#seven nights in a rogues bed

[ophelieverse]

I have an idea,Lia angel🪽can you please write Daemon x Hightower!reader where she is Otto youngest daughter and she is religious like Alicent and her father betrothed her to Daemon?Maybe with a little bit of 😏😏Thank you my angel🤍🤍

⊱ •There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

-Summary:In order to gain full power,Otto Hightower betrothed both of his daughters in the House of the Dragon.

-Warnings:Age gap,a little bit of smutty time,religious topics.

-Thank you for requesting and let me know what you think🫶🏻🩷

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The wind that caressed her bare back no longer carried with it that scent of saltiness that had weighed down her nostrils and kneaded her mouth,while sobs,wheans and bells had shaken her violently in following the ship and the wake of foam that moved away from the beach of Dragonstone and disappeared beyond the horizon.

It had become a pleasant breeze with floral and fruity hints,which rippled her skin filling her with chills,although Lady Y/n Hightower,youngest daughter of Otto Hightower the Hand of the King,was not cold.

She could not feel cold under the scorching sun of the island on which she had been abandoned by her family.Her father who gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and her older sister who cried silently with her,to be alone with her betrothed,the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, not when it was her own body that radiated heat,turning it on from the inside.

Maybe earlier,those days were her father gave her the information of his new plan.Before,perhaps,she had perceived the icy breath of what being married to a man like her future husband would mean,but now... Now those endless tears that had blinded her eyes and moistened her beautiful face had also dried.

«Father,Smith,Warrior,Mother,Maiden,Crone,Stranger.»Y/n whispers those names in her mind with her eyes closed,as if praying could purify her of what is happening to her body.

By the way Daemon hands creep under her nightgown and run through her skin,lingering on places she never dared to explore even on her own.Her hands instead she’ll the rosary of the Seven,to prevent herself from pushing him away or to bring him even closer.

Her whole body felt on fire,her immaculate skin was covered in goosebumps as the night sky engulfed her figure.Daemon had been waiting for her body,for her mind,soul and heart to be completely his.Maybe he suggested to Larys Strong to suggest to that cunt of her father to have her hand to him out of spite,maybe he did because Y/n had always been kind and gentle towards him unlike her father.

What he was certain of was that in that moment she looked like a holy figure,with her hair all sandy,her lips swollen,the skin of her jaw still covered in spit and wine.She looked like one of those gods that she loved tho pray and only now,taking in every inch of her body,he understood why people were religious.Why they needed something to turn to,someone to get on their knees for and chant their names.

Daemon wasn’t a religious person,but he liked to think that the gods had made Y/n just for him.

It was easy in the beginning,when it all started just to see Otto Hightower rage as the prince gave his younger daughter all those attentions.But after a short time,Daemon started to realize that there was something more that was pushing him to always look at her,to caress the back of her neck,to toy with her hair.

It was only when she told him that she prayed for him every night before going to sleep,that everything changed.No one has aver prayed for Daemon,maybe his brother had prayed him to change,but he never went down to his knees before his bed and asked to the gods to always protect him.

From that day he started to pay her more attention,to see the shy way she carried herself,always looking down at her feet,never saying anything without being asked.Always at her father side.She was wasted like this,such a young and beautiful girl that could bring the whole world to its knees to worship and cherish her just like the goddess she was.

When Daemon had caught the whispers of her father wanting to send her back to Old Town to become a Septa,he had to intervene.

He knew Y/n wouldn’t never gave herself to someone like him willingly,not without a promise.And so it was done,in less than a month they would’ve been husband and wife and he could have all the time to see her shine for who she really was,without the dark cloud of her father shadow on her.

Daemon wanted her to want him as he wanted her.Desperately.He wanted to make her shiver from his touch,he wanted to hear her voice breathless and shaky.Oh he wanted to hear her say his name like a prayer,like he was her new god.Full of devotion.

«You should stop crying,Y/n,am I hurting you?»Daemon murmured above her chest,his eyes not leaving the precious and untouched skin of her breast.

«T-that's not what I want.»she lied,her voice was weak and she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

Daemon takes her nipples in his mouth,one at a time and she can’t stop them from becoming erect and turgid.Her mother made her believe that no one could suck her breasts except her children,that sex was only meant for child-bearing but right now Y/n feels anything but a mother and a pure virgin.She felt dirty,she felt like a whore,she felt good for the first time in her life.

«You are a liar.»her betrothed taunted her,his rosy lips were soft,his tongue warm and wet made her thighs clench.

«Father,Smith,Warrior.»she whispered again,one of her hands was now grasping at Daemon long silver hair as he groaned.

Y/n dwells on those figures with a hint of fear,aware that none of them will come to save her now.Not her father who sold her to the Rogue Prince in marriage.Not the warrior,her sworn protector,that was waiting at the castle for Daemon to be done with her before escorting her to her maidens.In the absence of the smith,her father trusted a demon,Larys Strong,and his advices to strength Alicent oldest son claim to the throne by forging their union just to have Daemon on their side against Rhaenyra when war will come.

«You want this.You want me.»Daemon said looking up at her with lustfull eyes,releasing her nipples.

Y/n face was burning red,her lips were quivering with soft prayers«You should s-stop.»she pleaded.

He was still holding her,his fingers felt like pure fire on her ribs.He kissed his way down from under her breast,savoring the sweet perfume of strawberries and the clean and sinful taste of her immaculate skin.

«Stop where?Here?»he asked,he bit and sucked right under her ribcage making her gasp.

His hands were hiking up the gown of her white nightgown,the smooth and silky texture of her bare legs made his head spin.

«Daemon.»she called for him breathlessly.

«What do you want?Tell me,my beautiful princess.»he whispered.

She tries to stay motionless like a statue,but her body trembles,quivers,while he puts a finger in her and then a second, making her find her more wet than she would have liked.

Her language pronounces aloud the names of the Seven,to prevent herself from yelling at him to stop or to keep going forever.

«You want all this, you want me.»he reminds her,taking in all of her beauty.

«How could I?You're a horrible man.»

She spreads her legs wide and feels him rubbing the tip of his manhood erected against her opening without daring to enter yet,and she hates herself for how reflexively she pushes her pelvis against him,for how she widens her legs even more.

«Maybe you're horrible too.»

Y/n head was spinning and it was difficult to remember how that change had happened,how she had started crying at the betrayal of her family when shortly before she had found herself aching for him,for the man above her as the most unfortunate of disasters;nor how she had come to grasp with her lips a pasty and strong flavor, capable of awakening every sense,capable of awakening in her new desires and instilling new life in her.

When Daemon had walked her to a secret area on the beach of Dragonstone and eased her thirst with the most intense,tasteful wine of the known world she had found herself on her knees for him.Till a week before she used to lift her gowns and get down only to pray her gods,now she was doing for the man that her father had raised her to despise and she loved it more than the gods her mother had taught her to worship.

Then she had found herself laying on the cold and wet sand,Daemon on her like a beast on the pray.

Y/n followed with her tongue the route of a thick drop and found a small bump in her mouth.She enclosed it inside and sucked so as not to disperse any of the spicy notes of that purple liquid.The fingers that had played with his long moon hair tightened their grip in a tacit warning and she chased another trail finding herself flattening her tongue on solid muscles,provoking them with the tip to make them contract and relax to their liking.She sucked in other stylls and bit the skin she found underneath to memorize its texture and remember how even the salty of the sweat could turn into sugar.

She knew that the gift,which was dripping from that chest and which had been offered to her so generously, was not to be wasted and she would savor it greedily.

«Good princess.»Daemon had praised her,his eyes,of the same color of the wine,capturing her every movement.

Y/n blinked and the blurred view allowed her to admire the work of a skilled sculptor.The advent of the chest she was worshipping,stained with other droplets waiting for her passage,caused a wave of desire in her belly.Those paths she was entering would soon lead her to the place where she would finally find peace and a new pang of anticipation caught her unprepared.

She strove to bring back to mind how she ended up like this,on her knees for him.A man with the blood of the dragon in his veins,a man who was undoubtedly a deity:he had dazzled her with an estatic vision of immortal creatures singing and dancing,so colorful and lively that he enchanted and chained her to them.And that drink she had tasted first from his cup,then from his hands and, finally,from the rest of his limbs.

Y/n kneeling between the sea and the rocks, looked up at him eyes and,all of a sudden,she didn't care about anything anymore.Her pupils burned,foamed like the liquid she was collecting,and rested her soul.

Then she had found herself underneath him and somehow,she also founded the strength to pray for forgiveness.For the person she was about to become,for the person she was letting him create.

Maybe she was horrible too.

«I want to be.»she whimpered against his mouth«I want to be just like you.»she pleaded,scratching down his back,the rosary long forgotten on the cold sand.

Mother,Maiden,Crone.

Y/n turns to those names but without really praying to them:she thinks of the Mother,the one that she had lost,the one that she had watched her sister turn into and who is the only definition their father had imposed on both of them,of the Maiden who she is no longer,of the Crone who she does not want to be yet.

And never,never,never like right now she was just Y/n,a woman,as she feels the member of Daemon finally slip into her to its entire length.The intrusion snatches a cry of surprise from her,but even though it’s the first time she feels no pain and she is amazed.

Her lips opens immediately when Daemon one’s looks for hers,his tongue caressing hers slowly as his arms brings her impossible closer to him,almost as he wanted to be one with her.

«Tell me that you are mine,Y/n.Not your father,but mine.»Daemon sounded desperate,moving in and out of her at a languid pace to savor more of the gentle creature he was corrupting.

«I’m yours.»she immediately answered him with a little moan«And you are mine?»she still had that white innocence in her that made him fall in love with her.

«Soon we will be one under the blessing of the Seven.You are mine and i’m yours.»he promised her and she believes him,he’s her new god,one that was created only for her to worship just like he worship her.

Daemon enters and leaves her at an increasingly rapid pace,sinking more forcefully at the end of that provocation;it should be a punishment, perhaps,it is instead for Y/n is a relief.It’s not a torture,not when he fills her,but the emptiness he leaves when all of this will end.She hates how her body does not consider that as a shameful act,making love before being married on the beach,a humiliation,as,in spite of everything,even her mind recognizes that disgract on his virtue infinitely more pleasant than the honest marital duty that her sister had told her about.

Stranger.Stranger.Stranger.

There is no other god left,as she opens her eyes and feels lost in her own release that hits her like the waves that crush on the shore.Daemon is not far behind her,his lilac eyes shining in hers as he empties himself in her.

Y/n surrenders to him,to the only true Stranger she knows,and thinks that after all she could also die in that moment,because she is dying less now than she died for all her life.Because being with Daemon couldn’t be worse than being with her father,because the unprecedented heat that explodes inside her suddenly can be nothing more than death itself.

She opens her lips and Daemon is the only name she outrageously prays as she opens her hands to hold him now to herself,to draw him closer instead of pushing him back,while he sinks for one last time.

The rosary breaks and the beads fall to the sand,like the gods it represent.

«I’m sorry.»he says.

«Everything is alright.»she says back.

Daemon lays on her and begins to caress her with an unexpected and inconsistent sweetness,like that remorse to which she gives voice,but which she understands after all.He would not have been able to ask for all this without offering her father to marry his daughter,because,in any case,if he had only asked for a fun night together she would have said no.

But now of her rabid cruelty nothing remains but a painful fragility;he is a god who falls too,a god who bows to her.It's ironic how she almost feels obliged to console him,to thank him for taking her away from her father hands.

«Thank you,my prince.»Y/n whispered.

Deamon closed his eyes,laying on her bare chest and enjoying the warmth of her skin«You're the only beautiful thing I will ever have,Y/n.I will make you a happy wife.»and he sounded sincere,she believed him.

Father,Smith,Warrior,Mother,Maiden,Crone,Stranger.

She no longer worships the gods now,because they are cruel,those who brand such a sweet pleasure as a sin.

She doesn't think about the gods anymore,Y/n, because now she knows what it means to be human.

There is no longer any god,not after the Hour of the owl,when Daemon gives unconditional whispers,love and mercy.Because he no longer needs blackmail as a pretext and Y/n no longer has religious images to hide behind.It was only them now,to believe in and to love.

«I love you.»he says

«I love you too.»she says back.

[luveline]

what abt a kbd thing where like all the girls either can’t sleep and one by one they all end up all cuddled in w mom & steve

tysm! ♡ kisses before dinner au. mom!reader, 1.3k

"You haven't aged." 

Steve's smile is smarmy across the pillow from you. "That's because you see me everyday." 

"I'm serious. Apart from like, two little wrinkles in your forehead, you look exactly the same as you did when we first started dating." 

"I know it feels like a long time, but that was only eight years ago." 

"Almost nine," you whisper. 

Steve kisses you gently. "Almost nine," he repeats against your lips. "Are you sick of me yet?" 

"No," you answer truthfully. "Not even close." 

Steve's hand takes your cheek, his thumb quick to rub the path you like over the skin just below your eye. It makes you feel so pretty to be looked at, to be held by him, and so special to be treated like you're made of glass. 

Baby sleeps in the crib in the corner of your room. She's no longer brand new and, as you knew she would, she's gotten used to all the bumps and bangs of a busy house. She sleeps almost always through the night now, eight pm to five or six in the morning. The hardest part of having a young baby is over, and you and Steve are learning to be normal humans again. 

You put the girls to bed at seven, and at eight thirty, you can hear them still awake. All of them. None of your girls are subtle, but you try not to punish them, because they've all done well with the new baby's constant crying. 

"Who do you think will come and see us first?" Steve asks you, stroking your cheek.

You attempt to answer him through his dotting of kisses, half moons pressed lovingly to your nose, your eyebrow, your temple. Thoroughly loved up, you curl your arms around him to hide. 

"Don't know," you murmur, sighing a breath of contentment as Steve hugs you close. "Probably Beth." 

"Definitely Beth. I love when you hug me like this, you're like…" He pulls you ever closer, hands massaging up your back. "You're very huggable." 

"Not very nice to say, I just had your fourth baby, you know? You could give me a minute." 

Steve laughs warmly against your forehead, kiss-kiss-kissing the same spot he always does, your little pale scar from a rogue screwdriver. You'd been constructing Avery's toddler bed, and you swore you could do it alone while he got some sleep, but you almost blinded yourself and Avery slept in bed with you for a couple more weeks. The scar is permanent but nearly invisible. Anyone else would forget you had it. 

"I'm not telling you you're beautiful again today. Everyone was jealous and my dinner went cold." 

"No one else is here," you say. 

"Not true. The baby's here, she might hear me subliminally. That would be worse." 

A little knock rings against the door. You and Steve laugh against the other before peeling apart. Steve sits up in bed and you rest your face against his hip, pleased when he covers your arm with a big hand. 

"Come in, please," he says. 

Bethie slips in through a small gap in the doorway, closing it behind herself. Her hair is out of her face for the night, her pyjamas a bright sky blue with white polka dots. She's hip height now, surprisingly tall —you hadn't been expecting her to shoot up like Avery, nor for her chubby cheeks to disappear, but that's the horror and joy of having them grow up. 

"Hi, honey. What's the matter?" Steve asks. 

"Can I come and lie down too? I can't sleep."

There's no real reason to say no. You don't have to confer. You slide your legs away from Steve as he pulls back the blanket, beckoning her forward to fill the gap. 

She must think getting to hangout with you guys after bedtime is naughty and exciting, giggling as she runs across the room and climbs up onto your bed. You make a big, "Oof," as she drops into your chest but you're happy to have her, kissing you're not so mini me on the cheek. 

"You smell nice," you say, sniffing her hair. "Mmm, yummy coconut." 

"You smell nice too, mom. Like the green dish soap." 

"'Cos dad made me do all the dishes." 

Steve pinches the top of your ear and gives it a short tug. "It's good for you. Character building." 

"You're lucky my Beth is here," you grumble, your fingertips tracing up and down her back.

"Hello?"  

Your heads turn to the door where Dove pushes it open. She doesn't ask like Beth once she sees you all, just sprints to the side where Steve sits and pats his legs. He grabs her to plaster her in kisses. She plasters him right back. 

Your mommy's girl is on the turn. You can't blame her. 

"You have to get Avery," you say, patting Steve's thigh. 

She had a wobble a few months ago worrying she wasn't anyone's favourite kid. You've never seen Steve cry like, ashamed of himself for failing as a father. You haven't failed anything, you'd said, rubbing his arm, we just have to do better. 

Steve takes Dove with him on his chest. You can't understand how he carries them around all day, he must have built up some dad muscle. 

He's your everything. Well, second to the kids. It's a different kind of love but unfailing, always. You watch him leave and can't wait for him to come back, like a string pulled taut; you're relaxed when he's near. 

"Let's move over," you say, shuffling to your cold side of the bed. You'd been encroaching on Steve's space during snuggles. 

Beth puts her arm over your soft tummy and her face on your shoulder. "Can I sleep here?" she asks. 

Sharing the bed with your kids is a wriggling, boiling mess, but you have a queen size for a reason. "Yeah, gorgeous. You can sleep right here." 

Avery is wide awake when she appears, her Teddy bear in hand, her pyjamas an old t-shirt and the new plaid pants you had to buy when you realised she'd outgrown virtually every pair of pyjamas she owned. "I'm happy you missed me, I can't sleep," she says, climbing into bed to squish down next to Beth. "You have glitter on your cheek." 

"Where?" Beth asks. 

Avery scratches the glitter away carefully, tongue poking out of her lips in concentration. She may as well be Steve's twin when she makes that expression. 

Steve has hiked Dove higher now, her arms over one shoulder, his hand patting a mindless rhythm into the pink fabric of her nightie. He checks on the baby quickly before plopping Dove down on Avery's right. "Ready, girls?" he asks. 

You all nod. Steve takes the end of the comforter into his hands and shakes it out high, letting the top drift down onto you. Then he comes to your side and tucks it against your waist and legs. He kisses you, Bethie's cheek, and Avery's nose. 

Dove is furious by the time he makes it back. "Don't show off, babe, you get the best one." He scoops her up, flops down, and has her laying on his chest. You see him take Avery's hand under the blankets. "So, girls. What's first? Truth or dare or gossip? 'Cos Denise the checkout girl told me something really interesting about Debrah this morning and I've been trying to get you all in the same place." 

You smile into Beth's hair. Dove decides for you, "Who's Debrah?" 

"I'm glad you asked!" 

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Ask, and You Shall Receive

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of female masturbation, slight coercion and degradation, smut. Word count: ~2k

Summary: Daemon's maidservant has been quietly lusting after him for three months, waiting for him to make the first move. Based on this request.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications for updates of when I post fics. Community labels are for cops. Thank you to my boobear @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for giving this her stamp of approving, and beta'ing what my antibiotic addled mind was unable to.

When she’d first been assigned the duty of serving as Prince Daemon Targaryen’s maidservant, a rush of excitement had run hotly through her veins.

There were many names that the King’s younger brother went by, but the one that intrigued her most was Lord Flea Bottom, a moniker earned for how often he was seen in that particular part of the capital. It was no secret that the Rogue Prince enjoyed the company of whores; he frequented all of the pleasure houses within the Street of Silk, despite his marriage to Lady Rhea Royce, and no matter how much nobles and smallfolk alike enjoyed gossiping about his exploits, he was undeterred from this salacious behaviour. Daemon was not a man who concerned himself with the opinions or approval of others.

She had lusted after the Prince from afar for as long as she’d worked at the Keep, and ordinarily she’d never dream that someone of such high standing would give her the slightest bit of attention - she was a lowborn servant, a nobody - yet learning he frequented brothels gave her a glimmer of hope that he might deign to give her the attention she so desperately craved from him. A maidservant was certainly a step up from a common whore, and at the very least he would not have to part with coin in exchange for her company.

Much to her disappointment, it has been three months since she began attending to Daemon and he has not so much as spared a glance her way. He returns each evening from his duties as Commander of the City Watch, and she draws him a bath before helping him from his gold cloak and armour.

She allows herself the briefest gaze of admiration before averting her eyes, feeling her skin grow heated whenever he stands bare before her, tall, broad and godlike. He is the very image of power itself, surely hand-carved by the Seven.

When he reclines in the tub full of steamy water, her eyes roam appreciatively over the breadth of his chest and shoulders as she drags the dampened wash cloth across them, down the length of his arms and the span of his large hands.

The silken strands of his silver hair are impossibly soft against her fingers as she runs them through it, washing away the dirt of the city. The rumble of contentment that vibrates in his throat as her fingertips work against his scalp has desire pooling between her legs. She wonders what else she could do to elicit those sounds from him. Alas, no matter how deftly she washes his body and attends to his needs, he has never touched her. Though he is utterly relaxed in her presence, it seems to be in spite of it rather than because of it. 

This frustrates her. She goes to bed each night pent up, her hand slipping between her legs and bringing herself to release, imagining what it would feel like to have his dampened body move against her own.

There is fire in his eyes when he returns to his quarters that evening, his brow furrowed in long spent anger, his jaw set in a way that indicates he is in no mood to talk. The darkened maroon splatters on his breastplate are doubtless dried blood, and not his own.

She longs to ask what has happened, but knows better. It is not her place to question a Prince. She has heard talk of Daemon putting tougher measures in place to deal with the rapists of King’s Landing, a recent development. She suspects that this is likely the cause of his bloodied ire tonight. Her heart swells at the thought of his chivalrous bravery. Longing to reward him for his service to the people of the city, and perhaps a last ditch attempt at gaining his attention, she decides to put extra care into his evening bath.

She ensures the water is slightly hotter than usual, scented with rose and lavender, and sets oils beside the tub, almond to use on his hair, and lemon for his body. Her final action is to strip down to just her shift, stepping out of the dress she wears that identifies her as serving staff of the Red Keep and shedding her smallclothes. She wants him to see her. If he takes offence or queries it, she reasons that she will simply apologise and say that the warmth of his bath was making her too hot. However, somehow she doubts he will be offended.

As she steps towards him to begin helping with the removal of his armour, she notices his eyes drift over her body. Covered only by a thin layer of cotton, her silhouette is illuminated through the material by the soft light of the candles that burn throughout the chamber. He says nothing, standing in silence and allowing her to disrobe him. She places each heavy piece carefully to one side, as always, though this time her hands shake with the effort.

Sweat prickles the back of her neck as he is revealed to her, her mouth running dry at the sight of him, thick thighs slightly parted as he stands with his feet planted. She catches his eye as she glances upwards and her breath sticks in her throat. He is watching her ogle him. The faintest twitch of his brow is his only reaction. She cannot tell if it is amusement or annoyance.

He lets out a low hum of appreciation as he steps into the tub, clearly noticing the difference in both scent and temperature. A small smile of pride tugs at her lips as she steps behind him, preparing to begin their nightly routine.

Carefully she wets his hair, cupping water into her hands and spreading it from root to tip, before coating her palms and fingertips in almond oil and working it through his pale tresses. She takes her time, rubbing tight, slightly pressured circles against his scalp, noticing the way his eyelids drift closed, leaning into her touch. She forgoes the use of the washcloth this evening, pouring lemon essence directly into her hands and massaging it into his chest and shoulders. The tightness in his muscles melts like butter beneath her touch as she works her way down the length of his arms, watching the way the tension he has been clinging onto dissipates with every sweep of her hands across his body.

As she moves lower, about to dip her hand beneath the surface of the bathwater, she lets out a small gasp, caught off guard by the suddenness with which Daemon grasps her wrist - not applying enough pressure to hurt her, but enough for her to know she can no longer move her arm of her own volition. Her wide eyes stare at him imploringly, though his expression is impassive as he regards her carefully.

“Do you wish to fuck me, little maid?” he asks, voice low, the slightest of smirks upon his face.

She feels as though all the air has been sucked from the room. Her heart hammers wildly in her chest as her lips part in shock. She knows that Daemon speaks plainly, but she had never expected him to be so lewd, so direct. It has warmth blooming in her lower belly. A dull, throbbing ache settles between her legs.

She lets out a squeal when, clearly dissatisfied with her silence, he hauls her into the tub with him. She sits astride him, shift soaking wet and clinging to the contours of her body as she attempts to control her breathing. His hands grip her waist, holding her in place to ensure she doesn’t try to climb back out. The hardness of his body against hers, the warmth of the water lapping against her skin, the heady aroma of rose and lavender, it is all too much. Her head swims with the effort to keep her composure. 

This is all she has ever wanted. Yet, she knows one wrong move could spoil it all.

Daemon reaches up, tweaking the hardened peak of her nipple that pebbles through the wet fabric, making her whine and clench around nothing. “You didn’t answer me - but I think I already know the answer. I see the way you look at me, the way you prance about my chamber like a bitch in heat.”

She squirms, mewling desperately when he hands push her soaked cotton of her shift above her hips, his thumb dipping between her legs to lightly circle her pearl. She clings tightly to his shoulders for support, wanting to say something, anything, but the words will not come. Mercifully, he is eager to speak for both of them.

“The thing is, little maid, wanton sluts don’t get what they want unless they ask nicely. Did you really think the power of your feminine charm alone would be enough to entice me? I am a Prince. People beg for my attention, not the other way around.”

Her chest rises and falls rapidly with effort it takes her to remember to breathe. Her thighs shake either side of Daemon’s hips as he continues to rub against her sensitive bud. Her brows are knitted together, an expression of both unbridled pleasure and humiliation.

He chuckles quietly. “So, are you ready to ask for what it is you want?”

Resolve crumbling, she nods fervently, hoping he will take mercy on her, but it is not enough.

“Say it,” he commands forcefully, removing his hand from between her legs.

When she eventually finds her voice, it sounds foreign to her, broken and pitiful, not her own. “P-please…Your Grace…I-I want you to fuck me.”

“Good girl,” he whispers.

She barely has time to register the weightiness of his thick cock as it rests against his palm before he is pressing it inside of her, its girth pushing apart her fleshy inner walls with its brutal intrusion. Though she is adequately aroused, it is a stretch to accommodate him. She muffles a squeak into the crook of his neck as he sheathes himself fully within her.

His fingers curl themselves into the hair at the back of her head, gently tugging her back, an air of smugness etched across his handsome features as he looks up at her. “You will not hide from me,” he says huskily. “You wanted me to fuck you, so you will let me watch you as I do it.”

The slight threat that simmers beneath his words sends a shiver of excitement through her. The bath water begins to sway with the undulation of his hips as they thrust languidly up into hers. His pace is lazy, unhurried, yet every stroke is achingly deep as the head of him brushes against the rough patch inside of her that causes her toes to curl involuntarily. He is like a cat playing with a mouse, his eyes never leaving her face, studying every slackening of her jaw and slight scrunch of her nose as he fucks himself into her.

As he coaxes her towards her peak, she feels a familiar pressure building inside of her. It crashes over her in white hot waves, causing her to slump against Daemon’s chest with a cry of ecstasy. She feels boneless, weightless, but he is far from done with her.

Seizing her incapacitation as an opportunity, he grasps her hips, quickening his pace and pulling her downwards to meet each snap of his pelvis, the force of his movements causing the water to cascade over the sides of the wooden tub and onto the flagstone floor as he chases his own end. He grunts in satisfaction as he spends inside of her, and in the back of her pleasure-addled mind comes the hazy thought that she will need to drink moon tea in the morning.

They lay as they are for a few moments longer, as Daemon catches his breath, what remains of the bathwater rapidly cooling around them. When she finally has the strength to lift herself from his chest, she sees fire in his eyes once more, though it is not derived from fury. There is warmth behind his gaze, a fondness that she has not seen before.

He strokes her back absentmindedly, his fingers plucking at the wet shift that sticks to it. “Take this off,” he whispers, “and go to my bedchambers. We shall see if you are as good at warming my bed as you are at making my bath go cold.”

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

can you pleaaaae make a daemon smut where he just married a girl who had a difficult life was physically abused by her parents or partner so when she makes a mistake maybe dancing with aemond he is jealous and flexes his fingers and she thinks he will beat her and like comfort hurt type fluff

A/N: I hope you like it!

pairing: Fanon!Daemon Targaryen x Reader

summary: Daemon just married a girl who had a difficult life and was physically abused by her parents or partner so when she makes a mistake maybe dancing with Aemond he is jealous and flexes his fingers and she thinks he will beat her and like comfort hurt type fluff

Word count: 3,3K

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Jealousy, Hurt and comfort, mention of abuse, fingering, P in V, cunnilingus

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

You and Daemon have been married merely three moons, and you two still were not much acquainted with one another, you knew basic things about one another but nothing too profoundly. Your marriage was purely out of duty to the king who had arranged the marriage between your houses after the king yet again refused to marry him to Rhaenyra who was already married to Laenor, he mentioned that like the Conquerer had two wives Rhaenyra can have two husbands but that fell on deaf ears. Your father was over the moon and accepted without a second thought however your brother was furious, he tried everything to stop the wedding but could not.

Your childhood was not the best, your father despised you for simply being a girl, you were born after seven sons and your mother bled to death on your birth bed- your eldest brother was already twenty in age at the time and he made it his life mission to take over the role of the father in your life and loved you to no end. Later on, he married a lady from house Tyrell who was just as loving as him and they basically raised you.

However that did not change the fact that they were not your parents, your father still saw you and he always voiced his disappointment in you. He wanted to raise you the way he saw his own father raise his sister, beating was the only punishment otherwise you would not learn properly. He assigned you the meanest septa he could find in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. She always had a stick in hand and the scars on your palms were the proof of her using it on you.

All seven of your brothers attempted to save you and all seven failed, they even made a whole plan to help you run away before your wedding but that also failed when your father moved you from your chambers in the middle of the night without telling anyone, especially them knowing they were not in agreement with him over the marriage. So you ended up marrying the Targaryen prince who seemed to have eaten a sour lemon most of the time and glared at everyone the rest of it. He was not harsh with you, quite the opposite actually- he was gentle when touching you never failing to notice the small winces you tried to hide in his presence but never mentioning them, he was nice and kind always with you in mind.

Daemon however was a rogue and lived a life many dreamed of, he wanted a Valyrian wife and was furious once he knew he was not getting that for a second wife but when he saw you so small in size almost unhealthy, head bowed and not daring to even look in your father's direction, always preferring to be with on of your brothers or their wives and children he knew that he got to have you, save you even from your father. He never once thought he loved you, he cared for you maybe but far from love.

Tonight was the nameday of young Princess Helaena and the King wanted to celebrate his second daughter's twentieth nameday and threw tourneys and feasts in her honor. As her uncle Daemon was present at the feast and you by his side. Your eyes were focused on the dance floor wishing you were one of the ladies twirling and showing off her new gown. Your eyes did trail to your brother every once in a while smiling at their happy faces whether they were with their wives or children, and there were many of them, your eldest alone had five children the youngest being five moons old.

"Excuse me, my lady, would you care for a dance?" Your head snapped up to see who had spoken to you and found Aemond, the kingäs second born son who was closer to you in age than your own husband but who were you kidding no one cared about age.

"May I lord husband?" You turned to Daemon hopeful. He did not want to ruin your fun so he nodded as he sipped his wine. A smile bigger than the one you wore on your own wedding adorned your face as you took Aemond's hand and let him lead you into the dance floor.

Daemon watched closely as if he was a hawk and you a prey, he wanted to make sure you were alright and that creep of a nephew he had did not do something he was not supposed to. You were still smiling as Aemond wrapped an arm around you and led the dance, swaying you from side to side before pulling you up in the air and turning in circles.

"Are you alright, my prince?" Daemon turned to glare at Alicent, the rage burning inside of him like wildfire. Her cunt of a son was indulging his wife and she had the audacity to question his mental state.

"I am just fine, your grace" Daemon downed what was left of his wine before pushing back his chair and moving in your direction.

Aemond saw him before you did and paused his dancing. You turned to see what Aemond was looking at and found Daemon glaring at the both of you as he approached, immediately the smile was wiped off and a tremble shook through your bones.

"Nephew, do allow me to dance with my wife" Daemon smiled sarcastically at Aemond. Aemond nodded his head and moved back to the table without another word.

"Follow me, wife" Daemon ordered. He left the hall without a glance your way expecting you to follow him and you did, you prepared yourself mentally for the pain and hateful words you knew were coming your way soon.

Daemon opened your chamber doors and stepped in first and let you in after him. He was not blind and saw the way you were shaking, the way tears build up in your eyes but he simply did not know why. He was jealous, true he cared for you, and besides you were his wife, he was entitled to be demanding of your attention.

"Did you enjoy humiliating me, wife?" Daemon asked. He smirked watching you as you froze just a couple of steps away from the door.

"I- no husband never, I never meant any harm" You whimpered. You looked down at your hands trying to find a happy place before the beating began.

"Yet you still did harm my reputation by dancing with my nephew" Daemon was now playing with you, he enjoyed this game even when the words were true he never liked to show his emotions and chose to show them more as a game but let reality slip through.

"You gave us permission" You whispered. Daemon's head was cruel, it flashed an image of you dancing with Aemond among the other couples. He took a step closer to you flexing his hand, he itched to punch his one-eyed nephew more than ever at that moment.

Seeing the movement of his fingers you unconsciously took a step back. Daemon's eyes flashed with hurt for a second until he noticed the tremble of your hands and the tears building up in your eyes. He knew then that there was something he did not know about you that caused you to react this way.

"Please do not hurt me" You whimpered. The more steps you took back the more Daemon grew furious with whoever did this to you. The back of your knee met the soft bed forcing you to go down and sit limply on it. You thought 'at least I will be beaten on the bed and not the hard floor'.

"Hurt you? I would never hurt you, what made you think so?" Daemon asked softly. The jealousy was long gone from his system and instead furry, pure rage coursed in his blood.

"My f-father always hurts me when I am bad" You whispered, your voice barely loud enough for him to hear. Daemon took conscious steps closer to the bed before kneeling down by your legs. He placed both his hands on your knees, gentle enough that you barely felt his touch, he was being very gentle with you.

"Listen to me well, I would never hurt you, I never have and never will. You are my wife and I am your husband, I am supposed to protect you not hurt you, do you understand?" Daemon's hand moved up to cup your chin so you would look him in the eyes. A tear trickled down your eye and he was quick to swipe it away. You nodded your head still unsure if you should trust him with his words.

"Let me hear you, sweet girl" Daemon insisted.

"I understand, my prince" You whispered. Daemon chuckled lightly, trying to show you his gentler side but on the inside, he was already plotting ways to kill your father.

"How about you take a bath to calm your nerves" Daemon suggested. You nodded your head in agreement, needing the bath more than anything at the moment. Daemon stood up from the floor and moved towards the door.

"Where are you going?" You asked confused. Daemon turned around to look at you with a soft smile on his usually scowling face, maybe this was the first time you ever saw him smiling like this.

"I have some unfinished business, I will be right back" Unbeknownst to you Daemon had gone to see your father.

Your maid was quick to assist you with your bath, filling the tub with oils and salts that helped you cal down more than you thought possible. She rubbed your shoulders and neck getting the knots that formed there from the stress.

At the same time, Daemone was holding your father up against the wall with a dagger to his throat threatening his life if he ever shows his face in Kingslanding ever again. Daemon was not going to tolerate his presence ever again in the same area as you until the day he dies.

When Daemon returned to your chambers you were braiding your wet hair back so it would not disturb you or him during your sleep. Your nightgown was of white color and your wet skin made it stick to your body, some parts were transparent thanks to the wetness. Daemon felt his cock stir in his pants at the sight. Once you were done with your braid you secured it at the bottom before turning to face him.

"Oh- husband you are back" You squeaked, oh so sweetly. Your cute little lips that were pinkish almost red in color formed an O shape. Daemon had to use every ounce of self-control not to pounce on you and take you right then and there, he had to remind himself that this night was all about you.

"Yes, sweet girl" Daemon began to stride over to you. Your eyes widened oh so comically the closer he got to you. His hands moved to your upper arms as gently as he can.

"You look breathtaking lady wife. you should wear this gown more often" Daemon complimented. Your cheeks turned into a beautiful red color.

"Come" Daemone guided you to the sitting area you had. He sat down on one of the chairs before pulling you up onto his lap. Your arms locked around his neck as you sat sideways in his lap, you were still super light, and he needs to make sure you were being fed properly. He will not have a starved wife.

"My beautiful girl" One of his arms wrapped around your waist to secure you on his lap and the other one moved to touch the apple of your cheek. You gulped watching him like a hawk, still afraid of him and he understood why, he did not give you a reason not to fear him.

"Thank you husband" You whispered, your eyes downcast now at the compliment. Daemon's finger pushed your head back up until your eyes met.

"Sweet girl I am merely telling the truth" Daemon's hand traveled down to your neck feeling the goosebumps grow under his touch. You shivered at the feeling of his skin on yours. He hooked a finger around the loose neckline of the sleeping gown and pushed it down to show your soft shoulder.

"So soft" Daemon whispered. He leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your shoulder. Your breath hitched in your throat.

He raised his head and captured your lips with his unable to control the urge anymore. You moaned as the taste of the wine he consumed during the feast filled your mouth. His hand sneaked down to pull your gown up your leg slowly. His fingers touched your calf gently. You sighed, muscles relaxing in his arms.

The moment did not last longer as your whole body tensed when his fingers reached your inner thigh. Daemon pulled back confused with the sudden tension that seemed to fill your body.

"Shall I lay on my belly again husband?" You asked, your voice oh so sweet but your words drove a knife into Daemon's heart when he realized that he never once cared for your pleasure, you must have not even known that you can be pleasured during the act.

"No, stay where you are angel, and enjoy the love I am about to show you" Daemon whispered against your lips. You gave him a look of confusion that made you look innocent, so innocent that Dameon would have mistaken you for a child.

His finger moved up to touch your small cloth, slightly damp but nowhere near ready to take a cock. His finger moved up and down feeling your slit through the fabric. Your breath hitched in your throat and you fisted the shoulder of his tunic. Daemon watched your facial expressions searching for any signs of discomfort to pain.

"Tell me if I am hurting you, sweet girl, alright? Say the word Ōdres when you want me to stop" Pain. Daemon watched as your eyes widened in shock.

"I shall not. A wife never stops her husband from getting his pleasure, my father said so" You whimpered, shaking your head. The fear in your eyes made Daemon want to return to your father and kill him in his spot. You were terrified of your father.

"You no longer belong to your father, you belong to me and you do as I say, if I hurt you- you say Ōdres, understood?" Daemon insisted. His grip on your thigh tightened. You nodded gulping.

"Let me hear you say it" Daemon begged, almost. Your eyes snapped up to look at him, your confidence was in shambles but his words made a silver of it return into your system.

"Ōdres" You whispered against his lips. Daemon smirked in victory.

"Good girl" He leaped up to kiss your lips. His fingers slowly moved your small cloth out of the way. His finger gently prodded at your hole earning a wine from your lips. You wiggled in his lap as your wetness began to increase Daemon lathered his finger with it before slowly and gently pushing his finger inside of you.

You gasped his name against his lips and he was quick to swallow the sound. It was like wine, he grew light-headed at the taste of your lips. Your fingers grabbed his hair in a desperate attempt at sanity.

His thumb found the button to all your nerves. You moaned loudly at the touch of his hand. The arm around your waist tightened when you wiggled in his lap.

"So good" You cried when a second finger joined his lone one inside of you. Daemon's eyes widened, he watched you hungrily eating up every reaction you gave him. He wished to stay in that moment forever.

"You like that?" Daemon curled his fingers inside of you in search of the rough spot inside that usually made the other women he was with cry in ecstasy.

"Yes!" your head fell back. Daemon leaned down to suck on your neck. Your behind rubbing on his fully erect member made it harder for him to focus but he forced himself to, this was about you and not him.

"Good girl, make the whole Keep hear how much your husband loves you" Daemon whispered in your ear before taking your earlobe in between his teeth. He curled his fingers against that spot again making your whole body shiver with pleasure.

"Something - ah- happening" You cried. You buried your face in his neck as your orgasm crashed into you. Daemon held you close trying to guide you through it. Not wanting to overwhelm you he pulled his fingers out of you and instead chose to push them into his own mouth, a involuntary moan broke through him at the taste, you tasted very sweet- sweeter than a fruit- sweeter than any desert he had ever consumed in his life in any land he has ever visited in his life.

"That is it, sweet girl, feel the pleasure" Daemon whispered in your ear, popping his fingers out of his mouth. He stood up from the chair with you in his arms and moved to the bed to place you on it, you deserved to be ravished on a bed.

"Let me undress you" Daemon begged. You look at him with hazy eyes but nodded nonetheless. Daemon untied the gown from behind and slid it down your body until you were left in your small cloth but that followed the sleeping gown soon after on the floor.

"Beautiful" Daemon's eyes racked all over your body, drinking you in as if he was seeing you for the first time, well technically he was, he has never paid much attention to your body during your time as newlyweds. His hands had a mind of their own as they felt you up from your thighs up to your stomach and chest pausing at your breasts, kneading the flesh needily.

"Daemon" Your back arched off the bed. Daemon's hands slid back down to your thighs and knees pushing them apart wanting to see your cunt. Your cunny glistened under the candlelight. You tried to close your legs again but he held your legs in place.

"The prettiest cunt I have ever seen in years, sweet girl" Daemon complimented. Your body was hit with a wave of heat, your skin turning red all over. Daemon could not control himself anymore and latched onto your cunt like a starved man.

You were the most beautiful woman in all the seven kingdoms and he wanted to make sure you knew that. He wanted to show you that not all men were monsters. He was going to take care of you.

He held you close as he made you cum on his tongue, once- twice and more than three times. He held you as he pushed his cock inside of you for the first time where your eyes locked with one another, no more fucking with you on your belly, no more pain, there will be only love and warmth. He touched you like you were made out of glass and he was afraid of breaking you.

He swallowed your moans and cries of ecstasy, the safe word long forgotten from your head as he brought you only pleasure and no pain. The beatings were long forgotten as his hands caressed you like you were the most precious thing to him in the world and not a mistake they regretted.

Daemon could not keep his eyes off of you every time you moaned, squeaked, or even breathed. With every thrust earned a reaction from you, hell even every move or touch earned a reaction from you, he hated himself for not doing this much earlier, for not appreciating you much earlier.

Daemon’s taglist: @luanasrta, @papichulo120627, @seulbeomie, @melaena-the-reborn, @k4marina, @fullmoonworshipper, @axelsagewrites, @mayrapaulina28, @vantestark

[syrma-sensei]

→ A Golden Lock.

gif credit

pairing: daemon targaryen x baratheon!reader.

rating: explicit.

warning: wedding night, oral sex (male and female receiving), usual westerosi agendas, daemon targaryen being absolutely in love with you.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: this is a sequel to my “A Doe's Trap”; reading the prequel is recommended to understand the plot.

tagging: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @ethanhoewke, @moonmaiden1996, @princessviseyna, @oh-flashlight, @ali-r3n, @sweetybuzz25, @watercolorskyy, @shelbyteller.

masterlist | ao3

THE RED KEEP IS BUSTLING AND JOSTLING with guests as the invitees kept pouring through the gates to attend the grand royal wedding throughout the past six days. Six days came and went by like six years to Daemon Targaryen, and his non-existent patience is running low. Today, however, is the seventh of his wedding celebrations, which is going to conclude with his doe officially holding Targaryen as her name after they've taken vows before the Seven. The Second Golden Wedding, he heard the smallfolk calling their wedding, and it gladdens him that it makes her happy; the glamour of their wedding is compared to one of the most grandeur ones in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, and he smiles whenever he remembers your bashful react to the news. His humble little doe, although being a member of one of the greatest houses in the realm, and is to be married into the royal family, she never loses her simple and modest persona. She's expressed earlier to Daemon that she wishes the coins meant to be spent on their wedding to be given to the paupers and orphans of King's Landing. The Prince would be lying if he didn't admit that she caught him off guard for a bit.

“But you're going to be my wife, a princess. I shall not accept any less for you, my love.” Daemon said.

His doe grabbed his callous hand, her palm was so soft on his rough skin, and brought it to her belly. “We're already a husband and wife, my Prince.” Her tender giggle tickled his heart. “We're basically marrying again.”

Daemon grinned, his hand caressing her bare stomach after he made love to her all night long on his bed. He leaned in to kiss her forehead. “I'd marry you a hundred thousands times if I could.” His lips pressed to her forehead then her nose. “And let all gods and men know you're my lady, my wife.” Oh, those reddened cheeks... he'll cherish them forever.

He caved in for her wishes nevertheless, but on his way, though. He promised her that the same amount of coins spent on their wedding will be given to the poor as a gift from them both. Although happy by the notion, he knew it discomforted her a bit; she feared it might irk the King or the Small Counsel, but Daemon reassured her, telling her that he already has his brother's blessings and that he would surely not mind it at all. In fact, he's engulfed by great rapture that his younger brother finally found the one for him, and the counselors be fucked.

Daemon would do anything for his little doe, a sheer attempt to be as dedicated as she is. Gods, she went all for him that she agreed to marry him secretly in a covert Valyrian ceremony, before Queen Aemma could set her a match with another. Only him, his bride, and Rhaenyra were present, in addition to the priestess. It was a month before he spoke with his brother to officially ask her hand in marriage from her uncle, Lord Boremund Baratheon. The latter wasn't quite amused by the match as ill whispers of the Rogue Prince's deeds reached his ears. He didn't refuse the King, though. Would he dare? Throwing the burden of choice upon his beloved niece. Believing that his pure-hearted niece would politely decline the sovereign's offer, and he'd be done with the matter for good. Lord Boremund, however, doesn't know that his lovely niece was already corrupted by the Prince, and has a dragon seed swelling her belly full by the time they flew to Storm's End to officially betroth the Prince to the young lady.

This morning, his doe, with that adorable and timid manner of hers, has expressed anxiousness about the bedding ceremony that may bring the slight swell of her belly beneath her dress to disclosure. Daemon was amused, thrilled by the idea to cause ruckus at court if anyone were to take notice of her pregnancy out of wedlock, rather, in his own golden lock. He twirled a strand of her spruced up hair, teasing, “But we are wedded, are we not, little doe?”

She bit on her lower lip coyly. “We are.” Daemon saw a shimmer within her eyes when she looked up at him. “You are my lord, my husband,” And slowly, she took his hand and brought it to her lips, leaving a kiss on the royal ring around his ring finger, and the Rogue Prince was driven mad. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her vehemently, ruining her face paints and her hairstyle. She moaned in disappointment when he broke the kiss. “Worry not, my love. I shall fuck you until the entirety of King's Landing hears you screaming my name tonight.” Daemon is known for many things, but he's never known to break his words.

After spending the day in King's Landing's streets in a massive parade, throwing gold and coins at the people, they stand before the Seven on Visenya's Hill as the High Septon anointed them as husband and wife while taking their oaths, and he covers her with a golden cloak he had it made similar to the one he wears as the Commander of the City Watch for this special occasion. They kiss and everyone applauds. And when the newly-married royal couple returns to the Red Keep on dragon back, the banquet begins.

King Viserys' happiness is unmatched, while his queen wife sits next to him in absolute silence, with a cordial smile on her face. Daemon leans over and whispers things in his bride's ear as they dance, making her face rise in colour, and her companions burst out laughing at her reaction. Daemon smirks, leaning down even more to capture his wife's lips in a kiss.

Secrecy about affairs has a thrilling trait that Daemon does not deny that he enjoys. The delectable tingle he feels whenever he stealthily drags his doe through the hidden paths within the Red Keep is irresistible to the untamable dragon. Daemon should never forget the first time he brought her in, when she was both excited and scared within the shadows of those silent and cold walls, only the full moon's rays seeped through the cracks and holes, casting a silver glimmer on the two lovers therein as they touched and explored eachother away from everybody's eyes and whispers, freely. Daemon, however, has got to admit that the relish he is now getting from putting his affection on display for all to behold is unmatched. He cannot wait any longer, all he wants now is to sweep his doe off of her feet, and takes her to their wedding bed.

And when the night comes to a close, the Queen herself ushers the new bride to her new chambers. And Daemon follows them shortly after. He finds his doe dressed in nothing but a very thin robe that leaves too little for his imagination, her dark hair is set loose, dangling over her shoulders just as he likes.

He strides down to her, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, its fire sets her aflame. The new princess moans, delicate hands are reaching to her husband's attire to take them off of him, her body is already naked before him. “If I knew you're in such need, I'd have the night ended sooner, princess.”

The latter groans, “I only need your cock, now, Daemon. Please, let me have it.”

Seven Hells, why is it so much alluring to him when his innocent doe speaks filth even though he's not accustomed to her speaking in such a manner?

“You want my cock, sweetling?” He tips her chin up, “You want it buried in your wet cunt, my love?”

She shakes her head. “No.” He raises an eyebrow, “I want it in my mouth, my lord, please.” And the Prince is beaten.

The doe yelps as he effortlessly throws her over his shoulder, heading straight to the bed.

“Daemon! Daemon!” She giggles and kicks her legs playfully before he puts her on the silky sheets leisurely.

“You little minx...” He chortles, “And here I thought the babe is giving your body more heat tonight.”

“It is, Daemon.” She grabs his hand and leads it to her belly. “Do you feel it, husband? You've put fire within me.”

Daemon groans and kisses her again and again and again. It makes him happy to no end seeing his child brining the wildest out of her. His usually modest and shy doe is now a needy and licentious hind. The baby dragon inside her is making her in constant heat that needs to be fulfilled.

When he's naked as she is, he carefully grasps her waist and flips her above his body, while the silk caresses his back. “Please me while I please you, wife. I intend to fill each hole of yours tonight.”

“Yes, husband.” She says breathlessly, nodding in eagerness. The doe mounts her dragon and turns her body so her back is facing him now. She bends over, showing off her arse to him. He smirks, delivering a smack to it, and she yelps. Daemon, then, kneads her buttocks and wrings them gently, kissing each before biting on them in dalliance, while she kisses the weeping tip of his hardened cock. Daemon grunts and he surges forwards and stuffs his nose into her crack, his mouth is open on her sweet cunt, licking and sucking.

His hands wander her sides and back, as she takes him fully in her warm mouth. Daemon's tongue pushes through her folds and she melts. Her hungry, muffled moans are music to his ears, as she keeps on sucking his shaft. Gods, he didn't hear of brides swallowing their husbands like whores in such a manner on their first night, but he cannot complain, can he now?

Daemon's lips sip from his wife's labias, teasing the swollen hood of her clit with the tip of his tongue, and she becomes undone that he has to hold her weight in his hands. But as the dutiful wife she is, she doesn't draw her face away until Daemon's cum slams the back of her throat.

Daemon grunts, rolling aside as he lifts her up, crawling back up to her. His doe swallows his seed in the most obscene way he has ever witnessed and she sighs in delight, licking the beads of cum from her lips. “Daemon...” She whispers, her breasts are shimmering with sweat, and adorned with red and erected nipples. “Oh, Daemon, my love, my husband. You ignite something in me, dragon fire searing through my blood, feeding the stag's fury within me.”

“Do I, little doe?” Daemon hums, stroking her forehead tenderly. “Then what should I say about what you do of mine?”

She sighs, fondling her belly. “Oh, my Prince... my Daemon.”

Daemon's heart paces up, and from that moment he realizes he's no longer a capturer but is also deliciously trapped in the golden lock. He kisses her languidly, playing with her hair idly, chest to chest, until their kiss grows wilder. His other hand travels down between her legs, passing the rim of his finger on her clit. “Daemon! Mhm!”

“I made King's Landing a promise that I intend to keep.” He smirks.

“Then let us allow none of them to sleep tonight.” Daemon's eyes brighten when they notice the naughty glint within hers. He flicks his fingers to her cheek playfully.

“If it pleases my wife.”

[beefrobeefcal]

Dark!Frankie Saga: VII

Chapter Seven: Bring It Home

Pairing: Dark!Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Boston. The Frontiersmen is a crime syndicate that deals in drugs, arms, and anything else they can to keep themselves on top. Since the original ring leader, Tom, was allegedly taken out by a rival gang, it's now run by Big Fish, with Pope second in command. Ironhead runs the numbers and Benny is the muscle. Your family member put you down as collateral when they needed credit to score more smack. Problem is, they can't pay it back, and Big Fish & the Frontiersmen always get their payment...

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Chapter Word Count: 3,740

Content Warning: angst, threats of violence, crime, snark, Major Character Death, stabbing, violence, betrayal, kissing

Author's Notes:

Y'all, I know you had big dreams for this chapter... and I thank you for your patience. Please don't hate me 🥺

The biggest, juiciest, wettest thank you to @neverwheremoonchild for being the Beta Fish for Big Fish (get it? Beta'ing the story about Big Fi-... okay, you got it). Thank you, Nevy! 💜🥩💜

thank you to the following for being supportive good eggs & sounding boards: @theywhowriteandknowthings @toxicanonymity @xdaddysprincessxx @thehalflifeofloveisforever @rebel-held @gracieispunk

And this is not the Chubby!Frankie we know and love in the Catfish & the Mouse universe; he's dark, mean, and hungry. I'll be updating this each week (Monday/Tuesday) until you lose interest or I finish it - let's see what happens first! when i feel like it👌

On the Waterfront Masterlist | Previous Chapter

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From the time Frankie pulled you onto his lap at the bowling alley to when he stood with you at your bedroom door, you felt like you were in a dream. A beautiful, hazy dream that you were pretty sure was going to end with him fucking you in your bed.

“You did good tonight, Honey.”, Frankie said sweetly, cupping your jaw and cheek in his big hand.

You couldn’t help but stare back, falling further for him through his deep, brown eyes. He but the softness in his gaze hardened as he sucked in a breath and released your face, stepping back. He broke the connection with you and looked away. He cleared his throat and nodded towards your door, leaving you feeling cold and confused. What did you do wrong?

“Night, baby girl...”, he mumbled as he turned, heading towards the lounge.

You opened your mouth to say something to him, but all you could do was feel your body react to the lack of his touch and your cheeks burn from the rogue tears that fell. You were alone in the hallway, and you didn’t know why.

*****

Pope had been outside in the shadows, trying to remain inconspicuous while on his phone, when the blacked-out SUV pulled up at the front doors.

“Yes, I know!... fuck you... I’ll call you back...”, he hissed quietly into his phone before ending the call and focused on the two of you returning.

He watched as Frankie got out of the SUV, holding his hand out to you, and saw the stupid look on Frankie’s face as he helped you down from the vehicle. Pope shook his head and rolled his eyes, watching Frankie pull you in for a disgustingly sweet kiss before he tugged you into the building.

He scoffed as he brought his phone back up to call his contact back, a message popped up on the screen.

Steven is done. Now what?

Pope grinned as his deviously sadistic mind’s wheels turned; he pocketed his phone and walked into the building.

*****

Frankie’s heart was beating fast as he walked away from you, and his palms were sweating as he clenched his fists. He didn’t stop until he was standing in his office, shakily sucking in his breaths, and he allowed himself to think about what had just happened. It was one thing for him to go down on you in the bowling alley and hold you as your body came back down – he was still in control. But looking in your eyes as you looked back at him, seeing the same thing he felt staring right back told him he was no longer holding the reigns in this, and it terrified him to his core. He felt like you could see who he really was under his harsh and mean exterior; under it all he was just the former drug addict who battled his demons daily to keep himself upright; just the man who made himself bigger so he could be respected, because no one was going to respect a scrawny junkie. And if you did see it, why did you still want him at all? Did you see weakness? Did you know that just asking him for a kiss would make him weak in the knees? Why did he allow you to get under his skin?

He was finally broken from his trance when the door to the office opened behind him. Frankie whirled around and found himself facing Pope.

“Fish... you got a sec?”, Pope asked, cautiously approaching him, with a judgmental eyebrow raised. When Frankie nodded, trying to shake the weakness of you from his mind, Pope nodded back in kind.

“What d’you need?”, Frankie said coolly as he made his way around his desk and sat down heavily on his chair.

Pope walked up to the desk and leaned heavily on, deciding not to tell Frankie that he saw him come back with you, and how he saw the look on his face and knew what it meant. He instead decided to set in motion what he hoped would be the last thing he needed to.

“I got a message... from one of the grunts under Will... he was making the rounds and checking in on people that owe us...”, he said quietly, trying to sound nervous about what he was going to say. “and, he - uh…”,

“Fuckin’ spit it out, Pope.”, Frankie groaned after a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes.

“He went to Steven’s...”

“Who the fuck is that and why do I care?”, he growled, not looking up at him. “Get to the fuckin’ point!”

“It’s your girl’s brother...”

“What about him?”

“He’s dead.”

Frankie looked up at Pope, feeling his blood run cold.

*****

After being left on your own, you sat in your room, feeling the buzz from the beer slipping away and letting your thoughts drift towards more nefarious avenues. It hurt to know that no matter what happened, you would end up alone; your brother sold you out for more drugs, Benny hated and abandoned you, Will threw you into the lion’s den, and Frankie didn’t want you beyond getting what he could from you. And Pope... you knew what Pope wanted and it made your skin crawl.

The tears that you’d cried had mixed with your make up had dried on your face, leaving your skin feeling itchy and tacky. You needed to clean yourself up and give yourself some comfort, even if it was small. You stepped into the shower and tried to wash away your sadness.

After drying off and getting into your pajamas, you once again sat in your room alone. The weight of solitude was heavy on you, so much so, you could barely stand it. All you could do was pick up your Kindle and try to distract yourself until you fell asleep.

*****

Benny sat back and watched the other guys play a round of foosball. They’d invited him to join but he’d waved them off. He’d wanted to sulk and be angry with no interference; he couldn’t get your face out of his head from the last time he’d seen you the night before, and Frankie’s words to him sounded off like a fire alarm in his skull: She’s not here for you. Stick your dick in literally anything else, but that is mine.

He’d replayed your last interaction with him over and over in his mind over the past 24 hours, building up more rage and fury over how stupid you were being. He didn’t want you for himself; he wanted something better for you. There’s no way Frankie could offer you what you deserve. Fuck, no one in this fucking building could. He sneered as he shook his head, anger rising further each time Frankie’s words bleated in his brain and deafened the rest of his thoughts. Frankie told him to fuck anything like you weren’t even a person. You were just part of the wide scope of anything, like an object he could own and devour like he did everything else he wanted.

Will watched Benny silently from across the room. He saw his brother furiously twisting his hands and clenching his jaw; saw the vein in his forehead pop out as his face turned red with rage. Will knew he was at fault for this; he knew Benny had a soft spot for vulnerable people, especially women. He knew Frankie was wrong about how Benny felt, but he wasn’t willing to correct him and confirm that Benny wanted to fuck her as much as Frankie wanted to diet. But the powder keg that was hitting a critical point across the room in his brother was far more worrisome than he’d accounted for, given even a day going by hadn’t managed to dampen his rage. Benny could be a dangerous man, given the right mindset, and he wasn't afraid of violence or being violent. It was the reason he was so valuable to the Frontiersmen - he wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty for the right cause, and Will worried that you were becoming the right reason for Benny to unleash that terrible dog in him at Frankie.

As Will decided it was in everyone’s best interest to try and quell the fire, Pope walked in with a smug grin aimed directly at his brother, and Will felt like he was about to watch a train derail.

“What’s with the long face, fucker?”, Pope crooned sadistically as he sauntered towards Benny.

“Fuck off, Pope.”, he growled in response, his eyes glaring up at the smiling man.

 Will saw the determined, toothy smile breakout over Pope’s face as he squatted down in front of Benny.

“What’s the matter, baby Benny?”, Pope mockingly cooed, amusement bleeding from his tone. “You mad that Fish is cockblocking you from that sweet little puss – “

Benny’s hand jutting out and gripping Pope’s throat stopped him from finishing his sentence. He stood up, pulling Pope into a standing position as he stared wide eyed and clawed at Benny’s arm and wrist, gasping and choking.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”, Benny snarled, pulling Pope’s face close to his.

Will ran up beside Benny and gripped his shoulder, shaking him. “Benny! Drop’im!”

He yanked Benny’s arm back and Pope collapsed on the floor, gasping and coughing.

“GET YOUR FUCKIN’ HANDS OFF ME!”, Benny roared as Will’s arms wrapped around him form behind and pulled him back.

“Fuck you, Pope! Fuck you 'n fuck your fuckin’ smug mouth!”, Benny screamed at him as Will continued to restrain him. ‘FUCK, WILL! LET ME THE FUCK GO! I’ll FUCKIN’ KILL YOU!”

Will knew Benny didn’t mean it. Sure, he’d probably take a swing and hit him – he’d done it before. But beyond that, he knew it was Benny’s rage talking.

Pope shakily looked up at Benny and offered him a cruel smile. Benny saw red; that fucker fueled his blinding rage, and he threw Will off him, storming out of the rec room.

“Don’t move, Pope!”, Will yelled, pointing his finger at him as he turned and ran out after Benny.

Pope smiled, watching him leave after his brother, seeing a brand-new opportunity. Fortune favours the brave…

*****

Benny was on a rampage. Like a rabid bear, he stalked the hallways, making a beeline to the barracks. He’d walked right past Frankie’s office, not even considering stopping there first to tear into him over what he was doing. Will quickly caught up to him, yelling for him to stop.

Frankie sat in his office chair. He heard heavy footsteps coming towards the door and he looked up, but they moved past.  He thought nothing of it until he heard Will.

“Ben! Stop!... Stop 'n take a fuckin’ breather, man!”

“FUCK YOU AND FUCK POPE AND FUCK FISH AND FUCK THAT STUPID BITCH!”

“You’re not thinkin’ this through! You don’t wanna hurt her, Ben! BENNY!”

Will’s panicked voice caught Frankie’s attention and he stood up, listening to the sounds move further down the hallway. He knew not to get in Benny’s way when he was mad, but he was heading towards you and the idea of Benny being in this foul of a mood and even Will wasn’t able to placate him didn’t sit well with him.

Benny threw the doors to the Barracks open and screamed your name. Even being in a separate area, the volume at which he called you made you jump. You dropped your Kindle on the bed and moved cautiously to your door. You clicked the flimsy lock on the doorknob, and you jumped heard the door to the hallway slam against the wall from how hard it was flung open.

Your heart was beating deafeningly loud in your ears, and you backed away from the door as the thumping footsteps got closer and your doorknob jiggled.

Just as soon as you were mentally thanking what every deity was listening for that lock, the door was kicked open and there was Benny. Breathing hard, his face twisted in a snarl and his fists clenched.

You looked up at him, not sure what he was going to do. “Benny... wha - “

“You're so fuckin’ dumb!”, he yelled, stomping towards you and cutting you off. “You’re fuckin’ smarter than this!”

He stood over you, his hot furious breaths fanning over your face. You tried to back away, but he grabbed at your arm.

“Don’t fuckin’ move!”, he yelled in your face, his hold on you tightening.

You yelped and tried to pull away from his grip. He shoved you back, sending you to the floor. Shock gave way to fear and anger as he stalked towards you, and you scrambled back into a standing position.

“Just fuckin’ stay down, you- “

“What do you want from me?!”, you cut him off, yelling in a cracked voice as tears welled up in your eyes.

His eyes narrowed at you and his scowl set further in his face. “I want you to smarten the fuck up! I want you to stop bein’ a dumb bitch!”

You angrily wiped at the tear that fell down your cheek, and, for a brief moment, Benny’s eyes looked at you almost horrified at what was happening. Your face contorted with a frown, and you pushed him with all your strength, making him take a small step back to keep his balance.

Neither of you knew that Will was in the hallway watching this unfold, not sure how to intervene, and his focus was torn away from you both as Frankie walked into the hallway and stood next to Will, ready to jump in.

“What is your problem?!”, you screamed at him.

His menacing glare returned, and he stepped up to you, challenging you.

“My fuckin’ problem is you’re not thinkin’ with your goddamned brain!”, he bellowed. “My problem is you’re thinkin’ with your pussy like a fuckin’ whore- “

Before you could register your actions, your hand harshly made contact with his face; you slapped him hard.

The room fell silent, and Benny’s head snapped back to you, all fury gone. What was left was the look of hurt and disappointment, and you weren’t sure who it was directed at – you or himself. Will rushed in and grabbed Benny, hauling him back. Benny’s eyes didn’t leave yours until Will had dragged him out of the room, cursing at him for his temper.

And once again, you were alone. Your chin quivered and your body trembled as the rage dissipated from your system, replaced with shame and remorse. What did you do?

Before you could collapse under the weight of your actions, Frankie stepped into the doorway.

You raised your eyes to him and held back a sob as you shook your head, silently saying please – I can’t handle any more.

“Baby girl...”, he spoke softly as he walked slowly towards you and pulled you into his arms. You tried pushing him back, but he gently used his strength against you, holding you in his embrace. His gentleness after the harsh intensity of what you’d just experienced with Benny broke you, and you let out a heavy sob that wracked your body. His large hand held your head against his chest and he murmured softly, trying to soothe you.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl... come on, Honey... calm down... he’s gone... I know, baby... I know... he’s gone now... I’m sorry... he doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground, baby... he doesn’t know what he's talkin’ about...”

“Stop... just stop!”, you squirmed out of his hold and stood back from him. You furiously wiped your face again and shook your head. “He’s right! He’s right about everyth - “

“No, baby girl... no, he’s not!”, Frankie pleaded, holding his hand out to you, beckoning you to come to him.

It made you angrier, his actions seemingly still trying to train you to be his good little bitch, coming when he calls. You shook your head, rage taking over. “I’m not a fucking dog! You don’t order me around like one!”

His voice was so soft. “Baby... Honey, please...”

“No! Mr. fucking Morales! He’s right - I’m just another one of your dumb whores that you can throw away! I’m no better than that bitch you had on your lap at the bowling alley! You just keep me like a pet and bring me out when you need a fuckin’ fix! You don’t want me - no one does!”

You didn’t realize you were screaming at him and walking towards him.  Frankie’s hands were held up, trying to calm you. His eyes were wide and pleading, his mouth was open and frowning, as he shook his head.

“Baby girl… shhhhh… no… no, Honey…”, he shook his head, and cooed, moving towards you again. “No, Honey… you got it all wrong…”

“Don’t…”, you warned as you stepped back, glaring up at him. To Frankie, you must have looked like a cornered, feral cat, fueled by rage and fear.

You didn’t intimidate him. He reached out and cupped your cheek, as he’d done countless times before, but this time you pulled out of his grasp.

You didn’t scare him. But he needed your softness back; this harsh and jaded version of you hurt him in ways he didn’t know he could be wounded. His heart ached as his other arm wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you into him again. He smoothed his hand over your jaw, his thumb gently caressing your lips. You tried, albeit half-heartedly, to get away, but he saw the softness slipping back into your eyes.

You didn’t deter him. “Don’t push me away, baby girl…”, he said softly, bringing his face close. He ghosted his lips over yours. “I want you here… with me.”

He pressed his lips gently against yours. Your resolve to fight dissolved and you wrapped your arms around his neck, grasping for more contact with him. Opening your mouth to deepen the kiss, he followed suit, slipping his tongue against yours. You were both desperate. Yes, you’d fooled around in a bowling alley, but this was something that wasn’t scratching an itch or a power play; this was the two of you finally, without words, admitting that you needed one another on a baser, more human level.

Frankie pulled back first, breathing heavily and his eyes scanned yours, asking silently for more. You nodded, and with that, he grabbed your hand and pulled you out of your room and into his.

*****

After his run in with Benny and making sure his windpipe wasn’t crushed, Pope was back outside around the building in an alleyway. Hidden in the shadows, the only sign of his presence was his phone screen lighting up his face.

As he searched through images confirming Steven’s demise, a call came through. He answered it quietly, keeping his voice low but harsh.

“I need more time - … no, you don’t understand, he - ... I know that was the deal, but you gotta hear me out- … I can’t just… I know it has to look like an accide-… I tried! The fuckin’ little brother… Yeah… fuck, no… No… I know, but I ca-… fuck. Okay… I understand… Yes! Fuck! I got it!”

Will watched from the far end of the building. Pope’s voice, although quiet, carried, and Will’s mind raced, putting piece by piece together, not quite being able to wrap his mind around what he was hearing. He didn’t know what he was up to, but he knew he didn’t like it.

He watched as Pope hung up and stopped himself from throwing his phone against the wall, and he clenched his fists and teeth. Will moved on his feet, causing the gravel to shift and crunch under him.

“What do you want, Will?”

He stopped, feeling his body tense at Pope’s recognizing his presence, even in the dark.

“Who you talkin’ to, man?”, he asked. Will tried to keep no discernable emotion or feeling in his tone, trying to keep Pope off his anxious scent.

“No one… one of the grunts fucked up… just tryin’ to set them straight.”

Will hmm’d in acknowledgement; he knew it was a lie and he knew Pope wouldn’t be convinced that he believed him, but he knew saying anything more would probably drive more suspicion.

“I’ll ask again, Will… what do you want?”

Will moved closer to Pope, trying to keep his voice down when he spoke.

“You gotta stop rilin’ Benny up. I know you think it’s funny, but he’s gonna really fuck someone up and we don’t need that.”

“Fuck you, Will… what are you, his keeper? His fuckin’ nanny?”

“I’m the last thing keepin’ him from killin’ someone… If wasn’t there tonight, you think you would’a made it?”

“So, what you’re saying its you’re the one keeping a leash on him?”

Even in the dark, Will knew Pope was facing him. He could feel the breath on his face. He was close – too close.

“If you weren’t around, no one could stop him?”

“Jesus, man… You know he’s got a fuckin’ temper... he needs someone to hold him back.”

“Yeah, he does have a temper.”

“Then stop pushin’ him! Stop antagonizin’ him!”, Will pleaded. He heard Pope huff a laugh.

“You’re in his fucking way, Will.”

Will heard the smile in Pope’s voice, and his blood ran cold.

“The fuck is that supposed’ta mean?”

Pope got close to Will and grabbed the back of his neck and held his face to his.

“You’re in my fucking way.”

Will felt a sharp sting in his stomach, and then warmth. Wet, hot warmth on the skin of his abdomen. The sharp sting erupted into searing pain, and he sucked in a ragged breath as his head spun.

“Santi… wha- don’t….”

“Fuck you, Will.”, Pope huskily whispered, ripping the knife out of Will’s gut. “This is on you. You wouldn’t let him just...”

“San-Santi? Pope? … why?” Will gasped, stepping back and clutching his middle. He stared up at Pope, wide eyed and trembling as he fell against the wall behind him and slid down to the ground. A tear slipped down his face as he watched his friend – his murderer – turn and walk away, leaving him alone in the alley to slip away into the inky darkness.

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TAGLIST:

@theywhowriteandknowthings @harryleatherfit @harriedandharassed @neverwheremoonchild @rebel-held @beee-haw @nevergoingbacknowshine @idolatrybarbie @v4vayha @lalocitos @xdaddysprincessxx @deathsholywaterr @heareball @lyssramscal @wintrwinchestr @blackfemalenerd @toxicanonymity @southernbe @starkeydaviss @noxturnalpascal @gwendibleywrites @romanarose

[mangoisms]

come back to bed, my love, my light is low

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ summary: Tim gets dosed with fear toxin and you are there to pick up the pieces.

━ word count: 3.3k

━ contains: established relationship, emotional hurt/comfort, non-sexual intimacy

━ a/n: technically takes place as an extension of my other tim fic, i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute), but prior reading is not required! title is from this song

━ you can read this on ao3 as well

Gotham has always had a fairly impressive rogue gallery. 

You have limited knowledge of the other cities and their various rogues but you think Central City and Keystone City, the Gem Cities of the midwest of which the Flash is in charge of, are some who can match up to it. 

But in the end, Gotham’s will always beat them out. 

You have the Joker, indiscriminate in his havoc, truly, truly unpredictable and for no reason other than he simply wants to. You have Two-Face, fates decided upon the coin toss. You have Mr. Freeze, Black Mask, Poison Ivy, Mad Hatter, and so many more. 

The Joker is the worst of them, though. That is the general consensus in the city. 

But for you? 

You have always found Scarecrow particularly unnerving. 

Sure, the Joker has his clown thing going on but…

When you were a kid, during the fall, the town over from your own would host a Halloween festival. You could come down and pick pumpkins straight from the patches, take hay rides, drink apple cider, gorge on candy apples, and roam their corn maze. 

At the shy age of seven, you ended up getting lost in the corn maze. Separated from your parents, from any other parents or remotely responsible figure, you wandered for some time, crying, terrified, thinking, in typical seven-year-old fashion, that you would be lost forever as the sun set, plunging you into darkness. 

You remember accidentally stumbling into a Scarecrow, just a decoration for the maze, but it had seemed so lifelike with its hay-stuffed limbs and mean face scowling down on you. 

That would be your boogeyman for a long while. 

Eventually, the fear faded and you forgot about it. 

Moving to Gotham gave it a little more life. 

But it’s never been an issue. 

Still isn’t. Not technically. 

After all, you think, perched on your couch, anxiously watching the news, it’s not you currently barricaded in the water treatment plant with Scarecrow and a new batch of fear toxin, fighting to make sure he doesn’t release it into Gotham’s waters. 

No, it’s Tim. The others. 

But the fight is over. Cameras showing police officers with gas masks emerging from the warehouse with Scarecrow tucked between them, hands cuffed. His scarecrow mask is creepy as ever, scowl etched permanently in the rough material of the mask. 

“Still no word on whether Scarecrow was able to contaminate Gotham’s water supply but we do see the few workers he had hostage are now being escorted out. Little is known about this new strand of fear toxin but tips to the GCPD say that it is able to be dispersed either as a liquid or a gas. Previously, the toxin was dispersed only as a gas, but it seems Scarecrow has upgraded to another venture of chaos.”

You drum your fingers on your thigh, eyes intent on the flatscreen. Trying to pick them out in the background. But Bruce does his best to keep Batman and the others out of media eye. At least here in Gotham. When it comes to the Justice League and the Titans, they have little choice. They’re officially sanctioned teams by the UN. Batman can’t be an urban legend there. None of them can. 

Pictures here are blurry, though. Nothing more than grainy, shadow figures in the night. No stopping for interviews, no stepping into the light. 

Outside? Well, you’ve seen literal Getty Image photos of Batman at a UN hearing with Wonder Woman and Superman, looking none too pleased about it all. 

You’re not going to find them, is what you’re saying. But you try anyway. Amidst the sea of police cars, blue and red lights flashing in the night, reporters perched several feet away, debriefing their audiences. 

Just another night in Gotham. 

But not for you. 

Your fingers itch to grab your phone. Tim assured you it would be fine as he unlocked the hidden room in your walk-in closet, the room reinforced by multiple layers of lead (Bruce insisted; Tim, annoyed, relented) and only accessible by fingerprint and retinal scans from him and you, as it is the room that holds his Red Robin gear, private servers, and other confidential items. The room you could hide away in if enemies ever managed to breach your stiff security protocols (installed and programmed by Tim this time) and the thick walls and bulletproof, bomb-proof, and heat vision proof windows of the apartment. 

You’re safe as can be. 

You don’t think the same can be said for Tim. 

Even if he told you he would be fine. That Bruce and Damian are constantly mixing antidotes to the new strands of fear toxin and Joker venom that pop up. That Duke and Steph, both of whom have slowed in their vigilante duties like he has, are coming back on for this one. In addition to Cass and Bruce and Damian and Kate and more. The Birds were on standby, too. 

You can’t help but worry anyway. 

Just a feeling. A bad, bad feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

The phone call you get in the next minute affirms it. 

Caught up just as Scarecrow unleashed the toxin… Had given his own mask to another worker trapped there… Didn’t yet have an antidote… Only received one a few minutes later… in very fragile condition…

Your name jars you from the cold, petrifying fear inside you. 

“Are you alright?”

“Sorry, Alf,” you mumble, standing and shutting off the TV. Your hands shake as you do it. You feel jittery and restless. “I’ll leave now, I don’t know how fast I’ll be able to get to the manor, though, I’m sure traffic is just crazy right now —”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“But —”

“Master Tim has insisted on returning to you. Miss Stephanie agreed and so, it is next to impossible to get them to change their minds.”

“Right,” you say, sitting back down, flexing your fingers, which have gone cold, despite the apartment being well-heated for December in Gotham. A little voice like Tim’s matter-of-factly says, You’re stressed. Blood doesn’t flow as well to the hands and extremities because of it. 

You try to regroup. “Are the others okay, then?”

“They all had their masks, so yes, they’re alright. A few scrapes and bruises but nothing we aren’t used to. Master Tim and Miss Stephanie are on their way now and I imagine you’d like to prepare for his arrival.”

“Right, right, yeah, thanks, Alfred.”

“I should thank you for taking care of him. There is a reason he wants to be with you there rather than with us. It is most likely self-explanatory, but it should still be said.”

Of course. 

After so many years, he is your home. The harbor to your tempest. And it is the same for him. 

“Thank you, Alfred. I appreciate that.”

“Of course.”

You bid your goodbyes and hurry to prepare for their arrival. 

A hot meal sounds in order but you don’t think he’ll be up for it immediately, so you grab a pack of crackers. You ensure you have water, as well as some Sprite. You don’t know if he showered there, he probably didn’t, so you grab a fresh change of clothes for him, leaving it on the counter in the bathroom and grabbing him a new towel, too. 

You go back to the living room to turn the TV back on, changing it to Ice Age, then lighting a candle you like to turn on every now and then, lavender and vanilla scented. Something familiar, something to ease him. You don’t know if it’ll work but you have to try. 

After that, it is simply a waiting game. 

You keep a close eye on your phone, where you get notifications from your security system. 

Fifteen minutes later, you get an alert — not about movement on the balcony, but at the front door, camera feed showing you Tim and Steph’s figures in heavy thick coats — appropriate for the weather and to hide their suits, since their usual masks are gone. You guess he wasn’t in good enough condition to grapple with her. The thought makes your heart clench. Dismissing the message, you hurry over to open the door. 

“Yeah, there you go, sweetie, you’re home now,” she’s murmuring to him, voice softer and gentler than you’ve ever heard. 

She glances up at you as the door opens, shooting you a sad smile, then nudging Tim gently. 

Your throat tightens painfully as you see his face, paler than usual, eyes glassy, gaze far, far away from here.  

“Timmy?”

His eyes shoot to you. 

Then he’s moving, strength and vigor seemingly renewed at the sight of you, and his arms are wrapping around you, tight, like steel, painful, hurting, cutting off your breathing, but you don’t care, don’t say anything, you just hold him back, as tightly as you can. 

The pain is just a reminder that he’s here, with you, once again. Like it should be.

Steph leaves silently, mouthing Thank you. 

You mouth back Be safe. 

She shoots you a thumbs-up, then slips out, door clicking closed behind her. 

Tim is shaking, you realize, body trembling against yours. 

“You’re okay,” you whisper and his hold tightens painfully again but you push through it. “We’re okay, honey. We’re okay. You’re okay.”

What must he have seen? 

Fear. Jonathan Crane’s greatest motivation — to master fear itself and to push those boundaries by using his fear toxins on others. 

Your greatest fears, convincing you that they have become reality. 

For you? 

Losing your family. Losing your friends. Losing Tim. 

For him?

He has already lost so much. 

Been through so much. 

You can surmise that you must’ve been part of it. Of course. Of course. 

“We’re okay,” you whisper again, squeezing him. 

He buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. You run your fingers through his hair, not caring about how sweaty it is, Gotham clinging to him even now. You hate it. Can’t he get a break? Can’t he be free of it for even a few hours? 

But that’s why you’re here. 

To help. To ease the burden. This monumental burden put on him when he was a mere fourteen-years-old. 

You two stay there for a little while. You feel him toe off his boots at one point, which makes you smile. 

He keeps his face in your neck, despite you knowing the angle must start to bother him. But the contact is what he needs so you’ll give it to him. Whatever he wants. 

“Are you up to eat something?” you ask softly, fingers still running through his damp hair. 

He shakes his head. You guessed as much. 

“How about a shower?”

Quiet for a minute. You feel the rise and fall of his shoulders and the tickle of warm breath against the sensitive skin of your neck. Then he nods. 

It takes longer for him to let go. You don’t rush him. And even then, he doesn’t let you go far, holding onto your hand as you lead him into your shared bedroom and then into the adjoining bathroom. 

Large and ridiculously luxurious, it has a jacuzzi bathtub, a large walk-in shower with a rainfall shower head, two for the body in the wall, then one detachable head, and it’s controlled by a waterproof touchscreen. Definitely a step-up from the bathtub shower you two had at Rose Oaks. 

You turn on the shower, making it hot, then turn to Tim, reaching for the coat. 

Underneath it is his suit. Most likely, he and Steph rode here by motorcycle, then she put them both in coats for the walk up here. It’s a bit of a silly image, especially since his cape is longer than it, and you smile to yourself as you pull off the coat.

“What?” he asks quietly, voice raspy. The first time he’s spoken so far. 

“You’re cute, that’s all,” you murmur, dropping the coat onto the floor, then reaching up to unsnap the cape. 

He doesn’t say anything else. Just looks at you. By this point in your relationship, the intensity of his gaze, taking you in fully, no details missed by keen eyes, does not fluster you. It just warms you. You feel seen in the best of ways. Wanted. Loved. 

You love him, too. So much more than you thought possible. Sometimes it feels like you might burst with it. You hope he knows that. You’ll show him. 

You take care of the rest of his suit. Fingers finding hidden zippers, carefully unlatching his utility belt and setting it aside, slipping off his compression shirt and the rest of it. 

By the time everything has been taken off, the bathroom is muggy with steam. 

You step back but he grabs your wrist, saying your name, blue eyes pleading. 

“Stay. Please.”

“I am,” you soothe. “Just let me get out of this, okay?”

You strip, too, much more quickly. He steps in and you follow him, gently guiding him underneath the stream of hot water. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps, a little bit chilly from the sparse water touching you, but you ignore it. 

Everything seems to fall away. Tim’s eyes slide shut, head tilting back, letting the water run over his face, thick chunks of dark hair sticking to his skin, the water washing away the terrors of the night. You sigh, hand slipping to his cheek, rubbing the skin there gently. 

When he pulls his head away from the stream, you reach up to comb his hair away from his face, fingers stroking over his skin idly, tenderly. He leans forward, arms coming around your waist, pulling you into him. 

You go easily, hands sliding over his shoulders as he closes the distance between your bodies, dropping his head against your chest this time, right over your heart.

When you think of the reason why, your throat squeezes. 

“We’re okay,” you whisper, fingers tracing odd circles on his back, running through his wet hair, gently detangling the knots that formed during his work tonight. 

“I know,” he whispers. “I just…”

The fear toxin is effective in what it was conceived to do. Even for Tim, as analytical and logic-minded as he is. When you live this kind of life, the threat of loss is a real one. Janet Drake’s death was entirely accidental. Not for any rhyme or reason other than misfortune. Jack Drake’s, however, was intentional. The list goes on and it’s hardly limited to loss by death. There are so many things that can happen. Things that can happen to you. Either because of Tim Drake or because of Red Robin. Or both. 

But you don’t care about that. You never have. The danger is real but what you would lose in that trade-off is not worth it. 

It doesn’t help, you think. Not now. Not when he knows, vividly, how he may lose you, because saying that now is as good as saying you’re okay with dying and he doesn’t need that. 

He just needs assurance that you’re here now. And you’ll give it to him. 

“I love you so much. You know that?”

You feel his breath stutter, arms tightening, chest pressed so closely to yours you can feel the unsteady beat of his heart pounding against you, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips so hard it’ll probably leave bruises. But you don’t care. 

“And I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur. “Not in a million years if I had a choice in it.”

A small sniffle. “That’s not physically possible. Unless you’re secretly Kryptonian.”

Your lips quirk. You reach for his shampoo, squeezing out a dollop, then smoothing it into his hair. He sinks further into you, letting out a small noise of pleasure. 

“Not Kryptonian. Just human. And very dedicated to those I love.” 

A sigh. “I know.”

“Whatever you saw tonight,” you murmur and he tenses sharply but you keep going, keep massaging shampoo into his hair, soapy bubbles spilling over your palm, “it wasn’t real. I’m here. We’re all here. And we aren’t going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s quiet for a long while. Enough for you to rinse out the shampoo and rub in the conditioner. 

You reach for his body wash. Your body wash, really. He hasn’t used his own in a long while. 

His hand wraps around your wrist, though. Stopping you. He pulls back to look at you. 

“Tim?”

His eyes are on your face. Soft. But still a little hard to read. 

He turns you, switching your positions. You jump at the first douse of hot water but don’t fight it, allowing him to push you under the stream. You close your eyes to keep the water out. His hands come up to your face. Stroking your cheeks. Pushing your wet hair out of your face. You lean into his touch. 

“I love you,” he whispers. “More than anything.”

“More than anything,” you echo, leaning into him. He wraps his arms around you. Hugging you. Tightly but not painfully. 

You think you might hear him whisper Thank you but above the sound of the shower, you aren’t sure. 

Slowly, you get him cleaned up. He insists on returning the favor and you let him, even if you already showered earlier. It’s a small thing to ask, after all. 

After, you step out and dry yourselves off. You help him into his clothes and he helps you into yours. Insistent on reciprocation. Wanting to do something for you. But also just wanting to be near you. Touch you. Helping you gives him assurances, you think, of your presence. The thought makes your heart ache. 

His hair is wetter than you’d like it to be, so you grab a towel and lead him out into the room. He sits on the edge of the bed and you stand between his legs, taking the towel to his hair, gently drying it. 

Tim holds onto you all the while. 

You comb through it afterward, gently taking out the tangles. 

He has a distant look in his eyes when you finish, tossing the towel and comb to the side for now, not wanting to be too far from him. 

“What are you thinking?” you prompt gently, sitting next to him, taking his hand in yours. 

“That I think the last person who did that was my mom.”

You pause. “Was it… I’m sorry. I didn’t ask —”

“No,” he says, looking at you. “No, it was… it was nice.” His voice is small. A little embarrassed. A little bashful. Red stains his cheeks and you smile at the sight. 

“I’ll do it anytime you want,” you promise. “In the meantime…”

You leave it hanging, for him to fill. 

He sighs. “Let’s just go to bed?”

“Sure. Can I get you to drink some water first maybe?”

He acquiesces, drinking a glass of water, then sliding into bed. You clear the security system — with him peering over your shoulder, making certain for himself, too — then turn out the lights, curtains automatically drawing over the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Tim keeps you close underneath the covers, settling low, laying his head on your chest like he did in the shower. You press a kiss to his head, running your fingers through his hair, feeling sleep start to tug at your senses. 

By the way he relaxes into the memory foam of the bed, you know it’s not far off from him, either. 

You stay awake to make sure of it. 

Feeling his body go lax, his breathing even out. Hoping, praying, his dreams are peaceful tonight. To whoever will listen. The universe, some higher being, you don’t know, you simply want to give him a break. A break from all of this. 

It’s just a bad day. You know that. A bad day that stands out in a sea of so many good ones. But bad days for him, for you, are something so different from others’. Unforgiving trauma. Potential loss of life. 

But honestly? If changing that meant leaving him… you wouldn’t change a thing. 

God, you hope that as the time goes on, he’ll fully step back. 

Until then, you’ll be there to pick up the pieces. To tend to the aftermath. 

Always. 

reblogs are appreciated!

[makethatelevenrings]

For Your Eyes Only // B. Wayne x gn!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: mention of fear toxin

Summary: Bruce Wayne has enough money to buy anything. That makes gift giving extremely difficult. Until you come up with an idea.

The idea sprang to your mind like Athena from Zeus. It had been a hard night with numerous Rogues breaking out of Arkham and a newer, more potent fear gas strain being dispersed in the city. Tim’s rebreather had been broken, so Bruce gave him the one on his belt.

You had spent eight hours curled up in the cold metal chair next to the medical bay cot, your hand tightly clasped in his as he sweat out the toxin. You couldn’t banish the fears he was seeing from his mind, but you could be with him, holding his hand and kissing his brow. The kids periodically came in with snacks and water and blankets, but they only stayed for a few minutes before disappearing once again. You knew they felt guilty for letting Bruce take the brunt of the toxin, but you also knew that your boyfriend wouldn’t want his kids to feel that way. Once Bruce was up and moving, you would turn your attention on making sure the batlings and birds didn’t let the guilt eat them alive, especially Tim.

It was during hour seven when his shivering began to subside and his stare was less vapid and more focused that the idea came to you. Christmas wasn’t for another few months but, hey, you had a lot of people to shop for so might as well get started now.

But you didn’t want to buy anything for Bruce. Hell, there was nothing to buy. He was the richest man in Gotham and could easily purchase whatever he wanted, from a Porsche to a penthouse. When you first started dating, you teased him endlessly about dating someone from “the lower class” despite his constant eyerolls. Jason and Steph found it hilarious, however, and so you would keep up the jokes as long as you had two allies on your side.

This idea…it was special. It was sentimental. By god, it was sappy.

You really hoped that your emotionally constipated boyfriend appreciated it.

Christmas morning came and went. The kids were showered with gifts, of course, ranging in weaponry to books to new pencils and everything in between. You sat nestled next to Bruce on one of the couches, warm and content as the light and heat of the fireplace washed over you. A mug of coffee sat nestled in your hands and a blanket was tucked around your legs, courtesy of the worrywart of a man next to you.

“I’d like to give you my gift later. When we’re alone,” you murmured to him. His eyebrow lifted, curiosity staining his usually impassive face and you smacked his chest.

“Not like that.” Your scowl was met with a soft grin and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head as you settled back against his chest to watch the kids descend on their wrapped gifts.

Around noon, you slipped out of the living room where the kids were spread out watching Die Hard. You waited for a moment when strong hands curled around your hips and a chin settled on your shoulder.

“Merry Christmas,” you chuckled.

“Merry Christmas, darling.” You pulled him upstairs with you to your shared bedroom and pushed him down to sit on the edge of the bed so you could dash to the walk-in closet and rummage through your shoes.

“I know you could have easily found these, but it’s the principle of the matter,” you declared as you emerged from the closet. An old shoebox sat in your hands and you extended it to him, suddenly shy at the thought of him opening this gift. Once he took it from your grasp, you stepped away and wrung your hands together as he opened it.

Bruce was silent for a moment and you regretted everything. This was stupid. It had been a stupid idea and you should have just gone out and bought him new cufflinks or somethi-

He tugged you closer to him and rested his forehead against your stomach, his eyes still locked on the pile of letters in the box. Each letter was labeled on the outside with a small message.

“Open me when you’re at the Watchtower,” one read.

“Open me if I’m not home for the night,” another said.

“Open me when the darkness is too much.”

Letter upon letter crowded the small box, each handwritten with an outpouring of emotion. You wrote encouragement, love, and occasional derision when you knew he would have his head up his ass. Bruce was a reserved man and he didn’t take genuine compliments well.

Having a chance to read these in private and receive your love outside of verbal words?

“Thank you, darling,” he breathed as he tugged you down to sit in his lap. You nestled your head against the crook of his neck and played with a loose strand on the sleeve of his cashmere sweater.

“And when you’ve read them all, I’ll always have more words waiting for you here.”

His lips pressed against the crown of your head as he ran his fingers over the rough paper beneath his fingers. No words needed to be said. You both understood the love that you felt. It was all written out on paper.

Tag List: @someoneimsure​ @perpetual-fangirl900​ @visagebrise​ @alexxavicry​ @havingarebelliousstage​ @the-wayward-daughter​ @cursedandromedablack​ 

[beautifulloverwitch]

By Fire, Sea and Blood

the untold tale of an approaching death

Act I: chapter seven: false peace.

previous ///// next

Summary: House Targaryen is as divided as ever, all having solidified their places within either faction. A grievous task that put love to a difficult test. Although the storm may have seized its frightening drums of thunder and destructive strikes of lightening, it has not gone yet, and all who thought that are fools for latching onto hope so soon.

_______________

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Daenerys Velaryon (Strong! Oc)

WC: 13.8k

Warnings: Death, mentions of death, Violence.

Masterlist

It was a sleepless night for the occupants of High tide. Viserys held his head in his hands as he grieved the state of his family. Alicents assault on Rhaenyra had proven to the slow man that this was no childish quarrel, this was a conflict rooted within this family’s generations. One, that he had regrettably believed, would have never existed had he not taken Alicent to wife.

His queen stood within her bedchambers, blankly staring into the dancing flames of the hearth, distraught and ashamed of what she had done. Grasping at her shaking hands as she attempted to regain what she could of her composure.

Her lady in waiting, Talia, entered her bed chambers giving a gracious nod to the handmaidens that had busied themselves cleaning it out.

“My queen?” she asked the dazed Alicent “the hand.”

Alicent squirmed as she adjusted her posture, her father marching in with an unnerving expression on his face. One she could not discern if it was of disappointment or pride. The handmaidens bowed their heads as he walked past them without paying them any mind, rushing out of the chambers as he approached the queen.

She glanced back at the flames, awaiting the tongue lashing she would receive from her father, accepting it gracefully “say your piece.”

“Now, what piece is that?” he credulously asked.

She sighed, at his cruelty for having her list her wrongdoings “I’ve conducted myself in a manner, unbefitting my station, or any other,” she rolled her jaw before she continued to confess ashamedly “I lost composure, assaulted the princess,” she faced her father only a moment before looking down at her fiddling hands, still shaken by what they had been capable of doing “Already the word is spreading, the gossip speculating that I’ve gone mad.”

“All true,” he agreed.

She sighed “I’ve disgraced myself, and ensured my husband’s favour will forever rest on her,” she admitted, bowing her head as she awaited her father to state her wrongs in a far more eloquent manner.

“And yet,” his face brightened with pride, “I’ve never seen that side of you, my daughter.”

She lifted her head, hating his admiration of her doings.

“I even doubted its existence,” he joked.

She was quick to deplore her actions “it was an ugly thing, I regret it-.”

“We play an ugly game,” he told firmly, still a proud smile lining his often tense lips “And now, I see that you have the determination to win it.”

She clutched her wrist as she remembered “Rhaenyra-.”

He continued for her as though he knew the words before they had left her lips. “You see her for what she is, what the King’s stubbornness has wrought.”

Alicent lowered her gaze as she asked anxiously “what will he say to me?”

“He’ll forgive you,” he assured as he stepped closer to her “what else could he do?” He spoke with such sureness, for he knew the king so well he thought him predictable “Now go to him, be penitent, plead the injury to your son,” he advised “keep a grip on your passions, and I promise you in time, you and I together will prevail.”

She gazed upon her father fearfully, but assured by his guidance.

“What that rogue Aemond did, in winning Vhagar to our side,” a smile tugged at his lip as he recalled how the boy had slipped away “the boy was right it’s worth a thousand times the price he paid.”

Laenor stormed through the corridors of High tide, worried for his family. When he had heard the news of what had occurred the night prior, he feared the worst. The gnawing guilt tore him away from his drunken stupor.

Barging into the room he saw them all. His wife wincing as she held a brave face before her children, who had not been spared either. Lucerys with cotton stuffed up his swollen and bloody nose, Jacaerys’s face littered with purple bruises, and Daenerys pressing a cloth to her cheek hiding her wound. The three children turned to look at their father, making him meet the face of his greatest failure.

“Is everyone alright?” he asked, wincing at the question.

“The broken nose is the worst-,” the Maester assured.

“Thank you, Maester,” Rhaenyra told, clutching at her freshly stitched arm “leave us,” she dismissed.

The Maester reluctantly took his leave. Rhaenyra turned to look at her children “you as well, you’ve already found enough trouble today.”

“Yes mother,” they all ashamedly answered.

Daenerys and Jacaerys stood at either side of Lucerys as they walked out of the room, helping the dazed boy walk. Laenor brushed their shoulders as they walked past.

He turned to look at Rhaenyra, admitting the obvious “I should have been there.”

She had a jaded look on her face as she recalled the night's events “those should be our house words.”

Laenor chuckled lightly as he glanced over his shoulder to her before turning to look at the table covered with bloody cloth and discarded thread “I have fought dreadful enemies, but I could not defend my dear sister, far from home and in agony…” he pursed his lips as he huffed through his nose “I failed to defend you.”

“Sit down,” Rhaenyra told, startling the man. He sat before her, with his head bowed as he listened attentively “Aemond called our children bastards,” she said.

His lips had parted at the news, shaking his head in remorse before he proclaimed “I have failed you Rhaenyra, our marriage…” The words proved difficult to say “I tried,” his face contorted with remorse as he told, thinking she had not known “Our children, I do love them.”

“I know,” she softly assured.

“Deeply,” he emphasised, his mouth tightened as he searched his mind for the right words “but I have not, mayhaps, loved them enough.”

Rhaenyra sat quietly as she pondered his words, a delighted hum leaving her as she pictured “I had hoped to bear your children, the few times we lay together, things might have been different.”

He too imagined such a possibility, loathing how he had neglected such a chance “I hate the gods for making me as they did.”

Rhaenyra frowned at his words “I do not, you are an honourable man, with a good heart,” she chuckled as he glanced up at her “it’s a rare thing.”

He hummed, touched by her compliment but knew a solemn matter had to be addressed “we made an arrangement all those years ago to do our duty and yet explore happiness.”

Rhaenyra laughed, for she could never have imagined this to be the outcome of their arrangement. Laenor grinned awkwardly before stating to her firmly “there are times, I think when… these things cannot mutually exist,” his lips pursed before he informed her “Ser Qarl will return soon to the fighting in the stepstones,” he brought his chair closer to her as he declared to the bewildered Rhaenyra “but I recommit myself to you, and to strengthening our house as we prepare you for your ascension,” Rhaenyra’s chin lowered fearful for Laenor “I will raise our sons to be princes of the realm and our daughter, a queen.”

“Laenor…” she spoke, thinking this much more than she could have wished from him.

“You deserve better than what I have been,” he told, not a stutter in his voice, “you deserve a husband.”

Annora had taken to emptying Daenerys’s room of her things for the trip back to Dragonstone. Her eyes worriedly flicking over towards the girl who sat still on her bed, back facing the eyes of the room as she stared down at the object in her hands. Daenerys fiddled with her compass, flicking it open and shut as she questioned her right to keep it anymore. It pained her to consider that the Aemond that had given her the compass was the very same Aemond that had left her wounded in too many ways. She knew that she should have been revolted by him, that she should have come to hate him. To that she asked herself how could she, how could she possibly hate the boy she once called her friend? How could she hate the boy who would spend hours with her divulging his greatest troubles to her and she to him?

A part of her felt foolish for not having ever realised it sooner. Last night's events had laid before her an easy puzzle, with pieces she had long had, but she was far too entrapped in her own delusion to have bothered casting doubt upon their friendship. His disdain whenever she would speak of her family to him, with either worry or content he always seemed to have the same look of disinterest at their mention. How his face would harden whenever she had to leave him to tend to them. She began to think herself fortunate that she had not bid him goodbye once she had departed to Dragonstone, for fear of his wrath. Aemond never had cared for her family, rightfully so, they had only served to torment him. Yet even with the kindness she had offered him, he had harmed her in a manner indescribable.

How comfortably the word “Bastards,” had left his lips. It must have been easy for he had not faced her as he uttered such an insult. It was the first time she had heard the word uttered unashamedly. Even Aegon had not the gall to say it aloud. She wondered if the word had danced about his head whenever he saw her, was that the cause of his smiles, his joy? 

As painful as his actions had been, she argued they were not worth him losing an eye. Her brother Luke had frantically explained to her as she guided him to the Hall of nine, that he was scared, he wanted to defend his elder siblings, he feared Aemond would do further harm, and he did not wish to stand by and watch. An action Daenerys was regrettably guilty of. The remainder of the night Dany had spent it scrutinising her every action, to her dismay, she had found so many ways to prevent such a calamity had she not stupidly wandered off again. Had she stayed in her bedchamber, Rhaena would have found her. she could have convened between them all and prevented the confrontation from escalating further.

She hated the daze that she had fallen into during the attack. While her brothers drew their blades to her defence she stood by with a dumbfounded look on her face. She pinched her ear harshly in reprimand, shouting at herself not to cry, for she had no right to, she was their elder sister and she had failed to protect them, this was but a small injury compared to all that had happened to them. ‘Learn that your brothers are forever first, not the boy you had taken to reading a stupid history book with’ she chided herself.

A knock at her door made her wipe away at her tear stained cheeks. She glanced to the door then to the equally confused Annora.

The handmaiden opened the doors and bowed her head as she was faced by the wide-eyed Helaena.

Daenerys paid no mind as she kept her eyes fixated on the compass gilded with guilt “Who is it, Annora?”

Annora stuttered out “Princess Helaena, your grace.”

Daenerys’s neck had cracked at the swiftness of its turn, she discarded the compass beside her as she shot up from her seat and made her way to the door “Helaena?”

Annora stepped aside as Helaena made her way into the room, closely followed by the brooding Ser Criston and her mother’s handmaiden Talia. His eyes darkened with loathing as he saw the girl, a shred of pride taking root within him as he saw her shrink beneath his stare.

Helaena’s hands fiddled at her sides, her eyes looking at Daenerys’s feet, finding no will to look at the girls face. Her lips twisted to the side as she turned her head slightly to where Criston had stood “can I speak to her alone?”

His lips tightened, hands clenching behind him as he reminded her “the queen commanded me not to leave your side,” he told, sending a cautioning glance to the girl of ten that stood awkwardly before them all.

Helaena turned to face him “it will only be a moment,” she told her eyes shining like porcelain glass “Please, I wish to speak to my niece, alone.”

Daenerys frowned at the foreign term; she had never been acknowledged in such a manner by her friend. Helaena spoke the term with endearment, but it still felt wrong on her lips as she tasted the word for the first time.

Criston looked over Helaena’s face with worry, hating himself for succumbing to her pleads. He reluctantly left the room after sending a warning stare to Daenerys. Making it clear to both that the door was to stay open.

Helaena dismissed her handmaiden and Daenerys followed suit, dismissing Annora.

The two girls stood awkwardly in front of one another, Daenerys’s heel digging into the ground as she searched for the right words to say. She feared to fall the first victim to whatever tongue lashing the kind Helaena had conjured from whatever darkness could have possibly existed within her. Daenerys would take it with a stringent face for she had believed she deserved it. She accepted she would no longer be entitled to the kind voice of her friend, how could she have any right to it after what she had just allowed to occur.

Helaena stood solemnly, a slight sway in her stature as she fought against the words that had begun to push against her lips. Her cheeks still wet with a sheen of tears from arguing against the harsh command her mother had enforced upon her. She had searched for her father in hopes of gaining his objection in the matter, but he refused to face any of his children, even the maimed one.

Helaena had pitied what had happened to her brother, but never would she blame Daenerys for her brothers’ actions. She found it just as troubling to choose between her friend and her family, finding the grey line between them both impossible to ignore, they were all her family, why must she choose?

As she glanced up to the girl, her eyes landed on the swollen and bruised cheek of Daenerys, the wound concealed by a thick piece of cotton, blood gone brown as it dried. 

Helaena gulped and did her best to stiffen her face. All that had done was make her face tremble as she fought against her anguish “I’ve been told… to never speak to you again,” she plainly stated, not sweetening her words for Daenerys, who’s eyes blew wide with anxious disbelief.

“What?” she asked, her voice did not waver for she thought this a joke, but she knew Helaena to not be so cruel.

Helaena flinched at the sound of her voice, head beginning to shake slightly as she explained “Mother told me that I cannot see you anymore, nor can I write to you,” her lips quivered with trepidation as she recalled “and it is best that you don’t attend my wedding.”

A bewildered chuckle escaped the apprehensive Daenerys “you can’t possibly mean that,” she told, awaiting a ray of light to shine through the thick solemn cloud that hovered above Helaena’s face “what had happened was regretful, and if the queen wishes it I will apologise on the behalf of my brothers,” her eyes began to flutter as she felt her tears way heavy on them “I will offer my own eye if it will sate her!” she desperately bargained “please Helaena, we’ve no fault in this, plead to her to understand that.”

Helaena’s hands clenched in front of her “she refused to listen to me, and grandsire said it was for the best of this family,” she spoke, her mouth twisting with contempt when she recalled the vile ways her mother had spoken of the young girl, Alicents anger was still freshly lit at the time “the matter was not negotiable, I’m sorry-, I barely managed to convince her to let me say goodbye.”

Daenerys shook her head, denying the harsh reality that this may be their last encounter. She rushed forward clasping Helaena’s hands in her own, running her thumbs hopefully over the rigid hands of her friend “No, she can’t do this, let her exact a punishment in any other manner but not like this!” she stated, eyes fighting to meet the avoidant Helena's eyes ``If she were to do this, I may never see you again, ever!”

Helaenas gaze shot up from the ground “that’s not true! When your mother ascends the throne, you can return to the red keep!”

Daenerys shook her head “she will, but I won’t! I would be stuck at Dragonstone until the time came for me to ascend the iron throne and that is only if I choose to become queen!” she frantically explained, dread beginning to clench around her heart as she recalled “if I were to refuse, I would be sent away to marry some lord-.”

Helaena’s hand clenched around Daenerys’s trembling ones “that won’t happen.”

“Deny it all you wish, but it will!” she restated “I would never see you again, and-,” Her lips pursed as she attempted to gather herself, her breaths growing laboured as she considered every possibility that her unknown future could have possibly had in mind “I can’t lose another friend Helaena! Please!” she pleaded, sobs beginning to shake her tense shoulders.

Helaena’s lips quivered, how could she survive the coming decades alone, with Aegon as her husband and Aemond controlling each and every one of her steps with the support of their mother and Grandsire. She dreaded a future absent of the understanding and caring of Daenerys. 

She leapt forward, engulfing the sobbing Daenerys into her arms, the two crying together, Helaena mustering whatever restraint she could have possibly had to bite back her sobs and begin to accept her fate. Running her hand up and down the back of the sobbing Daenerys, practically chanting her whispered words “Break away a branch of red, charging towards a dances end,” she spoke with desperation “Breaks away a branch of red, charging to her uncertain end.”

A knock had come at the door, Criston found her stay to have been longer than necessary to him, a moment longer and the queen would have been disappointed.

Helaena tensed at the sound, and pried herself away from Daenerys, who followed Helaena’s hands as they departed her. Helaena reached down and clasped Daenerys’s hands in her own, lifting them up and to her chest as she spoke her words carefully, a hint of a warning in her voice “The darkness will call and the seas will roar, to the tides you succumb and from the tides you will rise, thrice more.”

Daenerys' eyes fluttered with confusion, her mind beginning to ache as she attempted to decipher this riddle. She stumbled forward as Helaena tore herself away and marched towards the door. Swatting the hand of Ser Criston as he attempted to offer her his comfort. Criston sighed with frustration, reaching for the handle of Daenerys’s room and slammed it shut, leaving Daenerys torturously alone in her cold bedchambers.

Helaena stormed past her brother who waited for her patiently down the hall. Sending her a look of pity as he saw her teary eyes and reddened cheeks. Ser Criston stood before Aemond, offering the boy his arm “come my prince, let me escort you to the Queen.”

Aemond looked up at the tender eyed knight, his eye fluttering slightly as he adjusted to the sight. His head shaking from side to side as he was again reminded that he was vulnerable. The slight stumble in his step, the way he kept close to the walls on his left, and the dull ache that thrummed in his head. These newly found plights made him consider the trade he had made, and how fair it truly was.

He had spent the remainder of the night awake; his mother never having left his side since the events at the Hall of nine. He consciously looked at her with a pride he had not before, grateful for a mother like her, a mother willing to stand against the king, just to protect the children he never would have. To his dismay, his mother’s protectiveness cost him another chance with his dragon; he was forbidden from taking to the skies on Vhagar a second time until the Maesters would tell her that he was fit to do so. Even the she-dragon was reluctant to welcome her rider, spurning him from reaching for the netting again, crooning worriedly at him as he sauntered off angrily, clutching at his bandaged face.

The sound of doors bursting open from down the corridor caught his attention, glancing towards the head of dark hair that stormed down the other side, bow and satchel of arrows in hand. He took a step towards where she had gone, longing to speak with her, to hear her tell him that he had been wronged and that her brothers were at fault, that she would do something to avenge him, that she would lend him her ear so he may pour into her his anger and that her tender words would be water to the lashing flames of his justified rage.

His face had hardened once he remembered that she had no kind words for him, no touch of sympathy at his predicament. When he had been writhing on the floor she rushed to her brother’s aid, who remained whole after a confrontation that they had incited. He was the victim, he was attacked and he did the one thing he logically could, he defended himself. The gall of his nephews to stand by when his half-sister had screamed that it was they who had been attacked, they all knew that to be a lie. He wondered if his niece had known the same. Thinking to himself at what point had she come upon such a scene? Was she there from the beginning, but too craven to face him at such a moment? Was she there when his cousins and nephews had him pinned to the ground, beating him mercilessly? Did she know he had no intention of engaging in the confrontation? Mayhaps, to his misfortune, she had walked in when he had called her brothers bastards and threatened them with a torturous death. He doubted it, and entirely denied it; he had hoped her to have been too enthralled in saving her brother from his grasp to have heard him say such a thing.

His lip trembled as he recalled the way she had hurt him, kicking him to the ground like some dog. Treating him in such a manner he would have never known it was Daenerys, he had thought it his brutish cousin Baela, had he known it was Dany he would have never struck her, he may have even seized defending himself if it had meant she would be capable of bolstering reason between them all. She knew just as he had, that a dragon was not claimed by inheritance it was claimed by those daring enough to come face it. They had read over the pages of dragon claiming in their history book thousands of times over, it would be impossible to forget.

The beliefs that his grandsire had instilled within him had been reaffirmed, she would always choose them, and toss him aside, no matter how right he may have been. He wondered to himself, had he been worth enough to her to even become a name for her to remember.

He raised his head, paying one final glance to where she had gone, before marching off after his sister, Criston, stuck at his side.

Rhaenyra clutched at her wounded arm as she looked out onto the horizon. Eyes following the shrinking figure of her fathers ship as it departed for kings landing, staring at it with trepidation and question. She cared less for the ship and more for the one occupant within it, the one person she had a thousand words to say to. Never would either have the gall to face the other after what had happened that night, each left with a scar to be forever reminded of it.

Daemon joined her side, hands resting comfortably on the hilt of his sword. Taking a quick glance at her arm before looking up at her.

“Fire is such a strange power,” she said, “everything that house Targaryen has is owed to it,” her fingers danced around one another as she frowned, “yet it has cost us both what we loved.”

He hummed in agreement before sending a considering look to the deep blue blanket of the sea “perhaps the Velaryons knew the truth of it, the sea is the better ally.”

She sent a look of envy towards the sea “fire is a prison… the sea offers an escape.”

Rhaenyra casted Daemon a sad and helpless gaze “I need you uncle…,” she pleaded. Lips beginning to quiver in anxious wait as he paid her no mind “I cannot face the greens alone,” she spoke in her mother tongue, garnering his intrigue “let us bind our blood, just as Aegon the Conqueror did with his sisters,” she proposed to him “with you as my husband and prince consort, my claim would not be so easily challenged,” she searched his curious eyes for a hint of rejection, she found in his eyes pity and regret. Never had Daemon seen her so defeated and alone, and he only fanned the flames that entrapped her in such a state once he had left. 

She looked to the sea “the Velaryons are of the sea, but you and I-,” her eyes followed his face, fearing he had readied to leave her once again as he turned his back towards the sea, contemplating her offer carefully “are made of fire,” she proclaimed proudly “we have always been meant to burn together.”

Daemon sighed before reluctantly reminding her “we could not marry unless Laenor were dead.”

Rhaenyra had not been inflicted by a stutter as she told him.

“I know.”

Her eyes had softened with hesitance as she saw the shocked expression on his face. Resolution had hardened her features as she looked back out into the sea. Missing the proud smile that appeared upon the excited Daemon's face.

The docks were blustering to prepare the ship to Dragonstone. Originally the Targaryen and Velaryon families were to stay at High tide weeks longer but what had happened the night prior made them in no rush to stay a moment longer. Rhaenyra had invited her uncle to stay on Dragonstone before he went to Pentos with his daughters.

The children had all been gathered within Rhaenyra’s quarters. Awaiting to be called onto the ship.

Jacaerys and Lucerys had felt awkward within the room, never having been outnumbered by girls before. Daenerys had taken to answering the wary Rhaena and Baelas questions about Dragonstone.

“Would there be any space for us?” Rhaena curiously asked.

Daenerys scoffed “plenty, the palace is practically empty,” she said.

Baela huffed  “I’d rather stay here than go to all that smog.”

“It’s not too bad!” Luke defended “it’s quite nice in the afternoon!”

Daenerys reluctantly agreed “he’s right,” she leant to Baela as she whispered “doesn’t smell as bad surprisingly.”

The two girls giggled once they saw the boy pout. He hissed as he felt the twinge of pain from his nose, the sound silencing the two as they looked at him worriedly.

Jace observed his brother's face, fearing his nose had begun to bleed again.

“Is he alright?” Daenerys had asked.

He gave her a reassuring smile “he’s fine, he just needs to stop using his snout.”

Rhaena frowned tenderly at the boy, Baela startled her sister when she jumped forward “you did well to show our one eyed cousin, Luke,” she told with a proud smirk on her lips “takes our mothers dragon and insults us beneath the roof of our home.”

Daenerys rested back against her seat at the mention of Aemond.

Jace scoffed at the mention of his uncle “I can’t believe he received no punishment from the king.”

“He threatened to kill us! Gods- he nearly killed Jace and Dany!” Luke exclaimed.

Jace patted his head “you did well to save us!” He admired.

Luke’s lip tightened bashfully, still unsure of how to feel about his doings “I didn’t mean too…” he muttered to himself.

Baela had a smug look on her face as she told “he’ll be forever reminded not to repeat his stupid mistake, and to never cross us,” she said, frowning when she saw the uncertain look on Daenerys’s face.

Rhaena knew the cause of her uncertainty, the guilt that had gripped her as she sat by and heard the words regarding her once friend. Rhaena reached for Daenerys’ hands “you needn’t let him plague your thoughts Dany,” she told “it was best he showed his truth now rather than later.”

Her lips twisted to the side as she heard the words, she hated how comforting they had been.

Baela scoffed “I found him rather annoying, how can you have him as your friend?” She bewilderedly asked “all he would do was ogle at you.”

Daenerys rolled her eyes “everyone does that.”

“Well he had done it a bit too much for my comfort,” she told plopping beside Daenerys.

Daenerys squirmed in her seat, hating where this conversation had ventured “enough of him,” she dismissed before grasping both of her cousins hands “a tale of yesterday he is, today I have the both of you, one friend gone for two in return,” she told with a forceful glint of playfulness in her eyes “I count myself lucky.”

Jacaerys scoffed, falling back against his seat before remarking “I suppose you could call it a fair trade.” 

The lot of them laughed, Daenerys gave a tense smile to her brother as she heard him echo Aemonds words, noticeably discomfited by the reminder.

The door came open and their parents entered, a solemn look on all of their faces, spare for Daemon, there was a ray of excitement on his face that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Daenerys “it’s time to go,” Rhaenyra told.

Baela and Rhaena were the first out of the door, receiving light pats on their shoulders by their father. Daemon gave a light nod to Rhaenyra and Laenor before following his daughters.

Rhaenyra shut the door, entrapping her children. Luke asked confusedly “why’d you close the door? We have to get to the ship!”

“There’s still time, they’ve yet to pack the rest of our things on it,” she told before clasping her hands nervously in front of her “I wished to grant us some time to say goodbye to your father, he won’t be joining us on the ship,” she granted the timid Laenor a tight smile.

“What?” Daenerys asked, rushing to her fathers side and gripping his hand “why not? We’re all going, why does he have to stay?”

Rhaenyra had hurriedly answered for him “he wishes to spend a few days longer here, he dearly misses his family and Driftmark.”

Daenerys frowned and glanced up at her solemn father, who seemed lost in contemplation “I can stay too then!” She told, her face brightening with excitement.

Laenor was snapped away from his thoughts by his daughter's words.

Rhaenyra rushed to dismiss her daughter's suggestion “that may not be for the best, with his family's grief still fresh-.”

“I think it is a wonderful idea!” 

Rhaenyra’s eyes had widened with surprise at Laenors answer. He stepped behind his daughter, his sullen look replaced with elation at the prospect of her stay, clutching her shoulders. Daenerys beamed up at her father as she looked at him, practically trembling with excitement.

Rhaenyra was lost for words, this was not the plan “how are the both of you supposed to return together?” She asked frantically.

Luke credulously suggested “maybe they can return on fathers dragon!” He told.

Laenor gave his son an appreciative nod “a wonderful idea, Dany has been pleading for me to take her to the skies for a long time.”

Rhaenyra frowned with worry as she looked between her daughter and Laenor. Her hands itching to tear Daenerys away from her father.

With the assuring nod of Laenor, she had reluctantly agreed “alright then, but you are not to go anywhere without your father,” She sternly told her daughter.

“Of course!”

“And no wandering, whatsoever,” Rhaenyra commanded.

Daenerys gave a stiff nod to her mother before turning around and hugging her father

Laenor told one of the squires at the door “call for my daughter's things to be removed from the ship.”

Jace asked his sister, sending his father a wary look “but who’s to show around Baela and Rhaena.”

Dany smirked at him “you’ve yet to take a lesson in chivalry brother, I hope you take it upon yourself to show them around.” 

His face flushed red, before he cleared his throat.

Luke engulfed his sister in a hug “you’ll both be back soon, right?”

“We will, I’ll be sure to get you something special,” she told her brother.

The two boys ran out of the room after bidding their sister goodbye. Rhaenyra knelt down before her daughter, her face softened with fear and worry. Daenerys had assumed it her mothers instinct spiking her worries again.

She brushed away her daughter's rebellious hair and rested a tender kiss on her cheek “I’ll see you in a few days sweet girl.”

Daenerys smiled, kissing her mothers stiff cheek “goodbye mother.” 

Rhaenyra had to tear herself away from her daughter, and march out of the room as quickly as she could.

Daemon frowned as he saw rhaenyra leave the room without her eldest child “where’s the purple one?” He asked.

Rhaenyra kept her eyes forward as she continued on her way “Daenerys wished to stay.”

“And he let her?”

“Yes.”

Daemon frowned “but the plan-,” he reminded.

“Goes unaffected by this change."

Laenor was full with a vigour his mother and father had never seen before. The poor Daenerys had found her own radiance to have dwindled, for her father had been waking her at first light for the past few days. Although, She would eventually find herself revived by her fathers elation. Never had she seen him smile so much before, such joy it had brought her to see her dearly beloved father contented for once. She had not realised how contagious his joy could be, even the Sea snake had found himself amused by his son. It may have been due to his relief of not having to see his son sulking about anymore.

Laenor had taken Daenerys down to the port, to show her the ancient ship that his father had taken after in name, the Sea Snake. 

Daenerys was careful as she wandered about the ship she heard so much of in the stories her father would tell, they had always left her stricken with awe.

Rhaenys looked up at her husband. Her face tense with apprehension for she had spent these past few days on tenterhooks. Rhaenyra’s infidelity to her son was clear to her, but why would Rhaenyra leave her husband and take off to Dragonstone alone, with her rogue uncle? She was not stupid, she knew what rumours this act may stir, yet she so willingly did it. 

Her worry was further fuelled by Laenors foreign behaviour, and the stay of his daughter, Daenerys. She had no ill will toward the credulous girl. Her worry prevented her from being thankful for the girls foolish adoration of the man who clearly was not her blood.

On the day of Rhaenyra’s leave to Dragonstone, Rhaenys had received word from a squire that Rhaenyra, Laenor and Daemon had been speaking together in secret, Rhaenys assumed it a scheme, but of what sorts she did not know.

“They’ve prolonged their stay,” she stated to her husband.

Corlys chuckled, unaware of the meaning beneath her statement “Spice towns annual fair comes on the morrow,” he excused “our son hasn’t attended the celebrations in a decade, I would believe him eager to share such a chance with his eldest daughter,” he told as he made his way to where they often sat together, he ignored the pointed look from his wife.

She remained bothered by how he still chose to remain oblivious to the truth, not even caring to address it within the confines of their private rooms.

“I believe Rhaenyra would care little of what Laenor would desire for her daughter,” she told “so little she wouldn’t be so willing to leave her here,” she glanced back down to her hands thoughtfully as she grew certain that something was awry “no… she sows away at a scheme, with Daemon offering her the thread.”

Corlys scoffed in disbelief, terribly shocked by his wife’s accusation “and you mean to say a girl of ten, is involved in such a scheme?”

She glared at him, for that is not what she had meant, but it was not a possibility she would set aside “of course not-.”

“That settles it then,” he dismissed, arising from his seat abruptly.

“Corlys!”

He turned away from his path to speak to her angrily “when was the last time you had seen our son filled with such joy? Hm?” He questioned rhetorically “gods- even on his wedding day the boy was a sorry sight, only days ago he was mourning his sister, and I’ve seen none stand at his side like his daughter,” he told, he sighed as he regained his composure, feeling the wary stares of his guards in the room “our son is happy because of her, and yet you are too blinded by your doubts to relish in this rare sight.”

Rhaenys sat quietly in her seat, ignoring the piercing stare her husband had been driving into her. He huffed before marching out of the Hall. 

Rhaenys stood from her seat and stepped towards the window, frowning with uncertainty as she watched Daenerys climb upon the shrouds of the sea snake, curiously tugging on the ropes attached to the ship's mast. Rhaenys’s brow knitted as her heart swelled with joy, she realised that her worry had never granted her a moment to truly relish in the sigh of her contented son, his grin would tremble as he hovered beneath the shrouds with his arms outstretched, fearful of his daughter collapsing to the ground.

The woman’s wary shield faltered as she began to battle with the smile tugging at her lips. Mayhaps the gods had been kind enough to grant her and her house a moment of serenity after the lashing storm that had rained down upon them.

Daenerys curiously tugged at the shrouds, both testing their strength and enjoying the fright on her fathers face.

He attempted to negotiate with her “you may doubt it but there’s much to do down here than up there!” He shouted.

She chuckled as she looked down before looking back up, shielding her eyes from the beaming sun, eying the main mast curiously, frowning curiously at the two that stood opposite sides of it “why are there three?” She asked.

The confused Laenor frowned at the question, Daenerys pointed to the three poles “oh, the masts?” He asked, earning a nod from the oblivious Dany “they keep the sails aloft, without them, you may as well swim across the narrow sea.”

“But why three?” She asked again.

“The bigger the ship the more wind it will need,” he told “three masts suffice, some said it is unnecessary to build such a big ship,” he smirked up at her with pride “but they’re still out at sea, loading their ships, while my father thrives in the fruits of his short labour.” 

Daenerys chuckled, cautiously climbing down “we will make a bigger ship!” She proclaimed.

He chuckled “will we now?” He asked, helping her down from the shrouds.

She nodded excitedly “it will be so big! That we will return from this voyage faster than grandsire!”

“Careful to not pry at his pride too much,” he warned jokingly, he reached for her hand as he reminded “we won’t need that big of a ship, we will explore, not take, we've enough right here.” He told.

She pouted before reluctantly agreeing “I suppose so, but!” She stepped in front of him “we must take a trinket from each place we go!” She decided. She pouted when she saw the solemn look that had settled upon her fathers face “it doesn’t have to be special, it can be small, even a leaf would suffice!” 

The corners of his lips twitched up into a smile, a sorrowful one.

Daenerys frowned, fearing she had upset her father with the suggestion “you know what, we will take nothing at all, I want for nothing other than to take across the sea with you, that memory is enough for me.”

His head began to shake, to what exactly, Daenerys did not know. He had not realised that his mind had set his will aside and taken grasp of his body, if he could not speak the truth, his mind would act it out. His heart began to beat loudly in his ears, reminding him to protect his little girl, ‘let these days with you remain an untainted memory’ his heart pleaded. 

‘End this now, she is hopeful, too hopeful, smite that hope, smite that hope while she has you to comfort her,’ his mind reasoned.

It pained Laenor to shield his sorrow, fighting to smile at her lovingly, not allowing a crack of sadness to peer through. Kneeling down he tucked a hair behind her ear “I think all three are wonderful,” his face turned playfully stern “but pick one! We would not wish for our ship to be sunk by your trinkets!”

A flash of a frown went across her face, for as good as he was at masking his downturned mouth with his dashing smile, his eyes always did well at telling on him. She smiled up at her father, “I won’t, I promise.”

He let out a dramatic sigh of relief “thank the gods,” He stood up, turning his back to her. Allowing his fear to break through his half worn mask a moment, his face painfully contorting into that of anguish. The sniffling Laenor beckoned his daughter “Now tell me, where are the ship's colours often kept?” He tested, a slight waved in his voice as he shook away his sorrow.

“The sails,” she confidently answered.

“And?”

She pondered for a moment “the quarterdeck!” She quickly answered.

“Who man’s the quarterdeck?” He asked pacing about the ship, he turned jovially to add “or woman’s?”

“The captain of course!” She answered as she giggled.

“Who climbs the shrouds to the main mast?” He questioned.

“The unfortunate navigator,” she answered jokingly.

“Why unfortunate?” He curiously asked.

“How many navigators make it down after climbing up?” She comically asked, earning a chuckle from her father.

“You would be surprised, enough jokes!” He chided “you’ve a voyage in a few years best you be prepared.”

She frowned at his wording but she went along.

“If there is a tear in the sails, who's responsible?” He questioned.

“The carpenter.”

“And who tells him that?” 

“The quartermaster.”

“Why not a captain-?”

“he’s too busy commanding and controlling, manoeuvring the ship, handling the cargo, stowing, keeping his men aloft with ambition and handling his precious ship,” she told rolling her eyes as she sardonically spoke, her voice rising with each word “he’s far too distracted with his duties to notice the massive tear on the most important part of his ship,” a huff of frustration left her as she kicked the wooden floor.

A look of surprise adorned his face as he turned to look at her. At first he thought she was frustrated by this test, but she was not one to shy away from flaunting her knowledge. 

He frowned thoughtfully before commenting “or she?”

His words earned him a pointed look from his cross daughter. Her lip twisted to the side as she realised the cause of her anger, she realised she had not been picturing a captain.

“Captains can be stubborn,” he told “their stubbornness almost blinding,” he leaned on the wooden railing of the ship beside his daughter.

“Ambition fuels stubbornness,” she whispered.

He pursed his lips and stroked her shoulder comfortingly “a captain blinded by his ambition, is not a good captain Dany,” he tilted his head as he reminded “I’ve taught you this.”

She reluctantly glanced up at him, hating how right he was. She warily asked “what if the quartermaster could have stopped the captain, hm?” she curiously asked “steer him away from his ambition guided path.”

He pondered a moment before plainly telling her “it is good that she hadn’t, cause if she had, she would’ve been made to walk the plank.” 

Her eyes widened with horror, bowing her head fearfully as she imagined it, would he have killed her had she intervened? Would she have become so worthless to him that he would’ve rid the world of the burden that she is? All because she disagreed with his actions. Her heart interrupted her mind's unreasonable ramblings ‘he would do no such thing, he loved you for a time, that is enough for him to not wish such a thing upon you little one.’

She chose her heart in this internal quarrel.  

“You must purge him from your mind Dany,” he told her, earning a look of uncertainty from his troubled daughter “think of him long enough, he will settle in your mind, rather comfortably,” he frowned as he saw the sheen of tears daring to slip from her eyes, he warned “hey, he is not worth a tear from those eyes.”

She sniffled “I’m trying!”

He frowned, pondering to himself a suitable distraction for his pestered daughter. His eyes had brightened once he had found the perfect one “how about this? There is to be a fair tomorrow at spice town, every year round it happens,” he told his intrigued daughter “the streets fill with music and laughter so loud you won’t be able to hear your own thoughts because of it, and with all the sweet vendors you could ask for!” He smiled at her as he saw a wide grin tug at her lips “a perfect distraction for the both of us,” he told “we’ve had our fair share of tribulations these past few days, we deserve a moment of good fun.”

Daenerys beamed with excitement at her father, nodding eagerly in agreement. Laenor sent her off to the castle, to prepare for dinner before bed, for they had a long day ahead of them tomorrow.

Laenor’s jovial demeanour snapped away as his eyes noticed the sullen face of Ser Qarl. He had not noticed that the man had been watching him and his daughter for so long. Qarl seemed eager, nodding towards the many people on the dock, Laenor frantically shook his head before moving with great haste towards High Tide.

The bustling streets of Spice town radiated with a joy that Kings Landing had envied. Not a note of sorrow flourished within their streets, children shrieked with delight at every curious performance, ducking their heads from the bellowing flames made by a proclaimed ‘dragon man’, the crowds bouncing with the beating drums and swaying with the flowing strums of a drunken bard kicked from the fifth tavern he had visited today. The town's port was overwhelmed by the visiting traders and voyagers.

Daenerys was torn on where to go first, the warm scent of fresh lemon cakes tickled her nose as she felt herself float to it, only for her eyes to glimmer with the burst of flame that came from a clustered crowd, before her feet could guide her that way she was knocked down by a vivacious dancer who had paid his surroundings no mind. Daenerys rubbed her bruised cheek while grinning at the sight.

“Dany!” Her father called out, encircled by four knights. He frowned worriedly as he saw her on the ground, but was assured she was not harmed upon seeing the marvelling smile on her lips. He heaved her up “how soon you have managed to forget your mother’s command,” he chided.

She shook her head “I haven’t forgotten, and I wasn’t wandering!” she defended “you’re just too slow!” 

He frowned, “you may continue at my pace, or you may return to your bedchambers and ready yourself to leave on the morrow.”

She huffed as she crossed her arms across her chest, feet itching to sprint off once again. Laenor wrapped his arm around his daughter's shoulders, guiding her about “come, there’s much I wish to show you!”

Daenerys forgot her irritation as her father brought her forth towards one of the thespians. The crowd parted for the two and their guards, they were not unfamiliar with the Sea snake's son, and his daughter, although they did scratch their heads at the relation.

Two men had been tossing blazing sticks between themselves as though it was nothing, wide grins on their faces as they danced and jumped, leaving the crowd gasping with trepidation at each toss before they would erupt in applause and cheers. 

The shorter of the two men grabbed two sticks, one was alight while the other was not. He tossed them both into the air, the two striking one another before falling to the ground, the man had catched one while the other seemingly had gone off course. The other was coming dangerously close to the two nobles, prompting the four guards to snap forward in defence. Laenor was quick to pull his daughter back only for the taller man to catch the blazing stick in his teeth, prompting a look of awe from the startled Daenerys. He wiggled his brows at her before jumping back to his stage.

She laughed in disbelief “Did you see that!”

Laenor chuckled, still coming down from a peak of worry “I felt it, all the hairs on my face nearly burnt off.”

She scoffed before joking “you’ve never liked to grow your beard, I see that to have been of great benefit to you.”

He rolled his eyes, his nostrils flared as they were graced with a familiar scent. The sweet aroma of Honey fingers had called for him, he grasped his daughter’s hand “come on!”

He practically dragged her to the sweet stand where the vendor's eyes beamed as he saw the familiar shining jewels that Laenor would don “My Lord!” his brows arched as he saw the head of dark hair beside him, but his eyes had widened with wonder as he saw the purple anomaly her eyes were.

“Two servings of honey fingers,” he ordered excitedly, giving the uncertain Daenerys a reassuring look.

The man blinked away his stupor, blubbering in answer “y-y-y-yes m’lord- of course-,” the man frowned thinking his eyes had been toying with him, mayhaps he mistook her eyes for the gems on her fathers rings.

Laenor took the servings from the man, granting him a generous payment, same as the one he would grant him each year before stepping away. The man nearly tumbled over his stand to get a closer look of the uncommon trait Daenerys had possessed. He had only heard of her trait never had he or anyone else seen it.

“Take one,” he offered his unsure daughter, rolling his eyes at her reluctance “oh come on now, I know you are not one to make judgement so soon.”

She tentatively took the delicacy from his hands, her nose scrunching at how sticky it was. As she took a bite of it she hummed in delight at the sweet cinnamon taste.

“Delicious isn’t it?” Laenor asked as he continued to guide her about “Tis the one Tyroshy doing I am grateful for.”

Sun began to fall upon Driftmark, the warm glow cast a deep saturated hue upon the sky, almost a crimson red with yellow and blue dancing about the sky.

Daenerys had ventured off to the stands where foreign antiquities were sold, delicately carved bronze figures, rare stones so scarce in Westeros, and the finest cloths she had seen.

Laenor watched from afar indulging in his fifth honey finger. How contented he was to share his joys with his daughter, how thrilled he had been to see her as thrilled as he was about them. His troubles seemed so trivial that they had entirely slipped from his mind. Her smile, her joy, had been strong enough to stifle his own sorrows, he prayed that she would never lose a trait so rare in this world, rarer than those eyes of hers.

“M’ lord!” 

A familiar voice had called out, tearing through his frail sanctuary. He gulped and turned to face the man, finding it to be Ser Qarl once more. He would often find himself thrilled to see the dashing face of his partner, although today, he would find no pleasure in seeing his face.

Instead of the elation he would commonly feel, all he could feel was dread at the sight of the man. Knowing what his presence had meant.

Laenor glanced about, seeing the many people within the street.

Qarl marched forward, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword. 

“Have you no use of me lord?” Qarl recited the words he had been practising for days “have I grown too old for your tastes?”

The guards surrounding Daenerys grew alert of the confrontation. Their sudden alarm catches the attention of Daenerys, pulling her away from the market stand. She frowned with worry as she watched the confrontation from afar “father?”

“What are you doing here?” Laenor questioned fearfully, even though he knew the purpose of his presence.

“I’ve grown tired of being a toy for you to pick up whenever you wish, thrown to the dirt when you’re done with me!” Qarl yelled angrily, although his tone seemed terribly stale.

Laenor huffed, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, his eyes pleading for Qarl to not allow this confrontation to ensue now of all times. 

“Have you nothing to say, nothing at all?!” Qarl shouted, beginning to believe his role far too soon.

“Ser Qarl I command you! Leash your temperament or I will!” Laenor yelled out, fearing that Qarl had not understood him, he glanced for his guards to be at the ready. Giving them an affirming nod, as he turned around he was startled to find himself tumbling to the ground clenching his jaw. 

Qarl had landed a blunt blow to his jaw “let us not dither about m’lord, draw your sword, let us end this!”

Laenor huffed, eyes glaring at Qarl pointedly, screaming at the man that this was not time to have such a confrontation.

The guards rushed to Laenors aid, one guard stayed behind to keep a tight grasp of the twisting Daenerys, desperate to come to his aid as well. Crying out for Ser Qarl to stop.

The people grew outraged by the assault on their lord, crowding them as they rushed to Laenors aid. The guard who had kept grasp of Daenerys knew this was no safe place for the princess and heir to the Iron Throne, he had begun to haul the girl back to the safety of Driftmark. 

Daenerys thrashed in his grasp, commanding the man to let her go so she may help her father. Searching for his face in the crowd of rowdy spectators and enraged loyalists. 

“Let me go! I won’t leave without him, I won’t leave without my father!” she cried, clawing at the arms tightly locked around her waist.

The guard had not answered her demands, busy finding the safest route to Driftmark.

The worried Daenerys was now infuriated of how feeble her attempts of escape had been, the farther she had gotten, the more the crowd had grown to be an angry blur of pale blues and plain browns. 

Her eyes had widened with horror at the splash of a familiar colour within the blur of blue and brown. Perturbed by the sight of a colour that forever prompted dread within whatever unfortunate soul encountered it. She stilled in the knight's arms as she looked on with horror. Fearful of who that splash of red had belonged to.

Daenerys was brought to the hall of nine where her grandsire and grandmother had been. Their faces twisted with worry and confusion, where was their son? Daenerys was pale with terror, still as stone beside the gallant knight.

“What happened?” Corlys questioned the knight, eying Daenerys with worry.

The knight gave no clear answer, for he had not understood what had happened.

Rhaenys approached the frightened Daenerys cautiously. Kneeling before her and grasping her stiff shoulders “what happened, where's your father?” She asked softly. She had judged that the girl needed such tenderness, for her pale face and teary eyes would not have been caused by anything less than monstrous.

Daenerys' eyes fluttered as the sound of her grandmother's voice cut through the loud buzzing in her ears. Her lips parted for a moment before they fell shut. Her face contorted with fear as she recalled the sight once more. ‘Where is my father, where is he? He’s a warrior, a knight, he will prevail, he will cut through the crowd and rush back here I Know it, but Qarl, Qarl knows him, they’ve trained together, they are dear friends of one another, and none know a man’s weakness better than a friend.’

The words tumbled past her mouth as she frantically told “we were walking through the festival before Qarl appeared and attacked father!” Rhaenys shared a look of dread with her husband as she heard her words “and then- then a fight broke out and I tried to come to my fathers aid but I was taken away!”

The knight shuffled in his place as he felt the harsh gaze of Rhaenys “the remainder of the guard are with Ser Laenor, more than enough to provide him the right aid, my lord.” 

Corlys asked, gesturing around the room “look around you, is my son here?” The knight gulped, shaking his head, flinching as Corlys bellowed “then it was not enough!”

Daenerys flinched as he shouted, prompting Rhaenys to squeeze her shoulder in comfort “come let us go to your chambers, there’s been enough excitement for you today.” 

Rhaenys stood by the window, hiding her anxious face from Daenerys who was sitting at the vanity having her freshly washed hair brushed out into a frizzy mess. The girl was never one to hide her disdain for how her hair would be treated but today she had not found the will too, she could not have cared less. It had been hours since she had least seen her father, for he was yet to be found. Her grandmother was kind enough to distract her from her fears but she was not capable of hiding that glint of suspicion in her eye. Rhaenys may have laid her worry to rest but her guard never comes down. 

Daenerys' hair was raised up into a tight bun at the back of her head, the handmaiden stood up and bowed towards Rhaenys “the princess Daenerys is ready for bed, my lady.”

“Bed?” Daenerys asked.

Rhaenys sighed as she approached the girl “It is best you get some rest-.”

“I’m not tired, and I wish to wait for father to return,” Daenerys firmly interrupted. She gulped as she saw the stern look she had received from Rhaenys “please grandmother, I wish to be awake when he returns, and you can’t expect me to go to bed not knowing if he’s alright.”

Rhaenys rested her hand on Daenerys’s cheek “he would not want you to tire yourself.”

The displeased Daenerys frowned,  “I’ll know what my father wants, once it comes from his own lips.”

The remark shocked Rhaenys, recoiling her hand from the girl's cheek. A small smile of disbelief danced on her lips, how could she underestimate the daughter of the sharply tongued heir.

The doors burst open, and in came the dishevelled Laenor, eyes frantically searching for his daughter.

Daenerys glowed with relief as she shouted “father!”

Laenors distress eased at the sight of his daughter. His arms clutching her to his chest, breathing in her presence to dampen the blaze of fear within him. 

Laenor pulled away from her, holding her face in his hands “You're alright! We thought you’d been terribly hurt!” She quickly said “Ser Qarl was foolish for coming near you!”

“That he was,” Corlys said as he came into the room.

Rhaenys kissed her son's cheek as he arose, holding him in a tight embrace. Muttering a prayer of indebtedness to all the known gods for sparing her a terrible grief.

Corlys pursed his lips in discomfort as he felt the thick air of worry that had surrounded his wife disperse “it is best that you both stay within the castle til it is time for your departure, the guards have yet to bring Qarl before me.”

Laenor tensed at his fathers words, resting his hands upon his daughters shoulders who winced at the tight squeeze “we are departing for Dragonstone tomorrow,” he looked down at her granting her a tender smile “I believe we have overstayed our welcome.”

Corlys nodded “I will have a ship prepared,” he gestured for his wife to join him as he left.

Rhaenys rested her hand one last time on her son's cheek before leaving the room.

Laenor left to his chambers to clean himself up and dressed into a less distressed attire. He looked over himself in the mirror, making sure nothing was misplaced. His gaze arose to meet his own eyes, eyes filled with reluctance and regret. He rested his hands on the smooth wood of his vanity.

Heaving in a shallow breath he adjusted his posture and gave himself a reassuring glance before leaving the room. 

Daenerys had begun to settle into her covers, her fingers grazing over her watch as she pondered the days events and the disturbance they had caused. For a few days there was a reassuring calm, she was foolish to think it would go undisturbed. 

Her eyes flicked towards the door as she saw her father come into the room.

She was confused, for it was time for bed, and he was not in his night clothes.

“Father?” She spoke.

He frowned at her “what are you doing?” He asked, a frenzied grin on his face.

She frowned “is it not time to retire for the night?”

He scoffed “the night has yet to end Embar Anne! Get up, get up!” He urged pulling her from her bed and towards the fireplace where they would often sit at the end of the day.

“But father, I’m tired!” She whined.

He playfully rolled his eyes at her “ah yes, so eager to be rid of me so you may wander about the halls freely,” he told, smirking at the look of shock on her face “I know you have been wandering the castle Dany.”

She was quick to make her case “I only did it once!”

He raised his hand up to silence her “I won’t tell your mother,” he held out his fifth digit out to her “I promise.”

A sigh of relief escaped her as she feebly wrapped her own finger around his “but I am truly tired father, ‘twas not a calm day.”

“Surely you’re not too tired to spend time with me,” he replied with a playful glint in his eye.

Daenerys crossed her arms frowning at the excited Laenor “Years ago it would be you urging me off to bed not I.”

“How times have changed,” he sighed out, playing with the ends of his tunic as he reminisced.

The two sat together for hours, a tower of books slowly grew beside them. Laenor found himself reading through a book to interest Daenerys whenever he would accidentally retell her a story of his adventures unknowingly. 

She grew suspicious and worried as this mistake grew frequent, but she had eventually succumbed to it, for she was now occupied with keeping her eyes from rudely sliding shut. Whenever Laenor would see her eyes closed he would shake her awake, desperate to tell her more, for her to ask whatever question she wished without the limitations of respect expected towards a father.

She was quiet, only listening, it hurt him to not hear her curious questions, to not see her eyes widen with wander as he told her tales of his greatest ventures, of his time as a knight during the war at the stepstones, of the important values a voyager and captain must possess but mayhaps she was too tired to fathom his words, or how important they were to him.

He ran his fingers through her hair as she laid against his shoulder “I wanted to spend my life forever within the thrill of battle,” his soft spoke, a tight frown blemishing his brow as he stared at dimming glow of the fire “until you came, and it was a sudden pause.”

Her tired voice came from his side “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be,” he dismissed, chuckling to himself. “I found the pause to be rather comfortable while it lasted,” he said, squeezing her slumped shoulder. He glanced down towards her “you know it is only a few years before you will be met by the same pause.”

Daenerys’s tired eyes flew open “what kind of pause?” she asked.

“Why, You will have your own family,” he explained, laughing at the look of dread on her face.

“Do you not think it too soon to discuss such a matter?” she suggested fiddling with her fingers.

“Tis not as bad as you think-.”

“It may not be for you, but for me it is,” she interrupted, moving away to the otherside of the couch “to trust someone like that, do you not think it dangerous at all?”

He pondered to himself for a moment “I think it rather romantic.”

The unamused Daenerys gave her father a blank expression “mm, sure… nothing more romantic than resting your trust in someone only to have them know the right place to drive their dusty blade.”

Laenor frowned “I had not known a girl of one and ten would be so seasoned in the field of Marriage and Romance.”

She tugged at her sleeves “Poems are rather useful in providing an insight.”

He scoffed as he came to the realisation “a rather one-eyed insight.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he credulously asked.

“Make fun of his… disfigurement, it's insensitive,” she reluctantly defended, grimacing at how wrong the word had sounded once it had left her mouth.

Laenor sighed, “Again you are defending him, you’ve no obligation to him, Daenerys.”

“I have an obligation of common courtesy, I refuse to speak ill of him,” she quickly excused.

Laenor hummed “courtesy or longing my dear?” he sardonically questioned.

She frowned in offence as she answered “Courtesy.”

He sighed “Daenerys, I had hoped you had forgotten about him.”

She rolled her eyes as she stared at the blazing flames in the fire pit “How can I if morning, noon and night I am reminded of him.”

He did not appreciate the attitude she had been giving him, but knew this was no easy thing to experience, such a stinging betrayal is difficult to forget.

“You are still young Embar anne, you will be graced with better faces,” he assured, playfully tilting his head at her as he teased “mayhaps even a great many handsome faces.”

Her face reddened at his words, hiding her face in her shoulder bashfully. Laenor was delighted to see her abashed expression.

“Are we done for the night?” she impatiently asked “I’m rather tired, and I’ve had enough talk of stupid boys.”

He winced at her words “Already, do forgive me for boring you already, i pray that the men you meet may interest you enough so that they may not have their pride wounded.”

She chuckled, shuffling off the seat and towards her bed. Laenor reached for her arm “are you sure you are tired, we’ve still hours to burn,” he asked, hopeful that she may stay awake a bit longer.

She gave him a tired smile “father it's late, and I am truly, truly, TRULY tired, can we not continue this tomorrow? We’ve a long flight to Dragonstone, we can talk all we wish then.”

“One more story,” he desperately  pleaded, holding her hands tightly in his own “please Dany.”

She pondered for a moment before half-heartedly succumbing to his wishes. He smiled in relief before resting her beside him and beginning to tell her a tale was sure she had not heard before.

“Do you know why the stepstones have been at war for so long?” he asked.

Daenerys frowned “this is not a story-.”

“Humour me,” he requested.

The tired girl sighed “The stepstones are key for trade across the narrow sea.”

“But what started the war?” he asked again.

She pondered to herself, what word would define the Triarchy’s actions? She asked herself. From the thousands of lessons she's had, she gathered one commonality between all of them: “Greed.” 

Laenor nodded before repeating “greed,” he began to run his fingers through her hair “how does one sate greeds void of a belly.”

“You can’t,” she interrupted.

“And that is how war begins,” he told “the battle went on and on and on, not one man remained king of the narrow sea for more than a few months,” his voice laced with frustration “my father refused to give up, saw those wastrels as too big a threat to the house he bled for,” he chuckled to himself “I’ll never forget the proud look on my fathers face as I sewed together the greatest strategies to end this war, a time when I was his equal, a time when he did not feel shame knowing that I was to succeed him,” he scoffed “now that I’m gone, look at them, a decade and they haven’t ended this stupid war,” He reached for his side, unhooking his sheathed dagger “this was the very dagger I had during my time fighting, as sharp as Valyrian steel.”

Her tired eyes skimmed over the body of the dagger, the worn silver lining that danced about the cyan grip, leading towards the silver seahorse wrapped around the head of the daggers hilt. 

“It’s very pretty…” she mumbled.

He hummed in agreement “my father had it made for me, one of his few acts of kindness towards me, aside from that its always been duty and legacy with him,” he tossed the dagger on the table beside him “promise me you won’t allow yourself to be consumed by the trivial matter of legacy.”

The dagger slid across the table and clattered to the ground, the least of his concerns as he shrugged.

She mumbled her promise to him as she nuzzled herself into his side.

“I pray the gods have mercy on you and end this war before the time comes that you ascend the iron throne,” he said, begging the gods to not bestow upon his daughter this eternal burden “what a headache it would be for you-.”

His breath hitched in his throat as he glanced down and saw her fast asleep, her arms wrapped around his waist, hugging him tightly in her slumber. Muffled snores escaping her gaping mouth, her dark lashes kissing her red cheeks. 

Fear began to flood his chest as he whispered out to her “Dany?” he asked, hopeful for her answer “Daenerys… wake up my dear,” he called out again, his voice trembling with yearning, pleading that she wake ‘a few more minutes,’ he begged.

“Embar anne… my sea horse, my sea dragon, please wake up,” he begged, tears now slipping from his sorrowful eyes, whispering his daughter's name.

She remained still at his side, unaware of her crestfallen father crying over her.

He sniffled away his sorrow, for it was time, he was exhausted more than enough time. He stiffened his lip and shook away his grief. As he stood he was careful to not wake her, scooping her up into his arms and walking to her bed, laying her to rest for the night. He brushed away the hair from her face so it would not pester her as she slept. Tucking her in he knelt by her bed and stared at her face memorising every little detail, placing it as close as he could to his heart.

He rested a long kiss on her head, how he had regretted the gesture for he found it difficult to tear himself away. Prying his lips away from her head he whispered to her “may our paths cross again my sea dragon.”

His bent knees felt rigid, he could not move them, his heart would not let him. His mind frowned at the action, forcing a burst of will to flow through him. He shot up from the ground and stormed towards the door, his heart pleading that her voice would come and tell him to stay, to stay for a story, But the room was so painfully quiet, spare for the sound of his steps as he left. He strapped his sword to his side before leaving the room, his sweaty hand tightly gripping the hilt.

Shutting the door ever so quietly he sighed in relief, this may have been the hardest thing he has had to do, all that was left was see the rest of this through before it was too late.

As Laenor marched through the halls towards his chambers he felt the weight of uncertainty begin to ease from his shoulders.

“My lord,” came the voice of a young boy, halting Laenor in his steps.

He sighed before answering “yes?”

“There is someone waiting for you in the hall,” the young boy credulously told.

Laenor heaved in a deep breath “alright then, I will be right there.”

The empty halls carried the sounds of desperate cries “Help! Help! Guards!”

Daenerys flinched awake at the sound, the terror in the young boy's voice frightened her. Pulling back her covers she slipped her coat over her shoulders and peered out of the door, frowning as she saw the boy frantically running down the halls shouting for help.

She hesitantly stepped out of her room, filled with trepidation at what might have happened, what else could possibly happen on this day?

But curiosity gnawed away at her as she stared down the other side of the corridor. Hugging her coat closely around her she tiptoed down the halls and followed the sounds of clashing and scraping. She knew the sound had been coming from the hall of nine, but who the commotion was being caused by she did not know. 

Her brothers are gone, so she need not worry for them.

Aemond was not here, and he would be a fool to do anything stupid in his condition.

It was the dead of night, everyone should have been asleep.

A scream of horror cut through her thoughts as she neared the hall, the scream so shrill, so guttural that it froze her in her tracks. She had never heard anything like that before, she had heard screams of pain before, screams of sadness, screams of joy even, but this…

This sounded like agony.

As she drew closer the screaming turned to throaty wails of distress. She thought this horror was coming to an end, instead she was met with a rancid smell, one she would compare to that of a pig roast. She covered her nose as she came upon the stairs that descended to the hall. She treaded warily towards the hall, peering over the railing to see what was wrong.

Her eyes fell upon the back of a familiar figure, a man looking at the blazing hearth of the famed hall of nine, Lord Corlys’s prized chamber.

Following his gaze she stilled in the middle of the steps, rooted in her place as she stared at the charred figure in the hearth. She could see its twisted and charred arms, its fingers clawing at the air, as though its last actions were cursing the gods for the cruel fate they had bestowed. 

As she allowed her gaze to fall to the legs she frowned, the fabric of the breaches was familiar, She had seen it not that long ago. She looked back up towards who she assumed was the mans face, or the darkened void that should have been. His mouth was wide open, his moments of agony immortalised in his remains.

His remains, he was dead.

Dead.

Daenerys frowned as she tried to fathom the sight before her, a man burnt to death, and the culprit still standing there, admiring his work she had assumed. Her blank gaze fell upon him, she was not afraid of whatever harm would be done upon her by this cruel man, instead she wanted to see what the face of cruelty had looked like, so she may remember it later.

Her face contorted with horror as she was met with the familiar face of Qarl Correy, the man that only hours ago had assaulted her father, the man, that for years had been her fathers dearest friend. 

Qarls eyes widened with horror as he saw the little girl, she was not meant to be there. Before he could do anything about it he heard the sounds of clattering armour approaching the hall, he knew he had overstayed his welcome.

Daenerys’s gaze followed his figure as he bolted out of the hall, her eyes fell back to the charred figure. The crackle of the flames had sent a cold shiver through her swaying body. While the room seemed to spin, the figure remained still in its place. 

She shook her head ‘no… no?’ she thought to herself ‘no,’ she stated firmly ‘that is not him, my father is sound asleep in his chambers,’ she feebly assured herself ‘he is in his rooms and he is well, he will come here and take me away from this terrible sight, and tell me everything is alright, that I do not have to fear.’

As the seconds past the fear began to take grasp of her, the heavy weight of dread settling uncomfortably upon her chest ‘he is here, he is coming, he is not there, that is not him.’

She had not heard the doors burst open as two guards frantically scrambled inside. They shared a look of disbelief as they stood before the hearth. They tried to pull him out by his legs but his charred remains had welded to the wood beneath him. The two men each grabbed a spade and practically dug him out.

Rhaenys and Corlys stormed in, awakened by the ruckus in their hall, and word that their son had been attacked once again. 

Rhaenys’s lips parted as she watched them heave out the body of her son from the hearth. They could not even rest him on his back for he had already gone stiff with death. His hair burnt off, the skin on his face torn apart as it shrunk against the lashing heat, the sound of its sizzling churned the stomach of Rhaenys as she fell to her knees, catching a better look of her son's face. Nothing of him remained to her, not even his face for her to recognise, all that was left, to prove that he was without a doubt her son were his clothes and even they barely remained. 

Her mouth fell agape as she grasped at her son's scorched remains, and out came an ear-splitting scream of an anguish none could ever imagine, nor would they want to. Rhaenys has now outlived both of her remaining children, her only children, who could ever long for such an achievement, who would ever want such a thing?

Corlys, awakened from his stupor, reaching out to his grieving wife. She did not long for his comfort, swatting away his hands as she mourned alone. What did he have to grieve? The death of his remaining legitimate legacy?

Her cries echoed throughout the hall of treasures, the hall where Rhaenys’s greatest and last treasure died. 

Daenerys shattered, as it all came falling down upon her all at once, her father was dead, and she will be forever haunted by how he had died. 

Tears began to cascade down her cheeks, her lips downturned to an ugly frown of sorrow. Her head shaking in denial as she sunk down to the ground, wrapping her arm around her legs as she rocked back and forth, tugging at her ear as she waited for herself to wake from this dreadful dream. She could not be living this, this could not be real, this world cannot be so cruel to do this to her. She shuddered as the cold truth engulfed her trembling body.

Corlys yanked the guard at his side to stand before him as he spat in his face “How can you let this happen! IN MY FUCKING HALL!” he shouted, pushing the startled guard towards the heart. He looked at the faces of the other ashamed guards within the room “TELL ME-!” His face dropped at the sight of the rocking princess on the stairs “get her out of here…” he muttered pointing to her, but the guards remained rooted in place, Corlys bellowed “GET THE PRINCESS DAENERYS AWAY, AWAY FROM HERE I TELL YOU.”

One of the guards was eager to get away from the Sea Snakes wrath, grabbing the petrified girl's stiff arm and tearing her up from the ground, practically dragging her back to her chambers. Corlys shook his head in disbelief of what had happened, even though it stood- laid, burning, sizzling, hissing before him. Another child of his gone, because of his ambition, and how he hated that it took this long to prove the consequence of his desires. That this was the cost of all he thought he had desired.

[mylackoffaith]

Dragon's Dreamer - Part II

Summary: Daemon does not like Hightowers. Especially the perfect little hightower bastard girl, who was sleeping in his bed.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x modern!reader word count:1497 words

Daemon always believed the Hightowers were the epitome of dullness and arrogance, parading around as if they owned the Seven Kingdoms with their highborn noses reaching the heavens. The memory of the day he encountered the insufferable cunt—right after the death of his father, Baelon—still lingers vividly in his mind.

The day had been gloomy, the kind that matched Daemon's foul mood on the occasion of his father's funeral. The cunt had been going around, collecting congratulations for his new position as the Hand, and offering condolences with the same fake smile.

Daemon's patience, already as short as a summer night in the North, reached its breaking point. Frustration brewed within him like wildfire, and in a fit of dragon-worthy impulse, he decided it was time to put an end to the Hightower's act.

So, with the grace of a storm, Daemon did what any Targaryen worth his dragon would – he took Otto down, fists descending on the cunt's face.

His grandsire had been furious, as had been Viserys, but Daemon wore his rebellious spirit like armor. The scuffle became the talk of King's Landing, whispered in the shadows and shared over goblets of Arbor Gold in the Red Keep. Otto Hightower, the lofty Hand of the King, humbled by the Rogue Prince in a brawl.

The twit strutted around the Red Keep sporting a black eye like a badge of honor, and Daemon? Well, he earned himself a new moniker—The Rogue Prince. And that marked the beginning of the brewing feud between Daemon and Otto.

The feud continued, each encounter turning into a play. Daemon, with his smirk as sharp as Valyrian steel, takes a certain pleasure in needling Otto.

To this day, Daemon has no idea what his aunt Viserra had seen in the Hightower prick to bed him, but he figured it must have been some twisted sense of humor.

Now that he thinks about it, his aunt was fond of charity. Perhaps, in her charitable moments, she thought the Hightowers needed a dash of Targaryen blood to liven up their dull, highborn lives.

That charitable act resulted in the birth of the eldest daughter of Otto Hightower, a bastard by name but cherished enough by Jaehaerys, Alysanne, and Viserys to be deemed trueborn. So much that the Hightower girl, while in Viserra's womb, was gifted a dragon egg from his grandsire.

Her arrival, however, bore a bitter sweetness. On the very day this Hightower girl opened her lilac eyes to the world, the realm mourned the loss of Daemon's beloved aunt, Viserra.

The girl's motherless fate left an ache in the hearts of the Targaryens, but Alysanne and Jaehaerys, in their grief, found solace in the babe with ginger locks and white streaks.

It had stung when there had been no celebrations for Daemon claiming Caraxes, but when the girl's egg hatched in her cradle, the old King and Viserys didn't put her down for days on end. The small room echoed with the laughter of a king and the coos of an infant dragon.

Daemon, still young, didn't quite warm up to the girl. In fact, he harbored a dislike for her. She seemed to steal away the attention that was once solely his.

Before her, Daemon was the youngest Targaryen, the darling of the family, and now, this Hightower girl had shifted the spotlight. It wasn't just his favourite aunt Viserra he lost; it was the undivided focus of everyone around him.

Days melted into nights, and the halls of the Red Keep echoed with the laughter of a king and the coos of a dragon-blessed child. While Daemon brooded over the lack of attention, the little Hightower girl grew up under the watchful eyes of her Targaryen kin.

Jaehaerys, in his grandfatherly pride, declared her the "realm's jewel" when presenting her to the people of King's Landing. But for Daemon, she remained a constant reminder of what he was compelled to share—his place in the sun, his family's gaze, and the undivided attention he once claimed as his birthright.

Pious and pretty, she was the ideal princess of the Red Keep, a vision that Jaehaerys delighted in showcasing. To the people, she became a prized possession, a radiant gem adding luster to the Targaryen legacy.

Yet, for Daemon, her brilliance cast shadows over his own accomplishments, leaving them diminished in the face of her grace.

Whenever Daemon voiced his discontent to Viserys, his brother's response was a dismissive eye-roll, steadfastly aligning with the girl. Daemon found himself pitted against the perfection she effortlessly embodied, his protests falling on deaf ears.

To make it worst, Caraxes, Daemon's dragon, seemed infatuated with the girl's dragon, Stormsong—a stunning, pure white dragoness with hints of pale blue that could steal anyone's breath. Painfully, Daemon found himself conflicted, for, despite the rivalry, he couldn't deny the beauty of Stormsong.

It was downright comical how Caraxes would gallantly soar across the skies, hunting for prey like a knight on a quest, all to lay the spoils at Stormsong's feet.

The absurdity reached its peak when Stormsong, regal and nonchalant, would casually accept Caraxes' offerings. No grand displays of gratitude—just a quick nibble, a dismissive flutter of her massive wings, and a return to her stoic disinterest. Caraxes, the poor love-struck fool, was stuck in a loop of hunting, presenting, and being ignored.

"She's just one dragon, Caraxes, not the damn Queen of Love and Beauty." Daemon had tried to convince his blood wyrm.

Caraxes rumbled in disagreement, his gaze never wavering from Stormsong, who was being groomed and licked by her mother, Dreamfyre. Stormsong was a dragon version of the little Hightower, if there ever was one.

The peace was short-lived as Stormsong grumbled at her mother, pulling away. With a soft thrill, the dragoness took flight, her wings cutting through the air with grace that made even Daemon paused momentarily.

But he quickly shook off his distraction, turning to confront his blood wyrm. "Do not even think of—" Daemon's words were abruptly silenced as Caraxes took flight in pursuit after Stormsong.

Caraxes was nothing if not determined. It was embarassing to see his dragon reduced to one of those pitiful lovers in those books Aemma reads.

Everything in Daemon's life was affected by the girl. A constant thorn in his side. The Hightower girl, despite being a bastard by name, had the uncanny ability to steal the limelight.

Stumbling in after a night of indulgence in the finest wines, Daemon was greeted by a scene that would make even the most seasoned warrior question reality. There she was, the little Hightower, lying in his bed like she owned the place, completely in the nude.

Daemon, not one to be easily flustered, blinked a couple of times, wondering if the wine had played a trick on him. But no, there she remained, sprawled across his bed in all her ginger-haired glory, softly snoring like a dragon who'd had a few too many sheep for dinner.

A mix of confusion, irritation, and a hint of amusement flickered across Daemon's face as he surveyed the unexpected guest. Can he have one day where this girl doesn't create havoc in his life? Apparently not."

"Did you lose your way to the sept and mistakenly wander into a dragon's lair?" he quipped, his tone a blend of sarcasm and genuine curiosity. The girl remained blissfully oblivious, undisturbed by the chaos her mere presence was causing.

Daemon considered waking her with a nudge or a shout, but something stopped him. Perhaps it was the absurdity of the situation or the wine still coursing through his veins, but he found himself oddly captivated by the sight of the girl in his bed.

Just for tonight. He can deal with her for one night.

taglist: @justaproudslytherpuff @naty-1001 @juskonutoh @ammo23 @beebeechaos @fabimaou @w3ird11 @pet1t3 @moongirl27

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Daemon fucking his mistress in his wife’s bed after his wife upsets him.

-

A chorus of short heavy breaths and whimpers of pleasure echoed in Rhea Royce’s bedchamber. Only, the sounds didn’t come from her.

‘’Let's give the bronze bitch a nice surprise when she'll get into bed later tonight,’’ Daemon laughed devilishly as he railed you from behind, face down and ass up.

When it came to her ears that her husband had taken Dragonstone with another woman at his side – a mistress –, Rhea was furious. She could handle Daemon fucking whores left and right in brothels, but claiming a castle and ruling with another woman was marital treason and would make her a laughingstock to the whole of the Seven Kingdoms.

Daemon being Daemon, he fucked you in Rhea’s bed to let her know he will keep doing whatever the fuck he wants. He would rid himself of her would her death not point all the accusatory arrows so blatantly at him.

You clutched at the sheets harshly as he gripped your hips, eyes closing in pure bliss from feeling Daemon’s cock pressing so deep in you. That cock was a gift from the gods.

Surprisingly, the silver haired prince wasn't the sole mastermind behind this little revenge. You were the one who sparked him the filthy idea.

‘’She’s probably jealous and bitter because your marriage is still not consumed. Because you fuck me instead of her,’’ you had told him after his return from Runestone.

After a couple more thrusts, Daemon pulled out and made a mess all over the bronze bitch's bedsheets, spurting thick ropes of cum on the bed and not forgetting her pillow. He laughed devilishly at his immature piece of art, then grabbed your jaw to pull you toward him for a messy kiss.

‘’What a masterpiece.’’

You looked at the mess of cum and kissed Daemon's cheek. ‘’You are a true artist, my prince.‘’ You caressed his chest, feeling the hard muscles and war scars under your fingers.

A laugh rumbled from his chest. ‘’Now let’s add your contribution of the piece of art.’’ Daemon captured your lips for another kiss, reaching between your legs so he could slide two fingers, having not forgotten about your own pleasure. He rapidly pumped them inside you, making you throw your head back at the feeling.

Your hands tugged at his silver hair, needing something to grab as whines spilled from your lips, feeling yourself clench around your the Rogue Prince’s fingers.

‘’Cum all over my fingers,’’ Daemon said, nipping at your neck and jawline with his mouth. ‘’Soak the bitch’s sheet so she knows who I fuck at night, who I fuck all the time. Who I want by my side when I get crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms.’’

His last words took you to the edge, legs trembling as you came all over Daemon’s fingers.

-

Taglist: @taylordaughter  @gillybear17 @liltimmyst @eos-princess  @Kaitieskidmore1 @instabull

House of the Dragon/Game of Thrones taglist: @anastasiaxsworld @lollypopcrazylover @fin-never @dkathl @ayamenimthiriel @nerdy4itall @rraindrops @glors3 @beelanie @hc-geralt-23 @sweetybuzz25  @uniquenightsheep @kaywsworld @i-yam-awesome @caspianobsessed @kelssssxd @dilfsarebetterthanyou @missyviolet123 @leakycauldrns @brezzybfan @khaleesihavilliard @vexedvalerie @lollaa-puff @my-dark-prince @chevelledahuman @caspianobsessed @ayamenimthiriel @yor72 @mirandastuckinthe80s @newtsniffles @cleverzonkwombatsludge @justaproudslytherpuff @ren-ni @green-lxght @anginoguera @bubblebuttwade @comicsol1999 @rockerchick05 @baelavelaryonwp @tnu-ree @beccawinter @alexisabirdie @persage @hayleighloatx @kindaslightlyacidic @perdynerd @elsyyie @puffycreamcakes  @thirsty4nonlivingmen  @naty-1001 @xannybabyxx  @katiepie67 @kjones375 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl  @queenofshinigamis @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @Wehi02 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz  @cayleecook38 @yoyopolloobamadaddy @hayleighloatx @vane1999-blog @smptxx @fairyfolkloresposts @yassi-world @todaywasafairytale07 @ESobilal @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios

[thedrarrylibrarian]

Halloween Spooks!

I focused on creatures last year, so I wanted to give my attention to everything else horrific this year. Enjoy these scary and suspenseful recs! 👻

100 Words of Horror by @moonstruckwytch (3,100 words total, rated M)

A collection of Fear Fest Works. Each chapter is 100 words.

*I especially recommend chapters 5, 9, 10, 17, 20, 21, & 22

What is lost stays lost by @cavendishbutterfly (456 words, rated T)

Sometimes Harry leaves the castle in the middle of the night, and Draco follows him.

The Manor by @kittycargo (1,405 words, rated T)

There was something wrong with the Manor.

The mimic by @steampunkserpent27 (797 words, rated T)

Harry hears Draco (who he presumes dead) calling for help outside of his cabin one night. Only, something isn't quite right.

iterum by @moonstruckwytch (2,127 words, rated M)

dark magic keeps draco malfoy alive, even when he shouldn't be. unfortunately, to stay that way he's going to have to give something up—something important.

the tedious work of soothing grief with love by luminae (2,363 words, rated M)

Ginny doesn't like working as a medium. Never has, probably never will. The grief-stricken make for bad company and Harry, while handsome and kind, is no exception.

Cruel Blade by @wheezykat (2,572 words, rated E)

Drowning in his grief after the murder of his husband, Draco will do anything to bring him back.

But this is not Harry. This is something else entirely.

The Willing Flesh by @corvuscrowned (2,763 words, rated E)

Draco shows Harry how to do blood magic. Harry shows Draco just how powerful The Chosen One can become.

at the end of his tether by @helle-bored (4,280 words, rated M)

There's a worn page folded in an inner pocket of Harry's robes with a single underlined paragraph.

Discrete magical signatures have been observed after the destruction of a Dementor. Some scholars believe this implies that the souls of its victims persist as captives within its form, as opposed to undergoing immediate obliteration, and therefore serve the purpose of providing the creature with sustenance over a prolonged period of time.

Harry has carried it for nearly two years.

when god closes a door by luminae (4,400 words, rated T)

Harry usually cares far less about so-called haunted houses and ghosts. They aren't real, after all. Except when they ruin his evening.

Saltwater Stain by @the-starryknight (9,000 words, rated E)

Seven days stuck on a boat investigating a rogue ghost wouldn't be so bad if Harry didn't want Draco so much. Draco has his rules and Harry's content to follow them, but the air feels different away from the shore. Is it possible that the sea could offer Harry something impossible on land?

*be sure to check out last week’s Happy Hour Rec of this fic by @wolfpants as well!

Time and Time Again by @rainbees (16,316 words, rated T)

Draco doesn't know why he keeps stepping into his own future, nor why it involves a hallway covered in Harry Potter's blood.

it is not a house by luminae (43,388 words, rated E)

There are many stories that can happen in a forgotten house, in the middle of the Arctic. Heart-warming tales about human connection and finding the essence of the self. Epic love stories that defy reason. Warnings about the hubris of human explorations. This is both none of the above and a bit of all. This is a horror story.

Vis-à-Vis-à-Vis by @vukovich (49,999 words, rated E)

Harry's assignment was simple. Close out Draco Malfoy's missing persons case so he can be declared dead.

But who's making withdrawals from Malfoy's vaults? How is a death omen-turned-Unspeakable involved? Is an organization known as the Moirai to blame?

Harry brushes it off until he can't. Until The Prophet is flooded with sightings of dead people. Until Robards throws himself on his sword. Until Ron turns on his own family. Until Harry scarcely trusts his own reflection in the mirror and trusts the stranger in his bed even less.

Until all that stands between war and peace is Harry, a name plate, a stadium of murderers, and Draco Malfoy.

God save the Ministry.

Yours is the Earth (Hold On, Hold On) by chickenlivesinpumpkin (127,167 words, rated E)

After a serious accident in the Forbidden Forest, Draco's personality begins to undergo subtle changes. At first, Harry credits this to a new enthusiasm for life. But as the days pass and Draco's behavior becomes more and more mysterious, Harry begins to suspect that something bigger--and darker--is at work.

If you are looking for more Halloween thrills, please check out my Card Catalog! There I have Vampires, Werewolves, Darker Themes, and previous years rec lists for Halloween!

Trick or Treat!

❤️ As always, if you find a fic you enjoy, please remember to leave the author a kudos or a comment! ❤️

[latoyalestrange]

THE FOOL

p. pascal x f!oc

Masterlist | Playlist

the long awaited chapter eight! apologies for the delay folks. i just started a new job and my husband is in the process of finding a new job as well so things have been very stressful. but its here!

Summary: Things weren't as 'fine' as Josh had led Naela to believe. She seeks Pedro's company for comfort.

Words: 3.4k

Warnings: mutual pining, toxic!bf, sexist words, steamy makeout dream w pedro, toxic relationship, hurt and comfort, bad spanish, major angst and self-esteem issues, not edited

Taglist: @marvel-sw-lover , @lokislittle , @red-red-rogue , @babukat , @joels-darlin , @weho2kcmo , @violac0la , @poodlebae , @darleneslane

comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

CHAPTER EIGHT -- WILD DREAMS

"Te sientes tan bien," You feel so good.

Naela wasn't sure how she got here, but when she felt his hands grasp at her hips, she couldn't care less. He trapped her frame beneath him on her bed, letting his hands roam her body. Their bodies rolled together, making her desperate for more. It was almost pathetic with how good his hands felt as they greedily pulled her closer.

"Eres todo mio, Naela." You're all mine. He growled, his lips grazing her ear before they attatched to her neck, leaving love bites scattered across the skin. Slowly his lips traveled down her chest, across her stomach and down to the hem of her underwear. He lingered there for a moment, peppering kisses on the lowest part of her stomach and toying with the sides of her underwear. She felt her heart drop as he slowly pulled the fabric down, leaving her exposed.

She looked down at him with a nervous, but needy look in her eye. A wide, hungry smile spread across his lips as he took in the sight of her. He wasted no time dipping his head under the duvet and draping it over her lower half to comfort her. She shivered as she felt his hands guide her knees apart. His lips were back on her skin in an instant, this time starting at her knee, and working up toward her center. His scruff pricked the iside of her thighs as he grew closer, closer...

Before she could get any once of relief, her eyes flew open and were instantly blinded by the morning sun glaring in her eyes. She groaned, covering her eyes and curling up under the warm covers. She felt around for her phone and found it underneath her back. She brought it up to her face, squinting at the blurry numbers on her lock screen. Seven fifty-one. She let her device fall onto the pillow and rubbed her eyes, blinking her strange dream away. She debated going back to sleep, in fact she tried. But something, maybe her intuition, maybe her need to use the restroom, told her to get up. She listened to that voice and rose to her feet, but not before she stretched out her tense back. After a few moments of yawning, she planted her feet on the cold floorboards and made her way out of her bedroom and into the hallway that the bathroom was connected to.

She knew her boyfriend was likely getting ready to leave for his job at a smaller-scale bank, so she wasn't surprised by the glow and the steam that rolled through the narrow opening in the door. However, she was surprised to hear him talking to someone. Not thinking too deeply into it, she casually advanced to go inside, but instantly halted once she heard her name. His voice was muffled at first, but now that she was touching the door, she could hear his words clearly.

"Yeah, did you see the trailer that came out yesterday? The show is practically a porno."

Her face instantly fell. She recalled watching the trailer at her mother's house with him and her family the night before.

Naela held her breath as she let the trailer play. She knew what it would show, and she tried to explain it to her mother. Unfortunately, the woman only insisted, and she wasn't backing down. She was going to watch that trailer and celebrate with her daughter whether she liked it or not.

As the dreaded clip played, though, Naela was regretting giving in. She avoided eye contact with everyone as she saw the scene she had tried so hard to forget. Pedro's muscular arms trapping her beneath him, their bodies moving in perfect rhythm together, and her all-to-convincing expression as he peppered kisses along her neck. As quickly as the scene appeared, it was replaced by more clips showing off the action in the show. Before she knew it, the trailer was over.

"Oh, wow, Mija! My baby is a star!" Mrs. Rivera exclaimed, clutching her chest with the widest smile on her face. She pulled her daughter in for a tight hug, giggles escaping her mouth as they swayed back and forth on the couch.

Relief.

Once they released, Naela finally got a good look at her boyfriend's expression; deadpan as he stared at the paused TV. She frowned; she was completely transparent with him once she got the full script. She distinctly remembered detailing that specific scene.

"What did you think, Josh?" Sebastian prodded as he sat next to Josh, urging him to be supportive. Josh unclenched his jaw and smiled unenthusiastically.

"Looks cool," he responded casually. "I think people are gonna like it." His comment eased her a bit, but for the rest of the night, she was on edge, just waiting for him to say something or start a fight. But he didn't. She begged for him to tell he what was wrong when they got home, but he assured her again and again that he was fine.

So, what was the problem?

"Nah, she won't dump me. She doesn't have the confidence." His laugh was maniacal, almost cruel. Naela froze. How are you supposed to react to something like this?

"Listen bro, I gotta get off of here. I have to get to work." Like switch flipped, she broke out of her trance and ran back to the safety of her bedroom. If she knew Josh, she knew he would find a way to spin in around on her for listening to his phone call. She sat quietly on her bed until she heard her door open and close again. Tears instantly started trickling down her face and she slowly let the hurt wash over her.

Naela wasn't crying because she knew her relationship with Josh was over. She wasn't ready to accept that yet. Josh was her first boyfriend, her first everything for that matter. She'd spent so much time trying to help him be better and changing herself to make him happy. To her virtue and her fault, she was irrevocably committed to him.

Who the hell was she kidding with Pedro anyway? He could have any girl he wanted. In fact, his manager probably already had the next publicity stunt lined up. Someone prettier, more mature, more of everything Naela wasn't.

So in that moment, Naela decided to stay. She would stay quiet to keep him. He wasn't the best option, but he was safe.

A while later, when Naela had stopped crying and had resorted to staring at the wall, her phone began to buzz.

Mike Manager

Naela rolled her eyes and audibly voiced her disgust before reluctantly answering the call.

"What, Michael?" Her voice gave away her hurt with a nasally tone.

"I--...You okay?"

She scoffed, "I'm fine, what is it?"

"Just don't forget to meet Pedro for lunch today, okay?"

Of course. The day after the trailer came out, they were meant to be spotted at a cafe in downtown. Although it wasn't directly her manager's fault, she felt like she had every right to take out some of her frustration on him. Before he could get out another word, she hung up on him.

She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. She sincerely debated not going, but ultimately decided it was better to go out than to cry in bed all day. Eventually, she convinced herself to stand up and get ready. She put on some light makeup, and for clothes, a pair of cream corduroy pants with a mauve fitted top.

She stopped to look at herself in her full length mirror. Putting on a a good outfit always seemed to cheer her up, albeit a very small amount this time. She sighed and reached over to her bedside table and plucked her favorite perfume from the display. She sprayed all of her pressure points and noticed her phone buzzing again as she put the bottle away. This time, the name on the screen tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Incoming FaceTime

Pedro

She scrambled to hold her phone up at the right angle and fixed her hair before accepting the call. Suddenly his face appeared, a new even scruff coming in across his his sharp jaw. His dark, wavy hair was dripping wet, and his bare chest was glistening with water droplets as he stood in what looked like his bathroom.

Naela could’ve sworn her best was beating out of her chest as the sight. Did he know what this was doing to her?

“Oooh, you look pretty.” A cheeky smile spread across his face as he took in the sight of her.

She tried to play it cool, responding with “Aw, thank you!” and repositioning her phone so her blush was cut off.

“I just wanted to see what you were wearing so you don’t look all gorgeous and I’m just— there,” he chuckled, running his fingers through his hair. Naela had to remind herself that it wasn't a real date as she propped her phone up on her perfume and posed for him.

"Okay, okay," She could see his eyes move up and down her body. "So, no matter what I wear, you'll look much better than me. Got it." She let her head fall back with laughter, feeling her pain wash away by the second.

"I think your fans would disagree," she shot back, unable to hide her flushed cheeks from the frame.

“Well don’t listen to the handful of people that say that. They don’t know what they’re talking about.” His tone grew sincere, then angry. He clenched his jaw and averted his eyes, subconsciously hiding the rage he felt every time he thought about those comments. (we love a quick to anger aries king)

“I appreciate that, Pedro.” Her sweet voice pulled him back to reality. In an instant, he was back to smiling and gazing adoringly at her.

Close to an hour later, he was doing the same thing as he saw her approaching the patio of the restaurant. He put out the cigarette he was smoking on the concrete and stood to pull out her chair as she neared. The first thing she noticed was his outfit, a cream sweater and dusty purple dress pants to match her. She chuckled and shook her head.

"What, you don't like the outfit?" He asked with a confident smirk. She lowered herself into the chair, looking up at him with an amorous stare, a cheeky smile peeking through.

“You look great, Pedro.” He seemingly brushed it off, pushing in her chair for her without another comment.

“So how much time do we have before this cafe turns into a zoo exhibit?” She continued, earning a hearty laugh from him as he took his seat across from her.

“Not sure,” he replied quickly before changing the subject. “How was your morning?” He instantly noticed a shift in her expression as she hesitated to answer.

“It was fine,” she answered unconvincingly.

Pedro raised his eyebrows, “Really?” Before she could come up with a smart reply, they suddenly noticed the waitress joining them at the edge of the table.

“Hello, how are you guys?” Throughout her mandatory speech, Naela noticed her ogling Pedro and refusing to look at anyone else.

“Can I just get a black coffee, and the lady will have the frozen mango lemonade,” he answered confidently, a polite smile on his face. Naela blinked, taken aback by the way he spoke for her.

“Did you just— how did you even know I liked mango?”

He looked confused as well, almost like it was casual, “Oh, I saw you at the airport drinking something similar. I can ask for something else—“

“No, no, it sounds good,” she trailed off, returning his smile before averting her eyes to her lap.

“Don’t think I forgot you dodged my question, Rivera.” His tone turned sultry, more serious, but his teasing smirk implied otherwise. She rolled her eyes, unable to surpress the rouge creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks.

“Josh and I had a bit of a fight this morning, I guess. It’s nothing,” she brushed it off, giving him the most convincing expression she could muster.

“Okay, I won’t press. If you ever need someone to talk to, though…” He didn’t even have to finish.

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” She agreed just above a whisper, bringing her hands up to massage her temples. After a moment of comfortable silence, she felt his hand gently curl around her own and rub circles on the inside of her wrist as it rested on the table. He looked endearingly into her eyes, making it hard to keep eye contact. Instead she looked around at the bustling street the cafe was on, seeing no sign of any fans or paparazzi. Her heart fluttered as she turned back to him, who’s eyes had never shifted.

“They’re not here yet, you don’t have to—“

“Naela,” he said abruptly, gazing deeply into her eyes.

“Yes?” she responded, chuckling akwardly.

“No one’s coming.” His smile turned sheepish as her eyes widened. “I told them we were going to a different cafe,” he continued.

“You don’t think we’ll get in trouble?” She couldn’t help but ask.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll tell ‘em it was all my idea. Let’s just enjoy the time we have before they notice, yeah?” She nodded, savoring how their hands lingered, intertwined at the center of the table.

Pedro’s ruse bought them until the end of their meal to be alone. Only a handful of photographers showed up, but it was still enough to make her feel like the entertainment. Luckily, they were already on their way out.

“I'm parked close. Don't answer any questions, just get to the car." Pedro linked his arm across her back, and gently pulled her into his chest as they neared the door. She nodded, too distracted by the small crowd pressed up against the door to notice his protective gesture.

"I've got you, okay?" He reassured her after clocking her nervous expression. She tried to force the corners of her moth down, but to no avail. She nodded once more, avoiding his eyes.

"Okay," he braced himself before hoisting the heavy door open and exposing them to the flashing lights and invasive questions.

"How long have you been together?"

"Was the chemistry on camera real?"

"How does it feel going from zero to being Pedro Pascal's girlfriend?"

Okay, rude. She wasn't a zero. Maybe a two and a half.

Pedro used his arm as a shield as he pushed through the cesspool of thirsty reporters. After some resistance, Pedro was able to push through to the passenger door of his car, instantly opening it for her. Naela climbed in not-so-gracefully, practically falling into the seat. She had a moment to glance around the vehicle as Pedro made his way to the opposite side. It was impressively clean, with only a gym bag in the backseat and lip balm in the middle console. She found a faint familiarity in the scent, a ghost of him filing her senses. It was soon replaced by the real thing as he jumped into the car as well. With his chest heaving, he smiled over at her, holding back laughter.

"Holy shit," he huffed, "I'm getting too old for this."

Naela laughed, "Step on it, Grandpa!" Pedro wheezed at her teasing before buckling in and driving away, careful not to hurt anyone that crowded around the car. There was comfortable silence for a moment as he started on the route to Naela's apartment complex. Naela gazed absentmindedly out the window, a soft smile lingering on her lips. She felt safe, and content for the first time in a while.

"I'm sorry again, Naela." She instantly turned toward him, shaken out of her daydream to see his fallen expression and his adorable brown doe-eyes glaring sympathetically back at her.

"Sorry?" She quirked her head to the side, taken aback by his sudden apology.

"I'm sorry you have to do all of this. That you didn't get the choice," he confessed, unable to face her comforting look.

"Pedro--" She was cut off by the dull ringing of the bluetooth on his car. The caller ID Manager popped up on the screen. Pedro glanced over at her before answering it.

"What's up, Nick?" He asked cautiously.

"So you decided to go somewhere different last minute, huh?" The man said in a knowing tone.

"Yeah, the waitlist was like two hours at the first place." Pedro couldn't help but break a smile as he lied. He looked to Naela, who was covering her mouth to keep herself from chuckling.

"Sure, sure...just know the studio isn't gonna let it fly a second time, Pedro." He warned him. It was clear he was slightly amused by the situation.

"Gotcha. Thanks for covering for me."

"Yeah, yeah." Then, the line disconnected, leaving them a giggling mess.

"Guess that's the last private date we're getting." She didn't realize she used the "D" word at first, but she wasn't about to take it back. He furrowed his brow, scoffing at her words.

"No one said that," he teased, smirking over at her. He kept it to himself, but he could definitely get used to the sight of her in his passenger seat. She suppressed her smile by biting the inside of her cheek, then turned away once it failed. Flustered, she stayed mostly quiet for the rest of the drive. Soon, they reached her building, and Pedro was getting out of the car with her. She found herself scouring her memory to find out of Josh would be in her apartment, which brought her back to the events of that morning. Even if Josh weren't home, it would be wrong to invite Pedro in, no matter how badly she wanted to.

"This one's me," she said awkwardly, her eyes glued to her keys as she fumbled her keychain in her hands. She eventually found the right key and stuck it in the door, starting to step in before Pedro's hand grasped her arm.

"Hey--" he started, trailing off as she turned to face him. He gazed down at his grip on her and quickly dropped it, realizing he overstepped. God, he hated this phase. He wanted to skip to the end where she told him she was leaving that stupid boy.

"When can I see you again?" he asked honestly, that was all he cared about. She was stunned for a second, trying to choose between saying what she wanted or what she should say.

"Um...the premier is in two weeks. I'll see you then?" She answered, more in the tone of a question. He sighed, but hid his disappointment with a final, pained smile.

"Sure, yeah...a car is probably gonna come at a time, I don't know what time..." he stammered out.

Damn. Hurting him was proving to be the worst side effect of facing the truth. She told herself over and over in her head; it was all business. He could have anyone he wanted, and there was no way he would choose the naive twenty-five-year-old. At least she knew where she stood with Josh.

She thanked him with the look in her eyes as she gently stroked his cheek. It took all of the restraint in Pedro's body not to stop her again as she finally retreated inside her apartment. He stood outside her door for a long moment, denying that he needed to leave for as long as possible. Eventually, after cursing himself under his breath, he walked away, sulking to the elevator.

On the other side of the same door, Naela hesitated as well. If she was doing what was right, why did it have to hurt so much? Why did she hate every minute he was gone?

He didn't love her, not really. He never would have looked her way if they weren't forced together.

Right?

reblog if you made it to the end!

[sethmacfarlanedeathpose]

Remy and Rogue T4T mpreg Fic

Fluff/domestic/slight angst

Rogue never in a million years would think that one day she'd be a mother. She had spent her whole life living with a mutant power that made it near impossible to touch anyone, and living with guilt that came from the consequences of having such power. It seemed like she would never have any sort of intimate life and therefore sire any children, but things changed when she met Gambit.

The love crazed Cajun had the hots for her the moment he laid eyes on her and although she turned down his advances for years she couldn't help but fall for that sweet Southern charm of his and well it seemed like in no time at all they had become an item among the X-Men. And she would come to learn a lot about him, like how he was trans, which made them even closer as they shared that in common, and despite his attempts to be seen as some sort of Casanova, deep down he saw Rouge as his one and only and had admitted to her one day about his desire to have children.

"You know that just ain't gonna happen, sugar?"

And Gambit knew Rogue was right, she couldnt lay a finger on him without sending him to the infirmary, so there wasn't much of a chance of any sort of procreation to happen. That was until their dear, gentle friend and comrade Dr Hank McCoy would offer them some resolution to their predicament.

Beast's experiments where always for the betterment of man and mutant a like so he would be well trusted in providing the Star crossed lovers some help, that being the option of artificial insemination.

It sure worked for Gambit and Rogue because it seemed like in no time at all Remy had fallen pregnant and well Rogue was the mother. A situation Rogue would have never seen herself in beforehand but it was all coming true now.

_________________________________________

Both of them would see their wish of having children, and well Gambit loved the attention he got from it, that being both positive and negative. Even when Logan would throw a passing remark at him about how he was "Getting out of shape" Remy always saw it as Wolverine being jealous perhaps. Although he wasn't going to sugarcoat it, the Cajun wasn't made of the same metal he used to be.

He had softened up quite a bit, it didn't help that Rogue was always overprotective of him and basically wouldn't let him do a thing. The moment Gambit started showing, Rogue would have her gloved hands protectively laying on top of his belly, as if to warn anyone around not to touch him.

When it came to feeling the baby's movement Rogue could feel it, but she did always yearn for the feeling of it without her protective gloves and Remy would have liked that too. He couldn't even get a little kiss without it being a risk to him and the baby. Rogue had felt especially upset about it one morning when they were cuddling in bed together.

There were no missions nor threats to worry about, no word of Magneto causing any problems and certainly no sentinels or intergalactic forces being seen on Earth. So well everyone could just take a moment to breathe. Rogue had been pretty much holding onto Remy all night. Her arms dressed in protective gear touching against his own covered skin. Gambit was still asleep whilst Rogue layed her head in the crook of his neck, a small pillow acting as a barrier between them and she was wide awake and just taking in every moment of rest she got. Her hands gently parading down Remy's figure, to softy graze the surface of his belly. He was about seven months along at that point and was showing very prominently. Rouge loved giving his tummy little pokes to see if the baby would move, but she had left it for that morning as to not wake Gambit so rudely.

There was a little movement, but mostly just the baby stretching, not too much tossing and turning, not enough to bother Gambit at least. Whilst the card thrower was playing sleeping beauty, Rogue had decided she had enough laying by Gambit's head and gently shuffled her way down to his dome of a belly, so that her nose was just lightly bushing against his waist.

Sweet nothing's where whispered to the baby, Rogue telling the bundle of joy how excited she was and how she'd do her best to be the best mother she could be. She swore not to be anything like Mystique. It didn't take too long until the baby started moving, possibly at the sound of such a familiar voice, and began to tumble around, making its presence once again known to Remy.

The Cajun's eyes fluttered open, piercing red and black eyes shooting down in Rogue's direction, seeing her be so loving and tender. Remy stretched ever so slightly to gain some attention from Rogue, having her jerk her head up in his direction.

"Oh, I didn't mean to wake you, Darling."

"Non, don't worry, Cher. Gambit is just happy to see you first thing when he wakes up!"

A small chuckle left Rogue's lips, she quickly placed another kiss on his belly and moved her way back up to Remy. Of course she couldn't place a kiss in his lips, but she could go back to laying her head against the pillow and resting her hand against his stomach. Then hearing Gambit's own sweet whispers.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Omg I’m so invested in this au now!!!! I love the vibe and everything you said about it so far. Your last post/answer about how the mutants sometimes get days off due to their mutation gave me this thought:

Some teacher, doing attendance: Reader Readerson?

Laura: Shes excused today because of feral reasons

The teacher: Huh? I thought she didn’t show a mutation yet? I wasn’t informed that she developed a feral mutation…

Laura: she didn’t

Teacher: then what are you talking about?

Laura: Logan started nesting and he’s refusing to let Reader out of his room right now, it has something to do with the protective instinct with the weakest member of the pack.

Teacher, stunned:

Teacher: okay, I’m not going to get involved in this, let’s just continue with chapter 7.

(Also I love 🐝 BeaBee!!!! Amazing. That’s what I’ll sign off with from now on)

- 🐝 BeaBee

Did you read my mind?! That's what I was thinking!!!😱😃 And yay, Laura! They, Reader, is too sweet to say no, and most likely they were asleep when the instincts took over, so it's not like they can leave anyway without causing a very, very big problem...

But yes, whenever the feral or partially feral mutants have to take a day off to handle their instincts (they're in a school and they can't hug or attack or nest regularly), they almost always request for them or move Reader into their room to cuddle with. So, that means Hank, Logan, Victor, Kurt, and Laura... along with possibly Todd, too... And Reader is slightly confused but happy to help! It would be nice, though, if they could get up to get them all food... (It's been three hours since they woke up, and no one has eaten anything since about 5:30pm or 6:30pm last night...)

• And to be fair, a few of the ferals do share rooms with each other/are roommates... For instance, Kurt and Todd possibly share a room, along with Evan and Pietro (they have bunk beds, and are bunk buddies)(Reader will jokingly see them as a quartet, like Ninja Turtles or some Power Rangers)

• Laura is likely with Kitty or Rogue, but because everyone sleeps over a lot in the rec rooms, she's usually able to curb most of her instincts by sleeping against Logan or cuddling with Reader.

• Aaand Victor and Logan share a room. Whenever Victor deals with instincts, he's the only one allowed out of the nest (their beds end up pushed together and covered with every blanket, sweater, and jacket they have) (Heaven help the school if all of the ferals/partially ferals are out the same day... Because they're likely keeping Reader with them, and no one is sure they can take on all of them to get Reader back to class/breakfast/lunch/recess...)

(Okay! You, ❤ Anon, I now dub🐝BeaBee!)(😊 And if you want to discuss more of this au or the characters or the world-building/backstories, please, feel free to ask about it or talk about it!)

(I and 🐑 Anon finished discussing the seven adults and their potential as Reader's parent in the 🖤Dark AU, and I was wondering: which platonic yandere adult would you want as Reader's parent? I'm curious. You can choose up to two or three, as I realize choosing just one is a little hard)

[mermaidsirennikita]

Please, give us some loser heroes

Hahaha gladly

(this got long)

I mean, I've gotta say, one of the loseriest heroes I've read recently is Envy from Throne of the Fallen by Kerri Maniscalco. I've said it before and I'll say it again--if you're looking for a fantasy romance to try, especially if you normally read historicals, this is it (and TotF does stand alone if you want to try it first versus the trilogy that comes before it).

Envy is like, on a quest to save his court, and he's ostensibly a Prince of Hell and therefore very strong and full of supernatural gifts but like... He spends so much of this book falling flat on his face, ESPECIALLY with his heroine Camilla, who is Extremely Unimpressed. (There's a moment wherein he has to do something amazing to save his own life, and she's genuinely like assuming he's just going to die lmao.) His brothers randomly show up to dunk on him throughout the book. Not even for like, plot, just to be like "Sooooo have you seduced her yet? No? Shocker." He does things he thinks are so cool and then is like "Oh God immediate regret mistake".

*love him*

Seven Nights in a Rogue's Bed by Anna Campbell is a recent read wherein the hero presents himself as very suave and confident, and he's like "I SHALL KEEP YOU HERE FOR SEVEN DAYS AND SEDUCE YOU, MY INNOCENT MUAHAHAHA" before being like "nooooo I have harmed the innocent, I AM A WORM!!!" when the heroine shows pitches an emotional fit at him.

Allegreto in Shadowheart by Laura Kinsale is another "muahahahahaha" hero, and he is like, legitimately dangerous and threatening (TW: noncon in the first encounter) but once the heroine, Elena, gets her hooks in him... He is.... a sad little baby. A sad little baby who doesn't think he can go to church because he's done too many murders and is going to hell. BUT HE'S COOL WITH THAT. He's totally cool with that.... he's cool.... Arguably even more of a loser if you read For My Lady's Heart first, which is set ten years earlier and features another couple (the hero is less of a loser but still has embarrassing moments like being visibly aroused in front of the heroine and getting called out on it by her in front of SEVERAL priests, and also thinking this heroine is his perfect lady who he's pledged to for thirteen years only to meet her for real and be like "oh my god she's kind of EVIL??? My life has been devoted to a VILLAINESS???? I'm so STUPID") and also a teenage Allegreto who does absolutely RIDICULOUS things like carry a plague apple around because he's scared of plague, and like, hold the hero's hand during sleep because he thinks the hero will ward off plague, and pretend to be A CASTRATO for an ELABORATE SCHEME which he HONESTLY DID NOT HAVE TO DO.

A Rose at Midnight by Anne Stuart (TW: a lot of dubcon between the hero and heroine at first, noncon in the heroine's past not with the hero) has another "I am such a villain, my lady!!!" hero who is actually a massive ball of guilt and angst. The first time they sleep together she actually secretly enjoys it and hates herself for it, but she didn't Get All The Way There and he walks away like "I'M SO EMBARRASSING I CAN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT" and like kicking rocks while pretending to be very above it.

Mafia Madman by Mila Finelli. Enzo d'Agostino's master plan is to kidnap the heroine by blowing up a bar for REVENGE and everyone around him is like "honestly your master plan... doesn't even make a lot of sense" even though it TOTALLY makes sense, y'all just DON'T GET IT. He then proceeds to get schooled by the heroine at every opportunity and become her dog (literally there's a bonus epilogue where she's gone for like 30 seconds and his brothers are like "look at what she did to him, he used to be a perfectly good mafia don, now he has anxiety").

Charlotte and The Seductive Spymaster by Grace Callaway has the titular spymaster who faked his death to keep his wife safe and IMMEDIATELY regretted it, returning from the dead twelve years later and getting mad that she's flirting with another man. So he like. THROWS ROCKS AT THE OTHER MAN??? FROM A SECRET HIDING PLACE? Embarrassing behavior. He also faints at one point. Like, it made sense, but I still laughed my ass off. And his wife is super competent, so she's constantly like "... really?"

Seduce Me at Sunrise by Lisa Kleypas has Kev Merripen, who is extremely competent on paper because he's literally the only person in that series who has a real job, but emotionally... the boy ain't right. He literally thinks that if he sleeps with Win ONCE she'll get pregnant and die. He like, hides in the background. Married by Morning also has an extremely losery moment from Leo Hathaway in which he basically does that thing from that meme where he trips and drops all of his obsessive things about the heroine, and the obsessive things are tons of drawings he did of her wearing nothing but her glasses. And she's like ".... you sure have an active imagination". Honestly, Harry from Tempt Me at Twilight also has his share of cringe, like the time he thought he was super hurting Poppy during her first time, so he just jumped off her and hated himself for days and ran away and she had to literally hunt him down and go "I'm FINE now FINISH IT".

Hart Mackenzie from The Duke's Perfect Wife, I will always maintain, is a massive loser who pretend to be extremely competent. Like, he's all "Eleanor, as you know, we did it three times when we were engaged" and she's like "yes.... like a decade ago Hart... I'm not.... impressed". He's being blackmailed by a stranger who sent Eleanor (a reporter) nude photos he took years ago and he's like ".... well those certainly are photos I took Eleanor". He gets all growly at her and she boops his nose. It's pathetic.

Dreams of a Dark Warrior by Kresley Cole, aka "he's constantly being reincarnated after sleeping with the heroine, like they hook up and then he just dies half an hour later in what sound like frankly increasingly comical death scenes, and she's immortal so she finally just gives up on even kissing him"... One of the legitimately saddest heroes I've ever read, lol. He's been brainwashed into hating immortals (with some solid reasons tbf) so he's like, the head torturer in this prison of immortals (TW, it's kinda intense) and he HAAAATES the heroine and she's DETERMINED to kiss him to kill him this time because she HAAAATES him. But like. His body count is like 1.5 because he's never actually really been interested in anyone because, though he doesn't know it because he doesn't remember, his soul only wants HER. So he meets her and is very *boing* about her and HATES it, and they literally have a fight in his office where he ends up on top of her and she's like "... I can feel EXACTLY how into this you are" and he's like !!!!!!!!!! He's just increasingly confused.

Also, this leads very nicely into Lothaire, where the big bad of the series is revealed to be a frankly loony tunes nightmare who's like "honestly I'm only 50% lucid at any given time". And he does a lot of puzzles in his spare time. And he wears trenchcoats because he thinks it looks cool (it doesn't). And he's constantly getting OWNED by a 24 year old psych major dropout. Like, she'll just perfectly diagnose him and he goes "... well you got me there". At one point, she hops on it with their clothes on (because he's trying to menacingly be like "YOU HAVE NO CHOICE" but it was actually exactly what she wanted him to do) and he has an Incident in his jeans, and she later finds him in the shower and throws said jeans at him like "NEXT TIME YOU TRY TO BE ALL HIGH AND MIGHTY REMEMBER WHAT I MADE YOU DO LOSER". Sad of him.

Embry Moore in Sierra Simone's New Camelot trilogy falls in love with Ash when he's literally stepping on him. And it's honestly just a string of embarrassments after that.

The Master by Kresley Cole (Kresley kinda specializes in Powerful Losers) features a billionaire Russian mafia hero shivering in the rain while the heroine takes an important test texting her like "I hope you do well :D!" because he's trying to get on her good side again lmao I was frankly embarrassed on his behalf

A Demon's Guide to Wooing a Witch by Sarah Hawley features the demonic big bad of the last book coming back with AMNESIA and the heroine rescues him from getting beaten up in like, the first chapter. And he's all "wooooow she's so strong *_*"

Hugo and The Maiden by S.M. LaViolette has a sex worker hero who's all "I'M JADED, I CARE FOR NOTHING BUT MYSELF" getting shipwrecked while being transported on a tiny island, and he gets picked up by a giant, sweet guy who carries him like a baby (while he angrily protests) to this makeshift hospital where the heroine, a vicar's uptight, bossy daughter berates him, and it's like all downhill for his dignity from there.

We cannot forget my beloved Duke of Lockwood from The Duke Gets Even, who spends three books getting swerved or cucked or both, and finally admits he's into Nellie and is all "we shall begin a no strings affair" only to like, immediately fall in love with her. And the rest of the book is her being like "we aren't going to get married Lockwood" and he's all "but whyyyy" and she's like "because you literally said this was a no strings affair which is the only reason why I agreed to it. (Him: :(.) He's also completely broke and thinks that he, as a duke, has sway in America, and there's an entire scene where Teddy Roosevelt himself is like "I like you but I can't help you because you're actually just a broke loser here" after he tries to boss up.

Wynter from C.L. Wilson 's The Winter King is all, "I'm a conqueror, I'm so dangerous, if you don't give me a child within a year I'll leave you on a glacier to die" only for everyone in his employ to be like "girl the glacier thing is actually bullshit". He's actually a puppy. The heroine discovers that he makes sad little ice sculptures of his dead family because he's so lonely. I was like "aww" but also "Jesus dude go outside".

The Duke Gets Desperate features a duke who's an art history major, basically, and like all art history majors (I say as one) he has no applicable life skills and his estate is going under. (I LOVE a broke aristo.) So when the heroine shows up having also inherited the estate and is like "we're going to charge people for tours of the castle to make sure we can pay for it" he's all "GAAAAAASP MADAME DUKES DO NOT HAVE TOURS OF CASTLES DUKES ARE DIGNIFIED AND BROKE!!"

Mercy by Sara Cate features a hero who was literally a cheater in a previous book, a rotten SCOUNDREL finding out that what he really needs to straighten up is to be humiliated and dominated by an older woman (ideally, his dad's close friend).

The Queer Principles of Kit Webb by Cat Sebastian has former highwayman and local sad man and cafe owner Kit begin tutoring dandy swordsman Percy on how to like, rob people. But Kit is ridiculously attracted to Percy, something Percy clocks immediately by being like "this loser is looking at my ankles" and whenever Percy Does Something to Kit Kit is like "THANK YOU OMG".

Oh, speaking of, Shane in Heated Rivalry is like, a perfect athlete and also a massive dork. He's also a "thank you omg that was amazing" guy and then is immediately like "I SAID THANK YOU???" At one point when he and Ilya do it for the first time his inner monologue is like "what if we get stuck together and the fire department has to come and pull us apart and EVERYONE WILL KNOW". A human ball of anxiety. Constantly embarrassed by himself. Ilya is more confident and smooth but also has some losery moments, like when they're camming for each other and he looks at Shane after and says in Russian "I'm so in love and it's horrible" lmao.

Lol Jamison from Tracey Livesay's American Royalty is notably pathetic because he's like, a frosty uptight British prince, and as soon as he sees the heroine he immediately becomes a slobbering ridiculous mess. He manages to keep up the frosty prince act for approx. five minutes.

Managed by Kristen Callihan. Scottie is so in control and prickly and TOGETHER... except for the scene where he fishes her dirty laundry out in the bathroom and does Unspeakable Things and then hand washes it and hides it under the mattress for Later and she FINDS IT.

Hotel of Secrets by Diana Biller has a virginal hero who believes he must be celibate to be an amazing operative, and he's great at the operative stuff, but he's soooo into the heroine. At one point there's a scene where she's bandaging him and she touches his ribs and he's like "pls stop" and she's all "why" and then Looks Down and goes "oh". Humiliating stuff!

Lush Money by Angelina M. Lopez has a hero who gets caught by the paparazzi when he's servicing the heroine on his knees in a car. Very sad for his dignity.