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Wildflower

If there was one thing his brother, Viserys Targaryen, respected, it was tradition. 

He may not respect him, despite the fact he was his brother, but he would not go so far as to strip him publicly of a title passed down by all generations that came before them. 

And so, when Viserys Targaryen became King of the Seven Kingdoms, Daemon Targaryen became Lord of Dragonstone, taking the place his brother's family had lived for more than a decade while awaiting their grandfathers, the Old King's death. 

The greatest kindness Daemon’s grandfather had ever shown him was finally letting death take him.

It seemed the greatest kindness his brother had ever shown him, was making a life.

❀

Daemon liked Dragonstone a great deal. He liked having a title. He liked having authority in something that did not require risking bodily harm on the daily and living in tents with camp rations. He had enjoyed war, but he was done with it—ready to settle into being a Lord and having the life of luxury that came with it.

He was, also, blessedly alone, for his wife was so very busy sitting in her own family seat at Runestone. If anyone asked he would speak of his devastation to be separated from her.

Devastation that she was still alive, more like. 

Sometimes, he regretted not fucking her—not out of attraction but because if he had, maybe she would have gotten pregnant and died in the childbed like the shit wife she was. If he was a man of the faith, he would pray daily for her demise, for his freedom. 

It was a challenge to find a match for him, or so his grandmother claimed—he was a second son, and though a prince, he was an alpha—he had needs and permission by the faith to have an inamorata that would fulfill them. 

A devoted lover who could become his mate and legally have his children.

Though most women were not so naive as to think their husbands would never stray, that did not mean they were comfortable with a woman proudly holding the title that advertised his infidelity…and their own failings. For though an alpha was a fun fuck, he, an alpha himself, was rarely fulfilled by a single designationless cunt. 

They were biological needs—as unavoidable as a woman’s courses, and though not proud of them, there was no stopping them, either. Ruts were inevitable and only abated by swelling inside someone. Most ladies of good breeding could not accommodate that physically—nor did they want to. 

Not anymore. 

Long ago, it would be expected for the heir to the throne to be an alpha, and for their bride to be an omega. 

They were compatible in a way no pair of humans nor half-match could even imagine, meant to be together in the eyes of the court, people, faith, and law, no matter their station and typical societal expectations that were applied to humans.

Not anymore. 

Not with their existence becoming more rare with each generation. Not with people's views shifting—seeing them as almost animalistic creatures who were slaves to their own desires. They weren’t looked down upon, exactly, but they were not raised to the throne for that reason alone—not anymore. 

And so, his options for a wife had been limited to the insufferable bitch. 

Truly his reason for being on the frontlines was to escape her—he would rather die wielding steel than wearing shackles in Runestone. 

But she wasn’t here. 

His title and freedom may both be temporary, but he was not going to waste them.

❀

He had been there for a handful of weeks before sampling the wares of the pleasure house—there were three in the small city of Dragonstone, one right in the port itself—cheap and dirty, for sailors passing through who cared little about what they fucked or what they smelled like. 

There was one near the edge of the city, too, bordering the village and catering to locals. It was in better shape—not as busy, with better women rather than a rotation of those who quickly burnt out from the quantity of customers those in the port suffered.

Then, there was the highest end of them all—the one whose clientele was visiting lords and wealthy ship captains. The house was in part, just that, lodgings—for some of the women were kept there, well fed and dressed and kept by their wealthy patron or patrons. 

They were still available for other men, of course, for a price, but they had a choice for they did not need to work to pay for their continued existence. 

Not all the women had such an arrangement, but even those that didn’t were clean, not skinny or scrawny but the sort of plush and pretty he liked. 

It was obvious which establishment he would visit. 

❀

It seemed it was the one his brother had visited, too.

❀

His nostrils flared almost immediately upon entry—the sweet syrupy scent of omega. It made sense, he supposed, with the clientele they served having some on staff could be worthwhile—though most would not risk such a thing. 

They were difficult to keep and protect given their cycles, their scents could induce near madness and harm often followed such a thing. They could harm themselves, too, when unfulfilled—unfilled—by an alpha during heat. 

They were not as easy as a plain whore—a human.

But they were desirable enough for the efforts to be worth it on occasion, no hole better than that of a slick woman built for the very purpose that was fucking. 

He rarely bedded them. It was dangerous for an unbounded alpha to do so—he had excellent control, mind you, for in his youth he had women in abundance. His desires did not go ignored and so they did not fester into a hungry violent thing in adulthood, not the way some alphas did. The sort of starvation for cunt that turned them into more animal than man, willing to rip anyone apart for what their cocks demanded. 

But still. He did not want to risk getting lost in the pleasure—biting into flesh and ending up tethered to yet another woman he did not wish for. Rhea Royce was bad enough. 

And, unlike marriages, mates were for life. 

But most omegas did not smell like this. 

Nothing smelled like this.

He tried to ignore it, to file it away as unimportant, and to move on—he needed to admire the other women on offer, and there was a great deal to admire. 

But he couldn’t ignore it.

It was too strong. Almost suffocating, like a clogged chimney that forces the flame into the room itself, leaving the space full of smoke, so heavy in the air it fills your lungs and your mind. 

It went beyond that, burning his eyes, making them stream tears, and leaving his tongue thick with the taste of ash. He could not ignore that, he could not escape it without leaving. 

He couldn’t do that either. Not without seeing the source.

❀

Her name was Aemma. 

She was of his blood, at least in part, that was obvious—a bastard of some Targaryen, surely, she couldn’t be anything less given coloring. She was beautiful but rather…plain. Not striking the way those of his house usually were. 

But she was pretty.

She smelled delicious. 

Her rooms were all the more fragrant, but when he stroked her neck, moved closer, moved to smell—

She was human.

❀

“Where is she?”

“Hm?”

“You reek of her but you aren’t her, where is she?”

The woman's eyes widened, and she shook her head—

“I do—I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Yes you fucking do.” He nearly growled, not recognizing himself—he wasn’t touching her, he didn’t want to touch her, she was wrong. He had never felt such an immediate aversion to touching someone, but he couldn’t not when she was here.

Where was she?

“You shouldn’t be able to smell her!” She said, sniffing back panicked tears.

“Well, I fucking can.” He muttered, gods, whatever herbs she took weren’t enough to cover her aroma, how that was lost on this woman he had no idea. Fucking humans. 

“She is only a girl!” She said, her voice pleading.

“Who is she?” He demanded.

“M—my daughter.” She said, eyes damp with fear, “She is only ten.” 

Fuck. 

❀

“None of the patrons have noticed before, not even alphas, I—”

“I change the sheets, I don’t try to mislead, I didn’t know—”

What fucking good that did, he could smell the sweet aroma in the walls, living in the paper and plaster behind it, in the wooden floorboards and carpets like termites, inescapable, wedged so deep the damage was unable to be hidden once severe enough to be noticed.

❀

He met her once he had calmed.

He did not give Aemma much choice.

He wasn’t proud of how he threatened the woman, but he was desperate. Nearly pleading with her by the end of it, he just wanted to meet her, he swore.

When he did—he realized, much to everyone's relief, he imagined, that he had not been aroused by the scent, not at all, just…obsessed with it. He was compelled to follow it but once he found it it was not sex he desired. Just…her. 

She was a girl, like the whore had said. A beautiful girl, but just a girl. 

❀

He visited her often. Paying for Aemma’s time but demanding to sit with her daughter instead.

❀

She liked animals. She wished to have a pet—a kitten, maybe, though they were not allowed in the pleasure house.

❀

He brought her a soft doll shaped like a kitten, stiff horsehairs used for whiskers, and glass beads for eyes. She was nearly gleeful, her grin infectious. 

❀

He brought her books, for she was clever—she knew how to read very well, but she liked being read to more.

❀

She liked pretty things. Ribbons. Jewels. He often let her play with his rings when he visited—though her pout when he took them back made him promise to commission a set for her, too.

Aemma protested. That was too generous she said. 

She was wrong. 

❀

He taught her bits of Valyrian and braided her hair into elaborate plaits. 

❀

It was innocent as anything, the affection between them clear but there was nothing more than that. She was a child. 

❀

He learned things—he knew Aemma was kept, her chambers too luxurious for that of a woman who worked for her place. He had not realized her financier, was his brother though, not until weeks later. 

He had promised, she said, to bring her with him to King's Landing—but she would have had to give up Rhaenyra. 

“A man can have a mistress in court, but not a bastard.” She said. 

Not an omega. They would be noticed in a way a human would not.

It seemed his brother would have a second bastard soon enough if what Aemma said was true—her womb growing heavy with the last gift his brother left her before taking his crown. 

❀

Or rather, the last curse his brother left her.

❀

She did not survive the labor. 

❀

The madam shrugged when he inquired after Rhaenyra—

“I suppose, she will be worth having in a few years. She can work in the kitchens until she is old enough…will earn back the expenditure of these next few years, an auction, maybe.” 

He grit his teeth. 

They wouldn't know how to care for her. How delicate she would be, how to tend to her properly. Not the way he did. The way he would.

“No. No—she is—she is my niece by blood. I cannot in good conscience….” 

He could not let her go. 

No one else could have her.

She was his.

Ah—his niece. 

Just his niece. 

❀

He left that day with a ward.

❀

He adored her. 

She adored him.

❀

That first day he took her to the barn—showed her the horses, and promised he would teach her to ride one, gods, he would buy her one, but what they were really there for was—

“KITTENS!” She shrieked, dropping to her knees so swiftly they would surely bruise, but her eagerness to was too great to be bothered by the ache.

“Can I keep one?” She asked, looking up at him with wide lilac eyes—glistening with something other than grief for the first time since her mother passed. 

“You only want one?” He asked. 

Rhaenyra looked puzzled for a single moment, so he continued, “I thought my greedy girl would want at least two but—

Her lips curled into a grin and she threw her arms around his legs—a halfhearted hug for she did not want to leave her proximity to the kittens but still wished to show her appreciation. 

“Thank you! Thank you so much! I’m going to take the best care of them, I swear!” 

“I know sweetheart, we both will.” 

I’m going to take the best care of you. 

❀

She smelled good, it was attractive—the sort that would draw you into the room with its allure, but it was not arousing, no more than the aroma of dinner. It was heavier, though, rather overwhelming but in a wonderful way for it spoke to how close she was to him. 

Where she belonged. 

She liked being close to him—too close, according to some of his staff. 

It wasn’t his fault that the girl had always shared a bed with her mother. She could not sleep alone—afraid of the dark and plagued with nightmares that reduced her to tears just minutes after he wished her goodnight. 

He could not bring himself to send her away—he could not bring himself to set boundaries. 

His bed was big enough for them both. They would not even have to touch. 

But when she nestled up against his chest, he did nothing to discourage her, too busy inhaling the sweet sugary scent that radiated from her every pore.

❀

It is inappropriate, the staff said. 

Her mother fucking died, have some sympathy, he said.

❀

Two years later it was still a common occurrence and he had no such excuse. 

But truly, he did not touch her, not like that. 

He did not want her, not like that. 

❀

She was happy here, he knew it. He got her a tutor—only the best—he taught her Valyrian, and how to ride. She loved the outdoors—laying in the grass, playing on the sandy beaches, looking up at the sky, or out at the horizon. 

She liked to paint and loathed instruments—lessons resulting in a smashed harp and dented piano. 

She was perfect.

He joined her for picnics and tea parties. 

He braided her hair while she braided flower stems into crowns for them both to wear. 

❀

A vase of wildflowers always sat on the dining table, much to the butler's chagrin. But Rhaenyra had picked them, and he would not dispose of them. He liked them, truly, asking her to pick more for his study which she eagerly agreed to.

They made him think of her. 

Beautiful. Sweet smelling. Wild.

He liked thinking of her.

❀

He was always thinking of her.

❀

Word spread of his ward—some whispered wretched things about the fact he kept her—still a child—in his bed each night. But those closest to him, though unapproving, knew there was nothing between them. 

Her Governess was an omega, though a firm one wisened by time, life, and widowhood. She could smell that there was nothing between them. 

❀

When lords visited—the human ones, never alphas—she often dined with them and they were charmed by her too. She was lovely, quick at conversation, polite almost to a fault, but with a bite people did not expect from such a pretty creature. 

She hated not being able to sleep in his chambers during their stay, though. That first time she had to be drugged with sweetsleep to soothe her panic. She spooked easily without him, his wild girl turning frantic. 

❀

“Why can’t I stay?” 

“It is odd, sweetheart, for a grown man and a girl to share a bed. It has implications that do neither of us any favors.” 

“But—it makes us both happy, doesn’t it? What implication matters more than that?”

“I wish it were that simple sweetheart. It is one of those things you’ll understand when you’re older.” 

❀

When his brother visited, however…

He hated the fact he had to hide her away, even for meals.

❀

“Why can’t I join you?” 

“It would be very odd for my ward to dine with the King, and—he knew your mother, I do not wish to put you through the sort of shock your existence may give him.”

❀

Viserys asked him if the rumors were true.

“Yes. But she is a child. There is nothing untoward there, I swear it.” 

Viserys never believed him. Not about anything, much less this, his look of disgust spoke volumes, even when the space between them remained silent.

❀

Alicent met her in the hall by chance, bringing her existence up over dinner that evening. 

“She is Targaryen in blood. It is very obvious. A bastard of yours, I presume?” 

He looked at her—then flicked his eyes very intentionally to his brother when he responded. “Not my bastard, no, but Valyrian enough for me to take an interest in her education. 

“Where did she come from?” Alicent asked, her nose wrinkling, “An orphanage?” 

Daemon shook his head, “No—I knew her mother, when she died, I demanded to take over her care. She will require special handling few have patience for."

"How generous," Alicent said, her face scrunched into something sour. 

Viserys looked very pale. 

Good.

❀

She got older but their routine didn’t change—things that had been on the cusp of inappropriate when she first came to him were only getting more so as time passed. 

But it was ingrained in them now, a routine that made them body happy. Changing things based on perception alone when all along perception had painted him as some monster felt like letting society win. 

Rhaenyra would see it as a punishment. She would ask why it was wrong for him to see her bare now when it hadn’t been a month ago, and what would he say? He wasn’t attracted to her, truly, and she wasn’t to him. 

It made him feel perverted to change his actions just to abide by social norms. 

It would be as if he was accepting his motives were perverse, and they weren't.

So what that she bathed in his chambers on occasion. 

So what if he was the one who bathed her?

She was his to care for. 

❀

Her courses came when she was thirteen. 

“Am I going to die like mother?” She had sobbed. “It hurts—there is so much blood.” 

“Of course not, sweet one, it is alright.” He shushed her and pressed kisses to the crown of her head before ushering her towards the washstand.

She leaned against it while he dampened a cloth, reaching beneath her chemise to wipe between her thighs until the rag no longer came back stained. Her Septa and Governess would speak with her of this in the morning but he reassured her it was normal. If anything, it was a sign she was healthy. 

He draped a length of linen between her parted legs before tying it at her waist. She was rather unresponsive now, from her earlier upset, but she seemed to relax some as he discarded her chemise for one of his shirts. 

She took deep breaths, inhaling the scent of him that lingered on the cloth. 

It calmed her.

❀

“Inhaling it is like an embrace, almost? It winds around me and through my lungs and I swear I can hear you whispering in my ears and stroking my hair. It is the most comforting reminder of you, is that odd?”

“No sweetheart, it isn’t odd, not for us.”

❀

“Back to bed sweet one, it will not seem so awful in the morning.” He promised, kissing each of her tear-stained cheeks and tucking her back beneath the covers. 

❀

She couldn’t sleep.

“It hurts,” She moaned, pulling his hand to her soft belly, where the sensation stemmed from. 

His shirt was shorter than her chemise had been, riding up from her squirming, leaving her bare below the waist save for the narrow strip of linen to catch spotting while she slept. 

His skin dragged across the sparse downy curls covering her mound on its forced path to her belly—though he made no effort to fight her, nor move it, simply remaining flat against her soft skin.

He didn’t move his hand. Perhaps he should have, but—if this was what she wanted, he wanted to be there for her.

He merely pressed it against her abdomen and she let out a pleased gasp. “It—it’s better like that. Warm.” 

They were both warmer than humans. Not by much but by enough. So they felt right when they were together, not with others. 

This felt right too.

❀

It was a routine, every time that followed, when the ache plagued her she would bring his hands to her bare stomach, letting out a little sigh from the weight of his palms. 

This was part of caring for her. 

It wasn’t sexual. 

He didn’t care what the staff thought.

It felt right to them. That was what mattered.

❀

Rhaenyra was withdrawn over dinner the next day—her Septa had informed her of things, while her Governess told her other things to do with her designation rather than simply her gender. 

“Do you have any questions for me?” He asked, and she nodded. 

❀

“She said the best I could truly hope for is to be an inamorata to an alpha, for that means they are settled enough to have a wife and children—they should be controlled and kind, though they might be old. Is that—is that true?”

“It is the best most can hope for, I suppose, but you have freedom as my ward, sweetheart, you can do whatever you like with your life and I shall fund and house your ventures, I swear, no limits for you, sweet one.”

“She said alphas were often animalistic—cruel, violent, but—she said you were an alpha, and you aren’t any of those things!”

“No—well, not anymore, I had a privileged youth that gave me control in adulthood, sweetheart. We do not make the papers with our antics so perception is skewed—but it is true, many lack control of themselves and their desires.”

“She said someday—I will not just have courses, I’ll have heats. Fevers that must be soothed by—”

“Contractions of the womb and the seminal fluid of an alpha?” 

“Daemon! That is crude!”

“It is true—it is nothing to be afraid of sweetheart, there are years between now and then.

“You will soothe me, won’t you? When the time comes?”

“…if you want me to, of course I will, sweet one.

❀

Most omegas could not even hope to live as an inamorata—their care and protection as they matured was difficult without an alpha present to calm them. Even then, few existed with the self-control to resist them.

Many ended up sold to pleasure houses, or orphaned, living wretched lives where their needs were not met and they found an early death. 

It was all humans thought them good for, for fucking, for though they were more fertile than any human woman, it could not be used to their advantage.

Their bodies were too warm for them to carry human babes successfully. They needed to be with an alpha for reproduction and happiness and unfortunately, they were often abusive, or unable to afford their care. 

Yes. Life as an inamorata to a calm alpha was the most one could hope for at this time. But he would make her that and more if she let him. 

❀

Two years passed like this. Blissfully. 

She learned to bake. 

She went berry picking and came back with stained fingers and lips. 

She made jams, sickeningly sweet, just like her. 

She left sticky fingerprints on the wallpaper which made the maids rage.

She painted, her landscapes lining the halls no matter how good or bad, serving as a timeline that showed the progression of her talents.

She lay out in the sun until her cheeks were permanently pink, only then did she agree to wear a bonnet. 

❀

They went riding together often, and they still had their picnics, too.

They swam beneath the freshwater falls at the far end of the island, the water was freezing but so refreshing on summer days. 

They soaked in the hot springs when winter came, for hours in the evenings sometimes, racing back to the house while dripping and giggling.

Nudity was of no concern, not between them during such situations, it never had been, and he thought that may never change.

❀

It is wrong, they said.

It is perverted, they said.

He was a grown man with a maiden—an omega—in his bed. 

He soothed away her cramps with his bare hands.

He curled around her every night.

He helped her dress and change, sometimes. 

He took care of her. 

He didn’t care what they said. 

They were the perverts for what they implied.

Without their lewd whispers, the things they spoke of would never have crossed his mind.

❀

Not even after her heats started.

❀

She was still too young when the first one came.

He still did not feel…desire for her. 

Which was good, for she was still just a girl—a little slip of a thing, his sweetheart. She was beautiful and getting curvier by the day, but two years of courses had not been enough for her to master womanhood. 

He was glad he did not struggle to resist her in a sexual sense.

Emotionally, though, god.

She cried out for him, unable to be calmed by the herbs or even sweetsleep—the intensity of her fever burned through it all, leaving her whimpering and wailing, throwing herself against the door until he could not help but go to her. 

Her Governess looked at him with pursed lips. 

“She will hurt herself if I do not!” He said, not needing to justify his actions—he was the lord—but gods, he was sick of people thinking him a monster for the way he cared for her. 

The way he wanted to take care of her.

“If she doesn’t injure herself, the fever will be her detriment.” He warned, the Governess looking away—knowing it was true, but hating the outcome all the same.

“I will not fuck her, I will comfort her. You may chaperone if you wish. But it is dangerous for her to stay like this.” 

He opened the door and entered, and the Governess followed behind him.

❀

The smell in the room was cloyingly thick, too sweet, almost sickeningly so—especially given the mixture of distress. She was too young to give off such scents with any regularity, which meant she must have been extraordinarily stressed. 

The scent was the sort that called to him, to an alpha, for help, she needed help.

She was seated against the door while she pleaded, nearly spilling into the hall when he opened it—but steadying herself on his legs, which she clung to.

She whimpered, his poor girl—frenzied and wild in the most unfair of ways, her designation forcing emotions upon her she was too young to deal with.

This was why she needed him.

“It’s alright sweet one,” He said, combing his fingers through her damp hair. 

“Let’s sit by the fire, hm?” He suggested, encouraging her to move towards the nearby seating area arranged around the hearth.

“I’m so warm.” She muttered, and he could tell, for sweat beaded around her hairline and throat. 

He did not desire her, but—

He almost wanted to lick it away. 

❀

She needed release.

She didn’t know how to find it.

He took one of the stiff pillows from the sofa, arranging her atop it while she sat at his feet. 

“Ride it like a pony, sweetheart.” He told her, his hands carding through her hair, her head pressed against his stomach, while her hips worked over the pillow between her thighs. 

She was not any more exposed like this than she had been when he entered—the angle and the chemise she wore hid the place her pleasure came from—but it was different. 

She was panting, moaning, her hips jerking as she found release. 

His sweetheart was coming. 

She didn't stop. Not until she had peaked a half dozen times against the pillow, the stiff damask print cloth and piping would be forever stained by this. 

He would be forever changed by this.

They both would be. Her first heat. Gods. 

She was so young. 

He stroked her jaw, his thumb brushing her lip—she nipped at it, wild girl, before drawing it into her mouth, her lashes fluttering shut, tired from pleasure and soothed by the weight on her tongue. 

Her hips slowed, eventually stilling, as sleep finally took her.

❀

Her fever abated. 

The Governess did not approve but could not deny it soothed the girl who was in desperate need of it. 

Heats without resolution could be dangerous. 

“You must control yourself.” She warned, she pleaded. 

Of course he would. Anything else was unthinkable. 

❀

She gave him the same warning each time.

You must control yourself.

Each time it sounded more desperate. 

He could not blame her, not as his niece grew—the heat marked a second sort of maturity, that of her designation rather than gender, and it did things to her. 

At a glance, anyone could see the curve of her hip and bust had become more extreme, a sign of her exemplary representation of her species. 

❀

They are shaped like fertility goddesses, truly, made to bear children and feed them too—shaping themselves as the perfect depiction of a deity for the men lucky enough to breed them.

Or they should be—ones that are too thin, taken too early, they are stunted. Not what they should be. They may never experience the regularity of heats, the fertility that follows, nor the ability to mate.

They are blessings—goddesses on earth, but they must be treated as such from birth in order to mature into such. 

❀

Her heats made her needy, too. Desires for things forming with an intensity beyond the norm.

It made her wet. Slick. That was beyond the norm, too, the way juices rushed down her thighs and soaked whatever she rutted against. 

She was overproducing and trying to show her body's capability to be penetrated. 

It would not stop until she was.

❀

Heats were unpredictable the first few years—coming too frequently or scarcely as the body adjusted and leveled. 

It would level with time in a healthy omega, which she was, he had made sure of it.

For some, this took one year, for others it took ten. Her Governess warned it may be soon. 

❀

"You have been too involved. Cared too much if you will, my lord. We are not supposed to be so close to your sorts, not with such frequency, not before maturity. For the occasional comfort, yes, but not as a constant companion."

"It is lucky this did not begin sooner, but now that it has—"

❀

This was how his family had always done things. 

Well, in a way.

Alphas and omegas were prosperous in their breeding, birthing their own kind more often than not. It was a blessing, for no one could raise their kind—could understand them—the way parents of their designation could. 

It was a father who would hold their daughter's hand through this all. Who would provide dirty blankets and robes to soothe them through heats. It was part of them growing up. 

When they had grown up—when they were old enough to mate—they would often paired with their siblings, a perfect match in status and scent. 

The practice dwindled as disease and war tore through his family. Suddenly the heir was a human—as were his children—and alphas and omegas became a rarity. 

His grandfather and grandmother had been one, though. They birthed several of their kind, but only his father and mother lived long enough to marry. Their eldest son—his brother—was as human as one could be, while he was...

He was an alpha. Without a sibling to wed or a possible mate that matched his status, he was a problem. 

But it had all led him here. It had all been worth it. 

❀

The ‘leveled’ state of their cycle was different for each woman—the intensity and frequency dictated by their own body, its desires, and internal rhythm. But they would find what was considered normal to them, and when they did—

Well, when their body was ready, maintaining regularity, the other urges for mating would begin to come. The nesting tendencies, the sense of smell, the desire for seed and breeding.

But their body had to gather its bearings first, and hers—gods, it tried to find such balance with a dizzying frequency. She was one of the unlucky few who had heats monthly for that first year—only lasting a day or two but serving as an unwelcome interruption that she struggled to resolve. 

She couldn’t not resolve them on her own. Not without him—his smell.

Daemon wouldn’t—well, there were many things he wouldn't do, but he did all he could. 

❀

He stayed with her during, their nightly routine occurring in her rooms—her safe place—but otherwise unchanging. He read to her, he stroked her hair, he watched her writhe atop pillows—one time rubbing herself raw before sobbing that it wasn’t enough, lifting her chemise to expose the red folds—puffy, swollen, and irritated. 

He had smelled her frustration but not her pain—she had not felt it either, too distracted in chasing her release that never came. But now…

Her bits looked as red as her sunburned skin during summer, the thatch of light silver hair above them there only accentuating the wrongness of her flesh below it. 

Fuck.

He should have noticed she needed more. 

“Come here sweet one.” He said, patting his lap, which she quickly settled herself into. He spread her legs over his thighs while his hand dipped between her own, beneath her chemise, between the puffy lips of her cunt, all overheated swollen, and in need of him. 

One finger curled into her was all it took, she was shaking—sobbing, gasping, the prettiest noises from the prettiest girl.

❀

She would bring his hand to her quim at night, a sleepy plea that he could not help but fulfill, her humming and settling only after she had a bit of him inside her.

❀

“It isn’t enough.” She sobbed, thrusting against his finger to no avail. 

Her body was growing up—growing to want more. Things he could not give her.

Not yet. 

❀

The tapers helped for a time—carved into crude shapes and polished until they looked and felt like stone. The sizes varied, but none were larger than an average man's cock. 

None as large as him.

But it was enough for a time, the polished wood pressed into her while she rubbed against his thigh and made pleased sounds against his neck. 

They soothed her through three of her heats. 

❀

It was familiar, how she woke him in the midst of it, sobbing, “It isn’t enough.” While she thrust against her palm, trying to force the carving inside of her deeper. 

He shushed her, slipping his fingers down to check—she was so wet, her opening swollen and dripping with it. It was easy to slip a finger in alongside the faux appendage, curling it and making her gasp at the stretch—a poor imitation of a locked cock, but enough. 

For now. 

For one more month.

❀

She caught him after a bath—spilling into the water, one hand on his cock the other on the lip of the tub, still breathless with his towel at his feet. 

He was not sure she saw the actual act, but—

“It smells so good—” 

His wild girl was quick, not in heat at the time but curious and feral as she came to his side. He had wrapped himself in a towel before she reached him, at least, but not had time to clean the spend from his fingers and length.

He had time to pull away, but he didn't he never did. Not from her. Not from what she wanted.

She wanted this. 

Her eyes were wide eyes in wonder, both her hands tight around his wrist as she pulled it to her face, smelling the palm that had cradled his cock before licking between each digit, only then moving on to sucking each one into her mouth, reverent in the act, her eyes closed in pleasure—not the sexual sort, but an overwhelming contentedness. 

It made sense. Smell, sex, and semen—those were what calmed an omega, regardless of their cycles state.

“You act as if they are ladyfingers.” He teased, her bright eyes glaring at him while she sucked on his middle finger. She did not respond, not until she was finished.

And then...

❀

“They are much too large to be ladyfingers Daemon! They taste better, too.”

“Do they now?”

“They taste so good, like the way you smell but—gods—can I have more?”

“Not tonight sweetheart.”

❀

She slept so well that night. Calm and refreshed, her body soothed by the taste of alpha. The taste of him. 

She needed this. 

Or so he told himself, as he grunted, spilling into the empty saucer he had saved from that afternoons tea. 

He told himself this again, as he visited the kitchens—mixing spoonfuls of his spend in with the loosely creamed butter she favored for breads at super. 

❀

“Oh my god—it tastes so good, I wonder what they did to it?”

“A new spice from essos, sweetheart, I—ah, added it myself, I thought you might like it. .”

“Can we add it to everything?” 

“It is not readily available enough for that, I’m afraid. Little is farmed now—most destroyed in the doom. Maybe someday, sweetheart, you'll have a source here...”

❀

Mates always rise to the occasion of their lover's needs, a constant source of pleasure readied in a moment when their partner craves it. 

Mates.

It felt inevitable now—at least to him.

❀

“I’m not even in heat—I can’t stop leaking—I don’t—it’s humiliating.” 

It was normal, he knew that—she was getting closer. Her body wanted more and thought this was how to get it. But she did not wish to sit in a tub all day or lay on cloths—she wanted to garden and ride and live. 

Confinement did not suit his wild girl.

“I will see what I can do, sweetheart, this will pass—but it should not hold you back, not for a week or month or however long it takes.”

She hugged him. 

She was soft now, all curves and pillowy breasts.

She was more of a woman with every passing day, that was undeniable, even to him.

❀

The plug almost mimicked the swollen base of a locked cock—a ball with a shallow neck and flared flat base, it kept her cunt from overproducing in protest of its emptiness and trapped what it did create inside.

❀

“It worked so well, Daemon! I am glad for it, but so big, so torturous—I tried to ride and I, ah—” 

Gods. It was no wonder that on that first day she had begged him to take it out for her, and when he had—fuck.

The rivers of the day's release poured down her thighs, a mixture of arousal and spend and slick finally liberated from her plugged cunt, dripping past her knees for the quantity was so great. 

He cleaned her up with rags. 

He wanted to use his tongue. 

He wanted to add to the mess.

❀

She still picked wildflowers. 

He still picked brambles out of her hair. 

She read bawdy poetry but demanded childish bedtime stories of princesses and knights going on adventures. 

He liked buying things for her—jewels, gowns, taking care of her. Making her feel taken care of. 

She liked animals—a puppy joining the indoor cats, much to his chagrin, but she babied the beast like a child and it was too sweet for him to deny her.

He could never deny her anything.

❀

“I—ahh, feel as though I’m getting closer to something—less myself, and something else, when the heats come. I worry—you’ll soothe me, won’t you? When the time comes? When it is at its worst?”

“If you would still like me too, sweetheart.”

“Of course. There is no other I like as much as you.”

“Like, sweet girl? No love for me?”

“Daemon! Of course, I love you—but I cannot love you for an act I have not yet done.”

“Are you afraid, sweet one?”

“No—I, you will be good to me. Make it good for me. It will feel good, won’t it?”

“I wouldn’t let you feel anything less, sweetheart.”

“It will be good for you too, though, right?”

“Oh sweetheart—it will be better than that.”

❀

Her cycle became more predictable. Every two months now, but each one lasting a bit longer—each one a bit more intense. 

❀

She started to complain about the scent of other women on him. 

He started visiting whores more often.

She started to tell him to go to bed—because he smelled tired. 

He constantly smelled her arousal. 

❀

“I get more sensitive with each one—I fear—gods, what will I become? Will I be able to be touched without coming? Will I be able to smell cakes over the scent of you beside me and the man who baked it? It’s so much!”

“You’ll get used to it, sweetheart, it is just very new to you now—but you’ll adjust.”

“Just like I adjusted to the tapers? Gods, Daemon, what is next? I'm a monster!”

“You aren't, sweetheart, you're perfect. You are special, we both are, with our needs. If you pick a mate, sweetheart, things will settle—”

“I have picked a mate don’t you know?"

"I—no, I did not."

"It’s you Daemon, of course it is you—if you'll have me, in my monstrous state.”

He wouldn't have her any other way. 

"Of course sweetheart. I'll have you any way you let me. And—you're not a monster, sweetheart, but if you were—of course I'd have you, even then, you would be my monster."

❀

He had been called back from town early, her heat coming on quickly, no one noticing for she hid herself away in her chambers. When they did it had already been hours, and she was unaccustomed to dealing without him for that long.

He could smell her from a mile away, her tears, her arousal, her despair, her pain—fuck.

❀

She was speared on her bedpost.

She was crying. 

He put that over anything else, reaching for her, stroking her hair, and smoothing his thumbs beneath her eyes, which were scrunched shut, trying to soothe her.

His desperate girl—so needy, seeking out what her cunt was desperate for and hurting herself in the process. This is why omegas were dangerous—delicious but hard to keep, for they had needs, they required so much more care, for they wanted so much more.

Her eyes had been bigger than her cunt, it seemed, for she muttered—“It’stobig.” While her cheeks remained red and eyes wet.

“What happened?” He asked, because this was...was it truly on purpose? It had to be, surely. 

His greedy girl. 

“I—I just wanted one. Something bigger than the plug—” She muttered, “But I came—I slipped and—ahhhh.” She slipped again at that moment, a demonstration of what had gotten her in such a place to begin with. 

Her fingers were sweaty on the oiled beam of the baseboard, and she was shaking, unable to support herself with them. The result of this was her whole body growing tense and shaking, then sinking further—gods

He lifted her chemise to see how—seven fucking hells, her cunt had swallowed three of the decorative ornamental beads, each at least two inches wide, while her body worked on a fourth—her cunt stretched open around it, gravity and slick would soon be enough to force that inside of her too. 

It wasn’t an impossible amount for her to take, not at all given what her kind was capable of—but it was bigger than anything else she had before. 

“Do you want me to help you?” He asked, and she nodded. 

He moved behind her, reaching for her thighs—he was going to lift her off, truly, but she moaned. 

He knew he had an effect on her—his smell and touch were a comfort, but that was new. The blatant arousal from a mere brush of fingers on her thigh. 

“Feels better, with you here," She admitted, her body going almost limp, relaxing back against him instead of supporting herself by leaning forward.

The result was instantaneous, her slipping further down, gasping, arching, accepting the intrusion. 

“Feelsogood.” She muttered, her head tipped back against his shoulder.

Fuck. 

His hand stroked her smooth belly, slightly bloated from the state of her heat but no less perfect, and then lower—his fingers feeling how her body splayed for the post, nearly eight inches of it inside her little cunt now, slick pouring out of her, finally getting the sort of intrusion it wanted but still wanting more.

He touched the bud of her clit, and she came.

She kept coming.

He wasn’t sure how many times—his hand cupping her mound, fingers splayed where her lips were speared on the post, feeling her gush around the intrusion while his thumb stroked. 

She was beautiful, red-faced, whimpering, feeling so good—his good girl. 

He thought she was asleep by the end of it, so limp against him and unresponsive though he could feel her cunt leaking, the contractions of her stomach clenching down. Needy even in sleep. 

When he pulled her off, she sniffled, whimpering and whining about being empty.

He just wanted to make sure she was alright, but what he saw was—her little cunt was gaping, desperate to be filled.

Filled by him.

❀

That heat was rough. 

He was woken by her moans, she had four of her fingers inside of her cunt.

“Not enough.” She complained.

He curled around her, reached around her to feel—there was room for more. 

She had small hands.

She was so slick.

He helped her tuck her thumb inside too—her whole body stilling and then vibrating as her fist slipped in, her body swallowing it to the wrist while she writhed. 

It mimicked the swollen base of a cock that she craved. But it would not be enough to satisfy her for long. 

She craved it so much. 

Nothing less was going to be enough. Not anymore. 

❀

It wasn’t just her cunt that leaked with desire—saliva ran down the corners of her mouth until she had something to suck on—she adored his fingers, holding them in her mouth for as long as he would let her, tongue tracing the rings and then some. 

“It’s calming.” She admitted.

It was not new—not that part, at least, but the drool was, the intensity, the fact she sought it outside of heats.

Gods, everything had spread outside of her heats—

His fingers frequently curled into her cunt. His thighs were her to ride as she pleased, and now there was this too.

Fuck.

She had been kneeling, rutting against a pillow while her cheek rested in his lap. She wasn’t resting though, she was—curious—nosing at his crotch and inhaling deeply. 

“Smells so good.” She muttered, her eyes closing as she breathed him in. 

They stayed like that for a while, before her eyes blinked open and she asked, “Can I see it?”

It was only early afternoon, and he had come that morning—he was not in rut, he was not a young man, he was accustomed to being unaroused in her presence, and he did not get hard.

But she did not mind, admiring it, complimenting it, and then swallowing it. 

He pet her hair, watching her for what had to be minutes before asking, “Will you be a while?”

She hummed in agreement. 

He returned to his work, his sweetheart tucked between his thighs and beneath his desk.

❀

At night now, he would read to her and she would hold his cock between her lips.

❀

While they slept, he had two fingers pressed deep inside of her hot cunt. 

❀

“It will be soon won’t it?”

“Mhm, I can smell it.”

“Does it smell good?”

“So good. So sweet. My sweetheart.”

❀

“Can—can I see it? Before—I,” She was flushing, squirming across from him at dinner. She had drunk more than usual, he noticed—she was embarrassed about whatever was coming.

Whatever she was asking for.

“I would like to see what it looks like before it’s inside of me.” She whispered, her gaze adverted.

It was not an unfair ask, he supposed. It was rather remarkable she hadn’t seen him hard despite their years together. 

He was attracted to her now—she was gorgeous, of course, but she wasn’t ready. 

His alpha had claimed her as his and was protecting her from him, his appreciation for her form was endless, his adoration of her indescribable, but—arousal wasn’t present, it wasn’t allowed.

But she was asking for it now.

He had never said no to her, perhaps his alpha wouldn't either. 

❀

He unlaced his breeches when they got to his chambers—sitting in their favored spot by the fire, and urging her to come closer. 

“Take it off, sweetheart.” He said, gesturing to her gown before she could sit. 

She nodded, the front lacing something she was capable of undoing herself, and as she did the support was taken away, her full breasts spilling free, no longer confined by anything more than a loose chemise.

“Take that off too, sweetheart.” He said, and she blinked—surprised. She was rarely fully nude in front of him. It had always been rare, not shameful, but uncommon outside of bathing. Even now—with all they had done—all he had felt, the most private bits of her were hidden beneath a shift or blankets.

But she followed his command, pulling it over her head and letting it fall to the floor. Her hands twisted nervously at her sides while he looked her over.

Looked at what she was now. 

His wild girl was a wild woman now, and fuck she was perfect.

“Thank you sweetheart—come, sit. He told her and she nodded eagerly, her thighs draped over either side of his own while her nose nuzzled against his neck—smelling. 

He stroked her bare back, tugging on her braid and making her jerk away, lips turned into a pout as he grinned. The pose left her chest jutted towards him, her head tilted back. His other hand touched—brushing across her nipples, skin so soft, but such hardness beneath it.

“Do you like being bare for me sweetheart?” He asked, and she nodded, a pretty blush on her cheeks.

“Do you like having your tits touched?” She whimpered, but nodded at that too.

“Do you think you’d like it if I kissed them?” 

She didn’t nod, but she let out a gasp, followed by, “Please.”

❀

She tasted like candy. 

Her nails were like knives on his scalp and neck. Wild. Clawing. Desperate and needy. 

Someday—her breasts would leak when he did this because she’d be pregnant—have his baby—have their baby. 

She was born for so much more than breeding, but fuck if he didn’t like the thought. Her stomach and breasts swollen with evidence, her cunt leaking in time with her dusty nipples, so wet for him in every possible way. 

He could make her come like this, just from this, he was certain, but not today. 

He pulled away, pushing firmly on her sternum until she let go of him with a pitiful wail. 

“You wanted to see it, didn’t you sweetheart?” 

She nodded, breathing heavily and biting her lip as she settled back on his thighs. 

He freed his cock from where it strained, roused by her truly for the first time. 

He was letting himself feel it for the first time.

She watched with awe as he stroked it to further hardness, looking menacing like this—jutting up between them while her body shadowed it from the light of the fire. It seemed huge between them, like he was the monster, for expecting her to ever take such a thing.

“It’s so big.” She said, awed, fingers reaching before he could consider stopping her. 

His curious girl.

“It’s so hard!” She said, looking up at him with a grin. 

“It has to be to get inside of you, sweetheart.”

She nodded, a finger tracing the veins.

“It—it will swell, right? When you spill inside of me.”

Fuck.

“Mhm, like your plug but bigger, have to make sure all the seed stays in you—absorbing and feeding your heat-hungry womb.”

Her eyes were wide as they met his, “But it won’t be able to root, will it?”

Fuck.

“No sweetheart—I wish it could, but you’re still young, too young for me to fill you with babies. But if you want that, someday—“

“Yes,” She gasped, “I want that.”

Fuck.

She looked down at his length, her fingers loosely wrapped around it, unable to meet given its girth. “Can I see what my mouth feels on it? When it is like this?”

Fuck.

“Of course sweetheart.”

She didn’t gag. She was made for this too—goddesses of fertility omegas were, maybe, but goddesses of taking cock, really, for her body welcomed the intrusion even here. 

Her lips were stretched around the root of him, her cheeks puffy, but her posture was one of relaxation—as if there was nowhere she would rather be in life than on her knees for him. 

She looked so good there. So pretty. Sucking on his length, but the heat of her tongue and tightness of her throat wasn’t enough to make him come, because he was greedy too. 

“Can I fuck you a little, sweetheart?” He asked, and her eyes widened before humming in agreement. 

His fingers inched beneath the base of the braids he had done for her that day, supporting her scalp while also letting him drag her back by the roots of her locks. Slowly at first, letting her get used to this, lean into it, so adaptable his sweet girl.

Then he pulled her down while jerking forward, she gagged, gulped, and struggled in her surprise, but ultimately she took that too, gasping around his length when he finally pulled back enough for her to breathe. 

“Good girl, sweetheart,” He surged forward again, her body language less panicked this time, less surprised, learning to accept him like this—learning to relax even when he was choking her on his length.

Fucking made for this, truly.

His thrusts were shallower after that, he didn't want her to hurt, he just wished to know what she was capable of. Capable of taking.

They became faster, harder, the tip battering the back of her throat with each thrust when he asked if she wanted to swallow it and she hummed eagerly. 

She suckled on his length long after it went soft, drinking every remnant of his release before nearly falling asleep against his thigh.

She was perfect, his sweet girl. 

He’d taken care of her for so long, and now she could do this—take care of him too.

❀

It started the next day.

He wondered if the taste she had the night before was what started it. 

It didn’t matter.

❀

His skin had itched since he woke—feeling too tight and overly aware of his flesh. He ignored it, it had been so long since he’d had a rut, not a single one in his time on Dragonstone. It was a blessing. But given their rarity, their intensity was…

Something Rhaenyra would have to suffer now. 

He’d never had an omega during a rut, just a string of endless whores capable of taking the fist-sized swollen base of him in their loose cunts. 

Would it be easier with her? Just her? Or worse?

It would be better. He knew that much.

❀

He was hard. He realized that during a meeting with—he couldn’t remember their name. His head felt heavy, and fuzzy, his cock was pounding, hot, so hot. 

He was hot. Feverish. 

The man across from him asked if he was alright. 

No. No, he was not.

He had to—get away—get away from Rhaenyra, she wasn’t ready yet, and he wouldn't be able to resist her, not when she was—

❀

She was seventeen.

She was nesting.

It was a miracle they had made it this long.

It was time. 

Not even the staff could avoid acknowledging that.

❀

The door clicked shut behind him, the lock slipping into place, as he stripped. Her fortress was built behind the bed curtains, a practical girl, his sweetheart was, using what was already there to her advantage. 

When he pulled back the drapes he hissed, the intensity of her scent washing over him. 

She was nude, flushed, panting, touching herself.

She lay atop pilfered bits of his clothing mixed in with the covers. She had used his soap, he realized. She tried tried to drench herself in the artificial things she associated with his scent while she waited for him to come.

“Daemon…” She mumbled, her eyes shut—did she know he was there? She had to, surely—

“Thank gods—I—I’m, I need you.” She said, pleading, her eyes flicking open and landing on his. Her pupils were dilated, irises looking black for how they were swallowed by darkness. 

He needed her too. He was sure he looked just as mad—more animal than man as his cock seemed to grow harder, some sort of swollen already from the mere sight of her. 

He wanted to be inside of her. She wanted it too. She needed it. 

They needed each other, in a biological sense, and they had chosen each other too. 

❀

He kissed her first, she deserved that. Lips locking, gently, though it grew fierce—twisted into something more tongue than teeth as Rhaenyra wrapped her lips around his tongue, trying to scrape the flavor of his tastebuds onto her own, as if only that would be enough.

He understood because she tasted so good. Sweet, syrupy, but sharp too—bright and delicious and just right. He never wanted her flavor to leave his mouth. Wanted to drink it, gorge himself on it, on her. 

She was his.

She was the one who reached for his cock, her ankles urging him closer to her. 

“Gotta open you up sweethea—” 

“No.” She shook her head, her eyes wide and frantic. 

“No, just like this, please? Had your fingers, had so much, had everything but you—need you.” Her words were almost slurred, like she had gotten drunk from the press of their lips and shared saliva, but what she said made sense, and fuck, he wanted her too. 

He looked between them, the tip of his length rutting up against the pretty pink lips of her cunt. They were swollen and pink now, not with irritation though, but arousal. All plump for him, made to look enticing enough to lure him in.

Her sweet scent had lured him in years ago, though.

He hadn’t wanted her like this—not then. But part of him must have known. 

How could he not have? She was so perfect, she had to be his. 

His cock moved forward, her fingers reaching between them to part her folds, welcoming him inside of her for the first time. 

“Ohmygods—” She gasped as he pressed in, she was so slick it was easy, no part of her body protesting the intrusion. She was a maiden, but she was one made to be fucked and she took it as the gods intended when creating her, inch by inch, the glide smooth even though her cunt was so tight. 

Her muscles had to part for him, they did so easily, but only just—she clung to him with a grip that should have hurt, but the walls of her cunt were soft, hot, spongey, pulsing against his length as he pressed deeper. 

“So much left.” She muttered, her eyes locked on the place he was pressing into her. “Already so much.” She mumbled.

“You’ve taken more.” He said, not sure if he intended that to be reassuring. 

“Not like this.” She mumbled, “So hot—its—gods, it's different, its—”

He surged forward, another inch, and she shook. Clenching. Coming. Unable to even wait for all of his cock before her body found pleasure on it, so much pleasure. She was whimpering, her eyes screwing shut and nails curling into his neck. 

It didn't hurt. Not yet. But it would, and he did not wish to draw out her suffering, no, his sweaty fingers clutched her hips, his pelvis thrusting forward as he drew her to him, a single motion that sheathed him full inside of her. 

She tried to scream, but it was too high—coming out as a broken gasp, her body taught and arching from the mattress, contorting herself as if half of her wanted to escape and the other half wanted more. 

He licked away her tears, nipped at her ear, nosed down her neck—fuck. 

There were no glands, no rough or scaled patches like some rumors claimed—just skin, smooth, perfect skin, but it smelled stronger here. At her neck. Her wrist. Her cunt. 

He’d place a scar at each of them before they were through.

She wanted him to take care of her. 

He would make sure she could not escape his care. 

She was his. 

His mate.

Her body was spasming, maybe even coming again, even as it curved and contorted in pain. He was patient in waiting for it to pass, his arms flat against the bed now as his body and weight was draped across her front.

She was so hot. Sweaty and slick, every bit of her, every bit of both of them. The smell was...inescapable. Of desire and sex, and—

He didn’t want to thrust when she smelled like this—metallic pain. 

There was no film covering the opening of her kind—it was deeper, a shield to the womb. A normal man could not reach it, and none could get an omega pregnant until it was broken. 

His cock had broken it. Broken her. 

A monstrous part of him like that, but he didn't like the way she hurt.

It didn't make his arousal fade, though. He hissed, into her neck, teeth scraping, cock throbbing. He felt so hot. They ran hotter than humans—made to be compatible with each other even in temperature. 

Made for each other.

Eventually, her chest collapsed into something calm, sobs abating and the scent of pain fading. 

Only then did he shift his body upward, back onto his heels—sweat-slick skin protesting his movement, wanting to stick to her, but he wanted to fuck her more.

She was all flushed, tits so fucking perfect—soft stomach, tiny waist, hips for gripping. 

She was his.

She needed to know that.

Everyone needed to know that.

“Going to fuck you now sweetheart.” He said softly.

She sighed—sounding almost relieved despite her body's brief protest. 

She was oozing around him, juices spilling out, begging him to thrust—and he would not deny her, not any longer, not in this. 

The slide was easy, even though her sheath was tight. She was so fucking wet, the sound obscene as he moved in her, little jerks, then small thrusts, then longer ones—deeper, faster, harder, her tits were bouncing as his hands tilted her hips and put every bit of himself into fucking her.

He was to remember it. He would be more out of it the longer this went on, a haze of heat and pleasure polluting every memory to come after this. That was good too, but this—having her like this for the first time, he wanted to remember.

Her face was all scrunched, whimpering, but when he reached between them, brushing her little bud—that was all it took. 

She was thrashing, gushing, but he wouldn’t let her escape what she was feeling. His palms pressed her shoulders down, and when her nails caught his cheek he swore, shifting to grasp those instead, slamming her delicate wrists to the bed and thrusting even harder. 

There was no fighting this. No fighting him.

Her face was flushed, and when her arms relaxed, he slipped one hand between, bracketed by sticky and sweat-slick skin on its path for stroking her swollen clitoris. The skin was nearly smooth, so swollen, so sensitive, so desperate. 

She whimpered, “Too much—”

And then, “More—please, more!” 

His eyes fell shut, and he lost track of time, feeling warmer with each passing moment until he was boiling, spilling over, and—he pressed down on her stomach, against the length that was buried inside her, he could feel it, feel himself. 

She keened as he changed the shape of the space inside of her. 

She whimpered.

She came.

The base of his cock was swelling, each press in and out becoming more difficult—her little cunt straining even more over the thickening flesh, popping in and out, and she was wailing, a constant noise as he watched her body take him again and again. 

Her fingers clawed at his arms and shoulders. 

"Itstoobig." She wailed, her cunt trying to hold his swollen length in as he forced it out, then back in a single jerk that made her wail.

That was the last time, now he had to—gods.

❀

He swore he poured gallons of his release into her, surely her tummy would be bloated with it—if not after this, then by the end of the day, for it was still coming. 

“So warm.” She gasped, her hands clutching her stomach as a mother swollen with a child would. 

Fuck.

They did not stay there long, though, for she pulled him back into a kiss.

“So big.” She mumbled against him, and he nipped at her bottom lip, drawing her tongue into his mouth and swallowing her whimpers as he ground himself deeper.

“So good—Daemon, it's so good—”

She was pulsing around him, contractions indicating she was coming as if her little gasps weren't enough for him to know. Milking his cock in the way only his sweet little omega could.

“I know, sweetheart, better than good, right?” 

She hummed in agreement.

❀

It took nearly an hour to go down.

He got antsy first, pulling back and watching her scramble and arch at the threat of his swollen length pulling out of her overstretched cunt. He could see it bulging against her opening, the skin warping as it shifted. There was no risk of it coming out, not without extreme effort and hurting her, but fuck the idea of it…

He didn’t want to leave her body though, not when it was hot and perfect.

❀

She got antsy next. They shifted, so she was on top of him—riding him like he’d taught her on horseback all those years ago. She was flushed, breasts bouncing, all of her bouncing on his cock until she came—clenching around him so tightly they both groaned. 

There was nothing left to spill into her, not now, but gods her muscles tried. 

❀

They fell asleep after. Not for long, though. She was whimpering in her sleep, slick drenching her—it was so easy to just slide in, fingers pressing into her mouth, giving her something to suckle while he fucked her back to sleep. 

Taking care of her even while she slept.

❀

She woke feverish, out of it, unable to say anything but his name—or maybe that was all he could hear. And then it was the sound of slapping flesh, nothing else, fucking her so hard and deeply he wasn't sure where he began and she ended. 

It was brutal. Not violent but desperate and hard in a way that wasn't fully human.

They weren't fully human. 

❀

"Love you so much, fuck." He muttered, stroking her waist and tits and making her writhe on his cock which plugged her.

"Love you too." She said, blinking up at him. 

"It is a good thing you do," She whispered, before her lips turned into a grin, “Never gonna get me off your cock now.” She mumbled, fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him down for a kiss. 

Good.

❀

He was fucking her over the edge of the bed—her bent at the waist, one leg dangling the other beneath her, pressed into the mattress as he thrust into her from behind. 

His sack was slapping against her, and she was jerking in time with each thrust as if he was truly hitting her. Her breath came out in pants, as if he was forcing that out of her too. It was too much, the pleasure, the size, it was—inhuman. 

No human felt this good. No whore. No one other than her. 

He'd never have anyone other than her. 

It was time. 

When he came, his cock swelled, keeping him inside her, preventing her from escaping—

That was when he bent and bit. The juncture of her neck and shoulder was marred by his teeth and unable to be hidden. A brand of ownership. 

Skin crunched, and blood spilled. Neither of them cared. 

He pressed red kisses into her neck, grinding deeper, giving her more of him.

❀

She took from him too—when she bit back, she stayed latched there, sucking on the broken flesh as if it was his cock, the release of blood constant and tasting metallic on her tongue when she finally freed his skin and returned her mouth to his own.

❀

It went on for days. Sleeping with his cock inside of her instead of fingers, both completely bare. 

Waking up to her writhing against him, begging for more.

He gave it to her—he always would.

She was his now.

❀

Bruises and love bites decorated half their torsos, but the actual bites were obvious—stark, messy, ragged, and bloody. They would scar. They were supposed to. 

Their left wrists—necks—their right thigh. 

It ached. 

Everything ached.

His cock ached for her. 

Her scent called to him.

So did her lips. 

Pleading, for more. Always more. 

His greedy wild girl. 

❀

It was easier after that first time. Her body calmed—soothed by the constant access to him—her mate, her alpha, her…cock, gods, the way she loved his cock…

She still warmed it in the evening, holding it hard in her mouth while he read to her—before riding him hard and fast while he nipped at her breasts.

He kissed her freely—fucked her freely too, for he was lord. If he needed her in his study or the throne room there was no one to stop him. 

She liked having him outside—in the springs, on the compacted sand as water flowed around them, in the grass, in fields of wildflowers. 

❀

She was a beast. Claws. Teeth. Leaving marks wherever and whenever she was able. 

“You’re mine.” She said, before settling herself on his length and sighing in pleasure.

He was hers. He had been from the moment he smelled her. 

❀

For her eighteenth birthday, she asked for a baby.

❀

“Want to be so full of seed—fucked full and plugged up with such frequency it will look like I’m pregnant even before I begin to show."

"I want to give you sons, Daemon, show everyone how happy I am to be bred by you, ah—”

❀

He visited his brother first. 

He wanted an annulment. He had asked for one before, but been denied for poor cause. 

“We’ve had this conversation before,” Viserys said, sounding tired.

“We’re having it again. I have a mate. An inamorata, I wish to wed to her.”

Viserys eyes snapped up to his. He didn’t understand, a human, one who thought other sorts were wrong rather than remarkable. 

Daemon watched him piece things together. “Don’t you think a wonderful woman like Aemma should have her daughter taken care of within the vows of matrimony? Wouldn’t that be a sweet way to honor a woman who died trying to bear you a bastard son?” 

Viserys flinched. 

“No. No annulment.” He spat, out of spite for the reminder of his own misdeeds. 

Daemon sighed, leaning back. “Fine. You won’t dissolve my marriage? I shall dissolve yours. How would your pious Hightower feel about her husband fucking a Valyrian whore for their first decade of marriage? Paying for her keep, a lavish room while she waited for you. Even promising to bring her with you when you were king.”

Viserys grit his teeth.

“How would she feel about your bastard daughter being older than her own children? Gods, and knowing that you asked me to look after her all these years, you couldn't bear the thought of her as an orphan—”

Viserys slammed his hand on the desk, “I most certainly did not ask you for that! Fuck!” 

Daemon smiled. “But would she believe that when you have already kept so much of the truth from her?”

❀

He married her the day after he returned. Following the old practices of the fourteen flames, the practices of their kind, after the vows of the more common faith. They wore traditional garb—braids he had done for them both, and flower crowns she had twisted for them that morning. 

After they were wed officially—

Blood-slick lips met, and robes were pealed away before they even returned to the keep, his cock entering his wife while the waters crashed against the cliff he fucked her on. 

Hips crashing together. 

Cries lost to the sound of the sea.

“No more tea.” He muttered, punctuating the words with a thrust, “Time for my sweetheart to give me a babe, hm?”

“Gods—yes—”

❀

She got her wish of being so full of him she swelled. 

He was ravenous at the thought of her full of his child—fucking her with a frequency that awed him, pressing her old plug into her after he was done, forcing his seed deeper—making it stay inside.

He topped her up hourly sometimes, both of them desperate for it.

She swore she could feel it sloshing inside of her.

“More, gods, more—”

He gave that to her, too. 

❀

At night, when he slipped it out, a torrent of shared fluid spilled down his hand and her legs. He lapped it up, fed it to her from his fingers, and sucked her cunt clean before fucking her again. 

❀

He never denied her, and she never denied him.

She smiled when she woke up to his length inside of her, thrusting gently. Or to the swollen cock she couldn't escape, keeping her close to him and in bed. Or even the sloppy remnants of what she had slept through entirely.

He could be gentle when he wanted to be, letting his sweetheart sleep while he spilled into her.

❀

Time soothed their bond, making them more controlled in their desires for each other—though no less ravenous.

Parenthood had done that, too, their love for what they had created tempering their love for each other. Not making it lesser, but rather…more stable. Less dependent on constant coupling and reassurance. 

He felt balanced in a way he had not thought possible—his urges soothed by the equal intensity of his sweetheart, his wild girl who was wild about him. 

❀

She was wild about his cock, too, even after all these years.

He leaned in the doorway while she read bedtime stories to their children. 

Then he read her one, while she drooled on the taste of his length. 

When her courses came, he held her, his palm warm against her bare stomach.

He brushed her hair. Braided it. Picked bits of dried grass and wilting daisies from her silver locks.

He bathed with her. He dressed her. He never slept without her—never slept without his cock inside of her.

She filled his study with flowers and filled his life with smiles and laughter.

She rode like she had a death wish—both him and her horse.

She gave him children, a family, a fucking purpose beyond a title and designation he was born with.

She made him a husband, a father, a mate, and he loved her for all of that and so much more.

She was reckless, wild, wonderful, and she was his. 

❀❀❀

.