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novaursa · 16 days

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The Dragon's Right (4)

-Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For all the parts and more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 9 000+

- Previous part: 3

- Next part: 5

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

As you and Rhaenyra entered the chambers of the small council, the weight of responsibility settled heavily upon your shoulders. The grandeur of the room, with its high ceilings and long table, was a sharp reminder of the power that was wielded within these walls—a power that you were now expected to share in. The members of the council, deep in discussion, turned their heads in unison to acknowledge your arrival, their eyes lingering on the empty seat that had been yours before you left for the Dornish borders.

King Viserys, seated at the head of the table, looked up with a mixture of relief and warmth as he saw you and Rhaenyra. "Come, my son," he urged, his voice filled with paternal pride. "Take your seat. It has been empty for far too long."

You nodded respectfully and moved to the vacant chair, the council members shifting slightly to make space for you at the table. Rhaenyra, meanwhile, stepped aside with a small, playful smile, taking over the duties of the cupbearer from the young boy who had been serving in her stead. The boy handed over the jug of wine with a shy bow, and Rhaenyra took it with practiced grace, moving around the table to refill the goblets of the council members.

As you settled into your seat, the familiarity of the room began to return to you—the polished wood of the table, the maps and documents spread out before you, the faces of the men who had advised your father for years. It felt both comforting and burdensome, this return to the heart of Targaryen power.

Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Master of Ships, wasted no time in redirecting the conversation back to the pressing matters at hand. "Your Grace," he began, his deep voice commanding attention, "we must return to the issue of the Stepstones. The Triarchy grows bolder by the day, and their control over the shipping lanes threatens our trade and the security of our allies. We cannot afford to sit idle."

Viserys sighed heavily, clearly weary of this particular topic. "I understand the gravity of the situation, Corlys," he replied, his tone patient but firm. "But entering into a war with the Free Cities is not a decision to be taken lightly. The consequences could be disastrous for the realm. I will not risk open conflict without exhausting every other option first."

You listened carefully, understanding your father's concerns, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something needed to be done. The reports from the Stepstones had been troubling, and you knew that inaction could be just as dangerous as a full-scale war.

"Father," you interjected gently, your tone respectful but earnest, "I understand your hesitation, but we cannot ignore the threat the Triarchy poses. If we allow them to solidify their hold on the Stepstones, it could embolden them further. We must act, even if it’s not to declare war outright."

Rhaenyra, who had been quietly filling goblets, paused in her duties and spoke up, her voice confident. "Perhaps we don’t need to send the entire fleet, Father. What if we sent dragonriders? Syrax and Silverwing could turn the tide, send a message that we will not tolerate this incursion."

Corlys nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. "The princess makes a valid point, Your Grace. The sight of dragons in the skies over the Stepstones could be enough to dissuade the Triarchy without the need for a full-scale engagement. It would show our strength without committing us to a costly war."

But Viserys shook his head, his expression tightening with concern. "No. I will not send my children into danger—not again. You have just returned, Y/N, and I will not see you thrown into another conflict. And Rhaenyra… I won’t risk you either. The dragons are our greatest asset, but they are not tools to be used lightly."

You opened your mouth to protest, the words on the tip of your tongue, but Viserys cut you off with a wave of his hand. "I appreciate your counsel, but my decision is final. The matter of the Stepstones requires further consideration, and I will not commit to a course of action that could lead us into a wider war."

A tense silence settled over the room, the frustration palpable among the council members. Rhaenyra’s face had fallen slightly, her enthusiasm for the idea dampened by your father’s refusal. You could see the disappointment in her eyes, a reflection of your own feelings. The suggestion had been sound, and it was clear that both of you felt a strong desire to contribute to the defense of the realm, but Viserys’s protective instincts were overriding all other considerations.

Sensing the growing tension, Otto Hightower, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat and spoke up. "Your Grace, perhaps there is another matter that the princess could attend to, one that does not involve the dangers of war. Several knights have arrived in the capital not just for the tourney, but to present themselves as candidates for the Kingsguard. A new member must be selected to replace the late Ser Ryam Redwyne. Perhaps the princess could oversee the selection process."

Viserys seemed to grasp at this suggestion as a way to defuse the situation. "Yes," he agreed, his tone firm. "That is a more fitting task for you, Rhaenyra. The Kingsguard is a vital institution, and your judgment will be invaluable in choosing the right man for the position."

Rhaenyra glanced at you, her expression a mix of disappointment and resignation. You met her gaze with a sympathetic look, understanding how much she had wanted to be involved in the more pressing matters of the realm. But you both knew that this was how things often went in the small council—difficult decisions were made, and sometimes, the right course of action wasn’t always the one taken.

With a small nod, Rhaenyra accepted the task given to her. "Of course, Father," she said, her voice steady despite the slight tension in it. "I will see to it."

Otto and Lord Lyonel Strong stood, ready to accompany Rhaenyra to the courtyard where the knights were likely gathering. As she turned to leave, you caught her eye once more, offering her a small, reassuring smile. She returned it, though there was a flicker of frustration in her gaze, a silent acknowledgment that the lords had effectively maneuvered her out of the more important discussions.

Once the three of them had exited the chamber, the door closing softly behind them, Viserys turned back to you, his expression softening. "I know you want to help, Y/N," he said quietly, his tone more paternal than kingly now. "And I know you’ve proven yourself in battle, but you’ve just returned. I have no intention of sending you off to fight in another skirmish so soon."

You looked at your father, the concern in his eyes evident. He was speaking not just as a king but as a father who had already lost too much. "Father," you began carefully, "I understand your concern, but the realm faces real threats. We cannot afford to hesitate, not when our enemies are moving against us."

Viserys sighed, running a hand through his hair, his expression weary. "I know. But the weight of the crown is heavy, and I must balance the needs of the realm with the safety of my family. You are my heir, Y/N, and I will not risk losing you—not when there are other options we can explore first."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the tension of the earlier discussion still lingering in the air. You wanted to push further, to convince him that decisive action was necessary, but the look in his eyes stopped you. Viserys was a man who had already faced too many losses, and the thought of losing you—or Rhaenyra—was something he simply couldn’t bear.

"I will continue to weigh our options," Viserys said finally, his voice resolute. "But for now, we will not rush into a conflict. Let us see how the situation develops, and we will respond as needed."

You nodded, though your mind was still restless. The council’s discussions had left much unresolved, and you knew that the challenges facing the realm would only grow in the days to come. But for now, you would respect your father’s wishes, even as you kept your own thoughts and strategies close to your chest.

Grand Maester Mellos cleared his throat, signaling that he had something to say. The council members turned their attention to him, the discussions of strategy and diplomacy momentarily paused. Mellos’s expression was serious, his tone measured as he spoke.

"Your Grace," Mellos began, addressing King Viserys, "while the matters of the Stepstones and the Free Cities are indeed pressing, there is another issue that demands our attention—one that is much closer to home. I am speaking, of course, about Prince Daemon and his continued… activities within the city."

Viserys’s face tightened at the mention of his brother. The strained relationship between the two was well known, and Daemon’s methods of enforcing his own brand of justice had been a source of tension for some time now. The King had hoped that his brother’s appointment as Commander of the City Watch would temper his more reckless tendencies, but it seemed that hope had been in vain.

"What has he done now?" Viserys asked, his voice tinged with both weariness and frustration.

Mellos exchanged a glance with Tyland Lannister before continuing. "The Gold Cloaks, under Prince Daemon’s command, have become a force unto themselves. While there is no denying that they have brought a certain level of order to the city, their methods are… extreme. Reports have reached us of public executions, floggings, and other harsh punishments meted out with little regard for the law."

Tyland leaned forward, his expression stern. "Your Grace, Daemon’s actions are causing unrest among the smallfolk. His form of justice is seen by many as tyrannical, and there are whispers that he is using the Gold Cloaks to consolidate power in the city. If this continues, it could lead to greater instability, not just in King’s Landing, but throughout the realm."

You listened in silence, your mind working through the implications of this news. Daemon had always been a wildcard—brilliant in battle, fiercely loyal to his family, but also unpredictable and dangerously ambitious. His actions as Commander of the City Watch were just another example of his tendency to push boundaries, to challenge the status quo.

Viserys rubbed his temples, clearly troubled. "I had hoped that giving Daemon responsibility would curb his more… destructive impulses. But it seems he’s taken it as a license to do as he pleases."

"Your Grace," you interjected gently, "perhaps a direct conversation with Daemon is needed. He respects you more than anyone, and he may listen if you make it clear that his actions are causing harm."

Viserys sighed, nodding slightly. "Yes, you’re right, Y/N. I’ll speak with him. But I fear that even I may not be able to fully control him. Daemon has always marched to the beat of his own drum."

The discussion continued, with the council debating how best to handle Daemon’s increasingly volatile presence in the city. Some, like Tyland, advocated for more direct intervention, possibly even removing Daemon from his position, while others, like Lord Lyman Beesbury, suggested a more diplomatic approach, hoping to rein in Daemon’s excesses without causing a rift within the royal family.

As the council deliberated, the scene shifted to the courtyard of the Red Keep, where Rhaenyra stood with Ser Harrold Westerling, Otto Hightower, and Lord Lyonel Strong. Before her, a line of knights stood at attention, each hoping to be chosen as the newest member of the Kingsguard. Rhaenyra’s expression was one of quiet determination, though there was a hint of disappointment in her eyes as she listened to the introductions.

One by one, the knights were presented to her. Ser Harrold described their accomplishments—victories in tourneys, noble lineage, and years of service to their respective lords. But as Rhaenyra listened, her disappointment grew. These men, for all their noble backgrounds and polished armor, had little in the way of real combat experience. Their greatest achievements seemed to be catching poachers and excelling in jousts. None of them had faced true battle, the kind that forged a knight’s mettle.

She turned to Otto, her frustration clear. "These men have titles and tourney victories, but none of them have faced real danger. How can I trust them to protect my father and our family when they’ve never been tested?"

Otto, ever the pragmatist, offered a placating smile. "Your Grace, the Kingsguard is as much about the alliances it brings as it is about the skill of the knights. A knight with noble blood and strong connections to other houses could strengthen the crown’s position. Battle experience is valuable, but so are the ties that bind our allies to us."

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed slightly, her dissatisfaction evident. She understood the politics behind the selection of the Kingsguard, but she was not willing to compromise on something as important as the safety of her family. "What good are alliances if the men sworn to protect us fall at the first sign of real danger?"

Before Otto could respond, Ser Harrold spoke up, his voice respectful but firm. "Your Grace, there is one more knight to present—Ser Criston Cole of House Cole."

Rhaenyra’s interest piqued at the mention of a new name. She turned her attention to the last knight in the line, a man who, unlike the others, bore no signs of wealth or nobility in his appearance. Ser Criston Cole stepped forward, his armor simple but well-maintained, his face weathered and serious. There was a quiet confidence about him, a sense of purpose that set him apart from the others.

"And what experience do you have, Ser Criston?" Rhaenyra asked, her tone curious but guarded.

Criston bowed slightly before speaking. "Your Grace, I have served in battle, fighting under the command of Prince Y/N against the Dornish incursions. I’ve faced enemies in the field, not just in tourneys. I’ve held the line in the heat of battle and know what it means to protect those under my care."

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of your name. This was the first knight she had heard of who had actual combat experience, and under your command, no less. It gave him a legitimacy that the other knights lacked.

"You fought under my brother’s banner?" Rhaenyra asked, her interest clearly piqued.

Criston nodded, his expression respectful. "Yes, Your Grace. Prince Y/N led us with honor and strength. He was an inspiration on the battlefield, and I did my best to serve him and the realm to the best of my ability."

Rhaenyra exchanged a glance with Ser Harrold, who nodded approvingly. This was the kind of knight she had been hoping to find—someone with real experience, someone who had proven himself in the crucible of battle.

"I choose Ser Criston Cole," Rhaenyra declared, her voice firm. "He is the only one among them who has faced true combat and proven his worth."

Otto’s expression tightened, his displeasure evident. "Your Grace, while Ser Criston’s experience is commendable, it’s important to consider the broader implications. A knight with noble blood could bring valuable alliances to the crown. Ser Criston, while skilled, lacks the connections that could strengthen our position."

Rhaenyra met Otto’s gaze with determination. "What value are connections if they cannot protect us? Ser Criston has fought under my brother’s banner, and I trust my brother’s judgment. I stand by my decision."

Otto opened his mouth to argue further, but Rhaenyra’s tone left no room for debate. Lord Lyonel Strong, sensing the tension, subtly placed a hand on Otto’s arm, urging him to let the matter rest.

"Very well, Your Grace," Otto conceded, though it was clear he was not pleased. "Ser Criston will be appointed to the Kingsguard."

Rhaenyra nodded, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes as she turned back to Ser Criston. "You have my trust, Ser Criston. Serve my father and this realm well."

Criston bowed deeply, his expression one of solemn gratitude. "I swear to protect the king and his family with my life, Your Grace."

As the selection was finalized, Rhaenyra felt a sense of accomplishment. She had asserted her judgment and chosen a knight she believed could truly protect her family. But as she turned to leave, escorted by Ser Harrold, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment—knowing that this task, though important, had been a way for the lords to remove her from the more pressing discussions of the realm.

The days following your return to King’s Landing had begun to take on a semblance of routine. The excitement and pageantry of your homecoming had started to fade, replaced by the day-to-day responsibilities that came with being the heir to the Iron Throne. While the court’s initial frenzy of attention had diminished, you still felt the weight of expectation pressing on your shoulders—a burden you had come to know all too well during your time away.

This particular afternoon found you in your father’s chambers, a place that had become a refuge for King Viserys in recent years. The room was dominated by the massive model of Old Valyria that your father had been painstakingly working on for what seemed like forever. The sprawling, intricate creation covered most of the table space, with towers, bridges, and spires crafted with a meticulous eye for detail.

Viserys was seated on a stool, carefully adjusting a small tower with a steady hand. You stood nearby, observing the model with a mixture of admiration and quiet concern. Your father’s obsession with this model had grown in tandem with the challenges of ruling the realm, and you wondered if he found solace in building something that, unlike the realm, he could control completely.

The conversation had started out light, filled with the usual topics—news from the Reach, the latest reports on trade, and the progress of the model. But as the minutes passed, you noticed a subtle change in your father’s demeanor. His hands, usually steady and sure when working on the model, seemed more deliberate, almost hesitant. There was a tension in his shoulders, a tightness around his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

You frowned slightly, studying him more closely. It wasn’t uncommon for Viserys to lose himself in his thoughts while working, but today there was something different, something unresolved hovering between you.

"Father," you began, your tone careful, "I can see something’s troubling you. What’s on your mind?"

Viserys paused, his hand hovering over the model, and for a moment, you thought he might not answer. But then he let out a long, weary sigh and set the piece down carefully before turning to face you. His expression was conflicted, a mixture of frustration and worry, as if he had been wrestling with something that he hadn’t yet found the courage to voice.

"It’s the council," Viserys finally admitted, his voice low, almost resigned. "They’ve been pressing me on a matter that I’ve been… reluctant to address."

You raised an eyebrow, sensing the gravity of what he was about to say. "And what matter is that?"

Viserys hesitated again, rubbing the back of his neck—a gesture you recognized as a sign of his discomfort. "They’ve been urging me to remarry. They believe it would strengthen the realm, secure new alliances, and ensure that our house remains strong." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "But it’s not just that. They’ve also been pressing me to find matches for you and Rhaenyra."

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. The idea of your father remarrying wasn’t entirely unexpected—politically, it made sense, and you knew the council was always looking for ways to solidify the crown’s position. But hearing him admit it aloud, and then to include you and Rhaenyra in the same breath, caught you off guard.

Viserys continued, clearly trying to gauge your reaction. "They may be right," he said quietly, though his tone was far from certain. "You’ve been away for years, often in skirmishes and battles. If something were to happen to you…"

He trailed off, his voice thick with emotion. You could see the unspoken fear in his eyes—the fear of losing you, just as he had lost Aemma, just as he had lost others. It was a fear that had haunted him for years, and now, with you finally home, it seemed to have taken on a new urgency.

Viserys placed his face in his hands, his fingers pressing against his temples as if trying to push the thoughts away. "You should marry, Y/N. You should have children. It’s what’s expected of you, and it’s what will secure our house’s position."

You felt a surge of frustration, the words stinging more than you cared to admit. "I’ve only just returned, Father," you replied, trying to keep your tone measured. "I’ve spent years away, doing my duty to the realm. And now that I’m finally home, you want to talk about marriage and heirs?"

Viserys looked up at you, his expression one of weary resolve. "I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it’s something you must consider. You’re the heir to the Iron Throne, Y/N. Your duty doesn’t end with battle. It extends to the future of our house, to the legacy you will leave behind."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you tried to process what he was saying. You understood the importance of your position, of course—you had been raised to understand it from the moment you could walk. But the thought of being thrust into marriage and fatherhood so soon after returning home felt overwhelming, as if the expectations of the realm were suffocating you before you’d even had a chance to breathe.

"And what of Rhaenyra?" you asked, shifting the conversation slightly. "She will hate this when she hears it."

Viserys’s face softened, a look of genuine concern crossing his features. "I know," he admitted, his voice heavy with the weight of his own doubts. "And I’m even more terrified to bring this subject up with her. Rhaenyra has always been strong-willed, and she’s never been one to accept her fate without a fight."

You couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the tension in the room. "That’s an understatement," you said, the image of Rhaenyra’s fiery spirit flashing through your mind. "She’ll have more than a few things to say about this."

Viserys allowed himself a small, weary smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "She’s my daughter, and I love her dearly, but this is something she must face, just as you must. The future of our House depends on it."

You leaned against the edge of the table, folding your arms across your chest as you considered his words. The future of the house—those were heavy words, words that carried the weight of centuries, of dragons, of kings and queens who had fought and bled to keep the Targaryen name alive. But they were also words that had driven you away, into battlefields and borderlands where you could escape the suffocating pressure of the throne, if only for a little while.

"I understand, Father," you said finally, your voice quiet but steady. "But I need time. I’ve just come back, and I need time to find my footing again, to figure out what my place here is."

Viserys nodded, his expression softening as he saw the conflict in your eyes. "Take the time you need, Y/N. But don’t forget that time is a luxury we don’t always have. The realm will not wait forever."

You nodded in return, knowing that he was right. The realm, the throne, the legacy of House Targaryen—they were all forces that moved with or without your consent, and sooner or later, you would have to face them head-on.

But for now, at least, you would take the time you needed to adjust to being home, to reconnect with Rhaenyra and your father, and to figure out what the future might hold—not just for you, but for the entire Targaryen legacy.

As you left your father’s chambers, the weight of his words still heavy on your mind, you couldn’t help but wonder how Rhaenyra would react when she heard about the council’s pressure to find matches for the both of you. Knowing your sister, it would be a conversation filled with fire and defiance, and you would have to navigate it carefully.

But that was a problem for another day. For now, you would focus on the present, on the here and now, and on the family you had fought so hard to return to. The future could wait—at least for a little while.

The gardens of the Red Keep were a haven of tranquility amidst the bustle of King’s Landing, a place where the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze offered a brief respite from the weight of courtly duties. Rhaenyra and Alicent often found solace here, escaping to the quiet paths and shaded alcoves where they could be themselves, free from the expectations that came with their titles.

This afternoon, the two friends strolled along a cobblestone path lined with vibrant roses, their conversation light and filled with laughter. The sunlight filtered through the leaves above, casting dappled patterns on the ground as they moved deeper into the gardens. It was a rare moment of peace, one that both young women cherished in the midst of the growing pressures that surrounded them.

Alicent, ever the gentle and thoughtful companion, was telling Rhaenyra a story she had overheard from one of the maids about a particularly clumsy lord who had nearly tripped over his own feet during a dance at court. The tale had them both giggling, their spirits lightened by the absurdity of it all.

As the laughter began to fade, Alicent glanced at Rhaenyra with a playful glint in her eye, her voice taking on a teasing tone. "So, Rhaenyra, do you think your brother will ever find himself a lady as graceful as Silverwing to keep him company?"

Rhaenyra, who had been reaching out to touch a delicate flower, paused mid-motion, the question catching her off guard. She turned to Alicent, her brow furrowing slightly. "Why would you joke about that, Alicent? Y/N isn’t even considering taking a wife right now. As far as I know, Silverwing is the only lady in his life."

Alicent noticed the slight edge in her friend’s voice and hesitated, her own smile faltering. She hadn’t meant to strike a nerve, but Rhaenyra’s reaction had been stronger than expected. "I didn’t mean to upset you, Rhaenyra," Alicent said softly, her tone apologetic. "I was only teasing. But… would it be so terrible for your brother to find himself a match?"

Rhaenyra’s initial irritation bubbled over into a snort, her gaze flicking away from Alicent as she tried to deflect the question. "What does it matter if he finds a match or not? He has more important things to think about than marriage, and so do I."

But even as she spoke, Rhaenyra felt the sting of the memory from six days ago, after she and her brother had raced their dragons. The moment when they had tumbled together on the ground, laughing until the laughter had died away and something far more intense had filled the space between them. The almost kiss that had haunted her every night since, replaying in her mind, tormenting her more than she was willing to admit even to herself.

The fact that her brother had never brought it up again—had acted as though nothing had happened—only added to her frustration. Did it mean nothing to him? Or was he just as conflicted as she was, choosing to bury the memory rather than confront it? The thought made her chest tighten with an emotion she couldn’t quite name, one that made her both angry and confused.

Alicent, watching Rhaenyra closely, could sense the turmoil beneath her friend’s words, even if she didn’t fully understand its source. "Rhaenyra," she began gently, trying to ease the tension she felt growing between them, "I didn’t mean to upset you. I just… I worry about you, and about him. You’re both under so much pressure, and I only want to see you happy."

Rhaenyra forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "We’re fine, Alicent. Truly. There’s no need to worry about us."

But Alicent wasn’t easily dissuaded. She hesitated for a moment, then asked tentatively, "Has your brother ever talked to you about… about whether he’s interested in anyone? About what he might want in a companion?"

Rhaenyra’s smile faded entirely, replaced by a flicker of irritation. The last thing she wanted was to discuss her brother’s potential romantic interests, especially when her own feelings were so conflicted. "I don’t want to talk about Y/N anymore," she said firmly, her tone brooking no argument.

Alicent blinked in surprise, taken aback by the sudden shift in Rhaenyra’s demeanor. "Of course," she said quickly, her voice soft and conciliatory. "I’m sorry, Rhaenyra. I didn’t mean to pry."

Rhaenyra sighed, her irritation beginning to ebb away as she saw the look of concern on Alicent’s face. She knew her friend meant well, but the topic was too fraught, too complicated for her to discuss, even with someone as close as Alicent. "It’s not your fault," she admitted, her tone softer now. "There are just… things I don’t want to think about right now."

Alicent nodded, understanding that some topics were better left alone. She reached out and gently squeezed Rhaenyra’s hand, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "Then we won’t talk about it anymore. Let’s just enjoy the gardens and forget about everything else, even if it’s just for a little while."

Rhaenyra returned the smile, grateful for the change of subject. "Yes, let’s."

The two friends continued their walk through the gardens, the earlier tension slowly dissipating as they moved on to lighter topics—memories of their childhood, amusing stories from the court, and plans for the upcoming festivals. But even as Rhaenyra laughed and talked, her mind kept drifting back to her brother, to the unspoken tension that had been simmering between them since that day in the Dragonpit.

She couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, what he was feeling. Was he as troubled by what had happened as she was? Or had he simply chosen to bury it, to pretend it never happened, as he seemed to be doing? The thought of him being so unaffected by it made her chest ache, though she wasn’t sure if it was from hurt or anger.

As the afternoon wore on, Rhaenyra found herself growing more and more restless, her thoughts in turmoil. She knew she would have to confront these feelings eventually, but for now, she pushed them down, determined to enjoy the time with Alicent, to hold on to the simplicity of their friendship, even as the complexities of her emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

And though she didn’t voice it, the thought of her brother finding a match, of him being with someone else, brought a twist of something dark and unwelcome in her heart—something she wasn’t ready to name or confront just yet.

For now, she would let it lie, unresolved and unspoken, just as he seemed to be doing. But deep down, she knew it wouldn’t stay buried forever.

The evening was quiet in your chambers, the only sound the soft scrape of cloth against steel as you carefully cleaned your ancestral sword, Blackfyre. The blade gleamed in the flickering candlelight, its edge sharp and true, a testament to the craftsmanship that had forged it and to the many battles it had seen. The sword had been by your side through countless skirmishes, a symbol of the legacy you carried and the duty that weighed heavily upon your shoulders.

As you moved the cloth over the blade, your thoughts drifted, as they so often did, to the burdens that came with being the heir to the Iron Throne. The expectations, the responsibilities, the constant need to prove yourself—it was a weight you had carried for as long as you could remember. And now, with the council’s pressure to find a match and secure the future of House Targaryen, that weight felt heavier than ever.

But there was something else, something that lingered at the edges of your mind, refusing to be pushed aside. It was the memory of that day with Rhaenyra in the Dragonpit, the moment when laughter had turned to something else entirely, something that neither of you had spoken of since. You tried to push it away, to bury it deep within yourself, but it kept resurfacing at the strangest times, like now, as you sat alone in your chambers.

With a frustrated sigh, you set the sword down on the table, running a hand through your hair as you tried to clear your mind. But the memory persisted, and with it came a flood of emotions that you struggled to contain. You knew you couldn’t afford to dwell on it, not with everything else that demanded your attention, but it was easier said than done.

In an effort to distract yourself, your thoughts drifted back to a different time, to a memory that had been both terrifying and transformative—one that had shaped you in ways you were only now beginning to understand.

You were seven years old, and your family had traveled to Dragonstone for a short stay. It was a place of ancient power and beauty, a fortress carved from the volcanic rock of the island, with the ever-present sea crashing against its shores. You had always been drawn to the wildness of the place, to the sense of freedom that came with being so close to the elements.

On that particular day, you had managed to slip away from your mother and your three-year-old sister, Rhaenyra. It wasn’t the first time you had wandered off on your own, and it wouldn’t be the last. Even at that young age, you had a restless spirit, always eager to explore, to push the boundaries of what was expected of you.

You had made your way down to the shores, where the black rocks jutted out into the sea like the teeth of some great beast. The waves were fierce that day, the wind whipping at your hair as you scrambled over the rocks, feeling invincible in the way that only a child can. The sea was both a challenge and a companion, its roar filling your ears as you ventured further along the rocky shore.

But then, in an instant, everything changed. Your foot slipped on a slick patch of rock, and before you knew it, you were tumbling down, down into the cold, unforgiving embrace of the sea. The waves, so beautiful and exhilarating from the safety of the shore, now became your enemy, pulling you deeper into the current, dragging you away from the land.

You struggled, panic flooding your young mind as the water closed over your head. You kicked and flailed, but the sea was stronger, relentless in its pull. Salt water filled your mouth and lungs as you gasped for air that wasn’t there. The world above, the sky, the cliffs, everything began to fade as the dark, cold water claimed you.

In that moment, you thought you were going to die. The terror of it was overwhelming, the realization that you were utterly powerless against the force of the sea. You could feel yourself sinking, your small body growing weaker as the blackness closed in around you.

But then, just as the last of your strength was ebbing away, a shadow passed over you. You didn’t see it at first, your vision blurred by the water and the darkness, but you felt it—the rush of water displaced by something massive moving through the sea.

And then, with a suddenness that took your breath away (what little breath you had left), you were lifted from the water, the force of it almost knocking you unconscious. But instead of the crushing weight of the sea, you felt the cool, leathery skin of something far larger than you could comprehend.

It was Silverwing.

She had come for you, your bond with her stronger even than the pull of the sea. You felt her claws wrap around you, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to pull you free of the water’s grasp. She soared upward, her great wings beating against the air as she lifted you out of the depths and into the open sky.

The cold air hit your face, shocking your senses back to life as Silverwing flew over the beach and deposited you onto the shore. You hit the ground hard, the impact jarring your lungs and sending a rush of salt water spewing from your mouth. Silverwing nudged you with her massive head, her breath hot and insistent as she pushed you, rolled you over and over on the beach until you vomited up the seawater that had clogged your lungs.

You were coughing, sputtering, but alive, the blackness retreating as you drew in deep, desperate breaths of air. Your body was trembling, soaked to the bone, but the warmth of Silverwing’s presence beside you, her protective nudges, kept you grounded.

And then, through the fog of your disoriented mind, you heard voices—frantic, terrified voices, calling your name.

Your father, Viserys, was the first to reach you, his face pale with fear as he knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he checked you over. "Gods, Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "What were you thinking? What were you doing?"

Before you could answer, your mother, Aemma, rushed forward, tears streaming down her face as she dropped to her knees beside you. She pulled you into her arms, holding you so tightly that it almost hurt, her sobs shaking her entire body.

"Y/N… my baby," she cried, her voice breaking with relief and anguish. "You’re alive… you’re alive…"

You were too shocked, too overwhelmed to say anything, your small body trembling as you clung to your mother. The terror of what had just happened still lingered in your mind, the memory of the cold, dark water threatening to pull you back under. But the warmth of your mother’s embrace, the sound of her voice, and the presence of your family around you began to soothe the fear.

Ser Harrold Westerling and the rest of the Kingsguard arrived moments later, their armor clanking as they surrounded you, their faces a mixture of relief and concern. But all you could focus on was the way your mother held you, her hands gently stroking your hair, her voice murmuring reassurances as if to convince herself that you were really there, really safe.

Viserys, his own hands still trembling, placed a hand on Silverwing’s massive head, his voice filled with gratitude. "Thank the gods for you, Silverwing," he said softly. "You saved my son… you saved him."

Silverwing, for her part, let out a low, rumbling purr, her eyes fixed on you as if she understood exactly what had just happened. She had always been more than just a dragon to you—she was your protector, your companion, your bondmate in ways that went beyond simple words. In that moment, you knew that you would be connected to her for life, that the bond between you was forged in something far deeper than mere loyalty.

Aemma pulled back slightly, her tear-streaked face hovering inches from yours as she searched your eyes, her own filled with a mixture of relief and lingering fear. "Don’t you ever… ever do that again," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I can’t lose you, Y/N. I can��t…"

You nodded weakly, too exhausted to speak, but you understood. The fear in her voice, the desperation in her eyes—it was the same fear that had gripped you when you were under the water, the same fear that had almost consumed you. But now, held close in your mother’s arms, surrounded by your family and the warmth of Silverwing’s presence, you knew that you were safe.

The memory of that day had stayed with you, a reminder of both the fragility of life and the strength of the bonds that held you to those you loved. It was a day that had shaped you in ways you hadn’t fully understood at the time, but now, as you sat in your chambers, polishing your sword and reflecting on the past, you began to see it more clearly.

The fear you had felt that day, the desperation, the longing for safety—it was something you carried with you still. But it was also balanced by the strength of your connection with Silverwing, with your family, with the responsibilities that had been placed on your shoulders. You had faced death and survived, and you had done so with the help of those who loved you.

As you set the sword aside, the memory of that day lingered in your mind, a reminder of how far you had come since then. You were no longer that frightened child, lost in the waves, but a man who had faced many battles and had come through them stronger.

But even so, there were still battles to be fought, both on the field and within your own heart.

The memory of that fateful day on Dragonstone still lingered in your mind, a haunting echo of a time when life had been simpler, when the weight of the world hadn’t yet settled on your shoulders. You let out a slow breath, your thoughts tangled between the past and the present, when suddenly the door to your chambers swung open with a force that startled you out of your reverie.

Without so much as a knock or a word from the guards outside, your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, strode into the room with his characteristic swagger. He moved with the confidence of a man who had little regard for protocol or propriety, his presence filling the chamber with an almost palpable energy. Daemon had always been like that—a force of nature, impossible to ignore and equally impossible to fully understand.

You couldn’t help but smile, amused by his entrance, as you watched him cross the room without hesitation. Daemon didn’t bother with pleasantries or explanations; he simply took the seat opposite you, stretching out with a casual ease as if this were his own chambers and not yours. His sharp eyes flicked over you, taking in your posture and the expression on your face, and you could tell he was sizing you up, as he often did.

"Brooding again, are we?" Daemon’s voice was laced with that familiar mix of sarcasm and genuine curiosity, his words half a jest and half a challenge.

You shook your head, still smiling as you met his gaze. "Just feeling contemplative this evening, Uncle."

Daemon snorted, a sound that was half-amused, half-derisive. "Contemplative? Sounds like any other evening for you, then."

You chuckled softly, acknowledging the truth in his words. "Perhaps. But it’s harder than I thought, just sitting here, doing nothing. I’m not used to it."

Daemon nodded, a knowing glint in his eye. "Aye, I know the feeling well. The silence can be deafening when you’re accustomed to action." He leaned forward slightly, his tone turning conspiratorial. "Tell you what, nephew—why don’t we take a little trip into the city? Just the two of us, Targaryen princes lost to anonymity in the Streets of Silk. Could do you some good, get your mind off whatever’s plaguing you."

You looked up at Daemon, considering the offer. There was a certain appeal to the idea—escaping the confines of the Red Keep, losing yourself in the bustling, chaotic streets of King’s Landing where no one knew your name or cared about your title. It was a temptation you had indulged in before, though not as often as Daemon.

But tonight… tonight, something held you back. Perhaps it was the weight of the thoughts that had been troubling you, or perhaps it was the sense that this evening needed to be one of reflection rather than distraction.

You sighed and shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "I think I’ll have to decline this time, Uncle."

Daemon rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips curled into a wry smile. "Ah, as usual then. You’re acting like a prude, Y/N." There was no real malice in his words, just the familiar teasing that had defined much of your relationship with him.

You couldn’t help but jest in return. "And you’re acting like a scoundrel, as usual."

Daemon laughed, a short, sharp bark of sound that filled the room. "That’s the spirit!" He leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with mischief, but there was something else there too—something more serious, lurking beneath the surface.

The laughter faded, and a more comfortable silence settled between you. It was a silence born of years of shared experiences, of battles fought side by side, and of the unspoken understanding that came with being part of the same powerful, often tumultuous family.

After a moment, you decided to steer the conversation away from the city and toward something that had been on your mind. "Shouldn’t you be with your wife in the Vale, Uncle? I’d imagine the Lady Rhea might be missing you."

Daemon’s expression darkened at the mention of his wife, and he scoffed dismissively. "My place is here, Y/N. By my brother’s side, and yours, for that matter. My ‘Bronze Bitch’ can wait. The Vale has no need of me, and I have no desire to return to that dreary place."

You knew better than to press him further on the matter of his marriage. Daemon’s disdain for Lady Rhea Royce was no secret, and it was a topic that never failed to put him in a foul mood. So you let it drop, focusing instead on the bond you shared as members of House Targaryen.

The silence stretched on for a while longer, the flickering light of the candles casting long shadows across the room. Daemon’s demeanor shifted, and you could tell he was weighing his words carefully, something that was rare for him.

When he finally spoke, his tone was serious, devoid of the usual sarcasm and bravado. "Listen to me, nephew," he said quietly, leaning forward once more. "If you don’t take matters into your own hands, they’ll do to you what they’ve done to me. They’ll marry you off to some woman of their choosing, bind you to a fate not of your making. The lords and the council—they’re vultures, all of them. They’ll pick at your bones if you let them."

You met his gaze, the weight of his words sinking in. Daemon’s warning was not without merit. You had seen how the council operated, how they maneuvered and manipulated to achieve their ends. And while you had always tried to walk the line between duty and personal freedom, there was no denying that your position as the heir to the Iron Throne made you a target for their schemes.

You nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in his warning. "I know, Uncle. I know."

Daemon studied you for a moment longer, as if trying to gauge whether his words had truly sunk in. Then, with a sigh, he pushed himself up from the chair, his usual nonchalance returning as he headed toward the door. "If you change your mind about the city, you know where to find me," he said over his shoulder, his tone lighter now.

You watched him go, a mixture of gratitude and resignation settling in your chest. Daemon had always been a paradox—fiercely loyal to his family, yet constantly challenging the boundaries set by that same family. His advice, though often wrapped in cynicism and rebellion, came from a place of experience and hard-earned wisdom.

As the door closed behind him, the silence of your chambers returned, more profound now after Daemon’s departure. You sat there for a long moment, the weight of his words echoing in your mind, along with the memories and thoughts that had been troubling you all evening.

You knew that decisions would have to be made, that the future of House Targaryen rested on your shoulders in more ways than one. But for now, you let yourself sit in the quiet, contemplating the path that lay ahead, knowing that whatever choices you made, they would have to be yours and yours alone.

And as the candlelight flickered and the shadows danced across the walls, you couldn’t help but feel the pull of destiny, the ever-present weight of the dragon’s legacy, urging you forward into a future that was as uncertain as it was inevitable.

The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet as the night deepened, the usual bustle of the court replaced by the stillness that only came with the late hour. The tower of the Hand, where Lord Otto Hightower resided, was dimly lit by flickering torches, their light casting long, wavering shadows along the stone walls. Alicent Hightower moved through the halls with a sense of trepidation, her steps hesitant as she approached her father’s chambers.

She knew this conversation was inevitable. Her father had been pressuring her for weeks now, urging her to secure the attention of Prince Y/N, to make herself indispensable in the eyes of the Targaryen heir. But despite her efforts, the prince remained distant, polite but uninterested in anything more than the friendship she shared with his sister, Rhaenyra.

As Alicent reached the door to her father’s study, she paused, taking a deep breath before knocking softly. A moment later, Otto’s voice called from within, stern and unmistakable.

“Enter.”

Alicent pushed the door open and stepped inside, the warmth of the room hitting her as she crossed the threshold. The study was lined with shelves of books and scrolls, the accumulated knowledge of a lifetime spent in service to the crown. Otto Hightower stood by the window, his back to her as he looked out over the darkened city. The atmosphere in the room was tense, and Alicent could feel her father’s displeasure even before he turned to face her.

“Alicent,” Otto began, his voice cold and sharp. “I’m disappointed in you.”

The words cut deeper than any blade, and Alicent’s heart sank. She had always sought to please her father, to earn his approval, but tonight, it seemed she had failed once again. She clasped her hands in front of her, her fingers twisting nervously as she tried to find the right words.

“Father,” she said softly, “I’ve tried. I’ve done everything you asked of me. But the prince… he doesn’t seem to be interested in me.”

Otto turned away from the window, his expression hard and unforgiving. “And why is that, Alicent? Why does he remain indifferent to you when you’ve had every opportunity to make an impression?”

Alicent bit her lip, her eyes dropping to the floor. She didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know what more she could do to capture the prince’s attention. She had tried to be charming, to be kind, to show herself as a worthy companion. But Y/N was always distant, always polite but never more than that.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “I don’t know what else I can do. He seems… distracted, preoccupied with other things.”

Otto’s eyes narrowed, his displeasure growing. “Other things? Other things? Alicent, you are not some ordinary lady of the court. You are the daughter of the Hand of the King, and it is your duty to secure the future of our house. If the prince is distracted, then it is your job to make him see that you are what he needs, what he cannot live without.”

Alicent felt a lump forming in her throat, the weight of her father’s expectations pressing down on her. She had always known that her position in court came with responsibilities, but the reality of it—the cold, calculated nature of her father’s plans—was something she struggled to accept.

“But Father,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, “how can I force him to feel something he doesn’t? I’ve tried to be everything you’ve asked, but… he doesn’t see me that way.”

Otto’s expression hardened further, his patience wearing thin. He crossed the room to stand before her, his gaze piercing. “Then you must try harder, Alicent. You must be more than just a friend to his sister, more than just a kind face at court. You must make him see that you are the answer to the pressures he faces, the companion he needs to navigate the treacherous waters of this court.”

Alicent’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back, determined not to show weakness in front of her father. She wanted to protest, to say that it wasn’t fair, that she shouldn’t have to manipulate someone’s feelings in this way. But she knew it would be pointless. Otto Hightower was a man who valued results, not excuses, and his ambitions for their family left no room for sentimentality.

“I understand, Father,” she said quietly, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I’ll do better. I’ll find a way to make him see me.”

Otto’s expression softened, but only slightly. He placed a hand on her shoulder, a gesture that was more commanding than comforting. “Good. Remember, Alicent, the future of our house depends on you. Do not let anything stand in the way of that.”

Alicent nodded, though her heart ached with the weight of his words. She knew what was expected of her, knew the stakes involved. But as she turned to leave, the coldness of the task ahead filled her with a sense of dread. How could she make the prince see her, when all she wanted was to be seen for who she truly was, not for the role her father had assigned her?

As she left the tower and made her way back to her chambers, Alicent couldn’t shake the feeling that she was losing herself in her father’s ambitions, that each step she took toward securing Y/N’s favor was a step away from the person she wanted to be.

But what choice did she have? In the world of the court, where every move was scrutinized and every action had consequences, she knew that failure was not an option. She would have to find a way to win the prince’s attention, to secure her place in his life, no matter the cost.

And as she lay down that night, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of her father’s words pressed down on her like a suffocating blanket, leaving her with a sense of foreboding that she couldn’t quite shake.

#house of the dragon #hotd x male reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #house targaryen

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goodnightmemes · 1 month

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HOUSE OF THE DRAGON SEASON TWO SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ Duty is sacrifice. It eclipses all things, even blood. All men of honor must pay its price.

❛ War is coming, to the whole of the realm.❜

❛ I am indebted to you. ❜

❛ I'm afraid. ❜

❛ We should've just killed her when we had the chance. ❜

❛ When the king speaks, Your Grace, all hear it. ❜

❛ I find myself wondering...do we pursue the same end? ❜

❛ You must accept that the path to victory now is one of violence. ❜

❛ Did you think I would wither in your absence? ❜

❛ You only blame me because your true enemies are out of reach. ❜

❛ She holds love for our enemy. That makes her a fool. ❜

❛ I promise you, you will have all the vengeance that you seek, but you must keep a grip on your impulses. ❜

❛ Do anything but what I ask, and I'll bleed the whole lot of ya. ❜

❛ The gods punish us. They punish me. ❜

❛ This is not the time for blind accusations. We'll know who did this soon enough. ❜

❛ I will not be seen as weak. ❜

❛ Sometimes, we have to pretend. ❜

❛ I cannot trust you. I've never trusted you, wholly, much though I wished to, willed myself to. But now I have seen that your heart belongs only to you. ❜

❛ You think me some kind of monster. ❜

❛ You're pathetic. ❜

❛ We can afford no further mistakes. ❜

❛ You are mad. Mad! You cannot think that I did this! ❜

❛ You would send me to my death. ❜

❛ I would remind you only that when princes lose their temper, it is often others who suffer. ❜

❛ I see all your great adventures have done nothing for your looks. ❜

❛ For too long, I made it my aim to be of consequence. But now, I see that was the wish of a child. ❜

❛ I wish to spill blood, not ink! ❜

❛ Instead of judgment, you display impetuousness, and diminish us in the eyes of our enemy! ❜

❛ Fuck dignity! I want revenge. ❜

❛ They wish now not for the good of the realm, but for the petty satisfaction of vengeance. ❜

❛ Soon they will not even remember what it was that began the war in the first place. ❜

❛ There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin. ❜

❛ I'm as fearsome as any of them. ❜

❛ You showed me grace when you could have withheld it. I'm not often surprised. ❜

❛ I cannot promise to make you happy. But I ask you: make this sacrifice willingly, for all of us. ❜

❛ If you've not yet surmised, you are welcome here. ❜

❛ Sin begets sin begets sin. ❜

❛ If dragons begin fighting dragons, we invite our own destruction. ❜

❛ Do not coddle me. Grant me at least that dignity. ❜

❛ Sadness is a condition of motherhood. ❜

❛ You have as much claim to grief as anyone. ❜

❛ Tales take on a life of their own, like weeds. Unless they are tended. ❜

❛ Always coming and going, aren't you? And I have to clean up afterwards. ❜

❛ You will die in this place. ❜

❛ I have been, at times, unkind, but never untrue. ❜

❛ You must go before you are discovered. ❜

❛ Your mother must've been very beautiful. ❜

❛ You should've burned them when you had the chance. ❜

❛ Is there no honor left in this world? ❜

❛ This is a better death than a traitor deserves. You should thank me for it. ❜

❛ I will not be made to look a fool in front of my allies and enemies. ❜

❛ I believe it is a sin to deny your appetites. They are what make us fully alive as mortal men. ❜

❛ If I may be so bold, you have not seemed yourself of late. ❜

❛ I've barely had the hours to grieve one tragedy before suffering the next. ❜

❛ I've come to know the face of tortured rest well enough. ❜

❛ Do you think simply wearing the crown imbues you with wisdom? ❜

❛ You have no idea the sacrifices that were made to put you on that throne. ❜

❛ What would you have me do? ❜

❛ Do simply what is needed of you: nothing. ❜

❛ Where have you been, these last days? You vanished without so much as a word.❜

❛ There are those who have mistaken my caution for weakness. Let that be their undoing. ❜

❛ If you die, all is lost. ❜

❛ The horrors I have just loosed cannot be for a crown alone. ❜

❛ Do you take issue with me? ❜

❛ I can sit still no longer. I must act. ❜

❛ I did not think they would be so eager to die. ❜

❛ I need them alive. I came here to raise swords, not corpses. ❜

❛ Will you goad me? When your bread and shelter now depend on my pleasure? ❜

❛ I mislike feeling powerless. ❜

❛ I do not know my part. The path I walk has never been trod. ❜

❛ What you cannot do, let others do for you. ❜

❛ There is more than one way to fight a war. ❜

❛ I do not wish to stand alone. ❜

❛ Has your loyalty faded? Or does it flourish only at night and flee the sunrise like a moth? ❜

❛ What we must do now is... terrible. ❜

❛ This is not war. These are crimes against the innocent, that any upright man would repudiate. ❜

❛ And once again, in the name of power, it's the weak and the women who must endure. ❜

❛ Was it worth the price? ❜

❛ I caution you, boldness is one thing, but overconfidence… ❜

❛ You have the impetuousness of youth, and its arrogance, neither of which is to be desired in a king. ❜

❛ Have the indignities of your childhood not yet sufficiently been avenged? ❜

❛ To claim a dragon, you must also be prepared to die. ❜

❛ You can't possibly still be angry about this. ❜

❛ You weren't going to bid me farewell? ❜

❛ It is your way, is it not? When something does not please you, you run. ❜

❛ There are older things in this world than you or I, or living memory. ❜

❛ You are not the player, but a piece on the board. As am I, for that matter. ❜

❛ It is my fault, I think, that you have forgotten to fear me. ❜

❛ It was worth the risk, no matter the outcome. ❜

❛ The enemy without may be fought with swords. The enemy within is more insidious. ❜

❛ Do you take me for a fool? ❜

❛ Oh, you make an art of provoking me. ❜

❛ Stop wasting your life waiting for something that'll never come. ❜

❛ I'm sure you did your best. ❜

❛ They will underestimate you, and this will be your advantage. ❜

❛ If the gods call me to greater things, who am I to refuse them? ❜

❛ Nothing is clean here. ❜

❛ The order of things has changed. Why not embrace it? ❜

❛ It does seem to me that you've made rather a mess here. ❜

❛ I don't need their love. I need their swords. ❜

❛ Mind your tongue. ❜

❛ I mislike all of this. ❜

❛ It seems you need us more than we need you. ❜

❛ So, what was the fucking point in all this then? ❜

❛ It's best to live, I think. However you do it. ❜

❛ You are not alone. ❜

❛ Will you prepare to face such an enemy? Or will you stay here and make yourself easy? ❜

❛ If you hinder our efforts through sloth or unreadiness, I will see you hanged, and your body fed to the dogs in the street. ❜

❛ You've arrived just in time to see my new army. What do you think of it? ❜

❛ This place will have you barking at the moon. ❜

❛ We must all make our sacrifices. ❜

❛ 'Tis no longer our rule that is threatened, our very lives. ❜

❛ Perhaps all men are corrupt and true honor is a mist that melts in the morning. ❜

❛ The dragons dance, and men are like dust under their feet. ❜

❛ We march now toward our annihilation. ❜

❛ There will be time enough to see which one of us is a coward. ❜

❛ There are omens here for those who seek them. ❜

❛ It's all a story and you are but one part in it. You know your part. ❜

❛ I am meant to serve you, and all of these with me, until death or the end of our story. ❜

❛ Be strong. You know you are just. ❜

❛ History will paint you a villain. ❜

❛ I am at last myself, with no ambition greater than to walk where I please and to breathe the open air. To die unremarked and unnoticed and be free. ❜

❛ You speak as if from a distant dream. ❜

❛ Come with me. ❜

❛ My part is here, whether I will or no. It was decided for me long ago. ❜

#rp meme #sentence starters #rp sentence meme #sentence meme #rp prompt #inbox memes #roleplay prompts #roleplay meme #sentence starter meme #rp memes #rp prompts #royalty meme #royalty prompt #period drama meme #*tv #*hotd

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stabortega · 11 months

Text

NO SURPRISES — CHAPTER TWO

Summary: Having to deal with the aftermath of that situation was definitely worse then finding out the truth.

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem!G!P!Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Implied fem reader, she/her pronouns used. Mentions of sex, dirty talking and sexting. Knife play. Mentions of kinks, nothing explicit. Top!Reader x Bottom!Jenna. MDNI.

Author's Note: Still think my writing is trash but you guys seem to like it. 💜

MASTERLIST.

"What the actual fuck?!" Jasmine almost yelled as Jenna shoved her inside one of the dressing rooms in the set, while she tried to shut the other actress up. "Thank god someone's paying that poor girl's college."

"This is not fucking funny, Jasmine. I shouldn't have told you." Jenna locked the door behind her, looking at her apprehensively. She made a terrible mistake by telling Jasmine what went on last night. "And now they expect me to work with her? After I-"

"Seen her dick? Oh god, what will be of you?" The black girl laughed, while sitting down on the couch. "Chill, alright? She probably doesn't even know you donated. I mean, what was your username?"

Jenna gulped. "I don't wanna say it."

"Come on, was it that obvious??" Jasmine rolled her eyes, waiting for an answer.

"It was my first name then the first four digits of my birthday."

"I cannot fucking believe you."

Living in New York wasn't easy. Every apartment was obnoxiously expensive, so you had to resort to leave the city and start living in Brooklyn. It was a nice neighborhood, the best you could afford if we're being completely honest. Moving to the big city was by far the best and the worst decision you've ever made. Other than starting college, obviously.

I mean, you loved every second of it, but it started to fuck your financial life right up the ass.

"You should create an Only Fans or something." You almost spit the whiskey shot you were drinking right back to your cup, looking at your friend as if she just told you that she had killed three men with a needle. "I'm serious, (Y/N). Do you know how much money you can get just by posting out some feet pics, or whatever?"

"I'm not gonna sell pictures of my feet for cash, Liana." She shook her head no while taking a sip of her Appletini.

"Then don't. Sell your dick pics, or livestream. Come on, I know how much you're struggling and you know you're putting that body to waste. What's the worse thing can happen?"

And she was right. You started out with just an account on that website, posting some pictures here and there; until one of your followers suggested livestreaming and said she would pay some good money just to watch you cum on your stomach (which obviously, she did). It happened so fast that, when you realized it, you were able to get yourself a better place right downtown, pay off your college debts and buy a professional video camera to shoot some amateur movies. And no, not the pornographic kind.

You wanted to be a director someday, but you were also really good with a camera; which is why you got the opportunity to work in the upcoming Scream movie as an assistant videographer (and because Liana put in a good word for you). It was your first real gig in your area of interest, you couldn't be more excited.

The first day was just like any other. You got to meet a few people and get a hold of the equipments you were going to use.

"Ay, (Y/N)! Come here for a sec!" Your boss, Dave, called your name while you were looking at one of the IMAX cameras, which you've never got the opportunity to film with. You realized he wanted to introduce you to some people, which he did. You just didn't expect it would be one of the protagonists (and the newest it actress of Hollywood). "It's a pleasure to meet you, Jenna."

You extended your hand for her to shake, which she did after looking at it for a couple of seconds, almost if she was analyzing you. "Nice to meet you too, (Y/N)."

And that was pretty much it, you guys didn't exchanged any other words besides that on that particular day. You even thought that she could be avoiding you, for whatever reason. All throughout the day, you felt her gaze on you multiple times, but everytime you looked at her, she just looked away.

"You're definitely not subtle." Jasmine whispered in Jenna's ear, while she watched you handle one of the camera films. "I'm pretty sure that she can physically feel your eyes on her butt as we speak."

"She's definitely gonna find out that I was on her stream last night." The Ortega took a deep breath, looking away when she realized you looked at her again.

"She's not, don't get paranoid. You have the most obvious and boring username ever? Yes. It would take just one Google search to figure out your identity? It would. But still!" Jenna got up from the chair she was sitting, realizing that all she wanted to do was to smoke this off.

"You're not helping, Jasmine." She took out her pack of Marlboro's and her lighter once she was outside. "I never even watched porn before, not even by myself."

"And now you donated $1500 to a complete stranger just so she could cum while moaning your name. That's a character development." Jasmine stood beside Jenna, who had just started smoking so she could even try to forget that she wanted to sit on her coworker's dick less than 24 hours ago.

"I'm never doing that again, Jasmine. It's inhumane and gross. It was the first and the last time."

jenna2709: thought about you a lot today.

"Oh, did you? Good to hear that." She locked the door behind her and sat on her bed. That was Jenna's, at least, 10th day of watching your streams nonstop. And she had just "caught" you in the beginning of your livestream (which meant that she had the notifications of your page on and was too much of a chicken to admit it). So that meant that you weren't even undressed yet, you were just rubbing your dick over your sweatpants and chatting a litte bit with your followers before you started your actual show. "What exactly were you thinking of, huh?"

jenna2709: of me sucking your cock under this table while you tell me how much of a good girl i am.

Jenna realized what she said after she already sent the message. Where did that came from? She thought while looking intensely at the livestream, hoping you would just stop with the teasing and take your cock out of your pants for her to see (and drool). "Oh baby, I'm sure you're very good with your mouth. Wanted to cum right on your throat and make you swallow every drop."

jenna2709: i would be honored to be your cum dump.

"Okay, I crossed the line." She took a deep breath, not even recognizing who was that person inside of her, the person that would say the most obscene and erotic shit that she ever heard. It was almost if something awakened inside of her everytime she saw you. Every couple of days, at exactly 10PM, she would lock herself in her hotel bedroom and fuck her pussy so deep until she passed out from having like, five orgasms. And that was the easy part, obviously. The hardest part was definitely waking up in the morning and having to look at you as if she didn't saw your dick inside of a fleshlight the night before.

Jenna grew up christian. In a american dream type of household. But getting in touch with Hollywood and all of the film industry made her get out of her bubble and quite literally, discover the world. She drank, she smoked, she went to 2AM parties at some A-List celebrity's house that she never even met before. But sex? Never sex. She met a few people here and there, but nothing further. It made her think about that, the fact that she couldn't even be interested enough in someone to actually have some sort of contact with them; but with you, she would stay all night thinking about you fucking her raw and senseless until she couldn't remember who she was.

"Stop teasing, Jenna. We both know you were born to be my cum dump, and mine only." You were so horny imagining having that stranger on her knees while she had her mouth open, waiting for you to dump your cum inside of her pretty little throat. You took your cock out of your pants, a little bit earlier than you've expected, but you were getting so worked up that you didn't even thought about your stream routine. You started to stroke the member gently, feeling your dick pulsate right on the palm of your hand. "I know that you're the only one who can take care of this right, don't you think?"

jenna2709: if you were mine, i would make you cum on my pussy everyday.

Jenna started to get scared. Who was this person that was hiding inside of her? Was she really like that? Is she the female version of Christian Grey and doesn't know it yet? How the fuck she got so horny all of a sudden?

She knew that the reason you were playing that little game with her was merely money. But there was a part of her, a tiny part that hoped that you felt attracted to her as much as she felt to you. Even if you'd never seen her face, or her body. It didn't mattered if she had just met you a couple of days ago; she wanted you to want her, the same way she wanted you.

"And if you were mine, I would carve my name on your belly so everyone would know who you belong to." Oh yes, the knife play.

Jenna wasn't naive or innocent, she knew about fetishes and BDSM practices; and thankfully there was the option of marking your kinks on your own profile when you created your account. The actress spent an embarrassing amount of time researching some of your kinks that were listed on your profile (there was so many things she didn't even knew existed, to be completely honest). And the thought of you doing all of those things with her got her aroused in a matter of seconds.

jenna2709: you could carve your name on my face, for all i care.

jenna2709: i would definitely want people to know that i'm yours.

The rest of the livestream went as usual, you doing all of the things that your subs asked you to, Jenna being awarded as the number 1 tipper for the 5th time in a row, nothing out of the ordinary. You were just about to cum for the second time when Jenna tipped you again with a request.

Wow! "jenna2709" donated $2000 with the message: i want you to cum for me, again.

"You know I never decline your requests, baby. But, let's be fair this time around?" You answered, a little bit breathless, masturbating your cock as hard as you could. "I'll give you a private livestream if you show me your face."

Oh, a private livestream?

Jenna had been following your for awhile now ever since her first time watching your stream. She knew that private livestreams weren't something you did. And yet, you were here, offering one for free, just to see Jenna's face in return. It was a really good offer, but Jenna couldn't accept. If you found out who she was, the shooting would be the most awkward work experience for both of them. It would be like, "Hey, (Y/N)? Can you get this camera ready for me? Also, I've already seen your dick and I'm having wet dreams with you fucking me like the slut I am." So, she took one last breath after she decided to stick with her original plan and decline.

jenna2709: it's a deal.

#scream #jenna ortega smut #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday #the fallout #you #scream movies #pwp

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kissitbttr · 8 months

Note

omg imagine frat!miguel and reader have a pregnancy scare, but lowkey Miguel wanted it to happen, and he gets all pouty

“You’re pregnant?!”

It’s around 9 o’clock in the morning and you had voiced your concerns about your period coming in late and told Miguel about it. The whole thing is freaking you out

“I’m going to be a dad?!” And his tone is far too cheerful for your liking, quickly catching it on and it makes you throw a look at his way,

Which then he notices and clears his throat. “Wait, i mean uhm… Fuck… What do you mean that you’re pregnant?! You’re telling me i’m going to be a dad?!” His voice changes into something more serious. Or at least he tries to be

“I haven’t gotten a test pack yet, but my period is like.. a week late now” You respond to him

“Oh well” his shoulders slump. “Could it actually be that you’re really pregnant? Am i going to be a dad and you’re like…the mom?!”

You eye him suspiciously, searching for any hint of fear or anxiety over his face but you find none. Instead, you watch how he becomes… hopeful?

This, motherfucker.

“Christ” you cross my arms, brows knitted. “You actually wanted me to be pregnant, do you?”

He wide eyed, shaking his head. “Of course not! A baby? Whaaat, Pfft! As if, muñeca. That’s so ridiculous” He laughs a little bit unusual and that only raises your suspicions more,

The look on your face fails him to be a little discreet about it and that’s where he confesses. “Okay, okay, fine! I kind of do!”

A gasp escapes your lip, “you little—“

“But i promise you i didn’t do it on purpose to freak you out, okay!” He changes the subject. In hopes that him wanting a baby could be erased from your mind. “I’m always careful you know that!”

“Back to the point!” You shake your head. “Oh my god… You want me to get pregnant?” The question you find yourself repeating. “You crazy ass fucker! We cannot afford that!”

“I knooow, but a boy could only dream, muneca!” He argues, pouting at you as he imagines how it looks like if you could actually be pregnant. “I just— I don’t know—I just think that it would be nice.. Wouldn’t you like that? A little me or you running around?”

You feel your heartbeat going faster now, eyes looking at how your boyfriend shyly admits one of his dreams that he would like to fulfill with you,

To be honest, you haven’t really thought about it. You and him are still in college, still messing around here and there. A baby is the last thing on your mind. Hell, that never even made it to your list,

But still, it’s really sweet how he lets you know what he wanted.

“Well i… Never thought of it” You step closer to him, his face looking defeated. You reach out to grab his hands. “But.. Maybe when we’re actually settled, financially stable and out of this shithole… I would love to, Miggy”

His eyes light up in seconds after that. “Really?!”

“Yes. Really” you nod with a smile. “That is if you still wanted to be with me”

“The fuck you talking about of course i do” He feels offended that you would even say that. “I’ll get you a ring right now to prove it to you”

“Ring pop?” You ask with a raised eyebrow,

“Yup” He smiles, wrapping his hands around your waist. “Guess which flavor i’m getting you”

“Green apple” you respond right away. “And no to the purple. Fuck that catfishing grape flavored candy”

“I knew i picked the right girl”

#frat!miguel

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idv-sunsxin3 · 5 months

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Rody Lamoree // Random Dating HCs

{Dead Plate and characters belong to Studio Investigrave}

Note// He is like, 80% my type... I love him, though, dhdbdb I guess it's gn for s/o. I'm kinda a straight girl (who loves bl and yuri---), so sorry if I sound too straight./ih

•He is clingy, extremely affectionate, and touch starved... Relationships didn't end well with him because of that. But you managed to soften that by giving him plenty of love and attention when you both make time for each other. You can't say no to his puppy eyes;;;

•Can't cook for his life, is either you teach him how to cook or you both order takeout. If you do decide to teach him, he might fail miserably once in a while like injuring himself somehow or burn water--- he'll feel so bad that he is the reason you're carrying burden through the process but he'll sob more once he notices how patient, caring, and supportive you are while guiding him...

Rody// *sobs while looking at Y/N as if they're god*

Y/N // you okay there, babe?

•He'll die peacefully when he gets called pretty boy, Honey, hunny bunny, puppy, darling- no matter how cheesy or weirdly cute, it is Honey, him feel so giddy amazing 🥺✨️

•He is canonly buff and strong, so I can't help but imagine he is more than happy to carry you around on his shoulder or in bridal style to the point you don't even need to walk at all when he's with you/ih

•He'll compliment you a lot. He is your #1 fan. He'll quickly notice the changes in your appearance in one glance.

•New Haircut? Worshipping you right now. You wore something new? He'll take pictures of you in different angles, including selfies of both of you - red carpet material. You did your nails? Oh god, slay... Oh, what's this? A keychain you bought? That is so cool. He'll be so dramatic about it that it's so funny;😭

•Like man-- he's so supportive. Overwhelmingly supportive. He won't deny anything you decide and just support you till the end-- Like he's too in love to even care. He wouldn't even help but smush your cheeks together and say, "WTH WHY ARE YOU SO PRETTY AUGHHH;;;" (thx to the sketch Rachel made;;;)

•He'll usually respond to you whenever you text him - or even as soon as possible to respond back through letters. He always loves your voice, so there would be times he asks if you can call each other. Having him lean to the side of the wall as he is blushing by the soft whispering in his ear you make through the phone.

•He'll do all his power to spoil you with gifts and expensive dates despite being broke. He'll go the extra mile to always do something so special in your anniversaries.

•Even in Valentine's Day, to the point he may forget to treat himself... you gotta remind him that his birthday is your pride and joy. Like, it's the day god blessed you for letting a beautiful being like him spawn/lh

•HEAR ME OUT- I'm looking respectfully.... No one should deny that this man is pretty muscular ♥️ He is so bashful when you praise his strength. You would also have the privilege to touch his biceps or lean your head on his chest,,,(I swear I'm normal). Just the feeling of you tracing his arm, shoulder, spine, and chest makes him go crazy and so down bad -

•He won't stop talking about you once a question related to you comes up - the victim will never hear the end of it -

•Canonly when you date him, He'll give you flowers that are plucked out of the ground since he cannot afford to bye a prettier bouquet from a flower shop...

•When he's sad, you have to give him words of assurance or hold him close... You can even order any kind of fast/junk food, and he'll be so happy that you would do that for him😭🥺

•If you happen to be smaller than him, he would find the opportunity to hover over you and wrap you up with his hoodie or coat before pulling you to an embrace. Kinda like shoving your head inside the coat;;;

•Besides writing songs and playing the guitar for you, he would also try to sing for you if he wasn't so hella shy about it. hhh;(he sings surprisingly decently tho!!!)

•He loves having a bike ride with you- he once promised that if he ever affords a car, you'll always get the passenger princess treatment, no buts!!!

#dead plate fanfic #dead plate rody #dead plate #dead plate x reader #rody lamoree #rody lamoree x reader

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ratcash-wasgud · 6 months

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𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝙼𝚘𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝙼𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗!𝙼𝚒𝚣𝚞

Hey heyyyy. I know I'm not doing the shit I'm supposed to, but this has been on my mind for so long, and I CANNOT get it out.

Mizu hated her job. Working in a busy restaurant as a waitress is honestly exhausting, especially when someone is kind of masculine presenting. Sometimes she thinks that college isn't worth enough to suffer through this. Rude comments from middle aged customers about how she's not feminine enough, no tips from men since they usually think she's one of them until she speaks up, and little kids asking "are you a boy or a girl" are part of her daily rutine. But still, there is one good thing about her job. You.

She usually shares a shift with you, and you happen to be her polar opposite. You're cheery, optimistic and seem to be always shining. You're always there when she drops a plate, apologize in her place, and help her clean it up. You seem to be young too, almost her age. During some of the shared breaks, you told her you're four years older than her, and never managed to finish college. Why? You got pregnant.

You briefly told her about it once. You did really well on an exam, and went out to celebrate. You got really, reaaaaly drunk. Since there was this guy, who was paying for your drinks, you went all out. The next thing though was that you woke up in an unfamiliar apartment, naked. You did a test the moment you got home, and found out you were pregnant. You dropped out to get a full time job, to afford this baby, because you weren't able to get rid of it, and when your snob parents found out, they cut contact with you. Now you're still raising your two year old daughter, Charlie.

You're stronger than anyone Mizu ever met. When she learned that you're a mother, she suddenly understood why are you so motherly. Why are you so warm. You have practice in treating children, and even if Mizu doesn't know it, she is still one on the inside. And an angry one at that.

And with the though that you are a mother, she fell in love with you. Your gentleness, your kind nature, the way you unintentionally coo at her when she's grumpy...it all just made her crave your presence. You never gave her more than a hug though aside from those rare pets on her head her when she does something really well.

She knows she shouldn't think about stuff like this, and it's not even her place to even have the though, but...you were with a man once. You never talked about anything else that could give her a hint about any of your previous or ongoing romantic interests, and that frustrates her. Akemi always tells her when she meets a guy, or Taigen when he manages to hook up with a girl...even Ringo told her about this pretty girl at the local bakery he really likes visiting. So why not you? Do you not have anyone? Ever? You probably don't like raising your kid alone, so why don't you try dating? Or dating her, to be specific. But, to cut this short, as far as she knows, you're straight.

"Oh God, we're sorry." You give a customer an apologetic smile as you kneel down on the ground to pick up pieces of a cup Mizu had just dropped. "The next drink is on the house. Again, we're sorry."

Mizu crouches down beside you, and she starts collecting shards too in silence. When the both of retreat to the kitchen, Mizu stops your hand when you're about to add a drink to your own tab. "What are you doing?"

"I told them the next drink is on the house." You say, raising an eyebrow. Mizu feels your pulse as she holds your wrist.

"Yeah, so why are you writing it to your name? I dropped the cup." She says, her tone harsh and unfriendly as ever.

"Because you already had to pay for that rude man's stew the other night. I can't let your paycheck get reduced to a single penny." You give her a slight smile and a small chuckle. You're too good to her. She keeps messing up, and you're the one cleanig up her mess.

Still, Mizu takes the pen from you and writes the drink under her name. "Buy Charlie something on your way home instead. Tell her it's from the weird woman from work." She sighs.

It's worth it. Completely. The smile on your face after she does that is just too much for Mizu to handle. "Why don't you give her the treat yourself? The daycare is close to the bus top you usually wait at, so you could come with me to pick her up."

So, that's how she ended up here, holding Charlie's small little right hand as you hold the left while the little girl literally toddles, on your way to your apartment.

Mizu was never good with children. She found them annoying and useless. But she had to admit...Charlie was adorable. The little girl was really your kid. She had the same mannerisms, even if she was barely able to speak.

"Then, the bug...got on my face. And then, I was screaming. Mean bug." Charlie mumbles endlessly as they walk. You, on the other hand, seemed to be really invested in the story, as you smile oh so sweetly at Charlie, and nod along to the story.

After that, Mizu ended up at your place somehow. She didn't want the moment to stop, so she just...kept walking with the two of you. It was so comforting, she couldn't let it go.

She watched you coo at your child as you fed her, waited obedientlyin the living room when you gave her a bath, helped you pick up her toys, and even did the day's dishes.

But it has gotten late. She should go home now...home. She feels like she found home tho. She doesn't want to leave.

"Hey..." Mizu starts as she picks up her bag. "Thanks for...you know, introducing me to Charlie." She murmurs.

You chuckle at her. "She really likes you. She was even more chatty from usual."

...

"What about you?"

"Hm?"

"Do you like me?"

She slowly takes your hand. She can't stand this endless longing anymore. She wants to be by your side, to help you raise Charlie, to make your life just a little easier. She wants that more than anything.

"It's okay if you don't like me yet...I should earn your love." Mizu says, looking down at the ground.

"Mizu..." Your gaze softens, your fingers wrapping around hers.

"But I will earn it." She says, now determination filling her eyes. "I will show you how good I'd be for you. And for Charlie. So wait for me, until I can prove myself. But be ready for me."

And with that, she's out the door. Her steps are light and fast as she enjoy's the night breeze hit her face. She can't help but smile. She feels free.

She now, has something in her life...something to look forward to. She can't wait to be part of that family.

You look at the now closed door that she just walked through, and smile softly to yourself.

"What a child..." You whisper to yourself with a small chuckle.

#blue eye samurai #bes mizu #blue eye samurai mizu #mizu x reader #bes x reader #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu fanfic #fanfiction

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brokebonewritings · 7 months

Text

Be Mine, Forever?

Matt Murdock x Reader

Tags/ Warnings: 18+, Smut, Fluff, Valentine's Day Special

Summary: Your day is interrupted by an impromptu girl's day. and your night is filled with passion as Matt surprises you for Valentine's Day. You had a surprise for him as well. Song: Here (In Your Arms) - First Dance by Hellogoodbye

Word Count: 4.4K

Navigation | Series Masterlist

The day started normally enough. Of course, Valentine’s day fell on a week day this year so you were stuck at work. You sent Matt a few ‘Good Morning’ and ‘Happy Valentine's Day’ texts, but it's been radio silence from the other end. This was expected though, since he had already informed you that he was going to be in court all day.

You sit back at your desk, you've been preparing all month for a new exhibit at The Met. The plans that spread across your desk puzzle you as you try to figure out where to place each case and art piece.

As you meticulously arrange the plans for the new exhibit, your mind can't help but wander back to Matt. The silence from him is starting to feel unusual, as he's always been the one to send you sweet messages and surprises on special occasions. But you brush it off, he's never disappointed you.

Just as you're about to finalize the placement of the last art piece, Marci rushes into your office, a mix of urgency and excitement in her eyes. "Hey!"

"How did you get in here?" You respond with a raised eyebrow. "Did my assistant let you in?"

Just as you finish your question Justin, your assistant, rushes in behind her. "I am so sorry. I tried stopping her, but she is so fast in those heels."

"Lawyer walk." Both you and Marci say in unison.

She turns back to you with a smile plastered on her face. "I need you to come with me for the rest of the day."

"Marci, I can't just leave work in the middle of the day." You cross your arms over your chest.

"Oh yes you can, I already spoke to your boss! So come on." She grabs your coat that's by the door, along with your umbrella. "We got things to do, come on."

You sigh and thank Justin for trying, and invite him to also take the rest of the day off. Which he does happily.

"So what are we even going to do?" You ask. Grabbing your bag, and putting away your belongings.

"Well we're gonna go get ready for our Valentine's Date Nights, duh." She helps you get your coat on, and you both were off. "I just know that Foggy, and Matt are planning something special for us."

You smile at the thought. "Have you heard from Foggy today? I know they had a busy day."

"Not a word. You didn't hear it from me, but apparently their client is very demanding of their time."

"Oh shit, really?"

You loved the gossip you got from your lawyer friends. Not that it was filled with a ton of details. Client/Lawyer confidentiality and all that.

"Mhm, Needs lots of attention to detail." She says before dragging you into a nail salon. You realize how nice this salon is after looking around. "Hey, wait, I don't think I'm gonna be able to afford this right now. Trying to save up for a new apartment with Matt, remember?"

She laughs before checking the both of you in for the appointment she had already made. "Who said you were paying? It's all on me today, hun."

"Oh my god, no way! I seriously cannot accept this."

"Too late! It's already done, you don't wanna ruin this day for me do you?" She pouts after turning back to you.

You sigh and shake your head. "Thank you, this is incredibly kind of you."

"Don't even mention it. I wanna make sure we both are dolled up!"

You're both called back after about 5 minutes. The salon was nicer than you thought. When you had both settled at the manicure station, they had offered you both a glass of champagne. Who were you not to accept a free glass?

It was truly relaxing, you were glad that Marci got you out of work early. You both spent the next two hours getting your nails prepped for a night out. Usually you don't get long nails since you work with your hands most of the time, but she insisted you get something more elegant. You couldn't refuse since she was the one paying.

Just as the nail technician finished with your right hand, your phone buzzed on the table beside you. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw Matt's name flashing on the screen. You quickly picked it up and answered, not wanting it to go to voicemail.

"Hey! Happy Valentine's Day!" You chirp happily. "How is court?"

There was a brief pause before Matt's voice came through, heavy with exhaustion. "Happy Valentine's Day, Sweetheart." It's been chaos. I couldn't even find a moment to catch my breath."

You let out a sigh of relief, understanding his predicament. "Then I guess tonight will be a good night to cash in one of those massages I owe you, huh?"

Hearing the low rumble of his chuckle sent chills through your body. "Yeah, guess it will be." He pauses. "I was wondering if you would meet me on the roof tonight, like we used to?"

"Yeah, of course I will." You blush, it has been a while since you both sat on the roof together. "What time do you want me there?"

"8:30. There is room for you to be fashionably late, of course."

You let out a giggle. "Yeah okay, 8:30 then. I'll see you then."

"I love you." He says with a loving sigh.

"I love you too." You respond before hanging up.

"Soooooo," Marci pipes up. "Romantic Dinner?"

The blush was still tinting your face from the conversation. "Yeah, on his rooftop."

"That sounds lovely, very romantic."

As you finish up at the nail salon, Marci insists on taking you to a cafe nearby. She called it a Galentine's Brunch, just the girls. When you both arrived, you were surprised to see that Karen was able to join you.

"I thought you were in court with Matt, and Fog?"

"Oh no, I told them I wouldn't be in today. Playing hookie." She laughed lightly. "Besides, Im not going to deny Marci a girls brunch. We need it."

As you settled into the cozy booth at the cafe, sipping on your latte, the three of you began catching up on each other's lives. Karen shared stories about her latest investigative assignment, Marci talked about her recent courtroom victories, and you filled them in on the details of the upcoming exhibit at The Met.

Marci nudges you playfully. "Have you thought about what you're going to wear?" she asks with a mischievous smile.

You shake your head, realizing that you've been so caught up in work and the surprise day off that you haven't even considered your outfit.

"I just figured I would wear what I was wearing right now."

"You're joking." Marci says. "You have to wear something else. Not saying that what you're wearing right now isn't cute, but this is Valentine's Day."

"Yeah you gotta wear something he can undress you with" Karen chimes in with a mischievous smile. "Cause you know he'll love it if you wore something hot."

"Okay, okay. I have been saving a silk dress for a special occasion."

"Silk? I gotta see this." Marci says forcefully.

You pull out your phone and find the dressing room photo you took of the dress in question. It was a lavender colored dress with a cowl neckline. They both stare at the photo then back to you.

"Where have you been hiding that!" Karen says in disbelief.

"In the back of my closet." You respond with a laugh. "I just didn't know how to style it."

"I will simply just have to come over and help you with that." Marci states.

"And." You pause. "There's matching lingerie."

They both squeal before you change the subject back to Marci and Foggy's plans for the evening.

You stare in the mirror at the dress you had shown Marci, and Karen earlier in the day.They had left about an hour ago to get ready for their own plans. Not without them giving your outfit their seal of approval though.

Sitting on your bed, you pull on the heels Marci had carefully chosen. This was going to be a good night, but you didn't know why the butterflies in your stomach felt so prominent. You haven't been this nervous since you started dating Matt.

Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself that there's nothing to worry about. It's just a rooftop date with the love of your life. You run a hand down the front of your dress, feeling its smooth texture against your skin.

As you do your makeup, you can't help but replay all the beautiful moments you've shared with Matt. From late-night conversations under the stars to stolen kisses on the rooftop, every memory fills you with warmth and love. Tonight is just another chapter in your story together, a celebration of your deep connection.

With your hair styled in loose waves, you stand in front of the full-length mirror and admire the final look. The dress drapes perfectly over your figure, accentuating your best features. You feel confident, more confident than you've felt in years.

You look at the clock on your nightstand, and see that it just hit 8:00. Perfect. You grab your bag and set out walking towards his apartment building.

The city is alive with the energy of Valentine's Day. Lovers walk hand in hand, their laughter and joy filling the air. As you make your way through the bustling streets, you can't help but smile. The anticipation in your heart grows with every step.

Finally, you arrive at Matt's apartment building. Taking a deep breath, you enter and climb the stairs towards the rooftop. The familiar sound of the door creaking open greets you as you step onto the familiar space that holds so many precious memories.

The sun has already set, casting a magical glow over the city skyline. The soft twinkle of lights fills the air, creating an atmosphere that feels straight out of a fairy tale. And there he is, standing near the edge of the rooftop, tall and handsome as ever.

Matt turns as he hears your footsteps approaching. A smile spreads across his face, lighting up his eyes in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. That's when you realize that you're not alone. You turn to see that your friends are there. Not only your friends but also your Aunt May and Peter.

"What is happening right now?" You say with a nervous laugh.

"Sweetheart," You hear him say and you turn back and give him your full attention. "I have been meaning to do this for a while, but I didn't know how to go about it."

"Matt, are you?" You begin before he cuts you off with a kiss.

"Ever since I met you I have been so entranced by you.You've brought so much light and love into my life, and I can't imagine a future without you by my side," Matt says, his voice filled with sincerity. He takes a step back, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a small velvet box. Opening it to reveal a dainty opal ring, he drops to one knee.

You stand there for a moment, wondering if this was actually happening or if you were have a really specific dream.

"Will you marry me?" Matt asks, his voice filled with vulnerability and love.

The world around you seems to fade away as you lock eyes with him, feeling a mixture of excitement and overwhelming joy. The weight of his question hangs in the air, and time seems to stand still.

Tears well up in your eyes as you try to find your voice. This moment feels like a dream, but the warmth in your heart tells you it's all too real. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the question like a beautiful promise.

"Yes," you whisper, barely able to contain your joy. "Yes, Matt, I will marry you."

The rooftop erupts in cheers and he stands and slips the ring onto your finger. You glance around, realizing that they had all conspired together to create this magical moment. Aunt May wipes away a tear of happiness while Peter grins ear to ear. Marci and Karen are practically jumping up and down with excitement, their eyes shining with joy. Foggy is trying to conceal his tears by wiping his eyes with his sleeves.

Embracing Matt tightly, you feel an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude. This rooftop, once a place of solace and refuge for the two of you, now holds even more significance. It symbolizes the foundation of your future together, a place where love can blossom and dreams can be realized.

Amidst the cheers and laughter, you take a moment to soak in the beauty of this milestone in your relationship. The twinkling lights of the city below seem to dance in celebration, mirroring the joy in your hearts.

"This is so epic, and I got it all on video." Peter says amidst the celebration.

As the cheers die down, Aunt May steps forward, her eyes glistening with tears. "Oh, darling" she says, her voice filled with emotion. "I couldn't be happier for you both. You deserve all the love in the world. Your father would have loved Matt."

"Thanks Aunt May." You say with a tearful smile.

As the rooftop continues to buzz with excitement and congratulations, you and Matt share a tender moment together. He pulls you into his arms, his embrace warm and comforting. You feel safe and cherished as you rest your head against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat echoing in your ears.

"I love you so much," Matt murmurs softly, his voice filled with emotion. "And I promise to spend the rest of my life proving it to you."

You look up at him, your eyes filled with adoration. "I love you too, Matt," you reply, your voice filled with sincerity. "And I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

After the shared dinner with all of your friends and family, you all decide it's time to head home to spend the rest of Valentine's Day in the comfort of your homes.

Saying goodbye to everyone, you and Matt clean the roof top and share a few intimate moments with kisses and lingering touches.

On your way back down the stairs, you can feel Matt's presence hovering over you. So you stop for a moment and turn to see what he is doing. As you turn, you feel his hand slide up your jaw as he pushes you against the wall. You gasp as he presses himself against you, one hand around your neck and the other sitting on your waist.

"Ive been waiting all day to be alone with you." He growls into your ear before kissing you roughly.

Your heart races as his lips claim yours, a hunger and desire that electrifies your senses. The intensity of his touch against the coolness of the wall sends shivers down your spine.

His hands explore every inch of your body, igniting a fire within you that only he can quench. The urgency and longing in his kisses leave you breathless.

With each touch, each caress, the connection between you deepens. Your bodies move together in perfect harmony, driven by a love that transcends words.

As he pulls away, you feel dizzy with the intensity of his attack. "We need to get back to your apartment." You state.

"Oh do we?" He questions. "I have no problem ravishing you right here in this stairwell."

You huff, as you stare at his smirking face. "I would actually love for you to ruin this dress, but in the comfort of our bed."

"Our bed?"

"Yes, our bed." You smirk as you push his hands away and begin to walk back to his apartment.

He follows closely behind you, his eyes never leaving your body. The desire he has for you is palpable, and it fuels you as well. As you pass each door, you can't help but imagine what would happen behind your own.

Approaching his door, you grab the keys from his hand and begin to unlock the door.

"I promise, I'll ruin that dress, right here," he whispers in your ear, causing you to shiver.

You hear the click of it unlocking as you turn to him, "Well, Mr. Devil. Ruin the dress then." you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the door creaks open, the sound echoes throughout the hallway, the anticipation in the air is palpable. Together, you step inside and kick the door shut behind you. He pins you against the wall, his hands roaming over your body like a man possessed.

He seems desperate to claim you, to conquer every inch of you. You're aching for him too, the want and need between you undeniable. You need his touch, his kiss, his warmth. You're completely vulnerable to him, ready to give yourself to him in every way.

His lips meet yours in a searing kiss, his hands holding your neck as your fingers dig into his shirt. You break the kiss, both of you panting heavily, your hearts pounding in sync.

"I love you so much," you whisper, your voice shaking with emotion.

"And I love you more," Matt replies, his voice filled with warmth and devotion.

With that his hands grip the top of your dress and he pulls, ripping the dress down the front. You moan at the intensity of the moment. He really did ruin the dress.

You're left in the lingerie you had on underneath as the dress drops to the floor. He takes a moment before feeling up your sides and realizes what you have on.

"Oh you dirty girl." He groans. "You wanted this to happen tonight, didn't you?"

You smile, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "Maybe I did"

"Well, I'm not complaining." He says slowly. "You have no idea how hard this is making me."

"I think I have some idea." You say as you lift your knee, feeling his erection already straining under the fabric of his pants.

His hand maneuvers down to pull your lingerie to the side, revealing your most intimate parts. "I'm going to make you scream, baby."

With that, he lifts you into his arms and carries you to the bedroom. The moment you step into the room, he drops you onto the bed and crawls on top of you.

"I want you so bad," he growls into your mouth. You feel his erection pressing into your thigh, and you're more than ready for him.

He breaks the kiss and starts to unbutton his shirt, you lay back watching as he undresses himself. What a sight it was, he could have been a Greek god.

Once he's stripped down to his boxers, he leans down to kiss you again, his hand traveling down your body, tracing patterns on your skin as he does. His fingers run along the edge of your underwear and you shudder at the sensation.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and slowly pulls them down, revealing your naked body to him. He leans down and begins to kiss your inner thigh, nuzzling into the most inner part.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, his thumbs brushing against your waist.

Before you can respond, his tongue swipes up against your core. You gasp at the sudden electricity of the situation. He repeats the motion, his tongue swirling around your clit in slow, steady circles. Your hips start to rise in response, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer. You arch your back, moaning softly.

Matt responds with a gentle growl, his fingers still moving against your waist, caressing your skin. He reaches down and slowly pushes two fingers inside you, drawing out a loud moan.

His other hand moves to your breast, gently squeezing and kneading it. You mewl, your body trembling with need. His tongue continues to dance around your most sensitive flesh, and you feel yourself growing closer and closer to the edge.

"Oh, Matt," you moan, "I need you inside me."

He stops his ministrations, lifting his head towards you. "Not yet," he says, standing up and helping you off the bed. "I want to make you beg for it."

He leads you over to a table by the window, bending you over it. The cool glass feels amazing against your naked skin, as you're exposed to the room with your legs spread apart.

Matt positions himself behind you after dropping his boxers. You can feel his erection pressing against your ass, precum leaking out. You know he's ready for it.

"You're going to make me come so hard," you whisper.

He rubs his tip against your entrance, teasing you, making you crave him even more. Sliding his cock between your folds. You push back against him for any sort of friction.

A loud crack echoes through the apartment. His hand lingers, massaging the area he just spanked. "You need to be a good girl for me. Or else the next one will be a lot harder. Do you understand?"

You nod, pleasure spread across your face as you lean against the table.

"Good girl, sweetheart. Such a good listener."

Beginning to slide against you once again, you hold back every instinct to push back against him. With every teasing thrust, you feel electrified, your desire for him only growing. He knows what he's doing to you, and he loves every moment.

He slowly begins to tease your hole as you stand there whimpering. Pushing the head inside you, and quickly taking it out.

"Please, Matt, fuck me," you plead. "I can't take it anymore."

He pulls away, a devious grin on his face. "Not yet," he says, kissing the side of your face.

He picks you up, carrying you over to the bed. He lays you down, spreading your legs wide apart and kneeling between them.

"I need you to beg. Okay, sweetheart?" He says and you nod.

He slips two fingers into you, pumping and curling to find your sweet spot. You cry out in pleasure as he hits you right where it feels good.

"Please, oh god, Matt" You moan loudly. "I'm going to come, please I need you in me."

That must have been enough for him. With a low growl, Matt plunges into you, filling you up to the hilt. He thrusts deep inside you in one swift motion, the bed frame creaking under the force of his passion.

He pulls out almost immediately, leaving you emptiness. "Please," you beg, wanting more.

He chuckles softly, teasing you by running his cockhead up and down your slit. "Patience, sweetheart. I want this to last."

He thrusts back into you, moving slowly, savoring every moment. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

The way his cock pulsed inside of you was almost too much to bear. He began to pick up the pace, each thrust harder than the last.

You let out a loud, trembling moan, your head falling back as pleasure washed over you.

"I love you," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

"I love you too," you choke out, the emotions taking over you.

He picks up his pace, driving into you harder and faster, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. Your body responds in kind, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you.

"I'm going to come," you gasp, your voice breaking as your orgasm starts to build.

Matt's thumb found your sensitive clit, sending you soaring towards the edge. "Come for me, baby." he growls.

You let out a wail, your nails digging into his back as your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your inner walls clenched around him, milking him as you shook uncontrollably.

He continued to thrust into you, driving you further over the edge. Your orgasm seemed to go on forever, your body writhing beneath him in pure ecstasy.

Finally, he slides out of you, leaving your inner walls quivering. He pulls you into his arms, holding you close as your heartbeats sync.

You lay there for a moment, basking in the afterglow of your intense lovemaking.

"My ass hurts." You after taking a deep breath. He begins to chuckle as you giggle.

"Sorry, too much?"

"Not at all."

"Good" He says as he pulls you closer and peppers your face with kisses.

As you lay there entwined in each other's arms, your skin still flushed and sweaty, you can't help but smile. This was more than just sex; it was a powerful expression of love and intimacy.

Matt pulls away and smiles, a look of pure contentment on his face. "I just can't get enough of you."

You giggle and wrap your arms around him, feeling safe and loved in his embrace.

"Can we talk about the fact that we're engaged now?"

"I've been planning it for the last 2 weeks with Foggy, Peter, and your Aunt May."

"There is no way that Peter kept a secret for that long. How did you even manage that."

"You can thank your aunt for that one. She basically grounded him from texting you."

This made you both laugh. "You know, I'm gonna have to get used to being called Mrs. Murdock."

A smile spreads across his face, "I'm already getting used to it."

As he pulls you in for another kiss, you can't help but feel a rush of emotion. This man. This strong, protective, and passionate man, is now your fiancé. The thought brings a smile to your face, and you wrap your arms around him even tighter.

"I can't wait to see what the future holds for us," you whisper.

He pulls away slightly, a gentle smile on his face. "The future is ours, my love. And I promise to love and cherish you, always."

"Though I do have one complaint."

"And what is that?" He raises an eyebrow.

"You never asked me to be your valentine."

Chuckling, he pulls your hips closer before whispering in your ear. "Be Mine, Forever?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

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lastoneout · 17 days

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It's also like super fucking infuriating to see people continue to argue that generative AI is the best way for disabled and/or poor people to make art because like, you know what helps make art more accessible? Giving poor and disabled people money.

Like take me for instance, I'm disabled. I get severe migraines and intense leg/back pain if I sit at my computer for too long, my hEDS makes holding pens and pencils hard, my ADHD makes it hard for me to start certain tasks and/or stop them before I potentially hurt myself, my neck also hurts if I look down too much, my dyslexia AND my ADHD both make it difficult to keep track of a story as I write and use correct spelling and grammar, plus, I need to prioritize taking care of myself and going to appointments and keeping my house clean and that takes up a lot of my free time. All of these things make creating the kind of art I want to create difficult if not occasionally impossible.

So what do you think would solve my problems better? Giving me money so that I can have a drawing tablet and desk chair that won't hurt my neck or back, another tablet + pen and a lap table and comfortable body pillows for drawing in bed, easier transportation to my doctors appointments, effective treatment for my chronic pain and migraines, the ability hire someone to help me keep my house clean, a spelling/grammar checker that isn't complete ass, and a therapist and psychatrist who can help me manage my ADHD better?

Or an AI program that takes my input and spits out a drawing or story made of stolen content glued together that, in the case of the art, I cannot meaningfully edit without starting over, which also destroys the environment in the process?

Seems pretty obvious to me. I don't need AI, I need help to manage the things that are actually stopping me from being able to write and draw.

Or take my mom. She's had severe rhumatoid arthritis since she was a small child, her hands are deformed and she relies on her wheelchair to get around. She doesn't need AI to help her paint, she needs special paint brushes she can actually hold, a table her wheelchair will fit at, and someone to help her with personal hygiene/keep her house clean/take her to doctors appointments so she actually has free time to paint.

Does that poor kid growing up in public housing with parents who are too poor to afford art classes or supplies or to send them to college really need a computer program to draw for them, or do they need support to help them take those classes, buy drawing supplies, and money so they can go to college.

Blind people can paint, deaf musicians exist, people with missing limbs find all sorts of ways to make art, people with parkinson's paint with typewriters, my mother can't hold a normal paintbrush and she makes some of the most beautiful watercolor paintings I've ever seen, Van Gogh had bipolar disorder and only sold like one painting when he was alive, I mean for real how many different artists have you heard of who's biographies start with them being born into poverty?

This is not meant to be inspiration porn, these people are just ones who were able to find ways to make art despite their struggles. They shouldn't have had to struggle at all, but god imagine how many more artisrs and writers we could have had if none of them had to overcome those struggles. It breaks my heart to think of all the wonderful art that never got to exist because no one helped the people who could have made it actually have the time, money, support, and safety they needed to make it. AI would not have saved them because making art isn't the problem, being disadvantaged is the problem. Living in a world that refuses to make room for you is the problem. Being fucking poor is the problem. Humans have always found ways to make art despite huge barriers, the solution isn't a computer that makes art for them, it's SUPPORT AND MONEY SO THEY CAN OVERCOME THOSE BARRIERS AND MAKE THEIR OWN ART.

As a last example: I love watching dancing and I would love to be able to dance, but I'm terrible at it(I got kicked off a dance team for not being able to learn the dance at all despite spending weeks on it, idk my brain wasn't made for dancing) and my disabled body makes it more pain than pleasure if not actively dangerous, anyway. Having a robot dressed to look like me dance next to me while I get to watch would not make me feel like I'm getting to dance. It would actually be extremely fucking demoralizing and frustrating. I would hate that!!

Having an AI spit out a painting or book would not make me feel like I got to paint or write a book. It's a fucking anamatronic doll running on stolen ideas and it will never be the same as getting to actually expirience the joy of creating art first hand. AI is not the solution. Helping people who need it is the solution. And I am CONSTANTLY pissed to think about all the time and money that goes into these fucking AI programs that would be better spent helping disabled and poor people get the help they need so they can make art themselves, all while the people running the nightmare plagiarism pollution machines pretend that their horrible inventions exist to help people like me.

#anti-AI #actually disabled

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undertheorangetree · 1 year

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Under the God's Eye

Chapter One- The Deal

Summary- In order to have a peaceful holiday, Aemond asks his academic rival for a favour.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ This story is going to be NSFW. Female reader. No real knowledge of how law school works. Mentions of finals season.

Author’s Note- Making banners is very new to me but graphic design is my passion. I’ve had a couple people ask about tag lists and I’m willing to make one for this series so reply to this if you’d like to be on it :) Full chapter on AO3

Series masterlist

divider created by firefly-graphics

Despite appearances, she quite likes the train. It’s often overcrowded and either too hot or too cold, but she manages to find a seat more often than not. So long as she doesn’t forget her headphones, it can be almost relaxing to stare out the window and let her mind wander.

Today is the exception. With finals less than three days away, she thinks she would prefer to be anywhere but here on this sweltering train, packed to the brim with people just as sweaty and irritable as she is. But she had no choice but to pack her things and make her way down to campus today, with a roommate moving out and a new one moving in. She can’t afford to be distracted when she has two back to back finals and she would be damned if she failed them all because Alysanne had picked a bad time to move out.

The train lurches to a stop outside Blackwater station and she manages to push her way out of the car before the doors lock her back inside. It is not a far walk to the university library but she cannot help but think that it feels farther today, nerves wracking at her like they are. She nearly sighs in relief when she walks through the doors and finds a free table on the third floor, hidden behind some bookcases and overlooking the courtyard.

It isn’t long before she has three textbooks, two notebooks, and her laptop sprawled across the tabletop, scrolling through past cases she knows Professor Redwyne likes to cite. He is well known for his difficult exams- even for a law class- but she likes to think she has some kind of advantage over her classmates. She has had him before, though it was in undergrad, and thinks she has some idea of what he likes to test on. If she’s lucky, his exams won’t be too different from one another.

She isn’t sure how long she sits there for, comparing her notes with those in the text and lecture slides and reading court cases until her eyes feel as though they are about to bulge out of her skull, but it is long enough for her stomach to start to rumble. There’s a café across the courtyard and she considers getting up to stretch her legs and grab something to eat but the thought of losing her table ensures that she stays exactly where she is.

A coffee cup is placed in front of her while she’s contemplating, the chair opposite her screeching as it’s pulled back from the table. She pulls off her headphones, brows furrowed in confusion, only for her face to fall when she catches sight of Aemond Targaryen making himself comfortable across the table.

She sighs heavily. “What do you want, Targaryen?”

“Easy. The coffee is a peace offering.”

It isn’t that she hates Aemond, she just cannot stand him. They had been cursed to be in the same classes since the start of law school and she cannot remember a time where he didn’t have something to say. He treated class as if it were a competition and she was his greatest rival. He had a contrarian response for every question she answered and class discussions had turned into a ravenous debate between them more than once. If she was being completely honest, she thinks he’s a pompous, arrogant, know-it all with some weird vendetta against her. And perhaps she could forgive all that- this was law school and it was in near every student’s nature to be fiercely competitive- if not for the fact that he flaunted his familial wealth at near every opportunity. That combined with his insufferable personality had never done much to endear her to him.

Begrudgingly, she snatches the coffee and pulls it closer, reading the order label. How he knows her order, she has no idea, but she can admit he has always been uncomfortably observant. It wouldn’t take much effort to look over her shoulder in class and read her order when he was bored. If he ever got bored at all. She takes a hesitant sip before deeming it correct and setting it back down.

“What do you want?”

“A favour.”

Read the rest here

Taglist- @docmartinis @backyardfolklore

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond fanfiction #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon

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superblysubpar · 1 year

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modern!steve harrington x fem!reader

We'll Call It Love Masterlist | song inspiration

4.8k words | 18+ NSFW

Warnings: *This is a prequel to my series "We'll Call It Love" linked above | reader drinks wine and loves olives on her pizza | swearing | SMUT (PIV intercourse -wrapped before tapped /oral - both receiving and performing/dirty talk/ass slapping)

A/N: While this is a prequel to the series, I think it's actually kind of fun to read this after the first two parts and before the third, little easter eggs and what not. I hope you enjoy this and thanks for your patience in waiting for this story! 💛

“You’re laate,” you sing into your phone, smiling at Argyle across the bar as he motions to your almost empty glass of wine. Spinning on your barstool as you nod and Robin huffs into the phone.

“I’m so sorry, but Joe was on a terror today and like yes sir god forbid you have raisins in your trail mix and no I did not watch the barista take the temp of your half caf soy bullshit latte because believe it or not I do actually do real work for this company other than wait on your hand and foot and-”

“Robin!” Laughing into the phone and shaking your head. Your own chest hurts from her lack of ending a sentence. “Take a deep breath. I’m just joking, I already ordered the pizza and…” trailing off as she becomes far too quiet on the other end, “You’re not coming at all, are you?”

Your new friend groans, “I’m so, so, so, sorry. I promise I’m not normally this flakey, but like I cannot afford to lose this job and I have that date tomorrow so if I leave now I may as well go and buy a plot at the cemetery because-”

“Oh my god,” laughing at her dramatic flare, you smile at Argyle as he sets your refilled glass back in front of you. “Stop, you’re fine. I’m more than content to just hang here at the bar. There’s a game tonight, besides, Argyle can keep me company.”

Batting your eyelashes at him, he winks and Robin laughs on the other side of the phone but it quickly turns to another groan. “Please get extra olives on the pizza for me? Dingus hates them and he’s a baby who always gets his way and oh shit,” she whispers into the phone, “Gotta go. Joe is back and asking where his steak is and I forgot to order it. And by forgot I mean he told me he didn’t want steak an hour ago. Please pray for my quick and painless demise. I love you.”

Robin hangs up before you can reply and you slip your phone back into your purse. Leaning onto the counter, you sigh as your chin rests in your palm. “Looks like it’s just you and me tonight, Argyle.”

He tosses a rag over his shoulder and leans against the wall behind him. “Hot date cancel on you?”

Shrugging, he was no stranger to the guys you’d picked up at that very bar in just the few short weeks you’d been coming there. You take a sip of your wine before admitting, “Nah, just Robin. Although, she is very hot.”

He squints, rubbing at his jaw before snapping, “Super talkative lady right? She’s nice, I like her.”

You laugh into your glass as you nod. “That’s the one.” Looking around the fairly quiet bar, you turn back to him with a fake pout on your lips, fluttering your eyelashes dramatically. “Could I persuade you to put the baseball game on?”

He groans, wiping down a glass, “You know Eden’s rule…”

Leaning forward on your elbows, exaggerating your pout as he trails off. He squints before throwing his head back, blowing out a long exhale, “Man, you’re going down with me if she gets mad.”

Snickering into your wine glass because the other owner is quite…particular about the restaurant. Argyle is the exact laid back balance she needs to run the business or she’d never get anyone in the place - there’s a reason it’s named after him. If it were up to Eden, every guest would need to answer a questionnaire about what music taste they have, toppings on pizza, and if they played sports in high school. Any sort of sports paraphernalia on your person would get you on the sidewalk immediately if she had her way.

Which is why you’ve learned from Argyle that Eden runs the behind the scenes business side of things, and Argyle gets creative freedom on pizzas and drinks, tending to the customers, and earning the tips he rightfully deserves. He was not let loose on decor however. The pizza bar is decked out in nostalgia from the decades, various band’s vinyls covering the walls, black and white photographs of Eden and Argyle in front of their VW Van across the country. Candlesticks with dripping wax and soft lamps lighting the tables, gold and black accented decor, and a strict aesthetic to be met when it came to the music played and what was shown on TV.

Making a crossing motion over your chest, “I promise your secret is safe with me, nobody in here will be paying attention, anyways.”

He hums, unconvinced, but pops it on. Rolling his eyes at your grin while making a show of muting the TV and putting subtitles on.

The bar, aside from your seat, is empty, other patrons snuggled into booths behind you. Argyle brings you out your pizza and keeps your cab at a decent level throughout the first several innings, chatting with you as he gets orders done for others. Despite being bummed to not see Robin, you’re a tad excited to have a quiet night to yourself. You enjoy being able to sit at the bar, drink too much wine, eat the kind of pizza you like and-

“Shit.”

A whisper just over your shoulder has you turning, wine glass half suspended to your lips.

Your eyes greedily take in the man in front of you. From his worn brown leather boots, up dark black jeans that fit him perfectly, to a striped shirt revealing thick chest hair just above the top button. Swallowing harshly when you spot the gold chain nestled there as your gaze climbs higher over the tanned skin of his neck, dotted with freckles and moles. Several pairings of two that lead you to a jaw lined with slight scruff. Your thighs squeeze together on the bar stool when your eyes finally meet his, a hypnotizing and enticing swirl of honey and moss.

He runs a hand through his disheveled chestnut locks, causal and airy with his tone after he blows his breath out with a nod to your pizza, “I was about to come over here and throw out an incredibly smooth pick up line that I worked on for the last ten minutes,” his thumb hooking over his shoulder to where he must have been before he continues, “But I see you have olives on your pizza. So. Enjoy your horrible dinner choice.”

Your mouth drops open as he slides down two open chairs from you. He smirks into his bottle of beer as he leans back on the stool, eyes on the screen playing the game.

Hating that you can’t come up with any sort of comeback, you snap your jaw closed and roll your shoulders back, facing the mounted TV screen as well.

Watching out of the corner of your eye as he leans forward on the bar, eyes dancing across the screen and his fingers twitching on the bottle. His thumbs wear down the paper label as the home team lets two more runs happen.

Argyle returns with the cardboard pizza box you asked for and he glances at the screen and you lunge forward, finger pointing in his face, “Aha! So you do like baseball!”

He rolls his eyes, shrugging his shoulders, “Yeah, sure, when the Cubs are winning.”

You scoff into your wine glass, “Mm, so never.”

The olive hating man next to you groans, his forehead landing on his arms as his voice is muffled against the bar, “You hate the Cubs too? What is wrong with you?”

Your wine glass hits the bar top a little too harshly and Argyle winces, moving it safely from the edge as you turn to the adorable yet infuriating man next to you, “What is wrong with you?! I was having a perfectly normal night and then you came over here and complained about my dinner and my team preference and-”

“I’m sorry, I saw a pretty girl, alone at a bar, watching baseball and I thought I’d shoot my shot. Excuse me for finding the one girl who not only likes my least favorite food but also hates my team?!”

Rolling your eyes, you narrow them at the TV muttering to Argyle, “Why are the cutest ones always obnoxious?”

Olive man grins, catching his glance out of the corner of your eyes. His tone changes, amusement in it as his perfect teeth gleam in the low light. “You think I’m cute?”

Groaning, you rub at your temple and he keeps going, “Cause, you know, I think you’re still pretty, for what it’s worth. Even if you’re an olive loving Cubs hater.”

He sighs when you turn to face the TV again fully, arms crossing over your chest. Hearing his chair scuff against the dark hardwood beneath it, you’re a little disappointed he gave up so easily. But then, you watch Argyle smile down at the ground as a tapping happens on your shoulder. Rolling your eyes, you practically growl as you turn around to see olive man standing there. “What?”

He extends his hand, leaning on the bar next to you, “Hi, I’m Steve. While I think your choice in pizza toppings is horrendous, I’m willing to look past this fact and your denial of rooting for an excellent baseball team because you’re super cute and I’d love to buy you a drink, maybe walk you home, could even kiss you goodnight.” He smirks as you look down at his hand, and he raises his eyebrows, waiting.

You laugh, because you can’t help it, there’s just something about him. Call it a cosmic connection, who knows. He’s cute, smooth, and able to make you laugh which is saying a lot considering what you’ve been dealt lately. Slipping your hand into his, you try not to focus on how it engulfs yours or how long his fingers are as you introduce yourself.

“Very nice to meet you. And, great choice, by the way,” hand still holding yours, he leans forward, his mouth hovering just over your lips. Mint and beer hitting you and making you dizzy as he whispers, “The cutest ones are always the best kissers too.”

That’s how you ended up kissing him in your lobby, up the entire flight of stairs, taking a break to push you against the wall, back arching over the railing as his palms pressed flat to the brick on the side of your head. Breaking apart only when the door at the bottom creaks loudly and rudely interrupts you. Steve’s lips stay on you as you bump and fumble your way to your door, hot and quick gasps for breath against your lips as his fingers dig into your hips. Moaning into your mouth as you yank on the back of his hair a little harshly.

“Keys,” breathing into him, nipping at his top lip as he pushed you into your door.

Steve nods and you laugh, pushing on his chest so you can focus. Only spurring him on, his lips find purchase on your neck instead. He smirks into your skin at the little yelp you make at the feeling of his teeth grazing under your ear. Thighs growing sticky from his raspy tone as his nose skims over the shell of your ear, following the curve. “Keys?”

Your back arches, neck extending as his fingers fiddle with the hem of your dress. Eyelashes fluttering and mouth parting as his nose and lips drag down your neck. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, as you laugh breathlessly, “Yeah, you know. Those things that…fuck,” Steve’s mouth is back on your ear, nibbling on your earlobe as his knee slots itself between your legs and you sigh. Fingers dragging down his collar and into his chest hair as you continue, “Unlock doors?”

He hums into your jaw, smiling at the way your hips roll, searching for friction on his thigh and he pulls away, hands on either side of your head again. His eyes sparkle in the low light of your hallway, his lips twitching up on one side before he speaks, “So unlock the door. What’re you waiting on?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as your fingers pull the keys out of your purse slowly. Batting your eyelashes as you try to gain the upperhand again, “What’s the matter, Steve? Growing a little impatient?”

Steve’s eyes narrow playfully, he brushes a finger across your cheek, tracing it down your jaw. Soft and sweet in contrast to the way you were just making out. He leans in, lips hovering over yours as your eyes slowly fall closed, waiting for another kiss.

That’s when his hands are on your hips again, rocking you over his thigh and you know you’re leaving a damp spot, whining into the air between your lips at his teasing. You aren’t winning this one, and you don’t really care.

“God, fuck, I-” your brain is actually short circuiting from the way his nose brushes up yours, at the scruff of his jaw on your skin, his eyes darting down to watch the way you use his thigh shamelessly.

Steve suddenly removes his leg, eyes growing dark at the pout your lips form, at the needy sigh that comes from your chest and huffs out of your nose. He smiles, voice a whisper and a warm breath across your cheek. Throwing your teasing right back at you, “What’s the matter? Growing impatient?”

Rolling your eyes, you spin, quickly unlocking the door and pushing inside. Steve can’t help himself it seems, hands on you immediately again. Keys and purse thrown somewhere to be dealt with later, he pushes you up against the door, his chest to your back as his nose brushes behind your ear.

Your fingers search for purchase on the wood, back arching into him as he leaves a trail of kisses on your neck to your shoulder, his hand slowly pulling the zipper of your dress down.

“Be-bedroom?” you gasp out as he spins you to face him, his eyes roaming over your body. His fingers gliding over the band of your underwear and snapping it, making your thighs push together.

Steve only nods, lips dragging down your chest and stomach as he drops to his knees, “We’ll get there. Just need to taste you right now.”

“Oh, I…oh,” Your head hits back against the door behind you as his nose drags over your clothed slit.

His fingers pull your underwear down and yours fall into his hair as his tongue licks a long stripe through you. Steve gently pushes your legs apart further, hooking them over his shoulders as his tongue swirls around your clit. Hands holding your ass, he pulls you closer to his mouth forcefully. Moaning into you as his nose glides through you, parting your lips before his mouth returns to them. Your fingers tug in his hair as you glance down at the way he’s devouring you like a man starved. Pleasantly surprised since most guys don’t even offer to go down on you during a hookup, and they definitely don’t find your clit the way Steve found it.

His tongue prods at your entrance, teasing it before licking back up to your swollen nerves, sucking the sensitive bead between his lips. Your thighs are already shaking around his head, whines falling from you between curses and his name.

Steve’s fingers slip through you while his tongue works at your clit under the vacuum of his lips. He pushes one finger into your entrance, squeezing at your hip when you whine. Quick to slip a second digit into you, they swirl easily, curling forward in a motion that makes you moan loudly, hand slapping over your mouth.

He breaks away, only for a second and shakes his head no. Kissing your thigh quickly and tapping his fingers on your waist, “Come on, don’t be shy now. Wanna hear you.”

Mouth back on your clit, fingers pumping into you at a pace that matches the swirl and flick of his tongue, your hand falls back to his hair, pulling yourself closer to his face desperately. Steve nods into you, pace picking up until you’re whining loudly again. Heat radiates through your body until your thighs are squeezing on the side of his head, releasing over his tongue and fingers as your mouth falls open in a gasp, eyes pinching shut.

Steve takes everything you’re giving him, slowly pulling his mouth and fingers away from you as yours relax in his hair. The sight between your thighs makes your arousal flutter again already. Stomach filling with warmth at the sight of his pink and glossy lips, rosy cheeks and rumpled hair.

He smirks at you, shaking his head before sighing dramatically. “God, how can someone who tastes so sweet,” he pulls you closer to him again, kissing your thighs before continuing, “Like olives on her pizza?”

Your laugh bursts out of you, head hitting the door again, “Oh my god, shut up.”

Steve’s fingers flex on your hips, lips dragging across the plush skin of your thigh. Eyes glinting with a dare. “Make me.”

Moving to let your legs fall and do just that, he quickly grips you harder, standing. You yelp, grabbing onto his hair, your head almost hitting the ceiling. He lets your body drag down his, torturously slow like a scene straight out of Dirty Dancing, until his hands are under your butt, legs wrapping around him and your faces are close together. He’s grinning widely, tongue licking over the top row of white gleaming at you, breathless as he asks, “Bedroom?”

You point wordlessly, swallowing at the way his muscles flex around you and the warmth of his fingertips on your spine. Your lips attack his again as he lays you on the bed. Your arms fall around his neck, pulling him to fall across you. The muscles in his forearms dance on either side of your head as he grinds against you. The denim of his jeans a welcomed friction on your sensitive cunt and you gasp into his mouth.

It’s a flurry of wet lips over hot skin, clothes thrown to places neither of you care to pay attention to. Bodies sliding together, his swollen tip catching on your clit and you bite down on his lip at the feeling, fingers pressing crescent moons into the tight muscles of his shoulder blades. You roll, landing on top of him and working your way down his body. Lips kissing at every freckle and mole you find along his chest and abs. Nose dragging across his hips, you smile when he shivers underneath you.

Your tongue licks up his length, tracing the curve of the vein, swirling around the tip. Pulling the mushroom head between your lips, Steve’s hips jerk as your tongue flicks at the pre-cum spilling out of him already. His fingers twist in your comforter, a strangled noise from his throat as your head sinks lower, cheeks hollowing as you take him deeper. You glance up under your fluttering lashes to find him looking down at you, wrecked, eyes wild as his tip hits the back of your throat, spit spilling from your lips around him.

“Fuck, fuck. Condom? Do you have a condom?” He gasps, pulling his hips down, his cock falling from your mouth as you nod to your dresser.

Steve’s quick to slip it on as you straddle him, fingers dragging through his chest hair. He sits up, arms circling your waist and yanking you down closer, pulling a laugh from you. His teeth nip at your neck, voice raspy as he asks, “What do you want? Tell me what you like.”

Taken aback by his question, your hook ups are rarely able to make you laugh, orgasm, and be attentive. He slides between your folds, letting you hover over him and you pull your lip between your teeth as he sucks a bruise under your ear.

“This is…is good,” you gasp out as he pushes at your entrance.

Steve nods, guiding you to sink down onto his length, fingers squeezing at your waist as your mouth parts in a gasp, yours gripping at his shoulders.

You press your face into his neck, whining as you slip further down, taking him fully and you both groan as you circle your hips.

“Shit, take me so well, honey, that’s it,” Steve’s babbling, hands roaming up your back as his lips kiss over your chest and neck.

Your hips circle again, slowly lifting yourself up and sinking back down on him. His nose presses into your cheek, breath huffing along your jaw as he whines your name and you flutter around him. The slow drag of his cock along your walls not enough and too much all at once.

“Steve, I-” your chest is tight, familiar heat growing rapidly in your stomach and he holds you, pushing you down into the mattress, his weight falling on top of you.

Steve curses softly, pulling out of you and thrusting back in with a force that makes you both gasp around each other’s lips. It’s a dirty glide, sweat slicked bodies grinding together, moans lost in each other’s mouths. The sound of your hips meeting and your arousal filling your room drown out the way you practically plead his name. Each thrust into you feels like he’s knocking the air from your lungs and filling them at the same time. Coarse hair hitting your clit with each roll of his hips, his lips hover over yours as you throw your head back into the mattress. Your hands cling to his back, nails scratching down it as each powerful thrust shoots you higher and higher. Your eyelids flutter, you’re pretty sure you’re actually losing oxygen, leaving the atmosphere.

Steve’s name leaves your lips in a strangled gasp and he pants into your parting mouth, “Yeah? Gonna cum for me baby?”

Nodding, babbling nonsense to him, he nips at your bottom lip as your eyes squeeze shut. Your vision fills with stars, heat filling your belly as your walls clench around him as his thrusts only pick up their pace.

“Yeah?” His tone is mocking now into your lips, you can feel his smile against them. Your eyelids flutter, you’re whimpering, feeling like you’re on another planet, floating aimlessly through space. His thrusts stop suddenly and he sucks on your bottom lip before asking, “How about another one?”

Before you can comprehend the question, he’s pulling out and flipping you. Your stomach somersaults at the way he handles you so easily, almost lazy in how he can manhandle you. His palm rests against your lower back, your cheek pressed into the pillows. Steve groans as your legs spread for him. His hand comes down on the curve of your ass in a slap, not painfully. He cups it as you jolt forward and he curses under his breath.

He’s not quick about it, letting his tip drag through you and you shiver. Not pushing in until you’re begging him, “Steve, please…”

Who the hell is this guy? How does he have you begging for a third orgasm?

He slips into you, your strangled cry of relief mixing with his moan.

“Only cause you asked so nicely, pretty girl.”

Your comforter twists in your fists as his thrusts quickly turn to a brutal pace. Steve’s grip on you is bruising as you arch lower for him, spreading as wide as you can, chest heaving into the mattress. Steve’s lips trail down your spine, the cold metal of his chain dragging with them.

He falls forward, his chest against your back, hips stuttering as his hand reaches around and rubs fast and messy circles into your clit. Your name leaves his lips against your ear as his thrusts try to match the pace of his fingers.

You’re weightless, body buzzing, vibrating like you’re waiting for take off. Steve’s gasping as shooting stars dance across your closed eyelids. Your walls clench around him, sucking him in and he swears, asking you to cum please. You’re certain the entire galaxy just exploded inside of you as his hips thrust quickly, falter, and slow while your name leaves him in a breathless gasp and your mouth falls open in a silent scream.

Steve rolls off of you, your chests heaving in tandem as you both stare at your ceiling.

“That was…” Steve’s hand drags down his cheek, laughing a little.

“Yeah?” Your lip pulls between your teeth as you try to fight your smile.

It’s quiet for a second before he clears his throat, voice a whisper, “Yeah.”

Normally, a guy would be out your door by now. They got what they came for, and regardless of if you had a great time, you’re happy to see them go. This feels different, you’re a little hopeful for the first time in awhile. Wondering if you could do all of that again in the very near future.

“Um…” Steve coughs, voice trailing off as you turn your head. His hand runs through his hair as he squints at your ceiling, lips pursed in thought. Your eyes track the veins and lines of muscle in his arm up to his armpit and shoulder. To the sharp line of his jaw and nose. You feel ridiculous that your thighs already push together from want after all of that. Body heating up with embarrassment, you quickly snap your head back, eyes on your ceiling once more.

He finally sits up and questions, “Bathroom?”

“Oh. Right. Sorry. Right through there.” You point as you sit up as well. Your fingers cover your lips as you take in the angry red lines from your fingernails that contrast against the tan skin of his back. Head tilting as you watch him stand, smile hiding behind your hand as you watch his butt walk away.

Steve looks over his shoulder, squinting as his own smile tugs at his lips. He tries to cover himself up and whispers dramatically, “Wow. Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Would if I could,” your laugh escapes you, your grin finally winning as your hand drops and he closes the door.

Steve finds you dressed in sleep shorts and a band tee, chugging a glass of water in your kitchen a few minutes later. You extend it to him, noticing he’s fully dressed with his shoes in his hand. He takes a sip before setting it down, knuckles tapping on your countertop before blowing out a long breath.

Your lips twitch as you try to fight the smile that seems to be a permanent feature around him as he looks around frantically, hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Um…I guess…I should…” he trails off, watching you.

Your arms cross over your chest, barefeet overlapping each other as you nod, “Right, yeah. That was…”

He smirks, nodding as you trail off. “Yeah, it was.”

Steve goes to leave, but spins, licking his lips before rushing out, “Listen. Could we do that again sometime? Maybe I could get your number?”

The cocky and smooth man who you met at the bar, the one who just took you to outer space seems to have disappeared. The blush in his cheeks darkens, lips parted as he seems to hold his breath waiting for your response.

Nodding, you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear as you try not to grin while acting indifferent. “Sure, yeah.”

An awkward shuffle of him pulling his phone out and you typing your number in before handing it back to him.

You’re startled when there’s a soft press of his smooth lips against the apple of your cheek. Warm breath hitting your jaw as he whispers, “Have a good night.”

“You…you too.”

Your hand touches where he kissed as he leaves, unsure if you’ve ever been kissed on your cheek like that before.

Only two minutes later, tucked back in your bed when your phone buzzes.

You bite your lip as you pull the comforter up over your chin, typing back for it only to buzz with a response immediately.

Laughing as you roll onto your stomach, it flips when you inhale the scent of his cologne that clings to your sheets. It takes a minute for him to respond again, your eyelids growing heavy when the phone buzzes finally.

Huffing into your pillow, the smile that sits there is a welcomed friend as you message him goodnight and save his number in your contacts. Rocketman seems fitting for an idiot who takes you to outer space three times in one night.

Even if he does hate olives.

WCIL taglist: (I just used the series taglist for this, hope that's okay!)

@boomhauer @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3x3

#steve harrington #modern!steve #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic

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