#the one night stand

[shotmrmiller]

lowkey thinking of one of your friends sliding in the barstool right next to you and saying, "i wouldn't fuck him if i were you." she's not the envious type so it doesn't make sense. why not?

"i know his kind. one night of stomach cramping fun and you're stuck with him like gum tangled in your hair. impossible to rid. just now, you'd given a friendly ㅤsmile to his pal on the right and his eyes had burned. that screams danger."

possessive, she'd said. obsessive, if he's crazy. (and he looks it, babes.)

you didn't think that riding him in the front seat of his truck would've led to you the way you are now, achy cunt, mottled neck, dinner plate sized hand soothing the tender skin of your thigh that he'd left raw because of the stubble on his jaw, the other palming at his erection.

again. as if your sore pussy can take any more of this assault. he hasn't left since he got here a week ago. on vacation, he'd muttered as he pushed a spit-slick finger into you, up to the knuckle.

should've listened to your elders :(

[shatteredstarsart]

Tw: suggestive reference

[chloesimaginationthings]

The death of Vanessa and the birth of Vanny in FNAF

(Inspired by this art by Yuto Sano)

[angel-in-your-basement]

Just a reminder that aftercare can mean the difference between someone feeling safe, satisfied and sexy after a scene, and feeling shamed, gross and at worst, traumatized. Sex is a vulnerable thing for everyone, and no matter how casual, people deserve respect before, during and after. Dom or sub, kinky or not, take good care of your partners! The emotions are more important than the sex.

[strawlessandbraless]

Godstiel but he was crazy horny and obsessed with Dean. Going around preaching the good word of Dean and reading from the Winchester Gospel (supernatural books). He’d put Dean Winchester on all the stained glass windows and replace Jesus on the Crucifix with Dean on the Rack.

[inkskinned]

the problem is that being single is seen as the consolidation prize, and not the natural neutral state of being-a-person. at the end of the movie or the book or the poetry, there is a person waiting for you at the altar, and they love you. if the play is a comedy, everyone gets married. the metaphor is about how you are not-whole. the metaphor is about how everyone is going to be happily-ever-after. the metaphor is that romantic love is the most important resource on the planet, not just all-love. all-love is not a thing, that is a disappointment. the treasure is not the friends we made along the way. the treasure is the girl you landed.

the metaphor is that you cannot be alone, that means you are broken. are you getting over someone? that is acceptable, you can be getting over someone, but not for long. you must be single because you would rather not be single. you must be single and looking to not-be-single. you must want to date, eventually.

friendship and community are never seen as being equal-to or even-better than romantic connection. that person is your one! you need to find them. you need to hunt through the sand particles until you can shift out some kind of gem. this is regardless to your own experience of the beach and the sun. you need to be somewhere with someone.

if you are taking this time alone to heal, that is so sad. everyone gives you this little pitying look. the understanding is that you are not actually happier than you were before you were single. it is seen as a sort of pity - oh, you are choosing yourself, making yourself the priority? - that isn't quite right. you must mean that you are making yourself ready for the right person. you are just laying the bed better this time. open up your heart. you'll find them, we promise!

what do you mean you're really-truly genuinely-very happy? you are probably misremembering what it was like to be in a relationship. and besides, once you meet your person, that time will look grey and bland and wasted. your person is the only way for you to see in color. so what if you have taken this time - for the first time in your entire life - to actually-for-real do the fucking work. you can be proud of yourself, sure. but the way we need to know that you got better is that you get a partner. you're healed enough for the next bad part!

people don't choose to be single, they just say they're choosing to be single - they actually mean "nobody wants to date me." it doesn't matter how many people you have gently rejected or how many times you've talked it over carefully in therapy. what matters is that you are single, and by all accounts - that means you are something worth our pity. your successes and life all seem pale in the sunlight. sure, you have done amazing things and finally found your way in life. what matters is that there wasn't a person in the room with you while you did it.

you want to tell them - that's the whole thing. i didn't know how to be alone in the room. i didn't know how to handle the silence. every moment was so sharp, and i kept choosing the wrong way to close the door. i have spent my entire life in the empty well, living in the ricochet of someone else's cruelty. for once i have built myself a ladder. for once everything i taste is all mine, every bite of sunshine and laughter. i have learned how to sleep out in the open with my memories. recently, they have started to purr.

your father rolls his eyes. listen. this isn't about you. i just want a grandchild in my future.

[emthimofnight]

I imagine Sonic and Shadow have an ongoing situationship unbeknownst to their friends for a WHILE before they kind of end up living together after Shadow lets Sonic stay over one night and he just. never really leaves LOLLL

[everwalldigan]

Random reporter: Mr Wayne, do you think men can get pregnant?

Bruce: uh, I am.

Reporter: *laughs* you are?

Bruce, offended: how about a congratulations instead of laughing at me?

Reporter, starting to get flustered: oh, um congratulations, I’m sorry… so how far along are you?

Bruce: two weeks.

Reporter: oh, uh… how did you know you were pregnant after two weeks?

Bruce: my stomach was growling more than usual, plus me and him had sex so that’s probably where it came from…*points towards Clark across the room*

Reporter: did you take a pregnancy test?

Bruce: uh, no?

Reporter: then how do you know for sure?

Bruce, smiling condescendingly: because I have a kid, I know how it feels like and it was like this. Where did you think Dick came from?

Reporter: But you took him in after his—

Bruce, putting his hand on the reporters shoulder, concerned: There are pictures everywhere of the day of his birth. Are you feeling well? You look a little pale, maybe you should take an early night…

[willowed-wisp]

a one night stand with simon riley would look like… [ ghost ]

It started after a round of karaoke at the local pub… he couldn’t take his eyes off your ample figure; grooving around the impromptu stage with a double vodka shot in hand spilling drops and flooding your bare chest. There’s one thing for sure with Simon Riley, when he sees something he wants- he’s gonna fucking get it.

It all happened so fast- a flash of cheap disco lights and shots. Heated kisses and pained bites onto your neck as the night drew out. You hadn’t gotten a name, but the entire night you’d call out for god.

Split in half on him. Back arched and head thrown back, circlets from his nails digging in. You didn’t know what the bruises would look like in the morning. So caught up in that high you flew on. The large man reared onto his elbows, hugging you close- pulling every string attached keeping you upright.

Now you laid tits against his sturdy, built up frame. Hand stroked through your hair- crashing your face against his in a whirlwind kiss. You screamed into it as he pounded upwards into you, his hands moving round to pin your hands behind your back.

Eyes rolling back, body shuddering- you felt that spasm around his thick cock. Moaning into the quiet night air.

That next morning- you woke up not in your bed. The memories faded back into reality. Feeling his touch, looking down covered in large fingerprints. Ache between your abused pussy and the dark gaze of the lover whose bed you found yourself in.

That’s only when you realised the potter patters of a shower head- looking to your right. Light on.

Scrounging to find your clothes trying to come to terms with the aching in your lower abdomen. That may have been the best sex you’d ever had. But you couldn’t stay… you shouldn’t stay. You’d never stayed, you can’t stay after a one night…

Down the stairs, there was a whistle. You focused upwards- you had only remembered what his body felt like but looking at it then and there… you knew you were absolutely fucked. Scars and tattoos… an expressionless and unreadable face. Absolutely fucked.

Pinned to the carpeted staircase- sweet friction grating against your ass. Clinging to him. You laid there, fucked out and incoherent. “I still have no idea what your name is…” His fingers rubbed your sore folds, grinning against your shoulder.

Calculated eyes behind pale lashes, “It’s Simon. Keep a note of my last name, love.”

“What is it?”

“Riley.”

Your hand tracked across the scar on his jaw and swirled the tattoos on his arm. “Why’s it so important, Simon?” Hearing his name come from your lips was like a fucking prayer he’s actually listen to.

“‘Cause you’re goin’ to ‘ave it one day…”

And somehow you were completely fine with that.

————

masterlist

[jaradraws]

playing bg3 and uhmmm. zevlor

❗NOTICE: this user has NOT completed the game. do NOT spoil this for them ❗

[ghostly-wisp]

The One-night Stand, chapter 2

navigation | series masterlist | chapter 1 | chapter 3

The atmosphere at work was awkward, everyone could sense it–including Tommy, and being the nosy little brother he was, he so desperately wanted to know why the tension was so high. He would notice the way he would avoid looking at you, how you’d suck in your breath whenever he went up to you for something. He didn’t understand, and Joel would avoid his questions. 

So, he corners him, after Sarah gets up to put her dish in the sink and goes to wash her hands, Tommy leans over the table a bit to bring himself closer to his older brother. “So, what's your problem with Y/N?” and for a moment, Tommy enjoys watching how pale Joel’s face gets under the spotlight, “Nothing. There's no problem.” he lies, there's a big problem. Though he doesn’t want to admit to it while his daughter is in the next room, and he knows Tommy would make a big deal out of it. Joel was a good liar, but Tommy knew his tells–like how he would itch his wrist and wet his lips. Small things you pick up when you grow up with someone. “Bullshit.”

It takes Tommy a little longer than he cares to admit, that he didn't connect how he spent the night at someone else's house, comes into work late, and acts weird about the new girl—he was sure it wasn't a fight, or previous conflict, because chances are, if it was, Tommy would've heard about it already. Not this secretive shit Joel was doing, so it finally hits him. "You slept with her, didn't you!?" This got him the reaction he anticipated, Joel nearly drops his fork, and his eyes focus on Sarah, who isn't as far away as Tommy thinks she is. Still, she seems preoccupied with whatever music she had playing through her headphones, thank God, because otherwise, Joel wouldn't know what to say or do.

"Can we talk about this later?" He whispers, eyes going between both people in the room, Tommy got the message — crossed his arms, smirking triumphantly leaning in his chair, he's so proud that he finally guessed it that he didn't even notice Joel mumbling "Bitch" to him.

It wasn't until Sarah had gone to bed a few hours later, Tommy normally went home an hour after they had dinner, but today he stayed up extra late just to patronize his older brother. Joel had tucked Sarah in and grabbed each of them a beer before taking a seat on the couch. Tommy wastes no time, it's very clear he had been waiting for this moment. 

“So, you slept with the secretary.” He says as if he's almost proud, “Was she your one night of passion that caused you to be late?” Joel doesn't respond right away; he opens his beer and takes a sip first before he says anything. "We were drunk, met her at the bar. I went out with a friend since Sarah was at her friend's house." Tommy's now leaning closer, literally on the edge of his seat, he wants to know every detail his brother is willing to give—which wasn't a lot. "I didn't know she was our secretary until this morning. You know, when I saw her."

Tommy nods, sipping his beer. "Right, so now it's really weird between the two of you, is this going to be a problem?" Joel shakes his head, "No, I don't think so."

Oh, but it was. 

Most days, he couldn't even make eye contact with you. God forbid if he accidentally touched your hand, even the slightest brush while giving you some paperwork – you would think your skin burned him. 

It gets tiring after a while, well, to everyone except Tommy. Who finds this hysterical. You’re always just about to say something, but then something inside you stops you, and he retreats back to his office. Tommys desk is just across from his, and he always manages to get a snide remark at his older brother every chance he gets. “Smooth.” he says, he doesn’t realize just how loud he said it, he doesn’t realize that you heard it. You snap. 

You stand from your desk, and head to the room behind you – leaning against the doorframe, “Mr. Miller,” you say, but realize that will get you the attention of both your bosses, so you clarify, “Joel. Can I talk to you?”  you can’t miss the way Tommy smirks at his brother, he's on your last nerve at the moment – and frankly you’re tired of it, even if you’re not directly getting teased. Joel's face reddens slightly as he coughs, turning to his younger brother. “Tommy, do you mind?” he says, Tommys face drops from his smug expression to pout. “Why should I leave?” 

“Tommy.” “Fine, fine!” Without that, Tommy leaves the room. Closing the door behind him leaving the two of you in the room alone, the air is thick, and you wished that there was a window to open. You feel like you’re suffocating as his eyes bore into you, watching your every nervous habit. “Hi,” you say after a moment, Joel sits back in his chair. Hes painfully aware that Tommy is likely sitting on the other side of the door. “Y/N we’re at work, we don’t have time for this–” your face contorts, “Yes, I know but I can’t sit around and let the work environment stay like this.” you argue, crossing your arms and moving to stand over his desk, causing him to look up at you, which was definitely different than the last time one of you was over the other—never mind that. 

Joel is silent, he's waiting for you to say something, this conversation was entirely not work appropriate, and he could reprimand you for this, but where else would he talk to you about this? A bar? Thats how you got here in the first place. So, he lets you stutter as you try figuring out exactly it is you want to say, “Look, I’m fine with pretending that–what we did–never happened, but I can’t have you avoiding me at every glance. You and I both participated in that, you know.” 

He crosses his arms as he looks at you, he nods, to show that he's listening or agreeing, but still, he remains silent. “I’m just saying, I don’t want to avoid looking at you and snap my hand away from you every time you hand me papers, n’ I don’t like how much Tommy knows, either.” Joel groans, but the smile on his face keeps you from being angered. “I know, I tell him to stop but he thinks it’s all playful.” 

You laugh, and its sweet. He enjoys hearing you laugh, though he regains consciousness on how serious this conversation is. “I’ll talk to him, I’ll get it through his thick skull one way or another, as for the awkwardness, I’ll try to get over it.” You nod, satisfied with his answer. “Thank you.” Thats how you left it, shuffling out of the office where Tommy was prepped against the wall just beside the door. 

He walks back into the room to find Joel trying to get another glance at you, he never realized just how strong of a personality, how passionate you could be. Though it's not like you did much talking–Tommy smirks, “Man, you can’t stop–”

“Shut up.”

When Joel gets home, Sarah has already made herself dinner and finished her homework. “I’m home!” he calls as he locks the front door, going up the couple of steps in his entryway to see his daughter watching television. “How was work?” she asks, “How was that girl Tommy told me about?”

“He told you about Y/N? What did he say?” he asks, shaking his jacket off and sitting beside his daughter on the couch, she cozies up next to him, and he places an art around her. She only slightly shrugs, to her, the details are unimportant. “Just that you like her, is all.” 

“I don’t like her,” he says with a confidence, but he feels this pit in his stomach, as if he's lying. He can’t be, he barely knows you. “I barely know her; you know how Tommy gets.” 

“I don’t know, it would be kind of nice.” she replies, “The idea of seeing you with someone, it would be nice to see you happy again.” The last time Sarah had even seen her father with a woman, was her mother. That was a long time ago now, that she barely even remembers what it was like. “You’re too smart for your own good, Sarah.” She only laughs in response, but she was serious in what she said, she hopes he knows that–deep down, she thinks that he does. Maybe it’s not with you, but if it's with someone. 

He kind of hopes its you.

[eraenaa]

But Daddy, I Love Him

Aemond Targaryen x Niece Reader Tag List

Synopsis: When the favored daughter of Daemon Targaryen falls for the favored son of Alicent Hightower, the Rogue Prince does everything he can to ensure that a union between the two of you will never happen. 

Warnings: Not Proofread, ¿Softer Aemond and Daemon?, No Smut

Word Count: 5,019

It could no longer be denied nor be overlooked. It was growing painfully obvious to the court that the only daughter of Princess Rhaenyra has had her head turned by the second son of Queen Alicent. Everyone believed that the only thing the second-borns of the Princess and the Queen would share was animosity. Still, the return of Princess Rhaenyra and her kin to the capitol brought something different— something entirely unexpected. It started with stolen glances around the tilt yard and the halls of the red keep. Stolen glances lingered throughout dinner and the trial. Meeting in the library by chance turned into secret rendezvous. Banter and teases blended into meaningful conversations. Animosity turned to affection. Loathing bloomed into love. A love that cannot be.

“You look lovely, today, niece,” Aemond complimented as he caught you in the gardens. The prince relished the sweet blush that spread through your cheeks. “Shh, you might be heard,” You whispered in concern as your brothers were only seated a few leagues away. He hummed and dared to twirl your silky, curly hair into his fingers. “Shall you join me for a ride today, uncle?” You asked and took a flower into your delicate hands. You turned to the silver prince, who had a small, rare smile as he peered down at you. You boldly placed the plucked flower into the upper pocket of his tunic. “If you wish,” He answered, making you bite your lip as he stepped closer. “To the dragon pits then?” You asked, and Aemond offered his arm for you to take, and you gladly did. 

Prince Daemon stood above the gardens and watched the scene with a sneer. He had been stewing in rage, fear, and uncertainty for the past few weeks. You could no longer be reasoned with. In his eyes, you could never do no wrong. You had never done anything wrong— his favorite daughter was perfect. But apparently, your return to the capitol had caused you to make a lapse in judgment. Trusting a Hightower spawn was a great mistake on your part. You, his smart and sweet daughter, have been corrupted and manipulated by the one-eyed bastard of a son of the bitch that had the title queen. It pained the Rogue prince, but he had to take extreme measures to ensure that you would never be bound and be played by a Hightower spawn. 

You rode the skies next to your uncle. A wide smile on your lips and laughs, leaving your tongue as he playfully chased you through the clouds. His Vhagar may be the largest dragon there is, but she is also the oldest. Whilst your dragon had the quickness and agility of youth. “You’ll have to try harder than that, uncle!” You yelled in glee as you heard his frustrated groan when he lost you through a cloud. “I will catch you, little niece— and you shall give me my prize when I do,” He answered back, and you laughed in glee as your dragon rode through a cloud, making your stomach flip. “That is if you shall succeed!” You yelled before urging your dragon to fly faster and further from the prince. 

The afternoon sun started to fade, bathing the two of you in the orange hue of the setting sun, and it was then that Aemond finally caught up to you. When you landed by the pits, you were quickly grabbed by the waist. Entrapped in the arms of an uncle you used to loathe. “I demand my prize, little niece,” He murmured by your ear. You feel your heart stutter, and at the same time, you feel conscious as the two of you may be caught. “I demand my kiss, princess,” he said, and you feel your breathing shallowed by his words and the sound of footsteps approaching. You two were luckily hidden behind the body of your beloved dragon. “Tonight, meet me in the library and you shall have my kiss, my prince,” You said and reluctantly urged him to let go of his hold of you. 

When the two of you turned to the reason for the footsteps, your brows furrowed as you were both met with a gold cloak. “Can we help you, Ser?” you asked as Aemond cautiously assessed the trusted man of your father; stepping in front of you as if the knight would harm you. “Princess, I was sent by your father to escort you back into the keep.” He bowed and answered, but that did not aid your confusion. “It’s fine; I shall ride back to the keep with my uncle,” You answered, but the knight insisted that he had a direct order from the Rogue Prince that you shall return to the Red Keep under his supervision. “Just go; I shall ride behind you,” Aemond finally spoke after a moment, guiding you to the wheelhouse and glaring at the knight who interrupted the supposed private moment between the two of you. 

When inside the castle walls, you were greeted by your father and eldest brother as you disembarked the wheelhouse. “I see you have met Ser Adam,” Your father remarked at the knight who helped you step out of the carriage. “He shall be your sworn protector,” Prince Daemon added, his gaze turning to a prince who greatly reminded him of himself during his youth riding, following closely behind you. “Sworn protector? I— I do not believe there is a need fo—“ Your father cut you off, taking your arm and stirring you further from the one-eyed prince who dared to step closer to you after he had disembarked his horse. “You are the only daughter of the heir to the throne— of course, you need protecting. Ser Adam shall be constantly by your side, and he shall report back to me and your mother for any potential threat that arises.” You looked back, confused, locking eyes with Aemond, who had his jaw clenched as he conversed with your brother. 

“So I take it that my sister and brothers have their own sworn protectors as well?” You asked, feeling that you were singled out by your father’s sudden paranoia about your safety. “They too shall have one… in time,” He mumbled the last part, making your head snap up at him. “But in the meantime, Ser Adam shall oversee your ventures and activities. No more venturing out in the halls in the dead of the night alone. He shall be there by your side if any danger arises while you are in the dim walls of the library,” Your lips part as you realize that the knight was placed as a buffer, a wall between you and Aemond. You bit your tongue and made no further comment about the matter for now. 

When dinner came, you were excited because it meant that you would be in the presence of Aemond once more, enveloped in quiet conversation with the prince who sat by your left. But a frown adorned your pretty face once more as your seat beside Aemond was removed and instead placed cramped between Aegon and your elder brother. You hear Aemond’s familiar footsteps approaching; you turn to him as your brother guides you to your new place. Aemond knew exactly what they were doing. His jaw tightened as they had been keeping you from him. He knew he should have been cautious with his affection when out in public, knowing it would not be received well. But how could he restrain himself? How could he control himself when you are near? 

Throughout dinner, the two of you were silent, missing, and already longing to be by each other’s side once again. The prince’s face was filled with annoyance, his lips in a thin line. You held a look of solemnity, and a pout adorned your plush pink lips. Daemon turned to Jacaerys, the two of them satisfied with their tactics in keeping you and Aemond out of each other’s company. 

After dinner, you hear your newly assigned knight trail behind you as you walk the path toward the library. You sighed as you heard the clank of his armor. “You can stay by the door, Ser Adam,” You say as you approach the silent room, Aemond already waiting for you in your favorite spot. “I am afraid that I cannot abide by your orders, princess,” He said, and you bit your tongue; you could not let out your frustrations upon him as he was only ordered by your father. You took your seat across from Aemond; the prince eyed the knight who stood behind your chair. 

“What is he doing here?” Aemond asked in ancient tongue, annoyance seeping through his tone. “My father has instructed him to follow me wherever I go… instructed him to report back all of my ventures,” You answered and played with the embroidery of your fine dress as your pals for the night with Aemond were now ruined. “They are keeping you from me,” Aemond gritted, his hand clenching in anger. “And why should they do that?” You asked with a tilt of your head, moving to take hold of his hand, but the knight behind you cleared his throat as if a warning. You sighed and licked your lips and clamped your hands in front of you. “Because they are scared— threatened that…” Aemond caught himself before he uttered the deep truth he had realized just a week after you had returned. “That what?” You asked in common tongue. Aemond sighed and shook his head, but there was a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “That I would burn for you, little light. That we are dragons that need to be bound by blood.” 

You, being the watchful eyes of your sworn protector, did not last long. Aemond had commissioned some of the guards to pick a fight with your knight, and it left him bloody, bruised, and bedridden. Buying the two of you a small amount of freedom in each other’s presence before your father could find a replacement. 

The two of you were in the godswood, hidden behind the white, ashy trunk of the Weirwood tree, away from anyone’s view. Aemond laid his head on your lap as you read a book written in the language of your house, him listening intently to your honey voice as it read fluent Valyrian. “You still have not given me my prize,” The prince suddenly said as you paused from reading. You turned to him, gazing down at the serenity on his handsome face as he lay on your lap.  One of your hands intertwined with his and resting atop his chest. “What?” You asked, feeling your stomach flip at the intensity in his eye. “You still have not given me my kiss,” Aemond said, voice growing deeper and more serious. 

You tried to laugh it off, moving your intertwined hands to your lips and kissing the back of his hand. “There,” you say, but Aemond sat up from his position. “That is not the kiss we discussed, princess,” He whispered, face inching forward to yours. You feel his cold hand on the apex of your neck and shoulder, pulling you in and sending gooseflesh to rise all over your skin. “Just one kiss,” You whispered as his lips were so close to yours, his scent of cedar wood, mint, and leather so intoxicating. “We’ll see,” he said and smashed your lips. Your heart stuttered for a moment, feeling his warm, soft, wine-tasting lips upon yours. It was supposed to be only a chaste kiss, you knew you should pull away, but as Aemond placed his hand on your waist and pulled you close, you knew you did not have the strength nor want to do so. 

Unbeknownst to you, your secret actions with your uncle were caught by your eldest brother, who did not hesitate to run to your mother’s husband to report the scene. On how yours and Aemond’s lips danced, on how you grinned at each other as you acted to catch your breath, gazing at each other love-struck. On how your kiss under the scarlet leaves of the ancient tree had only solidified your emotions and deepened your desires for each other.

You were soon called to your mother’s chambers later that afternoon. “No, please! Please, you cannot do this to me— why… why would you marry me to him?” You cried to your mother as they announced that you were to be sent to the North as a bride for its warden. It was the extreme measure your father had to take to keep you away from Aemond. Sequestering you into the frigid wasteland just so a one-eyed dragon would not lay more of its claim on you. “You had promised me I was free to choose whom I shall marry!” You cried in front of them, knowing your tears had always been your trusted weapon to bend them to your will. “I’m sorry, my love… but, the crown needs allies… a union with Lord Stark is vital.” You shook your head, “The North is already sworn to you! You need not promise me to their lord,” You countered. “It was a decision your father believed had to be made, and it is to—“

Your mother’s words faded out, and you could only focus on how it was your father’s orders to offer you to a lord you had not even met. His cruel way of keeping you from Aemond. “My father is dead,” You suddenly gritted out, silencing your mother in shock as you said the bitter words. Though you were a product of Ser Harwin Strong, and the kingdom was made to believe that your paternity came from the line of Ser Laenor— neither of those men were fathers to you. Not like Daemon was. It stung you to say such words, but you were overly hurt that he had made such a decision just to keep you from the prince you loved. 

“My father is dead; how could he have made such a decision?” You asked and dug your fingernails into your palms. Your mother sighed as you and Daemon stared each other down. “Daemon made the decision,” She clarified. “You are heir to the throne, but you would let a prince consort dictate the future of your only daughter?” You asked, menacingly. Watching the way your step-father’s jaw ticks at your impertinence. He did not know how to handle you in such a state; you were never one to rebel, but what was there to rebel against when everything you had ever wanted was quickly given to you? 

“That is beside the point, my love; you still need to marry.” Your mother said, and you shifted your gaze to her. “I know! And I am happy to do so just as long as—“ Daemon cut you off. “Just as long as what?” He asked, “Just as long as it will be Aemond.” You proclaimed. “I wish to marry him, and he wishes to marry me as well! You are the only one against this!” You all but screamed with a stomp of your foot. Making your father roll his eyes and disapprovingly shake his head as they had filed you up with their lies. “You see, Nyra… look at how they had manipulated our daughter… they filled up her head with falsities— this had been their plan all along.” Daemon reasoned to your other, who looked in between the two of you with concern and cluelessness on how to proceed. 

“Look at how they corrupted her… arguing, yelling, insulting us just to defend their disfigured son. They are playing her!” he spat bitterly. “Do not call him that,” you gritted to Daemon as he uttered offense toward Aemond. There was a silence that enveloped the room before you finally spoke once more. “Father, please… I love him,” you pleaded, ready to beg on your knees just for you not to be sent as a bride for a wolf. Daemon looked at your eyes, sincerity in your orbs, gut-wrenching sadness as pearl tears ran through your cheeks; that still did not sway his mind. “The decision is made. You shall be Cregan Stark’s bride.” He stated and walked off, leaving you to cry and wail in your mother’s arms. 

Aemond eyed you with concern as you sat dejectedly in your place next to your brother and his. Your head hung low, and not once had you cast your enchanting eyes upon him— or anyone else for that matter. His hold on his knife is tighter as he realizes you have not a bite of your supper. His gaze went murderous as he finally saw your bloodshot eyes and trembling lips. They had made you cry. He turned to your father, a harsh look on his face, whilst your mother looked at you wistfully. Aemond then turned to Jacaerys, a smug look on his plain face.

As supper ended, Aemond was the first to leave the table. He made fast steps and entered your chambers to hide there, needing to speak with you, and he was certain that would not be possible whilst you were in the presence of your kin. He hid behind the pillar as he heard the door creek and your somber voice bidding Lucerys ‘good night.’ When he heard the door shut and bared, he made his presence announced. 

It was then that he saw a clear view of your state: eyes swollen and red, lips trembling, nose sniffling, soft cheeks flush with sadness. “My light… what has happened?” he asked. You said no word, only ran to his arms and let you hold him as the tears came like rivers once more. “They’re… they’re marrying me to Cregan Stark,” You said in between sobs. Aemond felt the air knocked out of him, his form turn rigged and was immediately filled with dread. “What?” He asked, hoping what he heard was a misunderstanding. “They offered me as a bride to Cregan Stark. He shall arrive in a few days to be presented to grandfather, and we shall leave for the North in a fortnight.” 

Aemond sat you down on your plush bed, wiping away your hot tears with his cold fingers. “You will never be his,” he swore, looking deeply into your eyes as your tears did not cease. I shall speak with your parents,” he said and tried to soothe you by running his hand through your hair and caressing your cheek. “Aemond, they wouldn’t even listen to me… their minds are made,” You said sadly. Your prince only shook his head and kissed the top of your brow. “You are a dragon. Wolves do not deserve dragons,” was all he said before kissing your lips again, hoping the action would distract you from your sadness because he could no longer stomach seeing you cry. 

“They would never approve of us,” You whispered to Aemond as he held you to his chest. He tried to lull you to sleep, but your mind was distraught. “I do not care for their approval,” he uttered atop your head, inhaling deeply the scent of you. “But—“ You hear Aemond sigh and pull you closer to his leather-clad chest. “You will be mine, my light, just as it ought to be. Forget their qualms and objections— my uncle and his disapproval is a challenge I’ll happily welcome, just as long as you will forever be mine.” He stated as his fingers twirled your hair, “Let us just rest, ñuha ōños,” he murmured, and you did as told. Savoring the first and probably the last time in his hold. 

“What are you planning?” Ser Criston asked as Aemond spent more hours in the tiltyard. The arrival of his betrothed had only spurred him to fight harder, train more, and let out his rage at the knights. “Pick your weapon,” was all the prince said as he wiped away the sweat off his forehead. “Tell me the reason for your more frequent sessions first,” the knight stated. Lilac eye flickered above the tiltyard, Aemond's jaw clenching and nostrils flared as he saw you walking around with the warden of the north, chaperoned by your brother. Ser Criston’s eyes followed the prince’s gaze, realization shining through his brown orbs. “My prince, you—“ He was cut off. 

“I shall be challenging the warden to a duel for the hand of my niece,” he proclaimed and urged the knight to pick up his weapon. “But she is a bastard,” Ser Criston muttered lowly. Aemond's eye widened, and he had to greatly retrain himself from maiming the knight who stood as his father figure. “She will be my wife.” He proclaimed and returned to his training. 

When all were gathered in the throne room to announce their betrothal to Lord Stark, Aemond stepped away from his sibling and drew out his sword, bravely challenging the warden in front of the eyes of the court and his father, the king. You felt your stomach pit in fear, for you did not know that this was the plan Aemond had devised. You had half the mind that he would have the two of you escape to YiTi and live freely there. You hear your father and brother’s disapproval of the duel, but you hear your grandfather’s agreement to it. Lord Stark had little choice but to accept the challenge. You turn to your mother, her lips in a thin line and hands fiddling with her rings, her expression unreadable as he watched men argue before the throne, dictating her only daughter’s fate. She felt your eyes upon her, and she took your hand into hers as fear was evident in your gaze. “It will be fine, my love,” She muttered lowly, but you had trouble believing her words. 

When night came, the supposed family supper was discarded as both sides were furious and confused at what had transpired in the throne room. “She will not marry him— I would rather feed myself to Caraxes than watch our daughter marry a spawn of those cunts.” Daemon muttered to his wife and downed a whole chalice of wine, quickly moving to refill it once more. “She loves him,” was all your mother could mutter as she plainly saw the affection in your eyes. “And he loves her,” she added as he saw the tenderness and warmth in her half-brother’s usually cold, lone eye. Daemon scoffed and turned to his wife. 

“Not you too— Rhaenyra, you cannot buy into their deceit! You cannot let your daughter be bound to that—“ The princess cut her husband off. “Why? Why are you so against this? Put your pride and animosity towards Otto and Alicent aside… our daughter has made it clear that she wants Aemond— and he, too, made it clear that he wants our daughter. There is no underlying deceit from his intentions… what will they even gain? The crown passes to Jacaerys; Aemond wants our daughter, not for power or whatever reason you had sold yourself to greatly disagree to this match!” Daemon shook his head at his wife’s words. “We need allies. We need the North.” He said, but Rhaenyra shook her head. “You are preparing for a war that may not come— already sacrificing our daughter on the way! And she is right. The North is already sworn to me. A Stark never forgets their oath. And if they need further convincing, my daughter and her happiness is too great a price to pay for them to keep their word.” Your mother defended. She watched as her husband’s jaw clenched and his hold on the chalice grew tighter. 

“Daemon, you and I had both been subjected to marriages, not of our choosing, a marriage devised for peace and power but ultimately led to death and devastation… you cannot be so cruel to subject her to such a fate.” Rhaenyra said softly and walked towards her husband, urging him to change his mind. The prince breathed out heavily, “We shall see in the duel if he truly deserves her,” 

You nervously traced the embroidery of your dress as you watched your prince battle with the Warden of the North. Both men still yet to tire as they galloped towards each other with their jousting sticks. You feel your mother reach for your hand as your leg bounces up and down in anticipation and fear. You took in a sharp breath as the Warden was thrown off his horse, and Aemond was quick to disembark his and draw out his sword. You chewed on your lip as you shielded your gaze from the men, your bloodstream filled with fear as you heard the clang of swords and their exhausted grunts. You hear the cheers of the audience grow louder, and you feel bile rising to your throat. You shut your eyes tightly and prayed to the gods and fates for it to end soon— for it to end and for Aemond to emerge victorious. 

Your prayers were quick to be answered as you snapped your eyes open at the enraged screams of your brother and father— the prince having the warden on his knees and a sword upon his throat. “Surrender, my lord,” The prince breathed, his eye scanning upwards, in search of you. “Surrender, and you will keep your life!” The prince yelled, and you fisted your dress with each moment the warden did not concede. But when he finally raised his arms up and dropped his sword, lowly saying his surrender, you were finally able to breathe freely. “Our champion, Prince Aemond Targaryen!” Someone yelled, and cheers hollered around you, but they were quick to fade as your eyes locked with the man you can now call your soon-to-be husband. 

The wedding was quick to come, no matter the reluctance of your father and older brother. You were marrying Aemond. Other members of your kin were finally accepting the union, seeing how you both were truly enthralled and in love with one another. They no longer held disapproval as they realized how bright and intense you burned for each other. 

You were in your chambers, the final preparations made to you as you were about to be bound to the one-eyed prince in the eyes of men and the gods. “You look… you look exquisite, my sweet,” Your mother sighed and cupped your cheeks, her eyes and voice filled with heavy emotion. You tightly embraced your mother as she was the only one who was truly on your side when it came to your union with Aemond. Your heart throbbed melancholically as you were to be married without the support or blessing of the man who had become your father. You walked out of the chambers with your mother by your side, her being the only one to escort you towards the grand doors that would lead you to the great hall where Aemond waited by the end of it. She gave you one last kiss on your cheek before stepping aside and walking towards a side entrance and waiting along with the other guests; absent was the presence of Daemon. 

As the banquet went on and your hand was freely clasped around your husband, you tried not to let your sadness be shown as the man who stepped in, as your father was not anywhere in sight. Aemond could feel your sadness no matter how hard you tried to hide it; he brought the back of your hand to his cool lips and hoped it brought you comfort. You flashed him a small smile and leaned in closer, “A dance, my wife?” He asked, his heart stuttering as a genuine smile spread to your lips. 

He led you to the floor and placed his hand on your waist. No more secret touches, no more possibility of scandal, for in the eyes of the gods and men, you were Aemond’s, and Aemond was yours. As your husband spun you around and kept his steady hold upon you, your mind was finally distracted by the sadness it felt as Daemon was absent on your most joyous day. The thought of your father did not occur to you as you danced until you and your husband saw him approaching. Aemond was attentive to your reaction as he approached, ready to challenge his uncle for the distress and sadness he bestowed upon you. “I wish to dance with my daughter,” He announced, and you felt Aemond’s hold on your waist tighten; he was about to speak, but you nodded and reassured him it was fine. Aemond reluctantly stepped away, and you were left in the presence of your father. 

There was silence at first as you were once again spun for the dance, but you soon broke it. “You did not attend our ceremonies.” You said, voice a tad bitter and resenting. You hear your father’s aggravated sigh. “I know you think he is playing me… I know you believe this whole ordeal is a farce, but it’s not. He loves me, father. And I love him greatly,” You say and urge him to understand. “You— your marriage is something I do not approve of.” You hear him utter, making your stomach pit, “But it is clear that you truly love him…” he trailed, his eye turning to your husband, who had his watchful gaze upon you, ready to come to your aid, the moment he sensed distress. “… And I suppose his intentions are genuine,” he relents. You turn your now hopeful gaze upon him, “I do not believe he deserves you, but if he truly makes you happy, who am I to stand in your way? I will not hinder you anymore.” You processed her father’s words. “Do you truly mean it?” You asked, voice thick with emotion, “I do,” he sighed and kissed the top of your head. You smiled widely as heaviness in your heart faded with the blessing of your father was finally bestowed upon you and your husband.

Other fics in this universe: Mine (part 2) and King of My Heart (Part 3)

[auspicioustidings]

Yeah sure he's called Soap because of his ability to clean house or whatever, but much like they do for everyone else, the back office staff have their own codename for him (it's truly so they can gossip without anyone realising who it's about).

'Duracell' because he can go all night. Gaz gets 'Aisle 2' because there is always clean up needed with the way he makes people squirt. 'Vamp' would be Price because he's begging for permission to cum inside. And Ghost? 'Pringle'. Once you pop, the fun don't stop.

[chloesimaginationthings]

I love Michael Afton's story in FNAF..

[lazylittledragon]

just realised i never posted any of the stuff i did for the alternative steddie dads au

[edorazzi]

Page 31 of my Miraculous Mentor AU comic A Matter of Trust! In which Felix consciously experiences "friendship" for the first time and Ladybug takes a chance on Chat Noir! 🎧💿

Index | Start | Prev | Next

Weekly updates each Sunday! You can also read ahead early on Patreon, and/or buy me a Ko-fi if you'd like to support my work! 💖