[glitteryunicorncum]

𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖉

ᛢᏌᛗᛗᚣᏒᚴ: King Visery distrusts his brother Daemon’s obsession with their younger sister — you. Daemon has loved and desired you since childhood, waiting for the day he could claim you as his wife. However, Viserys refuses to allow it and arranges a political marriage instead, betrothing you to a vulgar, aging lord to secure alliances.

ᛠᏒᛜᚹᛊ: brotherTargaryen!daemon x sisterTargaryen!reader

ᏔᛜᏒD ᛈᛜᏌᚺᛠ: 2,378

ᏔᚣᏒᚺᛨᚺᎶᛢ: incest, loss of hands, gore, daemon is Inlove with the reader, possessiveness?, almost forced marriage, king visery, mentions of rats, noncey Lord. (let me know if I miss anything)

ᚣᏌᛠꖾᛜᏒ ᚺᛜᛠᛊ: this is an OC reader, however you are very welcome to imagine another name if you must. This is my first time writing something along the lines of this so I hope you enjoy it! I do want to point out that I got this idea from character A.I! No mention of a name is used, however it’s still gonna be classed as a x reader.

ᛨᛗᚹᛜᏒᛠᚣᚺᛠ: no plagiarism is allowed, neither is translating or claiming my work as your own.

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King Visery had always been wary of Daemon’s affection for their beloved little sister - you.

Daemon had watched you grow up with an unmistakable hunger in his eyes, his need for you growing with each and every year that passed. You blossomed into a stunning young woman, all bright-eyed and innocent-faced, with silken locks that had a streak of brown and glimmered in the moonlight. You carried yourself with a grace that bellied your years, a shining diamond in the rough of King’s Landing. He had waited for this. He had waited for the day he might wed you.

Only that day never arrived — at least, not as expected. Viserys would never trust his brother with you. No, you were meant for other things. Whilst Daemon was away, he conspired in secret. He planned a marriage between you and some vassal lord, meant to strengthen the bounds of loyalty and obedience. The wedding had come about quickly — too quickly. before you knew it, you were standing before a septon with shaking hands and trembling lips. Your husband-to-be was naught what you had dreamed of. Fat, old and far too vulgar with his words. He eyed you like a predator, licking his thin lips while he held your hand like a vice, chubby fingers forcing you to stay in place. He looked at you like he owned you.

He was nothing like Daemon.

Your brother’s desires had been different. He was still a man, with needs of the flesh, but his love was an unbreakable thing. You were meant to be loved and cherished and claimed by him— not some old Lord who dared to think he had any right to touch you.

The septon spoke his words, though they were muffled against your ears. Hundred of pairs of eyes were upon you, but Visery’s was the strongest. You could not mess this up. You had to submit your duties as a woman. Your fear was a palpable thing, but adjust the noise of the ceremony, a deep and familiar whoosh hit your ears. A shadow crossed above head, encasing the dimly-lit sept a momentary darkness, a shadow in the shape of a dragon’s silhouette. Caraxes.

A mere moment later, the solid doors of the sept were swung open with the force of a thousand men, yet only one stood in view. Daemon hed come for you. News of your marriage had reached him. He had never felt so enraged — or betrayed — had you not been his all along? If not by right, then by destiny.

The crowd burst into gasps and murmurs, and your coward of a fiancé stumbled back from you as though your skin had burned him. Daemon stalked through the parted mass, armoured and ferocious. He met your gaze for a moment, eyes darkened with something possessive. You, dressed in the finest silks that coin could buy, and curls styled meticulously by your handmaidens, were a sight to behold. He could sense your desperation through the veil that obscured your delicate features.

No words were spoken, and Daemon stood in front of you, a shield and protector. Your brother. Your love.

He wielded his sword, blade extended. The Valyrian steel glinted in the candlelight. A thick tension rolled through the air, but no one dared to breathe. The point pressed against the old lord’s chest, piercing through the first layer of his doublet.

“Did you truly think you could take what’s mine? While I was away? In my absence, my brother thought he could play matchmaker.. but I don’t recall giving my blessing.” Daemon taunted. He sent an arrant glance to Viserys, jaw clenched taut.

He advanced a step, forcing your groom backwards. His voice was calm, but each word was edged with a sharpened threat. “Do you know what happens to men who touch a dragon’s treasure?”

You and your brother had always been close, spending every inch of your childhood together. From reading books to learning how to handle a sword; he was there for it all. Never a beat behind, always knowing what’s happening in your life and making sure no one hurt you. He showed you what it was like to be in love before you even knew what true love was.

“Daemon.” You mumbled. Eyes looking from him to the man you were supposed to be wed to. “Don’t let his blood drip onto the floor.”

Daemon’s gaze flickered to you, a smirk playing about the corner of his lips. He revelled in how sweetly his name fell of your tongue, like a prayer in a godswood.

His attention swiftly returned to the old lord, who seemed to be trying to sink into the ground. Cowards, a plague that was not worth his time. Even the septon was shrinking back, no doubt realising the folly of his involvement in this farce.

“Your concern is noted.” He said. His tone caudal despite the sword inches away from the frightened man’s flesh.

You knew there wasn’t anything Daemon cared about apart from you, you were his since birth. Since you drew your first breath. You were his to claim all along and now was that time. He had just saved you from being wed to a disgusting, foul pig of a man.

“It’s not that I’m concerned.” You started, grabbing onto your veil and throwing it over your head so your face was not only visible to everyone, but to him. “But merely because I like these floors.”

A low chuckle rumbled in Daemons’s chest, his gaze lingering on your face, taking in your elegant features; from the blue in your eyes, to the freckles on your cheeks. He couldn’t get enough. How many nights had he dreamed of this? To see you standing before him, unwed and untouched by another? It took all his willpower to not scoop you up in his arms and have you right then and there.

“Ah,” he murmured, his smirk growing. “the floor is lucky indeed to have captured your affection.”

Throughout your life people had talked, not only about the streaks of brown that adorned your crisp white Targaryen hair, but to the way you seemed to be a female version of your brother, Daemon. The way you seemed to think so violently, unlike any other woman in this town. The certainty of hurting the ones who disrespected others, including the ones you loved.

“Cut off his hands.” You stated, no hint of remorse evident in your tone. “He doesn’t get to touch those in which he finds merely good looking nor does he get to touch himself to the thought of being around someone so ethereal.”

From up above, the familiar found of Caraxes wings echoed through the room. Obviously your brother had to make a dramatic entrance — as always.

As a Targaryen, you also had your own dragon.

Vaerithra. She was a sleek, silver scaled dragon whose hide shimmers with a pale lavender undertone, like moonlight rippling on water. Her eyes, a deep violet, said to glow when lightning splits the sky. Smaller and more agile than many of her kin, Vaerithra is known for her unmatched speed and her tendency to circle above storms, revelling in thunder and wind.

“Such pretty cruelty,” Daemon muttered, eyes gleaming with pride as he glanced back at you. “My blood in your veins speaks louder than any septon’s prayer.”

He had turned fully to face the trembling lord now, Dark sister pressing harder — just enough to draw a bead of blood. The man whimpered.

“Did you hear that?” Daemon sneered. “The Princess has spoken. And in this family, her word is law when I stand beside her.” He leaned in, voice dropping like smoke over flame. “Lose the hands… or lose your head. Choose quickly.”

Above them both, Caraxes roared — a thunderous crack that shook the stained glass windows — and somewhere beyond the rooftops of King’s Landing, Vaerithra answered with a silver cry of her own.

The storm wasn’t coming. It had already arrived.

A grin tugged on the corner of your lips, much different than the way you had been prior to Daemon’s arrival. He had been right , of course, you had Targaryen blood running through your veins and there’s nothing anyone could do about it.

Visery was worried that you would be corrupt by Daemon as you grew older, that’s why he had wanted to wed you to another so quickly. Yet little did he know, you had already been corrupted.

“He’s taking too long to decide, dear brother.” You spoke after minutes of silence. Stepping forward so you could now see the trembling man you were going to call fiancé from over Daemon’s shoulder, you leaned forward speaking words that could make one shiver. “Take his hands — both of them. If he tries to say no, take his head too.”

Gasps emitted from the crowd, looks of horror like someone had just been beheaded taking form on peoples faces. This wasn’t normal, a woman had to be obedient and yet you were the complete opposite. Cruel, demanding.. everything a woman shouldn’t be.

Daemon’s breath was hot against your ear as he turnt his head after hearing your command. “Good girl.” He purred, low and wicked -- praise from a dragon always tasted like fire.

Without hesitation, he moved.

Dark Sister flashed — a single brutal arc — and the lord screamed as both hands tumbled to the marble floor, blood pooling like wine spilled at a feast. He collapsed into a sobbing heap, but no one dared moved to help him. Not with two dragons circling overhead and madness glittering in the eyes of the Rouge Prince and his truest match — you.

Daemon turned then, gloved hand catching yours as he pulled you flush against his armoured chest. His voice rang out over gasps and prayers:

“Then let it be known — she is mine. By blood, by bond, by right of fire and steel! No other man shall claim her. No decree of kings or mummers in robes will stand between us.”

He lifted your hand to his lips, kissing each Targaryen finger slow — “We’ll burn anyone who tries.”

You had completely forgotten of the bond you and Daemon had. The way you both fit perfectly like two pieces of a puzzle. Yet you loved remembering every second of it.

Your eyes scanned the room once again before settling on the ugly, horrible, disgusting Lord you were supposed to marry. His deceased hands laying upon the floor like a gift to a dog, red blood squirting from his wounds like rain falling from the cloudy skies.

“My dearest brother, didn’t I say not to ruin the floor I liked so much?” You mumbled, tilting your head to the side amidst him kissing each of your fingers.

Your eldest brother, King Visery, had a look of pure anger on his face; not only from Daemon’s entrance but because he realised you had been corrupted for ages, he just hadn’t noticed. Yet he made no move to speak.

With the tut of your tongue, you allowed each of your fingers to be kissed, a reminder of who you loved; who loved you and cared about you enough to stop a wedding ceremony that would have binded you for the rest of your life.

Daemon chuckled darkly against your fingers, his eyes flashing with amusement. “Years apart and you scold me for a little mess?” He turned his head just enough to glance at the writhing lord, then back to you — smirking.

“You always did hate disorder.”

He released your hand slowly, deliberately, before stepping over the blood pooling near his boot. With a flick of his wrist, he signalled two gold cloaks — one from each side — who moved swiftly not to aid the man, but to drag him out by the stumps.

“Let him bleed on the steps,” Daemon said coldly. “A warning.”

As you stood there, you didn’t feel the slightest bit remorseful for the loss of the man’s hands — however, you did feel slight agitation at the blood trail running out of the room.

“Daemon, brother dearest, how many times do I have to tell you about the mess?” You mumbled softly, stepping over the blood and towards him. “I don’t want to find blood on the floor everywhere I turn.”

Daemon hummed thoughtfully, his voice low and mocking as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Maybe I enjoy making messes, sweet sister.”

He pulled you closer, so the sharp edges of his armour pressed hard against the soft silk of your blue dress. “Maybe you enjoy cleaning them up for me.”

His eyes glimmered, as if he had some secret to share. When he spoke up again, his voice was a silken whisper right next to your ear. “And if I make another, will you come lick the blood from my fingers?”

Your eyes darkened just the slightest bit, your brother always had a way with words — especially when it came to teasing you. “Lick the blood from your fingers I would.”

Your arms encircled around Daemons neck as he pulled you against him, you were meant for eachother in a way that no one would understand.

“Make sure not to get blood on my floors again.” You said softly, leaning forward to press a delicate kiss to his cheek. “I don’t want to be putting up with rats in the castle.”

“For you, I’ll be sure to spill blood outside.” He murmured against your ear, voice thick with promise. His hand slid down to the small of your back, heart pounding. “But if rats come sniffing.. I’ll be sure to feed them piece by piece.”

You could both feel the weight of the stares — Visery seething from his seat, the court trembling — but Daemon didn’t care, and neither did you.

He turned his head just enough to capture your lips in a kiss — fierce and claiming — as Vaerithra and Caraxes circled above like a storm.

The message was clear;

No decree. No septon. No king would ever tear this bond apart.

You were his. Now and always.

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a/n : do not plagiarise my work, claim it as your own or translate it. I do, however, take requests!!

[glitteryunicorncum]

The Devil In Homeroom

pairings: alive!tatelangdon x fem!reader

warnings: murder, blood, gun fetish, brain particles, mass shooting, crying, mentions of abuse, religious beliefs, gun’s, death.

word count: 1,000+

a/n: in no way shape or form shall anyone plagiarise my work, translate my work or claim it as their own.

a/n: I’m also sorry if this work is on the bad side, it’s my first tate fanfic and I’m not that creative! but I hope you enjoy :)

Chaos. Destruction.

You never thought this would happen, didn’t think someone whom you had been infatuated with would do something this disgusting. Sure, people thought he was weird and even took the piss out of him in school but no one saw this coming.

Not even you.

It all started this morning, 7am to be exact, when you had woken up from a deep slumber (having been at work late last night) only to have a sickly feeling buried in your stomach. You didn’t feel sick, you didn’t have a fever, so you decided to brush it off. ‘I’m probably just hungry,” you thought to yourself — shrugging just the slightest bit.

That was your first mistake, ignoring your gut feeling. If only you had stayed home that day, maybe you wouldn’t have found yourself in that horrible situation.

The walk to school felt long and insufferable; cars drove by in a rush to get to work, students laughed and near the park were a couple of stragglers who had decided to skip today. You wished you were one of those people but your parents would literally kill you before they let that happen. They were all about the good grades and perfect images, but it was bull-shit, behind closed doors your parents were completely different to how they perceived themselves.

To other people they were joyous, a happy couple that had been married for years and had the most perfect daughter. But behind closed doors they were horrid, they shouted at one another and sometimes it got physical — they were like demon spawns trying to take each others souls. But no matter how much they fought and how much they argued, they always acted like everything was perfectly fine. Like they hadn’t been at each others throats the night before.

By the time you had arrived at school it was chaos and not the bad kind, students were crowding the hallway either grabbing their books or just purely messing about with their friends, making you roll your eyes. It was always like this, people acting like they wanted to be here & putting on a fake smile like they weren’t talking shit behind their friends backs.

They were all pathetic.

Why have friends if you were going to talk bad about them? Wouldn’t you just tell them you didn’t like them or their actions? Apparently not in this school, it wasn’t about telling them face to face — it was about being a snaky bitch and talking behind their backs. Sometimes you were glad that you kept to yourself and didn’t talk much, it was easier instead of having friends that claimed to care about you, only to betray you the second they could.

The bell for homeroom rang not long after you had arrived, a class you looked forward to every single day. The reason for that was because of Tate Langdon, the quiet kid who everyone thought was weird because he kept to himself — it was stupid in a way because you were the exact same and yet people didn’t make fun of you.

But that was high school.

As you walked into the classroom and towards your desk, gliding past the many students whom couldn’t move their ass out of the aisle so people could actually get past, your eyes instinctively flickered towards the seat in which Tate normally sat at. It was the seat two desks away from yours at the back of the class, he always sat there drawing in his notebook or just purely zoning out. Whenever you had the chance, and he wasn’t looking, you’d end up admiring the way his blonde hair fell across his forehead and the way his brown eyes sparkled a golden colour whenever the light hit him.

He looked like he had come straight from heaven itself, at least that’s what you told yourself.

It didn’t take long for everyone to settled into their respective spots, opening their notebooks and writing down whatever notes the teacher had put on the board. But your mind was straying too far to even notice what was going on in-front of you. Instead of writing like the others, your eyes stayed stuck on Tate’s seat.

He should be here by now. He always was.

Why was he suddenly missing school?

Was he sick?

Did he decide to skip?

You were suddenly brought out of your thoughts when a loud — BANG — echoed through the school corridor, everyone’s head immediately snapping towards the door.

That sounded like a gun shot.

Your heart begin to pound rapidly, eyes flickering across the classroom and towards the teacher whom you hoped would know what the hell was going on. Did someone accidentally drop their metal water bottle?

“Everyone get under your desks.” The teacher called out hastily, her voice a mix of shakiness and panic.

You knew something was wrong, and it was clear that everyone else knew it too. If that had been a metal water bottle then the teacher wouldn’t be acting like she was about to die, like we were all about to die.

Nobody moved at first, everyone stayed stuck in their seats like someone had superglued them down — it’s like they were all waiting for another sign, like this could just be a prank and they’d be able to laugh it off like normal people. But as another two shots — BANG BANG — were fired, it was clear this was something more than a joke.

Everyone immediately dived under their desks, including you, your legs being pulled up to your chest as you recited a prayer in your head. You weren’t a religious person but at a time like this you really needed god on your side, you didn’t want to go to hell if you did end up dying. The teacher, without a hint of hesitation, closed the classroom doors curtain (not like it would do much) before retreating to her desk. She was already pulling out her phone to call the police.

Unfortunately before she could do that the door to the classroom slammed open, the sound of boots thudding against the floor being the only thing that was heard for a second. Everyone was tense under their desks, some squeezing their eyes shut while others sobbed to themselves quietly. The last thing they wanted to do was make noise.

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

With each shot that rang through the classroom, your body jolted and tears pooled into the corner of your eyes. How could someone shoot without a hint of hesitation? Apparently whatever psychopath was doing it now.

Your eyes flickered across the classroom, still situated under your desk, just in time to see blood gliding against the floor like water. It was a deep red, as if someone had spilled wine and didn’t want to wipe it clean. Bodies dropped like flies and some brain particles shot up the walls.

A gag ripped free from your lips without a second thought, the sight worsening by the minute. The stench of blood & the sight of dead bodies were only messing with your stomach with each second that passed.

But that was the wrong move.

Everything went quiet for a second — there were no signs of footsteps, not even the clocking of a gun.

It was just silent.

However silence never lasted and neither did this.

Within a split second the desk you were hiding under went flying across the room, landing on some students bodies. A scream tore from your throat, your hands immediately coming to cover your face, as tears slipped down your cheeks. You were bracing yourself for death, for god to embrace you with open arms. But nothing came.

Through teary eyes, you looked up at the person whom had caused havoc and destruction, trying not to look at the bodies scattered around you — their blood gliding forward like skates on ice.

It was then that you saw him.

“Tate?” you croaked out, your heart pounding in your ears.

His eyes were cold, laced with something that looked like recognition and a hint of insanity, the gun no longer pointed at you but rather facing the floor. If you were crazy you’d think he wasn’t trying to hurt you, but you weren’t and this was probably a setup so you could drop your guard.

“why- why are you doing this?” a tear dripped down your cheek slowly, like a raindrop falling down a car window, but it didn’t matter because before you could make sense of it all a calloused thumb was swiping against your cheek.

“don’t cry.” came tate’s gruff yet slightly soft voice. “pretty girls shouldn’t have that look on their face.

The clatter of a gun being placed on the floor bounced off the walls in the classroom, a clear indication that Tate had lowered the one thing that you were scared of. Your eyes flickered across his features, a look of somewhat shock mixed with fear taking over your face. But through all of that, the same golden glint in his eyes was enough to ease your mind — your heart slowing down in your chest just enough to make your breathing even again.

It was silent for a second, the only sound being the ticking of the clock which had witnessed the horrors that occurred in the classroom this morning, that was until you opened your mouth to talk.

“don’t say anything.” tate mumbled, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone and ultimately cutting you off from what you were about to start saying. “I know what your thinking and I get it, your scared. But you need to come with me.”

With parted lips and a body that was still curled up into a fetal position, your gaze stayed stuck on the boy infront of you. He was supposed to be hurting you, ending your life and making sure you didn’t have a future, but that was the last thing he was doing.

“what? n-no, tate.” you stuttered, a shaky breath falling from your lips. “you just murdered- you just took the lives of our classmates.”

In some way you really thought that he’d pick the gun up and blow your brains out, that he’d be mad you had refused, but it never came. He just stared at you with a look of desperation and something else entirely, no longer manic or deadly.

“you don’t get to question it, just please come with me.” he stated, grabbing your arm and promptly pulling you up from the floor.

With no control over your body, because he was stronger and taller than you, you were hoisted onto your feet — now stood in-front of the boy you once admired and maybe still did. The sticky bloody liquid below you attached itself to your shoes like a leach, making it harder and harder to not throw up. The stench of bodies was enough to make bile rise in your throat until you gulped it back down, not wanting to add more of a list of problems to whatever hell this was.

“Tate, stop!” you managed to say, voice rising so he could hear you over whatever pathetic attempt this was to get you to follow him. “You can’t expect me to come with you when you’ve just- you’ve just done this.”

A huff of frustration fell from Tates nose, his jaw clenching with every word that fell from your mouth. Now it looked like he really wanted to shoot you.

“Don’t you get it? I did this for us.” He snapped, grabbing onto both your arms. “I’ve seen the way you stare at me in class, I’ve seen the look of infatuation that gets swung my way whenever I sit at my desk. It doesn’t go unnoticed like you think.”

Your mouth parted once again, shock consuming you whole as you stared at him. “Tate-“

“No, don’t say anything. We wouldn’t be able to be together if I didn’t get rid of them, if I didn’t get rid of the ones who’d judge us.” He stated, his eyes desperately searching your gaze for any sign that you’d forgive him. “I did this for us, for you. So we could be together without having people judge us. The two quiet kids who sit in the back of class not saying a word.”

The distant sound of sirens echoed from outside making tate’s head snap towards the window, his hands clenching against your shoulders firmly. He knew they would find him here if he stayed any longer and he didn’t want to be caught by the police.

Turning his gaze back to you, he closed the distance between you both and planted his lips onto yours in a desperate kiss. “I love you. I want to be with you and it’s clear you want to be with me.“ he mumbled against your lips, a shakiness to his words.

Your mind was filled with a mix of emotions, on one hand he had just murdered a whole class full of students which made him a monster by default, but on the other hand, you had liked him for so so long and he did have a point. If you and him had gotten together the bullying from the other students would have gotten worse for him (and somewhat you), it probably would have ended worse than it did now.

But this was Tate you were talking about, the one whom piqued your interest by always wearing those gloomy clothes and listening to Kurt Cobain (which you could hear whenever he had his earphones in). He only had the best intentions and maybe this was one of them, the students in this school had forced him to break, so maybe they got what they deserved.

Without a hint of hesitation, although you’d be lying if you said you weren’t debating the choices running through your head, your lips locked onto tate’s in a passionate yet slow kiss. Maybe if you kissed him long enough everything would fade away and you’d wake up from this bad dream.

The second tate felt your lips moving against his, a breath of relief escaped mid kiss, his hands lowering themselves from your face and ontop your hips. The feeling itself made something warm flutter in your stomach, your body instinctively leaning into his just the slightest bit more. You never thought this would be the way you’d confess or even reciprocate a kiss with tate, but everything happened for a reason.

“I love you too.” you mumbled, slowly but surely pulling away from the kiss just enough so your foreheads were resting against one another’s.

A soft smile tugged at tate’s lips, his nose brushing against yours before promptly pulling back — the sirens were closer now, no doubt about to turn into the parking lot of the school. “We’ve got to go.” tate stated, grabbing the gun he had placed on the floor before taking your hand. “It’s you and me, baby. You’re stuck with me now.”

That’s all it took for you to follow him out of the classroom door, your hand clenched tightly in his as he manoeuvred through the corridors.

But like everyone said, nothing lasts forever and nothing stays the same. You didn’t expect your life to be taken in the bedroom tate stayed in under his mother’s roof, you didn’t expect him to pull the trigger the moment S.W.A.T came barreling through the front door — but like he said, you were stuck with him now.

[glitteryunicorncum]

ᴠɪᴏʟᴇᴛ ʜᴀʀᴍᴏɴ ᴍᴏᴏᴅʙᴏᴀʀᴅ 🤍