earenwen-leafwhisper

Latest Posts by earenwen-leafwhisper

That was so good 🫶

The Freshness of Youthful Bloom

Pairing • Daemon Targaryen x Hightower reader

Tags • semi-public sex, fingering, virgin reader, loss of innocence

Wordcount • 2,830

This a gift to the wonderful @lady-phasma ♡

As the younger sister to the Queen, you are left in King's Landing to find a good match after your father Otto Hightower is dismissed by the King. Daemon finds you instead.

HotD Masterlist

Despite the tragedy that had taken place during Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor’s wedding celebration, most of the great houses had stayed in King’s Landing to continue the celebrations.

The atmosphere in the Keep was peculiar, between the drunken youngsters who drowned their shock in wine, and the older lords who ranged between bored and indifferent—the ladies, on the other hand, were clutching their pearls at the grapevine of rumors was thriving.

You hadn’t been involved at court very long. As the youngest daughter of the former Hand, Otto Hightower, you had been sheltered by your father from the idle talk of courtiers. Even so, you were aware of the greatest topic of conversation in the gardens.

The return of Prince Daemon at court, and the passing of his wife.

You had never seen much of the prince before he had left for war, as your Septa had kept you in the nursery, and when you weren’t enjoying the indoor activities fit for a lady of your station, the gardens were your only distraction.

You had of course heard the rumors, and the occasional complaint from your father at dinner, and you knew quite well to avoid the man’s company.

You could not deny you were curious, and there was an appeal to the Rogue Prince. Returning from the war with a mock crown and short-cropped hair, he had surprised everyone, even the king. The man had the silver hair of the Targaryens and their fiery temper, and for a young, sheltered lady as yourself, it was a welcome novelty.

Still, you knew better than to get caught in idle thinking, or worse, fantasizing about the man. You also knew that any passing fancy you might have had would be put to rest soon, as you were expecting to find a husband soon.

You were in a fine dress with delicate trimmings and embroideries, alone and loathing the prospective tea that awaited you in the gardens with the ladies Redwyne and Lannister. Both women were eager to introduce you to their young nephews, certainly hoping that as sister to the Queen, that you could secure them a lasting position in attending the king.

As you rounded a deserted corridor, hoping to find a moment of silence in a secluded alcove, you gasped as you almost collided with someone in your hurry.

Lifting your eyes from the ground, you realized the figure you had almost walked into was that of Prince Daemon. The man was grinning, visibly amused, and you couldn’t help but flush at your own clumsiness.

His piercing purple eyes creased at the corners as he greeted you, falsely deferent. “Lady Hightower,” his smooth voice resonated under the low ceiling of the alcove. 

“Prince Daemon, my apologies,” you replied, less assured, with a trembling nod. Still, he did not step aside as would have been appropriate, but you knew the man was not known for his chivalry. 

“Well, well, my lady, what has you in such a hurry?” he asked, lips parting to reveal white teeth.

“Nothing that concerns you, my prince,” you replied, pinched but polite. You forced your way past him, your hands lifting your skirts slightly as you made your way to the rounding staircase.

“I would have thought you’d have run back to Oldtown with your dear father,” Daemon crooned as you walked past him, the scent of your hair lingering in the air.

“My father has left me in the care of my sister, the Queen,” you replied, stopping to respond to him, chin raised in defiance. 

He admired your fire, and the harsh way you always addressed him, self-righteous and defensive—he knew who had fed you this poison, and that if he were to ask how he had offended you, your father’s words would come out of your mouth.

“He also thought the court would be the best place for me to find a good match,” you continued proudly, hoping to convey the image of a noble lady with good prospects, rather than a frightened girl for him to mock.

“It is true, then, you are of marrying age,” he answered, and your show of pride didn’t seem to lessen his amusement in the least. If anything, he seemed delighted. 

“Yes. I came of age during the spring,” you confirmed. “However I do not see how that concerns you, my prince. Good day,” you said curtly as you moved up the steps, but a large hand around your arm stopped you in your tracks—as perched as you were on the third step, the prince was barely taller than you, and it felt somehow even more intimidating to be in direct line with his piercing eyes.

“Not so fast, little mouse,” he said with a grin, and you couldn’t help the blush that rose to your cheeks. 

“Remove your hand, please,” you commanded, but your voice wavered and your composure faltered. 

You had learned to keep your interactions with the prince short and to the point, and he had never shown any interest in you as you were a mere child the last time he had seen you. Now you were a lady of marrying age, dressed to attract the most handsome suitor, and womanhood had carved your figure in the most enticing manner.

Daemon wasn’t one to look past a beautiful figure, or to ignore the freshest lady in search of a husband—those were always easy to make blush, easy to fluster and play with, and after four years of war, he longed for the crisp taste of fresh fruit. 

There was also a perverse pleasure in putting his hand on the youngest daughter of the man who had plagued his existence at court. It tasted like a sweet revenge, and he wondered whether your lips would carry that taste—the sticky sweetness of retribution, and the satisfaction of plucking a fresh flower from a garden in first bloom.

“You will be married soon to the handsome son of a lord, or perhaps that lord himself will want your youth and beauty for himself…” he said, his other hand rising to your face, only to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

The gentle gesture troubled you, especially from a man that never displayed any tenderness—you didn’t know if you could trust it, but part of you relished it in anyway. 

“Many lords have come for the Princess’ wedding, I’m sure many of them have already set their eye on you,” he continued, and this time it sounded like a warning, almost like a threat.

It was true a few had asked for dances, but none had caught your attention nor pleased you in any way, and you shivered at the thought that one of them might ask for your hand.

“What do you suggest?” you asked despite yourself, your curiosity getting the best of you. Even though you had had limited interactions in the past, you knew the man wasn’t one for idle talk, and his words always had an endgame.

“Better your first taste of it be with a prince, rather than an old lord, don’t you think?” he asked, delight curling in his stomach at the way you obviously flushed down to your chest.

He ran the back of his knuckles from the hollow of your throat to the crease above the collar of your dress, your corset bringing your chest up. His little finger dipped into the valley between your breasts and you gasped, your flesh rising in goosebumps.

“This is inappropriate,” you gasped, and the hand retracted—instead he made a wide gesture to the staircase, silently inviting you to leave his company. 

You remained where you were standing, and soon he was climbing the steps after you, forcing you to retreat. He backed you slowly into a small alcove in the wall, a dent where vases were sometimes put; he pressed you to the shelf carved into the stone, and soon you were the flower on display for his pleasure.

“What is inappropriate is an old lord lusting after such a sweet, young creature,” he said, his face dipping close to yours until the air around you was saturated with the scent of him. “Would you allow me a taste of your sweetness, little flower?” he crooned, his lips curling in delighted amusement.

Your voice had left you, and you could not deny how enticing the prince was. You felt slightly ridiculous, falling for a tale many ladies had before you, but the idea of kissing a prince exhilarated you. Your eyes fluttered as his mouth lingered over yours, barely touching you, and you made a soft sound in the back of your throat.

Your next sigh was swallowed greedily as he pressed his lips to yours fully, not wasting more than a second before dipping his tongue and tasting you. You allowed the kiss with trembling clumsiness, shivering as he pressed your mouth open.

So entranced as you were by his kiss, you barely noticed how his hand had reached down for your skirts, pulling them up until his warm palm was running up your thigh until it found bare skin above your stocking. You gasped as his hand wrapped around your leg, his thumb tracing half-moons dangerously close to the crease of your hip.

“What are you doing?” you asked, looking down at his wrist where it disappeared under the layers of muslin and linen.

“Showing you what you will not find in marriage,” he replied, self-assured, pressing his grin into the divot behind your jaw. His voice so close to your ear made you shiver and your hands came up to his chest, curling into the thick fabric of his doublet. “Just say the word, and I will let you go.”

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you shook your head, mesmerized as his wrist pushed up and soon his hand slipped under your smallclothes. 

Your mouth dropped open as he found your core easily, and he wasn’t surprised to find you warm and slightly wet already. Your cheeks were flushed the loveliest pink and your eyes closed for a moment as he pressed his thumb where your folds met.

You shivered visibly under his hand, a soft moan rising from your throat—Daemon felt himself harden, victorious at being the first to please you. The darkest part of him wished for your father to be present at court, so that his little birds could chirp in his ear the terrible rumor that his enemy had defiled his own little girl.

Daemon instead found satisfaction in the way you rocked back against him, slowly at first, then more assuredly as you grew more familiar with the warm pressure at your core. The nub under his thumb hardened and swelled at his touch, a testament to your pleasure.

Your eyes were still fixed on his wrist where the fabrics of your skirts bunched, making a soft sound each time you ground up. He allowed you a few minutes of bliss, watching you raptly, taking in every minute flinch, every flutter of your eyes, every silent gasp.

“How lovely you are, little lady. How wet and pliant,” he hummed, and you flushed furiously as the indecent words.

To your shame, his praise only served to incense you further, a sharp lick of heat running down your pearl and setting your core on fire—an ache had lodged itself deep within you, and you didn’t quite understand it.

“Tell me, little mouse, do you ever touch yourself?” he asked, and you would have been outraged if you were not so entranced.

You shook your head despite your furious blush, biting your lip as he pressed harder, making you squirm under his thumb. You felt your flesh part around his finger as he prodded, spreading your wetness along your folds.

“No,” you replied feebly, and it only served to amuse him.

You were the most delicious creature under his hand, your obvious inexperience fueling your eagerness as you rocked back against his touch. It was obvious you had told a lie, and he wouldn’t allow you to get away with it, not since you were pinned under him.

He made a tutting sound, taking his thumb away as he continued to follow the crease of your folds, taking away your pleasure and leaving only a tease. “Please,” you whined.

“Tell me the truth, little mouse, and I will give you what you need,” he said, an edge of darkness in his tone, his eyes a deep purple as they bore into yours. You could tell he wouldn’t be pleased if you refused him, and that taste of danger only served to tighten the coil of arousal in your core.

“I touch myself sometimes,” you rushed to reply in one breath, stumbling over your words with your impatience, and he hummed, his lips twitching in the shadow of a smile.

“Only sometimes?” he pushed, but you couldn’t blame him for his insistence, as it came with a few firm presses against your pearl.

“It is unbecoming of a lady,” you breathed as he resumed a slow rhythm, his thumb drawing tight circles against your nub while one of his fingers circled your entrance. You clenched around the desperate desire to feel him press inside, but your virtue was still intact, and the prospective sting intimidated you. 

Your eyelashes fluttered as you struggled to keep your eyes open; your entire body felt like it was floating above the ground, your knees weak and unsteady, your center of gravity dropping down to where the prince was touching you. 

You were a lovely sight, and even though he hadn’t been chaste since returning from the Step Stones, he felt exhilarated at the prospect of taking your purity. You mewled as he pressed forward, teasing your entrance more firmly; you were wet, coating his fingers with your growing pleasure.

“I could take your virtue, right here and then,” he taunted in a murmur. “Or leave it for your husband to pierce it with his cock on your wedding night.”

“Please,” you pleaded, tears coming to your eyes, because the prince had been right—there was a frightening possibility that your match would not be harmonious, and you would rather be breached by a prince who was asking rather than a simple lord taking it as his right. “Please take it.”

Daemon’s mouth crashed against yours as he pushed his finger forward, the sensation as foreign as the sting was brief. He curled his knuckle inside, his thumb pressing slow and sweet against your pearl, his tongue prodding yours passionately.

If you had been floating before, you were now soaring, clinging to Daemon’s shoulders desperately as he kissed you, swallowing your moans.

“That’s it, little one, give it to me,” he breathed, his lips hovering over yours, and you were not certain of what he wanted from you—still you nodded and followed the pace of his hand, rocking up against him as your pleasure crested, the pressure inside your core mounting until it was unbearable.

You were speared to the spot, caught between his two fingers slowly pulling you over the edge, pressing on your pearl and curling against a sensitive place inside you. Unable to resist, to do anything but feel the wave of heat crash through you, you shook and trembled as your core pulsed.

Daemon chuckled against your neck as you peaked, your knees giving out. His hand on your thigh propped you up against the shelf, and you were grateful for the solid line of his shoulders under your clenched fingers. 

“It’s done, little mouse. Your virtue fully belongs to me, now,” he crooned against the sensitive spot behind your ear, sucking a kiss into the soft skin.

You chuckled despite yourself, feeling free like never before, relieved of a burden you didn’t even know you were carrying—your limbs felt light and loose, your core clenching in aftershocks that spread a delicious weightlessness down to your very bones.

He slowly let you go, and you sagged against the wall, your hands coming to catch yourself on the stone shelf. You looked away in embarrassment as the prince wiped his fingers on the inner layer of your dress before releasing it. Your skirts fell back into place and he stepped away, hips and shoulders swaying slightly, his lips pulled into a satisfied grin.

You smoothed your clothes almost nervously, breathing out a sheepish chuckle, wondering if he was expecting you to return the favor somehow—instead he turned to make his way up the stairs, and your heart skipped a beat.

“Prince Daemon,” you called, slightly panicked, the reality of what you had just done crashing down on you.

“There is more of that where it came from, if you were so inclined,” he replied, throwing you a knowing glance over his shoulder, and as he disappeared down the corridor, you swore you heard his dark chuckle echo under the high ceilings.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics, Daemon pictures by @child-of-three

Beta read by the wonderful @arcielee ♡

Comment if you'd be interested in being tagged in a part 2, or in any future Daemon fic of mine.

At least for mariage, as historicaly people's who where plus size/chubby where the peoples who suffer the less of famines/having less food.

This is an interesting point you brought up. In our real world, royals being plus size was common and likely trendy among them because it was pretty much a statement that ya know they could afford to eat plenty. But in the world of Westeros, Rhaenyra is looked down upon for her weight gain after having kids while Alicent is praised in the book for keeping a slim figure after 4 kids. But perhaps this is just an example of bias against Rhaenyra because clearly many men found her desirable still lol.

Totally with you on this.

Without forgetting that it's men's who write about her. Its like one thing that I have read. "Woman with little hips are those who have better chance to have good pregnancy." It was a men who have told this. When in reality. When you have bigger hips it's more easy... 🙄😮‍💨 (and I have made my research to be sure of this.)

So having people's in Westeros looking down at Rhaenyra is like jealousy and hypocrisy. When she would have been congratulate for her pregnancies who have end well. From her first and second marriage.

And with the show don't showing a "chubbier" Rhaenyra, you can tell that it's the modern world who go wrong with history/the accuracy of the books. They don't wanted to show her chubbier. Because "Oh no! Been fat/chubby/plus size is gross!!" 🙄🙄🙄

(If you want to continue to talk about this, I would love it)

"If you where less of a incompetent and unfaithful husband. She would not have to seek the attention of my son."

Must be something Otto told Daemon the day that wife reader seek attention and affection from Gwayne.

Hello, I hope it's okay for me to contact you. I've stumbled on your post about you feeling self-conscious about the lack of comments on your fics and all, and after browsing your blog, I wanted to ask if you still wanted a beta reader?

I'm also a native French speaker and there aren't too many of us in this fandom, so part of me thinks we should probably stick together. I'm sending this on anon in case you don't want help, but if you do, I'll reach out by DMs. I'm also a fanfic writer, I've been writing for HotD for 2 and a half years now.

Hello, yes of course you can contact me by DMs.

I accept help :)

Of course we can stick together, you too write for hotd? That's so cool :)

I don't know if this was already tell,

But

The men's in asoiaf would have be for plus size/chubby woman.

At least for mariage, as historicaly people's who where plus size/chubby where the peoples who suffer the less of famines/having less food.

As so the one's who haved descendents/heirs.

So...

Maegor would have been for plus size woman logically/historicaly. As they where see as more able to have strong babies.

Daemon was a lot into a chubby/plus size Rhaenyra.

North lords where into it too, as it's more cold lands and all... I'm sure, that Creagan Stark was into plus size/chubby woman.

Gwayne Hightower? More to cuddles when all the bad things happen at the red keep and he have headache.

So yes, if your chubby/plus size reader. Thoses characters that you like/love, would definitely be into you for multiples reasons, don't let modern fashion and view made you think the opposite.

❤️

Don't get me wrong if your skinny/fit and all, they will also be into you.

I know this is not a fanfiction but please read this If you have read one of my fanfictions

In a way, I'm thankful to have stop writting fanfictions during a time. To begin to write them again a few months ago.

(I will add the tags, for a week, that I use for the fanfictions that I have write, so if someone read this and have read one of my fanfictions in the past. it's mostly for them that I write now.)

When you have a imagination who are like water falls that almost never stop. Writting is a way for me to free my mind, and to share my imagination, my passions.

I know that I write poorly in a way, as I have learn English mostly on my own, I have learn to read English with fanfictions and writting by talking with peoples on chat. I have learn to heard English because of YouTube and movies. I use "Reverso" to help me traduct the texts that I write in french as it's my mother tongue.

So yes there is mistake in my writting and I understand that if people read my fanfictions it's mostly because there is no more good fanfictions.

I have learn to accept it... even if in a way it's hurt.

I have learn that I will never have a lot of people's reading my work, I have learn that I must be thankful to have the little of interaction with the little of people's who read my fanfictions.

I know that I must go to others fanfictions and read them, leave commentary, share them...

But it's just made me even more self concious of my own work. Feel even more of a outsider.

So yes,

I have learn to be thankful to have 1 person who read my work, even more if I'm lucky to have 20 who leave a like. If I have a commentary. It's like Christmas.

I will never have 100 people's who wait for my next work, the 100 must be thoses who are in a "Oh no, no her again."

(Sometime I feel like that most of the peoples who follow my tumblr are bots...)

To all of the peoples who have read my work in the past, thank you to have one day leave a like on my fanfictions, to have found time to read.

Thank you.

(I haved made another text mostly for my followers and thoses who haved read my last fanfiction... there was only one like... and... I have feel that it was better to write another text, and share it with more tags...)

I feel that I will be block by the remain people's that have not yet block me...

Hello 👋

I just came to say, thank you for all of you who have give a like on the fanfictions that I have write in the past and the last posted.

This mean a lot for me, as I know that my writing skill is poor and that not a lot of people's will read me. They mostly prefer to not read and go elsewhere and I understand.

So thank you, if only just one person read and leave a like is great for me.

So... having 7 or more, it's awesome.

Thank you, really, because I haved been down the last year about writting, seen people's having a lot of likes and commentary when I do not haved the same... this haved hurted me and I haved take a break in writting. Someone haved leave a commentary about my writing skill and I understand now why not much haved liked, that and I written with plus size/chubby reader (how to write a niche, in a niche, in a niche). Even if I love writing for plus size/chubby reader I know that, not much will read what I write, even if they are the "public cible".

I'm a French speaker who have learn a big part of English by herself because her teachers didn't wanted to take time to help her understanding. (I have dyslexia). I have think about using a Ai to help me correct my text but, I feel that, it will just be bad, to do it...

So.

Thank you again, for reading me, for leaving a like on my fanfictions.

Friendly,

Earenwen/Emilie

"Reject" Part 2 (Smut)

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem wife reader

Summary: Y/n finally put Daemon in her bed.

Warning: Smut. So minors, do not interact with this post.

English is not my native language.

Part 1 : Here

Masterlist : Ø

A little thank you for the like

The solid oak door slammed in a heavy noise. Y/

n had just come in after Daemon. He was standing with a smile on his face.

"So... my dear wife has a tongue."

"I’ll be clear. No more whore. No more infidelity. Even less insults. I’m sick and tired of your behavior."

The voice of Y/n did not leave room for a lament from Daemon. The tone of her voice was different, more assured.

Daemon looked at her in another way barely perceptible, far away was the shy young woman he thought to be his wife.

"Well, what are you gonna do?"

"Undress yourself. Completely."

"If my wife wishes." Daemon smiled curly.

Slowly, Daemon took the bottom of his tunic, lifting the fabric along his torso, under the eyes of Y/n. Daemon’s hair falls in cascade along his back and partly on his chest. The eyes of Y/n ventured on Daemon’s skin, skin she had never seen so much before.

Y/n thinks that she should have ordered Daemon to undress quickly, his slow movements adorning him for an eternity when he finishes removing his shoes, rising up to place his hands on his belt. The sound of the buckle was almost mocking her, when passing each hole in the belt. The worst part was that Daemon knew exactly what he was doing. The lasing of his trousers was not of an unnamed complexity, yet it seemed to be a padlock without key, so that a deformation formed more and more against the lashing.

Y/n tried to keep a calm breath. But how to do when the man in front of you is a beauty, who decides to tease you? It's with a great self-control, that Y/n, didn't jumped on him to rip off his remaining clothes.

In a fluid movement, the pants fell along his legs to his ankles followed by his underwear, releasing his thick, hard manhood, one of two thicker veins ran through his cock from the base to the tips. The tips was not offset, a drop of pre-sperm flowed from the tips.

Y/n unconsciously squeezed her thighs and moved her hips in order to create friction, a heat and wet clenched more and more present between her thighs. Y/n wanted to get close to Daemon, go through her hands along the skin of her husband, finally discover his body, but she knew very well, that first she had to teach him a lesson. A lesson, on how to treat your wife.

With a movement of the head, she pointed him the bed. Y/n watched Daemon move towards the bed, watching him lie down.

"Raise your arms above your head."

The tone of her voice was calm, her anger always present, even if diminished at the sight of Daemon naked form on her bed. Daemon wanted to protest, but raising his arms, as looking at y/n who opened a drawer and pull out leather straps. Surprised would not have been the appropriate adjective to Daemon’s feelings seeing the straps.

"You’re going to be a good husband." Y/n started tying Daemon’s wrists to the head of her bed, avoiding hurting Daemon.

Daemon tested the straps, but quickly understood that these were well attached. He noted mentally that he had to ask how it was that she had thoses. Over all know how to tie them.

Daemon shook his head slightly, before looking in the direction of his wife, who was beginning to undress. His erection was starting to hurt. The anticipation palpable. "Fuck... she is beautiful..."

Daemon growled when Y/n sat on his hips, refusing any contact between his cock and pussy. He pulled his arms but was stuck.

"No, no... first of all, you’re going to prove to me how skillful you are with your tongue."

Y/n slowly pulled up Daemon’s body, even if she didn’t want to show it. She was going to take her pure pleasure from him.

Daemon growled when he saw the pussy of Y/ n, his eyes dilated, he breathed deeply, smelling the sweet smell of his exitation. He pulled on his traps, he wanted to put his hands on her thighs to make her sit against his face, it frustrated him to not to be in control. Feeling the tension rising, Y/n sat gently on Daemon’s face, her husband’s breath made her tremble without being able to control herself, a slight moan coming out of her mouth at the touch of Daemon’s tongue, Y/n held back at the head of the bed, before dropping her hips on Daemon’s face.

Daemon who discovered that his wife was most delightful. He, who had never lowered himself to ear the pussy of one of the prostitutes, discovered the pleasure and taste of his wife and how much he did not wanted to stop. Daemon licked and sucked the big and small lips, collecting the pleasure fluid of Y/n with his tongue, his nose by moment rubbing on the button of pleasure, swollen of Y/n. He pulled on his traps, wanting to grab the thighs of his lover, to stick it more against him.

"D... Daemon!..." Y/n began to move her hips, rubbing openly against his face.

"That’s right, go on." Daemon smiled full teeth before plunging back into the nectar.

Daemon’s erection was at its peak without him or her even touching, it bounced against the belly of Daemon. He wanted terribly to caught Y/n, to turn her and take her with force, to finally feel her sweet pussy enveloping him in its warmth. But more than anything, he wanted to see the pleasure in the face of Y/n. Because now he understood what he had missed.

"I want to feel you in me." The voice of Y/n was filled with desire.

If at any time Daemon would have thought that his wife would give him the impression that his heart was going to explode when he heard her desiring him. He would have thought he was crazy. But the vision of Y/n completely naked, straddling him, her pussy against his cock, moving in a slow up and down. He didn’t care that he was seen as completely crazy about Y/n.

"Release me... let me touch you..."

Y/n seemed hesitant, her hands trembling softly, Daemon’s eyes following the slightest gesture.

He sigh when the traps were untied. Without waiting any longer, he passed his arms around the body of his lover, turning them over, placing his body between her legs. For the first time since their marriage, Daemon kissed her, far away was the little kiss. Daemon embraced Y/n with passion, moving his hands wherever he could, marking every inch of skin. His lips moving with his hands, sucking, marking Y/n finally as his wife.

Their hips moved against each other, creating a friction of the most excise. One of Daemon’s hands walked the side of Y/n’s body, moving to her thigh, where he grabbed the muscle/fat, his grip was going to leave marks the next day, but neither of the two thought about it.

"You’re so wet... so ready for me..."

Daemon placed a finger between the small lips of Y/n, before slowly entering her. Y/n moans softly of discomfort, before the movements of in and out makes her replacing the discomfort by pleasure. Daemon took his time, preparing her pussy for his dick. A second finger was buried in this soft, warm and wet space, where he made a scissor movement.

"Y/n...." Daemon had rumbled her name, feeling her moving her hips against him.

Daemon looked at her, looking in her eyes, her movements.

"D... daemon... please..."

"Patience, love, patience..."

Y/n began to see stars, her legs trembled more and more, her hips were seeking for contact with Daemon’s hand. Her moaning does not end. It is at that moment that she felt it, the point of no return. Her ears whistled as she closed her eyes, the only sound coming from her throat being the name of Daemon.

Daemon looked at her, finding that the woman in his bed was even more beautiful in this moment of pure pleasure. He waited a minute for her to take back her breath, before placing his tips against her entrance.

"I’ll take you now..." his voice was hoarse. "Is that still what you want?..."

Y/n opened his eyes to look at him, really look at him. The man above her, long silver hair, fell on her, Daemon’s chest was covered with sweat, his breath fast, his eyes filled with a desire... a desire never seen before. There was something else in his eyes.

"Yes... I want you..."

Something she saw the first time in Daemon. At the moment their hips were touching, he, being completely inside her. Y/n could see a birth of affection, in his eyes. An affection that she hoped. One day would become love.

------

Ps : Hello, I hope this part 2 was good, thank you for reading so far, I’m sorry for the mistakes in the spelling and grammar that are sneaking like every time. It’s been a long time since I had written smut, I hope it was not a disaster or too "nice" ^-^ '

Tag list : @avalyaaa @immyowndefender

(I write this without first correction)

I may post in the week a little one shot about one of my OC, i have somes OC's, from house Martell as well then Targaryen's bastards. (Yes the episode of House of the dragon season 2 with the bastards have made me creative because i wanted to know them, so i have imagine somes. Woman and men)

And I was thinking about posting one of my one-shot before posting Daemon x wife reader smut.

And of course i will not put "x reader" when it will be "oc x oc"

As for the one-shot it's about a young Stark lady who haved go to King's Landing for one of the tournament that Viserys haved held. She meet this Targaryen bastard as he work with the others blacksmiths... etc... (Yes i do not tease more about, is this cruel? No)

I have already a aesthetic visual for this. (I have aesthetic visual for all of my oc, i just have not draw them and less asked a Ai to creat them.)

I have write the one-shot without description of the Stark lady. (Must be a habitude that i have take from writing reader ships) so in a way it could be a x reader?... or I let it as a oc x oc and if someone want to learn more about the Stark oc or Targaryen bastard, that I have create and/or want a one-shot with a "x reader" ship, i can write them too...

So you can have something to read in waiting of the smut. (I have struggled at writting the end 😅)

I have also thinked about posting about those oc between others more big fanfictions who take me more time to write.

I see you next time,

Ps: If you are interested in this, just a emoji in the commentary or as annon in my ask (i will not publish thoses responses if you don't want of course.) would be great to know if one or two person will read the one-shot. For a little encouragement 👉👈

Okay,

There is accounts that are a bots who @ everyone. This is a scam. I have just been @ over a post and there was more then 1500 commentary with only @, only three acount @ 5 to 7 others accounts, in it. Sent in a really short time, they @ minors. Even people's have complain in the commentary of this post. It's a scam that try to have peoples culpability if they don't share the post.

I will finish to go away from Tumblr, if I go on tumblr is not to have bots who try to scam people's. I'm on tumblr to let peoples have a little peace from the world. Not to remain them how the world are horrible. I will finish to only post on AO3 or another website where I can post fanfiction. And for dm it will be on Discord or X

Be careful about the accounts, if your feels that it's a scam there is great chance that, it is.

Edit : I don't go from Tumblr right now, don't worry, I have still fanfictions to post and anonymous ask to answer too.

I just hope that Tumblr will finally do something over the bots, and all the scams that came with them, apparently it's more easy to have censor over nsfw/smut fanfictions/fanarts. Then to banishing bots 🤷‍♀️

Is this a bad idea? Yes.

Okay. I have just play "Single's inferno" game that you can play when you have Netflix and...

This game have hit my nerve, i enjoy playing it but at the same time, I'm just in a "why did we have to take that decision? " "Why Gun-woo is becoming just a asshole ???" "Chae-won....*#%*"

(If you don't know what is "Single's Inferno" it's a dating show, on Netflix where single peoples goes on a island named "the inferno/hell" where there is food but the minimum, there is moment where peoples can talk, there is activity but no luxury. And there is the "Paradise" where peoples goes in "Couple" to learn more about each other like their Age, their jobs and privacy that they cannot tell on the island. And during this show they have to find love, with few peoples coming during the adventure. So more love interest possibilities)

I think that I will write a fanfiction to free my mind over what i would have prefered to happen, and why not made it as a Au of all asoiaf? The characters can came from all the time-line of the universe.

The fanfictions will be with multiple choices, so each love interest (men and woman) could be choiced with differents dates and interactions, the first chapter will be neutral with multiples choices at the end so there will be multiple chapter 2 for the differents interractions. And of course a line/road that will be in common. I will write it without describes the body of the reader (I will also post that fanfiction on Wattpad if some would prefer?)

I will have few survey (I'm not sure for the word as in french is "Sondage" and it's have multiple translations in English ^^")

The first is this one, then I will put more with the characters that you would like to see in the fanfiction.

(If you have not watch "singles inferno" and can watch it, I recommend it, as I'm not someone who love that kind of show generally, this one have hit me, so maybe you will like it too?)

Ps : I don't forgot about the smut of Daemon, it's coming 😘

Ps 2 : If someone would like to talk about this you can Dm me, I do not bite.

Ps 3 : For this kind of fanfiction I would be in need of a beta reader, not only for my orthographe, but also, so I could keep in mind all the past actions of the multiple chapters.

(I write this before any vote)

If none are interested, it's fine, if only one is interested and don't want want to interact with me, okay.

I will mostly write on my own, if none are interested

Him been in a secret relationship, with his s/o.

Him been all cuddling sweat talking with his s/o in private.

But the moment they are in public.

He don't look at his s/o, whoever if his s/o his high or low born.

He don't talk with them.

The day his s/o try to go to him, smiling at him, and asking him if they are going to meet later that day. He will just act as he don't know his s/o.

Don't have been courting them in secret during a year.

Imagine "Plush"

How could react Male character when their s/o would knit or crochet or sew a plushy when she's pregnant? She could already know how to do it, or ask a servant or her mother or aunty.

Like Maegor who have alway wanted a child, saw his last wife begining to knit/crochet/sew a plushy of baby Balerion. And after their first child, she alway do it for the next.

For Daemon it would be a little Caraxes

For the Starks it would be wolves

Without forget the others houses

Teaser Part 2 of Rage

Here is a little teaser/rough, of the middle of the part 2, this will be smut.

As I generally struggle at this, today I get over and write as it's come in my mind.

Hope you will like it ^-^

See you all when for the full part ❤️

Tag : @avalyaaa @immyowndefender

-----

Y/n watched Daemon move towards the bed, watching him lie down.

"Raise your arms above your head."

The tone of her voice was calm, her anger always present, even if diminished at the sight of Daemon naked form on her bed. Daemon wanted to protest, but raising his arms, as looking at y/n who opened a drawer and pull out leather straps. Surprised would not have been the appropriate adjective to Daemon’s feelings seeing the straps.

"You’re going to be a good husband." Y/n started tying Daemon’s wrists to the head of her bed, avoiding hurting Daemon.

Daemon tested the straps, but quickly understood that these were well attached. He noted mentally that he had to ask how it was that she had thoses. Over all know how to tie them.

Daemon shook his head slightly, before looking in the direction of his wife, who was beginning to undress. His erection was starting to hurt. The anticipation palpable. "Fuck... she is beautiful..."

Daemon growled when Y/n sat on his hips, refusing any contact between his cock and pussy. He pulled his arms but was stuck.

"No, no... first of all, you’re going to prove to me how skillful you are with your tongue."

Y/n slowly pulled up Daemon’s body, even if she didn’t want to show it. She was going to take her pure pleasure from him.

---

Imagine "Reject"

Yeah, I'm in a imagine mood lately and like all the imagine, will be write in a rush and correct later.

Can we imagine, a reader who from the first day she lay her eyes over Daemon or Maegor, she just fall in love.

She's from a small house vasal to some bigger like the Baratheons or Velaryon, etc...

She's of the same age then them and have saw them she was young, during some tournaments or feast organized by the Baratheon/Velaryon/...

She's never haved fall in love before, and didn't understand why she always smiled when seen them, wanted to heard their voices and all.

Years passed, but not the crush.

In all the years, she haved never talk to them, alway pleaded to go to the tournaments in hope to be see by them. Even if her parents where not happy with this, they go in hope to find her a suitor from a noble house in their rang.

When she was a teen, she made a favor, and walked to the tent of Daemon/Maegor, her hands sweating, her heart beating so fast she feel that it could go away from her body.

And then...

It's the heartbreak.

Daemon would look at her and begin to laugh, telling her that he have other things to do then accepting her favor, that he don't find her beautiful and refuse to take the favor of someone ugly (the reader is not ugly, Daemon want her to just go away quickly, and don't care if he hurt her)

For Maegor it would be not much different, but he would be more violent in his reject. He have alway saw her, looking at him from away and was not attracted to her, without counting that her house was not one of the big noble house of the seven kingdom's, she haved nothing to exange. Maegor was not a men of love, as he saw it as a weakness.

The two would just saw the reader going away, as she let her tears run her cheeks. Without a world. Or culpability.

If all the nobles and Viserys have to heard one theme song during the burst of reader?

Treachery. The theme of Aizen

But for Daemon?

Or "Can't get enough of your love, babe" from Barry White but at the place of love it would be hate.

Or

You're the first, my last, my everything from Barry White

@avalyaaa

Rage

Daemon x wife reader

Summary: What happens when Daemon’s wife explodes in front of everyone?

Author’s note: hello everyone, it has been several months since I wrote such a long text in such a short time. I reread the first time to correct as many mistakes as possible.

Part 2 will come soon

Tag : @avalyaaa @dc-marvel-girl96

N/h is noble house

Not that Y/n refused the idea of marriage, what she refused was to be forced to marry a stranger living on another continent. Having to make a two-month trip by boat to meet an unknown prince, if for some it would have been a fairy tale, for y/n it was the opposite.

It is true that she could not say that Daemon was ugly physically, but his behavior towards her, was lower than some commoners.

Daemon had refused to meet her, preferring to go around the taverns of King’s Landing. When Y/n heard the news of her future husband’s place of debauchery, she confronted the freshly crowned Viserys, but refrained from saying the bottom of her thoughts.

"Rumor say, that my future husband is in a place of debauchery."

"Oh don’t worry, my dear. Daemon is a man, and a man with desires and needs." Viserys' voice showed his amusement. Under the outraged gaze of Y/n and the gaze of Otto Hightower.

Yes, Otto Hightower, the hand of the king who may be trying to do his job and who understood very well the stakes of the future marriage of Y/n and Daemon.

If Y/n hoped that once married, things would work out. Reality caught up with her.

Whenever it would be at the wedding day, when Daemon looked at her with disdain, or the non-existent wedding night, during which, it was a returning guard from the city who, out of pity, confessed to her that the prince was in one of the most famous brothels and insulted her copiously with all possible words. Daemon showed only disdain towards y/n, and in all this, y/n was alone.

Alone, facing a husband who did not want her and a beautiful family that seemed more tolerating than accepting her in the royal family. Between Viserys who always made excuses for Daemon or mocked the situation, pregnant Aemma that have tried to reassure y/n even if deep down, she knowed that Daemon would not change. Rhaenys who on rare visit, did not even seem to see her. Y/n felt alone, if only the mocking came only from that side. The visiting nobles liked to make fun of her clothes, which were not the latest fashion in Westeros, but represented her kingdom. Y/n hated all the nobles, except the Starks, whom she had never met.

In all this hatred, the most came from the "pimbêche". Noble lady's who took themselves superior while they were pitiful and contemptuous.

Oh and Otto Hightower, how can we forget? Otto dreamed of seeing the marriage of Daemon and Y/n explode, that Daemon is stuck in the kingdom of Y/n and that he can never come back to Westeros. Y/n could understand Otto’s hatred of Daemon, but she didn’t give Otto a spanking, preferring not to become a pawn in the gloomy game taking place on Westeros. The Daemon case being more than enough to give her headaches.

Despite the adversity, y/n remained smiling in front of others, keeping a good figure, at home it was polite to smile softly, which she spanked at all times, even when she dreamed of throwing Daemon from the ramparts of King’s Landing, when she looked away was not due to her shyness, oh no, this technique allowed her not to cast dark glances at the many courtiers.

She could not say how, she was able to keep so calm during the years that followed. Rejected by the nobles, forced to stay in the castle, not to meet Daemon in the streets of the city. Alone against all.

5 years, it took 5 long years...

This day haved to be a day of celebration for whatever reason Viserys found good.

In the morning, the servants of Y/ n had helped her to prepare, her dress was made of a gold thread woven self, allowed to be both light and show the richness of its origins. Whether it was her accessories or the style of her hair. Everything reminded her of her home, her family, because here. That was all she had left.

---

The atmosphere was heavy, Y/n standing with a glass of wine in her hand, watching the show before her eyes.

Daemon a glass of wine in hand, whispered in the hollow ear of a blushing servant.

Viserys spoking with Lord Corlys, or rather, talked about everything and nothing so, as not to leave Corlys talking of the problems of the kingdom.

Aemma stood beside a very young Rhaenyra, a septa not far from them. Several lords looked at y/n with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. Their wives had gathered in a pack of chatterboxes, barely discreet.

"Did you see her outfit?"

"She must think that Daemon will see her."

"Or a guard..."

"She look like a slut..."

"A wild one..."

"All of them are savages."

That someone insulted her was one thing. Daemon liked to call her "My little wildling" while smiling sneakily and with a mocking voice, but that someone dares to insult her people was the breaking point.

No one could have known which was the quickest, between the glass of wine throwing at Lady Lannister or the scream of Y/n.

"Don’t insult my people, you scoundrel!"

All the people present were silent on the shots, looking in the direction of Y/n, under the shock.

"You think yourself superior to me, my people and even yours when you are just a good snake, only good at to bear children. Children who are not of your husband." Lady Lannister blushed, trying to answer but was prevented. " Oh don’t play the innocent, everyone knows you like to copulate with your husband’s guards."

Y/n pointed finger lady n/h.

"And you. You dare to make fun of my outfits while yours are made fun of by your so-called friends behind your back." One tried to escape. " Don’t move! You think you’re trying to run away?! Oh no, not today. You think yourself so superior when you know nothing about my kingdom, and how dangerous it is for Westeros."

All the nobles were put back in their places, before Y/n moved towards the Targaryen.

"Oh, you think you’re out of reach?" Y/n laughs falsely. "Viserys. King of the trash. You play deaf and blind. Not wanting to listen to the problems of your kingdom. How do you want to reign when you are not even able to put back in place your own brother. I wouldn’t be surprised if your reign ended in war."

Although Daemon did not like someone to attack his brother, he could not be against the facts. When the eyes filled with rage and hatred of y/n landed on him, he was taken with a shiver, his pants begin to seem a little small. So... this was the true nature of his wife.

"And you! Dear husband. You are the worst of all. You are a pig packing in noble fabrics. Unable to consume your own marriage, unable to talk with your own wife! Unable to show an ounce of curiosity! How can you ascend to the throne when you are no better than the most disgusting of the people in this city?!"

And so it was that the beginning, all the worst actions of Daemon were brought to light, indicating that y/n knew everything.

"Today you will behave like the husband who is destined for me." She pointed towards a door leading to the many corridors of the castle. " My chamber. Now."

She did not raise her voice, and under the surprise of all, Daemon began to walk quickly in the direction of command.

Rage

Daemon x wife reader

Summary: What happens when Daemon’s wife explodes in front of everyone?

Author’s note: hello everyone, it has been several months since I wrote such a long text in such a short time. I reread the first time to correct as many mistakes as possible.

Part 2 will come soon

Tag : @avalyaaa @dc-marvel-girl96

N/h is noble house

Not that Y/n refused the idea of marriage, what she refused was to be forced to marry a stranger living on another continent. Having to make a two-month trip by boat to meet an unknown prince, if for some it would have been a fairy tale, for y/n it was the opposite.

It is true that she could not say that Daemon was ugly physically, but his behavior towards her, was lower than some commoners.

Daemon had refused to meet her, preferring to go around the taverns of King’s Landing. When Y/n heard the news of her future husband’s place of debauchery, she confronted the freshly crowned Viserys, but refrained from saying the bottom of her thoughts.

"Rumor say, that my future husband is in a place of debauchery."

"Oh don’t worry, my dear. Daemon is a man, and a man with desires and needs." Viserys' voice showed his amusement. Under the outraged gaze of Y/n and the gaze of Otto Hightower.

Yes, Otto Hightower, the hand of the king who may be trying to do his job and who understood very well the stakes of the future marriage of Y/n and Daemon.

If Y/n hoped that once married, things would work out. Reality caught up with her.

Whenever it would be at the wedding day, when Daemon looked at her with disdain, or the non-existent wedding night, during which, it was a returning guard from the city who, out of pity, confessed to her that the prince was in one of the most famous brothels and insulted her copiously with all possible words. Daemon showed only disdain towards y/n, and in all this, y/n was alone.

Alone, facing a husband who did not want her and a beautiful family that seemed more tolerating than accepting her in the royal family. Between Viserys who always made excuses for Daemon or mocked the situation, pregnant Aemma that have tried to reassure y/n even if deep down, she knowed that Daemon would not change. Rhaenys who on rare visit, did not even seem to see her. Y/n felt alone, if only the mocking came only from that side. The visiting nobles liked to make fun of her clothes, which were not the latest fashion in Westeros, but represented her kingdom. Y/n hated all the nobles, except the Starks, whom she had never met.

In all this hatred, the most came from the "pimbêche". Noble lady's who took themselves superior while they were pitiful and contemptuous.

Oh and Otto Hightower, how can we forget? Otto dreamed of seeing the marriage of Daemon and Y/n explode, that Daemon is stuck in the kingdom of Y/n and that he can never come back to Westeros. Y/n could understand Otto’s hatred of Daemon, but she didn’t give Otto a spanking, preferring not to become a pawn in the gloomy game taking place on Westeros. The Daemon case being more than enough to give her headaches.

Despite the adversity, y/n remained smiling in front of others, keeping a good figure, at home it was polite to smile softly, which she spanked at all times, even when she dreamed of throwing Daemon from the ramparts of King’s Landing, when she looked away was not due to her shyness, oh no, this technique allowed her not to cast dark glances at the many courtiers.

She could not say how, she was able to keep so calm during the years that followed. Rejected by the nobles, forced to stay in the castle, not to meet Daemon in the streets of the city. Alone against all.

5 years, it took 5 long years...

This day haved to be a day of celebration for whatever reason Viserys found good.

In the morning, the servants of Y/ n had helped her to prepare, her dress was made of a gold thread woven self, allowed to be both light and show the richness of its origins. Whether it was her accessories or the style of her hair. Everything reminded her of her home, her family, because here. That was all she had left.

---

The atmosphere was heavy, Y/n standing with a glass of wine in her hand, watching the show before her eyes.

Daemon a glass of wine in hand, whispered in the hollow ear of a blushing servant.

Viserys spoking with Lord Corlys, or rather, talked about everything and nothing so, as not to leave Corlys talking of the problems of the kingdom.

Aemma stood beside a very young Rhaenyra, a septa not far from them. Several lords looked at y/n with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. Their wives had gathered in a pack of chatterboxes, barely discreet.

"Did you see her outfit?"

"She must think that Daemon will see her."

"Or a guard..."

"She look like a slut..."

"A wild one..."

"All of them are savages."

That someone insulted her was one thing. Daemon liked to call her "My little wildling" while smiling sneakily and with a mocking voice, but that someone dares to insult her people was the breaking point.

No one could have known which was the quickest, between the glass of wine throwing at Lady Lannister or the scream of Y/n.

"Don’t insult my people, you scoundrel!"

All the people present were silent on the shots, looking in the direction of Y/n, under the shock.

"You think yourself superior to me, my people and even yours when you are just a good snake, only good at to bear children. Children who are not of your husband." Lady Lannister blushed, trying to answer but was prevented. " Oh don’t play the innocent, everyone knows you like to copulate with your husband’s guards."

Y/n pointed finger lady n/h.

"And you. You dare to make fun of my outfits while yours are made fun of by your so-called friends behind your back." One tried to escape. " Don’t move! You think you’re trying to run away?! Oh no, not today. You think yourself so superior when you know nothing about my kingdom, and how dangerous it is for Westeros."

All the nobles were put back in their places, before Y/n moved towards the Targaryen.

"Oh, you think you’re out of reach?" Y/n laughs falsely. "Viserys. King of the trash. You play deaf and blind. Not wanting to listen to the problems of your kingdom. How do you want to reign when you are not even able to put back in place your own brother. I wouldn’t be surprised if your reign ended in war."

Although Daemon did not like someone to attack his brother, he could not be against the facts. When the eyes filled with rage and hatred of y/n landed on him, he was taken with a shiver, his pants begin to seem a little small. So... this was the true nature of his wife.

"And you! Dear husband. You are the worst of all. You are a pig packing in noble fabrics. Unable to consume your own marriage, unable to talk with your own wife! Unable to show an ounce of curiosity! How can you ascend to the throne when you are no better than the most disgusting of the people in this city?!"

And so it was that the beginning, all the worst actions of Daemon were brought to light, indicating that y/n knew everything.

"Today you will behave like the husband who is destined for me." She pointed towards a door leading to the many corridors of the castle. " My chamber. Now."

She did not raise her voice, and under the surprise of all, Daemon began to walk quickly in the direction of command.

This song traduction is "in love with my wife" and this as just pop on spotify, (I know it's a old french song)

Tomorrow will come the full part of the tease with the revolt of Daemon wife.

And this song have made me think of Daemon in this 🤣🤫

I'm writing the full part. I didn't know if the smut will be inside or in part 2 or in headcanon @dc-marvel-girl96

Here the begining 👇

Ps : I have not correct by now

Not that Y/n refused the idea of marriage, what she refused was to be forced to marry a stranger living on another continent. Having to make a two-month trip by boat to meet an unknown prince, if for some it would have been a fairy tale, for y/n it was the opposite.

It is true that she could not say that Daemon was ugly physically, but his behavior towards her, was lower than some commoners.

Daemon had refused to meet her, preferring to go around the taverns of King’s Landing. When Y/n heard the news of her future husband’s place of debauchery, she confronted the freshly crowned Viserys, but refrained from saying the bottom of her thoughts.

"Rumor say, that my future husband is in a place of debauchery."

"Oh don’t worry, my dear. Daemon is a man, and a man with desires and needs." Viserys' voice showed his amusement. Under the outraged gaze of Y/n and the gaze of Otto Hightower.

Yes, Otto Hightower, the hand of the king who may be trying to do his job and who understood very well the stakes of the future marriage of Y/n and Daemon.

If Y/n hoped that once married, things would work out. Reality caught up with her.

Imagine

(I write this in a rush from my mind before i forgot it. English is not my mother tongue and I will probably correct later)

Daemon who was forced to marry a noble woman, this noble woman would have been send to king's landing without chance of going back home. During the first year's of marriage she alway smile talk softly, look almost shy.

But deep down, she's like a lion in cage, she hate been in king's landing. It's not her home and everything and everyone remain her this. The first of all Daemon.

Daemon who have not consume the marriage, preferring to pass the night with whores. Alway mocking her.

Until

She snap.

During a day of celebration, she heard the mockries of the nobles lady's. Daemon who flirt with a servant and no Targaryen on her side.

She screamed, she screamed her hate. Her truth.

"Oh you can shut up Lannister! Your husband is well know to cheat on you! You feel yourself better then me, but at least I don't do as it's not exist! And you lady (find a name) you are as (any similarity of body) then me, and your husband mock you in your back!"

This was just the begining, as all she screamed against the nobles, she let down her walls of the perfect smiling and shy wife. She was finally free, and she will not let Daemon win, even less the rest of Westeros.

(We know that secretly Daemon is turn on by this side of his wife 🤫)

The full part is born, here

I have never think that I would have loved Gregor Clegane things. But this... sweet good, it was so good.

Good work dear Autor 👍 🫶

*slides over* heyaaaa how you doin? hope your doin great:], could i possibly ask for a gregor c fic maybe a smut maybe a fluff(possibly a continuation of the fic with the kids), okkkk now bye bye love ya!!❤

Warm Embraces and Warmer Beds

NSFW!!

Any and all characters depicted in NSFW pieces are of legal age. All characters are also consenting (Unless specificed by piece)

CONTENT: SMUT (underneath cut)- dub!con, Fingering, PinV, reunion! sex- Language, vague mentions of war + blood (it’s Westeros), discussions of SW

Big Greg… You know what you’re getting in to.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Hey my pookies. Another day, another request, more regrets. Mistakes have been made, but I will do anything for my self-indulgent fics about a big ass man who’d probably turn me into a pavement pancake if we met irl (🤤)

Anyway…

Live long, prosper… I guess.

P.S. Als at some point (over) 50 of you silly geeses decided to drop a follow, so thank you sm my babies. I love you all.

I really need a Masterlist…

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

To be married to a knight- Especially one who boasts his own keep- Is something most ladies of your standing can only dream of. Most low, noble girls are thrown off to a favoured squire, to old men and their older books, who couldn’t be bothered to find themselves a wife until it was much too late. But you? You are lucky. Your husband is feared, truly feared, you have no jealous lordlings come to take your land, and no threat to you, or your boys. Gregor Clegane is a name known across the Kingdoms, and you, as sweet Lady Clegane, are his responsibility. Not even the Lannister bannermen ask for voluntary contribution when they come for the tithes. You need nothing, and you are asked for even less.

But there are always sacrifices to be made. It is part of womanhood; the men hunt and drink and fuck as they see fit, and you are left to pick up the pieces, and tend to their wounds. You have never minded, though, Gregor is a sweetheart when he returns, like a kicked puppy, demanding a hot meal and a kiss to his cuts. His duty is to guard, and yours is to nurture, that is how it has always been.

It is not uncommon for he, Tywin’s greatest weapon, to spend months away from you. He is a knight, and that is how knights serve their lords. He leaves you with everything you could need and more in his absence: control over his land, his keep and, his prized possessions, your boys. Ronan and Finny are old enough to understand their expectations as the heir, and the spare, to the Clegane household. Armed with wooden swords and a promise to protect their lady mother, and the small, pink sack of flesh they call a baby brother. Something in you is glad they still idolise their father’s profession, that their heads are still filled with the notions of saving princesses and slaying dragons.

Still, even excitable little boys grow restless after so long without their father. There is a hush over the keep, and the land, and it is almost peaceful; not that it could truly manage it, with Gregor at its helm, but it is nice to see the pheasants running about, when the men are too busy fighting to hunt them down. One runs past, chased by a kitchen cat, in turn chased by Ronan. You grab him before he can reach the animals, he has a habit of staging races, and annoying the gamekeeper with the scratches across the lawns. The boy squeals, as he always does, caught in the act.

“Mama?”

Ronan is placated with a book and one of the very old, very fat cats he has no interest in racing. The thing, titled ‘lazy arse’ by Gregor, affectionately or not, sits across your son, with the bored expression you’d expect from the child himself. He, with his pages open at an illustration of the Valyrian dragons burning each other, is enjoying himself immensely. At least, you think, his studies are partially educational.

“Mh?"

“When’s Daddy coming back?”

You sigh, looking out the window as though the mustard banners would appear at any moment. You don’t know, in truth, Gregor could be a mile away, or halfway across the world, and it wouldn’t make that much of a difference. Dead, or alive, or turned into a beast of cool flesh and ice, the distance is about the same no matter how you think about it, and double so for your boys. 

“I don’t know, sweet boy,” That’s all you can find yourself able to tell him. He looks at you, shrugs, and goes back to his book. You are glad he is not a girl, a girl would ask more questions, Ronan has always been happy with the simple. 

It is relatively calm, it always is on nights like these. Finny is beyond himself, refusing to go to bed, as always, and the babe is unreasonably fussy for no particular reason. Still, it is near surreally quiet. You do not know much about war, but you know what it sounds like, and in your world, it sounds like silence. Something in you tells you to let the boys sleep in your bed, instead of forcing them into the room the clearly do not want to go in. Finny is light, easy enough for you to lift up and plop on Gregor’s side, Ronan, with slightly more stamina, follows along beside you. 

The night has no major disasters, the babe is taken off by the nursemaids, and you wake to the sunlight streaming in through the window, you must have forgotten to pull the curtains, the staff would not have come in this early. Or perhaps they did; there is a bundle of daffodils upon your dresser, which you are certain were not there when you retired for the evening. Erra, one of your few handmaidens, enjoys making little displays, you assume she has snuck in some time before dawn to place them.

And then you hear it, those footsteps. No man alive can imitate the heavy, dull thud of them, you know it all too well. It stirs the boys, or, more likely, they were already awake, you aren’t particularly sure. You see the shadows change as the door opens, and you can recognise from the size of it alone who stands before you. 

“You awake?”

The response you give is somewhere between a hum and a groan, not quite aware enough to answer him, yet enough to know he’s there. You can hardly move, both for sleep, and the fact that Finny has clambered across your chest at some point in the night, but he still knows. He always knows.

Gregor trundles in, washed and dressed in his nightshirt. You wonder where he slept, surely not beside you, you are certain he would have woken you, or the boys, getting himself into bed. The light blocks most of his face, but he moves with such power you assume he has no injuries. If he does, he is good at hiding them. When he reaches the bed, he pulls the quilts away from you, and you make a noise of complaint for the cold, even if the day itself is reasonably warm. Gregor pulls Finny from your chest, and Ronan from your side, and lifts them up, into his arms, and you are quickly reunited with your warm blankets. You hear one of the boys stir, though unsure which, and he is shushed by Gregor as they leave. For once, they may sleep in their own beds.

Your husband, your Mountain, returns to your side, and climbs into your bed. He is as warm as he left you, and just as willing to wrap you in his embraces. You feel the urge to go back to sleep, to rest in his arms as though he had never gone in the first place, and it is wonderful.

But of course, it is never that simple.

Big hands find your sides, sliding under your nightdress and scraping your bare thighs underneath. Gregor lifts you just slightly, enough so that when he bends his legs, you sit directly upon his lap. You make some sort of noise, some demonstration of complaint, but he has never listened, and he will not start now. 

The first kiss you receive, after months of doing without, goes softly to the plumped skin of your cheek. Warm, and smooth and uncharacteristically delicate, like something you would dream of. Part of you wonders if this is, truly, a dream, as Gregor rocks you back and forth, hands seeking grip on the flat surface of the meat of your thighs. And he does not stop there, he hasn’t stopped a day in his life. 

He grazes you, cool, rugged hands taking their place against soft, fattened skin. You wonder how many nights he has spent alone with his hands in the past months, just as you have. He would never take a whore, he tells you, he can’t be bothered with the effort. But you are no whore, you are soft, and delicate, and willing. 

It doesn’t much matter if the noise you make is of protest or of enjoyment. You are tired, and growing increasingly wet, and this seems to spur him even more. 

“Missed this…”

He murmurs against your skin, pinching fingers pulling up the skirts of your nightdress, so your bare arse rests upon those heavy, muscled thighs, sharp with a thousand tiny, black hairs. It shocks you, just enough for you to register it, but not so that you are fully awake.

You feel his cock immediately, of course you do. Its length, its width. He is a big man, and he has no lack of knowledge towards its usage. Even from within the confines of his nightshirt its outline is visible, and you are almost ashamed of the sudden desire which washes over you. At any other point you would feign shame, you would blush and whimper. But here, and now, there is only so much longing you can hold back. 

Gregor’s great hands come up to caress your face, and he almost laughs,

“You’re drooling, love,” His thumb swipes at your bottom lip, and you resist the urge to bite, to show him you are in no mood for teasing, but you are certain your reward will come soon.

And it does, as always. In his usual fashion, the hands come first. Pinches become long, deliberate waves of touch, and there is the understanding that all of his play, his teasing, has ceased. He wants what he wants, and he wants your cunt.

In your sleep-addled state, and probably in his fully lucid reality, it is gentle and sweeter than usual. Perhaps he is being deliberately gentle to aid your fragile mind, or, more likely, he knows you have forgotten just how big he truly is, and a broken wife is just about as good as no wife at all.

One hand keeps itself firmly upon your hip, in case you slip and slide away from him, as the other caresses your inner thighs, and, when he is satisfied you can handle it, to the true purpose of his invasions. 

He has never let you enjoy his hands solely for long, and this shall be no different. For such a big man, Gregor is shockingly agile in this regard, fumbling steps and harsh palms becoming light touches against your clit. At this time, in this situation, he doesn’t dare venture any further than the surface. From his grunts and, dare you say it, his whines, you can tell he may not last particularly long, the consequence of months away from you, you suppose. 

“Hey, hey- Sleepy girl,”

Gregor’s hands leave your body, and you find yourself pressed once again to the soft, inviting flesh of the mattress, still warm. The semi-shock you experience as your arse touches the cool air is dulled, instantly, as the big man pats it gently. Your hips are lifted, and he puts his own pillow beneath you, warm.

“Have you just the way you like, yeah?”

You affirm, face pushed into your own cushion. You can hardly breathe, but with the delicious tension, it doesn’t really matter. 

And it comes, just as you expected it, perhaps more than you expected it. You see only darkness, but you feel so much more. He moves with poorly veiled desire, a necessity to touch you as only he can. You are his and, more importantly, he is yours, all yours. After all, who else is he taking with such delicate fervour?

You are kissed, you are held, and you are loved. Gregor’s cock finds its way, with simple instinct, to your cunt, and you wince and whine. He had expected it, of course, and gets no more than the tip into you before he has to stop. Not the desired reaction, but the realistic one.

“Shh, shh…” It seems a foreign sound for such a harsh creature. To hush, to comfort, “That’s my girl…”

You keen, your hips shift upwards and you let him in further, despite the uncomfortable stretching. You have always loved his praise, always loved to be his sweet, good, wife. 

Gregor’s movements are gentle. When he takes you like this, after months apart, he allows himself to be gentle. He is your returned knight, your handsome, precious husband, and there is a time and a place for him to be the Mountain. Now, here, is not that place.

When he is certain you are comfortable, that it is not too much, he helps you sit yourself between his cock and your hand. Big fingers return to your clit, and he almost laughs as you squeal, the sudden stimulation, apparently, a shock to the system.

And, naturally, it does not take particularly long for him to reap the rewards of this uncharacteristic gentleness, as you let out your long, low moans, muffled by your face pressed into the cushions, and he feels you clench around him. It is something he has longed for, there is nothing quite like it, and it always brings forth his own finish.

So he does. Thick and hot, everything you might expect from a man of that stature, with such a glorious cock. The world does not give you many pleasures, nor does it anyone, but to be here, warm and filled, is certainly a pleasure worth noting. 

Gregor stays in you, he likes to stay in you. In his brooding moments he likes to say it helps a child come forth, but you aren’t quite sure of the legitimacy to that claim. Not that it matters. You see the sunlight again, staring out your bedroom window with a wall of flesh at your back. And it is beautiful. 

He has killed men, you know that, he will have rampaged through the Vale, or wherever it was he had been sent, destroying everything in his path and laughing as he did it. You see his great breastplate stained with blood, and the image turns you in some, not entirely unpleasant way. But you say nothing, you are too tired for a second round, and your Mountain seems to have spent his energy.

Later, once you are suitably cleaned of all remnants of your adventures, and Gregor is both awake and dressed, you sit around the table, the boys clinging to their father and desperate for tales of their father’s quests around Westeros. Not much of it is suitable for children, you gather.

They spend all day play-fighting, with their swords, and insist that you must watch, to referee, and you must give your favours to both of them, because every knight has their favours. They, as little knights-to-be, are satisfied by leaves you pick from the ground.

Finny wins, to everyone’s amazement, and as his reward is given first pick of pudding. Not substantial by any means, but enough to satisfy a small boy with a love of blackberries. Everyone is happy, all is content, and Gregor fits back into the family with no trouble, making your boys cringe as he kisses you before supper is served. You deserve your rewards too, after all.

This must have been terrifying for Aegon and quicksilver, facing Balerion 😨

⚔️Battle beneath the Gods Eye⚔️

The fight for the Iron Throne between King Maegor I Targaryen and his nephew Aegon the Uncrowned, the Prince of Dragonstone, where they faced both their dragons, Balerion and young Quicksilver.

Of course she didn't stand much of a chance against the Black Dread himself... 

😍

Post-resurrection Maegor

Next fanfictions in a more or less not know time of publication. (It can take a week like it can take a month to be post) if I don't write that the reader is specifically a chubby/plus size reader, didn't mean that I have not think of the reader as it, I would have just not write about the body description. So it could be more open for "fit/normal" body and chubby/plus size body. As I have never write about the skin color or the hair of the reader in my past fanfictions.

La liste :

-Daemon x wife reader who is loved by the commoners.

-Maegor x adopted sister reader.

-Daemon x reader x Maegor. There will be a little of magic in it.

-Sfw/nsfw alphabet for different characters.

See you all soon

Imagine

Ps : English is not my birth tongue

(I have made some modifications in the imagine)

Imagine a modern AU, where the characters from game of throne, house of the dragon and a song of ice and fire, are just nerd. Where the events of got/hotd/asoiaf are legend or myth.

The skulls of the dragons haved been found, where there is a museum with them in it.

Some are more or less well know in the geek universe and the reader have developed a crush on one of them? Or even multiple of them.

As other character would have been in more artistic, they paint, sculpt and all.

Others are in business, etc...

Reader have just seen them once from far, and she/he/they (the reader) know that this crush is not logical, that she/he/they will never meet one or multiple of them. She/he/they repeat in their mind that this will never happen.

I can imagine reader having a huge crush over Daemon, (he's some kind of ceo, and have a huge community on social media) she/he/they have seen on his social media a lot of his content with woman/men's who don't look like the reader, When reader will find the courage to go to a meet up to meet him, she/he/they will see that Daemon is in a relationship with this superbe woman/men who look like Rhaenyra/male Rhaenyra. So reader just walk away before been see. Her/his/their heart would beat as fast then after running for a marathon.

For Maegor (know for his fighting post on social media) and Aegon II it would be like for Daemon but the two of them are well know to f*ck with their "fans" and reader who is just shy, have put their best outfits and are just laughed away, no difference if she/he/they are fit or on the chubby/plus size side.

Jacaerys, Baelon, Gwayne, Harwin, John Snow and Aegon I would feel awkward when meeting with reader, and try to calm her/him/them, and be kind in their reject.

Daenerys and Laenor who would not be into the gender of the reader.

Rhaenyra who would be in a relationship with Harwin. (Yes with Harwin)

The social media who would not help the crush as reader would see content from the character pop when she/he/they connect.

And so much more possibility

If you have read until there, thank you.

It would be great to have a little comment even a anonymous about what you think about this imagine what you would add to it, it could be little or not well write it's okay, just to have a little of interraction,

If you don't that right too,

I wish you a good day before begining to write the Daemon x wife reader fanfiction

Earenwen🌸

I have two ideas of fanfictions in mind.

The first is a Daemon x wife reader. Where Daemon wife is like the light for the small folks, when Daemon was a gold cloak. She alway heard them when Viserys just do is live without hearing about the worry of the small folk, and she's just super cute with the Targaryen bastards.

Second is a Maegor x adopted sister reader. Where the reader as a baby would have survived the destruction of her village, like she was bathing in the flames without been hurt, so Aegon adopted her. She's raised with Maegor and Aenys, she love the two but love even more Maegor, who alway protect her. And seen how their dynamic evolve, like the day Maegor was forced to wed to Hightower. How reader react to Tyanna and all

So...

The King and His Heir

Maegor and Aerea.

Art by @novembermorgon. For my fic, The King and His Heir.

queen visenya and teenage maegor.

[ Sons of The Dragon ]

—

reupload

Wow... Maegor, Daemon and Aegon I🔥🔥🔥

HOTD Characters when you posted something that angered them on instagram.

a/n : with their revenge.

Aegon :

Aegon wasn’t just jealous—he was seething.

He hadn’t been paying much attention to his phone, probably nursing a drink or sprawled out on his bed in boredom, when his notifications started going off. Dozens of messages, tags, and mentions, all leading back to one thing.

Your post.

The second he saw it, his entire body tensed. His fingers gripped the phone so tightly he nearly cracked the screen.

You were practically naked. The lighting was teasing, the pose deliberate—bare skin, just barely covered, revealing far too much. His mouth went dry, his jaw locked, and his pulse spiked with something dark and possessive.

And then, the comments.

“I think I just died and went to heaven.”

“No way you’re single posting this.”

“You’re actually cruel for this.”

“Let me take you out, I’ll treat you better than he ever could.”

Aegon snapped.

His tongue pressed hard against his cheek, his breathing slow and measured—forced control. Every part of him burned. The thought of other men looking at you like this, imagining things they had no right to—it made his vision blur with rage.

Did you want this? Were you trying to make him lose it? Because if so, congratulations. It worked.

His hands were shaking as he opened your messages.

Aegon: What the fuck is wrong with you?

Aegon: Take it down. NOW.

Seconds passed. No response.

His jaw ticked, his heart pounding. He could already see you smirking at your phone, enjoying this.

Aegon: Do you think this is funny? You think I’ll just sit back while you let every desperate asshole on the internet drool over you?

Another moment of silence.

And then—

Aegon: Fine. You don’t want to listen? Then I’m coming to you.

He didn’t care where you were, who you were with. This wasn’t going to be solved over text. If you thought you could push him, make him jealous, tease him like this—

You were about to find out exactly what jealous Aegon Targaryen really looked like.

Aegon Revenge :

THE INTERNET WAS NOT READY.

People had barely survived your last stunt.

And then—

He ended them.

A video.

Dim lighting. A massive, ornate mirror reflecting everything.

You—completely bare, wrapped in Aegon’s arms, your back pressed flush against his chest. His grip on your thighs, fingers digging in as he held you up, your body rocking against him.

And then—

Him.

Silver hair messy, sweat dripping down his bare chest. His lips bruised, parted, his eyes half-lidded—but focused. Locked on the mirror. On you. On himself.

He didn’t even turn off the sound.

Your whimpers. His low groans. The sound of skin against skin.

And then—his voice. Rough. Arrogant. Possessive.

“Let them watch. Let them know exactly who you belong to.”

And the caption?

“You’ll never be me. You’ll never have her.”

THE INTERNET? DESTROYED.

The guys:

“What the actual fuck?”

“No way. NO WAY. I refuse.”

“Delete this right now, Aegon, I’m not joking.”

“BLOCKED. REPORTED. SOBBING.”

“She was supposed to be ours. OURS, YOU BASTARD.”

“First, she posts that picture, now THIS? Haven’t we suffered enough?”

“Aegon. BRO. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.”

“This wasn’t just a flex. This was a declaration of war.”

“Bro didn’t even try to be subtle. Just straight-up ruined us.”

“I WAS LIVING A PEACEFUL LIFE, AEGON.”

“I can’t even be mad. He won. He fucking won.”

The Girls:

“This is the most disrespectful thing I have ever seen, and I need more.”

“The mirror. The hand placement. The fucking arrogance. I’m unwell.”

“HOW DO I SIGN UP FOR THIS LIFE.”

“He knows he’s that guy, and he’s making sure we do too.”

“Aegon is actually dangerous because why is this so hot??”

“This should be illegal. In every country. And yet I can’t look away.”

Meanwhile, Aegon?

He was smirking, watching the absolute chaos in the comments, lazily scrolling, completely unbothered.

And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Cope. She’s screaming my name, not yours.”

With that—

The internet was officially incinerated.

Aemond :

Aemond rarely paid attention to social media. It was a distraction, a meaningless void filled with people desperate for attention. But when his phone buzzed relentlessly—notifications flooding in, people tagging him, sending him something over and over—he knew something was wrong.

Then he saw it.

Your post.

His entire body went rigid. His grip on the phone tightened, fingers twitching against the screen as his eye locked onto the image.

You were practically naked.

The dim lighting barely concealed you, your pose deliberate, teasing, calculated. It left just enough to the imagination while making it painfully obvious what you wanted people to see.

And judging by the comments, it was working.

“You’re actually a goddess.”

“This is illegal. It has to be.”

“I need a minute. Maybe an hour. Maybe my whole life.”

“If he doesn’t wife you after this, I will.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His chest burned with something vicious, a white-hot fury that spread through his veins like wildfire.

Who the fuck did these men think they were? Speaking like this—like they even had the right to look at you, let alone imagine more.

His breathing was slow, controlled, forced—because if he let himself fully feel this, he’d break something.

He opened your messages, his fingers moving before he could even think.

Aemond: Take it down.

No response.

His teeth ground together, his patience already paper-thin. He could feel you smirking at your phone, waiting, pushing him.

Aemond: Now.

Still nothing.

A dangerous heat flickered behind his eye. His grip on the phone was dangerous now, his mind already racing with possibilities.

Aemond: You think this is a game? You think I’ll just sit back while you let every desperate bastard in the world stare at what’s mine?

His lips curled into a sneer as he refreshed your post, seeing the numbers climb—more likes, more comments, more eyes on you.

Fine. If you wanted attention, he was about to give it to you.

Aemond: You’re going to regret this.

And before he even gave you a chance to answer, he sent one last message.

Aemond: I’m coming to you. Right now.

You wanted to test him? To push him to the edge? You were about to see exactly what happened when Aemond Targaryen is jealous.

Aemond revenge :

The Internet Was Not Just Broken—It Was Destroyed.

Aemond had been quiet lately. Too quiet.

People should have known he was plotting.

And then—

He dropped the video.

Dark sheets. Low lighting. Your body sprawled against his bed, wrists tied above your head, satin bindings digging into your skin.

And then—

His hand.

Slow. Intentional. Inside your cunt.

Aemond wasn’t even looking at the camera—his gaze was locked on you. Sharp. Unrelenting. His lips curled into something dangerous as he watched you struggle beneath him.

And then—his voice. Low. Rough. Possessive.

“They can watch. But they’ll never touch.”

And the caption?

“Don’t bother fantasizing. She’s already ruined for anyone else.”

The Internet? Utterly Incinerated.

The Guys:

“I can’t keep doing this, bro.”

“AEMOND. THIS WAS NOT NECESSARY.”

“This wasn’t even a flex. This was pure domination.”

“I was a happy man. Now I’m in hell.”

“He could have just hinted at it. But no. He had to prove it.”

“What the actual fuck is this??”

“I just dropped to my knees in Walmart.”

“I need time to process. Maybe a lifetime.”

“WHO ALLOWED THIS???”

“No way. NO WAY. I refuse to accept this reality.”

“This is actually a hate crime"

The Girls:

“The hand placement. The bindings. I actually feel pain.”

“Aemond Targaryen is actually disrespectful for this.”

“I don’t know whether to cry, scream, or book a one-way flight to his bed.”

“The way he’s just watching her struggle—I am NOT OKAY.”

“WHO GAVE HIM THE RIGHT??”

“I hate her. I love her. I want to be her.”

“The fact that he tied her up and still made sure to show off?? I need a moment.”

Meanwhile, Aemond?

Unbothered. Probably sipping wine, watching men suffer, knowing no one could ever take you from him.

And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Cry harder. She’s not leaving my bed.”

With that—

The internet was officially annihilated.

Jace :

Jace wasn’t the type to obsess over social media. He didn’t scroll mindlessly or waste time checking comments. But when his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when his notifications were flooded with messages, tags, and people sending him something over and over—he knew something was up.

Then he saw it.

And everything else faded.

You. Practically naked. The lighting was soft, shadows barely concealing you. The way you posed, the way your skin was on full display—every inch of the picture was deliberate.

And the comments?

“Holy fucking shit.”

“No way in hell Jace is letting this slide.”

“You’re actually unreal.”

“If you ever need someone to treat you better… just say the word, baby.”

Jace’s jaw locked. His grip on the phone tightened so hard his knuckles went white.

His chest burned—jealousy, rage, something dark and possessive twisting deep in his gut. Did you want this attention? Were you enjoying the way these men spoke to you, the way they looked at you? Did you forget who you belonged to?

His vision blurred as he opened your messages, his fingers moving before he could think.

Jace: Take it down. Now.

Nothing.

His knee bounced, jaw ticking as he refreshed your page, watching the numbers climb. More likes. More comments. More eyes on you.

Jace: Don’t make me repeat myself.

Still nothing.

His tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheek, his blood boiling. He knew you were doing this on purpose. Testing him. Pushing him.

Jace: You think this is funny? Letting every desperate asshole in the world think they have a chance?

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair before sending one last message.

Jace: Fine. You don’t want to listen? I’m coming to you.

Because if you thought you could make him jealous, make him furious, and just get away with it?

You were about to learn exactly what happened when Jace Velaryon snapped.

Jace Revenge :

The Internet Was NOT Okay.

People were still recovering from the last time you posted something that had them spiraling—

And then he ruined lives all over again.

A video.

Low, moody lighting. The golden glow of a bedside lamp casting soft shadows over your bare back, your skin flushed, the smooth curve of your spine on full display.

And then—

His hand.

Fingers twisting in your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your head back, exposing the slope of your neck, the sharp inhale that followed.

His other hand—out of frame, but you could feel it.

The video was silent, except for the sound of breathing—his and yours, deep, uneven, filled with undeniable tension.

And the caption?

“Mine.”

The Internet? SHATTERED.

The Guys:

“Jace, bro. What the fuck.”

“This is personal. I feel personally attacked.”

“Nah. This is war.”

"BLOCKED. REPORTED. UNFOLLOWED.”

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m logging out forever.”

“This is actually illegal. I’m calling the police.”

“Jace, be honest… was this necessary? Was it??”

“I just threw my phone across the room. I can’t look at this.”

“Bro really said ‘you thought you had a chance?’ and ended us all.”

“At least let me heal from the last post first, damn.”

The Girls:

“That hand placement? That possessiveness? Yeah, I’m in pain.”

“Jace Velaryon is the standard. I’m sorry.”

“The hand in the hair. The bare back. The silence. Yeah, I’m not okay.”

“HOW DO I APPLY TO BE HER?”

“The way he’s handling her like that… this is too much.”

“I will never get over this. Ever.”

“Who gave him the right to post something like this?”

Meanwhile, Jace?

Completely unbothered. Probably smirking, watching the chaos unfold, scrolling through the absolute meltdown happening in his comments.

And just to ruin them further, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Don’t be jealous. She’s right where she belongs.”

With that—

The internet was officially in ruins.

Daemon :

Daemon wasn’t a man who checked social media often. He didn’t care for it. But when his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when people kept sending him something, tagging him, warning him—he knew something was wrong.

Then he saw it.

And the world around him went silent.

It was you. Practically naked.

Soft lighting, shadows teasing just enough to make the image dangerous. The way you posed—deliberate, taunting, meant to provoke.

And the comments?

“I need a moment. Or a lifetime.”

“She’s actually unreal.”

“Daemon’s done for. There’s no way he’s letting this slide.”

“If he won’t treat you right, just know my DMs are open, .”

His fingers curled around his phone, grip tightening until the device creaked.

His jaw clenched, his breathing slow and controlled—because if he let himself fully feel this, if he let the jealousy and rage take hold, he would break something.

Or someone.

You were his. And yet, here you were, putting yourself on display for every desperate, pathetic fool to see. Did you enjoy this? The attention? The way they drooled over you?

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he opened your messages.

Daemon: Delete it. Now.

Nothing.

His nostrils flared, his lips pressing into a thin line. He refreshed the page—saw the likes climbing, the comments piling up. More eyes on you. More men thinking they had a chance.

Daemon: I won’t ask again.

Still, no response.

His vision blurred at the edges, his pulse pounding hard in his ears. He didn’t need to guess what you were doing—smirking at your phone, waiting, pushing him.

Fine. You wanted to play this game?

He sent one last message.

Daemon: I hope you had your fun. Because I’m coming to you. And when I get there, you’re going to regret making me jealous.

If you thought you could tease him, taunt him, make him seethe like this and get away with it—

You were about to learn exactly what happened when Daemon Targaryen snapped.

Daemon Revenge :

The Internet Was Not Ready.

People were barely breathing after the last time you pulled a stunt—

And then, he ended them.

A video.

Steam curled in the dimly lit bathroom, water cascading down your bare skin. Your body, glistening under the soft glow, was pressed firmly against the fogged-up glass.

And then—

Daemon.

His hand, wrapped around your wrists, pinning them behind your back. His body, completely covering yours, silver hair damp, clinging to his skin.

He wasn’t looking at the camera—he was looking at you.

His lips ghosted along your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as his voice—low, smug, downright sinful—rumbled against your ear:

“Go on, love. Tell them how badly you want me.”

And the caption?

"Try harder. She’s not going anywhere."

The Internet? Decimated.

The Guys:

“THIS IS A CRIME AGAINST HUMANITY.”

“I am NOT okay. This is NOT okay.”

“You didn’t just flex. You obliterated us.”

“Daemon, bro, was this NECESSARY???”

“The way he claimed her, I—no, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Just say you hate us and go.”

“I actually felt physical pain watching this.”

“Daemon, bro. This was unnecessary.”

“HE’S NOT EVEN FLEXING—HE’S JUST OWNING US.”

“This man has no mercy. ZERO.”

“I would literally sell my soul to trade places with him.”

The Girls:

“I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY.”

“The way he’s just holding her there like that… I need to go outside.”

“Hands behind her back??? IN THE SHOWER??? I am ACTUALLY in pain.”

“That hand placement… I’m unwell.”

“You’re telling me she gets to live this life for FREE?”

“Daemon is disrespectful for this and I love it.”

“The way he’s handling her… yeah, I’m done.”

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen and I will never recover.”

Meanwhile, Daemon?

He was grinning, scrolling through the utter destruction he left in his wake, watching the internet collectively lose its mind.

And just to make it worse, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Tell me again how you had a chance?”

With that—

The internet was officially in ruins.

Luke :

Luke was never the jealous type. He was sweet, easygoing—never the one to start fights, never the one to lose his temper.

But when he saw your post?

That soft, kindhearted boy? Gone.

His breath caught in his throat as his grip tightened around his phone, fingers pressing into the edges so hard the plastic nearly cracked. His jaw clenched, his heartbeat hammering in his chest.

You.

Barely covered, skin on full display, your gaze sultry, teasing—like you knew exactly what you were doing.

And the comments.

“This is my Roman Empire.”

“Imagine waking up next to her every morning.”

“Luke is too soft for this, he ain’t doing what needs to be done.”

“If Luke won’t handle her, I will.”

“She doesn’t belong to just one man. She’s for us.”

His vision blurred with rage. Us? The fuck do they mean, us? Did they really think they had a chance? That they could talk about you like this?

He immediately opened your messages, his breathing sharp, his fingers moving fast.

Luke: Take it down. Now.

Nothing.

His nostrils flared. He refreshed the post—saw the likes climbing, the comments piling up.

Luke: I’m serious.

Still nothing.

His patience? Gone. His normally warm, easygoing demeanor? Shattered.

You thought this was funny, didn’t you? You were pushing him, testing him.

Fine.

His next message was short.

Luke: Keep playing, love. But when I see you, don’t bother acting innocent. You wanted my attention? You’ve got it.

And Luke Velaryon?

He never let things slide.

Luke Revenge :

The internet collapsed.

People were barely breathing after your last post, still clawing their way back to sanity—

And then Luke decided to ruin lives.

A video.

Dim lighting, tangled sheets, the heavy sound of breathing filling the air. The camera was shaky, intimate—Luke wasn’t filming for them, he was filming for himself.

And then—

Your voice.

A broken, breathless moan of his name, soft, needy, wrecked.

And in the background?

Luke.

Smirking.

The angle barely caught him—just a glimpse of his sweat-slicked skin, the possessive grip of his hands on your waist. His voice, low, teasing, barely above a whisper:

“Louder, love. Let them know exactly who you belong to.”

And the caption?

"I don’t hear them laughing now."

The Internet Was NOT Okay.

The Guys:

“Nah. This ain’t right.”

“Luke, bro, please, have some mercy.”

“I can’t breathe. I actually can’t breathe.”

“I was having a good day.”

“I need everyone to stop what they’re doing and just process this.”

“He knew what he was doing. And I hate him for it.”

The Girls:

“I am actually going to scream.”

“Luke Velaryon is disrespectful.”

“She is so lucky and I hate it here.”

“I need what she has. IMMEDIATELY.”

“He really had to flex like this? On today of all days?”

Meanwhile, Luke?

He was grinning, scrolling through the absolute carnage in his comments, watching men and women completely unravel.

And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Jealous? You should be.”

With that—

The internet was officially deceased.

Margor :

Maegor didn’t do social media. He barely tolerated its existence. But when his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when people kept sending him something with messages that ranged from “Bro, you need to handle this” to “LMAO, she’s testing you”—he finally checked.

And his blood boiled.

It was you.

Practically naked.

Soft lighting, shadows teasing every dangerous curve, your expression taunting—as if you knew exactly what you were doing. As if you wanted to drive men insane.

And the comments.

“This is a religious experience.”

“If Maegor won’t handle you, I will.”

“She’s too stunning to be owned by just one man.”

“She belongs to the people now.”

“Maegor is somewhere flipping tables right now.”

His grip tightened around his phone, fingers curling so hard the device nearly cracked. His chest heaved as he breathed through his nose, his jaw locked so tight it ached.

You were his. And yet, here you were, putting yourself on display for every desperate, pathetic fool to see. Did you enjoy this? The attention? The way they lusted after you?

He opened your messages, his anger controlled—for now.

Maegor : The fuck you thinking?

Maegor: Delete it. Now.

Nothing.

His nostrils flared, his patience already threadbare. He refreshed the page—saw the likes climbing, the comments piling up. More eyes on you. More men thinking they had a chance.

Maegor: I won’t ask again.

Still, no response.

His vision darkened at the edges, his rage sinking deep into his bones. He could already see you smirking at your phone, waiting, pushing him.

Fine. You wanted to play this game?

His next message was short.

Maegor: I hope you enjoyed your little show. Because when I get to you, you’re going to learn exactly what happens when you make me jealous.

And when Maegor Targaryen snapped—

There was no escaping him.

Maegor Revenge :

The Internet Was Not Just Broken—It Was Obliterated.

No one was prepared. No one even had time to brace themselves.

Because Maegor Targaryen?

He didn’t just post—he declared war.

A video.

Dim lighting. A massive, gilded mirror reflecting the carnage behind it. Your body—wrecked, ruined, utterly claimed—pressed against the cold glass, your bare skin glistening with sweat.

And then—

Him.

Towering over you, still inside you, his broad hands gripping your hips so tightly there would be bruises—his bruises.

He didn’t even bother hiding his face.

Silver hair wild, lips parted, gaze locked on the mirror, watching himself own you in every way imaginable.

And then—his voice. Low, dark, dangerous.

“Let them watch.”

And the caption?

"You’ll never be me."

The Internet? Dead on Arrival.

The Guys:

“I have never been more jealous of a man in my entire life.”

“Maegor, please, have some HUMAN DECENCY.”

“This wasn’t a flex. This was a public execution.”

“I was happy. I was living my life. And now? I have to deal with this.”

“He’s not even trying to be humble. He’s just taunting us.”

“You know what? I’m logging off. I can’t do this today.”

The Girls:

“I’m actually feral right now.”

“HOW DO I APPLY TO BE HER.”

“The way he’s just holding her there like she’s nothing—I need a moment.”

“THIS COULD HAVE BEEN AN EMAIL, MAEGOR.”

“I can’t even hate. She’s living my dream.”

“This is the hottest thing I have ever seen. And I hate that I will never recover from it.”

Meanwhile, Maegor?

He wasn’t even looking at his phone. He had better things to do.

But when he finally did check?

He smirked. Slowly. Lazily. Completely unapologetic.

And just to make it worse, he dropped a single comment under his own post:

“Stay jealous. She’s not leaving my bed anytime soon.”

With that—

The internet was officially incinerated.

Aegon I :

Aegon wasn’t the jealous type—at least, that’s what he liked to tell himself. He was easygoing, laid-back, the type to laugh things off.

But then he saw your post.

And something inside him snapped.

His phone nearly slipped from his fingers as he stared at the screen. His chest rose and fell, breathing suddenly too shallow as his jaw tightened—so tight it ached.

You.

Barely covered, skin on full display, lips slightly parted like you knew exactly what you were doing. Like you wanted people to look.

And the comments—

“This is actually life-changing.”

“No way Aegon lets her get away with this LMAO.”

“She’s unreal. Divine. Untouchable.”

“If Aegon won’t claim her, I will.”

“Bro, she’s for the people now.”

His grip on his phone tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. The people? The fucking people? Did they think this was a game? That they could just—talk about you like that?

He opened your messages, fingers moving with an urgency that wasn’t entirely controlled.

Aegon: Take it down.

No response.

His jaw clenched harder. He refreshed the post. More likes. More thirsty comments from pathetic little nobodies who clearly didn’t understand their place.

Aegon: I’m not asking.

Still nothing.

His tongue swiped over his teeth as a low growl built in his throat. Oh, you thought this was funny, didn’t you? You were playing with him. Pushing him.

Fine.

His next message was short.

Aegon: I hope you got all the attention you wanted, baby. Because when I see you, the only thing you’ll be worrying about is how long I plan to keep you in my bed.

And Aegon Targaryen?

He never made empty threats.

Aegon I Revenge :

The Internet Was Not Ready.

People were barely recovering from the last time you decided to ruin their lives—

And then, he destroyed them.

A video.

Low lighting. The soft rustling of silk sheets. Your body glowing, tangled in his bed, looking like sin incarnate—your breath uneven, lips parted, skin flushed.

And then—

His hand.

Large, firm, resting possessively on your breast, fingers slightly digging in, making it painfully clear that you were his.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was him.

Aegon, half-lidded cocky smirk, his other hand holding the camera, his cock still inside you, his grip lazy, casual—like he had all the time in the world.

And then, his voice—low, smug, devastating:

“Yeah… go ahead. Say something now.”

And the caption?

"Don’t act like you wouldn’t trade places."

The Internet? Absolutely Unhinged.

The Guys:

“Aegon, bro. Please. Have some compassion.”

“This is actually cruel.”

“I hate him so much but I respect it.”

“HE’S NOT EVEN TRYING TO BE HUMBLE ABOUT IT.”

“I was having a good day. Now I have to rethink my whole life.”

“This wasn’t necessary. He just wanted to hurt us.”

The Girls:

“She’s so lucky and I hate her.”

"Not even gonna lie, this ruined my entire day.”

“The way he’s just sitting there like a smug little bastard—yeah, I’m sick.”

“Aegon is the biggest menace to ever exist.”

“I have never known true jealousy until this moment.”

“She’s living the dream. I can’t even be mad.”

“HE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT HE’S DOING AND IT’S DISRESPECTFUL.”

Meanwhile, Aegon?

He was laughing, scrolling through the absolute devastation in his comments, watching men spiral into despair and women descend into chaos.

And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Keep crying. She’s still moaning my name.”

And with that—

The internet was officially in shambles.

Rhaenyra :

Rhaenyra wasn’t one to obsess over social media, but when her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when people kept tagging her, sending her messages, practically warning her—she knew something was up.

And then she saw it.

Her stomach dropped. Her grip on the phone tightened.

It was you.

Draped in soft lighting, skin bare and glowing, your pose deliberate—calculated to tease, to tempt, to drive people insane. It left just enough to the imagination, while making it clear you knew exactly what you were doing.

And the comments?

“I can’t believe we’re witnessing perfection in real time.”

“This is actually dangerous.”

“If Rhaenyra doesn’t kill someone over this, I’ll be shocked.”

“No way she’s letting this slide.”

“If she won’t claim you, I will.”

Rhaenyra’s nails dug into her palm as she gritted her teeth. A sharp flare of jealousy surged through her—hot and possessive, a burning anger she rarely felt this intensely.

Because who were they to talk about you like this? To look at you like you weren’t hers?

Did you want this attention? Did you enjoy knowing people were drooling over you, imagining things they had no right to even think about?

She exhaled sharply through her nose, forcing herself to breathe before she opened your messages.

Rhaenyra: Take it down. Now.

No response.

Her fingers tightened around her phone as she refreshed your post. More likes. More comments. More pathetic fools thinking they had a chance.

Rhaenyra: I will not ask again.

Still nothing.

She could see you smirking at your phone, relishing in this, testing her.

Fine.

Her next message was short, sharp, final.

Rhaenyra: I’m coming to you.

If you thought she would just sit back, let you taunt her, let you make her jealous like this—

You were gravely mistaken.

Rhaenyra Revenge :

The internet collapsed.

People were barely recovering from your last post—scrolling, coping, trying to move on—when Rhaenyra ended them all with one photo.

A single image that sent the entire world into ruins.

It was you.

In her bed.

Soft lighting, silk sheets tangled around your body. Your head tilted back into the pillow, lips slightly parted, the glow of your skin dangerous in the dim light. And then—her hand. Resting on your thigh, fingers glistening with your release sprawled in a way that left no room for misinterpretation. She wasn’t just touching you. She was claiming you.

And the caption?

“Mine.”

The internet lost its mind.

Guys and girls alike descended into madness:

The Guys:

“I am actually about to throw up.”

“Rhaenyra, PLEASE, LET’S TALK ABOUT THIS.”

“Bro, how am I supposed to recover from this??”

“This isn’t fair. This is violence.”

“We lost. We fucking lost.”

The Girls:

“I’m happy for her but also devastated for me.”

“THIS COULD HAVE BEEN ME IN ANOTHER LIFE.”

“Do I congratulate them or do I cry? Or both?”

“Rhaenyra, what was the reason? WHAT WAS THE REASON??”

“I’m choosing to live in denial.”

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra? She was smirking at her phone, watching the despair unfold. She knew exactly what she was doing—dropping the photo, sitting back, and enjoying the chaos.

And just to truly bury everyone, she left a single comment under her own post:

“You can stop dreaming now.”

And with that—

The internet was officially in shambles.

Alicent :

Alicent never cared much for social media. She found it shallow, a place for desperate attention-seekers, a distraction from real matters. But when her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when messages kept coming in, some filled with concern, others with amusement—she knew something was wrong.

And then she saw it.

Her breath hitched. Her fingers tightened around her phone.

It was you.

Practically naked.

The lighting was soft, intimate—dangerous. The way you posed, the way your bare skin was on display, your confidence radiating off the screen… It was deliberate. It was a taunt.

And the comments—the flood of people thirsting over you, speaking as if they had a right to look at you like this, as if they could ever touch you—

“Mother of the gods, I need a moment.”

“Alicent is somewhere seething right now.”

“You’re actually unreal. Perfection.”

“If she won’t claim you, I will.”

“How does it feel to be the most desired person alive???”

Alicent’s grip on her phone was so tight, her knuckles turned white. A slow, hot wave of jealousy coiled in her chest—sharp, possessive, furious.

Did you enjoy this? The way people devoured you with their eyes? Did you want them to look at you, to desire you?

Her jaw locked as she opened your messages, her fingers moving with icy precision.

Alicent: Take it down. Now.

No response.

She refreshed the page. More likes. More disgusting, pathetic fools thinking they had a chance.

Alicent: I will not repeat myself.

Still nothing.

Her nails dug into her palm, her patience snapping thread by thread. She knew you were doing this on purpose. Testing her. Pushing her.

Fine.

Her next message was short. Final.

Alicent: If you think this little stunt is going to go unpunished, you are gravely mistaken.

If you thought she would sit back and allow you to tease her, to make her jealous, to tempt her patience—

You were about to deeply regret it.

Alicent Revenge :

The internet broke.

People were just recovering from your last post—scrolling, coping, trying to move on—when Alicent ended them all in one swift, merciless stroke.

A single photo.

Dim lighting, silk sheets slightly messy, shadows stretching across warm skin. You—in her bed. Head tilted back, lips slightly parted, hair yanked firmly in Alicent’s grip. The way her fingers curled into your strands—possessive, unrelenting, a silent but undeniable claim.

And the caption?

“Mine. And I don’t share.”

The internet descended into absolute chaos.

The Guys:

“I need a support group. This is actually painful.”

“Bro, I can’t compete with this.”

“Alicent did not have to flex this hard.”

“I swear I was fine five seconds ago.”

“The grip she has—on the hair, on the situation, on my emotions—I can’t take this.”

The Girls:

“Happy for them but also screaming inside.”

“This could have been me in another timeline.”

“Alicent said know your place, and I guess I will.”

“Do I cry? Do I throw my phone? Do I respect it? All of the above?”

“I was coping until she posted this. Now I’m just suffering.”

Meanwhile, Alicent? She was satisfied. Watching the world crumble, notifications exploding with people’s rage, jealousy, and despair.

And to truly finish them off, she left a single comment under her own post:

“Go ahead and cry. It changes nothing.”

And with that—

The internet was officially six feet under.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons