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sh1-n0bu · 5 months

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♡︎ 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙖 ♡︎

characters: priest!sub!blade x demon lord!nb!dom!reader

warnings: breeding, creampie, eating out, fingering, squirting, monsterfucking, consensual non-con, dirty talk, feminization (like literally), lactating, nipple stimulation, overstimulation, dacryphilia, size kink, belly bulge, cervix kissing, blade is a demon hunting priest, reader is a demon lord so they can choose whether to have a cock or pussy so basically genderfluid reader???? also reader changes blade’s anatomy to have a pussy and womb — it’s so messy okay😭😭

word count: 4.4K

notes: you KNOW shit is getting real when nobu starts word count. never thought i would be writing a bit of a dark-ish content yet here we are. the power of the horny😔 also inspired by my chat with one of ririshizu’s bots

special thank you to @theblades and @yenaakwyl for proofreading a whole damn 14 pages of filth

being a priest is no laughing matter. especially when you’re the type of priest that hunts and gets rid of demons who somehow ended up with a demon lord clinging to you, who’s constantly at your side, asking you questions about the human realm.

what was up with you, anyways? a literal demon lord, one of the lords of a deadly sin and yet here you were, dragging him around the streets, pointing at random things, wanting to sample every street food there were. sure, your human form was incredibly deceiving. a short, sweet human, clinging to his arm, excitedly pointing at the many different things that caught your attention. it would be hard for anyone to think of you as a demon lord in disguise.

except for blade. he’s been in this field of work for such a long time. constantly vanquishing demons who either were too annoying or possessed a poor, curious soul. the sharp edge of his shard sword is no laughing matter.

but you didn’t seem to mind. this demon lord, acting like a curious puppy, pulling him to each sides of the streets — ignoring the loud angry shouts of the car drivers and the constantly thinning of his wallet of course. not that blade had much to worry when it came to financial freedom. putting his life on the line and vanquishing demons from the human realm pays a generous amount.

it felt wrong to allow you to cling to him. you, a demon lord, no matter what your disguises meant or whatever pathetic excuse you came up with of wanting to sample human food. he should have gotten rid of you sooner yet no matter how much his hands twitch to unsheathe his shard sword, he just can’t seem to do it. no matter what his threats may seem or be heard of, the priest just can’t bring himself to harm you. if anything, he finds himself doing the absolute opposite, to his blatant horror.

“wait, no, don’t do that. the water just boiled so it’s hot, it could burn your tongue”

“you do realize that ice isn’t meant to be eaten, right? no, i don’t care how much of a pretty shape it’s in or if it still has the aftertaste of the coffee”

“if you eat too much raw red pepper, you could have a heart stroke. 14 is enough on one sitting. give it here”

yes, you get the point. a priest vanquishing demon, living together with a demon lord and even protecting them. hypocritical, right?

one night, as you two were cuddling on the couch and absentmindedly watching cliche horror movies that has demons with red skin and horns and a tail, that reminded something to blade. demons have unique demon forms depending on their sins and ‘birth’. but you never once showed an ounce of your demon form. not even a single slip-up.

“hmm? why do you ask? curious?” you hum softly, taking another fistful of the popcorn in the bowl. not that blade minded. if anything, he unconsciously pushed the bowl of popcorn closer to you.

“i guess so. you never even spoke of your demon form whether it has a tail or not” the priest mumbles, his husky voice turning softer just for a moment. or maybe he was just sleepy, judging by his dark eye-bags and little yawns.

oh right, you never did. but then again, blade never asked of your demon form before so, it’s to be expected after all.

just as blade had shrugged off your silence and turned his attention back to the tv, he felt something slithering around his waist. swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, he briefly looks down at what was wrapping around his waist. there, snug around his hips was a long, pale white, scaled, snake-like tail. it seemed incredibly long, judging by how it easily wrapped around his hips few times and the rest was just dangling off of the side of the couch.

was this…?

he could feel his hand twitch. itching, something under his skin itching of wanting to reach down and run his hand over the smooth looking scales of the tail.

pat! pat pat!

before blade could even make sense of what the fuck he just did, his hand had unconsciously unraveled from it’s former crossed position. one hand going down, flattening his palm over the smooth, large tail before giving it a few pats. at the same time, he could hear another low pat pat! sounds coming from the side of the couch. must be your tail ends flicking and hitting against the couch, he deducted.

briefly, blade steals a glance at your face. still watching the movie on the TV, seemingly paying no mind to the feeling of his human hand resting over your tail. it was oddly warm to the touch. from the look of it resembling a snake like tail, he expected it to be cold.

slowly, he runs his hand over the scales. soft, smooth and easily gliding over them as if it was nothing. sure, some bumps are felt on the palm of his hand but other than the occasional little ridges, it was completely smooth. how… soothing.

blade doesn’t know how or when but over the course of time you spent at his apartment, these little moments of playing with your tail had become a normal occurrence. little moments of “affection” if you will. fridays had become the weekly movie nights. blade would put on some random horror movie that you chose to be the most interesting based on the summary of the movie. half an hour or so into the movie and blade would feel the familiar scales of your tail wrap around his hips.

the priest would sometimes toy with your tail in hopes of getting you to show your true color of being a demon lord. to make you angry. to make you snap and finally show your true colors. if anything, it had the complete opposite effect as your tail only tightened around him. low, deep rumbling sounds akin to a purr coming from the depths of your chest.

briefly, the priest would catch himself wondering how it would feel to lay his head on your chest as you purr. cats have de-stressing and soothing qualities to their purrs. would demons be the same? sometimes, he would even catch himself thinking of… sacrilegious things. like how your tail would feel wrapped around his legs, opening him up for you. how your form could shapeshift and could have a human male’s anatomy. would you purposefully make it big? would you force it past his twitching rim, uncaring of his whines and pleads to wait?

ah, but that sounded so unlike you. despite being a demon lord, you have been nothing but calm and peaceful with blade. soft hums, nods of agreement, always needing his help and inquiring him of his thoughts on something.

then, would you coax him? whispering soft reassurances in the shell of his ear as you softly push your cock inch by inch inside him. a large, clawed, inhuman hand running over his stomach, talking about all sorts of things, promising to breed him full of your seeds as he cries. opening his legs wide with your tail wrapped around his thighs, wiping away his tears as he cries so prettily?

“f-fuck…” unknowingly, blade found himself with a little problem. another movie night, another time spent together ‘cuddling’. yet due to his own thoughts, blade finds himself embarrassingly hard. shit, he needed to find a way to leave the room and take care of his problem. but your tail way starting to curl around him in loops, just like how a snake would wrap itself around it’s prey.

did you know? know of his raging hard on and was just teasing him now? no. taking a brief glance at your face caused blade to come to a conclusion that you didn’t know. yet. that was the biggest part. or maybe you did considering just how your tail was moving around his waist. slipping under the hem of his shirt, slipping up, curling around his body under his shirt. scale coming in contact with skin. blade almost let out a moan at the feeling if it weren’t for him biting down on his lips.

“[n-name], get your tail off. i need to use the bathroom” internally cursing himself out for stuttering, blade can only hope that you would oblige. gods, just the way you let out a soft “hmm?” while playing innocent, smiling at him and blinking like nothing happened while your tail curls around his skin.

fuck, he was done for. you knew. you fucking knew.

“are you sure? your body seems to react positively from the amount of human interaction that i’ve had until now, blade” the end of your tail circles around his peck. slowly trailing the end as if you were going to squeeze—

“n-ngaah?!” a surprised noise comes from the priest’s mouth before he clenches his jaws shut, brows furrowing together as he tries to ignore the feeling on his chest. soft and slow circles. the end of your tail was wrapped around his nipple, pulling and rolling it between as if it was nothing. shit, when did his chest get so sensitive?

“oh that was a cute sound. do it again” you hum, turning away from the TV and looking at him now. curse you for looking so damn interested and curious as your tail fondles his nubs. blade can feel his pants starting to form a wet patch as his breathing becomes more labored.

“t-take… your goddamn tail off. i swear, i’ll ghh—! chop it into pieces…!” despite his best efforts, his words had no bite. just weak mumblings of a pathetic excuse of a priest being turned on as a literal demon lord tugs at his nipple. he was even starting to quietly whine in place as he tries to swallow down his moans.

“say, blade. i read from somewhere that human chest can lactate when stimulated enough. can you lactate?” blade almost shrieked at your words. lactating? him? while it was true that human women can lactate if they gave birth, he was unsure about men being able to lactate.

“n-no! can’t! i’m a man, it’s impossible for my chest to produce mi—ungh!” his words die quickly in his throat when your tail clenched around his nipple tightly. pulling on it, familiar to a pinching motion. since when did his body get so sensitive like this? or was this all your doing? did you secretly put a spell on him to make him sensitive?

“stop..! [n-name] stop ooungh! please, stop! i’m telling you, i’m a man. i can’t lactate like a woman!” his pleads fall on deaf ears as you slip his shirt off over his head. instead this time, using your hands to knead and fondle his pecks. squeezing, rolling his sensitive nubs between your fingers, even tugging on them. it all got blade letting out uncharacteristic high pitched noises like a cat in heat.

“p-please… stop this, [name]..” blade trails off, red in the face, shame, embarrassment and arousal swirling in his stomach like a hot bubbling lava as he admits defeat and whines helplessly.

“then wriggle yourself out of my tail. it’s loose around you, bladie” you briefly retort as you suckle on his nipple. mouth latched to his chest, biting and planting wet kisses all around his soft pink areola. as weak as his whimpers and pathetic his begging were, he really wasn’t making a single attempt to pull back. you have given him enough chances even now as your tail stays loose around him. yet he still tries to act like he hates it.

switching between giving attention to his two nipples with blade not even thinking of pulling himself out of your tail, the movie plays in the background, long forgotten. you were determined to make this weird human of yours lactate. you can make him!

it didn’t took much longer until blade let out a yelp as a warm liquid drops in your mouth. the taste oddly sweet and a bit thick in texture. realizing that his chest was feeling much more heavier and nipples felt more wetter than before, the priest’s eyes widen in horror and arousal. did you really managed to stimulate him enough to make him lactate?

“oh? so, i was right! humans can lactate regardless of their gender” you let out a soft giggle, internally cheering as a bright smile comes across your face. the sheer amount of exuberance you showed in his lactation had caused blade to feebly attempt to cover his chest.

“don’t! don’t look… it’s embarrassing…” the man whines, shaking hands covering up his leaking nubs. but that proves to be futile as his hands covering his chest had caused him to twitch. everything felt so much and so little at the same time. his poor cock was neglected and weeping, staining his pants as you stimulate his nipples as he whines.

this wasn’t supposed to happen! he wasn’t supposed to be this sensitive to your touches.

but the leaking of his milk had seemed to cause something to stir in your chest. an odd sense of possessiveness and need to claim him growing in your heart, tugging at it. laying your palm flat against his stomach, you rub slow circles onto it. somehow, it had helped to lessen blade’s embarrassment.

“bladie, how would you feel if i were to make you my baby momma?” your voice cuts him out of the trance like state he was in. blinking his eyes a few times with a weak “huh?” as if he hadn’t heard you. with a quiet chuckle, you ask again. repeating the question to him slowly in case he was too pleasure driven.

baby momma? but that’s something that people refer to when women get pregnant right? were you referring to making him pregnant? but that was impossible! he was a man and men had different anatomy compared to women’s!

“i can use a few spells. you would have a female anatomy. but only if you wish to be my baby momma. i would take good care of you and the kids, we’d be together as a cute family. don’t you think we’d be a cute family, blade?” he could briefly hear you hum. but the rest of your words flew over his head since the female anatomy part.

a female anatomy. blade would have a pussy, a womb, cervix the perfect anatomy to get pregnant. he would be a cute baby momma. your baby momma. and he would carry your kids. a child who was half you and half him, a cute bundle of sunshine.

“please… please do. make me your baby momma. i wanna be your b-baby momma..!” blade nods frantically, not even bothering to think over the consequences too deeply. but the prospect of having your kids, of having you inside him got blade rubbing his thighs together, head spinning with all sorts of thoughts as his breathing becomes labored. you said you would take good care of him and the kids! he’ll be in good hands.

although a part of his brain was screaming at him, telling him to withdraw from the touch of your palm running over his stomach, changing his insides, blade could only sit there dumbly. a baby. a cute baby that you two made together. it would be so sweet, so cute. blade couldn’t wait any longer as he silences the logical part of his brain. all he wanted was you now. just you and nothing else.

the process didn’t take long. a few strokes of your hand and soothing whispers to his ear and it was done. or at least, from what you said. and oh fuck, was it true. when you tugged his pants and boxers off, what greeted both of your eyes was a slick pussy, dripping with arousal. seeing how you had successfully changed him, the priest lets out a weak whine, closing his legs to hide himself.

you didn’t seem to like that. clicking your teeth as your tail wraps around his leg, pulling his legs apart and allowing your hungry eyes to feast on his dripping cunt. blade couldn’t help his whine as the feeling of being so empty took place in his head. or was it inside his womb that he felt so empty?

“so sweet. you would look so cute with my cum dripping out of you” you mutter, running a finger up his wet pussy. the action got his hips twitching, trying to make you push your finger inside himself. tutting softly, reminding him to be patient, you slowly ease a finger in. oh gods, the stretch felt so good. so full and filled already despite it being just a single finger that was now slowly massaging his plush walls.

the soft whines and gasps coming out of blade turns into a moan as he throws his head back on the couch. long, navy hair spreading over the mattress as your fingers scissor him open. you would have expected him to be more… reclusive considering his usual act. perhaps you were wrong. the way that blade was throwing his head back, moaning without shame as his warm walls suck your fingers in greedily caused you to almost mistaken him for a virgin. or maybe he was just touch starved. poor thing.

cooing words of how he was doing good, how his gushy cunt was sucking in your fingers so prettily, you lean down to pepper kisses on his clit. long, forked tongue coming out momentarily to slip inside him with your fingers, constantly flicking his clit. the action caused to have made him oversensitive. strong, scarred thighs coming up to wrap around your head, a hand fisting at your locks as loud, pathetic whines of “c-can’t! feelss sho weird! [n-name], can’t—gyuuck! aanh aah♡︎!!” trails off into a high pitched whines as his hips jerk. legs clamping around your head in a vice grip, fisting at your locks tightly as his back arches off of the couch so prettily as he squirts in your mouth. ah right, in your own haze, you’ve forgotten and accidentally pushed your tongue in too far, hitting his g-spot.

well, that was fine. the cold priest sounded so cute and tasted delicious as he twitches under you. it would be fine to fuck him open with your tongue and prepare him thoroughly.

blade doesn’t know what to think anymore. was he even able to think? all he could do was to moan and shriek, trashing about on the bed as something deep and long slithers inside him. his cunt was being fucked open, wet sounds coming out as he gushes all over your mouth, tongue and chin. fluids dribbling down to your chin as you continue to force his legs open with your tail, arms wrapped around his waist and pulling him back into your mouth and fingers.

by the time you thought of him as prepped enough and pull your tongue and fingers out, blade could only weakly whine at the feeling of something pulling out of his warm insides. legs shaking, face flushed as dried tear stains cover his cheeks. his pretty red eyes looked so hazy, mind filled with cotton and statics. you haven’t even gotten to the main part yet!

blade feels something wrap around him. something bigger, warmer and gentle. clawed hands wrapping around his slender waist, pulling him against a massive frame. was this… was he on your real form right now?

tilting his head back to look at you, his hunch proves to be correct. no longer were you in your small human disguise. large, pale white figure with horns, tail and claw holding him in a safe cocoon in it’s embrace. despite having deep hatred against your kin, the priest couldn’t bring himself to hate you. instead, he oddly found your real form beautiful.

“huh…?” his thought gets cut off short when he feels something poke at his entrance. looking down, a sharp gasp escapes him. by the gods were you huge. girthy and long, thick with need and ready to fill him to the brim with your seeds. blade wasn’t sure if he could take such a large thing inside himself as he instinctively shut his legs close.

almost as if sensing his inner worries, you place a hand over his stomach, other hand spreading his legs wider to make it easier for you to slip in.

“don’t worry, pet. i’ll make sure it fits” your deeper, almost inhuman voice hums right beside his ear, sending shivers down his spine. although your words were soothing, the large tip of your cock pushing past his walls, opening his cunt wider was definitely not comforting. fuck, just the tip inside and blade was already thrashing about, shaking his head and stuttering out how he can’t fit it inside him.

“w-wait! w-won’t hhgh fit! ish too big! too bigtoobigtoobig—! m-my lo—oough! aanh! ish t-too fu-uck! big♡︎♡︎” the human squeals, cries, sobs and moans. loud lecherous noises coming from both his mouth and cunt. wet noises flooding the room alongside the low grunts and deep growls. you sounded inhumane, you felt inhumane but blade loved it all the more. the priest loved being spread open by your large cock, pushing past his hole, feeling his plushy walls and insides. ah, he could die happily filled to the brim like this.

finally, after long minutes of slowly easing yourself inside, you managed to fit your cock inside him. snug to the brim, tip kissing his cervix and making blade squeal. legs shaking and twitching, he came on your cock again at the feeling of your tip kissing his cervix. he saw that you were big but not this big! gods, he felt so damn full.

“so pretty, my mate. so full of me and i haven’t even fucked you properly yet” you grunt, deep, inhumane voice breathing by his ear and making him shake and twitch in your grasp like a sweet fawn. blade wouldn’t mind being a sacrificial lamb to you.

through tear stained eyes and blurry vision, he could make out the faint outline of your cock in his stomach. you were too big to the point your were causing a bulge inside him by just slipping your cock inside. how full would he feel after you have properly made him a baby momma? cunt weeping out a mixture of your cum, belly bulging so cutely. just the imagination of such action made blade buck his hips weakly. too fucked out to even utter a word.

feeling the pathetic excuse of movement of your cock, you let out a low laugh. tail wrapped around one of his legs, the other held open by your hand as you finally bounce him on your cock. slowly, slipping yourself in and out and yet the priest in your hand was sobbing as he blabbers deliriously about being fucked dumb on your cock. of having your babies inside his own womb. of being your sweet mate.

blade was a big guy. in human terms and physique wise, he was big. and yet in your lap, held open by your hands, back to your chest as he allows himself to be dumbed down on your girth made blade realize just how damn small he was compared to you. sure, he was big in human terms but compared to you, he was absolutely nothing. just a small hole for you to use. a fleshlight to be filled with your cum until you were satisfied. your baby momma to have his chest fondled and squeezed until his chest grows sore and heavy. milk leaking out it small globs from his sensitive pink nipples.

“my pet. my cute mate. my sweet other half. my adorable breeding bitch uhng… so fucking tight. so warm and tight like the cute little thing you are” blade could briefly hear you groan, heavy breaths falling on his neck, making him shiver at each breaths. making him cry and moan in a shrill voice like a girl each time your cock slid inside him. plunging deeper into parts he never knew before, grazing that one soft spot that made him shriek, tip hitting his cervix at each thrust. blade was so sure that it was bruised now. not that he minded it, the pain felt good to him.

“y-yours—! yours yours yours! your c-cute ma—aaanhg! aaanh haagh gyaaamf♡︎ y-your mate. your oouungh other half. y-your adorable♡︎ breeding bitch—!” blade’s mouth fell open in a silent scream, head throwing back to your shoulder when he felt your hand press on the bulge in his stomach. it felt good. so good that he immediately squirted on your cock again at the sheer pleasure the pressure brought.

but of course you wouldn’t stop. you would keep going, forcing his small body to bounce on your cock, occasionally tweaking his nipples, rolling his clit between your fingers. you were damn adamant on making him pregnant, breed him until you were damn sure he was knocked up.

he was yours. your human. your mate. your fated other half. your cute breeding bitch and you would be damned all over again if he ends up not getting pregnant by the time you’re done. blade was yours. no one else would ever take him away from you. no one. no one no one no one, no one else—

“AAANGH! M-MY LORD♡︎ c-cock giick! sho full…” the human shrieks and twitches in your grasp, legs weakly thrashing around as you finally cum deep inside him. the warmth of your seed spurting inside his gummy walls, painting his insides white causing blade to cum again. blade felt so full, the skin of his stomach stretching a bit to accommodate to the great amount of cum that was inside him. it felt so warm and sticky. messy, as it dribbles down your shaft, his small human body unfit to keep it all inside himself.

“my cute mate…” you purr softly, arms wrapping around your mate as he twitches and shakes. cheeks stained with old and new tears, jaws slack with drool dribbling down with his face as red as his eyes. he was yours now. blade was your human now. the weird priest was yours and no one would ever take him away from you.

“mine” with that final declaration, you placed a soft kiss to the crown of his head. he seemed to relax at the kiss, sinking against your chest as he black out. that was fine. you’ll make sure to breed him again once he wakes up.

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thesummerestsolstice · 16 days

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Concept: Elrond is, by Middle-Earth standards, a perfectly respectable level of fancy. You know, he's an elf-lord, he has plenty of robes with intricate embroidery or layers of flowing fabric, he wears finely-crafted jewelry, especially during formal occasions. He's elegant, but not gaudy– there are some tasteful references to his various ancestors in his outfits, he's got a whole image. He assumes that this is like, standard for the Noldor.

What Elrond failed to realize when he sailed to Valinor is that the expectations for "Middle-Earth elf lord with vaguely Noldorian implications" and "Noldor prince in the Blessed Realm" are two very different things. He goes to a feast and everyone is dressed like they'll die if they're not wearing four layers of skirts and at least 20 pounds of gems and precious metals. He shows up to Finarfin's court wearing more jewelry than he ever would've worn in Rivendell and people still flash him strange looks and ask him whether he wasn't feeling up to dressing up that night. He'll braid his hair in the half-up half-down style he often wore in Rivendell and it'll cause a scandal because– gasp– Elrond had part of his hair loose. In public. Noldor keep giving him jewelry because they've collectively decided that he's clearly been deprived in Middle Earth. He's confused and a little bit afraid, frankly.

Thankfully, most of the attention is taken off Elrond when Tirion is engulfed in drama the likes of which hasn't been seen for hundreds of years. The cause? Galadriel showing up in Tirion with her hair entirely loose, and no jewelry to speak of. Her robes are entirely plain. Her only adornment is her unbearably smug smirk.

#silmarillion #silm headcanons #elrond #elrond peredhel #galadriel #noldor #valinor #elrond in valinor headcanons my beloved #the culture shock had to be something #the noldor love him they're just very weird about showing it #this is bordering on crack territory but I stand by it

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ylieke · 3 months

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"And Melkor entered his realm. And the Dark bowed before its Lord, and came apart in the light of Silmarilli. The creatures of the night prostrated themselves on the ground in hopes that they would be spared and his heavy gaze wouldn’t fall on them. Sauron bowed low, pinned down by the terror that like a cape was draped over the Fallen Vala. He relinquished all the power he held in his absence and laid it for him, as a servant must." An illistraion for the "Play with fire" fanfic by @eternal-fear

#my art #silm art #silmarillion #the silm fandom #the silmarillion #melkor #sauron #play with fire #fireplay #the silm #silmarils #silm fic #silmart #fantasy art #fantasy character #silmarillion fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

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valeskafics · 6 months

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"A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes" - Stepfather!Aemond Targaryen x Cinderella!Reader

Summary: When your mother passes away suddenly, you are left in the care of your stepfather, Prince Aemond, who is overprotective to say the least. Things get out of hand when he refuses to let you attend the ball in honor of Prince Jacaerys' nameday...

TW: extremely dubious consent, dark/possessive/yandere behavior, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, slight corruption kink?, STEPCEST, choking, spit kink, spanking, pussy slapping, oral f receiving, fingering, anal fingering, overstim, p in v sex, hair pulling, light face slapping

Word Count: 5,010 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

The passing of your lord father was a loss that almost devastated your family, not only emotionally but also financially. And so, your mother remarried sooner than she was comfortable with, bringing you, her daughter of only eight and ten, with her. You adored your mother with every fiber of your being, but you found it quite surprising that she managed to capture the attention of Prince Aemond Targaryen. She was nine years his senior, while you were nine years younger than him, a strange situation and one that was very likely gossiped about throughout the realm.

The match between your mother and Aemond was not one of love, but rather one of convenience. You knew she still carried a torch for your father and likely always would, for he was the great love of her life. Aemond was in need of a wife who did not bother him and stayed out of his way, allowing the young man of seven and twenty to train as he pleased. You were surprised, however, at the interest he took in you, seeking you out in his spare time for conversation or walks around your family’s King’s Landing manse. You thought his attentions harmless, at least at first. Then you noticed the way his eye lingered on the curve of your hips as you walked, any hint of your cleavage that showed through your dresses. You did not tell your mother, for what was the point? Aemond was a good, respectable prince and would never act on his lustful impulses. There was no point in worrying her unnecessarily.

And then, one year to the day after the wedding, she died. The maesters said her heart simply stopped in the middle of the night. She was a perfectly healthy woman, so you found this hard to believe. However, with her gone, Aemond became the heir to your family’s manse and seemed quite content to continue living there with you rather than returning to the Keep, stating that he found the environment there to be quite stifling. You kept to yourself for the most part after your mother’s death, focusing on lessons with your septa, longing for the day Aemond would send you off to some lord to be married and get you out of his hair.

However, it has now been a year since your mother’s passing, and no such plans have been made. You are a young woman of twenty and it is the talk of the court why Prince Aemond’s stepdaughter has not been married off to someone like Prince Jacaerys or Lord Cregan Stark. A grand ball is announced in honor of Prince Jacaerys’ nameday, and it is decreed that all eligible maidens in the realm are invited to attend. You have not gone to any feasts or balls since your mother’s passing, but you decide to steel your nerves and ask your stepfather if you might attend this one, in hopes of finding a husband.

Aemond is seated at your father’s old desk in his study when you approach him, poring over some ledger or document pertaining to the household expenses. He hears your light footsteps, smirking to himself at the way you pause outside the door, hesitant to knock. The scent of your perfume wafts into the room ever so slightly, roses and jasmine, sweet just like you.

He hears you call out in that soft voice of yours that immediately has him straining against his breeches, “Stepfather? May I speak to you for a moment or are you busy?”

“I am never to busy for my lovely stepdaughter,” Aemond’s eye moves to you the moment you poke your head through the doorway as he gestures for you to enter and take a seat, “What is it you need to ask me, sweet girl?”

“Well, as you know, it has been over a year since Mother passed, and I have not attended any balls or feasts in that time per your instructions,” you say, sitting down on the chair across from him, fiddling with the laces on your bodice nervously.

Aemond arches a brow and nods, “Go on.”

“I was hoping I might be able to attend the ball tomorrow night in honor of Prince Jacaerys’ nameday,” you say, your words nearly unintelligible due to how quickly you blurt them out, “Every eligible maiden in the realm has been invited to attend.”

The thought of you mixing and mingling with other men makes Aemond’s blood boil and he responds through gritted teeth, “There is no need for you to subject yourself to such an occasion, darling. The only thing that the young men at these events seek to do is take advantage of innocent young ladies like you. You are far too beautiful and sweet to be allowed out for these sorts of things.”

“Stepfather, I only wish to dance with my friends,” you say quietly, eyes pleading as you gaze at him, making him wonder what else he could make you beg for, “Please-”

“Heed my words, you shall not go to the ball,” Aemond says, a dark undertone to his voice, that blue eye of his sharp with a hint of cruelty behind it.

You nod, murmuring, “Very well, Stepfather,” you pause before asking, “Will you be attending the ball?”

He gives you a small nod, “Indeed I will. Jacaerys is my nephew. I do not wish to attend, but I must.”

“Do you plan on finding a new bride?” Aemond looks at you oddly and so you elaborate, “It has been over a year since Mother’s death. I was simply curious.”

Aemond hums, his gaze moving along the curves of your body, lingering places they should not before he responds, “Perhaps, sweet one. Perhaps.”

You let out a quiet sigh of relief, thinking his attention will no longer be on you should he remarry, “I wish you the best of luck in your search. I shall go for my lessons now. Good day, Stepfather.”

With a curtsy, you depart from the room, leaving for the Red Keep to meet your septa. Aemond watches you intently as you leave, a hand resting under his chin as his gaze locks on the sway of your hips beneath your dress, mouth nearly watering with desire when he imagines how you would look without all that pesky clothing. His thoughts are a blur. You need to get it through your head that he has no intention of letting you attend balls and meet suitors. No, you will remain safely cloistered away in the manse tomorrow night, far from prying eyes.

That evening, Aemond passes by the door to your chambers, seeing that you are already fast asleep, a peaceful expression on your face. Your chest rises and falls with each breath, your lips parted. You look like an angel, he thinks to himself, stepping inside the room, so beautiful and vulnerable. Aemond’s breathing grows more and more shallow with each step he takes toward your sleeping form. He brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, then moves to trace his fingers along your upper arm, goosebumps forming along your bare skin in their wake. You shudder slightly and turn over in your sleep, all while Aemond watches with a smirk.

He is nearly overwhelmed by his lust, but tonight is not the night that he will claim you. The anticipation will make it all the sweeter. Aemond moves his index finger to trace your upper lip, loving the way you almost imperceptibly lean into his touch. It is as if your body knows he is what you need and he needs only to wait for your mind and heart to catch up.

Reluctantly, he parts from you, giving you one last look, whispering, “Sweet dreams, my sweet girl.”

You stand by the door to the manse and watch as Aemond heads your way, ready to leave for the ball.

“Have a good evening, Stepfather,” you say quietly, doing your best to avoid meeting his gaze, lest he see how genuinely upset you are about this.

He tilts your chin up to face him, “When I return, my dear, you and I will be discussing a matter of the utmost importance for your future.”

Hope fills your heart as you question, “My betrothal?”

Aemond bites back a smirk and nods, “Indeed. I have found you a most suitable partner to marry.”

You bow your head, “I look forward to speaking about it when you return, Stepfather. Enjoy the ball. What time will you return?”

“Sometime past midnight,” he tells you, his gaze hungry as his eye moves over you, “You shall remain in your chambers. The servants will lock the doors.”

“Of course, Stepfather,” you say, “I will simply work on my embroidery and penmanship. Enjoy the ball.”

The moment Aemond’s carriage rides off, you immediately rush off to your chambers, pulling out the sky blue dress you have kept hidden under your bed from the moment you heard about Prince Jacaerys’ ball. You grin to yourself, admiring the garment - an old dress of your mother’s that you have made your own adjustments to, a snip here, taking it in there, making it entirely your own. You have even sewn crystal roses onto its bodice, and feeling entirely satisfied with your handiwork, you dress for the ball. Your friend, Lady Ellyn Baratheon, has arranged a carriage for you out of the kindness of her heart, one that will take you to the ball and back to the manse before midnight.

“You are entitled to a night of fun, dancing with me and the other girls, and mayhaps a gentleman if you should find one,” she had smiled at you, urging you to do this one thing for yourself and ignore your stepfather’s orders.

And so, you take one last look in the mirror, donning the pair of glass slippers your father had commissioned for your mother so long ago, and get in the carriage.

Aemond finds the ball as a whole quite droll, truth be told. The ball is a masked one, each guest given a mask to match their clothing as they enter. His covers more than half of his face, fully covering his sapphire eye. He has stood on the sidelines all evening, content to observe, imagining you laying in your bed, reading like the sweet girl he knows you to be. He wonders if your thoughts ever wander to him, late at night, your hands moving to the apex between your thighs, imagining they are his hands instead.

His train of thought is broken when he sees a beautiful figure in blue entering the hall. He thinks to himself how familiar this new guest seems to be, the way their hips sway as they walk, their smile, their laugh as Prince Jacaerys whisks them onto the dance floor. He approaches once the dance is over, bowing deeply, a charming smile on his face. It is you, it must be you. But he is content to play this game for a time.

You give him a low curtsy, those sweet eyes of yours meeting his. He extends his hand to you, a silent request to dance. You take his hand, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor.

“Thank you, my lady…?”

“The whole point of this ball is to conceal our identities, good ser,” you smile at him, “To that end, you may call me Rose.”

He chuckles, “Well met, Lady Rose.”

Aemond’s excitement grows as he leads you in a waltz, his hand on your waist, the other holding your own hand. The two of you move in sync to the music played by the minstrels and he is unable to take his eye off of you. His whole body aches with desire, his pants uncomfortably tight as he watches the way your breasts heave against the bodice of your dress. This is your body, your smile, but any doubt he may have had is washed away by the sound of your voice and those beautiful eyes.

“Are you from King’s Landing, my lord?” you ask, making him realize you are clueless to his actual identity.

“I am indeed,” he replies, “And you, my lady?”

“I am as well,” you say softly as the dance continues, “I shan’t ask more.”

The two of you continue dancing in comfortable silence for a long moment, content to gaze into each other’s eyes before Aemond finally speaks as the song ends, his hand moving to touch your jaw, “You are beautiful, Lady Rose. It is almost unfair that you wear a mask. My entire being craves to see your face in all its splendor.”

“I could be hideous beneath his mask,” you jest, earning a chuckle from him.

“Not a chance in the Seven Hells,” he pauses, “Your eyes, your lips, even the way the mask fits. I can tell you are the most beautiful woman in the realm.”

“You are quite handsome from what I can see as well, my lord,” you compliment, shying away under his intense gaze.

“My, my, Lady Rose, I am afraid that if you keep on flirting with me like this, you might just make me fall head over heels for you.”

You let out a soft laugh, “It is not flirting, my lord, I am merely speaking the truth.”

Aemond shakes his head, giving you another charming grin, his hunger for you growing and becoming harder to control, “Then, by your own admission, what you have said is the truth and now I am afraid I see you in an entirely different light, Lady Rose,” he leans in to whisper in your ear, lips brushing against your skin, “It is clear that you are a seductress trying to seduce me.”

You burst into giggles, “My lord, surely you jest!”

“I do not, my lady, it is quite clear what you are trying to do,” he smirks, “And I must confess that it is working.”

You smile at him playfully and are about to respond when the clock strikes midnight. Your eyes go wide and you turn to the large clock at the entrance of the ballroom, and immediately pull away, gathering your skirts.

“I am so sorry, my lord, but I must take my leave, thank you for a lovely evening!”

Aemond smirks to himself as he washes you dash out of the ballroom, his suspicions of your identity confirmed.

Aemond walks to your chambers and knocks on the door the moment he returns to the manse. He is quite impressed by your speed when you answer, dressed in your evening robe, holding it tight around your chest.

“Good evening, Stepfather,” you greet, “How was the ball?”

It takes every bit of restraint in his body to stop himself from tearing the robe from your body and taking you this very moment. But he knows he wishes to savor it.

“I had a wonderful time,” he says, “And how was your evening?”

“I worked on my embroidery and penmanship as I told you I would,” you lie easily.

He smirks at your words, grabbing you by the hand and feigning an expression of thoughtfulness, “You always have ink stains on your fingers when you work on your penmanship, and yet I see none. How curious.”

You laugh nervously, pulling your hand back, “I washed them, Stepfather.”

“Hm,” he nods, “So you were being a good girl while I was out at the ball?”

“Of course, Stepfather,” you nod, “You said I could not attend and I did not.”

He takes a step closer to you as you stand in the doorway, crowding you, his chest nearly pressed to yours as he questions, “And would you care to show your beloved stepfather that embroidery and penmanship of yours?”

“I was about to go to sleep,” you say quickly, “Perhaps I could show you tomorrow.”

“I should like to speak to you about something tonight, sweet girl.”

Aemond takes a step to enter your room, only for you to block his path and protest, “It is really quite messy in here.”

Aemond moves past you with ease, entering the room, murmuring in a low voice, “I do not mind.”

He watches as you kick something under your wardrobe and ask, “What did you need to speak to me about, Stepfather?”

His eye flickers to your chest before moving back to meet your gaze, “Remove your robe.”

You can hear the hunger in his voice and panic, shaking your head, “I cannot-”

He chuckles, moving to thread his hand in your hair, pulling you close to him, his eye burning with lust, “Take it off, now.”

You know there is no escaping this and so you remove the robe with shaky hands, revealing the gown you wore to the ball, finally confirming Aemond’s suspicions. A sly grin spreads across his face as you lower your head, averting your gaze.

“I only wished to dance��”

“As did I, sweet girl,” he says, whispering in your ear, his breath hot and tickling your skin as he inhales your scent deeply, “I danced with the sweetest young lady, my Lady Rose.”

You freeze, “R-Rose…?”

His voice is a low purr as his lips graze your jaw, “It was you who danced with me, seducing me with your sweet words.”

“Stepfather, I never would have danced with you if I knew it was you, I swear it-”

“Oh, I doubt that, my little rose,” he chuckles, hands moving to your waist, pressing himself against you, “I could see it in your eyes at the ball just as plainly as I can see it now. You want me.”

“That was before I knew who you were,” you protest before trying to change the subject, “You had said you would tell me who my betrothed is tonight, Stepfather.”

Aemond moves one hand to rest on your cheek, his thumb stroking your cheekbone then your lower lip, “Yes, I did. Would you believe your betrothed is right here with you in this very room?”

“No…”

“Oh, yes, my sweet girl, I am to be your husband,” he declares, nipping at your neck, loving the way you tremble against him, his sweet rose.

“That is impossible, you are my stepfather-”

“We are not related by blood. I did not meet you until you were a woman grown,” Aemond brushes off your concern, pressing his lips to your neck before he whispers, “And as your husband, it is my duty to punish you for disobeying my order not to attend the ball,” he grabs you by the jaw, turning you to face him, “You have been a very bad girl, my little rose.”

You let out a yelp as he pulls on the lace of your bodice, the dress falling to the ground leaving you in only your shift. Aemond then grabs you by the waist, pulling you to lay face down across his lap. You feel him lift the fabric of your shift to expose the bare skin of your ass. You feel his large, calloused palm caressing it and let out a surprised gasp when he lands a heavy handed slap on it. Aemond watches as your flesh jiggles against his touch, his cock twitching at the little noise of protest you let out as he lets his hand fly once more.

“What are you doing?” you ask him, squirming against his lap, inadvertently rubbing yourself against his cock, making him grow even harder.

“Don’t act so confused,” he chuckles, giving you another spank before landing one between your legs, reveling in the quiet moan you let out, “You know what this is about.”

He slaps your bare cunt again, and you hate the way you let out a pathetic whine, somehow enjoying the feeling. You feel his fingers teasing your slick folds, ghosting over your pearl, before spanking you again, then spanking your ass. You bury your face in the sheets, whining and whimpering as he continues. The pressure in your stomach builds as he alternates between teasing you and spanking you. Aemond looks at you, amused at the way you rub your thighs together despite acting like you don’t want this, like you don’t want him. He lands a slap right on your pearl before running his fingers over the sensitive nub, teasing it, sending you over the edge, crying out his name as your hands weakly grasp at the sheets.

Aemond sits you back up on his lap, giving you a moment’s reprieve only to remove your shift, eyeing your bare breasts greedily as they are revealed to him. You try to cover yourself, but he shakes his head, grabbing your wrists with one hand, holding them together.

“No need to cover yourself, my little rose,” he rasps, leaning in to kiss you.

You keep your lips firmly shut, not giving in even when he nips at your lower lip. You turn your face to the side defiantly, only for Aemond to let out a low growl, one that thrills you almost as much as it terrifies you.

“I know exactly how to make you open that pretty little mouth.”

His hand moves to your throat, squeezing slightly, prompting you to gasp, your lips parting in surprise. Aemond takes the opportunity to spit on your tongue, shocking you. You stay there frozen, his saliva coating your tongue as he lets out a dirty little laugh and gives you one solitary command.

“Swallow.” He squeezes your cheeks together, watching with delight as you swallow his spit, feeling the extent of his dominance over you, speaking in a low, dangerous voice, his hand moving back to your throat, thumb stroking your sensitive skin, “Such a good little girl. And now is the perfect time to reward you.”

He shoves you down onto the bed, ignoring your noises of protest, crawling over you. He removes his eyepatch, placing it on your nightstand, his sapphire glimmering in the candlelight. You know he has done it to intimidate you, but in truth? You find him all the more handsome with his scar and the precious stone on display. He removes his tunic, palming at his achingly hard cock over his breeches, before pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. He kisses your neck, down to your breasts, taking one between his lips, suckling at your pert nipple. You do your best to hold back the moan that threatens to spill from your lips as he laves attention on your sensitive bud with his tongue before switching to the other side. It’s so very wrong and yet you cannot seem to bring yourself to push him away.

Aemond continues to kiss down to your stomach, his tongue teasing your navel as you squirm and weakly murmur, “Stop…”

He glances up at you, lips twisted into an almost cruel smile, “Oh, but I know you want this,” he says before pressing a kiss to your lower stomach, dangerously close to his lips’ intended destination.

Your breath comes in soft, shallow pants. You feel him nip at your inner thigh before he licks a stripe along your bare cunt. You let out a sharp gasp, trying to squirm away from him, but he simply grabs you by the hips, holding you in place as he begins to lap at your folds. You feel his tongue moving against you and the sensation is almost too much to bear. Your fingers twist in the sheets as he moves his tongue in and out of you, the cleft of his nose pressed against your pearl as he moves against you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. You feel your thighs trying to close of their own accord, but all he does is grab them, spreading them apart so he can keep devouring you.

He pulls back, looking up at you with a lazy smirk, his voice a seductive, low timbre as he states, “You’re enjoying this, little rose.”

“No,” you moan, making no effort to push him away as he brings you closer and closer to your peak, until you’re spilling yourself with a cry of his name.

And even then, Aemond does not stop, instead focusing his attention on your pearl, suckling at the swollen nub as he pushes two long fingers inside of you. You let out a mewl of his name, your back arching off the bed as he fucks you with his fingers, his lips still latched onto your pearl. Your third peak approaches faster and more intense than the last, his fingertips brushing against that spongy spot deep inside of you that has you screaming his name in the throes of ecstasy. When he pulls back, evidence of your arousal coating his chin, it is only to remove his breeches, baring himself completely to you. Your eyes go wide as you see his cock, long and painfully hard, the tip red and angry and leaking evidence of his arousal.

You know what he’s going to do. And a sick, depraved part of you wants him to do it. You feel him slap his cockhead against your pearl, your entire body tensing at the motion, at the low laugh that rumbles in his throat, before he claims your maidenhead. The sting is uncomfortable, but with how wet you are, he pushes inside you with relative ease, sheathing himself to the hilt inside your cunt with a low growl of your name. He gives you the briefest of moments to adjust before he begins rutting against you like a feral beast, one hand on your throat, the other tugging at your hair almost painfully.

“Such a perfect little wife for me,” he hisses, “So tight and wet. Gods, why didn’t I do this sooner?”

You feel your eyes roll back as he hits that spot inside you with the head of his cock, bringing you closer and closer to yet another climax. He lets go of your throat and your hair to grab your knees, pushing them up to your chest, allowing Aemond to fuck you deeper and harder, his stones slapping against your ass with each thrust.

“Going to breed my little wife, my little rose,” he proclaims, feeling you spill yourself on his cock once more, “You will look so beautiful with my seed leaking from your cunny, won’t you? You want to bear me heirs, don’t you?” When you don’t answer, he lightly slaps your face, bringing you out of your pleasure-filled haze, every sensation becoming more clear to you, “Answer me, little rose.”

“Yes,” you say weakly, moaning his name as he fucks you through your peak.

You’re surprised when he flips you onto your stomach and ruts into you from behind, landing a hard slap on your ass before tracing your puckered hole with his finger, easing it inside. You bite down on your pillow, letting out a near scream of delight at the sensation, his finger inside your tight hole as he fucks you. Tears stream from your eyes at how good it feels, how you want him to stop and yet you need him to keep going.

“I’ll claim this hole next, little wife,” he vows darkly, the thought exciting you more than it should, “On our wedding night, I’ll fuck your sweet little cunt, that pretty mouth, your ass. You belong to me. Every part of you. Say it.” You are unable to articulate any form of coherent thought, and so, you gasp when he pulls you up by the hair, his free hand around your throat once again as he demands, “Say it.”

“I belong to you,” you whisper breathily, feeling his hand move from your throat to your pearl, his hips stuttering against yours as he nears his peak, wanting you to reach yours alongside him.

He draws lazy circles on your pearl, and finally, you reach your peak once more with a cry of his name, feeling him spill himself deep inside of you. You collapse on the bed, Aemond on top of you, holding you in his arms. His lips find yours and he kisses you, a bit slower than before, more gentle. He glances down, seeing his spend leaking from between your thighs, and uses the hand that was on your throat, to push it back inside you.

“Don’t want to waste any, my darling,” he murmurs.

All you can say is, “Yes, Stepfather.”

“Oh, no, sweet girl,” he murmurs, brushing his nose along your cheek, his voice raw with want as he whispers, “Call me your husband.”

“Yes… Husband.”

The word is foreign on your tongue, though not unwelcome. Aemond lets out a low hum of pleasure.

“We shall be married tomorrow,” he says, caressing your thighs, moving to kiss your neck, “And hopefully in nine moons, you will give me a child. And many more after that.”

“Yes,” you pause, “My husband.”

The word alone makes Aemond’s cock begin to harden again, thoughts of claiming you once more taking over his thoughts. He looks at you, pliant beneath him, glassy-eyed and dazed and pulls you onto his lap.

“There’s no harm in breeding my little wife more than once tonight,” he says in your ear.

Your lips part in a silent cry as he lifts you by the hips, pulling you down onto his cock, feeling him fill you up once more. You think to yourself that this must be a dream, for in the waking world you have never known pleasure like this. Anything like this.

You lose yourself in his touch, rolling your hips against his as he bounces you up and down on his lap, hands splayed across your ass. He takes one of your breasts in his mouth once more, mouthing at it greedily, imagining what you will look like when you are with child and they are swollen and heavy.

Aemond sleeps well that night, for all he has ever dreamed for has come true. He finally has his perfect little wife.

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tsukii0002 · 2 months

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Mc: Let me get this straight...

Lucifer, Solomon and Simeon kneeling on the floor in front of them.

Mc: You want me to help you settle a dispute between two tribes of magical creatures.

Simeon: *hurried* That's…

Mc: Because Luke had insisted on going to see those creatures because Solomon *looking at him* had shown them to him, saying that they were harmless.

Solomon: *without looking up, a shy smile on his face* Ha, ha, ha…. Yes

Mc: And then Luke accompanied by the brothers *looking at Lucifer* went and broke the seal that marked the peace between the tribes starting a civil war.

Lucifer: Yes…

Mc: And you expect ME, who happens to know the matriarchs and leaders of the tribes, because I happen to take this peace between the three realms very seriously, to intercede and solve the problem?

Lucifer, Simeon and Solomon: That's is…

Mc: Ummm let me think….. No.

Solomon: Mc!!!

Mc: So now I'm mature enough??

Lucifer: This and that are different things!!!!

Mc: Any of you let me go to the lantern festival with my classmates at night because I was too young!!!!! Too young to understand the dangers of Devildom!!!!!

Simeon: But Mc-

Mc: And now I am old enough to solve diplomatic problems that can affect the whole political balance of hell? Nu, nu, I refuse, it's your problem.

Lucifer: Mc please…

Simeon: We are asking you on our knees…

Solomon: This is very serious… We'll do whatever you want.

Mc: Nope, I'm too young to understand the seriousness of this situation, I leave it to you, the ADULTS.

The three of them: Mc!!!!

Mc: Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an afternoon tea with the queen of the mermaids *leaves*.

Meanwhile at the back of the room, calm because had already asked Mc help and the problem was solved.

Diavolo: Did you see that?

Barbatos: *smiling* Yes, my lord

Diavolo: *funnily* And everyone told me that it was a bad idea to give Mc a government position :D.

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demonvibez · 5 months

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mature (mdni) · tags: suggestive, alcohol, possessive/yandere dia

Diavolo sits across from Lucifer, the Demonus at hand painting both of their cheeks with a certain rosiness, the fireplace crackling away at their side. The Young Prince invited the Avatar of Pride over for a few drinks, knowing they both needed to kick back and let off some steam. Diavolo thought the two would just get lightly buzzed and exchange stories of their favorite memories, as they usually did. However, he couldn't have predicted his mood taking such a dark shift...

He can't even remember how exactly they got onto the subject of you - but neither can deny how much they miss you. They exchange stories of their favorite memories during your time here - but once they reach the bottom of the bottle, Lucifer can feel his inhibitions disappearing, and he's overcome with the urge to tell the Prince his favorite memory of you so far;

The night of your pact...and the intimate activities that followed...

As the Fallen Angel continues to happily go into detail about that night with you, the Demonic Prince can feel jealousy tightening its icy grip on his heart. Descriptions of your bare form have Diavolo's mind racing with a plethora of emotions - envy, greed and wrath all fighting to overpower each other as lust lurks in the shadows. Diavolo does his best not to let his cheerful façade crack, pressing the hell-crystal goblet to his lips as he begins to tune out Lucifer's drunken rambling. He had never seen Lucifer as his adversary before. He always regarded the demon as his best friend - now he is suddenly sizing him up, comparing himself to the Avatar and looking for flaws in his armor. What can he do to show you that he can give you everything you want and more? That he can be everything you need and more?

The Prince needs a plan.

Though you may be currently in the Human Realm, Diavolo sees that as a non-issue - he can have you in the confines of the Demon Lord's Castle with the slightest of effort. His power, ineffable. His resources, endless. No, the issue stems from your ties to this realm - to the demons whose pacts you've bound. He'll have to be careful when pulling the strings of this very delicate dance - keeping the brothers just far away enough from you to keep you close to him. And if he must remind Lucifer of his place in his Kingdom, of who exactly he and his brothers owe their lives to, he will. All so he can give you the life you deserve - the royalty you deserve. After all, he took Barbatos for himself, so he can just as easily take you too.

Lord Diavolo always gets what he wants - and you will be no different.

· demonvibez ♡ 2023 · do not copy, repost or modify · · likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! ♡ ·

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spacedace · 1 year

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Okay but the Justice League finds out their new baby hero teammate Phantom is the Ghost King by virtue of the Fright Night showing up while they're in the middle of a meeting, looking terrifying and such and scaring the shit out of everyone- even more so when Constantine starts freaking out over the fact that the sworn night of the King of the Infinite Realms is in the Watchtower what the fuck that's apocalyptically bad Pariah Dark is supposed to be locked the fuck up forever - but instead of trying to smite them all or yeet them into the nightmare dimension he just pulls out a space themed packed lunch??? And gives it to Phantom??

And the mildly eldritch giant murder ghost is talking about how "The Queen Mother commanded me to ensure you ate my Lord, she says you missed your morning meal."

And Phantom is just grumbling about over protective sisters and "there's a cafeteria i would have been fine" what the fuck is happening right now?

What do you mean "oops you forgot" Phantom I thought the ghost thing was just a theme!

#dc x dp #dp x dc #justice league #danny phantom #danny fenton #jazz fenton #fright knight #ghost king danny #fanfic writing prompts #danny at lunch later: aw shit she packed from home now i gotta fight it #justice league watching in horror as his left overs try to kill him: what the fuck what the fuck what the fu-#john constantine #Constantine thinks danny as the ghost king is gonna yell at him about all the soul selling #Danny just thinks it's hilarious and has no intention of interfering #he doesn’t have to deal with that paperwork and thise demons are assholes anyway #danny does get a long lecture after fright knight shows up about sharing need to know information #he gets another one after that about not missing meals #JL member: I don’t *care* if you're the Ghost King you're still growing and need to make sure you're eating enough!#Danny desperately trying to keep them from meeting Jazz because it's all over for his days of eating junk food if that happens

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scribendis · 3 months

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𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝

Aemond Targaryen x female reader (third person perspective) ❖ husband & wife

Warnings: smut, dry humping, p in v sex, semi-public sex, newlyweds being horny, little bit of profanity, breeding kink if you squint really, really hard Rating: 18+ MDNI Word count: ~3,500

Summary: Upon returning to camp from a hunt in the Kingswood, Aemond looks for a way to keep his wife warm on a bitterly cold night.

A/N: Serendipitously conceptualized ages ago but written (very late!) for the first week of the @hotd-bigbang winter word prompts challenge - Fire | Furs | Forest

Dividers by @saradika | AO3 link

The setting sun cast long shadows across the small city of tents that made up the hunting camp in the Kingswood. While the men had spent the day combing the forest for boars, stags, and other game, the women had occupied the main tent. They gorged themselves on cakes and other sweets, all the while indulging in gossip that ranged from the salacious to the downright treasonous.

And, much to the chagrin of the new wife of Prince Aemond Targaryen, they pestered her endlessly about the burgeoning love life of her and her husband. She quickly learned that, to be a woman in the king’s court meant sharing every last, excruciating detail of one’s “wifely duties” so that the others could compare them with their own. So that they could all know whose husbands fucked them the best and complain about their own lackluster experiences.

They questioned her until she was beet-red in the face and one of the older women finally called for an end to her torment. Still, it would taste a lie for her to say that all their titillating conversation about lovemaking had not made her ache desperately for her husband.

But by the time that night finally claimed the sprawling camp, the men had still not returned from the hunt. It signaled to the waiting wives that their husbands would come back without their prize, frustrated and exhausted - and that they would later fall into their beds reeking of wine.

The call of horns and the distant sound of barking hounds was their cue to don their furs and exit the tent to greet the arriving men. The prince’s wife was glad for the fur-lined cloak that her husband had procured for her for just such an occasion as this. She was even more grateful for the garment as she exited the tent only to be met with the sting of the cold night air on her cheek. The women elected to wait for their husbands by the bonfire that raged in the middle of the camp, its light their only source of warmth as frost began to settle on the Kingswood.

It was easy for her to spot her husband among the group of riders, his long silver hair unmistakable in the light of the rising moon. Whatever otherworldly quality his Valyrian features gave him seemed amplified tonight - and it made the sight of him astride a horse even more odd to her. Were her husband any other lord of the realm, his approach on horseback would not have seemed out of place. But Targaryens were no horse riders. Still, Aemond effortlessly commanded the steed beneath him, his mastery reminiscent of the way he would handle a dragon.

As the crowd of riders began to disperse, her eyes remained fixed on her husband. Amid the thundering of horses’ hooves and the raucous laughter of the noble lords, Aemond's attention, too, was solely focused on her. The intensity of his gaze only intensified her excitement, eliciting a gentle flutter in her belly.

With grace and ease, Aemond slipped off of the horse’s back. A waiting servant took his leather riding gloves from him, but Aemond could very well have let them fall to the dirt for as little attention as he paid to anyone but her.

Aemond was always loath to indulge in any public affection, aside from the occasional hand at the small of his wife’s back or a brief touch upon her cheek. Even now that he was reunited with her after such a long day apart, his restraint came in the form of a soft kiss brushed against her temple and nothing more. But the way that his arm wrapped around her and his hand dared to wander much lower than her waist - and the way his eye held hers so intently - told her just how much he had missed her. How much he needed her.

Given Aemond’s usually stoic demeanor, she had never thought that he would be needy, but he had proven to be just that in the few weeks since they had been wed. They had already made love in the depths of the palace library more times than she could count, and discovered countless other hidden places throughout the Keep where his hands had found their way up her skirts and his lips had left marks on her neck. Some mornings, he would forego training altogether to stay in bed with her with his face between her legs or his cock buried inside her.

And he had not heard a single complaint from her yet.

“Ābrazȳrys, your skin is cold to the touch,” Aemond commented, a hint of concern lacing his soft voice. His lips lingered at her temple for a moment longer before he withdrew, taking one of her hands in his. “As are your fingers.” (wife)

She smiled. His own hand was as warm as ever. “I am no dragon like you, dear husband. The cold night air chills me to the bone.”

“And the furs I gave you do not suffice?” he asked, quirking a brow.

She shook her head. “Nor the bonfire.”

Aemond hummed, his displeasure at such an assurance quite clear. He brought her fingers to his lips, blowing warm air on them before kissing them. “Come, jorrāeliarza. I have another idea for how we might offer you some warmth on such a cold night.” (beloved)

Still with an arm drawn around her, he swiftly guided her around the bonfire and, to her surprise, past the royal tent where food, wine, and music awaited them. She glanced over her shoulder questioningly at the entrance to the tent, from which poured an inviting golden light, but Aemond seemed determined on his path.

“Aemond, are we… not going inside?”

A smirk tugged at his lips, and she noticed a mischievous twinkle in his eye as they passed a flickering torch. “I thought I would spare you any further conversation with the ladies of the court.”

“And I thank you for that, dear husband,” she said with a laugh, her words falling from her lips in fleeting clouds of mist that looked like she was breathing smoke. “But I do not think–”

Aemond stopped them in their tracks and turned to her, staying any further words by sweeping in to press his lips firmly against hers. “Lykirī.” (Be calm.)

Once freed from his bruising kiss, she stood, dazed, for a moment before any further thoughts could come to her - something that her husband had certainly noticed given the grin that spread across his lips. She pushed him away playfully with a little scoff and an over-exaggerated look of annoyance that drew a rare chuckle from him.

“I am not one of your Targaryen dragons,” she protested, drawing her furs tighter around herself. “Those… dragon commands won’t work on me.”

Aemond leaned in to meet her at eye level, offering an arm to her that she took. “But it did work, did it not?”

She was still none the wiser about their destination as her husband quickly guided them beyond the boundaries of the camp and toward the treeline. The leaves had taken on stunning hues of red, orange, and yellow, a sight that she had marveled at from within the wheelhouse on their way into the Kingswood that morning. But in the cover of night, that beauty was lost to the pitch-black darkness. Not even the light of the moon could permeate the thick canopy of trees, leaving the forest an endless void.

She did not fear the darkness, only the occasional sound of a twig snapping or the call of some unknown creature. As husband and wife disappeared from the sight of the camp, she found herself clutching onto him more tightly.

“Aemond, where are we going?” she whispered as though speaking at full volume would topple one of the mighty trees.

“Patience, jorrāeliarza.”

“What if there are wolves out here, Aemond–”

“There are no predators in the Kingswood. And, if there were,” Aemond turned to her and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, brushing the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, “do you think that I would let them harm even a single hair on your head?” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before releasing her. “Do not worry. We can stop here.”

She glanced around, seeing the pleasant glow of the camp in the near distance and nothing but darkness everywhere else. “Here?”

“I thought, perhaps, you would want to be a bit further from camp…” he purred. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to see him lean in. One of his hands reached up to pull her furs aside and his lips found her neck, warm and soft as they began to kiss her skin. She felt his hum vibrate against her pulse point, where her heartbeat fluttered wildly. “Given how loud you can be, dōna ābrazȳrys.”

A gasp left her and her head tilted away from his lips, begging silently for more. Tomorrow would call for yet another dress with a high neckline, she thought.

“I’ve… I’ve not heard that one before…” He regularly called her all manner of names in High Valyrian. She often found him muttering to himself in his ancestral tongue. One night, he had even spoken it in his sleep. She knew a small handful of words, but only those few. “What does that mean?”

“Sweet wife,” Aemond breathed against her neck, leaving a bit of warmth behind before his lips captured hers once again. “You taste sweet tonight, too.”

“It must be the… the wine, I think,” she gasped. “Or the lemon cakes…”

But the growing hunger inside him was not for the sweetness of cakes or Arbor gold.

He kissed her more deeply this time, lips coaxing hers apart to taste her tongue for himself. His hands fell to her hips, fingers digging into her soft flesh to draw her body against his. And, in doing so, he finally offered her the warmth he had previously promised her - one that not even the hottest bonfire could provide.

As his fingers began to deftly ruck up her skirts, she felt her skin prickle. At the same time, an entirely different kind of heat began to spread through her until it found its familiar place between her legs. Moaning softly into their continued kiss, she dropped her hands to the closure of his trousers, where his obvious arousal strained against the dark fabric.

“Gods, Aemond, you're so hard and I've barely touched you," she breathed against his lips. “Did you miss me?” But she knew the answer, and how pleasing it was to know just how badly she had been missed that day.

His only reply was a grunt that rose in his throat as his hands slipped beneath her smallclothes and all but tore them from her. Despite the rough, calloused spots on his palms and fingers, his warm touch was a balm against the cold night air. In a swift, almost aggressive motion, he lifted her by her arse so that she had no choice but to envelop his hips with her legs. It taunted her, the feeling of his hard cock pressing against her wet entrance. His trousers were a tedious, unwanted barrier between them.

Their passionate embrace only became more heated as Aemond pinned her to the trunk of one of the trees and his body pressed firmly against hers. She squirmed, inadvertently causing friction between her clit and his still-clothed hardness that was too delicious to keep a moan from stuttering past her lips.

“It would seem that you missed me as well, jorrāeliarza,” he rasped with a playful smirk. Teasingly, he rolled his hips against hers to coax another one of those sweet sounds from her. “Come on. Take what you need.”

She needed no further convincing, as great as the ache between her legs had grown. Her grip on the collar of his longcoat tightened and she took over, rocking her hips against his at a slow, but steady, pace. Each gasp and moan that left her lips billowed from them in a smoke-like mist, until she tucked her head into the crook of her husband’s neck and the sounds became muffled against his throat. He smelled of horse and sweat and, if she searched for it, the soap he had used the night before. But he tasted divine as her lips began to pepper open-mouthed kisses against his skin.

Judging by the trembling breaths that she felt against her hair, this teasing was just as pleasurable for her husband as it was for her. His own grip on her arse tightened, as though he was fighting to hold on. Knowing him, he wanted only the satisfaction of spilling himself inside her.

But his own torture would not go on for much longer, as her rutting against him was quickly bringing her to the brink of release. Her pace quickened, desperate as she was to reach it. Finally, the pleasure inside her began to unfurl and its warmth spread through her. From head to toe, it enveloped her completely as though she had been submerged into a hot bath.

It was exactly as Aemond had promised. In the grips of her climax, the frigid air mattered little, if at all.

Gasping for breath as she came down again, she pressed her lips to his and he received her kiss greedily. No doubt he was desperate for his own release after watching her come apart - and how could she refuse him?

“You know,” she began as her hands fell to his trousers once again. Only, this time, her fingers made quick work of the closures. “Earlier, all the women wanted to know how good you are in bed.”

Their gazes locked and, even in the darkness of the forest, she could see the almost animalistic desire in his one good eye. But as desperate as he was to be inside her, he seemed almost equally as intrigued by her words. She freed his cock from the confines of his trousers and took it into her hand. Her simple act of stroking him once was enough to draw a low groan out of him.

“Fucking gossips,” Aemond replied huskily. His lips drew close to hers but did not quite meet them. “Do I wish to know what you told them?”

She grinned. Her fingers guided his cock to her slick entrance but stopped there momentarily. “I told them–” Her words were cut off by a moan as he buried himself inside her quickly and without warning. “Oh, fuck…”

“Oh, fuck?” Aemond repeated teasingly, raising a brow. “Am I so bad at it, jorrāeliarza?” The smug look of satisfaction on his face belied any attempts at fooling her into thinking that he believed that to be her true confession earlier that day.

Too impatient, he began to move his hips against hers - and she met each of his slow, steady thrusts with movements of her own. Misty air surrounded them amid their shared panting, both of them relishing in the sensation of becoming one again after such a long day apart.

She allowed her head to fall back against the tree, where strands of her hair began to tangle in its rough bark. But she hardly noticed or cared at all, especially as her husband’s lips reclaimed her neck and his hot breaths swept along the contours of her jaw.

“Ābrazȳrys.”

She became so lost in the carnal pleasure of his cock sliding in and out of her that Aemond’s voice barely reached her. It did not help at all that his pace began to quicken as the heat between them grew to a simmer. The cry of pleasure that left her mingled with the sounds of the forest, joining the nighttime symphony of hooting owls and the rustling of the crisp underbrush.

“What did you tell them?” Aemond pressed. His own composure was starting to fail him and his words came out strained.

A breathy laugh left her. He always purported to care little about what the members of his father’s court thought of him. But, evidently, that sentiment did not extend to his wife and her opinions.

She placed a hand on his cheek to pull his lips to hers, kissing him deeply as pleasure began to coil inside her anew. “I told them,” she panted, her eyes opening to meet his, “that my husband is not the one riding the largest dragon in the world.”

Whatever Aemond had expected her to say, it clearly was not that. For a moment, his hips stilled and he looked as stunned as the ladies had been when she had uttered those same words that morning. One of them had even spilled a full cup of wine down her pale blue dress as she stared at her like some startled animal.

“My, my…” he purred.

But his look of shock fell away just as quickly. Replacing it was a ferocity that she had never seen from him before. A hunger that her words had awakened inside him which only she could satiate. There were no more soft words of love, or the usual names he called her while making love to her. His fingers dug almost painfully into her hips and he resumed his movements against her.

Aemond quickly built up a brutal pace, the head of his cock hitting that spot inside her that made her toes curl inside her shoes. Any thoughts or complaints about how bitterly cold it was outside had been long forgotten, drunk as she was on the intensity of the pleasure he was fucking into her her. Even her moans began to leave her in choked gasps and broken mewls that, if anyone in the hunting camp heard her, would have sounded no different than the calls of some creature of the forest.

She could feel it, the straining of her muscles and the tightening of her insides. The tremble that overtook her as she hurtled toward the edge along with him. She felt like a handkerchief being squeezed of water, and he would not stop his tightening of her until he had wrung her of every last drop.

Her eyes fluttering, she leaned in to capture Aemond’s lips in a kiss that he did not reciprocate in his own carnal pursuit of release. “Aemond…” “Mm-mm,” he chided, his tone gruffer and far lower than she had ever heard it. “I want to see you.”

One of his hands released its grip on her arse and moved to the nape of her neck to hold her firmly and ensure she could not look away. As he watched her, he groaned deeply in his own fight to hold on until he could get precisely what he wanted.

And it only took three simple words from him to finish her at last.

“Cum for me.”

Like a dam breaking, all the building pleasure that had been twisting inside her released. Coaxed by the continued pounding of his hips against hers, it spread into every extremity as her body shuddered and her cries of ecstasy filled the dense, frosty air. The fluttering of her walls around him soon spelled the end for him, too. With a few more ragged thrusts, he found his release inside her.

His eye squeezed shut. His lips, kiss-swollen, parted. And then, a certain look of peace overtook him.

Although still lost in her own haze of pleasure, she watched him closely - and she decided that he had never looked more beautiful.

They remained in their loving embrace, neither one wanting to pull away from the other just yet. Her, with her legs still encircling his hips, and him, with one hand holding her up and the other at her neck. Aemond pressed his forehead to hers and his thumb began to caress her cheek tenderly.

She hadn’t spoken of these moments to the women of the court that day. About how her husband could fuck her within an inch of her life and, immediately thereafter, treat her with such affection and softness. With such devotion in each caress of his fingers and every soft word he uttered.

Their breathing soon began to slow once again and the world around them finally came back into view. Smiling, she brushed the tip of her nose against his before kissing him so deeply that he hummed in surprise. But he reciprocated earnestly, slowly setting her back down on the ground but never quite letting her go.

“We should return to the camp,” Aemond said as he re-adjusted her furs on her shoulders. “I would not have you catch your death out here in the cold, jorrāeliarza.”

A sweet grin spread across her lips, but something wicked glistened in her eyes. “Oh, but my husband has already given me all the warmth I require.”

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sylasthegrim · 13 days

Text

Atone From a Lone Prayer

Pairing • Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Tags • toxic relationship, slapping, name calling, choking, rough sex, consensual sex

Wordcount • 2,765 words

This work contains domestic abuse. Both Aemond and his wife are abusive toward one another, they are physically violent and verbally abusive toward each other.

This lust is a burden that we both share; two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer. Souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt.

—David Kushner, Daylight

On that night a storm was wracking the great, crimson frame of the Red Keep. An air of sickness and decay had polluted the hallways and corrupted the minds of many—King Aegon was dying from his wounds, a slow death that kept everyone suspended to his every breath, starting with your husband Aemond.

For months now the whole court hung to the King’s every gasps and heaves, hoping for a sane word, for a sign that his health was improving.

But as lost as he was to the milk of the poppy the Maester supplied him lest he wailed in agony, his thoughts didn’t seem to stay on the right path and wandered to unstable lands. Aegon was utterly lost, and would never be able to rule again.

Instead the crown had passed to his younger brother Aemond, and even if at first he took on the burden with gratefulness and eagerness, he only grew weary as time went by.

You started to think that the Conqueror’s crown had some sort of dark magic associated with it, that it corrupted all it touched and leeched the spirits of the man who wore it.

You had convinced Aemond not to wear it for a fortnight, and for some foolish reason that had to do with his devotion to you, he had accepted. However it had borne no fruit, and Aemond still grew more sullen and quicker to anger.

You came to realize it wasn’t the crown, but the station—the realm was still at war, with no clear victor. The troops were exhausted as winter advanced, and some sort of stalemate had been reached when it came to political advantages and alliances.

Something had to give, somewhere, or they would remain stuck in this neverending conflict for years to come, and the weight of that responsibility fell on your husband’s shoulders.

As the storm was picking up speed and force outside, wreaking havoc on the dilapidated gardens, the windows of the small council room shook.

Late-night meetings were not a rare occurrence, but you hardly ever sat in them anymore. It was not that the subtleties of politics were lost on you, simply that you had grown weary of the men’s ease to resort to senseless violence, and the blindness it caused.

“We need to take Dragonstone if we are to succeed, your grace,” Lord Tyland offered, ever so certain of the validity of his own opinion. “If we cannot cut the monster’s head for now, we can at least crush its eggs.”

Aemond seemed to consider the proposal for a moment, and your stomach turned to stone. Feebly, you spoke up. “Surely you are not suggesting we assassinate Daemon and Rhaenyra’s young sons?”

“It might be our only way to gain advantage,” Aemond replied in a smooth, even tone. “No matter how distasteful it is.”

“Distasteful?” you gasped. “There is no strong enough word coming to my mind to describe the horror of what you are considering.”

“If you are not here to support his grace, perhaps you should retire to your chambers, my queen,” Tyland continued, and the insult felt like a slap to the face. You turned to Aemond, expecting him to come to your defense, but his next words crucified you to the spot instead.

“If those talks are too difficult for you, my wife, then it is best you retire,” Aemond said in what you could have considered tenderness once—now you only perceived it as a cold dismissal. “I will join you shortly.”

A heavy silence fell over the room as you swallowed your protest and your mounting tears, instead retreating with your head high. As you walked back to the chambers you shared with Aemond, which was uncommon for a royal husband and wife, hot tears stained your face and nausea curled your stomach.

You had only begun to settle your nerves again when the heavy doors to your chambers creaked loudly and Aemond entered, and the gentle slam of the door as it closed resonated in the silent rooms. Your back was to him but you refused to turn, frightened of what you would see on his noble features.

“Did you reach a conclusion?” you asked bitterly. “Did you order the murder of innocent children?”

“I did what I had to do,” Aemond replied placidly, and as you turned to look him in the eye, he witnessed the struggle of your heart. Time seemed to move differently across your face, as in a split second he saw your features contort into utter surprise, then confusion, only to settle on sorrow.

"Who are you," you whispered through your teeth as though you were seeing a ghost. "I don't recognize you anymore."

"Oh don't be ridiculous," he spat out in answer, his temper flaring quickly. He was exhausted and dreamed only of resting his weary head on your chest and finding comfort in your sweet embrace.

He hated how you had a flair for the dramatic, your emotions always spilling out—he had loved that quality about you in the first months of your marriage, as he had never seen anyone so joyful and passionate as you.

However war had tarnished you, as it had tarnished many other things he loved. Little by little your joy had faded into frustration rather than sorrow, and nothing he could do seemed to please you anymore.

"Oh but it is true," you thundered, your voice rising in the air as you clutched the sides of your dress, ready to pull your skirts up and flee his company. You could hardly seem to look at him these days, even less stand to breathe the same air as him. “I don’t recognize the man you’ve become.”

“Can we not leave the troubles of the realm outside, for once?” he asked, desperate for a moment of respite.

"How dare you. Night after night you come here, bearing nothing but your bitterness and I have to be silent and take it!" you shouted.

Aemond recoiled, a ragged breath leaving his mouth, strangely akin to a dragon's groan. When he had vowed to cherish and protect you before the Gods, you had in return vowed to love and obey him and never before had you put those vows into question. You had been the steel in his back all these months as he bore the heavy weight of the crown, and your resentment of him felt like the cruelest of betrayals.

"Well I have had enough of it!" you wailed as he failed to answer.

The sorrow of the last months escaped through a sob, but when the breath returned to your lungs there was nothing else to it but a pain that burned your stomach. Your insides twisted as it mounted in you and a strange sort of pleasure curled around your heart as you released your venom.

"You thought you could do it, couldn't you? And easily so," you sneered, a twisted smile tugging at your lips. "You thought that given the opportunity you could easily replace your brother on the throne but the truth is you are not cut out for it either!"

Aemond marched to you, determined to silence you and to have your submission but you were relentless. You rushed around the dinner table, still holding your skirts as though you could lift yourself up with them, floating above him as he was powerless to take the brunt of your anger.

"You were born a second son because you are not made to be the heir, to be the king!" you almost spat in his face as he rounded the table and came to tower over you.

"Enough of your insults!" he roared as you stepped back, your elbow colliding with the back of the chairs until you had circled the dining area completely and retreated into the reading nook of your chambers.

Aemond's handsome face was contorted in fury and you knew your words had cut him deeper than he would ever admit. You felt both sick to your stomach and utterly triumphant, a storm of contradicting emotions swaying you from left to right.

"Did you really think you could throw your insults and I would take them without answer? Did you really think you could anger the dragon and not get burned?" he thundered as you stumbled back, catching yourself on a nearby bookshelf. "Answer me, wife!"

Your answer came swiftly, but not in words—his cheek stung as you struck him across the face with the flat of your hand.

"You will pay for that," he growled, his sharp features twisting in utter fury.

You felt the scales tip and your advantage failed you. You knew Aemond's anger to be formidable, and you were distantly aware that his carefully composed demeanor hid a cruel sense of righteousness. What he deemed to be his he took mercilessly, and held a taste of revenge close to his heart.

In your sudden fear you raised your hand again, only crying out as he caught your wrist in his vice-like grip. "Release me at once!" you wailed.

"Not until you have paid for your offense," he declared.

"The only offense here is your weakness, your impotence," you taunted, but it was pure folly. “Your resort to senseless cruelty because it is the only weapon you possess!”

Your own trap had closed around you and you were now throwing yourself fully into it—you had fallen into the dragonpit, knowing full-well you could not climb out, and instead of curling into a corner you decided to face the dreaded fire.

Aemond fell for the bait as you knew he would, but instead of an answering slap to the face he pulled you by the wrists and spun you. Your breath was knocked out of your chest as your back collided with the writing desk, Aemond lifting you until you were lying flat atop it, your wrists pinned above your head.

“You have never witnessed senseless cruelty from me,” he rasped, his face coming closer to yours. In the dark of the stormy night his violet iris seemed pitch black. “But if that is all you think me capable of, then I shall not disappoint you.”

Before you could comprehend his words or reconstruct his line of thought, Aemond had grabbed a nearby letter opener and slid it under the laces at the front of your dress, effectively cutting through them and opening your corset. “Aemond, no!” you cried out, but even with only one hand he was strong enough to hold both your wrists.

He ignored you, the shadow of a grin pulling at his mouth as he threw the letter opener away and pushed one of your knees up, breathing through your attempted kicks like you were a mere feather struggling in his grip. You cried as he pushed your legs apart, and finding his way on your body with practiced ease, teased what he was about to do with a swipe of his thumb.

It had been weeks since he had shown any interest in touching you, and his gesture angered you rather than frightened you.

“Am I so cruel now,” his voice rumbled against your chest as he dipped his head, licking a trail across your exposed breast.

His hand retreated from your body and fiddled somewhere else between your splayed knees—you heard the sound of a belt coming undone, metal buckles clinking.

“Damn you! Damn you to the Seven Hells you pathetic—”

You cried out as he pushed into you in one, smooth thrust. He groaned aloud as he sheathed himself fully—you were tight, almost unbearably so, and he laughed as you struggled, bitter tears stinging the corner of your eyes.

"It hurts," you whined, and he pressed his victorious grin to your pleading mouth. "You are hurting me."

"No more than you hurt me," he hissed, his hand coming to grip your face viciously. He looked more gaunt in that moment than ever before; outside the storm was raging and as lightning struck, his sapphire seemed to glow for a split-second, startling you into submission.

Aemond pressed on the delicate column of your neck and you complied, parting your lips to catch some air. Instead his mouth descended on yours and you sighed as his cock dragged against the rough spot that made your core clench despite yourself, despite the burn of the sudden stretch. Burning pleasure swirled along with the stinging pain and you swallowed your moan, refusing it to him.

"Am I still so weak and impotent?" he asked as he thrusted into you relentlessly, making the desk rattle against the wall loudly.

"Yes," you replied through gritted teeth.

Finally, you freed your hands from his grip, suspecting he had let you go, curious of what you would do. To your own surprise you reached up and gripped his hair at the back of his head, forcing him to look at you—you knew how he hated to show his face when he was in the throes of pleasure, how conscious he was of the marks in his skin.

His protest came in the form of a rougher thrust that made you cry out in pain, and his grip tightened on your neck. You pulled his hair roughly and he snarled, his white teeth flashing as he choked the breath from your throat.

“You are weak and pathetic, and if you think I will take pleasure from your cruelty then you are wrong,” you sobbed with the last breath he allowed you before pressing forward again, making you heave.

“You love me,” he hissed. “You love me when I am tender, you love me when I am cruel.”

Tears stung your eyes once again and you tried to shake your head, to refuse him once again, but the heat of his embrace was the only comfort you had found in him in weeks, if not months. The familiar pull of his body was indeed a cruelty, as it was taunting you with your own ruin.

He stilled, buried in the cradle of your hips and buried in your soul, and you couldn’t find it in your heart to send him away. He breathed in rhythm with you, two mouths panting into the humid air of the evening, and you realized with startling clarity that he was waiting—for a refusal, for an insult, for proof that he was still the man you loved.

He trembled as you gasped, and his voice was as shattered crystal when he spoke again. “Would you truly refuse me now that you see me for what I am?”

His palm found the curve of your thigh and propped your leg up on his hip, his other hand letting go of your throat to seek more of your skin. His fingers trailed the curves and lines of your body, as though by mapping you he could find his way to himself again. War had bent him out of shape until he didn’t recognize himself, and he hoped an image still remained in your memory, in your heart—an image of the young man he’d been.

In that instant you were reminded of your vows, of your pledge to remain devoted to your husband through sickness, through trials and tragedies. In the way he was looking at you, fighting against your grip that pulled his face away from yours and back into your line of sight, you found an answer.

“Even in your greatest cruelty, you are still the man I married,” you murmured, and he swallowed your next words with greed and hunger. “I would rather love a monster than fear my own husband.”

Your fingers intertwined and you surrendered, dropping your head back onto the desk—as you looked up to the ceiling, a curtain of white fell around you as Aemond pressed himself up, crowding you. You wrapped your legs around his slim waist, your nails digging into this scalp, closing your eyes as you fell prey to the relentless rhythm of his passion.

“I shall love you, no matter how monstrous this war makes you,” you vowed, and your pledge was sealed as your back bowed and your neck extended, pleasure wracking you to the core.

In his cruelty hid his greatest tragedy—that of needing to find his purpose in fear, as love was harder to give and to keep, but fear came easily to the heart. He would never be a loved king, only ever a feared regent, but in this brief taste of power he would find his perdition, you knew, and you would fall along with him.

Dividers by @saradika

Thank you to my lovelies @thenameswinter99 and @whitedarkmoonflower for helping me with this fic. I appreciate you so very much ♥️

Taglist 1: @darkenchantress @bellameshipper @itscatlien-blog @yentroucnagol @castellomargot @cardi-bre91 @avengingangelfanfic @malfoytargaryen @mari0302 @iamfandomnerd @diosademuerte @hb8301 @serrhaewinn @mariannnavao @svtansdaddyx @its-sam-allgood @amarillys92 @namgification

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond one eye #hotd x reader #hotd x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #hotd x oc #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x reader

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marthawrites · 26 days

Note

Could you write smut for Aemond targaryen with the prompts 17,40,44,47,53 and 54 maybe with a targaryen reader? Just something gentle, sweet and soft <3 btw I’m talking abt this prompt list

I absolutely can! Apologies for making you wait since January for this. I hope you're still around to see (and, fingers crossed) enjoy it!

"Vok" (Perfect)

Aemond Targaryen x sister reader

Word count: 2.6k+

About: You and Aemond pledged to each other long ago. Tonight, beneath the blanket of darkness, you revel in each other's adoration.

Includes: SMUT. Featuring brother x sister incest, Aemond is soft but only to his little sister, dirty talk, female masturbation, guided masturbation, praise, unprotected vaginal sex, and a splash of breeding kink

Note: Hello lovely reader! It's been a hot minute since I've wrote Aemond - the posters and trailers have me going (affectionately) insane! Triple warning: this fic is brother x sister targcest. If you do not like that KEEP ON SCROLLING. This is my first time writing this dynamic. Reader is implied to have silver hair, pale skin, and purple eyes. Everything else is up to you! As always, I hope you enjoy this fic! ❤️

To the realm, Aemond Targaryen was the cruel prince. Aloof, stoic, unforgiving.

To the realm, he was an ambitious and willful young man who rode Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragon in the world–the same dragon who helped Queen Visenya conquer Westeros.

To the realm, he was the second son of King Viserys. And, as such, would play the game of nobility by putting duty above love–marrying outside of his Targaryen lineage to seed dragons further into the world.

To you, his little sister and second daughter of King Viserys, he was your protector.

Your secret.

A poorly kept secret in some corners of the castle; nosy servants and their obnoxious fucking tendencies. But, with Aemond’s less than idle threats about cutting the tongue out of anyone’s throat who would speak about it, it ended up being a well-kept secret.

The second son and second daughter of the Dragon King; who better to love, and cherish, and pledge to, than each other?

Aemond would sooner die than see you marry off to some lowly lord of a “great” House. You were the blood of Old Valyria. Everyone–no matter their feats–was lowly in comparison to you. And you, his sweet sister, deserved only the best.

Barely a year separated your ages. Neither of you remembered a life without the other.

Long before you gave your maidenhead to your brother you gave him your heart. And your heart he held.

The night was late. These dark hours were some of the only unadulterated times you had together. Aemond kissed you slowly, passionately, gently stroking along your cheeks with his thumbs as he did. You were tangled in his bed together. You, stripped down to only your shift, and him, stripped down to only his sleep trousers. One of your shift’s thin straps kept sliding down your shoulder, and each time it did Aemond’s warm mouth kissed over the smooth lovely skin. You panted soft sounds–each feminine simper jolting right to his cock–as he lavished you in affection.

“You’re kissing me silly, lēkia (brother). My head feels full of bees and I’m hot. So, so hot,” you whispered against his kiss-swollen mouth. “Will you not feel for yourself?” He hadn’t yet made a move to touch you where you really, truly, wanted him; something that had you whining and pouting. While his hands alternated between stroking your face and groping your body–waist, hips, thighs–yours were buried in his hair. It was all down and free. The silken sheet of it spilled over his shoulders, spilled over you, and you relished the feel of it inside your hands. Against your bare skin. “Please?”

“Please what, hāedar? (little sister)” He asked, voice mellow with just the right amount of rumble from his chest.

“Please touch me,” you answered, back naturally arching to press your soft body against the hard planes of his own.

Another low sound came from him. He pressed a warm, wide palm up the perfect curve of your back until he squeezed into the nape of your hair. “Such a pretty word from a pretty mouth. Have my kisses made you ache with need, byka zaldrīzes (little dragon)?”

“Yes.” The single word, its single syllable, rolled off your tongue before your brain even fully registered his question. You stared at him desperately. One eye was so beautiful; so ancient in its color and proclamation, just like your own. The other reflected faceted edges of the sapphire he wore in place of his missing eye. You didn’t know which was more enchanting.

“How long can you go, hm? Without me touching you?”

“W-what?”

He laughed. A rumble beneath his pale, taut chest. “How long before you succumb to madness by me not touching your perfect cunny?”

“Aemond…,” you whined. Pitiful. “Not much longer! Please, lēkia, I need you, please.”

A serpent’s grin curved his mouth and darkened his eye as he shifted positions with you. Now, he sat upright with his back against his headboard and pulled you to sit in front of him.

You nestled between his legs, your back flush with his chest, and his stiff cock rested against the small of your back. A blush bloomed beneath your cheeks. You knew lust ran as wild in his veins as it did in yours.

“Tell me, sweet sister…,” he started, whispering by your ear. Both his hands cupped and squeezed over your breasts. Their softness melted against his palms and he groaned at the sensation. Perfect. You were so fucking perfect. “Have you touched yourself to peak before?”

A stammer replaced the little mewl in your throat. “H-how do you mean?”

He laughed again, pinching your nipples. “Mm… are you sure?”

Lust and need and fire roared in your blood to the point of almost drowning everything else out. “I d-don’t understand,” you admitted. But, it was a lie. You knew what he meant. You could only hope he’d go easy on you so you wouldn't have to admit, prove, or say you knew what he spoke of.

“Why are you playing shy with me, hāedar? I think you know exactly what I mean. There is no shame in it,” he spoke sly, hands pushing the hem of your shift up until he held the material in a fist upon your abdomen. With his other hand he tugged your smallclothes down your bare legs, tossing them off. The flats of all his fingers ghosted over your exposed cunt. Testing you. Feeling you. He hissed an inward breath. “Fuck–”, he growled. “‘Tis a good thing I was born a prince. Gods know if I had this wet little cunt between my thighs I wouldn’t get anything done. Ever. For how often I’d fuck myself silly on my own fingers.”

Aemond’s vulgarity sent a coil of tension wringing in your belly. Slick arousal pooled hotter beneath his touch. Your clit throbbed–the little pearl silently screaming for attention. “Yes,” you breathed, shuddering.

“Yes, what?”

Your older brother wasn’t going easy on you. “Yes. I… I know what you speak of. And.. yes, I do. Sometimes…,” you admitted with a wave of embarrassment.

Somehow he grew harder against the small of your back. He throbbed. “Show me,” he demanded.

“What! Aemond, no. Please, please, please no. Don’t make me show you.” Mortification replaced your previous embarrassment. Yet, your spine quivered with another rush of liquid arousal.

“I would love nothing more than to see how you bring yourself pleasure. Do you think of me when you do, byka zaldrīzes?”

You nodded. Dizziness warbled your brain.

“Such a sweet perfect thing,” he cooed. He'd felt that nervous energy tense you. He also saw the exquisite thrum of your pulsepoint beneath your neck, too. Two sides of the same coin: carnal desire. When he spoke again it dripped with wicked passion. “Don’t be nervous, I'll guide you through it.”

It had been quite some time since you last brought yourself to climax all on your own. Aemond was always more than eager to give you pleasure. Tonight, however, something was different. Idly you wondered what it could be. Before you thought about it too much, Aemond guided your dominant hand to that delicate space between your thighs. You gasped at the sensation of your own touch. Torture never felt so divine. Your little bud sang as you circled it, rubbed over it. You sighed sweetly. “How did you make me so wet?”

It took controlled effort to not spill himself across your back at that very moment. “Spread your legs for me, princess. Let me see and hear what you’re doing.”

You obeyed. With your legs spread wider, now, it was all the easier to resume your previous motions. Flicking and rubbing over your bud felt divine–excited little sounds already spilled from your mouth. You ached inside, too, wanting–needing–to be stretched around something. The memory of Aemond's long fingers pumping into you while his thumb claimed your clit had your face hot. You couldn't reach those same spots he could. You bit your bottom lip, whimpering.

Aemond watched from above with a hungry lecherous eye. Beneath your shift he could see your breasts, slope of belly… and then further below, your creamy thighs spilled wide open. Fuck–he was so hard his back hurt. Your girlish sounds sent his desire blazing. “Your little clit is so achy, isn’t it? I know how much you like it played with,” he said by your ear. “Do you ever go inside?”

You nodded, allowing your head to fall back against his shoulder. You stayed on your pearl, still, legs tensing with bliss as it warmed and tingled your blood.

“Show me,” he growled again. “Be a good girl. And afterward? Don’t worry, I'll take care of you. Promise.”

Without hesitation you pushed two of your fingers into your warmth. Your body squeezed around the intrusion, inner walls flexing, trying to pull them in deeper. A gasped moan left your parted lips. “I-I’ve never done this before.” You’ve never shown anyone this before is what you meant. Aemond knew what you meant.

“I know. Shh… it’s okay, I'll guide you through it.” He gently touched the top of your hand and relished your little tendons flexing with the effort of your self pleasure. He pushed–coaxing your fingers deeper, silently urging you along. More.

Soon the wet sounds of your hand against pink swollen flesh mingled with your moans. Lewd. Dirty. You tried to stay quiet. You really did. But it felt too good, and Aemond’s hand on yours guiding you along had your toes curling. Of course he would help you. Of course he wouldn’t let you do it all on your own. “Aem..!,” you whimpered, hips rocking with your movements. “‘M close.”

“I got you,” he whispered, voice heavy.

As soon as your fingers found that little patch of hidden nerves along your walls, you weren’t able to hold on much longer. The bliss, all at once, became too much. Tension snapped in your belly as colors flashed behind your closed eyelids. Your legs trembled at the tip of your peak, and as you crested downwards Aemond held you tighter against him.

“Vok (perfect),” he said as he watched you. How perfect you were with your silver hair framing your face. How perfect you looked when ecstasy became too much. How fucking perfect your eyes were as they opened and locked on his, bright and glassy with excitement.

You carefully pulled your fingers free and began to turn around to face him. Before you could, however, he held you tighter against him. Confusion furrowed your brow and whatever you were about to say was cut off by his impatience.

“I’m greedy, byka zaldrīzes. Go on, one more time. I know you can do it. Show me again how you peak.”

Without arguing you again settled back against him. You planted your feet along the outside of his legs, spilling your thighs open wider than they were before. You angled your hips to the perfect position and this time a third finger joined your previous two. This time you fucked yourself without shame–not that you held on to it long in the first place.

Aemond all but snarled behind you, absolutely ravenous at the sight of three of your little fingers pumping and curling up into your body. He moved a hand downward, too, and the pads of those fingers worked over your clit in time with your pumps.

“Gods! Aem–!” You quivered against him. The addition of his lascivious attention had your hips squirming. Wanton moans, no longer trying to stay quiet, had your mind blanking. Nothing existed outside of you and Aemond. Nowhere existed outside of the spaces in which your bodies touched. Climax found you faster this time. Your second orgasm had you crumbling against him. Sweat sheened your brow. Your face bloomed. Sated. You were wholly sated.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Such a good girl. Giving me exactly what I wanted,” he kissed you, stealing your lips in a kiss that had you floating all over again. You could have fallen asleep right there in his arms and been the happiest thing in the realm. Breaking away, he added, “now I’ve a promise to make up to you, hm?”

Honestly, you’d forgotten about it. But, now that he mentioned it, your belly did a silly little flop.

With great care, Aemond moved from behind you and stood. Offering a hand to you, he said, “take your clothes off and lay on your back.”

And with that, you both finally shed the last pieces of your clothing.

Laying like he said, you leaned back on your elbows to prop yourself up to still see your brother. Spilled messy hair, tall lean body littered with nicked scars, sapphire eye on full display…hard cock blushed angry red with need. They say Targaryen’s are closer to Gods than men, and with the hearth’s orange light reflecting on his ivory form, you believed him to be a God.

Aemond thought the same about you as you laid there bathed in the moonlight and hearthlight.

“Spread your legs for your lēkia, I want to see you.”

As soon as you did–proudly showing off the slick mess of two climaxes, Aemond pumped along his rigid length. Despite butterflies twirling in your belly, your smile up at him was purely feline.

To Aemond’s credit, his voice only broke slightly when he said, “get on your hands and knees.”

You did. You dipped your spine as low as it could comfortably go, propping your ass up for him. As much as he loved fucking you with your legs wrapped around his waist, you knew he loved this position, too. “Māzigon va, lēkia (come on, brother),” you purred. “Keep to your promise.”

In an instant one of his hands squeezed harshly into the fat of your hip while the other spread the meat of your ass apart. He planted one foot firmly on the bed, and the other stayed rooted on the ground. The position gave him more leverage, and power, and control as he loomed above you. With a flex of his entire abdomen he pushed forward; the hot stretch of your body around him had both of you gasping. “I plan on leaving a babe in your belly tonight, hāedar. That way mother will have no other choice than to wed us,” he groaned, pulling backwards only to snap his hips against the smooth underside of your cheeks once again. And again.

You fisted the sheets as Aemond fucked you. You moaned your delight at his words, nodding. “Yes, please,” you panted. “Faster,” you begged.

His thrusts were precise and brutal. The slap of your smacking skin was utterly depraved and you hated–no, loved–how it made you impossibly wetter. Aemond did too. “Already squeezing around me? Fuck–I’m not going to last much longer,” he said, strained.

You began to push back against him, meeting his thrusts halfway with a frenzied need to make him release. “Fill me. Fill me up, Aem,” you still begged, breathing heavily.

He rutted against you with the same need–a primal haze taking over as his stones began to tighten. His fingers dented firmly into your flesh as he continued plunging in and out of you. Instinct to spill his seed built by the moment and soon he became sloppy. He grunted and growled, and with a final shove–cock buried as deep as it could be inside your walls–he spent against your body’s end. Pulse after mighty pulse emptied his spend into you. Stray strands of hair stuck to a sheen of sweat upon his forehead.

You joined him in peak; left boneless and exhausted after three orgasms. Even at the top of your bliss, and his, he never eased until you were both done.

Aemond pulled his softening length out from you and urged you to fall forward upon his bed. You followed his motion and happily laid there. Naked, glowing, and full. You reached a hand out to pull him to you. “Avy jorrāelan (i love you).”

Aemond easily settled next to you, scooping you into him. “Avy jorrāelan tolī (i love you too),” he said between slow, satisfied kisses.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

To be added or removed from the taglist, hit me up!

Masterlist

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @targaryen-dynasty @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @schniiipsel

Aemond taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9 @bellaisasleep @aemondsblog @khaleesihel @sirenofavalon @doublesparrows @aemonds-fire @nikstrange @abbyandizzysmum @rafeism @lost-and-founds @castellomargot @avidreader73 @snh96 @boofy1998 @connorsui

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond request #aemond imagine

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just-some-random-blogger · 1 month

Text

The Salt In My Blood

You were the beloved Jewel of the Realm, the youngest Targaryen born to Alyssa and Baelon. Though your nature resembled more a lamb rather than a dragon, you posed a threat at court, for a single word out of your mouth inspired a thousand actions from The King and The Rogue Prince. Thus, your match with the Lord of the Iron Islands.

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader x Dalton Greyjoy | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, targcest (sister!reader), reader has valyrian features (silver hair, violet eyes), power imbalance, graphic depictions of violence/assault/murder/death, canon divergence/inaccurate timelines, ye old misogyny, fuckedupedness of men, smut (dub con, loss of virginity, piv, biting, marking, breeding kink, corruption kink, baby trapping, cockwarming, cunnilingus), internet translated high valyrian, angst, social commentary, typos, etc.

A/N: !!mind the warnings!! This is really yucky because it is. all men do is hurt women. Also I did basic research for Dalton Greyjoy and just used him cuz I needed a character. idk what he's actually like and I'm 99% sure this timeline doesn't add up so, just roll w it ok? Ok. If my internet translated high valyrian sucks, well, it be like that. And surprise surprise i made another song for a fic because i should make use of my music degree while im jobless 💔 my heart goes out to @arabellasleopardcoat because her fic capital really poked my brain and got me fired up enough to write/create again, even if just for this fic. i love you.

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @thebullship @sa3losa @sloanexx @azperja @happilyhertale

Father, father, shining star, save my brother from the war. Mother, mother, hold me close. I fear brother won't come home. So, I pray, night and day, I do my duty here. Find me, oh [a] husband, so fierce with not a fear. Father, father hears my prayer. Mother, mother dries my tears. All my strife ends tonight for my husband's here.

"But what if someone sees," you whisper.

Daemon clutches your hand tighter as you hurry down the hall. He looks over to you, your expression matches your shaky voice.

Perhaps, had the conditions been different, he'd be softened by your words. The ferocity of his protectiveness would have made him stop in his footsteps and clutch your cheek. Perhaps he would have promised to safeguard you.

But these conditions did not elicit such urges from him. No. It stoked the fires bacchanal in his gut. The stolen taste of your honeyed lips in the garden was not enough.

Daemon finally brings his darling sister into his bedroom, and there, he answers you, "who would dare spy on the king's heir, the prince of the realm?"

Your breath quickens at the sound of your brother locking the door.

The prince of the realm stalks over to you, a dragon gazing upon a meek lamb.

Again, you whisper, "what if someone finds out?"

Daemon could growl. He almost did as he grabs your waist and sinks his head into the crook of your tender neck. You don't even react when he does this, save for your gasp.

Oh, how like you, how docile and doe-like, never one to raise your voice, or fight back, especially not with him.

"Let them find out, sister," he claws your clothing, "then they will not steal you from me."

You are so pliant as he squeezes you, so soft as he roughs you back to his bed. You let him handle you like he did your dolls growing up. He treated them with less than a quarter of the gentleness you would,; they'd end up tattered and broken because of him by the end of your playing session, much to your heartbreak.

Though you cried about it, you never once held it against him, because each time, Daemon would wipe your tears and apologize. He liked breaking your dolls. He liked being your comfort.

He knew without a sliver of doubt you'd let him do the same to your body. You'd let him break you, then kiss the tears off your cheeks. You'd let him, for he was your star, and you were his doll.

Daemon presses you beneath him. He lays you down where he sleeps. He kisses you, the way he has sometimes imagined he would while touching himself, or while in the arms of another. His long, silver hair falls cascades down his shoulder, joining your long, silver hair that's spilled on his pillows.

For so long, he's denied himself of you, because you were too pure, too darling to be tainted.

You whimper as he pushes your skirts up, bunching them by your ribs.

But now, it's all different.

His mouth suckles his way to your neck.

"Daemon."

Now, it's not about denial. It's about what's right. It's about what you deserve.

"Daemon-" you whimper when he reaches into the waistband of your smallclothes, "-wait."

He breathes hotly against your jaw. His hands grab your knees and parts them for himseld

You push his shoulders back, catching his attention. He is displeased, and not even your glassy eyes could quell it. He warns you with an annoyed sound.

You gulp but mutter anyway, "this is wrong."

"Wrong?!" snaps he.

You tense at his anger, yet even then, you caress his cheek gently, "I am to be married to Lord Dalton Greyjoy."

"And you would have me believe you want him?" Daemon quips, "that you do not want me?"

You push yourself up on your elbows. Tears begin to spill down the corner of your eyes, "Daem-"

"Why do you think I am doing this?" He pushes himself against your core.

You whimper at the contact. He is hard.

He grabs your wrists and pins them to your sides, "I do this for your sake, little girl. To save you from your prison."

You gulp and blink rapidly, your silver lashes lace with tears.

The slightest semblance of remorse flashes on your brother's face.

With your head lifted, you watch as Daemon brings his hands to your ankles instead. He rids you of your shoes and chucks them over his shoulder.

Slowly, he strips you naked until you are left in nothing but the jewelry and the stockings he bought you one before.

You cover your breasts, and he lets you while he kneads at your slightly parted thighs.

His eyes are glued on your womanhood, on the curls that don't see the light of day and the flesh that's never been touched by a man.

Daemon clenches his jaw as his fingers inspect the heat there. The two digits find molten wetness flooding your entrance. You make a breathless sound and squeeze your thighs, trying, with pointless effort, to stop him. His eyes flick to your face, the look of embarrassment, of shock, of pleasure visible to him. He debates forcing your legs.

He licks his you-coated fingers and tuts instead, "open."

You look at him, your Daemon, with the faint line between his brows. You close your mouth and lick your lips. Your hands find their way back to your breasts.

The sight is maddening, especially with how the jewel of your necklace looks between the squished mount of flesh.

"Open," he commands with less patience.

Daemon watches his darling princess part her legs for him. His trousers strain more than it did already.

He watches you closely and motions with a finger, "those too."

You do not immediately comply. In fact, you look at Daemon with pleading eyes. He raises his brows at your bratty demeanor, and shakes his head, "are you disobeying me?"

You see the threat in his eyes.

"Kessa nyke mazverdagon ao rūnagon aōha dīnagon?" Shall I make you remember your place?

You shake your head and pipe softly, "daor." No.

Finally, you reveal your breasts to him.

He smirks, "good girl."

Your brother kneads your delicate flesh and grinds his clothed groin against your weeping cunt. The sound you emit makes the feel of the clothes on his skin unbearable.

His grabs your hands and places them on his waistband. He looks down at you as he rids himself of his top. By the time his burning chest is free, you've gotten half the wits to undo his breeches.

His eyes don't leave you as he takes off his shoes.

You timidly pull his pants down, sitting up slightly as you do. You make a soft sound when his manhood flings free. Daemon shoves you back and does the rest himself.

"Daemon. I don't think-"

Your voice is crushed by the feel of his cock sliding into you. A rush of heat ripples through your body. He leans down and kisses your shoulder as you whine.

"Enough," he pants. He uses all his restraint not to fuck you dumb then and there. He grabs your thighs, pressing them into your chest. He can feel your tension. If he fucks you now, he could leave you unable to walk straight. But as sweet as that sounds, he doesn't actually want to hurt you, not that way.

Daemon sinks down to your jugular and kisses you there before he brings his hungry mouth to your breast. He sucks and nips, imagining it being heavy with milk for his babe, the babe he'd put into your belly.

The thought makes his moan and rut his hips.

You make a strained sound and your hands to push his arms. You call his name again, soft and shaky.

Daemon tries to ignore you, his hand coming to your lonely breast on the other side, but the persistent call of his name makes his sigh.

He lightly grazes your nipple before he releases your flesh. He trails kisses up your skin until he lands on your face, your face, which was now wet with salt.

"You need to relax. Mmm?" he coos, kissing your lips, "skoro syt gaomagon ao limagon? Hm?" Why do you cry?

You adjust beneath him, repositioning your thighs, digging your fingers into his nape. You whimper, "lēkia."

Daemon's belly burns. Look at you, crying for your older brother.

"Kessa, ñuha hāedar?" Yes, my little sister?

"Iksan zūgagon," you mutter, tears streaming down your temples. Your nails scratch up his scalp. I am afraid.

Daemon, selfish as he is, does not like the fact that leaves your lips. His brows furrow. He rubs your thighs in an attempt to comfort you. He kisses the corner of your lips, "hen lēkia?" Of your older brother?

You shake your head quickly, rubbing your thumb on his jaw.

His brows furrow tighter. His hold on your thigh tightens, "hen bona Āegenka Āzma?" Of that Iron Born?

You stay still. You take a moment before mumbling, "Viserys said I should marry him for my own good-"

"Fuck that cunt Viserys," he spits angrily.

Your lips quiver.

The anger in Daemon's chest dissipates as you rub the deep line between his brows. He props himself up, sinking a hand by the side of your head. He looks down at you.

"You cannot protect me forever," you whisper, finally relaxing beneath him.

Daemon watches as you lick your lips.

You gulp, "I am a Targaryen princess. I have duties to the realm, to my family."

"Your duty is with me," he grabs your hand, bringing it to his chest.

Your violet eyes sparkle as you examine his features. You tuck the long tresses that block his face behind his ear. Your belly ignites at the fierce beauty of your beloved brother.

"I burn for you," Daemon says, "I know that you burn for me."

"But Daemon-"

The gentle thrust of his hips stifle your words.

"Enough," Daemon repeats this time softer, head sinking back into the crook of your neck, "you have always belonged to me, and you know it."

You whimper and instinctively mold your body against him. Your legs tighten around his torso as his thrusts grow more and more confident.

Daemon kisses you, delighting in the gasp you give when he plays with your pearl. He muffling the sound of your mewls with his mouth.

"They insult us all by daring to mix dragon blood with fucking sea squid," he pants, "you were meant to carry my seed, be my bride."

You moan, feeling a foreign force in your belly.

"I will not let that sewer monster be the one to make you a woman," Daemon licks a stripe up your neck.

You tangle your fingers into the roots of his hair, "Daemon."

His nails scratch up your sides, "twas I that watched you blossom into womanhood, tis I that should be the one to take it."

Neither of you speak after he says this. You both simply whimper, wordlessly agreeing your bodies were made for each other.

The prince had not a single care in the world. He urges you to scream out to him with the flick of his pelvis. He didn't care if anyone could hear, neither did he care that anyone would see the viscious marks he was leaving all over your throat.

You were better than he had ever imagined, and he was determined to make you his. He was intent on emptying his balls in you, over and over again, until you could take no more, until you were too exhausted to leave, until your body had no other choice but to carry him a child.

And when he finally does spill into you, coming with a grunt and a soft, "you're mine," you, the virgin princess finally understand the fuss over sex, and reply to him with an, "I love you."

Daemon fucks you until his bed is soiled with a mix of your come. He fucks you until every minute movement from him makes you shiver and whine. He fucks you until your skin is marked with tender bites. He fucks you until you beg for respite, and then he keeps himself inside you after.

You were a worn little thing, and yet you managed to have the energy to still cling to him as you dozed off.

He kisses your temple and sleeps soundly, knowing he's done it; he's made you his. That was irrefutable. Only a madman would deny him of you now. He basks in the pleasure of your body, and in the knowledge his baby sister so wholeheartedly trusted in him to let him do this.

One can only imagine, then, the mortified horror you felt when you were given to Lord Greyjoy anyway.

This was not part of the plan. You were meant to meet Daemon. He told you you were going to speak to the king together, and yet here your eldest brother was, ushering you towards your captor-husband to be.

"My princess," Dalton says, reaching a hand to you.

You stare at his glimmering eyes, finding nothing but malice and lust behind them. You turn to your brother for help. You do not want to touch this man.

Viserys offers you none and looks away. It hurts when he does so, especially since he does so with such apparently scorn. He smiles at the man, "greet your lord. You will soon be wed to him, sister."

You muster enough artificial interest to smile and take the man's hand. Goosebumps form on your skin when he kisses the back of your hand.

He notices and chuckles, rubbing where he kissed, "such demureness. Do not be frightened of me, my dragon. I would not hurt such a pretty thing."

You clasp your hands together after he releases you.

"Not unless you ask," he adds, bursting into a laugh.

Neither you or Viserys return the amusement. In fact, the latter's face contorts at the distasteful joke. His nostrils flare, "you dare jest such uncouth things in front of your king?"

Dalton Greyjoy is unbothered, but stifles his laughter. He clears his throat and bows, "my apologies, my king. Tis the Ironborn in me. I cannot help my nature, much like you cannot help yours."

You feel light headed the entirety of this interaction. The room feels like it was closing in on you, and you kept glancing at the door, praying that your other brother free you from this torment.

He does not do so. He does not come. In fact, you do not see Daemon anywhere the entire day.

Dalton keeps you by his side, taking your arm in his as he makes you stroll him around the Red Keep. You do so, of course, no matter how strong the urge to run away and hide from him was. The entire time, Dalton recounts his stories of battle, his stories at sea, his stories of life. He's sincere enough, but you are not interested in the slightest.

"I think you'd enjoy the feel of sea salt against your skin, just as much you enjoy the whip of the clouds," he grins with genuine enthusiasm.

Any response you have is put out by his next words.

"I can introduce you to my salt-wives."

"Salt-wives?"

"Aye," he says proudly, "I'd say I have about twenty, but I cannot assure you its accuracy."

You are horrified. Finally, you have the gall to pull away, "what?"

Dalton chuckles, somehow amused, but his brows furrow, as if irritated, "we Ironborn keep salt wives in our ships, to give us comfort and warmth when the sea gets too rough. Is this princess so sheltered to not know this?"

You curdle when he reaches for your neck.

"You needn't be jealous. You'd be my one and only rock wife."

You scowl at his condescending tone, "I thought that was just a wives' tale."

He laughs. It is rich, amused, and foreboding. He shakes his head, "it's about as much of a wives' tale as your dragons are, princess."

Later that night, you weep at the king's feet, begging him not to marry you off to such a man.

Viserys does not hear it, and it is only then that Daemon finally appears.

When he does, it's as if the gods themselves breathed life into you. Quickly, you run into him and sob into his chest.

Daemon holds you tightly and glares at the king, "what have you done to her?"

Viserys scoffs. The dark room, illuminated only by the fireplace and a few lit candles, feels to him like it's darkened because of Daemon. He shifts where he sits, "I? I found her a husband."

Daemon's eye twitches, "you gave her to me! You said it just this morning."

You look up at Daemon, hopeful at the sound of his words.

"I said I would think about it once you report your patrol at the City Watch to me."

Daemon releases you to impose on his brother, "I kept your city clean from crimes and safe for the people."

"And where did you go after?" Viserys narrows his eyes.

You rub your arms as you watch your brothers argue.

Daemon does not respond.

Viserys turns to you, "tell your beloved sister where you went after your patrols."

Daemon does not move.

Your chest tightens at the silence, "... Daemon."

The said man opens his mouth, "I went to get a dri-"

"A whorehouse!" Viserys blurts, rising from his seat to glare at Daemon. He turns back to you, pushing past him, "I would know. I paid every whore in Fleabottom to seduce him."

Your heart leaps into your mouth, "w-what?"

Daemon is stunned.

"See now," Viserys is close enough to clutch your cheeks, "your beloved brother is a man like all the rest. No more is the dragon righteous than the kraken."

Your eyes begin to fog with tears. Your hands begin to tremble. Why was he doing this to you?

"Greyjoy is no less a dog than the rest of us. He at least, is honoring a tradition. Daemon honors only his cock."

You turn to Daemon, hoping to find this was not the case, but his expression says it all. Youlet a pained whimper, "you teach me so cruelly, brother."

"I teach you," he swipes your tears with his thumbs, "for your own good."

"You fucking--"

You scream in terror as Daemon lunges at Viserys. You reel back and watch as the two crash down to the floor, the younger of the two finding the upper hand. They roughly struggle against each other.

It only takes another scream from you, begging them to stop, for the kingsguards to burst into the room.

You can no longer stay screaming when Daemon grabs Viserys by the collar and slams him repeatedly against the ground, especially not when Viserys claws at Daemon's face to get him off. You dash forward just as the guards order the prince to stop.

You grab Daemon's arm, and out of instinct, he swats you back, hand hitting your nose with rage powered force.

You shoot back into a kingsguard, feeling your face throb in pain.

It takes Viserys screaming your name for Daemon to stop.

The impact of hitting the armored man makes your back twinge, but it does not hurt nearly as much as the back handed hit you received from your brother.

The kingsguard catches you and stands you upright. He quickly asks if you are alright, but doesn't wait for an answer because he then shoves Daemon back, putting himself between him and you when he tries to come near.

Daemon glares in offence.

"Throw him in the fucking dungeon," Viserys spits out as he is helped up by another guard.

Daemon fights back, but is no match against three guards.

He screams your name as he is dragged off.

You clutch your face as he tells you he didn't mean to hit you. You face throbs as he tells you he loves you, and only you.

For once, you doubt his words.

Viserys comes to your side, placing a gentle hand in your shoulder. You watch as he commands a servant to get something for your hit.

He clutches your cheek that was struck and sighs, "if you wed the Red Kraken, you will strengthen our hold on the Iron Lands. Dalton Greyjoy is a formidable warrior. I couldn't think of a more capable man to safekeep the Jewel of the Realm."

As he stroked your hair, you realized that Viserys was right. It didn't matter who it was, all men were the same. When your septa warned you of men's depravity, you believed your brothers to be the exception. Now, you knew exactly why you were called-

"Little lamb," Viserys coos, "I only want what is best for all of us."

You were too naive to believe in good things.

And so you marry Dalton Greyjoy the next day.

The haste with which the wedding is prepared is to prevent you from changing your mind, you figured. That, and to keep Daemon in prison for the least amount of time.

Part of you wanted to visit him, but part of you wanted him to suffer. In the end, you realized you were too weak to behold your brother as a prisoner.

Daemon screams and bangs at his bars, demanding he be released. But the prison guards have handled worse and throw cold water at him to shut him up.

He knew by the time he was free, he would be too late to stop your marriage, but still, he meticulously planned what he would do the moment he was.

That night, after the wedding festivities were over, Dalton takes you to your room and makes you his wife.

"It's been a while since I've had a virgin," Dalton says, caressing your cheek, "don't worry, I will be gentle."

You want to scream, you want tofight him back, but you remember you're not a virgin, and fear paralyzes you. You mumble, "m-my dragon riding."

Dalton pushes back bour silver hair and kisses your shoulder.

You can't help but think of Daemon in this moment, but it makes you feel sick, and so you will him out of your head. You mumble again, "my dragon riding may taken my womanhood."

Dalton pulls away and stares at you for a moment.

"I- I was told as a child, it happened to many Targaryen princesses."

He pulls his hands, which were on your hips, away then shoves you down on your bed. He smirks as he undoes his clothing, "then I can be rough with you, aye?"

You quiver at his gaze.

He laughs, shaking his head, "didn't I say I would not hurt you? Unless under your request?"

You push inch back as he crawls over. He grabs your ankle, then the other, causing you to panic. You instinctively kick him off, but instead of being deterred, he is excited.

"Sh, sh, sh," he hushes, "it will not be unpleasant, my dragon."

Your skin pricks with gooseflesh when he removes your shoes, your socks, and sneaks his hand up your skirt.

You whimper and turn away, finding you could no longer kick back when he seizes your knees.

"Please-"

"Shhh," he hushes, giving you the first solemn look he has this entire day he's been smug, "I've had much practice from my salt wives. You, my rock wife, will taste the fruits of my practice... as I taste you."

You gasp when he suddenly rips your underwear off.

" I swear to you, your body will enjoy it, even if your mind wants you to believe otherwise."

You muffle your mouth with your palm when you feel Dalton sink in between your thighs.

He was right.

The entire time he touches you, it feels like your skin was being scorched. Your heart was not in it, but your body twisted in pleasure. You hated that you longed for Daemon, even after the fact you were not enough for him; he was still the only one you still, and this moment proved it.

You were brought to tears at how pathetic it was. Tears streamed as you reached your peak, one of the many you receive from your... husband.

He handled you with carnal instinct, just as Daemon did, but unlike him, Dalton did not kiss your tears. In fact, he did not kiss your face once. It is you that initiates such a thing, amidst the throes of your lewd pleasure. He grabs your jaw when your lips connect, and quickly releases his load into you after.

Your peak is cut short because he pulls out just when you reach it.

You watch as he rolls over and goes to sleep without another word.

The next morning, the servants call you Princess Greyjoy and it haunts you.

"No need to look so sullen, wife," you hear over your shoulder.

If the cold from the early morning wasn't enough to make you shiver, the kiss on your shoulder was.

The ship rocks as you tear your gaze away from King's Landing, King's Landing that looked so tiny now from where you stood. A sea of tears laid between you and the home that will never be yours again. You turn to Dalton. He leans his elbows on the edge of the ship and looks up at you, "we can do many things to liven your mood."

You watch him as he rubs your hips. Your stomach curdles but you manage to offer a smile, "I... am flattered, but I do not want to distract the captain of this ship."

Dalton chuckles and straightens up, "trust me. The crew would appreciate it if you did."

You squeak when he yanks you into him.

"Right boys?!" he calls loudly, "shall I make a salt wife out of my rock wife?!"

The crew cheers and it makes your skin burn in mortification.

The next thing you know, you are thrown over his shoulder. He slaps your ass and takes you to his quarters. The crew laughs as he does.

You helplessly grunt when he drops you on his bed-- your shared bed. You silently peer up at him as he stares at you. You are releived he paces across the room, towards his table. He grabs something and chucks it at you. You flinch but manage to catch it.

He sits on the table as you inspect the pouch. You open it, finding herbs inside.

"I heard you've been drinking that," he says.

You look up at him.

"Haven't you?" he asks.

You smell it and wretch. It smells exactly like-

"Moon tea," Dalton says, making your blood run cold, "for the bastard in your belly.*

You are frozen in your spot. Your stomach drops when he stands and walks over. He grabs your chin. It is not harsh, but it strikes fear in you anyway.

"I asked you a question, wife."

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

"HAVE YOU BEEN TAKING THE FUCKING TEA OR NOT?" he screams, grabbing your neck.

Your hands fly to his grip. Your fingers attempt to pry him away.

You wheeze when he squeezes you. Your flail your legs and try to kick him off. You can't. Just as your vision begins to go dark, he releases you. You fall onto the bed and frantically try to catch your breath. You cough and hear him smash things around the room.

As so you behold the man who said he would not hurt you unless you asked him, brutalize the furniture.

You think your chances are better in the sea rather than on this boat. You slowly maneuver towards the door while he is distracted. Just as you are about to sprint, he grabs you and throws you back down on his bed.

"You stupid slut!" he screams, "you think you can run?!

You try to scream for help, but the pain in your throat when you try to stops you. Not a second later, you scream anyway.

He slaps you across the face, promptly silencing you. The sting is ten times worse than what Daemon did.

"I was promised a Targaryen princess, not some whore of a dragon!" he screams, kicking the chair by his desk across the room. He laughs angrily, shaking his head, "dragon riding, my arse."

Your heart drops as he storms over, "who's the father of your bastard child?!"

Indistinguishable sounds leave your lips.

"ANSWER ME!" he demands, grabbing your shoulders, dragging you to your feet. Your head recoils at the sheer force of it. You take a moment to steady your head.

Your eyes search Dalton's enraged features, hoping to chance upon a sliver of compassion... in vain. The sound that leaves your mouth is response to the bruising squeeze of your arms. You cannot help but whimper as tears stream down your cheeks, "you're hurting me."

He is further angered by this. He gives you a powerful shake. Your head lashes back again and you scream.

"Give me a name!" erupts the lord.

You no longer have it in you to hold your tongue, and so you confess, "Daemon!"

Dalton releases you. He is repulsed, "your brother?" He scoffs, "you revolting, little worm," he slaps you across the face, making you lose your balance.

Before you crash into anything, he grabs you again and keeps you upright. You can feel your cheek and lips swell at his assault.

"And here they had me believing you were some meek lamb," he laughs dryly, brushing your hair back, "you're nothing but a whore, grown from perversion and abomination."

Your expression hardens. You glare at him and rebut, though your head was pounding, "and your sea rituals are more righteous than my family traditions?"

Without another word, Dalton shoves you back, propelling you into his desk. Your skull crashes against the edge with a horrendous thud.

You fall limp onto the floor. Dalton cares little if you were dead or unconscious. He walks out of the room right before he can witness the red staining your white hair.

Dalton is no fool. He knows better than to disfigure a Targaryen princess.

He walks towards the wheel of the ship and continues the course to what his crew believed to be a shortcut to home. In truth, he was bringing the ship to its doom, to face you with with a trail of the sea.

He would crash the ship into a chokehold of rocks, and if you survived, if he found your floating body, he would keep you, as you proved your resilience. But if you were swallowed into the depths, if he was unable to find you in the debris, he would praise the Drowned god for your riddance.

The same want with his crew.

Of course, there was a bit of this that felt like suicide, but he knew he was too vengeful to die, so he knew he had nothing to fear.

When the Greyjoy ship finally reached the rocky pass, Dalton was promptly warned of the danger by his lookout, who he obviously ignored.

He ordered to hoist the sails, and, blindly, the crew followed, even through apparent worry.

It didn't take very long after for the ship to crash into the cliffs.

The crew clamors. They scream and panic, turning to their captain that could not care less. He pretends to steer them to safety, but he actually slammed them further into their demise.

The deck begins to crumble. The mast snaps. The sails break off. Dalton calls to abandon ship.

The crew don't need any more convincing.

One by one, each man for their own, they try to escape with their life.

By the time Dalton jumps off the ship, the thing is half submerged in the water, crumbs of it on the side of a rock.

It was pure chaos.

Dalton swims far enough from the destruction, and knows the gods smiled upon him and his decision when he sees a large wooden slab he can climb on.

He does just that and looks out to his crew, helping the ones that manage to swim over, commanding the others calling for help to simply swim or drown.

He looks around, trying to make out a body of a woman, a blob of a dress, a head of silver hair in the aftermath.

"My wife," he screams, "has anyone seen my wife?!"

He wasn't concerned, of course. He just wanted to know his fate as a husband, but this did make for a good alibi.

His surviving men look and swim around for you. They find no trance.

Dalton presses his lips, "little dragon couldn't fly away."

They take refuge in a cliff. Lord Greyjoy tells his crew not to bitch and panic because they will surely be found by a passing ship soon enough.

He had planned this shipwreck after all.

By the time Dalton and his remaining men were saved, a flash of red circled in the setting sky, hovering over the massive rock that held the shipwreck that bore the sigil of Greyjoy.

Caraxes screeches as his rider commands him to get closer to the scene. The dragon hesitates but eventually lands on the cliff. Waves crash upon the area, causing the beast to bleat when he is wet.

Daemon is frantic as he gazes upon the destruction. He is distressed unlike he's ever been. His voice is distinctly desperate and hysterical. He screams out your name, even though it was nothing against the roar of the splashing waves.

He heaves heavily as he erratically decides to dismount and jump into the water.

As he wades, he tries to convince himself that what he was doing was for naught. Perhaps you were not here to begin with. But the gut feeling was overwhelming; it was sickening.

He tries to believe that bottom feeder, Greyjoy, saved you before his ship crumbled. He tries to convince himself that cunt's lust for you was enough reason to keep you alive.

But he remembers the servant he threatened with a knife whilst demanding to know which route your ship would take. He thinks of how he almost shit himself while confesssing to Daemon that Greyjoy planned to pass through a rocky region as a shortcut. But Daemon's flown over that area, and knew it was out of the way to the Iron Islands.

After squeezing out what's left from that servant, Daemon's face falls when he mentions that rusted octopus had an argument with a servant girl that came to serve the princess a cup of tea.

Daemon was no fool. Dalton was a butish barbarian. If he found out you were drinking Moon Tea, he would do his worst on you for blemishing his pride.

And so he swam. Daemon swam, dove down, and searched for your body until he had to stop because Caraxes was getting restless. He commanded him to calm down, but he could only do it so many times until he, himself, was the same.

He eventually gets back on Caraxes. Daemon can't bring himself to leave just yet however, and finds himself praying to whatever god out there to return his love back to him.

Caraxes circles the area one last time before heading off. For some reason, Daemon feels the urge to check underneath a large slab of shattered wood. He commands his mount to lift it, and the dragon screeches as he does what he can with his hind legs.

The sound that leaves the prince's mouth is what could be described as pure anguish.

A head of silver hair floats up and wafts in the water along with a tattered dress. Your body garnered a horrid tone of grey and you were missing your shoes.

Daemon cannot contain the tears that gush out of his eyes.

Caraxes carries your body in his claws all the way to the Keep.

The way in which he commands his ride to set your body down is frantic and incredibly detailed. Part of him realizes Caraxes probably recognized you, considering the way he laid on his belly and sniffed you as Daemon buckled to his knees and lamented over your stiff and frigid body.

He speaks to you in High Valyrian. His salty tears drip on your salt water drowned body. He promises he will never trick you, never argue with you, and never make you cry ever again if only you open your violet eyes.

He rocks back and forth with you in his arms, unsure which of you he was soothing by doing this.

He swears he will turn the sea red with blood and burn the whole Iron Islands to avenge you.

He is incredibly uncomfortable of the chill of your skin. He shakes his head, telling you dragons must not be kept cold. He kisses your face in an attempt to warm it up. He recounts a time where you accidentally spilled candle wax on him, burning his skin, and tells you that you still need to make up for your offence. He tells you he will forgive you if you simply hold him back.

Viserys had to account for three dragons by the time he found out what was happening, one was Daemon, whose grief morphed into murderous spite. He threatened to slay anyone who wanted to take you from him. Not again. Another was Caraxes, who refused to leave his heartbroken rider's side. The last was your dragon, who felt the loss of your connection, and went into a rabid state mourning.

It takes 5 people to secure your dragon in the pit, 5 people to subdue Caraxes, and 3 people to separate Daemon from your corpse.

The king takes a moment to clutch your hand. His face flinches. Where once your hand was so warm, no warmth now remained. He steps back and watches the maesters cover your body and take you away.

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