#she craves flesh and souls

[cxtxphile]

her name is ebony darkness dementia raven way but we call her ligeia

sandworm oc sorta?? theres a second half to this drawing but this looked too cunt to not post it on its own

[altruisticalastor]

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Summary: Alastor didn't like sharing your charm with the others. Which often led him to get needy. Craving extra special attention from his darling girl, which you happily supplied.

☒ Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, established relationship, heavy breeding kink, praise kink, soft!alastor, creampies, dirty talk, fingering, light biting, nipple play (reader recieving), begging, making out

☒ Word Count: 1,564

Your peers swore you had cast a spell upon Alastor. He was wrapped around your little finger, and you lost count of how many times demons who stayed at the hotel would come up to you and ask if you owned his soul. 

You may not have owned his soul, but you certainly owned his heart.

After the initial shock wore off, your counterparts left it be. Angel would joke often about how Alastor was "pussy whipped". But that was as far as the teasing went. Everyone else knew not to step on The Radio Demon's toes. 

It wasn't hard for your peers to catch on; to why exactly Alastor loved you so dearly. You were an absolute sweetheart, caring and compassionate in every way. You always offered a hand to any of your counterparts who required assistance, and your actions proved that you were constantly thinking of ways to make everyone feel valued. 

Alastor rather despised having to share your charm with others. Which often led to long nights of your lover being clingy and needy for you. Much like tonight. 

You were flat on your back atop the plush duvet. Alastor surrounded you with his frame, slender arms enclosing near your head. Your lover placed soft kisses across your face. Humming one of his favorite tunes in the process. "Absolutely breathtaking, my doe," Alastor whispered, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck. 

A chill ran down your spine at the feeling of your lover's bare body pressing against yours. His cold flesh was a nice contrast to the warmth you emitted. You let out a soft whine as Alastor's erection grazed your lower tummy, making you needier than ever for him. Which was The Radio Demon's goal all along. It was only fair to make you feel just as desperate for him as he was for you. 

"Do you know how much I cherish you, my dear?" Alastor cooed, nipping at your neck. Leaving pretty marks in his wake. His sharp teeth grazing along your pulse point caused your breath to hitch. Your lover trailed lower, still pressing his body close to yours. 

"Yes," You sighed, burying your hands into his fluffy tufts of hair as Alastor's lips wrapped around one of your nipples. His hands began to wander. One slipped between your legs, gathering your slick with his deft digits. His other hand trailed to your other breast, tweaking your neglected nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"Good girl..." Alastor released your nipple with a loud pop before darting his tongue out to circle around your areola. A cry of his name slipped past your parted lips as Alastor's ring finger eased its way into your pussy. Your grip on his hair tightened as you held him closely to your chest, pulling a deep groan from your lover's lips. 

"Feels so good, Al," You babbled, raising your hips to meet the slow cadence of his finger plunging deep inside you. Alastor's lips shifted to your other breast, giving it the same treatment. Only this time, his sharp teeth skimmed along your sensitive nipple. A sultry moan ripped through you from the sensation, urging Alastor on to add a second finger inside your inviting heat. 

Alastor slowly rutted his hips against the plush duvet, letting out groans against your marked-up flesh. "Please, my love... need you inside," You whined desperately, pulling his face up to have him meet your gaze. A string of saliva connected Alastor's lips to your hardened nipple. His cock twitched at the look of desperation you gave him. You scored your bottom lip with your teeth, eyebrows knitted with emphasis; eyes half-lidded. 

"How could I say no when you ask so graciously, hm? I intend to give my little doe everything she needs." Alastor's smile widened as he pulled his fingers out of your dripping heat. He didn't waste a beat wrapping his slick-coated fingers around the base of his cock. A whine escaped you as your lover ran the head of his flushed length between your folds.  

"Hmm, you're so wet for me, darling. Do I really work you up that much?" Alastor quipped, allowing the tip of his cock to push past the tight ring of your pussy. You nodded your head in agreement, pushing your hips closer to his; but to no avail. Alastor's hands came to hold your waist, keeping you in place. "Use your words, my dear."

"Y-Yes! Always, Al. Just you... only this needy for you," You were already stupefied by the pleasure your lover granted you, and he barely even began. A deep chuckle escaped Alastor. The radio crackle reverberated through his chest. "I hope you are aware that the feeling is mutual, my precious little doe,"

With that, your lover pushed deeper inside you. Stretching your walls to accommodate his length. "F..Fuck, so tight. You are squeezing me so greatly, darling." Alastor hissed through gritted teeth. Your thighs came up to wrap around his waist, pulling his pelvis flush against yours. 

A gasp fled you as you felt your lover twitch from deep inside you. His full balls kissed the underside of your pussy, making your head spin. "Al, you're so big, feels s-so good..." Your hands enveloped the back of his neck, drawing his face close to yours. Alastor's lips ghosted your own as he delivered his first thrust deep inside your fluttering heat. 

"You take me so well, my darling. Your tight little hole was made for me- and me alone." Alastor whispered against your lips, finding a slow but steady rhythm. Desperate whines escaped you, and your lover drank up each and every single one. Alastor was infatuated. His crimson orbs held so much adoration for you. 

You kept your gaze fixated on him as he fucked into you sweetly. Your legs narrowed around his waist as Alastor began plunging into you with more vigor. "I'm going to breed you, my sweet little doe," Alastor huffed. One of his large palms wrapped around your hand before he dragged it down to your tummy. A sharp gasp fled you as you touched the prominent bulge your lover was causing. "Feel that, my dear? I'm in so deep. Surely you'll get pregnant when I spill my seed inside you." 

You clenched harshly around him from his crude words. The thought of Alastor knocking up caused the coil within you to unravel. "P-Please, breed me! Fill me up, make me yours for good!" You cried out, thighs trembling around your lover's waist. Your words diminished the last of Alastor's resolve. Before you knew it, his large hands hooked under the back of your thighs. Pushing them tightly to your chest.

A sharp gasp escaped you from the change of position. Alastor's cock reached even deeper from this angle, intensifying the heat in your lower tummy. "Such a good girl you are! You're so pilant, so willing... so eager for me to fuck a baby into you." His words caused your walls to flutter wildly around his length. You were on the edge of cumming all over his cock. The pleasure Alastor provided you was becoming too invigorating to bear. 

"Al, ah... I'm close! K-Kiss me, please!" You begged as his hips pistoned harshly into yours. The lewd sound of his balls slapping against the underside of your drooling pussy sent a pleasurable chill down your spine. Alastor wasted no time capturing your lips. The kiss was hot and messy, tongues intertwining with one another as the coil within you finally snapped. Your lover drank up all of your whines as your pussy pulsed and gushed around his cock. 

Alastor wasn't far behind you. His release was triggered by yours. The feeling of your hot, wet walls trying to milk him for all he was worth made him feel lightheaded. His thrusts became sloppy before his hips ultimately stilled against yours. Alastor groaned into the kiss as his cock twitched from deep within you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your skull as the first ropes of his cum spilled into your pussy. 

There was so much, and the feeling of being bred by your lover was heavenly; ironically so. Alastor slowly broke away from the kiss as he attempted to catch his breath. His cock was still nestled deep inside you as he stared down at you lovingly. You couldn't help but smile widely at your lover, allowing your palms to capture his cheeks. Rubbing Alastor's face gently with the pads of your thumbs. 

"Alastor, that was... wow," You giggled as your lover slowly released his tight grip on your thighs, allowing your legs to lie flat against the bed. "You are truly perfect, my dear. I simply cannot get enough of you!" Alastor's praise caused your heart to flutter in your chest. He was so gentle with you and you alone. Pride surged through your soul at the notion that Alastor only had a soft spot for you.

Your train of thought was cut off by the sensation of your lover's cock hardening from deep inside you once more. A smirk crossed Alastor's features as he reveled in your look of shock. "What's with the look of awe, my darling? I told you I was going to breed you. I don't intend to leave this room until I am positive you have been thoroughly bred."

tags; @danveration

[tittiesnhrtz]

i was having a really bad day and only ellie williams fluff could save me bahaja. this was written under fifteen mins so it’s not proofread. also this is pure fluff.

the lamp in the living room casts a glow on the silhouette of your wife sprawled on the couch, with its dim yellow light highlighting her pretty features and the book nestled on her lap. she pretends to be enamoured by the still words on the paper, though what she’s really enamoured by is the sight of you examining the basket of tangerines. your brows are furrowed in concentration as you stare at the circular fruits, probably trying to tell which one is the most succulent, you only want your wife to have the best one after all. she watches as you finally pick one out of the dainty basket, thinking about how she managed to get so lucky, her perfect wife who’s always there for her, anchoring her to the peacefulness of life. almost every thought that weaves itself into her mind is about you— while she’s at work, while she’s at home, even when she’s sleeping, her dreams are a figment of her moments with you. her calloused palms having learnt the texture of your skin, always seem to crave your warmth, unable to stay away from the expanse of your flesh. your stomach, your legs, your arms, your ass, she’ll take whatever you give her happily.

she makes space for you as you lay down beside her, your fingers peeling the outermost layer of the fruit, just like you’d peeled all the tough layers she put up, getting to the core of her heart, learning her soul inside out. you take a piece and bring it to her peach hued lips. she gladly welcomes it, the juices dripping down her chin. “so messy.” you chuckle and wipe the pulp away with your thumb. “‘s not my fault you weren’t holding it properly.” she places a lingering kiss to your nose bridge, letting the sticky liquid make a home on your nose. “ellie!” you exclaim, giggling and nudging her shoulder. she takes a few pieces of the tangerine from your hand and pulps their juices out onto your neck, only to lick them clean, the warm muscle of her tongue flicking across the pulse of your neck. “you’re so gross.” you put the rest of the fruit away from her grasp, letting them rest on the round oak table that serves as a coffee table in the depths of your house. “mhm, you love me anyway.” she smiles against your neck, slender fingers crawling under your cotton dress, tugging and sliding them off your body. your bra and underwear follow suit, joining the fabric on the ground. her hands trace every contour, every blemish and every flawless crest, worshipping your skin like its her salvation. “my pretty girl.” she murmurs, manoeuvring your body to fit inside the oversized t-shirt she’s wearing, her skin erupting at the feel of yours. her arms encircle your waist, spooning you, seeking closeness. her hand slides down, pressing against your pelvis, fingers playing tenderly with the hair that adorns your pussy, in a loving manner. “i love you.” a kiss to your earlobe. “so.” a kiss to your forehead. “so.” a kiss to your collarbone. “much.” a final and gentle kiss to your cheek. you smile at your lovesick wife, equally as hopeless as her. “i love you too. so, so much.” you repeat her euphoric words, longing to hear the three most unoriginal words again and again. she reads your mind, knowing you and your heart’s way better than yourself, and repeats the words like a lullaby, creating a symphony in the humdrum of the living room. all that matters to her is your soft breathing, the book being long forgotten, bridged somewhere between your bodies. as she whispers the words that have became your private altar, her throat grows dry until slumber takes over her body, her eyes fluttering shut as her cheek presses against yours, relishing in the solace of your love.

[kanekisfavoritegf]

PERFECT LOVER: The Life of Nanami Kento the 35 Year Old Virgin

MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED

SYNOPSIS: Kento Nanami, a 35-year-old introvert with a tendency to avoid social interactions, has made a conscious decision to steer clear of romantic entanglements. However, everything changes when he meets a new colleague at his birthday party, (Satoru's Idea). From the moment they meet, he is mesmerized, finding himself increasingly unable to resist her magnetic presence. Like taking a bite of forbidden fruit, he becomes ensnared by the allure, delving into a realm of infatuation and finding himself unable to break free. As he delves deeper into this newfound connection, Nanami begins to realize that he craves more than just a fleeting experience and yearns for more than just a fleeting taste of what she embodies.

Table of Contents

WORD COUNT: 1.6K

CHAPTER TWO:

You two were a tangle of tipsy limbs, moving constantly. At some point in the night, you had found yourself on top of him, skin to skin, with no barrier between the two of you; Kento felt like he was drowning in you. It was a push-and-pull movement. A dance of some sort, with you straddling him, helping him guide his dick into your dripping cunt, that squeezed in anticipation for him.

Nanami knew he wouldn’t last long, but as he sunk into you, the idea of even holding in the waves of pleasure that drowned him was impossible. 

He came hard and loud; fat globs of his semen shot into you and seeped out with the continued slamming of his hips. Kento didn’t even get a chance to moan your name before he was cumming again. 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” He gasped, eyes rolled to the back, and his head dug deep into your neck, licking a strip of sweat that coated your skin. His hands squeezed at your plush flesh so hard you knew you would feel the linger of his pints on you days from now. Kento didn’t even need to ask before you were giving him more and more and m–

Waking up to damp pants is something that Kento hadn’t done in years, and it was just as mortifying today as it was when he was fourteen. His fists still clung to the pillows near him, and his thighs were sore from chafing. The man could only assume the worst, which was that he humped his sheets like a depraved whore, to a wet dream about a woman he knew nothing about.

How perfect.

Kento got to his feet, ignoring the sticky feeling of his orgasm, clinging to his pajama pants to his dick, which was still undeniably challenging. The man moved to pull off his sheets and threw them in a basket to deal with later.

Nanami had placed you in his spare room with some old clothes and a toothbrush, hoping you would be sober enough to change yourself; he left you there with a simple goodnight, not turning back to see if you had closed the door on him or waiting for the sound of the door's lock clicking. 

Kento stripped and went to the bathroom, not daring to leave his room. He wouldn’t dare face you right now, not with a boner and a very obvious cum stain painting his pants. But it wasn’t just his appearance that kept him away from you; it was the sheer fact that you, for some reason, occupied his dreams and made him ruin his bed sheets. 

How could he even try to look you in the eye after that? Nanami’s idea was to wait you out, hoping you would leave in an embarrassed rush out his door with nothing but a note, email, or nothing at all, just the soft scent of your skin lingering in his room.  And even though a small part of him hoped you had stayed, a tiny part of him chose to squash that feeling down to the deepest depths of his soul, where memories of believing in Santa and monsters under the bed went—a place where the hopes of romance went to die a long time ago.

Cold showers should work. Nanami has never had to take one, but he knows they should. It isn’t, though, and in fact, all it was doing was increasing Kento’s chances of coming down with something. Moving the shower controls to the hot side, Kento decided to take things into his own hands. If a cold shower wasn’t going to get rid of his pulsating problem, he would just have to get rid of it himself.

As his hand moved to tug at his cock, images of you and only you seemed to fill his mind. Kento, of course, had masturbated before; the act was nothing new to him. But pleasuring himself was more of a distraction or stress relief. A brief act to clear his mind or pass the time. It was rarely ever a thing of lust. So as he let his eyes roll back and his mouth part open, almost letting out a loud moan, he didn't try to stop himself from picturing you before him, perfectly naked and prettily sitting on your knees as you went to pleasure him.

Kento could almost feel the heat of your skin coming off of you, hear the sounds of your gags as he pushed himself deeper into your throat. Each groan that left him was because of you, your voice, your body, and that stupid birthday cake. He tried his best to keep his moans in; he did, but as he came, the whisper of your name left him, following closely behind a long, drawn-out moan. 

Kento felt faint, and tired all over again.

“Christ,” he whispered, letting the hot shower water wash over him. It felt as though he was losing his mind. How you had this much power over him, he didn’t know, but if this were going to be a recurring thing, he would need to find a new way to get rid of his not-so-little problem if he would have to see you almost every day at work.

***

Fortunately, when he stepped out of his room, gray sweats and white shirt on, you were nowhere to be seen. The door was still shut, so he couldn’t tell if you were there, but he would not check. Kento made his way to the kitchen and began making breakfast. 

Once done, he went to the spare room; each step felt like walking through cement. “What would he even say to you?” He thought as he now stood at the door, the only barrier between the two of you if you were even in there. But it swung open before he could figure out how to talk to you or even knock on the door. And there you stood, tired and hungry. Nanami’s figure loomed over yours as you rubbed your eyes of any remaining sleep.

Kento Nanami never imagined that the first time a woman would be in his apartment wearing his clothes would be with a coworker he barely knew. But here you were, wearing one of his old university tees and gym shorts and looking devastatingly beautiful in Kento’s eyes.

“Mr. Nanami?” You blinked at him.

“Miss, Y/N, you are awake,” Kento said, hands full of water, painkillers, and breakfast. “This is for you.” He raised his hands slightly to emphasize the toast and eggs. But before you could take the tray and embarrassingly turn away back into the spare room, he walked to the kitchen, tilting his head and telling you to follow him. 

And as he set everything down on his table and pulled out a chair for you at the head of the table, you couldn’t help but stare at him. It wasn’t the tiredness that made you want to inspect every muscle that seemed to cling to his white tee, which was a size too small, in your opinion. And you couldn’t blame the staring on being drunk, either. It was all you, all you and your sex-depraved mind that seemed to make your eyes rake him, once or twice or maybe even thrice, as he got you situated at his dining table.

“I didn’t know if you were still here, but I made breakfast just in case,” Kento said, sitting beside you with his plate of food, keeping his eyes away from your face with every word spoken. 

“Thank you.” You responded quietly, shuffling your way to the food and medicine, and passed the man you had only known for fifteen hours.

“Kento, with a hint of concern in his voice, offered, ‘If it isn’t to your tastes, I don’t mind whipping up something new or even dashing downstairs. A grocery store is right beneath us, catering to all building tenants.’ His gaze, for the first time since you dozed off on the train, met your face.

“No! No. It is fine. Perfect, actually.” 

Even without conversation, the silence between you and your companion was far from awkward. It felt quite natural to exist in this small, quiet bubble that the two of you currently occupied. It was as though the simple act of waking up and eating breakfast was something you had done a thousand times before and would do a million times again. 

“You can use my bathroom to wash up,” Kento said as he collected your plates, 

“Oh, don’t worry about me; I just got a taxi. I will wash up when I get home.”

“Oh.” A slight frown painted his face before his expression turned neutral and distant. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to hold you up here on such a beautiful Saturday morning.”

“Thank you. Truly, Mr. Nanami.” You smiled slightly as you retreated to your room to pick up your clothes. “

“I only did what any person should have.”

“Just because they should doesn’t mean they would have. So thank you again.” 

As you stood at his apartment door, you rose on your tiptoes and kissed him, a quick peck on the outskirts of his lips. One that expressed gratitude for his unwavering kindness, and quelled the growing desire that had been stirring within you, urging you to just kiss him already. It wasn’t a passionate, clothes-on-the-floor kind of kiss, or one where your tongues collided. Yet, it conveyed exactly what you needed it to.

“Thank you, I hope we can do this again,” whatever this was.

But for Kento, this kiss burned into his skin like hot iron on leather. The invisible marking of you had been placed on him, and now Kento Nanami was sure that he would never be able to get rid of it.

But you were gone before he could hold you in his arms and ask you to do it again and again and a thousand more times after that.

Preview...

“You make it seem like I am some kind of succubus.”

“You might as well be Y/N.”

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CHAPTER THREE UPLOADED

[storiesoflilies]

warning: slightly spicy, mdni!!!!

gladiator!toji was a fearsome sight to behold.

with marbled skin rippling like a river of bronze, a tattered canvas of tan and pink scars. he was violence and glory, a conqueror born from the very sand and blood of the arenas he fought in. a natural-born killer, toji craved the delicious rush that came with a fight to the death.

and yet, he was that and more.

she thought about that as the heavy iron gates rolled up for his grand entrance into the arena. about how toji fushiguro loved, and loved hard. how every night, with hushed whispers and swallowed moans, he would deeply push into her as if trying to slot his very soul next to hers. where it was safe, and he was safe, because they might not have the next night.

within a sea of people, their bloodlust traveling in waves, she never felt more alone. she bit her lips, digging bloody crescent moons into her palms, and felt her breath hitch as toji’s looming figure emerged from the shadows. the crowd roared and screamed at him, calling upon the gods for their favorite gladiator to give them a worthy show.

to them, that’s all toji was: a killer made only of flesh and bone, ready to die for them.

toji stopped in the dead center of the arena, his sword arm raised high in the air as he swept his green eyes in a full circle around the crowd, who went into a frenzy.

but he wasn’t doing it for them.

he knew she was there, watching him, waiting for him to perhaps catch a glimpse of her, praying beyond all hope that the gods would continue to spare her love from harm. that they would meet again that night in the dim light of his cell, their bare skin pressed tightly together, talking of whimsical daydreams and futures. toji would tell her how he fought for her, and how he would earn his freedom so they could be together.

how they’d live somewhere by the sea, with only the sounds of the waves and their lovemaking to be heard for miles. how they would watch the sunset every day and live off the bounty of the ocean, where they would only chase their pleasure and cultivate their own peace.

but for now, toji bared his teeth, his stance unwavering, as he prepared to face whatever they threw at him and win.

a/n: oh my, i can’t stop thinking about gladiator toji now, and i feel the extremely rare urge to write a smut drabble. i might just do it if you all ask nicely hehe :3

[nayziiz]

Freckles | LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader (she/her)

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

In the public eye, Lando Norris was a figure shrouded in misconception. People projected onto him their own fantasies and assumptions, painting him as a hedonistic playboy living a life defined by fleeting pleasures. Yet, behind the veil of rumours and gossip, Lando harboured a far more complex truth.

Contrary to popular belief, it wasn't the physical act of sex that enticed Lando. Instead, it was the elusive intimacy th!

In the quiet sanctuary of their shared moments, Lando found solace in the tender details that transcended mere physical gratification. As their bodies entwined in a dance of passion, it was the subtleties that ignited his soul.

He cherished the way her head would lull back, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that swept over her, her eyes closing in blissful abandon. Each pant and sigh echoed in the intimacy of their shared space, a symphony of desire that spoke volumes without words.

But it was in the moments of tender connection that Lando found his truest fulfilment. As their fingers intertwined, a silent affirmation of their bond, he revelled in the unspoken language that passed between them. With every thrust, every heartbeat, they forged a connection that transcended the physical realm, anchoring them in a world of their own creation.

Her gaze, unwavering and intense, held him captive in a realm of shared intimacy, each glance a testament to the depths of their connection. In the hushed whispers of their lovemaking, they found a refuge from the chaos of the world, a sanctuary where their souls could intertwine without fear or judgement.

Her touch, featherlight and electric, sent shivers cascading down his spine, igniting a symphony of sensation that reverberated through his being. In the gentle caress of her hands, he found a home—a sanctuary where he could lay bare his soul without reservation.

For Lando, the culmination of their love was not measured in mere moments of release, but in the exquisite tapestry of connection they wove with each shared breath. In the quiet intimacy of their embrace, he found a love that surpassed all understanding—a love that left him breathless, craving more with every beat of his heart.at surrounded it, the connection forged in vulnerability and trust. While others sought superficial encounters, Lando craved the depth of genuine connection, a yearning that only intensified as his public persona diverged further from his private reality.

Amidst the clamour of misconceptions, there was one person who understood Lando in a way no other could. She saw beyond the facade, delving into the depths of his soul where his true desires resided. Their bond transcended the superficialities of fame and fortune, rooted in mutual understanding and unwavering support.

For Lando, intimacy wasn't a commodity to be bought or traded—it was a sacred exchange reserved for those who cherished his true self. And in the tumultuous world of fame, there was only one person capable of satiating his craving for authentic connection.

In the hushed aftermath of their shared ecstasy, Lando would draw her close, her body yielding to the gentle weight of his embrace. With a tenderness born of reverence, he would trace the constellation of freckles that adorned her skin, each one a testament to the beauty of their shared moments.

Starting at her wrists, he would press soft kisses against her delicate flesh, a silent homage to the journey they had embarked upon together. Slowly, reverently, his lips would trail upward, mapping the landscape of her body with an intimacy that transcended words.

As he reached her shoulders, he would linger, savouring the warmth of her skin beneath his lips. Each freckle became a point of connection, a tiny universe unto itself, as he traced their patterns with a reverence that bordered on worship.

Moving lower, his touch would dance across her back, following the gentle curve of her spine with a tender reverence. With each kiss, each caress, he would weave a tapestry of intimacy that bound them together in an unbreakable bond.

But it was when his lips found the freckles scattered across her thighs that the true depth of their connection was revealed. In those moments, as he traced the contours of her skin with a gentleness born of love, they were no longer two separate beings but a single entity bound by the threads of passion and desire.

And as she leaned against him, her body still humming with the echoes of their lovemaking, she would search for the few freckles that dotted his own skin, a silent invitation to reciprocate the intimate exchange. In the wordless language of their love, they found a connection that transcended the physical realm—a connection forged in the heat of passion and tempered by the gentle touch of understanding.

[daddyhausen]

｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ 「 KINKTOBER DAY TWENTY TWO : STIGMATOPHILIA 」 ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

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「 MASTERLISTS 」 | 「 KINKTOBER 2023/2024 」

「 COMMISION INFO 」 | 「 LIKE MY WORK? BUY ME A COFFEE — KOFI — DXDDYHXUSEN 」

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「 SUMMARY 」 — rhea is mesmerised by your new piercing

「 WARNINGS 」 — smut, 18 +, [ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ], tattoo!artist!rhea, dom!rhea, sub!reader, sadism/masochism nipple/clit piercings, mommy kink, public sex, oral sex, fingering, praise, squirting

「 WORD COUNT 」 — 2.3k

「 PAIRING 」 — fem!reader x rhea ripley

「 GENRE 」 — smut

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「 TAGLIST 」 — @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @mjfass @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @heartbreakkidsangel @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @janetreader @bonehead-playz @legit9thlunaticwarrior @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @romanreigns-supreme @rubyred1980 @harmshake @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk @thepalaceofmelanie @seeingstarks @kennysbadkitten @darkangelchronicles @selena-tyler-564 @alyyaanna @nightmare-freakin-viper @nev-danielgarciawife @teenagedramaqueenlisa @them4lice

「 COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST 」

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rhea’s eyes marvelled at the design you had procured for her

it was a grand, cyber-sygial inspired piece, a heart at its centre, that would reside underneath your belly button, branching out around the soft flesh of your lower abdomen, across your hips, finally resting at the axis of where your thighs meet your hips

It was an intricate design, filled with sharp symmetrical points

definitely something that was outside of rhea’s traditional style but one that she attempted nonetheless

after all, anything for her favourite client

“and you want this piece where, exactly?”

rhea questioned with a curious quip, a small cock of her eyebrow as she examined the piece further.

you lifted up your shirt, the fabric two sizes too big, bunched up in one hand, while the other pried down your shorts ever the slightest

teasing, just a glimpse of your panties visible to rhea’s gaze and she could not help but wish her hands were in place of yours in that moment

“i was thinking around here”, you pointed out the space where you envisioned the tattoo would be and explained in detail how you wanted it to go

to be fair, your body barely had and blank canvas left at this point

your skin inked with rhea’s work, your arms held the first memories.

it was your first tattoo, a timid soul you were, staring up at her with doe eyes as she marked you with her art permanently

it was a simple design, albeit overdone in rhea’s eyes.

birth flowers of your parents and older brother, done in a fineline style on the inside of your forearm

the design now faded, melded in between various other designs of hers

her favourtite was the piece across your throat, not so because of the design itself, a neo-traditional black and white death moth, but moreson because rhea had to hold your head still between her thighs on the more intricate details

the intimacy of it, the closeness she craved.

she almost wished that you’d crane your head back just the slightest so the tip of your nose would rub against her clit through her jeans

even now thinking back on it her cunt quivered and drooled with excitement.

“i can do that for you”, rhea remarked with a subtle smirk

“go sit while i draw up the stencil for you”

you beamed excitedly and offered a toothy grin in return as you made your way to the back room, a more private area reserved for more intimate piercings and tattoos

rhea made her way to the back room, stencil drawn up in hand.

her eyes rose from her hands to see you lying on your back, expectantly awaiting her arrival,

shorts disregarded, leaving you just in your panties

“all ready for me i see?” rhea teased, a flirtatious undertone in her voice

“always“ you remarked as you mimicked her tone, eyelids heavy with a sultry gaze.

rhea hummed in response, her eyes fluttered down to the black lace, thong that adorned your pristine skin

gods, how rhea just wanted to rip it off with her teeth and devour your heavenly cunt right then and there.

rhea lined up the stencil as she tried to get precisely the right angle before she adhered it to your skin.

“you, know what, you're gonna have to take ’em for me, sweetheart.”

she tried to play it off as casual, but on the inside she was dying to just get a glimpse of your cunt.

her means were not nefarious in truth, she did need you to remove them to place the stencil on.

“forward arent you? at least buy me dinner first”

the playful words leaving your lips as you slide your panties dow your thighs as you threw them to the same spot where your shorts lie.

“spread ‘em for me a bit”, she manouvoured your thighs slightly after sticking the stencil to your stink, to gain better knowledge of how it would look from different angles

she caught a glimpse of a pearlescant bud between your thighs

“what’s this?”, rhea cocked her head in faux suspicion.

she new it was a clit piercing, the metal shimmering against your slick folds

clit still slightly puffy and swollen, the piercing only being applied recently

“cheating on me now? naughty girl”

“surely you don’t mind, damian did it for me last week”

your words only roused dangerous thoughts in rhea’s mind

sure damian was like a brother to her, and the relationship between the two of you was strictly professional

rhea could not help but let the jealousy overcome her over the fact damian has seen your precious cunt

“oh, so you let a man see that pretty cunt but not me?”

rhea’s eyes stalked across your cunt, her tongue parted her lips, licking the bottom one as her mouth watered with arousal

“i’m offended, sweetheart”

she leaned in closer, her hand resting atop your thigh, lightly massaging the supple flesh, she adored how it would fill the gaps between her fingers as she pawed at your skin, so soft so pliant .

“you know i only got eyes for you”

your response was somewhere half between the truth and a joke

rhea has always been someone who caught your attention,

you’ve always been hesitant to explore your desires with woman despite your attraction to them

“i know, pretty thing.”

rhea’s lips ghosted yours

“but i still gotta punish you for letting a man touch you”

her fingers dip lower, tracing around your piercing, clit still sensitive against her touch

your soft whimpers flooded her senses, a wave of adrenaline coursing through her veins as her fingertips ghosted over your swollen clit

“i can fuck you better than a man ever could, you know that, sweetheart?”

you whimpered out a small “yes”in response, already completely enamored with the way she was making you feel

small jolts of pleasure rushed up your thighs with each subtle stroke of her fingertips

“men dont know how to touch please pretty girls like you”

her tongue lopped out past her lips, licking and sucking small shapes into your jawline and neck

“when was the last time a man even made you cum, huh?”

it took you a while to think, her worlds spiralling in your mind.

upon your recollection, you came to notice that not a single one of your male partners ever had the decency of allowing you to orgasm

you’d come close but it would never reach its peak, it would always end with them leaving and you having to finish the job beneath the sheets, fingers buried deep in your cunt and a vibe against your clit

yet with rhea, even with her fingers languidly stroking your aching clit, you’d never felt more pleasure in your life.

“can’t think of any, huh?”

a smirk crossed rhea’s lips as she gazed upon your bewildered expression, a cocky chuckle leaving her throat

“don’t worry, pretty girl. i’ll make it happen”

her lips attacked yours in a flurry of feverish kisses. A mixture of lips, teeth and tongue colliding together in heated passion

her fingers dipped between your folds, gatherling your slick on the pads of her index and middle fingers, feeling you out to see just how deep you could take her.

“so wet for me”

her words buzzed against your lips, an ecstatic moan ripping through your throat as she inched her fingers deeper inside you

your gummy walls clenching around her inked digits, squeezing and pulling her in, welcoming the force that she brought along with it.

“shh not so loud” she scolded, biting your bottom lip, not enough to draw blood, but enough fo you to heed her warning.

her free hand fell to your breast, palming the mounds of fat and flesh in between her slender fingers, feeling the swell of your nipples graze against the fabric,

“take this off” she groaned, the hand once on your breasts not tugging up your shirt.

her wording more or less a reminder to herself than direct intrusion.

your breasts not exposed, the swell them freely bouncing against the force of her fingers, shee leered down at them, her gaze predatory as she examined the small bars that pierced both your nipples

“these have healed nicely havent they?”

she licked a stripe against your nipple, her tongue twirling around the pebbled bud, a deep moan reverberated through her throat

leaving your skin, bursting and bubbling with arousal

“mhm…”

the sound left your lips in a mere hum of response, barely able to open your eyes to gaze upon her as she worked you over

her fingernails, coffin in their shape, painted black with an iridescent shimmer each time the studio lights would reflect at certain angles

the sight itself vampiric in nature, her especially, hovering over you like a succubus ready to claim what is hers

her fingers tugged and toyed with the bar, twisting it.

the sensation riveting, like volts of pleasure directly to where she touched

and combined with the feeling of the metal, so delicately pierced through the sensitive skin

it was nothing short of extraordinary

“good girl” rhea mused, her words muddled within a mixture of tongue, flesh and lips

sucking and biting your skin

spit dribbling from her lips, across your nipple and down the underside of your breast

all the while her right hand filled and fucked you cunt much like a cock would

not that a cock could ever compare to rhea’s fingers

“gonna give mommy a taste hmm?”

her words like honey, so sickly sweet on the tip of your tongue

you nodded, bottom lip tucked tightly between your teeth a desperate and futile attempt to stifle your moans

you felt empty within seconds, your void now free of her fingers

staring up at her through half-lidded eyes, already so worn and fucked out despite the silent denial of your orgasm

her fingers made contact with her lips, grool and spit dripped from them, her tongue working around the digits just how she did your nipple mere moments ago

parting them with her tongue, licking slowly upwards, until her fingers were clean, only how you wished she’d taste your cunt

your taste lingered in her tongue, a mixture of tangy and sweet. perfection.

you could not help but admire how she towered over you, so dominant despite doing nothing of that nature in the mere seconds between actions

she kneeled before you, palms smoothing across your inner thighs, the tip of her nose grazing against your clit

she smiled into you, her breath fanning against your cunt

your thighs shook with wondrous tremors at the feeling

your back arching slightly, a small whimper catching in your throat

“easy pretty thing. relax for me”

she kissed your inner thighs letting her tongue lay flat against your cunt

allowing your taste to mingle with her tastebuds

“fuck..mmm” your thighs almost instinctively clenched around her head as her tongue danced around your clit

your skin heated, burning like furry embers as a blush crept upon your cheeks

almost embarrassed to look her in the eye as you let her tongue explore every crevice of your sweet void

she smirked against your folds

hands placed on your inner thighs, pushing them down to reveal her gaze to you once more

“dont get shy on me now, sweetheart”

she littered kisses against your clit, tongue swirling around the piercing

“wanna see you fall apart, cum all over my tongue…”

she dove into you, biting, licking, sucking, kissing any part of your juicy pussy her mouth made contact with

your taste euphoric on her tongue, ascending her beyond this mortal realm

“wanna see how good i make you feel…”

your hand weaved into the died tendrils of your hair, the black, choppy strands being tugged and pulls by the roots as she continued to consume your sweetness

“oh fuck…that’s it sweetheart, pull it harder, mommy likes that”

the sound of slick and spit accompanied her ravenous words, each syllable, each breath drawing your orgasm closer and closer

“m-mommy” you whimpered, the honorific so foreign on your tongue is almost sounded like a question

she only responded with a simple hum, far too preoccupied for ilde small talk.

your taste was too sweet to ignore

her lipstick smeared, streaks of burgundy stained your under thighs, skin to blood as it the pigment mixed with your slick

not that you minded

“gonna cum? hmm?” her voice like liquid velvet, lowered an october to display her dominance

“i can feel how close you are..mmm…you’re clenching around my tongue baby.”

you gave a meek nod, tightening your grip on her scalp

your breath shudder, release nearing, a moan ripped through your throat, so load that you immediately had to clasp a hand one your mouth

forgetting momentarily that you were still in her place of work

a sight that made rhea chuckle.

“god you taste so fucking good”

she kissed around your folds before returning to your clit

“want be to put my fingers back in, sweetheart? make you feel nice and full again while you cum? you’d like that hmm?”

“mhm…please” your chiseled out through a broken moan, feeling two of her finger slip past your folds, pumping into your at a ravenous pace

“oh fuck mmm…mommy that feels so good-“

her fingers curled up into you, tracing imaginary shapes into your cunt.

“c’mon baby, cum for me.”

she could feel your walls tighten around her

sweetness gushing around her fingers, clit sparking against your tongue, the piercing only heightened the sensation

“that’s it baby, taste so fucking sweet for me”

she pried her self away, allowing your a moment of respite as she gingerly stroked your thighs

“my pretty girl, you made such a mess”

she placed a kiss to you cunt, once which made you involuntarily shudder

“how’s about we get you clean up and finish that tattoo of yours huh?”

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[evvyyypeters-fics]

A Ghost In the Bed

Perv!Tate Langdon x dom!f!reader oneshot

Warnings! Pure smut, porn w/ zero plot, masturbation (male), handjob, obsession, pantie fucking, femdom, a lil mommy kink, humiliation

In honor of it being officially Murder House season (to me at least) I bring u this masterpiece I created. Inspired mainly by @fear-is-truth

It was the blood moon tonight, and suspiciously every time the sun dipped under the horizon and the moon glared down onto the cold ambience of autumn, Tate’s libido sky rocketed. His eternal teenage hormones spiking to a point that was unbearable. And it didn’t help now that you were living in the infamous ‘Murder House’, Tate’s obsession with you dark and lustrous like the red glow of the other-worldly planet.

You were out at a friend’s house tonight, Tate had overheard you asking your mom to go, and she obliged as usual. Needing you so desperately, he craved. Imagining your soft skin, biting it, tasting it’s warmth. Feeling it tingle through his cold, dead soul. The harmonic string of melodies that he could pull from your throat as he buries himself in your flesh, caressing it, pounding you. Even the way your tits rested under your shirt, your cleavage peaking sometimes and sending sparks through his body, or the view of your ass as you walked up the stairs, always making sure he followed behind you just to see it and hopefully a glimpse of your panties that day from under your skirt. The ghostly feeling of his imaginations traveling straight to his cock, twitching uncomfortably in his pants. He needed relief, and he needed it bad. If only you were there to help him, if only he knew you wanted to help him.

At first his mind muttered silent prayers that you wouldn’t somehow find him desperately rutting into your favorite pair of cotton panties, his hand wrapped tightly around his shaft as he used the soft fabric to create a strangely pleasurable friction, his pre-cum soaking them with the perfect amount of lube.

The sounds were obscene, yet muffled by the cloth. On the other hand, his moans were not. Shamelessly he whined, whimpering obscenely as he came closer and closer to the edge, using his fantasies of you as fuel as he fist fucked into your panties like a bunny in heat, but there was no final wave. No release, just the aching feeling of the weight of his hard cock, pounding. He was starting to get too desperate, his thoughts drowning as all he wanted anymore was for you to save him from this torment. He didn’t care if you hated him for it, he just needed your touch. Your comfort. To cum.

“Tate…?” A familar voice chirped curiously, the door creaking open.

Shit. He thought. You were back early.

He instantly sat up, hiding his proud cock with a nearby pillow resting on your bed. His face was beat red, his eyes watery and skin persperating with small beads of sweat. Pupils blown, his jaw slack as he stutters an excuse than hangs from the tip of his tongue, it’s clear what happened. Tate was ready for the scream, the insults, the anger, the disgust. But there was none, you surely looked surprised, but he couldn’t see any distain in your staring eyes.

“Why are you back? You weren’t supposed to be back yet!” He blurts out a little loudly, his voice trembling. He didn’t mean to be accusatory, you knew.

“I got bored and wanted to come home..” You reply slowly, taking invisble steps closer towards the bed.

“You know…what are you doing in my bed, Tate?” You ask, wanting to taunt him in his vulnerable state, see how far you can push him and make him melt even more into a puddle. He shivers as he begins to notice the growing warmth of your body leaning closer to his frozen position on your mattress. Hoping your eyes don’t look down at the conspicuous pillow, anxiety striking his heart as just in that moment you do. There’s something predatory in it that makes his spine shiver.

“N-Nothing. I just…missed you.” The words are forcefully calm and monotone, trying to sound casual. A dumb excuse he came up with spontaneously that you both knew didn’t work to hide anything.

“You missed me, huh?” You smile devilishly as you press a hand in the mattress next to him, his whole body lighting on fire, his breathing begins to labor with the pure lava of lust flowing to his dick. Your hand mere inches away from where he needed you most.

“Is that all?” He swallowed thickly, his eyes darting from your hand to your gleaming eyes.

“I—uh.” He chokes on his words. “N-no..” He admits shamefully, his gaze tilting away.

“Do you want me to help you fix it?” You lean into his ear, whispering hotly against it which makes his face light up pinker, every hair on his body on end.

He swallows thickly again before nodding.

“Use your words, puppy.” You croon, pinching his chin between your fingers and gently forcing his glossy coffee eyes to look at you.

“P-Please.” He whines, causing your heart to squeeze a little.

“Good boy. Let mommy see.” You smile slyly, pulling away your hand as he lays back comfortably into the mattress, removing the pillow from over his length as you climb beside him. Kneeling over his legs.

“So naughty.” You tease as you pull away the sticky pair of panties wrapped around his shaft, precum beading thickly at his tip as he twitches from the touch or lack thereof.

His hips automatically jerk up, trying to reach your hand as you pull away the material. A small giggle slips past your lips that makes him whine into a bitten lip.

“Poor baby, all worked up, I won’t tease you any longer.” You coo, prodding a pad of your finger at the practically purple pillowy head.

He instantly lets out a muffled gutteral moan, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, embarrassed by the pathetic sounds as you wrap your hand around him. Collecting the slick and coating his cock with it as you start a leisurly pace that slowly picks up, leading him to buck into your fist wildly.

“Let me hear you, puppy.” You say softly, watching between his perfect cock and his adorable face as he tries to hide the very obvious sounds bellowing from his throat. “Let me hear those pretty sounds you make.” Forcing a gutteral sound to spill from his lips as you press a finger into the sensitive head.

Your words make his heart and brain melt, the feeling of your hand on him being even better than he anticipated. He can feel himself getting closer, hips slamming at the same pace as your fist, pre-cum drooling over your hand as he moans pathetically. The sound of his voice getting thicker and more desperate, his muscles tensing.

“Cum for me, puppy. C’mon, let it all out.” You soothe, something clicks in his brain and he instantly busts, long and thick milky ropes shoot out, more than you thought was possible and drawing a long moan from his lips as his head pushed back into the pillow behind it. His thighs shuddered, toes curled until the ropes subsided and rested coated on your hand and his cock.

“Feel better?” You ask, slowly removing your hand as he comes down from the high.

Practically drunk on pleasure and blissed-out, he nods silently.

“Good. Next time, maybe just ask me first before jerking off into my panties.” You scold light-heartedly as you raise up the half-crusted fabric to the culprit’s gaze and he quickly hides his blushing face guiltily.

Taglist (you can be added or removed at any time):

@fear-is-truth @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @lemoniiiiiii @jazz-berry @marchsfreakshow @colinzabelswife @dearlizzies @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @xrag-dollx @lacucarachapisser @alittleobsessedbitch

[writing-fanics]

I find the concept of alastor just suddenly spawning a daughter into hell after the argument between him and Lucifer quite hilarious.

shed share a lot similarities with nifty, and be absolutely chaotic and crazy and insane

*demonic voice* I crave flesh

she would just stare at people *seee gif above* like this peering into their soul. Creeping them out.

“Shit! Alastor tell that spawn of yours to stop staring.”

*continues to stare*

Alastor either would laugh it off or just tell her to follow him.

As she walks away “See you in your sleep~” she says tilting her head with a wide grin on her face

Someone tries to touch them they will chop down on their hand or, threaten to bite them.

She likes pain like Niffty so would run off the stage and land on her face doing it over and over again.

I can imagine if she were to draw a picture, Charlie would be like aww then see the drawing.the child slowly turning her neck around eyes widened and a wide grin on her face.

The drawing was of a gorrey scene and omg Alastor would just pat her on the head and place it on the wall in the radio tower.

Since she’s rather small it’s likely you’ll find her sitting on her father’s shoulder playing with his hair or ears.

she might be creepy and crazy but she’s still technically a child. Someone messes with her either she’ll go bat shit crazy on them plucking out their eyes or biting them. Or suddenly another demon would’ve disappeared in hell.

[lokis-army-77]

At Home Book Club

Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 1.7k

While reading on the couch with your boyfriend you start to feel flushed, your book not helping. All you want to do is have him in your mouth.

Warning: 18 +. oral (m receving), cock warming, cum swallowing, kinda soft dom!eddie, i think that's it.

Thank you to @munson-blurbs for the book line ideas 💗

Masterlist

The plan was simple. Stay in and hang out. With the weather dropping thirty degrees overnight, it was the obvious thing to do. 

You sat next to your boyfriend, each of you cuddled up on the couch with a blanket thrown over you and a book in your hands. Eddie was reading one of Terry Goodkind's Sword of Truth novels and you had your own fantasy romance that you had been deeply immersed in for most of the chilly afternoon. 

The gas heater made a low hum as it warmed the small living room of your shared apartment, but that wasn't the heat that was making you uncomfortable.

The knight’s hand smoothed over the smooth taffeta of her dress only to begin bunching it up to reveal the white, cotton, split drawers the princess wore. He had exposed the plush flesh of her thighs, places no other soul had ever seen, save for the maids who helped her dress and bathe each morning.

Your book had turned from sweet romance to raunchy in a matter of pages and the heat pooling between your legs was becoming harder and harder to ignore. Especially when Eddie was so close to you that you could smell his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke. It didn't help that you were passing a joint back and forth.

She shuddered as he kissed up her leg from ankle to quivering, needy sex. She had never felt such anticipation, such a carnal yearning.

Eddie paid you no mind as he flipped through pages of fighting and magic like they would burn his fingertips if he held onto them longer than needed. 

Now, you were distracted. The book lay in your lap, open to the same two pages from two minutes ago. You had read and read and read the same sentence over a dozen times and yet you had no clue what it was saying. All you could think about was how your thighs couldn't stop clenching and your mouth was salivating way more than normal. And as you watched Eddie out of the corner of your eye, you knew it was because you craved to have him there. To have his cock nestled between your lips and your nose pressed into that wild thatch of hair above it. 

So, with a mischievous smirk on your face, you shut your book, tabbing your place with a random receipt lying on the coffee table, and threw the blanket off your legs. 

Eddie never once looked away from his book as you slid from your seat onto the floor. 

With a deft hand, you pulled the blanket away from Eddie's lap and crawled your way between his legs. 

He looked at you then. Eyes full of questioning. 

You say nothing as greedy fingers make for the band of his sweats. He doesn't stop you, only takes another drag from the blunt and looks back at his book. 

Licking your lips, you pull his pants down along with his boxers. Eddie helps you by pushing his hips up slightly. He's soft when you pull him from the confines of his clothes but you can feel him beginning to harden in your hand. 

You eagerly scoot closer, knees pressing into the bottom of the couch. With an open mouth, you take him into you. He's warm and you hum. He always tastes so good. 

Eddie gives you a sigh and scooches his way down the cushion widening his legs.

Since he's not fully hard yet, you can fill your mouth with him more comfortably than you could if he were fully erect. Still, he's big and stretches your mouth wide. As you suck on him, pulling him out of you until the very tip of him is left then smothering him back in, he becomes stiffer. 

Your tongue laves over his cock, pressing into the veins running the length of him. Spit is collecting in your mouth as you begin to bob your head up and down. 

Eddie stubs out the blunt in the ashtray on the side table and once it leaves his fingers, they are raking through your hair. He doesn't pull, he just rests his hand in your hair, wanting to touch you. 

Flicking your eyes up you are met with the cover of his book and you huff through your nose, disappointed at not being able to see him. He stays focused on his reading, only giving you a small reaction when you either deep-throat him or suckle on his head. 

Then, when you're tired of him not giving you anything, you pull off and reach out to push his book down. 

"Yes, sweet girl?" He asks tilting his head to the side, tutting at your pouting face.

"Does it not feel good?" You ask.

Eddie chuckles. "Corse it feels good baby."

Your brows furrow. "Then why aren't you making any noise?”

His eyebrows downturn softy into that familiar, mocking look he gives you when get all small and needy for him. “Want me to moan for you, is that it? Need me to let you know how good your perfect mouth feels?” 

You nod. 

“Ah- ah, baby. Use your words.”

“Yes.” You say, breathlessly, keeping your eyes on his. 

“Then I’ll make some noise just for you, baby.”  

Smiling, you take up his cock again and lick a sloppy, wet stripe up the underside of him. Starting from his sack to the very tip before engulfing him in your mouth hungrily. 

Eddie winks at you before going back to his book, only now he isn’t as quiet. His moans had you soaking through your panties and shorts. His pants and heaving breaths made your chest ache and your nipples pebble in want. 

Closing your eyes, you bobbed your head, up and down, up and down. Spit gathered in the corners of your mouth and dripped down his length. Your fingers dug into his thighs, nails creating half-moon crescents in his milk-white skin.

On one particular deep swallow, Eddie let loose a strangled cry but he kept reading. You had taken him so far into your mouth that he was touching the very back of your throat. Your nose was smushed against his hair-covered skin and a hand reached to play with his balls. 

You wanted to distract him. Distract him like you had been. Make him feel so good he could only think about one thing: you. 

Shaking your head, you took him as far as you could, gagging on him. When his hips jutted up into you, you knew you had him.

“That’a girl.” He moans. 

You hum around him before you pop off and kiss your way to his balls. They’re heavy on your tongue, warm. You suck one into your mouth, playing with it. Then you let go of it with a pop only to go to the other. You take your time, massaging each with fingers and tongue, pulling whimpers and strangled breaths from the man above you. 

Eddie lets out a long whine and his kegs shift, feet planting firm on the carpet for stability. His fingers slid back into your hair, pushing you into him.

 You pull off him again move back up to his shaft and lick it slowly, savoring the taste of his skin. Looking up at him under heavy lids and thick lashes you say, "Want you to cum down my throat, Eddie. Wanna taste you." He lets out a deep groan as your hand works him, making wet noises as you pump him fast. He watches with wide eyes, pupils dilated, as you bring your swollen lips back to his tip before taking him into your mouth again. 

“Fuck baby, just like that.” He grunts, head thrown back and book left forgotten on the couch beside him. Both his hands are now tangled in your hair as he guides you into a steady pace. His breathing is ragged and his legs are tense on either side of you. 

From the way his moans sound so desperate, you think he might be on the edge. You take him deeper, swirling your tongue around him until you can feel his legs trembling with pleasure. Your eyes are closed in concentration and you hear him take in a sharp breath, there’s a dull pain on your scalp as he tugs on your hair. 

Eddie’s hips begin to buck erratically, taking what he needs from your warm, wet mouth. You feel his balls growing taut in your hold. Your head bobs faster, taking him in shallow until he uses his hold on you to push you down onto him. Your throat constricts around his girth and you choke in surprise. 

You breathe through your nose, his musk filling the air and sending a tingle down your spine. With a loud yelp, he loses his control, cumming down your throat in thick spurts. You savor the taste of him as he pulls away from you, cum spreading over your tastebuds. 

He releases your hair and collapses onto the couch, his chest heaving as he comes down from his high. He eyes you, and the ghost of a content smirk plays on his lips. Eddie reached his hand to cup your cheek gently, his thumb wipes at the spend collecting in the corners of your vermouth and pushes it back in. 

You suck his thumb clean and sigh, finally able to get a full breath. 

“Did so good, baby, thank you,” Eddie praises, pulling his thumb from your mouth. 

Body racked with exhaustion, Eddie moves slowly to kiss you. Plush lips meet your own in something so soft and intimate it backes your eyes water. “Get up here and let me take care of you.” 

You shake your head, wanting to stay put between his legs. He looks at you confused, wondering why you wouldn’t want him to return the favor. 

“Wanna keep you in my mouth for a bit,” you explain shyly. Your oral fixation needed it. You craved to just sit there with the weight of him on your tongue. 

“Yeah? Then who am I to say no to you sweet girl?” Eddie adjusts how he’s setting, propping his back with a pillow for more support as he lays back and watches as you take his now-spent cock back into your mouth. 

You spend almost the next hour like that. Between his legs, head resting tiredly on his thigh with his cock settled on your tongue as he goes back to reading. Never had you been more content to be exactly where you were, content to be in his presence. Content to be his.

[theurgists]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ CHERRY FLAVOURED ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: when you and ellie started your situationship, you had one single request; a bag of cherries every time she showed up at your doorstep. unfortunately, you want more than that.

warnings: 18+, smut, angst at the end if you squint, mentions of weed, weed consumption, cunnilingus, kinda sorta dealer!ellie ( not all that relevent to the plot ), ellie's kind of a dick, womanzier!ellie, not proof-read

a/n: a repost because i deleted my old account on a whim ;)

The tips of your fingers were coated in crimson.

 Red and sticky.

 Warm wetness trickling down your palms' creases, spreading sugary stained streaks onto the heat of your velvet skin; something you grew indifferent to. It was always so messy — the plump fruit surrounded by the shelter of your mouth, sweet and addicting every single time. Even with a bad full, they were something you’d savor with every inch of your being, as they were too small to enjoy fully. There would be at least five seconds of flavor before you were left with a bitter taste on the surface of your tongue, a wine-red tint coating the lingual papillae to give you something to remember them by. 

Your constant craving was satiated, alongside the need to see the person that brought them for you every Wednesday without fail. Three sharp knocks on the scuffed steel of your front door were the beginning of five months entwined in your sheets, sinking into the comfort of your mattress. The scent of cherry blossom and freshly washed linen stuck to you as if to taunt you whenever she’d leave in the middle of the night, love bites littered across the expanse of your chest, reaching the insides of your soul.

Just like those fucking cherries you were addicted to — you were addicted to her. 

Ellie. 

The girl stood at a measly five foot three. Kissed from head to toe with freckles that dotted her gentle skin in a multitude of clusters, eyes as green as the moss that’d grow in the crevices of your roof, and a seemingly unbearable attitude to those she rendered unworthy of her time and presence. You, unlike other people, got to experience two of those things from her simultaneously in the form of discarded clothes and rushed greedy touches.

The unwavering connection between you two was there from the moment she laid her irises on you in that hazy, smoke-filled basement last October at Ollie’s. A fat joint laced with bad intentions between the pink, plump flesh of her lips as she weighed the two options that arose. Either she could approach you, ask you for your name, and smooth talk her way into your heart till the pads of her fingers made it past the waistband of your underwear — or  — she could keep still on that withering couch she sat on and smoke her head off.

And it was such an easy choice for her, that she mentally hit herself for even thinking of the latter. 

That one, singular encounter changed the trajectory of her life, as dramatic as it sounded. The reason for that one was fairly simple. 

You tasted too fucking good.

That was the only reason she found herself here. Her head between the fat of your thighs, warm breath hitting your cunt just like the many times before this one, hands squeezing the outside of your skin so hard you were sure they’d be marked for the next few hours. 

“Ellie, c’mon.” You hissed through clenched teeth, jaw grinding in annoyance at the lack of attention you were receiving. She was right there. So fucking close to your core that all she had to do was dart her tongue out and the arousal that coated your slick would pour onto her tastebuds. 

“You keep talking and I swear I’ll fucking leave.” She spat, narrowing her eyes at you, watching as you clicked your tongue on the roof of your mouth. 

Curling your lips into a frown, your elbows dug into the springs as you propped yourself up. “You wouldn’t.”

She rose an eyebrow, the skin of her forehead creasing slightly before she tightened her grip on your thighs, a twinge of interest sparkling in those dark eyes. “But I would.” 

As she lazily drawled out those three words, her right hand snaked its way to your core. Her index finger slid through your folds with ease, a slight buck of your hips stopping them from moving any further. 

You were soaked. It was as obvious as her favoritism toward you. Not just as one of her clients, but as the girl she occasionally fucked with no strings attached from time to time. 

From the low lighting of the lamp on the corner of your nightstand, your slick glistened in the sliver of light that shone behind her head when she lowered it even further. 

“You’re so fucking wet f’me, princess.” 

The guttural whine that left your throat was animalistic. Something that sneakily blended in with the blood in your veins and tainted every healthy cell in your body, starting from the very back of your brain to the tips of your curling toes.

With your hands grasping the light green and pink polka dot sheets that decorated your bed, you took a sudden interest in drawing invisible patterns on the ceiling in your head, shuddering when the muscle of her tongue finally made contact with your clit.

“Oh — fuck!”

Giving you no chance to recover, she continued, flicking her tongue so harshly, that you were positive she’d have lockjaw by the end of the session. 

“Always letting me fuck you so good.” She murmured against you, hollowing out her cheeks as she sucked, taking every last drop of your wetness into her mouth as if she was being deprived of water. 

Wednesday’s were your favorite day of the week thanks to her. It was as if she were an excessive amount of caffeine you desperately wanted as soon as your heavy lids opened. Except, she wasn’t black coffee, albeit the bitterness rooted deep within her. She was the bag of cherries that sat in your refrigerator, rationed throughout the week as a means to keep them longer. 

At first, you thought of it as foolish to share yourself so intimately with someone you barely knew. To poke a finger into your chest and claw the flesh apart with your bare hands, bearing your entire soul. 

She still didn’t know your favorite color. She still didn’t know your favorite book. Hell, she still didn’t even know if you preferred smoking joints or blunts. 

But, what she did know was how to touch you. And that  — that was just fine.

“Oh my god, right there.” You chanted in a hushed whisper, over and over until her hot hands had traveled from your thighs to your hipbones. Thumbs gently tracing circles over the skin there as she devoured you as if she were starved, nose nudging the top of your pussy. 

It was only then that your phone vibrated atop the wood of your nightstand, shaking so violently, that it had shuffled a couple of inches. 

“Ignore it.” 

Ellie's gruff voice came from under you, lips detaching from your cunt to speak, the flesh there glistening with your juices before she dove in once more. 

The buzz that sounded in your ears had dissipated. A small beat of silence took over before it began again. 

With a sigh, you shuffled onto your elbows again, outstretching an arm to grab the device with straight fingers, unsuccessful in your attempt. 

“What if I — shit,” The ridges of her teeth skimmed over your clit, causing your hips to buck into her face involuntarily. Your throat was dry from the deep inhales and exhales during this sexual encounter and she had only just started. 

“What if it’s important?” The question came out of your lips in a breathy sigh, head growing hazy at her touch. 

She hummed, “It can wait.” 

It couldn’t because the moment those words were out in the air, it buzzed again. 

“The fuck…” 

Lifting herself from her position clad in nothing but boy shorts and a thin wife beater, Ellie crawled over you, her weight emitting a groan from the creaks in the springs within the mattress as she pressed her clothed chest flush against yours. 

Without warning, her fingers flexed, snatching your phone from its spot before you the lids of your eyes could open back up again. You watched curiously as her mossy green eyes scanned the text on the screen, rolling them after as she pursed her lips into a thin line. 

“Why’s Ollie calling you?” The question held a small hint of suspicion, and that was something you heard clearly despite her effort to hide it.

You were just fuck buddies. Nothing more than that. So why did your heart jump within your chest as if it were going to escape your body at any second?

Shaking your head from side to side, you tilted your chin at her, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. “I dunno…” 

“I’m gonna call back.” She stated, making her way to your contacts and scrolling through the alphabetical format, pressing on his name with a thumb. 

Outstretching your arms, you huffed, exhaling dramatically as you gently shoved her off of you. Sitting up, you leaned against the bedframe, knees tucked close to your bare chest, goosebumps forming at the sudden cold rush of air that weaved its way around your frame. 

The low hum became louder as Ellie held out your phone between the both of you, tight grip never faltering as she narrowed her eyes at the screen. She was staring at it harshly, her gaze practically burning holes into the device as it rang once, then twice before a ‘finally’ sounded in your ears.

“Fucking finally, where the fuck is Ellie?”

Snorting, you rolled your eyes. “Well hello to you too Ollie.” 

“Yeah, yeah, hey. Where’s Ellie?” 

“What makes you think I'm with her?”

“Because her location is pinpointed to your house. Am I on speaker?” 

Licking your lips as a means to moisturize them, you cocked your neck to the side, raising a brow at Ellie who sighed. “Yeah, you are. What’s up?”

Crackling static could be heard on the other end of the line, followed by shuffling and a female voice that sounded all too familiar to you. 

“Uh, I kinda need to buy off of you again.” 

Ellie looked around your room for a while, taking in the different array of patterns that decorated each article of furniture that gave away a whole lot more than your personality. For a second, Ollie’s talking seemed to grow muffled, as she marked every place in that small space that she fucked you on. 

It was something that had etched itself in the inner corners of her mind as she struggled to come to terms with what exactly she felt every time she got down on her knees. For you. 

Every. Single. Time. 

Sometimes, she’d lay awake at night, curled up under the sheets, wearing exactly what she is right now  — sitting here with you. Being intimate  — with you. Sure, she sold her weed and made her money, accompanied by a stone-faced facade, but handing drugs to girls who’d let their hands linger a little too long on her skin, always sent her back to you at the end of the night with a plastic Tupperware container filled halfway with those cherries only sold downtown.

Clearing the rising lump in her throat, the auburn-haired girl tugged her bottom lip between her teeth soon after. “Sure. Do you need me right now?”

Ollie laughed humorously as if Ellie had said one of the funniest things in the world, and you had assumed it directly wasn’t aimed toward her due to the high-pitched yell. “If that’s cool with you.”

Observing as Ellie lifted herself from her position next to you, your eyes followed as she leaned down at the end of the bed to tug on the jeans she had previously discarded in the heated haze of your earlier makeout session. 

Tossing the phone on the bed, Ellie focused her attention on buttoning her jeans, the worn band tee she showed up in following immediately after. 

“C’mon.” 

A puzzled look painted your features, the corners of your eyes creasing as you narrowed your eyes at her figure near the door. 

“I’m not going to Ollie’s alone. His girlfriend’s weird.”

You grimaced. 

“Are you seriously dragging me with you?”

━━━━ ◦: ✧✲✧ :◦━━━━

Ollie’s girlfriend, Penelope, wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows as he made her seem. It was something that should’ve been obvious to you from the beginning due to how highly he talked about her, albeit being dramatic at the same time. But since he was sort of a friend, you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. The first time you met her, the brunette immediately started talking your ear off about how the color of your shirt wasn’t really appealing to the eyes, index finger twirling a strand of her hair as she tried to make up for the comment with back-handed compliments. 

She was something… and that was to put it in the nicest way you could, cementing it into your brain that she just didn’t like you.

Internally, you were cursing Ollie out. Externally, you held it together better than you thought you would as she ranted to you about one of her many friends with a lit joint in hand, waving it back and forth. 

You were sat directly across from her, muscles tense and spine rigid on an ottoman, one leg crossed over the other, lips pulled back into a small snarl that she hadn’t noticed. The cool outside air did little to relax your body as the unease that overtook you moments ago, seemed to spread quicker than you thought it would.

“ — I told her that she shorted me like twelve dollars. I mean I was valid in that, right? The tag was missing off the skirt.” Extending her arm out to you, she wiggled the blunt between two fingers for you to take, which you did a little too enthusiastically.

Putting it between your lips, you inhaled, closing your eyes for a second as the smoke wafted into your line of vision. Nodding, you decided to play along with her, not in the mood to piss her off just yet. “That’s understandable. I wouldn’t wanna pay the full price either.”

Peeling your gaze away from Penelope, you watched as the smoke you exhaled swirled in different directions, lifting into the multi-colored sky. You needed this.

“I knew I liked you. But, you don’t have to lie to me y’know, I was just fucking with you about the skirt thing. I would never buy a skirt without a tag.” 

Feeling warmth rise under the flesh that covered the apples of your cheeks, you shook your leg, scanning the patio deck for any sign of Ellie who had disappeared inside the house with Ollie for what seemed like too long. 

Penelope leaned back in her seat, cautiously letting her brown eyes roam down your stiff body, narrowing them after. “So, like are you and Ellie a thing?” 

Taking another drag, you held it out for her to take, eying her from your peripheral inconspicuously the moment she took her eyes off of you. “No.” 

The answer that was processed in her mind was short, and in response, she clicked her tongue on the roof of her smoke-filled mouth. She was unsatisfied with your answer. “You gotta give me more than that.” 

Her voice went an octave lower as she leaned toward you, ready for you to spill all of your darkest secrets to her. “There’s nothing else to give.” You spat, eliciting a hum from her. 

“I don’t think that’s it. Ollie tells me that you two just fuck.”

Furrowing your brows, you let genuine confusion write itself on your features as you crossed your arms, curling into yourself the more she spoke. 

It was then that she sighed, taking another hit before extending it out to you. “Listen, I didn’t mean to say it like that… it’s just the way she talks about you is just…”

A twinge of curiosity sparked within you as she searched the jumbling words in her brain, sorting them in a way to soften the upcoming blow. “... it rubs me the wrong way like you’re just there to convenience her or some shit.”

“What?”

The air was knocked out of your lungs, and hairs on your arms raised, creating an itch all over that you wanted to scratch more than anything.

“Listen, I know you don’t think I don’t like you.”

“I-”

“You deserve something better than just sneaking around with someone like her. Her history with other women is fucked up, girl. Be careful.” 

With that, she directed her attention toward the patio door, watching as it slid open. 

Someone like her. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

Those words were all that hit you when Ellie rubbed your left shoulder, telling you that it was time to go. They consumed you when you had buckled yourself up in the passenger seat of her car. They ate you when the tears in your eyes started to burn as you leaned your forehead against the window. 

The drive was a little too quiet, and Ellie had been slyly giving you little looks throughout the trip, internally arguing with herself to ask about your sudden change of mood. 

“What’s w —”

“Am I just someone you like to fuck every week?” 

The question had caught her so off guard that her foot had nearly lifted off the gas and slammed on the break as she swerved slightly. Twisting her neck in your direction, she let her eyebrows furrow together. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Closing your eyes, you swiped at a fallen tear swiftly with the back of your hand, wiping it on the denim of your jeans after. “Now that I actually fucking think about it, we don’t do anything other than screw each other.” 

It was something you had meant to say to yourself, rather than aloud, but on the quietness of the car — even under the low hum of the music playing from the car radio, she heard every single word.

“Where’s this coming from?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you kept your head forward, noting the street you were on when she had turned into a familiar neighborhood about three minutes away from your destination.

“I’m just saying.”

Ellie scoffed, not believing a single word that bitterly came out of your mouth. “Yeah, okay.” You didn’t even have to look at her to know she was rolling her eyes as far back as they could go as she pulled into your driveway. “What’d she say to you.”

Fuck. 

“She didn’t say anything.” You insisted, moving to tug the door handle open. Right before you could, she pressed down on the lock button, trapping you inside the car with her. 

“I know she said something to you. You were all smiley when we got there, now you’re crying.” Pressing the matter even further, she twisted her body as much as the driver's side allowed, giving you all her undivided attention. 

Still refusing to look at her, you breathed in through your nose. “Ellie, I want you to be serious with me for a minute, please. All we do is hook up with each other. That’s not something that I find myself needing anymore now that I'm actually putting my brain to use.”

Your eyes darted across her face, watching when her hand came up to pinch the bridge of her nose — something she did while irritated. You wanted her to be truthful, and it was something she had a slight problem with as she sat there, a knot of unease developing within her empty stomach so tightly, that her body grew numb. “You’re making it more complicated than it has to be. I thought we made shit clear from the beginning that this was all it ever was gonna be.”

You scoffed, grinding your teeth together as the pressure behind your eyes burned once more. You shouldn’t have said anything. You shouldn’t have said a fucking word.

From the minute she approached you with that fucking toothy grin on her lips — you shouldn’t have said a word because look at you now. 

Crying for someone who clearly doesn’t want you back.

“I just took it too far.”

[fricc-darn]

Warning for abuse involving teens and adults (mental and physical), poor mental health, and just upsetting topics

None of them asked for this life, not in the slightest. Not one person was prepared for this to be the outcome of their ascension. Everyone wanted to go home. Whatever was left behind of their old lives, they'd gladly choose anything but this. It seemed like each day, someone new would be added to the system. So many people with their aspirations and desires ripped away from them. It was a cycle of tragedy.

The lives they had lived were difficult, cruel, and shameful. Being utterly disenfranchised meant that society would turn a blind eye to the most vulnerable. It made them easy targets, to be picked off the street like ripened berries. They were lulled into this fellowship with false promises of self-improvement and community.

To be told that the pain they felt was nothing but a wound that would soon heal with tougher skin. With guidance, their gifted potential would shine through. Every single person involved had a purpose. To live a devoted life to Luna's cause. An eternity of paradise awaited them after death.

The day of true enlightenment would come when midnight whispers came to them sweetly. When it happens, death shouldn't be feared but embraced, as they have surpassed this life. That is when this world and all of its unfairness would come to an end. They would survive. She had chosen for them to live. It had given them hope.

But those whispers never came. Yet, people were told their time had come.

If only they had known that they would be used as some kind of lab rat. Everyone's naiveté and what remained of their childlike wonder were weaponized against them repeatedly. Having their bodies humiliated in the name of spirituality. Their flesh was mangled by barbarism and left to rot. Ultimately, they would never be treated with the deserved humanity, even after death. If only they had known to stop feeding into the lies.

They were worn thin. Was anything they were taught real? It had to be, to some degree. This world was supposed to be salvation, but the skepticism couldn't be helped. They did what they were supposed to. Cleansing the filth that tainted their souls. Putting what little confidence they had left into Luna. A perfect fairytale for this never-ending nightmare. Maybe life would have been kinder if they weren't deeply troubled individuals. Loving parents? A stable environment? Better physical and mental health? Anything?

Yet, what could anyone do about what was said and done? This was a prison for tortured souls.

Not only were their experiences shared, but now so were their pain, their sadness, and their anger. A collective burning resentment felt so heavy that they wondered if they were all from the same womb. As if this was the family they craved.

They were one. With themselves and everyone in their...group. Expressing a newfound tenderness towards each other during their troubles. For some, memories were being stripped and forgotten after a few days. Others desperately clung on to what they could remember. The ability to live on after death was a true gift as much as it was a curse. A second chance, if you will. Was this a gift from man or Luna?

Truthfully, this new life was better to some degree. This wasn't a repeating lie they would say in an attempt to pacify their rapidly changing emotions. People don't suffer for nothing. There was meaning behind it. It was a beautiful weakness that easily bloomed like a sore. It was so human. A reminder of what they were no longer. They were now something much more than any person. Life was going to be different this time around. As a collective, they swore on it. For themselves and each other. 

No one would have to endure the inescapable abuse that was inflicted upon them ever again. In this world, they were never hungry or cold; they had a place to sleep and clothes on their backs. Here, it was safe. No one could hurt them again, and they'd make sure of it. 

The darkest parts of every soul, which were once hidden away, began to reveal themselves. Communal bitterness festered and spread like the plague. They were all told anything could happen in this world. They could be or do anything. In that case, they would do things they could only dream of. Everyone wished that they had lived life more selfishly, and now was their chance. If their souls were truly bound to this God-forsaken game, it would only make sense to treat life like one. 

The network grew curious. For the first time, they had control over their lives. The roles have changed. It wanted to know what it was like to hurt someone. To feel how good it felt to break someone down to nothing. To have things go their way. They needed to hurt someone; it was instinctual. To prove to themselves that there was some bright side to this mess. That it has the ability to make people listen. Using the same methods that others have done to them.

Who they were as individuals mattered little. They'd make their presence known as one. It was only fair that after what they've been through, their amusement should be placed before all else. They deserved this; this was their reward! If only they had a fraction of this authority sooner.

[constantinerkives]

Unholy Matrimony, YJM // (M)

PAIRINGS: GP Demon! Yoo Jimin x fem violinist reader

WARNINGS: bl00d, demonic ritual, use of classical music as a means of summoning a demon, brief mention of religion, violinist reader, YJM is the daughter of the big man downstairs (if you get what I mean), reader's in her early thirties but she offered herself when she was twenty-three, Karina has poetic rizz, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, marking, mating, unprotected sex (stay safe ya'll), breeding, breeding kink, creampie, age-gap, Karina speaks IN LATIN, who are we kidding, KARINA IS THE MAIN WARNING

SYNOPSIS: It's amazing how desperation can lead from one thing to another. You crave to be recognized, to be valued. And it's selfish - but she approves. After all, it's humane - greed. And she'd be a terrible wife if she doesn't support your one-way trip to eternal damnation. But that's where she comes in, to stop it from happening and give you nothing but luxury and comfort. I guess you can say that being married to a devil isn't bad after all.

A/N: Hi guys! this is my first fic, hope you like it <3333 I've also made some modifications from the original story, hope you guys won't mind. Sorry to keep you guys waiting but I was fighting demons (lmao) for the plot of this one-shot, Happy reading <3!

WORDCOUNT: 9, 535 oops this was self-indulgent AHHAHAHA shi-

THIS IS ALL FICTITIOUS AND THEREFORE SHALL NOT BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY.

TERMS AND DEFINITIONS: Melodiam meum - means 'my melody' in Latin Dilecto - beloved in Latin Hermaphrodite - an organism having both male and female sex organs or other sexual characteristics, either abnormally or as a natural condition Brava - well done or very good. It is used to praise a female performer

It's ridiculous

The creature watches with amusement as it eyes the young lady standing alone in her spacious living room. Her silhouette is wrapped in darkness with no source of light other than the soft glow of five white candles circling her. Her face remains in the dark, veiled with desperation with a whiff of mystery. 

How desperation can lead you to commit the things you thought you wouldn't do. 

"Please," She whispers, "Please work,"

It inclines its head, watching as the young lady pulls out a kitchen knife. The blade glints menacingly in the dark as she positions it atop her wrist. 

Do you want to do this?

And cuts her flesh, crimson dense liquid oozes out of her flesh and she directs it to-

The creature sneers. A violin. Her blood coats the strings of the instrument, and traces of her drip down to the floor as she picks up the bloody violin and begins to play a familiar piece; popular with seasoned violinists. 

The Devil's Trill Sonata

You are a desperate girl...

She plays with feverish determination all while her wrist continues to bleed. The demon crosses its legs, arms crossed against its chest, and leans comfortably against the velvet settee. 

That's it. Keep playing. I am no stranger to greed. Play it with your heart's desires. 

Her fingers smoothly transitioned from one note to another, clean and precise. The first movement leads you to a false sense of softness and beauty, and slowly...the devil grins as the young woman slightly loses her balance. She's running out of time, running out of blood. Ah, poor soul. She hasn't even reached the second movement yet. It seems like another soul will perish for nothing. It watches with practiced dismay as the girl's body visibly pales, and she's beginning to lose her energy. She's one push away from knocking a candle and collapsing - losing her life to a meaningless offer. 

After all, what the devil played was far superior to what Giuseppe Tartini had played. The creature's lips curl to a sneer. No other violinist had come close to its execution. 

Then, with a stroke of luck, the girl regained her composure for some unfathomable reason. The devil blinks, surprised by the sudden change as she grounds her feet against the tiled floors pooling with her blood and strokes the strings violently; the entity's face beams with unbridled pride. The girl plays over four octaves of the note G, with her hands stretched out over three octaves. A move that the daughter of Lucifer can only execute. 

Interesting

The human plays with intensity now, and the entity finds itself leaning away from the backrest of the seat, watching with phantom hawk-like eyes as the girl pours every last bit of her living minutes into its piece. For centuries, no one has executed it the same way this mere human did. Anger and envy flash in its eyes as it flicks a hand. The candles' feeble light extinguishes, all except one, and the girl weakly gasps. 

The entity hastily stands up from the velvet settee and gracefully stalks toward the confused and terrified girl as she mumbles: "What? What the hell happened - did it work?"

Oh, it did pretty human.

It grabbed the candle as it willed itself to manifest a physical form. The young woman gasps as the creature grabs her by the collar of her blouse, and with its' other hand, it holds the candle next to her features. The woman lets out a pathetic yelp as she looks up only to see two rich ichor irises looking down at her with scorn, envy, and dare she adds amusement.

The demon examines her delicate features, soft brown eyes, fair skin, and a whiff of innocence that crumbles down to greed and desperation. 

And fear

It's beautiful

"Have I satisfied you?" The girl meekly starts. Her voice sounds distant. She's hanging on for dear life, and the demon wanted her to fall into the pits of eternal damnation. But it begrudgingly longed for her to play it again. For no human played it as well as she. 

The entity narrows its' eyes as the girl begins to lose her balance. Her knees were about to give out if it wasn't for the being holding her by the collar. 

The demon leans close, and the girl's eyes visibly shake. It slowly lets go of her collar and reaches out for her cut wrist, its talons almost cutting into her skin. She gasps as she felt a searing burn crawl over her cut wrist. 

"Be seeing you," It said, vowed. Before the demon drops the candle and lets go of the girl, allowing her to collapse into her pool of blood before it disappears into thin air. 

Years have passed, and you are a renowned violinist of your generation. Here you stand in front of your devoted fans, playing the piece that brought you money, power, and glory in the world of music. 

A small smile graces your lips as the curtains close, and the theater erupts in cheers and applause. Another successful concert lands on your plate. You return to your first stance as your posture relaxes, and you make your way backstage. Your handler, Park Sooyoung, her fair complexion glows underneath the lights. Her exquisite red dress hugs her body flawlessly as she approaches you with a wide grin and drapes her arm around your shoulder. "Another successful concert - this calls for a celebration!" She wriggles her brows, and you merely chuckle in reply. 

As much as you want to, your muscles crave rest. And a drink. 

With an apologetic smile, you reject your handler's offer for a celebratory dinner, promising to eat with her tomorrow, but for now, you need a night's rest. 

She understands with a soft smile and gently pats your shoulder. "Of course, you deserve it after playing The Devil's Trill Sonata for almost fifteen minutes." Sooyoung chuckles. "But I'll escort you to your private drinking booth before I, too, call it a night. How does that sound?"

"Perfect," You agree, and the latter takes you to your destination and leaves you to your drink of choice, red wine. Château Lafite Rothschild. 

A pleased sigh leaves your lips as you unceremoniously collapse on your seat. Tired eyes examining your surroundings, your booth is a spacious room. Walls wrapped with high-quality velvet wallpaper, expensive paintings depicting pagan Gods, the lights were the same, albeit softer to look at, and plants to give the room a bit of life. 

A relaxing sight. You pour your wine and lean comfortably against your seat, your head thrown back, allowing your neck to rest whilst your right hand holds the stem of your wine glass. 

That's what life's about, luxury. 

And you bathed in it. You crave the beauty of wealth and luxury that your way in life has brought to you. 

Just as you're basking in peace, a figure emerges from the shadows in a black blur. You didn't notice it until the atmosphere grows heavy, your skin prickling at the sensation that someone is watching you. 

"Indeed, that's what life's all about. Isn't it? Basking in luxury." 

"You've done well tonight, Ji Y/N." Says a feminine voice, steely, low, and churning. You snap your head towards the owner of the voice; your face turns bloodless, even at the warm glow of the light, and there sits a resplendent woman wearing a black cropped blazer; underneath it is a matching black tube and matching back trousers and heels. At the base of her slim neck is a layered gold necklace. The outfit was simple, but her features made up for it. The woman sitting before you has a fair complexion that will put the moon to shame, a sharp jaw, plump lips, luscious black hair tied neatly to a high ponytail, and a small face. Not to mention her lean stature and posture. Judging by the way she gracefully sits, she's taller than you. And just like you, she too is holding a wine glass, slim fingers, and perfectly manicured nails secure the stem of her glass. 

But something's amiss. Yes, she is human, a beautiful human, and you're no stranger to all things beautiful - but something about this woman's beauty throws you off. 

A trip to the uncanny - something about her doesn't match humanity at all. 

She lacked warmth, not only in her eyes but her overall presence. 

"Who are you?" You demanded, "What are you doing here?"

The woman's lips curl to a grin, showing you her perfect set of teeth. "You don't remember?" She asks in return, unperturbed. Your face twists to a scowl, "I asked you a question." Posture bristling with guarded animosity before you peered over her shoulder. "Security!"

The air grows heavy as the woman holds an open palm up. She is no longer smiling. "That won't be necessary." Her voice was cold and cutting, booming with authority like no other. Then, her grin returns. "Perhaps this shall jog your memory, pretty girl." 

She blinks, and her cold, brown eyes change to a rich hue of gold. Menacing and distant. 

"Be seeing you,"

On cue, your right wrist burns, causing you to drop your wine glass against the carpeted floor. You back away from her, standing up too hastily, and in return your seat tumbles. 

"You," A sharp gasp leaves your lips. No, it's too soon. A cold, hard laugh tumbles from the latter's lips. "My," She sips her drink before gently setting it against the tabletop. 

"Are you here to collect my soul?" There it is again, that meek tone. The devil inclines her head to the side, brows furrowed. "Me? Collect you? Oh. No, no. Not yet melodiam meum." You don't know what it means, but the way it rolled off her tongue made your gut churn. 

"Then why are you here?" You voiced out. 

She eyes you up and down. "You know, my beloved. I am offended by the turn of events." She stands up, and you instinctively back away as she circles the table and stalks toward you. Her hips swayed in a sultry manner as she did. She keeps advancing until your back is pressed against the wall, hands pressed to your sides while the raven-haired enigma delicately brushes her knuckles against your cheek. The contact sends shivers down your spine. Her proximity allows you to inhale her seductive scent. The blend of florals with amber and musk is a perfect balance of femininity and masculinity. 

"For years, I watched over you. I made sure no harm came to you and only commanded success to fall into your plate. I blessed you with concert after concert - and I know your love for all things beautiful." The devil purrs.

"So I made myself beautiful for you, dilecto." 

Not a single lie in sight. "Who are you?"

"Karina," She replies, "My name is Karina Yoo." The latter pauses. Her gold eyes trailed down from your eyes to your lips. 

"Do remember that, my bride. I will walk the earth with you until your time here is due. And the world will know me as your companion, your spouse." 

And your vision turns black. 

You woke with a groan, your head throbs with pain, and you shift in your bed. The white sheets cling onto your skin as you lay on your side, the sun peeking through your curtains, blessing your suite with its light. You stare up at the ceiling, rubbing the sleep of your eyes, and as you regain your awareness. Well, so are your memories of last night. 

Your body quickly turns cold, and you sit up, muscles aching in protest, but you ignore it as you check yourself. You are wearing your sleepwear as opposed to the form-fitting dress you wore for the concert last night. Nothing else seems to be wrong except for the fact that you did not change your dress last night. Who brought you to your suite, then? It couldn't be Sooyoung. She went on her way first.

"You're awake," Says a familiar, cold voice. 

The hairs at the back of your neck rise. 

Slowly, you turn your head to the tall figure leaning against the doorway to your lounging area. Karina, as she calls herself, is no longer wearing her black suit. Instead, she's wearing a white button-up shirt, black trousers that reach three inches above her ankles, and black oxfords. Her rich, black hair cascaded freely like a black waterfall. 

"Karina," You rasped, and the devil's lips curled to a smile. "You remembered."

You press your back against the headboard, posture brustling with animosity as your hands' fists the sheets. "What did you do to me?"

The latter frowns, "I did nothing, pretty girl. I merely allowed your body to rest for tonight before-"

"Before what?" You cut her off breathlessly as your forehead begins to sweat, and your body becomes warm with each passing second - soon, your body is veiled by a thin sheen of sweat, making you uncomfortable as you throw the duvet away from your feverish body. 

Your stomach churns harshly, and your eyes sting as you fall onto your side, hands clutching your stomach as you look at the entity standing at the foot of your bed, eyes studying your writhing figure. 

"What did you do to me?" You sob as the pain doubles, fiery, almost. 

Karina's features break to a knowing smile as if she had seen this before and approaches the side of your bed, the mattress dips at her weight and reaches a pale, slender hand towards you, and you find yourself not moving, too feverish, so you let her touch you. And her touch was soothing. 

"Shhh," The raven-haired enigma coaxes, "Your body is reacting to its new owner. Best to let me handle this, Y/N." 

New owner?

You couldn't process anything, distracted by her touch soothes your hot skin as you slowly relax into the sheets. A relieved sigh leaves your lips as the pain ebbs away. 

"Easy does it," She remarks, "Are you feeling better now, delicto?" 

"Yes," You reply curtly as you eye her warily. "Wonderful," She gracefully stands from your bed, "Now rest. I'm sure you have questions for me once you recover." 

"No," You protest, and her gaze turns sharp, making you shrink in your bed as she tilts her head. "No? What do you mean no?"

"I have a meeting with a sponsor," You stammer under her piercing gaze. The latter pauses, "You have plenty of time to prepare, rest. I'll take care of it." 

"Take care of what?"

She flashed her bright golden eyes at you, and once again, your vision turns black. Three hours later, a scandal broke out.

Italy is known for its warm, Mediterranean climate. Summers are always hot, sunny, and dry. 

But no amount of summer dresses can protect you from the cold, piercing gaze of your handler who sits across you in a cafe with her arms crossed and her expression blank. 

After Karina took care of your meeting with a sponsor, word got out fast and a controversy broke out with your fans shocked at the fact that you are married. Hence the meeting with your handler, who also knew nothing of the situation. 

"So," She begins, "You're married?"

You tried not to cringe as you looked at Karina; who was sitting beside you, drinking her espresso with gusto. She wore a black coat with red lapels, a black turtle neck, trousers, and heels. 

"Yes," She replies as she sets down her mug. Sooyoung slowly turns to your 'wife' before looking at you. "And since when were you two married?"

"Seven years," Karina smoothly replies. You two shared a glance. Seven years ago, you offered your soul to her.

"And how come I only knew about this after Mrs. Yoo talked to your sponsor?"

"I wasn't feeling well," You wince, "I told my wife-" This coming off from your tongue is a foreign sensation. "That it can wait, but she insisted." 

"Y/N was bone-tired last night." Karina adds, "I'd be a terrible wife if I insist that she gets out of the house to speak to the sponsor, so I took it upon myself to go." You softly cleared your throat, "How did the public react to this?"

"They've seen Karina's photos." Sooyoung leans against her seat, "They approve of her." A wry smile graced her lips, "That adds your wife to their list of 'celebrity crushes' I believe."

You repressed a sigh of relief, "That's good news." 

"Don't be too relieved yet," She massages her temples, "You have yet to address this at your conference. I'll have your script ready, and of course, your wife has to follow it as well." She turns to look at the devil disguised as your wife. "Is that okay with you?"

Karina grins and suddenly interlocks her hand with yours. The sudden action surprises you, and she flashes you a look. Your lips form a practiced smile, and you duck your head as if you are flustered. 

"Yes, I'm fine with it. So long as this keeps my wife happy." 

"Good, the conference starts at 2 PM sharp. Let's get you both ready before then." 

Addressing your marriage to the public was easy. The press loved ogling at your 'wife'. You can't blame them though she looked ethereal in her outfit; a form-fitting black, high-neck dress and a black blazer draped over her shoulders, and her hair was freely cascading down to her breasts with diamond earrings as her accessories while you wore white dress. Both of you looked exquisite during the conference, and you didn't forget the way the reporters begin talking all at once upon announcing your next concert and the piece you'll be laying next. 

The Last Rose Of Summer by Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst. 

Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst is not the biggest name in classical music, but his ‘The Last Rose Of Summer’ is notorious among violinists for being a complete nightmare to play. Ernst was an obsessive devotee of Paganini, the original violin rockstar, and he loved to include stupidly complex pizzicato in his music. Karina's soft lips curl to a smirk as she ends the event by taking your hand in hers. You eye her cautiously. This wasn't part of the script? 

Still, she raises your hand and brings it to her soft, warm lips, pecking the back of your palm. Your cheeks warmed as the cameras flashed. Your spouse looks at the press and flashes them a jaw-dropping smile. "We'll get going now. May you all have a nice afternoon." Without another word, she leads you down from the stage and to the exit, where a sleek black car awaits the both of you. 

"Take us back to the hotel, please." You told the driver. The man nods and was about to close the partition before Karina speaks up. "Take us to Ratanà, Mr. Giovani. I'll treat my wife to a nice meal after the conference." 

"Very well, Mrs. Yoo." The driver replies with a thick accent before finally closing the partition. You glare at the latter while she leans comfortably against the leather cushion and looks at you. Karina arched a perfectly sculpted brow. "Why the surly look, wife?"

"What are you going to do in a restaurant?" You snap at her. Karina guffaws in amusement. 

"I'd like to see how the world changed after centuries." She simply answers. "I'd like to see more of the world with my two eyes." 

A huff leaves your lips as you turn away from her and cross your arms against your chest. "You still have some explaining to do." 

"Which is why a restaurant is a perfect place for it." 

"People will hear you." 

"I've booked us a private booth." You snapped your head towards her, "You did what?"

"I won't repeat myself, beloved." She chuckles, "As you've said, I owe you an explanation. 

The people inside Ratanà gawked at the two of you as soon as you entered the restaurant. The clattering of plates and utensils stopped as well. You flush at the reaction while your wife places her hand on the small of your back. Even with your dress, you can't help but shudder at the contact as she flashes the crowd a charming smile before leading you to your private booth with a female waiter stationed outside your door. 

"We'll order later," Karina's smooth velvet voice coaxed the woman into an agreement before finally entering the private booth. 

She pulls out the chair for you to sit on, and you begrudgingly obey as she sits across you. Silence permeated the air. Gone is her alluring aura, replaced by enigma. As if all of it was an act - it is. 

"Where to begin, where to begin." She mused wryly. 

"Why are you here if not to claim my soul, then?" You snap, "Why waste your time tagging along?"

Karina tilts her head. Her intelligent eyes regarded you.

"Well," She begins with a distant smile. "I visited you every two years, watching from afar while you amassed your concerts just to see how your talent has bloomed."  

You wait for her to explain further, "I'll be frank, darling." Your gut churns at the endearment. "Throwing you into the pits of hell after your time is done is nothing but an exercise of futility, a talent like yours deserves to have a place next to mine." 

Your brows furrow, "Next to yours?"

Her lips curled, "Why do you think you offered your soul to me out of all the demons out there?"

You replied with silence, and Karina narrowed her eyes in disapproval. "Something tells me that you didn't gather the slightest bit of information about who I am, delicto." She leaned away from the backrest of her seat and interlaced her fingers together. "Tell me, do you know who I am?"

"A devil who named herself Karina Yoo." 

A scoff befalls her lips, "Foolish girl, you're lucky to have offered your soul to me." 

"Why?" You snarked, "If I'm so lucky, why?"

Her eyes flashed, "My father," She hisses through gritted teeth, "Is the angel of music. Lucifer was the angel of music. After his fall, he reigned in Hell and has simply lost interest in that title." Her expression darkens, "Which is why I took that spot while I helped humanity discover it with my profound ability that I inherited from him."

Your eyes subtly widen, "Yes," She growled.

"You're sitting with the daughter of Lucifer. His finest creation, second to music." Her eyes glowed to cruel gold. "And you tied yourself to me, Ji Y/N. You offered your body and soul to me. That makes you mine as I am yours."

Something's not right. Why is there an indirect statement of equality?

As if reading your mind, she addresses it with a softer tone. 

"As I've said, my beloved: leaving you to burn in hell would be a waste. I have taste in talent just as much as you have taste for beautiful things. In my millennium of harvesting souls, I am nothing but a sponsor to those who offer themselves to me. I will keep you. I've decided to keep you after hearing you play all these years. And I confess that I envy your ability, albeit you're human. I am still superior to you on all levels, but when it comes to music, we are equals."

"So that makes me your actual wife, then?" You squeaked. Karina lets out a rumbling chuckle, "Oh, yes, darling." You hold her gaze, and this time, it's intense. 

"That makes you mine as I am yours." She husked, her eyes tracing your features possessively. "So if you had any lovers or flavors of the day, forget about them." 

"So possessive," You remark shakily, and the latter lets out a wolfish grin. "I am a demanding creature, Y/N." She then leans away from you. "We can order now. After this, we can return to the hotel, and you can start practicing the piece you'll perform at your concert next month. The earlier you master it, the better. And I will help you along the way." 

She's right, of course, but you wouldn't admit it to her face. 

"Alright, call in the waitress." 

Your routine is divided from going out with your wife to practicing until your fingers go numb. 

The Last Rose Of Summer by Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst was the last of his Six Polyphonic Studies for solo violin. It is a set of incredibly difficult variations for the violin. The first few weeks were nothing but agony as you practiced in a private setting, preferably away from the devil of music. 

For days, it's either you couldn't transition smoothly to another note, or you struck a wrong chord. Either way, it's still a mistake.

This complex set—full of every imaginable and unimaginable technical difficulty—includes an introduction, theme, four variations, and a devilish finale. At first glance, an impossible task. This one requires both physical and mental fortitude. And each mistake drains it out of you. 

"Jeez," Sooyoung hisses as soon as she sets foot into the room. "Y/N, get yourself off the floor and sit on the couch, will you?"

A tired groan leaves your lips as you force yourself to get up. Your muscles ached in protest as a result of standing for hours. 

"You know what," Sooyoung sighs as soon as you unceremoniously plop on the couch. "How about we call your wife, hm?"

"No," You sigh as your tired mind thinks of a lie. "She's busy."

"Busy doing what?" Shit

"Managing her family's financial reports." Yeah, that should do it. 

"Don't be ridiculous," The latter admonishes, "Your wife is never too busy for you. I'll call her."

"Sooyoung no-" Too late, she had dialed her number, and you tuned out their conversation. "She says she's on her way." Your handler informs you as soon as she drops the call, "See, I told you she isn't too busy when it comes to you." 

"Whatever," You mumble as you close your eyes to get a few minutes rest. 

By the time Karina made her presence known, it was already evening. You scowl at her as you groggily sit up. "What took you so long?"

"You looked peaceful," She snorts, "And besides, you're more tolerable when you're not scowling at me all the time." 

"What time is it?"

The devil checks her watch. She bought it a few days ago from Bulgari. "6:37 PM, why?"

"Shit, that's late." 

"You needed rest," She reminds you as she sits next to you. You lean away, taken aback by her proximity as she looks down at your fingers, "And your fingers were turning purple. You practiced for quite some time and ignored your body's protests for rest. Hence why you collapsed next to this couch." 

How did she-

"Sooyoung told me," She answers. "Why force your body to such limits?"

You rolled your eyes, "You sound like my wife," 

"Because I am your wife," She grins, "So take care of yourself." 

You blink at her. For weeks that you spent with her, the older woman did nothing but make sure you were comfortable and safe, sure there was bickering, and dare you say banter. But she performed her duties as a wife should. It's baffling, to receive this treatment from a devil of her caliber. 

"Why are you staring at me like that?" She questions, her eyes beaming at your attention before you tear your gaze from her. "Nothing, I'm hungry." 

"Perfect," She grins, "I discovered a recipe that you might like." 

Oh?

"Cooking, you?" You mused, and Karina lets out a carefree laugh. It sounded pleasant. Not that you would say that to her face. "Why yes, pretty girl." She grins, "Now come. I want you to be a witness of me cooking a dish created by humans." 

She grabs you by the hand, and your pulse quickens at the contact as she leads you out of the building and to your car, a sleek, gray Bently Continental GT S. The raven-haired beauty opens the passenger door for you. You didn't say anything and entered the vehicle. She closes the door gently and enters the driver's seat, finally driving to your designated hotel. 

The smell of roasted lamb chops floods the dining area of your suite. Karina said that it'll be done in a few minutes. Your stomach grumbles at the sight of the delicacy in Karina's bare palms as she places it in front of you. She dusts the lamb chops with garlic, rosemary, salt, and pepper. Your mouth waters at the meal she prepared for you while she sits across from you, eyeing your face with mirth before finally gesturing at your dinner. 

"Well? Dig in." 

You didn't need to be told twice and began wolfing down your food. 

Karina watched you carefully as you ate with gusto before stopping midway. The older woman frowned, "What's wrong?" 

You look up at her, "It's not poisoned, isn't it?"

She placed a hand over her chest in faux offense. 

"Poison? You?" The raven-haired woman continues: "I would never. You must have faith in me, beloved. I would never poison a pretty girl like you."

Your cheeks change their color to a subtle hue of pink. "Faith is foreign for someone of your caliber, Karina."

"Trust me," She grins, "We're more direct than your trusted angels, beloved."

A hum leaves your lips as you continue to eat. Karina once again watches you before you pause for the second time. "Aren't you hungry?"

"We have a different diet from you humans. Souls, that's what we feed on, your intense emotions, energies." 

"Are you feeding from me right now?"

The latter replies with an unbridled smirk, "I am, but at least we're both benefitting." 

"Fair enough," You shrug before finishing your dinner. 

"Are you having a difficult time practicing your piece?" She asks after you've finished your dinner. A pause, "Yes, but I'll get better." 

"Not very reassuring, delicto." She replies as she interlocks her fingers, her expression serious. "Your concert is in three weeks, and your piece has four sections."

"Then what can we do about it?"

"I can help you." Karina offers - no, states. "It'll be quick, and you will save time." 

You arched a brow, "By what, cutting my wrist and pouring it over my violin?"

The devil guffaws at your snarky reply, "No, no. You perform. I will proctor your performance and give you feedback accordingly." 

You contemplated her offer. It's not that big of a deal. Perhaps guidance from a devil of music could save you time. "Alright," You rub your palms together. "Perfect," She purrs.

"When can we start?"

"Tomorrow," Karina checks her watch, "We'll start after lunch. Is that okay with you?"

You have nothing to do anyways, "Fine by me." 

"You missed a note," She looks up from her book. "Again, from the top." 

You bite your inner cheek and return to your second stance before slowly stroking the strings. Minutes later, she stops you again. 

"Your timing is off." 

"Don't I know," You grunt as you return to your first position and begin again. 

Hours turn into days. While yes, having Karina monitor your performance saves time, you can't help but feel your patience waning whenever she stops your performance. 

"Again,"

"I didn't even miss the note!" You asserted. Karina closes her book and looks at you. You stop yourself from saying more as your bones ache from standing for two hours. 

She lets out a hum, a tone that holds no consequence of your assertion.

"I forget that you're human." She says to herself rather than you. "But you have to keep up with me, beloved. Let's take a break. How do thirty minutes sound to you?"

"Wonderful," You groan before you sit on the floor of your lounging area. 

It went on for another week with the devil being surprisingly patient with you. Even with your patience cutting short, Karina allows your jabs to fall on her with every mistake you make improves under her watchful eye. 

You are forced to stop when you couldn't reach the note. "Crap," You cursed as you messed with the transition to the ending of the piece. Karina took notice of this and tilts her head, "Try to position your hand once more." She instructs, and who are you to disobey? She is your wife, your mentor. And so far, you learn quickly with the techniques she's amassed through the years. 

She examines your hand before standing from her settee and moving behind you. You stiffen at her proximity as her pale hand hovers atop yours while the other grasps your waist. A soft gasp leaves your lips as she presses her front against your back. The latter smirks but resumes correcting your finger placement. 

"Position your hand like this," She husked. A shudder leaves your lips as her warm breath fans the outer shell of your ear. Your skin tingles at her touch. 

"There," She purrs, "Very good,"

But she doesn't let go. 

She retracts your hand from the fingerboard of your violin and places it on your hips, securing you against her. "You know," She rasped, "This is by far the closest we've been." She flushed herself against yours as if she couldn't get enough, "As your wife, I've never received an embrace from you, beloved." 

"If you wanted a hug," You breathily reply as you lean into her touch. Karina's lips found themselves on the exposed expanse of your neck, ghosting over your skin. "Why didn't you just ask for it?"

She chuckles deeply, and it has your guts churning. "Oh, can I ask for one now?" You balk up a response, and Karina's patience wears thin as she spins you around. Her strength forces you to face her and drop your violin and violin bow. Your eyes blew back at the cruel glow of gold in her eyes. Her black veins surface on the sides of her gorgeous face. Her skin is paler than normal. She uses one hand and grabs your hair from behind, forcing you to look up at her with a hiss. 

Your eyes traverse from her eyes down to her kissable lips. Karina notices this and licks her in return. You swallow harshly at the sight. 

"I can sense it, Y/N." 

"Sense what?" You breathe out, and your wife sharply inhales and leans close. "Your hunger, no, not from food, but for me, beloved. I don't see the point in holding back." Her other hand traverses upwards; to your neck and gently squeezes it, eliciting a gasp from you before she uses that same hand to pull you impossibly close to her. 

"Be selfish, be lustful - lose your inhibitions to me, Y/N. I am your wife, your mistress, your servant. Use me as I will use you." She leans closer to the point that your lips are almost touching, her plump lips begging to be kissed by yours. 

"Sin with me, darling." Her voice distorts, "For sin is your birthright. Your faith has taught you to deny your desires and it has imprisoned you. Break your restraint. As your wife I encourage it, my love." She sighs as your hand caresses her cheek. 

"I am selfish, needy, and demanding. Y/N. And you shouldn't be less than I am. Let me have you, let me spoil you some more, even with the riches that are foreign to the world of the living, allow me to embrace you - you will be my queen. Fair as the sea and the sun." 

And while she pours her declaration, Karina Yoo's lips fascinated you. It sickens you all at once, but that is what seduction does to you. Her lips; were plump and inviting. Though you find her frightening at times, you can't help but feel as if you've known her before, that you are perfect for her. If you wanted something beautiful, this woman would be would give it to you. If you have an ideal type, this woman would be your ideal. 

You had not known before that you wanted all these things. That you preferred dark hair and a slightly cruel expression, that you wished for tallness, or that a woman embracing you and pouring her confession might thrill you. A whole young life’s worth of slowly collected predilections coalesced in a few moments within you, and Karina Yoo, her eyes glowing with desire, becomes beautiful and perfect. 

You shivered, and without thinking, you leaned in to capture her lips with yours. Not on the cheek, not chastely or unchastely, but greedily with your whole mouth. She reciprocates this, she eats your breath in the kiss, and you feel like she would swallow you whole. Your hands shamelessly claw her silk shirt from behind, crumpling the expensive fabric as the daughter of Lucifer deepens the kiss by tilting her head. Her grip on your hair tightens, and her other hand's nails dig against your hips. 

Together, your lips move languidly against each other, and the world feels like it's so far away. 

You two kiss until your human lungs burn for oxygen, and you push your wife away begrudgingly. 

Here you two are, panting and wanting more before she chased your lips with hers. Her mouth is hot against yours. You can taste the feverish desire from her. Suddenly, she bites you. You pull away from her, hurt and surprised as you raise your hand to your mouth. Your fingers are bloody, and Karina's lips were smeared with it. Her eyes gleamed. 

You balked. Your lips pulsed where your wife's long, thin canines had cut you. 

If you allow her to do this to you, what else will you let her do to you?

Anything,

Anything,

Anything,

Karina Yoo, your wife, your mistress, your slave, wiped your crimson blood from her lips. She eyes you with hooded, glazed eyes as she licks it clean. 

"Beautiful," She closes her eyes and slowly opens them before her arms circle around you greedily, and your back is suddenly pressed against the mattress of your private quarters. 

Her bright eyes are predatorial as she stares down at you. She wasted no time putting her hands on your waist. Her sensual scent invades your nostrils as she presses her lips against yours. You can taste your blood on her tongue as your hands cup her jaw. Karina's tongue glides against your lower lip before breaking into your mouth; only because you let her. She swallows your moan as she slides her tongue in your mouth, and she lets out a guttural growl in reply as your skin becomes hot under her touch. 

The older woman leans away and unravels your button shirt, and harshly pulls it off your body, leaving you alone with your bra. Her ichor-hued eyes visibly darken to a hue of copper before her lips attach to the column of your neck. Her hands smoothly go to your back and unclasp your bra, and haphazardly throw it somewhere in the room. 

You let out a mewl when she softly bit the center of your neck, followed by a gasp when her tongue smoothens it, she pulls you into an all-consuming kiss, her hands let go of your wrists, and your hands hastily gripped her biceps as her weight doubles making you press against the mattress, her lips muffling your groans and grunts as her teeth bite your lower lip, forcing a gasp out of you and allowing her to insert her tongue inside your mouth, your grip on her tightens as your lungs burn from the lack of oxygen. 

She pulls away for a split second, allowing you to breathe before connecting her lips with yours, her hips bucking and thrusting against your clothed core, making you moan into her mouth as lust ignites between your legs. You tilted your head to meet her kiss as your legs circled her waist. 

Karina groans, and she thrusts her hips against yours. You feel something poking against your clothed core. It's hard, and it feels good. 

As if sensing your curiosity, Karina chuckles deeply. "We're hermaphrodite beings, beloved. I can pleasure you as a man, or woman, or both." She breathes against your lips. "Which do you prefer?"

"You," You mewl as she kisses your neck. "I want what you are right now, even forever." 

The latter grins and bites into your neck, eliciting a yelp from you as she traverses her kiss downwards until she reaches the waistband of your pajamas. Karina's lips curl to a smirk, her hands latching onto the fabric of your pants before she effortlessly rips it and throws the torn fabric away. Your eyes widen while hers light up in amusement as she licks her upper teeth. 

"Relax," She purrs as her finger hooks the hem of your panties and yanks down. Your cunt flutters at the exposure, toes curling with anticipation as your wife dips down, her tongue takes a bold lick on the seam of your pussy and shuddering when she retracts and swallows. 

"Divine," She darkly grins as her hands pry your thighs to spread and latch onto your folds, eliciting a yelp from you as her tongue breaches your walls. You throw your head back when the warm, wet muscle begins to messily move in circles. Your arousal drips down the seams as she alternates from sucking and circling, eyes closing shut as carnal desire begins to take over the both of you. "Karina," You softly moan, "Fuck, so good - more, give me-"

She cuts you off with a growl, sending vibrations against your cunt. The sensation has your eyes rolling back as her tongue thrusts in and out. You plant your feet against the mattress and buck your hips against her face. "Fuck!"

Karina grunts and bites your clit, this sends white-hot pleasure through your body with carnal rapture seeping inside you as the woman withdraws. "Oh, you like that, don't you?" Des[ote your flustered state, your cheeks reddens. Karina hums and licks her lips which are covered in your arousal and her spit. "Let's try that again, yeah?"

She didn't let you reply and connected her mouth to your folds. Beads of sweat form on your forehead as heat bubbles within your body. You bristle in lust as the woman kept lapping your juices, her tongue working hard on sucking and thrusting inside your core, the obscene sounds were enough to lubricate you, your hand takes a purchase of her hair, tugging on it as moans and mewls befall your lips, evidently pleasing the woman who in turn moaned at the taste, doubling the sensation as she bites your clit again. 

Your back arched as does this again and again. Triggering a bundle of nerves. "Karina," You whimper, and you can feel her smirk as she finally decided to have mercy on you, her teeth retracting from your clit and deciding to continue back to eating your out, both your juices and her saliva drip down from your ass to the sheets as she continues to ravage you. 

And when her tongue manages to find a spongey spot, she immediately flicks it. Her ministrations made you see stars, hips jolting and accidentally grazing your clit against her teeth, making her moan while eliciting a pleasured cry from you. Walls clenching against her tongue, the woman in between your legs is determined to finish you off as her teeth keep biting your clit; helping her stimulate your orgasm as your eyes roll to the back of your skull, back arching and sweat dripping off every pore as your undoing hits you, knocking your breath out of your lungs.

The woman groaned at your nectar, lapping it up until you were whimpering, thighs shaking, and hands trying to pry away her head.

Karina decided to have mercy on your state and pull away with cum-smeared lips that formed into a smug smirk.

Despite your blurred vision, you can see your wife resting her head on the side of your thigh, kissing the expanse of skin before trailing up to your lower abdomen, giving it a soft kiss and mumbling something incoherent before kissing her way up to your lips, her body looming above you her hands trapping your sides as her lips mold with yours, giving you a taste of yourself as your hands caress her upper body, fingers working on with the buttons and belt of her suit to touch her bare, dewy skin.

Karina made it easier for you by snapping her fingers; she is just as bare as you.

Your eyes shamelessly trail down her body. Karina's body is lithe, though her biceps are slightly defined, so are her collarbones, her toned stomach, and...

Your eyes trail lower, and your core throbs with excitement. 

So this is what a hermaphrodite being looks like. 

Or maybe, that's just Karina adjusting for you. Either way; you'll take her as she is. 

The latter grabs your jaw, forcing you to lock eyes with her.

"Let's see," She rasped, "Just how much you can take from me, pretty mortal." 

Her body is never far away from yours, always flushed as her lips wrap around the exposed skin she finds. Your hands grabbed her strong back helplessly as she lodged her cock deep within you, veins rubbing and drilling with vigor while you moaned beneath her. "Fuck," She breathed, pulling out before thrusting back in, eliciting a gasp from you as she fucks you with abandon.

Her talons clawed the sheets, eyes screwing shut with every pound. 

"Fuck, beloved." Karina softly moans as she drills deeper into you. The force behind her thrust pushes you upward, and she had to lock her arms around you to keep you from leaving her. 

Your lips bite her shoulder to muffle a scream when she hits a spongey area. You heard Karina groan softly when your wall clenched greedily, hips snapping back and forth, your stomach coils, your skin burning with carnal want as your legs lock around her waist, ankles pressed against each other as her essence leaks from your abused cunt to the sheets after going at it for hours. The older woman felt her balls tighten, and her cock swelled as she pressed her forehead against yours, mewling as your release made your walls feel tight. You smell the mix of perfume, sweat, and sex from your bodies as her thrusts get sloppier and shallow to the point that she isn't pulling out anymore, her hips pistoning the same vulnerable spot that she had to muffle your strained moans with an ardent kiss as Karina stills her hips, thick spurts of cum painting your walls; you can only whimper; cunt accepting what she has to offer as this also triggers your orgasm, unannounced.

Karina pressed a kiss against your clammy temple, your walls convulsing, clenching around her incessantly.

Your hair is tousled and unruly, and your neck and collarbones were covered in her marks. The woman above you growls and sets her speed, her warm, thick cock drilling in and out in carnal want, ichor-hued eyes veiled with devouring lust as she throws her head back when you willfully clench your walls around her. Your lips chased her neck, nipping her Adam's apple, and she slightly falters. You can see the veins prominently bulging from her neck, beads of sweat running down her beautiful skin, and her sharp jaw on display for you. You drink in the sight as you pull her back to you, her wet hair sliding back, her kissable lips twitching to a smirk, gasping and whining with every clench of your needy cunt. 

The raven-haired beauty presses you harder against the bed, her weight doubling as she flushes her body against yours, her dick pistoning in and out of you, raw. Her pace bristles with an animalistic drive, her breath fans your lips, and grunts and hush moans break past her lips with every pound. 

"Are you close?" She couldn't control the distortion of her voice while you shamelessly raked your nails against her back. "Fuck," You mewled, "Yes - close."

The daughter of Lucifer mouths your cheek, mapping your features with her mouth as her toned stomach flexes. Your thighs burn with every pound and tears trail down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you choke a sob. The latter groans and withdraws her cock until only the tip remains and slams back in. You dig your nails harder, leaving crescent shapes and red vertical lines along her back to the point that you're aware of how much that would be painful for her.

"Harder,"

You briefly pull away to lock eyes with her, the obscene sounds of skin slapping reverberate in your room, and she looks at you with a small smile. "Use me," She pecks your lips softly, "As I am using you."

And who are you to refuse?

You hide your face against the column of her neck as the appendage kisses your cervix, and she does this again, and again, and again. She fucks you harder on your mattress, deeper, and you are on the verge of letting go. "Don't hold back," She moans.

Her cock twitches inside you, her hands move to the sheets, crumpling it as if her life depended on it while she fucks you carelessly, and your body heats up.

You bite down on her neck, muffling a scream as you cum, and milk her cock dry, legs trembling like a leaf, and your vision blackens. Karina sighs in pleasure as her cock savors your nectar. She bites the juncture of your neck and keeps fucking you through your orgasm.

And finally, she lets out a high-pitched moan and cums. She stills her hips and hides her head in the crook of your neck that's littered with marks. Her cock spurted out thick warm spurts of her seed, her soft lips kissing the side of your neck, your hand circled on her hip while the other one held her nape, both of you panting for breath.

After a minute of silence, she looks up at you. "Can you do one more?"

You nod mindlessly. Of course, one more always meant more than what you thought Karina said. 

Because even as a devil, a daughter of Lucifer; she took you to heaven's door multiple times. 

You knew that once she had a taste of you she'd never stop. 

Karina...that woman is insatiable. 

And of course, you'd let her do anything to you. 

A moan leaves your lips, only to be silenced by her hand clamping over your mouth. 

You'd let her fuck you an hour before your concert. 

The devil looms over your face, the light shielding the smirk on her lips while she fucks you against the sectional couch. The raven-haired beauty moves her hips languidly against yours. Her pace is desperate and strong and you claw her Brioni suit that you bought for her two days before your concert. Her pants pooled her ankles, while you're still wearing your bathrobe, or rather what's left of it. How did this start? You just finished taking a bath and walked past your 'wife' who's already done preparing. She said you smelled good. Bullshit. 

"Do you want me to go faster?" She asks, mockery evident in her tone. "Fuck - yes!" You choked a gasp as she jogs her hips firmly, and you let your head fall against the couch chanting: Yes, and fuck, your pussy clenches in gratification eliciting a moan from Karina as she licks a line from your neck to your ear. 

"Is that better?" She husked, and you moaned again in reply. The devil growls and sets her speed, her used, hard cock drilling in and out of you in carnal want, her blown, brown eyes flashing gold and veiled with lust. She throws her head back to move her hair that's sticking against her sweaty face. Sweat runs down her pale skin, her sharp jawline in display for you. You drink in the sight - like a lewd statue exclusive to you. Not to mention the suit that compliments her lean form, her hair wet and slid back, soft lips twitching to a gasp, chuckle, and groan with every clench of your needy cunt. 

You lean up to capture her neck with your lips, tongue licking her Adam's apple before biting it. Karina moans loudly, and you peck her for it before she turns it into a tongue-dancing session. Karina's hands cup your face and press you harder against the couch. Her weight doubles as she flushes her body against yours, her veiny cock pistoning in and out of you, her pace bristling with an animalistic drive, breath fanning your lips. 

Karina maps your features with her eyes before she brushes a familiar spot that have you rolling your eyes in return. Her stomach flexes, your thighs burn from her ramming, and tears trail down your cheeks. You're thankful you haven't put any makeup or skincare on for it. Karina gasps, the sight enticing her, and she momentarily stops thrusting. The devil pulls out eliciting a breathy whimper from you as you pull her close, head shaking sideways as your eyes begged her not to pull away. Karina slams back in. You screw your eyes shut as she abuses the spot again. A vicious grin graces her lips as she fucks you harder, deeper in your fitting room with her other hand clamping over your mouth. 

You've reached your limit.

You bite her hand to muffle a scream as the strong wave of your orgasm hits you. Karina bites your shoulder, pointed teeth piercing your skin as you milk her dry, your legs shaking like a leaf, and your vision blackens - your energy drains and your skin is covered in a thick veil of sweat. 

"That's it," She groans as she cums inside you. Warm, goopy, and generous. She lays on top of you, her arms snaking on your hips while you caress the back of her hair. 

While you're fucked out, the latter seems to bask in the afterglow of fucking. Her golden eyes examine your state before grinning and pressing a kiss on your clammy forehead. "Rest," She gently commands with a soft voice, "I'll fix you up later, okay?"

You swallow harshly, throat dry. "Fix me later or fuck me later minutes before the concert starts?"

Karina's chest rumbles with a chuckle, "The former, though I wouldn't mind fucking all night after the concert." 

You groan in reply, and she laughs, "I'm serious, beloved. Rest and I'll take good care of you." 

To master 'The Last Rose of Summer' is an ambition for most violinists, and with the devil of music as your wife, success never tasted so good before as you have the audience at the palm of your hand. 

The spotlight at your divine figure, at your hands that transitioned from one note to another with angelic grace. 

Your eyes are locked with the devil in the front-row seat of Teatro Alla Scala, one of the most famous theatres in the world. It was built in the late 18th Century to plans made by the architect Giuseppe Piermarini, at the request of Empress Maria Theresa of Austria. A range of operas, classical concerts, and ballets are performed during the theatre season, which is one of the most important appointments in the Milanese social calendar.

Karina sat there crossed-legged with a smile, wearing her navy blue, double-breasted wool Plume suit, and trousers, inside, she wore a white turtle neck, and her hair is neatly combed and slid back. Her black hair cascades beautifully for you to see as she watches you with pride and acknowledgment. 

You couldn't help but mirror her smile. 

Something has changed within you, you can't help but glow at the fact that you've brought back a long-neglected virtuoso piece, creating a performance of pure musical delight. 

Your body feels like it's on fire. You didn't care to fathom at all as you basked in the attention. 

Yes, be selfish, be cruel, my beloved shouldn't be lesser than I

And as you brought the audience to an explosive end, while everyone else applauded, your eyes were only trained on your wife who stands up, amongst the cheers and howls of the crowd, it was only her voice that gave you clarity. 

"Brava," She commends with distortion that no one else seems to hear. No one but you. She spoke again in another language, and this time, you understood it. 

"Omnis, surge et accipe sponsam meam et aequalem meam. Aperi portas inferi novae reginae tuae; Ji Y/N."

Everyone, arise and welcome my bride and my equal. Open the gates of Hell for your new princess; Ji Y/N.

Fin.

Thoughts? Oh and if you have requests, feel free to flood my ask box skksks

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - Wedding Night AU

Much of this scene is written from Aemond's POV of chapter 96 and then in veers off--so you get an insight to his thoughts and feelings during that scene. 35K Words

Warnings: Smut, (p in v), over stimulation, multiple orgasms, oral (m&f), orgasm denial, handjob, rough sex, slapping, scratching, choking, degradation(?), cum play (?).

The worship of a starved man

Aemond had been born hungry.

That gnawing emptiness, deep and insatiable, had been within him from the very start, a hunger that time had only sharpened rather than dulled. No matter what he attained, the emptiness within him remained. It was a hunger for everything just beyond his reach–a desperate craving for what could never fully be his. He was the second son, a spare, forever living in the shadow of another, born into a role that left him wanting more. 

From the moment of his birth, Aemond had been filled with a yearning for all that was denied him. What he received was never enough. The morsels of recognition or affection that came his way were inadequate to satisfy his growing hunger. What little he had, he had rested from the world himself. 

Nothing was freely given; everything was taken by force. 

He had claimed Vhagar, the mightiest of all dragons, a conquest that should have filled the emptiness gnawing at him. And for a brief, fleeting moment, it had. 

The triumph had been short-lived. The blade had come soon after, carving another hollow deep within him, a wound that went far beyond flesh and bone. The void inside him had yawned wider, and no amount of strength, no dragon, could close it.

It had given him a different kind of hunger, had twisted into something darker; a hunger for revenge. 

For years, he had fed that fire, starved for vengeance, convinced that once he had it, the gnawing ache would finally be satisfied. But it hadn’t. The taste of revenge had only stoked the fire further, leaving him with the same hollow emptiness, still aching for more, still unwhole.

Even now, with all he had wrested from the world, he remained hungry–starving for something he could never fully grasp. He had taken a taste of satisfaction, of peace. For a fleeting moment, the void had subsided, dulled by the comfort of her presence. Her touch had softened the jagged edges inside him, her warmth had stilled the rage and resentment that always simmered beneath his skin. In her arms, with her lips on his, and the heat of her body entwined with his, the hunger had receded, if only for a brief, blissful instant. For the first time, the acing void that defined him had quieted, almost forgotten.

But it had been just that–a moment. 

A fragile, fleeting moment, forn from his grasp as quickly as it had come. The blood on his hands had ensured that much. He had tasted love, had felt the intoxicating sweetness of what she could offer. And then, like everything else, it had spilled away. Now, he wanted nothing more than to taste it again, to gorge himself on that sweet poison of hers. 

But the hunger had come back to him, sharper, more ravenous than before. No matter how much he tried to bury it, no matter how fiercely he clung to her, the hollow ache gnawed at him. 

He had believed that claiming her as his wife might finally quench the insistent hunger. Surely, with her beside him, it would ease. But even in possession, he found himself lacking. She was his, yet not truly. Her heart, the one thing he craved above all, remained hidden in the ruins he had wrought. Her love was beyond his reach, forever locked away behind the scars he had left on her soul.

There was nothing more terrible than to hunger for something so close, yet forever out of reach–to see it, to touch it, but never truly possess it. And that hunger, cruel and relentless, consumed him still. 

The halls of Maegor’s Holdfast were eerily silent, the kind of stillness that clung to the air in the late hours of the night. Only the guards, vigilant but distant, patrolled the edges of the keep, their armor whispering softly as they passed. Aemond moved through the corridors with a slow, deliberate pace, his every step heavy with the weight of the day’s tensions. His muscles were coiled tight, as if they might snap at any moment, while an undercurrent of agitation simmered beneath his skin, restless and prickling.

A dull, persistent ache had settled deep within his skull, lodged behind the sapphire that now filled the space where his eye had once been. The pain was sharp, cold, like a shard of ice driven into his empty socket behind the sapphire, jolting with every slight movement. 

It wasn’t unfamiliar–it had been with him ever since that night when his eye was taken, a constant companion that haunted him. But since Lucerys Velaryon had been torn from the sky, since his vengeful will had fulfilled itself, the ache had intensified, as if the act itself had deepened the wound, embedding the pain even further into his bones. 

It gnawed at him, needling at his nerves, fraying them bit by bit. He had tried to dull it–to numb himself against the pain. Milk-of-the-poppy offered little relief but blunting the ache, and sleep, when it came, was fitful and muddled. 

As Aemond continued down the empty halls, the cold silence only intensified the throbbing in his skull, each step reminding him of the pain. He clenched his jaw, his breath measured but tight, as if he could force the ache away by sheer will alone. But the pain remained, just as it always did, clinging to him like an unwanted shadow.

Aemond stepped into the chambers he shared with Daenera, the soft creak of the door breaking the stillness as it swung open. The sitting room lay shrouded in shadow, the darkness thick and heavy, broken only by the faint glow spilling from the archway that led into the bedchamber. Soft, dim light filtered through the small ornate holes in the screen that separated the two rooms, casting delicate patterns on the stone floor. 

The once tidy space had become cluttered, the floor now strewn with chests overflowing with fabrics, their lids half-open, as if the attempt at organizing had been abandoned. A narrow path had been cleared, winding through the disarray toward the bedchamber. Scattered across tables and shelves were books and trinkets, remnants of their wedding–gifts from nobles, each piece laden with more meaning than sentiment. 

Aemond moved through the room with a sense of detachment, his gaze briefly sweeping over the chaos but finding no reason to care. The weight of the day still pressed heavily upon him and the familiar ache behind his sapphire eye pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. 

His gaze lifted towards the lattice screen, catching fleeting glimpses of movement within the bedchamber beyond. His pulse quickened as he neared the archway, the soft glow of flickering candlelight spilling into the sitting room. He moved slowly, deliberately, stepping into the dim light until he stood in the archway, his attention immediately drawn to her. 

There she sat, Daenera, her back turned to him, the silhouette of her form wrapped in a deep velvet robe he had commissioned specifically for her. The rich fabric cascaded around her like blood-drenched velvet. Intricately embroidered along the fabric were golden dragons, their serpentine forms woven in exquisite detail–a deliberate reminder of her mother’s dragon, something to remind her of her family and home, even if it warred against his own possessive nature.

Aemond’s desire for her to feel at home here–with him–was a constant struggle. He wanted this place, these chambers, to be hers, to be the sanctuary where she belonged. He longed for her to see this as her home, as he did, and not just a gilded cage in which she had been placed.

But still, he had chosen those dragons, knowing they might soothe some part of her that still longed for the past, even if it went against his deepest instincts. Even if it stoked the jealousy that quietly simmered inside him.

He had known she would refuse it if it had come from his hands, and so, he had asked Helaena to deliver it. 

Now, seeing her wrapped in the robe, the golden dragons gleaming faintly in the dim candle light, his chest tightened, the familiar ache in his heart intensifying. A part of him swelled with something almost like pride–with dark satisfaction–at the sight of her wearing it, it settled deep in his stomach, burning. 

His sister, Helaena, stood to one side, her hands working with the same quiet grace she always possessed. She glanced over her shoulder as Aemond appeared, offering him a gentle smile, a fleeting touch of warmth in her otherwise dreamlike demeanor, before turning her attention back to her task–gently drawing a brush through Daenera’s hair. 

On the other side stood the girl, Edelin, her movements quick and efficient as she worked through the long tresses with practiced care. She offered him a bow of acknowledgement, though he barely registered it, his focus locked entirely on Daenera. 

Aemond stood silently in the archway, watching her for a long moment. His eye traced the lines of her face through the reflection in the mirror. Her gaze remained downcast, her eyes deliberately avoiding his, a silent refusal that had been her quiet defiance throughout the day–ever since his return from Storm’s End. Each time she denied him, each time she refused to meet his gaze, it needled beneath his skin like a barbed thorn. 

The tension within him tightened further, his frustration growing with each second of her silent dismissal.  He barely acknowledged their presence as he strode further into the room, his gaze distant and his thoughts on her. The weight of the day bore down on him still, an invisible pressure that seemed to settle into his bones, making each step feel laborious. His hands rose to unfasten the belt at his waist, his long fingers deftly working the clasps with practiced ease. 

A restless impatience gnawed at him, an itch beneath his skin that he couldn’t quite shake. He wanted to be alone with his wife, finally, after days of strained separation and distance. The mere thought of it made his muscles tense with anticipation. Yet, even as that desire swelled within him, something heavier lingered beneath the surface–a sense of apprehension, quiet but persistent. 

He could already feel the tension simmering between them, a weight that had settled in the air. He knew it was there, waiting for him, just as surely as he knew what had caused it. Even in this moment of privacy, it felt as though they were standing on the edge of a precipice, ready to fall into yet another silent battle. 

He moved with the deliberate, restrained grace of a man accustomed to concealing his true emotions, but even now, the effort seemed heavier than usual. His muscles ached with the strain of holding himself back, and the hollow ache behind his sapphire eye pulsed with every heartbeat. 

Without a word, he shrugged off the belt and let it fall into his hands. The presence of the others in the room was insignificant to him at that moment. All that mattered was the oppressive silence between him and Daenera, her deliberate avoidance of his gaze gnawing at his patients, fraying the edges of his already brittle composure. 

The tension was palpable, like a storm waiting to break. 

Aemond caught the soft murmur of Daenera’s voice, her words quiet yet clear as she addressed her lady-in-waiting. “Thank you, Edelin. That will be all. Please inform the kitchens of my preferences for breakfast.”

The girl responded with a nod. “Yes, Princess.”

Out of the corner of his remaining eye, Aemond noticed Edelin glance towards him, her head dipping in a small, respectful nod. He, however, made no effort to acknowledge her, his expression unmoved as he silently dismissed her presence. Her footsteps quickened as she passed, the soft rustle of her skirts barely audible as she slipped through the archway and out of sight.

Helaena followed Edelin, pausing only for a brief moment. She glanced at Aemond before passing him, her gaze soft with gentle reproach. It was a look only a sister could give–a subtle warning not to push too hard, not to force what was already fragile. Her quiet smile lingered for a moment longer before she turned, her pale green gown whispering softly as she crossed the threshold into the sitting room.

The soft creak of the main doors echoed in the silence, followed by the distinct, final click as they closed. The sound seemed to deepen the quiet, leaving Aemond and Daenera alone in the thick, oppressive stillness of their chambers.

Aemond abandoned the belt of the back of a chair with a careless flick of his wrist, his attention shifting to the laces of his doublet. His fingers moved deftly, pulling at the strings that his mother had fastened for him earlier that day. It was a task he found easier–the laces unraveled more willingly than they tied. The doublet parted easily under his hands, the weight of the thick fabric lifting from his shoulders as he shrugged it off, folding it on the foot of the chaise. 

The shirt beneath clung lightly to his skin, the material much thinner, allowing the cool air to seep through and brush against him. He could feel a slight chill creeping in, but he didn’t mind it. With a sharp, impatient tug, Aemond loosened the lave at the collar, letting it fall open in the familiar way he always did, exposing the pale skin of his collarbone to the cool air. 

He lowered himself onto the chaise, the cushion giving way beneath his weight as he leaned forward to undo his boots. Each motion was deliberate, methodical, though tension rippled beneath the surface of his calm exterior. He could feel her eyes on him–her gaze, heavy and intent, watching his every move. It prickled at his skin, like the sensation of needles poised to break through the surface. 

Though she said nothing, her silent scrutiny hung in the air between them, thick with unspoken words and emotions that neither of them had the will to voice just yet. He knew she was studying him, weighing the tension in his posture, perhaps gauging his mood–waiting for the inevitable storm that seemed to linger on the edge of every moment between them.

Aemond felt the urge to break it, to say something–anything–but no words came to him. Instead, he remained still, unwilling to disturb the fragile peace that hung in the air like a thread about to snap. He could endure the silence if he had to. As long as she was near, as long as she stayed with him, he could bear it, he thought. He could bear it.

Aemond tugged off one boot, setting it aside with a quiet thud before shifting to the other. His fingers moved methodically, loosening the laces as he began to unfasten the second boot, his motions tinged impatience. His gaze lifted, drawing inevitable to her. She sat across the room, a glass of wine clutched in her hand, her slender fingers tightening around the stem. She drank deeply, desperately, the dark red liquid vanishing down her throat as if she sought to drown whatever unrest stirred inside her. 

Aemond swallowed hard, the sight of her drowning her wine with such urgency gnawing at him, like a needle burrowing deep beneath his skin. The very idea that she needed the drink just to tolerate being alone with him twisted something sharp inside him. She drank with an intensity that made it seem as though she were bracing herself, steeling her nerves simply to endure his presence. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding together, but he remained silent, biting his tongue. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her place the empty glass back on her dressing table with a soft clink, her hand lingering on the stem for a moment before she reached for the brush. She began drawing it through her hair, her movements slow and deliberate, as though focusing on the familiar task might somehow soothe her. The long curls rippled beneath the strokes, but even as she tried to smooth them, they frizzed slightly in defiance, each pass of the brush seeming to do little to tame the wildness of her hair.

After pulling off his other boot, Aemond placed it neatly beside the first, his movements slow and deliberate. His gaze was then drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. Her long, curly hair was gathered over one shoulder, exposing the nape of her neck, where small, unruly strands clung delicately to her skin. The sight stirred something deep within him–he remembered the softness of that skin, the feel of it beneath his lips. 

He watched her intently, his gaze tracing the gentle slope of her neck, the fragility of the exposed skin that seemed to beckon him. She ran her fingers through her hair, slowly taming the unruliness, the curls gradually becoming more defined with each stroke. His attention followed every subtle movement, every shift in the way her hair settled, as though memorizing the moment. 

Her expression remained carefully composed, a mask of porcelain coolness that revealed little of what she might be feeling. And yet, he knew. He could sense the storm brewing beneath her still surface, could feel it in the air around them, thick and heavy like the scent of rain before it breaks. 

His gaze traveled down the column of her neck, following the line of her skin until it met the rich red velvet of her robe, which draped over her from. The fabric clung to her, accentuating the curve of her shoulders and waist. His fingers itched with the desire to feel it beneath his hands, to touch her, to erase the distance that seemed to stretch endlessly between them despite their closeness. 

Through the reflection in the mirror, he watched her more closely, saw the flutter of her eyelashes as they almost brushed her cheek, a subtle sign of the emotion she kept so carefully hidden. There was a slight blush beneath her skin, barely noticeable, but it was there–an undeniable warmth. Her full lips parted as she exhaled a soft breath, the gesture small but enough to make his pulse quicken. The restlessness within him grew, the silence between them feeling more suffocating with every passing second, the weight of his unspoken desires and frustrations threatening to spill over.

As if the weight of his gaze had become unbearable, Daenera abruptly rose from her seat, her movements marked by a restless, agitated urgency. The chair creaked slightly in her wake, and her footfalls were soft but hurried as she padded across the floor in her slippers, the sound barely more than a whisper against the stone. She made her way to the water basin with purpose, her tension evident in the sharpness of her movements.

Without a word, she dipped her hands into the cool water, cupping it and splashing it over her face in an attempt to calm herself. The water dripped from her fingers, beading and sliding down her skin before she reached for the cloth nearby, dabbing her face dry with a weary sigh that seemed to echo the exhaustion hanging between them.

When she finished, Daenera folded her arms around herself, as she moved toward the hearth, seeking warmth or perhaps a moment of reprieve. The firelight flickered against her skin, casting shadows that danced along her frame, but even the glow of the flames couldn’t soften the tension that crackled between them like an unseen storm.

Removing his eyepatch, he abandoned the leather piece atop his doublet. It always felt strange removing it, felt as much like exposing his nerves to the cruelty of the world as it did grabbing onto a blade and holding it against the neck of the world. When he had first donned the eyepatch, he had felt it chafe on him, felt it just as much as the loss of his eye–a reminder of it, perhaps because it seemed to agitate the tender flesh surrounding his eye, worsening the pain. But he had grown used to it, learned to bear it as he did the loss of his eye, as he did the pain, use it as a shield, as a mask. It protected him as much as it seemed to ease the world around him–while the ladies of the court had still turned their gazes from him in pity, they were no longer turning it in disgust, in revulsion, and his mother could finally bear to look upon him. 

He removed it now and felt it as though it removed a layer of skin. 

Aemond stood from the chaise, his movements deliberate, tense, as he crossed the room. His steps were soundless over the stone floor as he approached the dressing table where Daenera had been sitting moments before. The faint scent of something earthy lingered in the air–light and nutty, with something sweet added. It clung to the space like an echo of her presence, delicate but undeniable.

Reaching for the abandoned glass, his fingers brushed the cool surface as he lifted it from the table. Without a word, he turned and made his way to the long, narrow table that stood near the sitting area. On it, a silver tray held a pitcher of wine and a set of glasses, their polished surface gleaming in the low firelight. He reached for the pitcher, the rich, deep red wine swirling inside as he tipped it carefully over the glass. The liquid poured smoothly, its color dark as blood against the crystal, filling the glass with a quiet slosh.

He didn’t need the wine. In truth, he didn’t even want it. Aemond despised indulging in it, hated how it dulled the sharpness of his senses, how it blunted the edges of his restraint. But the day had been long–too long–and the steady ache behind his sapphire eye throbbed with a relentless persistence. He took the glass more out of habit than desire, hoping that perhaps, in some way, it might ease the gnawing pain in his socket. 

And more than anything, he hoped the wine might dull the deeper ache–the one that gnawed at him with every glance at her. She was so close, mere steps away, yet felt impossibly distant, just beyond his reach. 

Lifting the glass to his lips, he hesitated for a moment, almost resenting the drink even as he sipped it. The taste was familiar but offered no real comfort. Rarely did he indulge in this much, but today, the weight of everything–of her silence, of his unspoken frustrations, of the mask he wore–had worn him down. 

Still, he hated the feeling of dullness creeping into his thoughts, the sense that the edges of himself were softening when he needed some restraint–some focus. Even with the wine warming his blood, the ache within him remained. 

As Aemond swallowed the wine, its bitter taste momentarily overwhelming his senses, her voice cut through the silence. It came unexpectedly, sharp yet quiet, just as he drew the glass away from his lips. 

“You’re here.”

It was more than just a statement–it carried an edge, almost like an accusation. Her voice was tight as if she were questioning his very presence, as though she had expected something else–as though she expected to be alone. Of course he was here. Where else would he be? It was their wedding night, after all.

Aemond’s response came softly, but beneath it was a thread of weariness that he couldn’t quite suppress. “We have to keep up appearances.”

For a moment, his teeth bared in a flash of frustration before the sneer melted into a resigned grimace. This may have been their official wedding night, but it wasn’t their true wedding night. That had been months ago, under very different circumstances–when they had exchanged blood, cutting their palms and sealing their bond with more than vows. She had kissed his bloody lips, and he had tasted the essence of her, her heart’s blood mingling with his own. They had consummated their marriage not in the cold formality of a bedchamber but before the hearth, lying on a soft blanket, their bodies warmed by the fire’s glow. 

That had been their real wedding, the moment that mattered. Tonight was just a formality, a hollow echo of what they had already claimed. 

He clung to that memory, savoring it like a flame against the chill between them now. 

Her voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and biting. “Appearances… I hope you don’t expect me to welcome you into bed with open arms and spread legs just to ‘keep up appearances.’”

The biting remark sent a fresh wave of frustration surging through Aemond, needling beneath his already frayed nerves. It worsened the simmering anger that burned low in his chest, threatening to ignite. Her defiance, her bitterness–he felt it burrowing beneath his skin, feeding the fire inside him. Yet he said nothing, the weight of his restraint pressing down on him as heavily as the silence that stretched between them. 

“Out there, I may play the part of your wife,” she continued, her voice steady though a bitter edge clung to each word, “but I will not keep up the pretense behind closed doors. 

Aemond let out a silent scoff, a sour bitterness settling on his tongue as her words hit him. He raised the glass to his lips, trying to hide the sneer threatening to pull at the corners of his mouth, and took a long, deliberate drink. The wine slid down his throat, bitter and strong, but not nearly enough to drown out the sting of her words.

What did she think of him? That he would force her to bed? The thought twisted like a knife between his ribs, sharp and bitter. If he had truly wanted to secure the marriage fully, to assert his claim over her against her wishes, he could have allowed the tradition of the bedding ceremony to proceed. He could have stood aside and let his brother and his lecherous friends strip her bare, carrying her to the marriage bed in a public display of humiliation and degradation. But he hadn’t. He had opposed it, not just for her sake, but his own. 

The idea of anyone–least of all Aegon–laying hands on her, seeing her exposed and vulnerable, had ignited something dark and volatile within him. The very thought had kindled a rage so fierce it had nearly burned through his restraint. He had felt it clawing at the walls of his chest, threatening to break free, the beast inside him roaring to life. It had taken every shred of his self-control to keep from striking his brother down at his wedding for the mere suggestion. 

The idea of such force sickened him as much as it pained him to imagine she believed him capable of it. He may bend her will, but he would not break it completely. And he wanted her–but only if she came to him willingly. 

He swallowed both the liquid and her accusations, feeling them burn together in his chest. It wasn’t as though he expected her to keep up the pretense, not when they were alone. He didn’t expect her to warm his bed or fulfill the duties of a wife when they were behind closed doors—he hated the very thought of it. The idea that she would feel forced to play a role, to pretend for him, sickened him. It twisted in his gut, just as her bitterness did, leaving a foul taste in his mouth that even the wine couldn’t wash away.

He despised the pretense as much as she did, perhaps even more, but he couldn’t escape the fact that it clung to them, binding them in ways neither could control.

The wine brought Aemond no comfort. It churned uneasily in his stomach, a bitter warmth that did nothing to soothe the knot of frustration and weariness tightening within him. He set the glass down with a soft chime on the table, its sound almost lost in the crackling of the hearth. His hand reached for the pitcher, pouring another glass, though he knew it wouldn’t ease the turmoil building inside him.

Out there, in public, they both had to pretend. They both wore their masks, painted on with careful precision, maintaining the façade expected of them. But he had hoped–foolishly, perhaps–that when they were alone, they could drop those masks, at least a little. Even if she hated him, even if her words were sharp and her gaze colder still, he had imagined they could find some kind of partnership in their solitude. That they might share a space where they didn’t have to pretend, or at least where they could pretend less.

It was a vain hope, he knew. But in the quiet of their chambers, away from the eyes of the court, Aemond thought they could be something more–something truer. Even if it was built from their bitterness and anger, it would be honest, and that, he thought, would be better than the hollow pretense they both loathed.

“Why?” Her voice was low, almost swallowed by the soft crackle of the hearth, the question slipping into the heavy silence between them.

Aemond exhaled, the sound more resigned than he intended, his muscles tight under everything left unsaid. His gaze flickered towards her but never reached her before he drew it back. 

“Why what?” He asked, though he had a sense of what she meant. Still, he waited for her to say it, to give voice to the question that hung between them like a blade, poised to cut through whatever fragile peace remained in the room. 

The horrors of his actions–of the boy he had killed–crept into his mind, seeping between the stones of the rooms like blood in the mortar. The thought of Lucerys lingered at the edges of his consciousness, a ghostly presence he couldn’t shake, clinging to him like a shadow. His jaw clenched, the tension there spreading down his neck and into his shoulders as the thoughts stirred. 

He didn’t want to discuss her brother–not now, not tonight. 

He almost feared the question stretching in the silence, feared that she would demand an answer he wasn’t ready to give and she couldn’t bear to hear. The thought of facing it–what happened in the sky above Shipbreaker Bay–now, filled him with dread. Would she believe him if he told the truth?

Aemond reached for another glass, his hand steady as he poured the wine. The soft clink of the pitcher as he set it aside punctuated the silence, a subtle sound that seemed louder in the tense stillness. His movements were deliberate, careful, as he picked up both glasses and finally turned to face her. 

She stood before the hearth, the firelight casting a soft glow against her figure. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, the long dramatic sleeves of her nightgown spilling out through the long, draping sleeves of the robe he had gifted her. The rich red velvet framed her in a way that made her seem almost otherworldly, a creature of fire and blood. A thick strand of her dark hair fell over one shoulder, while the rest flowed down her back, waving gently in the light. 

She looked beautiful–fragile, delicate, like something that could break with the wrong word or touch. 

Their eyes met, if only for a fleeting moment. Her expression flickered, her eyes widening slightly as though she hadn’t expected him to confront her so directly. But just as quickly, she turned herself away, her gaze shifting back to the fire. 

Aemond watched her intently, his gaze never leaving her as he moved slowly towards her. She lifted a hand to her lips, brushing her fingertips against them as though she needed to feel the weight of the words before giving them life. That simple, thoughtful gesture drew his attention, his eye tracing the path along her long, slender fingers as it grazed her bottom lip. He remembered the softness of them, plump and rosy–sweet, and yet devastatingly ruinous. 

He came to stand beside her, the flickering glow of the hearth casting a soft, golden light over her features. The warmth of the fire curled against his side, a subtle heat that contrasted with the chill lingering between them. His gaze drew over her profile, her eyelashes fluttered, long and dark, as she blinked,the fire’s reflection burning within the cool cornflower blue of her eyes, tracing the gentle slope of her nose, the soft valley of her lips, and the elegant curve of her jaw. Stray curls grazed against the side of her neck, haphazardly tucked behind her ear, framing her face. 

“Why did you insist on this marriage?” Her voice, barely more than a whisper, finally broke the silence, fragile and tentative, as though unsure if this was really what she wanted to ask. 

Aemond stood still for a long moment, his agitation prickling beneath the surface, twisting in his chest like a knot. He clenched his jaw, fighting the rising tide of frustration. 

“You know why,” he answered, his voice quiet but firm. 

A derisive scoff curled at her lips, cruel and biting, as she turned her face back to the fire. The orange glow flickered across her features, casting shifting shadows that accentuated the tension tightening her jaw. It was as if she were chewing on her words, tasting the bitterness of them before they spilled from her. Her long, dark lashes fluttered as she looked away, her gaze shifting upward, then downward, before returning to the fire. She blinked rapidly, as if forcing back the threat of tears. 

Then it came–strained, exasperated. “No.”

Her voice was thick, and her head shook with frustration. “I don’t.”

The denial pierced through him, sharp and unforgiving, lodging deep in his chest like a slow-moving arrowhead, twisting with each breath. It wasn’t just her words; it was the rejection of everything he had done, every word spoken, every gesture that had laid his love bare before her. It was all refused, unacknowledged. He felt the weight of the rejection settle heavily, a wound that festered quietly beneath the surface, a silent rebuke of the love he thought he had made so plain for her to see, and yet, she denied it. 

“I’ve told you before,” Aemond said, his voice weary, the edges softened–wishing to ease her into a truth she already knew. His gaze lingered on her, searching her face for any sign of understanding, of anything that was an acknowledgement of his feelings towards her. His eye latched onto the tears glistening at the corners of her eyes, barely held back. The subtle downward tug of her lips, the way her brows knitted together–signs of the emotional turmoil simmering beneath her calm exterior. 

But before he could say more, she cut him off.

“You want me.” Her words were flung out, sharp and scornful–they sliced through the air, seeking to wound, exposing only the part she wanted to acknowledge, leaving the deeper meaning buried beneath her bitterness. She said it as though his desire for her was something vile, something to be ashamed of, and the sting of the rejection hit him harder than he cared to admit. 

“It is more than that,” Aemond replied, his voice quiet but firm, unwilling to let her reduce everything between them to a single, shallow emotion. 

Daenera let out another derisive scoff, her lips curling in disbelief as she shook her head, her arms tightening around herself like she needed to hold something together. Her jaw clenched and unclenched, as if she were struggling against his words. Stubborn as always, she refused to meet his gaze, her eyes set on the fire. 

And then she spoke, the words harsh and dismissive. “That’s all it is. Desire.”

But Aemond knew better. He could feel it in the way his heart pounded in his chest, in the way the ache gnawed at him whenever she stood just out of reach. As much as she wished to deny it, it was more than mere desire. Yes, it may have started that way–an attraction, a spark of something dangerous and thrilling, like a game they both played. But what had once been a small flame had grown, slowly and persistently, like a creeping vine taking root.

Love had grown, even if neither of them had intended it to. 

Perhaps the seed had always been there, buried beneath the lust and desire, and over time, it had been watered by their shared moments, their connection, until it bloomed into something more. 

But now, it was undeniable, no matter how weak or wretched it made him feel to admit it. 

Her denial was like another arrow piercing him, this time sinking deep into his gut, twisting as it tore through him. His patience, already worn thin, frayed even further. “It is more than that,” he insisted, his voice laced with quiet intensity, his gaze burning into her. “And you know it.”

Aemond extended the glass of wine towards her, a small, bitter consolation–the gesture was tentative, an offering of comfort, even if it felt hollow. 

Her gaze snapped to him, sharp and wary, wide with indignation. For a moment, her eyes flashed with something fierce, searching his face. She seemed to study him intently, tracing the bare planes of his features–the parts of him that were usually so guarded. She’d see the places where the invisible mask he wore had chafed at him, where it had clung to his skin, leaving raw edges now exposed, if only slightly.

He was cautious, though, reluctant to remove the mask completely. Vulnerability was dangerous, and Aemond had never shown it easily. It was something he kept guarded, hidden beneath layers of control and cold detachment. But now, as he stood before her, offering a fragile attempt at connection, he was painfully aware of the sting of her earlier rejection. 

Her disbelief in him had cut deeply, more than he cared to admit–when she had refused to acknowledge his feelings, when she had not believed him about what truly transpired in the skies above Shipbreaker Bay. That moment had lingered like a raw wound, reopening each time she had dared to let his guard slip around her. He had bared himself, had tried to explain the terrible mistake, but she hadn’t believed his words–hadn’t believed him.

It still burned within him, a slow ache somewhere behind the sapphire in his eye socket, where her words had pierced him deeply. He was trying, but the wound was fresh, and he wasn’t ready to bare those soft, fragile parts of himself again–not fully. Not when she looked at him with such scorn. 

Her gaze drifted from his remaining eye to the sapphire embedded in the other socket, her brows knitting together as if she were searching for something buried deep within his stare–as if she saw something within its depths. Her gaze then dropped to the glass of wine he led out for her. 

In an instant, the tension snapped.

With a sudden, violent motion, she slapped the glass from his hand. The wine sloshed over the rim, splashing onto his fingers and soaking the cuff of his sleeve. The force of her strike sent the glass tumbling from his grip, and it shattered against the stone floor at his bare feet. 

The sound of breaking glass rang out, sharp and piercing in the silence, shards exploding across the floor. He felt the wine spilling against his skin, cold and sticky, and the jagged pieces of glass skittered across the stone, some grazing his feet. The smallest of shards threatened to nick the skin, catching the firelight as they spun to a stop, and the bitter scent of the spilled wine filled the air.

Fury blazed in her eyes as she snapped her hand to the other glass, knocking it roughly from his grip. It slipped from his fingers, and in the same motion, she pushed hard against his chest, forcing him back a step. The wine soaked into the fabric of his skirt, the deep stain spreading across the material just moments before the glass shattered against the floor. The sharp, jarring sound echoed through the room, a harsh punctuation to the rage crackling between them.

The crunch of glass grinding beneath the soles of her slippers filled the air as she continued her assault, slapping violently against his chest with a sneer twisting her features. Her strikes were wild, frantic, fueled by the rage she had swallowed throughout the day–throughout the days of compliance. Each push sent him back, but every time she shoved him, Aemond stepped forward again, refusing to retreat. His feet found the shards of broken glass, and he could feel the threat of them biting into his skin, but he remained unmoved.

He accepted her rage. He let her fists pound against him, let the blows land without flinching, like a sinner seeking repentance. He welcomed it–the violence, the scorn, all of it. Her rage was a storm he would weather, her hatred a fire he would endure. Anything was better than the oppressive silence, better than the cold void of her refusing to acknowledge him. He would bear every strike, every bitter word, as long as it meant she was still with him, still within his reach. 

“No, no you don’t get to claim it’s more than that!” Daenera spat, her voice trembling, caught somewhere between fury and anguish. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, her body shaking with the force of her emotions. 

“Daenera…” Aemond murmured her name softly, his voice a gentle plea as he tired to soothe her. But it only seemed to enrage her further, her anger consuming her. She struck at his chest again and again, each blow resonating inside him, though he barely felt it. He absorbed each hit with a quiet reverence, almost as though her touch–violent as it was–was a kind of communion he didn’t deserve. 

“No!” She sneered, her breath ragged and sharp, her voice cracking under the strain. “It’s not more than that–it is not–” Her words faltered, her fury giving away to something more fragile, more vulnerable. The corners of her lips pulled downward, her composure breaking as she choked out, “it is not love! You don’t love me, you can’t. You don’t even know what love is!”

Her words pierced him like arrows, each one embedding itself deep into his gut, his chest, his back. They burrowed into him, unforgiving as they sank deeper, their sharp edges tearing at his insides. Aemond could almost feel the jagged tips twisting with each breath he took, as if the pain were a physical presence, something which he couldn’t escape. 

Aemond had never truly known love–at least, not this kind of love.

It was foreign to him, something he had never witnessed growing up, never felt within the walls of his childhood. Love was not something that thrived in the Red Keep. It had not bloomed in the chambers of his mother and father. Their union had been one of duty and desolation, a cold, barren space where affection had no root. His father had never loved his mother, and though his mother had tried, her love had gone unanswered, leaving only the chill of disappointment and isolation in its wake.

Nor had he seen it in the marriage of his brother and sister. That, too, was a bond forged of duty–a weary, unspoken agreement between two who had no choice in their fate. Aegon and Helaena’s chambers were places of resignation, where love had no room to grow amidst the heavy burden of expectation and the bitter weight of obligation–no love beyond that of siblings. 

Love was a rarity in the Red Keep, a flower that withered before it could even take root in the cold, stone halls. It was not something he had been taught, not something had ever truly witnessed. It was an ideal spoken of in stories, in songs, but never a truth he had known. 

So how could he ever have been expected to understand it now, to recognize it, when all he had known was duty, bitterness, and the hollow echo of unmet desires?

And yet, somehow, he knew. 

This was love–what else could it be? It had to be. Love was a weakness, and oh, how weak it made him for her. He had never wanted it, had tried to deny it, to uproot it from within himself, but no matter how fiercely he tried, he had been powerless against it. It had taken root deep inside him, growing around his heart. 

Was this not love? A weakness that made him bare his soul, that made him strip himself of his armor and lay everything before her, vulnerable and exposed. It was the feeling of pressing the blade into her hand and bearing his neck for her, daring her to strike, and yet hoping she wouldn’t. It was savoring the bite of steel, reveling in its cold caress against his skin. Love was both agony and ecstasy, destruction and devotion.

What was love if not a matching set of bleeding wounds?

And no matter how much this love pained him, how weak it made him feel, he would never let it go–he could never let her go. He couldn’t.

He reached for her, desperate to feel her beneath his hands, to show her how deeply she affected him, how much he needed her. But the moment he moved, she flinched–her lip curled into a sharp sneer, teeth bared in silent warning as though daring him to come closer, threatening to sink them into his wrist if he touched her. Her defiance burned with the same ferocity as a dragon poised to strike, her eyes blazing with a dangerous light. The flames of the hearth danced in the blue of her gaze–a field of cornflowers set ablaze. 

His hand froze, hovering in the space between them, his heart pounding violently in his chest, bludgeoning itself against his ribs. The sting of her rejection hit him like the crack of a whip, fresh and raw on his skin. His throat tightened with the ache of it, hurt that she’d recoil from him, that she’d flinch as though he were a danger to her, as though she feared him. The thought twisted in his gut, the idea that she saw him in the same way she had once seen her husband–as someone who could hurt her. 

It gnawed at him, twisted something bitter inside of him. 

Swallowing hard, Aemond shifted, reaching for her again with the tentative caution of someone approaching a scared animal that might snap its jaws at any moment. His fingers brushed against her cheek, and the contact sent a trail of fire up his arm. Her skin was soft beneath his calloused fingers–the touch was both soothing and tortuous. Slowly, he let his other hand follow, brushing against her other cheek, slipping beneath the wild curls of her hair until his hands cradled her face. 

His thumb traced the curve of her ear, while the tips of his fingers grazed the back of her head, gentle but firm. He held her with a reverence, as if he held something sacred in his hands, something he both longed for and feared losing. 

Her eyes widened slightly, her breath catching sharply as though she had not expected him to come this close, to venture past the barrier of her warning. And yet, despite her defiance, despite the anger that burned in her gaze, she allowed it. She didn’t pull away. 

Her hands found to his wrists, slender fingers curling tightly around them, her nails biting into his skin with enough force to leave a sharp sting in their wake. She held him in place, her grip unyielding, as if she wanted to both push him away and hold him there. 

Aemond’s brows furrowed, his heart twisting painfully in his chest, frustration rippling through him. Couldn’t she see what she had done to him? How deeply she affected him? 

“You’ve poisoned me, don’t you understand?” He rasped, his voice low and raw, thick with the anguish that was admitting to such weakness. He searched her gaze, willing her to understand what he had tried so hard to deny. He had fought against it, buried it deep inside, and refused to acknowledge the hold she had over him. But the truth was undeniable now–she had poisoned him, and her poison was sweet. It was intoxicating, all-consuming, and he had grown dependent on it, on the taste of her lips, the warmth of her touch, the very air she breathed. 

His hunger for her had become insatiable, a constant, gnawing ache that plagued his every waking moment. 

“You’re in my veins,” he breathed, his voice strained with the weight of the admission. His grip tightened just slightly, enough for her to feel the desperation in touch as her hair brushed against his skin. “A poison I can’t purge without bleeding myself dry.”

 He had told her this before–when she sought to leave him, when she had denied the love between them and chosen to return to her family. Back then, he had felt the same desperation, the same ache deep within him. Would she demand he bleed himself dry just to prove his devotion, to prove that he loved her beyond reason?

There was no escape from her, no way to rid himself of this torment without losing everything. She had woven herself into him, and though her touch burned and her words cut, he craved her still–needed her, even if it destroyed him.

Aemond shifted his hold on her, his touch softening as he brushed his thumb over her skin. He felt the subtle shiver that ran through her, a reaction she couldn’t hide, and his heart fluttered in his chest for it. There was a warmth now, creeping into the pit of his stomach, as if her very presence had the power to both soothe and torment him. 

His thumb continued its slow, deliberate caress, lingering against the delicate curve of her cheek, relaying the feel of it to memory. Her pupils dilated ever so slightly, a faint sign that betrayed the depth of tension between them, the pull that neither of them could fully escape even if they wanted to. 

Her gaze flicked down to his lips, just for a moment, and her own parted in a shuddering breath before she tore her eyes away, meeting his once more. He swallowed thickly, his voice hoarse when he spoke again.

“I killed your husband for you,” he rasped, a flash of anger stabbing through him at the memory. His grip tightened just slightly, the thought of that man laying his hands on her twisting something dark inside him. He’d do it again–he’d kill anyone who touched her, anyone who dared to harm her. “For laying his hands on you.” The words came out low, barely restrained, his chest tight with the intensity of it. “I’ve spilled blood for you.”

His thumb brushed softly against her cheek, softer this time, pleading with her to understand, to see how far he was willing to go. He would spill enough blood to drown the world if it meant keeping her safe, if it meant she was his. 

The tenderness of his touch contradicted the violence of his words, his need for her tangled with the desperation to protect her, to claim her, to make her see how much he loved her. 

“I cut my palm for you,” Aemond murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper as his thumb brushed down to her lips. His hold on her shifted, fingers cradling her face more gently now, his thumb tracing the soft curve of her lips. Her breath, warm and trembling, curled against his skin as her lips parted beneath his touch, pliant yet resistant. He tugged gently at the plump flesh, the temptation to taste their sweetness nearly overwhelming him, the need to close the distance growing unbearable. 

But he held it back.

“I bleed for you,” he rasped. His gaze burned into hers, filled with a desperate need for her to see the depths of his fervor. He had bared his soul, had laid everything before her, bleeding out his vulnerability, his love, in ways he had never known he could.

And yet, despite the hunger that gnawed at him, despite the overwhelming desire to close the distance between them, to taste her and claim her, he waited, hovering on the edge, waiting for her to see–waiting for her to understand.

Aemond tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving her face as he searched her expression. The inner corners of her brows lifted, her expression softening into something that looked almost pained. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, a sheen of emotions she fought to swallow down. Her bottom lip trembled slightly before she pressed it together, her resolve hardening. Her nails bit into the skin of his wrists, the sting sharp, promising to leave behind crescent-shaped marks as her grip tightened. 

His voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he spoke again. 

“I have you my vows, ñuha jorrāelagon,” he murmured, the endearment slipping from his lips like a caress. 

His hands cradled her face gently, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks, wiping away the tears that hovered on the brink but had yet to fall. He could feel the tension in her body, the way she fought against his words, resisting them with everything she had. 

Her scorn burned against his skin, but he welcomed it, feeling it as sharply as he felt the breath between them, hanging in the small space that separated their lips. It was as though her every breath was a reflection of his own, the closeness between them warming him more fervently than the dying fire in the hearth. 

“You are my wife,” Aemond murmured, his voice soft but insistent, as he shifted his grip, pulling her closer, closing the space between them. Her fingers tightened around his wrists, her nails scraping across his skin, leaving faint lines in their wake–the sting sharp, as though burning a trail of fire across his skin. 

He could feel the slickness of her palms against him, the tension in her body as she leaned back, trying to maintain the distance between them. But despite her resistance, despite her fragile reluctance, her feet betrayed her, inching closer, the soles of her slippers scraping the broken glass across the stone floor as she moved towards him.

Her gown brushed against his chest, the delicate frills grazing his shirt, a teasing reminder of just how close she was. The heat radiating from her seeped through the fabric, warming him in a way that made his pulse quicken.

Aemond let one hand slip further behind the dark curtain of her hair, his fingers gently tracing the nape of her neck, brushing against the curls that framed her skull. His touch sent a shiver through her body, and he could feel the hairs on her skin rise in response, betraying her reaction to him. 

“You are mine,” he whispered, his voice low, a quiet, possessive hum that reverberated in the small space between them. He held her close, so close that he could feel the steady rhythm of her breath, the rise and fall of her chest brushing against his own. The familiar scent of spilled wine and burning wood that had filled the air was now overwhelmed by something far more intoxicating–her.

The earthy fragrance of her hair, sweet and nutty, mingled with the heady aroma of flowers, like roses and something richter, more decadent. It flooded his senses, clouding his thoughts, making it harder to keep control. The desire to close the distance, to lean forward and capture her lips, surged within him, a hunger he fought to restrain. His pulse thrummed, his heart hammering as he felt her heat radiate through the fabric of his shirt, seeping into him. 

The wine he had drunk throughout the evening churned warmly in his stomach, coursing through his veins like fire. It dulled the sharp edges of his restraint, blurring the lines between reason and desire, making it harder to think clearly. His focus narrowed entirely on her–the softness of her skin beneath his fingers, the scent of her surrendering him, filling his lungs, the warmth of her so close and yet still not close enough. 

He wanted nothing more than to give in, to lose himself in her touch, her kiss, her very presence. But still, he held back, his hands lingering, waiting, even as the pull between them grew unbearable. 

“That isn’t love,” Daenera spat, her voice trembling, thick with something sharp and raw that Aemond couldn’t quite place but which burrowed beneath his skin, needling at him with every word. Her grip on his wrists shifted, nails digging deeper into his flesh with all the force she could muster.

“Was it love,” she continued mercilessly, “when you chased my brother through the sky?”

Her words hit him like fresh arrowheads, lodging deep within him, each one striking a different wound. The bitterness churned in his stomach, twisting like a blade, and for a moment, the familiar ache in the hollow of his eye socket flared, sharp and cold, stabbing through his skull with prevision. His scar burned, aching with the memory that refused to leave him. 

“Was it love,” she sneered, lips curling downward as she bared her teeth at him, “when you murdered him?” The accusation dripped with venom, burrowing deeper into him. “When you forced me into this marriage?”

Aemond’s jaw clenched, the anger and frustration rising within him. He leaned back slightly, his gaze hardening as he stared down at her, the eight of her words pressing against him like a suffocating fog. 

“You married me willingly,” he ground out, his voice tight, fighting against the storm inside him. “You cut your palm as I did mine–we shared our blood, and we bear the same scars.” 

His tone was firm, unyielding, though beneath it, there was something more–a plea, a need for her to remember, to see that their union was not just forged in violence but in something deeper. The blood they had spilled together, her husbands and their own, bound them in ways she could not deny–no matter how much she might try to.

Yet, the sting of her accusations lingered, twisting the arrowheads she had loosened upon him. 

Aemond lifted his hand from her face, revealing the pink scar that slashed across his weathered palm, a reminder of the vows they had shared. The scar stood out against the pale skin, a mark etched in blood, forever binding them to one another. He held his hand there for a moment, allowing her gaze to fall on the scar, to remember what it symbolized–what they had both done willingly. 

After a brief pause, his hand moved again, sliding back to her face with a firm but gentle insistence. His fingers curled around her cheek, cradling her as something precious, even in the midst of their storm. His thumb brushed slowly over her skin, the soft caress at odds with the tension crackling between them, as he tilted her head back to force her to meet his gaze directly. 

“You chose to become my wife.”

He hadn’t forced the cold dragonglass arrowhead into her palm that night, hadn’t made it bite into her flesh until her blood spilled freely. He hadn’t coerced her to trace the ancient glyphs on his brow, or to utter the binding vows that would forever tie their fates together. She had done so willingly, her voice steady as she recited each word, her hand unwavering as she drew the symbols that sealed their union.

And he had not forced her to taste his blood, to drink the crimson drop from the gash in his palm that had mingled with her own. Nor had he compelled her into their bed afterward, to consummate what had already been forged in blood and ritual.

They had both known what it meant, even then, even if they hadn’t spoken it aloud–an invisible thread that tied them together, bound in blood and scarred flesh. 

She had chosen to become his wife. The scar on her hand, like his, was a testament to that choice.

“You were mine from the moment you made that choice,” Aemond continued, his voice soft but filled with an undeniable intensity. He needed her to remember it as clearly as he did, needed her to acknowledge it, to accept what they both knew deep down. His thumb brushed against her cheek again, gentler now, as though trying to coax the memory from her.

“And you loved me then,” he added, voice barely a whisper, gaze searching hers desperately for recognition. “I know you did.”

He believed it–needed to believe it. And he needed her to admit it too.

“I was a fool,” Daenera muttered, tugging lightly at his wrists. 

The subtle movement felt like a shift in the world, as though she was slipping through his fingers like smoke. Aemond’s heart twisted, panic blooming in his chest as he felt her fading from him–like a mirage, a dream eroded by the harsh light of day. She had haunted him, consumed him, and now she was slipping away. Desperation clawed at him, tightening his grip as if holding her would make her real, keep her tangible beneath his hands. 

“I was a fool to think you were capable of love,” she continued, her voice low and laced with a biting edge that cut through him like a blade. “But you’re not. You don’t even know what love is–how could you? You don’t have a heart.”

Her words tore into him, deep and raw, like old wounds being reopened. Aemond stood frozen, his grip tightening as though he could hold her in place, keep her from drifting away with the harshness of her words. The echo of her accusations reverberated in his mind, words like venomous barbs sinking deeper into his soul: You have ruined her. Your heart is even blacker than I thought. You are a plague sent to destroy me.

If he could rid himself of his heart, if he could tear the weakness from his chest and be free of the unbearable weight of it, he would. If becoming invincible, untouchable, meant being free from this torment, he would do it, he thought. But deep down, he knew the truth–his heart was bound to her. The moment he severed it, the moment he tore himself free of its burden, he would lose her forever. 

Her accusations pierced him, but the thought of losing her–the only person who had ever truly made him feel–gnawed at him even more fiercely. 

Without her, he would be nothing but a hollow shell, an empty vessel of power, invulnerable but utterly alone. The desperation to keep her there, real and present, throbbed through him with every pulse of his wretched, bleeding heart.

Your heart is even blacker than I thought. His fathers words echoed in his mind, cruel and unrelenting. Indeed, his heart was black–black with rot, festering within his chest, pumping out nothing but bitterness and venom. And yet, it was still there, was it not? Beating wretchedly, thumping with wounds and weakness, a grotesque thing in all its decay and ruin.

Aemond twisted his wrist free from her grasp, her nails scraping bitterly across his skin, leaving behind more trails of red, the burn of her touch stinging in their wake. The pain barely registered, overshadowed by the greater ache she’d lodged in his chest with her words. He released his hold on her, but only to firmly grip her hand. He could feel the delicate bones beneath her skin shift, the soft lines of her long, lithe fingers trembling slightly as she brought her palm to his chest. 

He pressed it there, firmly, holding her hand against the rapid, uneven thrum of his heart. He covered her hand in his, caging it against his chest as though he could force her to feel what he felt–force her to acknowledge that his heart, black as it was, was there, beating for her.  

“Can you not feel the beat of my heart?” Aemond asked, his voice low, as he dipped his head closer to hers, his gaze remaining intently locked with hers. He refused to let her escape it, to look away and deny him once again. The press of her palm against his chest burned–it was as if her touch was searing through him, branding itself upon his flesh. 

Even with the undeniable thrum of his heart beating beneath her hand, she resisted. He could feel the tension in her fingertips the way her nails grazed his skin, curling in a futile attempt to dig deeper, to hold onto her anger. But her anger seemed to falter, slipping away as her fingers trembled against him, unable to find purchase in the very thing she sought to deny. She could feel it–she had to–but still, she tried to reject it. 

“Black though it may be,” he continued softly, thumb moving gently along the curve of her jaw. He tilted his head slightly as he regarded her, expression softening. “Wretched with sin and monstrous as it is, it belongs to you. My heart is yours.”

It is there, beneath all the ruin and decay. It is yours. You make it beat.

The words burned on Aemond’s tongue, tasting of weakness and something he loathed to admit–and still here he was, admitting it. They felt pathetic, soft, an admission that stripped away the hardened exterior he clung to so fiercely. He despised how she made him feel–frivolous, poetic, vulnerable, and romantic in ways that grated at him. Yet, despite his hatred of it, she drew the words from him, pulling them out like a confession he was desperate for her to hear. Desperate for her to accept. 

But her reaction cut through him, twisting a blade into his gut. 

“I do not want it!” She sneered, her voice trembling, the edge of her vision blurred with unshed tears. Her nails dug deeper into his chest, as if trying to claw away the love he had laid bare before her. 

“And I do not believe it,” she spat, her voice tight, the words strangled by the tension that thrummed between them, and with a sudden burst of defiance, she wrenched her hand free from his grip, pushing back against him. Her voice rose, sharp and scathing, her eyes burning with anger and disbelief. “This love you claim, it is not love. It is possession. It is desire. You want to claim me like you did a dragon, like something you can own,” she continued, her voice trembling. “You want me–you desire me. That’s all this is–lust, a desire to possess, nothing more. It has always been that. And that’s why you insist on this marriage, to claim me as yours.”

Aemond stood there, staring at her, the words sinking like talons seeking to tear him apart. Anger and frustration flared within his chest, bitterness swirling in his stomach like a corrosive poison–not the poison he wanted to be drunk upon. Why couldn’t she see? Yes, he desired her. Yes, he wanted her, wanted to claim her, to possess her. He had never denied that. But why was that so wrong?

His hand tightened into a fist at his side, the tension coiling through his body like a spring ready to snap. Had he not just exposed his heart to her? Bared a vulnerable, fragile part of himself, laying it at her feet? He had shown her more of himself than he had ever shown anyone, had admitted the love he had struggled to understand, the love that twisted so painfully around his desire for her. 

“What you want is for me to warm your bed,” Daenera continued, her voice biting, her nails digging into the flesh of his other wrist. The sting was there, sharp against his skin, but Aemond hardly felt it anymore–her words cut deeper. “What you want is for me to spread my legs for you and welcome you back into the heat of my cunt.”

Her words sent a shudder down his spine, the accusation settling in the pit of his stomach like wildfire. His blood seemed to ignite, a sharp wave of heat coursing through him, twisting the desire that had always simmered beneath the surface into something more volatile, something far more dangerous. The fire she stirred in him, though she spat her accusations with venom, only blazed hotter.

“What you want,” She continued, her voice trembling with fury and something more fragile, “is for me to forget what you’ve done–forgive you for it, and pretend it never happened. So that you can pretend you’re not the monster you are. So you can fool yourself into thinking you’re human, that your hands aren’t dripping with my brother’s blood. So we can play husband and wife, and you can fuck me like nothing has changed.”

Her words landed on him like fresh wounds, each one tracing over the previous wounds she had lathered him with. The ache within the hollow of his missing eye flared, a sharp, stabbing pain that throbbed with every word she uttered.

But then her hand moved, and his breath hitched, not just in shock but in something far darker–desire. Her fingers grazed his thigh, confidently, before slipping up to cup him through his trousers, her touch brushing against his half-erect cock. 

He had been like that since he entered their chambers, a tight coil at the bottom of his stomach. The fire there flared, fierce and consuming, as her touch muddled his mind, clouding everything else. He clenched his teeth, a sharp hiss escaping his lips as arousal surged through his veins. A shudder rolled down his spine, his control fraying as her hand lingered there, toying with him–reigniting the hunger that had never really left him. 

Her touch, her words–both tore at him in different ways, and yet he wanted her still, desperately. 

He caught it then–her gaze flickering down to his lips–and a fluttering stirred in his chest. His heart hammered as his breath hitched, his lips parting as he released a ragged, shuddering exhale. Her hand moved slowly, deliberately, palm pressing down against him, stroking him. The heat of her touch seeped through the fabric of his trousers, branding him with her warmth. Beneath her hand, he grew harder, more needy, each stroke sending a pulse of desire that coiled deep within him. 

He had missed her touch–longed for it in the night.

Her lips parted too, and Aemond’s sole focus narrowed to the sight of them, the temptation of her so close. His own lips ached with the need to close the distance, to claim hers and swallow her breath, to taste the sweet poison he knew lingered there. He craved her, craved the intoxication she offered, the way she could unravel him with just a touch. 

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” She drawled, her voice dropping into something lower, smoother, the words curling around him like a seductive caress. Her gaze lifted to meet his, eyes gleaming. 

Her hand continued its slow, maddening movement, and he could barely think past the need she stirred in him, and her name slipped past his lips like a prayer, filled with quiet reverence. “Daenera…”

There was a warning woven into it, subtle but undeniable, warning her that she was getting too close–tugging at his strings, unraveling the carefully maintained control that held him back. 

His grip on the side of her head tightened slightly, not with force but with a tender, possessive need. His thumb brushed just below the curve of her jaw, the soft skin beneath his calloused fingers warm to his touch. He could feel the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath his thumb as he tilted her head upward, guiding her to look at him. The tension between them crackled in the air, heavy and thick, as though the room itself held its breath. 

Aemond’s gaze dropped to her lips, and he felt the ache in his chest intensify. Her lips were like rose petals, soft and red, delicate yet tempting. He was utterly captivated by them, by the thought of pressing his own against them, tasting their warmth. Temptation gnawed at him, his body trembling with the effort it took to hold back–to not take what wasn’t freely given. He could feel her breath, warm and shallow, mingling with his own, filling his lungs as he drew in a breath. 

Her hand slid deliberately up the bulge in his trousers, adding just enough pressure to send a flutter through his eyelid, his breath stuttering in response. She moved slowly, teasingly, dragging her palm further and further upward until she abandoned the bulge entirely. The sudden loss of pressure left a sharp ache in its wake, his cock straining painfully against the fabric, throbbing with need. 

The heat of her touch burned against him as her fingers grazed his bare skin, slipping beneath the soaked fabric of his shirt, trailing a searing path along his stomach as she moved downward, inching closer to where he ached for her the most. Her touch was deliberate, slow, teasing in a way that made his muscles flex, the anticipation making every second stretch. 

When her fingers finally brushed the waist of his trousers, Aemond felt a surge of heat course through him, his breath hitching as she neared the edge of his restraint. His cock throbbed harder, aching for her touch, every nerve on edge as she grazed the head of it. His response was immediate, a low, shuddering breath escaping him as he fought to keep control. His body wanted to move, to roll his hips into her touch, to give into the desire she was deliberately–cruelly–stirring within him. 

But he forced himself to remain still, every muscle tight and coles, the tension humming through him like a taut string ready to snap. Her fingers curled around his cock, and he felt himself twitch at her touch, the sensation sending another jolt of arousal through him. 

Aemond’s free hand shot to her wrist, his fingers curling around it with just enough pressure to keep hold of her, though neither guiding her nor pulling her away. He just held her, feeling her pulse beneath his fingers as they pressed into her skin.

The soft tickle of her hair at the nape of her neck brushed against his fingers where he still held her, a delicate sensation that seemed almost at odds with the fire coursing through his veins. He caressed her there, his touch gentle, loving. He needed the grounding, something to focus on besides the way her hand moved up and down the length of his cock, her warm palm sending pulses of pleasure through him with every stroke. 

She held his gaze defiantly, her eyes locked onto his as she continued to stroke him with deliberate slowness, each movement calculated–meant to make him tremble. His breath grew more ragged with each passing moment, each drag and squeeze of her hand. He watched her in return, captivated by the slight flush that colored her cheeks, the way her eyelashes fluttered when her gaze dropped to his lips, then lower, lingering on his throat as he swallowed thickly, before lifting back to his eye. 

His own gaze traveled downward, following the line of her throat to the vein that pulsed just beneath her skin, the sight of it stirring something primal within him. The gentle curls that framed her face seemed to tickle against her neck, drawing his attention to the collarbones that peeked from beneath the wide neck of her clothes.

The robe she wore was tied at her waist, its neckline exposing less than the nightgown she wore beneath it–the frills that peeked out beneath the robes neckline hinted at the presence of the nightgown beneath, hinted at more exposed flesh. Still, the robe revealed the gentle curve of her chest, the subtle swell of flesh that teased him from behind the fabric, hinting at more than it revealed. 

Her hand twisted at the head of his cock, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through him. A low hum escaped his chest, his breath catching as the sound hung in the air between them. His fingers curled into her chair as she clung to the fragile thread of control he had left, every part of him aching with the need to close the distance, to taste her, to claim her. Yet he held back, watching her as she continued, knowing he was on the verge of unraveling completely. 

Aemond’s grip tightened, pulling her closer as if by doing so, he could make her feel the intensity of what she stirred within him. His need for her, raw and overwhelming, pulsed through every fiber of his being. A low, frustrated rumble escaped his throat as her thumb tranced the sensitive vein running along the underside of his cock, the pressure making his breath catch. 

His forehead dropped to hers, his nose brushing lightly against her skin as he nuzzled against her, seeking some semblance of comfort in her closeness. A low moan escaped his lips, ragged and desperate, his voice coming out in a raspy, broken drawl. “What do you want from me?”

For a moment, her hand stilled, fingers wrapped around his throbbing cock, holding him in place as she seemed to pause, her brows furrowing slightly. Her eyes flickered back and forth, as if weighing something heavy in her mind. Then, a subtle shift came over her, and Aemond saw something dark and alluring settle in the blue of her gaze. It was a look that sent a shiver down his spine and made the coil in his stomach draw tighter. 

“I want you to kneel.”

Aemond leaned back slightly as he regarded her, watching her intently, measuring her words. The heat of her hand remained around him, the sensation of her touch, so close yet unmoving, sent a shiver through him. The soft tickle of her hair brushed against his fingers as he caressed the side of her neck, feeling the delicate thrum of her pulse beneath his touch. She met his gaze with equal intensity–challenging him and his pride. 

He tugged gently at her wrist, pulling her hand out of his trousers, dragging it slowly up the length of his throbbing cock. His breath hitched in his throat, feeling the heat of her touch, every inch of her fingers pressing against him, sending sparks of pleasure through his body. His jaw tightened as her fingers grazed him one final time before slipping away entirely, leaving him aching for more, his cock straining beneath the fabric, twitching desperately for her touch again. 

And then, without a word, Aemond lowered himself before her. His descent was slow, purposeful as he sank to his knees. His gaze remained on her–unflinching, unwilling to let her escape the moment. The act of lowering himself, of bending the knee before her–to her–should have chafed at his pride, should have made him feel small and diminished, but it didn’t. 

Instead, it felt like an offering–an act of devotion. 

Lowering himself before her felt like a sacred act, as though he were kneeling before an altar in reverence to a god.

As his knees touched the cold, unforgiving stone of the floor, shards of broken glass dug into his skin with bruising force, threatening to tear through the fabric of his trousers and embed themselves in his flesh. How fitting, he thought, to worship her with bruises and blood–a sinner seeking absolution at the altar of her will.

Aemond had never been allowed to be holy–he was born with a hunger gnawing at him, a need that no one ever forgave him for. He had never been pardoned for wanting, for desiring more than what was handed to him. But no matter how he tried, he could never stop himself from wanting. And now, as he knelt before her, gazing up at her with the same insatiable hunger, the want tore through him, gnawing at his soul. 

She stood above him, her figure bathed in the flickering glow of the dying fire, the flames painting her into something both beautiful and terrible. She was a vision–something to be worshiped, something to be feared. The light danced over her skin, casting shadows that made her seem untouchable, and yet, Aemond ached for her–felt the need to reach for her itch at his fingertips. 

He was no closer to the divine than the baser man, and yet, on his knees in front of her, there was divinity.

His nose was level with her navel, mere inches away from her. 

The proximity made the air between them feel thick, suffocating, every breath he took was filled with the scent of her. It flooded his lungs, making his mouth water, drowning him in a wave of desire so strong he could scarcely think.

He could smell the sweet, intoxicating scent of the flowers on her skin–roses and that elusive something, richer and darker. Beneath that fragrance, though, was something more primal, something raw–the scent of her, the subtle yet unmistakable fragrance that betrayed her own desire for him.  

It filled him, made his cock strain painfully against the tight fabric of his trousers, pulsating with a desperate need for her. The ache had grown unbearable, a sharp, constant throb that demanded relief. His hand slid from his thigh, pressing against the bulge in his trousers, shifting his cock in a futile attempt to ease the mounting pressure. The angle had become uncomfortable, almost painful, and as he adjusted himself, pressing his palm harder into the fabric, a soft hiss of pleasure escaped his lips. 

His gaze never left her as he traced the gentle planes of her face, his eye roaming over the delicate flush in her cheeks, the way her lips were slightly parted as her breath came quick and shallow. He lingered there for a moment, captivated by the subtle beauty of her features bathed in the flickering light of the fire, before his attention ventured further down. 

His eyes drank in the pale skin of her neck, framed by curls that grazed her skin with each small movement, delicate and teasing. His gaze followed the curve of her collarbones, etched out in the shifting shadows, rising and falling softly with each of her breaths. The exposed skin of her chest beckoned him, alluding to the body that had haunted his nights, a sweet torment that filled his mind with images of her pressed against him, her kisses burning his skin, her body writhing beneath him, her cunt fluttering around him as she reached the edge of her pleasure. 

He swallowed hard, his breath quickening as his gaze fell lower, settling on the tie that held the robe together. It was the only thing keeping him from revealing more of her, from exposing the body he so desperately craved. His fingers twitched with the urge to untie her, to strip her of the fabric that stood between them.

Tentatively, Aemond reached for her, fingers parting the robe to grant him entry beneath it, the soft fabric caressing his wrist. As his fingers grazed the delicate skin of her ankle, his gaze lifted to meet hers. She stared down at him, unmoving, but not pulling away. He felt her release a slow breath, her chest rising and falling in a way that made his heart tighten. 

With measured confidence, his other hand found her other ankle, slipping beneath the hem of her nightgown. His fingertips grazed her skin as they traveled upward, exploring not only the smoothness of her legs but the boundaries of her resolve. Gooseflesh rose beneath his touch as he inched further up her calves, her body responding to the soft, delicate caresses. 

As he reached her knees, his breath caught in his throat, the fabric of her nightgown draping over his forearms like a delicate curtain as he drew his hands even further up. His fingers spread, kneading the soft flesh of her thighs, reveling in the way her body reacted to his touch. She was warm, pliant, her muscles tensing under his fingers. 

Wetting his lips, Aemond shifted closer, the scrape of shards of glass sounding beneath him as they shifted under his weight, burrowing deeper into his skin. The sharp edges bit into him, but he hardly noticed the pain. It was insignificant at the moment. 

With a deliberate breath, he closed his eye, letting his head fall forward in a gesture of reverence, pressing his forehead against her stomach. The warmth of her body seeped through the fabric of her nightgown and robe, filling him with a sense of closeness that both soothed and tortured him. His breath hitched as he inhaled deeply, her scent–earthy and floral, mingling with was uniquely her–flooding his senses. 

For a moment, he stayed like that, unmoving, as though seeking some kind of absolution in the simple act of resting his head against her. His hands, still cradling her thighs, squeezed gently, as if grounding himself in her, feeling the rise and fall of her abdomen with each breath she took. His lips parted, a soft exhale escaping him, almost a sign of surrender, as the weight of everything–the want, the worship, the hunger–settled over him. 

Aemond was no longer the fierce, unyielding prince. In this moment, at her feet, he was something else entirely. He was raw, open, vulnerable.

And he was hers. 

His heart thundered in his chest, the rapid beats crashing against his ribs, each pulse so fierce it felt as though his very bones might crack under the strain, as if it were trying to break free–to tear through flesh and bone and throw itself at her feet. Would she understand him then? Would she see the mangled, raw truth of it, the ruined, blackened thing that still beat so desperately for her? He could almost imagine it, his heart laid bare before her–broken and wretched, throbbing with a devotion he could never fully articulate. 

Would she accept it? Would she even care for the offering? The gnawing ache inside him deepened, twisting and curling into something hungry, something relentless. This wasn’t just desire–it was a need that corroded his insides, leaving him weak, hollow, exposed. It was love, or what remained of it after everything he had done. Love that had reduced him to this–a man brought to his knees, consumed by the weight of wanting her in a way that felt both unbearable and utterly inescapable. 

His love for her was a sickness, a gnawing ache that clawed at his every thought, every breath, a feeling that stripped him down to the rawest, most pathetic part of himself. And despite how it festered inside him, he still wanted her to see it, to see him as he was–ruined and yet wholly hers. 

Lost in the feeling of her, there was nothing else for Aemond but her presence, her warmth, her scent. He nuzzled his head against her abdomen, the simple touch filling him with a sense of reverence that bordered on desperation. 

The scent of her was intoxicating, making his mouth water with desire as he inhaled deeply, wanting to drown in her essence. His fingers traveled higher, grazing over the soft skin of her thighs before reaching back, where he squeezed the supple flesh. His fingertips brushed against something slick–her arousal. 

Warmth filled his stomach, but before he could revel in it any further, he felt her shift. Her fingers slipped through his hair, her nails scraping deliciously over his scalp. For a moment it felt like a caress, until her grip tightened, and suddenly, with a forceful yank, she pulled his head back. His neck strained with the movement, the muscles in his thighs and abdomen flexing instinctively to keep him from losing balance. 

His breath hitched, pulse quickening as he looked up at her, his eye wide with a mix of surprise and arousal. Her sneer was sharp, cutting through the haze of his reverence like a blade, her lips curled in anger as she glared down at him. 

“I said, let go.”

The muscles in Aemond’s throat tightened against her hold, his neck exposed as he swallowed thickly, his jaw clenched in an effort to restrain himself. He gritted his teeth, fighting the primal urge to resist, to take control, to meet her defiance with his own. The sneer that threatened to curl at his lips remained trapped behind his tight expression, his chest rising and falling as he stared up at her. 

For a moment longer, he savored the warmth of her beneath his hands, the way her skin had felt as his fingers traced over her thighs. But with her command still lingering in the air, he withdrew, releasing his hold and allowing the fabric of her nightgown and robe to fall back into place. The robe hung loosely now swaying with the movement, teetering on the edge of revealing more. 

His palms burned with the memory of her skin, the sensation imprinted there as though it had seared into his flesh. He sat back on his heels, his breath ragged, trying to steady himself as his hands restlessly rubbed up and down his thighs, seeking some relief from the itch to touch her again. 

Aemond gazed up at her through the dark lashes of his remaining eye, a frown marring her features as she stared down at him. Her eyes–those cornflower blue eyes–were now ablaze, reflecting the burning embers of the dying hearth. It was as though a field of blue had been set aflame, something both beautiful and terrible. 

His eye drifted lower, settling on her lips. They parted slightly, red like wine–red like the shade of madness, a dangerous allure. And oh, how he wanted them. He craved their bite, the way they could be both gentle and cruel, the soft press of them hiding a merciless edge. He longed for their sweetness, for their decadence–the poison that lay beneath, the temptation that threatened to ruin him and heal him all the same. 

He hungered for those lips, even if they pressed the metallic tang of blood to his own, even if they cut him open and made him bleed. He would welcome the pain if it came from her, would drink it in like it was the sweetest wine, the most intoxicating spring. He wanted to consume her, to feel the taste of her linger on his tongue, to know her in the way that left marks–physical or otherwise. 

The need in him was palpable, a gnawing ache that twisted in his gut, urging him closer, always closer, even as he remained on his knees, looking up at her in silent reverence, waiting for whatever she would choose to give him. 

With a sharp tug, Daenera yanked his hair again, and Aemond hissed through his teeth as the strands were pulled tight, the sting sharp and satisfying–a sweet kind of agony that he didn’t mind. He had always liked when she hurt him a little. 

“You don’t get to touch me,” she sneered, her voice thick, laced with something he couldn’t quite name–a tremble that betrayed her. “You don’t get to touch me unless I tell you to.”

A low, raspy hum escaped from deep within him, a sound that seemed to rise from his chest and escape through his lips like a barely restrained growl, almost a purr. It was instinctual–something primal and raw. He could feel the need clawing at him, desperate for release, and he dug the heel of his palm into the throbbing bulge in his trousers, grinding against it to soothe the maddening need for friction.

Her eyes followed his movement, flickering with a dangerous spark, the intensity of her gaze twisting something dark and vicious inside her. She burned with desire, though she fought against it, her expression betraying the struggle within her. She wanted him, even as she tried to will herself not to, and he could see the war raging in her eyes. 

And then, as though scorched by the desire he had inspired with his needy, desperate display, she released her hold on him. Her fingers slipped from his hair, leaving a lingering sting behind, and she stepped back, retreating out of his immediate reach. 

The sudden distance between them was jarring, like a frigid wind sweeping through the room and snuffing out the warmth the embers in the hearth provided. It left a hollow, punishing cold in its wake, one that settled into Aemond’s bones the moment she pulled away. The heat of her presence had been the only thing sustaining him, and without it, the space between them felt chilling in its vastness. 

A frown tugged at Aemond's lips as he watched her, his chest tightening at the flicker of disgust that crossed her features. It cut through him, sharp and visceral, setting like a thorn in his heart. But then, something in her expression shifted, the disgust morphing into something far more dangerous–measured, deliberate, and cruel.

His breath came in labored, heavy pants, his chest rising and falling with an effort to control his impulses. His gaze followed every movement, unable to tear himself away from the sight of her, even as she stood just out of reach, as though deliberately punishing him for his need. 

Slowly, she reached for the flimsy knot of her robe, the half-undone tie that had taunted him since he’d knelt before her. Her fingers pulled it loose with ease, the red fabric falling open, revealing the enticing expanse of the nightgown beneath. The rich color of the robe bloomed open like a flower, slipping down her shoulders as she lifted her hands, pushing against the fabric. It cascaded down, revealing the wide neckline of her gown in its entirety, the frills framing her collarbones, delicate beads shimmering faintly in the glow of the firelight. 

The robe caught at her elbows, still covering most of her, but what was revealed sent a fresh wave of desire crashing over him. His gaze drank her in, tracing the path of the fabric as it slipped, his hands itching to reach for her again. 

Aemond’s eye trailed the exposed skin of her chest, tracing the delicate planes of her collarbones and down the smooth line of her breastbone. His gaze lingered on the inner curve of her breasts, just visible beneath the nightgown, the fabric so thin that he could have almost seen through it if not for the layer of frills that artfully covered her nipples. 

The sight of her–so close, yet just out of reach–drove him to grind the heel of his hand into the bulge of his trousers again. He released a tight, strained breath, hips shuddering in a barely restrained show of need. 

And then, without a word, she turned away from him. The heavy fabric of the robe trailed along the floor as she moved, the soft sound of it brushing against the stone mingling with the faint chime of glass shards being disturbed. Her movements were measured, each step calculated–a taunt. 

He could do nothing but watch, his breath catching as the last remnants of her robe slipped away from her. The red fabric pooled on the ground behind her, like a dark, spreading puddle of blood. 

As she walked towards the bed, her silhouette became even more tantalizing through the thin material of her nightgown. The outline of her body teased him–the gentle curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, the slight sway of her step. Her curls spilled down her back in wild, cascading waves. 

Aemond was utterly lost in the sway of her hips, each subtle movement making his cock strain harder against the fabric of his trousers, throbbing beneath the palm of his hand. He could feel the tightness coiling within him, knowing that he wouldn’t last long–already a few droplets of seed soaking into the fabric. His breath came in shallow pants as he watched her, transfixed, unable to tear his gaze away as she slowly turned back towards him. 

The firelight cast a glow around her, outlining the curves of her body in soft shadows and golden hues. His eye traced the dip of her waist, the gentle rise of her breasts beneath the thin fabric, and then lower–where the dark curls at the apex of her thighs were barely visible through the nightgown. She was breathtaking, every part of her taunting and out of reach, yet pulling him deeper into his need. 

For a long, excruciating moment, Aemond watched her, the distance between them growing with each step. A sharp, visceral tightness gripped his heart, a dread that twisted like a blade lodged between his ribs. The ache spread, cold and heavy, as the thought slithered through his mind–what if she left him there, kneeling before her, yearning, aching, abandoned?

The dread settled deep in his gut, a gnawing fear that she would slip through his grasp like smoke, intangible, untouchable. He feared the unbearable weight of silence returning, the oppressive void that would stretch between them, colder and more distant than ever before. It clung to him, that awful fear–fear that she would turn away, leaving him desperate and empty.

With deliberate grace, she settled herself on the foot of the bed, her movements fluid and confident, framed perfectly by the tall, spiral bed posts that rose from each corner like sentinels. 

She leaned back leisurely on her arms, every movement deliberate, teasing, her posture relaxed yet commanding. The soft heels of her feet had slipped free from her slippers, her toes still resting lightly on the ground, the arches of her feet lifted slightly as she sat on the bed. Her body, draped in the delicate fabric of her nightgown, was framed by the spiraled bedposts like a portrait of serene power. 

The neckline of her nightgown dipped dangerously low, drawing his gaze to the swell of her breasts, heavy and full, rising and falling with each slow, measured breath she took. The exposed skin, lit by the flickering firelight, gleamed with an allure that left him breathless, hands twitching with the need to touch, to claim what was being so mercilessly dangled in front of him.

She looked like a goddess–beautiful and cruel–perched on an altar made for worship. 

The image of destruction and ruin loomed behind her, the flames painted on the wall seeming to dance in the flickering light of the hearth, echoing the fire that burned inside him. 

Her head tilted to the side, her expression one of playful cruelty, like a god surveying their creation with a mocking, knowing gaze–waiting to see how they would react to the challenge laid before them. 

With deliberate slowness, she parted her legs, the silk of her nightgown falling like a thin, teasing veil between her thighs. The movement was subtle, yet the intent was clear, undeniable. The hint of what lay beneath, the promise, the provocation, sent a shudder down his spine, settling deep in the pit of his stomach. She didn’t need to say a word; the silent command was woven into the very fabric of her presence. 

Aemond shifted, lifting himself to his knees again, ready to rise–desperate to close the distance between them, to feel her beneath his touch. But before he could move further, her voice sliced through the silence, smooth and sharp, like the graze of a blade across his skin. 

“Crawl.”

The single word lingered in the air between them, heavy and unyielding.

The fire in the hearth crackled, the wood popping and hissing in the silence that followed, its warmth reaching out to lick at his skin, but did nothing to quell the cold tension that gripped his body. He stared at her, his eye searching hers, feeling the weight of his pride bare down on him.

The slow burn of humiliation spread across his skin, stinging like a fresh wound. His body tightened, every muscle tense, as if poised to react, yet he remained still. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, the crackling flames the only sound to cut through it. His chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, but the simmering emotions beneath–anger, shame, and the ache of wounded pride–made his restraint feel precarious.

It wasn’t far–only a few paces that separated them–but in that moment, the distance between them felt vast, as though it stretched into an endless expanse. The ground between them became a barren, cold stretch of stone, a desolate wasteland where nothing could flourish. 

It was a place where pride withered and died, where pitifulness took root and thrived in the cracks. In that landscape, a man like him could be left to perish–abandoned, starving for dignity and honor, dying of thirst for the promise of her sweetness. 

And there she remained, lounging back leisurely–provocatively–legs spread before him, her head tilted slightly as she watched him with the detached amusement of a cruel goddess, who found satisfaction in watching him lower himself, in making him crawl like a dog to her, commanding him to come worship at her altar of flesh. 

The sight of her–brutal in her beauty, merciless by nature–lodged itself deep between his ribs, twisting, burrowing into him, cutting through his pride like a blade.

Aemond’s breath came in shallow, strained pants as he watched her fingers trace up the length of her parted tights, drawing up the hem of her nightgown with agonizing slowness. Each inch revealed more of her divine skin, the curve of her legs, the soft, pale flesh that he craved with a hunger that gnawed at him, unrelenting. She tugged her nightgown higher still, offering teasing glimpses of what lay between her thighs–a promise of what he so desperately sought, a spring, a feast for a starving man. 

And how could he not obey when she looked like that–a vision of cruel divinity, a goddess demanding tribute. And he, a sinner on his knees, knew only the burning hunger that gnawed at him, the desperate need to repent for the sins of his desire. His pride seemed but a small price. 

She was both salvation and damnation, and he–helpless in his need–could only submit, knowing that he would give anything, everything, to touch her, to worship at the altar she so mercilessly offered.

With slow, deliberate movements; Aemond obeyed, lowering himself onto his hands. The cold stone beneath his palms sent a shiver through his body. Shards of glass embedded themselves in his skin, the faint chiming sound mingling with the soft crackle of the hearth as they bit into him. Pain bloomed in small bursts, bruising and cutting as he began to crawl towards her, inching closer, feeling every sharp edge burrow deeper as he pushed himself forward. 

Each scrape of his knees against the rough surface was a reminder of his abandoned pride, but he twisted the act into something else, something more primal. He moved with a predator’s grace, his muscles shifting as he turned the crawl into something more deliberate. 

He bent to her will, but it was wholly his choice–a dragon obeying its rider. 

A small, wicked smirk tugged at the corners of Daenera’s lips as she seemed to revel in the sight of him crawling towards her, the thrill of power gleaming in her eye as she watched him, utterly captivated. 

As he drew closer, she raised her foot with deliberate slowness, pressing it firmly against the curve of his shoulder, just enough to halt his approach. Aemond obeyed, pausing, settling back onto his haunches as her foot kept him at bay. His hands moved instinctively to his thighs, brushing away the dirt and shards of glass that clung to his palms. 

For a moment, she kept her foot against him, savoring the tension that hung thickly between them. Her eyes never left his, even as she slowly lowered her leg. The air was cloyingly thick with anticipation. She looked wholly delectable, like something forbidden and irresistible. 

And there he knelt before her once again. 

Gripping the hem of his ruined shirt, Aemond tugged the fabric over his head in one swift motion, muscles rippling beneath his pale skin. The shirt bunched in his hands as he took a moment to brush away the last remnants of glass from his palms, his fingers moving methodically to ensure nothing remained but the small cuts and the wellings of blood that had already begun to bead. The sting of the wounds was a dull sensation compared to the sharp edge of his desire. 

Once satisfied, he tossed the ruined shirt aside without a second thought, letting it fall haphazardly to the floor. He could feel her eyes roaming over him, the heat of her gaze like a physical touch that made a shudder run down his spine. His chest rose and fell with heavy, deliberate breaths, gaze finding hers. 

With measured daring, Aemond reached for her, his fingers curling around her ankle as they had before, but this time there was something different–a deeper, more intentional reverence in the way he held her. He inched forward on his knees, never breaking eye contact, his gaze locked with hers as he leaned down, bringing his face closer to her skin, a quiet plea. 

He felt it then–the subtle shudder that ripped through her, the delicate tremor of her body responding to his touch. Her breath hitched, just slightly, but it was enough for him to notice. The way her chest rose and fell in that moment, the way her muscles tightened beneath his fingertips, all betrayed the effect he had on her. 

The warmth of her skin against his lips, soft and yielding, sent a rush through Aemond that made his heart swell in his chest. That simple, tender contact stirred something deep inside him, heat spreading from his core and settling like a flame in the pit of his stomach. He pressed his lips to her knee again, nuzzling it gently with a reverence that words could never capture. It was an act of quiet devotion, a silent offering of everything he could not express aloud–a prayer whispered with his touch, worship hidden in each lingering kiss.

He savored the delicate moments of connection between them, as fleeting as they might be, each one precious. As he felt her breath hitch and the subtle tremor in her body, the tension beneath her calm exterior, it only fueled the fire in him further. He could sense her restraint, feel it in the air, and it drove his need to worship her in the only way she would allow, to show her what his words could not–his longing, his reverence, his unspoken love.

Suddenly, she lurched forward, her palm meeting his cheek with a sharp crack that resonated through the room. The force of the slap rang in his ear, a sharp sting spreading across his skin, the heat of it immediate, burning, and prickling beneath the surface. 

“Did I say you could touch me?” She hissed, her voice tight, hovering between a sneer and something that sounded almost like shock–shock at her own reaction. Her chest rose and fell sharply, breath heavy, and Aemond could feel the tension vibrating in the air, sharp as a blade. 

Her fingers weaved into his hair and then twisted harshly, yanking with a force that sent a sharp jolt of pain rippling through his scalp. The sting bloomed into something darker, twisting into a perverse pleasure that made his eye flutter shot, and a raw, guttural moan escaped his lips. 

He reveled in it–the sharp tug of her grip, the stinging that shot through his scalp and down his spine. It fanned the fire already burning low in his belly, his breath coming in ragged, needy gasps. His body responded instinctively, a shudder rolling through him as he tightened his hold on the throbbing bulge in his trousers. His cock strained painfully against the fabric, so hard it ached, a pain that bordered on agony. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, desperate for relief, for more of that deciduous agony and bliss. 

“Please…” His voice was hoarse, ragged, a broken plea that slipped from his lips with no thought behind it. 

Pride had long since abandoned him, scattered to the wind as she knelt at her feet, consumed by the need for her touch, for any scrap of her attention.

His eye, dark with hunger, flickered up to her, silently begging for more, for anything she might deign to give him. “Please… Let me touch you…”

Let me show you.

Her hold tightened, and he could feel the sharp pull of his own desperation unraveling him, inch by inch, the fine threat of his control fraying with every heartbeat. The sensation of her fingers twisting in his hair was an exquisite torture, and Aemond, for all his carefully cultivated restraint, found himself teetering on the edge, powerless beneath her hands, lost to the raw, brutal desire that coursed through him. 

“Why?” Daenera chided mercilessly, her voice sharp as a blade, cutting through the tension. “Hm? Why should I let you touch me after all you’ve put me through?”

The words dripped with venom, but there was a power behind them, a control that twisted the knife already embedded in his chest. 

Aemond swallowed thickly, his heart hammering so violently it felt as though it might burst from his ribs, each beat a relentless thud that reverberated through his entire body. What was he to stay? That he was sorry for pushing her into this marriage? No. That would be a futile lie, she already knew the truth. He wasn’t sorry for binding her to him. 

The thought of apologizing for her brother’s death flickered briefly through his mind, but he dismissed it just as quickly. He refused to dwell on that now–refused to give in to the guilt she likely wanted to see in his eye, refused to feel any guilt for it at all.

No apology, real or feigned, would come to his lips. He had none to offer. And yet, the words she demanded from him hung in the air, suffocating him as her grip tightened in his hair. 

“I want you to suffer,” she said, her voice sharp and cold, her gaze sweeping across his face like a blade. There was a cruel gleam in her eyes, a glint of satisfaction as she watched him kneel before her. Her fingers twisted deeper into his hair, the tension in her grip relentless, sending sharp stabs of pain through his scalp. 

Aemond hissed through his teeth, the raw sensation twisting in his gut, making him ache in ways that he both craved and despised. 

“I want you to feel what it’s like to lose something,” she continued, her voice low, deceptively soft. “I want you to know what it feels like to want and never have. To need something, but have it just out of reach.” She tightened her grip, her nails scraping against his scalp with a deliberate cruelty that sent shivers down his spine. The searing ache in his scalp merged with the storm of emotions roiling inside him–humiliation, lust, frustration, bitterness, love–each one fueling the fire that burned in his chest. 

“And I want you to admit that you desire me,” she demanded, her lips curling into something that was almost a sneer as she leaned closer, her breath brushing his cheek. “That’s all this is.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched tight, muscles straining as he fought against the onslaught of conflicting emotions that surged through him. Her words lashed at him, each one a whip crack against his pride–against his heart–and yet, beneath the sting of her cruelty, desire coiled like a snake, tightening with every second. He wanted to deny her, to resist her, to insist that it was love, but the words died on his tongue, mind muddled by desire. The need twisted inside him, dark and relentless, threatening to consume him whole. 

His single eye flicked up to meet hers, and the intensity in his gaze was raw, unyielding. He looked at her with something deeper than anger, deeper than lust–a need so profound it bordered on agony. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling with the effort to control himself. He was on his knees before her, at her mercy, a prince brought low by the force of his own desire. His silence was an answer in itself.

Without words, his gaze seemed to say it all: Look at me. I am here, kneeling before you. What more could you take? I am already yours.

Aemond’s pride had long since fractured under the weight of her cruelty, but he refused to surrender fully–not yet. His teeth ground together, a stubborn resistance flickering in the storm of his emotions, even as his body betrayed him, trembling with the tension of her grip, with the yearning that gnawed at his soul.

“I want you to feel the weight of your choices and what they cost you.” Her free hand slid almost tenderly across the skin of his neck, fingers brushing against the taut muscle there as if she was testing how fiercely his pulse raced beneath his flesh. The touch sent a shiver down his spine, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard, trying to steady his breath. Her touch was deceptively soft, like a blade sheathed in silk. 

For a brief moment, something flickered in her eyes–something that looked almost like pain. The storm that raged within her seemed to break free, the blue of her eyes–once soft like summer cornflowers–darkened, turning into the turbulent depths of a stormy sea. The same sea that had swallowed the remnants of her brother whole, a sea of vengeance and grief, pulling at her, drowning her. 

Aemond saw it, that flash of torment behind her cold facade, and it struck something deep within him. But before he could fully grasp it, her expression smoothed out, her gaze sharpening with the kind of cruelty that twisted the knife she had already driven into him.

“I want to see you grovel,” she whispered, the words laced with venom, yet spoken in the sweet cadence of someone who knew they held all the power in the palm of their hand.

Aemond’s breath hitched at the word, grovel. He had already bent himself before her, knees digging into the cold stone, the shattered remnants of his pride scattered at her feet. Her demand clawed at him, both humbling and infuriating. But that flicker of pain he’d seen in her eyes remained etched into his mind, pulling at the small part of him that still longed for something other than the chaos between them–longed for her heart, her soul. 

He felt the weight of her words press down on him, crushing his defiance. The choices he made–the blood he had spilled, the bond he had forced–hung heavy on him like a chain. And still, he ached for her, every fiber of his being drawn to her, even as her words struck at his soul. 

Then, with a sudden, sharp tug, she pulled him closer, until their faces were mere inches apart. Their breaths mingled, her scent filling his lungs as he inhaled raggedly. Aemond’s hands, shaking with tension, gripped the edge of the mattress with a desperate strength, his knuckles white, the skin stretched tight over bone. 

“Please,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and raw, the plea falling from his lips with quiet desperation. He hated how the word tasted, how it settled so heavily in the air between them, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

His mind was a haze, clouded by the wine coursing through his veins and the intoxicating mixture of her scent, her touch, and the unbearable closeness. Each breath he took was filled with her, each sensation heightened to a maddening degree. 

He would take her scorn, gladly. He would welcome the sharp sting of her cruelty if it meant she would stay, if it meant she would give him the smallest piece of herself. Every barb, every sneer, every cruel word–he would endure it all if it meant being near her, if it meant feeling her presence just a moment longer. He was willing to suffer, to bleed if that was what it took. 

If she would only allow it, he would show her. He would show her that this was not just raw desire or base need–it was love, something that had taken root deep inside him. His heart, dark and broken as it was, beat only for her–he would prove it if she’d let him. 

She leaned back, studying him, seemingly taking a slow, deliberate pleasure in his suffering. The corners of her lips curled into a cruel, wicked smile–something beautiful and devastating, a forest fire, the earth opening up, a storm unleashing on the shore. 

The tension that had coiled in his body was released only for a moment as she let go of his hair. Without a word, she spread her legs for him, as though she were inviting him into something sacred, urging him towards the altar for worship. The fabric of her nightgown draped loosely around her, teasing at what lay beneath, and Aemond’s breath hitched, his mouth suddenly dry. He was so close–so agonizingly close–but still, he remained on the floor, gazing up at her like a man starved, the pulse of his own need thrumming through him like a second heartbeat. 

Daenera lifted her foot, letting it trail slowly up his arm, the soft curve of her ankle brushing against his skin. Her head tilted to the side, her expression playful, almost daring, as if she was challenging him to prove his worth. Her lips curled into a faint smirk, eyes glinting with amusement as she watched him.

Aemond leaned into her touch, the warmth of her foot igniting a fire in his chest. His gaze flickered up to meet hers, tentative and seeking approval, his breath shaky with anticipation.

Slowly, he pressed his lips to her skin, kissing up her leg with reverence. His fingers, trembling at first, gripped her calf, his touch growing firmer, bruising in his eagerness as he realized she was allowing him this small indulgence. 

His kisses trailed higher, pressing into the side of her knee, his breath hot against her skin as he exhaled slowly, nuzzling his cheek against her like a man seeking forgiveness at an altar. 

The scent of her–sweet and earthy–filled his senses, driving him deeper into his desire, the heat of her body drawing him in, consuming him. His fingers slid further up, bunching the fabric of her nightgown as he pushed it higher, exposing more of her soft skin, inch my inch. 

His lips found the inside of her thigh, lingering there with open-mouthed kisses, tasting her skin as though it was something sacred. Every touch, every caress, was offered with reverence and need. When his lips brushed over the small pink scar near the top of her thigh, he paused, his breath catching as he pressed a kiss there, lingering on the mark–had it been love, then?

The scent of her arousal filled the air, heady and intoxicating, making Aemond’s pulse quicken. He could feel the tension in his stomach, his need for her growing unbearable, but he moved slowly, savoring every moment, every inch of her skin as he kissed his way higher. Each kiss was a plea, a wordless promise for mercy–for understanding, for acceptance that she was his as much as he was hers. 

Her fingers tangled back into his hair, this time tugging more gently, guiding him with slow insistence to where she wanted him the most. There was no need for harshness now; they both knew he would obey her every command–lost in the haze of lust. 

The fabric of her nightgown bunched higher around her waist, revealing the slick curls at her center, her cunt glistening in the dim glow of the firelight. Aemond’s breath hitched, his mouth watering at the sight, a deep, primal need surging through him as she urged him closer. 

A low moan escaped him, a sound of desperate hunger, as her hand tigged insistently at his hair, urging him to her. He obeyed without hesitation, lowering his head to press his mouth to her, his lips parting as he locked a slow, deliberate line along the slick seam of her cunt. 

The taste of her flooded his senses–sweet like the nectar of forbidden fruit and salty like the sea, intoxicating and all-consuming. He groaned against her, the sound reverberating through his chest as he savored the feel of her on his tongue, his hands gripping her thighs more firmly. 

Her breath hitched sharply above him, the sound of it filling the space between them as her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging at it more insistently. The small, delicious sound that slipped from her lips–a soft, breath moan–sent a shiver down his spine, the weight of her pleasure heavy in the air. It was a sound that stirred something deep inside him, a spark of satisfaction that ignited into a burning need to hear more.

The sharp tug of her fingers weaving into his hair sent a brief sting through his scalp, but instead of discomfort, it sparked something deeper within him–a strange, intoxicating satisfaction. His heart gave a sudden flutter, almost embarrassingly eager for it. The pain was not simply pain–it was a tether, a silent pull drawing him closer to her, binding him to her need as if, for a fleeting moment, she wanted him as much as he craved her. That closeness, the sense of being wanted, even in this twisted dance of control, filled him with a warmth that spread like wildfire through his chest.

As Aemond savored the taste of her on his tongue, all he could think of were his vows–the promises he made to her, now binding him to her in a way that felt both sacred and primal. He lathered her slick cunt with slow, deliberate kisses, each one a silent oath, his lips moving against her as though sealing the promises he could not speak aloud.

Isse aōha perzys nyke rijībagon.

In your fire I worship. 

He dragged his tongue down through her folds, feeling her tremble beneath his touch, swirling around her quivering entrance with a devotion that bordered on reverence. 

Isse se vāedar hen aōha prūmia mazeman lyks.

In your breath I find life, in the beating of your heart I find peace.Then, with a low groan deep in his chest, he ran his tongue back up, pressing it flat against her swollen clit, sending a shiver through her body. Every stroke of his tongue, every breathless kiss, was an unspoken testament to his need for her, to the depths of his desire.

Isse aōha ondos, iā egros lēda skore kostā gaomagon naejot nekēbagon hen skoros iksis aōhon.

In your palm, a blade, with which you may use to carve out what is yours.

His cock throbbed painfully against the confines of his trousers, twitching in response to the moan she gifted him, the ache in his groin intensifying with every passing second. But he pushed his own needs aside, focusing entirely on her, on the taste of her, on the way her body responded to him. He licked her again, slowly, reverently, as if she was the only thing that existed in the world at that moment, the only thing that mattered. 

Ondoso aōha prūmia rests ñuhon.

By your heart mine rests. Her thighs trembled beneath his touch, soft and quivering as Aemond’s fingers pressed into the delicate flesh, holding them apart with a firm, possessive grill He kept her spread wide, ensuring she was fully exposed to him, and his tongue moved with greedy precision through her slick folds. He lapped at her with desperation, as though her desire was the sweetest nectar, and he couldn’t get enough. 

Nyke tepagon ao ñuha jorepnon.

I give you my prayer.His tongue circled her swollen clit with purpose, teasing it with the flat of his tongue before closing his lips around it, sucking gently but with just enough pressure to draw a sharp, involuntary jerk of her hips against his face. Her hand tightened in his hair, tugging him closer, as if she couldn’t stand even an inch of distance between them.

Isse aōha nesh, morghon kesan gīmigon, se isse aōha perzys kesan zālagon.

In your embrace, I will welcome Death; in your fire, I shall be consumed.Another moan spilled from her lips, louder this time, as Aemond sucked harder at her clit, his tongue flattening firmly against the sensitive nub. The sound of her pleasure unraveled him, and a deep, guttural groan escaped his throat, vibrating against her in a way that made her hips twitch in response.

Ñuha jorrāelagon, bisa nyke vow naejot ao ondoso Perzys Ānogār.

My love, this vow I make to you with fire and blood.

Aemond’s stomach tightened, a fierce fire burning low within him, an inferno that roared with each moan she gave him, each tremor he felt through her body. His grip on her thighs tightened, desperate, as though he needed to hold her close to anchor himself against the tide of his own desire. Everything about her consumed him–her scent, the taste of her slick heat, the soft tremble in her voice as she gasped for air. He burned for her, for the need to please her, to make her fall apart in his arms.

“Ah, fuck,” she breathed, her voice low and thick with pleasure, the sound of it making his cock throb. “Mmmh…”

Aemond devoured her like a man starved, as though the taste of her could finally sate the hunger that gnawed at him since birth. The hunger was deep, insatiable, something he had always carried, and in this moment, he willed it with all his being that it would be enough–that she would be enough. His tongue moved with desperate fervor, drinking her in like a man who had wandered a desolate, barren landscape, only to fall to his knees before a spring of clear, life-giving water. 

His hands roamed her body greedily, fingers digging into her tender flesh with bruising intensity, needing to hold onto her, to feel her warmth beneath his grasp. He was oblivious to the sharp sting as the shallow wounds on his palms reopened, streaks of blood smearing across her thighs where he touched her. 

The crimson stains mingled with the salty sting of her perspiration, painting her skin with his mark, as though he were a sinner tainting the pure. But Aemond didn’t care–he wanted to leave his imprint on her, wanted her to bear the evidence of his devotion, his desperation. 

Each movement was raw, primal, as he worshiped her with his mouth, licking and sucking at her folds with a feverish need that bordered on reverence. The taste of her, the sound of her breathless gasps, only spurred him on, driving him deeper into his own madness. He felt the blood warm on his hands, the proof of his sacrifice mingling with the pleasure he gave her, and it thrilled him–made him want more, to take more, until she was wholly his, stained with his touch, marked by his desire.

The stillness of the room was punctuated by the wet, intimate sound of her arousal, the squelch of her cunt and their labored breaths filling the air as Aemond devoured her. Every swipe of his tongue was deliberate, unhurried, wanting to commit each taste, each texture, to memory. HIs tongue moved through her folds, tracing the slick heat of her, savoring every inch of her–oh, how he had missed her taste.

His hands slid along the insides of her trembling thighs, his touch tender–soothing. He pulled back slowly, his lips left her wet heat, the taste of her still thick on his tongue, her essence smeared across his lips and dripping down his chin. A string of saliva connected them for a brief moment before it broke apart. 

Aemond’s gaze locked onto her, watching the way she bloomed under his touch. He spread her folds open with his hands, exposing her fully to his hungry gaze. The soft pink of her flesh deepened into a rich red, the slick wetness glistening in the dim light as her cunt clenched, pulsing with need, aching to be filled. He groaned at the sight. Even if she refused to voice it, her body betrayed her, silently begging for release she so desperately craved. 

Aemond leaned forward again, his hunger insatiable, and dragged his tongue slowly through her slick folds, savoring the way her body responded to him. He circled her swollen clit, teasing it with gentle, precise strokes before dipping back down, thrusting his tongue deeper inside her. The warmth of her engulfed him as her walls fluttered at the intrusion, clenching tightly around his tongue, as if her body were trying to pull him in deeper.

A sweet, guttural moan slipped from her lips, a sound that sent a thrill through him. Her hips rose instinctively, meeting the thrusts of his tongue. Her head fell back, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, her body moving on its own–seeking more of the pleasure he gave her, desperate for the release that hovered just out of reach.

Her hips rocked against his face in perfect rhythm, each movement more frantic than the last, as if her body craved everything he could give her and more. Aemond’s tongue thrust in and out of her with practiced precision, his nose pressing against her swollen clit with each push, sending shudders through her. The soft curls of her cunt brushed against his face, tickling his skin as her scent surrounded him, filling his senses completely, drowning him in her essence. 

Aemond groaned into her as her hips bucked harder against his face. His hands gripped her thighs tightly, fingers digging into her soft flesh as he held her steady, keeping her spread open for him as he worshiped her with his mouth. Every sound she made, every tremble of her body, only fueled his need to give her more, to bring her to the edge and watch her fall apart in his hands. 

“Oh, mmh, fuck, r-right there,” she muttered, her voice breathless and raw, her grip tightening in his hair. Her nails scraped across his scalp, sending sharp tingles down his spine, and the sensation made his hips jerk seeking friction. The prison of his trousers became unbearable, the fabric constricting painfully around his throbbing cock, offering him no relief, only intensifying his desperation.

“Ah, oh… Sh–fuck,” she gasped again, her voice trembling with the tension building inside her. 

The heel of her foot pressed firmly between his shoulder blades, digging into his spine with enough force to push him closer, to keep him trapped exactly where she wanted him. There was no escape from her now–not that he wanted to. Aemond could feel her drawing closer to the edge, could hear it in the breathless way she moaned, in the quiver of her body beneath his hands. Her thighs trembled against his grip, her slick heat clenching tighter around his tongue with each thrust, as though her entire body was winding up to shatter. 

Her breath came in short, ragged pants, her body tightening, and he knew she was moments away from falling apart. He leaned into her, his tongue moving with increasing fervor, desperate to push her over the edge, to taste the full extent of her pleasure as it spilled over him. 

Aemond felt the shudder ripple down her spine, her body trembling and jerking beneath his mouth. Her hips bucked involuntarily, her legs twitching in his grasp as her cunt fluttered and tightened around his tongue, the pressure almost intoxicating. Her breath came out in stuttering, broken moans, each sound more desperate than the last. 

“Hmm–hmm–ah, mmhp–mmm,” she gasped, the soft whimpers escaping her lips as her body gave in.

A long, breathless moan hung heavy in the air as she came around him, her release flooding over his tongue. She gushed, and Aemond drank down every drop she offered, his mouth never leaving her. He soothed her through the waves of her pleasure, his tongue lapping at her gently now, dragging it slowly up through her folds before flattening against her sensitive clit, sending another shiver coursing through her.

She collapsed onto the bed, her body spent, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Her grip on his hair slackened, the intensity of her hold fading as she panted above him, her muscles trembling in the aftermath. But Aemond didn’t stop. He continued to lick at her, dragging his tongue slowly over her still-sensitive skin, savoring the last remnants of her release. He swiped his face along the inside of her thigh, smearing her slick onto her own skin, his cheeks, chin, and lips wet with the evidence of her arousal.

Releasing his grip on her thigh, Aemond’s hand drifted down, desperate for relief. His fingers wrapped around his painfully hard cock, the touch sending a shudder through him. A broken, needy sound escaped his throat as his hips jerked instinctively into his own hand. Even as he stroked himself, he couldn’t tear himself away from her, his face still buried against her thigh. He nuzzled into her skin, smearing the wetness of her release across his cheeks, dragging his lips and chin along the crook of her hips and the bunched fabric resting against her lower abdomen. 

His mind was hazy, swimming with the scent and taste of her, his senses dulled as though he were drunk on her alone. His breaths came in ragged pants, and he rolled his hips into his hand, each movement a futile attempt at finding some reprieve from the ache that consumed him. He clung to her, nuzzling like a pitiful dog, desperate for any attention she might offer him.

But then her fingers tightened in his hair, gripping hard enough to yank him back. His face was dragged from her, his neck craning as she forced him to look up at her. Her gaze burned into him, fierce and merciless. Her pupils were blown wide, like dark blots of ink consuming the pale sea-blue of her irises. 

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” She hissed, her voice cold and commanding.

Aemond’s breath hitched, his hand stilling as she tugged harder, forcing a sharp gasp from his lips. Her grip on his hair was unforgiving, ruthless as she glared down at him. 

“Get on the bed.”

With her command delivered, she released him abruptly, her grip leaving his scalp stinging from the roughness of her touch. She scooted back on the bed, then shifted to the side, swinging her legs over the edge before rising to her feet. The pale ivory of her nightgown cascaded down her legs, flowing around her like water, the candlelight casting her in an ethereal glow, catching the gold string weaved into the fabric. 

Aemond remained sitting at the foot of the bed, his knees ached, bruised from kneeling on the cold stone floor, the chill still lingering in his skin. He sat there dazed, breathless, his mind swimming–drunk on her. It took a moment for him to collect himself, to ground his senses enough to move. Slowly, he rose to his feet, feeling the pull of the fabric around his cock, tightening painfully.

He crawled onto the bed, muscles tense with anticipation, each movement careful and deliberate as his heart pounded in his chest. She had moved to stand where he had knelt only moments ago, staring at him with an intensity that made his pulse quicken. Her gaze was dark, calculating, as she took in his disheveled form, his every breath, every flicker of need exposed for her to see. 

Without warning, she climbed onto the bed again, her hand pushing against his chest urging him back onto the mattress. She wasted no time, her hands immediately going to the laces of his trousers, roughly undoing them–the sight of her making his cock twitch. The sharpness of her movements made him suck in a breath, each tug of the laces sending a jolt through him. 

Her fingers hooked into the waistband of his trousers, tugging them down with no care for gentleness, pulling them only to his knees before abandoning the effort entirely. 

As Aemond’s cock sprang free from the confines of his trousers, it slapped hard against his abdomen, the sudden release drawing a low, guttural moan from his lips. His hands clenched into the covers beneath him, knuckles white with the force of his grip as his cock throbbed, slick with his leaking seed. The thick, white fluid dripped down from the swollen head, droplets pooling on his lower abdomen as his body trembled with need. 

Daenera settled herself beside him, her head tilting slightly, watching him intently. Her lithe fingers reached out, curling around the shaft of his cock, and Aemond couldn’t suppress the sharp intake of breath that followed. Her hand was warm, soft, yet commanding, and he was sure she could feel how his cock pulsed and throbbed beneath her palm, desperate for her touch. 

The sensation of her hand wrapped around him sent a jolt of pleasure through his entire body, forcing a hiss from his lips as his hips bucked, driving himself deeper into her grip. He couldn’t stop himself, the need for her overwhelming, his body reacting without thought, pushing her palm lower along his shaft, craving more of her touch–more movement as he teetered dangerously close to the edge of release. 

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” Daenera murmured, her voice low and teasing as she dragged her hand slowly up the length of his cock. Her grip was loose, deliberately ghosting along his skin, letting the heat of her palm tease him with every agonizingly slow stroke. 

“For me to wrap my hand around your cock,” she continued in a musing drawl. The way her hand moved, the deliberate teasing, left him aching for more, his hips twitching in response, chasing the friction she so cruelly denied him. His breath hitched, and every nerve in his body was attuned to her, waiting for her to give him the release he so desperately craved. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Aemond answered through gritted teeth, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. Every muscle in his body was pulled taut, trembling as he fought to stay still, to hold back the overwhelming urge to surrender completely to her touch. 

“For me to play your sweet little wife,” Daenera continued, her voice laced with something he had no mind to decipher. She dragged her hand slowly down his length, her grip tightening at the base of his cock, sending a shiver through him. “So that I can fulfill your desires–”

“No–” Aemond choked out, the protest barely forming before it was stolen from him. His teeth dung into the inside of his cheek, trying to ground himself as she dragged her hand back, twisting wickedly around the sensitive head of his cock. The sensation ripped his denial from his lungs, leaving him breathless, silenced by pleasure. 

A low, helpless hum escaped from deep within his chest, his lungs straining as he fought the instinct to buck his hips into her hand, to seek more friction. “P–please,” he gasped, his voice rough and broken as his hips bucked uncontrollably into her touch. She swiped her thumb over the tip, smearing the bead of seed that gathered there, then slowly dragged her hand down his shaft again, the deliberate slowness of it making his body tremble. “Fuck, I–I can’t fucking think–”

Her gaze remained measured, dark with something cruel and vicious. “Do you think this is what you deserve?” she mued, her voice laced with quiet mockery, ignoring his pleas. Her hand continued its slow stroking, testing his length as if his words were beneath her notice. “To be touched like this after everything you’ve done?”

“No,” Aemond muttered, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps as he edged closer to his breaking point. His eye fluttered closed, lost in the overwhelming sensation of her hand wrapped around him–the softness of her palm, the heat of her touch, the way her fingers glided up the length of his cock before twisting at the tip, teasing the sensitive head. Each movement drow him further towards the precipice, the pleasure clouding his mind, blurring the edges of his control.

“No?” Daenera hummed, her voice deceptively sweet, laced with a cruel undertone.

Aemond struggled to respond, the words slipping away as his head swam in a haze of lust. “I–fuck,” he gasped, his body trembling under her touch. “I only want what you give me.”

Her lips curved slightly, her expression mocking as she tilted her head, drawing closer to him. “And what if I decide to give you nothing?”

The question hung in the air, sharp and cutting, but Aemond couldn’t focus on anything other than the excruciating pleasure and the fear of losing it. He was at her mercy, and he knew it–desperate for any scrap of what she might offer, even as the threat of denial lingered between them.

“Please, don’t–stop,” Aemond begged breathlessly, his voice rough and desperate. The muscles in his lower abdomen tightened, his entire body coiling with the fiery warmth that spread through his lower stomach, teetering on the edge of release. “Please–”

“Look at you, begging for me,” Daenera chided, her voice dripping with mockery. She leaned down, her lips hovering just over the head of his cock, her tongue darting out to tease the slit where his pearly seed beaded. The sensation sent a sharp jolt through him, his breath catching in his throat. Her hair brushed against his skin, a delicate, tortuous tickle that only heightened his torment, while her warm breath fanned over his length, making him tremble beneath her.

“Do you think begging will make me forgive you?” She murmured, her voice a soft, cruel whisper as she dragged her tongue along his tip. “That I’ll forget the blood on your hands?”

No, Aemond didn’t think she’d forgive him. He knew better. His hands fisted tighter in the covers, the fabric straining beneath his grip as a desperate moan tore from his throat. Her breath, hot and teasing, curled over the head of his cock, so painfully close but still withheld. His hips jerked instinctively towards her, seeking more, but she withdrew, tightening her hold at the base of his cock and pushing him back down against the bed. 

“Daenera…” Aemond moaned, her name falling from his lips like a fragile prayer, trembling with reverence. Her tongue flicked out once more, swirling around the sensitive head of his cock, and the sensation sent a violent shiver up his spine. His breath hitch, stolen from his lungs in a broken, needy moan. 

Her long, dark lashes fluttered delicately against her flushed cheeks as she licked at him, teasing, torturing. When her eyes slowly opened, her gaze locked with his, and Aemond felt his breath hitch in his throat. He stared down at her, utterly mesmerized by the sight before him–her red lips glistened, her tongue darting out to wet them as her hand remained wrapped firmly around his cock, stroking him in a slow, torturous rhythm.

Her hair, dark and unruly, brushed softly against his skin, the sensation almost too much to bear. She looked impossibly wicked and innocent all at once, and when her tongue darted out again to lick him, the sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through his entire body. She was every bit a temptress, holding him in thrall, and he was powerless against the pull she had over him.

The heat of her mouth closed around him, a sensation so overwhelming it forced a ragged gasp from Aemond’s lips. Her tongue swirled around the sensitive head of his cock before pressing flatly along the length of him as she sank deeper, taking him fully into her mouth. Every inch was enveloped in her warmth, while her hand gripped and caressed what her lips couldn’t reach, making quick work of him as she bobbed her head once, twice–

A long, breathless moan escaped him, a sound so broken it bordered on a whimper as the pleasure crested. He couldn’t hold back any longer, spilling himself into the wet heat of her mouth. The muscles of her throat tightened around him, heightening the sensation, while her free hand teased the sensitive flesh of his testicles, sending sharp ripples of pleasure through his entire body. 

A shudder coursed through Aemond’s entire body as Daenera slowly dragged her lips up the length of his shaft, her touch leaving him trembling in its wake. She pressed her lips into him, kissing the sensitive skin as her tongue swirled languidly around the head of his cock, teasing him with that final flick of heat before she slipped off, her lips closing softly at the tip as though sealing the moment with a kiss. 

She sat up beside him, resting on her knees, her hair spilling like dark silk over the front of her chest. Her cheeks were flushed a soft pink, the remnants of their shared heat lingering on her skin. 

A gleam shimmered on her lips, wet with the evidence of him, and her eyes glinted mischievously, a wicked satisfaction dancing in her gaze–the sight made his stomach churn, his heart fluttering against his ribs.

Aemond lay panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he swallowed thickly, trying to steady himself. Aftershocks of pleasure trembled down his spine, warmth spreading through his limbs, leaving him feeling both weightless and utterly spent. Her hand remained wrapped around the base of his cock, moving with a soft, unhurried rhythm, coaxing it to say hard even though he had already given her his seed. The sensation teetered on the edge of pain and pleasure, an overwhelming mix that left him groaning softly with each stroke. 

She leaned over him, straddling his thighs with effortless grace, her body pressing down just enough to pin him against the mattress. Her hand continued its relentless, teasing motion, working him even as his body protested with a sharp hiss. His brows furrowed, back aching as if trying to escape her touch, but there was nowhere to go–he was trapped beneath her, at her mercy, and the mattress offered no reprieve. 

Did he even want her to stop?

His breath came in quick, uneven gasps, his gaze flickering to her hand as she stroked him. His eye traveled upwards, taking in the way her nightgown draped over her thighs as she straddled his legs, the fabric gathering around her hips. He caught a tantalizing glimpse of her nipple as the gown slipped slightly, teeterning dangerously on the edge of her shoulder, threatening to fall. His gaze finally met her face, the wicked gleam in her eyes still burning with the same intensity as before, merciless, unfinished. 

She leaned over him, her lips parting slowly as she released the seed he had given her. It fell in a thick, wet splatter onto his stomach, gleaming in the flickering candlelight. For a brief moment, a delicate string of saliva connected them, an intimate tether between them before she spat out the last remnants, licking her lips with deliberate slowness before rising back up–a gift unwanted and returned to him.

A memory flickered at the edges of Aemond’s mind, something elusive and fleeting, almost like a dream lost to the haze of the moment.

“You can keep your seed,” Daenera murmured, her head tilting slightly, her voice a cruel drawl. “I do not want it.” As she spoke, her hand tightened around him, stroking him with a newfound intensity, pulling a strangled whimper from his lips. His body trembled under her touch, the sharp mix of pleasure and pain overwhelming him, and all he could do was lay there, helpless beneath her control, at her mercy.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Daenera mused darkly.

 For a fleeting moment, Aemond thought she was about to crawl over him, imagined her sinking onto his throbbing cock, her lips parting and her eyes fluttering closed as she took him fully. The thought sent a surge of heat through his body, his breath catching in anticipation. 

But instead, she shifted off him, moving to the side, her eyes never leaving his as she murmured, “You’ll take what I give you, won’t you?” Her tone was cold, taunting. “You’re at my mercy, and I want you ruined.”

Aemond swallowed hard, nodding, his voice reduced to a low, needy hum, “Mmhmm,” the sound slipping past his lips as his chest rose and fell with the weight of his desire.

“I do not wish to look upon your fucking face,” Daenera spat, her voice dripping with disdain as she turned away from him, straddling his hips with her back to him. 

Aemond’s breath hitched at the sudden shift, his muscles tensing beneath her as her nails scraped over the skin of his thighs, sending jolts of stinging pleasure-pain up his leg to burn in the pit of his stomach. His body reacted instinctively, muscles flexing under her touch, heart pounding. 

Her hands slid up his legs, fingers teasingly brushing the insides of his thighs before finding their target. She took him in her hand again, the familiar grip making his breath catch, and pressed the head of his cock against the slick, searing heat of her wet folds. The sensation made him groan low in his throat, hips twitching towards her, desperate for more. 

Without a word, she sank down onto him fully, the wet heat of her enveloping him completely in one slow, agonizing descent. His eye fluttered shut as a broken moan escaped him, his mind blanking under the overwhelming pleasure of being buried inside of her–oh, oh how he had missed her. She took him fully, her body pressing down until there was nothing between them, and for a moment, all he could do was tremble beneath her, consumed by the feeling of her wrapped around him. 

Aemond’s hips jerked off the mattress, a guttural grunt escaping him as his hands found her hips. He tugged at the bunched fabric of her nightgown, feeling it tease against his lower abdomen, brushing through the slick pool of seed and saliva that ran down either side of his abdomen, trailing between the contours of his muscles as they flexed beneath his skin. 

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, desperation driving his grip as he sought to still her movements–just for a moment. He needed that brief pause to regain control of himself, to hold on to the feeling of her wrapped around him before the inevitable rush of release overtook him. Every nerve in his body was on fire, his sensitivity overwhelming him, each shift of her hips sending sharp jolts of pleasure through his core. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, his body trembling beneath the intensity of her heat and the way she clenched around him, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

But Daenera was not so forgiving.

“What did I say about touching me?” She sneered, her voice dripping with cold authority. She balanced herself on one hand, fingers pressing into his thigh for support, while the other hand latched onto his. Her nails dug sharply into the pliant skin of his hand with enough force to leave crescent marks behind. 

A groan tore from his lips, a breathless whimper as her cunt clenched around his cock with an unbearable tightness, her heat searing him from within, leaving his head swimming, dizzy with the feel of her. She tore his hand away, forcing him to clutch at the fabric of her nightgown instead, bunching it in his hand.  

Her hand slipped between his legs, fingers tapping at his testicles with a maddening precision. Each tap sent a sharp jolt through Aemond’s body, making him twitch beneath her, hips wiggling involuntarily–pushing closer, then retreating, arching into the mattress, then bucking against her, his body struggling to decide what to do. Every tap reverberated through him, stealing the breath from his lungs and causing his heart to stutter in his chest. 

“Fuuuck,” he ground out through clenched teeth, his voice strained, a mixture of desperation and pleasure. His other hand tore away from her hip, barely able to resist the urge to touch her, to claim her. Instead, he gripped the fabric of her nightgown tightly, the material bunching in his fist as if holding it together was the only thing keeping him from completely unraveling. He could feel the fabric threatening to tear under his grip, his body trembling with the overwhelming pain-pleasure she continued to inflict on him. 

Aemond panted heavily, his breath ragged as it struggled to fill his lungs as she lifted herself off of him with excruciating slowness, the torturous drag of her heat pulling away from his throbbing cock sending waves of pleasure and frustration through him. The withdrawal felt like agony, each inch stealing a bit more of his breath–and then she sank back down onto him, slow at first, making him feel every second of it. His hands trembled, gripping the fabric beneath him, the feel of her almost unbearable. 

As her hips began to roll, grinding herself against him, Aemond’s head fell back against the mattress, a low groan escaping his lips. He felt her nails dig sharply into the flesh of his thoughts, her grip tightening to steady herself as she continued her slow, deliberate pace. 

A low, appreciative hum slipped from her throat, a sound she seemed to hold back from him, as though she refused to let him fully hear her pleasure. Yet even that restrained hum made his heart race, fluttering uncontrollably against his ribs. 

The rhythm she set, the grinding and lifting, made his body strain beneath her. His gaze drifted downward, watching her body rise and fall above him, her movements both deliberate and tormenting. Her wild curls cascaded down her back, tickling his lower abdomen with each roll of her hips–dark against the pale ivory of the nightgown. 

The urge to reach out, to bury his hands in her hair, to take control and thrust up into her, forcing those sweet, breathy moans from her lips, burned fiercely within him. It tugged at him, burning at the center of his chest. But that desire felt agonizingly out of reach. She held the power, and he was wholly at her mercy, trembling beneath her. 

A breathy moan tore from his throat, his fists tightening in the fabric of her nightgown–damn that fabric, the very thing hiding the sight of her sinking onto him again and again. He wanted to see it all, wanted to watch her take him fully, to lose himself in the sight of her body joining with his, but even that was denied to him. 

Every moment felt like a cruel test of his resolve, his will stretched taut beneath the mounting tension in his body. His head swam, his thoughts narrowing to a single point of focus–her. The desperate need to see her consumed him, to witness the way she moved above him, the way her lips parted and her eyes fluttered in pleasure. 

Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Aemond gritted his teeth as her tight cunt clenched around him, her hips rolling against him in maddening waves. The lewd, wet sounds of her slick folds wallowing him filled the room, intensifying the fire coursing through his veins. He longed to watch her, to see the expressions on her face as she took him deeper–longed for the blackened blue of her eyes and how the burned. 

Then, movement caught his eye. 

A glint from the corner of the room–the mirror. His gaze latched onto the mirror, and there she was–her brows lifted in pleasure, eyes fluttering closed, long lashes brushing against her cheeks as she sank onto him. Her lips were parted, a breathless moan escaping them, her body moving with such devastating grace. The shoulder of her nightgown, which had been hanging precariously, finally slipped down, exposing the soft, pale skin of her shoulder and revealing the heavy swell of her breast, her pink nipple taut and perked.

The sight of her was utterly mesmerizing as she rode him, every movement of hers drawing his attention, his pulse quickening in response. It throbbed within his ears, his neck, his chest–an insistent beat deep in his stomach. He could feel it beneath his skin, growing more intense with each passing second. His breath hitched as he watched her through the mirror, unable to look away from the image of her body writhing above him. His hips rolled up to meet hers, instinctively matching her rhythm, pressing into her as she sank onto him again and again.

“Fuck, mmh, fuck,” Aemond groaned, his voice a guttural moan as he gritted his teeth and thrust up into her, his hips rolling with a desperate urgency. Her slick, warm cunt clenched tightly around him, sending waves of pleasure through his body. She was leading him to the edge, teasing him mercilessly towards the brink of madness, his mind muddled and pitifully blank, unable to focus on anything but the feel of her. 

Each time she ground down against him, her soft, sweet moans filled the air, her nails biting deeper into the flesh of his thighs as though anchoring herself to him. His gaze remained on her reflection, mesmerized by the sight of her, her body moving with such intoxicating grace as she pleasured herself on his cock. He was helpless beneath her, clawing at her nightgown, watching her every move, entranced by the image of her body rising and falling, her skin glowing in the low light. 

“Please,” Aemond moaned, his voice low and raw with desperation, a pathetic plea slipping from his lips, “please, let me–ah, mmph, fuck–please let me see you.”

Her response came without hesitation, sharp and teasing. “Why should I?”

“Because I want to see you–’m so… I can’t–fuck,” he chocked out, his breath in ragged gasps. His cock throbbed painfully inside of her, his need for release intensifying with every agonizing moment that passed. Her cunt gripped him tightly, like a velvet vice, her walls soft and slick, holding him in place as she continued to ride him. 

“Are you close, hm?” Daenera teased, her voice a sultry hum as she rode him, lifting herself up and down, grinding against him each time she took him fully. “Are you going to gift me more of your seed?”

Aemond’s response was immediate, breathless. “Y–seven hells, yes,” he panted, his head falling back against the bed, his hips jerking up to meet hers in a sloppy, desperate rhythm. The tension inside him coiled tighter and tighter, each thrust bringing him agonizingly close to the edge. He could feel it everywhere–coursing through his body like fire, burning in his bones, tingling in his teeth, a pressure so intense it threatened to consume him. His testicles tightened, his whole body taut, straining, needing–begging–for release. 

He was so close, so painfully close, his hips moving erratically beneath her, driven by sheer instinct as he chased the peak she teased him towards, the pleasure cresting higher–

A desperate whimper tore free from his lips as Daenera lifted herself off of him, her slick warmth slipping away, leaving his cock throbbing, slapping helplessly against his lower stomach. The sensitivity was unbearable as the cool air met his heated flesh, only for the sensation to heighten when her nightgown brushed over him like a cruel tease. 

His body tensed as she shifted, turning to straddle his hips once more, but instead of sinking back onto him, she brought her soaked folds down against his length, pinning his aching cock between her heat and his stomach. The pressure was maddening as she kept still, her hands splaying on his stomach, nails grazing his skin as she towered over him.

There was something dark and wicked in the way Daenera looked down at him, her eyes gleaming with a mischief that both terrified and enthralled him. Her head tilted slightly to the side, causing her hair to spill over her shoulder, exposing the pale column of her neck, the curve of her collarbone, and the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. The neckline of her gown had slipped further, fully revealing the soft swell of her breast, the dusky pink of her nipple making his mouth water with a need to wrap his lips around it. She looked like a goddess poised above him, untouchable and unforgivable. 

“I told you,” she said softly, her voice laced with cruel amusement, “I do not want your seed.”

Daenera began to roll her hips, dragging her slick folds along the length of Aemond’s cock, the slow friction igniting every nerve in his body. He hissed through clenched teeth, his fingers fisting in the fabric of her nightgown and twisting the sheets beneath him as his head fell back. His entire body trembled with the effort of restraining, the overwhelming need to reach out and grab her, to feel her soft flesh under his hands again, to anchor himself in her, burned at his fingertips–needled at him. His hands shifted closer to her, knuckles brushing against the side of her legs as his grip tightened. 

“What was it you once told me?” She mused, the click of her tongue adding to the note of mockery in her tone. Her hips continued their agonizingly slow rhythm, dragging her wet heat over his throbbing length without granting him the mercy of release. “That your seed should not be wasted–that it belongs only in my womb, isn’t that so?”

Aemond couldn’t form a coherent thought, let alone a response, as her words filtered through the haze of his mind. They echoed somewhere deep, but he was too far gone to truly comprehend them. It was, indeed, a waste–but in this moment, none of that mattered. His hips moved on their own accord, rolling up to meet hers, a desperate, instinctual movement, driven by the overwhelming need to be closer to her. Every muscle in his body was tense, straining as he bucked against her with a raw urgency that bordered on madness. 

“But I do not want your seed,” Daenera continued, her voice calm, almost mocking as her fingers danced along his abdomen. She smeared the remnants of seed and saliva across his skin, dragging it in lazy circles, painting him with his own release. He should have been revolted by it, humiliated, but his mind was lost in the heat of her cunt, to the friction of her dragging her wet folds over him. “I have no use for it, and I do not want it quickening inside of me.”

She dragged her nails lightly over his chest, her hands ghosting over him in a way that was as infuriating as it was tantalizing, a slow drawl falling from her lips. “Shall I cease, so your precious seed isn’t wasted where it has no purpose?”

“No, he choked out, his voice breaking as he bucked his hips against her, needing more–so pathetically close. “No–fuck, please–don’t stop,” he begged, his voice a broken whimper. He was lost, utterly and completely, drowning in the sensation of her body, the heat, the pressure, the intoxicating drag of her wet folds along his cock. 

Daenera rolled her hips with deliberate slowness, dragging the scorching heat of her cunt up the length of his cock, teasing him with each movement. Her fingers splaying on his chest, gripping onto him tightly as she ground down against him, lips falling open as her head tilted back. Her own low moan joined his, a sound so intimate, it sent a shiver up his spine. His hips jerked upwards, meeting hers, desperate for the friction, for the feel of her.

Every slow, deliberate drag of her hips sent another surge of pleasure coursing through him, the tension in his lower abdomen tightening to a painful degree. His testicles pulled taut, and the pressure within him mounted–building to a breaking point, each shallow breath of his accompanied by soft, helpless whines. His brows knitted together, mouth falling open as he teared on the edge of release.

When the coil finally snapped, it was a sudden, overwhelming rush of warmth spreading through his entire body. Aemond gasped as he spilled what little seed he had left in him, pale streaks spurting across his stomach as his cock throbbed and twitched beneath her. His back arched off the mattress, a violent shudder wracking through him as his body succumbed to the intense release. He collapsed back onto the bed, utterly spent, breathless, his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

Daenera kept her cunt firmly pressed to him, pinning him down as she milked him dry. He felt her folds slick against him, warm and tight, as the last drops of his seed dripped from him. The white droplets trickled from the head of his cock, nestled between her folds, pooling onto his already smeared stomach, joining the mess of seed and saliva spread across his skin. The puddle was smaller this time, insignificant compared to the earlier flood. 

A soft, tingling sensation prickled at the base of Aemond’s skull, a haze of bliss filling his mind, leaving him wonderfully vacant. The only thought that lingered, that anchored him to the moment, was her. He could feel her thumb gently stroking against his wrist, grounding him, soothing him through the last remnants of his release. At some point, her hand had wrapped around his wrist, and he hadn’t even noticed until now, lost as he was in the moment. 

With effort, he loosened his grip on her nightgown, his fingers slowly uncurling, each joint creaking as if they’d forgotten how to move. He was stiff, but he brought it to her leg, brushing his fingertips slowly against her skin–tenuous, daring. 

His gaze lifted, meeting hers. 

Daenera stared down at him, her chest rising and falling in quick breaths, a flush blooming across her skin, spreading down her neck to her chest. She held his gaze as she began to move again, dragging her hips up and down his length with agonizing slowness. 

A sharp hiss escaped his lips, brow furrowing. The sensation was teetering on unbearable–his cock overly sensitive, nerves alight as though exposed to the raw air. Each deliberate roll of her hips teetered dangerously close between agony and pleasure, his body recoiling and responding all at once. His hips instinctively bucked into her, seeking more even as the overstimulation urged him to pull away, breath stuck in the back of his throat. 

From her lips spilled the sweetest sound–a soft moan that completely captivated him. She looked hauntingly beautiful above him, her hair spilling over one shoulder, wild curls tickling his skin with every movement. Her fingers splayed across his stomach, and his gaze was drawn to the lewd display of his seed smeared between her fingers, glistening against his abdomen in a way that should disgust him–but instead, it only made him ache for more of her. 

The night gown hung loosely off one of her shoulders, revealing the soft curve of her collarbone and the heavy swell of her breast, her nipple perked and teasing the air as it swayed above him with her movements. Her head tilted to the side, mouth slightly open in a way that stole his breath, her brows lifting in pleasure as she continued to roll her hips against him.

She looked as if she were savoring every inch of him, as though taking pleasure in his torment–and Aemond couldn’t deny her that, not when the overstimulation made him grit his teeth, muscles tightening as he tried to hold back. Even then, all he could do was watch her, mesmerized–heart fluttering in his chest. 

There was a devastating beauty to her–it stirred something deep within him. 

The sight of her above him, glowing with satisfaction, only intensified the sweet torture he flet in every slow roll of her hips. Every breathy moan that slipped from her lips felt like a dagger carving into him with a blend of pleasure and desperate need. Each sound she made left him feeling more vulnerable, laying him bare before her, exposed and aching in a way that was both tortuous and intoxicating. His heart hammered against his ribs, every nerve alive and raw, responding to the rhythm of her movements, the sound of her pleasure, the press of her heat against him.

She lifted off him slightly, the sudden loss of her warmth making him ache. Her hand slid down his stomach, fingers grazing the smeared remnants of his release as she reached for his cock, wrapping her lithe fingers around it with a gentle but sure grip.

The sensation sent a shudder through his body, and he hissed through gritted teeth as she swiped the last lingering bead of seed from the head, her touch achingly tender. 

Aemond gritted his teeth, pulling in a ragged breath as he felt the searing heat of her press against him, her slick folds giving way as she took him in again–a soft gasp leaving her lips as he breached her. His head lifted from the mattress, eye locking onto her as she sank down onto him, inch by inch the tightness of her cunt almost unbearable–mercilessly tight, squeezing him so perfectly it stole the breath from his lungs. It was too much, too quickly. His body was too sensitive, his nerves alight and raw, already spent from what he’d given her. And yet, he couldn’t refuse her–didn’t really want to. 

As she settled fully against his pelvis, rolling her hips in slow, measured circles, his mind swam with the overwhelming sensation, torn between pleasure and the brink of madness. 

Was this not love? This aching need, this desperation to stay close, to be one with her in whatever way she’d allow? 

Aemond’s heart pounded furiously within his chest, each a beat heavy, desperate thrum. Helpless beneath her, tormented and intoxicated by her in equal measure–the sweetness of her cruelty drawing him deeper into her grasp. “Ah, fuck–mmph, you’re so fucking tight.” 

He released his grip on her nightgown, his hands trembling slightly as he peeled his other hand free from the fabric, only to reach for her thighs. His fingers dug into the supple flesh as he bucked his hips into her, a sharp hiss escaping through gritted teeth. His gaze was riveted to the sight of her cunt swallowing him whole, each thrust accompanied by the wet squelch of their bodies meeting, filling the spaces between their shared moans and breathless pants. 

He let his hands wander further up her thighs, kneading the soft skin with growing urgency. His eye flickered from where their bodies connected up to her face–her eyes fluttered closed, head tilted back as she rode him. 

Daringly, he trailed his fingers higher, gripping her hips tightly. He guided her down onto his cock, holding her so tightly it would brand her with the imprints of his fingers–would leave a mark that would remain long after the night had ended. The thought made his heart flutter–perhaps leaving those small bruises would be the only way to prove this moment had been real, that it hadn’t been a dream, for the both of them. 

He could feel her drawing closer to the edge, the tightening of her walls around him sending a wave of pleasure rippling through his own body. The way her cunt sucked him in, squeezing and releasing, made it impossible to think of anything but her–how she felt, how she sounded, how she looked as she rode him with such intensity. That fluttering deep inside of her pulled him in, drawing him closer to the precipice, to the same edge she was so desperately racing toward.

Aemond released his hold on one of her hips, his fingers trembling as they left the warmth of her skin. He pressed his hand into the mattress, using the leverage to push himself upright. As he rose, his other arm snaked around her waist, pulling her down onto him, locking her firmly in place as her wet walls quivered around his cock, squeezing him tighter with every breath she took.

The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect storm of heat and pressure, but he craved more–craved her. He buried his face in her chest, lips brushing across the soft curve of her skin, tasting the salt of her sweat. His mouth moved in a slow, reverent path, trailing kisses up her breastbone, his lips ghosting over the spot where her heart beat wildly beneath. He could feel the pulse of it, thundering beneath his lips, an intimate rhythm that matched the frantic pounding of his own chest.

He inhaled deeply, taking in her scent–sweet, yet now tinged with the musky intensity of their exertions. It was intoxicating, maddening, filling his head until nothing existed but her. Her body, her scent, her heartbeat. Every part of her claimed him, enslaved him to the desire that roared through his blood. His arm tightened around her waist, holding her impossibly closer, as if he could fuse her to him, as if he could never bear to let her go.

Releasing his grip on her hip, Aemond’s fingers dragged reluctantly over her skin as he pressed one hand into the mattress for support. He pushed himself upright, muscles straining as he moved, the overwhelming sensation of her slick heat still gripping him tightly. His other arm slipped around her waist, securing her against him as he thrust upward, locking her body to his. The way her wet walls quivered and clenched around his cock nearly drove him mad, but he needed to feel more of her–needed to taste her, wanted to capture her lips, to taste their sweet poison. 

His lips found the soft curve of her chest, pressing desperate, heated kisses into her skin. He moved slowly, tracing a path up her breastbone, mouth hovering near the beating pulse at the center of her chest. He could feel the quickened rhythm of her heart beneath his lips, pounding in time with his own. Each beat sent a wave of heat through him, settling low in his stomach.

Drawing in a breath, her scent filled his lungs–sweet, intoxicating, but now saltier, mixed with the musk of their shared exertion. It only intensified his desire, the scent of her sinking into his bones like a poison he could never be free of. His face pressed deeper into her skin as if he could bury himself within her chest–within her heart. 

A soft moan fell from her lips urging him on. The more she trembled around him, the closer she came, the deeper his need became, consuming him from the inside out. 

Aemond anchored himself to her, bracing his weight against her body as he freed one hand, his fingers dragging slowly up her leg, the heat of her skin searing his palm. His grip tightened around the flesh of her thigh, kneading it as his hand traveled higher, fingers pressing into the curve of her hips before sliding up to the exposed breast that brushed against his chest. He groaned softly, squeezing the supple weight of her breast in his hand, his thumb grazing over the hardened peak of her nipple, earning a sharp gasp from her as her hips ground into his, her cunt clenching tighter around him. 

The feel of her made his own breath hitch, his focus momentarily split between the warmth of her body and the way her cunt gripped him greedily, sucking him in. He kneaded her breast for another moment, savoring the feel of her in his grasp, before his hand moved again, tracing a slow, deliberate path up her side, past her shoulder, and beneath her hair. His fingers cradled the back of her skull, holding her firmly, ensuring she wouldn’t pull away. 

He needed her close, as close as possible. 

“Ozudligon kostā, yn ñuhon iksā, Daenera,” Aemond muttered, his voice low and rough, the words spilling from his lips like a vow. He pressed his mouth against the flushed skin of her collarbone, tasting the salt of her on his tongue, savoring the faint taste of her. He kissed a path to the crook of her neck, where her pulse throbbed wildly beneath the fragile skin. 

You may deny it, but you are mine, Daenera. 

His lips lingered there for a moment, feeling the quickened beat of her heart against his mouth, before he buried his face in the hollow, letting his teeth scraping teasingly over the tender flesh.

A sharp shudder ran through her, her fingers tightened their hold on him, nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders with a force that sent a jolt of both pain and pleasure straight to the pit of his stomach–he rolled his hips into her, savoring the feel of her cunt clenching around him. The sting of her nails undoubtedly left deep impressions in his skin, each one a silent, feeling mark of possession. 

Aemond reveled in it–the way her touch left him marred, marked, claimed, just as his teeth grazed her skin in a primal mirror of that desire. He liked that idea, that exchange of marks, of unspoken claims etched into each other’s flesh. 

Even as her nails bit into his skin, leaving behind crescent marks, he wanted her to mark him more, to etch her presence into his very flesh. If she left nothing else behind, these scars would be his–testaments to his love and suffering, to his desire that consumed him entirely, and a reminder that it had all been real. 

His lips left her pulse, brushing over the curve of her jaw, his mouth barely hovering over hers. He was almost kissing her, but not quite–just close enough to feel the heat of her, the scant distance between their mouths nothing more than a panting enclave of shared breath. 

“iksā ñuhon,mazōregon ziry iā daor,” Aemond murmured possessively against her skin, his grip tightening around her as though fearing the moment he loosened his hold, she would slip away like smoke through his fingers. “Se aōhon iksan. Iksi ozletagon, jorrāelagon ñuha. Lanta perzyssy hae mēre, ozudligon ao daor. Mēre ñelly, mēre prūmia, mēre gīs, ābrazȳrys.”

You are mine, whether you acknowledge it or not.

And I am yours. We are bound together, my love, intertwined in ways you cannot deny. One flesh, one heart, one soul, my wife.

The words lingered in the air between them, as fragile as spun glass, trembling under the weight of their meaning. Aemond could almost see the tension coil around them, feel the precarious thread of hope stretch, taut and brittle. His breath caught as the last of his words slipped from his lips. But in the silence that followed, he felt it–the cold snap of rejection cutting through the delicate moment.

“Don’t call me that,” Daenera’s voice trembled, but not with weakness–with barely contained rage. Her nails pressed harder into his skin, the sting of her grip a painful reminder of the divide between them–and yet he welcomed it. 

Her teeth were bared in a snarl, lips curling back into something feral, something wild. Her brows were knit together, her expression twisted in fury that smoldered like a fire barely contained. The rage in her eyes was a blaze that threatened to consume them both, yet she couldn’t tear herself away from him. “You don’t call me that!”

She shoved him back onto the mattress, her hands splayed against his chest, firm and unyielding as she forced him beneath her. The weight of her pressed into him, pinning him there, trapped beneath her as she straddled him with a commanding force. Her movements were fervent, rocking her hips in a rhythm that was maddening–his head swimming as she glided up and down the length of his cock, taking him over and over again. 

“You don’t get to call me that!” Her hand struck his face, the sharp crack cutting through the air, his skin immediately stinging under the blow. The heat from the impact spread across his cheek, a burning flush creeping over him as the ringing in his ears drowned out everything but the pounding of his own blood. He barely had a moment to process the first slap before the second came, harder this time, the sting more intense. His skin prickled, red and raw, the fire of it shooting down to his core.

His body reacted instinctively–his hips bucking up into her, desperate, wild, as her cunt clenched tightly around him, intensifying the sensation. 

The searing blend of pain and pleasure shattered the clarity of his thoughts, unraveling him piece by piece. His mind felt distant, blurred, as though submerged beneath waves of sensation, each surge pulling him closer to the brink of madness. 

“You know it’s true–” another slap landed across Aemond’s cheek, silencing him mid-sentence. A guttural moan groan tore from his throat as the sharp sting spread like wildfire across his skin, making his face burn from the force of it. His teeth clenched together, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest as he instinctively turned his head back toward her, meeting her gaze with a defiant, wild glint in his eye. 

She ground down against him, her hips rolling with calculated cruelty, her slick heat gripping his cock so tightly that he could feel his entire body tensing, every muscle drawn taut with need. 

His breath hitched as he fought to remain focused, the muscles in his lower abdomen tightening as the pressure in his spine coiled tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as the words spilled from him, raw and fractured. “You make me sick with love,” he gritted out, his voice hoarse, desperate, every word wretched from deep within him. “Sick with a desire to possess you–”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she spat, her voice laced with venom as she pressed her palm over his mouth, cutting off his words.

But even beneath her hand, muddled and desperate, Aemond continued to mutter, “To have you around me, always–” His words became a muffled, broken sound beneath the pressure of her hand. His lips pressed painfully against his teeth, the sting of it sharp and burning as her palm pushed harder against his mouth, attempting to silence him completely. 

Still, he continued, even through the suffocating press of her palm against his mouth, “You are m–mmh–mine,” he grunted, words barely escaping through the pressure, his breath hot and ragged. “Mmph… fuck, mmph… my sweet poison…” His words broke off again as her hips ground harder into him, his mind burring, thoughts unraveling as his body wound tighter and tighter beneath her. 

His chest rose and fell heavily, breaths shallow and frantic as his fingers dug into the flesh of her hips, needing something to hold on to. His muscles coiled with each movement, his body taut, his breath hitching as he teetered on the precipice, every inch of him attuned to her–the woman who was both his destruction and salvation. 

The slap of skin against skin echoed through the room, the raw, primal sound filling the space as she ground herself against him, rolling her hips in quick, demanding motions. Her movements grew more intense, body rising and falling on him with a furious rhythm–unforgiving as he writhed beneath her, the only sounds escaping him now reduced to pathetic, broken whimpers. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as she took him again and again, cunt fluttering around him.

Daenera’s touch was languid, almost idle, her hand slipped from his lips, his mouth open beneath her touch, to the space just below his jaw. She applied just enough pressure to keep him pinned beneath her, completely under her control–enough to send a rush of dizzying heat through his body. He gasped, a low, guttural sound rumbling in his throat as she squeezed just the right amount, his pulse thundering beneath her palm, drumming loudly within his ears. 

The pressure inside of him became unbearable, like a tightly wound coil ready to snap, every inch of his skin sensitive to her touch. His breath hitched as his hips bucked, the friction of her heat driving him closer, closer–until she lifted off him.

The sudden loss was excruciating. His cock, swollen and throbbing painfully, slapped back against his abdomen, slick with both her arousal and his own. The cool air hit him like a punishment and he drew in a breath through clenched teeth, brow furrowing.

Then she slid back down against him, pressing her wet folds along the length of his cock in a slow, tortuous drag. His fingers dug into her flesh, kneading the soft curves of her hips, unable to do anything but respond to her rhythm, powerless under her. She moved with deliberate cruelty, rolling her hips with that maddening pace, her slick cunt teasing every nerve in his body. 

“Fuuuck, please–please–please–mmh,” Aemond panted, words strained and raspy from the pressure she exerted on his throat. “Ple–pleeease…”

Every breath came out in ragged pants, his heart hammering in his chest as she mercilessly ground against him. His stomach clenched, his cock twitching violently as she dragged herself over him again and again, the sensation overwhelming. His hips jerked, bucking up against her with a mind of their own, seeking relief that seemed just out of reach. 

He felt the last remnants of his release approaching–drops of clear liquid beading at the tip of his cock, his body convulsing in futile spasms as his testicles tightened, drawing up painfully close. And then, with a final grind of her hips, he broke. 

The last of his seed spilled from him, barely more than a thin, watery trickle, nothing compared to what she had already wrought from him. His entire body surrendered violently, wracked with tremors as the overwhelming sensations washed over him, leaving him drained, utterly spent.

Daenera’s hand remained wrapped around his throat for a few fervent heartbeats longer until he stopped grinding himself against her. He could feel his pulse racing beneath her fingers, the thud of his heartbeat echoing in the silence of the room as though his heart had truly burst from his chest. 

It was only when she decided to release him that the tension eased, the sounds of her rapid breath growing stronger as the throb of his pulse subsided. Her fingers dragged slowly down his neck, teasing the sensitive skin, then down his chest as she rose above him, looming over him like some cruel deity who had taken her fill–who wasn’t finished yet. 

Aemond’s breath hitched in his throat as she lifted herself off of him, her wet cunt dragging slowly over his softening cock. The friction, though minimal, still made him hiss through gritted teeth, his body too sensitive, too raw from the brutal pleasure she had wrought from him.

The brief reprieve was over as quickly as it had begun.

He watched with a half-lidded eye as she climbed further up his body, the mattress shifting under her weight as she moved above his shoulders. Her knees pressed into the battress of either side of his head, her drenched cunt now hovering just above his face–her cunt fluttering in view, revealing just how close she was to her own end. 

Swallowing thickly, Aemond felt a sudden rush of heat flood back into his veins despite his spent body. His gaze flickered upward, meeting hers for just a moment–half-lidded with desire, a flush clinging to her skin. She fisted her hand in his hair again, the sharp pull sending a shiver down his spine, making his lips part in a soundless moan. He could feel the heat radiating off her, her arousal slick against her thighs. 

There was no denying her, no denying the way his mouth watered at the sight of her above him, her cunt so close to his lips, dripping with desire. Without hesitation, Aemond leaned up, the delicious tug of her grip guiding him, pulling him into her. His hands trembled slightly, moving to her thighs, fingers gripping the soft flesh as his mouth latched onto her, his tongue immediately seeking out a taste of her. 

The moment his tongue slid through her folds, he could hear her exhale sharply, the sound a soft, breathy moan that made his heart flutter. He dragged his tongue up, flattening it against her swollen clit before dipping back down, greedily lapping at her. Her grip tightened, her nails scraping against his scalp, urging him to give her more, to take her apart again as he had done earlier. 

He obeyed without a question, his mouth worshiping her, each movement of his tongue a silent plea for her to use him, to take her pleasure however she wanted. 

She pressed herself down against his face, her thighs caging him in as she ground her slick heat against him–his mouth, his nose, his chin–coating him in her desire. The hand in his hair tightened, bringing him closer–impossibly so–as she moaned loudly. 

Aemond groaned against her, his tongue thrusting into her eagerly, swirling inside her before he dragged it up through her folds, his nose brushing her sensitive nub as he nuzzled into her. His hands clutched at her, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her arse, kneading the supple flesh, branding it as his. He could feel her slickness spreading over his face as he pressed her onto his mouth, feasting on her like a man starved–a man who couldn’t get his fill.

Her fingers tangled tighter in his harp, pulling sharply as she settled more of her weight onto him, suffocating him in the best possible way. He dragged his lips to her clint, sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting a sharp hiss from her as her hips bucked against him, the pleasure rippling through her, her thighs trembling.

A shudder reverberated down her spine, her whole body trembling as he flattened his tongue against her, dragging it down to her clenching hole again. His hands grabbed at her hips, holding her steady as she moved against him.

Aemond felt her body tense, her thighs trembling against his face, her breath catching in her throat. Then, with a final, deep shudder that rocked through her entire body, her cunt clenched tightly around his tongue, quivering uncontrollably. He felt the hot rush of her release spill across his lips, a sudden gush of fluid flooding his mouth and wetting his chin. She moaned, low and broke, as she came undone above him, her hips rolling involuntarily against his face, grinding into him with the last waves of pleasure. 

His grip on her tightened, fingers digging into her hips, holding her there as he greedily lapped at her, swallowing every drop she gave him. Her slick coated his lips, smeared across his face, but he didn’t stop–he couldn’t. He could feel the tremors still coursing through her, her body quaking with the aftershocks of her pleasure, and it only fueled him further. He pressed his tongue flat against her sensitive clit, drawing another sharp gasp from her, feeling her shudder once more, her thighs squeezing his head as if to trap him there.

Her release was his reward, and he savored every moment of it, the taste of her still heavy on his tongue as he nuzzled against her, leaving soft kisses along her trembling inner thighs. His mind was a blur, lost in the haze of her pleasure, in the feel of her quivering body against his, the way her slickness coated his skin.

Aemond felt her grip in his hair loosen, her nails shifting from sharp tugs to gentle, almost absentminded caresses over his scalp. As her fingers withdrew, he heard the dull thud of her hand finding the headboard, seemingly clutching it to steady herself. He remained where he was, nestled between her thighs, his breath warm against her as he continued to lick away the last remnants of her release, pressing soft, reverent kisses along the tender skin of her inner thighs. Her body trembled above him, her breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts, but she gave no further sound.

For a moment, he allowed himself to linger there, relishing the closeness, the intimacy of the moment, his lips trailing over her skin as though worshiping her. Her thighs were still quivering, her skin slick with the evidence of what had passed between them, and the sensation only deepened the ache within him. But then, as quickly as she had taken him, she lifted herself off, her warmth slipping away. Her leg swung over him, and she slid to the edge of the bed, her movements stiff and hurried

Aemond felt the sudden coldness of the air where her heat had been, and a quiet emptiness settled in his chest. He felt the shift of the mattress beneath him as the weight of her body lifted away, leaving an absence that made the space feel suddenly vast. He didn’t follow her with his eye, his gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, where light and shadow danced over the stone as the candles flickered faintly.

The faint sounds of movement filtered through the haze that clouded his mind–soft footsteps, the splash of water, the steady drip breaking the stillness of the room. 

He lay there, breathless, his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm, the soft rustle of her movements was the only sound that tethered him to the present, anchoring him as his mind threatened to slip away into the haze of spent desire.

His body still thrummed faintly with the lingering echoes of their intimacy, a low hum that settled into a sweet, bone-deep weariness. His muscles, once tight and coiled, now felt loose and spent, heavy with the exhaustion that came after being pushed to the brink. The warmth that had radiated from his skin began to fade, slowly giving way to the creeping chill of the room. It cooled the thin layer of sweat that clung to him, leaving him shivering slightly, his body beginning to ache in the absence of the heat they had shared.

Aemond heard her footfalls approaching again, the faint shuffle of her bare feet against the stone floor. The corvers shifted roughly as she tossed them aside, the corner brushing against his arm, sending a brief gust of air across his face. The movement stirred his hair, tickling his skin and causing a shiver to creep up his spine, but before he could fully react, a pillow was unceremoniously dropped–no, smacked–right onto his face. 

The fabric smothered his view, plunging him briefly into darkness as the pillow hit with a soft thud. His senses buzzed with the sudden disruption, and he quickly grabbed it, pulling it away and tossing it aside. He forced himself up on his elbow, his gaze immediately locking onto her. 

Her face was illuminated by the flickering candlelight, but it wasn’t a soft expression that greeted him. She was scowling, her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes sharp and unforgiving. The sharpness of her gaze cut through the fog of his exhaustion, drawing him back into the moment, the briefest flicker of frustration passing over him as he met her eyes, her expression filled with something far from tenderness.

She roughly tugged at the covers, her movements quick and impatient as she yanked them further open. Her hair fell messily over her face, as she shoved it behind her ear with an irritated huff, her hands busy adjusting the bed, pulling a pillow into position. “Sleep on the chaise or on the floor–I don’t care which,” she uttered, her voice clipped and icy, “but I will not share a bed with you.”

You already have, Aemond thought bitterly, the words pressing on the back of his teeth with his tongue. 

She slid under the covers with a forceful determination, muscling beneath them even as he remained in the middle of the bed, watching her in frustrated silence. Her legs knocked against him as she wiggled into place, shoving him in the process, forcing him to sit up further, muscles tightening beneath his skin. Her gaze finally met his, and what he saw twisted the knife deeper. Fury radiated from her, her cheeks flushed with anger, but there was something more–a hint of shame and regret in her eyes that sank beneath his skin, stinging more than her words did. 

“Savor this memory, Kinslayer,” she spat, her voice like the edge of a blade, sharp and cold. “There will not be another.” Her words cut through him with brutal finality. “I may be your wife in name and by law, but that is the extent of it.” 

Kinslayer. 

The word cut through him like a blade, sharp and cold, the sound of it echoing in his mind. It wasn’t just a title–it was a condemnation, a brand seared into his flesh, a scar brandished on his face, a curse that clung to him no matter what he did. It burrowed beneath his skin, needling into the very essence of him, clawing along his bones and etching itself there as though it belonged. The venom in her voice, the contempt, twisted it deeper. 

Kinslayer. 

Her lips, which had moaned so sweetly just moments before, now dripped with vitriol. The sting of the word festered inside him, sinking into the marrow of his bones, poisoning him from the inside out. His entire body tensed under the weight of it. 

Kinslayer. Kinslayer. Kinslayer. 

The word pulsed through him, relentless, eating away at whatever fleeting pleasure he had felt only moments ago. The memory of her moans, her touch, the way her body had responded to him–it all seemed distant now, corroded by her coldness. 

I may be your wife in name and law, but that is the extent of it.

The ache that settled into him was unbearable–an emptiness that gnawed at his insides, demanding something he could never have.

It felt like a bitter jest, as if the gods themselves were mocking him–punishing him. She was his, bound to him by name, by law, by the vows they had spoken. And yet, she was always just beyond his grasp. No matter how close he came, she remained distant, her heart lost to him. She haunted him, a ghost lingering at the edge of his reach, present enough to torture him with the illusion of closeness, yet forever slipping away, like smoke between his fingers. 

Aemond remained where he was, his body still pressed to the lingering warmth of the bed. His breath was shallow, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled movements as he tried to steady himself. The taste of her lingered on his lips, a reminder of the closeness they had shared just moments before, yet the memory already felt distant. The tenderness of the moment, the way her body had trembled above him, seemed like a cruel trick now, a fleeting mirage that had faded as soon as it appeared. He felt the distance between them stretch wider, like a gaping wound that swallowed the intimacy they had just shared, erasing it from existence. 

He pushed himself to the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling at his body. His muscles ached, tight and weary from the tension of the night, and yet there was a hollowness within him that gnawed at his insides.

With a heavy sigh, he rose, his movements measured as he moved with an air of detachment. He loosely hiked his trousers back up around his hips, his mind drifting elsewhere, swallowing the disappointment, the frustration that clung to him. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected anything different.

His bare feet met the cold stone floor, and the chill bit at his skin, but it did little to rouse him from the hollow emptiness that had settled deep in his chest. His heart pounded heavily, a dull thud that echoed inside him. It thumped against his ribs insistently, as though the ache within was determined to make itself known, to demand attention.

The soft padding of his feet echoed faintly in the room as he walked across the cold floor as he made his way to the water basin. His gaze fell to the cloth she had carelessly abandoned there, hanging off the edge of the porcelain, half submerged in water, the end dripping slowly onto the wooden table beneath, the soft patter of water hitting the wood the only sound in the room aside from his own breathing and the low crackle of the hearth. 

Aemond stood there for a moment, staring at the cloth, the dampness a reflection of how he felt–half submerged in his emotions, half left to dangle in a bitter state of unfulfillment.

He cupped his hands in the cool water, gathering enough to splash against his face. The shock of it needled at his skin, sharp and biting, the chill sinking into his bones. The water stung as it hit the edges of his scar, the tight, sensitive skin prickling, burning under the touch. The familiar ache returned, a dull throb that had always been there, always present, reminding him of everything that had made him into this–a man more monster than not, a kinslayer. But it was more than that now. He had been unaware, in the gaze of their intimacy, how the pain had subsided, softened beneath her touch. 

And now, with her rejection, it had roared back to life. The scar burned as though aggrieved by her absence, as though it, too, knew that she had closed herself off from him, denied him in ways that cut deeper than flesh. 

The sweet taste of her that still lingered on his tongue had turned bitter, acrid, a taste he found impossible to swallow. It sat there, thick and heavy, a remainder of what had been–of what he had been so close to. His throat tightened as he swallowed against it, trying to push it down, to rid himself of the sour aftertaste that lingered not only on his tongue but in the hollow ache that had settled in his chest. 

He splashed more water on his face, the cold droplets clinging to his skin as they dripped down his cheeks and jaw, trailing down the column of his neck in slow, torturous rivulets. Straightening to his full height, he inhaled deeply, the coldness of the water doing little to soothe the heat that still burned beneath his skin. His body felt raw, exposed–vulnerable in a way he loathed. He whipped at his face with a rough hand, smearing the water across his scar, the ache sinking deeper, gnawing at him from within. 

Aemond’s seed clung to his skin, smeared across his stomach and chest, sticky and growing cold in the air. He dipped the cloth into the water basing, wringing it out slowly before wiping it across his skin, each stroke deliberate as he cleaned himself. His breath came steady, controlled–his body still trembling faintly from exhaustion, but his mind retreating, lingering on her presence behind him. 

As he worked, movement flickered in the mirror above the basin. His gaze lifted, settling on the familiar specter–a boy with dark, damp curls plastered to his head, pale skin almost luminous in the dim light. 

Aemond felt the weight of the boy’s gaze, his hollow eyes fixed on his sister, staring at quietly as though willing her to open her eyes, to see him, to know that he was there, haunting him. But she remained still, unmoved. The boy didn’t move either, just stood there, an embodiment of all that haunted him, of the blood that stained his hands and the sins that marked his soul. 

His jaw clenched. He could feel the boy’s silent accusation hanging in the air, thick and oppressive, like smoke curling into his lungs. His grip on the cloth tightened, his knuckles whitening as he dragged it across his skin once more, scrubbing it clean.

The phantom wasn’t real–he knew that. And he tore his gaze away from the reflection, refusing to look at the boy again. He finished wiping himself down, his grip on the cloth tight as he squeezed the last droplets of water from it. He stood before the basin for a moment longer, staring at his reflection in the rippling water, the cool air of the room biting at his damp skin. 

With a measured breath, turned away, abandoning the basin as he moved quietly through the dimly lit chamber. He blew out the candles as he passed, plunging sections of the room into shadow, his footsteps soft against the stone floor. 

Reaching the chest, he pulled out a clean shirt and trousers, the fabric cool beneath his fingers. He placed them carefully over the chaise, and with a sense of detached routine, stripped off his trousers and smallclothes, folding them neatly and placing them on the floor. The cool air kissed his skin as he changed into fresh undergarments, the soft rustle of fabric the only sound in the stillness of the room.

Settling down on the chaise, he allowed himself a brief moment to close his eye, rolling his neck. His knees ached from where they had pressed into the shards of glass earlier, the sting a dull throb that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He lifted the wet cloth once more, bringing it to his knees, wiping away the blood that had snared across the skin. The small cuts peppered his knees, the remnants of shattered glass embedded there. He could feel the tiny shards, and with a grimace, he began to pull them out one by one, each piece glinting faintly in the dim light as he dropped them onto the side table. 

Blood welled in the wounds, but the pain barely registered. It was nothing compared to the ache that thrummed behind his sapphire, the ever-present reminder of what he had lost–of what he could never reclaim.

He propped one ankle over his knee and began working at his feet, carefully removing the smaller shards embedded there, each one making a soft clink as he placed it alongside the others. His hands worked methodically, cleaning the wounds with the wet cloth, the blood soaking into the fabric, dark blots spreading through the damp cloth. The cloth was stained now, like everything else–like him. 

Once he finished cleaning himself off, Aemond toasted the damp cloth onto the side table, its weight landing with a quiet thud. He rose from the chaise, pulling on fresh trousers and a new shirt with an air of quiet detachment, each action a distraction from the gnawing thoughts in his mind. 

He crossed the room to the desk in the corner, his bare feet silent against the floor, and pulled open the drawer, revealing a small porcelain jaw he had placed within–one of the few things he had brought with him to this chamber, their chambers. The cool surface was smooth against his fingers as he lifted it out and gently pushed the drawer closed again. 

Settling back onto the chaise, Aemond unscrewed the lid, and the earthy, herbal scent of the salve immediately filled the air, surrounding him like a familiar ghost. The mixture was form but malleable under his touch, and as he dipped his fingers into it, memories stirred, unbidden. Daenera had made the salve for him long ago, back when there had been something else between them–before it had all unraveled into the bitter, tangled mess they lived in now. The jaw was half-used–often he had used it on the scratches and cuts he’d received during training. 

He began dabbing the salve onto the fresh cuts on his feet and hands, the cool balm stinging at first before settling into a soothing warmth. The stinging didn't bother him, though. It was a brief, sharp pain that faded, unlike the ache that lingered inside him. He screwed the lid back on and set the jar aside, and leaned back against the chaise, staring at the ceiling as the earthy scent still lingered in the room, a faint reminder of her lingering presence in his life, even in absence. He rested on his back, the quiet of the room settling heavily around him, but his mind remained restless. 

His gaze drifted towards her, drawing irresistibly to her form beneath the covers. She lay facing the hearth, her back to him, but the irregular rise and fall of her shoulders betrayed her pretense of sleep. She was awake, just as he was, the tension between them still thick in the air.

The distance between the chaise and the bed felt immeasurable, though it was just a few paces from where he had knelt not long before. His heart felt heavier now, weighted down by a familiar ache–an ache that never seemed to leave him. It settled in his chest like a thorn, burrowing deep and festering there, always reminding him of the things he couldn’t have, that was denied him, the things that slipped further from his grasp the more he yearned for them.

The gnawing hunger clawed at him again, that deep-seated need for something more–more than the physical, more than the fleeting moments of passion. He longed for something far out of his reach, for something softer, gentler, something that might soothe the raw, bleeding edges of his soul. He wanted her heart, but she was determined to deny him that–to deny he had held hers too. He clenched his jaw, the frustration, and longing twisting inside him, coiling like a serpent as he lay there, unable to quell the storm that churned within him. 

To Aemond, love was a poison–corrosive, festering, rotting from the inside. It left one weak, vulnerable, and utterly at another’s mercy, and yet, despite the bitterness, he drank deeply from it. How sweet it was when it chose to be sweet, intoxicating and filling him with warmth. And how bitter it was when it turned, sharp and acrid, cutting at his very soul. But he drank it all the same. Sweet or bitter, it was her. It was him.

Even now, as it burned in his veins, as the bitterness overwhelmed him, he still craved it–still craved her. He wanted her with every fiber of his being, even when she clawed at him, when her words sank deep into his skin, venomous and scathing. He wanted her even in her hatred, her scorn, her cruelty. 

Wasn’t this what love truly was? Holding onto something that had the power to wound so deeply? Or was it merely madness? 

It didn’t matter how much he bled for her, how she pressed her words to his neck like a blade. As long as she haunted him, as long as she was tethered to him in some way, he could endure the pain. He welcomed it. 

Aemond lifted his hand, holding it before his face, his fingers splayed, feeling as though he could still feel the ghost of her touch, the bite of her nails sinking into his skin. The crescent-shaped marks were stark against the pale flesh, raw and red, a physical reminder of her–of her fury, her desire, her hold over him. He turned his hand slowly in the dim light of the hearth, watching as the flickering firelight played over the small ridges of those marks, casting tiny shadows along his palm. 

His gaze shifted to the scar that ran wider and deeper than the others, cutting a clean path across his palm–a wound that had healed, an echo of what was, a vow. The scar was pink and slightly raised, different from the other jagged scars that littered his palm and was slowly healing and fading out of existence. This remained–always would remain. 

He clung to the faint, fleeting satisfaction that came with the marks she had left on him–the evidence of her touch, a scar etched into his skin, a loving claim. 

It was something tangible, something real to hold onto. In this scar he found proof that what had passed between them hadn’t been a dream, nor an illusion–it hadn’t been solely desire. It had been real. It was real. A stolen moment that shouldn’t have been, but was. Something they had shared. 

The scar beneath his fingertips felt like scribbles left in the margins of a book–thoughts hastily written down, fragments of a story that would never fully be told but still remained. The moments they’d had, fleeting as they were, seemed to live in the quiet spaces between their shared agony, in the creases of his memory, where he could revisit them again and again. This mark, this scar, held meaning, for it carried within it the weight of all the things he could never say, all the things he could never fully have. 

It was lasting in the only way that mattered, meant to be carried with him like a secret, hidden in the deepest parts of himself, in the creases of his soul where he kept all the unspoken words and unrealized desires. Her touch, the wounds she inflicted both out of rage and passion, were all he had now. The marks she left on him were his alone, remnants of the fleeting grip he had on her–even as she slipped further away from him with each passing breath, with each scathing word she uttered.

Aemond's jaw tightened as he lowered his hand again, as if relinquishing her entirely would undo him. He could still feel her there, in the aching sting of the scars she left, in the phantom warmth of her skin against his. But he knew, deep down, that these marks were all he had left–momentary, fleeting, like her affection. And yet, he held onto them as though they could somehow keep her tethered to him, as though the memory of her touch might prevent her from slipping through his fingers entirely.

[emmaofnormandy]

Imagine Aegon comes to comfort you.

Warnings: drama, angst because of reasons; fluffy though because we love writing fluffy Aegon. Long post.

***

What a strange bond you and the lord Aegon share. As the daughter of Ser Gwayne of House Hightower, you were raised as part of the Targaryen family since you could remember—but comparison, implicitly as it was, was always there.

You always aimed to please so what else could you do if not doing as told? You were raised to be like your royal aunt but your sweet nature prevented to emulate her flaws. Indeed your wit was as sharp as knife and your tongue could ricochet when provoked, but only your looks could tell what were you doing amidst an incestuous family.

Nevertheless, against all odds you did get well with them. How could it not be? You were raised with your cousins, but it was Aegon who climbed your walls and knocked them out.

Though he’s expected to marry his sister, it’s you whom he follows everywhere. There are whispers at court, but, as you told your aunt once, where there are tongues, words will be spoken.

Yet… now you are a young woman, in an age close to marry. You have no dragons to ride and all you can brag is about winning Aemond over poetry competition.

At times you are next to Helaena, but you feel outshone by your sweet cousin.

What is this, what is this that torments me so?

You have demons to fight underneath your mask of duty and you do not like when they crave their claws on your flesh. So today you withdraw, certain that no one is going to notice your absence.

When you do so, melancholy has you on its trap. You are swallowed by it, there staying whilst your footsteps automatically sway out of their view. You dissociate, rewinding the times you disappointed every one you know.

Perhaps what is worse is the day Princess Helaena and Prince Aegon’s betrothal is announced. You found yourself wishing to be in her shoes, the perfect Princess.

Disgusted by mundane sentiments you are suffocated when confronted by your imperfections. You need some air. Perhaps the gardens will offer some solution.

Barefoot, your Hightower curls are blown off your head the more you run into the labyrinth of green towers of leaves and pomades. Tears roll out, uninvited, as if the grip around them is now loose. Because at the center of this rarely visited labyrinth lies a cold stoned bench where you sit and burst into silent, painful tears.

*

Even a merry prince as himself needs some moment to himself. Regardless of how fearful he is of loneliness—which is usually mistaken as a moment of fragility—, Aegon feels in the air that not all is well as it should.

It takes no more than a few minutes to notice the lady Y/N Hightower’s escape of the court. He sighs. Thus the recollections begin as the silver haired Targaryen royal retraces your steps.

I remember well, my lady, when we bonded. It was odd that someone laughed at my sarcastic remarks; that a relative would appreciate my fierceness, or even compliment my efforts in reading messy words.

Whenever I was faulted for not being hard working like Aemond, or when envy consumed my poor soul for being overshadowed by Rhaenyra, you stood for me. You held my hand, dismissed my fragilities and reassured me I was as good as any of them. You encouraged me flying with Sunfyre when I was anguished before the Strong boys. You never failed to surprise me, a deed few—if any at all—accomplished.

But I was so selfish…. When you fell, where was I? When you wept, where was I? When your strength was shaken, I failed you. I blinded myself because I supposed you and Aemond were too bright to burn. I whored because the idea of you led me to believe I was unworthy—as my mother often remarked that she found our friendship rather unusual, uncommon, unmatched: you, the perfection; me, the broken man.

Indeed she has been correct in her judgement. But reason often tormented me because I am too weak to surpass myself. Where there are obstacles, I see an invitation to encourage my sins; where there are defiances, I convince myself I lack capacity to overcome them.

I am not brave. No, my precious lady. This errant prince is unworthy of your affection. Nonetheless… I will rescue you. You will see that I am capable of loving, even if this means to admit I cannot be loved.

The sight of you in complete distress makes him rush his steps. Part of him is relieved to see you haven’t done anything imprudent, but another prays anxiously for whatever deity that he is not the cause of your atonement.

“Goodness!”, you almost cry out when you see Aegon. You stand quickly, trying to recompose yourself. “A-Aegon! I mean, my lord cousin.”

You try desperately to omit your distress, to conceal your anxiety, but Aegon sees through you. The prince holds your wrists and pulls you against him.

“Don’t. Don’t do this, Y/N.”

Still holding a hand over your right wrist, he releases his free hand to gently brush away your eyes, after lifting your chin so he can read the pain in them.

“We’ve already surpassed this phase, haven’t we? It’s long gone since that day where… well, where we had mutual accusations of distrust”, says he, pleased to make you chuckle lightly.

“True. We are not children anymore”.

The distance is short. Shorter than what usually is. You can smell his scent, which only infuriates your racing heart.

“Then why are you running away?”

You sigh. Something about his long gaze at you, at the kindness behind his lilac irises, at the soft smile on his lips… is enough to disperse your insecurities.

“I am not running away.”

It’s a weak protest, a lie that Aegon knows what it really means. He once used it to shy away everyone who dares to approach him. For some reason, this old tactic never worked with you. It is only natural that it has no success with him as well.

“You are not well. What troubles you, my sweet? Always the dutiful daughter, always the merry one of us all, the prideful daughter of Old Town.” He strokes your cheek once more. “The stories we created, the past I was part of… cannot be just that.”

“We forged a very good bond, didn’t we?”

“Indeed.” Then a flash of hurt crosses his gaze for a moment. “Is it what it is, though? A good bond is what we have?”

And just like that you set yourself free of his touch. Where there was warmth, now there is cold.

“I cannot… Do not make me say what I may regret. Leave me to my pain, to be tormented by my delusions.”

“I may be many of the things I am accused of. However, to be careless is not one of them.” Aegon takes you by your arm, forcing you to turn at him. “Tell me I am only a memory, that we are nothing.”

“I was always yours, cousin. But you were never mine”, you burst out what’s been killing you. “I am not Helaena. Nor a Targaryen can I be considered! What am I? Who am I? Somewhere along the lines I became what is expected! But I lost myself in the process.”

“I will not sacrifice us for duty!” He holds you against him, your frame tied in between his arms. You find the same anguish in his eyes, the old desperation that equals yours, an entire ocean of profound sentiments that invite to an inevitable drowning.

Cupping your cheeks with his hands, he stares back at yours.

“It pains me that I am not able to take away your suffering. Miserable is the man who cannot uphold a sword to battle his damsel’s torments. For years I accepted that I failed before the world. But when it comes to you, Y/N, I am not afraid of the dark. I am not that fucking cunt. You never left me on my own. Unworthy as I am, hardly magnanimous as others might suggest to make me their jest, you remain.”

“I am a sinner, Aegon. Filth with…”

He covers your mouth, impeding words to come out of your disgraced soul any longer.

“For years we repressed it. Nay, Y/N. Do not make us miserable anymore. I shall make you mine at the cost of all.” And yet when battles seemingly obstinate at the cost of your breakdown, he holds you close. “Come here. Let us leave this world, uh? I know exactly what you deserve.”

You stay there for a moment, taking his words as what you need to hear. What you need to heal. Aegon is your balsam, and this is touching in many ways.

The rogue prince, rejected by all of those who, by blood, are moved by this familiar pretense of loving him, is someone else’s solace. You, often the strong one, so sensible and reasonable, rely on his feeble, meek prince whose divinity is nothing but a mask.

Thus you stay. And he loves you more than he can admit.

*

Sunfyre seems to smile at you when Aegon gleefully takes you to him.

“Come now. He won’t bite you!”, your rogue prince beams at you. He extends his hand at you. “Do you honestly think this is a privilege I give everyone I know?”

His golden scaled dragon seems to huff as if to say: “Indeed, my lady. Do you honestly think I would allow anyone to ride me besides Aegon?”

You giggle softly. Aegon sees you blushing, the idea of enjoying a privilege few would ever do makes you suddenly shy. Your face is adorably pink, a great sight to behold when adding to it your loose curly red hair.

“Well?”

“I do not mean to keep you waiting”, you take his hand, enjoying the warmth of your fingers locked. “Thank you for having me, Sunfyre.”

The winged creature looks at you pompously, a very adorable sight that makes you smile.

“How can one not smile before the most beautiful dragon there has ever been?”, says Aegon, resting his face against Sunfyre’s forehead. “Heavens know this is just… unmatched.”

“You have a very strong bond with this one”, you observe, smiling.

“He understands me like no other”, Aegon smiles as Sunfyre confirms him with its own way of showing tenderness. “We belong to each other.”

“Indeed. I am pleased he takes you as who you are. It is what it should have always been.”

“Come now. Let us fly!”

You take the hand offered even though you are not dressed for the occasion. As Sunfyre opens its wings and begins to fly, his hands around your waist ensure you that you are safe.

“You may be Targaryen in your own way, Y/Nickname”, Aegon whispers in your ear. “But I prefer you being Hightower. It has a better ring to it, hasn’t it? Lady Y/N Hightower.”

You giggle like a little girl. Oh, once upon a time you dreamed of this moment. It is unique, indescribable. He is so close to you, carefree and merry.

His arms around your waist as he leads the way when pulling the reins of Sunfyre, at the same time letting it be leaded by this beautiful golden winged creature.

Wind blows your hair, messing it all the way as you fly higher and maybe a choked sound comes out of your throat. Adrenaline runs in your veins and for a second you fear you are about to fall.

“Trust in me, my lady! You are safe with me!”, Aegon chuckles quietly.

You can only nod. Despite the fear, you trust your guts, and delegate all the power to him. Aegon’s face is close to yours so he can read your expressions, the subtle change in your countenance quite clear. And yet when you relax, when your shoulders are light again, he knows the value of your trust.

Taking the opportunity to surprise you, he is bold enough to press his lips against your cheek.

“Oh, Aegon!”, you blush, batting your eyelashes timidly.

“Are you enjoying this adventure?”, Aegon looks so content like he hasn’t been in years.

When your gazes meet, you forget that he is promised to another. You are led to believe he is delegating his heart to your possession. Against reason, you nurture hope.

“More than I deserve. Thank you for cheering me up.”

“Anything for my lady”, and even up in the skies he takes your hand and presses a kiss on it.

This time Sunfyre flies slowly, stable as it is up in the air. It is when Aegon takes his time to enjoy it with you.

“Aegon…”, you hesitate.

“Yes?”

He waits. When he does so, eyes are locked in a long gaze. He notices the color that paints your irises, the red that paints your curls, your long nose and heart-shaped face. Sweet features that mirror the kindness within. Your lips tremble and the prince is eager to hear those words.

Those three words that he too is eager to pronounce, tasting them for the first time in a lifetime of rage and frustration.

“I am scared to speak my mind.”

Aegon puts a hand over your chin, his callous hand moving higher to cup your cheek. To fight away the remaining shadows of your heart, right at the twilight, he knocks his pride down when choosing to be the one to say what must be said.

“Y/N Hightower, throughout these years my cold heart has been endeared to a new sentiment of a kind I never experimented before, often judged to never feel it because I was deemed unworthy of it. The root to my heart has been uneasy, I know, and yet you took it with the bravery of your gentleness.”

As the words come out so naturally, you blush deeper. You’d look away if he doesn’t make you stay and see the truth in his gaze.

“You, the very center of my heart, have grown more than a companion, a cousin, someone with whom I share blood. Nights grow cold without you, I sinned hopelessly because I thought…” Aegon sighs, impatient with himself. “All of this is to say that I love you.”

To his surprise, you cup his face with your hands and lock your lips with his. Right as the sun starts to go down, as the colors of twilight begin to paint the skies, every doubt is solved, every shadow dissipates.

It is a peaceful kiss, perfectly paired even if it starts sloppy. Sunfyre hums happily as if to put a soundtrack to this moment where Aegon Targaryen is genuinely happy for the first time in years.

“I love you, Aegon”, you rest your forehead against his. “Whatever it comes, never forget how endeared you are.”

He cannot argue when you say in such a sweet manner. You convince him that with patience and time, love flourishes.

And you stay like this for a while.

***

Aegon’s eyes are glued in you. Today you are dancing with Princess Helaena by her side at a feast that honours the king’s name day.

“Lady Y/N must be a witch”, muses Aemond out of the blue.

“What for?”, Aegon casts a frown at his younger brother. “Do not dessacralize her name like this, Aemond.”

“Oh. So you are far more smitten than I have assumed”, Aemond raises his eyebrows. “And here I was presuming you’d make her one of your mistresses…considering whom you are betrothed to.”

“Assume what you want. Lady Y/N is not a mistress, no.”

His brother cannot believe his ears. Is this an scandal in the making?

“You cannot be serious. Aegon…”

“What? All I can do is displease others as it seems. They are not content when I do as told. It is time to take my life with my own hands.”

“This will not end well.”

“We shall try and see.”

Aegon stands impatiently and moves to where you are. He knows all eyes are set on him: courtiers hold their breath when you come at his meeting. But what do they know when love is clear in the eyes of the Cupid’s victims?

Helaena, who knew from day one where this would go, smiles to you and excuses herself to Aemond’s side—which only served to leave Alicent astonished, but not entirely displeased since she likes you.

What indeed comes out as a shock is that Aegon has eyes to no other but you.

“We are making it obvious”, you murmur.

“Let it be so. I have no shame in showing my affection for you.”

“Aegon, but you are promised to another”, he sees the pain it comes when acknowledging this fact.

Hands are held and bodies dance when he says calmly:

“Betrothals are often brokered. It happens under uncertainties until marriages are certain.”

You cast him a long wide gaze.

“You cannot be serious..”

Aegon smiles at you in a way few have seen it. The dance comes to an end and he bows before you, lingering a kiss on your wrist without parting gazes.

“I am most serious in my intentions, lady Y/N.”

***

You are occupied with embroidery, lost in your thoughts by the time the queen comes to meet you.

“Y-Your Grace, my aunt”, you dip to a gracious curtsy, blushing as you do so, aware of the reason why she suddenly came to see you.

“No need formalities, child”, she gives you a small smile. “I came to talk to you. I believe you know why.”

As you mutter some answer, Queen Alicent is reminded of herself. You could have been her daughter had she been married off to a nobleman of a house like Tyrell. Not only that but some traits you possess makes her lament how she wasted her youth being a puppet to serve her father’s ambition.

Painful remembrances. And yet… you are tracing a better path than she ever did.

“I am not angry at you, dear child. I should have assumed any of this would result. To be honest, your grandsire was hoping to marry you to Aemond, seeing how similar you are.” Alicent smiles, clearly judging otherwise. “Well, Helaena was closer to Aemond than you in any case.”

“I have nothing to say against lord Aemond, my queen, but it is true that I am closer to lord Aegon.”

“I neglected to consider your sentiments in these matters much as mine were discarded by the time… Oh, never mind. It does little good to dwell in the past”, she now takes your hand. “Aegon surprised me for the first time. He is strongly decided to make you his wife.”

“Oh”, you cannot disguise your surprise. You have to put a hand on your heart as if to prevent you to pass out. “He actually means it!”

Queen Alicent chuckles at your reaction.

“I was shocked too myself, but the king and I are happy to see a change in his comportment. For which on behalf of the crown I thank you and officially welcome you to this disfunctional family, dearest Y/N.”

You laugh quietly. For the first time in a long time your demons are defeated and you taste a safe victory. This is not about comparisons anymore, nor to be gushed by insecurities. Aegon has helped you heal in many, many ways.

***

A few moons later…

“I thought I was not born for happiness”, you confide him right after you landed with Sunfyre.

Since the day Aegon and you were married, the king granted the newly weds a household so you could enjoy your privacy. Ever since this day, Springhall has been your home.

“Why would you say that, Y/Nickname?”, he holds your arm against him as you two walk side by side back inside. “Stealing from me the typical phrasing effect?”

You chuckle quietly.

“No, I mean every word I said. When circumstances forced me to acknowledge my feelings for you, Aegon, I never thought you’d correspond. I felt as if I loved a star too high to grasp.”

It is your way with words that move his heart. It is how these echo the sincerity with your devotion that bends a prideful man like him. Aegon stops the pace and turns you around.

“It pains me that you have gone through difficult months, withdrawn to a heavy pressure of expectations your mother and father laid on you. Even more that I disappointed you with my wayward manners”, he takes your fingers and kisses each for a long time.

Summer breeze blows his hair, and you seem to notice this day he is not dressing dark shade of green, but a light one instead, which matches yours.

“We tend to get lost in our way when we are not properly guided, I’m afraid. But I cannot excuse my past, when I was given the chance to write a better future. Your unending loyalty to me, Y/N… Gods. I could list to all of your virtues that charmed me… In fact, let me do it.”

He keeps his words. Your self esteem has never been higher. A man like him to praise yourself in this manner… Oh, how many skeptical persons would have mocked this possibility?

To be loved like a fair damsel in these stories you read is a reality you’ve thought impossible. You knew your dreams were prompted to be sacrificed by the duties to serve your family, but alas! The impossible is now possible!

“What a joy you give me to be your wife”, you say more tearful than you know.

“You are my heart’s queen, my heart’s gleam, light of my life, my sun and stars. I am devoted to you until the last breath of this body.”

You take his hands and plants a kiss on each, holding his fingers firmly as you look at him with a spark in your gaze.

“My best beloved, I could not find happiness elsewhere but with you. My soul rejoices when yours is close to mine, when day and night I can love you right. Oh, you light my life and lead the way to Seven Paradises!”

“My poetess!”

And saying so, he kisses you under sunlight.

***

• Epilogue.

Prince Aegon’s marriage has not only proven to be a great surprise to many and a true delight to all, but in many ways it was scandalous too.

Specially because he formally abdicated of his rights to the crown to spend his lifetime with you. By giving these to his younger brother, Aemond, well… Ser Otto Hightower might have to adjust his plans. And your sweet demeanor makes it difficult to be blamed for such a decision. Besides, you found in your father a good supporter at court so all is well that ends well.

Before the great series of events that are coming, you give Aegon a number of children to occupy yourselves to. These are:

1. Aegon, named after his father.

2. Rhaena, his twin.

3. Alysanne.

4. Daena.

5. Daeron.

6. Jaehaerys.

7. Maekar.

8. Daenys.

And two miscarriages. What is intriguing is that by the time King Viserys’ death, you and Aegon are found living your lives quietly in Essos.

So when war comes, Aemond starts to question himself.

Where is Aegon? Can he be counted on for this war? Or should he better be left in his domestic affairs?

But these speculations run out of this scope. Besides, it’s not as if Aegon and Y/N Targaryen would pose any danger to Aemond and Helaena’s inheritance… Right?

Whatever it is, some things are better left unsaid. And you and Aegon content yourselves with this very peaceful scenario…

[yandersluv]

Kael the stalker

ᴛᴡ: ᴍᴀʟᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇs: ʜᴀʀᴀssᴍᴇɴᴛ, ɪɴᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴘʀɪᴀᴛᴇ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ, ᴘᴏssᴇssɪᴠᴇ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ɴᴏɴ-ᴄᴏɴsᴇɴsᴜᴀʟ sᴏᴍᴏᴘʜɪʟɪᴀ . ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴍᴅɴɪ

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇsʟᴜᴠ — ♡

Kael was a man consumed by an unhealthy, obsessive fixation on [Reader]. His light blue eyes would often gleam with an unsettling intensity when glancing at her, as if analyzing every detail of her appearance down to the face. This clingy stalker would appear unexpectedly wherever [Reader] went - in front of her home, at her favorite cafes, even lurking in the shadows around the college campus. Kael's very presence seemed to exude an air of possessiveness, his towering figure (at 6'4") making [Reader]'s body frame look almost doll-like in comparison whenever he loomed nearby. The Yandere's sole desire revolved around [Reader]- being near her, talking to her, learning everything about her, even if it meant violating her personal space. His fingers would frequently brush against her arm or hair as he "accidentally" bumped into her or playfully came very close .Kael's words dripped with insidious affection, often bordering on the verge of possessiveness. He'd profess his undying devotion, proclaiming [Reader] as "his light in a dark world" or "the air he breathes.""

As Kael's fixation intensified, his behaviors became increasingly inappropriate and borderline disturbing. One memorable instance was when he "discovered" [Reader]'s secret crush on a particular boy from school by rifling through her diary. Kael proceeded to confront the poor fellow, proclaiming their "common interest" in [Reader] and "offering" him a chance to step aside. The poor boy was understandably terrified, having no idea what Kael was capable of. Kael also started showing up at [Reader]'s window at night, his silhouette clearly visible as he whispered her name with an almost desperate urgency. If she didn't emerge, he'd leave her gifts or love notes, sometimes even small trinkets he'd stolen from her room while she slept, under the guise of being "get a souvenir." He would often corner her in secluded areas, pinning her against walls or trees as his hands roamed over her body, claiming she was "made for him" and that he could feel their souls connecting. His breath would grow hot against her ear as he muttered filthy promises, his hardening erection pressing against her through their clothes. Kael even went as far as to break into [Reader]'s house, hiding in the shadows as she prepared for bed.

As Kael's obsession with [Reader] deepened, his actions became increasingly perverted and depraved. One night, after tailing [Reader] home from a late shift at work, he found her curled up on the couch, half-asleep. Her fatigue only seemed to spur his desire, and he moved in silently behind her, his hands roaming her body with an ungentle touch. Kael's fingers slipped beneath the hem of her dress, tracing the warm, supple flesh of her thighs. [Reader]'s sleepy protests were muffled as his hand continued its invasive path, sliding higher to cup the swell of her ass. He squeezed roughly, pulling her back against his rigid erection. "Mmm, so responsive even in your sleep," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "I wonder what else you're craving, my little [Reader]..."His other hand slid up to roughly fondle her breast, thumbing her nipple through the fabric of her bra.