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ᴀ ᴊᴏᴜꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴀɴᴅ?

Daenerys Targaryen x Knight!reader

Words : 3.7k+

Summary : You dread the day she finds someone else, but is that something worth worrying about? At all?

Warning (s) : suggestive themes?? Daario being annoying.

[requested by anons]

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“Your grace.”

“My Queen.” You fought the urge to roll your eyes as Daario Naharis bowed dramatically beside you, keeping your demeanor impassive as you stood straight, catching the eyes of no other than the Queen. There was a glint in her violet orbs, a subtle pull at the edge of her lips when she noticed your distaste for the man currently chasing after her affection.

You tried to pay him no mind, drawing her attention onto you fully as you went after battle strategies on ways to take over Yunkai while the aggravating man kept on making severely inappropriate hints to Daenerys, who’d only sent him an amused smile each time he winked her way. She was enjoying the newfound attention from the man that gave her a whole army of the Second Sons, and you couldn’t help but find him irritating for the sole reason of his cockiness.

It was no surprise that he knew the ways into the city, like he’d sneaked in so many times – you refused to let them take it down without you, much to Daenerys’ protests. Better to keep your eyes on him, even if that meant leaving her behind; Barristan would do well in keeping her safe. After all, the old man seemed to be doing fine despite your relentless challenges upon his abilities.

“One sight of trouble, come back to me.” Her hushed words were directed to you only, far away from curious ears and nosy presence of the group who’d taken post outside the tent before leaving. There was desperation in her pleading gaze and you couldn’t help but crack a smile, one that you shot down as soon as you realized the speck of blush on her cheeks, lips turned upward and mirroring yours. Such a smile that pulled at the edge of her eyes and your heartstrings at the same time, one that sent your world crumbling down as you remembered you weren’t the only one receiving it.

“You’re doubting me, Your Grace?” Even with your fake offense, her grin didn’t subside, knowing your tendency of teasing her with a straight face – most people always found it odd, not registering your attempt at cracking jokes in the middle of training or discussion. Daenerys decided it would be unacceptable to have one meeting without your terrible jokes.

She shook her head as she brushed off the imaginary dust on your shoulder, “I doubt your self-control,” You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence at her innuendo. “Don’t kill him.” It was more a command than a request, but Daenerys knew she couldn’t stop you if you were to decide otherwise – it would be a great loss, though not one she couldn’t overcome.

“Why would I indulge myself in your fury, Khaleesi?” Daenerys hated the way your few words always seemed to draw such pathetic reactions from her, yet she loved it anyway, for the flutters in her chest when you called her by that title was one that made her crave for something better, a higher place only she could reach with you by her side – it made her crave you.

None of those would ever be of knowledge to anyone else, however. Not when you rode off into the dark, raiding a city with a reckless plan she was sure would end up in destruction. Not when her heart anxiously beat faster as the hours ticked by, silence ringing throughout the starry night she otherwise would’ve enjoyed.

But certainly when she’d became so worried that a single console from Missandei caused her tongue to slip and her mouth to spill out her pent up thoughts.

Daenerys couldn’t recall most of the words tumbling out of her throat, only that a laugh emitted from the translator so carefree and amused, both of them paused with wide eyes assessing each other in alarm – Missandei in fear of offending her Queen, and Daenerys in distress over giving away her feelings for her Knight.

Making her swear to never tell anyone could be considered exaggerating; for one, Missandei would never even thought of betraying her trust in handling the precious information, bless her soul, and two, it wasn’t as if no one had a clue of her.. attachment to the stoic fighter.

Except for Daenerys herself, of course.

↭↯↭

It was well in the night after pacing a hole on the ground that Daenerys heard a commotion outside, signaling the horses arriving and with them, hopefully, her intact group of fighters. That is, if you hadn’t left Daario to die in the battlefield. Jorah was the first to enter her peripheral, his appearance a slight relief to her heart; hair disheveled and dust collecting on his armour, but at least he wasn’t visibly straining against death.

“Where’s Daario Naharis?” Daenerys could see Missandei grimacing at the question coming out of her mouth, the obvious person missing from her sight should’ve been her top priority. They couldn’t blame her for worrying for the lesser of the fighter, now, could they?

She was an idiot. The mother of dragons, the Khaleesi of the great grass sea, was an idiot. Because when Daario strutted in, presenting her with the flag of Yunkai he stole from the towers, she could see no sign of you, and her heart fell to her stomach, panic written in her eyes that it probably gave away more than she’d preferred.

It took all but a glance at her translator before she bolted outside, frantically scouting the crowd for- There. The tent across from hers – she spared no time to think over her actions, her feet carrying her to the opened gap and sliding in without much consideration.

“Why-” Her confrontation was stuck in her throat by the sight she was greeted with; your back, bruises forming all around the smooth skin, an actively bleeding wound just below your shoulder blades. When your eyes caught hers, she could swear she saw your life flash before your eyes in panic, hastily throwing a cloth over your back to cover it. “Shit, Daenerys. What are you doing here?” Oh, you didn’t use her title. The thought made her head spin; it sounded even better than when you made the conscious decision to do otherwise – formality be damned. The Targaryen would do anything to hear you say the word again, if only the circumstances were on her side.

You moved towards the pile of clothes stacked on the makeshift bed, but Daenerys grabbed your hands before you could attempt to shrug on a layer of fresh clothing on top of the open wounds. An idiot, that’s what you were. Your movements were calculated, voice too low and breathing too calm for someone who was gravely injured – even the Queen had trouble keeping herself in check in order not to trip over something or worse, dabbed at the gash too harshly. You shifted uncomfortably with your back facing her, the idea of Daenerys, standing there and cleaning your wound was too much to comprehend. It felt too close, too intimate for it to simply be a form of sympathy a Royal could hold for her royal guard.

“It was an easy raid,” Daenerys felt her hands sweat and shake as each dip of the cloth darkened the water just a bit more, her inadequate skills doing the best at washing off the blood, leaving the red, raw skin exposed to the air. “Most of the masters fled once they caught wind of us, giving the city away to save themselves.” Feeling the lack of motion, you turned your head and found her fingers hovering over your shoulder.

Deciding it was clean enough, you rose from your sitting position and faced her, ushering her towards the exit while simultaneously wrapping a dressing over the injury. “It’s just a cut.” Daenerys frowned, slightly struggling against the rigid and hard muscles of your arms, wishing to have a reason to stay – there wasn’t. And she cursed the world for it.

“It doesn’t seem like just a cut.” You only hummed, crossing your arms and stared at her the way it always made Daenerys melt and her heart to thrum aggressively in her chest. The smile she earned was enough for her cheeks to bloom with colour, and the Khaleesi found it hard to avert her gaze away from your lips.

“I’ll recover, Your Grace.” Now that she’d had a taste of her name on your tongue, she never wanted to hear it reciting her titles ever again. “And if I fail, there will be another to replace me.” Shrugging, you spoke of death so easily that it brought unease in her heart, your view of your place in her court far too wrong, too easily discarded. Daenerys opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off when Daario interrupted the sure to be awkward parting had he not came.

“Best to get some rest, Khaleesi.” You nodded, sending a sharp look to the man over her shoulder that had Daenerys glancing at the interaction with more interest than at the statements of the raid ready in his mind – though you knew it wasn’t the only thing residing there. She allowed him to escort her back, albeit begrudgingly, her eyes tracing over your frame as she reflected on your well-being.

↭

She knew it wasn’t ‘just a cut’.

The next morning, she’d sent some bottles of medicines into your tent with a roll of paper that commanded you to take them or else you’d be stripped from your armour.

You chuckled, shaking your head at the little threat she slipped in. That woman has a knack for the dramatics.

↭↯↭

Mereen was a place you could survive never stepping your foot into. It was a sight to watch the city surrender as fast as it did, to watch people, humans, with chains around their necks like animals – Daenerys hadn’t felt a kind of sick so tremendous than that moment, and she’d had a fair share of horrendous. It felt brief, passed in a blink of an eye and before you knew it, you were inside the city, new orders and a new Queen ruling at the top of the tower, though your duties had increased with the amount of protests and riots some of the masters started.

The new settings didn’t stop Daario to win over her majesty, however – if anything, he’d seen it as an opportunity, now that they were settling down in one place for a while. And to say you were doing fine would be an understatement. What they saw with their bare eyes was nothing compatible to the fury blossoming in your chest each time the man so much as touch her hands. You tried to tell yourself that it was merely your job; to be protective of your Queen, and it had nothing to do with the growing, uncontrollable endearment in your heart.

Memories of those fleeting moments of closeness flashed in your mind and you cursed yourself, shaking your head in silence to rid of the images. It doesn’t mean anything – nothing means anything, for her attention was only just, one that would be replaced onto a handsome (in her opinion, anyway), better warrior than you. You dreaded the day it’d come, so letting yourself bask in the flutters of butterflies in your stomach and the skips of your heart for however long she’d let you wasn’t wrong, was it?

Losing yourself in a spar was easy; but getting lost in the pools of violet was easier, like sinking into a serene pool of water, which was why you’d tripped over yourself when you caught her eyes from across the pitch, her dress flowing behind her as she strolled lightly toward the training soldiers.

It was a graceful fall, as Daenerys had put it in her mind, her gaze trailing your form as you righted yourself before the sight was blocked by none other than a proud Daario. If anyone was being honest, the silver-haired woman was getting tired of his endless flirting and interruption on her precious moments – though she didn’t have the heart to tell him just that.

“My Queen! Gracing us with your lovely presence?” You gripped the wooden spear in your hand tightly, dragging your foot through the sand to join your gaze with hers – lost again, it was becoming a habit now, like visiting a secret safe place only you knew of. Hitting the back of his knees, you rolled your eyes and Daenerys caught a quirk of your lips as she chuckled at your act of indifference, ignoring Daario doubling over and scoffing at you.

“You’re welcome to watch me kick ass.” His arrogant smirk was one you wished to wipe off, and you’d do just that – he didn’t know it yet, though.

It was well past noon, the sun floating close to the ground, only half of it visible to the eye and the humid air was soon to be swapped by a soft breeze of the nightfall. Most royals would be expecting their baths drawn in their rooms, preparing for dinner and a warm bed by the end of the night – not Daenerys, no. She was raised in exile, by people who had no more than enough money for food, let alone servants. She was a widow of a Khal, and though she did have.. friends, it wasn’t a custom she allowed herself to get used to. The Queen preferred to walk the field, a moment of peace in between meetings and calls from the people, an intake of fresh air after escaping those bland, dirty walls that carried a stench she couldn’t rid of.

Personally, Daenerys had never fancied watching fights; weapons dangerous enough to kill, violence, bloody matches – if she could choose, she’d never put herself in any situation that required combat.

But with you there, she might’ve made an exception. This day, while the city retired for the night, the Queen was outside, anticipating the battle her knights put on just for her; to win her affection, bragging rights, what was it? Daenerys couldn’t remember the reason behind it, yet they were doing it anyway. She might as well enjoy it.

“Does your bed get cold at night, Your Grace?”

And there he went, off to whatever world he’d made up where seamlessly hitting on his Queen was acceptable while engaged in a combat with her most skilled fighter. Daenerys shook her head, eyes focused on the wooden sticks you were using as weapons, your swift parries and calculated attacks sending blows against him.

“The dragons kept it warm enough. I could lend you Rhaegal if you’re interested?” Your foot caught his ankle and the man stumbled, giving you enough time to stab his chest. Raising your eyebrows, you began to wonder if Daenerys was genuinely honest in her offer.

“I could think of other options to keep my bed warm.” You’d carve his smirk off his face if you could. The best concern for the time being was only to win, though, and it wasn’t as hard when he was distracted – as you were, but worse. Everyone, and you meant every single soul held some form of knowledge on his intentions with the Queen of Mereen, herself included.

“If you’d volunteer to be my children’s next meal, sure.” Daario took her lack of refusal as a win, a cocky grin appearing on his face even when he was obviously straining and losing in the battle.

“I’d have a feast before going, then. W-” His words were cut off from his tongue, the sudden attack too aggressive and rough that he stumbled a few steps back before being brought to his knees, air no longer supplying his lungs.

The audience, whatever was left to gather around to witness a boring match, stood rigidly in silence, surprise written in most faces at the turn of events. They’d never seen you, the person they looked up to, one of the best combatant they’d ever met, the stoic, calm and one that radiated control, lose it over a comment your comrade made. You were always a calculated leader, in battles or not. The air in which you carried yourself in was worshipped by a lot, your elegant yet deadly way of cutting through enemies had oftentimes became a topic of admiration.

It was so silent that your hushed whisper on his ears could be heard resonating throughout the field.

“Be careful. You might lose your head faster than you can blink.”

Girls would’ve swooned at the show of dominance you were putting on, and Daenerys would be lying if she claimed to be unaffected by the action. Daario had a look that showcased how terrified he was to be at the receiving end of your gaze; one that looked ready to demolish him. He wasn’t about to test the theory as he gasped for air the moment your grip was removed, opening his mouth to make another joke to ease the tension.

You held up your hand, “I don’t want to hear it.” Taking a deep breath, you spared Daenerys only a glance, your head bowed down in shame as you all but bolted away from the field.

↭↯↭

Perhaps you shouldn’t have heeded her request of seeing you this late into the night, words on how to express your regret already circling in your mind as you crossed the halls to her chambers.

Daenerys was standing by the windows, her nightgown flowing with the breeze and her hair cascading down her back in curly waves. Your footsteps signaled your arrival, her head turning to catch a glimpse of your silhouette but she did nothing else to regard your presence.

Clearing your throat, you started with the rehearsed words on your tongue.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I-”

“Call me Daenerys.” You gulped, mouth opening and closing repeatedly, apologies now stuck in your throat. Your foot was locked in place, settling a few paces behind her.

“That would be highly inappropriate-”

“You attacked Daario.” She remained facing the starless sky, her arms crossed as she enjoyed how worked up you were getting. A part of her almost felt remorse in relishing in the sight. Almost. You trudged toward her, foot stomping against the stone floor in your rare display of ire.

“And I already apologized for it.” At last, her head turned to meet your narrowed eyes, an amused smile on her lips as she bit down to it, giggles already sounding from the back of her throat and threatening to break through. Your gaze softened and you sagged in realization, pursing your lips while Daenerys tried to control her breathing, her shoulders shaking with the amount of mirth she was holding.

“You’re infuriating, Your Grace.” She burst out laughing at that, the view of your chest puffed up in rage and your eyes rolling at her obvious play with you was a sight to behold. Her cheeks were a shade of pink from all the hoots of laughter, hands clutching her stomach.

Daenerys clicked her tongue and shook her head, “That’s no way to talk to your Queen.” She was heaving for breath, now leaning her hips on the windowsill for support when you decided enough was enough.

You took a bold step toward her, the space between you thinning along with the sound of her giggles as they dropped into small puffs of breath. “Didn’t you tell me to call you Daenerys?” Perhaps a part of your brain was thinking irrationally, still riding from the high of your fury hours before. Otherwise, you didn’t know where the sudden push of insanity that barricaded into you had came from. You stopped a few inches from her, your tunic brushing against her gown, the proximity was almost enough to drive Daenerys into losing her mind.

She felt your fingers ghost her cheek as you tucked a stray hair behind her ear, and in a fleet of selfishness, she let herself lean into your touch. “I wonder who else was given the privilege.” By who else, you meant Daario, and Daenerys was quick to catch onto it. No one, she wished to say, No one but you, yet she was silent, tongue darting to wet her lips as her eyes traced yours.

Your hand threaded through her silver locks and it was only another second before she balled her fist on your coat and yanked you forward, her lips finally catching yours in a searing kiss. Her heart thrummed against her ribcage, blood rushing to her brain and a savoring warmth bloomed in her chest. Your lips were cold against hers, and as she pecked them again, swiped her tongue over it, basking in the taste of you, she felt her warmth melding in and smearing off the icy flavour. Daenerys could drown in the feeling forever, if only she was allowed to.

“That was thoroughly not appropriate.” You pulled away just as she leaned in, chest heaving with every intake of air you took. Daenerys gave you a deadpanned look, her well-kissed lips pressed in a thin line and hand gripping your arm so tight it might leave a mark. Her hair had become so messy from your work, and it felt only fair that your clothes was all crumpled from her grasps and tugs at it.

“Not at all.”

It wasn’t the answer you were expecting, nor was it one that made any sense, given both your positions and state. But she pulled you in again, kisses chaste and eyes closed, her arms circling around to press every inch of your skin against hers.

Nothing was making sense, not when all of your senses were overloaded to the brim, violet eyes and silver hair filling your vision – you stopped asking questions when you part again, and it was now her turn as she chased after the feeling that effortlessly made her drunk on the first sip.

A mess. Both of you. Her grip was relentless as you stepped away, refusing to budge even as you pulled them off yourself.

“Rest up, Your Grace. I believe you have an important meeting tomorrow.” She couldn’t recall if that was the truth, in fact, she couldn’t think of anything at all.

Now you’re the one being infuriating. Daenerys gaped at your retreating back, her knees buckling as her door clicked close before you burst through it once again. You strode to her hastily, lips meeting hers once, twice, before they latched onto her cheek and you were out in a blink, your victorious smile the last thing she caught.

The Queen exhaled, chest tight and vision swimming as she fell not-so-gracefully onto her bed. Oh, she’s so fucked.

❝Daemon doesn't know what to do with you.❞

[ Never piss off your wife. She might acquire a living, breathing punishment for you. Aka, Daemon made a mistake and you're his punishment ft. Rhaenyra stay winning. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 1,985 ] | Daemyra x Sugar Baby!Reader

contains— sugar mommy x sugar baby, open relationship/understandings, toxic relationship??? allusions of cheating, established realtionship - nsfw: oral, p & v sex, v & v sex, pet names mainly: darling, sweet girl, good girl, praise, male masturbation shshhs - you piss the shit outta daemon (as you should), slight angst? - sort of daemon-focused since it's in his pov, but rhae's the only one allowed to touch you lol - no targcest bc its the modern world and that would be weird.

a/n— i dont want to talk about it, okay. comment/reblog/like at will ❤️️

Daemon doesn't know what to do with you.

With your soft noises encouraged to heighten in pleasure whenever Rhaenyra had you over- and after initial test drive of the first few times, stretched in months to weeks to days - she had you over all the time, at random times of the day. Any time the boys or his girls weren't by (being taken care of in the park, Harwin or Laena's visitation rights, Rhaenys wanting to take them off for Corlys weekend fishing trips)- your mewls turned unbridled shouts of pleasure now filled the high-rise.

You permeate the space like a cigarette stain; you didn't even need to be godsdamned present anymore. It starts with your perfume- it's lighter than Rhaenyra's but heavier in sweetness. Vanille. A touch of it that he's foul to recognise. Lipstick stains on his wife's neck, her blouse, where he can imagine your lips drag and bite and suckle because the kids are too young to understand and it's not like he's not one to leave his own marks, but there's a thunderous boil that drums in his veins when he realises you're leaving your own on his wife.

You fill the nooks and crannies like a plague, and you don't even care about him.

Worse, you taunt him.

And it's not like he could say anything to Nyra.

After all, the two of them had an understanding after he got caught with a minor dalliance of his own. It was a one time thing, and he only got blown, but it was enough for a talking to. A mutual agreement that was really just him pacifying his wife.

He really should have focused on the crooks of how upset she had been, on the gleam in her eyes when he thought she had simmered down. That her fire, though not as brightly lit, was still very much burning.

"You can have any sweet thing that you want, husband, as long as you keep them away from the kids. As long as you keep it quiet and away from me. I do not want the details." Nyra's mouth had curled. He remembered. She took up the space behind him, wine-kissed as she was, her fingers dancing on his shoulders and kneading at the tough centre of the nape of his neck. His eyelids fluttered and he barely heard her next words.

"In return, you will not make a fuss when I take mine, hm?"

Daemon had laughed. He remembered that. A soft, more air than sound laugh.

He took her hand to his lips and smirked up at her. Shark-like. Baiting. Daring. "As you wish, wife. In return, you can tell me all about it."

There was a strong part of Daemon that didn't think she'd actually do it.

Rhaenyra had smiled that smile that reminded him of godswoods and Valyrian necklaces, passed down from generation after generation. A silent vow louder drew from blood.

There was a strong part of Daemon who thought his wife was jesting, making a bluff, a toss of a coin.

Until you arrived with a sweet smile and a tinkling little laugh.

Until he had found his wife with her face buried between your legs, your hands— freshly done nails and glimmering rings, new, he later found out from the bank transcripts — and your back arched, your mouth gaping in a silent scream as you come undone.

It took a minute for you to see him, so stuck in that pleasure that broke and free-fell through you several times because 'Nyra didn't want to let up, calling you her sweet girl, her darling girl, that's it, you can take more, can you? aren't you my good girl?

When your thick lashed-eyes finally met his darkened lilac gaze, lipstick still perfect red, still perfectly plump and moist, your mouth curls into a charming little smile and said, "Oh, hello there."

Rhaenyra looked up, and at the smirk on her face, your spend all around her ruined lipstick and chin— Daemon knew she wanted him to see. Wanted him to know. It's a bullet shot down his spine, straight to his cock. It's a cold thrill and grasped fingers around his throat with rings nestled to make indents.

It's a violent blend of jealousy and lust, and the cocktail emotion rages in him, swirls and punctures.

There is a bite between Rhaenyra and Daemon, a fiery edge that often saunters the edges, crosses a new line. But each time, after each rough push, they come back to one another; a tether of becoming, of pulling taunt. Once again united. They are assured in each other's positions; you can play with anyone but you always come back to me.

Rhaenyra has won this one. She had snapped, pulled, and arose victorious.

But they always come together. And often, enjoyed sharing.

What Daemon forgets sometimes is that he is a younger brother, and really, Rhaenyra was the eldest and the sole eye of her father. When righteous selfishness burns with a petty need to make her husband suffer, it heels hard.

"She is mine, husband," she whispers at the edge of his lips, riding him through a slick, sex-haze after you had left. Her thighs slap against his own, his hands harsh on the indents of her waist as she rode him with no abandon, uncaring for his pleasure this time, selfishness the game this time, but the renewed roughness brought him to the early days of their marriage. That unbridled want, a clash of teeth and skin and raw, burning lust.

There is a growl and a hiss, a moan and a gasp; blood has beaded through bitten flesh and bruises are blooming. This is fucking from the high of a third party dancing on their marriage.

And Rhaenyra's refusal of you to him made him throb.

She had seen him high-strung, plotted him to be harder than a box of rocks, already harshly yanking his tie in anticipation of having his wife and you with your fox gazes and sire song, but Rhaenyra had turned away from him, ignored him, and slapped your thigh before kissing your cheek.

"Come back next time, darling, my husband is home." It was said in a tease, a lighthearted joke between two people he was not a part of, but he knew his wife; recognised the bite. The smugness.

And by god, you were in on it as you thrilled a laugh and slid your gaze to his, undressing and fucking him with your eyes as you bit your lip. Your words are to Rhae, a hand on her cheek and a thumb rubbing at the corner of her lip, but your gaze is devouring him. He wasn't a green boy, but you seemed amused and feral for the hard-line of his manhood. As if you can picture what he would feel like buried deep inside your guts, and enjoyed it.

"Am I just going to be yours then, hm?" you asked amusedly, finally turning to her.

Nyra turned her gaze then, to him, and smirked. "You, I will not share. A fitting punishment, don't you think? Some jewels are meant for one alone."

And you had laughed, the gall of you, taking your bag (new one too,a matching one with his wife) and walking right past him. Your scent- his wife's fucking scent, the smell of her cunt on you and his dick throbbed - devoured him as you left him with a wink and a quiet, "too bad."

You had not even gone inside the elevator of their penthouse before a growl tore through his chest and he had met Rhaenyra's thundering footsteps with his own, their tongues and teeth clashing for dominance, ripping apart clothes, wanting to bury each other in the other's skin.

Now, she reaches her peak with a yell and a full body shudder, her cunt clenching and squeezing, demanding his release, and he jolts with her with a swear of his own, his cum flooding her in thick, sharp bursts.

Even then, as Rhae smiled sweetly, post-peak glow simpering her fire, sweetening her kisses against the side of his face, his neck, running a tongue over the worst of the bruises and bites— Daemon thought, surely, now that his wife had reached post-coital bliss and forgiven him, punishment had been had? That he was free to have you, to play with you?

But no. You were off limits. Hers and hers alone. A punishment that keeps on giving as the echoes of you exist in his life in patterns he was starting to fucking loath.

The scent in the bath- the echo of the warmth of someone having used it recently, someone who wasn't his wife, in the pillows of his living room, the barest smudge of makeup as if your face had been pushed against them. In the snacks and drinks that he, nor his wife, nor their children, particularly like, fill up the corners of his kitchen. The lipstick stains on his wife, the running mill in the bank statements (the new necklaces, new dresses, new fucking lingerie he hasn't seen), and when he had finally had enough, shoving through his own house to talk to his wife that the least she could do while she was fucking you was be allowed to be there, he hears it then—

Your shouts of pleasure falling into sighs into giggles, and when he slows to his marital bedroom, you are there— breathing heavily, alive, real— naked and slicked, a goddess divine, with Rhaenyra inside you in more ways than one, baring her teeth in a victorious grin before falling into a laugh at his face.

"Am I allowed to have him now, is that it?" you ask, seemingly innocent. One of the new necklaces in his statements on your neck and nothing else. Chest moving in shuddering breath having just orgasmed and yelling it.

"Your choice, sweet girl," Rhae purrs, leaning back over your form to run a finger from the valley of your breasts to your stomach to your clit that turns your shudders to an outright jolt, then a sigh, when she starts fingering you in front of him. The squelch is obscene, and Daemon is hard, and he is not a fucking boy but he is starting to hate you as much as he wants to fuck the lazy smirk on your face, pleasure so obviously building once again. Soft sighs, mewls, escaping full, raw lips.

"I kind of... want him to watch a little. Just- ah! Nyra there, please - sit still and pretty." You smirk, giving him a pouty air kiss. The urge to strangle you sings in his blood. Hold you down and fuck you until you're better pliant, sweeter, fucking cooing for him. Fuck the spoil Rhaenyra has ingrained in you away.

You turn to the silver-haired woman on top of you, now on her haunches, pressing a gentle kiss to your clit. She held his gaze as she pressed her tongue flat against before taking a glorious, heavy-gazed lick.

Daemon swallows.

"Is that- ahhh, okay? Nyra, hmm? Please?" You sigh ever so sweetly, kindly. Though you're ridiculously spoiled, you were a good girl, following so obediently. If his cock didn't feel like it was burning to be inside your mouth, he would have revelled in it.

You squirm, turning back to him to hold his gaze while his wife started to fuck you through her tongue and fingers.

Someone up there was taking a piss on him. He pulls out his cock, a grunt and a curse, because fuck it, fuck you in particular— as the two of you continued on while keeping eye contact with him.

He took one step closer and Rhaenyra hissed.

"Whatever you want, baby." Nyra smirks against your pussy as he tugged at himself, teeth bared. "You're his punishment after all."

This is the magic lucky word count. Reblog for creativity juice. It might even work, who knows.

How do you think Korryn reacts to.. making Nerdy reader squirt? I think it's bound to happen with how she's fucking her. If Korryn likes it, she'll even press her hand to Readers stomach to stimulate it even more? Would she tease her with no end? Poor nerdy reader! (sarcasm(

I can see Korryn murmuring every curse under the sun if you squirt. You’re always so quiet and timid around her, so to see you gush and drool over her strap with so much slick has her bucking her hips up even wilder than before.

“Poor” Nerdy Reader is so overwhelmed. Korryn isn’t making this any easier on yourself, wanting to hear your voice crack and whine her name while she sends you to pound town. Squirt again for her will you, yeah? Coat that cock of hers and make it all pretty, all shiny and wet from how pathetic her sweet baby is 💕

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・There was no fear in you when you were around Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion.

・The first dragons in hundreds of years and you saw them as puppies. Okay well, truly you saw them as beings to be respected and revered

・But you treat animals with that same respect anyway - usually preferring them over human company...

・You understood that each dragon had a different personality. It defined how you treated them

・Drogon was the most independent; he hated being coddled too much. He just likes to play and explore

・Rhaegal always wanted to keep up with Drogon, but he wasn't fast enough. And he liked being close to Dany.

・Viserion though - he adored being held; soft touches and gentle pets were his favourite. It took a long time for him to realise he was too big to sit in your lap :(

・Dany loved that someone else saw her children the way she did. With dignity and astonishment

・Other people were incredibly shocked to find you laying in the grass with three dragons. All lazily flopped on top of you somehow. Either with their head, wing or foot

・You actually know secrets about the dragons - how Drogon has ticklish feet. Rhaegal likes to be called 'a good strong dragon,' and Viserion sometimes whines for his mother.

・Your relationship with Dany definitely helps as well. You adore her, and she you. You do love her ... as more than friends, more than her being your ruler...

・But you could never admit that

・Too bad though, she herself is deeply in love with you. And it shows - you're allowed alone with her children. Allowed to look after them when she isn't there to

・Like ... another mother to them

・And gods forbid if anything happened to you - the dragons would kill anyone who comes into mere feet of you.

・There's always one of them nearby.