L.J.

Daemon Targaryen

An Unexpected Reunion (part 1) : Midnight Rendezvous (part 2) : Spilt Blood (part 3) : part 4?

Pregnant reader (request)

Maedhros

Caranthir

Celegorm

Maglor

Gondolin

Glorfindel

Ecthelion

Maeglin - none yet

Others - none yet

Note: I don't have any ideas for Rog or Maeglin (or any other elves of Gondolin, so if you want one, don't hesitate to send it in!)

Rivendell

Elrohir

Elladan - none yet

Elrond - none yet

More coming soon!

The Woodland Realm

~ to be added to in the future ~

Lothlorien

~ to be added to in the future ~

Gif credits go to the owner!

A Tall Tale:

Pearls & Buttons (part 1): At over 7 feet tall, I am hardly the size of normal elleths. Hidden in the back of a tailor’s shop, I take life day by day, hiding from the stares that would undoubtedly follow me should I leave. That is until a certain Feanorian comes walking in.

Elrohir

Glorfindel

Hi! I'm so sorry this took so long, but I hope you like it.

This could not be happening.

You were dreaming. Yes, that must be it. This is all a dream, and in a second you're going to wake up and all will be well.

Unfortunately, no matter how many times you pinch yourself, you don’t wake up.

'And there's no way you could be wrong?' You question the healer.

She's an old lady with matted hair pulled into two plaits. The mole on her chin stares up at you from her spot on the floor. She's hunched over a tiny stove, fiddling with as a handful of kindling.

Two beady black eyes follow the mole as she scoffs.

'Not a chance.'

Her response elicits a sigh from you as you close your eyes. You're pregnant, again.

The last time you got lucky, as you had barely gotten the confirmation from the healer before it passed.

You actually cried when it happened. Hands balled into fists as you sat over the toilet.

The relief followed soon after. And now, here you were, in the same situation. Yet this time, you didn't think you'd be so lucky.

You head for the door, needing some fresh air to clear your head, but the thwack of a wooden cane against your knee stops you.

Pain erupts from the spot, and you bend down to rub at it as you screech, 'Ah, what was that for?'

'No leaving til you pay.' The words are punctuated, her thick accent emphasizing them even more as she repeats them.

She sighs as she sees the look on your face, and her beady eyes take on a soft look.

'If you want to get rid of it, I can help you.'

You turn sharply at that, eyes raking over her face. ‘What do you mean?'

'I have a cousin. It would be a long ride, a very very long ride, but if you want it, I can arrange.'

You’d heard of it, of women doing something like this. The stories you’d heard were horrible, many died, and of those that lived, few were ever able to have children of their own.

She holds her hand out as you nod slowly in understanding, hands digging into your pockets before fishing out a few coins.

You shuffle your hand slowly, listening to the coins jingle before dropping them into her waiting palm.

The loss of their weight in your hands hits you like a punch in the gut.

A whole month of pay down the drain.

With that, the lady smiles at you gleefully. It pains you, the way she smiles down at the few gold coins in her hand. But all that disappears from your mind when, in less than a second, you find yourself turned around and shoved out the door. It closes behind you with a sound thump.

The air is bitter cold, and it bites your cheeks as you push through the crowded streets, eyes set straight ahead.

You pull your hood lower on your head as you approach the castle. Daemon has spies everywhere, and it will do you no good if he finds out you left unsupervised. It would be even worse if he knew where you went.

The subject of children had never come up between the two of you. And why should it? You were nothing but a maid, someone who had caught Daemon’s fancy a few months ago.

The halls are quiet, not a soul in sight as your feet trace the familiar route to your room. You nibble at the skin on your thumb - a bad habit you've had since you were a child - as you walk. You're just outside the door when it comes, a maid running down the hall with a single slip of paper. She thrusts it into your hands, and then she's off, nothing more than a pale orange blur as she streaks down the hall and out of your sight.

For a second, you debate on just throwing away the note. After all, you could always say that it never reached you.

You scramble it open with cold hands, fear filling your veins as you read it.

My room. Now.

He doesn't sign, and he doesn't need to.

You know who it is.

It takes twice as long as it normally would to reach Daemon's room.

You knock softly, tucking your shaking hands behind your back as you wait.

The door opens, one hand coming out to grab you and pull you inside. The door closes with a thump, giving you an odd sense of deja vu.

You don’t have time to think about it before Daemon’s in front of you. His hands are everywhere, lips attacking yours hungrily before leaving a trail of hot kisses down your neck.

‘Daemon…’ you trail off, voice wavering slightly. ‘What are…what are you doing?’

‘What does it look like?’ He purrs, cornering you against the wall as his nose nuzzles up and down your throat.

Against your better judgement, a breathy moan leaves your mouth. Your hands come up to his head, fingers burying themselves in his hair as you give it a sharp tug.

The resounding growl against your throat makes you smile.

Daemon steps back then, purple eyes on fire as he takes in your panting form.

You flush under his intense gaze, hands coming to pat against your warm cheeks. You turn, intent on moving past him and reaching the safe haven that is your room, but before you can a heavy arm blocks your path.

'Where are you going?' His voice is genuine, laced with confusion.

'To my room?'

'Really?' He asks, moving behind you and lacing his arms around your front. His nose grazes against your neck again before stopping just short of your ear.

'And why would you do that?'

Desire pools in your stomach as he continues, lips soon replacing his nose. He presses chaste kisses there, sometimes following them up with tiny love bites that he soothes over with his tongue.

'Daemon we can't...not tonight okay.' Your voice is weak, the ends of your words trailing off into breathy moans as he finds that one spot on your neck that makes you see stars.

He freezes at that but makes no move to loosen his hold.

'I'm on...I'm on monthly.'

If only you were.

Daemon's hold on you loosens a little. He moves around to face your front, hands coming up to tuck loose strands of hair behind your ears.

'Hmm, that could make things...interesting.'

You blush furiously at his insinuation. 'Um, no. It's really more cramps, and I just...I don't feel good, so I'm gonna...I'm gonna go.'

You push through his hold, moving towards the door. A hand slams the door shut just as you open it. You whirl, turning to face him as he caves in on you.

'Stay here,' he whispers, and it takes everything in you to keep the surprise on your face to a minimum.

Daemon isn’t one to be soft, so this is…shocking. Your heart thumps in your chest as you stare at him. He’s messing with you, he must be, there’s no way he can mean for you to stay here as more than a…a nice fuck. Can he?

‘Um…what…what do you mean?’ Your voice is airy, the question impeccably soft on your tongue.

He leans in closer, gesturing slightly with his head toward the roaring fire.

‘Stay.’

It does look comforting, you think. The seat in front of the fire so warm and toasty, and so, so different from your tiny, cramped room.

‘Just to…just to sleep?’ Your tone is hesitant, and you hope it doesn’t betray your worries.

It doesn’t work, and Daemon’s brows furrow, purple eyes narrowing as he searches your face. For what? You don’t know.

‘What do you think? That I would manipulate you with false promises just to get in your pants?’

‘Daemon, that is absolutely something you would do.’

‘Yeah, but not…not for you.’ His voice is…sad, as if he feels accused. Well, as sad as you think Daemon can get. He is still Daemon, after all.

You bring a hand up to trace his hairline. He takes a hold of it, moving your hand to press against his cheek. Almost instinctively, he leans into it, inhaling deeply as his whole being deflates, and, for the first time, he seems almost truly relaxed.

You sigh. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll give him a chance. You’re playing with fire, you think, but you can’t help it.

‘O,okay. I’ll stay.’

He sighs out, seemingly relieved, before tugging on your hands. He catches your eyes, smiling slightly, wolfishly, as he walks backward toward the chair by the fire.

Your hands are still connected, so when he moves, you move, and before you know it you’re sat in front of the fire, curled up on Daemon’s lap.

You’re not entirely surprised. There is only one chair. But you are surprised at how he wraps his arms around you, completely encasing you against him.

His breath is in your ear, and he’s warm. So warm. You can’t help but snuggle down further into his embrace, and the low growl that sounds in response tells you he may be enjoying it as much as you.

A long inhale breaks your blissful silence, and your eyes shoot open.

‘Something’s different.’ The words catch you off guard, and you turn slightly, moving so you can look up at Daemon. The confusion in his eyes mirrors your own.

‘What’s different?’

‘Your scent.’ It’s a statement and a question, and you frown in confusion. The healer’s hut couldn't smell that bad, could it?

Just to be sure, you lean toward the crook of your elbow and give it a sniff. As far as you can tell, you smell fine.

‘Well, what does it smell like?’

Daemon doesn’t answer, too busy staring into the fire.

Shrugging your shoulders, you let it go, grateful to resume your snuggling.

You’re almost asleep when Daemon shifts, one arm coming down to the wine bottle on the floor.

You hadn’t noticed it before, but smile slightly as he leans down again and an ornate glass comes into view.

Your eyes are blurry with sleep, but even so, you keep them open as you watch him pour. The wine is smooth, dark, and…pungent.

It takes all of three seconds for your stomach to connect to your brain before you’re up and running.

The bathroom’s too far away, so you make do with the next best thing: there’s a bucket on the floor. You don’t know what’s in it, and you don’t have the time to check before you’re leaned over it, dropping to your knees with a rough thump as bile comes flooding down your throat

How could this have happened? It had never bothered you before. It…the baby. The damn baby! Part of you chides yourself for cursing at your unborn child no matter how untimely it is, but the other part…the other part shrinks in fear.

The nausea gone, you sit back on your hunches. The room is silent, deathly silent, as you sit still, not turning around for fear of what you’ll see.

Is it possible for him not to put two and two together?

Just play it off as an illness. That’s all you have to do.

Yes, that, and lie, your mind is quick to remind you. Lie to the one person who can always tell when someone’s lying.

You inhale deeply, prepared to turn, when a hand comes out of nowhere holding a glass of water.

You take it, nodding a silent thanks without turning your head before you drink, spitting the first few out in an effort to rid your mouth of the ghastly taste.

A hand rests on your shoulder as you finish, and you freeze. Your heart begins to race as you sit there.

And then he’s kneeling, dropping to his knees before he moves to mirror your position. His thighs are around yours. Encasing. Protecting.

Hands come up to your neck, collecting your hair and bundling it onto one shoulder, freeing up the other for him to rest his chin on.

It would be comforting if not for the ice-cold fear pulsing through your veins.

‘Is it mine?’

If you froze before, it’s nothing compared to what happens now. You can feel the blood drain from your face as your hands begin to shake. Unfortunately, this time you can’t tuck them behind your back.

A pale, much larger one comes to encase them, and you watch it, afraid to turn and meet the eyes of its owner.

‘Is. it. mine.?’

‘Yes.’

Your voice is soft, laced with fear. The hand holding yours squeezes, his other coming to press softly against your hip.

It’s meant to be reassuring, you know it is, but still, you can’t help but shiver in fear at the contact. It’s just so foreign. Daemon is not one to be gentle, to settle down with one woman, never mind a maid.

A snort on your shoulder brings you back, and it dawns on you that Daemon is waiting. But waiting for what?

‘Have I offended you, my prince?’

Reverting to his title is your little safety net, a way to put some distance between the two of you despite the warmth of his chest on your back.

Your voice is shaking, and inwardly, your curse and how feeble you sound.

A chuckle vibrates through his chest. You feel it before you hear it, jaw dropping slightly in surprise even as you keep your gaze strictly pointed ahead.

It’s not the cackle you’d expect. It’s warm. A barely there chuckle that’s gentle and reassuring and makes you melt inside.

It dies off, replaced with a smile. You can’t see it, but you can feel it as he turns to press his face in your neck.

It quickly turns into wet, warm kisses that he pecks across your neck.

‘Daemon!’

Your hands come up to his neck, inadvertently pressing him closer to you even when your mind screams at you to stop.

He doesn’t. And it isn’t until you’re left a giggling, blushing mess that he finally backs off, sitting back with a proud look on his face as he turns you around to face him.

The smile dies off your face at that, and your heart’s hammering so loudly you fear it may burst out of your chest and go running out the door.

You keep your eyes leveled at his chest, adamantly refusing to look up and meet his eyes.

You can feel them on you, begging you to meet them.

Slim fingers come to grip your chin, pulling your face up until the two of you are eye-level. He leans in, pressing your foreheads together and nudging his nose against yours.

He’s edging for your lips, but you freeze, body refusing to lean in and meet him. Like anything with Daemon, he quickly loses his patience, mouth moving to capture yours.

And you let him.

He’s like air. You need him, and no matter how much you get you’ll always need more.

You don’t know how many minutes pass before you stop, leaning back with a gasp as you struggle to let air into your lungs.

It’s not but a nanosecond later that he leans in again, but you scramble back.

You don’t want to. His lips call to you like a siren, and damn, do they have you ensnared by their song.

But a queasiness in your stomachs stops you. You can’t keep doing this.

‘What’s wrong?’ His tone is in disbelief. Like he can’t imagine why you’re reacting the way you are.

‘I can’t go on like…like nothing’s happened!’ You finally say, voice raising an octave as the tears prick your eyes again.

Your hands clench in fists at your side as you meet his eyes again. They’re unreadable, but sad. Melancholic almost.

Something in them makes your heart lurch.

He turns, staring into the fire, body tense and unreadable.

‘You are…unhappy about it?’

‘You aren’t?’

He turns sharply, purple eyes on fire.

‘Why would I be? This is our child, my child, we are talking about.’

‘Yes, and a bastard at that.’

He scoffs, stalking up to you. You’re still sat on the floor, and can do nothing but watch as he crouches in front of you. His hands come to trace up your neck as he leans in.

‘Not for long.’

He comes in to kiss you again, but you cut him off with your hand. You can’t let yourself get distracted again.

You almost laugh at how Daemon looks, his lips smashed up against the palm of your hand as his eyes widen in confusion.

‘What exactly do you mean by that?’

‘What do you think? I intend to make you my wife…’

Now it’s your turn to scoff. There’s no way in hell.

‘And when did this become the plan? Before or after I got knocked up with your child?’

‘Before actually.’

The words are so simple, so casual, and yet they knock the wind right out of you.

Your heart longs for there to be meaning behind his empty words, but your head tells you it can’t be true.

He’s messing with you. He must be.

You shake your head absently before looking up to him through your lashes.

He’s looking at your like you’re everything.

‘Oh yeah? And when we’re you planning on telling me? Plus, Daemon, I’m not blind. I have more than a little idea as to who you visit when you leave the castle.’

You’re panting hard by the end of your rant, fists clenched at your sides, fully Daemon to manhandle you again.

He doesn’t. Instead, he stands alarming still.

Minutes later, you’ve caught your breath, and still, he hasn’t moved. Slowly, your eyes inch their way up his form, until, at long last, you meet his eyes.

They’re closed.

Just as you’re thinking how bizarre this all his, Daemon inhales loudly. His chest puffs out slightly as he waits a few seconds before exhaling. Then, slowly, as if he’s afraid to scare you away, he moves over to his desk.

You can’t see what he’s doing, but the rattling of the drawers combined with the odd curse tells you he’s looking for something.

Whatever it is, he hides it before you can see.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he makes his way to you again. Crouching in front of you, he lays out his hand.

It’s enclosed.

You take your time prying his fingers open, ever so often shooting him looks to make sure it’s okay.

Inside, is a ring wound round a simple chain. The ring is…magnificent. Strands of silver roping around a single amethyst like vines.

The exact color of Daemon’s eyes, you muse.

Somehow, the realization doesn’t make you squirm. If anything, it comforts you, having him watching over you like that.

He doesn’t say anything, just holds it out there for you to take.

He’s leaving it up to you. You can take it, and your whole life will change, or you can leave it.

A single shiver of fear that runs down you over what may happen should you refuse, but you ignore it in favor of your rapidly beating heart.

It’s a promise, a symbol of a changed Daemon.

And this time when he leans in to kiss you, you let him.

I didn’t expect this to be so long, but I hope you like it! I kinda ran out of steam towards the end. Hopefully it’s not too bad.

Disclaimer*: I don’t actually watch HOTD. Everything, besides the characters and the setting, is from my imagination. If you don’t like it, don’t read it.

Pearls & Buttons (Maedhros)

At over 7 feet tall, I am hardly the size of normal elleths. Hidden in the back of a tailor’s shop, I take life day by day, hiding from the stares that would undoubtedly follow me should I leave. That is until a certain Feanorian comes walking in.

This is slightly inspired by a head canon I read awhile ago. It was about what if the reader was the same height as Maedhros and in a relationship with him. I distinctly remember Celegorm and Curufin calling them “two trees,” but other than that, nada. If you know it, please send it to me!

Also, I wrote this a while ago, and while I don't think it's the best work, I'm going to post it anyways. Part 2 is in the works!

You need to work harder Elaryia,' Madame Lecomb chastizes me.

'That stitching has to be just perfect for our Lord's feast. Or else.'

I bend my head lower, if that's even possible, avoiding Madame Lecomb's eyes and the never ending scrutiny that comes with them.

'Yes ma'am. Of course. I'll work harder.'

'Hmmp,' she scoffs. 'You better.'

I let out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding as she turns around and heads back out front.

I've been working on this for hours, my fingers covered in pricks from the needle and my neck aches from bending over to look at my work. I was beginning to believe it was all worth it. The piece seemed beautiful - to me - not, by any means perfect, but beautiful.

It reminds me of myself, as much as I know Madame Lecomb would disagree. I have the beauty that comes with being one of the eldar, but my stature is what deforms my beauty in the eyes of thers, and overtime, my own. Where most elleths are tall but dainty when compared to most ellon, I am not.

At 7'3 I stand taller than most - every one that i've met at least and have been the end of countless jokes, jives, and whispers, not to mention the looks. They make my skin crawl.

All this is why you can find me here most days. Hidden in the back of Madame Lecomb's Seamstress Shop.

The garmet I'm currently working on is an gown for the Lady Nerdanel. It's a gorgeus aquamarine, embroiderd with silver thread that shimmers like a thousand moons.

Some of the designs are emphasized by hundreds of tiny pearls that I am painstakingly sewing on by hand. I'm running late. Madame Lecomb promised the lady and her family that it would be finished by tomorrow morning, and I am still hours away from completion. But I must continue on. I fear what will become of my head if Madame Lecomb comes up short with the Feanorians.

Shudering at the thought, I revert my attention back to the tiny pearls and fall into a reverie of repetition.

I work all through the night and the next morning, stoping neither for food nor rest, yet the hour comes for it to be picked up and still I have not finished. With fear in my heart I alert Madame Lecomb.

As predicted, she's furious, and insists that as it is my shortcomings that have prevented the gown from having been finished, I must be the one to break the news to whoever comes to pick it up.

I pace up and down the hallway connecting the shopfront with the back rooms where I work. I detest talking to strangers, or anyone who isn't my family really.

I know how it's going to go. The initial look of shock combined with humor they think I can't detect. It’s how everyone has always seen me. Some freak who's hopeless regarding friends or, God forbid some kind of romantic relationship. For who would want a lady who's taller than they are?

Finally, at a quarter to 10:00, the door chimes open. It can only be one person, this close to the feast Madame Lecomb's has prohibited walk in's or anyone entering who doesn't have an appointment. Wringing my hands, I walk out prepared to meet my fate. It's much worse than I thought.

It's not a servant that's come to recieve the dress, it's one of Feanorians themselves. Thankfully, it's one of the kinder ones - or so I've heard.

Maglor Feanorian stands in front of me. As expected, his eyes widen, he looks me up and down, and then, the oddest thing happens. He smiles.

That has never happened in all my years of being alive.

The staring I was prepared for, there isn't an interaction I've had where it doesn't happen, but the smile?

Clearing my throat and cutting my mind off from whatever that may mean, I politely inform him of the issue.

'Unfortunately, my lord, the gown isn't quite ready. I can have it done by tomorrow morning at the earliest. I sincerely apologize for both making you come down here and not having anything to give you.'

I'm rambling, we both know it, yet he makes no move to stop me, only smiling wider at my words. My eyes must be deceiving me. That is the only possible explanation for why Maglor Feanorian could possibly be happy to see me.

I rack my brain for why this could be, but still, I come up empty handed. We've never met, of this I am sure.

I never attend the feasts, or any outing for that matter, far too afraid of their scorching looks. Instead choosing to remain curled up at home in front of the fire next to Ada and Naneth.

Finally, my incessant chatter comes to an end, and I’m left shifting my weight from foot to foot as I wait in fear of his reaction.

'That is fine,' he states, and my mouth nearly drops open at the words. He's okay with it? There's no anger?

'Uh, um...great, that's great.' I barely stutter out a thanks as Maglor continues to smile at me, eyes twinkling like stars.

Unbeknownst to me, Maglor is ecstatic at my words. If the gown isn't ready, then that's just perfect. Perhaps it will not be him who his Naneth sends to fetch it tomorrow.

He turns to leave. There's a glint in his eyes that I cannot place, and although it doesn't look menacing, it brings butteries to my stomach.

I am sure that after this meeting something in my life will surely change.

/////////////////////////////

Ok, so this is definitely a part 1? No idea when part two will be out, but I'm working on it!

I don’t know exactly how tall Maedhros is supposed to be, so I just made a guess and went for it.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Spilt Blood

The taste of copper fills my mouth as another blow strikes me.

I won’t be able to show my face for weeks after this, he’s making certain of that.

I’ll be stuck in here, even more a prisoner than I already am.

‘Is this what you do!?’ He screeches at me, vile breath suffocating my lungs as he crowds my face.

‘Go and open your legs for just anyone?!’

‘I’ll ask you one more time,’ his voice is deadly, the poison in it, or spit, at this point I can’t really tell the difference, hitting me each time he speaks. I imagine it’s staining me, turning my pale skin dark with its grime until there’s no part of me left untouched.

‘Whose cloak is this?!’

His yelling rings in my ear. I make no move, no notice to say that I’ve heard him. It’s a mistake, as the next thing I know there’s a searing pain through my head.

He yanks my hair, and it take everything in me not to scream as I’m hulled upwards.

It will only make things worse.

The object of his ire is thrown in my face. Daemon’s scent hits me like a punch in the gut before it falls, slipping away from me even as my hands try and grab it. To keep even a small momento of my life before this.

It’s what started this whole mess.

If only I hadn’t taken it back with me.

He gives me one last shove before he marches out, throwing the cloak in the fire as he does so.

I watch it burn.

Imagining all that’s burning with it.

Broken promises and stolen dreams. Any hope of returning to a different life dashed, burnt up with the remains of his cloak.

I crumble softly and quietly, like a proper lady. The words mock me. Cutting into my like a knife. It hurts worse than the punches.

All I’ve ever done is be the proper lady. I married my husband because it’s what I should do.

I lay with him, I do my wifely duties, even as it breaks me, bit by bit, piece by piece.

I wonder how much longer I’ll last like this.

My only solace is the fact that no children will ever be born of our “love.” My maids nightly visits to Fleabottom for moon tea make sure of that.

As I watch the fire, the smoke of it turning thick as it feasts on the cloak, I take a moment to imagine myself as I could have been. Thickening with child over time, welcoming a family, The love of a husband as it should have been.

I can see the image in my minds eye. A perfect picture staring back at me from some non-existent mirror.

Me, with my hands on my growing belly, eyes smiling down at it as if I can already see the child in my arms.

My mirror self looks up then, sharing a look with the man who's hand is on my shoulder.

It’s not the face of the man whose chambers I share. No, the hand on my shoulder is not my husbands.

It’s Daemon’s.

As is the make-believe child in my womb.

A knock at the door sounds in the distance, and with a few long blinks, my eyes clear.

In front of me, lies, not a mirror, but my twisted, unfortunate reality.

I can feel the blood run down from my busted lip. It drips onto my hands, making their pale color stand out even more against its deep red.

My hands begin to shake, my breathing speeds up, and suddenly, I'm full of anger.

It courses through my veins, and I let it. Opening up each and every block so it flows freely into my frantically beating heart. The sound of which pounds in my ears, a steady beat I am finally allowing myself to dance to.

I struggle off the floor, shouting a strangled "who is it?' towards the door.

My voice cracks, and I pray that whoever it is doesn't notice.

They only bang louder at my response.

Holding on to the wall, I stumble over to it. 'Who is it?' I call again, hesitant to open the doors looking the way I must.

I don't need to look in a mirror to know it's worse than it's ever been.

I used to always be able to recognize myself. It was something that gave me comfort, even on the nights where it was the worst.

But now? Now, I know I won't recognize her.

'Y/n let me in!’

I shrink back as I recognize it. It's Daemon's.

Oh no. No no no no, this is not good.

‘Uh, this isn’t really a good time.’

I flinch back as I approach the door, hesitant to open it even as a crack and unleash the dragon that lies right outside.

‘Open this door or I’ll break it down.’

His tone is quiet. Too quiet.

My mind is going in circles, thoughts flying 10x a minute as my shaky hands clutch at the doorknob.

‘I’m…I’m indecent,’ I call out softly.

It’s the first lie that came to mind.

The wry chuckle that comes through the door makes me cringe as I close my eyes in defeat.

‘I’ve seen it all before,’ he sighs out. The longing clear in his voice.

‘Though I am very interested in seeing it all again.’

‘This isn’t a good time, Daemon,’ I try again, the unease clear in my voice.

‘How can that be? I just saw your husband leaving. He looked to be in a right fit, but…’

The first fist to the door has me jumping in fright. And my hands rush for the locks as they continue.

‘Ok, ok, I’m opening it. Don’t break it down.’

There’s a smile in my voice as I say it, but it fades as I realize what he’s about to walk in to.

I turn away as it opens, all but marching towards my seat waiting by the fire before a strong arm grabs mine.

Pain sears through my arm as the strong grip puts pressure on my fresh bruises, and I yank back as if I’ve been burned.

Daemon stands before me, wild eyes taking in my bruised and battered form.

‘Daemon…I’m okay. I promise you, I’m okay.’

I can’t tell if my assurances are working or not, as all he does is stand there, breathing heavily with his eyes glued to one particularly heavy bruise on my cheek.

Then, stiffly, he moves closer to me. It takes everything in me not to run and cover myself up as his hand moves to cup my chin.

He turns my head to meet his, hand moving to trace the outlines of a bruise before cupping my cheek.

His thumb traces the outer curve of my lip, and I sigh out in pure bliss as he asks,

‘How long?’

‘What?’ I ask, but it comes out more of a breathy whine.

‘How long has he been doing this to you?’

‘Not lo…’ the words die on my tongue as Daemon’s eyes flash to mine.

‘Don’t you dare lie for him!’

His voice shakes my world, fear pulsating through my veins at the volume.

‘Take it off.’

Confusion laces through my features at that.

‘What?’

My voice comes out a whisper. Pushing my previous fear aside, I bring my hands up to palm his cheek even as he repeats it.

‘Take it off. Your dress, take it off.’

I make no move to comply, and in one swift motion, Daemon simultaneously holds my hands captive in one arm and grabs hold of my dress in the other.

He takes a moment to watch my neck as he pulls it lower, purple eyes almost glowing as he growls at each newly revealed bruise.

Rrrrrrrippppppp

I stare down at my chest in horror as it all becomes uncovered in one fell swoop.

My hands fly up to cover myself even as he makes haste to do the same to my shift. He keeps going until I’m completely bare in front of him, dress now lying in tatters that hang low off my hips.

I can feel his eyes zero in on the bruises there. Deep purple marks that can only be fingerprints imprinted on the soft skin.

His hands ghost over me, starting at my neck and making their way down. His touch is barely there, a ghost of a promise that leaves goosebumps on my skin even as he moves away from me completely.

‘Never again.’

His tone is commanding, leaving no room for questions as he bundles me up in the rags of my dress.

‘What?…Daemon’

‘Never again.’ He begins to lead me towards the door before he stops and turns. His eyes are bare to me, showing every drop of pain he’s endured in my absence.

It mirrors the pain in mine.

‘He will never touch you again.’

I exhale shakily even as relief floods my bones.

‘What are you going to do.’

‘That’s none of your business’

‘But it is,’ I cut him off. ‘He’s horrible, yes, but even I don’t want him de..’

My words are swallowed by his lips on mine. They're firm, like his tone, and again, leave me with no room for questions.

I drink him in. He’s like wine, fruity, forbidden, and...absolutely intoxicating.

We make it all the way back to his chambers before we stop.

That's where he leaves me, lips softly bruised with the promise that while I may have a bad past, and an even more unfortunate present…

...I will have a better future.

I may or may not write a part 4 for this. It’s currently undetermined. Thoughts? Let me know!

Requests here: I am very much in the mood to write about my og love here on tumblr (Tolkien's elves), so if you have any requests, do send them in!

Request daemon Targaryen x witch reader if is possible.

I don’t know if you watched The vampire diaries or The originals, but I would love see daemon married ou have for a lover a witch. She make medicines and have a room with weird stuff. She freaks everyone out.

Have a good day 😘

Hi! I hope you like it. It's been ages since I watched The Originals, so I can't remember it that well (also don't know why I made the reader pregnant - it's just what came to mind). Anyways, here it is.

Untamed Emotions

The child in your womb kicked hard against your spine, causing you to double over in pain even as you continue stirring the pot.

You call it a pot, it's really a large cauldron. Made of thick cast iron, it safely protects the pot from the murky green potion inside.

You throw in the last ingredient: red berries of the Wvyr tree. The potion responds in turn, quickly turning from its light blue to a lovely murky green and omitting a slightly sour smell. A smell that, even as it has you running to the bin, brings a smile to your face.

It's finally ready.

You had been working on this brew for months, and it was finally ready.

Suddenly, oh no.

No, no, no, no, no.

There was an itch in your nose, and try as you might, you could not hold your hair back, vomit, and itch it at the same time.

You sneeze violently, your magic mixing with the fiery blood of your husband and leading you to emit a sparky puff of magic. It tears through the room, spilling over everything, including the one potion you had spent months trying to make, not to mention years researching.

Tears well up in your eyes at the sight. All of that hard work, just gone in the blink of an eye.

You couldn't do anything to stop it as the tears bubbled up, spilling over your bright green eyes and down your cheeks before finally dripping onto the hard stone floor below.

That's how Daemon found you, hours later. You were still sobbing, though now you were sitting against the wall clutching your bump, staring at all your ruined work through bleary eyes.

Your emotions had run rampant in the hours since it happened.

First, you cried. Fat, angry tears streamed down your face in rivers that seemed never-ending until, at last, they stopped.

Then, you got angry, but try as you might, no amount of screaming or yelling could put it all back together.

No matter how loud you got, no one came to check on you. The servants and staff far too scared of your powers to attempt any kind of help or show you any kind of kindness, for that matter.

Your anger turned to fuel, but try as you might, you could not lift the cauldron.

Oh, curse your weakened state.

You screamed. You wailed. You threw your fist at the sky, but alas, nothing seemed to work. And to make matters worse, your magic was completely out of wack.

But your anger soon turned to tears again, and that's what left you crouched against the wall cradling your bump.

He came in slowly, taking in the demolition that was your current workshop before kneeling before you on the floor.

You were a right state, the edge of your once beautiful lilac dress now stained beyond repair. Your hair, once beautifully braided and pinned with a variety of jewels, now lies halfway undone, tendrils of it curling around your face.

'Hey,' he coos softly, and by God, you wish you were in a state to appreciate the soft side of Daemon that few got to see.

'Hey, what's wrong? What happened?'

'I sneezed,' you whine, hands raising and dropping to your sides dramatically. Part of you knows you're being overdramatic, but you can't help it.

These damn baby hormones.

He's quick to crouch down to your level, wrapping you in a warm embrace as he listens.

You can feel him stifling a laugh even as he tucks his head in the crook of your neck, and it infuriates you.

And then, you can't believe it, but you're punching him. Hitting him anywhere you can hit even as you're crouched in such an uncomfortable position.

'It's. not. funny.'

Your weak punches humor him even more, as he steps back from you with a soft smile on his face. It only works to make you angrier, but like before, the anger quickly morphs into tears that spill down your cheeks in a seemingly never-ending river.

You wipe at them furiously.

'Where are they coming from!'

Gently, he pries your hands away from your face, taking in your sullen state and quivering lips.

And then, you're hoisted up into the air, safely cradled in his arms as he carries you bridle-style, the messy remains of your workshop nothing more than a bad memory as you come into view of your shared chambers.

Any servants milling about dive out of view as the two of you approach. The stares that previously never bothered you suddenly make you feel shy, and you snuggle deeper into Daemon's embrace as he walks.

He's only too happy to oblige you, sending withering looks to any and all servants even as he keeps his sharp tongue firmly shut.

It's highly unusual behavior for the Rouge Prince, but he can't help it.

Midnight Rendezvous

This is the part two to ‘An Unexpected Reunion' which you can find here.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

My footfalls echo through the empty corridor as I hurry along, wrapping my cloak tighter around my shoulders in a poor attempt to conceal myself from the biting wind.

It took forever to find the courage to leave. Thankfully, my dear husband will be out all night. I fear what will become of my head should he return and find me missing.

The wind whistles through the air, and if I close my eyes, I can imagine it’s him rustling through my hair instead.

I can still feel the ghost of Daemon’s breath against my cheek as he spoke the words naught hours ago.

Meet me at midnight. Our place.

It takes me back to years ago. To when we would explore these secret passageways, this city, together. Hand in hand.

Back to when I was happy.

The realization slaps me harder than the wind, and for a split second, I’m left breathless.

But I throw it to the back of my mind. What’s done is done. What happened, happened.

Nothing can change that.

We were naive then. I was naive.

He’s waiting for me there. In our hidden nook, a perfectly concealed hidden garden for our midnight rendezvous.

I’ve thought about what I would say to him should I see him again. I’ve thought about it for years. Now, here I am, the chance a breath away and yet it feels as if it’s slipping through my fingertips.

My throat constricts once more as he takes me in. It seems no matter how often he does that, it will never fail to take my breath away.

‘I’ve dreamt about this every night since I left.’ His voice is a whisper, and I strain to hear it against the wind.

‘Dreamed about seeing you again.’ His voice is stronger now. The Daemon that I know. The Daemon that I fell in love with.

The one that left.

Part of me, the logical bit, felt for a long time, as though I should blame him for what happened. For leaving me here, trapping me in an eventual forced marriage. A life of torment.

But I could never do that. I love him to much, even though he left, even though he may never save me from the misery that my life has become.

Saving me shouldn’t be his responsibility, I think bitterly as I look anywhere but him.

But in a man’s world…

If I look into his eyes, I know I’ll break. The flood gates will open. And then I don’t know what will happen. No, the predictable is better.

Two fingers grip under my chin harshly, and I flinch slightly at the touch before letting him lead me up to meet his gaze.

It’s full of worry, and I know he didn’t miss my flinch at his touch.

‘What’s happened while I was away?’

I chuckle at that, but it comes out dry and forced. ‘What happened while you were away? Really, Daemon? You’ve been gone for years. I got married. All that can’t be explained in one answer.’

I’m out of breath by the end of my rant, and I can feel my cheeks flush at the attention he’s giving me.

An uncharacteristically soft gesture from Daemon, but one I have been on the receiving end many times. At least…I used to be on the receiving ends of them. Now I’m on the receiving ends of something much worse. Much much worse.

I shiver instinctively at the thought of what awaits me when I return to my chambers.

The feeling of something warm enveloping me snaps me out of my thoughts, and I look up to realize Daemon’s much closer than before. He takes his time wrapping his cloak around me, seemingly mistaking my shiver as me being cold.

It’s better he thinks that way.

I send him a soft smile in return and wait for him to move back, letting out a shaky exhale when he doesn’t.

Daemon’s scent is all around me, intoxicating me and crowding all my senses. It takes everything in me not to lunge at him right there and then, but I settle for enjoying it from afar. It settles in the air, pulling me in and wrapping me in its warm embrace.

‘Gevie.’ (Beautiful)

I blush instinctively at the compliment, feeling anything but as I stand there, petite figure drowning in his heavy cloak.

I look down. Staring at my shoes as they peek out at me from the edge of my gown.

Daemon takes this as an opportunity to move even closer, his breath fanning over my face as he leans in.

If I look up, our foreheads would be touching. Instead, I watch as I wring my hands out, a tell tale sign that I’m uncomfortable - and Daemon knows it.

Snatching them up in his, he brings them close to his face, warming them up with his breath before moving to lay gentle kisses along my knuckles.

‘What is this?’ He asks, half amused as his finger caresses a bruise on my right hand.

I swallow thickly.

‘Nothing.’

‘Have you been getting into fights while I’ve been away.’ The look he gives me is amused, but there’s a glint of concern in his eye that I know I’ll have to quelch before I leave.

‘It’s nothing.’

I can tell by the look in his eyes that he still doesn’t quite believe me, but thankfully, he lets it slide.

The next thing I know, his lips are on mine. It’s a hungry kiss, years worth of yearning poured into it. It takes my breath away, yet he keeps coming back for more. It’s like he’s drowning and I’m air.

My hands are fisted in his hair before I remember where we’re at.

I savor the kiss for one last second before prying myself away.

‘No! Daemon, we can’t.’

‘I’ve waited years for this,’ he mumbles in between kisses. And still I give in to them, powerless to his affect on me.

‘Daemon! I’m married,’ I cry at last, holding him shoulder’s width away even though we both know he could easily overpower me.

Finally, he stops, instead coming to rest his forehead against mine.

‘I know,’ He finally mumbles out, ‘and I hate myself for it. You were mine. Are mine. And yet, my damn brother went and sold you away like cattle.’

‘But I swear to you, I will get you back.’

Send a Request Here!

An Unexpected Reunion

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Hi! So, this is my first Daemon Targeryen fic. I don't actually know the storyline that well, so if I make some kind of mistake, please let me know (politely). Aka, also why there is no synopsis here.

Warnings: implied physical abuse

I taste the blood before I even realize I’ve been hit. It leaves it’s awful coppery taste in my mouth, a bitter reminder of what my life has become.

I curse the day my father married me off.

I curse him.

It’s a shame he’s already dead.

A door slams somewhere in the distance, but I am yet to move from where I’m standing frozen in place, the effects of the slap still fresh on me. My body stuck in an uncomfortable position, head pushed away from the force of his fist.

The air feels dead.

Sometimes I wish I was.

……………………..

I do my best to cover the bruises. Thankfully, after all this time my dear husband has learned where not to hit me and so my face and arms are relatively clear.

There are far less questions that way.

Taking my place next to the others, I wring my hands out and avoid the ever growing glare of my husband from across the room as Daemon walks in.

I can hear the spiteful whispers of the other ladies over my high necked gown and gloves, so out of place next to their low cut, sleeveless gowns.

My eyes betray me, constantly straying to where he is.

Absently, I wonder what it would have been like if I would have said yes.

If I would have let him whirl me away on Caraxes years ago when he asked.

If I would still be covered in bruises then.

The wine flows freely at the feast that night. The joyful merrymaking drowning out my unlawful thoughts.

I watch him as he talks to his brother. Eyes taking in every inch of his face, from his violet eyes to his starkingly white hair.

Memories flash through my mind.

My hands fondling through those soft locks. Scorching looks given over rooms packed full of people. Hot breath ghosting over bare skin.

He meets my eye from across the room. Just a fraction of a second and then it’s gone, leaving me wondering if I imagined it.

I down the rest of my wine in one gulp. Steadfastly ignoring the way my hand shakes as I set it down and leave the room.

I clutch my dress with an iron grip, hands hidden neatly in the many ruffles of the blood red gown as I rush forward.

Heavy footsteps thunder behind me, and my heart jumps to my throat as I hurry along.

They get louder, and before I know it, a strong hand is gripping my arm and I’m struck back against the cold stone wall.

I flinch at the cold contact, a bit too harsh as is evident by the concern that flashes through Daemon’s light purple eyes. But then it’s gone, and again, I tell myself I just imagined it.

‘Y/n,’ he whispers, mouth a hairs breath away from mine as he shamelessly looks me up and down.

I pray he doesn’t comment on my high collared dress, or, God forbid, lower it to expose the mirage of colors that lie underneath.

It feels as if he’s sucking up all the air around us. My throat constricts, and just as I feel I’m gasping for air, he backs off.

I’m about to question if he’s okay when a loud clang sounds from down the hallway.

I take the opportunity to escape, but before I can the same strong hand grips my elbow.

‘Midnight. Our spot.’

I don’t even have to think twice to know what he’s talking about.

His voice is stern, commanding. Leaving me no room to argue. I nod minutely, just enough to give my confirmation and make him let me go.

He releases my sleeve with an audible sigh and turns around.

I stay there, frozen in the hallway and wondering what the hell I’m getting myself into.

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