Wed Her To Me | Daemon Targaryen Explicit Oneshot

Wed Her To Me | A Daemon Targaryen Explicit Oneshot

TWs: physical violence and sexual threats against the reader not perpetrated by the MMC, abusive parent, toxic family relationships, mentions of forced marriage, violence, pre-meditated violence/murder, murder/death, NSFW language, smut, oral sex, dirty talk, mild degradation, rough play, unprotected sex/breeding, multiple orgasms (male and female) exhibionism, minor orgasm denial/edging, 

Summary: Your wedding day will be one of the worst days of your life, and your own father marches you towards it without a care for you and the wicked groom he's handing you over to. But the life you wanted for yourself won't be so easily lost when the Rogue Prince refuses to let you go...

This one is for those of us who wanted Daemon Targaryen to snatch us by the throat and take us to Dragonstone to make us his wife.

Note: Please be merciful to any mistakes in my High Valyrian...I don't rank much higher than Aegon on Duolingo ;)

________________________________

"I don't want to marry hi-"

You didn't even finish the sentence before the sharp sound of your father's palm colliding with your cheek disrupted the tense quiet in your rooms. No one but a few of the ladies spared from all the wedding preparations was there to witness your humiliation, desperation, fury, and now anguish. Your father had made it point to send everyone away when he arrived; gods forbid you embarrass him by revealing you'd rather jump from the bloody Red Keep itself than go through with wedding your betrothed. 

Or he reveal that he was perhaps only slightly more of a brute than your soon to be husband. 

You fell back a step, your hand moving to your cheek where your skin stung from the blow. You looked past him to the looking glass where your hair had been woven into an artful updo of braids and jewels your dowry paid for only a few minutes before. There was a red mark across your cheek...one that would be covered with powder and dutifully ignored. Despite your father's obsession with his reputation, there were few who didn't know his temper. 

The same people gathered for your wedding used to ignore the bruises and marks that gowns couldn't always hide on your mother before her death. You wondered if her wedding day had been like this. If she'd woken as you had sick to your stomach with nerves over what was about to happen. 

"That's enough of that pathetic whining, girl." He snarled at you, taking a threatening step in your direction. He'd always been an imposing man, but time and too many tables laden with wine and cakes hadn't been good to him. His ruddy cheeks were more flushed than the mark he left on your skin. "You should be grateful I arranged such a match for you. You will do as your told, wed where you're told, and if the gods have so much as a drop of mercy for you, you'll be with child by morning and worth something to your husband." 

The words were spit at you like poison, but you'd heard them dozens of times before. If your father hated anything more than you, it was the female species in general. The only thing women were good for, he argued, was sucking cock and delivering sons. 

Sons. 

He'd never forgiven your mother for the fact you'd been born without a cock. Despite the fact that she'd given him four healthy sons that had all come before you, she'd failed him by giving him a daughter. Then she'd died years later in their final attempt at a 5th son. It had been a daughter, fate's last laugh in the matter. And she hadn't survived that horrible day, either. 

You looked at your father, swallowing back your rage. Your desire to pull the gaudy pin from your hair and stab it into his meaty throat. As miserable as he'd made your life, he still had the power to make it worse.