#transmasc rhaenyra

[sapphicgraphixx]

boy toy rhaenyra 💋

ready with a packer and pretty flowers for the prettiest girl 💐

what more could alicent want?

(some more modern au butch rhaenyra bc i love him)

you can check out more of my modern au butchfemme rhaenicent here

[motorway-south]

[summeringminor]

𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖋𝖑𝖔𝖜

daemyra | E

“You nearly had me,” Daemon breathes at her cheek before she leans in and kisses him.

“I’ll have you now,” she says and presses a thigh between his.

Rhaenyra and Daemon spend a night on Dragonstone fucking each other senseless.

Read on AO3 or under the cut:

The skies have grown black and tumultuous over Dragonstone. Rhaenyra breathes in the ozone scent of storm and laughs against the winds ripping at her hair and her dark leather robe. Syrax rears beneath her and Rhaenyra calls in High Valyrian to fly higher, faster, to outpace the red shadow soaring towards them. Caraxes is almost upon them. The distance closes quickly, but Syxrax is still faster, more agile than the Blood Wyrm and its rider. Daemon is but a flash of silver and black. Then Caraxes’ trill drives on the cool air, and Syrax roars in answer, Rhaenyra pulls the bridle and Syrax flies a sharp curve, turns to rush towards Caraxes instead. Blood sings in Rhaenyra’s veins. Underneath them the sea roils and waves tower, spume sprays high and frothing and Rhaenyra flies lower, Daemon manoeuvres Caraxes closer to the waves too and then they rush past each other, wings almost touching. Daemon’s laughter’s in the air and Rhaenyra swallows it greedily. She turns Syrax and now it is her chasing Daemon towards Dragonstone.

They arrive at the Dragonpit nearly simultaneously, Syrax and Caraxes calling to each other.

Rhaenyra dismounts and the next moment she pushes Daemon against the stone wall of the pit.

“You nearly had me,” Daemon breathes at her cheek before she leans in and kisses him.

“I’ll have you now,” she says and presses a thigh between his.

A gasp escapes Daemon, effeminate and pretty, his hands grip her waist, pulling her in. She grabs at him, his Valyrian armour that he’s put on for nothing but show, though he told her it was so he would stay used to its weight.

“What a sight you are,” she murmurs into his ear, and he laughs, hands wandering to her hips. She breathes him in, the rankness of dragon, the fire, and underneath his skin, the pepper and berries and sweet wood scent of him that she has stolen for herself, too. She kisses his ear, bites it, bites his neck where the armour doesn’t reach.

“Do you like that we smell the same?” she asks and sucks the skin of his neck into her mouth.

“Yes,” he says, “yes,” and he strains his neck to the side to give her more access. He is growing hard against her thigh. She wants him. Wants to cleave him from his armour and bite into his flesh so deeply she can find a home in it, wants to have him, make him her own, as close as she can be, almost in his skin.

“Rhaenyra,” he moans, a need in his voice that gluttons her with power.

She steps back and in the same moment he pushes her against the wall, hands bracing on the stone, caging her in. She grins. And grabs between his thighs.

“Yes?” she says and watches him grit his teeth.

“Let’s go,” he says.

They run through the hallways of Dragonstone like children, hand in hand, giddy with what they know will follow.

The bath awaits them, like she instructed, they undress quickly and together climb down the steps into the bath, hewn hip-deep into the stone, they are naked in the steam, two pale bodies, silver hair tangling, she wraps her arms around Daemon’s waist and he kisses her, slipping his tongue into her mouth and she sucks on it with growing hunger, bites it and pushes back until it is her tongue sliding into his mouth. The steam blurs their bodies even up close, it is difficult to breath such humid air, but she does not mind it, not with Daemon hot and hard against her palm. She curses. With his hair loose, half swallowed by vapours, Daemon could almost be a woman, and she, almost a man. She pulls him closer, his hand sinks between her thighs easily, rubbing there. Pleasure sparks through her.

“You feel so good, uncle,” she moans.

He groans at that, rough fingers stroking her faster. She calls him husband in public, but in private a strange thrill fills her every time she calls him uncle. A testament to who they are to each other and have always been, closer than lord and a lady-wife, they are blood and she has wanted Daemon since childhood. Her beautiful, elusive uncle, now he’s hers and hers alone. She takes him in hand and bites his jaw, his chin, his long throat. Her free hand traces his hip bones, grabs the muscle above it, then her hand sinks into the hot water and she grabs his buttock.

“I want you,” she says and he kisses her open-mouthed and breathless.

She slips two fingers between his cheeks and rubs over his hole.

“Let me fuck you,” she says and Daemon turns with a soft moan until his back is to her, he bends forward, elbows on the stone floor that lines the bath. She presses up against him, slides her thigh over his and rides his leg for a moment before she wraps one arm around his waist, and with her free hand grabs the meat of his buttocks again. Then she pushes a finger inside him. It’s not as slick as she would like him, with the water making things harder rather than easier. A soft noise escapes Daemon and she can feel him relax his muscles to allow her in. It’s become one of her favourite ways to touch him, to have him, she did this with all her lovers, except…except Alicent whom she only ever touched with cloth between them and the thought of never feeling her hot wet insides spreads an ache through Rhaenyra that she has never been able to outrun or fully deny.

She presses her face against Daemon’s back, banishing the thought.

No, she is here, with him and he is pliant under her touch, opens his pretty hole for her to fuck. She pushes a second finger in, no spit or oil to ease the way and does not mind the sound that escapes Daemon’s throat when she thrusts in.

“Touch yourself,” she whispers into his ear and he snakes one hand into the water, brushing where she holds him, to wrap his hand around his length. She kisses the nape of his neck, then grazes her lips against his cheek and Daemon turns his head enough for them to kiss. She can feel her own flesh pump full of blood and harden as well as slicken. The hot water engulfs them, their skin so wet where they press together and she thinks of the plaything she keeps in a cupboard a few steps away, one of a handful she’s had made, leather things in varying size the shape of nice thick cocks to be strapped around hip and thighs to better fuck her uncle with. She fucked Harwin like that too every once in a while, and revelled in his big burly body giving way to her lust. A twinge of pain goes through her. She cared for him, though perhaps did not love him. Not like she loves Daemon who now presses back against her. Daemon who reaches back with his free hand to grab her thigh, pulling her in. She laughs low and pleased and crooks her fingers inside him, searching for the place that makes him keen—and finds it. He jerks against her, and she watches how he bites his lip, pretty, so goddamn pretty.

“You were born for this,” she whispers into his ear, rough, allowing him to hear how much it whips her blood to frenzy, “born to take it.” She thrusts her fingers into him harshly.

“Yes,” he says, breathless already.

“You’re going to beg me later,” she promises and rubs against that spot inside him again.

He moans and keens and then laughs, brat that he is, smirking back at her in a way that makes her want to shove him full of her cock right then and there. She grabs his hair instead and pulls his head back.

“You’re a slut, Daemon,” she hisses and can feel him clench around her at the insult.

“And you, dear niece? How many boys have you fucked while Laenor was off with his little soldier friends?”

She pulls his hair harder, thrusting her fingers in and out of him.

“How many boys…and girls?”

She pushes him back. Not enough, she thinks. In truth she dared only twice to take a visiting knight to bed and once a lady of the court before Harwin.

“Not enough to equal your promiscuity.”

Daemon hums, pleased, and kisses her again, gentle this time like he wants to be loved rather than fucked. She shoves him off, but with a smile, then leans in and kisses him with care, slowing her thrusts but pushing deeper. He arches into her touch, moaning softly.

“Let’s clean up and go upstairs,” she murmurs into the kiss, “I want you properly.”

She retrieves her fingers, trails them over his skin, traces his scars. Does he miss the battlefield? The thrum of war in his blood, the fire stench of burning flesh? To draw Dark Sister and cut his foes to pieces. A strange feeling bitters inside her and she turns to wash herself quickly and methodically. Daemon has not said a thing of war, but she can feel the itch under his skin, perhaps because she feels it, too. This life on Dragonstone rearing children is not what she had thought of her future, much as she loves her children here she is so far off from any political life, from court. From power. She grits her teeth, wringing out her hair.

Fingers on her shoulder. Daemon nudges her shoulder with his chin, nestles there from behind. His arms wrap around her, but what can two dragons do when bloodlust starves them both? Will she ever know what it feels like to wield a sword like Dark Sister? In secret nights she went to slide the blade out of its scabbard when Daemon was asleep, touched its edge with a yearning she has felt since she was but eight years old and had watched Daemon fight his way through a joust, how he blazed year after year in the tourneys, black Valyrian armour devouring the light, a Targaryen prince to the bone in his lethal beauty.

“What is it?” Daemon mumbles, and she can feel his cock at her thigh.

“I tire of this place,” she says but pushes back into his touch.

“As do I.” The admission is more than they usually share. His mouth opens against her neck, his hands slide down her hip. Then he steps forward and his cock slips between her thighs. He feels good, he’s big and she likes that.

“Do you want me to fuck you like a boy?” he murmurs.

A spark of arousal shoots through her.

“Yes,” she says, rough. Before she can think, she walks out of the bath to the cabinet; she considers the leather toy, but only takes the vial of oil that they keep with it. She tosses it to Daemon and he catches it easily with his left. She grins, he grins back.

“Come here,” he calls, glancing her up and down. “My pretty boy.”

She flushes at the words and Daemon’s smile widens, sharp and dangerous.

She stops before him, with him still in the bath, his face is level with her middle.

He looks up at her, long-lashed, elegant Valyrian features; she's always found him to look like an ink drawing, such sharp and delicate lines.

“Let me suck your cock first,” he says and it is only half a question. The other half knows she wants him to do it, and so he does before she answers, lips grazing her thigh to where her blood has hardened what she herself calls her cock, too. It’s bigger than what she’s seen on most women, and that fills her with strange pride. Daemon’s hot tongue licks over her, laps before he sucks, pushing his tongue against the side of her dick. She sinks a hand into his hair, pulls, curses. His hands grip her thighs for purchase, and she can see how hard his own cock is in the water.

“Enough,” she says, pushes him off and Daemon laughs, breathlessly, mouth and chin wet. He is ravenous and she finds herself in his expression. It’s how she’s always looked at him, too.

She sinks into the water but does not submerge her buttocks. A heartbeat later she hears Daemon uncork the vial and then his slick fingers rub over her hole. He slips in a finger like she slipped into him moments before and she moans low in her throat. He’s gentler than her. The first time they did this, she could not believe how good it felt, even lacking that spot that other men have inside. Not a little part of her pleasure came from knowing that this is how men fuck each other. She does not mind her shape much and feels herself no less for having no cock, but would that she were born with one, not merely because of the succession, and she could have lived like Daemon, roaming the seven kingdoms, performing her princely duties, bound by loyalty, yes, fealty, yes, but not her sex. She’s never felt kinship with womanhood, has always felt free from it, missing something, and perhaps most of all: not wanting it. She is what she is. And moans when Daemon calls her boy again.

“Fuck me,” she demands and Daemon obliges.

He removes his finger for his cock to push at her entrance, blunt head slippery with oil, too thick, which is exactly how she likes it. She relaxes her muscles and takes him. She is just another prince getting fucked. She groans, revels in how her voice could be that of a man, low and husky, and she turns to Daemon to kiss him. His brows are creased and his lips parted in what she knows is want and concentration. His hips stutter. At once she wants to feel his come shoot into her. A bliss between men that tides no children in its wake. Only his seed inside her. She curses again. She wants to have him too. Bend him over and fuck his pretty—

“Rhaenyra,” he moans into her skin.

“Don’t come,” she says although she wants it. But she wants Daemon desperate more.

A pleading noise escapes Daemon, but her stare keeps him obedient, he rocks into her and the stretch makes her groan again. It hurts and she likes that, too.

They settle into a slow rhythm and she rubs her cock to it, every once in a while sinking two fingers into her wetness. Whenever she does, she can feel Daemon’s cock inside her other hole, separated by only such thin skin. Hands roam over her body and not without a little desperation. She arches her back, fucks herself on Daemon’s cock, harder, until his moans turn into pleas.

“Stop, stop,” he whimpers and she can feel his cock twitch inside her as his hips stutter to meet hers. She is merciful and halts, if only because she won’t be merciful later. Daemon slides out, she turns and he kisses her sloppily. They sink deeper into the water once more. Arms winding around each other, thighs slipping between thighs, they grind against each other for a moment, and she pulls him roughly closer, bites his throat, then places her hand there, too, just lightly. You’re mine, she wants to hiss. Mine.

Steam rises around them, veils them, and she wonders if they look the same within the vapours, if from outside one might mark their bodies as different at all.

Outside, the sea crashes against the crags of black stone, the storm has taken shape, thunder rips the air.

“Come,” she says and takes Daemon’s hand.

They dry off with an urgency that is as close to hunger as it is to pain.

The fortress is grim and dark. They ascend the stairs to the main residences where the torch-lit hallways grime with ash. Lightning strikes outside and the whole sky brightens for an instance as cracks of radiance scar through clouds. They both halt on the stairs, hands clasped together, and count: one, two, three— Thunder bursts the world, as loud as a mountain breaking apart above them. Rhaenyra smiles in the dark and Daemon smiles back.

“I love you,” he whispers.

She traces his jaw, thumbs at his chin.

“I will eat you,” she murmurs, indulging herself. He steps closer. “Eat you whole, Daemon, neck and crop.”

They kiss and she bites his lip until it bleeds. He flinches but she does not let him go. He moans her name, so soft, so small she wonders if she could ever fit inside his skin.

They reach their quarters. The guards seem no more alive than the dragon statues throughout the castle, perhaps less.

The doors fall heavily shut behind them.

A fire burns in the hearth, the room is ever ready to receive them. The air warms them, scent of pine-needles burning and more ancient oils, customs of old Valyria. The children are all abed in their quarters, well cared for by their wetnurses and servants, she’d already bid them good night before she went flying with Daemon.

The night belongs to them alone.

They kiss against the door, pushing each other, fingers unlacing garments and she feels the rush of excitement she’s always felt for Daemon. He cups her face and kisses her deeply, his tongue so sweet in her mouth, she sucks on it and pulls him close by the waist.

“Uncle,” she says and he kisses her again and again as they stumble to the bed and fall on it together. She wraps her arms around his neck and he fits between her legs.

“Do you want to?” he asks.

“Just for a little bit,” she says and wraps her legs around his hip. His length slides against her, heavy and hard. An ache spreads in her chest. Gently, she frames his face, strokes his hair from his forehead, traces some of his lines and wrinkles, beautiful, she’s always thought so. She pulls him into a kiss and into her wetness. A vulnerable sound falls from Daemon’s throat into her waiting mouth. She can feel herself stretch around his thickness, but it takes only a moment to adjust. Daemon goes slow, and she holds him close as he does, kissing his lips, carding her hands through his hair, murmuring soft encouragements as pleasure starts to build from his quiet thrusts. With her free hand, she reaches between them and strokes her own cock.

Daemon kisses her cheek, her neck, her ear. He says her name as though she holds a knife at his throat, a love he might never grasp. It’s the same soft voice she heard him call her father in, a plea for comfort or perhaps safety. A plea her father never answered in a way Daemon could understand. But he understands her. They’ve always been the same.

She moves her hand from her own cock to Daemon’s hip, slides it over his buttocks to his hole and rubs over it until he moans. She bites her own lip, pushes the tip of her finger into him.

Without command, Daemon reaches to the bedside cabinet and with practised ease retrieves another vial of oil. It’s half empty and its herbal green scent swarms between them as he uncorks it. She slips the finger out and presents her hand for Daemon to pour the oil over. It collets in her palm, on her fingers. The next moment she smears it all over Daemon’s hole, then she fucks into him with index and middle finger. His breath catches.

“How does it feel?” she murmurs hotly at his ear.

“Good,” he says in that quiet vulnerable way that makes her ravenous.

She clutches around him, feels his cock drag against her insides, in and out, and she matches his thrusts with her fingers inside him and her hips rising to meet him. Thoughts blur, she loves to feel him inside, and perhaps loves feeling his insides more still. He’s so soft and pliable, and yet his body weighs heavily, hard muscles shifting, rippling his scarred skin, and she wants all this, too, to fill her mouth with it.

For a while they rock together like that, she lies her head back, closes her eyes and simply gives in to sensation and movement. His hands grab her thigh, her chest, gently rubbing over her nipples, then lower to her dick. Heat builds inside her. She spreads her legs wide, pulls them up higher.

“Keep going,” she gasps, and, “I’m gonna come.”

Daemon’s warm breath on her face, his lips grazing over her cheek, his hand keeps stroking her dick, his other presses against her nipple, bliss firing through her body. Fever hollows her out, makes her slick and easy with want, his cock feels so good, his fingers— Uncle, she thinks. Uncle. Mine.

“Yes,” she says, delirious. Sweat gathers, beads, drips down her body. Pleasure sweeps through her, building from where his cock thrusts, more, more, until she tenses and throbs around him, her own fingers crooking inside him.

All burns out blinding. The chamber drowns in white, before heartbeat by heartbeat, it fades back into view. She blinks. A drop of sweat glides down her temple. Daemon has stilled, his face buried in her shoulder, he’s shivering: trying not to come himself. She grins and pushes him off onto his back.

“Good boy,” she drawls, grin widening when he looks up at her, hair all sweaty and messy, face flushed, chest blotchy with where blood pumps through him harshly. She strokes a finger over his sternum, follows it with her tongue. She grabs the flesh on his sides so hard her fingerprints blue on his skin. He yelps, then laughs, arching towards her.

“Pretty,” she says, voice low in her throat, bites at his hip bone, then his thigh, pushing.

“Turn around.”

Daemon obeys, showing the long expanse of his back where battle scars wind, she traces them, jealous of the blade or the skin she does not know. Her mouth presses against the dimples above his buttocks, then she spreads the cheeks open and licks a long stripe over his hole. He gasps. Goosebumps crawl over his skin. Always so responsive when she touches him. She spreads his cheeks wider, lowering her mouth on him, sucking, then drawing her tongue around the rim before she pushes inside.

A choked breath echoes above her. Daemon moans against the pillow, spreading his legs for her. She slides a finger into him alongside her tongue, then a second, scissors him open and licks into him further, relishing in the high-pitched moans that escape him for it.

Sometimes it’s unbelievable that she can have him this way, that he is finally hers to touch as she wants. As she was always supposed to. They were always meant to burn. She moves back slightly, replacing her tongue with a third oiled finger, leisurely fucking him open.

She moves up enough to watch his face where he presses against the pillow, hair a mess, face a mess, too. She crooks the fingers inside him and he gasps, opening his eyes and catching her gaze. Light colour pinkens his cheeks at her watching him, but she does not look away, only starts fucking him harder. A shiver rushes beneath her sternum to her throat, an arousal she feels few other times alighting her body, taking her out of it and yet she never feels more herself.

“So good for me,” she purrs, low, and Daemon answers with a soft moan, his hand reaching down towards her and she catches it in her own. Their fingers intertwine and for a moment she bends and presses a kiss to his knuckles. A wave of love swells in her, and she moves up the bed to kiss him, his cheeks, his temple, his mouth. Her oil slick hand on his jaw, her other smoothing over his lip, he opens his mouth and sucks on her thumb when she hooks it behind his lower row of teeth.

“I’m going to fuck you, uncle.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” A small grin spreads his lips, and it is enough to make her feel like a little girl again, vying for his approval.

She fists a hand into his hair and yanks him up. He inhales sharply, wicked glint igniting in his eyes. His hands grip her shoulders, pushing her on her back. The next second his knees bracket her hips and he laughs at her affronted expression. She digs her fingers into his side and he sits down on her properly. If only she had the toy strapped to her already. She grits her teeth.

He bends to her, close enough that his breath fans over her cheek.

“Such an eager boy, my little niece,” he jeers, his boy-ish grin accompanied by his laugh, wicked and pretty enough to make her feel fever-hot with angry hunger.

She grabs his hair and pulls him down against her lips.

“You’re a brat. You’ve always been a brat,” she says.

Daemon laughs again, entirely rotten. She’ll fuck it out of him.

A hard shove pushes him over.

She’s out of bed the next moment, calming her breath as she rounds the bed to the armoire. She kneels down and opens it. It’ll be the big one tonight. Her hand strokes over the leather toy, its skin smooth but firm, expertly crafted. Does the esteemed royal family know of such things, outside her and Daemon? Does Alicent—? A twinge of old pain goes through her along the surge of desire. What would it be like to lie between her soft thighs and fuck her pretty righteousness cunt? Sweat beads at Rhaenyra’s temple. This is not the moment to think of her. Already Daemon sours whenever she speaks Alicent’s name, it’s more than mere animosity for Alicent’s position next to Viserys, Daemon surely guesses how dear Rhaenyra and Alicent were to each other once. A closeness between girls growing up and discovering the world side by side every day that even now he could never truly understand. She saw Daemon so rarely during those years, precious as the moments were. Perhaps precious all the more because of it.

“Stop dallying.” Daemon’s voice floats to her from the bed.

She stands, grips the toy and fastens it around hip and thighs, tight and secure. She dances her fingers over the length, then grips it and smacks it against the palm of her other hand. Daemon’s quick breath echoes in the room. When she turns, she sees him stroking himself to the sight of her. Wetness coats the tip of his thick cock, pearly and translucent.

“Come here,” she says.

With slow and feline movements, Daemon obeys until he sinks to his knees in front of her. This is where he belongs. He gazes up at her and she takes his chin and tilts his head this way and that.

“Let me suck it,” Daemon says, quiet and sincere in a way that makes her want to bury herself in him.

“Beg,” she says instead.

“Please let me suck your cock.” He leans in, gently pressing his cheek to the length that spans from his forehead to his chin. Heat shivers through her and she slaps her cock on his mouth once, twice, before his lips open and she shoves it inside.

“Good girl,” she says.

Daemon blushes. Desire pulses through her hotly. That she can call him that, that he likes it— She curses and thrusts forward. Tears well up in his eyes at the intrusion, but he keeps his throat lax for her to fuck. Hand in his hair, she thrusts, makes him gag and sputter. When she pulls out, saliva pools from his mouth, dripping onto the floor. The sight is so obscene she almost comes from it. With a little help, she could.

“On the bed,” she commands.

Daemon gets up, knees red, and together they fall into the sheets kissing open-mouthed, she licks the spit from his lips, then pushes it back into his mouth. At times they do this with his come and the thought is enough to make her grab his cock, move down and put her mouth on him if only for a moment.

Daemon looks at her with pinkish cheeks, creased brows. She spreads his legs, settles between, and lines up her cock with his entrance. She bites her lip at the sight of her cock grinding there, teasing.

“I will fuck your pretty cunt, uncle,” she says.

Daemon whimpers, blushing more and hikes up his legs, lifting his hips. Pulse of pleasure beneath the leather. Rhaenyra pours oil over her length, over Daemon’s hole. She pushes into him slow, unrelenting, gaze never leaving his face. Daemon’s mouth opens in a silent O, he grips the sheets, breathing out harshly. She fills him to the hilt. She watches him, how his body takes her, the muscles tense, sweat on his long pale limbs, ripple of scar, flushed all with blood, hot to the touch. She pulls out inch by inch, then thrusts back into him, the pressure of the leather sending throbs of pleasure through her. For a moment she just watches how her cock fucks into his hole before she leans over his body, elbows bracketing his face where she braces, they look at each other. One of Daemon’s long legs wraps around her hip, pulling her in. A gasp escapes her and she puts her whole weight on him, bites at his jaw while she grinds into him. His arms encircle her, hold her close. She kisses him, suddenly desperate to be as near as she can, cupping his face.

“I love you,” she rasps.

Daemon moans. Says her name like it’s a thing he took from beneath his ribs.

“I want to make you feel good,” she whispers into his ear, pushing into him, searching for that point that will make him delirious with pleasure. His cock is trapped between their bellies, slick, hard and hot. She bites his mouth gently.

“I want to make you come,” she continues, kissing his lips, his jaw, his ear. “Want to feel it between our bodies.” She presses down, feels herself dripping and hard and pulsing with heat, she slides half way out of him and slams back in, setting a slow and rough and deep rhythm, drawing moan after moan from his lips, swallowing most of them. Sweat beads at her temple and her whole body from the exertion of fucking him until she can think of nothing else but having Daemon as he clings to her, this warrior and Targaryen prince who has cut down so many, burned more, she knows he loves her, she knows, but there is a part of him that is ever on its way to other shores, into wastelands and storms, gliding out of her fingers. So she holds him tighter, fucks him harder, imagines devouring him whole, skin and bones and meat and fat, they are prince and heir, closer to gods than men, blood, blood, blood.

Daemon’s moan rings in her ears, and she puts a hand on his neck. Daemon’s cock twitches between them and she grins, pressing down on his throat.

“Good girl,” she says and leisurely bites at his lips, he gasps into it, searching her gaze, pressing her closer with his rough hands. Their bodies slide sweaty, reddened with hot blood beneath their skins, blueing where they’ve gripped hard and for a blinding moment she wishes for a blade to carve herself into his skin, be part of him the way his other scars are. She thrusts hard into him and he tenses, clenching around her.

“There?” she smirks, but needs no answer. She hits the spot again and Daemon lets out a noise that sears into her, raw and vulnerable and immediate, pleasure that leaves him little choice, please that holds dominion as violent as pain. Again, she thrusts like that, and again he groans until she quickens her pace, her muscles aching, arms jittery, but when she fucks him harder the leather also presses more firmly against her until all thought melts into the heat of fucking him and she grinds and throats, moaning with him and then Daemon’s fingers dig into her skin, his nails indenting her back, his mouth flies open, glint of spit on his teeth, so much red-warmth on her cheeks, she presses on his throat and his moan raws, and then she is coming as liquid heat spurts between them.

The world brightens and then blackens, pounding with their heartbeats, and she slides off him into the sheets and they are kissing messily, Daemon’s leg over her hip. She undoes the leather belts, rubs the red welts they have dug into her skin, and then Daemon’s hand is between her thighs, spreading her wetness around, rubbing over her oversensitive cock, slipping two fingers inside her. She moves against him, clenches around his fingers, his palm pressing into her cock, and she comes again, taking his hand and pushing his wet fingers into his mouth, just to then kiss him. Her own taste on his lips makes her grin and grab him harder before she gathers his come from their bellies and feeds it to him too.

After he swallows it, they kiss, lazy, wet, tasting each other, until she pulls Daemon in and he rests his head on her shoulder. She kisses the crown of his head, sweaty hair, and drags the sheets over them. The rightness of it all warms her and she holds him close, hands moving over his back, messaging until he loosens against her, letting out soft noises.

“You’re mine,” she whispers.

Outside, the storm thunders.

“Yes,” he says.

Blood with blood.

Remnants both of old Valyria. Without ever having set foot there, and yet she feels the fire that melds their veins together, they are made of the same blood burning matter, the same madness perhaps.

The same love.

[littlecib191]

I bet you want to see what's under my panties so baddly🥹🍆

[jaxieshauna]

is it time for the HOTD facts ??!?!

i can't do a Full rant right now because my last one i ran out of characters twice on discord with nitro ( && not a soul read ermmmmm ) but let me put you onto tmasc butch rhaenyra because it's lowkey canon if you squint... i will do a more in depth one with spoilers but milly alcock literally played him so loser butch like look at ts && tell me it's not butchfemme ...

there's a scene in the first episode where rhaenyra mourns never being a son to her father && her gender is a huge part of the show && in My humble opinion a lot of it can be read as her being trans ( both tfem or tmasc though i lean towards tmasc for other reasons )

also there's one scene where he goes out on the town dressed up as a boy so he won't be recognized due to his status && he gets HORRIBLY excited when someone refers to him as a boy like his whole face lights up && he literally beams telling d*emon "he called me boy! 1!!1 !!! ٩(˃̶͈̀௰˂̶͈́)و"

&& there is MUCH to be said about adult!rhaenyra being butch / tmasc as well specifically in season 2.. i will not spoil bc it is gutwrenching && insane but lmk when ur able to watch && i will infodump about it but basically there is evidence for tmasc butchnyra if u squint in s2 ^__^

i would LOVE to infodump about rhaenicent as well because they are sickening && one of my favorite yuris ever like not a day goes by where i am not physically ill over them but a TON of it is in s2 && i don't want to spoil them either... i'm shaking with autism erm i'm Definitely Normie !!!!!! ^___^

&& GREENS INFODUMP RAHAGHHGSJFD HELAENA DUMP && HELAENA IN REGARDS TO RHAENICENT DUMPG FSHDJKL GSK E HEHGHEHE ALICENT && HER CHILDREN ERM i;m sooo noraml um ... in short rhaenyra targaryan you ARE the father.. ( && alicent is jace's )

[certifiedfae]

it can never be just one

[misstressviole]

I'm gonna pretend that the brothel scene never happened and the entirety of this episode was Nyra experiencing transmasc euphoria

[chipthekeeper]

logging off now, sorry about taht

[americanprometheuss]

i had an epiphany. a vision. a dragon dream if you even dared to call it that.

rhaenicent but the dance of the dragons never happens, alicent is named queen consort after marrying rhaenyra and rhaenyra is king.

& i know you’re thinking “eros how is this any different than every other rhaenicent au?” but i’ll tell you THIS. rhaenyra is transmasc and had emma d’arcy’s haircut and androgynous looks.

imagine THIS rhaenicent on the throne ruling westeros

[telltaleanatomicalheart]

from the leaks that i’ve seen i’m not even a rhaenicent like that anymore but an alicel…

[acornered]

i messaged on discord already but since your inbox is wilding today can i get your thoughts on the current state of sapphic affairs in hotd

ohhh hell yes you watched the ep didn't you! How does it feel to be so right about everything?? I was thinking of your transmasc Rhaenyra au the entire time she was talking about wishing she could be a man, and how being with Daemon partially fulfilled that longing.

Rhaenyra and Mysaria bonding over their lack of power and agency in a male-dominated world, the realization that Daemon was attractive to them in part because he was their access to power, and the moment where they realize that they are capable of having power and pleasure outside of him....GAHH. The buildup was so excellent and (aside from thinking wlw representation in the Thrones-verse was long overdue), I think the way this was done makes perfect narrative sense. Rhaenyra's arc has always been about overcoming the limitations of her sex in a patriarchal society-- she wants to travel the world on dragonback, participate in battles, rule Westeros, be openly sexual-- all things that, as a woman, society denies her access to. Daemon has allowed and encouraged her to pursue her "male" desires, so it makes sense that she would feel destabilized by the withdrawal of his support. Mysaria's arc parallels this in that her access to power is limited by her sex AND her station, which is why her relationship with Daemon was so important to her earlier in the story-- he was her access to security, to the political power to make a difference for disenfranchised children like herself. Her backstory isn't just tragic, it's intentional, and it makes perfect sense as the origin of her political goals and the driving force of her actions. When Rhaenyra said she was "half a soul", I guarantee Mysaria was feeling echoes of the same sentiment that she herself had towards Daemon back when they were together. And Rhaenyra and Mysaria become whole, not by clinging to Daemon's empty promises of power, but by trusting each other, supporting each other, making a bid for power and freedom together.

Anyway, Rhaenyra's vulnerability allows Mysaria to be vulnerable in turn, they recognize a similar wound in each other-- the wound of a world that has failed them because it is a world meant to empower men at the expense of women-- and recognition becomes comfort becomes attraction. The decision to make Rhaenyra go for the embrace first is excellent, and I'd be remiss not to point out that the only other person we see her seek/offer physical comfort to is Alicent. She and Alicent were two girls against a world of men, and she has never healed from the loss of that relationship. And there is a part of her that intuitively knows Mysaria is missing a relationship like that as well. Politically speaking there is a power imbalance between the two of them, but in that moment they are just two women sharing in the grief of womanhood. That is why I love the decision to have Rhaenyra hug her first-- because it demonstrates their relationship as one of comfort and solidarity that allows desire to flourish, as opposed to what they had with Daemon-- submitting to a mutual sexual desire in the hopes that something more intimate and stable would follow. I disagree with the takes that suggest either character is using the other, or taking advantage of the other's vulnerability here, because there is so much buildup of mutual recognition and non-sexual physical intimacy beforehand. Rhaenyra clearly moves only to offer comfort, and the escalation from hug to kiss happens naturally as both parties realize that intimacy and desire are supposed to follow mutual vulnerability, and not be a substitute for it. I'm hard pressed to think of a less gratuitous makeout scene, and while I'm here-- the way HOTD uses sex between characters with intent instead of just as set dressing is what sets it apart from GOT, and one of the reasons why I fell in love with it much more than the mainline series despite being a huge ASOIAF nerd.

As much as I hope we get to see more rhaesaria, I am happy with this moment as is, as a culmination of these characters' relationships with each other and with Daemon. TLDR, it feels correct to me and anyone who says otherwise is homophobic. They compliment each other so well I'm...I feel bad for Alicent tbh like this is what she could've had...

[translannisters]

I do think Daemon is a man for the record. I am so very rarely the guy going "oh but actually this character just has gender feelings in a VERY CIS way" but while there's a very intentional mirroring between his envy of Rhaenyra and Rhaenyra's envy of him it's not in a way that I think justifies his inclusion in the "HRT would have fixed them" posts - gender is not IRRELEVANT to the status (as Viserys' unconditionally cherished daughter) that Daemon perceives Rhaenyra as having but it is secondary and instrumental. Ultimately Daemon's gender dissatisfaction has the same root as Rhaenyra's - he as well "will never be a son" (I will never stop being insane about this part of the 1x1 script btw.)

What Daemon definitely is is a bisexual man who is also a second son (disqualified from inheriting anything in the vast majority of cases) and who is perceived to take after his mother whereas his older brother is perceived to take after his father - Daemon's masculinity likely feels superfluous to him, like he would have done better as a sister (perhaps a GNC sister like Alyssa who sublimated all her GNCness into dying in the attempt to give her brother "an army of sons" - Daemon being the youngest surviving one.) This isn't a yearning towards womanhood its the exact same feeling of being inherently "castrated" that Rhaenyra, by way of their transmasculinity, feels. Because of his gender assignment at birth Daemon can move through the world without anyone knowing on sight that he's "castrated" - that his masculinity is without instrumental purpose - and that ambiguity creates that yearning for SOME kind of clear status/purpose (most notably the status of beloved daughtersisterwife. Which. The misconception on Daemon's part that Viserys ever unconditionally loved his daughter or his wife is truly something but that's a whole other post) that can be in a Trans of Gender direction but isn't really about that at its core. Am I saying Daemon is actually transmasc-coded instead you might ask. Well.

Anyway Daemon has never been hotter to me than in 1x4 when he looks like a butch so like. I get it. But that's a male bisexual tboy chaser unfortunately!!

[neyafromfrance95]

the issue with hotd is that they just fail to deliver the majority of storytelling points they want to make. this concerns the characterization, the relationships AND the atmosphere as well.

the issue isn't that alicent isn't an evil hag like in the books, the issue is that her brainwashing, her not living her truth and so on weren't sufficiently portrayed, in a way that would be tangible for the audiences.

rhaenyra is out of character every 5 episodes to the point one doesn't even know what her character is. initially she is a brat who essentially wants to be a boy. pre-timeskip rhaenyra was "i'm not a boy and i hate it", but post-timeskip rhaenyra embraces her womanhood and is "girls can do anything". and tbh, just like i think alicent being lesbian-coded would've been more interesting than whatever we got now, rhaenyra being transmasc-coded would've been more refreshing.

you can tell that the show itself sees her as a hero who is morally right... but her actions are inherently selfish. nothing wrong with selfish female characters, we need more of them, the issue is that the show itself isn't aware of this...

hilariously, the only believable character in the show is fucking cole! as he is the perfect portrayal of an entitled lucky incel.

i loved daemyra pre-timeskip bc the way they framed this dynamic was as hot as it was weird and wicked and wrong. but now i just felt nothing about their dynamic. the delivery, the framing were lacking imo. i like the idea of their dynamic, but the way it's shown on screen isn't captivating.

i think they also want to showcase the peasants' reality but never from their pov? lol.

finally, i love cgi, the set designs and locations, the color grading, but the atmosphere that they are trying to create isn't really supported by the overall feel that they deliver, i don't feel all those feelings that i know they want me as an audience to feel, the overarching messages fail to hit as well, and at no point do they present us with a piece of dialogue that reaches the masterpiece of writing was the first 3 seasons of got.

[thatchmanger]

I want it to be known that I am in full support of bisexual transmasc Rhaenyra Targaryen

[wizkhaleesii]

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN

WE WIN THESE!!!!!!!

TRANSMASC RHAENYRA MY BELOVED!!!! WE’RE CRACKIN OPEN A COLD ONE TONIGHT BOYS!!! AND SHES A WOMAN KISSER

LETS FUCKING GOOOOOO

If you’re transphobic on this post I’m blocking you and you owe me $20

[potato-frenzy]

I am considering writing a fic where Harwin and Laenor help Rhaenyra explore gender expression. Like I was possessed with the concept of transmasc!Rhaenyra. Having their partners help them figure himself out and even getting their changing perceptions of them.

Imagine the journey of these three. Going into the marriage Laenor expecting to never be able to love and desire his spouse but finding solace in the fact that his wife will allow him his freedom to pursue happiness in others. Rhaenyra having only inklings of their own gender identity at first. Harwin being kind of outside the dynamic but drawn to Rhaenyra and developing a closeness with Laenor as a knight at court.

Imagining Rhaenyra asking Laenor what it is like to be a man who desires men one evening. Long talks turning into games of pretend, mostly just Rhaenyra wearing Laenor's clothes while they laugh at how short and ill fitting Rhaenyra's clothes look on him. The more Rhaenyra learns to step into his shoes and understand him, the more they start to realize that they feel so much more comfortable in this. That they'd like to see themself this way.

These games have to be set aside when their first child is conceived though and Rhaenyra's fears of childbirth come forth. Rhaenyra feels like an alien in this body as much as the babe does. The unexpected growth spurt that comes about from this pregnancy brings the couple almost to eye level. When Jacaerys is born, Rhaenyra is desperate to feel like Rhaenyra again. Several breakdowns are had over the fact that nothing feels right anymore, an entire wardrobe has to be remade to accommodate a new height and a widened frame.

Harwin comments one evening that the princess looks near fighting fit after a few weeks of daily dragon rides. Laenor sees his spouse from behind one day whilst rising from a bath and he confesses later that Rhaenyra's never looked more handsome. Laenor is the one to suggest their games again and slowly things take a turn as they take it a step further. Binding down Rhaenyra's breasts when the milk has dried up and even padding the trousers to see how it is negotiating that particular piece of male anatomy.

Harwin finds out about their games one day and he notes that if one wants to present themselves as a man they should move like one. Teaching the princess to walk and carry themself like a man becomes another game unto itself very quickly. As the knight cannot resist flirting with his paramour and the teasing of said paramour's husband is a new thrill. The flirtations begin to extend to Laenor as Rhaenyra becomes bolder in this new role. This persona of a Valyrian prince. One day they decide that the princess is Rhaen when wearing men's clothes.

It comes to a head one day when Laenor and Rhaenyra discuss trying to have another child, Laenor flippantly suggests that perhaps Rhaen could help in such an endeavor. Rhaenyra reluctantly agrees as they've never approached such a thing when exploring this side of them. The princess confesses that it became less about understanding Laenor some time ago and more about understanding themself. That Princess Rhaenyra feels more and more like a costume everyday and that Prince Rhaen is who they actually are. One thing leads to another and they fall into bed together, an intensity and passion in their coupling that was never there before. Afterwards Laenor confesses that replacing 'wife' with 'husband' in his mind and reminding himself that this is his prince, changed everything.

Nothing is fixed of course, they're not suddenly passionately in love because of these revelations but it makes everything easier to be able to find this common ground. There is an untold danger in Rhaen's identity, it's one thing to pretend. It's another to believe oneself a man in this society. And being forced to put aside Rhaen once more when their second child is confirmed to be growing inside them.

Lucerys is born and his fair skin and black curls make the princess' heart sink. But no, they'd been so focused on Laenor for a whole moon, Harwin had been away for a number of weeks. Lucerys had to be Laenor's. Had to be. But no one would ever believe as much.

Years come and go quickly after that, the whispers get louder. Alicent gets crueler. Viserys grows sicker. Rhaen, Laenor, and Harwin cling to each other and find ways to let their prince breathe as much as they can. Laenor and Harwin grow closer and eventually Harwin joins the couple's bed. The commander gifting his prince with a handsome, wooden cock attached to a set of belts that he lovingly straps to their hips. And oh the times they have with it. Qarl Correy arrives soon enough and Laenor is smitten far beyond any of the many lovers he's taken, fewer since Rhaen has come into themself, and he's by far the favorite.

Laenor thinks it might be love and Rhaen is happy for him. Truly. But part of them feels a pang of jealousy. They'll never be a real man, not enough for Laenor to truly want them and it hits them like a ton of bricks that they want him to. It hurts but they know what they agreed all those years ago. They think perhaps it'll get easier.

It doesn't. Joffrey is conceived well after Laenor abandons their bed entirely for Qarl's and everything falls apart. Alicent's increasing antagonizing, rumors of their sons' bastardry, the walls of the Red Keep seeming to close in around them. They don't even get a chance to put Rhaen back on before the incident in the training yard and Harwin being sent away. Retreating to Dragonstone feels like the only option.

Harwin and Laena's deaths come so close together no one knows what to do but seeing Daemon again gives them hope. They're aware of him seeing them as a woman and they wonder if he'd want them as Rhaen, even as they come together on the beach. They don't get a chance to speak of it as the chaos ensues and they're staring down a crazed queen with a sacred knife trying to mutilate their son. Part of them considers afterwards that none of this would have happened if they'd been born a man. That perhaps they'd have married Alicent.

They need Daemon close, they know this more than anything. They offer Laenor an out but he refuses. He says that losing Laena and Harwin made him realize that he's been neglecting his duties and taking for granted the miracle that is an honest to all gods husband. The man he swore to love and cherish all those years ago. Being acknowledged as a man in Laenor's eyes makes them weep but there's bigger things. Things that could destroy them and they need Daemon as an ally.

Daemon proposes to betroth his girls to their sons as an excuse to stay close. Raise them together. It's a simple solution and one that makes a decent enough compromise so that Laenor need not abandon his family. He takes the revelation of Rhaen being a nephew and not a niece better than they'd hoped. In fact he expresses an interest that is VERY different than Harwin's was.

Harwin was experiencing what it was to desire another man just as much as they were, Laenor guiding them in it with the expected amount of guilt and doubt that is bred up in Westeros. Daemon holds no such qualms. Daemon understands his own desires and holds neither shame nor restraint. There was an innocence in the way Rhaen had coupled with their lover in the past, a newness. Daemon took them to bed and showed them what unbridled passion was, taking them the way a man takes another. Even going so far as to buckle their cock into place and push them onto their back so that he could sink down onto them.

Laenor stayed and devoted himself as best he could in every way he could. Shockingly it was easier to share Rhaen with Daemon than with Harwin. Harwin was traditional and treaded their relationship with an edge of that taboo thrill that was well seen past the devotion. Daemon and Laenor had fought and flown together in war and knew each other well, they were both men of Valyria and dragonriders. The respect and understanding they share is unparalleled and Laenor easily passes his husband into the hands of the older prince.

Corlys calls his son to the Stepstones soon enough though and he promises only a few months before he returns.

He doesn't.

Seasmoke returns to Dragonstone riderless one evening, before the raven even makes it, and they know. There's no body to burn but they hold a funeral anyway. They burn his saddle in his place. Daemon and Rhaen are wed within days and little Aegon is born not eight moons after. Viserys a few years later as they settle into a sort of peace even with the spectre across the bay.

Rhaen muses on how they don't feel like they're setting themself aside each time they bear Daemon another child. They don't feel like they're forcing themself to be something they aren't.

--

I found this in my drafts and honestly, this shit slaps so hard. I don't know if I'll actually write this fic but have this and weep with me.