RESUME: THE LEGEND OF THE WOLF IS NOW PART OF WESTEROS. DAERON DIDN'T BELIEVE IN IT, DESPITE EGG'S INSISTENCE. BUT WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN YOU LEARN YOU'RE LINKED TO THIS LEGEND?
WORDS: 2452 (MORE TO COME)
RATING: MDNI
PARTS: 1/?
STATUS: ONGOING
CONTENT: SOULMATES, DREAMERS, READER IS A SNOW, (MORE TO COME)
WARNINGS: NONE (MORE TO COME)
Part I
For some time now, the legend of The Wolf has been told in Westeros. If Daeron considers this story of The Wolf as a mere forgettable legend, he will soon learn that the Wolf truly exists.
RESUME: FOR SOME TIME NOW, THE LEGEND OF THE WOLF HAS BEEN TOLD IN WESTEROS. IF DAERON CONSIDERS THIS STORY OF THE WOLF AS A MERE FORGETTABLE LEGEND, HE WILL SOON LEARN THAT THE WOLF TRULY EXISTS.
WORDS: 2452
RATING: TEEN AND UP
CONTENT: SOULMATES, DREAMERS, READER IS A SNOW
WARNINGS: NONE
TAGS: @inlovewithrhaenicent
PART 2 (COMING SOON)->
There was a legend circulating in Westeros for some time. Some people believed it, others saw it as nothing more than a story to frighten children. The legend had no other name than that of the main character: The Wolf.
According to the rumors, The Wolf punishes people who have been mean to others. When you were his target, you would see their icy grey eyes, their ferocious animal face, and their hood made from the skin of a direwolf killed by The Wolf themselves. And after that, their dagger will plunge deep into your chest, not missing your heart by a single millimeter.
True or false, nannies liked to tell it to the naughtiest children to calm them down and, often, it was the perfect solution. No child would want to meet The Wolf. Of course, that didn't stop some children from being naughty, but at least the attempt existed.
But all of that was irrelevant to Daeron. What did he care about those legends? Oh, the Wolf seemed to be some divine being who knew everything? Well, he had some strange dreams that gave him ideas about the future. He didn't need to be jealous of The Wolf.
Daeron was almost certain that his skull was the one that was hammered during the drive to Ashford Meadow. Between his father talking about the tourney, Aerion telling uninteresting things, and Egg saying he had heard that The Wolf would be at the tourney, nothing was going right for the poor eldest's brain.
“It’s not even a real story,” Daeron sighed, glancing sideways at his younger brother.
“You never know!” Egg insisted.
“If The Wolf really existed, I know someone who would have been punished a long time ago…” Daeron whispered to Egg, glancing at the proud Aerion.
Egg nodded, while Daeron shook his head as he straightened up on his horse. He was beginning to think that, perhaps, if The Wolf existed, they would probably be after him too. Gods, he must have done something wrong. Hmm, but was it worse than anything Aerion had done? No, Daeron was probably getting off rather lightly.
“It doesn’t even make sense. Direwolves are from the North, this creature called The Wolf would have no business being here,” commented Aerion, hearing Aegon continue to chatter about this legend.
“It’s not a creature! It’s a real person,” Egg groaned, shaking his head.
“Yes, well, only the people of Winterfell believe in a vengeful direwolf,” Aerion concluded. “Pathetic…” he murmured.
Daeron had refrained from commenting on Aerion's remarks about the beliefs of the Northerners. There was still a long way to go, and Maekar would probably kill him if he made a remark about Aerion's dragon-like thoughts, which Daeron considered no less ridiculous than the beliefs of the Northerners.
Eventually, Daeron and Egg slipped away when the attention was no longer entirely on them. In this way, the two brothers took refuge in an inn, thus avoiding the tourney imposed by their father.
However, the stay at this inn did not go as well as Daeron had hoped. Drinking himself into oblivion was, for once, not enough.
No matter how much he tried to flee and escape his dreams, he had literally just seen one of the men from his visions in the flesh, albeit slightly blurry due to the alcohol he had consumed all night. Ah, he'll be much better off in bed, asleep.
Meanwhile, Egg was having a great time on the stranger's horse, the man who had mistaken him for a stable boy. He fancied himself a knight, and it was probably the best moment since he had arrived at the inn with his brother.
However, the joy was short-lived, as he was quickly joined by the man. Apparently, he was a knight who intended to participate in the tourney at Ashford Meadow. This was an opportunity that Egg couldn't resist seizing!
But as he was trying his best to convince the hedge knight to make him his squire, something caught his eye. No, he must have been dreaming. It was impossible for someone to walk around here wearing a direwolf skin, let alone for them to be The Wolf.
Egg didn't have time to think about it or dwell on it too much! He had to infiltrate the tourney to accompany the knight! In any case, it was obvious that it was just an illusion. Fatigue was playing tricks on him.
In the room occupied by a Daeron fast asleep thanks to alcohol, the floor creaked under slow footsteps. He didn't even hear them, far too busy sleeping without a trace of dreams, not far from starting to snore.
But he finally woke up when he felt himself being violently pulled by his hair. His eyes suddenly opened, wide and round like saucers, even though he was still half-dazed. The tip of a knife was against his neck.
“I saw you downstairs… full of money…”
Daeron did not respond to the stranger's words, who looked to be in a worse state than himself, which some would consider an achievement. Before he could reach his own weapon, the tip of a blade emerged from the man’s chest. Daeron gasped in shock for a moment as the stranger spat blood onto his face. The blade was withdrawn, the stranger's corpse falling to the ground like a rag doll. And then, Daeron's eyes were fixed on coldly grey eyes. His lips parted slightly as he observed the masked face of the person before him, a black wolf skin resting on their back and covering the top of their head. The Wolf is a legend, right? Right..?
He didn't have time to say anything before his hair was held back again. But what was this obsession everyone had with his hair? His head was then slightly tilted, the icy eyes scrutinizing him with a great attention that Daeron had never seen before.
A grunt was uttered, then her his was let down. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and staring at the person who had saved him, though he wasn't sure if that was their intention.
"You're not the right one."
The voice sounded feminine, but rather deep because of the mask worn by the person in front of him. Daeron shook his head as he sat up properly on the bed.
“What are you looking for?” Daeron ventured to ask.
“A dragon. A bright one.”
Daeron closed his eyes and nodded slowly, understanding who the target might potentially be.
“The one you’re looking for is in the direction of Ashford Meadow. It’s Aerion.”
“I have to kill him.”
Daeron remained silent, observing them through a haze of alcohol, before shaking his head in disappointment.
“Not one again… why are they all materializing?” he grumbled to himself.
“What are you talking about?”
Daeron raised his eyebrows, pulling his face back slightly, the tip of a dagger near his face.
“I saw you in a dream… a black direwolf, standing before a dragon who is howling in pain from the fire.”
“Ridiculous. I wouldn’t burn someone alive to kill them, that’s far too tasteless.”
“And yet…” Daeron murmured.
“I too saw the bright dragon in a dream,” confessed The Wolf. “He harmed men, women, and children without remorse.”
“And… he was the only one?” Daeron asked, lying back down on his bed.
“No. I also saw a pathetic one.”
Your persistent gaze on him made him understand that he was indeed the dragon in question. That was truly insulting! But was it untrue?
“Is he dead, the pathetic?”
“No, surprisingly,” replied The Wolf. “What he did is of no importance.”
The Wolf became colder than they already were, shaking their head as if to reject the memories of the dream linked to the pathetic dragon, and therefore to Prince Daeron. And suddenly, The Wolf left, casting one last glance at the Prince.
Alone, Daeron sighed, closing his eyes and covering them with his arm. He did everything he could to escape the worst, and yet his visions had decided to appear. Who was the worst? The knight or The Wolf? Perhaps The Wolf; the thought sent shivers down his spine.
This was his first encounter with the legend. With you.
As Daeron had instructed you, you had headed towards Ashford Meadow with the purpose of eliminating Aerion. Things weren't so simple there. It was the first time you'd ever seen someone so heavily protected by guards.
You were discreetly prowling around the camp, trying to find the perfect opportunity to attack. But it never seemed to present itself; it was as if the universe was against your success. You'd never had so much trouble killing someone before.
"Ah! I knew the Wolf existed!"
You turned around sharply, dagger in hand. You scoffed when you saw a child, then put away your weapon.
“You shouldn’t be out alone this late at night.”
“Why? Are you going to kill me?”
You shook your head, rolling your shoulders. Egg was looking at you with a sort of starry-eyed look.
“I’m here for Aerion Targaryen,” you explained.
Egg remained silent for a few moments, wondering why someone like you would confess such a thing so easily. Planning an assassination against the Prince was illegal, were you crazy to admit that to him?
“I’ve been watching you. Do you think I don’t know who you are? Or the fate you’d like to see reserved for him?”
Egg shifted from one foot to the other, not daring to immediately admit that he wouldn't be against his brother's disappearance.
“But what do I have to do with your mission?” he asked curiously.
“You could be my mole. Come find me immediately when you know of an opportunity for me to kill him. If you don’t find me…”
You didn't finish your sentence, Egg nodded immediately. It was undoubtedly very wrong to accept such a thing, but he no longer wanted to suffer under his older brother, and he was certain that the people of Westeros would not mourn him.
So, while following Dunk throughout the tourney, Egg observed the situation, trying to find a weakness that would allow you to achieve your goal. It seemed there would never be one, and Egg was beginning to despair. But when Aerion called for a Trial of Seven, and therefore Dunk needed knights, he immediately went in search of you.
The little boy had told you the whole story from beginning to end, and this was the perfect opportunity for you. You wouldn't have any problems if you killed him there, since it would be part of the trial.
Before the Trial, you had joined Dunk's small group. Lord Baratheon seemed uncertain, knowing that you were not a knight.
“Let’s knight her, like you did to me!” Raymun suggested.
“No. I am not and do not want to be a knight,” you immediately countered. “I will participate without being a knight. It's not like they perfectly verify everyone's title,” you added, your gaze resting for a moment on Dunk, who seemed to tense up slightly.
And so, you participated in the Trial, soon joined by Prince Baelor. You observed Daeron, who really seemed to be out of sorts as he put on his helmet. It was certain he'd like it anywhere but here.
Throughout the trial, you made strategic calculations to get rid of Aerion. But he was apparently determined to fight Dunk, who had decided to do the same. You groaned at the thought that it was neither your job nor Egg's, but reminded yourself that at least he would potentially be killed.
You scoffed when you saw Daeron playing dead in the mud. Your new objective was therefore to get rid of the adversaries, but also to make sure that no one trampled him thinking he was actually dead. This mission had been a success, however Aerion hadn't been killed. Dunk had made him yield. That had made you grit your teeth in frustration.
After the ceremony for Baelor’s funerals, which you had attended from afar without being noticed, you had met Daeron. One way or another, without fighting, he had sustained a facial injury. You were then alone together.
“Aerion is still alive,” he pointed out.
“I’ll get rid of him eventually.”
Daeron shrugged, not seeming convinced by the statement you had just given him.
“Why are you coming to see me? You should be focusing on Aerion. He’s weak right now. This is your lucky day.”
You didn't answer, your gaze seeming to harden for a few seconds. Daeron knew he was on shaky ground, but he was far too interested not to find out more.
“Is it because of your dreams? You said you saw me as a pathetic dragon, but what does the pathetic dragon do?”
You closed your eyes for a few moments, before looking at him differently. It wasn't tenderness, but a spark was still there. A shiver seemed to run through you before you finally answered:
“He mated with the black wolf,” you replied, your tone sounding more disgusted.
“Oh…” was the only thing Daeron said at first. “You don’t seem to like it, but you’re more attentive to me than my own father, well… attentive in your own way, I suppose.”
“I’m not thrilled at the idea of having to mate with someone, and even less so with someone of your type,” you confessed. “But if it happened in my dreams, it must happen one way or another.”
Daeron nodded, understanding your situation.
“And before that, do you plan to show yourself to me?” he asked, his tone almost playful.
“In your wildest dreams, perhaps. Don’t think that this situation gives you direct access to my body,” you say, narrowing your eyes. “I won’t always be there to protect you, you should start defending yourself more and drinking less.”
“Hmm. But drinking helps calm the mind.”
You rolled your eyes before walking away from him. And then, a strand of your hair flew up and landed on his arm. He delicately took the hair, dark as a raven's plumage, a slight smile on his lips. It wasn't much, but he now knew that your hair was as dark as the wolf skin you wore.
He didn't intend to change his lifestyle, but since you were in his visions and he was in yours, the two of you being apparently linked according to you, he added learning more about you to his things to do before dying.
You were as cold as the wind of the North, but Daeron felt that you were warming him up very well, and he wasn't going to let that go.
Hi. Not to be rude, but I was just wondering if you are going to write a part 2 to your Stan Dudley fic. Or write another fanfic about Stan Dudley? I just really like your first fic and no one writes for him.
Hiii! It's not rude at all, don't worry.
I don't plan on writing a part 2 for this one, but I surely will write a new Stan Dudley fanfic some day ^^
Hiiii! I love your akotsk headcanons, so I was wondering if you could do one about how the akotsk men would be with a scaredy-cat wife? Thank you, xoxo
thank you for sending, it's an interesting concept especially since I can often be very nervous and scared of everything as well lol
AERION would make fun of you a lot, tease you cruelly all the time just to feel superior but also because the sight of your tears and scared expression does something to him. It surely turns him on when you're terrified of something... Especially when it makes you cling to him and seek safety in his arms. Then he's softening up for you as he rubs your back and calms you down. He likes to be the one to fix things, someone you trust completely.
BAELOR would worry about you because he hates to see your discomfort but he also takes pride in the fact he's the only one who can calm you down. His worry comes from the fact he can't be always around you to help. He is patient when you have anxiety attacks and he guides you through them while talking calmly and keeping you close. He tries to resolve your fears with rational thinking but also emotional support.
DAERON would probably spiral down with you. His nightmares make you feel scared and you both start overthinking. Whenever you're be plagued with gloomy thoughts, he joins you immediately. In that aspect you two bring each other down a lot but at the same time knowing that you're in this together is helpful because it feels like it's the two of you against the big and scary world.
DUNK is glad he's so big and strong so he can protect you from anything you fear but he's only worried if he can truly keep you safe from everything... Especially if he can keep you safe from your own head. He often doesn't know what to do when you have a proper breakdown but he awkwardly tries to calm you down. A hug is the most he can offer but his arms are the safest place in the world so it's alright.
LYONEL would try to turn everything into a joke. He wants to see a smile on your face instead of a frown. However, he makes sure to show you support, too. He doesn't tease or make jokes to shame you. He wants you to know that whatever you're worried about will be dealt with because he will take care of it. Meanwhile, you should laugh a little.
MAEKAR would roll his eyes and sigh a lot especially on the days when he's sick of everyone and everything. However, he is aware of your nature and seeing his wife in stress is the last things he wants. So, he offers you comfort but it's sometimes a bit harsh when he's being so reasonable and painfully honest that you feel ashamed. When he sees he makes you sad, he stops immediately and curses at himself before pulling you close to hold you.
VALARR panics because he wants to help like a good husband would but sometimes he feels helpless. He is lost often, not knowing what to do or say and some of his attempts make you feel even worse, which kills him on the inside. The sight of you stressed, worried and scared cause him heartaches. However, he tries his best to be the man you need whenever you are anxious about something. He asks his father for advice a lot.
I was wondering if you maybe could write something about the targ men eloping with targaryen!reader in a traditional Valyrian wedding because she's supposed to marry another but they love each other? Thank you! 🙏♥️
warnings — blood, targaryen! reader, tenses are a mess (not proofread)
baelor breakspear
— baelor always prided himself on being the dutiful son, the perfect heir who never put his own desires above the realm.
— he never expected to be the type of man to steal away a bride, but seeing you dressed for a match meant to secure a political alliance he engineered himself broke something inside him. the duty that always defined him suddenly felt like a cage, and the thought of another man holding you was the one thing his noble heart couldn't endure.
— the planning was meticulous, handled with the same precision he used on the battlefield. he didn't trust anyone else with the logistics, mapping out a quiet, midnight escape from the red keep through old tunnels that even the master of whisperers had overlooked.
— when he met you at the hidden postern gate, he didn't say a word at first; he just wrapped his heavy traveler's cloak around your shoulders to hide your bridal silk and pressed a firm, reassuring kiss to your forehead, his hands trembling just a fraction.
— he chose a ruined, secluded hill overlooking blackwater bay for the ceremony, a place where the wind howled through ancient stones. there were no lords or septons, just the two of you under a dark sky, exactly as he wanted it.
— baelor was incredibly solemn during the valyrian rites, his voice deep and steady as he spoke the ancient high valyrian words. he looked at you not as a prince looking at a subject, but as a man giving up his carefully built reputation for the only woman he ever truly desired.
— as he cut you to bind your blood with his, his touch was incredibly tender, his thumb instantly wiping away a stray tear. he whispered soft, soothing words in your ear, promising that the pain would be the last he ever caused you.
— when he pressed his bleeding mouth to yours, the taste of copper and the warmth of his breath sealed the vow so fiercely it left you breathless.
— wrapping the traditional dragonglass-clasped mantle around your shoulders felt more sacred to him than any crown he would ever inherit; he swore a silent oath to the old gods of valyria that he would shield you from the wrath of the king and your jilted betrothed.
— the morning after the wedding, he didn't look back toward king's landing with regret. instead, he held you tightly against his chest in a small room at an inn, watching the sunrise and softly telling you that he would face a hundred trials at court just to keep you by his side.
— he kept the piece of blood-stained silk from your wedding garment hidden in his breastplate, right over his heart, carrying the physical proof of your secret union into every tourney and council meeting he attended afterward.
— whenever the lord you were supposed to marry was mentioned at court, baelor’s usual polite smile would turn dangerously sharp, a silent warning that he had claimed you completely and would cut down anyone who questioned it.
— he loved the absolute privacy of your life; away from the weight of the iron throne, he became just baelor—a man who would happily brush your hair by candlelight and whisper that choosing love over duty was the best command he ever gave.
maekar targaryen
— maekar spent weeks watching your betrothal feast with a dark, suffocating fury building in his chest. he was always the brother left in the shadows, but he refused to let the woman who actually understood his bitter heart be handed over to some soft, arrogant lord.
— his approach to eloping was abrupt and demanding; he cornered you in the godswood the night before the wedding, gripped your wrists with desperate strength, and told you plainly that if you didn't leave with him right then, he would kill your betrothed in single combat.
— the ride to dragonstone was fast, with you riding pillion behind him on his warhorse, pulling you so close against his armor that you could feel the frantic, terrified thumping of his heart.
— he insisted on a traditional valyrian wedding because he despised the faith of the seven that his brother championed. he wanted something raw, old, and undeniably yours, a bond that no fat septon or political decree could ever dismantle or declare void.
— during the blood exchange, he didn't flinch when his his own flesh was cut. his eyes were locked on yours, fierce and burning with a possessive intensity that made it clear he was laying claim to your soul just as much as your body.
— when it came time to cut your skin, his rough hands became surprisingly gentle, his breathing hitching as he pressed the dragonbone blade against your skin, whispering a harsh, raw apology in high valyrian before making the mark.
— the moment your blood mingled with his, a dark, triumphant smile broke through his usual scowl. he kissed you with a desperate, hungry passion, tasting the iron on your lips and cementing the fact that you were finally his, completely beyond anyone else's reach.
— after the vows were spoken, he wrapped you in a heavy mantle of black and red, holding you so tightly against his chest that you could feel the frantic, heavy thud of his heart finally slowing down into relief.
— maekar knew his brother baelor and his father would be furious, but he faced the eventual confrontation with a grim, defiant pride, standing before the iron throne with his arm clamped around your waist.
— he took a dark pleasure in the scandal, relishing the look of utter defeat on your former betrothed's face when maekar bluntly announced that the blood rite had already been consumed and could never be broken by any mortal law.
— in your shared bedchamber at summerhall, he becomes a different man, pouring all his unspoken devotion into quiet, intense embraces, constantly reminding you that he chose you over his own duty.
— he becomes fiercely protective of you after the elopement, never letting you out of his sight when guests arrive and keeping his hand permanently resting on the pommel of his sword whenever anyone dares to look at you with pity or disrespect because of the elopement
— in the quiet hours of the night, he would hold you so tightly it almost hurts, burying his face in your neck and admitting in low, muffled tones that he had never been truly happy until the moment you chose him over a comfortable life.
valarr targaryen
— valarr was usually the golden, obedient grandson, but the thought of you marrying someone else turned him into a rebel overnight. he couldn't bear the thought of your smile belonging to another man, and his usual desire to please his father completely vanished under the panic of losing the only person who truly understood the pressure of being the future heir’s heir.
— he approached the elopement with a sort of frantic, youthful romanticism, slipping a silver ring and a note into your hand during a crowded court session, telling you exactly where his horse would be waiting at midnight.
— he was incredibly nervous during the escape, constantly looking over his shoulder and checking your cloak to make sure you weren't cold, his boyish charm melting into a fierce, protective focus as he guided you away from the castle.
— the traditional valyrian wedding was something he had researched in secret, bringing an ancient text from the red keep's library to ensure every single word spoken was exactly as their ancestors had done before the doom.
— he chose a secluded cliffside on dragonstone where the waves crashed violently below, wanting the ancient elements of fire and water to witness the truth of his love when the rest of the world was forcing a lie upon you.
— his voice cracked slightly as he recited the high valyrian vows, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears of pure relief because he could scarcely believe you actually chose him over your duty and your family's wishes.
— the blood binding terrified him a little because he hated seeing you in pain, but he knew it was the only way to make the marriage unbreakable under old valyrian law. he kissed your forehead repeatedly to distract you before drawing the blade.
— when he tasted your blood during the final kiss, it felt like an awakening; all his doubts about being a good heir disappeared, replaced by a fierce, driving ambition to become strong enough to protect you from the consequences of your flight.
— he laughed with pure, breathless joy the moment the ceremony was over, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around on the dark beach, the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders now that you were his wife.
— back in the capital, he had to endure his father’s quiet, disappointed looks, but valarr never broke under the pressure; he just looked down at his boots, thinking of you waiting for him in his private chambers, and felt entirely justified.
— he bought you exquisite gifts with his own coin—silks from lys and old valyrian scrolls—shattering his own allowance just to see you comfortable and happy in the hidden life you had to lead for the first few months.
— he loves combing your hair before bed, whispering sweet, idealistic promises about how one day, when he sits on the iron throne, he would crown you his queen in front of the entire realm.
— every time he looks at the faint, silver scar on your forearm from the ceremony, his eyes would soften completely, and he would press his lips to the mark, reminding you that he belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.
daeron targaryen
— daeron was already a man plagued by terrible, prophetic dreams, but the vision of you clad in another house's colors, weeping at an altar, was the one nightmare he refused to let come true. it gave the usually timid prince a sudden, reckless courage.
— he didn't plan a grand escape; instead, he came to your window in the dead of night, his eyes wide and anxious, begging you to leave with him right then because he had seen a dream where you were lost to him forever if you stayed.
— he was drinking heavily to steady his nerves before the ceremony, but the moment he looked at you beneath the moonlit sky, he set the flask down, his eyes clearing with a rare, sharp lucidity that he only ever possessed when he was with you.
— the valyrian wedding was his idea because he believed the old dragon gods were the only ones who could protect you from the terrible things he saw in his dreams. he wanted a bond written in fire and blood, something the mortal lords couldn't touch.
— his hands shook terribly as he held the dragonglass knife, his voice trembling as he spoke the high valyrian words, but there was a deep, underlying devotion in his tone that made the ancient phrases sound like a desperate prayer.
— when his lip was cut, he pressed his mouth to yours so hard you could taste the iron immediately. the kiss was messy, desperate, and filled with a profound relief that made him sob against your lips.
— he cried softly when he had to draw your blood, murmuring endless apologies against your skin as he made the shallow cut, his tears mixing with the red droplets on your arm before he bound the linen around it.
— after the ceremony, he collapsed against you on the grass, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your lap, muttering that the dark shadows in his mind had finally gone quiet now that you were bound to him.
— he spent his days pretending to be his usual, useless self to throw off suspicion, drinking in appearance while actually spending every spare coin on food and comforts for you.
— he loves listening to you read to him in the dark; your voice is the only thing that could keep his dragon dreams at bay, and he would sleep peacefully only when his head was resting against your chest, listening to your heartbeat.
— he views his scar from the wedding as a badge of honor, often tracing it with his finger as a secret comfort, knowing that whatever terrible future awaited his house, he had managed to save the one piece of light he cared about.
aerion targaryen
— aerion viewed your upcoming marriage to another lord as a personal insult to his royal blood; he believed you were a creature of creature of old valyria, meant only for a true dragon like him, and his arrogance quickly mutated into a wild, obsessive need to take you.
— his method of elopement was chaotic and terrifying; he essentially abducted you from your chambers in the middle of the night, laughing like a madman as he carried you down the castle walls, entirely unbothered by the guards he had to bribe or threaten.
— he took you to the ruins of an ancient targaryen outpost, a place smelling of old stone and sulfur, where he had prepared a lavish altar adorned with dragonglass candles and wild, dark silks.
— he demanded the most ancient, extreme version of the valyrian rites, dressing himself in elaborate crimson silks and insisting that the gods themselves were watching his triumph over the lesser lords who dared try to steal his prize.
— his eyes danced with a frightening, erratic light during the vows, his high valyrian spoken with a dramatic, theatrical flare that made the ancient words sound like a dark, beautiful spell meant to bind you to him for eternity.
— when he cut his lip, he didn't just make a small scratch; he sliced it deeply, his smile turning wicked as the blood spilled, before slamming his mouth against yours in a fierce, bruising kiss.
— he took an almost unsettling pleasure in drawing your blood, his eyes widening as he watched the red line form on your skin. yet, his touch was strangely possessive, his fingers trailing the blood down your arm before he licked a drop from his own knife.
— he draped a heavy cloak of black and scarlet over you, declaring you his dragon-wife and laughing maniacally at the thought of the look on your father's face when he realized his daughter had been claimed by a true prince of valyria.
— he didn't care about hiding the marriage for long; he flaunted your presence in his quarters, daring anyone to challenge him, his volatile temper flaring violently whenever a courtier even looked in your direction.
— he treats you like a precious, stolen relic, showering you with stolen jewelry and demanding that you wear nothing but the colors of house targaryen, effectively erasing any trace of your former life and identity.
— he took a cruel delight in taunting your former betrothed, sending the lord a letter written in your shared blood to inform him that his prize had been taken by a true god of the realm.
— in his quietest, rare moments of vulnerability, his madness would soften into a fierce, almost desperate dependency, where he would press his face into your hair and whisper that you were the only one who truly understands his greatness.
— he made you promise that if the world ever turned against him, you would burn with him, showing you his scar from the wedding as proof that your fates were permanently intertwined in blood and fire, never to be parted by man or god.
SUMMARY: YOU WERE CERTAIN OF IT, YOU WANTED TO MARRY LORD STANLEY DUDLEY. HOWEVER, THE FEELINGS DON'T SEEM TO BE RECIPROCATED. SO, HOW CAN YOU SEDUCE HIM?
WORDS: 1823
RATING: GENERAL AUDIENCES
CONTENT: LADY GREY!READER, SHE FELL FIRST BUT HE FELL HARDER KIND OF, STAN IS A LITTLE NEEDY, READER IS BAD AT SEDUCING
WARNINGS: NONE
“Isn’t that strange?”
Your sister, Katherine, looked away from what she was doing to look at you instead. You were playing thoughtfully with your hair, with an almost troubled expression on your face.
“What is strange?” she asked.
“Mother and her decisions.”
Katherine shrugged. The way your mother raised you should no longer surprise you.
“Why does she impose something on all her daughters, except for me?”
“I don’t know… maybe you’re secretly her favorite,” she replied, although it was clear she didn’t really mean it.
You shook your head, now taking a book in your hand, even though you didn't really intend to read it.
“I don’t understand,” you sighed. “You didn't want to marry the Duke of Leicester, and that's perfectly understandable, but she didn't leave you a choice. Jane didn't want to marry Lord Guildford, but she didn't give her a choice. And I tell her I want to marry Lord Stanley, but she won't allow it!”
“Indeed…”
“I’m the only one who wants to marry a Lord, but I’m also the only one Mother won’t allow to marry!”
Katherine nodded compassionately. She thought to herself that you were lucky your mother wasn't forcing you to marry someone.
“Yet Stanley isn’t a bad person. He doesn’t cause her any problems, they seem to get along well overall…”
There was a silence before you exchanged a glance. Shivers ran through your body, making you shake your head to regain your composure.
“I prefer not to imagine the existence of this situation,” you say with disgust.
“Me neither. But your lover seems to be smitten with her,” she pointed out with a grimace on her face.
“Don’t even mention it…” you sighed, putting the book back in its place. “I’m starting to lose hope…”
Katherine remained silent, before an idea crossed her mind.
“There’s Jane’s coronation banquet tonight. Perhaps this is the moment!” she said enthusiastically.
“Oh, but you’re right! I should be the most beautiful! Well… just after Jane, of course.”
Katherine nodded before getting up, walking towards your wardrobe. You then did the same with determination. You had to look stunning tonight so that Stan would finally look at you differently. You were already wondering what you could possibly do if he didn't at least give you an admiring glance.
All the dresses in your possession were then tried on, wanting absolutely to find the one that suited you best and therefore the most beautiful one. It took you a long time to agree, so long that when you had finally decided which one would be the right one, it was already time for you to prepare for the banquet.
“I have to get ready too! See you later!” she said before quickly leaving your room to go to hers.
You then put on the dress, checking again in the mirror that everything was perfect. You smiled and nodded, telling yourself that it was impossible for the man of your dreams not to be impressed by your dress.
But you couldn't go to the banquet like that! You also needed jewelry and a splendid hairstyle. So you headed to your jewelry box to accessorize your outfit with pretty pearls around your neck and lovely diamonds in your ears. A few rings, and there you have it!
You then sighed, playing with your hair, thinking about how to style it. It took you longer than you thought it would, as you were really indecisive. You didn't want the hairstyle to ruin everything and therefore, as a result, Lord Stanley not falingl madly in love with you.
You paced back and forth in your room, thinking intensely. And finally, after a while, you stopped and picked up several hairpins. With tremendous concentration, you created the most beautiful bun you knew for your hair type.
Now you were ready to go and seduce Lord Stanley! And if the plan ultimately didn't work... then maybe your feelings will never be reciprocated and everything was doomed to failure.
No! You couldn't think that way! You had to be (or at least appear to be) confident for the Lord to be interested in you. If you were defeatist and withdrawn, he probably wouldn't find you interesting and radiant enough. You had to look like a strong woman, afraid of nothing. That way, Stan would be impressed by your beauty and attitude.
So it was a while after the banquet had started that you arrived. You slipped through everyone until you found your loved one. He was with your sisters, Katherine and Margaret. You took a deep breath as you watched him from afar, putting as much confidence as possible on your face.
One foot after the other, you walked towards Stan. Your back was straight, your eyes fixed on your goal. So, this was the big day, your feelings were finally going to be reciprocated, and you could announce to your mother that you were going to marry Lord Stanley.
When you were closer, his eyes were in your direction. And then, a smile formed on his lips. Stars immediately lit up in your eyes. Finally! He was starting to recognize your true worth! Perhaps you should wave to him? Would you look silly if you did that? Would he fall for you even more if you did that?
There was no time for that; you felt yourself being led to your sisters. Your gaze showed you that it was your mother. Your brain stopped working when you realized you hadn't been the target of the smile.
You were lost in thought, wondering what you could do to make him see you for who you truly were. Were you doomed? You didn't have time to really think about it because your mother's words pulled you out of your thoughts.
“What? But I’m not going to bed now, I just got here!” you exclaimed.
So you spent the night with your head in the pillow. You were truly despairing now. Perhaps so, Stan was far too attracted to your mother to even give you a smile.
So… you should probably give up and find a new love? No! That would be betraying Stan! But, at the same time, he didn't seem interested in you... This subject made you want to tear your hair out.
You continued for a while longer to lament the situation, how Stan would never love you. Would a man ever love you? The fact that your sister Jane was imprisoned didn't help the situation; now you were even sadder. Mary is the Queen? Now you were wondering what the purpose of living in this world was.
Life wasn't the best right now. In fact, it was probably the worst period of your life. You didn't know what to do, feeling useless to your older sister. She was going to be executed, beheaded, and there was nothing you could do.
You felt even more useless as the day arrived. Jane was about to be executed, being brought before everyone, with Guildford on a pyre ready to be lit. You were already praying that the afterlife would be good to her, trying not to cry. No matter what god existed, hadn't he been cruel enough to you? Could he, just once, make you happy?
But soon everything changed when a swarm of Ethians appeared, allowing Jane to break free. A battle ensued immediately afterwards, with Jane heading straight for the pyre where her husband lay. Your heart stopped beating in your chest for a very short moment, before you got up to go and help your sister in some way or another.
But in the end, carried away by the adrenaline of the situation you had put yourself in without thinking, it was someone else you saved.
“Lord Stanley!” you exclaimed, abruptly moving him aside.
You squealed as you felt the edge of a blade create a gash on your arm, partially tearing a sleeve of your dress. Stan turned towards you, pushing back the enemy before grabbing you. And then, his eyes met yours. If it were possible, Careless Whisper would be playing in the background.
“You saved me, my lady,” he said, his voice filled with genuine emotion.
“Well… I think the armor protected you well, but—”
“You’re hurt! Damn them!”
“I’m fine, the wound only stings a little,” you said, nodding.
Stan helped you to your feet as Guildford was freed, assuming his horse form to ride off with Jane. Once the couple was safe and sound, there was a certain relief for you. At least they were both going to be alright.
This was not the case for you and your family, who remained at the castle under Mary's tyrannical rule. Life was still bad, the only positive point was that Jane was no longer under threat from the Queen for the time being.
As you walked through the castle corridors, you heard quick footsteps behind you, and your name being called. You stopped and turned around, then saw Stan.
“Lady Grey…” he said, stopping in front of you.
You gasped as a bouquet appeared before your eyes, Stan holding it almost too tightly in his hands.
“Are you sure I’m the right person you were looking for?”
“Absolutely.”
You thanked him then, delicately taking the bouquet in your hands, smiling slightly as you observed the various flowers. You gasped again as you felt yourself tipping over.
“Whoa! Take it easy!” you said, smiling nervously.
“My lady. I’d like to know more about you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. In… many ways,” he replied before getting you back on your feet, a flirtatious look on his face.
You blinked several times, surprised by his sudden change of heart about you. He had gone from indifferent to passionately interested in you.
“Well… how about we start with a walk?” you suggested as you began to walk away.
Stan nodded as he followed you immediately, glancing at you from time to time as you walked side by side. After admiring your bouquet for a moment, you looked up at him.
“Why… so much effort for me, so suddenly?” you asked, almost bewildered.
“The way you stepped between me and that attacker…” he said, before letting out a sigh of emotion. “It was magnificent.”
“Not the dress I wore to the banquet?”
“Huh? I don’t remember,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.
You let out a barely audible snicker before looking straight ahead, nodding your head.
“I could talk to you for hours. I hope you're not in a hurry to skip any steps?”
Stan took a deep breath, seemingly analyzing the situation. A strange grimace appeared on his face before he shook his head.
“Absolutely not,” he finally replied, although his answer did not sound very convincing.
“Great!”
Stan smiled slightly as you wrapped your arm around his, pressing the bouquet close to your chest.
And that's how you accidentally seduced a Lord infatuated with your mother…
SUMMARY: PRINCE AERION WANTED TO GET MARRIED, AND FOR THAT, HE DECIDED TO CHOOSE A WOMAN FROM A HOUSE LOYAL TO HIS HOUSE. SO IT IS YOU, A MEMBER OF HOUSE TULLY, WHOM HE HAS CHOSEN. YET, YOU DO NOT SEEM TO MEET HIS EXPECTATIONS.
WORDS: 2845
RATING: GENERAL AUDIENCES
CONTENT: TULLY!READER, READER IS PASSIONATE ABOUT NATURE, ARRANGED MARRIAGE, AERION BEING AERION, A LITTLE JEALOUS AERION
WARNINGS: READER IS DESCRIBED AS HAVING ALL OF TULLY PHYSICAL TRAITS
When it was time to wake up, you did so with difficulty. You had stayed up late last night, and now you had absolutely no desire to get up. However, you had no choice. Today was the day you left Riverrun to head towards Summerhall. There, you will meet your soon-to-be husband: Prince Aerion Targaryen.
You sighed as you got out of bed, walking towards your clothes. You yawned as you put on your dress instead of your nightgown. It was a very simple dress, but blue with touches of red, a good reminder of your belonging to House Tully.
You then went to sit at your dressing table, taking the time to properly detangle and brush your hair. Your eyes were fixed on your reflection as you thoughtfully ran your brush through your hair. You weren't necessarily trying to please the Prince, but you couldn't help wondering if he would find you ravishing. You had all the makings of a Tully woman, would he like that? Why were you thinking about it so much? So what if he doesn't love you! And then, the three words you had been taught echoed in your mind.
Family, duty, honor.
What you did, you did for your family. Surprisingly, it was the Prince who had sent a letter to your father asking to marry you. You didn't really understand why, since you had never met. Your father had vaguely explained to you that the Prince wished to marry a woman whose family was loyal to House Targaryen. And apparently, Aerion had chosen one of the Tully daughters. According to your father, it was an honor to be chosen by the Prince to be his wife and therefore the one who would give him heirs.
Part of you was excited at the prospect of meeting the Prince. It wasn't just for the marriage, but simply because, after all, he was a prince. Isn't it fabulous to know a prince?
During the journey, you couldn't help but imagine what your life in Summerhall would be like. You hoped there would be a river there. Watching the fish was fascinating. In fact, it made you wonder if the Prince also enjoyed watching fish.
You were asking yourself a lot of questions like that during the journey. Moreover, when you came across a small field of flowers, you stopped your horse, as did your parents and the few guards accompanying you.
“Look, mother! Red like the Targaryen sigil!” you exclaimed, crouching down. “I’ll pick three, like the number of heads the dragon in their sigil has! I’m sure Prince Aerion will love this gesture!” you added enthusiastically.
No one was certain, but they all let you pick your three flowers before you got back on your horse and so you could continue on your way. Over time, your parents began to have doubts. Perhaps they should have refused? You were never going to survive with a husband like Aerion.
Soon, you arrived at Summerhall. You smiled as you looked around, quite enjoying the scenery.
“Mother! Father! There’s a river over there!” you say, pointing to the waterway further away.
“Fabulous,” your mother said, smiling at you tenderly.
You were greeted by Prince Maekar Targaryen and his children. Your eyes then rested on each of them, admiring them. Your father urged you to get off, which you did as well. Without further ado, you greeted them, and you were careful to offer a proper curtsy, as you had been taught.
You then took a few hesitant steps forward. Maekar then pushed Aerion towards you, making you smile slightly. You then added a few more steps to get closer to him.
“My Prince! I thought of you when I saw these flowers on the way here,” you said in a silent voice, handing him the three beautiful red flowers. “Their petals are shaped like flames, aren't they fascinating? Brightflame… they seem to have been made for you! Oh, you can dry them to preserve them. I can help you with that because I have a book myself where I preserve the flowers and plants I come across.”
The Prince took the flowers, eyeing them without much interest. He didn't seem to have really liked them.
“Charming,” he said, holding the flowers behind him to get rid of them.
So it was his younger brother Aegon who took them. He took more time to look at them, noticing that the shape of their petals really resembled the flames of a crackling fire.
“I think they’re very beautiful. I’m going to keep them!”
“Thank you very much,” you said, curtsying to the little prince.
“Will you show me how to dry them?” he asked curiously.
“With pleasure, my Prince!” you replied, smiling, truly delighted by his request. “If you’re interested, I could show you my book!”
“Gladly!”
You gave a joyful smile, a burst of enthusiasm appearing on your face. Aerion even had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. His father had suggested you because he'd heard you were charming, beautiful, and said to be fascinating. But until then, according to Aerion, you just seemed a bit ninny.
Later, when he was alone with his father, he decided to have a word with him. He couldn't see himself spending the rest of his life with you.
“Father. Isn’t it possible to change brides?” he asked. “I don’t like this one.”
“It’s too late. Everything’s been finalized with the Tullys.”
“So what? Break any existing contract! She seems incredibly stupid and boring!”
“You’ve only known her for four hours, Aerion,” Maekar sighed. “Give her time to open up to you intimately. People who know her personally only compliment her.”
“The four worst hours of my life,” Aerion groaned.
Aerion wondered what he was doing there when it was time for bed. He thought you were going to be full of snickers like earlier in the day, but instead you had a journal in which you wrote with passion. Gods, he looked stupid, alone in bed. In the end, he was almost vexed that you didn't rush to join him.
“I’m warning you, Lady Tully. If you don’t come to this bed now, I won’t let you join it tonight.”
“Mh… I’ll sleep on the couch…” you grumbled without stopping writing.
Aerion was stunned. Your answer wasn't what he expected. Now he was even more vexed.
“What could you possibly write to make you want to sleep on the sofa?”
“My day… what I did… what I saw…” you murmured, concentrating. “Your brother Egg… well, Aegon, but he said I could call him Egg, told me some fascinating things I didn’t know, I have to write them down!” you explained before quickly writing again.
“You can call him Egg…” he said in a voice so low you couldn’t hear him.
Aerion was still surprised to see when he woke up the next morning that you had slept with your head on the table where you were writing. Once again, he wondered what he was going to do with you.
When Maekar announced that the wedding was cancelled, Aerion thought his father had listened to him, but no. He just meant postponed, because instead you were supposed to head towards Ashford Meadow for the tourney. Aerion was complaining that he hadn't been listened to in the end, and you were sad that you couldn't get married right away. Maekar had invited your parents to stay at Summerhall during your absence, so that they would be present for your return from the tourney and therefore your marriage to Aerion.
“Oh! Aerion’s flowers again!” you say, pointing at the red flowers during your way to Ashford Meadow.
Maekar refrained from swearing when you got off the horse to gather several flowers, putting them in a small box. You took so much time to carefully place them between two pieces of parchment under a small stone. Then you returned on horseback as if nothing had happened.
“Don’t do that next time,” Maekar said, trying to remain polite.
“Yes, of course. My apologies.”
Parts of Ashford Meadow were muddy due to the recent rain. You liked it; the smell of the damp earth delighted you. It was quite a contrast to your soon-to-be husband, who never hesitated to judge certain places.
You had taken care to walk around the surrounding area, meeting various lords and even some knights. During this walk, you eventually met Ser Humfrey Hardyng. You had a pleasant conversation, laughing together.
“What a lovely necklace you are wearing!” he said, pointing to the locket engraved with scales you were wearing.
“Thank you. I had it forged before coming to Summerhall, hoping to put something in it,” you explained.
“Summerhall?” he repeated, a surprised look on his face.
“Yes, I recently moved there. A lovely place, but it lacks water!” you said before snickering.
Your laughter was quite contagious; the knight started laughing with you, even though he didn't find the situation you described particularly funny. But his laughter faded when a voice was heard from behind him.
“Are you laughing with my lady?”
Aerion walked past Ser Humfrey to stand beside you. The knight parted his lips slightly, struggling to find the right words.
“No, no. I wasn’t laughing with her. I… was just complimenting her locket.”
“Oh, so you’re complimenting my lady?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“No, I… well, yes,” replied Ser Humfrey, becoming intimidated. “I didn’t know she was your lady.”
“We are not married. The ceremony was supposed to take place a long time ago, but on the day of it, Prince Maekar announced that we were coming here,” you explained.
“It’s all the same,” grumbled Aerion. “We have business to attend to, woman,” he added immediately, grabbing your arm to pull you away from here.
You let yourself be taken elsewhere, even though it was the last thing you wanted. You then took your walks away from others, something Aerion had imposed on you. He said it was for safety reasons, that it was dangerous for you to be alone with men.
Aerion always had his eye on you, one way or another. Woe to anyone who dared to look at you in a way that was even slightly suggestive! But this situation quickly began to annoy you. So you headed to a more secluded spot in the woods, where Aerion followed you without hesitation. And then, you turned around abruptly, your eyebrows furrowed.
“Aren’t you tired of following me around?” you asked, your tone irritated.
“I do it for your own good, woman.”
“There are only lords and knights here. I trust these people.”
“You think the title of knight or lord would stop them from harming you? How naive,” he said, narrowing his eyes for a moment. “They are actually the most likely to harm you.”
“Because you know a lot about cruel highborns, don’t you?”
Aerion scoffed, looking away, his jaw clenching.
“What business is it of yours, anyway? I’m pretty sure my situation wasn’t your primary concern,” you continued, your hands on your hips.
“Don’t talk nonsense. You’re my betrothed.”
“So what? I don’t think that ever stopped you from ignoring me back in Summerhall.”
“Well… I grew accustomed to you during the journey to Ashford Meadow,” he grumbled.
You remained silent for a moment, before smiling a little more, approaching him.
“Do you like me?” you taunted him.
“I tolerate you,” he corrected you.
“Hmm, I think you like me!”
“It doesn’t matter!” he exclaimed, turning around abruptly and leaving with heavy steps.
You watched him walk away, keeping a smile on your face, your fingers thoughtfully playing with your locket.
But you understood that things were more complicated when Aerion decided to have Ser Humfrey Hardyng as his opponent for the jousts. You were certain that his choice was not insignificant, and you were not really pleased with the way he had handled the situation.
Things couldn't get any worse, you say? Oh, look! A puppeteer had her fingers broken by Aerion!
Alright, nothing worse could happen this time. Oh, look! Aerion has summoned a Trial of Seven!
You were angry in your chambers that night after learning about it. How could he suggest such a thing? Wasn't he even slightly afraid of being killed?
You didn't even look up from your journal where you were writing about your day, as usual, when you heard Aerion come in. You heard him let out a long sigh as he lay down on the bed.
“You’re tense tonight, woman.”
“Am I?” you said curtly. “Imagine, my soon-to-be husband has decided to summon a trial of two teams of seven people instead of a simple one-on-one fight that he would certainly have won.”
Aerion rolled his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows, tilting his head as he watched you write with quick, jerky wrist strokes.
“I will win this trial, without a doubt,” he asserted.
“The Gods can be tricksters, don’t expect their protection,” you said, setting your quill aside. “That’s foolish and selfish. What will I do if you die?”
“Do you really think I’m going to die? Don’t you know who your soon-to-be husband is?”
You rolled your eyes, slammed your journal shut, and stood up angrily, leaving the room. For a moment, Aerion didn't move.
“Foolish and selfish… nonsense…” he grumbled before getting out of bed.
He walked slowly toward the table, his eyes on the large stack of books. He quickly removed them, then found two pieces of fabric. He gently separated them, thus discovering the red flowers you had picked along the way, now completely dry. He shook his head before putting everything back in place.
His eyes then fell on your journal. He glanced towards the door, then picked up your journal. He flipped through the pages, barely reading the words written there. But when he found a page mentioning him, dating from before your arrival at Summerhall, he couldn't help but read it.
He scoffed and shook his head. There were small scribbles of a dragon next to a trout, before an arrow pointing to ‘couple made of scales!!!!’. You had written about how funny it was that you were both from a house representing a scaly animal, and that you were a little excited about meeting him.
He continued to leaf through the pages, reading more cautiously, though not always in detail. You were beginning to mention him more often, going from impatience to wonder and then to disappointment. A few doodles here and there, including even the red flower, with the subtitle ‘Aerion’s flower’.
He then closed the journal, gently placing it back in its place. He felt almost guilty. Almost.
“Aerion’s flower…” he murmured before sneering, undressing to go to bed. “Silly…”
Although angry with Aerion, you were more than tense during Trial of Seven. You had prayed last night that everything would be alright for him. Were you a monster to be relieved to see the hedge knight being weaker than Aerion?
Your eyes kept going to Egg next to you, who was supporting Ser Duncan more than anyone else here. Now, you thought you were a monster for thinking that Egg shouldn't try so hard to make the knight hold.
When Duncan had finally managed to defeat Aerion, you began to stand up, ready to join your soon-to-be husband on that muddy, blood-stained ground, but Egg gently held you back. You then sat down with a sigh, your eyes fixed on Aerion and his disastrous state.
You spent a lot of time at his bedside, assisting the maester who was tending to his wounds. You weren’t ashamed to say that learning he was going to Lys on his father’s orders had broken your heart.
As you were about to leave for Summerhall, Aerion heading towards Lys, you hurried to join him. You climbed up beside him, placing your necklace bearing the locket engraved with scales around his neck.
“What’s inside?” he asked weakly.
“Open it when you have the courage and when you miss me… well, I hope you will…”,
If he weren't in pain, Aerion would have rolled his eyes and groaned. Instead, he closed his eyes as he felt your lips gently touch the corner of his mouth.
“Farewell, my love…”
“Farewell? That’s too dramatic…” he grumbled, ignoring the nickname.
You chuckled slightly before kissing the corner of his mouth again, then left to mount your horse and head towards Summerhall.
Curiosity piqued Aerion during the journey to his new temporary home, but he did not open the locket. He didn't have the strength, and he refused to let anyone else do it for him.
It was only one evening after his arrival in Lys, now less weak, that he opened it. Then, he scoffed, his thumb brushing against the contents. Dried red petals encircling locks of your hair held together by a thin string.
“Silly…”
He closed the locket, before slipping it under his tunic, the jewel resting right on his heart.
Request for a Drabble, Maekar thinking his new wife is not attracted to him with his scars and everything because she never initiates, when really she’s just shy. Basically he needs to be on the receiving end of some praise kink. Thanks <3
SCARS
pairing: maekar targaryen x wife!reader
warning(s): slight angst, maekar needing love, maekar being angsty but soppy, illusions to smut, insecurities
word count: 760
a/n: love love love this, this grump deserves all the love in the world hello 🙏😫
The first time he reached for your face in candlelight, you had flinched.
Not away from him, not truly. You were only startled, like a deer hearing a branch crack in the woods. But Maekar went still all the same, and he dropped his hand as quickly as he’d raised it to your cheek.
After that, he became careful in the worst sort of way. The quiet formal kind when he’d sleep stiffly at the far edge of the bed as if he were some knight standing vigil instead of your husband. He stopped looking at you for too long across court, his hand fallen from your back unless duty utterly required it. His fingers brushed yours during supper carefully, and nothing more.
And you, the sweet fool that you were, thought that he simply did not want you. After all in his second marriage, both of you declared you had wanted for nothing, if not companionship. The marriage had been consummated, and you had seemed to get alone well for the first few weeks. but then it had changed.
It was too much, and the distance between you both soon became this horrible living thing.
Until one evening after your husband returned from a long and drawn out council, when it finally broke.
“You needn’t force yourself,” Maekar spoke suddenly, voice rough as gravel, flinching away from where you had reached for his hand.
You looked up from where you had been sitting upon the chaise before the fire, blinking. “Force myself to what?”
“To endure me.”
The words hit like a slap, the hearth spitting at your feet as you narrowed your eyes.
Maekar stood near the window, half in shadow with his back to you, flattened silver hair mussed around his ears from where he’d most likely threatened to tear it out. The orange glow caught the ruined skin along his neck and cheeks, igniting the old marks left by sickness long ago in his youth. Usually he carried them like armor, hidden beneath the silver hairs of his beard.
But then in that moment, they looked only like wounds.
“You barely let me touch you,” he continued, jaw tightened as his fingers braced along the table. “You look at me as if you fear I’ll shatter.”
“I do not..” You reasoned, but his words were not wrong.
“If it worries you so much, you do not need to try.”
“It is not that..”
“Then what.” He gritted out, his head inclining to the side with a glance.
“It is.. because I’am shy,” You burst out at once, feeling a cold sweat breach the back of your neck.
Silence came then, so sharp and still you swore you could feel the heartbeat in your throat and Maekar frowned at that, turning to face you for the first time, a clearer outline of his face catching in the light. “What?”
“You terrify me.” You spoke calmly, though the words were not meant to cut so deeply as the look of offence he gave you.
“I am your husband.”
“Yes, exactly,” you snapped, rising to your feet as you fumbled with your hands. “You are handsome and severe, and when you look at me.. I seem to forget my own name.”
His brows lifted despite himself, turning completely to rest his back into the wood of the table, a violet gaze burning into you as you stepped the gap between you slowly.
“And then you stopped touching me,” you continued, softly. “So I thought… perhaps you found me disappointing.”
Something in his expression cracked clean open then, the look on your face, so raw and real for words he did not expect to hear.
“Gods woman.. you are not disappointing,” he muttered, almost laughing once in disbelief, though it died in his throat once his eyes flickered down to you. “All this time…”
Your arms crossed tightly over yourself, contemplating. “I do not care about your scars, or how callous you may be..”
Maekar stared for a long moment, searching still for the lie, but there was none, and it made him ache more. You were younger than him, and gentler, the kind of rare kindness that you had given to the children, you reserved for him. And to think you were the fool. He was wrong, so very wrong, it was him.
“You should not say things you do not mean.” Maekar stilled, testing even if the fingers that gripped at his sides longed to reach out for you, to hold you.
“I mean them.”
Your fingers reached for his cheek, “You are my husband, I love all of you..”
He moved before you had realised it, crossing the small space in a short stride, your hand sliding onto his cheek gracefully where his own had curled at your waist. The other gripped at your jaw with desperate care, far from cruel or rough, but intense enough the touch alone stole the breath from your lungs.
“You may as well have made me a fool, wife.”
“Perhaps that makes two of us. After all, I think they are rather beautiful.” You smiled softly, leaning your cheek into the warm press of his palm, stroking your thumb across the dimples blemishes of his skin.
He tutted, near rolling his eyes, you couldn’t possibly. But you tugged carefully at the fine hairs of his beard in protest, earning a deep groan from him that rumbled through his chest.
“I do.”
His gaze followed yours, calloused hands bracing your hips, not pushing away but not quite pulling closer either. The pupils of his eyes were blown, a darkened hue over them as they watched a finger continuing to trace the lines of his face.
“I think they make you even more handsome husband.. sexy even.”
A blush crept across his cheeks, heating under your hands in an instant, but he did not falter, instead inhaling harshly through his nose as your breaths mingled.
“You will be the death of me.” He breathed, hands curling tighter at your waist as his nose nudged your forehead.
“Hopefully not yet.”
It was as if everything in life was meant to taunt Maekar, even if that meant you, his own beloved lady wife, who he had yet to prove his desired affections to.
pairings: jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader.
word count: 4.9k.
summary: jacaerys velaryon was no stranger to rhaenyra and daemon's affections, he wondered what it would be like to be intimate with another person. his frustration finally leads into something as the maid comes in with a tray of warm milk.
warning tags: nsfw. cunnilingus. handjob. blowjob. female receiving. male receiving. reader is guiding him, jacaerys is unhinged. porn with plot.
requested: no, i just had a prompt in mind.
naz says: i managed to squeeze out some words after years of being in a slump, lol. please bear with me on this. requests are open!
upon seeing his mother and daemon’s affection with each other, jacaerys grew curious of what it would be like to fully surrender yourself in the hands of someone else; to let go of whatever armor you wore suit, and to bare yourself naked, figuratively and well.. literally, in front of someone else you hold dear.
he only had limited time to think about certain thoughts, for the realm is in havoc and they were caught up in the middle of a conflict within their own house, within their own name. he wanted to do everything in his hands and beyond, for his mother’s throne and birthright, for their family.
jacaerys smothered his hands on his face, growing restless and frustrated over what was happening in the realm, of how rhaenyra was in deep distress. he was in the middle of writing a letter, the raven patiently awaits and perched on the window in his chambers; he once again thinks of what could happen on this evening, or in the following days.
the maid entered his doors, knocking politely on the wooden opening that allows him his own privacy, he looked up and saw you carrying a tray with a pitcher and a glass. “your grace, the queen ordered me to bring you hot milk as she thinks you have been in trouble having sleep.” you were looking down, deeply aware of the differences in your status, knowing better than to meet his gaze.
it was that very reason that you missed the way jacaerys looked at your form, of your smooth skin and the way your hair was held into an updo, emphasizing your bare neck. he heaves a sigh, feeling as if his head was once again getting filled with curiosities and ideas. he had known you, for a while in fact, gracefully doing your duties and making yourself seem smaller—but he never fails to miss you. in each time you walked into a room, clearly oblivious of the set of gazes thrown at your way, you were never unseen, no, not completely.
“stay for a moment.” he uttered when you were placing the tray on top of his table. there was a moment of shock, for you thought jacaerys mostly kept matters to himself. if he is in need of something, surely there would be a better choice than you.
you finished setting the tray on the table, making sure it does not touch the number of blank papers and books, and to ensure it would not fall towards the ground, “yes, your grace?”
he moves his chair away from the table, his body now directed towards you; there was a hint of worry in his face, and you thought it was a desperate moment for him. you allowed yourself to prepare, racking up the knowledge you have over the houses, recounting the events that had happened with regards to the throne; moreover, you allowed yourself in a headspace to feel, if in any case he needs to be consoled.
“what do you know about.. coupling?”
that was something you can never prepare for. The prince, the queen’s first-born, asking about marital duties and in a tone so plain and simple you could not comprehend it as quickly as you could.
there was a puzzled look plastered on your face, alongside a hint of light blush creeping under your skin, “your grace?”
“forget about it. you may go now.” he dismissed, going back into facing the table, picking up his quill as he goes, but not writing anything in the paper.
you got nervous initially, thinking that you have failed to do a simple duty, to answer when a question is asked—it could have been anyone else, but to fail the prince is considerably a grave mistake.
“i only know very little about coupling, your grace. we were taught about it back then, on how to please our husbands in the matters of producing a child.” you answered as quickly as you could, not knowing how to stop now since you fear of disappointing him, yet a new wave of unease just hits you. you were never given a permission to speak, as a matter of fact, you were dismissed. yet here you are.
“must it only be done when producing an heir? is that only the purpose of it?” he looks up from his table and continued where the question was left off, whatever it was that he was trying to write is completely forgotten now.
“i do not think so, your grace. my mother said it could also be done if you want to please your husband, if you want to pleasure them.” you scrambled to look at anywhere else but him. there was a small fidget from you as you play with your fingers, finding anything else in his chambers to look at instead of feeling the weight of his stare.
“must it always be between husband and a wife?” he spoke again in the gentlest of tone, not breaking his gaze on you and plainly seeing the tensed expression you have.
you wondered how and why he had led to think of these matters, you wanted to ask what prompted him to think of it, and how or when he started getting ideas.
“not entirely, your grace. the women in whore houses—”
“i was not talking about the ladies in those places. can it be done with a friend? or.. a maid?” he contemplated on the last question before saying it, as he himself was feeling anxious as well, careful not to make you feel any sort of discomfort.
“i.. i believe so.” the question hung in the air for some moment before you understood that it was your turn to answer, “if both persons allow it, your grace, i deem it should be possible.”
jacaerys stood up from his seat, almost a bit too hasty, that the wooden leg of the chair made a sound as it scratched against the ground when he made a move, he walks towards you, dangerously close, up until his breath fans over your face, “would you..”
you swallowed, hard, the proximity of your bodies and how the distance could almost come to a close in a mere second would have sent you fainting, but you stood still, a little voice in your head whispers just how much of this you can take some more. you couldn’t deny it, not anymore, how warm the room suddenly got and how he could easily send a shiver down your spine, and the worst of it all, he looked unaware of it, or he did know, except he didn’t let himself care.
the prince’s hand makes its way to your face, gently cupping your cheek with his warmth, his thumb softly brushing over your bottom lip and you parted it, almost out of instinct, almost naturally, as if this whole ordeal is something that occurs very commonly; he felt right, he felt safe. your mind lingered over past memories for a minute, how this certain boy captivated you since you got into dragonstone, since the moment your own house swore allegiance and loyalty to the one and only heir to the iron throne, queen rhaenyra. he stood quietly by her side back then, unassuming in the background while daemon talks, you briefly locked gazes and you saw comfort; you had known of what was happening, and how hell will break loose any second, between the queen and her half-brother—even more aware of the number of hours that jacaerys spends in solitude, an unexplored abyss deep within him, seen through the lenses of his eyes, and you felt an inexplicable urge to take care of him in little ways, like bringing milk into his chambers and masking it under the guise of being the queen’s orders.
a soft exhale escaped your lips and you looked up at him, at his pair of eyes that looked lonely when he thinks no one else is looking, at the same pair of eyes that burns in fury to defend his mother’s name—at the same pair of eyes that has been darkened by something else at the moment, something primal and all-consuming.
“would you allow me to learn of it?”
it was a simple question, not even uttered in a sense of giving an order or a command, he was asking you. the mere fact that he has asked a woman with a name who is not entirely known anywhere to bed him, when he could have done it with anyone else, with someone who is like him, someone with a name, someone who has the honor, someone who has the pride. yet when he placed his hand to caress your side, and his thumb rubbed on your lip, propping it open, all your worries seemed to evaporate and you were left with an empty state of mind.
you willed yourself near him, crashing your lips to his in a split second; your once-shy arms seemed to have a mind on its own and wrapped itself to him, as if you needed to grasp but careful enough not to make it hurt, as if you needed him to anchor you before you fall into the deep end.
the shared kiss was passionate and intense, a certain matter of thirst needed to be quenched and it could only be done with this. you were never letting go no matter how sloppy it has gotten, jacaerys’ inexperience was noticeable at first but he has always been good at following orders and you knew he was always quick at learning things. he opened his mouth to gasp any amount of air and you took the liberty for yourself to slip your tongue inside, and he made a sound, almost a whine and you thanked yourself you were not too lost in the moment to register the kind of noises he makes. you explored within, willingly and messily; and you felt his hand encircling on your lower back now, hugging you even tighter, pressing his body further into you.
then you pulled away.
“is this your first time, your grace?” you struggled to breathe for air, wiping the side of your mouth with the back of your hand. he could only nod, a light shade of pink crept its way into his cheeks as he looks away, similarly catching his breath after the steamy exchange.
you pushed him towards his chair, propping him downwards until he’s fully seated; he looked baffled, crossing his eyebrows in the process but obliged without questions.
“it would be my honor to teach you a few things, your grace.” there was a hint of pride in you now, jacaerys was always following orders, whether it’s from rhaenyra, daemon or rhaenys, he would be following regardless. his utmost compliance boosted a certain confidence in you, the idea of having him on his knees, the absolute fact that the queen’s first-born son is right at your mercy.
it was deep in the night when you hand-delivered the milk, yet you worry that someone might come in and push past the doors, so you wasted no more time, for you did not know if something as completely bizarre and euphoric, such as this, could ever happen again. You kneeled towards him, never tearing your gaze away, he straightened himself on the chair, his arms already prepared to stop you from kneeling but you ignored him and placed both palms against his lap, applying enough pressure as it trails upward, a small grin paints itself onto your face upon seeing just how clueless he gets at every movement demonstrated.
you started pulling on the strings of his garments, the dent on his clothes is almost impossible to ignore, even more so now that it has created a wet patch. once done, you urged him to raise himself from the chair to pull the linen downward, freeing his hard cock in the process and throwing away his clothes elsewhere. you took a quick observation, for someone who has not experience anything thus far, he appeared clean, the hair just below his abdomen was trimmed and its tip glistens with wetness, already leaking as it stands upright.
“i-is it bad?” he asks, keeping a tight grip on the chair’s arms with both hands, not knowing where else he could hold onto.
“you are perfect, your grace.” you smiled at him, genuine and pure, in hopes of smoothing away his worries and to only think of the pleasures that will come along.
“jace. please. please call me jace.” he uttered in a small voice, his breathing growing heavier now, and beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
“as you wish, jace.” you held onto his shaft, earning a loud gasp from him as he jerked from his seat, “since we are asking nicely, jace, please let me know if you feel good, what does not, then you can learn from that.” the hold on his cock has been gentle at first, slowly increasing in pressure and pace as you make a suggestion. jace nodded eagerly, not quite bothered by his labored breaths now as he struggles to maintain a stable composure.
you guessed that he was sensitive, and you wanted to see how much more you could make a mess out of him in this regard; so you started pumping, stroking his cock languidly but careful not to touch the leaking tip. your other hand tries to calm him down by placing it on top of his lap, the tensed muscles lets you know he’s far from being relaxed, and you revel in it anyway.
“that’s good..” he whispered, closing his eyes as he leans back on the chair, one would think he’s slowly getting used to it, yet his hands that are getting almost too pale from strongly gripping on the chair’s arms says otherwise.
you hummed, prideful to yourself with just how easy the words seem to flow out of him, and the other matter that it is so impossibly easy to please the man; you would think that he could already come undone just with your hands alone—and you can’t have that. not yet.
while his eyes remained closed, and his face contorted with both pleasure and bliss, you took the time to bring your mouth towards his cock, surrounding the tip with warmth. as expected, both of his eyes shot open in a flash, looking straight at you now while your tongue licks at his skin, the immediate hint of the salty taste enveloping your tongue and you pushed forward into his shaft, taking more of him into your mouth.
he groaned, naturally so, as one of his hand found its way on your head, placing it idly on top, not guiding, not commanding; his other hand kept its place on the arm of the chair, still holding onto it like his life depended on it, “gods.. that’s.. that’s good.” you feel him slightly thrusting to follow the rhythm you have set whilst sucking his cock, your head continuously bobbing as you take his length, fighting the urge to gag and choke as you try to take all of him right down on your throat.
“hold on a moment, please.. please slow down.” he spoke softly, almost coming out as a whisper and he genuinely wanted to push you off, yet his hands does not carry a weight on it as he holds your shoulders; he could only place it there, putting his luck to the old gods and the new, hoping they would grant his wishes.
“slow down, please, please..” it sounded somewhere in between a cry for help and a plea, he suddenly did not know how to sit properly, where to put his hands; you maintained your pace, not minding the way he practically begs for you to slow down and to stop. you wanted to push him closer to the end, eager to let the ropes snap, determined to bring him to the best of days. with both pace and intensity, you kept on attempting to swallow him whole, one of your hands then moved to cup his balls, fondling over on the soft sack and providing a sudden massage over the smooth area.
jace was never known for being mean, nor vulgar in any time of the day. he was careful, composed and most of the time, in control; though he usually grows angry and frustrated but he would always craft his words politely. that is why there is a genuine shock when you heard him mutter a string of profanities, multiple curses flew off from his mouth as he holds your head lower and more into his cock; gods be damned if he knew how to speak this way in so long, yet in another note, it does make sense, this man was around daemon for half of his life. He would naturally pick up a thing or two.
“move, please, stay back, i am about to—” he did not get to finish his sentence when you felt a spurt of liquid shooting into your mouth, painting the inside of your cheek with his load and he did release quite a lot. you swallowed, gratefully and obediently, shooting him a look in the process and carefully examining his face; jace is properly drenched in sweat, his pupils blown out as he recovers from his climax, eyes dilated and filled with awe and satisfaction. you contemplated how he was just airing out vulgarities a second ago and shifting into a polite beg of moving your head away.
his face reddens, “i-i’m sorry.. i did not mean to—”
you chuckled, “pay no mind, your grace. i wanted to taste you.” and only then did his face relaxed, slowly forming a smile as he pulls you closer up until you straddled on his lap. he kisses you deeply, with an ample amount of hunger, still, and you returned the favor in the same intensity. you wrapped your arms around his neck and ruffled on his hair while he attempts to slip his tongue inside your mouth; quietly and adorably mimicking your previous actions.
then you felt as if you were floating, jacaerys lifted you from his lap and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, not breaking the kiss despite the jolt of surprise. he carries you to the table, the hot milk long forgotten now, the ink on the quill has all dried up. jace placed you gently on top of the wooden table, finally breaking the kiss as he looks downward, his pair of hands snaking on both of your legs, caressing the soft skin and leisurely making its way up.
“can i taste you too?”
you were rendered stunned, and it was your turn to be baffled now. the women who surrounded you before only given most of their thoughts and wisdom in terms of pleasing men—not receiving them. you looked away, expectant to see some answers or excuses to politely decline it, you did not know how it would feel, while it is true you have touched yourself beneath the sheets just before slumber, it would be an entirely different feeling to have someone else’s tongue.
“i—i do not know, jace. i have no knowledge of sorts when it comes to giving pleasure to a woman.” you cracked, finally, taking an ounce of shame as you respond in complete honesty.
jace’s grin grew bigger at that, “let me, please. teach me how, please, let me know how to please you.” he was already lowering himself, meekly keeping his gaze on your eyes, as he holds the hem of your dress, raising it until it sits on your abdomen, he deliberately removed your garments as you laid there, nervous and unmoving, your arms kept to yourself in fear of knocking over materials placed on top of his table, alongside you, that you presumed he deemed precious.
he carefully spread your legs wider, opening a pathway for him to thread on; jace stared at your cunt, examining it like the scales of the dragons. there was a genuine curiosity in his expression, his eyes filled with wonder; he willed his thumb to brush over it and you exclaimed, jolting at his warmth making contact on your pussy. he figured it was a sound out of pleasure, and drove him to do it again and again, until he pressed his thumb deeper, only to have it completely covered with slick.
“and this is..?” he wondered, prompting a question as he pause from scanning. he played with the wetness he gathered from your cunt, placing his index against his thumb to feel its slippery texture.
“arousal.. jace. it is a clear sign of arousal.” you answered, propping your elbows against the table to get a clearer sight of him in between your legs.
“are you aroused?” he had a genuine look of curiosity written all over his face, and you almost sneered at him, as if you had not been aroused since he walked towards you a couple of moments ago, as if seeing his face twist in fits of pleasure and experiencing climax has not made you squeeze your legs harder to feel an ounce of friction.
“very, your grace.” you simply answered, a gush of cold wind from his open window brushes lightly on your skin, bringing a handful of shivers on your bare cunt. jace was still very much captivated with your slick on his finger, he then brings it into his mouth, sucking on his thumb and letting the taste sit on his tongue before grinning to himself.
he wordlessly leans in closer to your cunt, wrapping his arms on each of your leg as he spreads it wider, allowing himself to have more room as he goes in to taste more of you. you shook at the sudden feel of his tongue rubbing on your clit, eliciting a soft moan, which caused you to place your hand over your mouth, muffling the sounds as a result, careful not to let the knights outside the chambers to hear what was supposedly the prince only drinking his serving of milk.
“do not shy yourself away from me.” he halted when he caught glimpse of what you were doing, you glanced at him, at his wet lips, a mix of his own saliva and your arousal, and it was more than enough to cause your head to blank out.
“the guards, your grace—”
“it would be a favor for them, i had imagined they would be delighted hearing something completely different from council debating over the realm’s conflicts.” jace dismissed your worries, though not fully convinced, you moved your hand away from your mouth as he resumed his own business.
it was all over the place, his tongue knows no bounds and directions of any sort, he was lapping like a madman, making it certain that every skin is marked with him. Jace being completely new to this kind of experience is rather adorable, at the start, but now you were feeling so incredibly and undeniably aroused that you just wanted to reach the high you’ve been wanting to achieve; with that in mind, you grabbed the prince’s hair, patches of his brown strands caught in between each finger and you simply yanked him in, pulling him further into you up until you felt his tongue closer to your sensitive nub, with just enough pressure. the way you moaned louder at that sensation did not escape jace’s ears, he wanted to please you more, wanted to see you pleasured real good, like how you did him on the chair.
the man raised his head lightly, getting another good look at your face before his index and middle fingers traced the lining of your cunt, spreading it open for him to access to; he did not know you were close, painfully unaware of the coiling tension inside your abdomen, he glances the way your nails were digging on his wooden table and a small smile curls up on his lips, as he knows he will be seeing the scratches one of these days while he works—and he will be left with a sweet memory. he did not know you needed a release, not yet, yet he licked on the newfound territory as if he belonged there, as if he knew exactly which places to give pressure on, and you were very clearly losing your mind; his warm and wet tongue was way beyond satisfactory, and you did not know you were pulling him rougher by his hair.
jace winces in pain, yet he paid no mind. he couldn’t get enough of you, of how you taste like; he had a previous thought that men who goes out to seek women in whorehouses were simply wasting time—and now that he had a taste of what pure bliss felt like, he knew he would not be stopping any time soon. You have opened the door to a whole new world for him, and it was more than enough to keep his frustration and rage at bay.
your toes curled at every time he hits a certain area in your cunt, at every moment he tenses his tongue and abuses your pussy with its tip; the growing release in your abdomen was all familiar, and you thought you’d be so, so close in a few—until he changed his attack. he had switched to sucking on it now, you didn’t know if it was a skill taught to him by someone else, or he was mirroring the way you sucked his cock earlier, or if he was trying something else—whatever it was, it simply reeled you closer to the edge, as he seemed to know where exactly to suck on, that little bead you have felt on your fingertips whenever you touch yourself.
you were close to screaming now, unable to contain your voice and unable to keep it in a very low volume, you kept his head close to where you want him, and he has been playing with you by both licking and sucking. “gods.. y-yes, right there!” you demanded, and jace found it amusing that you seem to have lost the initial modesty you have had before he spreads you open.
in seconds, you convulsed, violently shaking against the table, lightly raising your hips in the process as you see white; jace tried to hold you down, a wave of shock washing over him as he wonders what had occured; but he does know you have been wetter now, and another distinct taste fell on his tongue. he stood, “are you alright?”
a nod was the only thing you could do, smiling to yourself as you reached your climax once again. it was a completely different feeling to it, and you cannot tell yet if it was better than your own fingers, but you haven’t really trembled anywhere near that intensity, no matter how much you jog up your memory.
you got up, raising yourself from laying down and met his lips, there was a different taste on his lips, and you figured it must have come from you—considering how he was practically eating you just moments ago.
“was i good?”
you giggled now, fixing your clothes as you realize what just happened with the two of you, inside his chambers, a soft hint of pink pooled on your cheeks, “you must have sucked all life out of me, gods.” you stared at him, rubbing a thumb over his chin to clean off remnants of your release and he tilted his head lower, meeting your thumb and he had started to suck on it, not wanting to waste a single drop of what you just gave him.
there was a hint of tenderness in his gaze, almost too soft, and for some reason, this had changed the way you viewed him; on every glance, on every gazes met, on every halls where you could pass him by—you’d be forever reminded of his lips, his grip on your thighs, his pair of lustful and hungry eyes, his tongue on your cunt, and his cum that is a mix of sweet and salty.
“your grace, queen rhaenyra summons you.”
you were quick to move, jumping from the table and immediately tended to your appearance, there is a little discomfort of a warm, and sticky feeling trickling down on your thighs but you ignored it—walking out of his chamber is a top priority. he did the exact same thing, getting into the garments you previously discarded, he worried that your scent may have permanently marked him, especially his mouth, and he was already thinking of other ways to speak with his mother, in such a way that she does not get a single waft of your scent.
“i shall have my hot milk again on the morrow, bring it around the exact moment as you did on this evening.” he was back to this usual composed demeanor, as the guards opened his doors for him; you bowed your head slightly, silently praying the knights did not hear any sound from you.
“as you wish, your grace.” you carried the tray once again, the milk still and untouched, it has been long since it got cold and you reminded yourself it will be the same on the next morrow.
SUMMARY: WHILE YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE HELPING PIPPA WITH HER INVESTIGATION, YOU FOUND YOURSELF SEDUCED BY ONE OF THE SUSPECTS: MAX HASTINGS. EVEN THOUGH HE COMPLETELY IGNORED YOU FOR A WHILE, HE EVENTUALLY REPLIED TO ONE OF YOUR MESSAGES. YOU, MADLY IN LOVE, AND HE, DESPERATE TO SAVE HIMSELF. PIPPA'S INVESTIGATION IS LIKELY TO CAUSE QUITE A STIR.
WORDS: 4012
RATING: 18+
CONTENT: ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, SECRET RELATIONSHIP, ORAL (M RECEIVING), FINGERING, P IN V, CREAMPIE
WARNINGS: MANIPULATION, GROOMING(?), READER IS UNDERAGE, SLIGHT COERCION FOR THE ORAL MAX'S RECEIVING
PART 2 (SOON)->
The final year means preparing a presentation. Everyone was thinking about the perfect topic, the topic that would ensure a good future towards university. You didn't really know what topic you would make yours about. You figured that, in any case, you had time to figure it out.
But in any case, there was someone who seemed to have found her topic and was already passionate about it: Pippa. Your best friend had decided to do it on Andie's murder. She had gotten it into her head that she could solve it, and thus prove Sal's innocence.
You weren't really good at that sort of thing. You were no detective, so your help to Pippa was quite limited. But despite that, when she asked you for a hand, you helped her without hesitation, doing your best.
At the beginning of her investigation, she had mentioned Max Hastings to you. She was supposed to meet him to learn more, since he was a friend of the suspected culprit. She had gone to the Hastings' house in infiltration mode, accompanied by Cara. Obviously, you had asked her to tell you everything, which she had done. She then added Max to her list of suspects.
A new suspect means you trying to help Pippa! You've been trying to find out more about him on social media. However, things didn't go as planned. Who would have thought a potential culprit could be so handsome? No, you couldn't do that, it would be crazy and disrespectful to your best friend…
And yet, you did it. When Pippa had left her phone alone with you for a short time, you had searched to find Max's number and thus entered it into your phone. Your heart was pounding as you did something so bad. Pippa would be so angry if she found out! Luckily, she won't if you're discreet enough.
That day when you got home, you vaguely greeted your parents before going straight to your room. There you were, staring at your phone where Max's contact was displayed. It was so stupid, you had to delete that number!
Too late! You were already typing a text message, hoping he'd reply with immense joy.
> Hi!
You put your phone down, cursing yourself. As if he would answer to a simple hi from someone he didn't know at all. However, you had spent a good part of the evening checking to see if he had replied. Obviously, he hadn't. For one reason or another, you sent a second one.
> I'm Pippa's best friend, I'm also doing a little investigating on Andie
And then, once it was sent, you cursed yourself even more than the first time, throwing your phone to the other end of the bed. You turned over to lie on your stomach, your head buried in the pillow.
That didn't get you a single response from him either. You really felt like the queen of idiots. You shouldn't have done that in the first place. You really weren't worthy of being Pippa's friend by doing that kind of thing. But Max couldn't be the culprit, could he? He had no motive! He doesn't even look like a killer, does he?
But when you least expected it, you ended up receiving a message from Max. You were frozen in front of your screen, trying to realize what was happening. You were wondering why he had decided to respond now.
Well, did you really need to know that Max hoped he could convince you to make Pippa stop the investigation? If you knew, the whole thing would fall apart. Sure, you could be naive, but not stupid. So flattering you was perfect. And besides, after looking up about you, he found you cute. He could have some fun, in addition to having you as a backup.
And from then on, you were recruited into a sort of double agent mission. You were supposed to help Pippa, but also try to stop her from continuing her investigation, or at least try to steer Max away from her track.
You had blind faith in him, believing every word he said without ever doubting him for a single second. He couldn't be guilty, you were sure of it. You wish you could tell Pippa that; would a criminal tell you what a good girl you are before deflowering you so gently like Max did? But you couldn't share that with your best friend.
Hooking up with Max made you feel grown-up. You were going out and sleeping with a guy like him. If that wasn't what is called having an adult life, what was? Well, it wasn't a public relationship shared with everyone, but still! You were certain that Max loved you, otherwise why would he be so upset to hear you speak well of another boy? He didn't want to lose you, if that wasn't proof of love! He really told you that without you, he was fucked. Of course, by that he meant that he couldn't live without you, it had nothing to do with Pippa’s investigation!
However, spending time with Max had also changed the relationship you had with those around you. Your family kept saying that you had changed, that you were no longer the person you used to be. This had led to several arguments, but you were always reassured because the great Max loved you as you were, he didn't care if you were different from before. And besides, it wasn't that you had changed, you were just becoming more mature, he had told you.
Your chest had tightened slightly when Pippa told you about the crash Max had experienced with Naomi and Jake, and how he had tried to cover things up as much as possible. That same evening you had spoken to Max about it to find out more. He had told you that it didn't make him a bad person because, after all, how was he supposed to deal with it? They would have been in deep trouble if anyone found out what they had done! Hey, maybe you wouldn't be with him if he hadn't found someone to save them from the situation. Can you even imagine your life without Max? How awful!
It didn't take much more for you to feel sorry for him and forgive him. It's true, he had simply panicked, wanting to protect his friends at all costs. Wasn't that incredible of him? Ready to do anything to protect his friends! And just like that, things had gone back to normal, and you would go see him again in secret, to talk or for something else, that depended on his desires.
Things had worried you again, though, when you received several messages from Max.
> Don't listen to her
> That's not true
> That's not what happened
> She keeps making me look like the bad guy in her investigation
You were confused, since you suspected he was talking about Pippa. However, she hadn't yet told you anything about new things she might have discovered in her investigation.
You soon got the answer to your questions, since Pippa finally gave you more news.
“What do you mean?” you asked, almost certain your heart had skipped a beat.
“What do you think? Why would Max drug Becca?” she said, a hint of anger in her voice.
Oh, of course you understood what she was implying. But you didn't want to accept that such a thing was true.
"Perhaps it's a misunderstanding?"
“Why are you trying so hard to defend him?” she began, getting annoyed. “You haven’t stopped doing that for a while now! There’s no misunderstanding, Max raped Becca!”
You didn't say anything after that, just nodded to indicate that you understood. You gulped, your brain still analyzing the information Pippa had given you. You weren't really there while she was still talking. You didn't want to believe that Max had done such a thing. You could accept the hit-and-run, but something like that tore your heart out.
In the days following that, after Pippa's unfortunate misadventures, you had stopped talking to Max. You stopped sending him messages in the evenings when you got home from school, and you stopped responding to his messages and calls. You missed him, but you couldn't get over what your best friend had told you.
One night, when you were alone at home, you heard noises at your bedroom window. You stopped what you were doing when you realized that stones were being thrown against your window. You looked at the window before getting up to open it. Then you leaned over to see Max.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, your heart pounding.
“What do you think?”
You grimaced slightly, thinking about what you could say to brush him off. But you couldn't think of anything to say. Hmm, it felt a bit like a forbidden romantic relationship, coming to the window like that, didn't it? Ugh, why did you have to be so weak?
“Hurry up, then. I was just about to go to bed,” you said.
You helped him up to your room, then took a few steps back, arms crossed over your chest.
“Why aren’t you answering me anymore?” he asked.
“Pip told me about Becca.”
Max groaned, rolling his eyes. He’d known it even before you said it. If only that stupid bitch didn't stick her nose into everything, you wouldn't be so difficult with him!
“I told you, it’s not true,” he said, trying to remain calm. “I don’t know who told her that, but I didn’t do anything to Becca.”
“Becca herself told her about it, why would she lie about that?” you grumbled.
“Probably because she regrets it?” he replied as if it were obvious. “It was consensual, okay? She never said no to me.”
“Well… it’s hard to do that when you've been drugged…”
Max scoffed, pacing back and forth in your room, your gaze never leaving him for a single second. Why did you sound like Pippa? He stopped after a long moment, taking one last step to be directly in front of you.
“If I were a jerk like that, don’t you think I would have hurt you already?” he asked, his eyes meeting yours and his voice gentle. “Have I ever lied to you?”
“You didn’t tell me about the car crash.”
“That’s not lying, that’s omitting information,” he countered, shaking his head. “Otherwise, I’ve never, ever lied to you.”
You nibbled the inside of your cheeks as he gave you his best eyes of a man madly in love and sorry. You were so confused, you didn't know what to do and you had no one to talk to about it. When tears of frustration and stress began to appear, Max once again took on that tender role, wiping away your tears with his thumbs, his hands on your cheeks.
“You know me, I would never do such a thing.”
You stared at him, biting your lower lip. And then, you finally moved your face away from his hands and pulled him into your arms. Max stifled a sigh of relief as he placed his hands on your back. Thank God you loved him madly! That made things so much easier.
“It’s not nice to let me down now, you know?” he murmured, one hand on the back of your head.
“I know… Pip told me she was planning to… sort out your stories.”
“She called me and had me come over to tell me, I know,” he said, his brows slightly furrowed. “But obviously it’s a waste of time. She has nothing to sort out.”
“Really?”
Max remained silent for a few seconds before stepping back to look at your face. He then placed his hands back on your cheeks.
“If there was anything else, I would tell you,” he replied, nodding his head. “But since your friend is a snoop, she’ll try to find compromising things about me. It’ll only bother me.”
“I guess so…”
“Luckily, you’re here to try and steer her away from that, huh?”
“Well… it never really worked, she’s found several things about you so far…” you said hesitantly.
Max took a deep breath to keep his anger in check before grabbing you by the waist and pulling you onto your bed. You gasped as he wasted no time climbing on top of you.
“That’s why you’re going to give even more of yourself to succeed next time.”
“If you have nothing to hide, why should I—”
Max didn't give you time to finish your sentence before his lips were on yours, cutting off any argument you might want to make.
“Because you are my good girl who obeys me when I ask her for something…” he murmured against your lips.
Moving his lips slowly against yours, it didn't take long for you to melt. Your hands slid down his back, while his slipped under your t-shirt. Max didn't hesitate in his movements, slowly raising his hands to your tits.
You sighed, running your hands through his hair and pressing yourself against him. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck and kissed you several times before pulling back to remove your t-shirt. He wasted no time in taking off your shorts immediately afterwards.
He admired your body for a moment. Sometimes he thought it was a shame he was only trying to save his own skin. You were good to fuck, and good to look at. In fact, on rare occasions, you could be good company.
He didn't think twice and leaned down to kiss you again, firmly grasping your thighs. Within seconds, the kiss became desperate and hungry, Max's fingers digging into your flesh. It was even becoming difficult for you to keep up with the pace he was setting. But you were saved when he lowered his lips to your chest, allowing you to catch your breath. His hands slid under your back to undo your bra, making you moan in discomfort. It wasn't the most pleasant feeling to have his hands forcing their way under your back. In any case, he eventually took off the garment.
As he moved his lips lower and lower quickly, getting closer and closer to your crotch, you thought he was going to please you good there. But no. He sat up slowly, making you look at him curiously.
“You know what? I’m tired of always being the one to do this,” he said, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.
You sat down, frowning, your face looking even more confused.
“What do you mean?”
He didn't answer immediately, first taking the time to remove his shirt. He had a satisfied smile on his face as he unbuckled his belt.
“Don’t play the fool,” he said, unbuttoning his pants.
“I’m not playing anything at all, I…”
You watched him take off his pants, a bulge clearly visible. He sighed as he lay down next to you, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. His request was then clear.
“Max… I… I don’t know how to do that.”
“Great! You’re about to learn something new!” he said happily, his smile still present and his eyebrows raised.
You shook your head slightly, shifting on your knees until you were between his thighs.
“I shouldn’t… this is going to be awful…”
Max clicked his tongue as he propped himself up on his elbows, his brows now furrowed.
“Do you… do you really love me, at least?”
“What? Of course! You know I love you more than anything in the world!” you replied immediately, panic visible on your face.
“So why don’t you want to do it? It hurts me, you know?”
“I didn’t think it hurt you, I was just saying… I didn’t know how to do that…”
You shook your head before quickly removing his underwear. You swallowed hard as you stared at his cock, your brain working hard to figure out what to do. Then you thought, oh well! You were going to do something and that would already be something! And so you simply surrounded his cock with your lips, moving slowly up and down. Max smiled as he lay back down.
“See? It’s not so hard?” he encouraged you, stroking your hair. “With time, you’ll do even better than this.”
You kept your eyes on him as you continued your movements, accelerating slightly. He continued to caress your hair as you braced yourself, clenching your fists on his thighs. Max was letting out silent moans and sighs, closing his eyes.
You whimpered as you felt him try to push his cock deeper into your mouth several times. You slapped his thighs, but it didn't stop him. He then opened his eyes, gripping your hair to hold you in place, before making the movements himself. His eyes locked on yours, which were beginning to fill with tears, he set the pace and the intensity. He then began to grow louder in his pleasure.
Max ignored your whimpers and the light hits you gave him, his breathing becoming ragged. And soon, your eyes widened as you felt his cum spurt into the back of your mouth. Max pulled your hair to make you back away after a few seconds of letting his jets flow down your throat, leaving you no choice but to swallow it all.
You pulled your head away from his grasp, coughing after almost choking at the surprise of Max's cum. He snickered at your reaction, straightening up to pull you closer.
“Come on, don’t make that face! Do you remember what I told you?”
“Yes… first times are always unpleasant,” you murmured, your hands on his shoulders.
“Exactly.”
“I’ve seen girls on the internet saying that their first time was the sweetest thing in the world…”
Max remained silent for a few seconds before slowly laying you down, sliding his pelvis between your thighs.
"It wasn't for you?"
“Yes, of course, but… it hurt so much at first…” you replied hesitantly.
“Not all girls are the same, you know?”
“You know a lot about virgins…” you said, your voice almost suspicious.
“What? Now you’re going to say I sleep with all the virgins?”
“No, no! Not at all! That’s not what I meant!” you immediately contradicted. “Sorry…” you sighed before kissing his lips.
He shrugged with a disgruntled look, although he quickly hid it by putting his head in the crook of your neck. He nibbled at your skin, one hand removing your panties, which you took off entirely by kicking them off.
Max was consumed by the desire to push his cock into you without further delay, but the only time he did that you yelled at him and bit him. Damn, that time he really thought you were going to cut him out of your life. Not that it would have changed much since you had never managed to stop Pippa from investigating, but he thought you could still be useful. And also, he liked sleeping with you. That was just a detail he referred to as a bonus.
So instead, he took the time to insert two fingers. He moved them slowly at first, and when your hands were in his hair, he sped up. It was something he had noticed. When you were no longer as tense as at the beginning of the encounter, you held his hair. And it was at that moment that he did everything to make you crack and ask for his cock instead of his fingers.
You moaned softly as he moved his fingers quickly, his face slightly pulled back to see your reactions. From time to time, he moved his hips so that his tip teased your pussy. He knew you now. He knew that doing it several times would lead to…
“Please, Max…”
He suppressed a smile when he felt your hand stop his wrist and then brush against his cock. He then pulled out his fingers, only to immediately replace them with his cock. And, as he thrust into you, he slipped his fingers into your mouth. You moaned as you cleaned his fingers, feeling yourself slowly being filled by his cock. When his fingers were clean, he removed them from your mouth.
“Good girl…”
You nodded, placing your hands on his back as if he were your lifeline. With one hand holding your thigh and the other beside your head, he wasted no time and began with quick, powerful thrusts that made you yelp with each impact.
His eyes never left your face, which was contorting with pleasure. It always affected him to see you squirming and moaning beneath him, clinging to him as if you would disappear if you let go for even a second.
“You’re always so tight and wet…” he groaned, burying his face against your shoulder.
“Max… I love you so much…”
Max bit his lower lip before moving back. He removed your hands from his back and placed them above your head, holding them firmly. And then, his movements became more brutal, making you squeal more loudly.
You groan as you try to bend your knees, mostly rubbing your feet against the bed since you couldn't really do what you wanted. You were so caught up in what Max was doing that you couldn't function properly.
But all your movements were starting to annoy Max. Your legs weren't doing anything concrete, and by moving them like that, he felt like you were struggling against him. And he didn't like that.
“Stop moving like that, you idiot!” he snapped.
You nodded immediately, finally bending your knees against him and stopping moving altogether. Seeing the almost frightened expression on your face, Max smiled as he leaned down to kiss your lips tenderly.
“It just hurts…” he murmured.
“Sorry.”
And just like that, your fearful expression was replaced by the pleasure he gave you by moving faster than before. Max closed his eyes for a moment, sighing with relief. You were so naive yet intelligent at the same time; he could quickly find himself on shaky ground with you.
The room fell silent, your bed beginning to creak in time with Max's wild movements on you. You were moaning louder and louder, sometimes muffled by Max's lips, who was growling against your lips.
“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he asked, bringing his lips close to your ear.
“Yes!”
“Because you’re my good girl…”
“I’m your good girl!”
“And I would be so sad if you left me…”
“I’ll never leave you!”
Your lips parted a little wider as he put more vigor into his movements. You could then hear him panting, telling you that he was close. You tried to free your wrists to hold him against you but he prevented you and, with one last deep and well-placed thrust, he made you come. A few more movements and it was his turn, not hesitating to stay inside you.
He took a deep breath before exhaling deeply, then moved to lay next to you. And it was at that moment that you realized that, for the first time, he had neither used a condom nor the pull out method. For a moment, you had an internal monologue, wondering what you were going to do. You'd both be in deep trouble if things went south.
“You came inside.”
“Shhh, it’s going to be okay,” he reassured you, stroking your cheek, his gaze tender and loving. “It would be really bad luck if you got pregnant. On the first try? Impossible.”
You still had a hesitant look on your face, but decided to trust him. He wouldn't take that risk, would he? So you moved closer to him to cuddle him.
“I love you…” you whispered in an innocently loving tone.
“Yeah, me too…”
He waited until you fell asleep before getting up and getting dressed, quite pleased with the situation. Everything was going perfectly again, he'd have you back in his pocket. Anyway, things couldn't get that bad again, could they?
content warnings/contains: targcest (siblings), fluff, barely any angst, mentions of canon-typical violence, suggestive, allusions to/talks of sex, aftercare, daeron gets some much needed cuddles and comfort, reader is described to have hair - i think that's it, talks of his dragon dreams, daeron being sober for once in his life, grammatical errors, not proofread, written in present tense for a change - i deemed it fitting, it is not stated if reader was a virgin before this or not - so you can choose whatever you want, i think that's it?
requested: yes (combined these 2/3 requests, as it made sense: one, two)
a/n: two fics in one day, i feel insane (and happy) i combined these three requests because they are really centered around giving daeron comfort and i do not think i would have been able to come up with three full-fledged scenarios for them. these were requested by two seperate people. i hope you guys like it! i'd love to know what you thought <3
link to masterlist
Both his and your breathing slowly start to even out as a comfortable silence settles between the two of you. You breathe almost in sync with him, both your chests raising and falling in the same rhythm. It is grounding, you find, the way his breath matches yours. The way he has not moved a single inch from where he is currently positioned on top of you.
You lie on the linens of his mattress, partially covered by the silken sheets. The fabric is comfortable against your skin, albeit slightly damp from the thin sheen of sweat which has formed on both your skins.
He still hovers over you, careful not to press too much of his weight on you. His forearms rest on either side of your head, one of his hands intertwined with yours on the plush pillow. His fingers are tight around yours, as if afraid you’d disappear, should he dare to let go.
His blond hair, which usually falls just to the ends of his neck, is not spared by gravity as the ends tickle over your cheeks where his face remains just inches from yours. His lips are almost close enough to brush yours. His eyes, the dark purple of them almost appearing black in the dim light, are sharp, attentive. Normally, a thin glaze lies over them, like a fogged up mirror, caused by the endless amount of wine he pours into his system. As if he could literally drown out his misery – wash it out of him with the wine.
But now, they are firmly locked onto yours with a focus, an intensity, which you have rarely ever seen in them. He has not drunken anything all day. A rare occurrence, as you cannot even recall the last time he ever went an entire day without it.
You notice how he trembles faintly, little tremors wracking through him. To the naked eye, it would almost be imperceptible. But you have been able to read your brother his entire life. You see things no one else does. Certain flicks of his eyes, certain twitches of his fingers. Every little movement that no one else would pay attention to helps you to figure out exactly what he is feeling, what he is thinking about, what he currently needs.
And the way his eyes now slowly start to avert from yours more and more, as you both come down from the highs of your pleasure, tells you that all the dark thoughts he had finally been able to put aside in your arms come creeping back. Infiltrating his mind and wrapping themselves around his neck like a vice, suffocating him.
Your hand, which had been resting on his shoulder – fingers curled tightly into the skin just mere minutes ago as you had clung to him in the heights of your desire – moves to the side of his face, gently resting over his skin. With the least amount of pressure you can muster, you tilt his head to face you directly once more.
Again, the minimal bit his head had moved away from yours would have gone unnoticed by anyone else. But not by you.
“Daeron.” you whisper, your tone gentle and barely audible, just enough for him to hear you, to ground him to your presence – if not anything else. “Open your eyes, love.”
Daeron had not even noticed at first that his eyes had fallen closed as he tries to fight against the demons taking root in his head. The past hour spent in your embrace, spent tangled with you in the sheets – it had let him escape from every single other thought he had.
During that time, there was only you. The way your lips felt on his, the way they trailed over his neck and shoulders. The way your hands roamed over his entire being, exploring every inch of him you could reach. He is pretty sure you had reached into his chest and laid bare his soul.
The way your little sounds had reached his ears as he brought you and himself pleasure, as he moved on top of you with slow and gentle shifts of his hips. Enough to take you both apart – not enough to entirely overwhelm. Not physically, at least. Mentally, spiritually, he feels absolutely destroyed, exposed. In the best way he has ever felt exposed in his life.
And now, as the last remnants of your shared pleasure had waned, leaving only the aftermath of it behind, the thoughts come creeping back. He feels them everywhere. From his toes to the top of his head. Everything feels like it is going to be consumed once more. And this time not by you, but by the darkness of his mind.
And he dreads it, fears it. The two of you had never done this before. But tonight, the terrors plaguing his sleeping mind had grown too much. Too cruel for even him to handle. Him, who has been cursed by these dreams all his life.
And you, his angel of a sister, must have a sixth sense just for him, he thinks. Because in the dead of night, barely minutes after he had woken up soaked in cold sweat, the doors to his chambers had creeped open and you had stepped through. You had made a beeline for him, crawling over the deserted side of his bed to where he sat with trembling fingers and wet eyes.
You had taken his hands in one of yours, willing them to stop trembling. You had cupped his face with the other, wiping at the lone tear which had escaped without his permission. You had pressed your forehead against his in the darkness of his chambers, only faint moonlight shining in through the windows, and you had leaned forward and pressed a chaste, lingering kiss against his lips.
No movement, no fervour. Just a gentle press, lips resting upon each other in the means to tether him to your presence, your comfort. Your warmth. One of his hands had left your grip and wandered to the side of your neck, needing to touch you, feel you.
For the first several minutes, it was the same as every night you came into his chambers with the intention to comfort him from his dreams, from the dark thoughts rooted so deep in him he feared they would never leave him and drag him down with them.
You had pulled away after a few minutes, your eyes locked onto his. Second after second passed, the eye contact never broken once. His thumb, almost subconsciously, had then moved to brush over your lower lip, eyes dropping to observe his own movement.
Your eyes had stayed on him, not oblivious to that certain glint which flashed through his eyes. That desperate need for escape. To forget. Even if only for a few moments.
The two of you had never crossed that boundary. Not yet. But in this moment, with Daeron completely sober and in obvious despair in front of you, that hint of need in his eyes, it only felt right.
You had leaned back in, your lips connecting to his once more. But that time, it was less gentle, less chaste. You mirrored his need, his want, feeling it welling up inside you once more.
And the both of you had given in. For the first time.
And now he still hovers on top of you, eyes remaining closed despite you gently prompting him to open them. Your thumb softly runs over his closed eye-lid with a barely there touch.
“Daeron, look at me.” you order tenderly. He finally does, his dark lilac eyes fluttering open and meeting yours, causing a little breath of relief to tumble past your slightly parted lips. As long as he looks at you, you can reach him.
“Breathe for me, my love.”
Your hand which is still tangled with his lifts from the pillow. You keep his hand in yours as you bring it to your exposed chest, right where your heart beats steady beneath the skin.
“Feel me. Just breathe. The thoughts and dreams cannot harm you here. Not while I am here. They cannot touch you.”
His breaths, which had turned ragged again, slowly evened again as he followed the way you breathe in and out. Deeply, slowly, carefully. In and out. In and out.
“Good, just keep breathing.”
Daeron insists in that moment you must be the only good thing the gods have blessed him with. Too good to be true. Because with your skin against his, with your voice in his ears, he feels how the horrors slowly fade away. They return to whatever place they had escaped to when you had first kissed him earlier that night.
He wants them to stay there forever and never come back. But he knows it is wishful thinking. Still, he wills himself not to think of it now.
The two of you had just shared something you had never shared with each other. He wants to enjoy it. Revel in the aftermath of it.
“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice still trembling slightly, still breathy as his gaze turns concerned for your own wellbeing. The hand which still rests on the pillow on the other side of your head brushes softly over the strands of hair which sprawl beneath you on the fabric.
You feel a soft smile break out onto your face as the first thing he says after several minutes of panicked and tormented silence is to inform himself about your wellbeing. You nod.
“I am more than alright. Do not worry for me.”
You nudge him slightly. “Come on, lay down. Let me take care of you.” you prompt him gently, helping him get comfortable on the mattress next to you as his weight finally leaves you, albeit reluctantly.
He keeps his eyes firmly trained on you as your brush the hair out of his face.
With almost sluggish movements, your limbs still weighted by the pleasure from before, you reach for the cup of water on the table by his bedside. You turn back to him, bringing the rim of the cup to his now dried lips.
“Drink.” you whisper, tilting the cup once his lips part just enough. He drinks down several swigs of the water, the cold liquid a soothing balm against the dryness of his throat. When he has had enough, you remove the cup from his mouth, taking a few sips of your own before placing it back on the table.
“Are you alright?” you ask him then, returning his earlier question.
He nods, faint, as the corner of his mouth twitches up in the slightest.
“Yes. I am now. Thank you, my angel.” he replies, his tone laced in loving softness as he looks at you with nothing but affection and admiration in his eyes.
To him, you are his angel, his darling sister. The only thing that can fight off the darkness in his head, his heart. Cast it out just with one brush of your lips, one word tumbling from your mouth.
He just hopes the gods will never be as cruel as to take you from him. For he would follow you instantly.
When you have convinced yourself he is being truthful, that he really is alright as of now, you lower yourself back onto the mattress next to him, gesturing for him to lay on you.
He scoots down just slightly, partially leaning on you as his head comes to rest just above your chest, face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. One of his arms lays across your midsection, keeping you close to him. As close as he can.
Your hand comes to thread through his hair in soothing gestures, and you feel the way the last bit of tension in him slowly melts away. He completely relaxes against you.
“I love you.” he murmurs, already half-asleep, into your neck.
Your lips twitch upwards again as your eyes drop to look at him in your own adoration.
"She's not even a dragon. I will not marry that whore." You had heard all the rumors surrounding the prince, and even though most people managed to reassure you by claiming they were false, it had all been pointless. You never expected Prince Aerion to turn to his father and say such things right in front of you, at the very least. Even Prince Maekar hadn't expected it, you could tell just by looking at his face.
Even so despite Aerion's unwillingness and you begging your family, the marriage still happened. In every sense of the word, it was a nightmare. You were like a husband and wife who constantly tore badmouthed each other to others around. Neither of you could tolerate the other even a little. At least you were better at hiding it than Aerion was. The last thing you wanted was for your husband's murderous temper to turn toward you.
When he threw remarks at you, you stayed silent. When his gaze scratched at you with resentment, you lowered your eyes to the floor or turned away. All of it was simply to avoid engaging with him.
Aerion was bold. And the more you tried to stay away from him, the more that boldness spread.
During an evening visit, with no choice but to sit beside him, you reached for the wine poured into your goblet, only for a hand to move before you and wrap its fingers around the goblet. Even though your gaze already knew the answer, it still drifted toward the person carelessly bringing the goblet to his lips. Your dear husband slowly took a sip while looking elsewhere, as though he hadn't just stolen your wine goblet at all.
The feast was already terrible on its own. And you had no intention of staying silent when the only thing capable of calming your nerves was taken from your hands too. "Aerion, that's my wine."
He looked at you as though you'd been wearing one of those invisibility cloaks from fairy tales and only became visible once you started speaking. His brows lifted slightly. He pulled the goblet away from his lips but didn't set it down, instead turning it between his fingers like it was another one of his toys. "Well then, my dear wife, are you truly going to upset your husband over a goblet of wine?"
Another one of those subtle, needling remarks. It was nothing more than a sentence meant to provoke you into challenging him. And this time, you didn't back down. No, you were tired of him thinking everything in your life belonged to him too. "Yes, exactly as you think, my dear husband. Now give me back my wine."
Your voice carried a faint poisonous warning beneath it. You hadn't meant for it to come out so sharp, so provoking that a few eyes around you began turning your way. Jaw tight, you watched his purple eyes roam over you with curiosity before settling back onto your irises. It was as if he were waiting to see whether you'd take your words back.
You did the same. You waited for him to hand over your goblet.
Despite sitting so close together, the air between you felt heavy. Aerion leaned his weight against the arm of his chair and studied you from a slight distance. After staring at the goblet lazily rolling between his fingers for a while, he finally held it out toward you. "Here, my dear little wife. We're not lacking wine. I was merely wondering whether you'd panic in case you poisoned my own."
Trying not to roll your eyes, you quickly snatched the goblet from his hand before he could even consider pulling it back. You ignored how his fingers, warmer than your already warm body, felt against yours. Touching him almost made your own skin feel cold in comparison.
Still, something heavy dropped inside you for a brief moment. Was he serious. You stopped the goblet just a few centimeters from your lips and gave him a curious look. Your insane husband was still staring at you. "Is your lack of trust in me so deep that you think I'd actually poison you?"
He pursed his lips thoughtfully before flattening them like a taut rope. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned closer to you. His breath brushed against your cheek now, yet you didn't pull away. The last mistake you would ever make was shrinking away from your husband in front of others. From afar, it probably looked like a husband whispering sweet things to his wife.
His voice brushed against your ears like a warm ocean breeze. "It's not you I don't trust. I don't trust people. Everyone in my life could poison me. Especially now, my dear other half."
Your head snapped toward him. Your faces were so close together. You blinked rapidly while trying to make sense of his words. Your cheeks burned as though exposed to a dragon's skin. Every single time Aerion had stolen the food and drinks from your hands flashed before your eyes. You had thought he only did it to be an ass. The thought that he had been constantly tasting things first so you wouldn't be poisoned had never once crossed your mind. And the two of you weren't even that close. No, there had only been the marital duties every husband and wife were expected to fulfill. That was all. You couldn't possibly be close enough for him to worry over you being poisoned.
You tried not to let it affect you, but the confession had already spread through your blood like poison. It was too sweet. There were so many things you wanted to say. But every one of them clung to your throat, preferring death over coming out.
