#he's been itching for a fight this whole time but I was always like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

arabellasleopardcoat · 1 year ago

Text

Capital (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

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

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

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

Gluttony /ˈɡlʌtəni/

the habit of eating and drinking too much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Envy /ˈenvi/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alicent smiles, and she cradles her stomach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lady Targaryen. You look beautiful tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would forbid her from leaving my chambers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wrath /ræθ/

extreme anger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daemon clears his throat, and presents his own lanze.

“How touching.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He ties the ribbon around the pommel of the lanze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pride /praɪd/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If not, what is it about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lust lʌst/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Greed /ɡriːd/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Some sort of animal crying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only for tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alicent looks absolutely horrified.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sloth /sləʊθ/

the bad habit of being lazy and unwilling to work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3K notes · View notes

prettyboykatsuki · 7 months ago

Text

vanilla-cherry sweetheart | h. sakura

✮ tags ; gender neutral + afab!reader, dom top!reader, sub bottom!sakura, explicit feminization (referring to sakuras ass as a pussy, dick as a clit. the pet name good girl etc.), light dollification (reader dresses him up), rimming, anal fingering, pegging, cumming untouched, lots of gender fuckery, BRIEF breeding kink / pregnancy reference directed at sakura, excessive dirty talk, mirror sex 18+

✮ wc ; 5.1k (im crazy im crazy im crazy)

✮ a/n ; there's no way im not ovulating. this is insane. sorry. also sorry if there are any egregious typos i can only read this once over before i feel like exploding

✮ synopsis ; you think sakura makes the prettiest girl.

The soft slip of silk and satin feel weird against Haruka’s skin.

You’ve put effort into this, more than he thought possible. Every detail of him has been preened and plucked. A soft scent rolls off of his freshly smooth skin, cherry and vanilla. His hair is styled down against, bangs laid flat as opposed to push backwards, decorated with clips and accessories.

He has a face full of makeup on which was a pain to apply and even more of a pain to not rub off. His lips are parted, polished with color and his eyes are lined with a soft brown. There’s some shadow underneath, some glittery dust but everything is generally subdued. He hasn’t seen what the hell he looks like and he thinks he’d prefer it that way.

Like hell he’d wanna see what perverted things you’ve done to his face.

His clothes feel the most unfamiliar to him. Boxers replaced with frilly boyshorts. Bra straps tugging against his shoulder. Expensive so the fabric doesn’t itch. The kind without cups, all loose and sliding against his nipples every time he shifts. He’s wearing clothes you’ve hand-picked. Dresses that girls usually wear. Skin-colored tights underneath a patterned slip dress with that he doesn’t have the full chest to fit into, accompanied by a sweater hanging off of his arms and shoulders.

All of these details on Haruka’s musculature make no sense. It can’t look very good on him, he thinks. Haruka has a hard body. Sinewy muscles from manual labor and fighting, a square set of shoulders. He’s always been thin and languid but not…feminine. He has no idea how to posture himself. In what ways he should sit or stand, how to behave with these soft clothes and light scents on his skin.

The delicacy of your hands as they paint more of a nude rouge onto his mouth, makes Haruka blush further. His stomach turns as he stares at you, searching for answers he doesn’t find in the calm express on your face. You cup his jaw, your other hand using a lip brush to slide it against his mouth as you finish up with last touches. Focused as you prep him to your standards, whatever the hell they are.

Haruka won’t pretend to understand. He thinks most of the effort you’ve poured in priming him is wasted. He thinks that this whole affair has been stupid and he’s sure the minute he catches a glance at himself he’ll want to explode into a thousand little pieces. You’ve been so damn meticulous, Haruka can’t even bring himself to destroy your hard work. No stone left unturned, each and every element met with incredible focus and detail.

More shamefully, the attention has felt good. It’s hard to pretend that it doesn’t when it’s the only thing that makes Haruka bend at your will. He’s never had a relationship before, but he’s not ditzy enough to think your sex life is particularly normal. Nothing about you really is. Maybe your unbridled affection for Haruka can be attributed to that. It was you who pursued Haruka, you who courted him and romanced him - cornered him even as he ran away, with frustrating levels of discretion - until the option to fall for someone else had all but disappeared.

And Haruka had tried to run away from you. Many times. Your persistence wore him down until eventually his mind would only fill with you and whatever you wanted to do to him. With him.

(Haruka loves you to put it plainly. You’re clever and sardonic and interesting and he doesn’t totally get you but he loves you so madly it makes him crazy. Loves you for the ways you’re good and careful, and loves you for the ways you love him. You’re so good to Haruka, so good he can’t stand it. So good his head feels staticky trying to make sense of it

That’s why he’ll do anything for you, no matter how horribly shameful.)

It’s impossible, difficult, irrational - the breadth and depth of Haruka’s feelings for you are completely and utterly distanced from his own understanding. Where Haruka is abrasive yet timid, you are soothing but straightforward. Sincere. You’ve been gently introducing him to the depths of your affection, putting yourself forward in expressing your desires and thoughts.

You’ve always been this sort of person, you hope he won’t hate you etc.

You always give Haruka a chance to run away from you.

No expectations. A warm gaze from across a shared bed that turns Haruka pink, incoming dawn on his cheeks down to his shoulders and collarbones. He always has options, but he likes the option making you happiest. The words thank you sound like a hymn on your lips.

He tells itself its for you, and it is mostly. Mostly. After all this time though, he’s conditioned. His body is molded for your touch. The unwitting pleasure of submitting himself to you had shocked him the first time he really experienced it. How soothing you were, how easily you dragged him into abyss of pure pleasure. Pleasure and sex he couldn’t imagine existing.

Your touch had conditioned his body to burn bright wherever it lingered.

The shame is always there, pooling in his gut and lying in wait to swallow him. It overwhelms him whenever he’s alone.

But you always pull him from it, out of it - cradle him in the palms of your skilled hands as you whisper sweet platitudes against his skin. Praise him, fuck him into something boneless and desperate. Being exposed to a type of want, the euphoria in humiliation, the reclamation of his shame. It turns Haruka’s doubts into noise slowly but surely. He falls so deep into that depth, becomes completely unrecognizable only because he’s so sure you’ll catch him.

He hates it so much.

(Read: He hates liking it. Hates liking the forbidden sexual things you’ve introduced him too that he can’t forget. Hates liking the fact you’ve imprinted so mercilessly on his body and mind. Haruka could never be with anyone else. Nothing would work.

No one could make him feel like this. You’re the first and only in the world.)

A few weeks ago, you had mentioned wanting to dress him up like this. Stared, long and hard before petting his hair and assessing he’d make a pretty girl. There’d been traces of it before then but...

To have it brought up so deliberately made him hiss at you feral until you winded him back down. Asked if he would be fine with it, assured it’d be okay if not.

He said no then, and you didn’t ask again.

(He brought it up later and felt all melty seeing you beam.)

He thought it’d be simple. He’s seen stuff like this before when he went to look up other things you wanted to try. He thought it’d just be panties or clothes, something basic and lacy. Still perverted but simple.

But everything has been elaborately crafted to make him pretty. The soft drawls and whispered demands, the compliments, painting his nails and washing his hair and shaving him.

These are ritual acts of beauty, made to accentuate feminine appeal he doesn’t see in himself but you so clearly do.

After you’re finish up your last touches, you tell him to keep his eyes closed. You stand behind Haruka with a hand under his jaw once he turns in his seat, still blind to his new looks. Your voice is an appreciative murmur, so genuine and so raw it makes all the hair on his neck stand on end.

“Open your eyes. You’re so pretty, Haru-chan,” Your thumb slides against his cheek lightly. “Look how pretty you are.”

He doesn’t recognize himself. Adorned, dolled up. The sinew of his muscles and hard lines of his figures contrast against the shapely pulls of his dress. He’s smooth and smells nice, perfumed and stunning. The makeup on his face doesn’t overwhelm him. It’s him but he’s pretty. So pretty it freaks him the fuck out.

Pretty like a girl. The hell.

“What’s all this even for? Doesn’t make sense. I’m a guy and I’m not—,” He murmurs, trying not to shudder as he feels self conscious. You lean down, your chest pressed to his back as your arms circle around his neck. “You’re so weird.”

You ignore his empty threats skillfully. “It’s for me to fuck you in,”

He wants to be pissed at you but you look so pleased. Obvious satisfaction making your shoulders relax, eyes raking over him in the mirror again and again. He looks in the mirror and sees a version of himself so…cute it’s unfathomable it’s even him.

He makes a noise of discontent, lip jutted in a pout. That’s met with an airy laugh. “Seems pointless.”

You smile at him in the mirror and his skin shades a deeper pink, tucking his chin.

“It’s fine if you think that,” You murmur. “Is it okay if I make you feel good now?”

“Don’t say it in such an embarrassing way.” He grits. You laugh again as you bend down over him where he sits, kissing him once before the two of you stumble into shared bed.

Haruka feels conscious of himself when he finally lays back into the sheets. His dress rides up near over his lmees and there’s nothing underneath to shield him from your hungry view. His tights are too sheer of any use. You amble on top of Haruka, sitting on him as he lays back.

You admire him for a long while like that. Palm settled on his waist, you trace his features with appreciation. “You’re a beautiful girl, aren’t you Haruka?”

“I’m…” He deflects instinctively. A coy smile tugs at the corners of your lips as your fingers find the hem of Haruka’s dress. It’s a loose thing, a printed pattern decorated with a frilly hem meant for a more shapely frame. You toy with the material, rubbing it between your fingers. “Fuck off,”

He can’t bring himself to say he’s not a girl. For some stupid reason. The words die on his lips when he stares up at you and sees you looking at him so reverently. So expectant without words. He squirms and looks away.

“What word do you say when you want to stop, Haruka?”

“Tomato. Or I can pinch you,” He repeats from memory. You smile lovingly.

“Right. Is there anything you want to say to me?” Do you want me to stop?

He looks away, frown deepening. Relieved when you take his silence as compliance as you often do so kindly.

“Don’t worry about anything else,” You slide the spaghetti straps of his dress off his shoulder, pulling it down past his chest and revealing the soft patterned black lace underneath. His nipples peek through the material, the rosiness more noticeable through the paneling. It looks so lewd from the angle he sees it. “Just focus on being a good girl for me,”

Haruka lets out a strangle protest before uttered soundless from your steely gaze, nodding frustratedly as your hands slide up to his chest. You brush Haruka’s nipples lightly with the dull edge of your nail, his spine arching responsively to the pleasure. It’s a brief touch, a promise of what’s to come. You lean forward pressing your lips to his as you rub the hardened buds until they’re tender. His lipstick smears a little onto you, a dusty rose. Haruka moans into your mouth, entirely aware of the thing barrier between your touch and his chest. Your fingers are deft in rubbing his nipples as your tongue occupies Haruka’s. You lick against his lips and tongue, sucking on it lewdly. .

Shameless in your pursuit of him, his ass throbs from prior prep and his cock stirs to all the sudden stimulation.

The way arousal floods his brain scares him. He can’t fight it. You’re so good with your hands. Good at everything, like knowing where and how and when exactly to touch him. His cock tents, strains against the suffocating nylon wrapped around his legs and waist. He shivers as he feels the leaky tip press against the silk and push desperately through the nylon - stretching it with it’s length. His whole body is throbbing urgently.

You kiss down Haruka’s bare chest until your mouth finds one of his nipples. You suck them through the cups first before tugging them away slightly and giving Haruka what he wants which is the full heat of your mouth. You’ve made him so weird. Wired his body into feeling this unimaginable pleasure in places he hardly used to touch.

His hips buck into anticipation, mouth open and panting as your incisors sink into the flesh of his pec.

He cries out, shuddering as he grabs the nape of neck to anchor himself at the wet feeling. His blood is rushing south making him light-headed. He feels needy, sensitive. So much anticipation had built up while you spent time on him and all of it floods to his mind all at once. The attention you pay him and only him.

The weight of your gaze clings to him.

“Your clits getting all hard and sticky from having your nipples teased,” You point out. Haruka groans reflexively at your tone of voice. “You’re a perverted girl, huh?”

Haruka should protest your words. He wants too. The cognitive dissonance should cause him discomfort but he finds only euphoria in it’s wake. He can’t understand why. It’s all so weird, but you sound so sure of yourself. Falling deeper into those unfamiliar depths makes his anxiety curl up in his chest yet when he looks at you it all fades.

He feels greedy. Feels so selfish when his mind chants for you to keep looking at him just like that. He falls deep into that familiar liminal space, warm and comfortable.

Your eyes are softened and assured. Haruka makes a pathetic whine. It doesn’t feel like his voice. He protests the words right away. “I’m not,”

“Not what, Haruka?”

He blinks at you wetly, brows scrunched. He huffs. “I’m not a pervert, dammit.”

It’s the right thing to say. He thought it’d be. You light up at the admission, sucking a mark into his neck as you grab his waist a little more and grope him all over. You can’t keep your hands off of him, your fingers searching for all of his skin as you kiss him again more feverishly. He wraps his arms around your neck, his sweater sleeves slipping awkwardly when he does, making you kiss him harder.

“My Haruka. My Haru-chan,” You murmur against his lips in between kisses. Haruka opens his eyes to you looking utterly adoring. Lovesickness bleeds into your eyes, a drug to his system as you direct it his way. “So pretty and perfect.”

“Shut up,” He goads, trying to get you to kiss him a little more. “You’re so annoying.”

You kiss again, deeper and stronger before pulling back. “I’m gonna eat you out, Haru-chan.”

The words make him gasp, shiver - goosebumps covering every visible inch of your skin. “Gonna make use of your pretty pussy and split it open on my cock, make you cum from the inside like a good girl.”

It melts him down to his core, spoken with such clarity - smooth leaving your lips and so genuine. Haruka has been fucked enough to know how it feels and to want it. He thinks of all times prior, and feels the plug inside of him more consciously at the mention. He squeezes his legs together from the arousal, like a girl he thinks and the whines somewhere deep in his chest. Preens for you.

His consciousness feels like it’s fading with each step, each breath he heaves from his lungs labored.

He forms his lips around words that never escape him. Before long you’re scooting yourself further back, down between his legs until you’re faced with his clothed erection.

Arousal nips at him at the sight of your face near his cock underneath so many layers. You purposefully hold the skirt of his dress and rub all over - emphasizing the shape through it. Haruka flushes at the way his cock sticks up against them. Distorts that stupid floral pattern, stretches it. His ears grow hot at the lascivious image it paints. Your palm glides over his bulge once, twice, three times before sliding it up again.

A wet patch stains his nude nylons visibly after all of the teasing, pre-cum dribbling between two thin layers that makes Haruka want to die. Your voice is gravelly, lacks it’s usual amusement. “You’re so wet, Haruka.”

He shivers and huffs.

His cock twitches and his ass is throbbing. Unspoken desire nips at him as your thumb presses against his slit through layers of fancy material. Praise falls from your lips crassly. He becomes more aware each second. His bra and panties, his dress and skirt, the feeling of make-up on his face and the sensation of clips keeping his bangs away from his eye. He looks like a girl and his dick is leaking, twitching, pitifully as you touch and caress him.

His head rings heavy with the words wet.

He wants you to touch him more. Nearly begs with his eyes for you get the memo.

And you do. Of course you do, all wispy and pleased by his obvious desperation for your touch. “Haruka’s got such a needy little pussy, huh?”

He hisses, swears, takes a sharp inhale of air as your fingers find the seam of his stockings and pull until they rip unceremoniously. You pull them until his cock and the insides of his thighs are open to air, and snagged nylon shrinks against his waist. His panties, black boyshort lace panties, make his milky skin look whiter and the tip of his cock redder.

It’s so unbearably dirty to him. It’s so humiliating. Vanilla scented skin and the heady scent of his own cum, his painted, blunt nails digging into the palms of his hands - bitten chest and misplaced bra, all of it is so humiliating. Makes his dick even harder under everything as your fingers wrap delicately along his shaft with the fabric. “You have to cum from the inside first, Haruka,”

You remind him and he aches, grits his teeth about it but you don’t budge.

You don’t take Haruka’s panties off either. The panel of fabric barely covering his cock instead gets pushed aside. Haruka bends his legs up instinctively. Your thumb taps on the jewel end of a plug, one he’d mostly forgotten about until he’s forced to be reminded it of it. He swears loudly.

You make an abrupt move suddenly, reaching over to bedside table and rifling along for things you’d both need. Lube, a harness, and something to fill Haruka with. You settle back between his legs when you’ve got them all before you carefully tug his plug away from him.

The emptiness makes him whine - hole pink and fluttery and open. Your thumbs pull him open until he gapes a little more, hands massaging his thigh. “Such a perfect pussy.”

Haruka makes an aborted noise - a pitchy whine cut off as you dip down further and further until your nose tucks against his perineum and your tongue slides over wet hole.

He cries out at the sudden intrusion, muscles fluttering as you force your tongue as deep as it can go. It’s embarrassing, so shameful he could die and it feels incredible.

“It’s fucking dirty,” He shouts, cries, prying himself away from you before it can feel even better. “Stop, it’s—“

“Ish not dirty,” You mumble, words mumbled against his puckering hole. “I helpedth you clean, remember?,”

You pull away and your face is wet with something, lube likely, but the visual mixed with everything else makes Haruka want to crawl into a hole. Your hands on his thighs are soft and your eyes gaze, turned on him is sparkling. “You’re a cute girl, Haruka. Saying things like it’s dirty. But this much is normal, okay? It’s only polite if I eat your pussy.”

His stomach flips, heart racing at the ease of your words. A cute girl. Being praised in such a way… so genuinely. Enough to make him think it. Haruka likes being your boyfriend, your good boy but there’s something so much naughtier about all of this that makes him want to cry. His body is so chery red, down to his neck and shoulders.

You’re going to fuck his pussy while he’s wearing these lacy, frilly, girly clothes and he wants it so bad he could die from the shame.

“Do you want me to eat you out? Do you want me to make your pussy feel good?”

The words come out like a sob, ripped out of his labored breaths. “Fuck, yes —“

So you dive back again, pressing your tongue to Haruka’s hole with reckless abandon. It feels strange but it feels good when you tease and slurp. It’s sensitive and ticklish with each stroke, something about it feels dirty. All the hairs on the back of his neck stand - electricity shooting through his nerves and making him pulse hot all over. You’re doing it so passionately, eating him out like he really has a—

He moans a little, shuddering, cock dribbling pr-espend. Tip ruddy and desperate, he want more. He grinds against your face searching for it, hips chasing for friction.

He knows what he really wants even if it’s too shy to voice it. His body feels so empty, so uselessly empty. He casts his gaze on your harness, your cock—laying beside him and clenches without thinking. He wants it so bad he’s drooling, aching, hips pushing against air as he moans while you eat him out. Please, please,please.

You make an appreciative noise into him as you pull away, his hole soaked from your saliva as you look up at him from between his legs. Noticing the state he’s in, faced reddened and chest heaving. He feels so ruined and so, so stupidly horny. He wants to cum any way he can, he thinks.

He looks at your face, absolutely lovestruck, then shivers.

That’s not true. He wants to cum from your cock, from being fucked. He wants to cum like a girl.

“I want you to see yourself baby,” You say, all warm. Haruka pants. “Come here,”

Haruka is dazed as you help him up to his feet and guide him back to your vanity. He can barely stand he’s so hard. His knees buckle further when he sees himself in the mirror.

God. He looks ruined. His makeup smudged slightly at mouth despite himself, his bitten chest and skin and his clothes. His ripped tights. All of it is too overwhelming to process. He decides against thinking.

You wrap your arm around his waist from behind. “My pretty girl.”

Haruka covers his face instinctively, squirming. “Shut up.”

“Mm,” You put a hand on the front of his thigh. “Put your knee on here and your hands on the vanity table, Haru-chan.”

Haruka obliges only because he can barely keep himself upright other wise, propping one knee onto the vanitys bench. He’s close to himself in the mirror this way - the lights making him look at himself with more scrutiny than before. He has no idea what it is about this you like. Gold-silver eyes, short hair - everything about him, he doesn’t see what you admire.

But you’ve put so much focus into accentuating each of his features. It’s skilled in the way Tsubaki is. Everything done with meaning.

He looks at himself closely. The sweater around his arms, the shiny polish on his fingers, the jewelry. The ornery of it all messy and ruined. Mascara rings around his eyes and his lipstick is swiped messily. All of that effort to make him so beautiful only to fuck it all up. It’s fitting. To be made and completely ruined by you in the same breath.

When you return to him, you’ve got your strap harnessed and lube in your hands. Pour it onto his pussy and rub it in with rough touches, doing the same to your silicone cock before tossing the bottle back towards the bed. You finger Haruka open with a hand on his hips, squeezing appreciatively at his ass through tights before tearing them even more.

He groans, gripping onto the sturdy vanity for his life as you work him back open soft enough to be fucked.

“Haru-chan,” You murmur, leaning forward to press a kiss the small of his beck where his dress rides up. “I’m going to fuck your pretty pussy and make you watch,”

Your crass words sent heat flaring through up his spine. His nerves fray at the end. He pushes his hips back on instinct as you slip a third finger in, curling against his prostate. Nearly slipping, Haruka lets the sensation bleed through him, tip weeping as his pussy aches for the perfect stretch.

“Deep breath, Haruka.”

He takes in a sharp inhale as the head of your cock swells inside of him. Pushes past the puffy, pink rim of his hole and stretches around the sticky, veined shaft. His mind goes numb, body limp. Your hand pushes down on the curve of his back until he’s arching properly, feeling it deeper. His body and mind disconnect, acting on instinct as his teeth grind making up for the emptiness. The tables edge digs into his palms hard and Haruka shakes. His mouth drop opens, drooling from the corners of his lip.

“Deeper,” He groans, can’t think, can’t think of anything but the delicious and obvious intrusion of your cock inside of him. “Harder, fuck.”

“I wanted to be gentle,” You tsk then thrust. Slam yourself into the welcoming tightness of Haruka’s pussy without second thought, knocking all the air from his lungs. “It’s good to be gentle with girls. Haruka likes it rough though, right? You like your cunt mistreated even though you’ve got such a cute face.”

Your hips grind against the back of Haruka’s ass as you bottom out and his cock twitches. His vision goes white, body taut before trembling violently. You pause. “Did you cum, Haruka? Did you cum from having your pussy filled?”

He’s shaking. He can’t stand up properly. He’s so full. His stomach is so full, he’s so happy to be so full. It feels so good everything in his vision is white, smatterings of starlight behind his lids when they flutter closed. His pussy feels so good. He feels good for you. He’s so contented nothing else makes sense.

“Haruka,” Your voice is wrecked. Like you were the one being devastated, not him. “Oh, my perfect girl. Cumming from my cock, so good. You’re a good girl, you’re such a good fucking girl. Such a tight pussy.”

You fuck Haru with reverence. Pure delirium. His eyes widen frantically when you pull out and blow wider when you slam back in - forcing him to hold onto the vanity for dear life. You angle yourself and fuck Haruka hard and hot without so much as another word of warning. Praising him endlessly as you look at him in the mirror.

“Fuck, look.” Your hands go around to his chin, cupping his jaw upwards with free hand until he sees himself in the mirror in sheer bliss. He sees you in the reflection, too, besotted. Flushed all over, eyes glazed over in complete hunger. Haruka looks embarrassing, looks euphoric and messy and so filthy he can’t believe its him he’s looking at. “Look how fucking pretty you are.”

You pull Haruka up back his arms until his back is against your chest when you fuck him, sinking your cock so deep he feels it in his throat. He cums again, dry, from the inside just like you want. The wet slam of your hips is making it hard to think.

“So beautiful. Gorgeous, aren’t you? So stunning even without all this. My beautiful Haruka’s and his pretty, perfect cunt. You’re made for me to fuck you like this. Made for me to fuck you like a girl,” You babble, voice hoarse as you fuck into him hard and precises over and over and over. “Made for my dick. Should fuck you pregnant, keep you all filled until you carry my kid , turn you into my housewife.”

It’s nonsense. Useless, horny filth. And it makes his head spin, makes his body ache so hot when you say it. Hearing you praise his cunt so affectionately, being made to take your cock. All of it makes his blood rush and turns him stupid. Impossible but his body aches at the possibility as it gets filled. Haruka can’t keep his head on straight, can’t find his tact or pull away from you fucking him so ruthlessly.

He moans your name with his voice shattered, hands at his sides as you pound away. Dick slapping against the soft plane of his stomach each time, dribbling cum onto satiny floral and dying it white.

His body goes taut. He can feel it. He’s going to cum again, going to cum harder.

His voice is shot as he begs.

“Touch me,” He whines. “Touch me,”

“Touch where, baby? Say it.”

He nearly buckles. “Touch my c-clit. Make me cum, fuck.”

“Good girl,” You praise, so sweetly. “Such a good girl for me,”

Your wet hands wrap around Haruka’s shaft and everything he was keeping pent up inside him explodes all at once. You barely stroke twice before his cock starts to twitch so hard it hurts, an orgasm hurdling towards him full speed before he nearly gets knocked down. His spine arches against you as he finally, finally gets the relief he wants and he cums.

Haruka cums hard. Thick, heavy, wet ropes of white semen splash onto your vanity and mirror, into your fingers as you fuck him through his orgasm, jerking him off hard until he’s howling from overstimulation. He’s overwhelmed when you bottom out, sticky hand holding his hips as you grind.

“I’m close,” You pant. “Hold still.”

Haruka feels as you grind yourself against the leather harness of the strap with your forehead pressing his back and feels aroused all over again. His brain is so clouded with lust he can’t stop the words from escaping his lips as he looks at your face in the mirror trying to cum.

“Cum in me,” He begs helpless. “Want you to cum in me,”

And you push yourself into him further, deeper, hips rutting until you drop down in a shudder and scream. “Fuck. Shit! Cumming in you, fuck,”

You cum and still drunk from the endorphins Haruka thinks its a waste you didn’t cum inside - too deep in his head space to think about the whine from his lips.

You breathe slow and kiss his shoulders and all over his neck. “Love you, Haruka.”

He shudders. “…Love you too,”

#sakura x reader #sakura haruka x reader #windbreaker x reader #sakura haruka smut #writing tag #wind breaker smut #no i dont want to talk about this actually

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gatorbites-imagines · 3 months ago

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please pretty please good sir, please right an imagines of Kurt Wagner with a demon, like full on demon from like the Bible s/o, like straight up like a prince of hell kind of demon.

p.s. I love your fics sm 💐🌅

Kurt Wagner x Demon male reader

Headcanons

Did you guys know that in olden time, people thought owls and toads were linked to the devil? Was this an excuse to give the reader animal characteristics? Yes, yes it was. Fruits like strawberries and cherries were also used to symbolize different more bodily involved sins. I took a bit of inspo to how the demons look in Dictionnaire Infernal, since they’re cool and goofy.

I may still be tired and wrung out from all my classes, but the will to write lives on. How’s everyone’s week been?

No one had known you were a demon in the beginning. Everyone just kind of assumed you were another mutant. They already had one member of the x-men who had wings, so it wasn’t the wildest thought that you were like warren.

Your wings were a bit more like an eagle owl, and sure, sometimes your eyes would morph into something like a toad or even a goat, but they had seen much weirder.

You not stepping inside churches or other holy areas was mainly seen as a personal preference, since you were so casual about it. you technically could step inside the buildings, but it was too much work to be worth it for you.

Instead you’d hang out outside with the others who didn’t feel a need to step inside. And yeah, you may have carved a sigil or two into the building behind your back, so you could teleport there in the future to cause some trouble if you got bored.

Demons had no specific form, at least your father didn’t and so you didn’t. you simply morphed into the one that felt most comfortable, making most believe you had a shapeshifting mutation.

There were multiple kings of hell, but your father had always been the most powerful and most influential, so you were expected to follow in his footsteps, which was why you had kind of ran away to earth.

It was just so boring, sitting there and doing all that kingly work so your father could retire with the other ancient kings, since demons don’t die, they can simply only be ignored and rebutted.

You had never meant to help the x-men or join them, but they’d been there at the right place at the wrong time, and just happened to catch some human trying to assault you for being a “mutant”

It was only the x-men stepping in that kept you from trapping the guy in eternal damnation, but you decided why not just play along for now, see where it takes you. And before you knew it, you were an x-men, helping to “fight for the good of mutant kind” or whatever.

It wasn’t hard to make you seem like a mutant, for you to even show up when Charles was looking for mutants with his powers.

It was all good and dandy, until that furry blue bastard wormed his way into the six pitch black organs you called your hearts. Well, sometimes it was six, sometimes twenty, sometimes zero, it really depended on the day.

But it was six the day you realized Kurt had gotten into your good graces. More than that honestly, as he made you feel… flustered. How he succeeded in making a demon like yourself flustered was still a mystery to you.

You had been drawn to him in the beginning because of his whole “blue demon” thing, only for it to turn out that Kurt was religious, and would sometimes wear a cross. He even prayed at times, the action always making your skin itch.

Kurt was honestly the only one to start putting things together since he knew some about demonology, hell, your name was just a shortened version of your infernal title. Weaker demons showing up and groveling at your feet and referring to you as their prince probably didn’t help.

Luckily it had just been Kurt around at the time, but the blue imp clocked you quicker than you thought they would.

Surprisingly, Kurt didn’t hate you or fear you. To him, you were an x-men and helped save people, so you weren’t fully bad. He even went out of his way to pray somewhere else so your hands wouldn’t burn and for your wings to start burning at the edges.

Somewhere along the way, what you had morphed into more than just a friendship. You had an inkling that your father would have your hide when he realized you had bedded a mortal, and one so clearly meant for heaven when the day came.

But eternity was so long, so who could blame you for wanting to spend it with someone as kind as Kurt. Even if you knew somewhere deep inside, that you would mourn Kurt for most of that eternity when the time came.

Kurt talked you into telling the x-men your true origin. They were hurt in the beginning, and you politely stepped out of the team since you technically weren’t a mutant, and you wanted to respect that.

That didn’t stop you from hanging out at the mansion, or on Krakoa when that came around. How you got on the island? You would never tell, mainly because it drove Scott crazy that he could never figure it out.

After coming out of the hellfire closet, you felt less need to control your form to the same degree. To most you were still just a mutant, since the body you wore the most had been a mutant, so… it counted in a loophole kinda way.

Everyone got good at clocking who you were, even on days when you altered your shape completely. Kurt was obviously the best. Even on days where you had a lion head and the tail of a snake, or when you had three heads and a burning crown.

It was a little awkward when Kurt became a priest and built his own religion like thing, mainly because you just couldn’t get yourself to touch him when he wore the uniform.

It was the aura for the most part. None of the others got it, or saw it like you did, but they weren’t demons, so it made sense. But Kurt always carried an aura, and it was manageable enough on regular days. But after sermons it just got strong enough to make your tongue buzz and your feathers puff up.

Kurt got good at wiping himself off in a metaphorical way, so you guys could kiss and cuddle even on days he did sermons. And you as a demon were way too strong to truly to hurt by it, it just got a bit annoying sometimes.

All in all, you two were happy. Even if you had to chase away demons that wanted to take over earth every now and then. Your father had never given you your own domain, so you just kinda slapped your name on earth and told every other demon to square up for it.

Some did come out of the woodwork to fight, mainly just because they could. No one really wanted earth. Too much trouble, too much holy interference, and all those magicians? No way. It was just older demons wanting a good fight for the most part.

Kurt also came to really like your less human look. Maybe he was projecting, but there was something nice about having a partner that didn’t look too “human”, if he could say that without being offensive.

There were days where you looked like the average human man. But other days you were more beast than man, or even the days where you didn’t even want a blood-filled body, so you were made out of sand or water, or anything along those lines.

He did have a preference for forms where you had a tail, because it was comforting to coil your tails together. Or if the form you took had claws, since it felt so good to have your hands rubbing up and down his back and scratch through his fuzz.

There were times when Kurt forgot to take off his cross, or hide it under his shirt, so you did get small burns, even if they went away in a few seconds. You didn’t care much, but seeing Kurt apologize was always very cute.

Having a powerful demon like you on the side of the x-men also helped out a lot during fights. You stayed out of it for the most part, to “keep balance of the mortal plane” or whatever your father said.

There were times when Kurt was in mortal danger where you stepped in though, but you always contained the worst of your powers.

And staying back also meant you could focus your powers on healing those that needed it. Kurt got the most of it, of course, as you would cuddle and kiss him, your kisses transferring the healing energy instead.

It was nice. And yes, you knew one day you’d be alone again, stuck on earth after claiming it as your territory. But the present was so good, so warm and loving, that the cold empty future didn’t matter.

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hylianane · 7 months ago

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I’ve read Time Traveler Zoro AUS far more interesting than anything my feeble little mind could cook up on it’s own, but I’d still love try to play around with the premise and give it my own spin.

I’ve read two in which Zoro loses the crew in a great tragedy, so he goes back in time to save them, and the greatest source of tension in the story is the way he tries to hide all the future knowledge he maintains from the others, while still trying to rewrite history. It’s so good and thrilling. But. Yet. However.

I’m reminded of the scene in Sabaody in which Rayleigh offers to tell the crew about the One Piece, and Luffy furiously rejects him. Says he doesn’t want a boring adventure where he knows the ending. And though I don’t recall Zoro saying anything in that moment, I think he would agree. So in this Time Travel AU, when Zoro goes back in time, he does so with the idea that this second try isn’t for him. He wants to help, but if he gets on that boat, he won’t be able to keep himself from giving Luffy all the answers in hopes of saving his life, and that would ruin his Captain’s dream.

So let’s imagine Luffy. At seventeen years old, he sets out on a journey through the Grandline to become the King of the Pirates. He has his navigator, his sniper, his cook, his doctor- all his friends by his side. And things are challenging sometimes, but always fun. And he gets lucky.

He gets lucky a lot.

Sanjj tells him it’s a guardian angel, but Luffy’s not so sure. There’s something at the back of his mind, an itch behind his ear. He starts to notice signs of a certain presence everywhere he goes, a mysterious someone who seems to always want to beat him to the punch, but also seems to never finish the job.

Like back in Orange Town, when he met Nami and fought the Buggy guy, the Clown complained about his knife thrower being put out of commission by a bounty hunter right before the fight. Or in Syrup Village, when Captain Kuroo called for reinforcements two of his officers were a no-show, their crewmates reporting that it was as if the Nyaban Brothers had disappeared into the night. When Luffy met Sanji at the Baratie, he’d felt a tension build within him as he listened to all the rumors of the Greatest Swordsman in the World having been seen nearby. But then, the tension is cut abruptly when Don Kreig walks through the door instead, announcing that he’d escaped the Warlord when some suicidal swordsman intercepted his chase.

In Whiskey Peak, Nami tells him about how she saw a cloaked figure take down 100 hundred bounty hunters without making a sound, as if trying to not disturb the Strawhat’s sleep. Luffy thinks he might’ve seen such a figure from afar when taking a leak, but he can’t be sure. In Alabasta, Ace keeps throwing looks over his shoulder as if searching for someone, but always telling Luffy there’s nothing to worry about. Vivi is shocked to discover someone took down Baroque Work’s Number 1 in a duel a night before their arrival at Alubarna. When Robin joins them at the end of it, she seems shocked to find the crew only has five members, instead of six. But she doesn’t seem keen on elaborating why just yet.

The only place that they haven’t been followed to by this Mystery Guy (as Luffy has taken to calling him) is Skypeia. Almost like he couldn’t figure out how to get up there.

And still, the whole time Luffy’s there he can’t stop thinking about him. Looking left and right as if between the clouds and the trees he’ll catch a glimpse of Mystery Guy’s face. Nami says it’s ludicrous to think that all these instances can be chalked up to same guy. Usopp tells tall tales of how they’re being stalked by a man who fell madly love with the Great Sniper’s good looks, or sometimes he tells tales of how they’re being followed by the ancient God of Fortune, or sometimes it’s any other grandiose tale he’ll accept before he accepts that it’s just a guy, just a Mystery Guy, who is real and Luffy knows it.

He knows, and he’s a little obsessed with it. And it’s not always great. He loses sleep, wondering who are you and do you know me and do i know you and stop getting in my way and why don’t you do it more and do you want to join my crew and i need you to watch me and i need you on my crew.

(Meanwhile, on his end, Zoro is planning how to stop the tragedy that will befall his family. But in the meantime he doesn’t want to just be dead weight. He doesn’t want to be apart from them. He may not have a place on that boat anymore, but he can’t have his Captain fighting his battles. He can’t let his friends go unprotected. So he’ll protect them, protect him, in silence, from afar, always one day head, always knowing what’s coming next)

#one piece #zolu #time travel au #roronoa zoro #monkey d. luffy #my post #strawhat pirates

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corysmiles · 2 months ago

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Runes and Ruin Part 4

An Arcane G/T Fic

Notes: Here's my christmas gift to the gt people I hope you enjoy jayvik angst and hurt/comfort time featuring Jayce taking tiny viktor to a gala event >:]

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After the day of the apology, the one Viktor had thought would never come, Jayce had gotten far more touchy with Viktor. It had started with that afternoon, Viktor asleep against his chest with a large warm hand pressing into him like a weighted blanket, not moving until Jayce had to get up to cook. It was nice while it lasted, the touch Viktor had always craved but could never ask for, but he knew it was likely a one time thing…

But then it continued on into the next day…and the next day, until the moments where Jayce wasn’t touching him in one way or another started to become few and far between.

When they were together it was almost like Jayce was a magnet, constantly drawn to Viktor’s presence, the Earth in constant orbit of the Sun, his hands itching to touch him whenever he was close, like it hurt to not be in contact. He’d always been a touchy person, Viktor knew that- it was impossible to avoid when they had spent so many years in the lab together. But this was new…and Viktor was sure it was going to kill him.

They had been working for a few hours already, Viktor nestled against the side of Jayce’s neck so he could better see the work desk. They had tried so many rune combinations by that point, entire pages in Jayce’s notebook filled with possibilities that never came to fruition.

Jayce huffed, brows furrowed in equal parts curiosity and frustration as another plant turned to dust on the table in front of them with a shock of blue light.

“Alright, so not that one,” Jayce sighed, as he crossed out the rune combination in their notes, his hand pressing with just enough force to smudge the ink at the end.

“At this rate I’ll be stuck like this forever,” Viktor scoffed, raising his brows at Jayce even though he knew the man couldn’t actually see him.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jayce responded, voice gruff and harsh, “If it can shrink you it has to be able to change you back, right?”

Viktor couldn’t help the frown that tugged at his lips, “I surely hope so.”

“It will.”

And really, who was Viktor to argue when he wanted it just as much…even if the consistent failures were starting to weigh down on him.

Before he could reply with some snarky comment, Jayce’s hand was on him, fingers wrapping around his body carefully, in a way that was becoming too practiced for Viktor’s liking. His whole world shifted as Jayce picked him up like he was nothing more than a tool, and it took everything in Viktor to not snap at the man for not giving him a warning first. But at the same time, the all-encompassing warmth of his forge-worn fingers felt nice, like a sweater on a cold day- although he’d never tell him that.

When he was finally placed down onto the desk, Jayce at least had half the mind to look apologetic.

“What?” Viktor snapped, face red as his head tilted up as far as it could to get a better look at Jayce.

“I…sorry,” Jayce’s eyes widened, “It’s almost six.”

At that, Viktor paused, he had almost forgotten about what Jayce had said that morning.

“There’s a gala tonight that I can’t get out of,” Jayce had said, head tilted back against the pillows with his thumb idly rubbing up and down against Viktor’s back, his tiny form resting snuggly on his chest.

Viktor had been half-asleep, body fighting to stay conscious under the warm weight of Jayce’s hand. The only response he could manage was a small tilt of his head.

“I was hoping maybe you’d come with me,” Jayce had said, voice tilting up hopefully.

And Viktor could remember his amusement- he knew Jayce wanted to keep him nearby while he was so small. He had asked before about coming to meetings, but Viktor’s response had always been a resounding no. It was almost endearing how Jayce kept asking, regardless of Viktor’s consistent and firm refusals.

The only problem was that Viktor couldn't remember saying no this time. Maybe it was the gentle warmth of Jayce’s touch or the promise that he’d get to spend more time close to the man he was weak for, but he was sure in the early hours of morning he hadn’t told Jayce no.

“Oh yes,” Viktor said, mouth running dry, “The gala.”

“Yeah. They wouldn’t believe I was sick again,” Jayce laughed, a soft deep sound that Viktor could practically feel in his chest, “But the new suit I got has a few pockets you should be okay in.”

And how could Viktor argue when Jayce looked at him with so much hope, his eyes wide and pleading for Viktor to stay with him.

“That should be fine,” Viktor shrugged, ignoring the way his heart pounded at the idea of being so close to Jayce for so long, “Just don’t intend to stay too long. I can’t promise I won’t start biting after an hour.”

“Only an hour?” Jayce laughed.

“Perhaps I can make it longer if we get to the lab early tomorrow,” Viktor sighed.

The grin he got from Jayce, wide and crooked and showing off the gap in his teeth, almost made the whole thing worth it.

“Deal.”

And that was how Viktor had gotten himself dragged to a gala- something he had never wanted to do even before the accident. The extravagant parties Piltover’s elite held were never his thing. He hated all the schmoozing and pointless talk that came of them, and while he knew they needed money, he was more than happy to let Jayce go alone. He always was the more charming of the two of them anyways.

Viktor was tucked securely in one of the side pockets of Jayce’s suit. The silky maroon fabric was warmed by Jayce’s body heat, making the small space feel nice and comforting, and like a cat, Viktor leaned into it. He couldn’t help how he instinctively pressed himself against the sturdy warmth of his partner. It was amusing to Viktor how even in the winter Jayce still ran hot, just like the forges his family was known for. And with how cold it was outside, Viktor was more than grateful for it.

While he couldn’t see out from his spot in Jayce’s pocket, he knew they had arrived at the gala when the silence of night in Piltover morphed into a loud cacophony of sound- voices and instruments and the shuffling of people- all overwhelmingly loud to his now extra sensitive ears.

Within seconds a heavy weight pressed against him almost like Jayce knew what he was thinking, and while he couldn’t respond (and he knew Jayce would push him back if he tried to look out) he was grateful for the touch. It grounded him, stopping his thoughts from wandering too far.

It didn’t take long at all before Jayce was swept away by possible investors; Viktor could feel his deep charming voice vibrating throughout his whole body. He could tell Jayce had had a few too many glasses of champagne when his steps became more uneven, jostling Viktor around in his pocket. Still, every few minutes a hand would press into him- a gentle reminder that Jayce still remembered he was there as he chatted with Piltover’s most elite.

“Jayce, it is very good to see you in attendance again,” Counselor Medarda’s voice boomed above him- the soft lilt of her voice all too familiar.

Even the soft touches did not help with the jealousy growing in Viktor’s gut, curling and venomous like a snake about to snap its jaws.

Viktor could practically feel his skin prickle.

“Mel,” Jayce said, voice soft and happier than he had heard it in a while, “It’s good to be back. I’m sorry I haven’t been feeling well lately.”

“Well I’m sure I speak for everybody when I say we’re glad to have you back in the spotlight,” Mel replied, and Viktor could practically feel how Jayce preened at her words. “It’s far less fun at these events without the golden boy.”

Jayce chuckled, small and tight, and that made the jealous part of Viktor beam. At least he could get real laughter out of Jayce.

“I’m sure,” Jayce replied, and Viktor could imagine the tight smile on his face, “Although I can’t say I miss watching Salo falling over himself after three drinks.”

In return, Mel laughed, the sound soft like bells, and Viktor retreated into the corner of Jayce’s pocket. Maybe if he could fall asleep he could ignore their conversation and in turn stop the bubbling jealousy in his chest. As petty as it was, he wanted nothing more than to pull Jayce away. He’d gotten so used to being the center of his attention that he had almost forgotten why they had drifted apart in the first place. He didn’t realize that Jayce hadn’t laid a hand on him in a while until someone came crashing into them.

Viktor huffed, body squishing against Jayce’s side as he heard a yelp and a muttered apology from someone likely a little too drunk. Over the sounds of the orchestra picking up, Viktor could just barely make out the conversation between Jayce and whoever had bumbled into him. Ever the gentleman, he heard Jayce asking if the man needed any help finding a seat.

Viktor didn’t have any more time to ponder the situation though before he realized that something was wrong- he felt cold.

Jayce had made sure Viktor would be comfortable in his pocket beforehand, and the silk fabric combined with the man’s body heat had been more than enough for Viktor to feel alright while at the gala. But then, right across from Viktor, he saw a gap where the threads of Jayce’s suit had been torn apart- likely ripped during the ordeal with the drunkard. The cool air from the gala blew in, making Viktor curl up further into the far side of the pocket, trying his best to stay far away from the ripped seam.

Above him Jayce’s voice boomed, and with every step Viktor was shook closer and closer to the hole. Frantically, Viktor tapped at Jayce’s side, hoping to get the man’s attention, but he received no response. All he could hear was the sound of laughter and the hushed conversation between Jayce and Mel. For the first time since the incident he truly felt small.

A moment later Jayce turned, just a bit too fast, and Viktor felt himself slip, the satin hard for him to get a good grip on. For a moment he was sure he was going to throw up.

“Jayce!” He yelled, hoping more than anything that Jayce would notice, but still there was no response- his pleas drowned out by the thrum of the gala.

Viktor barely processed Mel asking for a dance, his mind completely focused on holding on tight to the smooth fabric around him. But one more quick shift from Jayce as he took Mel’s hand was all it took.

Viktor yelped, arms covering his head as he slipped through the gap in the seams. Time seemed to freeze for a moment as his body met the cool air. Like a scared child he curled in on himself, but nothing could stop the quickly approaching tile of the gala hall. Seconds before hitting the ground he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that anyone, anything, would help him, but it was to no avail.

He hit the ground with nothing more than a soft thud to anyone listening. Pain shot through his leg, but the fire in his joints was nothing compared to the pure terror coursing through his veins. Adrenaline pumped through him as he stared up at the hundreds of people around him- all towering over him like mountain peaks- their voices loud and mangled together sounding like thunder to Viktor’s ears.

At the very least he could still see Jayce, although as one of his massive boots came down within steps of Viktor he felt his blood run cold. With each footstep, the massive people around him sent tremors into the ground making it difficult for Viktor to stay upright. Internally, he battled between wanting to stay close to Jayce- wanting nothing more than for the man to notice, pick him up, and take him back to his apartment where it was safe- and wanting to find somewhere hidden where no one would ever find him again.

But Viktor didn’t have much time to think before Mel’s shoe stamped down right next to him. The elegant wooden heel towered above him, and as she moved again he had to throw himself out of the way, rolling onto his side and causing more pain to shoot through his joints. Within moments, where he had been was covered by her shoe, and the thought of turning up on the bottom of it- nothing more than a smudge- made him feel sick.

He had to get away.

His blood pounded beneath his skin like a drum, the thump thump of his heart even louder than the musicians who were still playing regardless of the nightmare he was stuck in. It hurt, his leg felt like it was on fire from the fall, but he was alive and he planned on keeping it that way.

The familiar prick of tears stung his eyes as he took one last look up at Jayce, slightly wobbly from the alcohol and smiling wide as he talked with Mel. He wouldn’t cry though, he refused. Realistically, he knew this was happening whenever Jayce went to the galas, of course he did. He saw how the man looked at Mel. He knew he couldn’t compare even if the closeness of the past few weeks had started to convince him otherwise.

He had to go.

Viktor’s face scrunched up in pain as he trudged his way to the nearest sign of safety- the large gilded dining table near the center of the room. His eyes moved constantly darting back and forth between every single person in the room- calculating his chances of getting stomped on at any given moment. Luckily, he’d fallen where most people had decided to dance, meaning their movements were slow, predictable.

Even so, there were quite a few near misses, with him having to throw himself out of the way before finely polished boots smashed down on top of him like he was nothing more than a pest. By the time he got to the table, he was out of breath, his heart jackhammering in his chest. Even though he had really only covered what would have been a few steps at his normal size, his muscles seized like he had ran a marathon.

With a shaky breath he settled down against the leg of the table. From where he was he could still feel the tremors of every step as people passed by. The sight in and of itself was horrifying. He had gotten so used to being around Jayce that he had almost started to forget how terrifying it was to be so insignificantly small. In the first few moments, when Jayce had first found him after the incident, he’d felt horrified, and at that moment, sitting still under the table, praying that no one would notice him, he felt that same all-encompassing terror.

——————————————————————— Jayce was sure he was going to throw up, and he told Mel as such right before darting to the edge of the room. His hands checked his pockets for the tenth - hundredth - thousandth time, hoping that maybe he’d just missed him somehow, that maybe Viktor was still there. But it was to no avail, and to his own growing horror he only found a small gap in his pocket, the seams ripped apart.

Frantically, he checked his shoes to make sure nothing (or more correctly, no one) was stuck to the bottom, and even though he was sure he was getting some odd looks from the other attendees his mind could only think of one thing. He had to find Viktor.

He’d realized something was wrong after agreeing to dance with Mel. He’d felt awful for not attending a gala in so long since he knew she looked forward to him being there. Really, a dance was the least he could offer. But afterwards, when he’d reached down again to reassure Viktor that he still remembered he was there, he felt nothing, no bump in the fabric, no movement, nothing.

The horror must have been clear on his face considering how Mel immediately asked if he was alright, her concern clear from the softening of her face. But how could he be when his partner was somewhere in the gala hall on his own, small enough to be squished by one wrong step. Gods, Jayce was going to be sick.

He was sure he looked crazed to anyone passing by, eyes wide and panicked as they scanned the floor, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He could make it up to any possible investors once he was sure Viktor was safe, which he was, he had to be.

Once he was absolutely sure nothing on his shoes was his partner he took a deep breath. He had to stay calm. He recalled one night years prior when he and Viktor were working on their initial proposal for the Hexgates, only a few days before their deadline. At the time Jayce had been panicking, and the calculations he was working on were filled with mistakes. He remembered how Viktor took one look at the scrawled numbers before forcing him to sit and talk it through with him. He had told him then that nothing good came of such stress; that Jayce always worked better with a clear mind.

He struggled to keep a clear mind now.

But still, Jayce persisted. With his one goal in mind he marched back out into the thrall of people, his eyes glued to the floor for any sign of his partner. A few of the partygoers tried to stop him, to talk about Hextech or whatever new policies they wanted from the council, but with dry lips and weak words, Jayce excused himself every time. He didn’t miss how their eyes would flash with disappointment, but he could worry about that later. When he arrived back at the center of the room his search truly started. He was sure that he was around there when he’d last checked on Viktor.

“Jayce, are you sure you’re alright?”

His head whipped towards the source of the question, only to be met by Mel, her face scrutinizing and worried.

“Yes I…” Jayce struggled to find his words through his panic- his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton, “I dropped something.”

“Oh,” Mel tilted her head, amusement clear in her eyes, “Well, do you want help looking for it?”

The response he wanted to give was a yes; his immediate knee-jerk reaction was to spill everything to her. He trusted her- she could help. But the thought of what Viktor’s reaction would be to finding out someone else knew…Jayce couldn’t do it. He knew he’d been walking a thin line with Viktor for months, maybe even years, and they’d only just started to grow close again. He couldn’t risk his trust.

And that wasn’t even to mention the trouble they’d get into if anyone found out about what the Hexcore was capable of. Hextech was his connection to Viktor, he couldn’t risk that.

“No, I…I can find it,” Jayce muttered, his mouth a tight line as he waved off her offer, “Thank you.”

Mel’s brows furrowed, her eyes studying Jayce for a few moments before she gave in. He could tell she wanted to say more, to pry further, but within seconds she was being pulled away by another partygoer off into some other conversation.

Yet, as minutes passed and there was still no sign of Viktor, Jayce started to regret not taking her offer, even if Viktor would never forgive him for telling someone else about his situation. Every second without Viktor made his heart sink in his chest like lead. Time felt like a blur as he searched, frantic as he scanned the ground.

It wasn’t long before another feeling, heavy and all consuming filled his chest- guilt. Viktor hadn’t even wanted to join him at the gala; he knew that. He’d given Viktor the choice, but still, he knew Viktor only came because of him. And now Viktor was in danger…or worse…because of it.

His thoughts muddled together until they only consisted of one thing- find Viktor, find Viktor, please find Viktor.

Most attendees had already left before he finally spotted him, and the moment he did, he swore his heart stopped beating, his blood frozen in his veins. His partner’s tiny form was curled up against one of the legs of the dining table. He was still- too still for Jayce’s liking- but he was thankfully whole.

He didn’t think twice before leaning down and snatching him up in his hands. Immediately, Viktor thrashed against his hold; he’d likely been asleep, but Jayce couldn’t bring himself to feel bad when he was so simply overjoyed that Viktor was alive.

Jayce didn’t say his goodbyes before rushing to the building’s exit. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Mel watching him like a hawk, but he would worry about that later. The cold winter air hit him like a brick the moment he got outside, but the discomfort of it was barely a whisper in the back of his mind. His eyes darted around to make sure no one was nearby before he opened up his hands to really look at Viktor for the first time since he found him.

“Vik, shit, are you okay?”

In his hands, Viktor looked stunned, eyes wide and body stiff as he stared up at Jayce. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly like a fish out of water before his whole face tightened- his expression guarded.

“I… I just want to go home Jayce,” Viktor exhaled shakily, voice so quiet Jayce could barely hear it over the distant sounds of the city.

“Are you hurt? I’m so sorry I didn’t notice sooner,” Jayce panicked, voice wobbling with emotion, “I was trying to find you I promise I-”

“Jayce,” Viktor stopped him, his tone firm, “Please just…I just want to sleep.”

Jayce’s mouth flew shut as his thoughts raced. Thousands of apologies simmered behind his closed lips, but the look of defeat on Viktor’s face stopped them from boiling over.

“Yeah…yeah,” Jayce frowned, “We can go back to the apartment.”

Viktor nodded, still curled in on himself like he had been when Jayce had spotted him, and the uncomfortable silence and haunted look on his partner’s face was almost enough to finally break Jayce.

The walk back to his apartment was quiet and tense. Jayce held Viktor to his chest the entire way, uncaring of how odd it looked to anyone who could see him; he needed to feel that Viktor was okay. Unlocking his door was a challenge since his hands still shook from adrenaline, and as soon as he was inside he beelined for the bed. It frightened him how still Viktor was in his hands.

He couldn’t even bring himself to change out of his clothes as he laid down on the plush sheets, opening up his cupped hands to let Viktor out.

“I’m so so sorry,” Jayce muttered, not able to look Viktor in the eyes as he spoke, voice wet and thick with emotion.

He barely expected Viktor to respond.

“It’s not your fault,” Viktor sighed after a few awfully quiet moments, “I…thank you…for finding me.”

“I shouldn’t have lost you in the first place,” Jayce grimaced.

Viktor’s face flashed between emotions as he looked up at Jayce. He didn’t miss how Viktor leaned against his thumb, putting as little weight as possible onto his bad leg, and the thought of Viktor falling to the floor and having to navigate through all those people made Jayce feel sick.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Viktor frowned, tilting his head up to better see Jayce’s pained expression, “I don’t blame you.”

“I should’ve noticed sooner I-”

“Jayce,” Viktor practically snapped, brows furrowed in frustration, “Please, just… I am tired.”

Jayce made an expression much akin to a kicked puppy as he stared at Viktor, his eyes flickered between emotions, before he pulled his hands close to his face, Viktor along with them. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing, but the need to have Viktor close was nearly overwhelming. Gently, he pressed his nose against Viktor, allowing the warmth of his breath to ghost over the smaller man. He could feel how Viktor tensed up for a moment before relaxing against his touch.

“I’m sorry I just…I was so worried,” Jayce exhaled shakily, his lips just barely brushing against Viktor as he spoke, the action small but intimate. Viktor fell quiet in his hands, and as soon as Jayce processed how close they were he flushed with embarrassment.

Quickly, he pulled Viktor away, staring wide-eyed down at him, “I’m sorry I-”

“It’s okay,” Viktor stopped him, eyes wide and face unmistakably red.

Jayce stayed frozen still until Viktor waved to be brought close again, and Jayce couldn’t bring himself to fight it when all he wanted was to hold Viktor close after the whole gala ordeal. When Viktor was close enough again he leaned himself against the bridge of Jayce’s nose, as close to a hug as he could get. The action was slightly awkward, but before he could pull away Jayce pressed his nose back against him, pushing him even closer with his hands. His eyes scrunched tight as he let his shoulders sag and his worries be washed away by the small but comforting weight against his skin.

Again when he exhaled his lips just barely pressed against Viktor, and he couldn’t help how he wanted to stay like that forever. He could feel how Viktor tensed up from the proximity, but the smaller man didn’t tell him to stop, and Jayce was weak so he didn’t ask- too afraid bringing attention to their closeness would cause Viktor to pull away. He reasoned with himself that it was simply the comfort of his friend being close that he wanted. He just had to ignore the nagging want to press his lips fully against the man so carefully nestled in his palms.

That night he fell asleep with Viktor cradled against his chest, his thumb idly rubbing against his side as he rested. And all the while he couldn’t help but think about how nice it felt for the brief moment where his lips brushed against his partner.

#g/t #corywrites #arcane gt #arcane g/t #g!jayce #t!viktor #hurt/comfort #angst #runes and ruin

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buried-l0cket · 7 months ago

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Polygun but it’s how they all see each other

i always really like in books with different narrators when how a character looks itself is unreliable narration bc they describe themself differently compared to how the other pov characters see them, and the dungeon meshi shapeshifter chart scratched that itch for me art wise and I got inspired ✨

To be more specific this is what they each picture when they think of each person 👉👈

Details under cut!!

Meryl clothing details aside because I think she’s just short and the boys aren’t looking at her traveling clothes too hard (and vash clearly likes making his own clothes with how much his overly intricate jacket design changes so ofc his version of her outfit just looks like another one of his designs 🙄) all of the clothes are based on specific parts of the manga!

A big thing with these designs was taking moments that were important regarding each characters relationship with the pov character and adding in visual nods to that to show what memories stuck with them to shape their image of that person.

The clearest example of this is everyone thinking of a different Vash coat, for Wolfwood it’s what he was wearing when he turned him over to Knives, to Meryl it’s his final fight coat, and for Milly it’s when she met him.

It may be Trimax but I will always have a soft spot for 98 millywood so those two’s impression of each other has been influenced by that, but more specifically just the idea of them both alone together, layers and walls down, hair messy from sleep. Their relationship is one I just see very clearly developing over a lot of late nights at inns and bars during traveling!

Vash is the trademarked inventor of Savior Martyr Victim complex supreme and when he thinks of everyone he sees times they’ve been let down by him. To me he’s the biggest broken gear in their dynamic because of the way he holds himself back and isolates, the ship really works in spite of him most of the time. But he also sees traces of times his desire to be by their side was cemented. His Meryl is heavily based on after she was kidnapped by the GHGs and he lost control in front of her, but her hair is longer + earrings are gone like when they saw each other again after Knives released the ark, and she has a black turtleneck peaking out from under her traveling clothes the way it did under her space suit during the final battle. His Milly has the hair and undershirt of the final battle but her outer clothes are from when they traveled together for the majority of Trimax. His wolfwood isn’t doing too well.

Meryl’s versions of Milly and Wolfwood are both pretty similar to how they looked when she first met them, wolfwoods hair is just a little longer like I imagine it being towards the end of Trimax and is very windswept, from their short first meeting in the original Trigun manga run I always got the impression she thought he looked very cool lol, she was staring up at him like ://0 the whole chapter.

I mentioned it before but honestly most of Wolfwood’s Vash is based on how he looked when he turned him over to Knives, not only do I think that moment stuck with him but I feel like it’s a good visual summary of all the mixed feelings he has towards Vash. He’s drawn to him and sees how sad he his but he also sees how inhuman he is and the threat he and knives pose for the people he cares about and prioritizes. At the end of the day Wolfwood chose the orphans over Vash twice and never went back on that, and a big part of why he broke Vash our of Knives prison was just so he could go fight Knives to the death for humanity’s sake, and I think that’s important to his character and their relationship.

Similarly, Meryl’s Vash is really just final arc Vash. She’d already developed a very strong impression of him before then but they would go weeks to even years without seeing each other and each time the way he looked and the way she felt about him would change drastically, it seemed to me like it wasn’t till she was on the ship advocating for him and the people living on gunsmoke that she knew how she felt about him and what kind of person she saw him to be. It was also a huge moment for her character wise with the way she faced her fears in the name of human connection and made the active choice to not be as apathetic and closed off as she realized she had been in the early manga.

I think Milly’s first impression of Vash was strong and accurate enough to not change much, this nice guy is Vash the Stampede and there is definitely something weird about him.

I don’t know why Wolfwood doesn’t know what Meryl’s hair looks like, what’s wrong with that guy? In general his version of Meryl is very inaccurate now that I’m looking at it, I promise he likes her

+small details that are my personal headcanon and not the characters interpretations are Meryl and Wolfwoods hair being a bit more curly/textured than canon, Milly’s eyes being green, and Meryl’s earrings being silver (gold earrings with a white black and blue outfit and silver guns?? C’mon girl accessorize properly)

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kacievvbbbb · 6 months ago

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Mihawk is such a capricious dude, oh my god. The only dude you know who is always itching for a fight but only ever a specific kind of fight so he goes out of his way to take the path of least resistance for everything else.

Like he would rather leave than fight Don krieg, Sail away than decimate the marines, live in peace instead of challenging the other emperors for the one piece. And when they do he’d rather follow buggy’s idea of just being smarter about how they go about it instead of brute forcing it like the rest. He is constantly leaving fights but then a swordsman of mild repute and an interesting technique engages him in a battle and suddenly you have his whole attention. Like with vista it was obvious that he could have just cleared him like he did everyone else but he’d never seen the flower sword techinque and by god was he going to miss this chance. And so he engages him in what is essentially a spare.

Because Mans isn’t looking for a fight, instead, like a middle aged director of a short indie film, he’s chasing a feeling.

He wants to feel like his 19 year old self did when he was strong but there were people stronger. When there were still obstacles to overcome limits to exceed. When the world was large and exciting and he wasn’t just waiting for it to catch up with him. When he could look at Shanks as the person he is instead of the person he could have been.

He wants to look at Shanks and not see visions of a grinning red haired boy with 2 arms and a strawhat laughing in the dirt and asking for “just one more round Hawky I swear I’ll beat you this time”

But there is nowhere Mihawk can run that that boy won’t haunt him.

#ladies and gentlemen this is what we in the business call; suffering from success #what a cruel cruel capricious man #he’s more than a little excited when a certain green haired boy barges in and starts shaking shit up #suddenly he can lay that red haired boy to sleep and face Shanks as the man he is #Mihawk really isn’t concerned with anything not about swordsmanship #except your interesting or powerful enough like Luffy or whitebeard #he’s such a child I hate him 😭.#because dude will tals such a serious game about not letting foxy get away and then let Vista distract him #like my guy really can’t do anything else but let cool swordsmanship enchant him #Mihawk at heart is just a short indie film director #love him #mishanks #throwing thoughts to the void #one piece #dracule mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #op #akagami no shanks #red haired shanks #shanks #akataka #opla #mihawk x shanks

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avianyuh · 4 months ago

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Boring | Min Yoongi

{Chapter One} {Chapter Two} {Chapter Three} {Chapter Four} Chapter Five

Summary: Your love life is going great, but you start to feel bad leaving out such an important part of your life from friends. You want to come clean about your relationship, but Yoongi seems hesitant to let anyone know.

Though your relationship with Yoongi was basically all you had ever hoped it’d be (and more), you had one little problem. The two of you had been in a serious relationship for about three months. In that time, you had told only one person, your mother. And though she had seemed excited for you as you spoke over the phone about a month into the relationship, she expressed her concern for you considering you were in a relationship with your boss.

“What if you get in a fight? Or worse, what if you break up? Will you have to find a new job?”, she questioned. And though she had every right to ask you these tough questions, they were simply things that you just didn’t want to think about. But, you had to admit that in the very back of your mind, there were those little doubtful questions that kept you up at night sometimes.

“Mom, I don’t even want to think about that. Even if things didn’t work out, I would hope we’d be in a good enough place where we could just be friends…”, you trailed off as you leaned against the kitchen counter in your apartment. Yoongi was away on a business trip for the week, and even though he offered you his apartment, you declined, preferring your own smaller place. You peered over towards the front entrance of your apartment, looking down at the shoe rack. You stared at Yoongi’s sneakers, neatly tucked in on the rack, sitting next to a pair of your own shoes, specifically a pair of your flats you like to wear to work. Things were good. You were happy, Yoongi was becoming more “tolerable” according to your coworkers and the best part was that no one knew what had caused the switch. The irony was, people kept asking you if you had any ideas as to what caused the change, yet they were looking right at “the cause” the whole time. You always played it off, shrugging your shoulders and taking a sip of your coffee, or scribbling something down on your notepad to avoid discussing it further. You didn’t want to test your luck.

But other than the occasional existential thought provoking sleepless nights, you had another conundrum. Specifically, it was the increasingly difficult task of trying to hide your relationship from your coworkers. Especially your two friends, Gina and Hana, who you used to frequently gossip about Yoongi with. And though you continued to eat lunch with them and go out for the occasional weekend outing with them, when time for small talk came about your lives outside of work, you began to start feeling increasingly guilty about the massive portion of your life you were purposefully leaving out. After all, Gina and Hana were your friends, not just your coworkers. And to be completely honest, you were really itching to tell someone other than your mother about your boyfriend. It was weird, feeling the happiest you’d ever been, yet you couldn’t share it with your friends. Two people you saw five days out of the week, sometimes six.

So one night, after Yoongi came back from his trip, as you were laying in bed, drifting off to sleep in his arms, you decided now would be the best time to breach the subject of soft-launching your relationship with your friends. “Yoongi, you know how I told my Mom about our relationship, right?”, you started as you placed your hand on Yoongi’s bare chest. His arm was wrapped around you as his fingers traced the curve of your waist, his movements went up and down. You had to fight the urge to close your eyes, as he was basically putting you to sleep with how calm he made you feel.

“Mhm”, was all you got in response as Yoongi continued his hand movements. His eyes were closed. You debated if you should even ask, considering the fact that he was seemingly minutes away from falling asleep. But, the other side of you seemed to be telling yourself that it was now or never.

“Um, I won’t be here around 12 tomorrow, I’m going for lunch with Gina and Hana, remember?”, you questioned. Yoongi hummed again, his eyes still closed. “They keep asking about why I’m not around as much on the weekends…I keep wanting to tell them but I know you don’t really want to tell anyone”, you trailed off. You looked over at Yoongi, noticing that his eyes were now fully open.

“What? Do they suspect anything?”, he questioned, slightly sitting up, his grip around your waist becoming a little looser. Your heart started to race a bit. You didn’t want to upset Yoongi. You were still in the honeymoon phase and wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

“No, no, not at all. I just feel kinda bad because I’m sort of lying to them.”, Yoongi furrowed his brows, giving you a confused look.

“How are you lying to them? Have they asked if you’re single?” Yoongi didn’t seem to understand that leaving out something as massive as a new boyfriend could really hurt your friendship with someone.

“Well, they haven’t asked but they’re under the impression that I’m single and I’m obviously not.”, you explained as you gestured with your hand between the two of you. “I just wish I could tell them, they’re people I see almost every day, that’s all…”, you stated, laying on your back as you turned the TV on.

“You know telling people would look really bad. People would think you’re getting special treatment. And I have a board of people who wouldn’t be okay with the CEO dating an employee.”, Yoongi explained.

“They wouldn’t say anything. They’re more than my coworkers.”, you said, a little disappointed. Even though you really wanted to tell your friends about your relationship with Yoongi, you knew that you had to respect Yoongi’s wishes. He did have a point, an office relationship would be a huge problem. When Taehyung found out that you helped Yoongi with the file instead of him, he was pissed at you. If it came out that you guys were dating, he’d definitely say that you got special treatment, which in your defense, wasn’t true because you weren’t dating when you worked with Yoongi.

“Listen”, Yoongi sighed, “If you really want to tell them, then that’s your call…I don’t know them as well as you do.” You tried to conceal your smile as you wrapped your arms around Yoongi’s neck.

“Thank you Yoongi”, you whispered, “But”, you pulled out of the embrace, “Are you sure? I won’t say anything unless we’re both okay with telling people?”You searched Yoongi’s eyes for hesitation. He did look worried, which made you feel conflicted about telling your friends.

“Like I said, it’s your call. If you really think they won’t say anything about our relationship to anyone else in the office, go ahead, I trust you.”, he explained, pulling you on top of him and closing his eyes again. “Now, can we go to sleep?”, he whined.

“So dramatic”, you rolled your eyes, a smile on your face as you got comfortable in your boyfriend's arms. You gave Yoongi a chaste kiss as you rested your head on his chest, almost immediately closing your eyes and feeling relieved. No more hiding.

You were sat across from Gina and Hana the next day at your monthly weekend “brunch”. In a way, you were nervous to tell them, mostly because you had been leaving out the fact that you had a boyfriend the past three months. But also that the said boyfriend is your boss. You played with your food as you pretended to pay attention to Hana’s story about the party she went to last week.

“Oh my god, Y/N, you look like you’re not even paying attention!”, you looked up from your plate to find Gina and Hana both staring at you.

“No, I am, I promise.”, you pleaded. Hana crossed her arms over her chest as she made a disappointed face at you.

“Really? Then who was trying to give me a palm reading in the kitchen?”, you couldn’t believe it, she was giving you a pop quiz. You tried to answer as fast as you could to not raise any more suspicion, so you tried to recall who you remember being mentioned at the party.

“Erica.”, you stated. Gina laughed as Hana groaned in frustration.

“Whatever, I still know you weren’t paying attention.”, she said, taking a sip of her drink.

“Then what was the point in testing me? I got it right”, you grinned at her. As Hana continued to act over dramatic, Gina tapped on your shoulder.

“You know, you have been sort of quiet. Is everything okay?”, she questioned. Concern evident on her features.

“Um, actually, yeah there is something I wanted to tell you guys. But first of all, you can’t tell anyone, okay? This stays between the three of us.”, You explained, sitting up in your seat. Your friends stared at you in confusion as you started to catch them up on everything you had left out the past three months. “So, I have a boyfriend.”, you said. Gina gasped as Hana looked at you in confusion.

“What! When did this happen, you hadn’t mentioned anyone…”, Hana asked as Gina nodded in agreement.

“I know, that’s why when I tell you, you have to understand that this is a pretty unique situation.” you said, giving them a serious look.

“Geez, who are you dating? The president?”Gina questioned.

“No, I’ve been seeing Min Yoongi for the past three months.” There, the bomb was dropped. You watched as their faces went pale. Gina claspedher hand over her mouth, Hana dropped her fork. You, on the other hand, felt a giant wave of relief wash over you. “I know it sounds bad because I didn’t tell you, but he sort of swore me to secrecy. I just had a talk with him yesterday and he agreed with me that it’s okay to tell a few people. The only other person that knows is my Mom since I told her.” you said.

“But, why did you wait so long? Do you not trust us? Three months is a long time to leave something like that out.” Gina said, seemingly hurt by the news.

“Gina, I wanted to tell you, but Yoongi didn’t feel comfortable because you guys work with him. He’s really paranoid that people from the office are going to find out and the news will make its way to the other board members of the company.”, you tried to explain. “I was just trying to respect his wishes.”

“Well, when were you planning on telling us? When you got engaged or something?”, Hana asked, also sounding upset.

“No, guys please, it wasn’t up to me alone. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings…” By now you were starting to get nervous. You didn’t expect them to be so upset, shocked for a few minutes sure, but not genuinely hurt by the news.

“Y/N, we’re not mad, it’s just a long time to go without sharing something so major. Forget that he’s our boss, we just know how hard it was for you to find someone in the first place, so hearing that you’ve been seeing someone is great, we just wish we could’ve known since day one.” Gina said, squeezing your shoulder in reassurance. Hana nodded in agreement. You started to feel better. The last thing you wanted was for your friends to be mad at you over your relationship. “Well…tell us about him. Around us he’s always so quiet and emotionless.” Gina giggled. “Oh wait, can I not say that in front of you anymore? Like, is it offensive now that he’s your boyfriend?” she questioned. You playfully nudged her arm as you laughed.

“No, please don’t censor yourself around me. Trust me, I know what you mean by emotionless. That’s how he usually acts at work, he even admits to that.”

“Oh okay, so anyways, what’s he like when you're not at work?” Gina asked as you contemplated what to say to your friends. See, certain details about your relationship, you wanted to keep private.

“He’s actually really funny. He makes me laugh, which I think you guys would find surprising. Oh, and he loves basketball and he plays piano. He’s really talented. But, he was a little closed off at first, but now he can get really clingy”, you giggled as you thought back to just this morning when you tried to leave Yoongi’s apartment. He blocked the door and kept saying, “One more kiss”, which turned into maybe 100 kisses before he actually let you leave.

“Interesting”, Hana said as she waved her hand in a ‘Go on’, type of motion.

“He’s very romantic. He told me he was committed to me completely.” you said as they both made surprised faces.

“Sounds serious,” Gina stated. You nodded as you tried to hide the growing smile on your face. “Realistically, what would happen if you did make your relationship public? Would he get in trouble?” Gina questioned.

“I think the rest of the board would try to make him look bad. Basically try to say that he’s unprofessional for having a relationship with someone in the company. You know he’s the youngest CEO the company’s even had. He told me that a lot of the other board members don’t like that about him.

“Aren’t you afraid that other people would say you have special treatment?”, Hana asked, now looking concerned.

“Yeah, but I’d be more concerned if the board went over Yoongi’s head and got me fired. That would be way worse.” you responded nervously.

“Um, not worse, that would be illegal for them to do unless it’s in your work contract. They, along with anyone else with an unwanted opinion would just have to get used to the fact that the CEO has a girlfriend in the company.” Gina snapped, which made you raise your eyebrows in surprise at how worked up she was. Gina had always been protective over you. “If you do get fired, I’m quitting too.” she finished. You both looked at Hana, waiting for her response.

“I love you guys, but good luck on your job search. I on the other hand, like money so I’d probably stay.”, Gina swatted at Hana, and you laughed as all three of you moved on to a different subject. You feeling relieved but at the same time, trying to ignore the fears of your relationship being outed from creeping to the forefront of your mind.

#bts #suga #min yoongi #suga x reader #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts writing #yoongi fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfic

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enhaheeseung · 11 months ago

Text

Here to stay - L. Heeseung

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader!

Warning: mentions of sex, angst, heartbreak, fluff, crying.

Genre: fuck buddies, smut, mdni!

WC: 2,881k maybe a little more

Continuation of “Come & Go”

It's been one month since heeseung blocked you.

One whole month.

It was weird not hearing from you. It felt even more weird not getting up at two in the morning to run to your place and pleasure you.

Because he had cut all ties with you, he was sleeping earlier these days, but funny enough. His body was still waking him up at 2 in the morning, the time you'd usually call for him.

He felt pathetic cause his body was betraying his willpower to move on from you. Even if he was fighting for his mind to be occupied elsewhere, his heart still ached for you.

He was currently lying in bed, his phone clutched in his hand tightly, thumb itching to unblock your number.

"Fuck” he curses out loud and shuts his phone off, trying his best to respect the deal he made with Jay and ultimately trying to get over you, but it was so damn hard.

After nearly a year of being with you, it felt impossible to forget you. It felt impossible to move on with his life and find someone who would respect and love him for who he is and not just his body.

But fuck if he had to choose between you and true love, he's definitely picking you. Yeah, it hurt to be cast aside after being used by you, but it hurt so good that he'd always go back for more and more until you finally had your way and were done with him.

"Laying in bed all day isn't going to help" Jay opens his bedroom door without even knocking.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that out after the first week." heeseung rolls his eyes and sits up against his bed frame.

"The guys and I are going out. Do you want to come?" Jay fiddles with the lock on the doorknob.

"I'll pass." heeseung runs his fingers through his messy hair, sighing deeply.

"Well, the guys were hoping you could come so…" Jay murmurs.

"I'll make it up to all of you later. I still just need some time," Jay nods in understanding.

"Take your time." Jay slowly backs out of heeseung's room and closes the door silently.

"I just need some time," Heeseung quietly repeats to convince himself that all he needs is time, but even when he says it out loud, something in the pit of his stomach just doesn't feel right.

You sighed as you sat down at your desk at work, completely stressed out of your mind.

You could already tell you were going to have a headache when you got home tonight cause today has been nothing but a shit day.

It's one of those days where, just a month ago, you'd already be planning to call heeseung over so he could work his magic on your body and take all your stress away.

But no, because he blocked you cause he wanted more from you, and when he saw he wasn't getting it, he knew when to walk away.

You hate how you took him for granted. He was a great guy, amazing at sex and even better at cuddling you, and he also wasn't shy about making his like for you known.

You were just a piece of shit that disregarded him as a person with feelings and only saw him for what he could give to you, which was mind-blowing sex.

If you could have a do-over, then you surely would, one where you confessed to him and realized your feelings for him a whole hell of a lot sooner.

But you let your fear of being lied to and cheated on get in the way of your true happiness.

But could you even be blamed? Every man you were with did that to you, hence why you gave up on relationships and only had sexual transactions now.

But even you have to admit that Lee heeseung wasn't like Every Man. unfortunately, it took you too long to figure that out, and now here you are, heartbroken again because you let the past ruin your future. You did your best to stop that from happening and it still wasn't enough.

At least now a great guy like him could find someone who cared about him and loved him the way he deserved instead of someone like you who hid your feelings and was only going to confess after a whole year of practically using his body.

It hurt, but you hope he's happy with someone that's his equal and not a total piece of shit like you.

Who are you kidding?

It's not that simple; you wish it was, but you were going to be feeling this pain for days, if not months. Yeah, it was selfish of you to still want him around even after you played with his feelings for years, but it couldn't be helped.

If only you could have realized that he was worth taking a chance on months ago, maybe he'd be your boyfriend, maybe you'd be living together, maybe you'd be married and planning to have a family and live happily ever after.

The thought brings tears to your eyes, so you push your fairytale ideas to the side, focusing back on work before all your co-workers notice you shedding a few tears.

Another week had gone by, and heeseung felt the same. He knows they say it takes three months to get over someone, but how could he stay away from you that long? It was impossible, and that's why he's sneaking out of his and Jay's shared apartment to go to your place; being away from you was killing him inside. Even if you'd only use his body for sex and kick him out, it was still better than not being able to see or touch you at all.

He arrived some odd minutes later and jogged up the stairs to your building, heart racing in his chest, and he just hoped you wouldn't turn him away. He hopes you still at least just want him for sex. That'd be enough for him. Just knowing that you wanted something from him would be enough. He knows it's pathetic. He knows he deserves better, but he wants you, and he doesn't care if that makes him a loser. All he cares about is you.

The clock had just hit 2 in the morning, and you didn't know why you were holding your phone as if you could call him still, but you were. Maybe it was muscle memory, or maybe it was the only thing holding your emotions in check.

You laughed at yourself pathetically, but deep down, a part of you felt like you deserved this pain, and with that thought, you set your phone aside as the silence crept up on you, and instead of wallowing in self pity you were just going to go to sleep and wait for tomorrow so you could feel all these emotions again just this time it'd be a new time and a new date.

The knock on your door stops you in your tracks on your way to your bedroom you shake your head in disbelief because now you were even hallucinating the familiar sound of his knock.

You continued to walk to your bedroom until you heard it again and again, and there was no way that was just a hallucination, especially when the knocks became more frequent.

Heeseung was relentless outside your door. He wasn't going to stop until you let him in. He's sure you probably saw him outside the peephole by now, and he's not sure if you still even care to answer since he was the one who blocked you but fuck it, he was here now, and he wasn't taking no for an answer he needed you, and he needed you tonight.

He heard a soft click, the same one he always heard when you unlocked the door for him. His knocks came to a halt when he saw a faint light peaking through the crack of your door, and within a second, he stepped inside and slammed the door shut behind him, closing any type of personal space you once had. "Heeseun-" he doesn't even let you speak before he's jumping your bones, hands squeezing your waist as his lips met yours in a rushed kiss.

"Sorry I blocked you," he breathes out against your lips, still holding you tightly so you can't slip through his fingers. "Sorry I stopped coming, sorry I didn't answer," you moan into the kiss, hands strongly gripping his shoulders as you try to grasp what's happening.

You were shocked to see him, but you couldn't comprehend anything before you were making out with him, and right now, nothing else mattered but your lips working in perfect sync with each others.

"It was my friend's idea" he started trailing kisses down your neck, his large veiny hands cupping your tits roughly, causing you to arch your back and press yourself closer to him. "Said I should stop seeing you." he nibbled the skin of your neck as you moaned quietly. "But I couldn't. No matter how much you use me, I still want you," he whispers in your ear, his hot breath leaving a tingle running down your spine.

"Wait," you tell him breathlessly and push his shoulders, creating some distance between the two of you.

"Can't." he steps closer, lips pressing roughly against yours until you push him back again. "Please, I'll do anything. Please, just don't kick me out," he begs in a whiny voice. "I don't care if you only want me for sex. As long as you want me, that's enough."

"Heeseu-" he leans into you, his voice wobbly as he says the words he's been wanting to say for what feels like forever.

"I love you." he presses his face against your neck, inhaling your scent as his arms naturally wrap around you.

You hear him sniffle softly, and your heart breaks because none of what he was saying was how you felt, maybe in the very beginning, but definitely not now. "Hey," you cup his cheeks, making him look up at you, his watery eyes boring into your own. "I don't just want you for sex, okay, you're so much more than that, and I can't believe I'm saying this cause I never thought I'd utter the words again but fuck heeseung, I love you too. I love you so much," you whisper, hands running along his neck soothingly.

That's it. Lee heeseung had finally broken all your walls and infiltrated your heart. You thought they were impenetrable, but it turns out all you needed was someone who actually truly cared about you and not someone who was just using you for their own satisfaction.

He looks back and forth between your eyes, obviously confused by your words, and you laugh lightly because of his cute expression. "You don't have to say that just because I di-" You shut him up with one long-awaited meaningful kiss.

He was beyond happy to hear you saying those words to him, but this couldn't be real, could it? He must still be back at his apartment, dreaming of this moment that he had dreamt of a million times.

But your next words proved otherwise. "I know it's sudden, baby, I know, but I love you," You peck his cute pouted lips. "I just couldn't bring myself to tell you how I truly felt. I've been hurt so many times in the past, and I was just scared to move on with you, but I should have seen you were different from the start. I should have never strung you along and played with your feelings. I'm so sorry for everything, and I'm just so happy you're here now, and I can tell you how much you mean to me. You're so perfect, Lee Heeseung," you told him sincerely while stroking his soft cheek with your thumb, eyes full of nothing but love. "And I would be the luckiest girl on the planet to have all your love, and if you're willing to give me another chance, I want to give that same love back to you."

He's grinning from ear to ear, elated by the three words you just confessed to him.

He expected this to go so much differently than it has, but he wouldn't want it any other way. He can't believe you loved him back, like you actually felt the same way for him as he felt about you, and that was absolutely mind-blowing. And now that he thinks about it, he needs to have more than just a few words with Jay, but that could wait till later. Right now, he's gonna enjoy this surreal moment with you, the love of his life.

"Can you say all that again? You lost me at I love you," he chuckles, squeezing you in his arms tightly.

You giggle while nodding and repeating every single thing you said, and he listens very, very intently, his eyes sparkling as he looks at you with so much love.

"So maybe you can prove it to me in your room on your bed. How does that sound?" He scrunched his face up, laughing softly as you nodded your head shyly. "Yeah?" He grins.

"Yeah, I'll prove that and so much more, my love," you whisper seductively, and he visibly goes red, causing you to bite down on your lip to hold back your smile, and you can't help but think he looks so good all shy like that.

How did you ever get so lucky for him to give you another chance?

"God, I'm so happy," he sighs dreamily, staring at you with nothing but pure love in his eyes, and you felt so full knowing that he cared about you so much and was never shy to express it.

He picks you up in his arms, carrying you to bed. "I love you." he pecks the tip of your pretty nose, laying you down gently on your bed and hovering above you. "So much," he adds while leaning down and connecting your lips with his.

"I love you more." You smile so hard your cheeks start to hurt. "And for the record, you make me happier."

"Hey!" He whines cutely. "You make me the most happy."

And who were you to argue with that? Especially when his soft pink lips were colliding so perfectly with yours.

It was the morning after you and heeseung were lying down in bed together, his arm around you while your head rested on his bare chest. "Morning," you whisper, looking out the window and tickling his chest with your fingertips.

"Hmm, morning lovely," he chuckles and wraps his other arm around you. "Love you," he says with his raspy morning voice.

"Love you too." You kissed his chest all over, hearing him giggle from below you.

It's funny how it had been years since you said those words to a love interest, but with him, it just came so naturally, like you had been saying it for years.

"I gotta make it up to you, hee," you pout, tracing the faint line between his pecs.

"No baby, this is enough. Just you and me here now is all that matters," he assures you, but that's not good enough. He deserves the world.

"I know, but I want to do something for you," you tell him seriously.

"You don't take no for an answer, hmm?" He smiles.

"Not this time," you say matter-of-factly.

"Tell me what you want to do for me, baby. You were already amazing last night; I don't know what more I could ask for." You blush, hearing his words and feeling little butterflies erupt in your stomach. No one has ever talked to you as sweetly as he has. "Plus, you told me your side, and I understand it's hard, but I promise you I'll treat you right love, be the man you deserve."

"Oh, hee." You looked up at him, and your eyes started to water.

"It's only what you deserve" he taps your nose, making you smile, and now you want to give this man the whole world.

"That's it get ready," you tell him and hop off the bed. You were going to take him anywhere he wanted, buy him whatever he wanted, wine, and dine him the whole nine yards. Whatever he wanted, it was his, no questions asked.

"Okay, baby, but first, come take a picture with me so I can send it to Jay." You hop back in bed and take a cute picture of you both hiding under the sheets, with only your eye smile showing he sent it. Caption it: my girlfriend and me.

"Girlfriend?" You ask him.

"Don't act surprised. You know it was coming sooner or later," he laughs.

"Boyfriend!" You cheer after a few moments of letting this set in and tackle him in the biggest hug ever.

"I like the sound of that. Say it again, baby." you both smile, looking at each other completely lovestruck.

Heartbreak comes and goes, but this love is here to stay.

[END]

Thanks so much for reading! Please leave feedback. I love you all and hope you enjoyed it since everyone was asking for a lot.2 lol🖤

Anyone who wants to be on the perm tag list or regular just lmk cause I keep forgetting.

#enhypen heeseung #enhypen #heeseung #lee heeseung #enha heeseung #engene #heeseung smut #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen lee heeseung smut #lee heeseung angst #lee heeseung smut #heeseung angst #heeseung fic #heeseung fluff #heeseung x reader #heeseung fanfic

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