Hiii, random thought I had today , I rewatched httyd and thought about the scene where Hiccup scratched under Toothless' chin and he collapsed in happiness so I wondered if Targaryen's might have like the perfect scratching spot that'd make them do the same thing, basically melting into your touch
Always yours, ✨ anon
Note: Hi ✨anon !! I’m so happy you asked ! I don’t think many of them would let their love scratch at their dragons all willy-nilly, because they still are dragons. But some have more control over the draconic instincts then others, for sure. The younger generation is more open to being scratched or touched in general, too.
Warning: ⚠️ start of explicit scenes, not graphic. Very mild.
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Aemond: To be fair, Aemond had no control in what Vaghar did, most of the time when he was in dragon form. Otherwise, he would not have had you so close, so soon after a long flying adventure when he and Vaghar were on edge. If it had been left to Aemond, he would have left the moment he saw you, waiting for him in the pit, at landing. But Vaghar had taken over, in his fatigue, and let you run your hands down the scales that made their body. Too tired to fully control himself, and too exhausted to even think about changing form, Aemond simply stood by, in his own mind, and watched.
Vaghar is a sucker for caresses, the prince already knew. He could hear and feel her purrs everything you touched him, at any moment, and for any reasons. This time was no different, except that Aemond had no control over the purrs that rumbled out of Vaghar, purrs he usually quieten to the people around him.
Your fingers scratched at the long snout of his dragon form and a jolt of lightning seems to run through his veins as Vaghars let herself fall to the ground, leaving Aemond dizzy, fully in control of the dragon’s form. The sudden fall of the dragon, and change from the scaled giant to the leathery-winged prince left you no time to brace yourself. Aemond hand caught yours, bringing it against his cheek, stepping so close to you that you could feel his chest heaving against yours.
No words were exchanged, Aemond too busy trying to make sense of this sudden situation, and the heaviness between his legs that had all the blood (or so it seemed) in his body rush down south, too fast to fully understand. He felt sluggish, drunk from your touch, and words seemed like the least pleasing things he could offer you in, when you made him feel so much.
Baela: Baela would like to have you feel her completely, in and out of her human form and dragon form, but the reminder of her burnt hands forever marked on your skin is searing still, in her memory. She likes having yours hands run down her scales, especially against her neck, but she never lets you get cozy with Moondancer’s full form. Her dragon magic is still too fearsome for her Rider, and hurting you is the nightmare that follows her even in the waking world.
Daemon: Caraxes would love to have you scratch under his chin, at the junction of his neck, it’s Daemon that is too proud to as, and too in control to let Caraxes do as he pleases. The only time it happened was the only time Daemon fucked you with scales still covering most of his body and teeth that could have ripped your throat in a blink. The only time, or too he begged for you to keep his eggs inside. Since, he limits your interactions with Caraxes’ form.
Daemon is still too embarrass to talk about his request of you keeping his eggs, he felt dirty and had never seen himself as perverse before this one instance. It’s a him problem.
Jacaerys: Jacaerys wishes he could control Vermax, if only half as good as Baela does Moondancer. Vermax always finds a way to get your hands on it’s scales, and get your fingers in the little spot behind his left wing that he cannot reach. The spot that makes Jace see stars and feel like he could burst from not even having you touch him… down there. And he can’t even make it known to you, since Vermax is not letting him have the control to shift, so Jacaerys endures, until Vermax gets its fill of caresses. Then it’s a red-cheeks Jace that your greet. One that pulls you to the nearest corner to kiss you, hands holding on to your hips and thighs and hair, until he, too, gets his fill of you.
Rhaenyra: Syrah is more than happy to have you scratch at their scales. Every place you touch is their favourite, to be honest. Do they have a particular spot ? Not really. Do they have to have you naked underneath them afterwards ? Most definitely.
Rhaenyra has control over Syrax, and Syrax is most happy to please her human counterpart. With the exception of those tired nights after long deliberations and political talks that Syrax has no care for. Then, the dragon has an easier time having access to their human’s body, and thus to you, in the process. Being able to feel your fingers racking through their hair, and having their chin rest upon your chest, letting them purr and bathe you in their scent to their heart’s content is the most gratifying thing Syrax could find. And the burn of lust grows in her human’s lower belly every time, forcing Syrax to retreat to the darkness of their shared mind as Rhaenyra, now fully awake, takes back the control and makes you sing under her touch.
Note: Do you guys know just how much 174 is??? Wow. The last poll I did barely had 8 votes. I just want to disclaim that I think people thought sharing in a more NSFW way, and that's not really what I write, so I'm sorry in advance. I will try to give what you want, but don't do in this wanting the most explicite of Smut ever, you might be disappointed...
Warning: Mention of character’s death, mention of depression, mention of polyamory (not polygamy), weird dragon shit. No use of (Y|N), G!N Reader.
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In my headcanon, the only option that makes sense for Rhaenyra and Daemon to share a lover would either be because they had the same preference for a same member of the close relation Rhaenyra had as a child (friend or guard, you know the drill). Or Rhaenyra has taken Laenor’s lover as her own after Laenor’s death and Daemon follow suit because of some weird dragon shit that happens in their brain because dragon magic biology!
To Daemon, his mating to Rhaenyra made sense. Caraxes and Syrax spirits had an affinity to each other since Syrax’s eclosion. But since Viserys wanted to be stingy, Daemon had no choice but to stay away. He had to watch as his niece, his soulmate, marrying Laenor, her second cousin. Not a bad man, in himself, but the boy was already mated- though the information had been kept very quiet. Laenor was -also- Daemon’s brother-in-law. Since the exiled prince had been made to marry Laena, his own cousin once removed, or was it his third cousin, Daemon couldn’t truly care to keep up at this point.
The whole thing made for bizarre family banquets, in any case. Daemon and Rhaenyra, mates unmated facing each other at the table, the other husband and wife sitting next to them. Children scattered around on the chairs surrounding them, guards and ladies-in-waiting standing near the exit of the room and Laenor’s mate sitting at the far end of the table, managing Rhaenyra and -allegedly- Laenor’s children every now and then, rather than engaging in the conversations flying around them.
And whilst Caraxes used to be angry, envious and betrayed for Syrax, as the dragon spirit and its shifter were, in the other dragon’s opinion, taken for granted, he didn’t want to bite Laenor’s precious pearl’s head off. Maybe it was because of the soft smile Rhaenyra had on her lips when she watched Laenor’s pearl interact with her small and rowdy children, or even how they interacted with his own daughters. Daemon would have to question Caraxes about it later, but for now, the dragon had lowered his angrily guarded walls.
To Rhaenyra, sharing her space with a man unavailable to her such as her husband was had been a harsh reality to adapt to. Seeing him enjoy the company of another had been hard to accept, until she learn to let you in, too. You’d always been polite, kind, never forcing yourself to be in her presence, nor wanting to overstep. She was a princess after all. You had learned, since you first mating with Laenor, that your position was to stay secret, discreet. She, on the other hand, was raised to flash her relationship, and you understood where that could bring conflict within your, admittedly weird, household.
It happens quite naturally, with Rhaenyra. It already was somewhat of a grey zone between the two of you when Laenor was still alive. Not romantic, strictly speaking, but not planotic either. There was an affection, that’s for sure. But the bound becomes something more after Laenor’s death. The excruciating pain Rhaenyra feels when you retract to yourself, the loneliness that she feels when you spend the weeks following your mate’s disappearance cloistered in bed, barely living makes Syrax act more than Rhaenyra.
Dragons are weird, and pity can be powerful. It’s Syrax that start nesting around you after a while, wanting you to feel better, wanting to see you smile again. Caraxes would follow in Syrax’ path days afterwards, to help its mate. And I firmly believe that Rhaenyra would follow Syrax instincts wholly, but Daemon would be more difficult. He would come around it in the end.
Imagine time!!
It was warm. Too warm. Dragonstone was not a warm kind of place. Murky chilly, heavy, humid, stifling, clammy, and so on, but never too warm. You stirred, under the heaviness of the blankets covering you, battling with it as it stayed unmovable. Something was stopping you from finding a breeze. You grunted, an ache in the small of your back throbbing through your spine.
“Lua ziry bē, azantys, se nyke pendagon ao ȳdra daor jaelagon īlva va.” Rumbled a gravelly voice, quite in the otherwise silent darkness of your mind. Something snaked around you bringing your back against something firm, and definitely the source of the warmth you were subjected too. Another huff escaped your lips as you tried to open your eyes and face the morning.
“I–I have no idea of what you said.” You admitted grumpily, letting Daemon nuzzle into the crook of you neck. Your admission made him laugh quietly.
On your other side the bed dipped under a weight that your blurry vision could only analyse as a woman, dressed in dark red and black, with long white hair.
“Ivestragī zirȳ sagon, mōrītubis istan qopsa.” Rhaenyra chuckled, an arm passing over your head as she pushed Daemon’s head away from your neck, where he’d started to leave a trail of kisses and small bites.
Mind still fuzzy with sleep and the overwhelming warmth, your reactions felt sluggish and your coordination wasn’t to its maximum. Yet, you still leaned into Daemon’s chest and let Rhaenyra’s deft fingers run through your hair soothingly. The ache in your lower back brought memories of the night before.
Kisses exchanged between Rhaenyra and yourself, neck craned as she pressed against your back. Daemon, doing what Daemon did best, his length deep in your warmth, his mouth kissing every inch of your chest as he did. One of your hands on his shoulder, the other keeping rhaenyra’s face close to keep kissing her, like she was the oxygen you needed.
“Stay with us, Darling.” Your queen chuckled softly, lips replacing her finger on the crown of your head.
You hummed an answer, nonsensical as it was, lifting your head to smile up at Rhaenyra. Daemon huffed, throwing himself back on his side of the bed, dramatically. This made you chuckle. “Everyone can get kisses, you big fire-pup.”
“Fire-pup, that is an original name you’ve found me.” Grunted the prince, grabbing Rhaenyra’s hand to kiss it. You shrugged at him, snuggling into the duvet once more.
“I have to call you something, you all have your nicknames.” Perfect and sole logic. Nobody could argue with it. You moved toward a colder spot on the bed, making your spine throb once more.
Daemon laughed, head thrown back, and Rhaenyra giggled with him. “Of course, Darling.”
Becomes a flustered mess. Stuttering, deflecting. The rooms seem stuffy and they’re too warm. Cannot look back into your eyes and cannot express why it makes them so shy to be thus admired.
Aemond, Rhaena, Laenor, Helaena.
Smiles softly, back at you, a small tinge of appreciation tugging at their heart. Gets closer to you to kiss you as a way to express just how lucky they are to have you by they’re side, and how in love they are with you too.
Rhaenyra, Baela, Jacaerys, Daemon.
Laughs it off, teasing you back because of your lovesick expression, makes you feel shy to get back at the embarrassment you don’t know you’ve made them feel. It’s just another excuse to have you in their arms.
Daemon, Aegon, Laenor, Jacaerys, Baela.
Blurb of their reactions under the cut
Aegon:
There’s a softness in him that nobody else but you can see. Sharing a warm bath, the chirping of birds as only sound breaking the silence. You were currently admiring Aegon's peaceful traits. His head leaned back, resting back against the bath, eyes closed to take as much advantage of the calm as he could. The lines of stress that usually creased his forehead were gone, the frown of his perpetual pompous air left its place to the soft and natural smiley position of his lips. One of your fingers, that until then had been busied drawing nonsensical forms on his chest, made it's way up to the corner of his lips, to trace them.
Aegon opened an eye. “Careful, my love, your gaze will make me melt at this rate,” he teased in a hoarse whisper. His hand coming to hold yours and he pressed a kiss to your fingers.
“I cannot melt what is already made of fire.” You sputtered, lowering your gaze to his chest, startled by the intensity of his gaze. You'd tried to make your tone teasing, as his was, but the fatlering of your voice had you wince a little. Aegon simply hummed a breathless chuckle, adjusting himself under you, hips grazing your behind momentarily.
“Admit it, you wanted to touch me.” And seeing as you started to shake your head, trying to deny his playful accusation, Aegon placed a soft hand to your cheek, now looking down at you. “That’s alright. I cannot fault you for it.”
Aemond:
“I can feel your gaze, Qelos.” He was sitting at the very front of his cushion seat, a heavy and dusty volume sat on his knee, a position he’d held for hours now. You’d abandoned your own activity to look at the man’s form, appreciating him. Aemond had tolerated it for a while, but after half an hour had passed and he could still see your body half turned to him, the dragon hybrid couldn’t resist teasing you about it anymore. His purple irises rose to meet your.
“Can’t I just admire you?” You asked. Not teasing, it was an earnest question, and somehow, that took Aemond by surprise even more. And when your eyes trailed his figure, as if to prove your point, the man nearly broke.
A heat overtook him, creeping it’s tingling fingers on the back of his neck, burning a path to his face and down his spine. The book on his knees nearly tumbled down, shaken by the jolt echoing through his body. Aemond closed it, a sharp thud breaking the flustered silence that had overtaken the room.
“You’re speaking nonsense.” The prince managed to say, his gaze hardening, as if it would distract you from the flush of his cheeks. Your lips curled into a smile and his own raised to mirror your expression, on a smaller scale.
“I would argue that it makes perfect sense, my prince.” You rose from your seat to instead kneel in front of Aemond, removing the book from his laps and letting your hand take place on him instead. Your eyes met his, nothing but love in them as you spoke. Aemond swallowed harshly, hands coming to rest upon yours, his eye roaming your face, unsure, but not unpleased by your words.
You could still see the dark scale that started to cover his jaw, his embarassment very visible now.
Baela:
“Such a high praise it is, my Rider, to have your eyes follow me as I train.” Baela’s words were loud, teasing you publicly as she’d caught you looking at her flying. Her wings still strained against the wind, hands on her hips. The help working in proximity all looked at you both, in turns, stilling for a moment. You groaned, running a hand to your face.
“Baela…” But your concerns went unheard as Baela walked up to you, large grin breaking her usual stern but lovely face, wind-wiped cheeks darker than usual.
“Did the sight please you? Was my spectacle worthy?” The princess took one of your hands in hers, eyes shining as she asked. The other rested against your hip, were her mark seemed to warm up, spreading a comforting heat throught your body. You had always enjoyed watching her fly, and the figures she’d manage today, you gathered now, had been to show off to you. A wave of embarrassment crawled up your spine, tingling to the base of your neck.
“You know it always does.” You muttered, making Baela laugh out loud, her head thrown back, throat exposed. She rarely let herself go this much in public. You smiled, eyes taking in the sight of her now, too. “You’re always perfect.”
Baela wings fluttered behind her, and brought your hand to her lips, kissing your fingers softly. “I’m glad, then.”
Daemon:
He caught you by surprise, a grin carving his face, and the glint in his eyes made your stomach drop. He looked like a predator having found his prey, stalking closer to you softly, purposefully.
“See something you liked, Azantys?” His deep tone send shivers down your spine, but you cannot bring yourself to lower your gaze from his face.
“Maybe I have.” You answered him softly, your hands coming to fumble with a piece of your outfit nervously. You monitor his movement, watching him creep closer to you until his chest nearly touches yours.
It’s like a battle happening, quietly as you study each other’s gaze, his smirk getting bigger with each seconds. “Have you? Pray tell, what.” He purred, one hand coming to the small of your back to press you closer to him. You could feel the warmth of his body seeping through his to you, and you weren’t sure if what you were feeling was embarrassment or it was just… him.
A chuckle left Daemon as you lowered your head to hid your face against his shoulder, yet, it didn’t deter him from teasing you further. “Now, Azantys, you have to say. I want to share your likings, how mean of you to keep them from me.” The rumble of his voice made your heart spike up.
Helaena:
“Is their something you wished to talk about?” Helaena asked softly, raising her head to look at you.
For the first time in weeks the princess had time to be alone (or as alone a princess could be) to do whatever she please. No meetings to hold, no party to attend, no children to keep, no mother to entertain. Only her, her embroidery and you, to keep Helaena company.
At the sound of her voice, and once her gaze met yours, you jolted, sitting straight in your chair. ‘’No, my lady. I was simply admiring your work.’’
You hadn't strike to fluster the princess, but you achieved it nonetheless. Her pale skin flushed, from the part of her neck that wasn't covered in grey-ish-blue scale to the tip of her ears, in a pinkish hue. ‘’You flatter me.’’ She mumbled, raising her legs to tuck them underneath her, a childish habit she still hadn’t got rid of, no matter how hard her mother had tried to train her into forgetting it. You smiled.
‘’It’s the truth.’’ You shrugged. The new colours on the princess’ skin gave you an odd sens of pride. But your words proved to be the wrong one to bring back calmness within Helaena’s demeanor, as her blush darkened and she hid her face with the curtain of her hair.
Jacaerys:
He’d done nothing particular, and yet, found you looking at him with enamoured eyes, a daze expression and a soft smile on your face, as he came back in your quarters, all sweaty from his sword practice.
‘’Have I done something, my Crown?’’ His expression mirrored yours, as a smile bloomed on his face, raising an arm to remove the layer of sweat from his brows, raising one quizzically, trying to get an answer out of you.
‘’I find that you have nothing to do more than be yourself for me to be in awe, my prince.’’
You never called him your prince, except when you wanted to rile him up, or tease him a little. His lips curled into a full smile now. He got closer to you, gently, measuring his movement not to make you suspicious of anything, prefering to bid his time with a teasing banter.
‘’Do you, now. Such luck I have to be married to such a loving mate.’’ He purred, stalking closer to you before wrapping his arms around your middle.
‘’EW! Jace.’’ You complained automatically, felling his drenched body press into you, the sulfur scent of his sweat now sticking to your clothes. Pushing him away didn’t work as he stayed encroached to you like a monkey to a branch.
‘’I thought you loved me as myself?’’ He pouted, rubbing his face to your neck, making you groan.
Laenor:
‘’You’re not listening.’’ Laenor accused, laughing. The ship that held you both was still docked, because Laenor had been adamant in showing you how to knot properly, which his father had thought you both when you were younger, but who were you to refuse you lover of spending time with you?
‘’I was!’’ You countered loudly, punching his shoulder, weakly, but still driving your frustration of his teasing across.
‘’No, you’re not, you’re just looking at me with big, dreamy eyes, and drooling.’’ He scoffed, tone playful, rubbing his own chin as if to mimic your supposed drooling. And you knew for a fact that you had never drooled in your life, not even for him.
But you pass a hand under your chin anyway, for good measure. ‘’I don’t drool.’’ You muttered, lowering your face toward the rope Laenor and you shared to practice your knotting, already working the one he was showing you, intending to prove Laenor wrong. But a finger under your chin stopped you, forcing you to look up at the smiling man once more.
‘’Whatever you say, Nūmio.’’ He smiled and leaned closer to kiss your lips softly, for a short moment. ‘’I find it endearing.’’ He whispered against your lips.
The words : ''You're terrible.'' Came out as a huff, mumbled against Laenor's lips also. And it made him preen harder, leaning against you completly now, the little crest of scale and nerves potruding from his jaws now extending with pride.
Rhaena:
‘’You’ll do marvellously well.’’ You repeated to Rhaena as she was pacing the room nervously, wrenching her hands with every breath.
‘’You don’t know that. Maybe they’ll rescind their protection. Maybe my offer won’t be enough to keep us here.’’ She denied, shaking her head, walking back to you. She was paler than usual, and you knew that this meeting would prove essential to keep Rhaenyra’s youngest children safe until you could find a way to go to Pentos undetected.
You ran your hands over her arms, up her shoulders until you reached her neck, thumbs caressing her jaw softly. ‘’You will do just fine. They are our allies. Why would they not agree to offer us protection?’’ You ressoned with her, eyes scanning her face. Even in the depth of nervousness, she was the prettiest sight your eyes had ever landed on.
‘’Don’t look at me like that.’’ Rhaena murmured, her hands coming to cover yours, eyes casting downward now.
‘’Like what?’’ Innocent enough, but you wanted her to say it, she always tried to deflect how you saw her, and now, now, you knew she needed to feel loved and supported more than anything.
‘’I don’t know. Like I hung the moon or something…’’ She whispered, ducking her head to lean her forehead against your shoulder.
‘’You didn’t?’’ You exclaimed, faking surprise, which made her chuckle, and look up at you again.
You’d accomplish your mission.
Rhaenyra:
‘’You look pretty, my lady.’’ You told her, wrapping an arm around her middle, supporting her very pregnant belly. Legs on each side of her tail, you were glad that her wings were not out as they were earlier today.
Rhaenyra had been on her feet for most of the day, going about war strategy and plotting letters for her allies. Today was the first time since the morning that you actually were in the same room as her, and you would use this to your advantage.
‘’I am the size of a ship, wearing the most boring dress of mine and my hair is a mess, Beloved. Do not lie to me.’’ She complained, ordered your softly, letting her head fall to your shoulder as you took some of the weight of the baby growing inside of her,
‘’I wouldn’t dare lie, Nyra. Your’re always pretty. I just wanted to make sure someone told you today.’’ You hummed, kissing her shoulder. The mirror reflected you both, letting Rhaenyra see your face even if her back was pressed to your chest.
She chuckled, kissing the side of your face. ‘’You’re the first one to tell me. Thank you.’’
You smiled at her, looking in the mirror to catch her eyes. ‘’You are most welcome.’’
How about the dragon hybrids being territorial? In their own ways of course-💎
Hi !!! I'm sorry it took this long, honestly. This is one of the most difficult asks I've received yet :'( I think it's because I thought for a very long moment after receiving it that territorial and possessive where the same (I don't know why, I know there not in other contexts... anyway). So I had to change everything like... last week, when I was about the write about Rhaena. SO!!! Yeah, hope you like it because this has my SOUL.
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Aegon:
I think that the most territorial Aegon would ever be territorial over you is if you’d been somehow discovered by Aemond or Alicent. Because, remember, you are (SOMEHOW) Aegon’s best kept secret. If his brother, or ever worst his mother, where ever to find out about your identity, Aegon will definitely lose his shit. Aegon doesn’t own things in the same sense that -say Jacaerys- owns things. He is king. Or puppet, which ever you prefer. He owns his children, and he owns the room you and him reside in. That’s the sacred place he wouldn’t let anyone desecrated.
It all happened so fast. One moment you were standing in the middle of the room, a beautiful sunset illuminating the room, Aegon’s arms lazily wrapped around you when the wooden door slammed against the opposite wall. And queen Alicent walked in.
Back flat against the stone wall of the room, a golden, scaly tail swatting left and right in front of you, keeping you from moving, and others from advancing further into the room. A deep growl seemed to make the stone tremble as it echoed against the walls. Seemed to you, anyway.
“Be reasonable, Aegon.” Called the queen to her son, from her spot at the door.
Yet, Aegon only growled louder, pressing his tail into you harder, flattening you to the wall further. His wings where deployed, rendering the already small room even smaller. And Aegon rarely left Sunfyre’s form overtake his, especially inside the castle.
He kept your form as hidden as he possibly could, you realized.
Aemond:
Aemond is always territorial. But over specific things. And nobody knows what they are ! For example, bedroom, noone can enter that without his express authorisation. The room is the place where Aemond is his most vulnerable. Where he let himself be vulnerable.
The amount of times Aemond woke up at the same time as you, he could still count on both his hands. Yet, this morning he did.
Something was wrong. Vaghar was feeling watched, and it tugged Aemond from the peaceful (and rare) slumber he was experiencing within your arms, a deep growl already trembling out of his throat, waking you at the same time.
“What?” You asked, dreams still heavy in your tone, lowering you head to fix him with half-opened eyes to where he rested on your chest seconds prior.
Aemond didn’t answer you, raising his head higher still and looking around the room, then fixating the door, opening. The second prince took the long knife he had taken to keep under a pillow and rose from the bed, wings morphing out of his back soundlessly. The only thing you hear was the door opening quickly and Aemond’s growl growing louder. “Leave.” And the door closed again.
He then trudged back into bed, plopping down next to you and cuddling back onto your chest, like big cat. His wings stretching lazily behind him, catching once on the ceiling before retracting.
“What happened ?” You asked groggily, looking down at him. He only shrugged.
“Nothing.”
Aemond would never let anyone enter his rooms without his express consent with you inside of it.
Baela:
I don’t think Baela would be territorial in her usual life. Not like Aemond in his room with his Qelos, or like Jace when his Jewel is absent. I feel like Baela would be territorial if her Rider got hurt and she could do nothing else to help.
“No!” She bellowed, pulling you away from whomever tried to take you away from her, away from safety.
“Baela…” Started her father, voice deep, calm, a calming wave during the panic flooding her mind. But the rationality he tried to instaure was pushed away by her snarl. Horrible things had happened, because of her. But she couldn’t let you leave. Wouldn’t. How could she ensure you would bewell taken care of?
“Baela, it is not up for discussion. Their family has come to retrieve them, and you shall allow it for the time being.” Pushed Daemon, forcing his way inside the room the princess had you hauled in. The girl retreated, closer to you, pulling you to her chest tighter.
“No.” She growled again, her heavy, scaly, tail curling behind her threateningly. Her father paid no mind to that.
“It’s okay.” You managed to tell her, in the most comforting tone you could muster (which, admittedly was not that comforting). “I’ll come back to you as soon as I can!” You ran a hand over her cheek tenderly.
Daemon:
He is danger, he is fire. Nothing and nobody should be foolish enough to even think about displeasing him. And yet…
The chambers (his, Rhaenyra’s, or yours for that matter) was the one place he kept asking the help, the guards and all the various other workers of the castle to only disrupt for emergencies. Daemon was not shy of his body, nor of yours. Hell, he would brandish his nakedness in front of a banquet if it meant your happiness ! But the chambers were a little piece of heaven, where the silence and intimity ruled much stronger than Rhaenyra herself.
The only exception being the children.
Which explained your current, embarrassing, position, sitting (if one could call this as such) upon Daemon’s most sensible part of himself, blankets barely correcting your behind, Rhaenyra watching from the top of the bed. You, looking like a deer caught at the sharp end of an arrow when little Joffrey pushed the door of the chambers, hiccuping for his mother. Daemon’s chest started to rumble a warning, as he was unable to see the reason for the door opening, and only seeing your distress, before Rhaenyra brushed his forehead softly, and rose from the bed.
“Be good.” She called out for him as she left the two of you.
Helaena:
I do not believe that Helaena is capable of being territorial, as she has no territory to govern per se. Nothing is hers, truly. Except you.
To my defense, I think that Helaena is very resorbed into herself and has, for a lack of better terms, killed off most of her instincts.
Jacaerys:
Now, the poor baby is just pathetic… He’s not territorial over you, per se. Over your things, that was more seen. He has fought over clothes before.
The deep, guttural, growl that came out of the prince’s room was ominous. Six servants had abandoned the idea of going in to retrieve the laundry, two had been brave enough to go inside, only to come out white as sheets and teeth chattering. The Queen herself had to be brought to the room in a last ditch attempt to make Jacaerys see the importance of the help doing the laundry.
Leaning against the post of her son’s bed, arms crossed, Rhaenyra watched as Jacaerys made a mess of your clothes, forgotten or stolen before you left, and his over his bed. A crude nest if she ever saw one. « Is this truly necessary, Jace? » She asked him, tone neutral.
The growl that answered her made her want to roll her eyes, but she prevailed. Raising an eyebrow instead. Jacaerys sighed, frustration seeping from him like the smoke out of his nostrils.
« It’s still smells like them. »
A little bit of Rhaenyra’s heart shattered at the words. Jacaerys had a resilience that she herself knew not to have. To see his mate leave for months at times took a toll on him, she knew.
« They’ll take the scent away. » He added after a moment of silence, his clawed fingers closing tightly around a shirt of yours.
The Queen nodded silently, running a hand through her son’s curls before leaving the room. « Take only his clothes. » She told the servants, all bowed. »
Laenor:
Laenor has only a limited amount of places where he can be himself, his childhood bedroom, his boat and the wings of his chambers at Dragonstone. He stand on duties for all of those places.
Laenor had never been keen on sharing you, even as a child. He liked having you all to himself, even going as far as shutting his own sister out to keep your attention on himself. Thus creating more children dramas necessary.
Laena had taken upon herself to burst into his room, her little wings out and knocked you over, making you cry (being six years old would do that) which had made Laenor spring wing in turn and start growling - hissing?- at Laena. Making you even more frightened.
“Leave!!” The little boy grissed(?) his whole body shacking, placing himself between you and his sister.
“I want to play too!”
In the chaos, Rhaenys came in, alerted by the growls and shrieks. She was quick to put an end to the mayhem occurring in the room. But ever since, Laenor was very clear about his territories.
Rhaena:
Again, about Rhaena, I do not believe she’s much territorial, having been unrooted so often from her home. She would probably keen her bed as an untouchable place, which is more than Helaena, I conceded, but is still not much, and I feel that she would make an exception too it with her younger half-siblings, like Daemon would his children.
Rhaenyra:
Rhaenyra had never felt challenged about her belongings before her father remarried. Loosing Alicent has a friend had shaken her to the core and the balance on which she was standing now felt like it could crumble with every draft passing. From mellow, she became fiercer, keeping you closer, in quarters of her choosing.
The news had taken you all by surprise. Alicent, the new queen, that had not been expected. Rhaenyra had taken it the worst. Of course being her favourite, you were privy to burst of emotions others weren’t.
“I’m sure she wasn’t planning on hurting you so.” You tried to salvage, once more, adjusting a strand of hair that had escaped from the princess’ updo. She only scoffed, her scaly tail moving like a fish in water, a tiny glimpse of her fury materializing physically.
“Mother is not yet cold that father marries.” She spat, her voice caught between a whimper and a growl. She didn’t want to cry, seem weak. You nodded at her words.
“He must not seem weak. He is king, and kings must prevail.” You tried to soothe her again.
A knock on the door of her chamber made you jump, taking several step backward, leaving Rhaenyra to regain countenance, shaking her head once, twice, before ordering the help to come in.
Rāpa zaldrīzes bāne prūmia (Dragon!Hybrid!Daemon x Reader)
Warning: ⚠️ 17+ Content AT THE VERY LEAST. MDNI.⚠️ Soft Daemon.
Note: I wanted to do something to reflect both a drawing I saw of Daemon from @suis0u (which was amazing and sparked this idea) and the softness we see him have toward Rhaenyra in season 2. Also, this is for the un-emojified anon that asked about the Daemon's requests. I hope you find this, eventually and know that you shall now be dubbed as the ☄️anon.
Requests are open !
Words: 1,334
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His purple eyes burning through the reunited lords and ladies of the court as Daemon walked purposefully toward his brother. Long strides making it hard to follow behind him with even a modicum of dignity, so you didn’t try. The crown made of bones sitting on the prince’s head, once it was seen by the court, became the center of a buzzing conversation, whispers echoing inside the throne room, the stones walls acting like an amplification to the noise and you nearly flinched.
Blood striking the prince’s cheeks clothes thorned and whipped by the cruel wind as he place the bone crown on top of his head. The sound of crashing waves against the shore similar to the waves of murmurs now crashing through the room. The sun had replaced the flickers of fire-lit boats and arrows, yet you felt no peace inside these wall. And the tang of sweat hadn’t the same sweetness as the sea air held. The warmth of being looked at, glared at, was something you learned to ignore, being at Daemon’s side for so long.
It didn’t make it easier to bear.
Daemon now stood tall, at the feet of Viserys’ throne, wings spread proudly on his back, and you came to stand to the prince’s right, just a step of three behind. Head lowered, you presented to Daemon the hatchet you’d been given. You felt Viserys gaze burn the top of your head as you lowered yourself, Daemon looked onward. Ignoring the king’s guard sword sitting on his chest, he threw the hatchet to the ground, eyes locked with his brother’s. You pulled back behind the prince, eyes gazing over the assistance, meeting the purple, curious, one’s of the Princess Rhaenyra as you did so. She was the only one who offered a greeting, which you returned discreetly.
Daemon’s shoulders appeared free of all tension, but his scaly tale was unmoving also, signifying the slight nervousness he was probably feeling. His wings also, barely fluttered behind him. You took in a breath to try and calm the shaking in your limbs.
When Daemon received the letter form his brother, urging him to wait for reinforcement. It was the first time you grew scared of him. The quiet anger that burned through his gaze and the silence with which he rescinded. It had the same effect to you than diving into the icy water of the sea. Bones drenched in the cold fear of maybe loosing all control over his fiery characters, loosing Daemon for good.
He’d taken flight soon after he read the letter. Leaving with practically none of his army to fight the Crab king, leaving you to articulate the need you imagined he’d have once he landed. Scrambling to coordinate with this lord or some other before sending them behind him in small (too small) embarcations.
You’d been too far to follow the battle ensuing. Only seeing throws of flames and hearing the echoes of screams from where you stood. You could only direct the messages send to Corlys once his ship could manage to receive your flags.
When Daemon came back on the ship, all bloody and sooth covered. Smelling like fish, blood and smoke, a crown of small bones, or crab legs, which ever, sitting on his head, you lowered yours and ignored him. For you could not help with the fury his brother (The King) would unleash once he’d hear of his deed.
“You seem quite somber, for someone whose status just moved up to consort of a King.” Daemon commented one night, as you rested against his chest, his wings hiding you both from whomever could walk into the cabin you share in the ship. It was bringing you back to King’s landing, and you dreaded the experience, every day a little more.
You nodded. “Perhaps. I find myself wondering if accepting the title would do you any good.” You commented softly. Voice and words where two different things. One was the method, the other was the wound. And even if you wanted poison, the dead wasn’t always so smooth.
Daemon had looked down to you, eyebrows raised. “You regret my winning?” He asked, tone colder than before, his smirk becoming sharper, meaner.
“I do not. I fear your confidence.”
Now, as you bowed respectfully to Viserys, in front of a single hatchet, Daemon finally talked. Words buzzing in your ears, nonsense of nervousness. He was handling your life in his hands. You trust was put in Daemon early on, but his brash character had offered many disgrace, and not much to hold your head high. Not that you complained all that much, but in situations as these, it mattered.
“You were a crown. Do you also call yourself king.” Said Viserys, his tone smooth, calm, yet like a lash echoing in the air of the throne room. You lowered your head further. Murmurs grew loud in the room, as the assemble of lords and lady assisting convoluted the words of their king with horror, or mockery toward your prince. The though brought bile to the back of your throat, burning upward all the way from your stomach until it reached the back of your teeth.
“Once we smashed the triarchy, they named me… King of the Narrow Sea.” Explain Daemon, voice soft, devoid of all mutiny and playfulness you were so used to. Another wave of murmur started before Daemon continued, making you raise your gaze in his direction for the first time since the eternity you’d stood behind him.
“But I know that their is only one true king, your grace..” The prince kneeled in front of his brother, removing the bone-white crown from his as pale hair. “The crown, and Stepstones, are yours.”
In the stunned, heavy silence, that followed, blood rushed to your head, making it impossible to understand the exchange of words the king and the prince shared, you finally let out the beath that stuck to your throat all the while you waited. Viserys climbed down his throne to face his brother eyes to eyes, Daemon still kneeling, he offered his crown to Viserys.
The rest of it was, for you, a blur, as you only followed Daemon’s movements until he reached the quarters you would share. Your prince had no interest in parting from you anytime, anywhere. He was still drunk on the applause, on the praise that he’d receive from the king, that made him happy.
And when Daemon was happy, he was soft.
Which was something that would go against everyone that knew the prince would find contradictive. But they didn’t know him like you did. They didn’t know the need he had for closeness and appreciation like you didn’t. They couldn’t see the joy of being acknowledged as equally deserving like you did. And this was Daemon’s true face.
His hands guiding your hips to move against his, eyes devoid of their usual calculated glimmer, Daemon panted softly into the vast distance that separated your two bodies. Clothes in piles next to the bed, as he’d taken his time to take them off of you.
“Clever little Azantys, always the right words to bring me back to my sense.” He’d comment, eyes racking every parcel of your body as he revealed it it himself.
You rocked against him, positioning yourself the way you knew he liked, one of your hands coming to trace the scales decorating his neck and clavicles. Daemon threw his head back to give you a better access to it.
“Just like that, Azantys. Ao gaomagon ziry sīr sȳrī .”
Praises, or so you think, leave his mouth with every breath he huffed, head thrown back to enjoy the feeling of you and him locked together, moving in sync. Heavy hands running from your hips to down your legs, and then up to your shoulders, bringing you down so he could kiss your lips.
This is the daemon you liked most of all the versions you were privileged to see.
hey! i read this (https://www.tumblr.com/lchufflepuffcorn/788780770919645184/hiii-random-thought-i-had-today-i-rewatched?source=share) and wanted to say it's really good, but Daemon part really got to me and i saw your requests are open, so could you elaborate on his part in a fic/one shot, please? (if possible nsfw, but if you don't write, it can be fluffy anyway)
Hi Anon 🥸 ! Unfortunately, I don't really write NSFW, it's usually 16+, at its max, but here you go, and you're fully permitted to write the continuation of that snippet (or any other reader\writer).
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Caraxes had refused to surrender the control of his body to Daemon, resulting in the current position the dragonshifter and his lover were in at the moment. You were sat under Caraxes, who leaned over you in a pose that must have felt awkward if not downright uncomfortable. But the dragon only made itself heard if you stopped running your fingers against the scaly underside of its chin. The soft grumble of the dragon’s version of a purr sometimes got out of Caraxes’ throat, every once in a while. You let little hums to answer it every time.
It was the only form of communication Caraxes could have with you, after all. And even if you couldn’t really know why Daemon couldn’t shift back to his human form, nor could he tell you, but you were not going to complain. Yes, Caraxes was getting heavier over your shoulder as they leaned onto you, but their warmth was also not negligible with the cold sea air that ran around you both.
Something between a grow and a purr escaped Caraxes, making you realize that your hand was now still under the dragon’s chin. “My apologies, Caraxes…” You told them under your breath, not knowing if they could even hear you over the wind and crashing waves under you.
Fingers going back to scratching position you started again your duty, but one of your nail caught in a protruding scale of some sort, that made the dragon recoil from your touch.
“Sorry, I’m sorry!” You exclaimed, raising to your feet and turning to face the creature, now shifting horrifically from enormous to more human, limbs silently moving to angle human couldn’t achieve without hurting, making you wince. “I didn’t know…” You tried again as Daemon (for it was Daemon now, even covered in scales and fangs too big to keep his mouth closed correctly.) crept dangerously closer to you, like a predator approaching its prey.
Now stuck against the the cavern wall, with nowhere to go but forward, thus meeting Daemon, you stilled. Awaiting the punishment you were sure to receive soon.
“You will be.” Daemon growled, trapping you between the wall and his body, tugging at the collar of your clothe, snapping the seems as if it was made out of spider silk.
Warning: ‼️ No graphic description but hints of NSFW. Maybe OOC... I don't really care tho.
Note: This is about Daemon and Laenor. And it's short and spicysweet.
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Daemon reacting to Bedroom-eyes :
Catching the dark, heavy gaze you held on him, Daemon could only smirk, before lowering his head, hiding his reaction further. He knows the effect he has on you. The way his words fending the air, cutting tensions (or creating them) tended to crawl under your skin and make you boil for him. Daemon is a patient man, when it benefits him. And if Caraxes would prefer to pounce immediately on you, craving the taste of your skin just as you seem hungry for them, Daemon reels the dragon in.
‘Just for a moment longer. We have visitors.’ He barter with the godlike part of his soul that only wish to please you, please itself. And Daemon as to push away thought of your naked body, sprawled on his bed, wetting his sheets with your spoils, moaning his name so prettily.
The exiled prince would let his gaze, or is it Caraxes’ now, gaze rake your body. Words (he couldn’t care less about his visitors anymore) leaving his lips, but Daemon takes the time to lick his lower lip before his eyes leave you. He doesn’t miss the way your knees jolt, or how your back straightens. He doesn’t miss the spike of arousal that whiffs off of you, overpowering the salty tang of sweat that lingers in the room full of consultants and leaders of whatever delegation he was supposed to host. Fighting Caraxes became a struggle he gladly accepted, pushing down the burning need to grab you, pressing against your back.
Daemon likes to make his wait worth it.
Laenor Reacting to Bedroom-eyes :
Laenor has a lot of self control. Seeing you look at him with the same gleam you usually reserved for the bedroom, appreciating his form up and down, eyelids half-closed in the process. Laenor has to fight all of his logic, all of his instincts so to not undress you right there and now, fighting against Seasmoke so to not press his teeth against the tattoo of it on your skin. The need to let you have your way with him, just to see how you would play it out.
Laenor knows that duty comes before pleasure, and unfortunately, you are pleasure. That doesn't mean he won’t do anything more to keep that gaze of yours on him for as long as possible. Might even teasingly look at you, a knowing smirk on his face as he open his wings to stretch them. Show of confidence. Laenor, however is not patient, he simply knows to wait. His whole concentration is now clouded by images of you and him, in the throws of passion, the sounds the both of you make, how your body feels against his and how beautiful you look with a dazed look and red and puffy, over-kissed lips.
“Later, I will do anything you wish me to.” He promises silently, looking at you without breaking the eye contact, trying to silently convey his thoughts before duties obliges him to some other activity for the meantime. Laenor is nothing if not resourceful, he will find a way to give you what you crave, even more so if you’re craving him.
