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𝘿𝙖𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣 𝙏𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙚𝙣 𝙭 𝙃𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧! 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧/𝙤𝙘

𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦, 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳. 𝘐𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢 𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘥. 𝘠𝘦𝘵, 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩.

Warning: Vulgur language, sexual moments (no actual sex)

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Maricelle Hightower was born a regal lady, bred to be perfect, obedient, and pliant.

Born from the same womb as her twin sister Alicent Hightower, the two girls were meant for high class living, meant to be royal wombs to any high class lord, or king.

Alicent Hightower had always been deemed the oldest, the most quiet between the two sisters. Due to her submissive behaviour, she had bore the brunt of their fathers actions.

Otto Hightower had tried to bend and fold Maricelle to his whims, but he had been met with consistent hostility and resistance.

In his hold Alicent felt like dough, elastic but agreeable when met with enough pressure and force. Maricelle felt like molten glass, permanent burns and scars would be the punishment for attempting to change her mold.

…

Once Otto had tried to be physical with her, grabbing her wrists so harsh it would leave bruises. Pulling her hair to ensure her conformity.

Maricelle had shown no reaction, and after dismissing her he kept hearing terrible tales from maids and working men alike, they’d whisper how terrible, and cruel the Hightower family would treat their lovable and kind Lady.

It had gotten worse throughout many moons, that other men of higher class had been known to discuss the hot topic.

Otto had asked Maricelle to stop what she was starting.

He was met with a coy face and her bandaged wrists.

“Father, I’m not sure why your listening to the common men so immensely”

…

During Maricelles first engagement with a neighboring Lord, a large event was hosted, which lasted 2 days and 2 nights. On the final night the Lord was said to have excused himself from the celebration and had asked for Maricelles assistance to his bedchambers.

The next day the man was found dead on his plush feathered bed.

No blood, no coughing, no struggle.

Maricelle was seen during that time. Their had been many accounts of her leaving the Lords chambers as soon as she tucked him into bed.

…

Shortly after she was sent home. Her guards and handmaids had been worried for her health, what if this supposed killer had somehow managed itself into the castles kitchen, and would poison their beloved lady.

Otto could recall asking his daughter about the events that occurred that night.

She replied with a familiar coy smile and asked him if he suspected it was her.

To which he replied with a gruff no.

“We all have a time and place father. Lord Alaric has just met his” Maricelle then bowed her head and excused herself from the council room.

Otto swore to himself then and their that he would make sure whomever Maricelle would marry, could handle her tendency’s.

His wishes would come true in the form of a rogue prince.

—

“Has he truly gone mad?” Maricelle uttered to her sister. “What does father want to achieve by marrying me off the Prince Daemon” she scoffed.

The carriage had shook and swayed from side to side.

“Sister” Alicent put her hand over Maricelles gloved ones. “If it is any condolence, Prince Daemon is young and he is always flying to diffrent nations on his dragon. After the marriage consummation, ‘tis certain that you will no longer need to see him”

Maricelle held onto her sisters hand, gripping it tighter. “I suppose. I just hope that I do not see my end like Lady Rhea Royce” she whispered softly.

The people of Kings Landing had known Maricelle as the perfect daughter, kind in every way, mesmerizing in every way. She liked the attention, craved it even. She made it apperant to herself that she would always keep a shark eye and an even sharper ear to hear comments people would whisper about her throughout the cold halls of the Red Keep.

Her father was not opposed to the vision either.

—

“Lady Maricelle” King Viserys had spoken. His voice slightly hoarse, echoing throughout the cold hall of the throne room.

“Your grace” she bowed and held her poise.

“Otto has done his job well with you and your sister. You are both well refined young women, and he aught to be nothing but proud”

She had to stop herself from scoffing.

—

The first time Daemon Targaryen layed eyes on the Hightower women was when he saw her sitting alone on a stone seat near the blossoming flora.

From his spot behind a pillar, his eyes roamed her figure.

Whoever this women was, she was well endowed in all the right areas, the square neckline outlined in intricate embroidery only highlights the swell of her bosom.

Suddenly his mouth seemed dry, and his feet had grown a mind of it’s own. Walking towards the entrancing women, and taking the rest of him with it.

He stood in front of (the still unknown) women.

“The Red Keep gardens are wonderful this time around” Daemon plucked one if the stray petals that had gotten trapped in her hair. “Aren’t they?”

Maricelle slowly fluttered her eyes open, and blinked, being met with the legs of a stranger in front of her. Averting her gaze she was met with the unmistakable likeness that was Daemon Targaryen.

“Prince Daemon”

He hummed, and sat beside her. Making eye contact with while she looked up at him, was to difficult.

Even for a seasonal women wooer like himself.

It was especially difficult when he had a clear view of her plunging neckline, exposing the obvious softness of her tits.

He was a simple man.

“Seems I’m quite well known” He laughed, more so coughed, trying to stop the foreign heat of his ears due to his own thoughts.

She chuckled, and he had started getting dizzy.

“How could one not know of the Rogue Prince”

“I suppose my title precedes me” He mustered to look her in the eyes.

Now close enough, he could confirm that this women had to be a siren. A mermaid maybe. She’d somehow grown legs and had come to taunt him.

Idiot.

He scolded.

Her eyes were umber, with slight glimpses of green when the light hit them just right. If he kept looking maybe he would’ve noticed the similarities between her and her sister, but before he looked strange he had to force his eyes to peel away from her face. Instead he took in her attire.

A verdant green.

If he was in the right state of mind he might’ve put two and two together, but it seems this women was to tempting to think about anything else.

…

The two had chatted the noon away.

Sitting on the stone bench, almost knee to knee, only a whisper parted them, to engrossed in their conversation to separate.

He had enjoyed making her laugh, and while she was in a fit of giggles she had noticed that the sun was no longer high above her, but was now setting atop a hill.

She faced Daemon and had hurriedly said her goodbyes.

Their she left him, high (hard) and dry.

Only the soft billowing of her dress was all he could see as she ran as elegantly as she could away from him.

Daemon sighed. The spell she put him under had started to slowly go away.

It was when he started to walk away from the garden that he realized he has no name to label the maiden that entranced him.

—

The event that night was brimming with Lords and Ladies from around Westeros.

Some had become intoxicated as soon as they entered the great hall.

From her position near her sister and father, Maricelle kept a keen eye upon any figure that entered the room.

Her brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower had been canoodling with the ladies on the dance floor. It was not a sight she wanted to behold.

Finding the party dull, she made her way out of the festivities and found herself back at the stone bench she spent all afternoon at.

She hesitated to sit, but her instincts took over.

Maricelle could feel the cold and sturdy seat even through the many layers of her proper attire. Their was no sound except for the drowing noise of chatter and loot music from the hall just across the way.

Their was no sign of movement, not even servants were seen scattering about.

It seemed like it was just her.

Before she could fully relax, two callused and rough hands gently made contact with her eyes, covering her sight.

“To what do I owe the pleasure” Maricelle laughed softly. Placing her own hands near the ones covering her eyes, clinging onto the man’s wrists

“It’s not every day that I see a dame all by herself, rare in especially beautiful maidens” The man’s voice was tainted in tease.

“Why don’t you reveal yourself”

“As the lady wishes”

Daemon retracted his hands, and quickly held both of her own that were attached to his wrists. He initiated her to rise from her seated position by lifting her hands into the air.

She twirled around and craned her head upwards to face Daemon.

Their hands still holding each others sank between the two, acting like a bridge.

Their faces were to close to be considered polite, and the stone bench parted them by their knees.

“How may I help you Prince Daemon?”

Maybe it was the darkness of the night playing tricks on him, but Daemon swore he could feel her leaning towards him.

“Having you here now is all I need”

She scoffed slightly, “Is this how you charm all women”

“Only lonely pretty ones in gardens”

“So I am lonely?”

“Not anymore”

—

Daemon had unknowingly escaped from the festivities meant for his betrothed to Maricelle Hightower, but he could care less now that a pretty women was running and following him through the castle corridors, all while laughing.

Maricelle held up her dress as Daemon led her by a stretched arm. His other hand was secured on her waist.

The dashed and stumbled through the dimly lit halls, giggling like children.

Maricelle had thought him immature, a barbarian, a beast, and everything under the bright Westeros sun. She still felt that way but even she could admit, he was very fun.

She had also neglected to tell him her full name, wanting to see his reaction at a later date. Which would be inevitable.

…

The two found themselves in the library. Dusty, but most importantly, empty.

Daemon waited no longer, and started to attack her neck. He leaned her on a wooden table, so her ass was pressed against his pelvis, while she faced away from him.

The room was filled with feverish moans and whimpers.

Maricelle’s neckline had been pushed down, along with its many layers. Revealing her plush breasts.

Daemon makes quick work of the clean slate of her skin and littered her with marks of light purple and red bruises.

Daemon on the other was anything but untouched, his hair was being gripped by her right hand, while she had made her own marks on his neck, and jaw. They were much more pronounced.

Daemon had wanted to progress more, kissing her was incredible, but he was sure she was hiding something magical underneath all this fabric. He lifted her skirt and clothing, reaching for her small cloths. His hands caressing her exposed thighs.

Before anything to dishonourable happened, a loud banging was heard from the front door.

“Lady Maricelle? We have urgent orders from your father. A guardsman had seen you entering this room”

It was the nightly watch.

Had her father really been prone to incredibly terrible timing.

I was just about to have the time of my life. Maricelle huffed, disappointed greatly.

“Lady Maricelle, may I enter?” The night watch asked.

Daemon and Maricelle looked at each other with worried looks. If Viserys was to find that he was about to defile a young women who seemed important due to the guard reference of ‘Lady’, he would not be able to avert that kind of crisis.

Otto would be incredibly furious. Maricelle would most definitely be locked up in her room again.

“Uh…please, wait a moment” Maricelle uttered.

“Of course Lady Maricelle”

Daemons head flicked back and forth to his surroundings. Under the table? No. Behind the shelf? No. Behind the door? Stupid.

He then looked at the flustered women before him, all red and blushing with desire. She had pulled those delightful breasts back into their cage, and had tried to hide the marks of desire on her neck with her hair.

His gaze then looked further down, he was still holding onto her skirt.

Under the dress of a beautiful women? Yes.

Maricelle let out a small shriek as Daemon lifted her skirt further up and crawled underneath the large mass of fabric.

Maricelle blushed even harder.

She could feel the way his body was positioned under her dress. His arms had wrapped themselves on her right leg, and he was just hiding on the edge of her skirt.

“Lady Maricelle?”

She twisted her head to the door, and dusted away any remaining evidence on her clothes and made sure to lightly smack Daemons head to let him know that someone was now entering.

“Come in”

The night watch was a fairly old man, suited in the common silver armour, a torch in his left hand, and a spear in his left.

“Lady Maricelle, your father has summoned you to his private chambers, along with your sister”

“Alright, thank you for informing me, you may go”

The man stared and blinked at her. “Um, my Lady, do you not want any company to escort you?”

She tsked quietly, and she could feel Daemons shaking. Most likely laughing at her.

“No need, I will go myself”

“It would be improper of me to leave you to your own defences, especially at nigh-”

“I will go see my father myself” she hurriedly interrupted him, stern in her words.

The man had hesitated to act, but with a sigh he had bowed and wished her good night.

As soon as the doors had closed, Maricelle quickly tried to kick Daemon out of her dress.

“Prince Daemon! I must go!” She spoke quietly through gritted teeth, while holding up her skirt.

He laughed and continued to hold onto her waist now that he was standing straight.

“Alas you must”

He sneakily pecked her lips and whispered a goodnight before watching her scramble away, and out of the room. Leaving him only with the memory of her smooth silk legs, warmth, and another hard on.

Daemon groaned and looked down at his trousers. They were stretched to their limits as his bulge had been trying its best to escape its confinements.

“Hand it is” he sighed.

𝘿𝙖𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣 𝙏𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙚𝙣 & 𝙣𝙞𝙚𝙘𝙚! 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧/𝙤𝙘

𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘢 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥'𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯?

Warning: targcest, (niece and uncle) 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It was in the wee mornings on a warm day that Prince Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the City, had been forced to partake in breaking fast with his family.

Consisting of his father Prince Baelon the Brave, his mother Alyssa Targaryen, his elder brother Prince Viserys, and his lady-wife, Aemma Arryn.

For a young prince of merely 16 name days old, Daemons world was small, and only consisted of his family, sword fighting, and Caraxes. His thoughts of marriage and husbandly duties were of no importance to him, and held no precedence in his mind.

Daemon walked the bustling halls of the Red Keep, his head held high as the servants, guards, and common men alike showed respect by bowing slightly to the young boy.

Reaching the dining room, he was welcomed with the smell of warm food, his mother calling out to him and patting the seat next to her.

Daemon quickly situated himself, readying his stomach for the food and quickly pounced on the meat pies across the table, slightly splashing Viserys’ beige tunic.

—

The day seemed to drag on for far to long. It was late into the afternoon that Daemon was made aware that he was now an uncle to two Targaryen babes.

The news had him running to the birthing chambers, where his brother and his wife sat, cooing at the whining twin girls.

Feeling awkward, Daemon stood rigid near the entrance of the large room.

“Brother, come. Would you like to see them” Viserys had hollered. If Daemon didn’t know any better he would have guessed that Viserys himself birthed the babes, he looked even more elated than Aemma did, which was hard to achieve.

Daemon shuffled quietly near the couple, and peered down at the babes. He couldn’t help but poke the cheek of the one in Viserys’ arms.

“Be gentle Daemon” Viserys somewhat scolded him.

Before Daemon could retreat his finger, the babe had grasped it with both her tiny hands, babbling quietly.

When Daemon broke free from her grasp, she started to wail, and wail she did. So he quickly extended his finger to satiate the crying newborn.

Viserys and Aemma let out a shared chuckle, before offering the babe for Daemon to hold.

“What if I drop it” He whispered.

“It is not an ‘it’ brother, her name will be Rhaella” Viserys stated while softly stroking the girls head, “and the youngest will be Rhaenyra”

Daemon reluctantly held the babe awkwardly in his arms, adjusting to fit to the curve of the squirming girl.

Once settled Rhaella quickly found comfort in her uncles arms, and fell asleep, chest slowly falling up and down. Daemon kept his eyes on her, and his gaze never faltered. He wasn’t much for babies and children, but he knew he’d adore his new niece.

Aemma giggled from her position of the bed, “Rhaella seems to be quite fond of her uncle already” she rocked the sleeping Rhaenyra calmly. “Let’s hope young Rhaenyra will feel the same way”

—

“Rhaella, come out!” A man’s voice had echoed in the gardens of the Red Keep, situated behind the throne room.

Daemon was now 1 and 20, while his darling niece was only a mere 5 name days old. She was currently playing with him by hiding in the palace bushes, that littered the gardens of the Red Keep.

“I’m coming to get you…” Daemon said tauntingly, knowing that Rhaella can hear him well thanks to her frenzied giggles, that bounced off the stone walls.

Daemon slowly stalked deeper into the garden, while his eyes followed a girl shaped shadow that darted from bush to bush.

He sighed and stopped in the middle of the grassy area, hands on his hips. “Where is that little girl? When I find her I'm going to gobble her up” he dramatically stated to himself, making sure he’s heard.

Rhaella had wanted to move to the bush to his far right but before she could leave her spot she was caught and lifted into the air.

“I got you now!” Daemon declared, lifting her by her arms and bringing her closer to his chest while he pretend to eat her dramatically like a dragon.

Rhaella’s giggles and laughter could be heard all throughout the halls of the Keep, as she flailed her arms and legs out, trying to escape the dragons grasp. “Not fair uncle” she whined, when Daemon finally settled her on his arms.

He grinned and laughed slightly, brushing parts of Rhaella’s hair away from her face. “Don’t you think your uncle is mighty and clever enough to find you wherever you are?”

Rhaella huffed and flopped into Daemons chest admitting defeat.

Daemon laughed louder as he held onto her tightly, bundling her up in his arms even as she giggled and squirmed.

ঌ HAVING A BIMBO GIRLFRIEND ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ starring. hotd male cast.

" significant moments in the life of house of the dragon ⠀⠀⠀ actors with their significant other peculiar style. "

✱ MATT SMITH ──── the taming one .

he revered you fervently , really. his thorax swelled with the swash of a scalding wave , swamping in a purr of contentment as he delineated the zig―zag of your frisky teeny skirt and the swing of your denuded hips. he straightened his back and the coast of his pink mouth steepened into a sly smirk , with the pride that only a father could carry ― that your daddy should carry. don't fret , for that was what he was there for , breathing in the succulent rivulet that crammed the itty―bitty bottle of mon paris by yves saint laurent at the juncture of your clavicle.

the enthralling clatter of your pinkish platform heels gouge through the hallway of his home , prompting him of your presence long before you appeared in his office where he was striving to conclude a mailing for his agent. his black mount glasses hung loosely down the bridge of his nose , and his brow furrowed tenderly as he peered up. he got tanked on the contrast of raw denim and mulberry of your attire , your pompous lips gleaming in dior lip gloss coiled the artificially flavored sphere of a lollipop , letting it flee in a wet lashing. the peak of your fussy tongue sweeps the thin , sweetish coating of your mouth , before stamping them thunderously against his flat , satiny cheek with magnified affection.

you fall heedlessly into his lap , and his upper limb wraps around the deep arch of your waist , his thick fingers kneading the velvety flesh of your belly. his chin slump on the hill of your shoulder , pecking at your mandible. your arm tauten forward , prying deer―eyed at the sleek keyboard of his computer , twinkling in inquisitiveness.

" tsk .ᐟ don't touch that , little girl. " he hisses gruffly , with the pitch pattern of a anew awakened man , but it was solely the outcome of the cigarettes he smoked and the pure rum glasses he drank at night .

you sulk , whining. " i want to show you something , amorcito. "

he slant his head , humming unbiddenly. his leg hops in snappy , brief leaps , cooing the wrinkling frown amidst your brows.

" is it perhaps a new collection of dresses ? hmm , pretty thing ? " he inquired with the gallantry that diminished his ill―judged accusation. he perceives your perky nods , twisting your neck to ogle at him desirously. " i recall buying you some dresses last week. dare you tell me the day , beautiful? " he tattle.

your index finger fiddles with the marble polished shore of his desk , your face of porcelain misshape into a pensive countenance. " it was saturday. " you dissolve. " but i've used them all already. " you blurt woefully , and he jolt a hum once again in settlement.

" you still haven't  used  the purple one. " the ridges of your mouth droop quivering , and your arms cut cross in a relinquish tantrum.

" it doesn't look pretty on me. " you chatter in a garble timbre. matt smother a chortle behind your shoulder blade , rubbing several frail kisses instead.

he scratches the tarp of your naked stomach in succor. " to me you look  divine  in anything. " he offers mawkishly . " why don't you go and wear it  for me , heh? i promise to buy you more dresses once you wear it , darling. " he silkily commend on the curvature of your earlobe , and said in that manner makes the conception mouth―watering to your palette.

you ascend from his thigh , primed to comply. your fingers shoves the edges of your skirt below the end of the fleshy globes of your bottom.

" tsk .ᐟ give me a kiss before you leave. "

✱ EWAN MITCHELL ──── the weak in the knees one . 

poor boy , he just can't help but stare. your clothes were intrepid , appealing to the eye — bewitching to him. you strutted in pleated skirts that swayed with your cat―walk and heels that elongate your legs , mid―thigh length stockings smooth to the tact of the pads of his avid fingers and glossy lipsticks that accentuated the benign fat of your lips , scented your languid neck with expensive perfumes and decorated your wrists with multiple diamond bracelets. low waisted pants on monday mornings and freakum dresses on friday nights. each wardrobe yanked him to you , yearning to feel the ricochet material underneath his sweaty palms , to taste the artificial flavor in your mouth.

he would meticulously behold the arduous process , sitting on the toilet seat in the bathroom of the hotel room both of you were staying in. you would take great exertion to match an outfit that went associated with his on every date , an effort he took amorously to heart.

his head glided in the direction of your nimble hand , picking up hair brushes and makeup tools. he would hum thoughtlessly once you displayed the utility of each item , and enshrine them in his brain. he would timorously ask about the purpose of certain things , and even persuade you in a sunken stammer to applicate them on his sharp face. with a squeal of excitement , you always encountered yourself dusting his hoisted cheekbones with base and adding coconut lip―balm to his naturally pouty mouth.

" you look beautiful , mi amor. " you adulate your handiwork , grooming his golden brown mane backwards with a leopard patterned pocket comb.

the coast of his lips stretch into a rascal―looking grin. however , the wrinkles at the crook of his orbs attested otherwise.

he aims to the sides of his pointed nose. " does it make my eyes stand out? " he questioned , gazing plumbly at you.

you nod complacently , giving his fleecy strands the finishing touches. you cradle his sleek cheeks between your creamy palms in a distinctive strawberry―scented exfoliating scrub.

" they're poppin'  " you emphasize , and he repeats the word in a vague attempt to mimic the accent.

✱ TOM GLYNN—CARNEY ──── the bragging one .

              the both of you were a chaotic duo , a volatile combination to the public eye. tom possessed no shame whatsoever; he liked what he liked. it was his motto in life , and so far it had rooted him no severe dilemma. therefore , he didn't feel he had to elucidate to anyone why or how he had ended up with a person like you. still , he was interrogated incautiously from time to time; on radio shows , in small interviews at the premieres of his latest project or in gossip from his work friends. he tended to modestly shrug his shoulders and retort concisely , settling with a pearly smile.

nevertheless , such things become grueling over time; the more recognized he develop into , a larger amount of people desired to inquire into his atypical election of a partner. so , nit―picking and witty , he started to take you everywhere. he would show you out on red carpets and in house of the dragon press tour interviews with the edges of his mouth brushing the hint of his ears and his arm sheathed around the dip of your waist .

his thumb kneaded the suave skin under his fingertip , impeling you against his rib cage. with cheeks rosy in a peachy blush and in bashfulness as you stood fore the giant camera , you smiled angelically at the interviewer who vigorously asked him trivially about the development of his character in the second season of the famed  tv show. he managed to entail you divertingly , always delighted to brag about you. 

" aegon could never in his life get someone like her. just look how  pretty  she is in her little dress.ᐟ " he rambled in a sing―songy pitch , steeping rearward for the objective of having them catch your presence veiled below his shoulder. your hand squeezed his bicep beneath the velvety bottle―green jacket , gnawing the gloss painted supple flesh of your lower lip.

you gracefully thwack his left pectoral. " tommy , para. " you babbled above the woman's enliven gaze and words of corroboration spoken with a titanic grin.

he whir smugly , planting a resounding peck on the cotton of your flushed cheek. " they have to know i’m with the most  beautiful girl  they've ever seen. "

✱ HARRY COLLETT ──── the encouraging one .

he is very appeased , following you like a puppy behind its owner. his honeyed orbs gleamed as he took in the sparkles and jewels on your leather corset , or the pearls distributed around the edges of your flare pants. he was enraptured by your existence at all times , he couldn't get enough; not now , not never. you had him by your wide hip , snuggly tied between your bb belt.

he tends to seek your assistance when it comes to attires , sending you pictures of the outfits he will wear for max promotions interviews. he would beg at a certain point in the day for you to do the same if he didn't get a chance to see you for the time being.

he would make sure he was there , watching you at the feet of the queen―sized bed in your room , choosing and mixing outfits , a pout on your glossy pink mouth and your index finger tilted on your chin in a discerning semblance. his aid in those moments was of little use , as he claimed that everything looked good on you. he would keep quiet , then , as he didn't want you to kick him out of the bedroom.

some spontaneous dates were , even , based on shopping. most of the bags were your purchases. none had been your voluntary selection , though. harry would see anything he thinks would match with a skirt or blouse in your closet or clothes newly acquired deep in the chanel handbag sealing his forearm , and scour your regard before putting it in the bushel , buying it for you. when you grumbled at the overpriced accessories and make―up he grasped just because you had stopped to look at them in the aisle of the store , he was hasty to rebuff your perseverance of you paying for them with your money , or return them.

a small gasp erupts from his roseate , pouty mouth , fingers clutching the hanger that held the white jacket with synthetic polar bear fur detailing. " love , look. this would look good on you with your cheetah lace dress. " he comments impetuously , his bunny frontal teeth shining adoringly over the shoulder of the garment.

" it's too expensive , bebé. " you examine the miniature off―white card on the side of the fluffy fabric.

he snorts skeptically  , prudently tossing the gear into the plastic basket amidst his digits. his hand meanders against your palm , and he budge you forward.

" don't worry , it's on me. " he proclaims. " now come on , i think i saw some nice necklaces in that corner over there. "

I WANT REVENGE © TUXEDONET ╱ 2024.

˚୨୧₊♱ deer dolly ao3 link

♱; All characters featured in this story belong to VivziePop. This story is a deviation from the canon material. | update: taglist full :(( | my playlist!

MAINSERIES

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v. | part vi. | part vii. | part viii. ...more coming soon!

SPIN-OFFS/ONESHOTS

patching him up + making him jealous on purpose

ART

by me! -> dolly I by @shizukaay0 -> dolly I . dolly II . see more on their acc!

ASKS

jessicarabbit drabble + voiceclaim | character inspo | deep dive into dolly's mind

sweet everything, atsumu miya ; one shot collection

SWEET EVERYTHING┆this just in: maybe he can be fixed. atsumu miya used to make news as a longtime bachelor who considered marriage to be "settling down" and as someone who prides himself on "never settling", it's clear the only ring he cares about comes from a championship. barely seven years after this iconic interview, atsumu miya walks away from professional volleyball as a devoted husband and father to the most adorable little toddlers who test his stamina as he chases after them.

a collection of inter-connected (mostly fluffy) one shots and drabbles centered around husband/dad!atsumu, maintaining the honeymoon phase of marriage, and the family antics that occur when his children inherit his wild, brash nature <3

triple trouble┆before his early retirement from the game, new dad atsumu steals every reporters' attention as he shows the world his triplets during a post-game conference; only, it's really his babies that have everyone so entertained.

number one┆atsumu's always reassured you that he doesn't mind leaving behind his professional career to spend more time with the family, but the media gets to him. his creeping doubt and feelings of regret only amplify when he walks into his office to see that his sons have accidentally destroyed his trophy case, all his awards and plaques dented, ruined, or shattered into pieces on the floor. — coming soon!

my heart hits rewind┆noted as one of the longest standing (and healthy) relationships in celebrity circles, people online always speculate on how you and atsumu are still so in love with each other, especially after having kids that are constantly vying for your attention. alternatively: 5 times you and atsumu try get some alone time + the 1 time you two finally get a date night. — coming soon!

honeymoon fades┆you and atsumu celebrate your wedding anniversary (nsfw). — coming soon!

i want your dreary mondays┆before the marriage and your kids, it's just you and atsumu trying to figure things out. or: atsumu realizes he wants to spend his whole life with you and does everything in his power to convince you to stay by his side (even though you never really did need much convincing). (nsfw) — coming soon!

author's note a little throwback to my bleedinqhearts days lol!!! i hope you all miss dad!atsumu as much as i did <3

fan art inspired by the fics (from my old blog <3) triplets ami & atsumu

𝘿𝙖𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣 𝙏𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙚𝙣 𝙭 𝙃𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧! 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧/𝙤𝙘

𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦, 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳. 𝘐𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢 𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘥. 𝘠𝘦𝘵, 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩.

Warning: Vulgur language, sexual moments (no actual sex)

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Maricelle Hightower was born a regal lady, bred to be perfect, obedient, and pliant.

Born from the same womb as her twin sister Alicent Hightower, the two girls were meant for high class living, meant to be royal wombs to any high class lord, or king.

Alicent Hightower had always been deemed the oldest, the most quiet between the two sisters. Due to her submissive behaviour, she had bore the brunt of their fathers actions.

Otto Hightower had tried to bend and fold Maricelle to his whims, but he had been met with consistent hostility and resistance.

In his hold Alicent felt like dough, elastic but agreeable when met with enough pressure and force. Maricelle felt like molten glass, permanent burns and scars would be the punishment for attempting to change her mold.

…

Once Otto had tried to be physical with her, grabbing her wrists so harsh it would leave bruises. Pulling her hair to ensure her conformity.

Maricelle had shown no reaction, and after dismissing her he kept hearing terrible tales from maids and working men alike, they’d whisper how terrible, and cruel the Hightower family would treat their lovable and kind Lady.

It had gotten worse throughout many moons, that other men of higher class had been known to discuss the hot topic.

Otto had asked Maricelle to stop what she was starting.

He was met with a coy face and her bandaged wrists.

“Father, I’m not sure why your listening to the common men so immensely”

…

During Maricelles first engagement with a neighboring Lord, a large event was hosted, which lasted 2 days and 2 nights. On the final night the Lord was said to have excused himself from the celebration and had asked for Maricelles assistance to his bedchambers.

The next day the man was found dead on his plush feathered bed.

No blood, no coughing, no struggle.

Maricelle was seen during that time. Their had been many accounts of her leaving the Lords chambers as soon as she tucked him into bed.

…

Shortly after she was sent home. Her guards and handmaids had been worried for her health, what if this supposed killer had somehow managed itself into the castles kitchen, and would poison their beloved lady.

Otto could recall asking his daughter about the events that occurred that night.

She replied with a familiar coy smile and asked him if he suspected it was her.

To which he replied with a gruff no.

“We all have a time and place father. Lord Alaric has just met his” Maricelle then bowed her head and excused herself from the council room.

Otto swore to himself then and their that he would make sure whomever Maricelle would marry, could handle her tendency’s.

His wishes would come true in the form of a rogue prince.

—

“Has he truly gone mad?” Maricelle uttered to her sister. “What does father want to achieve by marrying me off the Prince Daemon” she scoffed.

The carriage had shook and swayed from side to side.

“Sister” Alicent put her hand over Maricelles gloved ones. “If it is any condolence, Prince Daemon is young and he is always flying to diffrent nations on his dragon. After the marriage consummation, ‘tis certain that you will no longer need to see him”

Maricelle held onto her sisters hand, gripping it tighter. “I suppose. I just hope that I do not see my end like Lady Rhea Royce” she whispered softly.

The people of Kings Landing had known Maricelle as the perfect daughter, kind in every way, mesmerizing in every way. She liked the attention, craved it even. She made it apperant to herself that she would always keep a shark eye and an even sharper ear to hear comments people would whisper about her throughout the cold halls of the Red Keep.

Her father was not opposed to the vision either.

—

“Lady Maricelle” King Viserys had spoken. His voice slightly hoarse, echoing throughout the cold hall of the throne room.

“Your grace” she bowed and held her poise.

“Otto has done his job well with you and your sister. You are both well refined young women, and he aught to be nothing but proud”

She had to stop herself from scoffing.

—

The first time Daemon Targaryen layed eyes on the Hightower women was when he saw her sitting alone on a stone seat near the blossoming flora.

From his spot behind a pillar, his eyes roamed her figure.

Whoever this women was, she was well endowed in all the right areas, the square neckline outlined in intricate embroidery only highlights the swell of her bosom.

Suddenly his mouth seemed dry, and his feet had grown a mind of it’s own. Walking towards the entrancing women, and taking the rest of him with it.

He stood in front of (the still unknown) women.

“The Red Keep gardens are wonderful this time around” Daemon plucked one if the stray petals that had gotten trapped in her hair. “Aren’t they?”

Maricelle slowly fluttered her eyes open, and blinked, being met with the legs of a stranger in front of her. Averting her gaze she was met with the unmistakable likeness that was Daemon Targaryen.

“Prince Daemon”

He hummed, and sat beside her. Making eye contact with while she looked up at him, was to difficult.

Even for a seasonal women wooer like himself.

It was especially difficult when he had a clear view of her plunging neckline, exposing the obvious softness of her tits.

He was a simple man.

“Seems I’m quite well known” He laughed, more so coughed, trying to stop the foreign heat of his ears due to his own thoughts.

She chuckled, and he had started getting dizzy.

“How could one not know of the Rogue Prince”

“I suppose my title precedes me” He mustered to look her in the eyes.

Now close enough, he could confirm that this women had to be a siren. A mermaid maybe. She’d somehow grown legs and had come to taunt him.

Idiot.

He scolded.

Her eyes were umber, with slight glimpses of green when the light hit them just right. If he kept looking maybe he would’ve noticed the similarities between her and her sister, but before he looked strange he had to force his eyes to peel away from her face. Instead he took in her attire.

A verdant green.

If he was in the right state of mind he might’ve put two and two together, but it seems this women was to tempting to think about anything else.

…

The two had chatted the noon away.

Sitting on the stone bench, almost knee to knee, only a whisper parted them, to engrossed in their conversation to separate.

He had enjoyed making her laugh, and while she was in a fit of giggles she had noticed that the sun was no longer high above her, but was now setting atop a hill.

She faced Daemon and had hurriedly said her goodbyes.

Their she left him, high (hard) and dry.

Only the soft billowing of her dress was all he could see as she ran as elegantly as she could away from him.

Daemon sighed. The spell she put him under had started to slowly go away.

It was when he started to walk away from the garden that he realized he has no name to label the maiden that entranced him.

—

The event that night was brimming with Lords and Ladies from around Westeros.

Some had become intoxicated as soon as they entered the great hall.

From her position near her sister and father, Maricelle kept a keen eye upon any figure that entered the room.

Her brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower had been canoodling with the ladies on the dance floor. It was not a sight she wanted to behold.

Finding the party dull, she made her way out of the festivities and found herself back at the stone bench she spent all afternoon at.

She hesitated to sit, but her instincts took over.

Maricelle could feel the cold and sturdy seat even through the many layers of her proper attire. Their was no sound except for the drowing noise of chatter and loot music from the hall just across the way.

Their was no sign of movement, not even servants were seen scattering about.

It seemed like it was just her.

Before she could fully relax, two callused and rough hands gently made contact with her eyes, covering her sight.

“To what do I owe the pleasure” Maricelle laughed softly. Placing her own hands near the ones covering her eyes, clinging onto the man’s wrists

“It’s not every day that I see a dame all by herself, rare in especially beautiful maidens” The man’s voice was tainted in tease.

“Why don’t you reveal yourself”

“As the lady wishes”

Daemon retracted his hands, and quickly held both of her own that were attached to his wrists. He initiated her to rise from her seated position by lifting her hands into the air.

She twirled around and craned her head upwards to face Daemon.

Their hands still holding each others sank between the two, acting like a bridge.

Their faces were to close to be considered polite, and the stone bench parted them by their knees.

“How may I help you Prince Daemon?”

Maybe it was the darkness of the night playing tricks on him, but Daemon swore he could feel her leaning towards him.

“Having you here now is all I need”

She scoffed slightly, “Is this how you charm all women”

“Only lonely pretty ones in gardens”

“So I am lonely?”

“Not anymore”

—

Daemon had unknowingly escaped from the festivities meant for his betrothed to Maricelle Hightower, but he could care less now that a pretty women was running and following him through the castle corridors, all while laughing.

Maricelle held up her dress as Daemon led her by a stretched arm. His other hand was secured on her waist.

The dashed and stumbled through the dimly lit halls, giggling like children.

Maricelle had thought him immature, a barbarian, a beast, and everything under the bright Westeros sun. She still felt that way but even she could admit, he was very fun.

She had also neglected to tell him her full name, wanting to see his reaction at a later date. Which would be inevitable.

…

The two found themselves in the library. Dusty, but most importantly, empty.

Daemon waited no longer, and started to attack her neck. He leaned her on a wooden table, so her ass was pressed against his pelvis, while she faced away from him.

The room was filled with feverish moans and whimpers.

Maricelle’s neckline had been pushed down, along with its many layers. Revealing her plush breasts.

Daemon makes quick work of the clean slate of her skin and littered her with marks of light purple and red bruises.

Daemon on the other was anything but untouched, his hair was being gripped by her right hand, while she had made her own marks on his neck, and jaw. They were much more pronounced.

Daemon had wanted to progress more, kissing her was incredible, but he was sure she was hiding something magical underneath all this fabric. He lifted her skirt and clothing, reaching for her small cloths. His hands caressing her exposed thighs.

Before anything to dishonourable happened, a loud banging was heard from the front door.

“Lady Maricelle? We have urgent orders from your father. A guardsman had seen you entering this room”

It was the nightly watch.

Had her father really been prone to incredibly terrible timing.

I was just about to have the time of my life. Maricelle huffed, disappointed greatly.

“Lady Maricelle, may I enter?” The night watch asked.

Daemon and Maricelle looked at each other with worried looks. If Viserys was to find that he was about to defile a young women who seemed important due to the guard reference of ‘Lady’, he would not be able to avert that kind of crisis.

Otto would be incredibly furious. Maricelle would most definitely be locked up in her room again.

“Uh…please, wait a moment” Maricelle uttered.

“Of course Lady Maricelle”

Daemons head flicked back and forth to his surroundings. Under the table? No. Behind the shelf? No. Behind the door? Stupid.

He then looked at the flustered women before him, all red and blushing with desire. She had pulled those delightful breasts back into their cage, and had tried to hide the marks of desire on her neck with her hair.

His gaze then looked further down, he was still holding onto her skirt.

Under the dress of a beautiful women? Yes.

Maricelle let out a small shriek as Daemon lifted her skirt further up and crawled underneath the large mass of fabric.

Maricelle blushed even harder.

She could feel the way his body was positioned under her dress. His arms had wrapped themselves on her right leg, and he was just hiding on the edge of her skirt.

“Lady Maricelle?”

She twisted her head to the door, and dusted away any remaining evidence on her clothes and made sure to lightly smack Daemons head to let him know that someone was now entering.

“Come in”

The night watch was a fairly old man, suited in the common silver armour, a torch in his left hand, and a spear in his left.

“Lady Maricelle, your father has summoned you to his private chambers, along with your sister”

“Alright, thank you for informing me, you may go”

The man stared and blinked at her. “Um, my Lady, do you not want any company to escort you?”

She tsked quietly, and she could feel Daemons shaking. Most likely laughing at her.

“No need, I will go myself”

“It would be improper of me to leave you to your own defences, especially at nigh-”

“I will go see my father myself” she hurriedly interrupted him, stern in her words.

The man had hesitated to act, but with a sigh he had bowed and wished her good night.

As soon as the doors had closed, Maricelle quickly tried to kick Daemon out of her dress.

“Prince Daemon! I must go!” She spoke quietly through gritted teeth, while holding up her skirt.

He laughed and continued to hold onto her waist now that he was standing straight.

“Alas you must”

He sneakily pecked her lips and whispered a goodnight before watching her scramble away, and out of the room. Leaving him only with the memory of her smooth silk legs, warmth, and another hard on.

Daemon groaned and looked down at his trousers. They were stretched to their limits as his bulge had been trying its best to escape its confinements.

“Hand it is” he sighed.