#daemon blackfyre x y/n

[novaursa]

The Black Dragon's Claim (runaway)

- Summary: Daemon steals you on your nameday, and the realm is never the same.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Daemon I Blackfyre

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Previous part: 1

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

The night air stings against your skin as Daemon’s horse thunders across the darkened plains, carrying you further from the Red Keep and deeper into the heart of rebellion. The wind howls, the stars above bright yet cold, as if they bear witness to the scandal that has just unfolded. You clutch Daemon’s cloak to keep from slipping, your body pressed tightly against his. Each thunderous beat of the horse’s hooves mirrors the frantic rhythm of your heart.

His men ride close behind, a shadowy army escorting their prince and his prize—the Targaryen princess now stolen from the very heart of King’s Landing. You know that soon the news will spread like wildfire. Every noble house, every smallfolk in the streets will hear the tale: Daemon Blackfyre has claimed you. The realm will break in half, some in outrage, others in fervent support of the man who now holds you close.

You should be terrified. You should be furious. And yet, a part of you feels alive, more alive than ever before.

The ride is long, the silence heavy, save for the pounding of hooves and the distant howl of wolves. You finally dare to speak, your voice trembling just enough to betray your shock.

"Daemon, what have you done?"

His grip on the reins tightens, and for a moment, he does not respond. Then, in that voice that has always unnerved and drawn you, he answers, “What was necessary.”

You narrow your eyes, your breath coming faster. “You’ve stolen me. Do you think the realm will let this stand?”

He laughs softly, a sound dark and dangerous. “Let the realm try to stop me. They’ve always wanted to see us broken, but now I hold the most precious prize.” He glances down at you, his gaze burning in the moonlight. “You, my love, are the symbol they will rally behind.”

You want to argue, to fight against the fire that rages between you. But deep down, you know he’s right. You’ve always been loved by the people, a daughter of the dragonblood, the one untouched by the ugliness of court politics. Daemon taking you as his bride will divide loyalties across the realm. But what is most unsettling isn’t that fact—it’s the realization that a part of you is willing to let it all burn.

You travel through the night, and by the time dawn breaks over the horizon, Daemon leads you toward a sprawling camp at the edge of a river. Tents rise like a small city, banners bearing the Blackfyre sigil fluttering in the wind. Soldiers pause in their tasks, watching with wide eyes as Daemon dismounts, pulling you gently down with him. His men bow, their loyalty unquestioning. They don’t see you as a prisoner—they see you as their queen.

He holds out his hand, and for a moment, you hesitate. Your whole life has been defined by duty, by what you must do for the crown, for the realm. But as you look into Daemon’s violet, storm-filled eyes, you feel the weight of something different—desire, freedom, and the thrill of the unknown.

You take his hand.

The men cheer as Daemon pulls you to his side, lifting your joined hands high for all to see. “I present to you,” Daemon declares, his voice carrying over the camp, “the woman who will stand beside me as I take back what is rightfully ours. My bride, the trueblood of Targaryen lineage.”

Your stomach twists at the proclamation, but you lift your chin high. You know that what follows will be perilous. You’ve stepped into the eye of the storm, where there is no turning back.

Daemon takes you inside the largest tent, which is lavishly adorned compared to the rest of the camp. The flickering light of the braziers casts shadows against the walls, giving the space an almost ethereal glow. Once inside, he turns to you, his eyes softer now, yet still filled with the intensity that defines him.

“You may hate me for this,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “But I will not apologize. I’ve wanted you from the moment I knew of your birth. You were meant for more than a hollow life in the Red Keep. With me, you will have fire, blood, and the world at your feet.”

His words stir something deep within you, something primal. The court had always tried to shape you, to contain you within their expectations of what a princess should be. But with Daemon, there are no limits. He offers you a crown not forged by duty, but by power.

You meet his gaze, and the space between you seems to shrink. “You’ve risked everything,” you whisper, your voice a mixture of defiance and awe. “The throne, the realm, even your life—all for me?”

His smile is slow, dangerous, but genuine. “I’d burn the world for you.”

There it is again, that reckless flame that burns inside him, drawing you in like a moth to the fire. And now you’re in the center of it, your future bound to his rebellion, to his ambition.

But a thought crosses your mind, one you cannot ignore. “The realm will come for us,” you say, your voice low. “My brother Daeron, the royal court—what we’ve done will not go unpunished.”

Daemon’s expression darkens for a moment, but his confidence never wavers. “Let them come. I’ve waited long enough to make my move. The rebellion was already in motion, but with you, it has become unstoppable. They will either bend the knee or fall.”

You shiver, not from the cold but from the realization that this is your life now—standing beside the man who has stolen you from everything you once knew. You are no longer just the beloved Targaryen princess. You are the queen of the Blackfyre rebellion, and the realm will bleed for it.

Daemon steps closer, cupping your cheek with surprising gentleness. His thumb brushes over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “You are mine now,” he whispers, his voice low and possessive. “And together, we will carve a new legacy.”

You close your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest as you lean into his touch. You know that this path will not be easy, that it will be filled with blood and fire. But as you stand here with Daemon, in the quiet before the storm, you find that you no longer care.

You are his, and the realm will know it. Let them come.

[frankcastleonlyfans]

part two of dad!daemon headcanon pleaseeee 😭

𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄, 𝐏𝐓𝟐:

pairing: dad!daemon targaryen x mom!reader

reblogs, feedbacks and likes are appreciated. i hope you like it!

warnings: fluff, daemon being an awesome dad, more fluff, just pure fluff.

    · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ୨♡୧ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

It's been five years since you gave birth to your last child.

You and Daemon had a beautiful baby girl, that he decided to name Viserra.

Since her birth, Daemon became even more protective towards you and the children.

He knew his brother wasn't going to live many more years, and Alicent was showing herself to be a threat on the council.

You tried not to worry too much, and also to keep him calm.

Daemon spends most of his days teaching sword fighting to his sons — and daughter.

Alyssa always wanted to play with your husband’s legendary sword, Darksister.

On her fifteenth name day celebration, he gave her her own.

"Valyrian steel..." She whispered, her eyes were full of emotion. "Father, I don't know what to say"

"All legendary swords have names. The conqueror had Blackfyre, I have Darksister, your brother Rhaegon named his Devour. What's yours called?"

Alyssa being your husband's daughter, you couldn't think of a different answer;

"Doombringer."

Daemon couldn't be more proud of his little knight to be.

But he was also worried about her.

Alyssa finally became of age, and Daemon's brother, King Viserys, thought it would be the best for the house of the dragon to marry one of his sons to her.

Of course it wouldn't be with the second heir to the throne. Aegon was already married to his sister, Helaena.

And, Daeron was in Oldtown, so certainly it wouldn't be to him either.

"What did you say to him?" You asked your husband.

"I said, I'm not marrying my little girl to that psychopath one-eyed son of his!"

"Daemon!"

"What? I don't care if he exiles me for the hundredth time, my daughter is not going to marry that freak! The kid killed cats for fun when he was 12, Y/N!"

And like a good father, he didn't mind making her company.

Fortunately, he could enjoy his youngest daughter as she remained the only child between his teens.

Viserra was curious and a fast learner.

Daemon usually took her for walks on the dragonpit to see Caraxes, but never to rides, because she wasn't fond of heights.

She liked to learn about the dragons but not to be on top of one.

She also loved when Daemon talked to her in high valyrian.

"Do you wanna know something interesting?" He said playfully and she nodded, "The valyrian word for "love" and "need" are the same."

"Really?" She gasped.

"Really." He chuckled, "For example, jorrāelagon ao. Now, what did I say?"

"Love you."

"Yes, but so is "need you". The phrases are the same."

"Jorrāelagon ao" She repeated, hugging Daemon's huge torso.

He loved his girls more than anything, but he'd always remember to pay some attention to his boys too.

At the age of 18, Rhaegon spent most of his time on the westerosi skies, riding his dragon, Araxes.

Daemon not only taught his sons sword fighting, but gladly showed them his amazing riding skills.

With the help of his father, Maegon finally found a dragon for himself. He claimed Seasmoke after Laenor's passing.

Both boys shared their father's adventurous spirit, and they loved to be on the air.

"I bet Aemond couldn't do this with that old burden of his!" Shouted Rhaegon, exhibiting his riding tricks.

"Vhagar can't even put herself in the air without falling to pieces!" Maegon mocked.

"She's so old that she saw Aemond's hair and thought it was Visenya taking her to conquer Dorne!" Daemon laughed.

His kids were his joy.

a/n: check out part 3 here

[doxypsychlean]

Hi! I love your writing and would have some requests. Maybe you like one or two of them:

a) daemon has quarrel with Viserys. The king accuses Daemon of things and is unfair.

y/n - female reader notices this and stands protectively in front of Daemon and defends him from his brother.

b)

For example, Daemon returns from the battle and realizes that female reader was very worried about him and was afraid for him.

c)

Daemon is injured and female reader, who hasn't seemed to like him until now, takes loving care of him.

d)

female reader has a conversation with Aemma where she talks about her feelings for Daemon. Daemon overhears the conversation and overhears Aemma describing him as a bad choice and a great misfortune for female readers. but reader defends it and describes what is wonderful about Daemon. it becomes clear that she sees sides of him that he is trying to hide.

Mueheheheheh or maybe, just maybe...I like all of em!

The Rogue Prince

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Different scenarios

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language, NSFW content(only hinted at, no dirty stuff acc being described), Mention of blood?does that even count?

Thou shan't repost/copy/ translate any of my work or I'll sneak into your home late at night and bite your left ear off!

English isn't my first language. I don't proofread. I slap commas wherever I feel they're needed.

A/N: Ugh, I had so much fun w this one. Hope yall like it as much as I did! Thx for the req btw!

A)

"You disobeyed my orders!"

"Because you were wrong!"

The two brothers screamed back and forth, neither one of them willing to surrender. Viserys ran a hand over his face as he sighed.

"You do realize I have a kingdom to rule,right? I cannot parent you, Daemon, it's enough that I have to deal with my daughter's antics!"

The Rogue Prince rolled his eyes at his brother's words.

"You compare me to a child only because I did what had to be done?" Daemon scoffed. "So be it. At least I'm a child that has some sense left."

"Sense? Sense?! Slaughtering half of Flea Bottom is you having sense?!" The King yelled out once more.

You and the Queen were standing off to the side, watching as your husbands screamed at eachother. Both you and Aemma knew it, Daemon was in the right. The Queen of Westeros gave you a look, as if trying to get you to stop the two men. It's been long since she'd given up on doing it, it was now your turn to deal with the Targaryen brothers.

As their voices got louder and the two came face to face, your words rang. Both men stopped and turned to look at you.

"My King... Apologies, Viserys." You corrected yourself as the white haired man gave you a weird look. You were part of the family now, there was no need for such formalities behind closed doors. "Viserys, you don't know what's it like out there. True, Flea Bottom has never been a good place, but it's been getting worse with each passing day! Murderers, rapists and thieves walk around the streets, spitting in the face of any authority! They know there will be no repercussions, no one to stop them! Something had to be done."

"Trust me, I know. But slaughtering people in the streets for everyone to see isn't the right way!"

"Viserys-" Queen Aemma tried to intervene, but her husband cut her short.

"No, he has to understand! This isn't what we do!" Viserys said more to Daemon, than the woman that was now standing next to him.

"Yeah, what we do is absolutely nothing..." Daemon mocked, turning to look at his brother again. "That's what you've been doing all this time- nothing! The realm would've been better of with-"

"With whom? You? That's what you've always wanted isn't it?!" The King shook himself free of the grasp the Queen had on him. Blackfyre was now pointing at Daemon's chest. "First it's the small folk of Flea Bottom, then it's my throat you'll cut! Isn't it?!"

In the blink of an eye, you found yourself standing in front of your husband, hand reaching out and wrapping around cold steel.

"Seven Hells, you two are brothers!" Your voice boomed as your grip on the sword got stronger. "What's it going to take for you to realize that you both want the best for eachother!"

The King was no longer looking at you, nor was he looking at his brother that stood behind you. His eyes were trained on your hand. Viserys called out your name, but you couldn't hear him. You've had enough of your husband's and your brother-in-law's stupidity for one afternoon.

"He doesn't want your crown!" You pointed from your husband to your King. "And he doesn't want to see you get killed in the streets of this wretched city!"

You expected silence. Expected to see them avert their eyes in shame. Instead, both Viserys and Daemon, as well as Aemma, were yelling at you to let go.

"For fuck's sake, woman! You'll slice your hand off!" Daemon said as he pried your fingers off of the sword.

You finally noticed it. The pool of blood on the ground. The angry gash on your palm.

"We have to take you to the maesters." Daemon pulled you away, only turning to look at his brother once you two reached the doors. He offered a small apologetic nod. Viserys did too.

"I appreciate what you did back there, but please, do not lose limbs over me and my brother fighting."

B)

The skirts of your dress trailed behind you as your ran down the steps. With the speed you were going at, you were sure you'll split your forehead open or snap your neck any moment now. It didn't matter. He had come back. You saw him. Or to be more specific, you saw Caraxes fly close to the Red Keep, a familiar head of silver-white hair on its back.

You were close. So close. Almost in the Great Hall. Then you saw him. The King was congratulating him on his victory. The whole place was clapping and cheering.

"You bloody idiot!"

They all quieted down. Even King Viserys stared in silence.

"My lady!" Daemon said calmly. "We won."

"Fuck do I care if we did or not! You said you won't be joining the battle!"

All the noble ladies gasped at your words. How dare you speak like that to the handsome young Prince Daemon, especially after he'd returned to the capital with that traitor's head.

"I lied." He admitted, a smirk on his face.

"You could've died out there!" You said as you approached him. The stench of blood and sweat hit you like a brick wall, but you couldn't care less.

"I didn't."

His hand went up to shake the crown he held, in front of your eyes. You were quick to slap it out of his grasp. More gasps and then murmuring came from the people around you.

"My lady, is that any way to treat a..."

He closed his mouth soon after he opened it. All the air in the Rogue Prince's lungs forcefully found its way out as you slammed yourself into him, hands wrapping around his neck as you kissed him deeply.

"Your dress..." He looked down at the now covered in blood and dirt dress that you were wearing.

"What about it?" You smiled up at him.

"You'll need a new one, this one seems to be completely ruined." He returned your smile.

"Well, not completely...I could think of a few things we could do to get it there though."

Daemon snorted, his eyes going up to look around the room. He snorted once more, once he noticed the disgusted and horrified looks of the people around.

"Never leave me like that again. Ever."

"I promise."

C)

"But he'll live, right?"

"Yes, your Grace. The Prince will heal, but he needs to rest for now..."

Slamming of doors interrupted the Grand Maester before he could finish.

"Where is he? Where is my husband?"

Bloodied hand rose from the piles of blankets on the bed. Then something rather weird happened- a giggle. Soft, innocent giggle.

You let out a confused sound.

"I gave Prince Daemon milk of the poppy, my lady. To help with the pain."

"Gods, I thought he'd lost his mind out there..." You trailed off as you neared your shared bed.

As your knees slammed into the mattress and your hands started digging around the blankets, two eyes found their way out to look at you.

"We won..." Daemon hummed.

"And you almost lost your life!" You scolded as you removed the blankets from his face.

"What do you care..." His head lolled. "I die and you'll be free."

"Gods, how much did you give him?!" You said more to yourself than the Grand Maester.

"Don't play the fool, wife."

"Daemon..."

"Don't, don't, don't!" He said with a mischievous smile, basically singing out the words.

"Leave us!" Your voice rang.

"But, my lady-"

"I wish to be alone with my husband, Grand Maester!" You cut him short.

The man only nodded, signaling with one hand for the others it'stime to take their leave.

Soon, they were all gone. You turned to look at your husband once more.

"Don't..." He whispered with the same smile on his face from before.

"Daemon, that's not true. I-"

You stopped yourself. You knew there'd be no coming back from this. The two of you had been cold and distant to eachother, determined to show the world around you that there's no way this arranged marriage would work. And it was working. Untill something inside of you both started growing...

It didn't matter. He'd probably not remember any of your words once the effects had worn off.

"I truly care for you. More than you can imagine. Hearing that you got wounded in battle was...was...Well, it wasn't good. I-"

He let out another giggle, eyes staring up at you.

"Ooh, wife, let me guess... You're about to profess your love for me?"

"Yes."

"Good. Me too."

You sat there, staring down at him in confusion.

"You mean...You love me?"

Daemon only hummed in response, his left arm shooting up and uncovering his bandaged torso.

"Join me. Oddly enough, I'm cold."

"Cold? I'll fetch the Grand Maester, this isn't right. With all these blankets on you..." You got back to your feet, ready to scream for the healers to get back inside.

Before you could get away, a hand wrapped around your wrist. You turned around.

"Stay." Daemon said with a wink.

You huffed as you rolled your eyes. Slowly, you made your way under the covers. A hand wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you closer.

"I really love you right now, you know..."

"You won't remember a thing of what you've said, come the morrow..." You whispered.

"We'll see..."

You laid there like that, staring at the ceiling above your head. When the sun came back and its light shined through the windows once more, a voice pulled you out of your trance.

"I really love you right now, you know..."

D)

The gardens of the Red Keep weren't the best place to hold private conversations that weren't meant for others to hear. Still, Queen Aemma insisted. It was a beautiful day out. The sun was smiling down at them, the birds were chirping happily. Nothing could stop her from making her way down to the gardens- not you, not the maesters, not her doula; not even her rounded, swollen belly. Well... the cravings almost did. That's why she had the two servant girls leave you and go bring something sweet from the kitchens.

"Dear girl, I've heard some interesting stories go around the castle."

You looked up, your delicate fingers stopping as they now held onto the braid of white hair.

"About a certain lord...and you."

"Oh, yes... There isn't much about him and I, your Grace. I declined."

"Sweet girl, while I understand Jason Lannister is..."

"A pig?" You offered with a laugh.

Queen Aemma laughed too. You weren't wrong, after all. He was a pig.

"...You can't keep declining all those proposals. Your father Otto, bless him, granted you the ability to choose your own lord husband. A choice many of us didn't get to make. But don't be mistaken, if he sees you cannot come to a decision, he'll make it for you."

"Yes, your Grace." You nodded, hands busying themselves with the braid once more.

"Has no one really caught your eye? At all?"

"Your Grace!" You said in pretend shock, both of you laughing once more.

"Well...? Woman to woman, is there anyone?"

"Maybe..."

The two servants arrived, each carrying a trail with sweets. Unbeknownst to you and the Queen, the two had been escorted back by a certain prince who now stood behind a bush, eavesdropping on your conversation.

He'd caught your eye long ago. You couldn't deny it, even though you tried your best to do so.

"Don't be shy now, do tell." Aemma's voice reached your ears. You almost missed it with the way you were staring at the servants, who in turn were looking over your head.

The Queen turned slightly. She noticed your expression, then waved off the two girls who quickly dissappeared.

"Well...?"

"Prince Daemon..." You whispered as your face flushed.

"Sweet,sweet girl." The Queen shook her head lightly with a serious expression. "My brother-in-law is...Well, I do not think your father would approve."

"He has allowed me to choose for myself..."

"And yet, he wouldn't consent to such a match. Daemon is...Daemon."

"I'm sorry, my Queen, but I don't follow."

Aemma let out a sigh. She couldn't, for the life of her, come up with a way to say it. Unlike you, the moment she saw the look on the servants' faces, she knew there was something going on. So as she turned to look at you, the Queen stole a quick glance at the bushes behind your back. Aemma immediately saw the Rogue Prince's silver-white hair on the other side.

"I do love him, dear girl, but Daemon is unpredictable. Spontaneous... Hot-headed. I do not wish to break your spirits, but I doubt there's any light left in his dark heart."

Your fingers stopped moving once more, as you came to the realization that your Queen's words had angered you. There was another thing gnawing at your heart- guilt. You knew she didn't say it with bad intent. Queen Aemma would never do such a thing. Not her.

"Pardon me, your Grace, but I disagree. There's more to him, I just know it."

"Pray tell, what do you see in the Prince?" Aemma laughed with a knowing look.

"He's kind. And compassionate. He protects his family, no matter the cost. He is fierce and loyal. He is intelligent, one of the smartest men I have ever met, if I have to be honest. But there's more..."

You took a long pause, eyes staring straight ahead. Aemma leaned back a bit, nudging at you to continue.

"... I do not believe the light in him has gone out, no. It's there, just as it's always been. I think he's just afraid to show it to anyone. To let someone get close to the fire that burns inside him. He's afraid that it will grow larger than him and burn everything in its path..."

"Beautifully said, sweet girl... If only you'd muster the courage to say it to him."

"If only..." Came a familiar voice from behind you. Then it dissappeared, off to find the Hand of the King- Otto Hightower. Single question on its possessor's mind. For Otto to give his eldest to him, so you could burn together in those flames. And leave no trace behind.

[novaursa]

Fire Never Forgets

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was not long before he noticed you.

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

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

It was the beginning of everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not ever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They didn’t understand. None of them did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, the victor was coming to claim his spoils.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[novaursa]

Hi!Could you write sth about Daemon Blackfyre, where the reader is aegon and naerys trueborn daughter ?I don't have sth specific in mind do what u like.I just really want to read sth about him .

The Black Dragon's Claim

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Daemon steals you on your nameday, and the realm is never the same.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Daemon I Blackfyre

- Rating: Mature 16+ (just to be safe)

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

The great hall of the Red Keep thrums with music, laughter, and the clink of goblets as the lords and ladies of the realm gather to celebrate your nameday. You stand at the heart of it all, surrounded by banners of black and red, the Targaryen dragon flying proudly above the throngs of well-wishers. The candles burn bright, casting a soft glow across the room, but despite the festivity, a sense of unease gnaws at you.

For tonight is not just a celebration. There is a war brewing, though the crown does not speak of it openly. Daemon Blackfyre, your half-brother, wages his rebellion across the land, claiming his right to the Iron Throne, the throne you’ve never truly desired but have always been tied to by blood.

You can feel the eyes upon you—the noblewomen with their envious glances, the lords watching your every move. Yet, above all, you feel the weight of the people's gaze. You have always been their beloved princess, the trueborn daughter of King Aegon IV and Queen Naerys. To them, you are a beacon of hope, a symbol of peace amid the chaos that threatens to engulf the realm.

But it is not peace that stirs in the air tonight. No, there is something far more dangerous, far more intoxicating. You can feel it in the shadows that flicker at the edges of the hall, in the way the knights and guards shift uneasily. And then, you feel him—Daemon.

He steps into the hall like a force of nature, the room seeming to hush in his wake. He is clad in black armor, his cloak trimmed with red, and in his hand, the unmistakable hilt of Blackfyre gleams. His presence is magnetic, drawing all eyes to him, but his gaze is fixed on you, and only you.

You know you should flee, or at least feign indifference. But the intensity of his stare roots you to the spot, your heart pounding in your chest. He is not supposed to be here, not at a celebration for the daughter of the Targaryens. And yet, here he stands, tall and defiant, with a look that promises danger and passion all at once.

Before you can react, Daemon strides toward you, his footsteps echoing through the silent hall. The courtiers whisper, fear and curiosity mingling in their voices. A few guards step forward, unsure whether to challenge him or bow. But none dare draw their swords. He stops before you, towering above you, his presence overwhelming.

"Princess," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. "I've come to claim what's mine."

Your breath catches in your throat. The hall seems to disappear, the music and laughter fading away until it's just the two of you, standing in the center of a gathering that feels more like a battlefield. You want to speak, to challenge him, to deny him, but something in his eyes holds you still.

"Daemon," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. "You can't."

But even as the words leave your lips, you know they hold no power over him. Daemon Blackfyre does not ask permission. He takes. And in this moment, it is clear that he intends to take you.

Without warning, he grabs your hand, his grip firm but not painful. Gasps ripple through the hall as he pulls you toward him, his arm wrapping possessively around your waist. Your heart races, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you wonder if you should resist. But Daemon’s presence is a storm, one you cannot hope to weather alone.

He leans close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Tonight, you will be mine. No more games, no more waiting. The realm will know that you belong to me.”

Before you can protest, before the shock can fully set in, Daemon steps back, his arm still around you, and turns toward the stunned crowd. “I take this woman as my bride,” he announces, his voice ringing out over the hall. “She is mine, as is the throne. Let no man dare stand between us.”

The room erupts into chaos. Lords and ladies shout in disbelief, some drawing their swords, others shrinking back in fear. The guards look to each other, uncertain, while the highborn women murmur frantically behind their hands. Your nameday has turned into something far more scandalous, far more dangerous.

Daemon doesn't wait for their approval. He pulls you closer, his dark eyes filled with triumph and something far more dangerous—desire. “Come,” he says softly, his voice meant for you alone. “We leave now, before they can stop us.”

You barely have time to catch your breath as he leads you swiftly through the hall, past the shocked faces, past the guards too stunned to act. The doors of the Red Keep slam open, and the cool night air hits your face. Outside, Daemon’s men are waiting—his loyalists, his army. They cheer as they see him with you in his grasp, their princess, their prize.

The black dragon banner flies high above them, a symbol of the rebellion now more powerful than ever. For Daemon has not just claimed a bride tonight—he has claimed you, the beloved daughter of the Targaryens. And with that, he has thrown the realm into greater turmoil. The people will rise, some in support of their cherished princess, others in fury that she has been taken by the usurper.

The world shifts around you, the night filled with the clamor of horses and the shouts of men. You are no longer the princess they knew. You are Daemon Blackfyre’s bride, and with that comes a weight you never asked to carry.

But as Daemon lifts you onto his horse and rides into the night, you feel a strange thrill deep in your chest. The rebellion has taken on a new life, and so have you. Whatever may come, you will face it at Daemon’s side, bound to him by fire, blood, and something far more powerful.

The realm will never be the same. And neither will you.

[novaursa]

Daemon I Blackfyre Masterlist

main list

- The Black Dragon's Claim - Daemon steals you on your nameday, and the realm is never the same. - mature 16+ (just to be safe)

- The Black Dragon's Claim (runaway) - mild 13+

- Fire Never Forgets - Daemon swears to have you. No matter the cost. - explicit 18+ (blood, gore, violence and all the other fluffy stuff)

[novaursa]

Another story by your choice?

Let's switch this around today. Your men come to you and say they've managed to capture an important Targaryen/Blackfyre leader.

It's here:

[novaursa]

Hii!!I love your work and I just wanted to ask u if u would consider making the daemon blackfyre oneshots a series?If yes , can u include smut aswell?

Hi! ☺️❤️

I wasn't considering it, as I have other works underway. I may reconsider expanding those one-shots, but not in the near future. Maybe once I have more free time on my hands. But I make no promises.

[novaursa]

Jump on the train these last few hours. 🙂

Another story by your choice?

Let's switch this around today. Your men come to you and say they've managed to capture an important Targaryen/Blackfyre leader.