DANCING WITH DRAGONS ;; a collection of imagines.

daemon targaryen ; witchcraft and treason

⁀➷ summary ; drabble requested by anon for my 1k follower celebration on tumblr.

"can I request no.23 from the confessions prompt list for daemon?"
"23. after everything you've done, i still love you. with all i am."

⁀➷ pairing ; daemon targaryen x reader

⁀➷ notes ; couldn't figure out how to work in a way that the reader and daemon are lowkey enemies to lovers,, but this is that trope 🙈 wrote this at work so spare me 🤲

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objectively speaking in the eyes of anyone at court, daemon targaryen was everything short of a good man.

sure, the dragon prince did have his fair moments; he defended his brothers life, smashed the triarchy resistance, and effectively reasserted control over kings landing in the name of his brother – or was it for self glory?

but, sometimes the bad outweighed the good, plaguing any positive notion and cursing it with woe. he promoted obscenities about his family after the death of prince baelon, he evaded his duties as a husband, and took action without the kings leave.

he was a rebel, a scoundrel, a prince without honor.

but by seven gods, he was charming, good, and passionate to yourself. undoubtedly, it was very hard to resist his looks and charm, and you succumbed to them like surely any other courtly lady would.

it was the talk of court, of course; about how the fleeting moments you had, the passionate, angry intimacy shared in a linen closet, or the late night adventures he took you on were enough to compel the prince to preform uxoricide. those brave enough to make such allegations against the prince, never failed to mention your name and how you bewitched him into treasonous behavior.

he had summoned you to his chambers; publicly, in front of your lady friends at court. you're sure it was some spiteful way to get back at his brother – he knew the ladies of court would not fail to spread gossip; like wildfire to a dry forest. at his command, you made the journey to his room in the apartment tower of the red keep. how he was still hanging on to his duties at court, you didn't know, but you assumed he would be booted sooner or later.

"daemon." your voice is bordering a warning, a small, fleeting reminder that this was considered unholy, and could lead to embarrassment if caught by the wrong people. but, it feels so good; the way his lips hungrily suck on the soft skin of your neck, sending tingles down your spine and into your toes. it's electrifying; sharp shoots of pain that he soothes with practiced licks, a hum leaving him as you say his name.

he retreats, face removing itself from the crook of your neck as he looks at you with half-lidded eyes, lips pink, "do you love me?"

"admittedly, i do, still," you hum, licking your lips and playing with short, growing ends of his silver hair.

there's a flash of certainty that reflects in his eyes when his search yours. he looks shy, almost, when he moves away, allowing you to relax against the cold marble of the wall – the warmth he shared leaving you.

"despite everything you've done," he responds, sitting on a nearby chair. he rests an elbow on the table adjacent to it, his hand running through the quiff of his hair as if to soothe his own nerves. your legs carry you to him and gently run your hands up and down his bicep, trailing up towards his shoulders and the nape of his neck. he relaxes into your touch, closing his eyes to enjoy the comfort and warmth it brings. "every insult, every argument."

"i still love you, with all that i am."

pairing the soft poetics of the sentence, there's a mellow silence that blankets the space between you. a glimmer of excitement, mischief, and a wickedness shines within his eyes. his quiet confession is heart-rendering, tenderizing your heart with its foreign sincerity.

"am i a fool?"

you bite back a smile, shaking your head as heat floods to your face as the next words fall with a teasing remark, "no, but i must say, what treason have you committed now, daemon?"

his lips curve into a smile, one that's knowing and reciprocating the jest that's being shared. he looks up at you, hands roaming freely over the clothed skin that he's deemed his. there's butterflies that flit in your stomach, and with his lingering touch, warmth spreads where his fingers splayed.

"if this is treason to be with you," he purrs, a wicked smirk widening his once innocent grin, "so be it."