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troublesomesnitch · 24 days

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The Novice

Aemond x Septa!Reader

The one-eyed prince makes a late night confession.

Contents: Book!Aemond. Pure filth, extremely dubious consent/non-con. Confessional dirty talk, coercion, power imbalance.

Words: 4200

Mostly book!Aemond, but with some show elements added to make him a real piece of shit.

CW: sexual assault!

Proof read, but I am not good at proof reading.

Twice a week, the grand sept receives fine visitors.

It is always something you look forward to, something special and exciting; hearing guards in the streets outside, and the swift feet of errand boys running to inform your superiors.

The queen will be arriving shortly.

There is not much preparation that needs to be done, because you never tarry in your duties - there are always fresh matches laid out, candles ready to be lit, not a spec of dust on the altars. But for the queen, you go above and beyond. You fetch cushions for her dainty knees, you light incense in every corner, and you usher out any crowds that are not worthy of her presence.

You greatly admire the queen. She is all that a lady should be, the very image of womanhood. Gracious, pious, beautifully but modestly dressed, and always kind and courteous to you. She says thank you, and blessed day, sweet Sister, and she asks about your training, your health and wellbeing, what charitable causes you wish to devote yourself to.

The older septas say that the queen seems to have taken a liking to you, and that perhaps if you are lucky, she will request for you to join her household once you have taken your vows. To be a helper and companion to her daughter, and to teach the little prince and princess - her grandchildren, which is a strange thought, because the queen is so young and so beautiful to already be a grandmother.

She is certainly much younger than her husband. The king is old and frail and rarely leaves his castle now, but even in his youth, he never came to the sept. At least that is what you are told. Septon Alester says he is an unworthy husband, and an unworthy ruler, too. A heretic, like all the rest of his Valyrian kin, who flout divine law and believe themselves above the gods.

You would never dare to utter such a thing, but it seems at least partially true - in all the time you have served the sept, the king has never accompanied his queen to prayer. Not even once. She always comes alone, escorted by her guard and her maid. And sometimes by her son.

The one-eyed prince. The one who rides the largest beast in the world.

There are many rumours swirling about noble lords and ladies, but especially about him. In the taverns and winesinks people say he is of a sullen disposition, and that the loss of his eye at such a young age has left his face hideous and deformed - clearly they have never seen him, but you have, and you know it is nothing more than malicious slander.

The prince is as beautiful as his mother.

They look lovely when they kneel together by the altar, with their hands delicately folded and their heads respectfully bowed. Regal, godly. Like the Mother and the Warrior, you think. You often wonder about the contents of his prayers - what could a royal prince possibly wish for? Not as many things as a queen, it would seem, because he never kneels for as long, retreating after a minute or two to stand and wait for his mother. Watch over her; look at her with devotion and reverence. You cannot help but steal quick glances at him; at his graceful posture and his strong face, and you are always too slow to look away, so sometimes he catches you in it. Even when you stand on his blind side, he somehow knows to turn his head and meet your gaze. The little bow he gives you is courteous, but the taunting smile that follows is not, and you must always remind yourself that you have done nothing wrong.

It is not a sin to be curious.

—

When the evening bell tolls, and the city gates close, the High Septon calls to prayer. But one person must always stay behind to keep vigil until the morning, and the duty is shared between all servants of the Faith. Septons and septas, novices, even holy brothers and sisters, sometimes. Only the Most Devout are exempt from it, as well as those who are weakened by illness or old age.

You are neither, but you do not mind taking your turn. It is an easy task, as all of the city is asleep, and those who are not would much rather drink and carouse than come to a place of worship. Here, the night is quiet and calm, and you quite like these hours of solitude. Alone in the sept with only the statues, and maybe the gods, for company.

On this day though, you are startled from your thoughts when the heavy doors are swung open.

You have never before encountered guests at this hour, so your fearful imagination is quick to jump to conclusions - the man could be a thief, a common brute, a scoundrel hiding from a brawl, or - gods forbid - from the City Watch.

But when you peek out from your little corner, you are surprised to see that it is the prince. And that he is alone.

He is dressed differently tonight, in dull colours and coarser fabrics, far simpler than what he usually wears. Perhaps in an attempt to go unnoticed among the common people - but if that was indeed his intention, he has very much failed. Everything about him is unusual, from his hair to his eye to the shining silver clasp at his neck; the immaculate tailoring of each of his garments. Even the way he carries himself makes it abundantly clear that this is no grocer or stonemason.

You cast your eyes down as his steps echo through the sept, purposeful and determined. Clearly heading towards you, but you would hate to be presumptuous, so it is only when he is right in front of you that you rise from your seat to curtsy. Reverently, so deep that your knee almost touches the floor.

“Sister,” he nods. “I have sins I wish to confess - a troubled mind I wish to unburden.”

You curtsy once more, though not as low this time.

“I am not ordained to hear confessions, but I should be happy to fetch a septon - “

“No,” the prince says. “I will speak to no one but you.”

What he demands is a breach of the rules, and a cruel thing to ask of you, but there is not much to be done about it. You can hardly refuse a prince of the realm, and what if he tells his mother that you were unhelpful? After all, it is your sacred duty to comfort and guide the faithful. To lead them on the path to righteousness.

So you nod, draping your veil over your head as you both sit down on your little bench. Right beside one another, so close that your legs almost touch. A proper septa would say confess, and may the Father judge you justly, but that is not appropriate for you, so you merely look down at your folded hands and wait for the prince to speak.

“I am plagued by impure thoughts,” he begins.

The colour drains from your face in an instant. Oh, not this.

Anything else, you do believe you could handle. Envy, drunkenness, greed, gambling, even violent offences, perhaps. Anything but this. But you remain calm; force yourself to keep your composure as you speak.

“All young men have impure thoughts. It is perfectly natural.”

From the corner of your eye, it looks as though the prince smiles ever so slightly.

“Of course,” he nods. “But mine are by nature nefarious, because the lady I desire is a chaste and pious woman… a maiden, and justly proud of her innocence. She would be distraught if she knew the wickedness she inspires.”

You feel yourself blushing. Although you are sufficiently educated on the matter, speaking of such things makes you feel ashamed and uncomfortable. As it would most young women. Confession or not, nothing about this conversation is appropriate, and you want nothing more than to be done with it and return to quiet contemplation. You keep your eyes cast down, and you are as curt as you dare when you answer.

“Then you should not sully her, My Prince, even in your thoughts. You should pray to the Smith for strength, or to the Warrior if you prefer, and occupy yourself with noble pursuits. Prayer, studies, and so forth.”

“Oh, but I do,” the prince says gravely. “I devote my every hour to noble pursuits. And yet time and time again I sully her, and my own hand too in the process - yes, I must confess that I have sinned exceedingly, in both thought and deed. These urges of mine are so unbearable, I simply must relieve myself…” He pauses to look at you coolly, his brows drawn together in a disapproving frown. “You look quite pale, Septa, is my confession too scandalous for you? I should hope the Faith would not admit a novice so unfit for her position…”

“Of course not,” you quickly mutter, though in truth, you are mortified. This is far beyond your station and skill. Not only is the matter highly delicate, but you must also carefully choose your words so as to not offend a member of the royal family. And one with a - supposedly - unfortunate temper at that.

“It is not for me to command a prince,” you begin, “but it is my duty to remind you that the Faith condemns such practices - surely you know that by indulging your urges, you will only make them stronger.”

“I have tried to refrain from it,” the prince laments. “But even then, she haunts me… at night, I dream that I lie on top of her - that I spread her thighs and press her body to my own. And these dreams are so vivid, so terribly arousing, they often cause me to - forgive me, Sister - emit my seed.” He sighs deeply, and turns his face away, his shoulders tense; his handsome features full of torment. “A rather shameful predicament, for a grown man - is it not?”

Perhaps, you think, but a common one nonetheless, and not something he should be chastised for. You know perfectly well that there are some functions of a man’s body that are beyond his control, as do the gods who made it so. It is best not to dwell on it.

“My Prince,” you say instead, with what little confidence you can muster, “ - with your permission, I would offer you this advice: if you cannot restrain yourself, and if you care for this lady, then you should court and wed her.” You fiddle nervously with your dress, lowering your voice to barely more than a whisper. “It is a wholesome thing, for spouses to give their bodies to each other - for a man to make love to his wife…”

The prince hums, either in agreement or contemplation, you can’t tell. But you hope he will take your words to heart, and make this irresistible woman his wife. If the mere sight of her can stir such passion, then he would surely grow to love her deeply, and their union would be happy and prosperous. Blessed by the gods.

- Or maybe not.

“I am afraid that is not possible,” the prince says. Slowly, thoughtfully. “Because you see, my lady is a septa - a novice, as it were…”

His words trail off, and his hand reaches to caress your face, right by the edge of your veil, where a strand of hair has loosened from its pin.

You recoil at once, springing from your seat to look at him with shock and horror.

“This is highly improper - “

“I have thought of nothing but you,” he exclaims, impassioned, rising quickly to reach for you once more, “ - since the day I saw you, I have wanted no one else - ”

Again you manage to evade his embrace, but the prince is tall, and his legs are long and agile. Each one of his strides is worth two of yours, and when you back away he follows, stepping ever closer until you are backed up against a pillar.

Oh how you wish that it had only been a thief come to rob the sept. You could have easily escaped out the little hidden door by the dias; let them take whatever riches they could carry. There is only silver here, and the Faith has no shortage of that.

The prince is after something far more precious.

“Don’t touch me - ” you plead, feeling your pulse quicken, the hair rise on the back of your neck. He is too near, moving to loom over you, intimidating and imposing, and so tall that he must bend to brush his nose against your hair.

“It is a waste,” he murmurs. “That such beauty should only belong to the gods.”

You should flee. You should defend your virtue. Maids and ladies, harlots and tavern girls, all women know to protect themselves, to kick where a man is the weakest, to scratch, bite, shout, make a racket. There are guards patrolling the square outside, and septons sleeping nearby in their cells - if you were loud enough, someone would hear you and come to your aid.

But at what cost, when your assailant is a prince?

You dare not risk it, so you stand frozen in place, too frightened to push him away, too frightened to even look at him as he gropes your body, touching it in ways that it has never been, and should never be touched. One of his arms wraps around your waist, the other trails over your dress, feeling your shape underneath the fabric. Your stomach, your hips, your bottom, and especially your breasts.

He cups them with both hands, kneading and massaging them hard, pressing his fingers into your flesh.

“I would take you right here,” he breathes. “Against this very pillar, for all your gods to see - ”

The blasphemy, the shameless vulgarity - you gasp, and at the sound, the prince chuckles faintly.

“You said yourself it is a wholesome thing…”

“For husbands and wives -” you squeak, “please, you mustn’t hurt me!“

“Never,” he says, bringing your hand to rest on his chest, over his heart, as if to reassure you. “If you would only oblige me, I swear I will be gentle…”

You shake your head, but it does not dissuade him. He kisses your hair, your cheeks, the shell of your ear, touching his lips to every little sliver of exposed skin. Not just your face and neck, but your forearms too, your wrists, the insides of your elbows. Anywhere that lets him truly feel you. Feel the rapid beat of your pulse; the warmth and softness of a woman’s body.

And as he touches you, you feel him. His manhood, stiff against your hip when he presses himself against you, moaning softly at the feeling. It is a most intimate sound, and you are ashamed to realise that your body instinctively responds to it; to the closeness, the touch of a man. You feel warm in your chest, and wet between your legs - unnerving, and so at odds with the panic that still grips you, with the tears that prickle in your eyes.

“Please don’t - ” you whimper, just as his teeth graze your jaw, drawing a single, involuntary sigh from your lips. One that spurs him on to swiftly yank the veil off your head and discard it, fully exposing your hair and neck.

He pulls back to look at you, your neatly pinned tresses, your smooth throat and collarbones. Your beauty that he has long wished to admire.

“Like an angel,” he says softly, longingly, taking your face in his hands and stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “A little angel - the Maiden in the flesh - “

“That is a blasphemous thing to say,” you sniffle.

It only makes him laugh, and before you can say anything else, he tilts your face up so he can press his mouth to yours.

No one has ever kissed you before. Many boys have wanted to, but none were ever allowed the privilege. You always knew you did not want to be a wife. That you had a different calling.

It is a very strange sensation, this kiss. Hot, wet, and sticky. You do not return it, and yet the prince is undeterred, parting your lips softly but insistently, just enough to slip his tongue inside. It gives him pleasure, even when your mouth is slack and unresponsive - you can tell from his blissful sighs, and from the indecent way he moves his hips, rubbing the prominent bulge in his trousers against you. He is so entranced by your mouth and your body that you feel a treacherous sense of relief, thinking to yourself that if this is how he wants to gratify himself - by licking your tongue and humping against your hip - you will let him. No real harm has been done to your virtue, and the gods will understand you had no choice. Already you are silently saying your prayers, to the Warrior for courage, the Mother for compassion, the Father for leniency -

But you are cruelly interrupted when the prince draws back and begins to loosen the closure of his breeches.

“No - oh no, no - ,” you shriek, but as you try to wriggle from his grasp, his face hardens and his gentle touch becomes like a vice. Rough and unyielding, holding you in place.

“You must forgive me,” he rasps, his gaze dark with lust, his nostrils flaring, “ - for I can no longer deprive myself of what I so desire...”

He is so much stronger than you. With an impeccably polished boot he shoves your feet apart, his one hand pinning your arms behind your back, the other hiking up your skirts, determined, deaf to your frantic pleas.

“You don’t understand, I must remain chaste!”

“Don’t lie to me,” he hisses, “I know the workings of the Faith, you’ve taken no solemn vows yet - “

“No, I have, I have!” you cry. “I pledged myself to the Maiden when I was a girl!”

It is the truth, but the prince does not care. He silences you with another desperate kiss, crushing his face to yours, reaching to hook his hand under your knee and lift your leg. He has you trapped, pinned between his body and the stone column, and you can claw at him until your hands bleed, it makes no difference. Your dress is bunched up, your legs forcibly parted, your most intimate secrets laid bare to be violated. A great sin, made even greater by the circumstances, and yet the gods have abandoned you, left you here to suffer.

They must be occupied elsewhere, and the statues too stand motionless on their plinths, with their tranquil faces, staring blankly into the distance as though deliberately blind to your tragedy.

To the hand that worms its way underneath your smallclothes. The nails that dig into the back of your neck, holding your head in place. The mouth that swallows up your sobs until he is forced to break the kiss so he can reach between your bodies and finish unlacing his breeches.

You gasp for breath, looking up and straight at him, your eyes wet and pleading, your lip trembling.

“Don’t ruin me, please - I beg you, don’t take from me what can never be replaced - “

The prince’s hand hesitates on your thigh. His one eye flickers between your two, between the tears that flow uncontrollably down your cheeks; your little hands clenched into fists against his chest.

For a split second there’s a shadow of something softer on his face, a strange draw around his mouth, and then he curses and releases your leg. And you bolt, without thinking, ducking under his arm to sprint towards the door and safety.

You manage all of two steps before the prince catches you and pins you to the pillar once more.

“Not yet - ” he orders, slipping a hand down the front of his trousers to finally free his member from its confines. He cradles it at the base to proudly show it off before he begins to stroke himself, shamelessly and urgently, while you look on. At once frightened and sinfully curious.

You have never seen it before. The masculine organ. Only in drawings, of which some were intended to educate young women, and others were of a much lewder nature. The prince’s manhood does look much like those anatomical illustrations, only it is bigger in person than you had imagined. Hard and swollen with need. It fits perfectly in his fist, and the skin glides back to reveal the head, which is thick and meaty, and a dark purple red. It almost looks as though it should be painful for him, having it filled and engorged in such a way. Having it stretched to be so big. But of course you know that is not the case. And even if you didn’t, his gasp of pleasure would have made it very clear.

He reaches for your wrist, tugging it down between his legs, and you are quick to look away when he closes your fingers around it, with his own hand on top. Somehow, you reason that if you keep your eyes averted, it is not as sinful. Not as deserving of punishment.

But you can still feel it. In your palm, against your clammy skin. Warm, and pulsing as he squeezes your fingers tight around the shaft, moving them from the base to the tip and back down again, using your hand to pleasure himself. Slowly at first, but as his arousal grows he quickens the pace, moving your hand only over the tip of his member, massaging the bulbous head with quick movements. All the while groping at your chest.

And you let him do it. All of it, resigning yourself to be used at his will and pleasure. It is the best and safest course of action now, and all you can do is bear it. You keep your sobs inside, and your eyes cast down, staring mindlessly at the patterns in the stone floor until the prince’s hand seizes your jaw.

“Look at me,” he commands through gritted teeth, running his thumb over your mouth, pressing against your lips. “Open - suck, use your tongue - “

You do as he says, wanting so desperately to just be done with it - once he has finished he will surely let you go. The thought prompts you to suck on his fingers with increasing fervour, taking them deep into your mouth, running your tongue along the length of them, along his knuckles; making him gasp at the feeling.

“Fuck, like that - gods yes,” he moans, letting go of your hand to lean against the pillar for support, his eye falling closed, his hips making shallow, instinctive thrusts.

You continue with the same movements, up and down over his manhood, trying to mimic exactly what he did before, whilst still sucking on his fingers, too. Letting him feel your soft mouth and your warm lips; your little wet tongue caressing his skin. You haven’t a clue as to what you are supposed to be doing, and there is no grace or skill to your licks, but each swirl of your tongue makes the prince moan regardless. He would probably much rather feel this attention somewhere else, but clearly he has the wits to know that shoving his member into an unwilling mouth is not a wise idea. So he contents himself with this.

And thankfully, it does not take long before your efforts are rewarded.

When you choke back a mewl his hips jerk forward, and his hand flies down to close around yours again, guiding you to squeeze him harder and faster. His jaw goes slack, and his manhood stiffens even more, and even though you are inexperienced, you know what it means. You can feel it, feel his sac tighten, feel him twitch in your hand as semen travels up his shaft. He bends to lean his forehead against yours, and finally, finally, he spurts, moaning with pleasure as he empties himself onto your hand, his seed pulsing out in hot, wet squirts. Soiling not only your skin and your dress, but your conscience too; your virtue, honour and dignity.

And at last it is over.

The prince slumps forwards against you, hiding his face in your neck. His body trembles with the final waves of his rapture, and he brushes his fingers over your hair in a strangely intimate way, a tender way. As though you were lovers.

In a sense, now, you suppose you are.

Before he leaves you he quickly tidies his clothes, throwing his cloak around his shoulders and tucking his shirt into his trousers. And once he has made himself presentable, he retrieves your veil too. Brushing it off with a gloved hand and draping it over your head once more.

“Thank you, Sister,” he says sweetly, cradling your face to kiss your lips and then your forehead. “I feel much more at ease now.”

No sooner have the doors closed behind him before you fall to your knees by the Maiden’s altar to beg for her forgiveness.

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @arcielee, @helaelaemond, @targaryen-madness, @qyburnsghost.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 2 months

Text

You don’t get to tell me about sad

Next chapter

a/n: blame TTPD for this… idk why I keep doing this to myself.

summary: Azriel gets an assignment he can’t seem to decline. Now he has a princess full of attitude under his protection. The only question is whose cold heart will break first.

warnings: past trauma, mean people, age gap but everyone is of age so calm down.

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Azriel wasn’t sure who or what he was blaming for the situation that was unfolding. He could blame Rhys, who had put him on this duty. Could blame himself. He had been sloppy during his last assignment and nearly died in the middle of it. Meaning that he had to knock it down a tad. Just until he was fully recovered. And then he could raise his middle fingers at fate. Because she was laughing at him now. He should have just stayed put for a couple more months. Keep it to himself that he was itching to do something. Not sit there practically begging for an assignment. Well, now he dug his own grave, and he was forced to lay in it.

Letting out a deep sigh, Azriel pushes back from the outside wall. Fluttering his wings a couple of times. A short-term thing, Rhys had said when he slipped the document onto the table. It had taken one glance for Azriel to feel the bitter taste in his mouth. But he hated saying no. Even if babysitting wasn’t on his list of duties.

"Ah, sir, it’s so lovely to see you. It is an honor to have the shadowsinger in our presence," an unfamiliar voice pulled him out of his thoughts, making Azriel’s head spin to the side. He had truly been just standing outside the villa for way too long. “Azriel will do just fine," he breathes out, turning to who he assumed was one of the servants. The sweet older man smiles, “I assume you are here to see the high lord." There’s no bitterness in his voice, and there's a true sense of pride there. “Unfortunately...", Azriel grunts, making the male practically gasp under his breath before he quickly pulls himself together. A fake version of the smile he had given Azriel, now neatly plastered on his face, “This way, please.”

Azriel doesn’t let his eyes wander as he walks through the halls. They were never familiar to him, and he doesn’t plan on changing that ever. So he strides along with the servant, wishing he could walk just a little faster. But by the sudden sharp turn, Azriel is quick to realize that no one is taking him to the belly of the beast. A side sunroom. That almost makes Azriel smile. He liked that he wasn’t trusted enough to be greeted in the main office.

"Azriel," a voice that never failed to make Azriel frown, greets him as soon as the wooden door opens. "Eris," Azriel says, fixing his eyes on the male in front of him. A male who looked surprisingly awful. Eris loved looking good and not letting others see the real thing hiding behind the fox mask. "Sit," the new high lord gestured to the plush armchair, but Azriel shakes his head, “I rather not.” Eris lets out a sigh. “I’m sure you’ve seen the request," he says, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Bald of you to request anything truthfully," Azriel crosses his arms over his chest. A slight smile tugs at the fireling lips, “Maybe I like stooping low from time to time.”

But Azriel refused to let on, “You hid her. You went behind the law." That was the first thing he had said to Rhys as well. But, of course, there were exceptions for the royal families even there. “I didn’t hide her," and here it was in that much firmer tone, one that always jumped out when one accused Eris of anything, “Beron did. Used her to control me. Too many souls know that she is a weak link”, “Surprised you didn’t just leave her by the border the way you did with Mor" Azriel cut in, letting that bubbling frustration ooze out. Even if he had promised himself he wouldn’t stoop so low, “She was also a weak link, wasn’t she?”, he jabbed, making Eris clench his fists. From the fire burning in his eyes, Azriel knew that the bite back would be as lethal as it probably would have been if not for the noise outside the room. The sound of feet and a figure practically falling through the door.

"Eris," the voice was breathless, notes of laughter still on it. Tapping of the paws followed suit. As two hounds brushed past the folds of your skirt, rushing towards their true owner, "Eris, look..." your voice hitched as your eyes landed on Azriel. His face remained as cold as it was before, but he had to admit it. Azriel was waiting to see a scrawny girl. Not a young and mature female. Sharp autumn features. And those breathtaking green eyes...

“Oh, I...”, you quickly lowered your head, “I will come by later," but before you didn’t even turn, before Eris grunted, “No, come in, YN." You blinked a couple of times, clearly confused as to why you might be needed here. “What’s going on?", the question was practically a whisper as you wiped the dirt-covered hands on the skirt that looked nothing like the kind a princess should wear.

“There will be changes happening," Eris said, placing his hands on the table, “You’ve been misbehaving." A light chuckle slipped past your lips. “What?" you breathed, shaking your head. “I do not have the patience nor time to run after you," the high lord said, waving his hand in the air. And that was all it took to make your shoulders droop. Your big eyes staring back at your brother, but Azriel sensed the shift in your energy. He saw the twitch in Eris’s hands, but he didn’t back down. “The spymaster will be taking you with him. You’re to behave accordingly,", “I will not go anywhere with that… tree of a man," you hissed, pointing to Azriel, who almost laughed at the insult. If one could even call it that. “What is this nonsense you’re weaving?”, you stepped forward, demanding an answer.

“Mind your tone, young lady," Eris growled, pointing a warning finger at you. The room grew quiet. You could hear the flickering of the candles. A heartbeat. One, two, three. “I will stay in my room; I won’t go anywhere, I promise," you begged. Desperation. A nice weapon. But Azriel doubted that it would work on Eris. “You said that the last time and then proceeded to sneak out with Makoa." Eris reached for the glass bottle, pulling a glass out. He had already settled on his decision, and he was showing you just that. “That was one time," you whispered, desperately trying to catch your brother’s eye.

“Don’t lie to me," Eris chuckled. “I’m not," and you weren’t. Azriel felt it. He knew that Eris felt it too. “Pack what you need. You’re to leave as soon as possible. Further instructions will be given to you through the spymaster," and that was it. Dismissed. For a moment, Azriel thought that he would have to watch you cry. Beg maybe. “That’s all?”, you hissed through gritted teeth. “You want me to kiss it better?”, Eris asked. A breath hitched in your throat. Knuckles turning white from how hard you clenched your fists. You just spun on your heel. Candles dancing in your movement. A harsh slam of the door.

Eris let out a shaky breath, but Azriel couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled from his lips. “You are a different breed," the spymaster said, shaking his head. “It will be easier this way," Eris muttered, not taking his eyes from the door. “I beg to differ," Azriel pointed out, turning to leave as well. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, shadowsinger," the fireling bit back. Azriel turned to face him once more. “But you asked for my help," and he knew he had a winning card in his hands. “I’m not doing this because you asked. I'm doing this because she is innocent in all of this." That was the last thing he said before he stepped out too.

He had barely made it to the outside terrace when he saw you practically stomping toward the woods. “Mother, give me patience," he muttered under his breath before leaping into the sky. “Where are you going?", he called out. But you didn’t stop. Your steps didn’t falter as you pushed past another branch. “To your fucking court," you hissed, taking your anger out on the poor bushes as you stepped over them.

“Are you sure it’s that way?”, Azriel called out, landing just a couple of feet behind you. You halted, turning left. “Save us both the trouble and let me winnow us there," he said, reaching for your hand, but you turned so fast, pulling a shining dagger from your belt and aiming it at Azriel’s throat. “If you touch me, I will skin you," you grunted angrily. Azriel lifted his hand, pushing his fingers beneath the blade. “You would have to aim a bit higher, princess; you wouldn’t hit the vital artery." He watched the way your jaw practically grinned your teeth to the nerve.

“Don’t worry, I can always aim for your balls," you snarled back, turning away. Azriel rubbed a hand over his face, letting you walk a few feet ahead. “So, the plan is to walk through Autumn, Winter, Dawn, and Day, and let’s not forget the under-the-mountain part," he pointed out. You stopped once more. Even with your back turned to him, Azriel could tell the way your chest was rising and falling rapidly.

Turn around; he practically begged in his head; don’t make me regret this even more. But just as he had concluded before, this was Mother’s way of making him pay for everything bad that he had done. Because you stepped forward, inching deeper into the forest. Azriel shook his head. For a moment, he considered letting you walk away, but he took to the skies instead.

You weren’t even sure if you were mad. Were you sad? Annoyed? Confused? It was all fine. Just last week, you were both swimming in the lake. You and your brother. Laughing. He had even pulled out his carving knife. It was fine. Lucien was going to come back, too. Angry tears rolled off your cheeks as you push back another branch, ducking under it. At least that winged bruit had chosen to leave you by. But they all do. A bitter laugh slipped past your lips at the thought of it. A burden from birth—that’s what your father told you day in and day out. Maybe if he had finished what he had started that night...

That thought snaps the same way as the branch beneath you. Your feet twist, making you yell slightly as the pain shoots up your leg. But that’s the least of your concerns, as your weight makes you topple over, hand-breaking the fall as the edge of the dome looms closer. Maybe fate has decided to give you a helping hand. But before you can blink, a strong hand wraps around your middle, pulling you up.

“So you actually can’t be left to your own devices," a deep voice mutters, and you are cursing Mother once more because she could have sent anyone else, but no, that winged male had to be the one. “No one asked for your interference," you grunt, trying to push out of his grip. “Your manners are shit for a princess," he says, and you can’t wait to put him in his place, but the moment you manage to wiggle out of his grip, putting all of your weight on your feet, shooting pain rips through you. You hiss, stumbling over. The spymaster grips your elbow, steadying you.

“What hurts?”, his voice is solid, but there’s no anger in it. "Nothing," you say through gritted teeth, thankful for the sunset that had already draped the forest in shadows, letting you hide your splotchy face. “Nothing?”, he asks again, “So, if I were to let go?”, “I said nothing.”You pull your hand away, turning back. You can hide a limp. You’ve hidden worse. Right? But you don’t get to take a single step back. Your ankle betrays you as a pained cry slips past your gritted teeth.

And in a heartbeat, he is there. His big palm once again splayed against your stomach as he steadied you against his chest. Your heartbeat jumps up, but you don’t even get to gasp when he turns you around, lowering you to the nearest fallen trunk. You watch him with a frown. But don’t dare to fight anymore. What’s the point anyway?

He kneels, his hands moving towards the hem of your skirt. You expect him to just lift it, but his hands halt as he tilts his head up. You can see that he stutters slightly at the sight of your puffy eyes. “Can I?”, he asks. You grit your teeth, “Don’t you own me now? You can do what you want." He frowns. True confession there. “I don’t own you. I am here to protect you. A bodyguard if you will," he says, and even if you want to call him out for lying, something tells you that he is not. “I don’t need protection," you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “Considering that you just nearly went flying over the edge," the spymaster gestures over his shoulder. You huff, lifting your left leg. Wincing from the movement alone.

He reaches for it. His hands… Your heart skips a beat at the scars all over them. You can’t see much, considering that he’s wearing long-sleeved leather, but his whole hand... “You sprained it; it’s already puffing up." His voice makes you jump slightly as you nod along. He glances at you. “I’m afraid your journey through the five courts will have to be cut short, princess." He tries not to show it, but the bastard is practically oozing satisfaction. “Don’t call me that," you say, pulling your leg out of his grasp, cursing under your breath. “Princess?”, he asks almost smugly. “I still have two hands, you fuck," you grunt, trying to stand up, but the spymaster works quicker. His arms snake over your legs and back, and you’re up in his arms in the blink of an eye. You cross your own arms over your chest, refusing to hold onto him. “A tree, a fuck. All very original insults," he says drily, “Try Azriel next time, though. We’re trying to be professional about it after all.”

#azriel acotar x reader #azriel acotar imagine #azriel x you #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #acotar x you #acotar x oc #eris vanserra x reader

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hadesoftheladies · 7 months

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female separatism isn’t about preference or “hating men.” i wish people would understand that separatism is vital to our health as women right now. one of the biggest things patriarchy has taken from us is MOBILITY and HEALTH. can you imagine a world where you wouldn’t be harassed for wanting to be tended to by only women? where female doctors and nurses that knew and prioritized female biology tended to you? streets where you could stroll and not feel a sliver of self-consciousness. where walking didn’t have to be a performance or a race from a man whistling at you?

i used to love going down to the river running at the bottom of the hill where my grandmother’s house sat. now I start to see more and more farm boys and farm men bathing in the spots I loved to rest in. I can’t be free even out there in the country. I have to be chaperoned. go in twos and threes. I can’t WANDER. i can’t run into the wild or bathe in the river. I can’t bask shirtless in the sun.

do women know how physically constrained we are? in corsets and brad and tight dresses because we must always prioritize aesthetics over happiness. we conflate approval and relief for joy. it drives me mad when I see the freedom men have. how wide their strides. how they can break out in a wrestle. how they aren’t taught to deform their bodies. how they are encouraged to nurture their physical power.

I wanted to go to the gymn by my neighbourhood, and my dad got annoyed with me. because it wasn’t safe. the only other segregated gymn in my whole city is miles away and unaffordable.

I taste separatism every time i sleepover at one of my sisters or we go on a retreat together. we can say anything. we relax. we bond and listen to each other. in all our different personalities.

but when there’s men in the conversation, everything becomes tedious. the banter becomes low hanging fruit. the conversation becomes competitive and thoughtless. it’s all about saying the most ludicrous thing for attention. it drags into politics of the worst kind.

and it poisons relationships. my sisters get a little meaner about other women. it’s so subtle and quick you wouldn’t notice it.

I long to be able to reach for women in history and not hunt for their names. not wade through the stories of their husbands or fathers before getting to them. I long for a world where female artists didn’t have to prostitute themselves for the male gaze, didn’t have to cripple their work by being nice to men.

even now in the modern age where information is more accessible than ever, you have to cut through so much noise to get to the voices of women. you have to cut through sob stories for killers and rapists before you get to the victims. you have to wade through male greats to get to their female predecessors.

if men aren’t talking over women, women are quieting themselves or too busy clamoring for another man’s attention, because his approval is power.

I want to show up to work without being condescended by a man who feels threatened by me. I am tired of censoring myself for male comfort.

who would I be, what could I do, if my movement, my body, my self-determination was not constantly suppressed. how many thoughts have I not allowed myself to think because the cost of speaking was too inconvenient?

cutting off male friends that violated my boundaries has already improved my quality of life, what would happen if I could be free of all of them?

I’d be healthier. happier. I’d be so much happier.

#radblr #feminism #radfem #separatism #female separatism

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inkareds · 1 month

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I, Carrion - Hozier

Daemon Targaryen

5/10 - Unreal Unearth Event

nav // event masterlist // hotd m.list (tba) // ko-fi // taglist

✧.* word count: 8.8k (long boy)

✧.* genre: angst -> comfort // sfw (but adult themes)

✧.* warnings: slow burn-ish, the reader is female, Otto and Alicent are minor villains, details of sickness (Daemon not reader lmao)

"Leave it now, I am sky-bound // If you need to, darling, lean your weight to me // We'll float away, but if we fall // I only pray, don't fall away from me"

Being the last member of a noble house was difficult, and the fact that you were a woman made it even more difficult. Surprisingly, you've found comfort in the Rogue Prince, and even more surprising when he finds comfort in you. A comfort built on mutual affection and respect, something a certain someone in court feels threatened by

Parts of this story were inspired by The Crucible, you'll know what I mean after you've read the story. Also hiiiii, I'm so happy to be back from my LONG hiatus, I'm feeling a lot better and hopefully will get into the writing groove back!

As always, lyric and story breakdown at the end of the story

Your mother died on the birthing bed, she had fought valiantly, screaming, crying, and clawing at the sheets trying to push you, her firstborn, out.

When you echoed your first cries, your father came into the room, he held your mother’s hand and wept, the last thing she spoke was a plea to your father to love their daughter and to give it a name she chose.

Your father honoured this last wish of your mother as she died.

He raised you with nothing but a doting sort of love but he knew his time was limited.

The Gods had not been kind to him or your mother, you were their first child in over ten years of marriage and in your birth, you had taken your mother. Because of this, your father found no more reason to remarry. His heart belonged wholly to your mother, he gave everything to her and in return to you, the last thing he has of her.

Though that meant the extinction of his house once you marry or pass on, he doesn’t seem to mind it. He did fear for you, now ten and eight years of age.

He feared for what would become of you once he dies, with no more kin to lean on and coming from a house that wasn’t as powerful as most others in your region, he wishes for you to live in content.

So one day when a raven is sent out to many noble houses in search of a lady-in-waiting for the young Princess Rhaenyra, your father jumped at the opportunity. You were close of age to her and her other lady-in-waiting lady Alicent Hightower, though you were slightly older. He found this to be the perfect opportunity.

After consolidating with you, he sends you off to King’s Landing with the hopes of interesting the princess enough that you’d become her lady-in-waiting. Much to his joy the princess was taken by you.

You were straightforward and spoke rather brazenly compared to the other prim and proper ladies. Something Rhaenyra loved. You quickly wrote to your father about how she told you that you amused her greatly and that she admires your sharp words and quick wit.

After being chosen as a lady-in-waiting for Princess Rhaenyra, you came home only to retrieve your belongings before moving to live in King’s Landing. Your father had wept in private with you before you left, you were the last thing he had of your mother and though you did not know her, he says that you were quite similar to her. In that way, he felt if he could give you a content life, he’d be giving an extension of her another content life.

“Promise me you’ll survive there, surrounded by dragons, you have to be strong, my beautiful daughter.” He weeps as he pulls you closer to him.

Your father was old, older than what most men were when they had their firstborn, and so you knew he didn’t have long left. With what little time the Gods give him, you want to make him proud and happy.

“I will father, I will keep both you and mother in my heart.” Your father pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Then promise me you’ll survive no matter what, you’ll live and you shall thrive.” He looks at you with determination shining in his eyes.

“I swear to you, I will not let those courtly dragons drag me down.”

With that, you left your home for King’s Landing.

It wasn’t much different, you weren’t from rigid lands like Dorne or Winterfell, so the weather didn’t bother you much. What did bother you was the social customs that you were expected to adhere to.

Back home, your house was small but highly respected by the common folk around you as well as the other noble houses around you. Seeing as how in, what most assume, a couple of years you will be the last of your house, the noblemen and women of your lands gave you much more freedom than most women.

You didn’t butter your words and spoke with an ardent fever when the topic would land on one of the many you were well-educated in. That was another thing you found ridiculous, the only women that were highly educated seemed to be the highest nobles. And those were Lady Alicent and the Princess herself. Those two were the only ones you found you could talk to.

Whilst the men, as knowledgeable as they were, were rude and distasteful. You had found no comfort in court and found it difficult to hide your sneer any time anyone second-guessed Rhaenyra’s position as a princess and her father’s firstborn.

The two of you shared a bond unlike any other, you were your father’s firstborn, just as she is. But unlike her, you hold none of the pressures she has from everyone around her to rise above her station while sitting prim and proper as the perfect lady. So she blossoms whenever she speaks to you, in you she sees a different side of the coin she resided in.

And when her uncle comes to visit, let’s just say, her interest in you grows exponentially.

“Prince Daemon, it is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance once more.” You curtsied at him when he caught you walking through the garden.

The roguish prince grinned.

“Might I ask why my niece’s attendant is roaming around without my niece at sight?” He nears you.

“Princess Rhaenyra is studying with her Septa, my prince, during her lessons I am not with her.” You explained to him.

After a few years of attending to Rhaenyra, you have met Daemon repeatedly. You would be lying if you said you didn’t find the prince quite charming, in a sly way. What little conversations you’ve had with him, he’d found humour and entertained your sharp tongue. Not to mention he actually speaks to you when topics of your knowledge come into the conversation. Unlike many of the men here who then go on a tirade about the topic, boasting about their knowledge, completely ignoring any of your statements.

“May I ask what troubles you?” You ask when you see him observing you.

"Do you think Rhaenyra is suited for the throne?"

The sudden serious question caught you off guard. Though you tried to answer as honestly as possible, knowing the Prince would find it more favourable.

"Of course, I do, she is the king's firstborn, knowledgeable, headstrong, and stubborn. This realm needs a strong leader, not one easily swayed by their court,” you paused, deciding to poke the bear, or in this case, the dragon, “I hope I could trust you not to misconstrued my words and twist them in court, my Prince.” You grinned.

Daemon chuckled, letting his head fall back ever so slightly as he took a step towards you.

“Now why would I do that?”

Your eyes focused on him, “Perhaps to take all of the Princess’ attention? I do see the way you look at her, my Prince. I may not be well-accustomed to the queer traditions of the old Valyrians, but I am not blind. Perhaps you are jealous she’s spending her time with me and wishes to rid of me.”

Standing in the deserted gardens nestled deep in the Keep, Daemon takes another step closer to you, pressuring you to take a step backwards. Yet you stand your ground, unwilling to let the invisible strings of tension pull you back as he pushes you forward with his noble visage.

“You are one of the last interesting people in this keep. Dare I say, with a tongue like that and a mind like yours, if you were born a man you’d have been seated somewhere in my brother’s court. But alas, you were born to be the last of your house.”

At the slight snide comment of your house, all but little of your playfulness dissipated. Of course, you understood the dire situation of your house, but you would be a fool to let its name be tarnished and insulted.

“Alas, unfortunately so, if that is all you wish to say to me, then I shall take my leave,” you tilted your head upwards before lightly bowing and turning to leave.

Daemon sighed with a tired smile before reaching out to grab your arm.

“Are all southerners brass and easily emotional?” He remarks, causing a humourless and graceless fake smile to fill your expression.

“If I am as emotional as you say I am I wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to roll my eyes at your words. Yet, here I am, still smiling, it seems I’m less emotional than you think I am, Prince Daemon.” You spoke the last words through gritted teeth, clearly showing your sarcasm.

“As much as I do enjoy our banter, I did come here to talk business, though it seems you had distracted me.” At his statement, your brows furrowed and finally, you turned towards him. Seeing as you don’t seem to walk away, Daemon lets go of your arm. “There are snakes aiming to bite at your ankles, little hound. Keep a watchful eye.”

Little hound, the nickname that used to make your blood boil as a child. Your house sigil consisted of the body of a bloodhound, standing regal with its head held up high and one paw in the air. It perfectly encapsulated your house’s longstanding history as a loyal and trustworthy house with a mind unlike any other. Your father gave you the nickname when you were younger as you would play with the pups and dogs near the farms.

Later on, the nickname would catch on through the common folk. Little hound they called you. When Daemon first spoke of it, he spoke as if it was an insult. The little hound, the last of the bloodhounds of your house.

But now it sounded different.

“I would watch your back much closer,” he leaned closer to almost whisper to your ear, sending chills down your spine. “I’d hate for my favourite source of entertainment to disappear.”

As quickly as he got serious, the boyish bravado and ease came back, Daemon pulled away, taking a step backwards to create some space between the two of you. Right before you open your mouth to inquire him about the statement, another voice joins you.

“There you are, I had been looking everywhere for you.”

You quickly looked back at the sound of the Princess’s voice. The young Rhaenyra stood there with a smile upon meeting your gaze, though that very smile dropped into a mischievous glint when she saw that Daemon was with you.

“Uncle, I did not know you had returned from your travels.” Rhaenyra spoke walking towards the both of you.

“Niece,” he greeted, “I had just arrived in port at midday.”

Rhaenyra smiled though it looked more like a mischievous grin than anything. “Ah I see, and you had immediately gone to find my lady-in-waiting have you?”

Ah, the Princess Rhaenyra, ever the lady without a filter covering her mouth. You wanted to grit your teeth and tell her she shouldn’t be saying things so easily, but you knew she’d simply call you a hypocrite.

“I do enjoy seeing her face every once and a while, niece.” Daemon glanced slightly at you before going back to look at his niece.

You wanted to roll your eyes at his flirtatious ministrations.

“Hm, well, if all you wish is to see her face I believe that wish has been granted. Now the lady and I must go.” Rhaenyra took her hand in yours and quickly began pulling you away.

You heard Daemon chuckle to himself right before you were out of earshot.

“Do tell me you aren’t trying to bed my uncle.” Rhaenyra spoke, no sense of malice in her words, only humour.

“By the six, I would never bed a married man, my lady. The Prince is far from my type of men anyways.” At that, Rhaenyra quirks her brows.

“Do tell. What does a lady such as yourself look for in a suitor? Perhaps it would give me ideas for my own dream suitor.” She rolls her eyes at the last part of her statement.

Being by her side all the time and seeing her act regal and noble in front of her many subjects, you’ve almost forgotten that she is still a teenage girl. A teenage girl that bored of her mundane life of being looked down upon by the masses.

“Loyal.” You answered.

Ever since that day in the gardens, you’ve found yourself unable to sleep a lot of nights, your mind being flooded by images of Daemon. His whisper against your ear, his body close to your own. You found yourself needing to take a breather outside now and again. Almost always your body leads you back to the gardens.

The cooler air of the night comforted you and let go of any images of Daemon you would have.

Tonight was a tough night to swallow, though not due to the Rogue Prince. Quite the contrary, your mind was filled by your father. Recently you had gotten word that your father had passed in his sleep.

Old age has caught up with him and following his dying wish, his attendants and his beloved subjects buried him in the heart of the forest behind your old estate. The forest which you and your father had tracked down and killed much game before your stay in the keep.

In the letter, it detailed that he had died a few days prior from when you’d received the letter and that the funeral procession had ended. The reason you were not told of the funeral procession was due to your father’s other dying wish. He did not wish for you to be burdened by grief or the past.

He wanted his death to be just another event in your life, nothing major nor anything to bring concern to. Therefore he didn’t want you to travel all the way to your homeland just for his funeral. Something you gritted your teeth over.

How dare he decide what was best for you?

Now you were alone in this cruel and tainted world. A little hound alone in a den of dragons. How curious.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Daemon’s voice behind you was the last thing you expected to hear when you sat down on one of the many marble benches in the secluded garden. He walked towards the bench and sat beside you, watching the same sight.

A gorgeous splitting tree grew in the middle of the garden and in the dark of the night, its white flowers almost glowed in radiance. It reminded you slightly of the prince’s own white hair.

“My father died a few fortnights ago,” you didn’t know what compelled you to open your heart to him at that moment. But you did and there was no turning back, “And now there is one.” You whispered into the night.

“You.” Daemon stated, causing you to nod.

“Yes, me,” a dry chuckle followed after. “What misfortune befell on my mother to have birthed a daughter instead of a son. You were right, my prince, had I been born a man my lineage would continue. Plenty more bloodhounds would be running around my estate and my house would not die out.”

You didn’t want to show weakness in front of the prince, not after all the work you’ve put in to fit into the social quo of the Keep. Yet, Daemon does not seem to care.

“I wouldn’t call it much of a misfortune. If you were born a man, I would not have found you half as beautiful.”

You couldn’t help the scoff that left your lips, any other time a little voice in your head would tell you that your tongue would be cut off if you did that. But now you didn’t quite care. Your house was dead, you were just the final piece. Whether you died or lived, what legacy would you bring?

“What glory it is to be considered beautiful by a married man.”

Bitter were your words.

“The bronze bitch is dead.”

At the sudden rashness of his statement, your head whipped in his direction.

“My prince, apologies I did not know such news has befallen you-”

“Hah!” he laughed, “It is nothing more than good news. My marriage to her was loveless and lacked any sort of mutual respect. No,” he shook his head and turned towards you.

Both your eyes met and in a single second, you wondered if his violet eyes lit up in the dark much like the red of fire at midnight. You wouldn’t be all that shocked if Targaryens had that power along with the one to bond with dragons, as Daemon seemed to have another power up his sleeve. Enamouring you with his gaze.

“I came looking for you to ask for your hand.” Your brows quickly furrowed.

Your daze broke almost immediately.

“Pardon me, my prince?”

“I can take you to Dragonstone and wed you there in Old Valyrian customs. You once said you saw the way I looked at Princess Rhaenyra. But it seems you’re blinder than you thought. They weren’t for her,”

The cogs in your mind twisted and turned.

“They were for you.” He closed in.

Your breath was caught in your throat the moment he leaned in. Daemon’s lips were harsh against your own, despite the slowness of his approach he did not hold back in kissing you. In a single moment after you reciprocated, his hand was at the back of your neck, pushing you closer and deeper into him.

Both your eyes closed you could feel lightning striking through both your bodies, as he pulled you closer to him. Though right before your instinct pushed you to open your lips and let his tongue explore, your thoughts crashed into your mind.

You quickly pushed away and stood up from the marble bench, your chest heaved from the lack of oxygen and the adrenaline. Daemon quickly stood up as well seeing your bewildered expression.

“Why?” was your only question.

Why now?

Why me?

Why the haste?

Why-

Too many questions, yet all start with the word why.

You could see Daemon take a second to mull over his words, when he did figure out a response his hand reached towards your cheek. Lightly caressing it, a stark juxtaposition on how he had just been handling you moments before.

“Though I debated on asking for your hand after what you had just told me. I leave for Stepstones at dawn. I intend to make you a bride before then, just as I always hoped for many moons now.” He answered truthfully.

“You intend to fight the crab-feeder with Lord Corlys and his son?” You inquired, to which he nodded, awaiting your reaction.

You thought to yourself for a second then a soft smile crept into your face. “Then do not make me your wife tonight, make me your friend.” You held onto his hand as you continued. “Fate and death have touched my father. I do not wish for it to touch my husband. Wed me when you win the war, that way you’ll perhaps find something to look forward to when you fight against these warriors.”

A surprisingly warm smile befell on the Rogue Prince. He held onto your hand tighter and guided you back to sit down on the bench. An air of comfort and warmth blanketed the two of you in the cold desolate air.

That night, the two of you spent it in those very same gardens, talking to one another. Not a single drop of wine was shared between the two of you and yet your hearts were open. Not in the way of speaking truthfully but in a way much more intimate. As if the two of you could hear what is unspoken and read what was between the lines.

Both your minds and souls weaved together that very night. Entangling themselves into one another before the sun would rise and the spell would be broken. There was no need for a touch of passion to be shared. The company was all that mattered to the two of you.

Just as you were about to leave your room as the sun had just begun to peak from the horizon, Daemon stopped you.

A sense of deja vu rushed towards you, the scene of the last time the two of you were in the garden alone replayed in your mind.

This time no snide remarks were thrown, instead you turned towards him with no malice.

His hand held onto your wrist as he spoke, “As something to remember me by.” He stated as he procured a dainty bracelet with a gorgeous red ruby in the middle, he held your wrist and clipped it on.

“Valyrian steel, it shouldn’t tarnish nor break.”

Speechless, you spoke only what was in your heart. “Come back to me after the war ends and you’ve had your fill of adventure.”

The two of you shared one last kiss before you turned to leave.

The many months after went on as usual. Your friendship with Rhaenyra grew even stronger the moment she saw the Valyrian steel bracelet, immediately knowing it had to be from Daemon. She had been delighted to know of your and Daemon’s plans once he wins the war in the Stepstones. She yearns to have a true friend permanently within the court. Especially after Alicent’s marriage to her father.

Unfortunately, it was also due to that event that your relationship with Alicent slowly tarnished itself.

It seemed not only Rhaenyra realised the source of the bracelet you now wore every day. Otto Hightower was one of the many who had his suspicions. Whether you were another one of Daemon’s whores or if the rumours are true and you plan on wedding him. Otto knew you’d be a formidable opponent in his wishes for Aegon to be the king, for his blood to belong on the throne.

So he pulls Alicent away from you, to make what he was about to do easier.

One day a guard had called you over during one of your few alone times, seeing as Rhaenyra was with her Septa. The guard informed you that you have been called to trial under the eyes of King Viserys and the Seven. You didn’t know what was happening, but you weren’t a fool to not comply.

Daemon’s words echoed through your head the longer the walk took from your bed chambers to the small council’s room.

“There are snakes aiming to bite at your ankles, little hound. Keep a watchful eye.”

When you arrived at the small council meeting your worst fears were made into fruition. Inside the room was the whole small council including Alicent, which meant a good majority of them were people who didn’t like you.

Sir Harold called your name as you kept your eyes trained in front of you.

“You are trialled under the eye of King Viserys the first of his name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and under the watchful eye of the Seven. You are accused of dark witchcraft and conspiracy against the crown. How do you plead to these accusations.”

The suddenness of everything stunned you. Your brows furrowed and your eyes widened as your gaze flickered towards Alicent. She refused to look in your direction and so you immediately turned towards Otto, he was staring dead into your figure.

“Excuse me?” you finally croaked out, “My King, I assure you I have never done witchcraft in my life and I would never plot against the crown. My father died to put me here, I would never do anything that would harm my house’s name as the last living member of it.” You practically rambled feeling panic begin to bubble up against your throat.

There was a great silence in the room as you looked towards King Viserys. Despite being his daughter’s closest confidant, you didn’t have much interaction with the King himself, always so busy being pulled away by Otto. Realising the situation you found yourself in, you took in a deep shaky breath, swallowing the panic down as you gazed forward.

“I plead not guilty.” You needed to regain your composure, all you had to do was convince Viserys, which shouldn’t be too hard.

“I apologise for the formalities, I find this rather unimportant considering half of the things going on at this moment.” Viserys suddenly speaks with a sigh. “It’s clear my daughter’s lady-in-waiting is not a witch, now could we move on?”

“I understand why you might be fooled by her, my king, but as my daughter come forth she will show you undoubtable proof.”

With a sigh, Viserys nodded towards the young Alicent’s direction. Alicent walked with bated breath towards the table without a single glance in your direction.

Like clockwork, she placed a small doll made out of some scrap fabric roughly in the shape of a human proportion. However when she placed it down on the table the doll slightly tumbled forward and revealed its front.

Though there was stitching in the middle of the abdomen, it’s clear that someone had ripped parts of the stitching open, revealing the inside of the doll. Sheep wool mixed with hair, human hair in the same wool’s colour was stuffed within the doll.

This was no normal hair, it was Targaryen hair.

This was no doll or toy, it was a poppet.

“I had saw the increasing distance between the Princess Rhaenyra with my daughter after your marriage, my king, so I sent my daughter to reconcile with the princess. As the princess is usually seen with her lady-in-waiting, I sent Alicent to her room first. She returned to me in haste and panic, she had found a poppet under the lady’s carpet. A witch’s poppet, no doubt used to forsake you and your future male heir, my king.”

“Lies!” You quickly yelled out, causing the entire room to look at you. “I have never seen that poppet in my life!”

Seeing the way Viserys scrutinizes you underneath his gaze, panic bubbled up. Your eyes were blown wide you took a hurried step closer towards the council’s table. In a surprising response, the guards beside Viserys pulled out their swords. The blade aimed towards you. Your heart stopped in your chest.

“Stay where you are, witch.” Otto stated, looking around and seeing no one on your side you took a few steps backwards, going back to your previous position.

“Apologies for my outburst, your highness. But I can assure you, I’ve been framed. I’ve never seen a poppet in my life. I do not even know how to create one. My teachings are well documented by my septa from my homeland, if you wish to know of my good nature, ask my people. They know I would never forsake the throne.” You tried explaining yourself.

Viserys gritted his teeth as he reached out towards the poppet. Silence enveloped the room as people awaited his response. Using his fingers, Viserys pried the front open even more, and there he pulled one of the hair strands. It was long, longer than his hair. He recognised it as Rhaenyra’s. A gasp left you at the sight of it.

“This,” he glared at you, waving the poppet in the air, “This is blasphemy and conspiracy not only towards me but my daughter. You think I’d believe the words of a witch?”

“My king, please! I beg of you to believe me.” Ignoring all kinds of shame you dropped to your knees, urgency clawing at you. “I have been in the Princess’ service for a very long time. I see her as my closest friend, I would never do anything to harm her. If you must doubt my character, do not doubt the maids who clean and tend to my quarters. Surely they should’ve found it had I kept a poppet of the princess this entire time?!”

You tried reasoning with the king, even going so low as begging him. You didn’t know what to do. You knew what was happening, Otto Hightower. That reptile amongst dragons wanted to rid of you. But if you were to accuse him of treason, then your case would not stand. As it stands, Viserys trusted him more than you.

Viserys stayed silent, as did the court. No one spoke to defend you, no one spoke to scrutinize you. Because the end was clear. The king looked at you with contempt.

“Please.” You made a final plea.

“For your crimes, I would sentence you to an execution.” You wanted to scream but your pride wouldn’t let you. “But I appreciate and take account of the many years you have spent under the servitude of my daughter. For that, I sentence you to banishment. Leave Westeros at the first boat towards Essos. I’ll allow a single bag of your belongings to carry with you. What you do then will not be of any concern to me. Leave.”

What followed after came in quick succession.

First, all your pleas and desperation dissipated. In its place was hot, flaming anger. Any and all niceties disappeared from you as you walked out of the room with a glare.

Second, your maids were standing waiting for you in your room. Their heads bowed low as they try not to look into your eyes. They know the charges were false, they know you were framed. But they also knew they could not do anything, so you sighed silently and packed what was necessary.

Your father had you taught all the necessary things a lady needed to know. How to sew, how to weave, how to speak, and how to enamour. But he had also taught you all the necessary things a lord needed to know.

With no one else to lend down his knowledge, it was all for you. He taught you how to hunt, how to build a fire, how to fight, and most of all, how to survive.

Third, you were sent off in a boat to Essos to Gods knows where. With only Alicent and Otto to watch and make sure you were truly leaving, your princess on the other side of Westeros finding suitors, and the man you love fighting in a war– you swore to yourself.

You will survive.

Daemon returned not a moon cycle after your banishment. Surprising everyone, Rhaenyra came minutes after Caraxes landed in the dragon pit. She had ended her tour early and Daemon had won the war. It was both a momentous and a frustrating day for Viserys.

The war in the Stepstones was won and Daemon had bowed to him in front of his entire court. That very event warranted a celebration.

Almost immediately the kitchens bustled to life, the servants prepared delicacies and parties.

As Viserys laughed at stories from both his and his brother’s youth, Daemon could not help but let his eyes wander. He had known of Rhaenyra’s tour in search of a suitor. He had also known you had not gone with her for reasons unknown. So he had expected you to be here now to celebrate his win.

He had planned on whisking you away in the night like that day he swore himself to you, bringing you to Dragonstone, and finally wed you, just as he promised.

Yet, you were nowhere to be found.

When Daemon found out about your banishment, the Keep found out how irrational the Rogue Prince could be. Not a moment later, he mounted Caraxes and left King’s Landing for Essos, leaving behind an array of shouts and arguments with both his brother and the King’s hand.

Rhaenyra didn’t take it any less lightly either. Though she could not simply fly off to a distant continent, she made sure her distaste and anger were felt across the estate. Any and all attempts of Alicent to speak to her were all brushed away harsher and colder than last time. In a bout of rebellion, the princess halted speaking with her father for a long period of time.

But just as time continues to move on, so do people. After many soldiers and men were sent off to Essos to look for Daemon, the Rogue Prince finally returned. Muck and dirt stuck to his body like skin. From his eyes, everyone knew not to set him off.

The prince wreaked havoc with his gold cloaks not long after. Loyal only to him, the soldiers became increasingly harsher in their punishments, all at his order.

Viserys never knew true anger as when he had thought Daemon had had his fill of violence and asked him to marry Laena Velaryon, to strengthen ties between house Velaryon and Targaryen.

The lady was a friend of his, just as Rhaenyra is. But the anger that overtook Daemon at the mere idea of his brother banishing the woman he loved, only to send him away once more to marry someone else burned within him.

Arguments, insults, and threats were poured upon them like wine on a wedding night. The keep did not know peace for a long time after that.

However what did end up happening was that Laena Velaryon married another nobleman, and from her came Baela and Rhaena. Daemon would stay in Driftmark with Laena, all to cause gossip and havoc within King’s Landing and to cause even more of a headache to his brother.

There he witnessed her husband’s untimely death due to an accident and her own during childbirth. He saw the way Laena’s body burned up in flames, leaving both Rhaena and Baela alone in the world. Just like that, he has lost another friend.

In a single moment, he had thought about you. To the last night, he saw you. The two of you basking in the moonlight as you told him about your mother. Her untimely death. Seeing the way it tore you apart, he took it upon himself to take the two girls as wards of his family. He raised them as if they were his own. A part of him wondered what you’d think of him if he saw you. How he wished sometimes as he looked into the eyes of Baela and Rhaena after he comforted them of their mother’s death, that he was looking into the eyes of your daughters. The daughters he could imagine himself having with you.

Would they have his platinum hair or would they have yours? Perhaps your eyes, though purple would look gorgeous. At night when he slumbers, he imagines and dreams about them.

Children of his own with you. Be it two daughters like Laenas or three sons like Rhaenyra. He imagines them with your smile and mind, soft, comforting, but sharp and precise. From him, he hoped they’d have his tenacity, his edge for battle, his stubbornness, and perhaps his love for their mother as well.

But when the sun rises and he wakes, they stay in his dreams. Forever missing.

Perhaps it was bitterness, perhaps it was anger, or perhaps it was something as simple as pettiness. But he knew the whole reason he pushed Rhaenyra for the war was because he urged for revenge.

Then when that day came, the day when the Gods cried and thunder ripped through the sky, he held too many regrets as he leapt from Caraxes and plunged Dark Sister deep into his niece’s good eye.

The battle above God’s Eye was a brutal one.

Vhagar, a war dragon in her own right, yet slow from age, against Caraxes, the blood wyrm, the only dragon which can match Daemon’s bloodlust and anger, but always blinded by his rider’s emotions.

Then Daemon, the Rogue Prince, fuelled by pure rage and revenge which boiled within him for years before his opponent was even born, against Aemond, the one-eyed-prince, who knows nothing but the desperate and filthy feeling of wanting to make good of his name.

Their fight raged for what seemed like forever.

The sky cracked and burned with lightning and rain. As Caraxes barely weaved through Vhagar’s piercing jaw, Daemon angrily yelled out. He could see no way he would win this, but he would be damned and let Alicent win. He’ll have to take down both Aemond and Vhagar, even if it costs him his life.

Just as Aemond yells out commands to Vhagar, trying desperately to steer her, Daemon prepares his final attack. And when Vhagar’s jagged and sharp teeth finally sank their might into Caraxes’ wings, Daemon leapt.

Aemond’s one good eye widened in fear as he struggled with the many straps that bound him to the queen of dragons. He could not get away.

Daemon rained down on Aemond’s one good eye like the Gods’ judgement. Plunging dark sister deep into his skull, whilst Caraxes’ neck sprawled to bite Vhagar’s neck.

The four of them fell to the raging sea like Gods. Kin killing kin, dragon killing dragon. Blood dyed the sea red that night. Daemon could only hope you would forgive him for his abandonment in the afterlife.

Had he known that was the last night he’d ever seen you, perhaps he would’ve never gone to the Stepstones.

So as saltwater fills his lungs and burns his eyes, he relinquishes himself to death.

Deer fur has never been the softest, it’s short, stubbly, and quite harsh on the skin. But it is one of the best to bed with when winter comes. Due to this, a layer of sheep fur is always useful when placed atop of deer fur when one wants to sleep. The softness of the sheep perfectly balances the warmth of the deer.

Warmth, comfort, and the plushness of sheep fur atop deer fur greeted Daemon when he roused.

He had thought the afterlife would be warmer and brighter.

When he opens his eyes, the only thing he can see is a haphazardly made wooden roof, dimly lit by very few candles. One of those candles was beside him, giving off some warmth to the side of his face.

His eyes squinted as they tried to adjust to the dim lighting. When he finds that he can’t he tries to move his limbs. Surely if he was dead then his injuries would amount to nothing.

That assumption couldn’t have been more wrong as the moment he tried to sit up using his elbows, pain travelled through his entire body more painful than anything else he’d ever imagined. Causing him to collapse back onto the fur-lined bed.

He groaned loudly as his senses jolted awake from the pain stabbed within him. Was the afterlife truly this ruthless that it asks him to feel his injuries though dead?

His mind feels muddled as if a haze is crossing his eyes. His vision blurs and returns at random intervals and he feels sick. He knows he has a fever. Daemon feels the heat on his skin, despite the coolness of the air around him.

Once more, he tries to move. This time to do a much less taxing task than the one prior. He tries to move some of the animal pelts around him, lessen the heat surrounding him.

But when he lifts his arm to try, the door to the measly home opens with a shuddering sound.

“Gods, you’re awake!” he hears a voice, though it rings in his head and he can barely make out the words.

Had his head not been spinning and pounding against his entire being, he would’ve looked to his left to see who it was.

“Oh no, please stay still. Your injuries are grave and you’ve suffered so much frost.” The voice returns again albeit he still can’t make out the owner of the voice nor the words they speak.

The figure, hazy in colour and shape runs towards him as they fix back his pelts to cover his body. He realises then that he isn’t clothed. He groans when they accidentally place very light pressure on one of his bruises.

“I’m sorry,” they whisper, running towards a table somewhere in the room.

When they return they hold a bowl of viscous liquid.

“Drink it, it’ll help with the drowsiness and the pain.” They speak softly and very slowly.

Though he doesn’t fully comprehend the words, Daemon is too far in his injuries to resist any kind of medicine. The bowl was brought onto his lips and he slowly drinks the viscous and bitter liquid. It burns his throat and tastes disgusting. He almost gags at the feeling of it running down his mouth.

When he finishes the bowl, the figure places it aside and comes back to his bedside.

Slowly, his ragged breathing returns to normal as his head stops its terrible spinning. The fatigue and pain of his muscles and bruises were still there but the burn of them lessened.

When he can feel his throat and mouth again, he trusts himself to speak.

“Who are you?” he whispers.

The figure’s face expresses something, their mouth moves to emote but his vision is still too blurry to know what they are doing.

“I’ll answer your questions once you’ve fully come to yourself. Rest for now, my prince.”

They reach out to brush a strand of his hair that stuck to his sweat-lined forehead. In the corner of his eye, before he succumbs to sleep once more, he sees a silver bracelet. He does not know why he feels safe enough to sleep. But his mind wills him to and his body is too tired to care.

In the days that followed, Daemon comes in and out of consciousness. Every time with blurry vision and a pounding headache. The figure aides to him as best as they can, he remembers them replacing the cold rag on his forehead every now and again. Feed him water and broth, anything liquid enough for him to drink and not have to chew.

On the 1st full moon since his first rouse, he wakes long enough to focus on his vision. The figure wasn’t there, wherever they may be, Daemon was glad for the small moment of respite. It gave him time to think about what had happened.

The fight above God’s Eye. Vhagar struck after Caraxes. His blade embedded itself in his niece. Then his fall. How he has survived so far was beyond him. A part of him wishes he was dead. Let the cold water fill his lungs again, let the salt burn against his eyes, let it stop his heart. Let him meet the one he loved.

But no, it seemed the Gods had cursed him with a life longer than he neither wanted nor deserved.

The figure didn’t come back for at least another hour, since then Daemon has found strength within himself to move his limbs lightly without much pain. His body ached from the lack of movement but that wasn’t the thing he was focused on.

With much rest and nutritious broth, the strength in his mind had returned. With it came his clear vision. Clear enough to see the woman who walked through the haphazardly created wooden door, carrying two hares.

Her clothes were ragged, her hair a mess, her skin muddied with dirt and God knows what else from the hunt. Her riding gear was old and tattered, barely holding onto dear life. But he’d still recognise her even if her body was covered with scars and burns. It was you.

Daemon was confident he looked like a buck who’d just realised a quiver was pointed at it with the way he was looking at you. Eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed. His eyes focused on you as you huffed your way across this simple home of yours.

Pulling off your shoes and discarding all your gear before grabbing a knife to skin the hares. You hadn’t realised Daemon was awake, he was far too quiet for that. It gave time for Daemon to wonder if he died during his sleep or if you were truly real.

It wasn’t until you’d finished skinning and butchering the hare, placing the skin and organs away for something else and clearing the blood and butchered pieces away that you noticed he was awake. At first, your reaction had been shock, your eyebrows rose and your mouth went slightly agape at the intensity of Daemon’s stare.

But then it softened, and a smile crept its way onto your face. You sighed and placed down your dirty and bloody rag, walking over towards him as his eyes followed you. Your hand, now clean, went over to push away some strands of his hair. Then his eyes caught onto the bracelet once more.

It was you, truly you. You with the valyrian steel bracelet he gave to you so many years ago.

In the choking intensity, Daemon whispered your name once. Like how a devoted disciple would towards his most forgiving of Gods.

“Yes, my love?” You whispered, equally as quiet and reverent.

Daemon choked.

Emotions and years upon years of longing and yearning crawled their way from his heart all the way to his mind a mouth. Rendering him speechless.

“Welcome back, my love.” You repeat, leaning down to press a soft kiss on his forehead.

Not much was done afterwards, though Daemon’s body still pulled him to rest, he tried with all his might to stay awake. Afraid that if he closed his eyes you’d disappear.

But with a soft voice, you coaxed him back to rest. Promising to speak to him once he heals. That was the only thing which allowed him to go back to a peaceful rest.

The next time he awoke, it wasn’t a peaceful rouse. Quite the opposite. A loud shrill sound echoed through the house, it shook the windows and burst through the walls. He knew that sound. Caraxes.

With little to no care for his own well-being, Daemon sprung upwards, since he first woke he’d been clothed. Though it was just a simple and thin shirt and pants to cover himself up but not overheat him in case of a fever.

He winced slightly over the sudden action but the sound of Caraxes led him towards the exit. Clutching his side he lightly limped towards the door and struggled to open it.

“Lykiri Caraxes! Lykiri! Daemon is alright, he’s healing!”

You were in front of the blood wyrm, standing between the large dragon and your measly home. What bravery you held to stand your grown though he could tell the way you shivered you were just as terrified as many at the sight of the dragon.

Caraxes had severe scars all throughout his body, many were closed off, but he could see some marks on his wing and leg which had been expertly dressed with soft leaves. Have you been caring for Caraxes as well?

His thoughts were cut off when Caraxes let out another shrill cry, his head lowering to be at the same level as your much smaller form.

“Lykiri Caraxes,” though he could barely speak above his normal tone, both you and Caraxes heard him quite clearly.

At the sight of his rider, somewhat healthy and standing, Caraxes let out another shrill cry. Though you swear this one sounded much higher pitched. All before he himself also lightly limped away and slumped to the ground not so far away from your fireplace.

“Daemon,” you spoke before rushing towards him to support him. “You shouldn’t be walking around yet!”

At the sudden reprimand, he laughed, “And let you be eaten by Caraxes?”

You huffed, “He wouldn’t, I’ve been tending him for far too long.” You took a nervous glance towards the beast, “At least I hope he wouldn’t.”

“He wouldn’t.” Daemon states, leaning his head towards your own. Treasuring the feeling of your body against his. “How?” The question hangs heavy in the air.

“Well he’s been unconscious far longer than you have so it was easy to try and patch by his wounds. My only fear was if he didn’t wake up he wouldn’t be able to eat anything, so every now and again I’d leave dead sheep around him in case he wakes up so he could immediately eat. But for the dressing, I don’t have enough cloth to bandage or do anything so I used soft leaves. It’s what I used when I first got here so I thought it’d be al-”

Though you misunderstand the question, Daemon can’t help but feel amused by your lack of hesitancy in speaking. He wouldn’t expect you to go on a tangent like you do now back when the two of you were still in King’s Landing. Years before the war.

“I mean, how are you alive,” he questions after silence over his laughter cutting you off.

At the question, the mood thickens.

“Let’s talk inside.”

You supported Daemon as he staggered inside the small house. Sitting him down lightly over the makeshift bed you’ve been able to make with cloth, feathers, and several different kinds of pelts.

There when the two of you got comfortable you handed him a drinking bowl of warm tea as you sipped on your own. Only after the two of you finished both your tea did you start.

You told him about your banishment, and how Alicent and Otto Hightower framed you for witchcraft and conspiring against the crown. How it was only due to your connection with Rhaenyra that you were able to miss the death sentence. Then you told him about your life in banishment. Essos hadn’t been too bad.

Of course, it took a lot to learn new skills and put them to work. But there were a surprising amount of kind people in the area, especially the worshipers and monks. They taught you how to survive, but you couldn’t leech off of their kindness forever.

So with what little gold you had from working odd jobs here and there, you left for a stranded area. With what survival skills you’d learn you had slowly built a home for yourself. The beach was what brought Daemon and Caraxes to you. Caraxes had been bloodied and mangled. Yet he desperately held Daemon in his claws as he dragged Daemon’s body across the sand.

It was only when he saw you that he collapsed, leaving both the large dragon and his rider to your care. For the past month, you had been making the trip from your home to the beach to care for both Daemon and Caraxes.

Only today did Caraxes find it in himself to wake and fly, though barely. It was when Caraxes landed on your home did Daemon woke up.

That brought you to that very moment.

After you finished, there was a great silence between the two of you.

Daemon was the first to break it.

“I’m sorry.”

Daemon Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone, the Rogue Prince, the red wyrm’s rider, amongst his many titles and nicknames, seldom apologised. But with nothing else to his name or on his tongue at this very moment, he thought of the only thing he could say, an apology.

You smiled, casting your gaze to your hands, sheepishly shying away from his intense look as you thought of how to answer him.

“What do you have to apologise for, Daemon?”

His name fell like honey off your tongue, like a choir of songbirds, like the sweetest of fruits from Highgarden. The simple act of it threatened to bring tears to his eyes. How long he had waited for that? For you, to say his name one more time.

He remembered the last time he’d prayed to the gods in his adulthood. It was when he first heard of your banishment. Atop of Caraxes, the beast felt Daemon’s fear and anger clutch against his heart as the red beast ripped through clouds and skies trying to look for any semblance of you. Daemon prayed then. Prayed to find you, prayed to hear you, prayed to see you.

Anything.

No gods heard his plead that night and so he stopped.

But now it felt like every wish he had ever spoken had come true.

There were no words left to speak. Only actions.

Careful and dainty actions, considering Daemon’s physical state. Your lips pressed and moulded against one another. Letting years upon years of pent-up yearning and hopes spill through a single act.

Your heart soared, here was the man you loved, finally in your bed. No more words were spoken that night. Only sighs and soft moans of pleasure and contentment were heard throughout the lone and simple house.

As the two of you lay in one another’s company, new hopes soared between the two of you. And Daemon promises one last thing, a promise he intends to fulfil this time.

The promise of bringing you back home to Dragonstone once Caraxes and he can.

Why Daemon? “Once I had wondered what was holding’ up the ground // But I can see that all along, love, it was you all the way down // Leave it now, I am sky-bound // If you need to, darling, lean your weight to me // We’ll gloat away, but if we fall // I only pray, don’t fall away from me.” The song references to Icarus and Deadalus, the myth speaks about the Greek value of moderation. Icarus falls because he is so enchanted by his godly visage and his lightness that he’s enchanted by the sun and the wax melts. Hozier talks about an all encompassing feeling of falling in love that encompasses your being so much so that you’d do anything for your love. In more ways than one, both the Reader and Daemon have fallen from grace due to their love for one another. It’s the godly pull they have with each other that leads to Reader’s banishment and Daemon’s belief that she’s dead. The song inspires the last and first part of Daemon and Reader’s romance story, they lean on one another in more ways than one. Reader becomes Daemon’s friend, a true and honest friend built on mutual respect and affection. Whilst Daemon becomes Reader’s confidant, someone to go for comfort and source of joy. By the end of the story, neither thinks about the past, Daemon doesn’t care about the way the Reader has been living and Reader doesn’t care too much about why Daemon and Caraxes’ so injured. The two of them just cares for each other that nothing else matters and I think that’s so fucking sweet.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon x you #daemon #daemon fluff #daemon angst #daemon targaryen angst

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mrwavellswaps · 21 days

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If you could produce a big Hollywood film about tf, what would it be about and who would it star?

First of all I just wanna say this is an incredible question and I apologize for not answering it sooner! It’s really got me thinking so I’m not gonna waste any time and I’m just gonna straight into it!

Now this is an idea I could get really deep into but for my sake I’m gonna try not to go into ridiculous detail here but we’ll see. That said, if you all like this idea I might either write up a fuller concept for this hypothetical movie with a lot more detail or I might just write a story based around it.

That said, I think our main character would be a man in his late 60’s or early 70’s played by Jeff Bridges. I’m not going to come up with names for the characters here so for now I’ll just refer to them by the names of the actors playing them.

Jeff would be a man who’s spent all of his life being fascinated by the human body. Specifically by just how much it can vary from person to person. That despite all of us being made up of all the same essential parts, we can still look vastly different from one another. From very noticeable differences like height, skin tone and hair colour to much smaller things such as having a cleft chin or being double jointed. All of it piqued his interest.

That said Jeff would have ended up becoming a semi-famous biologist and scientist known for his many discoveries in the former field and his dozens of studies surrounding both the inner and outer workings of humans and our DNA.

Jeff now finds himself in the latter half of his life. His body past its prime even if he still gets told how good he looks by many. Despite this his passion burns as bright as ever, if not brighter. For many many years now his curiosity of human bodies and many differences between them had risen to such a degree that he’d wished he could experience those differences. To have the body of another human and actually feel what it’s like to be someone else. An idea that only grew more enticing as he aged.

Of course this had lead him to looking into plenty of studies about brain transplants and even performing a few on animals himself to see if such a thing could be possible. Yet it never works. The brain is far too complex of an organ to just be transferred from one body to another as if it were a kidney. He deduced it could be possible some day but certainly not in his lifetime.

And that’s what soon leads to the creation of Jeff’s most secretive project. A special machine of sorts that had taken him well over a decade to produce. He thought that if the brain couldn’t be transferred to a different body then the only way to experience a new body would be to alter the body he already has on a DNA level. A feat he wasn’t sure was even possible. But then again most things in the world were considered impossible… until they weren’t.

Jeff of course succeeds in perfecting his invention. A machine that when hooked up to two people can copy and transfer their DNA into one another. But it wasn’t just their DNA. This wonder of technology was capable of transforming these two subjects into perfect copies of one another. Effectively swapping them! He’d tested it on plenty of animals and the final test had been on a wealthy couple he’d proposed the idea to. A husband and wife who wanted their lives to be spiced up a little so they agreed to the swap, not knowing they’d be the first human subjects.

I’m picturing the Husband being played by Gerard Butler and the Wife being played by Lana Parrilla.

Thankfully it works and Jeff watches in wonder and Gerard transforms into Lana and Lana transforms into Gerard. And after some quick check ups to make sure they hadn’t experienced any side effects, Jeff escorted them to a room where they could explore their new bodies with a little more privacy. And explore they did as before long Jeff starts to hear moans coming from the room shortly followed by the wet sound of balls smacking.

After collecting as much data and research on this couple as he could, Jeff would of course allow them to use the machine again and return to normal once they’d decided to do so. But seeing his creation in work like that would only ignite an even deeper desire to experience it himself. So that’s what he sets out to do.

His first personal subject would be the personal trainer Jeff had hired years ago in an attempt to get into but never stuck to it. Said personal trainer would still be in amazing shape of course and Jeff had always wondered what having all that muscle would feel like. And so Jeff would approach the PT with a very generous offer of money. Jeff would have approached many men before this but his old PT would be the first to accept much to his delight.

I’m picturing this Personal Trainer being played by Alan Ritchson.

Jeff would go on to hook both himself and Alan up to the machine before activating it and beginning the process. He knew sort of what to expect after studying Gerard and Lana yet the experience would still be out of this world. An odd mix of pain, pleasure and discomfort flooding his being as his own DNA was striped away and replaced by Alan’s. His body growing younger and larger as Alan’s superior mass was transferred to him in the form of burgeoning muscles and increasing height. Every aspect of his body morphing down the last detail until he’d transformed into a perfect replica of Alan, his buff former PT. Meanwhile looking over to see Alan had now become well… Jeff!

After this there would be an entire scene dedicated to Jeff exploring every inch of Alan’s body. All the while taking mental notes on any and all subtle differences he noticed in how this body felt and moved compared to his original. Though at the same time he can’t help getting lost in the wonder and erotic nature of it all as he flexes and gropes his new muscle with joy.

As this happens Alan would likely be doing the same in exploring Jeff’s older and more average body with plenty of curiosity and a little nervousness.

Jeff decides he wants to know what it would feel like to walk out in the world in another man’s shoes and proposes Alan do the same. And so the two put on some fitting clothes and head put. Exploring how the world views them now that they’ve become a whole new person and seeing how things differ.

Naturally however Jeff eventually checks out his new equipment properly. Perhaps while out and about he just can’t take it anymore and ends up masturbating in one of the stalls in a public restroom. Or maybe he’s the first to arrive back and decides to have a little strip. Either way he can’t help loving the size of Alan’s thicker cock. All the while telling himself it’s for research purposes to know how different men experience pleasure and how different cocks feel. Which is at least half true.

Sooner or later after lots of notes had been taken however, Jeff eventually decides to change them back to normal as much as he really didn’t want to deep down. Having to admit it was strange being back to his ordinary self after experiencing Alan’s body.

Jeff would begin further work on his secret study. Writing down every detail of the experiment. But as he does it only makes him crave testing out again. Quickly justifying it as him needing multiple tests to compare. Which again, is at least half true.

And so Jeff sets out to find more people willing to undergo a temporary swap with him. He aims to find men of all different sizes and backgrounds so he can get as much variety as possible. He wanted to switch with men that were fatter than him, men that were a different race to him, men who’d lived doing blue collar work, men who were similar to him to see just how far those similarities extended. And even though he preferred to remain a man, he still wanted to switch with a woman at least once just so he could have some personal notes on what becoming the opposite gender felt like besides what that married couple had told him.

After this there would be a multitude of scenes where Jeff manages to convince others to go through with these experiments with him. And subsequently following scenes of him exploring each new body he inhabits and making notes not only on how they feel but also how he’s treated by the world if he goes out in public wearing whatever new form he has. Discovering what it’s like to deal not only with other people’s bodies but things such as their cravings and addictions. The way their eyes perceive the world. The way their taste buds react to different foods and such.

I’m not sure how much time would be spent on these scenes as there would definitely be some repetition. Perhaps some have more screen time than others until it becomes more of a montage of sorts while also showing Jeff’s thoughts and feelings throughout the process.

A few examples of actors I’d maybe like to see Jeff cycle through would be: Idris Elba, Manuel Garcia-Rulfo, Oliver Richter, Daniel Dae Kim, Jeffery Dean Morgan and more! I know some of these are big name actors that would be hella expensive to have in a movie all together but hey it’s a dream casting.

On top of all this I can see Jeff going back to Alan a few times as well. Perhaps having really enjoyed and connected with Alan’s body the first time around and longing to keep going back to it.

As time went on Jeff managed to compile more and more notes, having made research on the human body and the way we perceive things as individuals to a level never before seen. Now having gained a deeper understanding of the working of different people the likes of which nobody has ever come close to. Truly groundbreaking stuff. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized this technology could be used to help people! For example those with gender dysphoria could perhaps be helped if the machine was modified specifically for changing things like biological sex or simply just having them go through the switching process with someone else. There were so many possibilities on the cusp of his invention.

As for where the film would go from here I’m honestly not sure. There’s a few different directions though.

Perhaps Jeff could simply unveil his new invention to the world via some kind of show that’s broadcast to the world. Shocking everyone around the globe. Then going forward to have his machine studied to be duplicated and naturally becoming one of the richest men alive thanks to his creation. Ushering in an entire new age of humanity where people now have the power to alter and swap their bodies in ways that would’ve been incomprehensible before. In the process Jeff might end up getting himself a new permanent vessel. Going back to Alan for good this time perhaps or maybe someone else he finds suitable.

In this version I can see the film ending with Jeff sitting in whatever lavish new office he has, wearing his new body with pride and satisfaction knowing that he unraveled so many of the questions and mysteries that’d plagued him his whole life. All the while as he leans back in his chair, running his hands down his body perhaps, we see small scenes from around the world of how the device is being put to use by humanity. Some being good as they show it being used to swap people as rewards or perhaps being used as punishments in the criminal justice system among other thing. However it also shows all the evil it’s being used for such as people being kidnapped and forced into the machines so that their bodies can be stolen. The most common victims of this being police officers and wealthy folk. But by the end it cuts back to Jeff sitting in pure bliss as the camera zooms to him. Just happy knowing that his life goals had been fulfilled with a cheerful yet slightly ominous tone due to not knowing what this new future will bring. Roll credits.

But of course there’s other ways it could end such as there being a bigger conflict. Say if for example, before he unveils his device to the world, Jeff wants to secure himself a new body. For simplicity sake we’ll just say he chooses Alan again like in the previous ending. He proposes this idea to Alan saying that he would agree to share the credit and fortune with Alan once he unveils his device but Alan refuses, not willing to permanently give up his body that he’d worked so hard for. But Jeff doesn’t accept this. And so one thing leads to another and Jeff ends up kidnapping Alan before dragging the hunky man back to his place and setting up the machine.

Before Jeff can finish setting up however, Alan wakes up sooner than expected and immediately tries to escape. He’s been strapped down but Jeff isn’t sure the restraints will hold so he rushes to finish setting everything up and prepares to swap. But just before he can Alan breaks free. Alan attacks Jeff in a rage and pins the older man down, threatening to kill him even. But before he has a chance to prove that threat, Alan feels a strong prick on his ass. He looks back in horror to see Jeff had managed to stick him with another anesthetic. He starts to panic, not knowing whether to try and run or attack Jeff. But it doesn’t matter as his body grows weak and soon enough he falls unconscious yet again. Jeff letting out a sigh of relief before a sinister smile appears on his face.

The movie would then cut to a few months later where we see ‘Alan’ sat in a coffee shop writing something down in a book. We the audience can’t see this book at first until perhaps a waiter/waitress comes over and ends up asking what he’s writing out of curiosity. ‘Alan’ reveals that he’s writing a book all about the differences in human bodies at which point revealing that this truly is Jeff wearing Alan’s body. Then perhaps after another scene showing whatever fate befell the original Alan, the movie would end with Jeff on the cusp of revealing his invention to the globe.

So there you have it! That’s my idea for a movie based around TF! I honestly got wayyyyyy more invested in this than I expected to but that certainly isn’t a bad thing. I had a ton of fun coming up with this and imagining how it would look on the big screen. Of course there are a lot of details I probably left out but I didn’t want to make this ridiculously long. That said, if this gets a lot of positive attention I might write a fuller, more in depth version or a story based around this as I said before.

Thank you for the great question! And apologies again for taking so long to answer it! Really some great stuff here!

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nicoline1998enilocin · 19 days

Text

"Marry Me" || Part 1

PAIRING || Boyfriend!Tony Stark x Girlfriend!Nurse!Fem!Reader

WORDCOUNT || 4.1K

SUMMARY || Tony comes home from another gruesome mission and doesn't stay unharmed this time. As you take care of his wounds, he can't keep his thoughts to himself any longer, and he asks you to marry him in a way you never would have seen coming.

RATING || Explicit (E)

TAGS || Canon divergence. Everybody lives AU. Age gap.

WARNINGS || Injured!Tony Stark. Administration of painkillers through a shot.

SMUT || Teasing. Daddy kink. Praise. Dirty talk. Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!). Cream pie.

A/N || This story is dedicated to my best friend I could have ever wished for, @ccbsrmsf1. Carol, I cannot even begin to describe the gratefulness I feel for you and your friendship, because it’s not something that can be put into words. Thank you for being here for me through it all, eu te amo 💙

EVENTS Masterlist || @fandombingo || Sleepy morning sex Masterlist || @fandom-free-bingo Book Night || 'You make me feel like I am home again' Masterlist || @fandom-free-bingo Book Night || "I'm getting old." Masterlist || @fandom-free-bingo Maritime May || Reassuring touches

Masterlist || @fandom-free-bingo Maritime May || Don't make me laugh Masterlist || @fandom-free-bingo Wild || "I've got you." Masterlist || @seasonaldelightsbingo Language of flowers || The little spoon for the first time Masterlist || @sweetspicybingo Hurt/Comfort || "Are you okay?"

GIF: @ccbsrmsf1 || Graphics are made by @nicoline1998enilocin

Main Masterlist || Tony Stark Masterlist

It's been a week since you last saw your boyfriend - none other than Tony Stark himself - because he's been on a long and tiring mission to destroy the last few HYDRA bases that were left in Brazil. There has been little to no contact between you two, aside from the quick messages through JARVIS, the AI he built, to let you know he's still alive.

However, the message you received not even half an hour ago has you a little more worried than usual. During your many years as a nurse for SHIELD and Tony's private nurse, there's practically nothing you haven't lived through, but to know your boyfriend is hurt still sends shivers down your spine.

Tony has built a private exam room in his penthouse for moments like these, and you have treated many different wounds and injuries there. From ones obtained during missions to mishaps down in his lab, rarely a day goes by where something doesn't go wrong, but you love him for it. His clumsy nature is one of the things that attracted you to him in the first place.

Now, you're setting up the exam room after JARVIS's orders about Tony coming home soon and a brief description of his injuries, which you're thankful for. This means you're not going in blind as he arrives in your shared home.

When you put down the last instruments and bandages in the room, you hear the elevator door open, notifying you that Tony is back. As you walk out to greet him, your heart sinks into your stomach because the sight in front of you is one you will never get used to, no matter how many times you see it.

Tony is limping and heavily favoring his left leg over the right; he's clutching his arm to his ribs, and he's covered in countless little cuts and bruises, blood seemingly being everywhere. His clothes are torn, and his facial expression is a mix of both tiredness and sadness, but when he sees you, he instantly gets a shimmer in his eyes.

"Hi, Gorgeous," Tony whispers before wincing, his eyes shut tightly as a wave of undeniable pain shoots through his entire body.

"Hi, Beautiful," you say with a soft smile, right before herding him into the exam room so you can give him some painkillers. Tony carefully takes his place on the large exam table and sinks into it with a sigh, relief washing over him now that he's home and being taken care of.

As you walk around the room to prepare the last things for the examination, Tony can't stop looking at you. He admires seeing you in your element like this, and even though he's in a great deal of pain right now, he seems to forget it for just a moment now that he's in your presence again. He may not like anything related to the medical field, but he has learned to accept it since knowing you.

"How did the mission go?" you ask Tony in a calm, steady voice, your gaze focused on the cuts on his face while you clean them. Tony's lips curl into a small smile when you're this close to him. His deep, dark brown eyes follow every movement of your face, and he loves how the tip of your tongue pokes out when you're concentrating on something.

"There were some unforeseen difficulties, but overall, it went well. Got hit a few times, though, as you can tell," he says, and you chuckle at his words. That same chuckle has Tony's heart skipping a beat each time he hears the melodic sound falling from your lips.

"I'm glad you're safe now, though. I'm glad to have my man home again," you tell him, leaning in for a soft peck on his lips. As you pull away, Tony lets his head fall back against the table, a large smile on his lips and his mind going crazy. He's deeply in love with you, and having you call him 'your man' does things he can't explain.

Once his face is patched up, it's time to move on to his torso. But before you can do that, you'll have to remove his shirt, which causes a lot of groans and winces, but he knows it has to be done.

"It's okay, Beautiful. I've got you." Tony pushes for just one more moment until his shirt is off, and you gasp when it is as you look at the damage. A dark purple bruise covers most of his ribs and part of his chest and abdomen, and there are even more cuts and minor bruises littered over the rest of his torso.

"Oh my god," you say as you inspect it, and Tony looks at you apologetically, as if he wants to say sorry for being hurt like this.

"What happened?" you ask him, your brows furrowed in concern. He exhales shakily before telling you he got his ass kicked in some hand-to-hand combat when his suit didn't work. A lump forms in your throat as you try to treat him to the best of your abilities, but it's not easy when he has multiple broken ribs - they're the reason he was clutching his arm tightly against his chest and rib cage.

"Oh, you poor thing," you whisper as you look up at him, your hand cupping his cheek again.

"I think it's better if you take it easy for a while, Beautiful. I will give you a shot to help with the healing later, but this isn't going to go away with just that," you explain, and he nods. Deep inside, he's relieved to have to slow down a bit, as his life is fast-paced enough already. He's been wanting to spend more time with you at home, and this is the perfect way to do just that.

"I love you, Tony, but this is taking a big toll on you. I don't mind taking care of you and patching you up, but I also think that you should start thinking about retiring," you tell him, and even though it hurts to have to say to him, it's the right thing to do.

"I know, Gorgeous, and you're right. The fact that I'm getting old doesn't help my case either," he says with a sad smile as you take a seat on the edge of the exam table, grabbing his hand as you do.

"I'm not saying you should retire right away, but once you do, we might finally be able to start the family we've been dreaming of," you tell your boyfriend. He looks at you with such love and admiration as you say it; it's indescribable. The feeling swirling through your chests can't be put into words, but you both know you feel the same.

"Let's start now, Gorgeous. I don't care about being Iron Man or the Avengers; I want to start a family with you. I want to grow old with you. You are all I care about," he whispers, and you're fighting back tears at his admission. A soft 'okay' leaves your lips, and Tony squeezes your hand.

"But first, I have to finish patching you up, Beautiful. Otherwise, we're not going to be able to do anything without me having to do all the work," you joke, and Tony can't help but laugh, though as soon as he starts, he also stops as he winces in pain.

"Oh god, don't make me laugh, Gorgeous," Tony says with an amused smile. The two of you sit silently for a little while, and out of nowhere, you reach up to touch the tattoo on his chest, your name proudly shown on his skin forever.

Your fingers glide over it, and you look at it until Tony grabs your wrist carefully with his free hand, bringing your fingers to his lips and kissing them softly. More specifically, he kisses the place where he has been planning to put a ring for a few years now.

"I love you, Gorgeous. I'm the luckiest man on earth with you by my side," he whispers before bringing your digits to his mouth again and placing a lingering kiss, pouring every ounce of emotion into the one gesture.

"How're you feeling, Beautiful? Are you okay?" you ask Tony as you stand in the large shower in your shared home, the water cascading down on both of you as he holds you close to his body. Soft kisses and gentle touches are shared between you both as your back is against his chest, and your breathing patterns slowly sync up.

"Yeah, I'm doing much better with you in here with me," he tells you before kissing your temple softly. You smile at his words. Seeing his injuries, you offer to help him shower, and if there's one thing he never says no to, it's bringing you in there with him.

"I'm glad I can help you to feel better," you whisper as you turn around and wrap your arms around his waist. Your head is placed gently against his shoulder as your eyes slip shut, and you finally dare to sigh in relief. There's always a certain level of worry in your body as Tony is gone for missions, and you never dare to settle down until you know he's okay and safe with you.

"I can't stop thinking about starting a family with you," Tony tells you as he lets his hands wander over your hips and sides until they're splayed out over your belly, his thumbs rubbing the soft flesh as you smile into his touches.

"Having a few little ones running around with another one on the way, God, you'll be so beautiful when you're pregnant, Gorgeous," Tony says before pulling away, turning you around, and sinking to the ground, his face at the same level as your belly.

"I can already imagine the little feet kicking inside you as they're growing and how beautiful you will be as you have a pregnancy glow," Tony tells you as he rubs your belly softly with his cheek. Your hands carefully lace into his hair and rub softly, calming him down immensely.

"What would you like it to be? A boy or a girl?" you ask your boyfriend, who smiles at your question.

"Both." His answer is short and to the point, but he's already thought about it plenty of times. He's always dreamt of having at least one girl and one boy, but he will happily accept what the universe is willing to give you both.

"What about you, Gorgeous?" he says as he carefully looks up at you, his facial hair tickling your belly.

"Both," you say with a dopey smile, and Tony smiles before peppering your belly in kisses, making you laugh as his beard and mustache keep tickling you in your ticklish areas. Eventually, Tony gets up, pulling you against his chest, your head leaning against his shoulder once more while his hands rub over your back in a soothing pattern.

Before stepping into the shower, Tony has put on some background music, and you're both swaying back and forth to it as your boyfriend gathers the courage to ask you something important. Though he's been planning on making it a special moment, he also knows there won't be another moment more right than the one you're sharing now.

"Marry me."

At first, you're not sure you heard him correctly as you pull your head back. Your gaze meets his brown eyes, a large smile on his lips, and one of his brows quirked in excitement.

"Marry me, Gorgeous," he says again, and there's no denying it this time. Tony proposed to you, and a huge smile worked its way onto your face as tears fell down your cheeks. Out of all the moments he could have possibly chosen, you're not sure why he did it now, but it's perfect.

"Yes, I will marry you, Tony," you say before standing on your tiptoes and pulling him close. Your lips crash together as the excitement takes over your bodies. Tony's fingers dig into your sides as he's impossibly trying to pull you closer, even though there's no more space between you two.

"God, I can't believe you're going to become Mrs. Stark," he says with a breathy chuckle after pulling away for some much-needed air. Tony presses his forehead against yours as he tucks some wet strands of your hair behind your ear, your eyes focused only on each other.

"I can't wait to be Mrs. Stark," you tell him, a flurry of butterflies in your stomach going wild as you say the words aloud. Future Mrs. Stark indeed has a nice ring to it.

"I love you so much, Gorgeous. I'm so lucky to have you say yes to marrying me. I've been dreaming of it for months," Tony emphasizes before capturing your lips again, not wanting to be away from your plump, soft lips for too long.

His hands wander over your bare back down to the globes of your butt, where he lets them rest for a little while, despite the slightly awkward angle of his body due to your height difference. He's always been obsessed with your butt, constantly touching it when you're together or slapping it during sex.

"I love you too, Tony," you whisper in his ear before turning off the shower and getting ready to sleep. It's not that late in the evening yet, but Tony needs his sleep to heal, and you're getting tired, too.

It doesn't take long for you both to be curled up under the covers, enjoying each other's warmth and closeness. However, Tony asked you to be the big spoon so he could be the little spoon for the first time.

"How's this?" you ask Tony as you place soft kisses between his shoulder blades. You can't reach any higher due to your significant height difference.

"Good," Tony murmurs, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as your fingers slowly lull him to sleep. They're tracing abstract patterns over his chest and around his arc reactor, and you can feel his breathing slowing down until it evens out.

"I love you, Beautiful," you whisper once Tony is asleep, and it doesn't take long for you to fall asleep.

During the night, both you and your now fiancé slept like logs, and the shot you gave Tony yesterday has done an amazing job of healing him. Now, he's busy in the kitchen preparing breakfast for you while you're still curled under the warmth of the comforter of Tony's king-size bed.

Soft music plays in the kitchen while Tony scrambles a few eggs, and the smell of food brings a smile to Tony's face at the thought of surprising you with it later. While he prepares every last one of your favorite dishes, he's also preparing the tray to present to you later.

After working in the kitchen for another 30 minutes, the tray is adorned with a small bouquet of fresh flowers in a vase, the food he prepared, a steaming cup of tea, and a small, black ring box.

Now comes the real challenge for Tony—getting to the bedroom without dropping anything or scaring you. With careful steps, he makes his way over there, and much to his surprise, nothing spills or falls off, making him feel rather proud of himself.

The bedroom door is slightly ajar as he makes his way over, pushing it open further with his foot, before being greeted by you lying on your belly, the comforter halfway down your back, exposing your bare back to him, and he can't help but smile.

"G'morning, Sleepyhead," Tony says as you start waking up from the smell of fresh food. Tony is crouching next to the bed.

"How did you sleep, Gorgeous?" he asks as he wipes some hair out of your face to expose your beautiful smile and sleepy expression. His heart beats faster when he sees his future wife lying in his bed, smiling at him, and he has rarely felt this fortunate.

"Amazing, what about you?" you ask before sitting up and stretching out some of the sleep. That's when you notice the food Tony prepared. It's all there, from fresh waffles and scrambled eggs to fresh fruit and your favorite tea.

"I haven't slept this good in a long time; I think I should be the little spoon more often," Tony tells you as he gets up and reaches for something on the tray. Once his fingers are curled around it, you notice it's a small, velvety box, and your heart immediately starts to pump faster - an engagement ring.

While you look at your fiancé getting into position, you put your hand over your mouth in disbelief, as you didn't expect him to propose first thing in the morning, but here he is, going down on one knee.

"Gorgeous; from the moment I met you, I knew that your presence in my life would be one of immeasurable worth, and you have proven me more than right. From all the times you have patched me up after missions, and from all the nights we stayed up talking when one of us needed it most, they're all cherished deep within my heart," he starts, and you start tearing up as you listen to him propose.

"Before we got together, I didn't care if I lived or died, but when you asked me out on a date, I knew I had someone worth living for - someone who's worth fighting for. I knew I wanted to come home from the moment you moved in with me because you made me feel like I was home again."

You stretch out your hand, and Tony grabs it before squeezing it carefully. Soft sniffles escape as the words sink in with you. Your heart is going into overdrive, and the butterflies in your stomach are going wild, but it's more than worth it.

"Y/N Y/L/N, will you officially give me the honor of becoming the future Mrs. Stark and marrying me?" After flipping open the box, Tony asks, and you nod enthusiastically, a broken 'yes' leaving your lips before wrapping your arms around your fiancé.

He quickly sits down on the edge of the bed as you two let the tears flow freely, the breakfast he prepared long forgotten as you're basking in the glory of the moment. Tony has slipped the ring on your finger, and you can't stop looking at it from every angle.

"It's beautiful, Tony," you tell him while you look at the ring and slowly work on eating the breakfast he prepared. He constantly feeds you the fresh fruit and waffles while stealing a kiss between each bite, while he happily lets you feed some of the eggs and toast he prepared for himself, which goes paired with even more stolen kisses.

"I can't believe you went down on one knee for me first thing in the morning!" you tell him with a soft smack against his chest. He smiles before rubbing his nose against yours lovingly.

"I'm glad I did, though. I've been carrying that thing around for literal years at this point but never found the right moment. It turns out I just needed to have you take care of me for it to be the right moment," he says in a soft voice, and you feel the goosebumps rising on your neck.

"How about you let me take care of you for once?" Tony asks as he peppers a royal amount of kisses over your cheek and jaw, making you moan softly as his teeth graze over the edge of it, your nipples immediately pebbling at the feeling of it.

"Please," you whisper as you look into his eyes, lust visible in them. Before you know it, Tony has put the tray on the floor, and the comforter pulled off your body, revealing your entirely bare body to him. He gets comfortable between your legs after you've spread them, and his mouth descends on your neck and collarbone, sucking soft bruises into the skin.

Your fingers are laced in his hair as he takes his time marking you up, his hips rutting his cock against your soft, dripping pussy as he does. Soft moans tumble from your lips as you tug on his hair, and the feeling of his lips and tongue, together with his facial hair, is driving you insane as he takes his time.

"D-Daddy," you whine as his tip gets caught on your sensitive clit, and he smiles against your skin before lifting his head and meeting your gaze. Your eyes are already half-lidded, and your lip is raw from all the biting, but Tony has never seen a more beautiful sight.

"What is it, Sweet Mama? Are you gettin' a little impatient?" he asks teasingly, and you nod shyly.

"Want you inside me, Daddy," you tell him, and he's never been able to say no when you ask him so nicely. He reaches down to guide himself to your entrance; his gaze focused on your expression as he slides in his long, thick cock.

You spread your legs a little more to accommodate every last inch of him, and you both moan in unison as he bottoms out. You instantly clench down on his cock, and he kisses you softly as you get adjust to him being inside you again.

"You're taking me so well, Gorgeous. Você é uma garota tão boa," he whispers in your ear. Your cheeks heat up as you hear him calling you a good girl in Portuguese. Before you met Tony you spent a few years in Brazil, and you have taught him quite a bit of Portuguese for his mission, but you didn’t teach him that, but goosebumps crawl across your skin as you smile at his words.

After Tony called you that, you clench around him even harder, making Tony bury his face in your neck. In a bold moment, you surprise Tony by landing a loud, hard smack on his ass, and the jerk of his body only drives his cock even deeper into you.

"So tight, Babygirl, 's so fucking tight around my cock, can feel you milkin' me already," he groans, and he sets a slow pace once you're finally allowing him to move. Every inch of his thick, veiny cock feels like heaven as he takes his time, and you let your head sinks into the soft pillows as you look at your fiancé.

"I love you so much," he says as he lets his hand glide over your arm until he reaches the hand with the engagement ring on it. He brings the ring to his lips, placing a soft kiss on it. His eyes are locked onto yours as he does, and you feel the butterflies in your stomach go wild.

"I love you too, Tony," you say before pulling him down for a deep, passionate kiss. His fingers interlace with yours as he keeps building your high. The atmosphere in your bedroom is still cozy from the night, and with Tony's comfortable, slow pace, you can feel yourself almost slipping into a drowsy state.

"I want you to cum for me, Gorgeous, I'm so close to filling you up," Tony whispers as he noses along your jaw, and your back arches into him at the words, your senses on high alert as you're getting ready to fall over the edge. Out of nowhere, he also grabs your other hand, pinning them both above your head as he picks up the pace, chasing both your highs.

"God, keep milkin' me, Babygirl, milk Daddy's cock like a good fuckin' girl," he growls, and before you know it, you're both falling over the edge simultaneously. He keeps working you both through your orgasms, and when you're both finished, he pulls out before pulling you against his chest as he falls to the side.

You're both panting as you let your head rest on his chest, your fingers gliding over your name on his chest again.

"I would love to add even more names to your tattoo. I think it's also the perfect spot to add our children's names," you say dreamily as you think about having a few little ones running around in the future.

"I thought so too, Gorgeous," Tony says, and it's the last thing you know before letting your eyes slip shut, and sleep quickly takes over. The rest of the day, neither of you leaves the bed as you make love for hours, never getting enough of one another.

Today marks the first day of the rest of your lives together, and you can't wait to see what the future has in store for you both.

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unadulterated-syd · 1 year

Text

Carl Grimes x Male! Reader

Warnings — Mentions of scars + Ron in his angsty era (hes forgivable as always)

Req — anyways, i have a request for a carl grimes x male reader, where the reader has facial scars (two on either side of his mouth) from an incident before the apocalypse hit and hes really insecure about them and maybe in alexandria they could finally relax and the reader started noticing people staring at his face and asking about his scars more and he got insecure again then begins to accidentally distance himself from carl not realizing until carl finds him in his room and asks why and it takes a while but carl gets the reader to spit it out then carl just comforts the reader and cuddles him and all that fluffy bs

I went a little off track with this one + this is like season 5 or 6 Carl so he acts a bit sillier / more nervous

The apocalypse had seemed to not be the worst experience of your life— the lives taken leaving scars on your heart, but not on your skin.

You only had to share the stories of your heart with one person. And he always understood your boundaries, that it was far too hard for you to come out and say things.

However, you always told him eventually, because he knew you well enough to know you needed to tell someone.

You and he had been elated at the discovery of Alexandria, it was a beautiful place, and the people were shockingly lovely. For the most part, that is.

On your first day there, you held Judith while the two of you sat in for an interview— Deanna would have preferred that the two od you went in seperately but you refused.

You could never be too careful, but she did remind you of your pre-apocalyptic grandma. She got extra points for that.

Carl lightly answered her questions as you looked out the houses front windows, exploring the small sea of people— small for a town, huge for the world as it was now.

"And you, Y/n? Inspirations?", she broke you from your thoughts, eyes sealed on your face.

It felt like her eyes bored into the scars that lay there, scars that had nothing to do with an apocalypse. Ones that rested in a life you wished dearly to move from.

You pressed on anyway, you couldn't scare her away on day one. Pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth, you made a soft click before responding.

"Nope, no not really.", you paused, "I'll do anything you need, I'm a good shot."

"Shot?", it was her turn to pause, as if she couldn't fathom you and carl handling guns, "No, that's not necessary. We've got better jobs for boys your age."

You didn't respond, looking back out the window.

—

The jobs as promised never really came— not for Carl anyways. They sent him to school with the other kids, wanting you to do the same, but you refused.

Reluctantly, Deanna sent you to watch over the younger kids— mostly concluding of Judith and Sam, whilst the other kids took classes and the adults did their jobs.

Ron and Carl got close quick, followed by Carl and Enid becoming friends as well. It felt a bit lonelier, but you were glad he was healing.

And it all felt fine until Ron came to grab Sam. He was upset, god knows why, but he tried to hold it together— be nice to the new guy, especially infront of his brother.

"Sam, c'mon.", he grumbled, leaning his weight against the right side of the doorframe, obviously in a hurry.

You looked up, sat on the floor in front of Sam, setting up a railroad track for his train engine. Sam looked over his shoulder, blinking at his older brother.

"But, Y/n and I are busy— he's helping me build this for Choo." Ron's eyes rolled, but he figured he ought to treat you kindly.

"Well hurry it up," his eyes flickered to you, letting out a breath of excess air, "Please."

"Sam we can finish tomorrow." You whispered, sensing the anger from the older boy— standing up you offered the younger boy a hand.

He didn't take it, clicking another piece together, in turn ignoring you all together. You looked at Ron, offering him an apologetic half-smile.

"Sorry."

Ron groaned, taking a couple steps further into the room, "C'mon, Sam, do this tomorrow— mom wants you home, and I want to go out. Hurry up."

Sam frowned deeper, pushing himself up, and grabbing his coat. On the way over to Ron, he turned to wave and wish his goodbyes.

All was fine but awkward until you heard their conversation on the way out— one you assumed you weren't supposed to hear.

"What's with Scarface, you need to listen dude—"

He hadn't even said it to hurt you, merely just to jab at his sensitive younger brother. But it hurt more than it should have, a lot more.

Everyone has scars. You told yourself, but that didn't fix it. That didn't fix the attachments to a time before, the memories you couldn't run away from due to the scars.

Not that Scarface as a term itself made you feel good.

—

It didn't take Carl long to notice the absence, the days where you'd walk him and Judith home now ended with Michonne bringing her home after patrolling.

Times where you'd sort through your clothes together, creating a full load for the washer rather than his now barely filled loads— ones he'd forced Judith's excess clothes into.

You'd both had such an insync schedule that he hadn't even stopped to recognize, one that felt wrong without you there.

But the worst part was the nights, nights were you'd sit on his floor together, peacefully enjoying the feeling of comfort— the feeling of being anything but alone.

He was too scared to ask, maybe you needed space— maybe everything he'd built with you had been too much or too fast for you, you two were kids.

Maybe he had gotten to close with you, maybe you hadn't even felt the same things he did. It wasn't like you'd discussed your relationship, it just felt right as it was. To him.

All he wanted was to make the right move.

By that point it'd weighed to heavy on him, dropping Judith off in the mornings with no Hello, no Good Morning. It felt like a rip in his heart, one he could heal if he was attentive.

He told Michonne that he'd get Judith today, and he walked with Ron so he would be the last in there— Sam being the last kid to be picked up if anyone besides Judith showed up.

"Y/n." He greeted, nervousness hidden well, taking fast steps into the nearly vacant room. You looked up, Judith cuddled in your arms.

"Carl?"

"Y/n." He called again, now stood in front of you. You gave him a confused look, why was he fumbling so hard to say anything other than your name?

"Sorry, sorry. Uhm."

"Carl spit it out." You encouraged, eyes studying his face as you did so. "What do you need?"

"What's wrong? Why are you being distant, if I did something tell me."

"What?"

"I mean it, Y/n. Did I scare you off? Was.. was something too much? Just tell me. Please."

"What are you talking about?"

His face fell, defeated completely. He felt invalidated, but you were confused. You hadn't even recognized the distance you'd created, the nervousness and heartbreak you were pushing on him.

"Have I not been around?" You asked, setting Judith in the crib you'd grabbed her from. Your look was geniune— he could tell you hadn't even known.

"Yes. Yeah, yeah, really distant."

"I'm sorry." You offered, looking down, "I.. I uhm. I haven't felt too well, seems silly now—"

"It's not silly, whatever it is."

"I told you I didn't like my life before this.. it's just— Ron said something and it scared me. He said something about some scars I have and it.."

But, he didn't make you finish. Why would he? A mixture of understanding and relief reluctantly washed over him.

"Dude.." He wrapped his arms around you, maybe too tight, not that you'd tell him that. "You can talk to me, tell me things... Ron says stupid things he—"

"I won't take it to heart, Carl." You hummed, settling your head into the collar of his flannel. "I didn't mean to be distant, it really just happens sometimes.."

He smiled, letting out a little laugh. "I feel a little stupid— I mean I.. well I have some questions now."

"Yeah?" You offered, pulling back enough to be in the embrace and see his face. He looked brilliant when he smiled— it didnt happen often but when it did everything bad seemed to disappear.

"Are you.. we, are we.." He thought about it, clicking his tongue and finally looking at you again, "Are you my boyfriend?"

You blinked at him for a moment— suprised he didn't shrink into himself when you took a moment to think. "Are you my boyfriend?'

"I want to be." He muttered, straightening himself out, "I really want to be."

"Yes, Grimes. You can be my boyfriend." You paused, grinning, "Don't get too cocky, I know I'm awesome and all."

"Oh, I will."

—

tags -> @loser-fics , @hea-vin , @ariianelle

#the walking dead #twd #carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #carl #the walking dead fluff #carl grimes x male reader #mlm #male reader

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matthyeu · 1 year

Text

marker of the end ― zh.

pairing ⇢ zhang hao x gn!reader

genre ⇢ fluff, angst, academic rivals to lovers/enemies to lovers, college!au

warnings ⇢ like one swear word, mention of drinking

word count ⇢ 1.5k

synopsis ⇢ this would be the last time you and zhang hao crossed paths as rivals.

this was the moment you were waiting for the past few years. hearing your name called to walk across the big stage. shaking hands with several of the university board. most importantly, looking your rival in the eyes in a gloating way to celebrate your own accomplishments, your graduation at the top of your department. you had won.

what you didn’t expect was for zhang hao to look back at you with a soft look in his eyes, a wide smile on his face, and two thumbs up for you once you made eye contact. for the first time, you could understand why he was the campus crush. you never understood such blasphemy because the two of you had always been at ends with each other in academics.

at seven years old, you found the most pride in your ability to quickly do math, always completing the tests your teacher distributed every week in under 20 seconds with 100% accuracy. there was no one that could beat you.

until the time you and hao both brought your tests up to the teacher at the same time, the first time he had caught up to you. by some miraculous twisted fate, you had gotten one question wrong, and he had taken the title of the week’s fastest perfect scorer.

“ha, finally!” he exclaimed.

“mmm just a fluke.”

at twelve years old, you found the most pride in taking honors classes in secondary school. you were always placed with students who were older than you, many of them baffled at how such a young person could be learning the same material as them.

but of course, there was also a certain someone who always managed to find their way into your class as well. in fact, the first time you had one of those classes, he plopped down next to you, his irritating aura being something you could always sense.

“fancy seeing you here,” he jeered, taking out his notebooks and pencil pouch filled with various pens for note taking, “thought you’d be stuck in the regular classes seeing how panicked you were for placement exams.”

“shut it zhang,” you spat, slamming your own pouch onto the table and drawing attention to yourself, “you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

at age eighteen, you found the most pride in taking the podium at your high school graduation, doing a speech as the valedictorian. being able to stand there amongst your peers knowing you had worked the hardest and done the most for your position was everything you dreamed of.

however, you had to share it with him. the teachers tried and tried, but they could not find even the slightest difference in your grades. you were practically the same student: studious, hardworking, and intelligent. there was nothing to set the two of you apart, so it was only fair for you to take the podium together. you only wished they had allocated more time for the venue because sharing your valedictorian speech was definitely not something you always wanted.

“now don’t you try to push me off the stage in front of everyone,” he warned, “that wouldn’t be very top goody-two-shoes student of you now. let’s be civil today.”

you rolled your eyes. “funny for you to say that when you’re always the one provoking me with your irritating voice. i already have to hear your voice blasting through the speakers, so why don’t you just save my ears from bleeding before i even have to hear that?”

at age twenty-one, you found the most pride in sitting at the library speeding through your assignments at a quick yet accurate pace. you tried not to procrastinate, but sometimes things did happen. at those times, there was nothing more satisfying than seeing the to-do list diminish into nothing.

and for once, you didn’t mind your rival sitting across from you doing work. his presence actually made you feel more motivated to complete your assignments, wanting to finish your long list before he finished his.

“finally off your spree?” he questioned, looking up to see you chewing on your pencil at a particularly hard problem, “too hard for you?”

“please shut the fuck up. i can’t concentrate if you’re bothering me.”

“okay chill,” he raised his hands up in defense, “i was just wondering if i could maybe help or anything. you look like you have a lot on your plate today.”

“you? help me? you literally pray for my downfall, why would you do that?” you interrogated, believing he would somehow sabotage your problem by giving you some preposterous answer.

“yeah, but you seem to be stressing a lot, so i thought i’d offer. one nice act in our rivalry won’t undermine the countless other things we’re at each other’s throats for, right?”

you eyed him carefully, still wary, but you had no other choice. you couldn’t even comprehend the question. “fine.”

looking back, maybe the rivalry was fading out at the end. nearing graduation, it seemed the two of you cooled down, not constantly trying to one-up the other in any class. in fact, you no longer shared most of the same classes and were basically in your own worlds. apart from the occasional glare you gave each other while walking across campus, your hatred had not been so apparent. even your friends had pointed out how you complained less about the equally-studious boy.

that was why you let your guard down when he approached you after the ceremony, when you were taking pictures with your family and friends. they all wanted to capture the moment on your wonderful day.

“well, we meet again,” he joked, trying to copy the once threatening tone he had the first time he said that to you in the second grade. though, now there was no sense of menace in his tone, only congratulatory. “good job out there. you deserve it.”

“why thank you zhang.”

“hao, you can call me hao,” he clarified, sticking his hand out as if to mimic a first interaction, “you don’t have to refer to me with my last name anymore. we’re not rivals now.”

“are we not now?” you ask teasingly as you shook his hand.

“unless you want to apply to the same jobs and try to rob each other of opportunities, then sure,” he teased back.

“i never thought i’d see the day you two get along.”

the two of you turned around to see your friend, the one who had received the most complaints about hao throughout your college experience. there were so many nights where you went on tangents about how stupid your rival was, more of them drunk than sober. if anyone knew how much you hated hao, it was them.

“i say we should save this as a memory. how do you two feel about a picture?”

you looked at hao to try to see his stance on it, but he only gave a mere shrug as a response. you assumed that was a positive response, so you moved next to him for the picture.

“get a little closer now you two! who stands a foot apart in pictures?”

rolling your eyes at your friend, you inched closer to hao until your bodies touched. it was the first time you two had ever gotten so close.

“now, let’s get a little arm around the shoulder!”

once again, you wanted to strangle your friend for the nitpicky requests. it was just a picture! all that needed to be done was a simple click to capture the moment. though, to make it go faster, you obliged, swinging your arm around his shoulder while he did the same to you. it was an awkward position for you to be in after despising him for most of your life.

as your friend tried to find a good angle, hao made conversation with you through his smile. “so what if i asked you for lunch as ex-rivals?”

you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “ex-rivals in what kind of way? like are we hanging out as friends, or are you asking me out on a date?”

he chuckled. “i didn’t even think of the second option, but if you want it to be a date, i can certainly make it that.”

you stepped on his foot, but he had to hide the pain for the sake of the photo. “that is not what i meant. do not get ahead of yourself. i’m just making sure you’re not trying anything.”

“yeah, like i would ever. so how’s next wednesday sound?”

“sure.”

“awww you guys look so cute!” your friend complimented as they came over, showing the picture to both you and hao, “do you want me to send it to you?”

you waved it off, “you can keep it. why would i want to have a picture of myself with a guy i spent my whole life loathing in my camera roll?”

what you didn’t know is you’d be asking that same friend to dig up the picture from their camera roll when you and hao bought your first home together. that way, you’d both have a memory of the moment your rivalry ended and your love began.

#🐨 ― matthyeu #zerobaseone #zb1 #zb1 x reader #zerobaseone x reader #zerobaseone imagines #zb1 scenarios #zb1 drabbles #zhang hao #zb1 hao #zhang hao x reader #zb1 hao x reader #zhang hao imagines #zhang hao one-shot #angst #fluff

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unstablegoldfish · 1 year

Text

[Your Gentle Comfort] 18+

Story Summary: Your interest in boys didn’t really exist in your life. It wasn’t because you were against romance, but mainly for the fact that all the boys in your school were— well, boys. It wasn’t until you met your new teacher and had a relationship growing with him that you realized, you wanted a man.

Sense of Belonging - Chap 2

Joel Miller x F!reader - Teacher x F!Student

Warning: AGE GAP: After all it is a highschool student x teacher. Light swearing. Slow burn story. Being neglected by your parents. Emotional confrontation. Mentions of kidnapping [More will be added as the story progresses.]

Word Count: 3.6k (let me know if u want shorter or longer!!)

Chapter 1 —-> Click here!

Chapter Summary: Rainy day hits your home town, it gets you feeling glum whilst reflecting on your relationships. Your gloomy attitude also has someone turning their head to show you it’s ok.

————————————————————————————

The next morning arises. You felt your tired eyes and your brain starting up for the day. You’re then completely woken up with memories of yesterday flooding through your head. Mr.Miller was the main character in each memory or thought, they featured his voice and the unexpected softness that came from his lips while he spoke to you. The way he dressed was picture perfect.

He made you feel something, but you weren’t quite sure what and whatever you were feeling. Though you were sure of one thing. You liked it and it was the first feeling you were sure of. As wrong as it seemed, you were pretty sure you had caught feelings for him.

At first you were thinking you had daddy issues, which isn’t completely off course. Your relationship with your father wasn’t as perfect as most father daughter relationships. You never thought much of it though, I mean it was what you were used to. A closed off father who was too busy with work to talk to his own daughter. So when Mr.Miller approached you saying you had your shit together, you felt like you were noticed.

You pulled yourself out of bed, and left the warm comfort of your blankets. You made your way to the kitchen where you prepared a quick breakfast. Your father had already left for work and that’s how it usually was. Your mother? She was usually gone too.

The house was gloomy and quite. You look out the window of your kitchen and it was grey and rainy. Shit. You were going to have to walk in the rain. Before you were looking forward to walking to school. Now you wish you could stay home and curl back in bed, be nice and dry and let yourself drift off. However, any absences seen by your parents would leave them angry at you and you didn’t want that. It was the reason your friend group didn’t like you. They said you didn’t have a sense of thrill in you. But they didn’t know about your everyday lifestyle, so you didn’t push a reasoning to them when confronted about your “boringness.”

You’d rub your eyes and walk back to your room to put on some clothes for the day. You decided right then and there that it would be a 0 percent effort day. Sweats and sweater is what you wore, comfy and practical. You put your phone in your sweater pocket, wired ear buds placed in your ears and you were ready. You finished your hot look off with a jacket and your back pack and found yourself in the doorway ready to leave. Looking for your umbrella, you were unfortunate and it had already been taken. Great.

You did a swift jog to school, this was another reason why you were grateful living only 5 minutes away. Thankfully it wasn’t a hard down pour and just frequent drips of water. It must have been raining all night due to the sides of streets being completely flooded. If only you had checked the weather before bed last night.

You made it to the school. Looking at the path that lead to the entrance, you remember seeing Mr.Miller for the first time. The thought of him struck your gut with a punch, he was going to use you as a class example for something. You sure weren’t dressed as an example today, knowing it was raining maybe it would slide. Either way, you felt bad and nervous for your future embarrassment.

You entered the class, looking at his desk. There he was. He sat reading a leather covered book, glasses placed on the bridge of his nose. You continue to walk to your desk. He looks up at you to see you drenched in water and removing your jacket before sitting down. His lips parted, did he feel bad?

“What happened to you?” Your friend asked you with worry painted on his face. This was unusual. He never started a conversation with him being worried about you, let alone start one.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just got splashed by a car on my way here I guess. Not too big of a deal.” A lie, it purely was just the rain, but oh was it such a big deal. If your parents cared about you for at least 5 minutes you may have been fortunate enough to get a ride, and had the opportunity to wear something a little nicer. They could have done the bare minimum too and leave you an umbrella which you would’ve been fine with. But nope.

It wasn’t until you sat down that you realized just how soaked you were. Your pants stuck to your legs and the temperature of it brought shock to your eyes. Cold. You were in for a long unpleasant day. You had crossed your arms and placed your head snug inside, just to lift your head again at the sound of your name.

“Come with me.” Mr.Miller had said, his eyes looked down at you. No sense of any emotion. You couldn’t read him. You lift your body up and followed him outside the classroom, hall empty.

“Let’s get you dry.” Though the hall was deserted, it was filled with him. Just those words alone made you feel something, it felt so wrong. He was just doing his job. But knowing someone was looking after you felt nice. Were you this desperate for attention from an older figure?

You didn’t reply to him. You only looked up at him a couple of times on the walk to who knows where. You only went on to admire him. He wore a different shirt this time, it was a blue dress shirt. The colour fit him well. You thought it was crazy just how easily his figure took your mind off of things. You thought he was hot and it drove you nuts. What would it be like to touch him?

“This school is very generous.” he said with a smirk. “I get my own office outside of the classroom.” Seeing the goofy smile on his face just from the knowledge that he had an extra space made you wanna laugh. But you held it back, because maybe that would be weird. Plus you didn’t want to ruin the moment for him.

He guides you into the room that you swore you’ve never seen before and shuts the door behind him. You glanced around, It was a small room, not much bigger than a walk in closet. The far wall housed a desk that faced towards the window leading outside. There was a heavy downpour outside, thank god you left early or you would have been stuck in that. There was a ton of shelves that filled the blank spaces of the walls too, mostly empty except for a few. They housed a bunch of different papers, folders and books. One even had another sheep figurine.

“You like sheep?” you said to break the scilence besides his rustling in a box. You hear a chuckle from the man inside the box.

“Yeah I do.” he replies

“Why? Aren’t they really noisy?”

“I’suppose, don’t laugh. But I’ve wanted to own a farm and raise sheep.”

That would explain the reoccurring figurines. It was a cute dream from a man like him.

“Here they are.” He hands you a pair of joggers and a long sleeved shirt that had a symbol of a horse on it.

“Oh, thanks.” Your face smeared with confusion. How does he just have clothes that would fit me

“Ah— I have a niece. My brother left‘em. Somehow ended up in here n I remembered about ‘em. She doesn’t wear ‘em anymore anyways.” He responds as if he read your mind.

“Convenient.” Convenient that he just knew what you were thinking.

He reaches for the door, but hesitates to open it after glancing back at you. “Mind I ask something?” he says calmly.

You knew what was coming. I mean who wouldn’t ask, it was kind of weird for someone to just show up completely drenched in water. This was the part you hated most about any sort of interaction with somebody. Questioning.

You stand still, gazing up at him. You weren’t sure if you wanted him to ask or not. Because once he did, you didn’t know what was going to happen to you next. Any sort of emotion could lash out. It was best that he didn’t have to go through that, especially on his second day.

You were basically shaking. Maybe signs of tears starting to develop in your eyes as well.

“its’okay. Maybe next time.”

It was clear he didn’t wanna push you into a more uncomfortable situation. You were unbelieved by the fact he just let it go. It would come back around to hit you in the face I imagined, but you’d be ready at least.

Once more you’re walking down the hallway. You both split ways as you were going to the women’s washroom to change. Nothing like having wet clothing in your bag.

You get back to class. Seemed everything was back in order as Mr.Miller was reading his book again, and glasses resting on his nose. A literal librarian.

Your friend notices your arrival but doesn’t pay you any attention. Thank god. You didn’t think you could handle anymore questions.

And just like that, students began to fill their desks and the bell had rung. Class was to start again.

Mr.Miller stood up from his corner and walked his way into the middle of everyone’s view.

“Alright, as we discussed yesterday you will have a prompt to write about, grab your materials.” Students begin to shuffle in their bags trying to grab what they needed, you joined in too. The tapping of the chalk began. He was writing the prompt.

“What angers you?” is what was written.

“I’ll give you all 10 minutes to write whatever comes to mind.” You make eye contact with Mr.Miller. “—and yes, after you’ve written, I’ll be reviewing if you’ve filled the page.”

Goddamn. You knew you were gonna be asked about it, but this way was never an option for you. You were always expected to use your voice when expressing your emotions, but never written. You liked this. This was do-able. But it only made you wonder, was this the actual prompt he wanted to use? Or was it for your sake to express your unsaid emotions comfortably?

Often in the 10 minutes you’d look up from your writing to see Mr.Millers eyes on you. You were pouring out all the details of how this morning sucked, and somehow even more from the day to day routines you faced. It bothered you a smidge that Mr.Miller was going to read it eventually, but you felt he deserved to know after taking the time to help you out. You felt appreciated… and again. Noticed. Noticed that you weren’t alone in the pain you felt, and that someone was there. Mr.Miller was there.

You continued to press on through the jungle of thoughts to clear the path on paper. You eyes flooded a few times and you felt your pulse grow stronger. But you had a sense of relief after the time was up. It felt nice to free those emotions. However the real test would be how you’d feel after someone’s read what you’ve wrote.

“That being time, if you could place your paper on my desk that would be great.” he taps a spot on his desk. Students then got up to place their papers on the spot. You nervously made your way over to, placing it on the pile. You catch his gaze again, he then lets out a soft smile that only you could see. Then journey your way back to your desk.

Upon sitting down you laid your head down in your arms again. Thoughts piled in your head about the fact he smiled at you, how he kept a watchful gaze on you and how his calm voice sounded earlier in his office. You trailed off into the ‘what if’s’ … what if he hugged me? what if I hugged him? I want to tell him I’m thankful.

While you dug around your thoughts on Mr.Miller. He continued the class onto an assignment he’d be moving you guys into in the next few days. With that, a handout was being distributed that discussed ways you can enhance your writing. He walked from desk to desk making sure everyone got one and once arriving at yours he tapped your head to get your attention on the paper. Reading it was fun, you’ve always liked writing and being descriptive when talking about your own fantasy world. This class was going to be a breeze.

When reading over the handout, you notice Mr.Miller flipping through the papers on his desk. Eventually he pulled one out. He glanced at you but you tried to look away as fast as you could to pretend you didn’t notice him taking it out. You had a feeling that paper may had been yours. You slowly look back in his direction. His eyes were wider than they were before. Either a very interesting piece of work, or it had to be yours. I mean, he seemed to be the type to show very little emotion with his eyes, even when he smiled his eyes didn’t move with it. You look back down at the paper in front of you to avoid being caught looking at his expression. But it was hard not to look away. You wanted to know what he was thinking and you were best doing that by watching someone’s face change.

But just like that the bell had rung. It was already time to be moving on to your next class.

Mr.Miller clears his throat, looks at you then towards the main area of the class. “See you all tomorrow—“ He paused. He then called your name and asked you to stay.

What now?

The class had left and just like that the door had shut. It was now only you and Mr.Miller in this classroom. He walks over to you and places a chair next to your desk and has a seat.

“Normally I don’t read over the work. I only check it to see if people gave effort.” He says. His eyes were a deep brown, it was the first time you noticed.

“You’re going through sometin’ for the fact you filled both sides and what your lil story was about.” For the first time you heard some concern in his voice. You knew you put a lot on that page. Somethings you don’t even remember so it could be anything of what you’ve been experiencing at home.

He placed his hand on your lap. Your eyes widened. A large pause commenced as you just stared into his eyes. He then finally opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m here for you.”

Without another word, or thought hitting your brain. Your eyes filled with tears and you were left to crumble on the spot. Eventually you felt his embrace. His arms were solid and they felt like hard brick walls to protect what ever entered. It was the first time you felt safe. You only continued to sob into his shoulder. No one’s ever told me that…

“I— I don’t” you stutter with your words. “I don’t under stand why they treat me like they do.” You choke on your tears. You felt his hug grow a little tighter before releasing you. He looked into your eyes, the eyes which burned from the tears. He rubbed your cheek to clear the rivers that flowed down.

For the first time, you let everything release and finally not by yourself. You reassessed your darkness to someone you’ve only known for a day, but someone who seemed to get you in all of 5 minutes. It all felt like an eternity. It felt so easy to just release everything around him. It was odd. But you weren’t going to complain about it. You felt free for the first time in awhile. It was nice feeling the comfort from another human.

“T-thank you. I’m sorry.”

The crying had come to a stop.

“You shouldn’t thank me, nor apologize.” He said it with comfort. It felt real.

He still kept his gaze on you in worry. You both sat in silence for a little longer, until he spoke.

“Do you need a ride home?”

It was weird. But you really didn’t want to walk in the rain. The wet cold feeling of your clothing wasn’t so pleasant. Plus, what was the worst that could happen? He kidnaps you? He doesn’t seem like the type… Even if so, would it be so bad?

“I- I’d appreciate that, thanks.” you gave him a smile whilst rubbing your sleeve onto your cheeks. You took a few deep breaths before getting up to leave.

“Remember, if you have anything you need to say. I’ll be here.” It was reassuring to hear his voice say that. You glanced at him one last time, he remained in the seat beside your desk and gave you that signature nod once more.

You journeyed off down the hall and down some stairs making a right turn into the library. You decided it was probably the more calmer place to cool off from the recent events. Maybe even peaceful enough to think about how he touched you and took you into his arms without hesitation…your heart was fluttering.

You pulled out a book from the shelf and found a place to sit. This was a better idea than completely covering your thoughts with Mr.Miller and have you drooling in public again. Problem is, this book was about romance. It only created more scenarios you could imagine with Mr.Miller. You didn’t think they’d roam this far… God am I disgusting?

You glance up from your book eyeing the printer by the librarians desk. Mr.Miller was there collecting papers. He was everywhere. Even though you told yourself to stop and how he was only being a teacher trying to help out you couldn’t help it. Why’d he have to be so damn attractive?!?

The bell had rung and you scurried off to your next class. Keeping the book you had taken out for…later use.

Again same routine as before, dozing off in your thoughts but still managing to grip on to reality so you could catch your name being called at any moment. You couldn’t get over the fact that soon you’d be in his car. Completely immersed into a part of his life. The smell of his car, wether it was dirty or clean. It would tell a story of who he was and it only made him that much more intriguing.

———————————————————————————

The school day ended. Leaving your last class with your heart thumping loudly. You swore anyone who walked by would hear it. You made your way to the front doors, just to see that it was still pouring rain. Mr.Miller stood there waiting with a book bag in hand and an umbrella. It seemed he was waiting for you. He looked up to see you, standing more straight then he was before and gave a nod. You both left out the door while he opened the umbrella.

A short journey to the car later and you were in his car. You slightly looked around, the car was decent, but it wasn’t clean to perfection. It felt right. The smell is what hit you the hardest. It smelt exactly like his cologne which stuffed butterflies in your stomach. You liked the smell of him mixed with it. It was a drug.

Now came the awkward part, the part where he’d ask you for your address to which you didn’t think about beforehand. He’d now know where you lived when he’d drive you. But you slid it off your shoulder.

You told him where about he had to go, and soon the 2 of you were off. The sound of the wheels in the puddles was satisfying. You were so lucky in this moment to experience comfort during a time like this. If only your own parents cared as much.

For the most part the ride was silent, every now and then he’d ask you a random question like what your favourite colour was or what day of the week you preferred. It was a nice distraction.

The car comes to a stop on your empty driveway. As expected no one was home.

“Thanks again.” You give him a smile and move your hand towards the handle of the door. But before you could leave he grabs your hand.

“You’re crying again.” He says comfortably.

He was right, your eyes were flooded over. So strange. So unexpected.

“It just feels nice to be cared about.” you reply. Maybe not the full reason you were crying but it had to be one.

You then left the car and made your way to your door, giving a wave as he nodded back to you.

He never moved the car until you had stepped a foot into the doorway. Then just like that he vanished down your street as if nothing had happened.

He’s just a teacher, he’s just a teacher. Teachers wouldn’t drive you home though would they?

You enter your bedroom, taking off then laying the clothes he gave you on the bed. For whatever reason you grabbed them and smelt them. Upon that reaction they smelt just like him. He must’ve had them for awhile for how densely they smelt like him. Either way it was nice. It gave you a sense of comfort in your gloomy house and that was never going to bother you.

But just like that, you came to the conclusion on this day. You did in fact have a crush on Mr.Miller. Now to find ways to spend more time with him.

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How’re we feeling? 😭 This was a crazy chapter with the information dump but hopefully it was ok. Overall hope it was good :) Not sure what else to say :) Have a goodnight/day :)

NOTE: If you’re wondering where the next chapters at, check out my master list, It will be constantly updated on its progress! Also, I’m totally open to any suggestions or questions you have about this fic! Let me know in comments, anonymously, dms…. whatever floats your boat! <3

Taglist: @wrathofcats @welovedilfs333 (tag not working rip)

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #joel x reader #joel miller self insert #joel #self insert #teacher x reader #teacher x student

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