#hotd viserys

[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.

- Pairing: 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.

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY AND PADDY CONSIDINE ON INSTAGRAM.

[cruciomee]

Not the son they wanted

[therogueflame]

The Diplomat (Part Two)

Hi my angels!

Here is part two to The Diplomat , this part is the sexy part, so reader's discretion is advised. I had so much fun writing this, and am definitely lining up more nasty one shots to write. :) (ñuha zaldrītsos means "my little dragon" in High Valyrian)

✨My Masterlist✨

Summary: Your secret becomes well known, much to the dismay of your husband.

WC: 3.8k

Warnings: 18+. dubcon, violent anger, dominance, oral (f!recieving), sex (p in v), multiple positions, fluids in mouth(s), lil bit of praise kink, lil bit of breeding kink, Daemon Targaryen, no use of y/n, fem!reader

Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

MDNI!!!

The tension between you and Daemon had stretched thin, the days following the reconciliation ceremony feeling like a fragile truce. The whispers had started, first in the shadows and then louder, until they rang in Daemon's ears, carried on the tongues of servants and lords alike. He had done his best to ignore it, to focus on the duties of the City Watch, to retreat into the work that allowed him to pretend the storm brewing within his chest didn’t exist.

But it was no use.

You were standing by the window in your chambers when the door slammed open, the force of it shaking the wooden frame. His eyes, wild with fury, locked onto you instantly. The air between you crackled with the intensity of the moment, his anger an almost physical presence. His hand gripped the doorframe, knuckles white, and his breath came fast, his chest heaving with the weight of what he had heard.

“Do you think me a fool?” His voice was low, dangerous. He took a step forward, his boots thudding heavily on the floor. “I know what they’ve been saying. I know what you’ve done.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t back away. You remained still, though the fire in his gaze burned through you like a brand. You had expected this confrontation, knew it would come, though you had hoped to delay it for just a little longer. The look on his face was one of a man betrayed, though it was you who had been forced to act without his knowledge.

Daemon took another step toward you, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think you can control everything? The Blackwoods, the Brackens... you made a fool of me.”

You met his gaze, your expression calm, as though the tempest raging before you was nothing more than a mild storm. “I did what had to be done.”

His eyes narrowed, a sneer twisting his lips. “What had to be done?” He spat the words, stepping closer until the heat of his anger seemed to suffocate the space between you. “You went behind my back. You thought I would be too ignorant to see your schemes, to feel your manipulation in every move?”

You didn’t respond immediately. The silence in the room was thick, heavy, suffocating. His fists tightened at his sides, his jaw clenched in rage as he waited for you to explain yourself.

“What were you trying to prove, hmm?” he growled, voice low but seething. “That I’m not capable? That you, with your little games, can do better than me?”

His words hit like a slap, and you finally allowed yourself to speak, your voice cutting through the thick tension with the precision of a blade. “You’re too blinded by your pride to see what needs to be done, Daemon. Your anger would have destroyed everything, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

Daemon’s face twisted, fury turning to something darker, more dangerous. He took another step closer, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your face. “You think you know better than me?” His words were a growl, raw and vicious. “You, who’s hidden behind your little schemes, who’s used the power of my name like a dagger in the dark?”

“Don’t make this about me,” you replied, your voice a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything you had to say. “This was about keeping the peace. You didn’t want to listen to anyone but yourself. I did what was necessary.”

His hand shot out, gripping your arm with such force that it burned, his nails biting into your skin. His face was inches from yours, his breath ragged as he stared down at you, his anger a storm raging in his chest. “Necessary?” he spat. “You’ve humiliated me.”

The words stung, but you didn’t flinch. You let him seethe, let him vent the fury that had been boiling over. You knew it would pass—just as the storm always did. But in this moment, the words he spoke, the anger that poured from him, felt like it might consume you both.

You tilt your head slightly, your gaze steady, and your voice, soft yet cutting, drips with a kind of quiet venom. “If you were half the man your brother is, none of this would have been necessary.”

The words hang in the air between you, like a challenge he’s powerless to take back. The comparison to Viserys, a man Daemon has always despised, would wound him deeply. It’s not just an insult; it’s a reminder that his volatile nature has cost him the very thing he craves—respect.

Daemon's grip on your arm tightened painfully, his eyes flashing with a dangerous mix of rage and hurt. For a moment, you thought he might strike you, his free hand clenching into a fist at his side. But instead, he released you suddenly, as if your skin had burned him.

He took a step back, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. When he spoke again, his voice was low and cold. "You dare compare me to him? To that weak, indecisive fool who sits on the throne?"

You stood your ground, even as your heart raced. "At least Viserys knows how to rule without letting his temper destroy everything around him."

Daemon's laugh was bitter, bordering on manic. "And you think you're so clever, don't you? Playing your little games, thinking you can control everything from the shadows."

"I'm not trying to control everything, Daemon," you replied, your voice steady despite the tension crackling between you. "I'm trying to protect what matters. The realm, our family, you—"

"Protect me?" Daemon snarled, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I don't need your protection. I don't need you meddling in affairs that don't concern you."

You took a step forward, closing the distance he had created. "Everything that happens in this realm concerns me. I am your wife, the mother of your child. Did you think I would stand idly by while you tore everything apart with your rage?"

Daemon's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You went behind my back. You conspired with Viserys, made decisions without me. How am I supposed to trust you now?"

"Trust?" you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart. "This was never about trust, Daemon. It was about doing what needed to be done, what you refused to see."

His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. "And you think that gives you the right to go behind my back? To make me look weak in front of the entire court?"

You took a step closer, your gaze never wavering from his. "You made yourself look weak the moment you let your temper dictate your actions. I did what I had to do to protect this family, to protect the realm."

Daemon's eyes flashed dangerously at your words, a storm of emotions raging behind them. His hand shot out, gripping your arm again, but this time there was a desperation in his touch that belied his anger.

"Protect the realm?" he spat, his voice low and venomous. "You think I don't want to protect it? Everything I've done has been for this family, for our legacy!"

You didn't flinch from his grip, meeting his gaze steadily. "And yet your actions threaten to tear it all apart. Your pride, your anger - they blind you to the consequences."

Daemon’s grip remained firm, the tension in the air thickening with each passing second. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and rough.

"You think you can outsmart me, control everything from the shadows?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

His free hand found its way to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, tugging you closer. His touch was a confusing mixture of dominance and a deeper, unspoken hunger.

The raw intensity of his presence, the heat of his body pressed so close to yours, made it impossible to think clearly. The anger in his eyes hadn't quite faded, but it was now laced with something darker, more primal, as though his fury had been redirected into a desperate need to prove something. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, the roughness of his touch contrasting with the lingering softness of your skin.

It was almost as if he were testing your limits again—not with words or anger now, but with an entirely different kind of power. His movements were slow, deliberate, the control he wielded over you shifting from violent to something more intimate, dangerous in a new way. You could feel the struggle in his chest, the tension still there, but now it was tangled with a strange pull, one that drew you closer despite everything.

In the space between your pounding heartbeats, you searched his eyes, looking for some semblance of the man you once knew. The Daemon who had swept you off your feet, who had loved you with a fierceness that both terrified and exhilarated you. But in the depths of his stormy gaze, you found only shadows of that man, clouded by rage and feeling betrayed.

"Daemon," you began, unsure if it was a plea or a warning.

His response was to crush his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his other hand still tangled in your hair. You gasped into his mouth, caught off guard by the ferocity of his need. His tongue forced its way inside your mouth, claiming every inch of you as though he feared it would be taken away.

The kiss was ferocious, almost punishing. Daemon's grip on your hair tightened as he deepened the kiss, his other hand sliding down to grasp your waist and pull you flush against him. There was no tenderness in his touch, only raw need and the lingering anger that still simmered beneath the surface.

You found yourself responding despite your better judgment, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders. The familiar heat of his body against yours ignited something primal within you, a stark contrast to the tension that had been building between you for days.

Daemon broke the kiss abruptly, his chest heaving as he stared down at you with dark, stormy eyes. "Is this what you wanted?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "To have me at your mercy?" Before you could respond, he ripped the front of your gown open, thread and beads flying everywhere.

You gasped as the cool air hit your exposed skin, Daemon's hands rough as they roamed over your body. His touch was possessive, demanding, as if he were trying to reclaim something he felt he had lost.

"Daemon," you breathed, your voice caught between desire and uncertainty.

He silenced you with another bruising kiss, backing you up until you hit the wall. His body pressed against yours, trapping you between the cold stone and the heat of his form. You could feel the hardness of his arousal against your thigh, a stark reminder of the passion that still burned between you despite everything.

Daemon's lips moved to your neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave marks. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in almost painfully. "You think you can control me?" he growled against your skin. "You think you know better than I do?" You couldn’t contain your moans as he left searing kisses on your exposed skin. The sound of you only sent Daemon further into a frenzy. His hand slipped between your legs, hiking up your skirts. You moaned into his mouth as his fingers found your wet heat.He stroked you roughly, making your hips buck against his hand. Daemon's eyes were dark with lust and lingering anger as he watched your reactions.

Daemon's fingers moved against you with a desperate urgency, his touch rough and demanding. You gasped, your head falling back against the wall as pleasure coursed through your body. Despite the anger and hurt between you, your body responded to his familiar touch.

"Look at me," Daemon growled, his free hand gripping your chin and forcing your gaze to meet his. His eyes were dark, stormy with a mix of desire and lingering fury. "Is this what you wanted? To have this much power over me?"

You couldn't find the words to respond, caught between the intensity of his gaze and the sensations he was drawing from your body. Your hips rocked against his hand, seeking more of that exquisite friction.

With a low growl, Daemon withdrew his hand, leaving you aching and wanting. In one swift motion, he spun you around, pressing you face-first against the cold stone wall.

Daemon pressed himself against you from behind, his body hard and unyielding. You could feel the heat of him through your clothes, his breath hot on your neck as he spoke.

"You've played your games," he growled, his voice low and dangerous in your ear. "Now it's my turn."

His hands were rough as they hiked up your skirts, exposing you to the cool air. You gasped as he pressed himself against you, the hardness of his arousal evident through his breeches.

"Daemon," you breathed.

He responded by nipping at your neck, his teeth scraping against your sensitive skin. "Don't speak," he commanded. "You've said enough."

You heard the rustle of fabric as he freed himself from his breeches. Then, without warning, he thrust into you in one hard stroke. You cried out in pleasure and his hand found the front of your throat.

The feeling of Daemon entering you so forcefully drew a gasp from your lips. His hand tightened slightly on your throat as he began to move, his thrusts hard and deep. There was no tenderness in his movements, only raw need and lingering anger.

You couldn't respond, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through your body. The cold stone of the wall pressed against your cheek, a stark contrast to the heat of Daemon's body behind you. His free hand gripped your hip bruisingly tight as he drove into you again and again.

He turned you to face him once more, and a sudden shift sent a jolt through your body as Daemon's mouth replaced the feeling of his cock. His tongue laved over your sensitive flesh, drawing a gasping moan from your lips. Your legs trembled, barely able to support you as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Daemon's hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he devoured you with an almost feral intensity. His tongue delved deep, tasting every inch of you, while his nose brushed against your most sensitive spot. The contrast between his earlier roughness and this focused attention left you reeling.

You reached for him, your fingers tangling in his silver hair as you fought to stay upright. "Daemon," you breathed, his name like a prayer on your lips.

He growled against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs. Your hands gripped his shoulders as you begged for mercy on your shaky legs.

Daemon's mouth continued its relentless assault, his tongue delving deep inside you before flicking against your most sensitive spot. Your legs trembled, threatening to give out as waves of pleasure crashed over you. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, holding you in place as he devoured you.

You cried out, your fingers tangling in his silver hair as you felt yourself nearing the edge. "Daemon, please," you gasped, unsure if you were begging him to stop or never cease.

He responded by redoubling his efforts, his tongue moving faster and more insistently against you. One of his hands left your thigh, his fingers finding your bud and stroking in tandem with his mouth.

The dual sensations were too much. With a keening cry, you came undone, your body shuddering as ecstasy washed over you. Daemon carried you to the bed, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your release. He laid you down roughly, his eyes dark with a mixture of lust and lingering anger as he loomed over you. Without a word, he gripped your hips and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling you up onto your hands and knees.

You felt his body press against yours from behind, the heat of him searing through the thin fabric of your torn gown. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back as he leaned in close to your ear.

“Tell me what you want, ñuha zaldrītsos,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous in your ear.

Your mind raced, caught between lingering anger and overwhelming desire. Part of you wanted to resist, to maintain some semblance of control. But another part craved his touch, his dominance, the raw passion that had always existed between you.

“You," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want you, Daemon."

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Not good enough," he said, his free hand trailing down your side to grip your hip. "Be specific."

You felt your breath catch in your throat, torn between desire and the remnants of your earlier anger. Daemon's body was hot against yours, his grip on your hair unyielding. You could feel the hard length of him pressed against you, a reminder of his barely contained need.

"I want..." you began, your voice trembling slightly. "I want you inside me. I want to feel you, all of you."

Daemon's grip tightened, pulling your head back further. "And?" he prompted, his voice a low growl.

You swallowed hard, heat flooding your cheeks. "I want you to take me. To claim me. To remind me why I'm yours."

A low, satisfied chuckle rumbled in his chest. Without warning, he thrust into you in one hard stroke, burying himself to the hilt. You cried out, the sudden fullness sending shockwaves through your body.

Daemon set a punishing pace, his hips snapping against yours with each powerful thrust. His grip on your hair remained tight, holding your head back as he drove into you again and again. The room filled with the sounds of skin against skin and your breathless moans.

"Is this what you wanted?" Daemon growled, his voice rough with exertion and lingering anger. "To be reminded of who you belong to?"

You could only gasp in response, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through your body. Daemon's free hand gripped your hip bruisingly tight, pulling you back to meet each thrust. The angle allowed him to hit that spot deep inside you that made you see stars.

"Answer me," he demanded, giving your hair a sharp tug.

"Yes," you managed to choke out between moans. "Yes, Daemon, please..."

Daemon's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming even more forceful. You could feel the tension building in your core, pleasure coiling tighter with each movement. His hand left your hip, snaking around to find your sensitive bud. His fingers circled it roughly, drawing a sharp cry from your lips.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice low and possessive in your ear. "No matter what games you play, what schemes you devise. You will always be mine."

His words, combined with the relentless assault on your senses, pushed you over the edge. You came with a keening cry, your body shuddering as waves of pleasure washed over you. Daemon didn't slow his pace, fucking you through your orgasm and drawing out your pleasure until it bordered on overstimulation.

With a final, powerful thrust, Daemon found his own release. He groaned, his hot seed coating every inch of your pulsing insides. Before you could take a breath, he flipped you once more to your back, and pushed his fingers inside of you. He wanted his seed to be buried inside your womb. As he retrieved his fingers, he brought them to your lips.

“Taste,” he commanded.

The room was spinning, but you didn't dare defy him. You parted your lips, and Daemon pressed his seed-covered fingers to your mouth. You closed your eyes, enjoying the tang of iron and salt that filled your senses.

"Mmm," Daemon purred, pleased with your submission. His grip on your hair loosened, allowing you to catch your breath. "That's my good girl."

You swallowed the evidence of his claim on you, the thick liquid coating your tongue.

Your heart was still pounding, body trembling from the intensity of what had just transpired. Daemon's weight pressed you into the mattress, his breath hot against your neck. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the only sound in the room your ragged breathing.

Slowly, Daemon lifted his head to look at you. His eyes, which had been stormy with anger and lust, now held a mixture of satisfaction and lingering frustration. He studied your face intently, as if searching for something. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch gentler now as his thumb traced your lower lip.

"You drive me mad," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "In every way possible."

You gazed up at Daemon, your breath still coming in shallow pants. The intensity of his stare made your heart race, a mix of lingering desire and uncertainty coursing through you. His touch on your cheek was gentle now, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before.

"Daemon," you whispered, unsure of what to say. The anger between you hadn't fully dissipated, but it had transformed into something else - a raw, primal energy that left you feeling both satisfied and vulnerable.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. His silver hair fell around your face like a curtain, shielding you both from the world outside. For a moment, you could almost forget the argument that had led to this, the schemes and secrets that had driven a wedge between you.

You couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief and exhaustion. The wounds of your actions would take time to heal, but for now, the storm had passed once again.

The tension in the room slowly ebbed as you both lay there, bodies intertwined and breathing gradually steadying. Daemon's weight against you was both comforting and overwhelming, a reminder of the intensity that always existed between you. His fingers traced idle patterns on your skin, the gentleness of his touch a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before.

You turned your head slightly, meeting Daemon's gaze. The air between you felt heavy with unspoken words, the argument that had led to this moment still hanging over you both.

"Daemon," you began softly, unsure of how to bridge the gap that had formed between you.

He silenced you with a gentle kiss, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache. When he pulled back, Daemon's eyes searched yours, his expression softening slightly. 

"I know," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "We still have much to discuss."

You nodded, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. "We do," you agreed softly. "But perhaps... not right now."

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hello dear. I wanted to send a request. Yandere Viserys I Targaryen and his second wife reader. (Baelon/Alyssa/Aegon/Helaena/Aemond/Daeron are their children.) Viserys chooses his first our son Baelon as his heir. There is no dance of dragons. Viserys is not sick.

Our own blood

Viserys I x wife!reader

warning : yandere behaviour, kissing, mention of births, implied murders, implied/mentioned mental problems

Summary : Viserys loved his Aemma she had given him his Rhaenyra...but a dragon of his blood is hungry for more, more of his own blood. Which is why, not quite a decade later, the second queen gave him six children, children to represent love and a legacy to be spoken. But the dragon never leaves his treasure, his wife, the Queen of Westeros, alone.

info : Hi thanks for the request anon, yandere Viserys is just an idea that is very interesting, he is the sleeping dragon that is awakened to bring chaos to the realm. I hope you enjoy reading

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bells of the royal sept rang again that day, like every day and like the years before, but this time they played different notes, notes of the utmost importance.

On this day in King's Landing, the heir to the throne was to be proclaimed, an heir that the people had been waiting for ever since he had been presented, the little boy with the fair hair and dark violet eyes, a Targaryen through and through.

A young prince not quite his twentieth name day and yet beloved by the people, Baelon Targaryen as a tribute to his grandfather, he would wear that name with pride whenever he was called...but above all it was his beloved mother who would call him.

A woman who didn't even belong in the House of the Dragon, a woman his father had taken after his first wife had died, Aemma had given him Rhaenyra, a gift from the gods but no son.

Something he wanted and needed, ,,I dreamed that regents would spring from your womb" he had told her when his wife was first pregnant, his hand resting on her slightly bulging belly gently yet firmly.

A dragon who loved her was like a coin, like a sword with a pointed and blunt side.

The blunt side was his calmness, his serenity, his care for his children, his love for his family and the way he looked at her with such devotion that it was his dragon scales that had captivated her then..but a dragon is a monster not a knight of love.

A dragon with his pointy side was possessive, domineering, power-hungry and above all obsessive with the treasure he loved most, ,,The dragon's blood will watch over you forever, no one will destroy this bond of love....and if they try I have dragons" was his statement as he made the royal procession through the city with her, hearing the roar of Vhagar, the queen of dragons fit for the king who had taken Vhagar after Balerion's death.

Viserys was gentle and waiting at the beginning of their relationship, someone who loved her dearly and to whom she wanted to give children, but after Baelon, after holding an heir, a baby who grew older than Aemma's children, he wanted more.

You could never fully satisfy a dragon, ,,One more prince or princess and I'll never ask for anything from you again" was just one of his feeble lies as she gave him six children and was devoured by the dragon's mouth.

How can you love the man you married under fire and gold when that man became the worst of your blood? His kisses possessive, hands always on you were a gesture of support for others but for her a reminder that he would burn King's Landing to the ground if he was so sure of her.

An obsession that brought her into darkness whenever he was with her, whenever she was in the chamber with her and his touches and kisses did not have the love they once had...and yet he was a Targaryen a man of beauty, a god who flew the greatest dragon and the man she had fallen in love with.

A man she found herself smiling at, kissing him and leaning into him, a man whose appearance and calmness always captured her, especially when he flew with her on Vhagar.

It was like a decade ago when they disappeared to Dragonstone after the wedding ceremony out of love, and came together there in love.

Now, instead of the dragon's cry and fire, it was the bells of the Sept announcing that the king was making a decision, a decision she saw when she saw Baelon and his siblings, ,,The handsome dragons of the realm" she gave of herself and carefully raised up, immediately feeling Baelon's support and giving him a look of thanks.

Her beloved children Baelon the firstborn a son of knowledge and honour the heir to the throne, his sister Alyssa her image more than her father's a princess of music and love of dragons.

Aegon her third son who like his father enjoyed parties and alcohol and valued friends of which he had many, a loyal prince to his siblings.

Her dreaming Helaena with talents for art and dreaming that Viserys took on.

Their last children whose births were long and difficult but whose love never waned Aemond emulated his eldest brother in swordplay and was precise with it and the youngest little Daeron who enjoyed dragons as much as his eldest sister as well as emulating Aegon's loyalty.

They were the princesses and princes of the realm, their children with Viserys and proof of love, but proof that even her stepdaughter Rhaenyra had taken to her heart. She loved her children, but her body would not be able to bear any more children after Daeron's birth.

She had spent several months in bed, with dreams and nightmares dipping in and out of her mind, but even there her children were with her...and Viserys, whose eyes had burned with fire when he heard that she might die.

Several masters and midwives burned that day, a smell that sometimes still lingered in her nose, but Viserys had what he wanted, she was alive and in the dark gown accompanied by her children the queen walked into the throne room.

All rose to look at her with joy and devotion, a few with sadness knowing that the Queen had not fully recovered and others cheered for the royal children but all looked to the throne as the bells rang out, ,,My dear husband" she whispered as she took her place beside Viserys.

The look in the violet eyes of love showed as he pressed a gentle kiss on her temple.

A fact he commanded she was his equal, she was his wife, she is the queen and wore the crown as he did while her children lined up beside the throne all except Baelon whose clothes spoke of alliances.

The black and red robe with the crown and the golden engraved house symbols spoke of his worth, ,,On this day I appoint Viserys first of my name of the House Targaryen and King of the realm, the andals and roynar that my firstborn son Baelon Tararyen is hereby deemed heir to the throne" he proclaimed and the lords and ladies knelt as the roar of dragons was heard and Viserys hand clasped hers lovingly yet firmly.

Her children would go free with dragons everything was open to them and she would take care of her husband, would continue to give Viserys her love despite the fire and the dragon he demanded because in the end he was her king and she was only his second wife the queen...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[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.

[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.

[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

[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.

- Pairing: 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.

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

HOTD INTERVIEW. 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 scene from ep08 s01, viserys and rhaenyra.

[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