High School Sweethearts

by AmazingAngie

Chapter 3: Step #3

Summary:

It was a sort of perversity he tried to starve off but Rhaenyra had given it oxygen again.

She had given it life, and now it was hungry. He was hungry for her. Hungry to do this to her.

Notes:

regrettably did not get this posted on father's day but i did get it written on father's day! and folks, we are delving deeper into the daddy kink--like the psyche behind it not just the smut, but there is smut too.

this isn't going to get into ageplay territory or anything but Daemon does get off on how young she is like the lovable pervert i can't help but imagine him being.

Step #3: Give me passion, don't make fun of my fashion

🍒🍒🍒

Daemon wasn’t proud to admit this, but before Rhaenyra, he had never really seen a woman get ready. 

He hadn’t watched them put on mascara or curl their hair, no, he always saw them after they had primped and prettied themselves for him.

He didn’t ask them to, and it wasn’t like he found women unattractive without makeup. No, a pretty face was pretty no matter what was applied on top of it, just like good tits were good tits even without a bra.

Plus, he had lived with a woman for nearly a decade, and his daughter for ten years (and counting) thereafter.

Alicent rarely wore makeup, and neither did her friends when invading his house for sleepovers. He never viewed them as prospects—with Rhaenyra being a distinct exception, and in his defense that was after she turned eighteen—they were kids, but they were ones on the cusp of adulthood and he had seen them hungover and disheveled and covered in acne. 

So he wasn’t a stranger to dark circles and blemishes.  He wasn’t disillusioned by airbrushed pictures of celebrities. He knew what ‘real’ skin looked like. He liked it better, even, at least when it came to partners—knowing that a woman was exposing more than just her body to him, taking off more than just her clothing and baring every inch of skin…it was a different sort of vulnerability that fed the monster inside of him that feasted off of soothing insecurities. 

So yeah, he was used to seeing his partners either all made up or— especially with Rhaenyra— stripped down. 

But seeing this side of things was new—and kind of fascinating. Watching her build the flawless facade with layers of product until her eyes were smokey and her lips stained the color of berries. She looked the same, really, but so much sharper— transformed into something of her own creation beyond the ways the gods had given her. 

He swallowed as she peeled off the shirt she was wearing—his shirt—exposing her black lace thong for a single second before she tugged on a dress that was even shorter and significantly tighter than the shirt she had borrowed from him.

The dress was black too, clinging to her curves and contrasting with her fair skin in a way that made it look like she was glowing. Ethereal and almost inhuman with just how special her brand of Valyrian beauty was.

She spun towards him, brightly asking, “What do you think?” 

Fuck. 

He didn’t know what to think anymore. 

 

He hadn't thought about anyone else in months, though.

 

"Gorgeous as always.” He said, though it was an understatement. 

A massive understatement. 

If the circumstances were different, if he saw her in a club he would make it his mission to get her number—or get her to go home with him— or get her into a bathroom stall.  She was the sort of gorgeous that would leave him unable to focus on anyone or anything else until after he’d tasted her tongue and buried his cock into her body.

She was the sort of gorgeous that would leave anyone in her proximity feeling a similar way. 

Would she take them up on it?

He wasn’t supposed to ask that. He wasn’t supposed to care about that. 

She was nineteen. She was supposed to be having fun with her friends and fucking strangers and having a good time. She wasn’t beholden to him. She should not be staying home to entertain him—a guy twice her age who had made it clear they didn’t have a future together. 

He had meant it at the time. 

He still meant it.

But…when he fantasized about her now, it wasn’t her mouth and cunt he thought about. It was about taking her out—watching her get dolled up for a date with him , having her on his arm looking like that, being the envy of all his colleagues and every straight man in the city, then coming home and making her feel so good that she would never even think of leaving. 

Coming home. 

He fantasized about that, too, about this being her home. It was easy to imagine when so much of her summer had been spent here. It was easy to forget this was temporary—it had to be temporary. 

Even though his father had always said, “Kids are a lifetime commitment,” something Daemon now agreed with, Rhaenyra wasn’t his kid. 

She was his daughter's best friend, she was his best friend's daughter, and they may be really fucking compatible in private, but being together at all in public just wasn’t possible. 

What they had was good, just like this. It would be greedy and foolish to want anything more. He tried to tell himself that. He tried to tell himself he didn’t want more. 

But it was a blatant like. 

He wanted to be in her life— to be her daddy—forever.

👑

( His father had always said, “Marriage is a lifetime commitment,” too.)

👑 A few years earlier 👑

He had been doing a very good job not thinking about her. 

Okay, he had been trying very hard to not think about her.

Success was… debatable. 

He had managed to avoid her at least, which was perhaps not the most mature of moves but felt very necessary. Now that he knew what she looked like naked, he wasn’t sure he could be trusted in her vicinity. 

It was like she had rubbed off on him— in more ways than one— amplifying his appetites to what they were when he was eighteen rather than thirty-eight. 

He had jerked off an embarrassing number of times in days since that night…and the following morning. He may have kind of thought about her a lot during that, too, but fuck, what else was he supposed to think about? 

She was sin itself with a sweet smile that one might mistake as a sign of innocence, but she shed that as easily as her clothing, leaving behind something more demonic than cherubic in terms of both appetite and appearance. 

Fuck, it had been so good.

But he could not do it again. It had been a blip in his self-control. It had been one time. Okay. Three times. But they all happened on the same night—it could be forgiven as long as it wasn’t repeated. 

Because even the strongest men could suffer from a mere moment of weakness… the fact that his "moment of weakness," had spanned approximately fourteen hours was irrelevant.  

But fuck he wanted to repeat it—and this is why he couldn’t be in the girl’s proximity. It was dangerous. Not for him, exactly, but definitely a threat to his relationship with his daughter, because fucking her best friend during prom night was really not his best move as a father. 

He had told Rhaenyra this during the morning after but she just grinned, “I disagree, you have great moves. I’d even give you the daddy of the year award.” 

She said this while his cum was dripping down her thigh.

He was so fucked. 

He was so going to fuck her again. 

He knew that before she even left his room that day. His commitment to being both a good father and a good friend seemed to fade away when his mind was clouded with the sort of arousal this girl managed to effortlessly inspire in him.

🍒🍒🍒

Rhaenyra had been in his house over the last week. 

(He mourned the fact she wasn’t in his bed.)

He had heard her giggles and whispers with Alicent. 

(He couldn’t help but compare them to her gasps of pleasure.)

He had eaten breakfast with his daughter while aware of the sound of running water in the background, a sign that someone was showering. A sign that she was showering.

(He remembered how her showering was a precursor to all they did together, leading to her dripping wet in more ways than one while naked in his kitchen.)

But he did not see her.

Until now, when she was on his doorstep again. 

Fuck.

🍒🍒🍒

 

It was a Friday night and Alicent had left an hour ago for the church-funded weekend sleep-away camp she volunteered to help chaperone on behalf of the Faith. Which meant he was alone in the house, and she was here and this was bad. 

Maybe it was an emergency? 

 

She didn’t look to be in dire straits, but he didn’t want to ignore her if she needed help, like she had last time. 

Even though his method of helping her at the time had been questionable at best. He had even made her cry, for gods sake… though it had been in pleasure.

And! He had made her smile too, and fuck, she had a gorgeous smile. 

🍒🍒🍒

She shifted on her feet, begging to wonder if he was even going to answer. 

She was pretty sure he was home. He might be a workaholic but he wasn’t the type to stay at his office after nine PM on a Friday. But he didn’t seem like the type to go out, either, and according to Alicent he didn’t date, and didn’t have much of a life at all—which was sad, but could work in Rhaenyra’s favor. 

Fuck, that was sad too. 

She was eighteen and definitely the hottest person at her school. And maybe in King’s Landing as a whole. She was gorgeous, and it wasn’t even conceited to say that, it was just the truth. She should be dating some jock or college guy, someone on her level of looks and in a similar stage of life—not chasing her best friend's father who was twice her age. 

But he was so much better looking than guys her age. 

 

She had always known that—but now she knew that he was also so much better in bed.

That was why she was here, really. 

True, she’d had a childhood crush on him that followed her into adulthood—fantasies of marrying him from her youth forming into fantasies of fucking him once her brain and body developed and became inundated with hormones. 

And true, she had kind of tried to get his attention last summer by wearing the smallest bikinis she owned around his pool. 

But she wasn’t, like, in love with him. 

(Well, she hadn’t been in love with him.)

But then they’d had sex and— gods— she’d had her fair share of sex. She’d had good sex—or she thought it was good sex at the time. But she’d never had sex like that. 

And now...well, she wasn’t sure she could go back to having anything less than that.

He had turned her night around from something terrible and humiliating into something wonderful and really fucking enlightening.

She wasn’t a religious person—not like Alicent, but the way she described the Faith, the way a single experience with it could shape and change you once you saw the light… gods, that is how she felt after seeing Daemon’s cock. 

🍒🍒🍒

Having him inside of her was the best thing she had ever felt, but it wasn’t just the dick he had been gifted with—it was the way he used it, and the way he talked her through it.

He called her a ‘beautiful little girl’ one moment, his hips lazily thrusting from behind while he sucked on her neck, making her feel small, safe, treasured, and protected which offered a sort of indescribable pleasure that was totally separate from the way his length speared her cunt. 

Then, no more than a minute later, she felt like he was what she needed to be protected from. His touch turned forceful, his grip bruising, his hips snapping, while he called her ‘the sluttiest creature the seven ever created, so desperate to be fucked,’ but she loved that too because it was true. He had made her desperate to be fucked, because she was desperate for him. 

The sort of effect he had on her was kind of terrifying. 

It was almost scary how many different emotions he could draw from her during sex, including ones that she had never associated with sex at all. But it was exciting, too, that she didn’t know what was coming—only that she was going to come. Because gods, he drew orgasms from her with a sort of ease she hadn’t thought possible. 

There was something more to it than the dirty talk, good looks, and excellent cock—it was his confidence. He fucked like he had been doing it for longer than she had been alive, because he had. There wasn’t any of that boyish awe over getting close enough to a naked girl to stick their dick into her, because he had experienced that hundreds of times before. 

But his confidence was well earned too—he wasn’t a cocky senior who thought his dick was gods gift to womankind despite not knowing how to put on a condom and thinking the clitoris to be a myth rather than something that existed right in front of him. 

No, he was confident for a reason. He was good at this, and he knew that, and she knew that too. 

She didn’t have to worry about her own pleasure when she was with him— fuck— she didn’t have to worry about anything at all! Because though she may not have known him intimately before that night, she knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t hurt her, not really. 

He definitely wasn’t a serial killer (or if he was, she wasn’t a target—she’d made it out of his house alive thousands of times), his mattress definitely had clean sheets on it (she knew their maid by name—Mrs. Elinda Massey), his house definitely wasn’t infested with bed bugs (she’d made it out of his house without bites thousands of times, too), and she didn’t have to worry about a spouse or parent walking in on them.

She’d never had sex where all her worries were wiped away, and it was so freeing—it allowed her to focus wholly on her own pleasure, and he gave her so much of it, and he looked so good while doing it. 

And then, on top of all that, there was the whole daddy thing. 

🍒🍒🍒

She didn’t think she was into that.

No, she hadn't been into that. 

She didn’t have a reason to be. Her dad was dull and dimwitted at times, but he loved her and he was present in her life. He may not really understand her, and he may see her as a ghost of her mother more than his actual daughter, but he tried, and that was more than most teenage girls could say about their fathers. 

She wasn’t neglected by him, nor was she angry with him—and she certainly didn’t feel an ounce of attraction to him— ew, ew, ew, ew, god, no. 

Clearly, she didn’t associate her father figure—or father figures in general—with her sexual desires at all, and the thought of calling a partner something that implied that during sex…it was also pretty ew-inspiring. 

At least until him. 

🍒🍒🍒

She knew calling a partner daddy didn’t mean she wanted to fuck her dad, (again, ew, ew ew, ew, god no) she had just never seen the appeal or felt drawn to doing so—so she had never consumed media that involved it, much less considered incorporating it into her sex life, not until Daemon drew the word from her with his prompting and the promise of an orgasm.

And in the context of being bent over Daemon Targaryen’s countertop, it didn’t feel weird at all. The word slipped out in a confused mumble at first, but as the night progressed, it came with a sort of startling ease right alongside each orgasm, and sometimes outside of them, too. 

Because he was a dad. 

She had only ever known him as a dad. 

He wasn’t her dad, but she compartmentalized him in her mind as one. He wasn’t a boy or a man, he was a father. That wasn’t why she was attracted to him, of course, but it was simply an undeniable truth. 

1. Daemon Targaryen is a dad 
2. She wanted to fuck Daemon Targaryen (again)

Maybe that was why it didn’t feel strange at the time? But as the days had slipped by— an entire week had slipped by— she’d had time to consider it further. 

(And time to google a few things.)

And through both time and the wonder that was the Internet, she had realized that pretty much every contribution to that night being spectacular was connected to the fact he was both significantly older than her and that he had a child. 

The confidence when it came to sex was something that could only be developed over time, while his proficiency was surely to do with how much practice he’d had in his lifetime.

 The confidence he had with her was something that stemmed from the fact he knew teenage girls—because he was raising one. 

The trust she felt for him was based on personal experiences when visiting Alicent, and word from the girl herself, who happened to be, you know, his daughter. 

The way she felt safe with him was thanks to the environment and home he had curated with his wealth—most of which he had earned in the decade he had run his family’s company. 

(Part of her she wasn’t proud of preened in the realization he had the type of money to take care of her, but she couldn’t deny the effect it had on her. And physically? He sure as hell could take care of her in that regard, too.)

The way she respected him was thanks to his age, his career, and the fact of being a parent. He oozed competence, even when fully clothed, and she had never met someone her age who managed that—or rather managed it to a degree where she believed it. 

She didn’t want to follow the orders or fully entrust her body to someone she didn’t respect. But she hadn’t realized what she was missing out on because of that, not until him.

Not until Daemon Targaryen. 

Having thought through all the contributing factors to her enjoyment, she had thought enough about the kink to make peace with her attraction to the title he demanded during their first time together. 

The thought of a daddy-kink, in general, may still inspire a gut reaction of ew but the ick totally abated when she thought about calling Daemon daddy and being a good girl for him. 

Or a bad girl. 

That inspired a totally different reaction. One in her loins, not her gut. 

🍒🍒🍒

Some of her googling may have led to a few blogs and videos that were even more… inspiring. 

“He has hands made for spanking,”  May have been uttered by her at one point while scrolling through pictures of pink-clad girls lifting their skirts to show off matching ass cheeks, each post including the number of hits and the wrongdoing that had earned them their punishment. 

Talking back. 8. 

Forgetting her vitamins. 12.

Maintenance. 10.

Coming without permission. 25.

Bratty behavior. 10.

Nothing, she just fucking loves having me bruise up her ass. 20. 

She may have also had her fingers in her cunt while scrolling.

(The following orgasm was disappointing, though.)

(Maybe because she wasn’t disobeying him by having it?)

🍒🍒🍒

 

He had— probably unintentionally —opened her mind up to a whole new slew of kinks and preferences and she wanted to dive deeper into the pool of pleasure they promised—but she couldn’t pursue that with anyone but him. 

Or rather, she didn’t know anyone other than him that she could pursue it with. 

She could totally find other dudes his age to fuck—there were literally apps for that—but she didn’t want to find another guy. She didn’t want to call another guy daddy. 

She wanted Daemon. 

And she knew he wanted her too—his erection and enthusiasm that night had made that pretty clear. But clearly, his conscience was on a different page than his cock, because he had been avoiding her all week, and she had let him. She hadn’t pressed, pressured, or even texted him. She didn’t want to seem desperate. 

She wanted to make him desperate. 

So she waited. She waited an entire week. For the first time in her life she was patient— and fuck, she hoped it paid off tonight. 

He just needed to open the fucking door.

🍒🍒🍒

He knew it was a bad idea. 

He knew she wasn’t in need—not like she had been that night.

Maybe in need of an orgasm, though—or two, or four, or—gods she was glorious when she came.

Maybe he needed an orgasm. Not with her, though, definitely not. 

He was going to say hello and goodbye in the same breath. He was going to somehow turn her down and make clear boundaries without hurting her feelings— or getting an erection. 

But then when he did open the door, she was smiling. 

That wasn’t fair. 

This wasn’t fair. 

How dare his best friend sire this girl who had a pretty face, even prettier hair, and a petite figure with the most perfect fucking curves.

How dare his daughter befriend her and bring her into her house. 

How dare she let him fuck her, let him know how she tasted and felt when she came. 

How dare she stand there smiling— drawing attention to the lips that belonged around his cock. 

How was he supposed to resist that? 

How was he supposed to resist her?

Fuck, it was a miracle he made it as long as he did.

Though he supposed she hadn’t been ‘legal’  for more than a month when he pressed her against the counter. He hadn’t been waiting for her to be legal, though, he hadn’t even thought of her as a potential partner until a week ago! 

But now he’d done a lot more than just thinking about it. 

(Fuck, he couldn't stop thinking about it.)

🍒🍒🍒

 

“Hello,” She said, tilting her head and bouncing on her toes—she was wearing flats, he noticed, ones with little bows on the toes. They were innocuous, but it was impossible to look up again without looking at her legs, and gods— they were so smooth and so pale, practically begging to be stroked and spread, and there was so much of them on display. 

The skirt of her dress flounced prettily over her hips, but a slight breeze would be enough to show whatever was beneath it— and now he was thinking about what might be beneath it, fuck. 

The dress had thin straps and a low neckline—it would probably look modest on a different figure but on her? It framed her cleavage perfectly, revealing so much of her glorious tits his mouth nearly started watering at the thought of sucking on them. 

She had a cardigan on too, one that was oversized— like his shirt had been on her that night— one sleeve falling off her shoulder in a way that made him want to take it off of her rather than pull it back up. Fuck, it was as if everything in this world, even her goddamn sweater was working against his self-control. 

And then there was her face—the youthful fullness of her cheeks cushioning her sharp Valyrian bone structure, while her eyes made her history clear—bright as violets and unusually wide but somehow still perfectly proportioned. 

Her lashes were heavy— darkened with mascara, definitely— and her lips were glossy, but he didn’t think she had any other makeup on. It made her look even younger, which was disturbing, because it did nothing to staunch his desire to fuck her. 

Especially not when she had her hair pulled up into a ponytail—the band of a scrunchie buried in the blonde locks it held back, leaving her features fully on display while providing a perfect place for him to grip while fucking her mouth. 

No. 

He wasn’t going to do that. He wasn’t even going to think about it. 

“Alicent isn’t here,” He said, wondering how long he had been staring at her before remembering she was standing right there and watching him stare. 

Her lip twitched, “I know.” 

Of course she did. 

She had planned this. 

“What are you doing here, then?” He asked with a sigh that sounded as tired as he felt. Fighting his desires was exhausting, truly, and having her in his house that week had made the need to fight nearly constant. 

She shrugged, “Am I only allowed here when I’m soaking wet? Some manners you have. Here I was hoping you could get me wet.” 

Fuck.

“Rhaenyra…” He trailed off, looking away and hoping his tone came off as the warning it was intended to be. 

“What?” She asked, her hands behind her back now and making her chest jut out further, as if it wasn’t tempting enough when her posture was relaxed.  

“We can't do this.” He said, the words coming out sharper than he intended, but fuck, surely she knew that?

Her eyes narrowed, “We have already done this.” 

She had a point—and her perspective was in line with the wants of his cock, but he was trying to think with a different head. He was an adult, and he needed to be the responsible one. 

“We can't do this again .” He clarified. 

She pursed her lips, “Why not?” 

“Because…” He swallowed, trying to come up with a reason—there were so many reasons, but she was so close, and the house was so empty, and this would feel so good.

“Because why?” She asked, her voice full of humor while he scoffed, “You’re acting like a child, Rhaenyra.” 

He had expected the chastisement to make her deflate, but it had the opposite effect—her lips curling into a smile while her eyes took on a victorious sort of gleam. He knew whatever she said next would be bad, but he hadn’t imagined she would—

“Sorry daddy—you can punish me if you want.” She said, sounding so very sincere that his cock couldn’t help but twitch. 

Fuck, he knew this was an attempt at seduction. One that preyed upon parts of him she really shouldn’t know about. 

One that was working. 

“Rhaenyra!” He barked, his jaw clenching as he glared at her—but she still looked unbothered. 

“What? I’m a big girl, I’ll take what I deserve.” 

Would she really? Did she know what she was asking for? 

“I’ll take whatever you want me to, daddy.” 

Would she take a punishment? A spanking? His hands on her ass or around her throat?

“I’ll take your cock too—wherever you want to put it— please daddy.” 

Fuck. 

The mental image that followed was so clear he nearly gasped as it played in his head. He could almost see it, the way his hand would fist her ponytail while her shiny lips dripped with drool—stretched around his cock, while her wide eyes watered from the force and size of his length thrusting in her throat.

She’d probably choke. 

But she was stubborn, too.

She probably wouldn’t ask him to stop. 

He wouldn’t want to stop. He wasn’t sure he could —

Fucking hell, he couldn’t even stop her from pushing past him into the house. 

He wanted this too badly to fight his moral compass any longer. And anyway—

It was nothing they hadn’t done before. 

It was nothing Viserys and Alicent ever had to know about. 

 

What they don’t know won’t hurt them. 

His cock would hurt if he denied it this opportunity, though, that much he was sure of. 

🍒🍒🍒

She looked even better than he had imagined—it felt even better than he had imagined, too. 

She was way better at this than he expected—able to take him in her throat with relative ease, bobbing up and down while looking up at him through her thick sooty lashes.

He wanted to see their coating run down her cheeks, leaving dark tear tracks behind as evidence of what he had done to her.

Fuck, he wondered how she had done this —because the outfit, the hair, the everything was catered to the exact preferences of that part of him that he tried to ignore.

She looked so unassuming, so innocent, so effortlessly gorgeous—and that made her all the more appealing to him. It made the desire to see her ruined rise to the surface. 

It was almost overwhelming how badly he wanted to have her babbling beneath him again. Pleading for release only to find herself so overstimulated that she couldn’t help but sob through the orgasm. It was a powerful feeling, wielding that much pleasure against someone—until they broke down because they felt so good it hurt. 

He wasn’t a sadist, and he didn’t want a submissive, he didn’t even like submissive women. He just liked breaking them down and putting them back together, tormenting them with orgasms until they were messy and helpless and desperate to be fucked. 

It wasn’t because he wanted to give them pleasure, either, because he was hardly selfless. 

No, this desire to take care of someone so thoroughly, in a way they couldn’t take care of themselves, in a way society often neglected, it was wholly selfish. It fed the part of him—the desires— he tried to neglect for as long as he had been aware of them. 

That word fed that part of him.

When it was gasped or moaned by a pretty little thing beneath him it fed his soul.

He had tried to deny that for years. Tried to tell himself he wasn’t into this—because he wasn’t supposed to be into this. 

But it was a blatant lie.

One he was reminded of when he was with Rhaenyra—because he was so into her. And he wasn't the least bit dissuaded by the fact she was so young.

Young enough to be his daughter, even. 

And he was getting off on her gagging around his cock. 

🍒🍒🍒

Her throat was good, but her cunt was— fuck. 

Her laugh was pretty but her moans were— fuck.

Her perfume was pleasant but the smell of sex between them was fucking intoxicating. 

And then she was mewling, pleading, clawing at his back, and begging to come— asking for permission like she was a good girl, not a seductive little brat who bullied her way into his house and bed. 

She was both. 

Gods, he loved that, loved that she could be good and bad and poilite and unruly and everything in-between. It kept him guessing, and kept him on his toes—but it didn’t test him the way fatherhood actually had, no, when it came to this— to her— he knew exactly what to do.

He knew how to fuck her attitude away. No brat couldn’t be broken by this act.

But she knew how to break him too. 

“Please, please, please, I want it inside me—I want your cum daddy, I want it so badly, want to keep it warm for you, pleeeaseeee.” 

“Your cock isn’t enough—want this too, want to be full of you, daddy, you made me wait so long to feel full again—”

"Never had anyone else's cum inside of me, only yours, daddy." 

He had never come harder in his entire fucking life. 

 

🍒🍒🍒

 

There were many things he had done in life that he wasn’t proud of—many things he desired that he did not like admitting even to himself. But perhaps none ranked higher on the list than this. 

Because this wasn’t some fetish that manifested in his youth, something he played around with before becoming a father only to cease exploring and enjoying when being an actual ‘daddy’ became his reality. 

After all, he had been twenty when Alicent was born. Though he experimented a fair bit, he hardly got off on having a woman who was— at most— two years his junior calling him ‘daddy’ like that made any sense. Gods, if anything it was insulting, and after Alicent had been born, it was an unwelcome reminder of the fact a baby was waiting for him when he was done with them. 

No, in those days sex had been an escape from the responsibilities he had at home. He hardly wanted more responsibility by taking on an authoritative or caretaking role in anyone else’s life—not even for an hour or evening.

But as years passed, and as he became very aware that he had no fucking clue how to parent anyone—much less a daughter , the desire began to manifest. There was something alluring about being called daddy by a woman. He knew how to deal with women. He knew how to please them. He knew what they wanted, or at least what they wanted from him in bed. 

It offered an escape from his fears of failing at fatherhood because he knew he wouldn’t fail them, not when it came to this. 

But still, he didn’t seek it out often—because even though not a single thought of his actual daughter crossed his mind during it, when the word ‘dad’ next came out of her mouth, he winced—cringing away from what he’d gotten off on just hours or days earlier. It was a sort of perversity he tried to starve off but Rhaenyra had given it oxygen again.

She had given it life, and now it was hungry. He was hungry for her. Hungry to do this to her.

Hungry to do this with her. 

And unlike any of his previous partners, she truly was young enough to be his daughter. 

But that made it better. Because based on age and looks it was plausible. In a different life, he could be a father. But in this one, he could take care of her like this, in every way a woman needed to be taken care of. 

In a way he needed to take care of someone. 

This was so fucked up. 

🍒🍒🍒

It was still fucked up four hours later when she was in his lap—speared on his cock, her hips endlessly grinding down against him while they exchanged lazy kisses. 

It was terrifying how comfortable he felt with this—how he was enjoying this in a way beyond the sensation of being buried in her cunt. 

Maybe it was the novelty?

He wasn’t used to having women stay over—wasn’t used to having women he knew in his bed. Not that he knew her as a woman, but he knew her in a vague way that made her scent and voice familiar to him. 

It felt so easy having her here. Like she was supposed to be here. Because she seemed to always be here— here as in his house, not his bed, but still. 

She was a fixture in his life and home which made the transition to her being a fixture beside him feel all the more natural.

It made him feel more relaxed around her, less rushed, and less desperate to impress, and the sex was all the better for that fact. 

He could get used to this.

Not just that, he wanted to get used to this. 

This didn’t feel like a sort of shine that would wear off, and that was…a worrying train of thought. 

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That train of thought made itself really fucking comfortable that night, stalling in the station long after the smell of sex faded. 

He could practically smell the fumes of exhaust and hear the engine as he lay exhausted with sleepy girl tucked into his side, one who had asked between kisses if she could stay the night.

He said yes.

She blushed when she admitted she liked cuddling and wanted to be held—bashfully asking if they could do that too.

He said yes.

She brushed her teeth but lingered at the side of the bed before finally straightening and asking for a brush and hair tie—he had enough experience with his own hair when it was that length to remember the need to tame it. Daring to sleep with it loose was basically asking to wake up with a mess of tangles. 

He was also the one responsible for snapping the flimsy scrunchie she had arrived with, ripped out of her hair when he pulled his cock from his mouth, wanting to see her locks loose as he pressed into her tight cunt.

So, truly, it was a fair ask. 

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She didn’t ask for him to brush her hair. But he did that too, braiding the locks based on muscle memory rather than intention and tying the end before he even realized he’d done it. 

She touched the bound hair and gave him a surprised smile, “You’re good at that.” 

He would fucking hope so, he had done it often enough. 

“I used to do Alicent’s hair before school you know? Rhea was a disaster at managing anything more than a bob.” 

Both he and Alicent had been horrified by her attempts and the quantity of tangles she managed to conjure when using a comb. It was a special form of torture to watch her wield a barrette, though based on Alicent's wincing, it was worse to experience. 

It was one of the first times he had stepped up without thinking about it or being asked. It seemed so obvious to do that for his daughter, he had wanted to do it. 

He hadn’t done it for her in years, though. If Alicent took after him in any capacity it was in her desire for control, and that extended to her hair. As soon as she was capable of styling it to her standards without help, she became determined to do it without help. 

He had let her, of course. He was proud of her, both for having the ability and for having the confidence to voice what she wanted. Pride had staunched any disappointment at the time, and he hadn't thought about their old routine in years.

But maybe, part of him missed it. 

“You like managing things, don’t you?” Rhaenyra mused, and he nodded. 

“I like managing things I can succeed at.” He clarified. He liked controlling things, really, but he knew better than to say that to a woman he was fucking. 

His controlling tendencies stemmed from the fact he had so many desires he couldn’t control, not because he thought anyone needed to be controlled. But he wasn’t sure the explanation made the red flag any smaller. 

Maybe Rhaenyra would understand, though, she was certainly rather bossy by reputation—even if that didn't extend into the bedroom. 

Fuck, the bedroom was the only place he was bossy—outside of work, at least. 

He had been a spoiled kid and it followed him into early adulthood. He was used to things coming easily to him, used to people doing things for him—but Rhea had threatened to beat the trait out of him if he let it infringe upon either her or their daughter's life. They were his family, not his employees, he wasn't allowed to make demands of them or decisions for them. 

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"That isn't what a good father does, Daemon, good or bad decisions are something we make for ourselves." 

"And how dare you demand things when you give nothing in return? We aren't getting a paycheck at the end of the day that inspires us to up with you. If you want something in our home, you have to earn it. You have to make us want to do it." 

🍒

Rhea had been right of course. Time had improved his behavior, and he had managed to keep his desire for making orders to the office. He became a more responsible roommate and took a far more relaxed approach to fatherhood than he might have without her early interference. 

But the desire was still there, like an itch beneath his skin. He wouldn't scratch it by controlling his daughter's life the way his father had controlled his, and he hadn't. 

But he liked telling people what to do outside of work, too. And doing so in the bedroom when it came to inconsequential things sated him in a way a simple orgasm couldn't. 

Rhaenyra's lip twitched, “You like being good at things.” 

Yes. He did. 

“You’re good at this.” She said, stroking his shoulders and cupping his cheek. 

“At what?” He asked, not even seeking a compliment exactly—just curious what she would say. 

“At whatever this is—at being a daddy.” 

Fuck. 

It was physically impossible for him to get an erection again so soon, but if he could have, he would have, the words sent a jolt through every part of him including his cock. 

“You’re good at this too—being good for me.” He admitted, though that was definitely an understatement. 

She smiled, tucking herself under the covers and nuzzling closer to him when he joined her. 

Her hair tickled his nose, while the smell of mint and something distinctly her filled his lungs and his mind like some sort of love potion. 

That was the only possible explanation for the thought running through his head.

Maybe we could be good for each other. 

🍒🍒🍒

 

 

Notes:

as always, thanks for reading! comments = 💕

 

and if you enjoyed this you might also like my Predestined  series--it has similar vibes I think [bratty Rhaenyra, modern Daemyra, developing relationship), including this installment which can be read as a standalone in which Daemon comes to term with the fact he REALLY likes being Rhaenyra's uncle. 

My crisis-verse also has bratty Rhaenyra, bossy but indulgent Daemon, developing relationship, and much kink negotiation/introduction. But it is a throuple fic with Daemyra + Rhaegon + Daegon, so be warned of that.

Speaking of Daegon and Rhaegon, episode one has not helped my Aegon obsession so expect updates to the various fics involving him in the near future, lol. 

If you'd like to talk about the episode, daemyra, or any other pairing, feel free to join the brainrot factory that is my discord server 💕

 

 

Notes:

comments make me very happy if you are so inclined to leave one!~