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queers-gambit · 1 year ago

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Daddy Takes Care

prompt: ( requested ) in comparison, your first pregnancy was a cakewalk. this time around? not so much. good thing Daemon's there to help where he can.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader no specified House or race

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 6.4k+

warnings: cursing, daughter named Visenya, angst 'cause pregnancy isn't all sunshine and glow and rainbows, hurt and comfort 'cause happy (but abrupt) ending, author has never been pregnant so please forgive inaccuracies, not edited.

"My Prince! My Prince! Prince Daemon!"

Daemon purposefully ignored the errand-boy, hoisting his daughter higher on his hip. "Easy, little dragon," he spoke in High Valyrian, "Caraxes is not known for his patience."

Visenya giggled, "Caraxes likes me, Daddy."

The dragon rumbled as if in agreement, blinking his eye as Visenya laid her head on his snout; half-way out of Daemon's arms, but still maintaining a vice grip. "My Prince, please," the servant pleaded, "i-it is your wife."

Daemon whipped around, Visenya being rightened in his arms when her father glared at the young man who panted from his sprinting. "What?" Daemon demanded.

"Sh-She is with the Maesters now, my Prince, and your brother, His Grace, and the Queen Alicent, too, The baby started - "

But the lad gasped when Caraxes gave a harrowing growl as Daemon charged forward; Visenya in his arms as his dragon's breath seemingly propelled his stride forward. Visenya whimpered when Caraxes stalked out of the Dragon Pit with Daemon, only stopping when he could go no further; but he thundered his displeasure and suspicion in a grumble that made the little girl wince into Daemon's chest. "It's okay, love," Daemon told her gently in their Mothers Tongue, approaching the Royal wheelhouse they used when traveling with Visenya. He spoke softly, "We're going to see Mummy, Caraxes is just worried."

"What's wrong with Mummy?" Visenya asked in the Common Speech when they boarded.

"Go! Do not stop until we get to the Keep!" Daemon barked at the coachmen before settling his daughter down. He saw the big tears swelling in his daughter's eyes and sighed, telling her softly, "I am sorry, my sweet dragon. Daddy doesn't know what's wrong with Mummy, that scares Daddy sometimes, and when Daddy's scared, he gets a little mean."

"That's okay, Daddy," she nodded at him, looking sheepish. "I get scared, too."

"It's okay to be afraid, fear is natural," Daemon told her softly, "but it's important we do not let it define us."

Her little legs swung, "Like Lord Larys."

Daemon snickered, "Oh, you naughty girl, I told you not to repeat that."

She grinned, looking far too innocent to be Daemon's spawn. "Mummy says we should be nice to Lord Larys."

"She does?"

"Mhm," Visenya nodded, "she said 'cause he knows too much."

His head cocked, "Little Dragon, has Lord Larys ever approached Mummy? Spoken to her?"

"He tries," Visenya nodded, "but Mummy walks away, she doesn't like him." The little girl lowered her voice, telling Daemon a secret, "Mummy said his breath smells like poo."

Daemon smirked, whispering back, "I know."

When they arrived at the Red Keep, the wheelhouse was barely slowed before Daemon was scooping Visenya into his arms and getting ready to disembark. When they stopped, he didn't wait for anyone to open his doors, announce his name; he just surged out, charging for where he knew the Maester's chambers were.

However, Otto Hightower was waiting for him in the foyer, greeting, "Prince Daemon, Princess Visenya."

"Hi," Visenya waved, holding onto her father's neck shyly.

"Where is she? Where's my wife?" Daemon demanded.

"Resting in your chambers, my Prince," Otto answered, not being offended when Daemon turned heel to change direction and left him in the dust.

Nobody intercepted Daemon, but it wasn't like any tried. He didn't look at anyone, they never met his eyes; but most took note of the way he all but galloped to get to his chambers. When the shoulder that wasn't holding his daughter barged through the door, he didn't slow, just demanded, "What is this? What has happened?"

"Daemon," Viserys sighed in reprimand.

"What is the matter?" He charged forward to reach the bed. "Give Daddy a second with Mummy," he told his daughter in Valyrian as he set the little girl down and took the spot beside you instantly. You had a knowing smirk on your lips, hand taken by both of his, not even blinking when he barked, "Well? What has happened!?"

"When you take a breath, we will tell you," You told him softly, squeezing his hand and smiling with closed lips. "The Maester's have only just left, you did not miss much."

He shook his head, "I should've been here none the less."

"And deprive our little dragon rider the opportunity to bond with her favorite mate?" You teased, looking to Visenya and opening your arm (after pulling yours from Daemon's clutches), "C'mere, little one. Come to Mummy."

She was careful and slow in her movements, curling up beside you; shimmying under the covers to cuddle into your side. She pet your belly, "Does it hurt?"

"No, not right now," you answered honestly, never wanting to lie to her. It would do no good in the long run, being truthful and honest were traits you can teach (not always) and you and Daemon took it very seriously.

This was a cruel world, why sugarcoat it? So your daughter would depend on some man - some man like Larys Strong? Nope. Not on your watches. She'd be the belle of the ball with the meanest right hook in the Seven Kingdoms.

"Daemon," Viserys spoke with a calm tone, earning the attention of the room, "you must know, these sort of things can happen at anytime."

"Is it The Curse? I-Is it The Curse? Does it prevail?" He asked in desperation, looking distraught.

"No," you assured, taking your only free hand to lay one of his on your swollen belly.

"No...? No?" He repeated, then scoffed, "So, why is it I was - "

"False labor," Alicent cut him off, making his jaw steel as he glared at her. "It can occur, the mind tricks the body into thinking and reacting that it's time to deliver the babe."

"But it's too soon," he pointed out, "she's still, what? Two, maybe three months left?"

"It can happen," Alicent nodded.

He frowned, glancing at his brother, then to you. "I was with the Queen when I got this terrible pain," you explained to Daemon. "There was fluid and some blood under my skirt, we thought it couldn't be right, so, she brought me to the Maesters and sent for you."

Daemon looked vaguely surprised, leaning down to press his lips to your belly. With a sigh, his forehead rested on your bump, lifting to peck another kiss, then righten his spine, asking, "And now?"

"All was clear, I was brought back here, and your brother did not wish to leave me alone - but nothing else was able to be said before you arrived," you chuckled, caressing his cheek.

"Thank you," he told Viserys, sniffling as his eyes lifted to Alicent, "both of you, truly, thank you."

"We are family," Viserys assured, "we would not want to be elsewhere."

"There's a whole Realm to - "

"Sometimes, politics can wait and family cannot," the King spoke wisely. "We are simply relieved the Lady is feeling better and all is well. The babe will stay in her womb until the end, should she remain in bed."

"Oh, Gods, Viserys," you groaned, "we agreed not to tell him that!"

"You agreed, I did not," he shot back at you.

"What do you mean, brother?"

The King answered, "She is to remain in bed until the end of her term - with natural limitations."

"Which means?"

"She may move around the room, but not much farther; she may use the privy, keep her blood circulating, but she is to remain down for most of the time as it will help keep the babe in place."

He nodded rapidly, "Of course."

"We'll let you rest," Alicent told you both softly. "I'm sure you want time with your family."

"Actually," you sighed, "might I ask for one more favor?"

"Anything, name it," Viserys agreed.

"Take Visenya for an hour? Daemon and I need to speak privately."

"Of course," Alicent nodded, stepping up to the bed. She waited as you and Daemon promised Visenya you'd be with her soon, that you needed an adult conversation, and after giving you both a kiss on the cheek, she marched off the bed to take Alicent's hand. Viserys hobbled out after them, and when the doors shut, Daemon deflated.

"Oh, Seven fucking Hells," he muttered in a muffle against your belly. He let your hands rake into his long strands of hair, pulling any knots, just soothing him with the scrape of your nails. "I was so worried," he admitted quietly, "I just - I did not think. I have feared this possibility so much, I think I tricked myself into thinking it was reality."

"What's that, my love?"

"The Curse... The Targaryen Curse."

"Daemon - "

"We were so lucky with Visenya," his tearful eyes lifted to meet yours, "and half of the pregnancy was wasted on our worry that something would go wrong. I might've created this reality."

"You did nothing," you promised. "Neither of us caused this, it's just what happens."

"But you've suffered for months," he whispered, eyes reddening by the second. "You had endless nausea, you threw up daily, my love, you developed night terrors, and you cannot say it was anything but ideal."

"Perhaps not ideal, but so perfectly us," you answered, watching him stand with a frown. "Daemon - where are you - "

"I only mean to change," he promised, already shedding his clothing and boots and weapons belt. When he joined you in bed again, he laid off your legs but beside them, head on your belly to hold and letting your hands rake through his platinum white locks again. It was quiet for minutes longer, just enjoying the other, but he whispered, "I should've been here."

"We did not know."

"Still," he frowned, kissing your bump tenderly, whispering, "I'm so sorry, I wasn't here, but do not take it out on Mummy. She's so brave," another kiss, "so very brave to take the time and give you the most perfect place to live for now. We can't take it out on her. Not Mummy, anyone else, but not Mummy."

You felt yourself dozing off, humming in contentment when Daemon took note and started a conversation with the babe - just simply detailing his day. He said there was soon to be another clutch of dragon eggs and their sister would choose the most perfect egg for them; being all Visenya's spoken of for weeks. He told the babe how excited they all were to meet them, but when he noticed you were asleep, he hated himself for getting out of bed.

It was only to pull a dressing robe on and locate his daughter; being easy as she was in Alicent's arms two halls over - both admiring the tapestries. "Daddy said this was a big fight," Visenya was heard, pointing at the drape.

"He's right," Alicent nodded, "this depicts Aegon's Conquest."

"Big dragons," she sighed dreamily, looking at the stitching. "That's Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes. Cousin Laena rides Vhagar now."

"Very good, sweetheart," Alicent praised.

"My Queen," Daemon called, approaching almost stiffly.

"Daddy!"

"C'mere," he grunted, accepting his daughter as she lunged for his embrace. "Thank you," he told Alicent.

"Is everything all right?"

"She's resting," Daemon nodded, trying to hide his fear from his voice but Alicent saw it in his eyes.

"The Maester's know how to help, my Prince," she assured softly. "She might fight against the limitations, but it's for everyone's health. She'll be okay, Daemon," her hand reached out to gently touch his forearm, "her body just needs time to adjust."

With her words thrumming in his mind, Daemon spent the next several weeks at your bedside. He was everything and more: he got you water, tea, anything to eat; always making sure you ate even a little SOMETHING three times a day. He made sure you took your medicine, wiped your flushed skin with cold cloths, braided your hair to keep it off your flesh. He read to you, rubbed your ankles and feet to help any circulation of clots, held your trembling form when you threw up. Daemon remained strong where you felt weak, doing whatever he could to assure you that your predicament wasn't a burden to him.

"You're not listening!"

"All I do is listen!"

"Daemon!" You snapped, "For weeks now, you've been at my every beck and call - catering to my whims. You are not canceling flying with Visenya, she'll be crushed."

"But you're closer to your birthing," He pointed out sharply.

"And I have not moved from this bed in days," you snapped back. "I will endure another day of this if it means you go take Caraxes out, I hear he's been a right menace."

Daemon shook his head, but something in his posture fell from defense. It made you sit up a little and beckon to him, his hand reaching for yours as he dropped to the place beside you; leaning against your mountain of pillows. "I do not know how to do this," he whispered, leaning his head to the crook of your neck in a vulnerable show of emotion. "And I know we are learning together, but I feel pulled apart - that I will disappoint one of you while catering to the other."

"My sweet husband," you whispered against the crown of his head. "You worry for nought."

"I worry for all," he whispered. "Visenya needs me, Viserys needs me, Caraxes needs me, the bloody White Cloaks need me, you need me - "

"Do not stress yourself further about this," you insisted. "Viserys has other advisors. Visenya has her aunts, uncles, cousins, anyone she could play with. Caraxes does need you, yes," you chuckled, "but he's also violently independent so I would not worry about him. And I am under the care of the Maesters, so I'd argue only the White Cloaks need you - you are their Lord Commander, after all."

"No," he refused, "I am a husband and father first, brother second, Prince of the City third, and Lord Commander fourth. I will be where I am needed, I just do not have enough hours in the day to do it all."

"You do not need to do it all," you whispered.

"You all need me."

"Visenya and I, yes," you agreed, "your job is important, too... Fuck the rest. 'S just noise."

He chuckled, you felt the pull of his lips on your neck. He hummed into your flesh, licking gently before pulling back to mutter, "I wish you could come with us."

"I do, too," you smiled softly. "But I'll be right here for you both to come back to - tell me all about it."

Daemon chuckled, "Surely."

Speak of the Devil, and He will appear.

"MUMMY!"

"Vizzy!" You half-scolded, laughing when the door burst open to reveal your daughter in her dragon-riding gear. Not a moment later, your usual handmaid, Carlee, appeared out of breath, sighing with relief when she located Visenya. "I'm so sorry, Carlee, she's just like her father and avoids all authority," you laughed when the little girl climbed onto her father's lap.

"No, I apologize, Lady," Carlee panted, "I-I tried - but she - she's very fast."

"I've got her," Daemon dismissed stiffly, your glare doing nothing to him.

"Thank you, Carlee, we've got it from here," you amended to the kind, portly woman with greying red hair. She bowed out as you reached over to tickle Visenya, "And you, my little monster! Didn't I tell you to stop giving the nice ladies a hard time. Hmm? Yes?"

She laughed happily, squirming in Daemon's arms. He 'saved' her by snuggling his nose in her neck; the squealing continuing as she shouted, "He's tickling me, Mummy! Mummy! Mummy! Help me, Mummy!"

"Mummy can't help you," Daemon playfully growl, gnawing into her neck as she flailed in his grip.

"Daddy! Stop it!"

He sighed dramatically, "Oh, I suppose I could... If a certain princess promises to behave from now on."

"Of course, Daddy, it's riding day!" She exclaimed, settling more in his lap now that he stopped tickling her. Because it wasn't often that Daemon took her riding, she was usually always on her best behavior to ensure her favorite day actually occurred - but that didn't mean it was an exact science.

"Visenya, be good for Daddy, yes?" You directed, puckering your lips for her. She pecked them quickly, promising to be good, and then rushing away when Daemon told her to go get her gloves and boots. When alone again, he looked at you almost sadly.

"One day, we'll fly as a family," he promised, forehead to your own. "Do you need anything, love?"

"I'm good, thank you, though," you whispered. Then, your hands caressed your belly, sighing, "Not long now, huh?"

"It's both the longest and shortest time of my life," he laughed lightly. "But soon, we'll pray for the quiet of your womb again."

You laughed, bringing him in for a kiss. He reciprocated before you pulled back, insisting, "Go, before she burns the Keep down. You know Caraxes would do it, too, that beastie would do anything she says."

"So would we," he winced.

"We might wanna work on that..."

"In time," he teased, kissing you again. "Stay put."

"Yes, sir." He gave you a look, making you amend, "Yes, Daddy."

He chuckled, kissed you a final time, and then rose. Just as he was exiting the door, you heard him yelp your daughters name before a small bang - making you think Visenya had run full sprint at him and knocked him back a step or two.

Another few days dragged by. You were agitated, you were stir crazy, you were on the shortest fuse known to man. Visenya liked reading to you, working on her writing skills with you in bed; she even got to practice her hair braiding skills. When you snapped at servants and maids, Visenya was always chiding, "Mummy, that's mean."

She kept you level-headed.

Daemon was a wreck, however.

He was only one person and the fact that he needed to be several was far too stressful than he was ever willing to admit. "Daemon, my love," you called sternly, "stop your pacing and come here. Lay with me, please."

"I do not get that luxury - "

"It is not a luxury to nurture your seed in my body," you deflected. "Now, come here. Now."

Daemon glared, "Do not think you command me, woman."

"The vows we took certainly think I do. Armor off, boots off, hair down, get the fuck over here - now, Daemon."

He sighed and grumbled, grunting as he did what you told but made it known he wasn't happy about it. When he was dressed in nothing but linen trousers, he laid beside you. "Now what?" He snapped.

"Now hold your wife and child and just fucking breathe," you shot back, readjusting so you cuddled into him. "You reek tonight."

"Your list of demands did not include bathing, excuse me, Princess," he sneered in a condescending tone.

"Daemon, I just want you to take a pause," you bit. "You've been runnin' 'round with your head chopped off since finding out about this... This complication."

"I have much to do."

"I know, and that is why it's important to just slow down and simply breathe. Please, just breathe with me, Daemon, I need us both to be as okay as we can be for when this babe finally comes."

"There's no time - "

"We make our time,' you insisted. "Please, just pause."

He did, Daemon actually paused to just take a deep breath. After one, he took another... Then another, and another until he was doing it with ease and confidence. "I'm sorry," he whispered against your forehead, bringing you in closer. "I do not mean to take it out on you, pet, I am just... Well, you know."

"I know you're worried," you sighed. "Which is why we need this. Tell me of your day, today?"

Daemon didn't want to at first, but then relented and started on a snowball tangent that explained his foul mood. You listened, ear pressed to his pectoral; hands tracing absent patterns on the contours of his abdomen. Daemon usually tried his best to restrain himself with you, but you actively encouraged him and the more he talked, the more words that spewed from his mouth in a messy jumble. One arm remained wrapped around you, keeping you close, and his free one moved about in exaggeration.

"And to top the day off, you know what the bloody Septa told me? The one Alicent insisted was worth utilizing?"

"Septa Amelia?"

"Whatever," he huffed.

"What'd she say to you, my Prince?"

He sighed at the endearing tone you used for his title, knowing it wasn't a reference to his real station but instead, a pet name you had for him. Daemon sighed, "That Visenya might need shipped off to Dorne to attend that grueling, military school."

"She's only just turned five - "

"I am aware," Daemon cut you off. "I cursed at her before taking Visenya."

"Good, then I shall know who to yell at, too," your voice hardened. "Why do they complain about her so? 'S all I bloody hear, how our daughter's wild and untamed - saying we are unfit parents by the looks of her."

"She's fire in her blood because she is the Dragon's Seed, just as this one is, too," His hand laid over your belly. "And yet, I cannot understand why others voice their opinions on our family, which they are not entitled to an opinion on. Visenya grows within the Red Keep, she is not some wild animal, but perhaps, she lacks stimuli."

"How could we remedy that?"

"A tutor... Or a few, perhaps. From across the Narrow Sea," he told you, already sounding like he wasn't as angry as before. "Find us proper tutors who will take her on as a student to guide her where we cannot - and where others give up. What kind of a man would I be to ignore what someone blatantly needs that I can easily provide?"

You offered a small smirk, taking a fond note, "This isn't just 'someone', Daemon, you speak of our daughter. You're so good at this, you know... Taking care of us. Daddy takes care."

He tightened his hold, "I always will, my sweet."

It was quiet again, your stomach churning with discomfort; questioning, "Though I am wondering what she did today to prompt such a comment?"

He scoffed, "So, she set fire to some curtains, who bloody cares - "

You gasped shrilly as you sat bolt upright, "Visenya did what!?"

"No, hey, no," he reached for you, "no stress, no - "

But you were hobbling out of the bed before he could stop you, grumbling the entire time; yet the moment your feet hit the floor, you paused to heave for breath, stood, and felt the trickle of fluids from between your legs. "What?" You gasped, realizing what just happened, begging, "What? No, no, no, no, not now, little one, please, stay in there!"

Daemon vaulted himself over the bed and was at your side in an instant, guiding you to sit once more and promising, "I will get the Maesters. Just ease yourself, no stress, no worries, I'll get help - I'll get the Maester's." He meant to move away.

"No," you insisted, reaching for his tunic's collar to grip, yank, and hold him close, "I need you with me. We all do, please, do not leave me to do this life alone. D-Daemon, please, I'm so scared, do not leave me, I can't do this without you."

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised, taking your hand to hold, "but I need to get you help. Please, my love, you need the help."

You whimpered and got back on the bed by yourself as Daemon raced for the chamber door. He only took half a step, then shouted, "YOU! HEY, YOU! GET THE BLOODY MAESTERS! NOW! YOUR PRINCE DEMANDS IT!"

Ignoring whatever else he shouted, you got comfortable as the cramps began to twist in your lower gut - shooting pains down your legs, up your back, even tingling into your fingers. Sweat took hold of you like a bad fever, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew something couldn't be completely right. This sensation was strange, it wasn't at all a feeling you had when pregnant with Visenya.

Hours drug by as if sap dripping from a tree.

Your pain increased; sweating, grunting, moaning, groaning with displeasure. Daemon was stoic and quiet, just watching you writhe in pain as his heart cemented in his chest to sink into his feet and anchor him there. Visenya wasn't anything like this; he'd been present for that birth, too, and remember thinking how easy it appeared since the baby practically fell out of you.

This was much different.

"My Prince," the Maester approached him with a deep frown, "a word?"

"What?" He snapped, watching the Maester step to the side. Daemon sighed and followed, glaring, arms crossing as he demanded, "What is it?"

"My Prince, the babe will not come. I do not wish to beat around this bush, so I will tell you plainly. Sometimes, when the fetus is in a compromising position, a decision must be made: either the babe is cut from the womb and it survives or they both die or only the babe dies - there was a way to remove the baby surgically if that's the case. But you need to choose."

"Why do I have to choose? It's her decision - her body, her life, her choice."

"She is delirious with pain," the Maester deflected, "and if the babe is a boy, wouldn't you rather know and have him?"

"And lose my wife?" Daemon growled. "I think the fuck not. You will not put this decision on me, it is for her to decide."

He pushed past everyone to take the spot beside you and instantly pick up your hand. "Daemon," you sobbed, "for fuck's sake, please, please, just let this be over. Get the babe out."

"You're almost there, sweetheart."

But one of the Septas assisting the Maesters squeaked in mild alarm, and when Daemon looked, there was a significant amount of blood blooming under you. "She's bleeding, could be a hemorrhage," the Maester rushed, lifting your thin gown to judge the birthing canal.

"What's wrong?" You asked in a half-slur.

"Nothing, you're okay," Daemon assured softly, kissing your hand.

Your screams through labor echoed through empty stone halls. Your pain was tangible, your fear paramount. "What's wrong!?" You begged the room, "Why aren't they coming? Why won't our baby come?"

"We're trying, Princess," A Septa spoke softly.

You only cried until your exhaustion outweighed your consciousness; your mind going blank, eyes rolling back, and slipping into the weighted darkness from the blood loss. Daemon frantically shook your shoulder, begging, "My love, please! Wake up! Wake up now! What's going on!?"

"There's too much blood!"

"I told you to choose!" The Maester snapped at Daemon. "Now they will both lose their lives!"

Daemon felt his chest hallow - figuring the words were true enough. He couldn't decide, he refused to, and now you suffered and the possibility of losing your child was larger than before. "My Prince," a Septa approached, "you need to wait outside."

"No - "

"They need to operate, you cannot linger here," she insisted. "You will be called for."

He steeled his jaw, pointing a warning finger at the Maester, "Don't make the cut else your loved ones will only see you on a spike around the Red Keep."

Prince Daemon waited outside for another few hours. He paced, he refused food and drink, he simply wanted to be in there with you but had to begrudgingly put faith into the medical team working on you. He smirked when he saw his daughter, Visenya, round the distant corner and sprint up to him - Carlee chasing her.

"Are you skipping lessons, again, Little Dragon?" Daemon grunted as he caught his daughter - swinging her onto his hip by using the momentum from catching her.

"Where's Mummy and the baby?" She demanded.

Daemon sighed, "The baby doesn't want to come out, yet, love, so we can't see them yet."

"But it's been a day, Daddy!" She whined.

"I know, pet," he sighed with a frown, glancing at the closed door. "It's all right," he told the maid, "she can remain here with us."

"My Prince, she'd miss - "

"Lessons? You dare try to say lessons are more important?" He snapped.

"Daemon," Viserys frowned from his wheelchair. "Your anger is misplaced."

He hummed, readjusting his daughter on his hip as Alicent dismissed Carlee; letting Daemon begin to pace again. When the door opened, he whipped around, but only an in-training Maester slipped out of the room - giving no time to peer inside. "Well?" Daemon demanded.

"We are still working, My Prince, but I am to fetch more material," he answered, nodding once, then dashing away. It did nothing to settle his nerves, in fact, they tripled when the lad returned with a procession of aids - all carrying different material. They reentered the room, and Daemon felt his heart snap.

"Stay with Uncle, Little Dragon," Daemon told his daughter, approaching Viserys, offering him the child to which he accepted. "Stay here, do not move, Daddy has to check on Mummy. Yes?"

"Is she sick?" Visenya frowned.

"I'll check, my love."

"I can go, too, Daddy."

Daemon sighed through his nose, his daughter making him melt into a pile of nothingness - but reminded himself to stay firm. "No, love, you just stay here and Daddy will check," he assured softly as Viserys lifted his hands to keep hold of the young girl and ensuring she did not follow Daemon when he nodded, turned, and shoved through the door into the birthing chamber.

"My Prince!"

But Daemon couldn't move.

There was blood everywhere. Soiled linens, a drenched nightgown, scattered puddles of splattered life source across the floor. You looked delirious, confused; not fully present in your mind, and when he noted the Milk of the Poppy, he understood your pain was trying to be managed. Blood painted up and down your thighs; blood pooling under your cunt, but there was a baby's head visible.

Startled, he rushed for your side and knelt to take your hand. "My love," he breathed, "can you hear me? Are you with me? Please. Please, sweet wife, open your eyes and look at me."

When you did, he could tell you were unfocused and unsure who he was before realization dawned over your facial expression. "Daemon," you whispered, squeezing his hand slightly.

"I'm here, love," he promised. "Right here - I'm with you."

"The baby?"

"Almost," he promised, watching your eyes flutter.

"She needs to push, my Prince," the birthing maester instructed. "C'mon, c'mon, now's the time - push! Push, Princess, push!"

"C'mon, love!" Daemon encouraged, watching sweat glisten over every exposed surface of skin; jaw clenching, bearing down and pushing with might.

The screams echoed through the Keep, only drowned out when a storm rolled in that evening. The thunder masked the profanities shouted, lightning accompanied by each scream of pain as birth split you in half. Daemon did not leave your side, encouraging you through the entire ordeal, his trousers saturating with your blood as more dripped to the floor as you pushed, pushed, pushed, and pushed with all the strength you had.

"You gotta keep goin', love," Daemon would tell you, "gotta keep fightin' for this - don't stop now. I need you with us, our children will need us, this is not something I can do alone. Please," he begged, "do not make me say goodbye. Not until we're fat and old, remember? Huh? My precious love, you're almost done, but you have to keep fighting. It'll be worth it, soon. Just keep going!"

By the following morning, a babe was being pulled from your cunt with a gushing wave of fluid and blood - reminding the Maester very briefly of cattle birth. However, while relief colored your system, the medical attendants felt panic flood theirs - muttering, hushing, consulting the baby to the side as the Maester saw you through the afterbirth. "W-Wait," you slurred, "wh-where are they? Where? Daemon, wh-what is it? Girl or boy?"

He frowned, Septas, Silent Sisters, and other maids all huddled together without your child in sight. "I-I do not know, yet, sweetheart, but remain calm. The worst is over..." But when he looked down at you, he noticed how still you laid and felt his panic skyrocket. He begged your name several times, demanding you wake up, but you remained silent and still - skin even turning clammy as sweat dried. Daemon was actually pulled out of the way, two Maesters attending to your side, and he felt impossibly in the middle.

To his left, his child. To his right, his wife. Both of whom appear in distress, both of whom hold his worry. "She's clots again," he heard from the Maesters. "Not breathing," he heard from the Septas.

So, this is what Hell was like...

A shrill cry pierced the air, adrenaline draining from Daemon's blood as he realized this only meant the babe was okay. When he was approached with the bundle, he worried, "She should be the first to hold them."

"It's all right, my Prince," the Septa spoke softly, "you may hold her now, and later, you can lay her on your wife's chest."

Daemon nodded, taking the baby. He blinked, "Did you say, 'she'?"

"A girl, my Prince, healthy, strong, full-term."

"What's wrong with her?" He demanded. "Why does my wife not wake?"

"The blood loss," a Maester muttered, "'s gotta be the blood loss."

He couldn't move or breathe. His daughter screamed, still, but he was terrified by the sight of the Maesters flocking over your still-body. Daemon protested, but once more, he was asked to leave the chamber and had to be escorted - but he wanted to remain. He wanted to linger, to watch you, to ensure you were taken care of... Yet the bundle in his arms wriggled and sobbed, reminding him that he had a responsibility to his daughter that needed his attention.

"Daemon," Alicent perked up when the door opened, eyes widening at the sight of the Targaryen swaddle.

"Brother?" Viserys worried, eyes glistening as he assumed the worst.

"She's... She's not waking up," He spoke without emotion, "the Maesters are still working."

Viserys nodded, holding a sleeping Visenya on his lap still. "You need rest," he recommended.

"No, I think I will stay," Daemon refused.

"You can't function this way," Alicent tacked on. "The Maesters will still be at work, and even after, she will not be awake for hours. Milk of the Poppy is potent, and with her exhaustion, it's sure to be an intense combination."

He nodded slowly, "I want to be here."

So, Daemon remained.

He let Visenya sit with him on the stone bench outside the birthing chamber; his brother remaining to offer moral support alongside his wife until royal obligation can calling. He remained stoic, holding his daughter and only passing her off to the wet nurse when a feeding or cleaning needed attended to. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when the doors opened, Daemon shot to his feet; leaving his infant daughter in Visenya's lap.

"She's asking for you," the Maester told Daemon, smirking slightly when the Prince charged for the room. He looked around at the disarray and how dwarfed you appeared in the bed; sheets still saturated with blood.

Never before had he felt such relief, dropping to his knees as if in prayer at your bedside; tearfully picking up your hand to kiss the back of it. "You're alive," he whispered in shock, "oh, bless the Seven, you're alive - you're still here with me. With us."

You could only manage a tired, half-smile, "Can't be rid of me that easy."

He snorted his amusement, "Thought I lost you for a moment there..."

"Sorry to scare you," you whispered, "but 's not easy pushing a baby from your cunt, huh?"

"No, definitely not. Especially a Targaryen, born of Fire and Blood," he looked close to tears, "they are known for their harsh entrance into this world."

"I'd endure all of it for our children," you mumbled, taking a long breath. "I'm tired, Daemon."

He looked to a lingering Maester, the one in training, asking, "Can she move back to our chambers?"

"She might not want to walk, yet," the lad advised, "but yes. Perhaps a familiar environment will help the healing process."

Daemon had a Maester carrying his infant daughter and escort Visenya to your living quarters while he brought you. He laid you in bed, ensuring your comfort before taking his daughter back in his arms, dismissing the staff, and telling Visenya to change into her loungewear. They were going to take a nap with Mummy...

"Daemon?" You mumbled.

"I'm here, love," he rushed to your side, "you all right? What do you need?"

"It's hurting," you frowned.

Daemon laid your daughter beside you in bed, furthest into the mattress, so he could prepare your next dose of Milk of the Poppy. Visenya, changed for the lazy day, jumped into bed with you, smiling at her new sister as Daemon changed himself. When he joined you in bed, he kept the baby between the two of you as Visenya deflated on Daemon's chest. She all but instantly fell asleep, both parents allowing for several long minutes to pass; ensuring their slumbering state.

"Did you pick a name?" You asked, tracing your fingertip along your baby's belly in soft, ticklish motions.

"Not yet," he answered. "Thought that should be a decision we agree on."

"I have no preference," you told him softly, "I'm just relieved she's here."

"You and me both," he whispered, leaning over to kiss your forehead. "You did such a good job, sweetheart, to endure this Targaryen Curse for our family - such a good job."

You smiled at him, catching his lips in a full kiss as the poppy released into your bloodstream. "I love you," you promised him.

"I love you," he echoed; the serenity surrounding you both in a warm embrace. Unable to help himself, Daemon teased, "So, when do you want our third child?"

You both had to suppress your humor to protect your sleeping daughters from being rudely woken.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

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xtremelifestylz · 2 months ago

Video

youtube

Best camper of 2024 is back for MORE with 2025 upgrades! ROK12000 by @Co...

#youtube #vanlife #rok12000 #clipper #coachmen #camper #camp

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exxcitement1995 · 11 months ago

Text

youtube

SPICELAND - “COACHMEN”

let’s drive until we’re free

#me #music #spiceland #morphmagic #lofi #country #youtube #Garfield #coachmen #f150 #dr pepper #southern comfort

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murdockcastleslut · 7 months ago

Note

ok so i have a request from the angsty prompt with benedict bridgerton i want like prompt #17

oh this hurt my heart to write :( this is gonna be fem!reader if you want a gn!reader one please feel to resubmit! the prompt is so.. you're just going to.. give up on me." "that is NOT what i meant-" "you're not willing to fight for me either. i think it's pretty clear, [name]." | info on requests here!

being the eldest daughter was hard. you felt constant pressure from your mama to marry an eldest son who could provide for you and you family.

but as luck had it and against your mother's hard work, you had fell for benedict bridgerton, the second son of the bridgerton family as your mother liked to remind you.

your mother was making it impossible for you two to see each other unless quick moments in the wee hours of the day, kept secret by your handmaid and his coachmen.

you were in yoru family's garden, surround by the beautiful flowers shining in the moon light.

but the moment was anything but beautiful.

"so.. you're just going to give up on me." you state bluntly trying to not let the tears that were flooding your eyes release.

"that is not what i meant-" benedict argues.

"you're not willing to fight for me either. i think it's pretty clear, benedict." you cut him off.

"your mother isn't making this easy and i cannot compete with all the dukes and marquess' that try and command your attention."

"i don't care for any of it! i just care that you love me."

"of course, i love you but-"

"then nothing else should matter."

"you are not understanding, will your father allow me to marry you if a duke proposes."

"then we could go to the queen!"

"flower," he sighs heavly. "it is not simple."

"it is. either you love me or you do not."

"flower, it just not that-" but he doesn't get finish his sentence.

"then it is settled. good day mr. brigderton."

"flower-"

"good night, you have comprised me enough." you say not looking back and walking back into your family's home.

#holy fuck this is sad #lex writes <3 #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton blurb #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x you #bridgerton #bridgerton drabble #bridgerton netflix #benedict bridgerton angst #bridgerton angst

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pourablecat · 1 year ago

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A meeting between these two can only end in disaster (for Diamanda yes)

Lily "Lilith the Tempscire" Weatherwax vs. Lucy "Diamanda" Tockley

Lily "Lilith the Tempscire" Weatherwax:

Wielder of magic just as strong as that of her sister. Kicked out of the house at a young age for being proud, wilful, and wanton, she goes on to achieve greatness and power by amplifying her magic with mirrors. She thinks of herself as the Good One, the one who provides people with Happy Endings - whether they want that particular ending or not. How could that be bad?

Lucy "Diamanda" Tockley

Lucy Tockley is a teenage girl who dabbles in the occult and fashions herself a self taught witch. She calls herself "Diamanda" because it sounds more 'witchy'. For the same reason, she paints her nails black, and wears black lace and a floppy black velvet hat with a veil. Scorns the mundane and woefully stagnant ways of the established witches of Lancre. Her version of witchcraft is progressive and stylish.

#discworld #discworld art #gnu terry pratchett #I voted diamanda by the way #the question isn't who would win #it's who you like more #and while lily could actually pull off the style #diamanda is just on a stupid phase #and didn't MURDER her coachmen #lily weatherwax #or #lilith de tempscire #lucy “diamanda” tockley #granny weatherwax #esmerelda weatherwax

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newfoundstateof · 1 month ago

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baby, we're the new romantics | benedict bridgerton

summary: engaged!reader learns that she is enraptured by both men and women at a late-night gathering

word count: 4.3k

warnings: nfsw 18+, threesome ffm

a/n: this one is for the gays!!!!! pretty tame for smut, too much plot but that's just what i prefer

Summer was fast approaching, and you and your fiancé, Charles Beckworth, shared a comfortable silence, taking a turn around the garden. While you checked on your flowers, he enjoyed the first warm sunlight of the year. After deciding that a tulip patch was growing nicely, you turned to your betrothed.

“Tell me where you run off to in the night,” you whispered to him. “You have been suspiciously leaving events early this season. Where are you going?”

Charlie looked at you, and a whisper of shock crossed his face. But his expression was quickly schooled.

“Home?” he said plainly.

“I know you are not retiring to your bachelor lodgings,” you pressed. “It’s eating me alive, so tell me. I am your most trusted confidant, yes?”

Your free hand squeezed his arm that was looped with yours, urging him to remember all that you have been through.

You’d met last season. Needing some fresh air during another stiff ball, you stole away to the garden and found a kindred soul in the gazebo. Charlie also despised the social season. Initially, you thought him a rake and not ready to settle down. But he was just like you, simply mourning the youth that you hadn’t realized was over until its sudden death. The two of you concocted a plan: until one of you was ready for marriage, the two of you would pretend to court.

It wasn’t until you found him and another man half undressed, hidden from a gallery viewing, that you realized he would never be ready for marriage. He expected you to cast him out and was surprised when you proposed the next day. After a season of finding the company of men underwhelming, you supposed there were worse fates than marrying your best friend.

“Fine.” Leaning in, he continued, “You know I find pleasure with the same sex.”

You nodded slowly.

“I go to parties that allow me to show my affection to them,” he confessed. “But it’s no place for you. The ladies there are not-”

“Ladies are welcome?” you interrupted. “Parties where they talk of social reform? Humanism? Free love? Ladies are present at these?”

“I’m surprised you even know of such events,” Charlie teased.

You shrugged. “My parents complain about your sort endlessly. Radicals will ruin this country!”

“This country could stand to be ruined,” Charlie said. “And yes, those are the kind of parties I attend. You wouldn’t like-”

“Then I must come with you.”

“No,” Charlie said in a stern voice he had never used with you before.

“Yes,” you insisted.

“Hearing the things they speak of and seeing the things they partake in would make you faint instantly.” You laughed before realizing he was serious.

“Please take me with you,” you pleaded. “You know that I can keep a secret.”

Charlie pursed his lips. “Maybe one day, darling.”

It took weeks of bargaining and reasoning and flattery, but Charlie eventually yielded. Suffice it to say, your first party did not end well. The next morning, you still felt as if your stomach had more to wretch up, and you swore off alcohol for the rest of your life. But after a few more late nights, you could hold your spirits.

The arrangement required more lying than you were comfortable with, feigning illnesses or a small injury. Charlie, ever the gentleman, would escort you back home with his mother as a chaperone. But his mother, ever the romantic, would allow the coachmen to drop her off home first, so the two of you could steal some extra time together. To her knowledge, you made it home safely, and Charlie retired to his bachelor lodgings.

Having a secret was fun, especially since you kept it with your best friend. Although you and Charlie went your separate ways at parties, you still stole furtive, snickering glances at each other. Watching the other shine. Him with that week’s paramour, you with the university students, who were home for summer and whom you hounded with questions.

Tonight, Charlie was whispering to one of his favorite lovers by the staircase. As you watched in the living room, you observed what Charlie did best. Seducing. Alluring. Convincing the other man to follow him upstairs for some fun. You’d never had that sort of fun. You were a bit jealous of him as you gulped down the rest of your drink. Before Charlie disappeared upstairs, he flashed you a wink. You teasingly rolled your eyes in return.

Although gatherings like these were filled with debauchery, foreign drugs, and gallons of whiskey, intellectual conversations could be found if one sought them out. Tonight, the topic was Byron’s “She Walks in Beauty.” A pipe was placed in your hands, cutting off your flow of thought, as a lady sat down, joining you on the loveseat.

“Oh,” you gasped, holding the unfamiliar pipe between your thumb and index finger. “I don’t smoke.”

The lady chuckled, her sly smile contagious. “You do now. Open up.”

She leaned into you, bringing the pipe up to your mouth with one hand. The other came up to rest on your shoulder. Your lips wrapped around the wooden tip, and you looked up at her curiously, waiting for additional instruction.

“Breathe in,” she giggled.

You did as told. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath in, the smoke setting your lungs ablaze. Soon, you were hunched over your knees and coughing.

“Oh, maybe you don’t smoke,” said the lady, taking the pipe from you. “It’s okay, it never feels right at first.”

“That was just tobacco, yes?” you asked, coughing once more into your hand.

“Just tobacco,” she nodded, taking a puff from the pipe. “My name is Victoria Leybourne. We’ve not yet been introduced, but I see you plenty. You’re Charlie’s wife aren’t you?”

“Fiancé,” you corrected. “We are to be married the day before Christmas.”

“It’s lovely what you’re doing for him,” Victoria said. “Though I suppose that he is doing a lovely thing for you in return.”

You hummed, a little confused with her wording. “He is my best friend, I would do anything for him. And it is an added bonus that I would be granted lots of freedom I otherwise wouldn’t have with another man.”

“You wouldn’t consider spinsterhood?” Victoria asked.

“No, why would I?”

Victoria paused, staring into your eyes in deep thought. “So you’re not… You are enraptured by the male species?”

You almost coughed. “Erm… yes. I suppose am.”

“And what of the female of the species?”

Her hand came up to brush a piece of hair away from your face, but she continued to stroke something small and invisible at your temple. Her eyes were sharp yet alluringly gentle. You never suspected you were like Charlie, but what could possibly explain the ache you felt between your legs?

“I have never once… considered it,” you told her truthfully, “but am simultaneously not opposed to the idea at all.”

“How fascinating.” She took another drag from the pipe but held the smoke in her mouth.

As she inched closer to you, you realized what she intended to do. Hesitantly, you let your jaw fall and craned your neck towards her. Victoria’s hands slid their way up your neck to cradle the sides of your face, ticking your skin.

The touch of a woman was so familiar. Your mother was constantly adjusting your hair just so, and lady’s maids dressed you each morning. But this was different. This made your heart drop and your mouth dry. It was scary how out of touch you felt with your body, but you knew that you didn’t want her to stop.

Victoria’s lips barely grazed your own, and she slowly exhaled. Following her pace, you breathed in her smoke. It stung, but this time you knew you could bear it. Breathing it back out, it enveloped Victoria’s round face.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked.

“Maybe not here,” you said, looking around the room.

No one was paying attention, too absorbed in talks on the state of the country and what the future had in store. But your eyes caught one man in the corner, drinking alone. He was watching the two of you intently. His fingers tugged his cravat from his neck, bringing it down to cover his manhood. But it was too late, both you and Victoria had seen the large bulge in his pants. Your cheeks reddened, realizing that he had been watching.

“Looks like our host seems to be enjoying the view,” Victoria sang. “We should extend an invitation. Would that be okay? From previous experience, I can assure you that you won’t regret it.”

“I��” You were at a loss for words. “Maybe he could watch?”

You couldn’t believe what you had just said. Just the same with lying with a woman, it had never before crossed your mind of intimacy between more than two people. But, you couldn’t help but relate to the man’s voyeurism. When couples hurriedly left the dance floor at balls, you couldn’t stop yourself from following to see what happened next—what truly happened when one loved another.

Victoria let out a delighted squeal and took your hand. As she led you across the room to the man, his gaze never left yours.

“Benedict Bridgerton,” she smiled, finally reaching him.

So this was Benedict Bridgerton. Being an unmarried woman in London, of course, you had heard the name. But the man himself was elusive. He rarely attended events of the ton; his mother always claimed nothing could pull him away from his art studio. You would have never guessed he had instead been hosting parties of his own all this time.

“Victoria,” he grinned. “Who do we have here?”

“Charlie’s girl,” she said, giving your hand a squeeze. “She’s a bit shy, so I’m afraid you can’t join us in the ways that matter. But she says you’re permitted to watch.”

His eyebrow quirked at that. “Fascinating.”

His gaze was glued to Victoria, making you fidget. You felt like a fly on the wall at that moment; it was a feeling you knew all too well from the various balls of the season. One debutant of nearly a hundred. Back then, you didn’t mind going unnoticed, but now, you realized that you wanted his attention. You wanted to be seen.

“I think the same of her, yes,” Victoria nodded. “Well, come now. Perhaps you can lend some advice. And of course, lead us to the best room.”

Benedict rose, finally acknowledging you again, scanning your body from head to foot. He greeted you by name which surprised you. You’d never been formally introduced. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“A pleasure, my lord,” you said instinctively.

“Oh, it will be indeed,” Victoria chuckled, pulling you closer.

The two of you followed Benedict through his bachelor lodgings, weaving between arguments and intertwined bodies alike. His confident stride led you up the stairs to a large bedroom at the end of the hallway.

“Your personal chambers,” Victoria hummed, still holding your hand. “We are certainly receiving special treatment tonight.”

She finally let go of your hand to close the door, locking it with a quick click.

“This doesn’t happen often,” he admits, pulling a chair up to the foot of his bed, taking a seat, and kicking off his shoes. “But I’m certainly ready for a show.”

Victoria preened next to you, and a shiver ran down your spine.

“Now, get on the bed,” he ordered.

Victoria left your side and crawled up on the bed, standing on her knees. Never in a million years would you have imagined doing this. Taking pleasure in another woman—in front of a man no less. But something inside you stirred in excitement, and you wanted to do a good job. For Victoria and for Benedict. You just weren’t sure that you could.

Benedict’s head lolled to face you. “You can change your mind, dear. We won’t mind.”

“No,” you croaked out. “No, I’m just nervous is all.”

This was your first… well, everything to be quite honest. Since joining Charlie on his late nights, men have approached you, remarked on your beauty, led you to a private corner. And you let them. You were curious. There’d been modest kisses and less than thrilling groping, but none of that counted to you. It hadn’t mattered a great deal to you, but this does.

Rising, Benedict crossed the room to you, taking your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “No need for nerves. And we can stop whenever you like, just say the word.”

He led you to the bed, helping you up before returning to his seat. Victoria smiled, taking the same hand Benedict held seconds ago.

“You’re stunning,” she sighed.

“You’re radiant,” you said quickly. But it was true. Her dark hair and eyes drew you in like a magnet.

You were mere inches from her face and could feel her warm breath as she breathed heavily in anticipation. But somehow air was caught in your own lungs, and your muscles were too tense to give any release. Downstairs, you and Vicotria were hidden in plain sight, but now, there was nothing to hide your want for another woman. Now, you were positioned in front of Benedict as if on a stage.

“Take a breath, dear,” Benedict said gently. “No need to hold it in.”

You exhaled sharply. Almost a pant.

“Now, do what you could not downstairs,” he directed. “There’s no shame here.”

And in an instant, your hands found Victoria’s waist, and her lips were crashing into yours. Victoria’s lips were full and plush. Her mouth had a smokey taste from the pipe you shared, but despite this, they still tasted sweet. Her grip was stronger than expected as she took the sides of your face to pull you harder into her. Out of the corner of your eye, Benedict started to shed his coat and vest, making your heart race faster.

Although Victoria was the one to pursue you, she gave you most of the control. Underneath her soft curves, you felt strong muscles; she could’ve easily pinned you to the mattress, but instead, she followed your instincts. She was the one to fall to her back, letting you crawl over her, running your lips up the column of her neck. Her whines were music to your ears. You needed more. You needed a symphony.

Your hands kneaded at her breasts, her teeth pulling on your bottom lip, when Benedict appeared at your side. He leaned a hand on the bedpost but didn’t get any closer than that.

“Have you been intimate with a woman before?” he asked. No judgment, just curiosity.

“No,” you gasped, eyes still shut in pleasure.

“Would you like guidance?”

Your head shot up, eyes struggling to focus. At first, you thought to be insulted. What you lacked in experience, you at least thought you made up for in vigor.

“You’re doing well, don’t worry,” chuckled Benedict. “But I have some tricks that may increase your lady’s pleasure even more.”

“I thought you were just going to watch,” you said.

“I have more experience, dear.” He wasn’t smug, simply factual. “If you allow it, I wish to help.”

“Please, Benedict,” Victoria moaned underneath you. “If she allows it.”

He looked at you, unnervingly serious. “Do you allow it?”

You hesitated. “I allow it.”

Benedict immediately shifted onto the bed, urging you to sit up so you were straddling Victoria.

“You too, Victoria. We need to rid you of some layers,” he decided.

With your help, she rose from the bed. Her curly hair was wild and mussed. “Will you do the honors, my lord?”

Benedict’s gaze flicked to you, and you gave a quick nod. It was clear Benedict and Victoria had a trusting relationship. He certainly excited her as well. With expert precision, he stripped her gown, leaving her in a white chemise, and toyed with one of the lace straps.

“Follow my lead,” Benedict instructed.

Your left hand came up to Victoria’s other strap, and as if there were a mirror, your and Benedict’s hands moved in synch. The straps slunk down her arms like slow molasses, revealing the very top of Victoria’s corset that Benedict was already loosening.

“We’ll start small,” he said. “Well, not small, my dear.”

Victoria giggled as he shimmied the corset down her waist, revealing her well-endowed chest. Your hand reached out to gently massage her nipple that hardened underneath your touch.

“Mmm,” she moaned, leaning into you.

“A natural,” Benedict chuckled. “Yes, keep circling your fingers around her. Even give it a slight pinch if you wish.”

You obediently followed his instructions.

“I’ll ease the ache of her other breast,” he said, his hand already snaking from her shoulder, down her chest. “How does it feel, Victoria.”

“Heavenly,” she breathed, eyes shut in pleasure. “But you know what I prefer, Benedict.”

“Yes,” he purred, mouth pressed against her ear. Just the sight caused a rush to your center. “She much prefers being worked by tongue. Are you ready for that?”

That was all the invitation you needed to lean forward and latch onto her breast. You could hear her heartbeat, feel her breath hitch, taste her sweet skin. You looked up to find both of them staring down at you in awe.

“A sight to behold,” Benedict said. “Try suckling, my dear.”

Like a kitten lapping at a bowl of milk for the first time, your movement was awkward yet eager. Sensing your hesitation, Benedict shifted to Victoria’s side and brought his own lips to her other breast.

“Like this, love,” he said.

Still working Victoria, your gaze flicked to him, and you studied. Observed the way his cheeks hollowed out, his tongue momentarily escaping to circle the underside of her breast. From above, Victoria let out small cries of pleasure, latching a hand behind Benedict’s head to guide him better. You followed suit and soon felt Victoria’s other hand gathering the hair at the nape of your neck. A chorus of salacious suckling and heaving breathing filled the room. You were a trio of moans.

Suddenly, you felt a rough hand grasp your own. Together, your and Benedict’s fingers found Victoria’s center. Hot and slick and velvety, it felt like your own when you touched yourself when no one was near. But at the same time, it was entirely different. A whole new world to explore, one that you wanted to dive into and never leave. Quickly finding her pleasure area, you circled it in the opposite direction your tongue rounded her nipples. When Benedict used his own fingers to enter her, Victoria pulled hard. Hard enough that you and Benedict came up gasping for air.

“The two of you are going to be the death of me,” she sighed before pressing searing kisses to first your lips, then Benedict’s. With her hands still grasping your neck, she gently guided your faces to each other. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you said together.

And then his lips were on yours. It took everything in you not to continue pleasuring Victoria with the same victor, but your mind was hazy. His teeth were nipping your lips and his fingers were soon filling your mouth with Victoria’s sweetness. Sure, you had allowed men to kiss you and roam your body before. But that had simply been for experimentation, trying something new for the sake of it. Kissing Benedict was different. You wanted it. You wanted to express yourself and explore him. His fingers retreated back down, but instead of Victoria’s core, they found yours underneath your skirts. You gasped. No other person had ever pleasured you there.

“She looks like she’s found eternal life,” Victoria moaned.

“I think I have.” Involuntarily, your head lulled back, but Victoria supported the back of your neck. Soon, she was joining the kiss, and you couldn’t tell whose lips, tongue, teeth were whose.

At your center, Victoria’s hand began to roam along with Benedict’s. She teased your entrance until you shifted your hips and took her down to her knuckle. Whincing, you adjusted to the tightness. It stung but with pleasure. As Benedict stroked you, Victoria started pumping. Despite everything, you wanted more and rotated your hips against them both, chasing this new feeling.

“She wants it all,” Benedict chuckled, leaning back to watch Victoria litter your face with kisses. “An insatiable minx.”

“You’re doing beautifully,” she encouraged. “A naughty, naughty girl you are.”

Their praise only fueled you, and the small ache deep within started to grow and grow. Light tears prickled in your peripheral and small cries leaped out of your lips without you registering.

“I…” you gasped. “I… I don’t-”

“You’re about to finish, my dear,” Benedict growled. “We’ll get you there, don’t worry.”

“Yes,” Victoria purred. “Don’t stop, my love.”

Benedict shifted around you, and both latched onto your neck, urging the ache inside you to release. Nonsense words babbled out of you before you finally cried out one final time. They continued to stroke and suckle until you had ridden out the high and came back down, gasping for air.

“My word,” you breathed as each kissed your temples, caressed your breasts.

“Was that your first time climaxing?” Benedict asked.

“Yes, it was just about my first everything.”

Stroking your hair, Victoria smiled, “Thank you for sharing it with us.”

“We must do the same for the two of you.” You sat up straighter, waiting for instruction.

“No, no,” Benedict hushed. “Let’s just rest.”

Victoria hummed in agreement, pushing you softly to the mattress. They followed suit with Victoria taking the spot in the middle. You and Benedict curved around her, resting your heads on her breastbone—almost identical to your position earlier in the evening. A lazy smile crossed his lips before his eyes fluttered shut.

“This is heaven,” he whispered.

“Agreed,” Victoria said, stroking both of your heads.

You nuzzled closer to her neck, breathing in her scent, intertwining your legs with hers. Although you could feel your eyelids sinking and your breath slowing, you wanted to express your gratitude.

“Thank you,” you sighed. “I’ve never, ever been happier.”

You woke with a gasp. Had it all truly happened? Looking around, you were in the same room you remembered. And next to you was a body resembling Benedict Bridgerton, but he was on his stomach facing away from you. Your heart sank, realizing there was no sign of Victoria.

Climbing out of bed, you adjusted your dress back to its original state as best you could. By the time you slid your last shoe back on, Benedict stirred and woke.

“Abandoning me so soon?” he teased, rolling onto his side to better face you.

“I must get back before sunrise,” you said. “I suppose that’s why Victoria ran off so soon as well.”

“Yes.” Benedict rolled out of bed and began dressing. “She woke me when she left, but didn’t want to interrupt your rest.”

Once returned to order, he opened the door for you, and you both made your way to the exit. There were still a few stragglers, either sleeping or impossibly still conversing, but for the most part, the crowd had dispersed. Your shoulder brushed with his every other step as you descended the stairs.

“She asks if you will be back next week,” Benedict said.

You smiled. “How could I stay away?”

“Good,” he replied in a proud tone. “She also asks if you’re free during calling hours tomorrow.”

“She asks that?” you laughed. “She knows that I am engaged.”

‘Right,” he said, wincing. “To dear Charles. How could I… she forget.”

Arriving at the front door, you waited for him to open it, but he didn’t. Instead, he took a step closer.

“I know how deeply you care for him, so I will not suggest it again,” he said.

“Oh, you misunderstand. You must know that-”

“I do know,” he said.

“He’s quite popular at these gatherings, yes,” you chuckled.

“No, I know because I’ve… been with him.” Benedict's gaze bore into yours, almost as if asking something of you. “Do you remember? Last season?”

You parsed through all the memories of meeting Charlie for the first time, pretending to court one another, and becoming engaged once you learned his secret. But Benedict Bridgerton was hidden in none of these memories.

“You walked in on us,” he supplied. “At an art gallery. I saw you the moment you walked in, but you didn’t say anything. You just watched. And I liked being watched by you, so I didn’t say anything. Charlie only noticed when you tried to make your leave but tripped on your way out.”

“That was you?” In disbelief, you took a step closer to get a better look at him. “That was you, I suppose. I didn’t get a good look at you then.”

“Are you sure,” he chuckled. “Because you seemed quite enraptured in the moment.”

You slapped his arm playfully. “I won’t apologize for my… voyeur habits, for lack of better words.”

“I’d never ask you to,” he said. “But what I mean to say is I understand your arrangement. And I would never want to do anything that jeopardizes it, so I will keep my distance. In the social scene at least.”

“But behind closed doors?” you asked, looking up at him.

“I will never stray.” He bent down, capturing your lips and pulling you closer to him.

It took multiple attempts, but eventually, you managed to pull away and depart. The sun was just starting to rise as he waved goodbye, leaning sleepily against the door frame. In the carriage he had prepared, you slumped against the seat. You couldn’t call off your engagement. Charlie was your best friend, your mother would be so impossibly mad, and above all, you barely knew Benedict Bridgerton.

You quickly batted the thoughts away, reminding yourself that you could not cancel your wedding for a man you’d just met.

- - - -

a/n: my masterlist is here! i hope you enjoyed, this took foreverrrr to write. just constantly putting it down and picking it back up. so sadly, a second installment is not likely. but of course, please imagine an eventual happy ending :)

#benedict x you #benedict imagine #benedict bridgerton #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x you #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic

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thestoryden · 6 months ago

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Changing Winds Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader Jacaerys Velaryon x Strong!Reader Warnings: Angst, Cheating, Violence, Cannon Divergence Words: 2.1k HOTD MASTERLIST

Summary: In a world much different from our own King Viserys has yet to leave this world, but tensions still rise at the capital between Rhaenyra and Alicent. In a battle for truth and legacy you find yourself caught in between two princes. The only question now is: Who will you choose?

As you arrive back to the Red Keep from weeks on the road your mind lingers on the last time you saw Jacaerys. The thought of his soft smile twists your insides with excitement; his lips soft as fresh snow. His body pressed against your, his warmth biting back the cool summer breeze. You cannot wait a minute more to see him. You think to yourself his hair must have grown out in the few months you were apart. You wonder how it will frame his face now. Your carriage comes to a jerking halt, making your dreamy thoughts of him fizzle as you nearly fall out of your seat.

“Hey! I am supposed to make it back to the castle alive.” You shout to the coachmen.

You are helped out of the carriage and there in one person of nobility there to greet you. Aemond Targaryen. You roll your eyes. This blonde fool had been following your around nonstop the last time you were at the castle. Any moment that he was not in court, you could find him trailing behind you. He stands there with a slight smile; he is always up to some scheme. You huff out some kind of greeting as he extends out his hand in invitation. You reluctantly take it.

“A pleasure to see you again, Lady Strong” Aemond muses.

His kisses your hand gently and you retract it as quick as lightning. You look up at him. If he were not a prince you would even bother to greet him. Unfortunately, your fantasy does not match the reality of the present situation. His one eye focuses in on you. Whatever was left of his other eye, he keeps tucked behind a simple leather patch. You purse your lips. He is as unnerving as ever.

“Why is my father not here to greet me?” You ask bitterly.

You already know the answer, the Lord Confessor is always too busy to see you unless he needs something from you. He dealt mostly in information and would scrape out any kind of knowledge you had on the family’s inner workings whenever he saw you. Aemond lips curl in to a devilish smile.

“The Lord Strong is preoccupied at the moment.” Aemond replies, “The queen sent me to greet you in his stead. She said you should have a warm welcome home.”

Of course she did. She had taken a liking to you before she even officially met her. She had summoned you to court once she had come by news of your mother’s passing. As a child you could not refuse her request, so you were uprooted from your family’s home and sent to Kingslanding. From that day forward you were raised with the royal children. You were meant as a companion for Helena, but when you took more to Jace and Luke she did not complain.

Aemond leans down closer to your face, “Did you hear me?”

You snap back to reality and take a step back nearly stumbling into the carriage. Aemond swiftly laces an arm underneath you, and pulls you to his side. Your face burns with embarrassment. You can feel his muscles cradling your waist.

“What is it?” You scoff, as if you could make the tumble seem intentional.

Aemond’s face softens, “The queen would like you to join her for tea after you have settled in.”

You find your footing and push him away. He only releases you once you have steadied. He relaxes and lightly brush his hair back over his shoulder.

“Yes, of course I will.” You reply as you dust off your gown.

Aemond quiets his voice, “I am delighted my dear.”

Your face contorts in disgust at what must surely be a poorly timed jest. Aemond smirks in response, and makes his way in to the keep. You wait till his behind shut doors to stamp your feet in irritation.

“By the Seven, that stupid boy won’t leave me alone.” You seethe.

You head to your room and try to mentally prepare yourself for the upcoming tea. The thought crosses your mind that Jace may have left a note or gift to welcome your home coming. You urge your feet to move faster. When you finally see the familiar room, you check everywhere only to come up empty handed.

“Has anything been left for me?” You question a maid.

She shakes her head no in response.

After all the dirt and grime of the road is scrubbed off you finally look like a proper lady. A blue dress with green finery makes the cut for your tea gown. With your hair styled you head towards the castle gardens. At the far end, a table is set, Queen Alicent and the two of the greatest annoyances in your life are arranged around it.

“Greetings, Your Grace, the seven’s blessings be upon you.” You say softly.

“And to you Lady Strong,” Alicent replies with a cheerful smile.

You shift to an almost dreary tone, “Aegon, Aemond, glad to see your dragons didn’t shred you to pieces while I was gone.”

You bow to the Alicent and take the seat closest to her. Your eyes drag over the dishes and goblets. You are starved for decent food after the dried meats and oats of the journey to Kingslanding. There is a suspicious lack of tea at the table.

“Pardon me, Your Grace, but I thought I would be joining you for tea.” You question lightly.

Aemond voice sounds in a sullen tone, “As did I, but there were circumstances”

His words are cut short by Aegon’s slurring, “What my boorish brother means to say is, I wouldn’t come unless there was wine.”

You straighten your face as to not upset the queen and take a deep breath in. You had only left them for a few months and these two had some how gotten worse in your absence. You decide to move on to something more tasteful.

“Will Helena be joining us?” You ask trying to smooth over Aegon’s words.

The queen smiles, “Helena was her already. She grew tiresome of the boys’ antics and is now wondering the garden as we speak.”

“Bugs. She is searching for hideous insects rather than enjoying my company.” Aegon says in disgust.

Aemond quips back, “Well it is certainly more stimulating than speaking with you, Aegon.”

“Boys!” Alicent’s tone shifts, “She has not taken news of Jacaerys’ engagement well.”

Your mouth drops open, “His what?”

Aegon bursts into laughter, “They didn’t tell you?”

The next few moments are a blur. Aegon says something but in blends in with the horror engulfing your body. You find yourself leaving the table without any pleasantries and running off to in to the palace doors. The dark doorway like a gaping maw, you plunge yourself into the darkness of the keep’s halls.

Your dark brown curls cling to your sweaty face as you rush through the halls of the Red Keep. Step after step the words the Aegon had said to you burn into your brain. He’s engaged to Baela. It happened while your away. Your chest felt like it might explode out of your body. Soon you were pushing open the doors to the training yard. The cool air hits your face and you are frozen for just a moment as Jace smile beams with a laugh.

At first the sight of him cools off any irritation you may have felt, but then you realize that smile is not for you. It is for the white-haired girl standing opposite of him. Baela. He take her hand in his and gently kisses it. It is far too intimate to be considered a regular greeting. The fires inside you are once again stoked. You cannot imagine why he would embarrass you like this, and so publicly too. He deserves to feel your pain.

“Jacaerys!” Your voice rings out over the clanging of blades.

Everyone pauses and looks to you and then to the man you called upon.

His face goes ghost white, “You weren’t supposed to be back yet.”

The words dribble out of his agape mouth. You can feel the red-hot anger boiling just under the surface of your skin.

“Seven Hells!” You shout, “Is that all you have to say to me.”

You unstick your feet and plow through the muddy yard. Your colorful dress soaks in the damp earth turning it into a swampy discolored mess. He drops Baela’s hand as you lunge towards him, tackling Jacaerys to the ground.

“I am sorry.” He whines, “It was an accident.”

“An accident! An accident!” You yell back, “Breaking a glass is an accident! You broke my heart, that takes effort.”

You raise your hand and ball it in to a fist, bringing it down hard on to Jace’s face. The motion sends you forward a bit, giving Jace enough time to shield his face from more blows.

“I didn’t mean for it to end up like this.” He begs, “You have to believe me!”

You grab on to his mud-caked curls and pull his head up before slamming it back down. The force of it shoving the crust of the training field into Jace’s mouth.

“Collecting ladies’ maidenhoods!” You screech, “You are nothing, but a bloody bast-”

You are cut short by massive pair of arms wrapping around you and tearing you away. You still clutch on to a few of Jace’s curls that come up with you. Leaving him yowling in pain.

“That’s enough.” The deep voice rumbles through you.

You recognize it immediately as your uncle, Harwin Strong.

“You wouldn’t want say anything more you would regret.” He chastises.

He carries you out of the training field and back in to the castle. When Harwin sets you down he looks you in the eye.

“You mustn’t fault the boy for doing he duty.” He says gently, “There is still love in his heart for you. I am sure of it.”

Your purse your lips. You can’t think of the words you are hearing. Everything is drowned out by a blinding rage. How could he do this to you. After everything he promised, after everything he said. Tears well up in your eyes.

“I am sorry uncle, I must leave.” The words come out in a half blubbering.

You stagger down the hallway. Before slumping down in to an alcove. You let loose a sob and the tears begin flowing down your face. You tuck your head into your crossed arms. Your sleeves become a sticky, gross, sopping mess.

“Gods why,” You cry, “What have I done to deserve such cruelty?”

You feel a hand rest on your shoulder. You look up and try to pry open your swollen eyes.

“Here let me help you.” A voice whispers.

You feel a soft piece of linen move over your face. Clearing away the snot and wetness of your emotional devastation. You blink your eyes till they clear and see an unexpected face. Aemond. He sits down in front of you.

“Is it true?” You sob.

Aemond sighs, “Yes, my brother tells true, for once in his life.”

“How did it happen?” You beg him to tell you.

“After a feast, they were found tangled together in the dragon pit.” Aemond’s voice trails off, “The arrangement came after.”

Your heart dropped. You did not want to believe it true. If it were because of duty, it would be one thing, but Jace having desire for someone else broke you. Water drips from your lashes and runs down your cheeks. When suddenly your thoughts were cut short. Aemond’s hand slips under your chin and tilts it back. He touch is light and cool against your fiery skin.

“Let me take your pain.” He whispers.

You look at his parted lips and close your eyes. Your body guides you closer to him. You feel his lips press in to yours. They were as soft as heather. He moves nearer to you his hair falling to the sides of his face. His scent washes over you. You raise your hand and cup his face with your palm. He pulls back. You whimper at the comfort slipping away from you. A soft blush spread across his face.

“Aemond, I had no idea you felt that way about me.” You say in shock.

He laughs lightly, “After everything I’ve done?”

“I thought it in jest.” Your reply honestly.

He brushes his hand through his hair, “And now?”

“I venture to say your intentions are more serious than I thought before?” Your words have the air of question to them.

Aemond rolls his eye. You have never considered there might be truth to the prince’s word before, but now you saw an opportunity. Revenge. A devious smile creeps up on your face.

“What is it?” Aemond tilts his head.

You lilt your voice, “Aemond, would you be so kind as to escort me to the next feast. I wish to dazzle Jace with the brilliance he has now lost.”

Aemond grins, “It would be my utmost pleasure, Lady Strong.”

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