#daemon imagine

[earenwen-leafwhisper]

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

[hoteldreamss]

Daemon Targaryen || imagine

Метки: оживление человека; как бы отсылка на Франкеншетйна.

Слов: 577

Он знает, что это может быть не лучшей идеей, но он прошёл через слишком долгий и сложный путь, чтобы сейчас задумываться о гуманности своих действий.

Лаборатория, в которой он работает уже несколько месяцев в надежде воскресить свою невесту, завалена книгами, хирургическими принадлежностями и доступной людям в девятнадцатом веке техникой. Окна завешены кусками тёмной ткани, которая пропускает лишь немного света днём. Замок мог бы покрыться паутиной и пылью, если бы не уборщики, которых так любезно его брат попросил прибираться раз в неделю. Деймону не нравилось, что эти люди приходят в его дом, место которое он сохранил ради вашего брака, но у него не так много времени сейчас, чтобы поддерживать чистоту. И ему нравится думать, что ты была бы рада жить в чистом доме, а не в погребённом под слоями пыли месте. Поэтому он не выгоняет прислугу.

Деймон зачёсывает короткие светлые волосы назад, когда несколько прядей мешаясь, падают на лоб. Он выдыхает, смотря на свою работу. Это не идеально. Деймон знает, ему не удастся сделать тебя снова прежней, вернуть твоему телу изначальный вид уже не возможно. Но он твой жених, твой будущий муж, он любит тебя даже мёртвой, что уж говорить о нескольких шрамах на теле.

— Скоро мы снова будем вместе. — Деймон наклоняется к тебе, оставляя тёплый поцелуй на ледяной коже твоего лба.

Он тянется к перчаткам и надевает их. Набирается смелости. Даже если Деймон желает лучшего результата, надеется на него, зная, что сделал всё правильно, он не лишён человеческого страха. Что если что-то пойдёт не так? Игры со смертью и жизнью не шутки. Никто из его близких даже не знает, чем он промышлял всё это время. Они думали, что это просто хандра от потери своей суженной. Поэтому он не выходит из дома, избегает встреч с людьми и не жалует гостей.

Деймон выдыхает. Страх и сомнения никогда не помогали ему. Он откидывает их, как только ловит себя на этом. И тянет за рычаг, пуская электричество по проводам подключённым к твоему наполовину новому телу. Неприятный звук ползущего тока разносится на всю комнату. Это долго, Деймон смотрит на показатели приборов окружающих тебя. Затем он слышит неприятный звук, будто что-то искрится, будто напряжение вышло из-под контроля. И когда из машины, пропускающей ток идёт дым, Деймон отпускает рычаг, прекращая поступление электричества.

Тишина снова окутывает его. Комната освещённая парой керосиновых светильников снова погружена в полумрак.

Ты приходишь в себя внезапно, будто тебя вырывают из твоего бренного покоя. Ты сразу же поднимаешься, уже сидишь на холодном операционном столе, где лежала пару секунд назад.

— Дорогая? — голос Деймона слегка сиплый, когда он смотрит на тебя.

Ты выглядишь растерянной, в одном белом платье для сна. Твой взгляд падает на руки, в небольшом свети комнаты ты разглядываешь себя как можешь, удивляясь нескольким шрамам, похожим на неровные стежки и даже думая, что твои руки вовсе не твои.

— Что ты наделал? — твой тон не обвинительный, а скорее сквозит разочарованием и это разбивает сердце Деймону.

Его глаза застилает пелена слёз, не то счастья, не то от отчаяния. Он кладёт одну руку на твоё колено, и ты чувствуешь приятное тепло от этого прикосновения. Ты и не осознавала насколько тебе холодно.

— Я скучал по тебе. — Он прислоняется своим лбом к твоему виску. Другая его рука на твоей шее.

— Ты не должен был этого делать.

— Тогда я бы скорее убил себя, чем оставил бы всё как есть. Ты моя невеста, и ты должна стать моей женой.

Ты хмуришься, совершенно лишённая нежности в сердце от слов своего живого жениха. Раньше ты счастливо улыбалась от его признание в любви, но сейчас это вызывает в тебе совершенно ничего.

[lady-phasma]

I've had this headcanon that if Viserys and Daemon had had a little sister, Daemon would have wanted to marry her, instead of her marrying Viserys, as would have been the custom since he's the eldest. In my mind, he would have done whatever it took to have her.

What do you think of that?

Hi! ilysm! I have been saving this like dessert. You have no idea! Is it my birthday because this feels like a birthday present!

Targaryen weirdness aside, I am so here for this! You have broken my brain but in the best way possible. Why did I immediately think of her as a spitfire, feisty and outspoken like Rhaenyra? What if she didn't want to marry Viserys?

You know, I have this vague headcanon that Daemon really never wanted the crown and if I followed that path I could totally see him telling King's Landing to fuck off and maybe take lil Sis off to the Stepstones or Dragonstone.

My mind is racing and I have all the thots. What if she were the middle child? Born between them? I think Viserys is four years older than Daemon in the book, so what if she were always protecting her baby bro? You have put the most adorable brain rot in my head. I know, I know, you said younger sister, but I just imagined her around 14 tending to her 12 year old brother's skinned knee after he fell in the training yard. How it would probably keep Daemon from being married at 16 if she were older. I love Rhea, but we all know that was a poor match.

But younger or older I had the cutest thought about his first tourney and asking for her favor.

The "he would have done whatever it took to have her" part - 100% agree! I know how much he loves his brother, but he would pull some shady, underhanded shit. Even if him and Sis hadn't slept together, he could easily lie about her being pregnant, we've seen him do it in canon.

Or throwing some helpless female cousin at Vizzy so he could would be distracted and maybe change his mind or fall in love. The possibilities are nearly endless considering Daemon's flexible morals.

I hope you know I am going to be thinking about this all the time now because I am in love with this. You are amazing! I know it's not a new au and other people have written him with a sister but I want to know more about what you see unfolding too. I bet you have some great ideas since you've been thinking about this longer. I am literally grinning from ear to ear.

[targaryen-dynasty]

Nocturnal Worship (18+)

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; dub/non-con, somnophilia, canon typical incest/targcest (uncle/niece), p in v, fingering, possessive and dark (or rather canon) Daemon

WORDS: 1.2 K

...

A deep slumber has overtaken you after a day full of lessons in the tongue of your ancestors, and an hours long flight on the back of your precious mount. Deep enough that not even the creaking door leading to one of the secret passageways of Maegor‘s Holdfast is able to get you to stir awake. 

Not quite so stealthy as one might know him, the man they dub the Rogue Prince steps into your chambers, his heart beating fast with the blood pumping straight down to his cock upon spotting you laying on your side, sound asleep despite his intrusion. 

It’s almost ridiculous how hard his cock gets the closer he stalks towards your canopy bed, straining uncomfortably against the laces in the front of his breeches. “Ñuha dōna lēkianna,“ he drawls with a strain to his voice, the predatory gaze of his lilac eyes taking in your sleeping frame. My sweet niece. 

A devilish smirk that’s usually only reserved to the people that dare to challenge him is draped across his lips, growing as he slowly peels the Quartheen silk sheets off your body. Only a fool would miss the fact that you’re not wearing any undergarments beneath the rather flimsy, creamish nightgown you wear, clearly indicating that you have listened to your uncle prior to your departure to your quarters. 

‘Expect me at the Hour of the Owl, sweet girl,’ he had said to you as your lesson ended. ‘And I shall teach you what is expected of you on your wedding night.’ And the sheepish nod and the blush on your cheeks let him know you truly endorsed it. 

Daemon sits down on the bed next to you and brushes his fingers over your skin, starting at your knee to push the nightgown up and reveal your bare cunt, glistening with your arousal for the long-awaited. His deft fingers drag through your folds, circling your sensitive pearl.

A quiet sound slips past your slightly parted lips, resembling something between a moan and a whimper, and in your sleepy state he finds you snuggling against him to inhale his comforting scent, your hand resting on his stomach and your face buried in his side.

His fingers toy with your pearl briefly before he gently nudges you over to lie on your back, parting your legs to grant him better access to what lies between them. Ghosting the tips of his fingers along your navel, he trails them down again to ease them inside your cunt, pushing in and out to prepare your maiden core for him.  

The thread of restraint he’s held before grows thinner and thinner with your walls starting to clench steadily around his digits, practically sucking them in and begging for more. And when he feels your small hand fisting his tunic, pulling him closer with your hips rutting meekly against his hand? That’s the moment it snaps.

Withdrawing his fingers from your cunt, he brings them up to his lips, sucking them clean of your essence. Any rational thought is quit with the taste of your arousal spreading over his tongue, making him long for more. 

He climbs between your legs, sitting back on his haunches as he undoes his breeches and frees his cock from its confines. There’s not a second wasted by him,  burying himself inside of you with such urgency in one, swift thrust. 

All efforts not to wake you up are fruitless as he increases the pace of his thrusts, snapping his hips in and out of you over and over again, not able to hold back any longer. 

The hazy glimmer in your eyes as you blink up at him indicates that you have a hard time processing what is happening, although your body perfectly knows with quiet moans and whimpers toppling past your parted lips. 

“K… Kepus?” you mumble, having trouble speaking with the burning of your cunt struggling to accommodate his size clouding your thoughts. You blink once, twice, to allow your eyes to adjust to the dim light the moon casts through your chambers windows.  

Daemon doesn’t stop his ministrations, if anything, your dazed reaction only manages to spur him on, feeding the fire that courses through his veins. He dips down, pressing his chest flush to yours and putting his weight onto you, caging you in between his arms with no way to escape. 

Your uncle rests his forehead against yours, stopping his movements briefly. “I told you I would come, didn't I?” 

Biting your bottom lip, you momentarily close your eyes at the proximity. Opening them again, you nod your head and stare up at him with a wide, innocent gaze. “Y… Yes.”

“And you want to learn from me, do you not?” It isn’t a question, more a coercion for you to give him what he wants. “About the… wifely duties you must perform for your future husband.” 

You nod again, speaking in feigned confidence, “yes.”

His words are very much that of truth. More than once have you thought about him in ways that are not proper for the youngest daughter of the King, especially after your older sister has told you about the little foray she and your uncle went on that ended in one of the brothels of the city.

Daemon starts to grind his hips against yours, causing the pressure inside of you to become more and more notable — until your peak catches you in an ambush. 

Your body acts on its own as you arch your back against his sturdy frame, parting your legs just a bit more to willingly rut your hips in rhythm with his, chasing the pleasure. 

Not one coherent thought runs through your head as your body works itself through the several emotions and trembles that soar through you, suddenly not so tired anymore. 

You‘re not so sure what to expect as he proclaims his desire to spill inside of you, yet you eagerly accept, damned be the repercussions, and bite through the overstimulation to chase the addictive feeling of his throbbing cock. 

Tipping his head back, your uncle releases a groan so raspy the bump in his throat twitches, the sight causing a renewed wave of your arousal to drip down his shaft, forming a creamy ring around the base. 

Only once the thrusting of his hips ceases, you‘re able to feel the flimsy pulsating of his cock, spending itself inside of you. 

“That’s it–” His words catch in his throat as his head topples forwards. 

Meeting your gaze, he gets so lost in the blissed out expression on your face that he knows there is no going back now — not when he just got a taste of you, his darling niece. 

He presses a kiss to your temple as he pulls out, the uncomfortable feeling of loss causing you both to grimace. Climbing off the bed to readjust his trousers, he can‘t seem to take his eyes off of you. 

“I expect you, tomorrow night, to come to my chambers,” he states bluntly and nonchalantly, walking towards the door he came through before. “Your husband will not be gentle on the first night of your marriage, lēkianna, and I think it is only fair that I teach you a few more things. So when the time comes, you‘re well prepared.”

With these words, he closes the secret door behind him, leaving you all by yourself. Where you have been in a very deep slumber before, you struggle to fall back asleep again, mind plagued by what tomorrow will bring for you. 

Daemon Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @schniiipsel @avalyaaa @baizzhu @yn-jackson

[tia-greyblueviolet]

I have watched House of the Dragon recently. And well my brain did its thing and popped out two ocs, one for the blacks one for the greens.

Greens: Lady Alyne Hailstone, the Merciful. She is the youngest daughter of a North adjacent province that holds a lot of power for their mines and the minerals they export, as well as their protective role at the border. She has been betrothed to Aegon II when she was 11, (she is the same age as Haelena) and she has been living in the Red Keep since that day, under the tutelage of Alicent. She is quite shy and meek, very caring and seeking other’s love through giving love. She doesn’t agree with the Greens at the start of the Dance, at this point she very much agrees with Aegon that having the throne is not a good position and she wishes to protect their children. However, she is very loyal to Aegon and remains by his side no matter what.

Blacks: Princess Aelys Targaryen, the Mourning Princess. She is the cousin of Rhaenyra (I have to figure out her family tree lmao, I believe she shares a great grandfather with her? Honestly Targaryen family tree is a mess anyways). She was the only daughter of her parents. She is a Dragon Dreamer and when she was eight, she foresaw a terrible attack on her family while traveling to King’s Landing. However, her parents were not big believers and her messages were cryptic too, and her dream became true. Everyone in her convoy was killed but her and her dragon who had just recently hatched. She gained her scar on her face and her dragon (Graydusk, a gray and white dragon, with some slightly iridescent scales) was permanently injured and cannot fly very well. She was saved by Daemon on dragon back, sent by the King when the family did not arrive. She was raised alongside Rhaenyra as a ward of Viserys and Aemma. For years she did not speak and tried to ignore her dreams. But with help from her family she came out of her shell. She shares a great bond with Daemon in a different was as her cousin. They end up marrying shortly after Rhaenyra’s wedding. During the Dance, she is plagued with dreams and participates the best she can with her dragon, who has an incredibly hot flame.

Anyways, brain rot moment, I am fixated on them now.

(I know I have fanfics to write *Looks at Choices and sweats*. School is tackling me physically, emotionally, intellectually, I am starting to turn to God at this point.I will return to it soon.)

[ms-trash-panda]

Week three of the prompt event by @hotd-bigbang

Pairing: Viserys x Daemon

Themes: angst-ish

Warnings: none

Word count: 238 words

Prompt: “Better to reign in Hell, than to serve in Heaven.” (Paradise Lost)

"So now you call yourself king. King of the Narrow Sea. You cannot have the Iron Throne, so you call yourself king of sand and stone, of barren lands and angry seas."

Viseys was shocked. Very little of his brother's deeds shocked him, but this, what he had gone and accepted, the title he now uses for himself... 

"Yes," Daemon replied with a flourish, his voice thick with newfound authority. He was no longer speaking to his brother as a leal subject; he was now speaking to him as an equal. "I am now a king, as you say, of sand and stone, of barren lands and angry seas. But I am a king still, and I intend to keep it that way. Whether you make peace with it or no, it is of no concern to me."

Viserys would have risen in anger had it not been for the pain that had been plaguing him since before dawn. 

"The Dornish will not take kindly to a dragon so close to their shores," he spat. 

Daemon shrugged. "True. But they may think differently if that dragon guards their backs."

"Why?" This was all too much, even for one such as Viserys. "Why do you do this?"

"Because it is better than spending the rest of my days serving on my hands and knees," Daemon answers quickly, eager and impatient to get on with his day. "Good day, brother."

[ms-trash-panda]

Week two of the prompt event by @hotd-bigbang

Pairing: Daemon (against Craghas Drahar)

Themes: Dark

Word count: 153 words

Warnings: Weapons use | Blood | Some gore

Prompt: "I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.” (Frankenstein)

It was rage that led him to this moment. Always being denied, having his counsel go unheeded, and having his love for his brother questioned filled him with icy fury even as he lifted his sword.

Craghas Drahar fell to the cold, wet earth when finely forged Valyrian steel was brought down on him again, and again, and again. He stopped breathing, then stopped breathing. The sword never stopped falling on him. The deep crimson of his blood spattered the prince from toe to head. Daemon stopped, his sword arm throbbing with a welcome ache. It was over. He left the cave, a bloody hunk of flesh trailing behind him like a morbid trophy.

"Is it finished?" Corlys gazed upon the severed remains of what was once a man.

"It is," Daemon answered, "for now."

It was not the first time Daemon indulged in rage. It was not going to be the last.

[dreamlandcreations]

Imagine Daemon being infinitely amused when you make a scandalous comment to Alicent

Imagine Daemon being infinitely amused when you make a scandalous comment to Alicent who was being a cunt during the celebratory dinner that the King ordered for his family in the event of the birth of your sister's third Strong son.

The Queen's prayer was another not-so-sly remark to Rhaenyra but this comment involved you too so your response was deliberately extra shameless.

"May the Mother bless both princesses with many true heirs," she murmured.

Pretending to be in the belief that she finished, you rise from your seat a little, making an intentionally loud noise with the sliding chair and grab the wine from the opposite side of the table, from right in front of her.

Alicent looks at you with dread as you pour yourself a drink and reply to her taunting. "Yes, well, don't you worry about that, dear. Daemon and I are fucking at every chance so it is bound to happen sooner rather than later."

Your husband chuckles openly while Rhaenyra looks down to hide her smile. The Hightowers are looking at you with a mortified expression, even as Daemon pulls you down back to your seat and leans in to kiss you while he is still unable to hold back his laughter.