#he's so real hahaah | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

just-some-random-blogger · 2 years ago

Text

Truly, Madly, Deeply

Daemon Targaryen, Viserys Targaryen, Otto Hightower x Targ!Reader + with a hint of Aemma x Reader

Summary: This follows the five (and a half) accounts you, the princess, get ravished by your immensely loyal subjects.

Word Count: 20k+

Warnings: fem!reader, twin!reader, targcest (brother fucker), aged up!everyone, pwp that spiraled out of control, so much smut (masturbation [fic literally opens w it], voyeurism, threesome [f/f/m, f/m/m], vaginal penetration, dom/sub dynamic, anal penetration, double penetration, oral (f receiving), marking, cock warming, breeding kink, degradation kink, praise kink, public sex, hair pulling, edging, biting, spanking, choking/breath play, cream pie, overstimulation), internet translated high valyrian, slow burn, fuck boy!Viserys, stupid puppy!Daemon, church boy!Otto, baby girl!Aemma, city girl!reader, angst, fluff, jealousy, possessiveness, typos, etc.

A/N: you guys imma be so for real this shit is nasty like NASTY 🥲 DD/DNE MINORS DNI btw i did the math for their ages during this time and 💀💀💀💀 i aged them up cos viserys is canonically 16 when he and aemma were wed which means daemon is 14. We're all going to agree everyone is in at least their 20s cos aint NO fucking way im writing about children fucking. Also the fact i almost made her fuck otto twice but i got too tired to write it HAHAAH. title is a 1d song btw, or a savage garden one, depends on who you are Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @sloanexx @esquivelbianca

"Though Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa had one set of twins and, sequentially, a son, it was not uncommon for many to think or mistake their children as triplets, moreover when they reached a certain point of maturity. It was almost ascertain that where one of the three was found, the two would not be far off, especially during the fires of their youth. Though eventually, both Viserys and Daemon would outgrow their sister in height and weight, neither would outgrow her wit and command over them, leaving her apparent as the head, and the two as her shoulders." --Excerpt from 'The Songs in the Dance of Dragons' by Grand Maester Hamish, circa 500 A.C.

Daemon laid on his back. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and chest. He had gone to bed in the clothes he was dressed in the night before, though it was drenched in all sorts of fluids. He could not be bothered to change then, he could not be bothered to change now, not even as the hour passes swiftly.

His sister would soon return from Citadel for their brother's wedding.

And he loathed it.

He loathed to know his sister, that you would shine your face upon him, only because Viserys asked you to come.

Viserys asked.

Viserys asked you to come.

Daemon's breath strains in his neck.

"Come, sister... come on my cock."

Daemon grits his teeth at the words, willing that sour memory away, cursing his brother's existence.

It was not helping him get what he needed from his hand right now.

Damn you. Damn you and the fact he had woken with an uncomfortable hard on, for he had dreamt of you.

He dreamt of your cheeks, of your shoulders, of your waist. He dreamt of how you embraced him tenderly against your breasts, and how snuggly he fit against you, for he was still at an age where you were taller than him. He belonged against your ribs then.

He pants as he strokes himself rapidly up and down.

He belongs against your ribs now still.

He tricks his senses with the memory of you. He recalls the way you smelled, the way you caressed his cheek, and the way you furiously defended him against Viserys' coarseness.

Daemon remembers a moment wherein he wept against you, there against your ribs. His tears that day were sweet, for he had you on his side.

He imagined that moment as he touched himself. He willed the memory of your scent and your voice into existence as he tightly pleasured his pulsing manhood. He recalled the softness of your palm as you brushed his chin affectionately. He pretended his working hand was yours.

Daemon's heart pounded as he chased after the feeling growing in his loins. He further quickens his actions.

The next part of the memory plays in his head against his will. Viserys barks at him and you, pointing out that he too was injured by their argument-turned-brawl.

Daemon heaves heavily.

Fucking Viserys.

He screws his eyes shut as he curls on the cushion, shifting on his spot as his arm began to tire.

He tries to freeze the memory in his mind, wanting to think only of your feel, your fragrance, but his mind is not on his side. He watches with his subconscious how you break away from him to go to Viserys, to go to your twin, your wretched half, to him he could never compete with. Yes, he too was injured, though, in Daemon's opinion, he was undeserving of your attention, for Viserys had inflicted a much larger wound on him.

Daemon's nostrils flare as his eyes rip open.

Where the pattern of the ceiling should be, he sees how you kissed Viserys to calm him down.

He heaves heavily, body straining even more as he fucks himself with hand, a growing bitterness in his mouth. It was not the morning breath that tasted so.

And again, he remembers it; the sour memory.

"Viserys," you moaned.

Daemon shakes his head furiously.

"Come, sister," Viserys panted as he thrust roughly into you, "come on my cock," he sighs, "be a good girl and come for your beloved twin, my pretty."

Daemon feels tears build in the corner of his eyes as he seals his lids tightly together. He relives the sounds his older siblings made that horrid afternoon.

He chokes on his spit as he thinks of your oh-face through the small crack in the door you idiots carelessly left open. He remembers how Viserys stuffed himself into you while on your knees on the guestroom bed, how he yanked your silver locks back and slapped his hand on your mouth to shut you up.

It didn't work; Daemon could still hear your lewd sounds slip through his fingers. He heard them clearly, even now.

Daemon comes to the thought of Viserys spilling into you. He comes to the remembrance of how his brother pummeled forward into you and how his sister plummeted down because of him. Daemon thinks about the strain on Viserys' neck as he spasmed into you and how your spine arched as you screamed into the cushions.

Daemon feels his heat shoot out and sputter hotly into his hand. He catches his breath and feels his heart race. His length softens.

He catches his breath as he cranes his neck and checks the mess he's made. He clenches his jaw, irritated by how much of himself he spilled on to his breeches at the thought of his older siblings coupling.

He grunts and angrily sits up. He growls as he stands and rips his clothing off, throwing them onto the floor. His long, light hair bounces by the ends of his shoulder blades as he heads for his bath.

It had been a few years when he caught you and Viserys, and yet the memory was still vivid. It was forever seared into his mind. He was boiling with an unnamable emotion. He was unsure if it was rage, hurt, or envy, but it was burning true.

That day, Daemon he had been looking for you, wanting to gift you a necklace as a remembrance of him for your departure to Essos. It would be one of the many solo travels you'd have since then. And it would be the first time the three of you would be apart, the first time you would be away from Daemon. He wanted so badly to see you that day, and instead he saw treachery in its truest form.

That same day, later that afternoon, as Daemon recounted against himself the unspeakable acts he bore witness to while staring blankly into space in the gardens, the twins came looking for him.

He was repulsed by how you two acted so nonchalant, like everything was normal, like you two hadn't just been fucking in secret, like you had not just been sharing each other's spit and slick. He then hit him like a boulder, that this nonchalance was present because you two had most definitely been going at it long before today.

He is immediately hostile when you reach out for him. Daemon slaps your hand off and threatens. Viserys immediately steps forward as you reel back, and puts Daemon in his place.

Daemon remembers all of this as he washed himself in with a sweet smelling water in his tub.

The smell was reminiscent of you.

He hates it.

He hates that Viserys soiled you. He hates that had taken your maidenhead. He hates that he no inclination to tell their parents that he intended to marry you. He hates that because he wouldn't have done the same. He hates that you seemingly enjoyed being taken advantage of, by your twin, no less. He hates that you touched him with the same hands you used to touch Viserys.

Yet, he hates that he had shoved you away in his disgust. He hates that you had fallen into Viserys' arms because of it. He hates how he had gotten berated by his older brother for hurting you. He hates that he had stormed off after. He hates that he had never given you the necklace. He hates that you had still left on dragon back that day although he was upset with you. He hates that you had incessantly sent him letters, although he never responded.

He hates that you arrive with late today. He hates that he's been so agitated because of how late you were. He hates that Viserys sees through him. He hates that his older brother tries to calm him down. He hates that his words help.

He hates that he comes alive when you emerge. He hates that you cut through the festivities. He hates that your holy halo steals everyone's attention.

He hates that you immediately greet Viserys. He hates that your beloved half drops what he is doing for you. He hates that you embrace Aemma as well. He hates that you so eagerly dote on her.

He hates that you reach your arms out to him, like everything was fine between the two of you. He hates that you pull him for a kiss. He hates that he goes weak. He hates that he nuzzles his face into your neck. He hates that he feels himself twitch in his trousers at the scent of your perfume.

He hates that he missed you. He hates you so much.

Daemon braces you against his chest. He feels you rub your cheek against him. He releases a sigh. You belonged there, against his ribs.

Your long silver hair was wound in curls and braids pinned with shining metals and jewels. The back cut of your red dress went past your shoulder blades, the front was deliciously right above your cleavage. His hand rubbed the curve of your waist, familiar yet so foreign against him. By your nape dangled baby hairs that tickled your skin. He finds jealousy of it. He tickles his nose and lips against your milky neck, making you curl at the feel and giggle in response.

He missed you... so much.

You pull back. Daemon doesn't want you to, but he is powerless against your wishes. You slip from his fingers and he finds it mildly bearable only because you smile at him. You kiss him on the cheek again and tuck his hair behind his ear.

"Skorkydoso ēza ñuha valonqar issare?" you coo as you caress his cheek, "ēza Visērȳs issare sȳz naejot ao?" How has my baby brother been? Has Viserys been good to you?

Daemon licks his lips as he watches yours curve into a bigger smile. His violet eyes meet your own as you rub his chin with your thumb. He is a child in your clutch all over again.

"Oh, damn him," Viserys calls from his seat. You and Daemon were standing across him.

With an eye roll, Viserys grabs his chalice of wine and mutters, "he's no better than when he was four, sissy."

Aemma beside him chuckles but says the name of her betrothed in a scolding manner.

Daemon watches as you turn to your twin, "do not insult my darling, you imbecile."

Your twin turns to you, "pah! I will say what I want about the fucker. It is my day, you brat!" He points a finger, "kessa daor sagon pryjata ondoso ñuha idaña." It will not be ruined by my twin.

Daemon turns to Viserys as you scoff.

"And pray tell, what will you do about your bratty twin, Viserys?" you raise a brow in challenge.

Viserys smirks and leans back on his seat, "I'll have her over knee and discipline her like when we were younger."

Daemon clenches his jaw so tightly his teeth could break.

Aemma laughs and slaps his shoulder, "hush, love. You will do no such thing. Much less on our wedding day."

Daemon thought Aemma looked none the wiser as she said that. He looks at Viserys, catching a darkness behind his eyes, then back to you, finding the same shadow. You roll your eyes at him. It takes everything in Daemon not to burst at the seams. If only Aemma knew. Gods be good, his tongue itched to finally be granted retaliation.

But he couldn't do that. He couldn't do that to his dear cousin, Aemma, at her wedding. Seven hells, he couldn't even do that to Viserys, though he loathed him so. But most of all, he couldn't do that to you.

So he kept his mouth shut.

You release a sigh and click your tongue at Viserys.

"Ahh, my love," you turn to Aemma, "how joyous yet tragic that you will deal with him for the rest of your life."

Aemma holds back her giggles, "well, it's not like you will be able to rid of him entirely either, my princess."

You grin form ear to ear as your eyes dart back to Viserys, "an unfortunate truth."

Your twin takes his turn to roll his eyes.

Suddenly, you grab Daemon's hand and reach out the other to Viserys, "might my brothers indulge their favorite sister to a dance?"

Daemon's ears perk. He quickly pulls you into him, but you repel him slightly, wanting the eldest to join in. He eyes Viserys, mentally telling him to decline the offer.

Viserys raises his brows, "you're our only sister."

"Precisely," you purse your lips.

"And you're quite irritating," he adds, earning another scold from Aemma.

Aemma leans into him, "come now, my love. Your sister has traveled far to attend to our day. The least you can do is share a dance with her."

Viserys turns to Aemma, face softening at her lilac doe eyes. He sighs then stands, turning to you and Daemon, "fine. But I shall make it a point to step on your toes."

You cock your head to the side, "funny. You're acting as though you are capable of anything but."

Daemon sizes up to Viserys as he approaches and takes your hand. The eldest catches his expression and scoffs, "oh, bugger, I will not steal your sister from you, Daemon. She's all yours."

Daemon seethes, and yet before he can bark anything back, you yank both of them to the dance floor and eye both of them hotly, "I will not have my brothers quarrel on such a lovely morn."

"When have we never not quarreled for your attention, sister," Daemon finds himself retorting with little thought, with little emotion.

"Oh, Daemon," you mutter, leaning into him, "emā dōrī ēdas naejot vīlībagon Visērȳs syt bona." You have never had to fight Viserys for that.

Viserys scoffs out a chuckle, "aye. She would rather feed me to her mount before she ever ignores you."

Daemon begins to bristle at the thought, at the lies his older siblings were shoving down his throat.

The three of you dance to the upbeat music. The two men alternate between steps to fill in as your partner.

As quickly as he was made furious by the words he was just told, he was struck with awe at your form. You danced between them, expertly spinning towards Daemon and Viserys at every other down beat. It was a sight to behold. It was so mesmerizing everyone began to watch.

He had forgotten how good you were at this. How easy it came to you to entertain them because you had always made it a point to dance with both brothers at every occasion. He had forgotten how happy it was to dance with you and Viserys.

Daemon missed you so damn much.

Viserys catches you as you twirl toward him. He places his hands on your waist and glides with you for a whole 8 counts. Afterwards, you continue the steps and move towards Daemon. You and him circle around each other, smiling fondly as you did.

Aemma, from her seat, feels her heart soar at the sight of the siblings making merry in the middle of the room. She was overjoyed that you had caused this shift, that you had made the occasion, and the princes, as sparkle in a way only you could.

Her breath hitches when you catch her gaze as you danced with the two men, both unwilling to avert their eyes from you. They very evidently missed you greatly. She was glad her wedding was a good enough cause for your return. Aemma shifts in her seat when she sees you bite your lips. She missed her beloved cousin as well.

"It was known that Queen Aemma and her good sister were incredibly fond of each other. Their sisterly bond would never be bruised or broken by any issue. Most notably, the princess attended to Queen Aemma whenever she was with child. She would treat the queen's only heir, Rhaenyra, as though she was her own, would mourn the passing of each of the queen's stillborn children, and would be greatly changed after Queen Aemma's sequential death from labors. Her death was a source of strife between the princess and her twin brother, King Viserys." --Excerpt from 'The Blood of the Dragons' by unnamed maester, circa 350 A.C.

Aemma moaned as you kissed her and reached your fingers into her soaking thighs. She grabbed at your hair and you instantly pulled back, swatting her hand away, giving her a stern look, "you'll ruin my braids, lovie."

She sighs as you crawl down body, peppering kisses all over her skin as you did. The fabric of your dress rubbed against her naked form and the bed dipped where you propped your hands and knees as you continued your descent.

Aemma could not help herself and reached out to you again as you sucked on her skin. She rubbed the sleeves of your dress and felt goosebumps form on her chest where your cold necklace dragged down her hot skin.

When her hands involuntarily clawed into your scalp, you pull away, shifting on your knees. You hiss and grab her wrists, giving her a stern look, "filthy bitch. I warned you once before. Don't be naughty or I won't let you come."

Aemma takes in the sight of your swollen lips and licks her own, feeling a pit form in her belly at your beauty.

Viserys, who was lying beside Aemma, feels himself get hard as his sister looks down on his wife.

I tilt my head at her, "I taught you how to be a good girl, didn't I? Hmm?"

Aemma nods slowly.

"Then be a good girl," you slap her wet folds, making her yelp, "and hold up my hair while I feast on your pretty cunny," you purr, kissing Aemma's left breast as you gathered your long hair up.

Aemma shudders and takes your hair in her hands, curling up slightly as you travelled south.

The sound Aemma makes when you kiss her tenderness makes Viserys' cock twitch. He heaves as he watches you rub your nose into her pearl and grab her supple thighs, willingly squeezing your cheeks between them.

Aemma calls out your name hoarsly. Viserys calms himself, remembering he promised to only watch as you gave your good sister her wedding gift.

Aemma's back arches as you work your tongue into her. She cannot help but rip at your hair though she tries her best not to.

"So sweet, and all mine," you purr, "isn't that right, Aemma?"

Aemma coils in her spot and screws her eyes shut. She knows she will be in trouble if agrees, she knows she will be in trouble if she doesn't, and she knows she will be in trouble if she keeps her silence. So, she responds with what is best for her in that moment, "yes."

You lift your eyes, feeling yourself grow damp at the sight of her wantonness, "yes what?"

"Kessa, ñuha dāria, Iksan aōhon," Aemma sighs. Yes, my queen, I am yours.

You moan, wild for the sound of High Valyrian, and chuckle darkly, eating her out more eagerly, "sȳz riña." Good girl.

Aemma screams when she feels your teeth nip at her.

Viserys had had enough at that point.

He climbs off the bed and walks behind you with his raging erection. Neither of you seem to notice, but you finally do when he rips your skirt up and rubs his tip into your pulsing heat.

Aemma's eyes break open as you pull away from her to look behind, "you filthy fuck, I s--"

You do not continue because your words are sliced in half by the lewd moan that rips out of your mouth when Viserys thrusts into you. You feel two pulses in you, your own and his. He grunts when he feels you clench around him.

He feels different, snugger inside you somehow. You brush it off to the fact it has been a while since you've had him.

"I promised to only watch my beloved as you tongue fuck her--" Viserys leans down and takes your hair from Aemma. She gratefully releases it and reaches out for your cheeks, wordlessly begging you to attend to her again.

"--but I did not say I wouldn't touch you, pretty whore," he smiles as he begins to thrust a rough pace.

You squirm and tighten your grip onto Aemma's thighs as he does this.

"Jikagon va, rene" he pants, "kesā daor gaomagon ñuha ābrazȳrys isse jaelagon." Go on, slut. You will not keep my wife in want.

Aemma licks her lips at the sight of her husband fucking you in front of her. She feels her core flutter at the familiarity. She feels her pulse in her core more prominently now. She places the back of her knee onto your shoulder, breathily begging, "please."

You whimper as you turn back to Aemma and huff hotly onto her flesh.

And so as you feasted on Aemma's weeping womanhood, you were battered by Viserys' angry manhood.

The sounds in the air were obscene, squelching, delirious, and as you all slowly rode toward your highs, Viserys made it a point to make it difficult for you.

He yanks at your hair and makes eye contact with Aemma, "you will come when I do, but this bitch between us will not."

You lift your head upon hearing that, but Viserys pushes you down, making Aemma yelp at the way your face digs into her. You pull up to catch a breath, lest you suffocate on princess cunt. It wouldn't be the worst way to die.

"Did you not say that I shouldn't waste my seed, sister," Viserys taunts as he quickens his pace, "I will throw you to the side and come in Aemma's pretty cunny, as I should-- as you said I should," his hands reach between your thighs and begins to rub you there, "līvi ȳdra daor māzigon." Whores don't come.

Aemma whines when you begin to slow your pace and desperately lifts her hips up for more friction.

The sound of her helpless whines send a spiral through your belly. You would not dare leave your darling girl unsatisfied. Aemma is grateful that you begin lapping eagerly at her again.

"What say you, come slut?" Viserys hisses, "you have quarrels with your king?"

You groan when Viserys begins to rub your sensitive nub harsly, making Aemma, in turn, squeak.

You're in no place to pick a fight with him and so you breath against Aemma, "inside."

Viserys' ego inflates, "skoros iksin bona?" What was that?

"Iemnȳ, Visērȳs, kostilus." Inside, Viserys, please.

He smirks, "Iemnȳ qilōni?" Inside who?

"Iemnȳ nyke." Inside me.

Aemma's breath strains as she opens her eyes. She does not want to miss this.

Viserys laughs, "greedy little stupid whore," he slaps your ass, "maybe I should fuck a babe into you too. Maybe then you'd cease with your slutty urges."

You take out your frustrations on Aemma. She loves it.

"Aemma wouldn't mind, wouldn't you darling?" Viserys says, "you want to grow a babe the same time as your good sister?"

Aemma whines and nods, "yes! Yes."

Viserys imagines the sight of his two girls filled with his seed, carrying his children, "mmm, fuck."

Suddenly you're all coming.

It was unintended, but the gods made it be. The three of you shiver and spill into each other. The room is heated with your breath and your voices echo through the chamber. Aemma is the loudest, a high pitched squeal ripping through her throat. You shake and squirm, glad to have gotten Aemma spasming beneath you as you spasm above her yourself. Viserys grunts as he digs his fingers into your hips as he bottoms out.

The white noise that plays is one of pure bliss.

When Viserys pulls out, he carelessly drops your hair onto your right shoulder and then jumps beside Aemma as he catches his breath.

You lift your head and look at Aemma who is staring at you with blown eyes. You smile at her and kiss her navel, "like my gift, pretty girl?"

Aemma nods as she heaves, "yesyes," she sighs, "thank you, my love."

You feel your skirt fall down your legs as you crawl over Aemma to kiss her on her lips. Her tongue darts out onto your wet ones, relishing the taste of her on you.

When you pull away, you wipe your lips then slap your damp hand onto Viserys chest with a fury, "stupid fuck."

Viserys yelps and recoils at the harsh assault but breaks into a laugh. He pulls Aemma into his chest as your crawl off the bed, "what?" he asks innocently as he kisses Aemma's temple, eyes not leaving you at all, "I did what you begged me to, darling."

You stand and walk over to dresser, grabbing yourself a damp piece of cloth stationed there, wiping yourself down, "you'll fuck a babe into me, will you?"

Viserys laughs. You roll your eyes as you look at your reflection on the vanity.

"What?" he says again, "Aemma truly wouldn't mind, wouldn't you, lover?" Viserys turns to her as Aemma turns to him.

Aemma, no longer drunk with lust, makes a face.

You answer for her, "you would let me mother a bastard like a true whore, brother?" You eye him as you lift your skirt and wipe the evidence Viserys left in you, "that's not very prince-like of you." You chuck the towel at him after cleaning yourself, "but then again, you've always been the bigger whore between the two of us."

Viserys tires to dodge the towel, but he does not.

Aemma turns to you and offers a smile, "she is right, Viserys. As much as I would love to have children with her, I would not have her be ostracized for it."

You smile back at Aemma and walk over to her, pushing your hair back as you lean in to give her another kiss.

Viserys watches as you do this then mutters, "then I would make her my second wife."

You pull away from Aemma and roll your eyes yet again, "I will be no ones second."

The married couple watches as you walk away. The man calls out, "you're my second! Second in birth, second in life, my sweet half."

"No, I was your first," you correct sternly, heading for the door, "you married your second." You turn over your shoulder to add, "no offence, Aemma."

Aemma shakes her head, "I am honored to be both your seconds."

With that, you give them one last look and open the door, "enjoy your marriage."

Aemma leans into Viserys shoulder and smile. The latter answers, "there is talk that I will ascend grandfather's throne. I will wed you then, sister."

You roll your eyes and close the door, loudly calling out, "goodbye, brother."

You begin to venture down the halls and find yourself strolling down the gardens. You feel of the breeze on your skin and breathe in deeply the fragrance of the flowers. You smile to yourself, shutting your eyes as you basked in he sunlight.

You had gone a great many places, yet still, there was no place like home.

"There you are," a voice calls. Soon after a hand comes to your back. It doesn't take long for your to figure out who it its. "I have been looking for you everywhere."

You open your eyes and smile at Daemon, "and I was just looking for you."

You watch as Daemon's lips curl into a smile. You catch how he tries to hide how pleased he is by the sentiment. You push his hair away as the wind blows it to his face, "I thought you would be off on dragonback."

Daemon purses his lips. How could you possibly know that was his plans?

You chuckle at his expression and link your arms with his, "you've forgotten I'm always right."

"Well, I was about to," he leans into you, a grin playing on his lips, "but then I thought it would be better if I had you to accompany me."

"Dōna valītsos," sweet boy. You smile and nod, "I would love to ride with you."

Your younger brother and you begin to leisurely stroll down the area, savoring the weather as well as each other's presence.

You press your cheek upon Daemon's shoulder, "I am certain Alaerion will enjoy riding with you and Caraxes again. She hates being bound or caged, but she was excited to go back to the pit after being away for long."

Daemon feels his chest swell with joy upon hearing that. "I am excited to see her too. It's been a while since red and indigo graced the skies together."

As you make your way to the dragon pit, you are intercepted by an unexpected face. You halt in your tracks, stopping Daemon along with you, upon seeing the man in green across us.

The man stops as well and immediately greets you with a reverent bow, "your majesties."

"Otto," you mutter with a surprised smile. Daemon eyes this Otto persona as he rises, violet eyes immediately poking daggers into his form.

You break away from your brother and push your hair behind you, "what brings you to King's Landing?" you tilt my head to the side, "it's an awful long way from Old Town."

Daemon clenches his jaw tightly as Otto steps forward. It was all to clear to him that the cunt was smitten by you.

"I have been offered a position to represent my house in the small council," he presses his lips into the faintest of smiles, "I have merely accepted the honor."

"Ah," you lift your nose, "I see."

Daemon comes to your side and pulls you into him. His stare does not leave Otto, and soon enough his violet eyes lock with his green ones.

You topple into Daemon due to the force of his action, but you do not mind. You enjoy how you are roughly handled by your brothers, more often than not. You bring your arm around Daemon as he rubs your side.

Otto blankly stares. Daemon notices the clench of his jaw. You notice the building tension and break it.

"May I present Prince Daemon Targaryen," you announce, though you do not turn away from Otto, "rider of Caraxes, and my darling baby brother."

"It is an honor to meet your acquaintance, prince Daemon," Otto bows in regard.

Daemon turns to you just as you turn to him and offer a mischievous expression.

Daemon's eye twitches. Him? Really?

"Darling, this is Lord Otto Hightower," you speak to your brother, though your eyes go back to the said man. You finally notice how Otto clenches his jaw as he smiles and nods at the prince.

You turn back to Daemon. Your brows furrowing at the sight of the lines on his forehead. Hmm. Odd.

"He was a friend I made during my tours in Citadel," you reach out to his face and rub on the creases forming on his skin.

Daemon breaks his hard gaze from Otto, and softens when he turns to you.

"He was kind to me, and even spoke on my behalf to see the place, though he was actually sent to escort me away. He, himself, is adamant a woman had no business at the place," you turn back to Otto, "but I think I have become the exception."

Otto turns to you and instantly croaks out, "not an exception, princess. I would much rather lose my honor than subject a woman like you to the life lead by a maester--"

You laugh.

"--but I am not a man without reason," he shifts on his spot, "you told me your stance and I was moved by your case. I merely spoke what you told me to the Grand Maesters, thus allowing you to tour Citadel freely."

"And I am thankful for your services," you give a lopsided smirk, "I was beginning to think my travels would have been for naught had you not..." you trail off, "come."

Daemon's ears clap. He grinds his teeth as he watches Otto's reactions closely. The prince's nostrils flare at his poker face. The fuck does not betray himself at all, and it makes Daemon's insides boil. He will kill him the moment he does betray himself, and Dark Sister will enjoy the blood bath.

Otto is nonchalant even as he to turns to your brother. And when he does, you speak again, "I look forward to seeing you around, Otto," you smile, making the brown haired man turn back to you.

"My brother and I will be taking our dragons for a ride," you raise a brow, "perhaps you would like to join us."

Daemon face falls as he hears your offer. He look to you in betrayal and disbelief.

You feel the hot gaze of your brother.

Otto as he pipes up, "I would not like to intrude upon you and your brother, your grace."

"Come now," you speak to him, though you tilt your head at Daemon, "I'm sure my beloved brother can find it in his heart to bring you along."

Daemon stiffens as he stares at you.

You hold back a laugh and point to Otto, "surely Caraxes wouldn't mind if he dangled beneath his belly, Daemon."

Daemon pulls his head back.

Otto does so too, then his eyes widen at the insinuation.

The prince suddenly breaks into a toothy grin and laughs with his whole chest. You follow suit.

Daemon turns back to the lord, "sissy's right," he raises a hand jovially, "my boy would appreciate a live necklace. And I think you would make quite an amusing one."

Otto grunts where the Targaryens giggle.

Daemon leans into you as he laughs and you shake your head at his exaggerated movements. You sigh and turn back to Otto, "I jest, Lord Hightower. Very truly, I agree that anyone who wishes to squeeze between Daemon and I would be intruding."

Daemon catches his breath and finds himself kissing your cheek. You turn to him, smiling at his affection. He pulls you in close.

"We must away," you turn to Otto, offering a final smile, "I look forward to seeing you around, my lord."

Daemon's smile flattens when he hears Otto's oily response, "as do I, my princess."

"It was no secret that Lord Otto Hightower was repelled by Prince Daemon Targaryen, just as he repelled the latter. When the prince's brother ascended as king and announced Lord Otto as his Lord Hand, tensions grew between all of the mentioned parties. Though many could attribute their dislike for another to the Rogue Prince's uncouth tendencies and the Lord Hand's disapproval of it, there are a great many rumors that say their conflict was borne out of their mutual desire for Lone Woman of Citadel, The Fanged Beauty, the Princess-" --Excerpt from 'The Histories of the Hightowers' by Lord Baelor Hightower & Maester Lucien, 209 A.C.

You had been in the middle of getting ready for the day when there was a knock on the door. You were sat on a chair in front of your vanity in nothing but your shift dress, combing your silver tresses. You pulled up the neckline of your soft, thin dress as you awaited whoever wanted to seek entrance. A moment later, it was clear it was not your a servant because they did not immediately announce themselves.

You turned from the reflection of the door to the door itself from over your bare shoulder. You continue to brush your silver hair and smooth it out with fragrant oils.

"Who is it?"

"Who would dare intrude on the princess as she dressed?"

You smile upon hearing the voice. You turn back to your reflection and call out, "go away then, Dae-dae."

The doors break open and in comes a grinning Daemon, "I will do no such thing, sissy."

You snort as you watch him walk over from the mirror. You set your brush down and turn to him as he leans down and brushes your hair to the side. He kisses your neck then takes your hand and kisses the visible blue veins there. You chuckle and roll your eyes, "alright, what have you done?"

Daemon smirks and pulls away, walking over to your bed, "I have no idea what you mean."

Your eyes follow him as he sits at the side of your bed, crossing his arms, looking out to you with a rascal look.

You take in his attire, the sharply cut leather of his top that complimented his figure, his shiny black boots and his snug pants. He has grown to be a dashing man, you think. You smile fondly at him and lean your head into your hand, "you nary show me affection simply because you want to, Daemy."

He cringes at the nickname; that being the one he really did not like. You enjoy it so precisely because of the fact. You bubble in amusement of his face.

Daemon leans on the headboard, "is it a crime to want a change of pace then?"

You shake your head and roll your eyes, "not at all, my love."

His stomach rolls at the pet name.

Daemon does nothing but watch you after that.

He watches as you throw your hair behind your shoulders, as you lather your skin with lotions, as you paint your skin with rouge. He jumps off the bed when you grab a necklace and attempt to put it on. He eagerly mutters, "let me."

You turn to him as he circles behind you, handing him the gold chain with blue jewels. You gather your hair up, looking at his reflection as he fixed the necklace upon your throat.

Daemon makes it a point to brush the back of his hand against your jaw and nape as he hooks the piece of jewelry around you. Once it is fastened he takes your hair and smooths it down, "gevie." Beautiful.

His attention is focused solely on stroking your hair so he does not see that you smile at his reflection as you say, "hae issi ao, lēkia." As are you, brother.

He ceases his actions upon hearing that. He stills in his spot for a long moment. Your smile fades when he remains rigid too many seconds too long. You straighten up and blink rapidly a few times. You decide to break into smile and tease, "I should ready myself for the flock of ladies that will throw themselves at you."

Daemon finally turns to you, or rather your reflection.

You tease further, grin growing, "and perhaps I should ready potential matches for you, my prince."

You reach out for your earrings and begin to put them on. You offer him a playful look as you do so. You freeze at his response.

"What about you?"

You furrow your brows and hook your golden earrings to your ear, "what about me?"

Daemon watches as you put on your other earring then turn on your chair to face him. He looks down on you and shifts on his leg. He links his hands in front of him, "you are four years my senior. You are a woman," he reaches out to your cheek, "my woman."

You raise a brow at his words.

"If anything tis I that should be fussing over your matches, princess."

You close your eyes as you chuckle softly. You take his hand and look back at him, "oh, my baby. You needn't fuss. You needn't ever fuss about me at all," you shake your head, "ever."

Daemon's gaze is locked upon you as you stand and kiss his knuckles. You tilt your head at him and bring your hands down. You pout softly, "or have you forgotten how formidable your sissy is? Lest you forget, I will remind I broke your baby teeth because you wanted to steal the pony father gifted me."

Daemon cannot help the snort that leaves him and looks away from you. You find yourself smiling at his reaction.

"I will fuss over you. I will care for you. You are my responsibility, Daemon. Twas I that promised mother-" you suck in a breath, "that you would not be without one when she-"

"But I am not your baby!" Daemon snaps at you, "I am not a child and I have no need of your coddling anymore!" he quips, yanking his hands out your own.

The action, though not physically painful, hurt you deeply. You immediately feel your chest tighten as he walks away from you. He head to your bed again but does not sit and just stands by its side, back turned to you, "you overcompensate your mollifying for the time you've spent away from me. I despise it." He turns back to you, eyes very suddenly red with hurt and anger, "you say you care for me, but you leave me for many moons and stay for but a few days!"

You feel your throat constrict at his accusing tone, "I send ravens for you every--"

"YOU THINK I WANT YOUR FUCKING LETTERS?!" Daemon bursts as he marches over to you, gripping your shoulders tightly.

You look at him in bewilderment, and soon enough, your eyes begin to glass. Daemon watches your tears spill and your lips quiver.

"So... that is why you never respond to me."

Daemon's forehead wrinkles and he releases your shoulders. He drops his head and huffs, "that's not what I meant."

You release a deep breath, "then what do you mean?"

"I-" he lifts his face slowly, reluctantly looking at you, "I do not want this from you."

His words stab at you deeper. You shake your head and clutch your chest, "you no longer want me to care for you? Is that what you want?!"

"No," he weakly retorts, grabbing your hands, squeezing them tightly. His knees buckle, "that's not what I want."

"Then tell me what you want!" you cry out, "do not speak hurtful things to me like you did once before then never explain why."

Daemon recalls that day. That day he meant to give you a necklace but never did. He looks at the one on your neck now then remembers where he stashed away the object that reminded him of you and Viserys' treachery. He blinks as he brings your hands to his face, "I want you to love me the way I love you."

You caress his cheeks and shake your head, unsure of what to say, "I love you so much, Daemon."

Daemon furrows his brows and straightens, rubbing your arms back and forth. "I want you to love me like you love Viserys," he heaves heavily and takes your pulse to kiss it, "but I want you to love me more."

"Oh, Daemon," you rub his cheeks with your thumb, "I already love you more than I love Viserys. I always have loved you more, since the day you were born."

Daemon heaves heavily upon hearing that, anger and frustration building within him.

When you pull him in to kiss him, he leans towards your mouth, but so swiftly bring his head down and kiss his forehead instead.

It destroys him.

He shoves you away and you look at him like a deer that's just gotten shot. He gives you one last look before storming away.

You call out to him in hopes of stopping him. You so badly wanted to chase after him, but you were too afraid that he would shove off all over again, and things would end the same way the ended the first time you got into such argument. You did not want to go through all of that for the second time. So you let him leave.

Daemon looks over his shoulder as he storms off, laughing bitterly at the lack of calls. So, you don't care enough to follow after, huh?

After you got dressed, you quickly look for Viserys, eager to spill speak your woes, but when you found him, you see a great many Lords discussing many things with him. Undoubtedly they were trying to get into his good graces for he was now unofficially the heir to the Iron Throne.

You would not interrupt him at this time. You did not want all of those Lords to see you in this state anyway.

So instead, you find yourself seeking solitude in the small shrine room for the Seven. There you knelt before the bust of the Mother and wept to her, praying for comfort.

You do not realize someone knelt next to you until he speaks.

You gasp and turn to your right. Otto Hightower mutters a prayer, "I pray the Mother will give comfort for our sorrows and wipe away our tears."

You release a breath and you take in his closed eyes. You turn to the statue.

"I pray that she guide us through our heartache, that we may find peace."

You sniffle and look to your linked fingers, "will you pray for me as well, Otto?"

Otto turns to you and responds, "I am praying for you, my princess."

You hold back your tears as you meet his gaze. Otto's solemn expression falls even more grave when he sees the tears streak your cheeks.

You whimper and give him a sad smile, "thank you, my lord."

Otto continues to pray for you, pacing his prayers to your breathing. By the time you've calmed down, he ends his supplication to the gods. His heart is heavy as he looks at you. So badly, he wishes to dry your tears.

Otto clenches his jaw, "we can continue to pray, or, if you'd like," he turns to the statue of the Mother, "you can vent your sorrows to me. Perhaps I could do something to... remedy your issue."

You release a soft chuckle. You turn to him with a soft smile and nod your head, "I would be grateful if you listened as I spoke my troubles."

Otto looks back upon you, taking in your undone hair and your pink face. Whichever fool dare wronged you will not rest easy.

"I only need you to listen," you nod quicker, "that is all. I would not require you to do anything for me, Otto."

Otto thinks he would do anything for you. He would kill for you. He does not say that though and only shifts on his spot, turning his whole attention to you. He offers you his hand in comfort.

You gratefully take it and shift closer to him.

Otto wishes to wipe your soft cheeks but he knows that if he does so, he will not be able to hold himself back from doing his other urges, ones that were far less noble and descent. After all, he sneaks a look to his side, the Mother is watching.

"My brother and I got into an argument," you sigh as you look at him through tear laced eyes.

Otto knows exactly which brother you were referring to and yet he still asks, "your twin, or your... baby brother?"

You wipe your face roughly, "I argued with Daemon."

"Mmm," he hums, "prince Daemon is a rather rugged character. I cannot say I am surprised by his actions."

You feel a protective anger surge through you. You glare at him and pull your hand away.

The sentiment strikes through him.

"You are supposed to be listening, are you not?"

Otto does not respond.

"I do not need you to weigh in on my brother's character. I know his far tendencies better than anyone else."

Otto submits and bow his head, "forgive me for my crassness, your grace."

You turn away from him and look up to the face of the Mother before you.

He watches the tears continue to fall from your violet eyes. Fucking Daemon Targaryen. He takes in how silver strands of your precious silver hair cascade over your face and shoulders and thinks you are Mother incarnate. He draws in a deep breath to calm himself and to rip of all the unholy thoughts that were building in his head.

"He cuts me so deeply, Otto," you mumble, "I love him dearly," your lips quiver, "I only want the best for him, but it's like... it's like-- it's never enough. It's like my love is not enough. It's like I am not enough. I cannot be me. I cannot want the best for me..." you turn back to him, "I want to see the world with Alaerion. I want to feel the wind in my hair. I want-" you choke, "... he spurns me for my want."

You shake your head and try to hold back a fiercer wave of tears that threaten to spill out of you. You cannot help that you break and crumble into your hands.

The lord cannot help himself any longer either, and pulls you into him as you weep in sadness. You clutch him tightly and pour your heart out into his chest. He shushes you, strokes your hair, and pats your back.

You both end up sitting on the floor to better accommodate your shared embrace. It was still pretty uncomfortable, but both your knees were grateful for the change of position.

He feels the way you shake your head against him.

You sigh, "I'm sure you scoff at my ideas," you pull away from him. Your hands go to his shoulders, "you do not agree that mere women are meant to do such things."

"But you are not a mere woman," Otto clutches your cheeks, "you are a Targaryen princess," he wipes your tears away, "you are closer to the gods than men," he shakes his head, "you do not crumble, you conquer."

Your lips part at his words. No more tears fall from your eyes after.

"Do not waste your energy on a boy who does not recognize you as what you are," he says, hands slowly going down your neck.

You take in a deep breath. You shift on your spot, "and what exactly am I?"

Otto swallows a lump in his throat as you crawl onto him and straddle his lap. Immediately, he feels his pulse in his trousers, and though his eyes momentarily flick to the Mother behind you, he does not make any attempt to push you off. You were the Mother. He nearly tells you this, but manages not to. Instead he speaks as he swipes the pad of his thumb to your pink lips, moist with tears, "a queen."

You place take his hands in yours and lift your nose, "you would make me your queen?"

"You are already my queen," he mutters under his breath. He sits up straighter and brings his hands to the swell of your hips, adjusting you atop him. Your own hands go back to his shoulders again. Otto adds, "I would make you whatever you desire."

You lean into him until your foreheads were pressed together. He makes a sound when your hot breath hits his face.

"And what would you do to be able to give me my desires?" you say this in slightly amused tone. You say this to taunt him.

Otto knows this, but he doesn't care. He answers seriously regardless, "whatever it takes."

His soul nearly leaves him when you whimper.

Right after you make that sound, he traps your mouth against his. You instantly lean into him and moan at his warmth. Your fingers scratch up to his collar, then they dig into the roots of his dark hair. He, himself, moans when you tug firmly.

Otto wastes no more time and quickly digs into your skirts, ripping them up until he had access to the softness between your thighs. Sweet mother, he's missed you. He eagerly touches your core and it makes you break away from him, in lieu of groaning as you leaned into his shoulder.

He's gotten practice since the last time you've met. You being his first, he quite clumsy with his touch. You did not get to teach him much in Citadel, for your escapades were always rushed and unplanned, not unlike what it was this very moment. He made it a point to get better though, knowing he'd see you again once he got to King's Landing.

"Seven fucking hells," you mutter against his ear as your one hand squeezes his bicep.

Otto rubs his cheek into yours and whispers, "feels good, doesn't it? I've practiced for you."

You squeal as rubs his fingers in purposeful circles and maneuvers according to your reaction. He feels you pull his arm closer, so teases a finger into you. Instantly, you let out a sharp moan and whimper. The sound of his name echoes through the shrine and it was the holiest thing he had ever heard.

His other arm hand goes around your torso and secures you in place, "I will make you feel better, my queen."

You moan against his neck and suckle on his skin there. You begin to rock your hips into him as you begin to weep from your cunt.

When he feels you dripping, he finally slips a fingers into you, and you groan at the feel of. He nips at your earlobe and works into you in a similar pace that you buck yourself to.

"More," you mewl.

He adds another finger.

He feels himself grow harder than he already was. It begins to feel uncomfortable, but he rather liked hearing you make the noises you were making.

You push his arm off, making him grow rigid. You shake your head and kiss his lips. You did like the way he was stretching you out, but that was not enough.

Otto's actions slowly grow reluctant because of your head shake. You dive your hands into your skirts and sigh softly, "need you now, Otto."

He immediately perks, in more ways than one, and helps you as you grab onto his pants.

The moment he is free, you feel your cunt clench and your mouth water at the sight of his throbbing cock.

You waste no time and quickly lift yourself up and mount him through a strangled breath.

He spirals with a string of veneration, praising the Mother for the glorious feeling of your soaking heat. He grips your hips for dear life as you slowly begin to fuck yourself on him. Holy, holy, holy.

"Do I feel good, Otto?"

Otto grunts and tightens his old on him, helping you with your bouncing, "so good, my queen. So good, my love."

You whimper at the sound of his endearment. You bite your lip and grab his face, forcing him to look at you. You heavily pant, "you going to fuck me good in front of Mother?"

His eyes widen then dart away from your momentarily. He does not respond.

You do not like that.

You clench your jaw and bring your thumbs to his parted mouth. You dig your fingers into his teeth and push his jaw down, "I asked you a question, boy," you heave, "will dare ignore your queen?"

Otto lets out a guttural noise at the sound of your words and chokes when he feels clenching around him. He breathlessly responds the moment you pull your thumbs out of his mouth, "no, my queen."

You let out a grunt when he begins to match your movements with upward thrusts. You drag out a prolonged exhale and rub your nose against his, "then what, you sycophant?"

He heaves.

"What will you do to me, church boy?"

Otto growls and digs his fingers into your waist. He digs his heels into the floor, allowing him to ram himself into you with more ease and viciousness. The squeaks and yelps that leave your throat adds further fuel to the flames into his body. He attaches his teeth to your neck and bites down. He hotly speaks against you, "I'm going to fuck you good in front of Mother."

You moan and throw your head back as his movements begin to grow more erratic that your own. Otto yanks at the neckline of your dress and claws at your breasts that threaten to spill out. He hungrily stuffs his face into that spot. As he does so, he unintentionally breaks off the gold chain on your neck and the thing trickles down your cleavage.

Otto pull away tp stick his fingers into your top and fishes for the thing. You you take his face and push him back into your chest. He brings his hands underneath your skirt and squeezes your bare thighs.

"I'm close, Otto," you whine, finally finding his tempo as you maneuvered over him.

Otto licks the skin from your sternum up to your collarbone, then kisses all the way up to your jaw, " 'm fucking you good enough then."

You groan and dig your hands into his hair . You pull at his brown locks as you sigh, "so good."

When he comes, he says a rough prayer of thanks to the Seven under his breath. The feel of his spilling into you and the sight of his rolled eyes, paired with the sound of his prayer was so twistedly delicious that you come a few second later.

"Vaogenka līve," you whimper as you continue to ride your high, "ao rattan bisa tolī olvie." Dirty whore, you liked this too much.

Otto does not stop in his movements, as the overachiever he was, though it was quickly beginning to be painful for him. He literally pushes through it and only stops until you begin to squirm. Even then he makes it a point to roughly flick his hips before finally stopping to catch his breath.

You go jelly against him and defeatedly lean into his chest as you even your heavy pants.

Otto rubs your thighs and nestles his face against yours, relishing the feel of your heartbeat.

You brush his hair away and kiss his ear, "what would your gods say about the sinful acts you've been doing in their temple with the princess?"

Otto kneads at your thighs and it is only then that you feel there is something in his clutch. He huffs, "my faithful servant is a man of duty," he looks upon your face, "he is most loyal to the crown and has gone to great lengths to assure it's... contentment."

Your lips curve into a smile, "great lengths, you say."

Otto leans in and nips at your lip, "a humble length."

You giggle, and as does he. He cannot help but moan at the feel of your clenching around him because of it. He then pulls his hands out of your skirt and wraps his arms around you.

"I broke off your necklace, princess," he mutters through a kiss on your neck.

You hum, "I think that is treason."

Otto bites at your neck, "and what is your sentence?"

You moan at the feel of his tongue on your pulse. You comb through his hair, "mmm, fuck me good in front of the Father."

His laugh echoes across the room. The feel of his amusement vibrating into your core begins to excite you all over again.

"Filthy girl," he whispers.

"You're worse than I," you retort.

"Mmm," he pushes your hair back and takes in the shimmer of your face, "then I ought to replace your necklace only to be able to rip it off you again when I make you come in the shrine of the Father."

You give him a wicked smile and shake your head, "see... you're worse than me."

"Well, I learned from the worst," he kisses your shoulder.

"One of the first issues King Viserys took up when he ascended was that his twin sister. Many frowned upon the fact she was inching past the age where a well-bred lady ought to be married, and yet still went off on tours with her dragon mount. It was no secret the princess was a free spirit. Beyond her renowned and well-documented travels across Westeros and beyond, it is said she left trails of broken hearts and longing lovers, all willing to offer their inheritance and very souls in exchange for her hand. Many a man came to contend for the honor of being her husband, but there were less than a few that were even considered. In the end, her only real prospects were Otto Hightower, the hand of the king, Daemon Targaryen, the brother of the king, and Viserys Targaryen, the king himself." --Excerpt from 'Chapter 3: The Fanged Beauty' of 'The Lone Woman of Citadel' by Grand Maester Mateos, 354 A.C.

Daemon was ignoring you.

He was choosing to ignore you.

It was not a coincidence, it was an active choice.

Perhaps it was believable the first few times that, when you walked in a room, he was leaving, but then the days passed and you made attempts to seek your brother out. You called to him only to be shunned.

You were set to leave again, soon. Daemon knew this. He found no point in facing you if you would leave him all over again.

Yet things after this would happen so quickly. Your grandfather would order you to stay for the proclamation of his heir, he would pass come days later, and your twin would then be named king, your younger brother, his heir.

You thought that the rift between you and Daemon would ultimately repair itself as it did before, but he was difficult with everyone, with you especially. Now it's come to a point where you no longer speak, you only argue.

And now, there was a storm between you, both real and not.

The hour grows late and the rain has become more brutal. You waited by the keep's entrance for your younger brother that had left early morning and yet still has not arrived. With every roll of thunder, you grew increasingly worried.

"We will bring him back, your grace," Ser Harrold Westerling assures you for the hundredth time, ceaselessly patient with you.

You clench your jaw and nod as you pace around, "Caraxes would be in more unrest if something had happened to his rider, but he is calm in his pit, so I am calm."

Ser Harrols sighs at your words. A disingenous and unconvincing sentiment.

You say this mostly for yourself but still, the commander of the kingsguard nods, "aye."

You huff and nod as you pace around some more. A crack of lightening makes you begin to worry now for the guards that have been deployed to look for the heir apparent. You suck in a breath and take Ser Harrold's arm, "what if something happened to your men? Dear gods, I wou-"

"My men are capable of caring for themselves, princess," he speaks calmly, placing a hand atop on your own. You nod rapidly at his words and pull away from him. He catches your arm before you do, "your grace."

You turn back to him.

"Pardon me, but it has been hours since you've been pacing."

You give him a guilty expression, "yes... Forgive me, ser Harrold. You may leave if--"

"Perhaps you ought to sit-"

His words are cut off by the sound of the gates opening. You both look to the door in anticipation. In comes a wet prince, dripping in rain water from head to toe.

"Gods be good," Ser Harrold speaks as you pull away from him and rush towards Daemon.

Expecting him to come in soaking, you grab the towel you had prepared and immediately wipe his face, "skoriot se qogralbar emagon ao issare?" Where the fuck have you been?

Daemon stills as he looks you. He lets you wipe his soaked face and hair for a few seconds before he rips the towel away from you and throws it off to a distance.

You turn to where he discards the item and Daemon walks away from you.

"Ȳdra daor geron qrīdrughagon hen nyke," you seethe under your breath. He does not stop. You snap, repeating much louder, "DON'T WALK AWAY FROM ME!"

Ser Harrold watches as the prince stops in his tracks. He watches as Daemon heaves heavily as his sister walks up from behind him. He knows this will be a long and brutal sermon.

"Emā daor paktot naejot gaomagon bisa, valītsos," you hiss as you march in front of him, "ao daor gaomagon daor sytilībagon naejot aōla. Iksā dārilaros naejot se Dēmalion Āegenko."

You have no right to do this, boy. You no do not belong to yourself. You are heir to the Iron Throne

Daemon's soaked hair sticks to the side of his face. Rain water drips to the floor as he laughs at your words. He steps forward and snatches your arms, yanking you into him.

Your clothes immediately absorb the water in his. His angry breath fans against your face, "pār gaomagon daor vēdros nyke, iā eminna ao ilzitan hen."

Then do not anger me, or I will have you thrown out.

Your expression drops upon hearing this. You are at a loss for words at his blazing admission.

Daemon shoves you off and walks past you; your shoulders collide with each other as he storms off. You gulp heavily as you watch him leave puddles of murky water behind. There is an ominous crack of thunder.

"Then I'll save you the trouble and leave on the morrow," you call out as your eyes begin to mimic the weather. "It is clear now that any effort on my part to make peace with you will be put to shit."

Daemon halts. His boots skin as he turns, "you've made no such effort."

You laugh loudly and throw your arms out, "then what the fuck am I doing now?!"

"You are caring for the heir to the throne," Daemon barks and raises an accusing finger, marching back to you.

Your face twists at his words and you scream through a hurt expression, "AND WHO IS THE HEIR, BROTHER?!" You meet him halfway and grab him by the collar "is it not you, Daemon Targaryen?" you shove him off, "does it appear as though I care not for you?!"

"I don't WANT your mothering!" he blares, grabbing your cheeks, "I do not want you to look at me with those-" he drops his head, "those eyes that scorch my--" he catches sight of the jewel on your neck. He clenches his jaw tightly at the wretched emerald and rips it off you, casting it off to the end of the hall.

At this point, Ser Harrold cannot keep still nor silent. He steps forward and warns, "Prince Daemon!"

You recoil at his actions, hands coming to your now bare décolletage.

Daemon fumes, "that lecherous cunt is pushing his luck," he shakes with anger, "I will have his head on a spike if he deigns your form with cheap bribes again."

You hate that he is evading the real argument all over again, "do not change-"

"I do not know why you enjoy his company. He is a spineless, ugly fuck that-"

"Is that all you have to say to me, Daemon?!" you seethe, shaking your head in disbelief, "you only want to pick a fight over a man who has been kind to me while you have been cruel?"

Daemon takes those words like a stake to the heart.

"Don't you want to get whatever it is that has gotten your cock so far up your arse out?" you shudder as anger spills out of you in a form of tears.

The prince vibrates in anger.

"Hen rhinka ao gīmigon skoros ziry iksos hae naejot emagon someone's orvorta bē aōha gundja," Daemon retaliates, "ao ivestragī mirre vaoreznuni qogralbar emagon iā jikagon rȳ aōha orvorta

Of course you know what it's like to have someone's cock up your ass. You would let any sorry fuck have a go at your cunt.

You release a dry chuckle. Tears of hate burn down your eyes, "so you resolve to framing me into whore? When you and Viserys have been whoring around in brothels sinc-"

"You are a whore," he quips loudly.

You pull your head back and your expression drops. There were suddenly no more tears left for him. "Then very well, my prince. I am a whore," you agree, "but I will no longer be fucked over by you."

Needless to say, the rift between you two was greater now more than ever.

Otto, who had been watching you from the mezzanine near the gates the whole time you waited for your boorish brother, heads for your chambers as you walk away from your brother.

You freeze when you see him standing by your door. Immediately, you run into arms and crumble into his chest.

He grunts and strokes your hair, leading you into your room, sitting you on your bed.

Otto cannot help himself and says, "the king is being pressured by the council to remedy your brother's disruptive behavior as of late. Hear me when I say I will have him relocated somewhere out of sight and out of mind."

You pull away from him and look at him through teary eyes. He wipes your cheeks, "I'll have him married off to someone in the farthest corner of the realm. The burden of him will no longer be your own."

You sigh and lean into his touch, "save yourself the bother. I will leave come day break and continue my travels across the realm."

You bring his hands to your lap, "I only stayed because the late king asked me to. I stayed to witness the anointment of my beloved half as ruler. I stayed to make things better with Daemon. And, now, I have done all that I must and could, so... I will away."

Otto does not like this. He does not like this idea at all.

He tightens his grip on your hands when you make an attempt to stand, "I cannot stomach the thought of you leaving and myself doing nothing about your insolent brother."

You watch how his face hardens, how he is unable to withhold the lines that tighten around his features. You release a sigh and shake your head, "cast your concerns for my brother aside. I do not need you to avenge me."

His brows furrow furiously, "he is an insipid man-child who enjoys spitting on his older sister that does more for him than he will ever know. I will not let him go unpunished."

You tick at his words.

You release his hands. Your expression goes blank as you stand and peer down upon him, "hear me when I say this, Otto Hightower. If you harm a single a hair on my brother's head, I will never forget it," you mutter as you take his chin between your fingers.

Your words are soft spoken and monotonous, yet Otto feels his body grow rigid with uneasiness.

"A confidant can be quickly chosen, a suitor can be found in the streets, a lover can be made in an evening. I may well be wed to many different men in my lifetime, should they meet tragic ends, and, yes, I will never cease to mourn the death of any of my children," you release your grip on him, "but, the truth is, they too can all be replaced."

Otto watches as you raise your brows, "who then, however, can grow me another brother?"

You clench you jaw and await his response.

He does say anything or move.

You've made your point crystal clear.

"So, I say even plainly, my lord," you articulate, "you will not harm my brother for my sake."

He rises to his feet and nods in respect, "as you command, my princess."

You nod once. He turns back to you, watching the fire in you cool.

You take his face, brush his hair back, and offer a small smile, "the hour is late. I must rise early tomorrow if I wish to leave with no further troubles." You give his cheek one last touch before pulling away.

Otto does not let you. He pulls you towards him, hands coming to your sides. He breathes heavily as he surveys your face. You knit your brows at him in concern.

"I do not wish to see you off."

You release a chuckle, "then you do not have to. Sleep in and-"

"Do not leave," he sighs.

You purse your lips at his words then place your hands on his chest. A small smirk places on your face, "and who are you to order me?"

"Lord Hand," he mutters, "I outrank you."

I break into a laugh, "do you now? You are but a lewd little church boy to me, Otto."

"Then I will outrank you," he whispers as he leans closer, "I will ask the king for your hand and make you a Hightower..." he runs the back of his hand down my neck, "my Lady Hightower"

You snort loudly, "oh, he's gotten it twisted," you coo, "I would still not be outranked if you managed that, you candlestick."

Otto feels the corner of his lips twitch into a soft smile as youbreak into a fit of giggles. He leans down to kiss you jaw, "but then you would no longer find it in you to leave your poor husband by himself, now would you?"

Your stomach flutters as he begins to kiss your neck.

When you begin to undo his buttons, he pulls away, "we will not continue if you do not swear to me you'll stay."

Your expression slips into shock. You break into a breathy laugh. "Iksā iā vaogenka valītsos." You are a dirty boy. You pull at his belt, forcing him into you, "a scheming viper in the grass."

Otto peers down as you undo his collar. He brings his hands to your back begins to work on the laces of your dress. He kisses your shoulder, "I take this as agreement." His lips travel to the base of your neck where he realizes that you were bare of any of the jewels he gifted you.

He bites down on you and speaks hotly, "my hands will make a pretty necklace, don't you think?"

You let out a lewd noise, "you better make my stay here worthwhile."

Otto shoves you onto your bed. Your heart races at the sight of his rabid expression.

Later that day, during the council meeting, the issue of your courtship was brought up, as it has been since the moment Viserys was crowned king.

The king made it known once before that he was set on allowing you to chose your match; he owed it to you, as his beloved sister. It was a sweet sentiment no one at all cared for. Still, Viserys said that if he was allowed to wed who he wanted, then he would assure the same for his twin. At least this is what he told the council members.

None but he, and mayhap Queen Aemma, knew his true intentions. He was waiting upon your decision to become his second wife. True, you had turned him down many times over, but he knew that no one could match the flame of a Targaryen better than another Targaryen.

Daemon knew this too.

Daemon knew that no man could survive the ferocity of your fire. And he understood suddenly ,as an old fuck on the council droned over potential matches, why you never wanted to marry Viserys though you gave him so much.

He was weak.

Daemon watched as Viserys smiled pleasantly at the sagging fuck through his horrible attempt at selling his son to him as a potential match for you. If it were him, he wouldn't have let him speak as long as he did.

And even now, Viserys heard out the qualms of another Lord, because this was his nature. He went through at the politicking because he lacked the balls to exercise his soverignity.

The prince was certain you recognized this in your twin. This was why you let him have your maidenhead but not your hand. Rest assured, you will recognize nothing of the sort in him.

Daemon slams his hand on the table, making the room go silent as all eyes turned to him.

Viserys looks darkly upon his brother.

Otto turns to him, wanting nothing more than to press his boot upon his throat and put him in his place. So he does the latter, "have you lost all sense of decorum and self, prince Daemon?"

Daemon whips his head to Otto and narrows his eyes as they twitch, "the fuck did you just say to me?"

"Not only did you interrupt Lord Awyen, but you have, yet again, disrespected the king with your thoughtlessness."

Daemon jolts out of his chair and angrily growls, "you fucking cunt-"

Viserys barks, "Daemon!"

The kingsguard begin to press forward.

Daemon slams his hand on the table again and points at the Hightower cunt, "I am saving him the seconds he will never get again," he turns to his brother, "we all know that you will not consider any of these fucks' dimwitted sons," he looks out to the rest of the men, "nor will the princess even spare them a moment's glance."

It became quite apparent quite quickly to Otto where Daemon was taking this conversation. He will not let him have the final say.

"I am her only real match, brother," Daemon says, confirming Otto's thoughts, making the other men at the table mumble under their breaths. He turns to Viserys. "I am the only one who can honor her in a way that is-"

"Honor her?" Otto scoffs, shoulders stiffened with ire, "my prince, are you not the same man who has ceaselessly been coaxing your sister into tears whenever you have the misfortune to cross paths?"

Steam nearly whistles out of Daemon's ears. He lets out high pitched chuckle, "and you really think that all the fancy collars you've given her has made her into your bitch?"

"DAEMON!" Viserys fumes.

"If you think for a second, mutt," Daemon begins to circle around the room, "that I would let my sister end up with a slobbering-" the kingsguard come upon him, holding back before he can come close enough to strike Otto, "-pathetic excuse for a m-"

"Fucking get him out of here!" Viserys barks.

Daemon fights out of the arms of two guards' who have him apprehended, "fucking LET ME GO!"

They do not and hauls him out of the room.

Otto looks out in as Daemon wrangles and growls. Viserys releases a deep breath and thinks about how he would really rather not have to tell you this happened.

And he doesn't, because before Daemon is even released by the kingsguard back to his chambers, the servants have already whispered about the incident each other and your trusted handmaiden informed you promptly what happened as you visited Alaerion in the pit.

You didn't even need to seek Daemon out this time, because the next thing you knew, he was marching over to you as you brought your dragon back in. Alaerion's screech is what makes you realize he was here.

You turn away from her and see your distraught brother marching over.

"Daemon, wh-"

"Iksan ēdrugī hen umbagon. Kesā dōrī ūndegon, sīr kesan urnēptre ao nykēla," he heaves as he walks over. You pull away from your large mount and walk towards the prince as he continues, "tolvie ñāqatubis ao zālagon nyke lēda aōha laehurlion. Ao jurnegon rȳ nyke yn gaomā daor ūndegon nyke."

I'm tired of the wait. You will never see, so I will show you myself. Every morning you burn me with your face. You look at me but you do not see me.

Daemon grabs your wrists and pulls you toward him, "I have not been a boy for years. You will no longer treat me like one."

Alaerion begins to circle around the two of you. She roars for attention, but neither of you give it to her. She shakes her head and cranes her dark hued neck up, looking down upon you both.

His hard gaze dig into the internal wounds that he had just inflicted. You suck in a breath and yank out of his grip, "then do not act like a child around me."

Alaerion goes on the defensive when you shove Daemon back. She may be fond of him, but she would not hesitate to protect her rider.

You raise a hand at your dragon as she hisses, "arlī bē." Back up.

Alaerion begrudgingly obeys.

You watch as she lies down but keeps a close watch on the two of you. You turn back to your brother, who looks like he had suffered horrible whiplash, "ziry iksos iā doru-borto hen ao naejot vīlībagon nyke isse naejon hen Alaerion."

It's a stupid of you to fight me in front of Alaerion.

Daemon shakes his head, "I'm not trying to fight-"

"Then WHAT do you want from me?!" you throw your hands out in question.

"I WANT YOU!" Daemon bursts with frustration.

You freeze in your spot as he steps forward and grabs your face. His breath hitches, "I want you to see me for what I am!" His hands drag down to your neck, "and I am a man with needs," your hands grab onto his top, "with wants," he heaves, "with desires."

"Daemon-"

He shuts you up with a kiss. He is done wasting time. The time is now. He has to have you.

You are shocked by the kiss. You are shocked by how hungry it is. You are shocked how wonderfully his lips fit against yours. You are shocked by how easily you mold against him.

Daemon feels his stomach flurry as he brings his hands to your side and digs his fingers into your dress. Your own hands come to his nape and tug at the roots of his long hair.

He breaks away from you to whisper against your cheek, "you will no longer scorn me. And you will not refuse me."

You let out a yelp when Daemon bends and pulls your skirt up. He drops on his knees and scratches up your legs, nails intent on leaving their mark, "I have made it known to the old fucks at the council that no man is worthy of you."

He brings himself under your and sinks his teeth to your thigh, "none but me, sweet sister."

You moan out his name, as you feel his hands slowly knead their way up to your hips. You snap out of the rabid trance you were being pulled into because of Alaerion's loud huff.

"My love, the doors are wide open, someone could-"

"Ivestragī zirȳ ūndegon," Daemon cuts you off and suddenly rises to his feet. He looks out of breath and starved. He takes your shoulders and shudders, "ivestragī zirȳ ūndegon bona ao sytilībagon naejot nyke."

Let them see. Let them see that you belong to me.

Daemon shoves you down, bringing you to your hands and knees. You look back at him as he undoes his breeches. You turn away and gulp. You try to calm yourself but the thought of someone walking in on you, added to the fact you could hear the prince ripping at his trousers, was making your insides burn.

He gets on his knees, rips your skirt up, and hisses at the sight before him. He immediately grabs your thighs and rips you apart. He wanted nothing but to taste your sweet building slick, but he has to claim you now. His fingers find your entrance. He lets out a grunt as he toys with you with two fingers while his other hand continues to free his steadily hardening cock.

You let out a shaky moan as Daemon circles his thick fingers around your tender flesh. Your jaw drops and you shoes dig into the floor when two digits shallowly enter you.

"I've gotten much practice," Daemon mutters, "learned everything for you," he mutters, "want to touch you better than Viserys."

Your heart drops at his words. Your head whips over your shoulder. Just then, Daemon pulls his hand away from your core and looks at you. His eyes darken and he grabs your hair, effectively ruining your braids. He brings his glimmering fingers to your lips. You have no shame, or at least not in that moment, and you instantly suck on him, tasting yourself on him.

""Nyke pendagon nūmāzma bona tubis nyke ūndan ao lanta mirre se jēda," he huffs as he ruts against you, "sesīr skori nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon naejot."

I think about the day I saw you two all the time. Even when I don't want to.

Your let out a loud sound when he unceremoniously thrusts into you and yet he does do anything beyond gripping your hips tightly.

Daemon rubs at your fleshy backside and releases a string of High Valyrian curses as you feel yourself clench around him. He acts in retaliation of his hated sour memory, shoving into you only once out of spite, making you release a cry that echoes across the room.

A few more moments pass and, still, he does nothing, you bring one hand to your side and place it atop of his knuckles. You arch your back and begin to maneuver against him faintly, "my love," you speak in a wanton manner, "please move."

Daemon's face contorts.

You squeak when he slaps into you once more then stops again. Without another warning, he further ruins your hair with his careless grip and then begins to fuck into you like there's no tomorrow. In truth, they may well not be one for him if someone catches you and Viserys' anger is inspired.

You feel your neck crack as Daemon yanks your hair. At the same time, you let out a guttural cry that bounces across the room. This is finally enough to rouse your dragon with concern.

Alaerion stirs and lifts her long neck, looking down upon her rider as she is mounted from behind. The creature knew well enough what was happening, and she happened to like Daemon, which was why she watched for a second before letting out a bleat, along with smoke through her nostrils.

You really don't have the sense to speak to your ride, much less make any sound that was remotely intelligible, so you effectively ignore her as you feel a pressure in your belly build.

Daemon releases your hair, making your head drop and shake in relation to the his ministrations.

Gathering his strength, he hoists your hips up slightly, making your shift your weight on your fidgeting toes. This allows him to rip into upward and in doing so, hits a needy little nerve in you that makes you release a helpless cry every moment it is hit.

You call out Daemon's name in response, arms shaking through its attempts to keep you up.

"You like being fucked by your brothers, don't you?" he sighs through his brutish actions, "you wanted to be filled up so bad that you couldn't wait for me to take my place in you."

You don't respond with anything coherent. You feel dribble slip down through your open mouth.

Your limbs begin to tire, and your belly begins to grow tighter and hotter. You focus on the feeling building in your stomach and make yourself go wild at the thought of the prince filling you up with his seed. You release a moan but it rips into a yelp when he slaps your ass then yanks at your hair again.

You nearly choke on your spit. You begin to beg to him in High Valyrian.

Alaerion catches this and finds no more tolerance. She begins to growl.

Daemon chuckles as he leans in to you, "your dragon has issue with her master being bred roughly," he nips at your lobe, "tell her off."

You whine.

Rather desperately and unconvincingly, you order Alaerion to back up and calm down. You know for a fact that the sound she made was one that was dissatisfied with the order, and yet she forces herself to calm and decides to curl into herself.

Daemon reaches his breaking point, and moves as ruggedly and as quickly as he possibly could. He elicits another yelp out of you when he slaps you again, "udligon ñuha másino." Answer my question.

You're lucky to even know what the hell he is talking about, so with a loud gulp you let out a strangled answer, "kessa." Yes.

Daemon growls, "which brother?"

You whine, "ao, Daemon," you sigh as he pummels into you, "sīr sȳz." You, Daemon. So good.

And as though that was the trigger, you bounce against him some more and then you come so good around him that it squeezes the air out of you and makes your eyes roll back.

You continuously call out his name as he sequentially spurts out with burning ripples of him. He makes sure you are shivering and overstimulated, and that he, himself, was fully done for before slowing and eventually stopping.

Daemon catches his breath as he rubs the fleshy part of your backside. You can feel yourself twitch around him as he does so, and you so badly wanted nothing more than to hold him right now.

"I've imagine doing this so many times, my princess," he mutters through a breath and stops his rubbing motions, "I've imagined making you mine more times than I can count."

You hiss when you feel him slide out of you. Sequentially, you feel his orgasm drip for your convulsing womanhood. Daemon uses a gentle touch as he brings your skirt down and slowly gets to his knees. He quickly puts his softened self away but makes sure to help you to your feet before doing anything more. You sluggishly move to stand and take his hand as he reaches out to you.

Daemon tugs you into him and looks upon you with solemn eyes. He brushes your hair back and you look at him then his undone laces. You find yourself smiling as you reach for his pants whilst feeling a hot bead burn down the inner part of your legs.

You happily tug at the string of his trousers and tie them up for him. You cannot help the playful expression that spreads across your faces as he makes attempts at smoothing your hair out.

You look at his face once, catching the concerned line between his brows. You turn back to his waist as you finish tying the strings, "do I look utter ruined, sweet boy?"

Daemon releases a breath. His hands come to your neck, his thumbs rub at your collarbones. You lean into his touch as your lips curl into a brighter smile.

"Ao jurnegon hae ñuha māzīlarion," he retorts, taking one step forward, face leaning close to yours, "nyke zālagon syt ao." You look like my future. I burn for you.

Your breath hitches when he places a gracious kiss upon. Daemon is warm and gentle as he leads your lips through this dance. You reach out for his torso and let yourself drift through the feel of his warm mouth.

"Nyke ānogrosa nehugon syt ao," Daemon whispers as he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours. He takes your hands and places it upon his chest, "iksā mirre nyke jeldan, mandia." I bleed for you. You are all I ever wanted, sister.

You feel your stomach roll, "ñuha Daemon." My Daemon.

"Take me as your husband," he retorts, pulling away to look you straight in the eyes, "I would honor you better than any man could. I would smite all that wrong you. I would fly across the realms with you. I would clear the way of anything that hinder you. I would father your dragonlings. I would teach them the pride of our house," he shakes his head, "I would have you till my dying breath... if you'll have me."

You cannot help the tears that begin to fog your vision. You pull you hands from him to clutch his jaw and rub it lovingly, "oh, Daemon," you let out a soft chuckle, "you have always been the most important person in my life. I would give you the world if you asked it of me," you curl your lips into a smirk, "and now I can put to rest all my worries for your betrothal."

Daemon breaks into a smile. He chuckles softly. He wraps his arms around you and presses you tightly against him, "not all your worries. You will still need to plan it."

You laugh as he kisses your neck. You relax against him and dig your fingers into his nape, massaging the area gently, "you would let me fuss about it all by myself?"

"I nary care for the formalities," he mutters against you, "I'd wed you in the gutters and still be the happiest man alive."

You snort and push him away. You give him a look as he tucks hair behind your ear, "we are not going to be wed in the gutters, Daemon."

"Of course not," he raises his brows, "I will not allow such offence be made to my bride."

You find your stomach fluttering at his words, "your bride."

Daemon's face grows solemn all over again. He rubs your lips, "my bride."

You smile at him and nod decidedly, "I will speak with Viserys about this and promptly begin preparations."

Though the words should have made him overjoyed, the prince felt a pang of dread rip through him as he heard them. Daemon clenches his jaw, "I should speak to him. It is only right I implore brother for you hand."

You take in his expression and find yourself chuckling softly, "you fought with him, didn't you?"

Daemon does not retort.

You laugh louder and shake your head, "then do not further inspire his fury, my love," you smooth out his hair, "let me do the talking. After all, he will not refuse me."

Daemon places his hands atop yours, causing you to still your actions, "he may not refuse you but he may want to spite me."

"Daemon," you sigh, "Viserys may be difficult, with you especially, but he means be out of love," you kiss his nose, "leave your worries to sissy."

Daemon sighs then nods. He sinks his head do your shoulder and you pull him close. He kisses your skin and thinks he belongs here. He belongs against your ribs.

Alaerion rolls over.

"Prince Daemon, though adopted many infamous names, would notably be remembered for overcoming what would be known as the Four Horrid Tasks, issued by his older brother in exchange for their sister's hand. King Viserys' had always been extremely fond and protective of his twin. He made clear many times over that she would wed whom she chose. Yet through constant pressure, in the end, he made a proclamation for all those interested in her: 'He who be daring and gallant enough to accomplish but four tasks for the king, Viserys of House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, will be allowed to take the princess, the King's twin and younger sister, as his wife.' It is heavily debated whether or not the decision was made to silence the voices of the council from further pestering him with the matter of the princess' hand, or to dissuade his younger brother into pursuing their beloved sister any further."--Excerpt from 'Daemon Targaryen: A Prince Larger Than Life' by unknown author, circa 100-120 A.C.

Daemon took deep breathes and sure strides on his way to his brother's chambers.

Yes, you told him to leave it up to you, but he could not find it in him not to speak to Viserys about the matter.

The events at the dragon pit yesterday were clear in his mind. He could still hear your cries, feel your soft flesh, taste the tenderness of your words.

He knew, truly, that if it was the issue was of your hand, you were the only one who the king would ever listen to its regards. And yet even after hearing from both guards and servants alike that King Viserys made it known he would not be interrupted in his room or bothered with any royal matters for today, he pressed forward still and now stood before his brother's chamber doors.

The prince decided to knock and announce himself, which was honestly not his nature.

He waited for a few moments, listening in for a response, before raising his knuckles to rap on the door again. He does not though, as he hears the sound of a whimper seep through the crevice before him. Daemon straightens as a high pitched voice continues to whine. It was very obviously not Viserys making that sound, and somehow, he was certain that was not Aemma either.

He clenches his jaw, it was you.

"Enter," the king barks.

Daemon wastes no time and pushes the door open. He makes it a point to keep his eyes down and only look up once the door was closed behind him. When he does, he feels his insides gurgle at the sight of his twin siblings.

Lo and behold, there sat the King at the edge of his bed, chest bare, hands rested upon on his lap, or rather, the lap rested upon him. You were sat on Viserys, lips parted as you heaved heavily, clad in nothing but your shift. To make matters worse, your clothes were bunched up by your hips and Viserys' hand was unabashedly in between your thighs.

Daemon wouldn't know that your fluttering cunt was filled up with his brother's seed and your ass with filled up by his cock up until later.

He could clearly see how his brother was touching you with his fingers, evident by the strain in his arm and how you would slightly flinch intermittently.

"So, baby brother," he starts, "you caught me fucking sissy once before, huh?"

Daemon neither moves nor responds.

Viserys keeps his eyes on him as he nuzzles his face into your neck and makes you whimper by shoving his fingers into your leaking entrance with little regard, merely keeping them there. You grip on his arm and mutter his name out in a plea.

The king does not like that and looks at you as he thrusts upward, making you squeak helplessly, "funny that now you remember my name now, whore."

Daemon's nostrils flare at the crude name you're given.

Viserys turns back to Daemon as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder. He enjoys watching his brother's face tick at the sight of him sullying the woman he wants to make his wife. He pulls his mouth off you and speaks to the prince, "you remember when I first took you to a whorehouse, Daemon?"

In truth, Daemon doesn't want to reply, but he decides that he probably should, "yes."

"If the princess wasn't born a princess, she would've be the best whore in the Street of Silk," Viserys turns back to you, "iksis bona daor paktot?" Is that not right?"

"Paktot," Right, you reply like clockwork.

Viserys releases a groan that bubbles into a laugh, "my poor girl is so desperate to come, isn't she?"

You let out a needy sound and arch your back against him when he begins to move his fingers inside you. One of your hands go to the side of his face and another goes atop of his working hand, urging him with gentle stroke to continue pleasuring you.

Gods be good, the sight of you coiling up against Viserys was a torturous sight. It was making Daemon's breath shorten and his insides churn. And yet, at the same time, he could feel his pulse in his pants thud strongly in reaction to what he saw.

"Do you deserve to come, byka rene?" Little slut.

You readily nod at your king's words, "kostilus." Please.

Viserys begins to feel your folds tighten against his fingers. He promptly pulls away and grabs your neck with the hand he just used to fuck you with, "I don't think you're sorry enough."

You whimper as he presses down on your airways.

Viserys then turns back to Daemon, "you know why she's here?"

Daemon watches as you let out a choking sound. He shifts uncomfortably in his spot but does not get to reply as the king answers himself.

"My pretty twin is here to convince me to give her to you," he sighs deeply, releasing his chokehold to grab one of your breasts and knead them roughly, "the gods made her the same day they made me. They molded her next to me in our mother's womb, and I molded my cock into her with a vengeance," he eyes Daemon hotly, "she belongs to me. Why would I give her to you?"

Hearing those words make you momentarily slip out of your lustful trance. You turn to Viserys and rub your nose against his cheek, "brother, please-"

"If the fuck says he wants my throne and you'd kill me in cold blood and give it to him, wouldn't you," the king seethes, flicking his hips upward, making you screech, "all he does is complain like the little boy he is and calls you cruel if you ignore him for even a second, yet you think he's worthy? Worthy to be king? Worthy of my prized half's cunny?

"He doesn't even know how much you favor him," Viserys continues through a growl and slowly stops his vicious movements. You let out a tired cry as he rubs your belly and turns to Daemon, "when he first shared a whore, brother, I immediately thought of sissy. I so badly wanted to share her with you."

Daemon watches as Viserys hands come between your thighs again. The latter explains further, "I thought she would look so pretty leaking from both holes after her brothers fuck her like the slut she was made to be-- made for us."

The prince swallows heavily.

"But no," Viserys pulls his hand away from your thighs, "she said she did not want to taint you," he scoffs out a chuckle, "as if she was unaware of the fact you were a bigger whore than both of us combined."

Daemon shifts in his spot again.

"Why don't you tell our sweet sister how much of a whore you are, Daemon," the king announces, "tell her how you made your painted whores swallow your seed and not waste a drop, for it was an honor to even have a Targaryen load in them. Tell her how you spit between their arse cheeks and made them weep as you tore through them with your cock," he turns to Daemon, "tell her how you touched yourself to the thought of us-"

He lets out a strangled breath.

"Tell her how badly you want to be me," Viserys gives a wolfish grin as he begins to rock his hips upward, making your whine, "how badly you want to fuck her with me right now."

For some reason, Daemon finds his brother's words as a trigger to step forward. He manages two steps before he realizes what he is doing and stops in his tracks.

Viserys face darkens as he stills. You whine again. He tilts his head in a beckoning manner, "take her dress off, brother."

Daemon does not know why he hesitates, but he makes up for the seconds with eager steps towards you.

Before he reaches you two, the eldest speaks up again, "you ought to know that she rather readily gave herself up to me as she mused about the idea of your marriage."

Daemon stops when he is before you. He feels himself stiffen further at the sight of your sweaty face as you turn to him.

Viserys looks up as well, "and while we were fucking, the bitch called out your name instead of mine."

Daemon cannot help the way his eyes widen at that.

"Syt sīr bōsa, nyke mirre ao kreni, se syt skoros?" he yanks you by your hair, "naejot emagon ao isse jaelagon hen orvorta hen ñuha lēkia." For so long, I kept you pleased, and for what? To have you in want of the cock of my brother?

"That's enough," Daemon rebuts.

Viserys releases your tangled hair upon hearing this and laughs. He turns to Daemon and shakes his head, "enough? Pull her dress off and you'll see how whorish she is. You'll see her leaking with me because I fucked her and didn't make her peak. You'll see her grinding down subtly cause I have her ass impaled."

So he does just that.

He pulls your dress off and sees your wet curls and thighs, painted white with the with sticky remnants of the king. You lift you hands so Daemon can rid your clothing altogether, and he quickly chucks it to the side. He licks his lips as he finally notices the miniscule circular motions you were doing on top of Viserys' lap.

The said man raises a brow, "you still want your hussy?"

Daemon does not get to respond as you are pulled back onto the bed. Viserys falls onto the sheets and drags you up, all while keeping himself snug inside you. He pushes you to your side and grabs your leg, bringing it behind you, over his hip.

You whimper as you feel come spill out of you. Your sounds intensify when Viserys grabs your breast and begins to thrust into you. He twists you carelessly as he fucks into you with little regard.

Daemon's mouth nearly foams when you raise a hand and call out for him, "jorrāelagon ao sīr olvie." Need you so much.

Viserys pants, "come one, little brother. Your come slut awaits."

Daemon can feel his hands trembling as he strips himself naked. He works as fast as he can but when he hears your cry, he decides to climb over to you although his dress shirt remained on him.

You whimper as tears prick in the corner of your eyes, reaching out to Daemon as he takes his place next to you. The said man rubs your hips and grabs his hardened length, easily slipping into your soaking folds.

You release a loud cry when you feel him enter. You scratch at his clothed back and tug at his shirt, "off, please, off-"

Daemon does not dare deny you this, and though he struggles, he eventually rids himself of his final piece of clothing. After this, he finally begins to move into you. He pumps in and out at a much slower pace than Viserys, but matches the same ferocity.

You let out quick and shallow pants at the delicious feel of fullness in you. As you were denied and teased for so long, you could feel yourself quickly reaching your peak. You arch your back and pull Daemon into you as you clench around them

Viserys, knowing your body well, grabs your neck and whispers into your ear, pushing your further to your edge, "greedy minx. Coming already? Daemon's just getting started."

You can't help that you come right after that, shuddering and shaking as you feel heat spill all over you. You feel your lungs wring out all the air inside it. It only intensifies as Viserys keeps his hands secured around your neck. Needless to say, you're seeing stars at this point.

Daemon releases a groan as he feels your cunt convulse around him. It makes him increase his tempo to a point where he's moving about as fast as his brother.

With the added roughness, your high is surely lived out up until there was nothing left. Soon enough you were squeaking helplessly, twitching at the overstimulation.

Neither of the two could keep themselves from chasing after their own need even as you very clearly began to grow tense in discomfort.

At one point, everything became all too much that you choked out a soft sob.

It was at this point that Daemon begins to relent in his ways, slowing down to offer your brief repose.

Viserys, however, was not letting you have any of that, "don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop," he grunts. "She can take it," he leans into you, "can't you pretty girl? Can't you pathetic whore?"

Daemon watches as you choke out a yes through tears and a strangled breath.

You lift your leg off Viserys and prop it atop of his hip, "want to make you feel good," your grab at Viserys' neck, "want to make both my boys feel so good."

The king loses himself after that. With merely a few more thrusts, he bursts into you and releases a hot load that has you yelping.

He tightens his grip on your neck before he releases you abruptly, grabbing onto your shoulder as he uses you to satisfy his remaining needs.

He calls out your name and tilts your head back to kiss you. You catch a quick breath before he connects your lips together. Your mouths mingle against each other's sloppily, up until you're only breathing and grunting against the other, no longer kissing.

When Viserys stills behind you, he watches as Daemon pummels into you like a man on a mission, and, to be fair, he was.

Daemon takes his turn, bringing your face to him and kisses you much tenderly than Viserys did. He grabs at your leg and pulls you closer to him as he chases the building fire in his belly.

Part of the king knows his brother was probably being held back by the position you were in, and as much as he wanted to see him suffer and to keep himself buried in your plush tush, he decides to be a magnanimous king and pulls out of you, causing you to whimper as you swollen hole oozes with his creamy delight.

Viserys rolls to his side and takes a moment before standing up and grabbing his ever ready wash cloth on his cabinet, wiping himself down as he turns to watch his brother break into his twin sister.

Immediately, Daemon has you pushed on your back, sprawled out beneath him. He wraps your legs around him and fucks into you with more vigor now that he had you all to himself.

"D-Daemon," you whimper as you wrap your arms around him, clinging onto him for dear life.

He nuzzles into your neck and mutters sweetly, "need me so badly, sweetheart?" he groans and whispers, "need me to fuck you better than Viserys?"

You whimper in response as the bed creaks at his movements.

Daemon pushes your legs down your sides and licks your tear stained cheeks, "you want to come again, love?"

You shake your head in disagreement as your poor cunny was still very much reeling from being teased too much.

He whines, "what if I want you to come, pretty girl, will you come for me?"

You sob at the idea, "Daemon please-"

"Shhh," he sneaks a finger between you, "you can do it, can't you?"

You digs your nails into his back and you scream out when he begins to rub at your sensitive pearl.

"Gōntan ñuha dārilaros daor ivestragon ziry kessa tepagon nyke mirros?" he mutters against you, "kessa ao daor tepagon nyke iā byka run hae bisa?" Did my princess not say she shall give me anything? Will you not give me a small thing like this?

Tears rush out of your eyes as you hear this, "Daemon kostilus." Daemon please.

Viserys lets out a heavy breath as he hears your whimpers. He finds himself smirking, "where's the Fanged Beauty's teeth? You can take it can't you?"

Damon groans and answer for you, "she can take it," he grunts, "take it like a good girl. Sissy's always been good at taking care of us."

You whine and let out a long breath. You allow yourself to relax against him and eventually, with all of Daemon's ministrations, you calm and feel yourself begin to tighten around him all over again.

"Gaomagon sȳrī, riñītsos, tolī mirre, iksā doing bisa syt zirȳla, daor?" Viserys speaks as he walks off to get himself a cup of wine.

Do well, little girl, after all, you are doing this for him, no?

The king sips on his drink as he watches the obscenities playing out on his bed.

Daemon feels himself fall closer to his limit. Sequentially, he no longer actually gives a shit whether or not your come with him or not, though he really wanted to feel your cunt choke him as he pushed into you.

It was a good thing that you suddenly began to pant out his name and dig your fingers into his hair, "I'm close, Daemon."

He smirks and nods, "like a good girl."

You whimper and rapidly feel yourself inching towards your undoing. The final blow is delivered after Daemon sputters out curses as he unravels above you. He releases into you with his nails digging into your sides. He twitches and shudders with the intense bolt of pleasure. It surges hot, molten, and thick. It fills you up until you're overflowing.

The sound you make is piercing. It rips through Viserys' ears, inspiring him to call you a string of vulgar names in your shared mother tongue. On the other hand, it makes Daemon hiss hotly against your neck as his ego soars while he concludes his fuck. His stiff body slowly begins to grow limp and your own terse one spasms until its putty.

By the time the prince is a melted sky above you, you catch your breath and hold onto him, as though he was your deliverer, as though he was your beloved; both of which were true after all.

Daemon buries his face next to your own and whispers sweet nothings to your ear.

You nuzzle your face against him. Slowly, your heart began to calm.

"Hen rȳ istin," Viserys pipes up, cutting through your tender moment, "ivestragī īlva ūndegon se mess emā vēttan." Off at once. Let us see the mess you have made.

The king walks over to the side of his bed and motions his head at Daemon, who barely wanted to roll off you as it was, now it was the last thing he wanted to do. Still, he looked at his brother, thinking that he had a withering cock, and gave you a quick kiss before separating from you.

Though Daemon did so in a gentle manner, you still could not help but curl your toes tightly and whimper as the weight above you shifts off. Immediately, your pulverized holes began to weep out the lustful load the two dragons left in you.

The two men cannot help the fascination and the enthrallment they feel upon seeing the way your swollenness flutters, nor, frankly, can they turn away.

Daemon does not move too far from you and, in fact, lies by your side, nuzzling his face between your breast, wrapping an arm over your side, pulling you close to him. He rubs his cheek on your skin and plays with your pert nipple.

"Filthy whore," Viserys smirks, "to think you could have had us both long ago had you not been so persistent in babying your precious baby brother."

You do not respond to him but you do begin to lightly brush through Daemon's hair. You breathe through your lips as you slowly bring your head down to look upon the youngest, "I do not regret it."

Daemon looks up at you as you mutter through a smile, "I prefer knowing him like this."

Viserys' eye twitches at this. He clenches his jaw at the sight of you both and downs the drink in his hand. He walks off to set it down and then finds himself scoffing. He feels a bitterness settle in his stomach and as he turns over his shoulder. Suddenly, a smirk spreads on his lips.

"Dirty girl," he mutters, "if you were to fall with child," he turns around, "no one would be able to tell if it was me or Daemon that fathered it."

Daemon turns to Viserys as he walks over.

"Maybe you'll bare twins like mother and then Daemon and I can share a child."

You turn to him and sit up slightly when he says this. You notice that, though his tone was mischievous, there was a serious glint in his eyes. You raise a brow at him, "don't be ridiculous."

"I am not ridiculous," he shrugs, "I am king."

Daemon immediately sits up.

Viserys raises a finger.

The two brothers stare at each other for a moment before the latter speaks, "I have heard your pleas. I will consider them kindly at the council tomorrow."

492 notes · View notes