how a dragon stakes claim // d.targaryen x reader
Warnings: smut, p in v sex, fingering, praise, degradation, canon treatment of women, breeding kink, just everything you'd expect with Daemon tbh
Words: 4.1k sorry i like setting up the smut
Summary: as a friend to the princess, your father wishes to betroth you to a Targaryen man but he is not the object of your desires. Daemon is.
You hated King’s Landing. You always have, and nothing can change your mind on your disgust of the city. Your house had not always been noble; your grandparents built the house from the ground up. They gained favour with the King many decades ago, building wealth and standing. Although you lived a life without want, it came with obligation and duty. Since you were a child, your parents have reminded you of the importance of marriage. To strengthen the future of the house your grandparents fought so hard to establish and nurture. It was your obligation to honour their sacrifices.
Common folk lined the city - many, you knew, had suffered greatly with the exuberant spending surrounding yet another of the King’s children. The ‘Queen’ had earned your disdain many moons ago since you grew close to the Princess. Despite the lack of court gossip, you did not trust ‘Queen’s’ closeness with Ser Criston. You knew all about his proposal to Rhaenyra and everything else surrounding it. If not for your friend, you would not have been anywhere near the capital.
She met you at the docks, sat upon Syrax, the beautiful golden dragon’s head moving towards you, her eyes trained on your every move. Tentatively, you stepped off the boat, lifting the skirt of your dress just up enough so that you do not trip. Once on the ground, your guards all knelt before the Princess as you curtsied.
‘Your Grace,’ you say bowing. ‘It has been a long time since we have last seen one another.’
‘Too long, my friend,’ she greets you, climbing off of her dragon. ‘She knows that you are of no harm to me. You can pet her.’
Upon the Princess’s urging, you place a shaky hand against the massive creature, gently running the tips of your fingers against the scales. The dragon watched you with beady eyes and your heart raced against your ribcage but she did not threaten you. It seemed as if the majestic creature was curious of you. As your guards looked in fear, you continued to run your fingers across the scales.
‘Hello, Syrax,’ you greet her, still running your fingers across her cheek. You have never been so close to a dragon yet you are petting one. ‘You treat the Princess well and she is a friend. I may be losing my mind by talking to you but thank you for keeping her company in King’s Landing.’
As if she understands, Syrax tilts her head towards you, the whole time Rhaenyra is smiling at you. ‘King’s Landing must be such a lonely place,’ you muse to the dragon. ‘I’m not sure how you or the Princess do it.’
‘We spend a lot of time together in the air,’ Rhaenyra offers up. ‘Come, ride her with me.’
Your eyes go wide but you know you cannot refuse the Princess so you follow her lead, giving a pleading look to the dragon to not tear you apart or set you alight. As Rhaenyra pulls atop of the creature, your heart races once more. You have no dragon blood in you. This should not be allowed.
‘Thank you, Your Grace.’
Syrax begins to flap her wings, taking the two of you quickly off of the safety of land and into the unknown of the sky. The wind hits your face as she picks up speed, darting and weaving through the air. Your eyes screw shut and your fingers grow weak from clutching onto her body.
‘We are away from people now.’ Rhaenyra says. ‘There are no longer any requirements for propriety. It’s good to see you again.’
‘Once I got your raven, I set sail to see you,’ you sigh. ‘I can’t believe your father is letting you choose a suitor. I will be the only one unwed of all my friends once you marry.’
‘Enjoy your freedom,’ she says, voice envious.
‘We all grow and change, Nyra,’ you sigh. ‘All anybody speaks about now is their children and I have no understanding of how their lives have changed. How they’ve evolved but I know that I am next…at some point, I will join them in their fate.’
‘I am not blind to the way that you have always looked at my uncle,’ she teases. ‘And I am sure you have heard about his wife’s passing.’
‘It’s tragic,’ you murmur. ‘My attraction to Prince Daemon means nothing for I know that I will be betrothed soon. I heard my father speaking. He arranged a meeting with the King to betrothe me to one of your brothers.’
‘Which one?’
‘Aemond…’
‘But it has yet to happen. You are still unbetrothed.’ the Princess tries to soothe you but it’s evident in her tone that she is disgusted at the prospect of you lying with her brother. You’d heard stories of his cruelty and you knew of how he lost his eye… ‘It does not matter as you are not yet betrothed.’
‘May I speak frankly and as a friend, Your Grace?’
‘You need not ask for such permission. As you have said, you are a friend.’
‘I am not of royal blood. My parents are banking on my maidenhood. I cannot just lay with a man because I would like to. I would be disowned. Sent far away.’
‘When did you last bleed?’ She asks, no anger in her voice.
‘I had just finished. Why?’
‘You are riding a dragon. We can make a scene of it and if anybody asks why you do not bleed in the marriage bed, we can say it was when you were flying.’
Your face scrunches in confusion for a mere few seconds as you consider Rhaenyra’s proposal. It could work but you have to consider the consequences of your actions. It may work but it doesn’t mean that Daemon would want you - you’re certain that he sees you as a child. Despite having been of age for around five years and how your body has matured, Daemon has never had an eye for you.
‘It does not matter what we say if I am unable to attract a man,’ you counter, sighing as the dragon glides through the air. Your arms are wrapped around Rhaenyra’s torso, clutching onto her for dear life as she twists and turns in the sky. ‘And I know well enough that Prince Daemon does not see me in any light, let alone of in which I could attract his attention.’
‘You do not know my uncle, my friend,’ Rhaenyra says with all the confidence of a royal. Her voice is smooth, her tone is level and she speaks with a gravitas that makes everything true. ‘Let us return, the hour grows late and my father will worry.’
You don’t say another word, silently holding onto Rhaenyra as the two of you glide through the sky on Syrax. The harsh wind bites at your face, making it feel tight any time you try to move. As Rhaenyra guides the dragon down into the pit, your stomach lurches at the speed in which Syrax dives to the ground. You’re almost certain that you will crash into the ground but Rhaenyra pulls Syrax upwards until her legs hit the dragon pit with a gentle thump.
Unable to move and clutching your chest, you stay sat on the dragon until Rhaenyra pulls you off with the help of a servant. Your legs are wobbly and you fear that you are unable to keep yourself up. The fear is only magnified when another dragon lands in the pit. It’s even larger than Syrax and in your terror, you pay no mind to the rider, instead shuffling to a wall that you can press yourself against.
Squeeing your eyes shut, you try to ignore the fact that there are two dragons in front of you and you’re on the verge of cowering, too terrified to run away. You fail to notice Rhaenyra walk over to the other rider and greet them.
‘Rytsas, uncle,’ the Princess greets.
‘Princess,’ Daemon says, his voice as sultry as ever and you force yourself to open your eyes, looking at him. You don’t even think he notices your presence, so wrapped up in his conversation with his niece. You can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the way they interact with one another. Maybe it’s the knowledge of the two of them before that makes your stomach knot a little more than it would have before.
You see the moment the Prince notices you’re there. He scans the dragon pit before his eyes land on you and a smirk grows on his face. His hair is cropped now, no longer the typical length of a Targaryen but you like it. It accentuates his sharp features, the cheekbones and jawline you want to run your tongue across so badly.
‘My Lady,’ he greets, grabbing your hand and kissing the back of it. The small gesture alone is enough to leave your body flushed, heat searing through your skin.
‘Your Grace,’ you bow your head and curtsey, legs still unstable from the dragon ride. ‘Ñuha dārilaros, my Prince.’
‘I did not know you were learning the old tongue, my Lady,’ he looks at you with intrigue, a small glint in his eye as he hears you speak in the language of his ancestors.
‘My septa,’ you begin, sighing before continuing to speak in a whisper. ‘In preparation for my possible betrothal, my father has insisted that I learn to speak se uēpa udrir the old tongue.’
‘Not many speak se uēpa udrir the old tongue anymore,’ he muses, looking into your eyes with a hint of something you can’t put your finger on. It’s more than intrigue but there’s an unpleasant undertone in how he considers it. ‘I only know of two houses that do.’
‘My father believes that it will please the King into agreeing to the betrothal,’ you say, head hanging in shame.
‘Qilōni who?’
‘Your nephew, se dārilaros the Prince. Aemond.’
Looking up at Daemon, you don’t miss the way his jaw ticks in disapproval. The Prince does not say a word as he studies you from head to toe, his eyes lingering as they reach your chest. You’re breathing heavily, not used to any form of attention from the once heir to the Iron Throne. His gaze makes you burn, a carnal desire building within your stomach.
‘Gaomagon jaelā naejot dīnagon zirȳla do you want to marry him?’
‘It is not my place to express my desires, Your Grace,’ your breath hitches as you say the fateful word hoping that he doesn’t catch on to what you really mean. ‘My obligations, in this world, as a woman have been laid clear to me since I was but a child. I do not wish to dishonour my family.’
‘Kepa uncle may I steal the Lady from you?’ Rhaenyra gracefully walks towards the two of you, giving you a knowing look before extending her arm for you to take, the two of you walking out of the dragon pit, your legs more unstable than they were when you first arrived.
Neither of you speak until you reach the Princess’ chambers away from the ears of the palace. Your steps echo through the vast, empty stairwells, heads nodding in acknowledgement when the knights greet the Princess and yourself. It’s uncomfortable: you’re used to speaking to the King’s Guard but the weight of the upcoming conversation makes you feel uneasy.
‘That was an awfully long conversation you had with my uncle for someone who does not believe that he sees her,’ Rhaenyra teases, a knowing smile on her face.
‘Your Grace, he does not perceive me the way he sees you,’ you reply politely, half in an effort to charm, and another to disregard yourself.
‘And yet you are mistaken, my friend,’ she whispers, placing her hand over yours. ‘My father has requested that you join us in the banquet hall for dinner morrow night. I believe that your father will also be in attendance.’
‘I would not put it past my father to have been the one to ask for the King’s audience,’ you let out a small, bitter laugh.
‘Do not fret, my Lady,’ Rhaenyra soothes. ‘You do not know what the outcome.’
‘But I know the chances of the announcement of my betrothal.’
‘The hour grows dark as the night grows late,’ she sighs. ‘We must eat.’
—
Retiring to your own chambers, you sit on the balcony looking out at the world before you. With most of the candles blown out for the evening, there is only a dim light in your room and the glitter of the stars above you. Oh, by the Seven, how you wish you were there now. Free from your worldly obligations and duties.
The light evening chill is reminiscent of the time you were in the air, the feeling of the breeze through your thin silk dress. It reminds you of a sense of freedom: fleeting. But you refuse to retire back inside. You watch the sky darken further and further until a knock at the door pulls you from your own head. Walking over, you’re faced with someone you never expected.
‘Ñuha dārilaros my Prince, what brings you here at such an hour?’
‘Can I come in, ñuha riña my Lady?’
Stepping aside from the door, you grant him entrance into your chambers, quietly closing the door behind him. As you turn away from the door, Daemon is standing in front of you, his jaw as tight as it was when you told him of your father’s proposal earlier in the day.
‘Do you want to marry him?’ Daemon asks once more, voice low.
‘Does it matter, Your Grace?’
‘To me, it does,’ he responds more sincerely than you’d have ever dreamed of.
‘No,’ you whisper, looking down at your hands in shame.
‘Tell me what you desire, byka hontes little bird.’
You repeat your earlier question once again. Your wishes are not your own. Your life is not your own.
‘I have already told you that to me, it does,’ his voice is gentle. Coaxing.
‘He is not the Targaryen I desire, ñuha dārilaros my Prince.’
‘Then tell me,’ he commands.
‘Ao you.’
‘Then have me. Forget about marrying that mēre laes one eyed nephew of mine. I will teach you how a real man should treat you.’
‘And what would my father say, ñuha dārilaros my Prince?’ you ask and Daemon doesn’t miss your tone as you say the last two words. They’re different to the way you would usually address him but you still look at him through your eyelashes as innocent and naive as the day he first met you.
‘It does not matter,’ Daemon asserts, holding your hands in his much larger ones. ‘Your father would not speak out against the prince, byka hontes little bird.’
‘What would you say?’
‘That I will wed you. That your dedication to learning the uēpa udrir old tongue has pleased me to no end. That I would take you as my wife as I would be proud for my children to learn the words of their ancestors from their mother.’
‘But why, ñuha dārilaros my Prince?’
‘I am not a blind man, byka hontes little bird,’ he muses, raising a single eyebrow. ‘I see the way you look at me and you are so sweet, so pure that you do not notice how I regard you. You do not see how badly I would kill my nephew so that he will never have a chance to touch you the way that I want to.’
Stifling a moan at Daemon’s words, you look at him through your eyelashes once more. He wraps a hand around your waist, pulling you flush to his body so you can feel the war-toned muscles beneath his tunic. He readjusts his stance so his large thighs trap your body inside of his.
‘What do you want, dōna run sweet thing?’ he asks, dipping his head so his lips meet yours ever so gently. He doesn’t kiss you, but rather let his lips run across yours. A taste of the forbidden fruit and all you have to do is pluck it.
‘Ao you,’ you whisper and it’s all the encouragement Daemon needs to kiss you, his lips pressed firmly against yours with so much force that one of his hands holds your head in place. Submitting to him, you tilt your head up higher so he has more control to slip his tongue into your mouth. The mere action of kissing him is enough for you to begin to feel wetness growing between your thighs.
Daemon drags you to your bed, lying you down gently and clambers on top of you and you can see him under the warm glow of candlelight. Somehow he is even more breathtaking at night. Teaching a hand to his face, your fingers trace his cheekbone down to his jaw until your finger is beneath his chin. In a moment of bravery, you pull him closer to you so that his nose brushes against yours before kissing him again, your fingers running through his silver-white hair.
‘Please, ñuha dārilaros my Prince, take what is yours,’ you whisper, watching as his eyes darken at your request.
‘I will ruin you,’ he promises. ‘I will ruin any other man for you because once I fuck you, you’re mine. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ you whisper, wrapping your hands around his neck to pull him down into another kiss. That action alone seals your fate and there is no going back.
Daemon turns you over, undoing the lacing of your dress, watching as it reveals more of your body. He sees you as a woman now. He notes how your body has bloomed since you were a child and the fact that there is a woman in front of him. One as breathtaking as you.
You’re panting, eager to finally have him. Impatiently, you push off your dress leaving you only in your shift and small clothes. You pull and tug at Daemon’s clothing and he chuckles darkly, chiding you for your impatience, instructing you to undress him. Eagerly, you pull the tunic from his body and push his breaches down until you’re face to face with him in his full glory. Gods, he’s something not even the kingdom’s finest artists could sculpt.
‘Do you like what you see byka hontes little bird?’ he teases you, ripping your small clothes from your body before pushing you onto the bed. ‘This will be the only cock you see again, the only cock that you will ever feel, do you understand?’
‘Yes, my Prince,’ you whimper, finally processing the size of him.
‘Daemon,’ he corrects. ‘In this room, I am yours as you are mine.’
‘Yes, Daemon,’ you whimper, loving the way he commands you and he rewards you by pressing his thigh against your core. The pressure he applies makes electricity shoot through your body unused to the feeling but craving more so you begin to hump him.
‘You’re like a bitch in heat,’ he comments and your gut wenches from his insult, embarrassingly enjoying the way he is talking to you. You stop in embarrassment but he commands that you continue. He grabs your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he gathers sit and looms over you, spitting into your mouth which you swallow quickly. ‘You’re as desperate for me as a common whore but so much more beautiful.’
‘More, please,’ you whimper and he replaces his thigh with his fingers. You gasp at the intrusion but also relish in the way he feels inside of you, his finger curling, reaching places you did not know existed.
‘So fucking beautiful,’ he praises, watching you wriggle and squirm beneath him. He then adds another finger, scissoring them inside of you. You cry out at the stretch not used to it. ‘I will never fit if I do not prepare you, sweetheart. You’re taking me so well.’
Daemon adds a third finger which makes you cry out, your stomach tightening despite the pain. You involuntarily begin to fuck his fingers, desperate for more of what he is giving you, your body craving more of that pleasure he is more than happy to provide.
‘You pretend to be so pure but you’re a little harlot, making a mess of my fingers, aren’t you byka hontes little bird?’
‘Y-yes, Daemon,’ you moan, your stomach getting tighter and tighter as Daemon reaches his other hand to play with your breast. Your nipple is already erect as he pinches and twists it before his mouth is around the other, sucking at it like a newborn babe. ‘D-Daemon.’
‘Let go, byka hontes little bird.’
You don’t know what he means but your body begins to tremble as you begin to see stars. Crying out in both shock and pleasure, the intensity of your orgasm takes over as your body grows heavy and you’re panting, still bucking your hips against his fingers, your sinful sounds filling the room.
‘So fucking pretty,’ Daemon praises. ‘I can’t wait to see your face when I ruin you.’
‘P-please,’ you beg, panting heavily as he lines himself up, rubbing his cock along your soaking cunt and gathering your arousal around himself before slowly pushing into you causing you to cry out once more. His fingers are nothing compared to the way his cock impales you. Thick and long, you’re not sure if you’ll be able to take him fully.
‘That’s my good girl,’ he continues to praise, using your opened-mouthed moans as an opportunity to spit into your mouth once more. Gripping at the sheets beneath you, you squeeze your eyes shut as he bottoms out inside of you, your body opened impossibly wide to accommodate you.
‘You’re so tight,’ he groans. ‘Have you ever lay with a man?’
‘No, Daemon,’ you whisper, gently rocking your hips to ease some of the burn before you’re doing it to feel the base of his cock against your clit. ‘Only ever wanted you.’
‘Good because you’ll never even touch another man again,’ he promises as he pulls out, only to slam back into you. Daemon builds his pace as one hand braces himself next to your head and he leans down to kiss you, swallowing your moans as he fucks so deeply into you, you can feel him in your stomach. He pushes down a little and you cry out, little whimpers escaping your mouth as the base of his cock brushes against your clit each time he moves.
‘I can’t wait to see you round with my babe,’ he groans. ‘I’m going to fill you up until your tits swell with milk.’
Daemon focuses his attention to your breasts as he says it, grabbing one in his hand and squeezing it as he continues to tease you with his words, ‘can you imagine how pretty they’ll be all heavy with milk?’
Unable to speak, you simply mewl and whimper, loving the way he is speaking to you. Your fingernails scratch down his back as you cling onto him for dear life, the feeling in your stomach returning. Your legs hook around his back in an attempt for him to stay inside you forever.
‘I’m going to fill you with my seed tonight so you will always have a part of me inside you as my babe grows,’ he promises, still thrusting into you with vigour. ‘Do you want that? To never be empty again? To always have one of my babes growing inside of you?’
‘Yes, Daemon,’ you say like a prayer. ‘Please.’
He continues to focus on your pleasure until you’re seeing only white, your body completely taking over, your legs clamping around his body and your walls fluttering, trying to get him to cum inside of you. He continues to fuck you, his hips losing the pace he set earlier. Each thrust more disjointed and he lets out a groan before he cums inside of you, his cum filling you up.
‘You’re mine, do you understand that?’ he asks, resting his forehead against yours, panting.
‘All yours.’
‘You will not be wed to my nephew. You are mine. No other man will ever get to see you the way I do. They’ll never hear your pretty little moans and by the old Gods and the new, if they try, I will gut them and feed them to Caraxes.’
‘Iksan mirre aōhon, mu dārilaros I’m all yours, my Prince,’ you whisper against his lips. ‘Mirre aōhon all yours.’
