#leaving aside issues with timing etc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reiderwriter · 21 days ago

Text

Rumours

A/N: I'm back! I started this one literally in February and then got so distracted by my job I couldn't finish it. Employment is a curse.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Plot: Spencer is displeased about some rumours he hears about you around the office. Only the way he goes about confronting them is clumsy and downright maddening.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, misogyny, misunderstanding, Spencer is a dick for a while, violence (breaking glass etc.), penetrative sex, oral (F receiving), slapping, choking, anal fingering, general BDSM content, Dom!Spencer, sub!reader, breeding kink (tee hee), cock warming, almost exhibitionism?

Masterlist

It wasn't as if you'd made it your life's mission to be the most rumoured about person on your team at the FBI, but you weren't exactly doing anything to correct people's perception of you. Spencer may have been to jail, Emily may have faked her own death, and Luke's past was a big, fat question mark, but nothing caught the attention of the pencil pushers in the office than the string of broken hearts you'd ostensibly left behind you at Quantico.

At one point in time, you'd even promised yourself you wouldn't date anymore law enforcement officers, lawyers, detention officers or anyone even remotely adjacent, but life was short, and you had a decent appetite for a men with guns and badges. It was very convenient to say the least.

Convenient for everyone apart from Spencer Reid.

The FBI was a boys club, sure, but with all the women on your team, the most ridicule you got after a drunken escapade with a distant coworker was a few teasing remarks. The first few months on the team, you'd been able to date, fuck, and play freely without any judgement. And then Spencer Reid had come back from leave, and you suddenly began to doubt your bachelorette lifestyle.

Because fuck was he frustratingly territorial.

It wasn't as though he was interested in you. He was 13 years your senior, fresh from an FBI mandated leave of absence and false imprisonment, and absolutely used to being coddled by every member of the team. If the BAU was a family, he was absolutely the youngest child who'd returned home to find his parents had adopted a dog while he'd been gone to replace him with.

You were the dog.

Spencer took issue with your attitude, your work ethic, your professionally, and with the sheer amount of times he'd been approached by men asking for your number, home address, or if the rumors were true.

He was used to casual oversharing, of course, he'd worked with Penelope long enough to not be phased by much sexual talk. But everytime he stepped into the office - or specifically the offices male bathrooms - he'd end up stuck in the same conversational loop.

“I heard she can do this thing with her tongue…”

“... definitely likes it rough…”

“I could show her a good time…”

“....I'm definitely hitting that by the end of the year…”

He stewed in it for a few weeks before the cracks fully formed in his exterior professionalism. When he heard about how you'd definitely fucked every male member of your team, though, that's when he lost it.

“You need to be more careful,” he said one day, pulling you aside between cases in a rare private conversation.

“Oh, yeah, in the field I can definitely rush in-”

“No. You need to be more careful with men.”

The look on his face sent a flare of shame through your chest, as you found yourself suddenly out of your depth. You didn't know this man well enough for him to be giving you advice. Your body set to full alert, and your fight or flight was in full go, as he cornered you and continued.

“They talk about you in the bathrooms, and I would not like to repeat what they say, but-”

“I don't care what they say.”

“You should.”

You frowned again, as he continued, completely oblivious to your growing anger.

“You should, because now it's reflecting badly on the team, and-”

“The team? I'm sorry what had the team got to do with this?”

To his credit, Spencer at least managed to look uncomfortable after that. He was set on reprimanding you, fine, but you'd make sure he wouldn't try to get so personal again.

“They're saying that you've slept with a number of coworkers-”

“Why should I care if-”

“Including me.”

You managed a half laugh in his face as his frown deepened.

“Oh so this isn't about my reputation, it's about yours. I should be safer with men because I'm reflecting poorly on our golden boy?”

“That's not what I'm-”

“Don't worry, Spencer. I'm safe enough.”

You made sure to push past him as you walked away, and he'd not been quiet about his dislike of you ever since.

Every man on a case you interacted with got you a disapproving glare, a slight turned down lip, a questioning glance. It was like you were being watched constantly, and it felt horrendous.

It was almost worse when the knowing looks he sent you were spot on in their assumptions. If you spoke to a man you had been with, hooked up with, been on a date with, even simply flirted with for a while, you felt his eyes pricking you.

His gaze knew everything it needed to know, almost as if he'd been in the room watching you submit your body for pleasure.

You thought it would be better on cases, that he'd be focused on other things and not worry as much, but when your first case post-argument landed, it landed you uncomfortably close to your childhood home, and included a face from your past you'd hoped not to see again.

Having an ex boyfriend in the police department in the middle of nowhere Washington was helpful for the case, but on a personal level it sucked.

You managed five minutes of personal conversation before you felt his eyes on you.

“Beautiful, you're not paying attention to me anymore. And here I thought fate had sent you back into my life as a little gift for a job well done,” your ex had said, ducking in close to you at your makeshift desk but locking eyes with an approaching Spencer as he spoke.

“Y/N, can I have a word?” he asked, though his jaw was set, and his tone insistent.

“Professionally or privately?”

“Y/N,” he warned, his tone a bit lower as you rolled your eyes and stood, following him to a quiet interrogation room quickly.

“What's wrong with you this time?” you demand as soon as he has the door closed. “Panties in a twist?”

“We are on a case, Y/N. Please at least pretend to be a professional.”

“What? What am I doing that is so wrong?”

He fisted a hand in his hair quickly, closing his eyes as if it would drown out your arrogant tone.

“You can't be serious, Y/N, he was practically fucking you with his eyes in the middle of the precinct-”

“And that's a behaviour he needs to change, not me. What. Did. I. Do. Wrong?”

“What? What, you expect me to sit around here and wait for him to ask you if you can still do that thing with your tongue that makes him cum instantly? Want me to wait around for him to ask you if you're still as flexible as you were give years ago, while we have work to do?” He demanded, stepping so close you had to back up against the wall to avoid colliding with his incoming body.

“I bet you'd love to hear just about everything I can do Spencer, but if you're going to act like a jealous ass, maybe you should take a breather.”

“Jealous? You think I'm jealous?” he chuckled slightly, raising a hand slowly and pushing against the wall as he stepped, somehow, closet to you again.

“You're so obsessed with my personal life that-”

“Your personal life is not so personal when I have people asking me if I've also fucked you on a weekly basis-”

“You're being cruel. My sex life is none of your business, Spencer.”

“That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you. I'm glad we finally agree.”

He was so close you could practically taste his breath, and while your mind raged at his thoughtless words, your body wanted his to press his against it and say all of that one more time with his hand wrapped around your throat this time.

“Jackass,” you said, pushing against his chest and storming out of the room quickly, before you could make any other mistakes.

Part of you wanted to stick it to Spencer after that. Part of you wanted to do something to start an even bigger rumor, something to piss him off more, something that would get him angry and bring him closer to you somehow.

Another part aggravatingly agreed with him. Your behaviour, while nowhere near as promiscuous as half of the male staff, was judged twice as hard as anyone else's. You enjoyed sex, and you wanted to unashamedly keep enjoying sex, but every man you ran into recently had that look about them. Half judgement, half possession, like they were looking at goods to consume rather than a coworker. You weren't obtuse, but you'd allowed yourself to ignore it until Spencer made you face it, which only made you resent him more.

You stopped going on dates, stopped entertaining the men in the office when they flirted with you. You put your head down, and you worked, and it frustrated you to no end.

You ended up snappy in the office, short with every single coworker and not just Reid, who was also (inexplicably) short with you. You'd done what he'd asked, and he was still not satisfied.

Emily, sensing the tension, tried to ease the situation slightly, with a mandatory team dinner, volunteering Rossi for dinner duty.

“Welcome to Casa Del Rossi, keep your hands off the pasta until I serve it, and please do not ask about the wine unless you want to be talking about it all night.”

You felt slightly uncomfortable being forced to play happy families under the watchful eye of 5 profilers and an incredibly perceptive tech support girl, but you tried to be civil over dinner.

Until you couldn't be.

“So, Y/N, any dates recently?” Emily laughed over a sip of wine, genuinely curious about your sudden lack of suitors.

“No,” you said, locking eyes with Spencer, who rolled his eyes as he looked away.

“What, not even a single hinge match?” JJ added, and you suddenly regretted not telling any of your other coworkers the root of your tension with Reid, because they were happily digging your grave.

“Come on, we all love your stories, Y/N,” Penelope laughed, prodding you with a finger as you smiled feebly.

“No, not all of us do,” Spencer mumbled under his breath, still loud enough that the room fell silent.

“Relax, Doctor Reid, I'm not going to regale you with tales of my conquests.”

“Good, I get enough of that in the male bathrooms,” he said, standing up from the table and excusing himself.

You stared slack jawed at him as he walked away, simmering anger getting ready to explode. You stood as well, and followed him, aware of every set of eyes watching you intently as you searched for Spencer.

You found him in a spare room, following him in and closing the door behind you with a thud so he would know you were there.

“What the fuck is your problem, Spencer?”

“Oh, it was Doctor Reid earlier, but now we're friends, huh?” he said, not bothering to look at you as he picked up a book and sat in a chair at the edge of the room.

“You can't just disrespect me in front of the team like that, and… and what? Slink away to read?”

He looked up at you with an annoyed glance, and you almost lunged at him. You'd probably be able to gouge out an eye before he could react if you wanted.

“You know, when we first talked about this, I was seriously worried for you. The way those men talk about you-”

“How do they talk about me? What do they say about me specifically that's any worse than usual misogynistic bathroom talk, huh?”

You stepped closer, leaning over him and poking his chest. You wanted him to react, wanted him to get angry. You wanted a fight, not for him to walk away shaking his head in resignment.

“You really want to know?”

“Yes. I'm a big girl, tell me what's so bad that has you acting like such a spoiled brat.”

“Okay. Okay, fine.” Putting down the book, he looked up at you, locking eyes with you as he started.

“They talk about how well you take it. How much you love cock, and how if they got the chance they'd fill you up with so much cum you'd be leaking for days. Some of them even talk about using you as a human toilet.”

“They mostly talk about your body, about how flexible you are, about how flexible they'd force you to be, how-” he had to stop to look away, clear his throat and start again.

“Mostly they talk about your lips,” he said, finally risking a look down at them before dragging his eyes back up to your own.

“My lips?” you asked, mentally scolding yourself when you hear the breathy whisper you let out.

“They talk about your lips a lot. I'm sure you can imagine.”

You take a second to think about it, reeling at how close he was, how open he was being, how….

How turned on you were hearing these words fall from his mouth. Every sentence from his mouth felt like a confession.

“I don't believe them though,” he said finally.

“What?”

“I don't believe them. I don't believe you're as good as they say you are, as they're fantasising about you being.

Your mouth opened in shock, and the indignity of the accusation had your heart beating out of your chest.

“Say that again,” you demanded, forcing him to meet your eyes again.

“You're not that good, Y/N. I'm sure of it.”

Quickly, you snaked your arm up and around his neck, grabbing him and pulling him down to meet your lips. You'd hoped to take him by surprise, to enter his mouth as he lost himself in the feel of you pressed against him. You'd hoped for the upper hand, until you realized you'd played right into his.

He kissed back immediately, hotly, insistently. His hands roamed your body for any hold of you they could find, settling on your waist and your ass as he pushed you back into the wall you stood in front of.

Frustrated by his attitude, you pushed back, twisting your bodies around until you'd switched positions, nails digging into the tender skin at his collarbone. You wanted to grab him hard enough to draw blood, you wanted to permanently scar him to remind him how good this felt.

He growled into the kiss, and you momentarily lost focus. He swung you around again, hands pushing your shirt up and roughly grabbing your boobs as he bit down on your lower lip.

With a moan, you hiked a leg up around his hips, rolling into him as he pinned you to the wall.

Your final act of defiance was pushing him away with all your strength.

Taken aback, he stumbled once or twice before hitting a dresser behind him. It shook, and with the tremors, the lamp that had been sat on it fell to the floor with a crash.

You stared at him panting as your coworkers ran to you both, opening the door with a loud bang as they assessed the situation.

You kept your eyes on him as Emily scolded you both, putting the two of you on BAU time out.

You quickly left the party after that, apologising to Rossi and tucking your tail firmly between your legs as you retreated.

Desk duty for the next two weeks was exactly the punishment you were expecting from Emily. Honestly it was what you deserved. If you couldn't play nice together, you weren't allowed to play at all.

You sat at your desk, and Spencer sat at his, and you were happy and content to ignore him for as long as physically possible.

Unfortunately, your sudden voluntary celibacy must have been driving you insane, because you couldn't stop picturing his hands on your waist, his hot lips tracing down your neck, your hips pushed so close you could practically feel his cock begging to be inside you.

Imagining.

You were sure your staring was making the man uncomfortable, or at the very least frustrated. You saw the vein in his neck jump out when he noticed you looking at him, but it didn't help too much to dispel the sudden and aggravating attraction you felt towards him.

You wanted to be angrier. Every interaction you entered needing to be angry.

Instead you found yourself somewhat softening based purely on lust, and it was eating you up.

You were not a pushover, and contrary to popular office belief, neither were you desperate or easy. One kiss with a coworker shouldn't have you trailing after him like a forlorn love struck child.

Spencer was definitely avoiding you though.

At first, he justified it to himself as giving you space, an apology of sorts after you'd been so brash before.

Then he came clean to his own conscious and realized he was afraid of another confrontation. Afraid was perhaps the wrong word, eagerly anticipating might be better, though when he tried to explain it to Penelope it didn't come out right at all.

“It's like- Okay, so we're like water and potassium, right?”

“You've lost me lover boy, I do computers not sciency science.”

“Potassium and water are both stable enough on their own. They do their job well, they work nicely.”

“Potassium is in potatoes, ergo they are in French fries. They work superbly.”

“Yes, but when you put potassium in water it has a tendency to catch on fire and explode.”

Penelope still looked at him confused, unsure what kind of avoidance excuse he was crafting in his mind.

“I'm potassium. She's water,” he said again to no avail.

“I need to avoid her so I don't explode.”

“What makes you think you're going to explode? Just talk to her nicely. Avoid topics you think are going to be more… reactive?”

Spencer just solemnly nodded and went back to avoidance.

He realized quickly that the only thing he'd ever talked to you about outside of working hours was your sex life, and that made him feel like both a creep and a pervert and also like he needed to take a long cold shower before quitting his job and moving into a cabin somewhere in the woods. But he wasn't Gideon, so he just suffered through it, leaving rooms you entered and ending work related conversations as quickly as possible, before his mouth could move quicker than his brain.

After a week of being swiftly dodged, you had the chance finally to corner him and you took it.

Watching as Spencer stood to get himself another coffee from the break room, you stood, grabbed your own mug and quietly followed him. You prayed to God that the room would be empty, but were quickly forsaken by the door when you heard two make voices inside.

“So Y/N, huh?” an unfamiliar voice asked, tone polite but playful.

“I've heard some stories about that one,” he chuckled, and even the sound of it set your hair on edge.

“She's a very hard worker,” Spencer simply answered, as you heard him preparing his own coffee.

“She certainly makes working hard,” the man slapped his back, taking a sip of coffee.

“I heard you two have been going at it in the office. Strange foreplay, but she must be into rough stuff like that, isn't that right?”

You'd heard enough men talking about you in your life to be used to it, but a flush of anger still ran through you at the man's insinuations. You almost walked in to embarrass the man when Spencer spoke up.

“I don't like your tone,” he said calmly, and continued quickly when the man tried to joke again. “I have been to prison, you work in white collar, let's see which of us comes out of the kitchen in better shape when you're done speaking.”

“You're fucking insane.”

“You're what, 35? From the looks of it, your marriage is over because you keep playing with your ring uncomfortably, probably because you're cheating, but you feel just guilty enough about it to worry about your kids. They lied by the way, your not the world's no. 1 dad. Even if such metrics could be determined, you'd rank low on the list. Is it their babysitter or their teacher you're sleeping with? Or your wife's sister, perhaps?”

“You're crossing a line, Dr Reid, I don't know how-”

“Well, I'm glad you seem to understand boundaries well enough. There are lines you cross, and ones you respect, and if I hear anything at all unprofessional from you about my coworker again, I will use the last six months of my experiences to make life difficult for you.”

You walked in quickly, hearing the change in Spencer's tone from casual to something more threatening, more desperate. The other man had two fistfuls of Spencer's shirt, though you didn't doubt Spencer would easily be able to floor the man.

“Good afternoon,” you said quickly, just loud enough to be heard above the thick tension filling the room. “I believe you were just leaving, right?”

You looked to the unfamiliar man, and the shame burned his face as you forced him out of the room. As soon as he was gone, you walked over to Spencer, finished making his coffee as he stood silently next to you, eyes refusing to meet yours.

You put the hot drink in his hand, smoothed his shirt out and whispered a quick thank you before retreating back to your desk.

After that, you didn't get closer.

You thought you would. You tried to follow him to the kitchen to actually have the talk you wanted in the days that followed, but you never quite managed it.

You'd just stand together in equitable silence making your coffees. Sometimes you'd talk about the weather. About the case. About things your coworkers did that you both found funny. About shows and books you both liked. About whatever random fact Spencer became enthusiastic about that day, or whatever noir movie he'd seen the previous day.

You didn't become closer, but you grew used to one another.

When the team finally came back, Emily patted herself on the back for a job well done for keeping the two of you grounded. You begrudgingly admitted to yourself that while Spencer lacked tact, you should've been more patient with him when he was asking you to be careful.

You'd heard him similarly chastising a handful of men since, always careful just to listen until he was done, and then clean up afterwards.

Spencer found his anger closer to the surface after prison than it had been before prison. Instead of sympathy or words, his fists always tightened into balls when anything displeased him. He wanted desperately to hit colleagues sometimes, and kept his breathing steady enough to reply with violent words rather than violent actions.

He couldn't blame his experiences in prison for everything, of course. Part of the blame was yours.

As much as he knew potassium and water weren't a safe combination, he found himself wanting to be dropped back into that pool once again. Looking at you was like setting himself on fire, remembering your bodies twinned together was like a little explosion.

He didn't know what brought him to your door, but he knew it was an inevitable reaction, one in a long chain.

“Spencer?” you asked, meeting him at your door, wrapped only in a loose robe and the too small, too flimsy sleep set you'd taken to sleeping in in the summer months.

“Hi,” he said, a little awkwardly, as if gaining the courage to knock on your door was the end of his plan, and he didn't know what the next steps were.

“Hey. Why are you…?” Here. Standing at your door looking so hot after you'd stayed obsessed with him for the last week.

“Why are you holding a bottle of wine?”

“Oh. Oh this. This is for you. To drink. Its for us to drink together, really, I… I wanted to apologise.”

You welcomed him in silently and quickly. Quickly still, you made your way to the kitchen, grabbed two glasses and a bottle opener and made your way back to your sofa where Spencer was standing awkwardly still.

“Please sit down,” you said, craning your neck to look up at him as he gently handed you the bottle. He nodded and sat down next to you, both too close and too far away at once. You'd thought of Spencer as more of a silent apologiser. You'd expected him to just be happy and friendly with you from here on out instead of directly acknowledging anything had happened. You'd seen him bottle up so many emotions, what was a little more shame and sympathy?

Now that he was in front of you, you didn't know what to do.

“So, um. I'm sorry.”

“Yes. Yes, I know.”

The tension in the air was thick as you turned to pour two glasses of wine, waiting for him to continue.

“Thank you,” he said taking the glass you offered him in two hands before glancing at it quickly and then downing it.

“When I got out of prison, I was in a bad shape, and that isn't an excuse, it's just a fact. My brain was in overdrive, and I was on guard around all… all men specifically. The things I heard in prison weren't good, nothing nice as said about women in prison, and when I got out, and I still heard those things…” He stopped and looked away, taking another deep breath.

“I was overstepping. I was being overprotective, and overfamiliar, and jealous-”

“Spencer, stop,” you said, putting your glass down, and smiling at him reassuringly.

“I appreciate your apology, but really it's fine. I came in while you were gone and getting back to schedule when your entire team dynamic is off is hard, so of course you were going to be on edge around me and a little bit jealous of my bond with the team but-”

“The team?” Spencer stammered quickly, cutting you off as you tried to reassure him.

“You were… jealous of my place in the group. I was an outsider who took your place and then you were just a little shorter with me than you would've been if we were introduced in normal circumstances.”

“No, Y/N… I- Did you think this whole time I was jealous of you?”

He said it in his softest voice which almost hurt a little bit more.

“Yes. That's how you were behaving, you were always annoyed and-”

“Jealous. Yes. Not of you, because of you.”

You felt every single place on your body where the material of your clothes were touching your body. The distance between the two of you, already small, felt smaller still, like you were tipping over an edge towards one another when in reality you were as solid as a statue in your seats.

“Y/N, I want you,” Spencer whispered, almost little bit ashamed, a little bit scared of his confession. It was the kind of voice criminals used when confessing, a voice that seemed ashamed of its own actions. “I listened to every single word men said about you, and I wanted to rip their tongues out and feed them back to them so they wouldn't have the chance to taste you again. So they couldn't torture me with their knowledge of you.”

He stood up abruptly and took a step back, placing his wine glass down on the table and pacing a few more steps away.

“Y/N, why did you have to kiss me?” He said, almost defeated. “Why did you have to kiss me and then push me away?”

You stared at him for a second, unsure whether he wanted a real answer or not, his eyes round with desperation, but face turned away slightly, as if he couldn't bare the answer.

“To shut you up,” you whispered. He nodded at your answer and took a deep breath.

“Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the Buonapartes. But I warn you, if you don’t tell me that this means war, if you still try to defend the infamies and horrors perpetrated by that Antichrist-”

“Spencer? What-”

“I really believe he is Antichrist—I will have nothing more to do with you and you are no longer my friend, no longer my ‘faithful slave,’ as you call yourself! But how do you do?”

“Spencer, what are you doing, why are you- are you quoting something at me.

“If you want me to stop, you know an effective solution,” he said, kneeling to the floor and looking up at you, continuing after a moments pause.

Quickly sinking to your knees as well, you grabbed the man by the collar and brought your lips to his.

As quietly desperate Spencer had been moments before, he took your kiss as an act of submission and countered quickly. You'd come to him, you'd listened to his request, and now he wasn't going to let you get the upper hand anymore.

Pulling you into his lap, his to guess pushed into your mouth as he wrapped your legs around him, guiding your cunt over his bulge as he kept up his attack against your tongue.

You fought back, trying to push him down to no luck. He caught your hands quickly, and standing up on his knees with one hand holding your ass in place, pinned you to the floor, arms held above your head in one large, strong, nearly painful grip.

Your body shook at the sudden motion, robe falling open and satin spilling over your body, revealing a single pink, perked up nipple that he eagerly latched onto.

You moaned at the contact of his hot tongue, the cold air hitting you at the exact moment his tongue dipped, as you held in a moan.

You couldn't hold in the second or third. By four you were practically humping up into the air to chase the sensations of his body pressed against your cunt.

“Spencer-” you moaned, cut off by a choke from your own throat as he roughly ripped down the other side of your shirt, harshly tugging at your other nipple with his fingers.

“If I had more time, I'd make you cum just from this. I'll spend hours edging your sore little nipples, just to make you happy,” he whispered, and you moaned as if it were your job, as if you were some cheap whore he was paying to abuse for the night.

“Good girl,” he said, tugging your underwear to the side and rubbing you slowly, coating his digits with your juices before pushing two fingers fully inside you quickly.

“No complaints. Take everything nicely.” he said, changing the angle of his hand as he began fucking you hard with just his hands.

“Fuck, Spencer, fuck- no, no, no, you have to stop! Fuck, I'll-”

He stopped just as instructed quickly, and you grabbed his hands to still his fingers, still inside of you.

“I need… shit I need hard nos's quickly Y/N. Tell me what I can and can't do.”

You gathered your breath enough to speak, but it was breathy, your breath still uneven, your legs still twitching as you lay on your back, cunt exposed to Spencer's greedy eyes. He drew small, gently circles on your clit with his thumb as you recovered.

“W-Why?” You managed to squeak out, cunt twitching at every accidental contact between you both.

“Because I'm either going to slap you to shut you up, or fuck your face, and I do believe in letting the lady decide.”

You couldn't help the scoff that came from your mouth, even though it was followed by another hitched breath and moan as you melted beneath him.

“You wouldn't do that, you're not the type.”

“What? What type am I not?”

“Slapping, spitting, demeaning. You're too… Spencer to do any of that,” you said, slowly raising your hips to fuck his fingers once again, pracitically begging him to keep us all his hard work.

Until he withdraws his hand and pulls you back into his lap, arms locking you in place on either sides of your waist.

“If I was anyone else,” he said slowly and deliberately, “Or if I was me and I possessed the ability to do any of that, would you consent to it?”

His words were a whisper, his fingers wet and hot on your nipples as he pulled, prodded, and played with them quietly.

“Well… you wouldn't-” you moaned at a sudden hard pinch, your hips jolting as he continued abusing your nipples.

“Everyone else has. Why can't I?”

“Spencer-” Another sharp pinch cut you off, forcing your eyes down to where he had a hand gently brushing against your chest, before sharply pinching it again.

“Hmm? What was that?”

“Spencer, p-please-”

You moan again as his other hand hooks around you to slide into your panties.

Pulls you fully onto his lap as he starts playing with your clit while tugging on your nipples, and he's waiting for you to give him permission to fuck you rougher.

“Can I do those things, Y/N?”

“Spencer….”

“Use your words to answer me, not your cunt. I know you're enjoying this.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Thank you,” he said, letting a hand trail up to your neck before kissing you gently on your lips again. The softness didn't last long as he picked up the pace with his other hand again, looming over you like a monster bent to its prey. His hand moved quickly, pushing in and out of you as you writhed on the floor, breaths shallow as he controlled where you went, where you looked, how you moved, and even how you breathed.

“S-Spencer,” you choked out, hands wrapping around his between your thighs, already twitching as your first orgasm hit you, twitching as he didn't slow down, moaning as you felt wetness seeping out of you in waves.

“Good girl. Good girl, you're doing so good for me. You want me to stop?” He asked.

“Yes, I can't- I can't do it anymore- nghhhh.”

“You can. Yes, you can, baby, you can. My little whore,” his voice was soft where his hands were hot, gripping your neck tighter as you focused only on breathing, legs shaking and twitching, squirming to get away even as you wished yourself to stay put.

“Good girl,” he said again, kissing you once again as his hand on your neck eased up. “One more time? One more right, baby?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself not to scream. With an open hand he slapped your face, just hard enough to draw a moan from your lips.

“Use your words, Y/N.”

“Y-Yes, I can do one more,” Ayou moaned, unsure if the stars you were seeing were from the harshness of the slap or the overstimulation. “Please.”

“Good manners,” he said, fingers slipping out of your cunt as you started to grind into him again, as soon as you said yes to another orgasm. “But I don't think I want you to cum yet.”

Lifting your hips, he urged you to turn over, pulling a pillow under your hips to help you lift them, still trembling as you were. A soft blanket was put under your head as he pushed your hips up, your shorts and panties pulled down and not just to the side now as he took all of you in.

“So drippy and wet, just for me…” he mused, probing a finger at your pussy again, laughing when you twitched at the contact.

“They say it tastes better than it feels you know,” he said pulling his phone out of his pocket before snapping a photo of your pussy, dripping and ready for him. “Look at it, what do you think?”

He thrusts the photo in your face as he pulled his dick out, letting it rub against the folds of your pussy as you moaned into defeat.

“Y/N, come on, what do you think? Do you taste better, or feel better?”

He propped up the phone in front of you and opened the camera, clicking record quickly as he slapped your ass.

“Answer me,” he insisted, cock head rubbing furiously against your clit now, fingers clamped down on a nipple, nails digging into your waist.

“Should I fuck you or eat that little cunt?”

“I- I don't know, Spencer, I don't know please-”

“Yes, you do. What should I do?”

You cried out in pleasure as you came again, the pressure on your clit too much too soon.

“F-fuck me,” you said, exhausted but still excited.

“Good girl,” he said again, withdrawing his touch before laying down under you and bringing your cunt to his mouth.

You tried to hold yourself up, but you couldn't as he licked and sucked and nudged at your clit with his nose. He'd ignored you, prolonged your torture, and decided he needed to decide for himself.

“Spencer…” you moaned, but it was weak. He chuckled into your cunt and you clamped your thighs around his face as far as you could, but he didn't relent.

Running a finger through your pussy to pick up your cum, he pushed a single digit into your asshole as you moaned slowly and weakly, face completely squished into the floor.

He pushed in and out slowly at first stretching your ass as you began riding his face, fucking against his to gue as you got closer and closer to release. The sooner you came now, the sooner he would release you.

But Spencer stilled your hips, and slowed his own movements to a few kisses here and there, letting one finger become two as he fucked your asshole. Eventually, all contact stopped with your cunt as you hungrily fucked his fingers, the stretch uncomfortable but good.

“Good girl, you like that? You like being my little anal slut? Good girl.”

The words hit hard, as you came on his face. He pulled his hands away and pushed you onto your back again, rising up to your fsve again.

“Open,” he said, and you obeyed letting him spit your own cum back into your mouth. His tongue connected with your own as you tasted yourself, hot and heavy on his lips.

As you kissed, he pushed your legs up, knees spread and with a single, hard, rough push, filled you with his cock.

You screamed in pleasure as he cooed into your ear. “I'm sorry baby, I couldn't help it. Your cunt looked too delicious, it was begging for my dick.”

Another slow pull out, and again he pushed in hard, stealing the breath from your lungs without even needing a hand on your neck.

Grabbing his phone, Spencer angled it towards where you were hungrily taking him in.

“This cunt is mine now, okay?”

You nodded, and he slapped you again.

“Words, Y/N, I need words. Tell me whose cunt this is.”

“Its yours, Spencer, all yours,” you moaned as he picked up his pace, lifting to his knees so he could drop it all into you.

“Shit, say more. Tell me what I can do to this pussy?”

“Abuse my pussy, Spencer. Stretch me out, slap me, keep me full, fuck I don't care, breed me,” you moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck as you lifted your chest up to his, thighs wrapped around his waist, ankles locked together behind him.

“You want me to cum in you? Want me to claim you so everyone can see?” He asked, nails digging into your thighs almost hard enough to draw blood.

“Yes!”

“Good…. fucking… slut,” he saif, and with a final thrust, he emptied his balls inside you.

You didn't move for a long time, catching your breath on the floor, a pile of limbs coated in sprsys of wetness and cum.

You started rubbing your cunt again first, as he joined in again with shallow thrusts, wincing and seething as he overstimulated himself.

You came quietly that last time and waited for him to pull out and clean you up.

He didn't. Keeping himself sheathed inside you, he awkwardly lifted the two of you to the couch and pulled your head down into his chest, letting you cockwarm him as your cum soaked into the material of the couch.

“Sleep for an hour or two. You'll wake up when it's time to go again.”

When you woke, it wasn't to Spencer starting again, but instead the ring of your phone. You tried to reach for it, to silence whatever alarm had decided to disturb you at that point, but Spencer was faster.

“Hello?” he said down the line, forgetting where he was for a second before you nestled into the crook of his neck again, fingers gently tracing his collarbone.

“Spencer?” Emily asked, confused and voice tired.

“Emily?” He asked. “We have a case?” He sat you up with him crasling you in his arms as you fully woke, your muscles objecting at this sudden movement. His cock stayed buried within you as you reoriented yourself.

“Uh, yeah. We've got an hour to get to the office and debrief, then were flying out- Spencer. This is Spencer?” she asked again, voice a muddle with confusion, tone rising by the second.

“Yes, Spencer. I'll be there.”

“And Y/N?” Emily asked. “I didn't dial the wrong number, Spencer, I have you all on speed dial. You're with Y/N?”

You sat bolt upright and took the phone from Spencer quickly, the shrill ringing of Emily's voice echoing down the line.

“We’ll be there,” you practically shouted. “We just drank together and-” you pulled the hair out of your face as you felt Spencer go rigid inside you again.

“A-and that's it. See you in an hour.”

Speedily you hung up, grabbed Spencer and pressed your lips to his again, pushing him down into the couch.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #dom spencer reid #sub reader

1K notes · View notes

just-some-random-blogger · 5 months ago

Text

Tormented Spirit | 13

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

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

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i have realized i dont link the polls to the fics. here's what won last time!! bask in your decisions <3 once again, the high valyrian might be wrong so roll with it and leave comments/reblogs ok!!! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

Caraxes was never fond of being holed up in the pit, and yet, as King's Landing became apparent on the horizon, the dragon found himself beating his wings faster than normal. When the stench of the pit the creature's nostrils, he knew then, he was home.

Perhaps it was still because he was in his armor, but for Daemon, it was not until Viserys looked upon him, first warily then happily, and embraced him that he felt the realness of it all.

As the entirety of court watched the brothers' affectionate exchange, most thought the display touching... then there were the Hightowers. The only reason Alicent was here in the throne room to greet him was because she was queen and it was expected of her. And Otto did not want to look upon the dastardly prince's face, but he had to see what state he was in for the sake of his eldest daughter.

"My brother has returned!" the king announces, enticing cheers from the onlookers. Lord Hand promptly leaves after this, intent on going to you.

Otto asks the first servant he sees where you are, and is immediately directed to the garden. He is unsurprised to see that not one, but two of your wards are there, evidently on high alert. The moment they spot him, they freeze to greet him in unison, "Lord Hand."

"Does she know?"

The twins share a quick glance, and again, in unison, "everyone knows."

Otto releases a sigh. You know of your husband's return and yet you chose to remain in the gardens. He was about to ask the twins to step aside, but then he hears the sound of giggles. He peers past the two, finding you laughing with your nephew in your arms. He rubs his forehead and clenches his jaw, "what did she say?"

Erryk and Arryk stare at Otto's distressed face. The former speaks, " 'he did not wish that I see him off, I should not see to his return'. "

Otto sighs deeply and wipes his face, "Seven save us."

Arryk almost pities your father for how worried he looked... but almost is not enough; he'll never forget the tears you shed because of him. No one in your family seemed to grant you grace.

"As it is," Lord Hightower raises his hands, "the prince is in good spirits, and I am sure he will not so soon look for her as he would the cups of wine he wishes to share with the king. Do not impose upon the prince if he does come around," Otto raises a finger, "but do not let his entitlement get into his head."

The Cargll twins nod in sync, "my lord."

With that, Otto walks off.

Once he is gone, Erryk turns to his brother, "I would sooner fall on my sword than have her husband ruin the happiness she's so delicately built for herself."

Arryk gives him a look, "do not forget yourself."

"I do not," he snaps, "but perhaps you do."

Arryk does not take kindly to his accusatory tone.

"I cannot forget even if I wanted," Erryk looks off, "it my shift when she miscarried," he grits his teeth, "mine, when she tried to fling herself off the eastern tower."

"And it was mine when she locked herself in her bath," Arryk quips, "and when she threw herself at Caraxes, only to have the beast take her under his wing. Do not feel self-righteous in your suffering, for it is not yours," he points, "it's hers."

Erryk clenches his jaw so hard it's a wonder his teeth do not break. He spare his brother a glance.

Arryk turns forward and sighs deeply before repeating, "do not forget yourself."

"Do not forget yourself," he counters.

All three of them are wrong, Arryk, Erryk, and Otto. Otto was wrong to think that Daemon would not look for you before anything else. The prince notices your absence the very moment he notices your sister. He asks Viserys, "where is my wife?"

Viserys looks over to Alicent, who clutches her belly and finally approaches, "ah... she's probably with her boy."

Daemon pulls his head back.

"My prince," Alicent smiles half-heartedly to her good-brother, "I trust your travels home were smooth."

He completely ignores her, "her boy?"

Viserys thinks nothing of Daemon's words as he takes his wife's hand, "where is your sister, dearest?"

Dearest? Daemon's expression curls.

Alicent turns to the king, rubbing her swollen belly, "last I saw her, she was in the gardens with Aegon."

Aegon? Daemon's eyes narrow.

"Oh!" Viserys smiles, turning to Daemon, "you should go to the gardens and fetch them then. Your wife has brought forth new life to the Keep. I encouraged her to write about it to you, but she did not think you would find care to learn it through letters."

Daemon's face falls. New life? You brought forth new life? Without a word, he sprints off to the gardens.

Viserys is momentarily taken aback by this. Alicent is agitated by it, especially because she catches on to the ambiguity of his words. She squeezes his arm, "do you think this is a good idea?"

"What?" he pulls his head back, "that he see his wife and nephew?"

"He might not take kindly to Aegon. You called him her boy."

Viserys chuckles, "but he is. She loves him so dearly."

"I know, but you made it sound like my sister had a babe."

The king pulls his head back and chuckles. When he realizes Alicent's worry was apparent on her features, he thinks about what he said and shakes his head, "I was talking about the flowers she planted in the garden."

"I know," Alicent repeats, "but does Daemon?"

"Don't be silly, Alicent," Viserys squeezes her hand, "Daemon is not that slow-witted. Besides, does your sister not write to him everyday?"

She clenches her jaw, "yes."

"So," he shrugs, "why would he be so sorely mistaken?"

Except he was; Viserys is also wrong. And as Daemon makes his way toward the gardens, it becomes apparent why Arryk and Erryk too are wrong. Both of them immediately forget themselves upon seeing the approaching prince. They block his path instinctively.

Daemon stops in his tracks, "out of the way."

Erryk stares blankly at him. Arryk shifts on his leg, "allow me a moment to announce your presence to the princess."

"Why would I need to be announced? She is my wife."

"She is with Prince Aegon," Arryk raises a hand and steps forward, "it is in her best interest that I ensure you are welcome while he is present."

Daemon is flabbergasted. He clenches his fists, "why wouldn't I be welcome around my own flesh and blood?!"

"My lady has only recen-"

"Do you deny it!?" Daemon snaps.

They do not reply.

"Do you deny the boy is my flesh and blood?"

The twins know the prince is riled up. If they persist, a fight will surely break out. Though they cared little for the consequences of quarrelling with the newly returned prince, they did care greatly for your peace of mind. This was why Erryk replied, "no, ser."

"Then get out of my fucking way," he snaps.

Arryk and Erryk stare at him. Eventually, they reluctantly step aside.

Daemon, in all his rage and pettiness, makes sure to knock into them as he passes. It was good he was still in his own armor, or else the collision against their steel shoulder pads would have hurt.

"Right, shall we go back now?"

The sound of your voice makes him stop in his tracks. How was it that he was so angry to be denied going to you just now, yet he now can't seem to move from his spot.

"No, my love, we do not pick roses so carelessly."

"Flower!"

Daemon's breath hitches at the sound of the boy's voice.

"You want the rose?" your voice is soft but audible, "you want to pick the rose for mummy?"

Mummy? Daemon slowly inches foward.

"Mummy?" the small voice repeats.

Daemon witnesses the moment the babe reaches for your curls. You brown hair is completely undone, spilling all the way down to your waist. A gentle breeze makes your tresses and skirt flow. His lips part at the beauty of you.

You chuckle when Aegon tries to eat your hair and pull it away before he manages to, "silly boy. Shall we ask Ser Arryk to pick the flower for us?"

"Flower for mummy!" he bounces in your arms.

You bounce him back, making him giggle as you repeat, "flower for mummy!" You flip your hair back, "Ser Arryk, could you-"

Your mouth goes dry when you see Daemon staring back at you. His hair is short and his eyes shine. You nearly choke on your breath, feeling your knees buckle as he slowly walks over. Your hold on Aegon tightens as he reaches out.

You step back. It takes him off-guard. It feels just like when an arrow was shot to his chest. Daemon moves towards the rose bush, picking out a flower, carefully removing its thorns.

"Flower!" Aegon coos and reaches out.

Daemon turns to him, handing the blushing bloom, "rūklon, ñuha tresy." Flower, my son.

You freeze. You freeze because you understand him.

Aegon gives a gummy smile; he shows all his teeth but he only has two at the bottom. He happily groans and grins at you when he has the flower in hand, "FLAWOW!"

You turn to the boy. His shining face instantly shatters the tension and unease you feel. You huff and brush his silver hair back. You freeze again when Daemon's hand comes upon yours.

You turn to him with wide eyes. His eyes are fixed on Aegon, "Rūklon, Aegon. Kostagon vestrā rūklon syt kepa?" Flower, Aegon. Can you say flower for father?

Daemon takes Aegon's chin, making him look to him, "rūklon, Aegon. Rūk-lon."

Your initially shocked expression melts into molten anger.

Aegon looks at his uncle, "rūklon."

Daemon is surprised but immediately pleased. He lets out a rich laugh as he turns to you, "he is good."

"Daor kirimvose naejot ao." you snap, pulling Aegon away from him. No thanks to you.

He pulls his chin back. He watches in shock as you turn to move the prince away. You glare as you do so, eyes beady and pink. His forehead wrinkles.

"Eman gūrēntan Valyrio Eglie sīr bona kostan bodmagho zirȳla. Emā daorun naejot jiōragon zirȳla." I have learned High Valyrian so that I can teach him. You have nothing to offer him.

Your frosty words make him pull his head back again. "daorun?" Nothing.

"Kessa," you nod, "daorun." Yes. Nothing.

His eye twitches as he shakes his head in disbelief, "iksan se valītsos kepa." I am the boy's father.

The severity of your laugher is haunting. His eyes widen and his skin pricks with goosebumps. You throw your head back, feeling a tear run down your face. You sigh and shake your head as you turn back to him, "you are completely devoid of both heart and mind, aren't you?"

Daemon is too stunned to do anything but stare.

You turn. Daemon finally sees Aegon playing with the flower. You catch his attention by brushing his hair back, "my love," you start, "qilōni iksis aōha kepa?" who is your father?

Aegon looks up at you with little interest.

"Kepa, Aegon, kepa."

"Kepa?" he repeats.

"Kessa, skoros gaomas kepa gaomagon?" Yes, what does father do?

Aegon raises his rose, "dārys!"

King? Daemon's face falls.

You smile and bounce the child in your arms, "rōvēgrior!"

He tenses at the sound of the word. Rōvēgrior. Excellent. There was a time where you could not say that word at all. He taught that to you. And yet as you turn to him, your face destitute of any happiness that you had offered Aegon, it felt at though it was a memory he just conjured up.

"You are no more related to the boy than I am," you quip, "she is my sister's first born."

"Viserys said you brought for new life in the Keep," he mutters, as if he was afraid he heard wrong.

Your jaw feathers, but as the wind blows, you catch sight of the flowers, "he meant the roses," you turn to the said blooms. You laugh, bitterness pulling out a mocking smile from you, "how could you expect a son from me?"

Daemon shifts in his spot, ready to argue, but he quickly finds he had nothing to say to that. He thinks of all the seed he's spilled on your skin. He thinks of his persistence in leaving your womb empty. He thinks of the discipline he employed to ensure he would never finish in you. He clenches his jaw.

You turn to him; tears begin to fall from your eyes. Aegon notices and reaches for your cheeks; his flower falls to the floor, forgotten.

You and Daemon stare at each other. You feel your breath begin to shorten the longer you do.

Your expression falls when you hear Aegon begin to fuss. You immediately steel yourself away as you turn to your nephew; the boy looks like he is on the brink of tears. You sniffle and shush him, "no, no, no-"

It's too late. He begins to cry.

You push past Daemon with little regard. Your wards turn to you upon hearing Aegon's cries. You say nothing to them, your full attention on Aegon as you rock him in your arms, "the fishes swim in seas of blue, and dragons breath fire so red..."

Arryk and Erryk follow after you.

Daemon is left alone in the middle of the garden.

He has no word to describe what he felt in that moment. He was stunned, hurt, saddened, torn. He was angry. How could you do this to him? You had begged him not to go, and now that he's returned, you treat him like... like you hated him.

He laughs dryly under his breath. Was this a game? Was this your way of getting back at him? He laughs louder as he walks off. He could hate you back better.

Daemon joins the luncheon the king throws in honor of his return. He does not waste his time and makes a show of himself.

It is easy for him to fall back into his old ways once he is in his princely garbs. He openly and unabashedly flirts with all the ladies he can set his eyes upon and eagerly annoys and offers backhanded compliments to all the lords present.

It gets so bad that Viserys has to intervene. Even Alicent and Rhaenyra, who had not spoken to each other since the king's wedding, find each other's company just to momentarily agree that Daemon is being completely callous and tactless.

The king pulls him by the shoulder and Daemon manages to snag a cup of wine as he is pried away from the offensive conversation he instigated.

"I understand that you are overjoyed to be home," Viserys leads him off, "but please, control yourself."

Daemon pouts, facetious, "kessa, kepa." Yes, father.

He bristles, "iksan issare dokimare. Emagon mirri iotāptenon syt aōha ābrazȳrys." I'm being serious. Have some respect for your wife.

Daemon immediately shoves Visersys's hand off him at the mention of you. He snaps, "gaomagon daor ȳdragon naejot nyke hen bona aspo!" Do not speak to me of that bitch!

The queen and princess, along with the rest of the people present, turn to the brothers upon hearing raised voices.

"Uncle!" Rhaenyra calls him out, offended by the conversation only she and they could understand.

Daemon turns to her, chucking his drink to the side before storming off.

Viserys rolls his eyes and sigh, "Daemon."

Alicent walks over to her husband.

"Daemon!" the king snaps.

"Leave it to me, father," Rhaenyra says, following after her uncle.

Daemon is back at the gardens. He snaps over his shoulder, "fuck off!"

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes, "what has gotten you so sour?"

"HER!" Daemon whips back around, eyes red and glassy, "THAT HIGHTOWER BITCH!"

Rhaenyra recoils and pulls her head back in shock. She carefully mutters, "you can't possibly mean Alicent, can you?"

"Her and the whole lot!" Daemon throws a hand out, "they can all drop dead for all I care."

The princess watches him pace around. Her brows knit, "I would say I am comforted that you share in my offence over my father and Alicent's union, but I cannot say I do. I know you have long hated Otto, and Gwayne, as he's bested you in tourneys—"

Daemon steps forward, "have you followed me to further spur-"

"But what has -"

"Don't you fucking speak her name to me!"

Rhaenyra is taken aback by this. The two stare at each other, and as Daemon heaves. Her face hardens, "what could you possibly be angry about?"

"She did not even greet me!" Daemon points to nowhere.

Rhaenyra laughs. It goes dry when she realizes he was being serious. Her face contorts, "Daemon."

He looks away.

Her lips curl, "she just got better"

His brows furrow.

"You do know that?" she tilts her head, "right?"

Have you been sick?

"Seven hells," Rhaenyra's face falls, "you don't know."

"..."

"She writes to you everyday," she motions vaguely, "I have not been in King's Landing for many moons, but even I know this."

"War makes time for-"

"Then why are you angry?!"

"..."

Rhaenyra raises her brows at him. Daemon remains unable to respond. She rolls her eyes, "welcome home, uncle."

Daemon is left alone in the garden for a second time. He goes back to his personal quarters.

You see him from across the hall just before he enters but he does not see you. Before you can take another step, Arryk and Erryk each take hold of your arms.

"Release me."

"Why should you be the one to go to him?" Arryk asks.

You turn to him, "you know why."

"If he does not want to go to you, do not waste your grace on him," Arryk says, just as you pull away to turn to them.

"He does nothing to understand you," Erryk adds, "and he will misunderstand you so long as it suits himself."

Your eyes immediately water, "why are you turning against me?"

"We are-"

"You think I want to live like this?"

Erryk speaks your name, "he is not ready to face you."

"It's been three years!" you chuckle dryly.

"Let him come to you," Arryk adds.

You scratch your eyes and shake your head, "the bodies of my babes remain unburied, wrapped and sealed in a crypt, because I insist that they be given but one respect due to them in the tradition of their house, and you would deny me-" your voice breaks. Tears run down your cheeks as you try to compose yourself. You clear your throat, "you would deny my son and daughter this?"

The twins do not speak.

You wipe your face roughly with your hands, "well? What say you?!"

Arryk lowers his head. Erryk cannot look at you, but he cannot keep his peace either, which is why he says, "I say they would not want their mother to suffer at the hand of their father."

"Damn you, Erryk!" you shove him back.

Erryk looks at you in shock.

"You dare presume to know my children when I-" gasp, "did not-" gasp, "even-" gasp.

Your guards reach out for you when you begin to topple. They keep you upright and you find yourself too stubborn to faint. You wrangle out of their grasp and lean on your knees as you struggle to catch your breath.

When you straighten up, you look and see Erryk's teary eyes. You feel terrible. It nearly makes you lose your breath again. You groan and sink your face into your hands, "I can never win, can I?"

"Princess," Erryk mutters, "forgive me, I-"

"Enough," you raise a hand to him, "I will not have my children be the cause of conflict."

Erryk nods and keeps his head bowed. Arryk turns to him before doing the same.

You sigh, belly churning with sadness and guilt, "come," you take their hands, "my twins waited this long for their father. They can wait a little longer."

Daemon, though in his adamant refusal to read your letters, kept every single one of them, even the ones he trampled on in his anger. Three sacks of letters, there were three sacks that contained all of the letters you sent him, one for every year he was gone. He empties them out on his bed. He walks to his trunk of clothing and grabs the only one he ever read and rereads it.

He walks back to his bed and sits a the floor. He flattens out the parchment beside him, then haphazardly reaches for another one.

𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔡𝔞𝔶. ℑ 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔫𝔬 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰. ℑ 𝔫𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔶. 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔦𝔱 𝔰𝔬. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 ��𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔠𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢.

Daemon flattens the parchment, stacks it on the previous one, and grabs another letter.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰, 𝔶𝔢𝔱 ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔭 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔏𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔏𝔞𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔙𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔢 𝔰𝔬. ℌ𝔬𝔴 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔶 ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔢, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔦𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℌ𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔣𝔱, 𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔞𝔡𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔰. 𝔇𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔪; ℑ 𝔯𝔢𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝔣𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔡. ℑ 𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔖𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔶, 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

He knits his brows, flattens the parchment, stacks it on the previous one, and grabs another letter.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔏𝔢𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔳𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔯𝔤𝔲𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔥𝔦𝔪. ℌ𝔢 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔫𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔬𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫 𝔬𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰. ℌ𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔡𝔩𝔶 𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡. ℑ 𝔢𝔫𝔳𝔶 𝔥𝔦𝔪. ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡. 𝔓𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔭𝔩𝔶.

His face falls at your sentiment. You think this? He wonders for a moment what he and Laenor argued over, but he cannot recall anything for the life of him. The next letter he opens makes him sit up straight.

ℑ'𝔪 𝔡𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔓𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢.

This letter drives him mad, because it is the only one like it. He rips open more than a dozen letters, yet all of them are like all the rest. He reads some more about Laenor, some of Gwayne and Alicent, some of Otto, some of Arryk and Erryk, some of Viserys, but most of them are about the mundane things you busy yourself with. Mundane things you do to distract yourself from him.

He does not know what to make of it.

Then, he unfolds a piece of paper with hastily written script.

𝔖𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫, 𝔦𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱ℯ𝓇 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇ℯ 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝓊𝓈𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉ℴ 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹, 𝓁ℯ𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒷ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈. ℐ 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓃ℴ𝓉 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓃 𝒶𝒷ℴ𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒷ℯ𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈ℯ ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝒻𝓇𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝓉ℴ, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒟𝒶ℯ𝓂ℴ𝓃, ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹. ℐ 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝒶𝓇ℯ𝓁𝓎 𝓈ℯℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅𝒶𝓅ℯ𝓇 𝒶𝓈 ℐ 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℐ 𝒻ℯ𝒶𝓇 ℐ 𝓂𝒾ℊ𝒽𝓉 𝓃ℯℯ𝒹 𝓉ℴ 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃ℊℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽𝓂ℯ𝓃𝓉 𝒶ℊ𝒶𝒾𝓃. 𝒞ℴ𝓂ℯ 𝒽ℴ𝓂ℯ. ℐ 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓁ℴ𝓇ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊, ℐ 𝒷ℯ𝓈ℯℯ𝒸𝒽 𝓎ℴ𝓊— 𝒸ℴ𝓂ℯ 𝒽ℴ𝓂ℯ.

"I was with child?" Daemon repeats to himself.

He frantically grabs a bunch of letters and skims through them, desperate to learn more of this. He goes through 5, 10, 20, 50, 100 letters, but none of them ever mention such a thing ever again.

At some point, the letters become singular.

𝔐𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔞𝔱. ℑ 𝔭𝔥𝔶𝔰𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔱𝔬 𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔬𝔯 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫. ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔞 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔭𝔰𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔞 𝔭𝔲𝔩𝔰𝔢. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥. 𝔖𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔱. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔪𝔟 𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢

They all speak of your apparently imminent demise.

𝔐𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔄𝔩𝔩 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔢, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔦𝔱. 𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔰𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢

It goes on for far too long.

𝔐𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔫𝔲𝔪𝔟. ℑ 𝔫𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔞 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡. ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔱 𝔫𝔬 𝔴𝔞��𝔪𝔱𝔥 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢. 𝔓𝔢𝔯𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔰 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔡𝔦𝔢 𝔟𝔶 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢. ℑ𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢

Daemon's stomach rolls. He cannot bare to read any more, and yet his guilt urges him to drink up this pain, as if it would make it go away, as if it could make up for what he had done.

The moon begins to fade as the sun begins to rise. He reads hundreds of letters that speak nothing but your pain and desire for death. His face is wet with tears and bitterness linger in his mouth. He no longer is on the floor. He lies on his bed, surround by his wife's misery.

He wails. He can do nothing else as he takes in your words.

Then, for the final time, the tone changes.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬 𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔶 𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯'𝔰 𝔰𝔬𝔫. ℌ𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔴 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔣𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰. ℌ𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔰 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪, 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪. ℌ𝔦𝔰 𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢. ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔞 𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔫𝔬𝔦𝔰𝔢. 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

... mine own son or daughter. Daemon wipes his face.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔄𝔢𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔢𝔯. ℑ 𝔡𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔬, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔶 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔰𝔲𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔴𝔫. ℑ𝔣 ℑ 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡, ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔰𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔧𝔬𝔶. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔶𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔱𝔬𝔬. 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

He knits his brows and sits up. All the remaining letters are about Aegon.

𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔗𝔬𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔰 𝔞 𝔶𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔄𝔢𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫. ℌ𝔢 𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔡𝔞𝔶. ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔦𝔪, 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔣𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔶 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔬𝔬. 𝔙𝔦𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔰 𝔥𝔦𝔪𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰; ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔥𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔰𝔦𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔞𝔯 𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 ℜ𝔥𝔞𝔢𝔫𝔶𝔯𝔞. ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔣𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔣 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯; 𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔩𝔩, 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔡𝔞𝔶 ℑ 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔤𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔪. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫. 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

You speak of nothing else save him. You do not mention your affliction, you do not mention your everyday life, you speak only of your affections for Aegon.

The sun rises.

Daemon did not realize he fell asleep until a voice of a servant wakes him. It did not feel like he slept at all; he is still exhausted.

He groans as he sits up. He sees a servant girl staring at the thousand pages scattered across the room. He comes to a stand and begins pick up the papers, "do not mind this. Prepare me a bath. I will break fast with my wife."

The servant watches the prince clean up after himself. She curtsies and does what is instructed.

Daemon had stacked the letters by date as he read them and now tiptoed around the room, gathering the papers in chronological order. He grabs his trunk and files the papers there. By the time he is finished, his trunk is stuffed and his bath water is barely warm.

Neither did the bath wake him fully, nor did it refresh him. What's worse was the scent of his soap broke forth dam of memories for it smelled like you. Resentment for his own folly began to choke him with tears.

His face scarcely resembled him. His angular features were softened with woe, namely his eyes. He cared little for the puffiness rendered him by his tears as he made his way over to your room.

Arryk and Erryk instantly spot him, both of them raising their brows and curling their lips at the look of the prince.

"Is my wife awake?" Daemon asks once he is before them, voice telling of how he had clearly been crying.

Neither of them find sympathy, only disgust and irritation. Erryk particularly despises how readily he refers to you as his wife; he was just a stranger, an evil-doer you had tragically married, "do you see that she's awake?"

Arryk's jaw tenses at his brother's response. He slowly turns to him with knit brows.

Daemon is numb to their hostility, too wrapped up in his self-loathing, "it is nearly noon. Doesn't she wake earlier than this?"

"Yes," Erryk instantly responds, "she did three years ago."

The prince stills. He now recognizes the twins' acrimony. He takes in a breath; he has no desire to start a fight, not when he's freshly just read about your affections for them and how they cared for you in his absence. Daemon wipes his face then raises a hand, "alright. Let me pass. I will wait for her to rouse."

The twins' shoulders hit each other as they block the prince's passage. Arryk tilts his head, "rest does not come easy to her. It would be best if she is not disturbed."

"I will not disturb her," Daemon quips, "I said I would wait for her to rouse."

Erryk raises a brow and motions, "of course, my prince. Feel free to wait for her out here with us."

Daemon stiffens. He grinds his teeth as he debates the truth of the sentiment. He stares at them.

They stare back.

He shakes his head and storms off.

Erryk scoffs in disgust, clutching his scabbard. Arryk scowls at the prince then his brother, "you dunce. This is what we want, for him to go to her."

"Yes," Erryk eyes Daemon hotly, willing his body be burned by his glare, "yet watch how easily he retreats. He wants only to go to her for his own sake, not because he wants to see her."

"Erryk," Arryk places a hand on his arm, "you overstep."

Erryk turns to his brother, "I step my foot exactly where it should be." He looks forward, "if he really wants to see her, he would come back."

And he was right. Daemon really wanted to see you. Why then would he waste his time and patience in quarrelling with your wards when he could simply take the hidden entrance to your chambers? He knew the passages well, after all; this was his home.

Daemon's senses are flooded as he emerges from the darkness.

Your fragrance is nearly tangible to him. He walks towards your vanity and takes a vial of your body oil. He inhales deeply, feeling warmth cascade through his body. He smears a bit on his philtrum. He missed this.

He sets the vial down and brushes his fingers over your jewelry. He takes the robe hung on your vanity chair and smells it. His eyes begin to water. He hangs it back in its place and finally, finally, he turns to you, throat uncomfortably tight.

Your brown hair is fanned out behind you. Your skins glows with invitation to be caressed.

He kneels beside you the way you did before your beloved statue of the Mother. He scratches his eyes when his tears begin to fog his vision. He strokes the back of his hand down your cheek. He fixes the blanket around you.

He watches you intently. He so badly wants to bury his face into the crook of your neck, to feel you, to smell you, to kiss you, but even he knew it was selfish; even he could admit he was undeserving.

The memory of the very first time he had ever beheld your sleeping form plays in his mind as you act it out in real life. Your lips and forehead curl; you stir slightly in your spot. He sighs when the corner of your closed eyes begin to water.

Daemon wipes your tears away, speaking the same words he spoke you then, "amīvindigon sesīr isse ēdrugon." Tormented even in sleep. He strokes your cheek and hair, "mundagon riña." Miserable girl.

He cannot help himself any longer. He shifts on his knees and moves in to press a kiss upon your temple. He leans his forehead on you, closing his eyes to savor your presence.

All is still.

All is solemn.

That is, until you begin to fuss.

You mutter incoherences and begin to moan.

He squeezes your shoulder and kisses you again, "gīda ilagon, ñuha jorrāelagon." Calm down, my love.

You moan out in response.

He pulls his head back with and opens his eyes. You moan again and it becomes clear that you were moaning a name.

"Alyrie."

A line forms between his brows.

"Alaeric."

He feels his chest tighten. What?

You moan as your arms reach out, "stay."

Daemon pulls back, eyes burning with tears. You repeat those names and a pit forms in his stomach, deep and dark. You whine as you embrace your pillow. He watches you press your lips into your pillow. He hears you mutter, "love you."

His throat constricts and he clenches his jaw. He does not like this dream.

You speak those names again and he pulls back, deciding he's had enough. He repeats it, mutters under his breath what he thinks he heard you say, "Arryk and Erryk." After all, how would he know the names Alyrie and Alaeric when you couldn't bare to even think of them, let alone mention them?

And just as he did moments ago, he wastes no time.

Daemon storms away, grabbing a pitcher of water on his way. He is upon them the moment he throws the doors open.

Before either brother can react, one has a pitcher bashed to the back of his head, and the other is kicked from behind. Shrieks pierce the air; your incoming servants witness the brutal onslaught.

All that was not enough to wake you, nothing would.

You startle awake, terrified out of your mind. Not only did you wake from a melancholic slumber, you wake to the sound of screams and battery.

Daemon would have managed to knock out the brothers had they not worn helmets. Still, the blow to the back of Arryk's head left him in a daze and Erryk, who was kicked from behind and shot off to the parallel wall, was no better.

The prince focuses on the closer twin who managed to face him. He kicks Arryk on the chest, knocking him down. He quickly climbs upon his felled body and removes his helmet before splitting his knuckles on his face. He manages to land two punches before he is throttled to the ground by the other Cargyll.

Erryk did not mean to merely subdue him, he was eager to retaliate. He crushes his knee into the prince's back, squeezing the air out of him before flipping him over, intent on breaking his nose at the very least.

Erryk underestimated the raging sense of betrayal that fuels his opponent.

Daemon manages to grab Erryk's neck and squeezes it with all his might. The latter begins to choke but he thrusts his shin-guard into the prince's side, giving him little choice but to scream and loosen his hold due to the the pain.

Erryk finds the upper hand in no time. He pries Daemon's hands off him and launches a right hook. The prince shields his head, still, the knight manages to land some nasty punches.

"ERRYK!" Arryk shouts, prying his brother off. He drags his brother away, and in that moment, you emerge from your room, running barefoot in nothing but your shift.

You notice the twins first, for they were closer to your door. You release a horrified sound at the sight of them. They look at you with hard faces as you walk over, "what is the meaning of this?!"

Erryk shrugs his brother off and points an accusing finger, "the prince attacked us from behind!"

You turn to where he points.

Blood trickles down Daemon's face as he struggles to get on his knees. His lips are busted, nose ruptured, eye swollen. Your face falls at the sight of him. He looks horrendous, even worse than what Gwayne looked like when he fell from his horse during the tourney. A dozen horrible memories begin to flood you. You clutch your chest as you feel it tighten.

Erryk continues, "we would not let him disturb your sleep, but he managed to sneak into your bedroom-"

"What?" you turn to him.

"- then he attacked Arryk with a pitcher," Erryk points to the pitcher on the floor that laid beside a puddle of water, "then he kicked me on the back."

You turn to Arryk, finding his hair, neck, and armor wet. You whimper and wipe your face. You snap at Daemon, "what is wrong with you?!"

You watch your husband come to his feet.

He clutches his side and grunts out your name.

Goosebumps shroud you.

Daemon shudders as he walks over, "gaomagon ao jorrāelagon nyke?" Do you love me?

You instinctively step back where the Cargylls step forward. Your face curls in mortification. Your lips wobble and you shake your head in disbelief. You repeat, "what the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Gaomagon..." Daemon lowers his head, "ao ēdrurys yno?" Do you dream of me?

You knit your brows tightly. You grit your teeth and clench you fists. You take a step towards him.

He lifts his gaze when you do.

A shiver runs down your spine as he speaks your name.

"Īlē mirre hen ēdrurys nyke mi—" You were alll of the dreams I ev-

You slap him before he can finish his words.

The blood from Daemon's nose sputters to the wall. The action hurts more than the act. He does not look back at you.

You are trembling, neither from your affliction or fear, but out of pure, blinding wrath. You do not tear your gaze from Daemon though you do not speak to him, "the both of you go to the maester's ward."

Arryk and Erryk nod and regard you, "princess."

"Drag him with you," you blurt, turning to your open door, "I will be there shortly after dressing."

#daemon fanfic #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #daemon fluff #daemon targaryen fluff #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #daemon angst #daemon targaryen angst #daemon #daemon targeryan #house of the dragon

685 notes · View notes

northopalshore · 5 months ago

Text

Ascendant persona chart

Guide & observations

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

The ASC persona chart is the extended chart of your natal ascendant. It shows you the bigger picture of your personality & how you are perceived by others (usually in a non professional sense, but rather personally). In a way, I like to think of the ascendant persona chart as how we really show up in other people's eyes, compared to our natal chart. The ASC PC conveys how people see your true self while the MC PC tells you your "career" persona.

୨୧ Please do not repost without consent ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠`⁠��ฅ🔉

How to find Ascendant persona chart? Masterlist

Notable houses

Any planet in the 1st house directly translates into your features as well. Aside from the "image you have".

Any planet in the 3rd house shows what you talk (or sing) most about. It's also what people will talk or say most about you.

Any planet in your 5th house represents your love life & creativity as well as how people perceive it (mostly how they see you act around it)

Any planet in the 7th house tells you about your relationships & how it may be perceived.

10th : see the importance of the MC in this post.

Any planet in the 12th house can point to troubling aspects about you as well as hidden attributes that aren't as talked about or at least what people think are. It also enhances talents (especially if there is Jupiter or Neptune here) or attributes you may naturally have.

What each planet here represents

♀ Sun

The placement of your sun here, indicates where you put your focus into or the core of your personality or internal values. What people feel strongly when they are next to you, or the way you yourself choose to emphasize in your life.

♀ Moon

The moon is how you express yourself emotionally around people, it may be a little different from how you would express them when you're alone (or in hindsight/reality). This is how you express them when you're around people, whether close to you or while you're out in public ( again, not "professionally" most of the time).

♀ Mercury

Mercury here is how you communicate with people around you (versus in your natal chart, this is how you think internally, this is how it's seen externally i.e executed).

♀ Venus

Venus here tells you what people find most attractive about you, or their assumptions about your love life, how your affection is perceived from an outside perspective.

♀ Mars

Mars tells you what people envy you for, what people judge you for, where you show your passionate side (be it through work, creativity etc).

♀ Jupiter

Tells you what people find you knowledgeable or what you excel at. Your talents, your gifts, your "mastery" & skill set. What people adore most about you.

♀ Saturn

Where people see you show your dedication, your focus, time & energy on. Similar to Jupiter where people can see that you put a lot of importance & show a lot of professionalism/skill in this area.

♀ Neptune

What is amplified or glossed over about you. People's assumptions about you, in some cases can explain what inspires others or leave them at a trance. There can be themes of obsession & occult as well in some cases.

♀ Chiron

What may be trouble to you or what people see you have issues with. Could be insecurities, betrayals or even a hidden talent in some cases.

♀ Uranus

Your creativity, what's unexpected, what makes you stand out or is unique to you. Events out of your control.

♀ Pluto

Pluto here tells you how people would describe your intensity, your obsessions, your true inner drive and passions as well as the heavy energy that you possess or attract. The house it's in tells you where they see this effect take place. It also tells you what about you that attracts the most jealousy in others.

♀ North Node

The north node here tells you what people think you're talented at or what you were 'born to do'. What people notice most about you.

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

The MC's significance

The Midheaven in the ascendant persona chart represents what people notice the most about you i.e your personal impact or key traits that people tend to associate you with. Planets within them will give you more content into what that could be. It's also what people look up to you about. The context depends on the sign & house.

For example;

Ariana Grande' s MC is in Virgo at °27 (Gemini) degree. She's most adored & praised for her work as a singer. (Her voice, her songs, her work)

Megan Fox has MC in Gemini (°26 Taurus). She also has Lilith in Cancer here at °5 (Leo). She is most known for her beauty & acting roles that landed her the role of the "bombshell" or sex symbol in movies. Acting requires her to take on different personas and multitask which aligns with Gemini. Taurus also governs our voices. She has made it very clear vocally in regards to how she feels about being so objectified in the industry. She is authentic & confident & many women adore that about her.

Michael Jackson has MC in Scorpio (°26 Taurus). He also has Moon (°1 Aries) & Jupiter (°1 Aries) in Sagittarius here. This man, is a jack of all trades. Jupiter in the 10th house here makes you seem like this highly influential mastermind. That is especially true for MJ as he has a very extensive influence in the music & business world. He's seen as incredibly talented, fun, funky and innovative. Since both planets are in Aries degrees he is seen as a new start/ the creator/the source of new heights. He isn't the King of Pop for no reason. People admire him for his large impact, stunning stage presence & most of all genuine nature. He was always a kid at heart with moon here.

Prince (don't think I forgot about him) has MC in Virgo (°25 Aries). He also has North Node (°22 Capricorn) & Moon (°23 Aquarius) in Libra here. Don't think MJ is the only man in shiny clothes that carried a genuine & impactful legacy in the music industry (even though all I talk about is MJ) . Prince is as iconic as they come. While MJ has stunning outfits , Prince has always had a boundary pushing streak to him. He is largely remembered for embracing androgynous fashion, often taking a more eclectic and avant-garde approach while MJ gave what you would expect from such a star. Prince had a motive beyond himself as a singer. His expressions were straight from the soul. Nothing he did was influenced by others i.e he lived and breathed for his own cause.

Taylor Swift has MC in Taurus (°23 Aquarius), with mars in retrograde (°8 Scorpio) in Gemini. The most noticeable thing about her is her genius lyricism, and resilience towards gossip and hate being spread about her. Literally shaking it off & and evolving. She's very good at marketing & changing her image according to her "Eras". Being able to go with the flow, stumble down waterfalls and come out so successful is something that not many people can achieve.

Brigitte Bardot has MC in Leo (°15 Gemini). She also has Neptune (°14 Taurus) in Virgo. She was most noticeable as a bombshell, a natural beauty queen, an advocate and a fashion icon, an actress, and always had this flirty & playful image attached to her. Neptune here, adds enchantment, illusions & in her case a sultry innocence. It's easy to get lost looking at her. It also causes people to gloss over her actual traits in favor of what assumptions or romanticism they have surrounding her.

My MC is in Aquarius (°2 Taurus). I have Neptune (°15 Gemini) & Groom (°26 Taurus) in Aquarius & Venus (°1 Aries) in pisces here in the 10th house. People may think I have love on the brain, people will notice my art & creative projects as well as my connection with my spouse. People may find themselves romanticizing my love life with my husband. Perhaps they'll think it's unbelievable to some degree. & Well.. we'll see.

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

Miscellaneous Observations

Jungkook has Pluto in Sagittarius (°6 Virgo) in the first house

he's seen as this sex symbol that has a lot of influence over his work. People also think that he is extremely hardworking and tough on his appearance. It doesn't help that Chiron is in the 1st house as well. He appears much more intense to the public. That could explain his aesthetics, hah!

Beyoncé has a Stellium in her 10th house.

Groom (°12 pisces), Saturn (°13 Aries), Sun (°20 Scorpio), Jupiter (°20 Scorpio), Pluto (°24 pisces) all Libra & Mercury retrograde (°0) in Scorpio.

I think you can see why everyone praises & worships Beyoncé in this industry? She is a powerful, beautiful, talented and hard working woman. A representation of the beauty & strength in women. There is a reason she is the queen & the artist of the decade. As much controversy as there is, I personally believe they only come from her hubby lol but caught up to her by association. She said it herself that her husband is everything to her. Like.. that's her man. On that note, people see how she borderline worships Jay-Z with how much praise & credit she gave him. Her husband is a large part of her public perception, which might not be the greatest thing in hindsight.

Gypsy Rose Blanchard has Capricorn MC (°2 Taurus).

She also has Lilith (°17 Leo), Juno (°17 Leo) , North node (°15 Gemini), Neptune (°14 Taurus), & Uranus (° 9 Sagittarius) in Capricorn in her 10th house.

People have very different opinions about her. Many pity her & empathize with her due to the abuse she endured from her mother, but at the same time many criticize her for conducting such a horrible act in retaliation. She relationships have been rather iconic lol "that d is fire" will forever be engraved in the back of my head. She's seen fun & confident and many people are happy for her accepting what has happened and maturing from that even when parts of the public are only interested in the "headline worthy" parts of her life. Some people still aren't sure whether she was telling the truth or in some way orchestrated the whole thing herself.

˚₊‧꒰ა paid readings available ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

Thank you for reading, hope this helps ♡

@northopalshore

976 notes · View notes

becomingthatgirl111 · 2 years ago

Text

how to use social media and your phone in a positive way

if you want to improve or change an aspect of your life it takes your commitment to be consistent and make real changes. to start, take a piece of paper and answer these questions that will help you have a greater focus and be aware of what you want to change.

how much time are you dedicating to social media?

is it taking up your time?

what would you like to do with that time?

how much time would you like to spend on social media?

what content do you follow?

do you follow content that you consider harmful to you?

instead, what would you like to follow more? (for example, accounts that inspire you or help you to improve, can be about cooking or some hobby you have)

what app do you use most often?

how long do you use your phone?

would you like to use it less?

what habits/hobbies would you like to spend more time on?

now that you are more aware of this issue and how it may be affecting your life i'll share some tips to help you make your social media more secure and use it more positively.

stop following those accounts that are not giving you anything positive.

start following profiles of people who really inspire you or teach you something, for example about the topics you are interested in or the kind of person you would like to become and take them as an example.

set a time limit on the use of these applications, i.e. about 15 minutes a day for example. you can do this from the app itself or from "settings" on your phone.

follow positive content that resonates with you such as people sharing affirmations, success stories or even motivational speeches.

don't use your phone first thing in the morning or last thing at night.

download productivity apps on your phone, such as daylio, notion, habit, etc. with which you can log your days, have a record of your habits or even use them as to-do lists, there are many more of these types.

"i am" is an app that sends you positive affirmations every hour as a notification, it will help you to be centered.

if you do any activity leave your phone somewhere else or even if you are on the bus don't be stuck on your phone, allow yourself to enjoy the present moment.

use the internet to search for information on topics that interest you, either on youtube, blogs, podcasts…

block people or words that you know are not bringing you anything positive.

spend more time cultivating yourself instead of focusing on a world that doesn't exist in social media.

other things to consider.

what we see on social media doesn't have to be real, even if it is, don't compare yourself with those people. on the internet, everyone will want to give their best face and that doesn't mean it's reality, it shouldn't affect you either so forget about it and focus on your own path.

the real world is outside and not through a screen. live human experiences and try to do what makes you happiest every day.

on social media and internet we can find a lot of useful information, let that be the main reason why you use it, and stop wasting your time scrolling on tik tok.

my personal opinion.

the use of social media is not negative, but we have to control what we are consuming and how it is affecting our lives and the time we are spending.

it seems normal to be on the phone all day but this is not beneficial, there are more things to do in the real world and many people say they don't have time to do things when they are really wasting it with their phones.

you can look for information on things that are useful to you but leave your phone aside and start applying them to your life.

leaving all the social media aside has made me feel much better and even more liberated. you don't really need to see what's going on on the internet, because it's not important, there are more important things to live for out there, even more interesting people to meet.

create your world from the experiences you would like to live, the people you would like to share, the person you want to become, and focus on that, which is much more important. in the end, if you don't think about it, it doesn't exist.

2K notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 days ago

Text

A Bit of Spice 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A superhero crashes through your window but leaves more than broken glass in his stead. (older!reader)

Characters: Sam Wilson

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The crash makes you jump. The noise that comes out of you is just as surprising. You feel the impact of whatever it is with the shatter of glass. Now, of all times?

You're still dripping from the steamy shower you longed for after a long day. You quickly snatch your robe from the back of the door and pull it on over the towel. You clasp it tightly, the belt long lost, and rush out into the front room of your condo. The glass strews over the rug like an abstract pattern woven into the fabric. You wiggle your toes, cautious of cutting yourself as you stare at the ruin of your window.

An arm pops up on the other side of the window and the hand curls to a fist. It punches away the glass still stuck like teeth in the frame. It's a large hand. A man. He grips the window and pulls himself up with a groan. His silhouette is more than you expect. A wing on the left side spreading wide across the expanse. You cough in confusion. Is it a man or a bird?

You inch along the wall and flick the light switch. The evening is lit by the overhead fixture. You can see him clearer now. And you recognise him.

"Uh," he smacks his chest and the single wing retracts. "Sorry about that. Having some operational issues."

You frown. You're not sure your building insurance covers this type of incident.

"Captain," you utter.

"Um, yep, you can call me that," he snorts. "Still getting used to it. Sam works too."

He sucks his teeth as he examines the ruin, stepping back to look down at his feet. You think you're in shock because you can't decide how to feel about the calamity.

"Oh, shit." He bends then reappears above the frame. He holds up the crushed mess of your bird feeder. You rush forward and he tuts, holding up a palm to stop you. "Miss, the glass."

You back up before you can step onto the field of shards. Miss... You shouldn't care about it in that moment but most people would go with 'ma'am'.

He swings himself over the frame and lands inside. He crosses the rug in his heavy boots as he cradles what's left of the feeder. He shows his teeth as he looks at you.

"Er, yeah, so I'll fix that." He offers it to you. "The window too. Real sorry. Really. I, uh, really tried to hit the wall but I was kind of... spiralling."

You take the broken panels and examine it. You move aside the roof and find the camera cracked.

"Oh? Extra security?" He wonders.

"I watch the birds," you say. "On my phone."

"Huh. Interesting."

You look at him, meeting his dark eyes. Your cheek dimples. His brows rise and he gives another sheepish smile.

"Well, can't say it's the first time I ruined a lady's night." He scoffs. His gaze falls down as you feel the breeze along your front.

You follow his eye line and spin away quickly. The towel is low on your cleavage as it clings beneath your open robe. You quickly flee into the kitchen and dump the feeder in the bin. You shut your robe and shiver. You're certain he's seen better. Probably prefers younger. Get out of your head.

"You don't have to trouble yourself. I'm sure you have better things to deal with." You come back out. "I can talk to the building."

"Oh, yeah. Those things go fast. Got the paperwork, then waiting on service. I mean... I could get you fixed up end of day tomorrow and you don't have to lift a finger," he says.

"I appreciate it but shouldn't shouldn't you be... saving people."

"Think this counts," he puts his hands on his hips and looks at your floor. "Got a broom."

"I can handle it--"

"You keep those feet away," he waves you off. "Come on."

You let out a sigh silently. You're completely upended. You don't have company often. At all? And now you've been interrupted from your nightly routine by the most famous man in New York.

You resign and go to the small closet across from the kitchen. You slide the door open and take out the broom and pan. You bring it to him in one hand, the other keeping shut your robe. He meets you at the edge of the rug.

"Nice place despite all the glass," he snickers as he takes them from you.

"Yeah, thanks," you back up and cross your arms.

"Got a name? I didn't just stumble in on some top secret lair?" He kids.

You offer your name. "Still processing all this."

He chuckles.

"Yeah, I'm sure you weren't exactly expecting me with your night cream." He says as he sets the pan pm the window frame. He turns and starts sweeping up the glass. "Husband be home soon? Should probably let him know not to taze me."

"Hm. Just me." You assure him.

"Right. Sorry. These things are a bit awkward. I tend to try to ease the tension with small talk."

"You do this a lot?"

"Not exactly but I deal with all sorts." He says.

You watch him. The scene is absurd. He's decked out in full regalia. Stars and stripes and he's sweeping up. You take a long blink, half expecting to wake up from a dream.

"Right," you nod.

"So..." he grabs the dustpan and bends to gather up the glass. "Got a box or something?"

You're grateful for an excuse to do anything but gawk. You go to find an empty box from the recycling. You come back and he shovels in the first scoop. You stand at the edge of the carpet patiently as he gets it all.

"Just a few safe holds," he turns and digs around in his belt. He takes something else. Something so small you're not sure what it is. He sticks it to the window frame. As he steps back, a pulsing blue field forms across the breadth of the missing panes. "It'll keep the wind out. And the birds... even me."

"Thanks," you say as you hold the box against your stomach.

"How's tomorrow? I can get a new pane popped right in." He gestures across the space.

"Tomorrow?"

"Sure. I like to wrap up loose ends."

Something about his demeanour is so smooth it's calming. You wish you had that amount of zen. Do the kids call it chill?

"If it works for you. I'll just be here prepping."

"Prepping?" he looks at you. "Some sort of athlete?"

You snort. "Come on. Don't you know how to read people, doing what you do?"

"Shot put?" he suggests.

You roll your eyes. "I'm a personal chef. Got a private dinner. Client is demanding so."

"Even better," he grins. "I'll stay out of your way."

"Alright. That works."

"You sound tired, I should get out of your hair," he says.

"Probably back to helping people who really need it," you comment.

"You don't need me? Damn," he snaps his fingers then approaches the balcony door. "Well..."

"You can use the front door," you nod behind you.

"Nah, gotta mess with the wings," he says as he flips back the lock. "I'll bring you a coffee to make up for the lost sleep."

He turns and swings the door open. He snaps it shut behind him as he steps out on the balcony. He steps over the railing, hanging on as he stands on the small lip on the other side. He beats his chest with his other hand and one wing shoots out. He does it again. The other one comes half out and he tips over. He plummets forward and you rush forward, stopping short as you feel the waves rolling off the barrier across the window frame. He swoops back up, wings fully open and spins. He waves at you then zooms off into the dark sky.

You wouldn't have the heart for all that. You'll stick to sharp knives and fussy eaters.

💥

Sam arrives just after ten. You still feel like Captain is more suitable. He no longer sports his gear but offers the proffered coffee.

"Vanilla swirl latte?" He hands it over as you let him in. "I don't know. The barista said something vanilla."

"Thanks," you accept it with a tight smile. Sugary, you're sure. He has nothing else, not even a tool box.

"I just need to make a few measurements," he reaches in his pocket and takes out a measuring tape. He stops on the doormat. "Oh, shoes off?"

"If you don't mind," you say.

"Sure," he bends to untie his sneakers; they're shinier than the beat up loafers stacked on the rack behind him.

"Alright, well, let me know if you need anything. I'll just be working," you slowly retreat into the kitchen. He doesn't stop you.

You put the coffee down and go to the fridge. You take out the eggs and the butter to soften. You'll work on the dessert afternoon. You can start with the smaller pieces. Bruschetta, pineapple salsa, all the odds and ends.

You hear him moving around as you set to your task. It's simple work. For you, at least. Familiar.

You put the sauces and garnishes all in containers and set them away. You start on the pastry for the mini quiches, then the filling. You get them in to bake as Sam's voice splices the silence.

"Yeah, 1721," he recites your condo number. "Try not to break them, dummy."

You make a face. That's not too polite but his tone is playful. Must be a friend.

The door opens and you glance through the doorway. Sam keeps it open and you hear something coming down the hall. You go to see what's going on as a dark-haired man enters with a sheet of glass. He carries it like it's nothing.

"Um..." you watch Bucky Barnes go by. Rather, Representative Barnes. You step forward and watch him enter the front room. "Thanks, er..."

"Don't worry, we got this," Sam assures. "Buck, isn't that right?"

"Is it we or me?" The other man chirps back. "I had to reschedule a hearing for this."

"You can thank me later," Sam retorts.

You back up. Better to do as he says. Leave them to it.

"Smelling good, chef," Sam raps on the door frame as he passes.

"Thanks." You take out the quiche as the timer beeps. You put them on the cooling rack and shove the next batch in.

The noise of their work takes over. You don't mind it. It keeps your mind from wandering. Salads. Macaroni, beet, and the leafy kind too.

You check the time. You grab a small plate and slide a few quiche onto it. You always make extra just in case. One pane is in place as you enter the front room.

"Sausage and mushroom," you set the plate on the coffee table, moved aside with your chairs and sofa. "If you're interested."

"I was secretly hoping for some," Sam smirks at you. "Looks and smells delicious."

"Thanks. You don't gotta," Bucky says as he wipes his hands on his jeans. You're not used to seeing him out of his suit and tie. You've seen a few press conferences. "Especially after this bozo broke your window."

"Everyone's gotta eat," you shrug. "Need anything to drink?"

"All good but appreciated," Sam assures as he takes a quiche. He bites into it and his eyes roll back. He hums. "Buck, don't be stubborn." He shields his mouth as he talks. "Get one before I eat them all."

"Enjoy," you back up. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything."

You walk away, wondering if maybe that was too much. They're just doing the decent thing. You're some motherly old lady trying to feed them like children. You're pretty sure Bucky has some decades on you, even if he doesn't show it. You sigh and wash your hands before you get back to work.

"...too nice for you..." Bucky's timbre carries through the door and is met with Sam's laughter.

You grab your phone and look for your music app. You don't want to be nosy. And they don't mean you. You're just another good deed on their roster.

#sam wilson #dark sam wilson #dark!sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #falcon #captain america #avengers #mcu #marvel #fic #dark fic #dark!fic

60 notes · View notes

mossybubblegum · 4 months ago

Text

CONNIE IS NOT A GANGSTER. HE DOESN’T SLING DRUGS. HE DOES NOT SMOKE WEED. HE JUST GOT STUCK IN THE 2020 FRAT BOY PANDEMIC AND NOBODY CARES ENOUGH ABOUT HIM TO CHANGE THAT :’(

Anyway, I’m bored so my first post is going to be an in depth discussion of what Connie, college au, modern au, or otherwise would be like using actual things from the series. I’m so sick of him being mischaracterized.

Connie is NOT an overconfident, party animal douchebag. Everyone looked at him in season 1 as the class clown and comedian but didn’t acknowledge his growth as a character. When he’s 19 (the final season), he’s openly very depressed and upset about the things he’s witnessed.

Connie is NOT some crazy Mexican who slings drugs. Aside from the fact that that hc is literally just a racial stereotype, bc that’s a whoooole other issue, the only reason people say he is this is bc of a slap on titan.

Connie is NOT slinging drugs, smoking pot, etc. His ENTIRE character is based in the fact that he just wants to make his mother, family, and village proud.

Connie does NOT own a fucking hellcat for crying out loud HE GREW UP POOR. HE IS NOT AFFORDING A HELLCAT. He can barely afford college.

Connie IS a dork. He was established throughout the series to yes, cope a lot with humour and make jokes.

Connie IS dimwitted. He has expressed his insecurities over this fact many times, and grapples with his inability to grow as a soldier.

That being said, Connie is NOT an idiot. He has shown that while he struggles with adaptability and thinking on the fly, he is still a great soldier. He’s able to make decisions when he must, and bases them on his own morals, though they sometimes get muddled in his mind. People forget that he graduated top 10 in the cadets AND was the first person Eren went to for ODM help (in fact, Connie is canonically one of the best on ODM gear)

With this in mind, it’s pretty clear that Connie is just sorta a loser. He probably struggles to make friends and especially has a hard time keeping them (the constant betrayal he feels from others in the series; he saw Reiner as an older brother, Eren as a friend, etc.). He’s also probably pretty emotionally constipated and insecure. So guys PLEASE stop making him out to be some crazy rich dope dealer ��

Here are some of my personal Headcannons to counteract the ludicrous things I see ab him.

Connie collects Pokemon cards and is way too into them

Connie majors in computer science with the hopes of one day making his own video game that gets popular enough that he can support his family and put his siblings through college

He grew up on a farm

He’s one of Armin’s best friends, but they don’t ever go out together, so nobody really realizes how close they are

Connie got bullied for his hair, and that’s why he buzzed it initially.

He got rejected by both of the girls he confessed to in hs

He has freckles

He had a pet duck growing up

He works two jobs and a third summer job to get through college

One of the jobs is on campus, the other is at GameStop, and his summer job is hauling rafts for white water rafting groups

He’s close with Niccolo

He and Sasha met at freshman orientation before college and immediately clicked

He’s got deep rooted fears that one day everyone he’s met in college will decide to leave him or forget about him

#aot #connie springer #attack on titan #aot au #attack on titan au #aot college au

105 notes · View notes

meowmeow518 · 2 months ago

Text

I think about the rowdy ruff boys and their relationship to their would be parents often.

I don’t think they even give mojo jojo a chance to be a father figure, but it is not something he ever pursued anyways. Interestingly enough I find that in canon it seems mojo jojo would be more caring to the powerpuff girls than to the boys. I think this is more or less because he has known them a bit longer, and despite his evil tendencies and nature, internally he knows they are good and somewhat worth protecting.

Let me also make it clear that I could never see mojo jojo ever being a support to either the boys or the girls. He doesn’t care all that much for humans, he prefers his own kind. I only think it would be slightly more likely he would feel love for the girls rather than the boys.

Him on the other hand delights in the boys but not out of love. It’s like they are his own version of the powerpuff girls that he has full permission to torment. He is not in the business of taking care of them and if he does in any sense it is very clear that he has expectations that the boys will do what he says, carry out his plans, etc. it’s very transactional and I imagine brick in particular wants no part in it.

The boys are never sought out by anyone who has actually good intentions. The would be “good” people of Townsville consider them to be enemies and better off dead. At times it is felt positively by the boys who enjoy their freedom to do what they want. But when things get hard or confusing, when they have problems or feel sad or angry. They have no one to turn to. No one but each other and even then, in a world and environment where you have to be constantly on guard, I doubt it leaves much room for processing things with each other.

Got that almost toxic masculinity vibe going. As a result, and something I’ve likely said before, Brick has serious trust issues with authority figures, particularly males. I imagine he subconsciously would feel almost more comfortable with women. He has experience with father figures but not maternal figures. Think like a kid who had a shitty abusive dad but their mom was either dead or gone. This may result in a subconscious desire to seek out comfort from maternal figures.

I’m not saying brick is out here looking for a mom, I think he is still distrusting of any would-be allies. But I know all the boys see the girls and how good they are and how much they care about people at their own detriment. Even if the boys view it as being pathetic, they know internally that the girls are good. It helps paint a picture of what women can be like.

Brick knows this in particular because he is the leader who decides who is trustworthy and is the first person a person interacts with when trying to talk to the boys.

Brick mostly, and his brothers are always going to feel safer and more trusting of girls than he would boys.

Well, possibly aside from Butch who might have some different issues. He gets the mega blender with extra knives because I love him to much.

Focusing on Brick, because he’s my little snookums. I imagine he would between the ages of 7-10 be subconsciously looking for a parent. I think the responsibility of being a leader to his brothers would weigh on him. He would see other kids asking for and receiving comfort and validation. Brick would be seeking it out, being in the lookout for someone to trust and rely on but know that is something he will probably never have and it breaks his heart.

Especially tasty if brick does try to trust someone, maybe some homeless person or a criminal. This could either end in the criminal or homeless person dying due to their own decisions, or some kind of injustice.

Or they could end up betraying the boys, trying to turn them in for reward money, or for a softer sentencing for themselves.

Either way the death or betrayal are viewed the same to Brick. He is abandoned by someone who was supposed to help and love him. (They weren’t really supposed to but it’s an internal kid thing)

Get him really fucked up by it. And perhaps Him taunts him about it later, giving him dreams of some faceless woman or parental figure who loves him, like dangling food in front of a starving dog.

#powerpuff girls #rowdyruff boys #rowdyruff brick #rrb butch #rrb boomer #ppg #rrb #Blossick #butchercup #boomubbles

56 notes · View notes

riptides-n-roses · 4 months ago

Note

Maybe a fluff one shot idea (sorry if it’s stupid) but Roman and the reader are dating, reader was previously got out of a relationship so she has trust issues. Roman is just very gentle with her heart and is constantly reassuring her.

Omg this idea is so precious! Absolutely <3 just a very loving roman warms my heart

patient - roman reigns

⛧ pair: roman reigns x reader

⛧ tags: @88changemymind @reigns-prophecy @cyberdejos2 (huge thank you to anon)

⛧ warnings: slight angst (flashback from ex-bf), cheating, a very compassionate roman

⛧ this one is a little tricky since I've never written angst like this before so i hope it's okay for a first time kind of thing; also! huge thank you to everyone for showing their support on my works it truly means a lot - i have 0 clue if this will be short or not but I hope you have fun with this one!

⛧ after your previous relationship, you found roman as your current partner, but you're having a hard time trusting him.

⛧ word count: 1K

Flashback...

You were coming home to greet your boyfriend, Liam. You thought everything was going great for the two of you. You both had good jobs, always made each other laugh, matching outfits, etc. It was like no one could rip you away from each other...

or so you thought...

The door to your open was surprisingly unlocked as you attempted to use your keys to get in. You were confused as you stepped in, wondering why your boyfriend would just leave the door opened like that. What you found next made you freeze

There was a pair of underwear that didn't belong to you, Victoria's Secret, lace trimmed, dark red and dark red heels. They weren't yours either.

He couldn't have...he wouldn't have...

Did he...?

Your mind was filling with thoughts you couldn't shake off as you slowly reached the closed door of your bedroom. Afraid to open it, you gently pressed your ear against it, the sounds of faint giggling and moaning violating your ears.

You immediately opened the door to Liam in bed with another woman, the two of them naked in your shared bed together - the both of them staring back at you in horror. You dropped everything and froze in pure shock.

"B-Babe...I can exp-" He started, pushing the woman aside.

"Save it." You interrupted, tears overflowing in your eyes. "Just pack up everything you own here and get out of my house. It's over."

Liam froze up, his head down like a dog as him and her quickly put their clothes back on...

"Um sweetie, are my heels still in there?" She tried to smugly ask you only for you to stare her coldly in the face.

"I-I...I apologize!" She quickly laughed, scared of what you would say to her. As you stared to the floor as you watched Liam packing up all of his belongings, your tears dropped to the floor. You couldn't believe after all of those years he would do something like that to you.

When Liam left along with the other girl, You calmly sat down on your couch, immediately bawling in your hands.

You experienced your first heartbreak...

.•°☆.⋆｡⋆☆•˚｡⋆｡˚•☆˚｡⋆.☆•°.⋆

You met your partner Roman on a random night, he couldn't keep his dark eyes off of you. You were just going to buy new bedding since you threw your old ones in the trash - you refused to sleep in the same bedding as your ex cheated on you with.

As you were in line to purchase, you noticed a man, Samoan with a tribal tattoo sleeve on his right arm, approaching you. You were stunned how handsome he looked.

"Excuse me..." the man started "I couldn't help but notice how beautiful you looked. I hope that isn't weird to say."

You smiled, haven't heard a compliment like that in a long time.

"Thank you...I could say the same thing about you."

The man laughed, never receiving a compliment like that before.

"My name's Roman. What's yours?"

"I'm Y/N...it's really nice to meet you."

"Y/N...that's a pretty name. I was wondering if you'd like to go out sometime. It's totally fine if not"

"I'd like that actually. Here's my number"

The both of you exchanged numbers, never leaving eye contact. It was a love in first sight kind of deal and you were happy it was with Roman.

.•°☆.⋆｡⋆☆•˚｡⋆｡˚•☆˚｡⋆.☆•°.⋆

End of flashback

You and Roman officially started dating after months of successful dates. It was some of the happiest days you experienced in your life. But, you still had a few slight thoughts regarding the last time you started a relationship like this.

What if this was a joke? What if you were going to have the same thing happen to you again...

Does he really love you?

You froze up, as you and Roman were getting ready for your second anniversary date. You looked at yourself in the mirror, your dress shimmering against the light in your room, your makeup and hair all done up and your jewelery glowing. You have second thoughts. You loved Roman dearly and he made you the happiest girl in the world. But why couldn't you get the negative thoughts out of your head?

You felt a pair of arms gently pulling you back, you could feel Roman's presence as he hugged you tightly.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N..." he started, "It's been two years since I met you. And it was the best decision I made."

You smiled, seeing your reflection in the mirror as you watched Roman hug you warmly. You felt safe in his arms, he always made sure you were loved.

"I know you're still hurt from your previous relationship...I know how hurt you were."

"Yeah...I just never understood why I wasn't good enough for him. I thought we were perfect but I guess it wasn't."

"He was foolish for treating you so wrong..." You felt his arms let go of you as you turned around to face him. Your eyes widened as you looked up at your partner, dressed up formally. He looked so ethereal as he smiled at you.

"What's wrong, babygirl? Like what you see?" He laughed.

"I just...how'd I get so lucky? You make me feel like I'm on cloud nine."

Roman smiled, gently holding your hands.

"I ask myself that everyday. The way you smile, laugh, and your hobbies. Everything about you makes me wonder how'd I get lucky."

You both laughed, you realized he truly loved you for you. You knew he wouldn't do anything to hurt you. He always kept his word - ever since the two of you got together, he'd always kept his eyes on you.

"God you're breathtaking baby. You're making me forget that we have a reservation."

You laughed as he went in to give you a kiss, pulling you in towards his body as he hugged you warmly, exactly like the first time when you both made it official.

"I love you so much, Y/N. I'm so lucky to have you."

#roman reigns fluff #fluff #fluff and angst #angst with a happy ending #roman reigns #roman reigns imagine #wwe fanfiction #wwe #wwe imagine #oneshot #wwe oneshot #wwe one shot #wwe fic #monday night raw #wwe smackdown #roman reigns one shot

71 notes · View notes

irradiatedpiratebooty · 1 year ago

Text

fallout tv show ghoul discussion

the only thing i dislike about the show is their retcon of ghoul lore- everything else is a banger i had a great time but the lore changing the ghouls baffles me, as it retcons and changes literally every other game in the franchise. its funny, im not mad about it, im ok with the show having different lore than the games. i just hope they make it clear that its an AU kind of thing haha mainly because if someone gets introduced to the series from the show, and they go off to play the games, theyre going to be confused. so, what are the changes? well-

in fo3, theres an entire side mission involving the underworld, where the ghouls there really hammer in that the rumors like; that they regen and so can only be killed by headshots, that they eat people, that they can go feral at any point, and that they're zombies.

all of this is just propaganda spread by the brotherhood and bigots to justify murder and genocide.

none of it is true. they bleed and die like anyone else. but in the show, these things are not rumors, and they are completely true. cooper constantly has to take this drug from a vial that prevents him from going feral. theres no explanation on where this medicine came from, who makes it, whats its made out of, etc.

so, while in the game, turning feral is unknown, seemingly at random (theories range from genetics, lack of socialization, insanity, radiation exposure, and time) and ghouls dont just- randomly turn feral. but in the show its enevitable and therefore the hate towards them is justified. the only things that are special about them is that they; age much, much slower than non-ghouls, that they can heal faster using radiation. (to my knowlege, they still need to be patched up. they do not just regen. they can still get shot to death, or maimed. they just heal a little faster.) and they need more potent drugs, as it doesnt affect them as strongly (mentioned in fo3 by some ghouls in a subway) the changes made in the show heavily changes the stories of a few characters and places in the entire series.

for fo3: changes the entire underworld. these ghouls cannot leave this place. if they do, they're shot and killed immediately by the brotherhood nearby. they discuss how they're discriminated against. in the fo3 dlc, point lookout, the ghoul there presumably hasnt left the manor he lives in for well over 200 years. he wouldnt have access to these vials. tenpenny tower. their ban on ghouls would be justified then. the entire narrative involving the water purifier and putting the serum in that will kill off all mutants. with the changes the show makes, the decision whether or not you do this has no weight and eradicating mutants becomes justified. for fallout new vegas: dean domino. he hasn't left the Sierra Madre in over 200 years. he wouldnt have access to these vials either and would have probably gone feral a long time ago. for fallout 4: diamond city. diamond city's ban on ghouls wouldnt be an issue anymore. since in the show, ghouls cant die aside from headshots, the ghouls being thrown out into the wastes to the elements wouldn't really be as heavy of an issue.

(i cannot comment for fallout 1 and 2, as i am not as knowledgable about the ghouls in those two games. feel free to add on in reblogs if you know more about them than i do)

i love the show, i think its awesome. im basically consuming it now with the idea that its canon -within its own story and lore- and is separate from the game itself. cooper is a badass and the changes work for the show itself, not so much the entire series. which is fine in my eyes.

#fallout tv series #fallout tv show #fallout tv show spoilers #fallout #fallout tv show discussion #fallout amazon #ghoul discussion #feel free to add/critique more of what i said #i like discussing this its neat #theories are awesome too #dont be a dickass about it being “bad” this is just a discussion for fun #its not that serious

271 notes · View notes

certifiedsexed · 6 months ago

Note

I have this problem where I am hyper aware of the smell of specifically my mom’s sweat/discharge. It isn’t like this for anyone else, but to me I can always smell it whenever I am around my mom or if she has been sitting somewhere for a while and it really reeks to me, like to an unbearable level. Nobody else in the house has complained about this and I’m made out to be this hateful spiteful bully for always telling her she smells and that she leaves smells wherever she sits. Idk what to do anymore, help??? Why am I the only one who can seemingly smell it? Why is it only hers that I smell??

So, this is really far out of my wheelhouse and has nothing to do with my field of study but I still feel compelled to answer this.

My first thought here is that constantly telling someone that you think they stink, especially in front of other people, is very rude and hurtful. Even if it's true.

I think the way you're going about this, "always" telling her you think she stinks and around other people is actually very unkind and that's probably why people think you're trying to be a bully. That can be very humiliating and awful to constantly hear.

Even if someone stinks, that's often not something to comment on. It can be okay if you're with a family member, or someone you're close to, and you think they'd want to know, so you pull them aside and tell them maybe they need some deodorant.

Even sometimes, especially during puberty, a sibling might not smell the greatest. That doesn't mean you can tell them that all the time. Sometimes it means you give them some hygiene tips but often it means you wait it out, maybe spray some cleaning stuff sometimes. Sometimes people stink.

But the way you're going about it isn't like that in the least and you're describing how awful this is for you and how you're being blamed for saying these things but what you're describing is also happening to your mother. You don't mention once how she's reacted, how she feels about this, what she's said in response, etc, at all.

It sounds like this situation might be far worse for her to be experiencing, Anon.

It might not even be sweat you're smelling. It could be a soap or perfume she wears that smells bad to you.

Regardless of what it is, the way you're going about it sounds hurtful and it also sounds like you're not being very thoughtful about how this might be affecting her.

I think this could be solved much better if you try to figure out when this issue started, figure out if this is a hygiene issue or just a perfume type issue-

If it's hygiene, it's possible it's a health issue, which is not necessarily something that can be helped beyond you not shaming her constantly for it. If it might be perfume, ask if you can check out what soaps and possible perfume or whatever she uses.

That doesn't necessarily mean you'll be able to "fix" it, given she's allowed to wear what she wants, even if you don't like the smell, but it would clear up the mystery.

But if you can't figure it out respectfully and while being kind, then its an issue where you just need to mind your own business. Either way, it sounds like you really need to apologize to your mom.

I can't tell you exactly what's going on here but that's my thoughts. Not sure how helpful they are tbh, like I said, this is not my wheelhouse.

#sex education #asks #??????? T_T

75 notes · View notes

just-some-random-blogger · 2 months ago

Text

Tormented Spirit | 19

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: it's been a while, so i'd like to acknowledge this ask, the lovely comments i got from it, and this ask, because they were really sweet and really motivated me to finish this. the chapter feels a bit aimless because its a filler chapter, so i would love to know how you all feel about it. if i find people are not very interested, i might just do the big time skip and end this story, so please consider leaving a comment/reblog | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01

"Kepus."

Daemon looks over his shoulder, finding Rhaenyra strutting over. Her violet eyes were not on him though, but on the blood wyrm sprawled on his belly yet again. Caraxes recognizes her and huffs smoke through his nostrils when she is upon him.

Rhaenyra knits her brows and prince steps aside, allowing her to pet his mount. "I did not think it was possible for a dragon to appear as such, much less a dragon as high and mighty as Caraxes."

Daemon does not speak. His face remains stoic but Rhaenyra knows better than to believe he is unfeeling. Still, she decides to linger in his silence. She ceases stroking Caraxes when he does.

He turns to her; she looks concerned and sad and it makes his chest tighten. He knows his instant recognition of it is borne from familiarity— familiarity for you emanated such emotions. He mumbles, "do not be so worried."

A line forms between Rhaenyra's brows. Part of her wants to snap at him— of course she would be worried! She wants to thrash her grievances out and tell him he ought to be glad she was worried about Caraxes, about him; it was never something he afforded her, not in the way she would have wanted. Her pride reigns her back from doing anything however.

Daemon witnesses the inner turmoil seeping on her features. Try as she may, she was not a difficult read. It was clear his sentiment was not appreciated. "I don't mean that I don't want you to care."

Rhaenyra opens her mouth, but no words come out, as she was not expecting such a response. Mockery? Something akin to it? Yes. But not that.

Daemon stares at his niece, brows raising at her shocked expression, "I do not want your youth and beauty to be wasted."

She purses her lips. Earnest. Her uncle was earnest. Her lips curve into a soft frown. His wife has made him soft. Her belly bubbles with feeble jealousy.

He shifts in his spot, their arms brushing against each other's as they turn to pitiful Caraxes. He links his hands together, "would you do me a favor, my girl?"

Rhaenyra's nostrils flare faintly. Am I your girl?

"I am to leave soon."

Her brows furrow, "what?"

He shifts again, "I cannot remain merely watching as Caraxes worsens day in and out."

"But I am to be married in three days!" Her lips stiffen, "will you not stay three days for me?"

He raises a brow "what use am I on your wedding day?"

Though he says it plainly, she hears it laced with vitriol, "to support me? To be there for me?!"

Daemon chuckles, genuinely endeared by the sentiment, "you need not your uncle's support on your wedding day."

She does not recognize his endearment. She scoffs, "you've made me come here to ask me for a favor, yet you m-"

"Lykirī," Daemon chortles, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, "I did not say I was leaving before your wedding." Calmly.

She stiffens.

He smirks, pulling his hand away, "I was merely explaining, my absence would not be so substantial if I we-"

"What do you want?"

Daemon watches her tap her foot.

"What's the favor?" she motions with an impatient gesture.

He stands still for a moment, building the nerve to say it as plainly as possible. His voice betrays him with a random voice break, "m-y wife." He clenches his jaw. Gods. He can hear his own desperation.

Rhaenyra is offended by his aching, or rather, she wants to be. She was unsurprised that whatever he needed had to do with you, yet, it still went down her belly horribly. "What of her?"

"Last time I left... much of her was lost..."

She frowns in remembrance.

"... much of us."

Her reaction is involuntary. She scoffs and raises her brows, "do you forget, she wrote to you and you never once responded?"

Daemon's jaw sets. He slowly shakes his head, "I do not forget." He turns back to Caraxes, rubbing his side, "I shudder to think my penance is at the peril of my mount."

She stiffens, unexpecting another... earnest response. She nibbles her lip as guilt tightens her chest. Rhaenyra never believed Daemon was heartless, yet to see him so haunted... so vulnerable— "was it not you who said we carve our own destinies?"

He does not look at her. He hums, "and did I not carve out this demise myself?"

She watches him slowly turn.

He purses his lips, waiting for a response.

Rhaenyra shakes her head, "no. It's not like you made both your wife and your dragon sick."

Daemon chuckles and shakes his head, "you are kind to me."

She huffs through her nostrils. She thinks about his words for a moment then suddenly tenses, "wait. Are you telling me she is with child again?"

Daemon stiffens. For a moment, he wants to make her believe it, that his wife has not rejected any and all of his advances, but as he sees her horrified expression, he realizes she must think him villain, that he's had his way with you because he could, because it was easy. He clenches his jaw, "no." He wipes his face, "I simply want someone to look after her upon my leave."

Rhaenyra slowly tilts her head.

"My madness forthcomes if she withers because of my absence," he mutters lowly, turning back to his dragon.

"She is daughter to the Hand," she crosses her arms, "she is well looked after."

He chuckles dryly, "yes, oh I do so trust my wife's well-being with that old cunt." He shoots Rhaenyra a withering glare.

"She is sister to the queen," she raises a brow and crosses her arms, "you'd be wiser to have gone to her. I am outranked."

"And Alicent is far weaker to him than she," he narrows his eyes, "besides, I come to you because it is you I rest my confidence in," he gives her a solemn expression, "and you alone."

For a moment, Rhaenyra is satisfied. She basks in the thought, but it is soon not enough. She takes the opportunity to spur him on, "what of her twin?"

Daemon tenses, "what of her damned twin?"

"I'm sure if you wrote to Ser Gwayne, he—"

"Yes, and I'm sure you know how little my patience is."

"Well," she looks off and shrugs, "if you wish to surely see that you-"

"What do you wish me to say?!"

Rhaenyra pauses.

"Is it my tears you thirst for? Or you want me to beg?"

Her jaw slowly clenches. Perhaps.

"Or do want me to admit you that you were not my first choice, girl?" Daemon tilts his head as he looks upon her.

Her lips part.

"I asked Laenor first for he is her friend," he explains, sparing none of his vexation, "they're the same age, so he to her is like that fucking brother she so fucking deeply misses, Rhaenyra," he seethes, "is that what you wish me to say?"

Her expression hardens.

"You would be glad to know your promised is a loyal thing, Naturally, he agreed, and naturally added that if his princess told him otherwise, he would do otherwise."

Rhaenyra looks away, feeling in the least bit gladdened.

Daemon watches her aimlessly scan the room.

Caraxes rolls over, finally on his feet. He immediately is met by Daemon, who coddles him and sighs when he nuzzles into his chest. He spares Rhaenyra a glance, "doesn't feel good, does it?"

The princess would have flared at the words had her iciness not been shattered by the dragon's frailty. She huffs and rapidly shakes her head, "what do you want me to do?"

Daemon places his palm on the dragon's snout, turning to her as Caraxes leans into him.

"Shall I write letters to you everyday regarding her conditions?"

A line forms between his brows. He places the hand he had on his mount on her shoulder, "let her keep her peace... do not let anyone rob it simply because I cannot safeguard it."

Rhaenyra gazes upon her uncle. Her brows now match his, tightened with a weight of emotions they could not so simply name. She swallows the lump in her throat and lowers her gaze, "ao jorrāelagon zirȳla." You love her.

It was not a question, yet Daemon hums, "bona ñuha ībyr ōdrikagon." That my bones hurt.

She looks up at him, eyes beginning to water, "skoro syt..." Why...

Her uncle captures her chin and brushes it gently.

"Skoro syt gaomas tolvys vestragon naejot henujagon nyke?" Why does everyone seem to leave me?

"Eman daor geptot ao," Daemon shakes his head, "ñuha egros iksis aōhon." I have not left you. My sword is yours.

"Ossēnagon nyke lēda ziry pār," she snaps, pulling away from him. Slay me with it then.

"Rhaenyra-"

"Enough," she raises a hand, "I've heard enough."

He does nothing but clench his jaw.

She scratches her eyes, "rest assured that any who dare deturb your lady-wife's peace, mine own and my husband's dragon shall bedash their corpse."

As quickly as he takes a breath of relief, just as quickly does Rhaenyra walk off. Daemon only watches, though part of him did not want her to leave him so angry.

Daemon remains in the pit, fussing over Caraxes to the keepers, until supper nears. He leaves to join you, luckily spotting you just outside your niece's nursery.

Helaena is in your arms, asleep it seems. You spot him as he approaches, offering him a soft smile, "I'm just going to set her down."

Daemon notices there were flowers in your plaited hair. You were surely in the gardens with Aegon... and by extension your wards, but he trains his focus on your face. He opens the door for you.

"Thank you," you mutter, walking in.

He follows you towards Helaena's cot, watching as you set her down and tuck her in. The locks by your ears spill over your face. As you straighten and push your dark hair back, he wishes that he could have been the one to do so.

You smile at him again, "she nearly stood up today."

Daemon smiles back, eyes trickling down your form. Color has found its way back to you, to your clothes and your face. Today, you wore green, but nothing slimy and greedy like the color of your house. Twas taffeta in a freshly-grown-leaf green, embellished with silver lace that embraced your form. You looked like a woodland nymph, especially with the braided flowers running down your spine. Your eyes were not so sad and your skin was not so grey, though your cheeks remained rather hollow.

"I am eager for the day she speaks," you say as head out, your husband closely tailing you. You link your hands together as you walk side by side down the hall, "she looks always as though she has much to say."

Daemon hums, eyes pinned on your features.

You turn to him.

He smiles softly.

You recognize the exhaustion on his face, even through his current expression, "how fares Caraxes?"

His smile fades. He shakes his head, "there must be something done for him."

You frown when he clenches his jaw. You rub your arm, "is he still unwilling to fly?"

"He's unwilling to do anything save wallow," his nostrils flare.

"Poor thing..." you clench your jaw and rub your arm, "what do you plan to do?"

"I read that there is a gut illness that makes beasts lethargic. Apparently, there is an antidote in an herb that grows by the banks of the river Noyne."

You nod and furrow your brows.

"I will set to Norvos to procure them in three days, immediately after Rhaenyra and Laenor are wed."

You stop in your tracks.

Daemon does the same, only to take a step towards you.

"Oh... I..."

"Travel to Essos would take two moons, if luck finds me," he speaks carefully, "I will not take a second longer than I must."

Your lips part.

"I would take you with me," he reaches for your hand, "but I am to travel by sea and I fear too greatly your health will worsen on the way."

His hand is burning hot against yours. Goosebumps prick over your arms as he rubs your skin.

Daemon's heart drops when you lower your head. He gulps and bends down, desperate to see your face. It gashes him when you turn away.

"Kostilus," he mutters, "gaoman daor jaelagon naejot ojughagon ñuha zaldrīzes." Please, I do not wish to lose my dragon.

Your eyes are glassy as you look back at him. You shake your head, "you need not explain... nor do you need my permission," you sigh, "I will not beg you to stay."

He clenches his teeth hard enough that it hurts him.

You take a deep breath and rest your free hand atop his, "pepper balm, is it not?"

Daemon straightens up.

"The herb in river Noyne?"

"I-" he nods, "yes. Ysartia. Pepper balm."

You nod, "it is a ghastly bitter herb. I do not know if Caraxes will down it. I barely could, even with milk and honey."

He knits his brows, "you've had pepper balm?"

"I've had possibly every herb you can think of, Daemon," you mutter.

This only makes his brows further tighten.

For a moment, you lower your gaze in thought, then you decide to continue walking, "Delacius."

Daemon follows you, eager to keep holding you.

"He was the man my father hired whenever he needed something from Essos. He had a silver beard and a cut on his right eyebrow. He was massive, terrifyingly so, and had runes on his arms," you shake your head, "I met him only a few times, but he was someone you could not forget."

He is immediately enthralled. Your stories were normally told to all else but him. He is raring to hear this.

"He either smelled of sweat and sun... or barley, and gave me pressed flowers from his travels," you knit your brows, "... he was uncharacteristically gentle, considering my father told me he was a sellsword with a bounty on his head."

"Why did your father hire a sellsword to procure pepper balm?"

You chuckle and shake your head, "to cure me, Daemon," you roll your eyes, "hopefully."

The prince looks forward, "I did not know of this herb's existence until a week ago. None of the maesters nor dragon keepers seem to know it either."

He looks back at you when you squeeze his hand.

You offer him a gentle smile, "the oldest memory in my mind is that of my father leaving Oldtown to go to Highgarden. It did not know it, nor did I understand why. He had not been out longer than a day since we were born, neither had he ever gone without bidding me and my brother farewell. He had bid Gwayne, but I had slept in longer, and just missed him.

"I remember seeing his horse. I remember him seeing me run out to the yard. My nursemaid caught me and pulled me back, and father spared me but a glance upon his horse before trotting off," you shudder as the memory plays in your head, "I do not know why I thought he was leaving because me, but it was believed. It was the first time my heart tightened and my body trembled in anguish. I was bedridden when he returned, and he did not leave the chair beside me until I was strong enough to rouse.

"Since then, I have only gotten worse. The maesters first said my illness was simply borne from the fear of separation, of losing my father, my loved ones. It proved to be true, because whenever he left, I would get sick. Then my mother died, and heart began to give in if I ran too hard, or worried too much. My father allowed me to do less and less and procured more and more medicine," you purse your lips, "including pepper balm."

Daemon does not like the chuckle that leaves you.

"Clearly, none of them worked."

"Well, pepper balm is for the gut, not the heart," Daemon mumbles.

You shrug, turning away, "what cures the heart, I wonder."

He frowns at your expression and squeezes your hand.

You turn back to him.

"Love has brought color back to your face."

You chuckle and rub your tightening chest, "love is what drained it to begin with."

He looks away and hangs his head. He tenses when you pull away, but does not try to stop you.

Dinner is more frigid than usual for you were all of you cursed by the presence of the Lord Hand. Normally, attendance was reserved for four: you, Daemon, Alicent, and Aegon. Yes, there was the occasional ward, sometimes two, but even that he could stomach. There was something so putrid about the atmosphere because of this sour cunt, and Daemon knew it was not only him who thought so.

The only sounds in the room were of the cutlery and Aegon's babbling. Sometimes you or Alicent would respond to the boy, but it was silent otherwise. There was no reason for conversation to flow for you had not spoken to your father since Daemon's altercation with him in the hallway. And your sister was never particularly chatty in this time of day.

That all changes when—

"I have reassigned your wards," Otto mentions casually.

Everyone, save Aegon, turns to the old man. He, in turn, turns to Daemon, face blank, yet appearing as though he was looking for a challenge. The prince merely chuckles under his breath.

Your face, however, falls, "what?"

The Lord Hand takes a scoop of peas and chews it rather slowly

Daemon clenches his fist and slowly turns to you. You had been smiling at your nephew just a moment ago and now you were tense. He clears his throat and adjusts Dark Sister, which was leaned on the side of his chair.

Otto notices it. His lips curve as he swallows. He pats his mouth with a table napkin, then turns to you, "you have no use of them now that your husband is an ever ready presence."

Daemon chuckles, louder this time.

Your father's eyes flicker to him. He tilts his head, "do you disagree?"

You and Alicent tense as you look between the two glaring at each other.

"Mummy," Aegon points a chubby finger, "gravy please."

Alicent turns to the boy and pours some gravy on his potatoes.

Otto continues, "I don't recall you were ever fond of them anyw-"

"AH! MoOooOre!"

"No, Aegon," Alicent pushes his hands back when he tries to snag the gravy, "it's not a soup, you shouldn't put-"

"PLEASE!" he whines.

"-I don't recall you were ever fond of the Cargyll brothers," Otto finishes, eyes turning from his grandson to Daemon.

Daemon shrugs.

You frown, "where did you reassign them?"

"Back to their usual rotation," Otto turns to his plate and cuts some meat, "don't worry. You will not be seeing much of them, as they have much to attend to, considering the upcoming wedding."

"Āzma hen iā orvorta, glaesagon hae iā orvorta," Daemon says, making you turn to him. Born from a cunt, lives as a cunt.

"Orvorta." Aegon repeats. Cunt.

You gasp, "Aegon."

Daemon laughs, "kessa, ñuha valītsos. Aōha kepāzma iksis iā orvorta." Yes, my boy. Your (maternal) grandfather is a cunt.

"Gaomagon daor bodmagho se valītsos kōz ēngos," you grab Daemon's arm, making him laugh louder as he turns to you. Do not teach the boy evil tongue.

"Orvorta iksis daor kōz," Daemon chuckes, "mērī zirȳla... aōhon iksis gevie." Cunt is not evil. Only him… yours is beautiful.

You make a face and slap his arm.

Daemon snorts through his nostrils.

Otto attempts to get a word in again, but Aegon nearly jumps off his chair after deciding he was finished with his meal, stealing everyone's attention with him as he nearly crashes to the ground.

Alicent is forced to end her meal, and you do the same, not having much of an appetite anyway. You stand with your sister, and Daemon stands with you. He unabashedly eyes your father, silently warning him not to follow. Soon Otto is left in the room alone.

"Do not worry," Daemon tells you once you've parted with Alicent and Aegon in the hall.

You turn to his face and then to his hand when he takes your arm.

"You will keep your wards."

You take a sharp breath.

"I will not let him torment you with this," he shakes his head, "I cannot stand them, but I will not leave you lonelier because of mine own feelings."

Your lips wobble at his words.

Daemon frowns at it, heart aching at the slightest look of worry upon you, "I will speak to my brother about this, and if need be, I will speak to them myself."

Your forehead curls.

Daemon reaches for your hand, "do not worry. I will not cause commoti-"

You kiss his cheek, stealing his words and his breath at once.

He is gobsmacked when you pull away, unable to believe what had just happened.

"Thank you," you whisper.

Daemon feels his cheek tingle. He cannot help himself and touches the area which you laid your affection.

For a moment, it amuses you, but then his intense shock begins to make you wonder if you had overstepped... after all, you were never so physically affectionate. You only kissed when you laid together, and even then, it was hardly ever tender.

You shake your head and decide not to address it, "I... we should go to bed."

Daemon rubs his cheek, "... yes... t-to sleep..."

You feel your face flush and shake your head faster. You mutter, "yes, of course, what else for?"

Perhaps Daemon should be grateful that Otto was a scheming cunt. Things changed between you because of that dinner, because of that kiss. A barrier had been broken, a wall torn. You were no longer so distant. In times where he itched to reach for you, he would be shocked to have you touch him first.

You had invited him to do mundane tasks you normally accomplished on your own, like choosing the dress you were to wear for the day. You were no longer on such high guard.

And now, as music played in the great hall, as lords and ladies danced in celebration of the union of Rhaenyra and Laenor, you danced amidst it all and he could see you glistening. He saw you in a light he had not seen, or rather, he had been blind to.

You laughed, you frolicked, you danced, you lived— you were living. You were a shining, beauteous lady. You were you. This is who you were without the debilitating melancholy, without the cumbersome illness, without the suffocating father... without the sordid husband.

He watched upon the his seat on the banquet table how you grinned when it was your turn to spin around with Laenor. The sound of your laughter was set apart, as was the rest of you. You glimmered in your dress as you acted out the steps. Your face was not weighed so heavily by inhibitions. This was how you really looked. Daemon had never known it till now. He could not hide his awe.

Laenor notices and mutters as he twirls with you, "you should ask him to dance."

You look at him, smile morphing from glee to confusion, "who?"

"Who do you think?" he laughs, tilting his head to the side, bringing your attention there.

You look and see your husband, gaze locked upon you with the gentle smile. You stop dancing because of it, taken off-guard by the expression you had never seen before. You didn't think it was possible for him to look this way, to look at you this way. He looked fond, not lustful or hungry... dare it be love?

Laenor takes your arm, pulling you back into reality. When you finish the dance and applaud, you turn your back to Daemon, who was still staring at you.

Your breath catches in your throat when he stands and walks over. You are frozen in your spot.

Daemon tilts his head back and drinks in your form. He reaches a hand, "ñuha dārilaros." My princess.

You take his hand.

"Bisa siñagon ao," he rubs your knuckles with his thumb, "iksan biare naejot ūndegon ziry." This becomes you. I am glad to see it.

He pulls you into him and you hear your pulse thumping in your ears. His hand comes to the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw. The other comes to the small of you back, where he presses you flush against his.

Your breathing begins to shorten.

His lips barely move as he mutters, "lilagon lēda nyke?" Dance with me?

Your lips part but you can only nod.

Daemon pulls away but takes your hand. He leads you out of the room.

Rhaenyra watches you both leave the celebration early.

"I... did I misunderstand? Did you not ask me to dance?" you mutter as both pace down the western hall.

Daemon turns to you, squeezing your hand, "I did."

You stare at him for a moment, hoping that he'd explain.

He merely smiles at you.

You only realize he had taken you to the gardens when you arrive. It is a dark, moonless night, but you could still see his soft expression.

He brings you towards the fountain then takes both your hands.

You look up at him as he steps forward. He places your hands on his shoulders before brushing his own down your waist. You hold your breath when he brushes his nose against your temple, leaning into you. He begins to sway and you slowly follow suit. You sway with him, and only then do you bring yourself to relax. When you do, you take in his scent and relish his warmth.

"I will miss you greatly in my travel."

You tense and turn to him.

Daemon's eyes lock with yours. He tucks your brown hair behind your ear.

"The thought does not comfort me."

His brows furrow, "I... only meant to tell you."

Your eyes rove over his features. You notice the corner of his lips begin to droop, "why?"

"... why?" he repeats, almost questioning you. His brows furrow further, "I... I wish to be known..." he takes one of your hands from upon his shoulder, "like you know Laenor."

You watch him move your hand to his chest.

"Or Gwayne," he whisper softly, "or..."

You turn to him, brow quirking at his lowered gaze, "Alicent?"

"Mmm," he turns back to you, voice growing quieter, "yes... though I was going to say... ... your wards."

You laugh at his whisper.

Daemon thrives at the sound.

"My father is right," you shake your head, "I have not spent much time with them for you have kept my company..." you take a breath, "I admit, it has been a while since I've spoken to them."

"Well... that will change as I must leave your company again," he mutters.

"You can still keep me company even if you are not here," you bring a hand to his cheek.

He stiffens, throat tightening at your touch, at your words.

You feel your pulse begin to quicken as you open your mouth, "you... you could write to me."

Daemon involuntarily shakes his head, "I..." he grips the sides of your waist, "I would go mad not to receive word back from you."

You knit your brows and tilt your head, "do you assume I would ignore you?"

He pulls his head back. His lips part, "I-" he gulps, "it would be fair."

You take your turn to shake your head, "why would it be fair?"

"I... I hurt you."

"And hurting you in return will be a balm to me?" you brush his jaw.

"I-" his breath hitches, "it would be fair... to you."

"Fair..." you sigh, clutching his cheeks, "nary equates to right."

He is unable to keep your gaze. He chuckles under his breath as he looks off, "no one alive deserves your kindness."

"Deserve it then."

Daemons eyes flicker back to yours.

"Do not make me into you," you whisper, "be a little more like me."

You both stop swaying.

"Know me... like Viserys or Rhaenyra."

Daemon squeezes your side, "my love-"

Your belly rolls at the term.

"- we would not survive King's Landing if I let kindness cloud my judgment."

You sigh and shrug, "perhaps spare a bit of kindness for me?"

He deflates and rests his head upon yours. He embraces you tightly, "I swear to you, I try," he rubs your back. His body tingles when you return his embrace and rest your head on his shoulder. "You must understand I find it would be kind to behead your father."

You cannot help the chuckle that leaves you.

"I will not, for I know you find no kindness in it-"

"I do not."

"-but... it is truly kindness in my eyes."

You sigh, "then perhaps you must understand that I find it would be kind of me never to admit how your leave inspires my jealousy."

He stiffens and pulls away.

You chuckle bitterly as you see the looks of him, "I am sick... yet you would not stay for me."

Daemon opens his mouth, "I... I found no one who would go to Norvos."

You nod as your vision blurs with tears, "I kno-"

"I swear to you, if I could, I would bring you wi-"

"I know," you press your hand to his lips. You find yourself chuckling again but this time, tears stream down your face, "I will not stop you." You shake your head, "I should not have said it. It is not in my interest that you lose Caraxes."

Daemon grows teary eyed, "neither is it mine."

You nod and smoothen out his top.

"... shall... shall you see me off?"

You lower your head and disagree, "I would much rather not."

He squeezes your hand, "I understand."

The docks are surprisingly busy when he gets there. His things had been loaded beforehand, all that's left for him is to board.

"Why did you do it?"

Daemon stops and turns around.

Otto stands there in a dark, hooded cloak, "why did you reinstate her wards?"

He is immediately riled up, "what?"

"I was doing you a favor."

He chuckles dryly, "well, do me another and drown." The prince turns and makes towards the ship waiting for him.

"My daughter is a feeble woman," says the Hand, watching him walk away, "but she is a woman no less."

This makes him stop in his tracks. Daemon slowly looks over his shoulder, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means?"

Daemon is freezes. The sound of a ship rocking with its anchor sounds with the wind. The next second, the prince turns on his heels and storms towards Otto.

The Hand is completely still as the prince yanks him by the collar. Daemon seethes, "you would poison me with ideas to the detriment of your daugh-"

"I tell you because I wish to save her," Otto quips, "this is your consequence; it was you who has poisoned her, made her strong-willed and disobedient. She was never meant for you. She would be happily living in Oldtown had you not been less of a weaselin-"

"Careful!" Daemon barks as he shakes him, "I have my hands on your neck."

"Kill me at your peril," Otto scoffs, "your satisfaction will be shorter than mine own once I meet the grave."

Daemon shoves him back and Otto skids on the dirt, nearly toppling over.

"Remember it was you who brought Arryk and Erryk back into her company," the old man dusts off his cloak as his nostrils flare.

"And remember it was I who took who your daughter's maidenhead and nearly slayed your son during a tourney."

With this, the prince storms towards his ship and the lord feels bile rise up his throat.

#daemon fanfic #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #daemon fluff #daemon targaryen fluff #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #daemon angst #daemon targaryen angst #daemon #daemon targeryan #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic

364 notes · View notes