#“The woman looking for a seat at the food court” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

arabellasleopardcoat · 1 year ago

Text

Capital (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You think you married the plainest woman on earth, and you look away for one second and suddenly she is not. Typical. At least, for Daemon.

Warnings: Mature language, sexual thoughts, canon typical violence.

Requested: Yes! But since I am particular about my aesthetic, I didn't answer there. Jealousy + arranged marriage. Brought to you by the seven deadly sins.

Gluttony /ˈɡlʌtəni/

the habit of eating and drinking too much.

Claw Island is as good as getting vanished from the court. You know it. Your Lord husband knows it. Even the tenants know it. Why else would the King order your marriage to Daemon Targaryen?

It was not as much of a punishment as the King had hoped. The Celtigars are a prestigious family, one of the few left with Valyrian blood. While not ones to flaunt their riches or seek for great power, you led a luxurious lifestyle.

The finest wines. Myrish rugs. The newest books. And of course, the riches from the surrounding sea. Beautiful pearls, a fleet that, while small, sailed with speed. The best foods.

The small island was your perfect little world, sequestered away from the troubles of the mainland. What else could a person long for, when they lived in a paradise? Claw Island had it all. Miles and miles of tempestuous sea, soft sands and gorgeous wildlife not seen anywhere else. Humble, but good people. Natural riches enough to last a lifetime.

But as of late, your breathtaking lands did nothing to bring you peace. Sometimes, in truth, as you walked along the shoreline, you wished for a tremendous sea wave to swallow you whole.

It would be better than this. Among the crabs, the sea life and wreckage of old ships, you would feel at ease. At home, even. And finally, finally untroubled. But things were not as you wanted them to be. With your Lord Father at court, someone had to mind the island. And no one knew the lands as you did.

You shuddered to think of something happening to you. In that case, the island, and its people, would go to your husband. Considering how much he hated it here, Prince Daemon would make a poor ruler.

You glare. He glares right back. Remembering your manners, you serve him a cut of spider crab seared in butter. The meal is rich and decadent, a show of the best Claw Island has to offer.

“Crab, Lady Wife?” Daemon raises both eyebrows. “Again?”

“What else does the Prince wish to eat?” You do your best effort at keeping your tone even. You try hard to not raise your voice at him, remembering the rumors about what happened to his last wife. So far, it seems to be working. Despite being older than you, the man behaves as a child. You have found he benefits from being managed as one, too.

Ever since you got married, he has been desperately trying to rile you up. The Prince always seemed to deflate when you refused to engage. He was clearly itching for a fight, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“You seem too willing to indulge in cannibalism for my tastes.” Daemon, in what he surely believed to be the absolute demonstration of cutting wit, smirks. You smile at him, sedate. You have heard enough remarks about crabs to last a lifetime. “It’s worrying.”

You could answer him. Perhaps make a mockery of his inability to perform in bed and the behavior of the female praying mantis. You do not. Instead, you force yourself to give him a tight smile.

“Don’t worry. I will ask the servants to bring you fish.” You took your napkin out of your lap and placed it on the table. Dutifully, you rang the bell to call for a servant.

“Again?” Daemon complained, sounding much like a petulant child. You smiled and went back to your seat. Your crab was getting cold, and it would most likely be by the time your husband’s fish was served. But good manners dictated you could not start eating without him. You resigned yourself to another night of eating a cold dinner.

“You should write to the King, my Prince. I would serve you venison, were it not for the fact that your dragon has nearly extincted the population here.” While you were by no means poor, feeding a dragon was an expense you didn’t care for, especially one so picky as Daemon’s was showing to be.

While a dragon was a marvelous creature, and having one guarding your lands was a great perk, it was also hard. Caraxes ate the same as five grown men in a day, if not more. He didn’t eat just anything you served him, either. Much like his owner, he was picky. He had come with dragon keepers, and needed to be built a shelter.

You had hoped that his serpentine appearance would mean that he would eat a lot in one sitting, then hibernate, but no such luck. Your island couldn’t keep up, no matter how hard you tried. Animals didn’t reproduce at the pace required.

“Of course, my Lady. Of course.” Daemon says, in a dismissive tone. It’s then, when a servant comes in with his fish.

Your crab is cold. Again. Daemon is not pleased with the fish, but seems wary of extending dinner even more. For once, he doesn’t complain.

Dinner is eaten silently. In your head, you make plans for tomorrow's meals. Perhaps oysters, served cold, will withstand the wait better. You finish dinner and settle down to read some before bed.

When the time comes for it, you close your book. Daemon departs with a cold kiss to your cheek. You go to your bed, just as cold and empty as the kiss was, and fall asleep.

It’s around the witch's hour when he comes back to you, getting into the bed next to you. He stinks of cheap perfumes and oils. As he pulls you closer, to be able to hide his face on your neck, you can feel the smell of sex and alcohol induced sweat. It comes from the clothes Daemon hasn’t even bothered to shed before getting in bed with you.

You don’t like him drunk. He gets sloppy. You do better when he hides his indiscretions, the proofs of your failure as a woman. As a wife. He seeks his pleasure from other bodies, never yours. With you, he is unable to perform to completion.

Perhaps the same happens to him with others, on nights like these. That thought soothes you, and it’s the only reason why you allow Daemon to seek comfort in your arms. Sometimes, he has nightmares. It’s expected then, too, that you are the one to soothe him back to sleep.

Shifting in his grip, you rub his back, gently. You card your other hand through the matted strands of blonde hair, as a mother would do to his child. In many ways, you guess he is one. You pity him, your husband. A man with a void so deep, not even all the vices in the world could fill it.

You are unable to fall back asleep. You lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling. When you hear the rooster’s first crow, you roll out of bed. Sleep is not coming for you. Daemon, unperturbed in his slumber, only sprawls more. You tuck him in.

When you get to your vanity, you catch the servants leaving the correspondence for the day on it. She giggles when you point at the bed and the mess of clothes, gesturing for silence. It makes you feel better, that they think your husband comes from the pleasure houses straight into your arms for more than just cuddles.

One of the letters catches your eye. It’s written in the strange alphabet used for High Valyrian, bearing both the royal seal and the King’s name. You don’t mean to pry. In fact, you open it because you are worried your husband has upset his brother even more.

Marriage is like being tied to a ship. When the tides are good and the ship strong, you soar above the sea. But no one wants to be tied to a sinking ship. It’s that fear what leads you to heating a knife on your candle’s flame and lifting the seal.

You read as you brush your hair, unrushed. You know Daemon won’t be awake for at least six more hours. But the more you advance, skipping polite greeting, the more your stomach sinks, and you jump from sentence to sentence.

“And while I understand your dislike of Claw Island, it is a less harsh punishment than you deserve. Much you complained of wanting a Valyrian bride, and now the opportunity presents itself, ripe for the taking. Yet, you do not seem keen on it. Is it, again, the lack of a throne you find off-putting? Perhaps, the lack of a child bride you can manipulate? Your Lady Wife might not have purple eyes or silver hair, as you mention, but she is a maiden in the bloom of youth. Tales of her beauty have graced the court, shared among the eager mouths of her family and previous suitors. Both Lord Velaryon and Lord Mooton agree that the woman is a delight, well-mannered and easy on the eyes. She has impeccable breeding and education. I will not grant you the annulment. I will not allow you to go back to your whore.”

There is a coppery taste in your mouth. Blood, you realize. From biting your tongue so hard to avoid letting out a scream of rage. It feels like being stabbed, countless times. In your back, and in your heart. Betrayal and deep, hurtful sorrow.

What have you done to deserve this? To be blindsided so? You have stood firm through all the humiliations your husband puts you through. Never once reproaching the way he goes out after dinner and does not come back until sunrise. Never complaining of his audacity to search comfort in your arms when he is drunk and stinking of whores. Never once raising your voice at the insults to your people, your home, your family.

But for Daemon Targaryen, it wasn’t enough. You would never be enough. Childishly, when you had first heard of your betrothal to him, you had hoped for companionship, if not love. At least, you thought, you would have a friend. But you hadn’t been enough of a woman to keep him in your bed, you had not been enough of the blood of Old Valyria for him to give you children, and you had not been enough for him to stay married to you.

He took from you, and took from your island and from your family, and not once was he satisfied. Not once, he was sated. And now, Daemon has done the unspeakable. Not satisfied with making a mockery out of you, with his constant unfaithfulness, he seeks to ruin you further. It’s only King Viserys who protects you and your family from further embarrassment.

You have underestimated him, pitying him while he planned your demise. The ruin of your house. You have been sharing your bed with the enemy. The thought frightens you and fills you with anger at equal parts. What will happen, when the King dies and the awful Princess with whom your husband was so taken ascends? Will you be put to the sword, accused of an imaginary crime to get you out of the way? Treason, perhaps? Hands shaking in anger, you fold the letter and reseal it as carefully as you can.

That is the day you decide you will retreat into your shell, like any good crab. You will close yourself over, put up walls and keep him as far away as you can. And you will wait for the day to stab at his heels until his physique reflects exactly the useless kind of man he is inside.

One day, this man might kill you. You will have to make sure he does not get away with it.

Envy /ˈenvi/

the feeling of wanting to be in the same situation as somebody else; the feeling of wanting something that somebody else has.

It’s not often you are summoned to the court. But your father is about to be named Keeper of the Keys, a prestigious position often held by members of your house before being promoted to Master of Coin. The implication is clear. Soon, another Celtigar will be handling the finances of the Kingdom. It’s a ploy, to intertwine you further with the Royal Family. As soon as King Viserys dies, it will be your father who serves on Princess Rhaenyra’s council.

Hence, the need for a celebration. Traveling from Claw Island to King’s Landing is exhausting, especially considering that you do the journey by ship while your husband does so in his dragon. He seems overjoyed about it, but you can only think of how much the separate travel is costing your purses.

Daemon arrives early, because of course he does. Meanwhile, you spend your time preparing to put on the play of your life. You must be the most dutiful wife in the Seven Kingdoms, or else he might find a reason to get rid of you. Setting apart your most fashionable dresses, preparing gifts for the King and Queen and otherwise looking radiant.

Knowing Daemon, he is already whispering poison in his brother’s ear. You need to dazzle the King and the whole court, convince them you are not only an adequate wife but a perfect one. No stain must be perceived in your reputation.

You arrive punctually, just in time to prepare for the feast. It’s inside the Hall where you meet Daemon, and greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Chaste, but affectionate, performed under the King’s approving look. You are radiant in your house’s colors, with subtle references to Targaryen’s ones.

The feast is torture. Viserys, Daemon and Rhaenyra are all seated at the same table. They get along wondrously, while you, Queen Alicent and Ser Laenor are ignored despite being next to them.

The only thing that calms your heart is watching your father, sitting at the table of the Master of Coin.

“My Queen.” You say to her, hoping to curry favor. The Gods knew you needed as many allies as you could. “I brought you this.”

You take out a beautifully engraved rendition of the Prayers Book. It’s a gorgeous edition, with a gold finish. You hope that at least, if she doesn’t like it, she would think it is a gift to the babe she carries. It’s a thoughtful gift, the kind of thing you excel at.

“Oh, Lady Targaryen!” The Queen says, and takes it, admiring it in the light. Fortunately, she seems truly charmed by it. “It is the most wonderful thing!”

“I have one myself.” You tell her, as if you had not purchased it for exactly this moment. “When I heard you were from Oldtown, I couldn’t think of a better thing to bring.”

“It’s lovely.” Alicent says, as your husbands ignore both of you. Viserys and Daemon are too busy having their fun to care about what women are doing. “Will you join me in prayer tomorrow?”

“I would be delighted to.” It’s the first genuine smile you wear since your arrival. And it’s the first time that someone from the royal family smiles back.

You do attempts towards Rhaenyra and Laenor. They both ignore you, and so, you decide to keep strictly to conversing with Alicent. You decide to leave Viserys out of it, despite your gratitude to him because you would rather not look like much of a sycophant.

Your happiness at finally making a friend between your in-laws makes you oblivious to Daemon’s silence. During the whole dinner, he barely taunts you. None of the crab-based insults he so favors are present, either. That should have warned you. If you have learned something about your husband is that there is never a time when he is quiet.

He bides his time. The desserts are already served when Daemon delivers his greatest insult up to date. Some couples are even swaying to the rhythm of the music already, no matter if the tables have yet to be cleared.

“I wish to dance, I think.” Daemon says, getting up from his seat. You start to get up too, knowing you cannot refuse him, but he turns towards Rhaenyra. “A dance, niece?”

Rhaenyra preens under the attention and takes his hand. For a second, you stay frozen, hand falling uselessly by your side just when you were about to reach for him. You feel like you are being stabbed. Again.

The humiliation is so great you wish for some great disaster, perhaps one of the couples bumping against a table and overturning it, just to get the attention away from you. Half the hall has now seen you get rejected by your husband. In a celebration meant to honor your father, nonetheless.

You struggle to keep your face emotionless, curved into a polite little smile. You have made a fool of yourself. Hot tears gather in your eyes, threatening to spill.

Noticing your despair, Alicent places a hand on your arm, softly.

“Thank you, Lady Targaryen.” She exclaims, loudly. “With the babe getting bigger and bigger every day, I find it harder to stand. You are very thoughtful.”

Her rescue, as she stands and walks down the dais, helps you save face. Your smile turns more genuine.

“It’s but good breeding, my Queen.” You answer, just as loud. “What kind of noble could see a Lady of your station and not aid her?”

Alicent smiles, and she cradles her stomach.

“Indeed. Only a savage, I would think.” Her glance at her own husband is unmistakable. But Viserys is too busy watching Rhaenyra and Daemon dance to help his pregnant wife. His eyes never leave his brother and daughter, his expression twisted into one of annoyance.

Alicent makes her way towards a table where a few knights sit. Most of them are from Oldtown, and you cannot help but smile at her doing the rounds her husband so neglects. But her rescue, and quick exit, leave you in an uncomfortable position. King Viserys and Ser Laenor are engaged in conversation, including you only when they remember your presence, which means once every half an hour.

Without Queen Alicent, you have no conversation partner. The only thing you can do is watch. Daemon twirls around the room as if he were not a married man, taking every eligible bachelorette in the room for at least one dance. He is enchanting, pulling blushes left and right. He dances twice with Rhaenyra and Laena Velaryon.

You play your part to perfection. Each time he glances your way, you give him an indulgent smile or a sweet tilt of your head. Even when he dances again with Rhaenyra, your expressions don't shift. Instead, you lift your cup to them and even find it in yourself to give a small clap.

It’s torture. It’s exhausting, having to play the devoted but never jealous wife, when he is doing his best to embarrass you. Finally, the King retires, but orders that the celebrations do not stop. You consider making your way towards your father, uncaring if leaving Laenor sitting on his own is rude.

Just as you are getting up, a knight, dressed in a fine green gambeson, steps in front of you. You look up at him, wondering what he could possibly want.

His voice is soft and eloquent, with the barest hint of an accent. His voice reminds you of someone, but you cannot quite place who.

“Lady Targaryen. You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” You answer him, politely. Is he about to ask you for a dance? Is this a ploy for your husband to embarrass you further?

The knight smiles. He is tall and slender, very different from your husband, yet handsome just the same.

“If I had a wife as pretty as you, she wouldn’t be sitting here.” He compliments, and startles a laugh out of you. It has been months since the last time a man complimented you so. Before marrying, you had quite the suitors, but no one dared practice courtly love with the Rogue Prince’s wife. And your husband never once spoke to you kindly.

It’s a thrill, to feel wanted and appreciated again. You love having his eyes on you. It fills you with a forgotten kind of confidence. As the daughter of the man whose star in court is rising, as a beautiful woman and as the wife of a Prince, you deserve to be admired. It’s not your fault your husband can’t see it, you are desirable. People should be currying for your favor. You shouldn’t be begging for the scraps of a man whose only interest is his niece.

“Would she be on the dance floor?” You tease the knight, falling back into the practiced flirtations that had made you so popular before. You feel like you are glowing again.

The knight shakes his head, a hint of mischief appearing in his brown eyes.

“I would forbid her from leaving my chambers.”

At that, you laugh again, blushing. Despite how charming he is, you are still a married woman. You cannot give anyone reason to suspect or judge you, else Daemon might have basis to rid himself of you.

“I am not your wife.” You say, politely. The knight gasps, as if wounded, making you laugh again. You do not realize someone is glaring daggers at you, entranced as you are by him. “But perhaps a dance might suffice?”

The knight gives you a cheeky grin. He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, gently.

As he leads you towards the dance floor, you barely notice Daemon looking disgruntled on the edge of it. You look over and see Rhenyra dancing with some tall and broad knight. He is probably jealous of him.

“You must give me your favor, for tomorrow's tournament. We are, after all, celebrating your family.” The knight says, making you focus back on him. His eyes are brown and kind, so soft. They remind you of someone, but once again, you can’t tell who.

“Ah, I see you are a tough negotiator.” You tease, your tone turning slightly more girlish. This time, it is the knight who laughs.

“What can I say? It’s in my blood.” The man winks, as he starts to twirl you around.

“I think, my lord, you have yourself a deal.” You grin.

It’s only when a Hightower knight approaches the stands the next day and offers you his lanze, you realize the mistake you have made.

Wrath /ræθ/

extreme anger.

Daemon can’t believe his ears. Out of nowhere, a sweet sound reaches him. It’s the sound of a Lady’s laughter, but something about it makes him turn his head.

Perhaps, the fact that the sound has managed to catch his attention at all, despite the loud music, chatter and other laughs. Perhaps it is that the sound is familiar to him. He doesn’t know what it is, but as the piece finishes, he steps aside and tries searching for the source.

It’s then he sees you. His wife. Glowing and laughing on that Hightower cunt’s arm. And no, it’s not Alicent he is referring to. Otto’s spawn seems to have a proclivity for you because this is the other one. The elder.

Gwayne. His hands all over you, a gentle touch to your lower back to guide you forward. And are your eyes brightening? For him? As you pass by Daemon, you barely spare him a glance. He manages to hear a piece of the conversation.

“Your favor, for tomorrow's tournament…” The man has the gall to ask, as if he could win you the flower crown! The nerve of that Hightower pup, to think himself able to win. It’s clear he doesn’t remember the last time he faced Daemon, and while he was already planning on entering, now he knows with absolute certainty he is competing. Gwayne Hightower seems to have forgotten his lesson. He needs to remember his place.

“… Tough negotiator…” Your cheerful voice answers. Probably telling him he has to win if you do so because you are Valyrian and proud like him. Surely, the idea of getting crowned Queen of Love and Beauty appeals to you. You want a flower crown? Daemon will get you the damn thing.

When he was no more than a boy, his father used to have a particularly overzealous hound. Daemon had taken great delight in setting him free just when ladies were visiting. The dog loved sniffing beneath the ladies' skirts and humping their legs. The whole scene often ended up with Daemon getting yelled at, either by the ladies or their husbands. Now, as he looked at the proverbial dog humping his wife, Daemon understood why the ladies' husbands were so enraged.

He should cut his hands. Hightowers. No sense of shame at all, with their whorish ways. They were all the same. There went Alicent, throwing herself at Viserys when poor Aemma was not even in her pyre. There went Gwayne Hightower, placing his paws all over you and trying to charm you when Daemon was still in the room.

Couldn’t he tell you are his? It’s not that Daemon likes you, but it’s an affront to his honor. You are the wife of a Prince. The mere fact that a measly knight thought he could compare it’s outrageous. And the fact that he dared touch you! The nerve!

It’s Daemon who shares your bed, back in Claw Island. It’s Daemon you hold during the night, who pays for your silly little dresses. It’s for him you have clearly gotten all pretty today. How dare he, that Hightower fool.

He can’t have you. Gwayne Hightower is not allowed to just swoop in and try to steal his woman. You are meant to sleep by his side, be his solace. You are not the kind of woman for whom a simple knight would be enough. Just like him, you love the lush life. Could Gwayne Hightower buy you a dress like that? Could he use a dragon to protect your little island?

Daemon clutches at his cup so hard, he thinks he might bend the metal. You are his bride. He is the only one allowed to have you. If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to, but it doesn’t mean someone else can.

Rhaenyra approaches him again, no doubt wanting another dance. But not even her allure, which is usually so hypnotizing to him, manages to get him out of his bad mood. He hates when other people touch what is his.

Daemon decides to retire for the night, before she can reach him. He needs to think. How he longs for your shared rooms back at Claw Island. At least that way, he wouldn’t spend the night tossing and turning, wondering if the Hightower cunt escorted you back to your rooms, and if so, at which hour.

Strange, isn’t it? Such a small act can cause such a big shift in perspective. So many months, he had spent thinking of Claw Island a prison, longing to be able to come back to court. Now, he sees it as it was. A shell made to protect the most valuable pearl the sea had produced.

Had Daemon known men at court would try to steal his bride, he would have never authorized this trip. Your father could have been named Hand, but you would have never stepped foot outside your castle if Daemon had known. You would not be taken with Gwayne Hightower if he had a say in it.

He had a plan. The knight would make a fool out of himself. Daemon just had to encourage him in the right direction.

Daemon is up and about as soon as the sun is. He strolls towards the space prepared for the tournament, armor in hand. He changes slowly, giving plenty of time for Gwayne Hightower to arrive.

The foolish knight does. So do you, sitting next to your father in the stands, all pretty and glowy under the sun. You wear a red gown that compliments not only your skin tone, but pays homage to both of your houses. After all, both House Targaryen and Celtigar have red on their coats of arms. A clear show that you were meant to be his, and his alone. What would you even look like, if you were married to a Hightower fool? Red and green would look hideous in a dress.

As the highest-ranking competitor, Daemon gets to make the first challenge. To no one’s surprise, he picks Gwayne Hightower.

Daemon waits with bated breath, already seated on his horse. Does the man dare? Oh, he dares! The Hightower cunt gallops towards the stands. You don’t rise, looking towards the Hightower whore. It’s then he realizes you must be truly innocent. You are either doubting the boldness of the man or are not aware of his house, and do not recognize him under the armor.

But as Gwayne Hightower reaches the stand, Daemon close on his heels, he takes off his helmet. You gasp.

The Hightower whore makes a move as if to get up. Her brother’s voice cuts her off.

“I was hoping to get a sign of your favor, my Lady.” The man says to you, and your eyes widen. You stand, shakily. You look at Daemon, then at the cunt, then at him, then back at the cunt. Daemon arches an eyebrow, visor lifted. “For you have already struck me with your beauty, and the fact that you cannot be mine. Allow me the consolation of placing a crown of flowers upon you, and soothe my wounded heart.”

You gasp at the bold declaration. Daemon has to admit it, the cunt has some nerve. Not only has he praised you in ways that are too bold even for a couple courting, but he has slighted Daemon in front of the whole court. He has made explicit mention of your marriage to him.

Viserys eyes him warily. Daemon scoffs. The distrust is unnecessary. Why would he slaughter the Hightower now, when he has the chance to plummet him into the ground without consequences in just a few minutes? Besides, it would be in bad taste, slaughtering the brother of his sister-in-law.

Your father urges you forward, with a forced laugh. You grasp one of the favors from your box, which has only two, and place it upon the Hightower’s lanze. The pretty ribbons sway in the wind. White and red from House Celtigar proudly displayed.

Daemon clears his throat, and presents his own lanze.

“How touching.”

You ignore him, as Rhaenyra approaches. Surely thinking how he will want to wear her favor, after his rejection of last night. Curse him, Daemon thinks. He should have danced with you. If he had known that up jumped son of a rat was going to try his luck, you would have not left Daemon’s arms the whole night.

“Thank you, niece. But today I fancy wearing my wife’s favor. For it would be a shame for her to be lacking her crown once her champion undoubtedly disappoints.” He loudly declares, uncaring if his niece’s face falls. Rhaenyra will get over it. But this has turned into a manhood competition. He can’t let Gwayne Hightower, of all people, win.

“Can I do that?” Daemon hears you whisper towards Viserys and his whore. “Can I have two champions fighting each other?”

Viserys, as if this is the most fun he has had in a while, answers cheerfully.

“Of course, my dear girl.” It probably is the most fun he has had in a while. Really. It must be very amusing to him, after hearing Daemon complain about you for months. Who would have known he would have to fight some Hightower for your attention? Laughable, really. A Prince groveling. “Double the chances for you to get the flower crown, is it not?”

“Of course.” Your father jumps in, clearly trying to prevent a scandal. “Go on, love. Give the other one to your husband. If more are needed, we will get more ribbons.”

You approach Daemon, pretty little favor on your delicate hands. You smile at him, pleasantly. But this close, he can tell you are shaken by the power play happening right in front of your eyes.

Daemon lowers his lanze as you stretch to place your ribbons. You give him a confused and hurt look. He stretches closer.

“Save that one.” Daemon says, as he places a hand on your hair and pulls out the red ribbon that holds it back. “I’m your husband, I get some privileges.”

His gesture makes you laugh. Daemon feels on top of the world. He gives a superior glance to the Hightower cunt, as if saying: Look at me, I do not need half your effort and get double the results.

Daemon is not so deluded as to think the laugh is more than half nervousness and half playing the part of the dutiful wife you are, but to Daemon is still a win. He can see why the other lords want you. With your hair loose, smiling and with your skin glowing from the sun, you are actually quite pretty.

He ties the ribbon around the pommel of the lanze.

“A kiss, for good luck?” Daemon knows he is pushing, but cannot help but be smug. His pretty wife gave him her hair ribbon to tie around his chosen weapon, for all the court to see. Smugness radiates out of his pores.

Without any expectation, the sweet peck you give him is even more of a delight. Even more sweet is the disgruntled look on Gwayne Hightower's face.

Safe to say, the man gets unseated so fast, it has to be the quickest defeat ever registered. The crunch he makes as he falls from his horse it’s the most satisfying sound Daemon has ever heard. The crowd gasps and cheers. The man does not get up.

That will teach him, he decides. Gwayne Higtwoer will never again even look your way. Daemon turns his horse back around, ready to face his next opponent, but it’s stopped by the pages.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower has requested to continue with the sword.” At that, his blood boils. He nearly jumps off his horse, discarding the lanze and unsheathing Dark Sister.

“What will it be, boy? First blood?” He saunters towards the man, and the sight of him this close only serves to anger him more. He shares Otto’s slender build, tall and slight. In Hightower armor, he even looks like him. Daemon is going to enjoy this.

“Why stop there?” The knight asks, hatefully. “Until one of us yields.”

“As you wish.” Daemon charges, forgoing his shield. He is just too angered for politeness. This is not jousting anymore, it’s his hate for Higtowers, and the fact that this man has tried to take something that’s his. He should have never looked your way. Never. And if it’s up to Daemon, perhaps he will leave the arena without the ability to repeat the feat.

The fight is quick and dirty, but even when he has disarmed and cornered him, Gwayne Higtower refuses to yield.

“What are you..?” Daemon asks, utterly confused because the little savage is grabbing Dark Sister with gauntled hands and pulling.

“Just as marriage is not an excuse for not loving…” He grins, teeth bared in a feral little grin, and Daemon lets go of his sword in surprise at the boldness of the fool. “No weapon is no excuse for yielding.”

He loses it, then. Later, he will only remember red. Daemon throws himself at him and starts punching him, until the asshole goes limp on his arms and has to be pulled away from him.

Only the fact that the Hightower fought back is what allows him to keep participating in the tournament, instead of being exiled again. The split lip and bleeding eyebrow do serve to build a case in his favor.

He wins the tournament without any opposition. With bloody hands, he places the flower crown on your head. Your horrified look is not as satisfactory as he would have thought.

Pride /praɪd/

the feeling that you are better or more important than other people.

Daemon manages to get a hold of you before you vacate the stands. You are trying to avoid the crowds, waiting patiently in your seat. He doesn’t allow it, urging you towards his chambers with a firm grip on your wrist.

Some other ladies titter and giggle, pointing towards the two of you. No doubt, they think he is about to ravish you. They are not wrong.

It’s not often Daemon feels desire for you. In truth, while you have a pretty mouth and a soft body, you do little for him. But today, you are enchanting. The flower crown still sits atop of your windswept hair, making you look like a forest nymph. There are a few red stains along your temple, left there by Daemon’s hands when he placed the crown on top of your hair.

Never has there been a woman more deserving of the title of Queen of Love and Beauty. As you walk with him down the halls, he feels a smug sort of satisfaction. Here is the woman half the court wants, Daemon wants to scream. Here is my wife.

The feeling is not unfamiliar to him, but it is in relation to you. His possessive nature so far has only extended towards members of his house. The lust is new, too. Daemon has experimented it many times, but never towards whom he should.

As soon the door closes after you, he kisses you forcefully, only for you to shove him away.

“What are you doing?” You ask, as you spit out some of his blood. You are remarkably strong, having been able to push him while still in armor. But what shocks him the most is the fact that you did it at all. Months of marriage and you have done nothing but smile, regardless of what Daemon does.

“Shh, Lady Wife. Nothing unusual, I assure you.” He pulls you back in, kissing along your neck. This time, you push him even harder.

Daemon stumbles and blinks, hard. Are you rejecting him? He sits down on the bed and takes off his helmet. He has beaten the Hightower fool half to death and won you the silly flower crown. Why would you reject him?

“You prefer him, don't you?” That has to be the answer, surely. You must be having an affair with the cunt. Why else would you reject him? It’s not allowed. While Daemon is not particularly keen on forcing you, you are his wife. He has a right to your body, and you shouldn’t deny him. You know it. Never before have you refused him, due to the same reason. So this must be something else.

“What nonsense are you on, now?” You barely lift your eyes from your work, busy with pouring some water in a bowl and taking out clean linens. Efficiently, as if a seasoned healer, and not a soft lady from Claw Island, you rip them apart.

“Don’t play daft, wife.” Daemon reproaches, scowling. Your innocent act is starting to tire him. You can’t possibly believe him so dumb. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“If this is about Ser Gwayne…” You start and he feels the urge to scream. He can’t help but cut you off.

“Of course it is! Of course it is about that fucking Hightower.” Daemon’s voice goes high-pitched, imitating yours. “Ser, Ser.” He rolls his eyes. “How easily they hand titles now. Is every scum in this realm a knight?”

Your face doesn’t even twitch. That is one of the things about you that drive him to insanity. No matter what Daemon says, he never seems to get a reaction. It’s infuriating. You are all manners and dimples, even in the face of the most vile insults he throws your way. You either have no honor, letting him stomp all over you, or you think him right. Pathetic. Even the Bronze Bitch bit back.

His nostrils flare. Softly, you step between his parted legs and dab at the cut on his brow with a soaked linen. Ever dutiful.

“You do know adultery is a crime.” Daemon says, in a low, threatening tone. You give him a pleasant smile, squeezing water out of the cloth. It runs red and fast down your wrist.

“So is incest.” Your voice is far too cheerful for someone who just got accused of a crime that’s punishable by death if he so chooses. And not only that, but you have the nerve to threaten him.

“I am a Targaryen.” Daemon practically growls. You glare at him. He should be angry, but instead, his loins seem to heat up. Who can fault him? Any man would feel the urge to take you over and over, when faced with those eyes and those lashes.

Surely, after it, you would understand you were his and not Gwayne Hightower’s. It was not such an ambitious plan. Perhaps a lesser man would have trouble with it, but not Daemon. Give him ten minutes between your legs and you would be singing his praises.

“And I am a Celtigar.” His pause has allowed you enough time to form a retort. You press down on the cut on his brow with a viciousness that startles him. Daemon winces in pain. No getting distracted, he notes. Less you murder him when he is not paying attention. “To stifle the blood flow.” You explain, but Daemon can see the bloodlust in your eyes. You want him to hurt. The past few months have not gone in vain, it appears.

“Mine, you are mine.” He replies, gruffly.

You let go of the cloth, hands on your hips. Your mouth opens and closes, astonished.

“You don’t have any right to speak those words to me.” How he longs to grab you and show you exactly who is in charge. There you are, screaming! You! The woman who Daemon doubted knew how to make sounds louder than polite conversation. “Am I not the bride you never wanted? Your chain? Well then, sail free. Go!” You scream, and Daemon needs to pick his jaw off the floor because never has he seen you this angry.

Are you screaming at him? He feels the urge to pinch himself, to see if he is dreaming. But the way you are pointing your finger towards the door seems very real. Still a bit confused by the sudden personality change, Daemon does not obey.

It feels like a dream. Like stepping into a parallel world. The words that come out of his mouth are spoken by a stranger, and he can only watch as you turn more and more furious.

“No. Come here.” Daemon grabs at your gown, trying to pull you into him. He doesn’t really know what he is going to do if you budge. Place you in his lap and placate you with a kiss? He doesn’t get to find out. Grabbing you has clearly been the wrong move.

You slip out of his grip with a harsh jerk. Daemon is not as young as he used to be, but the sight makes his lust bubble up. You are alluring when angry, all passionate lines, and bloody temples. Valyrian, in a way you had never been before, with your darker coloring and soft manners. Yet, when mad? You are a conqueror goddess made flesh.

“No! I will not. I am not yours. We might be married but I will…” You stomp your foot at him, all angry little crab. For the first time, he sees fire in you.

Such a shame this is the moment you chose to grow a spine. He couldn’t understand where you had been all this time. So many months wasted with the meek little wife, when he could have had you instead.

Why had you decided to show you had a personality now, of all times? It was not fair, if it was for that Hightower cunt.

“Why Gwayne Hightower? Out of all the men on earth?” Daemon mutters, clearly not low enough because you answer him.

“This is not about Gwayne Hightower.” You glare, crown of flowers balancing precariously on top of your head. As you move, a few petals fall down. Angry little dryad that you are, you bat them away.

“If not, what is it about?”

“You!” You scream at him. It’s hateful, it's rage filled, it’s everything you are usually not. A true Valyrian goddess, letting mere mortals feel her might. Daemon would have enjoyed the display more if he wasn’t the mortal in question. “I forgot what it felt like to be wanted. To be looked at as someone who was desirable. Do you know how I have felt? Begging for scraps of attention, trying to make this work?”

“Wife…” He pleads because now there are tears in your eyes, and while Daemon doesn’t do begging, he doesn’t do comforting either.

“Do not call me that! Didn’t you petition for an annulment?” And how had you found out about that? While he had not been exactly secretive with his correspondence, he didn’t believe you to be proficient in High Valyrian. He has no time to ponder on it because you intend to go further. “Well, you are in luck! I will make my own request!”

“Viserys will not allow it.” Even if Daemon has to go beg him on his knees to not grant it, you are not annulling this marriage. Not when he is just starting to see the real you.

“Fine! Then I am going back to Claw Island. Stay here.” You scream, and you look so determined it scares him. For a second, he actually thinks you have the power to ban him from the island and force him to stay, giving you plenty of time to receive visitors. Male visitors, all surrounding you, courting you, as if he were already dead and not just exiled.

“Look. I’m sorry. Can we start over?” Daemon offers, in his most pleading tone. He has not apologized since… Gods. He barely remembers how to do it.

“You made me forget I deserved more than scraps.” You laugh at him, as his first apology to someone in more than ten years is the funniest joke existing. Then, enraged. “It will be a cold day in the Seven Hells, when I give you another chance.”

Hurt. He realizes, as you throw the flower crown at his feet and slam the door. Hurt. You are hurt, not angry. He has done the worst thing a man can do to a woman. Damage her pride.

Lust lʌst/

very strong sexual desire, especially when love is not involved.

Much to your dismay, every time you try to speak alone to the King, you are swiftly intercepted. If it’s not Corlys Velaryon asking you to help him pick a book in the library, it’s your Lord Father summoning you to his chambers. It seems like the whole palace is in it because even Princess Rhaenys asks you to stroll with her through the gardens when you lurk too close to Viserys’s chambers.

Daemon was smarter than you thought. He had taken to using your own weapons against you. The need to be polite kept you from rejecting all these new invitations, and so, you often ended up stuck an entire afternoon with nonsensical plans.

As time passes, your rage starts to subside. Much to your disgust, it morphs into shame. You cannot believe how you lost control in front of Daemon. Everything you have worked so hard on could vanish for a single afternoon pf foolishness.

You would rather not be his enemy. When the time comes for the two of you to go back to Claw Island, Gwayne Hightower is still bedridden, despite it already being days. Daemon is a dangerous man to cross.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem angry, or even resentful. In fact, your husband has never been more attentive. With the talent of existing just at the right moment, Daemon appears at your side each time there is a door to be opened or a chair to be pulled.

“No one has ever seen him like this.” Queen Alicent marvels, as he watches him go fetch you a blanket in case the room is too cold for your liking. “Whatever you did to him…”

“Nothing, I assure you.” You answer, sternly. You don’t want her getting funny ideas, like that you are dabbling in witchery or the Seven knows what. It’s not something you can afford. Already balancing on a tightrope after the fight, any accusation could be your ruin. You do not trust Daemon’s change of heart. He is probably just biding his time.

Noticing something is amiss, Daemon comes back with the blanket, wrapping it around you. Alicent falls quiet.

Daemon stares at you, his hands lingering on your back more than necessary. He seems to be taking you in. His eyes fixate on your bosom a tad too long before you realize what he is doing, and you cover yourself more with the blanket.

Your cheeks heat up. You cough. Alicent’s brows raise.

“You are so beautiful, wife.” Daemon says, a bit dumbly.

“And you are a fool.” Your response is heated, and stupid, too. But you feel too embarrassed to care. Alicent is still sitting there, with a scandalized look on her face. Anyone would be ashamed to be the object of such obvious ogling, much less when they have never been exposed to it.

You are unused to this side of your husband. At most, when trying to consummate, Daemon would glance at you with disdain and proclaim it was all your fault. His eyes would never watch the heaving of your chest as you breathed, or the sway of your skirts when you walked. Were you superstitious, you would have thought him a man possessed.

Daemon laughs, either at your comment or your expression. It’s good, you suppose. At least he has not taken offense. You would have thought he would be angered, never one to suffer affronts to his pride without reacting.

“Your fool.” He leans down and places a kiss on your forehead, before walking away.

You stare at him. Alicent stares at you. Neither says anything. You are not sure what to make of it. It’s strange. It’s him now, who serves you dinner. The choicest cuts of meat, the sweetest of wines and meads, never asking for anything in exchange.

He has gotten unusually affectionate. Or possessive. Whatever it’s going through his mind, you don’t know. Daemon has never been open about his thoughts and feelings with you, unless they stem from displeasure.

Perhaps it’s a burst of boastfulness. He flaunts you, a hand on your waist, lower arm, whatever he can get away with. He is suddenly interested in the dresses you wear, commenting on them and gifting you new ones just because he thinks they would suit you. You do not miss the fact that the dresses are always in his house’s colors or styles he personally favors, with intricate needlework and embroidery.

It’s interesting. Once again, his testing of boundaries seems to come back. His hands are always playing with the curls at the nape of your neck, or the folds of your skirt. You have even caught him toying with the buttons of your bodice. It borders on the inappropriate.

“You are pushing it.” You say to him when his hands curls around yours as you dance. He is supposed to keep his hand extended for this step. He doesn’t seem to care. The other guests give him amused looks. No one is about to chide a Prince for his lovesick behavior towards his wife. Especially in a goodbye feast for the couple.

In truth, you are starting to think most of the fathers at court are relieved. If the Rogue Prince is chasing after his wife, then he is not chasing their daughters.

“Holding your hand is pushing it?” Daemon holds your hand more securely, as he makes you spin. This is another new and unexpected development. Now, he only dances with you. No heated looks at Rhaenyra, no longing glances towards Laena. You are not sure how you feel about it.

“It is. You are inconveniencing everyone.” You say, as he spins you again with a flourish. Despite wanting so badly to keep being cross with him, you cannot help but laugh with childish delight. What girl doesn’t want to be twirled around and made to feel special? “You are supposed to exchange partners.”

The balance of the dance has been thrown off by his refusal to let go of you. Any time there needs to be a switch, the couples flounder around the two of you. It’s childish on his part, but he seems unwilling to let you dance with another man.

“Oh, you haven’t seen me pushing it yet.” Daemon laughs, and pulls you in until your body is flush against his. It’s improper and probably not allowed. Scandalous, even. Yet again, no one is about to say anything.

Much less you, suddenly realizing that being pressed so close to Daemon is quite enjoyable. He smells surprisingly clean this evening. No trace of alcohol on his skin, or other women’s perfumes. Instead, he smells of the soap he usually favors and some sort of aromatic oil.

“Will you push further, then?” You raise your brows. It’s sort of amusing that Daemon is trying so hard. You would have not taken him for the seducing type, not when he had been so keen on dissolving your marriage.

“I will.” Daemon leans in, to whisper in your ear. His voice is low, thick with desire. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I want you. I burn for you. I need you in my bed, on top of me, under me, any way you will let me have you.”

You give a scandalized little gasp, softly hitting his shoulder. Daemon grins, pulling you in even more. The two of you are so close, you imagine you can feel his heart beating against yours.

“I’m not done.” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your jaw. Daemon’s lips trail kisses towards your ear, teasingly blowing some air against it. “I want to spend the nights feasting between your thighs, on the valley of your breasts…”

“Stop it! We are in public.” You squeak, yet you look up at him like a flower searching for the sun. The attention he bestows on you is flattering, and you can't help but want to hear more.

“Do you want to hear a secret, wife? Every time you walk, I find myself lost in the sway of your hips. I want to drown on it. Drown on you. Until no trace of another remains, until the taste of your lips is the only thing I know.”

By this point, your skin feels so hot you worry you are about to combust. You gape at him. Not only has he dared to make a bold declaration, but he has done so in a room full of people.

You take a moment to gather yourself. Daemon could be bluffing for all you know, and so, you decide to match him. You brush your thumb against his cheekbone, feather-light.

“Then do it. No one is stopping you. Come to bed. Drown on me. Drink me, take me, ravish me.” You are trembling, and you only realize it when Daemon holds you tighter against him. You feel feverish, voice lowered to an urgent whisper. “Give me Valyrian sons, to hold my island when we are both gone.”

“No. No.” He says, against the curve of your neck, embraced much closer than the dance requires, making a spectacle. “I want them to have your smile and your eyes, and that infuriating curve of your shoulder. Give me daughters with your smart mouth, and your even temper. I want them to be proof of the love I had for you.”

You tremble more. Love. He really said… Oh, by the Seven.

“You are shaking.” Daemon kisses your brow. “Don’t. Unless it is from pleasure.”

Laughter rings in your ears. It's yours, but it feels foreign. You are too stunned to think clearly. Daemon tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Are you still there, Lady Wife?” He taps at your lower lip with his thumb. There is a teasing tilt to his smile, but his eyes are nervous. Vulnerable. Daemon was clearly not planning on confessing tonight. “Or have I broken you?”

“Prove it.” You say, still caught up on the love part. His declaration has sent your mind reeling, and shown you all of your latest interactions in a new light. You don’t know if Daemon knows what he is doing. He is a deeply passionate creature, much like his house’s sigil. Daemon doesn’t do infatuations, nor does he do dislikes. He loves or hates, and there is no in between.

“I will.” He promises, playing with a stray piece of hair that has fallen out of your up do. “Our whole lives. But perhaps I can start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You frown, puzzled. You even pull back from his embrace to be able to look at his face. What an odd thing to say. Despite it, you admire the utter shamelessness he has about it. Were it you the one accidentally confessing, you would be a bundle of nerves.

Daemon doesn’t even blush. Of course, there is the small fact that he believes himself to be the Seven’s gift to humankind. You suppose if you believed yourself to be irresistible, you wouldn’t be nervous either. Cockiness wasn’t something you thought did it for you, but it seemed like you were learning new things every day.

“You will see.” Daemon smiles. You let him keep his secret, figuring it can’t be anything that bad.

You discover what he means when you arrive at Claw Island. A dragon egg waits for you, the fireplace clearly modified in a hurry, judging by the new stones and bricks that were added to the hearth.

“Even if it never hatches, I want you to have it. For you are as Valyrian as we are, and I was a fool not to see it sooner. You are worthy. It should have been on your cradle as a child.”

Greed /ɡriːd/

a strong desire for more wealth, possessions, power, etc. than a person needs.

The way his eyes trail after you now, it’s quite unfamiliar. Not lust, nor disdain. Something entirely new. Heavier.

Your afternoons have been filled with new entertainment. You coo at the egg, holding it over the fire. Sometimes, Daemon kneels beside you and helps you hold it, making a game of it. How long before either of you gets burned? How long can you endure, hands so close to the fire, before you are yelping and giving it to him?

When you think he is not looking, you speak to it in High Valyrian, whispering soft promises of how loved him or her will be once it hatches. There is no doubt in your mind it will. Perhaps not in weeks, or even months. Yet, your heart tells you there will be a dragon before your life ends.

Every night, you place the egg in the bed next to you. On your side, you curl around it, trying to share your warmth. Daemon reaches forward, sometimes. When he thinks you are asleep, his hand will curl over your waist and touch the egg, pressing it more against your stomach. You wonder what he means by it.

Does he know what he is doing? The low lullabies he half sings, half mutters under his breath indicate a yes. The way his lips curl into a soft smile against your nape show a longing that’s very much not subconscious.

Just as a pot of boiling water, the egg hatches a night no one it’s looking at it. Both Daemon and you are curled in a love seat, engrossed in a book. He is reading something about the doom of Valyria, your legs over his lap. You are submerged in a text about a man’s travels around the Free Cities.

One of his hands is wrapped around your ankle, in the sweetest of chains. Each time he flips a page, he will brush it with his thumb, softly. While not unwelcome, it’s strange. You are not used to being comforted in the same way you did for him during the first months of marriage. While Daemon doesn’t expect any kind of retribution, you find yourself granting it anyway.

The domesticity is quickly broken, however, when a strange noise fills the halls of your home. At first, you are unable to hear it through the background noise, but if you strain your ears, you can just make it out. It’s a shrill cross between a bird’s chirps and someone crying.

“Daemon?” You close your book and stare at him. Unable to help it, you get a little sidetracked, watching his face. His mouth is pursed in concentration, the candlelight giving his features a golden glow. Despite him being several years older than you, you cannot help but find him terribly handsome. Age has only turned him more distinguished. You betted he was dashing when younger, but unlike his brother, he has aged like a fine wine.

Sensing your eyes on him, he gives you a lazy smile.

“Little wife.” His voice comes out in a pleased rumble at having caught you looking. Your face heats up. Daemon's eyes shift from yours, to your mouth, then back to your eyes. You squirm under his gaze, trying to focus.

“Do you hear that?” You force yourself to utter.

“Hear what?” Daemon leans more towards you, his hand squeezing your knee. You give a small, delighted shiver. Good gods, what is it about him that gets you to turn into a puddle of want with the simplest touch?

“Some sort of animal crying.”

Daemon frowns. He tilts his head to the side, as if to listen better. You keep quiet, hoping to aid him. Then, his face breaks out in the biggest grin.

“It hatched! You amazing, wonderful woman.” He praises, pulling you into him. The hug is awkward, but it doesn’t last because you are too eager to see the baby dragon. Your dragon. You squirm out of his hold and rush out of the room, not even bothering to put on shoes, Daemon hot on your heels.

When you open the door to your chambers, you find the cutest thing ever. A baby dragon, slimy and confused, sits in the middle of his egg in the fireplace. It’s all big, dark eyes and long limbs, much like a baby horse. Unable to resist the temptation, you reach towards them.

“I do not…” Daemon tries to stop you, but the baby dragon climbs right up into your arms, curling close to your chest. Eager to touch it, you let it climb over your shoulder and nuzzle you, even if the sudden weight makes you stagger a little.

“That was really dangerous.” Your husband reprimands, trying to lift it away from you. The baby dragon snorts towards his direction, as if attempting to breathe fire. It only manages to give a cute little sneeze. Daemon glares.

“Aw, you are just like a baby.” You coo at the dragon, petting its head. Daemon looks even more disgruntled.

“Your dragon tried to burn me.” He complains.

“It’s a baby, husband. They don’t know any better.” You rub the scales on its back, soothingly. Unwilling to let go, you find yourself looking around your bedroom. “Let it stay here? Just for tonight.”

Daemon glares. You give him your biggest, most pleading eyes. He relents.

“Fine. But it’s not sleeping on the bed with us. And only for tonight.”

“Only for tonight.”

A month after, and the baby dragon is still sleeping in your bed. He has taken to laying between Daemon and you, leeching off your warmth. Daemon complains of having to sleep on the edge of the bed and his back being sore, but despite it, never once asks you to send the dragon outside with Caraxes.

The trouble starts, how not, with a trip to King’s Landing. This time, you ride with him, as a passenger to Caraxes, while the baby dragon follows. When Daemon lands, the dragon keepers fret around your baby, unsure of what to do with the unexpected visitor.

You command him to stay by your side, despite the protests of the dragon keepers. You are arguing and complaining and shielding your baby while Daemon only watches, amused.

Perhaps the commotion attracts more people, or someone calls for them, but you end up cornered as King Viserys makes his way to the dragon pit.

“What do we have here?” He asks, smiling at you. You give him a nervous look. Your dragon has gotten bigger, and so, you can not pick him up gracefully, but you usher him behind you regardless.

“Nothing, your grace.” You say, lacking your usual charm. You feel nervous about leaving the baby dragon on his own in the dragon pit. What if the other dragons don’t like him? What if he gets lonely?

With one hand, you reach for Daemon. His fingers meet yours halfway, squeezing reassuringly. More often than not, being a woman, your orders were not taken seriously. But if your husband gave an order, people would rush to obey. You hope he intercedes in your favor.

“Daemon, please.” You say, under your breath. “Don’t let them send him away. He will behave.”

“What do I gain, little wife?” He asks, interlocking your fingers together. Daemon gives his most charming grin to his brother, before pulling you into him. You go willingly, body lax and pliant for him. “A kiss, perhaps?”

“Please.” You turn to look at him, hoping to move him. This close, once again, you feel slightly distracted. Your husband smells so nice, and his hands feel so good around your waist, it’s no hardship at all. You press a kiss to his cheek.

“Must you always arrive with such a ruckus?” Viserys frowns. Daemon gives him a small smile.

“You know me.” Slowly, he starts to lead you towards the Red Keep, a hand placed protectively on your lower back. The message is clear. Daemon wants you to make your dragon follow you. You don’t even need to order it because your baby, smart as it is, is already following. The dragon keepers step back, muttering unhappily.

“Is it going inside?” Viserys point at your dragon. Foolishly, you had been hoping he didn’t notice, and so, your stomach drops. But Daemon doesn’t falter, strolling confidently inside as if he owned the place.

“He will behave. As long as no one touches her.” Normally, you despise when people talk about you as if you are not there. Currently, though, you can only feel relief that your dragon is not getting sent to sleep outside in the cold. He is just too little for it.

Viserys walks you towards his private dining room. A blonde child runs around, playing. The Princess and Ser Laenor are already there. And Alicent is even more heavily pregnant than before.

“How have you been?” You ask Alicent, sitting next to her. You half expect to be left out of the conversation as you were a few months before, and so, choose to sit next to someone who has been kind to you. The baby dragon hops on your lap when you take your seat.

Alicent looks absolutely horrified.

“Good enough.” She speaks, blinking slowly. It’s clear she cannot believe her eyes. She stares at the dragon in a mix of awe and fear.

“He is harmless.” You explain, petting it as if it were a small dog and not a baby dragon. “Do you want to pet him?”

Alicent reaches forward with a trembling hand. The dragon sniffs her, and curls to sleep again.

“… And I was thinking of changing the layout of the hall, to make sure he fits…” You hear Daemon complain, and your ears immediately perk up. Is he talking about your baby?

“So you keep it inside?” Viserys asks, sounding disbelieving.

“I have never seen such a close bond.” Daemon boasts. He sounds as if he is proud of you, you realize. It makes something warm flutter in your stomach. No longer are you the wife he never wanted and tried to get rid of. “Damn thing sleeps on the bed with us. It’s better trained than a dog, seriously. We should have given Celtigars dragons a long time away.”

“Why not leave it outside?” From where you are seated, you can’t see his face, but you imagine by his tone, Viserys is smiling.

“She will riot. She loves him as her own son.” Daemon explains. You keep your eyes trained on the nervous Alicent, who has managed to lay her hand on top of your dragon’s head. She looks about to bolt.

“Isn’t he the nicest thing?” You say to Alicent, excited. “He thinks I am his mom, or something. Isn’t it great?”

Alicent does not look as impressed as you hoped for, but she gives you a kind smile. She seems willing to tolerate your eccentricities if for the sake of not having to make conversation with Rhaenyra.

“Very nice.” She compliments. “Pretty colors. Prince Daemon was very kind, giving it to you.”

“He is.” You smile, softly. “Although he complains all the time.”

Alicent shrugs. This time, both of you tune in the conversation between Daemon and Viserys.

“Perhaps, as you build him something outside, you can distract her with an actual baby.” Viserys says. Alicent looks torn at the comment, and you can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by the topic.

It’s not something you had thought about before. Well, you had. Never with him, though. As a girl, you dreamed of being a mother, and as a woman, Daemon and you had discussed the issue of heirs already. You had spoken about it during your last goodbye feast, in this same castle. But those words had been spoken in the height of passion, and neither of you had done anything about it.

“Trust me. Next time she holds a babe, it will be a proper human one.” Daemon says, and his hand finds yours over the table. You look up at him, meeting his purple eyes. He looks hungry. Starved, even.

You lower your eyes demurely. Viserys laughs. And Daemon, greedy as he is, lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Sloth /sləʊθ/

the bad habit of being lazy and unwilling to work.

The light filters in through the open curtains, giving the room a soft glow. Daemon’s face scrunches up, bothered by the sunlight in his eyes. He has tried to convince you to sleep with them drawn, but you are unwilling. To you, the best way to wake up is slowly, with the sun. Or so you say. He is not very convinced.

Daemon stretches. You reach for him in your sleep. He gives himself a moment to savor it, the fact that he can finally pull you closer. The dragon is finally gone from his bed, although he is no way near distracting you with a babe.

Dragons are not pets. Daemon had been taught that since the cradle, even before he had a dragon of his own. Their control over them was only an illusion, and so, they should be trusted but feared. He had lived by that rule, never once questioning it. Until you.

Watching you raise yours as if it were your own child had proven interesting. You lacked his education about them, but you made up for it by sheer enthusiasm. The fact that your dragon had not bitten your hand off yet or burned you to a crisp could only mean two things: You were some sort of forest nymph, or they were mistaken about their approach to dragons. He knew which one he thought was true.

How much was nature, and how much was nurture in their relationship with dragons? Trying to answer that question would occupy his entire lifetime. Daemon hoped that watching you gave him some insight. Even if he ended up discovering you were a nymph in disguise or some sort of goddess of the hunt. He wouldn’t regret it, fascinating as you were.

No matter how much food for thought you gave him, Daemon had been enjoying the joys of marriage. Perhaps, a little too much. Seeing you with the baby dragon had awoken some unexpected feelings. Targaryens were dragons, after all. When the time came, you would make a good mother. Not only were your instincts well-developed, but you seemed to thrive on having something to nurture.

Ah, the joys of domesticity. Daemon loves that you trust him enough now to allow him to witness you at your most fragile. Asleep and wearing a soft white night shift, you are deliciously innocent. Giving, too. You do not complain when his hands find your hips or when he pulls you flush against him. Nor do you move away when his face hides in your lovely locks, mussed with sleep.

Your expression is open and vulnerable in ways you are never when truly awake. Your eyes open just the tiniest sliver, before you hide your face on your pillow, rubbing against it like the sweetest kitten.

He adores you like this. Worships you, even. Obsessed with the curve of your hip, or the soft flesh above your womb. Daemon can’t help but rub it, hoping to manifest a child into existence without actually fucking you.

If he believed in such a thing, as so many fools in this realm did, Daemon would say this was the Seven Heavens. But he knew the truth. Just like you, who worshiped the Old Gods of Valyria, Daemon did too. How could he not when he had a tiny goddess sharing his bed?

Your nose scrunches up. You twitch. Worshiping a little nymph, now that was hard work. Especially when the nymph in question does her best to escape his personal worshiping time.

If Daemon could spend all day in bed, just like this, he would. He would trace your features with his mouth, peppering your face with soft kisses. He would feast on the soft curve of your neck, drink up all your sweet little noises. Trace a path down your soft limbs, draw nonsensical patterns on your stomach. But you are an energetic little thing, always jumping out of bed, no matter the pleasure he tempts you with.

Convincing you to stay is hard, but Daemon likes to think it’s an art he has perfected. It’s not a ritual, by any means. Each morning goes differently. Sometimes, you need to be kissed silly. Sometimes, you need to be gently worshiped and coaxed back to sleep. But his favorite mornings are the ones that go like this.

“I have to go check on the tenants, down by the shore. The rain season just started.” You complain, as he noses along your hairline. Suddenly, Daemon’s arms are empty. He opens his eyes to find you sitting up and pulling your robe over your night shift.

You look delectable in red. He should buy you more robes like that one. Especially because he is about to ruin it.

“Did you say at what hour you are going?” Daemon sits up as well, toying with the edge of your robe. You bat his hands away, playfully.

“No.” You are hurriedly standing up, perhaps knowing what comes next. Daemon grabs your robe, and pulls you back in, using all his strength.

No matter how much you try to keep your feet planted on the floor, you end up tumbling back into bed. You give a girlish shriek, a smile already forming on your face. You struggle, kicking the blankets off the bed.

“Come back here, you little minx.” He tugs you by the ankle, making you laugh. Your hair is sticking up in all directions and your chest heaves up and down with the exertion of putting up a fight.

Daemon secretly loves it. He would never tell you because you would be outraged, but he enjoys the idea of overpowering you. Perhaps, once you fully trust him, he could ask you to play like that. But for now, he takes what he can get.

“Or else what Lord husband?” You tease, still trying to escape him. More blankets and furs are sent flying off the bed. You give a mean little tug to his hair.

“That was it!” Daemon complains, and starts tickling you. The night shift rides tantalizingly up your hips, giving him an unintentional show. He feels his blood warming, arousal turning into a dull throb in his loins. Your legs kick wildly, you squirm on the bed, and your eyes fill with tears from laughing so much.

It’s only when your poor body can’t take it anymore, and you are crying from laughter that he stops. He thinks of how it would feel, to overwhelm you in a different context, make your body take and take until tears ran freely down your temples. A different sort of crown for his forest nymph, one made from her own silver tears. The visual is too much for him to take without giving himself away.

Daemon lies on top of you, smothering you with his weight. He licks a few stray drops of sweat from your neck, making you flay once again. There will be a day when play wrestling will turn into something much less sweet. That day, though, it’s not today.

“Get off!” You complain. “That’s disgusting.”

“I could eat you up.” He teases, nuzzling into your neck. It's the truth. Daemon loves the taste of your skin and your smell. If he thought he could get away with it, he would crawl between your thighs and feast on you. “You are delicious, wife.”

“Daemon.” You push lightly at him, trying to get up. Again. But your words lack their previous conviction. Daemon can tell he is getting to you. “It’s getting late.”

“The tenants can wait. Let us hide from the world a little longer.” He pleads, clinging to you. Under him, exhausted after the play wrestling, you go limp. He knows he has won then.

You spend the whole day in bed. The tenants end up being visited closer to sundown. Daemon does not regret it one bit.

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alanaaii · 1 year ago

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Shopping w connie.☆

!plug connie & ur just a spoiled brat.

nsfw. car sex.

“ma you know what you wearing friday?” You shook your head, scrolling on your phone. You and connie were suppose to go on one of your monthly dates this week but your closet just wasn’t giving. “I don’t have s-h-i-t in my closet.” You pull the blanket that you and connie shared on the couch. “that mean i gotta take you shopping?”

You knew what that meant—a full day with connie with no distractions. All about you you and you. Finally deciding to get up and start the day, you took a warm shower and got dressed. Sliding on some black leggings and an essentials hoodie. As you did your edges in the mirror, connie came behind you and snuck his cold fingers up your hoodie.

“connn your hands are cold” you whined as you shuffled to get his hands out. “I just wanna feel you mama”. You turn around and push his hands out. “you can feel on me when i get the stuff i want”. You was a big brat. “come on then” You and connie headed out to his all black tinted BMW. He opened the door for you as you hopped up into the passenger seat. He sat on his side and started the car and made his way to the mall.

Once y’all get there, one hand is entangled with connie’s surprisingly bigger hand and your cute pink purse in the other. “where to first ma?”

you pull connie to your favorite store.

Your eyes glowed as you saw the expensive shoes and clothes on the walls.

“pa do i have a limit?” You looked up at him, batting your pretty eyes. You knew connie would spend every last penny he had on you if it meant you would be happy. “go crazy”

And you did just that. Picking up any cute pair of jeans and putting some scandalous things for connie to see you in later. Once you were done you let the woman behind the counter scan all of your stuff. “girl i know your man love you”

All you could do was smile as connie took out a band and began to pay the total.

He grabbed your bags as you make your way out of the store. “thank you papi”. Standing on your tippy toes, you give him a small peck on his lips. “anything for you mama”.

The rest of the day consisted of you putting things in connie’s hands and him buying it.

As you two headed to the car connie was overloaded with bags. “damn ma you about to make me go broke” He huffed as he put the bags into the trunk. You were sitting in the passenger seat sipping your smoothie that you got from the food court.

As he got into opposite side, you put your hand on his perfectly tatted arm, softly rubbing it. “i’m sorry, everything was just soo pretty”. you pout. “let me make it up to you pa” You dragged your hand from his arm to his pants, feeling him stiffen at your touch. Since his car was heavily tinted nobody could see anything. (this is how you got away with everything ;) )

As you leaned into him you pressed your freshly glossed lips into his pink ones. Slowly pushing your tongue into his mouth. You snuck your hands into connie’s sweatpants and pulled out his already erected dick. His tip already moist from the precum you wrap your hand around his dick and pressed your thumb on his tip, circling it. You slowly break the kiss—a string of saliva still connecting you two.

Dipping your head down to spit on the tip before you wrap your mouth around it. Connie bit on his bottom lip, holding in his grunts. Bobbing your head up and down slowly—making those sloppy wet sounds connie adored.

Connie began to thrust his hips into your mouth. forcing you to take him down your throat, gagging on his length. “Fuck maa..jus like that..” He said in his deep raspy voice that had you weak in the knees. You feel him pulse. You knew he was close so you got on your knees and began to give him that gawk gawk combo using your hand and your mouth.

Connie slapped your ass before putting his hand in your leggings. he slid your panties to the side and rubbed your soaking wet cunt, satisfying the heat that was in your core. His long fingers prompting you go moan on his dick, the vibrations overwhelming connie. He couldn’t hold it. “‘m bout to cum ma”

He took his fingers out of you and grabbed onto your head, pushing your head down as he painted your mouth white. He groaned. “that’s my girl.”

you took one big gulp as the bitterness went away. You lifted your head up and looked at your phone camera. Ruined makeup, sweated out edges and all. “Come sit on it mama” He said lowly as he reclined his seat back.

Sliding your pants off but keeping your panties on, you move over to connie’s side and gently slid down on his dick. He grunt as he feels your gushy walls suck him in. You position yourself before you completely lose yourself. You hold onto connie’s shoulders to keep stable before starting to move. Up and down the sound of your ass clapping against connie’s thighs was like music to his ears. You desperately bounced on him, your juices dripping on the seat. (connie doesn’t mind.) You feel your cunt clench around connie as you felt his thumb rub your clit. This man knew how to make you orgasm quick. It’s like he knew every part of you like the back of his hand. Moaning his name, he put his hands around your waist and pushed you down onto him. “fuckkk”

“you gon’ cum on me mama? huh?”

You could feel your knees about to give up on you as your orgasm was coming. One final thrust and you came all over his dick. Your cum making a ring at the bottom of connie’s dick as you rode out your high. Connie press his lips onto yours to suppress your loud moans as you came down.

“i love you ma”

“i love you too con”

“another round at home?”

Likes, reblogs and follows are always appreciated!

#connie x black reader #connie x reader #plug connie #aot connie #connie springer #aot x black reader #aot x y/n #black reader #connie x black y/n #connie x you #brat reader #connie #connie smut #connie x reader smut

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sungbeam · 21 days ago

Text

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭

nonidol!wen junhui x f!reader

you don't have to love me; you just have to not hate me.

2.1k words, fluff/minor angst?, historical-adjacent romance (NOT HISTORICALLY ACCURATE), general!jun, arranged marriage au, mention of wine and food, est. relationship, it's like... kind of soft?, mentions of not consummating the marriage, barely proofread

a/n: this will prob be the last thing you see from me until i finish finals in the coming week or so :') wish me luck, and hope y'all enjoy this low-key self-indulgent drabble

You loathed pretense. It was partly why you dreaded any interaction at court, and why you abhorred your very purpose as a woman born into a world of men. Your purpose was to be sold to the highest seat at the table, and it just so happened to be the General of the North.

There were plenty of daughters of noble families who looked upon you with envy; this promotion was the next best thing to becoming the consort or concubine to a royal. One of the five high generals of the empire was a score and should never be taken lightly.

But it was dreadfully lonely.

You should have been more grateful, you thought as your servants combed through your hair, soaked your body in rose petals ported from far west. You should have been more grateful, you thought as they dressed you in fine silks from the southern shores of the empire, embroidered in the most exquisite gold threading and crystal beads. You should have been more grateful, you thought as the doors to the dining hall slid open and you bowed in greeting to the man seated at the head of the table.

“Husband,” you murmured politely, head dipped low as your mother ingrained into your spine until your waist hinged like second nature.

“Wife,” he acknowledged.

When you raised your head, you were met with General Wen Junhui's unreadable stare. His face and body were carved equally of a godlike form, something wickedly beautiful and cruelly detached. He had his dark hair pulled back with a ribbon, the shorter bangs hanging part way in his eyes. It wasn't terribly long—it barely brushed his shoulders, having been chopped off in a messy shag some point in battle months ago, before you were wed. It was unconventional, but still handsome on him.

You took his greeting as permission to move to your seat, and you lowered yourself at the table across from him. The table was spread with a decadent array of dishes, seasoned and roasted to perfection in five different techniques. Here was another thing you should have been grateful for.

You clasped your hands in your lap, waiting.

General Wen continued looking at you, as if considering something. His lips rubbed back and forth against one another and his finger tapped silently against the table.

When your name fell from his lips, you nearly jolted.

“Yes, General?” you replied.

There was a flicker in his gaze, followed by a sigh. “Nevermind. Please—” he gestured to the food, then picked up his chopsticks in a show of encouragement.

You followed, your movements slow, but elegant. You allowed your actions to loiter behind him, watching with a sharp eye to ensure he took the first bite. It was what you were taught.

Only once the piece of roast duck passed his lips did you bring your chosen bite up to your own mouth.

The dining room descended into silence, filled only by the muffled sounds of chewing and the soft clicks of utensil against plate. It was painfully awkward, but you'd been through worse, such as political dinners with your parents, where they openly presented you like cattle to their counterparts’ sons as if you could not hear them. You were their perfect, little pawn, molded into their perfect, little noble wife. You were their ticket to the high table, but wasn't that the definition of a daughter?

Across the table from you, Junhui cleared his throat and reached for his wine cup. “Would you like to take a turn around the garden with me once we finish dinner?” he asked, and the question came with a quick flash of heat at the back of your neck. This was new.

“If you would like me to join you, General, then I will—”

His face contorted into a brief grimace. “I am asking if you'd like to,” Junhui said. “I would like you to, but you may not agree, and if so, then you are not required to join me in the garden.”

Oh.

The image of his home garden flickered in your mind's eye: the lotus pond filled with koi, moonlight glinting off its onyx surface; flora grown and nurtured with great care by the grounds staff. You had walked the path about the garden once or twice before in the evening, and enjoyed making it your reading spot during the day. A small smile flitted to your lips at the thought, a miniscule spark of hope.

“Yes, I will join you.”

A nod, and perhaps even the ghost of a smile. “Good.”

Dinner resumed in peace.

Though you had spent plenty of moments alone with the general, very few of them shared the air of walking in the garden at night side by side. On the night of your wedding, you both shared a bed for the sake of it, but did not consummate your marriage. He seemed more determined to get a good night's rest than fulfilling that marital duty. You didn't mind; you weren't sure you wished to bring children into this cruel world, and Junhui was awfully occupied with his own obligations and work as it was.

The night air was a comfortable temperature, with the humidity sitting delicately on your skin through your silks. You kept your hands tucked into the folds of your sleeves as the two of you strolled side by side upon the cobbled path winding through the garden. The pond sat as still as a painting, reflecting tonight's half moon upon its glassy surface. Small lanterns dotted the garden's perimeter to illuminate the way, as well as to allow you to admire the beautiful arrangements around you.

The man beside you let out a small exhale. “I hear that you spend most of your days here,” he said, casting you a glance. “I take it you like it?”

“Certainly,” you replied with a nod. You weren't surprised he was informed of your whereabouts; the servants here were more loyal to him than they would ever be to you. Perhaps with time that might change with your own personal maids. “It's beautiful. The gardeners are truly masters of their craft.”

“Agreed.”

The two of you paused at the apex of the small, wooden bridge that spanned the widest portion of the pond to peer at the garden splayed before you. In the early summer nights, you could hear the grasshoppers chirping their sweet melodies, hidden away somewhere in the plants.

“I,” Junhui began, “know that you did not choose to be wed to me.”

You fought the urge to whip your head up in surprise. Where was this coming from?

Junhui kept his eyes off in the distance, unable to look at you quite yet. The dim flow of the nearby lanterns casted a pretty shadow across his defined jawline and nose, his dark eyes gleaming like a jewel. “You were likely raised to be married off, I can understand that much,” he continued. “But this doesn't have to be painful for either of us.”

“I don't quite follow,” you said quietly.

He turned toward you then, and his gaze pierced through your own, hooking you in and preventing you from looking anywhere else. “If you had a lover before we were married, then I apologize. I won't pretend to understand that kind of love, but I've felt love for others before. You don't have to love me—all I'm asking is that you do not hate me.”

Something clutched at your heart. You did not hate the general; he likely married you to get the sharks off his back who were hounding him to wed. The only thing was that you could not force yourself to pretend around him—pretend that you loved him and were in awe of him, like any 'good’ wife would. It was especially difficult when he was away for most of the day and hardly spoke to you. After your wedding night, you both slept in your own chambers, retiring as soon as dinner was cleared.

But… you couldn't ignore the look in his eyes. You'd never seen them reflect light in such a way, so pleadingly. You would wager the general hardly ever needed to beg, but there was a quality to his expression now that was close to it.

“I don't hate you,” you murmured, facing him. “I simply—dislike this situation.”

“Being married to me?”

“Being married at all,” you replied frankly. “This was all I was bred for, all that I've been told to look forward to. I wish it weren't.”

Were you drunk? You should not have been speaking so freely to this man, husband or not. To be so outwardly contemptuous about marriage to one's own husband was instinctually forbidden. Were you praying for punishment?

Yet punishment did not come; he only bowed his head. “I see.”

“You will not reprimand me?” you blurted. Perhaps you really were inebriated.

Junhui's brows creased considerably. “Of course not. You're only speaking the truth, and…” his voice trailed off as his eyes flickered upward. You followed his gaze—a blur of dark blush pink wafted down from the night sky, a plum blossom. The errant bloom drifted down into Junhui's outstretched palm. “This is the longest conversation we've ever had.”

He was right, as pathetic as that was. Even dinner was eaten in silence. If you didn't share that meal with one another, you would likely never see him.

General Junhui, in this light, became a different man. Though he shared the same features as the man you married, they softened a value in the dim lantern light. For a moment, he looked like a young man who hadn't been burdened by such honor and great responsibility. In this light, he became reachable and someone just as alone as you were.

His words from earlier echoed in your mind. “About what you said,” you piped up, “about a prior lover—I never had one. It's only ever been you.”

You didn't know why it sounded like that when it left your mouth. Your cheeks warmed beneath his stare.

“I mean,” you stammered, “I've had no prior partners.”

Junhui nodded. “I understand. Neither have I, really. I've seen what it's like, however.” His voice was gentler at the tail end, wistful almost.

“Who, if I may ask, General?”

His posture seemed to straighten, and he reached over to take your hand. The velvety petals of the plum blossom tickled your palm as he enclosed your fingers around it.

“I'm Junhui to you,” he said in earnest. “We’re husband and wife. Please don't call me what everyone else does.”

Your heart rattled so violently in your chest, it threatened to catapult into your throat. You were imprisoned by his beautiful eyes, imploring you to heed his words.

You managed a swallow, your fingers curling around the plum blossom as his hand continued to warm yours. “Alright, Junhui,” you breathed out. The name was so intimate coming from your mouth.

The tension in his shoulders loosened, and the corners of his mouth seemed to twitch upward. Junhui nodded. “That’s… much better, thank you. And to answer your question, it was the crown prince and his princess.” This time, he did not fight his wistful smile at the thought.

Could the memory be so lovely as to cause such a beautiful expression to bloom upon his handsome face? Would you one day be able to be the cause of such a smile?

“Crown Prince Minghao?” You recalled the uproar that entire scenario caused. A crown prince, destined for the imperial emperorhood, falling in love with a seamstress was unheard-of. Though high society was predictably scandalized, much of the whispers among the lower classes revered the seamstress princess as proof of class mobility. It was a love story fit for the ages, and legends never died.

You could be happy for them but understand that theirs was an exceptional case. Not all would be blessed with such circumstances.

Junhui hummed. “Yes. His partner was a friend of mine whom I grew up with in the northern provinces. When I was relocated here to the capital city, she was a part of my party. I like to believe it was fate.”

You looked on at him in foolish, tender hope, that spark catching oxygen to burn into a flame.

He gently squeezed your hand with his. “We don't have to have their love,” he whispered, “but we can make the best of this.”

Maybe the little girl inside you who longed for something more was still buried somewhere deep within you. She cupped that flame of hope in your chest, and began to nurture it until it warmed your soul. You nodded at him, covering his hand with your free one in quiet agreement.

Beneath the evening plum blossoms, you and Junhui made a pact on your own terms, together—you chose to search for the light along this path you were both forced to follow.

a/n: don't forget to reblog + comment if you enjoyed!

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sarawritestories · 8 months ago

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Take A Break

High Lord Eris Vanserra X High Lady Fem Reader

Summary: Eris comes home from business at the Spring Court. Only to hear reports from the staff that his High Lady has been working herself to the ground and not taking care of herself.

Dedicated to @milswrites and @eve175 who are constantly making sure I am taking care of me and getting proper rest. I adore you both!

Content Warning: I did not proofread this. This fluff, but Reader hasn't slept and has had some disordered eating habits (she has been working so hard

Peep the Critical Role Reference for any Critters reading this 😉

ACOTAR MASTERLIST

Eris Vanserra was glad to be home. Sure, working with Tamlin to rebuild the Court was mutually beneficial. Tamlin gets his court back, and Eris rebuilds a strong alliance with the spring. It was work worth fighting for to repair what Beron destroyed. However, he was itching to get home to his mate.

You were the apple of his eye, the moment the bond snapped on Calanami, his first as High Lord. Eris held no hesitation when it came to making you his High Lady. He watched how hard you worked at your bookshop. He knew you could handle it.

Reaching the stables, The Autumn High Lord handed his esteemed steed to the young fae male working. "Take care of sweet, Vex'ahlia, will you?" Eris gave the lad a warm smile and received an eager head nod. "Thank you."

Entering the palace, he was greeted by your two ladies-in-waiting. "My lord." The older woman bowed the younger one fidgeting, Eris picked up on the nervous behavior. "How was your trip?"

Eris bowed his head in return, "Very well, Maxine, but I am ready to see my wife. Though I suspect with the look on both of your faces, something is wrong." He tugged on the bond and found a quick tug back in return, and he couldn't help the sigh of relief that slipped past his lips.

Maxine sighed, "Sir, she has been sleeping in the study."

"If she sleeps at all." The younger one, Nadine muttered.

Maxine ignored her and continued, "We have barely gotten her to eat. She has buried herself so deep into work that she simply forgets that warm food is right there. I'm not trying to speak out of turn."

Eris gripped the older woman's shoulder, "You are not. I appreciate you telling me. Is she still in the study."

"Yes, High Lord."

Eris laughed, "Maxine, you can call me Eris. After all, you did change my diapers."

Maxine smiled, "I'll you whatever you like if you go take care of that wife of yours."

Eris kissed her cheek, "Yes ma'am," With that, he went to go find his High Lady.

****************************************************

You ran your fingers through your hair as you scribbled notes on some parchment. These last few days, you buried yourself in paperwork. Just when you thought you were done. More stacks would form. Not wanting to fall behind and with Eris being gone, you had decided to dedicate the time to working. Only to find you were getting overwhelmed, feeling like you could never walk away, missing meals, not sleeping, you were burning out.

You turned to grab more blank parchment when a voice came from the doorway, "Now what do we have here." You turned to find Eris there, his red curls laying atop of his head and the russet colors of his eyes gleaming in the fae light."

You dropped the materials in your hands. "When did you get back?" You bounced off your seat and ran to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I just got here." He held you close, taking in your scent. "I heard something interesting, though."

You blinked, "Oh?"

He kissed your head, "My Little Dove has not been taking care of herself." You opened your mouth to protest, but he pressed his lips to yours. "There is no fighting me on this."

You sighed, "Okay."

He winnowed you to the kitchen. It being so late the kitchen staff was gone. Eris put on an Apron and you quirked a brow. "You cook?"

Eris smiled, "I do." He tossed an apron at you. "And I am going to show you how to make my favorite me." Your cheeks warmed, remembering how you gave him a small plate of cheese to accept the bond.

You walked over to him, "Ready to Learn."

****************************************************

Cooking with Eris was fun, and you learned that the high lord had a playful side. He'd sneak up behind you to try the sauce you were making. Dipping his finger to dab it on your nose, causing you to giggle. Once everything was cooking he pulled you into his arms and you began to dance.

He pulled you into a waltz with no music. And you watched as his smile grew, his freckles popping out by the fire and the fae lights. He wasn't worried about work, or his brothers, or his responsibilities. He was beautiful.His main focus was you. He pulled you closer, his hands sliding close to the curve of your ass. He kissed you.

He tried to deepen the kiss, but the kettle screamed that the water was boiling. Pulling away, you smiled and grabbed the kettle. Once the meal was prepped, Eris made your place and insisted he feed you.

"I am fully capable of feeding myself. I am High Lady." You pouted and Eris quirked a brow instantly causing you to fix your attitude.

"Yes, you are my High Lady. You're also zeroed in on your work so much this week you barely ate. So I am taking care of you." He patted his lap, "Sit, Dove." You obeyed, and the smell of the food made your mouth water. He scooped up some of the food with the utensil and leveled it to your mouth. "Open." You opened your mouth on command, and he placed the food in your mouth, and you moaned in pleasure. The flavor exploded in your mouth.

He fed you until the meal was gone. "Why haven't you been taking care of yourself?"

You met his Russet eyes and sighed, "I didn't do it on purpose. It simply felt like everyone needed me. I just lost track of time."

He sighed and kissed your bare shoulder peaking out of your sweater. "You need breaks. They are important. You'll burn yourself out or wither away into nothing if you don't." His eyes grew serious, "I don't want to see my mate suffering."

"I'm sorry." You leaned your head against his.

"Don't apologize to me. You need to apologize to yourself. You deserve to love yourself and see yourself as worthy of breaks." He held you close. "Okay."

"Okay... I may need gentle reminders." You whispered, a full belly causing the exhaustion to take hold.

"I will give you those gentle reminders." He kissed your forehead as your eyes fluttered close. Allowing the smell of autumn leaves and cinnamon from your mate to bring you comfort.

When you fell asleep, Eris carried you in his arms. Hands wrapped around your knees and shoulders and walked you to your shared bedroom. Placing you on your side of the bed, he pulled the covers over you. "Sweet Dreams, Little Dove." He kissed your head, causing you to stir and just turn over. The High Lord left your room and headed to your study where he would finish the paperwork that was stacked on your desk.

Fin

@secret-third-thing for your Eris reading pleasure

#eris imagine #eris vanserra #acotar #eris x reader #eris vanserra imagine #eris vandaddy #eris acotar #eris vanserra x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #high lord eris vanserra #high lord eris

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stevieschrodinger · 4 days ago

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Part One ThirtyFive

prompt from @justsearchingformystory and @starthecozy

Eddie’s speaking and reading and writing and all that stuff has come on massively, but he still doesn’t quiet grasp all the nuances of...well, humans. So, sometimes he does things that are just...kind of slightly to the left of normal.

He hasn’t yet grasped that he is really, really not at all subtle. Steve hopes he never works it out, prays quietly that Eddie remains brash and obvious for the rest of their lives. Eddie has a catalogue from somewhere, one of those cheap badly printed things you pick up at the mall. They’re everywhere this time of year, trying to pressure people into buying yet more gifts. Like stuff is the only thing that could possibly bring happiness at Christmas.

He sits close enough to Steve that they’re squished together, flipping the pages. He’s pretending to look but the way he’s holding the book, it’s more like he’s showing it to Steve.

“I like this sweater,” Eddie says, not at all nonchalantly, and then he stares at Steve. Waiting. Holding the page open to show a man and a woman in matching sweaters.

“Yeah, not really your style any more babe, but I’m sure you’d look great in it.” It does, in fact, look exactly like the kind of thing Steve would wear.

Eddie blinks, and Steve knows his plan just hit an unexpected roadblock. Steve can almost hear Eddie thinking. Then he frowns, and turns the page.

“A remote control car,” Eddie reads carefully, “comes with batteries,” he’s showing Steve again.

“I guess you’ve never had anything like that,” Steve grins sweetly, already sensing Eddie’s growing frustration. Whatever the opposite of subtle is, Eddie is it, “I could get you one for Christmas, if you like,” Steve offers, trying to play this as normal as possible, doing his absolute best to school his expression. He’s not sure he’s succeeding, but Eddie doesn’t seem to realize, so near enough.

Eddie turns a couple of pages, “snow chains?” He’s frowning at the book now, “what are snow chains?”

“For the car tires, so you don’t slip around in the snow, I’ve already got some,” Steve smiles sweetly. Eddie’s frown deepens, and he abandons his tactic, and the magazine, heading off in a huff.

Steve wakes up slowly. It’s not urgent, part of his brain telling him that it’s just Eddie that woke him. He can feel Eddie holding his hand, doing something, and Steve shifts sleepily under the covers, blinking his eyes open just as Eddie shuffles something into his pocket. Steve frowns, Eddie’s already dressed. “What you doing baby?”

Steve rubs his thumb between his fingers, rubbing away the ghost of Eddie’s touch, “nothing!” Eddie replies, way too fucking fast, and way way too enthusiastically.

“Uh hu, that isn’t suspicious at all. You’re dressed.”

“Yeah,” Eddie leans over and kisses Steve on the forehead, and when Steve presents his cheek, Eddie kisses him there too, “Chris will be here soon, we’re going Christmas shopping.”

Steve yawns, “can I tag along? I could do with getting some gifts.”

Eddie immediately looks shifty, “uhm, no.”

“I know you’re getting stuff for me baby, you keeping it secret?”

“Maybe.”

“How about I call Robs, I can do some shopping with Rob, you can do some shopping with Chrissy, and then we can swap, I need to get Rob something.”

“And I want to get Chrissy something,” Eddie smiles, seeing Steve’s plan, “you gotta get dressed.” Eddie drags the covers unceremoniously off Steve, making him groan at the loss of comfort, “I’ll call Rob, going soon.”

“Okay okay. I’m up, I’m up,” Steve groans, dragging himself out of bed as Eddie thuds down the stairs.

“Can we get lunch?” Eddie asks, leaning forward as far as he can given his seat belt. Chrissy is driving, so the girls are sitting in the front, “the food court,” he says, with the utmost reverence. Steve remembers very fondly the first time Eddie went to the mall, wandering around with Steve, mouth open, not sure where to look because there’s just so much stuff. Technically it wasn’t the first time Eddie had been to a mall, since Steve carried him through half of Starcourt when they made their escape, but Steve’s pretty sure Eddie doesn’t remember much of that. To be honest, neither does Steve since he was high on Russian drugs and beat all to hell.

The nearest mall is now near the city, so that’s where Steve took Eddie. And then he saw the food court for the first time. Eddie had made a noise Steve’s sure he’s only ever heard when they’ve been having sex.

Chrissy laughs, “of course we can.”

“Okay,” Steve checks his watch, “we meet here at twelve thirty, get lunch, then trade off, yeah?”

Robin salutes him, “aye aye captain.”

They go opposite ways, Robin immediately quizzing Steve, “so what is Eddie getting you?”

“I...actually have no idea. He’s brought his savings with him through, so,” Steve shrugs, “he’s got to buy for his secret Santa too.”

“Who did you get?”

“I am not telling you-”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours-”

Steve shoves her, laughing.

They don’t mean to find Eddie and Chrissy, but as they walk into the store and spot them, Steve and Robin both instinctively duck down out of the way, hiding.

“Oof, I hope that isn’t for either of us,” the sweater Eddie is holding up was an almost rabid confusion of pink and yellow.

They can hear Chrissy and Eddie laughing, “oh no,” Robin sighs, “they’re going to weaponize the sweater.”

“We should go, there’s no way I’ll be able to act surprised.”

Robin breathes deeply through her nose, trying to see where they’ve gone now, “okay, I think we’re safe, pretty sure he left the sweater.”

“Doesn’t mean they won’t be back for it,” Steve grumbles.

“They’re late,” Steve checks his watch. He isn’t worried; Eddie’s with Chrissy, and it’s only the mall.

“Not that late...there they are,” Robin goes on tip toe, waving to get their attention.

“Where’s all you stuff?” Steve can’t help but notice they’re empty handed.

“In the car, hidden from prying eyes,” Chrissy tells them with a knowing look.

“It’s a secret, Stevie,” Eddie informs them solemnly, “Chrissy is keeping my gifts at hers. We can wrap them in the dark.”

Chrissy snorts a laugh, “no honey, we need to keep Steve in the dark.”

“Right right,” Eddie frowns vaguely, but clearly has other priorities, “lunch food?”

Steve collapses onto the couch, simply walking around all the stores can be exhausting, maybe because of all the thinking and planning involved. Steve managed to get a couple of records and band shirts for Eddie; things he knows he will like.

His guitar playing has been coming along too, Eddie picking that up just as fast as everything else, and Steve managed to find a book of Metallica tabs at the record store, plus a red guitar pick necklace that he’s certain will be a winner. The red plastic has the faintest of sparkles to it, and Eddie is such a magpie Steve’s sure he will like it.

“Close your eyes Stevie love!” Eddie hollers through the house.

Steve snorts a laugh, but does as he’s told, not moving a muscle otherwise, still slouched on the couch, “okay! They’re shut!”

He can hear Eddie moving around, rustling things on the coffee table, “okay, open.”

Eddie’s laid out a bunch of...stuff...on the table. Crafty looking stuff. In the middle there are two Christmas stockings, the kind you hang on the mantle. One is red and green candy cane stripe, and the other a dark blue with little glittery starts printed all over. They look extremely cheap, but no less charming for it, “what are we doing baby?”

“We’re going to make hot chocolate, I got fancy marshmallows, and we’re decorating our socks.”

“Stockings.”

“Sure. That.” Eddie has scissors and felt and a little bottle of Elmer’s glue. There are tacky plastic gems with paper backs, and sheets of little foil stickers; angels and snow men and Christmas trees and stuff. “They have to have our names on, so we can cut out letters?” Eddie holds up a little sheet of colored felt material.

“I...you know. I’m pretty sure I see your vision, this looks fun. Lets go and make the hot chocolate.”

The smile Eddie gives him is brighter than the godamn sun, and they end up making out in the kitchen, waiting for the milk to heat.

Part ThirtySeven

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #ficlet #ao3 author #upside down creature eddie #Fish Guy Eddie #creature eddie munson

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litnerdwrites · 2 months ago

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Rhys being the 'most powerful hl' ultimately hinders the story. If SJM wanted the nc to be underdogs, it should've been the smallest, most unstable court.

Historically, objectively bad or unmoral people can sometimes be the best rulers while objectively good or moral people can be terrible rulers. Take advantage of this.

Make Rhysand need to wear the mask of the cruel, ruthless high lord in order to prevent the CON and Illyria from rebelling. Make both of those places have a certain amount of political and militaristic power over him that would explain why he can't just force them to do as he pleases.

Have the NC be the court with the highest crime rates, and poverty rates and Rhysand be considered a ruthless ruler. One who 'lets' amren out on the prowl to steal wealth (preferably from greedy rich nobles) but they don't know that it's redistributed into running the NC, and looking after the people.

Have Mor actually help woman but drinking and visiting the con or other cities under the guise going there to flex her power and act tyranicle, but secretly leave money, medical supplies, tickets to boats/carriages, etc. Or even instructions to their library where sa survivors heal (maybe not in the how, but somewhere else, hidden or warded).

Have Azriel and Cassian push the limits of the Illyrians, not enough to incite war, but to keep them in line. If men clip wings, have Azriel either assassinate them or Cassian publicly punish or beat them but not reveal the reason why, so it comes off as tyranny.

Make them act like villains for a damn reason, and actually accomplish things in the process, even if it's small. Perhaps even have the land itself be dying (like the dusk court centuries ago), making food harder to come by too.

Maybe even have the concept of Velaris be a legend, of the Night Court's former glory, but in the current story, be a shell of itself. This would give the so-called court of dreams something to dream about and work towards.

Have the previous rulers of the nc be objectively moral people, that were bad at ruling and created the unstable political climate Rhysand needs to navigate, while Feyre gives him new perspective. Have Elain and Nesta come in later, and help teach Feyre about politics based on what they knew from their mortal lives. Give them dreams and aspirations of their own.

Give each of the Archeron Sisters something in the NC that would cement it as their home, if that's what you want to do. Have Feyre speak with the Illyrian women, teach them to hunt, learn of their issues, etc. Have her repair her relationship with Nesta over helping them, with Nesta using the training of her childhood to help the Illyrian women overthrow the corrupt lords that insist on treating them as lesser than.

Give Feyre and Nesta a chance to learn about each other, their childhood, how neglected Feyre felt and how abused Nesta was, before coming together to reach a common goal. Then, Nesta could become a diplomat that helped the nc repair their foreign relations, giving her the chance to travel that she always wanted.

Make the humans have innovative methods of agriculture, given they don't have magic. Have Elain want to help the people of downtrodden villages and towns, teaching them about those innovative methods, to help rejuvenate the land. Still let her have trauma, but let them have their own reasons to want to stay in the nc or not stay in the nc.

Making Rhysand 'the most powerful hl' doesn't make him unique or interesting. It makes it too easy to wonder why he won't do something when he sits in a seat of power and privilege, to do it. So, take away that power. Give him something to earn. Give the entire IC a dream/vision for what the NC could be and work to it, throughout the books, instead of handing it to them on a silver platter. Make them work for it.

#anti inner circle #anti ic #nesta deserves better #anti rhysand #anti acosf #anti amren #anti mor #anti cassian #acotar critical #sjm critical #inner circle critical #rhysand critical #rhys critical #feyre critical #cassian critical #amren critical #mor critical #morrigan critical

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oracle-of-dream · 10 months ago

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Hotel Hookup

Summary: You're a huge Riize fan, and you're bias is Wonbin. You recently got to go to their concert and had so many amazing interactions with Wonbin. After the concert, you bump into each other in the bathroom and he gives you his autograph, along with his hotel room number...

Warnings: Male reader, Virign reader, idol Wonbin, dry humping, sub reader, dom Wonbin, corruption kink

Wordcount: 2.5k

This is a request

Walking down the street to the venue, the excitement was washing over you. The headlights of traffic, the breeze in your face, and the squeals and screams of fans as they travel with you to the same place. It was still hard to believe you managed to land tickets for the Riize concert, much less get a lucky VIP ticket.

The venue offered five random tickets to be selected for the VIP treatment, along with being able to purchase the VIP upgrade. The day you got the email that your seat was one of the lucky five, you almost slapped yourself; thinking it was a dream. The VIP treatment came with a seat upgrade, sound check, a hi-touch, and even a photo with a member.

You crossed the last street before reaching the venue; the lights shined into the night sky, and you could hear the thumbs of the speakers vibrating through your feet. The line for the VIP was almost empty, while the main entry had people lining up with at least 100 people already there. They must've camped out all day to get in line so early...

A staff member caught you taking in the view and approached you. "Are you lost? If you need, I can show you where you need to go."

You pulled out your phone and showed them your ticket.

"Oh, the VIP section is that way! You might want to hurry the sound check may start soon."

You followed the staff's directions: moving through the VIP section, rushing through the security check, and making it to your seat. The stage was so close, much closer than you could've imagined. You had a clear view of the right side of the stage, a little above the barricade. You were allowed to go to the barricade, but after hearing how vicious it gets, you decided against it.

After waiting about 10 minutes, some of the opening music started playing, and the members were lifted onto the stage from the floor. The VIP audience cheered for them as Riize went through the motions of their concert, practicing their last bits of choreography and interacting with fans as they did. Wonbin approached your side of the stage and waved toward your section, making all the girls scream and shout for his direct attention. Shyly, you smiled and waved back, cheering but not as loud as the others in your section. He smiled and walked off, but stayed around the right side of the stage.

Wonbin was even more beautiful than any of his photos. His glasses sat on his chiseled nose, his most of hair neatly tucked behind his ears with few strands sweeping onto his face, and his baggy white t-shirt that exposed his collar bone and some of his chest made him look like an ordinary guy. But you knew he was anything but that... For the rest of the sound check, Wonbin kept swinging by your section and giving love to your group.

There was a small break before the concert fully started. Some of your friends texted you asking to meet up with you. Agreeing to meet at the food court and get snacks.

After chatting with your friends, you stopped by the bathroom before heading back to your seat. A bit of a perk of being a male K-pop fan was that the men's bathroom was usually deserted compared to the huge line out of the women's room.

Just as you suspected, the bathroom was empty. You went to a stall and went about your business. Just as you finished, you heard the door open. Two people came in, a man and a woman, speaking Korean. You didn't know why, but you jumped onto the toilet seat to hide your feet.

No way someone was coming in here to hook up...

There was another bit of conversation before you heard the door shut again. Not a noise...

You stepped down from the toilet and opened the stall to see a figure with long black hair looking at himself in the mirror. He turned around to look at you. His long black hair coiled beautifully around his face. Wonbin was looking directly at you. Just the two of you in that bathroom...

"I'm sorry, I was just in here and..." You started but lost the courage to continue.

Wonbin smiled at you. "It's okay, I thought my manager checked well enough. Please, enjoy the show." He bowed slightly and walked out the door, walking away with his manager.

You washed your hands at the sink, reeling from the experience of having spoken to him. You sprinted back to your seat when you heard the crowd start cheering, signaling the start of the show. You'd have to tell your friends about meeting him later!

The concert itself was amazing. Anton's cello performance with Sohee singing a ballad, and watching Eunseok, Sungchan, and Shotaro have a dance-off made you laugh so hard. Wonbin's stage was a solo performance. He played guitar and sang, silencing the entire venue. He covered, "Attention" by Charlie Puth.

His eyes were trained on the camera in front of him, but every few words he'd glance off in the direction of the audience. One of those glances shot right at you. At first, it felt like it was a coincidence, just a lucky look, but he looked back. Again and again. After finding you in the crowd, he couldn't help himself from looking in your direction. Your face got warm at his expression, the look in his eyes.

"What are you doing to me?" He sang, looking directly at you. It felt like he was speaking to you.

Before you knew it, the song was over... The concert resumed and the audience was cheering loudly again, but you still couldn't get over Wonbin. The concert ended in a flash. Riize was giving their last goodbye, finished an encore stage, and started leaving. The staff directed the VIP section to follow them backstage to get a picture with the members. And you couldn't help but touch up your look, making sure you didn't look a mess before you got to meet them.

The boys came out of their dressing room, still wearing their outfits from the encore stage and wiping some of their sweat from performing. One by one they went through everyone. Sometimes the members chose who was going to take a picture if the fan was too overwhelmed. But when you stepped forward, Wobin immediately stepped forward for your photos, holding you by the waist while taking your phone to take it. That's when staff walked out with Riize's newest album as a surprise gift to the fans. Each member took the time to sign the albums and talk to each fan. The conversations were cut short, as the staff didn't let you speak for long, but Wonbin winked at you when he gave you your album.

"Read my message before you leave! I hope you like it!" He said as he was ushered back into the dressing room.

You followed the staff out the side door and walked to your car. Once inside you took a moment to crack open the album and find Wobin's message he left for you.

Our meeting in the bathroom was fun, let's meet again! Come to this address, my room number is 247, on floor 20. Knock three times so I know it's you. Don't keep me waiting~

-Wonbin

Your jaw was ready to come clean off your face. Wonbin wanted to meet you again!? You could hardly believe getting to meet him, much less him wanting to see you again. Not wanting to wait another moment, you put the address into your GPS and drove off to meet him.

The address led you to a fancy hotel, looking over the downtown area and not too far from the area. You nervously entered the lobby, trying to act natural so no one would stop you. You got past the front desk and got into the elevator right as someone else was getting in.

"Could you push floor 20 for me?" You asked.

The person nodded, mostly absorbed in their phone to fully acknowledge you.

You got to the twentieth floor and wandered before finding the door... Room 247. Holding your hand up to the door was harder than you expected. Your heart was in your throat, terrified that you'd get busted or get the wrong room. Before you got to knock, the door opened, and Wonbin standing in the doorway.

"Come in, quick!"

You hurried into the room and he closed it behind you. "So... Wonbin, it's so–"

Wonbin smashed his lips into yours, trying to make out with you.

Your eyes widened. You couldn't push him away, but you didn't know where to touch him either. And he must've noticed, as he took your hands and placed one on his neck and the other on his waist.

When you separated for a moment, you took your opportunity to speak. "Wait, I thought you just wanted to meet again!"

Wonbin laughed. "We can meet and fuck. Can't we?" He walked toward you slowly as you backed away from him.

"Can you slow down for a minute?" You backed into a chair, falling into the seat.

"What's wrong?" Wonbin frowned. "Am I not hot enough? You looked like you liked me watching you, and you look really about now." Wonbin's eyes pointed out the tent in your pants.

"You're hot! Super hot! I'm just..."

Wonbin tucked his hair behind one ear. "Say it for me to hear. Speak clearly."

"I'm still... a virgin."

Wonbin froze in shock. "You came here, a full-on virgin?"

You nodded, embarrassment starting to color your face. "No one's even seen it before."

"It? You mean your cock?" Wonbin laughed. "You've never taken a dick pic before, or anything?"

You shook your head.

Wonbin's energy changed. It felt less like a sexual panther, ready to pounce, and more like a sensual snake. It was clear that Wonbin was charged, but he could tell you weren't ready to drive over the edge just yet.

Wonbin sat on the bed. "So level with me. Have you had an orgasm? Like have you jerked off?" His tone was curious and playful.

You rubbed your fingers together, not answering him. "Well... I've tried, but it felt weird..."

"How so?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about you..." You confessed in a soft whisper.

"That's not a bad thing! People jerk off to hot people all the time, that's what porn is for. I'm honestly flattered, so don't feel embarrassed." Wonbin approached you again, taking your face in your hands. "Let's take it slower then. Can I kiss you, y/n?"

It felt like a dream hearing Wonbin call you by your name. You nodded, closing your eyes and letting your lips connect softer this time.

Wonbin led, moving his lips gently so you could pick on the timing. He stroked your neck and gently pulled you into him, moaning into the kiss. Once you showed you could handle it, he moved your hands to hold his hips and moved to sit in the chair on your lap.

You separated again. His lips were pinkish and cute.

"Can I touch you, y/n?" He asked softly.

You nodded.

"Words." He commanded.

"Y–Yes, please touch me, Wonbin." You replied, embarrassed to say it aloud.

Wonbin reinitiated the kiss and let his hands run over your shoulders and down your back, pushing against your muscles as they tensed from his touch. They slowly dragged down into your lap.

Wonbin pulled awake again. "Before we keep going, now's the time to speak. What do you want exactly?"

Your mouth was dry when you opened it to speak. "I–I don't know if I can go all the way, but I also want to make you happy and please you. So I'll do whatever you think is–"

Wonbin placed his finger on your lips. He stood and stripped off his shirt, unbuckled his hands, and slowly stripped off his pants. Leaving him in his underwear.

Somehow your dick got even harder, the strain against your pants almost pleasurable.

Wonbin came back to you and sat down on your lap, laying his back against you and sitting perfectly on your clothed member. He took one of your hands and guided it to his underwear, letting it slide underneath the waistband.

You felt his cock, warm and squishy in your hands but hard at the same time. It was different from yours, it felt pretty. Slender, and about five inches. Wonbin guided you, moving your hand up and down, stroking him. When he let go of your hand, you continued to move earning moans of pleasure from him. His legs shook and he pushed against you, his ass rubbing against your dick in your pants.

Wonbin made a rhythm. Every time to stroked him, he'd push against you. A push and pull, giving you both pleasure. You could see a wet spot at his tip in his underwear. Curiously, you poked it and precum stuck on your finger, using it while you stroked him.

"Oh, improvising is good. I like that!" Wonbin purred.

"C-Can I see it?" You whispered.

Wonbin giggled. He lifted his lips and slid his underwear down enough for his cock to spring out, with your hand wrapped around its base.

Watching your hand work over Wonbin, and his reactions to you touching him were like magic to you. You focused on his tip, making his whole body shake and tense.

"Oh, fuck! If you do that, I'll cum fast..." Wonbin warned. "How about you, how are you feeling?"

You loved every ounce he gave you. It itched and burned in just the right places and feeling Won's body against yours was heaven with his sing-song voice moaning in your ears.

"I'm gonna lose it. It feels really hot like I'm gonna pee. But it's not exactly pee?"

Wonbin smiled. "Oh? You're close, are you? I'm right here, so go ahead and finish. It's gonna be amazing."

You trusted Wonbin, letting your body control everything. Your hips pushed forward to meet Wonbin grinding against you as you felt the pressure get worse. You couldn't help but bury your head into Wonbin's neck, softly biting and letting the feeling wash over you as your body stiffened all over you. You cock twitched again and again, shooting cum inside your pants. You didn't realize you were squeezing Wonbin so tight until you felt his cum leaking down your hand.

Both of you took a moment to catch your breath.

"I wasn't exacting the biting," Wonbin moaned.

"I–I'm sorry. It just happened."

"No, it was amazing. You did amazing..." Wonbin stood up. "You may want to take those off before it dries, by the way..."

You got nervous again. "Are you going to watch?"

"Y/n. You're not leaving until we fuck. But we have all night, so we don't have to rush."

#oracle of dreams #kpop x male reader #kpop x male reader smut #riize smut #wonbin smut #wonbin #wonbin x reader #riize x reader #riize

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starryevermore · 6 months ago

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you said you were gonna come find me ✧ cardan greenbriar

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

pairing: cardan greenbriar x fae!fem!reader

request: part 2 of the cardan fic?? - anon

summary: and you didn't wanna hang around. she said it was just goodbye for now. he said he was gonna grow up, then he would come find you.

word count: 1,728

warnings?: dual povs, a little angst with a happy ending, not proofread

PART ONE | PART THREE

The local children were convinced you were a witch. Part of you wanted to tell them that you were worse than a witch—that you could turn them into animal of your choosing, that you could make them do things and think they liked it, that you could ruin their lives by virtue of existing. Perhaps that was the heartache talking, so you instead shouted “boo!” when you caught them staring for too long. You supposed, though, you fed into the rumors of your being a witch. You came into this town out of nowhere, lived far away from the rest of its people, and only interacted with them when you went into town for food or a new library book. No one knew who you were or where you came from. At first, you reveled in the solace.

Now, you were only painfully are of how lonely you were.

When you left Faerie, you went as far as you could from your former home. Traveled up to the mountains, found an abandoned cabin you could hole up in. There were few faeries in this area, mostly solitary fae that you would encounter while on walks in the woods, which had been the draw. Months later, you found yourself wishing you had set yourself up in one of the communities of fae who lived in the mortal lands. Would you be admitting defeat to leave the cabin now and join them?

It wasn’t all horrible in your little cabin. Being away from court and all of its expectations was nice. You didn’t have to worry about carefully mincing your words so as not to offend anyone. You weren’t dragged into dances you would rather avoid. And you certainly did have to let your heart break over and over again as Jude at Cardan’s side. No, instead, you could read and write poetry and tend to the little garden you had started. You could find your happiness, even if it was without the one person you truly wanted by your side.

You wondered how Cardan was doing. Had he even noticed you were gone? Did he care? He had seemed to miss seeing you when you danced with him on your last night in Faerie. But he had also not made any prior efforts to seek you out. Fae couldn’t lie, but they could manipulate. They could twist the truth to serve their interests. Few were better at doing so than Cardan.

“When I learned you left Faerie, this was not the sort of place I expected you to be.”

You stiffened as you rounded the corner. The basket you’d been using to carry the herbs you foraged nearly fell from your grip. You squared your shoulders, looked down your nose at the woman seated at your dining room table. “I did not come here under the expectation to be found.”

Jude considered the room. The dirty dishes in the sink, the wilted flowers in the center of the table, the open storybook at the chair askew in front of her. “So it seems. It was not easy to find you.”

“You should have taken that as a sign to leave me be,” you said. You crossed the dining room and went into the kitchen. Jude’s chair scratched against the floor as she followed you. You ignored her as you began to unload the herbs from your basket. “I left Faerie for a reason.”

Though you were avoiding looking at her, you knew Jude’s eyes did not leave you. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought Jude was fae herself. The predatory glint in her eyes, the way her fingers itched to grab at her sword. She was not still like fae, nor was she unnaturally beautiful like fae, but she carried herself in such a way that you could be convinced otherwise. By human standards, she would have been the most beautiful of all. It was easy to understand why Cardan would choose her. Gorgeous but lethal—the exact sort of woman he would pursue. First Nicasia, now Jude. It was just as easy to see that you did not fit into the picture.

“You ran in the middle of the night,” Jude said. You looked over your shoulder. Her brows were pinched together as she scrutinized you.

“Have you come here to chastise me for leaving without a goodbye?”

She shook her head. “I have come because you were invited to breakfast.”

It was hard not to laugh. Was that why she came all the way to mountains to find you? Because you didn’t come to breakfast? It was so ridiculous. Of all the reasons to seek you out, it was the silliest of them all. Your heart ached all the same, though. No one came because you were a friend. No one came because you were missed. Would Cardan have even known you were gone if he hadn’t extended the invitation the very evening you fled?

“If I have offended the King, then I extend my apologies.”

Jude lifted her chin. “Tell him yourself.”

Your jaw clenched and unclenched. No. You would not go to him. You would not drag yourself back to that palace and let yourself be reminded why you had to go. You refused to break your heart all over again. “I have no desire to return to Faerie.”

“You don’t have to.”

Cardan stood in your bedroom. It was different than your one in Faerie. The one there had been full of extravagant things—the finest things he could gift you. It was full of gold and pearl and opal, glittering as if it all needed to be housed in a vault. But this bedroom, it had been stitched together out of nothing. Threadbare blankets, smooshed pillows, books that looked like they would fall apart with one wrong look. Cardan listened to your conversation as your voice floated down the hall. Would you really choose all of this over being with him? Was he truly so terrible?

The floor creaked under his feet as he stepped out and walked down the hall. Cardan could only see the back of your head, but you still looked just as beautiful as he remembered. His fingers twitched at his side as he fought the urge to run up behind you, take you in his arms, and whisk you away to Faerie. When had you taken so much control over him? When had he given it to you so willingly? When had you decided you didn’t want it anymore?

“I believe I am owed an apology?”

You turned slowly on your heel. Your eyes narrowed, but Cardan did not miss the flash of surprise. Your tongue swiped over your teeth. Would it be wrong to take that tongue in his mouth? Did it matter if it was? “I apologize.”

“My, that was heartfelt.”

Your eyes fell to the tail that swished around Cardan’s legs. It was still unfamiliar for him to have it out, still hard to control it from revealing his base emotions. He tried to will it to stop, but it continued to wave around as his excitement of seeing you bubbled in his chest. “Would you prefer I fall to my knees and weep for your forgiveness? Kiss your feet until you are pleased?”

“Oh, there are few things that would please me more than you on your knees for me, but I would prefer to not have an audience for that.”

Your gaze flitted from Cardan to Jude, who was inspecting your collection of kitchen knives. Were you debating sending her away? He would enjoy that. He would like to get on his own knees and remind you why he cared for you so. He misliked the distance you were putting between him. Maybe if he begged prettily enough, you would forgive him for whatever cruel thing he did that sent you running.

“What are you doing here?”

“I don’t appreciate learning that you fled in the middle of the night after inviting you to breakfast. Is my company so awful that you would rather leave your home than spend a moment with me?”

A scoff escaped your lips. “I didn’t expect you to care.”

Cardan stared. Didn’t care…? He was so sure he had been clear with his intentions. He sent you gifts—he sent you a ring! The ring…Cardan reached over to his littlest finger and slipped it off. Ignoring your noise of protest, he closed the distance, grabbed your hand, and slipped the ring back on the finger it belonged. His heart slowed to a normal beat.

“Why would I give you this ring if I didn’t care?”

You stared at the ring. “You have gifted me many things.”

Jude stepped toward you. Your head snapped over to look at her, as if you had forgotten she was there. She tapped on the glittering gem on the ring’s center. “Allow me—Cardan is not good at professions of love, it seems. I told him of how humans would gift a ring as a promise of love. He wished to do that for you. Usually, there are confessions of how one wants to stay with their partner for all of their lives, but it seems he forgot that part.”

Cardan’s face burned as you looked back to him. “Is that true?” you asked.

“Do I need to get on my knees for you to believe it?” He ignored Jude’s remark that that, too, was part of the human tradition.

You straightened your spine. “I will not be a lover to the king.”

Of course you wouldn’t be. You deserved more than that. Cardan was willing to offer you more than that. All you had to do was give him the word. Without a thought, Cardan sank to his knees, captured your hands in his. “Then be my Queen.”

Your breath hitched.

“Come back to Faerie and rule by my side. Allow me to love you as I have tried for all these years. I missed you.” He lifted one of your hands to lips, then the other. “I begged Jude to help me find you and bring you home. I begged her to help me come here. Please, don’t let it all be for not.”

All you could manage was a single nod, and that was enough.

PART THREE

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ciciyup · 4 months ago

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Yandere! Lau X Fem! Reader headcanons.

cw: Sensitive themes, prejudice, xenophobia, manipulation, slight obsession, little nsfw, angst, murder, dark themes, stalking. (don't forget the era in which the story is set)

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Lau thinks about how peculiar all those people around him are, he seemed to have the affinity to notice the hypocrisy of the people around him. They all appeared so neat and so modest, what would they be like behind closed doors? Surely the men would stop being as gentlemen as they took it for granted in public and the women would stop being a lady as they tried to be all the time, behind closed doors it was another thing, but Lau had always believed that people in England were very peculiar.

Of course, he couldn't deny that the balls were entertaining, especially when the young Earl Phantomhive was there with his indispensable butler, everything seemed to go perfectly. The tables with the best dishes and food of the best quality, the mansion shining without a single spot of dust, the excellent decoration, how fascinating.

Ladies at balls were not something that caught Lau's attention, being surrounded by women was something he was used to, so at balls he didn't usually ask a woman to dance, maybe chat a little with other men of status, have a drink and stay there, but not court.

It was curious when he saw you, he had never seen you at any of the balls or any other event, but he assumed you were close to the Phantomhive family when he saw you talking to the count. Weren't you lovely? You seemed to shine in such a beautiful dress and a choice of such beautiful colors, from his place Lau could guess that you only wore the finest and most expensive fabrics. He could guess the time it took you to choose such a delicate hairstyle, the perfect curls that fell behind your back, the bun tied perfectly without a single loose hair, the perfect decoration with precious pearls around your hair, although surely it hadn't been done by you but by some maid. You looked radiant.

There was no other way to do it, if he wanted to talk to you he had to ask you for a dance, that was how it was there, it would be too reckless if he just approached you to talk, very ungentlemanly. Besides, since you had arrived you seemed to be close to an older man and an older woman with whom you were talking, they were surely your parents, you had very similar features to each one, he should make a good impression at least, where would his manners be if he didn't?

Your eyes seemed to inspect him before accepting his invitation, your gloved hands timidly touched his as you followed him to the center of the room along with the other couples who were already there, of course, it would be unacceptable if you refused him, what a rude lady to reject the invitation of such a kind man. A perfect occasion to talk to you, he had to take advantage of it.

It was easy to start a conversation while the dance was slow and not that tiring, Lau found out that you were the only daughter of a high class marriage and of very good social status, although you couldn't always be present at many events due to the little time you had for other tasks, although it also seemed that you didn't love the idea of dances, but it seemed that your parents were the ones who most wanted you to find a man who would become your husband, that is why they made sure that you went with them to the events.

After finishing the dance Lau offered to take you to his seat to continue talking while keeping his big smile the whole time. It seemed strange to you when as soon as you sat down there was a young woman next to you, he nonchalantly told you that it was Ran-mao referring to her as his sister, however, there were touches on both parts such as Lau touching her legs and holding her close to him or her hugging him by the arm from time to time. You did not say anything, but perhaps your expressions already gave a lot to say.

Still, Lau had seemed like a charming man to you, he had charisma and a constant cheerfulness, ignoring the fact that sometimes he used to go off topic or say meaningless words, but that was okay, that didn't bother you. He seemed to be a good supporter, a noble with a good status and earnings and who seemed to be easy to deal with, you had liked him.

Your parents not so much, as soon as you stayed too long with him, your mother came to you while giving some quick excuse to take you with her, quickly saying goodbye to Lau while giving him a contemptuous look and taking you out of there.

Lau knew it right away, he could pretend on the outside, but he wasn't stupid, he knew exactly the typical looks. Your parents hadn't liked him, money wasn't the problem but where it came from. He cared little about what your parents liked, he was interested only in you.

He got distracted, he snuck in, who knows, but what he did know was what was going on out there with your family, while Lau was out of the party he could see your mother walking quickly towards the carriage with you while she frowned and scolded you.

"Don't get together with that man again." "He's not good for you, we already have someone for you." Hearing the words, Lau could only raise his eyebrows slightly, but he seemed more interested in the fact that they had already found someone for you than in what they were talking about him. They already had someone for you, that had been fast, the fact of imagining another man courting you made his smile disappear.

After that day of the dance, Lau kept investigating everything about you and your family, he couldn't deny that the fact that you were already engaged to another man made him bitter, so he took action. It wasn't for nothing that he worked in the underworld, he could use it to his advantage after all. He was already there in your life, even if they had only danced and chatted for a while, Lau was sure that he would know more about you than the guy you were going to get engaged to.

Strangely, while your parents were traveling in a carriage, it broke down, causing them to have an accident where neither of them managed to survive. On top of that, the suitor you were engaged to had stopped sending you letters and had disappeared completely.

You were devastated, your parents had died, you would no longer have the funds to live on since, being a woman, all of your family's fortune would pass into the hands of your distant cousin and the truth is that he would not share a single cent with you. The man you were engaged to had disappeared, you had tried to go to his parents or even the servants but no one had dared to say anything about his whereabouts, which left you baffled. Maybe he had backed out after hearing about your parents' death, was that it? Now that you no longer had any fortune had he declined?

Satisfied by the events that had happened, Lau knew that it was the perfect time to intervene, now that you were helpless and vulnerable, he could take you easier. He showed up at your parents' funeral, paying his respects, and as soon as it was over he offered to take you home in his carriage, although on the way there was hardly any chatter, he had decided to wait for the right moment. As soon as you were arriving at your destination he starts talking and proposing an offer that he knew would benefit you: if you married him you would no longer have to worry about money or anything else, none of that, he would take care of it. You just had to marry him, just that.

You were not in a position to choose, it was that or be left adrift with nothing, but you thought that after all the man had been so friendly and kind that he would be your salvation, which made you quickly accept.

Oh, how wrong you were, if you had known what he was really like, if you had known what he would do, if only you had known... But you had already accepted and once you fall into the web it is difficult to get out of it. Lau took you as a naive young girl, so naive that you thought of nothing else but clinging to the first float you saw in the water and he wanted you, he wanted that naive young girl.

It was nice at first, after his marriage, you moved in with him, but there started to be little things that you began to notice that made you doubt if he was the real man you thought you knew.

Why was he always smoking to the point where you had to open the windows in the house so you wouldn't drown? He had never smoked before. Why was Ran-mao always sitting on his lap and even when you did things that were just for you as a married couple she was always there? She was supposed to be just his sister. Why did he suddenly disappear without saying anything to the point of sometimes not coming back to the house and leaving you alone? Or why did he seem to become more irritable when you did something he didn't want? He was supposed to be a good man, right?

And when you had enough, you decided to find out for yourself. Silently following him as he left the house until you reached a strange place that went beyond the dangerous alleys, above the door of the place there was a sign with something written in Chinese, although you did not understand what it said so you continued on entering the place.

Too much smoke, too many shameless men who seemed to look you up and down while they had scantily clad women by their side. The further you went into the place the murkier everything became, you did not even want to know what was behind the many doors of the place where strange noises were heard.

Then there you saw him, smoking carefree, several women surrounded him including Ran-mao who was sitting on his lap. Seeing you, Lau puts his pipe aside and releasing the smoke held in his mouth he looks at you opening his eyes a little more seriously. He knew it, he knew that you had followed him. As soon as all the women beside him left and the two of you were left, Lau approaches you in a nonchalant manner as you begin to ask about what kind of place it was, surely he didn't work in what he once told you, no, it was something darker.

Then, when all you want is explanations, you don't expect Ran-mao to appear from behind injecting a needle into your neck causing you to quickly lose consciousness.

Even after you've followed him and discovered something he didn't plan to tell you, it only makes everything worse between you. Lau's violent tendencies aren't frequent but when they appear they aren't pleasant, he implements them with you.

Using his needles in a way that was not gentle on you until you cried was just the tip of the iceberg, each thing he did seemed to be worse than the other. Locking you in the room of the house without food or water or even seeing the sunlight for days until you knock on the door apologizing for anything just to be let out. You wouldn't go out anywhere, not when he knew you might run away or tell someone, not that he cared since he could use his contacts and make the people involved disappear and find you right away, but he preferred to save himself all that, so he doesn't let you go out alone, you would only go out with him to some event, but you would stay in your place, as his good wife.

Now, being together or not, he would want to satisfy his needs from time to time, just accept it and let it go, that's how it is. Let him fuck you in his opium den, the companions that surround him are not important, he wants you. Let him take you to the edge until you can't go back to yourself and only think about him. Let him raise you and fill you until you can have an heir like in all marriages, because that's what they are, he's your husband and you're his wife, you're united, there's nothing wrong with that.

Lau is aware, he knows that you know that he is working on things that are not so pleasant, on things that are too low to say out loud, he knows that from the first moment he saw you his intentions with you have not been good and they never will be, but don't blame him, you are special to him, he can't let you go, even if it hurts you.

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#black butler #kuroshitsuji #black butler lau #kuroshitsuji lau #black butler lau x reader #kuroshitsuji lau x reader #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji x reader #lau x reader #black butler smut #kuroshitsuji smut #yandere black butler lau x reader #yandere kuroshitsuji lau x reader #yandere lau x reader #headcanons #yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere black butler lau

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girlystories · 1 year ago

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L'appel du vide (The call of the void)

— pairings: Henry Bowers + Patrick Hockstetter x female/daughter of a cop/new student reader

Summary: after your parents divorce (because your mom is kinda crazy) you move to your dads hometown, back to Derry, and your cousin richie. Additional warnings: refrences of past child abuse Words: 4.1k

next chapter here

Chapter 1: Back to Derry

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑 slowed down as it stopped at a gas station. The driver's door opened, which caused [Name] to wake up. She raised her head, which was earlier rested on her palm. She blinked her eyes, trying to make out what her father was saying to her.

"I said, do you want me to get you anything?", he repeated, his hand on the door as he slouched and his head under the car, waiting for her answer.

"Uh," she slurred her words, yawning as she stretched her arms, a satisfying feeling passing through her body to wake her up while the sun was making it difficult for her to think of what to say. "Just some water please."

Her father gave her a thumbsup before turning around.

"On second thought, I'm kinda hungry. Can I have a sandwich?", she called out from the rolled down window.

Her father made his way inside, as [Name] shifted in her seat, her arms laying comfortable under her head. She sighed as she stared out the window, not focusing on anything in particular, yet caughting a glimpse of a man filling his car.

She and her father we're making their way to Derry, Maine, back to their relatives. Despite feeling excited to see her cousin again, she didn't really approve on moving so suddenly. She would miss her friends, her school – heck, even the grumpy teachers and lousy neighbours.

There was no way of changing her dad's mind, however, since he was so eager to start a new life. She couldn't blame him, though. She and the poor guy couldn't handle the decrease in her mother's sanity any longer. She only grew worse day by day, and it was final once she laid hands on her. Her eyes were unrecognizable, wide and furiously red, as she had her fingers wrapped around [Name]'s throat, squeezing it tight with demise.

Luckily, she was shoved back and restrained by her father, who later called the police on her and she was taken into court when found out she was abusing drugs, finally filling a divorce and in the end she was send to an asylum.

This made [Name] wonder if that woman even loved her in the first place. As she thought about it more overtime, she recalled the times her mother gave her the cold shoulder, or the nasty remarks she hissed – tasting like venom on her tensed dry lips. The glaring looks she gave her, feeling like piercing needles ready to strike.

[Name] instantly wiped some tears that were forming on her eyes, placing a smile on her face as her dad made his way back, bringing with him the stuff he bought.

He closed the door as he sat on the driver's seat, holding the bag for [Name] to take. "As you ordered, madam. Sandwich and a bottle of water," he teased.

She chuckled. "Oh, why thank you, kind sir," she said before taking a big bite of the chicken sandwich. "Man, I'm so hungry."

"Well, you should've prepared some food from home for the ride," he said, taking a cigarette out of his new pack, placing it on his lips, and turning the engine back on – which roared back alive, going backwards and on the road back to Derry. "I told you in the morning but you ignored me."

She rolled her eyes, not in the mood for bickering at the moment, instead changing the question. "So like, you gonna be working as a cop at Derry now?"

"Policeman, not a cop, [Name]. And yes, I've taken care of it on the phone," his eyes were focused on the road, taking a turn. "A guy of mine was kind enough to brag about my services back home."

[Name] hummed, not particularly interested in listening to the conversation, instead taking a moment to appreciate her hunger decreasing, savoring the chicken in contrast with the sauce and the variety of spices.

She looked out the window, trees passing as they were now driving through the dirt road. The wind blew through her hair, a breeze filling the car.

Her father remained silent for a moment and he sighed. "Listen, sweetheart, I know it's hard for you moving away and all but I'm sure you'll have a great time there and settle down nicely," he smiled as he recalled memories of his hometown. "Besides, you'll catch up with little Richie again."

"Well, I'm sure he's not little anymore. How many years has it been? Like five, six?", she tried to count, licking her fingers in doing so. "How old is that little prick now anyway?"

"[Name], watch your language please," her father said and she giggled in response. "I think he's about thirteen or twelve. Three years younger than you."

"I'm sixteen, dad."

"Thirteen then."

"Oh my god, dad. Did you really not remember the age of your own daughter?"

He lifted his fingers holding the lighted cigarette off the wheel in defense. "No, I didn't forget your age, honey. I'm just, really tired at the moment."

She shook her head in disbelief. "Yeah, right."

"I mean it."

"Whatever you say can't save you now, dad."

He chuckled. "Really now?"

"Yes," she replied blankly, now finishing her sandwich.

Finally arriving, she took out one of her earplugs and pausing her music, raised her head to look around her new "home". Crippled narrow roads filled with puddles, with short trees that looked hardly standing by the constant floods and hurricanes. She almost cringed at the almost rundown looking buildings.

What eased her nerves were the stores here and there, them being: Brew & Chew Café, Doughy Delights Pizzeria, and Smile N’ Delight. Her eyes also caught a glimpse of the arcade, and she was sure Richie would probably spend his time there, playing aimlessly like his life depended on it. Not like she planned on going there, but still. It proved the existence that people lived there and it wasn't as deserted as it seemed.

"Are we there?"

"Sure are," he answered, searching for his sisters house. He smiled, "nothing has changed a bit."

"We haven't been gone that much for anything to change. I mean who even comes here anymore?"

Her father ignored her remark, taking a turn and slowing down as they reached that all familiar house [Name] hang out to when she was younger. They came to a stop and he got out of the car, while [Name] did the same, yet not so eager.

"Wentworth! How long has it been?", her father said as the front door opened, her uncle grabbing his palm and patting him on the back.

"You tell me," her uncle replied. "You were the one who decided to move out."

He chuckled. "Well, [Mother Name] wouldn't stop pressuring me and all. You know how she was."

This made [Name]'s aunt's smile fade, feeling somehow remorseful. "Ah, I'm so sorry about that, [Father Name]... We couldn't believe it when you told us all about it on the phone," her eyes looked at [Name], making her smile widely, her eyes wrinkling at the sides as they widened. She exclaimed and she walked over to her with raised arms, squeezing her cheeks which made [Name] groan slightly. Yet she didn't mind it much, always appreciating her aunt's weird ways of affection.

"Little [Name]! Ah, I can't believe how much you've grown. You're basically a lady now!", she noted, placing her palms on her shoulders and taking a better look at her, taking her time to "fix" her shirt and hair.

[Name] chuckled awkwardly, not knowing how to respond. "Hey, missed you too, Aunt Maggie. Uh, is Richie home?"

"Oh, yes," she turned around, "Richie, get your ass here!"

After a few annoyed grumbles, a boy with dark hair came down the stairs. [Name] noted his increase in height and glasses who seemed to be thicker than how she remembered, making his eyes appear way bigger. He still had a couple of freckles drawn on his slighty chubby cheeks – even though he had a relatively slim figure. She threw an arm over his shoulder, snickering at his annoyance and trying to get off her hold.

"How's my little blabbermouth been?", she remarked and forced him into a hug. He groaned in response, mostly by the nickname but returning the hug happily.

"You haven't changed a bit, asswipe," he replied with the same tone. Still, his grip tightened around her. "You were still missed, though. As much as I hate to admit it."

That made her smile, and she let go of him, "Aw," she cooed. "I'm flattered, but it's very much expected," she replied proudly.

"Ha ha," Richie stated, his tone linked full of sarcasm. "Just make sure you stay this time," he scoffed, "I remember when you had to leave last time you were crying your eyes out. Your nose was full of snot and stuff. Gross."

[Name] narrowed her eyes, raising her brow. "That's not true. I don't ever recall that happening."

"Well, I do," he rolled his wide eyes behind his thick square glasses, smirking. "Right, mom?"

"Huh? What did you say, sweetie?", she asked, not listening to him in the slightest, too absorbed in the conversation with her husband and brother.

"Nevermind," Richie rumbled. "Say, you wanna join me and my friends? Oh – I forgot to mention – remember Bill? Well, we are now in a group with two other guys and we call ourselves The Losers Club, and it's freaking awesome!"

[Name] couldn't help but laugh. "The Losers Club? That sounds... pretty lame."

"That's the point, genius," he rolled his eyes again. "The thing is, you gotta join us, we always have so much fun and stuff."

"Maybe another time, kiddo. I'm pretty tired and I gotta start unpacking and I need get ready for school tomorrow. I've missed enough as it is."

Richie groaned. "Fineee. But you will come with us one day, I'm telling you."

[Name] ruffled his hair. "Okay okay, I get it!"

"Augh! Not the hair, man! Not cool", he tried to push her hand away, but to no avail as she wrapped an arm around his neck and continued in forcefully ruining his curly locks.

The next day [Name] was woken up but her father, completely ignoring her alarm clock at 6:30 am. She groaned and placed a pillow over her head, trying to block out her father's cheery but annoying voice through the kitchen.

She had to get up, though, when her father made his way into her bedroom and forcefully throwing the covers off her – much to her dismay. She raised her upper body, holding her weight with her elbows. Her eyes were puffy and red, a trail of drool beginning from her bottom lip and ending at her chin. A sight Richie would definitely make fun of, but he was in the same spot, as her dad did the same, but instead chose to grab Richie and spin him around, just like the way parents played with their month-old babies.

Richie – fully confused, and instead of cheering like a baby would – almost shrieked, his legs swaying back and forth, looking for a sturdy ground to balance himself and his arms trying to get a tight grip on his uncle. Without wearing his glasses, he wasn't able to see clearly, screaming: "What the hell is going on?!"

[Name]'s dad, not reducing his speed in the slightest, continued, "Wake up, big guy! You're gonna miss school!"

Richie, steadying his breath, replied, "Okay okay, I get it! Just get me down! For the love of—"

Just as he requested, his uncle complied, a satisfied smile on his features. He slapped his nephew's back lightly. "Come to the kitchen quick. I've prepared breakfast."

[Name] still in her bed – but not daring to lay back down, (in fear of her dad shaking her awake again) stared blankly at the wall, ignoring the commotion from Richie's room completely. She rubbed her half closed eyes, and dragged herself out of bed, choosing a simple and convenient outfit for the day, since her stuff and wardrobe hadn't been delivered in their new home fully yet. She grabbed her almost empty backpack, which contained only her pencil case and a couple of notebooks, and she slowly made her way to the kitchen, dropping on her seat feeling like a zombie. She tried to rest her heavy head on her palm, yet it fell on the table sharply.

"Ah ah," her father scolded. "Wake up, sweetie. It's your first day today."

She groaned in response.

"I'll give you a ride to school, so eat quick. I have work to get to," he explained further, flipping an egg from the pan.

"I'm sorry but how can you be so excited so early in the morning, uncle? I mean, no offense," Richie asked from the table, rubbing his glasses with his shirt. He turned to [Name], "is he always like this?"

She grabbed a toast from the table, which was applied with butter smoothly, and took a bite, her eyes still half closed. "Yes."

"Damn."

After a quick – and not so satisfying breakfast, Mr. [Last Name] gave the both a ride and went to work. For the first time Richie wasn't late. A rare occurance, mainly because he took ages to get ready but also because both his parents weren't able to drive him to school because of work.

"Well, I guess I'll see you later, asswipe," Richie held up his palm for a high-five. [Name] looked at him unfazed, almost rolling her eyes, clearly not in the mood so early in the morning. Still, she didn't leave him hanging and groaned under her breath.

"Remember, don't steal food from the cafeteria."

"Don't you mean, don't do drugs – or something?"

[Name] walked pass him, pushing her body on the school's front entrance. "Whate—", before she could finish, she felt a heavy force colliding against her. She yelped in response, being shoved backwards.

The person groaned in annoyance, also surprised by the sudden force. "What the fu—", the voice suddenly paused. [Name] took a moment to study the person. He was tall, his blonde hair messily styled in a mullet. His blue eyes were staring back at her, also studying her. His seemengly muscular built wasn't as apparent under his t-shirt which was being covered under his denim jacket, his sleeves being pushed high above his elbows. It was more of a fashion choice than an affect to keep warm in the cold weather of October.

She didn't know how long they kept eye contact, but it came to a stop as his features furrowed, pursing his lips. He shoved pass her, his shoulder bumping into hers while he mumbled under his breath: "Get outta my way."

She scoffed in response, raising a brow and walking into the halls, Richie following quickly behind her. "Oh my god," he gasped.

"What?", she questioned, looking around for the principal's office.

"You just ran into Henry Bowers!", he explained.

"I didn't ran into him. More like he bumped into me."

He quickly shook his head. "That's not the point, dumbass," he walked in front of her, making her stop in her tracks to get her attention. "The point is that he and his lovely little friends have been making our lives hell for how many years now. I'm honestly surprised he didn't murder you just now."

"He what?", [Name] asked, her eyes finally widening since this morning.

"Yeah," Richie said, beginning to walk again with her by his side, passing the other students in the halls as they chatted among themselves. "They're all complete psychos."

"How did you say his name was? Henry Bowers, was it?", she asked and slowed down when she noticed the principal's office in the corner. "Where have I heard of it before?"

"Man, I don't know. But I'm telling you. Just don't make him mad. Ever."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it, big guy," she said, shifting her backpack as the school bell rang. She made herself a new goal for the year.

Richie raised a brow. "What do you mean? I don't like that look," he noted.

"Just, go to class, okay? I'll see you guys later," she shoved him softly, and he stumbled a bit, glancing back at her with a bit of worry, but made his way to class.

She didn't know how and why that guy seemed so familiar to her, but she didn't care either. No one is allowed to make fun of her cousin. No one. Except maybe her, but they were family. It's understandable. But him? Who did he think he is?

She decided to keep an eye on him and his stupid mullet.

[Name] was about to knock the open door but stopped when she saw a lanky guy staring at the principal blankly, his mind wandering off and not paying the slightest attention to him. The principal sighed, his hand waved towards the door, dismissing him as he finished, "that's about it. If you and Bowers get send here one more time, I'll have to take drasting measures. You'll get a pass this time. Mainly because it's your first time, Hockstetter. Now get your ass to class."

The guy in question – Hockstetter, as he was mentioned – fixed his posture at the statement, the corners of his mouth forming into a smile. He left without question, his grey-green eyes meeting [Name]'s as he walked pass the door, twinkling with curiosity. She swore she saw him lick his bottom lip just as he left.

"And make sure Bowers actually goes to class this time!", the principal shouted and [Name] wondered if his orders even reached the guy's ears.

So this guy is one Richie's bullies, [Name] noted.

She decided to keep that in mind later as she walked inside. The principal held the bridge of his nose, sighing. When he noticed her, he grasped his hands together as he tried to recall her name. He remained with only parted lips as he failed in figuring out who she was.

"Hello, Mr – uh," she trailed off, trying to remember his name that her dad mentioned on the ride. "Mr. Corbin, I'm the new student. I think my father spoke to you on the phone."

His features softened, bringing a hand on his grey and combed hair. "Ah, yes! Mr. [Last Name], I believe. Yes, I've got your schedule prepared right here," he said, rolling back with his chair and opening his drawer, taking out a paper and handing it to [Name]. "It was pretty much a hassle trying to sort your lessons, since you arrived a bit later, but eventually we managed."

She whispered a soft "Sorry" in response.

"How very nice for us to welcome a new student. I hope you like it here. Ah, did you move here recently, miss [Last Name]?"

She quickly skimmed over her schedule, and looked back at Mr. Corbin. "Yes. Yesterday actually."

"I see," he replied, fixing his mustache. "Well, I hope you settle down nicely. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some work to finish," he rolled on his chair forward, placing his hands together once again. "If you need any help, don't be afraid to come to my office."

[Name] smiled at him. "Thank you so much, Mr. Corbin," she said and walked out, looking over her schedule. She hummed, feeling not so glum about it, only groaning when she saw she had to chose an extracurricular, but also hoping there were good options to chose from at the very least. She noticed a note, written roughly with a pen; locker: 74.

She made her own inner note to check it out later.

Now, she hurried herself to her first period, being World History. It took her while to find the class, and she was sure she'd get some nagging from the teacher. She hesitantly knocked on the door and slowly opened it. Peeking over the gap, she noticed all the students attention being on her. She stepped inside, clearing her throat.

"Sorry I'm late, Mr –", she looked at her schedule, "Mr. Okley."

Mr. Okley stopped writing on the board, turning his focus on her. "It's okay, I suppose," his voice indicated his boredom which were proved by his uninterested expression. "You're the new student, yes?"

She nodded. "Yes, my name is [Name] [Last Name]."

His face brightened, his blank expression being replaced by a small smile. "Ah, [Last Name]? I know your father. We used to be classmates together. Really funny fellow, I tell you," he chuckled. "Make sure to tell him I say hi, alright?"

[Name] smiled, trying to ignore people's stares. "I will."

"We're on page forty-three. You can take a seat over there," he pointed at an empty seat next to the window.

"I don't have a book."

"Right," he hummed, looking around his desk for a spare book. "I can't seem to find one right now. Just sit next to Victor for now and come by my office later."

The guy in question raised his head from his palm, being shaken out of his thoughts. [Name] dragged a chair and sat next to him, who scooted to the side to make some some space for the both.

She held her hands close, feeling awkward by the closeness between them. But she tried her best to ignore it, taking notes when she thought was necessary.

As she wrote, her pall pen started leaving less and less ink. She pressed harder, but the pen refused to work, as if it suddenly decided to go against her.

"Shit," she cursed under her breath. She turned to Victor, who had his undoubted attention on Mr. Okley who explained about the Rise of Rome.

"Do you have an extra pen?"

His attention was disturbed again. He shifted in his seat, blinking like he was just woken up. "Oh, yeah," he searched his bag and held one for her.

"Thanks," she took it, smiling warmly at him.

"So, why the sudden change or schools?", he asked.

"Oh, you know. The usual reasons," she wrote on her notebook, testing if it worked. It was an obvious attempt of her deflecting the question.

Victor didn't attemt to pressure her in saying anymore, turning his attention back at the lesson.

The bell rang indicating the end of the lesson. All the students gathered their things, chatting among themselves as they made their way outside.

Just as [Name] was about to do the same Mr. Okley called her.

"Wait here for a moment, I'll go and fetch your book, alright?"

With that she waited, watching the classroom becoming less and less crowded. Her mind started wondering along, when she was being shoved forward. Her shoulder bumping with an all too familiar muscular one, snickering as he made his way towards Victor. Two others followed, passing her like she was nonexistent.

Her face soured.

Henry and Hockstetter loud vocals filled the room, shooting at Victor about who knows what. [Name] was unable to identify the other figure. He was the most noticeable large one of the group.

With the realization that Victor was in their little group, it made the girl's disappointment more visible.

Mr. Okley came back, holding a thick book. "This is it," he opened it, flipping through the pages. "We've covered all of these. Make sure to study them until next week. We'll be having an exam on Monday."

She scrunched her nose, which didn't go unnoticed.

"Now now, it's not too much," he chuckled at her reaction. "It has very vague information and it's pretty easy to grasp. I'm sure you can do it."

She wasn't convinced and he continued. "If it's too much for you, then I'll guess I could give you an extra week."

"Really?"

He winked. "Just don't tell anyone," he waved his hands. "Now, run along!"

She chuckled and scooted over the door, but stopped when she remembered something. She glanced over at her classmate by the window, being surrounded by the mullet asshole and the creepy lanky guy – and the guy she couldn't recognize. He was frowning at his friends, telling them to "shut up" while they joked around.

She sighed under her breath and turned her heel, walking over to him. She looked to the ground, avoiding their gazes as she came closer.

"You, uh, forgot your pen," she held it out for him, only locking eyes with his as he stopped his bickering. Their laughs also came to a stop, observing her from head to toe.

He took it, and before he could answer she swung around, storming out of the classroom. Her chest was bounding and her breath was shaky.

She meet the Bower Gang on her first day and managed to survive.

#:girlystories #:girlystoriess #[🌸]#it x reader #it fanfiction #bowers gang x reader #bowers gang #henry bowers x reader #patrick hocksetter x reader

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storiesaplenty · 20 days ago

Text

Jelly Bracelets (15) (18+) ~ Final Part

Eddie Munson x f/Reader

Jelly Bracelets Masterlist

This has not been proofread. Please enjoy, though.

Warnings: swearing. Anal sex. Use of lube. Loss of anal virginity. P in v sex. Unprotected sex. Anal fingering. These two idiots finally admit their feelings for one another.

WC: 1690

Glittery Blue - is willing to perform anal sex

Eddie Munson may be the freak of Hawkins, but he is your best friend. Who is always willing to teach you new things, even when you get new bracelets from your cousin. Eddie will even go as far as teaching & showing you what each one means.

Eddie and I have been spending almost all of free time together, even more so than before.

So much so that Robin brought it up when her and I were doing a bit of grocery shopping for the house.

Steve is somewhere in the store, probably flirting with the woman who works at the meat counter, trying to score us some discounted meat.

"You know, you are hardly around anymore." Robin said as she grabbed her favourite cereal, which made me think we need milk.

"I know, just with work and Eddie, it has been a bit tough trying to figure out a time." I told her.

"I know you and Eddie are getting closer, I know that but I just miss my friend. I miss our random girl days together."

"Look Robin, you're off today, I am off today. Why don't we go and do something. A bit of shopping and lunch, just like us in high-school."

"I would like that."

"Then it is decided. After we drop Steve off, we will go and shop."

We left Steve standing there with our groceries, him looking confused on why he couldn't join girls day.

"Just because you play Mom to Dustin and his little group, doesn't mean you can join our day." Robin said as she stuck her head out the passenger side window.

"We will bring back dinner." I called out, hoping he would hear me from the driver's side.

"Yeah, we will bring back dinner. Bye." Robin told him as I sped away to have a nice day with my girl friend.

◆

As Robin and I ate at the food court, and few bags of clothes between us, she looked at my arms when I pushed up the sleeve to my sweaters.

"Shit, you only have one left." Her wide eyes got even wider.

"Yeah, we have been a bit busy." My pussy clenched around nothing as I thought about the last time I saw Eddie.

How you bent me over his bed and fucked me so good I swear I saw stars.

"You gonna do the last one." I looked down at my arm as I chewed on my corn dog.

The glittery blue one seemed to sparkle as I looked at it.

"I think I will. I trust Eddie." I knew Eddie was waiting for me to let him know if I was going to do this one. He hasn't pushed me to do it, and that made my decision a whole lot easier.

"You got lube?" Robin bluntly asked.

"No, and I know I gotta drive out of Hawkins to get it."

"We can go today. Grab it so that way, you have it for when you want to do it."

"Okay, but please don't go and tell Steve we went to a sex shop. You know he will complain that we went without him."

"Or we can just pick this up. I'll go and call him, tell him to be ready in 20 minutes." Before I could tell her not to do that, Robin was up and out of her seat, standing in the line to use the payphone.

◆

"Really? Anal sex with Eddie Munson. Come on, he gets anal, but I am practically begging someone for a blowjob. What has the world come too?"

Steve complained from the backseat of my car as we drove home from the next county.

"Oh shut up Steve. I see all the different women you bring home. You are doing just fine in that department. Now will you stop talking about it. I haven't even decided if I will be having anal sex with Eddie or not."

I wanted to crash into a tree to get him to stop talking. Steve folded his arms across his chest, and looked out the window, pouting.

◆

As I drove over to Eddie's place, I knew it was going to happen. I have the lube in my bag. I brought my pajamas and a spare change of clothes for tomorrow, as I spending the night.

I didn't bother to knock as I knew he had the door unlocked.

When I saw his smiling face, I became almost nervous, but this is what I wanted.

"Hey sweetheart." He said before kissing my cheek.

Eddie went to sit down but I grabbed his hand, stopping him, he looked back at me, confused.

"Snap it." Was all I said to him.

Hs turned his body to face me. "Are you sure?"

"I have never been more sure about anything Eddie."

He snapped the final jelly bracelet, and he put it in his jeans pocket, to add it to the other ones.

"I don't have any lube."

"I have some."

"What? When did you get lube?" Questioned a very confused Eddie.

"The other day with Robin and Steve."

"Great, I get to listen to those two talk about this aren't I?"

"Yeah, well if you want to continue talking instead of doing this, we can sit and," He cut me off by saying he wants to do this.

I followed behind him to his clean room, which has me stunned as this is the longest he has ever had his room cleaned.

◆

Eddie's lips were attached to mine as he fucks up into me. His one arm was wrapped around my waist as I dug my nails into his chest.

He has two lubed up fingers in my ass, trying to stretch my hole before I tell I am ready, but all I can think about is how good is his cock in my pussy as he fucks up into me.

He planted his feet on the bed, changing the angle of his hips, which quickly brought me to orgasm, calling out his name as I squeezed his cock and his fingers.

"That's it sweetheart. Squeeze my cock. Fuck." The last word was drawn out as he closed his eyes as he fucked me through my orgasm.

"I'm ready, Eddie." I tiredly said.

He gently moved me off of him, and ran to the washroom, probably to clean his hand, and he was back before I even knew he was really gone.

I got on all fours, trying to relax as much as possible.

I tensed up just a bit when I felt Eddie get behind me, standing at the edge of the bed.

I heard him squirt some lube in his hand and I can just imagine him jerking his cock to spread the lube around.

Just the thought had me almost salivating.

He ran the tip of his cock against my hole, rubbing my back to sooth me.

"We can stop at anytime." He said to me as he started to push in.

I squeezed my eyes shut as he got just the tip in, and I couldn't believe how uncomfortable this felt, even with him stretching me out before.

"You good baby?" He asked, his voice sounded tense. I nodded my head yes at him, which had him pushing another inch in me.

"I'll let you know if it becomes too much or I want you to stop. Just continue Eddie, please."

"Okay sweetheart, I got you. Just remember to relax and tell me what you want."

He sunk deeper and deeper into my ass until his hips were flushed against my ass.

He didn't move as we both were getting used to him there.

I reached down between my thighs to play with my pussy, as he pulled back to gently thrust back in again.

He did this a few times until the pain went away, and now there is a dull ache.

"Faster Eddie." I whined.

He groaned as he gripped my hips tightly, and thrust into me a bit harder.

He did this each time I asked him to go harder until he was at the perfect pace for me.

His hips were slamming off my ass as he fucked me.

My hand between my thighs was all bug forgotten as Eddie fucked me like a man starved.

He reached around and grabbed me by my throat, and gently pulled me up so my back is flush against his chest.

He was muttering in my ear, and I didn't catch any of it as I just became consumed by Eddie.

His touch.

His smell.

How is hands felt against my skin.

How his cock felt fucking me in the ass.

"Gonna cum." Was all the warning I got before I felt him still.

The both of us moaning as he came in my ass for the first time.

"Motherfuc," He groaned into my ear just as I turned my head and he kissed me.

His one hand still on my throat, holding me so I couldn't move.

Our kiss was passionate as he stopped coming, his cock twitching as it slowly started to soften.

He let go of my neck and I collapsed onto his bed as he pulled out, making me groan at the loss of him filling me.

"Shit, that is hot." Eddie said as he watched his cum leak from ass before going to get a damp towel to clean us up with.

As he was cleaning up our mess, I heard him say something.

"What did you say Eddie?"

He cleared his throat. "I don't want this to end." Eddie said as he put the towel in the hamper and laid down besides as I laid on my stomach.

"We can still continue to do this." I said to him.

"I mean, I don't want us just to be friends with benefits."

"What are you saying Eddie?" My heart felt like it is going to beat out of my chest.

"Wanna go on a date with me?" He looked nervous.

"Of course Eddie." I didn't even have to think as I have been waiting for this moment for years.

"We can have a breakfast date." I said, excited as this is actually happening.

"Only us could do all this sex stuff and then go on an actual date." He said, shaking his head.

"Well, that is how we are Eddie, that is how we are."

♣︎

Black (18+)

#eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x female reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x f/reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson

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yourlittlebunnyy · 4 months ago

Text

cherry tart

main masterlist - azriel masterlist - prologue

you can read this alone, but also as part of a court of shadows and darkness!

summary: Selaene meets Azriel's mom.

warnings: none

w/c: 1.4k

enjoy!

"Azzie, I'm so scared" Selaene shakes her mate's hand, well-almost mate.

Presently they stand in front of a humble wooden door. In front of the small cottage located in Rosehall. In front of the house of Azriel's mother.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. She is going to love you." He smiles gently at her, his tone quiet in an attempt to calm the Fae beside him. He points to the door with his chin. "Whenever you're ready." Selaene bites her lip anxiously. In one hand she firmly holds a tart she made with her mother's help. Well, actually all the work was done by her mother. She has been sitting on the counter watching her and occasionally stealing food from her. A cherry tart. According to the Azriel, it is his mother's favorite. "All right." She takes a deep breath and detaches her hand from her mate's, bringing it before the door. "I'm ready."Azriel silently admires her. He won't tell her, but it is her behavior that is filling his heart with joy. Of course he has no taste for seeing her nervous, but he finds it adorable how she is worrying about making a good impression with her mother. Selaene meets his gaze one last time before the door opens, and her beloved's lips ripple into an encouraging smile.The female in front of them, Azriel's mother, is a stunning Fae, the young woman thinks.

The first thing she recognizes in her are the same hazel eyes as her mate. And the smile. The female smiles fondly at her, just as Azriel always smiles at her. She is a beautiful creature. Delicate.

"Hello, Selaene!" She greets her warmly, opens her arms, inviting the young female to come closer. Azriel's heart rumbles in his chest at seeing the two most important females in his life clutching each other.

"Hello!" She reciprocates the greeting with equal warmth, her nerves slightly jolted by her mother's incredible ability to make her feel at ease.

"Hi, Mom." Azriel greets her. They, too, hug quickly.

"Oh, but how rude to keep you in the cold, come in!" She follows the female inside the house. It is tiny as she expected, but it is cozy. It reminds her of her own. They walk through the living room warmed by a burning fireplace and arrive at a small kitchen and dining room.

As soon as she enters, a delicious scent invades her nostrils. She sees Azriel smiling and wonders if whatever his mother is cooking doesn't remind him of his own adolescence.

"Selaene made you your favorite cake." His mate says, making the female's cheeks blush. The mother, who had remained silent until then, smiles at her again with the same warmth as before.

"You are lovely, Selaene." The young female lowers her gaze in bewilderment for a moment. Once recovered, she hands her the dessert. The mother grabs it and sets it on a counter. "Thank you very much, honey. You guys take your seats. It will be ready soon." The female turns and watches her stir something in a pot. She has no idea what she is cooking, but the smell makes her mouth water.

Azriel moves behind her to move a chair. Selaene, still racked with agitation, whispers a feeble thanks as she sits down. Her mate sits beside her and when he notices that she continues to play nervously with her skirt, he grabs her hand and entwines it with his.

He says nothing to her, avoiding embarrassing her further, but his look is worth a thousand fears. Selaene takes a deep breath, just as she has done a thousand other times, and even if only slightly, she calms down.

"Have you prepared the lamb?" Azriel asks her mother, trying to open a light conversation.

"Sure." The female giggles and turns to Selaene's mate. "You know, it's always been her favorite dish." Selaene smiles at her.

"Really?" She asks feigning surprise. She was actually already aware of it, but it seems rude to her to admit it. The mother nods, a smile lighting up her face.

Silence fills the room as dishes are filled. Azriel sits his mother down as he himself stands up, removing his hand from his mate's, to go and return the empty pot to the sink.

"You know," his mother begins. His mate returns to his seat, rolling his eyes, "He's told me a lot about you. And he does that," she points with a fork at Azriel, "because he knows it's true."

A resolve gently shakes her shoulders, infecting that of the two Fae as well. "I hope only good things." Jokes the young female.

"Oh, you can bet on it. It's always, Selaene is beautiful, Selaene is the love of my life, Selaene this way... Selaene that way" The Fae observes her own mate who at this moment seems to want to sink to the floor while her mother gesticulates theatrically.

"That's cute." She giggles. They begin to eat and as soon as she takes a bite of the tender meat, she cannot refrain from commenting on that delicacy. "Now I understand why it is Azzie's favorite dish." The female smiles sweetly at her. She does not say it out loud, but she finds Selaene perfect for her son. She notices how his shadows hover around her protectively. How his eyes light up a little more every time he hears his mate's laughter.

"I'm glad you like it." After a few moments, she adds. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself, or you."

The young girl's cheeks turn slightly red as with a shy smile she begins to tell her story. "I really like singing. That's how we fell in love." She explains, Azriel nods.

"Oh, not only does she like it. She's very good at it." His mother would like to take this moment and frame it. Seeing her son so happy, after seeing him suffer so much, fills her heart with affection. "You should hear from her someday."

"Of course, dear ones. We have all the time in the world." The conversation fades, and Selaene gains courage as she becomes more open and cheerful.

Azriel can do nothing but think home. This is home. This is family. This is his happy little corner. A place where it doesn't have to be Azriel the Shadowsinger, or Azriel the warrior, or Azriel the Illyrian. But just a son. A lover. Just Azzie.

"I'm really glad you enjoyed it. Would you like some cake?" Their mother asks them. Selaene jumps merrily, always ecstatic about sweets, but it is Azriel who replies.

"Sure, shall we taste the treat you brought us?" He asks her, giving her a lip-smacking kiss. It is the first time since they entered that they exchange an intimate gesture in front of their mother, and as cute as the mother finds it, Selaene turns paunchy. The female giggles as she goes to get the cake, giving them some space.

About an hour later, it is now dark outside and the air has cooled.

"Let me help." Selaene pleads as she gets up, taking the dishes from the table.

"Absolutely not, dear. You are my guest. You will never have to lift a finger in my house." Her mother retorts. Azriel watches the scene amused. So busy are they in gentle discussion that they do not notice the male disappearing behind the counter with the dirty dishes. Only when they hear the roar of water from the sink do the two turn to him.

"Oh, Azzie, I'll do it." Says the younger one.

"Let him do it." The mother replies amused. "Let's go relax in the living room."

Once they are comfortable on the small sofa in front of the fireplace that warms them, the expression on the older one's face darkens, suddenly becoming serious.

"Selaene." The young female's heart beats wildly. That she actually dislikes her? Doesn't she see her with her beloved? "I just wanted to say thank you." The sentence astonishes her, but also leaves her confused.

"For what?" Azriel's mother shakes her hand affectionately.

"To love my son. To give him a reason to get up in the morning and come home safely." Selaene's eyes become glazed over, but she does not show it. Her heart melts.

"I..." She is shushed.

"You don't have to say anything. I am simply grateful." The young girl nods just as her mate re-enters the room.

"It's getting a little late." He announces. The mother nods.

At the doorframe, Selaene shares a hug with the female. Azriel brushes her cheek with his lips. "Come see me soon, dear ones. It has been a pleasure!" She waves goodbye with a gesture of her hand.

"Of course. Like you said, we have all the time in the world, Mom." The fae nods.

She stands and watches as they walk away down the driveway hand in hand. A bitter taste invades the back of her tongue at her son's words.

All the time in the world.

dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

tags: @helo1281917 @acotarmemessss @backupasccountt @fxckmiup

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blueberrypancakesworld · 10 months ago

Text

Never wake a sleeping Dragon - Yan!Viserys x fem!reader

warning : yandere, obsession, implied overprotective, mentioning of death/war, hurt/comfort , fluff, kissing

Summary : Visery the king in him is the burning blood of the dragon. A thing that most of the people around him tend to forget he is "the peaceful" however when a new Queen is needed a heir for the kingdom the dragon awakes when a storm is starting to geather and obsession is forged. He will not let her get away from his dragon dream.

Info : Never imagined that I would be writting for Viserys but I like the idea of a quiete yandere type that goes full obsession when his love tries to flee. Afterall he is a Targaryen and everytime a Targaryen is born the coin decides the fate ;) And Paddy looks good so yeah....have fun;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~

The King of the Seven Kingdoms Viserys, peacefully the first of his name, was the ruler of King's Landing and all the lands. A man who had ridden one Balerion to the Black Death, the mighty beast that had been dead for decades. A man who was always eyed, especially by his brother.

Daemon, the only prince of the realm and his younger brother, on the other hand, was the picture of a Targaryen. Quick-tempered, insanely brutal and lusting after blood and fire. But his brother Viserys was peaceful, enjoying the simple pleasures of music, jousting and building stone decorations.

The sleeping dragon was what his enemies, the common people and the king's court called him. A dragon on a throne who slept and sent his brother and troops instead of unleashing his wrath.

A man who mourned all his lost children with his first wife Aemma Arryn until his only child Rhaenyra was born. The princess of the realm of the rich and handsome.

The beautiful image of her mother and the fieriness of her uncle Daemon who was devoted to his niece. The dragon was happy for some time, his dream, his dragon dreams had shown him a son, another prince, and when his wife became pregnant again, the queen gave birth to the son Baelon through the blood of the falcon and the dragon.

The king was filled with joy, but this was to be taken from him. His own wife condemned to death, his son dead and his daughter turning away from him in her own grief, he had lost everything.

He had lost his flames, his dragons and seemed completely alone. Alone in his chambers, just himself and the dim fire in the fireplace, the unfinished Valyria and the wine at the table. The dragon seemed to have lost his own.

The gaze of the violet eyes of the tired, haggard man had turned away from the fireplace and was looking at the picture of his wife, the painting he had had painted.

Until a knock at the door made him look up. ,,Away!" he had said loud enough for the person to disappear but when his door opened he placed the portrait on his bed and rose to confront the intruder.

The glow inside him seemed to spark and he wanted to be alone. ,,I said I want to be alone!" he hissed and was about to reach for his sword when he saw a woman a little older than his daughter, a lady in waiting, a then still young chick from his wife, the rest of her.

He vaguely remembered her from his grief, how she chose her ladies in waiting, how the ladies enjoyed themselves and spent time together. But after her death they were all gone, he had given them money and sent them back to their families, except for her.

She stayed, her relatives died in the battles in the kingdoms. She was the lady of the house without a seat without a stay and now the only lady-in-waiting who held on to Aemma.

,,My lady… what can I do?" He asked, his voice no longer angry but tired and exhausted. He sat back in the armchair and covered his face with his hands. ,,My king? Lord Hand has instructed me to bring you some food," he heard her voice, still caring for him despite his suffering.

Her king. She should be mourning her kings friend. What sacrifice from such a woman he thought and raised his eyes to her dark black dress. Grief. Saw her coming towards him a moment before he waited for her to sit next to him on the chair.

They had not seen each other since the funeral of his Aema and Baelon, days in which he had not seen her. His Aemma-no, her smile. ,,That's very kind of you…do you mind staying?" he asked her and it seemed to him that as the king, the man with the most power, he was asking her permission.

He saw how she didn't hesitate, how there was only a brief flash of uncertainty about his well-being. ,,Of course, here's some tea from the Maestar," she said and Viserys shifted in his seat even though he was only wearing his loose shirt and trousers, the jewelry on his body made him look better.

Putting on his expensive clothes, however, meant going back out there, following the sad eyes to a throne without her. Glancing at her, his violet eyes watched as she handed him the plate of bread and eggs, the bacon still warm, and he felt his stomach actually craving food.

Only wine and drugged flowers were not food, at least not what he was supposed to have. Until suddenly he heard a cry of pain and wheeled around to face her. Almost throwing the plate aside, he saw that the boiling water had splashed on her hand by coming up in the goblet. ,,Wait," he said hastily and took the cup from her hand and the pot.

The vapor, the heat showing effect on her hand red hot and hurting her. Like the flame of a dragon. ,,It's… all right Viserys," she pressed out, tears in her eyes saying something else and at that moment he didn't feel helpless, not intimidated. He was alive. The fascination, his dream.

The fire, his son. ,,Burned by fire-I mean, did you burn yourself very badly? Wait, I'll get something," he said, feeling his thoughts racing as he rose from her, she would end up making the dream real, replacing his imagination. This woman in smoke and flames?

He fetched a pain-relieving ointment from his bedside cabinet and came back to her, seeing how she had pulled out her handkerchief to dry her tears, but the trembling of her hands made it rather sluggish. ,,Thank you Vis-forgive me my King but you don't have to" she insisted as she watched in panic as the King knelt before her, his hands gently and lovingly taking the cloth and wiping away her tears.

His violet eyes did not leave hers and he saw this dream more and more clearly as she looked at him with respect, gratitude and something he could not interpret. Something he was only told later by his brother. Fear.

,,Please, I insist that your tears should not be shed any more. A gentle healing as opposed to the flames," he murmured, pleased when he saw that she had stopped crying and gave him a grateful look. Applying the slab to the wound the burning disappeared after a few minutes the warmth remained but the fast beating heart in her chest from the shock was slow to recover.

,,Thank you my king… I should go, my presence disturbs the mourners" she replied to him and rose from her seat, the handkerchief falling into his hands before she hurried to the door. The flower in the face of the sleeping dragon, the pretty coin unused and still open to a hand.

As if possessed by something else, he reached for her hand and held it, not wanting her to leave. ,,My lady, please… I expect you to stay with me," the words of the tone that was a command left his lips at the same time. She had no chance of escaping from this room and the flower had no choice but to give up her pretty goodness to him of her own free will. She came back to him, sat down next to him and stayed with him.

She kept her king company as he commanded and for the first time something like joy, devotion and perhaps love seemed to return to the king's heart.

It was a feeling that had consequences, for in the days and weeks that followed, this feeling was transformed into something found in the Targaryen madness. As the blood of the dragons flowed, the king felt a sense of ownership.

She was his possession and for the first time the dragon in him seemed to stir and finally get rid of the name of the peaceful one.

Something his lovely counterpart had no idea what it meant to face a Targaryen.

The next few days and weeks changed to a different rhythm. Instead of Alicent, the daughter of the hand, the king always had the lady called to him, seeking her company at any given time.

In the morning at his breakfast, he had her called to him, his violet eyes showing joy when he saw her figure, the tip of her nightgown sticking out from under her dark robe.

,,My king, you wanted to see me again," she said and joined him at the table where she sat down opposite him. She knew that he was lonely, her beloved Aeamm was dead and she felt guilty for giving comfort to the king as well as the princess and heiress.

The princess Rhaenyra without a mother, who had often come to her, had taken her lovingly in her arms and cried together while they had been more closely connected. But Viserys felt almost uncomfortable in the face of the dragon.

Rhaenyra the young dragoness her warmth was healing but his fire was burning. She had always liked to be there for her king and somehow also a friend, but now it seemed like the stories in the Masters' books. Every Targaryen is a dragon and a dragon obsessively searches for its treasure to guard.

But something told her that Viserys would gradually fall for this side of the infamous coin. Something she was right about and yet she had no idea how far this would go.

The pair's breakfast was quiet as she saw the king's smile, something that made her happy inside, but as the days and weeks wore on, the dragon's fire seemed to tighten around her. When she was not with Rhaenyra, Alicent or her own advisors for her house, she was always seen with Viserys.

The dragon took the first step when he got up one evening after dinner and fetched a box big enough to store several things in. ,,My dear, I want to thank you for everything you have given me in the last few weeks…I could finally smile again and feel something special," he began and opened the gift of a dress and a necklace for her.

,,Viserys this is a sign of unbelievable craftsmanship I can't accept this" she said and turned away the fear that he would command her again was there but the fear of losing her king and husband of her beloved friend and queen into this darkness again no she couldn't do that. Wasn't it everyone's duty to keep the king happy no matter what the cost?

But the blond Targaryen would not be beaten, he had not just let her body mass give way to images.

He had taken her as far as he could from the outside. With the dress, the fabric he had chosen, the necklace of the best metal of Valyrian steel and the ruby, he would touch her for all to see and make her his. ,,But I insist, my love, on a dress as a token of my gratitude for what you have done," he continued, handing her the fabric, a look of shame on her face as she realized he wanted her to try it on.

Looking around, however, she saw that he must have taken precautions because a partition carved out of fine wood with dragon motifs and legends stood in the room that had not been there before. ,,Please, I insist," he said, not necessarily emphatically, but she knew what he meant.

She could not ignore an order from the king. The fabric of the dark dress was surprisingly warm, like the scales of a dragon, and even if he no longer had Balerion, she knew he could have taken any dragon that was still alive or about to hatch.

His violet eyes lay on the wood seeming to peer through it to see her soft body and the dragon's violet eyes showed lust and devotion as she stepped forward a few minutes later.

,,I-I look like a Targaryen," she murmured, the dark black dress with the red embroidery of a dragon and the finest gold escaping her thoughts. It was not the colors of her house, it was not the color of her Aemma, its colors were the colors of King Viserys Targaryen.

He came up to her and circled her, running his hand carefully over the fabric, ,,Handsome and beautiful," he murmured the words of praise before he stopped behind her and she heard the faint tinkling of metal as she listened to the chain.

She held her breath as she felt the cold Valyrian steel around her neck and ran her fingers over it. ,,A Targaryen you will be too for I have decided my love I want you as my new wife as the new Targaryen Queen" he said taking her hands and for the first time she saw his own madness of the dragon flicker in his eyes.

A will of the King a will that made her cry because even though she liked him and had certain feelings for him, a marriage, becoming Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the responsibility that came with it to bear him children was true.

She couldn't say yes but that's how he knew he could force her…and he did. The first traces of his obsession with his madness were laid the day he married her in the tradition of his house.

The tradition she could not escape. And even if only years later he married his second wife Alicent, the story of the Dance of the Dragons would play out as it was foretold, until then his madness with his second wife his flower was the only thing that mattered.

Her colors of the house long forgotten only reflected in the ring her mother had left her, the lands of her house given to a distant relative whose right to finally see his second niece was punished with wrath by the king.

Viserys for the first time any lords who even dared to question the second queen found themselves impaled on the castle walls, their tongues severed or burned by Syrax, Meyleys or Caraxes when the king ordered his kinsmen to do so.

,,All this because of a woman who doesn't even come from a significant house," she had heard Lord Corlys say, who was on his way back to Driftmark with his wife and the two of them had met with Rhaenyra and Daemon.

The king himself knew from the trouble she was causing that lords and ladies were already looking around whispering about what was going on with the king.

,,Help me my lords my princess," she had dared to join the group, the dark colors on her now like an endless dragon pit where fire awaited her every night.

Viserys didn't let her out of his sight, she slept in his bed every night and even though she tried to love him, she was always trying to return the physical contact with kindness.

With each night, with each time, she saw more and more marks on her body that he left behind, not painfully, but she knew that the fabric of her clothes could hardly cover them any more. She had waited as the king released his anger on her kinsman and banished him from the city.

He had robbed her of her right to the title of Lady of the House. ,,Targaryen should marry houses from Valyria the simple flower perishes in fire" she had begged the group Rhaenyra who had asked her for help so many times had tried to help her.

But with every attempt they made to dragon, to bot or to escape with the carriage everything was blamed on a mysterious attenat by the four of them.

But every attempt failed, and the kingdoms watched as the news of Alicent Hightower's second pregnancy spread through the realms with joy in this delight to the fear of Corly, Rhaenys, Rhaenyra and Daemon Visery's second wife.

First Aemma Arryn died the second wife full of mysteries and strange events the jewel of the king which suddenly disappeared and the third wife who brought peace and war for the future.

But what they all didn't know was that in the depths of the castle, when the king went down with the torch in his hand, he went further in than even his brother probably knew.

The old forgotten Valyrian part and influence revealed itself. ,,My dear, I'm back…did you like the metal?" he asked as he walked through the common room past the cells where he had spiked her after her four "attacks". He wasn't stupid he knew that his own daughter and brother had tried to "save" her with his cousin and her husband.

He knew that they did not approve of this marriage, neither politically nor personally, she had only wanted to return to her home to the last people she had left.

Her friendship with Rhaenyra and Alicent was over. Now she would never escape from the castle again, nor from him

Pulling the key from his robe, he unlocked the large door to the cell. The metal gave way and the bolt was pushed back, which was once for the most serious criminals or the people most in need of protection.

It was the place where the king could finally turn to his true treasure. Not his daughter, his wife, his son or his brother. He was with her, with his true dream, with the woman who would bring him his son and promised prince.

Walking into the great room he saw his beloved his Targaryen the clothes he had brought her the clothes he had given her all in the black and red of the house the jewelry, books and paintings were to entertain her when he was not there. When the dragon didn't come to her in his madness, she prayed almost every night and even though time passed, her belly didn't swell.

No child wanted to grow inside her, but no, it wasn't her fault, it was something else he was sure of. Because when he took her, the shadows of her dragon reflected on the wall and the sounds of her love echoed through the room, he knew that the prince had to spring from her womb.

,,My pretty wife... tell me, how are you feeling?" he asked, walking over to her armchair, where she sat, as always, in front of the fireplace with a book on her lap and an absent look in her eyes.

Fear had been reflected in it at first, but after an indefinite time every house broke under the dragon sooner or later. He knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his, cold and not warm like him, the smile that played around his lips threatening to tip over. The madness only ever lasted until a dragon was no longer entertained.

The grip on her hands tightened for a moment, becoming painful until she finally looked at him. ,,Viserys...you're back...how did it go?" she asked as usual, obviously pretending to him that she was still living on the Hoffe with the others. As if she was always waiting for an opportunity to leave.

But they both knew that she would never leave this room again. ,,The lords are satisfied for a while, don't worry my queen, tell me how your prince is doing" and he put his hand on her flabby belly where even after the countless nights of trying. In trying, she had tried to see all this as a story, a book of the lost maiden who would finally be free when she gave birth to the king's son.

But it seemed that with each passing month everything would become less warm, the fire in the fireplace not warm, the clothes on her no color and his love was the madness of the dragon she had never seen so strong. ,,I try my king every tincture, every meal...even the old books but I don't carry your seed" she murmured and looked at him the violet of his eyes just like Rhaenyras and Daemon's she missed the court, her friends and the sun.

Now she would never be able to escape from the castle or from him. Pulling the key from his robe, he unlocked the large door to the cell. The metal gave way and the bolt was pushed back, which was once for the most serious criminals or the people most in need of protection.

When the dragon didn't come to her in his madness, she prayed almost every night and even though time passed, her belly didn't swell. No child wanted to grow inside her, but no, it wasn't her fault, it was something else he was sure of.

Because when he took her, the shadows of her dragon reflected on the wall and the sounds of her love echoed through the room, he knew that the prince had to spring from her womb.

,,My pretty wife... tell me, how are you feeling?" he asked, walking over to her armchair, where she sat, as always, in front of the fireplace with a book on her lap and an absent look in her eyes. Fear had been reflected in it at first, but after an indefinite time every house broke under the dragon sooner or later.

He knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his, cold and not warm like him, the smile that played around his lips threatening to tip over. The madness only ever lasted until a dragon was no longer entertained.

The grip on her hands tightened for a moment, becoming painful until she finally looked at him. ,,Viserys...you're back...how did it went?" she asked as usual, obviously pretending to him that she was still living on the Hoffe with the others. As if she was always waiting for an opportunity to leave.

But they both knew that she would never leave this room again. ,,The lords are satisfied for a while, don't worry my queen, tell me how your prince is doing" and he put his hand on her flat belly where even after the countless nights of trying. In trying, she had tried to see all this as a story, a book of the lost maiden who would finally be free when she gave birth to the king's son.

,,I try my king every tincture, every meal...even the old books but I don't carry your seed" she murmured and looked at him the violet of his eyes just like Rhaenyras and Daemon's she missed the court, her friends and the sun.

Viserys let out a disappointed sigh he knew it wasn't because of her she never did she was young and of Targaryen blood there had to be a child someday. His hand went from her leg to her hands and took the book from her, his specially chosen book on Valyria.

She knew that ever since he had given her the keldi that he had made her into something. A Targayren tried to transform her in one way and another. His hand slid gently over hers, its softness stimulating, it was something like another time.

But when his other hand slid down from her flat, bare belly and stroked the fabric of her legs, she knew exactly what he wanted. What he was here for almost every time. His initial gentleness soothing the kisses, hugs, gifts and caresses.

But his other way the coin that was thrown this madness was burning. ,,I know you're trying my love and I'll be there for you...for our child" he said softly as he lifted her out of the chair and gave her a kiss.

His warmth burned on her like a fire but it was the only thing she felt that was still real as she returned the kiss. her arms slowly wrapped around him, clinging to the dragon's scales, her knees to his wings, feeling the warmth of his fire as he gently stroked the kelid from her body.

The dragon laid her on the tower of coins, the bed of old wood carved with signs of Valyria. His gestures, words and pain the lust mingled with the pain. But she seemed to react to him again after a long time, to finally feel that burning sensation inside her.

But she looked at him saw the dragon the madness and perhaps it was because of the flames of the fireplace that she saw Balerion the black dread in the shadows, Viserys rising as the dragon Valyrias.

She herself was seized by the fire when she felt him again, as she did every night. But this time it was different it seemed the uncertainty was burned out of her the house she once belonged to the name was irrelevant.

She mattered as his queen...as the woman who would bear the promised prince to the king. Perhaps she herself had fallen into the madness of the Targayren before all this, and now rose as a dragon from the flames.

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#hotd #house of the dragon #king viserys #viserys targaryen #viserys the peaceful #viserys x reader #viserys targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic #reader is female #yandere

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