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atrwriting · 1 year ago

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future problems — coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

hi everyone :) jumping on the bandwagon

this man is so fine i couldn’t help myself. i hope everyone had an amazing holiday if they celebrate — i celebrate christmas, so here is my almost 10k word christmas gift to all of you xoxo love u all v much thank you for reading !!

as always, warnings: corio-lame-o is a fucking warning holy fuck, smuuuuut, arranged marriage (i think this counts?), coriolanus is a distrustful evil fuck (but he’s super hot), fem!reader, reader is married to this dickhead (i say as if i wouldn’t want to be lmao), angst, sexism and misogyny is def in here, p in v penetration, m receiving oral, choking, dom!corio, asshole!corio, sub!reader, subspace kinda

informal warnings: bro what the fuck was i on this is literally 10.2k words and i refuse to edit because im super lazy anyway we die like men you've been warned

anyways… here is future problems:

he never wanted to get married.

he saw it as a potential problem, one that would most definitely lead to loose ends — and he hated loose ends.

despised them.

however, his innate need to maintain an image was far more important to him. he weighed the costs and benefits in his head like an algorithm — check, check, check. coriolanus’ mind left no stone unturned, especially when future problems were to be squashed before they could ever be wiped from memory. in the end… he decided he would marry.

and it would be you.

he never allowed himself to be naive — so he would never allow himself to marry someone he already loved. lucy gray? a child’s want for something they can’t have, and something they wouldn’t realize until later that it was a walking regret. no — he could never marry someone that would harm him. absolutely not. out of the question. therefore, it had to be you.

it had to be you because what harm would you cause him? you were shy, quiet, of satisfactory social standing, and uncontroversial. everything a patriarch of the snow family would want. deserved. be entitled to.

he needed someone that wouldn’t be a problem — a loose end in the future. he had conquered so much — he refused to let anything else, especially as irrelevant as a significant other, stand in his way.

however… it did not aid him in his stone-cold lack of a love affair conquest that you were absolutely breathtaking.

at first, it was just an ego boost. he simply couldn’t stop his thoughts from voicing, of course she’s perfect. the snow legacy can only have perfect.

but then… oh, then…

then he saw your smile.

oh, your smile.

your fucking smile.

the first time he caught himself enjoying it — he scolded himself. he refused to see you for a week. a punishment of sorts. more so for him than for you. after, he refused to let his eyes wander on the pretty features of your face for him to witness a reaction to something someone had said or done. he didn’t want to be reminded of what it was like to experience joy or peace because someone else was experiencing it — that was what almost costed him everything he had built.

no one would ever tear that down. not again, not ever.

no one.

when the day of your marriage came, it was business as usual. he refused to meet eye contact, and did not partake in more conversations with you than he had to. he could tell you felt uncomfortable — but he forced himself not to care. he drove it down, down, down like a miner drilling for more coal — hoping, one day, it would be worth it.

and it was… until he was sick.

it was a minor ailment — nothing major, but he was on bedrest for about a week or two. he had employed enough adequate members to his staff to feel that things would at least be taken care of until then. he also found comfort in the fact that two weeks was not long enough for something irreversible to occur. if a problem had taken placed, he would be able to rectify it once he was well and able and… set aside the responsible party.

however, he did not expect one problem.

and that would be you.

he knew you were asking to see him. he knew, he knew, he knew, but he refused to let you in. you were not disrespectful — you had only asked once a day, which happened to be every day in the afternoon. he had picked you specifically because you were too quiet to be annoying. however, his own perfect, pristine, and proper plan had stabbed him in the back. he had never considered that the perfect, pristine, and proper wife would be this dutiful to him, checking in once a day on his condition and to speak with him. despite his illness, he laughed at himself — leave it to him to not expect the expected: the hand-selected dutiful wife would, in fact, be dutiful.

he had to put an end to it. he couldn’t keep saying no for another week. how was he expected to get better if you kept bothering him?

so he let you in. this once. just this once. he reasoned that if he let you in this once, you would be less persistent. just this once — and another problem would cease to plague his mind.

just this once, he chanted in his head. just this once.

he sat up straighter, and attempted to shape his hair so it wasn’t terribly unkept. he reasoned that if you saw him appearing to be healthy, you wouldn’t feel the need to come back. he thought —

but he couldn’t finish the thought.

because you walked in.

smelling like fucking lilacs.

lilacs, of all things. lilacs! not roses, not anything else — lilacs. he did not hate lilacs, but he despised the actual flower. only beautiful for so long before it died and the stench was intolerable. an inconvenience. a nuisance. a guaranteed future problem.

however, when you gifted him with a small smile — you realized why small shows of beauty were so valuable in this world. no one else saw your smile — except for those closest to you. people he hand selected to be around you to prevent future problems. he realized then — he had more control and ownership over your smile than either of you thought.

he was so stunned by your smile he didn’t even notice the tray of tea and cakes in your hand. you took a few steps towards him and he shifted in place.

“i brought your favorites,” you spoke softly. “i know you should rest — i just wanted to ask if there was anything i could do to make your recovery easier.”

“no, thank you,” he replied, voice raspy. “i should be well in a few days.”

you nodded and offered an uneasy smile. his eyes flickered over to how once you had set down the tray on his beside, you slowly wiped the palm of your hands down the front of your dress. your eyes were cast absentmindedly in front of you, on the wall — and he could tell something was plaguing your thoughts.

he then also realized there was a book on the tray, much to his dismay.

“someone had mentioned that this was your favorite author. this was published a few days ago,” you began. “i understand that you have been experiencing headaches, and may find it difficult to read… so i wanted to offer to read aloud for you, in case you found these walls dull.”

you smiled — it was an attempt at a joke. he smiled back, but only to be polite. “today i find myself wanting to sleep. i appreciate your offer.”

you smoothed your hands over your dress once more before nodding and forcing a smile. “i’ll leave you to it, then.”

you did not bid him farewell — and he found himself wondering if he was annoyed or grateful. you simply exited the room, and let the door shut softly behind you.

he scrunched his eyes at the door, swallowing hard.

however, he didn’t understand why.

he had wanted this. the perfect wife — knowing when to take a hint and frankly, fuck off. you had done that, perfectly well — so why was he pissed?

he then found himself glaring angrily at his favorite tea cakes. the swap of sugar for honey, another one of his favorites. his favorite author, a book he was excited to read when he was better. he knew that you hadn’t asked about him — he employed people with the requirement to let him know when you were asking questions. he knew your every outward thought and concern, and sometimes even the ones that weren’t shared aloud because they were so evident on your face.

and then he realized: you noticed things like he noticed things.

however, he knew why he went out of his way to notice things, but why did you?

his jaw clenched as he glared angrily at the wall in front of him. he picked up a tea cake and chewed it aggressively, swallowing it half-intact. he coughed at the barely there food, anger rising further to his flushed cheeks.

he needed to understand how, and he most certainly needed to understand why.

he never went out of his way to get to know you, because he thought he already did. he thought he had you boiled down to one thing, and one thing only: passive. incapable of proving to be any sort of roadblock that was capable of getting in his way. now that he knew you shared something with him, what else was shared? was there something he had to look out for? was there something he missed? was he wrong about you?!

he had to know. he had to.

to do that… he called you back that evening. it was two hours before midnight, and he knew you were awake. despite having separate chambers, he knew your daily schedule. you would be reading at this moment, and he would ask you to read for him.

as if on cue, he heard a soft rapping on the wood of the door. he beckoned you in, and you entered the room. you were clad in a night dress with a matching robe over it, all pink silk. this time, he returned your smile.

"i apologize for the late hour," he spoke. "i hope you had not retired for the night."

you shook your head, your tendrils of perfect hair shaking slightly. "i was reading. i am glad you sent for me — can i get you anything?"

"i was hoping the offer to read for me was still on the table," he rasped. "i find myself unable to sleep."

you blinked once, staring at him. in an instant, a small smile was threatening to overtake your face into a large one. you cast your eyes down to a blushing manner, but his eyes narrowed slightly on your face. what would you get out of reading for him? what we he not seeing? what did he miss?

"of course," you responded. "i have not had a chance to read anything by this author. i am glad i have the chance now."

why. why. why.

he did not show his discontent. he simply rested back against the pillows as you reached for the book on his bedside table. you sat down on a chair on his side, and you crossed your legs. he eyed the small portion of the exposed, soft skin of your legs and wondered if your new ploy would be to try and seduce him. however, you quickly covered your skin with the extra material over your robe and placed the book in your lap. once opened, you read for him.

he was not listening to what you were saying, but he was listening to how you said it. the tone, the enunciation, the pauses, and the speed. he wanted to find some clue as to why you had made it a point to be at his beck and call, and he wanted to see how long the act would last until it dropped.

the act would drop. it always did.

the hour would approach midnight before he found that he could not discern anything from how you were reading aloud. his plan did not yield the results intended, as you had not broken from fulfilling his task for two hours. two hours. you had not stopped out of boredom or exhaustion, nor to talk to him. you were poised, soft, and he hated to admit it... but sweet. he found your voice sweet, and he hated it.

and he fucking hated himself for it.

he needed this to end so he could plan further. out of necessity, he yawned. if you were to apt at picking up clues, then hopefully you would believe that he was finally tired. you had succeeded in his given task, and you were free to go.

but you had kept reading for him.

he grew angry.

when you had paused to breathe, he spoke up. "I think i am able to sleep now. thank you, sweetheart, for indulging me."

your eyeline raised with your eyebrows, almost out of surprise. you either were not expecting him to ask you to stop, or you did not want to stop. he wondered which, and if that would answer his ultimate question.

"my apologies, i should've inquired sooner," you replied. "he is a very talented writer... i found myself enjoying his perspective."

you grabbed a piece or scrap paper from his bedside table, and tucked it in between the pages where you left off.

"most people would fold the corner," he remarked, eyes drifting closed — a show.

you smiled. "i didn't want to ruin the integrity of your book. goodnight, coriolanus."

she left with another smile — and all he was left with was confusion, and rage.

the next morning, he found himself wanting to call you back in for a further rouse interview. he would have if he had a plan in place.

that was the second thing about you that annoyed him: you annoyed him to the point where he wanted to act without a plan in place. a loss of control —which he was highly against.

that would have to be righted immediately.

he spent the morning reading the pages that you had already read to brief himself as if he was listening last night. he reasoned with himself that the best course of action would be to ask you to read to him again to see if you had grown comfortable enough to let a few of your true colors slip.

they always slip.

the sudden task that was presented to him gave him a new bout of energy that he needed to inch closer to recovery. it gave him the push he needed to be closer to walking out of this room and continue to run panem, and he was lost grateful to you for giving it to him — almost. at the moment, you were a problem — and that needed to be corrected. immediately.

he found comfort in control, so he was very content with routines. he had grown accustomed to bracing himself for your check-in in the afternoon. however, it did not come until the approaching hours of the evening had almost descended upon the capitol. he waited, and waited, and waited — so long that he considered asking you to come for himself. the hour would approach dinnertime when you had finally asked about his well-being, and he sent for you.

how dare you ask so late in the day, as if you didn't care? he allowed you access to his life that he had denied you for so long, and you return his kindness with carelessness? this would not do. this most certainly would not do.

you had knocked on his door, and he had to stop himself from sounding to eager. he permitted you entry, and you entered with the same soft smile.

"good evening," you greeted.

"hello," he replied, voice still raspy from his sickness.

"I wanted to ask if you need anything," you announced.

he offered a small smile. "i enjoyed our time last night. perhaps you would read for me, again?"

your eyes fell to the floor in a blush. "of course. I was hoping to read more of the book eventually. i found it intriguing."

you sat down in the chair and pulled the book in your lap. as you were opening it, he spoke, "i thought when you had not checked-in in the early afternoon you found the book dull — afraid i would ask for you to read it for me again."

you shook your head as you smiled. "i like his writing very much — i was concerned as to whether i had prevented you from sleeping the night prior, and didn't want to disturb you further."

he swallowed. "why would you have disturbed me?"

your eyes glanced upwards from the pages to rest on his face. coriolanus stared back as slight concern washed over your features, making your lips part and your eyes widen. your tongue darted out from between your lips, and smoothed over the skin of your bottom lip. you responded, "before you fell ill, we hadn't spent much time together and i understand that is because of your position — but, to be frank, i wanted to respect your space.”

your answer perplexed coriolanus. he wanted to find out what type of person you were — and your answers were not yielding the expected results. there was no obvious form of manipulation in your words, which then worried him. were you smarter than he believed you to be? were you as cunning as him? more so?

so he went with what was natural: manipulation.

“i apologize my station has not granted us the freedom to get to know each other further,” he replied, holding your gaze. “it is a regret of mine.”

you smiled in an affirmative manner, like you didn’t believe him but accepted his answer anyway. this expression arose the same feelings he now detested your presence for: he acted without calculating his actions and the outcome they would produce.

“what troubles you?” he asked.

your lips parted and slightly quivered. you were not expecting him to ask.

“i-i was worried that i may not… please you,” you admitted. “that… you may regret our union.”

“you have been a kind and dutiful wife,” coriolanus spoke, eyes holding yours. “there is no regret.”

there was that affirmative smile again. he found himself hating it — wishing it would be replaced by the warm, soft one.

“i guess i was hoping that, when i was married, the marriage would be more than… a union.”

your candor shocked coriolanus. he would never have expected you to say something… so out of turn.

“please, forgive me,” you spoke, slightly laughing and waving your hand in the air. “the hour is almost late and i was hoping to read more. do you still wish me to?”

“please,” he answered and nodded.

you gave him a quick, thankful smile, and began reading.

this would be the second night coriolanus had not listened to a word you had said.

he had gotten his answer, and it was possibly as bad as the one he was actually afraid for.

you were good. pure, innocent, and your outlook on the world untainted. you were not striving to find a loose screw and let the empire fall. you wanted… to support the man who built and kept the empire together. it was worse than anything he could’ve ever imagined — you actually cared for him.

you cared for him, and now coriolanus snow was fucking terrified.

and yet... he had asked you to return to his chambers every night after that.

for research purposes, of course. only research purposes,

to read to him, but his goal was to learn more about you rather than the text.

you would sit there and read until he asked you to stop. when he did, you would close the book, smile at him, place it back on his nightstand, and bid him goodnight.

after, he would wrestle with the blankets and pillows in order to find out how to deal with this.

how had he not expected this?

his only fault was that he neglected to realize how far your shyness would go. you had grown comfortable with him — and you admitted that you wanted something more, something he always felt he could not give. you weren’t shy — you just weren’t open with people you weren’t comfortable with.

he should’ve known. he should’ve. fucking. known.

he didn’t know how to deal with this, if he was being honest with himself.

he told himself that he asked for you every evening to get to know you better, for his own sanity and safety; but then he began to realize he had found out everything he needed to know.

good and honest. how fucking unfortunate.

he saw a part of you, but now he needed to know more.

so what did he do? he sent you flowers. flowers. an arrangement of red roses and lilacs.

he hated himself for the lilacs.

he got somewhere with you when he had made the first move before — maybe this would yield more promising results.

however, it didn’t.

all he received in return was an extra tray of food that had arrived in the afternoon. his favorite tea cakes, and a handwritten thank-you note detailed in your appreciation for the beautiful flowers. you signed your name, and that was it.

she doesn’t make first moves, he thought. she responds to them.

he knew what he had to do.

he found himself feeling better that day — well enough to end his sick leave and return to his matters. dinner was approaching, and he sent for you to join him for a private dinner this evening.

he was washed, dressed, and coiffed within the hour.

he found you in the dining parlor waiting for him, inspecting his large bookcase. you were trying to reach a book a bit above where your height would allow, extending yourself onto your toes. coriolanus walked up behind you, towering over you, and retrieved the book for you.

you glanced up at him with wide eyes. “thank you, coriolanus.”

“what intrigued you?” he asked, grinning softly.

“first one i couldn’t reach. i was working my way up.” you smiled at him, and then the book. “please — you must be hungry. let us eat.”

you sat down at the table across from him. dinner manners were rather stiff and uncomfortable, but your upbringing that was similar to coriolanus’ prevented you from straying from them. you ate in silence for a few moments before you spoke.

“how do you like his new book?” you asked.

coriolanus cleared his throat. “i find it riveting. i wouldn’t have been able to read it for some time if it hadn’t been for you.”

you smiled at your plate, blushing. “his points are very interesting. i was never very interested in politics — so the insight of someone so heavily involved with them is very informative. do you find that your opinions align with his? or does he not share your perspective?”

he appreciated your willingness to engage with him about topics you weren’t very fond of. an underrated trait, not found very often — he had to admit.

“a bit of both,” he responded. “the one thing he does not discuss is how important it is to have a certain type of person or persons in your regime that allows the flow of success to continue.”

you nodded. “you have built a strong administration — i’m sure he would admire what you have to say.”

“what do you believe?” he asked. “about partnerships?”

you swallowed, contemplating your answer. “i think… a successful partnership is where everyone is complimented by another. for instance, someone is better at briefing documents rather than the presentation of them, and another is the opposite.”

“which one are you?” coriolanus inquired.

you paused once more, folding your lip under. he realized that was a sign you were uncomfortable — unaware of how to proceed. after a moment, you answered, “i feel the most confident under a strong leader. i prefer to be behind the scenes. minute details are easier to be taken care of that way. while you and i are different, i respect you for being the strong leader panem needed. i am sure the majority would agree with me.”

now was the time.

“it is easy to be strong when one’s wife makes sure they are well,” he replied, eyes resting on your face. “i hope you know i appreciate your willingness to accept change and make sure needs are met.”

you smiled at him once more, then turned back to your food.

damn, he thought. didnt bite.

“and for being the companion i… didn’t think i would come to enjoy the company of,” he added.

you glanced up at him then, astonishment written in your eyes as plain as the words on the paper you read for him every night. “may i ask you… a question?”

he nodded.

“did you believe you wouldn’t enjoy my company before, or after you had first met me?”

“i don’t understand.”

you swallowed, clearing your throat. “were you… wary of the idea of marriage, or wary of me?”

your gaze did not break from his. you were braver than he thought.

“marriage,” he answered honestly, hoping to witness your reaction.

there was the affirmative smile — the one he hated. “thank you for — for being honest.”

your eyes didn’t wait for a response. you turned back to your food, and left him dumbstruck.

“i hope i have not displeased you,” he stated.

“no, coriolanus,” you spoke. “if i am being honest… i was wary i would not be suitable for you. if i have not displeased you, then i am well.”

“but you stated you wanted more,” he countered, tone even.

“i hoped we would… spend time together,” you answered. “and we have.”

it was coriolanus’ turn to be at a loss for words. what would this admission relay? it only solidified what he was afraid of — you wanted a marriage filled of love, and he was not prepared for that. ever.

“the flowers were beautiful,” you spoke, interrupting his thoughts. “thank you for sending them.”

“your lilac perfume is a wonderful addition to the capitol,” he spoke, unsure where this had come from. “i wanted you to know that.”

you weren't supposed to say that you weren't supposed to tell the truth you weren't supposed

you smiled at him appreciatively, that accompanied a slight twinkle in your eye. you were quick to return to eating, but coriolanus couldn’t stop staring at your face. he realized then that was his new favorite smile.

there was a moment, a small moment, where he wondered whether it would be such a crime if he did allow himself to enjoy your company more than he had. in that moment, he couldn’t think of how it would go wrong. for that moment, you were a simple, low-maintenance, beautiful woman on the other side of the table with him that just liked spending time with him — and he enjoyed that you weren’t a problem. would it so bad if he entertained the idea?

he immediately cut himself off. of course it was a bad idea.

once dinner has finished, he had requested to walk you back your chambers. if time spent together was what kept you at bay, he could manage that. he most certainly could.

when the pair of you had approached the door, you stopped for a moment and paused reaching for the handle. you spoke, “would you… like to come in?”

“not tonight,” he rasped. he gave you a polite smile. “another time.”

he watched as you blinked your eyes a few times and your lips quivered. you didn’t meet his gaze, for it fell — in what appeared to be embarrassment.

oh.

you invited him in to… to…

that he had not expected.

before you had the chance to leave, he swooped down and grabbed your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he pressed his lips to yours ever so softly, holding it there. the moment your breath caught in your throat, there was a strange feeling inside his chest that made him feel like he’d like to quell your worries by catching you off guard another time. and another. and another. and another. he couldn’t have you feeling rejected, no — not when he didn’t want to reject you. he needed heirs, sure — but they could wait. he would contemplate how long later.

once he pulled back, you smiled. inside you were bursting, and you wanted to hurry behind a closed door so he could not see your reaction. he continued to hold your chin and gaze at your face. feeling brave, you looked him in the eye as you bid him goodnight and went into your room.

you left him standing outside your door, facing its wood paneling.

what was he to do?

he wanted to keep you as emotionally far away as possible to avoid anything like this occurring. he was prepared for people who had an ulterior motive… not a young woman who only wanted to be good to her husband.

the worst part was… not every part of him wanted him to keep you away.

would it be so bad, if he had actually courted you?

you were not anyone from his past, no. you were not irresponsible and impulsive, and you could be trusted to remain within a designated role and space. you were rarely outspoken — you never strayed from your cue cards, nor did you get smart in private. you never spoke out of turn, which coriolanus always knew — this was just the first time he was more turned on than he was just grateful.

he reasoned a reward was in order.

he found his knuckles wrapping on the door before he could stop himself.

the small movements inside your apartments stalled for a moment, pulled taut like a string in an instrument. he could picture you — standing still and silent, waiting for an explanation.

then he heard footsteps approaching the door before the door handle turned. when you opened the door, the first thing he saw was your eyes.

those big, beautiful eyes that looked at him with surprise — and the slightest bit of hope. coriolanus would most likely try to convince himself that he stayed completely still to exercise a form of control over you — but deep down, he would never be able to believe that completely.

however… when you reached out with your soft, delicate hand, and pulled at his own — it didn’t matter why he did it, because he won.

he shut the door behind him, keeping your gaze.

“i would be coy and ask if we could spend time together in a... different way than usual…” you began, sighing. “but up until this moment i was convinced we would never…”

coriolanus was in no mood to quell insecurities and anxieties. he understood that words could not compare to actions, and so he would do just that.

coriolanus stepped forward, and pressed his large hands against the sides of your face. for a split moment — you almost looked terrified. he usually relished in that look from others, but with you it only made him concerned — angry, even.

“i don’t know what it is about you.” his voice was shaky. it was the first moment in your entire marriage that coriolanus had shown even a shred of weakness. “you smile, you obey, you take my transgressions like they’re fucking sweets. why?! tell me!”

your big, round eyes were blown wide as your brow was knitted together. your lips were parted in an innocent manner, and it only fueled his anger. one of your hands came up to gently lay across the back of his. “coriolanus — have you ever considered that i just wanted to get to know you?”

his eyes searched yours like they were an important document and he couldn’t believe what bullshit he was reading. his lips pursed in a manner that suggested a sour taste, and you felt your joy slipping, slipping, and slipping.

“coriolanus — if you want to go, then go.” your voice was breaking. you knew he was a cool, hard man — but this? this? it was almost too much. “you don’t have to stay if you don’t —“

he couldn’t take your nonsense anymore. he shut you up with a kiss.

he smashed your lips together like it was the first thing he should’ve done when he walked back into the room. a squeal died in your throat at the contact, but coriolanus held you there and upright. both of your hands found the firmness of his chest for balance. when he pulled away — he barely did. he kept his lips an inch away from yours as little tuffs of air pushed past. he leaned his forehead against yours, almost bonding the two of you.

“my greatest displeasure will be making you regret this,” he rasped, eyes screwed shut.

your breathing began to hasten as you contemplated your next words. you began to stroke coriolanus’ hands with your thumbs, hoping to coax him. “you say that like it’s inevitable.”

“it is not far from,” he choked through anger and sadness.

you couldn’t help but stare back at him as he almost glared at you — but then you realized that wasn’t the case. he wasn’t glaring at you — he was glaring through you. whatever traumatized him, whatever made him so distrustful of the world around him and the people in it… you realized then that you represented all of that to him. you had to be different. you had to show him that you were different than all of that.

“i’ve trusted you,” you whispered, almost pleading. “i would like for you to try and trust me. please, coriolanus… i’ve never asked you for anything — just this once —“

coriolanus shook his head, dismissing you. “it’s corio.”

he slammed his lips to yours. his kiss was that of a fight; burning with every cut of anger, frustration, desperation, and sadness in his soul. you weren’t sure if he accounted for your inexperience, but you let him lead as you swallowed all of his suffering. you knew you may never be everything you wanted to be for him — but for this moment, or for whatever he would allow — you could be his escape, and he could be yours.

just this once, you both thought. just this once.

his hands were on both sides of your face, caging you in as you were at the mercy of his bittersweet affection. you tried to keep up with him, almost afraid that you wouldn’t be enough for him — but corio didn’t care. he couldn’t have cared less as he backed you into the foot of the bed. he didn’t stop kissing you as the back of your legs hit your soft mattress, and you were forced to sit down.

with his tongue tangling with yours, you managed to lift your hands to the top buttons of his shirt. he batted your hands away and went to work on his own buttons. you reached behind for your zipper to your dress and attempted to undue it.

corio then pushed your hands away with that too — ripping the zipper down its track and pushing the sleeves down your shoulders.

“corio —“ you gasped through the kiss, struggling to keep up with him.

he pulled away for a short moment, staring into your eyes. “i have denied myself being with you for so long — nothing is stopping me now.”

he held the glare, and you could only stare back at him in fright. however, that was when you realized that he had felt the same way, or at least similar — you both wanted each other, and had been scared to approach the other. your heart filled with warmth, threatening to explode, but all you could do was nod.

he seemed to calm down then, glancing down towards your lips where he prodded your bottom lip with the tip of his numb. “i have wondered for so long what it would be like to kiss my perfect wife — and now that i know, i don’t think i’ll ever give it up.”

you smiled at that. “can i tell you what i have been wondering?”

his eyes met yours once more, almost a warning. you didn’t falter, though. he replied, “yes?”

“i’ve wondered what it would be like to please you,” you spoke softly, a pink hue rising to your cheeks.

his flat look broke then, softening. a smirk greeted his features and you could see his confidence in himself rise. “my lovely wife wants to please me?”

“yes,” you spoke, holding your breath. “if you’ll let me.”

bright and striking, flames of mischief came to light in his irises. emotions of excitement and fear rose within you, and you weren’t sure which was stronger. all you could do was watch as your strong, powerful, larger than life husband stood over you, chin raised, looking down his nose at you, as he unbuckled his belt. his pants and briefs, once around his ankles, were discarded — but you didn’t see that. you couldn’t look away from his eyes — holding you, and your gaze, in place.

it was like you were an enemy he was testing. you didn’t know what he expected, let alone what would make him happy — but you hoped his expectations were slightly lower in light of your inexperience. you swallowed the hard rock of nervousness in your throat, stood up, and gestured for him to sit down on the edge of the bed. he raised an eyebrow at you, but complied. you sat down on your knees in between his, and waited patiently for direction.

“can you…” you began. “can you teach me?”

he smirked once more. “take me in your hand.”

you bent your head lower, and grabbed him by the base. he was hard and warm in your hand as you saw him trying to fight the twitching feeling in his limbs. his muscles were tight, afraid to show weakness. you grew uncomfortable — you didn’t want him weak, but you did want him to feel comfortable enough with you to enjoy a fucking blowjob.

holding his muscle upright, you stuck your tongue out and licked around the tip of his cock. he was salty, but smelled so masculine after a long day. his scent infiltrated all of your senses and had captured your attention. it made you hungry, greedy — so much so that you closed your lips around his cock and began to suck.

he jumped then. “teeth,” he spat.

you paled in embarrassment and fright — but didn’t allow your fear to show for long. you adjusted your tongue and lips — so that your top lip was folded under your top set, and your outstretched tongue covered your bottom set. hollowing out your cheeks, you took him into your mouth once more.

a low hum filled his chest.

you couldn’t see him, and could barely hear him — corio was being a selfish lover and not letting you know whether or not he was enjoying himself. he told you once before you were doing something wrong, so you tried to trust that he would tell you.

that was easier said than done, frankly. with your free hand, you reached up and began to massage his sack in the soft skin of your palm. the hum in his chest turned deeper and louder, and you felt his hips twitch once.

maybe it shouldn't have mattered that he wasn't vocal — but it wasn't like he was shy. you would not fault him for not doing something he didn't want to do, but it was like he was denying you that. if you were making him feel good, and he was fighting the volume of his moans — how fucking dare he deny you of that! there you were, constantly at his beck and call, and he couldn't even freely moan with you? you were obedient, quiet, grateful, everything he wanted — but this? this? too much. absolutely too much of an ask.

you had to do something.

"mr. president," you cooed, twisting your soft tongue around the tip of his cock. "you're awfully quiet above me."

he let out a laugh as he struggled to keep his composure. one of hands found the back of your head as his fingers struggled to tangle themselves in between your strands. they were tugging and pulling, but there was no strength in his grip. his grip — wouldn't catch. couldn't catch. corio, you husband — struggled day in and day out to keep the control in the capital and inside his castle. there was a part of you that believed he just needed to let go, let someone else be in control — but you were his pretty little wife after all. you had until death to try everything. losing control could wait, because tonight... tonight was about making corio the grateful one for once.

you let your loose grip run circles up and down the length of his cock. his shaft was wet and thick, begging the attention of the light from above so the skin was able to glisten. the tip of his cock, red and angry, almost neglected — never had you seen something so delicious, nor deserving of affection. your lips, swollen, wrapped themselves around the tip of his cock as you sucked. notes of salt and sweat mixed together on your tongue, and you hummed at the taste.

"taste sweet, mrs. snow?" you heard from above you. your eyes glanced up to find corio's eyes glazed over with pleasure. his eyelids were drooping over, and all you could think about how badly you wanted to make him close his eyes in bliss. your eyes watched his eyes, but his eyes watched the way your mouth sucked him in. "being so good for me. let your husband see what else you can do."

your ears perked in interest. you didn't know what he meant, but you were intrigued to see if he would teach you.

"please... show me what you like," you spoke, extending your neck as he lowered his face to yours.

"so eager to please..." he spoke, staring down at you in awe. his hand slid down for your scalp to cup your cheek. he looked into your eyes like he was studying you — searching for something surface level. a flaw, or something good... you weren't sure. "i suppose some would say i'm lucky."

you didn't like the sound of that... but you didn't let it show. you gave him a hint of a smile. "i don't think it matters what anyone else thinks. i think what matters is you telling me what you like... so you can decide if you're lucky or not."

he chuckled at that, but his laugh was reserved. always holding back, your husband. "you really want to be a good little wife for me... don't you?"

you fell into the strength behind the hand on your face and keened into his touch. his hand was warm against your skin. "please, corio... please let me."

he stood then, and your gaze raised with his body. you gazed up at him as he stared down at you. there his eyes went again — searching yours. he stood closer to you then, bending down slightly. "it would please me if, at any point, you told me to stop because of the pain. i don't want to hurt you." his voice was low and soft then, immediately striking you. "can i trust you to do that? hmm?"

"i'll tell you," you replied, nodding your head. "i promise."

"never break a promise you make to me," he warned.

you nodded your head once more, unsure how to proceed. he led you over to the side of the bed where he gestured for your to lie down. with the passing of time, you became more and more aware of how bare you both were in front of each other. you were ready to let down every fence of insecurity for the man before you... but there were still walls of his that threatened to come down. he was hot and cold every other moment, it seemed... and you weren’t even sure where to begin.

“husband,” you spoke, unsteadily, as he found his place between his legs. “you seem so… distrustful of me. what can i do? please, corio, i just want this moment to be special for us — for you.”

there his eyes went — searching yours again. it was like he was rereading a page in a book over and over, hoping to find the hidden message in the black and white scripture. his eyes, going back and forth, appeared to be looking over unclear smudges and scribbles as his lips began to purse. you almost said something — stopped him from withdrawing into himself, but he moved before you could.

he sat back against the pillows, which faced a mirror across your bed. you rose curiously, hoping that he would finally give you some direction. he simply took your hand in his, and gestured for you to come closer. “come,” he spoke.

in his lap, maybe? you thought curiously. you went to throw your leg over his, before he stopped you. with a furrowed brow, you watched as he adjusted you so your back laid against his chest.

“do as i say,” he whispered against your ear, sending shivers up and down your spine.

your eyes were cast to the side, his outline in your peripheral vision. you nodded, letting your lips fall apart. you felt one of his hands on the soft skin of your thigh, grazing upwards towards your hips. you almost let your eyes fall closed, hoping to lose yourself in the sensations, before corio stopped you.

with that same hand, he reached upwards and grasped your chin between his fingers. your eyes shot open as he moved your head to now face the mirror, and the pair of you in it.

shallow breaths were pushing past your lips as you stared into the mirror. your cheeks were flushed, your hair in a slight disarray, and your lips were swollen. with a flutter of your eyelashes, your gaze flickered towards corio’s reflection. your husband was always perfect — so even the slight persuasion from tidiness was a remarkable sight to you. his eyes were focused — unable to remain cool, calm, and collected as usual.

his eyes, you thought. his eyes will always tell me.

“you will watch,” corio spoke suddenly, voice hard. “you will keep your eyes on my hands. you stray, and i leave. understand?”

you nodded, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

he cocked an eyebrow.

“yes,” you spoke, almost breathless. “i understand.”

corio’s hand then found its way to your center. the tips of his finger tips, soft and hot, lightly drew a line up and down your slit. your eyes wouldn’t leave the mirror — focused on his fingertips. it was like your skin knew every correct button to tap, tap, tap. every part of you was so sensitive, so keen to his touch that you were embarrassed. you felt so pathetic against his chest, bent to his will — but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. the voice in your head was whining and hoping you would give in, just give in, let down your guard, give in, forget manners. you wanted to keep your composure as long as possible, but when corio’s middle finger found your clit…

oh… you were done for.

one of your hands immediately snapped up to find corio’s bicep and clutch onto whatever foundation he could give. you didn’t dare let your eyes meet his, even in the mirror — what if he stopped? what, huh? what then? when you were the closest you had been ever? you couldn’t allow yourself to be greedy, not when he was being oh, so selfless.

the circles he was drawing taunted your ability remain calm. he rolled your tiny clit underneath the weight of the tip of his finger and pressed down with every circle. it pushed, and pulled, and fucking pried at every fiber of your being. you could only force yourself up and back against corio, whining like a pathetic mess.

“running away from me, my sweet?” he whispered in your ear. “when i’m being so kind?”

his words bit at your ear, reminding you of your position in his world. your eyes were threatening to drift closed, hoping, praying, that corio would let you slip this once from your responsibilities. naive, you were, to believe that.

“remember our deal, wife,” he darkly cooed in your ear. “one request was all i had. i refuse to be denied it.”

“i know, i know…” you whined, rolling your hips with his hand. “it just feels so good, corio… i’ve never… no one’s ever…”

“i can tell you never knew how bad your body would crave it,” he spoke, nipping at your earlobe. “even your pussy obeys me, drenching my fingers. too sweet for this world, aren’t you?”

“just wanna be sweet for you, corio,” you whined as your vision began to blur.

the approaching orgasm was anything but a warm and fuzzy feeling around you. it was hot and jagged — making your muscles jerk, yet force your hips to roll into every movement of corio’s. the cloud over your brain felt like a warm haze of the finest whisky or tobacco the capital could offer. you were numb, drunk, and unable to process the world around you unless it was corio. his touch, his taste, his scent, his look, his orders… everything was setting you off and keeping you in place all at once. your body was hot to the touch, feverish as it tried to fight your sophistication and just fucking —

“that’s it, sweetheart. so focused on the mirror you can’t even find the strength to let go for me,” he spat, pressing a kiss to your cheek and breathing in your scent. “ride my hand like the good girl you are. you wanted to show me, remember?”

tears were brimming your eyes and blurring your vision. your teeth were gritted and bared for him. one of his hands came up to loosely grasp your throat as your hips began to spasm. it was so much, too much, so much —

“corio, please —“ you cried. “please let me look away. i can’t — i have to cry, i can’t —“

there was no softness in his movements against your aching clit. corio had now employed two fingers to dip into your core, collect your slick, and rub it along your sensitive bud in harsh circles. it sent your mind through a suffocating tube and gasping for air. you were begging, pleading — unsure what would happen if you were denied the ability to finish in peace. you began to cry in frustration and fear, so sensitive to the touch and his approval.

“corio…” you whimpered. “please, please let me…”

“do it,” he spat, holding your throat and kissing your face. “show your husband how fucking messy you can be for him.”

you grasped onto him and threw yourself back.

it was like a rollercoaster. twists and turns, yanking your body every which way. corio’s body rocked with yours as the sensations climbed and fit into every single one of your limbs. your lungs, burning, were screaming for air as you tried to fight for consciousness. the world was white, milky, foggy — unable to navigate, let alone exist in. all you could feel was corio’s body moving with yours and coaxing you through the most insane moment of your entire life.

tears fell down your face, and you struggled to conceal it. corio refused to let you hide from him. he bent his face low to yours and pressed the side of his face against the side of yours.

his breaths were heavy, similar to yours.

“corio…” you whimpered, almost whining.

“i know, sweetheart,” he cooed. “so good for me, weren’t you? asking so obediently and politely.”

you nodded, pressing your forehead against his. “i’m sorry that i was —“

“what’re you sorry for?” he demanded.

you clenched your jaw. “i was — i am — i’m worried i was too much — i was so — out of control —“

he shut you up with a kiss. coriolanus snow refused to allow you to continue, or else he knew he would be offended if he had let you finished.

“i wanted that,” he stated. “every bit of that. what, you don’t find it agonizing to be prim and fucking proper every day?”

you laughed uneasily, a bit spooked by his outburst of aggression. “i thought you — i thought that was what you wanted from me.”

he shook his head. “out there — it’s necessary. in here, when it’s only the two of us? don’t ever hide yourself from me. you must promise.”

you swallowed as your haze began to disappear. “only if you promise the same."

you saw his jaw pulse from the corner of your eye. “i promise.”

“i promise,” you returned.

you quickly reconnected your lips. you couldn't let the moment slip away. you needed to seize him while he was there — trusting you for the first time in your entire relationship. you found both of your hands on the side of his face and held him to you. corio fought for control, but you gave in immediately. the need for him to need you was stronger and more satisfying that anything else you could've experienced in that moment. you turned around, straddling his lap and pushing him down to the bed.

everything you were doing was improper: grabbing your husband, forcibly kissing him, sitting in his lap, pushing him down... you almost stopped. you almost gave into the insecurity and made friends with with meekness and shyness once more. however, you made a promise — and you intended to keep it.

"i want you inside me, corio," you whispered against his lips. "please, i want to feel you —"

"again, sweetheart?" he ripped himself from your lips to grunt out his teasing. "one taste, and you're addicted?"

you hummed approval against his lips, tangling your tongue with his. with one hand on the back of your head, holding your face to his, corio's other hand fished between the pair of you and grasped his leaking cock in his hand. the tip was red and swollen, aching for some stimulation or attention. he spread his precum over his tip and with a firm hand, corio slid his cock inside of you.

you arched your back away from corio. the feeling of him being fully sheathed inside of you bent your attention in every which was. both of your hands cradled the back of his head into your chest, where he found himself nestled between your breasts. his breaths were hot and heavy, moist against your skin. his swollen lips found one of your perky nipples and sucked it into his mouth, caving to his primal urges. coriolanus snow wanted every part of you for himself, and needed to place that claim on every part of your body. he wanted your thighs to shake and ache from being locked around him, your fingers to tremble from your hard grip, and he wanted your lips to be bruised from how hard he made you bite them. and, most of all, he wanted every loud moan to rip itself from your aching throat and fill the perfectly painted walls of this damned room.

he cursed you when you threw a hand over your mouth, and he immediately ripped it away. "don't you fucking dare," he spat.

you ignored him. he was your husband, and he was the scariest man you would ever meet, and yet you ignored him. most of all, your hips ignored him. they began to roll against his own the best they could for their inexperience. up, down, and grinding down was the best they could manage before corio grabbed you by the flesh of your hips and moved you to his liking. and when your mouth parted and a loud cry made your throat shake when he twisted your hips forward, he knew he found the spot.

"do not ever deny me what i am owed," he spat, fucking into that spot that wrapped a tight band around your abdomen. "i want to hear how good i am making you feel, and i will. i get to hear. those are mine. i am owed those."

again, you ignored him. what did he expect when your eyes began to roll back into your head and you began to match his pace? you were close, you were so, so close...

that was when corio grabbed you by the chin, refusing to let up his pace. his eyes were full of darkness, yet focus. like he had found his prey. you tried to focus, tried to give him the respect the deserved... but you couldn't. your mind was swimming, and your arching cunt was dripping down his length and onto the skin of his pelvis. you were lost. so fucking lost.

"yours, corio!" you whined. "all yours. only yours."

his voice was gruff against your lips as his thrust became rougher. "say it again."

your eyes began to drift closed as you leaned your head into the crook of his neck, rolling your hips against his. his cock had found its way to the most sensitive and purest part of you and ripped down every wall you had. you sobbed, "yours, corio. only yours."

corio threw you off of him and your back hit the bed. he was on top of you in an instant. he threw your legs up and pressed them against your chest. with your ankles on his shoulders, he pushed himself inside of you and began to relentlessly punish your perfect fucking pussy.

"mine, you got that?" he spat against your ear. "i have watched you, day after day, put on this fucking act! perfect and proper — but i made a proper whore out of the most desirable woman in the capital, didn't i? and now she's mine — forever warming my bed."

"forever, corio," you whined. your sobs were music to his ears, going straight to his cock. your cunt was raw from the friction and slick, unsure if corio should stop or keep going — but you didn't let him guess. "inside me, corio, please... want it to bad. been so good for you..."

his hand was around your throat and demanding your attention. "as if i'd waste a drop when every man in the capital would be able to see you round with my child. you want that wife? my seed, my child? you want to be fully claimed by me?"

"yes," you cried, tears falling down your cheeks. "give it to me, husband, please —"

corio reached down in between your hips and rubbed your clit with whatever energy he had left. his thrust were growing sloppy, but his movements against your swollen bud were worse. he was hissing in your ear as he continued the assault against you. your moans were loud as they escaped your lips and filled the room, setting corio's skin on fire. sweat dripped down from his brow and down his neck to mingle with yours as your second orgasm of the evening began to approach. it snapped the rubber band in your lower belly and you immediately sobbed into corio's neck. his hips continued to rut in you, forcing you down onto the bed as he swallowed all of your sobs for himself. your nails dug into his back and down his spine, hoping to rip parts from him that he had taken from you.

when corio came, you were in a stupor. cock drunk with your mouth hanging open, dazed. when corio came, one of his hands grabbed your messy pile of hair, wrenching at the roots. he pulled you to the side to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck as he pumped your cunt full of his cum. your walls were hot and sticky, full of him, but it only caused the most sickeningly warm feeling to spread throughout you. every primal need of yours was satisfied, and corio could see every bit of it on your face. the pride that welled within your husband... shameful. no man should be in possession of such an ego boost like making the prettiest, more desired woman in all of panem break from all bounds of social etiquette. you were warm, and wet, and craving every bit of his touch, so he couldn't deny you... not anymore. not when he felt the same. with each sob that left your mouth, he felt a kick in the pit of his stomach as his balls throbbed. never in his life had a woman ripped from him what he had taken from her, cheeks hot and muscles worn out.

he would regret it in the morning, maybe, but not now. no — not now.

"husband, forgive me, but..." you spoke. "my mind is a mess. i don't think i can read to you this evening."

corio rolled his eyes and laughed. "that good?"

you pressed a kiss to his lips as you hummed in approval. "never wait that long to bed your wife again."

he chuckled darkly. "watch it, sweetheart."

---

love u guys sm sorry it was so long ty for reading love u love u love u

-L xooxoxooxox

#corio smut #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow smut #corio snow smut #corio fic #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #corio snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus fic #coriolanus imagine #corio imagine #the hunger games #lucy gray #sejanus plinth #young coriolanus snow

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bixels · 1 year ago

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Learning that fans hated Applejack and called her "boring" is crazyyy to me because I genuinely, unironically believe AJ's the most complex character in the main six.

Backstory-wise, she was born into a family of famers/blue collar workers who helped found the town she lives in. She grew up a habitual liar until she had the bad habit traumatized outta her. She lost both her parents and was orphaned at a young age, having to step up as her baby sister's mother figure. She's the only person in the main gang who's experienced this level of loss and grief (A Royal Problem reveals that AJ dreams about memories of being held by her parents as a baby). She moved to Manhattan to live with her wealthy family members, only to realize she'll never fit in or be accepted, even amongst her own family. The earlier seasons imply she and her family had money problems too (In The Ticket Master, AJ wants to go to the gala to earn money to buy new farm equipment and afford hip surgery for her grandma).

Personality-wise, she's a total people-pleaser/steamroller (with an occasional savior complex) who places her self worth on her independence and usefulness for other people, causing her to become a complete workaholic. In Applebuck Season, AJ stops taking care of herself because of her obsessive responsibilities for others and becomes completely dysfunctional. In Apple Family Reunion, AJ has a tearful breakdown because in she thinks she dishonored her family and tarnished her reputation as a potential leader –– an expectation and anxiety that's directly tied to her deceased parents, as shown in the episode's ending scene. In The Last Roundup, AJ abandons her family and friends out of shame because believes she failed them by not earning 1st place in a rodeo competition. She completely spirals emotionally when she isn't able to fulfill her duties toward others. Her need to be the best manifests in intense pride and competitiveness when others challenge her. And when her pride's broken, she cowers and physically hides herself.

Moreover, it's strongly implied that AJ has a deep-seated anger. The comics explore her ranting outbursts more. EQG also obviously has AJ yelling at and insulting Rarity in a jealous fit just to hurt her feelings (with a line that I could write a whole dissection on). And I'm certain I read in a post somewhere that in a Gameloft event, AJ's negative traits are listed as anger.

Subtextually, a lot of these flaws and anxieties can be (retroactively) linked to her parents' death, forcing her to grow up too quickly to become the adult/caregiver of the family (especially after her big brother becomes semiverbal). Notice how throughout the series, she's constantly acting as the "mom friend" of the group (despite everything, she manages to be the most emotionally mature of the bunch). Notice how AJ'll switch to a quieter, calmer tone when her friends are panicking and use soothing prompts and questions to talk them through their emotions/problems; something she'd definitely pick up while raising a child. Same with her stoicism and reluctance at crying or releasing emotions (something Pinkie explicitly points out). She also had a childhood relationship with Rara (which, if you were to give a queer reading, could easy be interpreted as her first 'aha' crush), who eventually left her life. (Interestingly enough, AJ also has an angry outburst with Rara for the same exact reasons as with EQG Rarity; jealous, upset that someone else is using and changing her). It's not hard to imagine an AJ with separation anxiety stemming from her mother and childhood friend/crush leaving. I'm also not above reading into AJ's relationship with her little sister (Y'all ever think about how AB never got to know her parents, even though she shares her father's colors and her mother's curly hair?).

AJ's stubbornness is a symptom of growing up too quickly as well. Who else to play with your baby sister when your brother goes nonverbal (not to discount Big Mac's role in raising AB)? Who else to wake up in the middle of the night to care for your crying baby sister when your grandma needs her rest? When you need to be 100% all the time for your family, you tend to become hard-stuck with a sense of moral superiority. You know what's best because you have to be your best because if you're aren't your best, then everything'll inevitably fall apart and it'll be your fault. And if you don't know what's best –– if you've been wrong the whole time –– that means you haven't been your best, which means you've failed the people who rely on you, which means you can't fulfill your role in the family/society, which makes you worthless . We've seen time and time again how this compulsive need to be right for the sake of others becomes self-destructive (Apple Family Reunion, Sound of Silence, all competitions against RD). We've seen in The Last Roundup how, when no longer at her best, AJ would rather remove herself from her community than confront them because she no longer feels of use to them.

But I guess it is kinda weird that AJ has "masculine" traits and isn't interested in men at all. It's totally justified that an aggressively straight, misogynistic male fandom would characterize her as a "boring background character." /s

At the time of writing this, it's 4:46AM.

#mlp #yeah i wrote this last night during insomnia.#yeah i know an embarrassing amount of crap about this kids show #but whatever it's my hyperfixation i'll store as much useless information as i want!!!#i'm gay and neurodivergent i have an excuse #in case you needed more proof that aj's my favorite character #personal #delete later #unless you like this analysis stuff #i get why they didn't reveal aj's parent's death until way later and why they didn't do much with it but i wish they did #cuz narratively there could've been so much material with aj's grief. like. i feel like we gloss over the fact that she lost her #mother and father as a teenager #i tried keeping my personal hcs out of this to keep it unbiased #but i'll put some in the tags #involving rarijack –– i think aj can be (but not always) very self-conscious about her relationship with rarity #anxieties that she's not the right fit or that rarity will move away and leave her some day or that another woman will take her attention #(like in rollercoaster of friendship?? nudge nudge??). basic seperation anxiety stuff #long post #regarding applebloom whenever i think about her and her parents i think about that scene in steven universe where steven looks up at #a portrait of his mother and openly wonders what kind of sack lunches she would've made for him. that episode still fucks me up

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kitkatscabinet · 2 months ago

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NO THING DEFINES A MAN LIKE LOVE THAT MAKES HIM SOFT

requested by anon

summary: Jason's always been undeniably soft for you, his friends and family take every opportunity to tease him for it.

pairing: jason todd x wondergirl! reader

word count: 2.5k

You throw open the door to Jason's apartment, wincing when the wood slams against the wall with a bang.

Roy doesn't even look up when he greets you, too enthralled with whatever violent video game he's playing today. Jason, however, perks up at your arrival, putting his book down as he turns to look at you. He can't help it, the way he responds automatically at your presence, his face splitting into a bright smile at the sight of you.

You're too tired to walk around the couch, so you sit on the back of the couch, flipping yourself backwards inelegantly. You sink into the shitty couch beside Jason, draping yourself across his lap with a groan.

You've always been so free with your physical affection, but it still makes Jason's heart leap to his throat; butterflies erupt in his stomach like a child with their first crush.

He stiffens for a second, hands hovering awkwardly midair like he’s not sure where to put them with Roy suddenly watching so intently. On your waist? Your legs? Just hovering there like an idiot?

You shift, cuddling closer, totally oblivious to the dilemma you're causing.

Roy smirks at him from across the room, wriggling his brows suggestively. Jason flips him the bird, glaring harshly, before quickly retracting his hand when you turn to stare up at him. He has to fight back the urge to squirm under the weight of your adoring gaze.

You reach up, tugging at his little white curl playfully, before you turn back around and nestle into Jason’s stomach, content to steal all his body heat without a second thought.

Jason, poor Jason, just slowly rests his hand on your back like he’s afraid you’ll suddenly disappear if he moves even an inch. You let out a happy little hum, nuzzling further into him as your muscular arms encircle his waist.

Trapped as he is, Jason is powerless to stop Roy as his friend whips out his phone and takes an incriminating photo. "Group chat’s gonna love this," he murmurs gleefully.

Jason glares at him with the intensity of a thousand burning suns. "You’re dead to me." He whispers, careful not to wake you.

"Don't worry, I'll send it to you too." Jason refuses to verbalise how much he actually wants that.

You're out like a light, bruises decorating your skin and hair dishevelled from a long day of sparring, and yet you're still as beautiful as ever. He watches you sleep with no small amount of reverence, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth unbidden.

He still remembers the first time you met, with startling clarity. His memories of you are some of the only things untainted by the Lazarus Pit and his subsequent time in the League.

It was during his early days as Robin, when he was still rough around the edges and angry at the world, trying so desperately to prove himself.

Dick had been even more giddy than usual, promising Jason he had "a super duper exciting surprise that he'd absolutely love!" as he lured him down to the Batcave.

"I doubt it." He'd grumped, only to nearly instantly eat his words at the sight of Wonder Woman, the greatest hero ever. Not just Wonder Woman, but you, bright, breathtaking you.

You were a force of nature, all wild hair and sharper wit, smiling like the world hadn't yet taught you to be wary. You offer him your hand eagerly, and Jason takes it, his eyes trailing up and up and up.

"...You’re so tall." He inwardly cringes at his lack of eloquence, too tongue-tied at the literal demi-goddess towering over him.

"Is that a problem?" you asked curiously, arms folding across your chest as you looked him up and down. "Should I shrink myself to spare your ego, Robin?" Diana had warned you that men tended to feel emasculated when women were taller than they were, but you'd yet to experience that.

"No!" Jason practically shouts, as if the mere idea offended him.

Dick made a choking noise and immediately began texting someone, not that Jason noticed, entranced with you as he was.

(Jason would later learn this was the exact moment a group chat called 'Jason + Wondergirl = ENDGAME' was born.)

You'd then proceed to flatten him into the dirt for the next thirty minutes as you sparred, and Jason fell just a little bit in love.

You'd picked him up off the floor with ease, smiling dopily despite his busted lip, and he'd asked if you were ready to get serious. You'd laughed, full-bodied and delighted, and Jason had known then that he was doomed.

You became his person so effortlessly, it was almost embarrassing. You'd squeeze yourself into the spaces he left open, the cracks he didn’t realise were there, until he couldn’t imagine a world where you weren't right beside him.

You were his best friend, his confidante, his favourite person in the entire world.

Even when you argued, which was rare, because you always listened to him. When his anger got the better of him and he lashed out, you were understanding, refusing to let him push you away.

Even when he'd died and then come back different, wrong, you'd never once judged him or hated him. Bruce had been outraged at what Jason had become, but you'd offered nothing but kindness and understanding.

You never hated him or begrudged him for becoming a killer, nor did you attempt to stop him, simply happy to have him back by your side.

His brothers teased him relentlessly, but Jason couldn't prevent the smile that covered his face when you entered the room, even if he tried. Roy constantly comments on how his body releases the tension it always seems to hold whenever you're around. Even Bruce had become relentless in his not-so-subtle, offhand comments about the two of you, with Jason actually shooting at him when his old man brought up grandchildren.

Jason sighed softly, dragging a hand through his hair as he tried to push away those thoughts. Of you and him, together.

You shift slightly, face scrunching in your sleep, and he immediately softens even more, reaching out to brush a piece of hair from your forehead with infinite gentleness reserved solely for you.

His phone vibrates, but he stalwartly ignores it, even when Roy starts to gesture at him aggressively. It's not until he fears the constant vibrations will wake you that he snatches his phone up with a glare, only to find he's been added to a chat that he definitely wasn't part of before.

Arse-nal: LOOK AT HIM!! LOOK HOW SOFT HE IS!!!

Attached was the photo, an annoyingly well-taken photo, of you, fast asleep in his lap, using him as your personal pillow. But even worse is the clear adoration in his gaze as he stares down at you.

LoverBoy: fuck all of you. i hope you step on a pile of legos

Eldest Daughter Syndrome (Dick): VINDICATION!!!! Look at that face! I knew it. I’ve been telling you all, he's been obsessed with her for years. You think he’s tough? This dude’s a marshmallow when it comes to her.

Arse-nal: BRO IS WHIPPED. Now there's no refuting that he's literally softer than cotton candy.

Fastest Dumbass Alive (Wally): OH MY GOD IT'S HAPPENING! STATIONS EVERYONE!!! REMAIN CALM!!

Stalker (Tim): Didn't know you could smile. Ur glowing. This feels illegal.

BeastieBoy: That's that Amazon magic babyyyyy. His skin? CLEAR, crops? Watered, depression? Cured.

Demolition Barbie (Cassie): Why do i wanna cry? He's so in love its a little disgusting.

Ebony Dark’ness (Raven): What would the criminals say if they could see you now? The Big Bad Red Hood, secretly a wife guy, the world must be ending.

Lover Boy: Delete that shit before i delete you.

Arse-nal: No can do brother. The people deserve to see it. Maybe this will help you finally man up and express your feelings.

Fastest Dumbass Alive: RIGHT? LIKE, LETS NOT PRETEND THIS HASNT BEEN YEARS IN THE MAKING. U 2 R SICKENINGLY SWEET

LoverBoy: You are weirdly intense about this. I feel mildly unsafe.

Fastest Dumbass Alive: SOME OF US HAVE BEEN INVESTED SINCE SEASON ONE, JASON. DONT DISRESPECT MY EMOTIONAL JOURNEY

Eldest daughter syndrome: I'm literally tearing up. y'all don't understand; Wally was there when Jason first awkwardly complimented her combat skills after she kicked his ass.

Arse-nal: Thats basically a proposal in Jason language.

Stalker: There are Oscar-nominated films with less buildup than this relationship. Waiting on that Netflix deal fr.

LoverBoy: I hate all of you. Deeply. Profoundly.

Queen Supreme (Donna): You love her though ;)

Fastest Dumbass Alive: YEAH, HOWS THAT FOR CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. SO PROUD OF YOU <3

Jason wanted to scream, or throttle Roy, probably both, neither of which were options he had available as you were still sprawled across his lap.

Roy, sensing his luck was about to run out as Jason searched for something to throw, made a quick tactical retreat. (Not before snapping a bunch more photos, though.)

His thoughts of vengeance are abruptly derailed when you sigh happily, trying to push yourself closer against him in your sleep.

His neck will murder him tomorrow for sure, but Jason would rather die than wake you now. So he lets you spend the night like that, succumbing to sleep himself as he allows his imagination to run just a little wild.

Despite the furious ache in his body the next day, Jason had no regrets, not when it was the best sleep he'd had in years. He was on cloud 9 that day; nothing could bring him down.

Nothing until his phone started buzzing incessantly again.

Stalker: GUYS GUYS GUYS I MADE T-SHIRTS

Attached: a pic of a black t-shirt with the photo of Jason with you sleeping on his lap, printed below in giant bold letters is: "LOVER BOY"

Fastest Dumbass Alive: I AM ACTUALLY CRYING PUT ME DOWN FOR TEN I’M GIVING THEM OUT LIKE PARTY FAVOURS Beastie Boy: It hasn’t even been a day! The devil works hard, but Tim Drake works harder!!

Arse-nal: TIMOTHY. YOU BEAUTIFUL BOY I NEED A HOODIE TOO.

Eldest Daughter Syndrome: I’m buying in bulk. I’m handing them out at the next League meeting.

Demolition Barbie: THIS IS THE GREATEST MOMENT OF MY LIFE. I WANT A TANK TOP VERSION.

Ebony Dark’ness: You are all unsupervised children. …but also I’ll take two.

Queen Supreme: We need matching hats. No one gets left behind.

Stalker: DON’T WORRY. Hats. Hoodies. Totes. Phone cases. I’m building an empire off Jason's misery.

LoverBoy: I SWEAR TO GOD. IF I SEE ONE PERSON WEARING THAT SHIRT, YOU’RE ALL DEAD.

Fastest Dumbass Alive: 👕👕👕👕

Eldest Daughter Syndrome: Hey Jay, what size are you? Just wanna make sure your own shirt fits well.

Arse-nal: NO ONE TELL HER. I WANNA SEE HIS FACE WHEN SHE SEES THEM IN THE WILD.

Ebony Dark’ness: This is the happiest I’ve seen all of you. Concerning.

Stalker: THE POWER OF LOVE, BABY. AND PETTY SIBLING BULLYING. BEAUTIFUL.

LoverBoy: i hope all your phones die at 1% when you're lost and need gps. i hope every chair you sit on has one short leg. i hope your toast falls butter side down. i hope you step on water in socks. i hate you. i hate you all so much. sleep with both eyes open.

Queen Supreme: We should get banners printed and roll them out at their wedding.

LoverBoy: I am begging you to touch grass. I am BEGGING you to seek help.

Stalker: too late bro. Train’s already left the station. By that I mean I’ve already sent the photo out to every hero number i have, I’m already getting requests.

Fastest Dumbass Alive: hope ur ready to be the face of love, king <3

Jason clenches his teeth so hard he swears he hears a cracking noise. Oh god, he needed to find you, needed to explain before one of the idiots got to you first.

Unfortunately for him, Stephanie gets to you first, bursting into your room at the Titans tower, dressed in the prototype of the shirt.™

"Stephanie, what. is. that." You blink, focused on the garish neon pink text beneath the picture on her shirt.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" She beams, wiping a fake tear from the corner of her eye. Steph had been prepared for embarrassment, what she hadn't been prepared for, was to see the glee on your face.

"Where did you get it. I want one." You demand, taking Steph by surprise.

Your gaze is so intense, and she ends up just stripping it off to give to you for fear that you'd take it by force. She's a lot shorter and slimmer than you, but luckily the shirt had been oversized on Steph already.

You're admiring it in the mirror, it really is a cute picture of the two of you, when Jason suddenly slides into your room, out of breath. "I need to... talk... to you." He trails off in horror, witnessing you wearing the abomination Tim had created to embarrass him.

"Baby, we're so cute!" You chirp, proudly showing off your new article of clothing.

"Baby?" Steph squeals in delight, typing something furiously on her phone as Jason just sighs.

"You're cute," he corrects, grabbing one of your hands and placing a kiss on the back of your palm.

Stephanie sputters, pointing an accusing finger at Jason, who's doing his damndest to ignore her existence.

You pull him closer, tugging him against your chest as you lean down to kiss him. You know Jason prefers to keep your relationship private, but you're pretty sure the cat is well and truly out of the bag now, and you really want to kiss your absolutely adorable boyfriend.

Jason, who is always powerless against your kisses, melts into you, barely noticing Stephanie's outraged squawking.

You're quick to shove the blonde out the door, locking it before she can barge her way back in, never once pulling away from Jason.

Though you've been together romantically for a while now, he's still unused to your touch, to how gently you cradle him with calloused, war-torn hands.

"You know they're going to be even more insufferable once Steph blabs right?"

"Hmm, don't care, just wanna show everyone how much I love you." The sincerity in your words nearly stops his heart, but not as much as it pounds against his chest when you pick him up, pinning him to your bed.

"But let's not think about them any longer, yeah?" He nods, anything you wanted, he'd give it to you.

#x reader #dc x reader #jason todd x reader #female reader #jason todd #jason todd x fem reader #dc

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wonderjanga · 8 months ago

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Marvel and Wonder Woman

@actuel-idiot is a major reason I’m writing this! They gave me the idea so the credit goes to them.

Diana has a special relationship with Captain Marvel. They’re family. Technically. But they’re family! The man has no problem treating her like one of his own, and it’s not like Diana has any of her other family in man’s world so she’ll take what she can get. The only downside is that no one knows his actual identity, including Diana. Half the people in the JL don’t even believe he has one, but when Diana asked, he confirmed he did. She hoped that one day he would share his identity with her, but for the meantime, she’d just continue to enjoy their bond.

Like, for example, Diana talks to Marvel whenever she misses Themyscira. The very first time she started missing her home was about a few weeks after the JL formed. (Marvel’s a founding member in this post)

WW: “Captain, do you ever miss home?”

Marvel: “Hm? I guess so?” *confused*

WW: “You guess so? Do you not miss Olympus? I assume that’s where you grew up.”

Marvel: “Oh, no. I’ve never been to Olympus. If that’s what you mean by home. It isn’t.”

WW: “Then where is your home?”

Marvel: “Well, I haven’t had a home in a long time. So, I can’t particularly say. All I know is that I can’t go back, and as the years go by, I hate to say it but I barely remember it.” He only knows what his dad looks like due to his Marvel form, and he only remembers his mom due to Mary’s form. As for what they were like? A lot of the memories are fuzzy. “So, unfortunately… there isn’t really much to miss.”

WW: “Do you think I’ll forget about Themyscira?”

Marvel: “I don’t know. But that’s why it’s important to make a home wherever you go. That, and if you really don’t wanna forget, you can always try and find people who used to call your home theirs.” *shrugs*

WW: “I don’t believe there are any other Amazonians and man’s world.”

Marvel: “Well… not technically.” *little smile* “You know, a few thousand years ago I was an Amazonian at some point.”

WW: “What…?”

Marvel: “Shocking. I know.” *little laugh*

WW: “But you’re a man?” *dumbfounded expression*

Marvel: “Yeah, I know, but I wasn’t always. If you want, I could tell you some stuff about the first island.”

WW: “The first Themyscira? You were alive back then?”

Marvel: “Yup.”

WW: *stares for a bit* “I’d… I’d like that a lot. Please share.”

The two spend the rest of the evening talking about all the lore about Themyscira, Diana’s mother, Diana’s aunts, the culture back then, the dialects, and so on.

Then, there was the incident with Circe. She had cast a spell on Diana, turning her into a child. After it had happened, she left and soon a mini Diana was swarmed by the leaguers.

Marvel: “Wait, so she still knows who we all are, she’s just a little kid?”

Batman: *nods head* “Correct.”

WW: *looking around as the other leaguers fawn over her cause she’s adorable*

Batman: “It also altered her mindset, making her more childish.”

WW: *spots Marvel and her eyes sparkle* “Big brother!” *runs over to Marvel and crashes into his legs hugging them*

Marvel: “Woah!” *slightly startled at her running over* “Wow, Diana, you’re still so strong.” *takes on the tone he uses to talk to Darla (aka big brother/father tone) as he leans down to pick her up*

WW: *nods head* “Yeah!”

Marvel: *moves to carry her like she’s his own daughter*

The two proceed to talk about whatever as the other JL members coo at the two looking like father and daughter. Same black hair and blue eyes. Also, Zeus was gnawing at the bars of his metaphorical cage when he saw this. His daughter was too precious. As soon as the other leaguers blinked, he took little Diana and they proceeded to go fight Mr.Mind together. They then went for ice cream afterwords. Now, they’re eating their respective cones while sitting on the edge of a building.

Marvel: “You did such a good job, Diana. That one punch at that one robot that sent it flying into three other ones was amazing.” *smiles and ruffles Diana’s hair*

WW: *giggles and licks ice cream* “Thanks, dad.”

Marvel: *pauses mid bite of ice cream* (Yes, I’m making Billy bite his ice cream)

WW: *doesn’t even realize she said that*

Zeus: “You… YOU STOLE MY DAUGHTER?!” *thunderclouds in the distance*

Billy proceeded to have to make many offerings to Zeus to make him calm down after the incident. For a week straight, he kept getting little shocks whenever he touched stuff.

#billy batson #captain marvel dc #dc captain marvel #shazam #fawcett #fawcett city #fawcett comics #diana prince #wonder woman

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kalims · 1 year ago

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scribbles

"( – ⌓ – ) ⎯⎯ he lets you draw on his skin, yeah thats pretty much it.

ft. malleus, vil

malleus

it was... a breach of your patience.

the lesson, was awfully boring. the more you listened to the apparent 'heroic' doings of certain individuals. the more it strips away your attentiveness to the words spilling out of professor trein's mouth. no matter how many times you will your ears to make out the incoherent lecturing of the man... it remains deaf.

so you decide to sate said boredom.

how? of course you need to bother your seatmate!

your intentions remained within the circle of yourself of course. your eyes stuck to the stray marker over your paper so you silently twisted the cap off and scribbled on your paper—then it was your palm—and now, malleus' arm.

"child of...?" man. malleus finishes in his mind, his attention suddenly snapped away at the sudden tug of his arm. definitely not his own decision to even make it move in the first place. usually it would remain stiffly beside his body like usual and even if someone tried to pry it to them it would remain still. but without his attention, his body lets you.

without another word. you peel open his fingers, palm open to you and it's a notion he allows. and he stays silent when you tug his gloves off. perhaps with a curious huff, malleus drifts closer to you. to accommodate your actions that he's yet to get an explanation for.

... and suddenly there's very bright flowers drawn on his palm.

said owner of the palm might just be toe darkest person in the room so it's quite out of place.

but it's from you so he likes it.

he peeks at it, with a fond smile on his face. I should enchant it to remain there forever. he thinks to himself, the curve of his lips growing wider at his thoughts, like he'd proud of the idea. the idea of being able to carry around something made exclusively by you might as well shove him into a cannonball and send him to cloud nine.

it's adorable. you're adorable.

his world grows a little more blue the more he stares at you. and if it weren't for the searing glances the professor sends your way malleus would just let his eyes engrave you into his memory forever, so he laments over it and reluctantly peels his gaze off you. mind speaking a thousand memories, the very same reason he somehow can't hear anything trein says.

you draw a strange looking lizard beneath his ring finger, one that looks a little like him and he thinks that you're asking him for marriage.

that can be arranged... he ponders, oblivious.

vil

drawings, doodles, painting— art. a reflection of the soul.

vil is great at makeup.

every brush on your face, a step to beauty. that is his reflection. you are his soul. he wants to make you look—no, make you feel like you're beautiful cause the canvas he's standing in front of is his greatest piece of art, he'd want to put you on the tallest pedestal there is. the grandest one just so the rest knows your beauty is parallel to none, something they can see and admire but not reach.

but he also wants to keep you in his own room, because only he knows what he felt when he painted you. only he should be the one given the grace.

this... he doesn't know what to consider.

perhaps vil should be bothered, if not then a little peeved at the several colors across his skin. a myriad of doodles, some words, and some simple drawings. a poor portrait of him is drawn next to one he assumes yours, the 'fairest' word on the right side of his hand, and flowers.

he's sure though. you're definitely no artist.

the thought cracks a smile at him, and you steal a glance midst the cool tip of the pen dancing along his skin. "I'd thought you wouldn't even let me do this," you admit, chair having been moved over closer to him so you wouldn't have any leaning problems. a suggestion by vil you gratefully took up, though you doubt it was just another excuse to have you closer.

"why?"

"dunno," you shrug. "it looks unseemly compared to you."

he huffs, flashing you a light smirk. "so my face is, hmmm..." vil ponders for a moment, and your face twists to the realization that you possibly just exposed what you think. but you suppose it isn't really a problem since it was basically common sense that vil is...

"gorgeous." you finish for him.

his aura brightens. (probably will be for the rest of the week.)

your hand retracts from him, the marker gripped between your fingers. and he takes a look at your 'art.' he doesn't know if he should consider it as one since there are a heap of sloppy lines, and the color bleeds into his skin. some smudges that you accidentally brushed against that makes it seem like a messy picture of chaos.

vil strives for perfection, but it's only natural there are flaws. to love oneself, you must love all parts. and to love you, he loves whatever the ink on his skin is.

well, what the heck.

"pass it to me," he stretches his hand, and you quirk a brow. questioning but curious so he indulges you. "I'll show you how it's done."

note. ngl idk what I wrote for vil it's currently 12 AM rn ☠ <- newer note, this has been rotting in my drafts for weeks and I couldn't decide whether to post it cause I wasn't sure about vil's but here hehehe

#ㅤ◜◡◝ . . signed !#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst fluff #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #x gn reader

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himasgod · 2 months ago

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Where you have problems with the words starting with R

Riddle, Rook and Ruggie x Reader

How would Rook, Riddle and Ruggie react if they realized that you avoid calling them by their name at all costs, because you have difficulty pronouncing words beginning with R?

I find it funny that you ask me this, because I had a lot of trouble pronouncing the "doble rr" as a child (in spanish, my native language, it's a sound that doesn't exist in english, in words like "perro", etc.) I went to the speech therapist when I was 4 or 5 years old, since it is a fairly common problem not being able to pronounce the double r

At first, Riddle takes it personally.

Why are you calling him “You” all the time like he’s your classmate and not your boyfriend? He’s even heard you call Deuce by his first name!

He doesn’t want to scold you—he’s trying to be better about that—but it does make him quietly anxious.

“You can call me Riddle, you know,” he finally says one afternoon, trying to sound casual, but his fingers fidget with his pen.

You freeze. And mumble something like, “Yeah... you.”

That’s when Riddle’s brain, as sharp as it is rule-bound, finally connects the dots. You’ve never once said a word that starts with "R" around him. Not Riddle, not roses, not even ramen when Trey brought it up.

Guilt hits him like a tidal wave.

“...Do you have trouble with R sounds?” he asks gently.

When you admit it, sheepishly, Riddle just goes quiet for a moment—then he scoots closer, gently brushing your hand with his.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, earnestly.

“There’s nothing wrong with the way you speak. I like hearing your voice, no matter how you say my name. But... if it makes you feel better, you can call me anything you'd like.”

After that, he gets oddly flustered when you call him cute pet names like sweetheat or my love, but he never corrects you again.

At first, he doesn’t notice. You call him “Bucchi,” “Hyena Boy,” “hey you,” and every nickname—he just thinks you’re being cute or cheeky.

But then he overhears you say “Deuce” and “Ace” perfectly in a conversation with them.

Cue record scratch.

He raises an eyebrow, tail flicking with curiosity. "... why don’t I get the honor of being called by name, huh?”

You try to dodge it, joking your way out, but he can see the embarrassment behind your grin. That’s when he softens.

“Wait... hang on. Is it ‘cause it’s hard for you to say?”

You finally nod. You tell him how R’s get caught in your mouth, how you hate how it sounds when you try to say them.

Ruggie blinks. Then grins.

“That’s it? Sheesh, you had me thinkin’ you were mad at me or somethin’!”

He immediately wraps an arm around your shoulder and ruffles your hair.

“Y’know, I kinda like it when you call me weird nicknames anyway. ‘Hyena Boy’? That’s hilarious.”

He never makes a big deal out of it, but if he ever hears someone tease you for your speech, they will know pain.

And if you ever do manage to say his name, even just once, he gets this little crooked smile and says, “That one’s goin’ in the memory bank forever.”

Rook notices immediately. This man is the embodiment of hyper observant.

He thinks it’s adorable, actually. You’ll say, “Hey, mon soleil,” or “Youuuuuu~!” while dramatically waving from across campus, and never once say his name.

He tries a little playful teasing.

“Ah, ma colombe, you say everyone’s name with such ease... but never mine. Am I cursed, perhaps~?”

You visibly stiffen, and that’s when he drops the teasing. His expression shifts into something warm, understanding, and completely sincere.

“Is it difficult for you to say words beginning with ‘R’?” he asks, ever so gently.

When you admit it, a little shyly, his reaction is pure sunshine.

“Ahh~ mon amour,” he says. “There is a certain elegance to overcoming challenges, isn't it? You needn’t say my name if it brings you discomfort. I shall treasure whatever words you gift me.”

From that day forward, he makes a habit of calling you beautifully poetic pet names, hoping to make you feel more confident using your own.

And when you one day manage to say his name—halting, unsure—his smile is brighter than the sun.

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beast3end · 25 days ago

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A light the darkness of truth.

Summary: You, the personal disciple of the Sage of Truth, disappears so suddenly that it cannot but cause him anxiety. Fortunately, thanks to your friends, he notices your letter. But that still doesn't solve the main question: where are you? Characters: Truthless Recluse х reader (pure vanilla x reader); platonic! sage of truth & reader (shadow milk & reader). WC: 1,5k CW: fem!reader; there may be mistakes in the text because English is not my native language; the text contains original characters (your friends); A/N: The prologue can be strange and confusing, because I'm writing fanfiction inside my little AU, which I've expanded based on the official timeline of Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk costumes. I hope, despite this, you will enjoy this work! A/N 2: It was only after I wrote everything down that I realized that there was a Sable cookie in crk. But I didn't change anything.

Something's wrong.

The day went as planned: there were no classes in the morning and Shadow Milk spent most of his time in the library, studying books on the topic of a new dissertation, rechecking information already known; after lunch and until dinner, lectures; followed by a small meeting of professors of the Yogurt Academy…

Everything that was in his plans for today. Calmly. Serene. Sometimes his irritation got the better of him when he noticed students nodding off, but that's okay. There are more than one or two of them, it's even within his expectations. No one broke into his lecture or interfered with the learning process.

It's too quiet.

In the empty corridor, illuminated by the last rays of the sun, there was a nervous knock. Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap. Lost in his thoughts, the Sage of Truth began tapping the textbook with his claw.

Why wasn't he pulled today? At least once a day, but his lecture was disrupted, and sometimes his schedule was shifted due to problems. The source of these problems was [Name], a young child who, if she could, would dry up even the sea itself for the sake of her curiosity. [Name] is not a student of the academy — [Name] is only his disciple. And, accordingly, he is responsible for her antics, otherwise it simply cannot be.

But it's so disgustingly peaceful today that Shadow Milk can't really concentrate. On the days when [Name] went to visit someone from the Sources*, she at least gave a few days' notice of her departure. Now, going over the memories of the past week, he could confidently say: that there had never been a word about anything like this.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

...Come to think of it, they didn't even manage to cross paths in the morning. Unlike him, [Name] prefers to sleep until noon, but invariably, day after day, she gets up as early as she can. Shadow Milk has a busier schedule than the rest of the academy's professors — sometimes his have to return home well after midnight. And [Name], knowing this, tried to be with him at least during a quick breakfast — with her face buried in the table, she sat next to him and slowly blinked, listening to her teacher's chatter. She used to fall asleep in this position while the Sage of Truth stroked her head.

Then he didn't bother her—there were days when [Name] ignored all her alarm clocks. It was just that later, after another lecture, she could burst into an empty classroom and start whining that he hadn't woken her up.

Probably in vain. He would need to check her room upon his return…

“Good evening!” a clear voice is heard somewhere from the side, as the Sage of Truth comes out of the academic building. He abruptly turned his head, looking in confusion at the two cookies rapidly approaching him.

What a hectic day it is. Where did they here?

"What a surprise," Shadow Milk nods, curiously surveying the group. The second cookie, standing silently behind her friend, frowned at his attention. The constant reaction, how charming. "I didn't know you were coming today, Biscotti, Sable."

Biscotti smiled awkwardly, scratching head.

“We didn't warn [Name].”

At these words, both cookies looked at him attentively. It was as if they expected their friend to jump out from behind him and pounce on them.

Shadow Milk smiled knowingly. Such a development of events unfolded before his eyes more than once and more than twice. [Name] was well aware of other people's personal boundaries, and then she was happy to break them.

“As you can see, she's not here.”

Sable sighed heavily, whispering something so softly that only Biscotti couldhear. Biscotti hissed at her friend, pushing her harder behind her back, after which she gave him a cursory glance. Shadow Milk pretended that he hadn't noticed either of them, and his friendly smile didn't waver a single gram.

"We've been looking for her all over the territory today, because she usually doesn't go outside the academy," Biscotti explained the situation as politely as possible, then added in a lower voice, muttering more into the void than to anyone in particular. "Did she really go to the city?"

No. [Name] rarely went to the city — she visited bookstores once a month, returning with at least a couple of books. Some of them were donated to the library, but especially valuable ones replenished their shelves.

“In any case, you can stay in your old room,” the Sage of Truth decided to end their conversation, having exhausted all the necessary information from this. "But I need to go to my office first."

"We'll go with you!" Biscotti perked up, ignoring how hard Sable tugged at her clothes. “It won't be so lonely together.”

“I appreciate it.”

Well, that's just as well. The anxiety that had accumulated all day carefully faded into the background as he listened to Biscotti's chatter. Sable was reluctant to answer or correct her friend, rolling her eyes after another joke.

His office greeted them with silence. No matter how much Shadow Milk listened, he couldn't catch any ragged breathing or restrained giggles. So [Name] wasn't here either. He clicks his tongue in displeasure, putting the textbook in the only available place.

What kind of ridiculous situation is this?

Worry involuntarily swirled in his head — if something happened to her... it's impossible to hide everything forever, right? Someone found out [Name] little secret — neither a resident of Dessert Paradise, nor source subordinates, but someone from ordinary cookies. Biased, living in ignorance, hating and fearing…

It's too dangerous.

“Oh, it's a letter from [Name]!”

Fortunately, he is pulled out of the whirlpool of anxious thoughts, reminding him that he is not alone here.

Biscotti was standing by his desk, examining the contents with interest. It was cluttered with documents and hundreds of hastily writtennotes. Normally, Shadow Milk would not have liked such an intervention.

But Biscotti was only interested in the sealed letter that lay on top of the papers. To be honest, Shadow Milk was also interested in it.

"Hello, Teacher! I do not know when you will find this letter, but I hope sooner rather than later. Don't worry, I'm fine. I haven't been able to get our conversation out of my head for the last few weeks... oh, if you can't remember what kind of conversation it was, then everything is fine! Perhaps it's even for the best, I think, otherwise you would have forbidden me to leave the walls of the Yogurt Academy. I went on a little trip—I don't know for how long. Maybe I'll go back to next week, or maybe in a month! This is not another mission from Silent Salt, so please don't bother them for nothing. I'm an adult now and I can take care of myself on my own. Don't stay at work too long and don't forget to take care of yourself in my absence! And also breathing exercises — remember them too, you don't need to terrorize the unfortunate students of the academy just because they understand the material a little worse than others. See you soon! Love, you No. 1 disciple, [Name]~."

Considering how neatly the letter was written, the Sage of Truth could to conclude: his disciple had been preparing for this escape for a long time and carefully. If his looked closely, his could see faint traces on the paper. This means that this is far from the first version of the letter, although it is still impossible to parse the previous version. Given the new information, it is also possible to conclude that [Name] went either in search of someone or something.… But it doesn't really help to narrow down the range of ideas where she might have gone. He often told her about some faraway places of the Earthbread, various plants, unique holidays in different kingdom, or about new, outstanding minds! But this is something, if he had known about it, he would not have allowed to leave the walls of the house.…

“Did she say where she was going?”

The Sage of Truth blinked, coming to his senses, and looked up from the letter to Sable. Irritation tickled somewhere in his chest, unsatisfied that his stream of thoughts had been interrupted, because he was almost…

Well, no. He needs to calm down.

Breath. Exhale.

“No.” Shadow Milk smiled, slightly clutching the paper in his hands. After looking around the room once more, he hummed thoughtfully to himself to finally add. “I have a couple of guesses, but to determine exactly, I need your help. I would be extremely grateful if you could do me a favor.”

“Oh, of co-”

"Why should we?" Sable quickly covered Biscotti's mouth with her hand, while not taking her displeased gaze off one of the Sources.

"You don't have to," nodded Shadow Milk. "But you want to find [Name], right? Then you should accept my request."

"...Okay," Sable agreed with obvious difficulty. "What do we need to do?"

"Oh, it's nothing complicated!" The Sage of Truth assured them with exaggerated enthusiasm, hiding the letter in the inside pocket of his coat. "I need you to compare all the available maps from the academy library with the list and tell me which ones are missing and for how long."

Sable's mouth dropped open in genuine surprise. This request clearly goes beyond "nothing complicated". Shadow Milk giggled contentedly.

Unfortunately, they've already agreed.

There's no turning back.

A small note, because it is impossible to tell this in the text itself: Sources are the local name for Beast. Why are they called Sources? But that's later.

@shinning-stars, you asked me to tag you! <3

#crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run kingdom #crk #cookie run #pure vanilla cookie x reader #pure vanilla x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #shadow milk x reader #pure vanilla #shadow milk #sage of truth #truthless recluse #sage of truth x reader #truthless recluse x reader #crk fanfic

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literaryvein-reblogs · 4 months ago

Note

If it isn't inconvenient, do you have any tips on writing characters suffering from a concussion?

✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

Writing Notes: Concussions

Concussion

A blow or a jolt to the head can cause a concussion or traumatic brain injury (TBI).

An injury to another part of the body that transmits force to the head can also result in concussion.

Concussion Symptoms

These are symptoms of a possible concussion:

Physical

Bothered by light or noise

Dizziness or balance problems

Feeling tired, no energy

Headaches

Nausea or vomiting (early on)

Vision problems

Thinking and remembering

Attention or concentration problems

Feeling slowed down

Foggy or groggy

Problems with short- or long-term memory

Trouble thinking clearly

Sluggish reactions

Social or emotional

Anxiety or nervousness

Irritability or easily angered

Feeling more emotional

Sadness

Mood changes

Sleep

Sleeping less than usual

Sleeping more than usual

Trouble falling asleep

These symptoms may occur right away or may worsen over minutes or hours after an injury.

Symptoms may be stable or improve with various lengths of time.

Symptoms may last less than a day or may linger for months, or longer.

Causes

A concussion can result from a fall, sports activities, vehicular accidents, assault, or other direct injury to the skull.

A big movement of the brain (called jarring) in any direction can cause a person to lose alertness (become unconscious).

How long the person stays unconscious may be a sign of how bad the concussion is.

Concussions do not always lead to loss of consciousness.

Most people never pass out.

They may describe seeing all white, all black, or stars.

A person can also have a concussion and not realize it.

Exams and Tests

The health care provider will perform a physical exam. The person's nervous system will be checked. There may be changes in the person's pupil size, thinking ability, coordination, and reflexes.

Tests that may be done include:

Blood and urine tests

EEG (brain wave test) may be needed if seizures continue

Head CT (computerized tomography) scan

MRI of the brain (magnetic resonance imaging) of the brain

X-rays

Treatment

For a mild head injury, no treatment may be needed.

But be aware that the symptoms of a head injury can show up later. Your providers will explain what to expect, how to manage any headaches, how to treat your other symptoms, when to return to sports, school, work, and other activities, and signs or symptoms to worry about.

Children will need to be watched and make activity changes.

Adults also need close observation and activity changes.

Both adults and children must follow the provider's instructions about when it will be possible to return to sports.

You will likely need to stay in the hospital if:

Emergency or more severe symptoms of head injury are present

There is a skull fracture

There is any bleeding under your skull or in the brain

Alternative Names

Brain injury

Traumatic brain injury

Closed head injury

Signs: What to watch for according to your child's age

Infants, toddlers, and pre-school aged children (birth to age 4)

Irritability and crying more than usual

Seeking more comfort than usual, like needing to be held

Refusing to nurse or eat

Changes in sleeping patterns, like sleeping more or less than usual

Not wanting to engage in play or usual activities

Needing more help than usual

Showing behavior changes, such as more temper tantrums, sadness, or irritability than usual

Changes in speech, like speaking more slowly than usual

Vomiting right after the injury without other causes, such as a virus

Appearing dazed, confused, and more clumsy than usual or seeming unsteady on their feet

School-aged children and adolescents (ages 5 to 17)

Appearing dazed, stunned, or confused about recent events

Sudden difficulty remembering or concentrating, especially on topics or activities that would otherwise hold their attention

Answering questions more slowly than usual

Appearing more clumsy than usual, seeming unsteady on their feet

Vomiting right after the injury without other causes, such as a virus

Suddenly slowed reaction times

Mood, behavior, or personality changes

The following are emergency symptoms of a more severe head injury or concussion. Seek medical care right away if there are:

Changes in alertness and consciousness

Confusion that does not go away

Seizures

Muscle weakness on one or both sides of the body

Pupils of the eyes that are not equal in size

Symptoms in just one eye

Unusual eye movements

Repeated vomiting

Walking or balance problems

Unconsciousness for a longer period of time or that continues (coma)

Head injuries that cause a concussion often occur with injury to the neck and spine. Take special care when moving people who have had a head injury.

The above are excerpts from this previous post.

And these sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Concussions can present differently for different people, depending on the cause and other factors. Choose which of these references are most appropriate to incorporate in your story, considering your character, plot etc. Hope this helps with your writing! :)

#writing notes #writing reference #writeblr #literature #writers on tumblr #dark academia #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #writing inspiration #writing ideas #light academia #writing resources

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yandereunsolved · 1 year ago

Text

Thicker than Dragon's Blood - ,, yandere Daemon Targaryen pining over Rhaenyra's friend

"𝘖𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥: 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦." word count: 3.8k cw(s): yandere themes, suggestive themes (slight nsfw), grooming, dubious consent, purity culture, misogny, & stockholm syndrome

✧ It all began the day that both you and Rhaenyra met in the nursery. Without the ability to speak, only to wail and babble, the two of you were instantly the closest of friends. There was no place where she went that you weren't either. You balanced out her reckless and bratty behavior. She wasn't the best friend to you, but you were stuck to her hip. You always took the fall for her so that she could keep her reputation untarnished. In those moments, you forgot your standing as a child of a noble—a Lord or Lady of a house standing strong. You always gifted her little things that you found as reminders of your bond. She paid you back through adventure and gossip. Occasionally, she would gaslight you if you heard something bad about her, but who wouldn't? She couldn't lose her best friend.

✧ In the back of those red-tinted memories was Daemon. Whenever he happened to be at the Red Keep, he always kept a close eye on what transpired between the both of you. At first, he saw an opportunity to stake his future claim as king by marrying Rhaenyra. Although his eyes always wandered to you. There was something about you that was just so innocent and corruptible. As you grew, so did Daemons intrigue with you. It soon ignited into a fiery infatuation, burning brighter than any flame in Old Valyria ever could.

✧ His interest, a word far too shallow to explain his attraction, was not unnoticed by your father, the head of your house. Daemon had many talks with your father. Your father did your best to sweet talk Daemon, but obviously he was able to see through it. He didn't need any convincing. That's how he became your tutor. He would spend all his free time dragging you away from Rhaenyra, forcing you to learn whatever he felt like teaching you that day. He wanted to cause a rift in your relationship with her. He was also beginning to feel possessive over you. Why has his neice caught your favor and not him? He could not allow this seemingly 'platonic' relationship with Rhaenyra to further escalate.

✧ The content of his teachings would seem less than savory to most. You had just barely risen past the age of a blooming maiden; that makes you fair game, correct? When you were in your younger years, he never taught you anything that could cause rumors to spread. After all, rumors in the Red Keep spread faster than a dragon's fire. He needed to make sure that you were old enough to keep your mouth shut. He needed to make sure that your age wouldn't be a problem. An age gap wouldn't cause rumors, but a child noble engaging in intimate acts like an adult prince? Unthinkable. He wouldn't ruin his reputation because of that.

✧ However, no gap in age or experience could stop him once you were old enough to be considered of age. He began teaching you the finer things in life, like how to please a man and how to please yourself. You were naive. You didn't know more than how a babe was made. You didn't realize everything was so complicated and embarrassing. He always stifles your moans during your private 'tutoring' sessions. He encourages you and tells you how good you are being. He speaks dirty words in your ears in High Valyrian. He gives you an extra reward if he can see you recognize some of the words in his teachings. It's an addiction for him. He can't get enough of your body and your figure. You had grown into yourself. It was a sight no other whore's body could even begin to match. The gods must have gifted you to him after everything he has done for the kingdoms.

✧ He gives you 'homework' and does more than just scold you if you don't complete it to his liking. Most of the time, he just enjoys watching you. Even after all his teachings, you are still so inexperienced. He hasn't taken the final step with you. He wouldn't take your full maidenhood yet, no. He simply couldn't. Not for any moral reasons. He just wanted you to keep your virtue a bit longer. That's one of the things that attracted him to you in the first place. He would have immediately taken any other slut, but you weren't that. You are a god(dess) among men. You deserve a romantic night filled with passion. A night where he can put a babe in you, fertile or not.

✧ As you began drifting away from Rhaenyra due to your tutoring sessions with Daemon, you were confronted. She clung onto you with tears in her eyes and asked why you didn't care about her anymore. She silently begged and pleaded for a good reason. Then she became enraged. She slapped you and demanded to know once again why you were drifting from her.

"Is it because of my uncle? Is your knowledge truly worth more than our lifelong partnership?"

You couldn't tell her the truth. You knew what you were engaging in with Daemon was scandalous. If you told Rhaenyra she may hate you, or even worse, use it to blackmail you so you are always by her side. You made up some flimsy excuse. You just said that you were insecure about always being near her, and Daemon said that she didn't like you anymore. That part about Daemon was partly true. He has been whispering lies to you about your relationship with Rhaenyra for years now. For better or for worse, you both are still as close as you were during your younger years, if not even closer now.

She finally calmed after you made your excuse. She didn't question its validity. She was just happy to finally have you back. She made you promise to stay away from Daemon as much as you possibly could. So, you did. Who were you to disobey the command of a princess, your closest companion?

✧ A sense of shame and dread fills you. You don't need a tutor anymore. After an hour-long argument with your father, he finally relents. He threatens that if their house falls out of the Targaryens good graces because you refused to be tutored by Daemon, he'll sell you out to a pleasure house. He didn't know how hard that hit you. You felt impure. You enjoyed what you did with Daemon. Why is that wrong? You were taught only to find pleasure in your future spouse. You found pleasure in him, and look where it got you. A strained relationship with your best friend that you had to fix, and your father threatening to sell you out to a whore house.

You feel like you are being attacked from all angles. Daemon begins to stalk you to get your attention. That's what you can call it, right? Stalking? You swear he's following you, even when he isn't. You thought you heard the guards speaking about reporting back to him. Something just feels more off about him whenever you get near him. Your mind began to repress all the memories of your intimate moments together. You just felt so confused, so lost, and so paranoid. Nothing felt right. You could barely remember your own name. At least you'll be able to find a suitor soon. You'll be able to put this all behind you. Not if Daemon has anything to do with it.

✧ After a few months, everything seems to be back to normal. There are no more of those weird tutoring sessions; you have rebuilt your relationship with Rhaenyra, and you even have some decent choices for a future spouse. You did have to carry on the bloodline as the eldest, after all.

Daemon, however, was far from 'normal'. Not that he ever was. Over those few months, people could notice the changes in him. He became more unhinged, erratic, and easily angered at the tiniest of mistakes. Behind closed doors, he was drinking all of the spirits he could get his hands on. He was spending triple the amount of time at brothels that he usually did. He forgot about everything else, except for the problem of the bronze bitch in the back of his mind. You were nothing like her. You were like a precious piece of jewelry made out of the finest gold and precious metals that were melted down by a dragon's breath. All he knew was that he needed to court you.

Not even commanding the Nights Watch could tame the beast within him. He flew Caraxes to contemplate. He would eye over where, somewhere off in the distance, you were in the castle. You were probably spending time with his neice, or gods forbid, another man, one of his men that he commands.

He's just never wanted anything more than you. He knows you aren't his kin or his blood. He knows that marrying you would be an impossible task. It would mean decreasing his chances of taking the throne. You had something, though; you had the Targaryen spirit in you. He could feel it every time he touched you. He could feel the heat simmering just beneath the skin. You were worthy of his seed and worthy of carrying his kin. He could always bribe one of his family members to use as a surrogate in case you have male genitalia or are infertile. Your babies would still be pure Targaryens that way. It just disgusts him to have to think of impregnating anyone but you.

✧ You had a tournament in honor of Rhaenyra finally being old enough to be courted. It was one that would end on a much lighter note, as opposed to the last one, which ended in her mother's death. It was partly your tournament as well. Well, that is what Daemon thought of it as. He would fight for you, and you alone. He understands that voicing this would be improper. You do see it in the way he glances at you while fighting in the rounds he is participating in. When he is not, he's staring into your soul. His eyes never leave your figure. You feel queasy; something is even more off about him now. Your ex-tutor didn't have any feelings past merely using you as another one of his flings; you tried to assure yourself. Only when the last round of the tournament was to commence did he ask for your favor instead of Rhaenyra's.

The crowd was shocked; some gasped, while others questioned the meaning of this. Was Daemon choosing you over Rhaenyra due to the infighting over who was to be the true heir of the Iron Throne? Was he simply being contrary, as always? Or did he want your favor because he harbored more than platonic feelings toward you?

It was unheard of, as it was customary for Targaryens to only ask for the favors of their family members.

He did the tournament. His actions made clear the message he intended to send; he did it for you.

Rhaenyra wasn't pleased. She threatened her uncle behind closed doors to stop hitting on her best friend. He laughed it off. He taunted her.

"As if there is anything you can do about it. They want me. They crave my touch."

✧ You only tried harder from then on to separate yourself from him. You purposefully avoided him, and it only became harder to do so. It was as if he had memorized your schedule by heart. Little notes and gifts began to be left on your bedding. They weren't signed, but you had a suspicion that it was Daemon's doing. You tried to express your concerns to your mother and father, only to be given a dismissive response. You tried to confide in your siblings, but your female one(s) only giggled and swooned over him. Your male one(s) simply huffed and waved you off, half-heartedly saying that they'd offer you some protection against the prince if the time came.

✧ You try to confront him. He admits that the gifts were from him. He doesn't admit the extent of his infatuation for you yet. You already seemed adamant on avoiding him. Scaring you off wouldn't do him any good because he still doesn't have a strong hold over the council or his brother. He promises to stop gifting you things and back off if you just do one thing with him. You reluctantly agreed without knowing what he was planning. If you knew it was to ride on Caraxes with him, then you would have simply walked off and not given his compromise another thought.

✧ You were intimidated by dragons; dare you say fearful of them. They always seemed to be able to pierce one's soul with their eyes. You refused to be near Rhaenyra's dragon, Syrax, for that exact reason. Now you were within ten feet of one, and you were practically trembling. Daemon was positively ecstatic underneath his facade of poised indifference. He would be able to exert control over you because of his title of dragon rider, if nothing else.

Syrax seemed like an innocent hare in comparison to Caraxes.

However, you surprisingly felt safe as Daemon placed your hand on Caraxes's scales. There was a certain vulnerability in Daemon's eyes that you had not seen before. He seemed to treasure these moments. Caraxes almost seemed to... like you? The dragon could sense his riders affection toward you. In turn, Caraxes felt the same need to protect you and be gentle. The beast even allowed you to scratch under his chin, a purr-like reaction emanating from his long throat. It was like nothing you had ever experienced before.

☾ The ride was breath-taking, both figuratively and literally. That's the only way you can describe it. It was the first time you felt safe around Daemon. He was in charge of making sure you felt comfortable in the air, his arms possessively at your sides as he controlled the reigns. He could feel your relaxed muscles against his toned chest. His heart swelled even further with an all-encompassing ecstasy that he had never had the pleasure of feeling before. Caraxes responded to both of you with a comforting roar, somewhere in between intimidating and reassuring. You had never felt true freedom in your life. For once, you felt it, even in the arms of someone you could consider an oppressor.

☾ You were aware of his wife. You knew that these strange feelings Daemon harbored for you had to be temporary. You at least admitted to yourself that he did hold some sort of romantic attraction to you. He admitted the least of it. Still, you fooled yourself into thinking they were temporary. Not just a fling, something more intimate but less binding than a marriage. Even with this knowledge, even after being introduced to Caraxes and riding him with Daemon, your hesitance was still fully rooted within your heart and mind—your soul. He took advantage of you before. You shudder at the thought. You enjoyed learning those things, but were you truly able to consent to them? You were of age. You push it away within your mind. It is the deepest reason for your hesitance, but you didn't want to think on it. Thinking of your tutoring sessions with Daemon only proved to fill you with heat and shame simultaneously.

☾ You chose to do your best to shake all of the invasive thoughts from your mind. You spent as much time as you could with Rhaenyra. She looked at you with such love and cowered behind you whenever things got too tough. From the shadows of the small council, one man in particular envied your relationship: Otto Hightower. He has taken to calling you 'Daemon's whore'. He has been the one since the beginning to spread whispers amongst those in the court about your loyalty to the crown.

Would you choose Daemon over Viserys?

That was a question many asked with their eyes and not their tongues. It was humiliating. You don't even want to associate with Daemon, and yet your time as his student has left your reputation forever scarred. Not to mention how many times you have chosen to state that Rhaenyra's mistakes were your own, for the sake of your friendship. Even with the whispers, it was not enough for Otto. He needed them to be screams. He needed everyone to see you as the whore you were! He has never grown soft towards you because of one simple fact: you threaten his entire plan for his family's ascension to the throne. Alicent has never been able to catch a Targaryen's attention, yet you are the best friend to one and the whore of another.

☾ It was a mistake for you to align yourself so closely with Rhaenyra. She ranted to you about what her fears were and how terrified she was at the possibility of not being the sole heir. You had to listen while Daemon plotted at Dragonstone. You hadn't seen him since the day you rode Caraxes with him. That was well over half a moon ago by now. You were relieved to finally be rid of his presence. Only you thought so. When the gods rose the moon high into the sky and nestled the sun beneath the cusp of the earth, he returned to you. That very night, after Rhaenyra had left your chambers, Daemon had snuck in. He surprised you and urged you to hush yourself.

You had no choice. He led you to the empty cradle, where the last heir passed after living for less than a day. There was a dragon egg in it. He whispered to you about all the things he wanted to do to you. He made a promise that one day your babe would be in the cradle, with his features and your personality.

It felt like a dream you would have after a fever. You still can't be sure it happened. After he left, the realm of dreams tugged you in once again. You woke up, and no trace of him was there. Daemon was getting bolder in his advances toward you. He still feared scaring you off completely, but he has to take what is rightfully his. He is the heir to the Iron Throne, after all.

☾ Years passed, and you grew older. Daemon was off fighting a war in the Stepstones; Alicent gave the king a male heir with another babe on the way; and Rhaenyra stuck closer to you than any tree sap could. Otto was less of a thorn in your side these days. As this time passed, you were plagued with tragedies every time you tried to take a lover. You were the eldest, and yet you were failing your house dearly. They tried their best to get you courted as well. Your entire family was just perplexed. Every suitor you were supposed to marry showed up dead before your wedding day. Were you cursed by the gods? It couldn't be Daemon, could it? It was so far away. He couldn't simply be orchestrating this while so far away.

It simply left you in tears every single time. Rhaenyra was your only solace. She grew more bratty and defiant of her father. She refused to marry that Lannister fellow. She rejoiced when your newest one came up dead. She couldn't help but smile. She didn't want you to get married and leave her. You both were meant to be companions. You are companions, the closest of them.

Still, your soul was aching, and your body was deprived of something it yearned for.

Were you really missing Daemon's odd behavior?

No, never.

Well, maybe.

☾ You didn't realize that perhaps you were even worried about him until he returned to the castle. It felt like a piece that had gone missing had finally returned. The king, his brother, was thankful for his submission and offered him one thing behind closed doors. What was that one thing you ask? Your hand in marriage. When Daemon strolled over to you and told you this, you were flabbergasted, even bamboozled. You couldn't just marry your best friend's uncle.

☾ You tried every excuse under the sun. You tried to say that you weren't up to the Targaryen standards of beauty; he said that you were created by the gods, so graceful and divine. You brought up the fact that you had no blood tied to Old Valyria; he stated that your soul was that of a dragon, more than worthy of his hand. You tried to reason with him by saying that he had another wife who he already struggled to take care of. That angered him.

"Don't ever speak about the bitch again, dear. Understand me?"

She died as you would learn later. Some sort of riding incident that led to her demise. You offered your condolences to Daemon. He laughed and said that he'd happily spit upon her rotting corpse. He didn't need to lie to you. He also wasn't compelled to tell the truth when you didn't ask for it. He'll make sure the whispers of him murdering his wife never reach your ears.

☾ Rhaenyra simply shrugged and thought that you marrying her uncle was at least a close match for her. She would still be able to speak with you. You would now be closer to her! She wasn't ecstatic, but pleased—maybe even smug. Whatever negative feelings she had toward her uncle being around you were clearly resolved. It only struck terror in your heart.

☾ Your family would help, right? No. Such a laughable thing. They were overjoyed. They also told you not to screw it up. Talks of the heirs you two would produce, the tie to the Targaryens bolstering your house's status, and many other reasons you didn't care to listen to.

☾ You were—are trapped. You were to marry a man that you couldn't make up your mind about. It could be worse. Every strange thing must have been because of the gods, right? If only you knew the lengths Daemon went to marry you. The people he threatened, the people he beheaded, the poisons traded in markets that aren't pure of heart but dark and foreboding. He finally felt at peace. So did Caraxes. Your family would be so perfect. He could already see you holding a babe in your arms that he had bred into you. Is this what you truly want? Or is that hesitancy in your soul still strong enough to pull you out of his hold and help you escape him?

#hotd #asoiaf #house of the dragon #daemon x reader #hotd daemon #daemon targaryen #prince daemon targaryen #the rogue prince #yandere daemon targaryen #yandere daemon #yandere daemon targaryen x reader #yandere daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x you #daemon x y/n #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere house of the dragon #yandere house of the dragon x reader

1K notes · View notes

cadaveerie · 8 months ago

Text

cw: child abuse and non-sexual grooming

VEILGUARD SPOILERS (from lucanis' writing, a mission towards the ending and a little general)

About Lucanis and the Antivan Crows...

after finishing datv, I can finally say for sure that despite the fact that i find this game was overall fine, there are several things about it that have disappointed me. one of those things is about lucanis (and it's not even the only thing about lucanis that bothers me, but we'll leave that discussion for another time, because there's a lot to say about the writing).

in this game, Caterina Dellamorte (lucanis and illario's grandmother) is portrayed as a woman that's cold and demanding. not particularly nice, lucanis fully acknowledges that she's not exactly the loving type, and it's easy to assume things about her and about their relationship based on that... but for some reason it's never addressed that she abused lucanis when he was a child, by beating him and starving him. this is something that you can read in lucanis' story in tevinter nights, the wigmaker job, which was lucanis' introduction.

"Memories of sweat-ﬁlled days without food or water came unbidden Lucanis’s back tingled from where his grandmother’s cane had bruised his ﬂesh for letting his guard down or fumbling his footwork. For years, he’d hated her. But his time as a Master taught Lucanis that Caterina’s cruelty was her way he was prepared for this life—that he survived."

I was waiting to finish the game before I said it, because I expected him to mention at some point but... no, nothing. I don't know if there's anything in a codex or something specific I missed, but even if that's the case, I expected it to be significant at all. it wasn't.

i'm not even going to get into what lucanis should feel about this. before the game came out i talked about some of my hopes for him based on the info we had about him, and imo there was not even half of that level of depth to his character. but i wouldnt have minded if the game went in another direction, or if lucanis simply just wasnt open to discuss it, or if he came to the conclusion that it was fine. i won't get into how "problematic" thinking that is, because i could understand that he tells himself that, and as a fucking assassin, i understand that he's come to terms with it because otherwise he probably wouldnt have survived in such a dangerous enviroment. i won't get into it bc as i said, i can understand it. my problem is that lucanis never says it. he never tells rook or anyone else that caterina abused him, or that the crows overall are very abusive and that they do this to children and break their minds basically in order to become emotionless living weapons. and if this is said in any banter, then i missed it in my 91h of gameplay, and i had lucanis in my party every single time we went outside. or it might be in a codex entry, idk. the point is that even if that's the case, that's not a great way to tell this info, especially when in the story theres no other way to learn anything like this about the crows. ppl that i talked to that didnt read tevinter nights didnt know this fact abt caterina and lucanis' past, they simply didnt cause how could they. I just wanted to say this because I think it's important to know if you like lucanis, or the antivan crows, and it's never even actually implied.

I also have many other issues with his writing, but the antivan crows are unfortunately also whitewashed. at least if you've played dragon age origins you know this, but our first antivan crow companion, zevran, talks about how he was taken as a child by the antivan crows. how he was literally bought by them as an orphan, and forced to become an assassin, and when he tries to flee, they attempt to murder him throughout the game. he even talks about how apparently some crows even made their members go through blood magic rituals to acquire abilities (SOUND FAMILIAR? IT'S LITERALLY WHAT ZARA DOES TO LUCANIS, ISN'T IT. HOW FUCKED UP). i think it's so disrespectful to dragon age's worldbuilding and so appalling that they simply... ignored all of this. I'm very upset that this was completely whitewashed. i wont get into it, but i assume they didn't show the crows being awful because, well... they have to be the good alternative for government in antiva. the bad guys are the antaam, and that's it. but one of the things i always loved about dragon age is how they treat these sort of political things. as i said, in origins the crows were more of an antagonistic figure, but at least it made them feel more real and serious. and people loved the crows like they were, fucked up assassins. in this game... idk, am i supposed to believe the assassin guys are nice? why hide the ugly? of course it's gonna be there, and it's ok. irl it happens a lot that oppressed people have to rely on groups that are less than ideal for their liberation, and a lot of times citizens are kinda ok w it bc no one else will stand up for them, so they have to work w what they have, and they're just relieved theres someone there for them. and it also shows that people are not perfect victims. if you're putting ppl in a corner, at some point ppl are rarely gonna care about being "good", and it's only human. and im not even gonna get into being an antivan crow rook because... sigh, it's more of the same. just disappointing. rook even mentions that theyre an orphan. and im pretty sure in the final mission about treviso, at least if you helped jacobus, he is like "i'll take in orphans and give them a chance". oh man, yeah. cool. please tell me how you'll raise them to be, im so curious to see how you won't groom children and abuse them into becoming mindless cold soldiers. that's fucking insane. this feels like fucking US army levels of propaganda and grooming. i love when we normalize child soldiers that's so fucking awesome i love this "woke" game when it's pro-military and anti-fucking-questioning-anything-a-military-force-does.

i even wondered if all of this has been retconned or simply ignored. i dont have a problem w retconning overall, and it's only natural it would happen in a franchise that's as old as DA, but the thing is... why would you do it. it literally just makes them flatter, it doesn't make any fucking sense.

so yes. im VERY disappointed in this game and the writing. this is one of the many things in the writing that disappointed me. the antivan crows are an organization that bring hope, and im perfectly fine with them being portrayed as "saviors", but im not ok with them conveniently not addressing any of their very bad issues. it's unrealistic. it's disrespectful to our intelligence, to dragon age fans and to dragon age origins. it's disrespectful to characters like zevran, who got into an insane war with them for a fucking reason. it's disrespectful to every antivan crow character to be honest. and im sorry, i dont even think this is insane to ask from them. like.... im literally just asking for consistency. they had it already, i dont understand why they did this. i had faith in them, but perhaps that's on me. im so heartbroken.

and i promise i actually think the game overall is ok. it was fun. definitely one of my least favorite games, if not my least favorite, but still. i appreciate it, and LOVED. LOVEEED some scenes. in fact, it might have at the very least one of my favorite scenes from the whole franchise. i think this game has very low points, and very high points, so it's hard to say what i think about it in few words.... but there are so many things like this in the writing, and it's just SO upsetting and disrespectful. im sorry. im truly sorry, you don't know how much i wanted to love this game and the writing. you have no idea. but i have self respect, and i don't lie to myself when i see something i dont like. it feels like they're whitewashing the crows cause we'd be too stupid to understand complex political issues. i thought this game was mature and could handle mature themes, but it doesnt seem like it's the case anymore. perhaps bioware is dead. i still want to believe they can come back from this but......... the post credit scene doesnt reassure me AT ALL. sigh. im just upset and sad. and as i said, this is only one of my many issues. i'll talk about the rest in the future, but im writing all of it down and i need time for that. i hope you understand that this comes from a place of genuine love. sorry i can't be happy about this game, but some of the stuff i see just ruins the rest for me.

edit: someone told me that apparently theres a banter when you go to dellamorte's villa and lucanis *implies* that he was beat by his grandmother (at least to another antivan crow rook). this whole post still stands though. i think that should have not been a banter that i (and im sure others) missed. and again, it also ties to how i think the crows as an organization and their methods were whitewashed. even if it's not particularly a lucanis problem, it could have been to some extent addressed by him.

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just-some-random-blogger · 7 months ago

Text

Tormented Spirit | 7

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, smut (cunnilingus, piv, choking, degradation, slight sadism), DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: again the high valyrian is internet translated so lol. please consider leaving comments/reblogs because they really help me with the fic. might make another poll for next chapter stay tuned. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat

Taking you to the hidden stream was simultaneously the best and worst decision Erryk's ever made in his life. The look of you was holy. His intense focus on your form was to ensure your safety, but, by the gods, it felt sinful to behold your dark hair and light fabric ebbing in the water.

He had hoped a swim would lift your spirits, just as flower picking did, but he did not know it would draw such a tempest out of you. It was as though you were reborn. You plunged into the water and shed all your inhibitions. Your voice became brighter, as did your eyes. You were flooded with more than a dozen memories of you and your twin swimming in the river near your home in Oldtown, and you recounted all of them so excitedly to Erryk.

"Oh!' you exclaim, flipping in the water to get to your feet. You point to something behind your ward, making him turn around. In that split second, you hold in your laughter and grab something from the mossy rocks. Innocently, you say, "that reminds me of something."

Erryk turns back to you, brows knit in confusion. When you you make your way towards him, he clenches his jaw and averts his gaze. The shift you were swimming in was stuck flush on your body, leaving little to his imagination. He was glad to have the foresight to bring you a change of clothes and a towel, and, my, was the pattern on the said towel so very interesting.

"What is a frogs favorite game?" you ask so suddenly.

Erryk turns to you, brows furrowing, "pardon?"

"Tell me the frogs' favorite game, ser," you repeat as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Frogs favored game?" he repeats slowly, realizing now that your expression was mockingly innocent. He hums, "I cannot say I-"

"HOPSCOTCH!"

A frog comes leaping into Erryk's face, nearly causing him to topple as he dodges it. He's so flabbergasted by the turn of events, he calls out your name in offence. He is doubly offended by your laughter. His eyes go wide as you hunch forward, leaning on your knees.

"Villain," your ward mutters, scoffing far too many times.

You can barely catch your breath. You fan your face, "frog-ive me."

Erryk's face only contorts further.

"I could not-" you gasp for air, "could not help it."

In truth, if it was any other who did such a childish thing, he'd have shoved them in the water. Alas, you appeared only more beauteous as you made him a fool.

"Forgive me," you repeat in more serious manner, "Gwayne used to scare me this way often. I wished only to know how it felt, and now..." you giggle, "I can't say I blame my brother for constantly pulling tricks on me."

He huffs and shakes his head, "well. I'm glad to have pleased you, my ever-so-kind princess."

You offer him a guilty smile, "apologies."

Erryk shakes his head, "no. Truly. I am glad to see you in such a state."

You fidget with your fingers as a shiver runs down your spine.

He is quick to unravel your towel. He places it on your shoulders, "perhaps we should go back. The sunset is nigh."

You nod, taking your change of clothes from him next.

He turns around offering you your privacy. It takes a while, but you manage to dress yourself. Once you had your shoes on, you dry your hair with your towel and take his arm, "would you please lace up my dress?"

He nods, avoiding your gaze as he feels his face burn. He quickly laces you up then you return to the Keep.

You both had been laughing, up until you made it past the castle gates, promptly being silenced by the loud shout, "PRINCESS!"

Arryk runs over, charging for his brother. Their steel plates collide as Arryk yanks his twin, "where in gods name did you take her?"

Erryk furrows his brows, "we visited a stream-"

"The Keep is in disarray!" Arryk grits his teeth, hissing under his breath, "everyone's looking for her. Everyone."

You watch the twins huddle close and bicker. As it escalates, you try try to come between them, "Arryk. I was the one who asked him to take me outside the keep."

Arryk does not hear you at first, dead set on arguing with his twin. When you repeat your words the second time however, he turns to you, face softening a fraction. He knits his brows turning back to this brother, whispering something that makes Erryk turn to you with wide eyes, "fuck."

"Why?" you look at them in concern, "what it is?"

Arryk opens his mouth, but Erryk grabs his arm and says, "wait."

"There's no other way to say it," Arryk snaps, ripping his arm out his grip.

"Say what?" you knit your brows.

Arryk turns back to you, then lowers his gaze, "the queen... the queen has passed."

Your jaw drops. Your eyes widen. Your hand immediately covers your mouth. The three of you do not speak for a prolonged moment.

You feel your stomach roll, "w-what happened?"

"She could not deliver the babe herself. The maesters... had to intervene."

Intervene? You could not possibly understand what that could mean, and you find that you do not want to. You shake your head, "and her babe? Is- is her babe well at least?"

Arryk clenches his jaw, "she sired a prince named Baelon... he apparently grows weaker by the hour."

You feel bile rise up your throat.

"Your father and your siblings have been looking for you since news broke."

You shake your head, and gather your skirts.

"As has the prince."

Your face twitches at the thought. You do not delay and make your way inside the Keep.

As you tread the halls, you think about what the queen told you just mere hours ago. There is a sharp twinge in your belly as simultaneously remember how Aemma told you to go cheer for Daemon at the tourney and realize you will never hear a word from her ever again. The thought washes over you like water on the beach, sobering but thankfully not overwhelming.

You hadn't realized you had your head bowed until you hear your name called. You still as you look up, the twins halt behind you.

Otto marches over, brows and jaw tight as ever, "where in gods name have you been?"

You straighten your back as he stops before you, "I-"

"Your wards are double," he turns to the kingsguards, "and doubly useless, it seems."

"Father," you step into his line of sight, "do not relieve your rage on them."

Your father turns back to you, expression softening a fraction at your referral. You had not called him father since your argument in the maester's office. He looks at you— takes a good look at you and your sad eyes, your knit brows, your frowning lips. Your hair was darker than it was normally, and as he reaches out for it, he found it was, in fact, damp, "where have you been?"

"I..." you gulp and take a deep breath, "went swimming."

He releases your hair, tilting his head, "with whom? Gwayne has gone."

You pull your head back, "G-Gwayne's gone?"

"The tourney is over. The road is long. He has no reason to stay," Otto says.

Your brows tighten as you shake your head, "he... he didn't... wait for me?"

Otto watches your lips quiver. He watches your nose twitch. When your chest begins to visibly rise and fall, he shakes his head, "what did I tell you?"

You stare blankly at him.

He takes your hands, "what is it I always tell you?"

You clench your jaw and huff through your nostrils, "do not waste your tears on things you cannot change."

Otto rubs your knuckles as he shakes his head again. He gives the Cargyll brothers a look before walking off with you. They make sure to keep their distance before following after.

You turn to your father as he links your arm into his. You are certain, with how he cannot look at you, that he means to tell you something grave. You look front and mimic his demeanor— distant, cold. You are his daughter, face and temperance.

"You enjoyed your swim at least?" he starts, "you are calm?"

You gulp, mentally preparing yourself for what will surely come next. Your voice still falters though, "ye-s."

Otto nods, still not turning to you, "many has occurred since your marriage to Daemon. You admitted you did not consummate your marriage on your wedding night and I was deeply concerned you would fail your duties in producing heirs, especially if your husband was not interested in you."

Your jaw clenches.

"But with the apparent... change of heart your husband has shown, you should know I've had the maesters closely monitor your state."

You knit your brows at that, "you mean my affliction?"

He speaks your name slowly before continuing, "as of yesterday, they have confirmed to me that you are with child."

You whip your head to him and pull away.

Otto does not look at you with the same sense of urgency.

"W-what?"

He sees the fear on your features. He offers a solemn expression and takes your cheeks when your eyes water, "this is good. You should delight, not tremble."

You try to speak but nothing coherent comes out.

"The Queen is dead. Go to your husband and comfort him with this news."

Your mouth goes dry and your father wipes the tears that fall from your eyes. He your name softly. Your sad face looks the exact same it did when his wife died. My baby is having a baby. He frowns and pulls away.

You try to take his hand, but he slips away.

"See her off," the Hand instructs your wards.

Erryk is quick to go to your side, whereas Arryk stares at the back of Otto's head, his lips curling as he did.

"Princess," Erryk says, cautiously reaching your arm.

You turn to him with wide eyes before scratching your tears away, "I-"

"Perhaps you should sit down first."

You pull away from him before he can touch you. The action makes Erryk pull back, an unsavory sensation spreading in his mouth and belly.

"I want to- I—" you take a breath, "I need to find-" you shake your head and begin speeding down the hall.

You were nearly about to break into a sprint, and your wards had to jog up to your side to keep up with you. You don't really know where you're going, but you're getting there, fast.

"Princess, please, slow down," one says.

You can feel your breath and your pulse in your ears.

"Princess."

You find yourself in the halls near one of the gate of the keep. The only reason why you stop is because you hear the voice of your twin. Your breath catches as you lurch towards the window. Gwayne was laughing with one of the guards, already on his horse. Your brows furrow, he couldn't possibly be well enough to be riding on horseback.

You realize quickly this is your last opportunity to go be with your brother, to pull him into an embrace, to worry on him, to tell him your worries, to kiss him goodbye. You know you have to act now and swiftly, but you cannot seem to move.

Your mind is heavy as you think about how your brother is set to leave regardless of your desire to keep close; he said it himself, his place can never be at your side. Though he is the only person who've ever relied on, you know now— you rub your belly, that can no longer be the case. There is only one person you can rely on now... yourself.

It is painful to pull away from the window, but you do, clenching your hands into fists before walking away.

You don't really walk away however, because then, you're frozen in place at the sight of your husband standing a few paces away from you, "Daemon."

He stares at you wordlessly.

You walk towards him, careful as you drag your feet.

He tilts his head and clenches his jaw, "he's leaving any moment now."

You nod, "I know."

"Go to him," he says softly.

"I-"

"Go to him!" he snaps.

You stiffen at his expression. You were adept with anger but he did not look angry. You stop in your tracks, trying to make sense of his restless figure.

Daemon watches you fidget with your fingers.

"If it is your command, I shall obey."

He chuckles dryly, pacing around his spot. He wipes his mouth then charges over, stopping just in front of you. He scoffs when you do not flinch, in disbelief of your constitution. His nostrils flare, "you know my feelings towards your twin."

You slowly shrug, "then you'll be glad to know I came looking for you."

Daemon does not move.

"You know how I feel about my brother..." you mutter, "but..." you lower your gaze, "I'm coming to terms with the fact I can no longer rely on him... it will be better this way."

It takes a moment, but Daemon chuckles. When you look up and his smirk fades. Your beady eyes make it hard to find satisfaction. "So, you will not go to him?" he asks.

You stare.

"You do not want to go to him?"

Your lips part.

He raises his brows.

"I... I do."

Anger rises up his belly, but as if on cue, the sound of horses and carriages moving is heard. You clench your jaw and lower you gaze to prevent yourself from looking back at the window. The prince cannot seem to win, for he should be pleased you did not see your brother off, and yet your sadness leaves sour jealousy in his mouth— he was your husband.

The Cargyll twins look upon you both, appalled by the cruelty of the prince to keep you here as Gwayne leaves for good. Erryk in particular feels restless, unable to stop shifting and fidgeting with his scabbard.

"Shall... shall we go?" you mutter, slowly looking up.

Daemon watches you place a hand on his bicep. He responds only by following you after giving your wards a dismissive look.

The brothers turn to each other, each as unwilling as the other to leave you, but they do anyway.

Daemon is acutely aware of the warmth of your cheek against his arm as you tread down the halls. When, you arrive at your marriage chambers, Daemon opens the door and you notice the bandage wrapped around his hand. He struggles because of this. Once you're inside, you take his arm, eyes trained on his injury, "what happened to your hand?"

Daemon's eyes are fixed on the line between your brows.

"Did you break it?" you turn to him with furrowed eyes.

He pulls away slowly. He wants to know what you'd do next.

"Did you wrap it yourself? It's badly done."

He faintly snorts, "it's on my right hand."

"I'll do it for you," you say, walking towards the vanity.

Daemon follows, watching you procure scissors and vials and other things. You turn to him, motioning to the chair. He sits down, gaze fixed upon you as you take his arm again.

Your eyes are focused on undoing his wrap, "tell me if it hurts,"

His are fixed on your focused expression, "you should sit down."

"I'm fine."

"I want you to sit down," he uses his other hand to grab your wrist.

You stop and turn to him. You turn to the chair across the room but Daemon prevents you from doing so and simply spreads legs, pulling you between his thighs. Quickly, you are sat on his lap and tense look at him. He offers you his injured hand again as his other goes around you, clinging to your hip. He pulls you in, leaning his head against yours to say, "it's a cut, by the way."

You furrow your brows at his admission. You allow yourself a moment to relax before continuing your task. You find it is, in fact, a cut, deep and ugly, "did your lance splinter very badly?"

"No."

You furrow your brows deeper as you turn to him,

"This is glass."

"Glass?" you brow raise, "how did you hurt your hand with glass?"

Daemon licks his lips as he looks at yours. He shrugs, "I broke a bottle."

You pull your head back, "on accident?"

"On purpose," he tilts his head.

You huff and start cleaning his wound, "was the violence in the tourney insufficient?"

He chuckles through his nostrils, "I did not fucking win."

You smear balm on his wound. You do not reply.

It makes him clench his jaw, "and you..."

"..."

"You were not there."

You do not tear your gaze from his injury.

He grumbles, "did you even hear me?"

You lift your gaze then raise brow at him, "you did not want me there. Do you not recall how you cursed at me?"

Your gall makes anger rise up his throat.

You continue wrapping up his hand.

"Well, you were being a bitch," he snaps.

"Why?"

His brows furrow.

"Why was I being a bitch?"

"..."

You spare him a quick glace.

He pulls his head back, "... what?"

"Did I not do my duty?" you turn to him, face blank, "I followed you, congratulated you, inquired of your injuries. I submitted to your desires. Where did I err?" You ask in earnest, "what do you want from me?"

His face contorts. Now that he was faced with such an opportunity, he finds himself unable to speak. What did he want from you?

You wait for him to reply. You prepare yourself for preposterous requirements but you are met only his silence. In that moment, you remember he was just a man. Many a man enjoyed making women suffer. You gulp, thinking about your father.

Perhaps your father was lying. Perhaps he wants you to believe you are with child to get even. After all, Daemon never... finished in you. How then could you be with child?

You secure the binding on his hand, "it is finished."

Daemon does not bother looking at his hand.

"How do you feel?"

He feels a strong urge to shake you... to pull you close.

"My deepest sympathies for the death of your cousin."

He freezes. Right. The queen was dead. He lowers his gaze.

You frown and reach for his cheek. You second guess however and bring your palm to his shoulder instead, "I am here for you, my prince."

His eyes meet yours.

"I am here to care and comfort you."

He leans back, taken by the thought.

You drink in his demeanor, the softness in his eyes, the tension that falls of his shoulders. You release a breath, "if that is what you desire, speak plainly, and do not repel me. Do not ask me to leave if, in fact, you want me to stay."

His throat tightens. He feels like he is ensnared in a bear trap. He rips at his collar, "I... I have other injuries." He pushes you off and paces around as he undoes his top. It is a struggle for him, but he cannot stop or stay still, "cuts and bruises."

You watch as he fidgets and slowly walk over.

"I don't-"

"Daemon."

He stills.

You come in front of him and undo his top yourself. You drop it mindlessly, and once he is bare, he feels conscious under your scrutiny for some reason. You brush your fingers on his ribs, making goosebumps form on his skin. He can't say that that has ever happened to him before. You notice and rub his arms, eyes locked on his torso.

He feels himself getting hard.

"Did you tend to these yourself as well?" you brush over a cut on his hip.

Oh. You were still examining him. He only hums in response.

You frown, "did no maester come to your tent?"

"I..." he starts.

You circle around him, inspecting for other injuries.

"...wanted you to come to my tent."

You come to his side. He finds the frown on your face. You take a moment before saying, "you tended to your wounds well at least."

"I want you."

You nod, "I will tend to you—"

Daemon takes your nape, lowering his head to kiss your lips. It takes a moment for you to relax, and his belly burns at the sound you make when you do. Your hands come to his sides and your nails graze faintly into his flesh.

He pushes you back until your laid on the bed beneath him. His kisses trail down your skin as he works to get you naked. He kisses your shoulder, then your sternum. He makes sure to lick your breast and leave a mark on your rib before peppering kisses down your belly.

Your breath grows heavy when he lingers by your womb, sucking kisses on your skin. Your throat tightens think of your father's words again. It makes you tense, and Daemon feels it. Of course, he doesn't know about your conversation with Otto, and thinks your tension comes from your self-consciousness.

You lift your head, pulling a pillow beneath it, and look down at your husband. You reach for him, tangling your fingers in his silver hair, "Daemon."

He hums, nipping your flesh in response.

You try to sit up, "D-Daemon, I-"

He shushes you, pushing down on your hip bone. He looks up at you, muttering something in High Valyrian.

"Please, Daemon, wait-"

"Be still," he says, violet eyes hooded, "do I not take care of you?"

Your breath hitches as he sinks down.

"Do you not enjoy my mouth?"

"I- that's not-"

"Do you or do you not?"

"I... I do—"

You are not able to speak after he buries his face between your thighs. You are reduced to breathy cries and a twisting spine. Daemon, though he continues to hold you down, relishes every second of it and feasts more ardently. He sighs, securing your thighs on his shoulders, nudging his face deeper into you, his nose brushing against your pearl.

He relishes how quickly your wetness builds, and soon, he feels your arousal dribbling down his chin. He moans, nails biting crescent moons into your skin. Your belly rises and falls in sync with the crescendo of your mewls. At this point, both your hands are tangled into his hair, and your pulling and scratching only further inspires his tongue.

You call out his name, screwing your eyes shut as you throw your head back and arch your body. Quickly, your belly tightens and you sequentially dig your heels into his shoulder blades. He squeezes your thighs enough to make them bruise, and yet the pain is what pushes you into orgasm, garnering a lewd and loud sound from your mouth.

Daemon hums, lifting his face just enough to see yours as he brings you to peak. He moans at your expression, grinding his hips into the cushion, desperate for friction.

Your body trembles, unable to settle as his burning mouth persists on your molten mound. You begin to squeak and he catches the moment you open your eyes to look at him all teary. It drives him mad. With a deep inhale, he pulls away, wiping his chin before he undoes his breeches.

You relax and catch your breath, hands dropping to your sides.

Daemon watches you, your trembling legs glistening with the pleasure he's drawn out. He can feel himself throbbing in his pants. You watch as he hastily frees himself. Though your head was hazy and your body was tried, your belly burned at sight of the sticky liquid dripping down your husband's neck.

"Fuck, Daemon," you reach for his belly. You trace his defined muscles with your finger tips. He snatches your hands when he finally pushes his pants down.

You squeak when he pushes you to your side, one hand on your shoulder, another hiking your leg up by the knee. You whine as he folds you into the sheets just before sliding his hardened cock in your wet cunt.

He hisses, leaning down to your neck. His words are hot against your skin, but you understand nothing.

Whatever tenderness he had before was gone, now he was just fucking you like a rabid animal. Daemon could not help himself, he loved how supple and pliable you were, and twists you into a form that keeps you prone. When the bed begins to creak because of his thrusts, he holds you down where your neck and collarbone meet. He puts enough pressure to restrict your breathing, but not enough to choke out your pretty noises.

At some point, he decides your leg is getting in the way and pushes you flat on your chest. He then gathers you by the hip, hiking you up enough to fuck you nicely from behind.

His thrusts are more intense now. You scream into the cushion as you find your elbows. Before you can prop yourself up though, he's pinning you down by the shoulder, saying something in High Valyrian again.

"D-Daemon," you whine, left cheek smushed against your pillow. You could feel your next climax building quickly.

He responds by rubbing your clit, drawing tears and another scream out of you because of your sensitivity.

You feel yourself helplessly clenching and unclenching around him, absolutely boneless under his vigorous intrusion. You could feel your knees slipping but Daemon's grip on you would not see you move from your position. Your toes curl. Saliva drips out your open mouth.

"Māzigon va, riña," he snorts, "sepār mirrī angotan tolī." Come on, girl. Just a little bit more."

You do not understand, so you only whine out, "Daemon."

Daemon growls and rubs one side of your ass, "you're doing so good for me."

He spanks you, but that's not what makes your eyes open.

"Milk my cock with your tight cunny, come slut."

You begin to grit your teeth.

"I want to see my seed dripping down your thighs," he groans, mind unable to focus on anything but the hot, wet slapping of your skin.

It's unsurprising that you come first, as Daemon always assures you do to underscore his control and dominance over you. He yelps out a sharp fuck, nearly coming in your cunt because of how your body seizes up around him. Your orgasm overwhelming, yet your eyes water for more than this reason. His words make you aware your husband sees you nothing more as a vessel for pleasure, and your pleasure is regretfully cut short because of how sharply he pulls out, his load spraying on your already dripping labia and pubic hair.

He strokes himself a few times, feeling his cock twitch in his hand as he watches your mixed come trickle down your legs. He sighs, "fuck," then scoops the cream in two fingers, plunging it in and out your still spasming cunt.

You squeal when he finger fucks you, body unable to remain upright. You are grateful he loses interest rather quickly and crumble into the bed as he stands.

You watch him walk over to the drawer, where he then pours himself some wine. You gulp, remembering your dream from last night. It sobers you out your high. You clench your jaw and roll over to clean yourself up. You head to your vanity and wipe yourself down, grabbing your robe was you do.

Daemon, whose thirst was now quenched, turns back to you with a towel. He is confused to see you standing. He watches you flip your hair behind you, pulling it out of your robe, which you then secure around yourself. He knits his brows as he walks over, "what are you doing?"

You turn to him, sitting on the vanity chair, "getting ready for bed."

Daemon stares, and you take his prolonged silence as an indication to proceed with your nightly routine.

The prince squeezes the damp towel in his hand as he watches you brush your hair. You catch his stillness from the mirror and turn back to him, "oh."

You drop your brush and take the towel from him, "I'll help you clean up."

Normally, he enjoyed this, but right now, he can't. He is offended when you begin to pick up his clothes, so much that he scoffs, "the fuck are you doing?"

You halt midway picking up his trousers. You stand and turn to the closet, "ah. Did you want new clothes?"

He pulls his head back, no longer offended, but hurt, "you want me to leave?"

You are caught off guard by his question. You stare at him for a moment, unsure if he was serious. You could not identify his expression, so you did not know if you should tell him the truth. You would not survive being berated after confessing you wanted to sleep with him. You dodge the answer altogether, "weren't you leaving anyway?"

Daemon's cheeks tense. He huffs, stepping forward, yanking his clothes out of your hands, "no."

You are bewildered by his actions, for to you, his actions are sudden. You are petrified in fear, which is why you instinctively begin to apologize, "f-forgive me, I-I-"

His nostrils flare and his jaw sets.

"I-" you motion with a hand, "- you always leave."

His clenches his jaw, "do you want me to leave?"

"I—" your throat tightens and soon you can no longer look at him. You want to beg him to stay, but you recall how you did that with your father, and your mother, and your brother— begging does not make people stay. You whisper, "I... I'm terrified."

When you lift your gaze, Daemon shirks and decides to dress. He gulps as he pulls his trousers up, turning back to you. He clenches his fist before reaching out for you.

Your heart races as he takes your hand.

"You've served me well. If you are terrified... I'll leave you."

You whimper when he pulls away, holding him tighter than he did before your hands part. Your lips quiver. He knits his brows. You shake your head, "I- I... I do not want you to go."

He is taken off guard by how you suddenly embrace him.

"Please," you beg, though you knew it would not serve you well, "stay."

He turned to stone. He cannot seem to move at all but your arms are determined to stay around him. You begin to weep against his skin and he can feel your breath grow ragged. Only then does he manage to return your affection.

He brushes your dark hair away from your face and cradles you against him.

"Daemon."

He leans into you, enough to be able to brush his cheek against yours, "kesan umbagon." I will stay.

You sniffle then sigh. After a while, you ask, "what does that mean?"

"I will stay."

You sigh again, pulling away to look at him. You offer him a sad smile, "thank you."

He frowns, wiping your tears.

When you go back to bed, you offer him space in case you've made him uncomfortable. He stares at you, awaiting your embrace. You are mere inches apart but it feels like yards and yards. Why do you not wish to hold him like you did last night?

"Good night, husband," you say before turning over.

He chuckles dryly, staring at your dark hair. He turns to the ceiling, "good night."

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