right degenerate want to bend you over the small council table and shoot his seed into your womb for all those wrinkled cunts to bare witness to.

ultimately, it’s the memory of how you taste that sends him spiralling for a tenth time.

the rogue prince is a sexual deviant, that was the very first whisper that had flooded the keep about him. and oh how he’s worn it with pride over the years, a twisted joy found in watching their outrage each time he speaks of crass and acts on sin.

even so, there is only so much he can take until he reaches his limit. and, thus, with his cock feeling like it may fall off if he does not give it some recovery time, the prince returns to raging.

that is how the king finds him, sword in hand and the expensive fabrics that once made up the curtains leading onto a balcony now nothing but tattered rags on the floor.

“i must say, daemon, this takes me back.” viserys’ tone carries amusement, which licks at daemon’s ire and coaxes it back to life, hand gripping the hilt of his sword as the prince reminds himself- despite how infuriating the king may be- that he cares deeply for his older brother. “me entering your chambers and finding you amidst a temper tantrum.”

the prince is quick on his feet, turning on his ankle till he finds himself gazing upon the face of his brother. he’s dressed in his finest robes, a mixture of reds and blacks, yet daemon does not miss the green jewel on one of his fingers. the crown upon viserys’ head reflects the sun, shining offensively in the prince’s face as if to more harshly remind him of the inheritance he’ll never claim, the throne he’ll never sit.

“what is the meaning of this?” daemon bellows and instinctively raises dark sister, the tip of the blade pointed directly at his brother.

the sound of kingsguards drawing their own weapons floods the room yet the raise of viserys’ hand halts them all in their defence, calling his brother’s bluff.

“i had some business to attend to.” the king speaks so casually, as though he’s discussing the recent weather or what he’d eaten for his supper the evening before.

“so you imprison me in my chambers as if i am some ill-behaved child!” daemon means to question him yet his words come out as more of a statement, an acceptance of the matter at hand.

“yes, well, what kind of idiot would i be to let my brother wander free in my castle while i’m grasping at straws to prevent a war?” the room grows more tense with every exchanged word between the two brothers, a feat which doesn’t go unnoticed by the guards who stand by the king nor the maidens who had rushed in after the reopening of daemon’s chambers, scrambling around to tidy the place up. “a war which you started in the first place.”

it irks something in daemon, the way viserys remains level headed whilst he’s pacing the room, and gripping his sword, and releasing his frustrations in bursts of loud voices and disgruntled grunts. condescending in every way, it sends daemon into a headspace where he’s no longer a man-grown and, instead, a tear-stained child being reprimanded by his king and grandsire.

he liked to torture young daemon who, despite his best efforts, was always prone to outbursts of emotion- outbursts the old man liked to meet with calmed expressions and tired words of disappointment, dismissing his grandson to bed.

it seems to be a commonality shared among kings, antagonising daemon.

“a war i started?!” and yet he falls for the trap every time, meeting viserys’ passive with his aggressive, striding those few steps closer till he’s a hair away from touching the king with his blade. still, his brother holds off his guards. “and how do you suppose i done such a thing while being imprisoned!?”

“cool it with the theatrics, brother,” viserys punctuates his exhaustion with an eye roll and gives a single nod of his head, giving the kingsguards the go-ahead to swarm around daemon.

a pair of them, both young in their knighthood and matching in face, grab at the rogue prince’s arms and hold him in a stand-still while another guard plucks the weapon from his hand. daemon shoves against their hold and is met with more resistance.

dark sister is passed among the guards, each hand that touches it being added to a tally of people on daemon’s list of men to disembowel. finally, viserys holds the weapon, examining it like it is the very first time he’s seen it.

“daemon, it brings me no joy to do this,” the king starts up again, eyes meeting the glaring amethysts of his brother. “but with the tensions arising and war creeping over the horizon, i can not afford to risk anything going amiss.”

“get to the point, brother. you’re speaking in rhyme as if you were some bard.”

“very well. from now until i decide you are not a threat to this kingdom, your confinement will be stretched from your chambers to the red keep. you are to carry no weapon and you will step no foot out of this castle.”

“you’re a fool if you think i’ll agree to this.”

“it is an order from your king!” viserys lets the mask slip, intentionally or not, and his irritation shines through like the stars paint themself across the dark sky. “and if that’s not enough to keep you in line, you will also be monitored at all hours of the day, every move you make within these walls will be shadowed by that of a knight of my choosing.”

daemon targaryen considers murdering his brother.

“and i see no man more fit for the job than ser criston cole.”

for the first time in his life, daemon targaryen may just go through with it.

“the bishop may be similar to the knight in it’s point count, yet it moves differently. while a knight can not move three times in the same direction, a bishop must stay within the colour it started in. think of a bishop like a maester: chained to an oath it can never break”

he’d rather be forced to endure a lifetime of self-flagellation than another moment of this conversation.

“it is in your best interest, your grace, to cut this state of anarchy out from it’s roots before any other houses chose to follow in the footsteps of runestone.” the new hand of the king is certainly an improvement from the hightower cunt, daemon can’t deny it. yet a part of him feels the knife of betrayal twist deeper into his back upon realising his brother had not only ignored his own warnings of the green lord till rhaenyra brought them up too, but he’d once again given the role to a random lord in his court rather than his own brother. “we have cause to believe that the dandarrions may be next to follow, given the less than kind words your daughter had for them during her tour for a marriage.”

“then there is the matter with the lannisters and, of course, the never ending tensions with the dornish folk. they’re more weary than ever, since someone,” maester mellos has never been a subtle man, despite all his supposed wits and knowledge, and so it flies over no one’s head when he takes a glance at the rogue prince and his standing guard, the insufferable man who’s made himself daemon’s shadow. “went to war with the triarchy.”

“my apologies for riding you all of that tyrant crabfeeder!” daemon speaks for the first time since he’d been forced to sit at the small council. “i’ll be sure to stand by and allow the next one to rip you all to pieces.”

daemon drowns out the rest of the meeting, uninterested in hearing his brother grovel at ways to keep his subjects at bay, as though they are the ones that rule over him.

gifts of gold for the dandarrion, a knighting for the lannisters’ youngest lords, peace-offerings in the forms of poetic words, and sweetened fruits, and lavish silks for the dornish. each gift more empty than the last.

it’s the mention of your name that brings him back into the room.

“were she here, we could have used her as a bargaining plea for one of these stronger houses,” ser lyman beesbury is the one who speaks and, with each word, the rest of the councilmen grow wider in the eyes and stiffer in their seats.

daemon explains their otherwise odd reactions away with them simply feeling uncomfortable discussing you in his presence, everything changed and nothing the same since sometime between the night he had you pressed against your door and his confinement within the keep.

upon release back into the castle, he’d searched for you first of all, paying no mind to criston cole as the knight struggled to keep up with his rushed footfall, mind too focused on the renewed anger he wished to placate with his cock in your mouth and the further destruction of your purity, all in the name of spiting your father.

when he’d reached your chambers, however, he’d found nothing but a mess of emptied trunks and an unkept bed.

“the princess is not here.” ser criston had spoken between gasps of air, chest heaving beneath the unnecessary layers of chainmail and armor his position forces him to wear.

daemon had demanded an answer for your whereabouts, only to quickly realise the knight was none-the-wiser. it was the new hand, ultimately, that clued him in, over sips of wine and looks of caution from other council-men amid a private feast.

“driftmark, prince daemon.” he’d dabbed at the corners of his mouth with poise and composure, everything about the man seemingly perfected for politics, serving only to irritate the prince further. “the princess has accompanied her older sister and her new husband on their trip to laenor velaryon’s home.”

that was the last daemon had heard of you.

a near moon later and you were still out of reach, likely turning your nose at the smell of salt that coated the walls of the velaryon household and wondering why a certain red-speckled dragon had yet to swoop in on the island, carrying the cause and answer to all your problems upon it’s back.

“dare i say i agree, your grace,” another of the men chimes in, his words barely a whisper at first, glancing nervously toward the king. “perhaps we may write for her return and see to it that a betrothal be made.”

daemon chooses to observe viserys in this moment, eyes trailing over his features and taking note of every wrinkle in his brow, every greyed hair within his unshaven face, every upturn and scorn of his lip. there’s a wave of unease that’s fallen over his brother, and it only grows with every moment that the lords speak of you in the rogue prince’s presence, the air thick with the discussion the two brother’s had yet to have regarding the rumours of your deflowering.

“and, tell me, my lords, what you suggest we tell the princess’ current betrothed?” maester mellos, ever incapable of holding his tongue, barks across the table, deathly unaware of the looks that befall the council nor the tensing of daemon’s shoulders. “the king is trying to avoid war, not further instigate one by implying her current betrothal is not good enough, that house-”

“that’s enough!” the king rises from his chair all at once, slamming his hand down on the table and commanding the attention of everyone in the room, more so when he recoils in pain. all at once, the rumours of his declining health and the effect it’s had on his body feel all too true. “there will be no further discussions of my daughter nor the prospect of a new betrothal. what’s done is done and i will not go back on my word to appease your fear-mongering speculations. we will continue our diplomatic relationship with these houses and ensure they do good to remember who sits the iron throne.”

the men obey like sheep, each bowing their head and mumbling false reconciliations.

one by one, they all take their leave.

first, lyman beesbury, who with pale face and solemn eyes lays apologies at visery’s feet. next, the master of laws and maester mellos, neither of them wasting time with niceties and opting for a mere bow towards their king. when all the chairs lay empty, save for daemon’s and the king, silence runs thick through the room. neither brother moving, each testing their unnamed opponent and awaiting the first blow through the tension to be made.

daemon grows impatient.

“unless corlys velaryon fucked a new son into our lady cousin and had the babe birthed in a matter of days, i do wonder who you’ve betrothed my niece to on driftmark.”

“do you know what your problem is, daemon?” though viserys’ words come out with inquisitory tones, he leaves no space for the prince to answer. “you’re so busy with your own schemes and plans that you fail to see when you’re the one being played.”

daemon feels small.

for a moment, he’s no longer a man grown into a soldier, with a mighty sword and a fearsome dragon. instead, he’s frail and weak, and staring across at his older brother as he beats him once more in the game of knights and checkered spaces, a taunting look on his face as he knocks over the little boy’s king piece and declares himself victor.

when the moment passes, he straightens his posture and rises from his seat, and reminds himself of the words his mother would comfort her crying babe with each time he failed to win, whispers of how there’s always something to be gained in any loss he finds.

he settles with leading his brother further into the trap of rumours him and his niece have conjured up together.

“i hear your new wife is fond of the seven, brother.” the prince reaches to grip the hilt of his sword, only to find an empty space and the reminder that he carries no weapon as of late. “ask her to pray for your daughter, i don’t believe she tasted the bitterness of moon tea after our evening together.”

the king does not call daemon’s bluff.

“this right here? the rook, worth more than the bishop or knight, yet less than the king or queen, it is an allusive piece. play the game wisely and your rook may trap the king, leaving it with nowhere to run.”

with the passing of another moon, daemon plunders deeper into insanity.

he’s always been a man of possession, the kind who owns and conquers and takes. objects, lands, people. they’re all the same in daemon’s chequebook of ownership. and, while living a rather messy and unkept life, he enjoys the pleasantness of having his possessions in his line of sight, like the sword he’s worn at his hip since the old king bestowed it upon him, or the seating he takes at every royal feast, chair angled perfectly to keep his eyes on the brother, nieces, family he possesses.

with dark sister out of reach and his most recent favoured family member out of sight- the pretty niece he’s silently layed his claim on-, destruction is imminent.

no longer does he debate with his own inner-turmoil over if he will go against the king’s orders but, rather, he questions when.

when will he redeem his previous loss against ser criston cole, beat the knight to the ground and steal his weapon as he lays unconscious?

when will he slip through the cracks in the castle walls, making use of the secretive halls built by maegor the cruel himself and slice through any guard who may attempt to get in his way?

when will he take the skies atop his fire-breathing mount, fleeing the city of whispering cunts and chees-playing fools?

the answer to each questions comes back to one thing, one person, one possession he needs to locate first.

you.

the events to follow the council meeting had lead him to several conclusions.

the first, and most obvious one, was that you clearly were not on driftmark, as lord strong had so boldly claimed. the second took him a few sleeps to fully decide upon but, remembering the words spoken of your betrothal among the council men and the apparent greater houses they could have given your hand to, daemon crossed off the possibility of you being in winterfell, the young stark lord likely too prideful to entertain the king’s earlier propositions of marriage after the way you’d left him amid a feast to go and- falsely rumoured- fuck your uncle.

with the dandarrions, the lannisters and the dornish folk already ruled off the list, it left daemon with few options.

his strongest lead is the baratheons, a long-standing connection between the two houses and a recently widowed lord who’s previous wife had gifted nothing but girls from her womb, it took no genius to assume a targaryen bride would serve him well.

daemon will soon find out he's wrong.

there’s an unease that takes over someone’s chambers the moment they notice something has been tampered with, whether it be as silly as a glass moved a few inches across a table or something as significant as a chest of drawers laying open when they’d clearly been left shut.

it tickles the back of the prince’s neck this very evening, skin rising to mimic that of a goose as he trails his eyes over his surroundings.

he’d returned to his chambers later than usual this evening, the day spent cornering council-men and threatening them- daemon had quickly discovered they feared him less with no blade to slice through them and his own personal minder at his back, that ridiculous kingsguard armour reflecting every ray of sun and every burn of candlelight.

daemon had taken to tormenting the poor ser crispin only a matter of days into their forced companionship. he figured that, if he may no longer seek joy in the streets of silk or the bloodshed of his enemies, let him at least take pleasure in the squirming discomfort of a man he loathes entirely.

“my niece,” he’d spoke as the two sat through their usual quiet supper together. “did you enjoy fucking her?”

“i did not fuck princess y/n.”

“well, of course not,” daemon pushed his spoon back and forth, passing time while he thought up his next taunt. “my younger niece has always had the more refined taste out of the two of them. rhaenyra, on the other hand, well she’d fuck a hound if it licked her the right way.”

“all this from a man who preys on his own blood for his sexual deviance. you and i both know what you done to your niece, how you seduced such a-”

“my nieces have always seemed so alike. both pale haired, both sharing the same smile, both wearing the same dresses.” the knight and the prince had long abandoned their food now, discussion heavy with daemon’s accusation of ser criston abandoning his own vows and committing what he can only imagine would be declared treason, deflowering a princess. perhaps soon the two will share something in common. “now i wonder if they feel the same. you must know, so tell me, did rhaenyra’s cunt grip your pathetic cock in a vice that threatened to ruin any other woman for you? or is that a trait only my youngest niece possesses?”

even now, hours into the late night and several more cups of wine drowning in his system, daemon can not bite back a dry laugh as he recalls the astound look upon the knight’s face, a mixture of disgust and discomfort.

he’s seated- more accurately speaking, he’s draped- upon a chaise, muscles tense and mind racing, in need of distraction. most of his nights end like this now, several emptied pitchers of wine along the floor, red staining his mouth and his own figure collapsed over whatever surface he finds first. occasionally, he’d attempt to have his way with a serving girl, ignoring the looks of ser criston as he stands guard outside his chambers and watches the prince enter with his partner for the evening, yet most were dismissed before daemon could satisfy himself, a mixture of his own drunken incontinence and their far too placid natures.

at least the whores of the silk street make him believe they want him.

letting out a groan, he sinks further into the seat, legs bent at the knee and feet planted firmly on the ground as he lets himself lay back fully. he’s contemplating taking rest here for the evening, and weighing the likely-hood of awakening with a new pain in his neck. 

it would certainly be a more comfortable sleep than the would he’d taken last night, back slumped against a wall and body sat atop the cool marbled floor.

he makes his choice, limbs too tired to make the few paces to his bed, and resigns himself for the night, twisting once more to find the most comfortable position upon the chaise and closing his eyes.

only to reopen them instantly.

something rustles. that feeling of unease creeps in once again, slow like fog over the horizon, hazy and threatening, and cold in every sense of the word. someone has been in his chambers, is in his chambers, and they’ve left something askew.

his eyes dart over the room, trying to assess every nook and corner and crevice within it in hopes of spotting a pair of spying eyes or unsettled objects. struggling due to all the blind spots his position has created, daemon heaves himself back into the upright position, figure slouched and back curved uncomfortably.

the rustling happens again.

he shoots up from his seat, wondering if his inebriated state has begun to create delusions, or if the psychosis caused by staring at the same red walls of the keep nonstop has finally begun to take over. he must be going mad, he thinks, eyes scanning over the whole of his room as he turns in place, cursing the more he notices nothing out of the ordinary.

until he sees it.

there, placed exactly where his tired limbs had been mere moments ago, lays a note.

it’s folded over and sporting a strange yellow blotch in one of it’s corners while, in the centre, written in the blackest ink so delicately and flowery it near stirs his cock in his breeches, kepus.

he snatches at the paper, near tearing it in two with the speed he unfolds it, eyes racing over every scribble and every swirl of pretty inked words.

the rain is the only thing that brings me comfort these days.

the letter begins and, while the writer has still not identified themselves, the prince is more than certain he knows who is speaking.

i’ve never been a fan of change (i’m sure you recall my horrid tantrums as a child whenever my mother assigned me a new handmaiden), yet never have i faced one so large. where in the capital i spent my days with books and needles and rides upon dragon’s back, here i am told to sit quiet as a mouse, as though i am merely another ornament within the lord’s home. where i once spent nights rolling my eyes and wishing to be excused from public feasts, here i cry and ache for a morsel of socialising outside the lord’s inner circle. where once i slept sound over the small folk screaming and cheering into the late night, here i sit awake by the window and listen to each raindrop.

i am not built for the cold, both in weather and in people. they frighten me here, which is a thing i never thought i’d need admit to. there are no whispers here, only silence. but their eyes, they speak paragraphs of hatred and disdain and ill-intentions with a simple glance. i need not worry if they will eat me alive here, but rather whom will be the one to do so. in the capital i’ve always felt untouchable, first because i was my father’s daughter, a princess of the realm, and, when that began to lose effect, you stepped in and taught me safety can be found in another, with your advice and your combat training and your inability to let me fall asleep without you on my mind.

i’ve developed a sick obsession for you, uncle, and it is entirely your fault.

he’s sunk back onto the chaise, hand gripping the letter tighter as a mixture of worry and anger stirs up in his loins. worry over the tales you tell, anger for the possibility of this being a sick game, a note written by some pathetically bored serving wench aiming to ruffle some feathers.

he decides he must keep reading to uncover the truth.

and so, now, it is with heavy heart that i must admit i’m disappointed. don’t perceive me as foolish, for i am wiser than some maiden who believes the things i feel for you to be love. but i always believed there was understanding between us, two different souls yet so completely immersed and knowing of each other’s drives and needs. even when i was a child, you were always the first to notice once i was too tired to continue with the festivities or when i craved the thrill of sneaking down to the dragonpit to spy upon the great beasts. i thought you’d understand, too, that this is not the life i wishfor: a husband with the personality of a wet piece of parchment and a life of silence and gloom.

i am a dragon, just like my sister, and my father, and our ancestors. and a dragon can not grow in a cage, so why have you let them put me in one? you agreed to help me, to ruin me for any other lord so that my father would have no option to but to wed us, leaving us both to our own devices. you, gaining that valyrian wife you always wanted while not changing your whorish ways, and i, earning the freedom i would not find shackled to some low achieving, overbearing, egotistical man. yet i now have a betrothed who’s hair is brown and who’s house has no dragon.

i will risk writing this only once, for the spiders may not spin their thread here but they still bite, and ask this of you: speak sense into my father. tell him i’m with child, tell him i’m a threat to the realm, tell him i’m plotting my own death. tell him any lie you need to put a stop to this betrothal and bring me home, to where i belong.

or, outsmart him and simply come rescue me yourself, like some knight on his white stallion (caraxes would likely singe my hair off if i ever dared call him such a thing in his presence).

i’ll be awaiting your next move, uncle. be sure you play wisely and don’t lose both your princess and your king.

coldest regards,

your little dove.

p.s. i have cum to learn that, while my fingers are indeed skilled, they are nowhere near as good as yours were, kepus.

the intensity behind the stare he holds the note under may just set it alight.

no longer does he doubt who could have written such a thing, the mentions of your joint ploy to deceive the courtiers and the wording used to describe the connection shared between you both marking the undeniable truth of the letter’s author. 

perversion brings him to reread the final sentence, mind fully registering them and flooding him with pink hued paintings of his pretty niece, as nude as the day you were born, now flushed skin and hardened nipples and honey dripping down your thighs as your dainty hands fail to fuck themselves as deeply as his had.

daemon can’t help but wonder what his little dove must think of in moments of self-pleasure, questions of whether you were depraved enough to think of men doing unspeakable things to you or if you merely blush over the memory of your uncle.

reading over the last part two more times, his eyes scatter back up the page- first, in an effort to avoid having to deal with his own impending arousal, and then because he feels compelled to read over the letter once more, eyes scanning over every detail.

it takes an unknown number of reads for him to notice a code among the words, a subtleness of ink layered to appear harsher, darker, more noticeable than the other words upon the parchment.

i’m, where, you, once, were.

i’m where you once were.

an inexplicable sense of pride comes over him, the fact his little dove has found a way to tell him something whilst, simultaneously, telling him nothing. were your worries true of spiders and the risk of one of them reading this letter in the time it took to reach him, he doubts any of them would be wise enough to notice the message, much less decipher it’s meaning.

and, while he applauds your display of wits, he despises his own inability to comprehend it. if you are where he once was, where had he been?

just about everywhere in the seven kingdoms, is the unfortunate truth.

by the time sleep at lasts takes over him, daemon has gained two things: the letter you’ve sent and the unbreakable will to move in on the king at last.

“the objective of chess is to protect your king while attacking your opponent’s. you must back the king into a corner, leave him with no way out, place him in check. only then will you be able to call checkmate and win.”

daemon nudges the knight with his foot.

as they’d sat for supper that evening, the prince had felt doubtful of the contents in the vial. he’d pinched it from the grand maester himself and, though he payed no real coins, the prince would argue he payed a grater price: feigning interest in conversing with old crone. a near three hours he’d sat, listening to the man drone on and on, till at last he’d excused himself to relieve his bladder and left daemon with a window of opportunity, his ointments and medicine all in a neat little display.

having little time, he’d grabbed at what he was sure to be milk of the poppy- a significantly smaller dose remaining within the vial compared to the rest- and tucked it in his trousers, at last excusing himself from the bore of a lifetime.

it wasn’t difficult to slip the liquid into a cup of wine, nor was it particularly hard to convince ser criston to drink from it, inviting the knight to join in on his empty toast towards the hightower queen and yet another pregnancy.

hours later and ser crispin lays slumped over outside his door.

daemon gives one more nudge for safety and, when the man merely slouches even closer to the ground, he grabs at the knight’s weapon and nestles it in his own scabbard, making use of it for the first time in two moons.

the hour is late and most of the keep have given in to the temptations of rest, yet the prince still travels the halls with caution, one eye looking over his shoulder. he half expects every guard he passes to seize him on sight, spewing some nonsense of his wrongful weapon or non-permitted solitude. with luck he reaches his destination, no one to spy upon the way he enters into the emptied library nor to witness as he shoves a bookcase aside and steps into the tunnel.

his memory serves him well, even after all these years, navigating himself through the interconnected secrets of the keep. he passes rooms of lords laid in bed with women they do not call wife, and ladies disrobing for the evening, and the still empty chambers of his little dove, till, at last, he reaches where he wants to be, not bothering with patience before barging his way out of the tunnel and into the regal chambers of the king.

“it took you longer than i expected.” daemon had counted on his brother being the one wearing shock upon his face, yet it is the prince who plays the fool, stepping into the room to find his older brother sat at a table, goblet in hand and a familiar checkered board in front of him.

it irks him to hear the king even imply he’d been expecting his arrival.

“don’t you have a wife to be bedding, brother?” he steps deeper into the chambers with caution, eyes on the empty bed and the lack of sight of his brother’s breeding mare.

“pregnancy, daemon. it works wonders on a woman’s body,” he takes a sip of his drink before reaching to pour a second cup meant for the prince. “it’s just a shame one of those wonders comes in the form of my wife snoring louder than a lion roars.”

it’s strange to hear his brother discuss details of his new bride.

daemon had never sought answers for their marriage, yet he’d forever questioned what had driven his brother to marry such a girl, childhood friend of his eldest daughter and so clearly lacking the backbone needed to stand up for herself against the injustices forced against her by her own father. were the prince a more gentle person at heart, perhaps he’d find it in him to pity her.

instead, he sees her as just another thorn in his brother’s side, waiting for the chance to poison his mind and seat one of her wretched babes upon the throne.

“come, come,” dragging him out of his thoughts is viserys once more, now half-hovering over the table and moving his limbs back and forth, hands carefully placing each piece upon it’s designated checker. “sit down! let us play!”

only as he’s seated across from viserys does he notice he’s been bestowed with playing the blacks on the board. never before was he allowed, the older of the two always insisting black was his lucky colour and refusing to play the whites.

in truth, daemon has always suspected his brother had been to fearful to play white, not knowing how to make a good first move and relying on his opponent to instead kickstart the game and give him places to move his pieces.

“isn’t it a beautiful board?” the elder must confuse his staring as a sign of fascination, gawking at the splendour of it. “it’s the very same one mother gifted me after i bested her for the first time.”

there it is, that familiar lick of envy, a sick and cruel twist in his guts as he stares down at an object viserys gets to remember their parents by, while all daemon ever got was disapproving looks and half-hearted embraces. perhaps the rumours are true and the prince has a complex which forces him to pity himself, to cast a shadow upon his own image and declare that it was a wrong forced upon him by others.

or, more likely, the consequences of watching his parents prop viserys up on a mantelpiece whilst leaving him in a corner to collect dust had lead him down the path to the destructive man he’s become.

even when he’d claimed caraxes, he could only imagine what his father’s reaction would have been, were he still alive to witness it. 

impressive, but your brother claimed the greatest dragon to have ever lived, the one who the great conqueror rode upon and forged a throne under the black dread’s flames.

“‘tis exactly the same as any other chess board, brother.” he lets petty feelings spin lies on his tongue, rolling his eyes and disregarding the clear etherealness, the intricate carvings on each piece and the extravagant linings of the board, and each of it’s shimmering onyx and quartz squares.

daemon downs half his cup in one sip, eyes trained on his brother’s first move.

king’s pawn forward two spaces, a strong start and an immediate attack to the centre.

it’s fitting, daemon thinks, for this to be the first move his brother makes while leading a game. while a powerful start, it’s rather obvious, one he’d seen viserys defeat in a manner of mere seconds. perhaps age has taken away his astute mind and skill for the game.

daemon retaliates, moving one of his bishop’s pawns forward two spaces.

with the crease that forms in viserys’ brow, daemon delights. his brother was not expecting him to move in such a way, likely expecting him to do something erratic like bringing his queen’s pawn forward.

the pair continue to move in silence, sips of wine and scratching of pieces echoing around the chambers. it’s deceivingly peaceful, nothing like the confrontation the rogue prince had geared himself up to walk into. while he’d awaited bursts of anger and scathing accusations and marks of betrayal, the two sit like children once more, moving empty objects in an imitation of politics.

the only difference is daemon appears to have the upper hand, a growing collecting of white pieces stored to the right of his long-ago emptied and refilled cup.

as always, it’s daemon who takes the first bite.

“i’m afraid i must pay you your dues, brother.” his words slip through his own smirking lips, satisfaction rolling in by the hundreds as he spies the white king, slowly losing places to hide on the board. “it’s truly applaudable how you managed to not only secure one daughter a marriage amid questions of her virtue, but two! young helaena will follow in her half-sisters’ footsteps, surely.”

viserys’ hand pauses mid-air, his remaining bishop held in his grasp. his grip tightens with each passing second. the older has always been more level-headed, that no one can dispute, but the rogue prince will forever swear up and down, high and low, that it is his brother who carries the more foul temper.

viserys’ anger is just harder to weed out from behind false niceties and calmed breathing.

“if you mean to say that helaena will be so lucky as to marry a noble man, filled with honour,” he lays his bishop down at last, not managing to capture any of daemon’s blacks. “then yes, i should hope so. both the betrothal of my eldest daughter and my middle-born were to good men, faithful lords. my helaena will be lucky to do the same.”

“you never did quite tell me about y/n’s betrothal, brother.” the king chuckles at daemon’s words, empty amusement in the obvious statement the prince makes. still, he makes no attempt to stop him, letting him string the conversation along to the dreaded topic between them: the rumours of what daemon had done to you. “last i spoke with her, she was rather... occupied with something other than the prospect of marriage. when you announced her future union to her, did she drop on her knees and kiss your feet in gratitude? or did she spit at you and-”

“did she drop on her knees for you?” the raise in viserys’ voice is minimal yet enough to have daemon smirking over the rim of his cup, amused to see his brother being led into his trap for once.

he makes his next move on the board fist, plucking his knight and moving it over one of his own pawns. if he plays is cards right, messes with his brother’s head just the right amount, perhaps he won’t notice how he’s moving in on his king.

his only hope is to keep talking about his little dove.

“so that’s what you wish to discuss, brother? how it felt to fuck your young daughter?” for the first time he speaks the lie out loud, no hiding behind innuendos nor insinuations. they need to believe you’ve stolen my virtue, kepus, were the words you’d whispered to him, face still fresh from dried tears and teeth stained purple with the wine he’d let you sip from his glass late into the night as the rest of the world had slept, they need to think that you fucked me.  he’d sworn an oath to you, to put on a show and ruin you beneath the judgement of others. he’ll be damned if viserys becomes an exception to this oath. “because i can go into detail, you needn’t beg. i can tell you of how it felt to have her squeeze around my cock, and how she arched that little back like a cat, spine curving deeper each time i pounded into her. i can tell you of how she begged for her uncle, her kepus, to shoot his spend into her aching womb and-”

a screech rings out as viserys’ chair flies backwards, the king rising to a stand and glaring down at his brother, who only sinks deeper into the velvet lined seat and allows himself another sip of his glass, face painted in pure amusement as viserys’ reflects that of an angered dragon.

“enough! i will not have you speak such atrocities about your own niece!”

“oh spear me the lecture of the seven, brother!” the hypocrisy to shun him for lusting after his own kin, it has to be the hightower cunt’s doing. feeding lies into her new husband’s head, any means to have his true-blooded targaryen daughters removed from the line to the throne. daemon at last feels himself begin to irk, a scowl engraving itself into his forehead. “your own beloved, your late wife, shared blood with you and you never once objected to bedding her. it is our family’s birthright to keep the blood of the dragon burning hot, not dampen it with that of lesser folk. i mean our parents, for gods’ sake, they were siblings! are you going to tell me it’s wrong?”

“this is not about you being her uncle, daemon. this is about you being you! and her being my sweet girl, one of the last pieces of aemma-”

daemon can’t help himself, flying out of his own seat with the slam of his hand on the table. the pieces rattle under the impact, the white queen toppling over and sending her pawn flying off the board.

“your sweet girl who you let be slandered by the same lords who break bread at your table and drink from your cups!” the prince stands taller than the king, shoulders straight and head held high as he flips positions, becoming the one staring down upon his older brother, who’s slouched and frailer than he once was, hands searching for the steadying hold of the oak table. “tell me, brother, where were you when she drank herself sick as they spoke on her fertility? what did you do when they mocked her for being scared after an attack on her life, in her own chambers!? did you even ask her what happened between us before you shipped her off like cattle to the slaughter, let her tell you it was she who asked it of me? she detested the thought of marrying some unknown lord so much she’d rather destroy her maidenhood and her honour, but you wouldn’t see that, too blinded by your own downfall into becoming a boot-licker for all these cunts who hold land in your realm.”

viserys can only stare, frozen where he stands and eyes widened in bewilderment at his brother’s own outburst, chest heaving in anger and hands shaking with adrenaline as he points towards the king.

“are you in love with her?”

no more than a whisper, so quiet the rogue prince is almost sure he imagines it.

till the king repeats himself.

"gods, don't be ridiculous!" it’s neither a yes nor a no, and daemon is so painfully aware of this, aware that he gives no real answer to your father nor himself.

the concept of love and all it entails has never appealed to the prince, at least in the way it’s presented in song and written of in history. all his life he’d heard of knights who’s lady love was a gem they sought to hold, to sing songs of faithfulness and dance around with hands entwined by marriage. of men who made themselves better, kinder, more gentle, all in the hopes of pleasing their lover and winning her hand. daemon had never experienced such a feeling.

while love is something most feel in their heart, daemon feels it in his loins.

it’s a hunger that consumes his very being, aching, and growling, and demanding to be fed with bursts of passion and shouts of anger. it’s a possession he needs to take, to mark someone as his, in every sense of the words. his to own, his to touch, his to drown in expensive gifts. his love is not kind, but brutal, and loud, and forceful, never leaving room for the rest of the world to doubt it. it makes him want to march into battle, to burn down cities, to spill the blood of any who dare harm the object of his obsession. his love is a fire that burns him from within, spilling out from his skin and scorching everything in it’s path.

the prince is not sure if he wants you to burn in its flames.

“but i could give her a greater life than any other man in this realm.” what he is certain of is that he will not stand by as your father let’s you be ruined by someone other than him. “a good man means nothing if he can not keep her safe, or even happy. at the very least, wedding her to me would mean her husband is someone familiar. she wouldn’t have to leave her home, or change her ways, or even bare a child if she does not wish to.”

viserys sighs, tired body dropping back into his chair and his mangled hand reaches up to brush over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeeze shut. the prince almost believes he sees a flicker of resignation, winning his brother over at last or exhausting him so deeply he sees no choice but to accept his words as truth, if only to silence him.

instead, the king reaches for the board once more, an airy laugh escaping him as he examines the placement of each piece. leaning over, he sits his queen back up and drums his fingers on the table.

he laughs once more.

"after all these years, daemon, you still struggle to capture my queen."

“but your queen, daemon. the queen is where you hide all your power, look for where your opponent keeps their queen and there you shall find true victory.”

the words of years ago spin round and round in the prince’s head.

his eyes, glued to the board, watch as the king moves his queen out two spaces and captures daemon’s knight, snatching it off the board and tossing it over his shoulder. viserys looks up, awaiting for daemon to continue the match, to put an end to it at last.

but he’s too stuck on the phrasing his brother had used, stubborn in his belief that it’s meaning has little to do with the game upon the table and, rather, the one that’s being played with words and whispers and undisclosed betrothals.

the prince thinks of the queen, the hightower girl who parades around the courts in green silks and upon swollen ankles, face downtrodden each time she foolishly thinks no one is looking. if ever he believed viserys held true affection for her, he’d wonder if she was who the king refers to, if otto hightower had truly been sent back to oldtown empty handed or with a new bride on his arm.

but any fool with a set of eyes can see the king loves his second wife like he loves the iron throne: through duty and obligation.

it is, instead, the late queen aemma who viserys must speak of.

and, while her maiden home, house arryn, where she’d spent her girlhood in the days before she’d been betrothed to her cousin, possesses no lord nor man awaiting a wife, a neighbouring house had just recently named a new wifeless lord.

a house which remembers, especially those who wrong it.

“no…”

i'm where you once where.

“you have to understand, daemon, that the actions you take leave me with consequences to bare. after what happened to lady rhea… after what you done,” his brother, so clearly exhausted with the secrecy and the scheming, folds like a house of cards against a gentle breeze, collapsing further into his seat and shaking his head. he does not notice as daemon moves his own queen along the board. “the vale were at an unease. threatened, was the word they used. so when lord royce staked his claim over his house’s seat, demanding i compensate runestone for the marriage agreement you destroyed and the lady you took from them, i had to give them a show of good faith. i had to reassure them of the longstanding trust between our houses.”

“so you gave her to them, sold her like some slave!”

“i made a political deal!” he attempts to defend himself in both words and on the board. in both, he fails. “one where lord rhoyce gains a bride, i avoid war and my daughter gets to finally take on the duties bestowed upon her at birth.”

“you’re a fucking fool, viserys. you would have been better delivering her to the triarchy. least they would make her death a more swift one. that rhoyce twat’ll have her head on a pike, and her tits and cunt will be hand delivered to you. they’ll slaughter her, as payment for their-” daemon swallows every ill coloured word and expression of his despise that comes to mind at the memory of his bronze bitch, giving no out for his brother to twist this conversation into a matter of his own wrongdoings. “late lady.”

with no more hesitation, the rogue prince moves his queen one last time and delights in watching the white king fall into check.

he knocks the piece over, quietly declaring checkmate.

“brother, please,” the king’s words are as fragile as his health, failing and mute against daemon’s scowling features, which refuse to play nice any longer. “do you think this is what i wanted, for my daughter to be used as a bargaining tool for peace? but there’s no going back, what’s done is done.”

“then undo what is done!”

“how can i when they threaten violence and-”

“you’re the king! who gives a shit what they threaten, they have a dozen men to your thousands. you have dragons! if the threat of fire worked on the men of the vale once, it’ll do so again. so regain your pride and write to that cunt royce. tell him to have your daughter cleaned up and sent back to where she belongs, to find fulfilment in his new lordhood and to drop this notion that he even deserves to gaze upon a targaryen princess, much less stick his shrivelled cock within her. i urge you to send this letter post-haste,” that familiar blade of his sits neatly by the entrance of the chamber, attracting the prince over till he clutches it in his grasp at last, quickly returning dark sister to her rightful spot by his side and discarding the blade he’d stolen from ser criston. he glances back at the king, now risen once more, and twists the doorknob. “and pray, dear brother. pray that it reaches gerold royce before i do.”

with the slam of the door, daemon plunders into the halls of the keep, footsteps heavy and echoing with each one he takes. jaw clenched and hands fisted, he paints the image of a man enraged, sick and fed-up with the games being played.

by the time he reaches his chambers, shoving his way past the sleeping knight at it’s doors, there’s bound to be a flurry of gossiping fools who speak of the prince and his defiling of the king’s commands, but he cares little as he straps himself into leathers and steel, hell-bent on reaching the dragonpit before day breaks and the sun paints the sky alight.

daemon is done sitting idly by, waiting for the king to see reason.

because while at the age of five, naive and easily influenced, daemon targaryen had looked up to his chess-genius of a brother, it was at age five and ten that he realised why his brother kept winning, why pawns and knights and rooks would conveniently move to the places he needed them to be.

he cheated.

#daemon targaryen smut #house of the dragon smut #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fluff #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen oneshot #daemon targaryen imagine

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Daddy’s Girl || D. Targaryen x oc

GIF by @pedropcl DIVIDERS by @straywords

summary: just cute moments between Daemon and his daughter with Leyla, Alyssa, from Second choice!!

“A healthy baby girl m’lady, my prince” Leyla let out a relieved sigh, Daemon was astatic with the news. He scooped the babe out of the midwife’s arms as he smiled down at his daughter.

“She has your lips” He grins as he looks up to Leyla who watches the two. She had never seen him so soft for such a tiny little human being. “How are you feeling my love?” He walks to her as he gently places the babe on her chest.

“Mostly tired. And sore, very sore” Leyla chuckled, slightly readjusting her position with the help of the handmaidens. “Well you did a great job darling, and thank you. Thank you for giving me a healthy baby girl” He whispers against her forehead.

“What are we going to name her Daemom?” He paused for a bit, looking at the babe on Leyla’s chest. The two had spent countless nights thinking about a perfect name for their child, whether it be a boy or girl.

“How do you feel about Alyssa?” He smiled, Leyla looked to him with an even bigger smile. “Alyssa. I love it” Leyla knew that this name was special to him, it was the same name his mother had.

~

“Can I? burp her I mean” Daemon questions, his eyes glued on Alyssa in Leyla’s arms. Leyla had just finished feeding her—which was very much argued about with the maesters and handmaidens but Leyla refused for her own daughter to be fed by another women—and it was time for Alyssa to be burped.

She smiled at her husband who was stood behind her, watching as Alyssa sucked on her mother’s nipple. Quite fascinating, Daemon thought for he has never witnessed a mother breastfeeding her own child.

“Of course!” Leyla happily says as Daemon carefully takes the 3 month old baby girl in his arms. Leyla sat back in her seat as she watched Daemon gently patting Alyssa’s back, slightly rocking her.

“This is fun-“ He was interrupted at the sound of throwing up. Leyla stifled a laugh as Daemon freezes, feeling the vomit slowly spill down his clothed back. “God” He groans at the smell. The handmaiden in the room quickly walked to the Prince but was motioned to stop by Leyla as she took the cloth and wiped it herself.

Alyssa stared at her father with an innocent face, “How could I get mad at you darling?” He sighs, kissing her soft cheek as she breaks into a smile. Both Leyla and Daemon laugh at their daughter’s cuteness.

Daemon pulls Leyla with his other arm that wasn’t holding Alyssa, placing a kiss on her head. She wraps an arm around his torso, the other reaching up to her daughter to which Alyssa holds her mother’s finger in comfort.

~

Leyla placed her index finger on her lips to signal silence to Alyssa in her arms. It was Daemon’s name day and she wanted to surprise him with something.

She puts Alyssa on her side of the huge bed, she was now able to crawl, nearly able to walk too. Daemon was still in his slumber as she crawled closer to her father.

Leyla sat on the bed, a smile on her face as she watches Alyssa get closer to Daemon’s peaceful face. She started lightly smacking his face, this made Leyla chuckle.

Soon enough, the light smacking started getting a tad more powerful and she started her baby talk. “Daddy’s still asleep baby, keep hitting him” Leyla joked.

And so she did, and straight after, Daemon opens his eyes, a sleepy smile on his lips. “Happy Birthday love” Leyla spoke, kissing his cheek as Alyssa does the same, leaving his cheek wet from her saliva.

Daemon lets out a laugh and lifts Alyssa up in the air making her squeal. “Thank you my darlings” He said in a sing songy voice, giving multiple kisses to his daughter.

After a few more giggles, Daemon sits her back down on the bed in between the two. “I have something to tell you” Leyla started as Daemon looks over to her.

She takes his hand in hers, placing it on her lower abdomen. “Are you..” Daemon quickly understands, Leyla nods with a smile.

She couldn’t believe it either when she found out, she didn’t expect to be pregnant again, especially since she birthed Alyssa nearly 6 months ago.

Daemon grins, pulling her arms towards him and giving her a hug, rubbing her back. The two could hear Alyssa babbling which made them look to her, “You’re going to be a big sister Alyssa!” Leyla exclaimed.

~

“Send our men. Settle an agreement, and get it over and done with” Daemon orders as the other lord’s look to each other. “But my Prince-“ Maester Mellos was interrupted by the sound of Alyssa whining.

Daemon looks down beside him, Alyssa was on her feet as her hands were reaching up towards him, a sign that she wanted to be carried.

The other lords around the room watch as Daemon lifts her up in his arms, “Pass me the water” He points to the water on the other side of the table.

Given the water, Daemon carefully gave it to her. “Perhaps we should call the handmaidens-“ Lord Beesbury suggested, Daemon was without a doubt distracted by his daughter and the other lords could tell.

“No. They are tending to my lady wife, leave them” He sternly replies before sitting Alyssa on his thigh, lightly bouncing her. “Now, where were we?” He smiled, looking at Alyssa who kept herself busy by playing with Daemon’s rings that adorned his hands.

Soon Alyssa became bored with playing with her father’s rings. Daemon was focused on talking so he let Alyssa down to wonder around the room. Alyssa made her way to the end of the table where Corlys was situated.

“Hello Alyssa” He smiled at the young child, ruffling her silver hair. Corlys then lifted her off the ground and sat her on his lap. She reached forward to where his cup of mead was.

Lord Lyonel noticed and quickly moved it away from her which earned a frown from the young girl. “When you’re older” He winked as she broke into a smile and soon fits of giggles.

Leyla then walked in, she had felt extra sick in the morning and her pregnancy was showing when she wore her dress. Alyssa’s head turned to the door, “Mama!” She excitedly said as Corlys lifts her up for Leyla to take.

“I hope she wasn’t too much of a hassle, my lord” She sheepishly whispered as Corlys shook his head. “Quite the opposite” He insisted as Leyla nodded.

Daemon had seen her walk in and the other voices around him seemed to have drowned out. “I think we’re done here yes?” Daemon interrupted a lord who was speaking. “but there’s still-“ “We’re done. Leave us” He waves him off, finishing his cup as everyone in the room shuffles to leave.

Leyla walked over to Daemon at the head of the table, Alyssa still in her arms but she was falling asleep. “How are you feeling?” Daemon asked as he kisses her forehead.

“The handmaidens think it’s a boy” She chuckled, remembering their words. Daemon laughs at this, “Really?” Leyla hums, passing a nearly asleep Alyssa to him as the two walk back to their bedchambers.

“Good luck laying her down, she’ll start crying” Leyla snorts, pulling the covers on their bed back. “I’ll be fine” He assures. He carefully lays back on the bed, Alyssa still on his chest as he starts patting her back to sleep.

Leyla watches, “Wow. I’m impressed” She chuckles, laying down herself. The three all drifted to sleep, tired of what the day brought them. Daemon briefly opened his eyes, he glanced to his right where Leyla was.

She was snuggled to his side, his arm was around her securely and Alyssa was still sound asleep on his chest. He smiled at the sight, he was content.

pls let me know if you want more of these and leave ideas!!!

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