#rogue x fem!reader

[cherryberry-sugarandspice]

Threesome

Sugar Mommy!Wanda x Reader X Anna Marie

Summary: You, Wanda, and Anna Marie have agreed to a threesome. Wanda and Anna Marie are the ones in charge, so that means you can lay back and enjoy yourself

CW: belly bulge, double penetration, dirty talk, degradation, mommy kink, enchanted straps, established consensual threesome

"O-Oh god!" you cry out, hips trembling.

You're right between Anna Marie and Wanda, who's buried their straps deep inside of you. Wanda is the one sitting in front of you and Anna Marie is behind you, her slender hands squeezing your breasts. Liquid fire courses through your veins, sweat covered body sweltered in heat.

"You're doing so good for us, baby," Wanda purrs, hands caressing your hips. "Is it too much for you, hm? Does your pussy need a break?"

The thought of either of them pulling out makes you whine in protest, shoving your puffy sex down on their cocks.

"Don't!" you pant, gripping her shoulders. "Please, please I need your cocks."

"She's so cute," Anna Marie cooed, rolling your perky buds with her thumbs. "Feelin' good, sugah?"

"Y-Yes, ma'am!"

Wanda begins to thrust back up into you, the warmth of your cunt driving her wild. "You love mommy's cock? And her friend's cock?"

"Yes! Yes!" you cry out.

Anna Marie thrusts into you opposite motions of Wanda, their cocks rubbing against each other. Your sopping wet pussy squeezes their cocks tightly, almost as if to trap them deep within you so they'll never leave you empty ever again. "Oh, Wanda, yuh got yerself a naughty naughty girl," she moaned, holding onto your breasts for support now. "She's squeezin' so tight!"

Wanda nods, her head falling back against her shoulders. "What do you expect for a naughty little slut? She's a dirty, cock whore. Right, baby?"

At this point, you're bouncing on their cocks, desperate to cum. "I am! I am!"

"Say it," Wanda husked, fingernails digging into your hips. "I want you to say you're mommy's dirty little slut."

The ridges on her cock repeatedly drags against your g-spot, stars filling your vision. "I'm mommy's dirty little slut!" you sob, a coil tightening in your stomach.

She licks the sweat off her lip. "Tell mommy's friend thank you for fucking you." When you don't immediately say it, she lightly spanks you. "Too cock drunk to say thank you?"

You twist your head, leaning against Anna Marie as you roll your hips. "T-Thank you for fucking me, ma'am," you moan, wrapping an arm around her neck.

She breathes against the side of your face, a hand slithering down your body to play with your clit and the other grasping your jaw, opening your mouth. "Ah should say thank yuh for havin' a warm, tight pussy," she groaned before slamming her lips against your mouth.

Wanda begins to suck on your breasts, her thrusts quickening. She swirls her tongue around your areola before taking your nipple into her mouth, teeth grazing over the perky bud.

Anna Marie slips her tongue into your wet cavern, exploring every inch until you're left gasping for air.

Their lips trail sloppily over your body, sucking on your skin. Their cocks drill deep into your womb, the outlines of them prominent in your belly. The two women desire you. Their tongues against your firey flesh proves their craving for your body.

The cries of your moans spurr them on. Anna Marie is panting against the side of your face, mind spinning from how wet your velvet heat is. Wanda is leaning back on her hands, a slight smile on her face, satisfied by the scene in front of her.

You bouncing on two, big fat cocks, taking them perfectly like the dirty cock whore you are. Your delectable cunt sucks up their cocks with ease, wet squelches emitting from your puffy sex. White cream coats their cocks, which your greedy cunt sucks back in.

After they get you to cum, you're now on your knees on the floor, mouth wrapped around Wanda's cock while your hand strokes Anna Marie's.

"That's right," Wanda praises, finger tips rubbing your chin. "Being such a good girl for mommy and her friend."

"Her hand feels so good," Anna Marie moaned, her hips instinctively thrusting into your hand.

"Should we bend you over the bed and take turns with you, hm?" Wanda asks, pulling her cock out with a wet pop. She rubs her cock against your cheek and you twist your head to kiss up and down her shaft.

"Yes, mommy, please," you beg.

"Who should fuck you first? Mommy or her friend?"

You take Anna Marie into your mouth now and stroke Wanda, moaning in delight.

Anna Marie clicks her tongue, pushing you off her cock. "Now now, answer her, sugah. Don' be a naughty girl now."

You peer up at the two women through wet lashes, breathing heavily. God, why are they making you choose? You'd rather them make this decision. It's better when they take control.

"Baby, answer mommy," Wanda said after a moment of you not answer, rubbing her cock against the side of your face. "Who do you want to fuck you first?"

"I don't know," you whine, stroking both of their cocks. "Y-You're both too good."

The two women chuckle, both reaching down to caress you. "You have to choose, baby. Mommy or mommy's friend?"

You kiss her tip. "Mmm, if I have to choose...I want mommy's cock first," you purr. You kiss down her shaft and lick her thigh, her slight gasp sending heat to your stomach.

"So you want mommy to fuck you first and then ma'am next?"

"Please," you said, twisting your hand to give Anna Marie the same treatment. "You're going to fuck me good after mommy, ma'am?"

Anna Marie licks her lips. "Of course, darlin'. Ah'm gonna make yuh feel so good."

You smile, standing up and bending over the bed, shivering as Wanda rubs her cock between your glistening folds.

You're in for a long, fun night.

[happilyhertale]

Fire and blood - Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Author’s note: Before I got into my usual summary, this fic is part of a collab with a bunch of my lovely moots! @lady-phasma came to us with an ask about period sex and Daemon and being as lovely as she is, she offered us all the chance to collab on it. Choosing our own characters and how to play the story.

Please find the masterlist of everyone's fics here.

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

Summary: You haven't been married to your husband Daemon Targaryen for very long - but you've learnt to enjoy your marriage to the Rogue Prince. But unlike normality, you haven't sought out Daemon for a few affectionate visits throughout the day, and that makes him suspicious…

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Period smut; fingering (f in v), p in v sex - implied

Word count: 2.2 k

Other stories of mine

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Daemon opens the door, but only darkness reveals itself to him. He raises his eyebrows slightly, but steps into your shared chambers. He is looking for his wife, who has been by his side for several moons now.

During this time, he has already become accustomed to you seeking him out throughout the day, sometimes just to get a little peck and sometimes because you want to tell him something - but today you have not sought him out.

His heavy footsteps sound in your chambers as he walks further inside.

"Are you hiding from me, woman?" he murmurs.

He walks over to a small table with fruit and sweet dishes on it. He takes a bunch of grapes between his fingers before letting them disappear into his mouth.

"Has another moon gone by?" he asks into the room and turns to your bed, where he recognises the outline of a figure under the covers. A slight grin plays around his lips before he walks towards the bed.

But as he gets closer, he picks up an unusual scent.

"What's that smell?" he asks.

And suddenly your voice rings out, "It's oak bark tea... My abdomen is a cramp," you mumble from under the covers.

He's still smiling and comes closer to the bed.

"What have we got here? I wonder what trouble could be brewing under here," he says, reaching lightly for the blanket.

"No... Go away," you say quietly and try to hold the blanket tight.

But Daemon pulls the blanket down further and kneels on the bed with one knee.

"Ah... there you are... what a view," he says sarcastically as the blanket reveals your face. Your hair lies dishevelled on the pillow, your face a little sleepily puffy as your annoyed gaze meets his. "Yes....my beautiful wife," he says and smiles. He pulls the blanket down further and a "Go away," sounds from you again.

He smiles at your words, "Why would I do that when I have such a sight in front of me?" he says, a hint of sarcasm still in his voice again.

You sigh and try to turn away, but you feel Daemon kneel down further on the bed and his hand grips you gently.

"Ah, ah, ah," he says and lies down next to you, his arm wrapped around your middle.

His warm breath brushes the back of your neck as he presses his face into yours, "What's wrong," he whispers.

You sigh again and already feel his large, surprisingly warm hand on your abdomen... a warm touch of your dragon.

"I'm bleeding..." you say almost inaudibly, but Daemon hears your words and smiles slightly. He knows how you feel during your period. You're vulnerable and sleepy. The cramps force you to lie down and only warmth and strange teas from the maesters give you some relief... well, and other things.

But you're his wife and according to him, you should always feel carefree - but he can't refrain from teasing you a little.

"Pardon?" he whispers, smiling slightly, while you sigh lightly again.

"I'm bleeding..." you repeat your words and mumble into your pillow.

"Love..." he whispers again.

You close your eyes and feel this inner tension that tickles your fingertips.

"I'm on my period," you say a little louder into the pillow.

"Love... Sorry, I don't understand," Daemon replies and his lips graze your neck.

His behaviour makes you seethe, why can't he leave you alone?

"Daemon! Seven hells! I'm on my period! I'm in pain and I'm bleeding!", you call out and raise your head slightly.

He chuckles, "It's fine... no need to shout like that..."

You shake your head slightly, wanting to push his arm away, but he has a firm grip on you. His hand slides slowly downwards, his fingers make light, circular movements and you stiffen slightly.

"Daemon, what are you doing," you suddenly whisper.

"I want you to feel good, love... It'll help you relax..." he murmurs into your ear, nibbling lightly.

You gasp and hold his hand back, "Daemon... there's blood... a lot... it's the first day..." you say hesitantly.

He continues to nibble on your earlobe, his fingers sliding along your thigh, not in the least impressed by your words.

"You know there's nothing to be ashamed of. A woman's body is a natural, beautiful thing.... It's beautiful because it's you," he kisses your cheek and lets his nose glide gently along it. His hand strokes along your thigh and you feel a slight throbbing between your thighs alongside the numbing pain in your abdomen.

"Do you want me to take care of you?" he whispers, kissing the soft skin behind your ear.

You bite your lip lightly, but you shake your head slightly.

"Daemon... There really is a lot of blood..." you repeat your words quietly.

He chuckles softly again, another kiss landing on your neck, "Love... a true warrior isn't afraid of a little blood..." he murmurs.

His hand slides further, "Just relax..." he whispers and you try. Slowly, you close your eyes and try to concentrate on his touch as a heavy breath leaves your lips.

Gently, he kisses your neck and shoulder as he holds you close."It's nothing to be ashamed of either. Especially not my wife. It's natural," he whispers in your ear.

His fingers pull your nightgown up, very slowly. His fingers leave a fiery trail on your thigh and you try to ignore the dull ache that runs through your abdomen.

You can't suppress it, your hips begin to move in slight circular motions as his fingers glide through your pubic hair, caressing you. You gasp as you can already feel his arousal from behind as he presses himself lightly against you.

His fingers reach their destination, slowly running along your folds, and you gasp again – your legs spread slightly.

"That's it... I'll take care of you..." he whispers in your ear and you nod slightly.

The sweetest moan escapes your lips as his fingers find your pearl and apply light pressure. Your legs spread wider and a smile graces his lips.

"Daemon..." you gasp.

"I know..." he whispers, nibbling on your earlobe again as his fingers rub gently over your clit.

"Your body is natural and beautiful. Even in all its bloody glory," he whispers and you nod, your breathing quickening.

He kisses you on the cheek again as his fingers tease over your glistening entrance, gently spreading your folds.

You feel the familiar stretch as his fingers slide inside you. But not all the way in, he teases you a little and you exhale heavily, your hips moving towards his fingers, longing for his touch. And then he fulfils your craving – his fingers stretch your walls, trying to find a good angle, pushing deeper. He revels in the slickness that coats his fingers, the evidence of your arousal mingling with the blood that flows.

"Feel how wet you are for me," he whispers teasingly, his smile pressing against the back of your neck.

"Daemon!" you gasp, but also a small moan leaves your lips.

He chuckles briefly, but your concentration is once again fully on his movements as his fingers penetrate deeper.

"Gods..." you gasp and he grins. Slowly, but firmly, his fingers push forward. He can feel your walls clench, longing for release.

"You know I love all the sounds you make, but I love your moans the most. I can feel your walls tighten around my fingers as if your body wants to hold me inside you while I make you tremble..." he whispers in your ear.

You moan again as his thumb grazes your pearl. He continues his expert ministrations, he is determined to make you forget the discomfort, to lose yourself in a wave of pleasure that only he can provide.

His fingers curl inside you, beckoning you as his thumb presses against your clit again.  You press your arse against his hardness and he moans into your neck. As he feels your hips moving towards his fingers, urging for more, he complies, increasing the intensity of his movements. He curls his fingers, angling them to hit that sweet spot within you, knowing exactly how to drive you wild with desire.

"Moan for me…" he commands, his voice laced with dominance, "Let me hear your pleasure, let it echo through these chambers."

And you obey as his fingers thrust deeper. He bites into your neck as his fingers tease your walls. His fingers continue their exploration, delving deeper inside you, seeking out the spots that make you writhe with pleasure. He maintains a steady rhythm, his touch skilled and attentive to your body's responses.

Smacking noises echo in your chambers as his fingers pump in and out faster. His fingers sliding in and out of your wetness with ease. With each thrust of his fingers, he can feel the slickness and warmth of your arousal, heightening his own desire.

He starts to apply more pressure and lets a third finger slide in. He knows what you like and he gives it to you the way you need it. He stretches your walls while they continue to clench around his fingers. Daemon's eyes gleam with a mixture of desire and possessiveness as he feels your response to his touch. He revels in the power he holds over your pleasure, his fingers moving with a practiced precision.

"Oh, my sweet wife," he murmurs, the words laced with a mixture of possessiveness and anticipation. "You are so responsive, so eager for my touch."

His body presses against yours, his hard length grinding against your backside as he continues to pleasure you with his fingers. His lips find your ear, his breath hot against your skin. Your fear of smearing him with your blood is forgotten, you need more.

"Daemon... Daemon," you whimper again and again, your arm reaching back, to the back of his head. Your fingers reach into his silky hair and he grunts. As he continues to drive you towards the peak of pleasure, Daemon's own desire grows, his need for release becoming undeniable. But at this moment, he's focused solely on your pleasure, on taking you to the edge and beyond, on helping you forget your discomfort.

"Yes... my love... Come on, come on my fingers, milk them like you always milk my cock when I fuck that delicious cunt," he growls into your neck.

And that pushes you over the edge. You cry out, your walls tightening around his fingers and Daemon grunts out.

You whimper, your hand gripping his hair tighter as he kisses your neck. Your eyes are closed, your breathing rapid as he pulls his fingers out when your walls stop clenching. A pleasant warmth flows through your abdomen, soothing away the pain more effectively than every maester's tea could.

As you catch your breath, you glance slightly over your shoulder and look at Daemon. He chuckles as he looks at his fingers, they're covered in blood.

"This is a sight I couldn't have imagined at the beginning of the day..", he kisses your neck again, "But I'm going to enjoy it“, he whispers into your ear.

"Daemon, no!" you say with wide eyes.

He just grins as you avert your eyes and blush. You hear the smacking sound as he licks his fingers.

But now you have to laugh as you stare at him again – his eyes are closed and he seems to be enjoying it.

"You're impossible..." you say softly as he still licks his fingers.

"Daemon, stop it!" you say and giggle, but he just grins and pulls you closer to him again.

"Delicious," he murmurs.

He starts stroking and caressing your belly again.

His breathing slows down as he holds you close. The sounds and smell of you, your little body in his embrace, it's almost more than he can bear at this moment.

He gently grabs your chin, as if he were holding something fragile and precious, and gently pulls your head upwards. When you return his gaze, it is gentle and tender.

"And you are my wife. You may feel sick, you may bleed, sometimes I may even be the cause of your anger. But that's all part of your body's natural rhythm. So please, my sweet girl, never hide from the pain, never keep your misery a secret. Otherwise, I promise you, it will cause me more grief than your blood..." he says gently. These moments with him are rare, but you savour them – your lovely husband. You lean towards him and let your lips slide onto his. He growls slightly and you feel his hand on your arse. You giggle slightly and feel his smile on your lips.

But the grip on your arse tightens and he pulls you towards him, positioning you perfectly against his crotch. He still can't hide his excitement and you gasp slightly. Your lips are still dancing around each other, you can feel the coppery taste on his tongue as he starts to undo his trousers. He growls again as his hand spreads your cheeks slightly and presses his hardness between your thighs from behind. You whimper as his cock slides along your folds.

"Let's see if we can give you a little more relief, shall we?" he growls against your lips and you moan as the tip of his cock presses against your slick entrance.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Capital (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You think you married the plainest woman on earth, and you look away for one second and suddenly she is not. Typical. At least, for Daemon.

Warnings: Mature language, sexual thoughts, canon typical violence.

Requested: Yes! But since I am particular about my aesthetic, I didn't answer there. Jealousy + arranged marriage. Brought to you by the seven deadly sins.

Gluttony /ˈɡlʌtəni/

​the habit of eating and drinking too much.

Claw Island is as good as getting vanished from the court. You know it. Your Lord husband knows it. Even the tenants know it. Why else would the King order your marriage to Daemon Targaryen?

It was not as much of a punishment as the King had hoped. The Celtigars are a prestigious family, one of the few left with Valyrian blood. While not ones to flaunt their riches or seek for great power, you led a luxurious lifestyle.

The finest wines. Myrish rugs. The newest books. And of course, the riches from the surrounding sea. Beautiful pearls, a fleet that, while small, sailed with speed. The best foods.

The small island was your perfect little world, sequestered away from the troubles of the mainland. What else could a person long for, when they lived in a paradise? Claw Island had it all. Miles and miles of tempestuous sea, soft sands and gorgeous wildlife not seen anywhere else. Humble, but good people. Natural riches enough to last a lifetime.

But as of late, your breathtaking lands did nothing to bring you peace. Sometimes, in truth, as you walked along the shoreline, you wished for a tremendous sea wave to swallow you whole.

It would be better than this. Among the crabs, the sea life and wreckage of old ships, you would feel at ease. At home, even. And finally, finally untroubled. But things were not as you wanted them to be. With your Lord Father at court, someone had to mind the island. And no one knew the lands as you did.

You shuddered to think of something happening to you. In that case, the island, and its people, would go to your husband. Considering how much he hated it here, Prince Daemon would make a poor ruler.

You glare. He glares right back. Remembering your manners, you serve him a cut of spider crab seared in butter. The meal is rich and decadent, a show of the best Claw Island has to offer.

“Crab, Lady Wife?” Daemon raises both eyebrows. “Again?”

“What else does the Prince wish to eat?” You do your best effort at keeping your tone even. You try hard to not raise your voice at him, remembering the rumors about what happened to his last wife. So far, it seems to be working. Despite being older than you, the man behaves as a child. You have found he benefits from being managed as one, too.

Ever since you got married, he has been desperately trying to rile you up. The Prince always seemed to deflate when you refused to engage. He was clearly itching for a fight, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“You seem too willing to indulge in cannibalism for my tastes.” Daemon, in what he surely believed to be the absolute demonstration of cutting wit, smirks. You smile at him, sedate. You have heard enough remarks about crabs to last a lifetime. “It’s worrying.”

You could answer him. Perhaps make a mockery of his inability to perform in bed and the behavior of the female praying mantis. You do not. Instead, you force yourself to give him a tight smile.

“Don’t worry. I will ask the servants to bring you fish.” You took your napkin out of your lap and placed it on the table. Dutifully, you rang the bell to call for a servant.

“Again?” Daemon complained, sounding much like a petulant child. You smiled and went back to your seat. Your crab was getting cold, and it would most likely be by the time your husband’s fish was served. But good manners dictated you could not start eating without him. You resigned yourself to another night of eating a cold dinner.

“You should write to the King, my Prince. I would serve you venison, were it not for the fact that your dragon has nearly extincted the population here.” While you were by no means poor, feeding a dragon was an expense you didn’t care for, especially one so picky as Daemon’s was showing to be.

While a dragon was a marvelous creature, and having one guarding your lands was a great perk, it was also hard. Caraxes ate the same as five grown men in a day, if not more. He didn’t eat just anything you served him, either. Much like his owner, he was picky. He had come with dragon keepers, and needed to be built a shelter.

You had hoped that his serpentine appearance would mean that he would eat a lot in one sitting, then hibernate, but no such luck. Your island couldn’t keep up, no matter how hard you tried. Animals didn’t reproduce at the pace required.

“Of course, my Lady. Of course.” Daemon says, in a dismissive tone. It’s then, when a servant comes in with his fish.

Your crab is cold. Again. Daemon is not pleased with the fish, but seems wary of extending dinner even more. For once, he doesn’t complain.

Dinner is eaten silently. In your head, you make plans for tomorrow's meals. Perhaps oysters, served cold, will withstand the wait better. You finish dinner and settle down to read some before bed.

When the time comes for it, you close your book. Daemon departs with a cold kiss to your cheek. You go to your bed, just as cold and empty as the kiss was, and fall asleep.

It’s around the witch's hour when he comes back to you, getting into the bed next to you. He stinks of cheap perfumes and oils. As he pulls you closer, to be able to hide his face on your neck, you can feel the smell of sex and alcohol induced sweat. It comes from the clothes Daemon hasn’t even bothered to shed before getting in bed with you.

You don’t like him drunk. He gets sloppy. You do better when he hides his indiscretions, the proofs of your failure as a woman. As a wife. He seeks his pleasure from other bodies, never yours. With you, he is unable to perform to completion.

Perhaps the same happens to him with others, on nights like these. That thought soothes you, and it’s the only reason why you allow Daemon to seek comfort in your arms. Sometimes, he has nightmares. It’s expected then, too, that you are the one to soothe him back to sleep.

Shifting in his grip, you rub his back, gently. You card your other hand through the matted strands of blonde hair, as a mother would do to his child. In many ways, you guess he is one. You pity him, your husband. A man with a void so deep, not even all the vices in the world could fill it.

You are unable to fall back asleep. You lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling. When you hear the rooster’s first crow, you roll out of bed. Sleep is not coming for you. Daemon, unperturbed in his slumber, only sprawls more. You tuck him in.

When you get to your vanity, you catch the servants leaving the correspondence for the day on it. She giggles when you point at the bed and the mess of clothes, gesturing for silence. It makes you feel better, that they think your husband comes from the pleasure houses straight into your arms for more than just cuddles.

One of the letters catches your eye. It’s written in the strange alphabet used for High Valyrian, bearing both the royal seal and the King’s name. You don’t mean to pry. In fact, you open it because you are worried your husband has upset his brother even more.

Marriage is like being tied to a ship. When the tides are good and the ship strong, you soar above the sea. But no one wants to be tied to a sinking ship. It’s that fear what leads you to heating a knife on your candle’s flame and lifting the seal.

You read as you brush your hair, unrushed. You know Daemon won’t be awake for at least six more hours. But the more you advance, skipping polite greeting, the more your stomach sinks, and you jump from sentence to sentence.

“And while I understand your dislike of Claw Island, it is a less harsh punishment than you deserve. Much you complained of wanting a Valyrian bride, and now the opportunity presents itself, ripe for the taking. Yet, you do not seem keen on it. Is it, again, the lack of a throne you find off-putting? Perhaps, the lack of a child bride you can manipulate? Your Lady Wife might not have purple eyes or silver hair, as you mention, but she is a maiden in the bloom of youth. Tales of her beauty have graced the court, shared among the eager mouths of her family and previous suitors. Both Lord Velaryon and Lord Mooton agree that the woman is a delight, well-mannered and easy on the eyes. She has impeccable breeding and education. I will not grant you the annulment. I will not allow you to go back to your whore.”

There is a coppery taste in your mouth. Blood, you realize. From biting your tongue so hard to avoid letting out a scream of rage. It feels like being stabbed, countless times. In your back, and in your heart. Betrayal and deep, hurtful sorrow.

What have you done to deserve this? To be blindsided so? You have stood firm through all the humiliations your husband puts you through. Never once reproaching the way he goes out after dinner and does not come back until sunrise. Never complaining of his audacity to search comfort in your arms when he is drunk and stinking of whores. Never once raising your voice at the insults to your people, your home, your family.

But for Daemon Targaryen, it wasn’t enough. You would never be enough. Childishly, when you had first heard of your betrothal to him, you had hoped for companionship, if not love. At least, you thought, you would have a friend. But you hadn’t been enough of a woman to keep him in your bed, you had not been enough of the blood of Old Valyria for him to give you children, and you had not been enough for him to stay married to you.

He took from you, and took from your island and from your family, and not once was he satisfied. Not once, he was sated. And now, Daemon has done the unspeakable. Not satisfied with making a mockery out of you, with his constant unfaithfulness, he seeks to ruin you further. It’s only King Viserys who protects you and your family from further embarrassment.

You have underestimated him, pitying him while he planned your demise. The ruin of your house. You have been sharing your bed with the enemy. The thought frightens you and fills you with anger at equal parts. What will happen, when the King dies and the awful Princess with whom your husband was so taken ascends? Will you be put to the sword, accused of an imaginary crime to get you out of the way? Treason, perhaps? Hands shaking in anger, you fold the letter and reseal it as carefully as you can.

That is the day you decide you will retreat into your shell, like any good crab. You will close yourself over, put up walls and keep him as far away as you can. And you will wait for the day to stab at his heels until his physique reflects exactly the useless kind of man he is inside.

One day, this man might kill you. You will have to make sure he does not get away with it.

Envy /ˈenvi/

​the feeling of wanting to be in the same situation as somebody else; the feeling of wanting something that somebody else has.

It’s not often you are summoned to the court. But your father is about to be named Keeper of the Keys, a prestigious position often held by members of your house before being promoted to Master of Coin. The implication is clear. Soon, another Celtigar will be handling the finances of the Kingdom. It’s a ploy, to intertwine you further with the Royal Family. As soon as King Viserys dies, it will be your father who serves on Princess Rhaenyra’s council.

Hence, the need for a celebration. Traveling from Claw Island to King’s Landing is exhausting, especially considering that you do the journey by ship while your husband does so in his dragon. He seems overjoyed about it, but you can only think of how much the separate travel is costing your purses.

Daemon arrives early, because of course he does. Meanwhile, you spend your time preparing to put on the play of your life. You must be the most dutiful wife in the Seven Kingdoms, or else he might find a reason to get rid of you. Setting apart your most fashionable dresses, preparing gifts for the King and Queen and otherwise looking radiant.

Knowing Daemon, he is already whispering poison in his brother’s ear. You need to dazzle the King and the whole court, convince them you are not only an adequate wife but a perfect one. No stain must be perceived in your reputation.

You arrive punctually, just in time to prepare for the feast. It’s inside the Hall where you meet Daemon, and greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Chaste, but affectionate, performed under the King’s approving look. You are radiant in your house’s colors, with subtle references to Targaryen’s ones.

The feast is torture. Viserys, Daemon and Rhaenyra are all seated at the same table. They get along wondrously, while you, Queen Alicent and Ser Laenor are ignored despite being next to them.

The only thing that calms your heart is watching your father, sitting at the table of the Master of Coin.

“My Queen.” You say to her, hoping to curry favor. The Gods knew you needed as many allies as you could. “I brought you this.”

You take out a beautifully engraved rendition of the Prayers Book. It’s a gorgeous edition, with a gold finish. You hope that at least, if she doesn’t like it, she would think it is a gift to the babe she carries. It’s a thoughtful gift, the kind of thing you excel at.

“Oh, Lady Targaryen!” The Queen says, and takes it, admiring it in the light. Fortunately, she seems truly charmed by it. “It is the most wonderful thing!”

“I have one myself.” You tell her, as if you had not purchased it for exactly this moment. “When I heard you were from Oldtown, I couldn’t think of a better thing to bring.”

“It’s lovely.” Alicent says, as your husbands ignore both of you. Viserys and Daemon are too busy having their fun to care about what women are doing. “Will you join me in prayer tomorrow?”

“I would be delighted to.” It’s the first genuine smile you wear since your arrival. And it’s the first time that someone from the royal family smiles back.

You do attempts towards Rhaenyra and Laenor. They both ignore you, and so, you decide to keep strictly to conversing with Alicent. You decide to leave Viserys out of it, despite your gratitude to him because you would rather not look like much of a sycophant.

Your happiness at finally making a friend between your in-laws makes you oblivious to Daemon’s silence. During the whole dinner, he barely taunts you. None of the crab-based insults he so favors are present, either. That should have warned you. If you have learned something about your husband is that there is never a time when he is quiet.

He bides his time. The desserts are already served when Daemon delivers his greatest insult up to date. Some couples are even swaying to the rhythm of the music already, no matter if the tables have yet to be cleared.

“I wish to dance, I think.” Daemon says, getting up from his seat. You start to get up too, knowing you cannot refuse him, but he turns towards Rhaenyra. “A dance, niece?”

Rhaenyra preens under the attention and takes his hand. For a second, you stay frozen, hand falling uselessly by your side just when you were about to reach for him. You feel like you are being stabbed. Again.

The humiliation is so great you wish for some great disaster, perhaps one of the couples bumping against a table and overturning it, just to get the attention away from you. Half the hall has now seen you get rejected by your husband. In a celebration meant to honor your father, nonetheless.

You struggle to keep your face emotionless, curved into a polite little smile. You have made a fool of yourself. Hot tears gather in your eyes, threatening to spill.

Noticing your despair, Alicent places a hand on your arm, softly.

“Thank you, Lady Targaryen.” She exclaims, loudly. “With the babe getting bigger and bigger every day, I find it harder to stand. You are very thoughtful.”

Her rescue, as she stands and walks down the dais, helps you save face. Your smile turns more genuine.

“It’s but good breeding, my Queen.” You answer, just as loud. “What kind of noble could see a Lady of your station and not aid her?”

Alicent smiles, and she cradles her stomach.

“Indeed. Only a savage, I would think.” Her glance at her own husband is unmistakable. But Viserys is too busy watching Rhaenyra and Daemon dance to help his pregnant wife. His eyes never leave his brother and daughter, his expression twisted into one of annoyance.

Alicent makes her way towards a table where a few knights sit. Most of them are from Oldtown, and you cannot help but smile at her doing the rounds her husband so neglects. But her rescue, and quick exit, leave you in an uncomfortable position. King Viserys and Ser Laenor are engaged in conversation, including you only when they remember your presence, which means once every half an hour.

Without Queen Alicent, you have no conversation partner. The only thing you can do is watch. Daemon twirls around the room as if he were not a married man, taking every eligible bachelorette in the room for at least one dance. He is enchanting, pulling blushes left and right. He dances twice with Rhaenyra and Laena Velaryon.

You play your part to perfection. Each time he glances your way, you give him an indulgent smile or a sweet tilt of your head. Even when he dances again with Rhaenyra, your expressions don't shift. Instead, you lift your cup to them and even find it in yourself to give a small clap.

It’s torture. It’s exhausting, having to play the devoted but never jealous wife, when he is doing his best to embarrass you. Finally, the King retires, but orders that the celebrations do not stop. You consider making your way towards your father, uncaring if leaving Laenor sitting on his own is rude.

Just as you are getting up, a knight, dressed in a fine green gambeson, steps in front of you. You look up at him, wondering what he could possibly want.

His voice is soft and eloquent, with the barest hint of an accent. His voice reminds you of someone, but you cannot quite place who.

“Lady Targaryen. You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” You answer him, politely. Is he about to ask you for a dance? Is this a ploy for your husband to embarrass you further?

The knight smiles. He is tall and slender, very different from your husband, yet handsome just the same.

“If I had a wife as pretty as you, she wouldn’t be sitting here.” He compliments, and startles a laugh out of you. It has been months since the last time a man complimented you so. Before marrying, you had quite the suitors, but no one dared practice courtly love with the Rogue Prince’s wife. And your husband never once spoke to you kindly.

It’s a thrill, to feel wanted and appreciated again. You love having his eyes on you. It fills you with a forgotten kind of confidence. As the daughter of the man whose star in court is rising, as a beautiful woman and as the wife of a Prince, you deserve to be admired. It’s not your fault your husband can’t see it, you are desirable. People should be currying for your favor. You shouldn’t be begging for the scraps of a man whose only interest is his niece.

“Would she be on the dance floor?” You tease the knight, falling back into the practiced flirtations that had made you so popular before. You feel like you are glowing again.

The knight shakes his head, a hint of mischief appearing in his brown eyes.

“I would forbid her from leaving my chambers.”

At that, you laugh again, blushing. Despite how charming he is, you are still a married woman. You cannot give anyone reason to suspect or judge you, else Daemon might have basis to rid himself of you.

“I am not your wife.” You say, politely. The knight gasps, as if wounded, making you laugh again. You do not realize someone is glaring daggers at you, entranced as you are by him. “But perhaps a dance might suffice?”

The knight gives you a cheeky grin. He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, gently.

As he leads you towards the dance floor, you barely notice Daemon looking disgruntled on the edge of it. You look over and see Rhenyra dancing with some tall and broad knight. He is probably jealous of him.

“You must give me your favor, for tomorrow's tournament. We are, after all, celebrating your family.” The knight says, making you focus back on him. His eyes are brown and kind, so soft. They remind you of someone, but once again, you can’t tell who.

“Ah, I see you are a tough negotiator.” You tease, your tone turning slightly more girlish. This time, it is the knight who laughs.

“What can I say? It’s in my blood.” The man winks, as he starts to twirl you around.

“I think, my lord, you have yourself a deal.” You grin.

It’s only when a Hightower knight approaches the stands the next day and offers you his lanze, you realize the mistake you have made.

Wrath /ræθ/

​extreme anger.

Daemon can’t believe his ears. Out of nowhere, a sweet sound reaches him. It’s the sound of a Lady’s laughter, but something about it makes him turn his head.

Perhaps, the fact that the sound has managed to catch his attention at all, despite the loud music, chatter and other laughs. Perhaps it is that the sound is familiar to him. He doesn’t know what it is, but as the piece finishes, he steps aside and tries searching for the source.

It’s then he sees you. His wife. Glowing and laughing on that Hightower cunt’s arm. And no, it’s not Alicent he is referring to. Otto’s spawn seems to have a proclivity for you because this is the other one. The elder.

Gwayne. His hands all over you, a gentle touch to your lower back to guide you forward. And are your eyes brightening? For him? As you pass by Daemon, you barely spare him a glance. He manages to hear a piece of the conversation.

“Your favor, for tomorrow's tournament…” The man has the gall to ask, as if he could win you the flower crown! The nerve of that Hightower pup, to think himself able to win. It’s clear he doesn’t remember the last time he faced Daemon, and while he was already planning on entering, now he knows with absolute certainty he is competing. Gwayne Hightower seems to have forgotten his lesson. He needs to remember his place.

“… Tough negotiator…” Your cheerful voice answers. Probably telling him he has to win if you do so because you are Valyrian and proud like him. Surely, the idea of getting crowned Queen of Love and Beauty appeals to you. You want a flower crown? Daemon will get you the damn thing.

When he was no more than a boy, his father used to have a particularly overzealous hound. Daemon had taken great delight in setting him free just when ladies were visiting. The dog loved sniffing beneath the ladies' skirts and humping their legs. The whole scene often ended up with Daemon getting yelled at, either by the ladies or their husbands. Now, as he looked at the proverbial dog humping his wife, Daemon understood why the ladies' husbands were so enraged.

He should cut his hands. Hightowers. No sense of shame at all, with their whorish ways. They were all the same. There went Alicent, throwing herself at Viserys when poor Aemma was not even in her pyre. There went Gwayne Hightower, placing his paws all over you and trying to charm you when Daemon was still in the room.

Couldn’t he tell you are his? It’s not that Daemon likes you, but it’s an affront to his honor. You are the wife of a Prince. The mere fact that a measly knight thought he could compare it’s outrageous. And the fact that he dared touch you! The nerve!

It’s Daemon who shares your bed, back in Claw Island. It’s Daemon you hold during the night, who pays for your silly little dresses. It’s for him you have clearly gotten all pretty today. How dare he, that Hightower fool.

He can’t have you. Gwayne Hightower is not allowed to just swoop in and try to steal his woman. You are meant to sleep by his side, be his solace. You are not the kind of woman for whom a simple knight would be enough. Just like him, you love the lush life. Could Gwayne Hightower buy you a dress like that? Could he use a dragon to protect your little island?

Daemon clutches at his cup so hard, he thinks he might bend the metal. You are his bride. He is the only one allowed to have you. If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to, but it doesn’t mean someone else can.

Rhaenyra approaches him again, no doubt wanting another dance. But not even her allure, which is usually so hypnotizing to him, manages to get him out of his bad mood. He hates when other people touch what is his.

Daemon decides to retire for the night, before she can reach him. He needs to think. How he longs for your shared rooms back at Claw Island. At least that way, he wouldn’t spend the night tossing and turning, wondering if the Hightower cunt escorted you back to your rooms, and if so, at which hour.

Strange, isn’t it? Such a small act can cause such a big shift in perspective. So many months, he had spent thinking of Claw Island a prison, longing to be able to come back to court. Now, he sees it as it was. A shell made to protect the most valuable pearl the sea had produced.

Had Daemon known men at court would try to steal his bride, he would have never authorized this trip. Your father could have been named Hand, but you would have never stepped foot outside your castle if Daemon had known. You would not be taken with Gwayne Hightower if he had a say in it.

He had a plan. The knight would make a fool out of himself. Daemon just had to encourage him in the right direction.

Daemon is up and about as soon as the sun is. He strolls towards the space prepared for the tournament, armor in hand. He changes slowly, giving plenty of time for Gwayne Hightower to arrive.

The foolish knight does. So do you, sitting next to your father in the stands, all pretty and glowy under the sun. You wear a red gown that compliments not only your skin tone, but pays homage to both of your houses. After all, both House Targaryen and Celtigar have red on their coats of arms. A clear show that you were meant to be his, and his alone. What would you even look like, if you were married to a Hightower fool? Red and green would look hideous in a dress.

As the highest-ranking competitor, Daemon gets to make the first challenge. To no one’s surprise, he picks Gwayne Hightower.

Daemon waits with bated breath, already seated on his horse. Does the man dare? Oh, he dares! The Hightower cunt gallops towards the stands. You don’t rise, looking towards the Hightower whore. It’s then he realizes you must be truly innocent. You are either doubting the boldness of the man or are not aware of his house, and do not recognize him under the armor.

But as Gwayne Hightower reaches the stand, Daemon close on his heels, he takes off his helmet. You gasp.

The Hightower whore makes a move as if to get up. Her brother’s voice cuts her off.

“I was hoping to get a sign of your favor, my Lady.” The man says to you, and your eyes widen. You stand, shakily. You look at Daemon, then at the cunt, then at him, then back at the cunt. Daemon arches an eyebrow, visor lifted. “For you have already struck me with your beauty, and the fact that you cannot be mine. Allow me the consolation of placing a crown of flowers upon you, and soothe my wounded heart.”

You gasp at the bold declaration. Daemon has to admit it, the cunt has some nerve. Not only has he praised you in ways that are too bold even for a couple courting, but he has slighted Daemon in front of the whole court. He has made explicit mention of your marriage to him.

Viserys eyes him warily. Daemon scoffs. The distrust is unnecessary. Why would he slaughter the Hightower now, when he has the chance to plummet him into the ground without consequences in just a few minutes? Besides, it would be in bad taste, slaughtering the brother of his sister-in-law.

Your father urges you forward, with a forced laugh. You grasp one of the favors from your box, which has only two, and place it upon the Hightower’s lanze. The pretty ribbons sway in the wind. White and red from House Celtigar proudly displayed.

Daemon clears his throat, and presents his own lanze.

“How touching.”

You ignore him, as Rhaenyra approaches. Surely thinking how he will want to wear her favor, after his rejection of last night. Curse him, Daemon thinks. He should have danced with you. If he had known that up jumped son of a rat was going to try his luck, you would have not left Daemon’s arms the whole night.

“Thank you, niece. But today I fancy wearing my wife’s favor. For it would be a shame for her to be lacking her crown once her champion undoubtedly disappoints.” He loudly declares, uncaring if his niece’s face falls. Rhaenyra will get over it. But this has turned into a manhood competition. He can’t let Gwayne Hightower, of all people, win.

“Can I do that?” Daemon hears you whisper towards Viserys and his whore. “Can I have two champions fighting each other?”

Viserys, as if this is the most fun he has had in a while, answers cheerfully.

“Of course, my dear girl.” It probably is the most fun he has had in a while. Really. It must be very amusing to him, after hearing Daemon complain about you for months. Who would have known he would have to fight some Hightower for your attention? Laughable, really. A Prince groveling. “Double the chances for you to get the flower crown, is it not?”

“Of course.” Your father jumps in, clearly trying to prevent a scandal. “Go on, love. Give the other one to your husband. If more are needed, we will get more ribbons.”

You approach Daemon, pretty little favor on your delicate hands. You smile at him, pleasantly. But this close, he can tell you are shaken by the power play happening right in front of your eyes.

Daemon lowers his lanze as you stretch to place your ribbons. You give him a confused and hurt look. He stretches closer.

“Save that one.” Daemon says, as he places a hand on your hair and pulls out the red ribbon that holds it back. “I’m your husband, I get some privileges.”

His gesture makes you laugh. Daemon feels on top of the world. He gives a superior glance to the Hightower cunt, as if saying: Look at me, I do not need half your effort and get double the results.

Daemon is not so deluded as to think the laugh is more than half nervousness and half playing the part of the dutiful wife you are, but to Daemon is still a win. He can see why the other lords want you. With your hair loose, smiling and with your skin glowing from the sun, you are actually quite pretty.

He ties the ribbon around the pommel of the lanze.

“A kiss, for good luck?” Daemon knows he is pushing, but cannot help but be smug. His pretty wife gave him her hair ribbon to tie around his chosen weapon, for all the court to see. Smugness radiates out of his pores.

Without any expectation, the sweet peck you give him is even more of a delight. Even more sweet is the disgruntled look on Gwayne Hightower's face.

Safe to say, the man gets unseated so fast, it has to be the quickest defeat ever registered. The crunch he makes as he falls from his horse it’s the most satisfying sound Daemon has ever heard. The crowd gasps and cheers. The man does not get up.

That will teach him, he decides. Gwayne Higtwoer will never again even look your way. Daemon turns his horse back around, ready to face his next opponent, but it’s stopped by the pages.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower has requested to continue with the sword.” At that, his blood boils. He nearly jumps off his horse, discarding the lanze and unsheathing Dark Sister.

“What will it be, boy? First blood?” He saunters towards the man, and the sight of him this close only serves to anger him more. He shares Otto’s slender build, tall and slight. In Hightower armor, he even looks like him. Daemon is going to enjoy this.

“Why stop there?” The knight asks, hatefully. “Until one of us yields.”

“As you wish.” Daemon charges, forgoing his shield. He is just too angered for politeness. This is not jousting anymore, it’s his hate for Higtowers, and the fact that this man has tried to take something that’s his. He should have never looked your way. Never. And if it’s up to Daemon, perhaps he will leave the arena without the ability to repeat the feat.

The fight is quick and dirty, but even when he has disarmed and cornered him, Gwayne Higtower refuses to yield.

“What are you..?” Daemon asks, utterly confused because the little savage is grabbing Dark Sister with gauntled hands and pulling.

“Just as marriage is not an excuse for not loving…” He grins, teeth bared in a feral little grin, and Daemon lets go of his sword in surprise at the boldness of the fool. “No weapon is no excuse for yielding.”

He loses it, then. Later, he will only remember red. Daemon throws himself at him and starts punching him, until the asshole goes limp on his arms and has to be pulled away from him.

Only the fact that the Hightower fought back is what allows him to keep participating in the tournament, instead of being exiled again. The split lip and bleeding eyebrow do serve to build a case in his favor.

He wins the tournament without any opposition. With bloody hands, he places the flower crown on your head. Your horrified look is not as satisfactory as he would have thought.

Pride /praɪd/

the feeling that you are better or more important than other people.

Daemon manages to get a hold of you before you vacate the stands. You are trying to avoid the crowds, waiting patiently in your seat. He doesn’t allow it, urging you towards his chambers with a firm grip on your wrist.

Some other ladies titter and giggle, pointing towards the two of you. No doubt, they think he is about to ravish you. They are not wrong.

It’s not often Daemon feels desire for you. In truth, while you have a pretty mouth and a soft body, you do little for him. But today, you are enchanting. The flower crown still sits atop of your windswept hair, making you look like a forest nymph. There are a few red stains along your temple, left there by Daemon’s hands when he placed the crown on top of your hair.

Never has there been a woman more deserving of the title of Queen of Love and Beauty. As you walk with him down the halls, he feels a smug sort of satisfaction. Here is the woman half the court wants, Daemon wants to scream. Here is my wife.

The feeling is not unfamiliar to him, but it is in relation to you. His possessive nature so far has only extended towards members of his house. The lust is new, too. Daemon has experimented it many times, but never towards whom he should.

As soon the door closes after you, he kisses you forcefully, only for you to shove him away.

“What are you doing?” You ask, as you spit out some of his blood. You are remarkably strong, having been able to push him while still in armor. But what shocks him the most is the fact that you did it at all. Months of marriage and you have done nothing but smile, regardless of what Daemon does.

“Shh, Lady Wife. Nothing unusual, I assure you.” He pulls you back in, kissing along your neck. This time, you push him even harder.

Daemon stumbles and blinks, hard. Are you rejecting him? He sits down on the bed and takes off his helmet. He has beaten the Hightower fool half to death and won you the silly flower crown. Why would you reject him?

“You prefer him, don't you?” That has to be the answer, surely. You must be having an affair with the cunt. Why else would you reject him? It’s not allowed. While Daemon is not particularly keen on forcing you, you are his wife. He has a right to your body, and you shouldn’t deny him. You know it. Never before have you refused him, due to the same reason. So this must be something else.

“What nonsense are you on, now?” You barely lift your eyes from your work, busy with pouring some water in a bowl and taking out clean linens. Efficiently, as if a seasoned healer, and not a soft lady from Claw Island, you rip them apart.

“Don’t play daft, wife.” Daemon reproaches, scowling. Your innocent act is starting to tire him. You can’t possibly believe him so dumb. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“If this is about Ser Gwayne…” You start and he feels the urge to scream. He can’t help but cut you off.

“Of course it is! Of course it is about that fucking Hightower.” Daemon’s voice goes high-pitched, imitating yours. “Ser, Ser.” He rolls his eyes. “How easily they hand titles now. Is every scum in this realm a knight?”

Your face doesn’t even twitch. That is one of the things about you that drive him to insanity. No matter what Daemon says, he never seems to get a reaction. It’s infuriating. You are all manners and dimples, even in the face of the most vile insults he throws your way. You either have no honor, letting him stomp all over you, or you think him right. Pathetic. Even the Bronze Bitch bit back.

His nostrils flare. Softly, you step between his parted legs and dab at the cut on his brow with a soaked linen. Ever dutiful.

“You do know adultery is a crime.” Daemon says, in a low, threatening tone. You give him a pleasant smile, squeezing water out of the cloth. It runs red and fast down your wrist.

“So is incest.” Your voice is far too cheerful for someone who just got accused of a crime that’s punishable by death if he so chooses. And not only that, but you have the nerve to threaten him.

“I am a Targaryen.” Daemon practically growls. You glare at him. He should be angry, but instead, his loins seem to heat up. Who can fault him? Any man would feel the urge to take you over and over, when faced with those eyes and those lashes.

Surely, after it, you would understand you were his and not Gwayne Hightower’s. It was not such an ambitious plan. Perhaps a lesser man would have trouble with it, but not Daemon. Give him ten minutes between your legs and you would be singing his praises.

“And I am a Celtigar.” His pause has allowed you enough time to form a retort. You press down on the cut on his brow with a viciousness that startles him. Daemon winces in pain. No getting distracted, he notes. Less you murder him when he is not paying attention. “To stifle the blood flow.” You explain, but Daemon can see the bloodlust in your eyes. You want him to hurt. The past few months have not gone in vain, it appears.

“Mine, you are mine.” He replies, gruffly.

You let go of the cloth, hands on your hips. Your mouth opens and closes, astonished.

“You don’t have any right to speak those words to me.” How he longs to grab you and show you exactly who is in charge. There you are, screaming! You! The woman who Daemon doubted knew how to make sounds louder than polite conversation. “Am I not the bride you never wanted? Your chain? Well then, sail free. Go!” You scream, and Daemon needs to pick his jaw off the floor because never has he seen you this angry.

Are you screaming at him? He feels the urge to pinch himself, to see if he is dreaming. But the way you are pointing your finger towards the door seems very real. Still a bit confused by the sudden personality change, Daemon does not obey.

It feels like a dream. Like stepping into a parallel world. The words that come out of his mouth are spoken by a stranger, and he can only watch as you turn more and more furious.

“No. Come here.” Daemon grabs at your gown, trying to pull you into him. He doesn’t really know what he is going to do if you budge. Place you in his lap and placate you with a kiss? He doesn’t get to find out. Grabbing you has clearly been the wrong move.

You slip out of his grip with a harsh jerk. Daemon is not as young as he used to be, but the sight makes his lust bubble up. You are alluring when angry, all passionate lines, and bloody temples. Valyrian, in a way you had never been before, with your darker coloring and soft manners. Yet, when mad? You are a conqueror goddess made flesh.

“No! I will not. I am not yours. We might be married but I will…” You stomp your foot at him, all angry little crab. For the first time, he sees fire in you.

Such a shame this is the moment you chose to grow a spine. He couldn’t understand where you had been all this time. So many months wasted with the meek little wife, when he could have had you instead.

Why had you decided to show you had a personality now, of all times? It was not fair, if it was for that Hightower cunt.

“Why Gwayne Hightower? Out of all the men on earth?” Daemon mutters, clearly not low enough because you answer him.

“This is not about Gwayne Hightower.” You glare, crown of flowers balancing precariously on top of your head. As you move, a few petals fall down. Angry little dryad that you are, you bat them away.

“If not, what is it about?”

“You!” You scream at him. It’s hateful, it's rage filled, it’s everything you are usually not. A true Valyrian goddess, letting mere mortals feel her might. Daemon would have enjoyed the display more if he wasn’t the mortal in question. “I forgot what it felt like to be wanted. To be looked at as someone who was desirable. Do you know how I have felt? Begging for scraps of attention, trying to make this work?”

“Wife…” He pleads because now there are tears in your eyes, and while Daemon doesn’t do begging, he doesn’t do comforting either.

“Do not call me that! Didn’t you petition for an annulment?” And how had you found out about that? While he had not been exactly secretive with his correspondence, he didn’t believe you to be proficient in High Valyrian. He has no time to ponder on it because you intend to go further. “Well, you are in luck! I will make my own request!”

“Viserys will not allow it.” Even if Daemon has to go beg him on his knees to not grant it, you are not annulling this marriage. Not when he is just starting to see the real you.

“Fine! Then I am going back to Claw Island. Stay here.” You scream, and you look so determined it scares him. For a second, he actually thinks you have the power to ban him from the island and force him to stay, giving you plenty of time to receive visitors. Male visitors, all surrounding you, courting you, as if he were already dead and not just exiled.

“Look. I’m sorry. Can we start over?” Daemon offers, in his most pleading tone. He has not apologized since… Gods. He barely remembers how to do it.

“You made me forget I deserved more than scraps.” You laugh at him, as his first apology to someone in more than ten years is the funniest joke existing. Then, enraged. “It will be a cold day in the Seven Hells, when I give you another chance.”

Hurt. He realizes, as you throw the flower crown at his feet and slam the door. Hurt. You are hurt, not angry. He has done the worst thing a man can do to a woman. Damage her pride.

Lust lʌst/

very strong sexual desire, especially when love is not involved.

Much to your dismay, every time you try to speak alone to the King, you are swiftly intercepted. If it’s not Corlys Velaryon asking you to help him pick a book in the library, it’s your Lord Father summoning you to his chambers. It seems like the whole palace is in it because even Princess Rhaenys asks you to stroll with her through the gardens when you lurk too close to Viserys’s chambers.

Daemon was smarter than you thought. He had taken to using your own weapons against you. The need to be polite kept you from rejecting all these new invitations, and so, you often ended up stuck an entire afternoon with nonsensical plans.

As time passes, your rage starts to subside. Much to your disgust, it morphs into shame. You cannot believe how you lost control in front of Daemon. Everything you have worked so hard on could vanish for a single afternoon pf foolishness.

You would rather not be his enemy. When the time comes for the two of you to go back to Claw Island, Gwayne Hightower is still bedridden, despite it already being days. Daemon is a dangerous man to cross.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem angry, or even resentful. In fact, your husband has never been more attentive. With the talent of existing just at the right moment, Daemon appears at your side each time there is a door to be opened or a chair to be pulled.

“No one has ever seen him like this.” Queen Alicent marvels, as he watches him go fetch you a blanket in case the room is too cold for your liking. “Whatever you did to him…”

“Nothing, I assure you.” You answer, sternly. You don’t want her getting funny ideas, like that you are dabbling in witchery or the Seven knows what. It’s not something you can afford. Already balancing on a tightrope after the fight, any accusation could be your ruin. You do not trust Daemon’s change of heart. He is probably just biding his time.

Noticing something is amiss, Daemon comes back with the blanket, wrapping it around you. Alicent falls quiet.

Daemon stares at you, his hands lingering on your back more than necessary. He seems to be taking you in. His eyes fixate on your bosom a tad too long before you realize what he is doing, and you cover yourself more with the blanket.

Your cheeks heat up. You cough. Alicent’s brows raise.

“You are so beautiful, wife.” Daemon says, a bit dumbly.

“And you are a fool.” Your response is heated, and stupid, too. But you feel too embarrassed to care. Alicent is still sitting there, with a scandalized look on her face. Anyone would be ashamed to be the object of such obvious ogling, much less when they have never been exposed to it.

You are unused to this side of your husband. At most, when trying to consummate, Daemon would glance at you with disdain and proclaim it was all your fault. His eyes would never watch the heaving of your chest as you breathed, or the sway of your skirts when you walked. Were you superstitious, you would have thought him a man possessed.

Daemon laughs, either at your comment or your expression. It’s good, you suppose. At least he has not taken offense. You would have thought he would be angered, never one to suffer affronts to his pride without reacting.

“Your fool.” He leans down and places a kiss on your forehead, before walking away.

You stare at him. Alicent stares at you. Neither says anything. You are not sure what to make of it. It’s strange. It’s him now, who serves you dinner. The choicest cuts of meat, the sweetest of wines and meads, never asking for anything in exchange.

He has gotten unusually affectionate. Or possessive. Whatever it’s going through his mind, you don’t know. Daemon has never been open about his thoughts and feelings with you, unless they stem from displeasure.

Perhaps it’s a burst of boastfulness. He flaunts you, a hand on your waist, lower arm, whatever he can get away with. He is suddenly interested in the dresses you wear, commenting on them and gifting you new ones just because he thinks they would suit you. You do not miss the fact that the dresses are always in his house’s colors or styles he personally favors, with intricate needlework and embroidery.

It’s interesting. Once again, his testing of boundaries seems to come back. His hands are always playing with the curls at the nape of your neck, or the folds of your skirt. You have even caught him toying with the buttons of your bodice. It borders on the inappropriate.

“You are pushing it.” You say to him when his hands curls around yours as you dance. He is supposed to keep his hand extended for this step. He doesn’t seem to care. The other guests give him amused looks. No one is about to chide a Prince for his lovesick behavior towards his wife. Especially in a goodbye feast for the couple.

In truth, you are starting to think most of the fathers at court are relieved. If the Rogue Prince is chasing after his wife, then he is not chasing their daughters.

“Holding your hand is pushing it?” Daemon holds your hand more securely, as he makes you spin. This is another new and unexpected development. Now, he only dances with you. No heated looks at Rhaenyra, no longing glances towards Laena. You are not sure how you feel about it.

“It is. You are inconveniencing everyone.” You say, as he spins you again with a flourish. Despite wanting so badly to keep being cross with him, you cannot help but laugh with childish delight. What girl doesn’t want to be twirled around and made to feel special? “You are supposed to exchange partners.”

The balance of the dance has been thrown off by his refusal to let go of you. Any time there needs to be a switch, the couples flounder around the two of you. It’s childish on his part, but he seems unwilling to let you dance with another man.

“Oh, you haven’t seen me pushing it yet.” Daemon laughs, and pulls you in until your body is flush against his. It’s improper and probably not allowed. Scandalous, even. Yet again, no one is about to say anything.

Much less you, suddenly realizing that being pressed so close to Daemon is quite enjoyable. He smells surprisingly clean this evening. No trace of alcohol on his skin, or other women’s perfumes. Instead, he smells of the soap he usually favors and some sort of aromatic oil.

“Will you push further, then?” You raise your brows. It’s sort of amusing that Daemon is trying so hard. You would have not taken him for the seducing type, not when he had been so keen on dissolving your marriage.

“I will.” Daemon leans in, to whisper in your ear. His voice is low, thick with desire. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I want you. I burn for you. I need you in my bed, on top of me, under me, any way you will let me have you.”

You give a scandalized little gasp, softly hitting his shoulder. Daemon grins, pulling you in even more. The two of you are so close, you imagine you can feel his heart beating against yours.

“I’m not done.” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your jaw. Daemon’s lips trail kisses towards your ear, teasingly blowing some air against it. “I want to spend the nights feasting between your thighs, on the valley of your breasts…”

“Stop it! We are in public.” You squeak, yet you look up at him like a flower searching for the sun. The attention he bestows on you is flattering, and you can't help but want to hear more.

“Do you want to hear a secret, wife? Every time you walk, I find myself lost in the sway of your hips. I want to drown on it. Drown on you. Until no trace of another remains, until the taste of your lips is the only thing I know.”

By this point, your skin feels so hot you worry you are about to combust. You gape at him. Not only has he dared to make a bold declaration, but he has done so in a room full of people.

You take a moment to gather yourself. Daemon could be bluffing for all you know, and so, you decide to match him. You brush your thumb against his cheekbone, feather-light.

“Then do it. No one is stopping you. Come to bed. Drown on me. Drink me, take me, ravish me.” You are trembling, and you only realize it when Daemon holds you tighter against him. You feel feverish, voice lowered to an urgent whisper. “Give me Valyrian sons, to hold my island when we are both gone.”

“No. No.” He says, against the curve of your neck, embraced much closer than the dance requires, making a spectacle. “I want them to have your smile and your eyes, and that infuriating curve of your shoulder. Give me daughters with your smart mouth, and your even temper. I want them to be proof of the love I had for you.”

You tremble more. Love. He really said… Oh, by the Seven.

“You are shaking.” Daemon kisses your brow. “Don’t. Unless it is from pleasure.”

Laughter rings in your ears. It's yours, but it feels foreign. You are too stunned to think clearly. Daemon tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Are you still there, Lady Wife?” He taps at your lower lip with his thumb. There is a teasing tilt to his smile, but his eyes are nervous. Vulnerable. Daemon was clearly not planning on confessing tonight. “Or have I broken you?”

“Prove it.” You say, still caught up on the love part. His declaration has sent your mind reeling, and shown you all of your latest interactions in a new light. You don’t know if Daemon knows what he is doing. He is a deeply passionate creature, much like his house’s sigil. Daemon doesn’t do infatuations, nor does he do dislikes. He loves or hates, and there is no in between.

“I will.” He promises, playing with a stray piece of hair that has fallen out of your up do. “Our whole lives. But perhaps I can start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You frown, puzzled. You even pull back from his embrace to be able to look at his face. What an odd thing to say. Despite it, you admire the utter shamelessness he has about it. Were it you the one accidentally confessing, you would be a bundle of nerves.

Daemon doesn’t even blush. Of course, there is the small fact that he believes himself to be the Seven’s gift to humankind. You suppose if you believed yourself to be irresistible, you wouldn’t be nervous either. Cockiness wasn’t something you thought did it for you, but it seemed like you were learning new things every day.

“You will see.” Daemon smiles. You let him keep his secret, figuring it can’t be anything that bad.

You discover what he means when you arrive at Claw Island. A dragon egg waits for you, the fireplace clearly modified in a hurry, judging by the new stones and bricks that were added to the hearth.

“Even if it never hatches, I want you to have it. For you are as Valyrian as we are, and I was a fool not to see it sooner. You are worthy. It should have been on your cradle as a child.”

Greed /ɡriːd/

​a strong desire for more wealth, possessions, power, etc. than a person needs.

The way his eyes trail after you now, it’s quite unfamiliar. Not lust, nor disdain. Something entirely new. Heavier.

Your afternoons have been filled with new entertainment. You coo at the egg, holding it over the fire. Sometimes, Daemon kneels beside you and helps you hold it, making a game of it. How long before either of you gets burned? How long can you endure, hands so close to the fire, before you are yelping and giving it to him?

When you think he is not looking, you speak to it in High Valyrian, whispering soft promises of how loved him or her will be once it hatches. There is no doubt in your mind it will. Perhaps not in weeks, or even months. Yet, your heart tells you there will be a dragon before your life ends.

Every night, you place the egg in the bed next to you. On your side, you curl around it, trying to share your warmth. Daemon reaches forward, sometimes. When he thinks you are asleep, his hand will curl over your waist and touch the egg, pressing it more against your stomach. You wonder what he means by it.

Does he know what he is doing? The low lullabies he half sings, half mutters under his breath indicate a yes. The way his lips curl into a soft smile against your nape show a longing that’s very much not subconscious.

Just as a pot of boiling water, the egg hatches a night no one it’s looking at it. Both Daemon and you are curled in a love seat, engrossed in a book. He is reading something about the doom of Valyria, your legs over his lap. You are submerged in a text about a man’s travels around the Free Cities.

One of his hands is wrapped around your ankle, in the sweetest of chains. Each time he flips a page, he will brush it with his thumb, softly. While not unwelcome, it’s strange. You are not used to being comforted in the same way you did for him during the first months of marriage. While Daemon doesn’t expect any kind of retribution, you find yourself granting it anyway.

The domesticity is quickly broken, however, when a strange noise fills the halls of your home. At first, you are unable to hear it through the background noise, but if you strain your ears, you can just make it out. It’s a shrill cross between a bird’s chirps and someone crying.

“Daemon?” You close your book and stare at him. Unable to help it, you get a little sidetracked, watching his face. His mouth is pursed in concentration, the candlelight giving his features a golden glow. Despite him being several years older than you, you cannot help but find him terribly handsome. Age has only turned him more distinguished. You betted he was dashing when younger, but unlike his brother, he has aged like a fine wine.

Sensing your eyes on him, he gives you a lazy smile.

“Little wife.” His voice comes out in a pleased rumble at having caught you looking. Your face heats up. Daemon's eyes shift from yours, to your mouth, then back to your eyes. You squirm under his gaze, trying to focus.

“Do you hear that?” You force yourself to utter.

“Hear what?” Daemon leans more towards you, his hand squeezing your knee. You give a small, delighted shiver. Good gods, what is it about him that gets you to turn into a puddle of want with the simplest touch?

“Some sort of animal crying.”

Daemon frowns. He tilts his head to the side, as if to listen better. You keep quiet, hoping to aid him. Then, his face breaks out in the biggest grin.

“It hatched! You amazing, wonderful woman.” He praises, pulling you into him. The hug is awkward, but it doesn’t last because you are too eager to see the baby dragon. Your dragon. You squirm out of his hold and rush out of the room, not even bothering to put on shoes, Daemon hot on your heels.

When you open the door to your chambers, you find the cutest thing ever. A baby dragon, slimy and confused, sits in the middle of his egg in the fireplace. It’s all big, dark eyes and long limbs, much like a baby horse. Unable to resist the temptation, you reach towards them.

“I do not…” Daemon tries to stop you, but the baby dragon climbs right up into your arms, curling close to your chest. Eager to touch it, you let it climb over your shoulder and nuzzle you, even if the sudden weight makes you stagger a little.

“That was really dangerous.” Your husband reprimands, trying to lift it away from you. The baby dragon snorts towards his direction, as if attempting to breathe fire. It only manages to give a cute little sneeze. Daemon glares.

“Aw, you are just like a baby.” You coo at the dragon, petting its head. Daemon looks even more disgruntled.

“Your dragon tried to burn me.” He complains.

“It’s a baby, husband. They don’t know any better.” You rub the scales on its back, soothingly. Unwilling to let go, you find yourself looking around your bedroom. “Let it stay here? Just for tonight.”

Daemon glares. You give him your biggest, most pleading eyes. He relents.

“Fine. But it’s not sleeping on the bed with us. And only for tonight.”

“Only for tonight.”

A month after, and the baby dragon is still sleeping in your bed. He has taken to laying between Daemon and you, leeching off your warmth. Daemon complains of having to sleep on the edge of the bed and his back being sore, but despite it, never once asks you to send the dragon outside with Caraxes.

The trouble starts, how not, with a trip to King’s Landing. This time, you ride with him, as a passenger to Caraxes, while the baby dragon follows. When Daemon lands, the dragon keepers fret around your baby, unsure of what to do with the unexpected visitor.

You command him to stay by your side, despite the protests of the dragon keepers. You are arguing and complaining and shielding your baby while Daemon only watches, amused.

Perhaps the commotion attracts more people, or someone calls for them, but you end up cornered as King Viserys makes his way to the dragon pit.

“What do we have here?” He asks, smiling at you. You give him a nervous look. Your dragon has gotten bigger, and so, you can not pick him up gracefully, but you usher him behind you regardless.

“Nothing, your grace.” You say, lacking your usual charm. You feel nervous about leaving the baby dragon on his own in the dragon pit. What if the other dragons don’t like him? What if he gets lonely?

With one hand, you reach for Daemon. His fingers meet yours halfway, squeezing reassuringly. More often than not, being a woman, your orders were not taken seriously. But if your husband gave an order, people would rush to obey. You hope he intercedes in your favor.

“Daemon, please.” You say, under your breath. “Don’t let them send him away. He will behave.”

“What do I gain, little wife?” He asks, interlocking your fingers together. Daemon gives his most charming grin to his brother, before pulling you into him. You go willingly, body lax and pliant for him. “A kiss, perhaps?”

“Please.” You turn to look at him, hoping to move him. This close, once again, you feel slightly distracted. Your husband smells so nice, and his hands feel so good around your waist, it’s no hardship at all. You press a kiss to his cheek.

“Must you always arrive with such a ruckus?” Viserys frowns. Daemon gives him a small smile.

“You know me.” Slowly, he starts to lead you towards the Red Keep, a hand placed protectively on your lower back. The message is clear. Daemon wants you to make your dragon follow you. You don’t even need to order it because your baby, smart as it is, is already following. The dragon keepers step back, muttering unhappily.

“Is it going inside?” Viserys point at your dragon. Foolishly, you had been hoping he didn’t notice, and so, your stomach drops. But Daemon doesn’t falter, strolling confidently inside as if he owned the place.

“He will behave. As long as no one touches her.” Normally, you despise when people talk about you as if you are not there. Currently, though, you can only feel relief that your dragon is not getting sent to sleep outside in the cold. He is just too little for it.

Viserys walks you towards his private dining room. A blonde child runs around, playing. The Princess and Ser Laenor are already there. And Alicent is even more heavily pregnant than before.

“How have you been?” You ask Alicent, sitting next to her. You half expect to be left out of the conversation as you were a few months before, and so, choose to sit next to someone who has been kind to you. The baby dragon hops on your lap when you take your seat.

Alicent looks absolutely horrified.

“Good enough.” She speaks, blinking slowly. It’s clear she cannot believe her eyes. She stares at the dragon in a mix of awe and fear.

“He is harmless.” You explain, petting it as if it were a small dog and not a baby dragon. “Do you want to pet him?”

Alicent reaches forward with a trembling hand. The dragon sniffs her, and curls to sleep again.

“… And I was thinking of changing the layout of the hall, to make sure he fits…” You hear Daemon complain, and your ears immediately perk up. Is he talking about your baby?

“So you keep it inside?” Viserys asks, sounding disbelieving.

“I have never seen such a close bond.” Daemon boasts. He sounds as if he is proud of you, you realize. It makes something warm flutter in your stomach. No longer are you the wife he never wanted and tried to get rid of. “Damn thing sleeps on the bed with us. It’s better trained than a dog, seriously. We should have given Celtigars dragons a long time away.”

“Why not leave it outside?” From where you are seated, you can’t see his face, but you imagine by his tone, Viserys is smiling.

“She will riot. She loves him as her own son.” Daemon explains. You keep your eyes trained on the nervous Alicent, who has managed to lay her hand on top of your dragon’s head. She looks about to bolt.

“Isn’t he the nicest thing?” You say to Alicent, excited. “He thinks I am his mom, or something. Isn’t it great?”

Alicent does not look as impressed as you hoped for, but she gives you a kind smile. She seems willing to tolerate your eccentricities if for the sake of not having to make conversation with Rhaenyra.

“Very nice.” She compliments. “Pretty colors. Prince Daemon was very kind, giving it to you.”

“He is.” You smile, softly. “Although he complains all the time.”

Alicent shrugs. This time, both of you tune in the conversation between Daemon and Viserys.

“Perhaps, as you build him something outside, you can distract her with an actual baby.” Viserys says. Alicent looks torn at the comment, and you can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by the topic.

It’s not something you had thought about before. Well, you had. Never with him, though. As a girl, you dreamed of being a mother, and as a woman, Daemon and you had discussed the issue of heirs already. You had spoken about it during your last goodbye feast, in this same castle. But those words had been spoken in the height of passion, and neither of you had done anything about it.

“Trust me. Next time she holds a babe, it will be a proper human one.” Daemon says, and his hand finds yours over the table. You look up at him, meeting his purple eyes. He looks hungry. Starved, even.

You lower your eyes demurely. Viserys laughs. And Daemon, greedy as he is, lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Sloth /sləʊθ/

the bad habit of being lazy and unwilling to work.

The light filters in through the open curtains, giving the room a soft glow. Daemon’s face scrunches up, bothered by the sunlight in his eyes. He has tried to convince you to sleep with them drawn, but you are unwilling. To you, the best way to wake up is slowly, with the sun. Or so you say. He is not very convinced.

Daemon stretches. You reach for him in your sleep. He gives himself a moment to savor it, the fact that he can finally pull you closer. The dragon is finally gone from his bed, although he is no way near distracting you with a babe.

Dragons are not pets. Daemon had been taught that since the cradle, even before he had a dragon of his own. Their control over them was only an illusion, and so, they should be trusted but feared. He had lived by that rule, never once questioning it. Until you.

Watching you raise yours as if it were your own child had proven interesting. You lacked his education about them, but you made up for it by sheer enthusiasm. The fact that your dragon had not bitten your hand off yet or burned you to a crisp could only mean two things: You were some sort of forest nymph, or they were mistaken about their approach to dragons. He knew which one he thought was true.

How much was nature, and how much was nurture in their relationship with dragons? Trying to answer that question would occupy his entire lifetime. Daemon hoped that watching you gave him some insight. Even if he ended up discovering you were a nymph in disguise or some sort of goddess of the hunt. He wouldn’t regret it, fascinating as you were.

No matter how much food for thought you gave him, Daemon had been enjoying the joys of marriage. Perhaps, a little too much. Seeing you with the baby dragon had awoken some unexpected feelings. Targaryens were dragons, after all. When the time came, you would make a good mother. Not only were your instincts well-developed, but you seemed to thrive on having something to nurture.

Ah, the joys of domesticity. Daemon loves that you trust him enough now to allow him to witness you at your most fragile. Asleep and wearing a soft white night shift, you are deliciously innocent. Giving, too. You do not complain when his hands find your hips or when he pulls you flush against him. Nor do you move away when his face hides in your lovely locks, mussed with sleep.

Your expression is open and vulnerable in ways you are never when truly awake. Your eyes open just the tiniest sliver, before you hide your face on your pillow, rubbing against it like the sweetest kitten.

He adores you like this. Worships you, even. Obsessed with the curve of your hip, or the soft flesh above your womb. Daemon can’t help but rub it, hoping to manifest a child into existence without actually fucking you.

If he believed in such a thing, as so many fools in this realm did, Daemon would say this was the Seven Heavens. But he knew the truth. Just like you, who worshiped the Old Gods of Valyria, Daemon did too. How could he not when he had a tiny goddess sharing his bed?

Your nose scrunches up. You twitch. Worshiping a little nymph, now that was hard work. Especially when the nymph in question does her best to escape his personal worshiping time.

If Daemon could spend all day in bed, just like this, he would. He would trace your features with his mouth, peppering your face with soft kisses. He would feast on the soft curve of your neck, drink up all your sweet little noises. Trace a path down your soft limbs, draw nonsensical patterns on your stomach. But you are an energetic little thing, always jumping out of bed, no matter the pleasure he tempts you with.

Convincing you to stay is hard, but Daemon likes to think it’s an art he has perfected. It’s not a ritual, by any means. Each morning goes differently. Sometimes, you need to be kissed silly. Sometimes, you need to be gently worshiped and coaxed back to sleep. But his favorite mornings are the ones that go like this.

“I have to go check on the tenants, down by the shore. The rain season just started.” You complain, as he noses along your hairline. Suddenly, Daemon’s arms are empty. He opens his eyes to find you sitting up and pulling your robe over your night shift.

You look delectable in red. He should buy you more robes like that one. Especially because he is about to ruin it.

“Did you say at what hour you are going?” Daemon sits up as well, toying with the edge of your robe. You bat his hands away, playfully.

“No.” You are hurriedly standing up, perhaps knowing what comes next. Daemon grabs your robe, and pulls you back in, using all his strength.

No matter how much you try to keep your feet planted on the floor, you end up tumbling back into bed. You give a girlish shriek, a smile already forming on your face. You struggle, kicking the blankets off the bed.

“Come back here, you little minx.” He tugs you by the ankle, making you laugh. Your hair is sticking up in all directions and your chest heaves up and down with the exertion of putting up a fight.

Daemon secretly loves it. He would never tell you because you would be outraged, but he enjoys the idea of overpowering you. Perhaps, once you fully trust him, he could ask you to play like that. But for now, he takes what he can get.

“Or else what Lord husband?” You tease, still trying to escape him. More blankets and furs are sent flying off the bed. You give a mean little tug to his hair.

“That was it!” Daemon complains, and starts tickling you. The night shift rides tantalizingly up your hips, giving him an unintentional show. He feels his blood warming, arousal turning into a dull throb in his loins. Your legs kick wildly, you squirm on the bed, and your eyes fill with tears from laughing so much.

It’s only when your poor body can’t take it anymore, and you are crying from laughter that he stops. He thinks of how it would feel, to overwhelm you in a different context, make your body take and take until tears ran freely down your temples. A different sort of crown for his forest nymph, one made from her own silver tears. The visual is too much for him to take without giving himself away.

Daemon lies on top of you, smothering you with his weight. He licks a few stray drops of sweat from your neck, making you flay once again. There will be a day when play wrestling will turn into something much less sweet. That day, though, it’s not today.

“Get off!” You complain. “That’s disgusting.”

“I could eat you up.” He teases, nuzzling into your neck. It's the truth. Daemon loves the taste of your skin and your smell. If he thought he could get away with it, he would crawl between your thighs and feast on you. “You are delicious, wife.”

“Daemon.” You push lightly at him, trying to get up. Again. But your words lack their previous conviction. Daemon can tell he is getting to you. “It’s getting late.”

“The tenants can wait. Let us hide from the world a little longer.” He pleads, clinging to you. Under him, exhausted after the play wrestling, you go limp. He knows he has won then.

You spend the whole day in bed. The tenants end up being visited closer to sundown. Daemon does not regret it one bit.

[dedicatednotobsessed]

Issa byka rūklon [Daemon Targaryen x Wife!reader]

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

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. 🖤*

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

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.”

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

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.

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

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.

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

“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.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

*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.

[paulyenvol6]

Byka Atroksia (Chapter 5)

Contains: Kissing, Mentions of smut, Daemon being a little invasive

Wordcount: ~2.23k

Masterlist of this story

"Your mother would have been outraged, how could you do this, Vhaela?" You dropped your gaze and closed your eyes.

"This was dangerous, irresponsible and stupid. You could have been hurt, raped, murdered, captured. I would never have thought that someone like you would do such a thing."

"I’m sorry, father. I really am." He rubbed his eyes and his hand tightly had grabbed his desk.

"You simply can’t do such things, daughter. I was so worried about you when I saw you were missing in the morrow."

"I will NEVER do it again, father. I promise. It was a mistake and I’m fully aware that I acted a fool." Your father walked towards you and pulled you into a hug.

"I can’t lose you, daughter. And I don’t want to ever see you hurt. I don’t even know how I’m gonna be able to let you go into marriage.", he chuckled. "I can’t let you go and give some lord the responsibility to protect you." He put his hands on your shoulders and watched you thoroughly. "You’re my sunshine, Vhaela and I fear that if I don’t protect you with all I have you're gonna get harmed."

You took his hand. "No father, I’m not. I’m not 10 anymore, I can look out for myself."

The King sighed. "I know. But it’s hard with you. I’m not saying that you’re… weak or anything. You’re made of fire, daughter, just like you’re sister. But I’ve always felt that you’re too pure and gentle for this cruel world." He patted your hand one last time and then walked to his desk.

"Ser Lawsen, send for my brother. I think he needs a reminder of what protecting his nieces means."

You froze and wanted to slap yourself. Now you had to watch Daemon getting shouted at for something he hadn’t done. You just hoped he would understand what this was about and play along as you hadn’t been able to tell him about the story you had invented yet.

The king’s guard nodded and left the room. Only a few minutes later the door opened again and Ser Lawsen dragged your uncle with him who authentically looked like as if he had just woken up. The guard pulled him in front of your father and then positioned himself by the door again. Daemon yawned loudly.

"Brother." Viserys walked towards him and roughly grabbed his upper arm. You could see in your uncle’s reaction that he was thinking. He didn’t know yet what the King knew and had to observe in Viserys‘ action to see if he had learned about a made – up story told by you or somehow managed to find out about the truth.

"I would’ve expected more of you, Daemon. She is a young girl and even though she was still inside the keep, you shouldn’t leave your niece alone in the dark. Dangers lie everywhere and you should’ve stayed with Vhaela and then escort her back inside to make sure she safely gets into her bed. Especially considering what she has done instead."

Daemon and your gaze met for the first time and he watched you with small eyes. "What has she done instead?", he asked. The king wrinkled his nose and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Vhaela sneaked in the city last night. Alone and without guards protecting her. She only just returned from her late night adventures."

"Mhmm.", his brother made and his eyes remained on you. "That’s unfortunate."

Viserys let out a grunt and loosened his grip on Daemon’s arm. "Ha, I should’ve known that you don’t find this in any way worrying." Your uncle raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms as well.

"Oh I do find it worrying. That’s no fine behaviour for a young Princess. After all I care about my nieces. Very much so."

Viserys rolled his eyes. "Brother. One day you’ll make me go crazy. If Vhaela won’t have done the job already." Your father looked at you meaningful again and for the first time you raised your voice.

"As I promised you already, I won’t ever do it again."

Viserys shook his head. "I had hoped that you, daughter would simply come after me. We shall see if your influence on her, Daemon has been too significant."

Daemon’s eyes remained on you and you could see a slight smirk on his lips, but then he looked at Viserys again and lowered his head. "Apologies, your grace. I’ll look after her better the next time."

Your father didn’t know what to say anymore and made a hand gesture that signaled him to leave. "Yes you will. Otherwise I…. Oh I don’t know, go now, brother."

Daemon's eyen now wandered to look at you again. His eyes glistened and his mouth changed to a grin. "Princess."

With these words your uncle turned around and left the room and you realised you had held your breath the last seconds. So you exhaled as quiet as possible while your father walked around in his chambers. "May I go now, father?" "Yes, yes. You can go as well."

So you left the room, went to your chambers as quickly as possible and tried to get a clear head at last.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later

It was a quiet night with the exact right temperature. The hours during daylight had been uncomfortably hot but now as darkness overshadowed the city, it was a pleasant evening.

You sat between your sister and your uncle at dinner and listened to the King discussing political matters with his hand, lord Niclas Tully and several other lords of the small council. You silently ate your salad and tried not to be distraced by your uncle’s presence right next to you. The last days you hadn’t seen him a lot. Obviously now that he was back in the city he had gone out to see a lot of friends and business partners who had welcomed him back so you hadn’t wondered about what he had been doing. But now you sat there next to him and it seemed like his mere presence lightened a fire in you. You had avoided his gaze and tried not to look at him a second too long. It was simply… odd for you after everything that had happened between you.

"So I guess that a marriage proposal would be appropriate. Vaegon shall be betrothed to Evya Tyrell to strenghten our houses‘ bond."

"I see it exactly the same way, your grace. Lord Colren will be pleased to see his daughter betrothed to a Targaryen after the fiasco with Maenor and Brune."

"Well… we have to speak about the Braavos situation now, your grace." "Oh not tonight, Lord Ellion."

"My king, they won’t accept the new borders. And our laws, in fact. They won’t accept our representants as their rulers."

You zoomed out again and focused on the lettuce leaf on your plate until Rhaenyra whispered to you.

"How much longer to you attempt to watch this leaf, sister?" You turned to her confused until you understood what she was talking about. You quickly speared the leaf with your fork and shoved it into your mouth. Rhaenyra watched you with raised eyebrows. "Are you quite alright, Vhae?"

"Yes. I’m simply exhausted and would like to go to bed soon."

"You know that father won’t let you. Not with the hand and the other lords attending tonight’s dining." You nodded and once again watched your plate. "I know."

You sat through the dinner though feeling not tired at all. You were tense and nervous but it only had to do with the person to your left. Then after every plate was empty and the guests held their fully bellys, Viserys stood up and smiled at the small group.

"Thank you all for this lovely evening. Lord Niclas, Ellion, Vamyx." The three lords lowered their heads and everyone got up while the King left the room.

One after one walked out not without greeting your sister, Daemon and you and then the three of you walked towards the door as well. You quickly looked at your sister and uncle and smiled softly.

"Good night, sister. Uncle." Then you turned around and headed to your chambers. It was dark in the corridors and only now and then the moon shined through a window. The only sound you heard were your steps on the stone ground and you felt peaceful like this. But then, suddenly you felt someone close behind you, wrapping an arm around your upper body and pulling you into a room. You wanted to scream but a hand was pressed on your mouth. For a moment you panicked but then…. You recognised the smell of the person and widened your eyes.

"Daemon.", you said against his hand but it was surpressed. Then he let go of you and you almost stumbled. You looked around trying to get some orientation and saw that he had pulled you into the small council chamber.

"Daemon, what - You can’t scare me like this." Your uncle smirked and came closer to you. "Forgive me, little owl. I simply didn’t want us to be seen together so I had to be quick." His hand connected with your cheek and he moved the hair out of your face.

"Daemon.", you whispered and put your hand on his‘. He took another step in your direction to push you towards the big table in the middle of the room. "Daemon, we can’t do this." His lips brushed over yours and your pulse rose.

"Mhmm.", he made and you held on to his hand to stop him from moving it down to your neck.

"Daemon.", you said a little louder and turned your head away from him so the kiss was interrupted. He stopped and brought a little more distance between your faces. "What’s wrong?", he whispered and caressed the sides of your face with both his hands.

"We can’t, Daemon. It was wrong to do it in the first place. I can’t repeat this sin."

Your uncle raised his eyebrows. "Pleasure.", he started speaking. "Is never a sin, little owl. Especially not when nobody is harmed in the action." He ran his thumb over your temple and watched you insistent. "What happens between a man and woman when they are intimate is meant to be beautiful. For both. It is not wrong or sinful, no, it is natural. You’re a woman now, little owl. You have the right to explore this kind of pleasure.", he whispered smugly.

You desperately looked up to him while he still held your face tightly in his hands. "But we’re not married. And I shouldn’t have done something like this, that’s only supposed to happen with one’s husband."

"Say it." You frowned. "What?"

Daemon slowly ran his thumb over your lower lip. "Say what we have done, byka atroksia (little owl)." You shook your head. "I can’t." He raised his eyebrows and got closer to your face again.

"Yes you can. Tell me what we have done three nights ago. In my bed chambers while your unknowing father celebrated my return only a few feet away."

You felt your hands shaking and pleadingly looked up to your uncle. "Please.", you mouthed inaudibly but Daemon didn’t give in. He merely pulled at you lower lip with his thumb and then went back to caressing your cheek.

"Go on. I want to hear you say it." You wanted to drop you gaze, look down to your feet and just escape Daemon’s piercing eyes but his hands holding your face forced you to look at him.

"Y-You…", you started and your uncle encouraginly nodded with lifted eyebrows. "You bedded me.", you whispered weakly and heard Daemon chuckle.

"Yes, that’s right." His mouth wandered to your right ear and he kissed you right next to it on your cheek. "I touched you. Licked your sweet cunt. And then fucked you."

You breathed heavily and felt your cunt clench around nothing. You wanted him so badly. How was he able to make you feel like this? How was he able to turn your into a mess in his arms so quickly? He was like fire, igniting your body every time he looked at you. He pressed kisses on your cheek and then down to your neck. You couldn’t help but grab his hair and felt your knees getting weak.

"We shouldn’t…", you whined with closed eyes and Daemon abruptly stopped kissing you and looked down to you with flashing eyes. His hand forcefully grabbed your chin.

"If you tell me right now you don’t want me, I will let you go.", he hissed angrily. "I don’t have any pleasure in fucking you if I continuously hear you say you want me to stop. So tell me if you want me to or not and if you want me to, I don’t want to hear another sound coming out of your mouth except my name while I pleasure you."

You felt a little scared and looked up to him with big eyes. His fingers dug into your skin and he didn’t let you out of sight for one second.

You obviously had already made your decision and even though you knew you would regret it, you weren’t strong enough to do the right thing.

"I want you, Daemon.", you breathed and his eyes glistened with lust.

[pursuitseternal]

Ok, ok, this is totally self indulgent.. but, could you maybe do a petite/curvy f! Reader and Astarion appreciating her in the most NSFW way? Ty!

Oh sweet Anon… Here you go, darling:

“I can be quick…”

CW: quick, rough sex, body worship, breast play, tittyfucking, more NSFW, just a hint of praise and dirty talk with your Vampire Rogue

Rogue Astarion x curvy female reader | Explicit | 1.3K of worship sex

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“Tch,” Astarion sucks his teeth at you, that sweet little smirk as you trudge up the path. It’s been a long day of walking, and the height of the mountain is wearing on you. “Want me to carry you?” he offers, a teasing lilt in his silken voice.

“Don’t make offers you don’t intend to keep,” you huff, wiping the sweat off your brow. “Being cradled in your powerful arms sounds much nicer that hiking any longer you know…”

Before you even finish your words, he’s grabbed you by your middle and heaved you over his shoulder. “Come now, darling,” he giggles at you over his shoulder, “you know I’m good for any excuse to hold your warm, supple flesh against me…” He climbs as you sway, his hands slowly, distinctively, sliding up the soft buckskin of your breeches, exploring higher up your thighs.

Sometimes, you forget just how strong he is, your well-fed vampire rogue. How he can crush your enemies with a single arm, or evicerate them without blinking. Carrying you doesn’t even bring a sweat to his brow. No, he’s striding even faster… swaying and whistling as he’s gaining on the rest of your party, who are nearly half a mile ahead.

But then, he curves off the path. A small grassy grove. The true destination for his haste. “You know, I am rather self indulgent, and I just don’t think I’ll make up the mountain without a little… respite. And besides, the way your breasts keep swinging over my shoulder, well…”

He sets you down on the mossy ground, slowly, he crawls on top of you, so much taller, leaner, wiry and demanding as he presses his weight into your frame. You feel it then, as he presses his hips hard between your thighs. “You’ve made me so hard for you, darling, and I think one favor deserves another, don’t you?”

“That’s your idea of respite, is it?” you giggle, his hands tracing up and down the curves of your body, clawing into the top of your breeches already shimmying them down your hips.

“Seems only fair. Besides, we’re so far behind already, I’m sure they won’t even notice. And… I can be quick,” he growls above you, “after holding you so close already, I doubt I could last long even if I wanted to…” he runs his tongue up the side of your neck, lips caressing your ear as he rasps, “which I don’t at any rate.”

He exhales heavily, his hand tugging the last of your buckskin breeches to your ankles. “Gods, you smell beyond enticing, darling, but first, I’ll need you completely bared for me to properly worship every inch of your feminine figure.”

Your fingers already tug at the laces of your tunic, hoping he isn’t in so much a hurry that he tears it to shreds. But by the lustful glow in his crimson eyes, the way he’s licking his lips and nearly snarling his fangs at you, you’re not sure how much longer he will wait.

He leans off you, pulling his own shirt off, unlacing his own breeches just enough to let that protruding length spring free. Gods, you’re glad you’ve made quick work of your own clothing, craving that wiry muscle and hard body of his crushing you. The instant your breasts are freed, he bears down on you, lips and tongue feasting on their fullness. Teasing your nipple until it aches from being drawn to straining hardness. His hand massages the other, his cold, strong fingers tweaking that nipple to equally exhilarating pain.

You gasp, arching under his body, kicking off the rest of your boots, your breeches, aching to wrap your thighs around him completely. He just laughs, low and deep in his chuckle, letting the reverberations tickle your breast as he switches to suck on the other. “So eager, so impatient, I suppose I am too, eager to give every one of your sweet curves a good fuck,” he growls into the pillow flesh beneath his mouth.

“Then do it,” you moan, mewling as he takes your hands from the grass to have you press the fullness of your breasts together. You laugh, aching and uneasy, as he shifts above you. Hand on his cock, he pushes it into your ample bosom, that seeping head brushing against your lips. Gods, he’s so big, so naughty, and you lick him as he thrusts again, his groan as you sweep your tongue over that bitter cum makes you giggle.

“You filthy, brilliant darling,” he growls, thrusting all the way until his balls smack into your breasts. Making that length push far into your mouth. You suck, hard, making your lips pop as he withdraws only to thrust harder and faster. He groans with each shove into you, as if he’s been envisioning this for hours. You catch him in your mouth each time, little sucks and swirls of your tongue stoking him into a frenzy. You can feel it by how his cock twitches, how it thickens as he grows closer to coming, at how he just can’t slow himself. So you suck him hard and long each time.

“Gods, I’ll come if you keep that up…” he groans. And, with a mischievous laugh, you let your teeth drag softly all along him as he shoves through your bosom.

He snarls, clambering off you, pulling you by your hands to roll with him into the grass until he’s laid flat on his back. He clutches you to his chest, letting you sprawl and straddle on top of him, hands and fingers and nails clawing into the crests of your hips. “Fuck me, little darling,” he groans, taking his cock in one hand, the other runs two long fingers into the heated slick that pools between your thighs.

You sink onto that long, cool shaft, letting your whole body accept him until he fills you to bursting. You can feel him, already so close, hands running up and down, worshiping the curve of your hips, the crest of your belly, before he slinks a single finger into your folds. Catching your clit just right. His eyes watch where you join, licking his lips at the sight of how he spears into you. And he returns the ardor with the circling sweeps of his finger. You tremble, you shake.

Gods, all this because he carried you, because he couldn’t get close enough to you until he was buried so deep, there was no more room for him. You splay your hands on his chest, riding him, wriggling as he keeps that finger crooked just right to pleasure you. He’s insistent, chasing his climax with every clench of his body, every scrape of his fingers on your skin. Your hips buck unsteady, riding how he thrusts up into your tight channel with each sink and slap of your thighs on his.

His hand grips hard into you, forcing you to ride faster, his voice a snarling groan as he pushes hard into you. You slam hard on his cock, crying as you come too, the pulsing of his head against the end of your channel making you shake. Making you collapse against his chest. Making you pant against the cool, hard caress of his skin on your hot and flushing cheek.

Both of you pant, catching your breath, as he places a kiss against the top of your head. He chuckles, “Are you still going to need me to carry you, darling?”

You lift your head, throwing him a sated, but lustful smirk, “Most definitely, my rogue. Most definitely.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

💌always happy to have the requests ❤️

[arlemangel7]

Gambit x blackfem!Mutantreader x rogue

First meet: Love in the club

When he met you he had three thought southern loud and sexy. You were a bartender that knew her way around the bar and how to entertain large crowds from the door all he could hear was loud woos and "come down on the left", "what can I getcha boys?", "alright alright two beers and six shots haha, guess we have a big night tonight huh 😁". He was alittle star struck almost to the point of drooling and had it not been for rogue nudging him out of his trants he'd still be standing at door mouth agap watching you twirl and dazzle the room as you shake cocktails all from behind the bar.

Rogue thought you were a raging fire but knew what she wanted soon as she seen you. She sauntered up to the bar through the sea of men sat right now in the center and said "hey sugar how's about me and you take a shot of your choice when you get a minute,hm?". You standing in her perfect line of sight say "well I hope you can shoot something sweeter than you accent darlin?" Without missing a beat she replies with "tell ya what, I'll take as many shots as it takes to get you to come home with me?" You, muddling limes into the bottom of the tin say "well, lucky for you I don't have any plans tonight and I get off in an hour. Soooooo if you can down ten shots of my choosing without throwing up or keeling over I'll take you...and your friend there up on your offer. And?" You place the muddler down grab a bottle and turns around to face her with the bottle still out of view "I'll tell you the name of your poison just cause im so nice." She place the bottle on the counter between yall "100 proof jack, so, do ya really wanna take me home?"

Five minutes later

Yall are down to the last shots of whiskey. Rogue takes her ninth shot and then you follow both your tummies are churning proof that both of you have CLEARLY over estimated the integrity of your stomachs, gambit is in the middle of yall already guessing the outcome if this battle is finished as intended "Listen ladies, I'd suggest we fold this round." both you and rogue say in unison "hush it Cajun!" Realizing yall both made a jinx burst into laughter before you say "you sure you wanna finish this?" She doesn't say anything accept "to our night together." She raises her shot glass up awaiting for you to do the same you chuckle raising your shot glass and doing your best to maintain eye contact through fuzzy vision "night ha *hiccup* try life" *clink* yall slam the glasses on counter and down them hearing the crowd roar in drunken cheers was the last thing you heard before blacking out.

The next morning.

You wake up to bright Sunrays shining through the window next to your bed..... only you don't have a window next your bed. It takes a few seconds to feel an arm squeeze around your tummy and a "mmm" in a slightly familiar voice. You softly and slowly turn to get a glimpse of your bed mates face when you realize you are naked, this makes you spring to a Sitting position trying desperately to remember what happened. "Well good morning cher, helluva night you had huh?" Surprised by the southern male voice coming from the fuzzy figure coming from the doorway. Squinting to get a better view of this person he says "your specks are on the night stand on ya right" you smile silently in thanks and retrieve your second eyes. After a few seconds your pink irises start to focus and you see the man from the bar "names remi but you may know me as 'cajun' I believed you called me last night" you nod "y/n". "Awh, a beautiful name for a beautiful lady. Your bedmate is.." "rogue?" You cut him off, you remember her saying that was her name on the way out of the bar.

"The very same, may I?" He gesters to the spot on the end of the bed trying to be careful with his movement not to frighten you you nod and he sits down before you ask "we didn't do..???" "No cher nothing like that, you two kissed alittle on the couch got naked because it was two hot in here wondered through the house to this very bedroom and watched TV until you both passed out on top of the covers. From there all I did was place a blanket atop both of you, remove your glasses shut the door and went to go sleep on the couch." Seeing the slight skepticism written on your face he says " listen i understand how it sounds but scouts honor im not made that way and There are security cameras in the living room and the hall if you wanna check for ya self."

For your own sanity you decide to take him up on his offer and Lou and behold he is telling the truth you both stumbled in the house threw your keys on the table near the door splayed on the couch where rogue atop of you where a make out session followed as yall are preoccupied with each other remi is seen in the back chuckles shaking his head taking his coat off, locking the door and going down the hall to the room where we ended up. Going back to the living room camera yall break from. The kiss turn on the TV say something in audible to each other and proceed to ditch clothes left right and center until nothing but skin remains yall cuddle on the couch for a sec before saying another sentence to rogue and her reply makes you rise from your position of your head on her belly to walk/stumble through the hall opening doors left and right until you found the bathroom following your departure rogue meets you in the hallway and guides you to the bed room as you both enter remi leaves shutting the door behind him and going to lay down on the couch.

"See a perfect gentlemen." He says in a matter of fact tone "alright I, ahhhh" you say feeling a sharp pang ring through your head "so you want Tylenol, ibuprofen or advil?, and what would you like for breakfast I got waffles eggs and sausage." (Insert medicine and breakfast of choice here) "That'd be great, thank you" he gives you one of his shirts to put on before breakfast is ready and points you to the hall closet with all the spare rag,towels, toothbrushes and etc are he tells you food will be ready in a second and to take all the time you need. Between that time rogue wakes up and is in the dining room where the food and remi are.

After this your relationship would start off and the rest would be history.

As always stories mine characters belong to who they belong to

Let me know your thoughts and ideas

Signing off for now sleep well yall💋💋

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia - Chapter 3: When The Lance Fells The Falcon (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 3: When The Lance Fells The Falcon

The day of the Heir Tournament has finally arrived, and what is a joust without some bloodshed? 

Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | 

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

Warnings: TW! Depictions of violence, mentions of blood, Daemon being an asshole, angst, the continuation of my blood feud against HOTD’s costuming department

Word Count: 4.3k words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: With all the explicit detailing I included about the character’s dresses, would you guys maybe be interested for me to post some of my fashion designs here, so you guys can get a clearer vision of what I envisioned the characters wearing? Because I find it extremely difficult to translate my designs into words lol, blame my lack of fashion background. And from this chapter on, things are going to start getting serious. 

Also recommended that you listen to ‘There Are Worse Games To Play’ on the Hunger Games soundtrack while you read this chapter, particularly towards the end 💗

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics as always!

The fire crackled merrily in Lady Y/N’s chambers, although the room was filled with a ruminative silence. Night had once again descended on the Red Keep, and after tending to Aemma all day, who was in more discomfort than usual, Y/N was exhausted. 

She was still simmering with displeasure at Daemon’s words from that afternoon. One could argue that Daemon was merely being careless with his words, but Y/N knew better. Just like many other people, he disregarded her based on her gender. She thought maybe Daemon would be different since he cared not for the restraints society has put on him, but it appears she was nothing but a fool to ever think positively of him. 

I sighed, my fingers continuing to weave the bonnet for Aemma’s babe, even though I found no pleasure in the task. Daemon’s words this afternoon had sent me tumbling into an unpleasant spiral of emotions, and I directed my dark gaze towards the roaring fire, where the charred remains of my father’s letter still sat. 

Lord Matthos and Lady Primrose, Lord and Lady of Highgarden, and my parents. With my lady mother dead now, and me being their unfortunate sole surviving child, my father had directed his focus on getting me married off as soon as possible. “You must wed and produce heirs that could inherit Highgarden,” my father had insisted, pleaded, even. “I know with your...reputation, it might be difficult to find a match, but you are no longer young anymore, and you must marry as soon as possible. It is the duty you owe to House Tyrell.” 

“My duty,” I snorted, nearly pricking myself with the needle in the process. It was simply unfair, why must I be expected to marry and pump out babes for my husband while men like Daemon could prance about freely without a care in the world? I wanted to enjoy my youth, as was my right. Why should i care for duty? Even if my father required heirs, House Tyrell was not lacking in any cousins that could inherit if he should pass. 

Indignation coursed through my blood as I began increasing the speed in which I was weaving the bonnet. Even Aemma had reminded me on more than one occasion of the importance of duty, and I was sick of it. There was just some part of me that couldn’t grasp why everyone was so fixated on it. The Seven had granted us one chance at life: one should revel in it by pursuing their own desires. And besides, after witnessing Aemma’s grief and pain over her many miscarriages and stillbirths, I shuddered to think what duty might have in store for me. I was determined that I would not succumb to the notion of the dutiful, heir producing daughter that my father so wished me to be, no matter how much my father pleaded with me. After all, if Daemon could evade it as long as he did, surely I could do the same.

I frowned as I eyed the finished bonnet. Not as pretty as I envisioned, but children grow fast anyway. I went over to the window, gazing at the Dragonpit, dark and imposing against the night sky. It only made me think of a certain princeling, and I huffed, drawing my curtains shut. Rubbing my temples and exhaling heavily. I decided not to waste any more of my thoughts on the Rogue Prince. Clambering into bed, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

I had not expected to be in attendance at the tournament today. Aemma had been experiencing increasing bouts of pain for the past few days, and I wanted to keep her company should the babe be close to making its arrival in this world. Unexpectedly, I had been nearly dragged out of Aemma’s apartments by Rhaenyra and Alicent early in the morrow, with Aemma insisting I go spectate the tourney instead of staying with her like a watchful owl. I had argued, but Aemma specifically called upon Rhaenyra and Alicent as reinforcement, with some explicit threats that I would be quartered, hung and my head placed on a spike should I refuse to attend. 

Thus here I was, in the royal box, my face etched with concern as my mind kept wandering over to Aemma. I prayed fervently to the Seven that she would not go into labour in my absence, and to the Mother that if she did, that her labour would be smooth and painless. 

“What say you, Y/N?” I was pulled out of my reverie, eyes wide as I muttered an unintelligible “Huh?” Rhaenyra rolled her eyes good-naturedly while Alicent struggled to hide her giggles. “I was just discussing with Alicent why you seem to be favouring gowns of Tyrell green as of late. Usually, we noticed you would be in lighter shades.” My gaze shifted downward, surprised at her observation. 

I was dressed in my best, another gown of Tyrell green silk, with fitted sleeves that trailed to a more sheer, but still dark green material that flared out below my elbows. Several gold roses adorned my shoulders, interspersed with tiny rubies. The neckline dipped slightly in the valley of my breasts, but anything that could cause scandal was covered by a layer of Myrish lace. The dress’ skirts clung to my figure, parting at the centre to reveal an underskirt of olive green and gold brocade. It had cost a fortune, and had once belonged to my mother. My signature gold earrings adorned my earlobes, and my hair was pinned into an elegant braided updo. I might dislike the idea of duty to my house, but regardless, I had to represent House Tyrell in the best light possible, especially at such an important event. 

Rhaenyra and Alicent were decked out in their finest for the occasion as well. Rhaenyra was clad in Targaryen colours, and I admired the black corset that looked reminiscent of armour fitted across her upper half of her body. Dragon scales were painstakingly patterned on the corset, and they were held together by laces made of fine golden thread. Underneath the corset, she wore a dark red gown with an intricately pleated skirt. The sleeves were off the shoulder, going down to her wrists. Gold shoulder plates set in a dragonscale pattern with gold fringes protected her bare shoulders from the autumn chill. She wore a heavyset necklace cut with square shaped rubies, hammered into gold, and her hair was let loose in a wild cascade of curls. She looked every inch a Targaryen warrior princess. Alicent was dressed simpler, but still looked beautiful nonetheless. A light blue dress of brocade and silk with a square neckline hugged her soft curves, exposing a little bit of her collarbone, where two strands of pearls were draped across her neck. Her sleeves were puffed at the shoulders, stopping short just before her elbow, while the rest of her sleeves were fitted tightly to her wrists. Small delicate flowers were sewn at the hem of her sleeves. Her skirts parted at the centre to reveal an underlying layer of cream white brocade, and her bodice had crisscrossing geometric diamond patterns sewn on it, dipping at her waist with a point. Her hair was fashioned in a half up, half down hairdo, curls tumbling to the small of her back. Both of them had inquisitive looks in their eyes, though Rhaenyra’s harboured a glimpse of impatience.

I smiled a little awkwardly at the question. Truth be told, I had no idea why. My thoughts had been taking on a darker turn since my encounter with Daemon in the throne room and the raven sent by my lord father, and I supposed my choice of apparel reflected my mood. “Well, at such a celebration, it is only fitting of me to dress in the colours of my house.” I reasoned, tilting my head slightly. “Do the darker gowns not suit me?” 

“All colours suit you well, my lady.” Alicent said gently. I smiled gratefully at her, as Rhaenyra turned to Alicent and asked teasingly if she suited any colour as well. My smile widened as I watched the two bicker playfully. 

We were interrupted however, by the arrival of the King. We all stood up to greet him, bowing politely. He was beaming from ear to ear, as he began addressing the crowd, much to the raucous cheers of the crowd. 

“The day has been made more auspicious, by the news I am happy to share: Queen Aemma has begun her labours!” My eyes widened upon hearing those words, and as soon as the King finished his address, I stood up, ready to excuse myself to go tend to Aemma, when I felt a hand on my shoulder, effectively halting my attempts of a hasty exit. “Viserys-” 

“I know you want to be there for Aemma,” the corner of Viserys’ eyes crinkled as he spoke gently, trying to push me back down to my seat, “But she asked me to relay a message: trust that she will be alright, and enjoy the tourney instead. It will be your only time to relax before you are swept up in your duties to take care of the babe.” 

I bit my lip, a sense of unease washing over me. “But-” “You must stay and enjoy the tourney. Your King commands it. As does your Queen.” I glanced at him, eyes filled with worry, but he only nodded encouragingly. 

“If my king commands…I shall obey,” I said with some reluctance, although it dissipated somewhat when Viserys beamed at me, clapping my shoulder affectionately before sitting back down. I sat back down too, my eyes wandering over to Rhaenyra, who gave me a smile, which I returned. I said a silent prayer to the Seven as the first few contenders were being announced, that both Aemma and her babe would be safe and healthy.

The first of the tilts began, to the boisterous cheers of the crowd. I watched as a jouster carrying a shield with a sigil unknown to me quickly unhorsed a squire of House Tarly. My brows furrowed., I turned to Rhaenyra, “Do you recognise the sigil that the mystery knight was carrying?” She shook her head. Alicent leaned over, eyes fixed on the knight as he steered his horse before the royal box and bowed, “I think he’s from House Cole. Of the Stormlands, I believe.” 

Rhaenyra wrinkled her nose, “I’ve never heard of House Cole. This should prove most interesting.” I pursed my lips as Lord Boremund Baratheon asked for Princess Rhaenys’ favour, addressing her as “The Queen Who Never Was”, causing the crowd to stir a little in dissent. “You could have Baratheon’s tongue for that.” “Tongues will not change the succession,” came Viserys’ assured response. “Let them wag.” 

“Lord Stokeworth’s daughter is promised to that young Tarly squire.” “Lord Massey’s son?” Alicent inquired, a little surprised. Rhaenyra nodded, “They’re to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood.” I snorted, remembering some of the unsavoury rumours I had heard swirling around the court as of late. “Best get on with it,” my voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ve heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress.” Rhaenyra's eyes widened in disbelief, and Alicent clapped a hand over her mouth as if reeling from the sheer impropriety of it, while I merely shrugged, a smirk tugging at my lips and turned my gaze back to the proceedings. 

I leaned forward in my seat, intrigued when the mystery knight of House Cole unhorsed Lord Boremund in a single tilt, much to the crowd’s delight and mocking laughs. Rhaenyra let out a small “oof” sound, while Alicent looked  dumbstruck. Mayhaps the tourney would be of some excitement after all. 

“Prince Daemon, of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!” The smile that was forming at my lips dropped in an instant, and I pursed my lips as Daemon, clad in his black armour, raced past the audience astride his black steed, much to the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd. I rolled my eyes: show off. 

I was unsurprised and somewhat amused when Daemon chose Ser Gwayne Hightower as his first jousting opponent. Of course, Daemon chose today to be even more of a little shit than usual. Oftentimes, I wondered if he gained his life essence from pissing Otto Hightower off. I craned my neck backwards to catch a glimpse of the Hand’s expression, my lips curving upwards in a smirk when I took note of his irked expression. 

Suddenly, I felt a heavy stare upon me, and I turned back to the spectacle to see Daemon’s violet eyes fixed on me. When he met my gaze, that little shit had the audacity to smirk and tilt his lance at me. I huffed and turned away, fixing my eyes on Ser Gwayne instead.  

I had to bite my lip to stifle a laugh as Daemon’s lance was nearly knocked out of his hand by a well angled tilt by Ser Gwayne. Mayhaps that smug bastard will get some comeuppance today, I thought with glee. 

That glee was short lived as Ser Gwayne was thrown from his horse in an unsightly scene, when Daemon aimed for his horse’s legs, causing the animal to neigh with agony as it slid forward and bucked Ser Gwayne off into the dirt. I heard Alicent gasp with fright next to me, and I reached out to pat her hand reassuringly. That cheating bastard really had no scruples when it came to dealing with Otto Hightower, even to his kin. 

I frowned as I watched Daemon parade around on his horse, looking all too pleased with himself. I was caught off guard however, when Daemon came to a stop in front of the royal box, prompting Rhaenyra to get out of her seat, tugging me and Alicent with her. I was screaming internally for Rhaenyra not to drag me into this, but I begrudgingly followed Rhaenyra as she leaned over the railing, grinning at Daemon. “Nicely done, uncle,” Rhaenyra complimented him, causing Daemon to tilt his chin upwards arrogantly. “Thank you, Princess.” 

He smirked as he zeroed in on me, lingering behind Alicent. “Lady Y/N,” he called, a certain mischief in his voice. Oh no. 

“You look rather radiant today, dressed in your house colours.” I narrowed my eyes, aware of his attempts to bait me, by first paying me a compliment, so that if I rejected him, I would seem ill-mannered. But with so many eyes on us, I could only respond through gritted teeth, “Thank you, my prince.” 

“With such a beautiful lady as the one before me, I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask for her favour.” Murmurs echoed throughout the crowd, as I attempted to minimise the lethality of my death glare. This brazen little punk. To ask for my favour after what he had said yesterday-

I leaned forward, whispering harshly, “What in the seven hells do you think you’re doing?” Daemon merely raised an eyebrow. “You know I am certain I can win these little games. Having your favour would all but assure it. You won’t rebuff me with so many eyes watching us, won’t you, byka zaldrizes?” 

Grinding my teeth, I did my best to keep my expression neutral. He was right, the crowd was getting restless. I could hear some murmuring from the lords behind me, and even Rhaenyra was nudging me subtly. The gods have chosen to curse me on this very day. I sighed, before moving to retrieve my favour, a small wreath of orange and purple flowers. Sliding it down the lance Daemon offered up, I forced a smile on my face. “I wish you good luck in the jousts, my prince.” 

Daemon smirked, having gotten under her skin like he wanted. “With your favour, I’m sure I don’t need it.” Daemon rode away as I rolled my eyes and took my seat once more, Rhaenyra and Alicent following suit. “It appears the Prince Daemon is attempting to play nice today, Lady Y/N,” Alicent smiled at me. Rhaenyra nodded earnestly, “Mayhaps he is starting to be civil to you, Y/N.” I had to refrain from snorting and saying something very derogatory about the Prince, instead letting my surly expression do all the talking. 

As Lady Y/N was distracted by the frenzy of the tourney, a maester sidled up to the Hand of the King to relay a message. The Hand’s eyes turned grim, and he turned towards Viserys, whose expression was still filled with mirth after witnessing his brother ask Y/N for her favour. Upon hearing the news, the King’s face visibly blanched, and he got out of his seat swiftly, followed closely by the Hand. 

Y/N, Alicent and Rhaenyra were engaged in fervent conversation, completely absorbed in the proceedings. But soon enough, the tourney had given way to violence and bloodshed. Y/N winced and averted her gaze as one after the other, the jousters who chose to continue their battle in arms caved in each other’s heads, fighting each other like feral beasts. A wave of nausea rolled over her, and she did her best to block out the sound of agonised grunts and screams from the bludgeoned competitors. Looking over, she saw Alicent picking at her own fingernails till it was bloody. Frowning, she quickly nudged Alicent, who immediately stopped with a sheepish expression. Covering Alicent’s hand with hers to provide some reassurance, Y/N turned her head backward to take in Viserys’ expression, startled when she realised both the King and the Hand were missing. Cursing herself for her lack of awareness, she quickly moved to get up, but Alicent pulled her down to her seat. “Y/N, you must not leave now!” Alicent insisted, “Prince Daemon is about to tilt against Ser Criston!” 

I tried to shake off Alicent’s hand, but her grip was surprisingly strong. “I couldn’t give two damns about Daemon, the Queen needs me-” “It would be rude to leave before you’ve seen the jouster whom you’ve bestowed your favour to compete,” Rhaenyra chimed in, her purple eyes alight with excitement. “Father is there with Mother, she will be alright. They commanded you to enjoy the tourney with us, and as your princess, I order you to stay.” My face fell as I chewed my lip while glancing at the exit of the royal box. Alicent tugged on my hand, and I found myself relenting at the determined looks both of them were levelling at me. After all, there was no harm in staying for just a while. And I might even see Daemon get bested for the first time in his life. 

Reluctantly, I relayed my attention back to the tourney, just as both the competitors began charging at each other. Putting a hand over my mouth, I watched as Ser Criston and Daemon both failed to knock each other off their horses in the first tilt. With my heart in my mouth, my eyes nearly boggled out of my head when I watched Daemon being knocked off his saddle and into the dirt. 

Daemon had lost. 

Mouth agape, I stayed rooted in my seat, even as the crowd all stood to rain thunderous applause and cheers on Ser Criston. I felt a smug smile slowly spreading across my lips. Daemon had lost! At long last, someone had humbled that egotistical bastard, and I had been here to witness it. I sighed happily, savouring the prospect of being able to mock him for this for the rest of his life. “Prince Daemon Targaryen wishes to continue in a contest of arms!” 

I raised my eyebrows as Daemon approached Ser Criston, wielding Dark Sister with a dangerous expression on his face. He is nothing better than a petulant toddler throwing a tantrum, I thought to myself, snickering. My eyebrows shot to my forehead when I noticed Ser Criston carrying a morningstar. A most unusual weapon. 

The crowd followed the ensuing sparring match with enthralled eyes, myself included. Rhaenyra was nearly falling out of her seat from the way she was leaning forward, and Alicent had a hand over her mouth. When Ser Criston splintered Daemon’s shield, it was like something feral had awoken in Daemon. He began doling out more impulsive blows as anger overtook him, slashing at Ser Criston like a madman and deftly manoeuvring out of the range of his blows. 

I clasped Alicent’s hand tightly in mine as Daemon kicked Ser Criston to the ground, pouncing on him with brutal force. When Daemon blocked Ser Criston’s attack by lodging Dark Sister with the morningstar’s chains, Rhaenyra reached over to take Alicent’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Finally, Daemon delivered the final blow, hurling the remains of his shield at Ser Criston, striking him squarely in the face and causing him to flounder on the ground. 

I shook my head in disbelief as Daemon raised both his arms up, hollering and revelling in his triumph. But that victory was soon short lived as Daemon felt a slash on his behind, knocking him to the dirt, face first. I felt Alicent reel back in surprise next to me. Daemon tried to lurch for his sword, but was forced to submission by a few well aimed kicks from Ser Criston, breathing heavily as he dangled the morningstar threateningly in Daemon’s face. 

“Yield.” Daemon could scarce believe what was happening right now. He had lost. To some unknown commonborn knight. Him, the Rogue Prince. The finest fighter in the Seven Kingdoms. Tasting bile in his mouth, he gritted his teeth. “Yield.” Ser Criston’s voice made it clear that he would not ask again. Daemon chuckled humorlessly, refusing to say a word, but begrudgingly surrendered. He knocked away the arm that the knight offered, rising to his feet before stalking off. While leaving the jousting field, he took note of Y/N running off from the royal box. His ire now increased by tenfold, he swiftly made his way to the exit of the royal box, where he spotted his lady emerging from the shadows. Snarling, he grabbed her wrist, spinning her around to face him. “Daemon, let me go right now. I do not have time for your tantrums-” 

“It was you,” he hissed, twisting her arm, causing her to grimace. His rage was blinding him, the heavy pounding of his heart in his ears making his blood boil. “Your favour cursed me. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have won. And instead, I was humiliated-” Y/N scoffed, trying to break away, but Daemon only tightened her grip. “You lost because you were a cocky, arrogant bastard. Do not attempt to blame your failings on me. Now let go!” 

Daemon’s vision was nearly red by now, and he pulled her closer to him as he spat out, “You’re not going anywhere, byka zaldrizes.” “Let. Go.” her voice was laced with contempt. “I will not ask a second time. Go reflect and accept your loss, maybe this will teach you some humility.” 

Daemon opened his mouth to reply, but they were interrupted by the arrival of that cunt, Otto Hightower. He wanted to spit at him to fuck right off, but the look on his face made him think twice. Y/N’s hand went slack, causing Daemon to release her, worried that he had hurt her. He looked between the both of them, confused, but quickly caught on when he saw the Hand bow his head grimly. 

Daemon had experienced a lot of things he would never forget that day, but nothing could compare to the pure look of devastation on Y/N’s face at that moment. The Hand inclined his head, lips pressed together, before he moved past them to the entrance to the royal box, no doubt to inform the other lords. 

His anger dissipating, an unsure look appeared on his face as he scrutinised Y/N’s face. She nearly stumbled over, eyes mad with grief, and Daemon unconsciously caught her arm with his left hand, steadying her. She didn’t seem to register his touch however, mumbling in a daze, “Aemma…I need to find Viserys. Viserys…” Daemon followed her movements with his eyes silently, as she mounted a horse reserved for the nobility nearby, spurring it towards the Red Keep. He watched her disappear into the distance, mouth pressed into a thin line, and his purple eyes swimming with a dozen complicated emotions. He needed to get out of his armour, it suddenly felt all too stifling to be in it. 

Y/N raced into the Red Keep, taking the steps two at a time as she rushed past startled servants. Barging into Aemma’s apartments, she stopped short when she reached Aemma’s bedchambers, her hand going to her mouth when she took in the gruesome sight before her, praying fervently that it was just some sick nightmare. 

Queen Aemma, no, her friend, her dearly beloved friend, Aemma, was sprawled out on the bed, the coppery stench of blood permeating through the room. Trickles of blood still oozed out of the incisions the maesters had made around her abdomen, and Y/N felt bile creeping up her throat as she realised what had been done.

No. 

No. 

 Y/N bypassed Viserys - still hunched over in grief, staring at Baelon’s small, wiggling frame with a broken expression - and went straight to Aemma. Her footsteps felt leaden and unsteady, as she crouched down to hold Aemma’s lifeless hand. She squeezed it desperately, willing her to wake up, to be alive. But it was in vain. 

Y/N went still, before she gently reached over and slid Aemma’s wide blue eyes shut. Trembling as tears began to cloud her vision, Y/N noticed the sun’s rays glinting off a small object tucked between Aemma’s sweat covered neck. It was Rhaenyra’s present to Aemma, that necklace with the ruby falcon pendant, its red shining brilliantly in the sun as Y/N and Viserys mourned for their good Aemma. 

rip aemma :( and also f*ck viserys, he deserves to be burnt alive, roasted and fed to balerion. 

Fic Taglist: @drwho-ess @graniairish @urmomsgirlfriend1 @thelittleswanao3 @animelover18​ @llovinjoonie​

Daemon General Taglist: @aiyaiy​

Those who are bolded are those who could not be tagged! Let me know in the comments or through this form if you want to be tagged for future updates on this fic :) 

If you liked this fic, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! Thank you for reading this far! 

[yuriosakawa]

FEMALE X-MEN x FEMALE!READER HEADCANONS: How Do They React When You Tell Them You’re Pregnant?

ORORO MUNROE (STORM) 

When you tell Ororo you’re pregnant, her reaction is calm yet filled with quiet joy. She has always been a steady presence, and that doesn’t change even in a moment as life-altering as this. 

You watch as her eyes widen slightly, and she takes a deep breath, letting it out with a smile that’s filled with nothing but love. "A child," she says softly, as if testing the words out on her lips before she steps closer, pulling you into a tender embrace. She kisses your forehead, her fingers gently brushing your stomach. 

"We will raise them together with the strength of the earth, the wind, and the skies," she whispers, her voice filled with a quiet reverence for this new journey you’re about to embark on together.

JEAN GREY (MARVEL GIRL) 

When you tell Jean that you’re pregnant, you honestly expected her to be initially stunned, but she immediately had a big, soft and loving smile adorns her features 

"You know how long I was waiting for you to say that?" She giggled beautifully as she embraced you into a loving hug 

"Y-You knew?!" You stuttered, surprised at this revelation 

"I’m a telepath, remember?" Jean reminded you in a slightly teasing way, but then she had that adoring smile yet again "But…I still wanted you to tell me"

You smiled back and hugged her once more, the two of you staying like that for a while, exciting of the prospect of being moms together 

JUBILATION LEE (JUBILEE) 

When you tell Jubes you’re pregnant, she’s initially stunned and left gaping like a fish, completely speechless for once

You are initially afraid that her shocked silence implies a possible rejection, but then, Jubilee begins grinning ear to ear and lets out the girliest, most high-pitched squeal in existence 

"Oh my gosh! I can’t believe it! I’m gonna be a mom?!" She giggles excitedly, her face lighting up like the beautiful fireworks she generates 

Jubilee immediately pulls you into a big bear hug and begins jumping in place while chanting repeatedly "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

You can’t help but laugh as her happiness was just too infectious. It’s clear that Jubilee is very excited about being a mom with you, already rambling about future shopping trips at the mall and visiting arcades together with your child 

But most importantly, Jubilee wants them to have what she never had growing up: a family of their own 

ANNA-MARIE DARKHOLME (ROGUE) 

When you tell Rogue you’re pregnant, she’s nervous. Don’t get her wrong; she’s very happy and excited about being a mom alongside you, but…

She that fears her powers wouldn’t allow her to properly take care of your baby and show them how much she loves them. It’s already a miracle that you two somehow managed to find a way to make your relationship work even with the no-touching policy; she doesn’t if she’ll be able to take this huge step with you in the same way

You frown worriedly at her nervous expression, fearing a possible rejection. But then Rogue smiles softly and whispers, "Sugah…"

She gently rubs her gloved hand against your belly and continues, "Thank you. Ah promise, Ah don’t know how Ah’ll do it, but Ah’ll manage to find a way to show both you and our little one how much Ah love yah even with mah powers…"

You smiled happily and gratefully at your partner and then she gives you a smooch by first covering your mouth with her gloved hand, as always 

Rogue was more determined than ever to find a way to control her powers now that you two are going to have a sweet pea of your own 

MADELYN PRYOR (GOBLIN QUEEN) 

When you tell Maddie you’re pregnant, she’s in shock, maybe even a little worried 

After losing Nathan, she never thought she’d get to experience being a mother again 

Maddie’s silence worries you, and you fear a possible rejection from her part. But then, she smiles tearfully as she pulls you into a warm, loving embrace 

"Thank you. You don’t know how happy it makes me to be given a second chance…" She whispers happily into your ear, and you also hug her back, smiling reassuringly 

Maddie then kisses your forehead and begins to lovingly rub her hand against your tummy, already feeling your child growing steadily inside if you 

She’s determined to use this second chance to the fullest and give your little one all the love in the world and keep them warm, happy and protected 

And if Sinister or anyone else dares hurt your child, then they will suffer the full wrath of the Goblin Queen 

[lotties-ashwagandha]

FORTUNE

rogue amendiares x fem!reader, headcanons!

kinktober day thirteen: semi-public sex (NSFW)

( HEADCANONS! )

⬦ after finishing gigs, you always go to see rogue at the afterlife — to let her know the job is done, to give her the unsavory details that are too sensitive to be revealed over the phone. you wear the marks of your work, from a bruised face to dried blood too deep under your nails to be cleaned off all at once. subtly rogue always looks over you, assessing the damage done to her favorite merc that just so happens to be the woman shes been seeing. you’re invited into her private booth at the afterlife, given a drink for any inconveniences you may have faced, and if she doesn’t pull you down onto her lap first you’ll sit beside her in her booth with her arm around you as she listens to you explain everything you dealt with during your job. most of the time rogue is attentive, taking in your concerns and triumphs eagerly, because she cares about you more than she would ever like to admit. yet some days you look so divine after a gig, glowing as you bask in the success of a completed job, and nothing you say reaches her.

⬦on those days, rogue doesn't have a choice but to take you into one of the back rooms of the afterlife and fuck you there — she will never be able to focus otherwise, you have her attention drawn elsewhere. it's your fault, and her job to make you pay for distracting her. she doesn't care if someone walks in on you — the afterlife is hers, you are hers, and she should be able to use both as she pleases. rogue wants to hear your moans muffled by her hand over your mouth in an empty hall in the back, she wants to shame you for them and tell you just how desperate you sound for her. that anyone could walk in, see you coming undone at her touch.

⬦before she takes you into the back, though, she wants you to need her enough that for you, too, the presence of anyone else in the building is entirely insignificant. sliding a hand up your thigh as you have a drink with her in her booth looking out over the club, whispering to you how proud she is of you, how you always do such a good job for her. when she sees the longing in your gaze, she pulls you to kiss her, she lets you straddle her lap, she'll do anything short of fucking you in front of her patrons. in a way you are decorative to her. you don't mind if she shows you off as a possession, because to secure yourself in the public image as rogue's treasured asset is to carve your name into every fortune night city has to offer. mutual benefit and the satisfaction of lust come first — love will follow too, if you want it.

⬦ rogue loves to fuck you in her car, too. usually after jobs she goes with you to finish, or if you're accompanying her to a meeting. she finds a certain satisfaction in the way she can get her hands on you anywhere if she tries in all the right ways, if she learns every way to get you on your knees in a warehouse or grinding against her thigh on the sofa in her office. she knows you will do anything to please her — so she will keep using you as you crave for her to, and you will keep securing yourself in her favor.

[fanfic-stories-and-plots]

Info: Fanfic that I posted on AO3. John Allerdyce X Fem Reader pairing.

You Are Home to Me Part 1

Chaos. There were armed men inside the mansion. They were trying to capture the students at night. You tried to make it out with the others, but was cornered. You didn’t trust your power enough to get you out of this situation. You could only make a few flowers grow. That’s it. She could hear several voices calling out to her. The loudest being John. Your John. You caught sight of the trio as something behind you made a sound. You look back in time to see a portal open up. A pair of arms had come out and pulled you in. John’s voice was the last thing you heard before being dragged into a room. The person, man, was holding you hostage in front of another group of armed people. This time you were in a field with people surrounding them in a circle..

You couldn’t make out what was said between the opposing sides, but the next thing you know, you were thrown into another portal. Not the same as the first. The first being a gold portal in shape of a door. This one was black smoke. The next thing you know, you were in the desert. You didn’t know where. You heard sounds behind you. Men. Once they got closer, you knew that you had landed somewhere in the Middle East. As the men came closer, you tried to back away. As you did, you unintentionally make some lilies grow. Your powers always act up when you were nervous or afraid.

The men stopped and lowered their weapons. They turned to one of the men who had a scar and he said something to them. One of the men walked up and then everything was black.

You wake up with a jolt. It was the same dream every year. The day that you were stolen from your home. Your timeline and dropped off here in another. Those men and women from before, the ones that called themselves the Time Variance Authority, had tried to steal you away from here. Tried being the operative word. They took you from the cave in Afghanistan and brought you to a place that had many computers. There were people everywhere, some even at desks. The lead woman had apologized for the incident, but you could tell she didn’t mean it. She had said that your kidnapper had been dealt with, but you couldn’t go back to your timeline. She mentioned something about pruning, but you didn’t listen. You didn’t care. All you cared about was the fact you wouldn’t be seeing John again. Your Fire. Nor would you see Bobby or Rogue. It hurt. It hurt so much. You start rubbing your fingers against the pendant in your hand.

It was a charm bracelet. You and Marie had matching bracelets that John and Bobby got the two of you. The charms were all the same except yours had a flame inside of a heart and Marie’s had a snowflake. Your bracelet was the only thing on you that reminded you of John. Of home. The woman was still talking when someone came bursting in. They were frantic saying something about the Sacred Timeline. You couldn’t really follow the conversation, but they turned to you.

It turns out it was your lucky day. You weren’t being pruned, but you weren’t going home either. It seemed like you were important to the Sacred Timeline for some reason, so you were sent back. It had been two years since then. Two years, you had been stuck in this cave as a personal gardener for your captors. They had given you a secluded part of the cave that had plenty of ground to work with. Your only job was to make fruits and vegetables for the men.

“Bad dream again?”

You turn to the voice. The only other prisoner here. Dr. Yinsen. He had arrived a year into your captivity. He didn’t ask a lot of questions, but he did value your powers. After seeing you use them, he knew that you weren’t from here. He allowed you your space and he did ask for certain plants and vegetables. You obliged. He was a kind man. He also taught you some of his language and some general first aid.

“Yes. It was when I was brought here.” You responded. Dr. Yinsen hummed. He was reading. The men had allowed him some books. You dug out your charm bracelet out of your pocket. It was one of the only things that would comfort you.

“A gift?” Dr. Yinsen asked when he noticed it.

You nodded. “It was from my boyfriend back home.” You stated.

“Young love.” Dr. Yinsen said with a fond smile. “My wife and I were young sweethearts as well.”

You perked up at that. Neither of you pried into each other’s lives. You both knew that something bad had happened for you both to end up here.

“Did you have any children?” You asked delicately.

“Yes, two boys and a girl. The youngest would have started her final year in her schooling. Her mother and I were proud when she was accepted into a university in London.” Dr. Yinsen responded.

You smiled at the proud look on his face. The look of a father who had done his best. You couldn’t say the same about your parents. They tried to accept you, but had decided to abandon you on the streets of New York when you were six. It had been a miracle that Professor Xavier had found you. He and Professor Monroe had taken you in and the mansion was where you stayed until the incident.

There was a commotion outside. The leader of the group came in and started speaking to Dr. Yinsen. The man sprang into action.

“(Y/N), I need you to bring me my kit.” Dr. Yinsen demanded as he cleared off the extra cot. You nodded and rushed towards his side of the cave and searched for the brown bag. Finding it, you rushed back in time to see the men bring in an injured man.

“Here is your bag, Dr.” You said and immediately backed out of the way.

“Thank you, Plant giver.” Dr. Yinsen said as he rummaged through the bag. After finding what he needed, he assessed the man. He started speaking to the man. The man stood there for a moment before barking out an order and then leaving. The others followed suit except two men.

“I will need your help.” Dr. Yinsen stated. You walked over.

“I don’t know how much I can be of help, but I will try.” You responded. Dr. Yinsen started working on the man. You followed every order he gave you. Most of the time you just sat there while Yinsen retrieved shrapnel from the man’s chest. You looked away from the sight. Once he was done, he had you retrieve the car battery that was sent to them. You set it down next to the man, as Dr. Yinsen worked on some sort of contraption. You went to go wash your hands in the corner that reserved for bathroom usage.

You heard footsteps behind you.

“Thank you for your help.” Dr. Yinsen said.

“You don’t have to thank me. I would gladly help you.” You said as you wiped your wet hands.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who is he? Why is he so special?” You asked lowly. Dr. Yinsen looked to you for a second before answering.

“He is Tony Stark. He owns the Stark Industries. A company who specializes in making weapons for the U.S. Army.” Dr. Yinsen stated. You looked a bit baffled. You had noticed at some point that all of the weapons here were Stark Industries.

“But how did the weapons end up here?” You whispered.

“That is the question. An answer that I wish to know myself.” Dr. Yinsen said as he washed all of his equipment.

“I know this is too much to ask, but I need some vegetables and fruits for Mr. Stark.” Dr. Yinsen stated. You nodded. You knew a dismissal when you heard it. You went to your garden and took stock of what you had. There were a couple of small apple trees in the back, but not much else. You grabbed a basket and started working. When you got to the trees, apples started to grow. They were the right shade of red and decently sized. You then started thinking of other fruits and veggies that would be needed and decided to go all out.

You had all the time to think of what to grow. You had experimented on your powers and felt them grow over the two years you were in here. You weren’t just growing plants. You were growing gardens. You ended up growing anything that you could think of. Carrots, cucumbers, broccoli, green beans, and some lettuce. You went to the small corner and thought of some strawberries. A small tree began to blossom and the berries grew from its branches. She knew that these were Dr. Yinsen’s favorites. She grabbed several and made her way back to the main part of the cave.

She set the basket down next to the doctor.

“You’ve outdone yourself. Thank you.” Dr. Yinsen said.

You gave him a small smile. You walked to your corner where your cot was. You got on your knees and reached for a book from under your cot. Once you had it. You went to sit on the cot and opened it. They were drawings. Drawings you had made of your friends and family. On the first page was John. It was a full portrait with his lighter. The next page was Marie and Bobby. You started making this sketch book as a way to not forget them. You knew that one day, you would forget.

You were good at making portraits. Professor Munroe wanted you to enter into a contest for the art museum, but you never got the chance. You looked through the portraits that you drew. The teachers, the students, even other mutants they had met, including Magneto. You wanted to remember the good and the bad. Feeling tired, you put the book back and laid down on the cot. The only thing you could hear was the fire on the other side of the cave and Dr. Yinsen working. You then drifted off to sleep.

[cherryberry-sugarandspice]

HELLO 🗣🗣🗣🗣

Hi if you're looking for a Rogue x fem!reader here's a link to it (:

The story name: Wanna Join?

I absolutely LOVE Rogue she really is my favorite character and I need to write more x fem!reader with her.

[anitalenia]

━━ rogue cheney series ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

⊹˙⋆ 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑦 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠. 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑎𝑛 ⋆˙⊹ drabbles ˖⁺.꒷꒦♡꒷꒦˖⁺. full fics

✧˚. VISIT MY OTHER PAGES↷ ˊ- taglist | anime masterlist | masterlist | time stamps | the great library

INCOMING MAIL ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ any fics or series that do not have a link are a work in progress / upcoming. I am just putting the fic descriptions on there ahead of time so I don’t have to do it later.

'*•.¸♡ UPCOMING FICS / WIP ★ none yet…

'*•.¸♡ UPCOMING SERIES ★ none yet…

KEY — s ( smut ) f ( fluff ) a ( angst ) d ( dark content )

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

none yet…

[dedicatednotobsessed]

The Gold Cloaks Masterlist [Daemon Targaryen x Whore!Reader] REQUESTS CLOSED

Other HOTD stories [requests open]

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

Summary: This is a collection of one shots requested by anons that are all connected together. I wasn’t planning on making it a mini series but here we are 🤪 my ask box is always open for requests so submit a strong snack to Vhagar if you would like one 💚

✨Dedicated to all the anons who have been requesting these one shots and keeping me writing. 🥰 Also dedicated to @aiyaiy who came up with the title originally for the series 🖤✨

✨Gif doesn’t belong to me✨

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

Part One: The Rightful Heir

Summary: Being a woman of Fleabottom, it is tough to survive. Growing up, all you knew was how to survive until you made your way to one of the finer brothels in the city. Day in and night out, you see various faces of men and women alike who pay you handsomely for your services although one that seems to stand out the most is the Rogue Prince, Daemon Targaryen. He treats you differently from other clients and he has always promised you a lavish life together….

Part Two: The Gold Cloaks [M]

Summary: {This is a prequel to Part one}. You are one of the fresher faces in the brothels of Fleabottom, not knowing the true dangers that could lurk in the streets of silk until one night when a man decides to get too handsy….

[paulyenvol6]

Byka Atroksia (Chapter 4)

Contains: just a little angst and Rhaenyra being bipolar

Wordcount: ~2.40k

Masterlist of this story

Just when you were about to fall asleep you could feel Daemon roll off you.

It made you open your eyes again and you were back in the present moment. He exhaled loudly and stared at the ceiling while you felt weird at the loss of his weight on you. You felt exposed and cold suddenly.

Now that you were fully awake again more thoughts were floating through your head and a lot of emotions were washing over you. Slowly, you left the beautiful haze you had remained in after the intercourse and were pulled back into reality. You had just lost your virtue, your honor. Gods be good, what had you done? You weren’t married and yet you had just lost your maidenhood to your uncle. It wasn’t uncommen in your family to marry relatives but the point was that your father had no intentions marrying you to Daemon.

You felt your hands starting to shake. That was a catastrophe. A big, fatal mistake you had made. Maybe it was a dream, you thought. Maybe you would wake up in a couple of seconds and find yourself alone in your bed, right where you were supposed to be at this hour.

But then you turned your head and saw your uncle next to you, still breathing heavily and you felt yourself panick. If anyone would find out about this it would have terrible consequences. Your father would be furious, probably disinherit you and not call him his daughter anymore. Rhaenyra would look at you with disgust and suddenly you felt so dirty and filthy.

"Daemon.", you said with tears in your eyes. He slowly opened his eyes. "Mhmm…?", his voice sounded tired and annoyed by your disturbance.

"W-We shouldn’t have done this.", you whispered desperately and sat up on your uncle’s bed. "It was wrong, I-I was supposed to – How could we have – " Tears ran down your face and you pressed your hands over your mouth shocked by your action.

Daemon sighed deeply and slowly sat down on the bed as well. He reached out to you, grabbed both your upper arms, pulled you towards him and held you against his chest. He would have prefered to get some sleep now and wasn’t delighted by your outburst but did what he had to do. So he caressed your hair as he felt his skin getting wettened by your tears

"It’s alright…" "No it’s not, I – They’re gonna put my head on a spike for this." Daemon shook his head even though you couldn’t see it.

"They’re not, Vhaela."

"But w-when I'll be married some day my husband is gonna notice that I have lost my maidenhood already." Daemon exhaled. "Every woman is different. Some are tighter, some not. Some bleed, some don't. Perhaps he will be too much of an idiot to notice."

"But he COULD notice. And that would be… a disaster!" Suddenly you pulled away from him and looked at him with a serious look on your face.

"Please don’t tell anyone, uncle. They can’t know." He reassuringly nodded. "Yes. I will not."

You took a deep breath and tried to collect yourself. "We – That was so stupid, Daemon." He rolled his eyes and took your hand. "I think it was rather nice.", he whispered slowly as he pressed little kisses on the back of it.

"I didn’t know you were such a filthy, wicked beast." You blushed and there was the hint of a smile on your face.

"But now you need to rest, gevie riña (beautiful girl). You’re exhausted." You nodded in response and Daemon reached to the end of the bed to grab the blanket. He pulled at it to cover you both with it but you uncertainly watched him and played with your fingers.

"But, won’t they see us together in the morrow if I stay here in your chambers?" Daemon didn’t answer you immediately but put his hands on your waist and moved you so you laid next to him.

"No, they won’t. The servants don’t come in here in the morrow. I’ve told them not to countless times." He moved the hair out of your face.

"You don’t need to worry so much, little owl. I’ll protect you." You looked up to him with big eyes and it felt good to hear him say these words. They gave you comfort and made you think that actually everything would be fine.

"Such a sweet, little, innocent thing.", he whispered and kissed you on your forehead. "Sleep now."

~~~~~~~~~~

You were woken by the daylight in the morrow and needed a moment to remember what had happened the night before. You felt a little tension in your belly and you weren’t certain if it was caused by the memory of Daemon’s hot touch on your body or the fear what might happen if someone was to find out about your sins.

Daemon was still asleep next to you but only a few minutes after you had woken up he opened his eyes as well.

"Mhmmm.", he grunted and yawned. "Good morrow, uncle." He stretched his arms and turned to his other side. "Good morrow."

Did he really want to go back to sleep now?

"Daemon, I have to go now. The risk is too high that someone is gonna see me here." You looked at him with big eyes and Daemon slowly sat up. "Then go. There is the door." You frowned and he chuckled sleepy. "Sorry."

"I didn’t know you were so grumpy in the morrow."

He didn’t answer to that but got off the bed to grab his clothes which you did in the meantime as well. Then he turned to you.

"You should go through the secret tunnel from my room into the city and then back to the keep." You were confused and looked at him questioning. "What?"

"My sweet Vhaela, you’re the one who’s so concerned so this is me trying to come up with a plan that will make sure no one will suspect anything." You still didn’t know what he was talking about.

"We left the feast yesterday and there were probably enough people to tell my father that we left together. If you want to avoid rumours we have to give them an explanation for what we were doing. If you leave the keep through the tunnel that leads from my chambers right into the city and you enter the Keep now in the early morrow they will think that you have spent the night out. Which is exactly what you’re gonna tell them. And as nobody has seen either you or the two of us together they will believe it. You and I left the feast together and I shortly after went up to my chambers. You, on the other hand went out to… I don’t know, come up with something. It wouldn’t make sense to assume that we were together in the city if you return alone and I myself remain in my bed until noon."

You slowly nodded. Everything he had said made sense and you admired him for how quickly he had thought of a clever plan. So you let him lead you to the wall behind his bed but when your gaze fell on the bed you stopped.

"Daemon.", you said. He turned to look at you and then his eyes followed yours. There was a red stain on the sheets and of course you knew where it came from. You had bleeded when you had lost your maidenhood and now there was proof on the bedsheets. Daemon understood and shrugged his shoulders as if he thought it was nothing.

"I can get rid of it. I can burn it if necessary."

"Really?" He kept walking to the wall and left you looking at the blood stain.

"Yeah, of course." You gulped but then followed your uncle. Then everything happened very quickly. He opened the door to the secret passage and you stepped out of the chambers and into the tunnel.

"Be careful, little owl. Promise me that." You nervously looked at him. "Is it gonna be…. I haven’t been to the city a lot. Is it dangerous?" Daemon caressed your cheek. "If you keep your head down and your Targaryen hair hidden…", he adjusted the scarf he had just wrapped around your head. "Then you’ll be fine."

You nodded. "Alright. I… I’ll see you soon." Your uncle nodded and couldn’t hide a smirk looking at his not so innocent niece.

~~~~~~~~~~

You felt a stitch in your side as you walked up the many stairs. You were out of breath and the sun was already burning down at you which you had appreciated once you had arrived in the city but now it was too hot. Everything had worked so far and you hoped that your father would believe the story you had come up with during your walk.

You had fought with your sister (which wasn’t a lie), then talked to your uncle who had noticed your bad mood. He had suggested you needed some fresh air and escorted you out of the hall and into the gardens. There, you had said that you needed some time alone and Daemon had gone to his chambers while you, who had felt out of character and risky last night, had decided to go down into the city to just be in a different environment for once. You had strolled through the streets, watched all the attractions one could find and then fell asleep on a hay ball in a shed after drinking a little too much. You knew that you father would be angry nevertheless. His daughter, the Princess drunkily spending her time in bars and sheds? You gulped. But it was better than telling him the truth.

The guards at the red keep let you pass once they recognised you without asking what you had done in the city at that early hour. You felt miserable when you entered the hall. Not only did you fear the upcoming conversation with your father but thinking about you activities last night put you through hell as well. You had sinned, had committed an unspeakable crime. And you hated how much you had enjoyed the time with your uncle. You should feel disgusted now, thinking about his touch, but you didn’t. Because you hated that you did that, that you had lost your honor and virtue and that you had such a lack of will strength but at the same time it made your breath go faster thinking about Daemon’s hands on your body.

"Vhaela!" You quickly turned around with widened eyes and saw your sister walking towards you.

"Vhaela, where have you been?" Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around you and held you tightly. "We were so worried, has something happened to you?" You gulped loudly and felt tears in your eyes.

She and your father had been scared for you while you had done such a terrible action. And why did Rhaenyra had to be so caring and kind to you right now? It only made you feel worse than you already did.

"No, I’m fine, sister." Rhaenyra ended the hug and observed you intensely. "But where were you? I saw you leaving the feast with uncle, what did you do?"

You tried to look as honest as possible and started speaking. "After our fight… I didn’t feel very well and uncle saw that. We went out to get some fresh air and then he left me alone and I… I went to the city." Rhaenyra looked at you with an open mouth.

"What? Vhaela, you… Why? How could you do that?" You looked to the ground. "I’m sorry, I-I felt so odd yesterday. After everything I just felt like I needed a change in my environment. See something else than the keep."

Rhaenyra let out something that sounded like a cry and took your hand. "Vhaela. I’m sorry."

"What? What are YOU apologising for?" Your sister shook her head and looked sad. "Our fight… I was nasty yesterday. I don’t know what it was, but I’m sorry. Gods, and you brought yourself into such danger because of me…"

"No. No. I acted with full responsibility. I promise you this, Rhaenyra, it’s not your fault. And nothing happened to me anyway." Rhaenyra sighed deeply.

"What exactly did you do, Vhae?" You gulped and just wished you could tell your sister the truth. You didn’t always get along but right now she was kind and genuinely cared about you.

"I aimlessly walked through the streets and watched all the street artists. And then I… I drank some wine in a tavern and fell asleep on a hay ball."

Rhaenyra looked to your interlocked hands and desperately shook her head. "The things that could have happened… Gods be good, Vhaela, you could have get hurt. Someone could have used your drunk state and rape you." You intensely looked at her, trying everything to make her calm down and not making her feel responsible for what she believed to had happened.

"But nothing did happen, Rhae. I swear this to you, I’m perfectly fine. And I will not do this again. Ever."

Rhaenyra once again pulled you into a hug. "You will not. Oh Vhae, I can’t believe you’re 16 already.", she then whispered. "You’re my little sister after all. My little sister that needs to be protected."

You rolled your eyes and chuckled. "I don’t need to be protected." Rhaenyra looked stern and bit her lip.

"Just promise me. Promise me you won't act so stupidly again." You nodded a few times and tightly held your sister’s hand. "I promise you, Rhaenyra. On our mother’s memory." Rhaenyra exhaled loudly.

"Now you will have to listen to father’s outburst but I guess you deserve it a second time. And I also have a few things to say to uncle." Your head rapidly turned to your sister. "I simply can’t believe him, I can’t believe he’d leave you alone in the gardens at such a late hour."

As you didn’t know what to answer to that you just silently followed your sister who brought you straight to your father’s chambers. You both knew that you couldn’t avoid this conversation and like your sister you thought it was best to get over with it as quickly as possible.

[arlemangel7]

Poly couples:

Gambit rogue and black mutant fem!reader

Cw: everyone in this is over 21 slight NSFW some sexual insinuation,drinking

Headcanon

I feel like you and rogue would be the reason yall are late rogue fixing her make up and you changing your outfit for the umpteenth time, gambit would be all like" um, it's almost that time are my ladies almost ready?" peeking into one of your shared walk in/bathrooms he sees you starting on your eyes still in a towel and rogue sitting on the sink blending in her foundation. Yall don't look up and just give a distracted" yea honey almost ready"

About an hr goes by of him flicking through glowing cards when he hears two sets of heels coming down the stairs, he stands up putting the deck away saying something like "bout time, only took a few gray hairs and a life time to pass over" walking up to meet you both rogue is first down kissing his face she says "I'll show you pass over cajin" with a smile effortlessly reciprocated. Next He helps you down the last steps smiling when you say " mhm I'd like some grays on ya sugar" giggling. After this he grabs the key, your flats, and yall head out.

Drinking

I feel like it would be a game to decide who the dd(designated driver) is for that week. the second round of games would be played by the two remaining people and the person to win that is the dd for week two of that month and the last person standing is the dd for week three, the cycle would start again on the last week of the month cause that's when game night is.

That person is also in charge of hangover cures cause lord knows rogue woke up with one 1⃣ night. she likes her whiskey but after tasting one of your fruity drinks it's hard to go back so, a dark room and some water was needed after that. Gambit on the other hand was fine I think he'd be cooking breakfast for the both of you or just lounging in bed watching yall sleep(lovingly) and you'd wake up to his glowing eyes staring down at you and you be all "well good morning" and he'd be all "you look even prettier every time you wake next to me" that would spark some feelings and it's be a very good morning indeed 😉😉

As always thoughts are mine characters aren't

Signing off for now 💋💋