#daemon fanfiction

[aemxnd]

midnight rain | daemon targaryen x niece!reader

Can the sunshine win over the darkness?

Heavily inspired by a gender-swapped Taylor Swift’s Midnight Rain as requested by @prettycutebunny, I hope I did your idea justice (and apologies for changing one lyric to suit the plot!)

WORDS: 5.3k (I’m so sorry)

WARNINGS: canon typical incest, dubcon, angst everywhere you look, p in v, v fingering, physical violence, breeding, degradation, praise, pain kink, Daemon being a real asshat, reader is Viserys and Alicent’s third child, reader has silver hair for plot point, Stockholm Syndrome, terrible High Valyrian translations, crying, power imbalance due to age difference. 

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

My requests are open! 🖤

Such a pretty little songbird.

Little Starling, your mother had once named you as a child. A free spirit, bound only by the towering castle walls that clipped your wings as the youngest child of the King and his second Queen. Weeks, months, years passed daydreaming beneath your favourite tree, reading the same fantastical books and listening to the same wistful odes from your minstrel. 

All the while under the careful eye of your kepus. 

Life’s tragedies and horrors had never crossed your path, never entered your realm, therefore could never harm you. Your childhood as idyllic as you could imagine, save for a loving father. That void was dutifully replaced by your uncle Daemon, whose unrivalled care and indomitable attention ensured you never wanted for anything more, evermore understanding that your father’s duty to his throne far exceeded the loving relationship expected toward a daughter and that his brother could offer the closest companionship to his. Yours was an unbreakable bond that defied all secrets, surpassed all proprietary expectations and often branched into full conversation in High Valyrian to remain undetected by outside ears. 

Meanwhile, your elder brothers Aegon and Aemond sought to salve the absence of a protective male role model closer to your own age, ensuring they trained in the sword to their own degrees should their little sister ever need rescue. No matter how often you reassured them, they refused to share your belief that no danger could come to you, for danger did not seek you. With the guard of three silver-haired Princes, you thought yourself invincible.

As you matured together, however, your brothers discovered distractions. For Aegon, it was women, cups and the sordid activities beyond the castle walls. For Aemond, it was Vhagar, studies and bitterness. You could not begrudge them the right to grow, to extend their roots beyond your all-too-comfortable sibling unit, as you too had become distracted by literature, music and the pursuit of a quiet life with precious few responsibilities. Somehow your tranquil existence had eluded the conversation of marriage, recognising your unfettered spirit aspiring to greater things than a life secluded within the Red Keep.

But not in the eyes of your kepus. 

~~She was sunshine, I was midnight rain~~

“What troubles you, little starling?” Called a familiar voice from behind your favourite reading spot in the Godswood. You squinted against the midday sun to find your beloved uncle Daemon watching over you, an uneasy frown skewing his lips. “Why are you so often here alone?”

“Good day, dear kepus,” you closed the tome in your lap, clasping your hands together. “My brothers are at the Dragonpit, where I fear a princess may never tread.”

“And you are content with reading in solitude?” Daemon stepped closer, treading carefully over the gnarled roots of the tree upon which you sat. “Would you not prefer company?”

“I am sure others would not wish to read the tales I choose to indulge,” you clutched your book closer to your chest, hurriedly attempting to conceal its cover from him. Sighing thoughtfully, you smiled up at your uncle. “I am resigned to the life of a quiet Princess Regent, neither an heir nor a common-born. No responsibility, no authority, yet still no freedom.”

Daemon approached and perched on a root beside you, chuckling softly under his breath. “I suppose that notion is all too familiar to us both, Princess.”

“Then how did you assuage it, uncle?” You looked over to him, noticing a distinct pain behind the considerate smile on his countenance. “How did you counsel yourself to contentment with such an existence?”

“What in the Seven Heavens makes you believe that I have?” Daemon snorted, gaze dropping into his lap. “How do you counsel yourself to contentment with a life of loneliness, niece? You are but seven-and-ten, do you not wish to take a husband? Make an honest man out of some egotistical Lannister?”

You smiled warmly. “I do not wish to marry, uncle. No aspect of marriage or childbearing holds any attraction for me, for I could never find the love of which I read in literature.”

“That I find hard to believe, Princess. If you wish to marry for love, your parents would be only too happy to oblige.” His hand reached to clasp over your thigh reassuringly. “One day, you will find the Prince you deserve.”

A comfortable silence fell between you, enough to hear the rising volume of the wind in the Godswood. You glanced up in tandem to see the once-turquoise sky fading to an ominous grey.

“A storm is coming, Princess,” Daemon clicked his tongue, slapping his knees demonstrably and rising to his feet. With a kindly hand proffered in the space between you, he beamed down at you. “May I accompany my little ray of sunshine to shelter?”

As you reached to accept, Daemon finally caught a glimpse of your book’s cover and smiled to himself. “The Tales of Persephone and Hades, I see.” His voice lowered to a mutter so indistinct you could not hear him. “How apt, vēzos.” Sun. 

You paced slowly toward the library together, Daemon always one step behind, his hands clasped studiously behind his back as you meandered around hallway after indiscriminate hallway, wordlessly travelling as if no conversation could be found. You would never notice the manner in which Daemon consumed the image of you before him, a woman grown so distinctly from the small babe he had observed in your youth, born with gleaming silver hair which now tumbled to the length of your hips. Your regal green gown swayed as you moved and swept the hallway before his intrepid footsteps, Daemon swallowed harshly as he imagined the frame concealed by your bodice and boned skirt. 

~~She wanted it comfortable, I wanted that pain~~

Upon your arrival at the dimly-lit library hall, you turned to nod a farewell to your escort. 

“Thank you, uncle,” you smiled before quickly turning on your heels in search of another book to lose yourself in. As you paced, you heard your footsteps echoing with another, realising that Daemon had followed you. After a few more steps, you ground to a sudden halt, giggling gently as he bumped into you and nearly lost his footing. You grasped his arms behind you and steadied him, the gentle clearing of his throat behind you making you chuckle harder. “Kepus, are you following me?”

His hands searched for your waist and skimmed the contour of your hips, pulling you flush to his chest so close his warm breaths fanned your hair. Your laughter silenced with the sudden realisation that this was no child’s play. 

“I would follow you to the ends of the earth, little starling,” he whispered into the shell of your ear, venturing a hand to brush your tumbling silver curls from your neck so he could blaze a trail of butterfly kisses unimpeded. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes fluttering closed as his gentle touch melted your resistance immediately. 

“Kepus… what do you mean?” You asked timidly, almost afraid of the response.

His next searing kiss into the base of your neck lingered a while, his lips wrapping you up in anticipation and longing for a touch you had never before desired, but now that you had it, you craved it more than the air you breathed. Your head threw back into the blissful sensation, earning a low groan from Daemon that vibrated softly against your skin. 

“You have always been the midday sun to my midnight rain, haven’t you, little one?” Daemon whispered. “You were born into this world when I returned from the Stepstones, a ray of light when my world was shrouded in darkness. Whenever my life has succumbed to the pitch black of night, you were always there to illuminate the way.”

Your hands rested on his as they traversed deep into the valley of your pelvis, hovering over the position of your most sensitive place concealed only by the structure of your dress. 

“Uncle, please…,” you muttered in a form of weak protest that came out as an encouragement, unable to scramble through your mind for a reason why you should reject his advances. He had lost Laena, you were unwed, there were no marital connections to stop you. Your beloved uncle, who more or less raised you in the absence of your father, had been the deepest love in your heart all your life. Whether or not that had been a romantic love or not, you could not deny the way your body responded to his touch as if you had yearned for this moment ever since you first read of love. Holding him this close felt as natural as breathing. 

“Hush now, little starling,” he cooed as his lips blazed a trail up to your earlobe and nibbled gently, all while pressing his palm into your skirt so his fingers could make contact with your mound beneath, making featherlight strokes into the fabric and causing your hips to buck into his hand. “Tepagon aōla naejot nyke.” Give yourself to me.

The darkness enveloped the daylight as you nodded in agreement, and in the blink of an eye Daemon gripped your hips, spun you to face him and captured your lips with his. At first tentative, he pulled back to scan your face for a response, only to growl hungrily as he watched your gaze journey to his lips eagerly awaiting their next contact, consuming your mouth with his before you could mutter a protest. Your hands instinctively reached to lace around his neck, drawing him closer and dipping into the kiss as if your hunger could not be sated, craving as much contact as physically possible. 

Without you knowing, Daemon had steered your clinch across the room toward the nearest desk, lifting you to rest on the wood and swiftly hitching your skirt up around your hips in the process. His lips refused to part from yours, nudging his nose into your cheek and humming contentedly against your mouth. With one hand cupping your cheek, the other ghosted a featherlight trail from your knee to your inner thigh, blazing toward your smallclothes between your legs, grazing the sodden fabric as it clung to your core.

“You already want the darkness, don’t you niece?” He pressed, groaning greedily and venturing both hands to rip the weak cotton apart at the seams. With his last obstacle laid to waste and clinging to your hips, his fingers grazed your pulsing folds and collected the waiting droplets of your anticipation. “I have waited so many years to feel your heat, ñuha vēzos.” My sun.

Your vision swirled like a hurricane, conflicting emotions and thoughts blurring the image of the silver-haired prince gazing down at you through lust-blown pupils as he watched his fingers daring to breach your folds before you gave him permission. 

“Kepus, not yet,” you pleaded against your own better judgement, a whimper escaping him as you planted both palms on his chest to keep him an arm’s distance away. “We are not yet married, I don’t think this is right.”

Daemon chuckled to himself before grasping both your wrists in one hand and raising them above your head, his free hand pressing your chest to lay you flat on the desk. Pinning your wrists above you and leaning down to hover over you, two fingers rediscovered your folds and slipped inside in one smooth motion. 

“Then don’t think, sweetling,” he whispered as he buried his fingers inside you to the knuckle, fingertips eagerly curling into your spongy walls and stroking slowly. Your hips tentatively reared into his touch, a palpable trepidation leaving you worrying about your maidenhead, the pain of coupling that literature failed to address yet had always remained on the lips of every birthing woman within the Keep. Daemon noticed your hesitation and thrust his fingers deeper, eliciting a strangled gasp from the depths of your lungs and revelling in your back arching into his motions. “It’s alright starling, the darkness has you now.”

You swallowed harshly, eyes roving to the ceiling as the full sensation in your cunt overwhelmed you. With a disapproving click of his tongue, Daemon tightened his grip on your wrists and slammed them against the hard wood, making you hiss gently. 

“Don’t take your eyes off me, niece,” he commanded until your gaze met his again, ramping up the pace of his pumps as you buckled beneath him. “You need not be ashamed of letting go. Let your kepus take control.”

Daemon’s thumb journeyed to settle on your clit, tracing lazy circles around your bundle of nerves while his fingers drove fervently in a race to reach the furthest points inside you, the wet slaps of his motions echoing through the library. Watching closely as your back arched against his restraint, your eyes fluttering to close as if your climax were nearing, the edge of your pleasure cliff was cruelly snatched from you as his fingers withdrew from your soaking folds with a lewd pop. In a determined hurry and a rustle of fabric, Daemon fumbled with his breeches and freed himself before quickly replacing his digits with a smooth thrust of his length into your cunt. Your determined lubrication enabled his swift entry to sheath himself inside you, but not without discomfort as you winced to handle the stretch of your walls around his girth. 

“Easy now, vēzos,” he soothed, pressing a palm into the valley of your hips to feel his tip grazing your innermost core and sending a shallow shiver throughout your body. “Soon the pain will become comfortable, I promise.”

You swallowed deeply, nodding in compliance and dutifully wrapping your legs around his waist to allow him easier access within you. Daemon grunted, making his next thrust deep and punishing to the point you yelped out, filling the library with the echoes of your cries. 

“That’s it, little one,” he hummed contentedly, working your cunt with his bucking hips like a man possessed, his free hand gripping your hip to impale you further. He leaned further over you to hover his lips over yours, his towering stature blocking out the dim candlelight of the room and enveloping you in pitch black night. “Give yourself to me, let the darkness take you.”

With every merciless thrust deep into your cunt, your helpless mewls grew louder which only encouraged Daemon’s animalistic plunges within you. Gathering what little strength you could muster, you weakly pulled your wrists against his restraint. 

“Please… need to… touch you,” you stuttered, fingers clamouring into mid-air for contact. Daemon’s sadistic grin faded as he acquiesced, your hands firing to curl around his neck and pulled him in for a searing kiss so you could silence your screams into his mouth, his relentless force pummelling you into the hard wood of the desk beneath which was sure to leave flayed grazes on your spine the next day. 

“My little sunshine, you feel like heaven around me,” he cooed against your lips, curling his thrusts to bottom out inside you so hard your blurred vision of him would glitter with stars. “Does this not feel like heaven to you?”

You whimpered an unintelligible response, unable to compose any coherent thought as his cock filled you to the hilt. The searing heat swelling inside you brought the vision of your cliff edge back into sharp focus, begging you to drive your hips up to meet his in a desperate race for your release. Daemon recognised your eagerness and met it with a newfound brutal pace, pounding into you so fast the lewd skin slapping that echoed through the chamber became staccato and relentless. 

“When you are carrying my child, your father will wed you to me,” he leaned to whisper in your ear, anchoring himself by wrapping his hand around your throat, his fingers and thumb pressing eagerly into each side to stem your blood flow rushing to your head, leaving you breathless and helpless. “And I will return inside your pretty little cunt every single night for the rest of our lives.”

His thrusts became jagged, betraying his own approach to the precipice.

“You see, every night the darkness consumes the light.”

With one last devastating thrust, your high flooded through you like a tidal wave and crashed against Daemon’s incoming climax, flooding your walls with his release and blending with your own, his gaze travelling to watch the space between you as his glistening cock hammered into your depths and stuttered as he poured inside you. The once-deafening lewd sounds of your coupling now replaced with ragged breaths, gasps for air and Daemon’s contented grunts as he rode out his orgasm within you, you threw your head back against the wood in sheer realisation of your own weakness. 

Not yet married, but most likely to carry your kepus’ child before long. 

You threw your hands to your belly, clutching at the flatness between your pelvis. Pulling out from you and admiring the soaking mess between your folds, Daemon’s hands rested upon yours as you looked up to find him gazing lovingly at the same space which terrified you to the core.

“Byka vēzos,” he hummed. Little sun. “If you do not conceive this time, we have the rest of our lives together to ensure you will.”

~~She looked like a bride, I was making my own name~~

Some flowers bloom only when the sun sets. 

You blossomed for Daemon in a way he could never have anticipated. His bravery in the battlefield garnered him the courage to risk it all for a chance to make you his wife, but he found so very little resistance in your kind reception that his claim over you simply fell into his lap. The thrill of the chase evaded him, as you caved so effortlessly to his will. 

Each time he requested your presence in his chambers, you parted your thighs and accepted him willingly. Yet each time you requested his presence in turn, he refused, ensuring he kept you wanting more and more, the suspense crafting a new height of pleasure each time you were called to his chambers, bent over his bed and pounded within an inch of consciousness. 

Daemon Targaryen had laid his claim to your body and mind, yet all that remained was his possession of your soul. 

Unbeknownst to you, Daemon had long pleaded with your father to wed you to him. Informally at first, often disguised as a joke to strengthen the Targaryen bloodline by betrothing two dragons to each other to fight for all eternity. But since the night in the library, his requests increased in volume and tenacity, resulting in a physical confrontation in the throne room between dragon brothers. Dismissing Daemon’s demand as nothing more than a vicious clamour for the Iron Throne, your father sought to banish his brother from King’s Landing to Dragonstone, where he would live out his days out of earshot of the Red Keep, where he would never again hear the pathetic whimpers of a man desperate to bed his youngest daughter for power. 

To you, that night came as any other, as Daemon’s maid requested your presence in his chambers at the dead of night and you dutifully obliged, pacing the Keep corridors in eager anticipation of meeting him once more. As you crept through his door, a heavy fabric flew towards you and you grabbed it in mid-air. A dark cloak. 

“Kepus, what—?”

“We need to leave. Tonight.” Daemon’s voice was short, snappy, panicked as his face came into view in the darkness. His brows knitted together, his lips skewed with fear. 

“Wh… why? Did my father refuse our betrothal?”

“Of course he fucking did,” Daemon snapped through gritted teeth, grabbing the cloak still laying in your shaking hands and throwing it over your shoulders for you. “We need to leave for Dragonstone now, there’s a boat waiting for us in the harbour.”

“I don’t… why do we… what happened?” You were frozen to the spot, confusion washing over you in waves. Daemon’s hands balled into fists as he adjusted the hood over your head. 

“Will you stop asking so many fucking questions? Just get down to the harbour, I’ll meet you there soon.”

“Kepus… I’m scared,” you stuttered, hands held out in front of you as if still holding the heavy cloak. “Will I ever see my parents again?”

Daemon smoothed the fabric over your shoulders and tucked the hood over your eyes. Pressing a quick dismissive kiss to the fabric laying over your forehead, he clasped your face and pulled it upwards. 

��Whatever happens, little starling, we are each other’s family from this moment on.” 

Suddenly, the tense silence between you shattered to the sound of deafening bangs on the door to his chambers. Immediately hunching his back defensively, he ushered you across the chamber toward a dark passage where a rogue guard waited to take you onward. “Place your trust in Ser Baleon, I will meet you at the shore.”

The crashes against the wooden portal intensified as you fled, the distinct swoop of metal from the chamber behind you suggesting Daemon had armed himself against the ambush. Searing hot tears blazed volcanic streams down your cheeks as you fought to focus on your steps down the dark spiral staircase to safety, wondering if you would ever see Daemon alive again.

~~Chasing that fame, she stayed the same~~

“Your father is a cunt,” Daemon hissed, storming into your Dragonstone chambers and crossing the room in three great strides to tower over you. 

“Surely not, kepus,” you attempted to calm his temper with a reassuring palm pressed to his chest. “What has he said to irk you so?”

“He’s sent a raven to enquire after you,” he seethed, his jaw clenched tightly as if it might snap at any moment. “He claims that I kidnapped you in the dead of night and will not return you to your birthright in the Red Keep.”

“But I came to Dragonstone of my own free—,” you were cut off by Daemon’s hand firing to grasp your throat, your fingers racing to claw at his grip and prize yourself free. 

“Well why don’t you speak those precious words to your beloved father instead?” He half-growled, sneering down at you as if you were his prey. “He seems to be the one that needs persuading of your own free will, Princess.”

“If you… if you let me, I will,” you stuttered against his restrictive clutch, weakly attempting an escape to breathe properly. 

“You would love that, wouldn’t you?” He snarled, using one hand to spin you by your waist while retaining his grip on your throat, pressing his chest flush to your back and steering you to the bed. “You could run back to the Red Keep and your books and your perfect little boring life.”

“Kepus, please,” you protested weakly, reaching a hand ahead of you to cushion your fall as he dropped you face-first into the sheets. “Please, don’t…”

“Please don’t what, starling?” He chuckled, bunching your skirt over your behind and battling with his own breeches. “Don’t fight for my family, or don’t take my wife whenever I so wish?”

You scrunched your eyes closed, willing to block out whatever was coming next. This was not the careful husband you knew, this was not the devoted uncle who raised you in place of your father, this was certainly not the man who you fell in love with under a stormcloud amongst ancient tomes. This midnight rain will pass, no matter how much love it unravels in the eye of the storm. 

Delivering a swift nudge to your thighs, your legs were parted and Daemon crawled between them, grasping your hips and drawing you up to impale yourself on his hardened cock. With no preparation, you yelped at the intrusion and hissed gently.

“The pain will soon become comfortable,” he declared as he ruthlessly bottomed out inside you. “I promise.”

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to burst their banks as the agony coursed through you in waves, slowly replaced by bolts of pleasure as his tip grazed your innermost walls.

“Please… take me easily, my Prince,” you wheezed out between merciless thrusts stealing your breath from your lungs. “I am… I am with…”

“You would do well not to give orders when I can ensure you lose consciousness in a moment, little one,” Daemon hissed, pounding into you with an inhuman pace, sending your eyes roving to the ceiling as his nails dug crescent dips into the flesh of your hips. “You want to stay awake while I fill you up, don’t you? Maybe this time you will bear me a child.”

“Daemon, please be gentle…,” you fought to finish your declaration while balling your fists into the sheets, your elbows caving beneath you. “I am with child.”

With your last syllable, Daemon’s thrusts ceased instantly, leaving you whimpering at the immediate loss of friction. He stilled completely, not so much as a laboured breath escaping him behind you, his length still nestled halfway inside you. 

“My Prince, I… I’m sorry,” you reassured, venturing a hand back towards him as if willing him to hold it. “I should have spoken sooner.”

You breathed into the deafening silence, wondering if he did not wish you to deliver the news in such a manner. Suddenly, a cool splash of water hit your scalding spine. A tear. Daemon’s tear. 

“I have failed you, starling,” he sighed, completely shattering his blind rage into a self-deprecating reflection. Allowing his length to slip out from your folds, he released your hips and collapsed onto the sheets beside you. “After all this time, I could have destroyed our child with my recklessness.”

“You have never failed me, kepus, our babe is safe inside me,” you purred, reaching to brush another tear from his cheek. “If he’s anything like his father, he can withstand any amount of force.”

Daemon’s saddened gaze turned to you, still on all fours beside him. He ventured a hand to brush your cheek. 

“I do not deserve you, vēzos jehikagon.” Sunshine. 

In the blink of an eye, you threw a leg over his own to capture him between your thighs. Hovering your waiting folds over his length, still hardened and bobbing between your bodies as you awaited a signal to proceed. 

“Let me please you, my King,” you pleaded, one hand venturing between your legs to stroke his cock and line his tip with your aching entrance.

Daemon’s gaze met yours, his wounded pride hooding his eyelids in contrast with your wide-eyed anticipation. You smiled at your silver-haired captor so warmly, he could not resist your brilliant sunshine blinding him to walk into the light. Gently bucking his hips to meet you in the middle, you lowered onto his length and shared a gratuitous moan as he filled you slowly and completely.

“You are truly carrying my babe?” His hands journeyed to your belly, swelling softly beneath his palms as you rocked gently into him. 

“As true as the sun shines above us, ñuha jorrāelagon.” My love. “The Maester says it is early, so I should rest as much as possible.”

Daemon stilled, concerned. “Then you should cease at once, allow me to…”

“And deprive me of this moment with my beloved? Never,” you asserted, sinking down carefully and bucking your hips to graze his tip against your walls, dropping so far you could swear you felt his cock deep in your stomach. “Besides, I may not be able to ride my dragon for much longer so I will take any chance I can get.”

“When you grow too weary to ride your dragon,” Daemon’s fingers splayed out across your belly as you bobbed above him, his eyes journeying to the ceiling momentarily as the sensation of your walls tightening around him stole his breath. “Rest assured that your dragon will take good care of you, little one.”

The mere implication of his words sent you careering to your precipice, clenching tightly around his cock as your walls rippled and pulsed with the approach of your orgasm. Noticing the sensitivity of your walls to his every motion inside you, jolting and surging around him to bring his rhythmic rutting up into you to a jagged pattern, signalling the arrival of his own climax.

“Let go for me,” he commanded through a whisper, keeping his palms pressed to your abdomen and revelling in the strangled gasps you could no longer hold back, grinding your hips to ride through your high as he deftly painted your walls in staccato thrusts.

Filling the chamber with your mixed groans and deep pants as you slowed your motions above him, you couldn’t bear to move from atop Daemon for fear of losing the moment you shared. Instead, he gripped your hips and turned you onto the sheets, keeping his length buried within you as you lay beside each other. 

“Gevie muña,” Daemon muttered under his breath as he reached to brush your silver hair from your face.

Beautiful mother. 

~~All of me changed like midnight~~

It had taken you the best part of half an hour to muster the strength enough to heave yourself from the birthing chair. Propping yourself up on the fruit table stacked high with pomegranates, you gazed out from your Dragonstone chamber to the harbour beyond. The day was bright, gleaming, the waters mirroring the same blissful turquoise sky beneath which you used to read your books, drift off into fantastical realms and dismiss your own captivity as the Princess Regent with no responsibility and no freedom.

The Maester said your third birth would be easier than the initial two, but so far he had been proven catastrophically wrong. When sickness could not claim you, tiredness and weakness took hold. Days blended into each other, weeks dragged for months, your belly swelled overnight as you lay helpless in the birthing chair simply waiting for an end to the monotony of childbirth. After delivering Daemon two sons, you assumed your duty as a birthing mother had been fulfilled, yet another child swelled no sooner than the second had left your womb.

A pair of hands snaked around your hips to cradle your blossoming belly, fingers spread out over the span of the bump to feel every sensation beneath your skin. A chin rested in the crook of your neck and peppered lazy, haphazard kisses over your ear. 

“Good morning, ñuha byka vēzos,” he cooed softly, his breaths warming your neck. My little sun. “You are not usually out of the chair so early, are you not well? Is our Prince keeping you from rest, little starling?”

You sighed as you dipped your head against his, placing your hands atop his as they surveyed your belly.

“I am quite well, husband,” you comforted him, tracing idle patterns over his hands, still as delicate as the day he first held you as a babe. “I’m always well when I am with you.”

Gazing out beyond the Dragonstone harbour, you could make out the faint outlines of the Red Keep from the safety of Daemon’s arms. Word from court suggested your father’s physical strength was at its last. Your mother sent a parchment requesting your presence but your husband intercepted it before it reached your hand, dismissing your concerns and reassuring that a raven would arrive at once if the King was indeed on his deathbed.

King’s Landing lay just beyond the dock, a symbol of the life you gave away for the sake of love. When you once believed you could never attain the love as told in literature, you failed to notice you had already fallen into such an affair. Persephone and Hades, the blinding sunshine tempted into the all-consuming darkness.

Such a pretty little songbird. 

In such a pretty little cage.

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[valleyof-goldenlilies]

The Gingerbread Kerfuffle - Modern! Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Seeking your husband's help in baking gingerbread turns out not be the roaring success you had hoped it would be.

Pairing: Modern! Daemon Targaryen x AFAB! Reader

Warnings: profanity, p in v sex, degradation, cunnilingus, spanking, overstim, tiddy play, rough sex, slight daddy kink if you squint, she/her pronouns used

Word Count: 1.75k words

A/N: hoe hoe hoe! a very merry late Christmas and Happy New Year in advance from me to you :) Daemon girlies, you are up first 😋 i hope you enjoy!

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics !

“And what exactly is the difference between these two?” Daemon’s disgusted voice broke you from your focus as you focused on beating the milk and sugar. You sighed, turning to face Daemon as he held up the bag of flour and baking powder, looking confused. 

Why in the Seven Hells did you think it would be a good idea to try and rope your husband into helping you to bake gingerbread cookies? 

If it weren’t for the two twin girls soundly asleep upstairs in their beds, eagerly awaiting for your household’s traditional gingerbread cookies, you might have laughed until you woke the whole neighbourhood by now. 

“This, my dearest husband,” you took the bag of flour from his hand, “Is the flour. Or all-purpose flour as we call it.” 

“And what are its purposes?” Daemon inquired, a scowl on his face as his gaze flickered between the baking powder and flour. 

You paused, “I…actually don’t know,” you admitted. “It’s just essential.” Daemon scoffed, “Darling, are you sure you know how to bake?” You shoot him a glare. “Who’s the one struggling to tell the difference between flour and baking powder, darling?” You moved to check on the mixture in the mixing bowl. Your husband came up behind you, hopefully not to ask another question about the difference and functions of baking ingredients. 

Arms encircled you, as Daemon buried his face in your hair, inhaling your sweet floral scent. “You know…” Daemon murmured, hands creeping towards the front of your shorts. “I might not understand anything about baking, but you sure look sexy as hell while doing it.” 

“Mmm,” you hummed, playing along as Daemon continued kissing your neck. “Daemon, the girls.” 

“Won’t hear a thing,” Daemon concluded, trying to tug off your shorts. “As long as you’re quiet, darling.” 

You smirked, pressing yourself up against him. A groan and his hardness pressing against you made you know you had succeeded, causing your smirk to widen. “Come on, darling, what do you say?” Daemon murmured, hands grazing over your pussy over your shorts. “Let me fuck you?” 

“Hmm,” you pretended to consider it. “I say…help me roll up the dough into two balls, you dirty dog.” You spun around, pushing him off you gently. 

Daemon raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips, looking not at all bothered by your rejection. “I know what other two balls you can play with-'' He laughed as you shoved the mixing bowl in his arms, looking at him sternly. “Less dirty talk, more rolling please. I’d actually like to get some sleep before having to wake up early to bake these tomorrow.” 

“Yes, madam,” Daemon responded in a sly voice, as you narrowed your eyes at him. 

The two of you made fast work of it, rolling the dough into two balls, before putting them in the fridge. You let out a sigh of relief as you began washing up the bowls in the sink, it was only 11 o’ clock, which meant that the two of you could get in eight hours of sleep before having to wake up tomorrow to bake the cookies. 

When you finally finished washing up, you wiped your hands on the kitchen cloth, brows furrowing a little. It was quiet…too quiet. 

“Daemon?” You called out, scanning the kitchen for your oversized man toddler. You had asked him to put the ingredients back into the pantry, but the man was nowhere to be seen. “Daem-“ 

You let out a squeal as strong arms scooped you up, bridal style. Daemon carried you like you weighed nothing more than a rag doll, briskly walking up the stairs to your shared bedroom. 

“Daemon, what are you-“ you squealed again as he tossed you onto your bed roughly, immediately climbing over you and removing his sweatpants. “You think it’s funny, hmm?” Daemon lifted an eyebrow as he continued undressing himself, then moving to undress you. “Teasing me like a brat in the kitchen, acting all smart with me in the kitchen, like you’re better than me hmm?” 

You stifled a giggle, coyly trailing a finger down Daemon’s abs. “Well, to be fair, you were the one who confused sugar for salt. I think I-“ You yelped as Daemon flipped you over onto your stomach, landing a harsh smack on your ass. “Not so feisty now, are we?” He taunted, spanking you again. 

You choked on your breath as he continued spanking you harshly, but the inner brat in you refused to submit. “Says the man who doesn’t know the difference between a spatula and a whisk,” you mocked, sticking up your ass even more, leaning into his touch. 

Daemon growled, hand landing on your ass so harshly that it made you yip in pain. He immediately moved to cover your mouth. “Shh, little whore,” he said condescendingly, smirking down at you. “Don’t want to wake the girls, don’t you?” 

You were about to argue back, but then Daemon, clearly having had enough of your bratty attitude, thrust into you harshly from behind, making you scream into his mouth. He rubbed your back soothingly with the other hand, shushing you like you were a small child. “Shh, shh, I thought you said that we shouldn’t wake the girls, yes?” Daemon’s words were mockingly sweet, as he began pumping into you leisurely. He still kept his hand over your mouth, muffling any of your moans and cries as he fucked you. He groaned as you clenched tighter around him when he went faster, his hips snapping into yours. “Oh, the little whore likes it when I treat her rough like this, doesn’t she?” Daemon taunted, emphasising his words by thrusting into you when he called you a little whore. “Likes it when her daddy just fucks her with no care in the world, doesn’t she?” 

You nodded eagerly, and Daemon smiled wolfishly at that, planting kisses down your neck down your spine. “Such a good fucking girl, mmm, all for me,” Daemon smacked your ass lightly a few times, groaning at the erotic sound of skin slapping on skin. 

You felt a heated whisper against your ear, as Daemon grazed his lips against your ear, making you shiver. “And do you know what good girls get, sweetheart?” Daemon pulled back with a smirk as he watched you with mock pity. “Oh yes, my hand is still around your mouth. Tsk, how silly of me to forget.” He relished in the indignant “mmph!” noises he heard from you in response. 

“I’ll tell you the answer, sweetheart,” Daemon said blandly, like he wasn’t currently ploughing into you right now with the vigour of a bull. “Good girls get to cum, sweetheart.” With that, his other hand went down to your swollen pearl, rubbing it with his thumb. He laughed as he heard your noises becoming more and more needy, letting out a sated sigh as he felt you cum on his cock, your walls tightening around him as you did. 

“Oh, beautiful,” he leaned down and kissed you, taking note of how out of breath you were as he released his hand from your mouth. A smug smirk flickered on his lips. You were shaking so badly…

Too bad he wasn’t known for being “The Merciful” in the business world. 

You yelped when Daemon flipped you over. Your back hit the cool sheets, but they provided little relief as Daemon seized your legs, forcing them to wrap around his waist as he continued thrusting in you. Cries of pleasure fell from your lips as Daemon’s hot mouth went to suck on your swollen, hardened nipples, biting them lightly and delighting as you writhed under his tongue. 

“I can’t come again, Daemon, please,” you cried out, as Daemon’s pounding grew more and more intense and you felt the familiar coil in your stomach again. Daemon released your nipple with a wet pop, and looked menacingly into your eyes. 

“Yes, you can. You little slut.” 

Daemon lowered his mouth back onto your heated, sweaty skin again, this time devoting his attention to your neck and collarbone, while his hands came up to play and fondle with your tits, squeezing them. You let out a strangled moan as you came again, as Daemon flicked his thumb at your hardened bud. 

You had hoped that Daemon would let you go after that, but your husband had other plans. Your head initially lolled back against the pillows in exhaustion, but it snapped up again as Daemon spread your legs even wider. “What…”

A wicked grin was all you saw before Daemon dived between your folds, eagerly licking up your wet, swollen slit “No, no, no more,“ you cried out, hips bucking off the bed as you tried to pull yourself away from his hot, needy mouth, but firm hands gripped your hips tightly, preventing you from moving an inch more. 

You were always the sweetest thing Daemon had ever tasted, and he especially loved eating you out after your orgasms, with your legs shaking and barely managing to keep a hold of your sanity as he ravished you with his mouth. 

When you felt his skilled tongue flicking at your clit, you could feel your orgasm approaching again, your body trembling in preparation for it. “Daemon, I can’t, I can’t-“ A strangled moan tore from your throat as you came, squirting Daemon’s face and tongue with your juices. Daemon chuckled darkly against your folds, refusing to stop until he had licked up every trace of your cum. 

Exhausted after the three orgasms wrung from you, you collapsed back on the pillows. You felt a finger running along your overstimulated slit, as Daemon pulled himself up to you again, kissing you sweetly, a stark contrast from his former ravenous, wicked demeanour. 

Daemon pushed his finger into your mouth, giving you a simple command. “Taste yourself, darling.” Your tongue hesitantly darted out, sucking your own juices off his finger. A sigh emerged from your lips, and Daemon smiled, kissing your forehead. “Is it over now?” you mumbled softly, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Mmm,” Daemon hummed, looking down at your blissed out, fucked out state. “I think you’re forgetting something, darling.” 

You opened your eyes, looking confused. Eyes darting to the clock on the wall opposite your bed, your brows furrowed. “Merry…Christmas, love?” 

Daemon burst out laughing, hand trailing down to play with your nipples again. “Not that, darling,” he whispered, a devilish grin on his face. “I still haven’t come yet, haven’t I?” 

Oh, fuck.

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[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 1: Homecoming

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Welcome, everyone, to the edit/rewrite of my first instalment of ‘terms of endearment’! Just to clarify - a LOT of this will remain as-is, but I do intend on shuffling a fair bit around because I wasn’t happy with the pacing upon review. Expect some more flashbacks, some more Daemon-centric smut, grossness galore! I’ve elected to repost entirely so that I don’t leave anyone in limbo while I rejig things. This way, people can still re-read the old completed instalment while I finish out my edits, after which I’ll completely replace the instalment with these new updates in the Masterlist!

TRIGGERS: rough sex, objectification of women, incest, references to pregnancy.

“King Viserys sent him into exile, never to return to the Seven Kingdoms on pain of death… Of the aftermath, these things are certain. Following the tragic mishap of Lady Rhea Royce’s untimely death and the Princess Rhaenyra’s wedding to Ser Laenor, Daemon Targaryen returned to the Stepstones and resumed his struggle for those barren storm-swept rocks. The subsequent decade found him abroad in Essos, keeping residence with various highborn families in Pentos and holding court with his paramour Mysaria, returned to him after an extended period of absence. It was only with the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s third son Prince Joffrey—and the announcement of his second daughter’s search for a husband—that King Viserys finally wrote his erstwhile brother, bidding him to come home.”

- 'Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros' by Archmaester Gyldayn

“Ah—ah—ah—my Prince!”

Daemon ignores the wailing of the whore below him as he pounds viciously into her, grinding his teeth at the sound of her high-pitched mewls. Pathetic, he thinks, slapping her across the rear hard to see if he can make her cry a little. He smiles, an unpleasant, savage thing, as he’s rewarded with the very thing he wants. She buries her face in the sheets so that all he can see of her is her arsecheeks, her arched, too-thin back, the silver hair spilling from her head.

The wrong shade, he muses, but close enough in the dark.

The thought angers him. He pulls out of the girl and drags her off the bed, drops her to her knees before him. Her tearstained face renews his flagging arousal, and he tugs frantically at himself at the sight of her wide, overwhelmed eyes.

“Finish me,” he snarls.

He throws his head back with a moan as the girl takes him in her mouth, choking him down eagerly. Grasping onto her hair, he pulls her further along his shaft, revelling in the frantic spasms of her muscles and the muffled cries that send such delicious vibrations down his cock.

“Fuck—that’s it, girl,” he says, holding her by the scalp and using her with little care. He grunts when he comes, pulsing down her throat and making her swallow him down. When he lets her go, she pulls off him quickly, sputtering and retching.

Still throbbing from the unsatisfying climax, he ignores her, choosing instead to cross the room and take a swig of wine directly from the jug. He mumbles a vague response when she thanks him with scratchy tones. Turning around, he’s amused to see she’s already arranged herself back on the bed, stroking at herself between the thighs with an expression of sultry enthusiasm upon her face as she sells her performance.

In any other circumstance, he’d be perfectly happy to let her continue, let her play with herself until he had hardened again, until he could fuck her into the mattress, or on the chair, or perhaps even pressed over the balcony overhanging the bright city. But tonight, the sight annoys him.

“Get out.”

He tosses a robe over his naked form, enjoying the fear that crosses her face as she takes in his words but making no move to allay her. “You heard me.”

 The whore gathers herself off the sheets, tugging on her threadbare dress.

“W-what of my payment, my Prince?” she asks timidly, and he’d like to be impressed by her boldness—but the whore is boring him, and a bored Targaryen is a dangerous one.

“Add it to the Prince of Pentos’s tab,” He take. another swig of wine. When he observes her still there, making no move to leave, he barks at her. “Well, girl? Are you deaf? Get out!”

She shrieks and runs as he tosses the half-empty jug her way, already mourning the wine as it splatters against the table, across the wall and over the bed. Luckily, the outburst got the girl to leave. The door hangs ajar as he strides over to the balcony and leans against it, staring pensively out at the city. 

Pentos is a lively metropolis. Even at night, the sounds of laughter, drunken fighting, exotic merchants selling exotic wares and the chatter of foreign tongues fills his ears. The scent of rich spices from the marketplace lingers in his nose, a perpetually heady musk that pulses in his skull and sends shivers of half-hearted desire trickling through his blood. A warm breeze rustles from far-off, ruffling the hairs on his arms and legs softer than a highborn girl’s tits.

And somehow, it’s not enough. He wants to scream with the monotony of it all. It should excite him—but it only makes him feel flat, hollow. He’s bored.

“I ran into the girl you were using tonight, my Prince. Did you not like this one?”

“She was fine.” Daemon ignores Mysaria as she rests beside him and idly trails her hand down his exposed chest.

So often, such a motion carries with it the hazard of something proprietary, possessive, a claim upon his person from one far too lowborn to have the right of such importunity. Not now, though. She understands the way of things.

“I worked hard to procure her for you. Valyrian stock is difficult to come by, even in Pentos.”

“She was no Valyrian.”

He pushes her hand away and walks back inside, cursing himself for doing away with the wine so early. It may be shit, but at least it gets me drunk well enough.

Collapsing on the chair, he closes his eyes and tilts his head back, hoping the woman will give up quickly.

“What ails you this evening, Daemon?”

Fuck. He glances back up at her, abjectly noticing her concern for him etched in her features. She is beautiful this evening, his whore, sumptuous frame garbed in blood-red and mysterious eyes lined in thick kohl.

She treads forward, standing before him and placing her hand upon his crown. “You have been unlike yourself all afternoon.”

The urge to fight drains from him. He jerks his head towards the nearby desk where the source of all his issues lay opened, waiting for a new reader to claim the words upon its pages. He says nothing as she saunters over to read its contents—merely resumes staring at the back of his own eyelids, listening to the sound of the parchment ruffle as she adjusts it.

“The Princess Rhaenyra has been delivered of another son—Joffrey, of House Velaryon.”

The sound of the words spoken aloud is enough to bring his anger back. Mine, that should be my son, not that pillowbiter’s or that fucking Strong cunt—

“Oh—and your little niece has begun receiving suitors.”

Daemon pauses in his tirade. He hadn’t noticed that little piece of news upon first reading Viserys’s letter.

“Which one?” he asks her. There’s three now, isn’t there? Or is it four?

“The second one,” Mysaria says.

An echoing indignation throbs through him. Not my girl, my sweetling, she is too young—

You were a child when he was exiled for the final time, having at last outlived Viserys’s seemingly infinite patience with that business with Rhaenyra.

Fucking is a pleasure, you see; for the woman as it is the man.

He swallows at the memory, at the sting of thinking of her hooded eyes and parted lips, the smooth suppleness of her collarbone as he’d unbuttoned that ridiculous longshirt, her sighs and the feel of her wet between slender thighs—

No. It’d only make him angry again.

He turns his contemplations back to where it is safe. Back to you, his little princess. If his memories of Rhaenyra are tainted by the years of lust and longing and the chance of a love thwarted long ago, then you remain perhaps the only pure thing from his youth. Purity. ‘Tis fitting, surely. There had always been an innate innocence to you that none other had possessed, a profound incorruptibility that evoked some long-repressed desire to be something more than the rogue he was.

He’d never really fathomed where you’d found such goodness in a world made for depravity and destruction. Rhaenyra was easy enough to understand—she’d been a reflection of himself, like looking into a mirror and finding the contents skewed slightly. Ambition, wanderlust, the bite of debauchery lurking below the otherworldly godliness of Valyrian features, concealing their baser natures from the world.  But you—you were an oddity of the bloodline, strangely sweet and yet shrewd, sharp, a hidden fire waiting for fuel to light the blaze.

“Hm.”

Daemon finds himself wondering what you are like now that ten years had passed. You’d be a woman-grown now, or near enough. The knowledge is discomfiting, so bogglingly at odds with the girl of seven summers he had left on the steps of the Keep that night.

“Where are you going?”

“Fu—” He just barely stops himself from voicing aloud the rest of his foul outcry. Whirling around in shock, he keeps a tight hold of the reins. When he sees who awaits him, he sighs. “Go back inside, sweetling.”

Dressed in a pretty little gown of lavender with your hair adorned in ribbons, it is clear that the effect is meant to convey a sense of maturity, a young lady on the cusp of reaching womanhood. Daemon sees the same you he always had; a slip of a thing, wide eyes and round cheeks and spindly little elbows and knees, a tiny doll to tuck away on a shelf, high out of reach of grubby hands.

It is not who he had been expecting. Who he had hoped.

Your brows are drawn, lilac blurred by the tear-sheen collecting on your lashes. “You—Uncle Daemon”—your hands clasp together anxiously—“you cannot leave now! The—’Nyra is going to be married in the Great Hall soon. You have to be there. You said you would dance with me.”

He drops the reins at that. Even after all that—after I’d told her to slip away, to join me—she was still going ahead with it all? He wants to break something, to lash out and cause hurt so that he won’t be the only one to feel so wretched in this moment.

There is none here but you.

Crossing the courtyard and up the steps so that he may crouch before you, he shoves down his rage and his pain as best he can. “Talītsos”—little niece, he calls you, tucking a stray strand of hair back into your coiffure with a tender touch—“the King has asked me to leave. I must do as he says, correct?”

“When—when will you be back?” you ask, lower lip trembling. He is dismayed to see one of those tears fall, misery tracking down your face.

Wiping it away with a thumb, he takes your hand in his and steels himself for his next words. “I’m afraid… I’m not coming back.”

The horror in your expression feels like the edge of a blade carving to his very soul. “But… you promised.” You sound as wounded as he.

He tries to smile. He wonders if it looks as broken as it feels. “I know. If I had a choice, you know I’d stay.”

At that, you sniffle, withdrawing to rub at your eyes. Daemon casts his gaze around, wondering where the fuck your guards are.

Does no one care for Viserys’s second-born?

It mightn’t be the first time you’d slipped out from under the watch of your protectors—you’ve always been too damn quiet, prone to sneaking about and hiding beneath the noses of all who searched for you—but surely, in the wake of a death at the most anticipated event of the season, at least somebody ought to have realised you were missing. He has half a mind to bring you back inside himself, never mind his brother’s orders.

“Will I ever see you again?”

A shout of your name comes from within, far away though drawing nearer with each repetition.  

Good. At least I’ll not be leaving her alone.

His fingers dance across your sleeve, coaxing your hand back into his and squeezing softly. “Kostilus. Kostilus daor. Jēda ivestrilus.” Perhaps. Perhaps not. Time will tell.

You fling your arms around his neck, wet little face digging into his temple. “Aōma ozmijīnna, kepus.” I will miss you, Uncle.

Through the anguish prickling at the insides of his eyelids, he is pleased by your attempt to speak in your mother tongue; true, it is stuttering and uncertain, the vowels not quite shaped as they should be, but it is certainly impressive for one so young.

He can hear your quick breaths punctuated by hitches, a steady stream of half-suppressed sobs pressed up against the shell of his ear. He hugs you tight to him, feels the thud of your heartbeat below the bones of your structured gown and the many layers you’ve been trussed up in, smells the rose oil in your hair and on your skin, and prays that he will remember this always.

Daemon says nothing. There are no words of farewell that seem sufficient. Pulling away, he takes one last look at you—your miserable countenance, below which lingers the glowing loveliness that precursors true beauty, wild silver strands haloed in the moonlight—and hopes that this won’t be the last time you and he meet in this life.

As he leads his horse out of the courtyard, through the open gate and into the city beyond, he finds the sound of your weeping is drowned out by the erratic rhythm of his own fractured heart, roaring in his ears.

“Your brother calls you home, my Prince.” Mysaria startles him from his reverie. He’d forgotten she was talking. “He says it has been long enough.”

“He does, does he?” Daemon sneers even as he wills away the ache in his bones—the ache of remembering you—though it has not the vitriol behind it he wishes for.

If he’s honest with himself, he has been yearning for the familiar sights of King’s Landing. He would never profess to call it home, however. You’d been the only one to make him feel truly welcome in those fleeting visits of his.

Mysaria sighs. “You should go,” she says, and he can feel her eyes upon him from her seat at the desk.

Her words are surprising. If he were to leave, she’d surely lose her position as esteemed guest. Whores were only respectable if they were fucking a man of station, after all—and if he were to depart, where would that leave her?

He asks her. She laughs, and strolls over to him, seating herself upon his lap. His arms go around her automatically, a rote movement ingrained from years of habit.

“Oh, Daemon. I am only here for you. If you were to leave, I would move on as I did when you discarded me last time.”

Her words contain no accusation, and he feels suddenly fond of her. Here is a woman who has no expectations of him beyond money and a good fuck, and he likes to think he’s provided both in abundance over their long acquaintance.

“Will you miss me, pet?” He grins wryly up at her. He’s taken aback by the fact that he is actually considering it, making the journey back to Westeros.

“Of course, my Prince.” They both know it’s a lie. Mysaria is fond of him, ‘tis true, but she has no love for him, nor he for her. It is a mutually beneficial alliance, nothing more and nothing less. “But I shall always be around, should you have need of me once more.” This is true also, he knows.

He considers the notion again. Returning. Going back to the Red Keep, all those fucking people staring at him, judging him with snide faces and side-eyes. That Hightower whore and the progeny she shoved from her dried-up cunt running his brother into an early grave. Rhaenyra and her bastard boys—that shirtlifter husband of hers and that fucking Strong—and you, his little niece, freshly plucked and waiting to be wedded and bedded.

“Well,” he says, already decided. “I do suppose I’m going home.”

The announcement seems to lighten some latent tightness across his chest, and he realises with dawning comprehension that a part of him actually misses his former life. He looks up at his lover mischievously, already reaching up her skirts to slide a finger into her, thumb at her pearl. She gasps and parts her legs for him obligingly, working a hand around her neck to undo the cords that tie her dress to her.

“Fancy a farewell fuck?” he asks.

She laughs, shifting so that she straddles him, batting his hand from her and grasping his cock so that she may sink down upon it. He throws his head back and watches her with hooded eyes as she gives him something to remember her by.

Fuck, he thinks to himself as he fondles her tits, I’ll miss this.

He elects not to warn the capital in advance of his arrival, deciding it is far more fun to indulge in the confusion and alarm that the long-absent sight of Caraxes flying above the city would bring. He’s right, as bringing his mount low as he soars above the people of King’s Landing amasses shouts so hysterical one would think he were an enemy coming to rain dragonfire upon the crowds. It seems they have grown complacent in his absence, an issue he’ll have to remedy.

As he approaches the Dragonpit, he is nearly knocked out of the sky by a great hulking creature. He whips around frantically as Caraxes lets forth a chilling cry. At first, he thinks he sees the Black Dread flying free once more. He looks again and realises his mistake. It is a dragon, no doubt, but this one is much smaller than Balerion had been in his final years—though the colouring is similar—and far quicker and more snappish than the old beast had ever been. It is a fearsome specimen, nonetheless. The sound of its low, booming roar sends a thrill of excitement and terror down his spine.

Now, there is a dragon worthy of House Targaryen, he thinks to himself. The creature is flying away, and out of self-preservation Daemon chooses not to follow it, urging Caraxes back on path to the Pit.

The attendants are swarming as he lands Caraxes, trying in vain to rein him in. Caraxes bellows, having grown used to the freedom allowed to him in Pentos, and Daemon knows his mount will not allow himself to be chained any longer.

“Ziry qrīdrughās!” he yells as he dismounts, calling off the Keepers brandishing their spears. Leave it!

“Dārilaros ñuhys—” My Prince—

“I said, leave it!” Daemon repeats, rounding upon the man and sneering as he bows in obeisance. “He’ll not be chained.”

The Keeper is replying, but Daemon has already moved on. He swings himself onto the horse provided, choosing not to wait for the carriage he is sure has been made available, and makes his own way through the winding streets of the city.

It must be the sight of his foreign garb and the silver of his hair as the sun shines down that attracts the growing crowds. The closer he ventures toward the towering monolith of the Red Keep, the greater the collection of people come to a stop at the sides of the narrow roads, all of them thronging to take their glimpse of the wayward Prince’s return. And yet, as he passes, their curiosity turns to excitement, trepidation, fear—a reception he is not unsurprised to have garnered. No one can outrun their past. The whispers carry him all the way to the Targaryen stronghold, reminding him how just out of place he is.

When he arrives at the steps, a party is waiting for him.

“Prince Daemon!”

Lord Lyonel Strong. Daemon notes with distaste that the man has gotten fat and is now balding. It seems the position of Lord Hand suited him ill over the years.

“We were not expecting your return!”

“I did not send word,” he says dispassionately.

As he searches Strong’s attendants, he notes one that makes him want to pull Dark Sister from its scabbard and stab an eye or two out. Harwin fucking Strong. The man is as noble as ever, a pretty boy made ruggedly handsome with the sprouting of facial hair in his fifteenth year. Since then, he’d been annoyingly good-looking. What a cunt. Daemon smiles, a clench of teeth bared tightly toward the Lord Commander of the City Watch, and nudges past the remainder of the assembled people.

He has to physically restrain himself from cringing when he sees how poorly his brother has fared over the last ten years. While his letters had spoken of illness, Daemon had not been expecting the sight of a gaunt Viserys riddled with festering sores, his hair thready and thin, teeth fallen out and wrinkles that made it seem as though fifty summers had passed. Oh, and the matter of the missing limb. What in the Seven fucking Hells were the Maesters doing if not helping ease the King’s pains?

“Brother?”

The King appears incredulous as Daemon strides into the throne room, a makeshift assembly of high-ranking personages already present in expectation of his arrival.

He averts his eyes from his brother’s form—oh, brother, what have they done to you?—and genuflects, eyes pointed to the floor. “Your Grace. I have returned. I hope I am welcome after all this time.”

“Of course, you are,” Viserys breathes, hoisting himself off the Iron Throne.

He seems not to notice as the action tears at a portion of his sleeve, a thin slice spreading on the skin of the arm remaining to him. The King makes his way down the steps, limb outstretched, and Daemon steps into the hug that is offered to him. In many regards, his older brother is the same. He has not lost his stoutness, and the smell of him is familiar, though it has been overtaken by the stench of herbs and poultices and the rot of impending death. He fights back the bizarre and unwelcome urge to cry. As fraught as their relationship has always been, he had never truly expected—nor intended—for his brother to die.

“Welcome home, brother.”

“I am glad to be back,” Daemon murmurs, and it is not a lie. As the court claps, his gaze raises up, and it’s then that he first sees Rhaenyra again. His chest throbs with the exhilaration of a long-awaited reunion. He’s taken aback by the sight.

Gone is the girl that he’d left in this very same room, adorned in a wedding dress and looking like the Maiden come to life. In her place stands a woman, regal and daunting, though no less beautiful. Her hair is braided up, her waist thickened from the toil of bearing three sons, the arch of her nose crooked by some unnamed past hurt, her eyes closed off and her expression impassive in a way that it had never been before.

It pains him to see her, the same and yet different. He supposes that he had been expecting her to remain unchanged, the pretty maiden with hooded eyes and slender form still waiting for him to return to her someday. This is not the woman he encounters before him, though it doesn’t make her any less beautiful.

But the look of yearning he had been hoping to see—the yearning he had felt in his bones for all these years—is simply not there.

He blurs through the remainder of the afternoon, a never-ending carousel of lords and ladies bowing and scraping before the King’s brother, eager to welcome the Rogue Prince back to Westeros. He cares for none of it. He wishes only to speak to Rhaenyra.

Eventually, they set him free. He is clear to seek out his eldest niece, only to find that she has departed while his back was turned. He goes looking for her, wandering the familiar halls of his childhood and meandering all the way to the Princess of Dragonstone’s apartments.

When he knocks on the door, he hears her voice again, a woman’s voice and not a girl’s. It sets his gut churning lowly, uncomfortably. He opens the door, only to find her back turned to him.

“Uncle,” she says, revolving to face him. Her countenance is blank, save for the soft twist of her mouth as she eyes the wriggling babe in her arms. This must be Joffrey, the new one. “I have missed you.”

Motherhood has changed her—it’s clear even in these first seconds. Gone is the time when her world revolved around him, when her eyes would follow him as soon as he stepped into the room, eagerly awaiting the moment that he would bestow his attention upon her. No, now her gaze falls upon her boy, absorbed by the small snuffles and slow blinks of the child wrapped in blankets and looking up at her.

“Rhaenyra.” He steps forward as though to make his way to her then aborts the notion as soon as it passes through his mind. “You’ve changed.”

He does not mean to be so unfeeling, for his words to be so lacking. It is all that can escape him.

The familiar fire sneaks upon her face at his words.

“Yes, well—ten years will do that, Daemon.” She turns to place her son in the cradle beside her and hushes him as his snuffles turn to whines. He eases at the soothing touch of his mother, softens and quietens, and Rhaenyra steps away. When she looks up at him, her eyes are wet with unshed tears. “You left me. I thought—you said you’d never—”

This spurs him into action. He moves toward her, enfolding her in his arms as he did when soothing her hurts as a child, as he did when she sobbed after her mother’s funeral. She even feels different in his embrace, a being so wholly unchanged and foreign that it sets him reeling, a wheel spinning wildly off its mount.

“I shouldn’t have.” He holds her firm even as she struggles in his embrace. “I shouldn’t have left—”

“Don’t!” She pulls away from him, turning her back on him and wiping her eyes. “I don’t care for hearing platitudes from you, not when they’re too late to mean anything.”

“Is it too late, then?” Daemon asks boldly, stepping into her space. He winds his arms around her, front pressed against her back, resolutely ignoring the rising burn in his chest that tells him something is amiss. He had thought this might reignite the flame from that night, the night he’d been so close to getting everything he’d ever wanted, a pretty Targaryen bride made just for him—and yet, it does not.

“Don’t—”

It is the weakness in her voice, the trembling in his arms that presses him onward.

“Yne ivestrās tolī henumīdēmatan, Rhaenyrus.” Tell me I have been away too long, Rhaenyra.

He presses his cheek against her hair and she shudders at the rolling bass of High Valyrian escaping from his lips, even as he tries to ignore the feeling that this is wrong not the same wrong wrong wrong—

“Uncle Daemon!” Her hand flies to his thigh as he grinds forward, juddering, an action borne of instinct.

Uncle. How many times had he made his whores playact this moment?

Why does it feel no different, here and now?

Spinning abruptly in his arms, she slams her lips against his, a violent clash of teeth and tongue that befuddles him as she presses him back, pushes him against the table. Not one to be conquered, he grasps her hips and shoves her around, driving her against the same edge she’d forced him on as he rips at the front of her dress, fumbles with her skirts to display her stockinged legs. He works at ties to her shift while she grapples with the lacing of his breeches, a frantic, discordant battle to disrobe that is more painful than pleasurable.

Hissing at the chill of her fingers, he grunts as her dry palm squeezes his cock and begins to fist him roughly, too roughly, skin snagging on skin and nails pinching delicate tissue. It is far too aggressive, nothing like the shy, unsure thing he’d imagined she would be this first time.

“Fuck!” He wills himself to remain solid in her grip, to belay the softening that has already begun.

One hand lowers itself beneath her smallclothes, fingers and thumb wiggling around to search for the folds of her cunt, the wetness that lay within, only to find her as bone dry as a Septa. He tugs harder on her shift to expose her tits, hoping the sight will renew him, but they are swollen with mother’s milk, yet another reminder that she is not his, has been taken and made anew by the seed of another man, not his not his not his—

“Fuck.”

He is resigned now, his shaft wilting, and he does not try to think up scenarios to encourage its rise.

The old fantasies of a coquettish maiden Rhaenyra feel distinctly wrong to conjure up here, not when the very being herself is right before him. But she is not enough as she is—he wonders if she would have been enough even if she’d been exactly how he’d pictured—and it helps him realise that this will never be.

She seems to understand as well. Her hand retracts and, as she buries her head in the crook of his shoulder, she cries. Cries the tears of a child waiting for the only man who ever understood her to come save her, to come home; the tears of a girl betrayed by the man she thought she loved, left to marry a boy who would never love her; the tears of a woman who has realised it was all for nothing.

When his arms come around her this time, it lacks any trace of ardour. Daemon hides his face against the crown of his niece’s head and wishes he too could cry.

It was all for nothing, he thinks miserably, the hazy memories of a decade spent fighting and fucking and wishing spinning about his brain so fast it dizzies him. It was all for nothing.

Read the EDITED story on AO3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/105698322

Taglist (😭 thank you!):

@teenagephilosophersandwich @mamamooqa​ @kimnamnu​ @witch-of-letters @my-dark-prince @asseyakire @kahliethefangirl @shady-daemon @blondtwig @anjavuk591 @drewtissong @vaf24 @katiepie67 @allwedoisvibe @dazecrea @omgsuperstarg @caspianobsessed @shelbyteller @schniiipsel​ @mononijikayu​

#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon fanfiction #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x you #matt smith #game of thrones fanfiction #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon targaryen x niece!reader #got fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfiction #house targaryen #fire and blood #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfiction

[frost-queen]

My only love (Reader x Daemon Targaryen)

Requested by:@hwangrimi ,Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn

The candles lighted up the diner table when you entered the room. Daemon already sitting at the head of the table. He lifted his head up at the sight of you. – “My wife!” – he declared with open arms. You curtsied before him. One of the servants came nearer when you moved closer to the other head of the table. The servant pulling your chair back as you readied yourself to sit down. – “No! no!” – Daemon called out startling you. – “It’s all wrong.” – he said making you look confused.

He tapped his fingers at the side of the table. – “I want you to sit here.” – he proclaimed. With a snap of his finger got the servant in action. Picking up your chair and bringing it around the table near your newly wed husband. – “Come Y/n.” – he called you over with a gesture. Slowly you got in motion not used to it. You were always taught to eat as far as possible away from your husband.

Just so you could never disturb him. Him asking you deliberately over felt a bit out of scene. The servant pulled the chair back as you went to sit. Feeling a bit nervous you kept your hands under the table, fidgeting a bit with your dress.

Daemon reached for your hand underneath the table, taking it in his. He then pulled it upwards in sight. – “I’ve missed you.” – he said making you smile bashful. Your heart fluttered when he kissed your hand. – “Daemon.” – you whispered smiley.

“What can’t a man show his wife how much he loves her?” – he asked rhetorical with a smirk. – “You may.” – you replied leaning in closer to him. He leaned in as well, letting his lips brush against yours. Pulling back he eyed the guard standing by the walls. – “How has your day been Daemon?” – you asked picking up your fork and knife. Daemon set his elbow on the table, smirking your way. – “How was yours ñuha jorrāelagon?” (My love).

You smiled bashful. – “Extremely boring without your presence.” – you replied. Daemon took your hand setting a kiss on it. The two of you began to eat the coarse. A silence falling over the hall. Daemon couldn’t keep his eyes from you. Constantly smiling your way and winking whenever you caught his gaze. It was rather sweet of him. Seeing how full of love he was gazing your way.

Halfway through diner busted the doors open. Daemon quirked his eyebrow up watching one of the guards whisper something to another one standing close by the door. You furrowed your brows seeing him clear his throat and let the guard pass. – “Prince Daemon.” – the guard addressed coming closer to the table. He bowed deep to him. – “Princess Y/n.” – he then said bowing to you. – “Speak. Out with it.” – Daemon answered slightly annoyed.

The guard gestured with his hand at the letter he was holding. Daemon dropped his fork with a loud sigh. Signaling the guard over. The guard walked around the table to him. – “A letter from…” – the guard spoke unable to finish his sentence as Daemon had snatched the letter away. He then waved the guard away. Daemon noticed the seal sighing loud.

He placed the letter aside making you frown. – “Are you not opening it?” – you asked curious. Daemon cut his meat rather aggressively. – “I already know what they ask.” – he muttered out, taking a bite. – “May I?” – you asked. Daemon nodded allowing you to open his letter. You noticed the seal, but not recognizing it immediately. Cracking it open, you unfolded the letter. Reading quickly whilst your husband kept eating.

“You are being summoned to war?” – you stated lowering the letter. Daemon scoffed. – “The bastard’s can’t manage without me.” – he mocked with a taunting chuckle. – “I rather not go…” – he said looking over to you. – “I’d rather stay here with you.” – he took your hand bringing it closer to him over the table. You placed your hand on top of his. Daemon looked briefly up to the ceiling. – “But I have no choice. If those cunts want to win the war, they’ll need me.” – he laughed.

Daemon and you finished your meal, heading to your quarters afterwards. You sat on the bed watching Daemon pack some essentials. – “I hope to burn those bastards quickly so I can return back to you ñuha jorrāelagon.” – he spoke looking over his shoulder to you. You took a deep breath, knowing how long these kind of wars could take. – “Just come back home safely.” – you told him.

It could at least take months, even years for a war to die out. All that time without your husband. It would be a change even for him. – “Daemon…” – you started feeling a bit nervous to out it. He hummed loud continue to pack. You took a deep breath, fidgeting with your fingers.

“If… if in your time away… you… you crave other women I would not blame you. I understand a man has his desires.” – you told him. Growing up you were always told that you were expected to know that your husband would cheat. It was such a common aspect among the royals, you just had to accept it. Daemon stopped, his eyes widening. – “What did you just say?” – he asked slightly in shock.

“That… that I wouldn’t hold it against you if you desire other women. It is what all husbands do… is it not?” – you suddenly questioned your own beliefs from his response. Daemon dropped whatever he was holding, walking over to you. He came standing before you, cupping your cheeks. – “ñuha jorrāelagon iksā ñuha mērī mēre.” – he spoke making you tilt your head confusingly.

Daemon tilted your head forwards to kiss it. – “You are my only one.” – he repeated in a common tongue for you to understand. – “I do not crave any other women. I only crave you!” – he spoke, placing a kiss against your cheek. – “I am quite offended you assumed.” – he went on. You swallowed looking ashamed down.

“It is what everyone around told me. That I should accept cheating from my husband as it is what every man does.” – you told him. – “Not this man… not me… for you are my dying breath. My fire, my desires. Y/n my love I only burn for you.” – You smiled upon hearing those words. He tilted your head back, pressing his lips tenderly on yours.

------------------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

#imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #the house of the dragon #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fic #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon x #daemon x you #daemon x y/n #daemon x fem!reader #daemon imagine #daemon fic #daemon fanfic #daemon fanfiction #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen fic

[theobjectofyourire]

Being Daemon's Daughter Would Include (Part I)

a/n: I just can't get the idea out of my head that Daemon is an incredibly sweet & loving father & honestly really needed to write this for comfort. when I started I thought it would be a little oneshot/imagine, but I ended up having a lot more to say than I anticipated so this is going to be multiple parts! if you, like me, are in need of wholesome soft! daemon who would do anything for you & be an amazing father, I hope this helps 💕

Edit: Here's Part II! & Part III!

summary: a recounting of the day you were born & daemon's first moments with you

cw: difficult birth (but it all ends happily!), fem reader, mostly comfort & fluff

~~~~~~~

The Day You Were Born

-The day you were born was one of the happiest days of Daemon Targaryen's life.

-He didn't know quite what to expect of fatherhood and in truth, there was more than a small part of him that dreaded the idea, even feared it. He didn't think himself terribly well-suited to a life of domesticity, seemingly so tedious and dull. Of course, everything changed the moment he saw you.

-It was a difficult birth, but not once did he leave your mother's side. His hands would be covered in bruises for days to come from the way she squeezed, but every single patch of blue and purple was worth it.

-You weren't ready to leave your mother's womb just yet, and after much struggle, one of the Maesters pulled your father aside and told him another method may be required to successfully deliver you. But when informed of the sacrifice it would require, Daemon gave the old man such a glower that the midwives thought the Prince would slay him where he stood.

-Daemon composed himself and simply said that both you and your mother would be happy and healthy by the end of the day. The threat was clear as the summer skies and from that moment forward, though one hand continued to be squeezed by your mother's, the other rested firmly on the hilt of Dark Sister. Daemon would do anything to protect his family.

-He was never a man of the Faith, but in those trying hours he prayed to the Old Gods and the New. He prayed to the Many Faced God and the Lord of Light. He prayed to anything and everything that might be listening, that might possibly hold some power. He didn't think he deserved to be spared pain or loss, but he knew for a fact that you and your mother deserved all the goodness this life had to offer.

-When your mother began to lose hope and panic started to set in, he wiped her brow and kissed her forehead, whispering, "This world is not yet done with you, my darling."

-He likes to think you heard his voice, for despite the hours spent by the Maesters and midwives doing everything they could, it was only after he spoke those words that you decided you were ready to join the world.

-Of course, he let your mother hold you first, and though she desperately wanted to spend the rest of the day with you in her arms, she needed her rest. After a few minutes and many more assurances that you were healthy as could be, you were passed to a midwife and then, for the first time, to your father.

-You had come into this world screaming and crying, and even in your mother's arms, you wouldn't quite settle. But the moment you found yourself in Daemon's embrace, the whole world turned soft and warm. Everything was kind and good. Everything was love.

-And he was in love from the moment he held you in his arms, the moment you looked in his eyes. He saw so much of your mother in those eyes, but what surprised him was how much he saw of himself. You were the most gentle mirror, only reflecting the good. You were half of him, but you had his whole heart.

-He pressed his lips softly against the center of your forehead. "Tala," he murmured, tears in his eyes. Daughter.

-As soon as he uttered the word, he knew you would be one of the few people in his life to speak High Valyrian. He would teach you the language of your ancestors and delight in every word you spoke. No victory would be small. Everything would be celebrated.

-He imagined who you might be and what he might pass onto you. He wondered if you'd be a dragonrider. He hoped you would like Caraxes (he knew Caraxes would love you). He secretly dreamt of teaching you how to fight and, when you were old enough, letting you hold Dark Sister. Maybe even wield her. He was incredibly possessive over his Valyrian steel sword, and rightfully so. Very few were worthy of her. But he knew that even fewer would be worthy of you, and at the thought of you wielding her, his heart swelled with pride.

-But he knew he would love you just as much if you preferred the graces and arts to battles. Perhaps you would have a voice to enchant the realm, or a sharp wit to rival any Maester.

-Anyone else might have worried. So many parents expected their child to be the best they could possibly be, but that wasn't Daemon. He loved you as you were. No matter who you would become, no matter your accomplishments, you would always be his world. You would always have his heart. He would always be proud to be your Kepa.

-He smiled as you wrapped your hand around his finger, cooing as you looked up in awe. Daemon Targaryen was many things. He was the unruly, chaotic brother of the King. He was the second son, former heir to the Iron Throne. He was the Prince of the City, Lord Flea Bottom, King of the Narrow Sea, and, first and foremost, the Rogue Prince. But he never expected that his favourite title would be born of love instead of war. He never expected a title so gentle, so beautiful.

-He never expected it, but he was so grateful to be your father.

-Your Kepa.

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fic #hotd imagine #house of the dragon imagine #daemon x reader #x reader fluff #daemon targaryen x reader #x reader #father/daughter #daemon fic #daemon x you #imagine daemon targaryen #imagine daemon #daemon fanfiction #headcanon #daemon targaryen headcanon #hotd headcanon

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

The Dragon and the Rose {Part 01 of 03}

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader

Chapter word count: 1.4 K

Summary: It was your first time visiting King's Landing, and you were expecting countless different things from such a journey... But you could never imagine you'd get the Prince's attention.

Next part (02) ->

{House of the Dragon Masterlist}

Fire Made Flesh

This castle was beautiful, a nice change of view. The smell of salty water, the sound of the waves in the dead of night... But the biggest difference is the atmosphere.

You got here in the evening, so you didn't get the chance to see the place too well before it was lit up by candles alone. But the sensation this place has, that you felt right away. Highgarden was light, easy, and uncomplicated... King's Landing is heavy, full of politics and dangerous people... And given the powerful family that sits on the Iron Throne, it couldn't be any different.

“I'm bored,” Leo speaks from his place walking next to you.

“Shh. Listen and pay attention,” the Septa whispers, and the kid gives you a very annoyed glance.

Leo, in all his five years of life, didn't want to go around the castle listening to historical explanations... Not when him, as do you, already know them all. He sighs, crossing his arms and walking angrily, stomping his feet on the ground.

You feel him. There is a lot you want to see and as guests of the King, you're free to explore the castle. But here you are, escorted by your Septa, listening to the stories she herself told you many times before.

“If you turn to your left, you will see-” The Meister is still speaking when what you predicted happens. Leo bolts off, giggling, running a bit too fast for his tiny legs.

“Leo Tyrell!” The Septa calls, just as your little cousin turns left and disappears.

There are two options. The first is your Septa trying to reach him, which won't ever happen, and the second one, the one you'll take, is yourself going after him and ditching this boring tour. “Don't worry, Septa, I'll bring him back.” You won't.

“By all the gods, go get him.” She exclaims, an apologetic look on her face. “No running!” The woman says just as you start to move.

“Then how am I supposed to find Leo?” You shout back, holding your skirts out of the way as you run through the castle.

Unlike in Highgarden, you have no idea where Leo might be going to. And the kids probably don't either. So you try to hear him, the footsteps, the giggles, and you do, for some time. But then, you have no idea where you're going, so you just look around and try to guess where a very curious boy would want to explore.

...And it doesn't really work. Soon enough, you're outside of the castle, walking through dirty, empty roads surrounding the castle. When you reach the stables, there are a lot of Tyrell men there.

“Sir Patrick.” You call one of your father's men. “What is this about?”

“My Lady.” He bows. “Your cousin Leo was seen leaving the castle on foot. We're going after him.”

That makes your bones freeze. King's Landing is well known for being a lawless city... And a little boy in expensive clothes running around alone... “Saddle my horse.” You say, and when Sir Patrick is about to protest, you raise a hand at him. “Don't. Saddle my horse.”

You're sure Sir Patrick would be right in every single thing he was about to say, but you won't let him speak fear into you. When your white stallion is ready, you pull yourself up, ordering the gates to be open. There's some resistance, but when they move, you rush right through.

King's Landing is a strange place. On your way to the castle, you didn't pay any attention to the place, not as for memorizing the path. So you just move by instinct, looking around, ignoring the people looking at you, a Lady in fine clothing on top of a white war horse, standing out in every possible way.

But you keep moving forward, until you're off the city, galloping up a dirt road, almost empty. When the people are replaced by men in similar clothes, you furrow your eyebrows, wondering where you're going. And if Leo would ever take the same path. “Leo!” You decide to call, going further up, ignoring whatever those men were saying. “Leo!”

It happens fast, so fast you don't even have time to catch your breath. The stone wall to your left ends, and in its place, a massive beast appears. The horse stops suddenly, standing on his hing legs and kicking the air as you struggle to hold on, almost slipping. “Hey, boy. Calm down!” You try to speak to it, but it's useless. The horse doesn't stop kicking, and when your hands lose their grip, you slide to the side. Lucky for you, the horse runs off the moment he's free, and you escape being crushed.

But now, you have bigger problems.

The beast, the dragon, is breathing heavily. Slowly, as slow as you dare, you sit up, raising your head to look at it. It seems agitated too, ignoring the men around it, trying to calm it down. The dragon has its eyes on you, and you know this is how you die. Burned by dragon fire... It'll be a good story to tell, at least. A dragon killed Lady Tyrell, as she looked at it straight in the face.

So, if this is it, you won't look away. Raising your eyes at the beast, magnificent, powerful... You face it, breathing deeply, waiting... It moves closer, lowering its head, and you notice when it breathes in...

“Ȳdra daor, Caraxes.” A voice suddenly speaks, and the dragon stops. The breath that comes out through its nose is only smoke.

Shaking, you turn your head to the right, to the source of the man who saved your life.

“Prince Daemon,” One of the men around the dragon says. “We couldn't stop him. She came out of nowhere with a horse and-”

“Gīda aōla.” He says, and the dragon swifts. Prince Daemon, with his eyes on you, walks over to where you're sitting, extending a hand. “Who are you, girl? And what are you doing here?”

Swallowing hard, you hesitantly take his hand, letting him pull you up gently. “I'm (Y/N) Tyrell... My little cousin he... He ran off, and they said he went into the town and I came after him.” It's hard to speak with his eyes set on you like that. “I'm sorry, your Grace. It wasn't my intention to disturb your dragon. I never came to King's Landing, and I was just trying to find my cousin.”

The Prince smirks, tilting his head to the side a little. “That's very brave of you, even more given this town's reputation.” Then, he gestures at the dragon. “Caraxes would be a quick, merciful death compared to what some people might want to do to you.”

Following the gesture, you look at the dragon. It has his eyes either on you or on Prince Daemon, you can't tell. “I agree, your Grace. Of all the millions of ways to die, dragon fire must be one of the best.”

“I see you find my dragon more interesting than me,” He says, a tone of sadness in his voice.

Blushing, you turn your gaze back at him. “Mm... A little.” You breathe out, embarrassed. “I've only heard of them, and seen some flying by a couple of times when a Targaryen has business near Highgarden... But from this close...”

“Do you wanna get closer?” He offers, and before you can remember any of the lessons you had from the Septa about modesty and prudence, you find yourself nodding.

“I mean... I'm not sure I can, your Grace. I already crossed a line ending up here.”

The Prince smiles again. “I'm offering, am I not?” With that, he takes your hand and pulls you with him towards the dragon. “His name is Caraxes.”

“He's beautiful.” You breathe out, making sure to stay just a little bit behind.

“Issa iā raqiros.” Prince Daemon says as you get even closer and the dragon lowers its head. “Sagon sȳz.”

“What are you saying?”

“To be nice towards you, since you're a friend of mine.” That makes you smile shyly. “Give me your hand.” As so you do. When Caraxes comes lower, Prince Daemon takes your hand and puts it on the dragon.

“He's hot!” You can't help but exclaim, feeling the rough scales under your palm.

“Dragons are-”

“Fire made flesh.” You burst out, then realize what you just did. “Apologies, your Grace.”

But when he looks down at you, he's smiling. “Don't. You're right. Va ñellyrty perzys... Fire made flesh.”

“Va ñellyrty perzys.” You try to repeat, but the old tongue feels odd in your mouth.

“That's good.” The prince says. “And it seems he likes you. I might bring you to visit him more times.”

It gives you hope. Hope of seeing such an amazing creature again... And hopes of being around the Prince a little more. “I'd like that very much, you Grace.”

#daemon imagine #imagine daemon #daemon x you #daemon x reader #daemon fanfiction #daemon Targaryen imagine #imagine daemon Targaryen #daemon Targaryen x reader #house of the dragon imagine #imagine house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #Targaryen imagine #imagine Targaryen #Targaryen x reader

[certifiedskywalker]

Three Weddings and Your Funeral - Daemon Targaryen

Anonymous asked: Hi ilove ur writings so much ur so talented im so happy that ur back again, if ur taking requests could u please write one daemon targaryen with hightower reader or reader having feelings for him but he marries laena and afterwards rhaenyra also with something like betrayal during the dance i know im just rumbling but i trust you would make a masterpiece ur so good with ideas and words thank you.

AN: Thank you so much! Also, this is a great request with so many possibilities! So great, that I ended up writing two fanfictions for our Daemon boy! Keep an eye out for that and enjoy!

Before the Dance of Dragons, there was another waltz. You and Daemon Targaryen were always drifting in and out, always spinning about one another without moving at all; and your dance of stillness stretched from King’s Landing to the beaches of Essos, even the heat of Dragonstone.

“I despise weddings.”

“You despise this wedding,” you corrected.

When you received no quip in response, you looked over. Daemon’s eyes were elsewhere, skewed toward the center of the Throne Room. There, all around really, gold decor clashed with Velaryon sea green and silver, all while bathing the black and blood red of House Targaryen in warm decadence. But you knew that it was the dot of white at the heart of it all on which Daemon was caught. You were caught on him.

“She seems content.”

You leaned forward slightly as you spoke, allowing your gaze to trace the side of his face as he looked out upon the dance. The corner of his mouth was weighed downwards, expression heavy with a fiery sort of melancholia that was uniquely Daemon’s. You had seen it only a handful of times before, namely whenever Viserys banished him from King’s Landing; though, you liked to imagine that part of the heft had to do with how leaving meant leaving you.

“Seems,” Daemon grumbled, head lulling back to face you. When he saw you, his expression softened and you felt your chest tighten at the sight. “And it seems you, yourself are the furthest thing from content.”

He reached out a hand and brushed a stray strand of hair away from where it had fallen against your forehead. It took every small, burning stretch of will that you had to keep from leaning into Daemon’s touch. You stilled yourself against his gentleness and put on a stiff smile.

“Why do you say that?” You straightened your posture to reach for your chalice and Daemon’s hand fell away from your face as you took a long, hearty sip. 

It was then Daemon’s turn to lean in, his voice becoming a whisper that only you could hear. “For if you were in a wedding mood, you would be charming your adoring masses, jorrāelagon.”

He tipped his strong chin to the right and you followed the gesture’s path with your tipsy gaze. The sight that greeted you was a handful of nobles from across the southern sphere of Westeros, all eyeing you, Ladies and Lords alike. When the masses noted your attention, they dropped their cheer and turned in on themselves, whispering just as Daemon had to you. Letting out a sigh through your nose, you leaned into him once more.

“I believe they are adoring my spot beside the Rogue Prince,” you met Daemon’s eyes as his moniker left your lips. You found fire in the brightness that gleamed in his irises and it shot through you like something wild. 

“Well,” he drawled softly, “then their desire is sorely misplaced.”

You watched as Daemon too reached for his chalice and took a swig. With no regard for decorum, he leaned back in his chair and threw an arm out the back of yours. His warmth licked the back of your shoulders, through the thin garments that you hung on your frame to fit in with the surrounding affair. For a moment, you wish that you cared as little as Daemon did, wished that you could recline and decline the reality of custom.

But that wish lasted only for that moment as Daemon turned back to look towards the center of the room, to the white dot, and you saw that you were wrong. His chest heaved with a deep inhale that finished with a shudder, and when he set his chalice back down, his hand immediately curled into a white-knuckled fist. Daemon cared too much.

Just you were about to reach for his hand, in the hopes of melting his anger, of easing whatever ache, the Rogue Prince moved. Your outstretched fingers fell to the carved tabletop as you watched Daemon clamber to his feet. 

“I need more wine,” he mused, craning his neck to the side to give you a smile. “In the name of contentment, of course.”

You could not help the mirrored smile that spread across your lips. “Of course.”

Daemon gave you a wink and set off. You watched him, as much as you could, as he cut through the swirling crowd of clashing color. When you lost sight of him completely, you let your eyes fall back to the table where Daemon’s still half-filled chalice sat. Alarmed by the lingering pool of Arbor Red, you looked back to the crowd, eyeing the gaps between bodies.

The last clear glimpse you caught before retiring for the evening was one of Daemon circling Laena Velaryon, who was a vision in her gown of silver and gold.

You clung to Daemon, your arms wrapped desperately tight around his taut torso and face pressed into the space between his shoulder blades. He smelled of sun, freshly poured wine, and dragon. Though, you blamed Caraxes for the ladder. 

The Blood Wyrm writhed beneath you as he soared against the Narrow Sea. You did not dare to look out across the blue vastness, knowing too well that the sight would send you tilting to and fro. No, you much preferred the dark behind your eyelids. Your stillness also had the benefit of an excuse to be so close to Daemon.

For that alone, some part of you, not knowing fear, wished Caraxes would never land.

Eventually, he did, with his spindly limbs sinking slightly on impact. You jostled, with the front of your body pressing entirely against Daemon’s back. Heat spread to the farthest reaches of your limbs and whipped back to your face where it burned beside embarrassment. Yet, you clung to Daemon still as Caraxes wiggled about. 

You opened your eye a crack and were greeted with the strong slope of the Rogue Prince’s shoulder. Peeking just over that, you saw what was to blame for the dragon’s unusual unsteadiness. Sand.

“Paez sir, Caraxes. Paez, syt īlva jorrāelatan mēre.”

With your closeness, you felt the low rumble of Daemon’s voice as High Valyrian fell from his lips like a song. Or perhaps like a lullaby as Caraxes, hearing it, seemed to set himself into a balance on the shifting sands. He lowered his worm-like body and the sun-soaked ground rushed up toward you with the movement, tricking your senses into a false fall.

Your hands curled into fists, fastening Daemon to you as your body braced for impact.

“Ao sagon ȳgha,” you heard and felt him say, accompanied by one of his hands reaching around to rub your back soothingly. “You’re safe.”

Daemon held you steady until Caraxes settled entirely with the gentlest of thuds. The dragon let out a nasally, high-pitched cry as if to tell his riders to dismount, and, based on how quickly his hand fell away, Daemon was quick to appease his beast. 

“Here, hold here,” you felt his hands guide yours. The skin of his palms was rougher in comparison to yours, with years of battlefield callouses and countless burns. He folded your fingers over something hard and your barely open eyes saw the red, horn-like scale you then held. “You have him?”

You nodded and Daemon huffed, his hands racing up your arms to your face. He cupped your cheeks and tilted your head up so that, even through the sliver of your eyelids, you could see his seriousness. 

“I need to hear you say it.”

His tone had you open your eyes more fully. “I have him.”

Daemon smiled and then, with practiced ease, slipped down off of Caraxes. You saw him, how small he looked standing on the sand from where you were, still sat on his steed. Once he too found balance, Daemon threw his arms up to you. 

“Come now, I have you.”

You were too in your head to call back down. Instead, you focused your efforts on swinging your legs off to one side of Caraxes without letting your hands slip from his bumpy scale. When you finally positioned yourself for your descent, you saw Daemon’s grin widen.

“I have you.”

The tilt of his tone sounded like his smile and you nearly forgot that you were perched upon a fire-breathing beast. Only when you tried to take a step toward Daemon did you remember that fact. Your foot slid along Caraxes' smooth scales until you landed on a protruding bone or some other growth. You had to bite back a yelp at the slip.

“Paez, slow, issa jorrāelagon,” Daemon called up and you shook your head.

“I’m no dragon, I don’t understand.”

“Oh, jorrāelagon, you understand more than you know,” Daemon said, his grin widening. “Now, fall to me.”

Forgetting again and, seeing only Daemon, you fell, really fell. Immediately, you felt his hands, warm and large, on your waist as he guided you to the sand. Your own hands gripped his upper arms as you fought to find balance, and you felt the muscle there, even beneath the thick fabric of his tunic sleeves. Though, when Daemon dropped his touch, you did too.

“I recall you enjoying rides with Caraxes. You’ve grown stiff since it seems.”

“We were both younger then,” you pointed out, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, “and, yes, less stiff. But one factor in my flying hasn’t changed.”

Daemon raised a silver-blond brow at you. “And that is?”

“You. My flying is always at your behest.”

“Yes, well,” Daemon raised his hands for Caraxes and, like a loyal hound, the dragon turned his snout into his rider’s touch. “I always have good reason. Here, give me your hand.”

“Daemon-”

“Here.” His hand was already on yours, spreading your fingers out to pet Caraxes. Under your palm, you felt his massive, heated breath, like a living flame. If it were not for Daemon’s hand lingering atop yours, you would have stared at the Blood Wyrm in awe. Instead, your eyes were fixed on Daemon, how bright his expression turned, no melancholia in sight, at your appealing to the beast. 

“If I did not know better, I would think you a Targaryen for how Caraxes bends to you.”

In unison, your and Daemon’s hands fell once more as you both turned towards the voice. Walking down from a dune, Laena, still sea green and silver, walked over. Her curls bounced and blew in the breeze, her stride like waves. She was part of the beach, pulled right up from the sea and sand.

“My dear,” Daemon said, moving to meet her while you stalled by Caraxes, who cooed like a saddened pheasant. “I’ve returned with our witness.”

Your brows furrowed at the term, at their tight embrace, how Daemon held her. “Witness?”

Even with a handful of paces between you, you could see Daemon’s smile. It was not bright or breath-catching, but it was there all the same. Just as his arm was there, snug around Laena’s waist, holding her to his side. How far from you Daemon seemed.

Even further when he answered, so painfully simply, “you the witness to our elopement.” 

You thought your legs gave out for a moment like you were falling yet again; but when you reached out to brace yourself, your palm met the bumpy head of Caraxes. He nudged you with his huge red snout and a glint in his amber, serpentine eye reflected the ache that suddenly claimed your chest. Tears sprang from your eyes at the beast’s sympathy, but when you looked back to Daemon and Laena, their worried faces, you smiled through it.

“I’m honored.”

You should have known that accepting an invitation from Daemon Targaryen was a mistake. Seemingly ceaseless years of heeding his call had acquainted you with the subsequent pains of your dutiful answer. Yes. Yes, Daemon, I’ll meet you there.

Once there, Daemon would tear out your heart and skewer its still-beating flesh on the sharpest edge of Dark Sister. So routine this waltz was, that your chest had begun to ache whenever you caught sight of the shining, Valyrian Steel of the ancestral House Targaryen blade. It had started long before you first noticed it, when Daemon dragged you to Princess Rhaenyra’s wedding to Laenor, and had endured in the years after Daemon’s own wedding to Laena. Yet, despite this rife history and your better judgment, you always answered. Yes, Daemon, I’ll meet you there.

“It's been too long since my last visit.”

As the words left your mouth, you cringed at the taste of them. It was the sentimentality of them. How many times had you met him here, on the heated shores of Dragonstone? Apparently, enough times to remember it like a far-off home to grow misty-eyed over. You hated it, this tie, but you loved it too. Such a duality also applied to the very man who had called you back to Dragonstone. 

“It has. The halls have missed you nearly as much as myself,” Daemon said, inky charm dripping from his tongue. His smile loosened any tightening ache in you, in the sore core of your chest. When he extended his hand to help you off the dock, it was as if you never ached at all.

“Dolling out the flattery already? My, I must be in for it.”

The brightness of Daemon’s expression wavered for but a moment, a fall undetectable to the untrained eye. You knew him better than most. 

“Daemon?”

He dropped your hand as soon as your shoes hit the sandy shore. “Let us walk the beach and…talk for a while.”

“Let’s,” you said through slightly gritted teeth. 

Naturally, you fell into step beside Daemon and tread quietly for a few paces. As the noise of the dock grew softer and softer, you grew anxious. With Daemon, silence was like a sin: pervasive and punishable by sharing the hard truth caught in his mouth. His words were like knives sometimes.

When only the sea could be heard, you spoke up. “How are you faring? Your daughters?”

“They are well, well enough to send me ravens about their exploits, their lessons. I am well enough to read them, sometimes enough to write back.”

You nodded, remembering fondly the feel of parchment between your fingers. “Baela sent a raven to me, a fortnight ago now. She asked if I had heard from you after Laena-”

“She has always thought the world of you,” Daemon interrupted. “Whenever I told her how you fly with me on Caraxes, Baela needed to fly with me too, right then, to be like you.”

“She is her father’s daughter, with all that impulse,” you quipped, knocking your shoulder teasingly against Daemon’s. “And all that feeling. She is worried for you, she wrote me so.”

Daemon went quiet then, stalling in the sand as you continued on. You took only two more steps past him before you realized he was caught on your words. When you looked back, Daemon’s eyes were focused downward, brows furrowed in thought maybe. Or feeling.

You took a step back to start the close the distance between you. “Daemon, what are you not telling me? Please, I have not heard from you in months.”

“Feeling. Impulse,” he seemed to spit out the words. “It is all fire, it is all my blood.”

“Daemon,” another step and you were reaching for him. He let your hands fasten about his forearm, pulling it straight against his side. You clutched him, trying to ground him. “Tell me.”

“You have not heard from me for you are one of the few I fear judgment from,” Daemon said at last, his crystalline eyes meeting yours with such a heavy, sad seriousness that his very irises appeared darker. “I do not fear lightly.”

You shook your head, “you have nothing to fear from me.”

Daemon’s fear hand rose up then, as you clung to his other arm. His fingers moved, brushing over the peaks of your face with such delicacy that your nerves abated. As if Daemon were right about the pre-Doom Valyrians and their magic touch. His hand fell before you thought to tell him as much.

“Yet I do and it is infuriating,” he growled, “because you should be nothing to me…but you are everything.”

Then, it was your turn to drop your hands. A renewed ache claimed you and heat rose to your face with a vengeance. You took a step back and watched Daemon’s face twist in a way you had never seen before. Fear.

“I am to wed Rhaenyra.”

There was that sin of silence again, accompanied by the subsequent pains of answering an invitation from Daemon. “Rhaenyra.”

“It is a union-”

“This has been a long time coming,” you said, the ache embittering you. “Am I here to be your witness again, like some beck-and-call hound?”

“Jorrāelagon,” he shook his head and continued quickly, “ao se eman issare umptan va se egros hen jēda, va moriot māzis se jāre. Iksā tolī sȳz naejot sagon tied naejot nyke-”

“Speak plainly, Daemon,” you snapped. “Do not hide behind that godsforsaken language.”

Seemingly fueled by your own anger, Daemon lunged towards you, closing the gap once more with his hand grabbing at your chin. Despite the rushed roughness of his movement, his very touch, like before, was gentle. It bordered on careful, even as he made you meet his eyes.

“Love,” he paused, his tone cold; an objective translation. “You and I have been stayed on the edge of time, always coming and going. You are too good to be tied to me…kesan daor ivestragī ao zālagon. I will not let you burn.”

He held your chin still as the last words fell from his lips. His lips. Daemon was tantalizingly close and with the music stopping, your dance together finally ending, the urge to lean up the last stretch to kiss him was overwhelming. It washed over you like the tide, the very one that nipped at your heels as Daemon held you; though it did nothing to quell your rising anger as you realized…

“And you knew of my feelings for you, this- this entire time?  You lead me along with invitations to be at your side while knowing You bid me attend your wedding while knowing, and you tell me of another on the horizon?” You wrenched yourself from him, “How dare you?”

“Like you said, all that impulse. I did not think, I only wanted.”

“Now you aim to control by wedding your niece and directing my fate? You will not let me burn, but you will turn yourself to ash over a throne that will never be wholly yours? It will be Rhaenyra that sits it, not you.”

The truth incensed Daemon, who charged at you, hands reaching once more. His fingers dug into the fabric and flesh about your hips as he pulled you flush to him. You had nowhere to look but at him. You had nothing else to feel but his heat.

Then, his lips. His lips were closed about yours in a rushed, manic union of flesh. Daemon’s hands squeezed at you, pulling you impossibly close as the kiss grew deeper. His tongue knocked against yours wildly. Wanting. Wanted.

Daemon wanted you, but you ached still, and the ache drove you away.

You leaned back, your lips falling from Daemons. He chased after them, pecking the corner of your mouth, entreating you for more. You gave him a taste, a softer kiss, but it wasn’t enough. At least, not enough for you.

“What does this mean, Daemon?” You opened your eyes but saw that his were still closed. His breathing was still sharp, still quick. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours, “just as it doesn’t matter who sits the Iron Throne. Like fire, it is my blood.”

You swallowed, hoping to distract yourself from the stinging tears behind your eyes. “And it will be your funeral.”

Daemon opened his eyes then and met your gaze. “I know.”

You pressed your forehead against his a touch harder, a not-quite-a-kiss-kiss, before you pushed his hands from your hips and turned away from Daemon Targaryen for the last time.

#game of thrones #got #house of the dragon #hotd #fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #daemon #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon fanfiction #daemon targaryen x you #daemon imagine #matt smith #laena velaryon #rhaenyra targaryen

[its-actually-minicika]

Imagine 03 (18+)

A shaky hand went to his aching cock. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down in quiet surrender. The heat waves of immediate pleasure sent a shiver down his lithe spine, and droplets of precum pooled at the base of his shaft, coating his veiny hands and running over his whitened knuckles.

Aemond's eye was closed in utter concentration - he focused desperately on the task at hand, on the image that was forming behind his clasped eyelid.

You.

Oh, how he throbbed for you. How he needed you.

The things he would do to feel your skin against his. The thoughts he beared for you - sinful enough to make even the least pious of Septas writhe and beg for forgiveness through tear-stained cheeks.

As his hips began moving in unison with his leisure pumps, the man let out a low growl, and he slowly arched his back off the satin of the ruined sheets.

"Fuuuck..." He sighed into the peaceful night, and soon found himself speeding up his ministrations.

He was close. Oh so close to his fourth release of the night - but no matter how much he teased his stones, or brushed his thumb over his weeping slit, the momentary relief just wouldn't heed his call.

"Hobaenka issa... hobaenka nopāzma." He cursed under a strained breath, as he slowly rose onto his forearm, to properly fuck his hand.

"Qrugh... Nyke jorrāelagon naejot māzigon sīr quba..."

A frustrated sigh parted from his swollen lips.

This simply wouldn’t do. Not anymore.

By the Gods, he needed you.

He needed you, but he wouldn't dare have you. At the very least, not yet.

You were a vision of the Maiden, a Lady pure, and good, and kind.

He would be proper and thoughtful about it. He would marry you. And fuck you. And breed you. And mark you.

He would take his time with you. Be balls deep inside of you. Fuck you gently, or make love to you roughly - in whichever way you wanted, you needed, you pleaded.

Indeed, he would be yours to command. And he would dedicate himself to learning all the intricate ways to please you. Make you come on his tongue, tens of times before he'd even think to tease you.

He would teach you how to make him happy. He would teach you how to ride and suck him.

The Targaryen Prince couldn’t tell what posessed him to get up from the comfort of his bed, and venture into the empty lanes of the Street of Silk.

Neither could he tell what sparked his interest towards the rear-end brothel - a brothel he knew his sorry brother and uncle eagerly frequented, as well.

He just prayed and hoped he wouldn't bump into neither one of the two on that cursed night.

The figure of a plump woman rested at the hilt of the oak door - the debaucherous sounds of slick and flesh that slapped against each other rang from the other end of the Pleasure House back to his tainted ears.

Tens of whores flocked to him, baited on by his silver locks of hair - the gratuitous allure to the heavy pockets they grew so accoustomed to.

A new line of girls was formed and dismissed each minute. For Aemond Targaryen had his own paculiar tastes.

The first to go were the women who failed to possess a similar hair and eye colour to yours. Swifty followed the ones who were too tall, too lean, too stubby.

None of them were good enough. None of them were you.

The owner's patience was wearing thin, as was his very own. Perhaps coming down here was a mistake. Perhaps he'd find better release with the aid of his right hand.

And just as he was ready to depart from the dismal scene, the sound of giggles flooded the entire room.

Could it be...?

But it wasn't.

And yet...

The sight of his uncle ought to have vexed him. Embarrass him to no end, given the position he'd been viciously caught in - yet long gone were the dutiful son, the responsible Prince, and the honorable man within him.

In the stead of cowering away and leaving the brothel in a hurried conflict, Aemond's eye trailed over Daemon's whore, drinking in her every feature. A rumbled moan etched its way from his tightened throat.

Her skin bared your complexion. Her eyes held in the very same shade of luring pigment. Her hair, despite being of a lighter colour, fell perfectly over her shoulders - much like your own used to when you let it down during the cold winters.

Before he knows it, Daemon's hand wraps itself around his shoulder.

He wordlessly allows it.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" The Prince's voice erupts in a low purr. "It's unbelievalbe how much she looks like her."

His uncle plays with her loose strands of hair, and sends her his nephew's way through the musings of a laugh and rough spank.

Aemond wouldn’t sheathe his cock within her. He needs not use what thousands have used before him - and his seed should take only in you.

Her mouth and warmth are enough to satisfy him. Aemond cums with your name upon his lips; shouted so hopelessly, that the whole of Westeros would hear him.

He pays her handsomely for her service - and swears to never step foot inside that wretched place again.

But it is far too late.

For the rumours spread and quicken.

He finds that your tourmenting eyes never rest over his face again. You make yourself scarce, unseen. He sees it in the way you huff your breaths out, in the way your pale cheeks redden - you know. And you are disgusted with him.

He seizes you once, in a secluded corner of the Red Keep. He tries to explain - deny - all that you might have heard from the gossips of the Court. But you purse your lips together and sway your weight from one foot to the next.

Defiantly, you avert his gaze.

Scared, you make your way around him.

And when you must find reclusion from him, it is Daemon who offers you sanctuary. It is his arms that snake around you, his hands that caress your cheeks. It is his voice that whispers inside your ear. It is the Lord of Fleabottom who poisions you against his will.

Translations of High Valyrian:

"Hobaenka issa... hobaenka nopāzma." = Fuck me... fucking hell.

"Qrugh... Nyke jorrāelagon naejot māzigon sīr quba..." = Shit... I need to cum so badly...

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond imagine #aemond fanfiction #house of the dragon #prince aemond #aemond smut #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x you #daemon targeryan #daemon fanfiction #daemon x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon imagine #male wife daemon #daemon hotd #daemon smut

[modusssa]

Three Headed Dragon-Aemond Targaryen x Aegon II Targaryen x Daemon Targaryen x Female! Original Character (One-Shot Smut Fic)FMMM

Read it here on AO3

Rating: Explicit, NSFW, 18+

(FMMM) Everyone does everyone

TAGS/TW: Explicit Sexual Content, Double Vaginal Penetration, Foursome, Sword Crossing, Praise Kink, seriously its only smut, Targcest, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in One Hole, Double Penetration in Two Holes

Word Count: ~8800

This had been one of Annara’s favorite nights. The food at the feast was wonderful and she felt happier than she had been in the months since leaving Storm’s End and coming to King’s Landing. She was dressed in a silk gown of gray and gold, and her skirts flew around her as Aemond spun her around to the music. He was in a decent mood this evening, too. The long days tended to pull his face in angry lines and sometimes she could see the look in his eyes when he heard those whispers about him. He looked down at her and smirked and she smiled back up at him.

The song finished and they stepped away from each other and bowed. She touched her palms to her cheeks, feeling flushed and warm from the dancing and the wine. Aemond put his hand out for her to take, and they walked to a table for refreshments. As Annara put the cup to her lips, Aemond leaned in close to whisper in her ear.

“Come with me.” His breath was a breeze that tickled her neck and made goosebumps bloom across her skin. She nodded.

While everyone in the large room was distracted, Aemond pulled Annara into a side door that led to a servant’s hallway. They came to a darkened alcove, and he shoved her inside. Her back hit the wall and Aemond wrapped his hands around her neck and jaw and pushed his thigh between her legs. He took her mouth with his, in a soft kiss. He slanted his mouth over hers and his wet tongue teased the seam of her lips. He groaned into her mouth as Annara opened for him. The kiss became deeper, and warmth flooded her core as Aemond ground himself into her soft belly. She tried to pull away, but Aemond pressed his mouth against hers harder and his hands began to move. He left one on her neck while the other drifted lower. He pulled her dress down exposing her breasts and then he bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth.

Annara moaned and Aemond slid the hand that was on her neck up to cover her mouth as he teased the hardened nub. She was a wanton mess, and she felt the wetness building and started to rub herself on his thigh. Removing his hand from her mouth, Aemond released her nipple and licked a trail up her chest and neck and then took her mouth into his.

A door shut nearby, and footsteps shuffled along the floor broke the spell that they were in. Aemond pulled away and Annara looked up at him and giggled. He shushed her, turned his back and watched whoever it was move through the hall. Annara fixed her dress and then Aemond grabbed her hand and pulled her from the alcove and further down the servant’s hall.

She could not wipe the giddy look from her face. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

He looked each servant in the eyes as they passed, careful to keep her close behind him. Aemond kept pace as he answered her. “Somewhere we can be alone and away from prying eyes.”

Annara giggled again and let him lead the way. They walked to the end of the hall and slipped into another side door and began walking up the stairs. He turned again as they were climbing the stairs, grabbing her and slanting his mouth over hers again.

“I cannot get enough of your taste. I want more.” He spoke the words into her mouth and Annara pressed him closer and made a breathy moan into his mouth as an answer. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his stomach, grinding her throbbing heat into him. She wanted him so bad. Aemond carried her up the steps, his mouth never leaving hers. Annara was faintly paying attention as Aemond let go of her to open a door as they went through it. The kiss grew frantic and needy and Aemond set her legs on the ground, but neither one ever broke away.

Aemond’s hands were frenzied as they roamed her body, and she grabbed his doublet and began undoing his buttons. He untied the back of her gown, pulling it open, moving it down her shoulders and she had opened his shirt as someone in the room cleared their throat.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Annara looked up at Aemond as he looked over her shoulder, behind her. She recognized the voice, and it made her skin heat further. She fumbled with her dress and held it to her chest.

“Leave, Uncle.” Aemond said to Daemon.

Annara looked behind her at Daemon as he leaned against the fireplace mantle, swirling a goblet of something. He looked down at his drink and back at them and smirked. “Now why would I do that? This night has been fucking boring and now I have found something much more enticing.”

Annara turned to face Daemon and she watched as his eyes danced up and down her body and saw him shift on his feet. Aemond grabbed Annara and pulled her back to his front. “I didn’t realize you liked to watch, Uncle.”

Daemon took a swallow from his goblet and hummed, placing the cup on the mantle. He walked to them and stopped right in front of Annara, never taking his eyes from her. When he was toe to toe with Annara, he looked over her shoulder at Aemond and she turned her face to look at him too. He was staring at Daemon and Annara could not make out the look in his eye. They held eye contact, and no words were exchanged as Daemon lifted his hand and drug it down Annara’s neck. She swallowed and closed her eyes. Daemon’s touch was featherlight and made her heartbeat fast. She looked up at him, but he was still looking at Aemond.

“Tell me, Lady Annara, has my nephew taken care of you the way you should be taken care of?”

Annara’s voice sounded breathy and strange as she replied, “I-I don’t know what you mean, Prince Daemon.” Daemon smirked at Aemond and finally met Annara’s eyes.

He hummed. “Very well. Come nephew, let me show you how to please a woman.”

Annara looked over her shoulder again at Aemond. Aemond smiled down at her and jerked his chin towards his uncle. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “If at any point you want to stop, just say so.” Annara took a deep breath and looked back at Daemon. He was standing next to a large wingback chair that he had pulled to face a couch. He gestured towards it with his hand, and she took a deep, shaky breath and walked over, leaving her gown in a puddle on the floor.

Daemon sat on the settee and Annara stopped in front of him and looked back at Aemond. He was following behind her, and his eyes were glued to her back end. Her eyes went back to Daemon who was looking her up and down with a feral glint in his eyes.

She felt nervous and fought the urge to cover herself. Right now, she had two of the most powerful men in the realm looking at her as if she were a new land worth conquering.

“Give me your eye patch, Aemond.” Daemon said to him. Aemond reached up and pulled it off his head and placed it in Daemon’s hand. Aemond moved to sit in the chair at her back and Daemon twirled his finger and told her “Turn around.”

When she did, she looked Aemond in the eye. The firelight reflected off the large sapphire in his empty eye and made him look so dark and desirable. She bit her lip.

Daemon grabbed her wrists and tied them together behind her back with Aemond’s eye patch then ordered her to sit.

“Sit on y-your lap?”

“Yes, Lady Annara. Sit.”

She complied, straddling Daemon’s thighs. The restraints on her wrist were tight but not uncomfortable. Daemon brushed her hair from her shoulder. “Look at him. He is already worked up.” Daemon tsked. “Patience, nephew, patience.” He drugs his fingers down Annara’s back. “In High Valyrian, you say no like ‘daor’. Say it back to me.”

“Daor,” Annara replied. Daemon hummed and Aemond scooted to the edge of the seat in front of her.

“To say yes you say ‘kessa’. Say it.”

“Kessa.”

Daemon’s hands were on her shoulders, and he pulled her back against his chest. “Say them both again.”

“Daor. Kessa.”

“Good. I am going to touch you and show my nephew how a woman longs to be touched. You will answer me when I ask if something is okay with those words.” Annara nodded and relaxed into Daemon, her eyes still glued to Aemond.

“Words, Annara.”

“Kessa, My Prince.”

Aemond nodded at Daemon over Annara’s shoulder and Daemon spread his thighs, opening Annara up to Aemond’s gaze. With her hands bound and legs spread open, Annara felt exposed, vulnerable but eager. The anticipation was building with each moment that passed.

One of Daemon’s hands rested on the couch while the other drifted up her shoulder to her neck and down to her breasts, moving agonizingly slow. Annara did not move as his hand traveled and Aemond’s eyes followed. His other hand lifted and squeezed her breast, and he began to tease her nipple, flicking it with his fingers with each pass of his hand.

“Is this, okay?” Daemon whispered to her.

“Kessa” she replied.

“Aemond, you must take your time. Build the anticipation. Do you see the way her body is begging to be touched and satisfied. Read her body the way you read your books.”

Aemond leaned back in his seat and grabbed the bulge in his pants. Daemon’s other hand joined the first in playing with her breasts. She arched into the touch telling him that she wanted him lower. Lower where the heat was building and where she was craving touch the most.

Daemon leaned back and Annara went with him, further exposing her to Aemond. His hands left her breasts and moved down her soft, quivering belly, cascading over her most sensitive skin, barely brushing his hands over her mound and making her shake. If he touched her right, then she would come.

“How about now, Annara. Okay?”

“Kessa.”

Daemon ran his hands up and down her thighs and Annara watched as Aemond rubbed himself through his pants. “Open her up, Uncle.”

Daemon hummed. His hands slid up her thighs to her wet center. She went to close her legs together, but Daemon forced them open. He slid his nose down the side of her face, his voice tickling her ear and neck. “Relax. Show him.” Annara relaxed into Daemon as he drug his hands up to her pussy, lightly brushing his fingers over her lips. He gingerly placed his hands on each side and slowly opened her pussy to Aemond, the unhurriedness of it and the obsceneness of it made her pussy drip liquid heat that slid down her ass.

Aemond kneeled out of the chair and came closer, his face dangerously close to her center. Daemon dragged his finger through her folds, stopping at her entrance and gathering wetness on the tip. He removed it and held it out to Aemond. “Taste her.”

Aemond took Daemon’s finger into his mouth and sucked and hummed at the taste of her. Annara squirmed in Daemon’s lap, but he placed his hands on her inner thighs again. “I’m going to open her up again and I want you to drag your tongue up the seam.”

Aemond’s tongue was foreign but hot and felt amazing as he slid it from her opening up to the sensitive nub at the top. He hummed and closed his eye as he leaned back in for another taste.

Annara moaned into it, and she could feel Daemon pressing his hard, covered cock into her ass.

“What does she taste like?” a new voice said from across the room. Everyone jerked their faces over to see Aegon standing in front of the door as he slid the lock shut behind him. Annara tried closing her legs again, but Daemon kept them pried open, Aemond’s breath blowing teasing kisses on her exposed pussy.

“Come find out.” Daemon said. “I am already showing your brother how to please a woman. I suppose I could show you too.”

Aegon pulled his shirt over his head and walked over to kneel next to his brother. “Watch how they want you. Right now, you have three dragon princes in the palm of your hand. Do you wish to continue your worship, Lady Annara?”

Annara looked at the brothers as they both looked at her center. Aemond’s lips and chin were wet with her arousal and Aegon’s eyes darkened the longer he stared. She swallowed and nodded. “Kessa.”

“Good.” Daemon whispered and then licked her earlobe. Her back arched and it spread her open more. He moved his hand to her pussy and spread her lips open. “Aemond, taste her again.”

Aemond did. This time for longer. His tongue slid up and down her pussy and he shoved his tongue inside her entrance, fucking her with his tongue. Aegon sat back on his haunches and started rubbing himself on the outside of his pants, mirroring his brother. Annara’s legs began to quiver, and her breaths were coming faster. She felt herself building and reaching towards her climax. Daemon pushed Aemond’s head back and Annara whimpered. “Not so fast.” He ran his hands up and down her inner thighs. “Let your brother have a taste.”

Aemond scooted back and let Aegon get face to face with her center. She was dripping down her ass and there was a puddle in Daemon’s lap. Aegon was more aggressive than Aemond and instead of slowly licking her, the instant his mouth touched her pussy, he sucked her clit into his mouth. The feeling made Annara buck up into his mouth and Daemon had to hold her down and her legs open. Annara looked at Aemond as she moaned loudly. He was sitting back on his legs now, but his cock was out and in his hand. It was large, the head of it swollen and dark, and a bead of wetness leaked from the tip as he moved his hand from base to tip. Aegon continued to suck on her clit and Annara was reaching her peak again, but Daemon moved Aegon’s head the same way he moved Aemond’s. Annara wanted to whine and scream at being held back from her climax again.

She was shocked as Daemon stood and she had to gain her footing. He tore off his shirt and pulled down his pants, his hard cock springing free. His was wider, where Aemond’s was longer, and it had a curve in it. Annara swallowed at the sight of it, and she found herself wanting to feel it.

Daemon sat down again, his erection touching his stomach and he pulled Annara down on top of him again, her back to his front. He adjusted his cock to where it rested on her pussy and she shamelessly began grinding on it, feeling it slide through her wetness. Daemon groaned behind her and Aemond and Aegon were both stroking their hard cocks watching. “You must get them ready to take your cock. Do not force it.” He grabbed his cock in his hand and lined it up at her entrance. He did not push it in, just let the head sit there. Annara’s pussy was leaking, and she wanted badly to have him shove it inside.

Daemon spread her pussy open with his free hand and then slowly started pushing himself inside. She knew that it looked obscene, but she could not help the moan that escaped her. She had never felt so used but so good and she was reveling in the attention that these three men were giving her.

“That is it. Good girl. You take it so well.” Daemon’s words made her moan louder and arch into him. She relaxed and took him as his cock filled her up. Aemond was still watching and pulling harder on his cock as Daemon began to move inside her. Aegon leaned forward and sucked her clit into his mouth as Daemon’s cock was moving inside her. His mouth let go of her pussy and he stood and pulled his cock out, stroking it. He stood on the couch and slapped the head of his cock on Annara’s mouth, and she stuck her tongue out to lick the tip. He moaned and threw his head back and grabbed her hair. Daemon was slowly pulling himself in and out of her pussy. She opened her mouth and let Aegon slide his hard cock inside her mouth. She moaned around the feel of him, when she felt something wet and soft slide around her pussy again. Aemond was slowly licking her pussy again but going up and down, licking down Daemon’s shaft where it entered her body and Annara’s body began to quiver. When Aemond slid his tongue up to her clit again, she erupted, and her pussy clenched down hard on Daemon. He groaned hard behind her. She moaned and cried on Aegon’s cock, and he began moving faster in her mouth. Aemond slowly kissed her pussy as she came down and then stood. He stepped out of his pants and then held his cock in his hand and lined it up right next to Daemon’s at her entrance.

Daemon stopped moving as Aemond pressed his cock into her. “Breathe Deep, Lady Annara. You can take it.” She relaxed and Aemond slid in further, stuffing her full. Annara whimpered. She was so stuffed. Aegon in her mouth; Daemon and Aemond in her pussy.

Aemond and Daemon began moving inside her, their dicks sliding against each other and her walls at the same time. She could not move and Aegon grabbed her face and began fucking it hard. All the sensations began to build and build and Annara was shaking. She felt Aegon’s thrusts in her mouth begin to stutter and his grunts became erratic. He pushed himself all the way in her mouth, making her choke and cutting off her breath. Tears came down her face as his cock began to throb on her tongue and the salty taste of his release filled her mouth. He moaned loud and released her mouth with a pop. He squeezed her face, “Open. Let me see.” She opened her mouth, and he shoved his thumb in her mouth and pressed down on her tongue. “Swallow.” She did.

She looked at Aemond who was watching, and he reached down and pinched her clit between his fingers. She began squirming with both men still inside her and Daemon let out a breathless “fuck” behind her. Aemond kept pinching and pulling her clit as their dicks pounded into her when she felt Daemon stiffen behind her and moan loudly. She felt the warmth spray inside of her and it set her off into her second orgasm. As she clenched around them, Aemond’s strokes became erratic and stuttered and then she felt his release coat her walls, too.

The sounds of everyone’s heavy breathing began to register in Annara’s mind as they came down from their shared releases. Aegon was sitting in the wingback chair facing the three of them as Aemond pulled out first and Daemon lifted her, and his cock slid free. Hot wetness began dripping from her cunt as she leaned back onto Daemon’s heavy breathing chest. Aemond knelt again and urged her to open her legs. He took two fingers and ran them slowly down her pussy, pushing his fingers into her entrance to press the dripping come back inside her. She shivered.

Aemond stood and held out his hand for her. She took it and stood on wobbly legs, and he removed his eye patch that was still tied around her hands. He rubbed the red marks that were there and then looked at her. Daemon grunted behind her, and she smiled as she looked over at a sleeping Aegon in the chair.  Aemond began pressing gentle kisses to her wrist. “You did so good, Annara. I am so proud of you.”

Aemond lifted her and carried her bridal style into another door that turned out to be a room with a chamber pot and a large tub carved into the floor. The water was already full, and he stepped down into it with her still cradled in his arms. He sat and took her mouth with his in a slow, sensual kiss.

When they broke apart, she looked over Aemond’s shoulder and saw Aegon standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame. He had put his pants back on but left them united and slung low on his hips. Aemond glanced a look back at him and then at Annara. “You want him to join us?”

She nodded and then Daemon appeared and tsked. Annara at once said “kessa”.

Aemond brushed her hair back from her shoulder and whispered “good girl” in her ear.

Aegon removed his pants and then walked over to the bath, his heavy cock swinging between his legs. Annara’s mouth watered at the sight. She could still taste him in her mouth. He stepped down into the water and grabbed her from Aemond. He sat and placed her across his lap, and she watched as Daemon stepped into the chamber to lean against the wall. Aegon and Aemond were staring at each other, smiling, but Daemon was watching her. Annara’s eyes darted between the three of them and then Aegon whispered in her ear.

“I think it’s my turn to give my brother a lesson” he hummed and then licked her ear. “What do you think?”

Annara’s eyes glanced over at Aemond, and he was watching her now. She held his gaze as she said “kessa, Prince.”

Aegon gathered her hair into his hands and began twisting it down her back into a braid and Daemon then tossed him a block of soap. He lathered it in his hands and started washing her neck, kneading there. Annara closed her eyes to the sensation, enjoying the feeling of being washed and cared for by a prince. His hands moved from her neck, down her chest, and he grabbed both of her breasts in his hands, rubbing suds all over them. She arched into his touch, and he squeezed her nipples. One of his hands moved back up to her face and turned her to kiss her. His kiss was nothing like his brother’s. Aemond’s kisses were mostly soft and made her feel cherished. Sometimes they became frenzied, but his lips were always soft, and he moved his tongue slow. Aegon’s tongue was strong and probing and he bit her lip as he broke away to speak into her mouth. “Open your eyes and watch them.” Annara turned and looked at Daemon and Aegon. She had their full attention. Both of their gazes were dark and promising. “Do you see how much they want you?” Annara moaned and nodded. Aegon pinched one of her nipples and pulled, making her squirm against his hard cock. “Stand.”

Annara abided and stood, the soapy water dripping down her body. Both Daemon and Aemond’s eyes drifted from her soapy breasts to the junction of her thighs and back. She squeezed her legs together, feeling that heat build inside her again. Aegon remained seated and he lathered his hands again and moved them down her soft belly, around to her ass, down her legs and back up again. Aemond was watching his brother’s hands intently and Daemon was rubbing his cock through his pants as he watched.

“Spread your legs, Annara.” It was Daemon who gave the command, and she did. Aegon’s hands slid up her inner thighs and then around to her ass. He squeezed them hard and spread her open. She felt his tongue as it licked her puckered hole, and she almost lost her footing. Aemond moved slowly, like a snake on the water towards her. He stopped when his face was at her front and then he spread her legs more, further opening her up to him and his brother. He leaned forward and drug his tongue slowly over her seam, using his tongue to spread her open.

Aegon behind her squeezed her ass harder and stuck his tongue inside her back right as Aemond shoved his tongue in her dripping cunt, as if they were working in tandem. The three of them moaned at the same time and Annara threw her head back in rapture, soaking up the feeling. A hand tugged on her nipples, and she opened her eyes to see Daemon there, watching, inspecting.

The brothers were making her shake and she was whimpering and moaning. Her chest was heaving as she ground herself into their faces. Daemon’s hand went to her mouth, and he pressed on her bottom lip with her thumb, sliding it into her mouth. She closed her lips around it and started to suck on it while holding his gaze. He held her eyes and said something in Valyrian. The boys stopped what they were doing and moved back, the sudden stop making Annara whine wantonly, seeking their touch.

Daemon stepped into the large tub and sat in the water. He said something to Aegon who picked her up and set her on the edge of the bath. Daemon spoke something else and Aemond was there and opening her legs as far as they would go. Daemon reached over and slid his hand from her ankle, up her legs to her pussy and drug his thumb softly over her clit. Aegon took one breast into his mouth again while Aemond put his fingertip at her opening. She moaned loud, her pussy clenching and kissing the tip of Aemond’s finger. He watched his hand as he slowly slid his finger inside her.

The feelings became overwhelming and Annara's thighs began to jump and shake with pleasure. Aegon started kissing her again, sucking her tongue into his mouth as she groaned and cried out as her climax hit. The second one wracked her entire body in shakes. Before she came down completely, Daemon was kneeling next to her with his cock in his hand. She licked her lips, and he leaned closer, slapping it on her lips. She opened her mouth and took him inside as he groaned, wrapping her long braid around his hand. Aemond and Aegon moved to the side, both stroking their cocks as they watched her suck their uncle.

Daemon was bigger than Aegon, and she struggled to take him fully. She lifted her hand and wrapped it around the base, using it simultaneously with her mouth. She felt the drool as it dripped down her chin and Daemon reached down and put his hand on her neck and jaw, stroking his thumb up and down. She couldn’t understand his words because he was speaking in High Valyrian, but the way he was looking at her, with so much praise, it egged her on.

She reached up and grabbed his balls, massaging them gently. He started breathing harder and his abdominal muscles tightened, she started sucking harder, but he pulled her off of him with an audible pop. She opened her mouth to protest but he grabbed her by the jaw with both hands. He placed his thumb in her mouth, her own flavor bursting on her tongue. He leaned down closer, and a line of spit came from his mouth into hers, before he closed her mouth and then placed a gentle kiss on her lips. He patted her face and said something to the brothers, still watching.

Aemond stepped to her first and then kissed her. “Bend over” he whispered into her mouth. She turned her back to them and put her ass in the air. Aemond ran his fingers down her spine and crack to her pussy. She felt the stretch as he put two fingers inside her and began fucking them into her. She moved against the feeling, grinding herself on his hand. He removed them and then positioned himself behind her. He put a hand on her inner thigh and lifted it, then placed his tip at her opening. He began sliding in and she moaned at the feeling.

He lifted them to where he was behind her, but she was straddling his folded legs. Aegon appeared laying down on his back, sliding headfirst between Annara’s legs as his brother slid his cock inside her. He grabbed her hips and sucked her clit into his mouth. His cock was laid against his stomach, hard and leaking. Daemon knelt between Aegon’s legs with his cock still wet with her spit, sitting in his hand. He stroked it twice, then reached over and grabbed Aegon’s. Aegon moaned into Annara’s pussy, and the vibration made her pussy gush her arousal and she felt it drip around Aemond as he plowed into her. She moaned and leaned against Aemond’s chest. “Watch them.” He told her.

She focused on Daemon as he touched his cock head to Aegon’s, a string of precum linked between them. Aegon’s hips bucked into the sensation and Daemon’s jaw hung slack as he did it again. He leaned over Aegon, laying his hard cock on top of his. Aemond wrapped Annara’s braid around his hand and pulled her head back, making her watch the obscenely erotic scene before her. Aegon continued to suck on her pussy as he and Daemon grinded their erections together.

Aemond’s hips began moving faster and harder as he fucked her, and the feelings began to overwhelm her again. Aegon began moaning loud and panting on her pussy and she watched as thick seed dripped from the head of his cock. Daemon was next, his seed shooting out in spurts that painted Aegon’s chest and stomach. Aemond and Annara were next, her pussy squeezing every last drop from his throbbing cock inside her. Everyone stopped and breathed for a moment, but Daemon was the one to move first. He stepped into the tub again and began washing his body off, his cock deflating in the warm water. The other three followed and repeated the same steps before Aegon took Annara’s hand as she exited the bath and wrapped her in a towel and led her back into the main room.

Daemon stood next to the bed as Aemond laid on top as Aegon led her over and she sat.

“How do you feel?” Daemon asked her.

Annara fell back on to the bed next to Aemond as she answered. “Better than I ever have, Prince Daemon.” She didn’t know what to say after that and she smiled at the three of them and bit her lip. Daemon hummed and motioned for Aemond to move over on the bed so he could sit.

Aegon sat next to her and nuzzled her neck. “You are one of a kind, Lady Annara.”

Aemond hummed in agreement.

“I wonder how sensitive you are Annara. Let us have a look.” Daemon said as he leaned over, grabbing her by the ankle and pulling. Annara giggled and opened her legs, showing herself to them. She was sensitive, yes, but she had never felt so desirable in her life. If they wanted more, she would give them whatever they craved.

She was pressed between Aemond, and Aegon as Daemon inspected her cunt. He ran a finger down her seam and spread her lips open slowly. She shook with how sensitive she was. Daemon hummed. Aemond and Aegon both propped themselves up on their elbows to watch what Daemon was doing. Daemon’s finger went to her opening and gently pressed soft circles and she felt the wetness as it gathered on the tip. “Feel that” he said to the brothers.

Daemon licked his finger as it was replaced by Aemond’s. He slowly slid the very tip of his finger inside her, eliciting erotic wet sounds. She watched Aemond’s cock begin to harden again and glanced a look at the other two cocks in the room. They were all hard again. Daemon grabbed Aemond’s wrist and gestured for Aegon to take his place. He covered her pussy with his hand, his palm putting pressure on her clit as the top of his middle finger slowly slid inside her. She moaned and lifted her hips.

Aegon pulled her face to his and kissed her, his hands still drawing out the wanton movement of her body. He groaned into her mouth and then turned her on her side and lifted her leg. He lined his cock up and let the tip rest there. She tried to move him inside her, but he held himself there. “Shh. Uncle says patience.”

She looked at Daemon then, whose eyes were locked on where Aegon’s cock rested at her opening. He licked his lips and then nodded and Aegon slid in just the tip and went still. He held her tight so she couldn’t move him further in and the tease was painful.

Aemond reached down and touched her clit and Aegon took the opportunity to slide in all the way, but still he didn’t move anymore and just let it sit inside her. She whined and shook with the need to move but they held her still. Her chest was heaving, and Daemon nodded at both Aemond and Aegon.

Aegon began to move, finally, moving himself in and out slowly. Aemond slowly stroked her clit and flicked her nipple with his tongue. Daemon leaned on his side with his head held up on his hand, gaze glued between her legs. She started to ascend again, her body writhing in pleasure. Daemon spoke something in High Valyrian and Aemond removed his hands and mouth to kneel in front of her. He held his cock in front of her mouth and she parted her lips to let him in. He slid in slow, matching the rhythm of his brother’s cock as it filled her. She moaned around him as the salty taste of his precum exploded on her tongue. He undid the wet braid on the back of her head as she sucked him in her mouth and then he pushed her hair to the side, watching her. He was beautiful, they all were, but Aemond always looked at her with reverence and made her feel special anytime they were together. Aemond threw his head back and Aegon sucked on the back of her neck. She felt the bed dip and looked up to see Daemon standing on the bed with his cock in his hand, stroking. He bit his lip as his eyes darted between Aegon’s cock between her legs and Aemond’s in her mouth. He hummed before telling her, “Good girl, Lady Annara. You have taken us so well.” He stroked himself faster as he continued praising her. “Your pussy is so wet for us. You’re so good. So beautiful when you come for us.”

Annara moaned around Aemond’s dick, and he shoved his cock in hard, hitting the back of her throat. Daemon grabbed Aemond by the hair and slapped his cock on his cheek. Aemond opened his mouth, swallowing Daemon’s entire cock as he groaned loud.

Daemon fucked Aemond’s face while he fucked Annara’s while Aegon continued to fuck into her. Aemond was the first to come this time, shooting into Annara’s mouth in throbbing, hot bursts. She swallowed him down and continued to suck as his body shook with his climax. Aegon followed, his paces picking up. He pounded into her a few times hard before she felt his cock swell inside her and then he began moaning in time with the spurts of seed that coated Annara’s walls. Annara and Daemon came at the same time, both moaning and breathing heavy. She was shaking and Daemon’s jaw was slack again as Aemond swallowed him down.

The sounds of heavy breathing and shifting bodies sounded in the room around Annara as she closed her eyes. She opened one as she felt a body next to her and saw Aemond as he laid on his back. He sighed heavily and looked over at her and smiled. He opened his arm and told her to lay on his chest. She snuggled into his side, when she felt a body at her back. She knew by the arm that wrapped around her middle that it was Aegon. He put his leg between her thighs and nestled himself into her backside.

Annara picked her head up to see Daemon standing at the end of the bed looking at the three of them. He smiled at her and then turned and started dressing. Annara closed her eyes and as she began to drift off and Aemond whispered, “You did so well, Annara.” He placed a kiss on her forehead. “You are so cherished.”

Annara was dozing, floating between consciousness when she felt something stir beside her. She peeled her eyes opened and looked over at Aemond. He sat up and looked down at her. He dragged his finger along her cheek.

“Come.” he whispered.

Annara peeled Aegon’s arm off of her and sat up. Aemond put one arm under her legs and the other at her back and lifted her from the bed. She looked at Aegon, still sleeping, as Aemond carried her back into the attached chamber.

He stepped into the steaming tub with her still in his arms. The warmth of the water was like silk across her skin as they sank into it. Her muscles and pussy were both sore and tender. Aemond placed her back to his front and gathered her hair into his hands. He twisted into a knot on the top of her head. When her hair was secure, he slowly dragged his fingers down her neck and shoulders. Soft kisses followed his touch. The goosebumps prickled on Annara’s skin. She moaned and leaned into him.

“I know you’re sore. Let me take care of you.”

Annara closed her eyes and nodded. “Okay.”

He hummed as she felt him reach for something behind her. Aemond lathered up his hands in a soap cake and then began kneading her shoulders.

“Lean forward.” He spoke the words in her ear, and she complied. He was soaping and massaging her back and the lavender scent of the soap helped to relax her more. He pulled her back to him and his hands came to her chest, massaging in circles. She felt her body relax fully into him.

His hands glided slowly over her breasts, and he rubbed his palms over her nipples. She arched her back and moaned. “Shhh” he whispered into her ear before placing gentle kisses on her neck. The way that he was touching her and speaking to her was sensual and intimate. She didn’t know if she could take anymore with her aching pussy, but the movement of his hands was making her clit throb again.

“You took us all so well, Lady Annara. You’re such a good girl. So radiant.” His hand slid down her belly, massaging into the squishy flesh. “I want to give you something to let you know how well you did.” Aemond’s hands slid further to her center. “Will you let me tend to your soreness?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

His palms were on her inner thighs, and he pulled them apart. The soreness was almost painful. She had been stretched and used by the three of the most powerful men. She resisted Aemond spreading her legs. “Trust me. I know it hurts. I’ve got you.” She forced her body to relax again. When he tried to open them again, her body complied. “Good, Lady Annara.”

His palms began massaging her inner thighs, making her legs quiver. “You’re shaking. Do you want me to stop?”

Annara swallowed hard and shook her head. “N-no Prince. I’m okay.”

He hummed and continued to work the muscles in her legs. Up and down his hands went. Gliding over the skin. She peeled her eyes open to watch, when she saw Aegon appear in the doorway, watching. Aemond didn’t stop his caressing as he spoke to his brother over her shoulder.

“Are you just going to watch, or do you want to help?”

Annara watched Aegon as he stepped towards the bath. He lowered himself in.

“Grab her feet and massage them.” Aemond told his brother.

“You want me to do what?” Aegon asked.

Daemon’s voice made Annara’s eyes shoot to the door. “Massage her feet.” He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the door. Memories from earlier began to fill her mind. Having all three of them. She leaned her back against Aemond and moaned. “She has been through a lot over the last few hours.” It was Daemon’s commanding voice again. She closed her eyes. “If you want to continue, you have to help her relax. She’s sore.”

She heard Daemon’s footsteps as he came over to the tub and got in. “Move. I’ll show you.”

She felt the water move with Aegon’s body. Aemond’s hands were still massaging her inner thighs. Daemon gently lifted one of her feet and started speaking High Valyrian in a low voice. His knuckle slid down the arch. She felt Aegon shift over and grab her other foot, matching Daemon’s movements and following his instruction.

Annara felt suspended in euphoria. Her body weightless as it floated in the large tub. She relaxed completely under the gentle attention of these three princes. She felt special. Beautiful. Desired. They had made her feel that way since her and Aemond stumbled in the chamber.

Daemon’s hands were gliding up her leg, kneading into the muscles. Aegon’s followed. Aemond’s touch moved up her body and cupped her breasts. Daemon spoke High Valyrian again and she opened her eyes as his and Aegon’s hands slid slowly up her legs to her inner thighs. The three of them began having a conversation that she couldn’t understand when Aemond grabbed her from behind by her waist and lifted. She stayed in his lap as he lifted her from the tub. Daemon leaned his back against the wall of the tub and Aegon came closer to where she and Aemond were sitting. Aemond gripped beneath her thighs and spread them. Slowly he exposed her, again, to Daemon and Aegon’s hungry gazes.

Her body was relaxed after the attention and massages, and she didn’t resist as he opened her to them. Her core was throbbing again although she was tender. The breeze tickled her pussy, making her cunt clench against nothing, dripping arousal down her crack. She didn’t understand how she was craving more after she had already had so much.

“Gentle, brother.” Aemond said to Aegon. His words warm against her ear.

Aegon’s eyes were pinned to her center, and he placed his hands on her spread knees and slid them upward. He leaned into her as his hands met her center. He softly placed his thumbs on her lips and spread them apart. She felt her cunt grip at nothing, and she shifted her ass to give him better access. Aemond said something to Aegon, tearing his eyes away from her center. He held her eyes as he leaned forward and with the most featherlight touch, drug his tongue from her puckered hole, over her opening, and placed a soft kiss on her clit.

Annara whimpered. Aegon repeated it and she felt Aemond’s cock stiffen beneath her. He spoke something again and this time Daemon replied as he came closer. When Daemon laid his head on her thigh, Aegon flicked his tongue over her entrance. She cried out again as he slid it slowly inside and she clenched around it. Aegon’s eyes rolled as he moaned at her taste.

He continued to fuck her with his tongue as Daemon whispered in his ear and Aemond grinded his cock between her ass cheek. She felt her orgasm building and she started to roll her hips towards Aegon’s face. Aegon pulled his tongue from her aching pussy and Daemon took his place. Annara watched as Aegon held her lips open and Daemon shoved his entire tongue inside.

“Do you like to have your pussy licked?” Aemond asked her. She nodded. He hummed. “You taste delicious Lady Annara.” She rolled her hips and rubbed her pussy against Daemon’s face. “Fuck his face, pretty girl.”

Aegon stood behind Daemon and put his hands under her ass and began massaging the cheeks. He spread her wide open and took some of her arousal and their mixed saliva and began rubbing circles over her tight rosebud. She moaned again. He continued to massage the hole as Daemon licked her pussy and Aemond played with her breasts and watched them over her shoulder.

Aegon slid a finger inside her asshole and her orgasm hit her hard. She clenched around Daemon’s tongue and Aegon’s finger as she writhed in Aemond’s lap. Daemon licked her through her convulsions until Aemond pushed his head away.

“Come here.” Aemond said to Aegon.

Aegon and Aemond traded places as Annara sat on the lip of the tub with her legs shaking.

“Turn over.” Aemond told her. Sit on my brother’s cock.”

Annara got on all fours as she climbed over Aegon. He ran his hands up her sides gently to her breasts and took one in his mouth. She gasped as she felt someone behind her place Aegon’s cock at her entrance. Aemond came around beside her and knelt. He pushed the hair from her face.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yes.”

Aegon’s cock slid inside her with ease. He bit his bottom lip and gasped as he fully seated himself inside her. She leaned over him, and he took her nipple into his mouth.

“Move.” Aemond commanded her.

Annara lifted up and down, feeling the glide of his cock inside her. Daemon slapped her ass, encouraging her to move faster. Aemond moved behind her again and her ass cheeks were spread open.

Daemon brought his hand to her face and pointed a finger.

“Get it wet.” Aemond said behind her.

She sucked Daemon’s finger into her mouth, and he shoved a second one in. His fingers pressed down on her tongue before he pulled them away with a pop. Aegon was picking up pace beneath her and Aemond placed his hand on her spine to make her lean down further. She felt Daemon’s wet fingers circle her ass. She ground herself against Aegon’s cock and they moaned together.

Daemon’s fingers slid inside her and began fucking her puckered hole. She grinded herself into him. Daemon’s fingers pumped a few more times before he slid them free, and it was replaced by something else. Something bigger.

Annara stopped and Aegon continued to move beneath her. Arms came around her middle and held her up as Aemond’s voice brushed against her neck. “Breathe. I’m going to stretch you. But you’re going to like it.”

Annara moaned. “I-I’ve never-”

Daemon shushed her and said something to Aegon that made him stop moving as he was fully inside her. Aemond slowly slid his tip in, and the burn made Annara clench and try to pull away. Aemond held her tight.

“Relax.”

She tried but the sting was too much, and she was feeling that sense of being full, too full, again. He slid himself further in and she cried out. Aemond covered her mouth with his hand.

“You can take it.” He said. “You can take me.” She squeezed her eyes shut as her muffled moan rang out in the room. “It’s so tight. You’re squeezing me so hard, Lady Annara.” He moaned this time. “You have to relax and take me.”

“Gently touch the nub at the top, Aegon. Help your brother.” Daemon commanded.

Aegon began rubbing her clit, softly at first but it quickly turned into him tugging it. She started to move against both of them.

“Yes. That’s it.” Aemond whispered. “Good girl.”

She felt his cock get deeper and deeper inside her, the longer and faster Aegon played with her clit, the more she relaxed to let Aemond in until he was fully. Both brothers stopped moving once Aemond was completely inside, and Daemon came to kneel in front of her, stroking his heavy cock in his hand. Aemond was getting impatient beneath her and gripped her hips.

Aemond moved first, pulling himself out. As he pushed back in, Aegon pulled out. Aemond’s hand was still clasped tight over her mouth as his other hand was splayed across her front. Her knees were digging into the stone floor, and she watched as Daemon stroked himself, watching the two brothers take her.

She cried out at the fullness. The pacing, Aemond’s grip, Daemon’s eyes, Aegon’s rubbing all made Annara’s body begin to shake.

“That’s it.” Aemond spoke to her. “You take it so well. Look at the way my uncle watches your cunt and ass swallow me and my brother. Your body was meant to be fucked like this.”

The orgasm that shook her with force. Her eyes flooded with tears, and she was screaming behind Aemond’s hand. The wetness dripped down her face as the brothers ravaging her body picked up the pace. Daemon’s hand was moving rapidly, and he threw his head back, the tendons in his neck flexing as he came in his hand. Aegon was next, his come coating her inner walls. Aemond’s hips stuttered against her ass cheeks, and she felt his cock expand and then throb inside her. He shoved her forward over his brother as he spread her cheeks apart and slid himself free. His brother shifted down and his cock came out of her too.

Their seed dripped out of her. Aemond kept her bent over, his hand on her spine and slid his fingers through their combined release, shoving the come back into her ass. Daemon stood then and Annara heard him get back into the water.

When Aemond removed her hand, she sat up and let Aegon slip from under her. He joined Daemon in the water. She watched both of them clean themselves off quickly, lathering soap cakes and dunking their heads. Aemond grabbed her chin and forced her to face him. He took her mouth with his and whispered into her mouth. “You are amazing. You did so well.” She returned his kiss. He stroked her jaw and she held on to his forearms as their tongues tangled and they tasted each other.

She was so focused on Aemond that she didn’t hear Daemon and Aegon leave the chamber and didn’t realize they were gone until Aemond pulled away. He pressed their foreheads together and sighed. “Come. Let’s get cleaned up and have a servant bring some food, yes?”

Annara bit her bottom lip and smiled. “Yes.”

He hummed and placed a quick kiss on her lips. He stood first and pulled her to stand with him. He grabbed her thighs and lifted her, wrapping her legs around him. She kissed him as he stepped them into the water.

It was only the two of them now and while Annara enjoyed herself with his uncle and brother, the feeling of it just being Aemond made her feel more comfortable. She let him wash her body and her hair. He paid close attention to her bruise covered breasts and inner thighs. His hands were gentle and amorous as he cleaned her. She insisted on returning the favor to him and she held his gaze as she knelt and cleaned him, worshiping him.

Aemond pulled her from the tub, wrapping her in a large fluffy cloth and then himself. She took his hand and led him from the bathing chamber into the larger room. Daemon was laid on the couch, arms crossed over his chest, lips parted, sleeping. Aegon was sitting in the wingback chair in front of the fire with his head in his hand, softly snoring.

Annara smiled at the sight and looked at Aemond who was watching her. She led him to the bed and pulled back the covers. He laid on his back and Annara curled into his side. His fingers gently stroked her arms as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

#hotd #hotd Aemond #hotd aegon #hotd daemon #fmmm #targcest #hotd fanfic #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #Aegon II Targaryen #daemon targeryan #aemond fanfiction #aegon fanfiction #daemon fanfiction #dvp #dp #aemond smut #Smut #one shot #hotd fanfiction #hotdfanfic #aemond fanfic #aegon ii fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfic #soft aemond #aftercare #dubcon

[maegorcomeagain]

#maegorcomeagain #rhaenyra and daemon #rhaenyra x daemon #daemon and rhaenyra #daemon x rhaenyra #daemyra #queen rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra fanfiction #daemon fanfiction #daemyra fanfic

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Lord Flea Bottom's Heir: A Silver Dragon Story

Word Count: 1334

Story Summary: Daemon had expected to be welcomed with the news of his wife's demise when he returned to King's Landing. Instead, he is greeted with the decidedly unwelcome news that the Bitch was to give him an heir. His plans to finally take Rhaenyra to wife thoroughly dashed, he leaves the Red Keep behind to wallow in his own domain: Flea Bottom.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

This is a spin-off POV from my main Aemond/OC story, The Silver Dragon. But it can be read as a one-off, standalone look into Daemon's mind.

Warnings: Allusions to rape. Daemon being a dick.

Author's Note: Oof, it was hard to write such mean things about Rhea. Forgive me!

Series Masterlist

Lord Flea Bottom's Heir

The stench of Flea Bottom was invigorating. The competing smells of ale and wine and sweat and sex sent a thrill through his blood. Even the reek of tallow candles and vomit in the streets was as comforting to him as the smell of a warm fire and a hearty meal was to most. It made him want to drink until he finally felt full, fight until there was no more blood to spill, and fuck until there were no virgins left in all of King’s Landing.

It was, after all, his domain. He was Daemon Targaryen, Lord Flea Bottom.

So why could he not get his ass out of this godsdamned chair?

He had sat down over an hour ago and had yet to finish even his first pint of ale. The gold cloaks he had brought along with him – only the handful that remained that hadn’t been corrupted with “righteousness and honor” by their insufferable new Lord Commander Strong – had already provoked various brawls, but none tempted him enough to join. And while several lovely whores had come his way, he had turned them all down.

Daemon couldn’t get his mind off his Bronze Bitch.

He would never get hard so long as she was in his head.

She had sapped him of his desire to drink, as well. There was no telling where his mind may go should he let himself get drunk while thinking of her.

And though he would like nothing more than to pummel the next person to look at him wrong into the ground, he couldn’t.

The last time he had tried to break someone – to break her – he had failed spectacularly.

It was supposed to be quick and easy. He would fly to the Vale one last time, when he was sure she would be alone, and rid himself of the bronze shackles of his marriage. Finally, he would be free to take the wife he truly wanted. The wife he deserved.

But then the fucking horse hadn’t done the job. There was no reason why not; it was an obscenely large beast. It had certainly made quite the meal for Caraxes.

He had been content to let her die where she lay. To allow the elements of her beloved Vale to take her. Her boring, soggy, primitive, sheep-ridden Vale.

Gods, what an agonizingly dull place. He had only lasted weeks in her pitiful excuse for a castle before he went out of his mind with boredom. The Bitch had been smart enough to give him leave to do as he wished.

She hadn’t been smart enough to keep her mouth shut, however.

“I knew you couldn’t finish.”

A Bitch indeed.

He had run hot enough with anger that he’d gotten hard, a feat he never thought to accomplish when faced with his wife.

That had been the greatest disappointment when they finally met on their wedding day. She was old and ugly. At least ten years older than him – he’d never bothered to find out exactly.

Her many hours spent in what little sun appeared in the Vale had aged her prematurely, so her painfully plain face was tanned and rough, and bore many lines. Her dull gray eyes were too far apart and framed by thick, bush brows, her lips too small, and her nose pointed up like a pig’s. Even her hair was unappealing. As bushy as sheep’s wool and the color of burnt wood.

In short, she was precisely what a virile young man of twenty, a Prince of the Realm and the Blood of the Dragon, did not want for a wife. And yet, he was stuck with her.

He still was.

Dropping her off at Dragonstone was supposed to be the final insult. To paint the “Warrior Lady of Runestone” as no more than a damsel in distress. So that in her last hours, she could wallow in the knowledge that she would only be remembered as the poor girl rescued by the Prince.

But she hadn’t. Fucking. Died.

Maybe there was some magic in those stupid little Runes.

And still, that wasn’t the worst of it.

He was supposed to be free, and now, he had never been more shackled to the cunt.

“I hear congratulations are in order, my Prince,” Mysaria’s accent was perhaps the most gentle thing in Flea Bottom. But today, it grated in Daemon’s ears.

He took a great gulp of his ale. Bitter, but bracing. “Condolences would be better appreciated.”

Mysaria took the seat across from him. She had continued to do well for herself, judging by her clothes. Only the most influential whores showed that little skin. “As I recall, you were once quite eager to have children of your own. Heirs to strengthen your claim.”

“Heirs, yes,” Daemon conceded. “Bitch-spawn, not so much.”

“I see,” she smiled politely, but he could tell his words bothered her. For a woman who assured her own barrenness, she was quite protective of children. “So, you are not here to steal another egg, then.”

“No. If she doesn’t die before the runt is born, it can claim a dragon for itself – if it’s worthy of it, which I doubt.” He chuckled as a dark thought entered his mind, the kind he could only voice here in his vile little kingdom. “Sheepstealer may be a good fit. Though for a child of the Vale, ‘Sheepfucker’ would be a more apt name.”

Mysaria did not laugh with him.

“Oh, come on,” he sighed. “That was funny.”

She only frowned. “No matter your opinion of the mother, this child will still be yours. Your family, Daemon.”

He scoffed, turning away from her. But she did not relent.

“You have always been so careful not to leave bastards in your wake,” she insisted. “Yet now that you have the chance of a trueborn heir, you have no interest. I know you better than perhaps anyone, my Prince. But I do not understand this.”

Daemon scowled, his brow forming a hard line over his violet eyes.

“Whatever this child is, it’s worse than a bastard. Because it’s hers, and I hate her. I don’t want to live my life being forced to look at whatever crawls out of her wretched cunt. I don’t care if it is the very image of me – of a trueborn Targaryen. Because it will be, and will always be hers.”

He leaned forward, close enough that even the White Worm showed a glimmer of fear. “I have spent nine years of my life chained by my ‘marriage’ to that Bronze Bitch. The very worst thing I can imagine is having to live the rest of my life tied to her because my seed somehow found purchase in the arid desert of her womb.”

Even after all the years he had spent with her, he could not tell whether it was pity or disdain that now sparkled in Mysaria’s eyes. Perhaps both.

She stood and refilled his mug. “If she makes it through the pregnancy, she will not survive the birth.” When he raised an eyebrow in question, she clarified. “I have heard vivid accounts of her wounds. Tell me, was that you or Caraxes?”

“Bit of both, I suspect,” he snickered. “It is dangerous to ride a dragon without being properly strapped to the saddle. I must have forgotten.”

“I have only one last question.”

He gestured for her to go on. However personal and maddening this had gotten, it was at least mildly entertaining. A vent for his frustrations.

“Why give her your seed? Even to humiliate her, why take that risk? Why not just kill her?”

Silence fell in their little corner of the brothel.

“That was three questions.”

“Yes, but I seek only one answer.”

Daemon’s eyes grew ever dark. It was a darkness only a Targaryen with dragonfire in his blood could muster. The darkness that had made Visenya and Maegor, and many of his ancestors before, so fearsome.

“She mocked me.”

#The Silver Dragon #house of the dragon #hotd #daemon targaryen #hotd daemon #daemon fanfiction #daemon fic #daemon fanfic #daemon targaryen imagine #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fic #hotd fanfiction #hotd fic

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia - Chapter 7: Father and Daughter (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 7: Father and Daughter

A hunt, a reunion, and a conflict. A normal day in Westeros then.

Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | 

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist | 

Warnings: Nothing of note, save for parental trauma and a notable lack of Daemon shenanigans.

Word Count: 5.8k words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out! 

A/N: OH MY GOD IM ALIVE???? Yeah, it appears I am 😭 I'm so sorry about the long wait on this chapter, the past two weeks have been wild for me ever since I came back from my vacation. 1. My dad crashed his car? 2. I had like five projects due during the past two weeks and I had to write in a report and evaluation about my project groupmate who essentially did nothing 😐 if I could beat someone's ass without getting suspended, istg... 3. I've been suffering from a lot of chest pains recently, which kinda stopped me from doing my thing for a while 4. I had insane writers block for like a week and it was horrid 😖 but luckily, I'm back now, and hopefully updating more often! And also I've learnt that my classmate is following me on tumblr, I am a little mortified, but hello regardless. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! 💕 no Daemon cameo unfortunately, but he'll be back next chapter, and messier than ever.

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics !

109 years after Aegon's Conquest

The doors to the room burst open, and you stepped in, a little out of breath. Lord Hobert Hightower and the Hand, who were standing closest to the doorway, were engrossed deep in conversation when you walked in, and you heard something along the lines of “It’s only a matter of time before Viserys names him heir.” You try not to frown at that, nodding politely to them before heading over to the crowd gathered over at the other side of the room, cooing at the heir in question: little Aegon, who was celebrating his second nameday. 

“Ah, Y/N!” Viserys exclaimed happily, gesturing for you to come and stand between him and Alicent, whose face was radiant with happiness. Viserys signalled for the wet nurse to step forward, and before you knew it, little Aegon was in your arms, babbling in that toddler frenzy of his. The assemblage of lords and ladies stepped closer to you, much to your discomfort, as you forced a cheerful smile and bounced Aegon up and down in your arms, which made him squeal with delight. “I fear that Aegon might come to see you as his mother sooner or late, Y/N, given how much he adores you.” Viserys claimed. You flush at his words, and Alicent soon steps in, smiling, “Tis true. Aegon always perks up when he’s in your arms.” You were sure you would melt into a puddle if you were subject to any more of their compliments. “You flatter me, Your Graces.” 

In the periphery of your vision, you saw Ser Tyland Lannister attempt to get Viserys’ attention, and you handed back a now fussing Aegon to his nursemaid. Alicent shuffled over to the feast table, and she smiled brightly as you approached. Placing a hand on her swollen belly, your heart fluttered with delight when you felt a slight kick. Though the horrors of childbirth still plagued your mind, being there for Alicent’s relatively smooth birth with Aegon had made your fears lessen a little. 

“How’s the babe?” you ask. “Only active when you’re here, it seems,” Alicent laughed. “They never seem to kick for anyone else other than you. I think they will adore you as much as Aegon does.” You chuckle, stroking Alicent’s belly gently. “What if the kicking is a sign that the babe will dislike me?” Alicent patted your hand, “Definitely not. I have no doubt in my mind that you will be dear to the babe.” she said with conviction. You blush at her words, “You flatter me, Your Grace.” 

“Can someone tell me where in the Seven Hells Rhaenyra might be?” Viserys’ frustrated bellow drew you and Alicent out of your tender moment. Alicent’s face twisted with worry, and you were sure your face was a mirror image of hers. “You came in later than the rest of us. Did you see Rhaenyra anywhere?” You shake your head glumly, “She wasn’t in her chambers, or her apartments.” Alicent sighed in exasperation, “Viserys has questioned nearly every courtier in the room, and not a single one of them has a clue. Where might she be?” You chewed your lip, thinking back to the snippet of conversation you had overheard between the Hand and Lord Hobert. “She’s upset right now. The two of you were…” You refrained from finishing the sentence when you saw Alicent wince. “Do you have any inkling on where she might go to cool off?” “I don’t belie-” A look of realisation dawned in Alicent’s eyes. “You know somewhere?” You ask her urgently. Alicent nodded, “I’ll go find her. You should stay and satiate yourself before the journey.” “Are you sure?” You ask her, concerned. Alicent squeezed your hand gently. “Don’t worry about me. I think I can get Rhaenyra to see reason.” 

You glance pensively at Alicent’s retreating figure. Sighing, you approached the refreshments table, smiling gratefully as a servant handed you a plate with some slices of roast pork. You heard your name being called, and turned around to find Viserys. “Your Grace-” you moved to curtsy, but Viserys stopped you, “I told you, no need for such stuffy courtesies when you are with me.” You smiled wryly, “I thought it wouldn’t apply in a room full of courtiers.” Viserys waved away your words, “You are my family, Y/N. There are no such constraints within your own kin.” You smile sadly at the word ‘family’. It was a little sad to say, but you definitely did feel more of a kinship with the current members of House Targaryen over those of your own house. 

“Speaking of kin,” Viserys’ voice turned serious. “I am in need of a favour from you, Y/N.” You snapped to attention. “Whatever you need, Viserys.” He sighed, looking mournful and irritated at the same time. “It has been nigh three years since I have wedded Alicent. Time after time, I have tried to approach Rhaenyra, but she shuns me away every single time. The rare chances she actually sits down and listens, she sulks like a child and only provides me with short responses.” Viserys sighed again, whatever sadness he had turning into disappointment and exasperation. “This is not the way the heir to the Iron Throne should behave.” He looked at you beseechingly, “I implore you, Y/N. I believe what Rhaenyra needs is for a motherly figure to talk to her, and persuade her to abandon such foolish antics. I fear Alicent would not be able to serve such a role, since Rhaenyra’s ire is directed at the both of us. But you,” You swallowed nervously. “I’ve seen how close Rhaenyra kept you after Aemma’s death. For months, apart from Alicent, you were her closest confidant. I know naught of what has transpired between the two of you, but I believe you to be the best person for this tiresome task. Will you do methis favour?” 

Your expression was resigned, but you forced out a smile nonetheless. “But of course. I will do my best, Viserys.” He closed his eyes in relief, clapping you on the shoulder. “I knew I could count on you, Y/N. Thank you.” You gave a tentative smile back, painfully aware of the numerous eyes glued to the both of you. What you failed to notice, however, were the heavy gazes of Otto and Hobert Hightower on you. 

An awkward silence weighed upon the royal wheelhouse as it made its way to the Kingswood. You glance uncomfortably between Viserys, Alicent, and Rhaenyra, watching with some pity as Viserys attempted to make conversation with his irascible and sullen daughter. A miniature dragon thrust in your face soon drew your attention however, and you looked down to frown admonishingly at little Aegon, who blinked his wide violet eyes at you innocently. The little devil, you were sure he was trying to garner your attention on purpose. Earlier, he had been weeping inconsolably, much to the nursemaid’s and Alicent’s distress. But when you had taken him into your arms, he had ceased his tears immediately and gave you a cherubic smile, which made Alicent give you a knowing smile and Rhaenyra to look at the both of you in disdain. The expression of disdain had yet to depart from Rhaenyra, as you played patiently with Aegon, flying his dragon miniature around him and smiling as the toddler spun his head around to follow the motions of the dragon with rapt fascination. 

The tension in the wheelhouse was not lightening in the slightest bit, as Viserys began talking about Rhaenyra giving him grandchildren, of all things. You had to stop yourself from groaning in exasperation. If Viserys truly wanted to reconnect with Rhaenyra again, why was he digging himself into an even bigger hole? He should know that after Aemma, Rhaenyra would be disinclined to entertain notions of childbirth. You wanted to put your head in your hands, but Aegon poked you in the cheek. 

“No one’s here for me!” Rhaenyra’s angry outburst halted all activity in the wheelhouse, including Aegon’s. You froze, looking up at Rhaenyra, but her bitter gaze was focused solely on her father. All of you endured the rest of the ride in silence. 

The rocking of the wheelhouse soon came to an end. You remained seated as Viserys and Alicent stepped out to the raucous cheers of the crowd, allowing Aegon’s nursemaid to take him from your arms. You remembered Viserys’ plea, and took in Rhaenyra’s wistful expression. “Hail, hail! Aegon the Conqueror babe, Second of His Name!” You grimace when you hear the tasteless remark. 

Rhaenyra’s fists were clenched at her sides, and her eyes were shut. With frustration, or with sadness, she didn’t know. Suddenly, she felt a gentle hand taking her fisted hand and unclenching it. She didn’t need to open her eyes to see who it was. “I don’t need your pity.” Rhaenyra tried to sound snappy, but her voice was hoarse. You didn’t answer, instead intertwining your fingers with Rhaenyra. She reluctantly opened her eyes, only to see you directing a hostile glare to the outside commotion, as more and more voices heralded Aegon as the Second of His Name. Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at that, letting some of the tension seep out of her muscles. 

At least there was someone in her dark and lonely corner, even if that someone’s trustworthiness had yet to be ascertained. 

You were sitting next to Alicent, as she held court with the various noble ladies who had attended the hunt. You listened, silently sipping from your goblet as they conversed about the ongoing war in the Stepstones. You watched as Larys Strong and Rhaenyra soon joined in the conversation, though a slight frown of distaste was soon visible on your face, when Lady Lannister and Lady Redwyne in particular, began picking on Rhaenyra. You had to hide a smirk when Rhaenyra made a well-directed jab at Lady Redwyne, and the smirk only widened when you saw her pig-faced dog gobble greedily at the cake on her plate. How fitting. 

“You know, Lady Y/N.” Your head snapped up as Lady Redwyne addressed you. She had a displeased look on her face: clearly she hadn’t missed your smirk at her expense. “I was…pleasantly surprised to hear Her Grace appointed you as her chief lady-in-waiting.” Your eyes narrowed, your dormant prickly nature coming to life once more. “It was a great honour, Lady Joselyn. One that I am greatly grateful to Her Grace for.” 

Lady Redwyne gave you a smile, that you knew from all your years of court politics, was filled with ill intent. “I must say, if you were out in the battlefield fighting on the Stepstones, the war would be won by now.” You felt Alicent stiffen next to you, and you instinctively reached out to put your hand on hers. “What are you insinuating, Lady Redwyne?” Alicent’s tone was sharper than usual. Lady Redwyne attempted to school her features back to deference, but her lips were curved upwards. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I was not attempting to insinuate anything. It was a compliment to Lady Y/N.” You levelled a fierce glare at her, but she seemed unaffected, looking at you straight in the eye. “It is a well known fact that she and Prince Daemon had tempers that rivalled each other. With such willfulness, she would make a formidable opponent on the battlefield, would she not?” 

You were about to deliver an equally cutting and backhanded response, but you were surprised when you heard Rhaenyra speak up once more, “Yes, Lady Redwyne. But as luck would have it, she is the Queen’s lady-in-waiting now.” Rhaenyra’s tone was acidic. “And I am certain that she will carry out her duties with skill and grace. The Queen will not be able to find someone as capable as her.” 

The ladies were stunned that Rhaenyra had spoken up for you, none more so than you and Alicent. “The princess is right. Lady Y/N has been a dutiful lady-in-waiting and companion. The Seven have truly blessed me with her.” Your eyes water with gratitude, as Lady Redwyne and the other ladies fall silent after both the princess and the queen’s swift defence of you.

So this was what kinship felt like. 

Night had fallen, and the air was ablaze with the smell of smoke. You had sat faithfully by Alicent all day, as she entertained lords and ladies alike. You had not seen Rhaenyra in quite some time though, and you worry about where she could have wandered off to. Your anxiety only increased tenfold when you saw Viserys’ goblet never straying from his hand, and he had been lifting it to his lips moreso after his conversations with the Hand, Jason Lannister, and Lyonel Strong, in particular. Alicent was clearly on edge as well, her brown eyes watchful as she witnessed her husband lose himself in his cups. When Viserys abruptly left the tent after a brief, yet intense conversation with Lyonel Strong, Alicent got up to go after him, but you gently pushed her back down to her seat, giving her a reassuring look. She should not need to see her husband in such a misbegotten state, while in her pregnancy, you thought to yourself, as you wrapped your shawl around you, shivering in the cold night air. 

You eventually found Viserys by the huge bonfire, downing yet another goblet of wine, while being guarded by two Kingsguard. They nodded at you as you passed. You went straight to Viserys, taking the cup whilst he was distracted. “I think that’s enough for you tonight, Viserys.” Your voice was soft, yet firm. He gave you an enervated smile. “The night is cold, you shouldn’t be out here.” You hand the goblet over to a Kingsguard. “Who will look after you, then? And make sure you do not drink yourself into a stupor?” Viserys laughed heartily, before he coughed. You reach for him, concerned. He stared into the flames, looking like he wanted to step into them himself. “Y/N.” “Hmm?” Viserys took a deep breath, trying to control the slurring in his voice. “What do you think is the foundation of House Targaryen’s strength?” 

You tilt your head to the side questioningly, “That is a trick question, right? Of course, the answer is House Targaryen’s dragons.” Viserys smiled ruefully, turning over to face you. You were taken aback by the blazing intensity, perhaps even madness in his eyes. “You’re wrong, Y/N. It began with a dream.” He turned back to face the fire. “When Daenys the Dreamer had the dream that prophesied the end of the Valyrian Freehold, that dream saved House Targaryen. While all the other dragonlords were destroyed, it was only us who survived.” “I know of that tale. Your grandsire told us that tale when we were younger.” 

Viserys didn’t seem to hear you, however, his bleak gaze still on the fire. “In my line, many had been dragonriders. Very few among us have been dreamers. What is the power of dragons, next to the power of prophecy?” You shivered, and not because of the cold. Yet you continue listening. “When Rhaenyra was a child, I saw it in a dream. As vivid as these flames, I saw it. A male babe, born to me, wearing the Conqueror’s crown. And I so wanted it to be true, to be a dreamer myself. I sought that vision again, night after night…but it never came again. I poured all my thought and will into it. And my obsession killed Aemma.” You looked away at that, your heart wrenched with grief.  “I thought Rhaenyra was the way out of my abyss of grief and regret. That naming her heir would set things right.” 

“Are you saying you regret naming Rhaenyra heir then?” Viserys looked grieved. “Oftentimes, yes…I have. I worried that I had named Rhaenyra out of anger towards Daemon, not out of love, or for the good of the realm.” He moved to grip your shoulders, tears in his eyes. “Y/N, I never imagined that I would remarry. That I would have a son. What if…what if I was wrong all along?” 

You stared into his despair-filled eyes. “I cannot tell you if you’re wrong, Viserys. There are only two paths ahead of you now, and as King, you must be prepared to take one, and soon.” Viserys chuckles, drooping his head. “What if I’m not sure what path I should take?” Your voice was quiet. “Then the realm will descend into chaos.” 

The both of you were silent, staring at each other in the firelight. While you couldn’t say that you approved of Viserys’ decisions in the past three years, after all this, he was your friend, and he was just a mere mortal, plagued by regrets, grief, and hesitation. Just like you, and everyone else. Even kings were not infallible to weakness, you surmised. And in that moment, there was a mutual understanding and grievance shared between the both of you: the burden of choice. 

The morrow brought about clear skies and sun, much to the delight of the lords partaking in the hunt. It did not alleviate your worries however, as Rhaenyra still had not returned to the encampment. You found yourself milling about today, much too tired to suffer the thinly veiled jabs the fellow noblewomen were directing at you about your infamous temper. 

You were dressed in a simpler riding outfit today, to mingle around with the various smallfolk and merchants that had set up stalls in the encampment, hoping eagerly to attract some lord’s attention and earn a few gold dragons. You beamed as you sampled a rather delicious roast pork skewer, giving the stall owner - a rather plump woman - two golden dragons, much to her glee. You strode back to the main tent, feeling satisfied, when you suddenly heard the sound of hooves. You turned your head as a palomino horse skidded to a halt, and a familiar man, with more grey hairs than he had the last time you saw him, dismount from the horse and take off his riding gloves. His eyes light up as soon as he catches sight of you, and without giving you a window to escape, he strode towards you. You chew your lip in dread as he approached. 

“Father.” 

“Y/N.” He beams at you, his eyes crinkled at the corners. You smile awkwardly at him, fidgeting with your fingers. His smile falters a little when he notices your hesitation. “I haven’t seen you in years, daughter. Does this momentous occasion not warrant a hug?” You inwardly sigh, and reach out to embrace your father. Your father grins at you as you pull away after an awkward pause. “You have grown, daughter. You look beautiful.” “You flatter me, Father.” “Come, walk with me. We have much to talk about.” You swallowed, but followed as he set out for the forested edge of the campground. 

The both of you strode in silence for a while, before you ventured to break the silence. “The King didn’t mention you would be joining us for the hunt, Father. Why the sudden change of heart?” He sighed. “Can an old man not choose to be in nature once in a while?” “Of course you can, father. I was just concerned: you are no longer in the pink of health, and riding all the way from Highgarden to the Kingswood is a gruelling journey.” Your father waved his hand dismissively. “Twas nothing. I might be getting on in my years, but I recently found a new source of reinvigoration.” 

“Oh?” you cocked your head curiously. You sincerely hoped the new source of reinvigoration was not a new bid for your hand. Your father smiled, “I recently remarried to Lady Clarice of House Fossoway.” Seeing your confused look, he hurried to clarify. “Of Cider Hall.” Surprise creased your features. “But…wasn’t that Mother’s maiden house? Lady Clarice was her cousin, was she not?” Your father’s smile was beginning to look strained. “Does it matter, daughter? What matters is that I am happy with her, is it not? And I am certain she will give me strong sons soon.” You regard him with a degree of caution, noting the shift in his voice. In your years of dealing with court politics, you could instinctively tell when a situation was about to go from bad to worse. “I did not know you had any plans on remarrying after Mother’s death.” 

“And whose fault is that, daughter?” Your father’s tone turned chiding. “I know you’ve been ignoring all the ravens I’ve sent to you over the past few years. Specifically, those with letters attached from me pleading for you to just find yourself a match at court or select one of the eligible lords in the lists I sent you.” You blushed, looking sheepish. Matthos sighed. “Daughter, you are no longer young. It is past time you are wed. I only want what’s best for you.” 

“But-” you blurted out, “What if I don’t think getting married is what’s best for me, Father?” Your father looked askance at that. “What else could a young lady such as yourself desire other than marriage?” You bit your lip, “Father, the truth is…I do not think I have a desire to wed now…or ever.” You were beginning to get anxious as your father’s face lost some of his paternal tenderness. “Five years. I had hoped that our time apart had given you some time to reflect on your…misconceptions.” He gripped your shoulders, an intense blaze in his eyes as your heart began to thud with dread. “The matter of marriage is not one that you can dismiss so easily anymore, Y/N. It entails the survival and future of House Tyrell. You must do your duty and wed a respectable lord, for the sake of our house.” Though you had heard those words aplenty, today, it was like something uninhibited had seized control of you, as you burst out. “Why should I care about doing my duty to House Tyrell?” you snapped. “I have made it clear that it is not my intention to ever take a husband, now and in the foreseeable future. You claim this is all done for my own happiness. So why can’t you just respect my wishes?” 

“Because you are not just some poxy peasant who can gallivant about as you please. You are my daughter!” You were shocked when your father suddenly raised his voice. Trepidation had dimmed your previous righteousness. He tightens his grip on your shoulders, his expression filled with an anger you had never glimpsed before. This…this was not the father you remember. The father you knew had never once raised his voice at you, always treating you with patience as his only child. Though he was prone to bouts of frustrated pleading when you did not acquiesce to his wishes to get married, he had never once shouted at you like that. Or even gripped your shoulders with such forcefulness you feared he might strike you. “You are just as useless as your late mother.” You were stunned, your eyes searing with hot tears. “Do not insult Mother like that. She was the most wonderful woman-” “Wonderful, you say?” your father snorted. “If she were so wonderful, then she would have provided me with a strong and healthy son to succeed me! Instead, she left me with a daughter who is ungrateful and strangely determined to remain a spinster all her life.” he spat out the words with such vitriol that you were taken aback. “If she were so wonderful,” your father continued with his rant. “Then would House Tyrell be in imminent danger of collapsing, all because the only heirs I have are your incompetent, doltish cousins who will run the legacy our ancestors and I have built to the ground?” He moved to clasp your hand tightly in his, looking desperate and angry all at once. “Daughter, your father is imploring you. You must get wed, and provide me with a grandson. You cannot let House Tyrell go to ruin.” You stare at him, feeling beleaguered. “Do my wishes mean nothing to you?” “This is because your wishes are obscenely unreasonable, Y/N.” your father snaps. “It is practically unheard of for a woman of your status to not wed.” “It is not!” you insisted, “I am the chief lady-in-waiting to the Queen now, I have duties I must perform. And there have been histories of lords whose daughters were largely spinsters. Moreover, you have remarried.” Your voice became desperate as you tried to make your father see reason. “Lady Clarice is young, she will give you many sons in due time. Suitable heirs to Highgarden. I do not understand why you are putting all this pressure on me.” You took a deep breath, preparing to make your final stand. “I want to enjoy the rest of my youth, Father. Not to sit in a castle, entrapped in a loveless marriage and pumping out potential heirs for my husband and for you. I want to live my life, free of constraints.” You looked at him, unshed tears in your eyes. “Please, father. This is the one thing I have ever asked of you, and that is to respect my wishes.” 

Matthos was silent for a long while, and you held hope, briefly, that you might have gotten through to him with your pleading. “Foolish, insolent girl!” Your hopes were dashed as your father flung off your hand, shouting at you. “How can you be so selfish? To not take responsibility in ensuring the continuation of our house’s line?” “That is your responsibility, not mine!” you shouted back. Seeing that pleas would not get to your father now, you resorted to fighting fire with fire instead. “Had you really cared about continuing our house’s bloodline, you would’ve remarried years ago!” You could see how your shouts were drawing the attention of some courtiers, given how close the both of you were to the camp for royals. You heard the faint sound of hooves behind you, but you ignored them, too engrossed in your argument with your father. “Producing heirs is a lord’s responsibility. So if you are accusing me of not doing my duty, you should first be reprimanding yourself.” 

Your father’s face grew red. “You little brat! How dare you say these things about your father!” “I spoke only the truth,” you shot back. He raised his hand, and for a moment you were afraid he was going to slap you for your outburst. Instead, he went to grip your shoulders again, “For years, I have raised you, clothed you in the finest silks, fed you, and put up with your ridiculous whims and wants! I’ve been patient, I’ve been loving and understanding when you rejected all the marriage offers you received. I’ve pleaded, and even given you the time and freedom to find a more suitable match at court. Yet you cannot even perform your duty as my daughter. No longer.” Your heart stuttered a little. “What do you mean?” Your father gave you a cold look. “I’m saying, if you do not get married by the end of the year, you are no longer my daughter.” Your eyes widen with horror. “I will effectively disown and disinherit you from House Tyrell, and if I sire any children by Lady Clarice, they shall not support you either.” 

Your voice was tremulous, “Father, you…you cannot be serious. Do not let your anger cloud your judgement.” Matthos Tyrell looked at his daughter, his face one of disgust. “You wanted to enjoy your youth without constraints. And since you seem to enjoy being lady-in-waiting to the Queen so much, I’m only granting you what you wished for, am I not?” 

You stepped back, feeling winded by your father’s words. However, you nearly jumped when you felt a familiar hand on your shoulder. “Ah, Y/N!” You were not sure whether you felt more mortified or relieved for Viserys’ timely presence. “Your Grace!” Immediately, your father’s distaste gave way to deference, as he straightened his posture and bowed before the King. You inclined your head respectfully, wondering if Viserys had overheard your conversation. “Forgive me for interrupting your conversation.” Oh, he definitely overheard. 

“There’s nothing to forgive, Your Grace. I am delighted to be in your presence.” Your father gushed on profusely, as Viserys stepped toward him. You hung your head, still abashed by your father’s threats, when you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder once more. Alicent smiled at you understandingly, and you grimaced when you realised she had also overheard the unpleasant exchange. Still, you shot her a grateful look for her show of support. 

“I must offer you my sincerest felicitations for Prince Aegon’s second nameday, Your Grace.” Viserys laughed, “Your felicitations are greatly appreciated, Lord Matthos. I must extend you mine as well, for your recent remarriage. I see it is treating you well.” Your father beamed, “You are too kind, Your Grace. And indeed, my lady wife pleases me so. Now, the only thing that would make me the happiest man in the realm would be my daughter finally settling down with a respectable match.” You stiffened at that, something Alicent took notice of, and she offered you a sympathetic look. Viserys chuckled, “That you and I can both agree on, Lord Matthos. There is nothing more I desire right now than seeing Rhaenyra being wed to a deserving man who will treat her right.” 

“Oh, I am sure Her Grace will have her pick of men. She is ‘The Realm’s Delight’, after all. Any man who weds her will be a lucky one.” Your father’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone, as he glanced at you. “Moreover, Her Grace is young, comely, and lovely to behold.” Matthos sighed, shaking his head as he chuckled, “Mine own daughter is not in possess of such qualities, I’m afraid. She is getting on with her years, and though I love her deeply, as her father, I must admit she has quite a temper on her. She's not quite the attractice match, which gives me a headache,” Matthos jested with the King, causing you to wince and look away. Alicent looked disconcerted at your father’s tasteless jesting, tightening her hold on your shoulder. However, the both of you did not notice the flare of annoyance behind Viserys’ eyes, so his next words surprised the both of you. 

“Lady Y/N has been nothing but a delight to have at court, Lord Matthos. In spite of her age, I’m sure she has no shortage of suitors.” Viserys’ voice was amiable, polite, yet it carried an undertone of firmness and reprimand such that Matthos looked a little stunned, worried that he had overstepped. You looked back to the pair, your eyes wide with disbelief. “And should Y/N ever find herself unwilling to marry, the Red Keep will always welcome her. She is like family to me, after all.” Your father fell silent, and you locked eyes with Viserys, looking lost, yet appreciative all the same. Viserys gave you a reassuring smile, and you could see the sincerity behind his intent. Your eyes prickled with touched tears, but the moment was interrupted when you heard shouts across the campground, startling your party. You turned around, only to behold the sight of Rhaenyra, stained head to toe with dried blood, a commanding aura in her swagger as her sworn shield, Ser Criston, trailed behind her, along with two servants carrying a dead boar. You lock eyes with her momentarily, and she gives a small nod of acknowledgement to you, although her eyes turned cold when they looked upon her father. You heard Viserys sigh, and you saw how Viserys looked both annoyed and relieved for Rhaenyra’s safety, while your father just looked bewildered, perhaps even a little scared. Despite yourself, you smiled a little at the scene. 

Alicent and you were chatting in her chambers, laughing in hushed tones as you rocked Aegon to sleep in your arms, when the Hand entered the room, requesting to speak with Alicent. You handed a sleepy Aegon to his nursemaid, before curtsying and exiting the room, painfully aware of the Hand’s weighty gaze upon you as you did. 

Alicent knew that her father had not visited her out of a gesture of goodwill, and as she listened to his rather maddening reasoning that Alicent should attempt to make her husband see reason and name Aegon heir, she only stayed silent. There was no point in countering back anyway - the Hand always seemed to have a dozen other reasons to quell her opposition. She felt uncomfortable, for speaking of this was treason, and the babe shifted in her belly, causing her to sigh. 

Otto observed his daughter, noting with mild exasperation that she wasn’t paying heed to anything he was saying. So, he decided to change the subject. “About your lady-in-waiting…” he began. Alicent’s head snapped up, “What do you wish to discuss of Y/N?” Otto let a smile play over his lips: it was quite evident his daughter cared for the Tyrell lady, and from his further observations over the past three years, treated her akin to a maternal figure. Which might make it easier for her to accept what he proposed next. “I overheard a rather…interesting conversation she had, with Lord Matthos today.” Alicent showed no visible reaction, but she stared at her father, feeling an all-too-familiar feeling of dread settle in her gut. “I think half the campground overheard their argument. What of it?” 

Otto hummed softly, “It seems her father is worrying about her marriage. Which is a reasonable worry - she is on the cusp of her twenty fifth nameday, is she not?” Alicent nodded slowly, eyeing her father with caution. She knew him all too well, how he was tapping his fingers on the armrests of his chair - he was scheming. She recalled how upset you were when you spoke with your father, citing your dreams to enjoy your youth and be freed of the constraints of marriage. In later years, she had come to both see you as a cherished companion and a parental figure of sorts, and she cared for you, deeply so. You were her only source of comfort in the Red Keep, one who did not expect or demand anything of her, someone she felt she could truly be open with. She glanced fearfully at her father. 

She had to put an end to this. She must save you from suffering the same fate she did. 

“Father…you are not planning on taking a new wife, are you?” Alicent fidgeted with her fingers nervously, her eyes fixed on Otto. He was quiet for a long while, and in response to her question, he only stood up and went over to his daughter, placing a hand on her swollen belly. His cryptic answer disturbed Alicent. “You worry too much over matters that do not need worrying about, daughter. Your concern now, should be Aegon. Raise him well, and raise him strong. He shall be an important man one day.”

Come the morrow, the Godswood was completely devoid of any life. Which proved to be a boon to you, who was seeking some reprieve from the busy atmosphere of the Red Keep and the somewhat maddening task of having to feed Aegon -  due to his tendency of smooshing the food in the face of whomever had the misfortune of feeding him, most commonly you. 

You sat on the stone bench, staring despondently at the Godswood tree. While you were never particularly religious, either to the Seven or to the Old Gods, the happenings of the hunt have driven you to pray with increasing fervency these days. What you prayed for, you did not know. Was it for the hope that your father’s heart might soften and he might be persuaded to leave you be for the rest of your life? You scoffed to yourself, knowing how improbable it was. Fiddling with the pendant - Aemma’s pendant, you sighed, tilting your head downwards to the ground. 

You were startled when you heard movement next to you, of another soul taking a seat next to you on the bench, her posture ramrod straight, and her expression blank. Rhaenyra’s linen sleeves fluttered slightly in the breeze. 

“I suppose neither of us are in the best of spirits,” Rhaenyra’s voice was stilted, like she was reluctant to break the silence first. You lifted your head upright, looking at her with a tentative smile, “No, I suppose we aren’t.” An awkward silence highlighted the chasm between the two of you. You wondered, had this truly been the girl of fourteen who confided in you about everything? Now, it seems there is a stark contrast to the Rhaenyra you once knew to the Rhaenyra before you. Though of course, you were to be blamed for that. 

“My father has just ordered me to embark on a tour of the realm. A marriage tour.” Rhaenyra’s bitter tone roused you from your thoughts. “I do not know why I’m telling you this. Perhaps it’s because you are the only person in the Keep who might have the slightest sympathy for what I’m going through.” Rhaenyra’s voice lowered to a slightly malicious pitch, but there was no disguising the hurt behind her voice. “Or maybe it would be false sympathy. But it is better than none.” 

You winced, wanting to reach out and take Rhaenyra’s hand, the way you knew she loved. Physical touch was Rhaenyra’s favourite way of receiving and expressing affection. A wane smile pulled at your lips as you heard her words, “You might be cynical, but I have more sympathies to your plight than you might think, Princess.” Rhaenyra was surprised by the resignation in your tone. She recalled the scene she had seen when she returned to the royal encampment at the hunt that day. “...does it have something to do with your father?” 

You let out a sad laugh, “Indeed. I have been forced into a situation much more precarious than yours, I would say. My father has given me an ultimatum: I must wed by the end of this year, or I shall be effectively disinherited and disowned as a member of House Tyrell.” Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, her stance immediately shifting to one of sympathy and guilt. “Does your father jest?” “I’m afraid not,” you remark with a despaired, cynical laugh, “Father’s patience has worn thin when it comes to me, I’m afraid. I should’ve known it foolish to think that I could escape from the ramifications of duty to my House.” 

You were a little mortified to find your eyes prickling with tears. In truth, you were frightened to the bone. Two paths were set in stone before you now, and neither were pleasant. Rhaenyra hesitated for a while, before reaching out to take your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. You were startled by her sudden gesture, as the flood of familiarity rushed through your veins. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, “This is a horrible situation to find yourself in.” She looked hesitant, “I know you’ve always been of your own mind, Y/N. I just want you to know…that you are not alone. Should the worst come…I’m sure that my father will not turn you away in your hour of need.” Her lips turned upwards wistfully, “I will not too. The both of us are stuck in similar predicaments, are we not? Daughters forced to marry off at our father’s behest. We must stick together.” 

“...thank you,” you said quietly, touched, “I do not deserve your kindness, after all I have hidden from you.” Rhaenyra’s smile turns somewhat bitter, “What is done cannot be undone. What matters now is the future.” 

The cool metal of Aemma’s pendant dug into the flesh of your palm, as an idea came to you. “I have something for you,” Rhaenyra’s eyebrows shot up and her eyes grew misty as you presented the ruby falcon pendant to her. “I think this belongs to you. I’ve been holding onto it for the past few years, but I think it’s time you have it back.” Rhaenyra takes the pendant, clasping it to her chest as she looked mournfully down at it. “I thought it was naught but ashes now.” You bit your lip, seeing how relieved yet pained Rhaenyra looked made you regret not giving it to her sooner. You had clung onto it for selfish reasons over the past few years, unwilling to let go of Aemma. But now, you felt it was time to let go of the past, and brave on into the future. “I hope that having this piece of Aemma would make you feel more comforted on your marriage tour.” 

Rhaenyra’s eyes were misty, as she clasped the pendant like it was worth all the spice and gold from the shores of Essos. “Y/N.” Rhaenyra said quietly. “Hmm?” “Do you think…that Mother would’ve been proud of the person I am today?” Rhaenyra swallowed, looking downcast. “...I fear that, ever since I was named heir, since…Aegon was born, Father’s disappointment in me has been growing by the day.” “And why would you think that?” you asked, concerned. Rhaenyra took a shaky inhale, “I know that Father did not name me heir out of choice. It was a critical time, after Daemon had left, and the Realm would be plunged into unease upon the disinheritance of my uncle from the line of succession.” She bit her lip. “Father even told me as much. He said he had wavered at the notion of making me heir.” Your eyes flickered with shock and a little bit of righteous anger. “He said that?” Rhaenyra nodded miserably, and you patted her sympathetically on the shoulder. “He told me he would never waver again, but it is a little hard to put my faith in that, with….with Aegon’s shadow looming over me.” Rhaenyra sighed, tilting her head upwards. ”I just…I wish I could do something to be better. To prove to Father that I’m not just the right choice to the throne because he named me heir when he had no choice. I want to show him that I possess the qualities to rule the throne. The marriage tour would be a start, but I just detest the idea of having to bind myself to some lord to prove my worthiness to the throne.” 

“I understand how you feel,” you commiserated, and she rested her head on your shoulder. “The expectations of a woman’s duty often cast a shadow over our lives.” Rhaenyra closed her eyes, feeling at ease with you, even if it were just for a brief moment. “Mother was fond of saying that marriage is a woman’s duty, and childbed is our battlefield. Especially as royal women,” Rhaenyra’s voice was thick with emotion. “I understand I must do this, for the good of the realm, but…why is it so terrifying? To have my worth determined on my husband and the number of children I can bear in service to him and the realm.” The setting sun glistened off a tear slowly making its way down Rhaenyra’s cheek. “Y/N, do you think my mother would be proud, watching me doubt her teachings?” 

You reached out to wipe her tear away, your other hand’s thumb gently stroking her hand that you still held. “You are her daughter, Rhaenyra. I have no doubt that you could be the most dastardly miscreant, and she would be proud of you nonetheless.” That got a bleak smile from Rhaenyra, “Truly?” You nodded your confirmation, smiling fondly down at her. “Truly. Though luckily, your moral character is rather upright.” Rhaenyra laughed, and you smiled, happy to have made her laugh. “Thank you, Y/N. Truly. You have no idea how much that means to me.” Rhaenyra whispered to you.  

The two women stayed like this in the Godswood for a while, each swarmed by their own thoughts. So different, yet so similar in their impending doom, and duty.

Taglist: @drwho-ess @graniairish @urmomsgirlfriend1 @thelittleswanao3 @animelover18 @llovinjoonie @gracielikegrapes @salembridger @itszzmoon @kmmg98 @travelingmypassion @zae5 @norestfortheshelbywicked @soleilgrec @anehkael @midnightprincess18 @lilith--666​

Daemon General Taglist: @aiyaiy @kmmg98 @norestfortheshelbywicked @hb8301 

those who are bolded are those who couldn’t be tagged! let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist in the comments or through this form! 

A/N: All I gotta say is: ruh roh, trouble is brewing. If you have made it this far, thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated. I aim to release chapter 8 by next Wednesday, hopefully something unprecedented doesn't happen before then though.

#aureliawrites #se zaldrizoti prumia #sezaldrizotiprumia masterlist #house of the dragon #daemon fanfiction #daemon prince #prince daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen #prince daemon x reader #daemon fanfic #daemon x you #daemon x y/n #daemon x oc #daemon x tyrell!reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen x tyrell!reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x female reader #hotd fanfic #hotd #hotd fanfiction #hotd fandom #hotd daemon #hotd x oc #hotd x reader #hotd x you

[darlingofvalyria]

new masterlist means a new fic is dropping soon 😽

that's actually not accurate, i just finished off this daemon piece and thought ya'll might like a sneak peek hehe

this is specifically for the fun besties inn bastards of blue who had a fun time with the little daemon cameo ahahah!!

this is set in the same world as hightower green but in an au— au inside of an au, we're au-ceptioning, besties — and i don't think i've laughed this much at what i've written. not in a funny haha! kind of a way, but in a wtf am i doing kind of way ahahah!!

anyways, yep, dropping tonight before bed, god i'm so productive ya'll idek who i am anymore

its cos im not going to be able to write this weekend lol

#elle teases 😘 #daemon targaryen #daemon smut #daemon fanfiction #₊˚ପ⊹ hightower green 🕷

[theobjectofyourire]

Being Daemon's Daughter Would Include (Part III)

a/n: hi hi hi! once again, I'm so in my feels and absolutely blown away by all the love on this series! I definitely plan to continue this well into the reader's adulthood, I'm just enjoying the baby/pregnancy stuff so much! I got a little carried away again, so you get lots of daemon/wife goodness in this one, too! lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist for future parts!

Part I / Part II

summary: Daemon has always gone to any lengths to protect you, even before you were born. And oh, what gifts he will bestow...

cw: I actually don't think there are any warnings for this one! Daemon threatens violence?? other than that, it's just fluff. inspired by the scene in ep8.

~~~~~~~

A Dragon's Custom

-In the very heart of Dragonmont, amidst sulfur and brimstone, Daemon Targaryen felt a true hero as he retrieved the dragon egg that would soon rest in his child's cradle.

-The day of your birth drawing ever nearer, your mother's belly greatly swelled. Growing larger by the day, he had teased, a comment which had been received by his lady wife with both a chuckle and a threat of violence upon his person. He expected no less from such a woman, his eyes sparkling as he knelt before her, pressing his forehead against her stomach as he whispered to you.

-"You must be brave, little one. I will soon need you to defend me from your mother's temper."

-His words earned him what was, admittedly, a rather playful slap to the back of the head. "You truly are a scoundrel, dear husband," she sighed, weaving her fingers through his silver hair.

-He merely smiled as he kissed her belly, her hands, her wrists, finally rising to meet her lips. "Your scoundrel, my love."

-She melted in the arms of her dragon, who murmured sweet nothings into her hair as he slowly ran his fingers up and down her spine, soothing her aches with his warm touch. She all but whined when he pulled away with a gentle farewell.

-"Must you go?"

-"Aye," he mumbled, lips against hers in one final kiss, "but I promise you'll be happier for it."

-"I disagree. I'd much prefer you by my side."

-"As would I, my love, but our child deserves a gift only I can bestow, and I daren't wait any longer to retrieve it." Her brows furrowed at his words, uncertain of their meaning as he caressed her belly with the back of his hand. "The child of the Rogue Prince deserves a dragon egg, do they not?"

-Your mother's eyes filled with tears. She was, of course, familiar with the Targaryen customs and had dearly hoped they would be passed to you, but she had worried, as of late, whether such a thing would be encouraged.

-Though cherished by many, not all in Viserys' court approved of your mother. The Hightowers, in particular, had been averse to the match, for while her bloodline was undeniably strong, she herself could not be considered a tame woman.

-She was well-versed in the graces, it was true, and a delight to all she entertained. In such matters, the nobles could not find an ill word to speak against her, but nor could they deny the indocility, even rakishness cast in her shadow. She had not known Daemon a fortnight when the King's own Hand had discovered them in the Dragonpit, having just returned from a moonlit ride atop Caraxes, and in the midst of acts unbefitting a woman of her station.

-Ser Otto, in fairness, was not wrong in his judgement. In their youth, your mother did little to quell Daemon's chaos. If anything, she encouraged it, thriving alongside him in his adventures. He had pleaded with the King to deny the marriage, and Viserys had half a mind to listen until he saw his brother's smile. As one, they seemed something out of Valyria itself, in all its glory, and he could not bring himself to tear them apart. He gladly consented to their union, going so far as to allow a Valyrian ceremony with only a handful of guests and the stars standing witness.

-In the months that followed, they retreated to your father's ancestral seat at Dragonstone, preferring to avoid the politics and scheming of King's Landing at all possible costs. The gods, it seemed, were not so easily satisfied.

-A raven was flown to the Red Keep shortly after your mother fell pregnant, and the news was met with no small amount of excitement. Your father's first marriage had left him without an heir, and many had presumed the Rogue Prince had little interest in furthering the line. Viserys requested his presence at court, if only to determine his brother's true thoughts about the babe.

-Daemon arrived on dragonback a few days later, descending with the impish smile well-known to him, and something warm, almost kind stirring in his eyes. There was no doubt of his happiness, a great relief to his elder brother.

-Viserys was, indeed, gladdened by the fact that they had found peace on Dragonstone, but he was eager to see them return to the Red Keep before your mother gave birth. This much, the King had insisted upon, for the Maesters and midwives of the great castle were said to be the most skillful in the realm. Daemon could deny many things, but his brother's summons was not among them.

-"We shall return, brother," he had said with a cold smile. "Upon your command, my child will be born in this nest of vipers, but never will I allow a single drop of venom to so much as graze their skin."

-"Daemon, you needn't-"

-Your father would not hear it, paying no mind that interrupting his King was easily a punishable offense. "They will have a dragon of mine own choosing," he declared, "and shall be raised as their mother and I see fit, in accordance with the customs of our ancestors."

-"As is your right." Viserys maintained the stoicism expected of him as King, but a genuine joy shone through the façade. "Your child shall want for nothing," he promised.

-"Nor shall my wife." Daemon's eyes narrowed as he lowered his voice, ensuring that none but his brother would hear his solemn vow. "Should any in your court speak so much as a word against either of them, I shall gladly cut out their tongue." Without thought, he found his fingers dancing upon the hilt of Dark Sister, a sinister smile playing on his lips. "If your dear Hand is anything less than welcoming, I will take great pleasure in relieving him of his duties by way of beheading."

-Were it anyone else, such a threat would have been followed by severe consequence, but Viserys had a soft spot for his younger brother, whose fire so much reminded him of their mother. Daemon climbed atop Caraxes, returned to Dragonstone, and no more was said on the matter.

-He did not tell your mother what was spoken, nor did she wish to hear of it. She knew well what your father's temper could do, coupled with his unyielding loyalty. Upon his heated word, you would have a dragon. She did not care for anything else. She brought his hands to her lips, kissing each knuckle before releasing him to his task, wondering which egg he would choose. In his mind, however, there was no question.

-His cousin, the Princess Rhaenys, had recently departed with her children after an extended stay on Dragonstone. Her own dragon, Meleys, had accompanied them and laid a clutch of eggs in the island's volcano, Dragonmont. It seemed the greatest of all omens, for years before his cousin had claimed Meleys, when he himself was just a babe, Daemon's mother was her dragonrider.

-Though he could scarcely remember her, he had been told by all that he was, undoubtedly, his mother's son. In her arms, to the dismay of the Maesters, she had taken him upon the back of her dragon for his first flight not a fortnight after his birth. A creature of scarlet scales and copper claws, she was one of the swiftest dragons in the realm, even after so many years of comfort. He could not think of a better gift for you than an egg from his own mother's dragon.

-The descent was not an easy one. Many had tried and failed, the slightest misstep resulting in the most fatal fall, but your father was not afraid. He relished in the danger of it. He was not halfway to the bottom when he felt the mass shift, crumbling under his boot and echoing throughout the volcano as hunks of rock hit the ground. Any other man might catch his breath or clutch his heart. Your father only chuckled as he continued to maneuver himself masterfully. Going to such lengths for a child not yet born to him, smirking in the face of risk and finding no fear in his heart, it made him feel a good man. He did not know if his talents were well-suited to fatherhood, but of this, he was certain: you would always be protected.

-Leaping to the ground, he imagined spending the rest of his days defending you, willing at every moment to vanquish any enemy with a single stroke of his sword. Though your mother was a rogue in her own right in her earlier years, she had, as of late, preferred comfort and calm to the uncertainty she had once craved. Of course, he hoped your life would be peaceful, but he wondered if that's truly what you would want, or if you would take after him, forever trying to satisfy your own impulsivity.

-There were seven eggs in Meleys' clutch. Seven eggs for seven kingdoms, Daemon could not help but think, smiling as he gathered them with care. Each were unique unto themselves, though they bore the mark of their mother. One had golden flecks reminiscent of his brother's crown. Another was as pink as a maiden's blush, but it was the seventh egg that most caught your father's eye.

-As crimson as Caraxes' scales, with dapples of a spring rose and shadows of the purest black, there was no gift so befitting the child of the Rogue Prince. He held it dearly in his hands, admiring the way it shimmered in the slight streak of sunlight. They would place it in the warming chambers until your mother gave birth, where it would then reside in your cradle until it hatched. The thought of you flying alongside him on a dragon of such striking beauty stirred in him a giddiness he had never before felt. He wondered if this was fatherhood. Could he really be so lucky?

-He returned to your mother somewhat filthy, ash smeared across his cheeks while his leathers retained the scent of the volcanic rock.

-"You stink of dragon," she said, crinkling her nose as he drew nearer.

-He gave her a wry smile as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "My darling wife," he murmured, "I know very well that you love it."

-She giggled as she brushed her lips against his, hands tangling in his hair. He smelled of adventure. Danger. Power. He was a Targaryen, through and through, and she secretly hoped you would be the same.

-She pulled away and this time, it was Daemon who moaned in protest. She merely chuckled in response. "Shall I have a bath drawn for you, husband?"

-His fingers danced across the small of her back as his eyes twinkled. "Only, my love, if you'll join me."

taglist: @rosaryos @justaproudslytherpuff @sirlovel @fulla02

#daemon fanfic #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #hotd #hotd 1x08 #daemon x reader #daemon x you #daemon fic #daemon fanfiction #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen fluff #father/daughter #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon imagine

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

House of the Dragon - Masterlist

• The Dragon and the Rose - Part 01 | Part 02 | Part 03 {It was your first time visiting King's Landing, and you were expecting countless different things from such a journey... But you could never imagine you'd get the Prince's attention.}

#daemon fanfiction #daemon x you #imagine daemon #daemon imagine #daemon x reader #daemon Targaryen imagine #imagine daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader

[certifiedskywalker]

Start of Something More - Daemon Targaryen

Anonymous asked: Hi ilove ur writings so much ur so talented im so happy that ur back again, if ur taking requests could u please write one daemon targaryen with hightower reader or reader having feelings for him but he marries laena and afterwards rhaenyra also with something like betrayal during the dance i know im just rumbling but i trust you would make a masterpiece ur so good with ideas and words thank you.

He hates your father. Your father hates him. Naturally, it was the Gods-ordained start of a torrid, love affair.

Your father tapped the stem of his chalice and you took to your cue. Swift and in silence, as if to be invisible, you darted over to the Hand of the King. With a slight tilt of the wine pitcher, Arbor Red trickled into the half-empty cup with only the slightest noise. Then, you did a round about the table, checking the chalices of King Viserys, the Master of Coin, and so forth, pouring where more libations were needed. All while being imperceptible.

Though, from his seat as the newly appointed Master of Laws, Daemon Targaryen always seemed to see you. His eyes would trace your path during conversations of grave importance, like tithes and taxes, matters that needed legislation. Matters that needed an attentive Master of Laws, which Daemon was not. At least, not when you did your rounds.

And you could feel it, his watching. His eyes would linger on you as you found your place beside the cups and bottles once more. He would smile too, a wry expression that reached his eyes in a far too charming way and had you gritting your teeth with annoyance.

“He’s no good, Daemon.”

“The next Maegor, unless Viserys denounces him.”

“Our House will be at risk if Daemon ever sits the Throne.”

“Stay yourself away from him.”

“Daemon has a distaste for Hightower green.”

At first, you discounted your father’s words. The feud between Otto Hightower and Prince Daemon was no secret, particularly to the Hightower children. You and Alicent had endured countless recountings of court and reports of debauchery in Flea Bottom, all of which Daemon featured heavily. So countless that your father’s warnings echoed in your head whenever you met the Rogue Prince’s gaze. His eyes gleamed like signal fires; his voice rang like the siege bells.

In Small Council meetings, he was loud, pushing for laws that tightened the Crown’s grip on King’s Landing, and bright, weaving between Otto’s advice to Viserys with the cold logic of a battle-hardened knight. Daemon was everything your father warned you about, everything and more; and how alluring that more was when it shone through.

“Curating a select force of warriors to maintain the King’s peace within the city walls is vital to strengthening your entire governance, brother.”

“In the Small Council chamber, you will address his majesty King Viserys as such,” your father intervened, waving a dismissive hand at Daemon. “How do you aim to keep his peace when you fail to address your King as befitting your station.”

Daemon rolled his eyes right into you, despite your cupbearer station being tucked in the shadows of two pillars. He smiled at you, a softer thing than usual and in it, you saw that more. You felt in tickle in your chest, how it reached out from there like blooming flower petals, spreading itself until its newness was all you could detect. 

So clouded by Daemon you were that you missed how your father saw everything, and everything Daemon was in his politicking mind. He coughed, and the sound broke you out of your reverie with a start. You nearly started off with the wine pitcher towards your father, but Otto placed a palm over his glass while the other squeezed at the ceramic ball that denoted his presence at the meeting. 

“If we can move forth to more pressing matters, there is the cost and planning of the Princess Rhaenyra’s upcoming nameday tourney. That is if you wish to repeat the celebration from the year previous, my King?”

“Yes, of course. Though, leave the day of her birth itself unimpeded by plans. She wants the family to picnic in the Dragonpit.”

“That will ease the expense,” Lord Beesbury noted, a smile stretching through the wrinkles in his aged face.

“Not that the coffers are waning, yes?” Your father was quick to ask. Lord Beesbury began bumbling out an answer when Daemon cut through the chatter. 

“Cupbearer,” you flicked your head and saw the Prince raise his chalice above the heads at the table. “I find myself in need of more wine.”

Heat eeked into your face at his calling out, but you quickly made your way over to him with the pitcher in hand. The metal of the vessel cooled you slightly, but you were warmed back to life almost as soon as you stood by Daemon. Heat seemed to emanate from him as if a fire burned beneath his skin. It didn’t help that, as you stood and poured the Arbor Red into his chalice, Daemon’s hand brushed against you.

Through the fabric that covered your thigh, you felt his knuckles. His touch shocked you into a shudder, a gesture unbecoming of a Small Council cupbearer, and you fought to regain your composure as the back of his knuckles continued to stroke. Your steady pour slowed as Daemon fell into a sort of pattern with his movement, a looping touch against you that had you floundering like a Velaryon-caught swordfish. 

When you finally freed yourself from his net, you let your eyes flick down. Daemon’s gaze was already fixed on you when you looked at him, watching you, as he always did. More laced his smile, shone in his eyes. As you stepped back to return to your station, his touch lingered with his fingertips reaching after you. For a moment, you feared his grip would close about your garments and pull you back until you tripped over yourself. In your head, Daemon made you a mess with spilled wine and his lips.

Eventually, the chatter of the Small Council filtered back into your ears and tarnished any thought of Daemon’s lips. Thank the Gods. 

“On account of marvelous weather,” King Viserys said suddenly, “I call this meeting to a close and order you all to soak in the sunshine.”

He stood, and the rest of the Small Council followed suit. As Viserys passed through the doors, Daemon snuck swiftly after his brother’s heels, pushing himself out of his seat with such speed that you were nearly knocked to your feet. The Prince did not spare a glance in your direction as he moved, even shouldering past you with a roughness that stood in stark contrast to his touch from mere moments before.

When Daemon charged out of the chambers, you recovered yourself with a steadying, though still trembling, breath and moved towards the wine stash. You set the pitcher to the side before fumbling for the corked bottle. Before you could clean the station entirely, you heard the familiar gravel of your father’s voice.

“Pay no heed to Daemon.”

You turned and bowed your head respectfully. When you lifted your head, you waited until the other lords and leaders of the land filed out to speak. “You have grown a sort of patience with our Prince. I fear I have yet to grow my own as he does not…regard me in the same manner as he does you.”

Otto, not quite picking up your dropped implications, nodded at you before filing out with the rest of them. You watched your father disappear behind the Small Council Chamber doors. You watched until a pang in your chest reminded you to breath. A gasp fell from your lips and your whole body shuddered, as if Daemon’s touch had never left.

A distracting warmth played with you, tickled you to the point where your cleaning of the wine station was slowed. So slowed that palace attendants filed into the room to collect the chalices for the kitchen and wipe the table to a shine. So slowed that those same palace attendants left you to yourself again.

At least, they left you for a little while for, as you finally finished, the doors crashed open, lacking any of the decorum typical of a servant in the Red Keep. You jumped at the sound, spinning on your heels, armed only with your furrowed brows and angrily muddled mind, to face whomever entered. 

With his chest heaving and face flushed, Daemon was leaned over the table, his arms taut supports as he stared down at the shining stone. At the sight, you took a step back, with your rear bumping into the wine station. The wood teetering against the floor, a dull, hollow noise that brought Daemon’s eyes up to you.

“My Prince,” you bowed, trying to play off your surprise. “Apologies.”

Daemon scoffed and straightened his posture as his sharp, gliting gaze lingered on you. “For what?”

“Apologies,” you echoed, hoping to find your answer between the syllables. “Apologies for earlier, my Prince. I should have been-” your eyes fell to his hand for a moment before flicking back up before you got lost in the mere memory of his touch, “-more attentive with the pouring of the wine.”

“My, my,” Daemon drawled, stalking towards you with each step whispering of the intent of something more. “Your father has wound you up tight with the ropes of etiquette, hasn’t he? That is a true shame.”

He continued towards you, a smile pulling at his lips as you shook your head. “My father taught me a means of surviving King’s Landing.”

“He taught you how to elevate him at court,” Daemon countered, “by being a docile little lamb.”

Daemon was so close that you could smell the dragon on him, the cinders and wine. The part of you caught on what your father failed to see wondered if you would be able to taste the wine if the Rogue Prince kissed you. You had never partook despite your work. Would the fruits of your labor taste sweet or bitter?

“Though, perhaps not so docile,” he mused, his hand rising slightly, just enough to brush against the side of your thigh again. You fought the shudder that trailed his touch. “Your father would not approve of this, now would he?”

“He hates you,” you said, hoping the words would sting; but they fell from your lips deafened by the softness of the shock of getting what you wanted. 

“Oh, dear, I know it,” Daemon said, leaning in. His nose brushed against yours and his breath danced about your face, your neck. More, you wanted more, and all patience grown was squandered. “This,” his wandering hand squeezed your hip and you gasped softly, “would kill him.”

You caught your breath after a moment and met Daemon’s gaze with all the strength you could muster. The Hightower of you leapt out off your tongue. “Unless he kills you first.”

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Daemon asked with a grin.

Suddenly thirsty, you leaned up and kissed him, hard. Deep. Daemon’s hands clutched at you and his body pressed you against the wine station until you were caught between its cold stone and his warmth. It was delicious, and the fruits of your labor sweet.

#game of thrones #got #house of the dragon #hotd #gotedit #fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #daemon #daemon x reader #daemon fanfic #daemon fanfiction #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen imagines #targaryen #targaryen x reader #matt smith #house of the dragon imagine