9teen ; southeast asian ; libra ; istj ; the secret history devotee ; asoiaf enthusiast; literature nerd ; xotwod ; aot fanatic ; ethel cain truther ; aspiring finance bro & writer
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thank you to @chrisssiren @seulzitos @sternumite for the dividers
soft breasts, beating heart (i want to fucking tear you apart)
✧.* contains: no spoilers for season 3, p in v, against a door, aemond's going to fight an unspecified battle, yall think criston heard? oh well ! , mention of violence (sliting a throat), reader is lowk insane, aemond's even MORE insane tho bc he gets turned on by her freak, english is not my first language
✧.* an: WE ARE SO BACK 🗣🗣🗣 he's so fine bro like that's dada right there 🙂↕️ song title is taken from tear you apart by she wants revenge (PEAK band btw). WE IGNORE THAT SCENE IN EP 1.
the carved wood of the doors dug into your back, sure to create even deeper indents everytime aemond drove into you. your dress and undergarments were lifted hastily and bunched around your waist, the green silks and brocade sure to be wrinkled by time the two of you were done.
aemond grunted, pausing temporarily to jostle you higher up against the doors. a startled moan leaves your lips when this action causes his cock to spear into you even deeper, knocking against the sensitive opening of your womb. you clutch tighter onto his leather clad shoulders, palms barely able to make purchase with how overcome you are.
“will you miss me when I'm gone, beloved?” aemond drawls out, his vowels slightly slurred and speech short from, well, being inside of you. you tended to have that effect.
“will you miss me while you're gone, my love? or will you find some buxom whore to warm your bed and suck your cock?” you retort sharply, not hindered in the slightest though you were currently being fucked within an inch of your life.
aemond scoffs, retaliating in response to your thinly veiled attempt to start a fight with a brutal thrust that nailed your g-spot in one go, temporarily making your vision white out. when you come to, you see his smug face twisted up into a smirk at making you lose your composure. you quickly aim to rid him of his arrogance, clenching down around his cock in a vice grip. it works; aemond lets out an indecently filthy groan, his slender hips stuttering against your fuller ones.
aemond hisses, the sound melting into a wry laugh as he continues fucking you.
“how could i, wife? only you could attempt to raise my temper as i am inside you, and manage to make me feel even more lust instead of anger.”
“remember your proclamation,” you retort darkly, “when you emerge victorious from the battle with your blood up, and a particularly comely camp follower begins making eyes at you, husband.”
you lean down, nose brushing against aemond's, lips barely touching, and breath mingling.
“for if i hear word you have taken another woman to bed,” you whisper, barely audible “i will cut that whore's throat and fuck you covered in her blood.”
aemond stops at this, his remaining eye widening in shock and his mouth gaping open. you take advantage of his lapse in control (though it's questionable that he ever even had it in the first place), slamming your mouths together and tangling your tongue with his, sucking on it. this seems to have snapped him out of his stupor, as he groans and begins fucking into you with a new passion, seemingly driven to mad lust at your threats.
he's pounding away at your cunt with newfound vigour, stirring up your insides and constantly bullying that one spot over and over and over. you choke a sob out against his mouth, breaking away with a gasp to throw your head back and let out the loudest moan you have yet, the kingsguard sure to have heard you this time.
“fuck,” aemond curses, feeling the beginning spasms of your orgasm as your cunt flutters wildly around him, “come for me, beloved. show me why i shouldn't stray from your bed. come.”
you break apart with a wail, back arching off the wall and your cunt clenching around aemond in a near suffocating embrace. he groans gutturally, hips punching into yours in broken staccato until he spills into you with your name on his lips as a curse and salvation both.
“now you have something of mine to keep you company, my love,” aemond pants, ”my son in your belly.”
@ 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒏. i do not consent to posting my work to other websites. no ai was employed in the making of this.
taglist: @ser-zero @sharkfartss @xuanoir (dm me if u wanna be added !)
͙ 𖦹 beautiful person award! once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. if you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝
soft breasts, beating heart (i want to fucking tear you apart)
✧.* contains: no spoilers for season 3, p in v, against a door, aemond's going to fight an unspecified battle, yall think criston heard? oh well ! , mention of violence (sliting a throat), reader is lowk insane, aemond's even MORE insane tho bc he gets turned on by her freak, english is not my first language
✧.* an: WE ARE SO BACK 🗣🗣🗣 he's so fine bro like that's dada right there 🙂↕️ song title is taken from tear you apart by she wants revenge (PEAK band btw). WE IGNORE THAT SCENE IN EP 1.
the carved wood of the doors dug into your back, sure to create even deeper indents everytime aemond drove into you. your dress and undergarments were lifted hastily and bunched around your waist, the green silks and brocade sure to be wrinkled by time the two of you were done.
aemond grunted, pausing temporarily to jostle you higher up against the doors. a startled moan leaves your lips when this action causes his cock to spear into you even deeper, knocking against the sensitive opening of your womb. you clutch tighter onto his leather clad shoulders, palms barely able to make purchase with how overcome you are.
“will you miss me when I'm gone, beloved?” aemond drawls out, his vowels slightly slurred and speech short from, well, being inside of you. you tended to have that effect.
“will you miss me while you're gone, my love? or will you find some buxom whore to warm your bed and suck your cock?” you retort sharply, not hindered in the slightest though you were currently being fucked within an inch of your life.
aemond scoffs, retaliating in response to your thinly veiled attempt to start a fight with a brutal thrust that nailed your g-spot in one go, temporarily making your vision white out. when you come to, you see his smug face twisted up into a smirk at making you lose your composure. you quickly aim to rid him of his arrogance, clenching down around his cock in a vice grip. it works; aemond lets out an indecently filthy groan, his slender hips stuttering against your fuller ones.
aemond hisses, the sound melting into a wry laugh as he continues fucking you.
“how could i, wife? only you could attempt to raise my temper as i am inside you, and manage to make me feel even more lust instead of anger.”
“remember your proclamation,” you retort darkly, “when you emerge victorious from the battle with your blood up, and a particularly comely camp follower begins making eyes at you, husband.”
you lean down, nose brushing against aemond's, lips barely touching, and breath mingling.
“for if i hear word you have taken another woman to bed,” you whisper, barely audible “i will cut that whore's throat and fuck you covered in her blood.”
aemond stops at this, his remaining eye widening in shock and his mouth gaping open. you take advantage of his lapse in control (though it's questionable that he ever even had it in the first place), slamming your mouths together and tangling your tongue with his, sucking on it. this seems to have snapped him out of his stupor, as he groans and begins fucking into you with a new passion, seemingly driven to mad lust at your threats.
he's pounding away at your cunt with newfound vigour, stirring up your insides and constantly bullying that one spot over and over and over. you choke a sob out against his mouth, breaking away with a gasp to throw your head back and let out the loudest moan you have yet, the kingsguard sure to have heard you this time.
“fuck,” aemond curses, feeling the beginning spasms of your orgasm as your cunt flutters wildly around him, “come for me, beloved. show me why i shouldn't stray from your bed. come.”
you break apart with a wail, back arching off the wall and your cunt clenching around aemond in a near suffocating embrace. he groans gutturally, hips punching into yours in broken staccato until he spills into you with your name on his lips as a curse and salvation both.
“now you have something of mine to keep you company, my love,” aemond pants, ”my son in your belly.”
@ 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒏. i do not consent to posting my work to other websites. no ai was employed in the making of this.
taglist: @ser-zero @sharkfartss @xuanoir (dm me if u wanna be added !)
𓆩❤︎𓆪 MDNI. 18+. this came to me in my dream. raw. piv. dírty talk. super short.
“can you learn to fucking knock?”
is probably the most used phrase you have ever since sukuna has become your roommate. honestly, you’re not sure why you agreed to being in one apartment with him.
maybe because you hate dorms.
or maybe because you are trying to save up.
or maybe, just maybe because there’s more to it.
you tilt your head down as you watch sukuna’s cock slowly—inch by inch—enter your cunt. his hands gripped your hips, eyes fixated as his cock fully disappeared inside you causing you two to let out a moan altogether.
your head falls flat on the pillow, fingers gripping the sheets. at first, sukuna moved at a slow pace, dragging his cock around the walls of your spongy pussy.
“can you feel that? i’m all the waaaaay—here.” sukuna said, pressing down your lower stomach making you gasp. “oh fuck, my cock is basically up in your cervix—hah!”
sukuna then breaks his slower pace into a much faster and deeper speed. with every thrust, you can feel the tip of his cock hit you deep.
your head tipped back, crying out from the way sukuna pounds inside you like some animal.
“fuck—! ah! ‘kuna! s-slow—ah—down!” you squealed, the pad of his fingers digging on your flesh. the bed post has been hitting the wall in some sort of weird, fast tempo.
“no—i’m gonna fuck you the way i want, ah—” sukuna growled, observing the way your pussy swallows his girthy length. his eyes dragged to your face as you shut your eyes, body twisting from the pleasure.
you are producing a sound mixed with moaning, whimpering, and crying. he can see the flat blob of tears spilling out from your eyes.
“sukuna, you stupid—!” your words were cut off with a gasp as sukuna’s thrust turned into a sharper and harsher rhythm.
it’s like sukuna is knocking.
“oh, yeah—this is what you have been bitching about since you moved in, right?” sukuna said, pulling out almost all of him before bottoming out. “that i don’t know how to knock before entering so i guess i have to—hah—knock on your cervix before filling you up, huh?”
“how rude of me”
your back arched as you feel him make some sort of rhythmic “knocking” deep inside you like he’s pissing you off. “stop squeezing me, i still need to knock—ngh”
white flashes blur your visions, your eyes rolled so far from the overwhelming pleasure.. your toes curl as your body twists around, trying to get away but sukuna’s hands have been nothing but an iron grip.
“there, there. i knocked—mm—now, all of my semen can enter that little womb of yours so you better give them a welcome party, brat.”
﹙ SYNOPSIS ﹚ the dragon prince seeks his stolen crown, only to find that his thief looked better in it.
﹙ CONTENT ﹚ sfw. dark romance. wc of 1000+ profanity warning. gorish wordplay. mentions of blood.
the prince of the dragons laid in his bed, hair tousled and unkempt against the silk sheets of his pillow. he stared up the ceiling, lost in a sea of thoughts that drowned him completely while his hand absentmindedly threw a dagger up into the air and caught it as it falls back.
he had done enough for today. by all means, aerion had tortured enough souls for the day and he now rested his skin from spitting fire and devastation. the only thing aerion will not spill was blood, even though his mind fantasises the idea of all the blades that he owned being pierced through the skin of a human being.
quite twisted really, a dragon nestling in a human’s body had such a mind that twisted in a way that no other souls on this earth could comprehend. was it selfishness that he harboured in the name of a valyrian crown? or was it the power and the victory that he basked in?
maybe it was the tears that he drank and the pain that he consumed from the people he had granted cruelty to.
whatever it may be, everyone feared him. even the royal family he served as a dragon. well… everyone but a certain beautiful thief that robbed his sacred insignia off his head.
aerion clutched the hilt of the dagger before throwing the little weapon so that it gnawed into the body of a fly and hit the wall with a thud.
“stupid fucking thief,” loathed aerion as he sat up, running his fingers through his soft and messy silver hair. his mind kept wandering to the way your eyes glanced at him under the moonlit night before you jumped down the balcony.
the way your lips—so soft, pressed against his pearly ones in such a way that it had him insanely addicted to the brief moment where he demanded a repeated replay over and over again where he also imagined hundreds of different ways to kill you or pull you down towards him.
the blade he held was long forgotten, as he stepped on his feet and wore his night shoes, as pathetic as he would like to call them, going to the balcony to inhale the fresh air of the night.
once more, the dragon allowed his mind to wander into the oblivion of flames and death. his gaze traveled to every corner of the kingdom, from the rich pavements of the palace to the sandy trails in the forests far away.
all these simple things yet he chose to ignore them until this very night where they seemed oddly interesting to him.
what was the point of even paying attention to the smallest of details when he could just turn a blind eye and bask in the glory he was given ever since he breathed his first fiery breath into this wretched world?
aerion reeked of valyrian royalty, his stolen crown a literal testament to that the moment it was placed on his head when he was a baby dragon. he gripped the balcony railing at the thought of his stolen crown.
he was going to search every corner of this boring kingdom until he found you. and he starts with the alley of bandits.
to have a blade so accurate it missed by merely a few centimetres away from your ears has your heart freezing at that very moment. your soul ceased to function for a brief second and your brain twitched at the feeling of blood inviting itself down your cheeks.
you glanced to the back, fingers moved to the blade strapped on your thighs as you looked at the only soul capable of committing such an act and having the power to get away with it.
“your ferociousness,” you said under your breath while he approached you, causing your fingers to fully wrap around the hilt of your dagger now.
“pretty thief,” aerion’s voice stoically stated like a fact as his heavy footsteps pushed into the rocky roads of this bandit alley where your entire origin begins.
he looked so out of place, all regal and mighty in this dark area. his silver hair, achingly beautiful lashes, and his soft pearly white skin does not compare to the calloused, rough, and dirty streets.
well, he definitely does not care if his blade could cut through the skin of a dirty thief. he has millions of other daggers to aim at people anyways.
you were his first experiment. he spilled your blood from your cheeks that was worthy of being caressed by soft and loving hands.
“return to me what you have stolen.”
he tells you, no—demands you. and all you did was tilted your head, the smirk of that night making yet another appearance. “or what?”
“i shall cut your pretty skin off,” the dragon prince returned your smirk, his new dagger dancing off his smooth fingers. “then maybe i will dip my crown with your blood as my prize once i get it back.”
“you’re sick, y’know that?” you stated, an obvious observation that came from years of watching the dragon clan from the shadows. yet the targaryen seemed to enjoy reveling in the sea of poison which your voice held.
his fingers reached out without fear as the tip ran across your cheeks. then, his thumb wiped the blood that lightly flowed down your cheek. the movements were so slow that it tantalised you in a way that made your fingers falter around the hilt of your blade.
your eyes locked onto his while his thumb spread your blood around your cheeks, smearing your skin dirty.
whatever aerion’s touch possessed, it was not healthy for you—for his fingers were so soft and lovely it was as if his touch was the only one that was meant for you.
“you do not know anything about being sick, pretty girl,” he cooed, voice low and in a wind of whispers.
you hate yourself for finding his voice sweet in the midst of your unseen death sentence. it soothed you in whatever way you should not find soothing. like honey that flows down the tip of touya’s tongue, it finds its new home to seep into your own tongue.
the blade he held in his free hand then pressed lightly against your throat, kissing your skin with cold metal just as he imagined kissing your lips with his cold lips.
“give me back my fucking crown.”
a gulp of fear mixed in with the ecstasy of excitement danced in your throat against the blade of the dagger before you exhaled.
“no, you should see me in a crown, prince aerion.”
quickly, the crown you retrieved from the darkness like a magician with mere poker cards.
aerion’s violet eyes glimmered at the sight of his royal jewelry, eyes darting between you and the crown.
and slowly, you placed the greatest treasure of the prince above your head as it sat above the soft weight of your hair. your own eyes twinkling with the concept of victory already plastered in your mind.
he realised something as he gazed upon the sight of you in his crown. he realised that there was another soul in this kingdom who fit a fancy crown made of the most sacred material in the seven kingdoms. the realisation punctured his mind in a way that it twisted into a grin on his face.
a grin so heavy with amusement yet it was laced with growing cruelty that poisons your insides with his smile and gaze alone.
﹙ SYNOPSIS﹚ you have discovered a medieval archive of a timid witch who was tasked with the death of a holy priest. will the priest be able to forgive her sins?
﹙ CONTENT﹚ sfw. dark romance. wc of 1000+ religious themes, but none of sacrilege (yet). mentions of burning at the stake.
utter devotion to the seven gods is ingrained into the skins of everyone under the holy family. defiance to serve and preach is like mortal sin—unacceptable and most definitely forbidden.
the likes of duncan have been morphed into followers of the lord of light.
as raised by a man of holiness, young fleabottom boy attended classes in the sept and travelled from kingdoms to kingdoms to learn about the heavenly father. now of age, duncan the tall, as the other boys in the sept would call him, is father duncan now.
a man too tall and young to be a priest, he had it easy. for the moment. not until his tasks included maintaining a healthy relationship with the royal family and the dragon clan. both tasks were so mundane in every way yet they bear root of an indispensable pool of worries that will grow into white hair for the years to come.
so much for the dragon clan to wield silver hair when anyone’s hair would slowly thread into white like a quiet winter settling over a field.
in the midst of praying at the foot of the altar, the priest’s eyes, ever so sharp and sensing, looked at the corner when the footsteps of the youngest dragon prince halted just a few feet behind him.
“father dunk?”
“dragon prince egg,” said duncan as he smiled, standing to his feet to face the said prince. “are you here for a blessing for your next flight with the young princess? or here to complain about how the jester has been bothering you with his endless jokes?”
aegon shook his head. “none of those. i heard only the holy servants of god knows where the velmora veilblossom is. which is quite literally… you!”
gods be good.
a dragonling was asking the priest about a rare nocturnal flower said to grow only in the depths of the elarwyn mistwood, an ancient forest in kings landing where dawn arrived late beneath the canopy.
the young prince explained to the priest who strangely enough, was a frequent visitor and loyal acquaintance of duncan’s, the desire to seek the rare blossom.
a rare moonlit dew said to heal cursed burns and reveal truths hidden by magic. aegon targaryen, fifth of his name, sought it to save himself from a fire curse burning within his blood. a curse implanted into his body by his very own brother who forced a marriage upon a thief.
for the little dragon prince, father duncan of the holy name shall venture into the legendary forest to retrieve the velmora veilblossom.
it was all loyal intentions to the little mission until he was here, tied up against a stake in the middle of the enchanted forest. maybe he should officiate his mission to the court officials that they grant him around five knights to accompany him, for he did not expect an unofficial execution set out by witches and wizards.
you were the one who stood in front of him, staring up at his mighty form draped in a black robe that fell in long, solemn lines, its dark fabric swallowing light and movement alike. even as his limbs were tied tightly, his robe carried a light sense of gravity that gave hope to the birds that soared the sky.
except to you, priest duncan looked like a man you ought to eliminate with the very flames that burned your ancestors for crimes they did not commit. and he gazed down at you like you are an angel amongst a crowd of devils.
you are so pretty, it hurts the priest on the inside at how awestruck he was with your beauty. he remembered seeing your face in the crowd when he first stumbled upon the territory of unknown evil and they captured him. you were that one light that stood out brightly to him, sticking out like a sore thumb.
gods truly be good.
the thought of even imagining your beauty was sinful.
“you’re not a witch,” says holy priest duncan, immediately earning a frown from you.
“i am a witch.”
“but you’re tasked to set me on fire, aren’t you? so why haven’t you done it yet?” he asked, and your jaw tightened.
what does it matter to this measly holy man of a priest for him to inquire about you and what you were tasked to carry out? he was the one who was going to be executed at this moment.
just anytime now, and he will burn and cry out to his god just like the framed and innocent did when they called out to divinity for mercy.
“keep quiet. do not tell me what to do,” you glared bandit daggers into his forgiving eyes before the corner of his lips pressed together, forming an awkward smile. “whatever you say.”
the crowd of magic wielders gathers around to watch the execution of an unfortunate holy priest. they crave the bleeding soul of his. craved the taste of burning a holy servant in their territory. but their biggest mistake was making a young witch carry out the task of killing him.
a witch who hesitates and is weak to others. you, who have never killed another soul before, tasked with a heavy weight. not to mention the forgiving gaze of the priest that casually seeped into your heart and there it ingrained itself a soft spot.
so swiftly with a wave of just a few fingers, you casted a silent spell that covered duncan like an invisible veil. he did not even realise it for you were so quick. you then reached out, flames dancing around your soft fingertips as you proceeded to light the makeshift wood altar beneath his feet on gentle fire.
his breath hitched, fingers twitching at his sides where he felt around for a cross—the pocket cross that priest arlan of pennytree had gifted him upon duncan’s ordination at age seventeen. it was there, safely tucked in the comfort of his robe pockets, serving as a reminder that the lord of light will always be with him even in death.
duncan shut his eyes, feeling the heat of the flames slowly crawling up the sole of his feet as if it were hundreds of spiders making their way to nestle in his skin.
to the world outside, you were burning the priest, executing him in the way the priests have executed the alleged witches. the crowd cheered and cursed the existence of the holy priest while you watched your witchcraft in the making, taking a few steps back.
you were a weak witch, last of your kind and least pleasant of their magic. this was the day where you received glory in the burning of a priest, the highest form of malicious achievement a witch of this forest could obtain.
so why were you simply standing there, still as a night owl while your gaze burned into his soul more than he imagined your flames would?
WORDS. for future references, i am no witch nor am i involved in them. most of the knowledge i gained are researched or given by lucrecia!! tysm pooks ily. apologies in advanced if i get any of the witchcraft element wrong
﹙ SYNOPSIS ﹚ you have discovered a medieval archive of a notorious thief who stole the crown of a dragon prince (and his heart.) will he find the beautiful thief and retrieve what was stolen?
﹙ CONTENT ﹚ sfw. dark romance. wc of 1000+ aerion is a dragon who can shape-shift at will. contains metaphors and wordplay.
it is the dead of night where the world sleeps and the creatures of the night emerge from the soils of the ground to wander around the ends of the earth in sickening silence.
aerion targaryen—dragon prince of royal white scales touched by the moon and loyal to the family he serves, slept soundly in his chambers. his silver eyelashes brushed against his cheeks as his lips parted ever so slightly to let out soft exhales of comfort along with the rhythm of his chest rising and falling with each breath.
tonight he was no dragon.
he was just aerion, slumbering in the human body which he transformed into.
with deep slumber came with the unawareness of a cloaked figure that had so quietly sneaked into his room through the windows as if they were one of the wandering souls of the night. as light as a bird’s feather, yet as deadly as a snake’s poison.
what a truly remarkable person this was, to break into the castle grounds and slip into the hostile dragon’s room like the moonlit veil that filled his room and wrapped itself around aerion’s sleeping figure. with each collected breath, he exhaled warm air, almost close to hot.
in absolute silence, you ran your fingers through the items that felt so foreign to your skin. all these riches and silvers only a member of the royal family could afford, now in the possession of the dragon as gifts.
with each element and belonging even as small as a ring, could grant you a small land in the village outskirts.
your eyes travelled to the sleeping human dragon, taking in his otherworldly beauty that rested so peacefully while your fingers kept wrapping itself around aerion’s belongings to keep them into your bag.
a silver pendant, amethyst and ruby rings, broken dragon scales of his siblings which he kept as souvenir after each spar. anything that could be of value—they belong to you now.
if the very moment he awakened and his eyes opened to take in the veil of the night, your neck would have been sliced from your spine immediately.
even in the dead of night, no deadly creature would wander into hell where they know they would not survive. it was that of the animal instinct—never enter the gates of hell or even sniff the fires. well, that applied to most creatures, except you. your dedication and foolishness like the court jester of his own family gets you anywhere but heaven.
you stood in the midst of the line that determines your fate between life and death. life equivalent to your success in disappearing in a phantom silence as you have appeared as light as a feather.
death equivalent to your failure in leaving the comfort of the dragon which you know will behead you with his own sword. or worse, his flames.
it had always been like that. the dragon of the targaryen clan has a heart full of cruelty not even the deadliest poison could counter, according to whispers and rumours of the townsfolk. the grass beneath his boots wilts in a metaphorical way that carries his soul so dark it sucks in anyone else’s light.
all this, and you still chose to rob his room as if it was nothing but a mere friendly game of chugging a barrel of beer with a lumberjack twice your size.
your heart races with the anticipation that comes this very night when your fingers wrapped itself around the one thing that determines royalty. the diamonds and gold all around it felt more than just a mere success of surviving his room tonight.
his dragon crown of valyrian steel, sat above your head as the amethyst glimmer in the reflection of the mirror. such a heavy piece that felt so alien on the crown of your head, weighing heaviest in terms of mass and story over the other items which you have slid over the past few years.
to think that a common thief would be wearing a ferocious shapeshifting creature’s crown and looking at herself in the reflection. you saw nothing but the reflection of a lowlife girl who was raised by bandits in the back alleys, wearing a sacred piece that stood high above any beings.
a smirk slowly carved itself over your lips, invisible blood flowing along the cuts of the imaginary blade across your lips.
aerion remained asleep, oblivious to your soundless footsteps that carried you to stand beside his bed, looking down at him with his crown above your head.
“you don’t look so cruel when you’re asleep, brightflame dragon,” you softly said, eyes locked onto his messy white hair that fell over his eyes.
a few seconds passed. ten was it? twenty maybe. you do not know. it was weird to you, that you are still here watching over the dragon tied to the throne slumber his night away.
perhaps you are the odd one tonight.
“you are wearing my crown, woman,” his deep raspy voice heavy from sleep broke you out of your trance as you immediately stepped back, but aerion grabbed your wrist and reached for his belonging on your head.
you cursed under your breath before quickly leaning down to press your lips against his soft blush ones, freezing him in the process of distracting as his crown slightly stumbled on your head.
this was your cue to run. your feet finally move, free from the shackles as you break free with the crown being shoved into your bag.
the prince of dragons regained his senses and threw his velvet blankets away, seeing you paused at the railing of the balcony. you glanced at him before smirking.
“see you around, your highness.”
before the young prince could call for you to cease your ministration, you had already jumped down over the edge of the railing down into nothingness.
his violet eyes looked over the gardens that were painted below his room. seeing how your figure disappeared so quickly, he knew you were no amateur. his fingers touched his lips where you pressed your lips against it.
the softness of your lips meeting his had his heart pounding against his ribcage so much that it was strange he felt this way about a thief.
aerion targaryen will have to find you and cut your pretty lips off himself.
﹙ SYNOPSIS ﹚ you have discovered a medieval archive of a court jester who detests a princess. yet all she ever does is crave for a speck of the fool’s attention.
﹙ CONTENT ﹚ nsfw. 18+ dark romance. wc of 1000+ fem masturbation. voyeurism if you squint. hints of yearning if you squint even harder. ooc valarr.
the fool, decorated in echoing bells and unendingly pretentious tomfoolery, performed brilliantly for the court officials. laughter echoed throughout the court while valarr targaryen relished in the sound of joy that he managed to strike into these nobles.
he drowned in the praises, allowing them to serve as fuel to his motivation as the kingdom’s most appraised fool. who would not like it? the way jesters have the freewill to spit insults towards the king and his head would not be cut off by a guillotine or an axe.
truly a blessing valarr received as a jester.
when there was a king and a queen to rule over the kingdoms, there came a certain princess whom valarr never jested to. perhaps he had. though only once in his life. maybe never.
kings landing adored its young princess. beautiful, composed, and charitable in public. but the jester, newly summoned from the dragon clan who eventually bent the knee, refuses to entertain her even as the seasons fall and winter comes.
servants, soldiers, kitchen boys, even the youngest dragon prince received a piece of valarr’s jest, but when summoned before the princess, he stood silent and unwilling to grant her not even a tiny curl of his smile.
had a fool learned to unfool himself at the feet of a royal princess?
you cornered him on a mundane tuesday, gaze flickering with the flames of the royal dragon family before capturing his attention with your soft hands.
“do you detest me, jester?”
valarr could almost immediately agree, but fool he was, the title of jester he carried weighed heavy on his shoulders.
“what compelled you to come to that conclusion, your highness?”
your eyes narrowed. “you never make me laugh. never even try to or look my way. why?”
what a demanding lady of the royal family you were, eager to seek an answer that had been clouding your thoughts for the past few weeks. this was one in a million reasons why valarr targaryen, usually poised and calm without the mask of jest, disliked you.
this very mundane tuesday where he sought to spend it in the calm of the day and not to entertain a certain princess.
“with all due respect, you’re a polished symbol of this rotten kingdom. prim and proper princesses do not seek laughter in her perfect life,” said valarr while you felt a frown etched across your cheek with the twist of furrowed brows.
“but of course,” he continued, “i am merely fooling around with my words.”
lies. the septas will have his tongue for such a sin. perhaps the tall priest could have a moment of confession for valarr. perhaps he could seek the cruel dragon prince for advices on how to ward princesses off.
“but you entertain all the nobles. not to mention my father and mother, jester,” you replied. “surely i am no different from them.”
“i perform for those who hunger, not those who feast,” he lowered his head, the bells on his cockscomb hat tipping and clinking. “and quite frankly enough, you have no hunger at all.”
so that was how it was going to be?
you should punish him. you wore one of the highest titles in the world after all, in that small crown that weighed heavier than the silk gowns that wrapped you in perfection. no one ever denied you nor have they ever dared to defy you.
but this fool—wordlessly handsome without the foolish makeup and foolish clothes, as you once had the blessing of getting a glance at, had you wide awake every night.
fate thought you were perfect to be nocturnal simply because a court jester was haunting you and he was not even a dead man.
over the days which burned into weeks, you attended every public performance, but he never once looked at you. valarr turned his back when you entered the rooms or grand halls. he mocked the crown, your crown, through riddles no one understood except you.
and quite frankly? it drove you to the brink of insanity. you only craved his attention, his jest, his smile to be sent your way. was it so difficult to grant a princess’ wishes?
it was comical, really, the way you were losing your sleep over a man in bells and mismatched outfits who hated you. had anyone ever took a peek at your diary where one entry a few weeks ago wrote about how he had a strand of snow in his hair?
what a prim and proper princess you were, alone in your lavish chambers during the dead of night. so sweaty and flustered with your night gown bunched up your waist, desperately grinding into your own palm while circling your clit.
never a finger or two into your soaked heat, for the mild fear of fully losing your purity still haunted you as a princess.
all you could do was moan and whine in utter desperation, mumbling valarr valarr valarr under your breath as your fingers rubbed even firmer circles on the pearl of your pussy.
fuck, valarr.
images of the jester throughout the day fill your mind and you were torn between the chasms of your purity and pleasures of the body that broke that barrier.
you thought about how you had come across his room while walking down the hall and peeking through the crack of his door. shirtless in all his glory that anyone would have mistaken him a knight instead of a fool. you saw the white streak in his hair, one only the dragons possessed.
oh, to inhale that white streak of hair into your nose as he drove into you, enveloping you with his body.
his eyes, mismatched in their hues, a common compliment of the court ladies, seemed different then and there. so much more composed and they carried the heavy secrets of his origins.
oh, to have him gaze into your soul to plant the seed of tomfoolery in your womb as you cupped your breast, feeling your own hardened nipple brushed against your palms. you squeezed and massaged your own softness, imagining it was his hands instead.
how wrong this was, to ruin your own purity by touching yourself to the fantasies of him.
and oh, you imagined what it would be like if valarr was above you, fucking into your wet heat with fervant and need, his hands—maybe soft, maybe rough, wandered your body in search for more jest to speak of in performances.
the fantasies of your mind play along like a play in fleabottom, hearing your own melodies until you release, shuddering in the aftershocks.
you panted and caught your breath, staring hopelessly up at the ceiling to bask in the bliss of your sexual fantasy. you were not so very sure how many more nights like this you can take before breaking and seeking his touch.
the court jesters who stood by your door, cheeks flushed, watching and listening to you like a fool with his hand slightly damp and his trousers very much soaked from his release.
﹙ SYNOPSIS﹚ you have discovered a medieval archive of different historical tales written by yours truly. will you choose a medieval role and dive into the tales of despair and desire?
﹙ CONTENT ﹚ 18+ MDNI. female reader. sfw + nsfw. dark romance & dark content. metaphorical gore. all /and extra nsfw warnings will be added into each fic. said fics are a trilogy of each.
ㅤㅤㅤ╋━ㅤ ﹙ CHOOSE YOUR CHAPTER ! ﹚
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ THIEF ／ WITCH ／ PRINCESS
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ HEALER ／ CASTLE GHOST ( tba )
TAGLIST .𖥔 ݁ @draculasun
WORDS. this is probably a bad idea bc i said i would not write in this account but i am insane. so. ya. you will not know which character belongs to which role so have fun discovering! do comment/send an ask to be tagged. as said, each trope and role will have three chapters, hence a trilogy. well then, have fun reading, my lieges!
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ media and characters i write for ! if you have any fandoms you want me to write for just send me an ask, and i'll see. i'll most likely be adding to the list in the future stay tuned x
