Pairing: Aerion Targaryen x f!obsessive!reader x Valarr Targaryen
Rating: M
Word Count: 5078
AO3 Version: HERE / Part Directory: HERE
Inspired By: this post by @k8fics (check out their fic) & the film Obsession
Synopsis: When a passing peddler sells you a wishing willow branch, you wish for Aerion and Valarr to love you as much as you love them. To your delight your wish comes true but it's a bit bloodier than you expected.
Content Tags: cis female reader, reader is from House Cafferen, no physical descriptions used, reader has living parents with siblings left ambiguous, obsession, yandere reader, polyamory, love at first sight
You sit beneath the rustling red leaves of your family's largest maple tree in the Godswood. The sound of wind through its old branches has always brought you a great deal of comfort. Ever since you were young, you would find yourself out here, seeking the shape of its bark against your back, the shelter of its leaves from the rain or sun.
Many toys were dragged out to this spot in your youth. Wooden horses and dragons, stuffed dolls, and blocks to stack high. Some had considered it disrespectful, but father had always told them to let it be. That a child's innocence could not offend the old Gods or new.
It comes as little surprise to anyone who knows you that you would find yourself here today, lost in thought. You hold the piece of wood between two fingers, twisting it back and forth as you hold it up. It doesn't look like anything special, two dark branches twined together. From the sapling of a willow tree, or so the woman told you.
Normally you don't bother with such superstitions, at least not ones that haven't been proven to be connected to the Faith. Until yesterday you had never heard about wishing upon a willow tree branch.
The peddler made the rules fairly clear. Only one wish per person and to consider your phrasing carefully. Simple, silly. The kind of nonsense sold to peasants as hope for a better future. You do not have need of such false promises; you are a daughter of House Cafferen.
Creature comforts are not something you have needed to concern yourself with. There is always food on the table and safety from the guards. You have never worried about the quality of your dresses or braiding your own hair.
You've enjoyed a happy childhood, better than some girls you know. Not everyone comes from a family that sees the value in daughters, but you got lucky. You're not naive enough to believe that you haven't, but still you twist the branch between your fingers, lost in thought despite that privilege.
Your parents did you a disservice with their love. They taught you that anything you might want in life is something you might yet be afforded. And so when it comes to the things you want most, you are not so skilled at accepting there are things out of your reach.
The trunk thunks as you drop your head back against it, twisting the branch again. Considering. You can still recall the day you met the Targaryen line. Your family travelled to a tourney outside Summerhall to celebrate the birth of Prince Maekar's youngest child, Rhae.
You arrived in your finest dress and saw people from the wealthiest families talking and gathering. It was far more than you had ever experienced before. The food, the clothing, the music. The wealth of it. Luxury in every direction, far more than the comfort of fresh candles and warm hearths that you knew best.
And there on the side of the room where lower nobles like you did not so easily go, the youth of the Targaryen empire. You saw Prince Valarr first, with that streak of white in his hair. Utterly charming, there was something flower delicate about him, a sort of sophistication as he spoke with another silver haired man close to his age.
Prince Aerion, Brightflame, they call him where he can hear; Aerion the Monstrous where they cannot. They were speaking to each other, not unkindly. Joking, you can barely catch the tail end of Aerion making fun of someone and Valarr gentlemanly telling him to mind his words.
It had been a night of great excess, and by the time your family was returning home, you were certain without a doubt that you were utterly and completely in love with the both of them. Valarr and his mismatched eyes and sweet smile; Aerion and his stern arrogance. You could never pick between them.
Their charms were different but equal.
You have thought about them every single day since, even though you have not been given the opportunity to see them again. Someday you will speak to them, meet them for the first time, and hear what their voices sound like when they say your name. That is all you want, and perhaps this little piece of wood could be the thing that does it.
You shift the branch to be held between your hands and bring it up to your mouth, pressing your lips to it. "I wish for Valarr and Aerion Targaryen to love me as much as I love them."
You snap the branch with a crack, looking at the two pieces, feeling particularly satisfied. There's no way to prove that it worked, so you'll just have to take it on faith. You're good at that already—loving them unconditionally.
-----
The days pass as they normally do. You mind your lessons from the septas and spend your free time in the gardens or working on your secret embroidery project. The two pieces of the willow branch rest beneath your pillow, securely tucked away.
You hope with all your heart.
You're on your way to the kitchens in hope of asking the cooks to sneak you something before dinner when you see your father appear down the hall. He's got a frantic look about him, which is rather uncharacteristic of him. Your father is known for his jovial temperament.
Something must have happened; you stiffen, coming to a stop as he reaches you. He runs a hand along his jaw, in that way he always does when he would rather be drinking wine. "I am going to need your help, my girl; it appears we are about to be quite busy."
You twist so you can walk beside him. "What has happened?"
He gives you a wide-eyed look, and that hope you've been clinging to grows in your chest until your breath is nearly stolen away. "Two Targaryen princes are coming to stay with us; for what reason, they did not say, but we must get the castle ready to receive them."
You give a sharp enough inhale father looks at you in alarm before you find yourself. "Of course, father, I'll help however I can."
"That's a good girl; we haven't much time."
You nod, fighting the urge to shriek. To jump up and down to run around shouting that your loves have come for you. That everything is going to be perfect now. You'll need to hurry to help your father get Fawnton ready.
There's no greater motivation than Valarr and Aerion coming here. Everything must be perfect. You'll need to start focusing on finishing your little sewing project so it's ready in time.
-----
You spend the time before your prince's arrival in a flurry of activity. The whole of Fawnton has something to do; the larder is being stocked for the arrival of not one but two princes and their accompaniment. Fawnton is no Storm's End or Summerhall. It is not naturally equipped for such a large gathering, nor has it had adequate time to prepare, but your father is doing his best to make certain when they arrive they will not go wanting.
After all, despite the lack of time, this is an honor. None of House Targaryen has ever seen fit to stay in Fawnton before. It is not a massive castle, though it is well kept. The floors are cleaned, the tapestries beaten, and the hearths scraped out. You've finished your sewing, helped your mother prepare the staff, and seen to it that the gardeners know what is at stake.
You are near certain that they will propose to you beneath your favorite tree, because truly, there is no better place for it. You've prepared everything you could think of and told the kitchen to make certain your favorite sweets are ready so that you can share them should they find themselves peckish. It will be romantic.
You've made certain that your handmaid has done everything possible to make you as beautiful as you can be. No creases in your dress, hair just right, skin clear of blemishes, and rubbed down with sweet-smelling oils.
When they see you, everything will come together. You know it. You have faith.
You pace in your solar, back and forth. To the door, then to the window, back to the door again. Then finally you see it: dust on the horizon line and then horses, a carriage, and wagons. Two men in flashy white that catch the light even from a distance. The kingsguard!
Soon you will be one of the people in their charge to protect. Soon you will be a princess, and you will go off to live in King's Landing with Valarr and Aerion.
You fan yourself, flapping your hand in front of your face so you don't begin to sweat. "Be calm," You mumble. "Be calm."
It is becoming increasingly difficult to stay calm, but you manage. Perhaps a bit more red faced than you would prefer, but you hold it together until it is time to come to greet your guests, your princes.
You stand next to your mother, practically bouncing in excitement, until she corrects it with a light elbow to your side. You settle, keeping calm, chin raising as the first of the horses, guards, and servants pass.
Then you see them. They ride together, not in their armor but in comfortable riding clothes. The horse Aerion rides is a huge black stallion, and Valarr's a smaller but no less lethal looking brown destrier. They come to a stop almost in unison, though Valarr is the first to dismount with Aerion following behind.
Some semblance of hierarchy you assume, given Valarr will be king someday. And you his queen. Though you are sure Aerion will be around to entertain you when Valarr must handle the more boring idiosyncrasies of court.
Valarr approaches your father first, his chin held high, hair windswept from riding. Your stomach is full of dragons flapping their wings. You've never seen him this close before. He's even more handsome than you thought. So is Aerion trailing behind; there's a scar along his top lip, and it gives him a sort of rugged look that makes you hot as well as the dragons dancing in your stomach.
"Lord Cafferen, we are most grateful for your hospitality." Valarr greets as father bows. "I know our raven likely found you with little time to prepare, so please do not fret about our convoy's accommodations."
He's so polite. You fight the urge to fan yourself again.
"Please, your grace, we are deeply honored to have you visit Fawnton. All that we have is at your disposal; allow me to introduce you to my wife."
Your father makes introductions, and Valarr is sweet enough to give your mother a smile. Aerion only nods to them both, more reserved in comparison, scraping his foot along the stone of the front entrance to the castle. He seems almost bored, and you worry that he hates it here already, that it is not good enough for him.
And how could it be? This is certainly no Summerhall. You cannot offer him all of the comforts he typically enjoys; a great well of shame fills you at the thought. They will find Fawnton poor and unpleasant, but it is the only home you have ever known.
"Lady Cafferen." Valarr says, his voice like having rose petals dragged across your cheek. He reaches out and takes your hand, his warm in yours as he brings it up and presses his mouth to your knuckles.
"Prince Valarr." You croak back, not nearly as sweet sounding as you hoped. More of a gasp of breath. You can tell your face is tomato red. His fingers are so warm against your own.
When he lets go of your hand, you barely have time before another hand is in your own, callused fingers, some scars faint and pale along the back of his hand. When he kisses your knuckles, it is not with the same gentleman's touch as Valarr.
You can feel his tongue flick along your skin before he pulls away. And here you thought you weren't going to be able to get any redder. "Welcome to Fawnton, Prince Aerion." You mumble, still trying to recover from the wetness that lingers on your hand.
"A fine welcome indeed." He drawls before looking toward your father. Any softness in his expression vanishes in a blink. "I would wash the road off; show me to my lodgings."
"If you would be so gracious." Valarr adds a moment after, clearly fighting a sigh at his cousin's wording.
Your father flounders forward to show them the way personally. There are not many guest rooms in your castle, but of the ones you have, your father had two of them overhauled in a hurry. Cleaned top to bottom, with new bedding and nicer furniture. It cost a chunk from the coffers, but it's worth it. Two princes leaving with a good impression could be everything for the future of your family.
Your mother gives you a look, sharing in the odd moment with you. As your father leads them, behind you the rest of the Targaryen entourage are settling in, unpacking wagons, moving toward the fields to set up tents for the men. It's all exciting.
Unable to follow your princes, though you sorely want to, instead you slip toward the great hall where they no doubt will be led once they have time to rest from the road. You sink into your usual chair, sipping from a goblet as you envision them so close and yet so far away.
What they might look like bare chested, washing the dust of the road from their skin. Aerion's pale hair and the way it would reflect the light when it is wet. How he might stare at you as he cleans off, daring you to act, to take what you want, and Valarr pink cheeked and shy.
You release a deep sigh of longing. Those days cannot come soon enough.
There's an energy in the air now that royalty is among Fawnton. The servants are quieter, well behaved. None of the usual light chatter and giggling. Your father has always been lenient on that kind of thing as long as the work gets done, but you're glad they know to act more responsibly when princes are around to hear them.
Movement catches the corner of your eye, and then Aerion fills the archway that enters the great hall. He's forgone riding clothes for finery, red velvet, and chainmail beneath; black pants with red thread, and shined boots. His sword and dagger remain on his belt, at the ready as he moves toward you.
"Lady Cafferen," He greets, to the point. You thought he might be more loudspoken, but there's a stillness about him. Like a fisherman a moment before spearing a fish.
"Prince Aerion." You reply, choosing not to remark on the way he settles into your father's seat at the head of the table without thought. He looks good there, dominating the space as he leans back against the carved wood.
The way he's looking at you makes your heart thunder in your ears, like he's dressing you up and down at the same time. Putting you in an elegant dress and then taking it off with his mind as he sits there.
He glances over at one of the servants that hovers uncertainly along the wall and gives them a two-finger wave, "Wine, bread, and salt."
There's a flurry of motion. You wince.
"There should have already been some set out for your arrival; my apologies, your grace."
He grunts, "It's a problem of servants, not ladies."
They are quick to return with the bread and wine, and you are even quicker to pour it. Aerion's fingers trace across yours purposefully as he takes the glass from your hand, bringing it to his mouth. You expect him to complain about the vintage, but he doesn't, at least not yet.
"Have you heard of dragon dreams?" Aerion asks. The pompous tone has shifted, turning into something more like the crackle of fire in a hearth. Like candlelight late in the night, flickering long shadows across the walls.
You know the phrase the way you know what Pentos looks like. Maybe someone mentioned it once, or maybe you read a book, but your understanding is limited at best. Anger courses in your belly that you are not educated enough to know what he is speaking of.
"I'm afraid I've only heard the words in passing, my prince." You say apologetically, looking down into your wine glass.
"No matter." He takes another drink from his glass before setting it on the table. "You likely have heard the phrase used when describing one of my ancestors, Daenys Targaryen; she is the reason my family survived the Doom of Valyria. See, she had a dream and convinced the Targaryens to move to Dragonstone, and as such, their dragons were saved and our legacy secure."
You recall this tale; you've heard it mentioned more than once. What he explains now is the briefest summary. It is a fantastical tale, and in truth, you thought it to be more fiction than history, but Aerion clearly believes it, and so you endeavor to do the same.
"That is incredible," You lean forward, interest piqued. "And she did this through dreaming?"
He nods. "Many Targaryens have this ability in one way or another, some stronger than others." His eyes drift toward the wall, going somewhere you cannot so easily follow. Thinking about something or someone. "My older brother has dreams so numerous they plague him; myself ... I thought it was a gift that passed over me. Until I found this proven false."
Your heart starts beating even harder. Locked on every word he speaks in that low rumble. "I had a dream some nights ago." His eyes are like gemstones come alive, like he is filled with fire. "The face of a woman, the shriek of a dragon, and I knew she was salvation."
You swallow.
"I was in King's Landing at the time, and that same morning I found out that Valarr had an identical dream to my own, but he knew the name to accompany that face. Your name." Aerion presses his hand flat to the table, the two of you craning toward each other. "You are in the heart of dragons, Lady Cafferen."
Tears fill your eyes. It's everything you ever wanted.
"Cousin, we agreed to tell her together." Valarr's voice fills the room, cutting through your delight. When you look up at him, you can see his disappointment.
"I grew impatient," Aerion replies, reaching for the carafe to pour wine for Valarr as he moves to sit across from you. By all standards it should be Valarr sitting in the seat Aerion occupies, but he makes no point to claim it. He's dressed well too, in all black silks, velvets, and leather. He has a stitched red Targaryen crest on his shoulder and a half cape that drapes over one shoulder as he sits. Your dress feels plain in comparison.
"No excuse." Valarr replies, accepting the glass, before he sets his eyes on you. "He tells it true; we had the same dream. I remembered your name from a tourney some years ago and remain grateful to my memory for it. It ails me that we did not speak to you then."
"You're here now." You whisper, fuzzy headed with delight. The willow truly worked. They are here now. They have come for you.
"And we do not plan to leave without you." Aerion says.
The bluntness of the words thrums through you, curling between your ribs until it feels like you have a bird's fluttering heart. You look to Valarr to see if he agrees, and his smile is charming as he nods.
"I knew when I saw you both for the first time that we were bound to be together." You say, whispering it. Your carefully guarded secret these last few years.
They both seem to brighten at this—the realization that the three of you are all feeling the same things. That you understand each other. You're about to explain more, how you think of them every day, how they dominate your thoughts, but then your parents walk into the room.
You straighten, making yourself presentable. Your father glances toward Aerion, toward the chair he occupies, his chair, and says nothing, because where would be his right to speak? They may be in Fawnton, but the Targaryens own everything they stand on.
Instead, father sits on the other side of the eight-person table. Your mother at his side. Two middle chairs are resting between them and you. It's a subtle thing; you know your father well enough to know he wants you to move. To take your spot beside them.
You do not rise.
Aerion shifts, the chair creaking. He and father stare at each other, breath held. It's not yet a challenge but something drifting dangerously close to it. Valarr breaks the tension. "Fawnton is lovely. I didn't realize the weather was so fair this time of year."
It is his polite way of saying it is quaint and he's surprised it is not raining, but it is enough to snap the other two men out of their staring.
"A bit small," Aerion replies, "But I expected as much."
Your father prides himself on being a gracious host, so he does not let that comment show on his face. He is proud of Fawnton, you know, have always known. This place is House Cafferen's legacy; it is where that legacy will continue. The castle is well maintained, clean, and kept from getting too drafty. It is no extravagant thing, but it is warm and safe.
You hope that Aerion might at least see its attempt at being noble. "We have a fair garden. " You offer with a smile; it is, after all, your favorite place. But as you speak, you realize who you are speaking to, son of Dyanna Dayne, owner of one of the most illustrious Dornish gardens in Westeros. "Though," You add quickly, "I am sure little could live up to Princess Dyanna's gardens."
Aerion hums, "You will have to show me, and I will tell you if it can compare."
Valarr reaches for his goblet, not so quick as Aerion to speak so boldly. Considering his words, perhaps with more thorough thought. "There are many gardens in Westeros, all more lovely than the last. I find it matters most what one feels toward a garden, not the garden itself. I have such fond memories as a boy sitting in one of the gardens in the Red Keep, and it was not the flower gardens it is most known for."
"Well spoken, your grace." Your mother says, "Our daughter has always had such a fondness for our godswood. When she was a girl she would drag her toys out to play."
Valarr grins as you hide in your wine. You're not sure it's the best idea for their first impression of you to be a girl covered in mud, dragging wooden horses around.
Your father chuckles and, to your horror, adds, "She used to climb trees, rambunctious child, to - "
"Father!" You exclaim, trying to interrupt him before he says it. Knowing full well what detail is about to leave his mouth and turn you into an embarrassed mess.
"To play dragon," Your father finishes, "She'd roar at passing servants. Gods, it made me laugh."
Valarr chuckles, "You and my cousin have that in common then."
Aerion grunts, "It's a perfectly normal thing for a boy to do."
"Or a girl, apparently," Valarr replies lightly. There's no fight in him, just a sort of lighthearted playfulness that somehow makes you feel like you are a part of the joke and not the butt of it. There's some comfort to be found that you are not the only one at the table who climbed trees and pretended to be a dragon at the very least.
"It is a delight to have princes beneath our walls." Your father begins, trying to steer the conversation where he wants it to go. It's too abrupt; the conversation turned too sharply. You wince.
"So you've made it plain," Aerion replies. Even though he insisted on bread and salt being brought to the table, he has not touched it.
"Yes." Your father gives a smile that is more uncomfortable teeth than smile. He hates being at a disadvantage. "And it is true, but I must inquire as to the reason for your visit ... and for how long we might expect you to be thinking of joining us?"
Every day the Targaryens are in Fawnton is a day coin leaves in piles from the coffers. It is expensive to host a group of their size while keeping the standards a royal line has set for itself. He's hoping their visit is brief and the reason unimportant. Or at least valuable to the family.
Valarr and Aerion share a look; Aerion speaks, and his strange dragon language washes over you. It's like nothing you've ever heard before, gruff and somehow equally as lyrical. Valarr replies in that same tongue; the words of Old Valyria come alive in your family's hall. You try not to stare too much.
You think they might be coming to accords about something. They trade quick spoken words back and forth for a moment until Aerion gives a dramatic shrug and collapses back in his seat, fingers coming to trace the grooves of his dagger's hilt.
Whatever they were talking about, it seemed to you that Aerion was on the losing end of it. Valarr gives your father a polite smile. "Pardon us; we needed to make clear some of the finer points. My cousin and I are here for something that might seem abrupt. So I will put it plainly and hope you recognize this as the honor that it is."
He says it like he will demand it to be received as an honor and nothing else. Aerion's fiddling with his blade is only going to encourage the notion. Your father takes notice of it, the shift in the room, and the way all of Westeros seems to take a unified breath.
"I have come for your daughter's hand," Valarr says. He does not sugarcoat it and does not offer it up as a benefit to your house. No compliments accompany the words, only blunt direct statement. Not a question, not a request. He is not asking; he is telling your father how it is going to be.
You will be his wife.
The pause that fills the room is thick. You smile, unable to entirely help yourself, hand coming to cover your mouth. Your father stares not at Valarr but at you. He's calculating time, when the last time Valarr saw you was, and if he might have gotten you in a room alone. It's been too long for pregnancy to be a concern; honor stolen.
Your honor is well intact, saved for the two men sitting on your side of the table. You have a feeling it will not be for much longer.
The silence has gone on too long, but you're not surprised. There has been no warning of this, nothing to lead your family to believe that one of its own is bound for the royal family. It's as great an honor as it is a surprise.
There are two pieces of willow under your pillow that explain it all.
"My prince ... this is unexpected." Your father glances between the two of you. "House Cafferen is loyal to the crown, as it always will be, but we did not expect an offer such as this to come from, well, you."
Your parents share a look. Aerion pulls the dagger a few inches from its sheath before releasing it to fall back in place again, doing this repetitively until a tap, tap, tap of metal fills the quiet room. Valarr says nothing; he waits. Like he knows something you don't.
"I wish you had written instead of coming all this way, but we must graciously decline."
You jerk toward your father. "Why?"
He sends you a warning look, but you're not cowed so easily. Not about this of all things, the one thing you want more than anything.
"I have not had the chance to speak to you yet." Father takes mothers hand, the walls start to close in on you. "But your hand belongs to Lord Ralph Buckler."
The tap from Aerion's dagger is louder this time as he slams it home, "... Buckler?"
"Yes, your grace. We agreed to it only recently, but it's been in talks a long while."
Cold disgust washes over you. You've met Buckler before, mid-forties, and unpleasant. Always has a sneer on his face, walks into every room like he's the most important man in it. He's been married three times before, but all of his wives keep dying in the birthing bed. Six children is apparently not enough for him.
He's the last person you would want to marry. You'd be signing up to be the man's broodmare.
"Father ... I don't want to marry Lord Buckler." Your voice sounds hollow, all the hope drained out of you. A marriage already in motion means there's no undoing it. Buckler is one of the most important houses for the Cafferen family.
Without his goodwill, your family would suffer, and to deny a marriage to him for a Targaryen match sends a poor message to the others in the Stormlands on what kind of man your father is. The moment you almost get what you want, and some greedy, overzealous man swoops it away from you right before you can grasp it.
Tears prick your eyes.
"I am afraid, my dear, that sometimes we do not get to pick our matches," Your father replies. Like he expected better of you, like you should be happy to be given off to Buckler when Valarr, the blood of the dragon, rests in front of you, offering all you could ever think to need.
Wait now after reading your obsession fic I’m wondering how it would have gone if the roles were reversed?
Modern!Valarr Targaryen x Obsessed!Reader
summary: Based off Obsession (2026)’s original screenplay & my OBSESSION series.
rating: E - Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, dark fiction, obsessive behavior, unhealthy relationships, manufactured love, emotional dependency & manipulation, loss of autonomy, psychological horror, valarr is pathetic and not a good person, emotional distress, coercive control
NAVIGATION |
RING RING RING-
Valarr nearly drops his toothbrush.
Your contact photo flashes across the screen.
For a second, he just stares, then he snatches the phone up so fast toothpaste almost spills down the front of his shirt.
“Hey, (Y/N),” he answers immediately, unable to stop the smile that appears. “I was just about the call you.”
His back settles against the bathroom counter. The bathroom is quiet around him, the clock above the door clicks softly.
On the other end, he hears a long sigh. The familiar sound of keys jingling and traffic somewhere nearby.
“Hey,” you groan. “I just got off work.”
Valarr laughs softly, “That bad?”
“Horrible.” You sound exhausted.
He can picture you now; The wrinkled work shirt, the tired eyes, the way you always drag your feet after a long shift.
He closes his eyes, just listening.
“I swear every customer today woke up and decided to make my life miserable.”
“Sounds about right.”
“No, seriously-“ A loud clatter interrupts you. “Fuck!”
Valarr immediately straightens. “What happened?”
A frustrated groan is heard, “My keys.”
“What about them?”
“My crystal keychain fell off.” He hears your shoes scraping the ground, “Straight into a fucking storm drain.”
Valarr winces, “Oh..”
“Yeah.”
You laugh, “Just my luck. Oh! What time are you getting to trivia tonight?”
Valarr glances toward the clock. “Around eight.”
“I’m getting there early.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah...Gotta claim a booth before Lyonel starts a war over seating.”
Valarr snorts, “I can come earlier, if you want.”
The offer leaves his mouth before he cans stop it, so hopeful.
You laugh, “Dunc’s already meeting me there.”
“Oh.”
He hates how flat that came out, you don’t seem to notice.
“Yeah, he said he’d help us get a table, he ‘knows a guy.’”
Valarr stares at himself in the mirror, his grip tightens around the phone.
“Cool.” The word tastes bitter.
“Alright, I’m gonna go, just checking in. Don’t be late, okay?”
“Okay. See you tonight.”
The line goes dead before he finishes his sentence.
-
The second Valarr steps inside the establishment, he regretted coming.
The crystal shop smells like incense and old paper. Tiny bells jingle overhead.
Valarr wandered between shelves, eventually finding the display of keychains tucked nears the back wall. He picks up the first one he saw, the crystal glowing warm gold beneath the shop lights.
His thumb brushes the little paper tag hanging from it.
CITRINE
Gift from the Sun.
Attracts joy, prosperity, success, and positivity.
Valarr laughs quietly before heading for the register. As he walked to the front, something catches his eye.
A red display sitting on a dusty shelf, the packaging reminiscent of a 1950s toy.
GRAB YOUR ONE WISH WILLOW!
He picks up the box, turning it over and reading the back.
THE ONE WISH WILLOW.
SPARK THE MIDDLE AND BREAK IT IN HALF!
YOU ONLY GET ONE WISH, SO MAKE IT COUNT!
He stares at it for a second. Laughing once again, walking to the front counter, paying and thanking the cashier.
-
The bar is loud and crowded when Valarr arrives. Music drifts through the speakers. Glasses clink, somebody near the pool table was shouting about football.
He spots you almost immediately. You were squeezed into a booth near the back wall with Duncan and Lyonel already sitting across from you.
The second you notice him, your entire face lights up.
“Val!” You wave him over like you’d been waiting for him.
“There he is,” Lyonel announces dramatically as Valarr slides into the booth. “The final member of our incredibly mediocre trivia team.”
“We got second place last week."
“Exactly,” Lyonel says. “Mediocre.”
You laugh, Valarr felt his chest tighten. He was sitting beside you, shoulder brushing yours every time either of you moved.
“You ready to lose?” you ask.
“I thought we were trying to win.”
“We are.”
“Then why would we lose?”
You tilt your head and grin. “I don’t know. I just wanted to sound competitive.”
Your hand reaches for his knee beneath the table. Valarr immediately forgot what the conversation was about. Across from him, Lyonel watches the entire interaction happen. He gives Valarr a look that says, ‘Do it already.’ He shakes his head before looking away from Lyonel.
For the next few hours trivia came and went. Questions, drinks, arguments about answers. Lyonel insisting every other question was a ‘trick question.’ Duncan cheating by using his phone and getting caught immediately. You stealing fries off Valarr’s plate, grabbing his wrist when you got excited about a question. You leaning against his shoulder when you laugh too hard.
After plenty of questions answered and a few shots, the night comes to an end.
“Who’s ready for karaoke?” Lyonel asks.
Nobody answers.
He points toward all of you, “That’s because you’re all cowards.”
You groan dramatically. “I am going home”
Duncan looks horrified. “What?”
“I’m tired.”
“You?”
“Yes, me.”
“Karaoke is literally your thing.”
“My thing,” you inform him, “is sleeping.”
Lyonel stumbled slightly, “My background dancer is abandoning me.”
“Duncan can do it.”
Immediately Duncan stands up, without hesitation or shame. He starts to dance terribly, like a malfunctioning inflatable tube man.
“You see?” you say through laughter. “Natural talent.”
A second later, you stand up and stretch. “Can somebody take me home?”
The words had barely leaves your mouth before-
“I can.”
Everyone turns toward Valarr, your face immediately brightens.
“Thank God.” You grab onto his arm, “You’re my favorite.”
The group slowly filters into the parking lot, the warm summer air hitting their faces.
You hug Duncan and then Lyonel, giving both of them a goodbye in a sing-song tone.
Lyonel looks between you and Valarr, “Get your girl home safe.”
“Ew.” You point at him immediately, “Don’t say it like that.”
Lyonel looks toward Valarr. The look on his face says everything, ‘I am trying so hard for you.’
Valarr wanted to die. You were already walking toward his car, oblivious.
And somehow that hurt worse than if you’d done it on purpose.
-
The drive home is quiet. The radio hums softly while streetlights slide across the windshield in long golden streaks.
By the time he pulls into your driveway, the neighborhood is completely dark. Your porch light glows soft yellow, the engine ticks quietly.
You unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning over to kiss him. Valarr kisses you back immediately. One hand sliding behind your neck, the other finding your waist. Your fingers catch in his shirt, his mouth parts against yours. The alcohol still lingering on your tongue, his breathing grows uneven.
Valarr pulls away, barely. “(Y/N)…”
You immediately try to kiss him again. He laughs once, breathless.
“Wait.”
“Why?”
“Because-“
His cheeks redden; your stomach sinks. Valarr reaches into the back seat, his backpack falls forward. He digs through it nervously. You watch him fumble through the bag before groaning.
“No.”
Valarr freezes, “What?”
“No.”
“(Y/N)-“
“You always do this.” You slur out, leaning your head back against the seat. “Please don’t do this right now.”
His shoulders drop instantly, like someone cut his strings.
“You know I care about you.” You close your eyes.
“I know.”
“You know I like you.”
His jaw tightens, “I know.”
You open your eyes to stare out the windshield. At your front porch, at the safety of your front door.
“I just…I’m not looking for anything serious.” The words feel awful, because they’re true. The truth doesn’t help though.
Valarr doesn’t respond, so you keep talking.
“I’ve got work…My book.” He still doesn’t say anything, “My life is already a mess.”
You finally look at him and immediately regret it. Because he isn’t angry, he’s disappointed.
“I like this,” Your voice softens. “Us.”
Valarr laughs once, “Us?”
You wince, “Valarr…”
“I know.” His voice is calm.
You reach over, touching his arm. The way you always do. You treat him so gently, you trust him, you want him. You kiss him, you fall asleep on his shoulder during movies, you call him after work, you tell him things nobody else knows. And you’re still saying no.
“I’m sorry.” You mean it, you really do.
Valarr stares at the dashboard, then slowly nods.
“Yeah.” The word barely comes out.
You lean over and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight.”
Valarr watches as you open the door, closing it softly behind you. Watching as you disappear inside, the porch light flicks off a minute later.
Silence fills the car. For a long time, he doesn’t move, then he exhales. Drops his head against the headrest and laughs.
“Fuck.”
His hand falls into the back seat, looking for his backpack. His fingers catch the cardboard before the cold, metal chain. He pulls it forward, looking at the little red box.
ONE WISH WILLOW
He turns the box over, reading the instructions again.
SPARK THE MIDDLE AND BREAK IT IN HALF!
YOU ONLY GET ONE WISH, SO MAKE IT COUNT!
Outside, your house sits dark and silent. Valarr opens the box, the tiny branch sits inside; ridiculous, obviously fake. He wraps his hands around it anyway, the strange jingle still rings in the background of his thoughts.
Valarr shakes his head, smiling despite himself.
Then whispers, “I wish (Y/N) loved me more than anyone else in the fucking world.”
A snap is heard in the silence of the car.
He tosses the broken pieces onto the passenger side floor, dropping his forehead against the steering wheel.
From somewhere outside the car, three sharp taps against the passenger window.
He freezes, slowly turning his head.
“…What the fuck?”
You were standing outside, barefoot, still wearing the same clothes from the bar. Your makeup slightly smudged, eyes red like you’d been crying.
Valarr rolled the window down, “Hey.”
You immediately crouched slightly to look inside.
“Hi.” Your voice sounded normal, mostly.
“You okay?” he asked.
You nodded immediately, “Yeah…” Then nodded again. “Yeah.”
You kept smiling, he laughed awkwardly.
“Did you forget something?”
“No.” You shook your head. The smile on your face dropped, before returning a second later.
You leaned farther into the window. “I just wanted to talk.”
Valarr blinked, “About what?”
“You.” Your smile widened, “And me.”
“I thought you didn’t want to have that conversation.”
Your expression immediately fell, like someone had corrected you.
“Oh.” You stared at him, thinking.
Then your smile returned, bigger than before. “I was wrong.”
Valarr sat up straighter. “What?”
“I was wrong.” Same tone, same smile. Like a recorded message playing twice.
You nodded, “I don’t know why I said that.”
“(Y/N)-“
“I’m sorry.” You looked frantic. “I didn’t mean it.”
The words started coming faster:
“I was tired.”
“I’ve been stressed out recently.”
“I love being around you.”
Valarr’s chests tightened.
You smiled again, it didn’t reach your eyes.
“Can we talk? We should talk.”
You’ve barely blinked in the last few minutes.
“You should come inside.”
Valarr looked toward your house, then back at you. Something isn’t right.
“(Y/N)…are you okay?”
For the first time you hesitated, the smile flickered.
“Are you?”
“What?”
“Because I hurt your feelings.”
Valarr stared, “I mean…”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. A little.”
Your entire face crumpled, morphing into pure panic.
“Oh.” You whispered, like the idea physically hurt you.
“(Y/N)…”
Your smile snapped back into place.
“So, let’s fix it.”
The words came out bright and cheerful.
“We can go to your house.”
You opened the passenger door and climbed into the seat before he could answer. Valarr watches you the entire time, confused. You buckle your seatbelt, folding your hands in your lap, then turning toward him with that same smile.
“Let’s go.”
Valarr doesn’t start the car, the engine is still off, keys still hanging from the ignition. You sit in the passenger seat with expectantly, waiting.
Valarr sighs, “Okay.”
Your face brightens immediately, “Okay?”
“Where are your shoes?”
He points toward your feet; you blink and look down. Like you didn’t even notice the hard gravel digging into your feet seconds prior.
“Oh.”
Valarr waits, you just keep staring at your feet.
A minute later, you look back up, the smile returns.
“I forgot.”
Something about the answer makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, it doesn’t even sound like you.
“(Y/N).”
You immediately turn towards him, “Yeah?’
“Look at me.”
You already are, unblinking, watching him, waiting. The attention should feel good, but instead it feels strangely overwhelming.
“I think your tired.”
Your smile wavers. “I’m not tired.”
“I think you’re emotional.”
“I’m not.”
“You were crying.”
You immediately touch your face, confused.
“Oh.” You pause, “Because I hurt your feelings.”
The answer comes out mechanically, Valarr frowns.
“That’s not-“
“It is.” You lean closer, the smile is gone now. “I made you sad.”
Your voice drops, almost whispering. “I’m sorry.”
The apology hits his chest hard. It sounds so genuine, but it still doesn’t sound like you. Not really, not completely.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Yes, I do.”
“(Y/N)-“
“I don’t like when you’re upset.” The words tumble out immediately, without thought. “I don’t want to make you upset.”
Valarr stares, you stare back. A knot forms in his stomach. For the first time tonight, every sentence has been about him.
You suddenly sit up straighter, an idea crossing your face.
“Wait.”
Valarr blinks, “What?”
“We can fix it.” The excitement in your voice is immediate, childlike.
“We can go get drinks,” Your smile brightens, “We can go to your house…We can-“
“(Y/N).”
Your hand slides off his arm and onto his thigh, the silence drops like a guillotine.
Valarr rubs his face; exhausted, confused, a little scary. Something is obviously wrong. But then you smile, smaller this time; fragile.
“Please don’t send me home.”
The words come out so quietly he almost misses them. For the first time since he dropped you off, you sound like yourself. And somehow that’s worse.
-
By the time he reaches his house, Valarr’s nerves are shot. The conversation on the ride there felt like you’re reading from a script, one that he doesn’t have.
The second the front door closes behind him; you grab his shirt. He barely has time to react before your lips crash onto his. The kiss is desperate, messy. Your hands gripping his shoulders hard enough to hurt.
For a half a second, he kisses you back. Then reality catches up to him.
“(Y/N).”
You don’t stop.
“(Y/N).”
You’re still kissing him, still holding onto him. Like if you let go, he’ll disappear.
Valarr finally catches your wrist, gentle yet firm. You stare at him, breathing heavily. You look so confused, like he interrupted something important.
“(Y/N),” he says carefully. “You need sleep.”
The disappointment on your face is immediate.
“Oh.” The single syllable somehow makes him feel like an asshole.
“Okay.” That’s all you say before turning your back to him, stiffly walking to his bedroom.
When he reaches the bedroom, you’re sitting in his bed, the covers pulled up to your chest. Valarr lingers awkwardly in the doorway. You look strangely small sitting there.
“I’m sorry I was weird earlier.”
Valarr rubs the back of his neck, “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.”
He looks up at you; you’re staring at your hands.
“I don’t know why I was acting like that.”
For a moment, you sound completely normal. You sound like the version of you he’s known for years. The version that teases him, banters with him, looks for him in a crowded room.
His chest tightens. He walks towards you, sitting on the bed.
“It’s okay.”
You slowly nod, looking up. A tear slides down your cheek.
“I didn’t mean it.”
Valarr’s stomach drops, “You didn’t?”
The question leaves before he can stop it.
You shake your head.
“No.” Your voice breaks, “I didn’t mean it.”
You slowly reach for him, your hand resting against his jaw. You’re so warm, it feels so familiar. You lean forward, Valarr hesitates, then doesn’t.
The kiss is softer this time, slower. For a moment, everything feels normal. Your hand in his hair, his hand on your waist. Nothing feels strange or wrong.
Suddenly, you jerk away. Like someone dumped ice water over your head.
“Valarr?”
You stare at him, the room, then look down at yourself. Confusion flashes across your face.
“What happened?”
Valarr freezes, “What?”
You blink rapidly, looking around. At the bed, the walls, the dark room. Your breathing speeds up.
“Why am I here?”
For a second, genuine fear crosses your face. Then you frown, like you’re trying to remember something.
“Wait.” A long pause passes, “What was I-“
The sentence dies halfway through; your eyes lose focus.
“(Y/N)?”
You stare past him, past his shoulder, toward the wall past the bedframe.
Then your expression smooths out, the confusion and fear disappear.
You smile, “Oh.”
Your hand finds his, “There you are.”
Valarr stares at you, his pulse is pounding.
“What?”
You blink, “What?”
“You just asked why you were here.”
The smile doesn’t leave your face. “No, I didn’t.”
“You did.”
A small laugh escapes you like he’s the one acting strange.
“Valarr, I’m literally sitting right here.”
“You didn’t know where you were.”
Something flickers behind your eyes; it’s gone in the matter of seconds.
“I think I’m just tired.”
The answer comes fast, too neat. You lean forward, resting your head against his shoulder.
“I had a panic attack.”
Valarr’s stomach twists, the way you say it sounds so rehearsed.
“A panic attack?”
“Yeah.” You nod, “A panic attack.”
The exact tone, the same cadence. Like you’re reading from a cue card. Valarr studies your face, you don’t seem nervous or embarrassed. You’re content, like everything is exactly how it should be.
“I think you should sleep.”
“Okay.”
He gets up, grabbing a pillow and a spare blanket from the closet.
Your smile falters, “What are those for?”
“The floor.”
You sit up slightly, “But the bed is right here.”
“I know.”
“Oh.” The disappointment is immediate, genuinely crushed.
“You don’t want to sleep next to me? You always sleep with me when we’re together.”
He freezes, forcing a laugh.
“I just think you need to rest.”
You stare at him, before slowly nodding.
“Okay.”
The room goes quiet. Valarr turns off the lamp, darkness settles across the bedroom. The television around the corner hums faintly through the floor. He lies down on the pallet, fully awake. You lie in bed. It’s silent for a while, long enough that he starts convincing himself he’s overreacting.
“Valarr?” Your voice cuts through the darkness. Its soft, barely above a whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
His breath catches, the room suddenly feels very still. You’ve never said that before. And instead of that making him happy, it makes him feel sick.
-
The room stays quiet after that, Valarr lies on the floor staring at the ceiling, you lie in bed beside him. Neither of you have moved.
He checks the clock:
2:13 AM
2:37 AM
3:04 AM
Sleep never comes, every time he closes his eyes he hears your voice. Your confusion, your fear, your confession.
I love you.
They make his stomach turn; it sounded like something trying to sound like you.
Eventually he gives up, carefully sitting up. The bed doesn’t move, you don’t react, your beathing remains slow and even.
The fluorescent light makes everything look pale. He grips the sink and stares at himself in the mirror. He looks exhausted, eyes bloodshot. He splashes cold water onto his face, letting it drip from his jaw.
Valarr freezes, his eyes lift toward behind his reflection.
A figure stands in the doorway, perfectly still. You. Wearing one of his shirts, your hair falls messily around your face, hands limply at your side. You don’t move or blink. Just stare at him.
He presses a hand against his chest, trying to restart his heart.
“Jesus Christ.”
The silence stretches. Then-
“Where were you?”
The question is soft, almost childish.
Valarr frowns, “What?”
You tilt your head slightly, “Where were you?”
“I-uhm…Went to the bathroom.”
Relief immediately floods your face, so intense it almost looks painful.
“Oh.” You nod; a smile slowly spreads across your face. “I thought you left.”
The words barely rise above a whisper. You look genuinely terrified for a split second, then it disappears. You smile again, too wild, too fast.
“Silly me.”
Valarr stares, you stare back. Neither of you move.
Finally, he clears his throat. “You should be sleeping.”
“Okay.”
No argument, no hesitation, just obedience.
You turn, walking back down the hallway. He watches as you slowly disappear around the corner. Then he looks back at the mirror, at his own reflection. For the first time all night, he finds himself wondering what’s happening to you.
-
The sun filters through the blinds in thin golden strips.
Valarr wakes slowly. For a moment, he doesn’t think about the night before. The wish, the crying, the bedroom, you standing in the doorway at three in the morning asking where he’d gone. His eyes snap toward the bed, its empty. The blankets are rumpled, pillows indented.
Valarr sits up, the house is quiet. His pulse finally slowing. Maybe you left, maybe you woke up embarrassed and went home. Maybe the entire night was some alcohol-fueled fever dream.
A laugh escapes him, “Jesus Christ.”
He rubs a hand over his face, then notices your bag sitting beside the bedroom door. The laugh dies instantly.
When he leaves the bedroom, the smell hits him first; eggs, coffee, something sweet. The kitchen comes into view and there you are.
You’re standing in the doorway, one of his shirts hanging off your frame, a plate balanced carefully between your hands. Your smile doesn’t waver, but your legs are shaking. Tiny tremors running through your knees, like you’ve been standing there for a long time.
The moment your eyes meet his, your face brightens.
“Good morning, baby.”
The pet name makes him freeze.
You hold the plate out, “I made you breakfast.”
“…Hi.” Valarr stops halfway into the room, “Morning.”
Your smile widens, “Morning.”
“How long have you been awake?”
“A while.” The answer comes immediately.
“I wanted to make breakfast for you.”
Valarr hesitates before taking the plate, your fingers brush his. They’re ice cold. You immediately skip toward the table. You sit down before looking at him, waiting for him to sit down.
He slowly takes the chair beside you. The eggs are cold. He takes a bite; you stare at him intensely. Your hair and makeup are done perfectly, like you’ve spent hours preparing for this.
He glances around the kitchen, there’s a few pans and utensils in the sink, nothing else.
His eyes return to you, “Have you eaten?”
“Yes.” The answer is immediate, without thinking.
“Don’t worry about me.” You fold your hands together. “You should eat.”
He lowers his fork, “…Uh…”
He’s interrupted by his phone ringing. He practically jumps out of his seat, snatching the phone off the counter.
Lyonel.
“I gotta take this.”
You nod eagerly, “Okay.”
Valarr pushes the half-eaten plate toward you, “Eat.”
Your smile brightens, immediately picking up the fork and taking a bite.
He turns away to answer the call. “Hey, what’s up.”
“Dude, what the fuck is going on?”
Valarr blinks, “What?”
“(Y/N) called the office this morning and quit.”
The blood drains from his face, “What?”
“I said they quit.”
Valarr slowly turns. You’re staring at him from the table, just smiling. He immediately turns his back.
“I-I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“They’re here right now.”
Lyonel laughs, “So what? They finally agreed to date you?”
Valarr’s eye twitched, “No.”
The word comes out louder than intended.
He lowers his voice, “No. I mean…Maybe? I don’t know.”
“What?”
He rubs his forehead. “I think something’s wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know…I think they’re having some kind of breakdown.”
Lyonel whistles, “Damn.”
“They aren’t acting like themselves.”
“So, you brought them home?”
“They asked to come over.”
Lyonel groans, “Valarr.”
“What?”
“If they’re having a mental breakdown, don’t make this about your crush.”
“That is not what I’m doing.”
“Sure.”
“It isn’t.”
Before Lyonel can answer, a voice appears directly behind him.
“Who are you talking to?”
Valarr nearly drops the phone. You stand inches away, close enough that he can see every detail of your expression. Your smile is gone, your eyes are sharp, they look hungry.
Valarr hangs up immediately, “It was Lyonel.”
The tension vanishes; your smile returns.
“Oh.” You clasp your hands together, “What were you talking about?”
You tilt your head to the side, “Was it about me?”
Valarr doesn’t answer right away, your smile starts slipping.
“He said you quit your job.”
Immediately your face brightens.
“I did!”
Valarr flinches.
“I wanted more time with you.”
You say it like it’s obvious, like that’s a perfectly normal reason to quit your job overnight.
“I didn’t like working there anyways.”
That was a lie. Valarr knew it was a lie. He remembered every conversation, every story, every complaint. It was always followed with: ‘It sucks sometimes, but I actually really love working there.’
“(Y/N)…Are you okay? You’re not acting like yourself.”
For the first time all morning, your smile disappears completely. You look genuinely confused.
“How do I normally act?”
The question catches him off guard. It’s not defensive or angry, you ask it out of curiosity. Like you honestly don’t know.
After several seconds, your smile returns.
“Oh well.” You wave a hand dismissively. “When you’re at work, I can work on my book.”
Valarr feels exhausted, like he’s speaking to three different people.
“Look,” He takes a deep breath. “I’m gonna get ready for work.”
You nod.
“I’m gonna take you home.”
You nod again.
“I think you need some sleep.”
For a second, he braces himself. Waiting for an argument, for the tears, the panic. Instead, you laugh, it sounds so normal. It sounds so much like you, it almost hurts.
“That’s fine, Valarr.”
He blinks, “What?”
You shrug, “I’m ready to go home anyway.”
For the first time since he dropped you off, everything feels normal. Somehow that scares him more than anything else.
You smile and walk into the living room, sitting perfectly still on the couch. Waiting for him to finish getting ready.
-
Valarr is halfway through folding a shirt when he realizes he’s folded the same one three times. The television drones quietly in the background. He exhales through his nose. His laptop sits open on the coffee table:
Signs of mental breakdowns
Suddent personality changes
Memory loss
Beside the laptop sits the little red box, the broken branch still rests inside. Valarr reaches for his phone, thumb hovering over your contact.
Before he presses call, a knock interrupts him. Three slow taps. His stomach tightens as he walks to the front door and opens it.
You stand on the porch. Hair styled, a soft dress he’d never seen before catches the evening breeze.
“Hi, Valarr.”
He blinks, “…(Y/N)?”
A smile pulls his lips despite himself, “What’s up?”
You look down at your dress, “I had to shower. I didn’t know what to wear.”
Valarr laughs, “Wear to what?”
Another small shrug, “I just wanted to look nice.”
A silence settles between you. You shift awkwardly from one foot to the other.
“Listen…” Your voice softens, “I’m really sorry about last night. Lyonel said you were freaked out.”
His shoulders loosen; he scratches the back of his neck.
“No, it’s…It’s fine.”
“I was drunk.”
Valarr’s eyebrows rise.
“Very drunk… Yeah…”
Relief washes over him. That explains it, it has to.
“Do you…remember?”
He can’t quite look at you, you don’t answer immediately. Your eyes drift toward the street.
“Yeah…I was weird…” A weak laugh comes from you.
Your expression changes, it looks like concern masked as guilt.
“I want to be transparent with you.”
“You don’t have to explain-“
“I feel like…”
The sentence stops. You slowly turn around, your back faces him. For a second nothing happens, then your shoulders begin shaking.
Valarr’s smile disappears, “…(Y/N)?”
The shaking grows stronger; a quiet laugh escapes you. It gets louder and louder.
“(Y/N)…”
The laughter stops instantly; you turn around. Your face is completely blank.
“I know you like me, Valarr.”
His stomach drops, “…What?”
“I know you like me.”
The words are flat, matter-of-fact.
He blinks several times, “…Well…”
You continue staring, no smile, no teasing, just waiting.
“Do you…”
Your head tilts.
“…Like me?”
A smile stretches across your face, “You already know the answer.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
Your smile brightens, “Of course, Valarr!”
He studies your face, “How long would you say you’ve felt this way?”
“I don’t know.” You answer immediately.
“It just…” You press your fingertips against your temple, “…last night…”
A tiny crease forms between your brows, your breathing catches. For a second, you look frightened.
“I don’t know.”
Then you smile again, “The more we’ve been together the more I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
You look directly into his eyes; your smile is so bright compared to the darkness behind you.
“I love you so so so much.”
The distance between you disappears. You gently grab the front of his shirt, wrapping both arms around him. Your forehead rests against his shoulder. Valarr’s arm slowly settles around your back. Neither of you speak. His eyes stay open, looking over your shoulder, at the broken branch beside his laptop. His expression doesn’t match yours.
idk where to go from here but lmk if u want a pt 2
How would things had gone if Dunk confessed his feelings to reader sooner?
Click here to read OBSESSION!
I don’t really know tbh 😭😭
I think there’s a few ways it could go:
(BEFORE THE WISH) Duncan confesses & Reader reciprocates: The happy ending :D
Valarr would be devastated when Reader told him they were finally moving on. Valarr would absolutely hate it, I can see him being uninvited to trivia nights after a very heated argument between Dunk & Valarr fueled by alcohol & jealousy.
Reader would have their chance to move on & Valarr has the chance to heal, until he receives a One Wish Willow a few months later.
(AFTER THE WISH) Duncan confesses & Reader reciprocates:
This one sucks so bad for Reader & Dunk
Because even if Reader finally realizes they love Duncan, it no longer matters anymore, the confession changes nothing.
Reader can tell Duncan they love him back. They can cry in his arms. They can beg him not to leave. None of it changes what the wish already did to Valarr.
The obsession doesn't care who Reader loves. The obsession only cares who Reader belongs to.
And even if Valarr doesn’t kill Duncan, he would become painfully aware of this almost immediately. Every conversation feels watched. Every moment alone feels borrowed. Every time Reader reaches for Duncan, Valarr is there.
Smiling.
Patiently waiting.
Refusing to let go.
And eventually Duncan would have to realize the horrible truth that Reader may love him, but Reader isn't free enough to choose him anymore.
(AFTER THE WISH) Duncan confesses & Reader doesn’t reciprocate:
For a while, Duncan tries to convince himself that's okay.
Then he watches Valarr.
And for the first time, Duncan starts understanding why someone would use a One Wish Willow in the first place.
Because they're desperate.
Because rejection hurts.
Because loving someone who doesn't love you back feels unbearable.
Would Duncan actually make the wish?
Maybe.
He'd genuinely be tempted.
And once someone starts believing they deserve love badly enough to force it, they're already standing a lot closer to the edge than they'd ever admit.
Ngl i cant wait to read the next part of Obsession 🤩 i can just imagine them sitting on the couch, watching the TV, their other persona relaxed and asleep. And theyre just...there. Talking in whispers. And it got me kind of thinking:
Will there be in the future chapters where, miraculously, their personas split away from them? Like another seperate body for the other persona? Valarr looking at "Valarr". Y/N looking at "Y/N".
Ngl if that ever happened, these two are haunted af for the rest of their lives 😭 Y/N escaping from "Valarr". And Valarr escaping from "Y/N".
Oohhh this is such an AMAZING horror concept 🤩
I imagine the real versions of them are still in there in some way. The way I imagine the obsession works is like being possessed and trapped behind glass. There are moments where the real person manages to surface for a few seconds, but they're fighting against something much stronger than themselves.
So yes, there are definitely times where the real Valarr and the real Reader come back. Sometimes they're aware of what's happening. Sometimes they aren't. Sometimes they only catch fragments.
I also imagine that as time goes on, those moments of breaking out of the obsession become rarer. The obsession is constantly reinforcing itself. Every obsessive thought, every act of devotion, every reassurance feeds it. The longer it exists, the less room there is for the original person.
I don’t think there will be another chapter in this series, I actually really enjoy how Chapter 3 ends :3
That said, I could write little bonus fics, like where the real versions of them briefly surface at 3 AM while the obsessive versions are "asleep" and just sit there whispering to each other about how unbelievably screwed they are 😭
summary: valarr has always wanted you, but you've never let him get close. he accepts this like the good prince he is, until one day he stumbles upon your secret and uses it to his advantage
warnings: manipulation, gaslighting, brief mention of sex, dark!valarr, mention of murder/blood, illicit affair, it's insinuated that you're related but not explicitly stated in what way, no description of reader except silver hair
Valarr, who has always been the picture perfect heir. He's kind and chivalrous and patient, firmly on the side of sanity in the Targaryen coin toss.
Except, sometimes, when it comes to you. He hides it well, his little obsession, behind polite smiles and gentle touches. Even when you brush him off, when he sees you dancing too long with some northern lord. Even when it burns him inside.
He understands. You're a princess. A maiden. Your image has to be as perfect as his. There can be no question when it comes to your virtue, and he tells himself that's why you act uninterested, why you don't fall at his feet like every other woman in the kingdom.
He convinces himself that no matter how much you want him too, and he's sure you do, things have to be done properly. Formally.
And that's exactly what he's coming to talk to you about that night, the night he finds your door unguarded, ajar, candlelight spilling through the gap and illuminating a small slice of the hallway.
At first, he panics, ready to rush into the room, hand gripping his sword and his heart pounding in his chest.
Then he hears it. Soft, so low that at first he tells himself his mind is playing tricks on him. Then it comes again.
Heavy breaths, your voice cracking as you moan, a little whimper that takes his breath away. His feet are moving before he even realises what he's doing, and he's looking through that gap, and he sees you, your dim silhouette moving on the bed, bare skin he's only dreamt of touching, and you're letting some knight desecrate it.
Royal skin, flush with dragon's blood, with his blood. Rough hands are tangled in your silver hair, pulling, and you like it. He's never felt like this before, this heat, this energy, this rage. He has nowhere to put it, no way to tame this beast that's reared its head, and he briefly wonders if this is what Aerion feels like all the time. He almost understands why his cousin thinks himself a dragon. Valarr feels like he could breathe flames right now.
He's seconds from storming into your room, from painting it Targaryen red, when he stops. Thinks. He's always been good at thinking.
And he plans. And then he backs away, into the night, and he waits.
It's a week before he can corner you alone. He catches you in your room after dinner, your maid dismissed, concern written clear across his face as you let him in. He avoids glancing at your bed, pushing down the image of what he saw there just nights ago. He forces himself to pull back his anger. He has to stay composed if he wants this to work.
It has to work.
He quiet for a moment, stuttering. Like he's nervous, like he hasn't planned exactly what to say already.
He stumbles through his confession, watching as your expression grows more horrified by the second.
"...and so you see, I have no choice. I have to tell my father. A Knight of the Kingsguard, breaking his vows so carelessly. Taking your honour. It cannot be allowed to go unpunished."
There are tears in his eyes, pain etched into his features, performance so convincing that the gods would believe it.
You beg and you cry, and when you fall to your knees, he barely bites back a smirk.
"Please, Valarr. They'll kill him, you know they will," you sob, and he feels that heat flare up again as you beg for the life of your lover, for a nobody, for someone so beneath you it's laughable.
"Shh, sweet girl," he soothes, crouching before you, letting his fingers trace the tears on your cheeks. "He has broken his vows. He has tainted that which he swore to protect, he has poisoned your mind. The gods will give him the punishment he deserves."
"No! You don't understand, it's not like that. He's good, I swear it, please, I'll stop, we'll stop, I'll never even look at him again, just...please, do not do this."
You cling to him desperately, fingers tangling in his shirt, and he pretends to think. Lets you see the hesitation, dig your claws into it.
"Please, if you care for me at all, you will not tell. It would ruin me, Valarr."
He sighs, closes his eyes as he brings his forehead to yours. He lets you think you've won.
"It can never happen again."
"No! Never! I swear it!"
"And he'll be reassigned. He cannot be allowed to guard you, not anymore. I'll come up with something, some excuse."
You're nodding, eyes wide, and something inside of him purrs. He has you now, right where he wants you. Hook, line, and...
"And of course, it cannot be discovered that you are no longer a maiden. Think of the humiliation, the shame. Any proper lord would take one look at those perfectly white sheets on your wedding night and know that they had been deceived."
He lets the realisation weigh on you, the brief flare of panic darting back into your eyes.
"But I understand. How you were manipulated," he mumbles, voice soft, hand stroking down your neck, feeling your pulse quicken under his thumb. "I won't let this be your ruin. I'll speak to father. He'll propose the betrothal to yours, and we'll be wed before we know it. No one else has to ever know about this silly little mistake. I'll make sure of it."
You let your body fall into his, let him hold you. You know you have no other choice, that you've dug yourself into this hole, that Valarr alone can help get you out of it.
You bury your face against him, and he finally lets himself smile over your shoulder, lets the dragon inside of him out, just for a moment.
summary: (Y/n) has spent years trapped in a messy, emotionally charged situationship with Valarr Targaryen. But after a drunken birthday wish, Valarr’s feelings suddenly become impossible to ignore. (Inspired by Obsession 2026).
rating: E - Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, dark fiction, obsessive behavior, unhealthy relationships, manufactured love, emotional dependency & manipulation, loss of autonomy, psychological horror, reader is not a good person, possessive behavior, emotional distress, self-harm, emotional abuse, murder, coercive control, vomiting, mental breakdowns, blood, idk man everything ig
NAVIGATION | CHAPTER THREE
Duncan’s blood is drying on your skin.
You notice the smell first.
Metal. Wet carpet. The sharp bite of bleach from somewhere nearby. Your body is shaking so hard that your teeth keep clicking together.
Valarr’s hands are under your arms before you realize he’s moving.
“Come here, baby.”
You let him guide you down the hallway, your legs aren’t really yours anymore.
The bathroom light is too bright. It burns your eyes. Valarr lifts you onto the counter and steps between your knees. His shirt is smeared dark at the sleeves. He doesn’t seem to notice or care.
“Look at me.”
You can’t.
He wets a washcloth under the faucet. The water runs pink.
“There we go,” he murmurs, wiping your cheek with impossible gentleness. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
The cloth pauses beneath your left eye.
“You won’t have to leave again after tonight,” he says softly, almost like a promise. “I’ll take care of everything. You can stay with me. I’ll make sure nothing bad ever happens to you again.”
Your stomach twists. The faucet keeps running, pink water spirals down the drain.
You finally lift your eyes.
Over Valarr’s shoulder, through the bathroom doorway, you can see the edge of the living room.
Duncan’s hair.
Duncan’s eyes.
Still open.
Staring.
A sound escapes your throat before you can stop it.
Valarr immediately turns your face towards him. “Hey. Hey, you don’t need to look at that.” He cups your face with both hands. “Stay with me. Just look at me.”
He wipes another streak from your jaw. You hold your breath as you stare at the wallpaper with tiny blue flowers on it. Duncan complained about it when he first moved in. You remember laughing. You remember-
The cloth brushes your cheek.
You flinch, Valarr immediately freezes.
Valarr notices your expression, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He kisses your temple. His lips are warm. His hands are steady.
“You know I love you right?” He whispers
The words land in the room like a curse.
“You know that, right?”
-
He leaves you in the bathroom as he begins cleaning.
You hear his footsteps move through the apartment with frightening tranquility. Going through closets and cabinets.
You lean to the side to look into the living room, Valarr works methodically, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight with concentration. Duncan is wrapped in the living room rug. The weight of the dead body shakes the floor every time Valarr lets go of it. You hear him struggling, grunting.
The sound of the rug scraping across the floor makes your skin crawl.
You slide from the counter, your legs nearly giving out. The world spins as you catch yourself on the sink.
You walk closer to the doorway, your eyes drift across the room.
The couch, the coffee table, a knocked-over lamp, the cracked-
Something small sticking out of Duncan’s overturned bag.
A long triangular box with large red text.
Slowly, you move towards it, picking it up.
The cardboard box feels heavy in your hand, the cartoon faces smile at you.
ONE WISH WILLOW
Your pulse stutters.
Duncan’s.
Unused. Still sealed.
Hope hits you so suddenly it hurts your chest.
It drops to your stomach as footsteps approach the front door.
Before you can think, you grab it and shove it beneath your sweater, pressing it against your stomach.
Valarr returns seconds later, breathing harder than before.
He doesn’t notice. If he does, he doesn’t say anything.
“Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s go.”
-
He carries you to the car.
You don’t remember the drive, only flashes.
Streetlights sliding across the windshield, Valarr’s hand on your knee. The box hidden underneath your sweater.
When he stops the car, you realize you’re on a bridge.
The river below is black and endless.
Valarr gets out.
You hear the trunk open.
Then the sound of something heavy being dragged.
You don’t look up until the splash comes.
The impact echoes up from the water.
SPLASH
You flinch so hard your shoulder slams into the door.
Valarr returns a moment later, he slides into the driver’s seat and immediately reaches for you.
“Hey.” His thumb wipes a tear from your cheek. “Don’t cry, baby. It’s over.”
You stare at him.
Outside, the river keeps moving.
Inside, the One Wish Willow digs into your stomach like a splinter.
The drive home feels endless.
Neither of you speak.
The windshield wipers drag back and forth across the glass, smearing rainwater into distorted streaks of yellow and white. Every passing streetlight flashes across Valarr’s face.
Sometimes he looks normal.
Sometimes he doesn’t.
You stop looking.
Your fingers remain pressed against your stomach the entire drive.
Valarr notices eventually.
His hand slides over yours.
You nearly jump out of your skin.
“Cold?’
You don’t answer.
His thumb strokes your knuckles.
“You’ll feel better when we get home.”
You stare out the window, the river long gone now.
Duncan is long gone now, somewhere beneath black water.
You look at Valarr’s hands; steady, unshaking.
Lines of red beneath his fingernails.
You squeeze your eyes shut.
-
Valarr guides you upstairs, his hands on your waist. He turns your body to enter the bedroom.
He sets you carefully on bed, your back meeting the bed frame. Immediately, he drops to his knees beside you.
Checking your face, legs, and hands. Checking for injuries, for damage.
“Do you need anything?”
You shake your head.
“Water?”
No response.
“Food?”
No response.
“Are you still cold?”
No response.
His face falls slightly. It almost makes you feel bad.
Then you remember Duncan’s eyes. Still open, staring directly at you.
The guilt dies, fast.
Valarr reaches for your hands. You let him.
His hands are walm. Yours feel cold, almost numb.
“We’ll figure this out.”
The conviction in his voice is terrifying.
“It’s just us now.”
Something inside your chest cracks.
His smile returns, “Nobody is ever going to take you away from me again.”
You stare at him.
At the man you wished for. At the man you ruined.
The hidden One Wish Willow still presses against your ribs.
The second Valarr leaves the room to answer a phone call, you drop to your knees beside a dark wooden dresser. Your fingers shake so badly you nearly drop the triangular box.
The packaging catches against the wood. For a horrible second, you think it’s stuck. Then it disappears beneath the dresser.
You shove your foot under the dresser, pushing the box further back under the dresser just as footsteps approach.
-
The television stays on constantly, day and night. You don’t know why. Maybe Valarr thinks the noise helps. Maybe he’s afraid of silence. You don’t want to find out.
The room never becomes dark, never peaceful, never still.
Cartoons, sitcoms, romcoms, new reports, infomercials. The voices blur together.
You barely hear them anymore.
You stop eating, food simply stops making sense.
Valarr tries anyway.
The first night he makes your favorite meal. You watch him as he carries the plates upstairs. His face full of hope, like a child showing off a drawing.
“Look.”
He sets it in front of you, “I remembered extra cheese.”
The smell immediately turns your stomach.
You manager two bites. On the third, you vomit on your lap, on Valarr’s shirt he put you in after the bath he set for you a few hours before, in the plate of food he painstakingly made for you.
A second later, Valarr is beside you. Holding your hair, rubbing circle against your back.
“It’s okay.” His voice cracks.
You don’t know whether he’s comforting you or himself.
-
Every time.
Every fucking time you close your eyes, he’s there.
Duncan.
Just his eyes. Open, unmoving, staring directly at you.
You wake up screaming, Valarr nearly falls out of bed trying to reach you.
“Baby.”
His hands grab your face. “Baby?”
You can’t breathe. You can’t stop shaking.
You can’t stop seeing him.
“Duncan.”
The name slips out accidentally.
The room goes silent. Valarr freezes, just for a second, but you notice.
His hands stop moving, his expression goes blank. Completely blank, like someone unplugged him.
The look lasts less than a heartbeat. Then it’s gone, replaced by panic.
But you’ve already seen it, and once you’ve saw it, you can’t stop seeing it.
-
You start paying attention. That horrible blank stare. A few seconds at a time, a glitch, a crack. A fracture running through whatever this thing has turned him into.
Maybe he’s just as trapped as you are.
The television is playing some sitcom you’ve seen a hundred times before. Someone says something funny, the audience erupts in laughter.
The sound makes your skin crawl.
Valarr sits beside you. His hand rests on your knee; his thumb moves in slow circles.
You stare at the screen, pretending to watch.
Then the movement stops. Slowly, you turn your head.
Valarr is staring at the television, completely motionless.
The room suddenly feels quieter.
“Valarr?”
Nothing, the sitcom audience laughs again.
“Valarr?”
His eyes slowly shift, meeting yours. “What day is it?”
The question catches you off guard, “What?”
“What day is it?” His voice sounds rough, like he hasn’t spoken in years.
Your heart hammers, “Thursday, I-I think.”
Valarr stares, the muscles in his jaw twitch.
“What happened?” The words barely leave his mouth.
You sit upright, “What do you mean?”
His eyes narrow, not at you, past you. Like he’s trying to remember something.
“What happened?”
You open your mouth.
Before you can answer, Valarr blinks. The confusion vanishes.
His hand squeezes your knee, “There you are.”
You freeze; his smile returns. Wrong, familiar.
“I missed you.”
-
You’re standing in the bathroom brushing your teeth. Valarr is sitting on the closed toilet lid, watching you.
The mirror catches his reflection; you almost miss it.
His expression changes instantly.
You stop brushing. Valarr is staring at his own reflection, his eyebrows pull together slightly.
“Valarr?”
His breathing changes. Sharp, uneven.
His eyes flick downward to his hands.
Then the bruises covering his arms, the scratches, the marks.
His face loses what little color remained.
“What the fuck…” The words are barely audible.
Valarr jerks upright so fast the toilet lid bounces off the base.
His eyes lock onto yours. For a split second, you think he’s remembering everything.
Duncan, the bridge, the blood.
Instead, his entire body goes rigid, like something grabbed him and pulled him back in his head.
His eyes unfocus, then refocus.
“Baby?” The smile returns. Artificial.
You stare at him; the toothbrush gripped tightly in your hand.
The repeated word makes you sick to your stomach.
-
The television drones on, it’s been on for hours.
The sound has stopped meaning anything, it’s just noise filling space so silence doesn’t get a chance to form.
Valarr is talking beside you. His voice rises and falls like he’s telling a story you were supposed to follow.
You didn’t catch the beginning, or the middle. Or anything at all.
You stare straight ahead, past him. Your eyes land on the dresser without meaning to.
Pressed into darkness like it might rot if it’s found, your last chance.
Your last mistake.
Valarr’s voice pauses, “Baby?”
You don’t move.
“Baby?” His tone shifts slightly.
Quieter now, careful.
The room is smaller.
The television is too loud.
The thoughts arrive uninvited.
Duncan is dead.
It’s your fault.
Something inside your chest caves in.
The first object hits the floor before you realize you’ve moved.
The television remote.
It cracks against the wall hard enough that plastic scatters across the carpet like bone fragments.
“Baby-“
You don’t hear him finish; your hands are already reaching.
A lamp, it shatters against the coffee table. Glass jumps across the surface like it’s alive for half a second before dying out.
Your breathing turns jagged, uneven, too loud in your ears.
You are on your knees now, without remembering the fall. Your hands are shaking so violently you can barely see them.
You gasp, but it breaks apart before it becomes words. “I can’t do this anymore!”
Valarr moves immediately. He drops to the floor beside you, close enough that you can feel his presence without seeing him fully.
“Baby,” he says quickly, hands reaching.
Always reaching.
“Don’t-don’t touch me!”
He stops, like he’s been physically interrupted.
You drag yourself backward on the floor, your palms slip against the carpet, your breathing stutters.
“I can’t,” you repeat again, but now it sounds different. Like you’re telling it to yourself more than him.
“You’re okay,” he says. But it doesn’t sound like reassurance, it sounds like an instruction.
And something in that breaks the last thread you were holding onto.
You shake your head violently, “No.”
Your voice cracks immediately. “No, no-“
Your eyes lock onto him, and everything that’s been building inside you spills out at once.
“You are not him!”
The words land wrong.
Too loud.
Too real.
The room goes still, Valarr doesn’t move.
Doesn’t speak, just freezes.
“What?” He says quietly after a moment.
“I don’t want you,” you choke out.
The sentence feels like tearing something out of your chest.
“I don’t want you.” Your voice breaks completely.
“I want Valarr!”
His face shifts.
“I am him,” he says immediately.
Too certain.
“No,” you whisper.
Tears are already blurring your vision.
“No, you’re not.”
You push yourself backward again, scrambling, desperate for space that doesn’t exist.
“You’re not him.”
The repetition becomes a rhythm.
A prayer.
A warning.
Valarr slowly follows you. He’s controlled, like he’s tracking you.
“I can be whatever you want me to be,” he says, voice trembling now. “I’ll do anything.”
“No,” you sob.
“Anything,” he insists. “I’ll change.”
Your breath breaks completely. “You can’t.”
“I can.”
“You can’t be him!”
The words finally snap something open inside him.
He goes rigid, entire body locking like a wire pulled into tight.
He stands slightly, just enough that his shadow falls over you completely.
The calm breaks.
“I AM VALARR!”
The shout detonates through the room.
You flinch so hard your entire body curls inward. A broken sound leaves your throat; half sob, half panic.
And then-
Wet.
Warmth, spreading fast.
Humiliating.
Your entire body goes still in horror as your mind lags behind understanding.
You stare at the puddle beneath your legs. You can’t move. You can’t speak.
Valarr stares too; at you, at the floor below you.
The anger is gone instantly, like it never existed.
“Oh,” he says quietly.
“Oh, baby.”
The sound is different now, empty.
He drops to his knees again immediately. “I’m sorry,” he says.
You fall into his chest, there’s nowhere else left to fall.
-
That night, Valarr falls asleep with his arm around your waist.
Or at least, you think he does.
The television flickers softly across the room. Some late-night informercial drones in the darkness. The blue light washes over the ceiling in slow pulses.
You stare upward. You haven’t slept, not really. Every time you close your eyes, you see Duncan.
Every time you drift off, you wake up choking on panic.
Beside you, Valarr breathes steady. His arm is heavy across your back like a leash disguised as affection.
His fingers twitch, you freeze. The room feels impossibly still.
“Don’t move like that.”
The voice is so quiet you almost miss it.
Your entire body locks. Slowly, carefully, you turn your head.
Valarr is staring at the ceiling. His expression is blank, he looks exhausted.
“V-Valarr?”
“Shh. You’ll wake him up.”
“Who?” You barely breath out.
“It’s not me, (Y/N).” His eyes slide toward yours.
Immediately, fear floods your chest.
“N-No. You are Valarr.”
You hate how desperate you sound.
“He’ll wake up if you’re too loud.” He whispers, not moving an inch.
When he opens his eyes again, they look wet.
“He’s not me.” He says quietly but firmly.
Your eyes burn, “Valarr…”
“Keep your voice down.” The warning comes instantly, sharp.
His eyes dart toward the television, then to you.
“What happened?” The question comes out harsh, demanding.
You feel tears gathering instantly.
His voice cracks, “What did I do?”
You cover your face, shoulders shaking.
“I didn’t know.” The words barely make it out.
Valarr freezes.
“I didn’t know it was real.”
You force yourself to look at him, at the real him. The version you’ve been searching for. The version you’ve been mourning while he sat beside you.
“I wished for it.”
Valarr doesn’t move, doesn’t blink.
“I thought it was a joke.”
Tears spill down your face. “I thought it was fake.”
Valarr remains silent, only his expression changes. Devastation.
He breaks the silence with a harsh whisper, “You could’ve left me alone, but you did this?”
You start to cry harder, “I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t even give me a choice.”
You physically recoil, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You push out of your breath. “B-but I can fix this!” You scramble off the bed, towards the dresser.
“I can fix this,” and “I’m sorry,” spill out of your mouth like a disoriented prayer as you rush toward the dresser, socks slipping on the ground.
Your knees slam against the floor, you barely feel it.
Behind you, Valarr stands.
“(Y/N), what are you doing?”
Your hands disappear beneath the dresser; dust coats your fingers. Your nails scrape the wood. For a moment, you can’t find it. Your fingers grasp it, pulling yourself off the floor.
You yank open the box, the playful tune you heard weeks ago now sounding distorted.
“I can fix this.” You say, turning towards Valarr. You’re holding the branch in shaky hands, before putting it in his.
“You wanna make me happy, right? Make me happy.” You plead, holding onto his arms. “Make everything go back to normal. Please. That will make me happy.” You smile shakily, tears leaking from your eyes.
Valarr looks at you. You can’t read his expression, tears flooding your eyes leaving you with a blurry figure in front of you.
“Okay, (Y/N).” He says, rubbing your head.
“Okay?” You say, full of hope.
“I wish for (Y/N) to love me the way I love them.”
SNAP!
Your face drops, “no...” You whisper, looking at the broken branch still in his hands.
“Now you’ll be happy, baby. You’ll be happy with me.” He says with a bright smile.
You’re about to say something but something inside you shifts.
You smile.
Your lips begin to bleed from the stretching tension, your eyes flooding with tears.
warnings: OBVI 18+ MINORS DNI, NO SPOILERS FOR THE BACKROOMS MOVIE, fueled by a horny combination of recording during sex and shotgunning a blunt, afab reader receiving oral (cause i don’t believe in giving a man head (i’m joking, mostly)), kinda clunky descriptions, i’m writing to get better at writing, especially writing smut so lemme know if anything sounds weird or clunky, uhhh no word count cause im too lazy to do those on tumblr sorryyyyy, ALSO GO SEE THE BACKROOMS MOVIE, GO SUPPORT YOUNG FILMMAKERS AND LOCAL THEATERS
“Are you sure about this?” Your hands grip the camcorder carefully, the clunky object heavy in your hands.
Bobby looks up at you from where he’s laid out on the bed, his long fingers hooking the waistband of your cotton shorts and slowly tugging them down. His blue eyes are hazy, blunt hanging from his lips as he nodded.
“Yeah, yeah. Just keep the camera still for me, m’kay?” He winks at you through the lense, enjoying the way your legs twitch.
You hum weakly, letting your head rest back on the pillows as the smell of weed and Bobby’s cologne filled your head. Your eyes stray to the fan overhead, the blades pass by slowly as you count the seconds while Bobby slowly kisses his way up your legs, easing them over his shoulders.
“You with me?” He pauses above your covered cunt, taking a slow drag from the blunt before parting his lips and letting the hot smoke breeze over the wet fabric of your panties, making you jolt.
“Mm- Y-yeah,” you stutter over the fuzziness in your brain that comes from the pleasant buzz of cannabis. Bobby’s hand grasps yours, lifting the camera with a practiced ease.
“Keep me in focus.” The words are murmured into the skin below your belly button, igniting that familiar fire in your navel and causing the hairs on your neck to stand up.
At your nod, Bobby takes another hit of the blunt before leaning down. His lips meet the puffy folds of your cunt and with a slow exhale, the smoke glazes over your panties again. It’s punctuated by a slow lick that spreads the wet patch on your panties.
His nose nudges your clit and he chuckles at the pleasured noise that drips from your lips. The soft buzz of the camera lets him know your zooming in, soaking in the heated, fuzzy look in his eyes and the way he’s sitting open-mouthed against your pussy.
The smell of your arousal is much stronger when he’s this close. And it mixes with the smell of weed in a way that Bobby salivates. His impatience starts bleeding through his high mind and finally, Bobby hooks a finger through the crotch of your panties, tugging them to the side to reveal your dripping folds.
It’s a pretty sight, the puff of your folds, the glistening slick of arousal, the choked sound you make as the cold air hits your exposed pussy. He almost wishes he had the camcorder with him so he could immortalize this forever.
Bobby takes one more slow drag from the blunt, eyes meeting yours over the camera. With a nip to the meat of your inner thigh, Bobby slips the blunt into your hand, right in the small gap between your index and middle finger. Ash falls off the edge of it, scattering over your skin.
Your wince turns into a choked moan when Bobby’s mouth finally greets your pussy. His tongue is heavy with saliva and heat as he greedily tastes you for all your worth. He swaps between suckling at your clit and slipping his tongue between your folds. It’s a vicious cycle that leaves you feeling floaty and loose.
You legs give weak twitches when Bobby’s tongue glazes over your clit, tightening around his head to bring him closer when he pulls away to breathe. The camcorder shakes in your hands and Bobby notices.
He pinches your thigh as he withdraws from you slightly. “C’mon baby, keep the camera still. Like I showed you.” He licks his lips, groaning at the sweet taste of you as he watches you readjust the camera. When he’s satisfied with the angle, he lays back down, kissing your clit sweetly like he was rewarding you.
“Fuck-” You moan as he slips his tongue back into your folds, his calloused thumb doing figure eights over your clit as his other hand massages your thigh.
The dual stimulation continues and he gets lost in it, eyes shutting as he continues to make out with your pussy. At a certain point your hips start grinding against his face and hand, desperately chasing that high that you’ve been needing since Bobby proposed this idea.
His thumb leaves your clit, his index and middle finger accompanying his tongue in your aching walls. Bobby effectively swapped places with his mouth and fingers, lapping at your clit as his fingers leisurely take you apart from the inside out. Every stroke and curl makes your breath hitch and whine as you do your best to keep the camcorder stable.
“Bobby- I’m gonna-” You keen, lips parting for a stilted moan as his fingers speed up. The strokes turn quicker, his saliva drips down your clit and spills into your hole.
He mumbles something against your overstimulated bundle of nerves, tongue flattening against it as he curls his fingers against that spongy spot in your velvety walls. He murmurs vague pieces of praise that leaves your feet curling and back arching as you cum with a loud whine.
Bobby withdraws his fingers, licking them clean before he leans back in to lick you clean. Sweat drips down your back and your thighs are sticky with cum and spit. You vaguely register Bobby’s warm hands taking the camcorder from you, his spit soaked fingers snatching the blunt from you.
He places the blunt in his lips, freeing his hand to massage your ass slowly. Bringing you down from your high.
Blinking quickly, your flushed cheeks are hot to the touch and your eyes are fogged from the weed and now that pretty post orgasmic glaze. You register Bobby more clearly now, his blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. He’s sat up, your thighs resting at his hips. He cradles the camera in his other hand but he watches you patiently.
When a bit more clarity hits your eyes, he smiles, taking the blunt out of his mouth and leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your lips. The taste of your cum sits on his tongue as he moans against you, smoke filling both of your mouths as he hips twitching as he grinds his dick against your pussy. The cloth drags on your overstimulated clit and you whine agaisnt Bobby’s lips as he pulls away.
His fingers tap against the still recording camcorder as he furrows his brows. He chews on his bottom lip as his eyes drag away from the camcorder screen to look at you. “There’s still space left on the tape.”
summary: (Y/n) has spent years trapped in a messy, emotionally charged situationship with Valarr Targaryen. But after a drunken birthday wish, Valarr’s feelings suddenly become impossible to ignore. (Inspired by Obsession 2026).
rating: E - Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, dark fiction, obsessive behavior, unhealthy relationships, manufactured love, emotional dependency & manipulation, loss of autonomy, psychological horror, reader is not a good person, stalking/tracking, possessive behavior, emotional distress, self-harm, abuse, noncon, murder, coercive control
NAVIGATION | CHAPTER TWO
For a moment, everything feels normal. You can feel like morning sun on your skin, the rays showing up orange under your eyelids.
Your eyes open slowly; you freeze.
Valarr is already awake, lying on his side, watching.
Your pulse refuses to slow down. “How long have you been awake?”
“A while.” His voice is quiet, “I couldn’t sleep.”
You force out a nervous laugh, “Why not?”
Valarr reaches up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.
“My dreams are bad.”
The answer shouldn’t make your stomach twist. But it does.
“What happens in them?”
His eyes don’t leave yours.
“I’m alone.”
Before you respond, a ringtone suddenly shatters the silence.
Valarr’s phone lights up on the nightstand.
FATHER
The call ends.
Immediately starting up once again.
FATHER
You stare at the screen.
“Valarr…”
Instead, he leans forward and presses a kiss against your lips.
The phone rings again.
He doesn’t even seem to notice it, pushing his tongue past your lips and across your teeth.
The phone buzzes on the nightstand.
You push him away by his shoulders, leaning your head away as he leans down once again.
“Shouldn’t you answer that?”
He sighs, rubbing himself against you. “It can wait.”
The phone stops ringing, then rings again.
“..It seems important.” You say quietly as Valarr humps your leg.
He sighs dramatically.
Without warning, he grabs it, throwing it.
The device slams into the wall.
CRACK
You jump.
The phone falls to the floor in pieces, silence follows.
Valarr was already looking at you when your head snapped back to face him.
“I’m so sorry, baby.” He says, grabbing your hands hard. “Did that scare you?”
You stare at him; his eyes are wild. They bounce between your own.
The broken phone lies forgotten across the room.
Neither of you mention it, acting like it never happened.
Valarr follows you into the kitchen while you make coffee.
Follows you into the living room while you try to watch television
Follows you when you get you to grab a blanket from the hallway closet.
Every time you turn around, he’s there.
Watching. Smiling.
“Baby?”
You glance up from your phone, “What?”
“You still love me, right?”
The question catches you off guard.
You laugh, “Yes.”
The tension immediately drains from his shoulders.
“Okay.” He settles back against the couch, satisfied.
Five minutes later—
“Baby?”
You lower your phone, “What?”
“You still love me?”
You stare at him; he stares back expectantly.
“…Yes.”
“Oh” He smiles, “Okay.”
The third time he asks, it isn’t funny anymore.
The fourth time, your stomach starts to twist.
The fifth time, you stop counting.
-
You wake up that night with a crushing weight around your waist.
Valarr.
His face is buried against your shoulder. His arm is wrapped so tightly around you that your lower back aches.
Carefully, you try to move.
Immediately, his eyes open. “Where are you going?”
“The bathroom.”
Relief floods his expression, “Oh.”
You blink, before starting to climb out of bed. His hand catches your wrist.
“Can I come with you?”
You stare at him, “...When I pee?”
He nods, completely serious.
“Please.”
You laugh because surely, he’s joking.
Valarr doesn’t laugh. He follows you to the bathroom.
-
This is what you wanted.
Wasn’t it?
Valarr kisses your neck while you’re making breakfast.
Wraps his arms around your waist while you’re brushing your teeth.
Pulls you into his lap whenever you sit beside him.
Looks at you like you’re the only person in the world worth seeing.
A week ago, you would’ve killed for this.
Now every time your phone buzzes, your stomach tightens.
You glance down.
Valarr
where are you
You frown. You’re standing in the bathroom.
Twenty feet away.
LOVE OF MY LIFE
bathroom
Three dots appear instantly.
Valarr
oh okay
i missed you
Something cold crawls down your spine.
-
Duncan notices first. Of course he does.
The four of you are sitting together at the bar.
Trivia night.
The same booth, same drinks, same routine.
Everything should feel normal.
It doesn’t.
Valarr hasn’t taken his hands off of you once.
His arm remains around your shoulders.
His thumb brushes absentmindedly across your collarbone.
Every two minutes, he’s staring at you deeply, like he’s checking that you’re still there.
Duncan notices. Lyonel notices too.
“You alright?” Duncan asks quietly.
You nod immediately. “Yeah.”
Duncan doesn’t look convinced. Neither does Lyonel.
Before Duncan can say anything else, Valarr answers.
“They’re fine.”
His voice is calm.
Pleasant. Normal.
The way his hand tightens around your shoulder isn’t.
Valarr makes you leave trivia night early. You rub the bruise left on your shoulder as he leads you to the car.
-
That night, he makes you say his name over and over again.
“Again.”
“Valarr..”
“Again.”
His pace is brutal.
And when he started crying, you try to stop him.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he sobs into your shoulder, hiding his face. And even though he thrusts at the same pace, he begs for you to stop saying his name.
After Valarr falls asleep, you carefully slide out from beneath his arm. The movement takes nearly five minutes.
Every tiny shift makes your heart pound.
You move into the living room, grabbing your laptop from the coffee table and sitting down at your desk.
You start search:
one wish willow real
You quickly delete ‘real.’
one wish willow
The official website appears first:
One Wish Willow | Buy Now!
Single Use Only. Grants one wish. No Multiple attempts. Using additional One Wish Willows will not change or affect your other wishes. Only one wish per…
You scroll down.
eBay listings:
ONE WISH WILLOW FOR FREE IF YOU WISH FOR NIKKI FREEMAN’S LIFE TO GO BACK TO NORMAL!!!! (FREE SHIPPING!!!!!)
What the fuck?
Reddit.
You click on the first thread:
One Wish Willow – does it work?
My friend swears by the One Wish Willow. Does anyone know if it actually works?
You scroll down further:
NO, THEY 100 PERCENT DON’T WORK!!!! They’re collectibles. Anyone who broke a stick is an idiot
YES!!!! They are really hard to find, but my mom who has been ugly her whole life is gorgeous now! She doesn’t even look old!
Yes! I swear they work! It’s the most insane thing I’ve ever seen!
No!! The whole thing is a joke; even the number on the back is a prank. I called and some weird guy answered.
You click.
And click.
The deeper you read, the worse you feel.
“Baby?”
You scream. The laptop nearly flies off your desk, as you scramble to close it.
Valarr is standing in the doorway.
The hallway behind him is completely dark, the light barely illuminating his face.
His hair is messy from sleep. His breathing is irregular.
His eyes are fixed on you.
“What are you doing?” He asks softly.
“Nothing.”
Valarr tilts his head.
You force a smile. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
His entire face brightens. “Oh.”
He walks toward you immediately.
“That’s okay.”
Before you can react, he grabs you and pushes you onto the couch.
He sits beside you. Close.
Too close.
His hand finds yours.
“I’ll stay awake with you.”
You didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, his head resting against your neck.
Like a collar.
-
The next morning, you force Valarr to leave.
Not for long, just long enough to pick up groceries.
Just long enough to prove to yourself that he can still function without you.
Valarr looks genuinely distressed standing by the front door.
“Do I have to?”
You blink. “Yes.”
His fingers twitch. “But what if you need something?”
“I’ll text you.”
“What if I don’t see it?”
“You will.”
“What if-“
“Valarr.”
He immediately falls silent.
For a moment, his face goes completely blank.
Then he smiles. “Okay, baby.”
The second the door closes behind him, you exhale.
The house feels different without him in it.
Bigger. Quieter. Yours.
You grab your keys and leave.
You don’t tell him where you’re going.
You don’t text him, don’t leave a note.
You just drive.
Barely thirty minutes later, your phone rings.
Valarr.
You let it go to voicemail.
A second call comes immediately after.
Then a third.
Then a fourth.
Your stomach twists as you silence your phone.
The texts start seconds later.
Valarr
where did you go
answer me
please
baby
please answer me
im scared
why arent you answering
please
please
im coming
Ten minutes later, you hear someone yelling your name.
You spin around.
Valarr is sprinting across the field.
His shirt is wrinkled; his hair is a mess. He looks like he’s been crying.
People turn to stare.
Valarr doesn’t notice.
Or doesn’t care.
He reaches you and immediately grabs your shoulders.
“Oh, thank God.” His voice breaks.
You pull away. “How did you find me?”
Valarr face goes blank.
Just for a second.
“Tracker.”
You blink. “What?”
“A tracker.”
The smile he gives you is small.
Like he’s admitting to borrowing your favorite shirt.
“I put it in your car.”
The world seems to tilt sideways.
“You did what?”
His smile falters. “I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”
“You put a tracker in my fucking car?”
“I bought you flowers.”
You stare at him, “What?”
Valarr lifts the bouquet he’d apparently been carrying the entire time.
Orange lilies, crushed from how tightly he’s been holding them.
Your chest tightens, “Valarr.”
His breathing speeds up. “Please don’t be mad.”
“You tracked me.”
“I was worried.”
“You tracked me.”
“I love you.”
The words come out desperate.
Like he’s throwing them at you and hoping it sticks.
You take a step backwards.
Valarr’s face immediately crumples.
“No.”
Another step.
“Please.”
His hands begin to shake.
“I need space.”
The second the words leave your mouth something changes.
Valarr goes pale.
“No.”
“Valarr-“
“No.”
He starts scratching at his own arms. Hard.
Hard enough to leave angry red marks.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“No.”
His voice cracks.
“Please calm down.”
“I’m trying.” He isn’t.
Tears stream down his face.
His hands tangle in his hair.
He starts pulling. Hard.
Hard enough that you physically flinch.
“Please don’t leave me.”
“Valarr-“
“I’ll do better.”
His voice breaks.
“I swear I’ll do better.”
“Stop.”
“Tell me what you need.”
“Valarr.”
“I’ll fix it.”
People are watching.
Whispering.
You feel sick.
“I’ll fix everything.”
“Valarr.”
“I love you.”
His breathing becomes ragged.
Almost hyperventilating.
“I love you so so so much.”
Fear finally settles in your chest.
Cold. Heavy. Real.
“Okay.”
The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it.
Immediately Valarr stills.
You stare; he stares back.
Like someone hit a switch.
“Okay?” He asks softly.
Your throat feels tight.
“I’ll come home.”
The same blank face reaches his face.
Then relief floods in.
“Okay.”
He wipes his eyes.
Smiles.
Offers you the flowers.
Like everything was fine.
-
That night, you can’t sleep.
Valarr can. He’s wrapped around you like a second skin.
Breathing softly against your shoulder.
Your phone vibrates.
Once.
Then again.
Carefully, slowly, you reach for it.
Dunk
i need to see you
Another message appears.
now
Your stomach drops.
something is really fucking wrong
You stare at the message.
Then at the sleeping man wrapped around your body.
Outside, rain taps softly against the window.
For a moment, you consider ignoring Duncan.
Pretending everything is fine.
Pretending you can still fix this.
Then another message appears.
please
The screen illuminates the darkness.
You don’t realize your crying until a tear hits the phone.
Beside you, Valarr shifts slightly in his sleep.
Your entire body goes rigid.
For a horrible second, you think he’s awake.
But his breathing remains slow and even.
Carefully, you lift his arm from around your waist.
Valarr makes a quiet noise in his sleep.
You freeze.
His grip tightens instinctively.
Then loosens.
You wait another thirty seconds before finally slipping free.
Your heart pounds so hard you’re convinced it should wake him.
It doesn’t.
You grab your shoes and leave.
-
The rain stopped by the time you reach Duncan’s house.
Twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes spent trying not to cry.
Twenty minutes spent trying not to think.
Duncan opens the door before you can knock.
“I’m surprised Valarr isn’t-“
The second he sees your face, his expression falls.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
You look away immediately.
Duncan steps aside, you walk inside.
The house is quiet. For a moment, you enjoyed the quiet.
Then Duncan finally spoke, “He’s getting worse, isn’t he?”
Your throat tightens. “Duncan-“
“Don’t.”
His voice isn’t angry, just tired.
“You don’t have to protect him.”
You state at the floor, “He loves me.”
The words sound pathetic even to your own ears.
You don’t even know if you believe them.
Duncan laughs, a hollow sound.
“That’s not what this is.”
You immediately shake your head. “You don’t understand.”
“No.” His jaw tightens. “I understand perfectly.”
The room falls silent.
“He wasn’t like this before.”
The second the words leave your mouth, regret hits.
i will be posting part two of OBSESSION very soon, i just need to work out a few more things. im hoping to do only three chapters but if anyone has any suggestions, questions, or thoughts i am more than happy to answer them!!
sorry for the slow first chapter, but im so happy that people are enjoying where the story is going! it’ll get a lot crazier in ch. 2 & 3 :D
SUMMARY: (Y/n) has spent years trapped in a messy, emotionally charged situationship with Valarr Targaryen. But after a drunken birthday wish, Valarr’s feelings suddenly become impossible to ignore. (Inspired by Obsession 2026).
summary: (Y/n) has spent years trapped in a messy, emotionally charged situationship with Valarr Targaryen. But after a drunken birthday wish, Valarr’s feelings suddenly become impossible to ignore. (Inspired by Obsession 2026).
rating: E - Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, dark fiction, obsessive behavior, unhealthy relationships, manufactured love, emotional dependency, loss of autonomy, psychological horror, mutual toxicity, reader is pathetic!!
NAVIGATION | CHAPTER ONE
You laugh softly under your breath.
“Valarr...” You start quietly, testing the sound of it. “We’ve known each other for a while now and I just need to tell you...” You swallow.
Outside, rain taps softly against the windshield.
“I-I really like you, and I hope you like me like that too. I think I lo-"
KNOCK KNOCK
You yelp, whipping your head toward the driver’s side window to find Duncan grinning at you through the glass, curls damp from the rain.
“You practicing your Oscar speech in here or what?” He shouts through the window.
You roll your eyes, taking the keys out the ignition as he opens the door for you. “Fuck off.”
Duncan slips his head into the car, his wet hair dripping onto your lap, you can smell the cologne and cigarette smoke emitting off of him.
“You’ve been sitting here for like ten minutes.” He glances at the look on your face, his grin widening. “You finally gonna tell him?”
“Tell who?”
“Oh, brother.” Duncan says dramatically, leaning on the interior driver side door, you scoff as you exit the car.
“I’m serious,” he continues, closing the door behind you. “You’ve been doing this weird little dance with Valarr for years now.”
You leaned against the car after locking it, “It’s not a dance.”
“Right.” Duncan deadpans, standing right in front you, shielding you from the rain with his upper half. “Just friends that casually fuck each other, stare at each other like dying Victorian lovers, spend every Thursday night attached to the hip at all times-”
Your face warms, “We’re not attached at the hip.”
Duncan looks at you with a straight face that says, 'Are you fucking kidding me?'
You sigh heavily, pushing yourself off the car. “Can we please just go inside?”
The bar is loud by the time you enter, crowded with people yelling over one another while some shitty 2000s song plays overhead. A familiar warmth wraps around you immediately.
Your eyes immediately caught Valarr’s. That happened every time. Every trivia night.
His expression softens instantly, sharp features easing as he stands from the booth.
“There you are,” he says with a soft smile. Something in your chest tightens.
Lyonel waves his arms dramatically from beside him. “Finally! We were two seconds away from replacing you with some dude named Steve.”
“Does Steve know 2000s pop culture like me?” You ask, sliding into the booth.
“No,” he admits. “But he had spirit.”
Valarr moves before you can fully sit down, one hand instinctively settling against your waist to guide you into the booth beside him.
Duncan notices. Duncan always noticed.
You ignore the look he gave you.
“You’re late.” Valarr whispers in your eye, warmth radiating off him.
“You survived.”
“Barely.” His knee presses against yours beneath the table.
The night blurred pleasantly after that.
Lyonel cheated shamelessly.
Duncan argued with a table across the room over a sports trivia question.
Valarr stays close enough that his arm brushes against yours every few minutes.
At one point, he absentmindedly fixes the necklace tangled beneath your shirt collar while you argue with Lyonel about movie directors.
Small things, tiny things.
Things that meant nothing.
Things that meant everything.
“Can you two just get together already?” Lyonel asks suddenly near the end of the night.
Silence drops over the booth.
Duncan looks down at his drink.
You froze.
Valarr laughs softly, shaking his head.
“There it is,” he muttered. “Was wondering how long it’d take tonight.”
Your chest tightens painfully.
Lyonel points between the two of you, “I’m serious. The tension is actually becoming concerning, mentally.”
“We’re fine,” Valarr says easily.
Fine.
The word digs beneath your ribs.
Not together, not interested, not in love.
Fine.
Valarr glances toward you, expression softening slightly when he notices your silence.
His hand squeezes your knee once beneath the table.
Like that fixed it.
Like that makes everything fine.
-
By the end of the night, you’re drunk enough that the city lights blurred together outside the car’s windows.
“You’re staring,” Valarr says from the driver’s seat.
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
The inside of his car smells like cedarwood and the cologne he always wears. The familiarity alone is enough to make your chest ache.
“You know,” you say quietly. “You never answered Lyonel’s question.”
Valarr’s grip tightens slightly on the steering wheel, “You were drunk five minutes ago. Now suddenly you’re interrogating me?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He pulls up outside your house. Neither of you moved.
Your heartbeat thuds painfully against your ribs.
“Come inside,” you whisper.
Valarr looks over at you immediately.
You swallow, “We can-“ your voice catches slightly. “We can hang out a little longer.”
The look in his eyes darkens briefly.
Want. Affection.
Something deeper you can never fully name.
Then it disappears just as quickly.
“You’re drunk,” he says softly.
“I’m not that drunk.”
“You are.”
“We could just go to bed together. “ You laugh weakly, “All you ever want to do is to fuck, why not now?”
Valarr’s expression shifts instantly. Something almost wounded.
“You think that’s all I want from you?”
Your breath catches.
“Valarr-“
“You know I can’t do be in a relationship right now.”
Your throat tightens, “Why not?”
He looks away first. “You know I’m bad at this stuff.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Valarr sighs quietly, “Why ruin what we already have?”
The words hurt more than you expected. Because he sounds so sincere.
That’s the worst part.
You nod slowly, staring at your hands. “Right.”
You reach for the door handle before you could embarrass yourself further.
Valarr grabs your wrist gently, you look back at him.
For one horrible second, you thought maybe he was going to stop you.
Instead, he leans forward and presses a soft kiss on your cheek.
“Get inside safe, baby.”
You hated that word.
Because, even after the heartbreak, your stomach still flips when he says it.
You step into the rain without another word.
Inside the car, Valarr watches until your front door closes behind you.
-
The smell of vanilla frosting and alcohol lingers heavily throughout your house.
Half-empty bottles littered the kitchen counter beside paper plates smeared with icing and discarded candles.
Valarr sits beside you, one arm stretched lazily along the back of the couch behind your head.
Your birthday party had started hours ago, but nobody seemed particularly interested in leaving yet.
Not that you mind.
Not when Valarr keeps looking at you like that.
Like you’re something precious.
Duncan set your birthday cake down on the coffee table with a sigh.
“Okay.” He says, clapping his hands together once. “Presents. Open my gift first, it’s objectively the best.”
“I love your confidence," you mutter.
You open Duncan’s gift first, a crystal necklace.
Thoughtful enough to make your chest ache a little.
“Oh,” you say softly. “Duncan..”
“What?” He asks quickly, already defensive. “Don’t make it weird.”
Lyonel gags loudly, “Oh my God, he gets so sentimental.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
You laugh, leaning to your right to hug Duncan tightly.
Valarr watches the interaction quietly beside you.
His fingers run against your back before moving his arm back toward the couch.
“Mine next.” Lyonel announces dramatically, tossing a poorly wrapped box into your lap.
You rip the wrapping paper off eagerly. Inside sat a long triangular box covered in red text and graphics.
You blink up at him, “What is it?”
Lyonel grins, “A One Wish Willow!”
Duncan groaned immediately, “Jesus Christ.”
You turned the box over, revealing the large text shown on the back, ‘Spark the middle and break in half.’
“You’re joking.”
“Mostly.” Lyonel admits, shrugging.
Valarr leans slightly closer beside you, gaze flickering over the text. “What is it supposed to do?” He asks.
“It grants one wish, duh.” Lyonel grins.
You laugh, “Where did you find this? Etsy?”
“Found it in one of those gem stores, I went with Dunc.” He says, nudging Duncan.
Duncan took another sip of his drink, “My cousin had a bunch of those in college.”
Your head snaps toward him immediately, “And?”
“I dunno he liked to collect them or some shit; he was pretty weird.” He says quickly.
Lyonel points at you dramatically, “You only get one wish, so make it count!”
“Right,” you deadpan. “I’ll use it responsibly.”
Valarr stretches before sitting up. “How about another shot?” He suggests, already walking toward the kitchen for the tequila he brought over.
Lyonel watches Valarr leave the room before leaning in. “Maybe you can wish for him to finally commit to you,” he says with a smirk.
Duncan scoffs beside you.
“Shut up,” you mutter quickly.
Later, after too many drinks and several more rounds of terrible horror movies, the night finally began to wind down.
Duncan hugs you first. “Text me tomorrow,” he said quietly.
“I always do," You say with a smile.
Lyonel shoves him to the side, wrapping you in an aggressively dramatic hug.
“Don’t forget about your wish,” he whispers jokingly into your ear.
You roll your eyes, “Goodnight, psycho.”
Valarr was the last to leave.
You follow him to the front door, the alcohol still buzzing pleasantly through your body.
“You sure you don’t wanna stay?” You ask.
Valarr pauses while slipping on his jacket.
“I’ve got brunch with my father tomorrow, he said it's pretty important.”
You sigh dramatically, “Boo. Lame.”
“I know.” He says. “But,” he steps closer, “I can come over tomorrow night.”
Your heartbeat stutters slightly. “Yeah?”
Valarr hums, fixing your shirt collar. “We can celebrate properly.”
The look he gave you made your stomach flip.
Then, before you could say anything else, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against your cheek.
“Happy birthday, baby.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
Hours later, your house had finally gone quiet.
You sit alone on the couch wearing one of Valarr’s hoodies, a half-finished glass of wine dangling lazily from your hand while some animal documentary plays in the background.
Your eyes drift absently toward the pile of gifts still sitting on the coffee table. Then toward the triangular packaging.
You stare at it for a long moment, then reach for it.
“This is so fucking stupid,” you mutter to yourself.
Still, you turn it over carefully, examining the back of the packaging once more:
‘Usage: Open the package to a magical jingle and a fun pop surprise! Hold the One Wish Willow gently, break it in half, and state your wish clearly. Wait up to 24 hours for your wish to come true. Disposal: After granting your wish, the One Wish Willow loses its magical properties.’
You snort softly.
Your phone buzzes suddenly beside you.
Valarr
hey
idk if i can come over tmr
something came up :(
Your chest tightens painfully.
You look down at the box again.
Then back at the text thread.
Then back at the willow.
“Fuck it.”
You pull open the packaging.
A strange tune immediately emits from the packaging.
The melody sounds distorted.
For one brief moment, nausea rolls through your stomach.
You laugh nervously to yourself.
“This is insane.”
You look at the branch in your hand.
And think about Valarr.
Your throat tightens.
“I wish Valarr was obsessed with me.”
SNAP
The sound echoes through the quiet house.
You stare at the broken branch for another few seconds before laughing again.
“Jesus Christ.”
You toss it carelessly onto the coffee table, sinking deeper into the couch cushions.
-
BANG BANG BANG
Your eyes snap open.
The television still plays quietly somewhere in the background, the blue glow flickering across the dark living room. Your neck aches from sleeping awkwardly against the couch cushions.
BANG BANG BANG
You jolt upright, “What the fuck-“
Several more frantic knocks rattle the front door hard enough to make you jump. Your head pounds.
Still half asleep, you blindly reach for your phone buried between the couch cushions.
3:07AM
97 missed calls.
122 messages.
All from Valarr.
Your stomach drops.
“What the fuck…”
Another bang shakes the door.
You stare at the screen in disbelief.
Valarr
please answer
where are you
baby please
please i need to see you
please please please answer me
im outside
Your heart pounds violently against your ribs.
You rush toward the front door.
“Valarr?” You call out shakily.
No response.
Only more knocking.
You look through the peephole. Your stomach twists.
Valarr stands on your porch soaking wet from the rain, breathing heavily while peering through the small glass window beside the door.
His hair is damp; his clothes are the same ones he wore earlier.
His expression looks wrong.
Wild. Panicked.
You unlock the door carefully.
The second it opens, Valarr’s head snaps toward you.
The relief that floods his face is so intense it almost scares you.
“(Y/n).”
Before you can react, he pulls you into a crushing hug.
“I needed to see you,” he says frantically against your hair. “I really needed to see you.”
“Valarr, what the fuck?” You say groggily. “What’s going on?”
“I thought something happened to you.”
Your eyebrows pull together, pulling away from him. “What?”
He grabs your face. “When you stopped answering,” he says, breathing unevenly. “I called and called and called and-“
He cuts himself off abruptly, dragging a hand through your hair. “I thought maybe you were hurt.”
Your stomach twists uneasily.
“Valarr, I fell asleep.”
“I know that now.”
The way he says it feels wrong somehow.
Too relieved.
Too intense.
“Did you drive here?” You ask carefully.
“Yes.”
“At three in the morning?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
His grip tightens around your face.
Not painful, just desperate.
His pupils are blown wide.
His breathing uneven.
“I’m ready,” Valarr blurts suddenly.
Your eyebrows knit together, “What?”
“We have to be together.”
Your stomach drops, “What?”
“I love you.” His voice cracks slightly. “I love you so much, I can’t-I can’t do this anymore.”
Your brain struggles to catch up.
This is what you wanted. Isn’t it?
So why does it feel so wrong?
“Valarr…” You say slowly. “Are you drunk?”
“No.”
“You’re acting crazy right now.”
“I know.” He says it so sincerely it scares you more.
Valarr grips your face tighter, trembling slightly.
“We’re meant to be together,” he whispers desperately. “Please tell me you feel it too. Please.”
His eyes shine with tears.
Your chest tightens painfully.
Because part of you, some horrible part of you, still feels wanted. Still feels relieved.
“Valarr…” Your voice shakes. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Yes, I do.”
Then suddenly he kisses you.
Messy. Desperate. Needy enough to make your stomach twist.
You push against his chest quickly.
“Okay-okay, stop.”
Valarr immediately pulls back.
Not angry, terrified.
Instantly terrified.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry, I just-I missed you.”
You stare at him.
“You saw me four hours ago.”
“I know.”
Valarr smiles faintly. “But it felt longer.”
Something cold settles uneasily in your stomach.
Rain pours softly behind him while silence stretches painfully between you.
Then Valarr smiles again.
Bright. Love-sick. Beautiful.
Wrong.
“Can I come inside?”
Every instinct in your body tells you something is off.
But it’s Valarr.
The man you’ve loved for years.
The man who finally said it back.
You step aside slowly.
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Come inside.”
Valarr visibly relaxes. “Okay.”
He grabs your wrist gently while walking into the house. You close the door carefully behind him.
“I think you should sleep for a little bit,” you say cautiously. “You’re clearly overwhelmed or something.”
Valarr turns toward you immediately. “We’re sleeping together.”
You stomach tightens. “I just meant maybe you could take the bed I could-“
“No.”
The word comes too fast. Too sharp.
Valarr immediately softens again when he sees your expression.
“You’re really gonna make me sleep alone after I drove all the way here?” He asks quietly.
His fingers tighten around your wrist slightly.
“I just thought maybe you needed some space.”
“I don’t want space.” His voice almost sounds offended by the idea.
You swallow hard. “Okay.”
Valarr smiles immediately again. “There you are.”
Like you’ve just stopped misbehaving. The thought sends a chill down your spine.
As he leads you toward your bedroom, your eyes flick briefly toward the living room table.
Toward the opened One Wish Willow packaging still sitting there.
Your stomach twists violently
There’s no way.
Right?
-
The room is dark except for faint moonlight spilling through the curtains.
Valarr lies behind you in bed, pressed tightly against your back.
One arm wraps securely around your waist. His face buries itself against your neck.
You stare forward silently. Wide awake.
Valarr presses slow kisses against your throat. Then your shoulder. Then lower.
“Valarr..” You whisper carefully. “Maybe we should just go to sleep.”
“I am sleeping,” he murmurs against your skin.
His hand slides slowly across your stomach possessively.
Your pulse jumps nervously. “Don’t you have brunch with your father tomorrow?”
Valarr hums lazily. “I let him know I couldn’t make it.”
Your eyebrows pull together, “What? You said it was important.”
“You’re more important.”
The words should make your chest flutter.
Instead, they make something cold settle heavily in your stomach.
Valarr gently turns you onto your back so you're facing him.
The expression on his face nearly steals the air from your lungs.
Pure devotion. Complete adoration.
It’s too much. Too intense. Too sudden.
He leans down, kissing you softly.
“I love you,” he whispers against your mouth.
Then again.
And again.
Like he needs to keep saying it or he’ll stop breathing.
You kiss him back despite yourself.
Because this is wrong.
You know it’s wrong.
But somewhere deep down, beneath the fear and confusion and nausea-
obsession 2026 inspired dark!fic where reader wishes for valarr OR aerion (or both :3) to be obsessed w them thinking the one wish willow is a joke but then they get kidnapped and shit and realizes that ts is real asf
please, you guys know i love reading fanfic more than anything and hyper-fixating on men that are too old for me. i love to keep these little collections of fics ive read and loved so i can come back to them later & recommend to other readers. as always, i did not write any of these :) just love them and i think you will too. also i am SO excited for jackass 5 and i hope that brings a revival for fanfics in the jackass community.
i constantly update this list and will have way more fics added very soon. :)
another stunt, another jackass - AO3, by entitywrites
anything but ordinary - AO3, by peachyouhadtopick
aspen by @michelle-is-writing
the backseat by @stratossphere
bikini by @dunnswrld
birdbrain by @k8fics
birthday boy by @letshaveabreakdown
care for me by @tae-and-honey
chapel of love by @letshaveabreakdown
couple's boxing by @stratossphere
daddy by @thegettingbyp2
daisy dukes by @666pretty
dating older vs younger johnny by @sacredleaver
the "enhancement" pill by @dunnswrld
flirting with medic by @maneswrites
friday nights by @daisydeacks
good puppy by @awbows
hands by @dunnswrld
heatwave
honey by @dunnswrld
hushed by @narrativeofsoul
i love it when you talk dirty to me by @knoxvillesjackass
i need a little time by @letshaveabreakdown
i think i wanna marry you by @ironmansuuucks
impatient by @stratossphere
jealousy by @newmooncokewhore
john wayne by @pontiussy
johnny knoxville x f!reader! (anaconda ball pit)
mine, mine, mine by @knoxvillesjackass
no nut november by @knoxvillesjackass
not now by by @thegettingbyp2
people's interview by @way2geeky
pictures of you - AO3, by cky_knoxville
preacher's daughter by @blasphemea
pressure by @bamfvckingmargera
pretty when you cry by @blasphemea
road head by @dunnswrld
secret language by @thegettingbyp2
size kink by @dunnswrld
sparks of jealousy by @knoxvillesjackass
storm by @pj-lovebot
strictly business by @princessglittergoree
suitcase by @thegettingbyp2
surf's up by @thegettingbyp2
surprise by @knoxvilleforever
sweet as pie, tough as nails - AO3, by ladyedge
tequila sunrises by @stratossphere
these hands by @knoxvillesjackass
vacation HCs by @knoxvilleforever
visiting the country fair by @knoxvilleforever
when it comes to you by @campk1llyourself
who's in control? by @narrativeofsoul
work from home by @cockimagepdf
your tables were easy to turn by @knoxvillesjackass
he has no business being this fucking fine, i swear to god.
Unnamed @mayasaurusss (X)
Summary: Lucy Maclean on her and reader’s wedding night…
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
Unnamed @returnofeternity
Summary: Giving Lucy mind blowing head and then cuddling.
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
golden rule @alottiegoingon
Summary: You become lucy's only friend in wasteland.
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
you would find your way in @shaunamilfman
Summary: The blight hit vault 32 hard, which is why it was such a big deal when a trade offer from vault 33 for new seeds was received. A sacrifice, on your part, was all that was needed to assure the prosperity of your home. You would leave everything you've ever known to marry the overseers daughter, Lucy MacLean, but maybe it wouldn't be as much of a sacrifice as you'd originally believed.
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
hunger @freelancearsonist (X)
Summary: You teach your best friend something new.
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
Unnamed @rhiannonsknife (X)
Summary: you’re a high profile stripper at the gomorrah when you meet lucy and make a deal with her: in exchange for helping you gain your freedom, you will give her any information that you hear about her father.
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
SHATTER YOUR ILLUSIONS OF LOVE @rhiannonsknife (X)
Summary: lucy finds something interesting in an abandoned store. it’s not what she thinks it is.
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
Surfaced Hearts @k8fics (X)
Summary: None
Warnings: None
Special Tag: Ft. Maximums
prguitarman
origamiaround
dailybridgerton
gummygunk
tangentwithtanner
discoholicmusic
