#Daemon Targaryen x reader

[ashblooddragons]

This was SO GOOD! I loved how you had a mix of insecurity and love of her body. It made such sense and blended do well.

I honestly can only pray my smut gets as good as yours, cause that was amazing. The mirror wasn't what I expected when I read the warnings but I must say I loved it and it was a welcome surprise!.

Highly recommend this for my Daemon Girlys!

ENCOURAGEMENT.

Daemon Targaryen x little sister!Reader

It's 105 AC. Your brother, King Viserys, wants to throw a feast in honor to announce his wife's pregnancy. You want to attend—if it wasn’t for the rising doubts about your changing body. But it's good your husband knows a way to ease your worries.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest (brother & sister), mirror sex, vaginal fingering, praise kink, female and pregnant reader, lactation, lactation kink, nipple play

WORDS: 2.5 K

NOTES: Thank you for betaing this sweet thing, @happilyhertale! 🤍

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

Frustration brings you to the point you stand completely bare in front of the large mirror that’s been brought into your chambers by the servants, looking at your reflection. To the right hangs a black gown, and to the left a more reddish one. And neither of the two will fit over your swollen curves, you just know by looking at it.

You’ve scared off your ladies-in-waiting a few minutes ago, usually soft-spoken you experiencing an emotional outburst that just called for you to be left alone.

Nearing the six moon mark of your first pregnancy has left your body with scars and marks around your rounded belly and swollen breasts, some even teetering down the insides of your thighs. And yet, when you look at your husband strolling into your martial chambers with not more than a large cloth hanging around his hips, his scarred chest on full display, you can only admire him for wearing them with so much confidence.

But not even your own doubts can stop your eyes from stealing glances, his toned physique managing to put your mind at ease for once. Trailing your eyes over the expanse of his scarred chest down to the dark trail of hair that ends deep below the cloth that conceals most of it. However, it only poorly hides the way his half-hard member prods against the linen with each step he makes towards you.

He makes no secret out of the way his lilac eyes all but devour your body and its curves, although your belly is not yet as swollen as Aemma’s was when she was with Rhaenyra. The pregnancy has made you even more of a woman, and knowing he’s the one responsible for it makes him feel proud but also quite possessive.

“What is it?” he asks, his gravelly voice sending a chill down your spine.

Daemon eventually comes to a stop with his tall frame looming over yours from behind, fingers trailing over your side in an uncharacteristically tender and gentle manner. Every inch of your reflection is devoured by his greedy eyes. “We do not have to attend the feast, you know,” he says. “I wouldn’t dream of depriving myself of the pleasure of spending time with my wife.”

As he bows his head forward to press his lips to your shoulder, the soft strands of his silver hair tickle your skin, making you lean into his embrace and him reaching around you to splay a hand over your swollen belly.

“But I want to go. It’s the feast in honor of the queen announcing her pregnancy, and our brother will be cross with us if we do not attend,” you pout at him. “I just… I just don’t know which dress to choose.”

Daemon, however, knows full well that you’re being less than honest with him about your reluctance to go to the feast, becoming obvious when he starts to trace his fingers over the marks running across the underside of your bump. “That truly is a conundrum,” he says.

Sighing loudly, you try to escape his fingers by leaning further against him. But the friction your rear causes against the cloth is enough to loosen its tie, allowing it to fall to the ground.

The both of you are completely bare now, and he wastes no time in pressing his hard cock snugly into the crevice of your arse, making his desire for you more than clear.

“Let us forget the dresses for now. You know you’ll look ravishing no matter what you wear,” Daemon drawls, running a hand along your side. “Besides, why not allow me to appreciate every inch of you… no dresses involved.”

It sounds far too tempting… if you were in the mood. But with you struggling with your changing body for quite some time now, the thought of unraveling for him discourages you even more. “We do not have time,” you try to protest.

Much to your surprise, your usually insolent husband listens to your words.

“I think you’ll find that we have plenty of time, my love,” he mumbles, taking a step back with his hands raised in defeat. “The time we spend together would be much better than the time spent amongst a bunch of prudes at a feast.”

Not paying a mind to his words, you just nod appreciatively, and bring your attention back to the two gowns still hanging next to the mirror. Perhaps you can make the black one work with the laces tied extra loosely, and you only present at the feast for no longer than two hours.

Daemon stalks around you to stand next to the mirror, shamelessly dragging his eyes over your naked form and watching you inspect one of the dresses.

“Do you not have to dress yourself, husband?” you ask, pinching the fabric of the black dress between your fingers, trying not to pay too much attention to him. But his gaze is intense, burning straight through your skin, and making your body heat up.

You meet his eyes, cocking an eyebrow.

“There is a more important matter for me to tend to,” he objects.

“What are you–” you’re interrupted when your husband grabs the sides of the mirror and hoists it up, bringing it closer to your marital bed.

Turning on your heels, you watch him adjust it and eventually sit down on the bed with both feet planted firmly on the ground. The confusion must be evident on your features, because without a question uttered, Daemon pats his sturdy thigh and parts his legs, silently beckoning you over with a come-hither motion of his fingers.

The sight alone is alluring, his thick cock resting hard and heavy between his thighs, covered in an angry red and aching to be buried inside of you. But wanting to find out what he’s in mind is what brings you closer to him.

You move to climb his lap, wanting to sit astride him like you sit on Silverwing, but Daemon beats you to it. He scoots back slightly and brings his paws to your hips, turning you around. He pulls you back to sit down in the space between his parted legs.

When his hands hook beneath your knees to drape them over his thighs, inevitably exposing yourself to him, you instinctively lean back against him to adjust to the position.

You want to squeeze your thighs together, to hide from him, but his legs stop you from doing so. He brings a hand up to cup your full breast, squeezing lightly and testing the weight and shape of it. They’re full of milk by now, providing for your unborn child, and hard and heavy to the touch.

Pressing his lips to the curve of your shoulder, you tilt your head to the side, not daring to watch your fully exposed reflection in the mirror. You’ve been bare around him the whole time, and he’s fucked you in ways that would bring a blush to certain people’s faces, but something in the current position and your growing insecurities makes you more vulnerable right now.

Daemon adjusts his fingers so that your taut bud pops up between them, and just a bit of pressure is already enough to coax droplets of your milk to spill from it. Your breathing grows heavy, more so because it’s already enough friction to ease some of the tormenting tension.

“I want to see you full and lovely and large, swollen with my seed and carrying my child,” he mutters against your skin. His other hand comes up to cup your chin, pushing your head forwards to all but force you to look at yourself. “And I want you to watch as I worship that precious body of yours.”

The hand on your chin settles at your throat, not squeezing it but tight enough for it to be a warning for you not to move. The other hand releases your breast and trails down to the apex of your legs. It all happens agonizingly slowly, tracing and following every scar that runs along the curve of your bump, until it finally finds your cunt.

As his fingers drag through it, even your husband can’t seem to stop himself from moaning. “You’re weeping for me, my love,” he rasps, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “So beautiful.” Withdrawing his fingers, they’re glistening with your arousal, connected by faint strings of it as he spreads his fingers.

You whimper, and dip your head back far enough for him to capture your lips. The kiss is sloppy, matching the rhythm he sets up as his fingers trace your cunt.

Daemon hums in approval as you pull away from him to look into the mirror, watching the exact moment his deft fingers ease into you. You gasp at the motion, and put all your weight back against him, melting into his embrace with his muscular arms around you.

There’s a pout on your lips when the pressure of his fingers leaves you again, used to spread apart your folds instead. In the reflection you see his dark blown eyes fixed on nothing else than what lies between your legs, his hard cock throbbing against your lower back as you clench around nothing. “Look how beautiful you look all spread out and ready for me, my love.”

Trying to squeeze your thighs shut, his hand comes from your throat to clasp around one, keeping you spread open for him. “Oh, don’t you dare,” he warns, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

With the heel of his hand pressing snugly against your pearl now, you can’t help but whimper as his fingers enter you again. The pace is slow and languid, making clear that neither of you is in a hurry tonight. It’s all about you.

“Seven hells, just look at you,” he coos against the side of your face, tip of his nose nudging your cheek. He clearly enjoys the confidence you slowly start to muster as his praises go straight to your head, coaxing you to rock your hips against his hand. “You truly have no idea of how much I desire you. Always.”

His words bring another wave of crimson to your cheeks, running down your neck and chest. It’s heaving with all the heavy breaths you inhale, and your taut buds have not softened since he touched them. If everything, his words and gestures have coaxed a few beads of milk to ooze from both, running down the curve of your breasts.

Reaching behind you, your hand rests at the back of his head, entangling into his long, silver hair. “Daemon–” you whimper, but he’s quick to silence you.

“Shush now,” he rasps. “Just enjoy and observe.”

And you certainly do, watching his fingers pump in and out of you as if it’s the most enthralling thing you’ve ever seen.

When he’s sure you’ll keep your legs spread for him, he brings his hand to your full breast again, groping and squeezing it, pinching the little bud to tease even more milk to spill from it.

It’s so much coming together at once. His praise goes straight to your head, making it hazy and longing for more, while liquid fire courses through your veins, ignited by the skilled ministrations of his fingers.

Daemon seems to sense your impending peak, and is determined to work you toward the sweet relief you so desperately crave.

The pace of his fingers increases now, fingers repeatedly brushing the sweet spot inside of you that makes your vision blurry. Pleasure soars through your body, and eventually is enough to snap the familiar knot inside of your belly. And that’s also the moment you can’t watch yourself any longer. The pleasure grows to the point you have to close your eyes to be able to thoroughly enjoy it. But your husband doesn’t seem to mind.

“There you go,” he coos, not slowing down the pace of his hands. “Such a good girl.”

Your walls convulse all over Daemon’s fingers, and with you releasing the sweetest and most desperate sounds your husband has heard in a while, he’s sure he could’ve peaked on spot, more so with the vice-like grip you have on his long hair.

His hand works you through the waves of euphoria, just slightly slowing down, and while your mind doesn’t process some of the praises he mumbles against your skin, your body does; with a renewed wave of arousal dripping out of your cunt.

It’s surprising that the pleasure doesn’t get replaced by overstimulation, especially with just how little time he gives you to recover until he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you at a harsher pace again.

“Gods be good,” you whimper, tipping your head back against his shoulder. Your hand releases his hair and instead you grab his forearm with both, clinging onto it for dear life.

“One more for me, you’re doing so good.”

You have barely time to process the first peak and its repercussions when the second washes over you in an ambush, striking you like lightning. It’s not as intense as the first, but prolonged with his other hand now frantically rubbing your pearl.

“Shh, just let it happen,” he purrs, pressing sloppy kisses to your cheek as you struggle against him.

It takes just a few more pumps of his hand until the pleasure subsides, only leaving a wave of bliss in its wake. Daemon’s hands both stop their ministrations, and you finally feel as though you’re able to breathe again.

As you open your eyes, you see him lick the remnants of your arousal off his fingers, before they tease your buds again, gathering some of your milk to lick off of them as well.

Whimpering and whining at the touch, you just slowly catch your breath. He soothes you by snaking both arms around your form, cupping your swollen belly, and presses gentle kisses to the side of your face.

“You’re an absolute vision in this state, and I do not wish for you to ever doubt that,” he mutters against your skin. “You look more desirable carrying my child, than any other woman does in their most provocative dress.”

Releasing a soft chuckle, you turn your head and capture his lips with yours. A chaste peck is not what he has anticipated, but he’s still happy that he was able to lift your spirits.

“Kirimvose, ñuha jorrāelagon,” you whisper. “Care to help me with the black dress?” Thank you, my love.

“Oh, I will,” Daemon says with a teasing lilt in his voice. He grabs you by the waist and carefully hoists you up, but when he lies you down on your back, you know you won’t be getting into the dress so soon. “But I think I need just a little more time to get fully into the spirit of the occasion.”

The moment he climbs on the bed to kiss his way over your marks and curves, you squeal and squirm, entangling your hands into his hair again.

Viserys can never be angry with you two for long anyway.

[aeralux]

"Spellbound" - Daemon Targaryen

Daemon Targaryen x Witch!Reader

Summary: A witch doesn't cower to anyone... except maybe a dragon. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. Harrenhal seems to be riddled with darkness and mysteries, after all.

Warnings: SMUT (18+); rough sex; oral (f!receiving); fingering; foul language; talks of magick and its use; technically infidelity on Daemon's part; loss of virginity; mention of blood

Words: 8.3k

Notes: No description of the reader, except for dark hair. Takes place in Harrenhal when Daemon is staying there. I tried to be as accurate to Westeros lore as I could, I literally spent hours on their wiki, so I hope it shows through :)

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Harrenhal was a ghastly place. It had the biggest castle of all of Westeros. The castle had five dizzying towers, with equally monstrous curtain walls. The walls were incredibly thick, and its rooms were built on a scale that would be more comfortable for giants than humans���said to be haunted and eerie.

Perfect for sorceresses and sorcerers alike, the city had a coven of Witches who collectively went by the name "Wives of the Gods Eye." The name was an ode to Gods Eye, the largest lake of the Seven Kingdoms, located south of Harrenhal.

In the embrace of warm sunlight, the water of the Gods Eye shimmers in vibrant shades of blue and green, casting a magical glow. Yet, as winter blankets the land, its surface transforms into a steely grey, reminiscent of the coldest metal. Majestic black swans glide gracefully across the water. Just a short distance away, a winding lake road meanders near the storied Harrenhal, leading through a patchwork of rolling hills, sparkling streams, and golden sunlit fields. As one journeys further south, the landscape gives way to dense, shadowy forests, creating a clear contrast.

The lake, with its murky depths, bore a name of divine beings, yet here, amidst the towering pines and shivering mists, there existed no gods. Only monsters lurked in the shadows, and witches wove their secrets beneath the pale moonlight. As for you, you were a bastard of Pinkmaiden, an unwelcome child of a place that should have offered a home. At the young age of six, you were sent to Harrenhal, a castle steeped in blood and betrayal, to serve the lords and ladies of House Strong as one of the laundresses. The ancient stones watched over you with cold indifference, whispering the secrets of many who had come before.

Your raven-black hair flowed like a dark river down your back, framing your face and matching nicely with your unsettling eyes, which shimmered like a stormy sea. These features marked you as different, a reminder of your uncertain heritage. It was not long before the Lady of Harrenhal, with her porcelain skin and sharp gaze, grew wary of your presence. On the eve of your sixteenth birthday, she cast you out, her disdain cutting deeper than any blade.

Alone and bereft, you wandered the wilderness, uncertainty gnawing at your heart. But fortune smiled upon you when the coven of witches found you, their cloaks billowing like dark wings against the whispering wind. They took you in, offering a refuge far removed from the stone walls of Harrenhal. In their hidden glen, where wildflowers crowded beneath the trees, they made you feel cherished for the first time. 

Nowadays, for most, magic is a little-understood force in the world. It has been so long since magic was truly potent that most understanding now exists only in superstition and rituals of questionable validity. But with them, you understood, the doubts of others have no claim.

"You are special," they insisted, words dripping with ancient wisdom. "You possess something otherworldly." Their voices wrapped around you like a warm embrace. For the first time, you believed there was a purpose to your existence—a spark that set you apart from common folk, a thread woven from the fabric of something otherworldly.

Under their solemn guidance, you began to practice the mysterious arts. You learned to mix herbs and roots, crafting potions that glinted with promise and danger. Each incantation you whispered held power, resonating with the essence of the world around you. The witching nights became your solace, and as you delved deeper into their teachings, the women of the coven began to call you their newest daughter—their black swan. In that embrace, you found your wings, soaring above the harsh reality that had sought to bind you.

There, in the shadows of Harrenhal, you discovered your true calling and uncovered your hidden talent: Glamour magic. The few ladies of the coven from Asshai welcomed you into their fold. Asshai, a mysterious and ancient port city nestled in the far southeast of Essos, was unlike any place in Westeros, you gathered from their stories. There, the Ash River wound its way through the land, flowing into the vast expanse of the Jade Sea, where the waters sparkled under the sun like jewels.

As you sat among the flickering candles in their dimly lit chamber, they taught you ancient spells in their native tongue. Words danced on your lips like whispers in the wind, each incantation holding power and mystique. They guided you in prayer, teaching you how to bow your head before the Red God, channelling your intentions through sacred rituals. The air was thick with incense, and the flickering shadows brought to life the stories of ages past, filling your heart with a sense of wonder and purpose.

When the wise ladies of the coven, cloaked in shadows and steeped in ancient lore, deemed you ready to embrace your destiny, they presented you with a striking necklace carved from deep black obsidian. Its surface shimmered like a starless night sky, reflecting the flickering flames of the hearth where your journey began. Though the obsidian was traditionally used to forge weapons of war, the coven believed it resonated with your spirit, a perfect talisman for what lay ahead.  

As you clasped the necklace around your neck, it transformed into your glamor, an enchanting charm that bestowed upon you the power to weave illusions. With it, the magic could shift the perceptions of those around you, allowing you to appear as someone—or something—entirely different. While the shape of the necklace remained unchanged, the world could see whatever you wished it to see, bending reality to your will.  

The true strength of glamors lies in their connection to the wearer. Each illusion from the obsidian was ingrained with a piece of you, making them far more potent than mere tricks of light. As you wore the necklace, you felt it pulse gently against your skin, a current of magic entwining your fate with ancient spells. The coven’s trust in you burned bright like the embers of a dying fire.  

In the realm where shadows danced and whispers echoed, the obsidian necklace became more than just an accessory; it was an extension of your very being, a bridge between the world you knew and the numerous possibilities.

Through the fogs surrounding Harrenhal and its haunting towers, a figure emerged one day that would change the course of history. Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince, found himself in the ancient fortress where magic lingered in the air, where witches snarled their secrets beneath the pale moonlight, and where even the strongest of men lost their minds to visions that tormented them.

The arrival of the Targaryen prince foreshadowed the beginning of the violent conflict known as the Dance of the Dragons, igniting the flames of war. The first target being Harrenhal. Daemon Targaryen, fierce and determined, led the charge to seize this shadowy castle for his wife, Rhaenyra. In his mind, it would become a stronghold for loyal supporters rising in the Riverlands.

Chaos erupted in the region, the air thick with tension and fear hanging heavily over the lords and common folk. Yet amidst this turmoil, you stood resolute, encouraged by the words of an elder from your coven, whose foresight promised their safety in these troubled times.

With unwavering determination, you journeyed to the godswood of Harrenhal, walking along the clear, winding stream that wandered gently through the emerald shrubberies. The ancient weirwood, with its deformed roots and an angry face carved into its bark, awaited you at the heart of the woods. Its pale leaves trembled softly in the breeze, whispering secrets of generations past.

Above you, birds flitted through the branches, their songs mingling with the rustling leaves, while bats emerged as shadows against the dusky sky, patrolling for their evening meal. A sly cat sneaked near the godswood's stone wall, its eyes glinting like lanterns in the twilight. In this serene moment, you felt a peculiar kinship with the creatures of the wood, convinced that you were not alone.

With reverence, you placed your offering between the twisted roots of the ancient tree, murmuring a quick prayer. You believed in many deities, each an important part of your life, hoping that at least one would consider your call. After all, in these dark times, hope was a precious thing.

Before your journey back, you felt a tug in your heart to pay a quick visit to Alys. The kind healer lady was one of the rare souls who did not cast disdainful glances at you during your time in the castle. Known by others as the “witch queen,” Alys saw past the uncanny aura that surrounded you. She had grown fond of you, despite the brooding darkness that seemed to dance in your eyes, and she understood that your best path was far from these stone walls. You stood out too much among the lords and ladies, a vision amidst the living.

Like a creeping shadow, you slipped through the secret passage, the cool air brushing against your skin as you navigated the hidden corridors. The echoes of your footsteps were muffled by the cold, damp stones, as you moved with practised ease to avoid the lurking guards. You knew better than to provoke their watchful eyes.

Upon entering Alys's chamber, you were greeted by a familiar sight—her collection of potions and drying herbs adorned the shelves, a simple yet charming chaos that spoke of her craft. The room held a soft scent of lavender and something earthy, an aroma that always brought you comfort. You wandered over to the table, intrigued by the array of glass bottles filled with vivid liquids.

But the serenity shattered in an instant, as a cold steel blade pressed against your throat, sending a chill cascading down your spine. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, mingling with the tension in the air. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage as panic surged. Who could it be, a figure lurking in the shadows, ready to end your life? The world around you faded into silence, but your senses heightened, honed by years of uncertainty. At that moment, you wondered if your last moments would be in the castle that had been both shelter and prison.

You couldn't see the face of your attacker, but you could feel the presence looming over you, the weight of their body pressing you forward. The blade dug into your skin, drawing a thin line of blood that trickled down your neck. You swallowed hard, fighting back the fear that threatened to overwhelm you.

"Who are you?" a low and menacing voice demanded. And what are you doing here?"

The voice was unfamiliar to you, but there was a certain authority in it that sent a chill down your spine. You knew that whoever this person was, they meant business.

You tried to turn your head, to catch a glimpse of your attacker, but the blade pressed harder against your throat, making you wince in pain. "Please," you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. "I mean no harm."

The figure behind you let out a harsh laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "No harm? You sneak into the healer's chambers like a thief in the night, and you claim to mean no harm?"

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, mingling with the blood on your skin. "I'm not a thief," you said, your voice trembling. "I'm a friend of Alys. I came to see her, to...to say hello."

The blade pressed harder against your throat, making you gasp in pain. "Hello?" the voice repeated, a note of suspicion in it. "Somehow I doubt you, little witch."

You knew then that your attacker was well aware of your true nature, of the magic that coursed through your veins. You thought of the obsidian necklace around your neck, the glamor that disguised you as a simple servant girl. But you knew that even that powerful magic would be no match for the Valyrian steel pressed against your throat.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you struggled to steady your breathing. The cold steel pressed harder against your throat, sending a jolt of pain through your body. You tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry, and your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

"I swear, it's true," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with fear. "I didn't know anyone would be here. I thought...I thought Alys would be alone."

You could feel your attacker's warm breath on the back of your neck, their presence looming over you like a dark shadow. You wanted to turn and face them, to see the face of the one who held your life in their hands, but the blade kept you still.

"Please," you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. "Don't hurt me. I'm not here to cause any trouble. I just...I just wanted to see her"

Your hands shook at your sides, the obsidian necklace hidden beneath your simple servant's gown a cold weight against your skin. You knew that your glamor was useless now, that your true nature had been discovered. But you couldn't let them know about the coven, about the power that you possessed.

You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the pain that was sure to come. You had survived so much in your short life and had endured so much hardship and betrayal. But in that moment, faced with the cold steel of a stranger's blade, you felt more vulnerable than ever.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I didn't mean any harm."

You waited for the blade to slice through your skin, for the blood to pour from the wound. But it never came. Instead, you felt the pressure of the blade lessen, the cold steel sliding away from your throat.

Slowly, you turned your head, your eyes widening as you saw the face of the one who had held your life in their hands. It was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with hair the colour of spun silver and eyes as violet as an iris. He looked like he had stepped straight out of a legend, a true son of Valyria.

Daemon's violet eyes narrowed as he studied the young woman before him, his gaze sharp and piercing. He could see the fear in your eyes, the way your body trembled beneath his touch, but he also sensed something else—a flicker of something dark and dangerous lurking just beneath the surface. He knew a witch when he saw one, and you were no ordinary servant.

"A friend of Alys's, you say?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. "And yet you seem to know your way around this castle better than most. Tell me, little witch, what exactly are you doing here?"

He kept the blade pressed against your throat, not enough to draw blood, but enough to keep you still. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath the cold steel and could see the way your pulse fluttered. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"I've dealt with your kind before," he whispered, his voice a low rumble. "I know the tricks you play, the illusions you weave. But trust me, little one, you'll find no mercy here."

Daemon's eyes flicked down to the necklace hidden beneath your gown, a flicker of recognition sparking in their depths. He had seen such trinkets before. But this one was different—there was a power to it that even he could sense, a dark and ancient magic that thrummed through the air like a heartbeat.

"What's this?" he demanded, his fingers brushing against the hidden amulet. "Some kind of charm, is it? A trinket to hide your true face from the world?"

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "I can smell the magic on you, little witch. It clings to your skin like perfume. The same foul odour that clings to the healer."

Daemon's hand slid down from your throat to your collarbone, his fingers tracing the curve of your flesh beneath the thin fabric of your gown. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath his touch, could see the way your body trembled at his proximity.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady the trembling of your hands as you met Daemon's piercing violet gaze. With a steady motion, you reached behind your neck and unclasped the necklace, letting the heavy amulet drop into your palm. There was no point in trying to hide your identity any longer. Your true face coming to light.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin as you revealed the truth of your identity, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger. He could see the fear in your eyes, but also the aggressiveness, the spark of something wild and untamed that called to him like a siren's song.

"I am a witch, yes," you admitted in a hushed whisper, your heart pounding so hard you feared he could hear it. "But I speak the truth, your grace. I did not know anyone would be here."

You couldn't help but notice his rugged handsomeness as you spoke, the strong lines of his jaw and the way his muscles rippled beneath the thin linen of his tunic. You quickly averted your gaze, not wanting him to see the effect he was having on you.

"I'm from the coven called the Wives of the Gods Eye," you continued, voice barely above a whisper. "We practice the old ways, the magic that was once forbidden. I simply came here seeking some herbs."

You met his eyes once more, defiance mingling with the apprehension. "I meant you no harm, my lord. I swear it on my life."

"A witch of the old ways, are you?" he purred, his hand sliding up from your collarbone to cup your chin, tilting your face towards his. "How very interesting. And here I thought Alys was the only one in this godforsaken castle who dabbled in the dark arts."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "You say you seek herbs, little witch, but what say you to a bargain? Your secrets for my protection."

Daemon's hand slid down to your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat in a loose grip. He could feel your pulse fluttering beneath his touch, could see the way your body trembled at his proximity.

"I could use a witch of your talents in my service," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

You stepped back, your hand brushing against the dagger beneath your skirts. "I am not some whore," you hissed, your voice low and dangerous. "I do not offer my services to any man, least of all one who would threaten me with a blade."

You met his gaze, your own eyes blazing with defiance. "You would be wise to let me leave at once, your grace. I have no quarrel with you, but I will not be cowed by threats or promises of power."

Turning on your heel, you strode to the shelves, your movements quick and precise. You grabbed a bottle of dried hemlock, the bitter scent filling your nostrils. You turned back to face him, the vial clutched in your hand like a weapon.

"I a daughter of the Gods Eye. I bow to no man, not even a prince of the realm."

You lifted your chin, your dark hair falling in waves around your face. "Now, I will ask you once more. Let me pass, or face the consequences of crossing a witch."

Your hand tightened on the hemlock, the glass cold against your skin. You could feel the rage thrumming through your veins.

"Choose wisely, your grace."

He had dealt with witches before and had watched as they danced and writhed beneath his touch. In pain and pleasure.

But this one was different. This one had a fire in her eyes that couldn't be tamed, a defiance that only fuelled his dark desires.

"A daughter of the Gods Eye, are you?" he growled, his hand tightening around the hilt of his dagger. "How very bold of you, little witch. To stand before a prince of the realm and threaten him with your petty magic."

He took a step forward, his eyes locked on the vial of hemlock clutched in your hand. "You think that trinket will save you? That your gods will protect you from the wrath of a dragon?"

Your breath hitched as Daemon closed the distance between you, his presence overwhelming your senses. The threats rolling off his tongue made your head spin, a dizzying combination of fear and thrill coursing through your veins. You had never met a man who could match the fire in your blood, his very existence seems to challenge you at every turn.

Daemon's lips curled into a cruel smile, his voice dropping to a low, seductive purr. "I have seen the faces of men and women as they begged for mercy, only to be denied. And I have drunk the blood of my enemies, their cries of agony echoing in my ears like a symphony."

"I could hurt you," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "I could crack you like this vial in my hand, leaving you a broken shell of the proud sorceress you once were."

"What do you want?" You gritted out through clenched teeth, hating the way your body reacted to his proximity. Your legs felt weak, your knees threatening to buckle as he loomed over you, his eyes burning into yours.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin at the challenge in your voice, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger that made your blood run cold. He could see the way your body trembled beneath his gaze, could feel the heat of your skin even from a distance.

Stop it, you scolded yourself. He's just a man. Don't let him get under your skin.

But even as you tried to regain your composure, you could feel the power emanating from him like a physical force. It was intoxicating and dangerous, and you knew that if you weren't careful, you could easily lose yourself in the reckless temptation.

"What do I want?" he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Why, I want what all men want, little witch. Power. Control. To bend others to my will."

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His fingers lingered on your cheek, his touch searing your skin like a brand.

"But with you, I want something more," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to break you. To shatter that defiant spirit of yours and make you mine."

You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, could smell the musk of his scent, and for a moment, you were tempted to give in to the desire coursing through your veins.

But you were not some simpering maiden to be seduced by a pretty face and a silver tongue.

Daemon's hand slid down to your throat, his fingers wrapping around your neck in a loose grip.

"I could take you now," he growled, his lips brushing against your jawline. "I could pin you to the floor and claim you, make you scream my name until your voice is hoarse."

His other hand slid down your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip through the thin fabric of your gown. "But where's the fun in that? No, I'll take my time with you, little witch. I'll make you beg for my touch, for the sweet release only I can give you."

Daemon's eyes locked with yours, his gaze intense and unwavering. "So what will it be, my sweet? Will you submit to me willingly, or will I have to break you first?"

"You think you can break me?" You said, my voice steady and clear. "That you can tame my soul with your pretty words and your empty promises?"

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "I have faced far worse than you, Daemon Targaryen. I have stared into the abyss and emerged unscathed. Your threats mean nothing to me."

Your hand slid up his chest, your fingers curling around the chain of the dragon necklace that hung from his neck. You could feel the heat of the metal against your skin, looking at him with a scowl on your face.

"But if you truly want to test yourself against me, my lord," you teased, your voice low and enchanting. "If you think you have what it takes to claim me as your own... by all means, try."

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light at your challenge, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He could feel the heat of your body against his, could smell the scent of your skin, sweet and intoxicating.

"You play a dangerous game, little witch," he purred, his hand tightening around your throat. "To challenge a dragon is to invite its wrath."

His other hand slid down your back, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. He could feel the heat of your body, could sense the power that coursed through your veins.

"But I like a woman with spirit," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "It makes the eventual submission all the sweeter."

Daemon's hand slid up your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast through the thin fabric of your gown. He could feel your nipple harden beneath his touch, could see the way your body responded to his ministrations.

"I will have you, little witch," he growled, his voice low and seductive. "I will claim you as my own, body and soul. And when I am done with you, you will beg for more."

You roll your eyes at Daemon's sweet words, his attempts at seduction falling flat. He thinks he can have you with just a few pretty lies? How naive.

"You tempt me, my prince," you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I'm no easy conquest. Besides, Alys will be back soon. I bet she won't be happy to see an old man taking advantage of her friend." You smirk cruelly, enjoying the way his eyes narrow at your words.

You try to pull away from him, but his grip on your throat tightens, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I could seriously hurt you, you know," you snarl, your eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Don't underestimate me."

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. In one swift motion, he slammed you against the wall, his body pinning you in place.

"Enough of your games, little witch," he snarled, his hand tightening around your throat. "You think you can toy with me, challenge me, and walk away unscathed?"

His free hand slid down your body, his fingers tearing at the fabric of your gown with a sharp, ripping sound. Buttons scattered across the floor as he bared your skin to his hungry gaze.

Shock and fury flash through you as Daemon rips open your dress, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze. You stare at him, completely still as a statue from utter disbelief, your breath coming in heavy gasps that make your breasts heave with each inhale.

"I will have you," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "I will claim you as my own, body and soul."

Daemon's hand slid down your body, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast, teasing your nipple into a hardened peak. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way your body trembled beneath his touch.

"I can feel your desire, little witch," he purred, his lips brushing against your ear. "Your body betrays you, even as you try to resist. I will make you mine, in every way possible."

"W-wait," you try to say, but your voice comes out breathy and weak as his fingers roll your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. Your eyes roll back and a soft moan escapes your parted lips.

What is happening? How did this get so out of control? You think to yourself, your mind spinning from the onslaught of sensation. You can't believe this is happening, that you are letting a man you barely know take such liberties with your body.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin as he saw the effect his touch was having on you, your body arching into his hand like a cat in heat. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way your body trembled beneath his ministrations.

His hand slid down to your thigh, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your ripped gown to caress the soft skin of your leg. He could feel the heat of your body.

"But first, I think I'll taste you," he growled, his hand sliding higher, higher until his fingers brushed against the slick, heated flesh of your core.

Even as you try to formulate a protest, your body betrays you, arching into his touch, craving more of the delicious pleasure he's igniting within you. No, I can't let this happen. I have to stop him.

But the words never leave your lips, lost in a moan as Daemon's hand slides lower, teasing you in places you have only touched in secret, in the dark of night. You are lost in a haze of sensation, your body responding to his touch despite your mind's protests.

"That's it, little witch," he purred, his fingers pinching and tugging at your nipple. "Give in to the pleasure. Let yourself feel the ecstasy only I can give you."

He could feel the wetness of your arousal, could smell the musky scent of your desire.

"You're already so wet for me," he growled, his fingers brushing against your slick folds. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind tries to deny it."

Daemon's fingers slid higher, teasing your entrance with a feather-light touch. Your walls clenched around his fingers, begging for more.

You couldn't think straight, your mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. It was wrong to crave a man you had just met, especially one who had threatened your life moments ago. But the way his fingers teased your most intimate places sent waves of pleasure through your body.

You had heard the other women of your coven speak of lovemaking, their descriptions painting it as a powerful form of magic. Perhaps you could harness this power, and use it to your advantage as Daemon desired to use you for his own pleasure.

Your hips rolled against his hand, seeking more friction. You bit your lip to stifle the moans that threatened to spill from your lips, determined to maintain some facade of control. But deep down, you knew you were in danger of losing yourself to the sensations he was eliciting.

Daemon's eyes glinted with triumph as he felt your hips roll against his hand, your body betraying your true desires. He could see the conflict in your eyes, the way you bit your lip to stifle your moans, and it only served to fuel his own dark lust.

"You can't hide from me, little witch," he growled, his fingers teasing your slick folds. "I can feel how much you want this, how much you crave my touch."

He pressed two fingers inside you, his thumb circling your clit with a maddening rhythm.

You let out a loud, uncontrollable moan as Daemon's fingers delved deep into your untouched walls, his touch igniting a fire within you. Your juices flowed freely, coating his hand as ecstasy consumed your entire being.

Your body writhed against the cold stone wall, your hips bucking shamelessly against his skilled fingers as he finger-fucked you with reckless abandon. Waves of pleasure crashed over you with each thrust, your breasts heaving as he groped and kneaded them roughly.

"Your body is mine now," Daemon snarled, plunging his fingers deeper into your slick heat. He curled them just right, stroking that sensitive spot within you that made your vision go white. "You'll scream my name until your throat is raw. You'll beg for my cock like a bitch in heat."

His other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place as he finger-fucked you with ruthless intensity. Your cries of pleasure echoed off the stone walls, mingling with the lewd squelching sounds of his fingers pounding into your drenched cunt.

"That's it, take it," Daemon growled, his lips latching onto a pert nipple. He sucked hard, grazing the bud with his teeth as his fingers ruthlessly stroked your g-spot. "Come for me, little witch. Let me feel you spasm on my fingers."

He could feel your walls fluttering around his digits, your body teetering on the brink of climax. With a final, brutal thrust, he sent you careening over the edge. Your scream of ecstasy filled the room as your pussy clenched down on his fingers, your release dripping down his fingers.

Daemon lapped at your neck, tasting the salt of your sweat. He continued pumping his fingers through your climax, prolonging your pleasure until you were boneless and mewling.

"Good girl," he purred, finally withdrawing his soaked fingers. He brought them to your lips, smearing your essence across them. "Clean them."

Your eyes fluttered open, glazed with post-orgasmic bliss. You hesitated only a moment before parting your lips, allowing him to push his fingers into your mouth. The musky taste of your arousal coated your tongue, and you couldn't help but moan around his digits.

He grins wickedly as you lap at his fingers provocatively, cleaning your essence from them. As his fingers are clean, he lowers himself to the floor, kneeling before you, as to worship you.

You gasp as Daemon sinks to his knees before you, his dark eyes fuming with raw desire. Your heart races, your pulse pounding in your ears as he settles between your trembling thighs. The heat of his breath on your most sensitive flesh sends electric shocks of pleasure straight to your core.

Dazed and off-balance, you instinctively reach out, fisting your hands in his hair for support. Your legs still feel like jelly from your earth-shattering climax moments before.

A bewildered expression crosses your face as he grins up at you, his tongue snaking out to drag along your dripping slit. You cry out, your head slamming back against the cold stone wall as ecstasy crashes over you in relentless waves.

"Mmmm, you taste divine," Daemon purrs, his hot breath fanning over your slick folds. He laps at your essence like a man starved, his tongue delving deep to drink from your most intimate well.

You can only moan brokenly, your head thrashing from side to side as he feasts upon your quivering flesh. His tongue is pure sin, licking and suckling at your clit with unholy skill.

"Good girl," he growls, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. "Ride my face. Grind that pretty cunt against my tongue."

Lost to the all-consuming pleasure, you do as he commands, rolling your hips shamelessly against his mouth. Your thighs clench around his head, trapping him in place as you fuck his face with feral ease.

His lips close around your clit, suckling the sensitive bud as he thrusts two fingers into your dripping channel. They curl just right, stroking that secret spot within you that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Daemon groans, pumping his fingers in and out of your fluttering walls.

You can only whimper in response, your body tensing as another climax builds at the base of your spine. It coils tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

Daemon's tongue delved deep, lapping at your dripping essence with a hunger that bordered on feral. He groaned against your slick flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure racing through your body.

He focused his attention on your clit, the tip of his tongue flicking the sensitive bud with rapid, teasing strokes. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he devoured you like a man starved.

Your fingers tightened in his hair. The public nature of your coupling only served to heighten the forbidden thrill, the rush of being taken in a place where anyone could stumble upon you.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. He could feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his probing tongue as he brought you to the brink of climax once more.

With one final, hard suck, he sent you spiralling over the edge. Your scream of ecstasy echoed off the stone walls as your pussy clenched around his tongue, your release gushing into his eager mouth.

Daemon lapped at your spasming cunt, prolonging your pleasure as he drank down every last drop of your sweet nectar. He continued his ministrations until your body went limp, your cries turning to whimpers as the waves of pleasure subsided.

Finally, he pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. He stood, a wicked grin on his face as he towered over your prone form.

"You taste divine, little witch," he purred, his hand sliding up your body to cup your breast. He pinched your nipple, rolling the hardened peak between his fingers. "I could feast on your cunt for hours and never grow tired."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "But I'm not nearly done with you yet..."

Lifting you up with ease, Daemon tosses you onto the creaky bed, your body bouncing on the worn mattress. You cry out in surprise, your heart pounding as you take in his towering form looming over you. His eyes burn with a hunger that gives you chills.

"Daemon, please," you plead, your voice trembling. Your core aches, still throbbing from the intense climaxes he's wrought from your untouched body. You are no experienced harlot, but an untouched maiden, and you fear you are not ready for the sheer size of him.

Daemon's large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs wide as he settles between your thighs.

Daemon's eyes raked over your trembling form, taking in the sight of you spread out before him like a feast. His cock throbbed with need, straining against the confines of his breeches as he drank in the sight of your swollen, glistening folds.

His hands moved with urgent purpose, his fingers making quick work of the laces of his breeches. He shoved the garment down his legs, kicking it aside with a careless motion. His cock sprang free, the thick shaft jutting out proudly from a nest of dark curls.

He rubbed his cock against your slick entrance, teasing you with the promise of his hard length. You could feel it throbbing against your sensitive flesh, hot and hard and ready to claim you utterly.

"Please," you whimpered, your body trembling with need. "I... I've never... I don't know if I can take you."

A cruel smile twisted Daemon's lips as he heard your plea.

"Please be gentle," you whisper, looking up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes.

Daemon's expression softens for a moment, a flicker of something akin to tenderness crossing his features. His hand reaches up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip.

"Shh, little witch," he murmurs, his voice surprisingly mild. "I'll make it good for you. I promise."

With that, he leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delves into your mouth, claiming you, staking his claim over you.

As he kisses you deeply, you feel the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. Slowly, incredibly slowly, he begins to push forward, stretching you open around his thick girth.

A sharp gasp escapes you, breaking the kiss as he breaches your barrier. Pain and pleasure mingle together, your untouched walls struggling to accommodate his size.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groans, his hips grinding against yours. He gives you a moment to adjust, his hands roaming your body possessively. "Such a perfect little cunt, made just for me."

He starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. The rhythm is brutal, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

You cried out, your back arching off the bed as pain and pleasure crashed over you in equal measure. He stretched you wide, his thick length filling you in a way you never thought possible. Your walls stretched and clenched around him, your slick arousal easing the way as he claimed you over and over again.

"Fuck!" Daemon snarls, his eyes rolling back at the tight, wet heat of your virgin walls. 

Daemon sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with animalistic hunger. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he ruts into your willing body.

"Take it," he growls, his voice strained with pleasure, his hips snapping against yours with ruthless force.

The bed creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with your moans and his grunts as he took you, his cock sawing in and out of your dripping cunt. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your nails raking down his back, leaving red marks and bloody imprints.

Daemon's brutal thrusts tore through you, each one sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure coursing through your body. You screamed, your voice hoarse and ragged as he pounded into your virgin cunt. Tears streamed down your face, your nails raking down his back as you clung to him desperately.

He had taken something sacred from you, your maidenhead, and you knew your souls were now tied. The ritual of first blood, unplanned as it was, had sealed your fates together. And with a dragon as your first, the power you could now wield...

You threw your head back, your moans echoing off the stone walls as he fucked you with complete disregard. Your hips bucked to meet his thrusts, the pain giving way to a pleasure you had never known before. You were lost to the sensation, your body consumed by the feel of him inside you.

Daemon's eyes darkened at the sight of your tears, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He could feel your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock like a vice as he claimed you over and over again.

He angled his hips, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with each brutal thrust. His hands roamed your body, groping and squeezing, leaving bruises in their wake.

"That's it," he growled, his voice rough with pleasure. "Take my cock like the little slut you are. Fucking mine now, aren't you? Your cunt belongs to me."

You met his thrusts with your own, your hips rising to meet him as he drove into you over and over again. The bed groaned beneath you, the frame creaking threateningly as he took you with unrestrained lust.

You felt your peak nearing, your entire body on fire as Daemon pounded into you with unrestrained fury. You brought his neck to your teeth, biting down hard enough to draw a few drops of blood. The copper taste flooded your mouth, bitter and metallic as you licked the crimson liquid from your lips.

"Now you have bled for me too," you whispered ominously, your voice thick with lust and dark magic.

But before you could reach your peak, you quickly reached for your enchanted necklace, clutching it in your hand. The ancient magics within pulsed to life, amplifying the power of this ritual tenfold.

Power surged through you, your cunt squeezing tight around Daemon's cock as you came. Your eyes rolled back, your body convulsing as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Dark energy swirled around you, the air crackling with stifled energy.

"Mine," you whispered, your voice echoing with unexpected dominance. "You are mine now, Daemon Targaryen. Entwined by blood and pleasure."

Daemon's eyes flew open in surprise, his mouth falling open as he felt the surge of dark witchcraft. But it was too late - the ritual was complete.

Daemon froze, his cock buried deep inside your still-spasming cunt. He stared down at you, his eyes wide with shock and a hint of fear.

He groaned, his hips stuttering as your cunt clenched around him like a vice. The dark magic amplified every sensation, every touch, every thrust. It was overwhelming and intoxicating, and he never wanted it to end.

"Fuck," he gasped, his voice strained with anger and pleasure. "What did you do?"

But even as he asked, he knew. You had bound him to you, claimed him in a way that went beyond the physical.

He thrust into you one last time, his cock erupting deep inside you as he came.

He tried to pull out, to break the connection, but your walls clenched around him, refusing to let him go. Panic flashed across his face as he realized the implications of what you'd done.

"You... you she-devil," he snarled, his hands tightening on your hips. "Did you plan this? To trick me, to bind me to you?"

You just grinned, a vicious, seductive curve of your lips. You could feel his fear, his anger, but beneath it all was a flicker of arousal. The power you now held over him was intoxicating.

"Shh," you cooed, your fingers trailing down his chest. "Don't fight it. We are one now."

You roll your hips, your walls clenching around his softening cock. He groans, his hips bucking unconsciously into yours.

You gasped as the obsidian stone of your necklace pulsed warmly against your throat. The maleficent force surged through your veins, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy. "Yes!" You cried out, the power exhilarating in your veins.

Your eyes, nearly black now, held his gaze as you sneered cruelly.

Daemon collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His softening cock slipped from your abused cunt, a trickle of his seed leaking out to pool on the tattered sheets beneath you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your bodies still intertwined as you both tried to process what had just happened. The energy that had swirled around you during your climax still lingered in the air, making the hairs on Daemon's arms stand on end.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his dark eyes searching your face. He looked confused as he took in your triumphant grin and the blackness of your eyes.

"What... what did you do to me?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You smiled at him, your eyes gleaming with malice. "I didn't do anything to you. I had no desire to harm you, as I stated before," you answered truthfully. "Did you know that the moment when one reaches orgasm is the most intense and the most powerful experience a human can have in life? For in that moment, the soul suddenly opens to the divine realm and the breath of God is infused. I needed another to reach divinity."

You rose from the bed, slipping your ripped dress back on and throwing a cloak over yourself. "I simply used you... as you have done to many women in your life, I'm sure. Do not fret, my prince," you smirked.

Daemon stared up at you, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and a hint of grudging admiration. He pushed himself up to sit, his naked body on full display as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

"Used me?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "I've never been used like this before."

He stood, his cock already starting to harden again at the sight of you, despite his anger. He took a step towards you, his hand reaching out as if to grab you, but he stopped himself.

"What are you?" he demanded, his eyes raking over your form. "What kind of witch are you?"

He snatched up his discarded breeches, roughly pulling them on, his mind reeling from the events of the past hour.

"I should kill you for this," he growled, but there was no real heat behind his words. He knew he couldn't, not now. Not with the bond between you, however unexpected it may be.

"What do you want from me now?" He asked, rage clearly visible in his eyes.

You sauntered over to Daemon, your hips swaying seductively. The rip in your dress left little to the imagination, your full breasts on display for his hungry gaze. You could see the desire warring with the anger in his eyes as you approached.

"Nothing anymore, my prince," you purred, your voice like honey. "My powers have been amplified. I owe you a debt of gratitude for that."

You traced a finger along his jawline, feeling the prickle of his stubble. "Though I wouldn't mind having you take me again. I doubt I'll find another man as virile as you in all of Westeros."

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "You've awakened something in me, Daemon Targaryen. A hunger I never knew I could satisfy."

Your hand slid down his chest, your nails raking lightly over his skin. "I am yours. And I suspect you are mine as well."

You pulled back, your eyes locking with his. "What say you, my dragon?"

Daemon's breath hitched as you touched him, his body responding instantly to your proximity despite his anger. He grabbed your wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise as he glared down at you.

He pulled you closer, his other hand gripping your hip. "You want to be taken again?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll fucking ruin you."

[spicy30]

Modernness of 1400s 007

Pairing: HOTD x Fem!Modern!Reader

Extra: The reader is noted to be bilingual (Spanish speaking) and is familiar with the majority of Latin-based languages, No use of Y/N

Rating: 18+

CW: Child trafficking

Not proofread

Tags: @fan-goddess @meowmeowmothermeower @bunxia @your-favorite-god @coolalienstatesmansports @georgiatesulitsyeykite @qwerrtsworld @wegottastayfocus @dakota-rain666 @talilosha @the-deep-dark-abyss @101crows @agustdeeyaa @ggglich-exe @illjhhlisa @deepeststarlightmoon @cluelessteam @a-fruity-snack @i-zenin @justablondeeee @feyresqueen @yduimobsessed @pinkluv29

Side note: I think my writing style from my latest work accidentally leaked in, but oh well.

WC: 14.3k

As you and Helaena flew back to King’s Landing with the goods secured, your gaze drifted downward. The world below stretched out in an endless patchwork of greens and browns, but it wasn’t until you spotted that same spring again—hidden like a secret among the hills—that inspiration struck like a lightning bolt.

“The Romans,” you murmured, tightening your grip on Helaena’s waist. The idea was perfect. You’d introduce the Roman water system to Westeros and claim it as your own invention. Clean water would not only make you beloved among the commons but also mark a monumental step toward the progress you envisioned. A woman who brought both clean water and a functioning sewer system to all of Westeros? Invaluable.

The only issue? You didn’t know the exact formulas.

You began to mentally map it out, your thoughts racing as you soared over the land. A close water source would be ideal. The river running through King’s Landing was an option, but not a good one. Its waters emptied into the sea, and rivers like it were rarely suitable for clean drinking water—especially in a place like King’s Landing, where waste and pollution had long since claimed the current.

A spring, however, was pure. Untouched. Exactly what you needed. And now, you’d found one.

The next challenge was funding.

Your jaw tightened at the thought. Right now, you were broke—your entire fortune consisted of a single gold dragon. One. A pitiful sum that wouldn’t buy the loyalty of a stray cat, much less the resources for an ambitious engineering project.

This was of course thanks to your ‘business’ on the Street of Silk. 

But ambition wasn’t something you lacked, and you were nothing if not resourceful. 

The woman at the door stood firm, her thin robe clinging to her frame, revealing more than modesty allowed. Her voice dripped with disdain as she let a man pass.

“We do not serve women,” she said flatly, the faint smell of stale sweat and sex heavy in the air.

You squared your shoulders, ignoring the assault on your senses. “I’m here to speak with the madam.”

“It does not matter who you ask. We do not serve women.” Her tone remained cold, practiced.

Your eyes flicked over her, noting the hard set of her jaw, the hollowness in her gaze. She wasn’t much older than you. That thought disturbed you, but you pushed it aside. “I’m not here for service,” you said firmly. “I have a proposal for your madam.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment’s hesitation, she rolled her eyes and stepped aside.

Inside, the stench of sweat and perfume hit you like a slap. The air was humid, cloying, heavy with the sounds of grunts and moans from every corner. You blinked, taking it in—the writhing bodies, the shadowed alcoves where no act was too obscene, no boundary respected.

But it wasn’t the orgies that churned your stomach. It was the private rooms.

Your steps faltered as you caught glimpses through half-open doors: a boy’s small frame crushed beneath a man’s weight, the blank stare of a child too broken to cry. Your throat tightened, bile rising as you forced yourself to keep walking.

Savages.

The word seared through your mind like a brand.

Savages, all of them.

You lifted your chin, forcing your face into a mask of composure as you entered the madam’s chamber. The older woman sat behind a low table, her painted lips curling into a calculating smile as you approached.

“You have the product you promised? Or are you here to reconsider my offer?” Her voice was smooth, almost mocking.

“I have the product.” You placed the jar on the table with a steady hand. “But the conditions have changed.”

The madam’s brow arched. “Conditions?” She reached for the jar, turning it in her hands. “My price remains the same.”

“You don’t even know how to use it,” you countered, your voice cool. “I can teach some of your workers how to apply it properly, but you’ll abide by my terms.”

The madam leaned back, signaling for one of her girls—a nervous-looking young woman who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. “She’ll learn, and she’ll teach the others.”

You shook your head, your resolve hardening. “No. You will stop selling children. Anyone under fifteen comes to me. I will teach them.” You leaned forward, locking eyes with her. “If you refuse, our business is done.”

The madam’s smile faltered, just for a moment. “I’d lose considerable profit,” she said, her voice low, almost amused. “Women can still shave.”

Your nose twitched in disgust. “You’ll find other uses for this product. And if you don’t, the next whorehouse will. What happens when this becomes a trade, and you have to buy it back at a premium?” You sat back, folding your arms. “Stop selling the children.”

The room was silent save for the muffled noises from beyond the walls. Finally, the madam exhaled through her nose. “One gold dragon, then. Instead of two.”

Gold was gold. And if it saved even a handful of children, it was enough. “Done.”

She handed you the coin, and you pocketed it without looking. “Gather all your workers under fifteen. I don’t care if they’re in service—bring them to me now.”

The madam hesitated but eventually obeyed. A handful of children were brought into the room, their eyes hollow and frightened. But not all.

You scanned the faces, your stomach twisting. He wasn’t there.

Without a word, you stormed out, ignoring the madam’s shouts. Room by room, you searched until you found him.

The boy.

A man loomed over him, his hand gripping the boy’s hair as he forced him down. Rage boiled in your chest as you shoved the man off, pulling the boy to your side.

“Sinner,” you spat, your voice trembling with fury.

Behind you, the madam appeared, stammering apologies, but you didn’t care. You turned, the boy clutching your arm, and stormed out of the house, your jar tucked beneath your other arm.

It wasn’t enough. It never would be. But it was a start.

The turn of events was brutal—messy and unsightly—but it carved an opportunity. Now, you had eyes scattered throughout the city, keen and unblinking. If wielded correctly, they’d be more than informants; they’d become your personal choir, singing your truths to the masses. A better life than the squalor they came from, surely. It had to be. You wouldn’t allow yourself to doubt it.

As the dragon-carved gates of King’s Landing loomed farther, your thoughts spiraled to the tasks at hand. Your newly assembled web of spies awaited their first test. The Miswak shipment needed delivering, and the children would have hopefully grounded enough charcoal by now. Was that child labor? Perhaps. But you’d gifted them the tools to climb higher—the basics of English, etched into the same rudimentary book you had created for Dyana.

Reading. Writing. Seeds planted for the future, and one day, they would bloom.

…

“Any new developments?” Alicent’s voice pierced the quiet like a needle slipping through silk. Her watchful eyes held you in place, and you swallowed back the biting words that nearly leapt from your tongue. It had been a month, and you couldn’t hold off Alicent—or Otto—much longer. They were shadows at your back, waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Nearly finished,” you lied smoothly, then allowed hesitation to creep in, as though you were carefully choosing your words. “However, there is… something else I’d like to discuss.”

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. This had to work. Ever since your reckless encounter with her son, Alicent had grown colder, more measured. You prayed to whatever gods might listen that Aemond was clever enough to keep his mouth shut. Still, the whispers of the maids lingered in the halls, their eyes darting toward you whenever you passed. Your carefully applied makeup covered the marks, but not the rumors. Not entirely.

Alicent raised a single brow, her sharp gaze unnervingly still. Your own eyes flicked to her necklace—a symbol of faith, of purpose. Religion had always been a distant, abstract thing for you. You’d been born into one but never truly embraced it. Still, what was one more belief to add to the list of masks you wore?

“As you know, I am not of this land,” you began, weaving threads of sincerity into your tone. “Yet, I find myself yearning for something greater. A connection… to the gods.” You paused, watching Alicent’s expression shift—a subtle softening. You pressed forward. “I do not know much about the Seven, but I want to learn.”

A flicker of approval lit her face. Strike.

“Do you think I could accompany you the next time you visit the…Sept, is it?”

Alicent’s brow smoothed, her lips curving into a faint, almost maternal smile. “You wish to turn to the Seven?”

“Yes,” you answered with measured conviction. “I want to cultivate a relationship with the gods. I know the Citadel… may not look favorably upon me. But I hold no malice for them.” A small lie. “I seek guidance. I fear I may become lost.”

A threadbare trope, perhaps, but one that never failed to tug at the hearts of saviors. Alicent’s posture shifted; her gaze softened.

“Sweet girl,” she said, smoothing a hand over your hair. “I am glad you have turned to the Seven. I go to the Sept once a week. On the morrow, you shall join me. I will guide you.”

Perfect. You smiled demurely, lowering your head in feigned gratitude. If you couldn’t infiltrate the seediest corners of the city to keep them under your thumb, you’d dismantle them entirely. The parallels between this world and your own were sharp as blades. The Sept—like the medieval Church of your history—wielded untold power, with its followers hanging on every whispered word.

If the Citadel wouldn’t accept you, the Seven would. You would start here, under the Queen’s banner. Her blessing would open doors, and soon, the citadel and the Septons would know your name—not as an outsider, but as a force of change, anointed by faith.

And when the time came, you’d see to it that your web of influence didn’t just spread—it consumed.

With the matter settled, you bowed gracefully and took your leave from the Queen’s chambers. As the heavy doors closed behind you, Otto strode in with his usual air of self-importance. You offered him a polite smile, masking the unease his presence always stirred, and quickly made yourself scarce.

It had been two days since your return to King’s Landing, and time already felt like a double-edged sword. Waiting for your plant to dry had been maddening, leaving you stuck in limbo. Meanwhile, King Viserys, to your surprise, had resumed his seat in the council room, much to Otto’s visible displeasure.

You’d been avoiding the Targaryens as much as possible. Rhaenyra had taken Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Rhaena back to Dragonstone during your absence—a disappointing turn. You had hoped to visit Dragonstone again, at least once more. And as for Jacaerys? So much for his promises. 

Well, it couldn’t be helped. It was time to make new alliances.

Friends in high places, you thought. Yet the options were limited.

Helaena? Too peculiar, her words often tangled in riddles you had no patience for. Aegon? Transparent in his intentions and utterly repugnant. Daemon? He hated you, and the feeling was mutual. Rhaenyra? Impossible, not with her husband hawk-like vigilance. Viserys? A King’s favor could be a double-edged sword, and you had no desire to invite further burdens.

Alicent and Otto? Neither seemed genuinely invested in you. Alicent only saw someone she could shape into her ideal, and Otto viewed you as a piece on the board—disposable when no longer useful.

That left…Aemond.

The very thought made you shudder. Aemond Targaryen, the one-eyed prince. A bitter regret clung to the memory of that night, a reckless mistake you’d been running from ever since. It was half the reason you had leapt at the chance to join Helaena in the Riverlands. Facing Aemond again was a prospect you were still too cowardly to confront, though you suspected it would be unavoidable. If handled carefully, though, he might not be the worst option.

Later. That could wait.

Right now, your mind was preoccupied with the daunting task ahead: the water system. You needed to figure out the formula, but where to begin? All you knew was it needed a steady decline for gravity to carry the flow. Underground would be ideal, but if forced above ground, arches would save on materials. The bricks needed to be durable, made with marble cement. And getting it into the city? That would require tearing apart King’s Landing itself.

Reconstructing an entire city—it could take years.

Years.

The word hit you like a falling stone. Years you would spend here, in this medieval nightmare. You froze mid-step, the weight of realization crashing over you. This was the first time you truly thought about it and let it set in. You would never see your family or friends again. Never watch another movie or binge your favorite show. No degree. No cars, planes, or air conditioning. The life you once knew—the future—was gone, slipping further away with each passing day.

Could you even build a life here? Marry? Have children? The thought was sobering. You could survive, but what would survival cost? Medicine here was archaic at best. Pain relief during childbirth would be nonexistent. Vaccines, nonexistent. Plagues, inevitable. You had always fought to survive back home, but this… this was a different beast altogether.

A pang of homesickness rippled through you. How you longed for a lazy afternoon in bed, reading with music playing softly in the background. Scrolling through social media, catching up on sports, watching the Olympics or the news—or even just indulging in Animal Planet for a moment of calm.

You sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of your nose as you stopped outside a pair of large doors. The library. Maybe you’d find something useful here—anything to distract you from these spiraling thoughts.

Focus, you reminded yourself. Stay focused. Keep your head above water. Make yourself invaluable. You could mourn the loss of modern life later. For now, you had work to do.

The library was a sprawling maze, the shelves seemingly organized by no discernible system. Scanning the spines, you felt the weight of frustration settling in. No math books. Certainly no physics. You scoffed, shaking your head.

“Why would they have math formulas written down?” you muttered. “Wishful thinking.”

As you prepared to give up, a title caught your eye: “Book of Coin - Crispian Celtigar (First Master of Coin) Aegon I ‘The Conqueror’ Targaryen. 1-37AC.”

Your lips twitched into a smile. Of course. The economy here was primitive at best—a loose network of trade and agrarian reliance. Taxes funneled from the smallfolk to lords, and from lords to the crown. Laughably inefficient.

An open market, ripe for the taking.

If you could establish a proper economy, it would mean wealth beyond imagination—and perhaps a system that bore your name. A fully realized, capitalistic economy. It would take years for anyone else to grasp the concept fully. But you’d need to tread carefully; monarchies and capitalism rarely coexisted peacefully. Then again, when had monarchies ever worked well?

Your grin widened. The pieces of a plan were starting to form. The library hadn’t given you what you’d sought, but it had handed you something far more valuable: an idea.

The idea of modern monarchies intrigued you. Weak relics of bygone eras, their grip on power was tenuous at best. Take Spain, for instance—a nation with a king who held no real authority while a president governed the people. Monarchies, by their very nature, stood in direct opposition to the principles of democratic equality, the very ideal you found yourself gravitating toward. Yet here you were, sitting in a castle steeped in the bloodlines of a dynasty that would scoff at such ideals.

You flipped through the book in your hands, letting your mind wander.

The thought of devoting your entire life to dismantling the monarchy felt exhausting. And really, was it even worth it? Life expectancy here couldn’t be much past the thirties—what a chilling reality. Building an egalitarian society would be an uphill battle, and some changes, you reasoned, had to come organically, from the collective understanding of society itself. A leader could nudge the masses in the right direction, pipeline ideas, and light the way, but the responsibility would ultimately fall on those who came after you.

Then there was the media—a double-edged sword you understood all too well. In capable, ethical hands, it could inform and inspire. But unchecked? It could mislead, manipulate, and turn progress into chaos. The thought was sobering.

Still, you couldn’t ignore the monarchy’s unique allure. For all its flaws, it offered something a democracy couldn’t match: continuity, a living link to the past. Monarchs embodied history, culture, and heritage, grounding a nation in its origins while carrying it forward. The public’s attachment to royalty wasn’t logical—it was emotional. They cried for a royal death, cheered for a wedding, and celebrated the birth of heirs they’d never meet. The late Princess Diana was proof of this—her influence enduring even decades after her tragic death.

You grinned, the beginnings of an idea forming. Perhaps the media wasn’t such a bad tool after all, not if wielded correctly.

Otto and Alicent were closing in, you could feel it. You needed something to turn the tide in Rhaenyra’s favor. Numbers alone might confirm the legitimacy of Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey, but public opinion was another entity entirely. People doubted what they saw with their own eyes; they’d cling to rumors if given the chance. But with the right narrative, a loyal following could be built around Jacaerys, the future heir. A fan base so devoted, so unwavering, that whispers of bastardy would fall on deaf ears.

Even if the worst happened and the truth came out, a beloved figure could weather the storm. A king who won the hearts of his people would render lineage irrelevant. It wasn’t just about legitimacy—it was about loyalty, influence, and the ability to inspire unwavering devotion.

You leaned back, smiling to yourself. Maybe, just maybe, you’d found your strategy.

You pursed your lips. Yeah…get Rhaenyra on the throne and make her children beloved. Those at the bottom are what keep those at the top standing. A country is not made of just numbers. That’s how should be.

First, you’d have to create a source of constant and neutral information. A reliable source. A true neutral source.

Something simple. 

 A newspaper! 

You snapped the coin book shut, grabbing a piece of paper and a quill, heart pounding with excitement. You sketched the first rough outline of something new, something revolutionary. Journalists. Editors. Writers. You’d need them all, but first, you’d start small. One piece at a time. It didn’t matter that Westeros wasn’t ready for it. They’d need it. You’d make them need it.

People, no matter the time, love gossip. You’d have to recruit someone for that. Actually, let's start thinking of the jobs that need to be filled. 

‘Journalists, senior editors, assistant editors, editorial assistants, staff writers, printers, Painters?’ Then of course you’d have to do one for every subject you choose, politics, gossip, health, fashion (you needed to start pants or something. These skirts were too much.), travel maybe (You really needed to get out more), business, science, lifestyle, sports. Hell, maybe you’d even start the Olympics here. Make your own city and it will be the capital of progress. Call it Olympus, home of the Olympians, and have major athletes living there and universities there so you’d have the brightest minds. Wouldn’t that be something? Actually maybe… “Ugh! This is so much work already!” You threw your head back and your jaw slackened. Above you was standing the last Prince you wanted to see. 

Aemond stood there, his presence suffocating, cutting through your thoughts like a blade.

You shot to your feet, heart thudding. Not now. Not when your mind was on fire. You gave him a tight smile, forced but polite. “Perfect timing,” you muttered. Time to go.

“Journalists?” Aemond spoke and you gave a smile. Definitely time to go! Once this newspaper was started it couldn’t be linked back to you. It wouldn’t give it the fair and neutral reputation you wanted, especially once you started making headlines and you would. The whole of Westeros would know your name once you were done. 

You smiled, but it was a wolfish thing. “Just playing with words…” Your heart raced. It was a lie. A flimsy one. But it wasn’t like he’d ever heard of the word before.

He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. His gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, unreadable, as always. "What does it mean?"

You looked around, feigning thought. The heat of his stare burned into you. "I don’t know yet. Would you like to help me give it meaning?" You let your words hang, soft but charged with a promise. You ignored the way his eye darkened as they lingered on your collarbones.

“Help you how?” His voice had an edge now, dangerous and tantalizing. It sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned away quickly, trying to steady yourself. No. Not again. You couldn’t fall into that trap again, especially not after making peace with Alicent. You forced a smile, playing dumb. “Figuring out what the word means. I just said that.” Your voice was light, almost too light.

Aemond stood still, his gaze on you sharp and unrelenting. The air between you thickened.

He stepped closer, his presence a magnet pulling at every nerve in your body. You instinctively took a step back, but the intensity in his eyes held you in place. “I thought you were a man with no taste for depravity.” You threw his own words back at him, the challenge in your voice unmistakable.

Aemond said nothing as he leaned in. A sudden and sharp pain hit the left side of your brain making your eye sting. You hissed and covered your eye. Aemond lifted a brow and your jaw slacked for the second time that day. Damn. This second time you’ve probably offended him about his eye. To your credit, you really did get hit with a sharp pain which was now forming into a headache. The worst thing that could happen and it’s happening. Rather break a bone than another migraine. However, your migraines usually come with a side of vomit, but that wouldn’t be till much later. You knew you shouldn’t have eaten anything here. It was a miracle nearly two months and with no sickness, hopefully, it was a simple upset stomach.

“Excuse me.” You barely managed to breathe the words, your senses assaulted by a pungent smell that seemed to grow stronger with every heartbeat. Your head throbbed, a sharp pulse blooming at your temple, and you instinctively pushed past Aemond, ignoring the startled lift of his brow.

The moment you stepped into the corridor, the pain in your head flared again, forcing you to slow your steps. Each movement sent another spike of agony through your skull, and you clenched your teeth to keep from groaning aloud. Behind you, Aemond followed in silence, his measured steps too close, his gaze too heavy. You could feel it trailing you, scrutinizing your every falter. Thankfully, he seemed wise enough not to speak.

You finally reached your chambers, but the moment you opened the door, a sickly sweet smell hit you like a punch to the gut. Your stomach churned violently.

“Shit,” you hissed, slamming the door shut and turning away as a fresh wave of nausea rose to your throat.

“What are you doing?” Aemond’s voice broke the tense silence, his tone edged with curiosity and the faintest trace of irritation.

“Headache,” you gritted out, squeezing your eyes shut as you pressed your fingers to your temples. The small circles you rubbed brought only the barest relief. “Strong smells make it worse. Please—I’m terrible with pain.” The words tumbled out unbidden, desperation seeping into your voice. The sharp, stabbing sensation on the left side of your head had morphed into a vise, squeezing tighter and tighter. It was unbearable. At least with a broken bone, the pain had a clear source. This—this all-encompassing torment—was driving you mad.

“Should I call a Maester?” Aemond asked, his voice steady, though you thought you detected the faintest flicker of concern.

You shook your head sharply, regret washing over you as the motion worsened the throbbing. Another wave of nausea rolled through you, and you turned away, swallowing hard to keep your stomach’s rebellion at bay.

“Unless they have fucking painkillers,” you snapped, the words slipping out before you could stop them, “then they can’t do shit for me.” You barely registered the silence that followed, too consumed by the relentless pressure in your skull. But a part of you imagined Aemond’s reaction—his sharp features drawn in surprise, maybe even offense. You’d never spoken like that to anyone here, least of all a prince.

“I need air,” you muttered through clenched teeth, hoping he wouldn’t press the issue further.

“Breathe,” he said simply, placing a hand on your back. The gesture, though likely meant to comfort, did little to ease the suffocating pressure in your chest.

“No,” you groaned, shaking your head weakly. “Clean air. Fresh air. Not the sweet rot in my room or the filth of King’s Landing.” You turned to him then, desperation flashing in your eyes. Another sharp wave of vertigo hit, and you reached out instinctively, gripping his arm for balance. “Please.” The word escaped as a plea, raw and unfiltered.

“Where?” Aemond’s expression was unreadable, his voice calm despite the urgency in yours. Perhaps, if you weren’t so consumed by the pain, you might have noticed the faint crease of his brow, or the subtle glance toward the nearby shadows where watchful eyes lingered.

 “Dragonstone,” you whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding in your skull. It was the first place you could think of—cool, constant, and untouched by the suffocating air of this place.

Aemond’s brows furrowed, his expression sharpening with intrigue. “Dragonstone?” he echoed, as though the name itself warranted suspicion. He hadn’t known you were even aware of the place, let alone familiar with it. Has Aegon taken you? His brother had often bragged about his soon to be conquest of you. Fucking you atop Sunfyre’s back whilst you both flew above King’s Landing. Though it did little to bother Aemond. He had already beaten his brother to it in any case. Aemond had dismissed it as a typical Aegon bluster, but now…

“You’ve been to Dragonstone? On dragonback?” he pressed, his eye narrowing as he studied your face.

You nodded weakly, your eyes still closed, every movement threatening to unleash another jolt of pain. The invisible belt tightened further around your head, and you winced.

“How?” he asked, his voice remaining flat, though the edge of curiosity softened his tone. Perhaps it was your vulnerability that tempered his usual sharpness—or perhaps it was something else entirely.

“Does it matter?” you managed to mutter, each word a struggle. “If you’re worried about Aegon, I promise you it wasn’t him.” Your voice cracked with desperation, your patience shredded by the unrelenting pain. “Please, Aemond—my head is killing me.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as if debating whether to press further. His gaze lingered on you, an unreadable storm behind his eye, but your words seemed to settle something in him.

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line as he stepped closer, his towering presence both grounding and overwhelming in your current state. “Very well,” he said at last, though the question lingered in his gaze. “But if not Aegon, then who?”

“Not now,” you hissed, cradling your head as a fresh wave of pain pulsed through your skull. “I’ll tell you later. Just… please, Aemond.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. You could feel the tension in the air, his curiosity warring with some other unspoken instinct. Then, without another word, he extended his arm toward you, his fingers brushing your elbow with a touch so surprisingly gentle it made you open your eyes.

“Come,” he said simply. “We’ll take Vhagar.”

You blinked, your breath catching. “Vhagar?” What the hell was a Vhagar? You didn’t have time for riddles—what you needed was fresh air so you could follow your usual migraine routine: a restless nap where you’d feel every pulse in your head, waking up nauseous and dizzy, throwing up, and finally, one last nap to reset. But that wasn’t happening in King’s Landing, not with the air reeking like it did. Yeah, you really needed to figure out those formulas for the sewer system.

“My dragon,” Aemond clarified.

Oh. He had a dragon. Right.

Wait—Vhagar. The name tugged at a corner of your memory, but the pounding in your skull made it impossible to chase the thought down. Whatever. You’d piece it together later.

You gave a stiff nod and started walking, each step down the stairs making your head throb like your brain was ricocheting off your skull. Damn migraines.

You took each step carefully, gripping the railing as though it might steady the pulsing in your skull. Aemond followed silently behind you, his presence a heavy shadow against your increasingly unsteady footing. The scent of the city—a sickly mix of sweat, rot, and filth—clung to the air like a physical weight, and it was all you could do not to gag.

As you reached the courtyard, a sharp wave of vertigo hit. You paused, eyes squeezing shut, willing the world to stop spinning. Behind you, Aemond’s voice cut through the haze. “Are you sure you can manage this? You look—”

“Like hell,” you finished for him, waving off his concern. “I’ll manage if it gets me to fresh air.”

Vhagar was there, looming like a mountain brought to life, her sheer size making your breath catch for reasons entirely unrelated to your headache. Her massive head turned toward you, eyes gleaming with an intelligence that made your stomach twist with both awe and unease. The migraine and nausea suddenly felt like the least of your problems. Nearly made them go away actually.

“That’s Vhagar?” you managed, your voice cracking slightly. Great. Just great. Show no fear, right?

Aemond stepped beside you, his posture as effortlessly poised as ever. “She won’t harm you. Not unless I command it.” His tone was calm, almost casual, but you caught the faintest flicker of amusement in his gaze. Of course he was enjoying this.

“That’s…reassuring,” you muttered, not feeling reassured in the slightest.

Aemond extended a hand toward you. “Come. If it's the fresh air you need, Vhagar will take you there.”

You stared at his hand, then at Vhagar, then back at him. The last time you’d been on dragonback was with Helaena, and even then, it had been an ordeal. Now, with your head pounding like a war drum and your balance barely holding steady, climbing onto the back of the largest dragon in Westeros felt like a death wish.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you said, but even as the words left your mouth, you felt the heat of Vhagar’s breath as she leaned in closer. The air was hot, yes, but surprisingly clean—free of the acrid stench that seemed to saturate King’s Landing. You inhaled deeply, and for a fleeting moment, the tension in your head eased.

“You said you needed air,” Aemond reminded you, his hand still outstretched. “Trust me.”

The words lingered between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. You looked at him, his face unreadable but unwavering. Normally this would be a no-brainer to get on but right now you weren’t feeling the best, but nonetheless, against your better judgment, you placed your hand in his.

“Fine,” you relented. “But if I fall off, I’m dragging you with me.”

Aemond smirked, but said nothing, keeping his grip firm as he helped you up toward the saddle. 

As Vhagar shifted beneath you, her scales scraping like thunder against stone, you squeezed your eyes shut and muttered a silent prayer to whichever god was listening. Fresh air. That was all you needed. You could survive this. Probably.

And if not…well, there was always the chance that you’d get home somehow. 

Vhagar’s sheer size made her every movement feel monumental. As she shifted beneath you, you clung tightly to the saddle, your fingers white-knuckling the leather straps. This wasn’t like flying on Vermax or even Dreamfyre—those dragons, while mighty, felt agile, almost playful in the air. Vhagar, by contrast, was an ancient power given form, each step and breath a reminder of her dominance. She felt…unrelenting, as if the sky itself bent to her will.

Your head still pounded, but as Vhagar began to rise, the ground slipping farther and farther away, the faint breeze turned into a steady rush of air. It was cool, fresh, untainted by the filth of the city below, and for the first time in hours, you felt a thread of relief unwind through your body.

Your stomach, however, had other plans.

“Ginger ale,” you murmured under your breath, your voice barely audible over the growing wind.

“What?” Aemond called back, glancing over his shoulder as Vhagar’s ascent steadied into a glide.

“I need ginger ale,” you repeated, louder this time, though the absurdity of the request hit you even as you said it. “Helps with nausea.” You groaned softly, pressing your forehead against the saddle, hoping the coolness of the leather would soothe your migraine.

Aemond gave you a look—half incredulous, half bemused. “What is ‘ginger ale?’”

“Doesn’t matter,” you muttered, clutching the straps tighter as Vhagar tilted into a sharp turn. The motion made your stomach lurch, and you pressed your teeth together, determined not to vomit. “I’d settle for anything that doesn’t taste like wine or rot.”

The Prince said nothing, though you thought you caught a flicker of something akin to concern in his eye. If he had a remark, he wisely kept it to himself, focusing instead on guiding Vhagar.

As the dragon soared higher, the wind whipped against your face, stinging your skin but bringing with it that precious, unpolluted air you’d been craving. You tilted your head back, letting it wash over you, even as your grip on the saddle remained ironclad.

Every movement of Vhagar felt heavier, more deliberate than Vermax or Dreamfyre. Where their flights had been smooth and almost playful, Vhagar’s was a commanding march through the skies. You could feel the weight of her wings as they sliced through the air, each beat a reminder of her power. The vibrations resonated through your body, making your migraine pulse in tandem.

“Hold tighter,” Aemond called, his voice steady but edged with a warning as Vhagar banked again. You didn’t need to be told twice. Your arms ache from holding on, but letting go wasn’t an option. Not here, not on this dragon.

“Does she always feel like she’s trying to knock you off?” you yelled back, a mix of fear and awe slipping into your tone.

“Only if she doesn’t like you,” Aemond replied, and you swore you caught the faintest trace of a smirk.

Great. Just great.

“Tell her I’m very likable,” you shot back, though the trembling in your voice probably undermined your point.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” he countered, turning his gaze forward as Vhagar leveled out.

Alive, yes. Comfortable, no. But as the air cleared and the scent of saltwater reached your nose, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It wasn’t King’s Landing. It wasn’t the suffocating sweetness of your chambers. It was fresh, untainted, and as the horizon opened up before you, you allowed yourself a moment to simply breathe.

“Oh god.” You gripped the saddle though through the sound of the harsh wind your ears sounded a high-pitched, almost "cackling" roar, with a mix of screeching and whistling sounds. “What was that?” You squint your eyes looking forward, almost forgetting you had a migraine in the first place. Your eyes try to adjust to the blinding white of the clouds. A small figure flies through a cloud. “Is that?” 

Was it Vermax? No. Vermax’s deep green coloring would strongly contrast the clouds. No this one blended in with the brightness of the clouds. Was it white, maybe gold? Do they come in those colors? Clearly they came in green (Vhagar and Vermax) and blue (Dreamfyre). 

For a couple of seconds you were able to clearly see a smaller yellow dragon with a familiar face riding on top. 

Rhaenyra Targaryen.

“Goodness, do all Targeryens have dragons then?” You asked, watching and turning back as you watched Rhaenrya go to land her dragon at a bay. Was that the bay where you arrived? 

“Majority.” Aemond answered and you nodded. 

“What about the King?” If all Targeryens and dragons you would like to see all of them. Study them if possible or to simply interact with them. Jacaerys had spoken of bonds, you like to understand these bonds and how they work. 

“My father rode Balerion the Black Dread once before it passed away from old age.” As Aemond spoke, you furrowed your brows. “It was the last creature who had seen Old Valyria in all its glory.”

“Old Valyria?” You asked. What was that? Or more so where was it? Was this like ancient Rome or something?

“Are you not from the East?” Aemond asked and you simply looked back at him over your shoulder with a brown lifted. 

“No.” 

“Not the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai?” Aemond looked down at you while keeping a steady hand on Vhagar’s reins.

“No. I’ve never even heard of it. Now what is Old Valyria?” The more you spoke you saw suspicion in Aemond’s eyes. Maybe you should’ve just said yes. You weren’t in the best spot right now for you to provoke such things. Yes, you might go home but y’know, you’d rather not fall more than what seemed 200 ft like last time. What if you didn’t fall into water? Regardless you weren’t in a good place to warrant any kind of reaction from Aemond that was not positive.

“Where are you from then?” Aemond asked and you noticed Vhagar’s speed notably decreased and you bit the inside of your lip.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening instinctively on the saddle as Vhagar’s wings beat slower, her flight becoming almost lazy. Was it intentional? Aemond's way of stalling until you answered? Or maybe Vhagar simply felt the change in his mood.

“Far away,” you finally said, deflecting as best as you could.

“Clearly,” Aemond murmured, his tone skeptical. “But ‘far away’ is not an answer.”

You sighed, your mind scrambling for a plausible explanation. Something that could at least buy you time, but your thoughts felt jumbled, your headache dulling your ability to think quickly.

“It’s… not a place you’d know,” you muttered, hoping the vague answer would suffice.

You purse your lips, keeping your gaze forward, trying to keep the dizziness from making you look weaker than you already felt. “Well, the first time I told all of you, you looked at me like I was crazy, so clearly you don’t.” The words slipped out sharper than you intended, but it was too late to reel them in now.

Aemond’s expression didn’t change, but you could feel the slight shift in the air, a sharpness that hadn’t been there before. Something between you was changing, but you couldn’t decide if it was good or bad. Whatever it was, it was pulling you deeper into something you weren’t sure you could control.

“Old Valyria is the place of origin for the Targaryen bloodline.” Aemond spoke moving past his attempt to figure out where you were from. You gave a small sigh of relief. 

Targaryen men. Always so unstable. Maybe it was just the white haired ones.

“Daenys Targaryen or otherwise known as Daenys the Dreamer, predicted the doom of Old Valyria twelve years before it happened. Her father, Lord Aenar Targaryen, heeded her dream and sold his holdings in the Valyrian Freehold and moved his family and all of their belongings to Dragonstone.” You stayed silent as Aemond spoke, trying to focus on his words instead of an uncomfortable feeling in the back of your throat. “With them, they took five dragons, including Balerion. When the Doom of Valyria came, House Targaryen was the only family of dragonriders which survived. Daenys was married to her brother Gaemon, who followed their father as Lord of Dragonstone. Their children were Aegon and Elaena Targaryen. Elaena married her brother, Aegon, and together they had two sons: Maegon and Aerys Targaryen and from them continues the line until the line reached Aegon and his sister wives.” 

At this point the Targeyen family tree is a circle. Why is there so much incest!? Whats with the sibling marriages!?

You couldn’t help but blink, the confusion clouding your thoughts for a moment. "So, the whole bloodline... it's just... incest?" The words slipped out before you could stop them. You bit your lip immediately, regretting it.

Aemond, ever composed, didn’t seem taken aback. His gaze, however, darkened slightly. "In our family, the bonds of blood are sacred," he said, his voice still smooth but edged with something harder. "It keeps the power of the dragons pure."

"Pure?" You repeated, the word feeling strange in your mouth. "What’s pure about it? That’s not... how it really works or at least from what I know." You barely managed to keep your voice steady, the migraine pressing heavier behind your eyes, like a constant hum beneath your skull.

"You speak of customs I do not understand," Aemond remarked coolly, his eyes narrowing as if searching for something in your expression. "But I will not apologize for the Targaryen way."

You met his gaze for a moment, feeling the tension thick in the air. "No one’s asking you to apologize," you muttered, turning your attention back to the sky. The rush of wind felt cold, too cold against the feverish heat inside you. "But it’s hard to understand... that."

“Not all Valryians were dragon lords. We are the last of our kind. Only those with our blood may command a dragon. Marriages within bloodlines are necessary.” Aemond spoke firmly and you nodded trying not to let your biases control even though, from what you know incest is wrong both morally and ethically. 

You hummed and turned back to him. “So say I want to claim a dragon, I can’t because I don’t have Valyrian blood?”

“You would be burned alive the second you stood in front of a dragon attempting to claim it, not just because you don’t have Valyrian blood but because you do not have Targaryen blood.” he spoke with an air of self-importance. You suppose it does warrant that kind of feeling. If only your bloodline can control dragons, you’d be pretty self-absorbed too. “There are those who still have Valryian blood but are not dragon lords. Those in the free cities for example. Many came from Valyrian colonies thus many have some Valryian blood though diluted. Lys has the purest, one can tell by the silver-gold hair and violet-purple eyes, characteristics not found amongst any other people of the world. This can vary from white to silver-gold to blond hair, and from lilac, to deep purple, and pale blue eyes.”

“Okay so your blood is magic and because of that you can control dragons. I understand, I suppose that would warrant…incest,” It was a hard pill to sallow. Admiting to yourself that incest was okay. That was something you never thought you’d say. “So do the people of Lys also have incestual…traditions?”

Aemond was quite seemingly thinking while you tried to keep your ‘little’ headache at bay. “I do not know. They say even the small folk have Valyrian features. I do not think they would. Many call Targaryen customs..queer.” There was a small hit of exasperation in his voice. 

Understandable. 

(Again you’d never thought you’d be justifying it.)

“I thought you had a headache.” Aemond chastised and you simply looked forward. 

“I do. It’s not as bad anymore. The fresh air is always nice.”

It wasn’t long before Dragon Stone came into view. A small smile came to your face. Cold winds. Finally. 

Vhagar's landing is definitely a lot smoother and if you’re being honest preferable to any other dragons you’ve been on, despite the fact that she’s as tall as the bridge you fell from. 

“I’d like to stay near the beach if it’s not too much trouble.” That was probably the nicest way you had spoken to him today.  

Aemond said nothing but Vhagar’s body shifted and you held on tight. Finally when she landed you sat still. 

“How does one get off?”

You watched Aemond slide off his dragon. 

You took thirty minutes trying to climb down. 

Finally on the ground you took off your coat and laid it out before you. Finally to take the first step into getting better. A nap. 

“What are you doing?” Aemond asked you as you bent down to lay down. 

“Take a nap. My head still hurts. I need to sleep.” You looked up at him as if it was obvious before you laid on your side with your arms to prop up your head as a makeshift pillow. 

“You begged me to bring you here to nap?” Aemond spoke unamused and you looked up at him half offended. 

You never begged. “I never beg.” 

“You begged.” Aemond said and normally you’d go back and forth but right now getting rid of this headache took precedence. You went to close your eyes trying to focus on numbing the ache in your head.

Some ginger ale. It was all you wanted.

As you focused on the sound of the waves an Vhagar’s loud breaths you felt as if Aemond was watching you. Listen you knew that both you both knew each other in ways that were not appropriate for the relationship you’re supposed to have but you’d rather not have him watch you while you sleep.

Speaking of you’re glad he has the decency to bring it up. You’d rather not deal with it now. 

“You don’t have to stay y’know. I’m fine, you can even go back to King’s Landing.” You spoke without opening your eyes. 

“How would you get back?” He asked and you shrugged. 

“I’d figure it out. Besides, I probably won’t be better till tomorrow morning, and her grace, Princess Rhaenrya, will have questions as to why you’re here.” Wow, look at you, using titles when it’s not necessary. 

“My half sister has no jurisdiction over me.”

“Is this not her land? Prince Jacaerys told me he has been living here for the past couple of years.” Before Aemond could answer you Vhagar laid her head on the ground not too far from you. The thud of her head landing on the floor made you jump a bit. She was enormous. It was amazing to see just how big a dragon can get. 

“If I were to leave you’d stay here all night all by yourself on the beach?” Aemond questioned and you paused. 

You…actually hadn’t thought about that. You had been so focused on the pain. You’ve been camping before. Besides these dresses were compact. “I’ll be fine. While I could do with a blanket, I can manage.” 

Aemond didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel the weight of his stare, heavy and considering. You kept your eyes closed, refusing to let him see even a flicker of hesitation. If he wanted to hover, fine. That was his prerogative, but you weren’t about to entertain his protectiveness.

“I should leave you here then,” he finally said, though his voice betrayed no intention of actually doing so.

“Please do,” you muttered, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. The cold sand beneath your coat was a relief, soothing compared to the relentless pounding in your head.

Aemond huffed lightly, the sound almost amused. “And if wild animals find you?”

You cracked one eye open, staring at him with as much conviction as you could muster in your current state. “I’m sure Vhagar would scare off anything stupid enough to wander close.”

His lips twitched, though whether it was amusement or annoyance, you couldn’t tell. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re still here,” you retorted, closing your eyes again.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the distant caw of seabirds, and Vhagar’s deep, steady breathing. It was peaceful, almost enough to lull you into sleep despite Aemond’s looming presence.

“I’ll stay,” Aemond said after a while, his tone softer now, though no less resolute. “In case you try to do something foolish.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, half a laugh, half frustration. “Suit yourself.”

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable. You could still feel his eyes on you, sharp and unyielding. You shifted slightly, pulling your coat tighter around you.

“I’m not going to disappear into the waves or get eaten by some mythical beach monster,” you said, not bothering to open your eyes this time.

“No, but you do have a habit of finding trouble,” Aemond replied smoothly.

You grunted in response, too tired to argue. He wasn’t wrong.

The sound of shifting sand caught your attention, and you cracked your eyes open just in time to see him settle down a few paces away, leaning back against a smooth boulder. His sword was propped up beside him, his posture as regal and composed as ever, even in the wild.

“Are you really going to sit there and watch me sleep?” you asked, incredulous.

Aemond smirked faintly, his one good eye gleaming in the dimming light. “You begged me to bring you here. Consider this my penance for indulging you.”

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face to block him out. “I didn’t beg,” you mumbled again, your voice muffled.

His quiet chuckle was the last thing you heard before the sound of the waves carried you into uneasy sleep.

Your routine continued in a haze: ‘sleep,’ though it felt as if you were awake the entire time, struggling to control the relentless headache. Then you’d wake to throw up.

Now, it was dark, and the biting chill of the night cut through the air. Your eyes adjusted slowly to the shadows, a groan threatening to escape as every movement sent sharp, echoing pain through your skull.

Finally standing, you glanced around. Aemond was nowhere to be found, though Vhagar’s hulking form still loomed in the near distance, her steady breaths the only sound apart from the waves. That was fine. You didn’t want anyone to see you like this anyway.

With slow, deliberate movements, you stripped off your dress, leaving yourself in the thin white gown customary beneath it. Normally, you’d mutter endless complaints about these heavy, cumbersome period costumes. But tonight, the layers, even the flimsiest ones, offered some semblance of protection from the icy winds.

You shuffled toward the waves, whimpering occasionally as the pain throbbed with each step. The cold water lapped at your feet, a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth that always radiated from your skin. You pressed on until the waves reached your waist, your body trembling as the chill seeped into your bones.

Lowering your head, you gagged, and your stomach heaved violently. Your meals from earlier surfaced, leaving you choking and gasping as tears streamed down your face. It was disgusting, humiliating even, but slowly—mercifully—the iron grip of the headache began to loosen.

“I hate medieval food,” you murmured, rinsing your face with the salty water. The thought of submerging yourself entirely lingered for a moment before you gave in, diving headfirst into the cold waves.

The shock of the water stole your breath, but you stayed under, letting your body adjust to the temperature. When you surfaced, the fresh air of Dragonstone filled your lungs, sharp and briny. You wiped your eyes, ignoring the sting of the salt. This was the first time you’d been to the beach since arriving here, and despite everything, it felt... nice.

You let yourself drift, floating on your back, the waves cradling you like an old friend. The nagging thought that something might be lurking beneath the surface tugged at the back of your mind, but you shoved it aside. The dull ache in your skull was finally easing, and for once, that was enough.

The water around you grew warmer—too warm to be natural—but your exhaustion dulled your caution. A small voice in the back of your mind screamed at you to get out, to flee the dark, unknown waters of a world filled with magic and monsters. But you stayed, the pain in your head too fresh a memory to relinquish the relief now washing over you.

You don’t know how long you floated in the water shivering in the waves. The water seemed to grow warmer around you, almost unnaturally so, but the relief in your skull dulled your caution. A part of you screamed that this was a terrible idea—floating in magical waters under a night sky that might hide anything, especially in a world like this.

Had you been in a better state of mind, you’d have bolted from the waves the moment you stepped in. Unknown waters, magical creatures, the dark—none of it boded well. But the pain had been unbearable, and now that it was subsiding, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You rinsed your mouth with seawater, grimacing at the salty sting as you tried to erase the acidic taste clinging to the back of your throat. It was crude and far from what you were used to—damn, how you missed a toothbrush—but it would have to do.

The waves carried you lazily back toward the beach. With your ears submerged, the world grew muffled, as though the ocean had swallowed all sound. And yet, it felt as if you could hear every secret the water held—a low hum beneath the surface, ancient and endless.

Above you, the night sky stretched impossibly vast, the stars scattered like shards of broken glass across a dark tapestry. No matter how long you’d been here, the skies of this world never failed to leave you breathless.

It was beautiful in a way that almost hurt.

You stared up at infinity, caught in its embrace, swaying in the currents of another. Forever trapped between two infinities.

Forever was a long time.

The thought pressed heavy on your chest. You were a long way from home, farther than distance could measure. Your family, your friends, your world—they were all an infinity away, unreachable, untouchable.

And for the first time tonight, the ache in your chest felt sharper than the one in your head.

Still, a nagging thought crept into the back of your mind, one you tried to suppress as you stared at the horizon. The warmth of the water wasn’t normal. The fact that you felt better wasn’t normal. And standing alone in the dark with Vhagar’s massive presence behind you wasn’t particularly smart and Aemond wasn’t here if she decided she wanted a midnight snack.

But the pounding in your skull was gone, that alone, at least to you, was more than enough for you to stay.

You stayed in the water a while longer, letting the gentle rhythm of the waves soothe what was left of your frayed nerves. The cold wind nipped at your cheeks, sharp and biting, but it was a welcome change from the suffocating heat that often clung to your skin.

Finally, with a deep breath you dove under the water swimming with the rhythm of the waves until you rose from the waves. The thin fabric hung tightly to you leaving nothing to the imagination. As you walked the weight of the waves wore you down  making the trek more arduous than it should’ve been. By the time you reached the beach, your toes were numb, and a deep shiver rattled through your body.  

As the wind blew you felt your hardened buds against the wet fabric. It was cold. 

Vhagar shifted slightly, her massive head lifting just enough to acknowledge your presence. Her glowing eyes tracked your movements, unblinking, as you wrung water from your gown and sat on the cold, hard sand near the waves lapping at your feet. It was strange how something so immense could feel so alive, so keenly aware.

“You’re not very subtle,” you murmured, glancing her way. “I know you’re watching me.”

The dragon let out a low rumble, the vibrations coursing through the ground beneath you. It almost sounded like understanding.

You sighed, running a hand through your damp hair, pushing it back from your face. Above, the stars blazed brighter than you’d ever seen. You’d heard stories of a time when Earth’s skies had looked like this—before light pollution, when you could see Saturn and its rings with the naked eye. But that world was gone, and this one was an infinity apart.

Your thoughts wandered as they often did. There was so much to accomplish, but would there ever be enough time? Could you even manage it on your own? Lately, it felt like you were spinning in circles, chasing impossible dreams. Maybe it would be easier to give up, to settle into whatever semblance of a normal life this world allowed.

You imagined it for a moment: marrying some minor lord, living quietly far from King’s Landing. 

Dragon Stone really was perfect for you.It was remote, beautiful, and peaceful in its own austere way.

Too bad Jacaerys was already betrothed. Not that you wanted to be queen—what a nightmare that would be. Still, the idea of staying here, on this island, far from the chaos of the realm, was tempting.

Your musings drifted to Aemond. Where had he gone? Had he truly left you here alone for the night? Or was he somewhere nearby, watching? Perhaps he was inside the castle, receiving the hospitality due a prince, while you were left out here with the dragon. You could only hope he’d given Vhagar strict orders not to burn or eat you.

Your eyes flicked toward the dunes, half-expecting to see the pale glint of his hair in the moonlight. But there was nothing—only the quiet rhythm of the waves and Vhagar’s occasional huff.

The headache that had plagued you earlier was gone now, leaving behind an odd hollowness. It wasn't a relief, not exactly. It felt more like the eerie stillness that follows a storm.

Hugging your knees to your chest, you rested your chin atop them and whispered to no one, “This place is beautiful. But it’s not home.”

Vhagar rumbled again, softer this time, and for some inexplicable reason, it felt like a response.

You sat in silence for a while, soaking in the world around you. The air carried the sharp tang of salt and seaweed, the waves shimmering silver beneath the starlight. It was peaceful in a way that almost made you forget the strange, perilous world you’d fallen into.

Almost.

The cold eventually drove you to move. You stood, wrapping your arms around yourself, and eyed the faint outline of a cave further down the beach. It looked shallow, but it would block the wind well enough. Glancing at Vhagar, you asked, “Don’t suppose you’d let me sleep under your wing, huh?”

The dragon huffed, almost dismissively, and shifted her massive body to face the sea.

“Didn’t think so,” you muttered. You waded back into the waves to rinse off the sand clinging to your skin, then retrieved your clothes and trudged toward the cave.

The cave wasn’t much warmer, but it was shelter. You spread your coat on the ground and folded your dress into a makeshift pillow. The chill seeped into your bones as you lay down, shivering, but exhaustion overtook you anyway.

Sleep came fitfully, filled with dreams of fire and shadow. Unfamiliar voices whispered in the darkness, speaking words you couldn’t understand but felt in your very core.

When you woke, the sky was a faint, pale blue, dawn creeping over the horizon. You sat up, shivering, your body stiff and cold, and froze when you saw him.

Aemond stood at the cave’s entrance, silent and imposing. His sharp gaze pinned you in place, unreadable as ever.

“You’re back,” you rasped, your voice rough with sleep.

“I never left,” he replied evenly, stepping closer. His eye glinted in the dim light. “You’re more impulsive than I gave you credit for.”

You shivered slightly as you stretched, your limbs still stiff from the cold. Your hair, now dry from the saltwater, felt rough and brittle beneath your fingers—its natural state enhanced but worsened by the seawater. “How much did you see?” you asked, running a hand through the unruly strands.

“I saw you dive into the water, swim in it, and parade yourself nearly nude.” Aemond’s lone eye never left you as you reclined back on the sand, stretching lazily.

“Is that all?” you asked lightly, masking your relief. If he had been far enough away, he wouldn’t have seen the more private parts of your ordeal—the headache and the mess you had to "resolve."

“You are reckless,” Aemond said, his voice sharp with disapproval.

“Reckless?” you echoed, the word sitting oddly on your tongue as you rolled your shoulders, joints popping with every motion. “That’s rich coming from you. And, may I add, I wasn’t ‘parading myself.’ I was walking.”

Aemond’s expression didn’t waver, though there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips—amusement, maybe, or something close to it. “I am reckless with purpose,” he said evenly. “You, however, seem intent on tempting fate for no reason. What if someone had seen you in such a state, leaving little to the imagination?”

You scoffed, pulling your coat tighter around yourself against the chill. “Then they’d have seen,” you said with a shrug, as if the idea was hardly worth considering. “It’s not like I have anything to hide, but besides ‘parading myself’ what else exactly did I do to offend your sense of self-preservation this time?”

His eye narrowed slightly, the movement subtle but telling. “Swimming alone in the dark when you’ve no idea what lurks beneath the surface. Lying exposed on the beach with nothing but Vhagar to protect you. Shall I continue?”

“You already mentioned the second one,” you said, tilting your head as though to soften the bite in your voice. “As for the first… Well, life without a little danger is a little boring, don’t you think?”

Aemond’s silence stretched for a moment before he tilted his head, his tone suddenly laced with something more cutting. “Do you always allow others to see what you hide beneath your clothing?”

As you stood up there was a faint pop that punctuated the tense air that your legs gave. “No,” you replied, meeting his gaze evenly ignoring the slight dull paint that was beginning to seep into the bones of your legs. “But if someone happens to come across me… what am I supposed to do about it? It’s not the end of the world.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, his eye flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “Then our… encounter,” he began, his voice quiet but firm, “I assume it was not an uncommon occurrence?”

You flinched at his words, quickly looking away. So much for never speaking about it again.

“No,” you admitted after a long pause, your voice quieter now. “That was… out of character for me.”

The air between you grew heavier, the distant crash of the waves filling the silence. You shivered, tugging your coat tighter and debating whether to pull on your dress for more coverage. Aemond, as always, was impossible to read, his gaze steady and unwavering even as you avoided it.

A heavy, pregnant silence filled the space, thick with unspoken tension. You felt the ends of your hair being tugged by the breeze before the warmth of hands settled on your shoulders.

“You smell of the sea,” Aemond murmured, his voice low.

You instinctively stepped away, narrowing your eyes. “In a good way or a bad way?”

Aemond’s expression remained inscrutable. “In the way you always smell.”

His gaze lingered, and you suddenly found yourself thinking of that night—a memory that had lingered too close to the surface.

“Well,” you pressed, shifting uncomfortably and picking up your belongings, clutching them against your chest to guard against the wind’s sharp bite. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Aemond didn’t answer. Instead, his eye bore into you with a look that felt far too knowing, though unfamiliar in its intensity. You rolled your eyes and strode out of the cave, the wind whipping against you like a sharp rebuke.

“Me duelen los huesos,” you muttered, the ache in your legs creeping higher with each step.

“Where are you going?” Aemond’s voice carried over the sound of the wind, and you turned back to see him still standing in the cave’s shadows.

“To Vhagar,” you replied, your tone curt. Where else would you go? There was work to be done, and indulging in any more moments of weakness was a luxury you couldn’t afford. You had responsibilities—stressful ones that, if neglected, could mean far worse than wrinkles or gray hair.

“She’ll burn you,” Aemond said flatly, turning his back to you as if dismissing the conversation entirely.

“Excuse me?” you called, incredulous, but he disappeared further into the cave. Huffing, you marched back after him. “Hello! I’m better now. I need to get back to King’s Landing—some of us actually have things to do. Things that, I might add, very much determine—”

You cut yourself off, biting your tongue before you said too much.

Aemond turned, his smirk sharp enough to cut through stone. “Like what? What could you possibly have to work on? My father has resumed his place on the Small Council. Isn’t that the extent of your duties?”

His mocking tone, paired with that damned smirk, lit a fire in your chest. He had backed you into a corner, and he knew it. You glanced toward the beach, considering the slim possibility of escape. Jacaerys might be able to help if you found him, but would Aemond even let you leave?

Frustrated, you slipped off your shoes and stomped out of the cave. Vhagar loomed ahead, her massive form outlined against the horizon, her ancient eyes gleaming with something that felt unsettlingly knowing.

“Let me through?” you muttered, stepping cautiously toward her.

Vhagar didn’t budge. Instead, steam hissed from her nostrils in warning, stopping you in your tracks. The heat singed your exposed skin, and you hissed in pain, though the cool wind quickly soothed it.

Meeting her gaze, you felt a shiver run down your spine. There was no getting past her. With a sigh of defeat, you turned back toward the cave, glancing briefly at Aemond, who now watched with a smug, satisfied look that only worsened your irritation.

Once inside, you sat down heavily on the sand, wrapping your cloak tightly around your legs and hugging your dress close for warmth.

“When can we go back?” you asked, your voice heavy with displeasure.

Aemond leaned against the cave wall, arms crossed, his sharp eye glittering with amusement. “When you answer my questions.”

You furrowed your brows. “What questions?”

He paused, tilting his head slightly, almost predatorily, before pivoting back toward you. “What exactly is it that you do, besides tend to my father?”

“Nothing.” The response left your mouth too quickly, too defensively.

Aemond’s lips curled into the barest hint of a smirk. “You’re lying. I’ve heard rumors of your... misdoings.”

You crossed your arms, lifting a brow in unamused defiance. “That’s hardly a reliable source. If you’re going to accuse me of something, at least have the decency to find the evidence yourself.”

He leaned back slightly, gaze sharp and unrelenting. “I’ve seen you use the secret passages. How is it that you discovered them?”

The memory made you smile despite the tension. “Funny story, actually. I leaned back against a wall one day, and it just... opened. Coolest moment of my life. Felt like a super-spy. Like Carmen Sandiego.” No actually you were listening to music and you were being dramatic while acting out whatever imaginary scenario you had that day and just so happened to open the wall.

The name, foreign and bizarre in this time, had no effect on him.

He said nothing, his expression an unyielding mask.

“You’ve gone to a whorehouse.” It wasn’t a question; it was a declaration.

God, the spies here really were everywhere. You winced, trying to recover. “Well, I’m avidly against human trafficking—”

“What is a journalist?” he interrupted, cutting you off with no patience for your deflections.

You blinked. “Rude. But as I said, I was messing with words.”

“You invent words, then?”

“Yup. That’s me. An innovator. Ahead of my time,” you quipped. Quite literally, but he didn’t need to know that.

“A journalist.”

“Why are you so caught up on that? Look, it’s just two words smashed together—actually, no, scratch that. I thought of someone who makes journals. Hence, journalist. Boom. Genius at work.”

He didn’t look impressed.

“That night,” he pressed again.

You groaned loudly, leaning back and throwing your arms up. “Ugh! What more do you want from me? My soul? I’m tired of your interrogation.”

“You’ll answer until I am satisfied,” he said flatly, his tone brooking no argument. “What was on the table?”

The seriousness in his voice made your stomach tighten. You hesitated, weighing your options before sighing. “Do you really want to know? It’s the reason I need to get back. My life quite literally depends on that sheet of paper.”

He pushed off the wall, stepping closer to you and sitting down. Instinctively, you scooted back, putting a safer distance between you.

“What is it?”

“It’s... not as interesting as you think,” you deflected.

“What is it?” His voice was sharper this time, cutting through your weak attempt to delay.

You sighed, knowing there was no escape. “It’s an equation.”

“For what?” he demanded, his impatience evident.

“You said earlier—what purpose do I serve other than tending to the king? Truth is, I don’t have one. The second your father dies, I lose the little protection I have. Your uncle isn’t particularly fond of me, and the feeling is mutual. I have to build my value to stay alive.” It was a half-truth, but it would keep him at bay.

His expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of interest in his eye. You swallowed hard and continued. “I’m no one here. No family name to lean on. The Citadel despises me because I’ve accomplished in a month what their ‘maesters’ haven’t managed in decades. And, of course, that leads to accusations—witchcraft, blasphemy, what have you. So I’ve earned the ire of the Faith as well. No wealth. No rights. And worst of all, I’m a woman. What value do I have that guarantees my survival?”

“None,” Aemond said without hesitation.

You nodded grimly. “Exactly. So I’m creating one. That project you saw on the table? It’s my ticket to longevity.”

“What project?”

You hesitated again, knowing how dangerous this could be. Otto and Alicent had been clear. No one was to know of their request, and you couldn’t agree more.

“To find the pH balance of the spring near King’s Landing,” you lied smoothly.

Aemond furrowed his brows, confused. “What?”

“I’m creating a water system to deliver clean water to the people of King’s Landing,” you explained, hoping the truth buried within the lie would be convincing. “And to establish a sewer system to reduce illness. It’s basic sanitation, really.”

He was silent for a moment, watching you closely, his expression unreadable. “You mean to do what the maesters have failed to achieve for centuries.”

“Precisely,” you said with a small smile, leaning into the absurdity of it. “Like I said—innovator. Ahead of my time.”

You shivered again, warmth creeping unbidden up your face as you and Aemond locked eyes. The silence between you stretched, heavy and unspoken, until you broke it with an awkward cough, quickly averting your gaze.

“Anyways,” you began, your voice a touch too loud in the stillness. “I need to go back. I haven’t figured out the equation yet, and there are people breathing down my neck.”

Aemond tilted his head, his expression unreadable, though his single eye seemed to pierce straight through you. “And how do you intend to fund it? Do you expect the crown to pay for such an undertaking?”

His words carried a subtle edge, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “The crown?” you scoffed lightly. “Please. If I even hinted at asking for funding, the Hand would have me thrown out on principle.”

Aemond’s lips twitched, though whether it was amusement or disdain, you couldn’t tell. “Then how will you manage it? A project of that scale requires significant resources.”

You avoided his gaze, staring instead at the fire crackling nearby. “I’ll find a way,” you murmured, your voice softer now. Heat flushed your cheeks, and despite the chill in the cave, a fine sheen of sweat began to gather at your temples. “Where there’s a will there’s a way.”

Aemond studied you in silence, his sharp gaze catching the faint tremor in your hands as you brushed them over your arms. “You’re unwell,” he stated flatly, his tone more matter-of-fact than concerned.

“No, I’m not,” you shot back, your voice cracking slightly as you tried to sound composed. Clearing your throat, you added, “It’s just cold in here.”

“Is it?” he asked, arching a brow. “You seem flushed for someone who claims to be cold. You were foolish to go into the water.”

You rolled your eyes, waving him off. “I’ll be fine. I’m not sick.” You couldn’t be sick. Not here, of all places. Your immune system couldn’t fail you now. Still, the growing ache in your bones hinted otherwise.

No, you decided. You were just dehydrated. At least, you hoped so.

You stood up, but your legs wavered beneath you, and the chill seemed to cut deeper. A disbelieving laugh escaped your lips. No, this couldn’t be happening. You only got sick once a year, and you’d already had your turn. Right?

Aemond’s eye flicked to you, unamused. “You need more clothes,” he remarked, his voice cool and matter-of-fact.

You sank back down, pulling your cloak tighter around you. “I’ll be fine.”

“You need to be inside. Somewhere warm,” he insisted, his gaze shifting toward the castle.

You shook your head stubbornly. “No, I’ll be fine right here. Just a little more rest.”

Aemond stepped closer, deliberate and measured, his presence imposing. You stiffened, refusing to meet his gaze as his shadow fell over you. “Rest won’t help if you’re running a fever,” he said.

“I don’t have a fever,” you muttered, though the unsteady wobble in your voice betrayed you.

His eye narrowed as if testing your words. Before you could pull away, he reached out, his fingers brushing your forehead. The coolness of his touch against your overheated skin was both a relief and an unwelcome confirmation.

“You’re burning,” he observed, his tone devoid of sympathy.

You said nothing, pulling your cloak tighter as you curled up on the sand. Closing your eyes, you hoped he would leave, though the faint ache in your bones refused to relent.

Then came the rumble.

Your eyes shot open, heart leaping as the ground seemed to quake beneath you. You turned just in time to see Vhagar looming over the cave entrance, her massive jaws parting as an ominous red glow flickered in the depths of her throat.

Panic overtook you as you scrambled to your feet, legs shaking beneath you. “Okay! Okay! I’ll go! Please!” you shrieked, stumbling forward in a half-run, half-crawl. Your limbs felt like lead, each step a monumental effort.

You collapsed onto the sand, gasping as heat surged behind you. Bracing yourself for the worst, you closed your eyes and waited for the fire to consume you.

But it didn’t.

The warmth grew, yes, but it was strangely gentle. Tentatively, you turned back, expecting an inferno but finding Aemond standing before Vhagar, his figure shadowed against the glow of her fire.

He looked at you with a near-mocking smirk, one brow arched in that way that made you want to slap him. “What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice hoarse.

Aemond’s smirk deepened. “You thought she’d burn you?”

You hesitated, feeling the heat of embarrassment join your fever. “Well, yeah! She had her mouth open and everything!”

The deadpan look he gave you only made you feel more foolish. Slowly, you stepped closer to the dragon, your legs still trembling. Vhagar’s warmth washed over you, and despite yourself, you leaned into it, feeling the tension in your body start to melt away.

“You could have said something,” you muttered, refusing to meet Aemond’s amused gaze.

“And miss the show?” he replied, his smirk never wavering.

You pressed your cloak closer to your body, trying to stave off the shaking that you hoped he didn’t notice. “You’re so funny I forgot to laugh.”

Aemond raised a brow but said nothing, his gaze lingering on you as you slumped against a nearby rock, the heat from Vhagar providing some relief. The silence between you stretched for a moment before your vision swam slightly, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

The ache in your bones had worsened, and the clammy sweat that clung to your skin was impossible to ignore. Your head throbbed with a dull, persistent pulse, and the warmth you’d sought now felt suffocating, as if it was seeping into your very core.

“You’re getting worse,” Aemond said, his tone cool but edged with something unreadable.

“No, I’m fine,” you replied weakly, though even you could hear how unconvincing you sounded. You shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn’t make the ache in your muscles more unbearable.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he remarked, stepping closer. “Your stubbornness will only make this worse.”

“Thank you, Maester Aemond,” you muttered sarcastically, your words slurring slightly.

He crouched beside you, his sharp eye scanning your face. “Your fever is worsening. You need proper care.”

You shook your head, immediately regretting the movement as dizziness overtook you. “I can’t. I told you, King’s Landing is crawling with sickness. If I go, I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Die there?” Aemond interrupted, his voice colder now. He tilted his head, regarding you with what could only be described as irritation. “Your logic is as flawed as your health.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, a wave of exhaustion hit you like a crashing tide, and you found yourself leaning against the rock behind you, your body too heavy to fight gravity.

Aemond’s expression shifted, his usual stoicism faltering for a moment. He reached for you again, this time his hand resting against your cheek. The coolness of his touch was a stark contrast to the fire coursing through your veins, and you found yourself leaning into it despite your better judgment.

“You’re burning up,” he muttered, his voice lower now, as if speaking to himself.

You shook your head, even though you didn’t believe it anymore.

“You’re not staying here to prove a point,” Aemond countered sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You pushed his hand away, forcing your eyes open to meet his. He was closer than you liked, his presence crowding you against the unyielding rock behind you. Your instinct was to retreat, but there was nowhere to go, so instead, you averted your gaze, focusing on the flickering shadows cast by the fire.

“King’s Landing or Dragonstone,” he pressed, his tone firm. “Either way, you’ll be treated by a maester.”

The ultimatum hung heavy between you, and you glared at him, lips pressing into a stubborn line. After a moment, you relented, lifting a shaky hand to gesture toward the mouth of the cave.

“Speak, woman,” Aemond snapped, his frustration palpable as he leaned in closer. You stiffened at the proximity, your discomfort now twofold—his nearness and your mounting fever. Last night’s tension still lingered between you, and you couldn’t forget the distance you’d carefully maintained.

And, of course, your toothbrush was miles away. Oral hygiene was non-negotiable for you, even now.

You shook your head, stubbornly pointing outside again.

“You were speaking fine a moment ago,” Aemond said, his voice low with irritation. “Speak!”

But you ignored him, leaning back against the rock and closing your eyes. The fever had sapped whatever energy you had left, and the only thing you could do now was focus on conserving warmth.

“King’s Landing it is, then,” Aemond muttered, the words barely audible but enough to make your eyes snap open.

Your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist before he could make a move. You didn’t have the strength to argue, so you simply shook your head and pointed toward the cave’s entrance again.

“Dragonstone?” he questioned, his voice softer now.

You nodded, releasing his wrist and pushing weakly against him to create some space. His steady gaze lingered on you, but you avoided it, focusing on the task of standing.

Aemond extended a hand to you, his sharp features unreadable. You glanced at it briefly before shaking your head, lifting your trembling hand in polite refusal.

You pushed yourself to your feet, your legs wobbling dangerously beneath you. Each step felt like dragging lead, and soft groans of discomfort escaped your lips despite your efforts to suppress them.

You’d get over this. It was just a cold—nothing more. Right?

Aemond’s gaze followed you closely as you staggered forward, his expression unreadable. He didn’t offer another word, but the intensity of his scrutiny made it clear he wasn’t about to let you falter.

For now, you trudged on, stubbornness and fever battling for dominance, with only the distant promise of Dragonstone to keep you moving.

You walked outside, swayed by the harsh wind that bit through your coat like it wasn’t even there. The salt in the air stung your nose, and every gust seemed to leech more warmth from your fevered body.

Tilting your head back, you took in the towering heights of Dragonstone looming above you. Its jagged cliffs and forbidding spires seemed endless, cutting sharply into the gray sky. You let out a dejected sigh, your breath visible in the cold. There was no way you were making it up there in your condition.

You turned your gaze to Aemond, who stood just behind you, the firelight from the cave catching on the sharp planes of his face. His lips curved into a smug smirk as he regarded your shivering figure, his eye glinting with something close to amusement.

“Do you admit defeat so soon?” he drawled, taking a deliberate step closer.

You turned, keeping close to Vhagar's massive frame, using her bulk to shield yourself from the relentless wind. Each step was a trial, the cold gnawing at you, and every ache in your body screamed in protest. Your arms felt as heavy as your legs, your fever-fueled fatigue dragging you down with each passing moment.

By the time you reached the stone stairs leading up to the castle, your breaths came in shallow gasps, your chest burning with the effort. The journey that should have been manageable felt insurmountable, and yet you pushed forward, dragging your feet up the uneven steps.

You managed only a handful more steps before your legs finally gave out beneath you, crumpling like they’d forgotten their purpose. The cold stone bit into your hands and knees as you fell, but you barely registered the pain. The icy wind whipped past, tearing through your coat and into your fevered skin like knives, making you tremble violently.

Leaning back against the cold, unyielding stone wall, you closed your eyes for a moment, trying to gather what strength you had left. Your body felt like it was on fire, each pulse of your heart sending fresh waves of heat through your veins, only to clash with the icy air around you.

This fever—so sudden and all-consuming—had never taken you like this before. You’d been sick before, of course, but never under these conditions. Then again, you’d never tried to climb a mountain of stairs in freezing winds while your body waged war against itself.

Your breathing slowed, each exhale a visible puff in the chill. Despite the danger of the cold and the impossibility of your situation, your exhaustion was overwhelming. Just a small nap, you told yourself, just enough to regain your strength.

The stone at your back felt harder and colder with every passing second, but you couldn’t summon the energy to care. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy and unwilling to stay open. You let your head tilt back, your shivering starting to subside—not from warmth, but from sheer weariness.

Somewhere distant, a voice—sharp and commanding—called your name. But you were too tired to respond, too drained to move. Surely, just a moment of rest wouldn’t hurt.

Would it?

Note: This is in honor of me getting sick for like the first time in a year. Anyways lemme know what y'all think! Also So sorry for the delay. Finals are ass.

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To be added to Tag list: !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

[happilyhertale]

Stocking Surprise – Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: You meet your boyfriend Daemon's family over Christmas. Everything goes well and even Daemon behaves perfectly – until you find out what he has in mind.

Pairing: Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut, Fingering, Sex (p in v)

Author’s note:

English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.5 k

Other stories of mine

12 Days of Smuffmas

12 Days of Smuff

The sprawling Targaryen estate gleams under a blanket of freshly fallen snow. Strings of golden lights wind around the ancient trees, casting a warm glow that illuminated the path to the grand manor. Inside, the atmosphere is lively but cozy, filled with laughter, music, and the faint scent of pine and cinnamon.

Daemon is a vision tonight in a charcoal-gray cashmere sweater, his silvery-white hair perfectly tousled. You’d spent the evening meeting his extended family—most of whom exuded the same enigmatic charisma as Daemon, albeit in varying degrees. There is Rhaenyra, who commanded the room with her sharp wit, and Viserys, whose laughter can warm even the frostiest soul. The children are a chaotic joy, zipping through the halls with sugar-fueled energy.

Daemon had been charming all evening, but there was a spark of mischief in his violet eyes that had you on high alert. He’d been uncharacteristically well-behaved around the children, but you know better than to trust his sudden bout of restraint.

As the evening draws to a close, the family begins to retreat to their respective wings. The halls quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old house settling. You decide to slip away to your room for some much-needed solitude. That’s when you notice Daemon sneaking down the hall, a bundle tucked under his arm.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you follow him on tiptoes, careful not to make a sound. He stops in front of the grand fireplace in the main hall, where the stockings hang in neat rows. Each bears a name embroidered in elegant silver thread. Yours is the newest addition, it‘s dark red velvet standing out against the others.

Daemon crouches before your stocking, grinning like a cat with a canary in its claws. You stifle a laugh as he carefully slips a small, neatly wrapped package into the stocking. But it is what he adds next that makes your eyes widen.

A lacy, vibrant red pair of underwear with a tag that read remote-controlled dangles precariously from his fingers. Your jaw nearly hits the floor.

“Daemon!” you hiss, stepping into the glow of the fireplace.

He looks up, utterly unrepentant. “Caught me, did you?” His grin widens, and he hold the underwear aloft, letting it dangle teasingly.

“You’re insane!” you whisper, glancing around to make sure no one else was awake. “There are children here!”

Daemon chuckles, his voice low and rich. “And you think they’re sneaking into your stocking? Sweetheart, this is strictly for you.” He steps closer, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “And for me, naturally.”

Flustered, you try to snatch the offending garment from his hands, but he is quicker, holding it high above your head. “Daemon, I can’t—what if someone sees?”

“Then don’t leave it lying around.” He winks. “Problem solved.”

Despite your protests, you feel your cheeks heating as he hands you the small package and the underwear. “Here,” he says, his tone playful but firm. “Unwrap it in your room. I’ll be up shortly to… supervise.”

Your heart pounds as you scurry back to your room, clutching the items like contraband. Once inside, you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. True to his word, Daemon appears minutes later, leaning casually against the doorframe, holding the tiny remote between his fingers.

“Go on, show me,” he says, his voice a low purr.

You hold up the underwear, glaring at him half-heartedly. “You’re impossible.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he quips. “Now, put them on.”

Your protest is meet with a raised brow, daring you to refuse. Eventually, you relent, stepping into the bathroom to change. When you emerge, his eyes rake over you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, holding up the remote. Before you can say anything, you feel a sudden, faint vibration. Your gasp makes him grin like the devil himself.

“Daemon!” you squeake, clutching at the waistband.

“Shhh,” he says, placing a finger to his lips. “Wouldn’t want to wake the children,” he murmurs teasingly.

The vibrations intensified briefly, and you grab onto the edge of the bed for balance. Daemon crosses the room leisurely, every movement deliberate. “You’re blushing,” he observes, clearly delighted.

“You’re an idiot,” you manage to say, though your voice was shaky.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “And you’re enjoying this more than you’d admit.”

You stare at him, caught somewhere between exasperation and anticipation.

“Daemon...“, you begin, but whimper as he turns up the vibration.

Daemon just grins, watching you,

“Oh, you're getting off without me? That's not fair...“ Daemon feigns poutiness.

“Shut up,” you gasp as you try to press your thighs together.

Your eyes close and you try to minimize the vibration by squeezing your thighs together.

Daemon's hand pushes you further onto the bed and you follow his movement, crawling up and positioning yourself on all fours for him. The vibration makes your abdomen tremble and you feel yourself soaking your panties more and more. You press your face lightly into the pillow and feel Daemon come onto the bed, pushing your legs slightly apart as he kneels between your legs.

Daemon slowly approaches you, enjoying the way your fingers dig into the sheet. When he is standing behind you, he puts his hand on your bottom, grasping lightly, while the vibration does not subside.

You let out a small moan as you feel his touch and Daemon's grin doesn't leave his face.

“See, you're enjoying this,” he murmurs and you whimper again.

“Shut up,” you gasp again, but press your ass harder against his hand.

He turns up the vibration and your constant whimpers echo louder through the room.

His fingers glide gently over the vibrating fabric, feeling how wet you already are.

“Oh Love... look at you, so wet... you want more, don't you? Do you want me to stretch that tight cunt?“ he murmurs and you whimper. But before you can answer, he slaps the flat of his hand on your ass.

You moan slightly, pushing your face further into the pillow.

“I knew it,” he mutters. For a brief moment, you hear nothing, until you hear his belt unfasten slowly. The sound alone makes you drip even more. Daemon sets the remote control aside as he pulls down his trousers. His length is already hard, twitching impatiently as his hand encircles it, gripping it lightly and sliding up and down.  

He watches how your bottom is pushed up, how the fabric of your panties becomes more and more soaked. He growls slightly, pumping his hardness faster, before his other hand pushes your panties slightly to the side. His fingers glide through your slit, rubbing the wetness along your folds.

“Fuck...”, he just grunts and you can literally feel his cock twitching.

You push your bottom further towards him as he lets the tip of his cock slide through your folds. Occasional grunts and gasps leave his lips before he slowly penetrates you.

You squeeze your eyes shut. No matter how many times he has fucked your pussy raw, this feeling will never get dull. The way your walls stretch around his length. The way he slides deeper and deeper, making your pussy clench.

“Daemon,” you whimper into the pillow, and he grunts, grabs your hips and pushes all the way inside you.

Long strokes hitting so deep into you, making you see stars. Daemon is gripping your hips, fucking into your tight pussy. His balls slap against your clit with every thrust, intensifying the vibration of your panties.

Your fingers dig into the sheets beneath you as Daemon pushes deeper inside you. You cry out into the pillow and Daemon growls. The panties are still vibrating, teasing your clit as Daemon thrusts into you faster.

His cock kisses your cervix, making your body tremble. His hands grasp your buttocks, pull them apart as he watches his cock slide into you, covered in your juices.

At that moment, Daemon feels his balls tighten as he nears his climax.

He grabs your hips tighter and angles them differently to thrust deeper into you. You cry out, feeling your walls clench around him. The pressure in your abdomen increases and you moan out. He groans behind you, thrusting harder as your noises grow more desperate.

And suddenly you come. You scream and Daemon grunts loudly. Your walls milk him, and pull him deeper inside, want his juice – and Daemon gives in.

He growls as his hips stutter. He thrusts deep inside you, his hot seed spills deeper into your clenching pussy with each thrust.

You whimper as he slows down, letting his orgasm subside. Slowly, he pulls his length out of you, breathing heavily. For a moment, he just kneels behind you, his hands on your hips.

His hand gently glides over your bottom before he reaches for the remote and turns off the vibration. Your eyes are closed, but you feel him fall down next to you on the mattress.

You turn your face to him, watching him as he tries to catch his breath with his eyes closed. You smile slightly before cuddling up to him a little and kissing his cheek.

“Thank you for the gift,” you whisper, making him chuckle before he pulls you close.

[r1dd1kulus]

Me everytime Otto opens his BIG FAT GOB

Tormented Spirit | 11

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: very brief daemon cameo here. but he'll be back next chapter. please leave comments/reblogs because they really help me with the fic. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

Upon Daemon's abrupt leave, the king named Rhaenyra his heir and she has since then set out to look for a suitable match. Though the crown princess was loathe to leave, you envy the fact that she is permitted to leave King's Landing at all.

There is a knock on your door. "Princess?"

You open the door and smile at the knight, "Erryk."

Erryk nods and tries to smile back at you. It is hard, considering you look like you have been crying. He tries to lift your spirits by saying, "I am flattered to know I am now set apart."

You take his arm after closing your door, "you have always been set apart, good ser."

The two of you walk off and break fast together. It is silent, as it has been for two moons now. You have not told him any stories since your husband's leave. You barely speak at all, in fact. Most of the time you lock yourself in your room and he pretends he does not hear your sobs. To say he is concerned is an understatement.

And, of course, there was another matter.

Once more, in silence, you walk down the halls, this time with him trailing behind you. You are headed for your father's office. Once there, you knock on his door, and he answers.

Erryk hotly eyes Otto before nodding in regard, "Lord Hand."

"Has my daughter eaten?" is all Lord Hand ever says, to him or his brother.

"Yes," your ward replies each time.

Erryk watches as your father takes your hand and links it in his arms. He leans towards you and gentle speaks, as he has ever since you threw yourself into the sea. He even rubs your knuckles as you walk off to the maester's ward. Yet, through it all, Erryk finds no comfort in this new found gentleness your father offers. He is deeply suspicious, but for your sake, he tries to convince himself your father has changed.

Each day, without fail, you and your father visit your maester together, and each day, without fail, he worries for you more and more.

Erryk straightens up when the door to the maester's opens. He is quick to come to your side and offer his arm as you wave your father good bye. Otto does not regard you before walking off. He never does.

You smile at Erryk once it's just the two of you. The latter asks, "how are you feeling?"

You notice the lines on his forehead, and it makes your lips flatten. You tilt your head, "same as I felt yesterday," you place a hand on his cheek, "and the day before... so do not worry for me."

"Forgive me, princess," Erryk lowers his gaze and pulls your hand away, "but such a thought cannot comfort me for you have been nothing but sad since Daemon left."

You clasp your hands together, "that's hardly his fault."

"Is it not?" Erryk questions rather harshly.

"Not really..." you offer a soft smile, "none but my brother remembers the days prior to my sadness." You chuckle under your breath, "and even then, I am aware he feeds me honeyed words"

Erryk gulps when you take his arm. He wants so badly to caress your cheeks as you bring a beaming smile to your face.

"Do not torture yourself trying to make me happy," you raise your brows at him as you lead him off, "you did not meet me happy, Erryk, and it is not your job to make the impossible happen."

You examine his expression as you make your way back to your chambers. You had hoped he could find some sort of comfort in this truth, but he looks only more worried. You sigh, "would you like to know why it is I visit the maester everyday?"

Erryk knits his brows, "I only like what you want."

"..."

"And if my lady wanted it, she would have already told me why her father brings her to the maesters daily."

You carefully mutter his name.

He stares at you for a moment, hand itching to clutch your cheeks. He holds himself back but mutters your name with such a softness, it makes your skin prick with goosebumps.

Your breath hitches and you have to look away. You huff and lick your lips, "I am with child."

He stops in his tracks.

You pull away to stand before him. You feel incredibly self-conscious as his face contorts.

"My-" he starts by then bows his head, "Seven bless you for the fortunate news," he slowly looks up at you, "congratulations."

You slowly raise your brows, "you congratulate me yet appear so frightened."

"No," he shakes his head, "I am not frightened... merely... shocked."

You aimlessly look off.

"... and perhaps... worried."

You chuckle, soft and dry, "worry will do none of us any good."

"Does the prince know?"

You look back at him. You shake your head, "no one knows."

He clenches his jaw.

"I plan to tell Arryk next," you rub your belly, "soon, I will be showing... and I do not want you to be frightened."

There is much Erryk wishes to say, much he wishes to promise you. I promise to sever any hand that rises harm you or your child. I promise, so long as I breathe, to do all I am able to assure your safety. But he says nothing because he knows you will cry. He says nothing because he can sense that you are frightened.

You begin to walk off again and Erryk wordlessly follows. You look back at him, finding him in deep thought with his gaze lowered. You turn to your fingers and fidget with them, "I did not want to announce it in case it does not last."

You can feel him looking at you.

"Even now, we do not know what the future holds."

He clenches his fists tightly, "princess-"

You turn.

"-I know it means nothing, but I believe you are stronger than you think. I have seen it, your strength... and your happiness, however small and fleeting you may think it."

Your eyes water. You reach out for him and squeeze his hand, "do not hold yourself in such low regard. Your words mean everything to me, Erryk."

You walk back to your chambers and invite Erryk inside. He remains stood by the door as you get quill and parchment. You have been writing daily two letters— one, which comes easy:

𝔐𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯, ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔡𝔞𝔶. ℑ 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔲𝔫𝔢 𝔞𝔰 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔴𝔢'𝔩𝔩 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔤𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔰𝔬𝔬𝔫. ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔩𝔶 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔱 𝔒𝔩𝔡𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤'𝔰 𝔏𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔢, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔦𝔱. ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔢. ℑ 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔢𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔶𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔫𝔬𝔬𝔫. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔣𝔞𝔳𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔣𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯, 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢. ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡. ℑ𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥. 𝔚𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔠𝔞𝔫. 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢, 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔱𝔴𝔦𝔫 𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯.

... and another which takes far greater effort and attempts to complete:

𝔗𝔬 𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔯 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔗𝔬 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. ℑ 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩-𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤. ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔰𝔞𝔣𝔢𝔱𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔯 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡. 𝔇𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔲𝔟𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔠𝔞𝔭𝔞𝔟𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔢𝔰. ℑ 𝔰𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔶 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔭 𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔰𝔱. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔦𝔫 𝔞 𝔴𝔞𝔶 ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯, 𝔪𝔶 𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯, 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯, 𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔦𝔫 𝔞 𝔴𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢 𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔵𝔢𝔰. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔪𝔢 𝔬𝔫 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔞𝔠𝔨, 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔦𝔣 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔲𝔯𝔱 𝔪𝔢. ℑ 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔢𝔯 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔲𝔯𝔱 𝔟𝔶 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔱 𝔞𝔩𝔩. 𝔇𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔪𝔢? 𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔣 ℑ 𝔲𝔭𝔰𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔬𝔣𝔣. ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔡𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔰𝔨𝔢𝔡. ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔩𝔶 𝔬𝔣𝔣 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔭𝔱 𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔡𝔦𝔡. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔢, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔉𝔯𝔬𝔪, 𝔖𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔶, 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥 𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔰

In the end, this is what you sent:

𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. 𝔐𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔢𝔫 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔬𝔯𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰. ℑ 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔶𝔬𝔲, ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔵𝔢𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔞𝔣𝔢. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔬 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔯𝔢𝔭𝔩𝔶. 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔩𝔶, 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔣𝔢.

—of course, after reading it aloud to Erryk, just to be sure it was appropriate.

Erryk has only ever assured you that whatever it is you mean to tell your husband is more than appropraite, but for once, he offers that you add something. "Perhaps you should tell him that you're... you know."

You spare him a glance as you seal your letters with wax and shake your head, "why? Do you think he would return if I did?"

No. Erryk does not hold him in such a high regard.

"If he wanted to respond, he would. No matter what I have to say, I cannot change his mind if he's already set it," you stand, "and again... we don't know what the future holds."

You were right.

Woe is you who understood the inner workings of your husband. Daemon was in the middle of chewing tough, flavorless meat when he received your latest letter. You were right about not being able to change his mind about writing to you, but you were wrong in thinking your words wouldn't bring him to write back.

It would have, that is, if he ever read them.

The prince goes to Caraxes and feeds him what remained of his food. He then goes to his tent and chucks your letter along with the rest of it. He lies down in his cot and wonders what you write to him about. He wonders if you miss his touch, then touches himself to the thought of you.

A moon passes. Though you knew neither your maester nor your father would ever trick you into believing you were with child when you were not, the truth of it all only set in upon catching a glimpse of your bare body in the mirror. You had taken a warm bath in the evening because you felt sore, and upon seeing how big your breasts had become and how your belly protruded in a way it has not, you realize why you were so sore and just how real it was that you were carrying a child.

It was terrible that upon your awareness of the changes in your body, so much started to change. You found it harder to fit into your clothes as your breasts and arms required much more space than normal. Your face began to change as well, and you could scarcely recognize your own reflection with how swollen you looked. What's worse, is that your skin began to break out with painfully deep pimples.

You knew that you shouldn't be picking at them, but you couldn't help yourself, so you did, and soon your face, your neck, and even your back was littered with red blotches. You were so horrified with the way you looked, you barely left your room.

It was then Alicent began to worry.

"Just place it there," Viserys points haphazardly from where he sat.

"Here?" Alicent places the figure near some tiny stone trees.

The king looks, "no-" then comes behind her, guiding her hand from behind. Alicent tenses when his other hand comes to her waist. Viserys moves her hand and Alicent finally places the figure. The former smiles, "there."

Alicent catches her breath as the king pulls away.

Viserys sits and continues carving out the piece he had at hand. After a few moments, he notices Alicent staring at him. He quirks a brow, "something wrong, my dear?"

"Have you heard from your brother?"

He releases his block and leans back on his chair, "no."

Alicent nods, lowering her gaze.

"Why?"

She shakes her head.

"Come now," Viserys stands, "you can tell me."

Alicent looks at him when he takes her hand. She presses her lips as she feels her heart race. Her voice trembles, "m-my sister."

He hums, "has something happened to her?"

She rapidly shakes her head, "I barely see her anymore. She stays in her room days on end."

"I see," he nods, "did she and Daemon argue before he left?"

"I-" she shrugs as the king pulls away, going back to his chair, "I don't know."

Viserys spares her a look before picking up his block.

"I do know that she feels abandoned. First, Gwayne, now the prince," Alicent sighs, "she has no one."

"She has you."

She shakes her head, "she and my brother have always been close, close in a way twins are, close in a way I can never understand. She does not regard me as dearly, I don't think."

This makes his brows furrow. He tilts his head, "that is not true. Many a man would regard you dearly, Alicent."

Her throat tightens.

"And your sister is not a man," Viserys raises a hand, "does she not like to pray?"

Alicent nods slowly.

"You might want to invite her to the temple. It might cheer her up."

The girl rubs her hands together and nods. She then curtsies and heads for the door, that is, until Viserys stops her.

The king rises and takes her hand, "eager to leave, are you?"

"N- I-"

"I don't bore you, do I?"

Alicent shakes her head, "n-no! Not at all, I simply--"

"I jest," Viserys chuckles, pressing a kiss at the back of her hand, "go to her." He rubs her knuckles, "she is most fortunate to have your affections."

Alicent curtsies again and leaves.

As she makes her way to your chambers, she sees one of your servants and calls for her. The servant girl is quick to greet the lady and Alicent notices the letters in her hands.

"Have you gone to my sister?" she asks.

The servant girl nods, "yes."

"How is she?" the red haired girl sighs.

"She... is her normal self," she nods slowly.

Alicent shakes her head, "... sad?"

"Yes," she agrees.

"Who are those for?" Alicent motions to the letters she was holding.

"These?" the girl raises, "ah... your brother and good-brother, milady."

"Oh," she tilts her head slightly, "does she write to them often?"

She nods, "everyday, milady."

"Oh," she blinks. There is something about this comforts her and... hurts her. She thinks about what she confessed to the king, how she was aware you did not regard her so dearly, and yet, there was an ache in her heart to know her sister would not seek solace in her during this time.

Alicent dismisses the servant then comes to your chambers.

The Cargyll stood outside your door greets her, "my lady."

"Ser..." she nods, "Erryk?"

"Arryk, my lady."

"Ah, yes," she lowers her head, "forgive me."

"An honest mistake," he smiles, "you are here for your sister, yes?"

Alicent nods.

He turns and knocks on your door, "princess. Your sister, Lady Alicent, is here."

"I-" she steps forward and raises her voice, "wish to invite to pray at the temple."

Arryk turns to her and smiles. Alicent smiles back and they both wait for you to respond. Only, it seems you are really taking your time.

She begins to pick at her nails and the minutes pass. She sighs, turning to ser Arryk, "maybe she is asleep."

He shakes his head, "she does not sleep at this time. She is probably changing."

"How do you now? Do you go inside to check on her?"

"I only come inside when she needs help with something," he nods curtly, "or, if perhaps, I feel sense danger in the air."

Alicent tilts her head, "but how do you know?"

"The princess is a creature of habit. Though she is good at concealing her emotions, you can only hide so much from someone who watches you closely."

"How close do you watch her, ser?"

Arryk is taken aback by the question. It was in all accounts innocent; Alicent meant nothing more that what she said, but it did not feel such to the knight. It feels as though he was caught staring longingly at you right this moment. "W-What?"

He is thankful Alicent does not get to clarify herself because you finally emerge.

Alicent perks and deflates all at once upon seeing you. You smile at her through the lacy, black veil you have covering your face. She returns your embrace as you hug her, but she cannot help but knit her brows at you, or rather, that veil on you.

"You look well, sister," you smile, taking her hands.

She takes a moment before replying, "and you...'re wearing a veil."

Your smile flattens.

Alicent is quick to shake her head, "it looks good. Very stylish."

You contain your frown and take her arm, "I am most pleased to have you here."

The both of you begin to walk off and Arryk follows after. Alicent asks, "you are?"

"Of course!" you give her a look, "why, you are normally with the princess-" you raise a finger, "-which I do not have any qualms with. Most people dream to have a friendship that you both have. But I am glad you have a moment to spare for me."

Alicent's brows raise.

"Rhaenyra is doing better now, I hope?"

"Yes," she nods slowly, "she can now talk about the queen without weeping."

"Better than I ever was," you squeeze her arm.

Alicent offers you a soft smile.

The sight of her face brings you comfort, "I have missed your company, and your pretty face, my pretty girl."

She chuckles.

"You inherited our mother's beauty and left none for me—"

"That's not-"

"—especially none for Gwayne."

Alicent chortles and you giggle in response.

Arryk smiles, feels his heart clench at the tender display before him. Thank the Seven for Alicent Hightower.

"You should join us, sister," Alicent squeeze your hand, "Rhaenyra enjoys your company as much as I do."

You shake your head, offering her a kind smile, "I would not want to infect you with my bitterness."

For a moment, Alicent wants to ask if that was why you were wearing a veil, but she decides against it.

Arryk stood a few paces away from you as you prayed in the temple. Both you and your sister were on your knees with your hands clasped and eyes closed as you recited your prayers.

"Lastly," Alicent mutters, "we pray for Daemon's safety-"

You open your eyes and turn to your sister.

"-that he, as well as the Velaryons and their fleet, may find swift victory so that they may all return to their families."

You unveil yourself, "seven hear us."

"Seven hear us," Alicent ends, bowing her head for the final time.

You try not to think of the acne staring back at Alicent when she turns to you, but her initial reaction to seeing your face makes it quite hard. She does you a favor of not saying anything regarding it however.

You squeeze her hand and whisper, "there is something I must tell you."

She gives you a solemn expression.

"I am with child."

Her eyes widen and her lips part.

"Of course, father knows, but I have not told anyone, save my wards," you shake your head, "it is why my skin is littered with blemishes, and why I do not wish to come out of my room."

She frowns, calling out your name softly.

"Not even my husband knows, Alicent," you shake your head, "and I did not tell him because-" you eyes begin to water, "because the chances of a miscarriage is still high."

Alicent can feel your fear, your worry.

"But gods, I feel like I will go mad if I keep this in any longer," you break down into a sob.

She immediately seals you into an embrace. Arryk is immediately alerted by the sound of your cries. He observes for a moment but does not act, knowing you need this moment with your sister.

Alicent feels her chest tighten, not because of how tightly you embrace her, but because of how evidently you needed this hug.

"I want to go home," you mumble.

She nods, "I'll take you back to you-"

"To Oldtown," you sniffle, taking in her scent. She smelled like your mother and it made you wonder if your presence ever felt comforting for anyone, or if you just inspired distress, "this is not my home."

"Sister," she tries to look at you, "you are married to the prin-"

"And where is he?" you blurt, pulling away.

Alicent frowns at the redness of your eyes and the wobbling of your lips.

"I feel nothing but emptiness here," you place your hand on your belly, "I do not want that emptiness to manifest within me-" you shake your head, "I do not want my bitterness to kill my unborn child."

Alicent's cheeks instantly become wet.

You wipe her tears away and frown, "will you try and help me convince father to send me home?"

She stares at you, "sister..."

It is an impossible ask, and you both know it.

"Please," you brush her red locks, "he has always favored you."

Alicent does not know if that was true. She lowers her gaze and shakes her head, "I... I will try."

Your lips wobble as you watch worry manifest on her features. Guilt begins to choke you, "forgive me for asking much of you, my baby sister."

Alicent shakes her head quicker then steels herself away, "no. I-" she nods, "I want to help."

You squeeze her hands, "do not force it if it is too hard."

Later that evening, Alicent builds her nerve and visits the Lord Hand's office. The moment she enters the room, she knows she's made a mistake, for he was in a sour mood.

"What?" he snaps, head in his hand.

It was too late, however. He will be cross if she says she's changed her mind, he will be cross if she lies and presents him with something unimportant, and he will be cross if she tells him what she actually came here for. She takes a breath, might as do it, "it's regarding my sister."

Otto immediately perks, eyes squinting, "what of her?"

"She... asked me to ask you if she could... continue the rest of her term in Oldtown."

The man tilts his head, eyes widening in disbelief, "I beg your pardon?"

"She sai-"

"She told you she's carrying?" he points a finger.

Alicent tenses. She gulps, "yes."

"When?" he snaps, coming to a stand.

"J-" she watches her father walk over, "just today."

Otto's face is hard as he recalls how you begged him not to make a spectacle of your childbearing, lest your body fails you. He thinks there is something to be said about how you were now willing to divulge this information with Alicent. He raises his brows, "who else knows?"

Alicent feels cornered. It does not feel right to divulge this information.

"Did she tell Daemon?" he places his hands on her shoulder.

She stammers, "I-... I do not know."

Otto examines her daughter. He thinks she knows more than she lets on but does not pursue it further. He sighs, caressing her cheek before pulling away, "you know, you both know, I will not allow such a thing."

He walks back to his desk and Alicent takes in a deep breath.

"If she is here, then I can see to her needs."

"She needs the warmth of home," she says.

Otto sighs as he sits down. He motions vaguely to his child, "this is her home. She's married to Daemon Targaryen."

"But the prince is not here," she steps forward, "she can return when he does."

He tilts his head. He knows her boldness comes stems from her love from you. That is why he says, "and do you really think she can return if she leaves?"

Alicent's face falls. It is incredibly subtle, but Otto catches it nonetheless.

"If your sister were to go to your brother in Oldtown, what do you think the Rogue Prince will say?" her father leans on the desk, "you bore witness to how he acted when your sister came to Gwayne when he was knocked off his horse at the tourney. Do you think he will enjoy the fact she retreated to him in this time? Do you think he will care enough to retrieve her once he returns from the Stepstones? Or will he squander in brothels and sire a thousand bastards?"

She begins to pick at her nails.

"And what of your sister's child?" Otto raises a brow, "what if she loses the babe during the journey to Oldtown? What if she loses the babe once she's there? Who then is to be blamed?"

"I-"

"And what if the baby does not inherit a single Valyrian trait?" he leans back on his chair, "what if the babe looks like a Hightower and Daemon decided to accuse her of infidelity?"

"But she would never-"

"I know that," Otto raises a finger, "you know that. Does her husband share in this knowledge?"

"..."

"It would look like she left to hide her sins."

Alicent's heart begins to pound.

"Do you understand the risk, child?"

She opens her mouth but nothing comes out.

Otto sighs and stands again, "I understand you mean well."

Alicent is at the brink of tears as her father approaches her again.

"But there is no way for your sister to go to Oldtown," he ushers her to the door, "without risking much." Lord Hand opens the door and gives his daughter one last, "not unless the king allows such a thing."

Alicent takes in her father's features. He smiles softly at her. Her stomach feels uneasy.

"Go to bed, Alicent," he strokes her hair, "your sister is mine to worry about, not yours."

The door closes.

It was a shock that Alicent came to you the next day, telling you that you were set to leave for Oldtown at noon. You were overjoyed and sealed your sister into the tightest hugs, "I can't believe you convinced father!"

Alicent rubs your back, softly muttering, "...I really didn't."

"Oh but you did," you chuckled in between sobs, "I owe you my first born's life."

She pulls away and shakes her head, "d-don't- don't say that."

You frown at the worry that over her face. You shake your head, "very well. Forgive me for burdening you with such a thought."

So it was that you left that day for Oldtown. You were grateful the king graciously allowed you to bring both your wards along with you. You would would have been less so, had you known Alicent requested it specifically, even less had known it was not actually your father that she had convinced but the king himself, and less than that to know she was able to do so because she had been visiting him oft since the queen's passing. You would outright abhor it had you known Alicent's relationship with Viserys was borne from your father's encouragement.

Your unawareness of this made you deeply cherish the moment you saw your twin brother's face. You were exhausted from the travel, much more than usual, and yet an energy burned within you when you saw Oldtown's heir.

Gwayne outright laughed and pointed at you as you sobbed on your way over to him, "what in god's name is on your face, twin?"

You felt nothing but affection from his blatant mockery.

He coos as he pulls you into a hug once you are close enough, "now, now. I cannot have a princess weeping in my arms." He is relieved by the warmth of your being. He has not been embraced so tenderly you've been separated. "Not an ugly one at least."

"I am with child, you miscreant," you mutter against his chest.

Gwayne's rubs your back as his face hardens with worry, "I know. Father wrote to me."

You sniffle and pull away. You glare at him, "yet you still dare to be mean to your beloved sister?"

"Spare me your tears," he says rather genuinely as takes in your wet face, "your cry baby attitude will get nowhere with me."

Your lips wobble at the sentiment.

Gwayne actually starts feeling bad, but then you release a soft laugh.

"You fucking rat," you scratch your eyes as you break into a giggle.

Your twin gasps, turning to your wards who were approaching. Lord Hightower raises a brow at them, "are you aware your lady has a vulgar mouth on her?"

"Please, Gwayne," you shake your head, "I'm a fucking princess."

The laugh that leaves your brother is ugly, loud, and real.

Yes, your unawareness made you cherish every moment you spend in Oldtown. It was still hard to be with child; there were the food aversions and cravings, soreness, sickness, and mood swings that haunted you, but the spirit of emptiness remained in King's Landing. Now that you were free from the scrutiny of court, from the politicking of your father, there was a lightness within you that you had not felt in a long time.

You recounted the things you and Gwayne used to do when you were younger, then caught yourself imagining your child doing the same. Suddenly, you didn't feel so terrified by the thought of bringing a child into this world. The Cargyll twins can attest to the shift in your demeanor.

It was a shame that a moon's worth of happiness disappeared in an instant all because of a single letter.

Gwayne comes to a stand from his spot upon seeing you react so physically to whatever it was you were reading. The Cargyll twins who were breaking fast with both of you, stand to attention as well.

You clutch your chest as your other hand crushes the letter you just read.

"What is it?" your brother asks, "what has happened?"

"It's Alicent," you feel your chest tighten.

Gwayne comes to your side, placing a hand on your shoulder. He is alarmed by your tension, "sister, sister. Breathe."

You clutch your belly. It's much pronounced now, and you know it adds to your struggle to breathe.

"Breathe," your twin repeats, "that's it."

You manage to calm yourself, but soon tears begin to fall from your eyes, "Gwayne."

"Yes, I'm Gwayne," he squeezes your shoulder, "what's happened to Alicent?"

You shake your head and look up at him, "she's getting married."

The man pulls his head back. His brows knit, "married? To whom?"

Your breath hitches as you push yourself up to a stand, "to the king."

Whatever confusion he had regarding your reaction instantly dissipates. This match reeked of politicking, politicking from the Hand of the King. Gwayne clenches his jaw as helps you up. He feels the same emotions he did upon learning of your own betrothal. History was repeating itself, yet now, your brother's chest is tighter. He had always believed your father wouldn't be so cruel to willingly give you to the Rogue Prince, but now... he realizes this was something he wanted to believe.

Gwayne calls your name out as you begin to walk off, "where are you going?"

"Where do you think?" you snap.

You despise every second spent on the way back to King's Landing. You are exhausted when you return and you are loathe to see your father waiting for you.

Otto calls your name and greets you with a smile. His glee is genuine. He is wholeheartedly pleased to see how much better you look from your visit to Oldtown, "I am glad to see time with your twin has livened you, my girl."

As true as that may be, it was your anger that livened you in this moment. You despise him as he takes your cheeks and kisses your forehead. You destest him as he grins.

"I have missed you."

You wish you hated him more as not to be so affected by this. Your nostrils flare, "where is my sister?"

His face falls slightly at your complete ignorance to his greeting. He pulls away, "getting ready for her nuptials."

You stare at him. The burst of affection he had for your wanes enough for him to recognize your look, your glare. It was written all over. Anger. Defiance. Hurt. It could not be contained.

"Am I not enough for you, father?" you quip under your breath as your eyes begin to water.

Otto looks around then takes your hand, "let us speak insi-"

"Is it not enough?!" you break free from his hold. You seethe, "—that I am about to deliver you a royal grandchild and you should require my baby sister to do the sa-"

"She is not a baby," he quips.

You clench your jaw, "she just turned ten and-"

"She is in ripe marrying age."

You turn away from him. You are about to walk away, and he knows it. He cannot stand it.

"She did this so you could go to Oldtown," he snaps, pointing an accusing finger at you.

You give the Hand one last look before going to your sister.

Alicent is equally overjoyed and worried by your appearance. Just as she assures you that you didn't have to come all this way, you silence her by telling her, "it is not too late."

Your sister is frozen in her spot as you explain the plans you have for her to escape her marriage with the king. She can tell that you have thought about it greatly, considering the speed and detail in which you speak it. The only thing that manages to quiet you is the way she says, "it is done."

"W-what?"

"I am decided," Alicent shakes her head as her eyes begin to water, "do you not notice how your plans to save me demand your suffering?"

Your brows knit, "I will suffer no more than I already do."

She sniffles as she speaks your name, "when mother died... I watched you writhe in pain. None but Gwayne ever offered you true comfort."

"And you!" you clutch your cheeks, "you foolish girl! Do you not understand, I wish to free you from-"

"We are all of us destined to be a prisoner," Alicent mutters as tears fall from her eyes, "us, more than most. If not the king, I will be married off to another man I do not want."

You clench your jaw, "Ali-"

"At least if I am queen, I can save you from Daemon."

Your heart stops. You rest your forehead on hers, "you stupid little girl."

Your words burn her. She watches as you pull away, finding the tears staining your cheeks.

"If you are doing this for me, and you marry him... I will never speak to you again."

Her face drops.

"Did I not tell you that I should be the one to do such things for you?"

"Sister," she takes your hand, "... I am stronger than you."

"... oh."

"I can help."

You lower your gaze and nod. You pull away from her and walk away.

Less than a fortnight later, your sister marries the king and is proclaimed the new Queen of the Seven Realms.

[moonlight-joy]

The Dragon’s Bargain

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: When duty binds you to marry the fire and fury of Daemon Targaryen, his unyielding ambition and magnetic presence force you to confront the line between destiny and defiance, as you stand on the precipice of a union that could either empower you or consume you entirely.

Pairing: Reader/Daemon Targaryen

The chamber was cold despite the roaring fire in the hearth. You sat stiffly on the velvet-cushioned chair, your hands resting in your lap as the gravity of your father’s words settled over you like a stormcloud.

“You will marry Daemon,” he had said, his voice steady, betraying neither joy nor regret. “It is a match befitting our house, and one that will secure our bloodline's future.”

Your breath hitched, though you willed yourself to appear composed. It wasn’t fear that clawed at your chest—not entirely. It was the knowledge of what such a union truly meant. Daemon was no stranger to you. He was fire and fury, a man who bent the world to his will without apology. Marrying him would be no small undertaking; it would be a plunge into the inferno.

“Have I no say in this matter, Father?” you asked, your voice calm but laced with steel. “Or has my fate already been sealed?”

He gave you a long look, one that spoke of duty and resignation. “It is for the good of the realm,” he said simply. “And for you. Daemon has insisted… and he has assured me you will not regret this.”

Assured him. The words echoed mockingly in your mind. When had Daemon Targaryen ever been known for restraint, much less assurances of comfort? Still, you knew your father’s decision was final. Resistance would be futile.

You sat there long after he left, staring into the flames as they consumed the wood with a hunger that felt all too familiar. You knew it would not be long before Daemon came to claim what he believed was his.

---

The wait was not long.

When the door to your chambers opened, you knew it was him before you turned. His presence was unmistakable, a force that drew all the air from the room. He strode inside without hesitation, his silver hair catching the flickering light of the fire, his dark eyes fixed on you with a predatory gleam.

“So,” he drawled, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. “You’ve heard the news.”

You stood, refusing to let him loom over you while you sat. “It seems I’ve little choice in the matter, my prince.”

“Daemon,” he corrected, his voice a silken command. He took a step closer, and though you held your ground, you felt the heat of him, like standing too close to dragonfire. “You should practice saying it. Soon enough, it will be the only name you’ll need.”

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you could muster. “You seem quite pleased with yourself,” you said, your tone cutting. “Did you have to twist my father’s arm to make this happen?”

Daemon chuckled, low and rich, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Twist his arm? No,” he said, his smirk widening. “I merely showed him the wisdom of aligning with me. The Targaryen way is stronger when we are united, niece. Surely you see that.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing your cheek. The gesture was surprisingly gentle, though it did little to quell the storm inside you. “You will be my wife,” he murmured, his voice softer now, but no less commanding. “And more than that, you will be my queen. Together, we will remind the world of what it means to fear the blood of the dragon.”

“Queen?” you repeated, your breath catching. “What are you saying?”

Daemon’s smile darkened, a glint of ambition sparking in his eyes. “Your father has named you his heir. With you by my side, we will have both the crown and the dragons to claim what is ours. This is no mere marriage, my dear. It is destiny.”

Your stomach churned at his words, at the sheer audacity of them. And yet, there was something intoxicating about his certainty, his unrelenting belief that you belonged together, that together you could conquer the world.

“You speak as though I have already agreed,” you said, your voice trembling despite your attempt to sound firm.

Daemon stepped closer, his hand sliding down to grasp yours. His touch was warm, almost searing, and you couldn’t pull away. “You will agree,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are mine, little dragon. And I am yours. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be.”

He raised your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. The act should have felt tender, but it only heightened the tension thrumming between you. His lips lingered, his gaze never leaving yours, as if daring you to deny him.

Your heart thundered in your chest, your thoughts a chaotic mess of anger, fear, and something far more dangerous—desire. Daemon was a man who burned with intensity, who drew you in even as you longed to escape. To marry him would be to bind yourself to a tempest, to risk being consumed by his fire. And yet…

“What happens if I refuse?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Daemon’s smile returned, sharp and knowing. “You won’t,” he said simply. His confidence was maddening, infuriating. But it was also infectious. “You are a dragon, just as I am. We are meant to fly together, not apart.”

The fire crackled in the hearth, the only sound in the room as his words hung in the air. He released your hand, but his gaze remained locked on yours, waiting.

And you realized, with a sinking feeling, that he was right. Perhaps you had never truly had a choice at all.

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[paulyenvol6]

Bound by Flame (Chapter 14)

Contains: no warnings really

Wordcount: ~2.44k

Masterlist of this story

It was a grey afternoon when Aegon Targaryen finally arrived two days later.

There was a gathering, fanfares and music for the future lord of the seven kingdoms and in addition to Maera and the court there were also some common borns that watched as the crown prince hugged his father.

"My son is back!" he shouted and proudly patted his shoulders.

Aegon had grown into a handsome and slender man, silver blonde of hair and a pronounced jaw. He smiled shyly and waved to the people and then made his way to greet the rest of his family that he hadn't seen in so long.

Maera returned her brother's croaked smirk and then closed her eyes when he wrapped his arms around her.

"How are you, sister? I've heard so much…"

"I'm fine. And very happy."

The hug had lasted only a few seconds and then he held her a little away from him to examin her accurately.

"It's very good to see you," he said after a while and then was quick to turn to Daemon.

"Uncle," he spoke a lot more reserved.

An amused smirk played around the addressed's lips and he inhaled deeply.

"Nephew. How was your tour? I haven't heard a great deal about it."

"No wonder. You seemed to have been occupied elsewhere. Getting my sister pregnant, for example," Aegon hissed sharply and flashed his eyes at Daemon.

Maera's uncle watched him with a mixture of amusement and menace.

"Be careful with your words. You wouldn't want to humiliate your sister in front of the whole court, would you?"

His nephew scoffed and shook his head.

"That's not what I'm after, no. But it seems like that's what you had in mind when you kidnapped her and dragged her to dragonstone."

Maera just had to intervene now and tried to push her brother away from her husband.

"Please Aegon. Don't make a scene. Everything is fine, you don't need to step in for me."

"I'm not making a scene," he answered the anger clearly showing off in his voice. "I'm trying to defend my sister and restore her honour. If there's anything left of it."

Now it was her uncle that narrowed his eyes at the crown prince and his facial expression turned cold.

"Now you're insulting your sister. And as her husband it is my place to tell you that you're not to say another thing about my wife's honour. Have I made myself clear?"

Aegon chuckled and flared his nostrils in the next moment. "It's not your place to tell me what to do!"

To Maera's relief her father finally noticed the confrontation between his brother and his son and he furrowed his brow while approaching the scene. She sighed thinking that someone with a certain authority would finally deescalate whatever this was.

"Aegon," he hissed and placed hand on his shoulder. "Behave yourself."

Unwillingly his son took his eyes off Daemon and instead glared at the king.

"How can you accept this? How can you host him like that and feast with him in your own halls??"

Maera instinctively reached out to her uncle and blindly searched for his hand which he gave her and she gripped it tightly.

"This is a lawful marriage, son. And you wouldn't actually assume that I would send my own brother away and deny him a place in my court, would you? You should apologize to your uncle for questioning his marriage."

For the first time Aegon seemed defensive and lowered his gaze. His father observed him expectantly and seemingly waited for another complain but he just looked like he was searching the ground for something until he lifted his gaze again to glance at his uncle.

"Forgive me, uncle," he breathed and judging by the way he had gulped, these words had been hard for him to say.

The addressed nodded graciously and this smug smile just wouldn't vanish from his face.

Soon the process made their way back to the castle and in the meantime Viserys announced that there would be a feast in honour of the crown prince's return tonight and the surrounding lords and ladies cheered and smiled at the royal family.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the evening a couple of handmaidens helped Maera prepare herself for the glorious ball that her father had described the upcoming feasting as and watched the crimson velvet fabric of her dress in awe. It exposed her collar bones and was tight on her torso which made it a form-fitting gown fit for a wedded princess. The dress fell down to the ground looking both heavy and effortless at the same time with the hem touching the ground just slightly like a brush of a finger. She also wore a necklace that felt cold when it touched her but its rubin looked glorious on her light skin.

Daemon who had gotten dressed in a different room knocked on her door just when she was finished and Maera thought that he might be able to read her thoughts.

His eyes flashed up when he laid them on her the first time and he unshamelessly regarded her whole body. Under his gaze Maera felt both intimidated and beautiful and suddenly she felt like her skin was in flames.

"You look stunning," he whispered so quietly that she knew those words were only meant for her ears. "Absolutely beautiful."

Maera broke into a smile and felt this familiar heat between her legs when her husband pressed a kiss on her forehead. She felt like she was turning into an animal when he was that way. When he gave her these intense eyes, watched her as if she was all he had ever wanted and spoke to her so gently that Maera believed she genuinely had never been loved by someone like this before.

"Thank you," she breathed and tried to focus. It indeed was a bad time to feel heated because there was a feast they had to attend and so Maera exhaled a few times and she savoured the breeze that came with the opening of the door. The dizziness faded and she felt stronger on her feet as Daemon guided her through the corridor heading to the throne room.

They were greeted by her brother who actually seemed to pull himself together and returned the honest smile Maera gave him. Then they took their seat next to the king and Maera let her eyes wander over the room.

The hall was generously decorated with candles, tapestries and the Targaryen banner majestically towering beside the king's table. A group of musicians played lively music and lords and ladies were already exuberantly dancing in the middle of the room. Soon Maera felt too excited and jittery to sit around and questioningly looked at Daemon.

"I wish to dance, uncle."

He had just lifted his cup to his mouth and watched her with raised eyebrows while taking a sip of wine. Then he placed it back on the table in front of him and a playful smirk appeared on his lips.

"Is that so?" he asked and ran his hand over his wife's thigh.

"Please. I don't want to sit around all night."

He chuckled lightly but then sighed and got off his chair.

"Alright. If I may?" he asked sarcastically while offering his niece his hand. She felt a bubbly feeling in her tummy and joyfully took his hand.

Daemon guided her down the few steps to the dance floor where she spotted several lords of her father's small council as well as his hand. Her husband rested one of his hands on her waist and then the couple started to move to the music.

Maera smiled up to him. He looked so gorgeous in this light and she simply loved it when his eyes turned so soft and loving. There was a smile on his mouth as well and right now there was nothing sarcastic about it. It was a genuine, honest smile and she couldn't help but feel proud knowing that she was one of the few people in this world who got to see it. Gods, she wanted him so badly in every way someone could want a man. She wanted him to love her, hold her, touch her and praise her. And seven hells, she wanted to carry his child again.

"Kiss me," Maera whispered quietly and now his smile turned into a smirk again.

"Tsk tsk. That's not the kind of behaviour fit for a princess," he said with his raspy voice and Maera swore she felt her heart beat faster just because of the sound of his voice.

"Please," she demanded again and this time Daemon inhaled loudly but looked amused rather than annoyed.

He leaned down and pressed his soft lips on hers. She knew that it was not only inappropriate but also disrespectful towards her brother who had so explicitely expressed his dislike regarding her marriage to Daemon earlier but she couldn't care less. The only thing Maera cared about was the gorgeous man in front of her who only loved her.

But the kiss didn't last long either way because he soon pulled away hinting at the fact that unlike her, he hadn't utterly forgotten about his good manners. He watched her glossy eyes that showed how much she yearned for him smugly and then ran his thumb over her waist just very slightly.

"You're making it very hard for me not to take you away from the feast and up to my room right now."

Maera felt goosebumps on her arms but just when she wanted to answer the music suddenly stopped and the dance was over. That was also the moment when someone approached Daemon from behind and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"If that's not Daemon Targaryen," a voice said and Maera blinked a few times trying to figure out who the slim small man was.

"Otis," Daemon chuckled and didn't seem to have any difficulties recognizing him.

"Maera, this is Otis, a good friend from my childhood. And Otis, I don't believe I have to introduce the princess to you."

She smiled when the man bowed his head and kissed the back of her hand.

"It's very nice to meet you, ser," she said. "We haven't seen each other in years, have we?"

Otis asked and grinned at his old friend. "That much is true."

"How about a drink together? We have so much to talk about."

Daemon nodded but then his eyes fell upon his wife. He really didn't feel like leaving her alone especially considering the fact that there were so many lustful lords in this room who were probably only waiting for a chance to creep up on her. But at the same time Daemon didn't want to reject his friend and he really wanted to know what he had been up to those past years. So he would just have to trust his wife.

"I will be back soon, love. I'm just gonna go sit outside with Otis for a little while so we can catch up," he spoke and kissed Maera on her forehead. "Don't do anything stupid, you understand me?"

She nodded and observed her husband while he rubbed over her shoulder one last time before heading out with his friend. She was so deep in her thoughts that she didn't notice the man staring at her at first but once Daemon had left the hall she turned her head only to look right into the eyes of Cylvin Lannister.

She had known him since she was a child and had always despised him. She hated the way his eyes clenched and Maera had found herself feeling scared of him as a child but now he just disgusted her. His company was definitely the last thing she wished for now so the girl started to make her way through the crowd but unfortunately he was faster than her and managed to cut her way off by stepping in front of her.

"Princess," he said and bowed his head.

Maera gave him a forced smile that he seemingly couldn't distinguish from an authentic one because he took it as an invitation to kiss her hand.

"You look lovely tonight, my princess."

"Thank you," she said curtly.

"I hope your husband is aware of his luck. Having the most beautiful woman in the room at his side, I mean." Cylvin grinned and she felt the urge to throw up right in this moment.

"He is, thank you," Maera answered and was certain that by now her disgust was clearly visible on her face. "Will you please excuse me now, ser? My father has asked for my presence."

She gave him her sweetest smile but before she was able to turn around and walk away he stopped her by placing his hand on her shoulder.

"But sweet child, your father seems pretty engrossed in a conversation, he can surely do without your presence for a few more minutes."

At this point Maera grew very angry and was about to give a snappy answer when she heard another voice.

"Excuse me ser, but he can't. You won't mind me escorting the princess to his grace now."

She turned around and looked into the familiar face of lord Jakor Hightower, a lord in her father's council. Cylvin grinded his teeth but acted indifferently towards him.

"Of course, yes."

The rest of his mumbling Maera couldn't understand but it didn't matter now because he had turned around and left the dance floor. The girl exhaled loudly and looked at her saviour.

"Thank you, my lord."

He smirked at her croakedly. "You're very welcome, princess. I saw you and believed that you might need some rescue."

Maera chuckled and was able to relax now in lord Jakor's presence, who she had always liked for his calm and even-tempered character.

"Yes, he… I've never liked him and he wouldn't leave me alone."

"I don't like him either. He smells of burnt hair, for some weird reason. And spoiled cheese."

Maera had to laugh out loudly and then furrowed her brow.

"I don't like his eyes. They're mean and… evil."

Jakor looked at her thoughtfully but then smiled softly.

"Don't think about his eyes then. May I have this next dance, princess?"

She only fought for a brief moment with herself. He had rescued her so it would be rude to refuse.

And it was only a dance after all and Maera knew Daemon to like and respect the lord as well.

He surely wouldn't have anything against it.

~~~~~~~~~~

I swear, the next chapter will be longer!!

Taglist:

@smashee0789 @classicsimpforaaronwarner @hangmanscoming @ninihrtss @coffeebooksrain18 @aleemendoza2425-blog @chiminies-noona

[ozai-the-bonsai]

The Last Goodbye

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x sister!reader

Summary: Daemon is getting ready to fly to Harrenhal to meet his fate above the Gods Eye and it kills you to send him off to his death. You share your last goodbyes before Daemon departs, which leaves you seeking for revenge.

A/N: I dreamt some part of this a few nights ago (the readers dream at the beginning is 1:1 with my dream :3) and I knew I had to write it as soon as possible! Unlike my typical Daemon works, this one-shot is all about an emotional last scene between the reader and Daemon. Enjoy!

Warnings: strong language, targcest

“Where is Daemon?”

The disgusting smirk on your nephew's face, Aegon, only served to heighten your unease. Your tone turned sharp, bordering on a threat. "I asked you a question, Aegon."

Aegon raised an eyebrow at your direction as he made himself comfortable on his chair, pouring himself some wine. “Mind your tone, Aunt – this is not how you talk to your king.”

You had never been a patient woman; however, with Aegon, your patience was practically non-existent. “I have no king, you fucking idiot.” You hissed between your gritted teeth and in a moment of blind rage, you found your hands holding Aegon from his collar. “Need I repeat myself?” Your voice was loud.

However, instead of fear in his eyes, all you could see was Aegon snickering as he looked somewhere over your shoulder. Quickly, you let him go and turned around – only to see Aemond mounting Vhagar. At that moment, it all hit you.

“No…” You muttered as you pushed Aegon away and ran to the stairs. “DAEMON, WHERE ARE YOU?”

You weren’t quite sure what scared you more – the way you woke up screaming, the nightmare itself, or the loud clang coming from the other end of the chambers.

“Fuck,” Daemon cursed as he bent down to pick up the piece of armour from the ground, which was apparently responsible for the noise. “That was some fucking loud scream.”

Holding the armour piece in his hands, your brother walked towards your bed, sitting at your feet as you tried to steady your breathing. “Bad dream?” He asked with a soft voice as he placed the piece on his lap and held your hand. You nodded.

“I thought I lost you, you were going…” While your eyes wandered around the room, you could put the pieces together and the moment you understood what Daemon was up to, the very same feeling from your nightmare returned. “What… are you doing?”

Daemon leant in to place a small kiss on top of your head. “You should go back to sleep…” But before his lips could land on you, you interrupted him by pushing him away harshly to stand up, the last bits of sleep hanging onto your lashes were long gone. Heaving a sigh, Daemon stood up as well. “You really want to do it this way, dear sister, don’t you?”

Again, patience had never been your best practice and Daemon… Well, let’s say that Daemon could easily compete with Aegon when it came to toying with your patience.

The only difference was that you had never fucked Aegon – even the mere idea of the act with your nephew was disgusting – but Daemon you had been fucking ever since you were a young woman.

“You were going to fuck off before saying goodbye to me!” Your voice thundered inside your chambers, catching Daemon off-guard, causing him to slightly flinch. “The last goodbye – am I not worth it? After all these years, after everything we have been through…”

Your brother stood up after leaving the piece of armour on the bed. “You are but so eager to see me dead, mandia,” his words brushed against your cheeks as he took you into his arms, his frame towering over yours. “I will kill the hoary old bitch and her one-eyed cunt of a rider, and be back before sunrise – you wouldn’t have realised my absence.” [mandia = sister]

“Daemon, please,” your voice was lower this time, the rage leaving its place to fear, tears forming on your eyes. “Don’t do this. Don’t leave me.” The lump in your throat was getting larger with each word, making it impossible to breathe. “You know you won’t make it out alive – Vhagar is too strong for you to take her out alone.”

Daemon cupped your face, wiping way the tears rolling down your cheek. “Have faith in me, love,” he spoke in the language of your people. He knew his words had a stronger effect on you whenever he spoke in High Valyrian, perhaps you found it more personal or felt yourself even closer to him – you didn’t really know. “Tonight, I will end this war. Tomorrow, I will give our niece her crown and then, I am all yours. Until my last breath.”

A sob escaped your lips, knowing very well that this was Daemon’s last goodbye. You both knew he was not coming back once he mounted Caraxes – though he would never admit it. Not to you, to his dear sister.

“Take me with you,” the words left your lips without even thinking. “Aemond will not be anticipating Nerathos accompanying Caraxes to Harrenhal.”

Shaking his head, Daemon placed his left hand on your belly. “I cannot lose you both, my love.” He whispered. The way his lower lip trembled as he gave voice to his deepest fear – before you knew it, you burst into tears, sobbing violently as you fell onto your knees.

“Daemon, please,” your voice was weak when you spoke. Pushing away the strands of silver hair falling in front of your eyes, you looked up to meet Daemon’s gaze, your purple eyes shining with tears. “I am begging you. Don’t leave us.”

With a bittersweet smile on his lips, Daemon helped you getting back on your feet. It was easy to see how hard he was trying to keep his emotions under control for he knew once he allowed himself to break, he would not be able to leave you behind.

He pulled you into his arms, his face buried in your silver hair. “There is no other way,” he whispered as he inhaled your scent deeply. “I love you, more than anything.”

Your sobs were silenced by Daemon’s lips, pressed firmly against yours. The kiss was full of passion, love and sorrow – you poured all the heavy feelings you carried in your heart into that last kiss, everything you had said and you never got to say. As Daemon’s tongue slid into your mouth and his grip on your waist tightened, you could still taste the salt from the tears – though you did not know whose tears they were anymore.

Time froze around the two of you as you melted into the kiss one last time. Daemon held you so tight as if he was afraid someone could come and snatch you away from him any moment, as if he was afraid to lose you. Your hands wrapped around his neck got tangled in his silver hair.

The moment Daemon broke the kiss, you knew you had to say goodbye to him in a few moments. He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Wait for me, dear sister,” he spoke against your lips, “I will be back before sunrise.”

Even you yourself do not believe these words, love.

However, instead of arguing further, you forced a smile onto your lips as you nodded, tears still rolling down your cheeks. “Don’t you dare make me wait, lēkia.” As Daemon was about to take the last piece of his armour lying on the bed, you held him from his wrist, causing him to look at you. “Daemon,” you breathed out his name. “I love you, too. I will always love you.” [lēkia = brother]

You did not know how long you sat on your bed, crying, after Daemon left for Harrenhal. It was impossible to control your body which was constantly shaking – the mixed feelings of intense sorrow, the-soon-to-come grief and immense degrees of rage against the Greens had completely taken over the control.

After an hour of anxious waiting and sobbing, your body stopped shaking with the idea that came to your mind. You knew it was risky and you knew the Queen would probably not like you going rogue but at that moment, none of this mattered. Your blood boiled with the desire for revenge. And you knew exactly how you could take it.

It didn’t take long for you to change into your riding armour and mount your dragon Nerathos. As you flew over King’s Landing, Daemon’s voice still echoed in your ears, telling you to protect the baby. It was reckless, what you were about to do, you knew that quite well. You could lose your baby if anything went wrong, or you could follow the same path your brother had; however, in that moment, you were blinded by rage.

I will not let Daemon die for nothing! Eye for an eye – brother for a brother!

The flight to Dragonstone wasn’t long, before you knew it, Nerathos was getting ready to descend.

Considering it was the hour of the wolf, you did not expect to see anyone outside the castle. As you were planning how to bring down the walls on Aegon’s fucking head to crush the crippled cunt inside, your purple eyes shone for you had seen the said cripple outside the castle – only accompanied by a handful of guards.

You could tell he was anxiously waiting to hear from Harrenhal.

However, the only thing he heard was the flapping of Nerathos’ wings.

“DRAGON!” You heard someone shout from below as your dragon made a quick dive. The guards were trying to take Aegon to safety quickly but they could not match the pace of a dragon. As Nerathos landed in front of them, the guards created a wall in front of the usurper, pointing their swords at the dragon.

Nerathos roared, cutting through the night like a blade.

“Nerathos,” you spoke with determination inside your eyes. “Dracarys!”

[httpvomitello]

Hey, honey! I saw that you accept requests inspired by songs, so can I get an intense romance with Daemon x poc fem reader (who is as notorious, bold and rogue as he is). inspired by "Menina veneno" by Ritchie, please?

Hello, hello! I can also write without meaning to be inspired by some song, feel free to come back more often! Hope you like it ~ ♡

Venomous Love *⁠.⁠✧

daemon targaryen x f!reader

Daemon Targaryen had never been afraid of fire.

It coursed through his veins, the blood of Old Valyria, and he carried it in every reckless step, every bold word, every dangerous decision. But he hadn’t known true danger—not until the day he met you.

You weren’t from Westeros. The moment you’d stepped into the halls of the Red Keep, draped in silk the color of midnight, your skin gleaming like polished bronze, and your eyes sharp as a Valyrian dagger, Daemon had known you were trouble.

Trouble came naturally to him. He thrived in chaos, but you? You were chaos incarnate.

The first time he saw you, it was at a feast in King’s Landing. You had been seated at the far end of the table, your laughter echoing above the dull murmur of courtiers and lords. You had arrived as the representative of a distant kingdom, sent to negotiate trade routes or something equally dull.

Daemon hadn’t cared about the details. What mattered was the way you moved, the way your voice cut through the air like a blade, effortlessly commanding attention.

When your eyes met his across the room, there was no mistaking the spark that passed between you. You tilted your head, a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips, as if you were daring him to approach.

Daemon Targaryen was not a man to back down from a challenge.

He found you on the balcony later that night, gazing out over the city with a goblet of wine in hand. The soft light of the moon bathed you in silver, making you look almost otherworldly.

“You don’t strike me as someone who enjoys courtly nonsense,” he said, leaning casually against the stone railing beside you.

“It seems your words are right, my prince,” you replied, your tone playful but laced with a hint of sarcasm.

He smirked. “I take it you’ve heard of me, then.”

You took a sip of your wine, your gaze never leaving his. “Prince Daemon Targaryen. The Rogue Prince. The man who courts scandal as if it’s a lover. Yes, I’ve heard of you.”

“And yet, here you are,” he said, stepping closer. “Talking to me alone in the dark. Does that make you foolish or brave?”

You smiled, a slow, wicked thing that sent a thrill through him. “Neither,” you said. “It makes me your match.”

From that night on, the two of you were inseparable, drawn to each other like moths to a flame. You matched him step for step, word for word, your boldness rivaling his own. Together, you were unstoppable—a storm that swept through the court, leaving chaos and whispered scandals in your wake.

The first time Daemon kissed you, it was in the shadow of the Dragonpit. You had just returned from a ride on your horse —a gift from your homeland—and your hair was wild from the wind, your cheeks flushed with exhilaration.

“You ride like a madwoman,” he’d said, his voice full of admiration.

“And you love it,” you’d shot back, grinning.

He hadn’t been able to resist you. His lips crashed against yours, fierce and demanding, and you’d responded with equal fervor. Your hands tangled in his hair as you pressed yourself against him, your bodies alight with the fire that always burned between you.

The court was scandalized by your relationship. They called you his poison, his downfall.

“She’ll destroy you,” Viserys warned him one night, his tone weary. “She’s reckless, unpredictable. She’ll bring ruin to our house.”

Daemon had laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “And what do you think I am, brother? A saint? We’re already ruined.”

But even as the whispers grew louder, you and Daemon only grew bolder. You flaunted your love openly, daring anyone to challenge you. Together, you were a force of nature—wild, untamed, and utterly intoxicating.

There was a night, late in the summer, when you and Daemon found yourselves alone in the gardens of the Red Keep. The air was warm, heavy with the scent of blooming flowers, and the stars glittered like shards of glass in the dark sky.

You sat on a stone bench, your legs draped lazily over his lap, as you sipped from a shared bottle of wine.

“Do you ever wonder,” you said, your voice soft, “if we’re too much for this world?”

Daemon tilted his head, studying you with those piercing violet eyes. “Too much?” he repeated. “Never. The world just isn’t enough for us.”

You laughed, a rich, melodic sound that made his chest tighten. “You always know how to flatter me, don’t you?”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

You turned to face him, your expression suddenly serious. “Promise me something, Daemon,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Anything,” he said, and he meant it.

“No matter what happens, no matter what they say or do, promise me you’ll never let them break us.”

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “I swear it,” he said. “On my blood, my fire, my very soul—I’ll never let you go.”

You were his venom, and he was your fire.

[winnysplayground]

“he’s so babygirl”

babe he just killed somebody.

[love-at-first-sight-23]

Welcome to the world of “Being in love with a person who doesn’t exist in real life but you pretend they do anyway because you’re obsessed” ✧˖*°࿐

[princessbellecerise]

Unlikely Places

Summary ✩ The unusual place your hotd lover likes to fuck you

Warnings ✩ Smut, straight up blasphemy (Aegon), semi-public sex

Jacaerys Velaryon

As the King, it’s not exactly wrong for the two of you to do it, but it does feel taboo every time you ride him on the Iron Throne

Every time you climbed on his lap, mindful of all the sharp points and swords, you couldn’t help but think that you’re breaking some kind of rule that doesn’t exist. After all, Jacaerys is the King and technically it is his seat. As the most powerful man in the realm, there’s no one for you to answer to after doing such an act but it certainly feels like you should

The first time that he asked you to do it, you thought that he was crazy. It was so unlike Jacaerys to do something so…risky, that you genuinely thought it was a prank at first

Only when realized you that your husband was completely serious did you really start to consider it

And you had to admit, the rush of power that you got as you bounced on your husband’s cock, riding the most powerful man in the most powerful seat in the realm was nothing like you’d ever experienced before

It quickly became your guilty pleasure to do so, never minding when Jacaerys summoned you to the throne room at such late hours

For you knew what awaited you when you climbed those steps, and each time you were filled with delicious anticipation to do it all over again

Aemond Targaryen

Ever since he was a child, Aemond had been absolutely fascinated by dragons

His obsession with those beasts was almost unnatural as his mother used to say, and you were quite inclined to agree as one day, Aemond tried to convince you to let him fuck you on top of Vhagar

Of course, the request had been so ridiculous that you genuinely thought your husband to be ill at first, maybe having contracted some disease during his many travels

Only when you saw Aemond’s confident smirk did you realize that it was indeed not a jest, and your husband really did want you to ride him on top of a fucking dragon

So there you were, thousands of feet in the air and praying that you didn’t fall as you straddled Aemond’s lap

You held onto him tight as your cunt sank down, your hips moving with his in the large saddle

Every kiss, every touch was concealed within the clouds, Vhagar flying steady while you rode your husband. The sound of her wings masked the pathetic way you cried for Aemond, filthy praises and words of encouragement being whispered in your ears as you soared across the skies

Aegon Targaryen

Aegon figures that if he’s going to hell anyways, he may as well have a little fun in his mortal life

What’s life without a little risk anyways, he figures. This is why he has no problem fucking you in the Sept of Seven, having you on your knees, naked in front of the statue of the Mother

Instead of praying to her though, you worship him. You praise his cock and the way it makes you feel so good—better than praying, really

The absolute trill of someone coming in and getting caught is like no other. Sometimes, Aegon even hopes that you’ll be discovered—preferably by his mother or that cunt of Septa that’s always preaching about sin and virtue

He imagines their faces as he fucks you from behind, taunting you and making you look directly at the statue when you cum around him

Aegon’s never really believed in the Gods much, but the way your cunt feels wrapped around him is heavenly

And to him, there’s truly no greater tasting sin

Daemon Targaryen

Otto Hightower had once called Daemon brazen, irresponsible, violent, arrogant, reckless and a second Maegor

He supposed that it was true, but still, Otto Hightower was a cunt in Daemon’s mind, and the Prince would do anything to get back at him

…Including fucking in his bed

In Daemon’s very weak defense, he hasn’t meant to, really

When he pulled you in a for a kiss, intending to take you quickly before he had to attend a meeting later in the day, he hadn’t been paying attention to where he pulled you

He just wanted to feel you, to touch you before he had to leave for the day

And what do you know—the place that he ends up brining you to fufill your hurried tryst was the fucking Tower of the Hand

Neither of you realize it at first, too caught up in each other to notice the amount of green, grey and white around you

It isn’t until you stumble onto the actual bed, Daemon fumbling to get your clothing off do you finally look up and you’re greeted by a portrait of Otto fucking Hightower on the walls

Alarmed, you immediately tell Daemon and it takes only a second to realize where you’ve accidentally stumbled

Of course, Daemon thinks it’s hilarious and even if you want to leave, a little creeped out at the thought of being fucked on the same sheets the Hand of the King sleeps on, Daemon is entirely too thrilled to leave

Once the idea is in his brain, it won’t be going any time soon

A mischievous grin grows on your lover’s face, and somehow, Dameon convinces you to let him take on Otto’s clean, perfectly folded sheets, loving the way you mess them up with your messy fucking

Of course, he’ll just blame the servants for all the mess, but now every time he faces Otto there’s always a knowing smirk on Daemon’s face, smug that the Hand will never know the dirty things said and done on the very mattress he sleeps on

Cregan Stark

Cregan was the Lord of Winterfell, and because of that he was allowed to eat where he pleased, train where he pleased…and fuck where he pleased

It was this that he reminded you of as he took you in one of the hot springs the castle had to offer, water splashing as your husband’s hips thrust into yours

He had you on his lap, your tits pressed against his warm wet chest as you bounced on his cock

The both of you were well aware that this was a public place and that anyone could stumble upon you, but that only spurred you on more

Honestly, seeing your honorable and kind husband act so reckless was a turn on in itself, loving the way Cregan grunted and didn’t care who heard him

He was lost in the feel of your cunt and the warm water which only added to the sensations

Add that to the trill of getting caught, and neither of you really lasted long when you fucked in the springs

Still panting and filled with your husband’s seed, you grinned as you ran a hand through his tangled hair

“Another day without being caught,” You said, slightly disappointed

Cregan shrugged. “Well, maybe we’ll succeed next time.”

Benjicot Blackwood

“Ben, not here! Someone could see us!”

“Then let them see. Let those Bracken cunts see how a real man pleases his Lady wife,” Benji whispered, and you couldn’t even deny that fucking right on the Blackwood-Bracken boundary line didn’t bring a kind of fire to your veins that you craved

Your lover had always been more shy and sweet than anything else, but you knew just how deep his hatred for the Brackens ran when he threw all of that away and fucked you so close to their territory

Deep, satisfactory moans left his lips as he rutted into you, the thrill of getting caught edging you both on like no other

You pressed against Benji, panting as his cock drove in out of you and hit your sweet spots over and over

All you could think about, all you craved was cumming around your husband’s cock while his enemies watched; and you did

Benji was beyond proud of himself as you moaned and let the entirety of House Bracken know what was happening. Let them know how good he was making you feel

He felt bad for the wives of those smug cunts as surely they’d never know such pleasure, but at least Benji knew that you couldn’t relate

The Brackens could say whatever they wanted about his family, but at least the Blackwoods knew how to fuck

And who knows, if they were watching, then maybe they’d even learn a thing or two from Benji

tags 🏷️

@alyssa-dayne

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Perfect Size

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: reader is described as short, name-calling, swearing, Daemon being a horny menace, soft!dom! Daemon, talk of impregnation, talk of pregnancy, pregnancy, smut

Summary: It was Daemon’s life mission to remind you of your size difference, in every aspect of your shared lives.

A/N: This is part of the wonderful @targaryen-dynasty 3K celebration, congrats by the way!!!! I had so much fun with this prompt. Enjoy everyone and enjoy the other wonderful and talented writers' fics. 3K Celebration Masterlist

My masterlist

The gods make humans in their image. They make them grow until they see them as perfect. Or so your Septa used to say whenever you were frustrated about your small stature. And it was no help that the greatest rake of the realm, Lord Flea Bottom, the Rouge Prince himself, made it his life’s mission to remind you of how small you were.

As children, you had been a bit taller than him. He had a problem with it. The need to be bigger than a stupid girl was great. His growth spurt came and he nearly towered over you, looking down at you with a smirk on his lips. “How is the weather down there?” He would often tease. “Just fine.” You would retort back. “I hope your small brain will get enough air up there. A shame if you lost more of it.” Was your sarcastic comeback.

The older the two of you got, the taller he would get and you would only grow a few inches if you even grew at all. First, he was slightly lanky. His muscles had yet to grow. He would remind you of a newborn horse whenever he would stumble over his two long feet as he trained with his sword. Often giggling to his dismay.

“I will cut your head off, and then you will be smaller!” He would shout in anger when he saw you snickering. Daemon’s temper seemed to grow with every inch he gained. You enjoyed it immensely when it would rise because of you.

As young adults, it was fairly certain that you would grow no more. If you stood behind one of the large dinner chairs you could easily hide behind them. Everything seemed to dwarf you.

Daemon prided himself in the knowledge that he was taller than you. Towering over you like the Hightower in Oldtown. And he never passed down the opportunity to remind you. “Shouldn’t you be with your nurse, little one? I think you got the wrong room. The nursery is that way.” Or other things.

You would glare at him. Often kicked his shin when no one was watching. He would yowl in pain. Jump around and hold his leg. “You little pest.” “Maybe you should get your head out of the clouds.” You teased back.

But there were the times he would call you more affectionate words associated with your small stature.

“Why the sour face, my little love?” He mumbled into your ear as he stepped out of the shadows. He had been hiding from his grandmother and her attempts to put boring and plain noblewoman under his nose.

A huff of annoyance escaped your throat. “Mother forced me to wear this ridiculous gown.” You seethed. Your teeth bared like a wolf snarling.

Daemon found your discomfort rather amusing. You looked like a pretty doll all dressed up. Your hair braided into the style of the land you came from. The gown so unmistakably the colours of your house, shining in the light of the candles.

"Oh, no - you're a lady and you have to wear pretty dresses and jewels and oh no, how horrible!" He teased you lightly. He leaned his head on top of yours. A habit he adopted quite recently. Loving the way you fit under him.

You snorted, very un-ladylike. But he was used to your characteristics. You were not one of those up-tied, boring wenches who tried to turn his head. He would rather gauge his eyes out before he gave them a second of his attention.

His attention was only worthy of one woman. And she was right literally under his nose.

He leaned down, just next to your ear. His hot breath fanned over the sensitive shell. “Do you think it would fit?” You could feel the smirk in his voice. You turned to him with a confused look on your pretty face.  It stayed that way until you felt something. You felt it, him. Hard as a rock, pocking you through the fabric of your wedding gown.

Your face grew hotter than the flames of Caraxes. Your body stiffened as you felt him softly rub against your buttocks. He only laughed lowly. His chest vibrates, sending chills up and down your spine. “You scoundrel!” You lowly scoffed. Your heart beating faster.

Not from his antics. Oh no, you were used to them by now. About the whole banquet finding out about Daemon’s little innuendo. “Oh, little love. I am your scoundrel now. It was ordered by the Queen herself.” He chuckled darkly.

She hit his shoulder lightly. “Stop it!” You tried to reprimand him. But your words fell on deaf ears. “Oh, my little love. How funny you will look with my seed growing inside you.” He began to whisper his lewd words. “You probably won’t be able to walk, so large your belly will grow.”

Your body grew hotter and hotter. It didn’t help that he had you pressed to his chest. His erection pressed against the cheeks of your perfect ass. His hands wander lazily over the front of your dress. Stopping over your belly before wandering further down.

“Oh my little love, will it even fit in your little tight hole? Or will I have to mould your little cunny so only my cock can fit inside?” Your breathing hitched at his dark, lustful words. Daemon’s predatory smile grew at your body's reaction to his scandalous words whispered so softly into your ear.

He often wondered if he was unfair to his wife. She was small, her body had nearly strained from the weight of the beautiful two children she had already given him.

He was right at their wedding feast. Her swollen stomach looked too large for her body. It hadn’t been long before the first signs of pregnancy made themselves known.

From the small bump only three moons after they conceived. He still can remember how his hands could cover it until she was seven moons pregnant. She had been ordered to rest. To not exhaust herself too much.

Daemon, looking at the image of her laying in their bed, their little one nestled in her belly. The sight did things to him. Things where his darkest desires seemed light in comparison. Oh, how he had spent his days behind her, driving himself into her tight cunt instead of sitting in a boring small council meeting. His wife and unborn child needed him, and he needed them.

“Another one?” You looked at him from where you stood. Children’s toys in your arms as you helped your daughters clean the room for the day.

Daemon just shrugged. “Why not? Add another one to our hoard. What about you girls? Do you want another sibling?” He crouched down so he was level with Alyssa and Visenya. Both girls looked away from their task to clean up the solar, screeching with joy as their father spoke to them.

“They are tots, Daemon.” You protested. Picking up more of the girls’ toys. “They will agree to anything if you say it with enough enthusiasm.” Daemon chuckled. “Oh, I think they know what I am saying, elillus (honey).” He smirks softly. His eyes roamed her body without shame.

“It has been so long.” “It has only been a few hours. You had me in the morrow.” You snapped back. Cleaning your daughters’ toys from the floor. Putting it into the chest designated for their toys. “I did not mean our coupling, prūmȳs ñuhus (my heart). I meant another child. The girls are six and four.” He mumbled gently.

She looked up at him sitting in the armchair at the edge of the carpet where the girls were playing moments ago. His violet eyes were dark as he watched her like the hunter his prey. “I don’t know, valzȳrys (husband). You heard the maester's words after Visenya’s birth.”

Daemon saw the change in demeanour. He nearly had you, only a small push. “It is your choice, ābrāzȳrys (wife). I do not want to force you.” He stood up, kissing your forehead before helping you with cleaning the toys up.

You were tossing and turning in bed. Nothing seemed right. Thoughts swirled through your head. So many voices at once.

You wanted to scream. But you would only wake up your family.

“Tell me what is keeping you from sleep, ābrāzȳrys (wife)” Daemon's gravel voice rang through the room. He sounded tired. His back turned to you.

“It’s nothing.” You whispered. “Bullshit!” Daemon groaned. Turning to face you. “It feels like I am sleeping next to a bloody sack of kittens. What is it.” He tiredly glared at her. Knowing full well what was going on.

“You’ve gotten into my head, you menace!” You growled out. Pouting at him. His usual smirk grew on his lips, a soft chuckle escaping. “Apologies for that, ābrāzȳrys (wife).“ „You are not sorry, Daemon.” His grin widened more. “You know me so well.”

A huff escaped your lips. “Why must you torment me so?” Daemon sat up on his forearm, looking down at you. Your hair was splayed out in a messy halo. A bright smile adorned his face as he saw the light, tired glare and the pout on your lips.

“Oh, little love, I vowed to be the bane of your existence since we played with the small dragon figurines our daughters’ play with now. And ever since it was announced you would be my dear lady wife I swore to torture you even more.” He softly nipped at your collarbone, his large hands coming to rest on your rips, just under your breasts.

“Let me help you with your decision-making. Let me enter your little cunny and stay there when I cum. Let my seed fill your womb once more.” His imposing frame loomed over you. Covering you like a blanket.

“What if the maester is right?” “The maesters are cunts who want to see me unhappy and you in doubt. They told you after Alyssa you could not carry another child. Two years later they said the same after Visenya.” He kissed your shoulder gently before his expressive violet eyes stared at you. “What is your body telling you?”

You bit your lip gently, A small rumble going through Daemon’s chest at your gesture. But he restrained himself. “I want another one.” You whispered gently.

A smile broke greater than before out on his lips, his dimples showing. “I will not let anything happen to you. The moment your body is resisting, I will get you moon tea or whatever is necessary.” You nodded gently.

His eyes darkened with lust. “Now before we can even discuss the pregnancy, we must make it happen.”

He lifted himself so his arms were on either side of your head. “Oh my sweet, I longed to fill up your little cunny. Seeing it overflow with my seed. Stuffing it back in.” He laughed gently as you shuddered.

With haste born of his pent-up desire, he ripped all of your clothes off your and his body. You gasped softly, scolding him for literally ripping your nightgown. “I never liked it anyway.” He mumbled against the skin between your breasts. Slowly moving down to your stomach.

He worshipped your body, caressing your thighs and hips. Squeezing the flesh around them, even gently nibbling on it.

He kissed each and every lightning-bold-like scar. Mumbling with every kiss a small thanks. These were the marks of his children. Evidence of your brave sacrifice.

He went further down. His lips ghosted over the soft locks, his eyes watching you heave out breaths of anticipation.

A loud scream ripped from your throat when you felt his tongue plunge deeply into your wet core. The eagerness of his lapping overwhelmed your senses. His nose ever so lightly brushed against your pearl. Teasing it to shoot lightning throughout your body.

You came undone. His tongue, nose and two of his digits working in tandem to torture you. And it worked. Your back arched off the bed. Loud cries of his name and pleas for him to stop accompanied your downward spiral into the abyss of your pleasure.

He stared down at you hungrily. His vibrant eyes were dark with lust. He looked every bit the dragon he ought to be. “Little rabbit.” He growled out. “Sweet, little rabbit. Trapped beneath the large dragon.”

He leaned down again. Like Caraxes would decent upon his pray, Daemon came down upon you. Devouring you once more.

He held your thighs wide open as he ploughed into you. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin rang through the room. His large hand wrapped around your delicate neck, softly pressing against it. Your breathing coming out in small pants.

“You should see yourself, little darling. My large hand is like a necklace on your throat. I can nearly wrap it around.” He chuckled darkly.

His words elicited shivers to run up and down your spine. This action causes your body to tense slightly. Daemon roared as he felt you squeeze his cock. “Seven fucking hells, woman! Do you want to kill me?!” He panted out. Driving his cock deeper inside you. The stretch is a familiar pain. But not too unpleasant. He had prepared you for him. And he would hate for you not to enjoy your coupling.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, sensual kiss. It was so different from the way his hips moved. So slow and loving. “I am not hurting you, am I, my little darling?” He whispered. You shook your head. “Nothing I am not used to from you.” He grinned, nipping at your lower lip, “That’s my good girl.” He whispered.

He picked up his pace. His hands on your thighs clawing into your skin. His knuckles are white. He groaned and grunted, looking down at you with an intense stare. Your own moans and cries mingle with his. Creating a symphony of pleasure.

He came with a roar of your name, his face buried into your neck. Panting heavily next to your ear. Your own climax is triggered by the feeling of being filled with his potent seed. Both your eyes closed in bliss.

He stayed inside you even as his member softened inside you. The grip on your thigh remains tight. Like he needed to be grounded by you.

Your arms wrapped tighter around his neck, softly caressing his head. He hummed gently, letting you know he loved what you were doing. “Do not dare to stop.” He mumbled gently into your neck. You continued with your caress. Softly petting him like he was a dog.

He fell asleep like this. His spent cock inside you, keeping his precious seed inside you. His body acted like a blanket. Your hand in his hair.

[spicy30]

Just a little filler while I finish the rest of the chapters of Modernes of 1400s

[stillinracooncity]

that feminine urge to read something that makes you cry, get angry, scream, laugh like a hormonal teenager, turn up the heat, feel like the most unique and beautiful human being on earth. *sighs*

[happilyhertale]

Take your Place – Daemon Targaryen x fem!wife!reader

Summary: Your husband was away for months, leading the battle against the Triarchy and ultimately bringing victory. Now he is back and a ball is being held in celebration. Throughout the evening, you have spoken with many lords and ladies – but you have not seen the person you long for. So you go in search of him.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!wife!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Sex (p in v)

Author’s note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.8 k

Other stories of mine

12 Days of Smuffmas

12 Days of Smuff

The hall is filled with music and laughter. Lords and ladies are sitting at the various tables, engrossed in conversation. The wine tastes good and has already caused a few men to slip off their chairs tonight. And this exuberant mood is appropriate, because the Triarchy has finally been repelled in the Stepstones and your husband is being celebrated for it.

You walk through the rows of tables, looking for your husband. You know that he is most likely sitting somewhere with his men and has already had way too much to drink. But although you would normally be able to spot his silver hair anywhere, you can't see him.

But then something grabs your hand and pulls you down roughly. You cry out a little and are about to answer this impertinence with a slap in the face. But you look up as you land on a lap, fingers on your face, caressing you, while a drunken smile reflects back at you.

“Daemon!” you say, but you can't stop the smile that is already spreading across your face. You slowly try to get up again, but Daemon has other plans. His arms wrap around you and he presses his face into the crook of your neck while pressing your back against his chest.

“Stay.” is the only thing he slurs, and you notice the wine on his breath, which he has been consuming all evening.

You just smile slightly, but nod barely noticeable, as you stay on his lap. Your eyes wander around and you were right, his men have spent the evening with him. Some are already hanging drunk in the chairs and a few others are still trying to talk, but you only perceive a kind of grunt.

Daemon kisses your neck, his fingers press lightly into your thighs as he whispers in a low voice, “What are we going to do after this ball?”

You glance slightly over your shoulder and your eyes meet. His gaze is almost soft and you have to smile, “well... I'm going to go to sleep after this ball... you'll probably throw up...” you say to him, trying to suppress a smile.

Daemon chuckles and then laughs a little – he can't deny how many times he's thrown up in a bowl while you've been in bed.

“You know damn well that's not what I meant,” he mutters into your neck as his laughter subsides.

Now you have to giggle a little, “No?” you ask playfully, “I don't know what you mean...”

Daemon leans in and kisses your neck again, breathing into your ear, “I mean that I'd like to spend some time alone with you, love.”

Your eyes are locked on him and you see the determination in his gaze.

“Are you sure you're capable of having a night of pleasure... you're very drunk ...” you say softly.

Daemon grins drunkenly and caresses your cheek. He leans forward and whispers seductively in your ear.

“I'm not too drunk to make you moan, love.”

Your cheeks flush and your eyes widen.

“Daemon!” you say, and even some of his men grin at you, seeming to know what he's saying to make you blush.

Daemon grins at you and his fingers press into your thighs again as he leans forward to whisper in your ear again.

“I'm not too drunk to make you scream for me, love.”

The blush is now creeping down your cleavage. You bite your lip lightly.

“Stop it, Daemon...” you whisper, but you try to squeeze your thighs together a little as you notice the pulsing between your thighs.

Daemon chuckles at your reaction and squeezes your thighs even tighter. He continues to whisper seductively in your ear, “Then stop me, love. Come on.”

You can't stop yourself and you move your hips slightly to create some friction. But then Daemon grabs you and lifts you slightly to turn you on his lap. Confusion graces your features until you straddle him. “We're not supposed to be doing this here,” you say quietly, but he just grins.

“What? You're my wife and you're happy that I'm back... and you show me that by sitting on my lap,” he says, his words slightly slurred. You just shake your head slightly, but before you can say anything, Daemon presses his lips against yours. You gasp slightly, but you respond to his kiss. He grins when he feels your hips moving again, grinding against him slightly. He caresses your cheek and pulls you closer to him, his tongue meeting yours and your kiss intensifying. You feel him getting hard and you let out a small moan, but not loud enough for anyone else to hear. Daemon smiles a little as he feels that you cannot stop moving, that you keep grinding against him. He pulls your hips closer to him as he speaks, letting his fingers glide along your thighs. His lips gently slide down your neck and whispers seductively, “I'd like to see your dress on the floor.” Your eyes flutter closed and his words elicit a slight moan from your lips. But you bite your lip to make no further sound.

“The skirt of my dress is very wide...” you finally whisper softly, breathing heavily. “Maybe you could unbutton your trousers and... I mean, I could sit on you and no one would notice...“ you say quietly.

“But you're already sitting on me...” he mumbles teasingly and gets an annoyed look from you. Daemon glances over at his men and tries not to grin. None of them are looking in your direction, they seem to be engaged in conversation or have their heads on the table, snoring.

“But maybe.. it could work,” he mutters finally. Daemon slides his hand under your skirt, begins to unbutton his trousers, and glances at you from time to time. You look at him, everything except for your upper bodies is hidden under the skirt of your dress. Daemon lets his hands move back to your hips and you move slightly again. Then you have to suppress a moan as you feel his hard cock, how its length presses against your folds. His hands slide to your hips, gripping you, as he presses his the tip of your cock against your entrance.

You look at him, gasp slightly and then lean forward to kiss him as you feel your cunt clench around nothing from the mere anticipation of getting to sheath him. Slowly you lift up and then slowly lower yourself onto his hard cock.

You let yourself sink all the way down, your breath catching. You don't move so that no one can see what you are doing, but you're breathing out heavily.

Daemon suppresses a groan as he feels you move. He leans back further in his chair, eyes closed and head tilted back slightly. His smile widens a little, you feel his cock twitch slightly inside you. “You're so filthy, love,” he murmurs. You bite your lip, moving your hips slightly. “Gods... Daemon...,” you whisper. You close your eyes as he fills you completely. Daemon's moans are becoming harder and harder to suppress. He looks around to make sure his men are not watching. He leans forward to speak seductively in your ear, “Good girl. You feel so good,“ and makes you whimper. “I've missed your big cock...“ you suddenly let slip, making Daemon chuckle briefly, but it ends in a groan as he feels you moving up and down slowly.

“Gods... You feel so good, my love.” He closes his eyes and clenches his teeth as he leans back in his chair and his hands return to your thighs. His hand finds its way under your skirt, his fingertips leaving a fiery trail on your skin.

His thumb glides through your folds until he finds your clit and begins to rub it, making you whimper again “Daemon... I... I...” you stutter as your hips move a little faster. You slide up and down along his length, breathing heavily, your hand sliding to the back of his neck, gripping him, and he growls. Daemon leans forward again, biting your earlobe, “Good girl. That's a good girl.” He leans his head back again, trying to suppress a groan. His gaze returns to you, and he feels your cunt flutter around his cock as you slam your hips down on him. His thumb rubs faster as he kisses you again.

“Come on... Show me how much you've missed this... Riding me... My cock deep inside your tight cunt,” he growls against your lips. And then you moan into his mouth. Your pussy clutches his thick cock. “Gods...” you whimper as your orgasm floods your body. Your cunt milks his cock as you slide up and down. He grunts as he feels his balls tighten. “Daemon...” you whimper, your hand on his neck slides into his hair, grabs lightly while you cum all over his cock. Daemon bites the inside of his lip to suppress a groan. His eyes are closed and his expression is full of lust; he is visibly enjoying it. You moan into his mouth as your orgasm subsides. You are breathing heavily, your eyes are closed. Slowly you open them again, you feel his hips moving slightly again. “Did you come?“ you ask in a whisper. Daemon sighs contentedly and looks down at you. He glances around to make sure that no one is around. ”Not yet, my love,” he speaks softly and caresses your face. “And you will help me finish it,” he grunts. You nod and lean forward again to kiss him. Your hips move slightly faster. “Come for me, my dragon,“ you whisper against his lips. Daemon is breathing heavily and his eyes are closed. He moans softly, your words making his cock twitch. He grabs your waist. "I'm close, love. I'm close.” “Fill me, my dragon...” you whisper against his lips. While you press your hips firmly against him. His cock is deep inside your tight heat as you gyrate your hips. Your hips move faster as you gently bite his lip.

And then he moans, his hips thrusting up and making you squeak slightly. He growls as he pumps his cum into you. You kiss him again and let your hips slow down. You slide up and down more slowly, milking the last drop out of him, to ride out his orgasm. His eyes are closed as he breathes heavily, clenching his teeth. “Love,” he growls.

Daemon leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. He tries to speak but nothing but breathless groans come out, although he tries to hide it. His breathing is slow and shallow as he holds you. “Gods, Love, gods.” he gasps quietly. You giggle slightly and gently kiss his cheek.

“Shall we retire to our chambers?” you whisper, and he just nods. His hands slide back under your skirt, fully covering himself again, and then he helps you up from his lap.