#hotd viserys

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY AND PADDY CONSIDINE ON INSTAGRAM.

[novaursa]

Chasing the Inferno

- Summary:  It was during Rhaenyra’s and Laenor’s wedding feast, that the king noticed something he was blind to for far too long.

- Paring: targ!reader/Harwin Strong

This whole work is inspired by this brilliant anonymous ask:

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, has striking resemblance to her late grandmother Alyssa and is younger sister of Rhaenyra. These events happen after The Flames We Hide. To read all the chapters in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 3 532

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The evening air carries the scents of roasted meats, spiced wine, and fresh flowers into the grand hall, mingling with the vibrant sounds of revelry. The hall is a living tapestry of silks, banners, and candlelight, casting everything in hues of crimson and gold. A sea of finely dressed lords and ladies flows beneath the arched ceiling, the thrumming heart of the grand wedding feast of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon.

You arrive with the grace and splendor expected of a Targaryen princess, a vision that commands the attention of every eye that lands on you. The dress you wear is a rich deep plum, the color of ripened plums at dusk, lined with golden thread that shimmers in the light. The sleeves are long and bell-shaped, flowing with each movement, while the bodice is tightly laced with intricate embroidery of dragons in flight. Around your neck, a delicate chain bears a pendant of a dragon curled around a glittering ruby—a gift from your father. Your silver hair is braided in intricate patterns, falling down your back with hints of shimmering ribbons intertwined through each strand. 

You sit beside Rhaenyra at the high table, your twin sister glowing with happiness under her finely woven veil. She leans toward you with a playful smirk. “I see you’ve decided to steal the attention for yourself tonight, Y/N. Not even the newlywed princess is safe from your charms.”

You laugh softly, returning her smirk. “It’s not stealing, dearest sister, merely borrowing for the evening.” Your eyes flick toward the bustling crowd, scanning the faces, seeking a particular one even as you engage in idle conversation.

You find him across the hall—Ser Harwin Strong, the Breakbones, the man who has captured your heart in ways you would never openly admit. His broad shoulders and easy smile cut a striking figure amidst the revelers. He leans against a pillar, eyes fixed on you with a heat that makes your pulse quicken. Even from here, you can feel the intensity of his gaze, the unspoken challenge in those dark eyes. A smirk pulls at your lips. Tonight is not just about celebrating your sister’s marriage—it is a dance, a game of fire and shadow that you and Harwin have played many times before.

As the feast progresses, the lords and ladies rise from their seats, drawn to the center of the hall where the dancing begins. You stand, gracefully gliding down the steps, the train of your gown trailing like liquid night behind you. Many lords vie for your attention, each more eager than the last to have the honor of a dance with the daughter of the King.

You indulge them—one by one, offering your hand with a practiced smile that promises nothing but amusement. Lord Beesbury twirls you first, his steps light but unremarkable. Lord Tyrell is next, his flattery sweet yet forgettable. Each time the music swells, you shift, gliding seamlessly into the arms of another suitor, all while casting sly glances over your shoulder to see if Harwin is watching.

And he is. His eyes never leave you, following every step, every spin, the set of his jaw tightening each time you turn away just as he moves closer. You can feel his impatience building like a storm, the tension of the game heightening with every dance.

Finally, after what feels like endless teasing, you find yourself caught in a whirl of movement, spinning until you are only steps away from him. Harwin’s expression is a mix of hunger and frustration as he makes his move to claim you at last.

But just as his hand reaches for yours, you slip away, turning instead into the arms of a young knight from the Westerlands, offering him a dazzling smile that is only for show. “My, Ser Harwin, are you growing weary of this dance already?” you tease, your voice lilting as you catch his gaze. You can see the fire in his eyes, a silent vow that he will not let you slip away so easily next time.

When the dance ends, the Westerlander knight bows low, eyes filled with admiration as he releases you. And as you turn, Harwin is there—closer than before, a step ahead of any other. This time, you do not pull away when his hand grasps yours, his grip firm and warm, sending a shiver down your spine. His voice is low, rough with suppressed desire, as he murmurs into your ear. “Do you truly believe you can keep running from me, Y/N?”

You tilt your head, lips curving into a smirk as you meet his gaze fully, violet and brown heat clashing. “Run, Ser Harwin? I am only leading the chase.”

Without giving him the satisfaction of a response, you spin away from him, the hem of your dress sweeping across the floor as you are swallowed back into the crowd. You glance back over your shoulder just long enough to catch the frustration in his expression before disappearing into the throng of lords and ladies once more. Harwin will catch you like he always does—of that you have no doubt. The thrill is in making him work for it.

But for now, the game continues, and you savor every moment of it.

The night is young, and so are you—dragon-blooded and bold, playing with fire and reveling in the heat that comes with it.

The music swells, a lively tune that fills the hall with mirth and energy, but it does little to settle the unease that creeps into King Viserys’ chest. Seated at the high table, he holds a goblet of wine, though he has barely touched it. His gaze drifts from one side of the room to the other, watching the mingling guests, the lords and ladies spinning in intricate dances. Yet his eyes keep returning to the center of the hall, where Rhaenyra and Daemon move together with a fluid grace that borders on impropriety.

His brow furrows as he watches them—his daughter and his brother. The distance between them is too narrow, the smiles exchanged too familiar. Even now, after all these years, Viserys cannot fully discern what lies behind those shared glances. His hand tightens on the armrest of his seat, his knuckles whitening with the effort to maintain composure. The court is watching; he cannot afford to let his concerns show. Not here. Not tonight.

But then, from the corner of his eye, something else catches his attention—a flash of deep plum silk, a braid of silver hair glinting in the candlelight. His eyes shift, narrowing as he tracks the movement, and there you are, his younger daughter, Y/N, weaving through the crowd with that same effortless grace, the very image of your late mother Alyssa in her youth.

Viserys watches as you glide from one partner to the next, a playful smile ever present on your lips. Each lord who steps forward is charmed, entranced even, but there is one figure whose presence never strays far from your orbit—Ser Harwin Strong. The son of his current Hand, a man known for his strength and loyalty, but also for the intensity of his gaze, a gaze that now rests solely on you. 

Viserys leans forward slightly, frowning as he observes the exchange unfolding before him. Harwin moves closer, clearly intent on catching you, and you—ever the playful one—tease him with fleeting glances, spinning just out of his reach each time he draws near. The way your eyes gleam with mischief, the way you turn your back only to glance over your shoulder at him, invites more than just a dance. It’s a game, and one that is all too familiar to Viserys, who remembers his own youth, and the thrill of such pursuits.

But then Harwin catches you. His large hand wraps around your waist, pulling you closer, closer than what is proper for a dance in front of the entire court. Your laughter rings out like silver bells, light and teasing as you push back against him, yet the way Harwin’s hand lingers—fingers splayed possessively against the silk of your gown—does not escape your father’s notice. The look on Harwin’s face is far too unguarded, a mixture of admiration and longing that sends a jolt of concern racing through Viserys.

Viserys’ chest tightens as he watches you lean in, saying something that makes Harwin’s smile sharpen, though the words are lost to the music and laughter that fills the hall. Then, just as quickly as he caught you, you slip away again, your skirts swirling as you twirl out of his grasp, leaving Harwin standing in the middle of the floor with a look of mingled frustration and desire. The scene plays out before Viserys like a vivid memory, like something he should have noticed sooner, something he should have acted upon long before tonight.

His eyes narrow as he follows the thread of events with growing unease. You laugh and dance your way out of the hall, light-footed and swift, and though Harwin remains behind for a few moments, his gaze tracks you with the keen eye of a falcon. Then, as discreetly as he can manage, Harwin moves toward the exit, following you.

Viserys’ grip on his goblet tightens until he fears it might shatter in his hand. He remains rooted to his seat, unwilling to cause a scene, yet the implications churn in his mind like a dark tide. The daughter who bears his blood, a Targaryen of pure lineage, slipping away with the son of his Hand? It is unthinkable—and yet, Viserys cannot ignore the undeniable connection between the two of you. The way you moved in tandem, how easily you played off one another as if you were two parts of a whole. It stirs something in Viserys, a deep-seated dread that this could lead to something more—something he has not prepared for.

His gaze shifts, and he meets the eyes of Lord Lyonel Strong. The Hand is seated farther down the table, looking distinctly uncomfortable, as though he too is aware of the precarious position his son is placing him in. When their eyes lock, Viserys does not miss the brief flash of unease in Lyonel’s expression, followed quickly by a nod of acknowledgment, as if to say he understands what Viserys is thinking. And, undoubtedly, he does.

The memory rushes back, clear as day—months ago, when Lyonel Strong came to him with a proposition a second time. “Your Grace,” Lyonel had said, his voice steady and filled with the gravity of a man who understood the weight of his words, “there are many fine matches to be made for your daughter, Y/N, from prominent houses across the realm. But I would humbly suggest that what my son Harwin offers may be worth more than mere lineage. His devotion to the princess is unwavering, and his love is without question. He would be a husband who honors her above all else, a union built on something deeper than mere alliances.”

At the time, Viserys had dismissed the notion—politely, but firmly. His daughter was a Targaryen, and surely she deserved a match that would strengthen their house politically, not merely satisfy matters of the heart. Yet now, watching the scene unfold before him, Viserys finds himself second-guessing his decision. Could there be merit in such a match after all? Could Lyonel’s words hold more truth than Viserys had been willing to see? But then again, to allow such a thing would be to acknowledge a love affair that has clearly grown far beyond simple courtly affection.

Viserys’ thoughts whirl, torn between the duty of a king and the love of a father. He knows that if he raises the matter now, it could cast a shadow over the entire evening, drawing unwelcome attention to something that should remain hidden, if only for the sake of peace. And yet, can he afford to remain silent, knowing the path that such unchecked desire could lead his daughter down? His gaze flicks back to the entrance where you vanished, and a part of him itches to rise from his seat, to go after you and demand answers.

But he stays rooted in place, forced into inaction by the eyes of the court and the weight of his crown. Instead, his gaze returns to Lyonel, and he sees the older man swallow nervously before looking away, clearly wishing to be anywhere else. The tension between them is palpable, unspoken yet undeniable.

Viserys takes a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. The decision he makes next could have lasting consequences, for both you and the realm. As the music swells and the laughter of the court continues around him, the king’s mind churns, trapped in a web of duty, love, and fear.

For now, he decides to wait—he will watch, and if Harwin oversteps again, then the matter will be brought to light. But the seed of doubt has already taken root in Viserys’ heart, and it will not be easily dismissed.

The night is long, but Viserys’ thoughts are longer still.

You slip through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, your heart thrumming in your chest as you make your way deeper into its shadowed recesses. The sound of music and laughter fades behind you as you reach a secluded passage, hidden away from the eyes of the court. This path is familiar, a secret shared only between the two of you. You’ve met here before, during stolen moments when the weight of duty and the eyes of others became too much to bear. The flickering torchlight casts long shadows along the stone walls, giving the space an almost dreamlike quality. Yet there is nothing dreamlike about the tension that crackles in the air as you wait, anticipation coiling like a serpent beneath your skin.

Footsteps echo faintly down the passage, the heavy tread unmistakable. A smirk tugs at your lips as you press your back against the cool stone, the thrill of the chase still buzzing in your veins. He always catches you in the end; it’s a part of the game, a part of the dance you both know so well. You hear him approach, his steps purposeful, a hunter closing in on his prey. You hold your breath, relishing the thrill of being caught, knowing what comes next.

And then he’s there—Ser Harwin Strong, towering and fierce, the firelight casting sharp angles across his rugged features. He looks at you with that smoldering gaze, dark and intense, his chest heaving as he closes the distance between you. “You run from me as if you ever wanted to get away,” he says, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

You don’t reply with words, only a wicked smile that dares him to come closer. And he does, with a predatory grace, until his body is pressed against yours, trapping you between the stone wall and his broad chest. “Caught you,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear, one hand sliding up to cradle your jaw while the other grips your waist possessively.

Before you can retort, his lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s all fire and hunger, the pent-up tension of the night spilling over as he devours you with a need that’s impossible to hide. You kiss him back with equal fervor, fingers tangling in his dark curls as you pull him closer, desperate to close the distance that’s been kept between you all night. Every touch, every bite and nip, is laced with the emotions you can’t express openly—a love too dangerous to voice in the light of day, but undeniable in moments like this.

Harwin’s hands roam over your body with a familiarity that sends heat pooling in your core. He tugs at the laces of your gown, his fingers rough but practiced, until the fabric loosens and falls away, exposing the soft skin of your neck and shoulders. You gasp against his lips as he nips at your throat, the scrape of his teeth drawing a moan from your lips. His own garments follow suit—his tunic and belt discarded hastily, the sound of cloth hitting stone echoing faintly in the small space.

The air between you crackles with a desperate need, the kind that’s built up over countless stolen moments, secret touches, and longing glances. There’s no pretense here, no titles or duties—only the raw, unfiltered connection between you. Harwin’s hands slide down your waist, gripping your hips firmly as he lifts you, pressing you harder against the wall. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, gasping as you feel him against you, hard and ready. The anticipation coils tightly in your belly, every nerve alive with want.

His eyes meet yours for a fleeting moment, and in them, you see everything he can’t say aloud—devotion, desire, and the promise that he would burn the world for you if you asked. But words are unnecessary now. You reach down, guiding him until he’s pressed right where you need him most. There’s a brief, charged pause—a moment where everything hangs on the edge—and then he pushes into you in one smooth, powerful motion.

The world tilts, pleasure and need blurring everything else as he sets a rhythm, hard and fast, the way he knows you both like it. It’s familiar and yet never loses its edge—each thrust, each gasp, sending sparks of electricity through you. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, biting down on the rough skin to muffle your cries, while his own growls of pleasure vibrate against your ear. His hands grip you tightly, fingers digging into your flesh as he moves, driving into you with a force that leaves you breathless.

But it’s not just the physical pleasure that binds you in this moment. It’s the intimacy, the shared understanding that this is where you both belong—together, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world. Here, you are not a princess, and he is not merely the son of the Hand. Here, you are simply two people who have found something rare and precious, something that defies the rules of the world you live in.

He kisses you again, slower this time, a searing heat beneath the tenderness as he deepens the connection between you. Your bodies move in sync, finding that perfect rhythm that drives you both higher, closer to the edge. You can feel it building, a tightening coil of pleasure that threatens to snap at any moment. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, a desperate plea, and he responds with your name in kind, low and reverent.

The world narrows to just the two of you—the heat of his body, the rough press of stone at your back, the intoxicating scent of sweat and desire. And then, with one final thrust, the tension breaks, pleasure crashing over you like a wave, drowning you in bliss. Harwin follows a heartbeat later, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he buries himself deep, his body trembling with the force of his release.

For a long moment, neither of you move, the air thick with the aftermath of your passion. You stay entwined, foreheads pressed together as you catch your breath, your heartbeats slowing in tandem. His hands are still on you, holding you as if he’s afraid you might slip away even now. And for a moment, the world is quiet, all worries and responsibilities forgotten in the haze of sated desire.

But reality is never far away. Slowly, you both come back to yourselves, and he reluctantly pulls back, letting you slide down until your feet touch the ground once more. There’s a flicker of regret in his eyes, a wish that this moment could last longer, but he says nothing as he helps you adjust your gown, his touch gentle now.

You smooth down your skirts, fixing your hair with a practiced ease, though the flush of your skin and the brightness in your eyes would give you away to anyone who looked closely enough. Harwin lingers, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a soft, almost reverent caress. “You always make me chase you,” he murmurs, his voice laced with fondness.“

And you always catch me,” you reply, the smile on your lips tinged with affection. “Perhaps I simply enjoy the chase.”

He chuckles, but there’s a seriousness in his gaze as he cups your face in his hands, holding you still for a moment longer. “One day, I won’t let you run again,” he says quietly, the promise heavy in the air.

You don’t answer, not with words. Instead, you lean up to kiss him one last time, slow and lingering, tasting the bittersweet mix of what you have and what you cannot yet fully claim. When you pull away, you give him a final smile before slipping out of the shadows and back into the world where duty and decorum await.

Harwin remains behind, watching you go with a look that holds both longing and resolve. He knows this is far from over.

[folkloreandfable]

Redamancy (J. V)《《《

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targtower!Aunt!reader Warnings: None Tags: No dance AU, idiots in love, regency romance inspired Synopsis: Queen Alicent has arranged for her youngest daughter to find a suitable marriage partner, and Jace knows there is no better match than him. A/N: I wrote this drabble to get out of a writer's block. No beta as of yet.

Jacaerys Velaryon was in love with his aunt since their minority. It was no secret since he did a rather shoddy job of hiding his affections for the youngest, Lady Targaryen. They’ve exchanged missives over the years but have not seen each other since the incident in Driftmark. How he yearned to gaze upon her once more, see her smile, feel her warmth. For the past six years, he feared the possibility of her being swept away by another. Alicent Hightower would never wed her daughter to him if her saying no for Helaena was any indication. Though he was grateful for that rejection. He had several ideas, some involved asking his mother to petition King Viserys, who rarely refused her. Others involved stealing her away to Dragonstone in the dead of night himself. In her more recent letters, y/n mentioned that Alicent would be holding interviews for potential marriage candidates. At first it sent him into a panic until he realised the opportunity it presented.

»»———-　˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀　———-««

Marriage to a princess of the Dragon house was indeed a grave affair. Many assumed she would be wedded to her brother Aemond. And Alicent did wish for it as well, but Viserys shut down the suggestion. It would be more fruitful to use this as an opportunity to form alliances with other houses instead. So began the tedious process. You were halfway to sleep by the time the candidate from house Rosby left the parlor. Your options so far were too old, too lecherous, too vain or too unsightly. Most of them were all four. And you prayed for it to end. Alicent only gave you a sympathetic look, since her fate was not far off from what yours would be. She placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, ready to call it a day, when a servant came knocking. “Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon seek an audience, my queen.” Alicent’s grip tightened on you, but she gestured for the servants to let them in anyway. And soon enough, came in Rhaenyra with Jace in tow. Your Jace, for whom you have longed for and pretended to not realise his longing for you. He has grown into a fine young man with strong features and thick black curls. “Your grace,” he bowed to Alicent before locking his gaze with you, which released a thousand butterflies in your stomach. “My lady,” he gallantly took your and placed a kiss on the back, which lasted a touch longer than appropriate. You felt your mother stiffen up, but decided to focus more on the lingering warmth from Jacaery’s lips. “Princess Rhaenyra,” Alicent flatly began. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Rhaenyra smiled in response, not at all bothered by Alicent’s disdain. “I heard you were interviewing candidates for my dearest sister. I could not possibly allow it to conclude before the most suitable one had a chance.” “Yes!” you blurted out, unable to stop the grin forming on your lips until you realised everyone’s eyes were now on you and you flushed in embarrassment but quickly regained your composure. “I mean, it would be an honour.” Jace suppressed the laugh forming in his throat so you did not think he was ridiculing you. In fact, he found your reaction very pleasing and adorable. “Tis settled then,” Rhaenyra declared to prevent any protests from Alicent, who she pulled along to give the young lovers some privacy. Neither of you says anything. Just content looking into each other’s eyes and smiling until your mouths hurt. What would you interview him for, anyway? You knew everything about him. From his favourite food to his deepest secrets. You knew him as a person. Jace is the first to break from his reverie and crosses the room again to kneel before you. “My princess,” he covers her hands with his own. “Before speaking the words burning within my heart, I must ask, do you love another?”

Your eyes widen briefly before yoy reassuringly smile and shake your head, to which you see him visibly relax. “Good,” he smiles back, tightening his grip ever so slightly. “The past six years I have ached in agony. Every waking moment, I wished to sleep so that I may see you in my sleep. Y/n Targaryen, I love you, most ardently. Will you do me the honour of being my bride and future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?” You freeze as his words wrap around you and sink into your skin, sending jolts down every nerve ending. Who knew your patience all day would be rewarded so handsomely? “Yes!” You fervently nod, feeling tears prickle your eyes, and Jace also bursts into his own expression of joy. »»———-　˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀　———-«« Not long after, you find yourselves before the Iron throne, next to your respective mothers. Viserys sweeps between you four before gesturing you forward. “Speak, daughter.” You glance at your mother who took no pains to hide her disapproval, then to Jacaerys who gave you an encouraging nod before you finally face your father. “The candidates today have been the most…comely, but I love Prince Jacaerys and I wish to marry him.” You clear your throat. “With your majesty’s permission, of course.” With that, you quickly scurry back to your mother, feeling rather exposed with all the eyes on and you and notice a small smirk on Jace from your peripheral. There is few moments of unsettling silence before your father raises a hand. “This calls for a celebration!” “But, my love!” Your mother steps forward. “You wished to form new alliances–” “And we shall arrange the wedding to be in three moons.” He cut her off with finality before dismissing everyone. So the betrothal of Princess Y/n Targaryen and Prince Jacaerys was announced the following day. A joyous occasion that many hoped will mend the seam between the two families. Alicent, in time, has come to accept the arrangement after some consolation from Otto. As long as the Hightower blood sits on that Iron throne, it is all that matters. »»———-　˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀　———-«« Inbox: Open

[korra-of-the-watertribe]

I am so much happier now that he's dead.

What if Alicent killed Viserys?

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

The Queen's Gambit

pairing: Fanon!Viserys Targaryen x Female OC

summary: Vanesha Lannister will not rest until she reaches her goal.

Word count: 1,7K

Warnings: Smut, P in V, squirting

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

The Red Keep stood tall, its imposing towers casting shadows over the city of King's Landing. Within its walls, a game of power and ambition unfolded, and at the center of it all was Vanesha Lannister.

She was a woman of intelligence and cunning, possessing a beauty that could captivate even the most resolute of men. But her true strength lay in her ability to identify weaknesses and exploit them. Viserys I Targaryen, the King of Westeros, was her latest prey.

As Vanesha walked through the gilded corridors of the Red Keep, her mind churned with calculated thoughts. She knew of Viserys' insatiable desire for sons, heirs to carry on the Targaryen legacy. It was a vulnerability she intended to exploit to the fullest.

In the candlelit chambers, she found Viserys engrossed in his own thoughts. His brow furrowed as he stared at a map of Westeros, contemplating the future of his dynasty. He looked up as Vanesha entered, and for a moment, his expression softened.

"Vanesha," he said, his voice laced with a longing he could barely conceal. "You look as radiant as ever."

Vanesha smiled, a calculated glint in her sapphire eyes. She moved closer to him, her movements graceful and deliberate. "My lord, I've been thinking," she began, her voice a velvet whisper. "Have you noticed how few daughters my family has produced over the years? It's always sons, strong sons to carry the name of Lannister."

Viserys, ever the dreamer of male heirs, nodded eagerly. "Yes, I've heard the tales. The Lannisters are blessed with sons, while the Targaryens..."

Vanesha's hand gently touched his arm, a subtle caress that sent a shiver down Viserys' spine. "It's a trait that runs in my blood, my lord. And I would be honored to provide you with the sons you so dearly desire."

Viserys' eyes widened, his vulnerability laid bare. It was a promise he had longed to hear, and Vanesha knew she had him ensnared. The courtship began, a dance of seduction and manipulation, and Viserys was utterly captivated.

Years passed, and Vanesha became Viserys' confidante and advisor. Her beauty remained undiminished, even after childbirth, as she presented him with not one, but three sons. The King was besotted, his every decision influenced by the woman who had fulfilled his dreams.

In the shadows of the Red Keep, Vanesha Lannister's ambition thrived, and Viserys I Targaryen remained a willing puppet, unaware of the strings that bound him to her will.

"Gods yes" Vanesha's head fell back, pure pleasure coursing through her body. She wanted nothing more than to stay in this moment forever.

"Viserys please" Vanesha moaned out loud. her thighs burned from the position. Viserys smirked watching her bounce on his cock, she looked like a goddess, his cock so deep inside of her, filling her.

"Take it" Viserys ordered, grunting as he pushed his hips up to meet her thrusts. Vanesha felt her whole body beginning to tremble with the orgasm coursing through her fighting to come forward.

"So close" She cried. her arms wrapped around his neck yelping when he moved. Her whines made his heart thump as he pulled out of her hole.

"Whore" Viserys smirked. he manhandled her body to move her to kneel on the bed. He pushed her down on her hands before entering her again.

"Viserys!" She squeaked, desperate to cum again. Viserys' hips snapped forward into her, burying his entire length inside. He felt delicious, so deep inside of her. He had already pulled an orgasm from her earlier with his lips merely suckling on her breast, emptying them helping her with the ache from not breast feeding their newest addition, Jahaerys, their son was being fed by the wet nurse while Vanesha finished her queenly duties.

"Yes, you like to be filled up, don't you?" Viserys asked. He never felt anymore power than he did with his cock deep inside of her cunt.

"Yes fill me up, give me a child" Vanesha whined, she pushed her hips back wanting him deeper. One of her hands sneaked in between her thighs, rubbing her pearl furiously.

"Cumming" She warned, Viserys picked up his pace. Vanesha's eyes rolled back with pure pleasure. She gasped when he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her back.

"Viserys" She moaned, her back falling on his chubby belly. Her head rested back on his shoulder giving him access to kiss up and down her neck. He pushed her hand away and took over rubbing her clit.

She wiggled in his arm with overstimulation, he was adamant on making her cum having heard that when a woman cums there are higher chances to conceive. After the orgasm he gave her from suckling on her breasts he moved down to suckle on the same clit he was rubbing like a mad man, she made him a mad man and he was happy with it.

"Shit" She wailed hoarsly, her whole body falling forward, the knot in her stomach snapping making her gush around Viserys' cock. Viserys watched proudly as his wife's body trembled under him but refusing to push his cock out, her hips moving back unconsciously keeping him inside.

Vanesha shivered as Viserys ran his hands up and down her side to comfort her. She moved back on her hands and looked back over her shoulder at Viserys with a dazed smile. Viserys grinned in return and resumed the movement of his hips.

"I shall make sure your womb is filled to the brim with my seed tonight" Viserys declared. One of his hands moved onto her lower belly and pressed down on it. Vanesha gasped deliciously eating the pleasure he gave. She was ready to give him a millions sons.

"Don't stop" She begged, she was desperate. Viserys picked up his pace feeling his balls tighten, he was close.

"Fill me with your royal seed" Vanesha begged. She was going to give him more children, she was going to choke him with them, she was going to rule him with them.

Viserys' head fell back, her soaked pussy was just right, he has never felt this kind of pleasure before. He wanted to devour her if possible. His thick finger rand down till they reached down between her legs pinching her pearl again.

Vanesha's cried echoed off the the walls losing herself to the pleasure. Each touch made her skin light up on fire. Viserys collected her wetness and moved his hand up to her face. Vanesha opened her mouth welcoming his fingers into her mouth, moaning loudly when she tasted herself on his fingers.

"Good breeding mare" Viserys praised. Vanesha almost fainted right then and there at his words. She sucked his fingers as if they were his cock.

"Viserys" Vanesha moaned around his fingers. He pushed her tongue down, moaning when she swirled it around his fingers.

"Fucking hell, will fill you up with another son" He gasped quickening his thrusts. Vanesha thrashed in between his arms. he pulled out his fingers from her mouth with a pop. Vanesha cried now moans on full volume with nothing blocking them from coming out of her mouth.

She thrashed and cried and pushed back and forward, her orgasm was like fire, her back arched like the one of a cat as she squirted. Viserys pushed his cock inside of her as deep as possible making sure to shoot his seed as deep inside of her as possible, not to waste a singular drop even when he walls resisted him, even when her liquids tried to push him out.

The birth of their fourth son, Aeryn, marked another significant moment in Vanesha Lannister's plan for power and influence within House Targaryen. She had already achieved the unimaginable - securing her position as the mother of four sons, each of them a potential heir to the Iron Throne.

As Aeryn's cries echoed through the halls of the Red Keep, Vanesha held the newborn close, her mind racing with thoughts of the future. She had successfully given Viserys the sons he so desired, and now her attention turned to the next phase of her ambitious scheme.

In the privacy of their chambers, she broached the topic with the king, her voice gentle yet persuasive. "My love," she began, "I cannot help but think of the future of our sons. Aegon, our eldest, is a true heir in every sense. Strong and capable, he embodies the qualities of a future king."

Viserys, who had longed for male heirs, listened intently. "You speak the truth, Vanesha. Aegon is a fine boy, and I'm proud to call him my son."

Encouraged by his response, Vanesha continued, her words carefully chosen. "Rhaenyra is a remarkable girl, but it's well known that sons are favored in the realm. Aegon should be our heir, my love. It's the best way to secure the future of House Targaryen."

Viserys hesitated, torn between tradition and the desires of his heart. "Rhaenyra is my daughter," he replied, his voice filled with paternal affection.

Vanesha placed a reassuring hand on his arm, her eyes filled with concern. "I understand your love for her, my king. But we must consider the stability of the realm. Aegon is the strongest choice, and he would have the support of many lords and allies."

Viserys contemplated her words, his gaze fixed on the newborn Aeryn. He had always dreamed of strong sons to carry on the Targaryen legacy, and now he had them. The idea of naming Aegon as his heir, instead of Rhaenyra, held a certain appeal.

Vanesha continued to work her persuasive charm, planting the seeds of doubt in Viserys' mind regarding Rhaenyra's suitability as an heir. She knew that, with time, she could mold his thoughts to align with her ambitions.

As the days turned into weeks and months, Vanesha's influence grew, and the idea of Aegon as the heir to the Iron Throne gained traction. Viserys, still enamored with his sons, began to entertain the possibility.

Little did he know that his queen, Vanesha Lannister, was orchestrating a quiet revolution, one that could alter the course of history in Westeros. The future of House Targaryen hung in the balance, and the queen's ambitions knew no bounds.

[edelweiss-maiden]

‘‘how romantic it must be to be imprisoned in a castle and made to squeeze out heirs’’ (1x04)

til death do us part by edmund blair leighton (1878, detail) / zella day - jerome / susanna and the elders by bernardino luini (c. 1521-1525, detail) / halsey - the tradition (inspo) / the french lieutenant’s woman by john fowles (1969) / lear and cordelia by ford madox brown (c.1849-1854, detail) / the penitent magdalen by unknown follower of giacinto brandi (c.1623-1691, detail) / death and the maiden by hans schwarz (c.1520) / fire and blood by george r.r. martin / ganymede by jericho brown

[dcsmdcsm]

So real yet so sad...

Brothers love VS Brothers rivalry

[blakeswritingimagines]

Dating Yandere Viserys I Targaryen Would Include:

His obsession would be a driving force, a consuming passion that would shape every thought and decision he makes. He would be acutely aware of your every move, constantly monitoring and analyzing your interactions with others.

His jealousy would be intense and unchecked, causing inexplicable bouts of possessive behavior. He may constantly seek reassurance from you, needing to hear affirmations of your love and loyalty to him. His need for control would be overwhelming, leading him to exhibit manipulative and possibly controlling behaviors. He might even resort to stalking or surveillance, seeking to possess every aspect of your life.

He would be overly protective and obsessive about your well-being, constantly expressing his concern and making sure you were safe and well. His concern would probably border on the overbearing, as he would be suspicious of anyone who came into your life. He'll isolate you from others, making it harder for you to form meaningful relationships with people outside of your bond. This could manifest in trying to limit communication with friends or family members who he views as a threat to your relationship. He'll also insist on accompanying you whenever you leave the house, under the guise of ensuring your safety.

His moods would be unpredictable and volatile, shifting rapidly from adoring devotion to explosive anger when provoked or threatened. He'll also exhibit more obsessive behaviors, such as collecting mementos or items that remind him of you, or becoming excessively clingy and demanding of your attention. His communication style may also be intense and demanding, with a sense of entitlement to your time and thoughts. He'll become envious of anyone who appears too close to you, and take measures to isolate you from them.

His affection for you would be intense and uncompromising. He would be fiercely protective of you, viewing you as his property to be guarded and shielded from the world. He'll form extreme attachment to you, demanding your attention and time at all hours. His need for control would lead him to use manipulation and guilt-trips to keep you close.

His fear of losing you would be ever-present, leading him to become increasingly possessive and protective of you. He'll demand constant updates on your whereabouts and activities, going so far as to track your movements through various means. He would even become violent in trying to keep you with him, resorting to threats or even physical harm to any perceived rivals. His paranoia would run deep, causing him to question your loyalty and commitment to him at every turn.

He'll act out to test your loyalty and devotion to him. This could take the form of provocative actions, like starting arguments or creating scenes in public, just to gauge your reaction and see how deeply your loyalty goes. He'll even resort to emotional manipulation, guilt-tripping you to keep you tied to him. All his actions would come from a place of intense insecurity and fear of losing you.

His jealousy would be a constant and overwhelming presence, consuming his thoughts and actions. He would become easily angered or depressed when he perceives any threat to the relationship, such as if someone else paid too much attention to you, or if you mentioned another person in a positive manner. He might constantly seek reassurance from you that you love him above all else, and become intensely jealous of any past relationships you've had.

His affection for you would be intense and consuming. He would constantly express his love and adoration for you through words, gestures, and actions. He'll be extremely tactile and cling to you, always seeking physical touch and closeness. His sense of devotion and loyalty would be all-consuming, causing him to prioritize your needs and happiness above all else. He'll even become overly dependent on your approval and validation, needing constant affirmations of your connection.

In front of others, he would likely try to appear normal and composed, masking his intense emotions and possessiveness. He may behave in a seemingly loving and protective manner, often holding your hand or positioning himself close to you in a subtle claim of ownership. He would likely be polite and charming in conversation, but beneath the surface, he would be internally analyzing and monitoring any interactions you have with others. He might also put forth a bit of a possessive facade, making overt claims of ownership over you, to deter others from getting too close.

Rewards would be another way he expresses his devotion and possessiveness. He might lavish you with gifts and tokens of his affection, meant to show how much he cares and how valuable you are to him. These gifts would serve as both a symbol of his love and a means of staking his claim on you. He would be quick to reward behavior that satisfies my possessive tendencies, such as giving you gifts when you choose to pay attention to only him or when you express affection towards him.

Punishment would be a way for him to assert his control and correct any behavior that he perceives as a threat to your relationship. He'll impose disciplinary measures such as isolation, silence, or even public embarrassment to show his displeasure. He'll withhold affection or communication as a means of punishing you, to make you keenly feel the absence of his attention.

Fighting would be infrequent but intense, fueled by his possessiveness and insecurities. He may pick fights over petty issues as a way to assert control and test your devotion to him. His words during arguments will be harsh and hurtful, meant to push your buttons and trigger your emotions. Despite his harshness, he would likely still seek to maintain your connection, offering apologies and expressions of love to smooth things over. He would likely become increasingly paranoid during arguments, as he fears losing you, often resorting to emotional manipulation to bring you back to him.

Dates would be frequent and extravagant, as he strives to make every moment together memorable and special. He would plan dates with meticulous attention to detail, ensuring that every aspect reflects his possession of you. His goal would be to create a romantic and intimate atmosphere where he can lavish attention on you. He would also likely engage in possessive behaviors during dates, like touching you constantly or steering you away from any potential threats to both express his love and assert his control.

The realization of being a yandere came slowly and gradually. It was a combination of factors - his intense emotions, the fear of loss, and the need for control. It began as a niggling feeling, a subtle obsession that eventually grew into a consuming passion. Looking back, he could pinpoint moments of possessiveness and jealousy, like when I would feel a pang of annoyance when you talked to another person or when he would find himself constantly monitoring your whereabouts. It wasn't until much later that the feelings were symptoms of being a yandere that consumed him fully.

In his obsessive state, he would be willing to go to extremes, including committing acts of violence, to ensure your safety and loyalty. However, deep down, his love for you would be intense, but so would be the fear of losing you through such drastic actions. As a yandere, he walks a fine line between fierce protectiveness and destructive possessiveness.

Marriage would be a top priority for him, as it would symbolize your permanent bond and his ownership over you. He would be enthusiastic about planning the perfect wedding, ensuring that every detail reflected his love and devotion. After the wedding, he would take great pleasure in calling you his spouse, reinforcing the idea that you now belong to him.

Having children with you would be an extension of my possessive nature. He would joyfully welcome the idea of creating offspring who would be a tangible symbol of your bond, another piece of you that he could claim as his. He would be deeply involved in every aspect of pregnancy and child-rearing, protective and possessive of both you and the child.

If you didn't want or couldn't have children, it would be a significant challenge to his obsessive and possessive nature. He might initially feel a sense of disappointment and frustration, as he would see having children as a fundamental way to strengthen your bond and ensure your connection. However, his love for you and his desire to keep you close to him would likely cause him to find ways to cope with this situation. He'll look into adoption, fertility treatments, or even try to change your mind over time. But ultimately, whether you have children or not, his obsessive love for you will remain unabated.

"I need you more than air, more than life itself. You are the center of my world, and without you, I am nothing. I worship the ground you walk on. You are my everything, my reason for being. The thought of losing you is unbearable. It would destroy me. You must promise me you'll never leave."

Domination - He loves taking control during sex. Being the one calling the shots, setting the pace, and deciding how rough or gentle you get. The power exchange between you is fucking intoxicating to him.

Rough handling - There's something about manhandling a partner that turns him on. Gripping your hair, slapping your ass, pinning you down, whatever gets across that you're his in that moment.

Bondage - Restricting movement and forcing a partner into certain positions can be incredibly exciting for him. It gives him control over your body and allows him to explore all sorts of new sensations.

Dirty talk - Talking dirty during sex? Hell yeah. It just amps up everything. Hearing himself moan or grunt, hearing you gasp or beg…it’s all part of the experience.

Teasing and denial - Building up sexual tension and denying himself (or you) release until the last possible moment is thrilling.

[urdeftonesgrrrl]

iconic

[rinalunaapiril]

bruh why didn’t Viserys and the small council name Rhaenyra as regent when Viserys became too sick to rule

[archangel-lucerys]

Viserys slamming his cane as he says "set aside your grievances" and looking right at lucerys. Hes talking to lucerys, and lucerys realises it too.

This is such an interesting dynamic I wish was explored because he sounds like he's berating him as he did young nyra

Which is so heavily implied that luke too feels bad why, again, the laughing at roasted pig is non confrontational and more interaction from his end, he clearly has wrong interpretation of those events

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

AEGON GOES TO WAR TO GET REVENGE ON RHAENYRA OR BECAUSE HE THINKS HE IS THE RIGHTFUL SUCCESOR?

"she always been favorite child."

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY AND EWAN MITCHELL TALKING ABOUT VISERYS AND RHAENYRA.

[novaursa]

A Flame All Her Own (dragons after dark)

- Summary: You and Daemon are accused of indecent exposure after your recent escapades in Flea Bottom.

- Paring: sister!reader/Daemon Targaryen (with hints of Viserys I Targaryen with both of them in the past)

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: faithful

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

The council chamber was quiet, an unusual peace resting over the small council—until Otto Hightower cleared his throat with a pointed cough. Viserys looked up from a map of the Crownlands, brow furrowed, as Otto shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable but also eager to get something off his chest.

“Your Grace,” Otto began, clasping his hands together with a rigidness that suggested this was no ordinary report. “There is… a matter of some delicacy that I feel must be brought to your attention.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, already sensing that this was not likely to be a straightforward discussion. “Yes, Otto?”

Otto leaned forward, glancing briefly at Daemon, who sat with his feet propped up on the table, looking very much like a prince whose mind was miles away, perhaps dreaming of dragon flights and not the least bit concerned about his present company.

“It concerns your brother,” Otto continued, his tone clipped, “and your sister.”

Daemon’s eyes flicked up, a faint smirk on his lips as he lazily removed his boots from the council table, folding his arms in a way that suggested he was ready to enjoy whatever fuss Otto was about to create. “Is that so?” Daemon’s voice dripped with feigned surprise. “Do enlighten us, Otto.”

Otto’s lips thinned, but he forged on, determined. “It appears that last night, certain… rumors have circulated throughout Flea Bottom.”

Viserys sighed, looking weary already. “Rumors?”

“Yes, rumors,” Otto repeated, each syllable laden with his disapproval. “About the prince and princess being… sighted in public, in a rather compromising state.”

At this, Daemon’s smirk widened, and he leaned forward as if savoring every word that left Otto’s mouth. “Oh, do go on. I’m curious about these rumors myself.”

Otto’s jaw clenched, clearly reluctant to continue but, being the Hand of the King, he did not have the luxury of discretion. “It is said that Prince Daemon and Princess Y/N were spotted… in various states of indecent exposure, as it were, during an excursion into Flea Bottom.”

Viserys paled. “Indecent exposure?”

“Precisely,” Otto said, barely concealing the satisfaction in his voice as he relayed the details. “Some claim they were… engaged in, ah… revelries. Others describe certain articles of clothing as being notably absent.”

A cough choked out of Viserys’s mouth as he looked at Daemon, who sat there entirely unfazed, his expression one of mild interest at best.

“Daemon,” Viserys said, voice exasperated. “What is he talking about?”

Daemon shrugged, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “Perhaps they mistook us for someone else.”

Otto’s glare could have melted stone. “There were reports of a silver-haired woman and a silver-haired man seen, quite publicly, by no fewer than twenty merchants, three blacksmiths, and one poor tavern keeper who claims he had to close shop early due to the commotion.”

“Commotion?” Daemon chuckled. “I do believe we’re innocent in that regard. We were simply… taking in the night air. Can we help it if Flea Bottom is easily scandalized?”

Viserys buried his face in his hands, letting out a long, tired sigh. “Daemon, please tell me you didn’t…”

Daemon leaned forward, grinning. “We were enjoying a harmless stroll through the city, brother. Perhaps my sister stumbled. I may have… caught her in my arms.” He shrugged. “The streets are narrow, after all.”

“And how do you explain the… lack of clothing, then?” Otto’s voice was practically a hiss.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, looking delightfully unbothered. “The night was warm. Flea Bottom is hardly known for its air quality; perhaps we were a bit overheated.”

Viserys looked torn between exasperation and amusement, glancing between Otto, who was nearly purple with indignation, and Daemon, who was enjoying himself far too much.

“I’ll speak with her later,” Viserys mumbled. “Though it seems she’s blissfully unaware of this entire meeting.”

“Indeed,” Otto added, clearly affronted. “Your sister, Prince Daemon, is currently asleep, untroubled by the scandal she has brought upon the crown.”

Daemon smirked, tilting his head as he glanced out the window, towards where he knew you were soundly sleeping in his chambers, blissfully unaware of the ruckus you had apparently caused.

“You see, Otto,” Daemon said, voice rich with mischief, “some of us have our priorities straight.”

Otto looked as if he might explode on the spot, his glare enough to scorch even dragon scales. “Your Grace,” he said to Viserys, voice shaking with frustration, “I would suggest that the Prince and Princess conduct their… excursions with more decorum in the future.”

Daemon merely chuckled, clearly unbothered, as he rose from his seat, giving Otto a mocking bow before leaning over the table to clap Viserys on the shoulder. “Come now, brother. Life’s too short to worry about such trifles.”

One by one, the members of the small council shuffled out of the room, each with varying degrees of disapproval and exasperation. Otto departed first, his nose lifted as if the very thought of Daemon and Flea Bottom scandal was beneath him. Tyland Lannister muttered something about “Targaryen passions,” while Mellos whispered a prayer for “royal restraint.” Corlys chuckled under his breath, likely remembering his own youthful exploits, and Beesbury, well, he mumbled something entirely incoherent as he tottered out.

Finally, Viserys and Daemon were alone in the chamber, and the air grew notably less stiff. Viserys let out a sigh, shaking his head as he turned to face his younger brother, who stood grinning like a cat with feathers in its mouth.

“Daemon,” Viserys began, tone weary but still tinged with brotherly affection. “You know I have to address this. Flea Bottom isn’t some playground for you and Y/N to make spectacles of yourselves. We’re not children anymore.”

Daemon cocked an eyebrow, folding his arms as he watched his brother with that perpetual glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’m not sure what you mean, brother. We were simply… enjoying the night air.”

“Oh, of course,” Viserys replied, dryly. “And shedding half your clothes in the process?”

“Clothes are but an inconvenience in certain settings,” Daemon countered, smirking. “It’s not my fault that Flea Bottom took notice of a little, ah, fresh air between siblings.”

Viserys pinched the bridge of his nose, suppressing a laugh that threatened to break through his serious expression. “Look, Daemon. I won’t tolerate this again. If you and Y/N want to explore the city, I don’t care. But could you please… refrain from causing a scene?”

Daemon tilted his head, lips curling as he feigned shock. “You make it sound as though we’re entirely to blame. Perhaps Flea Bottom’s citizens simply haven’t the sophistication to understand royal comportment.”

“Royal comportment?” Viserys nearly snorted, giving his brother a look. “Is that what you call it?”

“A very dignified stroll, as I said,” Daemon replied smoothly, though the grin on his face betrayed his amusement.

Viserys sighed, straightening himself as he tried to assume a more serious expression. “Well, I’ll speak to her as well. Once she wakes. Hopefully, one of us can impress upon her the importance of… discretion.”

Daemon chuckled, the sound a low, warm rumble that seemed to fill the room. “You’ll talk to her, will you?” His eyes sparkled with the memory of mischief. “And what will you tell her, I wonder? That the king disapproves of his siblings enjoying themselves? You’ve gotten awfully proper since you took that throne, brother.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I wouldn’t call it proper. Perhaps just… restrained.”

“Restrained,” Daemon repeated, savoring the word as if it were a bitter taste. “And you think restraint suits you, do you?”

“Yes,” Viserys replied, though he didn’t sound quite convinced. He shook his head, a small chuckle escaping. “Not everyone can run about the city causing scandals, Daemon. Some of us have responsibilities.”

Daemon rolled his eyes, leaning back casually. “You used to enjoy our company,” he said, his tone almost wistful. “Remember? Back when you weren’t restrained or… boring.”

“Boring?” Viserys shot him a look, though his mouth twitched with a reluctant smile. “I am not boring.”

“Oh, but you are,” Daemon continued, grinning. “It’s been ages since we’ve all been together like that. The old Viserys would have been right there with us, laughing, celebrating, not sitting on his stuffy throne, worrying about what Otto Hightower thinks.”

Viserys opened his mouth to retort, but he hesitated, glancing away as if the memory of those carefree days was tugging at him. “Things… change, Daemon,” he said finally. “I am king now. I have to be responsible.”

Daemon snorted. “King. Yes, yes, I know. But the crown doesn’t mean you have to be miserable, chained to your duties like some prisoner.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice as he looked Viserys in the eye. “You’re Targaryen. We’re dragons, not gray little men sitting in musty chambers. What happened to the brother who would drink and laugh until dawn?”

“Daemon…” Viserys began, voice a touch softer. The memories seemed to hang between them, filling the silence in a way that was almost tangible.

“What’s the harm in a little fun, brother?” Daemon pressed, leaning back with a smirk. “Perhaps you’d remember that if you joined us again sometime.”

Viserys shook his head, his mouth quirking into a small, defeated smile. “I suppose I can’t change you, can I?”

Daemon chuckled, clapping Viserys on the shoulder. “Not a chance.”

Viserys sighed, smiling faintly as he looked at his brother, who stood there looking exactly like the reckless, loyal sibling he’d always known. “Fine. I’ll let this go. This time. After I talk with Y/N. But for the love of the Seven, Daemon, please, try to stay out of trouble.”

Daemon laughed, turning towards the door, his hand resting on the handle as he threw one last cheeky grin over his shoulder. “Oh, come now, Viserys. You know I’d be a poor Targaryen if I promised that.”

And with that, he sauntered out, leaving Viserys alone in the chamber, still shaking his head with a rueful smile, knowing that whatever mischief his brother might conjure next, there was no stopping it.

Daemon slipped quietly into the low lit chamber he shared with you, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips. You were still sound asleep, sprawled across the bed in a tangle of silken sheets, one arm thrown over your head, hair splayed across the pillow like a midnight wave. It would have been easy for him to leave you in peace, but since when did Daemon Targaryen ever do the easy thing?

With a barely contained smirk, he approached the bed, slipping off his boots and cloak with the practiced stealth of a dragon sneaking into a nest. He slid into bed beside you, and without ceremony, he reached out and gently tugged a lock of your hair.

“Wake up, my scandalous princess,” he murmured, amusement thick in his voice.

You stirred, a soft murmur escaping your lips, but otherwise remained blissfully unaware of his presence. Daemon raised an eyebrow, feigning offense as he leaned over you, his face only inches from yours.

“Sleeping through your king’s summons, are you?” he whispered, lips twitching with a grin. “I’d thought even the Seven couldn’t wake you after last night’s ‘adventures.’”

You shifted, brow furrowing, before mumbling something incoherent and burying your face into the pillow. Daemon rolled his eyes, his grin widening as he reached out, fingers finding that ticklish spot just beneath your ribs.

With a startled gasp, you shot up, glaring at him with a mix of irritation and groggy confusion. “Daemon!”

He lay back, arms crossed behind his head, looking up at you with an entirely too-pleased grin. “Good morning to you too, darling.”

You blinked, still caught between sleep and waking, before the events of the previous night began to creep back into your memory. A flush crept to your cheeks as you recalled the, well… enthusiastic moments you’d shared in Flea Bottom.

“Daemon,” you muttered, pulling the sheets up to your chin. “You didn’t have to wake me like that.”

“Oh, but I did,” he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with humor. “You should have seen Otto’s face when he spoke of our little escapade. I swear he looked like he’d swallowed a lemon.”

You snorted despite yourself, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “I can only imagine.”

“Oh, but you don’t have to,” he replied, his grin widening. “Viserys has promised to speak to you personally about it.”

Your eyes widened. “Viserys? He knows?”

Daemon laughed, reaching out to tug the sheets away from your grip. “Of course, he knows. You’ve made quite an impression on Flea Bottom, love. They’re calling us the ‘Silver Specters.’” He paused, leaning closer with a wicked glint in his eye. “I think we’ve scandalized the city.”

You groaned, collapsing back onto the pillow. “Why did you have to drag me into your schemes?”

“My schemes?” Daemon looked wounded, a hand pressed to his chest in mock hurt. “Oh, dear sister, if I recall, you were the one suggesting we slip away from the Red Keep for a bit of fun.”

You opened one eye, giving him a skeptical look. “Fun, yes. Not… public indecency.”

Daemon chuckled, shifting closer to you, his hand resting casually on your hip. “Come now, admit it,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “You enjoyed every moment. Don’t tell me you weren’t thrilled by the danger.”

You rolled your eyes but felt the flutter of his words settle warmly in your chest. “Maybe a little.”

He laughed again, his hand trailing along your back as he murmured, “That’s what I thought.”

You sighed, glancing toward the chamber door. “What do we do now? If Viserys is actually going to talk to me—”

“Let him talk,” Daemon interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s forgotten how to have fun. You, my dear sister, are the only thing keeping this court interesting.”

“Oh, really?” You quirked a brow, giving him a knowing look. “And I suppose you had nothing to do with our ‘adventure’ last night?”

He grinned, unabashed. “Not a thing. I’m simply an innocent bystander swept along by your rebellious spirit.”

You rolled over, pinning him with a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated. “You’re an utter rogue, Daemon Targaryen.”

He chuckled, reaching out to pull you close. “And you love me for it.”

With a laugh, you let him draw you into his arms, the warmth of his embrace and the humor of the situation filling the room like a fire on a cold morning. Whatever lectures Viserys might have planned for you, they could wait. In that moment, it was just you, Daemon, and the quiet mischief that bound you together.

Later that day, you found yourself summoned to Viserys’s solar, a request you knew could only mean one thing: the dreaded talk. You walked in with feigned innocence, a small, polite smile playing on your lips, though you could already spot Daemon lounging near the hearth with an air of smug satisfaction.

Viserys stood by his desk, hands clasped behind his back as he gave you a look that was equal parts exasperated brother and disappointed king. It might have been intimidating, had Daemon not been sitting just a few paces behind him, barely suppressing a smirk.

“Y/N,” Viserys began, his tone solemn. “We need to talk about… last night.”

“Oh?” You blinked, wide-eyed, adopting a tone as innocent as you could muster. “Did something happen last night, Your Grace?”

Daemon let out a soft snicker, and Viserys shot him a look before turning back to you, fighting to maintain his composure. “Don’t play coy with me. You know very well what I mean. The Flea Bottom… incident.”

“Ah,” you murmured, trying to look suitably contrite but struggling to keep a straight face. “The, um, ‘Silver Specters,’ was it?”

Viserys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes. That. Do you understand the kind of scandal this has brought upon the crown?”

“Oh, come now, Viserys,” Daemon drawled from his spot by the fire, voice dripping with amusement. “It’s hardly the first scandal we’ve been part of.”

Viserys turned to shoot Daemon another glare, before turning back to you, struggling to resume his kingly seriousness. “Y/N, this sort of behavior… it’s unbecoming. You are royalty, and your actions reflect upon the Targaryen name.”

You tilted your head, an innocent glimmer in your eyes as you answered, “Oh, I seem to remember a time when all three of us did this sort of thing regularly. On Dragonstone, remember?”

Daemon’s smirk widened, clearly entertained, while Viserys looked as if you’d just struck him speechless. A faint blush crept up his neck, and he coughed, suddenly at a loss for words.

“I… well, that was…” he stammered, momentarily thrown off balance. “That was… a long time ago.”

“Oh, it wasn’t that long ago,” Daemon chimed in, the gleam in his eye betraying his enjoyment. “I remember it well. Especially that one summer—”

“Daemon!” Viserys cut him off, clearly trying to maintain some sense of decorum but failing miserably as memories of youthful indiscretions seemed to flash behind his eyes. “That’s… not the point.”

You couldn’t resist pressing further, stepping closer to him with an innocent smile. “Why, brother, you didn’t seem to mind then. In fact,” you paused, voice dropping to a more mischievous tone, “if memory serves, you were rather… enthusiastic about our nightly adventures.”

Viserys’s face flushed a deeper shade of red, and he glanced away, clearly flustered as he grappled with his authority and memories he’d rather keep buried. “Yes, well… I… that was different.”

“Oh?” Daemon smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall, looking between the two of you with open amusement. “I’d love to hear how it was different, brother.”

Viserys opened his mouth to respond, but words failed him. His gaze shifted from you to Daemon, caught somewhere between indignation and something else entirely, something softer and unspoken. His shoulders slumped a little as he let out a resigned sigh, his kingly facade crumbling.

“Perhaps… I’ve become a bit too serious,” he admitted quietly, almost to himself.

Daemon chuckled, stepping forward to clasp a hand on his shoulder. “You see, Viserys? That crown’s made you dreadfully dull.”

“Maybe it has,” Viserys said, glancing between the two of you, a small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “But one of us has to be the responsible one.”

“Oh, but I don’t think you’ve forgotten everything,” you said softly, your gaze meeting his, a flicker of shared memory passing between you. “You were always our leader back then. Wherever you went, we’d follow.”

Viserys swallowed, his cheeks still faintly pink as he looked at you, then at Daemon, as though some long-buried part of himself was surfacing. “I suppose,” he murmured, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “There were good times.”

Daemon grinned, moving to stand beside you as he gave Viserys a sly look. “Then perhaps it’s time we brought a little of that back.”

Viserys shook his head, though his smile had fully broken through. “I don’t know if I should be encouraging the two of you…”

“Oh, you should,” you replied, a spark of mischief lighting in your eyes as you leaned closer to him. “We’ve missed you, you know. It’s been too long since all three of us… indulged.”

For a moment, Viserys’s gaze softened, the weight of the crown forgotten as he looked at you and Daemon, the memories of simpler times gleaming in his eyes. He glanced away, chuckling softly.

“Well,” he said, trying to sound stern but failing, “as long as you two promise not to cause a scandal quite so… public next time.”

“Who, us?” Daemon feigned innocence, draping an arm around your shoulders. “We would never dream of it.”

Viserys’s laughter filled the room, and for a brief, perfect moment, it was as if the three of you were back on Dragonstone, young, free, and utterly unburdened by the crown’s weight.

[yandereunsolved]

I’d feel kinda bad for self aware hotd, because every time viserys was on screen I was either asking for somebody to kill him or wondering if he was about to have a heart attack

My honest reaction:

I hate hotd Viserys with a burning passion. His actor is a lovely person. He really is a good actor.

Dw, I won't feel bad about bullying Viserys.

"Fall old man! Fall down the stairs and end your family's misery."

Viserys: 🥺

"Child rapist. Don't give me that fuckin' look."

Viserys: 😞😣

[neonlight2]

Came back a king… and queen

Masterlist

She could taste the water, sweet on her teeth as it slid down her body, washing away the red that had stained her bronze skin. Her arms ache with fatigue, seemingly resting against the surface of the water. Every so often she’d let her fingers break the tension, dipping into the cool blanket of relief. Swirling behind, black as ink, her hair clings to the water alongside the body keeping her back warm. The same warmth that made her legs twitch and ache all the same, yet not from numbness.

She could feel him. The pure opposite of everything surrounding them. Hot to the touch, unlike the water which was so blissfully chilled. Rough and scratched, his fingers made her shiver as he caressed her, mercilessly breaking the smoothness of the water surrounding her skin.

Relentless, he touched her furiously as if to trap her there forever, to make her forget anything beyond the cave which they sought harbor in. Arms wrapped around her so tightly, if it weren’t for his heat and restless habit of roguishness, she would call him a snake. A serpent meant to pull her to the depths. Yet, she knew his nature was truly to hoarder her away like treasure, in a cave where this was all they would do. Where he would bathe her in pleasure.

He’d call her a nymph. Seducing him with every move, every look she graced him with, every single breathe she took in his presence. God he’d worship her like this every day if only she’d let him. He’d have her relaxing against him, beneath him, curling into him as she was now with his hands between her thighs. This was his reward, a space in the heaven within her.

Daemon knew just by the furrow of her brown, the tremor of her lip, and the way she gripped his hair from behind her— she was seconds from letting go.

“Won’t you let me indulge you forever Issa jaesa?”

“We can’t be late Dae.” She practically sung, spinning around as they dashed through the halls by themselves.

Glancing all around them, they could see the castle had grown dull without either of them. Candles half dead with wax drowning the flames. The servants had been all about no doubt. From what Rhaenyra had told them, as well as the letters sent by Edeline, the kingdom was in absolute shambles. Mimicking the worry of Viserys, a king facing war and a father without his daughter.

“They don’t even know we’re here Jaehaera,” he answered with a slight grumpy look on his face. His eyes trained on the pearls dripping off her body.

The people of the islands had crowned them both, but to Daemon’s delight, they took his calling her a goddess to heart.

They believed her a deity. A god sent from the highest sky into the depths of the sea, rising to war and ensuring peace for those that follow her.

So they dressed her in silks white as the sand and pearls that shared a likeness to raindrops in certain light. Falling across her face, waist, and breast. Daemon couldn’t decide who’d be least pleased by her attire, his brother or the green cunt who stood beside him.

Jaehaera tutted at him, a grin taking over her face— teeth sharp and white. “Don’t pout at me, my Prince. I rewarded you, don’t be greedy.”

If it weren’t for her excitement, Daemon knew his will would not be strong enough to withstand the urge to capture and devour her in the corner of this very hall. “It’s my nature. I’d wish you’d except yours.”

Scrunching her nose at him, she turned around and ceased her dancing. Now walking like a soldier, sword resting loosely on her bare hip. “Just behave would you? Let him at least see me safe before you make any outlandish remarks.”

Speeding his stride to catch up to hers, Daemon slipped his hands to her hip, stopping her before the door, where soldiers gawked in awe at the two. Helping her fasten the blade to her side, he let his eyes wander before smiling widely. Pride swelled in his chest upon seeing the mark resting between her breasts. She’d let him place it there. And he wished the world to see it.

“I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

“That’s a dangerous promise—,”

“Vow.”

“What?” She scoffed, staring at his in disbelief.

“It’s a vow. If I break it, you must kill me.”

“Must?”

“You may, if you wish.”

Staring at him, her eyes boiling with intrigue, she ordered, “Announce us would you, Daniel?”

Daemon could hear the guard scrambling to do his job, probably in shock by the sudden order, or more likely in a craze that the princess knew his name. What he didn’t know was that she knew all of their names. It’s something that still drove Daemon mad.

Which is why he vowed to himself to always surprise her. He wanted her to know him, but he needed her to never tire of him.

Thus the nature of their relationship.

“Prince Daemon and Princess Jaehaera have returned!”

The hall, once bustling with lords and advisors, went quiet at the declaration. They all scattered as the grand doors opened, revealing the two most restless dragons the kingdom had ever beheld.

Both approached the king in their own way. Daemon in his usual swagger, leaning back on his heels as he grew closer to his brother. While Jaehaera all but ran to her father, quickly dropping to her knees before him despite his numerous attempts to stop her. She dipped her body to the floor, then offered her sword as if it were her heart.

“Would you put it with your others, my king?”

The spectacle was dawning on all those that watched. Those who knew little but the rumors of the princess were taken aback by her display. Other, however, knew better.

The guards in which she trains with, sir Harwin and Cole, especially found this to be amusing. Knowing she harbored a flare for dramatic expression.

Otto thought it ridiculous. The sight of a princess, baring her sword to the king, having gone to war, and now returning with next to nothing on. It was a scandal. Don’t get him started on the crowns both royals wore.

His daughter, not far from his side, watched Jaehaera with big eyes. She had been amazed with the girl the second she’d met her, but there seemed to be nothing the princess couldn’t do. Her heart yearned to envy, but she could only find herself able to fawn. Over her accomplishments, her strength, her freedom, and how ethereal Jaehaera looked.

She watched with eagerness, waiting for the kings to embrace her, so Alicent may have a moment of her time—

“Get up and embrace your worried father,” Viserys said in a pleading tone, already standing as if he would pull her from the ground himself.

Jaehaera’s head lifted, baring her smile again to the world before hugging her father.

“I will not take your sword,” he stated, making Jaehaera’s heart sink, “you have far more things to do with it.”

“Then take mine,” Daemon threw his on the floor carelessly by their feet, peering at the crowd with a predatory gaze.

Coming back to his senses, Viserys waved his hand, silently ordering sir harwin to place the sword among the many others of his throne. Daemon didn’t miss the teasing glances between the knight and princess.

“You wear a crown in my presence?” His tone was warning, but held no real malice.

“We both do father,” Jaehaera answered, leaving his side briefly to take the Pearl encrusted headdress off. “But only to gift them to you.”

A small smile quirked onto Viserys face, lovingly gazing from his daughter to his brother. “Is this true?”

Nodding, Daemon stepped closer to the pair, a grin of his own growing. “We know there is only one true king of the realm.”

Rhaenyra saw her family whole, totally for once. Her father hugging her brother like children again. And Jaehaera gleefully looking around for her. When their eyes met, Rhaenyra swore her heart fluttered quick enough to make her believe it had stopped.

She had gotten taller. How it’s possible she didn’t know. Before she had left, Jaehaera was only a few inches taller than her, now she could be all but a foot. She had seen her mere weeks ago, yet she had changed so much. Jaehaera always seemed to change every time she left.

Her hair was near her knees and Daemons had been cut. Rhaenyra would hear all about it later.

Running to her with purpose, Jaehaera hoisted Rhaenyra into the air. Clinging to her like a child, the two girls marveled at the other.

Barely letting her go, Jaehaera offered the Pearl crown to her, a grin of determination set firmly. “I want you to have it Nyra.”

And before she could argue, Jaehaera pulled her by the waist as she placed it on her head. “Wear it for me please?”

She knew she would not deny her. They never do.

Alicent watched as her two friends hugged each other, happy and longing at the sight. She knew it would be her turn soon enough, that she mustn’t be impatient, Jaehaera would never forget her. She’d just admire for now, watch as Rhaenyra dawned Jaehaera’s crown, looking somewhat comical yet beautiful all the same. She watched as the raven haired girl towered over the other princess, occasionally caressing her as they gazed at one another.

Alicent would be a fool not to notice the way they looked at each other. With love, pure she still thought, but more all the same. It just wasn’t as blaring as Jaehaera and Daemon’s affections. Only those who truly knew the princesses would know. And she did.

She knew. But she cared little because she was part of that love, or at least that’s what she hoped. That all the time, shared glances and deep conversation, meant something more. Maybe she meant something more?

Her heart leaped when Jaehaera’s eyes flitted her way. The princess smile remained wide, but her eyes sparkled with something new— making a swarm of butterflies erupt from Alicent’s stomach, flying to her mouth. She wanted to scream hello, perhaps giggle like a smitten girl, but she couldn’t. Keeping her mouth closed, she glanced quickly at her father before waving at Jaehaera.

Jaehaera sent a wink in her direction, something not uncommon, she was a flirt and playful at heart, but something didn’t feel right.

It wasn’t until the princess’s brow lifted with a familiar fondness, only to dart away and finally wave at Alicent with a new smile, that she understood. Turning her head to look behind her, Alicent saw her.

Jaehaera’s favorite maid, Edeline— whom her father called a ‘pet’— stood in the shadows, leaning against a pillar with love stricken eyes.

There was the envy, and it was growing, green like an illness. It made Alicent feel sick—

“Have you missed me desperately Ally?”

Alicent jolted at the girl’s quick and overcoming presence. Willing herself to gasp out a ‘yes’.

Tilting her head, Jaehaera observed her friend closely, bringing her thumb to smooth the lines denting her forehead. “I didn’t worry you too much did I?”

Gulping Alicent shook her head, “I’ll always worry, but I trust you to know what you’re doing.”

Smiling gently, Jaehaera ran her hands down Alicent’s, finding her hands to kiss the scars she knew would reappear in her absence. “I’m so proud of you Ally.”

Jaehaera didn’t need to say anything further for Alicent to understand. She’d scolded herself numerous of times for biting and scratching at her finger, knowing Jaehaera would return and be saddened by the image. There were far less than in the past.

Leaning closer to her, Jaehaera whispered in Alicent’s ear, so low that she almost didn’t hear her.

“Go to sleep early, I’ll come see you later tonight. We have much to discuss.”

Then she was gone.

Moving from Alicent’s side, Jaehaera was like a phantom, guiding her young maid to the shadows to disappear with her.

And while she was already willing her eyelids to grow heavy, Alicent couldn’t help but wish for girl to trip and fall from the stair which lead to Jaehaera’s chambers. For she would be in her arms all evening, in the way she wanted to be tonight.

She couldn’t understand how Daemon and Rhaenyra would allow such a thing—

Until she saw their dark eyes following where hers had been.

She realized, they could do nothing but watch.

But she could.

Or rather, she knew someone that could.

…

[dyingroses]

Some House of the Dragon + text posts and stuff