fear1996

[fear1996]

HEAVY IS THE HEAD THAT WEARS THE CROWN.

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT - MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest (uncle and niece), kinda non/dub con, p in v, semi public sex, doggy style, degrading, slapping, possessiveness, jealousy

WORDS: 1.5 K

NOTES: This is something I had written and posted on another blog when I (rightfully so) didn't feel accepted and wanted in fandom. So, if any of you remembers this, it was written by me. This is Lingo Jam High Valyrian (it is what it is).

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

It’s way past the Hour of the Owl as you stand in the Throne Room all by yourself, all the tables for the guests of your coronation feast having already been cleared and stored away by the keep’s staff, leaving the room to be eerily quiet and empty. 

You stand in front of the intimidating Iron Throne, looming in the dim light of the candles around you, your fingertips barely brushing the sharp swords that were used to forge it by your ancestors, reminiscing about all the times you’ve seen your father sitting on it. 

Unlike your grandsire and father before you, you chose to wear the Conqueror's Crown and wield his sword, the big, square-cut rubies complimenting the red and gold gown you wear. 

The heavy doors leading to the intimidating chambers open behind you, but you don’t turn around, knowing all too well who intrudes the silence and serenity. His footsteps are heavy, bouncing off the thick columns and walls on his way. 

“Skoros iksis ziry ao jeldan naejot ȳdragon naejot nyke nūmāzma?” you ask, but before you’re able to turn around, the weight of your husband’s chest against your back pushes you forward, the ostentatious crown on your head toppling to the ground at the impact. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?

Both your hands immediately seize the armrests of the Iron Throne for support, more so when Daemon’s hand falls to the place between your shoulders to keep you exactly like you are, bowed forward with no chance to move. 

“Hm,” he hums, applying just a bit of pressure to your back. “How about the wanton farce you put up for that cunt of a Lannister?” he growls, and it’s clear it is not a question but an accusation. 

There is not one breath wasted when he rucks up the skirts of your gown and bunches it around your waist, fisting it with one of his large paws. The matter clearly is serious, and has occupied him for quite some time now, considering he prefers to answer you in the Common Tongue rather than High Valyrian. 

But it’s not like you have much time to really process the meaning behind it, considering he has the skirt of your dress in his hand in one moment, and your small clothes pulled down to your knees in the next. Your cunt is exposed to the chilly air of the Red Keep, and to anyone that chooses to intrude on such an intimate and disgraceful scene, and much to your husband’s surprise, you’re soaked with anticipation, which earns you a condescending scoff from him. 

He has quickly figured that there isn't going to come any reply from you, too caught up in the heat of the moment and the little predicament you’ve found yourself in, and forces a gasp from your lips as his hand not-so-gently collides with your bare rear. 

Your body slightly lulls forwards to escape the stinging pain that blooms on your skin, but to now avail. “I–I don’t know what you’re talking about!” you press with despair audible in your voice. 

But he just scoffs again. “Oh, I’m certain you don’t,” his voice is sharp, and the words underlined by another slap to your arse. “Need I remind Your Grace who they belong to?” The title is spoken in a way to make a mock display of his courtesy, displaying how little care he holds over your status at this moment.

You’re not quite sure what he is up to when you feel and hear him shifting and fumbling behind you, although you have a mild guess, until you feel the tip of his hard cock pressing against your soaked cunt. He pushes in even before you can answer, any words or pathetic protests dying on your tongue and replaced by a moan. 

“That’s what I thought,” he says more to himself, his tone suddenly taking on an air of smugness. His words are followed by a groan that flows into a heedless sigh as he bottoms out completely, his heavy stones pressing against your pearl. 

It’s a side to Daemon you haven’t seen or experienced before, despite growing up around him, his several liaisons and wives. There has never been something akin to jealousy coursing through his veins before. Yes, Daemon has always been a little too rough, too impatient and resolving matters by force rather than diplomacy, but you’ve never seen his blood run this hot. 

His upper body slightly bends forward and towers over yours as he rests one hand on the backrest of the Throne, the other still on your hip with your skirts tightly secured.

“What–” the words catch in your throat, replaced by a whimper. “What if anyone sees us?” 

“Jaelan zirȳ naejot ūndegon,” he growls. “Jaelan zirȳ naejot gīmigon bona iksā ñuhon.” I want them to see. I want them to know that you’re mine. 

The whine you release at that is nothing short of desperate. While the thought of anyone catching you two frightens you to the core, you enjoy the possessive side of him, reveling in his desire just for you since you’ve shared it most of your life with your younger sister. 

Pulling out of you almost completely, the tip of his cock is the only thing that remains buried inside of you. While the feeling of the sudden loss makes you whine and push your hips back to force him inside again, it also earns you another harsh slap that’s served to your arse. 

“Ao sagon ñuhon se mazemā skoros nyke tepagon ao, iksis bona shifang?” You're mine and you take what I give you, is that understood?

Daemon then slams his hips into yours as a warning, filling you up in a swift thrust that has you gasping, and knocks the air straight from your lungs. “Gaomagon daor mazverdagon nyke ivestragon ziry arlī,” he snarls. “Gaomagon. Ao. Shifang?” Each word is punctuated with a harsh snap of his hips.  Don’t make me say it again. Do. You. Understand?

“K… kessa,” you hiccup. Yes. 

The pace of his thrusts is nothing short of ruthless, and he uses the grip on your hip to pull you back onto his cock for your bodies to meet halfway, the most obscene sounds of skin slapping on skin echoing off the walls of the Throne Room.

His stones are heavy and the fleshy pouch they sit in slightly sagged, hitting your pearl perfectly each time he fills you to the brim, and sending shivers to the soles of your feet. 

Daemon forces your hips higher until you’re standing on your tiptoes for him, your body barely supported by his fingers digging into your hip. The angle changes with that, allowing him to shove his cock into you even deeper than before – a change that has him groaning and grunting over and over again. 

Your eyes lull into the back of your head, and the heat in your belly doesn’t diminish, causing a renewed wave of arousal to leak out of your core. 

Not caring if the skirts of your gown are riding down again, he grips the back of your neck firmly enough so you can’t turn your head, fucking you as if his life depends on it and knocking every breath clean out of your lungs. 

Daemon forces his hips into yours with such determination, he is close to shoving you up against the Iron Throne with the force of his need, your arms almost buckling under the weight he puts onto you. You can tell he’s racing for completion, effectively pulling you with him in the process. 

With the pace of his hips not faltering once, your peak washes over you in an ambush. The pleasure in your body gets intense enough for your legs to tremble, his hand that rests on the Iron Throne coming down to seize your hip to support you. Your walls clench around his cock tight enough for him to draw in a sharp breath, but the assault on your cunt doesn’t cease. 

“Qilōni gaomagon ao sytilībagon naejot?” Daemon groans, pulling you back onto his cock and fucking you through your peak. Who do you belong to? It’s almost as if he’s asking for your reassurance, wanting to be sure of your feelings for him. 

“A… ao,” you hiccup. “Ik… iksan aōhon.” You. I’m yours.

His peak crashes over him with your reassurance, his throbbing cock spending itself deep inside of your cunt. His hands trail up and down your sides in nothing else than pure bliss, and when it’s all over, he releases a sigh of relief, almost as if the pressure has fallen off his shoulders. 

He cups your arse with both hands, and squeezes your flesh. When he doesn’t make any move to pull out of you, however, it’s clear that he is relishing the way your drenched cunt embraces his flaccid cock.

“No one will make you feel as good as I do, dōna ābrazȳrys, and certainly no Lannister,” he rasps. “He would not know how to handle the Blood of the Dragon. You were made for me, and you belong to me. Always have, always will.” Sweet wife. 

Daemon Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @schniiipsel @avalyaaa @baizzhu @yn-jackson

[fear1996]

NOCTURNAL WORSHIP.

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; dub/non-con, somnophilia, canon typical incest/targcest (uncle/niece), p in v, fingering, possessive and dark (or rather canon) Daemon

WORDS: 1.2 K

NOTES: Something older I had posted with another blog.

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

A deep slumber has overtaken you after a day full of lessons in the tongue of your ancestors, and an hours long flight on the back of your precious mount. Deep enough that not even the creaking door leading to one of the secret passageways of Maegor‘s Holdfast is able to get you to stir awake. 

Not quite so stealthy as one might know him, the man they dub the Rogue Prince steps into your chambers, his heart beating fast with the blood pumping straight down to his cock upon spotting you laying on your side, sound asleep despite his intrusion. 

It’s almost ridiculous how hard his cock gets the closer he stalks towards your canopy bed, straining uncomfortably against the laces in the front of his breeches. “Ñuha dōna lēkianna,“ he drawls with a strain to his voice, the predatory gaze of his lilac eyes taking in your sleeping frame. My sweet niece. 

A devilish smirk that’s usually only reserved to the people that dare to challenge him is draped across his lips, growing as he slowly peels the Quartheen silk sheets off your body. Only a fool would miss the fact that you’re not wearing any undergarments beneath the rather flimsy, creamish nightgown you wear, clearly indicating that you have listened to your uncle prior to your departure to your quarters. 

‘Expect me at the Hour of the Owl, sweet girl,’ he had said to you as your lesson ended. ‘And I shall teach you what is expected of you on your wedding night.’ And the sheepish nod and the blush on your cheeks let him know you truly endorsed it. 

Daemon sits down on the bed next to you and brushes his fingers over your skin, starting at your knee to push the nightgown up and reveal your bare cunt, glistening with your arousal for the long-awaited. His deft fingers drag through your folds, circling your sensitive pearl.

A quiet sound slips past your slightly parted lips, resembling something between a moan and a whimper, and in your sleepy state he finds you snuggling against him to inhale his comforting scent, your hand resting on his stomach and your face buried in his side.

His fingers toy with your pearl briefly before he gently nudges you over to lie on your back, parting your legs to grant him better access to what lies between them. Ghosting the tips of his fingers along your navel, he trails them down again to ease them inside your cunt, pushing in and out to prepare your maiden core for him.  

The thread of restraint he’s held before grows thinner and thinner with your walls starting to clench steadily around his digits, practically sucking them in and begging for more. And when he feels your small hand fisting his tunic, pulling him closer with your hips rutting meekly against his hand? That’s the moment it snaps.

Withdrawing his fingers from your cunt, he brings them up to his lips, sucking them clean of your essence. Any rational thought is quit with the taste of your arousal spreading over his tongue, making him long for more. 

He climbs between your legs, sitting back on his haunches as he undoes his breeches and frees his cock from its confines. There’s not a second wasted by him,  burying himself inside of you with such urgency in one, swift thrust. 

All efforts not to wake you up are fruitless as he increases the pace of his thrusts, snapping his hips in and out of you over and over again, not able to hold back any longer. 

The hazy glimmer in your eyes as you blink up at him indicates that you have a hard time processing what is happening, although your body perfectly knows with quiet moans and whimpers toppling past your parted lips. 

“K… Kepus?” you mumble, having trouble speaking with the burning of your cunt struggling to accommodate his size clouding your thoughts. You blink once, twice, to allow your eyes to adjust to the dim light the moon casts through your chambers windows.  

Daemon doesn’t stop his ministrations, if anything, your dazed reaction only manages to spur him on, feeding the fire that courses through his veins. He dips down, pressing his chest flush to yours and putting his weight onto you, caging you in between his arms with no way to escape. 

Your uncle rests his forehead against yours, stopping his movements briefly. “I told you I would come, didn't I?” 

Biting your bottom lip, you momentarily close your eyes at the proximity. Opening them again, you nod your head and stare up at him with a wide, innocent gaze. “Y… Yes.”

“And you want to learn from me, do you not?” It isn’t a question, more a coercion for you to give him what he wants. “About the… wifely duties you must perform for your future husband.” 

You nod again, speaking in feigned confidence, “yes.”

His words are very much that of truth. More than once have you thought about him in ways that are not proper for the youngest daughter of the King, especially after your older sister has told you about the little foray she and your uncle went on that ended in one of the brothels of the city.

Daemon starts to grind his hips against yours, causing the pressure inside of you to become more and more notable — until your peak catches you in an ambush. 

Your body acts on its own as you arch your back against his sturdy frame, parting your legs just a bit more to willingly rut your hips in rhythm with his, chasing the pleasure. 

Not one coherent thought runs through your head as your body works itself through the several emotions and trembles that soar through you, suddenly not so tired anymore. 

You‘re not so sure what to expect as he proclaims his desire to spill inside of you, yet you eagerly accept, damned be the repercussions, and bite through the overstimulation to chase the addictive feeling of his throbbing cock. 

Tipping his head back, your uncle releases a groan so raspy the bump in his throat twitches, the sight causing a renewed wave of your arousal to drip down his shaft, forming a creamy ring around the base. 

Only once the thrusting of his hips ceases, you‘re able to feel the flimsy pulsating of his cock, spending itself inside of you. 

“That’s it–” His words catch in his throat as his head topples forwards. 

Meeting your gaze, he gets so lost in the blissed out expression on your face that he knows there is no going back now — not when he just got a taste of you, his darling niece. 

He presses a kiss to your temple as he pulls out, the uncomfortable feeling of loss causing you both to grimace. Climbing off the bed to readjust his trousers, he can‘t seem to take his eyes off of you. 

“I expect you, tomorrow night, to come to my chambers,” he states bluntly and nonchalantly, walking towards the door he came through before. “Your husband will not be gentle on the first night of your marriage, lēkianna, and I think it is only fair that I teach you a few more things. So when the time comes, you‘re well prepared.”

With these words, he closes the secret door behind him, leaving you all by yourself. Where you have been in a very deep slumber before, you struggle to fall back asleep again, mind plagued by what tomorrow will bring for you. 

Daemon Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @schniiipsel @avalyaaa @baizzhu @yn-jackson

[fear1996]

Fire ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 18, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Daemon Targaryen x niece!reader

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: primal play + breath play

— summary: Daemon wants his other niece to release the dragon fire within her. But things go too far when she stabs him after he leaves Rhaenyra's wedding ceremony early.

— word count: 1.6k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 18th day, Targcest (uncle/niece), female!reader, dark!Daemon, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, dubcon, primal play, breath play, age gap (older man/younger woman), choking, degradation, vaginal sex, rough sex, loss of virginity, corruption kink, crying, dacryphilia, nipple play, fighting, blood kink, blood licking, violence, head injury, chasing, sexism, underage sex, creampie, breeding kink, overstimulation, dumbification, semi-public sex, curse words, manipulation, stabbing, family issues, sadism, Rhaenyra Targaryen mentioned, minor Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen, ambiguous/open ending, dom!Daemon, sub!reader, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @turdettethefirst

— crossposting: AO3

After Daemon's involvement with Rhaenyra, you tried to confront him. You were furious with him, already knowing everything he had done to cause that chaos in your older sister's life and now she was paying the price, being forced to marry your cousin Laenor Velaryon.

Even though you were a year younger than Rhaenyra, you were not surprised when rumors about her and Daemon started flying around King's Landing. Your uncle's obsession with her, the heir to the Iron Throne, the future Queen, was nothing new to anyone. You sometimes wondered if all that fire and passion that Daemon seemed to feel for your sister was just because of her personality itself or if it was also an unconscious way of him trying to get as close as possible to the crown.

When Daemon left her wedding ceremony early, you took advantage of the lords and ladies being drinking, dancing or gossiping so you could go after Daemon. You had prepared for this, disguising yourself and being almost an exact, shorter copy of your uncle. It did not take long for you to make it out of the castle and have your sword at Daemon's throat, your anger clear in your tone as you whispered how he had probably ruined your sister's life forever.

He was not surprised by your audacity and lack of respect. In fact, his biggest surprise was that you really had bravery to confront him. You have always been in Rhaenyra's shadow. Never the firstborn and heir, like her. And never the desired son, like little Aegon. You were... Just you. Your less daring personality made Daemon rarely notice you. All he knew was that you were very beautiful, even though he did not like your judgmental and calmer manner.

He wanted you to release the dragon fire that ran in your blood, in your veins. And that is exactly what you were doing.

When Daemon chased you through the disgusting corridors of Flea Bottom, your heart was racing. You could see the confused and even amused looks from the drunken commoners as you screamed, running desperately to try and hide from your angry uncle. You had crossed a line, you knew it. You had gone too far, the wish to be noticed and have your worth proven had spoken louder than your common sense.

You planned to confront him, threaten him for sealing your sister's fate with a such cruel and selfish way, tell him that Viserys was right about him wanting the throne, not his daughter. However, you did not plan on sticking the sword in your uncle's waist. It had been an impulsive thought, the result of your dark and sensitive emotions after he taunted you about your insignificance to the entire family. He always saw you as a dull shadow of your older sister. Rhaenyra was always busy with Daemon and never really bothered trying to pay attention to you since both of you grew up. Your mother Aemma died and left behind a trauma in your life. Your half-siblings were just babies. And your father Viserys was too busy protecting his firstborn and future queen.

As stupid as it could be, the only person who still cared a little about your existence was your stepmother Alicent. Despite being Rhaenyra's former best friend, you were easier to get along with. You were not impulsive and obsessed with Daemon, and you had not been angry about her marriage to your father, after all, it is not like she had much of a choice.

But no one else in all of Westeros cared about your existence, to the point that Viserys had not even considered marrying you yet.

You hated being seen as Rhaenyra's shadow, especially because you loved your sister despite everything. Then when Daemon pointed out your insignificance and added about being surprised by your boldness, your stomach twisted and you stabbed the blade of your sword into his waist, catching him off guard. It had not been a blow strong enough to make him almost bleed to death or anything like that. However, it had been enough to awaken the dragon within his uncle.

And it caused you to run through the streets, screaming and trying to run away from Daemon Targaryen like a fragile, vulnerable lamb. The chase lasted more than thirty minutes. Daemon was proud about you, he had to admit. He thought you would give in or fall to the floor any moment ago, but you never did. You managed to evade him for the entire thirty minutes. He did not even feel the pain of the cut anymore, despite the blood smeared on his disguise.

Once Daemon finally managed to catch up to you, both of you were in a secluded part, away from all the drunks who walked around like annoying spirits. His large hand grabbed the back of your neck, your smaller body being thrown across the dead end, the sound of your bones hitting the ground almost scared himself. Daemon did not usually hesitate when it came to hurting someone, but despite your fucking insolence, killing the King's daughter would not be forgiven, even if you were the insignificant one.

Then he took a deep breath, approaching you, who was stunned on the floor. He saw the blood dripping from your head, but he also saw that you were conscious and not only terrified, but angry too, the dragon fire in your violet eyes making him smirk. "Yeah, good girl." Daemon mocked, pulling you by the neck and keeping you upright, his bloody hands squeezing your throat so you could not escape, limiting the air from your already weak lungs. "Wake up the dragon inside you, sweet one. Let me find out if you are worth tasting or if you really are just a waste of time."

Your head was still dizzy, your vision was so blurry as you felt Daemon's hand pressed to your mouth to muffle the loud sounds that escaped your lips. He had already been in enough trouble involving Rhaenyra and that damn brothel. He did not need more commoners commenting on the fact that his other niece was moaning like a little whore every time his hips hit you rough.

His cock was being crushed by your little cunt, he could feel your warm walls squeezing him, the sensation of your wetness mixing with the blood that dripped during his movements. Daemon was no fool, he always knew you were a virgin. Untouchable by any other man. Until then, he had never created any real desire to corrupt you, his mind too focused on Rhaenyra for him to consider looking away. The combination of the sensation of your cunt and the pleasure of taking your blood just like you had done to him before was motivating him to continue. He wanted to take you to your limit.

"Seven Hells. Look at you..." Daemon growled between moans, his hand that was covering your mouth now coming down to grip your neck, while the other had fun exploring your pretty nipples. "Bleeding on your uncle's cock like a fucking stupid whore." The scoff was followed by a tighter grip on your throat, your eyes rolling back as he continued to fuck you like an animal, his balls slapping your thighs and ass so hard you did not even know how he had not already ripped you in half. You felt like your core could tear at any moment.

"D-Daemon..." Your whimper came out strangled, your fingers gripping the masculine shirt of your disguise clothes, trying to ground yourself in reality and not let yourself lose consciousness. You did not know if you should want to go through with it. You did not know if it was right to want Daemon to continue treating you like that, giving you a handout of attention for the first time in all your years of life. Gods, you hated him. He hated you too. You were Rhaenyra's shadow and she was Daemon's shadow. Rhaenyra was everything you wanted to be. And Daemon was everything Rhaenyra wanted to be.

"Just relax, sweet one." Daemon's words sounded breathless, both because of the movements and the slight twinge of pain in his wound, but there was no way that would make him stop. He felt your cunt spasming around his big thick cock, trying to get used to being filled for the first time. You knew that no one else in the world would fuck you like this, like an animal. Like a dragon. "You feel so good, little dragon. I never imagined I would say that, but I could get used to this thing, you know that? Fucking you, corrupting you, hurting you..." Daemon teased, his blood-filled fingers pressing one of your breasts until leaving marks from his nails on your soft skin, your face pressed against the alley wall, hurting your delicate face and increasing Daemon's arousal.

You felt the moment Daemon came, his white and warm essence filling you and making your legs shake from the overstimulation, as Daemon continued fucking you, pushing his seed even deeper. "Well, perhaps you will be a good replacement after all. Perhaps I should let you carry my heirs, princess. What do you think about that, insolent little niece?" You ignored his mockery, the bruises on your cheek burning with the tears that flowed, both of pleasure and sadness, anger and pain. You hated that. You loved that. You hated Daemon. You wanted Daemon. It was all so confusing that Daemon laughed out loud when you finally came around him, your tight and sensitive little cunt milking him.

Daemon's tongue licked the bloody wound on the back of your head and you moaned at the burn. "That is right, my new little dragon. You are so easy to claim. I guess I might start to like all of this."

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[fear1996]

Bloodlines

summary | daemond needs to marry and you're at the top of his list.

pairing | daemond targaryen x (f)cousin!reader

wordcount | 1k

warnings | 18+, MINORS DNI!, very light smut

edited.

You never expected your cousin to be here with you on your island of Valyria, much less dining at your table and feasting on your food. You watch as he takes another forkful, his plate nearly empty. He wipes his mouth with a cloth.

You barely touch your meal. The room feels small and intimate despite its grandeur. Heavy stone walls adorned with ancient Valyrian tapestries tell tales of dragons and conquest. While a large chandelier made of dragon bone casts a warm, golden glow across the table. The open doors allow a gentle breeze to drift in from the beach, the sound of waves crashing against the shore tightening the knot in your stomach.

You glance back at Daemon. He hasn’t changed much, though his silver-white hair is now cut short. The last time you saw him, it had fallen past his shoulders, but you find yourself liking this look more. It frames his sharp features, and the dangerous glint in his eyes.

Daemon is dressed in deep, shadowy leathers, perfectly tailored to his lean form. You watch the silver clasps and embroidered dragons shimmer subtly in the low light.

Your own attire feels too revealing under his gaze. The soft, flowing fabric of your gown clings to you, draping in ways that accentuate every curve. Deep hues of blue and green—house colors—wrap around you like a second skin. The slight chill of the evening makes your exposed shoulders prickle beneath his watchful eyes.

“Is there something on your mind?” Daemon’s voice cuts through the air. Casual as he leans back in his chair, swirling his wine. “Cousin?”

You push your plate outward. Your attendant immediately steps forward to clear it.

“Leave us,” you command, your voice steady. The servant quickly departs, leaving only the two of you.

You tilt your head, studying him for a moment, memories swirling. “It’s been quite some time since I last saw you.”

“Three, four years,” he replies with a lazy shrug, “give or take.”

You look away, a warmth growing across your cheeks. “Hm.” You lean back slightly, your fingers brushing against the smooth wood of the table. “You haven’t changed at all.”

Daemon’s eyes sharpen, trailing over you in a way that makes the air you breathe feel heavier. “You have.”

A heavy silence settles in. The moment stretching out as his gaze lingers over you. 

“All grown up now,” he muses, his voice low, almost teasing. He takes another sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving yours.

You chew your lip for a moment, holding back your retort. “You didn’t come here just to visit after four years. A Valyrian steel dagger, no less. A fine gift, even for you.”

Daemon chuckles, the sound rich. “Can’t a man visit his family without suspicion?”

“You?” You raise an eyebrow, the corners of your lips pulling into a wry smile. “Never.”

His amusement deepens as he stands, his movements fluid, every step deliberate. He paces slowly around the table, fingers gliding across its surface. As he walks, his gaze briefly flicks upward to the ceiling. There lingering, is a painting of Valaryian lovers entwined beneath dragon wings.

“You always did see through the masks people wear. I admired that about you.”

He stops in front of you, his hand lifting as if to touch your chin, but you tilt your head away.

Your voice is steady as you speak. “What do you want, Daemon?”

He lowers his hand, though the smile doesn’t fade. “I must marry.”

A small grin tugs at your lips. “I’ve heard the rumors about you and Rhaenyra. If they’re true, why not her?”

Daemon’s smirk widens, amusement flickering in his eyes as he looks back at the ceiling. “Rumors,” he says softly, “are often more fun than the truth.”

His eyes lock onto yours, sharper now. “But you and I both know what strengthens Valyria.”

“Keeping the bloodline pure?” you offer, your voice firm but tinged with curiosity.

His silence answers you.

“Hm.” The sound escapes your lips as you push your chair back and rise. Standing so close, you feel the heat radiating from him, his breath fanning your face. 

Your hand presses against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath his armor-like clothing. His hand finds your waist, gripping you with a possessive firmness. “What if I have eyes for another?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper-- the challenge clear.

Daemon’s dark chuckle sends shivers down your spine as he leans in close, his breath brushing against your ear. “Vezof rȳbagon skoros iā rūmu zirȳ rōvon,” he whispers in Valyrian, his voice like silk and steel combined.

Don’t forget what I did to you four years ago.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips almost touching yours, his eyes burning with the same fire you’ve tried to suppress for years.

Your heart pounds as you feel the weight of his words. You remember how he deflowered you—rocking into you like a piston, kissing your lips, biting at your skin—setting your body on fire. The memory fades.

You meet his gaze head-on, your lips parting as you murmur in Valyrian, “Nyke gīmigon lo ao gīmigon…”

I could never forget.

His eyes darken, the grip on your waist tightening. Daemon’s other hand finds the curve of your neck, his touch slow and deliberate, gliding down to the material of your sleeve. With a smooth motion, he slides it off your shoulder, your bare skin to the cool air.

Your eyes flicker from his lips back to his intense gaze, the air between you electric. You feel the steady rhythm between your thighs quicken as his fingers slide down from your chest. Daemon hitches up the material of your gown. His fingers make their way between your thighs. The pads of his fingertips brush against you and you fall forward onto his shoulder. 

You breathe harshly. His fingers are cool and should be foreign. But the way they sink into you, you know it’s all too familiar. You let out a moan as he stills.

The hand on your waist moves up to your shoulder and then to your chin. He holds you, bringing your face to look at him.

“Nyke jaelā ao.” 

I want you.

You let out a soft moan as his fingers spread inside you.  “Ērīninna nyke.” 

Then take me.

Without hesitation, he closes the distance. His lips capture yours in a kiss that ignites every spark between you, consuming you both in a fire that’s been smoldering for far too long.

[fear1996]

"Do you think you can just deny me? No, the answer is no"

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life.| ° | pairing: Yan!Maegor Targaryen, o cruel x Wife! Reader ° | !English is not my first language!|

You were certainly a cursed woman for arousing the almost immediate interest of the cruel king after his bloodthirsty ascension to the throne.

Maegor already had three wives at that time, two wives he liked and one he despised with increasing hatred.

But you were different, it was an overwhelming feeling that caught you off guard in the first contacts.

There was something fascinating to the king in his every little gesture and movement. Her so easily adorable personality and impeccable looks.

So this was love? This flame that burns without being seen? That feeling he despised when bards sang softly on banquettes and celebrations, and now it had taken over his body.

Already convinced of the strength of his feelings, the king did not delay in a proper court, he thought he had already made his obvious interest clear. The king's way of showing interest was something... Peculiar... Certainly constantly chasing you, ordering guards to follow you and always so fixedly analyzing your slightest movement, it wasn't the most gallant way.

In any case, the engagement was not long in consideration, with Maegor coldly threatening you father:

"I will have your hand beheaded or I will have your daughter's hand in marriage" His tone was as cold as the blade of his sword held firmly at his hip.

The wedding was only in Valerian traditions, the king's warm crimson blood mingling with his own and the taste of copper on his lips.

Maegor would never stoop to marrying in the faith of the seven. An action that only caused more chaos and anger from the religious.

The wedding night was certainly not a fairy tale. The king was focused on creating an heir and finally freely exploring his body. His touches were rough, strong and not at all gentle.

You better not consider moontea...

As a husband, Maegor is not the kindest. His displays of affection are not delicate and he does not demonstrate his love through words at all.

But compared to his treatment of other people, he is much softer on you.

He will still punish you if you disobey his numerous and strict rules.

Jealous and possessive are an understatement to describe feelings and behavior. You are His in every aspect of the word. Your body and soul belong to him and him alone. And not even his other wives have the right to take their You attention away from him. Your world should revolve around him the same way his world revolves around you.

Maegor is simply crazy about you, he loves you in a way he's never loved anyone else, even if it was in a distorted way, he doesn't want anyone to get close to you, touch you or even breathe and look in your direction. Anyone who approaches you will regret it bitterly when the blade of your sword pierces the person's neck without mercy.

He admired strength... But you couldn't get hurt, he liked your bravery, but there is no way he will allow you to get hurt. Never.

Maegor will not change your reason if you don't trust him. He will even think you are smart. For a while. After your patience runs out, he will simply demand your complete trust in him.

"I am your lord husband, who is more deserving of your trust than me?"

And things only got worse after Alys's deformed stillbirth...

Tyanna's whispers in her ear about infidelity and the child being nothing more than a bastard only served to increase her paranoia. The mere thought of you cheating on him was enough to make him simply lose his mind.

He imprisoned you in your private chambers, no one was allowed to enter unless authorized by the king. Guards guarded the door to his quarters.

Then, in an act of desperation, Maegor took three wives at once. But all three had deformed stillbirths just like Alys… Tyanna had lied and the king simply didn't know what else to do. He was desperate for the first time in his life.

But like a ray of light... Were you pregnant? For the first time in almost decades... Maegor smiled widely.

[fear1996]

⸻ ɪ ɴ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ᴅ ᴀ ʀ ᴋ ⸻

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Bruce Wayne is a man shaped by tragedy, a billionaire with an iron will and an unrelenting sense of justice. But beneath the stoic façade lies a broken soul. When Bruce becomes obsessed, it isn’t violent outbursts or chaotic behavior—it’s cold, calculated, and methodical. He doesn’t lose himself to obsession; he leans into it, weaponizing his resources and intelligence to keep you close. After all, what is Batman if not a man who cannot let go?

Maybe you’re someone he met at a gala—a rare individual who caught his attention without trying. Maybe you’re an employee at Wayne Enterprises, someone who treated him like a person rather than the playboy billionaire. Or maybe you stumbled into Gotham’s darker corners, and he saved you as Batman. Whatever the case, Bruce finds himself drawn to you in a way he hasn’t been to anyone else in years.

At first, he tells himself it’s curiosity. You’re intriguing, sure, but nothing more. Yet he can’t stop thinking about you. Every word you said, every look you gave him, replays in his mind like a song stuck on repeat. And Bruce, has to understand why.

Bruce doesn’t approach you immediately; instead, he observes. He justifies it as caution. After all, he’s Batman—he needs to know everything about you to protect you.

He learns everything there is to know: your name, your routines, your friends, your secrets. He watches you through security cameras, listens to your conversations through bugs he discreetly plants, and even monitors your online activity.

But to Bruce, this isn’t invasive—it’s necessary. How else can he ensure your safety in a city as dangerous as Gotham?

As Bruce Wayne, he’s charming, attentive, and subtly magnetic. He uses his wealth and influence to insert himself into your life. Invitations to exclusive events? Job offers at Wayne Enterprises? He makes it impossible for you to say no without coming across as ungrateful.

As Batman, he’s your silent protector, always one step ahead. If you’re ever in trouble, he’s there—appearing out of the shadows to save you. He doesn’t speak much when he’s Batman, but the way his gaze lingers on you feels almost suffocating.

You’d never suspect that the billionaire who’s so eager to help you and the vigilante who seems to always be around are one and the same.

Bruce’s obsession manifests in his need for control. He doesn’t see himself as possessive—he sees himself as protective. You don’t need to worry about toxic friends, late-night walks, or bad decisions because Bruce will take care of everything.

If someone gets too close to you, Bruce doesn’t lose his temper. Instead, he uses his resources to quietly remove them from your life. A coworker who flirts too much? Suddenly transferred. A friend who badmouths Bruce? Their secrets mysteriously come to light.

“It’s for your own good,” he tells himself. After all, Bruce believes he knows what’s best for you better than you do.

Bruce is painfully self-aware. He knows his feelings for you aren’t healthy, and he hates himself for it. But his guilt doesn’t stop him; it fuels him. He rationalizes his actions by convincing himself that you’re safer with him watching over you.

“I’ve already lost so much,” he whispers to himself late at night in the Batcave, your face flickering on the monitor in front of him. “I can’t lose her too.”

In his mind, his obsession is just another sacrifice he makes for the people he loves. He can bear the weight of being a monster as long as it means keeping you safe.

Bruce rarely shows his jealousy outright—it’s subtle, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. If you mention another man, his jaw tightens imperceptibly. If someone touches you, his eyes darken, and his hand lingers a little too long on your shoulder as he pulls you away.

Behind the scenes, though, he’s ruthless. The man who asked for your number? He’ll find himself the target of a police investigation. That friend who keeps trying to set you up on dates? Suddenly, they’re avoiding you without explanation.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he says when you start to notice how people in your life seem to vanish. “Gotham is dangerous. You can never be too careful.”

Bruce’s obsession remains controlled until you try to distance yourself. Maybe you’ve started to feel smothered, or maybe you’ve realized that the people disappearing from your life aren’t coincidences. When you confront him—whether as Bruce or Batman—he’s calm, almost unnervingly so.

“I only want what’s best for you,” he says, his voice steady. “Do you have any idea how much danger you’re in without me?”

If you try to leave, that calm facade shatters. He won’t hurt you—never you—but he’ll do everything in his power to make sure you stay. He’ll cut off your options, isolate you, and remind you that no one else can protect you the way he can.

“You think you’re safer without me?” he says, his voice laced with desperation and anger. “You’re wrong. Gotham will chew you up and spit you out. I’m the only thing standing between you and harm.”

Despite his obsession, Bruce’s love for you is genuine in its own twisted way. He wants you to be happy, even if he doesn’t understand that his actions are suffocating you.

There are moments when the mask slips—when Bruce is just a broken man trying to hold onto the one good thing in his life. Late at night, he’ll hold you close, his voice trembling as he whispers, “You’re everything to me. I can’t lose you. Not after everything I’ve already lost.”

In those moments, it’s hard to tell where Bruce Wayne ends and Batman begins. To him, they’re both the same—a man who would do anything to protect the one person he can’t live without.

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'�� 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[fear1996]

⸻ ʟ ᴏ ᴠ ᴇ ᴍ ᴇ ⸻

Pairing: Dark Aegon I Targaryen x Fem Reader

Summary: Aegon spends his life desperately trying to win the love of his sister. And yet he's never enough.

Warning: Non-Con (rape), targcest, physical violence, murder, obsessive and delusional behavior, child loss/grief.

Notes: English is not my first language. Art belong to Denis Maznev. Hope you enjoy!

She was always there.

From his earliest memories, her face is etched in his mind like a cold, pale moon. She never smiled, never laughed. Never cried. Just looked. Always watching, always silent. Even as children, while Rhaenys played with him, she was a shadow in the background. A constant presence that gnawed at him, her cold eyes watching him with that empty gaze. It was as if nothing could move her, nothing could please her. But he tried. Gods, how he tried.

He was barely seven, still small but proud of the sword his father had given him. He had trained for hours, his arms aching, his legs sore, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to show her. He wanted her to see him—really see him—for once.

He had run to her, his little chest puffed out with pride, holding his wooden practice sword like it was Blackfyre itself. "Look! Look what I can do!" he had said, his voice bright with excitement. He swung the sword in wide arcs, spinning and thrusting as best as his small body could manage. "Did you see that? I’m going to be a great warrior! You’ll see!"

But she just stood there. Watching. Her face expressionless, her eyes cold, as if she hadn’t seen anything at all. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t even blink. It was like he wasn’t there, like his efforts were meaningless.

He had felt something tighten in his chest then, a feeling he didn’t understand. A hollow ache that made his hands shake as he gripped the sword tighter. He tried again, swinging harder, faster. "Are you watching?!" he had shouted, frustration leaking into his voice.

But she didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything.

She never did.

And that’s how it always was. Every time he tried, every time he showed her something—his victories in the yard, his skills in battle—she just watched. Her cold eyes always on him but never giving him what he craved. Never giving him anything.

But then, that day came. The day that broke something inside him.

He remembers the sound first. The sound of her laughing. It was so foreign, so unexpected that he almost didn’t believe it at first. He had stopped in his tracks, heart racing, the sound of her laughter echoing in his ears like the sweetest music he’d ever heard. For a moment, just a moment, he thought it was meant for him. Finally, he thought, she was laughing. She was happy. Maybe, just maybe, he had done something to make her feel.

But then he saw it.

She wasn’t laughing with him. She wasn’t laughing for him.

She was laughing with a man. Some nobody. A fool. A good-for-nothing who could never even begin to understand her, let alone deserve her. And yet, there she was, her eyes shining, her lips curved into a smile—something Aegon had never seen in all his life. She was radiant, her laughter like music, but it wasn’t for him.

The rage came fast, burning through his veins like fire. How dare this man, this insignificant speck, be the one to bring her joy? How dare she smile for him, laugh for him, when she had never once given Aegon anything but that cold, dead stare? He could hardly see through the fury as he drew his sword, his heart pounding in his ears, and with one swift strike, he cut the man’s head clean off.

The blood sprayed across the floor as the man's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, useless. And Aegon, triumphant, stood there holding the severed head, his heart racing with the thought that maybe now—now—she would see how much he loved her.

He brought the head to her, a smile tugging at his lips, presenting it like a gift, like an offering to a goddess.

But then, for the first time, he saw her cry.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, silent, like everything else about her. She didn’t wail or scream, just wept, her cold, distant eyes filled with sorrow. But not for him. Never for him. The realization hit him like a dagger to the chest. She wasn’t crying for him. She was mourning the other man, that worthless fool.

Could she not see? Could she not understand what he had done? He had killed for her. For her. To prove his love. Why couldn’t she see that?

It was worse now. So much worse.

He stands in the room, their child’s room, staring at the small bed where their son had once slept. His heart is heavy, his chest tight with grief that he can’t seem to swallow. Tears burn in his eyes, but he doesn’t care. Their child is dead. Gone. And he can barely breathe from the weight of it.

But when he looks at her, she’s standing by the window, her back to him, staring out into the night as if nothing had happened. As if their son wasn’t lying cold and still in the crypts below.

She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t even move.

His son, their child, lay lifeless, and yet...she didn’t care. She couldn’t care. The realization gnawed at him, twisting in his chest like a knife. If it had been another man’s child, would she be mourning now? Would she cry for that child, like she had cried for that worthless fool?

"Do you...do you not care?" His voice cracks, the words barely a whisper. He feels like he’s choking on the silence. "He was our child. Our son." His hands tremble, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Why… why?"

She doesn’t answer. Of course, she doesn’t.

She never answers.

The hollow ache that had plagued him since childhood is back, sharper than ever. He stares at her, at her still, cold form, and something inside him snaps. He can feel it, like a tether breaking, a dam bursting inside his mind.

"Why?" he growls, his voice low, trembling with fury. "Why can’t you love me? Is it really so hard?!" He steps toward her, fists clenched, his heart hammering in his chest. "I’ve done everything for you. Everything!"

His hands shake as he grabs her by the shoulders, spinning her around to face him. She looks at him with that same blank, emotionless expression, her eyes cold and distant, as if she’s not even here. As if she’s not even alive.

"I killed for you!" His voice is rising, desperate, wild. "I’ve fought for you, bled for you! I’ve done everything you could ever want, but you—" He pauses, his breath coming in harsh gasps as a dark, twisted thought coils in his mind. "Is this because of him? Because I killed that servant? Did you really think he could love you more than I do? That he deserved you? Him?"

His grip tightens, fingers digging into her flesh. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the rage coursing through his veins. "I am the one who loves you. I’m the one who’s always loved you!"

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. Just stares at him with those empty, cold eyes.

The silence is unbearable. It breaks him.

With a roar, he grabs her dress, tearing at the fabric, ripping it apart in his hands. He’s rough, vicious, his fingers leaving bruises on her pale skin as he forces himself onto her.

She doesn’t fight back. Doesn’t scream. She just lies there, blank, her body cold and still beneath his. The more she doesn’t react, the harder he thrusts, the rougher he becomes, as if he can force her to feel something—anything. He can feel the blood, can see the bruises forming on her skin, but she just keeps staring at him, those empty eyes boring into him, cold and unfeeling.

But it didn’t matter.

She will love me. She will.

"You will love me," he growls, his voice low and savage, each thrust more brutal than the last. "You will love me. You’ll see. I’ll make you."

But she doesn’t change. She never changes.

Even as her body bleeds, even as he takes her in the most violent, twisted way, she just looks at him with that same cold, distant stare. As if he’s nothing. As if nothing will ever be enough.

Her eyes stayed cold.

Her eyes stayed empty.

And still, he kept going.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ

[fear1996]

⸻ ᴀ ʟ ᴡ ᴀ ʏ ꜱ ᴍ ɪ ɴ ᴇ ⸻

Pairing: Dark Maegor I Targaryen x Fem Reader

Summary: You were always his. From the moment you were born. And it's going to stay that way, whatever you like it or not.

Warning: Targcest, Graphic depictions of violence, Non con, Maegor himself is a warning.

Notes: English is not my first language. Art belong to dalberadiata. Hope you enjoy!

Maegor kicked a rock with all the strength his young body could muster, the jagged stone skittering across the ground and disappearing into the brush. His chest heaved with frustration, his fists clenched at his sides, and his face contorted in a mask of anger.

But no matter how much he trained, no matter how hard he fought, his father’s gaze always passed over him. Like he wasn’t even there.

His foot slammed into another rock, as he ground his teeth in fury. He wanted to be king. He would be king. One day, they would all see—his father, his brother—all of them would see.

“Boo!”

A voice, sweet and sudden, pulled him from his thoughts. His body stiffened as he turned, already prepared to strike, but it was only her. His sister, always sneaking up on him, always playing her games. She popped out from behind a tree, her eyes sparkling with mischief, a playful grin on her lips.

“Did I scare you, Maegor?” she teased, laughing softly as she plopped herself down beside him on the grass without waiting for a response.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t smile. Of course, he wasn’t scared. His hands flexed at his sides, still shaking with the remnants of his anger. He wasn’t in the mood for her games. Not today.

But she didn’t seem to notice. She never did. Instead, she sat beside him, her fingers absentmindedly plucking at the flowers that dotted the ground. She hummed softly, her hands busy weaving stems together as if there wasn’t a care in the world.

“I’ll be king one day,” he muttered, his voice low, angry. His fists tightened as he stared ahead, his vision still blurry with unshed tears. “You’ll see. I’ll be a great king. Someone important. Stronger than father. Stronger than anyone.”

She nodded, but he could tell she wasn’t listening. She never really listened when he talked about his plans. She was too busy with her flowers, too lost in her own world of pretty things and laughter. He frowned, watching as she twisted the stems in her delicate hands, her smile never faltering.

“What are you doing?” he snapped, his frustration bubbling up again.

She looked up at him then, her eyes wide, as if his anger didn’t bother her at all. Her smile only grew, and she held up the thing she had been working on. “Done!” she announced, her voice soft and sweet, like the sound of a gentle breeze. She leaned over and placed it on his head—a crown of flowers, woven with care, resting lopsided on his dark hair.

Maegor blinked, confused, his anger momentarily forgotten. He reached up to touch the crown, his brows furrowing as he tried to understand what she had done.

“What is this?”

She smiled at him, that same sweet, soft smile that always made something in his chest ache. “Even if you don’t become king, you’re still my king, Maegor.” Her voice was full of warmth, full of love. “Always.”

He stared at her, the confusion in his eyes deepening. She was always like this—so full of life, so bright. Too bright for someone like him. Too soft for a world as harsh as theirs. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond.

But now, when he looked at her, the only thing that remained was death.

Her body was cold in his arms, a shell of the girl she used to be. Her eyes, once full of light, now stared blankly ahead, her mouth silent as always. But that was alright. She didn’t need to speak. She didn’t need to smile.

He still loved her.

Even like this.

She was dressed in beautiful silk, her hair brushed and perfect, her lips still stained with the remnants of the last kiss he’d given her earlier. She looked like a doll. Fragile. Beautiful. Untouched. He dragged his hand down her neck, savoring the coldness of her skin, feeling the shiver of pleasure that ran through him.

But the silk? That was a pity. He was going to rip that apart anyway.

He pulled her into his lap, her body limp and pliant, her head lolling to the side as he pressed his lips to her neck. He bit down, hard, savoring the taste of her skin, his teeth sinking in deep enough to draw blood. His hand slid between her legs, fingers pushing against her cunt, trying to get her wet. She didn’t move, didn’t react, but he didn’t care. She would be ready for him. She had to be.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered into her skin, his voice dark and rough as he kissed along her neck, his bites growing harder, more savage. “You’ll give me a son. A true son. Something none of those useless cunts could do.” His fingers moved faster, harder, forcing her body to respond. “We’ll name him Aegon. After father. What do you think?”

He pulled back, his eyes gleaming as he looked at her face. Her tears were falling now, silent as always, sliding down her cheeks like the rain.

Oh, right. He had cut her tongue out.

He laughed then, a deep, guttural sound that echoed in the room. How could he have forgotten? She had screamed, hadn’t she? Begged him to stop, to leave her alone. She didn’t want to be his wife. She didn’t want him. But that hadn’t mattered. Not to him. He had made sure she couldn’t refuse him ever again.

He wiped her tears with his thumb, pushing it into her mouth as he did. “It’s alright,” he whispered, his voice soft, mocking. “I love you still. I like you more like this.”

Then he kissed her, hard and rough, his mouth devouring hers as his hand gripped her neck, holding her in place. She didn’t kiss back, didn’t move, but he didn’t care. He didn’t need her to.

He shoved himself inside her, his thrusts brutal, each one harder than the last. Her body didn’t fight him, didn’t resist. She took him in silence, her tears falling faster now, her eyes empty as they stared at the ceiling. But Maegor didn’t stop. He pounded into her, growling with each thrust, determined to make her his in every possible way.

“You're mine,” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous as he fucked her harder. “Always have been and always will be.”

She didn’t respond. She never did. But that was fine.

When he was done, when her body was limp and unconscious beneath him, he pulled out, only to push his seed back inside her, forcing it deeper, making sure she would carry it.

“You’ll be a mother,” he whispered, his hand pressing against her stomach, possessive. “The mother of my child.”

His.

Always his.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ

[fear1996]

hip to be square.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: themes similar to the movie | allusions to violence and murder | sexual content | sexism | fiancée!reader | dumbification | degradation | rough sex | anal play references | anal fisting reference | drug references | allusions to asphyxiation.

“You’ve worked up quite a sweat.” PATRICK BATEMAN notes in thinly veiled repulsion. Those cruel hands on your hips restrain themselves, and you can feel that tension against you. Instead, he pours his ample strength into yanking you back on him, choked sounds emit from your gaping mouth. In a way, this is an obligation, he can't really enjoy the way your cunt squeezes him, or how his thumbs fit those perfect back dimples—not in the way he wants to. If it were up to him, he'd squeeze the life out of you while he screwed those lifeless brains to pieces. Finally a bitch like you would be put to good use, eyes rolling back as the lack of oxygen grows black dots in your vision. You'd claw at his grip around your neck, easing in to crushing your windpipe, the light would die as he watched, and he wouldn't even falter in his pace. Those hips would still be fucking you, like he is now.

Hard and rough, it hurts. Abusing your cervix as you're bent over the perfect white covers of his California King. You bounce on him like you want more, but in reality you're limp as he directs your body the way he wants it to move. An irrefutable force against you that you are powerless to soothe, unbeknownst to you your only line of defense to protect you from his wrath is the ring on your finger.

You're engaged to him.

In his eyes it was an unavoidable tragedy. All his friends are your friends, you live in his area, and you're a ten minute commute from work. If he's looking to blow off steam during lunch, he'll pop in for a visit and use you up with a pillow covering your head. You don't catch on to the fact he doesn't want to look at you while he ravages you, never question why he insists on hitting it from the back if he can help it. It aids that you've got a nice ass, plump and round and fits in his palms when he handles it. When you aren't being a priss, sometimes you'll let him slip a finger into your asshole. At one point he managed to convince you to let him fist you, but he'd slipped you one to many things that night, narrowly avoiding a messy emergency room visit. There was no way he was going to wait up for you in such a place so late at night. What would he have told everybody? That his fiancée was some junkie? Absolutely not.

Nails dig into your skin at the memory, the salt of sweat burning that raw that makes you mewl. He steels himself from demanding you shut up, instead assuaging the urge by smacking your hand away when you reach back to hold his in a petty attempt to get him to let up. Cruelly, he drills you. Those pathetic noises release in pain, you don't even sound human. "What are you to me?" he spits, looming over your little body as his every muscle contracts fucking into you at a reckless pace. You're sore from his weight, but you can't do a thing about it when being treated like shit never felt so good. A ring of cream foams at his base, taken from you as your cunt confuses punishment for desperation, your expression twisting so hard you'll get wrinkles early. He'll have to divorce you before that happens, otherwise people will think him vain. "Answer me, you idiot, you're supposed to answer me."

Somehow, you don't notice how he's talking to you. How it's different than the cold and distant nature you're accustomed to in public. "Nothing." you breathe out. "I'm nothing." You chase whatever you can get your hands on, scrambling for whatever stupid response you can muster in this state. Apparently, it pleases him, a sea of moans flowing out through his deep voice as he satiates himself using you like a sock with your name on it in his room.

[fear1996]

[fear1996]

Johann Joseph Zoffany (detail)

[fear1996]

"I could keep you safe," he rasped. "They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them."

— A Clash of Kings (art by Zhang Weber)

[fear1996]

❝PUSHING THE LIMITS.❞

(not my gif)

summary: eddie might fuck you good, but venom pushes your limits.

warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, nasty ass smut, surprised-myself-while-writing-it kind of smut, sorta dubcon towards the end, oral sex f and m receiving, sticky tendrils and tentacles and appendages and such, bondage using v's tendrils, hair pulling, spanking, double penetration, eddie spitting in reader's mouth, eddie slaps reader's cheek a lil bit in the beginning, overstimulation central, names like "good girl", "sweet angel", "sweet girl", "beautiful girl"... don't wanna hype myself up too much, but i think y'all are gonna be eating good while reading this one. monsterfucking. i am definitely not getting into heaven, so make my sacrifice worth it and grab some popcorn!

word count: 2k

a/n: if you've ever wanted me to write a sequel for fics like "take the reins" and "don't pretend", this is for you. i can't believe this is my official return to fic writing LMAO, but we're pretending like i never left! (yes i know i posted my last fic in april.) i hope you enjoy, please give me some feedback for this one!

//////

“Gooooood fuckin’ girl.”

You struggled to hide your wince as Eddie harshly slapped your cheek again: you were on your knees, your face raised to look at him as he knelt over you, directing your face in whatever way he wanted it to go. Some parts sweet, some parts rough - whether it was pulling your hair until your cunt twinged with need, or spitting in your mouth when it got too dry for him to fuck, or how fucking good his cock felt when it was shoved into your mouth, you took all of it enthusiastically. 

You hadn’t heard Venom’s commentary in a while, but at least Eddie seemed to be enjoying himself.

“That’s great, honey,” Eddie gasped as he slipped the tip of his cock in your mouth again: you sucked on it dutifully, slathering your spit over his already glistening length, but throughout all of it, your eyes were locked on his face.

He was almost out of breath just from watching you. “Jeez, that’s fuckin’ nasty…”

Overachieving, you responded by taking his whole length into your mouth until the tip of his cock slammed into your uvula and you were forced to gag.

You meant to stay there, but Eddie’s hand was buried in your hair very suddenly, tugging you backward: he evidently hadn’t been expecting that.

“Easy, honey,” he told you. “It’s not every day I got a girl jumping all over me, y’know.”

You sat back on the bed and stuck out your tongue for him, grinning widely. “Sorry.”

Inside his head, Venom scoffed.

PUSSY.

“N-no, don’t be sorry for anything,” Eddie managed to say to you as he allowed his cock into your mouth again, determined to keep Venom at bay inside his thoughts. “Feels so fucking good, just like that…”

Sucking him off until he came had to be the plan, you figured, so you kept going, keeping your tongue flat along his length as he fucked your mouth. His cock was so goddamn thick, and your tongue kept brushing along a prominent vein as you went. The best part was his hand, firm in your hair, ensuring he was using you in whatever way he wanted.

Meanwhile, Venom’s voice was a reassuring purr in Eddie’s ear.

SHE LOOKS SO GOOD LIKE THIS, EDDIE.

So it came as a bit of a surprise when Eddie decided he wanted to move: he was off of you in an instant, but he was grabbing your leg, indicating he wanted you to move with him.

His voice was soft, almost sweet, keeping you wet. “Up, honey, c’mon.”

Breathless, your heart pounding now that there wasn’t a hand in your hair anymore, you got off your knees and, following his direction, rolled over on the bed.

“Shit,” Eddie commented appreciatively, just before he spanked you harshly. “Pop that up for me, honey.”

Grinning sheepishly, you buried your face in the pillow and lifted your stinging ass in the air for him.

“Fuck,” he gasped as the palm of his hand brushed over your pussy - yeah, you already knew you were dripping, and the humiliation of it made you flush. “You always get this wet just having a dick in your mouth?”

“It’s just you,” you mumbled weakly, which earned your another spank.

“Just me, huh?” Eddie replied, mockingly, making your face burn. “Not V? You’re telling me this pretty pussy’s dripping just because of me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he’d spanked you directly on your pussy this time, making you moan weakly.

“Fuck,” you gasped, burying your face in the pillows. You had a feeling that Venom would’ve teased you endlessly if you moaned for him, and you weren’t sure if you could handle it when your pussy was already this wet, but God, you’d never been more tempted.

Inside his head, Venom was sounding impressed, but he hadn’t revealed himself yet.

KEEP GOING, EDDIE. YOU WILL BREAK HER.

Keeping your head in the pillow, you spread your legs wider for him, trying to expose as much of your pussy as you could. Spurred on by Venom’s praise, Eddie grinned.

“Fucking glistening,” he laughed, running a finger delicately along your drenched pussy, sending sensitive nerves haywire. “What a pussy. I mean, Jesus…”

He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your damp inner thigh, and that simple, two-second touch had your mind speeding out of control with obscenities. No doubt about it, spreading your holes like this turned you on: you could feel your slick running down your inner thighs, and if your brain wasn’t jammed, you would’ve been begging for Eddie for Venom to come out, to finally fuck you.

Breathless with anticipation, you grabbed a fistful of pillows instead and waited patiently, keeping still.

Inside his head, Venom was chomping at the bit, too.

WHEN WILL YOU LET ME OUT, EDDIE?

Just give me a few more minutes, Eddie’s thoughts responded, a bit urgently.

He opted to pretend as though nothing had happened, keeping his control over you.

“Spread your legs more, baby. I want to see how turned on I made you.”

Moaning weakly, you did as he said, spreading your legs to reveal your glistening wet mess of a pussy: you had yet to touch yourself, or do anything to stop the spread of heat in your most sensitive spot, but you felt like if he didn’t touch you soon, you were going to go into cardiac arrest.

You closed your eyes and listen to him move closer.

Eddie’s hands were warm around your thighs, and you could feel him kiss both of your inner thighs - dear god, he’s about to kill you - before he kissed your clit, enveloping it with warmth. 

Everywhere. Oh God.

You gasped weakly. “Oh, Eddie…”

Again, Venom’s voice was a reassuring purr in Eddie’s ear.

YOU ARE UNRAVELLING HER, EDDIE. KEEP GOING.

“That feel good?” he whispered, kissing you softly again.

Well, fucking obviously: you were clutching the pillows above you with all your might, doing your best not to squirm in pleasure. “Eddie, please…”

You were so fucked out you couldn’t finish that sentence, but Eddie knew what it meant, and Venom did too.

LET ME OUT, EDDIE. YOU KNOW SHE WANTS IT.

“You need V, honey?” Eddie whispered from between your legs: he sensed from the growing warmth in his abdomen that he wouldn’t have control over his body for much longer, so he was determined to savour it for as long as he could.

You nodded weakly, flushed with pleasure - Eddie’s tongue may have been a natural, non-monstrous length, but it was pressed to your clit nonetheless, and it would’ve made anybody come after long enough. “Give him to me.”

That did it: Venom came out with a flourish, enveloping Eddie’s body entirely in black goo until he wasn’t Eddie anymore, but tendrilled and sticky and terrifying and one hundred percent Venom.

You almost came at the sight of him. “Oh, V…”

Venom’s tongue protruded from his mouth, licking clean his impressive row of fangs. His milky white eyes might’ve caused others to cower, but you stared directly into them, breathless. It was fascinating, really, how quickly Eddie had disappeared.

Venom’s voice was a deep purr, deeper than anything you’d ever heard.

DID YOU MISS ME, SWEET ANGEL?

“I did, V,” you gasped as a glittering black tendril snuck up your leg, “God, I - I want you so bad.”

Venom cocked his head to the side, watching you intently, like a predator watching its prey.

I TELL EDDIE THAT ALL THE TIME.

You gasped as the appendage finally breached your cunt, pulsating and sticky, giving you exactly the feeling of fullness you wanted. “Oh, Venom…”

The pillow you were clinging onto was gone in a second, replaced by two tendrils pinning your arms onto the bed. Before you knew it, two other tentacles were wrapping around your ankles, fully restricting your ability to move, and there you were, trapped on the bed as Venom was leering above you, his cock sliding in and out of you.

His pace was relatively slow, but you soaked up every pulsing inch succeeded inside of you, and every now and again, he’d make the tendril twist, bringing you closer to the edge every time.

I DON’T EVER THINK I’VE SEEN YOU THIS WET, SWEET ANGEL.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet, your thoughts responded incredulously, but all that came out was a choked, “Ngh!”

You were coming, you knew it, and it still hit you like a fucking freight train: the orgasm rushed through you as blood thundered to your brain, euphoria crashing over you at maximum intensity. Everything welling up inside of you just burst, and nothing had ever been so lovely.

You went deaf for a moment as the only thing you could hear was your heart absolutely pounding and the shrill ringing in your ears, but you knew you were gasping for breath, completely overtaken by this orgasm. You’d never tell Eddie, but it was Venom who knew how to pull orgasms from you like this, and only Venom, his glittering black cock absolutely destroying you from the inside out.

Of course, it was then Venom suddenly decided to slam his cock into you at full force, overstimulating you beautifully.

The confidence in his voice never wavered.

I KNOW YOU CAN TAKE IT, BEAUTIFUL GIRL. I HAVE SEEN YOU TAKE IT.

“Oh, Venom,” you were gasping over and over, but you couldn’t fully hear yourself over the ringing in your ears and the sounds of Venom’s glittering black tendril sliding in and out of your drenched, abused pussy, filling you up to the maximum. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He did the pulsating, twisting thing inside of you once again, and your eyes nearly rolled back into your head: when he was pinning you down like this, you had nothing to hold onto, it was just you, the cock inside of you, and the threat of this monstrous creature swallowing you whole. “Oh my god, Venom!”

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT EDDIE SEEING THIS, SWEET GIRL?

“Oh, fuck, Venom…” you moaned from underneath him, incoherent now as his cock pistoned in and out of you. You were blathering, but the message was clear: don’t fucking stop!

Venom was smug, now.

HOW DO YOU FEEL KNOWING I CAN TAKE YOU BETTER THAN EDDIE EVER COULD?

“You’re better than Eddie,” you mumbled incoherently as Venom ramped up speed, “Loads better than Eddie, I just - oh fuck - holy shit, V, keep going!”

WILL YOU COME FOR ME, SWEET ANGEL?

Yes, I will, your thoughts responded immediately, but actions spoke louder than words: your second orgasm ripped through you as your legs shook, you were pushed to the point of insanity. This one really took you by surprise compared to the first, but you revelled in it, your vision flashing with white as Venom fucked into you. You could feel your body sinking into the bed despite the restraints, spent, and you almost thought it was over, but–

Venom, of course, didn’t care.

COME FOR ME AGAIN, BEAUTIFUL GIRL.

“V,” you whispered weakly, your entire body damp with sweat from your last orgasm, “I - I don’t think I can, I just came.”

Above you, Venom absolutely snarled, and his tongue slithered down to force your legs even further apart.

WHEN I SAY COME, YOU COME!

A second, bigger tendril sank into your ass this time, and you gasped: you were filled, completely and utterly filled, and God, you’d be lying if it didn’t feel so fucking wonderful.

“I - I’m gonna come,” you blathered, blinking hard as the realization set in: you were about to come faster than you’d ever come in your life. “I - I’m gonna come, V, holy - oh my god-”

The words I’m coming were lost in your throat, but it didn’t matter: in a matter of seconds, you’d came for a third time, and the euphoria this time around was still there, yet with a bitter and harsh edge. Your body was exhausted, but your pussy was drenched, and all Venom knew was to keep fucking going, so–

You were gasping, half-deaf with your vision flashing with white, trying to make peace with the reality that Venom was going to fuck you until you passed out.

[fear1996]

i think i'm 'bout to explode, i can taste the tension like a cloud of smoke in the air

pairing: dexter morgan x f!reader

warnings: hints of fluff, smut - unprotected sex, slight spanking (hand and belt), oral (f receiving), fingering, spitting, slight choking, biting, dom!dexter, blood (i mean, obviously, he's a freak); sassy dexter

summary: requested: "...morning sex with dexter before he goes to work..."

w/c: around 5k

a/n: your wish is my command. thanks for requesting! :)

You and Dexter were perfect for each other – or close enough. You loved his bluntness, his dry sense of humor (which wasn’t always humor) and his demons, whatever they were. You had your suspicions, but you had yet to muster the nerve to ask him directly about them. It was so frustrating, because you prided yourself on opening controversial or inappropriate topics. You kept telling yourself that you were just afraid of losing the tension between the two of you once you’d call him out on his nocturnal disappearances.  

Some nights, he’d come home at an ungodly hour, collapsing into the bed beside you like gravity finally caught up with him. Occasionally, you’d wake to his stubble brushing your cheek as he laid kisses along your face. More often than not, you were too tired to make something out of it, and usually, you also assumed he’d just gotten off on something else, because he would sigh and nuzzle into you like he was still riding en endorphin rush.

You rarely engaged in a sex in the middle of the night, unless he demanded it. Once, you told him he could do whatever he wanted with you. Yours and Dexter’s sex life had its own intricate taxonomy:  I am objectifying you right in this moment and want your body sex or my hormones are acting up sex. The list was long, really, but at the very top was something went wrong sex. That was your favorite, but too bad for you, because it wasn’t very often that you got to experience it. Dexter is very careful and focused most of the time. He doesn’t make mistakes. The bright side of that: you’d never ever get tired of it. Those nights felt like Christmas. No. Better than Christmas.

One evening, he came home earlier than usual (you weren’t even asleep yet). He was so angry. So frustrated. And you wanted to help. You set aside the book you were reading (it was about a woman who fell in love with a sociopath. safe to say, it was an intriguing read) when he stormed into the room. You crawled to the foot of the bed, watching his sharp movements with wide eyes as he took off his army green shirt.

You’d always imagined yourself grinding on him while he wore his uniform. And that time was no different. But that night wasn’t about you. It was about him. Well, partly.

“Can I help?”

“No.” his tone was clipped as he continued to move frantically around the room.

You weren’t sure if you should push his buttons. Your heart beat out of your chest from the nerves. Part of you thought maybe you should back off; the other part – it thrived on the uncertainty, the thrill of not knowing how far you could push before he snapped.

“I could make you something to eat…”

Horse shit. You couldn’t cook to save your life, and he knew that. But he just scoffed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a humorless smirk.  

“How about a bath? I could light those lavender candles and throw in one of my bath bombs.”

“I said no.”  

You were still kneeling on the bed, dressed in your checkered shorts and a spaghetti strap tank top. Trying to act as innocently as possible.

“Do you want–”

He finally charged toward you, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Do I need to spell it out?”

Finally. Bait taken.

You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, slowly rising to your knees. The top of your head barely reached his chin, forcing you to tilt your neck to meet his gaze.

You started placing kisses along his collarbone, trailing up over his shoulder and to his neck. Your hand rested on his chest, palm splayed over his heart.

“Any chance I can sub in for one of them tonight?” you murmured, your lips brushing against his skin.

His brows furrowed and then shot up. “Them?”

You felt the sudden quickening of his pulse beneath your hand. You nibbled on your lower lip as you nodded.

“Who’s them?”

Instead of answering, you tanhled your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. It was a reassurance, a promise that you’d always be there. Okay, maybe you did it because you didn’t want him to leave you. You didn’t want to activate a chain reaction.

He leaned into you, his hands sliding to your waist, holding you. When your lips parted, your forehead rested against his.

“You tell me, Dexter. Or don’t. I don’t care. But I want you to be happy. Do whatever you need to me if that’s what it takes.”  

Pathetic? Most definitely. But who cares? He secretly loved it when you got like this – whiny, needy, entirely his.

His hand cupped your right cheek, his thumb brushing a faint vertical line against your skin, the nail scratching just enough to leave a fleeting mark. But his gaze darkened again, pupils dilating, like he was replaying unhappy memories.

He kissed you then – hard and insistent. His hand circled your neck, his thumb pressing just underneath your ear, while the rest of his fingers gripped the other side, his pointer brushing against your earlobe. Your hand instinctively shot up, clutching his forearm as if steadying yourself for what was coming.

Long story short, he fucked you that night, like never before. And since then, you’d been relying on your own version of Thorndike’s Law of Effect: if you wanted to ignite that fire in him, to get destroyed by him, you had to be a brat. Acting like you had control was the fastest way to make him prove otherwise. Sometimes you suspected he loved control more than he loved you. You’d told him that once, and he’d said you were being dramatic. Again. Well, you could still weaponize it.

The problem was, Dexter was otherwise a calm and patient boyfriend. He tolerated your antics with an almost infuriating ease, whether it was leaving the windshield wipers on long after the rain stopped or overbuying carrots at the farmer’s market only for him to help you eat the whole bowl of carrot salad. He even helped you find reliable owners for the stray cats that always “followed” you home. He was so good to you, and that’s why you always had to wait for something to go wrong. That’s when he was at his weakest and that’s when you struck.

Today’s the day. It was Friday and you didn’t have any classes, so you hadn’t set an alarm. You usually managed to wake up before 8 am – not too early, not too late. But this time, it wasn’t the sunlight or your internal clock that stirred you awake. It was the sound of chewing. Muffled munching, punctuated by the occasional scrape of a fork against a plate.

You cracked your eyes open, squinting as the golden rays of the early Miami morning sun flooded the room. You groaned softly and turned to look at the clock on the bedside table. 7:42. Acceptable.

Blinking the sleep away, you shifted your gaze to Dexter. He sat propped against the headboard on his side of the bed, a plate balanced on his lap, spearing pieces of egg and bacon with his fork before shoving them into his mouth.

What the fuck?

He never ate in bed. One time, when you’d brought a bowl of popcorn to share during a movie night, he’d almost thrown you out.

“I’m not a clean freak. You just can’t even drink out of a bottle without spilling it all over the place,” he’d said. Well, he wasn’t wrong, but you’d managed to convince him anyway.

Now, though? Now he was the one violating the sacred no-food-in-bed rule.

“Morning,” you mumbled, your voice still groggy as you reached for him.

He paused, registering your movement, and turned to you. His fork hovered mid-air as his gaze softened, just enough for him to take your hand and press a kiss to your knuckles. It was a gentle gesture, the grease from his lips lingered on your skin.  

“Hey,” he said, offering a weak smile. His voice carried a strange edge too, almost shaky.

You watched him carefully, he turned back to his food and with a quick flick of the remote, he raised the volume on the TV you hadn’t even noticed was on.   

The screen showed a reporter standing in front of a crime scene, her voice urgent as she rattled off details about a recent incident. They flashed an image of a man – the criminal – and then back to the reporter.

Your eyes darted from the TV to Dexter. His brow was drawn low, his stare almost predatory as he watched the broadcast. His jaw tightened and released, the muscles flexing as he chewed. Occasionally, his teeth ground together, producing a faint, grating sound.

He was in the mood. And it hit you.

He never ate in bed. He wanted you to provoke him. A slow smirk curled your lips.

“Careful, Dex. You might intimidate the reporter through the TV.”

His grip on the fork tightened and chewing came to an abrupt halt. He exhaled sharply through his nose, not amused.

“Not today.”

“Did someone leave a typo in their lab report or what?”

He stuffed the rest of his food into his mouth without so much as glancing at you.  

“Drop it.”

“Oh no, did Masuka out-gross you again?”

The plate clattered onto the bedside table with a force that made you flinch. Before you could react, he was on you. In a flash, his hand gripped your cheeks, his face hovering dangerously close to yours.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

That was easier than you thought.

“Funny? No. I think I’m just observant.”

His eyes narrowed, dark and unrelenting as he studied you. His grip on your cheeks tightened just enough to make your lips purse.

“Is that what you call running your mouth until you get yourself in trouble?”

You couldn’t help it. Even with his face inches from yours, his hand firm on your cheeks, you smirked. “Please, Dexter, you’re all bark and no bite.”

Now you were just being annoying. He was actually all bite and no bark. His jaw ticked anyway, a muscle jumping just beneath his skin. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips as his nose brushed against your cheek.

“You really want to test that theory?”

You tried to shrug, but his grip on you made the movement awkward.

The air between you was thick, electric. His eyes searched yours, and you finally saw that primal tweak of his.

Then, without a warning, he released your cheeks and grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of your head. His strength was effortless, his movement precise.

“If you don’t come at least four times until I have to leave for work, I’m not gonna let you come for four weeks at all.”

Shit. Four weeks is a long time. That’s a whole month!

“Now you’re setting ultimatums?”

“Your time is running out, you sure you want to talk back?”

And that was your cue to finally keep your mouth shut.

“Good girl.” He said, the words sending a jolt straight through you, and you became acutely aware of the wetness pooling in your sleep shorts.

“On your knees. Grab the headboard.”

You obeyed without hesitation, pressing your chest into the mattress as you shifted onto your knees, sticking your ass into the air. You felt the fabric of your shorts clinging to your slick pussy in a way that was both uncomfortable and relieving.

Dexter moved behind you, his hand brushing over your hips, the touch almost gentle before he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. He tugged them down, watching the material stick to your pussy, making his cock twitch in his pants. You squirmed under his fingers as they brushed against the skin of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Jesus, you’re sopping wet. Am I even surprised?” He said, bringing his fingers to your cunt and skimming them along the center from your hole, down to your clit. As he grazed that little spot, you bucked your hips into his hand, only for him to retreat it and bring it down in a swift move, slapping your clit and sending a tingling into your stomach. You moaned, not expecting him to get rough so soon.

Then, he kneeled next to you. You were too afraid to turn your head, but you could see with your periphery vision the tent in his pants. He brought the middle finger and the ring finger of his left hand to your mouth, and you opened without hesitation, wrapping your lips around them as he slid them all the way in. For you, it was awkward from that position, the fingers hooked in the corner of your mouth, forcing it to tilt slightly.

Once he decided that they were wet enough, he removed them and the same arm reached under you, his forearm touching your stomach as his fingers, now slick with your saliva, reached your pussy. They slid between your folds with ease, the two fingers pinching your clit between, before rubbing circles into it.

The tension in your stomach coiled tighter with each movement. You squirmed under him, needing more than he was giving you, and he knew that. But when you started moving too much, he slowed, barely grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Dex,” you whined, your hips moving, trying to chase the friction he was withholding. But his only answer came in a form of a slap to your ass. Your mouth opened in a silent cry, and your hand instinctively let go of the headboard and reached for your cheek in order to sooth the pain. But before you could touch your own skin, his free hand was wrapping around your wrist, holding it high and causing your muscles to strain.

“Don’t make me tie you up. You don’t have time for that.”

You nodded in silent obedience, and you gripped the headboard again, focused on not letting go. His hand was still teasing your clit while his other hand reached from behind and played with your hole, your slickness sticking to his fingers. For a moment, he was enjoying the feeling of it, of you on his fingers. Then he spread the wetness up and over your asshole. He only teased your back entrance, returning to your pussy and plunging his fingers inside, making your grip on the headboard tighten, as well as your walls around his fingers.

Dexter’s fingers worked you expertly, curling upward to hit that spot inside you that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. The movements of both his hands were in sync, the combination driving you to the edge as he upped the pace, relentless and unforgiving his fingers thrusting deeper, while also pinching your clit harder and occasionally grazing a nail over it, sending shivers down your spine.

The room was filled with the sounds of your gasps, Dex’s occasional grunts and most importantly, the squelching sounds of your drenched cunt. You were almost embarrassed by it, and Dexter made sure you felt that shame.

“Listen to yourself. So messy.”

Your response was a broken whine, your body trembling as his fingers curled just right to hit that devastatingly perfect spot again and again and again. His other hand maintained its tormenting rhythm on your clit, switching between sharp pinches and soft, tantalizing circles as your juices dripped from your hole to your clit.

Your knuckles became white from the hold you had on the headboard, your focus on not letting go and letting go at the same time. The pressure pulled you further under, and when he felt you clench around him, he pressed harder, his fingers moving with even more intensity.

“You wanna come?”

“Yes,” you whined, your body shaking with the overwhelming sensations.

“Don’t forget your manners, sweetheart.”

The pressure was unbearable now, your release so close you could taste it.

“Please, can I come?”

“Go ahead.” He growled, his fingers resuming his relentless pace, the wave of pleasure hitting you like a tidal force, crashing through every nerve in your body. You cried out, your body convulsing with the intensity of your climax. Your thighs trembled and your grip on the headboard faltered, but you were quick to remember to hold on, otherwise he wouldn’t let you ride it out.

Dexter worked you through the aftershocks, his fingers slowing but still keeping you riding that high until you were an overstimulated mess beneath him. When he withdrew his hand, you thought he’d give you a moment to gather up, but instead, in a quick motion, he was behind you, spreading your ass and burying his face between your cheeks.

Your body twitched as you felt him press his tongue flat on your puffy clit, shaking his head from side to side before catching it between his lips and sucking on it. The stimulation too much, you even tried to pull away even though you didn't really want to. It was to no use anyway, he followed you and his hands pushed against the small of your back, limiting your movements. He kept sucking on your bundle of nerves, his nose nudging your wet opening.

The thought of him being this messy alone made you so fucking horny and needy, as if you weren’t at the maximum capacity to feel those things.

Dexter pulled another whine out of you when he tugged on your clit with his lips, pulling back until he let go with a pop.

“You get so fucking sweet when you’re on your on your knees.” He said before returning his tongue to your pussy, running it flat up and down your lips, spreading your cunt and mixing his spit with your juices before he slurped it all up.

Your hand itched to let go of the headboard and cover your pussy to give your swollen clit a rest, but you were afraid of what he might do if you disobeyed again.

Besides, eating you out was his favorite thing in the world, and bad things would happen if you deprived him of his favorite activities.

One time, he’d made you ride him for so long until it was physically impossible for you to lift your ass. He’d proceeded to call you lazy, and had you dared, you would have slapped him.

Now, too much was at stake. He flicked his tongue against your clit repeatedly before finding your entrance and plunging it inside, the wet muscle massaging your walls. He loved your taste, he loved how you squirmed, he loved how slick and sticky you were. And you loved how animalistic he was about it, and how he didn’t care that you were overstimulated.

He dragged his tongue in and out of you, and then finally, it returned to your clit, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot. And the slightly sharp sensation was all it took to send you over the edge again. Your pelvis twitched against him, his hands squeezing the flesh of your ass, dragging his nail against you aggressively and leaving red scratch marks behind.

You loved them more than bruises. You could get bruises anywhere, sometimes they appear, and you don’t even know how. That's a common knowledge. But chafed, irritated skin? You know exactly how it gets there. You remember it. It evokes memories.

He hummed against your hot, wet flesh, the vibrations only accelerating your orgasm. You mewled, almost screamed, but you didn’t want to seem overdramatic. Your cum spilled straight into his mouth and he drank it all down as if he didn’t want to waste a single drop. He caught it on his tongue, licking you through the orgasm. Your upper body felt so numb, while down there, it was like fireworks. And when you finally started coming down, he slowed down, laying kisses over your pussy lips and your butt and your thighs. You felt the wetness his mouth left behind, your slick slowly drying on your skin. It was almost comforting, feeling him be so soft. You felt like curling up to him, falling asleep in his embrace.

“Three to go. You think you can make it?” He asked, and you heard him move behind you, followed by the sound of his buckle as he removed his belt.

You looked at the clock. 8:02. You didn’t think you could, but even if you did, it was in his control. He was just manipulating you to think that it was yours. Or he was just mocking you. He knew you weren’t stupid.

“You think you can?”

The leather belt came down on your ass, to the same place he’d slapped before. You made a note about checking out that bruise later.

 “You’re only giving me reasons to spank the shit out of you.” He said, dragging the belt across your ass, before touching the curved part to your pussy. Once it was gone, you waited for Dexter to hit you there too, but the blow never came.

“Let go of the headboard.”

Your brows furrowed, but your confusion quickly disappeared when he hooked the belt around your neck, yanking you upwards, your back against his chest and his clothed cock nestled between your ass cheeks.

You subtly ground against him, making him purr into your ear, which made you smirk. He gripped both ends of the belt in one hand, while his other arm snaked around your waist, his hand slipping under your tank top and squeezing your breast. The way he pinched and tugged on your nipple made you buck into him with more force, and he reciprocated, grinding against you, giving in to his own pleasure. Then his hand disappeared from your body and you heard the sound of him spitting into his palm, before he brought it to your pussy. As if you weren’t completely drenched. He knew you loved how disgusting the thought was. How lewd you felt when he did that.

For him, this was nothing compared to the things he did during his free time.

Then without a warning, he released one end of the belt, causing you to collapse face-first into the bed. He unbuttoned his khaki pants and pulled his cock out before grabbing your arm and turning you on your back.

You finally got a good look at him - strands of hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes dark framed by lashes that looked like he'd used an eyelash curler (something you envied him). You admired him. Not just for his look, though that part was obvious. He knew he had women turning their heads in his direction. But they didn’t know the brilliant mind beneath it all. He was so clever, so undeniably smart, and that was what truly excited you. That a neat man with a compartmentalized brain like his could get so messy when it came to sex. Like now, all sweaty, his cock leaking onto the sheets. Some of the precum probably landed on your cunt too. The thought alone sent another wave of pleasure building deep in your abdomen.

He leaned down, his tongue flicking into your pussy in one swift motion before crawling over you and capturing your lips in a kiss, making you taste yourself on his tongue. His hand slid to your neck, his thumb pressing firmly against your pulse point, making you aware of how fast your heart was pounding. You moaned into his mouth as he applied a touch more pressure for a split second, giving him the chance to slide his tongue deeper into your mouth. You sucked on it, tasting the tanginess that he'd collected from your lower lips.

Without warning, with just a sublte shift of his hips, he was inside you. A low moan escaped him as he felt the tightness of your walls, and you let out a soft whimper at the stretch. He didn’t move at first. He kept kissing you and his hand slid down your body, squeezing your boob again, rolling the nipple between his fingers. Lowering his head, he wrapped his mouth around your sensitive peak, sucking gently on your tit. Your fingers tangled into his hair, your nails scratching lightly against his scalp, pulling him closer.

His teeth grazed your sensitive nub, sending a jolt through you, and in one fluid motion, his arm snaked beneath you, lifting and sitting up as he pulled you onto his lap. He started thrusting his hips into you, holding you in place, his cock gliding effortlessly along your slick walls.

Leaning forward, his lips found your other breast, his tongue tracing lazy circles around your nipple before his mouth opened wide, taking in as much of your soft flesh as he could. You arched against him, your back curving as your hads pressed his face closer, your head tipping back in ecstasy.

He kept on fucking you, hitting that sweet spot inside of you that made you dizzy. He drove his cock into you, quickening the pace, a sign that he was getting close. His arms around you tightened and then suddenly, you felt a sharp pain originating in your breast and going straight to your pussy, making you clench around. He was fucking you hard and deep, and when you looked down, you saw him still latched onto your tit, his upper lip covered in crimson.

You felt the sting from the way he was sucking on you, and when he finally removed his lips from your breast, you saw red drops dripping down your breast, the blood leaking from the bite marks where his upper teeth sank into your skin. You were mesmerized by it, and you wanted more. You pushed his face back against your sore nipple and Dexter surprisingly didn’t argue. He licked the blood off you and sucked again while ramming into you. Your body shuddered, and finally your third finish was brought on by a couple of additional thrusts of his hips. Then he laid you flat on the bed and chased his own release. You pulled him up by the chin, meeting his lips in a sloppy kiss as he fucked you hard and fast until he spilled inside of you.

Once you both came down, he was lying on top of you. You wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him affectionately, because you were so content that he was there with you.

But you were yanked out of your dreamland when he rose to his feet, making your brows furrow.

“That was only three,” your tone couldn't be more confused, as he headed to the bathroom.

“Yeah, but I need to shower and pick new clothes to wear. Can’t go to work with your cum all over my pants.” He came back to the bedroom with a smile on his face, as if he just hadn’t fucked the shit out of you. “Last one’s on you.”

“On me?”

“Yes. Make yourself cum before I leave. If you don’t, you know the consequences.”

He gave you a quick peck on the lips before disappearing into the bathroom.

Asshole. He knew you’d lost the ability to make yourself cum shortly after you’d started sleeping together. But luckily, you had your stash of toys that might help you with your problem.

With the roll of your eyes, you rolled over and reached into your nightstand, but in that moment, he peeked from around the corner.

“Oh, and your hands only.”

“What? That’s not fair!”

His face dropped again.

“You want to tell me what’s fair and what isn’t?”

You slammed the drawer shut and fell on your back, your body bouncing on the soft bed.

“Good girl. And no cheating. I’ll keep the door open. If I so much as hear something else that isn’t your fucking scream, I swear you’ll have to work your ass off to make me let you come ever again. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

You hadn’t done this in a long time. It almost felt unnatural. But despite that, your fingers dropped to your clit, and you began pushing yourself over another edge. Or at least you tried. But it was pointless. You tried to squeeze your wounded breast to get that rush going, but it didn’t have that effect this time. It only made you sweaty.

He managed to finish his shower before you made yourself orgasm, obviously. When he entered the bedroom with a towel around his waist, he looked at you with feigned pity.

“Aww… Don’t tell me my baby needs a manual to get herself off.”

“Dex, come on. You know I can’t make myself orgasm,” you tried to reason with him, but he wasn’t going to budge.

“I can’t do two things at once, I’m only one person,” he argued, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “This is for your own good. I gave you an opportunity to make it to four before I have to leave. It’s not my fault you’re not capable.”

You huffed, bringing your fingers to your pussy again, stuffing them inside yourself and trying to fuck yourself, but again, to no avail.

He even laughed at you, and when you opened your eyes, you saw him already with his work bag slung over his shoulder, hands casually tucked in his pocket. You’d lost.

“Fuck, I wish you could see yourself. So desperate. It’s like your world has been destroyed.”

“It kinda has.”

He came to your side of your bed where you were still lying with your hand between your legs. He leaned over you, brushing the hair that stuck to your forehead and placing a soft kiss there.

“Take that as a lesson. You shouldn’t take a bait if you can’t handle the hook.”

And with that he turned on his heel and left, leaving you wrecked and messy, the most agonizing four weeks of your life just now beginning.

a/n2: i'm thinking it's kinda more vanilla than i intended it to be, but oh well... thank you for reading!!

[fear1996]

John Price as a pervy stepdad will always have me obsessed

TW: INTOXICATION, NON-CON, STEPCEST. MDNI 18+

It's in Price's nature, a debauched sicko with old-fashioned and taboo beliefs. I mean, how can he not be obsessed with such a stupid, foolish thing like yourself? You're a puppet for his amusement.

Price is drawn to you due to your vulnerability, how you lack the ability to protect yourself, to think independently. You don't notice his perverted glare and the sick comments he utters underneath his breath, his eyes wandering over your figure, admiring every curve, what it would feel like to overpower you and restrain you, take you for his own satisfaction. John knows that you trust him more than anyone else, that you'd never accuse him of being twisted and deranged. To you, he's a protective and caring stepfather. Someone who stepped up for you.

You're too easy to manipulate, coerce, and control. You can't differentiate Price's love from fatherly love, to him being rotten and wrong. His large and scarred hands wander down your body, with the clock striking midnight and a spiked beer pressed against your soft lips. Price uses his authority and role as your stepfather to benefit himself, to leave you helpless and vulnerable beneath him, pleasing himself using your tight, slick holes.

You wouldn't turn down your stepfather, would you? He's been through so much, dollface.

He'll spread your soft, warm thighs after drugging you up, already apologising with a snarky, cocky grin plastered on his face for what he'll do, for the brutality and inhumanity that'll come with his rape sessions. You're compliant, ready to obey. It's like training a mutt, you're eager, patiently waiting for your next command. You won't remember a thing the next morning, that's for sure. You never do, but you feel the shame and guilt, the intense ache between your legs.

“Jus’ relax, doll. Do your papa a favour, yeah? I need this...” he whispers quietly between sloppy thrusts, already forcing himself inside your tight, wet slit while you nod and sob out drunkenly, intoxicated off of the spiked alcohol.

You accept the pain and discomfort, the stretch and disgust that washes over you with each thrust. They quicken, he hits deeper, leaves your bloodied and bruised with his ropes of come painting your body. You lay back, your body contorted into many different positions while you take what you're given, accepting everything just to please the man who stepped up for you.

[fear1996]

PAUL MESCAL "Gladiator II" | Behind the Scenes ph. by Kaito

[fear1996]

𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬.

( This story contains sexual acts with a person who is asleep or otherwise incapacitated. If you don't find this type of thing appealing, please don't read it. )

➸ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: daemon targaryen x female reader

➸ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: smut, incest, age gap, somnophilia, choking, non-con.

Daemon understood that sleep was beneficial, notably for you. Often had he known the various nights in which you lie awake, your sleep to be transient and ineffective as you longed in vain for its approach. Yet now, as his gaze fell upon the slow heave of your breast from where you were swaddled deep ’neath the silken sheets, Daemon found that he envied little else than the sleep that embraced you. When you were already so wholly his, it was a cruel taunt from the Gods above to deny him even a brief moment of your company.

There in your room in the dead of night he stood above you and looked down on the tantalising picture you painted as you slumbered. The delicate features of your face seemed all the more angelic in their rest, and the luminous candlelight played over the silk pillow that cushioned your head, making the spill of your hair discern all the more lustrous. Your elegance knew no criteria, even when you were sleeping, and he would be remiss if he failed to seize the opportunity the night proposed.

The bed creaked lightly when his hands met the frame at either side of your head; still did your eyes remain shut, your breaths even. To kiss your mouth here as it lay parted just-so in rest would be chaste, but that was not what he'd come to you for this eve. What Daemon had hungered after was hidden beneath those silken sheets. Sheets which, as his fingers wound ’neath them, slid up with ease, exposing you to him fully and utterly.

As he drank in the sight of you splayed thus, a deep thrum of satisfaction came alive low in his stomach. If only you could see how much of a wanton display you presented for him, with your skirts rucked high above your thighs to offer up a tantalizing view of their softness whilst your lips parted, plump and pouting around every soft sigh and puff of breath that passed therefrom. Had he possessed a heart more cruel, perhaps he would have roused you from slumber and pointed out how deliciously decadent a treat he found your lackadaisical form to be. How your beauty in waking life paled in comparison to the sweetness of that of sleep.

The front ties on your chemise came loose at his hand, baring your breasts, laying open those sweet and supple tits that drove him near insane with want. To mock and taunt their peak to hardness with his teeth and tongue made for a fine torture. Daemon felt himself harden painfully beneath the confines of his pants at the prospect.

It took a quick look, a sweep of his violet eyes, before he saw you were already glistening for him. Drenched as a mare in heat, he mused internally as a dark smile danced upon his features. No further dalliance was needed. Only the burning desire to sheath himself deep within you till the two of you became one. He worked quickly, guiding the tip of his virile cock between your slick folds, lathering himself with it. You never woke, and instead continued to slumber soundly, lost to your dreamworld as his cockhead finally found purchase ’gainst the secret gate your of cervix.

"Daemon..." You whispered tiredly, eyes heavy with sleep, still not fully conscious.

He grants you a moment’s respite to accommodate with the length and girth of his manhood, allowing him to enjoy the warmth and comfort your walls provided. Once it became clear that the awareness of what transpired around you still did not take hold, Daemon began a syncopated rhythm, languid in movement so as to prolong the pleasure and torment. To say it was an adjustment, both for your mind and your cunt, would have been an understatement in all its finest regards.

"Shhhh," He whispered down at you, slowly drawing back so he could thrust inside you once more, this time keeping his hand pressed firmly against your mouth. "Just let me use you."

His hand closed tightly around your throat as he began fucking into you with earnest. Daemon had always possessed somewhat of a proclivity for choking his lovers whilst in the throes of pleasure, yet never before had the inclination been quite this invigorating. Maybe it was the sight of you, his vulnerable niece completely at his mercy, that appealed to the sadistic freak within.

"What a good niece," he whispered to himself, working you open wider as he did so with well lubricated ease. His lips found your throat and there, amidst his kissing and sucking of it, he inhaled and then mumbled lowly to you as though you could hear, "I've taught you well."

It was true. He'd always done his utmost to provide the proper guidance, so that you'd come to him abreast of your role within the world in which you lived. The duties which you'd assumed with pride and dignity were, he understood, all a part of a bigger picture—and an essential role of a young woman of noble blood. Daemon had spent many an evening, discussing you as he so desired you should be discussed: your most advantageous characteristics, your more shameful foibles, and all of your loathsome quirks. You were a stunning yet lethal engineering marvel, much like a weapon. One of the finest in the entire arsenal of Targaryen men and women. You were, of course, Daemon Targaryen's niece. A straightforward, though no less earnest, truth.

There was no chance in seven hells for him to pull out now—not with you wringing his cock dry. Not when all sense seemed to melt away, scattered like ash on the wind, leaving only lust and instinct. You experienced a violent, uncontrollable release as he filled your womb full to brimming with his potent seed. It spilled over and leaked down your thighs like streams of molten gold, warm and silky. Daemon nearly lost balance from the force of it, and almost collapsed on top of you—though he remained steadfast, braced upon his arms at either side of you.

At last, your body tensed and went rigid as a wave of euphoria struck you hard. Your face flushed bright crimson, as though you were burning from the inside out. And then, as if the world itself had fallen away, came the feeling that overwhelmed all else: the rush of pure orgasm, unlike any other. No words could adequately convey how good you felt at that exact instant; the best that you could manage was just to revel in it with all your might, letting it take you higher and higher, riding wave after wave of delicious bliss until finally settling down.

When eventually Daemon regained enough sense, he did not withdraw from you as yet, but instead nuzzled contentedly into the hollow of your neck, drenching himself in the sweetness of your essence. Had anyone known he was here with you, doing things beyond your will and knowledge, they’d call it wrong. Perverted. Twisted. The worst kind of violation. But, even so, Daemon couldn’t find it within himself to feel regretful over indulging himself.

Before withdrawing from your sheath, he gave himself enough room to sit up so he could see the extent of his deflowering of you, taking satisfaction in how swollen your cunt had become as a result of his abuse, stretched out perfectly to fit his girth and size. There was something profoundly gratifying in knowing how pliantly you had given yourself over entirely unto him, how wholly you'd been conquered whilst remaining completely unaware that you had.

His fingertips gently brushed against your flushed cheek, admiring how serene you looked in repose despite having just been ravaged ruthlessly moments before.

"Good night," Daemon murmured reverently as he rose from your sleeping frame.

Daemon made certain that your dressings and undergarments were properly secured before retreating into the gloom of the corridor beyond your chambers and out of sight. There were no witnesses who'd observed him leave you unaccompanied during these wee hours. Or, at least, if any of them had suspected something amiss, they chose wisely enough to keep quiet about such suspicions, lest word got out regarding his nocturnal activities.

However, Daemon harboured doubts that anyone would care about what happened tonight anyway; nor would they bother investigating the source of the rumours, especially considering how vague they tended to be. Rumours surrounding your uncle usually lacked credibility due to their fantastical nature.

Come tomorrow, you'd wake to find your thighs stained with remnants of semen between them, along with a tender ache that would plague your loins for most of the morn. Should you ask Daemon, he would tell you it was but a dream you were having. Only dreams. In regards to whether or not Daemon held remorse for his actions towards you whilst you slumbered? The answer is yes...yes he did, albeit for rather unorthodox reasons.

You were, after all, a fertile young woman of noble birth and, as he often stated when asked for his opinion regarding potential suitors, no man but Daemon himself deserved to sire children by you. It wasn't just because you belonged solely unto him, but because he refused to tolerate any man touching his dearest possession—his niece.