#Dark daemon targaryen x reader

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Daddy dearest (Rhaenyra/Harwin Daughter x Darkish Daemon Targaryen) (READER OR OC)

🔷Summary: You are Rhaenyra's and Harwin's daughter and you just proposed to Aemond, your stepdaddys worst enemy.

WORDCOUNT: 2159

🔷Author's note: This was a request, this is my first Daemon fic so i hope i did him justice without turning him into a carebear or a scary pookie.

🔷Warnings: Oc/reader is a brat, reader has clear empathy issues, reader has a daddy kink (liiiiiterallly) targcest!, dark!daemon, smut, p in v, fucking, desk fucking, choking, slut-shaming, high-treason, cheating, (daemon) slight gore, and dom/sub themes.

There is something about Targaryens that makes them a little more dangerous than other families. You have always known that. But there is something about you that makes you a little more dangerous than most Targaryens. 

Like a dragon, you wish to be close to the fire, letting it consume your everything while you hiss at your pain. You always enjoyed creating drama and orchestrating plots. You have been good at it. 

So, when your one-eyed uncle, Aemond Targaryen one day writes a sobby letter where he confesses his love and devotion to you, regrets killing your little brother, and vows that he will love you from the end of his days, it is not the prospect of peace that makes you happy. It is the prospect of war.

You write back, of course you do. You appeal to Aemond’s pride, his titles, his ‘’beauty’’ and most of all: His ego. You assume that the two of you will be married soon, should your mother wish it. Everything to avoid the war.

You happily brush your hair, thinking of all the good things that will hopefully happen to your family now. You love wearing your hair on a side-braid, the way Visenya wore hers.

You have just finished preparing for the day to come when your stepfather, Daemon Targaryen barges into your rooms. You don’t bow or greet him, instead you just smirk at his furious expression and red worked up cheeks. You fold your hands on your back and raise your chin with an innocent smirk. ‘’You seem upset.’’ You speak, your voice cheerful.

Daemon hands you an opened letter. You briefly scan the words and sigh, noticing the familiar awfully nauseating perfect handwriting of Aemond Targaryen. He brags to Daemon about ‘’Seducing’’ you and that you ‘’soon will be pregnant with child.’’ Inwardly, you roll your eyes, but you did suspect that Aemond would write Daemon about his ‘’conquest’’ of you. Of course he would. That is why you picked Aemond in the first place. He thinks you are being conquered but in reality he is a pawn in a plot he has no clue of. He is as a sheep being lured in the wolf’s den, unaware he is about to be slaughtered.

But you don’t let Daemon see your disgust at this, kinslayer waving his win in his rival’s face.  Daemon is very worried for your safety. ‘’Are you insane, courting him? Have you forgotten what that child murderer did to our family?’’ As much as you miss Lucerys, you won’t kill yourself or others for his dead chewed up corpse. Luc would want everyone to get along and to make peace, not war. Which is why he died, as it is a very foolish way of handling enemies. You feel indifferent about his loss. You miss a bit, but you won’t trade a limb back for him.

You hand him the letter back. ‘’Yes. I am betrothed. Aren’t you happy for me?’’ It is almost funny how quickly his emotions change from utter rage and murder, to disappointment, to heartbreak and finally how all his emotion die and only a mask remains.

He becomes silent. The only thing you hear is the betrayal of your own heart beating. ‘’With Aemond?’’ He asks, now a bit calmer than previously. ‘’You know you can get much better.’’ He says. You don’t know who he refers to.

You roll your eyes. ‘’No, with Aegon. Of course with Aemond!’ You know he hates it when you roll your eyes.

‘’What the fuck do you mean with ‘’of course’’?’’’You giggle inwardly.

You blink rapidly, innocently.

‘’Daddy dearest, don’t cuss please. It’s very peasant-like. Aren’t you happy I’m finally engaged? You tried so hard to find a good suitor for me.’’ You grin.

‘’Your mother and I should choose your suitor! Have you thought about any of us during these games with Aemond?’’ More than he would ever know. 

You sigh, lying easily.

‘’I will be honest, you haven’t both been on my mind very much.’’

You need a final push. You are so close. ‘’Daddy dearest, me and Aemond are meant to be. Soon I’ll carry his babies for him and make him a father when I polish his creepy sapphire eye for him while he breeds me as if I am livestock. You either adjust-’’ That is pushing it too far, part of you just knows it. You can see when you cross a line and you just did that. You see a reflection of danger and insanity in the eyes of Daemon, the man you’ve yearned for so long. 

He grabs you violently by the throat, and you squeak pathetically when he drags you with him. Daemon has lost his patience with you and drags you with him as if you are a toy. ‘’Not another word. No one is breeding you. Not him at least.’’ With a push you are on your back, on your writing desk. Daemon throws several of your books and your quills on the ground, bending you under him. You pretend to groan but your lips are curled up in a smile, when he removes your smallclothes, pulling them down and exposing your body to him. 

His big hands grab each of your asscheeks when you hiss in anticipation. He releases his anger on your poor behind but you can’t say that you mind. If anything, you love it. You wait for Daemon to finish his spanking before turning on your desk, revealing your other entrance to him. A glistering wet and needy entrance. ‘’Aemond rides the biggest dragon. Do you think his cock is the biggest too? I read something about men with funny noses-’’ You will never finish the sentence.

Your head is smashed down and you finally feel Daemon’s experienced hands touch your so eager cunt. You whimper, weak and softly when he takes a stance behind you, and you clench yourself when you hear the sound of his belt being removed. ‘’You want a man to breed you, you horny little slut? You want to be fucked and owned as a whore? Fine with me.’’ He groans in your ear when spitting in your face. You recoil in brief disgust before your legs are spread wide and open and his cock is forced deep inside of you, causing you to grunt against the wood of the desk. Daemon yanks you up by your arms, fucking you without speaking. You become a little light in the head as pleasure mixes inside of you, and you can’t believe it's finally happening. His cock feels good to have inside of you and once again you clench, needy as a whore.

Daemon grins in your ear when noticing your little cries and gasps of pleasure. ‘’You wish to be bred, little girl? You wish for your Kepa to make you his little whore?’’ He grins, using his Valyrian accent for that one word. You become even more aroused because of that and moan, weakly. Daemon sinks in back inside of you, pulling you up so he can fuck you when you lay on your desk. Your wooden deks cracks of the movements as Daemon takes your maidenhead on it, not giving a fuck for your sore museles or your begs. 

‘’Daemon…’’

You are close to your heights. There are days just like these when you touch yourself, imagining it was him all along. And now he is, taking you as his spoils and fucking you the way a conquerer takes his spoils. You beg. ‘’Daemon..’’ You are spanked another time, this time on your cunny that is brutally fucked at the same time. You cry out in pain and glare at Daemon who simply smirks back at you, before dragging his nails into your skin, forcing you back on his cock for another good, but painful ride. You become used to the pain, and to the feeling of having a man inside of you. It is better than everything you ever did to yourself. ‘’Kepa, please…’’ You beg, pathetically. 

Your stepfather has no mercy for you, grinning as if you are his enemy and this is your end. ‘’You are a little greedy whore. I won’t finish you off. The only one who comes is me, little Princess. Your Kepa will put a child inside your belly, perhaps that will teach you some respect.’’ He vows, riling you up against his cock until you nearly come.

You become even more aroused, fighting your desires and the urge to ride his cock. ‘’What if I’m not with child?’’ You ask, knowing you will like the answer very much.

Daemon pauses, the cock half inside of you, taunting you, torturing you. ‘’Then I simply must return and fuck you the way a dog fucks his bitch until you are, won’t I?’’ He breaths out, before taking you again on the desk. You are taken now quicker, faster and can barely keep up. Your cries become louder and freer and Daemon needs to wrap his free hand around your mouth to silence you when his cock fucks your body sore. The thrusts become rougher and more dominate and Daemon hits you again, and again and again on your ass when fucking you sore and likely very bloody. Yet you cry in approval, beg without words and plead for more by slowly grinding back against his body.

You see a determination that is very arousing in his eyes. He grabs your hips, impales you with his cock, all the way in and fucks you harshly and more animalstic than before. You lose count of how many he times he fucks you, but when he is finished, you can hear him grunt and you know his cum is inside your body right now. You remain on the desk, frozen, half undressed, and needy and naked.

Daemon grabs you by your throat once more, moving you to your bed. He throws you on it, grabbing a pillow. You protest but are turned on your stomach. He presses your face in the pillow so your cries can’t be heard and whispers in your ear. ‘’You’re going to become such a marvelous little mother for my son, Princess. Yes you will.’’ He murmurs against your belly. You whimper wordlessly.

His cock finds your body again and is pushed all the way in, when he kisses your hair and fucks you gently this time. ‘’Come for Kapa. Show me what a pretty obedient slave you can be for me.’’He whispers. You feel it build as he fucks you harder and harder and as your eyes close you cry out in the pillow he forces you on your mouth, soaking it in the process when Daemon fucks you when you scatter around him, breaking into million of pieces. 

Satisfied with your state, Daemon removes the pillow and looks at your wet, but bloodied cunny. ‘’Such a good slut for Kepa.’’ He tells you with a smirk. You pant still in denial that that happened. He pats your belly next. You lean in and want to kiss him. ‘’Kepa..’’

But he pulls away, disgusted all of a sudden and angry. ‘’You will write to Aemond today. You will invite him to an inn somewhere close and you will seduce him. I want him to think mine child is his. I want to be there, when you reveal to him you played him and I want to see his pathetic little mind break at the betrayal you and me pulled on him.’’ He grins. You nod, absently. 

‘’What if I don’t want to fuck Aemond?’’ You have seen the man and he seems very boring in the sheets, almost as boring as he is in the streets.

Daemon grabs you by your throat, choking you and you gasp, but you feel a different connection to him now. He seeded and sored you. He made you his in a way and you are now his little princess. ‘’Did I fuck your brains out, little dumb princess?’’ He groans out. 

You are shocked as you gasp for air, worried it ends there for you. ‘’K-Kepa…’’

He sighs at your stupidity. ‘’You will fuck Aemond, you’ll be a needy little slut for him and fuck the shrimp he calls a cock, and you’ll pretend your baby is his.’’ What does that even accomplish?

‘’But we don’t know yet if I am even pregnant!’ You whisper distraught by the idea of bedding your uncle.

Daemon smirks. ‘’One of these days, you will be. I have had a taste of you, princess and I will be back. Your mother is not cutting it for me anymore. She is the love of my life, but love only does so much.’’ He speaks, petting your cheeks when you silently cry. 

‘’Go make Aemond happy. Then we will destroy him. Together.’’ He promises you, with a kiss on your lips.

A/N

Aemond, thinking he has a pure valyrian woman waiting for him that will help him destory daemon:

HE HAS NO IDEA-

Yeah this was fun! Actually a lot of fun. I hope you guys liked it!!!

If you did be sure to let me knoww xxxx

[themotherofblood]

I wanna write a Daemon Targaryen or Tywin fic inspired by this song. I know the vibe the reader would have.

Very seductress, dark feminine, politically savvy or a Vamp. Definitely doesn’t mind being branded a whore, but is rich of nobility. I’m thinking she’d be Essoi but I can’t come up with storyline :( help

[moochiesther]

I reread this for about 4-5 times today, help-

HOTD Reactions - You refuse them

Dark Daemon, Aegon, Aemond and Jace.

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

(female reader)

WARNINGS: Mentions of Non-con, Murder.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

--

Daemon

Daemon is a calculative man, one that will do anything to get what he craves. Only to find out that the woman he wants to wed is already betrothed to another. He killed his wife for you, thinking that it would solve everything only to discover that annoying detail. 

Daemon starts losing patience and he feels irritated, why are things getting so complicated and messy? He just wants to have you as his wife then why are bureaucratic and social norms getting in his way? 

He asks Viserys to set a marriage between you and him, only to be met with a firm denial. He tries persuading you to elope with him, only for you to completely renegade him, declaring that you have no love for him. 

Daemon is a man with a short patience and it gets to the point that he has to arrange for your betrothed to die from mysterious causes, leaving your parents with the obligation to find another suitor for you and who better than the king's own brother? 

Aegon

Aegon is not one to avoid his desires and one thing he desires the most is you.

He is not coy in his pervert advances towards you, making it very much obvious how much he wants to fuck you. It becomes borderline scandalous when Aegon makes extremely suggestive and graphic comments to you, even in front of other noble ladies. 

After you delicately talk with Alicent about this, she does her best to stop Aegon from being a pervert towards you, a young lady from a reputable family. But that does little to prevent Aegon from keeping with his attempts, even if it had earned him a few slaps from his mother. 

Aegon quickly charges back at you and this time he’s forceful in his pursuit for you, making sure to taint your maidenhood in such a compromising way that both of your families will simply have to marry you, in a quick solution to save your dignity. 

Aemond

The fact that you’re Jacaerys’s twin sister doesn’t stop Aemond from taking a liking on you. You’re different from your brother, you’re innocent and kind. Always offering Aemond a warm smile, so differently from the other court ladies that prefer to ignore him because of his scarred face. 

Aemond is never hostile towards you, even if you are a Strong bastard, like your brothers. He simply acts as if you have no relation with the Strong boys, even if you’re their blood sister. 

He is quite subtle in his advances towards you, preferring to attentively watch you from the shadows, quietly joining you in the library or while you’re walking around. But either way, he’s always suffocatingly around you. 

Although everyone from his family is against his feelings, except for Helaena who rejoices in the possibility of you becoming her sister, Aemond still goes ahead and declares his love for you.

But you don’t love him, you never did  and it shows as your pretty face is startled with intense guilt, refusing to look Aemond in the eye. Furthermore, both Jace and Luke eavesdrop on the conversation and start a fight with Aemond, worsening the situation.

But if your family really thinks that they can stop Aemond from having you, then they are very wrong. 

Jace 

Jace is quite the gentleman so at first he tries his best to respect your decision, trying to avoid you as much as he can. However as time passes by, his love flourishes a little too much. 

Jace will once again declare his ardent feelings for you and even if you decline him again, he won’t give up this time. He can’t live without you so why can’t you realize that.

You’ll start hiding away from him, keeping an overly attentive eye for the corners of the castle as Jace seems to appear out of nowhere to pester you with his extensive speeches of being a good and honorable man, of being worthy of you, that he’ll devote in you as his future wife and queen. 

As you still refuse him, Jace would be forced to ask his mother for help. Rhaenyra would ignorantly take Jace’s obsession as an innocent crush that could eventually lead to healthy marriage and as such, she’ll soon offer a marriage proposal to your house.

No father would ever refuse the possibility of having their daughter married to the heir of the throne and soon you find yourself getting engaged to the same man that you’ve so desperately tried to avoid. Bad luck.

[luv-lock]

⸻ ʟ ɪ ᴛ ᴛ ʟ ᴇ ꜱ ɪ ꜱ ᴛ ᴇ ʀ ⸻

Pairing: Poly Aemon, Baelon and Alyssa x Targaryen Reader

Summary: They were your siblings. They loved you to their bones. They always been there, watching, protecting you, caring for you. It's only fair if they take you first, don't you think?

Warning: +18 contact, Minors DNA, Foursome, Fem on Fem, Targcest.

Notes: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

The heat of the room was stifling, your skin glistening with sweat as you were trapped between your siblings’ bodies. The heady scent of arousal filled the air, a mixture of sweat and sex that made your mind spin. Baelon lay beneath you, his hands gripping your waist, as he thrust his hips between your legs. You were already so stretched and sore, your inner walls fluttering around him as you tried to adjust to the thick length inside of you.

“B-Baelon, it’s... t-too much,” you whimpered, your voice breaking with each desperate breath. Your words were met with a low, guttural laugh from him as he thrust up into you, filling you to the hilt.

Alyssa’s soft, comforting voice was the only tether you had in the whirlwind of sensation. “It’s alright, sweet sister,” she murmured, her fingers gently brushing away the tears that streaked your flushed cheeks. Her mouth was hot against yours, tongue coaxing you into a kiss that was both tender and all-consuming. “We’re here for you... we’ll take such good care of you.”

Your whimpers were muffled as Alyssa’s fingers tangled in your hair, pulling your mouth to her chest. Pinned between them, you were barely able to catch your breath. Alyssa, straddling Baelon’s face, let out soft moans as she ground her hips down, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. “Don’t worry, darling,” she purred. “Just focus on me. Let them do all the hard work.” She guided your lips to her nipple, her voice soft and soothing as if she were trying to comfort you. “That’s it, good girl… suck on my tits while our brothers take care of you.”

You obediently took her breast into your mouth, your lips closing around the stiff peak as tears welled in your eyes. The sensation of Aemon slowly pushing into your other entrance sent shivers up your spine. His cock was thick, and every inch felt like it was splitting you apart. You gasped against Alyssa’s skin, your muffled cries vibrating through her chest.

Alyssa smiled down at you, cupping your cheek as she looked into your teary eyes. “You’re doing so well for your first time, my sweet,” she whispered. “I know it’s a lot, but you can handle it. We’re all here to take care of you, aren’t we?” Her words were soft, but the glint in her eyes was anything but gentle.

Aemon’s hands tightened around your hips, pressing you further down onto him until he was buried to the hilt inside your tightest hole. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust. “Relax, little one… just breathe. I want to feel you loosen up around me.” He reached around to play with your swollen clit, the overstimulation making your back arch and your mouth pull away from Alyssa’s breast as you cried out.

“N-no more,” you sobbed, overwhelmed by the sensations flooding through you. Your entire body was trembling, the pleasure almost too much to bear. “Please… I c-can’t—”

“Hush now,” Baelon interrupted, his voice a low growl as he thrust up into you, his cock hitting that sweet spot that made your vision blur. “You can and you will. We’ve only just started, sweet sister. We’ve waited so long for this… for you.” He punctuated his words with deep, steady thrusts, making you mewl pathetically.

Alyssa’s lips were on yours again, her kiss fervent and possessive as she swallowed your desperate moans. “You’re ours, my love,” she cooed against your mouth, her voice a soft murmur of sweet poison. “Just let go… let us have you.”

Pinned between the relentless thrusts of Baelon beneath you and Aemon behind you, you were utterly helpless. Alyssa’s hands caressed your body, her fingers gently tracing the marks left by her brothers. The sight of you, so thoroughly debauched, sent shivers of delight through her. “Look at you,” she whispered, pressing soft kisses along your jaw. “So beautiful, so perfect for us.”

Aemon’s movements became more urgent, his fingers digging into your hips as he pounded into you from behind. “Gods, you’re so tight… you’re squeezing me like you don’t want to let go,” he groaned, his voice rough with barely contained need. “Do you hear how wet you are? How much you love this?”

Your moans turned to broken sobs as your body betrayed you, every nerve on fire. “I-I can’t… I’m so full, please… I can’t take anymore,” you whimpered, tears streaming down your cheeks. But even as you begged, your body was clamping down on them, your walls spasming around Baelon and Aemon as if desperate to keep them inside.

Alyssa’s fingers gripped your chin, forcing you to look at her through your teary eyes. “Oh, but you can,” she whispered with a smile, her eyes gleaming with delight. “You’re doing so well, little sister… just a bit more. You’ll take everything we give you, won’t you?”

“Yes, y-yes… just please…” Your voice was barely a whisper, broken and pleading as you tried to catch your breath.

Baelon’s thrusts became more erratic, his cock pulsing inside you as he chased his release. “That’s it, take it, take all of it,” he grunted, his grip on your hips bruising as he held you down.

Aemon’s hips slammed into you one last time as he spilled deep inside you, his hot seed filling your already overwhelmed body. You could feel it leaking out even as Baelon followed, his own release flooding your core. Alyssa held you close, her lips brushing your ear as she whispered sweet nothings, her fingers tenderly wiping away your tears.

“There now,” Alyssa cooed, her voice soft and soothing as your trembling body tried to recover from the onslaught. “See? You did it, my sweet. You were perfect.”

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ

[venusbyline]

Fire ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 18, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Daemon Targaryen x niece!reader

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: primal play + breath play

— summary: Daemon wants his other niece to release the dragon fire within her. But things go too far when she stabs him after he leaves Rhaenyra's wedding ceremony early.

— word count: 1.6k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 18th day, Targcest (uncle/niece), female!reader, dark!Daemon, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, dubcon, primal play, breath play, age gap (older man/younger woman), choking, degradation, vaginal sex, rough sex, loss of virginity, corruption kink, crying, dacryphilia, nipple play, fighting, blood kink, blood licking, violence, head injury, chasing, sexism, underage sex, creampie, breeding kink, overstimulation, dumbification, semi-public sex, curse words, manipulation, stabbing, family issues, sadism, Rhaenyra Targaryen mentioned, minor Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen, ambiguous/open ending, dom!Daemon, sub!reader, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @turdettethefirst

— crossposting: AO3

After Daemon's involvement with Rhaenyra, you tried to confront him. You were furious with him, already knowing everything he had done to cause that chaos in your older sister's life and now she was paying the price, being forced to marry your cousin Laenor Velaryon.

Even though you were a year younger than Rhaenyra, you were not surprised when rumors about her and Daemon started flying around King's Landing. Your uncle's obsession with her, the heir to the Iron Throne, the future Queen, was nothing new to anyone. You sometimes wondered if all that fire and passion that Daemon seemed to feel for your sister was just because of her personality itself or if it was also an unconscious way of him trying to get as close as possible to the crown.

When Daemon left her wedding ceremony early, you took advantage of the lords and ladies being drinking, dancing or gossiping so you could go after Daemon. You had prepared for this, disguising yourself and being almost an exact, shorter copy of your uncle. It did not take long for you to make it out of the castle and have your sword at Daemon's throat, your anger clear in your tone as you whispered how he had probably ruined your sister's life forever.

He was not surprised by your audacity and lack of respect. In fact, his biggest surprise was that you really had bravery to confront him. You have always been in Rhaenyra's shadow. Never the firstborn and heir, like her. And never the desired son, like little Aegon. You were... Just you. Your less daring personality made Daemon rarely notice you. All he knew was that you were very beautiful, even though he did not like your judgmental and calmer manner.

He wanted you to release the dragon fire that ran in your blood, in your veins. And that is exactly what you were doing.

When Daemon chased you through the disgusting corridors of Flea Bottom, your heart was racing. You could see the confused and even amused looks from the drunken commoners as you screamed, running desperately to try and hide from your angry uncle. You had crossed a line, you knew it. You had gone too far, the wish to be noticed and have your worth proven had spoken louder than your common sense.

You planned to confront him, threaten him for sealing your sister's fate with a such cruel and selfish way, tell him that Viserys was right about him wanting the throne, not his daughter. However, you did not plan on sticking the sword in your uncle's waist. It had been an impulsive thought, the result of your dark and sensitive emotions after he taunted you about your insignificance to the entire family. He always saw you as a dull shadow of your older sister. Rhaenyra was always busy with Daemon and never really bothered trying to pay attention to you since both of you grew up. Your mother Aemma died and left behind a trauma in your life. Your half-siblings were just babies. And your father Viserys was too busy protecting his firstborn and future queen.

As stupid as it could be, the only person who still cared a little about your existence was your stepmother Alicent. Despite being Rhaenyra's former best friend, you were easier to get along with. You were not impulsive and obsessed with Daemon, and you had not been angry about her marriage to your father, after all, it is not like she had much of a choice.

But no one else in all of Westeros cared about your existence, to the point that Viserys had not even considered marrying you yet.

You hated being seen as Rhaenyra's shadow, especially because you loved your sister despite everything. Then when Daemon pointed out your insignificance and added about being surprised by your boldness, your stomach twisted and you stabbed the blade of your sword into his waist, catching him off guard. It had not been a blow strong enough to make him almost bleed to death or anything like that. However, it had been enough to awaken the dragon within his uncle.

And it caused you to run through the streets, screaming and trying to run away from Daemon Targaryen like a fragile, vulnerable lamb. The chase lasted more than thirty minutes. Daemon was proud about you, he had to admit. He thought you would give in or fall to the floor any moment ago, but you never did. You managed to evade him for the entire thirty minutes. He did not even feel the pain of the cut anymore, despite the blood smeared on his disguise.

Once Daemon finally managed to catch up to you, both of you were in a secluded part, away from all the drunks who walked around like annoying spirits. His large hand grabbed the back of your neck, your smaller body being thrown across the dead end, the sound of your bones hitting the ground almost scared himself. Daemon did not usually hesitate when it came to hurting someone, but despite your fucking insolence, killing the King's daughter would not be forgiven, even if you were the insignificant one.

Then he took a deep breath, approaching you, who was stunned on the floor. He saw the blood dripping from your head, but he also saw that you were conscious and not only terrified, but angry too, the dragon fire in your violet eyes making him smirk. "Yeah, good girl." Daemon mocked, pulling you by the neck and keeping you upright, his bloody hands squeezing your throat so you could not escape, limiting the air from your already weak lungs. "Wake up the dragon inside you, sweet one. Let me find out if you are worth tasting or if you really are just a waste of time."

Your head was still dizzy, your vision was so blurry as you felt Daemon's hand pressed to your mouth to muffle the loud sounds that escaped your lips. He had already been in enough trouble involving Rhaenyra and that damn brothel. He did not need more commoners commenting on the fact that his other niece was moaning like a little whore every time his hips hit you rough.

His cock was being crushed by your little cunt, he could feel your warm walls squeezing him, the sensation of your wetness mixing with the blood that dripped during his movements. Daemon was no fool, he always knew you were a virgin. Untouchable by any other man. Until then, he had never created any real desire to corrupt you, his mind too focused on Rhaenyra for him to consider looking away. The combination of the sensation of your cunt and the pleasure of taking your blood just like you had done to him before was motivating him to continue. He wanted to take you to your limit.

"Seven Hells. Look at you..." Daemon growled between moans, his hand that was covering your mouth now coming down to grip your neck, while the other had fun exploring your pretty nipples. "Bleeding on your uncle's cock like a fucking stupid whore." The scoff was followed by a tighter grip on your throat, your eyes rolling back as he continued to fuck you like an animal, his balls slapping your thighs and ass so hard you did not even know how he had not already ripped you in half. You felt like your core could tear at any moment.

"D-Daemon..." Your whimper came out strangled, your fingers gripping the masculine shirt of your disguise clothes, trying to ground yourself in reality and not let yourself lose consciousness. You did not know if you should want to go through with it. You did not know if it was right to want Daemon to continue treating you like that, giving you a handout of attention for the first time in all your years of life. Gods, you hated him. He hated you too. You were Rhaenyra's shadow and she was Daemon's shadow. Rhaenyra was everything you wanted to be. And Daemon was everything Rhaenyra wanted to be.

"Just relax, sweet one." Daemon's words sounded breathless, both because of the movements and the slight twinge of pain in his wound, but there was no way that would make him stop. He felt your cunt spasming around his big thick cock, trying to get used to being filled for the first time. You knew that no one else in the world would fuck you like this, like an animal. Like a dragon. "You feel so good, little dragon. I never imagined I would say that, but I could get used to this thing, you know that? Fucking you, corrupting you, hurting you..." Daemon teased, his blood-filled fingers pressing one of your breasts until leaving marks from his nails on your soft skin, your face pressed against the alley wall, hurting your delicate face and increasing Daemon's arousal.

You felt the moment Daemon came, his white and warm essence filling you and making your legs shake from the overstimulation, as Daemon continued fucking you, pushing his seed even deeper. "Well, perhaps you will be a good replacement after all. Perhaps I should let you carry my heirs, princess. What do you think about that, insolent little niece?" You ignored his mockery, the bruises on your cheek burning with the tears that flowed, both of pleasure and sadness, anger and pain. You hated that. You loved that. You hated Daemon. You wanted Daemon. It was all so confusing that Daemon laughed out loud when you finally came around him, your tight and sensitive little cunt milking him.

Daemon's tongue licked the bloody wound on the back of your head and you moaned at the burn. "That is right, my new little dragon. You are so easy to claim. I guess I might start to like all of this."

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[pixii33]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐌𝐲 𝐝♡ve 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Unhinged Aegon x Therapist Reader part 3

Summary: after that night, no matter what you do, no matter what you say, no one believes you. You're done. You want to quit being his therapist but you still haven't seen the worst part...

Warning: paranoia, abuse, mental illness.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

PART 1, PART 2, PART 4

It had been days since that night—days since the dead doves, the blood on the walls, the police visit to the Targaryen home. Days since Y/N last felt normal.

Now, the walls of her apartment seemed to close in on her. The curtains remained drawn, blocking out the light of day. The once-cozy space was now a prison, suffocating her with silence, except for the incessant scratching at the back of her mind. The feeling of being watched, of not being alone. Every creak, every whisper of wind against the windows made her jump.

She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t sleep. Her body felt weak, and her mind was clouded in a haze of paranoia. Her hair was greasy, her skin pale and blotchy. Dark circles framed her eyes—eyes that were wide with fear, darting around the room, always expecting him. Expecting Aegon to appear from the shadows. She had stopped showering, afraid that if she closed her eyes for even a second, he’d be there when she opened them. Her reflection in the mirror was foreign, ghostly, a stranger trapped in a body consumed by terror.

And her boyfriend…he was tired. More than tired. He was done.

"Y/N, for fuck's sake, you have to stop this," he snapped, his voice breaking the silence like glass shattering on the floor. He stood in the kitchen, staring at her with a mix of frustration and pity, while she sat at the edge of the couch, her legs pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them.

"You don’t believe me. You never believe me,” she muttered, her voice hoarse from days of crying, of pleading. "I saw him. It was him. I know it was him." Her eyes were wild, flicking toward the corners of the room as though Aegon might materialize from the shadows at any moment.

Jacob sighed, rubbing his temples. "Y/N, we've been over this a thousand times. The cops checked him out. There was nothing—nothing—to suggest he did anything. No evidence, no signs, nothing. He’s just some guy going through a rough time, and you're his therapist. You’ve taken this too far."

She flinched at his words, the sting of them sinking into her chest. "No…you don’t get it. You don’t see him like I do. He’s dangerous. I’m not safe. He knows where I live. He wants me." Her voice trembled as she spoke, each word a desperate plea for him to understand.

But he didn’t. He was tired of this, of her, of everything.

"You're obsessed, Y/N. Obsessed with this guy. You spend all your time thinking about him, talking about him, dreaming up this whole fucking scenario in your head like you're the main character of some horror movie. But this isn't a movie—this is real life, and you're making shit up!" His voice grew louder, angrier with every word, his patience long gone.

Y/N shook her head, her body trembling. "I'm not making it up. You have to believe me—please. I’m not crazy. I’m not—"

"Yes, you are!" He cut her off, his face twisted with frustration. "You’re fucking crazy, Y/N! Years of being a therapist have finally caught up with you. You’ve absorbed all the bullshit from your patients, and now you’re projecting it onto this guy. Aegon didn’t do anything to you—he’s just some poor bastard who had the misfortune of being assigned to you."

Her stomach lurched at his words. The pain of his accusation was worse than anything she’d felt before. It was like a knife twisting inside her, carving out the last remnants of hope she’d clung to. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.

"I'm not crazy," she whispered, her voice broken, fragile. She didn’t even recognize herself anymore.

Jacob slammed his hand on the counter, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Then why are you acting like it? Why can’t you just let this go? You're ruining your life—our life—because you’re so fixated on this guy. You won’t eat, you won’t sleep, you’re a fucking mess, Y/N! I can't keep doing this! Every time I try to help you, you just spiral deeper into this delusion!"

Tears streamed down her face, but she barely felt them. "I’m not delusional," she repeated, but her voice cracked, betraying her.

"Yes, you are!" He shouted, stepping closer, his face red with anger. "You’re making this shit up because you’re obsessed with him. Admit it! You’re obsessed with Aegon. You’ve let him get into your head, and now you’re the one who’s losing it."

"No!" she cried, her voice raw. "I’m not obsessed with him! I don’t care about him like that! I’m scared—he’s going to hurt me! I know he is!"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Oh, give me a break. You’ve been so wrapped up in this guy, you probably want him to do something, just so you can play the victim. Just so you can have some sick thrill of being the center of his attention. It’s pathetic, Y/N."

His words felt like a slap in the face, each one tearing at her like claws. She stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to believe that this was happening—that he was saying these things to her. The one person who was supposed to protect her, to believe her, had turned against her.

"I can’t do this anymore," he said, his voice quieter now but still laced with anger. "I can’t keep pretending that you're okay, because you're not. You need help. Professional help. Maybe you should check yourself into a fucking psych ward, because right now, you’re acting like a fucking lunatic."

Her breath hitched in her throat. The room seemed to spin around her, her vision blurring with tears. "How can you say that?" she whispered, her voice shaking. "How can you say that to me?"

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly done with the conversation. "Because it's the truth. And deep down, you know it. You're spiraling, Y/N. And I’m not going to stand here and let you drag me down with you."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. She felt as though the world had collapsed around her, the last piece of her sanity slipping away.

"Fine," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you think I’m crazy…then just go. Leave me."

He stared at her for a long moment, the anger still simmering in his eyes. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the apartment, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Y/N alone in the dark.

And for the first time in days, the silence felt more dangerous than ever.

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, her eyes red and swollen from sleepless nights. She hadn’t heard from her boyfriend in days, and each missed call had sent her deeper into a pit of despair. But today was different. Today was the day she would finally face Aegon.

Her hands shook as she brushed her hair, her fingers trembling with every stroke. Her reflection looked haggard—dark circles under her eyes, skin pale and sickly. She barely recognized herself, but she needed to pull it together. She had to pull it together.

"He’s just a man," she whispered to herself, her voice shaky but determined. "Just a man… I’m in control. I have to be in control. I can’t let him win."

Her eyes flickered toward the closet. She needed to choose something to wear, something that made her feel strong, confident. Something that would hide how utterly broken she felt inside.

She reached for a black turtleneck, one of the few pieces of clothing that didn’t feel too vulnerable, too exposed. The fabric clung to her body in a way that was both comforting and suffocating, but she convinced herself it was armor. Something to shield her from the weight of Aegon’s gaze. She paired it with dark jeans and boots, feeling the weight of each step as she slipped them on.

"It’s just another session," she muttered, pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail. "I’m going to confront him. I’m going to tell him it’s over. He can’t do this to me anymore."

She stared at herself in the mirror, trying to find some semblance of the person she used to be. Her hands gripped the edges of the sink, her knuckles white from the pressure.

"You're not crazy," she told herself, her voice stronger this time. "He’s messing with you, but you can stop this. You can end this. Just get through today, and then you’re done. You’ll quit. You’ll never have to see him again."

Her heart raced at the thought of being in the same room with him again, but she forced herself to breathe.

"In and out," she whispered, taking a deep breath. "Just…in and out. You can do this. You have to do this."

She tried to picture how it would go. She’d walk into the room, sit across from him like she always did, but this time, she wouldn’t let him get to her. She wouldn’t let his twisted words sink into her skin like poison.

"I’m the therapist," she reminded herself, pacing back and forth now, her boots tapping against the hardwood floor. "I’m the one in control. He’s just a patient. He’s just…" She trailed off, the image of Aegon’s wide eyes and the way he had silently told her to shut up flashing in her mind.

She shook her head, trying to push the memory away. "No, no… Don’t think about that. You’re stronger than this. You’re not scared of him. You can quit. You can walk away."

But her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. She stared at them, willing them to be steady. "Breathe," she muttered, forcing another deep breath into her lungs. "Just breathe."

She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, the weight grounding her for a moment. "You’ve got this," she whispered one last time, trying to convince herself.

But as she headed for the door, the creeping sense of dread wrapped around her, cold and suffocating.

Y/N sat at her desk, staring at the door, the silence of the room pressing in on her. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, and the knot of anger in her chest only grew tighter. She gripped the edge of her desk, her fingers turning white. She was done with Aegon. Done with his games, his manipulations, his stalking. Today, she was ready to confront him—she was ready to make him understand that she wasn’t going to be his victim anymore.

The memory of the dead doves, the blood, still haunted her. Every night, she barely slept, feeling like his eyes were on her, even when she knew she was alone. And yet, despite all of it, he had gotten away with it. He had made her look crazy, gaslighted her in front of the police and her boyfriend, made her question her own reality. But not anymore. Today, she was taking control. Today, she would end it.

Her jaw clenched as she imagined him walking through the door, with that smug, twisted grin. Her mind raced with the confrontation she had been playing over and over in her head. She would scream at him, shout at him until he admitted what he had done. Until he finally stopped pretending to be some innocent victim.

The minutes dragged on, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at the clock. And then, finally, the door creaked open.

Aegon stepped in, but something was different. He wasn’t the man she was used to seeing—there was no smirk, no defiance. He looked… broken. Shattered.

Her eyes widened in shock. His face was a mess of bruises, swollen and discolored, with dark bags hanging under his bloodshot eyes. His clothes were disheveled, stained with dirt and blood. He walked with a limp, his steps small and hesitant, like every movement hurt him. His hands were clasped tightly together in front of him, shaking as they fidgeted against each other. He kept his head down, glancing around the room like a trapped animal, flinching at every noise, every movement.

Y/N blinked, completely taken aback. This wasn’t the Aegon she knew—the arrogant, unhinged man who had stalked her, terrorized her. No, this was something else, something… disturbing. He looked like someone who had been run over, like life had chewed him up and spat him out, and now he stood there, fearful and fragile.

For a split second, she felt something almost like pity creep into her chest. But then she remembered who he was. What he had done. And the anger surged back to the forefront.

"What the hell happened to you?" she asked, her voice dripping with disdain.

He didn’t answer. He just stood there, eyes darting around, avoiding her gaze. His lips trembled, but no words came out.

She slammed her hands on the desk, the sound echoing through the room. "Aegon!" she snapped. "What the fuck is wrong with you? What kind of game are you playing now?"

At the sound of her raised voice, Aegon jumped, visibly flinching. His body curled inward like he was trying to make himself smaller, his shoulders hunching as his knees gave way. He dropped to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth like a scared child.

Y/N’s anger faltered for a moment, replaced by confusion and a creeping sense of dread. "Aegon, what the hell is going on?" she asked again, but this time her voice was quieter, uncertain.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he started muttering under his breath, his voice shaky and broken. "What’s the matter?" he whispered, his words barely audible. "What’s the matter, Aegon?"

Her heart sank as she realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was talking to… himself? His voice trembled as he repeated the words, like a broken record. "What’s the matter, Aegon? No. I’m not gonna hurt you. Come here. Come on. What’s the matter?"

Y/N felt her stomach twist as the phrases spilled out of his mouth over and over again, each repetition more unsettling than the last. It wasn’t Aegon’s voice. It was someone else’s, echoing through his broken mind.

She watched in horror as he hugged his knees tighter, his entire body trembling. "I’m not gonna hurt you, Aegon. See? That wasn’t bad," he whispered, tears streaming down his bruised face. "That wasn’t bad. That wasn’t bad."

It hit her like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t some act, some manipulation. Aegon had been abused—horribly, painfully, to the point where his mind had fractured. And now, as he sat on the floor, shaking and crying, he was reliving it. Over and over again.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She had never seen him like this. She had never imagined this side of him—the scared, broken side. The side that had been hurt so deeply that he could only repeat the words of his abuser like a mantra.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her hands shaking as she stood there, unsure of what to do. Part of her still hated him—still wanted to scream at him, to blame him for everything. But another part of her… felt something else. Something terrifying and sad.

She knelt down beside him, her voice soft and hesitant. "Aegon…"

He didn’t respond, just kept rocking back and forth, his tears falling faster now.

"I’m not gonna hurt you," he whispered again, his voice trembling. "See? That wasn’t bad."

She swallowed hard, her mind racing. "Aegon," she said softly, "I’m not going to hurt you either. It’s okay."

He didn’t seem to hear her. He was too far gone, lost in whatever memory had taken over his mind. His eyes stared blankly at the floor, wide and terrified, as if he were seeing something she couldn’t.

She reached out slowly, carefully, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, his whole body recoiling, but she didn’t pull away.

"Aegon," she whispered again, trying to keep her voice steady. "It’s okay. You’re safe here."

But he wasn’t safe. Not really. Not with whatever had broken him, not with the darkness that clung to him like a shadow.

He rocked back and forth, mumbling, "Come here. Come on, what’s the matter, Aegon? No, no, no, I’m not gonna hurt you."

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine, her heart pounding in her chest. Whoever had done this to him—whoever had hurt him—had left a mark that ran deeper than anything she could understand.

For the first time, she realized she wasn’t dealing with just a stalker or a psychopath. Aegon was something much darker, much more broken than she had ever imagined.

She swallowed hard, trying to push the fear out of her voice. "Aegon," she said quietly, "It’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid."

But as his sobs grew louder, as he curled tighter into himself, Y/N knew that nothing she said could reach him.

The real Aegon—the one who had tormented her, who had done horrible things—was still there, somewhere. But so was this… this terrified boy, trapped in his own mind.

And she didn’t know which one scared her more.

Y/N swallowed down the terror rising in her throat, her hand trembling as she reached out to softly pet Aegon’s head. At first, he flinched, his body jerking away from her touch. But then, as if something clicked in his broken mind, he looked up at her—really looked—and his tear-streaked eyes seemed to recognize her for the first time. His lips trembled as he whispered her name, broken, like a child.

“Y/N…”

Before she could react, he clung to her, his body collapsing into her lap, his head pressed against her chest. He sobbed quietly, his whole body shaking, his hands clutching her as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded. She froze for a moment, completely caught off guard, but then instinct took over, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. His tears soaked through her clothes, and she could feel the tremors in his frail, battered form.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, stroking his hair, trying to calm him. “It’s okay, Aegon. You’re safe now.”

His sobs eventually began to quiet, his breathing slowing as she rocked him gently, her voice soft in his ear. “Shh… it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

For a long time, they stayed like that—her holding him, him clinging to her like a lifeline. The moments stretched into eternity, and Y/N could feel his grip slowly loosen as the storm inside him settled. He pulled away slightly, his eyes red and swollen from crying, but he refused to meet her gaze, his head turning away as he tried to wipe at the tears that continued to fall.

“Aegon…” she began softly, “What happened to you? Who did this?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at the floor, his jaw tight, struggling to control the tears still running down his face.

“Aegon, please…” she pressed, her voice gentle but firm. “You have to tell me.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might respond, but then he muttered something, barely audible. “I… I hate it. When she… when my mother does horrible things to me.”

Y/N felt her breath catch. His mother? She had always known that Aegon’s relationship with his family was fraught, but this? There was something darker here, something that had broken him in ways she couldn’t fathom.

“But it’s okay,” Aegon continued, his voice shaking. “Because I love her. And that’s what matters, right?”

“No Aegon–”

"I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N," Aegon said suddenly, his voice softer now, almost childlike. "I was angry that night, but I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to hurt him. I didn’t like the way he looked at you. The way he touched you."

She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "Aegon…"

He turned to her then, his bloodshot eyes wide and full of sincerity. "You can hit me, you know. I won’t stop you. You were so angry, I could see it. You can hit me if it makes you feel better."

Y/N’s blood ran cold. "What? No, Aegon, I’m not—"

"You can," he repeated, almost eagerly. "It’s okay. You’re mad at me. You can hit me." He smiled then, a soft, unnerving smile that made her stomach churn. "I won’t even flinch. I promise."

"Aegon, that’s not—"

“You can beat me if it makes you feel better,” he continued, his voice unnervingly soft, as though he were offering her a gift. “It’s okay. I’ll let you do it. I deserve it, right?”

The pit in Y/N’s stomach twisted. His words, his tone—it was as if he was trying to convince himself, not her. Like he was rationalizing the abuse he had endured.

He turned his head just slightly, enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye. “You’re like me,” he whispered.

Her body tensed at his words. “What… what do you mean?”

He wiped at his face with trembling fingers, still not fully meeting her eyes. “Even though your boyfriend hurt you… you still think about him, don’t you?”

Y/N’s blood ran cold. She felt the fear creeping back in—the terror that had been gnawing at her ever since the day the dead doves appeared at her door. The stalker. The horror. It was all coming back.

Aegon finally looked up at her, his eyes glittering with something dark, something sinister. “You love him… don’t you?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Her heart was hammering in her chest, the air thick with a suffocating dread.

Aegon’s lips twisted into a smile—that smile. The one she had seen before, the one that sent chills down her spine.

“I hate him,” Aegon said softly, his voice dripping with venom. “I hate the way he treats you. The way he talks to you. Hurts you. He doesn’t deserve you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She could feel her pulse quickening, her mind racing, trying to piece together what he was saying—what he was implying.

“Do you know,” Aegon asked, his tone disturbingly calm, “why he hasn’t answered your calls?”

Her stomach dropped.

She hadn’t heard from her boyfriend in days. He had stormed out after their last argument, refusing to answer her desperate calls or texts. She had been terrified, worried sick about him—about what he was thinking, about whether he’d come back. But now, sitting here, listening to Aegon, that fear morphed into something far worse.

He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have.

Her entire body went cold.

“What… what do you mean?” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

Aegon’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with something inhuman, something evil. He didn’t answer directly—he didn’t have to. The look in his eyes told her everything.

He leaned back, his voice light and playful now, like they were discussing a joke. “Did you open the gift I left for you?”

Her heart nearly stopped.

Gift? What gift? She hadn’t seen anything—hadn’t thought about it. But then, the morning came flooding back to her. The moment she had left the house, her mind too wrapped up in her terror and paranoia to notice anything out of place.

Her blood ran cold as her mind raced with horrible possibilities. The gift. What if it wasn’t just some harmless object? What if it was—

No. No, no, no.

She stood up so fast that she almost tripped, her eyes wide with panic. Aegon was laughing now—a soft, eerie laugh that filled the room, the sound making her skin crawl.

“Oh, Y/N,” he cooed, his voice mocking. “You really should check your door more carefully in the mornings.”

Her mind was spinning, her heart racing. She had to get out. She had to leave. She couldn’t stay here—not with him, not with his laughter ringing in her ears, the sick grin spreading across his bruised face.

She grabbed her keys from the desk, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped them. Aegon was still sitting there, watching her with that horrifying smile, his eyes gleaming with delight.

“You’ll thank me later,” he called after her as she bolted for the door.

Her mind was screaming, her heart pounding in her chest as she tore through the office, slamming the door behind her. His laughter echoed in her ears, following her down the hallway, filling her with a terror so deep she could barely breathe.

And as she ran, the only thought in her mind was the horrifying possibility of what she would find when she opened that gift.

@ 𝒃𝒓��𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[0silver0dreams0]

✦✧ Masterlist ✧✦

"Whispers of Devotion" ✦ In a world torn apart by love, loyalty, and obsession, (Your Name) finds herself reborn as the youngest daughter of Queen Alicent and King Viserys Targaryen. Once a modern soul, she is now trapped in a fragile body, caught in the crossfire of a deadly rivalry between the Queen and Princess Rhaenyra. What begins as innocent affection from those around her soon twists into a dangerous obsession. With each passing year, (Your Name) feels the grip of those who claim to love her tightening around her throat. ✧

| Storyline | | Headcanons |

[sapphireis]

Dark/Yan Daemon HCs

ೃ⁀➷ TW/CW: DARK CONTENT, 18+ (MINORS/AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DON’T INTERACT), Bad English, Toxic Relationship, Implied AFAB Reader (talk about pregnancy and stuff in a part, but for the rest pretty GN), Jealousy, Manipulation, Implied Murder, Implied Kidnapping?, Daemon, OOC?, let me know if I need to add more TW/Tags ♡ My blog contains dark content, be careful when interacting/following! ➳ Characters: Daemon Targaryen

⤠ Dark/Yan Aemond HCs ⤟ Masterlist (soon!) ⤠ I'd do anything for you, Mrs. Highness (Aemond) ⤟

This was requested by my bestie @kredpoison because she LOOVEESSS daemon, while i can't lmfao so sorry if those are short and bad, I literally have no ideas about this man other than i want him out of my life /j

... Yikes.

If normal Daemon is already A L O T to take care imagine dark!Daemon who is so obsessed with you that he can't fully function

It also makes him angry how obsessed he is with you, not that he cares if it is right or wrong, but mostly because he wants to do other things but you are constantly on his mind he can't do it. Not when you are free to do as you wish

We all know how he is. Obsessive. Possessive. Mean. Violent. Just because his heart beats for you doesn't mean you will be spared from his atrocities

Daemon wouldn't hurt you. Not physically at least, mentally? He's always reminding you to who do you belong to constantly, manipulating you into believing that without him you are nothing, that you need him even to breathe.

Like Aemond he is always with you. Watching, following, observing you especially when you aren't married yet or haven't taken you in to go on this many adventures. Cause he will bring you too! Daemon wouldn't want you to be lonely without him.

Or to possibly try to escape him, why would you when he has a ferocious dragon on his side? He will follow you to the end of this world if he has to, you have nowhere to hide.

Once you are his you are forever bound to be his- Daemon doesn't care how he has to get you or if you are already married, we all can imagine the fate of your spouse once he found out...

Either that or he will ruin your reputation completely like he tried to do to Rhaenyra so that you have no choice but marrying him, even if you try to explain what really happened.

He doesn't treat you so badly, you just have to get used to him. But if you are good he wouldnt manipulate you, he will even let you get near his dragon and see him actually happy and content.

Of course, just like Aemond, he will make you pregnant as soon as possible. Its not like he actually cares about having children, but more so his possessive side its content because you have the proof that you are his forever; a little babe that looks like the both of you

This work belongs to @/sapphireis, do not repost, translate, copy, rewrite or share on tiktok without my permission. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged♡

[randomdragonfires]

Kalopsia | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

Kalopsia (n.) The delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are.

SUMMARY | She associates the words with brighter days and happier memories that she’ll never get back. And yet, when he utters them into her ear, they've never sounded more tainted and wrong - but she'll tell herself they aren’t, until the lies become truth.

PAIRING | Daemon Targaryen x Reader

WARNINGS | 18+; smut; DD:DNE; penetrative sex; dubious consent; exhibitionism; forced prostitution; canon typical sexism; infidelity; angst; ambiguous and unclear motives for sex - both Daemon and reader are fucked up people in this story, and there is much about their mental conflict that may be quick to trigger someone. Please read with caution.

WORD COUNT | 8.8k

A/N | This is a dark fic with heavily triggering themes. Please don't hate anon me. Thanks. :)

SHE REMEMBERED THE DAY SHE MET HIM. 

It was a hot summer’s day when the sun had burnt her through her dress, leaving her sweating and reaching for a drink of water every few moments. He was a vision - flying through the skies of Pentos on the Blood Wyrm, with his beautiful wife, the lady Laena Velaryon right behind him as she rode the historic wonder, Vhagar. They were a wandering couple, and talk about them had been rife in the Free Cities - dragon sightings were feared, what with the Rogue Prince’s reckless nature making people assume that he’d bathe them in dragonfire for his personal amusement. 

She remembered seeing them fly out of Pentos the first time, to tour the other Free Cities. This was almost a year ago. By the time they’d come back to reside with the Prince of Pentos, the lady Laena had suspected that she was with child. Based on what she saw of the royal couple, Prince Daemon, in his own way, was appreciative of his wife.

But being appreciative of his wife certainly did not mean that Daemon Targaryen was in any way blind to everything else around him. It was this fact that had led his eyes to her.

A striking purple, and they had met her melancholic, unmemorable ones from where he stood as the Prince of Pentos barked orders and asked her to see to Lady Velaryon’s every need. His gaze held a very peculiar combination of condescension and amusement for those around him, and she was pulled to him, in the same way that fishes were to the sea. Her world seemed to melt as she looked at him in all his Valyrian beauty - it stunned her. 

He took one leisurely glance at her - beginning his perusal of her, neck to navel. His eyes rested for a moment longer between her legs, and she’d never forget the way her thighs quickly met under her skirts in a desperate attempt to keep herself contained.

It had been a long while since she felt anything but the fleeting sense of sadness that had taken over every part of her since she had lost it all and ended up in this city. And now, as Daemon Targaryen lingered - nay, took over her line of sight, she felt something more, more, more. 

She did not know what to think about the slow storm brewing in her mind, so she chose to disregard it for a time. This was royalty, and this entire matter was well and truly beyond her weight. She should not bother with the likes of those who were higher and mightier - those that would never choose her and harm her with no regard.

But the intense wildfire-like heat that passed through her body was hard to ignore, especially given the potent lack of it in the last many years. It scared and excited her in equal measure, and regardless of the possibility of danger, she could not help but be drawn to him. She felt like an ungrateful, wanton whore for lusting after another woman’s husband - a very good woman, she would soon find - but how could she reject the man who had woken her passions once more, after she thought they were long lost to her? All with just a single look, no less?  

It was often said that the Targaryens were closer to Gods than men. With their dragons, intoxicating eyes and intense gazes, she was inclined to agree. 

It was why she brought him his bathwater and helped him with his bath every morning after his dragon ride; why she scrubbed at his scarred skin with the washcloth even though he was in no need of assistance. She cleaned his chambers, and continued to do so even after he’d stepped in and burned her with his stare. Of course it burned, he was the blood of the dragon after all.

She found herself bringing his heated bathwater despite the flight of stairs that she had to brave while carrying the weight. She helped him in and out of his clothes everyday, listening to his commands like a mindless soldier who only did what she was told. She always looked for him, even in a chamber of more than a hundred people - her young girl’s gaze, flitting about - trying to find his spun-silver hair.

Whenever she caught his gaze, he was already looking.

She supposed she'd never get tired of the heat pooling in her belly whenever she was in his presence - or how her hands found their way inside her already dampened smallclothes whenever she pictured him with shut eyes at night time.

Perhaps that’s why she felt like it was a long time coming when he creeped up behind her, hand holding her in place as it snaked around her waist. His palm flattened against her stomach and the other held her neck, squeezing just enough to make the heat rush to her cheek and between her legs. He brought his nose down to the side of her neck, laughing darkly as they breathed each other in, and she let a small whimper escape her lips.

“What took you,” she breathed out before adding, “…so long?” He responded to her meek attempt at a question with a sharp bite to her neck and a growl, effectively silencing her voice and awakening the fire in her once more.

“Don’t be too loud, you’re going to wake my wife,” he whispered before turning her around to meet her eyes.

Those words should have woken her up and brought her to reality. She should have awoken from her wistfulness and tossed her fantasies where they’d bother her no more. This was a married man, a married prince. 

This was wrong, wrong, wrong.

But the blood rushing through her veins, the excitement of being coveted and central to a man’s gaze - it excited her in ways that she had never been before. The allure of him was hard to ignore, and by the looks of how eagerly his hands were slipping under her haphazardly hiked up skirts, he felt the same way too.

She’d missed this feeling - this feeling of being alive and full of life. The prospect of excitement and a renewed zest for life, after all she had been through, had only pushed her towards him a lot more. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

She was blind to the dangers of the man, and she'd never been happier to remain ignorant. She did not want to want him, and she hated that she did. She did not say yes to his command, or emphatically agree. She simply took his lips in hers and sunk her fingers into his hair, reveling in the feel of his rough hands holding her backside in a tight grip.

She may not love him, and she did not like him. But she wanted this, she needed this. She needed to feel something, anything at all. She supposed that there’s something that he wants too - though she does not know what.

She soon found that there was very little in their burgeoning arrangement that would favor her fantasies, and that Daemon Targaryen simply did not care - for anyone.

“WILL YOU BE NEEDING ANYTHING ELSE, MY LADY?”

Laena Velaryon is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women she’s ever laid her eyes on. She is also one of kindest souls she’s ever had the courtesy of encountering - which is why her guilt eats at her tenfold whenever Daemon seeks out her company.

She wants to say no. She wants to say no each time.

Initially, it was an infatuation that was within her control - but the day she had indulged and let her body overshadow her mind, it had become a bit much. Initially, he had sensed her hesitation despite her being welcoming. He’d plied at her with sweet words, each syrupy sweet and meant to break through her doubt. 

She melts each time, her weak will giving in like water slipping through her fingers.

Conflict is a funny thing. Each time his hands pin her wrists above her head as he takes her for all that she is, or when he’d let a finger slip through her smallclothes and glide through her folds, she wants to say no. She wants to be the good girl that her mother believed she was, but the pleasure was too much. The high that he takes her on each time is too much to ignore, too good to pass up on.

She wants to say no. The words wait at her throat, but refuse to tumble out of her lips.

It is wrong, but she wants to feel pleasure. She wants to be reminded that she is a woman worthy of pleasure, and she feels good- no matter how guilt-ridden - each time his cock sinks into her. No other man has wanted and loved her like this before, and despite the horridness of it all, she finds that she cannot say no - no matter how hard she tries. 

However, she doesn't know what he wants. Daemon Targaryen wears his intrigue as well as he does his arrogance and condescension. She never knows what he wants - but she also worries that she may not like what she finds.

She will find out soon.

“That will be all, my sweet,” Laena says. The exhausted smile she wears as she cradles her hugely pregnant belly makes her want to throw herself at her feet and cry for mercy - but she is too in deep. How could she tell Daemon she didn’t want to share his bed anymore? How could she, when his power and famed temper may just harm her? 

I’m sorry your husband fucks me each night. I’m sorry I like it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

What right does she have, after allowing it all these times? What right does she have, after enjoying it each time? She doesn't love him, but in those moments, she loves what she feels. The regret that follows is gut-wrenching, but she chooses to indulge each time. It was a blind and burning desire, and it is this very same wave of emotion that compels her to follow his instructions, blind and eager to please.

A servant walks into the room and looks towards the window, eyes flitting about and nervous. “The Prince Daemon has asked to see you, lady.” Her tone is apologetic, and when Laena Velaryon stands, she feels herself crumble to a thousand pieces. When she is half-stood, the Valyrian beauty realizes it is not her that her husband wants to see tonight.

“Go. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” she murmurs. A heavy sigh escapes her lips as she sits back down, the weight of the impending babe taking a toll on her.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

She is ashamed of the peculiar heat pooling in her belly as she walks out, unable to meet Lady Laena’s eyes. The walk to Daemon’s chambers has her head facing the floor as some of the other servants eye her and whisper the words.

Homewrecker. Whore. Concubine.

She wonders about how she could still want him after all the irreparable damage that she’s taken in her mind. She wonders when her lack of spine would dissipate, and when she’d be able to reject him outwardly and speak her mind. She wonders when she’d be able to make up her mind and stand by her decision.

She hates that she enjoys it, she hates that she’s at the center of it all. But he brings her to her peak effortlessly and with such intensity that she forgets for a moment, for just a moment, how wrong all of this is.

She pushes the door open and gulps at the sight of a half naked Daemon Targaryen sitting at the edge of his bed, hands pumping his cock with no urgency. The languid movements and his haphazard state of undress - his linen undershirt doing little to hide the lithe muscles underneath - make her head spin. He is yet to touch her.

She watches, his presence magnetic as he pulls her attention easier than he should. His gaze then finds hers as she stands frozen near the door, his breath a mangled mix of moans and groans as his hand refuses to relent. He looks at her as he continues his movements on his cock, and her thighs slap together while she folds her hands just below her breasts, pushing them up above the neckline of her dress.

A drop of sweat trickles down the side of her face as she makes her way to him, each step feeling labored and long as she positions herself between his legs. Her view of his cock is undisturbed and clear, and she hates that it is the most beautiful one that she’s ever seen. Slightly leaning to the left, the girth of it impresses her each time he pushes into her, making her feel fuller than ever before.

She continues to watch his hands move, movements as slow as ever. Her eyes are fixated upon the light silver hair that marked a path below his abdomen, and the veins that marked their way through his erect cock. The glistening white pearly drops of seed on the tip called to her, and her mouth began to water. 

“Take it” - he grunts through his pleasure - “off.”

She’s been in this position long enough to know what it means.It is one thing to lust after a man from afar, and another to be fucked by him. It is neither safe, nor ideal for her to be using her mouth on a Westerosi Prince whose wife was only one door away. And yet, they’ve been giving each other company for almost a year. 

She works through the laces on her front one by one, her focus on his almost black, dilated pupils. He wants her, and she wants him. It is seemingly simple, and yet it is the most complicated entanglement she has ever known.

He’s never been the most patient man to grace these halls, and it is evident as he stops the hand on his cock and stands up. He reaches for the dagger on a tray of fruit by the table, and swiftly cuts through the loops in a series of flicks. Each time the dagger cut through, the stray threads flew about and he dusted them off with the same disregard and impatience. 

“You’re going to take my cock in your mouth like the good girl that you are,” he growls. Candlelight illuminates his face as his dagger makes its way through the fabric, revealing her soft skin and exposing her breasts to him.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

And yet, as the cool metal of his dagger grazes over her nipple ever so slightly, the fire in her burns bright. Her fear dictates that she say no and run before it can spiral into something beyond her control, but the faint waves of pleasure that cause the dampness between her thighs  keeps her there - almost as though her legs are stuck in quicksand.

The dress pools at her feet and she steps out of it, his hurried hands removing her shift. And when they stand, facing each other - and she wishes this was something else.

She wishes this was a simple and innocent love affair. She wishes that this was a man she could love, one that would love her just the way she would. She wishes that there was more comfort to be gained from this than the highs of the pleasure in itself - It will never be enough for her.

She reaches forward and kisses him flush on the lips, devouring his as she slips her tongue in. He bites into her lip and she tastes the copper of the blood bubbling through; he grabs her by the hair and pulls her up to meet his eye. “I said -”

“Please. Please, just… Please. Let me have this.”

He leans back and assesses her for just a moment before swooping in and taking her lips in his, no questions asked. And when he kisses her so, she can try to convince her little girl’s heart that this - what they have - is a lot more beautiful than it is meant to be.

The kiss makes her think that this is what the heavens would feel like, should she ever manage to meet the caress of a lover who’d love like she could, like she wants. A gentle and calm hand, a kind disposition that would care.  But it does not last long. He is quick to wrangle her mouth away and join her forehead to his, breathing in the scent of her as she closes her eyes and wonders how this could ever be what she wants, wrestling with the contrasting realization that she has not been loved like this, not ever.

But is this love, really? This cannot possibly be love. No. She’s known love before. It is simple, easy and comforting. Nothing about this is. 

She wants it just the same.

It is this thought that occupies her mind as she gets down on her knees. The stone cold floor and the ridges grate at her knees almost immediately, moving slightly as she bobs her head back and forth. She slowly but surely adjusts to his length, choking a little and allowing the spit to pool in her mouth, dripping down to her chin by the side of her lips. If she didn’t know better, she’d have mistaken him gently wiping it off with the tip of his thumb as affection.

She grabs his thigh with one hand and massages his stones with the other, her head continuing to bob back and forth relentlessly. His hands grasp at her hair, keeping the stray strands at bay as she reminds herself to breathe through her nose. She moves almost mechanically, forgetting him and his towering figure as she wonders. What do I look like to him? On my knees and eyes pooling with tears? 

It is a common saying among the common folk - A King’s child will be royalty, and a whore’s child will be a whore. She is the daughter of a whore, and she hates that the words may hold true for her too. 

Mama wanted for me to be more. Dignified and happy. She should not have died and left me alone.

She remembers a time when her mother had brought a friend of hers from the whorehouse back home. Her mother was a favorite amongst the nobility, and she’d entertained both the then-Prince Viserys and Daemon.

She’d become with child soon after, and had her. The idea of either man possibly being her father is sickening to her, given the position she now finds herself in. Of course, it will not matter much to them, with their Valyrian blood and queer customs - but it makes her want to cry her eyes out and worry about the kind of sickness she must inhibit to want Daemon Targaryen as much as she does despite the knowledge, despite the wrongness of it all. Her only consolation is that she has no Valyrian features. There is no way of knowing for sure, and she chooses not to entertain these thoughts while being aided by this realization. 

“Good girl. Go on,” he moans. His voice immediately brings her out of her reverie, and the words are enough to send her conflicted conscience spinning on its head.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

Her mother called her a good girl many times before she died. The connotations of the word when they tumble out of Daemon’s lips make her want to retch. He probably believes that the tears are because of her choking on him, but she knows.

Those words meant much and more to her once upon a time, but not anymore. The loss hurts her more than it should. A lost childhood, a happiness that slipped through her fingers through no fault of her own. A much happier and carefree time that is now out of her grasp.

Her thoughts are interrupted when Daemon pulls her up - a thread of spit flowing out of her lips as she adjusts to an empty mouth - and pushes her, caging her between him and the cold stone wall.

Good girl, good girl, good girl. 

WHENEVER SHE THOUGHT OF THE TIMES that she got called a good girl, her mother was always the first to come to mind.

The city of King's Landing - she’d spent almost her entire life there before running onto the ship to Pentos - sprawled around them like a tapestry woven from the threads of countless lives. Towering structures of stone reached for the heavens, casting long shadows that danced across cobblestone streets worn smooth by time. The bustling crowd, a mosaic of colors and voices, flowed like a river through the labyrinthine alleys. The scent of roasted meats, exotic spices, and the ever-present stench of refuse mingled in the air, creating a symphony of odors that was, somehow, comforting in its familiarity.

Her mother worked at a whorehouse nestled amidst the chaotic and filthy heart of the Street of Silk. It was a place where laughter and merriment battled with sorrow and desperation, where secrets and pleasures were shared over wine, closed curtains and weak beds. As a child, she was vaguely aware of the nature of her mother's work, but she didn't fully grasp its complexities. What she did understand was that her mother often came home weary, her shoulders burdened by the weight of the world - or by bite marks and blooming violet bruises.

"Why would anybody bite you there, Mama?" she had asked once. Her mother had only chuckled, but she did not look happy. It always worried her. The bites always looked red, angry and painful.

It was the same bite mark and a line of violet bruises on her mother’s shoulder that she focused on today as she overheard her speak to her friend - another whore who worked at the same whorehouse. She watched as her mother exchanged quiet words with her friend, their voices a hushed whisper as they discussed their day.

“He does something magical with his mouth, Brenna. You would not believe it!” Her mother’s friend looked very happy as she giggled and recounted a story that she caught pieces and fragments of. The mother herself did not look happy, however - the little girl knew when her mother wasn’t happy. Don’t ask how, she simply did.

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

The evening sun painted the walls with warm hues, and as the other woman departed, her mother sank onto the edge of the bed. a far-off look in her eyes and a heavy sigh on her lips. 

Without a word, she fetched a basin of water, warm and soothing, and knelt by her mother’s side. Gently, the child removed her boots and began to massage her mother’s tired feet, her small, untrained hands working diligently to ease the discomfort to the best of her ability. The older woman closed her eyes, and a soft smile graced her lips as the tension in her muscles began to melt away.

In that moment, she saw her mother as more than just a tired whore; she saw her as a woman who carried the weight of their little world on her shoulders. The love she felt for her was immense, and it swelled within the child like a river after a storm. But the bite marks and the bruises still looked painful, and they still scared her.

And so, the child’s curiosity got the better of her, and she let the question slip from her innocent lips. "Will I have to work there too when I'm grown up? At the whorehouse?"

Her mother’s eyes flickered open, and a shadow of sadness crossed her face, barely noticeable but unmistakably obvious to her daughter’s young heart. She took a deep breath and then, with a gentle smile, replied, “Perhaps you won’t have to. Maybe you'll find a husband who'll love you more than anyone has ever loved me."

"But I love you a lot, Mama," the young girl said, her voice filled with innocence and devotion.

With a tender sigh, her mother pulled her close, wrapping her arms around her as if to shield her from the harsh world beyond that she was yet to see. 

If only.

"And I love you, my sweet child," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You are such a good girl. You’re my little girl."

In that moment, the girl felt a profound sense of pride in being her mother’s daughter, in the simple act of bringing comfort to her tired soul. The city of King's Landing may have been a tumultuous sea of chaos, but in that room, with her mother's arms around her, she found her anchor, her safe harbor, and a love that she hoped would guide her through any storm.

HER BACK PRESSING INTO THE STONE WALL MAKES HER SHUDDER.

The cold sensation grating against her skin and the eerie chill of the night air make her weak in the knees. Daemon Targaryen’s cock moves against her cunt like it belongs there and nowhere else - the irony of that thought while his wife waits for him in her chambers close by is not lost on her, but she cannot deny how strongly she feels that the man is made for her.

Even if he truly was not.

His lips are immediately on hers, and she devours them for all that they are worth. She enjoys being kissed - it helps her feel wanted by him.

Even if she knew he did not.

Her hands move to the hem of Daemon’s linen undershirt, pushing it up, up, up until it is carelessly thrown halfway across the chamber. She only has one moment to get a look at his naked figure before he pushes against her and cages her between his towering figure and the wall once more. The feeling of heat passing through the pair of them and the smell of sweat and sex is intoxicating to her in a way that she struggles to put into words. Her cunt is wet with arousal as she whimpers into the kiss, allowing him to slip his tongue into her mouth. 

Time stops when they kiss. She supposes it is a beautiful thing, no matter how wrong it was.

Do things have to be right for them to be beautiful anyhow?

Her breasts are flush against his chest as he takes a hold of them, pinching her nipples until they hurt and she gasps into his mouth. He does not stop, however - her pain only seems to spurn him more, and she is ashamed to find that she is aroused as well. One of her hands travels above his neck and she tightly grips onto the root of his hair, pulling until he is in just as much pain and pleasure as she is. The other moves over the scarred planes of his back, almost as though she was mapping out a route to paradise.

The feeling of his cock pushing against her wet cunt sends waves of pleasure coursing through her, the blood rushing to her head and making her feel hazy. She lets the touches take her to the Seven hells - both the man and the circumstances making that their only possible destination.

She wonders if Laena Velaryon wishes for that too.

His cock pushes into her, stretching her walls so wide that she fears he may just split her into two. She needs a moment to adjust and he is generous enough to let her have it as his lips descend onto her neck, leaving her staring blankly at the bed as she breathes heavily. She cranes her neck just a little as she lets his cock settle in her.

And then, he moves.

She often believes that she lives with an aching sense of yearning and pushes through each day finding something to leave her feeling fulfilled. It is an empty feeling really, and the only time she ever feels like she is not a living shell of a woman is when he takes her. The feeling of being filled by him is one that always takes her by surprise - but unlike the other times that she's been taken unawares, this is something she welcomes.

“Yne drējī sȳrī jiōrā, talus. Sepār otāptan, sepār ñuhys ēdruryssy iemnȳ.” [You take me so well, niece. Just as I believed you would, just as I imagined.]

He always says these words whenever he enters her, and she never manages to retain them long enough to ask what they mean - the high of her peak always leaves her mind feeling like melted gold, taking away any chance for coherent conversation. 

Is he referring to someone? Is he appreciating her? Is he saying that he loves her? Somehow, she knows it is not the latter. She won’t have to try and remember to ask tonight - she would find out soon what it is he has gotten out of this all these days.

Every thrust is punctuated by grunts and moans, with both of them hungry for more. She meets every single one of his harsh thrusts as one of her hands slips in between them both, circling and pressing onto her pearl like her entire life was dependent on the pleasure that came from it.

It made sense. The pleasure he gives her each time is what keeps her alive.

Each brush of his flush pink tip against a rough spot inside her cunt makes her eyes roll back in pleasure. He hits it with each thrust as he pounds into her, face always wearing a mask of pursuit - but of what?

What does he want from her?

Her hand on her pearl and his cock in her is swiftly building a pool of heat in her belly - no, not the blazing kind, but a warm kind. It builds, builds, builds and she flies, flies, flies until she can’t go any higher, and she lets herself go limp in his arms as her peak takes over her entire being. 

“That’s it….” He grunts, pushing into her while punctuating each thrust with his words as he relentlessly pushes into her. “Good girl. Dāeremās, sȳres riñus iksā.” [Let go, you’re a good girl.]

She sees red as the pleasure washes over her, vision becoming hazy and rendering her incoherent for many a moment before she manages to bring herself back down to earth. And as the sights around her become clear again, she clings onto him and breathes while looking over his shoulder.

The world looks newer and brighter each time she comes down from the highs that he causes. And in this moment, his last words hit her like the stone wall that she stands in front of.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

How can a pair of words remind her of what she was then and is now, all at the same time? How can these words hold so much power that they’d coax her into paradise and leave her there, lost and wanting for more, more, more?

She leans back and holds herself straight, looking into his eyes for only a short moment as she gathers herself. It is a deep sea of bright violet and she drowns, drowns, drowns.

She's been drowning in him and trying to catch her breath for a long while now. She's not sure if she wants to be saved - she wants a hand, and pushes it off too.

What does that mean for her?

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

The memory forms in her mind as Daemon Targaryen moves them both and turns her around to make her see out the window - fully naked. She braces herself with two palms holding onto either sides of the window as he pulls her backside to him and spreads her wide, leaving her glistening and sensitive cunt open for him to take once more. His hand moves almost softly over her rear as he enters her once more, this time purely to chase his own release.

“Good girl.”

KING’S LANDING WAS BUSTLING WITH TRAVELERS THIS TIME OF THE YEAR, and she was now fourteen summers old.

She had blossomed into womanhood, her youth adorned with beauty and a vague innocence - yet tarnished by the harsh realities of her life. She toiled at a tavern, where raucous patrons screamed sweet syrupy words at her, attempting to lure her away with their promises. 

“I’ll show you a good time, lass! C’mere!” The man at the table said, patting his thighs and indicating that he’d like for her to sit on his lap.

She had witnessed her own mother endure such advances, and now, as a grown woman, she was the object of many a man’s desire. She was both confused and intrigued, for the attention made feel disgusted yet wanted at the same time.

On one seemingly uneventful day, she counted her earnings - four copper pennies - and began to try and do the addition to determine how much more she would need to settle her mother's debt with the ominous madame of the whorehouse that her mother worked at. Her brother was meant to bring home his pay too tonight, and the sum of their combined efforts held the promise of lifting their family from the pit of debt that had ensnared them. As she left the tavern to head home, the weight of her responsibilities hung heavily upon her young shoulders.

Along her path back home, she encountered a pair of inebriated travelers, their intentions dark and menacing. They seized her arm, grip threatening to harm her fragile spirit. In the midst of her fear, a figure emerged from the shadows, a protector amidst the dangerous chaos. It was Brynden, her brother’s Riverlander friend - she has secretly admired him for years. As she held onto the stone walls of the roads for dear life, he  confronted the drunken men and drove them away from her.

She could not help the slight blush on her face as he checked if she was alright. Her mother once told her that she might find a husband that would love her - is this what love is?

Her young heart believed that it was.

Once he was sure that she was alright, Brynden brought her the news that he’d wanted to tell her. Her brother, it appeared, had squandered his earnings on ale once more and now lay incapacitated on the side of the Street of Silk after finishing an afternoon at a whorehouse. Determined to shield her mother from disappointment, she rushed to her brother's side, her heart pounding with a fervent resolve.

The smell of baked treats and food soon morphed into fragrant yet strong oils, wafting from half-naked women hoping to get a man to pay for their cunts. As she looked around, she finally found the whorehouse that her brother frequented. 

She found him in a pitiful state, his speech slurred and incoherent as he mumbled in his inebriated stupor. Anguish welled within her; he would not be bringing any money home this time either. But despite her frustration, she could not help but love him. He was her brother, and the bonds of blood ran deep.

Gently, she guided him through the winding streets, their journey fraught with the weight of her responsibilities and the uncertainty of their future. He babbled on, his words a testament to his gratitude and admiration for her sense of duty. 

“You’re a good girl, sister,” he’d said, his voice trembling with affection. “Good girl.” She pressed a tender kiss upon his sweaty forehead, her love for her brother transcending any and all disappointments. 

As the night unfolded into dawn, she herself succumbed to the embrace of sleep, her brother beside her, a fragile moment of solace amidst the tumult of their lives. When she awoke, he was gone, vanished into the shadows of the city, never to be seen again. Her heart ached with longing, but she never harbored resentment. She waited, and in her waiting, she remained faithful to the last words her brother had spoken to her. 

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

In the years that followed, she missed him every day. Her mother's health deteriorated, the weight of their struggles taking a toll. But she persevered, striving to be the good girl her brother believed her to be, even in his absence. 

Those two words became a guiding light, a reminder of the love they shared, of what she always hoped to be.

THE COLD AIR HITS HER SQUARE IN THE CHEST, and she is made aware of how exposed she is.

Daemon’s apartments are located at the topmost floors of the Prince of Pentos’ home. From where she stands, with her naked figure holding onto either side of the window as he takes her from behind, she has a clear view of the city at night. Logs of fire are lit and fitted onto stone walls on the roads, and the blurred fiery orange is visible to her as she looks down at the city that saved her. Any passerby close to her can crane their neck up just a little, and see her naked in all her glory, from neck to navel. 

Her breasts bounce as Daemon’s cock moves in and out, shining in the moonlight that her figure now obstructs, keeping the light from entering the dimly lit chamber. She lets out a strangled moan as he bullies her spot with each thrust, grunting and moaning in a mix of pleasure and exertion. The sweaty sheen on her forehead dries in the chill of the night air, and her line of sight is unstable with the way her head moves with the rest of her body.

“You like this, don’t you? For the entire world to see you spread out and wanting like this…” he says, with his lips nibbling on her ear enough to make her scream. “For them to know that you are mine. Fuck, fu-uuck!”

Mine, mine, mine. 

Is it such a bad thing to be? In this moment, as she rolls her eyes back at wave after wave of pleasure and the rapid heat blooming in her belly once more, she supposes it is. She will hate herself for wanting this when they are done for the night - but she’ll cross that bridge when it comes. 

Or burn it.

“Fuck,” she whispers as she loses herself. The shame of being put on display for every common man and woman to see is non-existent, but her heart drops at how she hates that she likes it.

A whore’s daughter is a whore too. How quickly had she given in, after all that she had done to escape a fate that wasn’t her doing?

With one particular thrust, she pushes forward a bit more than expected. She worries that she’s going to fall, fall, fall - the drop would be deathly steep and long.

She imagines what the fall would be like if her grip wasn’t tight. Her naked form falling down with her hands unable to find any purchase, flailing about as she is suspended in the air. She’d probably see all the bricks and windows in close view - perhaps, someone leaning against another window may scream as they notice her falling to what she hopes would be death, naked as her name day.

Would she be able to live it through if she miraculously and unfortunately survived that fall?

Almost as though he sensed her fear of slipping, Daemon’s hands move away from the loose grip they have on her waist. One hand snakes around her breasts and his forearm presses into her pebbled peaks, while the other cups her cunt and covers it from the cold completely. A fresh wave of arousal takes over her as he groans at the wetness that now coats his palm. The sudden warmth of his hand has her whining and moaning for more, and she moves, riding against his palm, wanting for more, more, more. It would seem that they are both insatiable tonight.

Daemon picks up the pace, his movements speeding up as she senses his desperation for release. She feels his cock hit her all the way up to her lower belly as the coil builds once more, giving her the excitement as she anticipates the sweet pleasure of release once more. She almost gives in right then, knees buckling and legs almost melting as she feels herself fly high, higher and higher still once more. Her peak washes over her in an instant as he pushes deep, her cunt only protected from the stone wall below the window by his palm.

It is a particularly long wave of pleasure that takes over her, making the hairs on her body stand upright as she struggles to stand on her own. Fire courses through her veins and her face is flushed as she finally smiles, drinking in the intense pleasure as Daemon’s thrusts get slower and slower until he spills in her too - a mix of grunts and moans as he falls apart.

The heady mix of sweat, slick and seed dripping down her thighs is enough to make her hazy and feel light in the head. Her head seems as though it is filled with cotton as her thighs quiver, making her experience relief like never before and she wants to turn and kiss him, hope to let the delusion that he loves her fester in her head a bit more and give herself the luxury of feeling genuinely loved for just a while as he-

“Good girl, Rhaenyra.”

His hands have moved away and he quickly pulls out of her, making her move forward. The stone wall hits the dark mound covering her cunt as she winces at the sudden emptiness - from both between her legs and her heart.

She’s lost her home, her memories, her happier days and a life that she loved. She’s lost enough and more for a lifetime. Daemon was never hers to be considered a loss, and she knows it too. And yet, as the realization that even his sex-addled, ill-meant compliments weren’t hers to own washes over her, she finds a lone tear slipping from her eye.

The salty taste on her lips feels like home.

Good girl, he’d said. To whom was he saying it, really?

TWO YEARS HAD PASSED SINCE HER BROTHER WALKED AWAY FROM THEIR LIVES, leaving an empty space that seemed impossible to fill. She was now a fully grown woman who was struggling to make ends meet in the bustling streets of King's Landing. Life had grown harsher with each passing day, and now, a shadow of illness loomed over their humble home.

Her mother had fallen ill, a fever that refused to break. She was too sick to continue working at the whorehouse, so they lived on scraps while the young girl’s earnings went toward settling their debts. She couldn't afford the services of a maester for her mother in the capital city, and the local healer's herbs offered little solace. Still, she continued to scrape together every copper she could find, pouring her earnings into the apothecary's pouch in a desperate attempt to buy her mother some time and relief.

Debt was a relentless specter in their lives. The madame of the local whorehouse hounded them incessantly, demanding the repayment of their debts. Her once cozy home felt increasingly suffocating, its walls closing in around them as they fought to survive.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, she returned home to a sight that sent a chill down her spine. Her mother appeared more sickly than usual, her brow damp with fevered sweat. She rushed to her mother’s side, her heart pounding with fear. She pressed her palm to her mother's forehead and felt the searing heat.

In her delirious state, her mother noticed her efforts to help and laughed softly, her voice a mere whisper. "Thank you my love, you’re a good girl," she murmured weakly, her eyes glazed with fever. The girl's heart ached, and she did what little she could to ease her mother's suffering. She prepared a hot bowl of soup and fed it to her mother, tears welling in her eyes as she watched the warm liquid spill from her mother's lips.

Good girl. The last words her mother had said to her. 

The night passed in anxious vigil, but by morning, her mother was gone. She had wept bitterly, her tears soaking the tattered bed linens that held the memory of happier times.

Days later, the madame of the whorehouse came knocking, a cruel glint in her eyes. She had no sympathy for the loss, only an insistence that the debt must be paid. With ruthless determination, she thrust the girl into her mother's role, forcing her to walk a path that her mother had promised she’d never have to.

“Maybe you'll find a husband who'll love you more than anyone has ever loved me,” her mother had said once. The words had no power or weight as she braced herself to welcome the lustful drunks of King’s Landing with a closed heart and open legs.

Distressed and terrified, the girl found herself in a living nightmare. The once-bustling brothel became her prison, and her innocence was sacrificed to repay a debt she had not incurred. As the first man walked through the doors that fateful night, she realized that her life had taken a dark and irreversible turn, and there was no escape from the cruelty of King's Landing's unforgiving streets.

She remembered looking at the ceiling as she whimpered, the pain of being taken for the first time making her well up in earnest. The bed made a series of creaking sounds as she let him have his way with her, and the gold coin that he’d flicked at her abdomen afterward shined like nothing she’d ever seen before.

“Gold?” she whimpered, unable to recognize the shiny metal. She looked at the coin in awe, and the man laughed cruelly. 

“Maiden whores are worth more than the usual,” he said. 

In all her years living in the stink of the city, she’d never felt dirty - but she did now.

With each night, she caged her heart and saved up the money. On some days, it’d be a penny and on some others, it’d be a silver stag. Every coin saved would buy her escape and freedom. And one night, she finally ran. 

Five silver stags for a journey aboard the first ship she could find. To Pentos.

Her job as a chambermaid at the Prince of Pentos’s home came to her as a kitchen maid took pity and took her in. For months, she’d safely worked and made more money. They provided her with a little chamber that she shared with the other maids, and food so her belly would never feel empty. She’d escaped the brothel and she wanted to believe that she’d made her mother proud. She didn’t know if she was happy, but she was her own person again - it had to count for something, regardless of how empty she felt.

Three months later, a silver-haired Rogue Prince made his descent on the palace grounds, atop the most terrifying dragon she’d ever seen - awakening what was dead in her once more.

DESPITE HOW ROUGHLY HE’D HANDLED HER JUST MOMENTS BEFORE, she felt as though she’d been doused with cold water.

Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra.

She’d believed that she was a blot of shame on Laena Velaryon’s marriage, but it would seem that a silver-haired princess - the Realm’s Delight, his niece - was doing far worse in her absence.

Had he been taking her from behind, hoping against hope that if he closed his eyes and thrusted enough, he’d be able to picture her? 

She turns around, the thrill of being put on display while in the throes of pleasure wearing off of her. She walks over to the table near the fireplace with unsteady steps, and slips on the robe that he’d discarded - possibly before she’d stepped in. The wine pitcher invites her with open arms, offering her the comfort of ignorance and forgetfulness as she tries to wrap her head around finally finding out what he’s wanted all this time.

She wanted to be able to feel something, and he wanted to feel her. Neither of them wanted each other, and she supposes that the field is now even. Somehow, she feels a bit more powerful with the knowledge that she wasn’t just someone that he took mindlessly, but was someone who helped him satisfy what she now clearly sees as his guilty desires.

She must have known. Rumors of whores being asked to call him uncle as he fucked them dizzy have floated about before - she thought they were lies, but now she’s seen firsthand how true they are.

He was married to a woman whom he probably wishes was someone else. He was straying from his marriage vows with another woman, not even the one who he wished for. She wonders if Rhaenyra Targaryen knows how deeply she is wanted and loved. 

She wonders if she will ever be loved the same way. A whore's daughter will also be a whore. Is she a whore now? Has she become what she tried to escape? And worse - does she genuinely enjoy it? 

They accompany each other in silence, the only noise being the cacophony of thoughts in their own heads. He slips into his soft trousers and sits on the edge of the bed as she passes him a goblet of wine. She sits opposite him whilst nursing her own goblet, simmering in her thoughts as she muses about her life’s journey - from a mere happy tavern wench to a prince’s solemn bed warmer.

There is a knock on the door that brings both of them out of their reverie. The servant slips in when Daemon mutters his permission and she takes in the sight of them both before looking to the floor and murmuring words that are inaudible.

“Speak up, girl,” he says. As the servant maid breathes in, she has a startling realization. His Valyrian words, the ones that she did not recognize or understand - were they for Rhaenyra too? She does not plan on asking. She supposes she’ll never know.

“Lady Laena has begun her labors, Prince Daemon.”

The servant scurries out, leaving the door half open as Daemon throws his head into his hands. She sets the goblet aside and stands in front of him, taking his head in her arms and letting it rest on her robe-clad abdomen. Her hands run over his hair in a soothing motion, almost in a lover’s embrace. Almost.

In this moment, she can tell herself that what they have is more than just sin and adultery. In this moment, she’ll tell herself that what they have is not dirty, but beautiful. 

“Go. She needs you,” she murmurs, the words once again reminding her of the precarious position she finds herself in. He walks away after dressing himself, and in the wee hours of the morning, the Prince and his wife welcome twin daughters - Baela and Rhaena.

Only four days later, she finds herself being summoned to his private apartments once more. She is now about to fuck a man who had not one, not two, but three girls in his life that he would disregard when he takes her - all in delusional pursuit of a woman who is half a world away. She hates what she is about to do, and she hates that she is already wet and wanting. 

She wants him. Despite it all, she wants him.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Her mother and brother called her a good girl, once upon a time. Would they say the same about her now?

Somehow, she knows that the answer is not something she'd want to hear.

NO TAG LIST. Please follow @randomdragonfics and turn on post notifications for all my fic updates!

MASTERLIST

[del-thetiredwriter]

Saintess of dragons part 3

Part 1 , part 2

English is not my first language.

Gif is not mine

Warning: female reader, not really dark themes.

You watched with sadness as the stone coffin sank into the sea. You were guilty. You felt regret for her death. You could have saved Laena, but you didn't because of your cowardice and selfishness. Rhaenys and Corlys lost their daughters, Laenor lost his sister, the girls lost their mothers because of you.

You didn't speak at all during the funeral. You just hugged the girls and offered your condolences to the Velaryons. Afterwards, you went to your room like everyone else.

.

When you opened the door, you saw a silhouette that you didn't recognize, with her back turned, on the seats. Silhouette of a woman. The woman turned towards the door and smiled and curtsied as she saw you.

“I greet the saintess.”

She was a brunette and elegant woman. Her long hair came down to her waist. She had an attractive yet disturbing smile. It wasn't a reassuring smile, but it fit her mysterious aura.

You straightened your stance. The woman spoke again:

"Would you like tea?"

"Who are you?"

You asked coldly. No one could enter your room without your permission. House Targaryen was also included.

“I am the person you are looking for. I am the person you are desperately looking for, the one who can send you back to where you came from. Shall we talk a little?”

You hesitated for a moment, but you had nothing to lose. You should have taken this gamble. It was the first time in years that anyone had talked about where you came from.

You closed the door and sat across from the woman.

“Please allow me to introduce myself again. I'm Elenor. And I am the person you are looking for. The witch who can open the portal.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You are already showing that you trust me by sitting across from me. Besides, it's the first time in years that someone is talking to you about the portal. You have no choice but to trust me."

She was right. You tightened your skirts nervously. You tried to look calm.

“So Elenor, why did you come now? Why did you come especially now?”

The witch smiled.

“Oh my lady there is something you especially need to do today. I came to remind you. But before that, we still have time, so I'd like to explain things a little to you. For example, why you don't age or why you suddenly lose your memories."

"Continue."

“The portal door opened 15 years ago, of course I didn't open it and I still don't know why it was opened. However, my lady, you are not from this world, so time and fate do not work on you because you are not in destiny anyway. It's like time has stopped for you. However, you once tried to change fate. You remember. It made you suddenly forget some of your memories.”

You nervously took a sip of your tea. You remembered that time very well. Elenor continued.

“No one can change fate, but you, who come from another world, can because there is nothing binding you. However, every time you change destiny, you become a part of this world. And as you become a part of this world, you lose the memories that connect you to your world, that is, your self.”

With what Elenor said, everything fell into place now.

“So why are you here?”

You asked again.

The witch took a sip of her tea.

“I want to make a deal with you. Prevent this war from happening and I will send you back home.”

Elenor held out her hand to agree. A silence fell in the room.

"Do you realize what you're saying-"

“You need me or you can't go back home.”

Elenor interrupted.

You tightened your skirts. She was right. You wouldn't have found your way home without her help.

“Okay, I accept your offer .”

You reluctantly shook the witch’s hand. The brunette smiled and stood up. She moved towards the window. She looked at you for the last time.

“Then we agreed. See you until our next meeting, Saintess. And you'd better act quickly, because it would be better for you if the crown princess's blood wasn't shed tonight.”

When she jumped from the window, you rushed towards the window, but the sorceress had disappeared. You should have acted quickly.

.

You were walking through the corridors with fast, running steps. The rustle of your skirt echoed off the stone walls illuminated by torches. You finally reached the room and threw open the large doors.

All the courtiers had gathered except you. Alicent stood disheveled next to Visersy.

When you saw Aemond's face up close, you felt truly sorry.

Lucerys and Jacaerys were with their mother.

You sighed. Here we go, you thought.

“The legitimacy of my son's birth was put loudly into question. Called as bastards. My sons are in line to inherit the iron throne your grace. This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so-”

Rhaenyra was speaking, but you interrupted her and intervened.

“Excuse me, my king, but it's late and I don't think anyone can think clearly in their current state of mind. It would be best for everyone to return to their rooms.”

Just as Alicent and Rhaenyra were about to protest, you spoke again.

“The children of the princess are the legal heirs to the throne. Don't worry, I will personally intervene in this matter. And my Queen, I understand you, but if anyone is responsible for this unfortunate incident, it is me, so if you wish, I would give up one of my eyes for the prince.”

Alicent bit her lip. Rhaenyra was not fully satisfied. No one could object because you intervened in the incident.

"There's no need." Said the tired queen in a defeated voice.

“Then I will grant the little prince one wish in return. Apart from that, please everyone go back to their rooms now. It's been a tiring day.”

Visersy nod.

“Saintess is right everybody shall return to your quarters.”

While everyone involuntarily returned to their rooms, Daemon continued to sit in his chair, grinning. He slowly stood up and started taking slow steps towards you.

“Wow, this is the first time you've used your authority. Very strange."

"What are you talking about." You spoke harshly. Being alone in the room with him made you nervous. As he moved towards you, you took a step backwards until your back was finally pressed against the wall.

“Whose side are you on exactly, huh? You were inactive until the morning now-“

“You make it up in your head. Besides, I'm not on anyone's side." You interrupted him.

The white haired man laughed.

“We'll see about this, little saintess.”

He kissed you on the forehead.

"Good night then." He waved his hand and left you alone in the room.

[novaursa]

Fire Never Forgets

- Summary: Daemon swears to have you. No matter the cost.

- Pairing: sister!reader/dark!Daemon I Blackfyre

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (blood, gore, violence and all the other fluffy stuff)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The halls of the Red Keep were always alive with whispers, faint and elusive, as if the very stones had ears. You heard the rumors, of course—the ones that slithered into your chambers like serpents in the night. The court buzzed about Daemon Waters, the king’s unruly bastard son, the rogue boy who roamed the training yard with a smirk and a blade that sang like a lover’s sigh.

You were young then, barely past the threshold of maidenhood. Your world was still golden and unmarred, a delicate tapestry woven with tales of dragons and the dreams of kings. You had seen Daemon before, always from a distance—his pale hair gleaming under the sun, his violet eyes like shards of amethyst, sharp and cutting. There was something about him that unsettled you, a feral energy that prowled just beneath his skin.

It was not long before he noticed you.

The first time he truly saw you was during one of the king’s lavish feasts. You sat quietly at the high table, your hands folded neatly in your lap, eyes cast downward as the lords and ladies roared with laughter around you. Daemon was seated at the far end of the hall, amongst the lesser-born nobles and the bastards, his place at court as unsteady as his name. But his gaze found you nonetheless, cutting through the noise and the distance as if drawn by an invisible thread.

You felt it before you saw it—the weight of his stare, heavy and unrelenting. When you glanced up, your eyes locked with his across the room. A chill danced along your spine, though the air was warm and thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine. Daemon tilted his head, a wolfish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It was the beginning of everything.

The next morning, you found him waiting in the gardens.

"Princess," he greeted, his voice low and smooth, a serpent’s hiss wrapped in honey. "I thought I might find you here."

You hesitated, your fingers clutching the edges of your silk cloak. "Ser Daemon," you replied, though he bore no knightly title. "What brings you here?"

He stepped closer, his movements languid and deliberate, like a predator circling its prey. "You."

The single word hung in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. You swallowed hard, your heart fluttering in your chest like a caged bird.

"You flatter me, my lord," you said, forcing your voice to remain steady. "Surely there are more interesting pursuits for someone like you."

Daemon chuckled, the sound dark and rich. "Perhaps. But none as captivating."

His eyes roved over you, unabashed and possessive. You felt exposed under his gaze, as though he could see every hidden part of you. The court had warned you of Daemon Waters—his ambition, his cunning, his charm that could melt steel. But standing before him now, you realized they had not warned you enough.

"I should go," you murmured, taking a step back.

"Why?" he asked, his tone almost playful. "Afraid of me?"

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. He took the opportunity to close the distance between you, his fingers brushing against your hand. His touch was cool, sending a shiver up your arm.

"You shouldn’t be," he whispered, his voice a caress. "I would never harm you."

The way he said it, soft and almost reverent, made you feel both comforted and unnerved. You pulled your hand away, your cheeks flushed.

"My father would not approve of this," you said, your voice firmer now.

Daemon’s grin widened, and for the first time, you saw the glint of ambition in his eyes—the fire that burned brighter than any dragon’s flame.

"Your father underestimates me," he said. "But you won’t. Will you, sister?"

The way he said the word sister made it sound like a claim, a bond that could not be severed. You took another step back, your mind racing.

"I must go," you said again, turning quickly and fleeing the garden.

Behind you, Daemon watched your retreating form, a smile curling on his lips. He had set his sights on you, and Daemon Waters was not a man who let go of what he wanted.

Not ever.

The throne room of the Red Keep was silent, save for the rustle of courtiers shifting in anticipation. King Aegon IV sat upon the Iron Throne, a mountain of swords forged in fire and blood, and the weight of his presence was suffocating. His indulgent grin held the promise of spectacle, for today, his bastard son, Daemon Waters, would be legitimized.

You stood among the lords and ladies, your place at court dutifully observed, though you wished to be anywhere but here. Your eyes darted to Daemon, who stood at the foot of the dais, head high, shoulders squared, a predator cloaked in finery. His hair gleamed like a crown beneath the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows, and his eyes burned with a fire that had always unnerved you.

The king raised a hand, silencing the murmurs that rippled through the court.

"Today," Aegon began, his voice booming, "I honor my blood. Daemon Waters, my son, I hereby legitimize you. From this day forward, you shall bear the name Blackfyre, a name as fierce and enduring as the blade I bestow upon you."

Gasps echoed through the chamber as a knight stepped forward, holding the famed blade Blackfyre in his hands. The sword, a symbol of Targaryen power, shone in the light, its Valyrian steel etched with dark ripples that seemed alive.

Daemon stepped forward, but instead of taking the blade, he turned his gaze to you. The intensity of his stare rooted you in place, and your breath caught in your throat. The court grew restless as Daemon spoke.

"I am honored by the name and the sword," he said, his voice smooth yet laced with danger. "But there is something I desire more."

The hall fell deathly silent, every eye shifting between Daemon and the king. Aegon’s brow furrowed, his indulgent smile slipping into something harder.

"And what is it you desire, Daemon?" Aegon asked, his tone wary.

Daemon’s lips curled into a smile, predatory and triumphant. He gestured toward you, his hand outstretched as if he already owned you.

"I want her," he said simply. "Your daughter. My sister."

The air left your lungs as gasps and murmurs erupted around the chamber. Your heart raced, your hands trembling as you felt the weight of hundreds of stares boring into you. Aegon leaned forward on his throne, his face darkening with rage.

"You dare?" Aegon’s voice was sharp, cutting through the noise like a blade. "You speak of your own sister, my daughter, as if she is a prize to be claimed?"

Daemon did not falter. "She is more than a prize. She is mine. Always has been."

The court erupted into chaos, but Aegon raised his hand, silencing them once more. His expression was a mix of fury and disbelief as he addressed his son.

“Daemon!” The king’s voice thundered through the hall. “You will take the sword and hold your tongue, or you will leave here with nothing!”

For the first time, Daemon faltered, his eyes narrowing, his jaw tightening. He looked up at the throne, his defiance unyielding.

"So be it," Daemon said softly, his voice carrying the promise of violence. He turned back to the knight holding Blackfyre and seized the sword in one fluid motion. The Valyrian steel hissed as he swung it through the air, testing its weight. He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes.

"If I must bloody my way to her, so be it," Daemon declared, his voice ringing through the hall. "I will carve a path through this world until she is mine, no matter who stands in my way."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and you felt your knees weaken beneath you. He turned his gaze back to you, his expression softening into something almost tender, though it only made your skin crawl.

"Wait for me, sweet sister," he said, his voice dripping with possession. "This is not the end."

Before anyone could react, Daemon spun on his heel and strode out of the throne room, the sword gleaming in his hand, his silver hair streaming behind him like a banner of war.

The silence that followed was deafening. Aegon slumped back in his throne, his face ashen. The lords and ladies whispered among themselves, casting furtive glances in your direction. You stood frozen, your heart pounding in your chest.

Daemon’s promise echoed in your mind, a dark and terrible vow that you knew he would keep.

Daemon Blackfyre stood atop the battlements of his newly-claimed stronghold, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the Red Keep loomed in the distance. The sun dipped low, but the fire in his chest burned brighter than the dying light. Blood stained the earth beneath his boots—Targaryen blood, Velaryon blood, noble blood—all spilled in his name, all spilled for her.

The sword in his hand, Blackfyre, felt like an extension of his will. The weight of it was a comfort, a promise, a whisper in the dark that urged him onward. The blade, black as night and sharp enough to carve destiny itself, gleamed faintly in the twilight. It had tasted blood that day, and it craved more.

But no amount of blood would satisfy him until he had her.

She haunted him, her image as vivid in his mind as the first time he had seen her. The delicate curve of her neck, the soft sway of her silken gown as she walked, the light in her violet eyes that burned like dragonfire. She was everything he wanted—everything he deserved—and she was denied to him by a man who called himself king. His father had dared to refuse him, dared to speak as if she was some prize to be withheld.

“Mine,” Daemon growled under his breath, the word a low, guttural snarl that escaped without thought. She was his. She had always been his, from the moment he first laid eyes on her. The rest of the world just hadn’t realized it yet.

His tent that night was a place of solitude and chaos, mirroring the storm within him. Maps and letters lay strewn across a wooden table, inked with the names of those who had pledged to his cause. Lords who whispered of justice, of a bastard’s right to the throne, of their disdain for the Targaryens who ruled. Fools, all of them. They thought this rebellion was about a crown, about power.

They didn’t understand. None of them did.

This war wasn’t about the Iron Throne. It wasn’t about Aegon IV’s rejection, or the legacy of the sword he now carried. It was about her. Every step, every stroke of his blade, every castle he burned and every knight he cut down—each was a step closer to her.

He paced the tent, his blood singing with the madness of his obsession. Visions of her filled his mind. He could see her now, standing on the steps of the Red Keep, her hands clasped nervously, her lips trembling as she spoke his name. Not with disdain, not with fear—but with reverence. With love.

He paused, his hands tightening on the edge of the table. Love. The thought of it twisted in his gut, raw and consuming. Did she love him? Could she? Or was she as blind as the rest of them? Did she see him only as a bastard, a rogue prince, a usurper?

No. She would love him. She had to. He would make her see.

Daemon's laughter filled the tent, low and dark and unhinged. It echoed off the canvas walls, a sound that would have sent shivers down the spines of lesser men. He reached for Blackfyre, lifting the sword and examining its edge, still stained crimson. His reflection stared back at him from the blade, wild and fierce.

“If she won’t come willingly,” he murmured, his voice soft yet brimming with malice, “then I will take her.”

The thought ignited something feral within him. He imagined storming the Red Keep, the doors splintering beneath his strength, the court scattering like frightened sheep as he strode through their midst. He would find her, wherever she was hidden, and she would look at him the way he dreamed. She would finally see the man who had razed kingdom for her, who had spilled oceans of blood for her name.

They will write songs about me, he thought, a twisted grin curling his lips. Daemon Blackfyre, the bastard who burned the world for love.

A knock at the tent's entrance pole pulled him from his thoughts. One of his captains, bloodied and battered, stepped inside. “My lord,” he began, bowing low. “The forces from House Peake are prepared to march. We await your orders.”

Daemon turned, the grin fading from his face as he fixed the man with a piercing gaze. “We march at dawn,” he said, his tone calm but laced with menace. “And we do not stop until the Red Keep falls. Tell the men that anyone who stands between me and what is mine will die screaming.”

The captain nodded, a flicker of fear crossing his face, and quickly left the tent. Daemon stood alone once more, the weight of his obsession settling over him like a cloak.

He stepped outside, the cool night air washing over him as he gazed toward the distant capital. “Soon,” he whispered, gripping the hilt of Blackfyre so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “Soon you’ll be mine, my sweet sister. I’ll paint the streets of King’s Landing with blood if I must. But you’ll come to me. You’ll see there’s no escaping me.”

The stars above were cold and distant, their light pale and indifferent to the madness unfolding below. But Daemon didn’t care. The world could burn, the heavens could fall, and the gods themselves could descend to stop him—it wouldn’t matter.

He would have her. And nothing, not man nor trueborn dragon, would stand in his way.

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was eerily silent, its grandeur overshadowed by the chaos and death that lingered just outside its walls. The banners of House Targaryen still hung, but they were no longer symbols of your family’s strength. They were torn and bloodstained, fluttering weakly in the ash-laden breeze that seeped in through shattered windows.

You stood at the foot of the Iron Throne, your hands trembling as you clutched the fabric of your gown. Your heart was a hollow ache, a wound that bled for the family you had lost. Your father, your brothers, the loyal men who had sworn to protect you—they were all gone. Their screams echoed in your mind, drowned by the roar of Daemon Blackfyre’s armies as they stormed the capital.

Now, the victor was coming to claim his spoils.

The doors to the hall groaned open, and the sound of boots against stone shattered the stillness. Your head snapped up, and there he was. Daemon Blackfyre. His armor was stained with blood, his black and red cloak torn at the edges, but his posture was as commanding as ever. Blackfyre, the ancestral blade, hung at his hip. His violet eyes locked onto yours the moment he entered, and the air seemed to grow colder.

Behind him, his allies flanked him like wolves circling their leader. They carried the weight of victory on their shoulders, but it was Daemon who held the room in his grasp. He strode forward with purpose, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Leave us,” he commanded, his voice sharp and unyielding.

The men hesitated for a moment, glancing at each other before filing out of the hall. The heavy doors closed behind them, and the silence returned, thicker and more suffocating than before.

“You’ve taken everything from me,” you whispered, your voice cracking. Tears brimmed in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “My family, my home… everything.”

Daemon stopped a few paces away, his lips curling into a smirk that made your blood run cold. “Not everything, my sweet,” he said, his tone soft but laced with menace. “Not yet.”

He stepped closer, and you instinctively backed away, your heels hitting the edge of the steps that led to the Iron Throne. You had nowhere left to run. Daemon noticed and chuckled, the sound low and predatory.

“I told you, didn’t I?” he said, his voice a dark caress. “I warned them. I warned you. I would spill oceans of blood to have you. And now, here you are.”

You shook your head, your throat tightening as panic clawed at your chest. “Please… don’t do this.”

His expression softened, but it only made him more terrifying. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “Oh, sweet sister,” he murmured, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “This is what was always meant to be. You and I, ruling together. Fire and blood, united.”

Before you could respond, his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you toward him. His lips crashed against yours, demanding and unyielding. You froze, every muscle in your body screaming in protest, but Daemon was relentless. His kiss was a claim, a branding, a promise that you belonged to him and no one else.

When he finally pulled away, you gasped for air, your chest heaving as tears streamed down your face. Daemon’s thumb wiped one away, his smile dark and triumphant.

“Bring the Septon,” he called, his voice echoing through the empty hall.

The doors opened, and the trembling figure of a Septon was ushered in by two of Daemon’s men. The holy man clutched his robes tightly, his face pale as he took in the scene before him.

“We will be married,” Daemon announced, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And then I will be crowned. The throne is mine, and so is she.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “You can’t—”

Daemon turned to you, his hand gripping your chin firmly as he forced you to meet his gaze. “I can, and I will. You are mine, now and forever. You can fight me if you wish, but it will change nothing.”

The Septon hesitated, his voice trembling as he began the rites. You barely heard the words, your mind spinning with the weight of what was happening. When the time came for Daemon to speak his vows, his voice was strong and sure, each word dripping with obsession.

“I take you as mine, in fire and blood, now and always,” he said, his gaze burning into yours. “And I swear, before gods and men, that we will make this world kneel before us.”

When it was your turn to respond, you hesitated, your voice caught in your throat. Daemon’s hand tightened on yours, a silent warning. You forced the words out, each one feeling like a blade to your heart.

As the ceremony ended, Daemon turned to the Septon and dismissed him with a wave. The poor man fled the hall as quickly as his legs would carry him. Daemon’s attention shifted back to you, his smile returning as he gestured toward the Iron Throne.

“Come, wife,” he said, the word thick with satisfaction. “Our union is not yet complete.”

Your eyes widened in horror as his meaning became clear. You shook your head, backing away, but Daemon’s hand shot out, gripping your wrist like iron.

“Do not fight me,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “I promised myself this moment, and I will have it. We will make love on the Iron Throne, and the realm will remember it as the night House Blackfyre truly began.”

Tears streamed down your face as he pulled you toward the throne, his grip unyielding. The jagged steel of the throne loomed before you, a monument to power, cruelty, and now, the dark desires of the man who had taken everything from you.

Each step up its dais felt like a climb toward your doom, a spiral into the depths of Daemon's madness. His hand never left yours, his grip unrelenting as he guided you to the seat that had claimed the lives of kings. The steel beneath you was cold and unforgiving, a perfect mirror to the man who now stood before you.

Daemon's eyes were brilliant with triumph, his lips curling into a wicked smile as he towered over you. He had everything he had fought for—the Red Keep, the realm, and you. The fire in his gaze burned hotter than the dragons of old, and you realized then that there was no escape.

He lowered himself to his knees before you, though there was no reverence in his act, only possession. His hands found your waist, his touch firm and commanding as he pulled you to him. The kiss he pressed to your lips was fevered and insistent, a claim written in fire and blood.

"Mine," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire. "Always mine."

You closed your eyes, tears slipping free as you endured his touch. The throne cut into your back, its cruel edges biting through the delicate fabric of your gown, but Daemon seemed unbothered. He was relentless, his obsession driving him to take what he believed was rightfully his.

Time blurred, the world narrowing to the cold steel beneath you and the scorching heat of Daemon's presence. His whispers filled your ears, promises of love and power tangled with threats of what would happen if you ever tried to leave him. When it was over, the throne room was silent once more, save for the sound of your ragged breathing.

Daemon rose, his expression one of dark satisfaction. He reached down and pulled you to your feet, his hands lingering on your waist as he steadied you. The throne stood behind you, its cutting edges now marked with the blood of your union.

He stepped away briefly, retrieving something from a nearby table. When he returned, your breath caught in your throat. In his hands was a crown—a twisted masterpiece of Valyrian steel and black diamonds, its design sharp and imposing. It was a thing of dark beauty, as haunting and unyielding as the man who had commissioned it.

"This," he said, his voice reverent, "is yours. A queen must have her crown."

You shook your head, your lips trembling. "Daemon, please—"

"Silence," he interrupted, his tone firm but not cruel. "You are my queen, my wife, my equal by blood. This crown was forged for you, and you will wear it."

He placed the crown upon your head, his fingers brushing against your hair as he adjusted it. When he stepped back to admire his work, his expression softened, a rare glimmer of tenderness breaking through his dark obsession.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. "You are everything I dreamed of and more."

You stood frozen, the weight of the crown pressing down on you like the weight of the world. Daemon extended his hand, his smile widening as he awaited your response. When you hesitated, his gaze hardened.

"Take my hand," he commanded. "Stand beside me, and let the realm see its king and queen united."

Slowly, reluctantly, you placed your hand in his. His grip tightened immediately, a silent reminder of his control. Together, you descended the steps of the Iron Throne, Daemon leading you toward the hall’s open doors where his allies and soldiers awaited.

As the doors swung open, the crowd erupted into cheers. They hailed Daemon as the king who had taken what was rightfully his, and you as the queen who would rule at his side. But you saw the truth in their eyes—the fear, the uncertainty, the unspoken acknowledgment that their loyalty was born of necessity, not love.

Daemon raised your joined hands high, his voice booming over the crowd. "Behold your queen!" he declared, his tone filled with triumph. "She is mine, as this throne is mine, and together we shall forge a new world—one ruled by House Blackfyre."

The crowd roared its approval, but you felt none of their enthusiasm. Your heart ached for what had been lost, for the family and the life that had been torn from you. But as Daemon’s hand gripped yours, unyielding and possessive, you realized there was no escaping him.

This was your life now—a crown of blood and ash, a throne forged in obsession, and a king who would stop at nothing to keep you by his side.

[shuichiakainx]

I watched the first episode of the second season of House of the Dragon, now I need the second episode 😩😩

[luv-lock]

⸻ ʟ ᴏ ᴠ ᴇ ᴍ ᴇ ⸻

Pairing: Dark Aegon I Targaryen x Fem Reader

Summary: Aegon spends his life desperately trying to win the love of his sister. And yet he's never enough.

Warning: Non-Con (rape), targcest, physical violence, murder, obsessive and delusional behavior, child loss/grief.

Notes: English is not my first language. Art belong to Denis Maznev. Hope you enjoy!

She was always there.

From his earliest memories, her face is etched in his mind like a cold, pale moon. She never smiled, never laughed. Never cried. Just looked. Always watching, always silent. Even as children, while Rhaenys played with him, she was a shadow in the background. A constant presence that gnawed at him, her cold eyes watching him with that empty gaze. It was as if nothing could move her, nothing could please her. But he tried. Gods, how he tried.

He was barely seven, still small but proud of the sword his father had given him. He had trained for hours, his arms aching, his legs sore, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to show her. He wanted her to see him—really see him—for once.

He had run to her, his little chest puffed out with pride, holding his wooden practice sword like it was Blackfyre itself. "Look! Look what I can do!" he had said, his voice bright with excitement. He swung the sword in wide arcs, spinning and thrusting as best as his small body could manage. "Did you see that? I’m going to be a great warrior! You’ll see!"

But she just stood there. Watching. Her face expressionless, her eyes cold, as if she hadn’t seen anything at all. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t even blink. It was like he wasn’t there, like his efforts were meaningless.

He had felt something tighten in his chest then, a feeling he didn’t understand. A hollow ache that made his hands shake as he gripped the sword tighter. He tried again, swinging harder, faster. "Are you watching?!" he had shouted, frustration leaking into his voice.

But she didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything.

She never did.

And that’s how it always was. Every time he tried, every time he showed her something—his victories in the yard, his skills in battle—she just watched. Her cold eyes always on him but never giving him what he craved. Never giving him anything.

But then, that day came. The day that broke something inside him.

He remembers the sound first. The sound of her laughing. It was so foreign, so unexpected that he almost didn’t believe it at first. He had stopped in his tracks, heart racing, the sound of her laughter echoing in his ears like the sweetest music he’d ever heard. For a moment, just a moment, he thought it was meant for him. Finally, he thought, she was laughing. She was happy. Maybe, just maybe, he had done something to make her feel.

But then he saw it.

She wasn’t laughing with him. She wasn’t laughing for him.

She was laughing with a man. Some nobody. A fool. A good-for-nothing who could never even begin to understand her, let alone deserve her. And yet, there she was, her eyes shining, her lips curved into a smile—something Aegon had never seen in all his life. She was radiant, her laughter like music, but it wasn’t for him.

The rage came fast, burning through his veins like fire. How dare this man, this insignificant speck, be the one to bring her joy? How dare she smile for him, laugh for him, when she had never once given Aegon anything but that cold, dead stare? He could hardly see through the fury as he drew his sword, his heart pounding in his ears, and with one swift strike, he cut the man’s head clean off.

The blood sprayed across the floor as the man's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, useless. And Aegon, triumphant, stood there holding the severed head, his heart racing with the thought that maybe now—now—she would see how much he loved her.

He brought the head to her, a smile tugging at his lips, presenting it like a gift, like an offering to a goddess.

But then, for the first time, he saw her cry.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, silent, like everything else about her. She didn’t wail or scream, just wept, her cold, distant eyes filled with sorrow. But not for him. Never for him. The realization hit him like a dagger to the chest. She wasn’t crying for him. She was mourning the other man, that worthless fool.

Could she not see? Could she not understand what he had done? He had killed for her. For her. To prove his love. Why couldn’t she see that?

It was worse now. So much worse.

He stands in the room, their child’s room, staring at the small bed where their son had once slept. His heart is heavy, his chest tight with grief that he can’t seem to swallow. Tears burn in his eyes, but he doesn’t care. Their child is dead. Gone. And he can barely breathe from the weight of it.

But when he looks at her, she’s standing by the window, her back to him, staring out into the night as if nothing had happened. As if their son wasn’t lying cold and still in the crypts below.

She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t even move.

His son, their child, lay lifeless, and yet...she didn’t care. She couldn’t care. The realization gnawed at him, twisting in his chest like a knife. If it had been another man’s child, would she be mourning now? Would she cry for that child, like she had cried for that worthless fool?

"Do you...do you not care?" His voice cracks, the words barely a whisper. He feels like he’s choking on the silence. "He was our child. Our son." His hands tremble, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Why… why?"

She doesn’t answer. Of course, she doesn’t.

She never answers.

The hollow ache that had plagued him since childhood is back, sharper than ever. He stares at her, at her still, cold form, and something inside him snaps. He can feel it, like a tether breaking, a dam bursting inside his mind.

"Why?" he growls, his voice low, trembling with fury. "Why can’t you love me? Is it really so hard?!" He steps toward her, fists clenched, his heart hammering in his chest. "I’ve done everything for you. Everything!"

His hands shake as he grabs her by the shoulders, spinning her around to face him. She looks at him with that same blank, emotionless expression, her eyes cold and distant, as if she’s not even here. As if she’s not even alive.

"I killed for you!" His voice is rising, desperate, wild. "I’ve fought for you, bled for you! I’ve done everything you could ever want, but you—" He pauses, his breath coming in harsh gasps as a dark, twisted thought coils in his mind. "Is this because of him? Because I killed that servant? Did you really think he could love you more than I do? That he deserved you? Him?"

His grip tightens, fingers digging into her flesh. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the rage coursing through his veins. "I am the one who loves you. I’m the one who’s always loved you!"

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. Just stares at him with those empty, cold eyes.

The silence is unbearable. It breaks him.

With a roar, he grabs her dress, tearing at the fabric, ripping it apart in his hands. He’s rough, vicious, his fingers leaving bruises on her pale skin as he forces himself onto her.

She doesn’t fight back. Doesn’t scream. She just lies there, blank, her body cold and still beneath his. The more she doesn’t react, the harder he thrusts, the rougher he becomes, as if he can force her to feel something—anything. He can feel the blood, can see the bruises forming on her skin, but she just keeps staring at him, those empty eyes boring into him, cold and unfeeling.

But it didn’t matter.

She will love me. She will.

"You will love me," he growls, his voice low and savage, each thrust more brutal than the last. "You will love me. You’ll see. I’ll make you."

But she doesn’t change. She never changes.

Even as her body bleeds, even as he takes her in the most violent, twisted way, she just looks at him with that same cold, distant stare. As if he’s nothing. As if nothing will ever be enough.

Her eyes stayed cold.

Her eyes stayed empty.

And still, he kept going.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ

[venusbyline]

Haunted ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 28, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Rivers!reader x Alys Rivers

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: breast fucking

— summary: In fact, Harrenhal was driving Daemon insane and seemed to be so fucking haunted, because as soon as he woke up, there was no trace that what the three of you did during the night had actually happened.

— word count: 1.4k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 28th day, female!reader, Alys Rivers's younger sister!reader, dark!Alys Rivers, dark!reader, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, breast fucking, rape/non-con (but becomes dubcon later), breast worship, non-con somnophilia, threesome (female/female/male), Rivers Incest (older sister/younger sister), large breasts, forced orgasm, cum eating, cum shot, curse words, oral sex (male receiving), vaginal fingering, rough kiss, overstimulation, hallucinations, ambiguous/open ending, cheating, mind manipulation, age gap (older man/younger woman/older woman), implied breastfeeding kink, mommy issues, erotic dreams/nightmares, implied Targcest (mother/son), open to interpretation, bisexual!reader, bisexual!Alys, Rivers sisters are witches, haunted castle, The Curse of Harrenhal, married Daemon Targaryen/Rhaenyra Targaryen, referenced Daemon Targaryen/Alyssa Targaryen, implied Mysaria/Rhaenyra Targaryen, Laena Velaryon mentioned, Alicent Hightower mentioned, sadism, switch!Daemon, dom!Alys, dom!reader, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @dearjardim

— crossposting: AO3

One of the things Daemon Targaryen loved most about women were their breasts. He was a great breasts lover, whether they were large, small or medium, different colors of nipples...

Although Daemon liked cunts, butts, thighs and hips too, nothing compared to his appreciation for breasts. He loved Laena's medium breasts, he had loved Rhaenyra's small breasts when she was young and then he also grew to loved how big they were after she was pregnant six times. And even though he hated to admit it, he actually enjoyed watching Alicent's tiny underdeveloped breasts covered by her pretty dresses when she was a teenager, before she married his older brother and became a fucking annoying bitch with each passing year of her adult life.

With his arrival at Harrenhal, it all seemed too much. Maybe it was the conversations with the weird healer, Alys Rivers, but he was feeling... Tempted. He was constantly having dreams and nightmares, involving Rhaenyra, Laena and even his mother, who he could not even meet because she passed away when he was just a little baby. His mind was tormented by strange and troubled thoughts, peculiar desires. Daemon was never known for being the most loyal partner in the world, but he did never even considered cheating on Rhaenyra during the recent years.

However, staying at Harrenhal was destroying what little sanity that he still had. When it was not the nightmares and macabre visions in the wreckage of the castle or Alys Rivers talking cryptically to him, it was you trying to seduce him. He did not know almost anything about you. From the few rumors he heard in those days, you must be some daughter of Alys Rivers or more likely her younger sister. Either way, you were probably a bastard of House Strong too. He did not care much about your constant glances in his direction, or how you seemed to devour him with your hungry eyes. Daemon had more important things to do than care about a little girl who was turned on about him.

Well... At least he thought that way until he woke up from a nightmare. Another terrible nightmare. Another erotic dream with his mother, Alyssa Targaryen. He did not even know her, but his mind was making him think about her all the time during the dream. The full and pretty lips, the pointed nose, the extremely beautiful and sensual violet eyes, the delightful body and milky skin, the curves of the hips, the stretch marks on the stomach, the large breasts... Damn, those damn breasts. What kind of curse could that stupid castle be poisoning him, making Daemon dream he was being breastfeeding by his own mother? The woman he had never even met. It was so disgusting, and yet he could not help but groan in frustration when he woke up, realizing that there was no more milk on his lips. Alyssa was not truly called him her favorite son, she was not stroking his hair while he was being fed...

Daemon was about to stand up and take a deep breath, before his eyes widened as he felt his member being pressed. Or rather, crushed against two soft things.

"Seven Hells... What the fuck?" He moaned in confusion, opening eyes with his vision still blurred, despairing when he saw you smirking, rubbing his cock between your big breasts.

"Another nightmare?" You teased, your voice sounding more sensual than all the brothel whores he had fucked in the past. And the quantity was really high. "About your hot mommy?"

Daemon kept his eyes wide, stuttering like a pathetic little boy. He did not look like the almost fifty years old King Consort and exceptional warrior anymore, you had turned him into a confused mess, moans echoing as you pressed your own breasts harder, making his cock disappear in the middle. "S-Stop it! Stop it right now or I will rip your head off!"

His death threat was not real. Both of you knew that. He would not kill you. He did not even truly want you to stop. He needed more physical touch, he needed to have sex, to feel the warmth of a woman again, something Rhaenyra had been denying him since the labour of the stillborn Visenya and Lucerys' murder, as well as the death of his father, the usurpation of her Iron Throne caused by the Greens and her anger knowing that Daemon was the causer for the death of a little child. The innocent Jaehaerys, firstborn son of Helaena and Aegon.

Daemon knew he should understand her reasons. But he was also a man with high sexual desires, and given the chaos in their marriage, he was more than eager to cum.

Considering how sensitive and even sore his cock already was, Daemon pictured you had been taking advantage of his body for hours while he slept, raping him during his erotic nightmares. Now, he was sure you already knew what he was dreaming about and what he wanted and needed so much.

"Would you rather kill me or cum on my breasts and my face for the third time?" You asked mockingly and the man frowned, swallowing hard with embarrassment and some irritation when he finally noticed that your breasts were already covered with his cum and your face had a few drops of it too. You were making the most of the situation.

Instead of answering you, Daemon swallowed hard again and pushed his hips higher, starting to help you to fuck your breasts, your tongue touching the head of his cock and making him moan and growl, desperate for a distraction and eager to cum as many times as possible his body could handle it. "Y-You are going to pay for this..." He groaned, squirming when you placed your hands on your breasts and tightening them harder. "O-Oh, fuck. You fucking bastard whore... Rhaenyra will want to kill us when she finds out about this." Daemon threw his head back, body trembling while he released his seed with a guttural moan, painting your face with those white drops again.

Daemon heard you chuckle and saw you run your fingers over your cheeks, licking the cum and smirking at him, who was still panting and with a look mixed with anger, lust and hesitation. He wanted so badly to strangle you or fuck you until your breasts became even bigger and heavier after the bastard children that he would insist on placing inside your womb.

"I have my doubts that your wife will care about your incestuous dreams or your extramarital affairs here in Harrenhal. She is too busy wanting to fuck your ex-lover. Mysaria, I guess." The sudden appearance of Alys Rivers and her words left Daemon stunned. He wanted to tell her to fuck off and that she was just lying for fun, but he fell silent when she started tearing off her nightgown, her body with beautiful breasts approached the two of you as she crouched next to you on the bed, crushing and scratching the soft flesh of your chest with her long nails, giving you an intense kiss, both of your mouths hungry for each other, blood dripping from the bites. Daemon's eyes remained focused and wide at the sight, just as his cock became hard again. "I guess Daemon can handle a few more orgasms before he goes completely insane, right, little sister?" Alys Rivers teased and you nodded with a giggle, giving her one last kiss before the two of you smirked at each other, watching as Daemon closed his eyes so he could try to control himself as you began to pump his cock, already so creamy with his own seed, ached and sensitive. Alys took advantage of the fact that your hands being busy and she put Daemon's big and thick member inside her mouth, one hand caressing his balls carefully and the other hand fingering deeply and roughly her sister's tight little cunt.

In fact, Harrenhal was driving Daemon insane and seemed to be so fucking haunted, because as soon as he woke up, there was no trace that what the three of you did during the night had actually happened. Every day staying inside was like being on the brink of complete madness. He never knew what was real or a hallucination. All he knew was that during the following afternoon, he saw you and Alys sharing mocking giggles at the sight of him looking very scared and confused, walking around the castle.

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[lis-likes-fics]

The Dragon's Wife

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x bride!Reader Word Count: 4k words Kink: Breeding Warnings: NSFW, noncon, dark content, fingering, p in v, slight cum eating, first time, humiliation, crying kink, biting, multiple force orgasms, forced breeding, creampie, A/N: Happy Kinktober, everyone! I think this may be the darkest thing I've ever written, in terms of this is my first noncon. If you catch any warning I missed, please let me know. Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy this and the rest of my prompts for kinktober! Find the main masterlist here. Also A/N: I had to respost this shit twice but Tumblr fucking sucks and is hiding it. I hate this website sometimes... Enjoy!

The large doors of Daemon's bed chambers shut behind you with a damning thud. Still wrapped in your wedding gown, the events of the night were still very fresh in your mind.

You were angry, outraged by the dishonor done upon you. Like some broodmare, your father gave you away to the Targaryen prince in need of a new wife after the last had passed "suspiciously".

It was humiliating, to say the least. You had produced no heirs for your house and "talked too much for your own good". Your father jumped at the chance to have this brute of a prince tame you. Perhaps you would be a "respectable lady".

But you would give neither of them the satisfaction.

"Are you going to stand there and stare at the door all night?" Daemon's voice spoke behind you, exhausted by you already.

You sighed. "Better than looking at you, dear husband."

You could hear his footsteps against the hard floors as he stepped closer to you. "Someone ought to teach you some respect."

You turned to face him so he could see the way you rolled your eyes. "Apparently, that's meant to be your job…seeing that I am now wed to you."

He gave you a hard look, his gaze dark and dangerous as his eyes rake up and down your body. A long silence filled the space between you as you stared one another down.

"Come here," he commanded, his tone stern but his voice quiet. yet

"No."

He tilted his head and a wicked smile took over his face. Amusement lit up within his eyes as a new goal took over him. He took a couple more steps toward you, stalking closer like some predator to its prey as he sized you up.

"Perhaps I will teach you some respect."

A chill ran down your spine, but you refused to stand down as you glared at him. He stood before you, raising a hand to touch your cheek. You smacked it away. "Don't touch me."

He breathed a laugh, looking you up and down. You moved to take a step back, to put more space between the two of you as an unsettling feeling settled into your skin.

But before you could lift your foot, his hand was wrapping firmly around your throat and pulling you close to him. You gasped out of shock, bringing your hands up to his own to pry it off of you as you stared wide-eyed at him.

"Such strong will you've got," he said, sighing deeply. "I wonder how easy it would be to break it." Your breath was shallow as you clenched your jaw. He hummed, moving his hand up in a harsh trail to your jaw, where his thumb and fingers dug into your flesh and made you hiss from the pain. "Your job is to produce my heirs, little cat, nothing more. You will do as I say."

You huffed. "I am not a whore."

"No," he said. "But you are my wife now…and you will breed if I say you will."

"I will not."

He laughed, a loud one deep in his chest as he pulled you closer by your neck. You were trembling in his grasp, the stubbornness turning to fear as his eyes trailed your face and stopped at your lips.

"You don't have a choice."

He shoved you away, and you stumbled to the ground. You stood quickly, trying to put more distance between you. But you had nowhere to go. You watched as he slowly advanced.

He backed you against the large table in his chambers, the wood digging uncomfortably into your back. He trapped you, grabbing roughly at your waist and regarding you with a primal grin.

"Wait," you begged, leaning back as you grabbed the table for support. "Wait, please. I'm sorry." He pulled back slightly, looking over you as he took in this new sense of fright. You swallowed thickly, staring at him as you trembled, tears pricking at your eyes and threatening to spill. You sighed shakily. "Please don't."

You received no sympathy as a wolfish grin took his face. "Look at you," he teased, laughing again as his hand found your neck again. "Not as strong as I thought then."

His lips crashed down upon yours, a bruising kiss that had lips mashing with teeth, breaking skin and filling your mouth with the taste of blood. You tried to push him away, grabbing at his arms and peeling them off you only for him to grab you again in a rougher grip than before.

You whined against his lips, still trying and failing to push him away from you. He lifted your chin, his hot breath enveloping your neck as he bared his teeth, burying them in your throat and making you yelp.

You grabbed at his hand uselessly. The adrenaline coursing through your veins made your blood pump furiously beneath your skin. Desperate to remove him from you, you managed to shove him away with your foot. He stumbled backwards. You took no time to catch your breath as you turned to run. You didn't know where you were going, but you ran.

Daemon watched with an amused smirk, wiping his mouth and advancing toward you again. You hardly got far before his hand was hooking around your neck and pulling you right back against him, your back flush against his front as his hot mouth and breath lingered at your ear.

"I stand corrected," he purred, biting your earlobe.

You shuddered under his grasp. "Please," he watched a tear slip down your cheek. "Don't hurt me."

"Oh," he breathed, pressing his lips against the crook of your shoulder and savoring the way you closed your eyes and whined. "Where's the fun in that?"

He held your body against his own with a tight grasp around you, his arms wrapped around your body and over your arms as his hands roamed your figure hungrily.

It all happened so fast. And he was so uninterested before, you admit, you had become a little cocky with your words the more comfortable you became with your detest for him. You never expected anything like this to happen—although you probably should have.

His hands found the neckline of your dress, and with a monstrous tear, he ripped it down the middle until it pooled in rags around you. He removed each layer from you like some beast tearing the flesh from a quivering animal with its sharpened tooth.

And when you were bare, another rush of adrenaline filled your veins and built another fight in you, a fire that would soon be overcome by a larger, more furious one.

"Daemon, stop!" you shouted in false bravado, kicking your feet to get him away, only to feed his hunger for this enticing hunt you created.

His large hand groped your breast, and you clenched your eyes shut at the sensation of it. You were trapped, and you couldn't do anything about it as he walked you to the table and shoved you to lay on it. Your cheek pressed against the wood, and you could almost swear you felt splinters poking at your skin. But the wood was so smooth, you could have been imagining it.

He bent down, confining you once more as his lips and tongue and teeth clashed with the skin of the back of your neck, your shoulder, your back. He licked and sucked and bit until you were sure you'd be covered in bruises, the marks of his claim coloring your skin red and purple by morning.

"You taste magnificent, little cat," he purred before biting your earlobe once more. A cold tear ran down your cheek as you shuddered, and a dark chuckle slipped from his chest. "Such beautiful tears you've got. Like crystals."

You yelped as his hand smacked down on your ass, gripping the flesh immediately after in a vice grip that burned.

Your whole body jerked when you felt his fingers press between your thighs to feel your cunt, baring your teeth and biting back another whimper. "Oh, that's no good," he remorsed, acknowledging the lack of slickness between your thighs as his crude fingers continued to feel you. "We'll just have to fix that. You do not want to take this dry, I'll tell you that. Especially not when you're this tight. You've needed a good fucking, haven't you, little cat?"

You could hear the smirk on his voice, and it made your skin prickle, a chill running down your spine that soured and turned to fire in your belly when he shoved two fingers inside of you. You clenched around him and tried to hide your face away on the table.

"Daemon, please," you begged. "Please, please, please."

He thrust them deeper, exploring more of you as he listened to your stifled moans and cries. "I know, little thing. You don't want my fingers inside of you… you want my cock, don't you?"

You shivered as another cry shook you at that. He continued, "You do. I can see it. You want my hard cock inside of you, you need it." He shoved his fingers in deeper, adding a third that curled harshly inside you and allowed waves of arousal to coat his fingers. "You need my thick cock in your tight little cunt to fill you with my dragonborn sons and daughters."

He kept thrusting, his pace picking up faster and harder as he set a cruel rhythm. You couldn't help clenching around him, opposing the invasion as the searing pleasure tore through your body.

"You were so confident," he said, his voice suddenly right next to your ear, "until I got my hands on you. You were just begging for someone to put you in your place."

You gripped the edge of the table, wanting nothing more than to sink into the ground and disappear, let the Stranger take you away from this cruel world and deliver you to sleep.

"Look at you," he snickered, pulling his hand from you with a sickening squelch. "Wetting my hands like a common whore. Perhaps you needed this more than I realized."

Your legs trembled, and you wrapped your arms around your head to cover your face, to hide away from him. You startled when you felt his hand reach out and comb through your hair, starting from the beginning of your scalp and working his way back until he suddenly gripped a handful of your hair at the base and pulled. He made you look at him, you closed your eyes and whimpered at the pain.

"Open your eyes," he said calmly, staring at your face as you refused. His grip in your hair tightened as his voice lowered to a dangerous register as he nearly growled. "Open your eyes, little cat."

You followed his orders, afraid of the consequences otherwise. He watched another tear join the rest of them streaked along your cheeks, your eyes wet and pathetic as he fed off your misery. "Well, you needn't worry," he whispered, faux sympathy poisoning his tone. "I'll fuck you like you need to be fucked."

He yanked at your hair again, pulling you up to stand and ignoring the way you cried at the pain. He led you to the bed, letting you go with a small shove so you stood in front of it. He gestured to the bed. "On your knees."

You stood frozen, covering your body as you hung your head. You were shaking. He didn't care.

"On your knees."

You bit your trembling lip, moving slowly as you set your knee on the edge of the bed and slowly moving forward until you were sitting as he told you: on your knees, humiliated and cold.

He pressed his hand to your back, and the rest of his body followed to hold you as he harshly kissed the back of your shoulder again, more teeth than lips. Then he pushed you forward so you held yourself on your hands.

"Look at you," he remarked again, another chuckle echoing in his chest. "I shall make a bride of you yet."

You listened to him strip, taking his sweet time to remove every piece of clothing he had from his body and let it drop to the floor like sacks. You waited, hating the suspense. And you flinched when his hand found your dripping cunt, slipping through your lips and leaving just as quick.

There was a quite suckling sound, and then he spoke again. "Mm, you should taste yourself. Such sweet nectar."

His fingers prodded at your lips, you sealed them closed as you tried to move your face away, but he wasn't having it. He smeared your slickness all over your lips and down your chin and cupped your jaw with his cruel fingers. "Taste it."

You let out a choked sob as you slowly opened your mouth. His fingers invaded your mouth the same way they did your pussy, thrusting harshly in and out between your lips as you tasted yourself on them. You breathed heavily around his fingers as he pushed down on your tongue, spread them apart to make your tongue lick between them, adamant on making you lick every drop of your arousal off of his hand.

He finally removed his hand, and you could breathe again as you hung your head and gasped. You felt your blood run cold at the sound of wet skin on skin, a steady shlick making you clench, rejecting what you knew was coming, what you knew you couldn't fight.

You expected him to say something, to whisper in your ear to make you shiver, to taunt you as he fed off your humiliation and loathing.

Without warning, he shoved his cock into you, burying himself to the hilt in one deep thrust. It was much worse than if he had warned you beforehand. You'd found safety in his predictability, his need to tease you gave warning to what he intended to do when he intended to do it. He'd taken even that from you.

He groaned as he settled deeply within you. "Ondoso se gods…" he muttered under his breath, taking your hips and pulling you back as he ground inside of you. "Now I know why you were so eager," he breathed. "This is a virgin's cunt."

You gripped the sheets of the bed and clenched, wanting to force him out but unable to. He was bigger than you, faster than you, stronger than you. He was carved by war, bled and seasoned by it. If you thought there was a chance you won this fight, you were dumber than he thought.

He pulled out of you, an agonizingly slow drag that emptied you out until he suddenly thrust back in with a harsh thrust. The pleasure burned. As his patience began to wear thin, he was rid of all his slow, tempered thrust and resolved to piston inside of you like a hungry beast.

His hips snapped into your ass with every thrust, in and out was his fast rhythm that split you apart on his cock. You gripped the sheets and squeezed his cock and cried as the ecstasy of his intrusion tore you apart.

You whimpered and moaned, unable to help the way your sobs left you as he grunted and groaned about how good he must be making you feel.

His hand snaked around your waist and between your thighs to find your clit, and he pressed down harshly as he moved to make you cum. The pleasure spasmed when he touched you and you hated it.

His relentless thrusts ached as he built you up. When you came, your whole body shattered and you cried out, your arms giving out as you fell forward into the bed and muffled your sob. Your thighs shook and it took far too long for the shocks of pleasure to simmer. You hated yourself for letting it feel so good.

A hand cracked down on your ass once more as he pulled you close again by the waist. "You fucking loved that, I could tell," he breathed. "You clenched around me so tight. Even now your cunt is sucking me in."

You pulled weakly at the bedsheets. "Daemon, please…"

"So sweet… begging for me like some cock-drunk whore," he smiled. "Oh, my little cat… I'm going to fuck my cum so deep inside of you, you'll feel me dripping out of you for days."

He pulled out of you, and you let out a breath. In the same breath, he flipped you onto your back and spread your legs wide with his calloused hands. You fought to close them, but to no avail—not to your surprise.

He spread you open and sunk into you once more, grasping your jaw with his hand shaped into claws as he made you look at him. He thrust into you, deep and fast, his breath almost like a groan in his chest. "Look at me," he ordered. You obeyed, albeit hesitantly, on the first command.

"Such obedience," he praised. "You love it when I fuck you like this? When I force open your legs and take what is mine?" You wanted to shake your head and throw your hands and shove him off, but you were trapped and already broken in enough. His free hand grabbed at your thigh and clawed into your flesh, tearing you apart like he was doing to you now.

"Of course, you do. I know you do," he continued. His hips continued to snap into yours, shoving deeper and rougher into you in a way that made it hard to contain moans that came from the sick pleasure curling within you, burning in your belly and fueling the tears in your eyes. But you were quieter than before, your sobs realizing they were getting you nowhere and accepting that this would be your life now. You could do nothing but lay there and take it as he fucked you, taking his pleasure from you like he would the spoils of war.

And he lasted too long. He held you down and kissed and bit and sucked and clawed at your flesh. He taunted and teased you, made you cum at least twice more with his insistent fingers as the pleasure seared in your belly like a corrosive flame ruining you from the inside out. You winced and whimpered and could do no more.

You didn't know how long you were there. It felt like forever, his relentless thrusts becoming numb to your sore body as you let him use you.

He sat up, pulling you into his lap as he fucked you in a newer, deeper angle. "I'm going to breed you now," he smirked, his strong hands keeping you close as he impaled you on his cock with a new determination. His white hair had fallen messily in his eyes by now, his lips pink and his eyes blown wide with lust.

"Would you like that? Would you like me to plant my seed in your quivering little cunt and make you an heir?" You stared up at him, your eyes tired as you watched him taunt you. Apparently, the question had not been rhetorical as his hand grips your jaw again and sets your head straight. "Answer me, little cat."

A war went off in your mind. If you said no, he'd likely to subject you to more horror, drag out the moment longer than he needed just to make you endure this torture a little while longer. If you came again, the shame would be so thick and so deep, you likely would not survive it.

But if you agreed to him, you would be admitting defeat. You would officially be his little plaything for him to use whenever he felt a little too pent up one moment or bored the next.

But another moment of this would bring more emotional turmoil than you have the heart for right now…

"Well?" he wondered, grinding his hips deep within you as he continued to claw your face, barely holding on enough as his head bowed with his thrusts. You whispered, but he just tilted his head to listen closer to your barely audible voice. "What?"

"Yes…" you whispered.

"Yes, what? What would you like, little cat?" he smiled wide, triumphant in his ability to break you so easily.

You swallowed thickly, your saliva like syrup at the embarrassment. "Yes, Prince Daemon… I want," a new, tiny sob choked out of you as the words stuck in your throat, "I want you to…to breed me."

The pride shone in his gaze like the sun, harsh and bright. "That's a very good girl, you are. I'm so very proud of you," he said as he kissed you roughly again. His hips began to snap harder into your once more, and you felt the unsteadiness of the rhythm, the desperation of the chase for his release hot in your belly.

And when he came, he pulled you down by his hips and pushed so deeply inside of you, it hurt. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, reaching his peak with a roar as he spilled his hot, fiery cum inside of your cunt and fucked it in to stay. You mewled and grabbed uncomfortably at his arms as you lay through the whole ordeal, hating his grabby hands and his thick, pulsing cock and his depraved sounds above you. The warmth filled you like tar.

He cursed under his breath in a language foreign to you. After grinding his hips for longer than he needed, he finally pulled out of you and put an end to your misery. You sighed in relief, laying back as he sat up and removed his heavy weight from your body.

He stared down at you, completely flustered and spent but well enough to tease some more. "Look at you," he shook his head. "Pathetic whore hungry for my cock."

You didn't look at him, turning your head to the side and laying there as he kept your legs open with his body between yours. He chuckled deep in his throat and smacked your side, earning little more than a near silent yelp.

You flinched when his hand found your cunt again, this time filled and smeared with both your cum and his. His long middle finger shoved inside of you and then back inside. With no warning, he placed his hand at your mouth. Another fight kicked through your veins, though noticeably less fueled than the last.

"Ah-ah," he tutted. "Open your mouth and see how well we taste together, little cat. If you don't, I have other things I can do with that little mouth of yours."

His threat was clear as day as you obeyed. Cracking your mouth open, he smeared your mixed release over your lips again and finally delved into your mouth to make you lick every single drop from his fingers. It was salty and sweet, and you hated it.

"Such a good, pathetic little girl, you are." He pulled his fingers from your mouth and sighed longingly. "Was that so hard?"

He shoved you off his lap, discarding you like trash as he stood to tidy himself once more. And once he finished, he blew out the remaining candles in the room and spared you not a single glance and not a single word more. He rolled over on the bed beside you and eased himself to sleep.

You lay there, staring at the sealing as the soreness in your limbs spread deeper and deeper until it reached your very soul. A heaviness took you, weighed down your heart until you were naught but a body on a bed next to a dark prince. A numbness ate away at your toes, at your fingertips, until the even numbness disappeared and was replaced by a terrible grief when the thoughts of the night flashed behind your eyes like a terrible dream.

And you began to sob. Softly, as not to wake Daemon and invoke him into another frenzy, you cried and hated the way it did not cleanse your soul. You belonged to him, his little wife, his little cat to prey on. You were just a dragon's whore now. Nothing more, nothing less.

Tag yourself here or send me a message!

[0silver0dreams0]

Love against hatred

When affection turns obsessive, even hatred cannot extinguish love. A lover, consumed by longing, refuses to accept rejection as the end. To him, hatred is not an end but a challenge — a sign that feelings still linger. While the beloved sees betrayal and pain in every glance, the lover envisions a future where their bond is restored. With unwavering devotion, he will stop at nothing to bridge the divide, for in his eyes, love against hatred is still love — and worth any cost.

✦ Jacaerys Velaryon was never one to shy away from his emotions. From the moment he could understand the concept of affection, he had felt drawn to you, his cousin. Your grace, your wit, your strength — they all captivated him, like a moth hopelessly drawn to a flame. As children, your laughter had been his favourite sound, your approval his greatest reward. Yet, as the years passed and tensions between your families deepened, that love turned into an obsession, a need to protect you, to have you near, despite your growing disdain for him.

✧ Jacaerys had always admired your poise and strength. To him, you were the embodiment of everything noble and pure, a light in a world often tainted by ambition and betrayal. When you were children, you had been his confidant, the one person who could make him laugh, who made the burdens of being the heir to the Iron Throne seem lighter. He remembered how you used to smile at him, how you used to hold his hand without hesitation. But those days were long gone.

✦ After the fateful night when Aemond lost his eye, everything changed. The bond that had once united you both was shattered. You blamed his family for the pain inflicted upon your brother, and that blame extended to him. The warmth in your eyes turned to cold indifference, then to outright hatred. Yet, Jacaerys could not bring himself to let you go. If anything, your rejection only fuelled his determination to win you back.

✧ Your hatred hurt him, but it also fascinated him. How could someone so perfect harbour such a fierce, burning loathing? He told himself that it was born from misunderstandings, from the poisoned words of those around you, that Aemond and Alicent were at fault. If only he could make you see his devotion, his unwavering love, you would surely come to love him again.

✦ Jacaerys would watch you from afar, his dark brown eyes lingering on you with a mixture of longing and frustration. He hated the walls you had built between the two of you, but he respected them enough not to tear them down outright. Instead, he sought to find cracks, little moments where he could remind you of what you once shared. A fleeting glance, a stolen conversation, a carefully chosen gift left at your chamber door.

“She hates me,” he would tell himself late at night, lying awake and staring at the ceiling. “But hate is not indifference. At least she still feels something.” It was a twisted comfort, but it kept his hope alive.

✧ In his mind, your hatred was a challenge, a test of his love. He would endure it, weather it, and prove to you that he was worthy. No matter how many times you spurned him, he would not falter. To him, your rejection was not a door slammed shut but a wall to be scaled.

✦ His tendencies manifested in subtle ways. He ensured that no one else could come close to you, quietly sabotaging potential suitors and watching them retreat in confusion. He would find reasons to be near you, orchestrating encounters that seemed coincidental but were anything but. Even in the council chambers or the training yard, his thoughts were never far from you. From a distance, he watched over you, guarding you in ways you never noticed but always ensuring your safety. Rhaenyra, whether knowingly or not, only fed these tendencies. She often spoke of how much he cared for you, how his devotion was proof of his strength as a man and a future king. Her words validated his obsession, turning it from a private torment into something he felt was righteous and inevitable.

✧ Yet, despite his obsession, Jacaerys’ love for you was genuine. He wanted to protect you from the harshness of the world, to shield you from the political machinations that had driven your families apart. He dreamed of a future where you could forgive him, where your laughter would fill the halls of Dragonstone once more.

✦ But for now, he endured your hatred, clinging to the hope that, in time, love would prevail. Even if it meant waiting a lifetime, even if it meant enduring the sharp edges of your scorn, Jacaerys Velaryon would never stop loving you. To him, your love was worth any price, even the pain of your hatred.

Because, in the end, love against hatred was still love — and that was enough to keep him going.

Taglist:

@ursinaw @dakota-rain666 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @pookiedragonfire @jjggdfvvy @maryldrsstuff @1soultaken @ceramic-raven @eissaaaa @moodyblueberrytree @xadaboo @labryel @zoeyburton @hopingtoclearmedschool