#Prince Daemon Targaryen

[hisfavegirl]

Beneath The Crown - Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader

Summary : You became more than just the daughter of Otto Hightower and the sister of Alicent—you became the woman who had captured the heart of Daemon Targaryen, the woman who would stand beside him in the face of the dangers and challenges that lay ahead. But love, especially one born of such fire and conflict, was never easy. The world around you was shifting, and as much as you wanted to embrace this new chapter of your life, you knew that the path ahead would be fraught with obstacles. Yet, in Daemon’s eyes, you saw a future that was worth the fight.

Daemon Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

It had been a year since your father, Otto Hightower, had decided to send you to King’s Landing. A year after Alicent had settled into her new life as Queen, after all the adjustments and challenges had been faced and overcome. Now, it was your turn to step into the complex world of the royal court. But unlike your sister, you were not as eager to embrace it all.

You had learned to navigate the winding corridors of the Red Keep, and although there were many unfamiliar faces, you had grown accustomed to this new life. You were beautiful, much like your sister, with the signature appearance of House Hightower. The people had taken to calling you the “Gem of Oldtown,” a title that carried with it both praise and pressure. The men of the court, and even those from other noble houses, flocked to your father with offers of marriage, eager to make you their bride.

But Otto, ever calculated, rejected every offer. You were not just any woman; you were a pawn in a much larger game, and your father had bigger plans for you than a simple marriage. Every suitor, no matter their rank or wealth, was turned away. But with each rejection, you felt the weight of your father’s ambitions press heavier on your shoulders.

Still, despite the countless men who courted you, there was only one who caught your eye—Daemon Targaryen. The infamous Prince of the Targaryen family, whose reputation preceded him. Daemon, with his sharp wit, silver hair, and mischievous smirk, was different from the others. He was not like the polished, calculating men who sought to marry into power. There was something untamed about him, something that intrigued you.

Your encounters with him were brief—fleeting moments before he left for the Stepstones, where he waged war on the free cities. The two of you would exchange words in passing, but it was enough for you to notice the way his gaze lingered, the way his smile was both playful and knowing. It was a connection that felt electric, and each time he left, you found yourself thinking about him long after his departure.

But you knew better than to act on these feelings. Daemon was not a man you could trust in the way you could trust a suitor brought to you by your father. His world was one of violence, ambition, and danger. He was no mere pawn in Otto’s game. He was his own master.

Still, despite your better judgment, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him. Every glance, every word exchanged between you, ignited something deep inside you, and you found yourself eager for the next brief encounter.

As you sat in your chamber, gazing out at the bustling streets of King’s Landing below, you couldn’t help but wonder what your future would look like. Would your father’s plans for you come to fruition, or would you carve your own path? And if you did, would Daemon Targaryen play any part in it? The possibilities seemed endless, but one thing was certain—your life was about to change in ways you could never have imagined.

The evening air was cool and fragrant as you walked through the gardens of the Red Keep. The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the meticulously maintained greenery. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds provided a serene backdrop to your thoughts.

You had just spent the afternoon with Alicent in her chambers. She was glowing with the joy of motherhood, having recently given birth to her second child, a beautiful baby girl. The bond you shared with her had only grown stronger since your arrival, and it warmed your heart to see her so content. Yet, as you left her chambers and wandered into the gardens, a different set of emotions began to stir within you.

As you meandered through the winding paths, your eyes were drawn to a familiar figure standing beneath one of the ancient trees. His silver hair caught the last rays of the setting sun, glinting like polished metal. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back slightly as if savoring the tranquility of the moment.

It was Daemon.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. It had been some time since you last saw him, and his sudden presence here felt almost surreal. You took a hesitant step forward, then another, until you were standing just a few paces away from him.

“You’ve returned,” you said softly, your voice carrying a hint of surprise and warmth.

Daemon’s eyes opened slowly, and for a moment, he simply looked at you, as if making sure you were truly there. Then, a smile curved his lips, a smile that was both familiar and disarming.

“I have,” he replied, his voice smooth and calm. “It seems the Stepstones can do without me for a while.”

There was a glimmer in his eye, a spark that made your pulse quicken. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you held your composure. It was difficult not to be captivated by him, standing there so effortlessly commanding yet at peace.

“I trust your campaign was successful?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation light, though your heart was pounding in your chest.

Daemon shrugged, a casual gesture that belied the weight of his accomplishments. “Success is a relative term. The battles are never truly over.”

His gaze remained fixed on you, intense and unyielding, as if he were trying to read your thoughts. There was a tension in the air between you, an unspoken understanding that neither of you dared to voice.

“And you?” he asked, his tone softening. “How have you fared in my absence?”

“I’ve been well,” you replied, though the words felt inadequate to convey the myriad of emotions you’d experienced since he left. “King’s Landing has its charms, though it can be… suffocating at times.”

Daemon nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I can imagine. This place has a way of making one feel trapped.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with the unspoken connection that had always lingered just beneath the surface. It was in these quiet moments that you felt most drawn to him, to the man behind the legend, the man who seemed to understand you in ways few others could.

As the last light of day faded into twilight, Daemon extended a hand toward you. Hesitant but curious, you placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

“Walk with me,” he said, his voice a gentle command.

You nodded, your heart racing as you fell into step beside him. Together, you strolled through the gardens, the world around you fading into the background. In that moment, it was just the two of you, bound by something deeper than words, something that neither of you fully understood but couldn’t deny.

The soft rustling of leaves accompanied the rhythmic sound of your footsteps as you walked alongside Daemon through the garden. The scent of blooming flowers filled the air, and the cool breeze caressed your skin. The tranquility of the evening seemed to wrap around you both, creating a bubble of quiet intimacy.

After a few moments of silence, Daemon’s voice broke through the calm. “I hear your father has been turning down every marriage proposal that comes your way,” he said, his tone casual but laced with underlying tension.

You glanced at him, noticing the way his jaw tightened slightly, a subtle sign of his discontent. You nodded, keeping your expression neutral. “Yes. He says he only wants what’s best for me.”

Daemon gave a short, humorless chuckle, his gaze fixed ahead. “Otto Hightower always does have a peculiar way of defining ‘what’s best.’”

You could sense the bitterness in his words, the disdain he held for your father. It was no secret that Daemon and Otto were often at odds, their ambitions clashing in the complex game of power that unfolded within the Red Keep. But beyond the political rivalry, there was a personal animosity that seemed to fester between them.

“I know how you feel about my father,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his. “And perhaps my sister as well.”

Daemon stopped walking, turning to face you fully. His eyes, sharp and piercing, locked onto yours. “It’s no secret that I don’t hold either of them in high regard. Your father… he sees you as a pawn, a piece to be moved on his chessboard. And your sister, well, she's too easily swayed by Otto’s manipulations.”

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, the truth of them cutting deeper than you cared to admit. “They are my family,” you replied, your voice steady but tinged with sadness. “I cannot simply turn my back on them.”

Daemon’s expression softened, and he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. “I don’t ask you to. But know this—your life is your own. You are not a piece to be played in their game.”

His touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself leaning into it, drawn to the warmth and sincerity in his eyes. In that moment, it was as if the weight of expectations, of duty and loyalty, fell away, leaving only the two of you and the unspoken connection that bound you.

“I wish things were simpler,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Daemon’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “Simplicity is a rare luxury in our world. But perhaps… we can find moments of it, here and there.”

He stepped closer, his presence commanding yet comforting. “You deserve to choose your own path, to live for yourself and not for the ambitions of others.”

For a fleeting moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of your heartbeat and the intensity of Daemon’s gaze. In that space between words and actions, you felt a flicker of something more—something that both thrilled and terrified you.

“Walk with me a little longer,” you said, your voice steady but filled with a quiet plea.

Daemon nodded, offering his arm once more. As you resumed your stroll through the garden, the tension between you eased, replaced by a mutual understanding. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges and choices that would shape your future. But for now, you took solace in the presence of the man beside you, and the shared moments of simplicity that seemed to defy the complexities of the world you lived in.

Your steps faltered as you and Daemon came to an abrupt halt. Standing before you, with his usual stoic expression, was your father. His gaze flickered briefly to where Daemon’s hand rested lightly on your arm before returning to your face.

“The King is waiting for you both in the council chamber,” Otto announced, his tone formal and devoid of warmth.

You exchanged a quick glance with Daemon, noting the subtle tightening of his jaw. His distaste for your father was evident, but he kept his composure, offering a small nod of acknowledgment.

The furrow in your brow deepened. It wasn’t unusual for the King to summon Daemon, but to include you in such a meeting was puzzling. What could King Viserys possibly need to discuss with you?

“Me?” you asked, unable to mask the surprise in your voice. “What does the King wish to speak with me about?”

Otto’s expression remained impassive, though there was a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. “You will find out soon enough. It would be unwise to keep him waiting.”

With that, he turned on his heel and began walking back toward the Keep, expecting you both to follow. Daemon’s hand lingered on your arm for a moment longer, a silent gesture of reassurance, before he too began to move.

As you followed your father through the winding halls, your mind raced with questions. The Red Keep’s stone walls seemed colder, more imposing, as you approached the council chamber. The weight of the unknown settled heavily on your shoulders, each step bringing you closer to whatever fate awaited.

Daemon walked beside you, his expression a mask of calm, but you could feel the tension radiating from him. His presence, though steady, did little to quell the unease that coiled in your stomach.

Finally, you reached the great doors of the council chamber. Otto pushed them open, revealing the grand room beyond. At the head of the table sat King Viserys, his crown glinting in the dim light. His expression was kind, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that set your nerves on edge.

“Ah, there you are,” Viserys greeted, his gaze settling on both you and Daemon. “Please, come in.”

You stepped forward, your heart pounding in your chest. Whatever this meeting was about, it was clear that it was significant. You could only hope that whatever the King had to say would bring clarity to the storm of uncertainties swirling around you.

Your breath caught in your throat as Viserys’ words echoed through the chamber. “I have annulled Daemon’s marriage to Lady Rhea. It is my wish that Daemon marry you, to solidify the bond between House Hightower and House Targaryen.”

The room seemed to tilt around you, the weight of his declaration pressing down on your chest. You stood frozen, your mind racing to comprehend the gravity of what had just been said. Daemon, your confidant, the man whose presence had always been a source of comfort and intrigue, was to become your husband.

You cast a glance toward your father, who stood silently at the side of the room, his face unreadable but his intent clear. The puzzle pieces began to fall into place—the countless suitors turned away, the meticulous grooming of your image, the careful orchestration of your future. He had been maneuvering toward this moment, toward securing an unbreakable tie between his lineage and the Targaryens.

Daemon remained silent beside you, his expression unreadable, though you sensed a flicker of something in his eyes—was it surprise, or something else? His demeanor, however, was composed, as if he had anticipated this turn of events.

Viserys’ voice softened, attempting to alleviate the shock that he must have seen on your face. “I believe this union will bring strength and unity to both our houses. You are a remarkable young woman, and I can think of no better match for my brother.”

Your gaze dropped to the floor, your thoughts a whirlwind. The idea of marrying Daemon, a man who had always held a complicated place in your heart, was daunting. Yet, the political implications, the expectations of your father, and the desires of the King left little room for refusal.

Finally, finding your voice, you lifted your eyes to meet Viserys’. “Your Grace,” you began, your voice steady but laced with uncertainty, “this is… a great honor. But I must admit, I am taken aback. I would need time to… adjust to such a change.”

Viserys nodded, understanding in his gaze. “Of course. This is a significant decision. Take the time you need.”

Otto, however, took a step forward, his tone firm but respectful. “Your Grace, my daughter has always understood her duty. She will do what is necessary for the good of the realm.”

You felt Daemon’s hand brush lightly against yours, a subtle gesture that brought you a sliver of comfort amidst the turmoil. His eyes met yours, a silent communication passing between you—one that spoke of understanding, of the shared burden now placed upon both your shoulders.

As the meeting concluded, you followed Daemon out of the chamber, the weight of your father’s ambitions and the King’s decree settling heavily upon you. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges and choices that would shape not only your future but the fate of two great houses.

Leaving Daemon and your father behind at the doors of the council chamber, your steps carried you swiftly through the corridors of the Red Keep. The weight of the King’s decree pressed heavily on your mind, each thought a whirlwind of uncertainty and emotion. You needed someone to confide in, someone who could offer you solace and understanding.

Reaching Alicent’s chambers, you knocked softly before pushing the door open. Inside, you found your sister seated before her mirror, brushing her auburn hair with a calm, methodical rhythm. She looked up at your reflection in the mirror, her brows knitting in concern as she noticed the tension in your posture.

“Sister,” Alicent greeted gently, setting her brush down and turning to face you fully. “What troubles you?”

You crossed the room, sitting on the edge of her bed, your hands nervously clasped in your lap. “Alicent,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “something… unexpected has happened.”

Her expression softened further, and she reached out to take your hand, offering a comforting squeeze. “Tell me,” she urged, her voice warm and soothing.

Taking a deep breath, you recounted the events that had transpired in the council chamber—the King’s announcement of Daemon’s annulment, the proposed marriage between you and Daemon, and the realization that your father had orchestrated it all. Alicent listened intently, her eyes wide with surprise and concern as you spoke.

When you finished, there was a moment of silence as Alicent absorbed the weight of your words. She reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, her gaze filled with empathy. “I cannot believe he would do this without speaking to you first,” she murmured, her voice tinged with frustration. “Our father… he always has his plans, but this…”

You nodded, the knot in your chest loosening slightly under her understanding gaze. “I don’t know what to do, Alicent. Daemon… he’s always been… complicated. And now, to marry him?”

Alicent leaned closer, her hand still holding yours. “Daemon is many things, but he cares for you. I’ve seen it in the way he looks at you, the way he speaks to you. This may not be what you wanted, but perhaps… it could be something good.”

Her words were meant to comfort, to offer a glimmer of hope in a situation that felt overwhelming. You appreciated her kindness, but the uncertainty remained, a constant hum at the back of your mind.

“I need time to think,” you whispered, your gaze dropping to your lap.

Alicent nodded, her hand resting on your shoulder in a gesture of support. “Take the time you need. And remember, you don’t have to face this alone. I’m here for you, always.”

Her reassurance brought a small smile to your lips, a fleeting moment of peace amidst the storm. For now, you had a decision to make—a decision that would shape the course of your life and the future of your house.

A month had passed since King Viserys’ announcement of your betrothal to Daemon, and the court was abuzz with whispers wherever you went. Every step you took seemed to draw the attention of nobles and servants alike, their eyes following you, their voices low with speculation. Despite the scrutiny, there was a surprising shift within you—a growing affection for Daemon that you hadn’t anticipated.

At first, your interactions were formal, marked by the awkwardness of an arranged match. But gradually, the walls between you began to crumble. It started with simple gestures—Daemon inviting you to ride Caraxes together, the exhilarating flight through the skies creating a bond that only the shared thrill of dragon-riding could forge.

The first time you soared on Caraxes, you were both terrified and exhilarated. Daemon’s reassuring presence behind you, his hands steadying you as the wind whipped around you, made you feel invincible. As the dragon dipped and soared, you felt a freedom that you hadn’t known you craved.

When you weren’t in the skies, Daemon often suggested horseback rides through the lush countryside surrounding King’s Landing. These rides were your favorite moments—just the two of you, away from the prying eyes and endless expectations. Daemon’s wit and charm surfaced during these quiet times, revealing a man who was not just the fierce warrior and unpredictable prince but also someone capable of tenderness and understanding.

It was during one of these rides that you realized how much you enjoyed his company. As the sun set over the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the fields, you felt a sense of peace and contentment in his presence. Daemon, ever perceptive, noticed your smile and leaned over, his voice soft and teasing. “You seem happy,” he observed, his violet eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

You nodded, meeting his gaze with a sincerity that surprised even you. “I am,” you admitted, feeling the truth of your words settle over you like a comforting cloak.

Daemon reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch lingering. “I’m glad,” he murmured, his tone unusually gentle. “I want you to be happy, truly.”

The simplicity of his words struck a chord within you, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to hope that this union might be more than a mere arrangement. It might be the beginning of something deeper, something genuine.

As the days turned into weeks, the bond between you grew stronger. Daemon’s presence became a constant in your life, his unpredictable nature tempered by a growing affection that mirrored your own. In his company, you felt seen, understood, and valued—a feeling that was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

Despite the whispers and the ever-watchful eyes of the court, you found solace in the knowledge that, in Daemon, you had a partner who cared for you beyond the obligations of duty. And as you prepared for the next chapter of your life, the possibility of love no longer seemed like a distant dream but a burgeoning reality.

The preparations for your wedding were a constant buzz throughout King’s Landing, with every noble and servant whispering about the grandeur and significance of the upcoming union. As the younger sister of Queen Alicent and betrothed to Prince Daemon, your wedding was set to be one of the most spectacular events the realm had ever seen.

Alicent, ever the meticulous planner, took it upon herself to ensure that every detail was perfect. From the lavish decorations to the feast that would rival any in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, she left no stone unturned. But her most fervent attention was on your wedding attire.

You often found yourself being whisked away by Alicent to the royal seamstresses, where you were fitted for the most exquisite gown you had ever seen. The gown was a masterpiece, a stunning blend of white, gold, and silver threads intricately woven together. Each color held deep significance: white symbolized purity and new beginnings, gold represented House Hightower’s wealth and prestige, and silver reflected the Targaryen blood that now coursed through your veins by your impending marriage to Daemon.

Alicent watched every fitting with a critical eye, ensuring that the gown was nothing short of perfection. She would adjust the drape of the fabric, examine the embroidery, and insist on the finest embellishments. “This is not just a wedding,” she reminded you, her tone both stern and loving. “It’s a statement. A union of two great houses, and it must be reflected in every detail.”

Despite her stern demeanor, you could see the genuine care behind her efforts. She wanted you to shine, to be the epitome of grace and beauty as you walked down the aisle. You appreciated her efforts, even when the endless fittings became tiresome.

One afternoon, as you stood on the dais, the seamstresses bustling around you, Alicent approached with a soft smile. She adjusted a stray strand of hair from your face and said, “You’ll be the most beautiful bride the realm has ever seen.”

Her words, filled with sisterly pride and affection, warmed your heart. You reached out, taking her hand in yours. “Thank you, Alicent. For everything.”

Alicent squeezed your hand gently, her gaze filled with a mix of pride and wistfulness. “You deserve this happiness,” she whispered. “And I will ensure that you have it.”

As the days drew closer to the wedding, the anticipation grew. The palace buzzed with excitement, and you found yourself looking forward to the day not just as a duty, but as a promise of a new beginning. The whispers and glances no longer bothered you; they were the murmurs of a realm eager to witness the union of two powerful houses.

And in the midst of it all, Daemon’s presence remained your constant. His occasional smirks and whispered comments during the preparations reminded you that, beyond the pomp and ceremony, this wedding was about the two of you—a bond that had grown stronger with each passing day.

The day had arrived faster than you could have anticipated. As the morning sun bathed King’s Landing in a golden glow, the realization that you would soon be wed to Daemon filled you with a mix of nerves and excitement. The grand ceremony was set to take place in the Throne Room, a choice Daemon had insisted upon, refusing to set foot in the Great Sept.

In your chambers, a flurry of activity surrounded you. The seamstresses and handmaidens worked meticulously, ensuring every detail of your gown was flawless. The luxurious fabric shimmered as the light hit the intricate embroidery, each thread of white, gold, and silver representing the unification of your house with Daemon’s.

You stood before the mirror, taking in your reflection. The gown hugged your form perfectly, the delicate embroidery accentuating your figure. Your hair was styled elegantly, adorned with a few subtle, yet exquisite, pieces of jewelry. Despite the whirlwind of preparations, there was a calmness in the air, a sense of purpose that steadied your nerves.

As you adjusted the last piece of your attire, the door creaked open, and Alicent stepped into the room. Her gaze swept over you, a soft smile gracing her lips as she approached. “You look radiant,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and pride.

You turned to face her fully, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Thank you, Alicent. I’m… nervous, but excited.”

Alicent reached out, placing a reassuring hand on your arm. “It’s natural to feel that way. But remember, this is your day, and you are ready for it.”

She moved closer, adjusting a strand of your hair before pulling you into a gentle embrace. “Daemon is a complex man, but I can see how he looks at you. There is something real there. Trust in that.”

Her words brought a sense of comfort, a reminder that amidst the grandeur of the ceremony and the expectations of the realm, the union was ultimately about the bond between you and Daemon. You nodded, drawing strength from her encouragement.

As she pulled back, Alicent gave you a final once-over, ensuring every detail was perfect. “It’s time,” she said softly, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions—pride, hope, and perhaps a touch of wistfulness for the journey you were about to embark on.

You took a deep breath, steadying your nerves. The moment you had been preparing for was here. With a final glance in the mirror, you straightened your shoulders and turned toward the door, ready to step into the next chapter of your life.

As you made your way to the Throne Room, the weight of the moment settled over you, but so did a sense of anticipation. The doors would soon open, revealing Daemon waiting for you, and with him, a future that promised both challenges and possibilities.

The grand doors to the Throne Room swung open, and you walked forward, your heart pounding with each step. Your father, Otto, stood by your side, his presence unwavering as you made your way down the long, imposing aisle. Every eye in the room was on you, the whispers of nobles and courtiers filling the air, but you hardly noticed. The only thing that mattered in that moment was the man waiting for you at the end of the aisle—Daemon.

His figure was regal, standing tall in his formal attire, his gaze locked on you as you approached. The way he looked at you, intense and unwavering, made your heart race. The noise of the room seemed to fade as you drew closer, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. Your thoughts blurred together, and all that remained was the certainty that you were about to marry the man you had come to care for so deeply.

As you reached the altar and stood beside him, the whispers died down, leaving only the echo of your footsteps in the vast hall. Daemon’s presence beside you was steadying, though his usual air of confidence seemed tempered by something else. He looked at you with a mixture of affection and quiet anticipation.

His voice, a low whisper, reached your ear, ensuring no one else could hear his words. “You are more beautiful than I imagined,” Daemon murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You felt your cheeks flush, your heart fluttering with both excitement and the hint of nerves. You tried to steady yourself, but Daemon’s words lingered in your mind, calming your restless thoughts.

As the ceremony began, you focused on him, the man who would soon be your husband. There was no more doubt, no more uncertainty. With Daemon, you had found a place where you truly belonged.

The ceremony began, the High Septon’s voice echoing through the Throne Room as he led you through the ancient vows. Each word spoken brought you closer to the moment where you would be bound to Daemon, not just by the will of your families, but by your own choice.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby see you these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words."

"Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his/hers, and s/he is mine, from this day, till the end of my days."

As you exchanged vows, Daemon’s eyes never left yours, his hand gripping yours with a firmness that spoke of his resolve. When it came time for the rings, he slipped the band onto your finger with a gentle touch, sealing your bond with a promise.

Daemon turned toward you, his eyes alight with something deeper than the ceremony could capture. “You are mine now,” he whispered, as if sealing the promise that had been made not just in front of the court, but in the quiet moments between you two.

As the High Septon’s final words echoed through the Throne Room, declaring you and Daemon husband and wife, the tension that had hung in the air all evening melted away. The weight of tradition, the whispers of the court, and the eyes of the realm were no longer on you. The only thing that mattered was the man standing beside you.

Daemon’s gaze was fixed on you, his eyes dark with emotion. Without hesitation, he reached for you, his hand sliding around your waist as he drew you closer. The silence in the room felt heavy, the world outside of the two of you vanishing entirely.

He didn’t need to say a word. His lips found yours in an urgent, possessive kiss. It was everything you had imagined, and more. His kiss was a promise, a culmination of everything that had led you both to this moment. It was fierce and tender at once, as if he had been waiting for this kiss for a lifetime, just as you had.

You kissed him back, feeling the strength of his embrace, the warmth of his body pressing against yours. In that moment, you understood. He had waited for you, respected your decision, your wish to wait until you were truly married. And now, as his wife, you could feel the intensity of his feelings, his affection for you pouring through the kiss.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, Daemon’s hand gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. His eyes were filled with a mixture of passion and affection, his smile slow and genuine.

“You are mine now, fully and completely,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded, your heart racing in your chest. In his arms, everything felt right, as if the world had finally come into alignment. The decision to marry him, to give him your heart and soul, was no longer just an obligation. It was a choice, a choice you were proud to make.

Daemon smiled again, leaning in to kiss you once more, sealing the promises that had been made not only in front of the court but in your hearts. This was the beginning of your life together, and nothing could tear it apart.

You sighed, your breath heavy with the effort of trying to keep up with Aemond’s quick strides. Your growing belly made every step a challenge, the weight of your pregnancy slowing you down more each day. Frustration bubbled up as you called out his name, your voice tinged with irritation. “Aemond, wait!”

He turned back for a moment, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips, but he continued walking, not slowing his pace. You groaned and came to a stop, placing a hand on your back as you tried to catch your breath. Behind you, the sound of soft laughter drew your attention.

Alicent approached with a warm smile, her hands reaching out to support you. “Come, let’s take it slow,” she said gently, her arm wrapping around yours to offer balance. She guided you through the garden, the fragrance of blooming flowers surrounding you as the sun cast a warm glow over the Red Keep.

“You’ve been cooped up too much,” Alicent remarked softly. “Daemon’s protective nature has grown even more intense.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “He won’t even let me walk to visit you. He insists you come to us.”

Alicent chuckled, shaking her head. “He’s just worried about you, about both of you.”

The thought of Daemon’s constant concern made your heart swell. His protectiveness was both endearing and suffocating. You understood his fears, especially after everything the two of you had been through. But sometimes, you longed for the simple pleasures of walking through the gardens or sitting in the courtyard, feeling the breeze against your skin.

“Thank you for coming to me,” you said, squeezing Alicent’s hand. “I know it’s not easy, being the queen and all.”

Alicent smiled warmly. “Family comes first. Always.”

You leaned into her support, grateful for her presence. The garden was peaceful, a small escape from the confines of your chambers. As the two of you walked slowly, your mind drifted to thoughts of Daemon. Despite his overprotectiveness, you knew it came from a place of love. The thought of him made you feel safe, cherished.

“Do you think he’ll ever let me out on my own again?” you asked with a teasing smile.

Alicent laughed softly. “Perhaps after the baby is born. Until then, I’ll make sure you have company.” She glanced ahead, where Aemond was waiting by a fountain, his arms crossed as he watched the two of you. “And perhaps I can convince your dear nephew to slow down next time.”

You both shared a laugh as you continued your slow walk through the garden, the bond between you and Alicent strengthening with every step.

Your peaceful walk came to an abrupt halt at the sound of Daemon’s voice, firm and laced with concern. “Why aren’t you resting in our chambers?” he asked, his gaze fixed on you, a hint of worry in his eyes.

Before you could respond, Alicent stepped in, her tone calm and reassuring. “She needed some fresh air, Daemon. Being cooped up isn’t good for her.”

Daemon, however, wasn’t convinced. His eyes softened as they met yours, but his protective instincts were clear. “Fresh air or not, she needs rest,” he replied, his voice gentler now but still resolute.

In a swift motion, he closed the distance between you, scooping you up into his arms with ease. The suddenness of his action made you gasp, but the warmth of his embrace was comforting. “Daemon,” you protested lightly, “I can walk.”

“I know you can,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. “But I’d rather carry you.”

Alicent stood nearby, shaking her head with a soft smile. “You’ve become quite the overprotective husband, Daemon.”

He glanced at her briefly, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I have every reason to be.”

You nestled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. His protectiveness, though overwhelming at times, was a testament to his deep care for you. Despite the exasperation you sometimes felt, you couldn’t deny the comfort his presence brought.

As Daemon carried you back toward your chambers, you allowed yourself to relax in his arms, the worries of the day melting away. Alicent followed behind, her expression a mix of amusement and understanding. She knew the depth of Daemon’s love for you, and though it bordered on overbearing, it was also undeniable.

Once inside, Daemon gently placed you on the bed, ensuring you were comfortable before sitting beside you. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining. “I just want you safe,” he whispered.

“I know,” you replied softly, squeezing his hand. “And I appreciate it. But a little fresh air won’t hurt.”

He chuckled, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “Maybe. But next time, let me join you.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “Deal.”

Alicent watched the exchange with a knowing smile, excusing herself to give you both privacy. As she left, she couldn’t help but admire the love between you and Daemon—a love fierce, protective, and deeply devoted.

The quiet of the room was broken only by the soft crackling of the fire, casting a warm glow over the chamber. You lay reclined on the bed, the weight of your growing belly a comforting reminder of the life you and Daemon had created together. Beside you, Daemon knelt, his hand resting gently on your stomach, his touch tender and reverent.

A small flutter beneath his palm made both of you pause. His eyes widened with wonder as he felt the movement of your child. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your belly. His voice, low and filled with affection, murmured words meant only for the little one within.

“You’re already so strong,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “Just like your mother.”

Your fingers found their way to his hair, threading through the silver strands with a gentle caress. The sight of him, so devoted and tender, filled your heart with a warmth that words could scarcely convey. His rough exterior seemed to melt away in these moments, leaving behind a man deeply in love, not only with you but with the family you were building together.

As he continued to murmur softly to the baby, you couldn’t help but smile. His hands, so often associated with swordsmanship and strength, now held a tenderness reserved only for you and the child you carried.

“Daemon,” you whispered, your voice filled with emotion.

He looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that took your breath away.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “To be loved by you.”

His expression softened further, and he rose slightly to meet your gaze, his hand still resting protectively on your belly. “You’re not the only lucky one,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve given me a reason to be better, to love more fiercely than I ever thought possible.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. The love between you was palpable, a bond that had only grown stronger with the impending arrival of your child.

As the evening wore on, the two of you remained in that quiet intimacy, sharing whispered dreams of the future. The weight of your love and the promise of the life you were creating together filled the room, wrapping you both in a cocoon of warmth and hope.

Tag list : @danytar @zaldritzosrose @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[paulyenvol6]

Breathe

I struggle with breathing problems sometimes and I just imagined Daemon (or Matt Smith) comforting me when it's especially bad 🥹 Hope you enjoy it <3

Contains: anxiety, panic attack, breathing problems, a lot of comforting and sweet!husband Daemon

Wordcount: ~0.99k

Masterlist

In. And out. In. It wasn't enough.

Your eyes snapped open and you placed your hand on your chest feeling your rapid heartbeat.

Out.

Stumbling backwards you sat down on a chair and closed your eyes again surpressing a little cry. You wanted to force your lungs to open and let the air you needed so badly enter but you just couldn't do it.

Panic was creeping up on you and it didn't allow your body to relax and therefore to breathe properly so all you could do was try to greedily inhale as deeply as possible. But that clearly didn't work because the more you tried the less air came flooding in your system and you feared you might just suffocate like this.

Your hands gripped the edge of the table tightly and you were so concentrated on not allowing the tears in the corners of your eyes to spill that you didn't notice how the door opened and someone entered your chambers. Only when you heard the approaching steps did you lift your gaze and met with your husband's green eyes.

His face changed immediately when he saw your expression that was drawn with despair and the tears that threatened to roll down your cheeks and Daemon kneeled down in front of you.

"Y/n. Sweetling, what is it?" he whispered so softly that you couldn't help yourself and you started to sob.

"I-I can't b-breathe," you cried and your chest heaved quickly. Your hand pressed down on your chest as though you tried to show him what bothered you and you felt your husband place a hand on your thigh.

"It's okay, y/n. It's alright, I'm here."

If only it was that easy. You adored Daemon with your whole heart and his presence never failed to warm your heart but unfortunately it wasn't enough for a situation like this. When the air restriction was so strong, you felt like you were gonna die.

Seeing that you were seriously struggling, Daemon grabbed your upper arms and pulled you off the chair and into his arms. Your shaking hands grasped at his shoulders at once and you pressed your head against his chest.

"I-It's too much D-Daemon. I c-can't breathe, I-I…," you explained and your nails dug into his flesh, searching for help. He pressed kisses on your forehead while stroking your hair.

"It's okay, y/n," he cooed. "Listen to my voice, okay? You are so strong and I know that you got this. Your body is playing a trick on you right know but I know that you can do it. Just listen to my heartbeat and my voice. I'm right here and nothing's gonna happen to you, my love."

You let out a whine trying your very best to concentrate on what he said. His body so close to yours was what you needed but why was there still no air entering your body? You greedily sucked in the air but nothing seemed to get into your body where you needed it so badly. Daemon once again sensed your attempts and ran a hand over your back.

"Shhh, y/n. It'll be alright, I promise. You're doing so amazing and it will pass. You're safe like this, do you understand me?"

You whimpered with new tears spilling but nodded. Your eyes searched for his and he gently caressed your cheek.

"We'll go through this together and I'm not gonna leave you. Just breathe calmly and follow my voice, alright? You're not in danger, you're with me and I'll keep you safe."

You nodded rapidly and felt how he gently pressed your head against his chest.

"Breathe in, my love… And out."

You followed his directions listening precisely to his soft voice and slowly, just very slowly noticed how it got better. The dizziness started to fade, your heartbeat slowed down and there weren't any new tears forming in your eyes. Daemon sensed it as well.

"That's right, y/n. I love you so much and I know how strong you are. You're doing so amazing."

"Daemon," you whimpered clunging to his shirt. You didn't know how you would have handled this situation without your husband and in this moment you wanted nothing more than to melt with him and somehow show him how much you needed him.

"I know, sweetheart. I know. I'm right here and I'm not gonna leave you. Never."

He wrapped his arm around your back tighter and his left hand stroked your back while his right caressed the back of your head. You closed your eyes and took in his presence with all of your senses.

You heard his quiet voice, his steady breathing that calmed you in indescribable ways, inhaled his scent that reminded you of old parchment mixed with the smell of fresh rain and felt the warmth of his body. And whatever it was about him, it worked. Your lungs seemed to remember how to get air into your system and soon your breathing was almost as steady as his. Your chest rose peacefully and you opened your eyes again to look into his green ones that lovingly examined your face.

"How are you?" he asked while his hand held the side of your face.

"I'm better, Daemon. Thank you and… I'm sorry," you added very quietly and dropped your gaze. But Daemon lifted your chin at once making sure that he had your full attention when he looked at you determinedly.

"Don't you apologize to me. You had a panic attack and as your husband of course I want to make sure that you feel better. Not just because I'm your husband but because I love you. Because you're important to me."

He kissed your forehead.

"None of this is your fault and I don't want to ever hear you apologize for it again, alright?"

You nodded and crouched against his chest. "Yes."

"Good."

And then he smiled and the world suddenly felt very warm and manageable to you.

[sankta-wraith]

Not sure if this is common knowledge or not but I just realized that the reason Daemon was looking for eggs in the first place was so that he would have one ready when Rhaenyra gave birth.

[happilyhertale]

My dragoness – Daemon Targaryen x fem!niece!reader

Summary: Weeks have passed since the announcement of your betrothal to your Uncle Daemon. Since then, hardly a night has gone by without Daemon visiting you - without disregarding your wish not to take the final step yet. But tonight, on your wedding night, you will finally be fully his.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!niece!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Fingering, sex (p in v), breeding kink, size kink, loss of virginity

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

This is another part of my Shared Future series.

x3 When @targaryen-dynasty asked me if I would like to participate in celebrating her 3K follower milestone, of course I agreed x3

Some have asked for another part for the Shared Future series, which is why I'm celebrating Laura's milestone with this story.

I hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 2.5 k

Other stories of mine

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Your eyes are closed and your shaky breath echoes in the chambers. The rooms that you will share with your husband from now on.

The ceremony seems only distant in your memory and now so surreal as you lie here on this bed. How all eyes were on you when your eyes only looked into your uncle's. How you couldn't suppress a grin when you recognised the slightest smile around his lips. How he gently cupped your cheek with his rough hand before enveloping your lips with his…

"Hey... open your eyes," you hear Daemon say - almost softly.

You obey him and your eyes slowly open. The scenery shoots in on you as you lie on the bed in just your nightgown, your husband standing in front of the bed, looking at you, slowly opening his shirt.

"That's better," he says gently and smiles at you.

You don't know why you're so nervous. He's seen you naked countless times, driven you to ecstasy with his touch. But this time it's different, it's your wedding night.

He slowly approaches you as he slowly opens his trousers. Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your nightgown as you try to breathe more calmly. Without looking at him, you hear his trousers slide down.

Daemon's eyes linger on you. He takes in every nervous twitch and quickened breath and he moves closer.

"There's no need to be nervous. I've seen every inch of you, explored every curve, and tasted your sweet surrender. Tonight, we seal our union, and I will show you just how much you belong to me," he purrs, his voice low and seductive, "It will be special," his soft voice sounds and you hear the words you whispered to him countless nights ago.

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel a mix of anticipation and excitement bubbling within you. You know that Daemon is a man of passion and intensity, and tonight, he intends to leave his mark on you in more ways than one.

Daemon's eyes flicker with a mixture of amusement and possessiveness as he watches you fidget and nervously avoid his gaze.

He reaches out, his hand gently caressing your cheek before trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His touch is both tender and possessive, a contrast that only adds to the intensity of the moment. His fingers curl around the hem of your nightgown, slowly lifting it up, revealing your body to him in all its vulnerability.

You feel the mattress give way as Daemon kneels on the bed. You look up and your purple Targaryen eyes meet. A gasp leaves your lips as his hand brushes across your thigh, gently grasping the underside of it and spreading your thighs slightly - his rough hand, a stark contrast to your soft skin. His other hand slides to your face, his index finger and thumb cupping your chin, lifting your head slightly.

"Look at me... focus on me..." he whispers and you nod slightly as you look into his eyes. Carefully, he pushes your legs apart as he kneels between them. His lips glide over your cheek, over your neck, while his hand slides further up your thigh.

Your eyes flutter shut as you concentrate fully on his touch. His warm breath glides over your skin as his lips caress you. The sweetest moan escapes your lips as his fingers grip your inner thigh.

"That's my girl... concentrate on my touch..." he whispers against your skin. You nod slightly again and gasp as his fingers cup your folds - you'll never get tired of this feeling. Slowly, his fingers move, smearing the wetness along your folds. His fingers find your sensitive bud, light circular movements follow and as if of their own accord your hips move to follow their movement.

Daemon follows your movements, sliding his fingers to your soaked opening, applying light pressure. His fingertips are literally sucked in and a mewling sound comes from your lips. You exhale heavily, his fingers thrust deeper, your eyes still closed.

Daemon's lips curl into a smug smile as he watches your reactions, relishing in the way you respond to his touch. He takes pleasure in knowing that he can easily bring you to the edge with just his fingers alone.

His fingers continue their exploration, sliding in and out of your wetness, gradually increasing the depth and pace of his thrusts. He watches as your hips buck against his hand, seeking more of the pleasure he's giving you.

"You're so wet... I don't even really need to work to get inside you," Daemon murmurs and you blush slightly, but your moans don't let up.

"Open your eyes" he whispers, "I want you to watch as I prepare you for me. See how wet and ready you are for my cock."

As you obey again, your eyes meeting his, Daemon's fingers quicken their pace, delving deeper into your core. He revels in the way your breath hitches, your body trembling with anticipation.

"Such a good girl," he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You're ready for me, aren't you? You want my cock inside you, filling you completely."

You blush even more - you know that Daemon loves to fill your mind with filthy words. Even if they have the desired effect on you, you can't help but blush.

But suddenly you feel him pull his fingers out of you and a soft whimper leaves you. You feel your nerves again as you look down and see him pulling down his undergarments. You've seen his manhood many times before, on the nights he's visited you - but this is different.

His length is released and you gasp slightly - it's never seemed so big to you, so thick. His hand slides along his throbbing length and you hear him grunt slightly.

"Daemon... this... this won't fit..." you suddenly whisper nervously and your hand slides to his arm.

Daemon smiles, still pumping his hardness.

"Hey... look at me," he whispers again and you look up. But then he kisses you, wrapping his lips around yours, swallowing your doubts.

The kiss is filled with a hunger that ignites a fire deep within you. His hand roams your body, claiming every inch, as if marking you as his territory. The intensity of his touch, the way he dominates your senses, leaves you breathless and wanting more.

"It will fit... we will make it fit... It will hurt at first, but the reward will be all the better," he whispers against your lips. You can't help but nod as he slides the tip of his hardness through your folds.

Your eyes flutter shut and you inhale sharply. Your fingers dig into his skin as his length presses against your pearl. Again your hips move towards him, seeking more of that touch.

Daemon looks down, between your bodies, watching closely as your wetness and his precum mingle. His growl echoes through the chambers. You concentrate fully on the sensation as he guides its length to your entrance.

Slowly he pushes forward and you feel the pressure as his manhood tries to penetrate you. A slight whimper leaves you as your heat envelops his tip. He growls slightly, senses your tightness and starts to move slowly.

"You're doing great..." he whispers in your ear, gently kissing your cheek as he pushes further. You feel the pressure, biting your lip as he impales you on his hot length. The feeling of him stretching you, filling you, is overwhelming. Your walls clench around him, trying to accommodate to his size. Daemon's pace is slow and deliberate, relishing in the tightness and warmth of your core.

But Daemon still feels a lot of resistance, he's nowhere near all the way in yet.

"Love... it's going to hurt for a moment now... but it has to be," he whispers and your eyes open again, looking at him. You whimper, but you nod slightly. He leans his forehead against yours, lets his nose slide gently along yours before kissing you softly again. His rhythmic movements don't let up as his tongue searches for yours and you moan slightly.

When suddenly he thrusts and you cry out as the sharp pain runs through your abdomen. He swallows your cry, his hand on your hip as his thick length works you open. "Uncle Daemon..." you whimper into his mouth as he slides in and out.

"I know..." he whispers, but he keeps moving. The pain slowly subsides. Your cunt, clenching around his cock in protest, slowly gives way. He feels the fluttering of your walls and closes his eyes briefly.

"Gods you feel so good," he growls. Slight mewling sounds leave your lips as your hips begin to move with him. He smiles at you, "That's my girl," he whispers a little breathlessly as his hips move faster. He can feel you soaking his cock, your pleasure increasing, and it spurs him on.

His thrusts get harder as he tries to bury himself completely inside you. He revels in the feeling of your tightness around him, the way you yield to his every thrust. Moans escape you now as your hands grip his upper arms. His hand still on your hip, holding you in place.

He watches your face, observing every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His grip tightens on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, marking you as his.

"You're so tight, so wet," his voice filled with a mix of satisfaction and hunger. "You were made for me... Made to be filled by me," he grunts as he feels the tight grip of your cunt.

You are completely overwhelmed by the sensation as your cunt is fully stretched. You feel his balls slapping against you with every thrust and you whimper. His grunts echo through your chambers as he feels the continuous spasming of your wet walls. His eyes drift down again, seeing his glistening length disappear into your perfect womanhood again and again - the moment he's been waiting for so long, finally fulfilled.

He looks at your face again, sensing your impending climax - your eyes closed, your lips slightly parted as you try to follow his movements. Your noises a mixture of moans and whimpers. His hand slides to your abdomen, pressing lightly against it. He wants to feel his hot length sliding into you, bringing you to climax.

His thumb begins to tease your bud as he thrusts harder and faster into you. You cry out slightly, but you can feel the pressure in your abdomen. Your fingernails dig deeper into his skin as he pumps in and out, his thumb rubbing faster.

"Come for me... Soak my cock, suck up my seed..." he growls in your ear and you moan again. You open your eyes and look into his - blown wide with lust.

As your climax approaches, Daemon's pace quickens, his thrusts growing more powerful. He can feel the walls of your core tightening around him, signaling your imminent release.

With one final powerful thrust, he plunges deep within you, his cock pulsating as he finds his own release. The sensation of him emptying himself inside you pushes you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

You moan out, your walls milk his cock and he grunts loudly. He watches your face contort with pleasure as moan after moan leaves your lips while your warm walls spasm around him. He's never seen anything so perfect - you're finally his.

He leans down, kisses you, swallows your moans of pleasure.  His hips move more slowly as you come sliding back to reality from the veil of lust.

When his movements slow down completely, he releases the kiss. You can still feel him inside you, his nose slides gently along yours, you see him smile slightly.

"Are you all right?" he whispers a little breathlessly. You just nod and a breathless "Okay," leaves his lips. You whimper slightly in protest as he slowly pulls out of you. His length glistening with a mixture of your fluids. He watches you, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and satisfaction, before leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

In this moment, there is no one else but the two of you, lost in the aftermath of your shared passion. Your bodies are entwined, your souls connected in a way that words cannot describe.

Your heavy breathing echoes in your chambers as he slowly releases the kiss, his gaze travelling down your body as he leans back.

His gaze is fixed on your womanhood and you feel something unfamiliar dripping out of you. Your hand instinctively wants to slide between your legs, but you only notice a slight shake of his head before he stops your hand. His other hand slides to your folds and slowly he pushes his fingers inside you, but you are overstimulated, your hips jerk back slightly.

"Don't," he whispers, "My seed must stay inside you.... I want a perfect heir to grow inside you"

You blush slightly, but his fingers slowly slide inside you, pushing the seed deeper inside you. Your eyes flutter shut slightly as you surrender to this feeling.

Daemon's eyes darken with possessiveness as he watches your reactions, his fingers still buried deep inside you. He can feel the wetness and warmth around his digits, evidence of the pleasure he has brought you. The thought of his seed filling you, the possibility of creating an heir, sends a surge of pride through him.

His thumb brushes against your sensitive pearl, eliciting a shudder from your body. He can sense your sensitivity, the overstimulation that threatens to overwhelm you. But he doesn't stop, his fingers continuing their relentless assault on your pleasure.

"You're mine… My dragoness" he murmurs, his voice low and almost commanding. "And I will fill you with my seed until you bear me a child. You will be the mother of my heir“

Daemon watches you, his fingers still buried deep inside you. His fingers move faster, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. He can feel the tension building within you, your body on the precipice of another climax. He wants to take you there, to see you come undone in his arms once more.

As the waves of pleasure begin to build once again, you can feel his fingers curling inside you, hitting that sweet spot that sends sparks of ecstasy coursing through your body. It's almost too much to bear, the pleasure threatening to consume you.

And as your moans fill the air, your body convulsing around his fingers, he knows he has succeeded. He watches with satisfaction as your pleasure washes over you, your walls clenching around his fingers. In his mind, your precious womb sucks up his seed with every contraction.

Finally he slowly pulls his fingers out of you – a mixture of his seed and your arousal covers his fingers. He smiles and collapses next to you on the bed, his breathing still heavy and laboured.

He looks at you, his eyes glowing with satisfaction. You smile almost shyly before his arm wraps around your middle and pulls you closer. He buries his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. His fingers glide gently over your abdomen as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear - your heavy breathing and light giggles fill the air.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

[scentedmiracleobject]

Aemond learns that Daemon sent assassins after him

Aemond in the brothel:

[wholoveseggs]

Small Victories

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Reader} After a tourney in which Daemon places second, he seeks solace from his loss and finds it in his little northern maid.

♡♡ Hello darlings! I'm branching out slightly and writing about a new character {Don't worry, I'm still writing Elijah} xoxo ♡♡

5.3k words - Warnings: smutt, size!kink, rough sex, dom!daemon, slight choking, virgin!reader, northern!reader, servant!reader, pre-dance Daemon, huge power imbalance...

♡♡ Hey! I didn't tag anyone because I'm unsure if you want to read Daemon content. If you wish to be tagged in future Daemon let me know ♡♡

You didn't like the Red Keep, it was too grand for your liking. Even with all of the people in it you still felt alone. At night, you could hear voices echoing throughout the halls, sometimes they were singing or laughing and other times they were screaming or moaning.

You could never tell where the sounds were coming from, it gave the place an odd feeling of being haunted. Ghosts weren't something you put your faith in, but that didn't stop the hair from standing up on the back of your neck whenever you heard a strange sound.

If it was up to you, you wouldn't live here. You would be back in the little cottage you grew up in, far into the north and as far away from King's landing as you could possibly be. It was a funny contradiction, that such a grand place in a warm environment could feel so cold, while a small house in the cold north could feel so full of warmth.

The last thing your mother said to you, was that you should be grateful. That your place in the Red Keep was the highest honor your family could ever hope to receive, and that you should do anything to stay here. To be a lady's maid to the queen, was the highest achievement a low born could achieve.

You tried to be, even though your heart yearned for the snowy landscape of your childhood. You wanted to be happy, you were thankful, but you couldn't help the way you missed the north.

So to try and capture just a bit of personal freedom, you would walk the halls at night. It was the only time you could pretend to be somewhere else, even if it was only for a moment. You would close your eyes and imagine yourself somewhere new and exciting, and when you opened them you would be reminded of where you really were.

Tonight you were in a particularly adventurous mood, there was a tourney the next day for Prince Viserys and his wife Aemma to celebrate their wedding. The Red Keep would be full of guests and it would be loud and full of life, you were sure to be very busy, and so you decided to stay up late and postpone sleep for a few more hours.

There was a room in the library that had a view of the city, one you liked to frequent often. It had a large window and a balcony that was rarely used. It was a nice place to go to clear your mind and think about home.

When you entered, nobody was around except for a cat that was perched on the windowsill. She was a lovely thing with black fur and bright green eyes, the perfect color of a dark forest at night.

"Hello, beautiful." You greeted her with a smile and a light stroke along her back. You looked out the window with her at your side, watching the moon reflect off the ocean and the waves crashing against the shore.

The sound of footsteps behind you made you look over your shoulder, your eyes landing on a man with a face that made you stand up straight and bow your head.

"Prince Daemon." You greeted him, not looking up from the floor.

"Young maidens like yourself shouldn't be out so late." He said, stepping closer to you. You didn't dare move or even breathe, his presence made you feel like you were caught doing something wrong.

"I couldn't sleep, my lord," You answered, not meeting his eyes. This was your first real meeting with the prince, but you knew the rumors that surrounded him.

He didn't respond to your answer, instead, he turned his attention towards the view. Leaning against the window, his posture was dismissive, as though you weren't there. He gave you a side glance that read, 'leave,' and so you did, not wanting to get in his way.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to intrude." You said, walking past him, heading towards the doorway.

"You are from the north," he spoke, still looking out into the water.

"Yes, my lord," You answered, stopping when he started speaking.

"How did you find yourself as a maid in the south?" He asked, looking at you, his eyes piercing through you.

The truth of the matter made you feel shameful, even though it was beyond your control. So you decided to tell him what you've been telling everyone.

"I was given as a gift for our new queen," You said, looking down at the floor.

"Is that what they call it?" Daemon laughed, his laugh was as harsh as his voice, the kind of laugh that could cut you open if you let it. "I heard you were given away as payment for a debt."

Your cheeks reddened and you looked at the ground, your throat closing up at the mention of your family's failure. Pride wasn't something you could afford anymore, but you couldn't stop the words that came out of your mouth.

"I didn't realize that princes were so fond of gossip." You said, meeting his eyes, your words were meant to cut, and they did.

He stood up straight, his expression unreadable as he closed the distance between the two of you, towering over you.

"Ahh, so they did sell you." He smirked, looking down at you. "Whoring can make you better coin… recover a debt quicker."

Your hands balled up into fists and you took a step closer, a defiant glare on your face.

He chuckled and tilted his head, he reached out and touched your chin, his hand was soft but firm as he turned your face to look at him.

"With a pretty face like yours, I'm sure you would make quite a bit of coin," His voice was a purr, a seductive growl that made your insides feel tight. "I could show you a better use for those lips."

His words were shockingly vulgar, his voice was rough and commanding and his eyes were hungry, but you didn't move away, you stayed still. You knew the dragon prince was a scandalous man, but you didn't think he would ever be so bold.

"There is no honor in a whore's coin." You answered, pushing his hand away from your face.

"Is there honor in emptying the queen's chamber pot?" He retorted, grinning slightly at how red your cheeks had become.

"Not all of us have the opportunity to choose what sort of honor we can acquire,” You said, standing your ground as best as you could.

He towered over you, his tall frame casting a shadow that almost completely covered you. He wasn't like the king or queen, who were kind and generous. There was something dark and malicious about him, as though the great beasts of his house lurked just below his skin, waiting to come out.

"You have a smart mouth, little northerner." He mused, his eyes drifting down to your lips. "It's a wonder that the queen has not put a gag in it."

"It's a poor quality I have yet to overcome." You responded, pulling away from him and putting some distance between the two of you.

He watched you move away, his eyes following your movements and the shape of your body, making you feel hot.

"I will think of you when I win the tourney tomorrow." He said, his tone smug and confident. "A sweet northern flower to bring back with me."

"You will be bringing back nothing, prince Daemon." You said, your voice a warning.

He laughed and looked at you, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"We'll see about that."

And with those final words, he left the room. You felt flustered and annoyed, a strange mixture of feelings that confused and angered you. You didn't like the prince, but he made your heart race, his voice and his eyes made you feel a strange sense of heat.

You wanted to be disgusted, and yet all you could think about was seeing him again.

It was a hectic morning, with all the knights and guests arriving, and you were late. Your tardiness had earned you a sharp reprimand from your head maid, but you were too distracted by the upcoming event to care.

The prospect of seeing the prince again was something you weren't sure you wanted, but couldn't stop thinking about.

You didn't like the way his eyes lingered on you, or how he made you feel things that shouldn't be felt. The rogue prince was indeed a fitting title, he was a scoundrel and a liar, a man of dishonor.

You thought that maybe he was the sort of person that the south created, perhaps they took people like you and turned them into someone like him. But then again, he wasn't really a southerner, no, he was a dragon.

The sound of cheers and laughter outside made your ears perk up. The queen was already seated with the other royals in their viewing box, and you were in a nearby tent, preparing more wine and food.

The tourney had just begun, and so far the knights had all performed well. You had only been paying a bit of attention, trying to do your job and keep out of the way.

The head maid was a cruel, vindictive woman, and she had been taking out her frustration on you all day. Her temper was short and her hands were rough, she was the kind of woman that would slap your hands or pull your hair if she was upset. But today she decided to simply make your life miserable with her words.

She gave you the worst jobs and the heaviest items to carry, and when she did allow you to stand and rest, she would hit your feet with her broom and tell you to get back to work.

"Once you are finished pouring wine, I want you to go to the prince's tent and serve him." She ordered, her eyes were sharp and her words were harsh.

"The prince has a squire to serve him." You protested, the idea of facing Daemon again made your cheeks turn red.

"The prince requested a woman's company,” She smiled, her eyes looking at you with an almost wicked satisfaction.

"I believe what the prince is looking for can be found on the street of silk, not among the ladies maids." You countered, hoping to change her mind.

"It's an honor to serve the prince, and he has specifically asked for a northern girl." The head maid was adamant, not willing to let this go.

You clenched your jaw and took a deep breath, biting your tongue as you looked at the floor.

"Very well, madam."

You held back tears as you climbed the stairs to the viewing box, pouring wine into the cups. Keeping your eyes low and only lifting them when absolutely necessary as you made your way down the line of royals.

Everyone began to stir and chat as the final round was announced. You turned to face the arena, watching as the prince mounted his horse, the sight of him made your heart flutter.

He was a handsome man, there was no denying that, his long blonde hair was braided and tied back, and his purple eyes were focused and determined.

His horse was a massive stallion, black as night, and he rode him as though they were one. He moved with a grace and confidence that was captivating.

The final round began, the two men charging at each other. You were nervous and excited, not knowing what to expect.

The clash of steel was the only sound in the air, it echoed throughout the entire arena. The crowd was silent, their eyes locked on the scene before them.

The two men passed each other, once, twice, three times. The tension building with each near miss, until finally the two knights clashed again.

Daemon's opponent had a slight edge over him, being bigger and stronger, but Daemon was quicker. But on the fourth pass, his opponent managed to catch him off guard, sending him flying into the dirt.

The crowd gasped, their hands covering their mouths as the prince's horse bucked and ran, leaving him in the dust.

You winced at the sight, it wasn't a good fall. He landed on his back, hard, and he lay still for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut as he caught his breath.

Only when the head maid cleared her throat did you realize you had been holding your breath.

"You are needed in the prince's tent, girl." she commanded, grabbing the jug from your hands and giving you a stern look.

You nodded, taking the tray of food and wine from the table and heading out of the box. Your heart was racing and your palms were sweaty, the thought of seeing Daemon after such a public humiliation was not something you were looking forward to.

The air was alive with the roar of the people, and the thumping of their feet sounded like thunder. They were chanting for the champion, something that would surely upset Daemon even more.

When you got to his tent, you hesitated, taking a moment to calm your nerves. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, letting the noise of the crowd fade away.

You stepped inside, finding him sitting in a chair, his shirt was off and his squire was cleaning a nasty gash on his arm.

"I'm sorry for intruding, Prince Daemon." You said, placing the tray of food on the table and pouring a cup of wine.

"Leave," he barked at his squire, his voice was gruff and his jaw was clenched.

"But my prince-" his squire protested, looking up from the wound he was treating.

"Now."

The boy left quickly, leaving you alone with the brooding prince.

"Would you like some wine, my lord?" You asked, your voice soft and timid, the last thing you wanted was to make him even more upset.

"No," he hissed, his voice sharp as a knife. "Bring me a new shirt."

You did as he asked, walking over to the large chest in the corner. It was full of clothes, the colors and fabrics were fine and beautiful. You selected a clean white shirt and brought it over to him, your eyes focused on the ground.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice was quiet, but it was a demand, not a request.

You lifted your eyes, meeting his gaze. His eyes were cold, the same shade of violet that had captivated you was now a glare.

You did very well, my lord," You tried to reassure him, your voice soft and comforting.

"Is that meant to be comforting?" He asked, his tone was harsh and his expression was a scowl.

"Fine. I have never seen a worse display than the one you put on today," you said, the words slipping from your mouth before you could stop them.

He smiled, then laughed, his shoulders shaking as his amusement grew. Only his brother the king would ever talk to him this way, and here you were, a young low born northerner, mocking him. He didn't know why he enjoyed it coming from you, perhaps it was because your words meant nothing. You were no one, and he was the prince, and yet he found himself intrigued.

"That was quite a show, wasn't it?" He chuckled, the sound was hollow, not at all humorous.

"It was humiliating," you answered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

"Careful," he warned, his eyes narrowing. "You're lucky I find your insolence amusing."

"I thought it was why you had asked for me," you retorted, setting the shirt on the table and taking a step back.

He stood up from the chair, closing the space between the two of you. The air was thick with tension, his eyes boring into yours, his face was inches from yours.

"I didn't lose the tourney," he stated, his voice a low growl.

"You didn't win either," you countered, your cheeks flushed red, your heart racing in your chest.

He smiled, the gesture was almost predatory, he reached out and grabbed your face, his hands were rough and his grip was tight.

"You are quite the mouthy little wench," his words were a harsh whisper, his breath hot against your skin.

You didn't answer, afraid of what he would do if you spoke. He seemed to be enjoying himself, his eyes dancing with amusement as he stared at you.

"On your knees," he ordered, his tone demanding.

"My lord, I-" you protested, trying to pull away.

"Kneel," his voice was louder this time, and you knew that he was not going to repeat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, but he was the prince, and you couldn't disobey him. So you lowered yourself onto your knees, looking up at him, waiting for him to tell you what to do next.

"Is it true that northern girls can take a cock better than southern ones?" He asked, his hand still holding onto your chin.

You didn't know how to respond, his words making your cheeks burn. You could only stare at him, your mind reeling as you tried to figure out what he wanted.

He smiled, and the look in his eyes made your heart race. "Open your mouth, little northerner."

You did as he commanded, your eyes never leaving his. He pushed his thumb past your lips and slowly pressed down onto your tongue, rubbing it in circles before slowly dragging it out.

Your lips parted and your breathing became heavier as he traced his wet thumb across your bottom lip, his eyes fixated on the movement.

"Beautiful." He whispered before sliding his thumb back into your mouth, pushing it all the way into your throat, causing you to gag.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth and wiped the spit off on your cheek before grabbing you by the arms and lifting you up, turning you around and pushing you face first into the table.

"My lord," you gasped, struggling against his strong grip.

Daemon laughed at the look of shock on your face, his cock growing harder at the sight. "See? I knew you would make a great whore," he smirked, his words bringing a flush to your face.

He pulled your dress up, exposing your ass and legs. His hands were rough as he groped you, squeezing your thighs and your cheeks.

You pushed against him, trying to free yourself, but his grip was too strong. He pushed your thighs apart, his hand trailing up to your cunt, his fingers stroking your entrance, teasing you.

He softened at your defiance, a smirk crossing his lips. "I enjoy you, little northerner. Perhaps I should keep you," he mused.

He slid his finger into your cunt, his touch gentle and slow. You whimpered, pushing against him again.

"You would be my little northern flower," he murmured, his finger moving in and out of your cunt, the pace becoming quicker. "A blue rose in my garden."

You were ashamed of how aroused you were, the prince's touch was intoxicating, and you couldn't stop yourself from grinding your hips against his hand. You had never been with a man before and the pleasure he was giving you was beyond anything you had ever felt.

He slid another finger inside of you, his movements quick and rough. You moaned, biting your lip as you felt yourself getting closer to release.

He suddenly pulled away, the sudden absence of his touch made you whimper. He spun you around, knocking objects off the table and pinning you against it. Your hands went to his chest, pushing him back, but his grip was too strong, his eyes filled with lust.

"You're a feisty one," he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands gripping your ass, lifting you up and pressing you against his hips. "I guess it's true that the fires always burn hotter in the north,"

You shivered as he sucked and bit at the skin on your neck, his teeth scraping across your sensitive flesh, leaving red marks behind. You couldn't help but moan, the feeling was so intense, and the sounds were so sinful.

"My prince... I..." You stuttered, trying to find the words, but he cut you off with a kiss.

The feel of his hands on your body, his lips on yours, his cock hard against you, was intoxicating. You had never felt this way before, this desire, this want. He made you feel like you were drowning in the fire of his touch. He was a dragon, and he would take what he wanted.

You couldn't resist, you gave in, kissing him back, letting his tongue explore your mouth. He smelled of blood, dirt and sweat, a combination that shouldn't have been appealing, but was.

You could taste his lust on your lips, and it made you hungry for more. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing yourself closer to him, and he moaned, the sound rumbling in his chest. He was so much larger than you, so much stronger, and you felt so small in his arms.

His hand trailed down your chest, slowly untying the strings that held up your dress, his fingers tracing over the fabric, teasing you.

"Sweet little northern girl," he teased, his voice a low growl. "Are you going to give yourself to me?"

"Yes," you whispered, your cheeks flushed pink.

He kissed you again, his lips rough and demanding, his hand pushing your dress down, exposing your breasts. "You've never touched yourself before, have you?”

"No, my Prince," you whispered, your little hands curled into his chest, your nails digging into his skin.

"That's alright, I'll show you how it's done."

His hands slid down to your thighs, his fingers trailing up, his touch light and teasing. You let out a gasp as his fingers brushed over your cunt, touching a spot that made your body tremble.

"This little spot right here," he said, rubbing his thumb against it, "is the most sensitive part of your body. The more pressure, the better."

You nodded, gasping and moaning as he pressed his thumb against it, circling it. You could feel the heat rising within you, the pleasure building.

"Feels good doesn't it?" He whispered, his voice husky, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Y-yes," you stuttered, your hips moving, grinding against his hand.

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

"Do you like being my little whore, hmm?" He asked, his lips trailing down your neck, his kisses hot and wet.

"N-no," you moaned, pushing him back, trying to fight against him.

He laughed, his teeth nipping at your collarbone. "Liar," he whispered, his tongue licking over the marks he'd made.

His hands reaching down to his waist, undoing his breeches and pulling them off, his cock springing free. You gasped, your eyes wide as you took in the size of him.

He took your hand and placed it on his cock, his eyes burning into yours. "Go on, feel it," he whispered.

Your fingers curled around his cock, your small hand barely able to fit around him. You moved your hand, sliding it down the length of his shaft, his cock thick and pulsing in your hand. His skin was so warm and smooth, his breathing deepening as you began to move your hand up and down, stroking him slowly.

You could see the scars from battle stretched across his chest and torso. Small claw-like marks around his pectoral and a deep line that stretched down the left side of his rib cage. He was a hardened warrior, and you could tell by his scars, he had been through much to get where he was now.

You squeezed his cock, moving your hand up and down, his breathing deepening and his eyes growing hazy. He watched you, his gaze following every movement you made. You were starting to get more comfortable, taking pleasure in watching him, in making him feel good. You found the nerve to press the pad of your thumb against the tip, feeling the moisture leaking from him.

"Good girl," he praised, his voice low and husky.

You felt a wave of pride, knowing that you were pleasing him, that he liked the way you were touching him. You continued to stroke him, squeezing and pulling at his cock, watching his face, seeing the pleasure on his features.

He groaned, his eyes closing and his head tilting back, his breath catching. You could feel his cock throbbing in your hand, and you knew that he was getting close.

He let out a low growl and grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. "If you keep that up, I'm going to spill my seed all over this pretty little dress of yours," he said, his eyes full of heat.

"Is that so, my lord?" You asked, unable to hide the hint of amusement in your voice.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you under him, his body caging you, trapping you beneath him. He was breathing hard, his face flushed, his cock hard and resting on your stomach. His eyes burned into yours, his gaze intense, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady.

You weren't talking back anymore, he could see the fear in your eyes, the hesitance, and that only made him want you more. His hand went to your throat, applying gentle pressure, a silent warning.

He could feel you trembling beneath him, and he tightened his grip, a primal, possessive urge rising within him. Your small hands pushing into his chest, clutching at his heated flesh.

"Open for me," he growled, his eyes fixed on yours.

You parted your thighs, allowing him to press closer to you. He growled, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist, his cock brushing against your cunt. He felt you tighten, your eyes widening with trepidation.

He chuckled, loving how terrified and eager you were at the same time. He gave you a moment, and then he slowly pushed into you. You whimpered, your nails digging into his back, your eyes closed, your face twisted in pain.

"Breathe," he said, rubbing his thumb against your cheek, "it will hurt for a just moment and then I will make you feel good,"

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you felt his cock hit your maidenhead.

"Are you ready, little northerner?" He whispered.

You gripped his forearms and nodded.

He pushed in slowly, breaking through your barrier. You cried out, the pain was intense and immediate. He groaned, the feel of your tight cunt was intoxicating.

He stayed still, giving you time to adjust. Your nails dug into his arms, leaving deep scratches in his flesh.

"Such a pretty, tight little cunt," he growled, nipping at your neck.

You kept your eyes closed, trying to focus on his words and not the pain. He began to move with slow, deep strokes, his cock stretching you, filling you. He was bigger than he felt in your hands, and you swore you could feel him everywhere.

He moaned, his hips rocking into you, his hand still on your throat, making you feel lightheaded. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed. You felt so full of him, stretched open, the pain and pleasure mixing into one.

He watched your reaction with a smirk, amused by your shocked, satisfied expression. He was moving slowly, enjoying your warmth and the feel of your cunt clenching around him. He knew you were enjoying it, too, your eyes half-closed, a soft moan escaping your lip. Your small frame was arched to his body, your hands holding on to his neck.

You were surprised at his gentleness. You'd heard that the dragon prince liked to rough up women, but he was being as careful as if you were made of spun sugar. You felt so small and helpless underneath him, his large body nearly engulfing yours, and yet he wasn't hurting you. His touch was delicate, reverent. The way he spoke to you, calling you pet names, made your heart skip a beat.

You arched against him, a soft cry leaving your lips as his strokes got faster, deeper, hitting a place inside you that sent a sharp, hot pleasure through you.

"Does my little northerner like her prince's cock?" He said, a laugh in his voice, he began to pick up the pace, pounding into you.

You squeaked and pushed on his chest, the sensations becoming too much. He grabbed your hips and held you still, fucking you hard and fast, his eyes full of fire.

You felt your release rising up inside you, the tension in your body winding tighter and tighter. You could feel yourself clamping down on his cock, the pleasure almost too much, the sweet pain sending you over the edge.

He groaned at the sight of you coming undone, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you shattered around him. He could feel the tension in your muscles as your climax tore through you. He slowed his movements, easing out the last waves of pleasure, drawing it out until you were a shuddering, moaning mess.

He was close behind, his thrusts erratic, his breathing harsh. He pulled out and spilled his seed across your stomach, his hips bucking. He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a contented sigh leaving his lips. At least he had one victory today.

Your face was hot with shame, your mind unable to comprehend what just happened. The prince's seed was cooling on your stomach and chest, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. Your hands went to your face, covering it as tears came to your eyes, you had never felt so good and so embarrassed at once.

He moved off of you, his eyes locked on yours, a smirk crossing his lips. He looked satisfied, his gaze wandering over your body, lingering on the wetness between your legs, the mess he'd made of you. He tossed you a cloth to clean yourself with. You wiped his seed off your skin, watching him dress, his blonde hair still braided back, his purple eyes full of lust and desire. He was a warrior, a dragon, he was beauty and strength, power and masculinity. He was everything you wanted and feared, a beast who could destroy you.

He gave you a side glance, his eyes full of amusement. "You may go," he said, shooing you away with a hand.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, as you took a shaky breath. You stood up, gathering the pieces of your dress and your underclothes. Your legs were wobbly, and you felt weak, sore, and full of shame.

"Yes, my prince," you said quietly, looking at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, the sound of his voice making you shiver. "Don't be so timid, little northerner. This is the beginning, not the end," he said, his words sending a jolt of fear and excitement through you.

He was right, this was only the beginning. You were his servant, and he could do with you as he pleased. He would have you come to him whenever he chose, on the warmest summer nights and the coldest winter days. He would take what he wanted, when he wanted.

He was a dragon, and his will was as strong as his blood.

And deep down, you knew you would enjoy it. He was the perfect thing to distract you from the mundanity of your life, the endless monotony of serving others.

Perhaps the Red Keep wouldn't be so terrible, not if it meant serving him.

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

QUALIFYING ROUND: 86th Tilt

Prince Daemon Targaryen, House of the Dragon (2022-) VS. Durotan, Warcraft (2016)

Propaganda

Prince Daemon Targaryen, House of the Dragon (2022-) Portrayed by: Matt Smith

“I love Matt Smith in Doctor Who too, but Daemon is his only character that is really *hot* to me so... I love you unhinged morally dubious fictional characters.”

Durotan, Warcraft (2016) Portrayed by: Toby Kebbell

“big. good fucking lord so big. shoulders for days. hairy chest. big teeth.”

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For Prince Daemon:

For Durotan:

[arabellasleopardcoat]

To Conquer (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Incest is common amongst Targaryens, Daemon assures you. Unfortunately, Alicent got to you first.

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Cursing. Arranged marriage. Periods. Daddy issues. Religious guilt. One death aside from canon ones (Daemon murders a man)

A/N: In which I rewrite the scene of my first encounter with incest in a book. If you get it, you get it.

YOU NEVER dared call Alicent mother out loud. But in your mind, she was.

The woman who had birthed you had passed away the same day you had been born. Out of her womb you had been pulled, alongside your twin. He had not survived the day.

Queen Aemma Arryn was a mere name to you, a woman who existed in paintings and shadows, a ghost that lurked on the Red Keep. Your father never once spoke of her too you, too consumed by guilt and grief. In fact, he did his best to never speak to you at all.

You were an uncomfortable reminder of the crime he had committed. Robbing a woman of life so a man may live. It hadn’t even worked in the end. Your brother had faded from this world, nothing of him remaining.

Against all odds, you had. You had clung to life, the Maesters would later say. Fought tooth and nail to stay in this world. And somehow, it hadn’t been enough. Your father avoided you like the plague, but Alicent, guilty, scared, lonely Alicent, did not. She was all you had.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Despite your dramatic entrance to the world, and your eventful first few months of life, your life had turned out to be quite lackluster. There were no exciting adventures or claiming of dragons, much less a moniker attached to your name like there was to Rhaenyra or Daemon. You wondered why this, out of all things, had to be different.

The robes looked graceful enough on you, you supposed. Your father had called you a true Valyrian beauty, the very image of your mother. You knew it wasn’t true. King Viserys didn’t remember her. How could he, if he had done his best attempts to erase her? He had replaced her at once, and he never once spoke of her again. At least, not with you.

His presence in your life could be defined with one word: Absence. But he had thought it fair to reappear when he needs you to do something for him. The least he could have done would have been asking for your input about the wedding.

If you had been asked, you would have chosen a traditional wedding ceremony, with a Septon and a hand fasting. You would have worn a Targaryen cloak… To be exchanged for another Targaryen cloak. No. Perhaps it had been for the best, not to desecrate such a beautiful ritual with this nonsense.

Still, you couldn't shake the feeling of not being really married. You didn’t like it. And you liked the man who was waiting for you on the other side of the door much less.

“Are you done, niece?” The knock on the door forced you into action, once again. You reached into the basin, watching the cool water shift under your fingers. There was something about the cold that cleared your head, helped you think. You took a deep breath, and tried to focus.

Alicent had told you that you should obey him in all things. That you had to do your duty, just as she had done hers. But you had seen the fear in her eyes when you were getting ready for the ceremony, and how her hands had grasped at you desperately during the feast. It had taken Ser Otto’s intervention to make her let go of you.

Your bedtime stories had not prepared either of you for this. When you were a young girl, plagued by night terrors, she would sit at the foot of your bed and pretend to read your destiny.

“One day, you will fly to the moon wearing spiderwebs as wings.” She would squint at your hand, making a show of reading the lines there.

“Tell me more!” You would squeal, fears forgotten. Despite not being the motherly type, she would always indulge you. Perhaps, because she saw herself in you. Another little girl, her mother dead, her father defined by his lack of presence.

“It says here…” Alicent would tickle your palm. “That you will grow up into a beautiful, beautiful princess who will marry a handsome lord. He will love you very much.”

Out of all the lies you had been told, it was your favorite. Each night, you would ask to hear it again and again, and think, tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I will be all grown, and the lady of a great castle. My father will love me then.

It had been a consolation you had clung on through all your childhood. You were a princess, worthy of being appreciated by your future husband. He would love you, you knew. You would build something together, something only yours. You would raise your children to be better than you, following Alicent’s example. You would be happy.

You had never realized how much she had clung to that thought too. Her frustrated dreams for herself had been turned into hope for your future. Alicent had spoken them into the night like an enchantment, as if she could bring them to life by repeating the words over and over. So you could have what she hadn’t had. Like all parents wished.

What both of you had imagined wasn't this. You wanted to scream from rage.

“Just a bit more.” You said, your resolve hardening. The faith of the Seven dictated that laying with a relative was a sin, the same for laying with a man who was not your husband. They barely recognized Valyrian wedding ceremonies.

Had you really married him? Your High Valyrian was sloppy. Your mother had not taught you much, and your lessons had often been interrupted because of Aegon. Out of all your siblings, Aemond had been the most proficient one. He had not been present at the ceremony, being judged too young to attend.

It had been your parents, Daemon, Aegon. An intimate ceremony, just as they liked. Could your father betray you so? Give you away as a whore to appease his brother?

You opened the table’s drawers. Daemon’s bathing room was unfamiliar to you, but he must have used something to shave and you would find it. You riffled through various oils and soaps before finding the blade you were seeking.

With your non-dominant hand, you bunched the robes up. Bracing yourself, you used your other hand to slit your upper thigh. At first, you didn’t draw blood, despite feeling the sting of the blade. Your grip was too shaky. But your determination didn’t waver. Your father had asked too much of you already, there was no power in the world that could force you to share your Uncle’s bed.

Your second attempt was much more successful. Despite having tensed the muscles of your thigh anticipating pain, it didn’t hurt as much as you expected. Blood rushed out. You grabbed a rag and rubbed it on it. You examined it, coldly. No matter how Valyrian, you bled red, like any Andal.

You schooled yourself into faux embarrassment before you spoke.

“Could you… Husband…. Could you fetch my mother?”

Despite your calculations, you make the mistake regardless. The noun slips from your tongue, unprompted. A slip. The first of many to come. The temperature dropped in the room, Daemon’s anger a near palpable thing.

“Your mother is dead, niece.” He stressed the last word in a way you didn’t like. Despite the door separating the two of you, you could tell his mood had shifted from bad to something much worse. You feared what he might do to you, were you to backtrack in your plan. “Whatever Alicent has been teaching you, you should know you are not hers.”

“Queen Alicent.” You corrected, annoyed. How did he dare criticize the way she had raised you, when there had been literally no one else around up to the task. How did he dare speak down to you, as if you were a simpleton? You fought to keep your tone steady and stomped on the anger bubbling up. “I have… lady troubles.”

“Lady troubles?” Daemon asked, sounding puzzled.

You pondered the merits of skirting around the issue. You weren’t in the mood to enter a euphemism’s discussion, and so, decided to be more graphic.

The bloody rag was held gently between your fingers when you opened the door. No more words were needed. Daemon cursed and went to get your mother.

HE DOESN’T dare ask at first. Daemon understands that women’s bodies work different from his own. He has never bedded one in her moonblood, and doesn’t intend to start with you.

Despite your beauty, Daemon felt oddly disappointed. He had hoped, with you being fully Rhaenyra’s sister and not half, like his younger nephews, that you would be similar to her.

You weren’t. You lacked her fierceness and the respect for your heritage. The only thing Valyrian about you was your looks. You didn’t even have a dragon of your own, and were so damn timid, he might confuse you with a mouse rather than a Princess.

Because of that same reason, he let you be during your moonblood. While Daemon didn’t object to some blood, he doubted you would be the same. Bedding unwilling maidens wasn’t his thing. He preferred his girls willing, be it from the promise of coin or delirious from their own lust.

Somehow, he was getting the feeling you weren’t going to be the second type anytime soon. Every time he attempted to kiss you, you squirmed away, as if he were initiating something sinful and not simply trying to kiss his wife.

“Seven Hells, would it kill you to remain still?” He asked as you nervously avoided his grip on your waist. “I am not trying to initiate anything. I know you are still on your courses. Stand still. I command it.”

“I… I…” You had looked at him, all hesitant eyes. Alicent had done scarcely any things right when raising you, but at least she had instilled you obedience. But blood couldn’t be denied, and every so often your Valyrian nature reared its head. Mostly, playing against Daemon rather than in his favor. Little dragon that you were, you weren’t keen on following orders.

Ah, but bring you a Septa. Then you were jumping out of your seat to offer the damn woman your chair and observing her earnestly for non-verbal cues, tending to her every need like a commoner. Ridiculous.

“The Mother obeys the Father, from what I understand.” Daemon kept his tone matter of fact. He wasn’t certain that the Seven Pointed Star said that, but it sounded right, and it suited him, so he spoke the words with as much conviction as he could muster. In truth, Daemon had never opened the damn book in his life. A waste of time. The Septons he knew were a bunch of cunts and their followers weren’t any better.

“Maidens are supposed to be demure.” You protested. “Not indulge on indecent displays.”

“You are not meant to be a maiden any longer.” He grabbed you by the waist regardless, coaxing you to stroll next to him. “And wives obey their husbands.”

While you remained unconvinced, you allowed him to lead you around the Red Keep’s gardens. He kept a constant stream of chatter, using all his best lines, but you answered in monosyllables. Not only did Daemon wish to cultivate a better relationship with you, but he also wanted to flaunt his new bride. It was only fair that the other cunts here got a look at Targaryen superiority. Kept them from being too uppity.

Like everything else in this marriage, though, that too proved elusive. Soon, whispers began to circulate about his virility. One of your maids had a loose tongue, it seemed. The whole castle was snickering about it not even a week later. You, like usual, were oblivious.

In a fit of anger Daemon would later not be proud of, he got all the little chits whipped. But their attitudes about your moonblood made him begin to suspect something was amiss. A fortnight of bleeding seemed… Strange. While he was never particularly interested in women’s bodies beyond fucking them, something had to be wrong. An inquiry with the Maester proved him right. Apparently, over a week was unusual, a fortnight near impossible.

That night, he sat on the foot of your shared bed, watching you fret around the room. Daemon had asked for shared chambers, thinking it would bring the two of you closer. With his constant exiles and marriages, and the fact that Alicent had coddled you during your whole existence, you were a stranger with a familiar face. He had hoped to entice you by appealing to your curiosity about marital duties. Safe to say, it didn’t work.

You had put up barriers. Both metaphorical and physical ones. Right now, you were at it again. Laying down a towel on your side of the bed and a pillow in the middle of it. As he watched you, he found himself struck by the beauty of your hands. They were firm and precise in their movements, fixing down the towel and then neatly delimiting your side of the bed with the pillow.

You were wearing the most hideous nightshirt know to man, more adequate for a Septa than a newlywed. Slightly bent over, fluffing up your pillows, Daemon noticed that it was as white as fresh snow. Now that he thought of it, all your shifts were. And yet, none of them had ever been stained. Nor had the towel you placed on the bed and loudly proclaimed it was to avoid leakages. An effort to make yourself more unappealing, perhaps?

Somehow, the realization didn’t anger him. Instead, it made him more curious. Was this your way of rebelling? Were you scared? What went on behind your eyes, inside that skull of yours?

“Wife.” Daemon finally spoke, when you were starting to kneel for your nightly prayers. You paused, kneeling gracefully. You looked up at him, all curious eyes and nervous smile. “Have your courses always been this long?”

This time, he watches your reaction closely. During these past days, Daemon has not pressured you about it. But now, he waits on bated breath.

Your eyes widen. The hands you have clasped in prayer get even tighter pressed together.

“Oh, you shouldn’t… These are womanly concerns.” You are a terrible liar. He would laugh, were it not such a cruel thing to do when in the face of a little fool.

“I insist.” Daemon arches an eyebrow at you. You squirm on your knees like there are ants on your shift. You are visibly distraught. Does it pain you, pious girl that you are, to be committing a sin?

“Yes, they are.”

Another lie. He had asked some of the fools in Viserys’ employment. Yours didn’t last more than a week. But Daemon finds all the twitching you are doing entertaining, and so, decides to give you more rope to hang yourself.

“And yet, your father promised that you were fertile.” He drawls, cruel amusement almost leaking into his tone. He can’t help the way his lips twitch. This is too entertaining. It’s like toying with a mouse before eating it.

“I… I am.” You weakly defend yourself. Your face is looking more distressed by the second. And is that..? Oh, wonderful, you are starting to sweat a little.

“No, you are not. You are either lying about that, or about your moonblood.”

“I am not!” You protest, finally getting up from your kneeling position. A shame. You looked positively delicious in your predicament.

“Yes, you are! But I am giving you a chance to tell me the truth. Which one are you lying about?”

“I am not.” You look about to flee the room, so Daemon gets up and places himself on your path. You flinch a bit, but stubbornly refuse to admit the truth. His amusement at your attitude is starting to turn sour. Not only it is unflattering that you are making up excuses to avoid bedding him, but they are so stupid half the court is laughing at him behind his back about it. And you, absolute fool, can’t admit it.

“Wrong answer, niece.” He steps closer, trying to intimidate you. “I know the truth.”

“You do?” You startle. You take a step back, nearly tripping on the hem of that ugly nightgown. Daemon reaches to steady you, his grip on your arms punishingly. You twitch, as if sensing that you are caught in the maws of a hungry beast that could pounce at any moment.

“You are not on your moonblood. You can't be every single day of the moon!” He shakes you a little, making you yelp. But then, the most astounding thing happens. Because instead of going very still, as the frightened bird that you are, you shove him hard.

“What would you know!” You scream at him, pointing one finger at his face. Daemon wishes to say he is unbothered by your hysterics, but instead, he grabs your accusing hand and tugs it. The delicate bones shift inside his hand, threatening to snap, and you're left with no choice but go towards him or break your finger.

Wisely, you choose the second. You are breathing hard, and looking up at him in righteous indignation.

“Brute!”

“I asked your maids.” Daemon smirks at you, something ugly appearing on his face. In truth, whatever you see spooks you because you deflate a little. “So? Shall you tell me the truth? Or must I find it myself?”

He makes it as if to lift your shift. You bat his hand away, hard. Interesting enough, you harden then.

“What else is there to know? Beyond that I am not on my moonblood?”

“We can start with why you lied. Or why you don’t wish to lay with me.” Daemon suggests, gripping you tightly so you cannot escape. He brings his face closer to yours.

Your eyes are wide. Your face is frozen into a terrified expression, like you are realizing all your lies are catching up to you.

“I didn’t want you to force me.” You say, voice barely a whisper. Who do you think he is? Some sort of monster? Your depraved half brother, perhaps? Daemon had already heard the exploits that one was up to. Jerking off in a window, of all things.

“Force you! If I wanted to force you, I could already have.” Daemon rolls his eyes. You were not trained in any sort of combat, and you were the kind who had her head in the clouds more often than not. You were not a match for him. If Daemon wanted to force you, he just had to pin you down or pull out Dark Sister.

You stay quiet, perhaps coming to the same realization. You have gone to bed next to him for nearly two weeks, only in thin shifts. Every day, you have woken up untouched. Doubt starts to cloud up your face, as if you are noticing how vulnerable you truly have been and how well Daemon has behaved.

As if he were going to be deterred by a little blood. He was a true Targaryen. It was in his house’s words. Plenty of maidens bled when being split open on his cock. Your moonblood would not be very different.

Daemon decides to appeal to your more… Hightower side. Perhaps that would get you to yield to him. He uses his more Otto-like tone, trying to sound as cunty as possible.

“It’s your duty.”

You shake your head, frantically.

“We can’t. It's not right. You are my uncle.”

Your words are spoken with such conviction, he has to fight the urge to scream. That was your problem? You? A daughter of the house of the dragon, complaining about incest?

“It is not unprecedented. Our whole line begins because Aegon the conqueror had his sister wives. And then, Maegor married his niece, too.” Daemon’s words are sharp. He lets go of you and starts to pace the room. Good Gods, what had Alicent done to you? Had she twisted your mind so, you now thought marrying him was wrong because you were related?

“And their marriage was cursed. No child was born out of their union.” You reply, with an ugly smile. He wants to slap it out of your little face. Smug little girl, thinking she knows everything about the world.

“Jaehaerys married his sister, the Good Queen Alyssane. They had plenty of children.” He insists, trying to get you to notice the flaws in your argument. Everyone knew that the only way to preserve the Valyrian bloodline was by marrying other Valyrians. Otherwise, the magic in their blood would dilute, and they would no longer be able to claim dragons. It was common sense.

“All of them turned out very… queer.”

“My parents..!” But you interrupt him before he can finish.

“Exceptionally queer, too.”

Daemon feels his face heating up. No one before has managed to infuriate him so. He wants to shake some sense into you. His hands itch for something to punish you with. Impudent little thing, daring to suggest his parents had been queer!

Queer! The queer one here was you! A Targaryen who opposed incest!

“Listen here, you awful little…”

“Stop that. Stop insulting me, by the Seven. You won’t change my mind.” You raise one of your hands, in the universal halt sign. “I will never share your bed.”

At that, Daemon thinks actual steam must be coming out of his ears. Never. As if. You would change your mind, he knows it. No one can resist him for long. He is experienced, charming, and handsome. A prince and a true dragon. What more could anyone want?

He would make you regret your words. He would show you. Under all your repressed, Hightower ways, you were a dragon. Targaryen blood ran thick. Daemon would have you eating out of the palm of his hand before you could realize. Before, he hadn’t really been trying. But now? He was ready for war.

“Come here.” He orders. You stare at him, and do not move. “You will disobey me in this, too?”

You step closer, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I wish to make a deal.” Daemon says. You cross your arms over your chest. “You don’t have to bed me if you don’t want to. But you will have to give me something in exchange.”

“What?” You tap your foot against the floor, impatiently. Yet your face, as always, betrays you. His offer has made you lower your guard, interested in what he has to say. Probably because you are seeing a way out of this whole issue.

“I want you to let me be as affectionate as I wish with you.”

“Fine.” You snarl at him, trying to look fierce. But you are too new to this game of pretending for Daemon to not see through your mask. You are confused.

He steps closer. He gathers you into his arms, and hugs you.

At first, you tense. Your arms remain glued to your sides, body stiff in his arms. Daemon enjoys the feel of it regardless. You smell like innocence, sweet and young. Your body is soft and feminine, nothing like the hard muscles of his first wife. He allows himself to relax into you.

Eventually, your body sags a bit. You relax into the hug.

“I wish… I wish….” You start speaking, face hidden in his shoulder. Daemon doesn’t let go. His gut tells him that whatever you are going to say, it is important. “I wish I wasn’t ashamed. And that… In our wedding ceremony, I would have liked to know what was being said.”

Daemon’s heart aches. His poor little Hightower, denied of her birthright. And then, a giant grin spreads on his face. Here it was. The opportunity he needed.

“I will teach you.” Daemon whispers, against your hair. He kisses it. It’s a lovely thing, an icy blonde that doesn’t fit your warm personality. Now that you are not fighting him, he is starting to notice you are very sweet natured. “I promise.”

“You will?” You look up at him, wary. “And what will the price be?”

Daemon chuckles.

“No price.” He caresses the bridge of your nose, tracing your features. You seem bashful at the attention, and it is so adorable, he can’t help but kiss you.

You startle. All coltish, you nearly elbow him in your haste to move away.

“What are you doing? We said no bedding!”

“I know.” Daemon smiles at you, indulgently. Now is the time to tread carefully, less you spook, and he ends up losing all his progress. “I just want to kiss my wife. Affection, for the sake of it. Kissing doesn’t need to lead to anything.”

You nod. You don’t seem convinced. But he soon discovers your hesitance comes from something else.

“I have never kissed anyone.” You whisper, almost ashamed.

“Then let me teach you that too.” And he is leaning in, and capturing your mouth with his.

“I GOT you something.” Daemon suddenly says, one morning. You lift your gaze from your book, an historic account about the doom of old Valyria, and watch him with curious eyes.

Your husband is carrying a bundle of cloth on his arms. He is back from his usual shenanigans in the city. Betting and drinking, but no longer any whoring, he assures you. The Lord of Flea Bottom is no more, or so he says.

It is quite early. You have just broke your fast with your mother, after the two of you did your morning prayers together. It is a ritual you find great comfort in, despite Daemon doing his best to discourage you. He doesn’t like that you worship the Faith of the Seven.

He has grown slightly more tolerant of Alicent as time goes by. You cannot say the same for her. Despite the fact that Daemon treats you well, she still can’t seem to get over the fact that he is Daemon Targaryen, the same man who had terrorized her father, courted her best friend and possibly murdered his last wife.

The bundle of clothes moves in Daemon’s arms. You place your book down, and creep closer, wondering about its contents. It’s then that you hear it. A soft, quiet mewl.

A grin spreads across your face. You cross the distance between the two of you, and watch as a small paw reaches out from the cloth, flexing its tiny claws. It is covered in white fur, the cushions on the bottom of it a soft pink.

“A kitten!” You say, delighted. You take it from Daemon and cradle it against you. The kitten can’t be older than a few weeks. His eyes are already open, a cloudy gray that takes your breath away. It’s love at first sight. “Oh, husband, thank you!”

“I saw it when I was coming back this morning. Thought you would like the damn thing.” Daemon says, gruffly. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I will name him… Quicksilver!” You say, cheerily. It makes his lips twitch a bit, unable to hide his amusement. This week, Daemon has been helping you practice your High Valyrian by reading a more recent text, accounting the times of King Aerys.

The language practice has brought the two of you closer. You are no longer as resentful or scared of him as you once were. You spend nearly all your evenings with him, pouring over gigantic tomes written in the language of your ancestors. Daemon patiently corrects your pronunciation, teaching you the right way of rolling the vocals, and how to accentuate your consonants.

You would have never thought you would enjoy learning so much. He is a very compelling teacher, clearly passionate about the subject yet stern enough to make you do all your assignments before their due date. Daemon is patient and encouraging, willing to explain things to you over and over again until you understand them fully.

The kitten yawns, showing a row of tiny white teeth and a pink tongue. You coo.

“Tiny but fierce.” Daemon smirks. “The Seven preserve us all.”

“How pious.” You tease, and Daemon steps closer. He grabs your waist and pulls you in for a kiss, Quicksilver still in your arms.

Despite having kissed him many times before now, you feel as weak to his advances as you had felt the first time he had kissed you. Daemon kisses like he is conquering, nipping at your lower lip until you open for him, and taking complete ownership of your mouth. His hands grasp at your nape, holding you against him. There is no escape from his kisses, and it fills you with a thrill you had never expected to feel before. Daemon wants you. He desires you, as a man desires a woman. There is no headier feeling than that.

At first, you had thought he was lonely. Why else would he ask for affection, when he was able to ask for anything else from you? That night, when he had found out you had been lying to him, Daemon could have asked for anything, done anything to you. Not a man in the realm would have judged him for it.

His behavior after that only seemed to confirm it. When the two of you were in public, his hands would linger on you, as if fearing you would leave his side. When someone told a funny joke, his eyes would seek yours before laughing, making sure you were still there.

It was an urge you understood too well. Abandonment was something you had learned to fear as well. Your mother had left you unwillingly. Your father and sister had both been eager to wash their hands from you. You guessed Daemon’s life had been a bit like that, too. From what you had heard, his mother had passed when he was a child. Your father had grown tired of him. And your sister… Well. That had been his fault.

When you grew up like that, you clung to every kindness, to every slice of warmth you could get. It was no wonder Daemon clung to you as hard as he did. It was difficult to live like that, not knowing what kindness feels like, grasping desperately to any scraps of it until you can almost piece together what the real thing feels like.

Despite having all reasons not to, Daemon’s attention never turned suffocating. Perhaps, you too, were starved for affection. You had gone your whole life with no positive male attention, being overshadowed by your sister and forced into almost a Septa-like life by your mother. His touches were never beyond the proper attention a man would show his wife in public. It felt almost… fatherly.

As a child, your father had never sat with you, or listened to anything you said. Daemon, instead, seemed to pay close attention to everything you did or told him. He sat for hours with you, pouring over myths and historical accounts, correcting your pronunciation of High Valyrian, teaching you the meaning behind old rituals.

It was as if a door had been opened for you. One you could use to glimpse inside his mind, and your father’s and even Rhaenyra’s. You understood now much more about how they behaved, and why they did. You didn’t necessarily agree, but you understood.

Some confusing feelings had begun to arise with all this new information stuffed into your head. You liked Daemon’s attention. He was charming, and it made you feel good about yourself, being able to keep someone as worldly and cultured as him interested in you. It made you wish, sometimes, to have been his daughter instead of King Viserys’. But at the same time, the way you felt and the things you did with him weren’t the kind of things you imagined daughters feeling for their parents.

When Daemon kissed you, as he did now, you felt your stomach swoop. His skilled mouth made your skin tingle, and all your hairs stand up on edge. It made you feel ashamed of yourself. You weren’t supposed to feel such things for your uncle. No matter how Valyrian, it was just not right.

What made you feel even more ashamed was the fact that sometimes, when he kissed you for too long, the place between your legs would get slick with arousal. You wanted him too, you realized, with the utmost horror. You wanted him like a woman desires a man. A wife desires her husband.

It is then the game starts. Daemon kisses you, and you kiss back, eagerly exploring his mouth and learning how to play his game. You make out with him for what feels like hours, until you feel drunk from his kisses and become as pliant and soft as clay being molded in his hands. It is then that you let him touch you a bit more, push the boundaries your previous truce has set. His hands grasp at your hips, his lips mouth at your neck. And when the edge of your shift starts to ride up, or his lips trail too close to the neckline of it, you jolt out of your stupor.

Shame licks at your spine, grabs tightly at the back of your head. Makes you stiffen under him, body set into a hard line. How can you be so wanton? Why do you behave in such whorish ways? You struggle then, overcome by the embarrassment you feel at your own behavior.

Daemon tries to subdue you. Sometimes, you fold, other times you spend the night tossing and turning on the bed, trying to get the upper hand. Sometimes, he wins, and pins you down on the mattress. But instead of forcing you, he kisses you again and the game begins anew.

You spend the nights like this. Kissing and struggling with anxious violence, until it has begun to replace the act of love. You can tell Daemon enjoys your struggles, the feel of your buttocks against his clothed crotch. You can feel the weight of him against your hip, burning hot and hard.

Eventually, he tires and heads out. You don’t know if he pleasures himself then, or if he just ignores his arousal until it goes away. You prefer the second when it comes to yourself. For hours, you stare at the ceiling, willing the heat in your blood to go away. Sleeps evades you, yet when it does not, it feels even more torturous. You dream of him, of the act, conjuring lewd positions and thoughts, until morning comes, and you feel like you have not slept at all.

This precarious balance could never last. You are not good at the court’s games, having been a wallflower most of your life. You are a stranger to waging tongues, and malicious comments, but Daemon is not. He is doomed to always be the center of attention, this husband of yours.

Someone notices that almost three moons after marriage, you are still a maiden And someone remembers Daemon’s lack of children with his first wife. One plus one makes two.

He comes to find you in the Royal Sept, as you are lighting candles with your mother. He grabs you briskly by the arm and drags you away, the match still alight between your fingers.

“Have you heard?” Daemon asks, breathless. It is clear that he has rushed to you. “What they are saying about me?”

You shake your head.

“How would I?” You are, after all, as isolated as you were before the wedding. Your only companions are Quicksilver, Daemon, your mother, and your siblings. And Aegon is at that terrible age, where he behaves like a little deviant. The others are too young to provide true companionship, Helaena stuck on her imaginary worlds and Aemond not quite a boy, not yet a man.

“They say I am impotent. That your womb has not quickened because I have not taken you. Because I am unable to.” The crude words Daemon speaks make your eyes widen. You have grown protected from the nastier side of court life, forgotten as you were. You cannot believe how someone would dare comment on a married couple’s bedroom activities, which are meant to be one of the more sacred things to happen between man and wife according to the Seven. Much less, how someone would dare to utter such poisonous slander.

“We know it’s not the truth.” You place your hand on his arm, trying to soothe his wounded pride. Daemon is, above all, impulsive. You fear he is about to do something rash, even if you do not imagine yet what.

Isn’t it enough that the two of you know the courtiers are in the wrong? You have felt the press of his member, hard against your hip, in the nights the two of you struggle. You have felt his hips rutting against yours, as his kisses mapped unknown constellations on your shoulders. What does it matter if Daemon hasn’t taken you? How can these people dare interfere, or even mention what the two of you do or do not do?

Shame, once again, grips you in its clutches. You feel your face warm at the thought of how these strangers must view you. Queer. Twisted. You wonder if they blame his inability to perform on your blood ties. If they think the Seven are cursing your marriage, just as they had with the ones of King Maegor.

“It isn’t.” Daemon says, coldly. He walks away, a tense line on his shoulders, and you walk back inside the Sept.

Alicent is still lighting candles. You sense that there are not enough of them to make a difference for what is about to happen.

That night, a disgruntled looking Harwin Strong wakes you up. He tells you how he is there to supervise your packing. You are leaving the city, he explains, to your bewilderment. Effective immediately.

As you place your dresses inside some linens, and ready Quicksilver, you manage to coax the story out of him.

Daemon had been at his usual haunt in Flea Bottom, betting on some cockfights. You could picture the scene clearly. Daemon, lazily counting his winnings with that infuriating smug look he got when he was proud of himself. An angry patron, getting up and on his face after losing to him.

“Maybe that cock will work for your wife!”

The whole establishment erupting into laughter. Daemon, cold smile on his lips.

“Go to your manse, and arm yourself. Because I am going to kill you tonight.”

After that, there was little he could say in his own defense to King Viserys. It had been a premeditated act, in front of multiple witnesses. No way of denying it, or trying to shift the blame.

You stood outside the city gates, observing Caraxes. He looked as done with Daemon’s antics as you felt. In front of you, stood the world.

Daemon strode by, being dragged by Ser Harwin. He was chained, but managed to look as carefree as any free man.

“You know the rules.” Ser Harwin said, unchaining him, before turning towards you. There was a bit of sorrow in his brown eyes, perhaps feeling pity for you. “Farewell, Princess.”

“Where to, Lady Wife?” Daemon asked, cheekily. There was no hint of remorse on his face. It seemed exile reinvigorated him like nothing else.

Your lips pursed into a thin line. You didn’t want to leave. It was scary, the thought of being away from home. The times you had been outside the Red Keep could be counted with the fingers of your hands alone. And what were you to do, friendless in the big world that opened in front of you?

You wanted to punish him. If he was giving you a choice, you were going to give him a lesson.

“To the North. Perhaps that hot blood of yours will fare better there.”

“ARE YOU sure?” You ask him, all pleading eyes. Daemon nods, already sitting inside the hot spring. You are strangely fearful of the warm water, perhaps, having already grown used to the cold of the North.

“If this scalds me alive, I will come back to haunt you.” You warn, turning to face away before beginning to undress. Daemon can’t help but let his eyes linger on your body, despite knowing how indignant it would get you were you to notice. He has promised to avert his eyes, after all.

Naive as you are, you never check to see that he actually does.

He watches as you remove your furs, and unlace your dress. It has taken him quite some effort to get you to feel comfortable enough to be naked in his presence. There might come a day when you are desensitized to nakedness, but Daemon guesses you are still far away from it. He has to keep trying.

You are worth the effort, though. His precious niece, sweet as the Maiden herself and twice as pretty.

“Dragons don’t burn.” He answers, absentmindedly. You are only wearing your chemise and your hoses, and as you lean down to remove those, he gets a perfect view of your cute rear.

“Perhaps. But I am no dragon.” You pull the chemise over your head, unaware of the fact that you are being watched. Daemon drinks in the sight of your naked legs, strong yet delicate, leading up to beautiful hips and a soft back. As you pull your hair up, he notices how the muscles of your arms and back move in a graceful combination that can’t be anything more but a natural gift. He spends a few seconds mesmerized by you, before you start to turn around and Daemon remembers he is supposed to be averting his eyes.

He fixes them politely on the other side of the hot spring, careful to not let you catch him looking out of the corner of his eyes. You are becoming sloppy in your old age, he scolds himself. Daemon can't help it. Lately, he feels more like the boy he once was than the man he is. His attempts at seduction are fumbled, he gets carried away by his passion, a single one of your smiles can render him tongue twisted.

Everything that you do is charming. The slight sway of your hips as you walk, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, but most of all, your personality. Freed from the cage of Alicent’s judgmental stares, you seem to be growing into yourself. Life on the road seems to suit you, despite your fearful nature. Surrounded by strangers, you no longer feel the weight of being judged for imaginary sins.

“You are. Just one with a more…. Fragile constitution.” How he wishes to be able to turn back time, sometimes. Gather the girl you once were into his arms and soothe all the old hurts. Raise you the right way, give you all the attention you had desperately needed and watch you bloom into an impressive woman. You were already a creature of impossible beauty. How much better could you have been, if they hadn’t stunted your growth?

You were too much of a Hightower, Daemon himself had thought once. But Alicent had thought you not Hightower enough, and she had tried to mold you into one, keeping you well away from what she thought of as queer customs.

Who had told you weren't a dragon? And how had they made that awful lesson stick, until you felt adrift, and belonged nowhere?

The sudden sound of water shifting, and you hissing makes him jolt out of his contemplation. Daemon turns his head the barest bit, managing to catch sight of your hips sinking into the water, and the shape of one of your breasts. There is one puffy nipple crowning it, hard and proud and begging to be bitten. He fights the urge to pounce on you, and instead remains sitting on his side of the natural pool and tries to relax into the warm water. Patience is of the essence in seduction, after all. You need to come to him convinced it is your idea.

“Ready.” You say, sounding a bit too close. He turns and there you are, right in front of him. You sit on the shallower end, water covering you to nearly your collarbones. Daemon playfully reaches out with his foot and touches your leg, making you jump. He laughs.

“It isn’t so bad, is it?” Daemon’s voice still carries a bit of mirth. He can’t help it, you have such cute reactions.

“No. Almost like a warm bath.” You fan your face with your hands. Seeing you lose your composure a little, Daemon feels a bit guilty about pressuring you to enter the pool. It’s true you are not as used to extreme heat as he is. He rushes to your side, uncaring of his own nakedness.

“Too hot?” He asks you, wiping away a stray drop of sweat before it can get into your eyes. You mumble something incoherent, so he presses a hand to your forehead. He doesn’t want you to swoon from heat exhaustion, out of all things. But your temperature is normal. It is then he realizes your eyes are fixated on his chest.

Ah. Poor thing. Daemon can feel his lips stretching into a proud smile. Finally, succumbing to your lust. He should press his advantage, but he finds himself hesitating to do so. Despite how appealing he finds you, he understands that you are different. A being that walks the world of the divine and the mundane that skirts the two but was not made for the more carnal things.

Instead, he commits the sight to memory, for when he decides to touch himself. Perhaps tonight, even. It is something he has been doing more and more often. Daemon has found intercourse with whores is nowhere near as fun as laying on the bed, with you by his side, and tugging at his cock until completion.

He is never quiet about what he is doing. Soft grunts and moans fill your chambers each time he does. You pretend to be asleep, but Daemon can tell you are listening. The next day, you turn fevered with lust. It is you who kisses him, who rakes her claws along his back.

There is no consummation yet. But it is becoming clearer than once fully freed from the judgment of your family, there will be.

You sway slightly. Daemon opens his arms, and lets you curl into him. He guides the two of you into a sitting position, placing you firmly on his lap. Your hair falls into a mess of curls thanks to the humidity, up do barely resisting. He fixes it for you, tightening the ribbon keeping it up. Then, he starts massaging your neck and shoulders.

The pleasure of your bare skin under his hands is undescribable. It’s a luxury he has worked hard to get, and for that, tastes even sweeter. Your sweet little face is scrunched up, in a rare show of pain and pleasure. Daemon wonders if it is the face you would make when he spears you open on his cock.

An annoying hardness begins to make itself known in his groin. He feels like a mere boy, getting excited about the smallest touch. You are driving him mad. And Daemon is enjoying every second of it.

Almost as if listening to his inner monologue, you shift on his lap. Something seems to be bothering you. You can’t get comfortable, and you squirm on his lap more than a seasoned whore. Daemon can pinpoint the exact moment you notice what you are squirming on. Your eyes go wide and you freeze. An embarrassed look takes over your face.

He fights the urge to laugh, wrapping his arms more firmly around you and encouraging to rest against his chest. Daemon could spend years like this. Denial is a fun game. Months have passed, and he has yet to grow tired of it, of taking away your innocence little by little.

You lean in. You give him a playful little smile, and you bite, hard. The pain from your teeth blooms on his shoulder, making his cock throb.

“Impudent little thing.” He chastises, softly. “I should spank the defiance out of you.”

You laugh. You have come to realize that he is not as much of a brute as everyone painted him to be, and that he is too soft to make good on his threat. Ever since your argument, Daemon has never hurt you. He likes you too much for it. He wouldn’t force you to bed him, nor would he willingly do anything to upset you. Not even if you announced you didn’t want him touching you ever again.

Was this what love felt like, he wondered? Being happy with just sharing the same air you did, watching you play with your cat, being honored that he was trusted enough to feed the damn thing?

It probably was. But hell, if he was going to let it stop this corruption of your innocence. No. Instead, Daemon grabbed you by the shoulders and bit down on the hollow of your throat, playfully. You made a small sound, like a caught animal. He could tell you were getting ready to succumb to pleasure once more. His hedonist little wife, always ready to be put in a kiss drunk state. You turned liquid in his arms when it happened, going lax over him.

Daemon could tease you some more. Or… He leans in, breathing in your scent, before blowing a giant raspberry by the side of your neck. You shriek in laughter, squirming on his lap. Water is sent flying everywhere. He peppers your face and neck in kisses as you do, laughing st your squeals and squirming.

“Daemon.” You say, after a while, when the both of you have calmed down. Your head rests on his shoulder, expression hidden.

“Little niece.” He whispers, and you tremble at the endearment.

“I have decided something.” You whisper back. Somehow, your voice feels loud in the cave of the hot spring, nothing but the soft murmur of water being heard.

“You have?” Daemon asks, heart thumping in his chest as if he has just taken to the skies in Caraxes. He pulls you out of hiding, lifting your head towards him.

“I want to marry you right.” You say, shyly. You look deeply embarrassed. “Under my faith. So we can…” You trail off, averting your eyes.

“So we can..?” Daemon asks, feeling a triumphant grin spread over his face.

“Have a child.”

And oh, it is the most wonderful thing he has even heard. He will buy you a cloak, and a couple of ribbons for the hand fasting. He will find the two of you a home. Daemon says all this, as he presses his forehead against yours. Not even his conquest of the Stepstones felt as sweet.

[targaryen-dynasty]

NOCTURNAL WORSHIP.

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; dub/non-con, somnophilia, canon typical incest/targcest (uncle/niece), p in v, fingering, possessive and dark (or rather canon) Daemon

WORDS: 1.2 K

NOTES: Something older I had posted with another blog.

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

A deep slumber has overtaken you after a day full of lessons in the tongue of your ancestors, and an hours long flight on the back of your precious mount. Deep enough that not even the creaking door leading to one of the secret passageways of Maegor‘s Holdfast is able to get you to stir awake. 

Not quite so stealthy as one might know him, the man they dub the Rogue Prince steps into your chambers, his heart beating fast with the blood pumping straight down to his cock upon spotting you laying on your side, sound asleep despite his intrusion. 

It’s almost ridiculous how hard his cock gets the closer he stalks towards your canopy bed, straining uncomfortably against the laces in the front of his breeches. “Ñuha dōna lēkianna,“ he drawls with a strain to his voice, the predatory gaze of his lilac eyes taking in your sleeping frame. My sweet niece. 

A devilish smirk that’s usually only reserved to the people that dare to challenge him is draped across his lips, growing as he slowly peels the Quartheen silk sheets off your body. Only a fool would miss the fact that you’re not wearing any undergarments beneath the rather flimsy, creamish nightgown you wear, clearly indicating that you have listened to your uncle prior to your departure to your quarters. 

‘Expect me at the Hour of the Owl, sweet girl,’ he had said to you as your lesson ended. ‘And I shall teach you what is expected of you on your wedding night.’ And the sheepish nod and the blush on your cheeks let him know you truly endorsed it. 

Daemon sits down on the bed next to you and brushes his fingers over your skin, starting at your knee to push the nightgown up and reveal your bare cunt, glistening with your arousal for the long-awaited. His deft fingers drag through your folds, circling your sensitive pearl.

A quiet sound slips past your slightly parted lips, resembling something between a moan and a whimper, and in your sleepy state he finds you snuggling against him to inhale his comforting scent, your hand resting on his stomach and your face buried in his side.

His fingers toy with your pearl briefly before he gently nudges you over to lie on your back, parting your legs to grant him better access to what lies between them. Ghosting the tips of his fingers along your navel, he trails them down again to ease them inside your cunt, pushing in and out to prepare your maiden core for him.  

The thread of restraint he’s held before grows thinner and thinner with your walls starting to clench steadily around his digits, practically sucking them in and begging for more. And when he feels your small hand fisting his tunic, pulling him closer with your hips rutting meekly against his hand? That’s the moment it snaps.

Withdrawing his fingers from your cunt, he brings them up to his lips, sucking them clean of your essence. Any rational thought is quit with the taste of your arousal spreading over his tongue, making him long for more. 

He climbs between your legs, sitting back on his haunches as he undoes his breeches and frees his cock from its confines. There’s not a second wasted by him,  burying himself inside of you with such urgency in one, swift thrust. 

All efforts not to wake you up are fruitless as he increases the pace of his thrusts, snapping his hips in and out of you over and over again, not able to hold back any longer. 

The hazy glimmer in your eyes as you blink up at him indicates that you have a hard time processing what is happening, although your body perfectly knows with quiet moans and whimpers toppling past your parted lips. 

“K… Kepus?” you mumble, having trouble speaking with the burning of your cunt struggling to accommodate his size clouding your thoughts. You blink once, twice, to allow your eyes to adjust to the dim light the moon casts through your chambers windows.  

Daemon doesn’t stop his ministrations, if anything, your dazed reaction only manages to spur him on, feeding the fire that courses through his veins. He dips down, pressing his chest flush to yours and putting his weight onto you, caging you in between his arms with no way to escape. 

Your uncle rests his forehead against yours, stopping his movements briefly. “I told you I would come, didn't I?” 

Biting your bottom lip, you momentarily close your eyes at the proximity. Opening them again, you nod your head and stare up at him with a wide, innocent gaze. “Y… Yes.”

“And you want to learn from me, do you not?” It isn’t a question, more a coercion for you to give him what he wants. “About the… wifely duties you must perform for your future husband.” 

You nod again, speaking in feigned confidence, “yes.”

His words are very much that of truth. More than once have you thought about him in ways that are not proper for the youngest daughter of the King, especially after your older sister has told you about the little foray she and your uncle went on that ended in one of the brothels of the city.

Daemon starts to grind his hips against yours, causing the pressure inside of you to become more and more notable — until your peak catches you in an ambush. 

Your body acts on its own as you arch your back against his sturdy frame, parting your legs just a bit more to willingly rut your hips in rhythm with his, chasing the pleasure. 

Not one coherent thought runs through your head as your body works itself through the several emotions and trembles that soar through you, suddenly not so tired anymore. 

You‘re not so sure what to expect as he proclaims his desire to spill inside of you, yet you eagerly accept, damned be the repercussions, and bite through the overstimulation to chase the addictive feeling of his throbbing cock. 

Tipping his head back, your uncle releases a groan so raspy the bump in his throat twitches, the sight causing a renewed wave of your arousal to drip down his shaft, forming a creamy ring around the base. 

Only once the thrusting of his hips ceases, you‘re able to feel the flimsy pulsating of his cock, spending itself inside of you. 

“That’s it–” His words catch in his throat as his head topples forwards. 

Meeting your gaze, he gets so lost in the blissed out expression on your face that he knows there is no going back now — not when he just got a taste of you, his darling niece. 

He presses a kiss to your temple as he pulls out, the uncomfortable feeling of loss causing you both to grimace. Climbing off the bed to readjust his trousers, he can‘t seem to take his eyes off of you. 

“I expect you, tomorrow night, to come to my chambers,” he states bluntly and nonchalantly, walking towards the door he came through before. “Your husband will not be gentle on the first night of your marriage, lēkianna, and I think it is only fair that I teach you a few more things. So when the time comes, you‘re well prepared.”

With these words, he closes the secret door behind him, leaving you all by yourself. Where you have been in a very deep slumber before, you struggle to fall back asleep again, mind plagued by what tomorrow will bring for you. 

Daemon Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @schniiipsel @avalyaaa @baizzhu @yn-jackson

[yandereunsolved]

Thicker than Dragons Blood - ,, yandere Daemon Targaryen pining over Rhaenyra's friend

tw(s): yandere themes, suggestive themes (slight nsfw), grooming, dubcon, purity culture, misogny, stalkholm syndrome

✧ It all began the day that both you and Rhaenyra met in the nursery. Without the ability to speak, only to wail and babble, the two of you were instantly the closest of friends. There was no place where she went that you weren't either. You balanced out her reckless and bratty behavior. She wasn't the best friend to you, but you were stuck to her hip. You always took the fall for her so that she could keep her reputation untarnished. In those moments, you forgot your standing as a child of a noble—a Lord or Lady of a house standing strong. You always gifted her little things that you found as reminders of your bond. She paid you back through adventure and gossip. Occasionally, she would gaslight you if you heard something bad about her, but who wouldn't? She couldn't lose her best friend.

✧ In the back of those red-tinted memories was Daemon. Whenever he happened to be at the Red Keep, he always kept a close eye on what transpired between the both of you. At first, he saw an opportunity to stake his future claim as king by marrying Rhaenyra. Although his eyes always wandered to you. There was something about you that was just so innocent and corruptible. As you grew, so did Daemons intrigue with you. It soon ignited into a fiery infatuation, burning brighter than any flame in Old Valyria ever could.  

✧ His interest, a word far too shallow to explain his attraction, was not unnoticed by your father, the head of your house. Daemon had many talks with your father. Your father did your best to sweet talk Daemon, but obviously he was able to see through it. He didn't need any convincing. That's how he became your tutor. He would spend all his free time dragging you away from Rhaenyra, forcing you to learn whatever he felt like teaching you that day. He wanted to cause a rift in your relationship with her. He was also beginning to feel possessive over you. Why has his neice caught your favor and not him? He could not allow this seemingly 'platonic' relationship with Rhaenyra to further escalate.

✧ The content of his teachings would seem less than savory to most. You had just barely risen past the age of a blooming maiden; that makes you fair game, correct? When you were in your younger years, he never taught you anything that could cause rumors to spread. After all, rumors in the Red Keep spread faster than a dragon's fire. He needed to make sure that you were old enough to keep your mouth shut. He needed to make sure that your age wouldn't be a problem. An age gap wouldn't cause rumors, but a child noble engaging in intimate acts like an adult prince? Unthinkable. He wouldn't ruin his reputation because of that.

✧ However, no gap in age or experience could stop him once you were old enough to be considered of age. He began teaching you the finer things in life, like how to please a man and how to please yourself. You were naive. You didn't know more than how a babe was made. You didn't realize everything was so complicated and embarrassing. He always stifles your moans during your private 'tutoring' sessions. He encourages you and tells you how good you are being. He speaks dirty words in your ears in High Valyrian. He gives you an extra reward if he can see you recognize some of the words in his teachings. It's an addiction for him. He can't get enough of your body and your figure. You had grown into yourself. It was a sight no other whore's body could even begin to match. The gods must have gifted you to him after everything he has done for the kingdoms.

✧ He gives you 'homework' and does more than just scold you if you don't complete it to his liking. Most of the time, he just enjoys watching you. Even after all his teachings, you are still so inexperienced. He hasn't taken the final step with you. He wouldn't take your full maidenhood yet, no. He simply couldn't. Not for any moral reasons. He just wanted you to keep your virtue a bit longer. That's one of the things that attracted him to you in the first place. He would have immediately taken any other slut, but you weren't that. You are a god(dess) among men. You deserve a romantic night filled with passion. A night where he can put a babe in you, fertile or not.

✧ As you began drifting away from Rhaenyra due to your tutoring sessions with Daemon, you were confronted. She clung onto you with tears in her eyes and asked why you didn't care about her anymore. She silently begged and pleaded for a good reason. Then she became enraged. She slapped you and demanded to know once again why you were drifting from her. 

"Is it because of my uncle? Is your knowledge truly worth more than our lifelong partnership?"

You couldn't tell her the truth. You knew what you were engaging in with Daemon was scandalous. If you told Rhaenyra she may hate you, or even worse, use it to blackmail you so you are always by her side. You made up some flimsy excuse. You just said that you were insecure about always being near her, and Daemon said that she didn't like you anymore. That part about Daemon was partly true. He has been whispering lies to you about your relationship with Rhaenyra for years now. For better or for worse, you both are still as close as you were during your younger years, if not even closer now.

She finally calmed after you made your excuse. She didn't question its validity. She was just happy to finally have you back. She made you promise to stay away from Daemon as much as you possibly could. So, you did. Who were you to disobey the command of a princess, your closest companion?

✧ A sense of shame and dread fills you. You don't need a tutor anymore. After an hour-long argument with your father, he finally relents. He threatens that if their house falls out of the Targaryens good graces because you refused to be tutored by Daemon, he'll sell you out to a pleasure house. He didn't know how hard that hit you. You felt impure. You enjoyed what you did with Daemon. Why is that wrong? You were taught only to find pleasure in your future spouse. You found pleasure in him, and look where it got you. A strained relationship with your best friend that you had to fix, and your father threatening to sell you out to a whore house.

You feel like you are being attacked from all angles. Daemon begins to stalk you to get your attention. That's what you can call it, right? Stalking? You swear he's following you, even when he isn't. You thought you heard the guards speaking about reporting back to him. Something just feels more off about him whenever you get near him. Your mind began to repress all the memories of your intimate moments together. You just felt so confused, so lost, and so paranoid. Nothing felt right. You could barely remember your own name. At least you'll be able to find a suitor soon. You'll be able to put this all behind you. Not if Daemon has anything to do with it.

✧ After a few months, everything seems to be back to normal. There are no more of those weird tutoring sessions; you have rebuilt your relationship with Rhaenyra, and you even have some decent choices for a future spouse. You did have to carry on the bloodline as the eldest, after all. 

Daemon, however, was far from 'normal'. Not that he ever was. Over those few months, people could notice the changes in him. He became more unhinged, erratic, and easily angered at the tiniest of mistakes. Behind closed doors, he was drinking all of the spirits he could get his hands on. He was spending triple the amount of time at brothels that he usually did. He forgot about everything else, except for the problem of the bronze bitch in the back of his mind. You were nothing like her. You were like a precious piece of jewelry made out of the finest gold and precious metals that were melted down by a dragon's breath. All he knew was that he needed to court you. 

Not even commanding the Nights Watch could tame the beast within him. He flew Caraxes to contemplate. He would eye over where, somewhere off in the distance, you were in the castle. You were probably spending time with his neice, or gods forbid, another man, one of his men that he commands. 

He's just never wanted anything more than you. He knows you aren't his kin or his blood. He knows that marrying you would be an impossible task. It would mean decreasing his chances of taking the throne. You had something, though; you had the Targaryen spirit in you. He could feel it every time he touched you. He could feel the heat simmering just beneath the skin. You were worthy of his seed and worthy of carrying his kin. He could always bribe one of his family members to use as a surrogate in case you have male genitalia or are infertile. Your babies would still be pure Targaryens that way. It just disgusts him to have to think of impregnating anyone but you.

✧ You had a tournament in honor of Rhaenyra finally being old enough to be courted. It was one that would end on a much lighter note, as opposed to the last one, which ended in her mother's death. It was partly your tournament as well. Well, that is what Daemon thought of it as. He would fight for you, and you alone. He understands that voicing this would be improper. You do see it in the way he glances at you while fighting in the rounds he is participating in. When he is not, he's staring into your soul. His eyes never leave your figure. You feel queasy; something is even more off about him now. Your ex-tutor didn't have any feelings past merely using you as another one of his flings; you tried to assure yourself. Only when the last round of the tournament was to commence did he ask for your favor instead of Rhaenyra's.

The crowd was shocked; some gasped, while others questioned the meaning of this. Was Daemon choosing you over Rhaenyra due to the infighting over who was to be the true heir of the Iron Throne? Was he simply being contrary, as always? Or did he want your favor because he harbored more than platonic feelings toward you?

It was unheard of, as it was customary for Targaryens to only ask for the favors of their family members.

He did the tournament. His actions made clear the message he intended to send; he did it for you. 

Rhaenyra wasn't pleased. She threatened her uncle behind closed doors to stop hitting on her best friend. He laughed it off. He taunted her.

"As if there is anything you can do about it. They want me. They crave my touch."

✧ You only tried harder from then on to separate yourself from him. You purposefully avoided him, and it only became harder to do so. It was as if he had memorized your schedule by heart. Little notes and gifts began to be left on your bedding. They weren't signed, but you had a suspicion that it was Daemon's doing. You tried to express your concerns to your mother and father, only to be given a dismissive response. You tried to confide in your siblings, but your female one(s) only giggled and swooned over him. Your male one(s) simply huffed and waved you off, half-heartedly saying that they'd offer you some protection against the prince if the time came. 

✧ You try to confront him. He admits that the gifts were from him. He doesn't admit the extent of his infatuation for you yet. You already seemed adamant on avoiding him. Scaring you off wouldn't do him any good because he still doesn't have a strong hold over the council or his brother. He promises to stop gifting you things and back off if you just do one thing with him. You reluctantly agreed without knowing what he was planning. If you knew it was to ride on Caraxes with him, then you would have simply walked off and not given his compromise another thought. 

✧ You were intimidated by dragons; dare you say fearful of them. They always seemed to be able to pierce one's soul with their eyes. You refused to be near Rhaenyra's dragon, Syrax, for that exact reason. Now you were within ten feet of one, and you were practically trembling. Daemon was positively ecstatic underneath his facade of poised indifference. He would be able to exert control over you because of his title of dragon rider, if nothing else. 

Syrax seemed like an innocent hare in comparison to Caraxes.

However, you surprisingly felt safe as Daemon placed your hand on Caraxes's scales. There was a certain vulnerability in Daemon's eyes that you had not seen before. He seemed to treasure these moments. Caraxes almost seemed to... like you? The dragon could sense his riders affection toward you. In turn, Caraxes felt the same need to protect you and be gentle. The beast even allowed you to scratch under his chin, a purr-like reaction emanating from his long throat. It was like nothing you had ever experienced before. 

☾ The ride was breath-taking, both figuratively and literally. That's the only way you can describe it. It was the first time you felt safe around Daemon. He was in charge of making sure you felt comfortable in the air, his arms possessively at your sides as he controlled the reigns. He could feel your relaxed muscles against his toned chest. His heart swelled even further with an all-encompassing ecstasy that he had never had the pleasure of feeling before. Caraxes responded to both of you with a comforting roar, somewhere in between intimidating and reassuring. You had never felt true freedom in your life. For once, you felt it, even in the arms of someone you could consider an oppressor. 

☾ You were aware of his wife. You knew that these strange feelings Daemon harbored for you had to be temporary. You at least admitted to yourself that he did hold some sort of romantic attraction to you. He admitted the least of it. Still, you fooled yourself into thinking they were temporary. Not just a fling, something more intimate but less binding than a marriage. Even with this knowledge, even after being introduced to Caraxes and riding him with Daemon, your hesitance was still fully rooted within your heart and mind—your soul. He took advantage of you before. You shudder at the thought. You enjoyed learning those things, but were you truly able to consent to them? You were of age. You push it away within your mind. It is the deepest reason for your hesitance, but you didn't want to think on it. Thinking of your tutoring sessions with Daemon only proved to fill you with heat and shame simultaneously.

☾ You chose to do your best to shake all of the invasive thoughts from your mind. You spent as much time as you could with Rhaenyra. She looked at you with such love and cowered behind you whenever things got too tough. From the shadows of the small council, one man in particular envied your relationship: Otto Hightower. He has taken to calling you 'Daemon's whore'. He has been the one since the beginning to spread whispers amongst those in the court about your loyalty to the crown.

Would you choose Daemon over Viserys?

That was a question many asked with their eyes and not their tongues. It was humiliating. You don't even want to associate with Daemon, and yet your time as his student has left your reputation forever scarred. Not to mention how many times you have chosen to state that Rhaenyra's mistakes were your own, for the sake of your friendship. Even with the whispers, it was not enough for Otto. He needed them to be screams. He needed everyone to see you as the whore you were! He has never grown soft towards you because of one simple fact: you threaten his entire plan for his family's ascension to the throne. Alicent has never been able to catch a Targaryen's attention, yet you are the best friend to one and the whore of another.

☾ It was a mistake for you to align yourself so closely with Rhaenyra. She ranted to you about what her fears were and how terrified she was at the possibility of not being the sole heir. You had to listen while Daemon plotted at Dragonstone. You hadn't seen him since the day you rode Caraxes with him. That was well over half a moon ago by now. You were relieved to finally be rid of his presence. Only you thought so. When the gods rose the moon high into the sky and nestled the sun beneath the cusp of the earth, he returned to you. That very night, after Rhaenyra had left your chambers, Daemon had snuck in. He surprised you and urged you to hush yourself.

You had no choice. He led you to the empty cradle, where the last heir passed after living for less than a day. There was a dragon egg in it. He whispered to you about all the things he wanted to do to you. He made a promise that one day your babe would be in the cradle, with his features and your personality.

It felt like a dream you would have after a fever. You still can't be sure it happened. After he left, the realm of dreams tugged you in once again. You woke up, and no trace of him was there. Daemon was getting bolder in his advances toward you. He still feared scaring you off completely, but he has to take what is rightfully his. He is the heir to the Iron Throne, after all.

☾ Years passed, and you grew older. Daemon was off fighting a war in the Stepstones; Alicent gave the king a male heir with another babe on the way; and Rhaenyra stuck closer to you than any tree sap could. Otto was less of a thorn in your side these days. As this time passed, you were plagued with tragedies every time you tried to take a lover. You were the eldest, and yet you were failing your house dearly. They tried their best to get you courted as well. Your entire family was just perplexed. Every suitor you were supposed to marry showed up dead before your wedding day. Were you cursed by the gods? It couldn't be Daemon, could it? It was so far away. He couldn't simply be orchestrating this while so far away.

It simply left you in tears every single time. Rhaenyra was your only solace. She grew more bratty and defiant of her father. She refused to marry that Lannister fellow. She rejoiced when your newest one came up dead. She couldn't help but smile. She didn't want you to get married and leave her. You both were meant to be companions. You are companions, the closest of them. 

Still, your soul was aching, and your body was deprived of something it yearned for. 

Were you really missing Daemon's odd behavior?

No, never.

Well, maybe.

☾ You didn't realize that perhaps you were even worried about him until he returned to the castle. It felt like a piece that had gone missing had finally returned. The king, his brother, was thankful for his submission and offered him one thing behind closed doors. What was that one thing you ask? Your hand in marriage. When Daemon strolled over to you and told you this, you were flabbergasted, even bamboozled. You couldn't just marry your best friend's uncle. 

☾ You tried every excuse under the sun. You tried to say that you weren't up to the Targaryen standards of beauty; he said that you were created by the gods, so graceful and divine. You brought up the fact that you had no blood tied to Old Valyria; he stated that your soul was that of a dragon, more than worthy of his hand. You tried to reason with him by saying that he had another wife who he already struggled to take care of. That angered him. 

"Don't ever speak about the bitch again, dear. Understand me?"

She died as you would learn later. Some sort of riding incident that led to her demise. You offered your condolences to Daemon. He laughed and said that he'd happily spit upon her rotting corpse. He didn't need to lie to you. He also wasn't compelled to tell the truth when you didn't ask for it. He'll make sure the whispers of him murdering his wife never reach your ears.

☾ Rhaenyra simply shrugged and thought that you marrying her uncle was at least a close match for her. She would still be able to speak with you. You would now be closer to her! She wasn't ecstatic, but pleased—maybe even smug. Whatever negative feelings she had toward her uncle being around you were clearly resolved. It only struck terror in your heart. 

☾ Your family would help, right? No. Such a laughable thing. They were overjoyed. They also told you not to screw it up. Talks of the heirs you two would produce, the tie to the Targaryens bolstering your house's status, and many other reasons you didn't care to listen to.

☾ You were—are trapped. You were to marry a man that you couldn't make up your mind about. It could be worse. Every strange thing must have been because of the gods, right? If only you knew the lengths Daemon went to marry you. The people he threatened, the people he beheaded, the poisons traded in markets that aren't pure of heart but dark and foreboding. He finally felt at peace. So did Caraxes. Your family would be so perfect. He could already see you holding a babe in your arms that he had bred into you. Is this what you truly want? Or is that hesitancy in your soul still strong enough to pull you out of his hold and help you escape him?

[n0cturnalp1g]

Tale As Old as Time

Summary: Prince Daemon Targaryen hated everyone and anyone that has the name Hightower in it. But there was an exception to it, the oldest sister of Alicent and Gwayne Hightower, the Wretched Hightower as she was infamously known for. But Daemon was on a mission to ensure she will be called by any other name–even if it means putting his own as a result. Characters: Daemon Targaryen x Female!Reader!Hightower. Otto Hightower. Alicent Hightower. Viserys Targaryen. Word Count: 1,360 Chapter Warnings: Not Edited. Slight Profanities. Otto being Otto. Author's Note: Enemies to Lovers anyone?

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Prince Daemon Targaryen knew how much of a cunt Otto Hightower was. It goes for Alicent and Gwayne too. But somehow, such disdain and loathing cannot be said about you. His exception as he fondly calls you.

You were known as the Wretched Hightower that did not stay long in Oldtown for causing far too much destruction and the only way for your father to ever control you was if you were close to him–or rather have the Kingsguard and even the City Watch constantly under surveillance of you.

Hence, this was the very reason why Daemon was so fond of you. How even his most skilled City Watch or even the Kingsguard themselves was no match to your resourcefulness and how easy it was to evade each and every single one of them at night as you spent your nights in Fleabottom, away from the constant control of the Keep.

“Here you are again, it seems.”

Daemon looked at you, defiance all too evident in your eyes as you looked right at him. One too many run-ins with each other, the surprise has finally worn off your face every single time he catches you strolling around. But never once did the dagger in your grasp ease away in the numerous instances of seeing you.

“I’m sure at this point you are just following me, Your Grace.” You spoke, no sense of decorum or politeness unlike your sister. You were very much a woman with a mind of your own not controlled by your father.

“I am simply doing my job. Somehow, my patrolling the safety of King’s Landing also has an additional responsibility of making sure the Wretched Hightower does not cause a scene.”

At the mention of the moniker, your eyes darken and your knuckles turned white as your grip on your dagger tightened. If he pushes you further, there might even be a chance you might make use of it–on him more specifically.

“I apologize for adding to your responsibilities, Lord of Flea Bottom.” You curtsied mockingly in front of him to earn a huge grin on his mouth. He loved this, you play as hard as he does, every single time, you will not let anyone else win if you had a chance. Never one to allow anyone else to have the last word.

But the Rogue Prince wasn’t known for his patience, more known for his pettiness.

With a nod, he moved quicker than you anticipated and you were lifted into his arms before moving until you were now on his shoulder. An annoyed scream escaped your lips, your dagger was taken before you could make use of it.

“Let go of me you stupid fucking lizard!”

“My, does your father not teach you manners, or respect?” He teased as he began his journey back to the Keep, anticipating what that Cunt Otto would do now. “I could even cite you for attempted regicide.”

“I don’t give a damn about your laws, Targaryen! Let go of me!” You continued to scream, your fist hitting his armored back. He was genuinely surprised by how unmoved you were by the metal he wore–but then again anger and spite was the best remedy for pain but he was all the more certain you will be feeling the damage was all was said and done.

“I’m sure your father would love to hear you and your opinions of the law in the Seven realms.” He chuckled, ignoring the eyes that had now come glued to all of them.

He ensured even in your already embarrassing state, you were decent. The hand holding onto your dagger also ensured your skirt did not show more than you intended to.

“Make sure you rest well, the next time I see you I’ll make sure to slit your throat and bathe in your blood.”

“A woman after my own heart.” Daemon continued to point out with a wicked grin as he walked further away from the chaos of Fleabottom. “I can only hope you still have that fire when we return to the Keep, Lady Hightower.”

Daemon only knew what your father would think of this situation, more so when he was once again responsible for taking you back without harm on a single hair on your pretty little head.

“You continue to bring shame upon the family name, you insolent brat!”

You have been so used to your father’s scolding, but the only difference with this time was the fact that he wasn’t alone. Daemon Targaryen had made a spectacle out of you, bringing you into the throne room in front where your father, the King’s Hand stood, arms crossed and veins on the brink of popping.

In the throne room also resided a few key figures in the parading embarrassment that was Daemon’s own making.

The King himself, amused as much as he was tired of your antics sat on the throne, the grin openly evident on his face but no one was to question him for his emotions for he was afterall the King.

Your younger sister and the King’s wife, Alicent, was also present. Ever the lapdog of your father was also disappointed in you as you strived for your own freedom–something she did not have since agreeing to marry the King.

Then there was the man that was responsible for your predicament. Prince Daemon Targaryen. A smirk all the more evident on his face, victorious for one upping you in this imaginary war you somehow waged with the Rogue Prince since your nightly escape.

“Are you done, father?” You inquired.

“This is the reason why I should have married you to that Lord in the south!” Otto continued, voice growing louder now.  “I can’t control you, your Uncle could not control you, your husband might control you as he should!”

You scoffed. You knew as much as he did that there was no Lord in the south. His first plan of many was for you to marry the King the first moment that the late Queen was burned in the Hill of Rhaenys. But as Wretched as you were known in the realm, you still had common decency. You will never marry a mourning man who lost his wife and child for the sake of a better standing for the family. The same could not be said about your younger sister, now married and now carrying her second child with the King.

“I’d rather be a Septa than marry a man that will never keep up with me, Lord Hand.” You spat.

You glared at the chuckle that escaped the Rogue Prince’s lips.

“I think there will be a much better way to handle this dispute, Lord Hand.” King Viserys pointed out, the fun of the situation now gone and it left nothing more than a family dispute that he should not be a part of.

“Nothing could control her, no Kingsguard nor City Watch can tame her, and I am having second thoughts of throwing her into sept instead.”

You rolled your eyes. He never truly cared about you, your brother, or your sister. It was always like this with him. If he finds no use out of you, he will throw you out like a used toy. It was a cycle that you were all the more familiar with. Lived through it for years, long before either Alicent or Gwayne was born.

“Perhaps I could be of assistance.” Daemon began.

All heads turned to the man, your heart lurched from your chest as if already having an idea of what he had in mind. The games this bastard was playing.

“I am in need of a new wife…as you may all know Lady Rhea Royce has recently passed and our union did not bless us with any children.” He continued as the grin on his lips grew wider, all the more seeing his brother, the King convinced with the idea.

“No!” For once you and your father was in agreement with something, who would have ever thought it would be to oppose a man you had both equally despised–but for reasons far different from one another. 

[hisfavegirl]

A Forbidden Flame - Modern!Daemon Targaryen x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary : The story of love, loss, and regret began in the shadows, but it would soon unfold in the most painful way. Daemon’s heart would be shattered as the consequences of his reckless love echoed through his world. What had started as a passion-driven affair would become the deepest regret of his life—a regret that would haunt him for as long as he lived. And so, as the storm brewed on the horizon, Daemon Targaryen was about to learn that the greatest cost of love was not the sacrifice of the heart, but the devastation of losing it all.

Daemon Masterlist.

You never imagined that working with Daemon Targaryen would lead you down this path. What began as a professional relationship quickly spiraled into something far more complex, far more dangerous. The world knows Daemon as the charismatic and ruthless executive, always a step ahead in the cutthroat world of business. But behind closed doors, he is something else entirely—yours.

Your relationship is a well-kept secret, hidden from the prying eyes of the public and, most importantly, from his wife, Rhaenyra. She often travels abroad, handling international ventures or attending exclusive events that demand her presence. Whenever she’s away, it’s as if the world belongs to you and Daemon alone. In those moments, he is yours, and you are his—completely, passionately, and undeniably.

Daemon made it clear from the beginning: you are his and only his. His possessiveness is both thrilling and terrifying, a constant reminder of the precariousness of your situation. He whispers it to you in the dark, his voice laced with a promise that no one else will ever have you. “You are mine,” he says, each word a declaration, a claim that leaves no room for doubt.

Despite the secrecy, the stolen glances, and the heated moments in his office when the world outside fades away, you can’t deny the intensity of your connection. It’s a dangerous dance, one that could unravel everything if ever exposed. Yet, you find yourself unable to resist him, the allure of his presence too strong to deny.

You know the risks, the consequences that would follow if anyone ever found out. But in the quiet of the night, when it’s just the two of you, none of that seems to matter. All that exists is the fire between you, burning brightly in the shadows of your hidden world.

The grand hall is alive with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the soft glow of chandeliers casting a golden light over the gathered elite. You stand by Daemon’s side, your elegant black gown hugging your figure in all the right places. It’s daring, yet refined, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Tonight, you are his companion, the one who stands beside him when Rhaenyra chooses not to.

Daemon’s hand rests possessively on your lower back as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “I don’t like how they’re looking at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with a quiet warning. “They forget that you belong to me.”

You chuckle softly, a delicate sound that only he can hear over the murmur of the crowd. “Let them look,” you tease, glancing up at him with a playful smile. “It’s not as if they can have what’s yours.”

His grip tightens slightly, his gaze flickering with a mixture of pride and frustration. He enjoys the attention you garner, but only to a point. It feeds his ego to have the most captivating woman in the room by his side, yet it stokes his possessiveness to see others admire what he considers his alone.

Before he can respond, a movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention. Aegon and Aemond, Daemon’s nephews, approach with their usual confident stride. Both dressed impeccably, their sharp features mirror the unmistakable Targaryen lineage. Their eyes, however, are locked on their uncle as they draw closer.

“Uncle,” Aegon greets with a smirk, his gaze briefly flickering to you before returning to Daemon. “Mind if we steal you away for a moment?”

Aemond, more reserved but no less observant, nods in agreement, his single eye—hidden beneath a patch—studying you with quiet curiosity. “There’s something we’d like to discuss.”

Daemon’s hand lingers on your back for a moment longer, a silent reassurance before he turns to face his nephews. “Of course,” he says, though his voice holds a trace of reluctance. “But make it quick.”

As Daemon steps aside with Aegon and Aemond, you’re left momentarily alone, the weight of their curious glances lingering on you. You can feel the subtle tension in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the complex dynamics at play. Though the room continues to buzz with conversation, you can’t shake the feeling that eyes are still on you—not just from the crowd, but from the two young men now engaged in a hushed conversation with Daemon.

You take a steady breath, reminding yourself of your place beside Daemon. This world, with all its secrets and power plays, is as much yours now as it is his. And no matter how many eyes linger, you know that in the end, Daemon’s attention—his fierce, unyielding devotion—belongs solely to you.

The lively chatter of the room falters for a moment as Daemon’s voice, sharp and heated, cuts through the air. He’s nearly shouting, his usual calm exterior cracking as he glares at Aegon, his frustration bubbling over. You can feel the tension escalating, the attention of the nearby guests subtly shifting toward the unfolding scene.

Concerned, you step forward, placing a gentle hand on Daemon’s arm. “Daemon,” you murmur softly, your voice soothing, “please, not here.” Your eyes plead with him to calm down, aware that the spectacle is drawing too much notice.

But before Daemon can respond, Aemond reaches out, his hand brushing yours as he grips it firmly. “Everything is fine,” he says in a low, measured tone, his gaze steady and composed. There’s something about his calm demeanor that contrasts sharply with Daemon’s simmering anger, and for a brief moment, the tension seems to ease.

Daemon’s eyes darken as he watches Aemond’s hand on yours, a flicker of possessive fury flashing across his face. Without a word, he steps forward, swatting Aemond’s hand away from yours with a forceful gesture. His jaw clenches, and his hand finds its way to your lower back again, guiding you firmly away from his nephews.

The air between the four of you is thick with unspoken words and lingering tension, but Daemon doesn’t look back. He leads you through the crowd, his grip firm, as he maneuvers you both toward a quieter corner of the hall, away from prying eyes.

Once you’re alone, his gaze softens slightly, though the remnants of his anger still linger. “Are you alright?” he asks, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His concern is genuine, though tinged with the frustration that moments ago had threatened to boil over.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, your hand resting on his chest. “But you need to calm down. This isn’t the place for confrontations.”

Daemon takes a deep breath, his eyes searching yours for a moment before nodding. “I just can’t stand them interfering,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “Especially when it comes to you.”

You smile softly, leaning in to press a reassuring kiss to his cheek. “I’m yours, Daemon. No one else’s. Let’s not give them the satisfaction of seeing us rattle.”

His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer as he sighs. “You’re right,” he concedes. “I won’t let them ruin our night.”

Together, you both turn back to the gathering, a united front once more. The storm that had threatened to erupt has passed—for now—but the undercurrents of tension remain, a reminder that in this world of power and pride, nothing is ever truly at rest.

The evening had begun to settle into a comfortable rhythm once more. Daemon, though still watchful, allowed you a moment to yourself as you requested permission to fetch a drink. His eyes lingered on you as you moved through the crowd, a quiet reminder of his ever-present vigilance.

As you stepped away, the cool air of the corridor offered a brief respite from the heat of the crowded hall. But before you could take more than a few steps, a sudden, forceful grip seized your arm, yanking you into the dimly lit hallway. The world around you blurred as you stumbled, your heart pounding in your chest.

You barely had time to react before a sharp blow landed on your shoulder, sending a jolt of pain through your body. The last thing you saw before darkness claimed you was the cold, unfeeling floor rushing up to meet you.

Back in the grand hall, Daemon’s unease grew with each passing moment. He checked his watch, his gaze flickering toward the spot where he had last seen you. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as he waited, his foot tapping anxiously against the polished floor.

When you didn’t return, the knot of worry in his chest tightened. He scanned the room, his sharp eyes searching for any sign of you. His heart began to race as he realized you were nowhere to be seen.

Daemon moved quickly, his steps purposeful as he pushed through the crowd, calling your name under his breath. The anxiety clawed at his composure, each passing second feeding the growing dread in his gut.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed your number, hoping to hear your voice, to hear anything that would reassure him. But the shrill ring echoed from a distance, pulling his gaze toward the far end of the hallway. There, lying carelessly on the floor, was your phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Beside it, your handbag lay discarded, a stark and chilling testament to your sudden disappearance.

Daemon’s blood ran cold, his mind racing through the possibilities, each one darker than the last. His heart pounded in his chest as he crouched down, picking up your phone with a trembling hand. The realization hit him like a blow: you were gone, and someone had taken you.

Without wasting another moment, he rose to his feet, his jaw set in a grim line. Whoever had dared to take you would pay dearly. Daemon’s fury burned just beneath the surface, a dangerous storm brewing as he vowed to find you—no matter what it took.

Daemon’s fury was barely contained as he stormed towards Aegon and Aemond, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the corridor. His eyes burned with a cold fire, his jaw clenched tight in frustration. Without a word, he reached out and roughly grabbed Aegon by the collar, yanking him closer.

“Where is she?” Daemon’s voice was low, dangerous, as he demanded an answer. “What have you done with her?”

Aegon recoiled, his eyes wide with confusion. “I don’t know, Daemon,” he replied, his voice shaky. “I swear, I don’t know anything about where she is. I haven’t seen her since you sent me away.”

Daemon’s gaze hardened as he released Aegon, his grip tightening into a fist at his side. Aemond stepped forward, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Daemon’s seething anger. Without hesitation, he placed a hand on Daemon’s arm, pulling him away from Aegon.

“Let’s take this outside,” Aemond said, his voice steady and measured, but with an underlying urgency. “We need to think this through, away from the prying eyes of the guests.”

Daemon didn’t hesitate, following Aemond’s lead as they both made their way out of the hall and into the cool night air. The tension between them was palpable, but Aemond knew this was the only way to prevent Daemon from exploding in front of the crowd.

Once they were safely out of sight, Aemond turned to Daemon, his face thoughtful but wary. “It could be the Lannisters,” he suggested, his voice low. “The rivalry between our families, the business competition… they have always been opportunistic.”

Daemon’s gaze flickered, considering the possibility. The Lannisters were indeed ruthless in their pursuit of power, but something about this felt wrong. “Why her?” Daemon muttered under his breath, pacing back and forth. “Why take her and not my children? Not my wife?” The confusion in his voice was evident, the question lingering in the cold air between them.

Aemond’s expression darkened, and he looked over at his uncle. “It could also be the Baratheons,” he suggested, his tone now tinged with suspicion. “The tensions between you and Borros… that conflict was months ago, but who knows how deep their grudges run? Maybe they see her as leverage against you.”

Daemon stopped in his tracks, his gaze hardening as he turned back to Aemond. “But why her?” he repeated, his fists clenching as frustration built inside him. “She’s not a pawn, Aemond. She’s not some piece in this damn game.”

Aemond’s silence was deafening as he considered Daemon’s words. He understood his uncle’s pain, but he couldn’t help but acknowledge the possibility that whoever was behind this might have had other reasons—reasons beyond simple political strategy.

Daemon’s mind raced with possibilities, but none of them made sense. Why take you? He couldn’t fathom the reasons, but one thing was clear: whoever was behind this had made a grave mistake. They had just provoked the wrong Targaryen. And Daemon would burn the world down to find you and bring you back, no matter the cost.

Daemon’s hands gripped the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, his knuckles pale from the force. His eyes were narrowed, burning with a fury that seemed to radiate off him in waves. The road ahead was a blur, his mind consumed by thoughts of you, his heart pounding in his chest with each passing second.

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, the sound of it echoing through the car’s interior as frustration and desperation collided inside him. “Find her,” he growled into the phone, his voice a low snarl. “I don’t care where you have to look, I want her found now.”

The voice on the other end of the line stammered, trying to reassure him. “Sir, we’re already—”

“I don’t want excuses,” Daemon cut in, his voice sharp and commanding. “I want results. Now. If I have to tear apart every Lannister and Baratheon stronghold, I’ll do it myself.”

The words hung in the air, a promise to burn every bridge and destroy anyone who stood in his way. He couldn’t afford to lose you, not now, not when everything in his life felt like it was slipping through his fingers. The thought of you in danger, out of his reach, made his blood boil with rage.

He disconnected the call abruptly and sped up, ignoring the speed limits as his mind raced. He wasn’t sure where to go, but he knew he couldn’t waste any time. Each second felt like a lifetime, each mile that passed without finding you adding another weight to his chest.

Daemon’s thoughts drifted to the last time he saw you—your smile, your warmth, everything about you that made him feel alive. He could still feel the lingering touch of your hand, the warmth of your embrace. And now, you were gone, taken by someone who dared to challenge him. The person who did this had no idea who they were dealing with.

“Come back to me,” he whispered under his breath, his voice hoarse with emotion. He had to find you. He would tear down the world if that’s what it took to bring you home.

His phone rang again, the voice on the other end speaking quickly, urgently. “Sir, we’ve checked the Lannister and Baratheon estates. There’s no sign of her.”

“Keep searching,” he snapped, his jaw tightening. “I don’t care what it takes. Someone has her, and I’m going to make them regret it. Keep me updated, or I swear I’ll handle this myself.”

He hung up and stared out into the night, his mind swirling with thoughts of the worst possible outcomes. The silence of the road stretched out before him, but Daemon couldn’t feel any peace. All he could feel was the burning need to find you, to ensure that nothing had happened to you, and to make those who took you pay for their sins.

Daemon parked his car haphazardly in the driveway, not caring about the angle or the crunch of gravel beneath the tires. His mind was a whirlwind of rage and desperation as he stormed into his home, his steps quick and purposeful. He was heading straight for his study, the place where he could think, plan, and command the search for you in secrecy.

But before he could reach the sanctuary of his workspace, a familiar voice called out, stopping him in his tracks. “Daemon?” Rhaenyra’s soft, inquisitive tone echoed through the hallway, laced with concern. She appeared from the shadows, her brow furrowed as she approached him. “Is everything all right? You look… tense.”

Daemon’s heart clenched at the sight of his wife, her eyes filled with worry. He couldn’t let her know the truth. The affair, the disappearance—it was a storm he had to weather alone. Quickly, he masked his turmoil with a feigned calmness, his lips curling into a tight, unconvincing smile.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice steady, though his hands still trembled slightly from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “There was a misunderstanding with the Tullys at the party. It got a bit heated, that’s all.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes searched his, trying to read the storm behind his words. “Are you sure that’s all?” she asked, her voice gentle but probing. “You seem more than just upset.”

Daemon stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to reassure her. “It’s under control,” he lied smoothly, though his mind was anything but. “I just need some time to cool down.”

She nodded slowly, though the concern never left her eyes. “If you need to talk, I’m here,” she offered, her voice softening. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Daemon replied, his tone warmer, though guilt gnawed at his insides. He kissed her forehead, a gesture meant to end the conversation. “I’ll be in my study. I just need to gather my thoughts.”

With that, he turned and continued towards his study, his expression hardening once more as soon as he was out of her sight. The weight of his secrets bore down on him like never before. The thought of you out there, missing, possibly in danger, consumed him entirely.

Once inside the study, he shut the door firmly behind him and leaned against it for a moment, exhaling deeply. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. He walked to his desk, picked up his phone, and began dialing furiously, issuing commands to his men with a voice that brooked no argument.

“Find her,” he repeated, his words a cold, unwavering directive. “I don’t care how you do it, just find her. And whoever is responsible, make sure they understand what it means to cross me.”

His fists clenched as he ended the call, his mind a battleground of fear, anger, and longing. He couldn’t let Rhaenyra find out, couldn’t let this scandal unravel the life he had carefully constructed. But above all, he couldn’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.

Daemon sat at his desk, his laptop glowing dimly in the darkened room. His fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard as he contacted everyone he knew—old allies, informants, anyone who owed him a favor. His messages were short and urgent, each one a call to arms in the desperate search for you.

But then, a soft chime pulled his attention away. A notification had appeared at the corner of his screen. His brow furrowed as he clicked on it, the screen shifting to reveal a video file. Hesitation gripped him for a brief moment, but he couldn’t afford to wait. He clicked play.

The video opened to a dimly lit room, the shadows swallowing most of the details. But what stood out, stark and undeniable, was you—unconscious, bound to a chair, your head slumped forward, strands of your hair falling across your face. The peaceful expression on your face, despite the circumstances, tore through Daemon like a blade.

His breath caught in his throat, the image of you in such a vulnerable state igniting a firestorm of rage within him. His fists clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white as he stared at the screen. The room around him seemed to blur, his focus narrowing solely on you.

The sound of his heartbeat thundered in his ears as he watched, helpless for the moment but brimming with a dangerous resolve. Whoever had done this had made their move, taunting him with your captivity. The video ended abruptly, leaving the screen black, but Daemon’s anger blazed brighter than ever.

His hand trembled as he shut the laptop, the echo of the closing lid reverberating in the silence. Standing abruptly, he paced the room, his mind racing with possibilities. Every second counted, every delay felt like an eternity, but now he had a clue—a glimpse into where you were and what you were enduring.

With a sharp inhale, he grabbed his phone again, his voice cold and cutting as he barked out new orders. “I have a lead. Find that room. Check every dark corner, every abandoned building, every place those bastards could be hiding. I want her found now.”

His gaze drifted back to the laptop, the image of you seared into his memory. His jaw clenched as he made a silent vow. He would find you. And when he did, there would be no mercy for those who dared to hurt you. They would learn the true extent of his wrath.

Daemon’s eyes were fixed on the video replaying on his laptop, scrutinizing every frame for any clue that could lead him to you. His mind raced through possibilities, trying to piece together the puzzle of your whereabouts. The dim lighting, the faint sounds in the background—every detail could be crucial.

But his concentration was broken when the door to his study creaked open. He looked up sharply, his expression softening just enough to mask the storm within as Rhaenyra stepped in, cradling their child in her arms. The sight of them, serene and innocent, was a stark contrast to the chaos brewing inside him.

“I wanted to let you know,” Rhaenyra began, her voice gentle but tired, “that I have to leave for Dragonstone tomorrow. There are matters I need to attend to.”

Daemon rose from his chair, crossing the room swiftly. He cupped her face gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Of course,” he murmured, his tone warm, betraying none of the turmoil he felt. “You should rest then. We both should, if you have to leave early.”

Rhaenyra nodded, leaning into his touch, unaware of the turmoil that lay just beneath the surface. “Come to bed,” she whispered, her voice laced with concern. “You’ve been tense all night.”

“I will,” Daemon promised, guiding her out of the study, their child nestled between them. He walked alongside her towards their chambers, his steps steady, his demeanor calm. But beneath the surface, his mind remained a battlefield.

As they settled into bed, Daemon lay beside Rhaenyra, holding her close as she drifted off to sleep. He stared at the ceiling, his thoughts consumed by you. The frustration and fury he had buried for her sake simmered just beneath his skin, threatening to boil over.

He couldn’t let Rhaenyra suspect anything, not now. Not until he had you back, safe and sound. For now, he had to wear the mask of normalcy, playing the role of the devoted husband and father. But once the lights were out and the house was silent, his mind would return to the search, driven by the burning need to find you and end the nightmare that had gripped his life.

Cold water splashed over your face, jolting you awake from the darkness that had claimed you. Gasping, you blinked rapidly, your vision blurry as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. The air was damp and stale, the faint hum of distant machinery the only sound in the dimly lit room. Your wrists and ankles were bound tightly to a chair, the rough ropes biting into your skin.

As your vision cleared, you focused on the figure standing in front of you-a woman, unfamiliar and stern, her eyes cold and calculating. She watched you with a mixture of contempt and curiosity, as if deciding what to do next. Before you could speak, her hand lashed out, striking your cheek with a sharp, stinging slap. The force of the blow left your face burning, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Please," you choked out, your voice trembling.

"What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?"

The woman didn't answer. Her expression remained stoic, devoid of any empathy. She stared at you for a moment longer, then turned on her heel, her footsteps echoing as she walked away. The heavy door creaked open, casting a sliver of light into the room before it closed behind her with a resounding thud, plunging you back into near darkness.

Left alone, fear surged through your veins, your heart pounding in your chest. You struggled against the bindings, but they held fast. Tears streamed down your face as the weight of the situation settled over you. You had no idea who this woman was or why she had taken you. The uncertainty was suffocating.

In the silence, your thoughts drifted to Daemon. You knew he would be searching for you, relentless and unyielding. He wouldn't rest until he found you. Clinging to that hope, you steadied your breathing, determined to stay strong. You had to believe that he would come for you, that this nightmare would end.

Your voice, hoarse from hours of shouting, echoed weakly in the oppressive darkness. You had called for help, screamed until your throat was raw, but there was no response, only the deafening silence of the cold, damp room. The chill from your soaked gown seeped into your bones, causing your body to shiver uncontrollably. The thin fabric clung to your skin, offering no protection from the relentless cold.

You had lost all sense of time, the absence of windows or any sign of the outside world leaving you disoriented. The darkness seemed to stretch on endlessly, an eternal night that left you feeling isolated and vulnerable. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on the sound of your breathing, anything to anchor you in the present.

In the depths of your fear, your thoughts returned to Daemon. You could almost hear his voice, calm and reassuring, promising to protect you no matter what. You clung to that image, whispering silent prayers into the void, hoping that he could somehow sense your distress.

“Please,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “Find me.”

Your heart ached with the longing to see him again, to feel his arms around you, safe and secure. The bond you shared with him was your lifeline, the only thing keeping you from succumbing to despair. You knew he would be relentless in his search, that he would stop at nothing to bring you back.

As the minutes dragged into hours, your body grew weaker, the cold sapping your strength. But you refused to give in. You had to hold on, had to believe that rescue was on its way. With each breath, you summoned the strength to endure, hoping that the next sound you heard would be Daemon’s voice calling your name, pulling you out of the darkness and into the light.

Daemon stood on the tarmac, his eyes following the private jet as it ascended into the sky, carrying Rhaenyra away to Dragonstone. As the plane disappeared from view, he reached for his phone, immediately dialing one of his most trusted men.

“Any updates?” His voice was clipped, laced with barely contained fury.

“Not yet, sir,” came the hesitant reply. “We’re combing through all possible leads, but nothing solid has come up.”

“Then dig deeper,” Daemon snapped. “I want every contact, every informant pressed for information. No stone unturned. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. We’ll find her.”

Daemon ended the call abruptly, shoving the phone back into his pocket. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck taut with tension. The frustration of your disappearance gnawed at him, the helplessness an unfamiliar and unwelcome sensation.

He turned and strode towards his car, his steps quick and purposeful. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he started the engine and sped away from the airstrip, the roar of the car echoing in the crisp morning air. The road blurred as he drove, his mind racing with thoughts of you—where you could be, who could have taken you, and why.

His hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as he navigated through the city streets. Every moment you were missing felt like an eternity. The image of your phone and handbag abandoned in that corridor haunted him, a grim reminder of how swiftly you had been taken from him.

As he neared the house, Daemon’s mind shifted gears. He needed to remain composed, at least on the surface. Rhaenyra might be away, but the rest of the household staff would be watching. He had to maintain the façade, to keep suspicion at bay while he orchestrated the search behind the scenes.

Pulling into the driveway, Daemon parked the car and took a moment to gather himself. His gaze hardened, determination flickering in his eyes. He would find you. And when he did, there would be hell to pay for those who had dared to take you from him.

Daemon entered his study, his sharp gaze immediately falling on Aegon and Aemond, who were seated casually, their expressions a mix of curiosity and impatience. He had summoned them here, knowing he needed all the resources and connections he could muster to find you. But the tension in the room was palpable, each man bringing their own agenda to the table.

Daemon moved to his desk, leaning against it, arms crossed as he assessed the two men before him. “We need to strategize,” he began, his voice low but commanding. “Every minute we waste is a minute she remains in danger. We need to track down every lead, every possible motive for this abduction.”

Aegon nodded, his usual nonchalance replaced by a rare seriousness. “I’ve already contacted a few people who might have information. We’ll get some answers soon.”

Aemond, ever the tactician, added, “I’ve dispatched a few of our men to shadow known enemies. If this is a power play, we’ll have something to leverage.”

For a moment, there was a semblance of unity, a shared goal. But then Aemond’s gaze hardened, his curiosity turning to skepticism. “But I have to ask, Daemon,” he said, his tone cold and calculating, “what makes her so important? She’s just your mistress, isn’t she? Is she worth all this effort?”

The question hung in the air like a blade, sharp and poised to cut. Daemon’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. A flash of anger crossed his features, his control slipping for a brief moment.

“She’s more than that,” Daemon growled, his voice laced with venom. “She is mine. And no one takes what is mine without consequence.”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed, but he held his ground, a subtle challenge in his gaze. Aegon shifted uncomfortably, sensing the rising tension. “We’re all on the same side here,” Aegon interjected, trying to diffuse the situation. “Let’s focus on finding her first.”

Daemon inhaled deeply, forcing himself to calm down. He couldn’t afford to lose focus. His priority was finding you, and petty rivalries would only slow them down.

“You’re right,” Daemon conceded, though his eyes never left Aemond’s. “We find her first. Then we deal with everything else.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of their mission pressing down on all of them. Despite the underlying tension, they knew they had to work together. Time was running out, and you were still out there, waiting to be found.

Daemon was pacing the room when Aegon’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere. “Daemon, wait!” Aegon called, his eyes fixed on the paused frame of the video on the laptop screen. “Look here, in the corner,” he pointed, enlarging the image to reveal a faint but unmistakable symbol etched into the shadowed wall. It was the sigil of House Baratheon.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing as the implications of the discovery sank in. Without hesitation, he grabbed the keys to his car and a pistol from the desk drawer. He was already halfway to the door when Aegon spoke again, his voice filled with urgency.

“Daemon, we need to plan this out!” Aegon shouted, moving to block his path, but Daemon brushed past him with a determined stride.

“Don’t be reckless!” Aemond added, stepping forward, his hand reaching out to stop his uncle. “We’ll go with you. You can’t just—”

But Daemon was already out the door, his mind singularly focused on one thing: getting to you. The roar of the engine echoed through the courtyard as he peeled out of the driveway, leaving Aegon and Aemond behind, their shouts fading into the distance.

The drive to the Baratheon estate was a blur, the city lights streaking past as Daemon pushed the car to its limits. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles white with tension. His mind played through every possible scenario, each one ending with him bringing you back safely. The pistol on the passenger seat was a silent promise of what would happen to anyone who stood in his way.

As the grand gates of the Baratheon estate loomed ahead, Daemon slowed, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of a trap. His heart pounded in his chest, but his resolve was unwavering. He was here to reclaim what was his, and nothing would stop him.

Pulling the car to a stop just outside the gates, Daemon stepped out, the pistol now firmly in his grip. His gaze hardened as he approached the estate, his mind a flurry of tactics and determination.

The hunt had begun, and Daemon Targaryen was a man on a mission.

The stillness of the night was shattered by Daemon’s furious shout. “Borros Baratheon! Get out here!” His voice echoed through the vast grounds of the Baratheon estate, filled with rage and desperation.

Behind him, the rumble of several cars pulling up signaled the arrival of his reinforcements—his own men, as well as some from Aegon and Aemond. Their presence added to the tension in the air, a silent promise of the lengths Daemon was willing to go.

The grand doors of the estate creaked open, and Borros Baratheon emerged, flanked by his guards. His expression was a mix of confusion and indignation. Before he could utter a word, Daemon raised his pistol, aiming directly at Borros.

“Where is she?” Daemon demanded, his voice like a whip. “Where are you hiding her?”

Borros raised his hands slightly, signaling his men to hold their fire, though they kept their weapons trained on Daemon. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Borros replied, his tone measured but firm. “You’re making a mistake, Targaryen.”

Daemon’s grip on the pistol tightened. “Don’t lie to me,” he growled. “I saw your symbol in the video. She’s here, and I’m not leaving without her.”

“I don’t have your mistress,” Borros said coldly. “If someone used my symbol, it wasn’t with my knowledge.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe him. Without lowering his weapon, he pulled out his phone and called his men. “Search the entire estate,” he ordered. “Every room, every corner. I want her found.”

Borros stiffened but remained silent as Daemon’s men and their allies stormed the estate, searching every inch of the property. The tension between the two men was palpable, each second stretching into an eternity as they waited for news.

Minutes turned into hours, and one by one, the search parties returned, their expressions grim. The leader of Daemon’s men approached, shaking his head. “We’ve searched everywhere, sir. She’s not here.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his fury barely contained. He lowered the pistol but kept his gaze locked on Borros. “If I find out you had anything to do with this,” Daemon warned, his voice low and dangerous, “there will be no place you can hide.”

Borros met his gaze without flinching. “I suggest you find out who really took her,” he said. “Before it’s too late.”

Daemon turned on his heel, marching back to his car with his men following closely behind. As he got behind the wheel, his mind was already racing, considering his next move. He knew time was running out, and failure was not an option.

Your head snapped to the side as the door creaked open once more, the dim light casting a shadow over the figure stepping inside. The woman approached you with a cold, calculating expression, her eyes filled with disdain. Without warning, her hand shot out, gripping your face roughly, her nails digging into your skin.

"Why?" she hissed, her voice laced with venom. "Why would Daemon betray Rhaenyra for someone like you?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart pounding with fear and guilt. You remained silent, unable to find the words to respond. If this was the reason for your capture, you cursed your own feelings, the forbidden nature of your relationship with Daemon now a bitter weight on your soul.

The woman's patience was thin. Frustrated by your lack of response, she struck you across the face again, the sting of her slap burning your skin. "Answer me!" she demanded, her voice rising with anger.

Your body trembled, the cold seeping into your bones, exacerbated by the dampness of your dress. You could barely manage to whisper, "I don't know."

The woman's grip tightened, her face inches from yours. "You don't know?" she spat. "You ruined everything, and you don't even know why?"

You sobbed softly, the pain of her words cutting deeper than the physical blows. "| never meant for any of this," you choked out. "I didn't want to hurt anyone."

The woman released you with a shove, making you stumble back against the chair. She paced the room, her anger simmering. "You're nothing but a distraction," she muttered, more to herself than to you. "Daemon will pay for this."

You watched her, fear knotting in your stomach. The reality of your situation pressed down on you, the hopelessness of escape looming large. Yet, through the haze of fear, a glimmer of hope flickered-Daemon would find you. He had to.

Daemon stormed into his home, his emotions a whirlwind of rage and despair. His footsteps echoed loudly in the silent hallways, his heart pounding with frustration. In the dimly lit living room, Aemond and Aegon rose from their seats, their faces lined with concern as they awaited any news.

“Did you find her?” Aemond asked cautiously, his single eye narrowing with unease.

Daemon stopped in his tracks, his expression dark. He shook his head slowly, the weight of failure pressing heavily on his shoulders. Without a word, he lashed out, flipping a nearby table with a ferocious roar. The crash of wood against marble reverberated through the room, a violent symphony of his anguish.

He didn’t stop there. His fists found a vase, shattering it against the wall. Chairs were hurled across the room, curtains torn down in his fury. The servants, startled by the noise, peeked nervously from the corners, unsure of whether to intervene or flee. The house quaked under the force of his anger, the once serene atmosphere now a chaotic tempest.

Upstairs, the muffled sounds of Daemon’s rage reached the ears of his children. They huddled close, fear and confusion etched on their young faces. Their father, the formidable and controlled figure they knew, was unraveling before their eyes, a man consumed by his desperation.

Aegon stepped forward, trying to reason with his uncle. “Daemon, stop. Destroying your home won’t bring her back.”

But Daemon wasn’t listening. His chest heaved as he stared at the mess he’d created, his mind a storm of worry for you. The thought of you alone, frightened, and at the mercy of unknown captors drove him to the brink. “I should have protected her,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Aemond, always the more composed of the two, approached cautiously. “We’ll find her,” he said firmly. “But we need a plan, not chaos.”

Daemon’s eyes finally met Aemond’s, his gaze filled with a mixture of hope and helplessness. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, trying to regain control. “I can’t lose her,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Not like this.”

Aegon and Aemond exchanged a glance, understanding the depth of Daemon’s feelings. They knew this wasn’t just about possession or pride—it was about love, however complicated and forbidden it might be. Together, they resolved to stand by Daemon, to do whatever it took to bring you back safely.

The sound of the door creaking open made your heart race with a mix of hope and dread. You turned your head, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that Daemon had found you—had come to rescue you. But instead, the figure that walked into the room was none other than Rhaenyra.

For a fleeting second, relief washed over you. She was here. But that feeling of comfort vanished in an instant when Rhaenyra’s hand collided with your cheek with a sharp, unforgiving slap. The impact stung, both physically and emotionally, and you recoiled in shock, your body trembling.

Rhaenyra’s eyes blazed with fury as she stepped closer, her grip tightening around your face. Her voice, usually calm and composed, was now a mixture of anger and disbelief. “How could you?” she hissed, her words cutting deep. “How could you betray me like this?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you couldn’t speak. You couldn’t find the words to explain, to justify the feelings that had developed between you and Daemon. Rhaenyra shook you, her voice rising as she continued. “I brought you into our lives, to help you, to make something of yourself—not to betray me! Not to sleep with him!”

Her accusations struck you like a thousand daggers. Every word felt like it was tearing apart the bond you once had with her, the trust that had always existed between you both, now shattered beyond repair.

You wanted to explain, to tell her that your feelings for Daemon were never meant to hurt her, but the guilt and shame suffocated you. “I never wanted to hurt you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Rhaenyra scoffed, releasing her grip on your face with a forceful shove. “You’ve already done that,” she spat. “You’ve betrayed not just me, but everything we’ve built. You can’t be trusted.”

Her words, cold and final, left you feeling empty. You had no defense, no way to undo the damage. All you could do was look at her, the woman you once admired, and feel the weight of your choices crushing you from within.

And yet, beneath the anger, there was something else in Rhaenyra’s eyes—a flicker of pain, a wound she was trying to hide. It was clear she didn’t just feel betrayed by you. She felt the devastation of losing her trust in you, and in some twisted way, it mirrored your own heartache.

But it was too late for apologies. Too late for explanations. The damage had been done, and no amount of regret could undo the betrayal that had transpired between you.

Daemon’s frustration reached a boiling point as he paced relentlessly in his office, shouting into the phone to his men. His voice was harsh, desperate for answers, for any clue that might lead him to you. The tension in the air was palpable, his every move filled with the weight of his failure to find you.

Then, Aegon, who had been quietly sitting at the desk in the corner of the room, caught his attention. He gestured toward his phone, his face a mix of concern and urgency. “Daemon, you need to see this,” he said, his voice laced with an unspoken dread.

Daemon turned sharply, his mind already clouded with worry, but the moment his eyes locked onto the screen in Aegon’s hands, his heart sank.

The video was dark, cold, and haunting. You were sitting in a dimly lit, damp room, your body trembling with the cold. Your hair clung to your face, your clothes soaked through. You were calling out for him, your voice breaking with desperation as you screamed his name, pleading for help.

“Daemon!” you cried, your voice filled with anguish. “Please… help me!”

Daemon’s breath caught in his throat, his grip tightening around the edge of the desk. The raw emotion in your voice sent a shockwave through him. Every instinct within him screamed that he had to act now, but the reality of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks.

He knew that room.

He recognized the cold, desolate walls, the isolation. It was a place he had used in the past, a place where he kept those who had betrayed him, where he sought to punish those who had crossed him. It was hidden deep within Dragonstone, a place known only to a few, a place no one dared to venture unless they were prepared to lose everything.

And now, as the truth settled over him, Daemon’s mind raced. His own wife, Rhaenyra, had taken you. She had done this. She had taken you, and she had orchestrated your capture.

Daemon’s heart burned with fury and disbelief. Rhaenyra had known. She had known everything. The betrayal, the secret he had kept hidden from her, it was all out in the open now. The woman he had once trusted, the woman he had built a life with, had taken the one person who meant the world to him.

He turned away from Aegon, his chest tight with anger and guilt. His hand gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white. His mind was a storm of emotions—rage, confusion, sorrow.

“Dragonstone,” he muttered under his breath. “Of course… it’s always been Dragonstone.”

The weight of the realization crashed down on him. Rhaenyra had known what was happening between him and you. She had seen through their lies, through their deception. And now, she had made a decision. A decision that would change everything.

Daemon’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenched as he turned to Aegon, his voice low and cold. “Get the men ready. We leave for Dragonstone now.”

There was no hesitation in his tone, no room for doubt. He would not let Rhaenyra have you. Not now, not ever. Whatever it took, he would bring you back.

As the plane soared through the sky toward Dragonstone, Daemon’s mind was consumed with the chaos that had unfolded. His thoughts spiraled back to the moment when Rhaenyra had asked for permission to go there, to handle affairs with the family. How had he not seen this coming? How had he been so blind to what she was capable of?

The weight of his own failure settled heavily on his chest. He had always thought he could control everything—his desires, his actions, his relationships. But this, this was different. The connection he had forged with you was a mistake he couldn’t undo. And now, that mistake was costing you dearly.

His eyes closed, a pang of guilt stabbing through him. The image of you, cold, wet, and trapped in that dark room, calling for him, was all he could see. He could only imagine how terrified you must have been. The fear in your voice echoed in his ears, and the thought of you suffering because of his choices made him sick to his stomach.

Aegon and Aemond, sitting silently across from him, exchanged glances, their faces serious. They had witnessed Daemon’s descent into turmoil but said nothing. They knew better than to disturb him in this state. His guilt, his frustration—it was palpable, suffocating even.

Daemon gripped his hair, pulling at it in frustration. “This is my fault,” he muttered under his breath. “I should never have let this happen. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to fall for you.”

The words tasted bitter on his tongue, and his breath hitched. The last thing he wanted was for you to be caught in the crossfire of his own mistakes, yet here you were—taken, frightened, and alone—because of him.

His fingers trembled as he reached for the bottle of water beside him, but it did little to calm the storm inside. His thoughts raced with a thousand scenarios, a thousand ways he could’ve stopped this, ways he could’ve prevented Rhaenyra from ever discovering his betrayal. But what was done was done. All that mattered now was finding you, bringing you back safely.

Aegon, who had remained silent for the duration of the flight, finally spoke, his voice quiet but steady. “Daemon… this isn’t just on you. Rhaenyra made her choices too. She knew what she was doing, and she knew exactly what kind of effect this would have on you. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

Aemond, usually the more stoic one, nodded in agreement. “But you still have to fix it. You owe her that much… and you owe yourself the chance to right this.”

Daemon clenched his jaw, his fists tightening as he looked out the window, his gaze fixed on the endless expanse of the sea below. A storm was brewing inside him, one that would only be quieted once he had you back, once he had righted his wrongs.

“I have to make this right,” Daemon finally spoke, his voice a whisper full of determination. “I’ll bring her back, even if I have to tear down everything I’ve built to do it.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between them. Aemond and Aegon said nothing in return, both of them fully aware of what Daemon was capable of when pushed to the edge.

And now, in this moment, nothing else mattered. The world could crumble, alliances could shatter, but as long as you were safe, Daemon would do whatever it took to fix the destruction he had caused.

Daemon stormed into the grand house at Dragonstone, his steps heavy with urgency. His voice echoed through the halls as he called out for Rhaenyra. The tension in his chest was unbearable—he needed to know where you were, needed to find you, to make sure you were safe.

Minutes passed before Rhaenyra appeared at the top of the stairs, her face a mask of calm, as though nothing had happened. Her poise was unsettling to Daemon, who was consumed by the fear of losing you. He stared at her, his eyes wild with desperation.

“Where is she?” Daemon demanded, his voice sharp with anger and panic. “Where is she, Rhaenyra?”

But Rhaenyra did not immediately answer. Instead, she looked at him with a cold gaze, her lips barely parting as she spoke. “Why, Daemon?” she asked quietly. “Why would you betray me for her? Do you really think I would not find out?”

Daemon’s frustration reached its peak, but he didn’t have time for her questions, for her accusations. He was done with this. The only thing that mattered was finding you. Without another word, he pushed past her, his steps quick and determined as he moved toward the basement.

The door ahead of him was close—he could almost feel it. But as he reached for the handle, a voice stopped him. Rhaenyra’s voice.

“Daemon,” she called softly, the weight of the gun in her hand becoming clear. “Stop.”

Daemon froze. The cold, unmistakable sound of a pistol being raised sent a chill down his spine. His heart pounded, but he didn’t turn around. He knew what she was capable of, and yet, his focus remained solely on the door in front of him, on you, who he had to save.

His voice was low, a growl of frustration. “Move aside, Rhaenyra. This isn’t you. Don’t do this.”

But Rhaenyra remained silent, her presence behind him a looming threat. He could feel the tension in the air, but he didn’t let it stop him. Not when your safety was on the line. He was ready to face whatever came next, even if it meant confronting Rhaenyra, even if it meant sacrificing everything to get to you.

In that moment, Daemon understood the true cost of his actions. But no matter the price, he would not let you suffer. Not again.

Rhaenyra slowly approached Daemon, her steps measured, her expression unreadable. She snapped her fingers, signaling her men. Immediately, they moved toward you, their grip firm as they dragged your trembling body from the shadows. Weak and drenched, you were thrown to the floor at Daemon’s feet, your body shaking violently from fear and the cold.

Daemon’s heart shattered at the sight of you—helpless, vulnerable—and yet, he was powerless to act. His body tensed, his hands itching to rush to your side, to hold you, to protect you from the torment Rhaenyra had subjected you to. But he couldn’t. Not with Rhaenyra standing in his way.

You let out a soft whimper as you were unceremoniously thrown onto the cold stone floor, your body unable to bear the harsh treatment. Daemon’s breath caught in his throat, but his focus remained solely on you. He wanted to rush to you, to pull you into his arms and promise you that everything would be okay, but he couldn’t move.

Then, Rhaenyra moved toward you, her expression twisted in anger. She grabbed your hair roughly, yanking your head back so that you were forced to look up at Daemon. Her eyes gleamed with fury, a twisted satisfaction in her movements as she forced you to face the man who had betrayed her.

But what happened next was not what Daemon had expected. His gaze met yours, and what he saw made his chest tighten—your eyes, filled with pain and desperation. You looked at him, your voice barely above a whisper as you spoke through your trembling lips, “Please, Daemon… save our child…”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop. Rhaenyra froze, her gaze flickering between you and Daemon, as if processing what you had just revealed. Daemon, too, stood frozen, his heart racing, his mind struggling to comprehend the gravity of what you had said. His world tilted in that moment.

You were pregnant. With his child. And he hadn’t even known.

Rhaenyra’s face twisted in shock, the shock that mirrored Daemon’s own. The tension in the room was palpable, thick with betrayal, confusion, and the weight of unspoken words. Daemon’s emotions surged—anger, guilt, and a deep, aching need to protect you, to keep you safe, to fix everything he had broken.

Rhaenyra’s hold on you loosened slightly as she processed your plea, her eyes wide with disbelief, but the damage had already been done. The truth had come to light in the worst possible way.

Rhaenyra’s voice rang out, sharp and filled with fury as she screamed. Without a second thought, her foot connected with your belly, sending a wave of pain coursing through your body. You gasped, curling up as the cold stone floor pressed against your aching limbs.

Daemon’s body stiffened in reaction. He took a step forward, instinctively wanting to rush to your side, to stop Rhaenyra from hurting you any further. But before he could move, one of Rhaenyra’s men stepped forward, the cold, metallic gleam of a pistol aimed directly at Daemon’s head.

Daemon froze. The cold barrel of the weapon left him helpless, his body taut with frustration. He stood there, powerless, unable to do anything but watch, his heart breaking with every agonizing second that passed. His eyes locked onto yours, filled with sorrow and helplessness.

He wanted to comfort you, to ease your pain, but there was nothing he could do. He was trapped.

Rhaenyra, her chest heaving from the intensity of her emotions, turned toward Daemon. Her face was contorted in anger, but there was something else there—something raw, something deeply wounded. She marched up to him, face flushed with fury, tears streaming down her face as she shouted at him.

“How could you do this to me, Daemon?!” she cried, her voice cracking. “How could you betray me like this?!”

Her words were laced with heartbreak and rage, the agony of a woman who had been deceived by the man she had trusted most. She was breaking before his very eyes, unable to hold back the emotions that had been building within her for so long.

Daemon stood there, helpless. He had never seen Rhaenyra like this—never imagined that his actions would lead to this kind of pain. His throat tightened, and though he wanted to speak, to explain, to beg for her forgiveness, the words stuck in his throat. All he could do was look at her, his eyes filled with regret and sorrow.

Rhaenyra’s anger didn’t subside. She screamed, her pain evident in every movement, her hands trembling with emotion. Her voice cracked as she shouted again, “You have shattered everything, Daemon! Everything I ever believed in!”

Daemon wanted to reach out, to hold her, to tell her he was sorry, but he knew it wouldn’t fix anything. He knew he had caused this, and now, there was nothing left to do but watch as everything he cared about crumbled before him.

And through it all, you—his love, his future—lay there in the shadows, suffering, while he remained a prisoner of his own guilt and her wrath.

Rhaenyra’s eyes burned with rage as she glared down at you, her breath shallow and erratic. The tension in the room thickened, the weight of the moment pressing down on everyone in the dark, silent space. Her hands trembled slightly, but her resolve was absolute as she aimed the gun straight at you.

Daemon’s heart skipped a beat. “Rhaenyra, no!” he shouted, his voice raw with desperation. He took a step forward, reaching out, but it was too late. The sound of the gunshot rang out, echoing in the small, dimly lit room.

The world seemed to slow down in that instant. You gasped, feeling the searing pain as the bullet found its mark. Time stood still as your body went limp, the excruciating pain taking over. You couldn’t process it fast enough. You tried to call out, to beg for mercy, but all that left your lips was a strained, choked gasp.

And then, chaos erupted.

Aegon and Aemond stormed into the room, their men following behind, moving quickly to subdue Rhaenyra’s guards. The air was thick with gunfire, the sound of combat mingling with the sharp cries of men in battle. Aegon was the first to reach Daemon, grabbing his arm to steady him as the sight of you bleeding on the floor shattered his composure.

Daemon didn’t look at them. He didn’t hear the chaos around him. All that mattered was you. His eyes locked onto your limp body, and without hesitation, he rushed toward you, his legs moving faster than his mind could comprehend.

“Please,” he whispered as he knelt beside you, pulling you into his arms. His hands shook as he cradled your body, the warmth of your blood staining his shirt. “Please, stay with me,” he begged, his voice cracking, the despair evident in every word. “For me, for our child… please.”

His hand pressed against your wound, trying to stem the bleeding, but the effort felt futile. He could feel your pulse—weak, faint, like a flickering flame in a storm. His mind raced, but there were no words that could fix what had just happened. All he could do was hold you, praying that somehow, you would pull through.

His breath hitched as he looked down at you, his world crashing around him. “I’m so sorry,” Daemon whispered, his voice broken. “This is all my fault. But you can’t leave me… not like this. Not now.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, and for the first time, Daemon felt truly vulnerable—his entire life and everything he loved hanging by the thinnest thread. He was terrified. The sight of you slipping away, of losing you, broke him in ways he couldn’t explain.

He didn’t care about his wife, the betrayal, or anything else. All that mattered was you—your life, your future, the life growing inside you.

Aegon and Aemond stood back, unable to offer more than their silent support. They knew the stakes were higher than ever now. But in that moment, all the Targaryens could do was wait and pray that it wasn’t too late for you.

Daemon, his heart shattered, held you close, desperate to keep you alive.

Without hesitation, Daemon scooped you up into his arms, cradling you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His heart pounded in his chest, the fear gripping him tighter with each passing second. Blood seeped through your clothes, staining his hands, but he couldn’t let himself think about that now. He had to get you to safety.

“Out of the way!” he roared at the men surrounding the house, his voice laced with panic and fury. He didn’t have time to waste on formalities. His only focus was you.

He carried you to the car, his movements hurried yet careful. Placing you gently in the back seat, he climbed in beside you, pulling your fragile form close to him. The driver, sensing the urgency, started the engine and sped off, the tires screeching as they left the estate behind.

Daemon leaned over you, his face inches from yours. His fingers brushed against your cheek, trembling as he traced the outline of your face. You were growing pale, your breaths shallow, and it terrified him.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please, stay with me. We’re almost there.” His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he continued to stroke your face, his lips pressing against your forehead. “You’re strong. You can fight this.”

He clutched your hand in his, bringing it to his lips, kissing it softly. “I need you,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “I need you. Don’t give up now.”

The car sped through the streets, racing against time. Daemon’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and fears. He couldn’t lose you—not like this. The weight of his guilt pressed heavily on him, but he couldn’t let it consume him. All he could do was hold on to hope that you would make it, that the universe would grant him one more chance to make things right.

As the hospital came into view, Daemon shouted to the driver, “Faster! We’re almost there!” The car skidded to a halt at the entrance, and Daemon didn’t wait for help. He lifted you into his arms again, rushing inside, yelling for assistance.

“Help her!” he begged the medical staff, his voice filled with desperation. “Please, save her!”

As they took you from his arms, Daemon felt a part of himself break, his soul aching with the thought of losing you. He watched as they wheeled you away, his heart in his throat, praying to every god he knew that he wouldn’t lose you tonight.

Daemon sat in the dimly lit hospital corridor, his heart pounding in his chest, each beat echoing the turmoil within. His leg bounced uncontrollably, a physical manifestation of the storm raging inside him. His hands covered his face, fingers digging into his skin as if trying to claw away the guilt and fear threatening to consume him.

He couldn’t sit still. The wait was agonizing, every minute stretching into an eternity. Somewhere behind those closed doors, you were fighting for your life, and the life of the child you carried. The thought of losing both of you was unbearable.

Aegon and Aemond had taken charge of the situation, dealing with Rhaenyra and her man. Daemon barely registered their presence. His mind was trapped in a relentless loop of regret and fear, replaying the events that had led to this moment. His betrayal, his recklessness—it had put you in danger. He had failed to protect you, and now you were paying the price.

Tears streamed down his face, silent and unchecked. He didn’t bother to wipe them away. His chest heaved with silent sobs, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. He was no stranger to violence, to conflict, but this—this was different. This was personal. This was his fault.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to himself, the words barely audible. “I’m sorry for everything.”

He thought about the last moments before you were taken into surgery, the fear in your eyes, the trust you still had in him despite everything. He had promised to keep you safe, and he had failed. Now, all he could do was wait and hope that fate would be merciful, that he would have the chance to make amends, to be the man you deserved.

As the hours dragged on, Daemon remained in that chair, his body tense, his soul tormented. Every sound, every movement in the hallway made him jump, hoping for news, dreading what it might be. His heart clung to a fragile thread of hope, praying that you and the baby would survive, that he wouldn’t lose the two most important pieces of his life.

Daemon’s head snapped up as the doors to the operating room swung open. He rose to his feet, heart pounding in his chest, as a doctor approached him, a somber expression etched on his face.

“The operation was successful,” the doctor began, his voice gentle yet heavy. “She’s stable, and we managed to save her. However…” He paused, his eyes filled with sympathy. “The baby didn’t survive. The pregnancy was still too early, and with the trauma she endured over the past few days, it was just too much.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Daemon’s knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, the weight of the news crashing down on him. His hands covered his face as the reality of the loss hit him like a tidal wave. His child—your child—was gone. His reckless actions had brought you both to this point, and now he had to live with the consequences.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled himself together, forcing his body to move, to be with you. Once you were transferred to a recovery room, he entered quietly, his steps hesitant. The sight of you lying there, pale and still, tore at his heart. He approached the bed, sitting down beside you carefully.

Daemon reached out, his hand trembling as he gently brushed his fingers along your cheek. Your eyes remained closed, your breathing steady but shallow. He took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss against your knuckles.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his grief. “I’ve failed you. I’ve failed our child.”

His thumb caressed the back of your hand as he continued, his voice soft, almost a plea. “I’ll make it right. I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts you again. I swear it.”

He sat there, holding your hand, hoping that when you woke, you could find it in your heart to forgive him. But for now, he remained by your side, consumed by guilt, yet determined to never let you suffer alone again.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @zaldritzosrose @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[paulyenvol6]

Acting Out Of Love

Based on this request

Your husband Daemon and you have an ugly fight after which you don't speak to each other. Your children are quick to notice it though and come up with a plan to make you reconcile.

I loved this request and I had so so much fun writing this so thank you very much <3 Also, please feel free to send me your requests and tell me what you would like me to write

Contains: angst, fighting, fluff

Wordcount: ~5.67k

Masterlist

You had your lips pressed together and head turned away.

Your hand gripped the edge of the table tightly, anger controlling your senses and you felt so heated that you just wished for a cold rain soaking your body.

"I said no, Daemon.", you hissed at him.

Your husband had his eyes closed as if he tried to calm himself but it clearly didn't worked because he pushed himself away from the wall against which he had rested and restlessly walked back and forth.

"And I'm asking you once again, why?! Why, y/n?"

You exhaled loudly and threw your hands in the air. "Because she is too young. I can't believe I even have to discuss this with you. Visenya is 8 years old. Not old enough to climb on a dragon on her own. She can fly with you but she is not going to take off with Sirmai alone."

He rolled his eyes. "Gods be good, y/n! Our daughter is made of fire. She belongs on that dragonback. It's where she is alive."

You laughed out madly and approached him with quick steps.

"Yes. I want her to be alive. And if she is on that dragon alone nothing can assure me that she'll get back on the ground alive."

Daemon shook his head and lowered his head. "Visenya claimed Sirmai, she is not going to get her in danger."

"But she is eight, Daemon! Saena was 10 when we first let her fly on Cloudchaser and Wyllam as well."

Your husband raised his chin and defiantly chewed on his buttom lip. "Visenya is tough. And she wants it too."

You threw your head back. "This is so stupid, Daemon. I said no. I'm her mother and I'm not going to risk my daughter's life because you act irresponsible and emotional and without reason."

"Oh so I'm the bad father now, is that what you're trying to say?"

You crossed your arms in front of your chest.

"No, but it in this case, yes. You're putting your honor as a Targaryen and as a dragonrider above Visenya's well-being."

Now it was Daemon who laughed and rubbed his tired eyes. "I can't believe you just said that…" He abruptly turned around and lifted his finger to point at you.

"I love our daughter as much as a father can love his child. But she is ready and maybe you can't see that but I can. I'm telling you, we should allow her to mount Sirmai."

You shook your head, trying to make your expression look as cold as possible. "No, Daemon. I will not allow it and so it's not going to happen."

He exhaled loudly and shook his head in disbelief.

"And I can't believe you are always coming up with that 'she's meant for it as a Targaryen'. Yes, the blood of the dragon runs in her veins but that doesn't mean that you can use that fact as a justification. She is still my daughter and as much as I respect Targaryen tradition, she is still half dornish and sometimes I have the feeling that you think of your side as superior and more distinctive."

He turned to walk away from you. "This is stupid…"

You glared at him and narrowed your eyes. "No it's not, Daemon."

"It is and I have no desire to listen to any more of your childish outbursts. I'm going to bed now."

You watched him with flashing eyes as he hasted through your chambers but before he passed you you held out your arm to stop him. Your head hit his chest and his eyes shot down to meet yours.

"You will not sleep in here tonight.", you whispered dangerously and Daemon frowned.

"You're not being serious, are you?" But you remained persistend and gestured to the door.

"I am. I don't want you in here."

He grinded his teeth and his eyes twinkled and yet he did as you had demanded and was quick to leave your chambers.

Once he was outside you inhaled deeply and sat down on a chair. You closed your eyes in a desperate attempt to make your boiling blood calm down but it took you some time until you opened them and you were able to think normally again.

~~~~~~~~~~

You saw your husband again the next day for breakfast. Your children were playing by the fire surrounded by maids and servants and septas and when you entered Daemon was just reading a piece of parchment but lowered it when he saw you.

You on the other hand completely ignored him and didn't look at him for a mere second. You had decided to give him the silent treatment and just act like he wasn't there. So instead of giving him a morning kiss like you usually would have done you walked to your children and caressed your daughter Saena's dark hair.

Your children were a mixture of your husband's and your features. While Visenya, Wyllam and Meradith came more after Daemon and his Targaryen looks, your eldest daughter Saena and Orlyn had your thick brown hair and darker eyes and skin as their siblings. Meralith on the other hand was the pure image of her father. Silver straight hair, light eyes and the only difference to Daemon was her darker tan. The girl would soon turn 6 and you lovingly watched your children while ignoring your husband's presence.

Orlyn, your youngest just brought you a little dragon that his uncle had gifted him for his name day and pulled it through the air.

"I called him Aero, mother. And when I have my dragon one day I'll call him Aero too."

You smiled softly and caressed your son's shoulder. "That's a name fit for a fierce dragon, my darling."

Your son smiled contendly and babbled something while shifting his attention to his toy again. You straightened up again now and walked towards the breakfast table, still not giving a glance at Daemon. He on the other hand watched your every move but when he realized what it was you were doing he lowered his head as well and folded his hands in front of him.

He was way too proud to give in and talk to you. He was pissed and hurt (even if he wouldn't admit it) but definitely wouldn't communicate with you about his feelings now that you seemed so indifferent. So his expression changed to cold as well and he leaned back in his chair grabbing the parchment once more and fixed his eyes on the letter beneath him. If you were to treat him like this he would play along.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next days you spent almost entirely ignoring each other. Of course you saw Daemon during the meals and when you spent time with your children but you didn't say more than necessary, never looked at him and especially never exchanged any sort of loving affection. You were stubborn and still furious and wanted him to feel that.

In your head Daemon had acted unreasonable and childish and you just hated it because you felt like he didn't actually listen to you. Why was it that you always had to keep a light head while he came up with dangerous ideas and plans and acted as if you were too controlling and scared. You weren't scared, you simply wanted your children to be safe, seven hells.

Daemon on the other hand was equally angry and couldn't understand your behaviour any better. To him, his suggestion was the perfect proof of his love to his children and he simply knew that Visenya would be perfectly fine on her dragon. He felt like you were controlling him and taking part in a piece of his family history that you just couldn't understand that well because you weren't a dragon rider yourself. Daemon was secretly hurt because in his understanding you were trying to claim that part of his identity and that translated in his anger.

And yet through all of his fury, he couldn't help but glance at you when you entered a room. Just like you also took care of him from afar, he had to make sure that you were alright, that you were eating enough and that you weren't overwhelmed with taking care of the children.

One time you didn't attend supper and Daemon had been worried when he found out that you had a headache. Everything inside of his screamed to approach you to take care of you but he couldn't get over his pride and he also wasn't sure whether you would even want him there.

So instead of visiting you, Daemon sent servants to your rooms every 10 minutes and ordered them to make sure you were fine and ask you whether you needed anything. In the meantime the prince walked up and down in his chambers and nervously nibbled at his nails. He hated this so much but what was he to do? He was a stubborn and proud person and remained angry with you. He certainly wouldn't be the first one to give and come apologizing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Four days after your fight, things shifted though because while Daemon tied his hair in the morrow there was a knock on the door.

A part of him hoped that it was you who finally wanted to discuss things but once he had ordered the person to come in the door slowly opened. He turned to see who it was and his face softened when he saw his daughters one by one peeking into the room. Daemon smiled gently and gestured them to come in. The three girls walked to their father who sat down on a chair and lifted his eyebrows at their careful and uncertain expressions.

"What is it, girls? You seem serious."

Saena, your eldest daughter nibbled at her thumb while glaring at her sisters.

"I-Is there something wrong?"

Daemon frowned. "What do you mean, darling?"

Now it was Meralith who stared at her father with big eyes and seemingly was sad. "You almost haven't spoken to mommy yesterday. And the day before. And the day before.", she mumbled and Daemon felt a little stitch in his heart.

He reached down to grab the girl under her arms and lifed her onto his lap. Then he caressed her silver hair out of her face and determindly looked into his daughters' eyes.

"Everything is fine, girls. Your mother and I have been very stressed the past days and sometimes there isn't a lot of time to talk to each other. But we cherish and love every second we get to see each other, alright?"

The only one who looked a little more relieved was Meralith on his lap but Saena and Visenya frowned and pouted.

"But it's never like that.", Visenya claimed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You never talk to mother or kiss her or even look at her."

Daemon shook his head. "I promise you that we have everything under control. In a few days there will be less things going on and your mother and I will have more time for each other again. You on the other hand – " He caressed his daughter's head. "Don't need to worry about anything."

Visenya sighed while Saena still looked suspicious but the three girls decided not to uphold the discussion any longer and told their father they would go in the gardens to play now. Daemon nodded feeling relieved and told them he would have to attend a small council meeting and reminded them of their lessons with their septa later.

What the rogue prince didn't know was that you just had had quite a similar conversation with your sons only a few feet away. Because Wyllam and Orlyn had knocked on your door even earlier. Orlyn with his four years was your youngest child and Wyllam had come to you with him because his brother had felt very anxious the past days because just like his sisters, he had sensed that his parents weren't on good terms with each other.

And so you had assured your sons that everything was perfectly fine, just as Daemon had your daughters. Of course you knew that you shouldn't lie to your children but this whole situation was already exhausting enough so you didn't additionally need your children to suffer from this. It was easier that way. Telling them that mommy and daddy were fine and they didn't have to worry about anything. And perhaps you would be. Maybe.

But Daemon and you didn't know that your children were way too smart to be tricked like that. They had left the both of you alone and pretended to believe you to some extent but once your three daughters had left Daemon's room and walked outside the castle to sit on a bench in the gardens Visenya looked at her older sister with a deep frown between her eyebrows.

"Do you believe father, Sae?", she asked and Saena thoughtfully bit her buttom lip.

"I don't know. I can't believe that we imagined this."

Tears were glistening in Meralith's eyes as she pulled at her sister's sleeve. "I-I want mommy and daddy to love each other.", she whimpered and Saena caringly wrapped her arms around the little girl.

"It's fine, Mera. They do love each other." But then she turned to Visenya again.

"But if father says so we are to believe him. He says we shouldn't worry and maybe – "

But her sister crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I don't care what he says. I know that something's wrong."

Meralith stared at her other sister now and pouted. "B-But no… Please Sae, do something."

Her eldest sister sighed and chewed on her lower lip. She wanted to say something when they were interrupted by their brother Wyllam who had sneaked up on his sisters from behind a tree.

"Arghhh.", he made and Saena shrieked. "Oh Wyllam, stop it."

Her brother laughed and held his stomach while Visenya angrily flashed her eyes at him.

"Not funny at all.", she hissed.

Orlyn stumbled towards his sister behind his brother and as with his sister Meralith tears swam in his eyes. Wyllam turned to him and then sighed.

"He is sad all the time and I wanted to play with him but he didn't want to so I thought you could take him."

Visenya reared up in front of him. "So you thought you could just bring him to us whenever he bores you?"

Her brother rolled his eyes and attempted to pat her head but the girl pushed away his hand. "Relax, sister. You are… girls. You are better with emotions."

That made Visenya jump at Wyllam and her fists came down to hit him in his stomach.

"I make you feel emotions now, you little – " Saena came forward and wrapped her arms around her sister to pull her back.

"Oh stop it, the both of you." Being older and stronger Saena was able to separate the fighting siblings and then once everyone was at calm again and Wyllam and Visenya only angrily glared at each other the eldest sibling kneeled down in front of Orlyn.

"What is it, little brother?" The boy sucked on his thumb and stared up to his sister without bringing out a word.

Wyllam shrugged. "It's because of mother and father. He believes they are fighting because they haven't spoken that much and now his whole world has been destroyed."

He rolled his eyes and indifferently plucked an apple from a nearby tree which he examined closely for holes or worms.

"Oh Orlyn.", Saena sighed and hugged her brother.

"I don't think there is reason to worry though.", said Saena then. "We've spoken to father and everything is fine between them."

Visenya cleared her throat while her youngest brother looked from one sibling to the other. "At least that's what he said. I believe that they have fought. It's always like this when they fight."

Saena shifted her attention from Orlyn to her sister. "What do you mean, always? They don't fight often."

Visenya rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know. But when it happens they always ignore each other. Like today and the day before."

Saena tiredly rubbed her eyes. "I mean… Maybe you are right after all. I sensed something as well but I thought now that father has claimed that we shouldn't worry…"

Wyllam had started to eat his apple but now that even his eldest sister doubted their parents' reassurances he also looked a little worried.

"I've taken Orlyn to mother in the morrow. He was so sad that I thought if we spoke to her, mother could calm him. But though she did, Orlyn remained panicky."

Visenya lifted her eyebrows. "You've spoken to mother? And she said that as well?"

Wyllam nodded. "Yes. She said that her and father were perfectly fine."

Saena put a hand to her lip and hummed to herself. "What should we do now?"

Everyone stared at each other as if they would find a solution in their sibling's faces but no one came forward with a suggestion. It was Meralith who opened her mouth first.

"I want mommy and daddy to love each other again.", she whispered again with her eyes dropped to the ground. Saena, who felt the most responsible and caring towards her siblings took a step towards her sister and pressed the girl's head to her chest.

"They still love each other even when they're fighting, Mera. They are just not talking at the moment but they are still in love, do you understand me?"

Saena kissed her hair and felt her sister nod slightly. So she pulled back, having made sure that Meralith was fine and questioningly looked around in the circle. Visenya cleared her throat and rested her hands on her hips.

"We should do something. Give them no choice but to talk to each other."

Wyllam agreed and nodded. "We could lock them in the same room.", he suggested but Saena shook her head.

"That goes too far, brother. And how would you even do it? No, we have to come up with something else. Though I'm not sure if we even should interfere…"

Visenya rolled her eyes and walked back and forth. "Of course we should interfere, sister. Otherwise they're never gonna speak again."

Her youngest siblings looked shocked at her words and fearfully stared at her with big eyes.

"Stop scaring them.", complained Saena. "She is not being serious.", she then spoke to Meralith and Orlyn. "Of course mother and father are going to speak again."

Then the eldest girl sighed and looked at Visenya. "Fine. Maybe we could try it. We should make them talk again."

Her sister nodded contendly and clapped her hands. "Perfect. I already have a plan."

Wyllam frowned. "You do?"

She nodded and pointed at Orlyn. "What is your favourite game?"

The boy widened his eyes and his gaze wandered over his sibling. "Hide and seek."

Visenya nodded. "Exactly. Mother and father will notice that Orlyn is feeling a little weary and sad. So he will go them, perhaps separately and tell them that he would love to play a round of hide and seek with the whole family." She smiled mischieviously. "And then we will manipulate the game so mother and father are in the same team. Then they will have no choice but to talk again and everything will be fine."

The girl smiled proudly and looked from Saena to Wyllam waiting for their admirations but her sister frowned.

"What if they don't have the time? Or they don't want to? Father said it himself, they're very stressed at the moment."

But Visenya shook her head and sighed. "You forget that this was only an excuse, sister. And Orlyn just has to be persistent with them."

"I can do that.", her brother claimed and raised his chin.

Wyllam also thoughtfully hummed. "But what if they won't talk? They can play the game with us and still just ignore each other…"

Visenya realized that he had a point and his sisters remained silent for a moment. Then it was Saena who shrugged.

"We could try it though, right? It's not a perfect plan but it's better than doing nothing."

Visenya nodded enthusiastically while Wyllam hesitatingly tilted his head but it was decided. Meralith and Orlyn were seemingly merely glad that something was happening to make their parents reconcile and so in the afternoon Orlyn shyly knocked at your door while your handmaidens were brushing your hair that always got so messy over the day.

When you saw who it was you smiled softly and sent away your servants. Your son still looked a little sad so you took him into your arms, lifted him and caressed his dark hair.

"My sweet boy.", you purred while holding him closely to you. Orlyn crouched against your neck which made you close your eyes simply enjoying the closeness to your youngest child.

"Mommy?", he then hummed against your neck after a while and you felt the vibrations in your whole body.

"Yes, love?"

"Can we play a game in the gardens? Please."

You sighed and drew your face in a painful smile. "Oh Orlyn, it's really… I have so much to do…"

Your son pouted at you and you felt a little stitch in your heart at his dissatisfied expression. "Please mommy."

You chuckled at his dark puppy eyes that looked so much like your little sister's and suddenly you remembered the way she had looked at you as a child when she used to ask you to play with her and so you knew you couldn't refuse your son.

"Alright, sweetling. What do you want to play?"

Your son shrieked excitedly which made you deepen your smile and his hands grabbed your shoulders.

"I want to play hide and seek. With Meralith and Wyllam and Visenya and Saena."

You nodded and put Orlyn back to his feet. "Fine. As you wish, love."

And so the two of you walked out of your chambers and to the gardens where your other children were already waiting. You hadn't lied when you said that you had a lot of things to do, but when Orlyn had come to you earlier to ask about Daemon and you, you had sensed that your son was feeling a little worried and anxious, even after you had assured him that everything was the way it was supposed to be. And so you had decided to make some time for your youngest son to give him your love and affection and make sure he didn't feel sad and concerned anymore.

Now you stood with your children but just when you were about to ask them what teams each of you were playing in Orlyn excused himself. You didn't see the wink that was exchanged between your son and Visenya because their plan was it to get your husband now and in that way give Daemon and you no choice but to talk about your differences.

You didn't know that though and just watched your son haste inside the castle with a surprised expression but were quickly distracted by Meralith who showed you a bunch of beautiful flowers she had collected. You admired and complimented each of it and were leaned down to closely examine the flowers when suddenly your daughter shrieked and twitched. A bee had stung her on her arm and tears filled her eyes at once.

"Owww.", she cried and you were shocked when you saw the sting starting to swell.

"Oh no no.", you made and grabbed your daughter's arm to look at the sting. The girl cried panicky while your other children gathered around their sister.

"What is it, mother?", Wyllam asked concerned and you kneeled in front of Meralith.

"Saena, get the grand maester. Quickly."

Your eldest daughter looked equally shocked as your other children and swiftly ran off inside the castle.

"It's alright, sweet girl.", you tried to sooth Meralith even though you felt really scared yourself. Her whole arm was swollen by now and your daughter looked pale in her face though you weren't sure if it might be caused by her shock.

"Everything will be fine, Mera. Just look at me and breathe."

You had to keep a clear head and clam your children who all nervously wandered around and Wyllam had started nibble at his thumb, a habit he had since he was a young boy.

"Mother what's happening? It looks so scary.", he asked.

You caressed Meralith's shoulders and tried to breathe steadily. "It's just a bee sting. Saena will be back soon with the grand maester and then everything will be fine."

Your daughter's cheeks were coated with her tears and you just prayed that your words would turn out to be truthful. And then finally your eldest daughter returned, old grand maester Simon hasting behind her. He was breathless and held his chest as he kneeled down in front of your daughter.

"Oh gods be good. What happened here?", the old man asked and Meralith's lower lip trembled.

You took a step back to let Simon take a look at the sting and wrapped your arm around Wyllam and Visenya. Anxiously you bit your lip and waited while watching the grand maester doing his work when there was suddenly someone else entering the gardens. You had totally forgotten about Orlyn and the fact that he had mysteriously left the scene to get back to the castle but now your son walked out with Daemon.

All of a sudden there was a tightness in your throat and you felt the need to cry and just hug your husband. He narrowed his eyes when he understood the scene and hurried to Meralith who was still crying.

"Darling! What happened?"

It wasn't you who answered though you wanted to. Simon explained it to Daemon while your youngest frightened son ran to you and pressed himself to your legs. You petted his hair while you watched Daemon talking to his daughter with his eyebrows drawn together. His hands held hers tightly and then you head Simon speak again.

"First she should go to bed now and rest. I'll bring the medicine that she might require."

And so your husband picked your daughter up from the ground and carried her inside with Simon following close behind. For a brief moment Daemon and your eyes met and all he could see was the worry and angst on your face. Then they were inside and as much as you wanted to hurry inside too to by at your daughter's side, you had to calm and be there for your other children now.

~~~~~~~~~~

And that you did. You stayed with Orlyn, Wyllam, Saena and Visenya by the fireplace, read them from their favourite books and assured them that their sister would be fine.

It had gotten late and soon Wyllam expressed that he was tired and wanted to go to bed so that was what you did next. It took some time bringing each child to their rooms, covering them up with their blanket (the only exception was Visenya who insisted that she was old enough to do it herself), wishing them a good night and promising them that in the morrow they could see Meralith.

It was the hour of the owl when Saena drifted off to sleep and you sighed as you left her chambers. Your plan was to finally look after Meralith but just when you were about to enter her rooms grand maester Simon opened the door and put his finger to his lips.

"Shh. She has just fallen asleep."

He closed the door behind him so you didn't have a chance to peek inside the room.

"How is she? Please, I need to see her."

Simon looked pitiful as he shook his head. "She is fine, my lady. She will be fine. But you shouldn't disturb her now, it has taken hours until she was calm enough to drift away to sleep."

You exhaled bitterly. Everything was just so overwhelming and the worry about your daughter restricted the air coming to your lungs.

"Fuck.", you breathed because you had held back your emotions all evening and now all you wanted was to see that Meralith was fine and not even that you could do.

"I'm sorry. But she needs her rest, I recommend you come and see her first thing in the morrow."

You nodded though you felt disappointed and sad. Simon bowed his head and then turned to walk away from you. You were left feeling cold and lonely and in desperation. You inhaled a few times and then unwillingly returned to your chambers.

Once you were there you felt empty and numb but knew that you wouldn't be able to sleep now. You wished you could fall asleep next to your daughter because you were certain that her presence was all you needed right now to be calm. Knowing that you were denied that, you walked up and down in your chambers so close to tears but they just wouldn't spill for some reason.

Suddenly there was a knock on your door and absently you called "Come."

Only after the words had left your mouth did you realized what you had done. You couldn't bare the presence of anyone who was not Meralith right now and you wanted to slap yourself for not thinking before speaking.

But when the door opened your eyes rounded and it felt as though a weight dropped from your heart.

Daemon stood in the door watching you with tired eyes that in an instant made a warmth spread in your body. The lump in your throat seemed to somehow increase in size and now you felt that the tears started to form in the corner of your eyes.

You saw him gulp and then walk towards you and without speaking a word Daemon wrapped his arms around you. You held him equally tightly and for a moment you felt so relaxed and at calm that you forgot every worry or concern and the comfort of his body so close to yours made a few tears escape your eyes.

"She'll be fine, y/n.", Daemon hummed against your hair and you nodded against him.

"Yes. Yes, she will be."

Then you pulled away from him but still had your hands on his shoulders. "Did you see her? Is she in pain?"

Daemon smiled softly and caressed your back. "I did see her. She was scared but… no, she wasn't in great pain."

Then he pressed you against his chest again so you felt the warmth of his body and now you realized how much you had missed him these past days. Gods, how had you done it? How had you survived without laying next to him at nights, without smelling his familiar scent?

"I'm sorry, y/n.", he now whispered against your ear and your thumb soothed his collarbone.

"Me too.", you said and then once again pulled back to watch your husband.

"I know that all you did was act out of love for Visenya. I'm sorry for what I accused you of and I know that I perhaps was too hasty and I… I didn't think about what I was asking of you.", Daemon stuttered and you smiled softly.

"And I shouldn't have said that you were acting like a bad father. I know that you're not."

He grabbed your hand while watching you with these puppy eyes that immediately made you melt.

"I know that you're right. Our daughter should always be safe and I-I don't know what possessed me. There's nothing wrong with waiting another year until she will mount her dragon and I want her to be safe too. I just… I guess I just felt hurt hearing you speak about how dangerous it is to be on dragonback. It felt like you thought of dragonriders as ridiculous and imprudent. And then... I thought you were trying to take this part of me and my identity away. And then maybe I was scared that you would never allow Visenya to mount her dragon and that made me act irrational and emotional. Gods… I know that it was so childish of me to come forward with this idea and stubbornly insist on it."

He kissed the back of your hand and then you reached up to hold the side of his beautiful face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to feel you like that. And I know that you acted out of love as well. I know that you're proud of your family and your traditions and I respect that so much, love. I know that you want Visenya to carry this tradition as well and share it with her and just like you, I can't wait until she will. I don't think of dragonriders as imprudent. I think of them as fierce and brave and I know that Visenya will do an amazing job."

His eyes lovingly looked into yours and he squeezed your hand tightly.

"Thank you.", he merely spoke and then you leaned forward to kiss Daemon on his lips.

That night you didn't throw out Daemon. That night you didn't feel cold or lonely.

That night you held your husband tightly with his arms wrapped around your back while your hands were buried in his hair. You both knew that it would probably get way too warm in the night because a thick blanket was additionally covering the both of you but you didn't care. All you wanted was to feel Daemon again and so you drew patterns on his scalp while the both of you drifted away with your thoughts.

"I love you, y/n. So much."

You smiled with closed eyes. "I love you too, Daemon."

And then you fell asleep with your last thought being that you promised yourself you would never let such a stupid fight get between you.

[fantasydreamland]

I think I might have a type…

[happilyhertale]

Fire and blood - Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Author’s note: Before I got into my usual summary, this fic is part of a collab with a bunch of my lovely moots! @lady-phasma came to us with an ask about period sex and Daemon and being as lovely as she is, she offered us all the chance to collab on it. Choosing our own characters and how to play the story.

Please find the masterlist of everyone's fics here.

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

Summary: You haven't been married to your husband Daemon Targaryen for very long - but you've learnt to enjoy your marriage to the Rogue Prince. But unlike normality, you haven't sought out Daemon for a few affectionate visits throughout the day, and that makes him suspicious…

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Period smut; fingering (f in v), p in v sex - implied

Word count: 2.2 k

Other stories of mine

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Daemon opens the door, but only darkness reveals itself to him. He raises his eyebrows slightly, but steps into your shared chambers. He is looking for his wife, who has been by his side for several moons now.

During this time, he has already become accustomed to you seeking him out throughout the day, sometimes just to get a little peck and sometimes because you want to tell him something - but today you have not sought him out.

His heavy footsteps sound in your chambers as he walks further inside.

"Are you hiding from me, woman?" he murmurs.

He walks over to a small table with fruit and sweet dishes on it. He takes a bunch of grapes between his fingers before letting them disappear into his mouth.

"Has another moon gone by?" he asks into the room and turns to your bed, where he recognises the outline of a figure under the covers. A slight grin plays around his lips before he walks towards the bed.

But as he gets closer, he picks up an unusual scent.

"What's that smell?" he asks.

And suddenly your voice rings out, "It's oak bark tea... My abdomen is a cramp," you mumble from under the covers.

He's still smiling and comes closer to the bed.

"What have we got here? I wonder what trouble could be brewing under here," he says, reaching lightly for the blanket.

"No... Go away," you say quietly and try to hold the blanket tight.

But Daemon pulls the blanket down further and kneels on the bed with one knee.

"Ah... there you are... what a view," he says sarcastically as the blanket reveals your face. Your hair lies dishevelled on the pillow, your face a little sleepily puffy as your annoyed gaze meets his. "Yes....my beautiful wife," he says and smiles. He pulls the blanket down further and a "Go away," sounds from you again.

He smiles at your words, "Why would I do that when I have such a sight in front of me?" he says, a hint of sarcasm still in his voice again.

You sigh and try to turn away, but you feel Daemon kneel down further on the bed and his hand grips you gently.

"Ah, ah, ah," he says and lies down next to you, his arm wrapped around your middle.

His warm breath brushes the back of your neck as he presses his face into yours, "What's wrong," he whispers.

You sigh again and already feel his large, surprisingly warm hand on your abdomen... a warm touch of your dragon.

"I'm bleeding..." you say almost inaudibly, but Daemon hears your words and smiles slightly. He knows how you feel during your period. You're vulnerable and sleepy. The cramps force you to lie down and only warmth and strange teas from the maesters give you some relief... well, and other things.

But you're his wife and according to him, you should always feel carefree - but he can't refrain from teasing you a little.

"Pardon?" he whispers, smiling slightly, while you sigh lightly again.

"I'm bleeding..." you repeat your words and mumble into your pillow.

"Love..." he whispers again.

You close your eyes and feel this inner tension that tickles your fingertips.

"I'm on my period," you say a little louder into the pillow.

"Love... Sorry, I don't understand," Daemon replies and his lips graze your neck.

His behaviour makes you seethe, why can't he leave you alone?

"Daemon! Seven hells! I'm on my period! I'm in pain and I'm bleeding!", you call out and raise your head slightly.

He chuckles, "It's fine... no need to shout like that..."

You shake your head slightly, wanting to push his arm away, but he has a firm grip on you. His hand slides slowly downwards, his fingers make light, circular movements and you stiffen slightly.

"Daemon, what are you doing," you suddenly whisper.

"I want you to feel good, love... It'll help you relax..." he murmurs into your ear, nibbling lightly.

You gasp and hold his hand back, "Daemon... there's blood... a lot... it's the first day..." you say hesitantly.

He continues to nibble on your earlobe, his fingers sliding along your thigh, not in the least impressed by your words.

"You know there's nothing to be ashamed of. A woman's body is a natural, beautiful thing.... It's beautiful because it's you," he kisses your cheek and lets his nose glide gently along it. His hand strokes along your thigh and you feel a slight throbbing between your thighs alongside the numbing pain in your abdomen.

"Do you want me to take care of you?" he whispers, kissing the soft skin behind your ear.

You bite your lip lightly, but you shake your head slightly.

"Daemon... There really is a lot of blood..." you repeat your words quietly.

He chuckles softly again, another kiss landing on your neck, "Love... a true warrior isn't afraid of a little blood..." he murmurs.

His hand slides further, "Just relax..." he whispers and you try. Slowly, you close your eyes and try to concentrate on his touch as a heavy breath leaves your lips.

Gently, he kisses your neck and shoulder as he holds you close."It's nothing to be ashamed of either. Especially not my wife. It's natural," he whispers in your ear.

His fingers pull your nightgown up, very slowly. His fingers leave a fiery trail on your thigh and you try to ignore the dull ache that runs through your abdomen.

You can't suppress it, your hips begin to move in slight circular motions as his fingers glide through your pubic hair, caressing you. You gasp as you can already feel his arousal from behind as he presses himself lightly against you.

His fingers reach their destination, slowly running along your folds, and you gasp again – your legs spread slightly.

"That's it... I'll take care of you..." he whispers in your ear and you nod slightly.

The sweetest moan escapes your lips as his fingers find your pearl and apply light pressure. Your legs spread wider and a smile graces his lips.

"Daemon..." you gasp.

"I know..." he whispers, nibbling on your earlobe again as his fingers rub gently over your clit.

"Your body is natural and beautiful. Even in all its bloody glory," he whispers and you nod, your breathing quickening.

He kisses you on the cheek again as his fingers tease over your glistening entrance, gently spreading your folds.

You feel the familiar stretch as his fingers slide inside you. But not all the way in, he teases you a little and you exhale heavily, your hips moving towards his fingers, longing for his touch. And then he fulfils your craving – his fingers stretch your walls, trying to find a good angle, pushing deeper. He revels in the slickness that coats his fingers, the evidence of your arousal mingling with the blood that flows.

"Feel how wet you are for me," he whispers teasingly, his smile pressing against the back of your neck.

"Daemon!" you gasp, but also a small moan leaves your lips.

He chuckles briefly, but your concentration is once again fully on his movements as his fingers penetrate deeper.

"Gods..." you gasp and he grins. Slowly, but firmly, his fingers push forward. He can feel your walls clench, longing for release.

"You know I love all the sounds you make, but I love your moans the most. I can feel your walls tighten around my fingers as if your body wants to hold me inside you while I make you tremble..." he whispers in your ear.

You moan again as his thumb grazes your pearl. He continues his expert ministrations, he is determined to make you forget the discomfort, to lose yourself in a wave of pleasure that only he can provide.

His fingers curl inside you, beckoning you as his thumb presses against your clit again.  You press your arse against his hardness and he moans into your neck. As he feels your hips moving towards his fingers, urging for more, he complies, increasing the intensity of his movements. He curls his fingers, angling them to hit that sweet spot within you, knowing exactly how to drive you wild with desire.

"Moan for me…" he commands, his voice laced with dominance, "Let me hear your pleasure, let it echo through these chambers."

And you obey as his fingers thrust deeper. He bites into your neck as his fingers tease your walls. His fingers continue their exploration, delving deeper inside you, seeking out the spots that make you writhe with pleasure. He maintains a steady rhythm, his touch skilled and attentive to your body's responses.

Smacking noises echo in your chambers as his fingers pump in and out faster. His fingers sliding in and out of your wetness with ease. With each thrust of his fingers, he can feel the slickness and warmth of your arousal, heightening his own desire.

He starts to apply more pressure and lets a third finger slide in. He knows what you like and he gives it to you the way you need it. He stretches your walls while they continue to clench around his fingers. Daemon's eyes gleam with a mixture of desire and possessiveness as he feels your response to his touch. He revels in the power he holds over your pleasure, his fingers moving with a practiced precision.

"Oh, my sweet wife," he murmurs, the words laced with a mixture of possessiveness and anticipation. "You are so responsive, so eager for my touch."

His body presses against yours, his hard length grinding against your backside as he continues to pleasure you with his fingers. His lips find your ear, his breath hot against your skin. Your fear of smearing him with your blood is forgotten, you need more.

"Daemon... Daemon," you whimper again and again, your arm reaching back, to the back of his head. Your fingers reach into his silky hair and he grunts. As he continues to drive you towards the peak of pleasure, Daemon's own desire grows, his need for release becoming undeniable. But at this moment, he's focused solely on your pleasure, on taking you to the edge and beyond, on helping you forget your discomfort.

"Yes... my love... Come on, come on my fingers, milk them like you always milk my cock when I fuck that delicious cunt," he growls into your neck.

And that pushes you over the edge. You cry out, your walls tightening around his fingers and Daemon grunts out.

You whimper, your hand gripping his hair tighter as he kisses your neck. Your eyes are closed, your breathing rapid as he pulls his fingers out when your walls stop clenching. A pleasant warmth flows through your abdomen, soothing away the pain more effectively than every maester's tea could.

As you catch your breath, you glance slightly over your shoulder and look at Daemon. He chuckles as he looks at his fingers, they're covered in blood.

"This is a sight I couldn't have imagined at the beginning of the day..", he kisses your neck again, "But I'm going to enjoy it“, he whispers into your ear.

"Daemon, no!" you say with wide eyes.

He just grins as you avert your eyes and blush. You hear the smacking sound as he licks his fingers.

But now you have to laugh as you stare at him again – his eyes are closed and he seems to be enjoying it.

"You're impossible..." you say softly as he still licks his fingers.

"Daemon, stop it!" you say and giggle, but he just grins and pulls you closer to him again.

"Delicious," he murmurs.

He starts stroking and caressing your belly again.

His breathing slows down as he holds you close. The sounds and smell of you, your little body in his embrace, it's almost more than he can bear at this moment.

He gently grabs your chin, as if he were holding something fragile and precious, and gently pulls your head upwards. When you return his gaze, it is gentle and tender.

"And you are my wife. You may feel sick, you may bleed, sometimes I may even be the cause of your anger. But that's all part of your body's natural rhythm. So please, my sweet girl, never hide from the pain, never keep your misery a secret. Otherwise, I promise you, it will cause me more grief than your blood..." he says gently. These moments with him are rare, but you savour them – your lovely husband. You lean towards him and let your lips slide onto his. He growls slightly and you feel his hand on your arse. You giggle slightly and feel his smile on your lips.

But the grip on your arse tightens and he pulls you towards him, positioning you perfectly against his crotch. He still can't hide his excitement and you gasp slightly. Your lips are still dancing around each other, you can feel the coppery taste on his tongue as he starts to undo his trousers. He growls again as his hand spreads your cheeks slightly and presses his hardness between your thighs from behind. You whimper as his cock slides along your folds.

"Let's see if we can give you a little more relief, shall we?" he growls against your lips and you moan as the tip of his cock presses against your slick entrance.

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[flowerandblood]