#what I did NOT expect was to love the main character this much | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

just-some-random-blogger · 4 hours ago

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"I didn't want to overstep"

My honest reacton

NOW *make a man out of your plays in the background* LETS GET DOWN TO BUSINESS

The splash of cold water against your ankle makes you grumble more. You hated getting your shoes wet. Or your ankles. You fix your hair scarf, worried that the sea breeze will make it come loose.

She is so me

As you look up, you see him. A man, with silver hair and a smug look on his face, riding atop a dragon. He is showing off, ducking low, the dragon’s tail dipping in the water before springing back up again. It is what is causing the breeze.

🙄 gago I hate him stfu

You marvel for a second, wondering how such a gigantic beast can be so nimble.

I WOULD LITERALLY HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON CARAXES AND LEAVE THIS PLACE

The man smiles. He winks at you.

The few captains and sailors that were on the docks alongside you have fled. But not you. Alone, silver hair in full display, you stand frozen in the same spot you had been before seeing him pass.

Main character things

Daemon would have so enjoyed to play such a game himself. His future bride was far too young to do little more than court under her parents’ watchful eyes.

🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢 YUCKKKK CAN HE JUST BE FUCKING NORMALLLLLLL CAN HE JUST BE FUCKING NORMALLLLLLLL YUCCKKKKKK

Your laughter was the first thing that caught his attention, a sound so girlish it seemed improper among the men carrying saws and woods for the ships.

We love to see it. DIVINE FEMININE

Daemon seethed. He hated sharing. With whores, it was to be expected, yet it didn’t make it anymore palatable. It was why he enjoyed taking maidenheads so much. Yet, he could ignore it if the woman was pretty or well-trained enough, like he did with Mysaria. To watch a whore with her lover, though, it was intolerable.

❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨 SHUT THE EVER LOVING FUCK UP????????? A MAN WILL WANT SOMETHING THEN THINK THEY ARE ENTITLED TO IT????? EAT SHIT AND DIE?????????

The man tickled your side, and you laughed again. You handed him the basket and kissed him on the cheek.

🧍‍♀️ oh. I personally don't fuck with strangers tickling me please goodness I hope it's addam

Whores were professional liars. You paid them to pretend to be someone they were not. But watching you with a man you truly loved would forever break the fantasy. There was no way he could believe the sweetest lies on your tongue, not when he knew what you looked like when truly in love.

Men shouldnt have rights

“I looked for you in the brothel, but you were not there.”

CRISTI WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS BULLSHIT I WILL RHAE ROYCE THIS FUCKING DEGENERATE

“I… Excuse me?” Your voice is shrill, more angered than panicked. “Do I know you?”

🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️STAB HIM????!!!!!

And oh, the nerve on you. The nerve to question him, as if he were just a passing man on the street and not a Prince of House Targaryen. The same nerve that drove you to stand your ground against Caraxes.

❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓ LICK THE BOTTOM OF MY SHOE YOU CAME TO ME???????? 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱

“You should be more careful on how you address your betters.”

?????????????? DONT TALK TO SOMEONE BENEATH YOU????? 100 YEARS IN JAIL????

You shove him, hard. And Daemon feels his rage bubbling up, and raises a hand to do something he will most likely regret�� But before he can strike you, the man you had been smiling at steps in.

HE WAS WHAT????? 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪 IM GOING TO FUCKING GOUGE HIS EYES OUT

“And who are you? The husband? The brothel owner?” Daemon sneers, getting in his face. Your hand comes up in between them, fragile and unadorned. Yet, you hit with strength, palm flat against his chest. Daemon laughs and grabs it between his. You attempt to pull back, but his grip is much firmer. “Ah, cupping a feeling, sweetheart?”

??????? BEAT HIS FUCKING ASSSSSS STAB HIM AND BASH HIS FUCKING FACE IN ALYNN???????

“I do not care. Unhand her. We do things different in Driftmark.”

STAB HIM CORLYSSSS

“YOU DO THINGS different here, for certain.” Prince Daemon says, appearing at your window while you knead bread.

CASUALLY BREAKING INTO PEOPLES HOUSES????????? POLICE 🚓🚨

“I won’t hurt you, my lady. I didn’t mean to scare you, either.” His voice is gentle, as if dealing with a spooked animal.

STAB HIM GURL STAB HIM RIGHT FUCKING NOW

As a child, you used to watch Laena Velaryon and pretend you were her.

You are no lady. You are a bastard girl, and you have gone to bed nearly starving more times than you could count.

)))): my poor girl. My baby girl

“Any child of mine, even if natural-born, would never have to go hungry. Your father should be doing more for you, not hiding you three like a shameful secret.”

Am I supposed to be impressed? Am I supposed to pat you on the back?

“Here.” Prince Daemon pushes the parcel through the window. “Consider this my apology for my behavior. Rather uncouth, huh?”

Baho mo gago

Curious, you peer into one of the parcels. It’s full of cured meat.it would have cost him a pretty penny, having it already preserved for you. It is a luxury Addam, Allyn and you never get to have. Not since your mother passed.

))): I hate this so much for them

He says it is because he enjoys the walk. You are not entirely sold, but thinking it is to see you seems a bit conceited.

Be conceited diva WHO IS THIS DIVAAA

Daemon laughs. He uses his now free hand to tug you towards his side. You love when he does that. The gesture feels very protective. He never lets you walk too far from him, or on the side next to the ocean, so you never stumble or get soaked by an errant wave.

“Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere else?” You ask him, watching the waves lap at the shore. Then, feeling stupid for asking, you lower your eyes. As much as you feign blindness, you are not blind. He is probably ashamed to be seen with the likes of you. Even your father is. Why wouldn’t a Prince?

I believe all men should experience the pain of child birth and labor constantly forever

Your eyes feel warm, and your vision blurs. Gods, you hate crying.

“Close enough. A tad more lemony than the one at Driftmark, but I like it.” He smiles. You fight the urge to beam. He has been coming almost daily after bringing you the lemons, but it is the first time you allow him to taste your creation.

First of all fuck you second of all you're not cute third of all ITS HER FIRST TIME fourth of all I'm glad you can AT LEAST make her happy. THE BAR IS IN HELL

Your mother and you are different. She didn’t know your father was using her. You know Daemon is using you. And you intend to use him right back, milk him for all of his worth.

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔 MILK HIM BLEED HIM SUCK HIM DRY

What your father is like, too. How they use women as if they were little more than things, how they produce children and leave them to their fates.

Not all men EXPLAIN THIS THEN

“Do you listen to yourself?” You scoff, getting up. “Maidenheads, as if I were some great lady. I can handle it. Handle him.”

😬 yeesh famous last words

“To my room. The two of you have ruined my appetite.” But it wasn’t the two of them, not really. Daemon is ashamed of you, the voice in your head whispers. Ashamed of you, just like your father was. He only wants to use you, and once he has had his fill, he will discard you. Just like your father did to your mother.

MY POOR GIRL MY POOR POOR GIRL

Yet, your dark eyes were so kind, your face full of such happiness, Daemon dared not to sully you. Something in you screamed at his instincts to protect, something tugged at his heartstrings when he saw your face scrunched up towards the sun, and told him to gather you in his arms and never let anything touch you.

BROTHER EUGHHHH GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER GIRL RUNNNN ILL WWE ROYAL RUMBLE SMACK DOWN ELBOW TO THE FACE STEEL CHAIR THIS BOZO

Bedding you would ruin you. Daemon enjoyed playing the role of mentor, teaching you new things, helping you gain experiences you would never get as a bastard girl. Yet, you had such a tempting figure, with a mouth made for sin, and a body that begged for worship. You were a little girl, but you had all the self-possession and looks of a grown woman.

MY FUCKING GOODNESS CAN HE JUST BE FUCKING NORMAL IS IT SO HARD FOR HIM NOT TO FUCKING THINK WITH HIS COCK FUCK YOU DIE

“I was thinking…” Daemon says, watching your expression closely. “We could go to a tavern tonight.”

You think? Terrible idea btw fuck off

“It’s rowdy, but in a good sense.” Daemon cannot help it. Your curls are a bit mussed, from wearing the ugly headscarf for too long. He fixes them, fluffing them up slightly at the roots in the way he has seen handmaidens do for Laena. He then tosses the damn thing into the sea, for good measure, ignoring your outraged cry. “Drinks, music, people, greasy food. You will love it.”

NOTHING IS FUCKING SACRED LITERALLY KEEP YOUR HANDS RO YOURSELF MY SCARF IS MY BUSINESS YOU HAVE TERRIBLE MANNERS AND YET IM THE PEASANT FUCK YOU CHOKE ON YOUR GREASY FOOD I HOPE THE ROWDY CROWDS TEAR YOU APART

“I hate drinking.” You wrinkle your nose, cutely. He fights the urge to bite you. The face you make is too sweet, too tempting.

Why would you write him this way. Why is this endearing. HAJIMA STOP

“Because you have only drunk swill. I’ll teach you to drink real wine.” He tugs you into his side, and begins walking back into the city.

Ok alcoholic.

Still, you face it all bravely, as you had that morning at the docks. The two of you manage to get a cozy table in one tavern that Daemon had visited before. He calls for wine to be served, an expensive barrel from the Arbor he is sure they had kept around for years before anyone had the coin to buy it.

No cuz she's better than me I fucking hate being stared at I hatttttteere it she's so much better than me

“Come here, hunes.” His own voice sounds strange to him, low and demanding. When he calls you bunny, he is not exaggerating. Does the fox feel as wrong as he feels when becoming over his prey? Does his gums ache like Daemon’s do, with the urge to bite, to tear apart, to wound? Does he mourn the little bunny whose innocence he is about to shatter? “There is something I wish to show you.”

So you agree

You're a predator

You splutter, but Daemon holds you down, arms held by your side. He forces you to take and take some more, chasing the tart taste of the wine into the honeyed one of your mouth.

NDJDJD YUCCKKKKK (I'm into this shit) YUCCKKKK FUCKING HELL DIE RUNNNNN GIRL RUNNN

“Do you trust me?”

Absolute the fuck not. Eat broken glass

“I did not think it to be true.” A woman’s voice, one he knows too well, says. Rhaenys. Her face is a mask of absolute rage. She gives you a shove that sends you stumbling before Daemon can even get out of his chair. “You have much nerve.”

RHAENYSSSS NOOOO PLEASEEE NOOOO NOT THE VILLAIN ARC NOOO PLEASE )))): I DO NAWT BLAME HER BUT NDJDJNDKSKSKKSKS

“I am talking to you!” Rhaenys insists. You cower behind him. It only makes Rhaenys angrier. “No, not you, you stupid girl. You, Daemon.”

THE WAY I FUCKING SCREAMMMEDDS

BEATTTTT HISS ASSSSS

🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️BEATTTT HISSS ASSSSS

“Are you calling me a whore?”

Well I ain't callin yo ass a prude IF THE SHOE FITS DIPSHIT

He feels the slap before he even sees her move. His head gets forcefully turned to the side, and he hears you whimper. His cheek stings. Daemon has to blink back tears, Rhaenys has hit him that hard.

IM DOING A DANCY DANCE LITERALLY EXPLODE

What Daemon had done to you had seemed purposeful. You had not realized when he had stolen the kiss from you, giving you your first taste of fine wine, but you understood it now. Had Princess Rhaenys not been there, or had she been any less merciful, a much different fate would have awaited you.

😭😭😭😭😭 IM CRYING MY POOR POOR GIRLLLL

“Daughter.”

😃🔪🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕

“It’s a pleasure to finally have you join the family.”

BURN IN HELL ❤️

Addam and Allyn are still in the crowd, unacknowledged. They are your family, not this man who is grasping your hands with a calculating gleam in his eyes. Wondering, as all highborn do, how he might use you. How you might serve to further his own ends.

))))))))))))))))):

“I figured you wouldn’t have one of these.” Her smile is strained as she reaches for your hands. “Since you weren’t raised the proper way.”

FUCKING HELLLLSSSSSS DAMNNNNN MDIRNSJJSJSNSJSMSKANSNNSSJAJAKAKAKAKAKAKJANANAN STOPPPPPP

“I do not think I will.” Daemon cups your cheek in his hand, hands gentle despite the calluses on them. It was one of the things you had first liked about him. His hands were artisan’s hands, like the ones of your brothers, despite being highborn. He had seemed so different from the rest of the men you knew, back then. “Not when my betrothed is nearly weeping in her own feast.”

? I don't like you never have never will I hope you have a heart attack

You bloom under his praise.

I hate that for you.... *Sigh* congrats ig

There is no other word for it. It warms you, from head to toe, and your stomach fills with butterflies. A small smile forms, even through the tears that threaten to fall.

)))): I hate this for you so much baby girl

“There she is.” Daemon brushes his thumb over your cheek. “That’s my girl.”

? Ok? Get it ig. Fuck shit up for her. It's the only thing you're good for.

“Be mine instead.” Daemon whispers, and when you nod, he kisses your forehead.

Oh that's not

“I would protect you.” You say, and it warms something inside Daemon he wasn’t even aware that he had. “If only because killing a Prince is a crime worthy of the ax, and I wish to have nephews.”

😭😭😭😭😭 my girllllll. Get it ig. I'm glad she's happy. That's all that matters

THIS WAS A RIDE. I LOVE HOW MUCH I HATE HIM. I HOPE HE DIES 😃😃😃😃

On a real level, it made me think how fascinated I am in exploring themes such as gender class whatnot and how I as a writer myself am unashamed to admit 'yeah I write daemon fucked up, s'part of the appeal' while simultaneously just being unwilling to let him take the piss ya know HAHAHAH LIKE I WONT DEFEND THIS MAN HES FUCKED UP AND FICTIONAL DIEEEEE ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

The Brave (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: A collection of first times with Daemon.

Warnings: Bastard! Reader. Daddy issues. Corruption kink. Innocence kink. Age difference, power imbalance. Poorly translated HV. Angst. Enemies to lovers (Sort of?) Happy ending. Usual warnings for Daemon (Sexual thoughts, mature language, violence)

Requested: Yes! My first after Halloween, life has been crazy.

THE FISHERMEN SAIL too early for your liking. You know it has little to do with their personal preference, and more to do with the tides. It doesn’t mean you are happy about it, though.

Your job is to ensure all your ships are in good condition and ready to transport whatever those men bring home. Your mother had made a small fortune by expanding her father’s fleet, and after her passing, it was your turn to handle it. You preferred to oversee things personally, knowing that only an owner’s touch could ensure the quality of service you prided yourself in.

No one loved these ships more than you. Small and old they were, but they tied you to your mother. You lacked her knowledge, and sometimes, they made you far less money than you hoped for, but you insisted on keeping them. Your siblings had not shown such an interest, choosing other pursuits.

Allyn, much more practical, had preferred to learn the trade of a shipwright. He now worked under Lord Corlys. It embarrassed you to say it, but it was him and not you who was the breadwinner of your family. Some months, if not most, it was far more lucrative than your business with the ships.

Addam worked occasionally as a shipwright too, but he didn’t have a steady source of income. He was far too young to be hired anywhere, lacking the experience most lords wanted from those building their ships. Sometimes, he also helped you.

Today wasn’t one of those days. Otherwise, you would have forced him to come here in your stead. With a grumble, you jumped from the ship to the dock. Everything was as it should, so you had to move to the next one.

The sunrise makes Hull look even more beautiful, the city slowly beginning to rise under Driftmark’s watchful eyes. The white marble and ivory of the castle provide a backdrop for the goldens and pinks that color the scene. It would make you smile, were it not for the fact that the peaceful morning is ruined by every damn bell in the city tolling.

Visitors. Noble ones. By the amount of noise, they are announcing the visit of someone very high ranking.

The splash of cold water against your ankle makes you grumble more. You hated getting your shoes wet. Or your ankles. You fix your hair scarf, worried that the sea breeze will make it come loose.

You shouldn’t have bothered. A harsh gust of wind takes it fully off and nearly sends you caroling into the water. The dock shakes underneath you, the ships and water agitated by the same thing. You scream, as do the rest of the sailors who are near.

You had never seen a dragon up close before. You are not allowed to go near Driftmark, where the Princess and the Lord and Lady keep theirs.

The few captains and sailors that were on the docks alongside you have fled. But not you. Alone, silver hair in full display, you stand frozen in the same spot you had been before seeing him pass.

The man smiles. He winks at you.

You lower your eyes and do not stop running until you are safe at home.

DAEMON SEES YOU again when he least expects it. He has looked for you in every pleasure house on this island and has not been able to find you. The brave little maiden with silver hair, who had screamed bloody murder but stood her ground on the docks when she saw him approach.

You must be of Valyrian descent. There is no other explanation for your lack of fear. You were young and comely, so he had guessed that you must be a whore. It was what happened to girls who looked like you. Men loved pretending they were either a Princess or the daughter of some lord. And so close to Driftmark? They probably asked you to pretend you were little Laena Velaryon.

Daemon would have so enjoyed to play such a game himself. His future bride was far too young to do little more than court under her parents’ watchful eyes. If he could sneak a bit of a taste in advance, you wouldn’t catch him complaining about it.

When he had agreed to accompany Corlys to oversee the progress being made on the news ships for his fleet, the last thing he expected to encounter was you.

Your laughter was the first thing that caught his attention, a sound so girlish it seemed improper among the men carrying saws and woods for the ships. His head had turned instinctively towards the sound, and it was then that he saw you.

The dress you had on was a plain gray, as it was the headscarf you wore. But Daemon would know that face anywhere. He had sought everywhere for it. You were holding a small basket, next to some shipwright. The man looked older than you, already bald. You were all smiles and animated gestures, seemingly taken by him.

The man tickled your side, and you laughed again. You handed him the basket and kissed him on the cheek.

Is it in bad taste to approach you when his future father-in-law is distracted by his sailors? Probably. But he cannot stop himself. Because the only thing Daemon can think of, the only thing that would make him feel better, is to bring you as low as he. Ruin your little fantasy as you had ruined his.

He marches towards where the man and you are, and gently cups your chin in his hand. The sudden interruption startles you, and you try taking a step back, but his sweet hold has turned into Valyrian Steel. There is no escape for little whores.

“I looked for you in the brothel, but you were not there.”

“I… Excuse me?” Your voice is shrill, more angered than panicked. “Do I know you?”

Begrudgingly, Daemon has to name the strange feeling taking place in his stomach. Awe. Admiration. You had fire in your belly, and steel on your spine. You were a truer Valyrian than many of his own family members.

They were weak. Soft. You were not. But you were still a mere peasant, and he couldn’t allow you to disrespect him such.

“You should be more careful on how you address your betters.”

You shove him, hard. And Daemon feels his rage bubbling up, and raises a hand to do something he will most likely regret… But before he can strike you, the man you had been smiling at steps in.

“Unhand her.” He says, voice firm. His expression doesn’t waver, the same steel you have mirrored in his brown eyes. Up close, he is much younger than Daemon expected, tall and muscular from what seems like a life of hard work. He tugs you behind him.

“Daemon.” And really, things were just turning interesting. Why does Corlys have to interrupt at the worst time possible? “Unhand her immediately.”

At his appearance, both you and the boy turn an awful gray shade that matches your dress and headscarf. Fear of their liege, perhaps?

But the boy’s jaw ticks, and your dark eyes lower in a manner that they hadn’t when facing him. Something else is at play here.

“I was just…” Daemon slowly retracts his hand, studying the surrounding faces carefully. You, sullen, the boy enraged. Corlys’ cold as ice. Neither of you speak, yet it is clear you are not strangers.

“I do not care. Unhand her. We do things different in Driftmark.”

And the tone Corlys uses is strange, for a man unbothered by the costs of power. What are two peasants to the favor of a Prince? Why does he know them? He had never struck Daemon as someone concerned by his subjects.

And then, a piece of your hair falls out of your headscarf. Silver against a dark background. And it is then he knows it. You are no dragonseed. Nor is the boy with the shaved head.

“YOU DO THINGS different here, for certain.” Prince Daemon says, appearing at your window while you knead bread. His presence is as unexpected as it is unwelcome. It is the first time you are home alone after the incident, not Addam nor Allyn willing to risk this stranger attempting anything worse than he already has. Three days had passed, and they had considered it enough. If the man had not approached you during that time, it meant he wouldn’t, right? Clearly no. He had just been bidding his time, waiting for both of your brothers to go. “Corlys's little secret.”

Your hands shake. You wished Allyn wasn’t so set on teaching Addam his craft, and hadn’t gone out today. Being home alone with a strange man around didn’t spell anything good for you.

A quick glance at the door reassures you that it is still barred. You take a not so subtle step back from the window.

The prince lip’s quirk upwards, not quite a smile, but betraying his amusement. Does he find your fear funny?

“I won’t hurt you, my lady. I didn’t mean to scare you, either.” His voice is gentle, as if dealing with a spooked animal. The title makes you scoff. No one has ever called you a lady, much less a Prince.

As a child, you used to watch Laena Velaryon and pretend you were her. Wondering what life would have been like if you didn’t have to hide, if your father acknowledged you. Wondering what it would feel, to be a Lady and never go to bed hungry, to be surrounded by beauty all day.

You are no lady. You are a bastard girl, and you have gone to bed nearly starving more times than you could count.

As if sensing your thoughts, Prince Daemon lifts one of his hands. He holds up a package, wrapped in bright white silk. Both he and his gift look deeply out of place here, near your window. In his fine clothes, in brighter colors than you can afford, he sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Any child of mine, even if natural-born, would never have to go hungry. Your father should be doing more for you, not hiding you three like a shameful secret.”

You do not take the parcel. You merely look at him and fight an overwhelming urge to cry.

“Here.” Prince Daemon pushes the parcel through the window. “Consider this my apology for my behavior. Rather uncouth, huh?”

You open it carefully. Two smaller parcels fall from it, both as carefully wrapped.

“You can wear the silk.” He tells you, gesturing to your hair. “And the rest…”

With rushed hands, you open the other parcel. A small sack of flour, lemons, and pages torn from a book. They are all expensive things, nothing like the flour you buy at the market to make bread or the bruised fruit you get when Addam craves something sweet. You squint at the pages, puzzled by their presence.

“Mix one cup of flour with… Is this..?” You ask him, astonished. A small smile begins to form on your face.

“The recipe for lemon cakes. For your baking.” He smiles back. He then gestures to your hands, still covered in flour. “I hear you enjoy it. Just… Save me a piece.”

“Thank you.” You beam at him. He gives you a bow, and leaves. You find yourself smiling like a fool the rest of the afternoon.

You cannot believe it. Prince Daemon has just given you the recipe for lemon cakes. As far apologies go, this is a great one.

Addam and Allyn go to bed with full stomachs. You go to bed with yours full of butterflies. No one has ever ensured such for the three of you.

“IS IT CLOSE enough?” You bite your lower lip, watching Daemon chew a piece of cake. His brows furrow a bit, and he lets out a small, throaty moan.

He says it is because he enjoys the walk. You are not entirely sold, but thinking it is to see you seems a bit conceited.

“I got excited.” You scratch the back of your neck, sheepish. The batter had smelt and tasted so heavenly, you had just kept adding more.

It’s peaceful here. He often says he cares not for the ocean, but the two of you always walk the same route. From your home, towards your ships, then back.

Your eyes feel warm, and your vision blurs. Gods, you hate crying. You try to focus on something else. Your scuffed shoes. His boots. The sand under your feet. The urge to run away, and scream, and die from the humiliation of even asking.

Daemon sighs. He sits down on the sand, patting the space on his side. His clothes, despite their simple design, are very fine.

“Your clothes…” You mumble, without sitting.

“Bah, I have three other cloaks like this one.” As if proving a point, he takes it off, laying it down for you to sit. You feel even sillier at his patience. “Come. Sit down, jorrāeliarzys.”

You obey him because there is little else to do. You have already messed up, you don’t wish to make any other mistake. His company has become precious to you, a welcome respite from your brothers. Living with two boys, you are never alone. But every so often, you wish for more engaging conversation.

“I am not ashamed of being seen in your company. I just… I thought you preferred it here.” Daemon explains, softly tucking a stray curl behind your ear. “Would you like for us to meet in the city, instead?”

You think of meeting him in the city’s market. Of the rumors that would sure follow, of the names you would be called. Of your father finding out. You know what it would look like to him. That you are making the same mistake as your mother did.

You are not dumb. Daemon is not here to simply plan an alliance. Alliances are always sealed in blood, and your half sister is barely old enough to be considered.

Your mother and you are different. She didn’t know your father was using her. You know Daemon is using you. And you intend to use him right back, milk him for all of his worth.

So why does it hurt like this, why does it feel like something inside you is breaking?

You take the parcels he gives you without any shame. That night, as the three of you are eating a generous serving of venison, Allyn scowls.

“I don’t like it. Can’t you see what he wants?”

Addam’s fork freezes midway to his mouth. He looks down at his plate, as if he is truly seeing the meat he is being served for the first time.

“I am not mother.” You say, icily. The venison tastes bitter on your tongue, but stubbornly, you keep eating. Allyn is just angry that it is not longer him who is putting the meals on the table. “I know what highborn men are like.”

What your father is like, too. How they use women as if they were little more than things, how they produce children and leave them to their fates.

“All the more reason not to allow him to take your maidenhead.”

“Do you listen to yourself?” You scoff, getting up. “Maidenheads, as if I were some great lady. I can handle it. Handle him.”

Allyn looks at you, eyes full of pity. You cannot bear it. Your eyes sting again. You hurry out of the table.

“Where are you going?” Addam reaches forward, as if to grab you.

Alone, in your room, you tear the headscarf he had given you to shreds. You squeeze the rests on your palm, you make a ball, you throw it against the wall.

The next morning, you have sobbed your throat raw. You still go to meet him in the afternoon.

SOMETHING IS WRONG. Daemon can tell when he picks you up that day. Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot, and your complexion an awful gray. The headscarf he had given you is nowhere to be seen, and you are back to your severe gray one.

Like a bad case of heartburn, the lie he had told you comes back to him, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth.

Daemon is not ashamed of you, but doesn't want to be seen with you either. The consequences for you would be too great. He had learned his lesson with Mysaria. The double stain would have made you a pariah, both because of your birth and because of whom you were bedding.

Because it was all that people would think about when they found out. No one would believe Daemon had yet to touch you.

He was unsure if he ever would.

You were an extraordinary girl, yet still a bastard. There was nothing to be done about it. All you could be was friends and lovers, and nothing more.

Daemon had been like you, once. When younger. He, too, felt a lack of acknowledgement by those around you, and an urge to prove himself. His father had passed when he was still young, and Viserys had received all laurels. It would have never bothered him because he loved his brother, but Viserys had left him behind. Married Aemma. Had children. Gained the love of his people, found new friends.

Never once Viserys had looked at Daemon. No matter how hard he tried to reach for him, his brother always evaded his hand. Daemon had been left there. He, too, had stood on the shadows and feigned indifference, burning up with secret resentment.

The idea of you growing up to be like him was both appealing and horrifying. There was a sweetness to you, a naïveté that he had lacked even in his younger years. He wanted to preserve it. Shield you from the world.

You would taste exquisite on his tongue, crumbling from his caresses. Your cunt would feel like wet velvet around him, and you would sound your sweetest when he was spearing you open on his cock.

And how would you smile, joyous and fierce, his brave girl. Some maidens cried, but not you. You were made of sterner stuff, a heart that burned brighter and stronger than the Fourteen Flames. You had stood your ground, terrified but unbowed, in front of Caraxes himself.

Such a face you had, all Valyrian empress. A sovereign nose, the fleeting shadow of your eyelashes, and a slippery laugh that always gave you an air of mischief. A face not made for sadness. It is what prompts him to do what will become either the greatest mistake of his life, or his greatest triumph.

“I was thinking…” Daemon says, watching your expression closely. “We could go to a tavern tonight.”

“A tavern?” The surprising offering shakes you out of your sadness. Your face changes from a sad little frown into a curious one.

“Have you ever gone to one?” Daemon tugs the hair scarf from your hair, softly. The silver curls fall free, in a lovely mess. You scowl, trying to get it back, but he holds it just out of your reach. It’s a lovely thing, to watch you give little jumps on your tiptoes, curls bouncing with the motion. “Ah! None of that, now. Answer my question first.”

“No, I haven’t. Addam and Allyn go from time to time, but it sounds too rowdy for my liking.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“I hate drinking.” You wrinkle your nose, cutely. He fights the urge to bite you. The face you make is too sweet, too tempting.

“Because you have only drunk swill. I’ll teach you to drink real wine.” He tugs you into his side, and begins walking back into the city.

The walk to the city is awkward. Not because the two of you have nothing to talk about, but rather, because of the stares. Your silver hair, despite your simple clothing, commands attention. So does Daemon’s presence, and the arm he has around your shoulders.

He had not been wrong. This would cost you. A cost too steep for someone he sought to keep safe.

It’s delicious. But when he serves you a goblet, you take a big sip and begin to splutter.

“Mittys hunes iksā.” Daemon tuts. His silly bunny. “You are not meant to drink it such. You ought to savor it.”

“Savor?” You arch an eyebrow. “Tastes like dragonfire.”

And perhaps it's the choice of words, or the glint of your silver hair under the low light emanating from the torches, but something about you reminds him of the way he had loved Rhaenyra and admired Laena, the other Valyrian beauties in his life. They are not here, he cannot reach them. But you are.

You eye him warily, but get up from your chair and move until you are standing in front of him. It's not enough for Daemon. It never is. He always wants you closer, closer to hold, to protect, to own.

He tugs you between his parted legs.

“Do you trust me?”

There is a slight furrow of your brow. The barest hint of hesitation. Yet, your voice is firm when you answer him.

“Yes.”

His girl. His precious girl. If you had been his, he would have never hurt you like Corlys had. Never allowed to become easy prey for men like him. You shouldn’t trust him.

Daemon shouldn’t be doing this, either. It is a good thing he has never claimed to be a good man.

He takes a sip of his wine, and leans towards you, capturing your mouth in his. At first, you fight him, the suddenness startling you. It’s only when he gives your lower lip a sharp nip, that you melt into the kiss. When your mouth parts slightly, he passes you the wine.

You splutter, but Daemon holds you down, arms held by your side. He forces you to take and take some more, chasing the tart taste of the wine into the honeyed one of your mouth.

Your obedience and compliance only makes him wilder, drives him to grasp at your hips, pull you closer. Just when you begin to lean into Daemon, dutifully swallowing the wine, someone jerks you out of his grip.

Your face turns ashen. You look like you are about to cry, or worse, flee. Daemon jumps up, and gets between Rhaenys and you.

“You were always a whore!” She screams, her index finger digging into his chest. You let out a sob, quietly. Daemon’s heart feels like it is being wrenched from his chest. At this point, the screams have attracted all the tavern's attention. Daemon doesn’t doubt that by this time tomorrow, the whole island will know.

You will be shunned. Just as he had feared.

“I am talking to you!” Rhaenys insists. You cower behind him. It only makes Rhaenys angrier. “No, not you, you stupid girl. You, Daemon.”

Daemon feels utterly stunned. Never in a million years he would have thought Rhaenys was referring to him.

“Are you calling me a whore?”

He feels the slap before he even sees her move. His head gets forcefully turned to the side, and he hears you whimper. His cheek stings. Daemon has to blink back tears, Rhaenys has hit him that hard.

He wasn’t even aware that a woman could land such a blow.

“You dare! You toyed with my daughter and this girl as you saw fit.” And Daemon cannot even get a word in because she is too angry. He feels his cheeks reddening, and its unsure if he is feeling embarrassment at being scolded like a child, or rage at her words. “But worry not. I will make this right.”

Rhaenys has a manic gleam in her eyes. For a frightening second, Daemon thinks he sees in her the famous Targaryen madness.

Instead of setting you both on fire, she lunges, avoiding Daemon, and grabbing you hands in hers.

“I shall not allow you to make the same mistake your mother did.” Rhaenys says, and she is gone before Daemon can answer anything.

THIS IS YOUR greatest triumph. Why, then, does it taste like ashes on your tongue?

You are wearing the finest dress you have ever owned, gifted to you by Daemon. Princess Rhaenys has forced both him and your father into complacency, and even forced King Viserys to allow your betrothal. Still, you feel adrift. Even betrayed.

The stink of shame that followed you around, the whispers of dishonor and the looks of distaste, would have been even more intense. You would have been ruined, known as little more than a whore. And your family no longer had the money that had shielded your mother during her pregnancies.

You had not known it. But Daemon must have. He had a reputation for taking maidenheads as he saw fit, Addam had informed you. You were a fool for not knowing, and a fool for believing he wanted something else from you.

The royal decree is read by a Maester, in front of all the Lords of near castles, the smallfolk of Driftmark and the Velaryons. Even in the first beautiful dress you own, you feel small. Out of place. The looks your half siblings are shooting you do not help you feel better.

Once the bill is read, Lord Corlys steps forward.

“Daughter.” He says, grasping your hands in his. He is cold. He is cold, and it makes your skin crawl, even when it is all you wanted as a little girl. It’s the first time he acknowledges you, and he is not at all like the man you imagined, when dreaming as a child of what it would be like for him to look at you. Because even a glance would have been enough back then. “It’s a pleasure to finally have you join the family.”

Your brothers could not be recognized as you were. You had shyly asked Princess Rhaenys, and if she thought you dimwitted before, she had probably confirmed her suspicions. They were men, she had explained, and a threat to Laenor’s rights once your father passed. You, instead, were nothing but a girl who had sullied herself, whose honor had been compromised so thoroughly you had turned even less important in the great scheme of things.

She was helping you because you had been taken advantage of by Daemon, Princess Rhaenys had said, but also to spare her daughter from your fate. Wife to a husband that would most likely betray you and sire bastards.

Lord Corlys was just happy to have another pawn to marry off and forge alliances. Freeing his daughter from a disloyal husband was an added bonus.

Every time you heard them, your hands turned into fist, and you could barely fight the rage from clouding your expression. You had not done the thing everyone was accusing you of, and yet were being judged for it all the same. Daemon, too, did nothing to correct them. Not even when the most scandalous rumors surfaced, saying you would wed him with a child already in your belly.

You had not let him touch you like that. You were not as stupid as everyone thought. As a daughter to a single mother, you knew all about scorn and loneliness. You would never doom a child to your same fate.

The day doesn’t pick up from there. The feast to follow feels just as empty, and you turn down an insincere offer from your father to be housed here. You cannot wait to run back to your brothers.

It would be impolite to leave so soon, though. Lord Corlys has thrown this feast in your honor and is making the lords and members of his household present you with gifts. You admit it is a clever strategy, to avoid having to spend money in your trousseau. Hence, you need to stay a little bit longer.

You get handed new quills and parchments, alongside a new seal for your correspondence by Laena.

“I figured you wouldn’t have one of these.” Her smile is strained as she reaches for your hands. “Since you weren’t raised the proper way.” It says a lot about the company you are in that it is the most polite greeting you receive all afternoon.

When it all begins to become a bit much, and your eyes are stinging after a lady said you had no grace and no manners, you decide you need to run. But when you are stepping a foot outside the hall, Daemon appears by your side.

“Rather improper, isn’t it?” He asks, grabbing your hand in his. You try to jerk away, but he merely interlaces your fingers together. “A lady cannot quite run around unescorted as you used to.”

“Leave me alone, Daemon.” You say, still trying to free yourself. The last thing you want today is to deal with him.

“You heard all those people. I do not belong here.” You look up at him, fighting your tears. You feel like such a whiny child. What happened to you is something that only happens in fairytales, it's the stuff songs are written about. No bastard girl gets acknowledged by her father and marries a Prince.

“Who cares what those cunts think?” Daemon scoffs. “You are above them. You always were.”

You bloom under his praise. There is no other word for it. It warms you, from head to toe, and your stomach fills with butterflies. A small smile forms, even through the tears that threaten to fall.

“There she is.” Daemon brushes his thumb over your cheek. “That’s my girl.”

His girl. There is nothing you would like more.

“I never wanted to be a Lady.” You lower your eyes, embarrassed at the admission. You feel ungrateful for saying it, but it’s the truth. You had never imagined a home away from your siblings. The marriage will mean you will be taken away from them, and only see them if Daemon feels like it.

You do not own a dragon, after all. And you aren’t too sure Allyn and him will be the best good brothers.

He grabs you by the waist and gives a little tug.

“Be mine instead.” Daemon whispers, and when you nod, he kisses your forehead.

MARRYING YOU HAD never been in his plans. Yet, when he saw you walk down the aisle, dressed in Velaryon blue and looking awkward, Daemon was sure you were the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

You were not a lady or a princess, yet you and him were alike. Birds of the same feather. For the first time, Daemon could say there was someone who understood him.

Daemon had never been poor, nor had he been born a bastard, but he too, had lost his parents while young. He, too, was considered too wild by his brother. And he knew all about of trying to fulfill an impossible task while honoring the legacy of his ancestors.

Laena was a mere child by your side. Her innocence and Valyrian looks had appealed to him once, but after meeting you, Daemon knew no other woman could compare. There was an edge to you, beneath all the innocence and beauty. A fire that burned bright in your belly, and could not be quenched. An anger that both amazed him and scared him, and drew him in like a moth to a flame.

You would have been great if you had been born into his house. Great but terrible.

Or perhaps you wouldn’t have. Perhaps, if you had grown acknowledged by your father, you would have not been the lost little girl who dreamed of recognition and slept lulled by the sea. You wouldn’t have grown into the woman who got the recognition and understood she did not need it at all.

A shame that recognition had come at a price so steep. Recognition in exchange for rumors of dishonor, whispers of the shame of your existence and the shame you had brought on yourself. These cunts did not see you for what you were. Not some malicious creature, some silver tongued temptress. No. You were determined and fierce, brave and true. You honored your house’s words. Your ancestors would have been proud.

Yes, Daemon decided. He would marry you and take you away from here, from this horrible little island where people behaved like they were above you. The cunts should be honored that you were even looking their way.

The distance might even help those stubborn brothers of yours to forget all about the way Daemon had become part of their family. When the grudge was forgotten, he would bring you back, less the eldest skewered him alive.

Not because Daemon feared Allyn. Of course not. But because killing him would be such a nuisance, and you would cry, and… Ugh. He couldn’t stand to see you cry.

You were about to burst into tears right now. He could tell. Daemon grabbed your hands in his, uncaring he was breaking protocol, and pressed his forehead against yours.

“We can still marry on the beach, with only Caraxes as witness.” He whispers, gently. “Hells, I would prefer it. We can run still. The Septon has not spoken.”

You laugh, a bit watery.

“Addam and Allyn would drop dead, thinking we will not be wed.”

“Allyn looks like he would attempt murder.”

“Attempt?”

“I doubt he would succeed.”

Daemon's mouth opens and closes.

“You little..!”

You laugh, but before he can lunge and throw you over his shoulder, the Septon clears his throat.

“If the two of you are done..?”

“Just get to the part where you handfast us.” Daemon says, giving him his best lecherous expression. “I have many things I wish to show my new bride.”

And there were. He had taken many of your firsts already, he wasn’t about to stop now.

#HAHAHAHAHAH #im insane #daemon fanfic #loVEEEE

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almondmilkcleanser · 2 days ago

Text

𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 — 05

SYNOPSIS - curiousity has played its role well with you - leaving you in between pleasure's whirlwind with the Phantomhive's most cunning, most skilled butler. How will you handle this arrangement?

■ ` ♡ characters / fandom ; f!reader x sebastian michaelis - kuroshitsuji + in a binding agreement

■ ` ♡ tw ; MINORS DNI

main menu | one-shots menu | chapter one | masterlist

■ ` ♡ VIP GUESTS TO THE MEAL ↷@preciousamethyst @crow-like-shiny-things @chrollohearttags @muvaginger @justaproudslytherpuff @kookie-vuitton @starstarbinks @flxxrence @urbunniebaby @nocturessa @neko-michaelis @maidensblessing @aiyaaayei

■ ` ♡ A/N → YKTV! Plagiarism not allowed. Please excuse any spelling/grammar mistakes

You admired your figure from all angles in your new attire. A fitted dress shirt, ruffled at the collar, and, what appeared to the naked eye, a particular black skirt. But Nina had something up her sleeve. She always did. She crafted the inner hem of your skirt to slit up your thigh in any event you needed to flee. In the cufflinks of your blouse carried holsters for small weapons just in case of emergency or urgency she repeated over and over.

The inner layer of your blouse was double stitched, secure enough to shield your delicate bits from even the nastiest of exposures. But none of that held your attention.

“The fabric feels so rich! So soft and-” you inhaled the hem of your collar, sighing in deep admiration. Sebastian, nonchalantly sifting through a newspaper, looked up at you, smirked, and continued to look down. “Is that vanilla! No-” snif “Tangerine! Nina I love this! I don’t know how i could ever repay you.”

Nina plopped the excess fabric that weighed her shoulders down on the large Oak table. She plopped a finger on her bottom lip, her mind racing on an option. By how calculative she looked at you, you almost regretted even offering the option to her.

“Ah!” Sebastian clenched the newspaper, his nerves at a jolt. “I’ve got it!” this time, Sebastian narrowed his eyes at NIna as he looked over the newspaper.

“Must you conduct yourself like you’re standing in the center of a coliseum. We’re all right- here.” Nina puffed her cheeks, crossed her arms, and stared darts back at Sebastian. The invisible bolts of lightning became visible as the pair shared equally dissatisfied glances.

“Anywho!” NIna turned up her nose. “I’ll make you a deal. Come to my shop and model for me. I’ll give you the mock outfits every time I’m finished. And in return I’ll have a bunch of designs for the upcoming spring catalogue!” Nina snickered at her marvelous plan, sending Sebastian’s eyes to the back of his head. He neatly folded the newspaper and stood to his feet, clearing his throat signaling that it was time.

“Well, I think that would be enough of that.” he stood to his feet. “The Young Master will decide on those arrangements, until then you should expect his company in the near future.” you could practically see the steam coming out of Nina’s ears.

“Sebastian.” you chimed up. Both Sebastian and NIna glanced at you. “I-” Why so many eyes on me?! “I think it would be a great idea.” you pretended to carry an air of confidence about yourself. Hopefully nobody saw through it like a translucent mirror. “What better way to expand the Phantomhive reach than to show to England that he helped assemble such fine fashion.” You took a step forward and spun around in a circle, giving Sebastian a full view of you from the front, the side, and an even longer glance from behind.

When you turned back to face him, a beaming self-assured smile on your face, you could see his eyes snake from the bottom up. He had to remember that Nina was, with broad apprehension on her face and a mouth full of bitten fingernails, looking on to see his answer. He merely smirked as he walked to the door to hold it open for you.

“If it isn’t so much trouble for Y/N, i’ll see that she comes to visit you twice a month. No more. No less. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Nina.” He extended his hand out the door, and you took not a second too long to nod your head in thanks to Nina and hurry out of the shoppe. You and Sebastian weren’t but a few feet away, but you could hear Nina’s exasperated shouts of glee from inside the shop.

You followed at Sebastian’s side closely, careful not to bump into the other passerbys. So many muted colors of black, grey, brown, and the occasional tweed. It almost bored you to tears seeing the English fashion. On occasion, you would see a lady dawned in a damp violet or, if you’re lucky, baby blue! You scoffed aloud.

“Something troubling you?” Sebastian asked.

“No, its just- seeing everyone out and about performing the mundane and dressing to match is so-”

“English. I know.” he agreed. “But we have to remember that everyone here is at a mentionable status. A figurehead, so to speak. “ He tapped his chin with a hmm. Trying to find the right words without being too boorish in his approach. But truthfully Sebastian grew so bored and so tired of it from time to time as well. Such mundane practices, day in and day out. No end in sight. How atypical the human experience could be in his eyes. And yet individuals could so happily continue on these practices for the sake of appearances every day, and then they die.

How damned is that.

“Its more complicated than what it seems.” you didn’t really buy his response, but at the moment you didn’t care that much.

“Say, Sebastian.” you started up again. “What are we doing in the city anyway?”

“Just walking around.” eh?! “While you and the Young Master were still sleeping, I took it upon myself to venture into town. I delivered a few packages, paid off a few patrons, obtained some documents, petted a few kittens, gathered intel-”

“Wait. We’re not going to scurry past that statement, Sebastian.” you fought down a chuckle. “Did you say you were petting kittens? How does such an elegant butler like yourself find time to pet animals?”

Sebastian fixed his tie, averting his eyes away from you. “You always find time for simple pleasures.” His lips curled into a smile as he imagined you at your most vulnerable. You must have caught wind at his inner musings, for you looked away in a huff, your cheeks warm to touch.

“I’d remember to keep some questions of curiosity to myself.”

“Quite.” he so snidely agreed. You looked up at Sebastian who still beared a faint blush post-confession. You tried to play it off like you were clearing your throat, but even Sebastian could pick up the chortle underneath your hacking.

A few taps at the top of the carriage, and the two of you were on your way back home.

❈❈❈

You sat across from Sebastian, a fresh basket of bread and lilies warming your lap. Your feet were tired from walking all around the city, but for whatever reason you didn’t mind it. Sebastian took it upon himself to guide you around the more elite sectors of the city. Introducing you to the more exclusive airs that England had to offer.

The finest winery, elusive bakeries that had waiting lists to get inside, private dance studios that children of the elite would come and learn the arts. Ballet, poetry, fencing, you name it. With being apart of the Phantomhive manor, one could redeem many perks and coin in many, many favors throughout the years. And today, you finally realized just how much power the Phantomhives held.

When you walked in with Sebastian, people recognized the Phantomhive insignia in an instant. And, like clockwork, people would move out of your way. They would bow their heads. They would proclaim high praises for Sir Vincent. So on and so forth.

Luckily for you two, a bread and sweets bakery along your route just so happened to have fresh batches readily available for the two of you. Sebastian declined for himself, but instead fetched four large loaves of bread for you. You could smell its freshness and feel its warmth on your lap, making your stomach growl out of turn.

“I can’t wait to have this with some tea when we get back.”

“I’m sure the Young Master would love a piece himself.” Sebastian mentioned thoughtfully.

“Would you like some?” he raised his eyebrow at you. “W-while its still hot of course.”

“I’m afraid I would have to decline. But,” he moved from one side of the cart to the other, sitting next to you with both of your knees touching. He moved the basket off your lap and onto his.

“I’d like to feed you some.” You tried to stop the gasp that came out of your mouth, but it was too late. Sebastian faced you head on, his gloved hands breaking off a piece of bread into near-perfect meticulous pieces.

“You’re hungry. And unless you’d like to cause me trouble back at the manor, I’d liike for you not to fall unconscious during the remainder of your shift today.” Shit, do you really have to work more after running such a llong errand?

“I am hungry but- this isn’t necessary, Sebastian. I-” While your mouth was open, he took the opportunity to stuff your cheeks with warm, buttery bread. The soft, fluffy texture melted in your mouth, making you close your eyes to savor each bite. When he saw you were finished, he popped another piece of bread into your mouth, and with eyes still closed, you moaned in satisfaction at the craftsmanship performed on each delicate piece!

This was far different than the, sometimes old, and sometimes soggy, pieces of bread you would accumulate before working for the manor. How you would go days without an adequate meal or, when you did, you would hand it off to someone else that seemed to need it more. Now, here you were, being fed bread by a demon butler that you signed a sexual contract with in a lavish carriage.

Who knew your adult years could take such an aspiringly pivotal turn. Right off a cliff.

“One more.” you requested. Your plushy mouth was already foming a narrowed ‘O’, preparing for the next savory bite. “One more and I think I’ll be satisfied.”

“Is that so?” Sebastian smirked reassuringly. He tapped the top of the carriage 4 times, causing the coachman to slow down to a halt. You just assumed he stopped to check on the luggage sitting behind him. Unknowingly to you, the coachman, under what seemed like a sleepy trance, hopped off the carriage and wandered into the forest. He muttered incoherently to himself, his walk staggering left and right. But he continued to walk until there was only a hushed rustling of bushes, until eventually nothing was heard and nothing was en route to cross your paths.

“Keep your eyes closed.” his dark, silky voiced dropped to a whisper. He fished around in the basket for a new piece as you sat there, eyes playfully closed, anticipating another piece until-

“Mmh!” You felt his cool, soft lips press against yours. He held you by your shoulders, pinning your back against the plush carriage chairs. His knee pushed between your legs, raising your skirt inch by inch until it was bunched around your upper thighs.

You could feel his hunger. His want. His need for you. How taunting it was for you to be in arm’s length all day and he could only watch and wait. He could only imagine what it was like to have you sprawled across your bed, your wanting eyes tracing the outline of his silhouette, body and mind crying out for his touch.

But seeing you, with such an unquenchable thirst building in the back of hsi throat, made him pounce. He pressed his fingers into your blouse, intensifying the kiss moment by moment. Your tongues latched onto eachother, playing a friendly game of tug and war. He broke the kiss, practically growlingin your ear as he kissed the base of your neck.

You threw your head back into a moan. “Sebastian, we’re out in the open.” He swiftly unbuttoned your blouse and unlatched the front of your bra. His eyes never met yours. “Someone could see us, Sebastian.” his long, rugged tongue latched around your erect nipples, pulling and suckling at your sensitive flesh, causing your own moans to escalate. The lust in your body grew at an increasing rate. The warmth of your pussy burning a hole in between your expensive stockings.

“Sebastian-” he stopped your worrying with another kiss. His gloved hands cradling your breasts and circling them around and around. You succumbed, wrapping your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. He pulled your stockings down to your ankles, adjusting his body so that you were on under him and his body was hovered over yours.

You almost forgot that you were in a carriage how accommodating and flexible Sebastian was.

He freed one of your feet from its nylon prisons and bent your knee to your chest. With his eyes to yours, he popped his middle and ring finger into his mouth with a smile. Coating it with his saliva from base to tip.

“You’re so beautiful when you look at me like that.” Your glistening eyes spoke a silent message to Sebastian. How you switched from being such a strong-willed, determined woman to one of a needy, luscious, and smoldering one turned his head upside down. To see you, staring at him with Bambi eyes as you begged, pleaded for his throbbing cock to fill you up just drove him into an animalistic headspace.

“Sebastian,” you breathed. Your honey-riddled tones so sweet. You felt him split you open, filling you inch by inch. Sebastian groaned aloud at your tightness, his own face breaking out into a light sweat. You shuddered underneath his touch. His large thumb circled around your throbbing clit, pressing down as he entered you back and forth. Back and forth. Back and fucking forth.

“Oh- God! P-please, Sebastian!” on instinct you grabbed his wrist with one hand, your orgasm budding and blooming the more he played with you. He pushed your hand away, pinning it atop your head, his knees opening your legs wider and wider. Your viscous nectar replaced his spittled fingers, creating a sloshed, slicked mixture that coated your inner thighs, ass cheeks and the carriage chairs.

“You’re so warm, and so- so wet. Is this all for me?” In a tease, he pulled his fingers out of you, gleefully popping them in his mouth. He took both fingers, and opened his mouth so you could see him trace them on his tongue. Your sticky essence creating lines across his tongue and atop the roof of his mouth.

He leaned down to kiss you so you two could savory your flavor together. As your tongues interlocked again, he fished his member out of his trousers. The droplets of pre-cum dripped against your inner thigh, mixing with your juices, and slowly sliding down your thigh.

“Dammit-” he breathed. “I’m going to enjoy this. I’m most positively going to enjoy you, as well. He smiled down at you, his demonic fangs protruding out the sides of his mouth. He pushed inside of you, groaning aloud at your warmth. Your wetness. Your everboding grip around his thickness. He had to catch himself. Closing his eyes and clearing his throat to refrain from exploding so soon.

“Sh- Shi- Sebastian, you’re s- so deep. Please don’t tease me anymore~” you could almost feel Sebastian’s body shift. The air in the carriage grew thick, heavy, and taunting. You looked up at him and swallowed as he looked down at you and grinned. He pushed back your other knee to your chest, positioned himself again, and proceeded to move inside of you.

At first, his movements were slow, calculative, and considerate. But then, when he looked down at you, and how snug your pussy clenched onto him, a side of him came further and further to the front. He pressed his hands into your hips, leaving flesh-like indents around your ass. He slammed his hips into you, making you feel every inch of him. He stretched you open, giving you and your pussy limited time to relax and contract. He wanted all of you. Right here, right now.

“Ah! F- fu- fuck, Sebastian! You’re so deep inside of me-e-e~” You could feel your pussy creating new gateways for him to explore. You felt her stretch, contract, bend and mold to his every want and wish. An end not even being a question between you two.

Droplets of your fluid splashed into the air as he continued to pound into you. Your juices coated his dick alll the way to the base of his pelvis, even dripping down onto his balls. He could feel you clenching, pulling him down deeper into the depths of yourself.

“Good heavens, Y- Y/N, why are you so incredibly wet like this?” he pushed deep inside of you, keeping it there as he leaned down to kiss your neck, leaving subtly sized hickies along your neck. “Did you miss me that much? Hmm?” letting go of your knees, he positioned both of his arms along the side of your head, balancing himself on his elbows. He kept his chest pinned down to you and proceeded to stroke again inside of you. He wanted to feel all of you. ever y crevice, every groove, every bend he wanted to claim it as his.

You couldn’t help it anymore. Your voice cried out in perverse pleasure as he rammed in you. Circling his hips back and forth at a momentum that wasn’t of this world. He kept drilling you, begging to go deeper into you, thrashing your love nest, embedding an impression on your body that none other would be able to match. You wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

“G- gonna cum, Sebastian- Go- gonna cuuuuuum-” He responded simply by kissing your dampened cheek.

“By all means, let it out.”

“You’re so beautiful when you cum.”

Damn that Sebastian! You wished he wasn’t so skillful but your body readily thanked him. Your eyes flew open, only to roll to the back of your head. Your body spasmed, a mixture of small to large thrashes overcame your hips.

Your essence coated his dick, sliding down between your ass and staining the plushed seats underneath you.

“I love it when you spill all over me. F-fuck, that’s right. Let it all out, Y/N. It's not good to be so- fuc- pent up like this~”

As you continued your orgasm, thick globs of Sebastian’s cum came oozing out of you, your sticky fluids and his thick essence creating gel-like globs that seemed to seep out at a nonstop pace.

He kissed your lips one more time, catching your breathless quivers, guiding you back down from your peak.

You’re so beautiful when you cum.

❈❈❈

“Do I really have to help Mei-Rin with the cleaning?” you buttoned up your shirt with a whine. Your hair was disheveled. Droplets of sweat were still resting on your cheeks and chin, and your body felt heavy.

“Only for the first hour. We can’t make it obvious what we were doing as soon as we get back.” He balled up the leg of your stockings, crouching down to slide them on your feet and up your thigh. “If I were you, Y/N. I would enjoy that hour of freedom.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Because, according to our terms, I’m liable to redeem a full day with you as per our agreement.” Shit.

“B-but, in this carr- you’re not tired?!” Sebastian chuckled to himself.

“On the contrary, Y/N” his eyes flickered a warm auburn from his demonic red.

“I’m just getting warmed up. So.. Make sure you stretch.” he winked at you, knocking on the top of the carriage 4 times again. This time, the coachman shouted at the horse, and they were on the move again.

“Was he there the whole time?!”

“A fairly late response considering the deed is already done, don’t you think?”

to be continued.....

❈❈❈

A/N — plssss leave a comment, like and reblog! It really helpssss

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raayllum · 2 days ago

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What if… the last quasar diamond is used for Callum…? To completely purge the dark magic from him…? After Rayla tearfully keeps her promise of killing him, and is devastated, before remembering about the spell…?

Short Answer: I don't think the quasar diamond will be used for Callum, that he'll literally die, or that Rayla will kill him.

Long Answer: (aka why I think the above)

I don't think Callum is going to be permanently/temporarily killed this season. Some of this is because resurrection magic is very complicated in-universe and can't be something that's easily done (otherwise we'll run into trouble with stakes later). Aaravos helping Callum save Rayla's life (magic, corrupted primal stone, etc) feels within his aims for me, but someone doing something like that without Aaravos feels less tangible. Even with a quasar diamond, Rayla isn't a mage, and while quasar diamonds can restore a body to a separated soul, we know they can't restore it to lost souls (of people who are fully dead) otherwise Aaravos would've been able to restore and bring back Leola by opening up the Moon Nexus and unleashing the dead.

The other main reason is that Callum literally dying isn't really needed, I think, when it comes to his character arc. If/when he willingly corrupts himself with dark magic, he is going to be metaphorically killing himself three times over: it means allowing himself to be totally corrupted (death one), turning himself over to Aaravos (death two), and knowing he made Rayla promise to kill him (death three). (This is also why I find the "he uses dark magic to destroy/coin Aaravos" less effective, since it means that Rayla isn't bound to kill him — she only promised specifically if he's under Aaravos' control — and it removes the biggest fear factor of why Callum is scared to do dark magic as well.)

Either way, Callum dying wouldn't add much to Callum's arc, so what about the other half of the equation? What would killing him give to Rayla's arc?

Well, it also wouldn't give much. There'd be irony in Rayla starting arc 2 wanting to kill a high mage of Katolis but being unable to, only for her to kill the high mage she wanted to save more than anything? If this would be closer to the beginning of her season arc, with time to grow after (the regret, or un-making her choice later when another opportunity is presented). Rayla has had six seasons of routinely sacrificing herself and what she wants (being with her loved ones) with precious few exceptions, even if we've seen her steadily grow more positively in S4 onwards in particular (god bless you 5x04). Killing him is what's expected of her as an Assassin and a Good Moonshadow Elf, which is set in opposition to her being a Hero ("Rayla saves people" / "It was rescued? By who?" "...Me").

So Rayla, who always sacrifices, continues to sacrifice. Even though — from a meta narrative perspective — she and Callum are set up to the be the inversion of Viren and Lissa. Viren sacrificed the people around him (including her) and did dark magic, so she saw him as a monster and left. Meanwhile, Callum and Rayla are set up for Callum to do dark magic because he refuses to sacrifice Rayla. Because of this, even though he sees himself as a monster (evidenced by the corruption and Aaravos' control), Rayla will not and she will refuse to leave him, bringing him back to himself (possibly with Ezran's help).

I also think some of this ground work is laid because Callum isn't just scared of being possessed and hurting people; he's also specifically scared that Rayla will be scared of him (6x03), that he will no longer be someone she knows and loves. However, we also know thanks to 6x03 (and 6x06: "You're a good person Callum. Maybe the goodest") that that's not true or going to happen. She knows who he is, who he Truly is, and that he's acting out of love. In saving him, not only does she reaffirm his identity, she reaffirms her own (more on Rayla being unable to kill without also symbolically killing herself here) with the most important bit dropped in here:

As long as Callum is Callum (“you’re the destiny is a book you write yourself guy”), he’s worth saving. As long as Callum is Callum, she can be Rayla (“Rayla’s brave. She saves people” / “Rayla. My name is Rayla, and I’m going home”). As long as she’s Rayla, he can be Callum. Because if Callum isn’t Callum, then he’s dead, and if he’s dead, she can kill him. And if Rayla kills him, if Callum is dead, then she won’t be Rayla anymore. Because to literally kill Callum would be to simultaneously symbolically/emotionally kill herself.

In going to save him, also (which Runaan might be primed to encourage or be a catalyst for), Rayla gets to demonstrate her growth by refusing to sacrifice herself and refusing to sacrifice him. Previously, she's sacrificed herself for him, sacrificing both her life and their happiness. In 4x03/4x09 and throughout arc 2, what we see what she wants most is not just Callum being alive, but having a life with Callum ("what I most deeply desire is what I could've had all along"). To be together, rather than being separated (6x09). So Rayla choosing him, and their life together, and what she wants, un-making her choice to leave at the beginning of the arc / timeskip — refusing to sacrifice him the same way he refused to sacrifice her, reaffirming both their identities, bringing them both back from the dark paths they thought they couldn't escape (being Aaravos' puppet or dead, being an assassin or dead) — that's the Character Growth, and where I think we're headed.

Conversely, if she kills him — she arguably hasn't changed, and not even necessarily changed for the worst. It'd work more for me if it was like end of S6 with S7 to go and wrap up her arc, but given that it's the final season of the arc that started with "no I'm not going to kill you, I came back For You and will keep coming back for / To You"... yeah, we're gonna end S7 on a high note, character arc wise, for just about everyone in the main cast, I think (likely excluding Aaravos, possibly Claudia, and potentially Karim).

Additionally, although quasar diamonds aren't seemingly affected by being used for dark magic (i.e. there's no corruption), there's no indication they can purge dark magic. And even if they could, and it'd give Callum another blank slate, presumably... But would that really matter on the tail of a season where he had a blank slate and (under my assumptions, mind you) threw it all away under the worst possible circumstances/consequences of doing so? Am I really going to believe he'd always be able to stay away from dark magic no matter what after going back on that promise at least two, if not three, times? (As always, prepared to eat my words later, but this is where my head is at / where I think the narrative set up is going in terms of him using it again with what we have rn; more alternative narrative legwork could happen in S7 that'd make the opposite outcome make sense to me.)

I think it's far more effective if Callum keeps (or doesn't) the taint of dark magic, but Aaravos can never use it to control him again. He can use it under extreme circumstances (like Viren did in 6x08, which was the right thing to do) but without the biggest consequence of doing so. He'll also have the certainty that no matter what he did or what he does ("It doesn't matter what you did before, I just want you to be okay again" / "None of this matters... It means I trust her. Unconditionally"), Rayla will be there and they'll accept and love and fight for each other, always, that they'll never sacrifice each other but go together in all things, and that freedom to exist and be loved is True Freedom from Aaravos and from the corruption of dark magic.

#thanks for asking #tdp callum #s7 speculation #predictions #nothingmorethanageminiboar #s7 #tdp #the dragon prince #mini meta #analysis #analysis series #requests

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