#Daemon x poc!reader

[lady-phasma]

A willing pawn

Daemon Targaryen x fem! Dornish!reader

A huge thank you to @zaldritzosrose for this amazing board. You read my mind and I don't know how you did it! An equal thank you to @black-dread for providing the missing puzzle piece to make this fic work.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, hurt/comfort if you squint, little bit of size kink, use of an infantilizing pet name (because Uncle Daddy Daemon), flimsy plot, creampie (and I truly did not plan what was going to happen there, Daemon just does whatever he wants in my brain, cheeky bastard)

Summary: You had a mission in the Stepstones, but he wasn’t as fearsome, this prince, as you had been led to believe. I’m not sure about my soft!Daemon but here he is. 4k words

The encampment was dark, lit only by dying fires. This night had been chosen because it would be moonless. Your soft-soled shoes were silent on the rocky earth as you crept between tents. You had planned your path at sunset, marking in your memory where the prince’s tent stood. As the orange light had faded from the sky, your stomach had begun to knot and twist with anxiety.

Could you really follow through with this? You knew you were able but were you capable of such a thing. The circumstances didn’t offer you any choice in the matter. Prince Qoren Martell wanted to avoid the costs of war, in gold and lives. His war counsel thought of every possible measure they could take to win this war, including involving House Yronwood. You were a cog in a larger plan and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

You ducked around another tent and tiptoed to the edge of the large royal tent. This is as far as you had gotten in your strategy. From this point forward you could only hope for luck, as stealth wouldn’t matter when faced with the prince’s guards. You were sent here with the barest of plans and what little plan there was, was foolish. You listened for movement inside the tent and heard none. As you neared the front you expected a half-dozen guards but saw only two. You held your breath.

You couldn’t walk right up to the tent and demand to be let in. Sneaking in seemed to be impossible, but if you could, what next. Your heart pounded in your ears. Godsdamn it, you thought. You let out a shaky breath and slunk back into the shadows. When you turned around you almost walked face-first into a giant wall of armor.

The guard almost threw you into the tent but did not relinquish his grip on your elbow. You grunted and jerked your arm away from him as you stumbled into the large room. You caught your balance and stood up straight. The ground was covered in rugs. A table laden with maps and documents stood in the center. Next to it sat the Prince.

“We found this creeping about outside, your highness,” the guard grumbled.

Prince Daemon lounged in his chair, legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles. He was peeling a pear, paused mid-knife-stroke, and looked up from under his brows. They raised slightly, seemingly amused, but he didn’t bother to lift his head. He resumed his peeling.

“Leave us,” he commanded without looking up. You heard the guard’s armor as he left but didn’t take your eyes from the prince.

“What terrible deed have you been sent to do child?” He didn’t look at you, only sliced a bit of pear and popped it in his mouth. When you didn’t respond he brushed aside papers to make space on the table and laid down the knife and pear. He wiped his hands on a napkin, dropped it next to them, and stood up. Finally, he looked at you. He finished chewing, swallowed, and wiped one corner of his mouth with his thumb.

He strode toward you, sucking the pear juice off his thumb and assessing you. Much of your face was covered by your hood, stay strands of dark hair were visible but your features were cast in shadow. He dipped his head slightly and looked closely, standing only a few paces in front of you. His silver hair swung loose from his shoulder. The violet of his eyes was unnerving. You squared your shoulders.

“I am no child,” you replied, leaving off the honorific. He was no prince of yours.

“Is that so?” Daemon reached for your hood and flicked it back from your head. The only hint of surprise he allowed to show was a brief widening of his eyes. You were well aware the effect your father’s blue eyes had when set against the sienna skin you got from your mother. You narrowed your icy eyes at him.

“I’m gown enough to make it this far into your camp, am I not?” Daemon chuckled and flipped his hair back over his shoulder. He clasped his hands behind his back and smiled at you.

“I suppose so… but you did get caught, little one.”

Your cheeks flamed and you wanted to strike him but the smile on his face caught you off guard. Had he just winked at you? You were too frustrated to think and that wink made your blood boil. This was not going at all how you had expected when the guard snatched you up. Daemon didn’t so much as blink when you moved your hands from inside your cloak to push your hood back further. He was amused with you. The handle of your dagger glinted in the candlelight and caught his eye.

“So you were sent here to assassinate me?” He smiled that infernal smile. “Would you say it is going well?”

“Time will tell,” you answered through gritted teeth. Then he laughed at you, actually laughed. You clenched your hands into fists at your sides.

He took a step toward you and you tensed. You hadn’t the faintest idea what this man would do. You had only heard the rumors and propaganda in Dorne. When he reached out, you tried to take a step back from him.

“Uh-uh,” he commanded quietly. Then his hand dipped into your cloak and before you could move to stop him, he snatched your dagger out of your belt. He spun it lazily around, watching it dance in the light.

“This might have done the trick,” he spoke to the blade, not to you. “But I imagine someone with more experience should have been entrusted with it.” His eyes flicked back to your face. “Though, perhaps there were none as fierce as you.”

With absolutely no thought in your mind, you lunged forward and tried to grab the weapon from him. He deftly moved it out of your reach and grabbed your wrist with his other hand.

“As I said: fierce,” he quipped. You tugged your arm against his grasp to no avail.

“But I must!” You almost snarled at him. His expression wasn’t surprise but interest. He let you go and turned to lay your weapon on the table. When he faced you again a small smile was set on his mouth.

“Must you?” He raised an eyebrow. “If a child assassin has been sent to slay me, Dorne must be desperate indeed.”

“I am not a child! I am a woman grown, of 20 years!” You had no idea why this infuriated you but the prince knew that it did. He grinned again.

“Pardon me, my Lady. I should have said a ‘small’ assassin,” he mocked you. It was somehow kind. You were taken aback by his jest, by his demeanor. You hadn’t taken the time to pause and evaluate Prince Daemon. You had only been concerned with the ramifications of your failure.

Now that you looked, you saw a man not much older than yourself. A man who moved with experience in battle, with an ease not unlike your own. Graceful, even. Then he did the most unexpected thing. He extended his hand, offering you to sit in the chair opposite his. You had come here to threaten his life and now he was treating you like a guest! You gawped.

Before you could decide what to make of the situation, Daemon slid down into his chair and stretched his legs out again, completely unwary of you. He glanced at you one more time as he reached for his unfinished pear. You were too shocked to do anything other than sit. You closed your mouth and sat down across from him. You slipped your cloak off of your shoulders as you sat. Your common clothes weren’t uncomfortable but you weren’t used to them. You tried to adjust them as you sat but instantly became more frustrated. Daemon’s eyes on you didn’t help to easy your new-found insecurity. You were meant to have been unseen.

“Who sent you?” The blunt nature of his question startled you.

“And why should I tell you?” you retorted. You were behaving as if you were at home entertaining men you had grown up with. This was madness.

“I believe I am owed an explanation as it was my life you were planning to take. Also, what else is there to do?” He popped a slice of pear in his mouth. His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Let’s start with your name, shall we?”

You hesitated, but he was right: what else was there to do. You could sit in silence until he decided to have you executed. You could try to run from the tent only to be caught and executed sooner. So you told him your name and your house name.

“Very good,” he tossed the knife and pear back on the table. “What did Martell threaten? What predicament did he put you in?”

Your eyes widened. Was Prince Martell’s reputation so tainted, so sullied, outside Dorne?

“Not him,” you spoke quietly. “Though I suppose, ultimately, he knows. We are not a political house but we have wealth that is necessary for Dorne to succeed.” Your eyes flicked down from his at the last word. You weren’t sure why but you felt ashamed for being in this position, had all along if you thought about it.

“So if not the prince himself…” Daemon paused, waiting for your answer.

“His war counsel,” you replied. “They have many strategies in play, I’m sure, but one is to ‘motivate’ certain houses to bring the war to an early end. I have no knowledge of the other plans. I only know that my father was threatened. Whatever that threat was, it was powerful enough for him to send his youngest daughter to the Stepstones.”

There it was. You had spilled it out to the enemy in a gush and felt like vomiting or crying or fleeing. You looked up from your lap. Daemon was studying you. Once again he surprised you. Perhaps you expected him to mock you but the kindness on his face somehow made your situation more real. You bit your lip to stop the tears. You would not cry. You were angry and frightened and when the prince had called you a child it made those feelings more real.

“What choice did you have?” He sounded almost compassionate. This couldn’t be the petty tyrant you were warned against, who would rape, or torture, or kill you if you were caught. “You came all this way on an errand not of your choosing and meant to go through with it. That’s more than a little honorable, don’t you agree?”

You had no idea. You were confused and overwhelmed and angry. You had never been a zealot, but you had been more sure of your mission when the target was evil or cruel. Perhaps he was at times, but not now.

“I suppose so,” you muttered, trying to look anywhere but at him.

“Well what do I do with you now?” He leaned forward in his chair. “I can’t set you free. Yet I don’t want another prisoner. And you don’t want to return home as a failure. I can see that. I could keep you as a hostage and demand gold for your safe return. Would that keep your honor intact?”

You blushed, not just from his nearness but from the fact that he could see your thoughts so clearly on your face. You and your family would be dishonored if you returned unsuccessful. It would also be unfavorable to the prince to appear compassionate to would-be assassins.

“It would,” you answered. “But I do not think the ransom would be paid.”

“No? Not for a young woman as fierce and cunning as yourself? Not for someone so precious?”

Your eyes flicked up to his at this curious word. You watched him, suspicious, as he slid out of his chair and knelt in front of you.

“I think you’re quite frightened of either choice: being sent home or being held here. I don’t want you to be frightened. Maybe the Crone had a purpose for bringing you here.”

You felt your breath catch. He looked so sincere. He was intoxicating but you believed him. You didn’t want to feel relief at the prospect of no longer sneaking, hiding, being a stowaway, but you did. Almost instantly, you imagined a hot bath, a dress and not these rags, and food that wasn’t brown. Then something else flashed in your mind and the heat returned to your face.

Daemon slowly reached out to you and stroked the side of your face. He skimmed a lock of your hair with his fingers, watching it catch the light. Its deep brown shown with hints of gold. You studied him closely. When he turned his gaze back to you, your heart pounded in your chest. His eyes searched yours as he cupped your cheek in his palm.

“Gevie,” he whispered. You thought it was High Valyrian but you weren’t sure. Your lips parted almost involuntarily as you looked up at him. He leaned toward you, silver hair cascading off his shoulders. You felt his lips on yours and closed your eyes.

His hand holding your face felt safe. His lips were warm and tasted of pear. You dared not move. You were overwhelmed and confused. However, there twisted in your belly some need, some desire for him. Your chest ached with the delicious feeling of being safe. You didn’t question how this was possible so far away from home and with your “enemy” no less. So you kissed him back.

Daemon slid his other hand to frame your face. His kiss wasn’t rough, but it was deep. You had kissed men before, you were experienced in the most basic of ways. You realized now that all the men before had not kissed you, they didn’t see you. They saw a Yronwood daughter or practice for their marriage beds. You had made those choices willingly. You weren’t concerned with being married for political reasons and had enjoyed your freedom. Until now. In this moment, you felt… precious.

Tentatively, you raised a hand to him, your fingertips grazed his jaw and neck, and came to rest on his chest. He slid his hands from your cheeks as he broke the kiss. As if waiting for your permission, Daemon rested his hands on your upper arms. You kissed him in answer. His arms swept around you and scooped you up as he stood. Your head spun but you steadied yourself by putting your hands on the back of his neck.

Daemon sat you on his bed and smoothed your hair back from your face. He stepped back and pulled his shirt over his head. He dropped it on the floor as he leaned down to kiss you. You made room for him on the bed, drawing him toward you with your kisses. He knelt between your legs, kissed your neck, and slid a hand under your shirt. You arched your back, pressing into his palm.

He brushed the underside of your breasts with the tips of his fingers and his other hand glided up your ribs. He pushed your shirt up above your breasts, fixated on your hardened nipples. His hair slid over your chest as he took one nipple in his mouth. He propped himself up on one hand and cupped your breast with the other. You moaned and writhed under him. You instinctively ran your fingers through his hair and held him against you. Daemon groaned and the sound vibrated from your chest to your core. When he pulled away you realized you had been grinding against his leg and flushed. He smiled down at you.

Wordlessly, he guided you to raise your arms so he could remove your shirt. Then he began to unlace your breeches. You watched his muscles move as he slid your pants off. You lifted your hips and giggled a little when you plopped back down on the bed as he tugged them off your legs. You weren’t shy but the action was awkward and you were quite exposed now. He tossed the breeches on the floor and smoothed a hand up your thigh. He stared, rapt, at the dark hair between your legs, so different from the silver of his own.

You bit your lip as you looked from his face, down his chest, and to the evidence of his arousal. His breeches looked uncomfortably tight now. His hands absently stroked your legs and your lower belly but paused as you sat up. You held him between your legs. When you kissed his stomach he hissed in air through his teeth. Your hands grazed over his hips and to the laces in the front of his pants. You let your fingertips glide over the shape of his erection before undoing the knot. You kissed seemingly every inch of his stomach then looked up at him as your hand dipped inside. His face was curtained by his hair as he looked down at you. You smiled as you stroked him.

Daemon moved his hands from your legs, smoothed over your hair, and then gently pressed your shoulders back. You laid down, already missing the feeling of him in your hands, but the sight of him between your legs was almost as pleasant. He leaned over you, kissing your forehead gently, then your lips, and pressed his forehead against yours.

You gasped as his fingers slid between the lips of your cunt. He licked his lips and continued to explore your wetness. Stroking, searching, learning. He circled your opening, your clit, and back again. One finger slid in easily and he grinned. You lifted your mouth to his as you lifted your hips to his hand. He slid in a second finger.

“You are so tight, little one,” he grinned down at you. You rocked your hips against his hand and moaned in reply. You placed one hand on his arm, pulling him deeper into you. With the other you smoothed his hair behind his ear and trailed your fingers down his jaw. You drug your fingertips over his lips. His eyes were dark as he watched you pleasure yourself on his hand.

“More, Daemon, please,” you moaned, saying his name for the first time. Hearing his name come from your lips pleased him immensely.

“Say it again,” he breathed as he curled his fingers inside you.

“Daemon, please.”

Slowly and with a tinge of disappointment on his face, he pulled his fingers from you. He was enjoying the sight of you but couldn’t wait any longer. He freed his cock from his breeches. Then he slid his hands up your thighs to your lower back. As he sat back he guided you onto his lap. The transition was clumsy at first, legs bumping and twisting. You both smiled as you held onto his shoulders. When you knelt over him you rubbed your clit against his cock. You rested your lips against his forehead as you rocked your lips. You moved your mouth nearer to his ear and murmured his name.

Daemon lifted your ass and placed you above his cock. With one hand between you, he guided himself into you. You sank down onto him slowly, watching his face. He clenched his jaw tight. You felt his hand move back to your ass. He let you set the pace, let you move against him. You pulled up and then sank down again, taking all of him. The moan that came from your lips was lewd and deep. You clutched at his neck, the back of his head, fingers entwined in his hair. He groaned but did not move to meet your hips. You rocked back, then forward, finding your rhythm.

He kissed your chest and breasts. His hands stroked your ass and lower back, constantly moving. You leaned forward slightly and pressed yourself against him. At this angle he wasn’t as deep in you, but you found friction against his stomach. You ground your hips into him, almost, but not quite able to get what you needed.

“Seven hells,” he panted against you. His hips had begun to move in time with yours. Your fingers twisted tighter in his hair and you tried to find that much-needed angle again. When he realized what you needed he slid a hand between you. You threw your head back as his fingers circled your clit. You sped up, fucking him hard. He kept pace with you, circling and pressing his fingers against you. You couldn’t keep a steady rhythm. You felt him brace your lower back with his hand and pull you closer to him, steadying you, supporting you. You felt your climax tug at your core and sank further onto his cock with each stroke.

“Come for me,” Daemon whispered into your neck. You did. You cried his name, clinched your fists in his hair, and buried your face against his head. You sank all the way down onto him, thighs resting on his as you shook. Your cunt spasmed around his cock but he didn’t stop moving his fingers. He pressed into you with his hips, rocking under you, and bringing forth tiny gasps from you. You lips found his and you panted into his mouth. Tiny sounds mingled with his name flew out of your mouth with every movement of his fingers.

When you thought the overstimulation might be too much he moved his hand from between you. He slid his hand under your arm and pulled you down onto him by your shoulder. A new wave of pleasure crashed into you as he spilled into you. His hips stilled, holding his cock deep inside you. He came panting and moaning your name.

You wanted to sink all of your weight onto him. It took too much effort to support yourself on your aching knees. Neither of you wanted to move yet, though both of you needed to. You released your hands from his hair. You kissed him and smoothed his hair back from his face.

You smiled at him as you rose shakily from his lap. He helped you as much as he could, but your legs were numb and your head was empty. You all but fell back onto the pillows. He watched you grind your hips against the air as the last of your climax left you. His eyes were locked on his seed sliding out of you. He leaned forward, his legs shaking as well. You watched him through half-closed eyes and settled yourself on the bed. His fingers slid through his cum and you twitched as he grazed your throbbing clit. He looked into your blue eyes as he gathered more of it on his fingers. You smiled seductively as he leaned over you and raised his fingers to your lips.

You opened your mouth, your eyes never leaving his, and he painted your tongue with his seed. You closed your lips around his fingers and let him feel you swallow. He slid his fingers out and surprised you by kissing you deeply, tasting himself in your mouth.

You moaned into the kiss and wrapped your legs around his waist. You playfully pulled his weight on top of you. He let you but also guided you both to lay on your sides. Your legs intertwined and you were a tangle of limbs for a moment. Then you buried your face into his chest and breathed in deeply. You sighed as he smoothed your hair and rested his chin on the top of your head. You were quite small in his arms. Daemon breathed deeply as he stroked down your back, your buttocks, and up again. You curled against him, one hand between you, the other resting on his hip.

“I have you now, little one,” he murmured against the top of your head.

Masterlist

[arabellasleopardcoat]

The girl with the pearl necklace (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You marry Daemon to secure an alliance. But surprisingly, you find a haven in him.

Warnings: Fluff. Smut. Oral (F receiving) Talks of race, colorism, racism, and self-esteem issues.

A/N: This has to be my most personal fic. It might not be as universal because it is part of my personal experience with race as a mixed person living in what is essentially a mixed region. I hope I do not get a bad response, but I will remind you what the title of my blog says.

“YOUR HAIR IS ugly.” The girl says, displeased. She is trying to comb through your hair with some coconut oil, but instead of curling prettily, your hair just falls flat. She has been at it for at least half an hour, her tugs to your hair getting increasingly more painful.

This time, you cannot hide the flinch. Pain, you had excused with being her first day. Making a mess, with her being unused to your hair. But calling you ugly? She was but a serving girl, she had no right.

The girl looks horrified at what she has just said. She is barely fourteen. But yet again, you are too. You have never called anyone ugly to their faces. You keep those kinds of thoughts to yourself.

“She is young, milady.” The older maid, the one that is supposed to supervise her, says. She smooths your hair back, trying to fix it. Her touch gets more and more desperate the more she tries. Your hair will simply not obey. The younger one has put so much product on your hair, it looks greasy and unwashed.

You stare at your features in the mirror. The lighter skin, the shock of unruly hair, not quite a wave, not quite a coil, but rather something in the middle. Bad hair, your previous maids called it. You wonder why you bothered trying with maids again.

It is your cousin’s wedding. A lovely young woman, with beautiful dark hair that you bet never reacts this way.

“I am sorry, milady.” The younger maid offers.

Your eyes are still fixated on your mirror. You wonder if your mother ever has these troubles too. With her sleek hair, and foreign features, you doubt anyone dares call her ugly. She may not have a title, as you do, but she was once regarded as the most beautiful woman in Lys.

But you. Oh, you. With your too wide nose, but too upturned to be a dornish one. With your high cheekbones in a short face. With dark eyelashes, purple eyes, and hair that is not quite right.

It screams outsider. It screams, not here, not there. Not a famed beauty in Lys, not quite the Sword of the Morning.

“Get out.” You say, to the serving girl. “Get out, both of you.”

You need to wash your hair three times for all the product to come out. You are late to the wedding.

The serving girl is relocated to the kitchens, where no one needs to talk to her. The older one is sent to tend to your father. You pass her sometimes, in the hallways of Starfall, and wonder if she is thinking your hair is ugly too.

You wonder the same thing on the day your fate changes. You are getting dressed when you see her, an ill omen in the middle of Starfall. Prince Qoren has summoned all the unwed noble ladies of Dorne to Sunspear, wishing to announce something. You think it can’t be anything good, considering he has refused to use a royal proclamation to do so.

The travel to Sunspear is taxing. You travel to the capital accompanied by your mother, a day before the actual meeting is set to take place. It allows the two of you to spend the night in a manse before having to meet the royal family.

She doesn’t know how to fix your hair. Your mother’s hair is pale silver, easy to manage and twist in the ways women up north prefer. She had tried hard to tame yours as a child, spraying it with water and stretching the curls with a brush so it laid flat. It never seemed to work as it did in hers.

You pin your hair up, a clip made of pearls and amethysts keeping it up. You do not have the same texture most women here have, that ensures gorgeous volume, so you play to your strengths, showcasing the deep color you have and using it as a backdrop for gorgeous accessories.

Your dress is chosen with great care. A deep lavender, with a tasteful cleavage, held at your shoulders by twin brooches of falling stars. Not even hearing your mother say you look beautiful eases your anxiety. You had seen her, the servant. She only appeared in your life when something was about to happen.

You are not the superstitious kind, but when you stand in a line in front of Prince Qoren’s throne with all the noble maidens of Dorne, you know you were right. That woman was a bad omen.

Prince Qoren smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I am glad all of you chose to accept my invitation.” He stands. All the women in the room drop into a curtsy. “When I look at you, I see the best this Kingdom has to offer. It makes me proud. And it makes me confident enough to know I can ask this of you.”

You tense. Whatever he is going to ask is something bad, you can already tell. Some of the more clueless girls in the room look flattered by the delicate compliment, but it is a tactic you know well. You have been mocked enough to know that when someone compliments you so elaborately, a but usually follows. And it tends to be devastating.

His kind demeanor isn’t fooling you. Not in the least.

“We have never coddled our women, as the other Kingdoms do. War is coming for us, and we need strong allies. The Iron Throne offers us their support, but as always, it comes with a price.”

War. Of course it comes down to it. You have heard your parents whispering about it when they think you cannot hear. How Prince Qoren is thinking of sending his troops, instead of his money. How he expects your brother or father to lead them, sometimes against the Triarchy, sometimes against the Iron Throne.

It seems he has made his choice. Against the Triarchy. Your heart is seized by the sudden terror of the thought of your father going to war and not coming home. His sword, Prince Qoren called him.

Your house has been Dorne’s sword for decades. Ever since the first Dayne picked up their sword from the heart of a flaming star, you have defended the Kingdom against their enemies. Your very home once burned because of it.

Amongst the tales of flaming swords and fallen stars, you had never thought war would touch your home. Your brother was the current wielder of Dawn. Your father the head of your house. They would have to fight.

“A marriage pact. From a daughter of Dorne, to a Targaryen Prince. To bind our kingdoms, to ensure peace in this new alliance we embark. Dorne must remain unbowed, unbent, unbroken. House Martell has no daughters of their own to offer, so we ask one of you to go on our stead. It’s us who will pay your dowry, and you shall always have a home here.”

His words barely register as you brood about the upcoming war. You have heard of the Crabfeeder, and his brutality. You think of your kind, kind brother, and his sweet smile. He is a few years younger than you, untested in battle yet.

Some girls cheer. You look at your mother and notice she has the same stricken look you must be sporting. Some of the other parents talk animatedly between themselves, calculating the potential such a match offers their daughters. None seem to realize what it means.

War. War will come for Dorne, and the situation might turn out so bad, proud Prince Qoren will need the dragons’ help. The once unbowed man is being made to bow so low his forehead is touching the floor.

Prince Qoren raises a hand, quieting the hall.

“I am not asking for volunteers. I simply wished to gaze upon you myself, and decide who will marry Daemon Targaryen.”

Mumbles start again, some girls sounding disgruntled. Others preen and titter, trying to attract the Prince’s gaze. You keep your eyes firmly trained on the wall in front of you.

You would rather not marry this Daemon Targaryen. The politics in the other kingdoms are not your forte, but you have a vague notion of him being the brother to the current King. He must have a dragon, of course. And you think he is the one who has been in the conflict at the Stepstones, so he must be some sort of warrior.

No matter how much of a catch he might be, you wish to stay. If war is truly coming, you cannot bear to think of being separated from your family. Your mother will need you, when your father and brother are called away. And you don’t imagine yourself in a foreign land, waiting for news about them on your own.

Prince Qoren makes his way down the line of maidens. You barely spare him a glance, your mind thousands of miles away. But he pauses in front of you, looking at the shooting stars in your shoulders, the deep lavender of your dress.

“I hear Daemon Targaryen likes his women fair.” He comments. “And you are the fairest of us all.”

You swallow, throat suddenly dry. It takes all of your willpower not to fidget under his gaze. You give him an awkward smile.

Prince Qoren reaches to touch the brooch. His hands are elegant, fingers long and lean. He is about your mother’s age, and wears it just as well.

“Lady Dayne, is it?”

“Yes, my Prince.” You say, meeting his eyes. You may not be a classic dornish beauty, but you were still raised by the most charming woman in Lys. There are hardly any other women with manners as refined as yours, and you know all about the games men in power enjoy playing.

You cannot fawn over him. You cannot show him weakness. Because if you do, you will be common in his eyes, unespecial. It is not about beauty. It never is. That thought has given you great comfort during the years.

“How fitting. My dearest sword will be the one to defend her kingdom.”

Your hands begin to sweat. His choice is predictable. It is the same thing you had been thinking about your father and brother, House Dayne is the sword of Dorne. And swords, even more feminine ones, are only useful when war comes.

It doesn’t make it easier, that you should have expected it. It only makes your chest hurt. You do not dare look at your mother.

Instead, you drop into a curtsy and look at Qoren Martell as if he has made you the happiest woman in the world.

“I will be honored, my Prince.”

He smiles.

“Please, call me Qoren. We are to be family now.”

You look at your mother, insides turning to ice. You wonder how long until he takes you away from her.

In the end, it only takes a month. Qoren had been eager to depart and fix the realm’s issues. You now know plenty about the war in the Stepstones. Apparently, your future husband had secured the victory, giving the killing blow to the leader of the opposing army. But while won, the threat to your Kingdom remains. The Triarchy shall always reform, and not even the death of the Crabfeeder can stop them. Like one of those awful serpents from myth, you cut off its head and two more appear.

Pulling your support as the Triarchy was losing had been a bad move. They blamed Dorne for their defeat, and the Iron Throne thought the dornish were cowardly, only making their choice when it was clear who would lose. To avoid petty revenges and more bloodshed, Dorne needed new allies. And you needed them fast.

“We negotiated a new title for you.” Qoren tells you, as the carriage takes you from the docks and towards the Red Keep. “When you marry, you will become a Princess too, instead of remaining a Lady.”

“That sounds exciting.” You give him a bright smile. It's a very genuine one. Hearing yourself announced in such a manner would please you. “It will be strange, of course, changing it.”

“Nonsense.” Qoren laughs. “Only the best for my daughter.”

You falter, and decide to peer out of the window to hide your expression from him. You do not want him to think you are ungrateful.

The night is awfully cold, but you barely feel it. You are dressed in a purple velvet dress, still amazed by the material. You had never worn something so expensive, or made of such a warm fabric. It has the traditional dornish cut, with a plunging cleavage, but you find the added long sleeves fascinating.

The royal family had spared no expense in preparing your trousseau. As a daughter of House Martell, only the best would do. Obviously, all in their colors. This purple velvet gown was one of the few purple items you had been allowed to bring. It saddened you, having to forsake the color. You had always felt pretty in purple, since it matched your eyes.

You weren’t too sure how you felt about everything. Being sent to protect your kingdom and, by extension, your family from war was a great thing. But you were also being asked to leave your identity behind.

Never having left Dorne before, the journey had excited you, but also made you feel acutely lonely. And the thought of having to let behind your family, your colors, and even your name, only served to make you feel worse.

Your father would not be the one giving you away during your wedding, nor would your maiden cloak be the one of House Dayne. Instead, you would wear the sun and spear of House Martell.

But at this moment, as Qoren gets out of the carriage and extends you a hand, you are a Dayne. The purple dress acts a beacon, attracting the gaze of every servant in the vicinity. You stand tall, a star pendant hanging between your breasts.

You will enter decked on your colors. You will greet your future husband as you are, dressed in royal purple. Be a Dayne one last time, before war takes even that from you.

You breathe in and out, the polluted night sky so different from the beautiful stars in Dorne. This is it, you think, a chance to start over. To be whoever you wish to be. These people do not know what a dornishwoman should look like, or how she should behave. They do not know your hair is odd, and so are your eyes. They will only know what you want them to know.

“Go change, my sword. Your maids have selected a dress.” Qoren places his hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you towards the Red Keep. Your smile falls. For a second, you had thought you could attend the feast as you were, draped in your familiar purple and silver. “Make us all proud.”

You should have known better. But it is no matter now. A new life awaits you. Not even Qoren can sour your mood. You square your shoulders and smile.

So focused you are on your inner motivational speech, you do not notice the man watching you, his features covered by a black hood.

The day of your marriage, Daemon presents you with a beautiful pearl necklace. It is made of the purest pearls, with the biggest one you have ever seen right in the middle. It is bigger than the fingertip of your thumb, a perfect circle, roughly the size of a gold dragon.

“My cousin helped me commission this.” He says, during the wedding feast. He presents it to you in a small box, insides lined with velvet. As you reach for it, Daemon closes it, nearly catching your fingers with it. You laugh, startled. He grins at you. “Ah, I want to help you put it on.”

Your fingers fiddle with the simple silver chain you wear, star pendant hanging between your breasts. The hesitation must show on your face because Qoren, at your side, answers for you.

“She is honored, I am sure. Such a gorgeous jewel, to sit in the neck of the greatest beauty Dorne has to offer.”

You smile, trying not to let the sudden flare up of bad memories the words bring you. You remember a young girl, calling your hair ugly. Your grandmother’s face, sneering as you passed her in the hallways. Half-breed, she says, after having too much wine. Not quite right.

The subtle, more hidden, cruelties of girlhood that made your heart ache. When you did not make the list of the most beautiful girls some page was making. How much of a late bloomer you were, by dornish standards. How you had to wait so long for your first kiss, when it seemed like all the other girls were having them already.

Will this be all your life will ever be? Looking for the poison dripping from each word? Doubting every compliment?

You give Daemon what you hope is a seductive look, from beneath dark lashes. You are not good at seduction, having been an observer most of your life. But you are good at pretending.

It has worked, so far. Your arrival, on Qoren’s arm and with an honor guard fit for a Queen, had made people look at you differently. Men, specially, look at you as something exotic. They whisper about your Lyseni mother, and the tricks you must know how to perform. It fills you with dread because once again your looks set you apart, and you don’t quite feel like a person. You had hoped things would be different here.

And they are. Their attention is different, but it’s still wrong and you don’t quite believe them. They only want you because of the novelty, because of rumors about dornishwomen, about how your mother trapped your father. Not because you are beautiful or desirable. It’s sickening.

“Come, husband. Take my necklace off.” And Daemon obeys you, coming to stand behind you. Before he can begin to fumble with your hair, you reach for your hair on your own and lift it to expose your nape. You twist it into a pretend up do, holding it up with your hand.

The gesture is as languid as you can make it, highlighting the curve of your arm, and the elegance of your movements. The cold air hits your neck, making the hairs there stand up.

You both feel and hear Daemon’s sigh. He blows a soft puff of air against your hair, the noise very loud in the small table that seats only Qoren, Daemon, and you. The Queen has already retired, her sickly husband in tow. The Princess and her husband are dancing merrily between the tables.

When you had met Daemon, your first impression of him had been that he was very Valyrian looking and surprisingly whole for someone fresh out of war. And then, he had looked at Princess Rhaenyra and you had understood what Qoren meant when he said he liked his women fair.

Your stomach had turned, back then. Valyrian indeed. Rhaenyra was all milk white skin, light lashes and soft features. You couldn’t compete, you had thought. But then, you had noticed how his eyes followed little Laena Velaryon and you had known there was a chance for you to succeed too. It wasn’t skin color, but Valyrian heritage.

You have been trying to seduce him, with various degrees of success. The attention men pay you is helping you, and so are your purple eyes. You hope tonight goes well. You think you have just about enough Lyseni blood in you to keep him hooked.

His hands gently unclasp your pendant. He pockets it, you think. A memento or because he intends to give it back to you? You feel as his fingers whisper against your collarbones, and this time it’s you who sighs.

You are dramatic about it. Your lips part, as if about to be kissed. Your head tilts back.

“Beautiful.” Daemon whispers, in your ear. He kisses the shell of it.

“It is a gorgeous necklace.” You reply, feeling your face heating up. You feel drunk already, and you have not drank a single goblet of wine yet.

“No. You.” And the kiss against your ear becomes open-mouthed, his heavy breath filling your hearing. His hips brush against the backrest of the chair, searching for closeness. This is something that cannot be faked, you think. Not this kind of desire.

He wants you. He wants you, and you only wish to close your eyes and let him take you right here at this table. You are no blushing maiden, for sure, but you still are new to intimacy. Too many hang-ups about your body and not quite pleasing attempts have not contributed to building a vast knowledge of it. The fact that he wants you so badly makes you wild.

“I think that is my cue.” Qoren says, breaking you out of your stupor. He drains his cup, clearly in preparation for leaving. You had never felt such a connection with someone, not even in Dorne, where pleasure was loud and open. You press your hands to your face, ashamed of having forgotten he was there. Daemon simply chuckles.

“You don’t have…”

“Dearest sword.” He says, as he plants a kiss to your forehead. “You are as tempting as your husband is selfish. He doesn’t seem in the mood to share you.”

“I am not.” Daemon agrees, squeezing your shoulder. He exchanges a look with Qoren over your head. You can only see Qoren’s answering smirk.

“I think I should call for the mummers early.”

You and Daemon slip away as a company of puppet masters from Dorne make their grand entrance, throwing colorful powders in the air.

Later that night, as he sleeps in your shared rooms, you slip on a robe and stand in front of the mirror. Daemon has a massive one, right at the foot of the bed. Mirrors have always scared you, and sleeping so comfortably as he does with one reflecting him is unfathomable. You only intend to cover it.

Mirrors are supposed to be portals to other worlds, your mother used to say. The thought is stuck in your head, so you have grabbed a linen and are ready to place it over it when something catches your attention.

Your reflection. She is glowing, barefoot and in a simple robe, but still wearing the necklace your husband has given you. It should look gauche. It should look too much. But somehow, the necklace looks just right in your neck. You remember Daemon’s eyes, filled with desire when you had bared your neck to him. The sensual way he had touched you tonight, cradling you in his arms, rolling around in his bed. The necklace on the nightstand.

You look at the way the pearls light up your face. For the first time, you feel beautiful.

You make your first mistake a few days after.

It’s the first day of the week, and the Queen has asked you to have tea with her. You go, happily. After Qoren’s and the guards left, you began to feel lonely. There is not much to do here, either. Most of your usual entertainments are considered too sinful or crass. You can not even go for a walk around the city because they deem it too dangerous.

The meeting with the Queen is sour. She is trying, you can tell, but you still hear the disdain in her voice when she talks about your customs, or your people. She eyes the necklace you wear with distaste.

You get the feeling she buys the tales about you. That you are some dornish beauty, exotic and trained in the arts of seducing men. She comments on your mother, on her luck for marrying up, and you have to remember yourself to bite your tongue.

From what Daemon tells you, she is very lucky herself. Going from Lady to Queen is almost as impressive as going from merchant’s daughter to Lady, and you know which one of them did not need to spread her legs for it, and it’s not her. Not if you judge by her plain face.

You look at her, scandalized and pious as she is, ranting about acceptance of bastards of all things, and you surprise yourself at your own cruelty. You should not have thought that. But you are just so angry…

You take a deep breath and look away, trying to calm down. It is then you notice. In the door of the solar, standing to attention, is a man who looks like you.

He has inky dark hair, and olive skin. His eyes are dark, and he has a light stubble, probably because when you have hair as dark as he does, it is difficult to hide body hair. He wears armor and a white cloak. Kingsguard, you think. Why hasn’t anyone told you there was someone else from Dorne here, too? How could you not know?

Queen Alicent follows your eyes, suddenly noticing you are not paying attention. Your eyes are glued to the knight. She frowns in disapproval.

“That’s Ser Criston Cole. My sworn shield.” She stresses the word my. You grab your teacup and take a sip, to hide your smile. Is the pious Queen in love with her knight? “And a member of the Kingsguard.”

She is reminding you of his vow of celibacy. You almost laugh. If she wasn’t so repressed, she would realize she is the one who wants to jump his bones. The only interest you have in him is the fact that he might become a friend.

“Do your guards always stand inside your rooms?” You ask her, doing your best to sound puzzled. “The King’s guards stand outside his, and so does the sworn shield of the Princess.”

“…” Queen Alicent blushes, and averts her gaze. There are no further invitations to have tea with her.

You spend a lot of time staring at Ser Criston. He never returns your gaze. You seek him at mealtimes, you greet him in the corridors, but he always manages to evade you before you can properly start a conversation.

Daemon notices. He always does. He is finely attuned to you, his perfect wife. His prize after the war, his star. A study in contradictions, brazen and bold one moment, shy the next. He seems to like you even more for it. What he doesn’t seem to like is your sudden fixation on Criston Cole.

“You should stay away from him, star.” Daemon whispers, when he catches you staring at him once more. His voice sounds irritated. Accusing. As if you have done something wrong. It makes you bristle immediately.

“I am doing nothing wrong.”

“No one said you are. But Cole is….” Daemon shakes his head. “It is unwise. That’s all I mean to say.”

“What is unwise?” You scowl. You are glad that the table is long enough that no one else overhears you. Knowing Daemon, things are about to get nasty. He will throw in so many insults, Ser Criston would beat him into a pulp if he heard. No matter how competent your husband is, you still worry. “Trying to talk to him?”

“He is a cunt.” He says, cutting your meat for you as if you were a child. From your place in the dais, you seek him once more. Ser Criston is standing on the entrance of the hall, watching carefully as his Queen dines with the King and the two of you.

As if sensing your gaze, he looks towards you. Then, he quickly averts his eyes.

“I merely wish to speak with him.” You say. “He is like me. Dornish.”

“Ser Crispin will only disappoint you. Both in personality and in prowess.” Daemon warns. He pushes his goblet closer to you. “Here, try this. Arbor gold. How does it compare to the swill you like to drink?”

You take a sip of his goblet. You scrunch up your nose, The wine is cloyingly sweet, lacking the strong notes Dornish Reds always have.

“Ugh.” Your lips pucker up in disgust. Daemon laughs, and steals a kiss from you, licking into your mouth for good measure. But before you can begin to properly enjoy it, Queen Alicent coughs. You push Daemon away, even though you are doing nothing scandalous. “You taste like it too.”

“And you taste of that swill you dornish call wine. Yet, I am not complaining.” He takes a sip of his goblet.

“Are you jealous of him?” You ask, suddenly. You have heard about the rivalry between the two of them. Everyone knew of how Cole had obtained his position. He had been a simple knight, until Daemon had lost to him during a tourney. The act had caught Princess Rhaenyra’s attention, and secured him a white cloak. “Ser Criston?”

The thought of Daemon thinking you want to invite Cole to your bed is enough to amuse you. While in Dorne, paramours are more common than here, you are finding monogamy pleasant. You had never been much for sex without love, after all. Only one taste had been enough to satiate your curiosity.

“You shouldn’t toy with fire.” He growls, perhaps confusing your amusement with a deliberate attempt to tease him. It only makes your smile widen.

“Did you know…?” You begin, with an airy tone. Daemon sets down his cutlery. He turns to look at you, licking his lips. “My ancestor, Ser Joffrey Dayne, crossed paths with Queen Visenya. She burned Starfall, after he attacked Oldtown.”

“House Targaryen has always defended the Highcunts, it seems.” Daemon’s brows furrow together. It is no surprise he knows about it. One of the things that have bonded the two of you together is the fact that both of you are obsessed with family history. What he doesn’t know is why you are referencing it now.

You smile. One of your hands goes to toy with the necklace he has given you and that has become your constant accessory, bringing attention to your neck. It is a deliberate move. You intend to be ravished tonight

“I do not fear fire. We Daynes got Dawn from the heart of a falling star. “

Daemon kisses your temple.

“Oh? And I cannot wait to see you burn.” And he is pulling you to your feet, and you are slipping outside with a hurried curtsy.

Despite Daemon’s warnings, you still decide to approach Criston Cole. It takes you almost a week to build up the courage to do it, and another more to mention it to Daemon.

You do not want him to feel blindsided, so you include him in your planning. It is only when he shows up at the Sept that you realize Daemon intends to go with you.

Even the Septon pauses when he sees the two of you enter the Sept. Considering the court thinks you a temptress, and him a rogue, you are not surprised.

You are not particularly pious. While you had been educated on the Faith of the Seven, Dorne practiced a much diluted version. You had not attended a service in quite some time, but you try to focus on it to keep your nervousness at bay.

The plan is to intercept Ser Criston when the service ends. Daemon is under strict instruction to remain sitting, as to not unnerve the other man. But of course, things do not go according to plan.

As soon as the Septon gives his last blessing, you sprung up and step closer to the knight.

“Ser Criston, a word?” You ask him, your voice soft and nonthreatening. It is not as if you want to impose your presence on him, but you are unsure of why he flees rooms when he sees you. Perhaps he is shy, or perhaps you have offended him, but you will never know if he doesn’t speak to you.

“Do not talk to me!” He snarls, getting up from the bench. You try to reach for his arm, but Cole is quicker than you, grabbing your wrist tightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Daemon getting up from the bench where he was waiting for you.

“Ser… I only wished you to invite you to have tea with me.”

“I will not get into your bed, Lady Targaryen.” The man snarls at you. “Perhaps it is allowed in Dorne, but I assure you, here we do things differently than your people. Propositioning a man is…”

“I am not propositioning you!” You say, hotly. The words he is spewing at you leave you bewildered. You have never heard another dornishman speak so. “What do you even mean by that? Your people! You are dornish too.”

“I am not.” But before he can give you an explanation, Daemon is stepping in, and unsheathing his sword. He places his body between Ser Criston and you.

“I would suggest you unhand my wife.” His voice is cold. “Or you will lose the hand.”

“And you! You support her… Her… She should be sent back to Dorne, but she doesn’t even belong there, does she?” And Ser Criston stomps off, clearly unwilling to engage Daemon in what would probably end up as a fight to death.

Daemon looks willing to go after him, but you make a pitiful noise that is a cross between a sob and a whine. The rejection hurt more than usual, having grown unused to cruelness during your stay on King’s Landing. And the remark about you not belonging in Dorne?

It stung. You had not heard that insult in ages. It made you think of the serving girl, and your grandmother muttering you had bad hair, of your odd little features and strange coloring. Not quite Andal, not quite Rhoynar, not quite Lyseni.

Ser Criston looked like you. Of everyone, you would have expected him to understand. To see you.

You had only wanted a reminder of home. Careful with what you wish for, indeed. Your eyes feel suspiciously wet.

“Oh, that cunt. I’ll cut off his dick and feed him to Caraxes…” Daemon mutters, a thunderous look in his purple eyes. He then presses his forehead to yours, giving you an impish grin. “Not that it would be much food, would it? Like a worm, I bet.”

It makes you laugh, despite yourself.

“There you are.” Daemon smiles, brushing your tears away. “Come. I need you to see something.”

He takes your hand and leads you towards your shared rooms. You frown, slightly. Does he have some sort of present to give you? It’s unusual to be going there so early in the morning.

When Daemon opens the door, a maid is still sweeping the room. He barely spares her a glance, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. The girl looks disgruntled. You offer her a silver dragon for her troubles as she leaves, noticeably cheering her up.

The bed is freshly made, and the room smells of lavender. Outside the windows, the birds chirp. You see nothing unusual.

“What was I supposed to see? You interrupting the maid? Poor girl.” You mutter, kicking off your shoes. “Do try to make her life easier.”

But he doesn’t answer, choosing instead to pull out the chair in your vanity. It is a rarity, the whole set a gift from Qoren to furnish your new rooms. It has a beautiful mirror attached that reflects you from the waist up when you sit in front of it.

“Come.” Daemon says, simply. So you do. You know better by now than to disagree with him when he is in one of his moods.

You sit in the chair, dutifully. Your reflection looks a fright, so you try to avoid looking at yourself too much. He stands behind you, hands caressing your shoulders lighty, prompting you to look up.

“I have noticed.” Daemon starts, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “That you are always self-conscious when I look at you for too long. Or when I take your clothes off.”

You avert your eyes. It is true. You feel strange when Daemon looks at your body. The awe he holds in his gaze is both exciting and humbling. You never feel worthy of such worship.

“I would say we are past the maiden’s modesty.” He chuckles. “We made sure of that, didn’t we?”

“I…”

Daemon begins to unlace your gown. The presence of the mirror is making you self-conscious, so you reach for your bodice, and hold it up with one hand.

He pauses. He studies your expression, before dropping a kiss to your curls.

“Don’t cover yourself, wife. I love looking at you.”

You take a deep breath. You want to tell him the truth, for once. Daemon has started to suspect that despite how much you enjoy intercourse with him, something is wrong with your self-esteem. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have staged this intervention.

“I just don’t like how I look much.” You keep your voice low. Shame begins to freeze you up, making you tense and unable to speak. Your heart beats loudly in your ears.

“Madness.” Daemon laughs. He kisses you, slow and sweet. His lips move tenderly against yours, coaxing you out of your shell. You wonder how such an impatient man can have such infinite patience when it comes to you.

The thought makes you melt. Daemon smiles against your mouth and pulls back. He comes back to standing behind you.

“Look.” He orders. And you, helpless under his spell, cannot disobey.

You look at your reflection. Your hair is in even more disarray than before. Your lips are red and kiss swollen. And your eyes… You look dazed.

“We are just getting started.” Daemon promises, his hand coming to caress your collarbones. This time, when he pulls down the bodice, you do not fight it.

He kisses your head.

“You asked me once, if I was jealous.” You turn towards him, confused at the sudden change of topic. Daemon shushes you, squeezing the back of your neck as if you were a misbehaving pup. You look at yourself again, knowing there is no point in disobeying. Daemon always gets his way.

“I am jealous.” His voice is firm. He leans in, and kisses the top of your hair. His talented, skilled hands, take the pins off from it, so it frames your face once more. You fight the urge to fix it, to give more volume to your roots. You don’t like how limp it falls sometimes. Daemon presses a kiss to your earlobe, and whispers. “Of the very breeze against your hair.

Your eyes widen. You do not dare take them away from the mirror. On it, you watch as he presses a kiss behind your ear, as he mouths at your neck, just barely reaching the necklace that sits there.

“Of the pearls you wear, for holding on to your neck. “ You feel his words against your skin, making you shiver. He wraps it around one of his fingers, the pearls tensing just so to feel more restrictive against your neck.

Your lips part in a sigh. The tension of the pearls makes you think of a collar, and his deft handling of them a leash. Ownership.

“Sometimes, when I see you around court, I imagine this.” He tugs the pearls upwards, placing them between your lips. You watch, in a daze, as your reflection parts her lips more, welcoming him in.

He places the biggest pearl between your teeth. You find yourself mesmerized by this stranger you are watching, being turned into an artwork in front of your very eyes.

“You are exquisite.” Daemon gives the pearls a tug, pulling them slightly up. They catch on your hair, contrasting beautifully with the dark curls. There is something haunting about the image, something that tugs at you and makes you see yourself from his eyes.

Like this, with him calling you exquisite, pearls adorning your face and hair, you can almost believe it.

“Do you know what I think of more, when I see these pearls?” Daemon chuckles. It’s a dark, masculine sound. You are unable to form a word. “Hm. Perhaps I should show you.”

He finishes pulling the necklace from you. Over your head and out they go. Suddenly able to speak, you find yourself at a loss for words.

Daemon kneels behind you. He meets your eyes in the mirror, again.

“I am jealous of the moon, and the sky, and this damn mirror even.” It sounds like nonsense. It should sound like nonsense, but somehow, it is disarming, this newfound honesty of his. The one where he stumbles over words in his eagerness, in his need to call you beautiful, to call you his. “Because you want to gaze at them. Your eyes should be only for me.”

He cradles your face in his palm, forcing you to keep eye contact with your reflection. His thumb brushes over your lips. You just stare.

“And even of the wine you drink, when you wet your lips.”

You kiss his thumb. Your eyes sting. This is quickly turning unbearable.

“Daemon… Please…”

“Oh, but your eyes.” He praises, sounding almost drunk. He begins to kiss a path down your collarbones and towards your breasts. “I love your eyes. They are maddening to me.”

He continues to kiss your skin, inhaling deeply. The closer he gets to your breasts, the hungrier he becomes. Daemon is gorging himself on you, biting and nipping at your bosom, sucking at your nipples until you cannot help the moans coming out from your mouth.

Liquid, molten pleasure, begins accumulating at the base of your spine. Warming up your body, making you sweat with the exertion of keeping still.

“You are so beautiful, I fear anyone will want to steal you away.” Daemon whispers, grabbing your hips in an almost bruising grip. “And I fear if I don’t hold tight, it will be my fault.”

You look at yourself. At the half lidded eyes, the softness of your chest. At the attitude of surrender, as your thighs part, and you feel him bury his nose on the roses of your mound. As he inhales, trying to memorize your touch, your smell, your sounds. As he decides to drink from you, making your face go slack, brows pinched together, eyes glassy and absent.

Beautiful, you think, as you reach your peak with a scream so loud you fear the rest of the Red Keep might have heard.

Daemon laughs, doing his best attempt to suck a bruise on your thigh.

“And you haven’t even seen what I plan on doing with the pearls.”

[povofjustme]

The Queen of Death

Part (1/?)

Fandom- House of the Dragons

Being Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys first born, your farther heir

Your were the most sweet and kindest child and that stayed with your until you were a maiden

But you never forget that you are Princess Rhaenys (the queen who was never) is your mother, your leaned many things over the years from her

You were a year younger that Rhaenyra and your grow up together

You both even claimed your dragon (Vermithor) at the same time as each other

Your were best friends and told each other everything

Even your little crush on one of the king’s guards Harwin Strong

You thought nothing would never changed your friendship

Even when she married your younger brother Leanor Velaryon’s and your marrying your first love Harwin

but your were mistaken when your was hold little baby Jacaerys

Your were heart broken when you was holding the babe in your arms

-Over the years your knew that Rhaenyra and Leanor marriage wasn’t perfect but she told you they have arrangement

But she never told you it was with your fucking husband

“I guess the little babe has more Arryn then targaryen”

That was the last thing you said before going mute

Your never felt so betrayed

Your husband, your best friend and your brother

Your cried in your mothers are for days and still hasn’t said a word, Rhaenys was heartbroken

She couldn’t done nothing but hold you

If Rhaenys was the ask the king for annulment the king would say no, just to keep Rhaenyra safe from the rumors

“Cousin you can not be that stupid�� r

“Rhaenys watch yourself, we are family but am still king” v

“REALLY want to talk about family, Rhaenyra should learn the meaning of family!”

So her daughter had to stay in the marriage, but she would do everything to keep her first safe

Corlys was furious, there are no word to explain

He wants to pack up his daughter things and move her back to Driftmarks

But Harwin wouldn’t let it happen, after the birth of Jacaerys your wouldn’t speak a word to him

“She is my wife and she will not be going anywhere!”

He would try to grab your had and you would pull away

Ask you to had dinner with him and only meet with no response

Try to get physical and say ..

“I think is time for a baby” h

“….” Y/n walk out the room

And when your move out of your shard quarters together, he know he had lost you

Rhaenyra would do anything to get you back

She would try to have you break her fast with her in the morning - your mother would shut it down in a heartbeat

Tried having you go on walks in the garden with her and Jace but would find you with Queen Alicent children instead

Tried flying with you but be Vermithor would have Rhaenyra lost in the clouds and lost site of you

Even tried summoning you to dinner and sit right next to her, she would talk and talk to try to get something out of you

Even tried telling that Harwin didn’t mean a thing but then get caught up in her words, everything comes out bad

But you never utter a word

And you used it against everyone, even the king hisself

“So y/n how have you been feeling” v said in front of the dinner table “I heard you been unwell” v

“….” You

“Y/n-“ v

“Cousin leave her be” r

The king would try to talk to you but Your mother had your back no matter what

Some people found it rude or disrespectful but you had no feeling left to give

Everyone saw the change in you, you were the girl who was smile at everything and one

And now they never seen a smile on your face, unless it was with the Queens children

It’s been months since the birth of Jacaerys, the king was having a tournament for the babe, all the lords and lady’s where coming to celebrate

The looks and the whispers alone was getting louder and you couldn’t take it

You stood next your husband at the feast, when you saw that everyone was distracted you took your chances

In your room, your grabbing your ridding gear, a few pouches of gold coins. Not needing any else but the clothes on your back

Found your way to the dragon pit, got on Vermithor and fly

You didn’t know where you was going but you knew it was away from kings landing

Flying for hours, you found yourself in a storm

-Vermithor having a hard time trying to navigate again it….

Thing everything went black……

When you wake up, you were on a island… The death Island

(Had this in my head for awhile, don’t know how many parts but let me know if you want this in story!!)

[lunarmoonanons]

Fire and Salt chp 14

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

YN sits at her mother's council

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Masterlist

YN always enjoyed seeing the map table lit up. Watching the fire below light up the pieces and places like flowing fire enchanted the girl whenever she saw it. YN knew this wasn’t an occasion to enjoy the lit table, but she still admired it nonetheless. YN rested one hand on the table and looked up from it to see her mother walking into the room surrounded by her guards. YN smiled at her mother for a brief moment as her step father announced her to the room of people her mother would call her court. 

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” Daemon announced and everyone followed with a bow to the rightful Queen. “Your Grace.”

YN was in between her two brothers, one hand on the table and the other resting on Luke’s nervous back. She knew he would feel overwhelmed and inadequate at an official meeting of mother’s court so she offered her touch to comfort him. YN looked around the room and saw that her grandmother and Baela stood next to each other. 

Rhaena came up to Rhaenyra and held a cup out to her. “Wine, my queen.” 

Rhaenyra took the cup and thanked the girl, offering her to come up to the table with her, also signaling Baela to come with her to seat at the table. There was an air of silence in the room as everyone looked to Rhaenyra to do something. YN watched her mother with questioning eyes and wondered what she was to do first. YN wanted to call out for an attack on Kings Landing, they had the greater dragons, save for Vhagar, and the more support for the queen. YN knew what the common folk thought of her mother. What they thought of her. Many wanted YN to be heir instead of Jace but she stood firm in her decision to place Jace on the throne. 

“What is our standing?” Her mother started. 

“We have 30 knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and 300 men-at-arms,” Daemon explained. “Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest our army leaves a lot to be desired. We have sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch. I’ll have some support there, but I cannot speak to the numbers.” 

“We already have declarations from Celtigar and Staunton, Massey, Darklyn, Bar Emmon,” The Maester spoke. 

“My lady mother was an Arryn,” Rhaenyra spoke up. “The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin.”

“River run was always a close friend to your father, Your Grace. With Prince Daemon’s acquiescence, I’ve already sent ravens to Lord Grover.”

That did not seem to sate Rhaenyra, YN swallowed her tongue at what she wanted to say about their position and what she thought they should do. Knowing her anger and want to burn Kings Landing was mostly from her anger at Aemond’s betrayal of her once again. 

“Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed. He will need to be convinced of the strength of our position and that we will support him should it come to war,” Rhaenyra said. 

“I’m going to treat with him myself.” Daemon explained. 

Steffon Darklyn spoke up next, “What of Storm’s End and Winterfell?” 

“There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath. And as I hear it he has sent a betrothal request to Princess YN. If she accepts we have a stronger claim with them beyond us,” Bartimos spoke, looking at YN who stared at her mother. “And with House Stark the North will follow.”

“Lord Borros Baratheon will need to be reminded of his father’s promises,” Rhaenyra explained. Watching as one man placed a figure on the table then as YN handed Jace a figure for him to place on Duskendale. She then turned behind her to look at Rhaenys. “What news from Driftmark?” 

“Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone,” Rhaenys spoke up for the first time. 

“To declare for his Queen.” Daemon loudly said. 

“The Velaryon fleet is in my husband’s yoke,” Rhaenys explained. “He decides where they sail.”

“We shall pray for both you and your husband’s support. Just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake’s return to good health. There’s no port on the Narrow Sea would dare to make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet,” Rhaenyra said before turning back to the table. “And our enemies?”

“We have no friends among the Lannisters. Thailand served the Hand too long to turn against him. And Otto Hightower needs the Lannister fleet.” YN watched her mother’s expression as she listened to Daemon . 

“Without the Lannisters, we are not like to find any allies west of the Golden Tooth,” Rhaenyra responded. 

“No,” Daemon paused for a moment. “The Riverlands are essential, Your Grace.”

There was a pause in the room, YN wanted to speak about the common folk, how she could rally them against the greens and take Kings Landing back. She knew many of the small folk looked to YN for many things and many would do anything for the Princess. But she held her tongue. There were not many on the court who thought of the small folk and did not see their value. But YN did and when she had the time she would tell her mother that she could rally them for her. 

“Pray forgiveness for my bluntness, Your Grace, but talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons.” One spoke up making the room think of the power of the dragons. 

“The greens have Dragons,” Rhaenyra explained but she was cut off by Daemon. 

“They have three adults by my count. We have Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys. Your sons and daughter have SeaSmoke, Vermax, and Tyraxes. Baela has Moondancer.” Daemon listed. 

“Daemmon, none of our dragons have been to war.” Rhaenyra countered. 

“There are also unclaimed dragons. Verminthos and Silverwing dwell on the Dragonmont, still riderless,” Daemon continued. “Then there are the three wild dragons, all of whom nest here.”

“And who is to ride them?” Rhaenyra asked. YN looked behind Rhaenyra and noticed someone coming in. She wondered what could be needed now. 

“Dragonstone has 13 to their 4. I also have a score of eggs incubating in the Dragonmont,” Daemon said, then walking around the table. “Now… we need a place to gather, a toehold large enough to house a sizable host. Here, at Harrenhal. We cut off the west, surround Kings Landing with the dragons. And we could have every green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns.” 

YN never usually agreed with Daemon but she was pleased to hear what she wanted. She wanted to surround Kings Landing call the smallfolk to rally against the greens, have place each of their traitor heads on spikes. 

“Your Grace…” Ser Erryk came back in. “A ship has been sighted offshore: a lone galleon flying the banner of a three headed green dragon.”

“Alert the watchtowers. Sight the skies.” Daemon demanded and grabbed his sword. 

YN saw her mother leave the room with Daemon. She knew the greens were sending someone to demand her mother and them all bend the knee to Aegon. She would never, not for anyone. Lucerys turned to YN, but she never betrayed a look of worry. She merely brought a hand to his cheek and rubbed her thumb up and down. She knew her family would call to war and they needed all the allies they could get. So she made up her mind as she looked in Luke’s eyes that she would send a raven to Cregan Stark and accept his proposal. 

~~~

When her mother returned, YN had already sent the raven to Lord Stark. She now waited for the right time to tell her mother. Now she stood near her mother as they discussed the terms the greens had sent. Her mother declaring she would not rule over a kingdom of ash and bone. No matter how many times Daemon had said they had the greater number of dragons. 

“My father’s dead. And he chose me as his successor, to defend the realm not cast it headlong into war.” Rhaenyra said, countering Daemon’s claim. 

“Well, the enemy have declared war. What are you gonna do about it?” Daemon demanded. 

“Clear the room.” Her mother ordered. YN looked to her mother with questioning eyes. Rhaenyra gave her hand a squeeze before whispering for her to leave, that it would be alright. 

Rhaenys came up to her granddaughter and guided her out of the room. YN spared one last look at her mother before leaving. She knew her mother and Daemon would have this fight. Her mother was not as hot headed as Daemon, and not as blood hungry for war. 

YN did not want to seem blood hungry. She did not want the smallfolk to suffer a war caused by them. But she was so angry. She wanted revenge for this slight against her mother, for the betrayal of Aemond once again. Her friend, the one whom she still cared about no matter how angry she got with him betrayed her. He was planning on usurping the throne. And he had the nerve to pretend he wanted her. Maybe he did but she was not someone you crossed. YN spared a look to her grandmother before walking toward her brothers.

[hiatuswhore]

ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀꜱʜᴇꜱ

♕ A/N: Writers Block has kicking my ass. Feedback please, it’s a great motivator!!

♕ SUMMARY: A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid.

♕ WORD COUNT: 3k

♕ WARNING: Sexual Violence, Harsh language, misogyny

previous — Masterlist — next

kin in all but blood

Your heavy pants fill the throne room as the nobles chatter dies down. Coils of hair curtain your face, appearing more like a wild animal than a noblewoman. The nameless knights grip on your forearm makes you grit your teeth. Lords and Ladies stand at a distance gaping at what remains of the once most vibrant lady in Kings Landing. A lady from a great house. The last of House Azgeda.

“Your Grace she slaughtered my brother, Lord Houghton and his men. I beseech the court to take her head with haste. For to not do so would be an act against justice,” Dawsin Houghton, the new Lord of small house Houghton. The new head of a house of leeches.

“You speak of justice though your house has committed atrocities in your insatiable thirst for power. I’ll see you in the seven hells,” Your eyes peek through the opening of your hair, glaring daggers at Lord Houghton. His facade faltering and recovering in an instant. The King reminds you of your time to speak, urging Lord Houghton to continue.

“You’ll be there a good long time before I show up,” Lord Houghton goads. A faint smirk plays in his lips eyeing you with smugly.

“I don’t mind waiting,” There’s a chilling calm to your tone. More beast than man, pure unadulterated fury. That of a warrior not a noble lady.

“The Lady of Azgeda has taken to madness. Too feeble minded to understand the workings of politics and houses. Entitlement leading her to believe security in the name Azgeda absolves her of the consequences of treason,” Lord Houghton voice booms through the hall. The sickly King’s coughs follow but do not dissolve the tension.

“What of these atrocities does Lady Azgeda speak of?” King Viserys hoarse voice grates your ears. The tread between the living and dead, far too familiar. No longer the cheery seemingly healthy man you once knew as a girl.

“Your Grace, the girl has gone mad. I fear the past six years she has been unable to come to terms with the fates of the traitors she calls kin. It is unwise to believe a word she says. Like her treacherous house I accuse the lady of murder,” Lord Houghtons gaze bounces between the iron throne and your fixed stare.

“Lady (Y/n) you stand accused of murder, of treason. What say you?” Lord Houghton steps forward insisting on dissuading the King. Viserys voice still booms with authority despite his failing health. “I asked a question of the Lady. I demand an answer!”

Lord Houghton’s back straightens, watching you warily. You scan the room slowly caring little for the gawking stares. All the Royal family stands eyeing you curiously. Many of the lords and the ladies of the court appearing vaguely familiar.

“I bled Lord Houghtons men by simply poisoning their wine. Then I cut the former little Lord neck to navel,” Your words leave you at a slow pace, sending a wave of chatter across the room. The incredulous stares meeting your lopsided smirk. “I intend to the same to Lord Dawsin.”

“You confess to the charges brought against you on this day, Lady (Y/n)?“ Viserys eyebrows pinch, eyes narrowing down at you.

“No for the only crime I have committed is being a woman who took it upon herself to seek retribution for the wrongful slaying of her great house—a house that gave even Aegon the Conqueror what he deemed a worthy challenge. Your Grace, you descended from conquerors, I descend from survivors. My house words, from the ashes stemming from the survival dragon fire put upon us. Your Grace, to my understanding conspiracy and lying to the crown is an act of treason. The House of Houghton has committed both of these acts against the crown,” Your voice raises, ripping your arm out of the hold of the knight. “I will have Lord Dawsin’s head!”

“You lying bitch! I should’ve have fucked you bloody!” He growled, walking into the unmoving hand of a Kingsguard.

“Perhaps you should have. Rest assured I did not hesitate as I took your brother!” You hiss, gripping the chains as he rushes past the guards. Parrying his strike with your shackles, kicking out his back leg bringing him to his knee. You bring your chains around the wrist of the hand that holds his sword pressing his back to your knee, holding his hand and sword inches from his eye.

“Hold!” The Lord Hand yells as the King coughs muffle his words. You steady your breaths, using your leg to block his free arm. The Kingsguards eye you with their hands on the hilt of their swords, awaiting the order to cut you down.

“Lady (Y/n) continue,” Viserys eye focuses on you, ignoring Lord Houghton’s trembling gaze on your hands that hold him captive.

“You know not of the horrors I have lived due to a lie. The only crime my family committed was being favored by the crown. For the fortune our perseverance has brought us. Envy green brought the demise of my house. My mother and father butchered in their sleep. My sister defiled as my brother’s were cut down in pursuit to stop them. They made me watch I—,” Your words garner gasps at the revelation. Swallowing a shudder you pause while pulling his sword closer to his face, “I was only a girl then.”

“Then why not seek aid from the crown?” Your head whips to the left revealing the Rogue Prince.

“For what, you to send men to claim their lives in my stead? Marry me off to lesser a man to become the new face of my house? No, I wanted the last thing they ever would ever see to be the daughter of Carth Azgeda looking down on them as they died. If I am put to the sword then so be it. They sold me to Pentos slavers who put me in the fighting pits. The crown be damned I will be the one who ends the craven cunts of house Houghton,” The chatter of the court raises the many gaping at your boldness, at the vulgarity and brutality you speak so fluidly. You kick out Lord Houghton’s other leg, his pleas drowning in the onlookers whispers.

“Do not forget yourself Lady (Y/n). You accuse House Houghton of egregious crimes. Can you provide the crown with more than just hysterical accusations?” You release your chains from Dawsin’s sword kicking him to the floor. Gripping the edges of your tunic you rip down the sleeves. The ink marking your skin earning gasps—the markings of a repeat conclave winner.

“My desire to cut down my foes is what kept me alive all those years in the pits. That aided me in winning my freedom. Your Grace, I implore you to ponder all that House Houghton has gained in House Azgeda’s demise. No longer little lords, but a members of court. Lands and grand titles. My King, you were a dear friend to my grandsire and a great supporter of my mother in the wake of his death. She said you helped prepare her for her duties as the Lady of House Azgeda. King Viserys is our kin in all but blood. Her words. I beg you to right this wrong not only as our King but a beloved ally to the House of Azgeda,” Holding your head up high you blink away the searing heat in your eyes. Clasping your hands in front of you, swallowing the knot in your throat. Visery sighs, his resolve softening at your petition. An image of your mother hidden beneath the evidence of survival that litters your skin. The eyes of ghosts staring back at the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

Viserys calls for a private council meeting, a change in your detainment effective immediately. A guard unshackles you ushering your out of the throne before the dismissal of others. You catch the faint call for Lord Houghton and his remaining men to be sharply questioned.

In a private chamber your eyes never leave the hands of the servant who bathe you. The older woman’s the only one of the servants who do not eye you warily. Her touch gentle but it does little to ease your guarded tension. Not once does she meet your gaze.

“My apologies for the wrongs done to you and your house. I remember your family quite fondly. The only house of pleasant nobles to be guests of the King,” She speaks barely above a whisper. Her hands moving slow over the scars across your abdomen. She studies them closely, her eyes revealing nothing but acknowledgement. You grip the edges of the basin.

“You’re not in pits anymore, my lady.” Her hand rests on your white knuckles. Your eyebrows furrow, the ache through your hand averting your gaze. You splash water up and onto your face, your demeanor dissolving back a guarded stare.

“We’re all in the pits. The arena much larger, the fighting more calculated, far more complicated. I won’t delude myself into thinking otherwise,” You stare off at nothing particular, speaking plainly. The attempts to place you in a gown prove fruitless, even with the looming threat of the Kings command. A guard escorts you back to the throne room, donning a black tunic and leather slacks.

The throne resides with a much smaller audience. Westerling, Lannister, Wylde, Beesbury, and a Grand Maester. Their colors reveal their houses as you count the number of guards. The false maester of war stands in your houses colors, a fiery orange with the likeness of your sigil, the Phoenix. To the right stands the Targaryen family, the only other women in attendance being the Princess and the Queen.

“The accusations thrown today are of the highest acts of treason. Today somebody lies and deceives his Grace. An act of open defiance. Due to the Kings disposition to an accused party it has been decided the small council will carry weight in the decision going forward. To the council members do best to know if House Houghton is proven to be as treacherous as the lady claims. His Grace will being taking a look at all the great houses whom benefited from this tragedy,” Lord Hand Otto Hightower booms with authority. The neutrality of his features telling all you need to know, a man of secrets—of hidden machinations. Each of the small council members nod in acknowledgment, taking their respective seats looking down on yourself and Dawsin. “At the start of this mess we began with Lord Dawsin. Now we shall start with Lady (Y/n). Do you confess to the crime of murdering the late Lord Seth and a considerably large number of his soldiers?”

“I confess to no crime on this day. Seth Houghton and his men were my lives to claim. Just as Dawsin Houghton’s shall be,” Your eyes cut to Lord Houghton who shifts on the balls of his feet. A sharp glare slitting your eyes, his own meeting your gaze with an uneasy huff.

“Mind yourself lady (Y/n). If your words are true I cannot imagine the ire that burns within you. But this is my court and it will run by my command,” Viserys eye stays on you, the decay of his flesh reminding you of your stolen youth. A long stretch of time in a constant fight for survival.

“Lord Dawsin. You stand accused of an egregious list of offenses. Murder, treason, conspiracy, defilement of a noble lady and deception. All against the crown and a great house. A house with great reverence from his grace. Do you confess to the crimes that stand against you this day?” Otto’s eyes do not leave your piercing glare that remains on Dawsin. A deafening silence takes the room, Dawsin’s eyes meeting your own.

He turns forward his gaze downcast, eyebrows pinching you watch as his mouth opens but nothing leaves him. Otto glances back at the King receiving a nod before turning forward, “Today Lord Houghton.”

“I Lord Dawsin of house Houghton, confess to no crime committed against House Azgeda. House of Houghton detests such accusations and will not forget such a slight.” Lord Houghton speaks with a conviction leaving even you questioning your memory. Balling your fists, a scoff leaves your lips garnering a look from Lord Houghton. He looks you in the eye his words cutting through you sharper than a blades edge, “Be at ease little bird. Your wings are yet to be clipped.”

“Relax little bird. Your wings are yet to be clipped,” His breath tickled the shell of your ear. Your head throbbed as he held your arms locked behind you.

“Stop it!” Your voice wavered, dry and itchy. The burn of your knees soothed by the crimson puddle beneath you. Heart hammering as though it will explode from your chest. Your eldest brother head parted from his shoulders, your youngest brother throat slit to the bone. Anya’s screams filled your ears as she thrashed ceaselessly.

“Enough!” Seth Houghton roared above her, a sickening crack took the room. Only your sobs remained. At the satisfied groan of the younger Houghton, your eyes widened at the fate that awaited you.

“No!” You screamed. The next moment a blur, of heavy pants and trembling limbs. Your legs burned without a moment of reprieve. Dawsin Houghton’s large hand grip tight as you both stood mere miles from the docks.

“—I sympathize for girl. Just a girl when her family committed acts of treason. The massive changes must have taken a h—” You blink back into the moment, finding many eyes watching you. A shudder rattling your core as you turn to the throne.

“I escaped by biting a large piece out of Lord Houghton’s shoulder. Large enough to leave a permanent scar. I was apprehended mere minutes from the ports, he was supposed to kill me but instead he sold me to slavers,” Your resolve crumbles in a moment of weakness you have grown to loathe. Lord Houghton’s hands searing your skin, his grip still fresh in your memory.

“This is nonsense,” Lord Houghton chuckles but it does not reach his eyes. The King calls for the removal of his shirt, “Your Grace you cannot be serious.”

“At once,” Lord Hightower says. Your eyes stay on Dawsin’s struggling stature, weak against the three Kings guard who detain him. The burn of your eyes leave you blinking incessantly to halt the tears that build. His no’s and your sisters blurring the lines between the past and present. The removal of Dawsins shirt reveals a faded scar, the print of teeth faint but visible.

“You fucking bitch!” Dawsin lunges toward you, stopped short by the guards. You do not flinch nor look away. The next moments occur in a flash. Not a single small council member votes against you. House of Houghtons fate sealed. Even in the face of every thing you wish for, a fate worse than grief—worse than death plagues you. Nothing.

“Dawsin Houghton dies by my sword,” Your voice so small in the large room, your words nearly missed. Scanning the room a sneer consumes you at the shared expression amongst those who observe you, pity.

“Lady (Y/n). We understand that you have suffered a great amount of misdealing,” Lord Lannister earns a scoff as the others observe you wordlessly.

“Do you now? Tell me, my lord. Were your parents butchered in their sleep. Were you ripped from your bed in the middle night to watch your brothers cut down before you. Your sister defiled and killed right in front of you. Did you live six years of your life in fear others would slit your throat in your sleep. Do you truly understand that? If so then there would be no conversation of who swings the sword to bring Dawsin Houghton to his end. I seek nothing but retribution. No title, no lands, I care for none of it. All I ask is for this,” You plead. The small council turn to Lord Hightower who turns to the King. Silence takes the room, the men dismissing you from the hall to await further instruction.

Pacing the corridor, you do not miss the quiet movements of the Targaryen after you. He stands by the door of the throne room door, eye never leaving you.

“Lady (Y/n), will you join me for a walk in the gardens,” The baritone of voice as uninviting and calculated as his cold stare. You do not cease your pacing, fingers drumming at the sides of your thighs.

“No.” You speak plainly, his hand around your forearm halting your steps. All the cards reside not on your face but in the bawl of your fists. You turn slow looking up over your left shoulder to meet the Princes glare. “Is this meant to frighten me?”

“It would be foolish not to,” He leans down closer, eye narrowing. A scoff leaves your lips, glancing at his eye patch—the words leaving you instinctively.

“It would be foolish to continue without hand as you do without an eye,” His eye flares his other pinning you to the wall as he unsheathes his sword. Your free hand skims his waistband, the hilt of his dagger between your fingers.

“Mind your tongue you brazen whore! I have you,” He hisses, the smirk on your lips like oil to a fire. The Valyrian steel sits beneath your chin, your reflection broken against the blades surface.

“Do you?” Your voice raising, the glint in your eye shining. You press the blade of his dagger further into the divot between his stomach and hip. “One wrong move and you live a cripple. Tell me, who truly has who?”

His eye stays on your own, silence dancing between you. The opening of the chamber doors reveal, the Queen’s trusted knight. A dornish man.

“Prince Aemond,” He calls out. You both turn to him as though you do not threaten the other with blades. “Lady (Y/n). Is everything alright?”

You turn facing the knight, your stare empty and voice light, “All is well Ser..?”

“Ser Cole,” He says, nodding you turn back to Prince Aemond. His eyebrows knit as he watches you.

“Right, my prince?” Aemond releases you sheathing his sword, saying nothing as his dagger disappears from view. You stop at his side speaking low enough for only his ears, “A bit of advice. I’ve killed far greater people than you. It’s be a shame to add a dragon prince.”

You catch a mere glimpse of his furious glare as you walk to Ser Cole. The cold metal of the prince’s dagger kisses your hip, quietly you follow Ser Cole back into the throne room.

[frankcastleonlyfans]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐈 𝐌𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

pairing: dad!daemon targaryen x mom!reader au

summary: your son maegon visits his sick old uncle, viserys, and end up learning the story of how you met your husband.

author's note: look who's back... this story was based off two asks, this one, and another one asking how daemon and mom!reader met. and now mom!reader is officially dornish!!!! i will not be making descriptions of her features in the future, but just know that mom!reader is poc. i hope you guys enjoy this story. it feels good to write again.

warnings: none ig

reblogs, feedbacks and likes are appreciated. support your content creators 💓 please leave a comment if you like my work, and enjoy your reading.

dad!daemon x mom!reader au masterlist

gif by @gameofthronesdaily

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ༓ ༓ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

It is sad when a family member gets sick and you know there's nothing you can do about it. So when your brother-in-law fell ill, it came the time you had to explain to your children that King Viserys wouldn't be the same he once was. The hard part was trying not to scare them with the thought of losing their uncle.

The news brought sadness to Alyssa's and Rhaegon's hearts, but Maegon was the most affected one. He felt the necessity of doing something for his beloved uncle so that even though the King now lay indisposed, he could still feel loved. Your son was old enough to realize that besides Helaena, Viserys' kids did not care for him. That made him sad. Rhaenyra lived in Dragonstone, and for so she couldn't give the attention her father deserved.

The boy had the idea of asking Queen Alicent to let him pay some company for King, during the evenings where he would like someone to talk to. As she needed a break from the sick man herself, she would let Maegon take over her place wherever she felt like it. Which was, almost every evening.

During one of those evenings, Prince Daemon thought it would be nice to see what his brother and son talked about. Mostly, he just wanted to see his brother interacting with anyone, to have the certainty that Viserys would still be alive for a while. The King had little to no hair on his scalp. His body couldn't stand up without the supported of a cane. Daemon didn't know how much time his older brother had left.

When Daemon made entrance to the monarch's solar, he found his son and his brother giggling softly. It felt good to hear the laughing. It meant Viserys was in fact, still alive.

"May I know what is so funny?" The Rogue Prince asked, making his presence known.

Maegon was startled by his father's voice. He has been visiting his uncle for weeks now, but not once his father wanted to come with him.

"Oh, hello Daemon" Viserys grinned at the sight of his sibling, "what a coincidence to see you right now. I was just telling Maegon about that time when we were kids... Do you remember when we tried to find The Cannibal?"

Daemon chuckled, "I do. We searched around all Dragonstone until Father found us before we got inside a Volcano's cave."

"And we never found him!" Viserys laughed.

"Well, thank Gods! You two would probably be eaten or burned alive and I wouldn't be here today to hear the story if you did find him." Maegon reasoned, watching his father pacing around the King's solar.

Daemon's fingers danced around the huge model of Valyria that his brother had exposed in the middle of his room.

"I miss the good old days when I was brave. Once I was sword fighting, I was riding Balerion, I took my little brother to look for a cannibal wild dragon..." Viserys sighed softly.

"You are brave still, uncle" Maegon assures, "It takes bravery to rule. And it takes bravery to be kind. You are a good King."

Viserys nodded to his nephew's words, taking his hands across the table. Daemon felt warmth in his heart. He couldn't quite understand that sensation, but he sees that part of him feels glad that his son expressed words and emotions he could never say or show, because he didn't know how to.

"Did you know that I was the one who introduced your mother to Daemon?" Viserys asked, with fun in his tone, "Have I ever told you the story?"

"Oh, you haven't!" Maegon engaged, grinning excitedly, "Do tell me, uncle, please."

We were all at Driftmark to prestige Corlys and Rhaenys' wedding. Nobles from all across the Seven Kingdoms were there, and your mother was one of them. I remember she was wearing her house colors in her dress. She was a bit older than your sister is now, I think.

My late wife, Aemma, introduced me to her, I didn't know they were friends. I discovered that the lady whom I had just met, was not only a Princess but also played part as a knight at her father's guard. She wore that dress with such grace, that I thought my ears deceived me when I imagined her wearing armor and ringmail.

My thoughts were disturbed by Caraxes' whistling noises, when Daemon, who was very late for the ceremony, came flying upon our heads, rounding Corlys' castle. Everyone was watching the little show your father was giving, mouth-opened, shocked, scared. Y/N wasn't any of those things. She wasn't impressed at all. I remember asking her;

"Have you ever seen a dragon?"

and smirking, she replied, "Where I come from, we have scarier animals."

"Scarier?" Aemma questioned.

"More dangerous." Y/N reasoned.

"I suppose you're right, Princess Y/N," I said, "There are beings more lethal than a dragon, like the very man who rides it can be far more dangerous for his ideals, than the dragon under his command."

It felt like I summoned my brother once I said those words.

"Prince Daemon" Y/N made a short reverence to greet his presence.

"Brother, let me introduce you to Princess Y/N of Sunspear, she is a good friend of Aemma's."

Daemon kept his smugly signature grin on his lips, and took Y/N's hand in his, kissing the soft skin of her knuckles.

"I am deeply sorry for being late for the ceremony. I hope dear cousin Rhaenys can forgive my missing presence." Daemon changed the subject without paying any interest to the lady who made us company.

His rudeness made me uncomfortable, but it was so like my brother to behave like that.

"Y/N, you should come visit us. Viserys and I would love to welcome your family to Dragonstone." Aemma smiled and looked at me for reassurance.

I nodded, "Feel free to visit whenever you want. It is a very lonely place, and unfortunately, the only family we have there is my brother, as Aemma and I are still trying for a child."

Before Y/N could give us an answer, Daemon retorted, "My apologies if living with your younger brother is not what you expected of marriage."

"It certainly is not what I was expecting." Aemma playfully hit Daemon with her elbow.

Y/N giggled softly and the noise took Daemon's attention. He was quite curious why she was still there, in his presence. Most people who didn't know him are likely to feel uncomfortable with his intimidating presence, but not that girl.

"Are you here with your family?" He questioned. That was the first time he spoke directly to her.

Y/N shook her head, "My father sent me here in his name to prestige Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys, and give them our wedding gift."

"Oh. I see Dorne's economy must be great if its ruler has enough gold to spend on such superficial events." Like always, Daemon felt the need to say something directly rude.

Y/N frowned, "I thank the Gods our economy is doing well. It certainly is not because of your King." she replied. Her head remained raised, and her eyes stared at Daemon's on the same height.

Daemon felt strange. That woman wasn't offended by what he said, and even tried to get under his skin. One had to have such courage to talk to him like that.

"Uhm... Viserys, why don't you take Daemon to get that wine Corlys was talking to you about?" Aemma spoke trying to break the tension.

"When I took him away, he couldn't shut his mouth about Y/N. He was amazed a woman had the guts to talk to him like that, and even so about the King." Viserys finished the story, as Maegon quietly listened to every word he said.

"She never really had much filter, your mother." Daemon said, "Still doesn't."

Maegon frowned, "But... that's it? That's how you met mother? But, when did you start courting her, father?"

"She came to Viserys' coronation ceremony. Aemma was pregnant and couldn't make her company, so I offered myself for my sister-in-law to be the one hosting her friend in King's Landing." Daemon shrugged, "The rest... well, maybe you should ask your mother how it happened. I don't remember very well, but I know she quickly fell in love with me."

[hotreadingwitch]

Hey, dear! I saw that you are accepting requests, so could I get an angst with fluffy Daemon x wife poc fem reader. Where he is sick and reader is worried (in my mind he hardly ever gets sick, sooooo) and takes care of him personally, please?

Daemon x Reader - Sick Day

A/N - hello love! thank you for this lovely request!! It ended up being more fluffy than angsty in the end but I hope you enjoy xx

Content Warnings/Kinks: light degradation (use of “whore”), brief choking, edging/orgasm denial, handjob, oral sex (blowjob), light fingering, breeding kink, riding, vaginal penetration (unprotected)

“I’m not sick” he argued. 

Prince Daemon, who was usually commanding in both his actions and his tone, seemed simply like a wilted flower, with his slouched shoulders and sniffling nose. Despite his attempts to convince his wife otherwise, his health had declined quickly after his return from a recent battle, resulting in a fever. It was funny really to Y/n Velaryon that her husband, the fearsome (and sometimes detested) Daemon Targaryen, had been taken out by something as simple as a common cold. 

“You are, my love,” she warned, tilting her head to look down at him where he lay in their large bed amongst the fluffed pillows and Dornish linens, “Now let me take care of you.” 

Daemon growled lowly/petulantly, his eyes daggers, before he eventually softened, resigning to her care. “Fine” he mumbled. 

You’d think Daemon was one of their toddlers with the way he acted sometimes. But, luckily, that didn’t stop him from unbuttoning his billowy, white shirt so that his wife could apply a cool cloth to his chest, neck, and forehead. Daemon grumbled but didn’t complain much as she towelled him off, applying firm but gentle pressure. Dragging the wet cloth down the curve of his neck and across the expanse of his chest muscles, Y/n found herself quickly distracted by the sight before her. 

“Like what you see love?” His cheeky attitude truly never left him, even when he was ill. 

“Mmm,” she hummed, her eyes flicking up to his, realizing she was caught, “You might be feverish My Prince but that doesn’t make you any less attractive to me. We vowed in sickness and in health, remember?” 

He leaned back against the headboard, muscular arms supporting his head in a dominant stance as he appraised her in that seductive, wanting way that she knew meant trouble. 

“Daemon…” she chastised, even with one look she could tell exactly what he was thinking. 

“C’mon love,” he moved forward, sitting up so that he could place a small kiss on her jaw. 

Her breath hitched at the feeling and he knew then that he’d won. 

A small kiss. “Didn’t you say you were going to take care of me?” Another peck. His teeth grazed her neck. Y/n could practically feel his smirk on her skin. 

Daemon’s trail of kisses was getting dangerously low on her chest, not that she was making any move to stop him with her head thrown back, completely taken by the warmth of his lips on her. 

“Daemon, you’re sick, we can’t—“ 

“We can and we will” he growled, before amending his command, “If you want me tonight that is?” 

“I do” she conceded, her gaze meeting his fiery one, “I do want you Daemon, always…Now take off your trousers.” 

Daemon stripped easily, removing his bottoms with the efficiency of a man who knew he was about to be truly pleasured. She slunk forward on the bed, positioning herself so that she was on her knees, her legs tucked beneath her. His calloused hand caressed her cheek, a sweet show of intimacy before she even had begun. 

“Can I touch you?” She asked. 

“Yes—fuck” he groaned, needy for her as he always was. 

She made a show of spitting onto her hands and rubbing them together, creating two slick surfaces before sliding them slowly down the length of his shaft. Daemon growled at the pressure, instantly sensitive and bucking into her ready hands. She moved up and down, building up pleasure and momentum as she did until her speed was exactly what she knew Daemon craved, and needed. 

“So good Y/n” he groaned, licking his lips, “Always such a good little whore for me” 

“You love it” she teased. 

His smirk and quiet groan was his affirming response. As she glided her hands up and down, gripping him ever so tightly, causing Daemon to hiss, she could tell he was close to the edge. His eyes traced her, watching every movement with reverence. It resounded her how a man so harsh, so fearsome, could be so gentle, so tender. He was the father of her children and the love of her life. Though that wasn’t to say they didn’t get rough in bed at times. She felt though that that trust only spoke to the unbreakable connection that they shared as husband and wife. 

With a smirk of her own, Y/n pulled her hands almost completely off of Daemon, trailing her fingers delicately over the sides of his shaft and in circles around his head as his breathing slowed. 

“Fuckk Y/n” he growled, out of breath and head thumping back against the headboard, “Pray tell what did I do to deserve this torture tonight? You won’t take pity on a sick man?”

“You did nothing My Prince,” she practically batted her lashes, feigning innocence, “I only know after years of marriage that the more I tease you the more you’ll cum.” 

“Is that so?” 

She shimmied further back on the bed so that she could lay herself between Daemon’s legs. He let out a small whine as she lowered her mouth to the tip of his hard cock, letting her slow, moving tongue answer his question. This time, his hands instantly found their way to her blonde hair, tightly gripping the strands in a way that made Y/n’s eyes roll back in her head. She loved pleasing Daemon, loved the way he let her take control and the way he came apart before her each time. It was that same love and trust again that allowed for their sex to be as good as it was. 

Y/n’s tongue swirled around Daemon’s head before sinking down onto him, engulfing his cock with the warm wetness of her mouth. She bobbed and bobbed, her hand gripping the base of his shaft and moving in time with her mouth. There was something about sucking Daemon off that made Y/n particularly turned on and by the time he was close again, she felt she must be dripping beneath the folds of her nightgown. 

She popped off of him just as his chest began to heave, leaving him wanting more for the second time that night. 

“You’re going to be the death of me” Daemon breathed shakily, reaching forward in a flash and pulling her on top of him. He placed a needy kiss on the curve of her neck. “The time for teasing is over, my love. You’re going to ride this cock until you make us both burst. Do I make myself clear?” 

“Yes, My Prince” she smiled, ready to feel him inside her. 

His eyes were hungry as he lifted up the fabric of her nightgown, exposing her cunt to him. 

“Are you slick enough?” a hand dipped down to explore, cupping her roughly in that desperate way that she loved before spreading her folds, “Mmm, you’re wet love but I could make you a lot wetter, couldn’t I? Maybe after all that you deserve to be teased too hmm?” 

“Daemon…please” she begged, biting down on her lip. 

His fingers traced from her wet slit to her clit in one fluid motion, taking her slickness and using it to swirl smoothly over her sensitivity. Her warm skin flushed with heat as he touched her, playing with her clit and making her breath hitch at the feeling. 

“Lean back for me, love” he ordered gently. 

When she obeyed, he slipped a finger up into her, humming with satisfaction at how well she took him. Once she got used to him, taking the lone digit all the way, he added a second and reapplied the glorious pressure on her clit. He thumbed her, and pressed upward, fingers curling inside her until she felt like she was seeing stars. Y/n’s body shook, pleasure unfurling within her the more he praised her body with his touch. 

“Daemon” she whimpered, gripping the linen sheets. 

“Not yet love” Daemon chided. She supposed it was only fair that he teased her as she had him. But still, the feeling of her orgasm slowly slipping away was not one that ceased to aggravate her. And so, she decided to take matters into her own hands. 

Leaning forward to fully straddle Daemon with her thighs spread as widely as possible over him, she whispered into the shell of his ear, her voice pure seduction as she asked “Can I fuck you now, My Prince?”

Y/n felt him rock hard beneath her as she slowly slipped her slick cunt over him, showing him where she wanted him most. 

He completely fell for her tricks, “Yes, fuck yes, Y/n please.” 

“Yeah? You want really it?” She teased, purposefully testing his patience. 

Daemon glared, never one to release dominance. But finally, he conceded, eyes filled with fire as he begged in a low voice, “…I need to be inside you” 

“That’s better” she smirked. 

Before Daemon could comment on her snakiness, she slid herself down onto him, gripping his shaft until he was fully sheathed inside her. His hands gripped her hips and in an instant, they were moving. Daemon thrusted upward as she ground down onto him. The initial feeling was one of fire. It sparked inside her before spreading warmth throughout her entire body, concentrating at her very centre. 

“Kiss me” Y/n whined, needier than ever as the pleasure overwhelmed her. 

“I’ll get you sic—“ 

“I don't care” she murmured against his jaw, her mouth moving towards his lips, “I don’t care…”

When she pulled back to look at him, she thought that his eyes must be reflecting moonlight, for surely his blue-grey eyes did not simply shimmer like that one their own. Their kiss then was long and languid, as if they knew that after all their teasing and all their bickering, nothing mattered more than simply being with each other, pleasing each other. Y/n’s hips moved forward and back, making Daemon moan into the kiss, her mouth catching the sound like a pail fills with water. 

“That’s it love” he praised, gripping the flesh of her hips with one hand and pleasing her clit in that way he knew she adored with the other. 

Daemon smiled as she repeated her motions, sinking down onto him time after time. He caught himself admiring how with her head thrown back her throat gleamed with sweat. How her moans released from her mouth and up to the Gods. She folded forward then, resting her head in the crook of his neck as she rocked her hips. Desperate to cum, she moved against him like a woman possessed by some spirit. 

“That’s it, love, make yourself cum on me” 

Her insides clenched, the feeling overwhelming her and she knew Daemon must be able to feel it too. All their touching, gentle and rough, caused their pleasure to multiply tenfold. Once Daemon had slipped his cock inside her, Y/n was losing herself quicker than she ever did. She could feel her cunt clenching around him as they moved, sweaty bodies working toward their bursting in tandem. 

“You want my cum love?” Daemon asked huskily, the tightness of her cunt around him clearly overwhelming him too.

“I want it Daemon, please cum in me” she begged, her voice a quiet whimper, “Please.”

That was all it took before he burst within her. His hips snapped against her, using all of his limited energy to please her as she desired. 

“Mmm, Dae—mon…” she mumbled, the whispered words lost to the steamy air that surrounded them like a dome.

He broke apart from the kiss in an instant, “Yes, say my name love, let me hear you say it as you cum.” 

“Daemon” she smiled before whispering against his lips, out of breath, “Daemon, Daemon, Daemon, Dae—“

Their mouths crashed together again, Daemon fucking up into her, grinding himself upward into her soaking cunt. Y/n’s eyes rolled back, completely gone to the pleasure. She wanted Daemon, she loved him, and the emotions she felt then only added to the war raging inside her body. Tension, sweet tension, seeped out of her, coating Daemon’s thrusting cock. 

Moving deep within her while rubbing fiercely at her clit kept Y/n’s orgasm flowing within her like pulsing waves. She gasped when his other hand returned to her neck, squeezing harshly. Her wet cunt gushed, her cum mixing with his, as he pounded in and out of her at a fast pace. 

“Daemon…” she whimpered, relaxing on top of him as their pleasure wet the sheets below. 

“Avy jorrāelan” he breathed, shuddering against her. I love you.

“Issa tolī, issa jorrāelagon, issa tolī” she smiled. Me too, my love, me too. 

[happilyhertale]

The Rogue Prince - Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

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

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x poc!wife!reader

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

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

Word count: 3.5 k

Other stories of mine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daemon watches you, a grin on his lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daemon gasps, "What are you doing?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daemon tries to concentrate on staying calm for your sake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I wouldn't mind," you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag list

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

[lady-phasma]

In the fading light

Daemon Targaryen x fem Dornish!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, but I was going for soft!Daemon so I don't think there are that many warnings this time.

Summary: Daemon comes to visit you at Godsgrace, the seat of House Allyrion, in Dorne. Kind of an AU in the sense that Rhaenyra isn't the object of his love, nor his motivation for "ending his marriage" to Rhea. 2.6k words

From the request here - romantic Daemon inspired by the song "kalam eineh" (Words of his eyes) by Sherine. I was able to work in a few lyrics as well ("the one whose eyes the moon envied" and "get lost in his beauty").

a/n: Dorne is a very big place and all of the houses are as different as the Northern houses. So as I write more Dornish!reader fics I start to see them uniquely in my headcanon. Godgrace is on a river from what my research tells me, so I think it worked out perfectly that Sherine is Egyptian. I've dropped some Egyptian elements into Godsgrace and that's how it is in my head now. (If there was a face claim for a location think Thebes/Luxor landscape.)

A warm breeze wafted onto the balcony where you and Daemon sat. The sun sank low against the horizon. The river in the distance shone with golds and pinks. A falcon screeched nearby. You turned from the gorgeous view of the Godsgrace river oasis to look at your Prince. He sat, reclined, opposite you. You slid your toes up the inside of his leg, teasing him. He stroked the top of your foot, your ankle, up your shin. Your smooth skin reflected the light of the setting sun much as the river did. Daemon slipped his fingertips under the hem of your thin skirt. The contrast of his pale hand under the bronze fabric was delightful to you. This Northern prince, so accustomed to clouds and darkness. Such a dreary land he came from.

You watched him as he looked out over the Greenblood river. It would be so easy to get lost in his beauty. His hair, his eyes, his mouth, everything about him was entrancing to you. You glanced back out at the river, the people going about their evening paying no attention to the lords and ladies so high above them. Birds circled above fishing boats as the nets were pulled in. Lights began to flicker in windows across the city. You smelled roasted meat and fresh baked bread on the warm air. You would have to dress for the evening meal, if you didn’t request it in your quarters.

“Did you come only because the fool Prince Martell forbade it?” You were genuinely curious. “Or because of your brother?”

“You know that is not the reason,” he spoke softly and continued to stroke your leg. “Their approval means less to me than you think.”

“You risk much coming to Godsgrace.” You wiggled your toes against his thigh.

“It is a fair price,” Daemon replied.

“Surely you are quite rested now, my love,” you goaded. “It is a long journey up the Greenblood, but not so tiring that you would ignore me.” You flashed your eyes at him. They were nearly the color of burnt umber in the fading light. Soon your maids would light torches and candles in your chambers. You would hear them through the diaphanous curtains that hung in the entry of the balcony. Though they would never dare to disturb you, even if you had your Targaryen on the floor in front of them.

Daemon turned his violet eyes toward you, finally pulled from his thoughts. Gods, you thought, even the moon could envy those eyes! The last pink of the sunset caught on his silver hair as it swung freely about his face, tendrils caught in the breeze.

“Quite rested,” he smirked as he spoke. He slipped his hand behind your knee and, reaching forward, grabbed your other leg and pulled you, bodily, to him. Your chair legs screeched against the stone floor as you threw your head back and laughed. When he had you where he wanted you, he smoothed his palms up the inside of your thighs. You rested your bare feet on the seat of his chair on either side of his legs. He pushed your skirt all the way up to your waist as he stared into your eyes. His thumbs grazed the creases of your thighs and you sighed.

“The journey was too long, but certain hindrances are now resolved,” his voice was low and quiet. “I am no longer married.”

You raised an eyebrow at these words. You trailed your fingertips down one of his forearms.

“I hope that it was painless, my prince,” you both knew the mocking of his title was not malicious. He was not your prince and you enjoyed reminding him of that. “You know, you could have stayed in Godsgrace and I could have sent one of my women to dispatch the issue quickly.” Your grin was knowing, yet seductive. Daemon’s response to Northern morality was curious to you. He didn’t want his wife, but could not bring himself to have another while she lived.

“I did not say I did the deed,” he tried not to smile. “Only that it was resolved.” Oh, he was deliciously vile when it suited him. You chuckled at this.

“Well, I had no trouble with the situation,” you grazed his thigh with one foot. “I needed only your devotion, not your marriage.”

“That you will always have, my lady,” he replied as he sank to his knees in front of you. You moved your foot to his shoulder, the other still in his chair, as you languidly spread your legs to make room for him. He looked up at you again, catching your eyes with his as he kissed your thigh, then your belly. You stroked one hand over his silky head as he lowered it and kissed the dark hair between your legs. You heard him inhale, smelling you, and you became even wetter.

Daemon licked the full length of your slit and paused at your pearl. He circled it with the tip of his tongue and you gripped the arms of your chair. He slid an arm around one thigh to steady you. Then he grazed a finger through your folds, finding your entrance quickly, as if he knew your geography by heart. He teased and didn’t slide inside you yet. He used two fingers to circle your opening, almost matching the rhythm of his tongue on your clit. Your hips rocked. You tried, and failed, to get his fingers inside. He stilled you as much as he could and continued for a moment that felt like an eternity.

When he finally slipped his fingers into your wet heat he sucked on your clit and your hands flew to the back of his head. You moaned and pushed against his mouth. You thought you felt him chuckle. You didn’t care. You ground your hips on his mouth and fingers.

“Daemon,” you whispered, as that was as loud as you could manage. “That’s it, just there. Please.”

He rubbed his fingertips against the spot that drove you wild, fighting against your clenching muscles. His tongue resumed its circling movements, but with a slightly quicker pace. Your breathing was becoming shallow and the sounds you made came deep from your chest. He pumped his fingers harder into you, knowing the pressure you needed to reach your climax. Your toes curled on his shoulder. You let go of his head, gripped the arms of your chair again, and your body curled forward as your climax overwhelmed you. You yelled his name, moaned incoherently, and then laughed. He hadn’t stopped, tongue still lapping causing your thighs to twitch. You playfully pushed at his forehead to give you peace.

You leaned forward and cupped his face in your hands. His expression wasn’t playful, as yours was. The look was full of something akin to admiration. You kissed him, roughly. You licked yourself from his lips, his tongue, and moaned into his mouth. He reached up and tangled his fingers into your hair at the nape of your neck, letting some of it loose from the pins that held it in place. Without much grace, he blindly began to release your hair from its confines.

Daemon broke your kiss and began to stand up. You let your fingers trail down his body as he did. You grazed your fingers over his pants, deliberately avoiding the hardness straining the fabric. He pulled pins and a comb from your hair, tossing them on the floor with abandon. You looked up at him, a playfully displeased look on your face for the carelessness he showed for your jewelry, and shook out your hair. It fell in near-black waves down your shoulders and back.

“I need you,” Daemon breathed. His eyes were dark with lust. Still looking up at him from your chair, you pressed your palm over his erection. His eyes nearly closed. His chest rose and fell, trying to maintain his composure. You pressed just a little harder. He grabbed your wrists. It didn’t hurt but made it evident that he couldn’t be teased this evening. You stood, your wrists still in his hands. You raised to tiptoes and pulled at his bottom lip with your teeth. Your eyes narrowed in defiance against being so restrained.

“That’s enough!” He threw you over his shoulder. You squealed and laughed, kicking your feet and pounding your fists lightly against his back. Your laughter bounced off the stone walls as he carried you through the curtains into your chambers. You pushed against him, raising your head to look at the two startled maids, and laughed harder.

“Let me go!” You giggled and kicked your feet but he only held your ankles as he walked you to the bed. You heard the two girls scamper from the room, giggling and twittering.

Daemon dropped you lightly on the bed. You were breathless from laughing. He smiled down at you, but that look was back. What had changed since he had gone North? Your laughter faded into giggles, which in turn faded into quick breaths as he knelt on the bed and kissed his way up your feet, calves, and thighs. He began to unfasten the ties of your skirt at your waist and you helped him with the small buttons of your delicate top.

He licked and kissed the curves of your exposed belly. He nuzzled his nose between your breasts, then kissed each of your nipples. You played with his silky hair, enjoying watching him worship you. When he reached your neck and jaw you began tugging on his shirt, pulling it toward his shoulders. He straightened long enough pull it over his head, then bent down to your mouth again. You kissed him back, hands gripping his neck, stroking his shoulders, down his biceps.

Daemon moved with you, still kissing, as you began to sit up. You gently pressed his shoulders back and guided him to lay down. You straddled his thighs and began pulling at the laces of his pants. He groaned at the pressure of your fingers. You stroked his freed cock, watching your hands move slowly. You enjoyed making him wait but you couldn’t wait any longer. You released him and begin to remove his breeches. Once you had both struggled with that for a moment, you trying not to giggle during the endeavor, you climbed up him and placed yourself on his belly. You could feel his cock pressing against your buttocks. You leaned forward and kissed him and he cupped both of your breasts in his hands.

You lifted your hips enough to reach between you and guide him into your wetness. He growled and squeezed your breasts a bit harder. Slowly, you took him inside you. You raised up, allowing him to keep his hands on you, and pressed your hands against his stomach as you rocked your hips. You took his cock as deep as you could. Gradually, at first, then setting a gentle pace that brought sweet sounds from Daemon’s lips. You leaned forward slightly, finding the angle you needed. He moved his hands, one to your neck, one to your hip. As you settled on a rhythm, he began to match you, thrusting upward slightly each time you rocked back on his cock.

You let your head fall forward, you hair sweeping forward, framing your face and his. Your fingers curled against his chest. You kept this pace as long as you could before your cunt began to ache with the beginnings of your climax. You slowed and Daemon took over. Gripping both of your hips, he fucked up into you, harder than you had been able to manage. His grunts made you squeeze around his cock. They were wonderful sounds that only increased your need for him.

You rested your face against his, pressing your cheeks together. Neither of you could stay quiet. Your name fell from his lips as fluidly as the curses he uttered. His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you down onto each of his upward thrusts. The sound of flesh against flesh, lewd and satisfying. Your bodies glistened with sweat in the torch light. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him but the pleasure was too great.

“Yes, please, Daemon,” you whined in his ear. Your lips drug across his cheek as you searched for his mouth. You tried to kiss him. Instead you panted and moaned against his mouth. As your climax began the wave that would drown you, you heard his voice, much calmer than yours could have been in that moment.

“Look at me.” You did. He didn’t stop fucking you, but he held your gaze with those perfect eyes. “I love you. I would kill for you. I would kill anyone who kept us apart.”

Something in his eyes, not just his words, was your undoing. Your climax spread over you at the same time as it curled up inside you. You squeezed your thighs against his hips, almost stopping his movements entirely. You bent to him and kissed him, moaning and sighing, as you came.

Suddenly Daemon’s large arms encircled you and in your delirium you could hardly notice that he was moving you. You clung to his shoulders as he somehow, and gracefully, managed to lay you on your back. He had not pulled out. You wrapped your legs around his hips and ran your hands into his hair.

Daemon fucked you without restraint. You were coming down from your climax but your cunt gripped him tight and he grunted with each deep thrust. He shifted his weight to one hand and deftly scooped one of your legs into the crook of his arm. You bit your lower lip and looked up at him. He was watching you.

“Touch yourself,” he panted. “Come on my cock again.” His smile was enough to convince you, if his words hadn’t been.

So you did. You rubbed your fingers quickly, and in time with his strokes. When you were close again, you arched under him, head thrown back, Daemon’s mouth on your exposed neck. Then he pressed his hips against you as hard as he could. His cock buried completely inside you as he came. Your cunt spasmed around him and you both felt his seed fill you as your climax peaked. He cursed and tried to gently lower your leg. Your body shook and you were unable to help him. He chuckled and kissed your forehead.

As he slowly pulled out and away from you, you mewled and groaned, closing your thighs and squeezing them together. Daemon lowered himself down next to you, on his side. He rested his head on your chest. You smoothed his hair away from his forehead in a long stroke down to his back and sighed. You let your hand rest on his shoulder. He held you close to him.

The cool night breeze wicked the sweat off your skin. The torches guttered slightly. You wrapped one leg over Daemon’s. You wanted every part of your body touching his. You breathed in his smell mixed with your own and the dusty sweetness of Godsgrace coming in through the curtains.

“No one will come between us,” Daemon whispered against you.

“I know, my love, my dragon” you replied, lips brushing against the top of his head.

The sun had set and, perhaps, the dark was what he needed. In the light of day The Rogue Prince was rakish and disreputable. But at night, with you, he could shed that facade.

Masterlist

Tags: @black-dread

[arabellasleopardcoat]

The Brave (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: A collection of first times with Daemon.

Warnings: Bastard! Reader. Daddy issues. Corruption kink. Innocence kink. Age difference, power imbalance. Poorly translated HV. Angst. Enemies to lovers (Sort of?) Happy ending. Usual warnings for Daemon (Sexual thoughts, mature language, violence)

Requested: Yes! My first after Halloween, life has been crazy.

THE FISHERMEN SAIL too early for your liking. You know it has little to do with their personal preference, and more to do with the tides. It doesn’t mean you are happy about it, though.

Your job is to ensure all your ships are in good condition and ready to transport whatever those men bring home. Your mother had made a small fortune by expanding her father’s fleet, and after her passing, it was your turn to handle it. You preferred to oversee things personally, knowing that only an owner’s touch could ensure the quality of service you prided yourself in.

No one loved these ships more than you. Small and old they were, but they tied you to your mother. You lacked her knowledge, and sometimes, they made you far less money than you hoped for, but you insisted on keeping them. Your siblings had not shown such an interest, choosing other pursuits.

Allyn, much more practical, had preferred to learn the trade of a shipwright. He now worked under Lord Corlys. It embarrassed you to say it, but it was him and not you who was the breadwinner of your family. Some months, if not most, it was far more lucrative than your business with the ships.

Addam worked occasionally as a shipwright too, but he didn’t have a steady source of income. He was far too young to be hired anywhere, lacking the experience most lords wanted from those building their ships. Sometimes, he also helped you.

Today wasn’t one of those days. Otherwise, you would have forced him to come here in your stead. With a grumble, you jumped from the ship to the dock. Everything was as it should, so you had to move to the next one.

The sunrise makes Hull look even more beautiful, the city slowly beginning to rise under Driftmark’s watchful eyes. The white marble and ivory of the castle provide a backdrop for the goldens and pinks that color the scene. It would make you smile, were it not for the fact that the peaceful morning is ruined by every damn bell in the city tolling.

Visitors. Noble ones. By the amount of noise, they are announcing the visit of someone very high ranking.

The splash of cold water against your ankle makes you grumble more. You hated getting your shoes wet. Or your ankles. You fix your hair scarf, worried that the sea breeze will make it come loose.

You shouldn’t have bothered. A harsh gust of wind takes it fully off and nearly sends you caroling into the water. The dock shakes underneath you, the ships and water agitated by the same thing. You scream, as do the rest of the sailors who are near.

As you look up, you see him. A man, with silver hair and a smug look on his face, riding atop a dragon. He is showing off, ducking low, the dragon’s tail dipping in the water before springing back up again. It is what is causing the breeze. You marvel for a second, wondering how such a gigantic beast can be so nimble.

You had never seen a dragon up close before. You are not allowed to go near Driftmark, where the Princess and the Lord and Lady keep theirs.

The few captains and sailors that were on the docks alongside you have fled. But not you. Alone, silver hair in full display, you stand frozen in the same spot you had been before seeing him pass.

The man smiles. He winks at you.

You lower your eyes and do not stop running until you are safe at home.

DAEMON SEES YOU again when he least expects it. He has looked for you in every pleasure house on this island and has not been able to find you. The brave little maiden with silver hair, who had screamed bloody murder but stood her ground on the docks when she saw him approach.

You must be of Valyrian descent. There is no other explanation for your lack of fear. You were young and comely, so he had guessed that you must be a whore. It was what happened to girls who looked like you. Men loved pretending they were either a Princess or the daughter of some lord. And so close to Driftmark? They probably asked you to pretend you were little Laena Velaryon.

Daemon would have so enjoyed to play such a game himself. His future bride was far too young to do little more than court under her parents’ watchful eyes. If he could sneak a bit of a taste in advance, you wouldn’t catch him complaining about it.

When he had agreed to accompany Corlys to oversee the progress being made on the news ships for his fleet, the last thing he expected to encounter was you.

Your laughter was the first thing that caught his attention, a sound so girlish it seemed improper among the men carrying saws and woods for the ships. His head had turned instinctively towards the sound, and it was then that he saw you.

The dress you had on was a plain gray, as it was the headscarf you wore. But Daemon would know that face anywhere. He had sought everywhere for it. You were holding a small basket, next to some shipwright. The man looked older than you, already bald. You were all smiles and animated gestures, seemingly taken by him.

The man tickled your side, and you laughed again. You handed him the basket and kissed him on the cheek.

Daemon seethed. He hated sharing. With whores, it was to be expected, yet it didn’t make it anymore palatable. It was why he enjoyed taking maidenheads so much. Yet, he could ignore it if the woman was pretty or well-trained enough, like he did with Mysaria. To watch a whore with her lover, though, it was intolerable.

Whores were professional liars. You paid them to pretend to be someone they were not. But watching you with a man you truly loved would forever break the fantasy. There was no way he could believe the sweetest lies on your tongue, not when he knew what you looked like when truly in love.

Is it in bad taste to approach you when his future father-in-law is distracted by his sailors? Probably. But he cannot stop himself. Because the only thing Daemon can think of, the only thing that would make him feel better, is to bring you as low as he. Ruin your little fantasy as you had ruined his.

He marches towards where the man and you are, and gently cups your chin in his hand. The sudden interruption startles you, and you try taking a step back, but his sweet hold has turned into Valyrian Steel. There is no escape for little whores.

“I looked for you in the brothel, but you were not there.”

“I… Excuse me?” Your voice is shrill, more angered than panicked. “Do I know you?”

And oh, the nerve on you. The nerve to question him, as if he were just a passing man on the street and not a Prince of House Targaryen. The same nerve that drove you to stand your ground against Caraxes.

Begrudgingly, Daemon has to name the strange feeling taking place in his stomach. Awe. Admiration. You had fire in your belly, and steel on your spine. You were a truer Valyrian than many of his own family members.

They were weak. Soft. You were not. But you were still a mere peasant, and he couldn’t allow you to disrespect him such.

“You should be more careful on how you address your betters.”

You shove him, hard. And Daemon feels his rage bubbling up, and raises a hand to do something he will most likely regret… But before he can strike you, the man you had been smiling at steps in.

“Unhand her.” He says, voice firm. His expression doesn’t waver, the same steel you have mirrored in his brown eyes. Up close, he is much younger than Daemon expected, tall and muscular from what seems like a life of hard work. He tugs you behind him.

“And who are you? The husband? The brothel owner?” Daemon sneers, getting in his face. Your hand comes up in between them, fragile and unadorned. Yet, you hit with strength, palm flat against his chest. Daemon laughs and grabs it between his. You attempt to pull back, but his grip is much firmer. “Ah, cupping a feeling, sweetheart?”

“Daemon.” And really, things were just turning interesting. Why does Corlys have to interrupt at the worst time possible? “Unhand her immediately.”

At his appearance, both you and the boy turn an awful gray shade that matches your dress and headscarf. Fear of their liege, perhaps?

But the boy’s jaw ticks, and your dark eyes lower in a manner that they hadn’t when facing him. Something else is at play here.

“I was just…” Daemon slowly retracts his hand, studying the surrounding faces carefully. You, sullen, the boy enraged. Corlys’ cold as ice. Neither of you speak, yet it is clear you are not strangers.

“I do not care. Unhand her. We do things different in Driftmark.”

And the tone Corlys uses is strange, for a man unbothered by the costs of power. What are two peasants to the favor of a Prince? Why does he know them? He had never struck Daemon as someone concerned by his subjects.

And then, a piece of your hair falls out of your headscarf. Silver against a dark background. And it is then he knows it. You are no dragonseed. Nor is the boy with the shaved head.

“YOU DO THINGS different here, for certain.” Prince Daemon says, appearing at your window while you knead bread. His presence is as unexpected as it is unwelcome. It is the first time you are home alone after the incident, not Addam nor Allyn willing to risk this stranger attempting anything worse than he already has. Three days had passed, and they had considered it enough. If the man had not approached you during that time, it meant he wouldn’t, right? Clearly no. He had just been bidding his time, waiting for both of your brothers to go. ��Corlys's little secret.”

Your hands shake. You wished Allyn wasn’t so set on teaching Addam his craft, and hadn’t gone out today. Being home alone with a strange man around didn’t spell anything good for you.

A quick glance at the door reassures you that it is still barred. You take a not so subtle step back from the window.

The prince lip’s quirk upwards, not quite a smile, but betraying his amusement. Does he find your fear funny?

“I won’t hurt you, my lady. I didn’t mean to scare you, either.” His voice is gentle, as if dealing with a spooked animal. The title makes you scoff. No one has ever called you a lady, much less a Prince.

As a child, you used to watch Laena Velaryon and pretend you were her. Wondering what life would have been like if you didn’t have to hide, if your father acknowledged you. Wondering what it would feel, to be a Lady and never go to bed hungry, to be surrounded by beauty all day.

You are no lady. You are a bastard girl, and you have gone to bed nearly starving more times than you could count.

As if sensing your thoughts, Prince Daemon lifts one of his hands. He holds up a package, wrapped in bright white silk. Both he and his gift look deeply out of place here, near your window. In his fine clothes, in brighter colors than you can afford, he sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Any child of mine, even if natural-born, would never have to go hungry. Your father should be doing more for you, not hiding you three like a shameful secret.”

You do not take the parcel. You merely look at him and fight an overwhelming urge to cry.

“Here.” Prince Daemon pushes the parcel through the window. “Consider this my apology for my behavior. Rather uncouth, huh?”

You open it carefully. Two smaller parcels fall from it, both as carefully wrapped.

“You can wear the silk.” He tells you, gesturing to your hair. “And the rest…”

Curious, you peer into one of the parcels. It’s full of cured meat.it would have cost him a pretty penny, having it already preserved for you. It is a luxury Addam, Allyn and you never get to have. Not since your mother passed.

With rushed hands, you open the other parcel. A small sack of flour, lemons, and pages torn from a book. They are all expensive things, nothing like the flour you buy at the market to make bread or the bruised fruit you get when Addam craves something sweet. You squint at the pages, puzzled by their presence.

“Mix one cup of flour with… Is this..?” You ask him, astonished. A small smile begins to form on your face.

“The recipe for lemon cakes. For your baking.” He smiles back. He then gestures to your hands, still covered in flour. “I hear you enjoy it. Just… Save me a piece.”

“Thank you.” You beam at him. He gives you a bow, and leaves. You find yourself smiling like a fool the rest of the afternoon.

You cannot believe it. Prince Daemon has just given you the recipe for lemon cakes. As far apologies go, this is a great one.

Addam and Allyn go to bed with full stomachs. You go to bed with yours full of butterflies. No one has ever ensured such for the three of you.

“IS IT CLOSE enough?” You bite your lower lip, watching Daemon chew a piece of cake. His brows furrow a bit, and he lets out a small, throaty moan.

“Close enough. A tad more lemony than the one at Driftmark, but I like it.” He smiles. You fight the urge to beam. He has been coming almost daily after bringing you the lemons, but it is the first time you allow him to taste your creation.

He says it is because he enjoys the walk. You are not entirely sold, but thinking it is to see you seems a bit conceited.

“I got excited.” You scratch the back of your neck, sheepish. The batter had smelt and tasted so heavenly, you had just kept adding more.

Daemon laughs. He uses his now free hand to tug you towards his side. You love when he does that. The gesture feels very protective. He never lets you walk too far from him, or on the side next to the ocean, so you never stumble or get soaked by an errant wave.

It’s peaceful here. He often says he cares not for the ocean, but the two of you always walk the same route. From your home, towards your ships, then back.

“Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere else?” You ask him, watching the waves lap at the shore. Then, feeling stupid for asking, you lower your eyes. As much as you feign blindness, you are not blind. He is probably ashamed to be seen with the likes of you. Even your father is. Why wouldn’t a Prince?

Your eyes feel warm, and your vision blurs. Gods, you hate crying. You try to focus on something else. Your scuffed shoes. His boots. The sand under your feet. The urge to run away, and scream, and die from the humiliation of even asking.

Daemon sighs. He sits down on the sand, patting the space on his side. His clothes, despite their simple design, are very fine.

“Your clothes…” You mumble, without sitting.

“Bah, I have three other cloaks like this one.” As if proving a point, he takes it off, laying it down for you to sit. You feel even sillier at his patience. “Come. Sit down, jorrāeliarzys.”

You obey him because there is little else to do. You have already messed up, you don’t wish to make any other mistake. His company has become precious to you, a welcome respite from your brothers. Living with two boys, you are never alone. But every so often, you wish for more engaging conversation.

“I am not ashamed of being seen in your company. I just… I thought you preferred it here.” Daemon explains, softly tucking a stray curl behind your ear. “Would you like for us to meet in the city, instead?”

You think of meeting him in the city’s market. Of the rumors that would sure follow, of the names you would be called. Of your father finding out. You know what it would look like to him. That you are making the same mistake as your mother did.

You are not dumb. Daemon is not here to simply plan an alliance. Alliances are always sealed in blood, and your half sister is barely old enough to be considered.

Your mother and you are different. She didn’t know your father was using her. You know Daemon is using you. And you intend to use him right back, milk him for all of his worth.

So why does it hurt like this, why does it feel like something inside you is breaking?

You take the parcels he gives you without any shame. That night, as the three of you are eating a generous serving of venison, Allyn scowls.

“I don’t like it. Can’t you see what he wants?”

Addam’s fork freezes midway to his mouth. He looks down at his plate, as if he is truly seeing the meat he is being served for the first time.

“I am not mother.” You say, icily. The venison tastes bitter on your tongue, but stubbornly, you keep eating. Allyn is just angry that it is not longer him who is putting the meals on the table. “I know what highborn men are like.”

What your father is like, too. How they use women as if they were little more than things, how they produce children and leave them to their fates.

“All the more reason not to allow him to take your maidenhead.”

“Do you listen to yourself?” You scoff, getting up. “Maidenheads, as if I were some great lady. I can handle it. Handle him.”

Allyn looks at you, eyes full of pity. You cannot bear it. Your eyes sting again. You hurry out of the table.

“Where are you going?” Addam reaches forward, as if to grab you.

“To my room. The two of you have ruined my appetite.” But it wasn’t the two of them, not really. Daemon is ashamed of you, the voice in your head whispers. Ashamed of you, just like your father was. He only wants to use you, and once he has had his fill, he will discard you. Just like your father did to your mother.

Alone, in your room, you tear the headscarf he had given you to shreds. You squeeze the rests on your palm, you make a ball, you throw it against the wall.

The next morning, you have sobbed your throat raw. You still go to meet him in the afternoon.

SOMETHING IS WRONG. Daemon can tell when he picks you up that day. Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot, and your complexion an awful gray. The headscarf he had given you is nowhere to be seen, and you are back to your severe gray one.

Like a bad case of heartburn, the lie he had told you comes back to him, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth.

Daemon is not ashamed of you, but doesn't want to be seen with you either. The consequences for you would be too great. He had learned his lesson with Mysaria. The double stain would have made you a pariah, both because of your birth and because of whom you were bedding.

Because it was all that people would think about when they found out. No one would believe Daemon had yet to touch you.

He was unsure if he ever would.

You were an extraordinary girl, yet still a bastard. There was nothing to be done about it. All you could be was friends and lovers, and nothing more.

Yet, your dark eyes were so kind, your face full of such happiness, Daemon dared not to sully you. Something in you screamed at his instincts to protect, something tugged at his heartstrings when he saw your face scrunched up towards the sun, and told him to gather you in his arms and never let anything touch you.

Daemon had been like you, once. When younger. He, too, felt a lack of acknowledgement by those around you, and an urge to prove himself. His father had passed when he was still young, and Viserys had received all laurels. It would have never bothered him because he loved his brother, but Viserys had left him behind. Married Aemma. Had children. Gained the love of his people, found new friends.

Never once Viserys had looked at Daemon. No matter how hard he tried to reach for him, his brother always evaded his hand. Daemon had been left there. He, too, had stood on the shadows and feigned indifference, burning up with secret resentment.

The idea of you growing up to be like him was both appealing and horrifying. There was a sweetness to you, a naïveté that he had lacked even in his younger years. He wanted to preserve it. Shield you from the world.

Bedding you would ruin you. Daemon enjoyed playing the role of mentor, teaching you new things, helping you gain experiences you would never get as a bastard girl. Yet, you had such a tempting figure, with a mouth made for sin, and a body that begged for worship. You were a little girl, but you had all the self-possession and looks of a grown woman.

You would taste exquisite on his tongue, crumbling from his caresses. Your cunt would feel like wet velvet around him, and you would sound your sweetest when he was spearing you open on his cock.

And how would you smile, joyous and fierce, his brave girl. Some maidens cried, but not you. You were made of sterner stuff, a heart that burned brighter and stronger than the Fourteen Flames. You had stood your ground, terrified but unbowed, in front of Caraxes himself.

Such a face you had, all Valyrian empress. A sovereign nose, the fleeting shadow of your eyelashes, and a slippery laugh that always gave you an air of mischief. A face not made for sadness. It is what prompts him to do what will become either the greatest mistake of his life, or his greatest triumph.

“I was thinking…” Daemon says, watching your expression closely. “We could go to a tavern tonight.”

“A tavern?” The surprising offering shakes you out of your sadness. Your face changes from a sad little frown into a curious one.

“Have you ever gone to one?” Daemon tugs the hair scarf from your hair, softly. The silver curls fall free, in a lovely mess. You scowl, trying to get it back, but he holds it just out of your reach. It’s a lovely thing, to watch you give little jumps on your tiptoes, curls bouncing with the motion. “Ah! None of that, now. Answer my question first.”

“No, I haven’t. Addam and Allyn go from time to time, but it sounds too rowdy for my liking.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“It’s rowdy, but in a good sense.” Daemon cannot help it. Your curls are a bit mussed, from wearing the ugly headscarf for too long. He fixes them, fluffing them up slightly at the roots in the way he has seen handmaidens do for Laena. He then tosses the damn thing into the sea, for good measure, ignoring your outraged cry. “Drinks, music, people, greasy food. You will love it.”

“I hate drinking.” You wrinkle your nose, cutely. He fights the urge to bite you. The face you make is too sweet, too tempting.

“Because you have only drunk swill. I’ll teach you to drink real wine.” He tugs you into his side, and begins walking back into the city.

The walk to the city is awkward. Not because the two of you have nothing to talk about, but rather, because of the stares. Your silver hair, despite your simple clothing, commands attention. So does Daemon’s presence, and the arm he has around your shoulders.

He had not been wrong. This would cost you. A cost too steep for someone he sought to keep safe.

Still, you face it all bravely, as you had that morning at the docks. The two of you manage to get a cozy table in one tavern that Daemon had visited before. He calls for wine to be served, an expensive barrel from the Arbor he is sure they had kept around for years before anyone had the coin to buy it.

It’s delicious. But when he serves you a goblet, you take a big sip and begin to splutter.

“Mittys hunes iksā.” Daemon tuts. His silly bunny. “You are not meant to drink it such. You ought to savor it.”

“Savor?” You arch an eyebrow. “Tastes like dragonfire.”

And perhaps it's the choice of words, or the glint of your silver hair under the low light emanating from the torches, but something about you reminds him of the way he had loved Rhaenyra and admired Laena, the other Valyrian beauties in his life. They are not here, he cannot reach them. But you are.

“Come here, hunes.” His own voice sounds strange to him, low and demanding. When he calls you bunny, he is not exaggerating. Does the fox feel as wrong as he feels when becoming over his prey? Does his gums ache like Daemon’s do, with the urge to bite, to tear apart, to wound? Does he mourn the little bunny whose innocence he is about to shatter? “There is something I wish to show you.”

You eye him warily, but get up from your chair and move until you are standing in front of him. It's not enough for Daemon. It never is. He always wants you closer, closer to hold, to protect, to own.

He tugs you between his parted legs.

“Do you trust me?”

There is a slight furrow of your brow. The barest hint of hesitation. Yet, your voice is firm when you answer him.

“Yes.”

His girl. His precious girl. If you had been his, he would have never hurt you like Corlys had. Never allowed to become easy prey for men like him. You shouldn’t trust him.

Daemon shouldn’t be doing this, either. It is a good thing he has never claimed to be a good man.

He takes a sip of his wine, and leans towards you, capturing your mouth in his. At first, you fight him, the suddenness startling you. It’s only when he gives your lower lip a sharp nip, that you melt into the kiss. When your mouth parts slightly, he passes you the wine.

You splutter, but Daemon holds you down, arms held by your side. He forces you to take and take some more, chasing the tart taste of the wine into the honeyed one of your mouth.

Your obedience and compliance only makes him wilder, drives him to grasp at your hips, pull you closer. Just when you begin to lean into Daemon, dutifully swallowing the wine, someone jerks you out of his grip.

“I did not think it to be true.” A woman’s voice, one he knows too well, says. Rhaenys. Her face is a mask of absolute rage. She gives you a shove that sends you stumbling before Daemon can even get out of his chair. “You have much nerve.”

Your face turns ashen. You look like you are about to cry, or worse, flee. Daemon jumps up, and gets between Rhaenys and you.

“You were always a whore!” She screams, her index finger digging into his chest. You let out a sob, quietly. Daemon’s heart feels like it is being wrenched from his chest. At this point, the screams have attracted all the tavern's attention. Daemon doesn’t doubt that by this time tomorrow, the whole island will know.

You will be shunned. Just as he had feared.

“I am talking to you!” Rhaenys insists. You cower behind him. It only makes Rhaenys angrier. “No, not you, you stupid girl. You, Daemon.”

Daemon feels utterly stunned. Never in a million years he would have thought Rhaenys was referring to him.

“Are you calling me a whore?”

He feels the slap before he even sees her move. His head gets forcefully turned to the side, and he hears you whimper. His cheek stings. Daemon has to blink back tears, Rhaenys has hit him that hard.

He wasn’t even aware that a woman could land such a blow.

“You dare! You toyed with my daughter and this girl as you saw fit.” And Daemon cannot even get a word in because she is too angry. He feels his cheeks reddening, and its unsure if he is feeling embarrassment at being scolded like a child, or rage at her words. “But worry not. I will make this right.”

Rhaenys has a manic gleam in her eyes. For a frightening second, Daemon thinks he sees in her the famous Targaryen madness.

Instead of setting you both on fire, she lunges, avoiding Daemon, and grabbing you hands in hers.

“I shall not allow you to make the same mistake your mother did.” Rhaenys says, and she is gone before Daemon can answer anything.

THIS IS YOUR greatest triumph. Why, then, does it taste like ashes on your tongue?

You are wearing the finest dress you have ever owned, gifted to you by Daemon. Princess Rhaenys has forced both him and your father into complacency, and even forced King Viserys to allow your betrothal. Still, you feel adrift. Even betrayed.

What Daemon had done to you had seemed purposeful. You had not realized when he had stolen the kiss from you, giving you your first taste of fine wine, but you understood it now. Had Princess Rhaenys not been there, or had she been any less merciful, a much different fate would have awaited you.

The stink of shame that followed you around, the whispers of dishonor and the looks of distaste, would have been even more intense. You would have been ruined, known as little more than a whore. And your family no longer had the money that had shielded your mother during her pregnancies.

You had not known it. But Daemon must have. He had a reputation for taking maidenheads as he saw fit, Addam had informed you. You were a fool for not knowing, and a fool for believing he wanted something else from you.

The royal decree is read by a Maester, in front of all the Lords of near castles, the smallfolk of Driftmark and the Velaryons. Even in the first beautiful dress you own, you feel small. Out of place. The looks your half siblings are shooting you do not help you feel better.

Once the bill is read, Lord Corlys steps forward.

“Daughter.” He says, grasping your hands in his. He is cold. He is cold, and it makes your skin crawl, even when it is all you wanted as a little girl. It’s the first time he acknowledges you, and he is not at all like the man you imagined, when dreaming as a child of what it would be like for him to look at you. Because even a glance would have been enough back then. “It’s a pleasure to finally have you join the family.”

Addam and Allyn are still in the crowd, unacknowledged. They are your family, not this man who is grasping your hands with a calculating gleam in his eyes. Wondering, as all highborn do, how he might use you. How you might serve to further his own ends.

Your brothers could not be recognized as you were. You had shyly asked Princess Rhaenys, and if she thought you dimwitted before, she had probably confirmed her suspicions. They were men, she had explained, and a threat to Laenor’s rights once your father passed. You, instead, were nothing but a girl who had sullied herself, whose honor had been compromised so thoroughly you had turned even less important in the great scheme of things.

She was helping you because you had been taken advantage of by Daemon, Princess Rhaenys had said, but also to spare her daughter from your fate. Wife to a husband that would most likely betray you and sire bastards.

Lord Corlys was just happy to have another pawn to marry off and forge alliances. Freeing his daughter from a disloyal husband was an added bonus.

Every time you heard them, your hands turned into fist, and you could barely fight the rage from clouding your expression. You had not done the thing everyone was accusing you of, and yet were being judged for it all the same. Daemon, too, did nothing to correct them. Not even when the most scandalous rumors surfaced, saying you would wed him with a child already in your belly.

You had not let him touch you like that. You were not as stupid as everyone thought. As a daughter to a single mother, you knew all about scorn and loneliness. You would never doom a child to your same fate.

The day doesn’t pick up from there. The feast to follow feels just as empty, and you turn down an insincere offer from your father to be housed here. You cannot wait to run back to your brothers.

It would be impolite to leave so soon, though. Lord Corlys has thrown this feast in your honor and is making the lords and members of his household present you with gifts. You admit it is a clever strategy, to avoid having to spend money in your trousseau. Hence, you need to stay a little bit longer.

You get handed new quills and parchments, alongside a new seal for your correspondence by Laena.

“I figured you wouldn’t have one of these.” Her smile is strained as she reaches for your hands. “Since you weren’t raised the proper way.” It says a lot about the company you are in that it is the most polite greeting you receive all afternoon.

When it all begins to become a bit much, and your eyes are stinging after a lady said you had no grace and no manners, you decide you need to run. But when you are stepping a foot outside the hall, Daemon appears by your side.

“Rather improper, isn’t it?” He asks, grabbing your hand in his. You try to jerk away, but he merely interlaces your fingers together. “A lady cannot quite run around unescorted as you used to.”

“Leave me alone, Daemon.” You say, still trying to free yourself. The last thing you want today is to deal with him.

“I do not think I will.” Daemon cups your cheek in his hand, hands gentle despite the calluses on them. It was one of the things you had first liked about him. His hands were artisan’s hands, like the ones of your brothers, despite being highborn. He had seemed so different from the rest of the men you knew, back then. “Not when my betrothed is nearly weeping in her own feast.”

“You heard all those people. I do not belong here.” You look up at him, fighting your tears. You feel like such a whiny child. What happened to you is something that only happens in fairytales, it's the stuff songs are written about. No bastard girl gets acknowledged by her father and marries a Prince.

“Who cares what those cunts think?” Daemon scoffs. “You are above them. You always were.”

You bloom under his praise. There is no other word for it. It warms you, from head to toe, and your stomach fills with butterflies. A small smile forms, even through the tears that threaten to fall.

“There she is.” Daemon brushes his thumb over your cheek. “That’s my girl.”

His girl. There is nothing you would like more.

“I never wanted to be a Lady.” You lower your eyes, embarrassed at the admission. You feel ungrateful for saying it, but it’s the truth. You had never imagined a home away from your siblings. The marriage will mean you will be taken away from them, and only see them if Daemon feels like it.

You do not own a dragon, after all. And you aren’t too sure Allyn and him will be the best good brothers.

He grabs you by the waist and gives a little tug.

“Be mine instead.” Daemon whispers, and when you nod, he kisses your forehead.

MARRYING YOU HAD never been in his plans. Yet, when he saw you walk down the aisle, dressed in Velaryon blue and looking awkward, Daemon was sure you were the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

You were not a lady or a princess, yet you and him were alike. Birds of the same feather. For the first time, Daemon could say there was someone who understood him.

Daemon had never been poor, nor had he been born a bastard, but he too, had lost his parents while young. He, too, was considered too wild by his brother. And he knew all about of trying to fulfill an impossible task while honoring the legacy of his ancestors.

Laena was a mere child by your side. Her innocence and Valyrian looks had appealed to him once, but after meeting you, Daemon knew no other woman could compare. There was an edge to you, beneath all the innocence and beauty. A fire that burned bright in your belly, and could not be quenched. An anger that both amazed him and scared him, and drew him in like a moth to a flame.

You would have been great if you had been born into his house. Great but terrible.

Or perhaps you wouldn’t have. Perhaps, if you had grown acknowledged by your father, you would have not been the lost little girl who dreamed of recognition and slept lulled by the sea. You wouldn’t have grown into the woman who got the recognition and understood she did not need it at all.

A shame that recognition had come at a price so steep. Recognition in exchange for rumors of dishonor, whispers of the shame of your existence and the shame you had brought on yourself. These cunts did not see you for what you were. Not some malicious creature, some silver tongued temptress. No. You were determined and fierce, brave and true. You honored your house’s words. Your ancestors would have been proud.

Yes, Daemon decided. He would marry you and take you away from here, from this horrible little island where people behaved like they were above you. The cunts should be honored that you were even looking their way.

The distance might even help those stubborn brothers of yours to forget all about the way Daemon had become part of their family. When the grudge was forgotten, he would bring you back, less the eldest skewered him alive.

Not because Daemon feared Allyn. Of course not. But because killing him would be such a nuisance, and you would cry, and… Ugh. He couldn’t stand to see you cry.

You were about to burst into tears right now. He could tell. Daemon grabbed your hands in his, uncaring he was breaking protocol, and pressed his forehead against yours.

“We can still marry on the beach, with only Caraxes as witness.” He whispers, gently. “Hells, I would prefer it. We can run still. The Septon has not spoken.”

You laugh, a bit watery.

“Addam and Allyn would drop dead, thinking we will not be wed.”

“Allyn looks like he would attempt murder.”

“Attempt?”

“I doubt he would succeed.”

“I would protect you.” You say, and it warms something inside Daemon he wasn’t even aware that he had. “If only because killing a Prince is a crime worthy of the ax, and I wish to have nephews.”

Daemon's mouth opens and closes.

“You little..!”

You laugh, but before he can lunge and throw you over his shoulder, the Septon clears his throat.

“If the two of you are done..?”

“Just get to the part where you handfast us.” Daemon says, giving him his best lecherous expression. “I have many things I wish to show my new bride.”

And there were. He had taken many of your firsts already, he wasn’t about to stop now.

[forevermorepassionate]

Lover’s Intuition

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: You’ve always had good intuition. Daemon gets hurt, and he faces the repercussions that come with not listening to it.

Requested: Yes, see here

Requests are: open!

Authors note: The requester asked for either poc!reader or for a reader with an ambiguous appearance if that was easier, so I kept it as ambiguous as possible because I’m not a poc and I don’t know how to quite do that? Either way, I’m not perfect so please let me know if I’ve missed anything:)🫶

You have always had good intuition. It has aided you many a time - your marriage, for example. Daemon and yourself had no business being wed as you had been. As the daughter of a minor lord, not once had you been considered for betrothal to anyone as important as Daemon Targaryen. And yet, you dreamt one night - not long before your very first trip to Dragonstone - that you might be married to the man himself. Before you knew it you were kneeling next to him.

Of course it’s not only that, there have been other times. Your mothers disappearance before you were yet ten and three. Your fathers rise - and fall - in the court of King Viserys.

Now your intuition tells you of the near demise of your new husband. And yet he refuses to hear you out.

“Daemon, you have to listen to me - please! I cannot be left a widow, I cannot have you leave me so soon,” your breath catches in your throat and you try to focus on anything except for his bored face. “So soon after being wed, my love please. I need you here with me, not out with the gold cloaks, not when they can take care of themselves. You belong here. With your wife.” You grab Daemon’s hands with your own, forcing him to look into your pleading eyes.

“You know I love you more than anything, wife, but my place is to lead the damn cloaks like I’ve been commanded to by our king.” He says, though his voice is tinged with aggravation and impatience. You have had this conversation every day for a fortnight - every day the dream that you will awake and your husband will be kneeling at the threshold of your chambers, bloody and close to death.

This image must show on your face, for Daemon reaches out, soft hands caressing your cheeks. The pain twisting in your chest begins to unravel. You reach up and grip his wrists, wanting nothing more than to make him stay right here with you.

“My love, I must go.” And suddenly the pain in your chest is back. “I will be okay, I promise. No harm will come to me tonight. Rest easy, love.” And with a chaste kiss on your forehead, he leaves for the night. Like he does every other night.

You know he must, you know he needs to. You wish he did not.

Your ladymaids come in not long after to find you sitting and reading what Daemon calls one of your silly little books - being silly because it is not a book of war or history - to try and distract yourself. They ready you for bed, and yet you know you will not sleep.

So there you lay, staring at the ceiling. Hoping and praying that Daemon return unharmed.

Soon enough there comes a knock on your door. Your heart skips, and you rise shakily out of bed. Your hand shakes as you reach for the handle, and there lays Daemon. You drop to your knees and fight back sobs as you shakily reach for his hands. “My love, I am sorry.”

You jolt awake. Your heart pounds and you cannot stop the sobs that wrack your body. The first sleep you have had in two nights and it is this horrible nightmare again. Daemon dying would be catastrophic. He is your husband, the man you are meant to be with your entire life.

You dig your palms into your eyes, groaning. “I do not understand! Why do I have these blasted dreams when I cannot do anything about them!” Words cannot describe the anguish that you feel at not being with Daemon at the time.

Then a knock comes at your door. This time, it’s for real. You freeze and feel as if you may lose your supper.

“Yes?”

“My Lady, Prince Daemon has been injured and is requesting your presence.” Maester Gerardys enters your bedchambers as he speaks, his face grave.

You shoot up out of bed, ignoring the sputterings and protests’ of the Maester about your state of undress. You shove past the elderly man in a fit a fury.

You knew this would happen. You knew and he refused to listen.

You burst into the room where Daemon was being tended to. He looks up at you and you cannot decipher what on earth he seems to be thinking.

You demand to know what happened.

He groans, “Thought it was one bastard rapist, turns out it was a whole lot of ‘em. Attacked me and my men. Obviously I came out bad but at least I’m not dead like in those blasted nightmares of yours.”

You blink in disbelief. Is he really behaving this way when you seen him like this in your dreams? When you’d begged him not to go out like this because of this.

“Daemon obviously I have dreams like this for a reason.” You tell him after the Maester and his apprentice have left, leaving you to speak. Daemon will live, but he won’t be able to go out with the Gold Cloaks for at least a fortnight. You are very pleased with that, but he is not.

“And that reason is to keep me from my duty? My life does not revolve around you, contrary to what you think! I have other duties, responsibilities. And unlike you, I did not need this marriage to be useful!”

Your throat tightens and burns. Tears prick your eyes.

“If you did not want this marriage,” you begin slowly, “why on earth did you propose?”

He stares at you blankly. You hope he feels bad for what he says, though you doubt it.

“And, my Prince,” you say spitefully, your tone accusing, “I may not have been the wife of a Prince before, but that does not mean I was useless. Your words were cruel, Daemon. I have been looking out for you out of love, not because I believe you must only focus on myself.

But if you believe that, then this marriage can be one of the past. You can dissolve this marriage as soon as you would like and I will put up no fight.” You swallow forcefully, trying to keep yourself from crumbling.

Daemon stays silent. You glance over his form, memorizing his face. His arms. The bandages on his chest and across his stomach. And then you walk out.

You hear him shout, though you’re unsure what he says. You continue walking. Maybe now you can rest.

The following days are difficult to say the least. You have avoided Daemon at all cost. You do not want to speak to him. This entire marriage, you’ve done nothing but care for and love him. However, he has not taken any of your concerns seriously.

All you wanted to do was keep him safe. To love him. To take care of him. And he disrespects you, calls you useless before him, essentially calls you self-absorbed.

You are in the sunroom, taking tea and flipping through a book you came across while hiding from Daemon in the library.

“My Lady, Prince Daemon has come to speak with you.” One of your lady’s maids announces. You huff and get up to leave, but Daemon pushes through the doors before you’re able to.

“Is there a reason you’ve not taken any of my requests to see you seriously? I am your prince, and more importantly your husband.” He glances at the maid behind him, gestures for her to leave.

She looks at you, unsure. “Go, it’s okay. Thank you Vaela.” The door slams behind her as she scurries away.

Daemon scoffs. “I have been trying to speak with you for days.” He reaches for your face, wanting to cup it within his hands. You back away. He does not have that privilege. His hands curl in aggravation. He has missed the feel of your skin more than anything.

“Every request to speak with you has been ignored. You have slipped away from every servant. Then when I have tried to approach you in- in the library, the great hall, everywhere – you have ran off before I could speak to you.”

“I did not want to see you.” You say simply, turning to lift your tea cup and you take a shaky breath, hoping Daemon cannot see it. When you turn back, Daemon is rubbing his temples.

“Y/n, my love-”

“No. Do not call me that when you have not even attempted to apologize to me for calling me useless, and self-absorbed, and whatever number of things you held back during your outburst.” You say stiffly. You want nothing more than to let him hold you and kiss you, but he treated you horribly and you are through with allowing him to get away with this behavior.

“Y/n, I am truly sorry. I should never have treated you like that. None of the things I said are true. None of them. Y/n you are my world,” he grabs your hands in his. This time you do not pull away.

“I have treated you horribly and you are deserving of more than what I have given you. Please, stop avoiding me. I am not a begging sort of man, but here I am - begging you to give me even an ounce of your affection and attention once again, my love.”

He sinks to his knees, looking up at you. “Please, Y/n, I need you to- I need you again. I beg of you to forvige me and love me once again.”

He wraps his arms around your waist, gripping your dress in his fists and presses his forehead to your stomach.

Your heart lurches at the sight of the powerful, strong-headed prince kneeling before you, begging for you to come back into his life.

“Daemon, I have never not loved you.” You cup his face in your hands, tilting his face to look up at you. “I will also forgive you, but you may not talk to me in such a way again. And you will head my dreams, they are clearly something to listen to.”

He pulls you down to him so you’re kneeling in front of him, and he kisses you on the mouth. “Of course, my love. You have my word.”

The servants dicover your unclothed bodies in the sunroom the next morning, sleeping peacefully in each other’s arms. They share sighs of relief at the sight, thankful they no longer must endure such a fitful time.

———

Thank you for reading🫶

The ending is a little odd, Im not very good at writing the ends😭

[lunarmoonanons]

Fire and Salt chp 13

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

YN helps her mother give birth and defends her choice to stay at her mother's side.

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Masterlist

YN was used to seeing her mother as a strong woman. Someone who did not falter easily to pain and such. But when she came to her mother’s birthing room and saw her dear mother bent over in pain, YN’s image of her mother changed. Her mother was gasping and moaning in pain and YN did not know what to do. She wanted to rush forward and hold her mother but Jacaerys spoke up first and stalled YN before she could do anything. 

“Mother?” Jacaerys asked. 

Their mother tried to collect herself as she groaned in pain. YN held onto Luke’s hand, Luke who stood scared and worried at the sight. YN knew Luke wanted to go forward to their mother but she held him back. They all looked overly worried at the sight of their mother. 

“Your grandsire, King Viserys, has passed,” Their mother was able to choke out. YN stopped breathing and held tightly onto Luke’s hand. 

“V-Viserys?” Luke asked, shocked. 

“The Greens have repudiated the succession and claimed the iron throne,” Their mother continued and tried to hold herself up in front of her children. “Aegon has been crowned king.”

Jace betrayed no emotion but looked strong, YN spared a glance at him trying to swallow her grief before she collapsed to the floor in grief. 

“What is to be done about it?” Jace asked. 

“Nothing yet,” Rhaenyra said, holding herself up. 

“And where is Daemon?” Jace continued in his questions. 

“I don’t know. Gone to madness,” Rhaenyra rubbed her stomach and tried to seem strong. “Gone to plot his war.”

“Leave Daemon with me.” Jace said as he walked out of the room, their mother calling after him. Luke followed leaving YN in the room with her mother. 

“Jacaerys.” Her mother called out causing Jace to stop and look at her. “Whatever claim remains to me, you are now its heir. Naught is to be done but by my command.”

With that Jace left and YN was alone with her mother and the servants. YN walked forward and held her mother’s hands in her own. Squeezing tight and looking her mother deep in her eyes. 

“I will stay, mother. I will not leave you to do this alone,” YN said, Rhaenyra looked like she was to protest, but YN held firm. “I will not be sent away.” 

“My girl. My darling, it will not be a pretty sight,” Rhaenyra tried to explain. 

“I will stay, mother.” YN affirmed and placed a hand on her mother’s back to rub and sooth her. A servant came and tried to direct Rhaenyra toward the bed. Rhaneyra lost her composure in front of her daughter and cried out in pain. YN wanted to cry, cry at the sight of her mother in agony, cry at the loss of her grandfather, and cry at the realization the Aemond chose to betray her and once again choose something else over her. 

Her mother cried out for Daemon and YN looked around for the sight of her step father, but he was nowhere to be seen. Her mother kept crying and screaming in pain, and nothing YN did could soothe her. YN got behind her mother as she squatted on the ground and cried out. Attempting to push the baby out of her. YN knew birth was painful but something seemed wrong here. YN tried walking around the room with her mother, rubbing her back, letting her mother squeeze her hand till she was certain she’d break it. But nothing could alleviate the pain her mother was going through. 

“Mama, please you must try to stop pushing, call the maester for something to alleviate your pain, but something must be done,” YN tried but nothing helped. 

“There’s nothing to be done, my love. I must do this now,” Rhaenyra grunted out and tried to push the baby out. 

“Princess let us help you.” One of the maids tried to say, but Rhaenyra wanted no one but her daughter to touch her. 

“Get out!” Rhaenyra screamed and pushed. YN held one of her hands tightly and rubbed her mother’s back with the other. Silently whispering for her mother to push and that it would be okay. Eventually, Rhaenyra let out a pained screech and something slid out of her. The baby did not cry, it laid curled up and bloody on the ground. YN did not look at it and just kissed the side of her mother’s head. 

“The worst is over, Mama. The worst is over,” YN whispered and rubbed her thumb over her mother’s knuckles.  

Rhaenyra sat down on the floor in her birthing fluid and blood, reaching for the babe that laid dead on the ground. She picked up the pitiful looking thing and tried to hold it close. YN just sighed and stood up finding Daemon looking into the room. YN wanted to scream at him and tell him what a horrible husband he was but YN felt nothing but grief. YN looked down to her mother and she cradled her dead baby in her arms and rocked back and forth. 

“Do you want me to stay for the next of it, Mama?” YN asked and reached forward. Rhaenyra shook her head and just stared down at the dead child in her arms. YN kissed her mother’s cheek and went out the room, glaring slightly at Daemon, who should’ve been there. 

Rhaenys called Baela and YN to a hallway for just the three of them. YN wondered what her grandmother could want. Baela looked at YN’s bloody hands and held one in hers for just a moment. Rhaenys looked firm and did not say anything about the disheveled appearance of her son’s daughter. 

“What do you need of us, grandmother?” YN asked and rubbed her hands together.

“You both must collect Rhaena and leave Dragonstone at once,” Rhaenys said. Determined to see her granddaughters safe from the upcoming fight. 

“And go where?” Baela asked. 

“Safe to High Tide,” Rhaenys explained. 

“High Tide won’t be safe.” YN said. 

“The Greens will assume we’ll declare for Rhaenyra.” Baela defended. 

“It’ll be safer than Dragonstone,” Rhaenys countered. 

“I won’t hide Grandmother. I will face what war may come.” YN said firmly. 

“If war is coming, it’s coming for all of us. We cannot hide from it,” Baela said just as firmly. 

“I’ve suffered too much loss, Baela, YN,” Rhaenys said whilst looking at them with tired and desperate eyes. “I cannot endure another.”

“I am a dragon rider.” YN said defending her choice. 

“As am I,” Baela said. “Like my mother, and my father, and you. The Greens usurp our queen's throne.” 

“They must be answered.” YN demanded. 

“With Fire and Blood.” Baela finished YN’s thought. Rhaenys stared at her granddaughters and started to smile slightly. Baela frowned and stepped forward. “Do you think we jest?” 

Rhaenys shook her head slightly. “No… I just saw my children for the first time in years.” Rhaneys said, looking at them with pride and nostalgia. The girls looked at each other and smiled. Stepping forth to hug their grandmother. They stopped when a guard told them Rhaenyra had prepared the babe she delivered for the funeral. That they were waiting for them outside. 

YN stood next to her brother’s when she watched the babe’s body burn. Luke looked troubled and held YN’s hand tightly. YN tried to hold back her grief and she thought about all that had transpired. Her offer to Aemond had gone up in smoke and the chance of them being friendly again and possibly something more was gone. YN had spent so much time wishing things had been different between them. No matter how many times she said she hated him for what he did and said, she deep down wished they were friends again and wanted to be with him again. Now that was gone. Now her grandfather was gone, and her other grandfather could die as well. Her family was in limbo as war seemed inevitable. She wondered if Aemond still intended to try and marry her or if her would just marry another lord’s daughter to strengthen the Greens “claim” to the throne. 

The funeral stopped when another white cloaked knight came forth. Ser Erryk came forth stating he meant no harm and walked toward  Daemon and Rhaenyra. He pulled out a crown and held it toward Rhaenyra. 

“I swear to ward the Queen… with all my strength… and give my blood for hers.” Ser Erryk stated and held the crown high. “I shall take no wife… hold no lands… father no children. I shall guard her secrets… obey her commands… ride at her side, and defend her name and honor.” 

Daemon took the crown and looked back to Rhaenyra. Walking forth to place the crown on her head. Kneeling down in front of her. Everyone followed suit and knelt down in front of Rhaenyra. YN looked at her mother for a fleeting moment and then at the ground. Thinking her mother looked the very image of regalness and dignity. 

YN knew the country would go to war and when it did she would be at her mother’s side.

[paulyenvol6]

Relief

Daemon Targaryen x Dornish POC reader

Based on this request

(Thank you for the request and feel free to send me whatever you would like me to write :))

Contains: smut, lactation kink, breast and nipple play, kissing, giving birth, mentions of pain during child bearing, very soft and kind husband Daemon, fluff

Wordcount: ~2.27k

Masterlist

You felt a stitch in your breasts just like you had the past days but still you remained feeling ashamed and tried to ignore the pain.

As if this pregnancy wasn't already exhausting enough and now there was an additional discomfort. You crossed your legs and tried to shift your position while holding your chest in an attempt to make the ache go away but it didn't work. In fact you knew what this was about; your body produced too much milk and it made your breasts feel swollen and sore and you hated it so much that tears threatened to well in your eyes.

It was stupid, it was unfair and you just wished it would magicially vanish. This hadn't happened during your pregnancies with Maela, your eldest daughter and Daerion, your son. Not that these pregnancies hadn't had their complications but at least your breasts hadn't produced so much milk that you nearly couldn't stand straight and had to rest against the wall in order to support yourself at times.

Your mood only worsened when guards came into your chambers, which you had visited this afternoon to seek some comfortability, to tell you that the hand of the king, Lord Dylvin had some business to discuss with your husband and you. You pressed your lips tightly together but heaved yourself from the chair.

"I'll be there. Just a minute.", you told the knight and he bowed. You didn't know what it was about and in truth didn't care either. That's why you didn't even receive the each person in the group of people standing in the corridor when the guards led you to Lord Dylvin. He was surrounded by the master of coin, master of whisperers, a steward and your husband, prince Daemon.

His sight brought you so much relief but at the same time you wished you could've remained in your chambers preferrably in a bath tub. But you were here now and when Daemon spotted you he immediately walked towards you and kissed you on your forehead.

"How are you, love?", he asked gently as though he could already sense that you weren't feeling fabulous. But you were too ashamed of telling him the truth and also simply didn't want to cause any trouble so you nodded.

"I'm fine, darling. Just a little tired." He took your hand in his' and then Dylvin cleared his throat and you found out that this meeting in the midst of the corridor was about the construction and refurbishments in the keep. King Viserys had ordered to have some parts of the castle renovated and had given your husband and you the task to watch over the work of the builders. So Dylvin led you through the castle while talking about things you couldn't receive. You really had tried and concentrated on his words but the discomfort was too much. His words faded into a bubbling in the background and your eyes were on the floor trying to collect yourself.

But Daemon had already noticed that something was troubling you. "What is it, y/n? You don't seem well."

You really were on the verge of breaking down but wanted to appear strong so you shook your head. "I'm well, really."

And for the next few minutes it seemed to you that Daemon believed you until suddenly when the group passed the small council chamber he gently pulled you with him and into the room. You gasped for air in surprise and confusedly looked to the door but were distracted quickly when your husband came close to you.

"I know that something is bothering you, sweet love.", he started. "Please, tell me how I can make it better."

"You can't make it better.", you insisted with a weak voice.

"What is it then?", Daemon said, softly caressing the side of your arms.

"It's hurting.", you whispered, because you knew that Daemon was so caring and protective over you that you actually shouldn't feel embarrassed telling him. He ran his hands soothingly over your shoulders and lowered his head so he could look in your eyes.

"What is hurting?", he asked softly.

"My breasts.", you said with teary eyes and pouted at him. "I think they're producing too much milk and so they're all swollen and aching and I feel like I can't do anything all day because it's always distracting me." Daemon pulled your head towards him and kissed your head.

"I'm so sorry, my love.", he whispered and your hands clung to his tunic. "I'm sorry, is there anything I can do?"

"No…", you said but your husband was determined to make you feel better so he held your face in his hands and ran his thumb over your cheek.

"Show me.", he whispered and you widened your eyes. "What?"

He smiled and looked down your body. "Please show me, sweetling. I want to help you."

You were suspicious and felt odd but did as he had told you so you removed one layer by one until your upper body was bare in front of him. His eyes ran over your figure and your swollen breasts and you nervously breathed. You knew Daemon for such a long time now that you were way beyond feeling embarrassed of being bare in front of him and yet you felt nervous with your aching breasts. But Daemon just reached out to you and caressed your waist.

"May I?", he asked looking to your chest. You were confused but even more curious so you nodded. His hands wandered up and he started to massage your breasts which made you sigh. It felt so good to have him distract you from the pain and though he couldn't make the swell disappear it felt so much better. Daemon was content with the look on your face and the way your eyes closed and smirked down at you.

His hands cupped and kneaded your breasts and you thought about if your husband could just do this for the rest of your pregnancy when he stopped and lowered his head. You wanted to stop and ask him what he was doing but something inside of you told you not to and because you trusted Daemon more than anyone else in the world you let him do what it was he was doing and felt him wrap his mouth around your left nipple. He had done this a million times already of course, almost every time when you had laid and created your children but this time it felt as though he had a purpose. His lips sucked at your nipple while his hand soothingly massaged your right breast.

Everything felt good to you and you wanted him to continue so you held on to his head as you felt him suck the milk that left your nipples. It brought you great relief and you felt your breath go slower than it had ever gone those past days.

"That's so good, Daemon.", you breathed and he licked and toyed with your nipple.

"I know, love. It's gonna feel so much better once I'm done with you."

You unconsciously smiled and dreamily watched his head as he was so determined to make you feel better and free you from the discomfort.

"You're so pretty, darling. Such pretty and sweet breasts. And the way you look pregnant with my child, it's making me go feral."

You quietly moaned as your left breast started to feel so much better and you were beyond relieved. As Daemon noticed it his mouth wandered to your right nipple and he repeated his technique.

"Seven hells, I can't believe the gods created something as beautiful as you and your pretty tits for me.", he moaned and roughly, but not so roughly that it would feel uncomfortable, kneaded your left breast.

You exhaled loudly and felt your milk spill and then being sucked up by your husband. It was odd, obscene perhaps, strange and new but you felt each and ever of your worries drop with Daemon's mouth on your tits and with him making the ache vanish.

"Yes Daemon.", you whined and wanted to let your eyes roll back. Your nipples felt vulnerable and sensitive so his swift tongue made them tingle with desire and then, you had lost your sense of time, he let go of your breasts and left you panting heavily and free of that uncomfortable feeling of your tits feeling too full. He crookedly smirked at you and you sighed feeling light.

"Thank you, husband.", you breathed and Daemon embraced you in a soft hug.

"No need to thank me, dear.", he whispered against your hair and his hand stroke your back.

"It's so much better.", you said quietly.

"From now on,", he then started and pulled you slightly away so you looked at him. "Every time your breasts feels swollen you'll come to me and I'll make you feel better."

Your heart fluttered and your knees felt wobbly and you felt like the young girl again who had laid her eyes on the rogue prince for the first time. You had been flushed, unable to speak an intelligent sentence, so taken had you been from his appearance.

"Thank you.", you breathed and he took your hand in his'.

"You're carrying my child, sweet love. That's the least I can do."

And then the two of you smiled at each other. The way a love couple did when they were in love and nothing in the world existed but the two of them. Daemon's hand reached down to caress your belly that was quite swollen by now and he lovingly watched the bump.

"I love you, y/n.", he spoke and in this moment you forgot why you had felt sad an hour ago. Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time from happiness rather than pain.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next months passed as they passed for a woman like you, pregnant with her third child. Or so you had thought because this pregnancy wasn't like the ones before but at this point you didn't know yet. Moons came and went and your belly grew bigger and bigger. As he had been with your first and second child, Daemon was at your side every moment looking out for you and caring only about your well – being and that of your children Maela and Daerion.

He joined you for baths, massaged your sore skin, dried your hair with towels, combed and oiled your hair, helped you get up from your chair as the pregnancy progressed and held you when you woke in the middle of the night because you felt sick. And as he had promised you, every time you felt that your breasts were filled with too much milk he put his mouth on your sensitive nipples and sucked at them in order to relieve you from the soreness. He would lick up the liquid, massage your breasts and afterwards you felt newborn.

And then you finally gave birth to your child with Daemon sitting by your bed and holding your hand while you pushed, pressed, screamed and cried. It was painful and exhausting just like you had already experienced it with the birth of your first two children but this time it was different. You had laid in your bed feeling tired but not the way you had before and then there was the maester's shout. "There is another!"

And you had gone through it again, pushed and pressed and then there was a second child. Twins, two little girls with the one crying and screaming while the other laid calmly in the maester's arms. Tears fell down your face as well but now it wasn't from the pain anymore but from feeling relieved and happy that you had just carried two healthy babes out in the world.

You were flooded with love and joy and Daemon's hand still enclosed yours as you ordered the maester to bring your children to you. And so he did after he had cleaned them. He placed the two small human beings on your breasts and your body trembled with this overwhelming feeling of love and relief. Daemon caressed the cheek of one of his daughters while you held the other.

"What should we call them?", you breathed while tears filled your eyes.

"I would like to call her Alyssa. After my mother.", Daemon whispered as he watched his child's small mouth that opened now and then to let out little noises.

You nodded. "Then she shall be named after my dear mother. Sheran." Your husband nodded as well and you even saw a tear rolling down his cheek while looking at his daughters.

"They are beautiful.", he breathed. "Like their mother."

You held your daughters carefully as if you were scared they could break. Another wave of tears flooded over you and Daemon soothingly ran his hand over your trembling shoulders.

"I love you, y/n. You are… amazing."

"I love you too.", you whispered and couldn't take your eyes off the delicate sweet creatures in your arms.

"Do you think Maela and Daerion will be happy?", you giggled and your husband scoffed. "It most definitely is unexpected. We were making them adjust to the thought of having one more sibling, but two? But I don't think there is a chance they can not love them."

You agreed and then the maester came back, who had previously left the room to give the two of you some privacy. Now he approached you as well to take a look at the twins, who contendly rested on your chest.

"Beautiful girls, my princess. They are strong, very strong."

Daemon smirked. "I should hope so. They're the blood of the dornish."

[andreawritesit]

I saw that your requests are open and that you, like me, are pissed off with what they are doing to Daemon. Soooo, can I get a Daemon x POC (or ambiguous appearance) fem!reader where she is with the Blacks, but seeing Rhaenyra's incompetence (and how she has no respect for the lords who fight for her, and the fact that she trusts Mysaria but not Daemon), she tells her some hard truths to her face and goes to Harrenhal to help him, please? (It can be romantic or not, I just need this man to be valued, loved, and cared for).

Fandom: House of the Dragon Pairing: None (minor one sided reader x Daemon Targaryen) Words: 1,569 Warnings: Mentions of Luke's death, Blood and Cheese

As much as I hate show Rhaenyra, I ship Daemyra quite a lot and I like to believe Daemon would never cheat Rhaenyra. So the romance is one sided and more innocent in nature.

You were sitting at the table, clenching your fists as tightly as possible. Rhaenyra once again shut down any suggestions from her council members, with you being one of them. Despite all of your combined efforts, the Queen just didn’t want to understand the gravity of the situation you all were in. The Greens were amassing greater armies and more holdings all across the realm. Yet Rhaenyra kept refusing to take any action. Prince Jacaerys had suggested looking for people with Targaryen blood so they could sort out more dragon riders. The suggestion was a wise one. And finally, Rhaenyra took some steps to participate in the war. And yet, she kept ignoring her biggest asset – her husband Prince Daemon, and his dragon Caraxes. They had left for Harrenhal days ago and yet there was no word. Clearly, the King consort had some disagreements with the Queen. Irrespective of your countless requests, Rhaenyra kept dismissing any possibility of sending a raven to Daemon. It was frustrating you to no end.

Prince Daemon had always been a special person to you. Ever since you had seen him at the tourney, you had admired the prince. He might be called reckless by many but he was in truth a Targaryen through and through – stubborn, yes but powerful, brave, and smart. He knew what needed to be done and when. He had suggested taking Kings Landing as soon as you received the news of usurping. But Rhaenyra had refused. Even after her son, the little prince Lucerys was murdered in cold blood, the Queen had not taken any action. Instead, she had banished the only person who sought any revenge for the dead prince and had even gone to Kings Landing to speak with the woman partially responsible for his death. You couldn’t believe her audacity when she had disappeared for days and then returned nonchalantly as if nothing had happened. Even now, Rhaenyra sat in her chair, hands folded in front of her, doing nothing.

Your eyes fell on the woman standing next to her and you suppressed the urge to throw your glass at her. Mysaria. The woman who had been selling secrets to Otto Hightower for the past decade, the woman who had helped in usurping Rhaenyra’s throne, the woman who had love for only herself. She stood by the Queen’s side instead of her King Consort. It was unnatural and extremely stupid of Rhaenyra to put her trust in this woman. A loud sigh came out of Prince Jacaerys’ mouth as he got up and excused himself out of the room. Poor Prince.  It seemed like only he and Daemon were willing to do what was necessary. When your father had pledged toward Rhaenyra as the heir to the Iron Throne, you had also sworn to always side with her, and stay loyal to her. But she was making it very difficult with her bad decision-making.

Mysaria whispered something in Rhaenyra’s ear that made her smile and your blood boil. Who knows what she was plotting? You couldn’t take it anymore and stood up from your chair abruptly. “Your Grace”, you addressed her directly, “May I talk to you in private?”

Rhaenyra glanced at you and then at Mysaria who gave her the tiniest of nods. She nodded back and got up from her chair. “Of course, my Lady. Everyone, leave us.”

The council members looked uneasy but left nonetheless. Mysaria was last to leave. While walking out, she purposely nudged your shoulder and gave you a skeptical look. You couldn’t help the eye roll that happened in response. Once she left, you turned toward the Queen.

“Your Grace, forgive me for my bluntness but you’re making a huge mistake.”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrow shot up and she asked in a serious tone, “Mistake? What sort of mistake?”

“Trusting the word of Mysaria. Do not forget she is a self-serving woman, not that there is anything wrong with it. But as a monarch, you’re supposed to be the one making decisions. At the end of the day, Lady Mysaria will always look out for herself first. Who’s to say she won’t jeopardize our position in the war tomorrow if it favors her?”

She listened to your words quietly. After a moment, she replied, “Anyone can turn on me anytime. How is she any different?”

“You don’t understand. We’re here to honor our and our fathers’ oaths. We’re here because we have accepted you as our Queen because we believe in you. Has she sworn to you?”

“No, but-“

“Then how can you trust her so easily? She was once close to Prince Daemon and look at how quickly she turned on him. She does not hold loyalty to anyone. Giving her so much power over yourself will prove to be risky.”

“What do you suggest I do, then? Send her away?”

Her tone irked you. It sounded awfully defensive.

“No, Your Grace. She’s an important ally to have. All I’m saying is that don’t get too close to her. She might use your weaknesses against you tomorrow. She has said it herself, she is on no one’s side. She only looks out for herself. Instead of indulging in her manipulation, you should call Prince Daemon back.”

Rhaenyra’s face contorted at your words into one of anger. She took a deep breath and sat on her chair. “Daemon this. Daemon that. I do not need him!”

“Yes. Yes, you do. He has always been our greatest strength. If he was at Rook’s Rest with Princess Rhaenys, she would’ve been alive today.”

“He ordered the murder of a child in my name! He sullied my reputation behind my back.”

“He avenged your son. And hasn’t he told you he didn’t order them to specifically kill the child? Why won’t you trust his word?”

“Because he’s ambitious. He has always wanted the throne-“

You couldn’t control your anger anymore. She was being obnoxious.

“I’m sorry but you’re wrong. If he had wanted the throne for himself, there were many times he could’ve killed King Viserys when he was still his heir. Or he could’ve killed you when you were young and unsuspecting. You constantly misunderstand him and yet question his loyalty?”

Rhaenyra scoffed and took a sip of wine from her glass. “What do you know of Daemon? I have known him forever. He only ever thinks of himself.”

“That sounds awfully like Mysaria. Are you sure you know him at all? I might not know him well but even I understand that he has been loyal to you always. He married you at such a time when you and your claim were the weakest. He stood loyally by your side and crowned you himself. And yet you claim he’s self-serving. It seems to me the self-serving one is you. You asked him to marry you when you needed and now you try to push him aside?”

“How dare you-“

“How dare I? How dare you disrespect all the Lords and soldiers who are here to fight on your behalf? You ignore their sacrifices, their wisdom. Your ignorance blinds you, Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes were wide open and she opened her mouth to say something but closed it again. It seemed her anger gave way to something else—doubt, perhaps, or fear.

“I speak these words not out of disloyalty, but out of love for the cause we fight for,” you continued. “But if you continue down this path, you will lose everything. Including me.”

You got up from your chair and left the hall, leaving a stunned Rhaenyra in your wake.

The journey to Harrenhal was harrowing, with the road fraught with danger and uncertainty. You pressed on, determined to reach your destination despite the trials. As dawn broke, the ruins of Harrenhal loomed before you, a stark contrast to the grandeur of Dragonstone. Its charred walls and crumbling towers stood as a testament to the power of dragons and the wrath they could unleash. Your heart was heavy, but your resolve remained unshaken. It was obvious that Rhaenyra wasn’t going to see reason soon, so why waste your time with her? And so here you were, at Harrenhal, about to pledge your loyalty to the King Consort.

Daemon was overseeing the fortifications, his presence commanding and intimidating. When he saw you, a flicker of surprise crossed his face. As you walked closer, you saw his face and a gasp escaped your lips. His complexion was paler than usual, and his eyes no longer held the flames of dragonfire you so admired.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone gruff.

“I came to help,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

“Rhaenyra let you go?” His tone held suspicion.

“I left of my own accord,” you said. “She needs to learn some hard truths, and I need to be where I can make a difference.”

The hard lines of his face eased as he stepped closer, his gaze softening as he studied your face for a moment. “You’ve always had a sharp tongue and a brave heart. I could use both.”

A smirk formed on his face, and he gestured towards the ruins of the castle. “Welcome to hell then.”

You took in the sight of Harrenhal, its desolation stark against the morning light. The once-grand fortress was now a place of shadows and echoes, a fitting backdrop for the battles to come.

[themotherofblood]

Ruie my dear, can I get an imagine or oneshot fluff Daemon x poc Martell (or Essosi) fem! reader where they're married with kids and reader is pregnant again and for some reason Daem decides to give her a tiger as a gift, at first she's kind of confused and really surprised (like how/when/where and why of all possible gifts he chose a fucking tiger ) but the children are fascinated by the animal and in the end she ends up getting attached too. Just some good old fluff with some humor if possible please? (if that doesn't make sense, sorry is that I saw a picture of a tiger and a half of this idea and coincidentally saw that you reopened your requests, so… but feel free to ignore it and sorry for my English)

ahhh, I really wanted make a longer one but felt I should keep the fluff to the point so here’s a blurby fic

WC: 1.2k?

You had laid lounged out in the beach, your pink chiffon gown clinging to your skin in the warm summer breeze. A small white haired child sat a few feet away from you, six summers of age and the prettiest lady in all of the Known World. Her hair, the same as her father and her skin, the very olive tanned aura of your own. There was much serenity in the small family of comfort you had procured, a fiery husband who filled you to birth your firey daughter Alyssa. She sat making castles out of sand, far enough that the moat would fill with water but wouldn’t topple her creation.

“Madame, the prince had returned from Bravos,” an attendant tore you attention from your daughter, Daemon had been gone for near a week, away striking bargain or mostly threatening people with his dragon to get what he wanted. You acknowledged the servant before he took his leave, from your periphery out pours the vision of silver hair blowing against the winds as the thuds of his boots against the sand filled your ears

“Papa!” Alyssa shrieked, pulling herself up with wobbly legs and running over to Daemon. Ready to throw herself at him as he reached down to swing her body up to towards him. She giggled and shrieked some more, pressing kisses to his cheeks as she giggled at him tickling her. He smiled at where you were sat, curls in a neat braid and the curve of your swollen belly against your dress, he did that, the glow of motherhood adorning your skin so pretty, he did that.

He walked over with Alyssa in his arms to situate himself next to you, the girl once again ran of to finish her architectural masterpiece as Daemon leaned his head down to lay a peck at your belly before letting your lips, “have they been good?”

You nodded, “they simmered down a while ago, might have grown bored fighting within mama, huh?” you questioned at your belly.

“Papa look! M’ made a castle!” Alyssa said, waving her hands frantically to grab her father’s attention.

He complimented his girl, his lips curling wider. “I brought you something,” he whispered, his small finger tracing against your jaw as he kissed your lips once more before standing up. He reached down to pull you up before pulling Alyssa onto his lap as he led you inside the palace. Alyssa all through babbled about the shells she found and the baby crabs she saw. Daemon humming along, finding her stories to be valiant stories of knights, his perfect poppet with her legs hanging couldn’t help but spew every detail of her day to her father.

“What have you done?” you stopped at your tracks, the white feline that seemed of popped it’s head out a wicker basket.

“I’ve bought you a big cat,” Daemon said all nonchalant as Alyssa wiggled in his arms to be let down, “go on, help mama name it,” he told her.

“Daemon,” you hissed at him. “That is a bloody tiger,” you covered your daughter’s ear as you glared at him.

“Mind you, they are tigers,” he corrected as the other orange feline joined his brother and popped the basket over as they escaped.

“Daemon…” you sighed, feeling a nerve in your head pop as you looked the aquarium of snakes and the pit for the small alligator he had procured months before.

“Until my darling’s egg hatches, she gets whatever animal she wants,”

You hadn’t realized how serious Daemon had been about turning this palace into a humid jungle. “What does it even eat?”

“Boots apparently,” Daemon chuckled as one waddled over to him and began nibbling on the fine leather of his boot.

“We keep it?” Both Daemon and Alyssa began to give the eyes, this was a plot, being teamed up against with purple eyes pleading at you. “please mama,” she whispered, her little tongue poking out to pronounce her “l’s” as “w” this was extortion.

“Fine,” you sighed once more.

After supper that night you sat by the glowing hearth, in it laid the metal pot with Alyssa egg. You were willing to hatch with all your maternal rage, hatch you damn fire bird, “glare at it harder my love, it will bond to you instead Alyssa,” Daemon pulled you from your anger fuelled staring.

“I swear on my milk cakes Daemon, if those cats, lizards and snakes eat your precious daughter. I am not birthing you another,” you pouted as he slotted himself behind you, lifting your shift to lay his warm palm upon the babes moving within you.

“Hush, just shhh,�� he hummed against your temple. “What animal do you want, I’ll get you one to be rid of this fuss,” he mused.

“I have you, isn’t that more than enough,” you chuckled, already picturing the scowl that settled behind you.

“Huh, I am a dragon, just as these beauties within,” he poked at your middle.

“I was thinking more of a cute white sheep,” you giggled once more.

“Oh? Sheep is it,” his brows shot up as he turned your body to lay under him as he held his weight up by his elbow next to you head. “Would a sheep make you swell so full, hmm.”

The piercing gaze of his eyes made you wriggle underneath him as you shook your head.

“Make your breasts-“ Daemon’s salacious deeds would have continued had you not heard a very faint crack, you both stared at the egg for moment before Daemon shook his head and resumed pressing kissed down your neck.

Another faint crack,

“Gods Daemon!” you whispered in shook as you furiously tapped his shoulder, the top of the egg cracked open. Both of you froze in your compromising position before Daemon shuffled of you and rushed for the door.

You wanted to peak inside, yet you knew to give the little things it’s time to realize what was happening. Daemon returned with a groggy Alyssa with her head buried in his shoulder. “Darling look,” he shook her, patting her back to wake her up just enough to see what she was to become.

The egg rattled as a wing popped out, one of red membranes and purple scales, then popped out it’s tiny head. Alyssa, though usually a loud child, silently watched as her new friend crawled away from the egg pot.

Alyssa lifted her baby finger, apprehensively hiding her face in Daemon’s chest as the baby dragon grazed her skin. She flinched away only to turn to you with the widest smile you had ever seen. “Name it,” you whispered.

“Dragon!” She excitedly whispered making Daemon and you chuckle. “Yes zaldrititos, but you cannot name a dragon, Dragon,” Alyssa’s smile downturned as she looked to her father. You could tell she was thinking hard, reaching within her small vocabulary to find a name.

“Crocus,” she looked to her father for approval, you shook your head. After all, something of yours influenced her as she named the dragon a flower from your hand grown gardens.

“Crocus,” he agreed.

Alyssa sat upon the rug with the baby dragon climbing in her shoulder as Daemon returned to sit next you, the scene unfolding in front of you, so intimate and sweet you hadn’t realized your eyes were wet until Daemon wiped at them.

“Daemon,” you sniffled, he hummed as a reply.

“You bring another animal into the house, you sleep on the floor,”

[marthawrites]

Sand and Sky

Daemon Targaryen x POC fem reader

Word Count: 1.8k+

About: Upon arriving to King's Landing with your cousin, Criston Cole, you meet Daemon Targaryen. Little time passes before desire of the flesh overtake both of you.

Includes: SMUT. This is just porn. Featuring overstimulation, pussy eating, vaginal fingering, pussy slapping, mild humiliation, unprotected vaginal sex, (somewhat) public sex, clothed sex, mild choking, spanking

Note: Hello lovely reader! Story is based on THIS request and HERE is the prompt list used. If the anon who sent the request is here, I apologize for making you wait so long! I hope this story makes up for it. I'm putting the whole fic beneath a read more. Reader is dornish from an unspecified House. As always, please enjoy!

“I could eat you out for days,” Daemon groaned into your soaken, swollen folds; the Targaryen Prince completely nonchalant in regard to the lewd slurps he licked and sucked all along you.

A wet spot stained the chair's cushion you sat upon. Something between a hiss, moan, and whine jumped from your throat as Daemon gave your overstimulated cunt little break from back-to-back orgasms. Your spine arched, thighs flexed, and the toes of one foot pressed onto the ground while your other leg slung over one of his wide shoulders. Today, it was he who knelt before you. Your fingers slid through his long silver hair. You didn’t know if you wanted to pull him deeper into you or push him away. “Please, my prince…!” You panted. Sweat sheened atop your olive skin like tiny jewels. The fine hairs along your neck clung to it in small curls. How many times had he pushed you to peak? You’d lost count at three – once with fingers and twice with mouth – and that was some time ago, now.

“I’m on my knees eating your cunt and you dare push me away?” He asked, violet eyes ablaze with lust and mocking anger as he stared up past your heaving breasts to your face. “Mannerless girl,” he said as he smacked your sensitive folds. “Many a whore dream of this and you have the thought to push me away?” A laugh echoed his question before he dove back in, unrelenting. This time, his fingers joined, too. Handsome lips wrapped around your hard little pearl while two fingers pushed up into your empty cunny. 

You squealed, and in the same moment your legs trembled to tautness. “Gods!” His name tumbled from your mouth in broken stutters. You squeezed into his hair, hard, thighs pressing firmly around his head as your hips, as if beyond your control, ground against his face and fingers through an intense, almost aggressive, orgasm. “Too much! Too much, Daemon. Please, my prince, let me rest,” you begged. The wet spot beneath your ass had doubled in size.

He looked up at you again with that same desire and violence alike. “So pretty begging,” he cooed, mouth and chin smeared with your slick. “Ask nicely and I might let you suck my cock.” All the while he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you. He turned his wrist, flexing it, as he mercilessly bullied your hidden patch of nerves that had your eyes rolling closed. 

By now your legs were open and fully relaxed. And, too, your cunt. The sloppy wet sounds of his finger fucking sent humiliation burning your cheeks. Part of you hoped he wouldn’t notice while the other part hoped he would. 

Since your arrival to King’s Landing with your cousin, Criston Cole, hardly a day passed without Daemon taking use of you. The attraction between you and him was instant and fierce. You, a childless newly widowed dornish lady, and him, Daemon fucking Targaryen. Tales of the Rogue Prince traveled from The Wall to Sunspear and everywhere between. He didn’t need any introductions. When you sauntered and circled around him like a desert panther he followed you with calculated eyes. When you spoke to him in low, sultry tones, he leaned all the closer to hear each clip and dip of your accented words. Your dark eyes bewitched the dragon in him. Before night fell on the second day of your arrival, he was buried to his stones between your legs. Dorne was the only people to slay a dragon: your nails dug into his wide, muscled back, and you rent him in passion.

You’d been in King’s Landing for a fortnight, and now, with a face hot from humiliation, was another thing he could taunt you with during your next tryst. For there would be another. And another. And another. 

You cried out in bliss. White, and hot, and beautiful, your whole body tightened before relaxing with a swarm of gooseflesh. 

“I told you to stay quiet, didn’t I?” He asked, hissing voice dripping with amusement at your state of wanton debauchery. The room you were in was only a side room off one of the main corridors – oft used for overflow, recreation, or a quiet place to study. The idea of anyone coming in at any time brought forth another layer of excitement. But, in turn, you did have to stay at least a little quiet. A woman moaning and whimpering in passion would surely bring curious ears (and mayhaps eyes, too). The prince wasn’t in a mood to share. Before you could answer he chuckled coldly. His free arm lifted and he pushed two fingers past your painted lips. It muffled you to his satisfaction. He smirked. “You look so pretty with my fingers stuffed inside of you,” he said as he admired the sight of both sets of your lips wrapped around his digits.

Finally, just as tiny beads of sweat began dripping down your neck, Daemon gave you a break. He still had his fingers stuffed in you, but he didn’t move them. He simply kept them inside of you. Feeling you. Enjoying you. Letting you gather yourself while he watched with great amusement. Eventually you did and you returned his gaze with darkly glittering eyes.

Two could play his cruel game. 

“Is this where your favorite whores would be tired out, my prince?” You asked sweetly. “Perhaps you need a reminder of how we are made differently in Dorne,” you proclaimed. Your features brightened with a second wind as you moved a foot to the center of the prince’s partially clothed chest and kicked him back. With a feline grace you maneuvered to straddle his waist. Smiling atop him, it was your turn to take the reins. In all honesty you weren’t sure if he’d let you be so forceful with him, and the fact he did sent the desire in your blood roaring. You were both still partially clothed, but it mattered little. 

Daemon growled beneath you. Would he breathe fire next? You wondered.

“Don’t be gentle, riñītsos.” little girl In a hasty fumble of hands he opened the front of his breeches to free his cock. Its weight slapped against the inside of your thigh, hot and smooth and no doubt dripping with pre. You gasped. Satisfied. He was glorious.

“I wasn’t planning on it, sweet prince.” The saccharine melody of your voice was so unlike your normal cadence that it sent his cock twitching just as you began to sink down on it. He was big, and thick, and hot, and so, so, wonderful. You couldn’t help the moan which poured from your mouth. You savored the stretch of him. Your slick, fleshy walls yielded inch by inch until your cunt was full to its end. You both groaned at the sensation. Slowly, you started to grind back and forth on him, your body acclimating to his size. “You’ve the best cock in all the Kingdoms, my prince,” you said breathily. One of your hands pushed up the center of his abdomen, chest, collar, until you dared to wrap your hand around the strong pillar of his neck. You pressed your fingers just so.

Below you, Daemon’s eyes blackened like a sharks. Leaning up on an elbow, the hand of the other flew up to your neck where he held the slim thing inside his much bigger, much firmer, hand. “Have I been too soft on you that you think you can hold me by the throat?” He asked, driving his hips up into you – setting the pace for the fucking he intended to give you. “Answer me when I talk to you, riña.” girl

Not letting go of his neck, you bounced with his rhythm. Your breasts did, too, the dark nipples of each tightened to pebbles as you tried to keep pace with him. His stamina surpassed yours, and you were already running low from his ravished mouth and fingers. Still, you tried. “You look so good under me,” you praised. 

Whether he accepted or denied your praise, you couldn’t tell. The next thing you knew he laughed, low and sinister, and curled his body up so you were breast to breast. He pushed you over with ease. With you on all fours, the side of your face squished against the rugged stone floor, he rucked your silken hems up around your waist and instantly shoved his cock back into you. “You can come when I tell you to come, understood?” He asked with a firm slap to your upturned asscheek, sparing it no mercy as he fucked into you for his own pleasure. If he thought you were being too loud before – and if his brain was in his head rather than his cock – he’d have shoved something in your mouth to quiet you. Between your sounds of pleasure, and the obscenity of skin slapping on wet skin, anyone with warm blood in their veins would know what’s transpiring in this room.

You were back to babbling his name, yes’s, and please’s, over and over again, your body absolutely wrecked at the intensity of his fucking. You loved every single second of it. Numbness and weightlessness traveled out from your spine to the rest of your body. Before you knew it you were soaking him down to his balls. 

He slapped your asscheek again. Twice, this time. “I don’t remember saying you could come,” he growled by your ear, his breath hot against your neck. His pace never softened. “Let’s try that again. Go on, one more time. I know you can do it.”

You had no idea how you could give him another one. Your second wind gave out, and yet, still, he wanted more. Pushed you to more. “‘M sorry, Dae-mon,” you stuttered through the slapping of his pelvis against you. “Felt too-o good,” you whined.

“Gonna fill this pretty cunt up. Fuck you full with a royal bastard.” He gripped both sides of your hips and didn’t stop until his own breath came in labored pants.

By then you were so far gone; the pleasure immense and all consuming. You were somewhere deep in your head, somewhere light and floating, as the Rogue Prince fucked you dumb. Senseless. Happy. 

“Come with me, riñītsos. Come with me, now, Come with me,” he grunted through strained breath. Climax found you both at the same moment. He spent his seed as deep into your body as he could go, letting the final twitches of his peak release every bit of him into you. 

Exhaustion settled over your body like wet sand. You rolled onto your back, and Daemon did the same; sated minutes passed silently while you both regained yourselves.

“What of the plans I had for the rest of the day now? I can’t go out looking like this,” you said, laughing, as you gestured to your once neatly curled and braided hair – not to mention your smudged make up.

Daemon looked at you, smirking. “Do you have any commoner’s clothes?”

“Hm… I believe so. Why is that?”

“Put them on. I’ll lend you an old cloak. Let me show you my favorite gambling tavern in Flea Bottom.”

-

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Masterlist

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @dreamsofoldvalyria @bel-bottoms @fan-goddess

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