#Daemyra and King's Landing

[lanaisdoe]

"... Daemon entertained her by making mock of the greens at court, the "lickspittles" fawning over Queen Alicent and her children. "

I miss the good old days when Rhaenyra and Alicent could hate each other in peace, as GRRM intended. They were never friends, there was a 10 year age difference between them and they really hated each other. Not to mention Alicent could be a conniving b*tch with a real agenda. No “doe eyes”, no “misunderstandings”, no nothing.

Since HBO took over, we have to endure some sort of twisted queerbaiting and a complete downgrade of Rhaenyra Targaryen because oh dear women simply hating each other for good reason is just not in accordance to today’s political agenda.

[mysticalcatpeanut]

They didn't have Lucerys's body for the funeral so to represent his whole life, Jace used his newborn clothes, Joffrey his toy as a child, Rhaenyra his clothes as an adult...

[mydairpercabeth]

I MISS THE RAGE

[bbygirl-aemond]

I'm so excited to see Aemond and Vhagar finally reunite in the next chapter!!

anon please do not get your hopes up i don't want you to get hurt

[emmadarcyextra]

My edit of Emma D'Arcy ❤️. Their smile is a gift from the gods!

It was really fun creating this edit (creation). Emma D'Arcy's smile was the inducement.😊

[lanaisdoe]

sometimes I ask myself how I got into this obsession about a stupid rogue prince but than I remember the moment he came on screen, casually sitting on the iron throne and slowly coming towards rhaenyra and saying "turn around" demanding but still with this raspy soft underdone and his fingers softly touching her neck and I knew in that moment that I was lost because my mind what's like? turn around? like how deep? on the iron throne? this indruction scene got it all, no hiding, and even in that very first scene the chemistry was just insane.

[starogeorgina]

𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝

Parings: Alys Rivers x reader, Daemyra x reader

Warnings: Smut, swearing, choking, incest, slight dubcon (under the influence of magic)

You had yet to decide if being forced to travel to Harrenhal alone in the name of your brother and king, Aegon, to persuade the river lords to fight for him was the best or worst thing to happen to you during the war. You arrived days before Daemon did, but you had barely spoken to anyone; you had been far too trapped in your own mind to rally an army.

“Good girl, just like that.”

Alys’s praise causes the throbbing between your legs to worsen. If the rumors were to be believed, Alys Rivers was a witch, and you weren’t sure if you believed she was anything other than a temptress. From the moment your dragon landed at Harrenhal, you sensed something shifting—a charge in the air. You arrived during the hour of the owl, and Ser Simon Strong had been a gracious hoist and honest about not bending the knee to Aegon from the beginning. He also warned you to stay away from Alys.

She starts rutting against your face while you suck on her clit. “Are you going to do everything I say, precious?”

Unable to answer verbally, you nod.

“Good. I know that tongue of yours can be used for more than just a witty comeback, so I expect you to use it on the silver-haired queen.”

You nod again.

Alys looks down at you with a smirk on her face; she thrives welding such power over a dragon. She strokes your hair and says, “You’ll take the king consort's seed and seduce the queen. Pleasure her as you do me.”

Perhaps Alys was a witch; it was the only logical reason why you would agree to such a thing.

Alys squeezes your breast, causing you to press your thighs together. She moans, “I want you to moan for them. Let them hear the sweet sounds of you coming undone.”

You finally remove your mouth from her cunny. “What do I do after?”

“When they are done fucking you, you come and find me.” She smiles down at you, her hand delicately resting above your forehead. “But first, you will finish pleasuring me, and then I shall return the favor until the time is right.”

—

“She’s been too busy burying her head between the witch's thighs to raise an army.”

Daemon wasn’t wrong; you were preoccupied with Alys when Rhaenyra arrived at Harrenhal. The army her husband had gathered bent the knee to her, and the couple had reunited. You raise your brows, challenging him, “Jealous?”

His lips twitch as he fights back the urge to lash back, but the look on Rhaenyra's face prevents him from saying anything further. She had you brought to their bedchamber to speak in privacy. “Last we spoke, you mentioned your mother was pushing to find you a match; did you make one?”

“I refused every man she put before me.”

The line of questioning had nothing to do with the war being waged. Perhaps the witch was messing with everyone's minds.

“Why?” She asks sternly.

“Mirre se vali sia nākostōbā.” (All the men were weak.)

She smirks, “You want to marry someone who shares the blood of the dragon.”

“No, I don’t want to marry them. I just want their seed.” You chuckle, “Don’t look so surprised, sister; we both know the men we choose to marry don’t need to father whatever children we bear. I don’t see an issue with wanting to keep our bloodline pure.”

Rhaenyra and Daemon share a look. They silently exchange words, and when Rhaenyra nods her husband's strut over to you, he takes your chin in his hand. “The queen is not only generous; she is merciful. She will spare your life and will allow me to fill you with my seed, but only if you swear to fight for her.”

“I swear.”

“Sȳz riña.” (Good girl)

Rhaenyra traces her hand along the curve of your ass. “The child and any dragon they bond with will only fight for me.”

“Yes.”

Daemon comes up behind you and rubs your breasts through your dress. When he feels your nipples become hard, he pinches them. His lips brush against your ear. “Say yes, my queen.”

“Yes, my queen.”

He chuckled cruelly, “such a wanton princess.

“A spoilt princess,” Rhaenyra adds. “Strip for us.”

Quickly, you take off your dress and stand naked in front of them. The thought of being touched by them both excited and terrified you.

Rhaenyra looks you up and down with a wicked smile on her face. “Lay on your back and open your legs.”

Following her command, you get onto the bed and lay on your back. The blue sheets beneath you are soft against your skin. Heat rushes to your cheeks when you spread your legs open and expose yourself to both of them.

Rhaenyra tuts seeing how wet you are. “And I suppose I’ll need to make sure you’re ready to take the king's cock,” her tone mocking, yet she slides her nails across the soft flesh of your thigh, then slides a finger into your wet cunny with ease. “She is tight.”

“Oh,” Daemon taps his cock against your mouth. As soon as your lips parted, Daemon shoved himself into your mouth. “You are indeed a merciful queen.”

Rhaenyra removed her own clothing; the curves of her body are a beautiful sight to see. She stands between your legs and leans down. She flicks her tongue over your clit a few times, but when you moan, she stops. “You are enjoying this far too much. This is a privilege you should be working harder for.”

Like an obedient worker in a pillow house, you take him deeper into your mouth. Daemon groans, feeling the vibrations of you gagging on his cock. He wipes the saliva pooling from your mouth and spreads it across your breasts. “You enjoy being used; perhaps we will bring you back to Dragonstone to be the queen's whore. Would you like that?”

You nod while choking on him.

“She’s so wet.” Rhaenyra kneels between your thighs, and her tongue dips in between your folds.

Daemon pulls his cock from your mouth and watches as his wife scissors two fingers inside your cunt and sucks on your clit, stretching you out for him. From the skilled way Rhaenyra fucks you with her finger and mouth, you know this isn’t the first time she’s touched a woman.

Coming undone, you arch your back and coat her fingers with your juices.

Rhaenyra and Daemon switch places, and while he slides the head of his cock between your folds, you take Rhaenyra's breast into your mouth and suck greedily.

Daemon mumbles something in High Valyrian, then roughly pushes into you, stretching your cunt on his cock.

Feeling your body tense, Rhaenyra glides her hand over your stomach and, using two fingers, starts rubbing your clit. “You are taking him well. Is this your first time being bedded by a man?”

You let go of her breast to answer her, “Yes.”

Daemon lightly slaps your thigh.

“Yes, my queen.”

Smirking Daemon says, “The princess is learning quickly.”

Alys voice echoes inside your head, telling you to please Rhaenyra just as you did her. “My queen, please, let me pleasure you with my mouth.”

Her free hand is suddenly around your neck, and Rhaenyra squeezes hard to make you squirm without completely cutting off your air supply. Her lips graze against yours. “Do you think you deserve to taste me?”

“No, my queen, I don't. But I do wish to make you feel good.”

Rhaenyra smashes her lips against yours, then abruptly pulls away. Daemon speeds up his thrusts while Rhaenyra gets onto the bed and straddles your face. Alys has taught you how to fuck a woman with your tongue and fingers, and it doesn’t take Rhaenyra long to start moaning your name.

Her screams of pleasure are silenced by Daemon when he captures his lips.

The sounds of them kissing are exhilarating. Your legs are gripped tightly and held open wider as Daemon’s thrusts become sloppy. It only takes a few more rubs at your clit for you to come undone again, but your moans are muffled by Rhaenyra’s cunt. The vibrations of your moans tip her over the edge; she squeezes your breast harshly while riding her high against your face.

Daemon fingers dig into your hips. He grunts, spilling his seed inside you.

Rhaenyra gets off you and tenderly kisses your neck; her skin is shinny with sweat, and her head is disheveled. She looks beautiful. “What are you thinking about, princess?”

“That Harrenhal is cursed.”

Confused by your answer, she rests her head against your shoulder while Daemon caresses your leg with one hand and strokes his half-erect cock with the other. The king consort was far from done with you.

Somewhere in the distance, you hear Alys giggling. Taking Daemon’s seed was only the beginning of her plan.

[vaokses]

How long this love can hold its breath

Series Masterlist / General Masterlist

Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: It has been years since your mother took you from King's Landing to join her in Dragonstone. Years since you and Aegon have seen one another. Years in which he has refused, time and time again, to marry, even as you tour Westeros meeting suitors in search of a husband of your choosing. That refusal can easily be undone with a few words: it was you she chose, Aegon.

Word Count: 3.1k 

Warnings: Alicent's abuse of Aegon. Alcohol/drunkenness. Mentions of sex/prostitution. Usual Targaryen incest stuff. Arranged marriage stuff. Angst. Hurt and kind of no comfort for now.

Some AU/Setting stuff: Reader is a bastard of Daemyra (claimed by Laenor of course), firstborn child of Rhaenyra and heir to her mother's claim. She rides Vermithor. As you'll figure out thorugh this one shot, she and Aegon had a thing when she was still in King's Landing. How relevant or impactful that 'thing' was depends on who of the two you ask. I've stretched the timeline a bit. Rhaenyra spent a few years more in King's Landing (making Aegon around 16/7 when she leaves, and the Reader, the eldest of the Velaryons, around 14/5). Instead of six years in Dragonstone, the Blacks have spent around three there in this story. Viserys still lives (and is rotting slightly slower), Aegon and Helaena did not marry.

A/N: My first work in this fandom, so i'm a bit nervous. This is a bit of a prologue/alternate PoV for a series I have in the works, but I wanted to share it as a one shot since I think it also works as one. I hope you like this!

Title is from the quote "I've hoarded your name in my mouth for months. My throat is a beehive pitched in the river. Look! Look how long this love can hold its breath." - Sierra DeMulder

It feels as if he has just rested his head on his pillow when he hears the heavy doors being pushed open, and the familiar hurried steps of his mother as she enters his apartments. 

He isn’t sure why he bothers by now in telling the guards not to let her in, since she insists on overruling his orders whenever she wishes. 

Still half-asleep, Aegon reaches for the bedsheet covering his body, wary of any attempt she might make in her anger to pull it off him. Surprisingly, his mother stops a few steps away from the foot of the bed. 

Aegon feels her piercing gaze on him, and aware the choice is between caving and chasing after her, asking her what it is she wants; or waiting for the anger at his unwillingness to follow the unspoken command -and the thrown object, or the stinging hit, that comes after said anger-; he drags his hands over his face in an effort to wake himself further and asks,  

“What is it, mother?” 

“Where in the Father’s name were you? Three days, Aegon,” He winces at the reprimand. In his defense, he truly didn’t think they’d notice. Helaena would, perhaps, but she wouldn’t seek him out either way. “You were gone for three days.” 

“I wasn’t…far. I didn’t even leave King’s Landing.” 

She starts letting out a sigh, laced with disappointment and annoyance, but stops herself short, instead turning her back to him and pacing a few steps away. 

“I know where it is you go to…to satiate your vices, caring not for the shame it brings to your name and mine, behaving most unlike your station.” 

“Then why did you ask?” 

His mother won’t turn to look at him, her back turned to him and her hands joined in front of her. 

“Your sister was here.” 

His brow furrows in confusion. 

“My sister is always here.” 

“Rhaenyra was here, Aegon.” 

“Oh. What for?” 

Alicent turns on her side, considers him with eyes widened in afront and mouth curled in disgust. The question leaves her lips slowly, a threat and a dare all at once. 

“Are you still drunk?” 

He mulls over the question for a few moments, and realizes his thoughts are entirely too calm for him to be already sober. The numb haziness of the night before remains, a comfort. 

“I think I might be,” He admits, eyes darting to the side and lingering on the pitcher of wine on a nearby table. He wonders if it is empty. “Slightly.” 

When it seems his mother is intent on merely staring at him in disappointment, he motions for her to turn away and gets dressed. 

He can’t help but feel unseemly, standing before his mother in rumpled clothes and disheveled hair, while she stands tall with not a strand of hair out of order, not a speck of dust on her dress. Then again, even at his best he hasn’t managed not to feel small, unsuited, by comparison. 

Instead of letting those thoughts linger, aided by the comfortable haze the wine from the previous night -or nights, rather- provides him with, Aegon moves to sit on a table in one of the darker parts of the room. 

Alicent follows quietly, but she doesn’t sit. 

“I come here with news. You are to be married, n-…” 

He shakes his head with a mocking laugh, the defiance as easy as breathing, after four years of holding the same stance. He might not have a say in much, but he does in this. 

“No, I’m not.” 

“Your father has approved of this union. As have I.” 

He shrugs his shoulders. 

“Then you are welcome to marry her yourselves. I shall hope for a long and happy marriage for you three.” 

Sometimes, perhaps in foolish hope, in some hollow fantasy, he thinks his impertinence amuses his mother. He might imagine it, he’s quite certain he does, but sometimes he swears she furrows her lips to hide the faintest of smiles. 

But of course, she shows no give, betrays not a flicker of amusement, of softness, of anything. Try as he might to earn any of them. 

“I did not come here to entertain insolence.” 

“Why did you come here, mother?” He asks, not able to reign in the restless movements of his hands, fingers tapping an irregular rhythm on the table. “My stance hasn’t changed. And it won’t.” 

The restlessness building within her is betrayed in the small movements of her hands that increase in intensity the longer she looks at him. With a sudden movement, she slams a hand on the table between them and leans closer. 

“You cannot go on like this, Aegon, shrinking your duty because of the denial of a caprice of your youth.” 

“It was the one thing I asked for. I haven’t asked for anything since, nor did I ask for anything before.” 

His mother scoffs in response, looking away. 

“And that is reason enough for your wish to be granted?” She asks, derisive, almost jeering. Alicent leans back, straightens her stance again. Not too unlike Aemond adjusting his posture to strike with his sword during training, he supposes. “You have gone through your entire life doing as you please, not considering the cost to your family, to your House, to me, and you expected to be rewarded?” 

But he has considered the cost, has had no choice but to consider it, when every choice, every action, it seems almost every thought, is heavy with the impact it might have on his name, on his family. He has considered the cost, but try as he might no choice, no action, has been enough. 

“It would have…It would have changed things. If you had said yes,” He argues, an argument repeated, in his head if not aloud, a thousand times over in these passing years. And yet restlessness builds within him regardless, and he finds himself grasping at the table to keep his hands from fidgeting. “It was the smart choice. You know father would have been for it. You could have kept Vermithor on our side, and given them no choice but to play by our rules with their daughter here. We might have won this war you want so b-…” 

“All I have wanted is to make sure your lives are not forfeit when your father dies. It is not war I want.” 

“Then why did you say no?” 

She shakes her head as she looks away again. 

“The matter is settled. Long settled.” 

“Yet you never told me why.” 

He wants to hear it. More than an apology for denying him a chance at happiness, more than an admission that beyond the feelings of any involved it was the smartest choice, more than anything, he wants to hear her tell him why. 

She didn’t even hear his reasons, she didn’t even consider proposing the union to your mother, or Viserys. She dismissed him, and denied him, without even a second thought. 

He wants to know the reason why. If it was because she knew of you something he didn’t, and was certain you would have rejected him even at the cost of your home and life as you knew it, he wants to know. If it was because she believes him so monstrous that she wished to protect even the daughter of her lifelong adversary from him, he wants to know. 

If it was because in his weakness and his failings he has made himself into something even his own mother wishes to see punished, or because there was something he did -because it had to be something he did, there cannot be so many that were supposed to love him and refuse to for it not to be something he is doing wrong, something about him that is wrong- that not only managed to make his mother’s love for him vanish, but also earned him her scorn, he wants to know. He thinks knowing that to be the truth would splinter him in a way he isn’t sure he’d be able to recover from, but he is tired, and alone, and he wants to know why. 

He searches his mother’s gaze, desperate for an answer, any answer. She looks back, and yet all that is reflected back at him is contempt, disappointment, and what he fears is disgust. 

“It has been years, Aegon. You are being senselessly stubborn, holding onto this…this grudge against me.” 

He makes a face at her words, and grabs the pitcher in the table before him only to find it empty, the only wine remaining being that still in the half-filled cup. 

“It is not a grudge, I-..”  

“Weakness, then,” She sentences, and he doesn’t bother hiding the flinch at her words. His gaze lowers to the table before him. “You’re being a fool, if you think after all this t-…” 

His eyes are set on the half-full cup of wine before him, and he doesn’t dare move his gaze as he interrupts, “I am not marrying, mother.” 

She considers him in silence, and though for a moment he thinks a hit is to come -he doesn’t usually get away with interrupting her-, followed by her footsteps leaving the room, his mother takes a deep breath and insists, 

“It is not me or your father who request this of you. It is your King who commands it.” 

“The King, or his Hand?” He retorts. He grabs at the cup and downs the remaining liquid, making a face at the taste of stale wine, and presses on, “I’m guessing a Baratheon, to earn Borros’ support? Or a Tully, to secure the Riverlands?” 

For the briefest of moments, when his mother’s lips press into a thin line, hands fidgeting where they rest joined before her, he thinks he finally got the upper hand. That he proved he isn’t as blind to their plots and their increasing panic at Rhaenyra’s influence as he may appear. That he proved her wrong, that he showed he isn’t as incompetent as they’d like to think, that he… 

“A Velaryon,” Alicent admits, and any pride, any satisfaction, die out like flames in a room without air. His lips part, he knows not for what since all that leaves them is a choked breath, the beginning of a question, of a name. Aegon searches his mother’s gaze, attempts to find any truth, any certainty, but Alicent looks away. Her next words sound as if heard from underwater. “To keep you from certain execution when your sister ascends the Iron Throne.” 

“Do not toy with me, mother,” He means for it to sound like an accusation, like a demand, like anything but a plea, and yet that is what leaves his lips. Betrayed by the waver in his voice, by the iron grip on the glass, he goes on, “She’s touring the whole of fucking Westeros in search of a husband as we speak.”  

“She has made her choice, Aegon. It was you she chose,” She promises, and her voice is low and warm and almost comforting, so why does it feel wrong? Why does it make him want to crawl out of his own skin? “As for the tour, it will continue as scheduled. Rhaenyra deserted her own tour before time was due, she knows better than to repeat her mother’s mistake.” 

Breathable air is lacking by this chair, in this room, and he stands up, wincing at the too-loud sound of the chair scraping against the ground. 

He eyes a pitcher of wine in another table, and crosses the distance with quick strides, refilling his cup and draining half of it before turning to his mother again. 

“Why tell me now? I-If the tour is to continue,” If she can still change her mind, “Why tell me now?” 

“Your grandsire and I believed you might take this opportunity to amend your behaviors,” Alicent tells him, “So you might save your future wife the embarrassment, so you might protect her honor, seeing as you do not care for ours or your own.” 

She hasn’t said your name yet, he notices.  

Neither has he, but he has forgotten when it was the last time that he said it aloud. Intentionally, that is, he doesn’t count any time he let it slip past his lips when deep in his cups or buried inside some whore with the wrong shade of silver in her hair -and the wrong eyes, and the wrong voice, and the wrong smile, and the wrong touch-. 

Aegon can’t even remember when it was that he decided he wouldn’t utter your name again, all he knows is that through the years what started out of spite, as a way to deny the wound and the absence; has become something else. It has become to him something like a secret, something to be hoarded, to be kept his alone. 

Because there’s pride, and satisfaction, and something rotten but his, in having known you in ways no other did. In remembering you how he is certain -he has to be, it is of the few things he has left- no one has known you. 

And so he doesn’t speak your name. Lest in sharing any of the warmth of a bond long gone he loses it, dying embers to a strong wind; lest in admitting old truths he is left behind also by the part of you that he keeps safe, a secret only his. 

But now in his head resonate so loudly that they drown anything else -like thunder, like the beat of Vermithor’s wings taking you far up into the sky- his mother’s words.  

It was you she chose. 

Thinking of you has always meant the resurgence of the memory of the goodbye you refused to grant him, of waking to the reverberating cry of Vermithor as he took to the skies with you on his back and flew you away to Dragonstone; or the memory of your disappointment and your sorrow as he avoided your gaze and your words when you met again in Driftmark.  

Yet now the memory that comes forth in his mind is another. 

You smiled at him, daring and entirely too proud. But how could you not be, when you both knew he would oblige? How could you not be, when he hadn’t been able to tear his gaze from your lips since you had asked him for something as simple as a kiss? And your voice was softer than he’d expected -or perhaps he remembers it softer than it was, perhaps he sees something else when desire was all there was-, warmer than it had ever been, when you whispered, I want it to be you. 

And what harm can your name do that his own mind hasn’t inflicted upon him already? What ruin can the uttering of such a familiar word bring that the memories haven’t wrought already? 

So he says your name. Willingly, rationally, for the first time in years.  

He thought the foolish refusal to utter your name aloud kept you distant, kept the memory of you, the idea of you, as something far from him, gone from him. But he realizes now, with the shape of your name parting his lips and the taste of memories staining his tongue like ash; that you have been a distant memory, a distant dream, for a very long time. 

And the knowledge that you chose him, the helpless hope that blooms somewhere in his chest, they cannot do a thing against the horrifying certainty that the future he wanted, the future he mourned, is lost to him regardless of your choices now. 

What can he give you now, that that Tyrell knight the rumors say you were so enamored with cannot? How can he not fail whatever expectations you have of him, as he has failed all others? How could you want him now, as what he has made out of himself in these years you’ve spent apart? 

It was a comfort, he realizes now, thinking you lost. The comfort of knowing he couldn’t fail you, couldn’t earn your scorn when he had merely your indifference. 

A bitter, wretched little laugh leaves his lips then, and he turns his head -to hide, perhaps, the tears brimming in his eyes, the weakness his mother so loathes to see from him- and looks out the window towards the distant skies. 

Alicent doesn’t move, merely stands taller, prouder, and presses, 

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” 

Of course, this is what he fucking wanted, but nearly four years have gone by since he asked to be allowed to marry you and was refused. Even if some part of him wants it, wants you, still, it matters not. 

It is what he wanted, before. Before everything got worse, before everything got louder, harder. Before he got worse. Before you forgot about him. 

His mother approaches him then, and though he jumps when he sees her reach for him out of the corner of his eye, she grabs onto his forearm and speaks again, forceful, determined, 

“Listen to me, Aegon. Your sister has secured her hold on the Seven Kingdoms, both through the strength of her dragons and through her eldest children’s diplomacy with the noble Houses,” His mother tells him, but he cannot hear her, not over the warring thoughts of finally, finally, finally, and too late, too late, too late. “Rhaenyra has allowed for this to happen because she wishes to extend an offer of peace, and you cannot squander this opportunity.” 

He turns to her and asks, quietly, forlorning, “Why now?” 

“What?” 

“Why now?”

Why now, that everything is worse? Why now, that he has become this? 

For a moment, a flickering moment gone in the blink of an eye, he thinks he sees sadness, sympathy, in his mother’s warm gaze. For a moment, he believes she will offer words or touch in the way she hasn’t before, in comfort or in reassurance. 

But her gaze falls from his, and her grip on his arm -too tight, almost bruising, yet wanted, needed, if it is all he can get- loosens as she lets go of him. 

“The betrothal will be announced when the tour is over. The wedding in a week’s time from then.” She tells him, detached, not unlike a messenger delivering a missive. 

And with that she leaves his apartments. The door closing echoes in his mind, and he is left behind with a loneliness he doesn’t know where to put, and a hope he doesn’t know how not to fear. 

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it, and I would love to hear your thoughts!

I am endlessly fascinated by the greens and their deeply weird dynamics, and I hope I did them a modicum of justice, even when changed in this AU and despite the influence of fanon in my interpretations of them.

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere Daemon/Rhaenyra Targaryen w/Rhaenyra's Twin!Sister Headcanons (Poly!Romantic)

❝ — 🐉 lady l: this is weirdly long but I needed to get it out of my head! This is based on a concept they sent me a while ago. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! ❤️

❝tw: incest, slight nsfw, obsessive and possessive behavior, jealousy, mention of pregnancy.

❝🐉pairing: yandere!daemyra x rhaenyra's twin sister!reader.

You were Rhaenyra's twin, born a few minutes after her, and because of that, she always had a strong instinct to protect you, to take care of you and she always does. All your life, it was you and Rhaenyra against the world. And this arrangement always left you satisfied, you loved your sister and she loved you fervently in return.

Rhaenyra has always been very persuasive and for as long as you can remember she would convince you of anything; breaking rules, running away, stealing cake from the kitchen and getting into trouble. She didn't care, she valued you deeply and wanted to spend all her time with you.

Aemma and Viserys sometimes went crazy with the two of you being so naughty, but in the end, they always joined you. Aemma tried to be a little tougher with you both, but she always gave in eventually. Viserys didn't even try.

Rhaenyra was very possessive too, because you were her twin sister, she always felt entitled and that you belonged to her. After all, you shared the same womb and were born together, you belonged to her, in a way.

She was always quite bold and direct, and was often reprimanded for it. Rhaenyra knew she loved you more than she should have, but you were Targaryens, according to the traditions of your house and family, there was nothing wrong with her being in love with you. It was just the Targaryen way.

The only problem was that you were a woman. Not for her, that would never be a problem, but for others it would. She couldn't marry you and have you officially and it tore her apart inside.

That didn't mean she hid what she felt from you, because once she knew what she felt, Rhaenyra went to your room, which was next to hers, and confessed to you. It was embarrassing and a little awkward, but she was being sincere and it touched you.

You felt the same way about her too and it was eating you alive not being able to tell her, but she took the first step and you felt grateful. You didn't have any kind of experience, but you knew some things. The first kiss was sloppy and a little awkward, but it was understandable given the lack of experience between the two of you, but it was a precious moment,

You just kissed and hugged for a while, not knowing how to proceed. Until Daemon returns to King's Landing after winning the war in the Stepstones. You always liked your uncle, even though he caused a lot of trouble, he entertained you. And the feeling was mutual.

Daemon knew there was something between you and Rhaenyra, he very quickly noticed the looks and subtle touches you exchanged. It wasn't something platonic, he knew that and he wanted to know more.

During the night of Daemon's return, you had gone to Rhaenyra's room, as you always did, and there you found, along with her, some clothes left by your uncle and a note. Although your mind was full of doubts, you changed and followed your sister, who seemed excited for some reason.

Meeting up with Daemon, you explored a bit of King's Landing and before you knew it, you were in a brothel. You observed your surroundings with curiosity and interest, men and women doing intimate things.

When Daemon kissed Rhaenyra, you felt mixed feelings; surprise and jealousy being the biggest one. You would maybe scream at him when he kissed you, his experienced and strong lips yours, leaving you weak. You felt a desire rise within you.

His touches were strong and good, he knew what he was doing and you felt numb as he explored your body with his hands. Rhaenyra watched everything curiously. But something had changed inside him, as Daemon decided to stop touching you and left you and Rhaenyra alone in the brothel. You wanted to kill him here.

You and Rhaenyra returned to the Red Keep, sneaking out so you wouldn't be found and you both knew you wouldn't be able to sleep after witnessing what you saw. So, it was that night that you went further and had sex for the first time.

It wasn't something shy, but rather intimate. You had no experience, but it was good. Rhaenyra touched your body with care and her tongue loved your most sensitive parts, she quickly learned how to pleasure you. You reciprocated the pleasure as best you could, with your face buried between her legs, eliciting sighs and moans from her.

The following days were tortuous. Viserys had found out about your escapade and Daemon had been exiled and Rhaenyra was forced to marry Laenor. You would also have to get married, but your husband had not yet been chosen. Your sister's wedding was a painful time for you and her, the two of you constantly exchanging glances and Daemon had returned to the wedding, widowed and with your father's very reluctant permission, you and Daemon had gotten married.

After the wedding, you were forced to separate from Rhaenyra and you lived in Pentos with Daemon. You had learned to love your husband and he loved you, so it wasn't bad. Your heart ached to be away from your twin sister, but you were happy with your husband.

Daemon wasn't that bad, at least to you. He was loyal and treated you with kindness and respect, loving every part of you and comforting you when you were in pain. His kisses were more demanding and dominant, just like sex. Although very possessive and sometimes annoying, Daemon took care of you the best way he could.

Daemon had a lot of experience and knew how to please you, his fingers dipped between your legs and his mouth on your breasts or when he was buried in your heat he made you scream with pleasure.

You and Rhaenyra exchanged letters and a few years passed and children were born. You had two daughters with Daemon, twins, and Rhaenyra had had three sons. You met again at your cousin Laena's funeral, and a weight was lifted from your shoulders when she pulled you into a hug and held you, not wanting to let you go.

The three of you found yourself in a part away from all the whining and all the longing was broken. Words were exchanged, mainly between Daemon and Rhaenyra and when there was nothing more to be said, the clothes were removed and you made love on the floor, the longing prolonging the reunion.

Unbeknownst to you, while you were sleeping, Rhaenyra and Daemon met and actually talked. They knew they both loved you deeply and wanted you and were willing to cooperate and the best way was for you to get married in a traditional valyrian ceremony. With the plans made, Laenor was "eliminated".

You were shocked and saddened by your cousin's death, but you felt relieved because it now meant that Rhaenyra would be free.

During one afternoon, you, Daemon and Rhaenyra were married in a traditional valyrian ceremony, where you could be officially married. You became Rhaenyra's wife and she became yours and Daemon's. Finally you were complete and when the kiss was given, sealing the union, you knew there was more to this marriage.

The wedding with your uncle and sister would prove to be one of your fondest memories after the tragedy that followed over the next few years.

But for now, you would enjoy your possessive and protective husband and wife as much as you could, because only the gods know it won't be for long.

[targaryen-dynasty]

YOU’RE THE ONLY THING THAT I PRAY FOR. (3/3)

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/Targcest (uncle & niece), p in v, slight degrading kink, slight breeding kink, this is plot with a whole lot of smut at the end, Valyrian wedding, mentions blood

WORDS: 4.6 K

NOTES: So, this Valyrian wedding is somewhat different to the one in Precious Delights. I took the Daemyra wedding for inspiration, and kinda blamed it on Grandmaster Benifer not being that educated on Valyrian customs (Maegor was just keen on marrying his niece and didn't care of the formalities).

Pentos' desperate need for an alliance against the Triarchy has really played into your hands when Daemon and you first arrived in the Free City. Two full-grown dragons descending not too far away from the city's borders didn’t go unnoticed, meaning it wasn’t long after that you’ve been summoned to the flamboyant castle of Reggio Haratis, the Prince of Pentos. 

Never before have you had the chance to marvel at Pentoshi architecture – or Essosi architecture in general – and were completely in awe as the gates of the castle opened to invite you inside. 

Even now, roughly a sennight after your relocation from the prince’s castle to an equally impressive manse, it’s still as mesmerizing as before; not as monotonous and undemanding as the architecture and tapestries harbored in the Red Keep. 

Reggio Haratis is generous enough to host you and your uncle, and has very recently offered to give you permanent residence in Pentos and gift you the manse you have occupied for no less than seven days. It’s a generous deal in exchange for the intimidating presences of your dragons, considering that with the manse also comes its farms, lands, vineyards, and wood. 

And of course your uncle hasn’t hesitated any moment to accept it – not if it keeps you away from Westeros.

You know Daemon has his own way of keeping tabs and staying informed of your family’s going-ons. He’s well aware of everything that’s happening in the Red Keep since there are several people lingering in it whose favor he has earned long ago that now are working as his spies and informants. 

They are procuring enough information to keep your fluttering nerves at bay, since Daemon is attentive enough to let you in on many of the things that happen in King’s Landing. And hence you know that the court is in a state of uproar, and your father balances between anger and despair, though you’re not aware that he has made it his personal mission to bring you back to the Red Keep sooner or later. 

Unbeknownst to you, this is one of the reasons Daemon all but presses to wed you, because it will not only solidify your relationship in an official way, but it also will make it easier for him to keep you safe should the king’s mission succeed. 

You’re standing on a tuckaway terrace of the manse, overlooking the gardens and extensive fields that frame and surround it. 

Reggio has been generous enough for you to carry out the ceremony in private with not many witnesses, other than the officiant, the Prince of Pentos himself, and the two servants that always tend to your and your uncle’s needs, present.

Ancient robes hug your bodies, and a matching headpiece rests on your head. They are pale white with reddish edges similar to the blood that trickles idly out of the cut on Daemon’s bottom lip. The shard of Dragonglass is still clutched between your fingers, while your other hand holds his chin. 

A gentle smile adorns your face, and though you want to watch the blood trickle out of the cut you have just caused, you can’t seem to tear your eyes off of his. The light of the evening sun is caught in the lilac of his eyes, reflecting and making them appear even lighter. 

As you hand him the shard, you briefly glance down to where your hands meet, before your gaze is fixed with his again, and as the sharp edge pierces your lip, you’re far too lost in the comfort of his presence to wince. 

This is all you’ve ever wanted.

Some of the blood amassing at the cut is gathered by the pad of his thumb, the touch so intimate it sends a shiver down your spine and heat to your cheeks. It is used by him to draw the Valyrian glyph for blood on your forehead, and you draw the supplementary glyph for fire on his. 

Knowing the scars that scatter all over his torso, scarring his pale skin, you’re not surprised to watch him cut the palm of his hand without any sign of discomfort or pain. He has endured far worse, and this is just too easy for him. 

However, the same can’t be said about you. 

You surely have hurt yourself plenty of times before, but it has never been on purpose, and never with something as sharp as the shard of dragonglass is. But that is the last significant step that has to be made to strenghten your one bloodline, to seal your union and signify that you are bound to each other. 

Daemon must sense the slight apprehension that spreads through your veins, and tries to comfort you and calm the raging storm of your fears by gently taking your hand in his, before the coldness of the fragment nestles into your open palm. “Issa sȳz,” he hums calmly, bowing his head once in a reassuring manner. It’s alright. 

Nodding meekly, you exhale a deep breath in the exact moment the dragonglass pierces your skin. The pain is delayed, and for a brief moment all that clouds your mind is the rush of your warm blood, and the sight of it so quickly filling the hollow of your palm. 

“Hen lantoti ānogar,” the priest cites, “va sȳndroti vāedroma.” Blood of two, joined as one. 

You tilt your head back up as Daemon unites your hands in a firm grip, and do not dare to look at where your hands meet. 

The sensation of your blood trickling out of the cut has already been very adamant, but with Daemon’s blood combined, several droplets all but seep out from your joined hands, gathered in a goblet your soon-to-be-husband holds underneath. 

A ribbon in a style similar to the robes you wear is tied around your hands, binding you to one another. 

“Mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr. Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteksi,” is said in the background, but you’re far too distracted by Daemon bringing the goblet full of your blood up. Ghostly flame, and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires. 

He holds it out to you, allowing you to be the first to drink, and you comply. 

Capturing the goblet between your fingers, you raise it to your lips, not hesitating one moment to take a generous sip. Daemon follows suit, and though the goblet is lowered by him, you two do not move otherwise.

“Hen jenȳ māzīlarion, qēlossa ozūndesi.” A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness. 

There is a thick tension between the two of you, and you gaze longingly into each other’s eyes. Only slowly there crawls a grin on your husband’s lips, matching the impish one that’s draped across yours.

You brush some strands of his silver hair behind his ear, before your hand comes to rest on his cheek, the pad of your thumb caressing it gently. 

Daemon’s gaze flickers between yours and your nicked lip, and he only slowly dips his head towards yours just in time with his free arm snaking around your waist. 

Despite the seriousness of the moment, there is a slight tint of amusement in the officiant’s tone as he voices the last part of the vow, clearly just as ecstatic about you being newly wed as you two are. “Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo, rȳk kīvia mazvestraksi.” The vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.

It is then that Daemon’s lips finally claim yours, and the taste of copper spreads on your tongue as his swirls around yours. The kiss is shy of being gentle, yet it doesn’t lack any passion or care. You have kissed plenty of times before ever since your arrival in Pentos, but none of them has ever felt as significant as this kiss does. 

To state it in the words of the Faith, you’re one heart, one flesh, and one soul now. Each other’s from this day, until the end of your days. And you finally feel whole with that prospect, the large chasm that has clasped inside of you filled by Daemon’s undeniable love. 

Reggio Haratis has spared no expenses when it comes to the celebration of your newfound unison. There are a handful of other people present, mostly some friends and acquaintances you both have made during your brief stay at the prince’s castle. 

In Westeros, you would have celebrated your marriage with a large feast in the Throne Room with no less than three hundred people present, following the strict rules and customs the Faith of the Seven prescribes. 

But in Essos, it seems to be a bit different. 

The large dining room is lavishly and opulently adorned by tapestries and ornaments, a goldish hue pervading the entire room with the sun that’s shining through the large apertures and tied-back curtains. 

It truly is a wedding for your caliber, though there’s no royal family accompanying you two. 

Everyone gathers around the large dining table that stands in the center of the room. They are all dressed in a similar fashion to you and your husband now, having changed into more elegant clothes not long after the ceremony, but the expensive textures and patterns of yours give away that this evening solely revolves around you two. 

The dinner and customs are far less formal than the ones back home, and with none of your guests being ill-mannered or impolite, a relaxed and open atmosphere characterizes the evening. 

There’s chatter and laughter everywhere while the food is served, quite a few bottles of wine emptied already, and not one thought of a possible bedding ceremony crosses your mind – because there’s no reason for it. 

Daemon and you have been on top of each other quite regularly, the Pentoshi way of living probably one of main reasons with your insatiable hunger for each other being the other. 

And thus, you’re not afraid of the thought of bedding Daemon once supper is over for your body has had quite a few days to get thoroughly adjusted to his sheer size. 

Only as the Prince of Pentos raises his glass does your breath hitch in your throat for a moment, not knowing what to expect from him. 

The room falls silent almost immediately, and if not everyone has gathered what’s about to happen, they certainly do the moment Reggio rises to his feet. 

“Let us toast to this exceptional match,” he starts with much eloquence, his choice of words bringing a warmth to your cheeks. 

Daemon smiles at you, and clasps a hand around your thigh. As you lean closer to him to hide your blush, he chuckles and rests his forehead against the side of your face. 

“Behave,” he chastises in a teasing manner, squeezing your thigh once. “Or do I have to teach you manners first?” 

Daemon’s words do little to help with the blush on your face, the warmth spreading from your cheeks right down to the apex of your legs, causing you to shift and squirm slightly to soothe the aching. 

Your host isn’t oblivious to what’s going on right in front of him, and merely chuckles, “I’ll try to keep this short.”

You take in a deep breath, and Daemon nods, a silent invitation for him to keep going. 

The prince speaks of your bravery to leave your House behind, of your undeniable love for each other, and how the Old Gods must have brought you together. He boasts of the strong bond you and your husband have, and how that alone is a testament to the Gods themselves. 

Everyone around you applauds as the speech ends, and Daemon raises his cup to toast with your host. “Hear, hear.” Bringing your own cup to your lips, you empty what feels like your fifth cup of the Lyseni sweet red they have procured only for you. 

You grab Daemon’s hand when the applause drowns out again, and squeeze it gently. Gazing at him lovingly, he leans in to press his lips to your temple. 

“Ivestragī īlva jikagon naejot ēdrugon, kessa īlon?” he mutters against your skin, and you sheepishly bite your bottom lip, bowing your head. Let us retire to bed, shall we?

“Nyke pendagon kesā dōrī epagon,” you reply. I thought you would never ask. 

Squeezing your hand back, you follow suit as he stands up from his seat after he has announced your departure and thanked everyone for the lovely evening. A hand of his rests at the small of your back to lead you towards your shared chambers, the lacking guests finally allowing you to catch your breath. 

He snakes his arm around your waist on your way, and pulls you tightly against his side, his hand traveling a bit lower than what’s appropriate. 

“Daemon,” you scold him, placing your hand above his to put it back on your waist. 

As you look at him, you’re greeted by a wide grin adorning his face. “I am sure you can forgive me,” he teases, his hand finding its way to your arse again, groping it roughly enough to make you yelp. “I just can not resist you, not in the prospect of us finally being able to truly celebrate our marriage.”

You shove at his chest on your way into your chambers, chuckling softly, but to no avail as his grip only lets go of you in order to close the door. 

And suddenly, there’s a thick tension hugging the two of you. 

You briefly glance around the room, noticing the many, colorful flowers the servants have placed on your bed; all of which can only be found in Essos. Everywhere stand lit candles, their flames flickering and dancing in the soft, Pentoshi gust of breeze that sweeps past the lightweight curtains concealing the floor-to-ceiling apertures. 

It seems inviting to push the silk aside and step out on the balcony, yet your husband beats you to it and pulls you against his sturdy frame by grasping your wrist, taking control over your movements. 

A soft gasp slips past your lips as you find yourself pressed against his body, the heat and his scent emanating from him driving you insane with lust already. You look up at him with half lidded eyes, your desire for him plain.

Standing on tiptoes, you tilt your head up to press your lips to his jaw in a chaste kiss, and trail some more down the curve of his throat, causing a soft hum to rumble in your husband’s chest. The gold, embroidered vest he wears is slowly pushed off his shoulders while the feeling of your lips on his skin distract him, falling to the ground and pooling around his ankles. 

“Let us not waste anymore time,” you whisper, your fingers almost eagerly fumbling with the laces in the front of his trousers. 

With every passing moment, you spot his breathing growing heavier, his body burning hot with desire. You sigh softly, “let us indulge ourselves in each other as much as we want, even if it means we will not leave our chambers in the morrow.”

His eyes peer deeply into yours when you tilt your head back, the mesmerizing lilac hue completely eclipsed by black. 

He brings a hand to the back of your head, holding it steady as the other clasps around your thigh. Your flesh is squeezed harshly under his tight grip, but you can’t bring yourself to care for there suddenly are not more than a few inches separating your lips from his. 

But instead of kissing you, Daemon bows his head down enough to press sloppy kisses to your neck, licking the side of your throat. His hand slides up to cup your clothed cunt, and you have to hold onto his broad shoulders for dear life, not risking your shaky legs to be the reason you fall onto the ground.

“My darling wife,” he rasps, and hearing him voice it aloud for the first time sends a shiver down your spine. “I should have taken you to Pentos a long time ago.”

With that, he spins you around and pushes you towards the bed. Toppling forward, you catch yourself and tightly hold onto the wooden footboard of it, crouched forwards and basically presenting him your arse. 

Daemon hums, clearly pleased by the sight, and approaches you with careful steps. 

You try to catch a glimpse of him from over your shoulder, not meeting his lust-filled gaze for long enough since he is quick to press your head forward again. When his hands fist the neckline of your dress, goosebumps start to prickle on your skin, coaxed by the warmth and roughness of his fingers. 

“‘Twas a mistake to wait so long,” he says, but it’s clear he’s speaking to himself. 

Then, the laces in the back of your lavish gown tear with an agonizing ripping sound, but the thrill of it doesn't allow your heart to grief the now ruined gift of your host. 

The skimpy underclothes you wear follow the Myrish lace just as quick, exposing your whole body to him faster than you could have wished for. His fingers trail slowly along your spine, and he chuckles as he watches your body tremble beneath his featherlight touch with a jolt of pleasurable excitement. 

His thick digits inch lower and lower, but never touch where you need him most. It’s agonizing, and your patience runs thinner and thinner. Your breathing is just as heavy as his own, and the tension has you moaning softly. 

And then he suddenly drags two of his deft fingers through your soaked womanhood, the ambush eliciting a shuddered breath to fall from your lips. Yet you also welcome it and eagerly buck your hips to chase the friction they grant you, which prompts him to seize your hip with one hand, the tips of his fingers digging into your flesh to keep your body still.

The lack of freedom to move feeds your impatience, and your head bows forwards with a sigh. “I-I can hardly take this any longer, husband,” you breathe, trying to make your frustration not too obvious. 

Another ambush overtakes you as Daemon connects the back of his hand with your cunt, the collusion sending a stinging pain through your body. He tsks in a manner that’s meant to scold a child, having heard it plenty of times before when he was around his nephews and nieces. 

“You can’t take it any longer? What a shame,” he teases. “If you’re feeling so overwhelmed, then perhaps I should stop?”

Remaining still for a moment, the weight of his heavy gaze pierces through your skin, and you’re glad he can’t see you rolling your eyes. You know that he has no intention of stopping, and he knows that you don’t want him to either. 

However, it seems he’s partly forgotten that you two share the same blood, and although he considers himself to be witty, you’re not lagging behind him.

“Oh, you want to stop?” you ask, a mocking edge to your otherwise strained voice. It is clear he’s taken off guard by your words, having expected you to beg and whine for more. “My, what a disappointing turn of events. I was so keen on experiencing you tonight. I–”

The rest of your protest dies on your tongue as he slides two digits inside without a warning, effectively silencing you. 

A jolt of pleasure surges through your body that has you clinging to the footboard of the bed, your knuckles blanching from the force. The moan you release is wanton, and brings a blush to your cheeks that’s intensified by the mocking scoff Daemon releases. 

Your legs are nudged further apart by his foot knocking against yours, causing you to be off-balanced for a moment in which he’s snaking his arm around your waist to support your frame. 

His chest is pressed flush against your back now, and you feel his breath fan over your ear, the heat emanating from him seeping into your skin.  

“I would not deprive you of that satisfaction tonight,” he rasps into your ear while his fingers pump into you at a pace that has your toes curling already, making it difficult to keep your composure. You don’t have to look at him to know he’s smirking, his amusement at the little back and forth of your flirting is perfectly audible. “My darling wife is brimming with pleasure already, but I am just getting started.”

Your eyes widen at his teasing, and if anything, it only makes you want him even more. As your head lulls back against his shoulder, you release another moan, dizzy with lust. 

With every passing second that you don’t have him inside of you, you grow more and more relentless. “Don’t you dare stop now,” you moan. “If you do, I shall feed you to Silverwing.”

Daemon lets out a breathy laugh at your words. “Quit being a brat, wife, or else I truly need to punish you to stop you from being so reckless with your words.”

You slightly push yourself up against his chest, but don’t manage to do more than hum in return at his words, the jolts of your impending peak coursing through your veins like liquid fire. 

There is a brief loss of friction that doesn’t diminish the pleasure that clouds your mind, induced by Daemon’s desire to withdraw his fingers to fill you with his stiff cock instead. 

Just in time with him aligning himself with your throbbing entrance, breaching your tightness to stretch you out with one, swift thrust, you topple over the edge. 

The spasming and shaking of your body has Daemon’s breath hitch in his throat, a strained ‘seven hells’ slipping past it that you barely register with you losing a little bit of control over your body. 

Your back arches against him, and he seizes the opportunity to set up a reckless pace from the very beginning on. 

“Well, now, if that isn’t a disappointing turn of events,” Daemon mocks with an amused chuckle, using your words against yourself. “I can… can not believe that’s all you can take, my dear.” There is a strain in his voice, one that tells you his mind is just as fuzzy with pleasure as yours, amplified by the way your cunt is clenching and unclenching around his hard cock. 

Daemon has both hands on your hips now, pulling you back halfway to meet the mercilessness of his thrusts. Each time the heavy sac of his stones slaps against your sensitive cunt, you feel it spasm again, bolts of pain and pleasure alike piercing your flesh. 

“I thought you would last longer, my sweet wife,” he groans, the term of endearment emphasized by a thrust harsh enough to coax a breathy gasp from your throat. “A sore disappointment.” 

At this point he’s all but assaulting your body, using you for his own pleasure like you’re not more than one of Flea Bottom’s common whores, pounding you hard enough that your vision whitens. 

Incoherent words and sentences are falling past your lips like a prayer, occasionally interrupted by his name, chanting it as if you’re praying to the Seven.

His grip on your hips is bruising, squeezing your flesh so tight you’re not sure if it brings you more pain or pleasure. But it’s something in his words that makes it all so exhilarating, reigniting the fire inside of you. 

Daemon is chasing his own peak with the will to fill you up with his seed, marking you as his and making his claim on you visible to everyone. But his stamina doesn’t seem to be able to handle the tightness of your cunt for any longer, running thin and threatening to burst at any given moment. 

It takes all your strength to hold onto the foodboard to keep yourself steady and upright, not wanting to topple over with the weight and intensity of his thrusts. But your slowly approaching high doesn’t make it too easy for you. 

Your second peak takes its time, but Daemon can tell it’s on its way, the clenching of your walls and trembling of your legs a telltale sign for him. One of his deft fingers comes to your pearl, and he proceeds to rub the bud with frantic movements that make sure to push you over the edge just in time. 

Your mouth hangs open, and there are no other sounds than breathy whines and hiccuped gasps slipping past your lips, the ability to speak completely taken by his cock repeatedly brushing the sweet spot inside of you. 

“I will not last any longer,” the man behind you grunts, the damp strands of his silver hair falling in front of his face. He buries the hand that’s not between your legs in your hair, pulling you upright against him. 

His hips are angled, allowing him to snap them into yours deeper and more precisely. “Peak for me again… now,” he all but commands, and it’s the sharpness and determination of his voice that eventually has you doing just that. 

Your arousal oozes out of your spasming cunt, coating the palm of his hand, the length of his cock and the sac of his stones altogether. 

Your head tips back in bliss, and hot streams of pleasure obscure your senses. The way your cunt is choking his cock makes it difficult for him to help you through it all, struggling to keep it together just a few moments longer. He’s brought you to such heights of pleasure that your mind temporarily blanks.

“Please,” you find your voice again, though it’s strained and resembles a whimper. “Put a babe in me. Fill me up with your seed… please.”

It might have been him being on the brink of his release already, or the meaning and significance of your words, but it is the trigger for Daemon to spend himself inside of you with a loud groan. 

“Gods be good,” he grunts, connecting his lips with the curve where your shoulder meets your neck as he works himself through the blissful high. Even as it subsides, he doesn’t stop and bites through the overstimulation, determined to fuck his seed as deep as possible and put a child into your belly. 

You’ve grown incredibly sensitive and overstimulated by now, and can’t fight against your body’s reaction to squirm out of his grasp to escape the uncomfortable feeling. But he doesn’t allow you to, keeping you flush against his firm chest. 

The soft whines you release, however, humor him, and he tilts his head to rest his forehead against the side of your face. 

“Let your foolish father come for you. I shall slay every man that even dares to look at you,” he rasps. “I possess you, you belong to none other than me.”

A blush spreads on your cheeks as his words sink into your mind, and you turn your head to meet his eyes for the first time ever since you’ve entered your chambers. The meeting of your gazes is intense, and you swear you can feel his flaccid member grow hard again.

You take his hand and bring it in front of you, placing it on your stomach. Without further encouragement, he starts to rub his palm over your skin as if his seed has already borne fruit.

“Let him come,” you whisper, licking your lips. “I have waited years to be with you alone, and to have you all by myself. And now that I have gotten my will, I will not give it up without a fight.”

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[laenyrasdarling]

Hiii! Can i ask for an Haelena/ fem! Targaryen reader headcanons? No nsfw but romantic. Reader is the daughter of Rhea Royce and Daemon

.ೃ࿐helaena targaryen x fem!targaryen/royce!reader 

✦ some notes on the setting; pre-dance, with helaegon and the twins (+ aegon’s debauchery) still present, daemyra being alluded to whilst he’s married (frostily) to rhea and she to laenor, vizzy t’s in a somewhat fortunate state of health, i am here for helaena her only and the worldbuilding Shall reflect it

ׂׂૢ having spent much all of your formative years residing in the grassy hills and wild thatches of runestone with your mother and her family, your varyingly absent father’s request to depart to king’s landing not long after your coming of eight and ten felt like something not very far between a dare and a terror. 

ׂׂૢ as abbarantly furious as this suggestion had initially made your dear mother and grandsire, over the course of some weeks your gentle insinuations that some winters in the red-roofed capital may be of benefit to a silver-haired, violet-eyed lady such as yourself before she returned to her homeland to continue her path ontoward ruling runestone in her mother’s footsteps, you successfully found enough cracks in your doting family’s bronzed armour to see them abate. 

ׂׂૢ so armed with enough belongings to last you from late spring to the following summer and the strongly pressed guidance from your grandsire that this temporary dalliance was only so you’d return equipped with better skills and knowledge with which to one day rule over your true homeland, you set sail for king’s landing. knowing all at once that you were only permitted to embark on this journey for varying ploys that were not yours - your grandsire’s to see you evolve to a competent ruler, your father’s to better his standings in your all but estranged uncle viserys’ eyes - you tried to not let these meddling hands of fate dissuade you from also using this time for your own endeavours.

ׂׂૢ and none so prevalent was that mission made to you than when you first laid eyes on the princess helaena upon your arrival to the red keep.

ׂׂૢ this was around the time you first found yourself thankful for your father’s meddling, as his suggesting in his letter that you make yourself of use to your hosts and aid the lady helaena in her childrearing and courtly duties meant that you arrived pre-prepared with a reason to find yourself in her company so often. as frostily as things began, with you nervously hovering around the edge of the room as the twins played and she sewed stiffly, with suppertimes just as cold with the added intrusions of her fool husband and snide-tongued younger brother, summer had barely begun to depart on your first year when things began brightening.

ׂׂૢ your transition from outcast to dearly-held began in benign ways - jaehaera growing familiar with your shadow-still presence in the family’s quarters and growing bold enough to beckon you forth with a chubby-fisted hand, that held aloft a dragon figurine for you to join her in play with. then came your wine-fuelled back-and-forths with aemond at the dinnertable, earning you both your cousins’ delicately-balanced respect, along with that of ser otto - and later, when helaena would find herself peering from over parapets to catch a glimpse of you besting even some of the kingsguard in the training yard with your bow skills.

ׂׂૢ the gradual quality with which you immerse yourself into her life escapes even her, until she begins to find herself noticing when your relentless energy and imaginative ploys are absent from the twins’ mornings and when you deem to take ale with aemond and his goons instead of joining her and alicent for supper. 

ׂׂૢ her status as a crown princess, and one betrothed to the king’s eldest son at that, taken into account, means that it’s probably once in a blood moon that helaena needs to ask for anything. which is what makes it mean all the more than it already does when she starts asking for your company.

ׂׂૢ and oh, how unendingly glad is she that she did.

ׂׂૢ her droll mornings become filled with your endlessly interesting talk of runestone, and your studies, and the things you’ve noticed since your arrival here (much of which she may not quite understand, but loves to listen to all the same). you’re by her side for each meandering stroll through the gardens that seems to take longer and longer each passing day, for every family meal that you manage to instill life and laughter into, for each lavish ball that she no longer fears now that she has you on her arm to keep her grounded and safe.

ׂׂૢ it’s the confident ease that you carry yourself with that endears helaena to you so much. how no task, no conversation, no idea is below or above you; that you’ll see the good and the worth in everything and everyone like it’s as easy as breathing.

ׂׂૢ so really, it’s no wonder that when it’s drawing late one night and you haven’t swung by her quarters with that darling smile of yours to wish her goodnight like you always do that when she goes in search of you, she finds you having dismissed the handmaids for the night and taken to tidying up the twins’ toys and study materials yourself. in the light of the still-flickering hearth, you look as heavenly a woman as helaena’s ever seen; so she’d be forgiven for finding herself kneeling so very close to you on the stone floor as she helps you stow figurines and charcoals away, and for losing herself in your lilac eyes that she doesn’t realise she’s leaning in until her lips are already on yours.

ׂׂૢ from there, it’s another slow descent - but helaena ensures not to miss a second of it this time around.

ׂׂૢ linked arms as you stroll through the gardens become held hands and guiding palms on the smalls of backs when no-one’s looking. the sewing lessons she’s insisted on walking you through end up looking more like you sitting back against her legs, as she loops her arms around yours and guides you through each stitch with her own hand, and now it’s a heatwave in the north before you’ll trade an evening with her for drinking with her fool brothers.

ׂׂૢ and you best believe, that’s only the very beginning.

ׂׂૢ she has dreamfyre saddled for two, and laughs through your terrified screams as she takes you so high into the clouds that you fear she’ll never possibly find her way back down. but really that’s your fault, as if you didn’t hand so tight onto her waist and bury your face into the crook of her neck, she would have no reason to delight in your flights as much as she does.

ׂׂૢ none of the articles of clothing you arrived with are now without alterations from her hand. a tiny, glittering arrow on a dress sleeve, a bronze-threaded neckline that seems to merge with an emerald-toned green as it sweeps down your back, all so subtle but done with love that they ease a smile onto your face every time they catch your notice again. and that’s not even taking into account the garments that are her design and commission alone, which now make up more than half of your wardrobe - rich, silken robes in every colour you could dream of, soft undershirts better suited to the warm climate of king’s landing than the heavy cotton ones you brought with you, gowns to match hers for all the balls she now drags you to on her arm.

ׂׂૢ her demure nature accounted for, she personally rejects any talks of vows for your hand - right down to seeing to it that all visiting noblewomen who appear to find too much interest in your bright eyes or warm laughter won’t find themselves having any business being in your company again.

ׂׂૢ on nights where she really just can’t bear to part with you until the morning, she’ll have her most trusted maidservants beguile her guards with a lie about her feeling poorly and asking you to stay with her for company; ensuring there’ll be no questions if anyone were to find the princess and a noblewoman entwined in bed together, cuddled so close it’s doubtful they could ever be parted.

ׂׂૢ it’s in moments like those, so sweet and so sacred, where the safety of your arms emboldens her so that she’ll dare to speak beyond the here and now. about her dreams of renouncing aegon, of taking the twins and you and flying as far as dreamfyre will take you, until you find a place that’s safe. safe for her to take you as your wife, for all the issues of succession and war to be a distant memory, where she can be a seamstress and you a farmer and the twins whatever they so want to be.

ׂׂૢ and torturously, those moments where she feels brave enough to speak plainly are the ones you find you just don't have the heart to give her the same honesty. so you kiss her forehead, brushing back silvery strands of hair as you settle in against one another and pray that your dreams lead you both to the same place where you may be able to live out that fantasy if only for a night.

[mysticalcatpeanut]

Rhaenyra tried to avoid bloodshed at all costs, she showed mercy, she tried to reason with the enemy, she literally infiltrated the city to have peace. All legitimacy of the Greens' claim was undone in seconds and Rhaenyra realizes that there is no other way forward than war.

Alicent's face when she realized that he misunderstood Viserys. He was talking about the Conqueror and not about his son. Which means that the greens' claim to the throne is flawed from origin.

[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.

[hllywdwhre]

Dreamer, Queen, Prince - Chapter 9

Pairing: Daemyra x fem!OC

Warnings: Please check masterlist for warnings. This work is 18+, MDNI

Masterlist

Authors Note: This authors note will include a chapter specific warning that contains a spoiler for the content of the chapter, but I feel, in this case specifically, this chapter deserves an extra content warning.

There will be graphic depictions of childbirth in this chapter.

Their return to King’s Landing did not last long. It seemed Viserys had not forgotten their banishment and reminded them the next day that their home was Dragonstone. Disappointed but unsurprised, Viserea did not argue.

That night though, Rhaenyra had managed to sneak her way into their room, though, and the three enjoyed each other’s company for the last time until Rhaenyra would be able to visit them on Dragonstone.

Viserea and Daemon returned to Dragonstone the next day after bidding farewell to everyone. The weeks after seemed to be peaceful. They exchanged letters daily with Rhaenyra, keeping each other informed of the daily events that took place at Court.

Rhaenyra informed them that Laena did not leave with her mother and father at the end of a fortnight and seemed to have become infatuated with Ser Harwin. She had said she wouldn’t be surprised if their betrothal was announced soon.

At the end of the cycle of the moon, Amarda was helping Viserea bathe after dinner and dismissed the rest of the handmaidens from them, telling them she needed to speak to the Princess in private.

Viserea looked at Amarda in confusion when she asked a question that caused her heart to stutter in her chest.

“Princess, when was the last time you bled?”

Viserea tried to think of the answer and realized that she had last bled back when she and Daemon were still in Pentos, before they had even been married.

“I-it’s been two moon cycles…” Viserea replied, her hands shaking as she stood up from the large stone tub, suddenly feeling nauseous.

Amarda had been Viserea’s handmaiden since she was a child and knew exactly why Viserea hadn’t become excited at the news, but had turned pale and ashen.

“History will not repeat itself, Princess. Maester Gerardys has studied childbirth for a long time after the unfortunate events of Princess Adalyn and Queen Aemma so that he could do everything in his power to prevent the two of you from being harmed,” Amarda comforted as she helped Viserea from the tub and began drying her off.

Viserea nodded, finding some comfort in her words, but being unable to get rid of all of the fear that seemed to have made its home inside of her.

Once she was dressed, she began to walk the halls of the castle, knowing where she would find Daemon. She took her time as she tried to work through her emotions. Terror filled her at the thoughts of all the dangers of childbirth, but a bubbling of delight also began seeping in.

Viserea had never pictured herself being a mother, but she couldn’t deny that she was excited to bear Daemon’s child. She knew she would not be turned into some broodmare, good for only producing his offspring and viewed as nothing else. He had promised her years ago that she would not be turned into another Targaryen Princess that would be wed off to a random lord and used for nothing but political gain, and he had kept his word.

Before they were even married, he had protected and spoiled her and advocated for her. Their entire time traveling after the War of the Stepstones was spent with him advocating her place as future Hand to other nobles and insisting they take her advice for issues they faced. It had led to great praise from them when their problems resolved themselves after heeding her advice. He had brought her to see parts of the world she had not seen before and bathed her in riches simply because he wanted to.

Security and safety. That was what Daemon had brought her, and while she couldn’t ignore the anxieties she felt over bearing a child, having Maester Gerardys and Daemon by her side calmed a lot of them greatly. The only other person she would want beside her was Rhaenyra.

Taking a deep breath, her hands no longer shaking, she stepped outside and made her way to the entrance of the cave that Tessarion and Caraxes had inhabited and found two dragonkeepers waiting outside.

“Leave us,” she said, waiting on Daemon at the entrance of the cave.

A few minutes later he stepped out of the cave, ash covering his face. He looked surprised to see Viserea but the surprise was quickly replaced with happiness,

“The eggs look amazing!” Daemon said excitedly.

Tessarion had produced a clutch of eggs about a week ago and you would have thought Daemon a child again with how excited he had been over it.

Viserea couldn’t fight the smile at her husband’s excitement and stepped towards him, taking his hand in hers.

“A good thing, too, as it seems we will be needing to place one in a cradle for our babe soon,” she said, placing his hand on her stomach and smiling up at him.

Daemon’s excitement turned to shock, then back to excitement as he picked her up and pulled her into a hug. Viserea wrapped her arms around his neck, returning the eager kiss he gave her as he set her feet back on the ground.

“You’re carrying my child…” he said as if he didn’t believe the words himself.

Viserea giggled and nodded. He placed his forehead against hers and kissed her softly once again,

“I’ll be here for everything. I know you’ve feared this moment, but-“ Daemon started, but Viserea shook her head.

“Don’t. You’re right, I’m very fearful of what could happen, but Amarda has said Maester Gerardys has been studying childbirth ever since Aemma passed for Rhaenyra and myself. I’ll be surrounded by handmaidens and he’ll be there, too. I don’t wish to focus on my fear the entire time my babe is in the womb. I wish to focus on the fact that I am bearing my husband’s child on the island of our ancestors while our dragons are producing clutches of eggs,” Viserea told him. Her tone was soft as she admitted her fear, but final. She wouldn’t spend her entire pregnancy fearing what was to come.

Daemon nodded a moment later and kissed her once again,

“I trust your instincts and I trust you,” he said, “you would be the first to know if there was something to fear.”

The two walked back to the castle with their hands intertwined and, while Daemon washed away the dirt and ash from visiting the dragons, Viserea made her way to the library and began writing a letter to Rhaenyra.

My darling cousin,

You’ll be pleased to hear that Caraxes’ and Tessarion’s clutch of eggs still look amazing.

I’m glad to hear that your father has started taking your opinions into account more in council meetings and that the new hand has supported these instead of brushing them aside as the old one had a habit of.

I’m also happy to hear that Laena continues to embrace you as her sister now and hope she and Harwin might find happiness with each other.

Daemon and I do have good news of our own. Amarda asked me when the last time I bled was while helping me bathe and I realized I last bled in Pentos.

While this realization shocked and scared me at first, I find myself growing excited. Amarda assured me that Maester Gerardys has been studying childbirth for a while now and she is confident in his abilities to deliver the babe safely. I won’t deny that I still hold fear inside of me due to our mothers’ devastating ends, but I have told Daemon that I do not wish to live in fear of what could happen as it is not healthy for myself or the babe.

Daemon and I wish to see you soon, whether we must fly there or you fly here. I have gone a year without your presence before and I do not wish to repeat it.

All my love,

Viserea

After sending the letter, Viserea returned to her’s and Daemon’s chambers, finding him shirtless and reading a book in their bed.

“I assume you told Rhaenyra?” He asked, though it wasn’t really a question as he already knew Viserea would have.

She nodded and laid herself down next to Daemon, taking her usual spot under his arm. He set his book down and placed the newly freed hand on her stomach.

“Our own army of dragons will soon hatch,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“I’m sure everyone will be just thrilled at the thought of the banished Prince and Princess having children together,” Viserea replied sarcastically.

“They will, or they will be met with fire,” Daemon replied with a warning in his voice and Viserea knew he meant it. Any disrespect towards their child would not be tolerated.

Rhaenyra joined them on Dragonstone two days later, along with Laenor, Laena, and various members of the Kingsguard. Congratulations were offered to the two expectant parents and Viserea found herself unable to be anything but excited with the people she viewed as her closest and most trusted family members surrounding her.

They spent a fortnight on the Island and this visit seemed to spark a new pattern.

When Daemon and Viserea were not traveling, Rhaenyra and Laenor were on Dragonstone with them. The limited staff meant Rhaenyra, Laenor, Daemon, and Viserea were free to be with each other as they pleased with minimal worries about facades needing to be upheld. Laena was almost always with them as she and Harwin seemed to grow closer every day.

When Laena and Harwin’s betrothal was announced less than a week after returning from their first visit from Dragonstone, Rhaenyra informed Daemon and Viserea that Laena had been informed of the “arrangement” between them. While she was confused, Rhaenyra said she seemed more relieved that it meant her brother didn’t have to keep a second life secret from them.

It was at a dinner during their second visit that Rhaenyra and Laenor stood and gathered everyone’s attention, announcing that Rhaenyra was also carrying a babe.

Later, on the privacy of the beach as the group walked along the shore, Daemon was the one to voice the thoughts that Viserea herself had but hadn’t had the nerve to voice.

“Should we expect the newest heir to take after his father’s looks or his mother’s?” Daemon asked, causing Viserea, Laena, and Harwin’s heads to look towards Rhaenyra and Laenor.

The question could have seemed rude or even treacherous from anyone else, but Rhaenyra nor Laenor seemed to mind. Everyone knew that Rhaenyra and Laenor had promised each other to fulfill their duties and produce an heir for Rhaenyra. Everyone also knew that for every night Rhaenyra and Laenor shared a bed, Laenor shared a bed with someone else and Rhaenyra shared Daemon and Viserea’s bed.

Rhaenyra and Laenor exchanged a glance and Laenor cleared his throat,

“We’re unsure if the babe will resemble its Velaryon or Targaryen blood more. I suppose that is up to the Gods to decide,” Laenor replied.

Daemon nodded, the meaning of their exchanged words being clear.

Rhaenyra had slept with both Laenor and Daemon and there wasn’t a sure answer to who’s babe she carried.

“No matter the resemblance, the babe will be the most protected and loved babe the Gods have ever seen,” Viserea said, meaning her words and offering Rhaenyra a smile.

When both Daemon and Laenor agreed with her statement, any amount of tense atmosphere disappeared quickly and the group went back to their relaxed walk along the shore.

The next seven months went by quickly for the entire group. Laena and Harwin’s wedding was held at Driftmark and a cause for great celebration.

Before it became too dangerous for Viserea to fly, she and Daemon flew to King’s Landing, and she had insisted Maester Gerardys sail to the Keep as he was the only maester that she would allow near her during birth.

Within a fortnight, Viserea was awoken in the middle of the night by her labor pains, and within minutes the midwife, ladies-in-waiting, and Master Gerardys were in the room while Daemon waited outside.

She changed into a plain white underdress and shooed away the hands of anyone who tried to come near her.

Panic filled her. Images of Aemma being held down and sliced open. What she imagined her mother looked like, sick with a fever that wouldn’t leave her.

When a midwife approached her again, trying to place a cool rag on her head, she snapped.

“I said not to fucking touch me!” She swore loudly.

Minutes later, a disheveled looking Rhaenyra entered the room and came to stand beside Viserea, though she didn’t try to touch her.

“Vis, I’m here,” she said, crouching down to Viserea as Viserea gripped the back of the couch and slid down to sit on the balls of her feet. “I’m with you, I won’t let them harm you, you know it.”

Rhaenyra held a hand out to Viserea which Viserea took into her own.

Her labors progressed for hours and Rhaenyra was the only one she would allow to touch her, allow to use a rag to wipe away her sweat, and the only one she would allow near her when she began pushing.

Viserea caught her daughter herself when she was finally born in the early hours of the morning.

“You did it, my love,” Rhaenyra whispered from behind Viserea, kissing her temple as the babe and Viserea both cried.

The midwife was only allowed near Viserea long enough to cut the umbilical cord and help deliver the afterbirth.

Daemon entered a couple moments later, after the babe had been wrapped in a blanket.

He immediately came over to Viserea and Rhaenyra’s side, looking down at the babe she clung to protectively, keeping her against her chest.

“I hear there is a new Targaryen Princess,” he said with a wide smile, running his thumb lightly over his daughter’s forehead and along her cheeks.

“Princess Daenyra,” Viserea replied in a voice loud enough for Maester Gerardys to hear and make note of. “Named after the two who have my heart,” she said in a lower voice.

It was an hour later, after everyone had left the room aside from Daemon, Rhaenyra, and Viserea, and the wet nurse had already fed Viserea, that Rhaenyra’s lady-in-waiting, Elinda, knocked on the door and stepped inside.

“Princesses, Prince,” she greeted with a polite bow, though her voice shook with an edge of nervousness. “The Queen has requested the babe be brought to her immediately.”

Viserea felt her blood run cold but she wasn’t the first to speak.

“Why?” Rhaenyra asked, doing the best to keep the ice out of her voice.

“She did not say, Princess,” Elinda replied.

“Daemon, take Daenyra,” Viserea said. She could already feel the silent anger radiating off of him and she knew their daughter was going to be the one thing to keep him from physically reacting.

“Why?” He asked in a lethal and low voice.

“If she wishes to see my babe, it must be to offer congratulations. I will go see her myself,” Viserea said in a wry voice that revealed she knew that wasn’t the real reason.

Before Daemon could argue, she was placing Daenyra into his arms and pushing herself off of the sofa in the room.

“Elinda, would you help me dress, please?” Viserea asked, speaking over Daemon and Rhaenyra trying to protest her going.

“My daughter will not be going nowhere near that woman without me there,” Viserea snapped out as Elinda helped her get dressed.

Her hair was still in the disheveled braid she had worn during her labors, but Elinda worked quickly to restyle it. Within minutes, she was taking Daenyra back from Daemon and Daemon was supporting one side of her while they began walking through the Keep.

“What is the meaning of this?” Daemon said in a low voice to the two of them.

“A reminder of her power. She is Queen and she can have whatever she wishes,” Rhaenyra said from beside Viserea.

“She can, but it will not be given to her easily,” Viserea said, muttering a few choice words under her breath as she began walking up the stairs that lead to the Queen’s chambers.

Viserea ignored the Lords and Ladies that offered their congratulations, letting Daemon and Rhaenyra, though it was mostly Rhaenyra, reply to them.

She returned Criston Cole’s glare as he noticed the three of them when they reached Alicent’s chambers. Without a word, he opened the door for them and they stepped inside.

“Viserea, I did not mean for you to come, also,” Alicent said in a voice full of false sympathy.

Viserea forced a polite smile and for her voice to come out as polite as she could.

“Yes, well, it is my first. I could not bear the thought of being away from her,” she replied.

“I heard we have another Targaryen princess. What did the handmaidens say her name was?” Alicent asked, coming over to Viserea and gently taking Daenyra from her.

“Daenyra,” Daemon replied, his eyes glued to Alicent as she held their daughter.

Alicent caught the ice in his voice but ignored it, plastering a fake smile on her face while Viserea gently squeezed his hand.

“A beautiful Valyrian name,” she complimented as Daemon and Rhaenyra helped Viserea sit down and the doors opened behind them.

“I heard I have a granddaughter!” Viserys said excitedly, making his way to Alicent and taking Daenyra from her.

“Yes. Viserea’s labors began in the night and Princess Daenyra was born less than two hours ago,” Rhaenyra said.

Viserea could see the way Rhaenyra was trying to bring light to how Alicent had forced this to happen after less than two hours of giving birth, but Viserys’ attention was too focused on the babe he held to notice.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful Princess,” he complimented, looking to Daemon and Viserea with a wide smile. “Am I to assume she is named after your sister and your uncle?” He asked.

Viserea gave him a small but genuine smile as she nodded, “Yes, she is. I would not have had the strength to deliver her without Rhaenyra’s help. It felt only right to honor her.”

“A noble act indeed,” Viserys complimented, either not noticing or choosing to ignore Alicent’s look of disbelief at him believing her reasoning.

A couple weeks later, Rhaenyra’s first son, Jacaerys Velaryon was born. Rhaenyra behaved the similarly to how Viserea had during her labors. Viserea, Elinda Massey, the midwife, and Maester Gerardys were the only ones allowed in the room, although Rhaenyra did allow for Jacaerys to be held by someone other than herself and the wet nurse in the first hour.

Jacaerys shared no resemblance with Laenor, a fact Queen Alicent was quick to point out, saying he must “heavily favor his mother” as she had made the same request for Jace to be brought to her chambers immediately. Viserys paid no attention to this remark, though it was obvious by the way Alicent glanced at the young Princess Daenyra in Viserea’s arms that she believed something else was taking place right under the noses.

After the birth of Jacaerys, Viserea and Daemon were allowed to remain in King’s Landing. They now spent half their time in King’s Landing with Rhaenyra and half their time back on Dragonstone. They never went more than a fortnight without seeing Rhaenyra.

The following year, Viserea and Rhaenyra both welcomed new sons at the Red Keep. Viserea welcomed Maelon Targaryen on the same day Rhaenyra welcomed Lucerys Velaryon.

It was Elinda Massey rushing into the room while Viserea was struggling in her labors that alerted them that Alicent had demanded to see Lucerys directly after Rhaenyra had given birth, and that she and Laenor were currently walking through the Red Keep up to the Queen’s chambers.

“I will have her head on a spike for this,” Daemon growled, his hand being crushed by Viserea’s as another wave of pain washed through her.

“I will not stop you, but only after Rhaenyra is crowned. Damning us all to death will do nothing but ensure her son is placed on the throne,” Viserea said through gritted teeth.

“Queen Alicent is also demanding the same of your babe, my Princess and Prince,” Elinda said. It was obvious by her voice that she did not agree nor wish to be the one passing along the command.

“Fine!”

“Gods be damned!” Daemon and Viserea shouted at the same time.

Daemon looked to Viserea as if she had grown a third head when she agreed.

“She will not get the pleasure of someone saying I’m too weak to go there, nor will she have a reason to separate my child from my side,” Viserea hissed to Daemon. “I made the walk a year ago, and I will do it again.”

For the briefest moment, Daemon saw the exact look his younger brother used to wear on Viserea’s face and he knew better than to try arguing with her.

As soon as the babe had been placed in Viserea’s arms, she was standing.

“Gods be good, the two of you are going to kill me,” Maester Gerardys grumbled, causing Viserea to chuckle.

“I’m assuming Rhaenyra did not allow for the afterbirth to pass before standing either, Maester,” Viserea said, gritting her teeth as another wave of pain washed through her, though much less severe than before.

Viserea passed Maelon to Daemon as the afterbirth passed and allowed her handmaidens to dress her, grateful for Amarda’s calming voice being there to help ground her.

Once the dress was tied, Viserea reached to take Maelon from Daemon.

“I will hold him,” Daemon said, offering his arm for Viserea instead.

“Daemon, I love you, but if you ever try to keep me from holding my children again, you will be a cockless man by the end of the night,” Viserea snapped, her violet eyes burning bright as she looked up at him.

“Fine,” Daemon grumbled, handing Maelon to Viserea, “but you will not walk alone or without assistance.”

“I should hope not,” Viserea said, adjusting Maelon so she could hold him with one arm and grip onto one of Daemon’s arms with the other.

Daemon’s other arm wrapped around her hip, gripping tight to the side of it to help support some of her weight.

“Thank you, my love,” Viserea said, her voice much kinder this time as they walked through the doors of the room.

With Daemon’s assistance, they began walking through the castle, eventually finding a trail of blood.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he grumbled, “I may start a war before the day is over.”

Viserea didn’t reply, her own anger at seeing Rhaenyra’s blood smeared down the halls mixed with the spasms of her muscles rendering her silent.

Lord Caswell’s congratulations were barely heard, though both Daemon and Viserea thanked him as they walked past him.

The rest of the walk to the Queen’s chambers, Viserea did not speak, though she heard Daemon’s forced polite replies to anyone who offered them anything beyond greetings.

When they entered Alicent’s chambers, Viserea found Rhaenyra, Viserys, and Laenor already there.

Viserea ignored the conversation that took place around them as Viserys proclaimed that two Princes being born on the same day was another way of the Gods proclaiming that Viserea and Rhaenyra were meant to be sisters.

She sat down next to Rhaenyra and it was obvious by the looks they exchanged that neither of them were happy about being there and they would both rather be in Rhaenyra’s chambers, which was large enough to house both of their families.

“Born on the same day, and they look similar enough to be twins themselves,” Alicent said, drawing Rhaenyra and Viserea’s attention from each other.

After Maelon and Lucerys’ births, the rumors began spreading. Rumors that Jacaerys and Lucerys were bastards fathered by Daemon. When Laena gave birth to her and Harwin’s twins in the year 116 AC, it both seemed to distract from the rumors and add to them.

Laena and Harwin’s children had the brown, curly hair of Harwin Strong, but their skin was a similar brown color to Laena’s. A color that was missing in Rhaenyra’s sons.

The group gathered a few days later at Driftmark this time. The twin girls, Baela and Rhaena, were showered with love, and a betrothal between them and Rhaenyra’s sons were arranged.

“I hope the betrothals do not come as a slight to you, Princess,” Rhaenys said to Viserea as the two met each other in the library.

Viserea smiled and shook her head,

“Of course not. Daenys and Maelon will not hold the same duties as Rhaenyra and Laenor’s sons. I would much rather the succession of the throne be secured,” she told Rhaenys honestly.

Rhaenys smiled at Viserea and sat next to her,

“I am glad you see it that way. If your opinion on the matter does change, let me know if there is some way Corlys and I can make amends,” she offered.

Viserea shook her head again,

“There is no slight to make amends for,” she reassured.

Honestly, even if Viserea had felt slighted, she would not have said anything. There was no guarantee that Jace and Luke were actually Laenor’s and if Laena’s children married Jace and Luke, it almost seemed as though no harm was done. The Velaryon name and blood would still sit the Iron Throne and inherit Driftmark.

Before the year’s end, Viserea and Daemon welcomed another daughter. This one was named Adlyn, after Viserea’s mother.

[bbygirl-aemond]

please check up on the daemyra stans in your life because between daemon insisting he be called king and telling the brackens to bend the knee to him instead of rhaenyra and calling himself viserys's true heir and telling alys that he's claiming king's landing for himself and the only place for rhaenyra is at his side if she's willing to go along with it we are STRUGGLING thank you

[emmadarcyextra]

"Who we are is within ourselves.

Look BEYOND the VISIBLE"

My Edit of Emma D'Arcy. This piece is titled: look beyond the visible.

Who we are is not from the external; it is within us. All our emotions resides in our hearts-- philosophically within our souls.

Our society is in static--blocked in an era of unenlightenment. We are still transfixed, unable to move forward in time.

It only needs one person to remain steadfast in their belief despite the consequences of said stand. Emma D'Arcy is the beginning of change.

I applaud them loudly and I am in their corner. Let us lend Emma D'Arcy our strength to withstand the storm. It is boiling high.