#rogue Prince

[paulyenvol6]

Called to the Devil (Chapter 4)

Contains: mentions of smut, flirting, sexual tension

Wordcount: ~2.24k

Masterlist of this story

A good time they indeed had.

Arika and Elayne laughed together and drank and she liked the hand's daughter more and more. She still widened her eyes at her lose tongue at times but it seemed as though Arika was able to relax the more time she spent with Elayne.

Still, her attention was drawn to Daemon many times because he just looked too handsome. Tonight he wore a black jacket with a high collar and intricate silver clasps running down the front. Elayne had to force herself not to look at him for too long and just hoped that Arika didn't notice her interest in the king's brother.

A little later Elayne felt the wish to dance so the next person who asked her she didn't refuse. There had been countless suiters who wanted to spend time with the young Baratheon girl because she was from a noble house and of a marriagable age. But this far she had apologized to each lord because she rather had wanted to spend her time with Arika but now, as young Hectar Lefford had approached, Elayne agreed.

It wasn't even about Lord Hectar, she just loved dancing and got lost in the soft tones as she rocked her head in rhythm to the music. Not long after Elayne had enough though because Lord Hectar only showered her with compliments about her beauty and she grew tired of it. So she excused herself and flitted off the dance floor to search for Arika.

But to her surprise she wasn't where she had left her behind and Elayne's eyes wandered over the feast. She frowned and then decided to search the garden. Perhaps she had desired a moment away from the loud noises and craved some fresh air.

So she left the celebrations and made her way through the gate and then out among the bright stars. But Elayne couldn't find her friend here either. She was just about to turn around when she heard a noise next to her. She turned around and twitched in surprise when she saw Daemon in front of her. He seeminly hadn't expected to see her here as well because he lifted his eyebrows.

"You.", he just scoffed and Elayne squeezed her eyes.

"Have you seen my friend?", she asked because she didn't come up with a better reply.

"Your friend?"

"Arika. The hand's daughter."

Daemon chuckled. "So you found yourself a little pet already."

Elayne hummed angrily. "She's not my pet, she's my friend. Have you seen her?" The prince thoughtfully put his finger to his mouth.

"I think your little puppy has overestimated herself a little. I saw her father dragging her out of the hall and she didn't look like she was able to stand on her two feet by herself."

Elayne growled and dropped her gaze.

"You put on quite a show back there, didn't you?", Daemon suddenly spoke quietly and she looked up to him at once.

"What do you mean?"

The prince smirked crookedly. "On the dancefloor. Your hair thrown back, eyes closed."

Elayne bit her lip and raised her chin. "Did you like what you saw?"

"Not one bit.", he said, emphasizing every word and her face got cold which made Daemon chuckle. But still she glanced up to him and the desire in her eyes was clearly visible to the prince.

"I liked what I saw.", Elayne breathed and pleadingly looked up to him.

She closed the gap between them until she could feel his chest against her but Daemon continued to look at her smugly.

"I bet I can make you change your mind.", the girl whispered. "I know I can."

"Mhmm, you think so.", Daemon hummed and Elayne's eyes brightened up.

"Yes. Yes, I can. I know how to do it, Daemon."

He chuckled in response and watched the air entering and leaving her mouth rapidly.

"Get on your knees then.", he hissed and she smiled widely.

Elayne almost fell to her knees and stared up to him expectantly and her eyes were big with anticipation. She wanted to open his pants but Daemon softly slapped the back of her hands and started to unlace them himself.

"Close your eyes.", he whispered darkly in the meantime and she obeyed.

She waited. Waited for him to say that she should open them again. Or to feel his tip entering her mouth but none of it happened. And then Elayne just had to open her eyes because she didn't know why he kept her waiting for so long but as soon as her eyes sprang open she felt confused. He was gone. Had it merely been a dream? No, that wasn't possible.

Now anger and patheticness filled her senses. How could he do this? Leaving her here alone kneeling in the garden. Quickly she stood up and looked around to see if someone was there but luckily she was alone. 'What an arsehole.', Elayne thought and grinded her teeth. She felt disgraceful right now and wished all of this hadn't happened.

Why did she always embarrass herself in front of him like that? Dropping to her knees and then not even noticing that he had left her. He probably had laughed to himself afterwards, seeing her on the stoney ground waiting for him to shove his cock inside of her mouth. Elanye squinted her eyes and tried to keep her head as high as possible as she walked back into the keep.

She didn't see Daemon for the rest of the night and wondered if he had gone to his chambers. And yet she was glad about his absence because being confronted with him right now would have been too shameful even for the confident girl.

Elayne was happy when she found herself in the safety of her chambers and exhaled loudly. That had been a rather eventful night and she had grown tired. And that's why she sleep overcame her as soon as her head hit the pillow and even her chaotic and relentless thoughts about the rogue prince didn't stand a chance against the sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Elayne also didn't see Daemon during her quick breakfast the next day. It almost seemed like the floor had swallowed him and she thoughtfully nibbled at the apple in her hand.

The other members of her family noticed that she acted differently to when she had just arrived at the keep and didn't really know how to deal with it. On one hand they cared about the girl and were worried that something was bothering her but on the other hand they were relieved that Elayne was finally a little more calm and well-behaved at last.

So no one dared asking her about her pensive mood and everyone just ate their breakfast while glancing at Elayne every now and then. She didn't notice any of these gazes though and fully ignored the people around her. After she was done with her breakfast Elayne left the room to fulfil her obligations for the day.

It was a Wednesday which meant that she got to spend her morning as she wished so Elayne decided to walk down to the beach where she threw little rocks into the ocean while singing songs of her childhood. She knew that her companions in court didn't wish for her to leave the safety of the keep, but she didn't care. Sometimes she just had to see something else than the walls and corridors that always looked the same. She came here to smell the salty air and hear the peaceful sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.

But soon Elayne had to make her way back to the red keep because in the afternoon she had to attend her lessons with her septa which was why she found herself in the library only a few minutes late.

"That's not a fine behaviour for a lady.", Ysa commented it with lifted eyebrows and Elayne smiled apologetic.

"Well… I'm here to become a lady, right…?", she tried and the septa rolled her eyes but looked a little amused.

The next hours turned out to be both exhausting and boring and Elayne tried not to yawn too often and especially not do it open-mouthed. Ysa taught her about history, mathematics and biology and soon her head was throbbing. She really did try, to be honest. Not because she was eager to learn about these things but because she liked her septa. She had been one of the nicest persons and Elayne didn't feel the desire to make this woman's life hell.

But still, in the end she couldn't hide her annoyance anymore and was leaning back in her chair when Ysa announced that the lesson was finished. She jumped up at these words and just wanted to turn around and leave this horrible place when her septa made her stop.

"Be so kind, child and bring this book to Prince Daemon. He wished to borrow it last week but I wasn't done with the sorting so I promised to have it brought to him next week."

Elayne frowned. "Fine.", she mumbled and intended to take the book but Ysa held on to it.

"Elayne.", she said demanding and of course she understood what she had done wrong. She swiftly straightened up and cleared her throat.

"Of course, septa Ysa."

Her voice was dripping with sarcasm but luckily her septa didn't notice it so she smiled contendly and let her take the book. "Thank you, child."

Elayne couldn't stop herself from walking extra loud as she approached the prince's chambers. Of course did she have to bring this to Daemon from all people. As if she was his servant. She didn't even know whether she wished to find him in his chambers because on one hand she feared the humiliation and didn't yearn for the smug look on his face but on the other hand… Elayne merely craved him and his presence. Her lust for him hadn't vanished after last night though part of her wished that it had.

But when she opened the door and peeked into the room nobody was there. So Elayne quietly hasted into the prince's chambers and dropped the heavy book on the table in the middle of the room. She exhaled, rested her hands on her hips and then looked around one last time before she attempted to leave but she suddenly heard steps and then a voice cut through the air.

"What are you doing in here again?"

Elayne swiftly spinned around only to stare into Daemon's flashing eyes. He examined her with amusement, clearly thinking that she had come here to try and seduce him once more.

"Septa Ysa told me to bring this book into your chambers.", she explained while pointing to the table. But the prince didn't believe her and squinted his eyes.

"The septa told you… Since when do you do what you're told?"

Elayne rolled her eyes and Daemon sensed her sulkiness. She avoided his gaze and also didn't answer him so he took a step towards her. The girl immediately let her eyes wander over his face in order to figure out whether he was mocking her or flirting with her.

"You arsehole.", she spitted and Daemon smirked as a reply. "You left me alone in the gardens."

The prince sighed and watched her pitiful. "I didn't expect you to be the kind of person to feel humiliated. You know… just generally."

Elayne clearly wasn't satisfied with his answer and grinded her teeth.

"Fuck you. I wanted to do you a favor."

Now Daemon laughed out, it was a quiet and deep sound. "You wanted to do me a favor? I think it was you who has been begging for me to fuck your mouth ever since you arrived here. I could walk down into the city and within 5 minutes I would have a dozen willing whores at my mercy. The only difference is that you'd do it for free."

Elayne's eyes were glistening with anger but to her shame she could also feel this pulsating heat between her legs. But she just ignored it, Daemon couldn't notice it anyways. She was looking for an answer but felt too dizzy to come up with something and the prince laughed about her.

"Oh sweet girl. I think you're overestimating yourself a little."

Elayne's cheeks turned red as her nostrils flustered and she took yet another step forwards. She was now close with her face to his neck and Daemon turned his head to look down at her.

"You're an arrogant ignorant idiot.", she hissed. "No wonder your wife has fled your company."

"Careful, little one. Don't get too comfortable with your words.", he purred and let his thumb run over her jaw. She slightly smiled and bit her lips.

"I'm not gonna let you command me what to say. You don't have any power or saying over me."

Her voice was merely a whisper and if her words had made him angry, Daemon didn't show any sign of it. He rather looked amused and didn't pull away when the girl got even closer with her face.

"Oh I think I do have a certain power over you. I think I could make you drop to your knees know if I wanted you to.", he whispered and Elayne felt her breathing fastening.

"I think not.", she answered. "I think you had your chance."

Daemon chuckled at that and playfully nibbled at his lower lip. "Mhm... What a shame I missed it."

[smutcraft]

The Wager | Daemon Targaryen x Fem! Reader Smut

Following your gaze, Daemon chuckles. "Still not giving up, are we? An admirable quality in a whore," he taunts, stoking your competitive nature all the more. "Let's have it, then. You may try as long as you like. I’ve nowhere I’d rather be.”

Smut ahead! 18+

Prince Daemon, aka Lord Fleabottom, pays a visit to your pillow house with a strange proposition.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60466729

Words: ~5,000

Hear Daemon's parts from an AI Daemon Voice: https://www.tumblr.com/smutcraft/766798057547448320/daemon-targaryen-matt-smith-voice-ai-the-wager?source=share

This certainly isn’t the Lord of Fleabottom’s first visit to your brothel. The Magic Pillow is as good an establishment as any, with excellent dancers and musicians -- not that your clientele are there for music or dancing. No, what’s unusual about Daemon’s visit on this particular evening is the fact that he’s come calling while Mysaria is away.

Say what you will about the Targaryen prince, but he’s a creature of habit like any other man, and he rarely passes a night at the Magic Pillow without Mysaria. If not Mysaria, he tends to favor your pillow sisters with pale hair and skin like his -- like a Targaryen’s. You’ve grown accustomed to seeing the same three or four women with the prince in his finely tailored doublets, or in his armor as the Commander of the City Watch.

This evening you’re wearing a sheer gown that ripples along your body like a fountain of gold, the color coaxing another layer of warmth from your flat brown eyes. You’ve worn your hair in a simple plait that’s bound to come unraveled by morning, looking every bit the unruly Dornish woman you are. Amara Sunstar is your fitting name around the pillow house, inspired by the spiky scar on one of your hips.

As you adjust your jewelry and eye your prospects for the evening, you catch Daemon eyeing you with a curious look. Not long after, he saunters over to the brothel owner and leans in to speak privately into the man’s ear. Is it just your imagination, or does Daemon gesture in your direction with the slightest jerk of his chin before disappearing up the stairs? Moments later, the brothel owner hustles over to you with eyes wide as saucers.

“He’s sent for me?” you ask, confused. 

Lord Egen is equally perplexed. “Requested you specifically by name, Amara. And said there was ‘a "dragon's den of gold" in it for the Dornish woman, if she’s lucky.’"

You snort, making a show of being unimpressed, though the mention of so much gold has you thinking wistfully of all the things you could buy. Passage on a ship, for example…

"I'll see to the prince," you say, averting your eyes, as if the brothel owner could read your thoughts in them. "Where is he?"

"The round room," he replies, nodding upstairs. "Best get to it."

You smooth your hair and stop in your chambers to apply a light coating of powder and blush before making your way to the large turreted chamber that is the round room. Just before you enter to greet Prince Daemon, you take a deep breath and lift your shoulders back.

Daemon is lounging on the plush red cushions of the round room, idly toying with a tankard of ale as you enter the room. Never one for subtlety, tonight he wears a fine black doublet tailored closely to show off his arms. A dark cloak with fur trim lies discarded on the floor already. As you approach, his eyes rake over your body from the ground up, lingering on your toned arms and calves in particular. The pleased curve of his mouth suggests he has special plans for you as he gestures for you to join him, patting an empty cushion beside him. 

"Amara Sunscar," he says, his voice low and rich. “Thank you for joining me.”

"At your leisure, my prince," you say, settling herself beside him. You lean forward to pour yourself a small measure of wine, hoping to settle your nerves, but Daemon places a hand over the top of her cup to stop you. He lifts the cup away without a word of explanation, and you stifle a burst of irritation at his presumptuousness.

"I would like to know," he says smoothly, still offering no explanation for your forced sobriety, "what brings a Dornish beauty such as yourself to King's Landing. I hear you were banished from the brothels in your motherland?"

You swallow another gust of irritation. "I was," you say between grit teeth. 

Daemon's eyes dance with keen interest. "Care to explain?”

You sigh, wary of spreading the tale any farther than it already has. "A useless drunk with no coin forced me to defend myself. Unfortunately, I defended myself...too well." Though this was years ago, when you were just learning the skin trade, you can still picture the dead man's torrent of blood spilling from his neck.

Daemon, strange man that he is, doesn't look put off by your admission. Rather, he looks more keen than ever. 

"Banished for ridding the world of another useless louse,” he muses. “I find that to be a rather backwards rule." He considers you more closely now. "And what would you do differently, given a second chance?”

You answer honestly, sensing Daemon will see through any attempt at subterfuge. "I would have slit his neck from the front, so I could see his expression."

Daemon grins, a feral expression that says he might just like you for your candor. "Ah, but I can think of a better weapon for a Dornish viper such as yourself." 

He rises from his spot on the cushion and moves to the corner to retrieve his Valyrian longsword.

Of course the brothel owner has made an exception for Damon to bring a weapon into the inner chambers, you think to yourself as Daemon retrieves his longsword. The black metal glints under the candlelight as he presents it to you, hilt first. 

"Dark Sister," you say, surprising even yourself by knowing the name.

"You know your history," Daemon comments with approval. "Yes, this is Dark Sister. A sword crafted for the likes of a legendary woman." 

He gestures for you to take it, watching intently as you accept. You're no Queen Visenya, of course, but an undeniable thrill runs through you as you lift the sword by the hilt. 

"Go on, then. Show me what you know," he encourages, leaning back against the wall to watch. Your admiration of this fine blade must be clear to Daemon; his look of pride is almost unbearable.

You grip the sword more firmly, lifting it as if in challenge. You move the blade through some simple movements, the cold metal slicing through the air in a way that's surprisingly... pleasant. All the while, Daemon observes you with mounting intensity. When you finish in a fighting stance, your arms sore from wielding the heavy blade, Daemon gives you a slow, showy round of applause.

"A formidable opponent," he says as you reluctantly return Dark Sister to him to sheathe and set aside. "Tell me, how does a common whore come to know her way around a longsword?"

The insult is nothing you haven't heard before, but it stings for being so unexpected.

"I was borne into a family of blacksmiths before our village was set to the torch," you spit at him. "And how does the prince of the seven kingdoms come to shed his highborn manners so quickly?"

Daemon chuckles with an expression as sharp and calculating as a wolf's. He says nothing in reply to your retort, merely looking pleased with himself as his attention shifts to the tone of your upper arms. Slowly, lazily, he seats himself at a low table.

“I see you are not one to shy away from a challenge,” he says. "So let us have another. You say you would have enjoyed watching your target’s expression as you defeated him -- let us see if you can bring a Targaryen to wince in defeat." With that, his hand falls open in a clear invitation to arm-wrestle.

You consider Daemon with a slight frown. You've received your fair share of unusual requests from patrons, of course, but this is not one you've ever been presented with before. "If I win?" you demand.

"If you can best me, you will leave this room with a small fortune and my sincerest admiration, Amara Sunscar."

Your mind resolved, you take a seat and roll up the sheer sleeve of your golden robe. "I accept," you declare. "I will show the prince how Dornish steel is forged."

Daemon chuckles at that. "By all means," he says, rolling his own sleeve with mischief in his violet eyes.

Your hands grip one another tightly. Despite your bravado, the solid lock of Daemon's non-dominant hand does nothing to assure you of your chances of winning. Not to mention that his pale forearm outsizes your darker one by a healthy margin. You shake your head, focusing on keeping a steady grip as you count down aloud from three to one.

Daemon's smirk is unwavering, even as the countdown concludes and the game begins in earnest. To your fury, he eases back in his seat and allows his gaze to wander down the bodice of your gown. He looks wholly unconcerned with the outcome of your game, even as you throw all of the strength you can muster into your right arm with sweat beginning to bead your brow. Your wishful thinking of the prize money begins to chafe as the seconds wear on.

All the while Daemon’s arm is unwavering, statue-like, with a fire burning brightly behind his unusual violet eyes. The prince's expression, as always, remains a mask of composure. His eyes flick up to meet yours with an almost teasing gleam. "Do you tire, Amara?"

You do, and greatly, not that you'll give him the pleasure of admitting as much. You merely shake your head, unwilling to let him hear the strain in your voice.

As a full minute ticks by, Daemon seems to sense your determination. His grip tightens, and for a moment you wonder if you've bitten off more than you can chew. The prince's expression remains unreadable as his gaze returns to your face, drinking in the obvious strain on your brow. "You are a fierce little creature, aren't you,” he marvels.

You grit your teeth at his teasing. The longer the arm wrestle goes on, the more the muscles in your arm begin to twinge and ache. 

"Perhaps we ought to renegotiate the stakes?" Daemon offers with a crooked smile, his eyes sparkling. "A small concession in return for an easier victory."

"What have you in mind?" you ask, fighting to keep from panting. 

"A kiss.”

You snort but hesitate, knowing you can't possibly hold on much longer.

"One embrace," he says, leaning in, "And you will have your prize."

You almost roll your eyes, but the fact that the prince is letting you keep the 'small fortune' regardless of losing toes you in line.

"An agreeable compromise," you say between grit teeth. "I'll let you keep your dignity, my prince."

As soon as the mutual embrace of your hands slackens, Daemon’s hand lunges forward to grip your thick plait of hair.

The table topples as he rushes you forward, pinning you to the wall with his lips as much as his grip. It's such a far cry from the smug press of his lips you were anticipating that you squirm in panic, kicking at whatever parts of Daemon you can reach. 

"Now, now, no need for such resistance," he chastises after breaking the kiss - if you can call such an ambush a kiss at all. Just as quickly, he releases you. "You have spirit, that much is clear." He leans closer, the heat from his body almost palpable as he whispers, "I can think of ways to use such spirit."

"I believe you owe me a prize already, my prince," you say hotly. 

Daemon's lips twitch in amusement. "Very well." He reaches into a pouch at his side, tossing it to you with a regretful smile. "For you, my Dornish viper."

You force yourself not to gape as you count the generous sum. "I did not realize men would pay so handsomely to touch my hand alone," you jest. 

"And what a lovely hand it is," Daemon says lightly, impatiently. "Tell me, Amara Sunscar, will you accept one final wager?"

You hesitate, unsure of what the prince could possibly challenge you to next. "I will hear your terms," you say at last.

Daemon smiles, pleased. "The terms are these. I shall leave this room and wait outside for one minute's time. When I open this door again, you will try to slip past me and escape this chamber by any means necessary. If you can manage that, you won't need to take another man to bed so long as you're alive. Should you fail, you shall be rewarded handsomely, but not extravagantly. Do you understand?"

You swallow, your throat tight. You can do this, you tell yourself - it's not an impossible task, considering that you are much lighter and faster on your feet. To Daemon, you repeat quizzically, "By any means necessary?"

Daemon smiles more deeply, seeing you puzzle out the possibilities in your head. "Any at all," he confirms. "I leave even Dark Sister at your disposal."

And with that, he strides from the room, the heavy door closing behind him. You're alone in the round chamber, the fire still crackling warmly on the hearth. And time is ticking.

Your first thought is to hide. The round room has few hiding places: under the bed, behind the door, and behind a floor-length tapestry. But something tells you that Daemon has not survived so many battles by being clueless enough to waltz right past his mark, and hiding under the bed would leave you precious little room to move. Quickly, you dart behind the tapestry, hoping Daemon will think to look under the bed first. As he does, you might be able to bound over the bed and reach the door in time…

While you consider your next move, the door flings wide. A delicious tension hangs in the air as Prince Daemon steps inside with lithe movements, moving as though he anticipates an immediate attack. Finding none, he grins, and you could swear he looks more pleased than ever.

His gaze sweeps the room with practiced precision. You can practically see his clever mind at work as he assesses your potential hiding spots, honing in on the bed as you brace yourself behind the tapestry.

"Dear Amara," he calls out playfully, "I fear you cannot hide for long."

You watch as Daemon turns a slow circle, looking completely unbothered at the prospect of losing enough coin to make your head spin. His careful steps about the room suggest that everything before this moment has been a prelude to what the prince really wants: this cat-and-mouse game between the two of you.

"Where are you, my Dornish viper?" he calls, his voice thick with lust. "I see you’ve not armed yourself with Dark Sister. Does this mean you plan to outfox me?"

You watch with your heart in your throat as the prince kneels to lift the bedskirt. With a sudden burst of adrenaline, you spring from behind the tapestry and attempt to leap over the bed and out the door to victory.

Unfortunately for you, Daemon is much faster than you'd anticipated. In an instant he's snagged you by the waist and lifted you, trapped, within his unyielding arms. "Not today," he says, his voice low and heavy with triumph. 

Disappointment and rage courses through you at being restrained so easily. But it's the thought of that "dragon's den of gold" slipping between your fingers that drives your next desperate bid for escape: You seize upon a nearby candelabra and swing it forcefully into Daemon's chest. 

Daemon's hold on you falters at the impact, and you tumble to the floor with a curse. But as you scramble back to your feet, ready to make another run for it, you freeze in place at his low laugh. "A dragon does not fear fire, foolish girl." 

You ignore the prince's taunting to crouch low, mentally planning your escape, but Daemon mirrors you in every direction you look to, his hands outstretched, a lustful glint in his eyes. 

Clearly, he's relishing the chase. And though you're faster on your feet, you can't seem to outmaneuver him.

"Come now, Amara," he purrs, "What will you try next?"

Your answer is to fake right and break left, toward Dark Sister. Not that you have any intention of maiming the prince, but if you can put the longsword between you and Daemon, you just might be able to -

But Daemon sweeps your feet out from under you, catching you yet again like a babe fallen from a tree, before his lips collide hungrily with yours. Despite the distraction, his hold on you never wavers as you attempt to squirm free. 

"I have you now," Daemon whispers along your jaw. He seizes one of your hands in his and brings it to the front of his breeches, showing you how strained the fabric has become, how painfully erect he must be.

Inspiration strikes a second time as you reach lower, to make a squeeze at his more vulnerable parts.

Daemon drops you with a shout. You’ve barely hit the floor before you're scrambling upright, breaking for the door as though the room were on fire. But Daemon is already hot on your trail, and your stomach sinks as his arms seize you by the waist for a third time. Only now, instead of clutching you to him, he turns and throws you forcefully to the bed. 

"Crafty little viper," Daemon snaps, the words rough with both anger and arousal. As you watch, Daemon tears away his doublet, leaving an expanse of bare-chested skin that you're suddenly dying to nip and bite at. Instead, you look to the door behind him, your nature not allowing you to give up even now. 

Following your gaze, Daemon chuckles. "Still not giving up, are we? An admirable quality in a whore," he taunts, stoking your competitive nature all the more. "Let's have it, then. You may try as long as you like. I’ve nowhere I’d rather be.”

Soon enough you've lost count of how many flight attempts you've made, only to have the bare-chested prince seize you by the middle like some disobedient animal and return you to the bed. His fingers dig into your skin, his touch firm but not painful as he wrestles you into submission, over and over. Each time he returns you to the bed, he returns to the same stance in the middle of the room, his hands clasped behind him and his eyes pointed to his feet.

As time bleeds together, your defiance starts to fade. Perhaps it's the way his eyes glint with a hunger that's become harder to resist with your every failed attempt to escape. Perhaps it's the way he looms over you like a stormcloud, and all you want is to be the lightning that cracks through him. Or maybe it's just the realization that you're sore and tired and still no closer to that dragon's den of gold.

Either way, you find yourself squirming beneath Daemon's grasp, no longer out of desperation to flee, but an entirely new source of heat building inside of you.

Daemon's lips quirk in satisfaction as he senses the shift of defeat in your body and spirit. He bends low, his breath hot on your ear as he murmurs, "Good girl. At last you understand."

He brings a hand to the edge of your bodice. With a swift tug, the laces are loosened enough that he can pull the gown off one shoulder to reveal a swath of creamy skin.

Teeth graze your neck, nipping gently. "You're mine," he repeats, as if claiming you. His lips trail down to the hollow of your throat, the stubble on his chin scratching pleasantly against the tender flesh.

As his hand drifts, his fingers brushing lines along your collarbones, he looks up at you like a lion on the brink of supping at last. "Are you going to deny that any longer?"

The stare he fixes you with in that moment is what does you in. 

"No," you answer, almost too softly to be heard.

Daemon smiles, the wickedness in his eyes clear as day. He claims your lips in a savage kiss that leaves you gasping when he finally tears you away by a fistful of your hair.

"Good girl. Then let's begin," he murmurs, and he pushes the bodice off your other shoulder, tossing it to the floor. He traces your curves with his fingertips, dipping beneath your chemise to cup one of your breasts.

You whimper under the long-awaited grip feel of him, a sound so raw and unguarded that it seems to spur Daemon on. His lips make an eager path down your torso, nibbling and sucking at your skin as he goes, until he reaches the juncture between your thighs.

Daemon wastes no time burying his face there, lapping at your folds. You cry out, your fingers digging into the sheets as you arch your back, offering yourself fully to his whims. His touch only intensifies from there.

You hiss and writhe with pleasure as Daemon works at your core, lapping at your wetness with an urgency that borders on madness.

The Prince of the seven kingdoms looks like a man possessed as he forces your thighs farther apart. His tongue lashes and lathes between your legs as Daemon learns how to coax his favorite sounds out of you, his hands brusquely forcing you flat against the bed each time your hips start to lift of their own accord.

You gasp as Daemon works at your clit next, alternating between a gentle suckling and a slow pattern with the tip of his tongue that quickly has you feeling light headed. He chuckles into you as you grip at his long silver hair, your need palpable and rising still higher every second.

You sense Daemon’s own need building, the scent of your arousal and the sound of your moans driving him onward. His tongue plunges deep inside you, flicking against your entrance as his fingers pinch at your clit with just enough pressure to send shocks through your body.

Soon enough you're quaking on the verge of orgasm, panting as if you’ve run a marathon.

Daemon smiles into the damp curls between your legs before he rises to his feet without granting your release. "Patience, Amara," he admonishes.

But patience is not a gift you possess, and the state Daemon’s left you in drives you to pounce instead, driving him back into the mattress as you snake your legs and arms around his. Daemon’s reaction is immediate but surprising: at first he obliges with a groan, his head lolling slightly backward, his gaze surprisingly tender. But this effect doesn’t last long. You soon find yourself grappling with Daemon, enjoying the battle of wills -- not to mention the opportunity to exercise your strength to the fullest, to exert yourself in this way you’d nearly forgotten.

Your exertions don’t last long, for Daemon pins you to the bed once again and lords over you like the smug highborn dragonrider that he is. "My little viper is insatiable. But I suppose that's why she’s irresistible, as well.”

With those words, Daemon settles himself between your legs. His thick shaft nudges against your entrance, and you can feel the heat radiating off him. He grinds against you, teasing the wet opening with just the tip of his cock. "Ready for me?" he asks lazily.

Through your haze of lust, another wicked idea occurs to you. 

"Wait," you whisper, pushing your hands against his chest. Daemon obliges, easing his weight from you with a quizzical smile. As he does, you guide him into a new position, settling him behind you while you face the door on all fours. 

Daemon's eyes flash as he understands what you want from him, seizing you by the hip with one hand and seeking your wet core with the other. He doesn’t wait for an invitation this time, but pushes inside you slowly, stretching you open to accommodate him. 

Once he's buried to the hilt, Daemon seizes you by both hips and pulls you slowly back against him. He drives into you a second time, then a third, until he seems to forget the world around you both and begins to take you in earnest.

"Daemon," you groan as the prince bottoms out within you over and over. At the sound of his name in your mouth, he gives a beastly groan and drives into you with a primal greed that leaves you breathless. Delicious as it is, you are distracted…and with good cause.

You decide to help the prince along using your usual tricks. You arrange a pillow beneath you and grip the base of Daemon's cock with one hand, adding a pressure that has him groaning louder than ever before. 

"Are you going to spend inside me, Daemon?" you croon. "Or spill your princely seed on my  ass? I've not had a chance to ask Mysaria which you prefer..."

You're pleased to hear another feral grunt at your words.

"Keep talking like that and I'll forget every whore I’ve ever lain with," Daemon pants as you work him, your hand squeezing his cock in time with your hips rolling with each thrust. His own hand comes to rest on your lower back.

You wait for his grunts to pick up before forcing his hands to his sides, using the force of your own hips to impale yourself upon him over and over.

Daemon's breath hitches at your boldness. "Damn you, woman," he curses. "Are you trying to drive me mad?"

You answer by turning your head to fix him with a coy smile that you hope will urge him ever closer to the end.

"Cum now," you order. "Make a mess of my cunt or ass, I care not, only do it now."

Daemon's breathy chuckle at your insolence quickly becomes the sound you were hoping to hear: the faltering grunts of a man's pleasure about to reach its mark.

It's then that you spring into action, using your hands to springboard from the bed and onto the ground, adrenaline leaping along with you as you make for the door.

But as you scramble for the door, you make the fatal mistake of looking back.

Daemon's face is wild in the aftermath of his ruined orgasm, thanks to you. The shock of your flight -- your final, most clever escape attempt -- strikes him plainly, like a slap to the face. That quickly, his look of surprised irritation elapses into rage, and the snarl from Daemon’s chest is filled with rage as he comes charging after you. 

You have the door open now, you can hear the sound of the musicians from below --

But Daemon comes up fast upon you, his fist forcing the heavy oak door closed again mere inches from your nose.

His other hand shoots out to grab your throat, an iron grip that keeps your back pinned against his chest.

"Silly slut. You think you can toy with your prince so shamelessly and get away with it?" he hisses in your ear. His hand around your throat squeezes even tighter as he speaks, digging tightly enough to steal your breath.

As the room spins, you register being forced back onto all fours, this time onto the chamber’s bearskin in the center of the room. And this time with Daemon in front of you, not behind.

He slaps the head of his swollen cock against your lips until you part them. After that, there is no tenderness as he claims your throat, his every thrust a punishing one. You hear Daemon’s anger in each seething breath through his nose. And yet, even with his hand still gripped tight around your throat, you can’t deny it - you like it this way. Daemon thrusting into you relentlessly, his pale hips pistoning into your face with the force of revenge as much as lust.

"You’ve lost, little viper,” he growls. “My sneaking Dornish whore.”

You can barely hear him through the whirling between your ears and the pain around your throat, and still you can't help moaning weakly. It's an odd combination: fear and pleasure, humiliation and ecstasy.

You never want it to stop.

With a triumphant smirk, he releases you, allowing you to fall back and draw breath. 

“Daemon,” you sputter, air filling your lungs, the simple pleasure of it flooding through you. 

Daemon watches your reaction with a mix of satisfaction and contempt. As you watch, he kneels to the ground to retrieve his belt, which he cinches around your naked waist like reins. 

Your head falls back as he positions himself behind you once more.

He thrusts into you from behind again, this time without mercy, his movements brutal, as if each slam against your hips is another slap at your pride.

"Now," he breathes in your ear, "You will beg."

"I won't," you hiss. Even now, you can't resist stoking his anger further, curious to see how far you can push the Rogue Prince.

Daemon chuckles darkly at your defiance. He slams into you, his thrusts more forceful than before. Your body is a perfect fit for him, taking every inch without hesitation. He tightens his grip around the belt, making you feel more than ever like a vessel for his enjoyment and amusement.

“You will.”

Overcome with need, you press your eager fingers against your cunt and turn your head to beg Daemon with your eyes instead, hoping to maintain the last traces of your dignity.

"Beg, Amara," Daemon orders again, clearly losing patience, his eyes never leaving yours. Just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of desperation, of the most carnal need, he stops, pulling away in silence.

The longer he leaves you teetering, the more your desperation mounts. It's not until your voice cracks do you give in, and the words leave on a sob.

"Please, Daemon," you manage, your face flushed from need and shame. "Let me.”

“Let you what?”

“Let me cum,” you say without meeting his gaze.

He smirks at your submission, his eyes glittering with satisfaction as he slides back inside of you. Daemon's cock fills you again, the return like a promise made good. He grips your hair and starts to pump into you, the pace faster, the angle sharper, each thrust more intense than the last. His pace is relentless, driving into you without mercy, taking your body with the same ferocity that he's taken everything else in his life.

You can hear your own cries mingling with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, and it's only a matter of time before you approach your edge again, trembling under his unforgiving thrusts.

When you do, you can no longer contain yourself, your pleas for release tumbling out of your mouth. "Please, Daemon, please, let me come."

"With me,” he growls, the command unmistakable. He doesn't slow down, only continues to drive into you with a fervor that makes it clear he's determined to take you both over the edge at the same time.

As the wave of ecstasy builds within you, so does Daemon's own need. He thrusts more wildly than ever, his hand reaching out once more to seize you by the throat, that tight hold that both terrifies and delights you.

“I have you,” Daemon snarls again. “Did you truly think you could get away from me? That anything in the seven kingdoms could keep me from claiming this sweet, perfect cunt of yours?”

Sensing Daemon about to come undone, you look back to relish the prince's expression and see his face set in a grimace of wild pleasure that mirrors your own. Whereas Daemon looks more like a ferocious beast bearing down on its prey, however, you feel more like the prey on the brink of reaching safe haven. 

The moment he reaches his release, a twin spark ignites inside of you as well. You cry out as your long awaited orgasm rips through you, and Daemon’s along with it. As your shuddering stops, he pulls out to spend along your back; you can feel the warm traces of it against your skin. 

As he collapses next to you on the bed, Daemon's chest rises and falls in deep lungfuls. Sweat glistens on both of your skin. You're spent, utterly drained, but satisfaction hums through your veins in a way it rarely does with paying customers.

“Well played, my prince,” you say after a minute of blissfully exerted breathing. 

“To you as well,” he replies with his eyes closed. 

You might sulk if you weren’t so spent. You’ve lost the wager, after all; now the prince will pay you “handsomely but not extravagantly” for your troubles. You let your eyes fall closed as well, exhaustion threatening to overtake you, but you open your eyes again as Daemon runs a callused finger along your collarbone.

“You indulged my game admirably, little viper. And I do so love a challenge.”

You smile ruefully. “So long as this is your game, you’re unlikely to find a better challenge than I.”

He pauses at your words, as if considering. “Your fierceness is certainly unrivaled. Or your greed, perhaps…”

You say nothing.

“You may keep the whole of your prize money, then,” he murmurs. “Ten gold dragons, all yours. On one condition.”

You swallow nervously, wondering what else the prince could possibly ask of you. “Yes?”

He leaves you in suspense as he gathers his discarded breeches and doublet from the floor. Only when he’s fully dressed does he pause in the doorway to wink back at you. “That we play it again soon.”

[n0cturnalp1g]

Tale As Old as Time

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

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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

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

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

“Here you are again, it seems.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let go of me you stupid fucking lizard!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you done, father?” You inquired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[wweskywalker]

“Princess Rhaenyra was a different matter. Daemon spent long hours in her company, enthralling her with tales of his journeys and battles. He gave her pearls and silks and books and a jade tiara said once to have belonged to the Empress of Leng, read poems to her, dined with her, hawked with her, sailed with her, entertained her by making mock of the greens at court, the “lickspittles” fawing over Queen Alicent and her children. He praised her beauty, declaring her to be the fairest maid in all the seven Kingdoms.”

—- for @fkaluis ‘s DTIYS 🖤

[dedicatednotobsessed]

Issa byka rūklon [Daemon Targaryen x Wife!reader]

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Other HOTD stories

Summary: Daemon is feared among men for his battle prowess, finding solace and love in his pure sunshine of a wife. One serene evening, amidst impending war, they steal a moment alone. His wife with gentle hands and a heart full of affection, braids Daemon’s hair, weaving delicate flowers into the strands…

*This was a one shot request from a very special person of mine, my bestie @mrsdaemontargaryen I had asked her to send me a prompt because I have been on such a long hiatus from writing. Writer’s block has not been fun {among personal things but let’s not get into that}. Please enjoy this Daemon one shot and soon enough, I will be taking requests again in time for season two. 🖤*

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You placed a hand on the ghost of your swelling stomach, your violet eyes shining from the fireplace’s flames. The incident was still fresh in your mind, your sister’s screams of calling you a traitor ringing in your ears. It wasn’t a surprise to see the twins together in Storm’s End, having been inseparable since birth, but you never thought Adryana* would try to murder you.

You turned your head slightly, hearing the footsteps, letting out a soft sigh, and feeling your husband wrap an arm around your waist and pull you back into his chest. “Is it done?”

Daemon nodded, nuzzling his nose into your silver hair. “Soon enough, she will feel the pain you felt.”

You took a deep breath, looking ahead. When Daemon was writing to his friends in the capital, you had mentioned to him how you wanted Adryana to feel the same pain you felt when she took her unborn babe from you. He added, “Along with the usurper’s son, take the life of his brother’s son.”

“I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Daemon whispered in your ear as though he could read your mind. “Those green cunts didn’t feel anything killing Luke and our child. You shouldn’t either.”

You nodded in agreement, furrowing your brows. “Can we go on a walk?” You knew this would be the last calm moment before Westeros is thrown into chaos.

You turned in Daemon’s arms, smiling a small smile when he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course, my love.”

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You wrapped your hands around Daemon’s arm as he led you down the familiar path toward Aegon’s Garden. During the day, it was a favorite spot for your young son, Alyster, to play in; he especially enjoyed the cranberries that grew there. The eye of the dragon statue glistened in the moonlight the closer you got, lifting your dress slightly so it did not drag too much through the grass.

You thanked Daemon quietly when he helped you into the plush grass, a hum passing your lips as you began to pick at the small white wildflowers surrounding you mindlessly. Since you’ve woken up from the incident, the two of you have rarely spent time alone, with Alyster not leaving your side and Daemon being preoccupied with the small council. For the first time in a long time, you felt peace.

Once he sat down, you moved to sit behind your husband, your fingers gingerly taking a section of his hair and beginning to work it in a braid. His hair was not as long as it once was but manageable. You smiled, hearing the light chuckle coming from him.

“What?” You asked as you grabbed one of the wildflowers you picked, placing it carefully within the braid.

Daemon kept his eyes ahead, a small smile forming on his features. “I’m only thinking back to our wedding day.”

“Our wedding day?” You repeated while beginning to braid another section of his hair, adding the little flowers as you went.

Daemon hummed in response. “You wanted to braid my hair that day, too.”

You smiled at the memory. You had a traditional Valyrian wedding against your mother’s wishes. You were never one to listen to your mother, to begin with, having gone against her wishes to become Rhaenyra’s ward at fifteen, shortly after Laena’s funeral, and two years later becoming Daemon’s third wife. Now, at the age of three-and-two, the two of you had a six-year-old son, a son your mother and father only met once.

“I’m hoping this war will be over quickly,” Daemon spoke quietly, breaking the silence.

You hummed, leaning back to examine your creation. “I do not want to talk about war this evening, my love,” You said softly, placing a few more flowers in the braids with a soft smile.

You enjoyed the calm moments while you could, not knowing if this would be your last one together. The war began when Aemond and Adryana struck in Storm’s End, and you knew Daemon would be restless until every one of their heads was on spikes. You were to cherish these moments while they lasted.

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You hummed as the sun filtered through the windows, stirring slightly only to feel the side beside you cold. You furrowed your brows while rubbing your eyes as you sat up, your stomach still sore from your injuries.

“You do not want to go to the small council like that?” You asked teasingly, seeing Daemon picking out the white flowers, having slept in them.

He chuckled, looking down at the small pile forming beside him at the vanity. “I’m not sure it would be proper attire for a small council meeting.”

You scrunched up your nose while slowly getting out of bed. Wrapping your silken robe around you, you walked up behind your husband, meeting his violet eyes in the mirror.

“Issa byka rūklon*,” Daemon said softly, placing his hand on your arm when you wrapped them around his neck.

You hummed lightly. “I prefer when you call me aōha vēzos*.”

Daemon laughed. “No one else can hear that.”

You smirked, moving back so Daemon could get up. You straightened his doublet for him, scrunching up your nose when he placed two fingers under your chin, making you look up.

“I love you, Y/N,” Daemon whispered, moving his hand to your cheek.

“I love you too,” You replied, meeting his lips in a short, sweet kiss.

You watched him pull away after a moment, a small smirk forming on your features. You noticed the stray flower tucked in the waves of his hair.

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“You’re late, Daemon,” Corlys spoke up, seeing the Prince enter the council chambers.

“You should already know that I enjoy making late, dramatic entrances,” Daemon replied simply, sliding into the empty seat on Rhaenyra’s right.

Rhaenyra eyed her uncle curiously, tilting her head. “Daemon,” She called to him, clearing her throat while motioning to her hair.

Daemon furrowed his brows, reaching up to feel the soft petals of the single wildflower he had forgotten about. He untangled it from his hair, looking down at it with a soft sigh.

“Is the Rogue Prince going soft?” Lord Celtigar questioned with a laugh.

“I believe he is,” Corlys agreed.

Daemon only scoffed as the Black Council erupted in laughter, Rhaenyra even adding a giggle of her own. He sighed as the jesting continued around him, his eyes staying on the wildflower in his hand. He twirled it on its tiny stem, his mind wandering back to his wife, their son, and the babe they had lost.

There was no guarantee of surviving this kin war, but Daemon was determined to win it so that he and his family could finally live the peaceful life they had long desired.

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*Adryana: Adryana Targaryen is my original character for House of the Dragon. She is the youngest daughter and fifth child of King Viserys and Queen Alicent (The reader is the eldest daughter and child). She is wed to her twin brother, Aemond, and they have a set of twins together; a son named Vanar and a daughter named Vhaenys. She is known to have a short temper and often accused her eldest sister of abandoning her to live with Rhaenyra on Dragonstone. She also felt hurt when she sided with Rhaenyra's children during the Driftmark incident. Her temper overflowed when her eldest sister made a comment about how their father would be disappointed in the twins and their actions after reuniting in Storm's End, ultimately resulting in Adryana attempting to kill her and the unborn babe. The eldest sister lived, but the unborn babe did not, leading to her and Daemon planning revenge on Lucerys and their child.

*Issa byka rūklon: High Valyrian for my little flower.

*aōha vēzos: High Valyrian for your sun.

[amoratearte]

“Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.”

—Macbeth (Act II, Sc. II)

Daemon and Rhaenyra, the sword and the crown

[targaryen-dynasty]

STRESS RELIEF.

Daemon Targaryen x female!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; implied canon typical incest/ targcest (no named relationship other than husband & wife but reader speaks high valyrian), oral (m receiving), balls sucking, balls worship, cock slapping, breeding kink, fem reader (no mentions of appearance)

WORDS: 2.9 K

NOTES: I KNOW I said you won't get anything from me for the next two weeks, but this is an old story I love and edited, and I'm always in the mood to suck his balls. Ty Lana @zaldritzosrose 🤍

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

The door to your chambers bursting open with a thud, the thick wood slamming against the old masonry of Maegor’s Holdfast, is what forcefully pulls you out of your slumber.

As your eyes shoot open, you need a few seconds to adjust to the dim light of your chambers, the flame of the fireplace long extinguished and indicating it’s been a while since you found sleep.

Every sense of tiredness that has lingered in your bones vanishes suddenly at the noisy intrusion, more so as you spot the armor-clad silhouette of your husband standing at the threshold of your marital quarters.

He appears to be even more bulky and bull-like with the natural broadness of his shoulders accentuated by the heavy armor and the golden cloak, and just that sight alone has an aching desire filling your veins.

It’s the closer look you take that makes you aware of his labored breathing, chest rising and falling with heaving breaths, almost seeming as though he’s in great stress.

Whenever Daemon barges into your chambers at this hour, still wearing his armor, you know he needs to be consoled and pampered.

“Husband?” Your soft voice finally pierces through the silence, still thick with sleep from being awoken so abruptly.

A few, determined strides is all it takes him to enter the room, closing the door behind him as loudly as he’s opened it before. Although you know something is plaquing his mind, and that he’s not usually as harsh towards you as this, you still flinch at the thud.

Sitting up straight with the bedcovers bunched in front of your breasts, you have a puzzled look on your face. One of the few things Daemon has established fairly early into your marriage was the strict prohibition of you wearing any kind of smallclothes or nightgowns to bed, as he wants you to lie just as bare next to him as he always does.

He always states that there are quite a few practical reasons for it, with easier and quicker access to your cunt being the main one of them. Albeit you know for certain that he just loves to feel your skin on his when he falls asleep, solely embraced by the warmth and softness of your body snuggled up against his.

Clashing of metal accompanies his heavy footsteps as he approaches you, stern gaze fixed on your small frame.

The closer he gets, the more you are able to make out his chiseled features with long strands of his silver-blonde hair framing them perfectly. Even in the almost non-existent light of your chambers you notice the dark blown eyes, the adored lilac almost fully eclipsed by pitch black.

“Va aōha ybon,” he rasps, voice deep and commanding, and leaving no space for any kind of objection. On your knees.

You comply swiftly, the bedcovers thrown aside to reveal your naked form. A somewhat feral growl ripples through your husband’s chest at the sight, the curves and dips of your body enhanced by the light the moon casts through the windows.

The stone floor feels cold and hard as you sink to your knees, causing you to shift your weight from one knee to the other and back, trying to mend the discomfort at least slightly.

It usually requires your help to strip him off his heavy armor, but much to your surprise, Daemon manages to shred himself out of the majority of it all by himself, driven by sheer lust and hunger for you.

Where his silver hair is usually well combed and neat, the loose tresses now cascade down his shoulders and back visibly tousled and dirty.

Your hands lie folded in your lap, thumbs brushing over each other in a way to keep yourself calm. You have been married to Daemon for two summers, but know his silence never means anything good. It is threatening, and more often than not getting you into trouble, because he always has something to say.

As he stands in front of you in his full glory, only clad in a pair of dark breeches and a loose tunic, you hesitantly reach to place a hand on his sturdy thigh while his hand cups your cheek in return. Finding yourself leaning into the touch, you’re quickly repulsed as you catch a whiff of what smells like sweat, dirt and… iron.

“What have you done today?“ you ask innocently, though you aren’t sure if you want to hear his reply – that means if you even get one.

While the pad of his thumb brushes over the curve of your lips, his other hand slowly unlaces the front of his breeches, easing the confines of his half-hard member, and causing a wave of arousal to seep out of your cunt, anticipation making it clench around nothing.

“Oh, we have restored law and order,“ he purrs, the cocky smirk on his lips indicating that he’s more than satisfied with the outcome of it all. “The Kingsguard cleaned the streets from the city‘s scum.“

Listening intently, you just nod in acknowledgement, not at all surprised by your husband‘s actions. “And does the king know you did that?“

“I do not care if the king knows or not,“ he spits, impatiently tugging the front of his breeches down just enough to free his cock and stones. “He is blind, guided by the incompetent leech that claims to be his hand.“

A musky scent hits your nose when you catch sight of his thick cock. His musky scent, mixed with the salty smell of sweat. It has you licking your lips like a greedy whore, and if anything, you love it. It’s a sharp reminder that you have married a hardworking and ambitious man, and not a boy.

Your hand instinctively curls around his member, your index finger and thumb barely touching. His girth has always been something that impresses you. He’s considerable, leaving you wondering at times how it even fits into your mouth and cunt.

You slowly tug him to full hardness, stroking him the way you know he likes, even though your pace is a bit slower than usual. You listen to him rant about his brother, and the insolence of his hand, Otto Hightower, merely humming whenever your husband expects you to.

Once his cock stands to full attention, throbbing in your hand, you release it and instead fondle his stones, heavy and hot in your hand. The fleshy pouch they sit in is a bit darker than the rest of his pale skin and visibly sagged, but doesn’t hang too low.

Your actions earn a disapproving tsk from Daemon, despite the visible twitching of his cock at the new stimulation, and he wastes no time in fisting a good bit of your hair to shove your face towards his crotch. The scent is more prominent the closer you get, but not at all repulsing. Instead, it arouses you even more.

You’re not sure if it’s Daemon‘s usual lack of patience or his abnormal obsession with the king and his entourage that makes him greedy and needy for your touch, but you decide to not give in to him so easily.

Gently squeezing and fondling the sack of his stones, your tongue licks a flat stripe from the base of his member up to the bulbous tip of it. A salty taste lingers on your tongue, the few beads of his arousal quickly gathered and swallowed by you. You hum appreciatively at the taste, seemingly pleased to witness the affect your touch and presence has on your husband‘s body.

A sharp tug on your hair catches your attention and makes you yelp, your wide eyes finding your husband‘s demanding ones. “Quit playing games,“ he growls. A warning. But he should know by now that you are not one of his hounds, and what works with them doesn’t necessarily intimidate you.

Your tongue swirls around the tip of his cock, kitten-licking it until his heavy pants are replaced by annoyed huffs and grunts. Daemon doesn’t like you teasing him – not when he craves relief.

You keep your eyes neatly trained on him, studying his changing expressions to know whenever you’re playing with fire, and when it is best to follow his commands. Switching the positions of your mouth and hand, warmth brushes your face before the familiar musk seeps into your head.

Closing your eyes as all your senses are clouded by him, you latch on Daemon’s sac of stones, nuzzling your nose into the dark, coarse hair to take one of them in your mouth. Low purrs ripple from your throat, sending vibrations through his body.

You haven’t noticed, but your thighs clench and unclench repeatedly with each suck of your mouth, trying to soothe the aching settling at the apex of your legs. However, it doesn’t grant you the friction you crave.

“My, my, now look at that,“ Daemon coos. “Sucking my stones like a common whore. So desperate to have your mouth filled by me, hm?“

The condescending tone of his voice sends shivers up your spine, and you keen at the degrading nature of his words, moaning around his slightly slacked flesh.

Daemon is unable to tear his dark blown eyes from your full mouth struggling to take both of his stones. You’re trying so hard, but your mouth isn’t slack enough, causing you to nearly choke yourself trying to please him.

Droplets of your saliva dribble from the corners of your mouth down your chin, gathering in your jugular notch, and really making you look like you belong to the Street of Silk; a common whore desperate for her mouth to be stuffed by something, and not caring if it was filled by his stones or cock.

While you are messily suckling the sack of his stones, you tease a few licks up his length, tracing the prominent vein on the underside of it with the tip of your tongue.

You relish in the way he twitches and squirms under your touch, the deep grunts only spurring you on even more. But you also are soaked for him, core clenching and aching, begging to be used.

Daemon has started to tug himself off at the sight of your lips around his flesh, big hand the perfect size for his considerable length, while his other tightly fists into your hair to keep you where he wants you.

You hollow your cheeks around him, sucking with the tip of your tongue dragging over the sensitive skin. The familiar taste of manhood lingers on your tongue, and your jaw goes slack, finally managing to engulf his whole sac with your mouth. But when you try to pull away for a breath, Daemon only snorts and pulls you right back to his stones.

He harshly tugs on your hair, tilting your head back so you are forced to look at him when he slaps his hard cock against your face. Your saliva adds a sheen to his flushed skin, making him glisten in the dim light, and catches your attention, your eyes trailing over the length of his cock – you want nothing more than to feel those veins on your tongue.

As his cock repeatedly makes contact with your swollen lips and cheeks, the indecency of it all sends heat straight through your body, for it’s the first time he has ever done something like that.

Daemon bows forward, looming over your frame but coming close enough for you to feel his breath fanning over your face. Goosebumps prickle on your skin, and his intense lilac eyes send desire straight to your jumbled mind.

“What a wanton harlot you are,” his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Whores of the Silk Street do such things.”

While his degrading words go straight to your head, making you eager for more, you still cower beneath his dominating presence. “Yn ao hae ziry,” you reply, cocking your head sideways in an innocent way. But you like it.

It seems that your feigned innocence doesn’t convince him, because you suddenly feel something warm and wet dripping down your cheeks; his saliva. He has spat on your cheek, spreading it over your heated skin with a satisfied smirk ghosting over his features. Daemon rarely enjoys having you talk back at him, to tease him, and right now clearly isn’t one of those moments.

At the realization of what he’s just done, you feel your voice tighten in your throat, your lips pressing into a thin line as embarrassment floods your veins.

“Gaoman, yn…,” he muses, bending back and tracing the tip of his length along the slit of your pouty lips. “...nyke hae ziry tolī skori gaomā daor ȳdragon rȳ mirre.” With these words leaving his lips, his cock hits your cheek once again, almost as if he’s making fun of you. I do, but I like it more when you do not speak at all.

The grip on your hair loosens only for him to cup your cheek, fingertips digging sharply into the flushed skin of your cheeks. His other hand repeatedly taps the tip of his cock against your swollen lips in a demanding manner, begging for entrance.

“Open your mouth, or else I am opening it for you.”

You wet your lips, just the mere thought of having him down your throat causes a sense of soreness to linger in the back of it, and Daemon seems to notice your apprehension.

“I see your mouth begging for my cock, you filthy slut. Don’t act like an insufficient brat for you have done this plenty of times before.” He is right, but that doesn’t mean you’ll ever get used to his sheer size. Your thoughts, however, are cut short because Daemon isn’t Daemon, if he doesn’t take matters into his own hands.

The tip of his cock prods against your lips, and with the grip on your face tightening, you are all but forced to part them for him. There’s only little to no time to adjust to his size granted to you, because he sheaths himself inside of you in one, swift thrust.

A few seconds pass in which neither of you moves. Your nose is nuzzled against his pubic bone, the tip of it brushing the wispy trail of his hair, and you try to stifle the urge to gag and choke around him, your hands getting ahead with clutching his muscular thighs to keep yourself grounded.

Every muscle of his body twitches with pleasure as he grows accustomed to the warmth and tightness of you, his head tipping back to release a bawdy groan.

And then his hips start to buck into your mouth, allowing a wave of fresh air to fill your lungs when he almost completely pulls out; only the tip remaining embraced between your lips. A firm hand locks behind your head to stop you from pulling back.

Daemon’s hips thrust into your mouth with reckless abandon like he belonged into it, the bulbous tip hitting the back of your throat but never giving you anything you can’t handle. He knows you can take it, and that you like it.

The lewd noises of his soaked cock easing in and out of your warm mouth fill the room, spurring him on even more. At this point, you are soaking wet for him, droplets of your arousal leaking onto the stone floor beneath your legs.

Your cheeks hollow around him as you choke and sputter around his length, spit dribbling down your chin and bosom. His stones tighten with his cock throbbing on your tongue, ready to spend himself down your throat at any given moment, your previous teasing clearly coming in handy.

There are tears brimming in your eyes, unhelpful when all you want is to look up at him, watch how he scrunches his brow and puckers his lips as he gazes at you in rapture.

“That’s it,” Daemon groans, the pace of his hips faltering as he chases his release. “Take it all.” And that is when you felt it.

His hot seed spills down your throat, coating your tongue. You gag slightly when his hips start to stutter, cock twitching and pulsing with the force of his peak. Droplets of his seed spill from the corners of your mouth, mixing with your saliva and dribbling down your chin while you struggle to swallow the rest.

Nonsense spews out of his mouth as his groans grow more wanton, no doubt losing awareness of his volume. You are destined to be the main topic of the court's whispers in the morrow, just like your mother and father have been before you.

His fingers comb through your hair slowly, stroking your head as if he’s thanking you for a job well done, while he rides out his peak with languid thrusts of his hips.

When he finally stops to regain his composure, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he takes, he allows you to pull back from him, a string of your saliva connecting your swollen lips with the bulbous head of his cock, only breaking as you lick your lips to gather the remnants of his spent.

“Ñuha sȳz riña,” he rasps, pulling you up on your feet to capture your lips in a heated kiss. The taste of him on your tongue spreads over his tongue and causes him to groan. My good girl.

Like a man possessed, he flips you around and easily throws you onto your marital bed. When you land on your stomach with him following closely behind, mounting you and straddling your arse, you squeal and chuckle, ecstatic that it’s finally your turn.

“Tonight is the night I shall put a child into you. I want to see your body swell with my seed.”

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

[godofstory]

uncle-daddy is at it again

[certifiedskywalker]

Three Weddings and Your Funeral (Part 2) - Daemon Targaryen

Anonymous asked: Hi certi, how are you ? I love all you're stories and most you do daemon targaryen characterization justice could you do second part  to Three Weddings and Your Funeral - Daemon Targaryen ?

Before the Dance of Dragons, there was another waltz. You and Daemon Targaryen were always drifting in and out, always spinning about one another without moving at all. Your dance of stillness stretched across the continent; but you thought you ended that dance long ago…Daemon, as always, had other ideas.

Part One

A twig splintered beneath your foot with a sharp, ear-tingling snap. At the sound, you caught your loud, ragged breath in your throat, careful not to add insult to self-inflicted injury. You let your gaze fall to the split thing under your shoe and cursed it in the quiet of your mind before daring to look back up towards the abandoned fishing hut. The storm-toppled tree branch that split its planks would be a warning realized too late. When you did look, its foreshadowing was the furthest from your attention.

“I thought I taught you better,” Daemon chided, slinking out of the shadows cast by the hut. His dark armor and silver hair glinted in the moonlight. Under its glow, he was alive and rippling like the bay waves that lapped quietly at the shoreline. One step in the wrong direction and you would be overcome: dragged under and drowned in him. It didn’t help that his eyes moved like the tide too: wishing and washing up and down your frame. “You look well.”

You swallowed after a long moment, forcing the caught breath into your lungs. “Sneaking about King’s Landing in your shadow hardly constitutes a lesson.”

Daemon hummed, the sound light and affirming, tilted up like the start of a dear song; and there you were, being lulled into the warm ease of familiarity. No, nothing about being familiar with Daemon was warm or easy. It was sweltering and you had somehow forgotten about the heat. It returned to you then, and the memory stung with vengeance. 

“What are you doing here?” Your voice did not waver with the question, which surprised you. Perhaps time weakened Daemon’s ability to drag you under. 

“I could ask the same of you,” he countered. The closed-lip smirk etched onto his features was unmoved by your bravery. “You sent word.”

“And you listened, after all this time.” Daemon lingered in his spot in the sand before he stepped towards you, his expression becoming clearer and all the more taunting. It was as if he knew how you, just hours before, had clutched the parchment and traced his lettering. “Did you ever stop listening?”

Nettle-like memories again: endless, stinging flashes of tourneys and weddings spent at Daemon’s side. So many years spent biding by his beck and call like a hound eager to please. What did you have to show for your dedication? A single kiss, before being left entirely to fend for yourself. How you had loathed his silence then; but, with him stood just a pace away, you found yourself unwilling to give him the satisfaction of the truth.

So, you ignored him and asked again, this time through gritted teeth: “What are you doing here?” 

Daemon cocked his head, his smirk widening ever-so-slightly, and stepped towards you until he was only an arm's length from you.

“Why?”

“Why?” 

“Why did you come to meet me here?” His eyes were dark but not like the pitch night about you. The fire in him shone through as it always had, but it was dimmer than you remembered. At your last meeting, his gaze had been wild, spitting like coals needing air…needing you, however briefly. What had he blamed then?

“Impulse.”

With the word, memory stung Daemon too. His smirk melted into the lines on his face, some old and others new. Impulse made your hand twitch with an itch to reach up and be taken under his current. Then, you could learn those new lines and trace them as you had with his lettering. 

You managed to still yourself, curling your fingers into tight fists. Daemon’s gaze flicked your hands before it settled on your face with a gripping cold. His scowl-stuck lips parted, sealed, then parted again, a hesitation that had you almost gleeful. At long last, you had knocked him off balance; though, he eventually found his words.

“You married,” he snapped, his tone icy and startling, and suddenly you were the one careening. He leaned in, his eyes searching yours for…what you were unsure. “Did you not think I heard?”

Your marriage into House Cox of Saltpans had been no great news, hardly news at all. It, like many a marriage, was strategic: safety from dancing dragons seemed a better bet in the far, underfed reaches of the Riverlands. 

Saltpans was a quality choice in that regard, having been stymied long ago by men who called themselves River Kings and ruled the Bay of Crabs by boat before Aegon conquered by dragon. Left charterless, the town never sprawled into a city, and trade, while present, was limited to the sweet meat of pygmy crabs and seashell beads carved by those living nearer to the Trident. With such limitations, House Cox, as the town’s stewards, had few arms to provide to the war effort, an insufficiency that left it rather uninvolved in combat. 

At most, what you heard of the Blacks and Greens was the distant roars of whichever Targaryen most recently claimed the ruins of Harrenhal. Though, it seemed that relative, personal peace had worn out. The wave of dread that accompanied that realization washed your mind clean enough to clarify the object of Daemon’s searching eyes. How could you?

“I am married,” you replied, your voice barely above a murmur, “as are you, thrice over.”

Daemon scoffed, letting his face turn down and to the side.

“Did you truly expect me to wait for you after all that happened?” 

“Do not think me so foolish,” he snapped, his head lifting to meet your gaze. In his eyes then, you saw the Daemon so many feared, the worst of the man you had loved for so long.

“I knew you to be so foolish, or at least so cruel as to expect that of me.”

“Yes, so cruel,” he stepped towards you as he spoke, his boots sinking to the sand with such heated anger that you were surprised the grains did not turn to glass beneath him. “Cruel, yet I have kept my promise. You, your Lord, and these wretched reaches of the Riverlands have been spared dragon fire. Do you think that was by fate? By the Old fucking Gods?”

He was close enough to you then that his breath kissed the peaks of your face, just as it had so many years ago, on another beach, when he told you of his intentions with Rhaenyra. The aching depth of feeling then… It welled up inside you and spilled onto your lips. “Daemon-”

“It was me,” he finished, his nose nearly knocking yours as he leaned closer. “Nyke jāhor daor ivestragī ao zālagon, and you have not burned.”

Daemon smelled of dragon and sweat, and there was the swelter again. Perhaps it was that familiar heat that pushed you to take that one, drowning step, or maybe you were just exhausted by a dance you thought ended years ago. As if you were with Caraxes, you reached a careful hand up to test the heat of the air about his face. Your palm was immediately met with warmth and Daemon’s cheek as he pressed his face into your skin. 

Your breath hitched at the feeling, but your thumb traced the peak of his cheekbone with a gentleness you feared you had lost when you lost Daemon. Comforted and angling for a different approach, you asked your first question again, gentler than before: “Is that what brought you here?”

Daemon merely closed his eyes and pressed his face harder in your touch. So, you asked another way: “Were you compelled by another impulse to tell me, again, that you have danced about me without my knowing? You have known where I was since my leaving you and, again, shielded me from the hard truth?”

“From war,” he murmured, the edge of his lips tickling your palm.

“The truth,” you asserted, and before he protested, you continued. “How?”

Daemon’s eyes fluttered open and it was as if you were children again, before weddings and feelings and knowing. “When I first took Harrenhal for Rhaenyra. I heard of your marriage from the Strong’s there and sent to have eyes on you.”

“By your own admittance, House Cox is removed from your war. There are no spies here in Saltpans.”

“Anyone can be bought,” Daemon answered, much too simply. 

His features went startlingly grey as if remembering a time buried under the sea’s stone bottom, and his eyes fell past you, seeing through the sediment of time. Just like that, Daemon was far from you again. Within your grasp yet entirely out of reach; but there were no arms of another brilliant bride for him to run into. He was, for however long you could stretch this moment, only with you, and how right that felt.

Right, but you knew that, with all he had confessed, you should feel violated, exposed. You should be scathing and demanding an apology. No, you should be demanding that he leave. You and Daemon were married after all, not to each other. Never to each other.

That thought, as it always had, pulled you out from under the tide of him. “You did not answer my question.”

“I did,” he said, his voice alarmingly soft as his gaze flitted back to you. “I have protected y-”

“No, Daemon,” you interrupted, your hand falling from his face. He went rigid immediately, his posture straightening as if shocked by a stabbing blade. The heat of him lingered, but the comfort you had taken in it was gone. “Why are you here, after all this time and everything you have done? If you knew I was here for so long, why not come to me sooner?”

Daemon just stared at you, his sharp eyes and features unyielding. You drank in the sight of his steadfast expression, unsure of how long it would be before you saw it again and too sure that Daemon would leave without giving even a moment’s notice. It was then you saw his armor again, but this time, you saw past the shine of it. You saw the scorch marks, the scratches, each new, like the line in his face. A different sort of heat rushed like a wave against you, nearly knocking you over.

When you looked up at Daemon again, tears stinging in your eyes, he knew that you understood. “I’ve come to take Harrenhal for the last time.”

“The last time,” you echoed grimly, your tears falling freely.

“I wrote to you and then to Green’s own kinslayer,” he winced as if the word struck him before pivoting in his speech. “I am to face Aemond.”

Then, it was your eyes that searched Daemon’s. Your object: fear. When you found no trace, more tears streamed down your cheeks, but Daemon quickly raised a hand to wipe them away. Despite the tenderness of his touch, the pad of his thumb was rough against the apples of your cheeks. Had he ever been soft? You couldn’t recall a time he wasn’t all rough edges.

“He will have Vhagar,” you murmured as the tips of his fingers skimmed the edge of your lips.

“And I will have Caraxes.”

“Daemon, he is swift and fiery, but Vhagar is-”

“I know,” he interrupted, his hand cupping your face. His thumb rubbed against your cheek and, despite the shadowy loom of a stacked fight, Daemon smiled. “Do you remember our first meeting?”

All thoughts that consumed you were of your last meeting, your parting words a terrible echo in your skull…it will be your funeral. How could he be smiling?

“It was Viserys and Aemma’s wedding,” Daemon pressed on, “and you were waltzing with some hoary goat. Do you remember?”

You stared at Daemon, trying to place his smile and intent. Your funeral. You shook your head as you were unable to think of anything else but Daemon’s doom.

“Old fool kept leaning on you. Too frail maybe, or ripe with lust, I never did know which. All I knew is that I needed y- I needed to intervene,” Daemon cocked his head and leaned towards you. His breath fanned across your face as he asked in a whisper: “Do you remember how?”

The question had you drowning in him as if it were the first time. “You came in like the sea and washed me away into the rest of the waltz. You led,” you sniffled through a bitter smile, “rather poorly, I recall.”

“Yes, well, if you recall, I despise weddings. I never intended on enjoying myself, it jarred me.” Daemon brushed the tips of his fingers through your hair slowly, savoring the feel of those strands of you against his skin. “Though, I do like to think we have been dancing ever since then. Married in our own way, without the garish decor and ghoulish crowd.”

“Daemon-”

“So, if you find it in yourself, I would like to dance a touch longer.” He took a step back and let his hand slip from your face just to let it hang in the air between you. An offering you could not refuse.  

The time for words having passed, you took Daemon’s hand and let him lead you until dawn broke at the edge of the Bay of Crabs. When the first rays of Sun kissed the sand, he let the hand holding yours fall while the other remained wrapped about your waist. He pulled you against him until you were sharing the same air, and you could not imagine a day to come where you did share the world with him.

“I cannot turn from you again,” you whispered, your lips brushing against Daemon’s as you spoke. His hand held you tighter.

“You will not have to,” he replied, before kissing you at last. There was no rush to his kiss, despite the distant cries of a battle-hungry Caraxes. There was only Daemon’s last, perhaps only, bit of softness; saved for you. Lips still locked, he spun you in the sand. 

When you parted and opened your eyes, you saw, past Daemon’s shoulder, the shoreline castle seat of House Cox. Quickly, you refocused on the man before you, wishing you could drown in the pools of his eyes as you had done in the past, in those moments that stretched just long enough. All steps in our dance.

“I’ll go,” Daemon said, his tone gentle but his words an order. “Then, after a while, you will go.”

“What if I do not listen this time?”

Daemon let out a breath of a laugh, one heavy with knowing but sweet enough to make you hope. Perhaps you were the fool. “We both know that you will.” “Just this last time,” you murmured. “After this, you are to listen to me.”

“Of course, issa jorrāelagon,” Daemon leaned up and kissed your forehead. The swelter eased with the act and you felt your stomach twist. He took a step back and smiled. “Of course.”

Then, Daemon Targaryen kept his last promise to you: he turned away. 

[valyrianheirs]

Matt Smith's Warning! 👀

He said I identify as a threat; my pronouns are try/me.

[buben-ustal]

Gwaymon is my roman empire >>>

telegram: @buben_risuet

[paulyenvol6]

Called to the Devil (Chapter 5)

Contains: detailed smut, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, praising, degrading, edging, angst, daddy issues, dirty talk

Wordcount: ~4.82k

Masterlist of this story

And though his voice was oozing with sarcasm, Elayne's insides fluttered and she blinked a few times.

And then she dared it, the girl leaned forwards and kissed the rogue prince on his lips. At first he barely reacted but after a moment Daemon actually kissed her back and soon their teeth were clashing against each other. It was fast and intense and both were fighting for dominance.

Elanye's left hand was rested in the back of his neck while her right held on to his shoulder. In the meantime he held her face with one hand and the other had grabbed the side of her neck. She hummed against his mouth feeling out of breath but also unsatisfied with the way he wouldn't give in. Both wanted to explore each other's mouth but neither wanted to let the other person take control. Elayne liked the way he tasted though and his lips felt incredible on hers. They were surprisingly soft and not too dry but not too moistured either.

But then Daemon ended the kiss and pulled away without letting go of her. He watched his thumb stroke her cheek smugly and then Elayne's hasty fingers wandered to his waist and slipped under his shirt. Daemon chuckled and went back to kissing her lips while she tried to feel as much skin as possible. Her hands ran over his strong chest and then she tried to push him towards the bed. To her surprise Daemon resisted and didn't move an inch which made her hum in dissatisfaction. But he just chuckled and grabbed her wrists that had moved under his shirt.

"You're a wild thing.", he growled and then all of a sudden pushed her to the bed himself. This was simply a power play because both desired each other so much but each wanted to remain in control.

Elayne let him guide her to his bed though and once her legs hit the edge she grabbed and pulled at his hair to press him closer to her. And just when she was about to sit down the girl quickly used all her strength and turned them around so she was on his lap while he sat on the bed.

She grinned at him truimphantly and toyed with the strands of his silver hair. Daemon's eyes darkened and he reached out to grab a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back. Elayne hissed but was forced to watch him letting his eyes wander over her exposed neck. And then he connected his mouth with her skin and forcefully pressed kisses on her neck that surely would leave marks. She breathed heavily and held on to his hair while rocking herself against his center which earned her a slap on her arse.

"Stop moving so much.", he grunted but Elayne didn't care. It simply felt too good rubbing her pearl against him and she closed her eyes in enjoyment.

"Shut up.", she replied but then her eyes shut open when Daemon suddenly flipped the two of them over. Now the rogue prince hovered over her and smugly observed her disapproving face. He leaned down to kiss her but pulled back when the girl took his buttom lip between her teeth.

"Fuck.", he angrily said and grabbed her chin. He could taste blood and his nostrils flared.

"Little wench.", Daemon hissed and Elayne lifted her hips to create friction. In response he pressed her hips down.

"You're not the one in control here now, little girl.", Daemon purred but she wouldn't give in. Under no circumstances.

"Is that so?", she asked and her fingers skillfully wandered down his body to unlace his pants.

"I'm not gonna take orders from you. You might be used to people twitching at your sight and doing everything that the mighty rogue prince says but I'm not. I'm not playing this game."

Daemon didn't look angry or unsatisfied; he just ran his thumb over her lip and let her open his pants.

"You're in a way too vulnerable position right now to talk this way, girl. I wonder how long it'll take until you'll break."

She had opened his pants now and wrapped her hand around his already hardened cock. "I think you're the vulnerable one right now. Look at that. Isn't that pathetic?", she spitted.

In response Daemon wrapped his hand around her throat which made her widen her eyes. It wasn't very tight and yet she felt the air restriction.

"You're gonna break, my sweet Elayne. You think you're so special and better than everyone else but just like everyone else you'll break. You'll give in and you'll beg me to fuck your needy little hole."

Her hand that previously had touched his cock now laid on top of his hand around her throat. She let out a croaked noise and then Daemon let go of her. Elayne bit her lips and her eyes glistened as she reached up to press her lips on his'. It was a heated, demanding and messy kiss and Daemon pressed her into the sheets. Her hands wandered down between their bodies again to wrap her hand around his cock once more which made the prince hiss lightly against her mouth.

"You want my cock?", he mumbled and Elayne nodded. "Beg for it."

But of course she wouldn't let him degrade her like that so she shook her head and let go off his manhood at once. Daemon laughed quietly and rested his hand just slightly above her rising chest. She didn't know what to do because all she could think about was the way his cock had felt in her hand but she just couldn't give him the satisfaction of begging him to let her touch him.

So she just remained still when Daemon's hand crawled down and he massaged her tits through the fabric of her gown. He did it slowly while watching her face tense when he stimulated her nipple. Soon he wanted to see more and reached around her body to unlace her dress and pull it down. Once her nipples were exposed Daemon licked his lips and lowered his head eager to play with them. Elayne exhaled sharply and arched her upper body to the prince's touch.

His tongue circled her nipples, sucked them into his mouth and gently nibbled at them until they were swollen and sore. She could feel her heart beating fast in her chest and relentlessly pulled him closer to her. She had never felt more aroused and needy for someone in her life and these feelings scared her in some way.

Daemon licked and toyed with her nipples until he was finally satisfied and then he roughly pulled her dress further down. Elayne helped him by lifting her hips and then the dress was gone and the girl was bare underneath him. She immediately felt odd with him still dressed while nothing covered her body from his piercing gaze so she wanted to open the lacing on his shirt but her fingers slightly shivered so she had her problems with it which made Daemon laugh.

"Need some assistance?"

"Shut up.", Elayne hissed. In the end she managed it and pulled his shirt over his head. The girl's eyes flashed as she ran her eyes over his chest and couldn't help but reach out to touch him. Daemon smugly watched her but then crawled further down so Elayne had to let go of him. He spread her legs with his underarms and she breathed hastily.

"What are you doing?", she panted but Daemon didn't look at her. His gaze was fixed on what laid between her legs. Then he leaned down to kiss her belly and slowly made his way further south which confused Elayne so she buried her hands in his hair to get his attention.

"Daemon. What are you doing, I need you to fuck me."

Unwillingly the prince looked up to her and rolled his eyes. "And I need a fucking taste of this cunt.", he growled which made the blood rush into her cheeks.

"What?"

"You're gonna like it. Just shut up and enjoy it."

Elayne was still bewildered but let him do what he had in his mind. His mouth was now so close to her pearl that throbbed so hard, she felt the urge to rub herself against something but soon Daemon did her that very favor and his tongue ran over it. Elayne widened her eyes and her mouth formed an 'O' as his warm lips enclosed around her pearl.

"Fuck.", she breathed out and clung to his hair. Daemon smirked and stopped his movement for a moment.

"Yeah. I bet your little stable boy couldn't do that, could he?" She was too stunned to speak and just concentrated on her breathing but Daemon wanted an answer so he didn't continue his magical work.

"Tell me. I want to hear it."

Elayne's face tensed. She once again didn't want to give him the satisfaction of communicating her affection for him or what he was able to do to her but she knew that Daemon would only make her feel good if she told him. So she decided that this was more important than her pride right now so she mumbled: "He couldn't."

Daemon smirked crookedly. "Who can?"

She exhaled annoyed and rolled her eyes. "You."

He chuckled quietly. "That's right."

And then he lowered his head again and started to flick her pearl with his tongue. Obviously Elayne knew how to get herself off, she had done that a thousand times already, but his mouth and the wetness and warmth of his tongue was an entirely new feeling which made the blood in her veins throb. She clenched her fists and let out little whimpers, which she had tried to surpress but by now Elayne was so close to not caring about her stupid dignity anymore. She was needy and felt heated and started to just let out whatever sound threatened to leave her mouth.

"Fuck. Oh fucking hells.", she whined as Daemon's tongue circled her pearl. His hands gripped her hips tightly and now and then he dug into the flesh of her arse.

"Mhmm.", he hummed which sent vibrations through her cunt and only added to the pleasure she was receiving. Elayne grabbed his hair to hold on to something and threw her head back.

"Ohhh. Daemon.", she whimpered which earned her a squeeze with his hand on her hip.

"I knew you could be a good girl.", he whispered darkly. "I knew you just needed someone to rub at your little pearl and you'd be tamed like a little kitten."

Elayne shifted in dissatisfaction and a deep frown appeared between her eyebrows. "Fuck you.", she spitted with anger clearly visible in her eyes but Daemon just laughed.

"Oh no. There she is again."

He pressed her hips down with his hands and licked from her hole up to her nub. "Stay still. Or I won't give you anything."

Though still furious, Elayne stopped moving her hips and shivered when his mouth went back to circling her pearl. She let out a moan when Daemon inserted a finger in her hole and slowly moved it inside of her.

"You really aren't a maiden anymore.", he said. But he didn't sound accusing or reproachful but rather amused. Soon he added a second finger and pumped them in rhythm with his tongue on her pearl. He really knew what he was doing and the mixture made the pleasure inside of the girl grow with every second. And then she felt her thighs tense and Daemon felt her clench around his fingers. He stopped at once and his eyes searched for hers.

"You want to come, don't you?" She nodded and let out a whimper. An evil smile appeared on his face and she already feared his next words.

"Tell me how much you want it.", he breathed and her face was drawn with desperation. Why did he have to be such an arrogant arsehole? She couldn't do it, as much as she wanted to release, she couldn't beg for him.

"Daemon.", she whispered and he raised his eyebrows.

"Yes?" His tongue swiftly brushed over her pearl and Elayne let out a painful whine.

"You bastard.", she hissed and Daemon softly slapped the side of her arse as a reply.

"That's not telling me how much you want me.", he claimed.

"Please.", she pressed, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"What?"

Tears welled in her eyes and she grinded her teeth. "Please let me release.", she said and just hoped that Daemon wouldn't tease her with this afterwards. The prince smiled contendly and caressed the softness of her thighs.

"Isn't that a good girl…", he purred and Elayne felt like disappearing in the ground. She hated this so much but at the same time she needed him to put his mouth on her cunt again.

"Come on now.", she demanded and pressed his head to her center. "I did what you asked me to do.", she almost cried out and after giving her one last grin he actually leaned down again and started stimulating her pearl.

Elayne closed her eyes and arched her hips and only after what felt like seconds she let out a high pitched noise and reached her high. Her shaking hands pulled at his hair in an attempt to grip something and then she collapsed on her back and breathed heavily. Watching her reach her high had done things to Daemon and his face was drawn with self-satisfaction as he observed the lust on the girl's face. She had her eyes half-closed and panted loudly.

"Fuck.", she breathed. Daemon had licked her through her high but now was on the same level as her face again and ran his hand over the side of her neck. Elayne reached down to touch the bulge in his pants which made him hiss out.

"You're gonna get on your knees for me now?" She gulped and nodded, her chin pushed forward. "Yes."

"Then you're gonna ask nicely.", Daemon replied.

She look at him defiantly. "I'm doing you a fucking favor. I think you're the one who should ask nicely."

The prince chuckled and Elayne felt the vibrations throughout her body. He grabbed her chin which forced her to look at him.

"I can throw you out of my room now and I wouldn't have a problem with it. It's up to you, little one."

She was uncertain now because Daemon hadn't finished yet which made her think that he was craving a release more than she did but at the same time she didn't feel like gambling. Because what if he would actually stop and tell her to leave? She needed him and she needed to feel his cock. 'Fuck it.', she thought. To the seven hells with her pride and stubborness.

"I want your cock, Daemon. Please, can I touch it?" A smile formed on his face and he stroke over her chin with his thumb.

"There we go. Knew you could be a good girl. Just need to ask nicely and you'll get what you want, sweet girl."

He sensed that she was still sulky but her discontentment was quickly overshadowed by her desire for him. Because Daemon had now freed himself from his pants and his cock stood hard against his abdomen. Elayne's eyes were fixed on his member and she wanted to touch him but he rolled off her before she got the chance to.

"Get on the ground.", he ordered and though Elayne hated to do as he commanded she climbed off the bed and kneeled on the stoney floor. Daemon followed quickly after and smugly observed the girl. He had this self-satisfied smirk on his face again that she despised so much and yet she couldn't help but press her thighs together as he fisted his cock and led its tip to her mouth. Elayne wanted to use her tongue to lick him but he denied her and pulled away.

"Ugh ugh.", he made and unwillingly she obeyed and closed her mouth. Daemon grinned and slowly rubbed his tip over her lips. And then after he was satisfied he grabbed her cheek.

"Open.", Daemon said and Elayne opened her mouth at once to let him push into her mouth. He felt so heavy and warm on her tongue and she loved this feeling so much. She twirled her tongue around his tip to stimulated him while wrapping her hand around what she couldn't swallow. The rogue prince moaned softly and closed his eyes. 'Fuck, she's good.', he thought and threw his head back.

Elayne let his cock slide into her mouth over and over again while toying with his tip and after a while she could hear him pant faster and louder and he additionally cursed quietly.

"Fuck. Where did you learn that, mhm?", he asked. "Did your stable boy taught you?" But Elayne shook her head.

"I guess I'm just blessed."

She enjoyed to finally have some power over him as well because she knew he wouldn't throw her out of his rooms right now. She knew that if she pulled away now and left the room she would leave a needy man behind who needed her and would probably curse her for the rest of his life. And that fact gave her so much self-satisfaction and confidence that she couldn't surpress a smirk.

One of his hands was now in her hair to hold on to her and Elayne started to increase the pace with which she bobbed on his cock. But soon she stopped which earned her a sharp hiss from Daemon.

"I guess it's you in the vulnerable position now, isn't it?", Elayne asked sweetly and innocently licked over her wet lips. His eyes flashed and his grip in her hair tightened.

"Elayne.", he dangerously breathed and pushed her towards his throbbing member.

"What?", she asked with lifted eyebrows and Daemon grabbed her chin.

"Don't play any games now."

But she pushed his hand away and glared at him. "I can play just the kinds of games you are playing, my prince." Daemon's hand took a fistful of her dark hair and Elayne squirmed against his grip.

"I know that you enjoy this just as much as I do.", he growled. "So you better get back at it now or it'll leave us both unsatisfied."

She chewed on her buttom lip but knew that there was some truth to his words. And so she exhaled but then actually opened her mouth again to let him enter her. She continued to pleasure him with her tongue and her hand with which she could guide his cock into her mouth and sucked him as if her life depended on it. Daemon was content now and his hand in her hair was more loose which gave her more space to move around.

Soon he approached his high as his cock was throbbing inside of her mouth but before he released the prince pulled her off all of a sudden which made Elayne moan out.

"What the fuck are you doing?", she complained.

"I wanna come inside of your little cunt.", Daemon spitted and yanked her hair up. She followed his gesture and let him push her towards the bed. But before she laid down on it Elayne put a hand on his chest.

"I want to be on top.", she interrupted and Daemon chuckled. "No."

"Why not? I can do it." But he rolled his eyes and shoved her onto the bed.

"Just lay and take it, little girl. I'll take care of you."

She frowned and yet accepted his wish. So Daemon pushed her on her back and grabbed her hips to pull her body to him and adjust her to his liking and then watched her. His hand came down to run his thumb over her cheek.

"I think you need a good fucking to be obedient. Just need someone to take care of you and you do as I say."

She turned her head to escape his hand but Daemon just laughed and dug his fingers into her skin. "I know you'll be good. You'll be my good little pet."

"Just do it already.", Elayne urged and lifted her hips eagerly.

"Shhh, little girl. Patience." He fisted his cock and watched as he moved the tip through her folds to collect her slickness. He chuckled at how wet she was.

"Someone really is yearning to be properly fucked."

"Please, Daemon.", she whispered and the prince raised his eyebrows.

"Mhm? What was that?" Elayne shivered and her lower lip trembled. Gods, what did he have to edge her like this.

"Please. Fuck me.", she croaked and finally Daemon gave in and pushed inside of her with one deep thrust.

Though she wasn't a maid he gave her some time to adjust which was good because despite her wetness it still burned a little and she squeezed her eyes at the stretch. Daemon himself had his lips parted and was overwhelmed with how tight and warm she felt.

"Oh gods be good.", he moaned. "Fucking hells."

He even dropped his head to his chest because this was so good, he felt like he was about to burst every second. Now Elayne had adjusted to his size and moved her hips to get him to start and fuck her and the prince had understood the gesture and began moving inside of her. They were deep and intense thrusts and soon he also changed his pace and fucked her fast.

"Oh shit.", she whined and her nails scratched his back. She had her legs wrapped around his hips and lifted her hips according to his thrusts. Daemon had his eyes closed and inserted himself in her hole over and over again while letting out little growls. Her cunt stimulated him so perfectly, he knew he wouldn't last long.

Daemon gently ran his fingers over her cheek and then looked into her big and watery eyes. "Come on. Give yourself to me. I know you want it. I know that you wanna let go. You can do it… I'll be here and I'll keep you safe, little one."

Daemon responded to what she needed and as she had been bratty and rude with him earlier he had felt the urge to play the game and tease her the way she had but now he knew she was on the verge of breaking and letting her guard down. And so he wanted to give her what she needed and shower her with praise.

"Daemon.", she whimpered clinging to his shoulders and squirming under his body. Daemon leaned down to kiss and suck on her neck.

"Perfect fucking cunt.", he grunted and then raised his head again to watch her face that was tensed with pleasure.

"Mhmm… I don't think you're as tough as you pretend. I think you just want to be told what a good girl you are." Elayne let out a pant at a sharp thrust and her teeth bit into her lower lip.

"Is it because no one ever told you? That you're a good girl? Because you were never the center of attention?"

"Ughh Daemon.", she moaned because his hand had traveled down between their bodies to circle her nub.

"And so you started to act all tough and wild, everything to get the attention of your daddy. But I think in truth you just need someone to tell you how well you behave. What a good and pretty girl you are." She shut her eyes and felt a fluttering inside of her stomach.

"No, sweet girl. Look at me. I want to see those eyes." Elayne opened her eyes and trembled under his touch on her pearl. Her hand gripped his as if she wanted to make sure it couldn't leave her body.

"Please Daemon. Please I need… Fuck…" Her head was a mess, the dizziness had destroyed every intelligent thought inside of her head and she couldn't remember anything but this man on top of her that made her feel so good, she hoped it would never end. Daemon's hand held her head in place because he wanted to see her every time his cock hit this spot so deep inside of her.

"Ohh Elayne. You're doing so good f'me." His touch suddenly felt so soft and gentle, almost as if he wanted to savour the way she felt.

"You're my good little girl, aren't you? Taking me so well like your cunt was made for me. S'what you want, mhm? Taking me into this sweet tight cunt of yours."

She couldn't properly understand all of his words because she was so far gone into her pleasure that everything seemed so far away but what she could understand made her cunt clench. His voice simply sounded so soft and intense and… close. And the way he praised her made her feel light and aroused. Mayhaps he was right after all. Mayhaps she liked being told that he appreciated her.

Elayne had her eyes half closed and her hands were fisted at his chest. It almost seemed as if she wanted to hold on to him but was too shy to do it so Daemon took her hands into his' and gently pressed them against her chest.

"It's alright, little love.", he cooed. This was exactly what he had wanted. He had turned her into his messy soft toy and he enjoyed it so much. Not that he would make this all about him; Daemon wanted to make the both of them felt good, and yet it gave him so much contentment to having managed to break her bratty attitude.

Because he had been right. As loosely Elayne had run her mouth and spoke as if nothing in this world impressed her, behind it hid a hurt girl who merely needed love and appreciation. And now it was him who was able to give this to her.

"Yes, my love. Like this. You surrunder so beautifully." Elayne squirmed underneath him and arched her back.

"Please. Oh please Daemon…"

"What? What is it you need, little one? I'll give you what you desire.", he whispered lifting her chin so he could look into her eyes.

"I need you… oh fuck.", she whined and closed her legs around his hand still occupied with pleasing her needy pearl.

"I'm right here. And I'm not gonna leave, litte girl. I'm gonna give your sweet perfect cunt what she needs and what she deserves. Yes… Give me all of you. You respond so fucking well to me, that's right."

Elayne had clenched around him and it stimulated Daemon so perfectly that his grip on the side of her face tightened. He had let go off her hands which now clung to his shoulders and he felt her nails dug into his skin. He didn't care though wanting nothing more than to melt with her.

"D-Daemon I think… I think I'm close."

He smirked widely. "Come for me. Feel it. Feel me so deep inside of you. I'm so proud of you, my little cat."

His words sent her spiraling and her eyes rolled back as she reached her high and let out a shriek which Daemon immediately covered with his hand. They were still other people in the castle and they couldn't risk being heard by someone. She panted uncontrollably against his hand and her hole tightened around him which sent him over the edge as well. He let out a growl as his seed shot in the girl's hole and filled her up.

"Oh fuck.", Daemon said loudly and then collapsed on top of her. He held on to her hair and had his chin pressed against her forehead while trying to regain his breath. Once he felt a little more calm he kissed her brow and lifted his face to look at her.

Elayne had her mouth parted and powerlessly had sunken into the sheets. Her hands had now fallen to the bed to lay beside her and her eyes found his'. At first Daemon couldn't exactly sense whether she was still feeling in need of love or if she had brought back her spoiled and bratty attitude or if she maybe even felt ashamed of him having seen another vulnerable side of her.

But when the prince saw the way she twinkled her eyes he thought that she might be just fine. And yet Elayne avoided his gaze and put her messy hair out of her face.

"That was quite alright.", she spoke trying to sound as indifferent as possible which made Daemon grin mischivously.

"Yeah? Quite alright?" She nodded. "Not bad."

"Good.", he replied and then rolled off the girl to lay next to her. The corner of his mouth lifted as he watched her profile.

She definitely had brought some fresh wind to King's Landing.

[thewatcher0nthewall]

"His mount was Caraxes, blood-red. The most fierce of the Dragonpit"

[n0cturnalp1g]

Barely Even Friends

Summary: A marriage that wasn't even supposed to be the solution became the only solution to remedy the Wretched Hightower. Characters: Daemon Targaryen x Female!Reader!Hightower. Otto Hightower. Alicent Hightower. Word Count: 1,775 Chapter Warnings: Not Edited. Otto being father of the year. Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Prince Daemon Targaryen was an enigma that you wish never to be associated with since your return to King’s Landing, and yet here you were. Preparing for a marriage that you did not want nor did you even need. But your atrocities and your father’s conniving nature could not bend the King’s will as he was all the more convinced that the union between yourself and his brother would benefit the realm.

Two Hightower sisters wedded to the two Targaryen brothers. How pathetic of a house could they be to stoop so low for the sake of power.

“I’m sure it will not be as bad as you think it will be.” Alicent, as much as you had grown to resent her for choosing to accept the fate forced upon her by your father, there was still the worry of an older sister towards your baby sister.

“You are married to a King, Alicent. I am bound to a Prince that has no self-control and a reputation that precedes him.”

“No different from you, Sister.” Alicent pointed with a smile that immediately fell upon the sight of your pointed glare towards her.

“Do you truly believe that what our father wants is for our sake or of his own?” You inquired to your sister as you peered around the chamber that was your sister’s own since her marriage to the King, the former Queen’s bedroom to be more specific. “To live under the control of yet another man, giving him children upon children until you experience the same fate as the Late Queen?”

Silence lingered in the chamber. The frown deepens on your younger sister’s lips at the words you knew as her fears come to life. There was no escaping such a fact, not even a Queen could escape such a fate if the Gods were cruel enough to grant it to her.

“Everyone dies, Sister.”

“But not everyone tries to meet with the Stranger more than she needs to.” You quipped right back looking at her evident bump. “You’ve given him an heir as what was required out of you, is it duty anymore or just ignorance?��

You know well enough you’ve offended her. A momentary guilt spreads through your core at the sight of the little girl you had vowed to your mother you would protect with all of your life, from the cruelty of your father and of the world–yet somehow here you were, being the main source of the pain.

“I think it is best for you to rest for the night, Sister.” She dismissed you and it was enough to end the conversation you had.

You sighed and nodded.

“As you wish, your Grace.” You spoke before turning your way and leaving her chambers.

A sigh had escaped your lips at the sight of a handful of guards on watch–more for you than for the Queen herself. They were making sure you did not leave, not this time especially with the apparent betrothal to the Rogue Prince himself. Everyone knew you would escape–it was expected out of you at this point, but you were tired.

If it wasn’t one thing, it would be another. With the guards following her closely as she made her way to her chambers, the fury and annoyance growing ever more prominent in her skin with the three guards that followed just behind you. You could escape them if you wanted to–maybe you would just to spite everyone involved in this idiocy.

“Leave us.”

The hair at the back of your head stood at the familiar voice. Oh how you loathe the voice of the man that you now had the misfortune of calling your betrothed.

“You know it is frowned upon to have the two of us in private, Your Grace.” You quipped but the two of you knew you could care less about your reputation, but you did not want to be in his presence at the moment.

“And I am certain neither of us care of such a reputation, Lady Hightower.”

“But neither of us want to deal with our respective family at this time.”

Turning you were met with the smug smirk of the Prince. Your hand was aching to slap the smirk off of his face, but held yourself back especially with the guards that have yet to move from their position in front of you. The conflict of their duty to her and the position of the man in front of them all.

“I am in no mood to deal with you, Daemon.” You spoke frankly, no longer having the energy for his games. “You’ve done too much damage to what little grasp of freedom I still had in these seven hells you call the Keep.”

The smirk on his face disappeared at your words, his eyes turned once again to the guards that were here to control you instead of protecting you.

“Do not make me tell you twice, no one will like the blood I am willing to spill this evening.” His voice growing a tinge louder that physically had you taking a step back because of it.

It was enough to have the guards leaving you in the mercy of the man that you would be marrying in the following moon–whether you like it or not. You sighed seeing you were now alone in the hallway with the man that demanded a fate you would never give to your worst of enemies.

“Do you think so little of me?”

You stared at him, daring him to think about his words. Of the reality he forcefully bestowed upon you. You didn’t want this, you didn’t want to be in King’s Landing, they should have stripped you of what little nobility you still had and left you to fend for yourself–it was better than the situation you had now.

“I would ask the same thing since you forced yourself into a marriage I did not want nor did I even need, Your Grace.” You spoke frankly. “But what I want does not matter, it is your will and I am bound to follow it whether I like it or not.”

Without another word, you turned and made your way to your chambers, refusing to wait for a response from your future husband and the fate he will place upon you.

“You truly can’t do anything to save me from such a fate?” You had asked your father as you finally readied yourself for your marriage to a Prince and Otto was to walk you down the aisle to your future husband.

It was not a happy affair, the skies were bleak and dark as your own mood. Marriage should be a happy affair, but it never was for you. It was a death sentence for a life that will never truly be your own.

“It is the will of the King and of your future husband.”

You snorted, refusing to look him in the eye anymore as your servant has finished with your dress. You chose to dress in your family’s colors of green, instead of the red and black of your future husband’s own. Even in the last moments of your future, you wanted to grasp into a small piece of hope of this not pushing through.

“Until the very end, you continue to be a lapdog for the Targaryen and their whims.” You spoke frankly. “I had thought you would be satisfied with pleasing the King with my younger sister, but for the life of me I cannot believe that for all the loathe and gripe you had for Daemon, you would use me as another one of your tools.”

Your father said nothing towards you, instead focused on the servants leaving the room and not hearing anymore of the words that would certainly land in your demise at the hand of the King’s Justice, a fate better than was already placed upon you.

“You placed me upon a family that I did not want to be a part of. And now you will pay for the consequence of it when the time comes that much I can promise you, Father.”

“What do you wish for me to have done instead?” He finally acknowledged you, eyes burning with anger and an emotion that you had never truly seen in your father–fear.

“You should have been a father to me,” You admit. “You should have kept your promise to Mother before she passed.”

He said nothing as you were both signaled to head towards the sept for the ceremony. You did not hold his arm even if he presented it to you. You couldn’t. You did not want to hold him as he fed you to the dragon. You did not want to give him the right to do so anymore.

“There will be a time that Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne will come, and I can assure you that I will make sure that all of your plans do not come to fruition. No one in our family or our bloodline will ever sit on the Iron Throne.”

As you both continued on to walk, the echoes of your shared footsteps muting the sound of your beating heart.

“When the time comes, I will ensure that my future husband will erase you and our name from the history books for what you had made me do today, Otto.”

It was a promise that you were certain you will keep, whether anyone likes it or not. Nothing fuels a resentful daughter more than spite.

You ignored your father’s gentle whisper of your name, as the doors to the sept opened and you were met with the sight of a handful of nobles present to the union that you never wanted.

Once again, your father offered his arms but instead you walked with him quick to follow the pace you made. Staring at the man by the altar with the septon. The smirk on his lips ever growing bigger, and in that moment the first line of tear fell from your cheeks.

As soon as you stood besides the man that will now be your husband, your world stills as the tears continued to fall from your eyes and the smirk on his face disappeared at the sight of you.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Even as the words escaped the Septon’s lips, there was no protection that would ever reassure you of the betrayal of your father and what he chose not to do for you and for the sake of what little control you still had in your life.

[wweskywalker]

🦋 April Commissions 🦋

Slide 1: Prince Daeron The Daring x Ser Addam Velaryon commissioned by jonsnowsimp

Slide 2: Prince Daemon commissioned by Sandra

Slide 3: Prince Daemon in Pentos commissioned by Sandra

Slide 4: Young Ser Davos Seaworth and Celia Tully (OC) commissioned by weirwooddream

Slide 5: ASOIAF OC commissioned by rhaxnys

Slide 6: Queens of the 7 Kingdoms commissioned by @raybyanothername

Slide 7: A birthday sketch for mabeylauren

Slide 8: Their free sketches!

May commissions are open! 🧡

[therhaenys]

Matt Smith as Daemon Targaryen

backstage hotd season 2