⭒ A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms ⭒ Game of Thrones ⭒ House of the Dragon
⭒ Part 1
A Knight Always Returns | @thequietdomain
Born without a title or noble name, you never expected to become Gwayne Hightower’s wife—or to raise Prince Daeron as your own son. But when war threatens the family you built together, promises, bloodlines, and loyalties are put to the ultimate test
Swan song | @wintrynightz
marriage to Gwayne as a Stark lady | @/wintrynightz
After your marriage to Gwayne as a Stark lady, you’ve been living in old town, but you can’t help but to miss the north
married life | @/wintrynightz
headcanons of married life with a reader whose personality is similar to helaena’s
Gwayne courting reader | @/wintrynightz
headcanons of Gwayne courting a reader whose personality is similar to helaena’s
Bee-stings | @persephonesdreams21
Gwayne and his wife disagree on politics. They fuck about it instead.
Back to You | @thebrownsugababe
For a year Gwayne has longed for your presence. For a year his pillow has been soaked with tears of longing for your majesty. At last he can breathe out the old, and inhale all that you are.
Greedy, Greedy Woman | @milkvetch114
pregnancy has left you sickened by nearly every scent in oldtown. your only reprieve is burying your face in gwayne’s neck. though your poor husband rarely escapes without his pretty, pale skin thoroughly ravished.
In the Land of Eternal Warmth | @erzsebetrosztoczy
Take me by surprise | @chamomileteah
it's your time to get married and you look for a suitable lord who asks for your hand
When Gentlemen Fall | @wonderlanderings
Gwayne Hightower has spent months restraining himself from the princess's advances. Tonight, you decide to test just how strong his honour really is.
accept the help, my love | @bladeoria
HOW SELFISH OF ME | @carmysdoll
Cold Stone Warm Skin | @velieditss
Despite being a prisoner and the war still raging, a small light breaks through the darkness. Gwayne has arrived at Tumbelton, ready to join Ormund’s forces. After months apart, you have the chance to see him again.
A Bittersweet Reunion | @wolves-and-dragons
Upon hearing your beloved, knightly husband is on his way to Tumbleton to reunite with the Greens regiment, you take it upon yourself to give Gwayne a surprise reunion of your own (much to the disdain of his lord cousin).
love language | @cosmictheo
when you are forced to wed gwayne hightower to secure peace in the realm, you expect a monster—definitely not the gentlest, most patient and loving man in all of westeros.
Afflictions | @silv3rswirls
Desperate to secure an heir, Gwayne turns to the one man arrogant enough to say yes.
Inescapable | @dumb-bitchass
you and gwayne were lovers once, in a time that feels so distant now. The war has since torn you apart, but the memories reamin gliterring reminders of what once was; and more bubble up as you come face to face once more with the man you used to love.
His Cousin’s Wife | @danysdaughter
being Lord Ormund Hightower’s wife has afforded you many luxuries. his handsome cousin is the only one you have yet to acquire.
a fair exchange | @lovebugism
gwayne comes to daemon before the battle at tumbleton to barter for the life of his nephew and gets you in return, the last daughter of an unremarkable house fighting for the black army, who's in want of a wealthy husband.
try a little tenderness | @/lovebugism
you nurse gwayne back to life again when the war leaves him for dead, and he finds himself in no hurry to be rescued from you.
Everything That Was (Gwayne Hightower x reader, Daemon Targaryen x reader)
A/N: The timelines on this are a bit messed up, ngl, but we roll with it because they were needed for the story. I’m not sure how I feel about the way this turned out, but I couldn’t keep writing it so pls enjoy :)
Summary: The story of you and Gwayne and your past with Daemon, told as you all come colliding at the battle of Tumbleton.
Word count: ~8.5k (I did not mean for it to get that long…)
Tags: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, angst, unrequited love, heartbreak, some canon typical misogyny here and there, mentions of battle and canon events, never proofread, (please let me know if I missed any)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim to own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so.
Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)
Gwayne had known Ormund to be cruel, to be intelligent, and to constantly use that intelligence to apply his cruelty. When Ormund was given a choice, he always chose the one that inflicted the maximum amount of damage. His only constant was the torment of others. So Gwayne should not have been surprised upon seeing you come rushing around the corner in the Keep at Tumbleton, your eyes wide and tearful, your hands already outstretched for him.
“Y/n?” He breathed out, face contorting in confusion, heart dropping out of his chest.
“Gwayne!” Your voice was pained, tight, desperate, and when you came to a stop just in front of him, he grasped your hands tightly in his own, testing if you were real.
‘What…” he remained breathless, incapable of communication, and roved his eyes over your face, cataloguing each inch of skin, each eyelash, everything he had dreamed of seeing for months but had not expected to be granted.
Your hair, as luscious as he had remembered in his dreams, your hands as soft as the phantoms that caressed him in his memories. You wore one of your pretty dresses still, more modest than you favoured when you were in Oldtown but still beautiful, still yours. You attempted to step closer to him, to take your hand and gently caress his face, but Gwayne held tight to you, kept you a few steps away, conscious of his own dirt. He would never sully you, not if it could be helped. Even when he was so desperate to feel you closer.
Behind you, Ormund smiled brightly, clapping his hands together in glee, and cooing at the beautiful reunion. Daeron clenched his jaw, shifting uncomfortably from his spot at the edge of the room, both glad and apprehensive. He had known this was coming from the moment Ormund had announced that Gwayne was on his way.
“How beautiful, how truly beautiful!” Ormund beamed, watching with greedy eyes but without stepping closer. Though he was enjoying this immensely, he did not wish to be any closer to the stink of sweat and mud that wafted off his cousin.
“You were meant to be in Oldtown,” Gwayne whispered quietly, his face contorting in despair.
“I-” you attempted to speak before Ormund cut you off.
“Come now, are you not excited to reunite with your beloved bride?” Ormund mocked, a pathetically fake frown on his face. “That is no way to greet your wife.”
“Why is she here, Ormund?” Gwayne gritted out, his hands tightening on yours as he glanced up to his cousin, jaw clenched.
“The boy is still growing, you know,” and Ormund gestured at Daeron, a falsely kind smile on his lips. “I thought it important to bring along the comforts of home. Men require a womanly presence, do you not think?”
You clenched your eyes shut and stepped closer to Gwayne despite his best efforts not to let you. You did not press close enough to sully your gown, but you pressed your forehead to his jaw, breaths leaving you shakily.
Gwayne clenched his teeth again, practically vibrating with rage. Of course what Ormund said was only a half truth, a thin veil over his true motives. He would have kept your presence at Tumbleton a secret until it best suited him to reveal to Gwayne that you were in his custody, so he could be sure that Gwayne remained in line, remained the obedient pup. You were as much of a hostage as Daeron. Ormund need only threaten you or Daeron to bring Gwayne back to heel.
You turned and glared at Ormund through teary eyes, thinking of all the tortures he had put you through since your Gwayne had been forced to leave you behind, all the little evils he had committed even before that. You clenched your hand at the collar of Gwayne’s doublet and turned back to your husband, blinking away your tears and attempting a smile as you petted at his throat and jaw.
“Come,” you instructed in a broken, water-logged voice. “I insisted they prepare you a bath the moment your horse was sighted.” Then you gently grasped his hand in your own and led him out of the room, not deigning to even offer Ormund another look as he gleefully watched you go.
Gwayne had all the attendants dismissed as soon as he stepped through the door, but neither of you said much else after that. You helped him remove his doublet and tunic, feeling each of his winces in your own bones. You piled all the dirty clothes in a heap by the door, returned to his side as he stepped into the bath, and helped him settle down into it, caressing his hand and arm as he sighed and relaxed into the water. You gazed upon all the new cuts and scars, all the unfamiliar wounds he had gathered in his time away from you, feeling each one suddenly appear on your skin too.
You dipped a washcloth into the water and took his chin in hand, gently wiping over his chin and cheeks until his face was clear, pale cheeks gone rosy, until he had blinked open those beautiful blue eyes of his and stared right into yours.
“My love,” Gwayne whispered, his wet hands coming up to cup your face and guide it closer. Your tears had already made tracks down your cheeks, smearing where his thumbs caressed. You sucked in a long inhale, lips trembling, and allowed the washcloth to drop into the water so you could cup his face in return. Your fingers dug into the edges of his auburn hair, longer than you remembered it, still wet with sweat and dirt. “You’re here.”
Gwayne’s voice was so small, so awed and disbelieving. Your face broke into a watery smile to match his own, your lips pressed tightly together as you nodded, and whispered, “I’m here,” in return. Gwayne’s face slowly fell, contorting as his eyes began to water and his brows pulled in tight together. His lips trembled, his entire jaw quivering, and his head dropped as he began to cry, still clutching you but unable to lift his gaze. You listened with a tight heart as he sucked in shaking breaths, as he panted with the force of his despair.
You leaned even closer, attempted to lift his head towards you, but he only shook it violently, curving it out of your grip and staring at the water with vehemence.
“The gods have forsaken us,” he panted out, a tight sob still held in his chest. “They have forsaken you and I, and I cannot fathom why, cannot discover what transgression I have committed to cause their ire.”
“Hush,” you admonished quietly, your own tears still streaming, your hair falling forward and the ends dipping into the bathwater. “They have not. We are as forsaken as all the people involved in this useless war.” Gwayne shook with the force of his next inhale, his pale shoulders curving inward. He finally looked up at you then, his eyes lined red and bloodshot, his face as pained as you had ever seen it.
“It is not only the war that I speak of,” he spoke in a rushed hush, mouth turned down at the corners. Your entire body went cold. “It is all the troubles before. All that wasted time in Kingslanding, all the happenings prior to our betrothal.”
You froze in his grip, hands clenching over the edge of the tub. You stared at him, at the frailness of his body in that moment, at the hopelessness dampening his eyes, and felt your insides go hollow.
“It was so long ago,” you whispered, eyes distant. “The gods would not have cared enough to cause that. That was something else entirely.”
Gwayne just continued to watch you with those pained eyes of his, caressing your face distractedly. You had nothing else to say in response, could only sit there holding onto the lip of the tub and trembling.
Though you had not spent your entire childhood at court, you remembered the halls of the Red Keep more than those of your family estate. You remembered running through the gardens, becoming acquainted with the other young ladies at court, and slowly shaping yourself into the sort of young woman that could fit in there.
Your first encounter with Daemon Targaryen had been when you were just shy of reaching the cusp of girlhood. He had become a knight in his own right, dangerous on the training ground and likely not long from his first command.
You were running through the halls, giggling loudly, not looking where you headed, only enjoying the feeling of the wind in your hair and the freedom of your path. Daemon had been headed leisurely in the opposite direction, in a good mood that afternoon for whatever reason, whistling to himself. You had realised you were about to collide with him when it was too late, and squealed before you could stop yourself, but the man was quick on his feet, grasping you quickly and using your momentum to spin the both of you around until you were dizzy and giggling.
“Well, I did not think I would be dancing today,” he exclaimed as he looked down at you with a comically shocked expression. You pressed a hand to your face as you giggled, looking up at him with starry eyes. He was a prince, a knight, everything you were told to value in the stories. He was young and handsome, a Targaryen, and even at that age you felt dazzled. Daemon bent to ruffle your hair slightly before chucking you under the chin and laughing to himself.
“Now be off with you!” He ordered, “but do watch where you’re going.” You nodded happily then ran off once more, giggling to yourself and excitedly telling everyone you met of your encounter with the prince.
You did not have the chance to encounter Daemon again until years later. You had freshly reached marriageable age, your parents beginning to put out the idea to other families that they would be open to suitors beginning to vie for your hand, and you had slowly been making your way through introductions to a number of bland and boring young men and boys. Daemon was freshly returned from the war in the Stepstones, once more the roguish hero of Kingslanding, and now spent his days revelling.
You found it hilarious in the days after that you met him again the same way you had done the first time, colliding. You were desperate to escape your dull afternoon, no longer able to bear the weight of your boredom, and took to strolling through the gardens, humming to yourself and spinning stalks of picked flowers. It seemed you had not outgrown the habit of being oblivious, and turning a corner in the hedgerow, collided with a firm body.
Daemon was quick to gather you up in his arms, a flurry of pretty blue fabric, and spin you around so that neither of you went toppling. He stared down into your face in surprise, his grip around you tight and secure, and eventually began to chuckle.
“Well, hello there,” he greeted flirtatiously, smirking as your eyes widened and you froze up. “This is rather a nice surprise.” You huffed a surprised laugh at that, pulling out of his grip to begin straightening yourself up, brushing down your skirts.
“My apologies, my prince,” you sighed, attempting to smile at him.
“No harm done,” he held up his hands, teasingly looking himself up and down as if to be sure. “Though perhaps I would not mind if you attempted to do me harm.”
You laughed again, pushing hair behind your ears before waving your hand dismissively in the air.
“Oh I couldn’t possibly. The most harmful thing I am capable of is hurting the eyes of those who look upon my dismal embroidery.” Daemon laughed at that, far warmer than you thought him capable of, and it made your heart jump in your chest.
“Eh,” he waved off, “embroidery is a bore anyway. Never understood the appeal myself.” You laughed again at that because why would he? When had anyone in Westeros ever seen a nobleman dedicate himself to something so ‘womanly’ as embroidery?
“Come,” he said then suddenly, gesturing to the path in front of you both, “I find you rather entertaining,” and he wagged his finger in front of your face as if he was scolding you, then reached down to thread your arm through his.
You went hot all over but allowed him to guide you, to entertain you with tales and to flirt with you like it was second nature. Eventually you would learn that this was a talent of his, that he made people feel special as if it were a fun pastime only to forget them later. But you hadn’t known that then, the naive fool that you were.
For his part, Daemon was being honest when he said he was intrigued by you. You were a breath of fresh air, so simple in comparison to the rest of his life and relations. That’s not to say you were dumb, he actually found you to be quite intelligent despite how much you denied it, and he enjoyed your company.
Over the coming days he found himself seeking you out for whatever reason, found himself wanting to hear your laugh, wanting to see the way your eyes fluttered when you were tired or the way you fidgeted your fingers when you wanted to come up with a worthy answer to whatever question he had asked.
He tried not to examine the feelings too closely, tried not to think too hard about those desires or why he even wanted to avoid feeling them. Usually he was a creature of pure feeling, allowing his whims and desires to dictate his subsequent actions. He was not someone who would be told what to do, he would only do what he wished. And this was what he wished, that was that.
Perhaps he was so intrigued by you because he was idle. Since coming back from the war in the Stepstones, he had not had much to do other than occasionally advising Viserys when he rarely asked him for help on a matter. Perhaps you were simply an entertaining pastime. Whatever, he did not care, he would not examine this either. He found fun with you, the simple kind that involved drinking wine in the gardens and making stupid conversation while the two of you slowly got tipsy, and he would leave it at that.
“You are an odd creature, you know,” Daemon told you one day, his fingers caressing the back of your hand where it rested on his forearm. He did not look at you as he said it, so he did not see the small bashful smile that pulled at your lips.
You felt full to the brim around him, abuzz with feeling. Sometimes you wished to be away from him if only to get a respite from the intensity of your desire to kiss him. But being away from him felt worse than being overwhelmed, and you much preferred being in his company.
“Why am I an odd creature?” You asked, voice soft and almost breathless.
“You choose to keep my company despite how much nattering you must receive from all the old aunts about being wary of me,” he smirked as he glanced up at you, his hair ruffled by a breeze off the bay.
The two of you had walked down to the private docks for the Red Keep, sitting a little higher up from the actual landing and pier to gaze out at the sea. It was only in moments like this when he touched you so freely, when he knew there were fewer witnesses around. He reached up and tucked some of your hair behind your ear then, leaning in close and looking right into your eyes. You felt breathless again despite barely moving a muscle.
“Does that make me odd or stupid?” You asked then, smiling a little as your hair whipped behind your back in the breeze. He smiled too, leaning in even closer until his nose brushed yours.
“Why not both?” And then he pulled back and laughed as he looked down at you.
You had hoped that Daemon was only taking a while in deciding on how and when he would ask your father for your hand in marriage. You had hoped he would not dally too long, because you wished to be married to him more than anything. You loved him, you were certain of it, and often you believed he loved you too.
It was in the way he touched you, so reverent as he caressed your cheeks and nose, as he traced the edges of your lips and the curves under your eyes. It was in the way he watched you as you laughed or spoke, a small smile on his own mouth as if your joy satisfied him. It was all there, he need only act on it.
But all your hopes were dashed on a lazy sunny afternoon. You had not meant to find your way to the Royal wing, had not meant to stroll so distractedly that you ended up outside of one of the King’s private solars.
“...well, if we are on the topic of marriage,” you heard the King say, then the distinct sound of Daemon guffawing, answering with a sarcastic ‘oh really?’. You smiled a little to yourself, the way you always did at the sound of Daemon’s voice, and you walked a little closer, too curious for your own detriment.
“Well you should have known the question was coming! It is obvious to everyone that you favour the girl, and she would be a good match.” You went warm with bashfulness at the praise, pressing a hand to your face. “The two of you seem inseparable and I am sure her father is wondering when you will ask.”
Daemon scoffed and ‘mmed’ around a mouthful of wine, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Your stomach began to sink. Perhaps he was only hedging. Perhaps he had plans he did not wish to divulge.
“In response to such enquiries, I would tell all you clucking hens to fuck right off.” He thumped his cup of wine down on the table and fixed Viserys with a serious look. “I have no intentions of marrying her. This is all in good fun, that’s all.”
You felt your heart become swallowed up by the pit in your stomach. Your hands trembled, going cold and clammy. A lump appeared in your throat, a pain in your chest. You felt the burn of humiliation behind your eyes. You heard his voice again, ‘I have no intentions of marrying her’ like a death knell in your head. Your breath became too heavy and you almost fell against the wall.
You did not hear Daemon stand and bid Viserys goodbye. You did not hear him make his way toward the door. You only saw too late that he had appeared, that he was looking down at you with a million different emotions flashing through his eyes.
“Were you spying?” He spat in a low hiss, bending closer to your face before he noticed the sheen of tears in your eyes and the tremble in your lower lip.
You clenched your eyes shut, begging yourself not to crumple, not until you had the definitive answers your pathetic little heart so craved. You could not form words yet, but when you felt Daemon reach out and touch your cheek, you flinched, mumbled a pathetic ‘stop’ before attempting to step back only to be stopped by the wall.
Daemon looked around then grasped you by the wrist and dragged you into a sitting room just a door down from the King’s solar. He walked further into the opposite side of the room, but you remained close to the door, trembling and lost in your own thoughts.
“Y/n-”
“Tell me,” you begged suddenly, head shooting up to stare at him, hands clasped tight together. Your eyes were full of tears, overflowing, your cheeks splotched and wet. “Please, Daemon. Tell me it is not so. Tell me that all you felt for me is real. Claim it to be true now the way you have done when we are alone. If you say your feelings are as they are, then propose. Go to Viserys, go to my father and ask for my hand. Do not ruin me.”
Daemon stood still, the distance between you a yawning cavern, widening with each moment he did not answer. He just stared at you, hands clenched at his sides, face on the edge of hurt but still so painfully blank. Had you ever been able to read him? Had you ever known what he was thinking?
“I cannot,” he finally broke out, glancing at the floor as he said it. Pieces of his hair fell forward onto his forehead. You wanted to reach out and push them back, a reaction you would have to unlearn.
How could he answer without breaking both of your hearts further? How could he say that he did feel for you, immensely, but there were bigger plans afoot, bigger than his love for a random high-born girl?
“You can’t or you won’t?” You whispered, the lump in your throat tightening to the point of suffocation. His silence was answer enough.
You pressed your hands to your face, sobbing into your palms. You turned away from him, embarrassed and mortified at him seeing you so torn open, at him witnessing this most sensitive part of you and discarding it like scrap meat.
You hurried toward the door, your dress fluttering noiselessly, the desire to run suddenly surging through you. You wished to be anywhere but here, anywhere but in Daemon’s presence. Just before you reached the door, you stopped and turned to look at Daemon, his figure blurred in the distance through your tears. “You are cruel, Daemon Targaryen,” you said, your voice wavering and water-logged. “You are careless with the hearts of others, and your cruelty knows no bounds.”
Then you turned away and hurried out of the chambers. Daemon watched until the door slammed shut behind you, his heart fallen out of his chest, his stomach an endless pit, and the sinking feeling of a choice made that he would regret for the rest of his life…
Many people had assumed you would be betrothed to Daemon soon. With how often the two of you had been seen together, it seemed like it would only be a matter of time. Your mother and father were expectant, the ladies twittered how wonderful it would be to finally see the Rogue Prince serious about a woman, how wonderful a royal wedding would be, and even Viserys had taken to smiling at you in a way that belied him noticing the way Daemon had favoured you.
But it all came crumbling down so quickly. People soon noticed how morose you became, so subdued and bland. They noticed how Daemon was not to be found in your vicinity anymore, how you no longer walked the gardens with him, how he no longer boasted of your acquaintance.
Of course with noticing came speculation. People wondered what had happened between you, wondered why he had tired of you, why after such a long time of thinly veiled courtship suddenly the two of you returned to strangers. Some wondered if you had given yourself to him and after he had had his way with you, he had cast you aside as he was wont to do. Others wondered if it was the position of your house, if Daemon deemed you too lowly, or if your dowry was not enough to entice. Whatever they pondered, the blame always fell to you.
This meant you were ruined. Ruined in the subtle way where no one said it aloud, but the possible suitors dried up, the young men turned away from you or offered only simple hellos and made no attempts at conversation. You had once been associated with royalty, and now you were not even worthy of marriage for a Fossoway.
It was in this pitiful state that Gwayne found you. He had arrived in Kingslanding for an impromptu visit to court, desperate to be away from the torment of Ormund in Oldtown and equally eager to see his father and sister. It had been on a stroll with a heavily pregnant Alicent through the gardens that he had seen you for the first time.
You were sitting alone under the shade of a tree, a book open on your lap but your eyes fixated on the distant water of Blackwater Bay. Gwayne had immediately felt intrigued. You cut a sad figure, dressed in a decidedly beautiful but muted grey gown, all alone and painted with sadness despite the sunny cheer of the day. He had nudged his head in your direction to guide Alicent’s gaze, asked after you, but Alicent had only sighed sadly and tutted.
“What a pity, another woman ruined at the hands of Daemon Targaryen,” she had sighed, frowning with pity.
“What do you mean?” He had asked, turning to look at her as they continued to traverse their path.
“Her and Daemon seemed thick as thieves for a while. When he was not with Viserys or Rhaenyra, he was with her, walking the gardens or simply imbibing wine but always together. If it rained, they would stroll the halls indoors, if it was sunshine, they would walk all the way down to the bay and back up. Odd for Daemon to be entertained by such simplicity but he seemed to be. It happened so frequently that a marriage proposal seemed imminent. Surely he would not be lavishing a young and pretty woman with such attentions if he did not intend to wed her. But one day it all ceased. It was so sudden. They simply stopped being a pair, and everyone was left to wonder why.” Alicent frowned at you in the distance as you shut your book and leaned back against the tree trunk, shutting your eyes and appearing to doze off.
“Many said it was due to her shortcomings in whatever way but…” Alicent chewed on her lip then looked back up to Gwayne. “Targaryens are more like cats than dragons. They enjoy playing with their prey and decide only at the last moment if they shall eat it or let it go.”
The two of them turned the corner and you disappeared from view, but Gwayne could not dispel you from his thoughts, and he became determined to be the reason you ended your mourning for your broken heart.
Gwayne enticed you with biscuits and a pretty smile. He found you in the gardens again the next day; it seemed you favoured being out of doors more than anywhere else. He came prepared to woo, wearing his best casual doublet in a dark green embroidered with gold. He carried a plate of freshly baked biscuits, nipped quickly while the cook’s back had been turned, and made his way over to the tree you situated yourself under, the large tome open on your lap once more.
“I fear you have stolen the best spot in the gardens,” he began jovially, smiling brightly as he approached and you turned your head up to look at him. He noted the apathy in your eyes, the tiredness that dragged at them, and felt his heart clench.
“Oh,” you sighed, carefully shutting the book in your lap, “I can leave if you’d wish.” Gwayne jumped at that, holding up his hands and waving quickly to dispel the notion.
“Oh, no! No no, I did not mean to drive you off,” he sighed then and dropped his head, shaking it at himself and smiling with self-deprecation. “That was a decidedly pathetic attempt at beginning to make your acquaintance.” Your head snapped up at that, your eyes going a little wide. “I do hope the damage is not irreparable?”
You shook your head, slowly and hesitantly, dazed, as if the notion of someone wanting to make your acquaintance had become unfamiliar to you. Gwayne smiled brightly and sat himself down at the farthest most edge of your blanket, leaving ample space between you for him to set the plate of biscuits down.
“Well, if I still have hope, then allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Gwayne Hightower, first-born son to the Hand of the King,” he had a teasing smile as he narrated his introduction to you, exaggeratedly detailed. “And you are?” Then he looked expectant, blinking his big blue eyes at you kindly.
“Y/n, of House Harte,” you answered simply, suddenly overcome with nerves at his eager attentions. You felt as though you had forgotten how to speak. “My father is an advisor to the King in… some capacity.” Gwayne laughed at that as if you had meant to be funny, and a disbelieving smile touched your lips.
You had forgotten what it felt like to not be the black sheep at court, to converse with someone who was eager to keep your company. You found you had missed it more than you could ever express.
“I suppose we are alike through our fathers then.” Gwayne said it as if he was happy to know that there was something that related the two of you, as if the similarity was a good thing.
The two of you went quiet for a moment, but it was not unpleasant. A breeze ran through the yard and filled it with the sound of rustling leaves, caressed both of you with its gentle touch. You sighed quietly at the feeling of it, and watched it tousle Gwayne’s hair as he too simply enjoyed it.
“We can sit in silence if you would prefer,” he finally spoke, voice as quiet as the breeze. “I did not wish to disturb you, only to keep you company.”
You blinked quickly at him, attempting to fight the sudden and confusing desire to cry, and pursed your lips. You nodded, opening your tome back up, but as you began to read, your thoughts and eyes continually returned to the man quietly sitting in front of you with his own book, gently nudging the plate of biscuits towards you without a word.
It took Gwayne a long time to heal the cracks in you, but he was determined. He started off slow, finding simple ways to keep you company without imposing himself on you. He sat with you in the gardens at a respectful distance, asked polite questions about the books you read, offered you sugary treats, until you began to unfurl from your shell, until your smile became a thing of wonder and you offered it freely.
He did not push nor rush, did not force you to divulge anything you did not want to, only asked questions politely then retreated if he noted your despair or agitation. He did not touch you ever during your courtship unless you initiated it, did not cross a single boundary that could be taken for impropriety, and he never made you feel bad for it either.
But most of all, he was clear on his intentions with you, and expressed it often. If he ever caught even a moment’s insecurity from you, he was quick to rectify it. “I wish to marry you,” he said once, face bright and open, “and I will wait as long as it takes until you feel ready to marry me in return.” You had practically melted right into the floor then. “I wish only to love you,” he had whispered another time, his face in a beautifully painful smile torn between joy and heartbreak. “Whether that be from afar, never to speak to you again, or by your side in matrimony. In whatever way you shall have me.” Then he had added cheekily, a small smirk on his face, “though I should hope it would be the latter,” he laughed, accepting the slap you aimed at his arm.
It had taken you longer than you wished to admit later to finally acquiesce to his designs of marriage. You had been too wary at first, even with his constant reassurance. You kept having this recurring dream that you would walk down to the altar in the Sept only to find him denying your hand at the last moment in front of the entire court. It woke you up with terror and sweat.
But Gwayne was firm, steadfast, and your hopes grew until you finally told him that you would be very happy with his going to your father to begin talks of your betrothal.
In all of this, Daemon’s presence had been like a phantom lurking in the distant ocean. It was difficult to forget him when he resided in the Keep still, when it was unavoidable to see him occasionally, but you never seeked him out, and he had washed his hands of you now, so you were never put in the horribly awkward position of having to speak directly to him again.
He watched you from a distance sometimes, without your knowing. He watched you begin to smile once more in the company of the Hightower, watched you grow like a flower that was being watered and cared for only once it had been given up to a more experienced gardener by the original purchaser. And he felt hollow, felt bitter and corrupt on the inside, and he hated it.
It was the evening after you had finally told Gwayne you would accept his proposal for marriage. You were still feeling giddy, overcome with happiness, smiling more than you had in a long time. It was the hour around which the sun set, where everything began to darken and took on this dark blue quality, where the sconces were lit but everyone was still steeped in the slowness of the late afternoon.
Gwayne had come to whisk you away for a private walk, begging a moment alone with you to discuss how the conversations for your hand were coming along. Offering marriage was quite a contentious affair it seemed, for your father was determined to question every single one of Gwayne’s virtues until he was satisfied with the knight’s character. It warmed your heart to your father, to the care he deemed necessary for you.
“I was not terrified though,” Gwayne argued, giving you that fake frown of toughness, but you only laughed as you gripped onto his arm, petting him there.
“Oh I’m sure you were not,” you teased, laughing at the indignant scoff he let out before he gave up on the act and smiled tenderly down at you.
Though he desperately wanted to reach out and brush the hair from your face, to caress your cheek, he restrained himself. He had made a promise to be the utmost gentleman to you, to retain propriety at all costs, and that meant only touching you in this way, your hand on his arm as you walked, and nothing more.
The two of you had strolled hither and thither until the hallways looked unfamiliar, until you both realised you had not paid enough attention and could not exactly decide on the best course ahead. You suggested looking in on one of the rooms, attempting to see the view out of the window so you might orient yourself, and without a second thought, knocked and entered the first door you saw.
The room was quite dim, lit only through the windows by the distantly setting sun. You had not noticed him at first, sitting at the table by the windows, half-shadowed, staring at the jug of wine in front of him. You had stepped in a little further to squint at the windows, about to turn back to say something to Gwayne about how you must be in the West wing, when he lifted his head and looked squarely at you.
Gwayne entered behind you, one hand going towards you just as you stumbled back a little, staring at Daemon with wide eyes. He could feel you tremble, could feel the way your hands looked for his arm to grasp tightly onto, anything to steady you.
“Y/n,” Daemon slurred, smiling in the dazed way of someone who had already imbibed far too much.
“Daemon,” you breathed out, the breath choking in your throat. “I- I’m sorry, I’ll go,” but just as you began to turn away, to rush out, Daemon chuckled, low and slow and almost threatening.
“So this is my replacement then?” He asked maliciously, clicking his tongue as he picked up his cup of wine. “Couldn’t find anyone better?”
You froze with your back to him, your hand clamped on Gwayne’s forearm. Your entire body trembled. You felt hot with shame and rage and something that was a toxic mix of the two. You turned slowly.
“What?”
“You heard me, darling.”
Gwayne watched both of you, a deep furrow at the apex of his brow. He carefully stepped closer to you, your back brushing his front as you stared at Daemon from across the room.
“What right do you have to say anything to me?” You bit out, forgetting titles and courtly reason, forgetting that you spoke to a prince of the realm and not the man that had broken your heart and stepped on the pieces.
“Surely there was a better option out there, dearest,” Daemon continued to mock, taking a long drink from his cup of wine before lolling his head back and looking at the two of you with glassy eyes. “Someone a little less… scrawny.”
Gwayne straightened up a little behind you, his jaw clenching, but he remained silent, keeping a careful eye on both Daemon and you. This was the first time he had truly been faced with this side of your past.
“Like you, Daemon?” You asked, your voice going small and pained. Gwayne wanted to reach out, to hold you close, but he remained a steadfast pillar behind you. “Someone who would disregard my feelings, toy with them like a cat with a mouse? Someone who would happily sully my reputation before tossing me out like day old bread?”
Your entire body shook with the force of your feelings, with all the things you had never been able to say until this moment. Tears burned at your eyes, the lump in your throat choked you, but Gwayne’s presence at your back strengthened you, filled you up with the security to feel everything you felt, knowing that he would be there to gather you up and make you whole again.
Daemon watched you with big black eyes, suddenly looking a little lost. Your heart clenched in your chest and you remained frozen to your spot. His hand slipped from the table and he slumped a little in his seat, clearly becoming overcome with the wine now. Again, your heart clenched.
“Don’t marry him,” he finally said in a low, ragged voice. You stiffened up. “Don’t- don’t marry him.” You could hear the words he left unsaid, the end of the sentence that he kept shut inside, and you clenched your eyes shut.
You remained stiff, standing there as you softly shook your head. Gwayne watched you, his own body breathless, his face contorted in confused pain as he guided his eyes all over you. You finally opened your eyes and looked right at Daemon. You saw the man who had been there all along, the frivolous and callous person, the one who had so easily stepped on your hopes and dreams. You reached back and threaded your fingers with Gwayne’s, squeezing his hand.
“Goodbye, Daemon,” you whispered, barely audible, almost as if it was your last breath.
Then, without a second look back, you turned and walked out, Gwayne following dutifully behind.
It was only a day later that news spread in Kingslanding of the Rogue Prince’s exile. It was only a moon later that you were wed in the Starry Sept in Oldtown, smiling brightly as Gwayne held you close, clung to you in the hopes that he would never let you go again.
You only divulged your truth of the matters prior to your betrothal to Gwayne a month after your marriage, on a quiet evening when he had held you on the balcony and the two of you had watched the moon shine in the sky. He had promised you then to be the sort of man that was worthy of your love, and he had never let you down since.
And here you were now, years later, first watching as he rode away to the call of war, then whisked away at the hands of his cousin to tents and the buzz of armies.
You had known that Ormund was treating with Daemon the day you all began the march to Tumbleton. You had heard Caraxes flying in the distance, heard the faint sounds of his clicks and whines from your tent miles away. You had seen neither Daemon nor the dragon, but it felt like you had. It felt the same way it had done when you were in Kingslanding, the pressure of his presence on your head and shoulders. Daemon Targaryen’s presence, even at a distance, could not be ignored.
You had felt the tightness in your chest then as well, sitting there in the safety of your tent with only the memory of heartbreaks long gone past. You had thought of his face then, his hair all chopped short and perfectly ‘roguish’, the only way to ever describe him really. His title was a rather good one. You had wondered what he looked like now, if he had grown his hair out long once more, if he had changed significantly at all.
And then you had been hit by the thought of Gwayne, your wonderful Gwayne who had spent so long soothing all the hurts Daemon had caused. Your Gwayne who had kissed you every evening and whispered how much he loved you, your Gwayne who had caressed you with reverence, who had made good on all his promises, who had been the one to give you the true love you had once thought you would find with Daemon. And as you thought of him, your beloved, those feelings of heaviness always caused by Daemon began to lighten…
You heeded Gwayne’s orders as long as you could. You stayed inside the Keep, remained at the centre of the building so you would be as protected as possible. You did not stray too close to the windows, did not even leave the room he had instructed you to stay in. But when the commotion began, you could not help yourself from standing by the window and listening.
You only realised it was Gwayne because of Daeron beside him, following quickly with whatever cloaked man they ushered with them. They stuck close to the walls and shadows until they had twisted through enough streets for you to lose them. You stayed at the window a while longer, chewing on your lip as your mind rushed. What was he doing? What could he possibly be doing if not… if not trying to save you all.
You jumped at the realisation, your heart hammering in your chest. Foolish Gwayne. Beautiful, kind-hearted, foolish Gwayne. By the time you managed to find your way out of the Keep and into the streets, you knew he would already be at the battlements, already making his way out to begin whatever negotiation this was. You sprinted the whole way, panting and frantic, lifting your skirts so they would not be caught up in your boots as you ran. You were slick with sweat by the time you reached the citywall, out of breath and dizzy with the rush of blood.
You took the first staircase you found, beginning the run up it. You were blind to anything except what was in front of you, deaf to the noises of soldiers and terrified townspeople, to the thumping army outside the citygates, yelling for blood, and to Daeron screaming your name, chasing after you to stop you.
When you found yourself on the wall-walk, you clashed shoulders with armoured men, stumbled over the legs of the children being lined up, and threw yourself forward until you were practically bending over the wall over the gates, desperate for a glimpse of Gwayne.
And there you found him, not far at all, surrounded by northmen and… and Daemon Targaryen. You gasped as if a knife had been thrust in your chest. You watched Daemon’s hand shoot out, grasp Gwayne about the neck and force him up higher. You watched him struggle, his body jolting and twitching as he lost air. And you screamed.
“GWAYNE!” Your voice was shrill, piercing through the air and right to the men. You were practically falling over the wall, leaning far out to stare in fear. Your voice was a pained, torn thing, turning people to stare in your direction.
Daemon’s head snapped up in the direction of it, his hand twitching before he tossed Gwayne to the floor. His mouth parted at the sight of you. He had not seen you in years… You had matured, the evidence of it plain as day, young still to be sure but older than before, wiser around the eyes and mouth. Daemon’s breath left him, a sudden tremor in his hand.
Gwayne coughed and heaved for breath as he writhed on the floor, his throat and chest burning. He clawed at the sand, attempting to pull himself away. He had heard your voice, even through the rushing blood and black spots of death. He craned his neck up toward the battlements, to your figure leaning over them, your face contorted with fear and worry, looking between him and Daemon frantically. Gwayne looked back only once, a glance at Daemon’s face as he stood frozen where he had tossed Gwayne, his eyes on you, and then he pushed up and ran for his life, looking only at the door to the city as his entire body rushed with blood and not enough air, his mind only screaming your name.
You remained on the battlement even as Gwayne ran for the door, as he abandoned Corlys and sprinted for safety, occasionally glancing up in your direction before he disappeared through the door. You remained staring at Daemon, at the vicious armour and the rigidity of his body. You were not surprised that he thrived in an environment of war.
You watched him a moment longer, the wideness of his eyes followed by the hardness that entered his gaze, and you realised that it was the first time he had seen you since that day. He had been banished only a day or two after, he would not have known of the everything else. He would only have heard of your wedding moons later, or perhaps he had not heard, had never cared enough to find out. Perhaps he did not even remember, it would not be surprising given how drunk he had been. Or perhaps this was the first time, so many years later, he had been forced to witness what had become of your life without him, who you had chosen to give it to that was not him.
You allowed yourself to be pulled away by Daeron then, his arm around you as he quickly guided you down the wall and into the clutch of guards as Gwayne finally found his way to you all. As the drums of war began to beat.
Daemon sat atop his horse as he watched the Northmen begin their charge, a swarm of wolves to attack the walls. He clenched the reigns tightly in his hands, attempting to shake the vision of you atop the city walls. He would not feel sorry for the attack, would not feel sorry for the visions of fire and blood that filled him, the total destruction of Tumbleton. You had chosen Gwayne. You had chosen the pathetic knightling, and all those choices had led you here. He would not feel sorry for you amid the destruction of the city, amid the dragonfire.
But as he climbed atop Caraxes and aimed for the citygates, as he yelled ‘dracarys’, he could not help but to think of you, hair whipping in the wind as you leaned on the parapet, and the anguish on your face.
Gwayne gathered you up in his arms as soon as you were down, his hands almost painful at your waist, his mouth on yours without a second thought. You clutched him just as tight in return, kissing him until the taste of sweat and ash and fear filled you up. You trembled violently in his hands, the blood rushing in your ears still deafening you to the world.
“Why did you not stay in the Keep?” He asked angrily, shaking you by the shoulders.
“You… I… You…” you could not gather your thoughts, could not form the words, could not tell him that you would have tossed yourself from the battlements if he had died there.
It was then that all hell broke loose, the battle began. You could hear the shrieks of children and soldiers alike, could see the Northmen pouring over the wall and the fires erupting. The dragons had arrived, you supposed.
Gwayne clutched you tight to his chest and began barking orders, practically dragging you with him as he attempted to work his way back through the suffocating walls of the city. It was chaos all over, the clashing of swords and the splash of blood. You could not process any of it, could not gather what you were seeing with your eyes into your brain.
You rushed hither and thither, feet stumbling as Gwayne sliced at your opponents, either pressing you behind him or tucking you under his arm. Daeron kept in close behind you, defended by a host of guards, but whichever direction you turned, it was bleak. The air was thick with smoke and steel, soldiers arrived from all directions, and the hope for a successful escape dwindled by the moment.
Gwayne was the first to spot the dragon coming in low, to yell as soon as the creature’s maw opened and fire began to build. “TAKE COVER!” He screamed, shoving Daeron forward as the building caught flames, as the wooden beams creaked and the heat poured out, as the ash choked the air thick and the tower began to topple.
You stared up at it, the fire falling atop you all, and you glanced back at Gwayne, face contorted in terror. But Gwayne did not hesitate. The man loved you more than he loved himself, he would sacrifice anything and everything for you. Gwayne threw himself at you. You collapsed under his weight, back slamming to the floor. He curled around you, hands and arms and legs covering whatever he could before the tower collapsed the rest of the way, and the world went black…
Taglist: @holdingforgeneralhugs (I know it's been a while since I wrote a Gwayne fic, so if you no longer want to be part of the taglist, just let me know!)
ᯓ word count: 5.3k
ᯓ series description: baelor targaryen had many duties resting upon his broad, war-ridden shoulders. the hand of the king, the heir to the iron throne, the firstborn prince of a marriage westeros still struggled with - yet the seven seem not to care. the early passing of his wife leaves him with two very young babes, and a gaping hole in his heart that he must fill.
and then the king betroths him to you - the 'baratheon brat', also known as 'storm's end's delight'. yet he never meets you, not once. not until the wedding nears. letters of affection slowly blossom into something more...
roe speaks: baelor !!!!!! it is finally baelor time !!!! (this is technically a younger baelor, both valarr and matarys are tiny babes in this one but he is still a dilf ! but yes imagine a younger baelor!!!) anyway baelor breakspear more like baelor break-my-back
i will no longer be doing a taglist! instead, please follow @flockoff-featherface-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified!
chapters:
ᯓ★ Chapter One: "I also remember making you blush, and how your cheeks reddened more than the skies upon sunset~"
ᯓ★ Chapter Two: "I am leaving, before you subject me to more of this and I find the urge to throw myself from the window far too strong to hold back - good night, Baelor, and good fucking luck!"
Baelor Targaryen x Reader x Maekar Targaryen ✦ Vampire AU
Sent to Dragonstone as the price of your house’s uncertain loyalties, you arrive seeking the favour of two princes, who were powerful enough to help your dying brother. What you find instead is a court of gentle and watchful monsters.
Word count: 8.1K ✦ Status: In progress ✦ Next update: 14 August 2026
pairing: baelor "breakspear" targaryen x f!stark!reader
and so the story goes: a dragon falls in love with a wolf, ice invites fire.
content warnings/contains: stark!reader (no physical description other than the fact you're barthogan stark's daughter); set pre-akotsk so no show spoilers, but post first blackfyre rebellion; strangers to lovers; implied age gap; protective!smitten!baelor; angst/fluff; mutual pining; falling in love; sexual tension; court drama.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ pinterest board | inspo tag & asks | ao3┊baelor/lady stark playlist | aerion/lady stark playlist
⊹ ࣪ ˖ word count: 90k┊next update: 29.03.26┊rated: t.
⋆˙⟡ summary your husband has been tormented with jealousy at your new sworn shield.
⋆˙⟡ notes this was fun and hot.
⋆˙⟡ warnings sex 18+, p in v, riding, possessive and jealous baelor, dirty talk, pussy eating, implications of a biting kink
MASTERLIST
Baelor knew of your standing amongst the many folk of the Realm. They looked upon you, his second wife, as a young beauty. It seemed both Lords and Ladies alike got lost within your gaze, stammering their House names as you greeted them. Your beauty gained you a vast amount of attention, the good in hand with the bad. Perhaps this was why your guard must double on your tours of the Realm, or why you followed after your Husband as he walked through the Keep.
"Husband," you called out, his pace swiftly outdoing your own, "you must think it as silly as I. A sworn shield?"
"Yes, my dear wife." He did not halt in his trail toward the small council room, wanting this conversation to be brought to an end, though that did not seem likely. The death of most conversation was when you willed it so, not him or anyone else. You had that effect on people, and what was worse, you were aware of it. Used it to your advantage, in fact.
"I am not a Queen. Merely a Princess save by marriage." You reasoned.
Baelor finally stopped, eyes closed to refrain from talking to you as he did his many small council men when they would not listen to him. He held the patience of many Houses of men in his body alone, that would not falter with you. You had picked up your skirts to chase after him, finally stopping as you reached his chest.
A familiar scent. A very familiar scent.
You craned your head toward his neck, standing on your toes to better reach him. "Is that… lemon?"
Baelor felt his cheeks heat at your observation, wanting to run from his sweet wife as you stared up at him, a challenging smirk stuck to your face. "I miss you during my day of many duties, I carry your scent as a reminder."
He said it so casually, as if this was not such a grand declaration of love toward you. Your knees nearly buckled at his admission.
"Baelor Targaryen." You gasped, hands clutching your chest. "I will find this marriage annulled to wed you all over again, if you are not careful with your words."
He breathed out a laugh, reaching his hands to grasp your cheeks within them. "Must I be so careful? I am enraptured by you, even after our many years of marriage."
The scarce moment between you was sweet, innocent, free of any duties that you were both bound to, you did not want to sour it with digging your heels in on the matters of your protection. But you did anyway, you were nothing if not a vessel to keep Baelor on his toes.
"Must it be? A sworn shield for me sounds like utter nonsense." You pleaded, your hands shifted from your chest to his. Your touch waged war between his mind and body, he had little option than to submit.
"You sound much like Maekar." His tone was amused, light, hopeful to sway his decision on this sworn sword. "But your protection is paramount to me, I will not risk your life because you wish to wander the halls alone."
You huffed, stomping your foot like a sulking child not getting their way, before shuffling away from your Husband. "Nonsense."
You were not even permitted to choose your sworn shield. Not a grand moment of the Kingsguard lined before you, pointing below to a particularly beefy one. No, in stead, you had been woken and summoned to the gardens by your Husband, the cloaked guard stood beside him.
"My dear wife," Baelor greeted you, taking your hands into his and bringing them to his lips. His kiss was soft, any firmer and you would be dragging him to your bedchambers. "This is your sworn shield, Ser Caine."
The knight bowed his head before you, your polite smile convincing enough to have him smile back at you. Baelor was contented with his decision as he looked at you, accepting the protection, being safer for it, settling Baelor's heartbeat during his routinely duties. But as he looked at Ser Caine, a familiar sight as he had seen before in most Lords that met with his wife. He had been damned.
You were beautiful, Baelor knew that. He was more than happy with it, to have a wife that was so easy on his eyes, it made his duties as a Husband simpler. But he could not cage the chill in his bones, as it swept through his chest like a wind from the North. Ser Caine's gaze had not left yours, as you rambled innocently about something only you thought so fondly of.
Baelor spent many a day and night listening to your words, how they fell from your mouth in a ramble completely separate from your mind. He entertained it, encouraged it, you were a person of your own will, and felt natural enough with him to carry yourself in such a way. It felt foreign to see it happen so quickly with this Ser Caine.
But Baelor was nothing if not dutiful. This was the happenings from this moment forward, there was little to be done with it.
Baelor could not fault the poor knight, he was exceptional at his duty. He spent every moment at your side, or at the door of the rooms you occupied. Some nights even guarded your bedchambers. He was simply performing his duty, doing as he had sworn to do. So why did Baelor feel so… vexed? He was a busy man, though he wished he was not. When not in small council meetings, he would be at the King's side, aiding him on his authority over the Realm. He did not have the time to give you, even if he yearned for it, so you mostly existed in thought.
He would pass the library, dragging himself to yet another called upon meeting, catching you drifting between the shelves, Ser Caine closely behind you, his own eye upon you. As if the books that surrounded you were any threat. He simply continued on his path, shaking his head free of his poisoned thoughts.
He would venture outside to locate his sweet wife, to take a moment at your side to look upon you fondly, to relax the stiffness in his shoulders. And would see you, blunted steel in hand, sparring with Ser Caine. Albiet lightly, the knight was not a fool. He did not clash your swords, did not attack, only defend from your strikes. His lip firmed, bordering a sneer, at the sight of you both.
Your laugh echoed through his chest, only lifting the smile of your sworn shield. You engaged in your laughter, the swords clattering to the ground beneath you as you played the victor. Baelor was controlled by envy, jealously, this feeling had not yet been named. He had not felt this with Jena, his late wife, only with you, his younger, prettier wife.
"Husband." Your voice was smooth against his ears, melting whatever hardened, sour feelings had gathered within him. You approached him with a simple kiss to his cheek. "Did you see my technique? I feel my call to war is imminent, I must be armoured and horsed immediately."
Ser Caine laughed behind you. Stolen the laughter from Baelor's throat.
"If only, dear wife." He spoke, his fingers reaching to fiddle with your necklace, the gem he had gifted you settled on the hollow of your throat. "The Realm would not lift a sword toward you, for you are too kind."
"And pretty, I hope." You added, allowing Baelor's eyes to shift over your body. Awaiting his answer.
"I need not say it, for you already know what I think of your beauty." He answered, taking hold of your heart as he did every time you spoke. It was simple for him, he need not do much to have you a mess in his hands.
He was not oft so affectionate with you in public view. He saved his sweet words and sweeter touch for the privacy of your chambers, but he was a man at his core, he would not be mistaken for his place at your side. He allowed your hands to rest on his chest, he allowed his hands to cradle your cheeks. He yearned to kiss you, touch you, have you come undone around his fingers. But duty had called him away once again.
"Your Grace," a serving man stood behind him, taking him from your grasp, "The King summons you to his solar."
"At once, Husband." You bowed your head, stepping away as he drifted away from you. Scarcely a look over his shoulder at you, and your heart retired to its sunken place in your stomach. With a deep sigh, your chest felt hollow.
"Ser Caine," you spoke, eyes stuck on the wall your Husband just disappeared behind, "I wish to visit the gardens this afternoon."
"Of course, my Lady." He spoke, taking his place ahead of you and taking the lead toward the gardens.
You would not dare admit it to your Husband, but you were delighted of his appointment of Ser Caine as your shield. He was dutiful, but kind, indulged in your humorous remarks. Made your days less hollow. Of course, when Baelor had appeared to see you between his day, he retired to his role as Guard. Or when Valarr and Matarys would bombard you with excitable happenings of their days. But when your Husband and sons-by-marriage had been stolen by responsibility, you found a friend in Ser Caine.
You sat opposite each other in the library, books open between you. You had reached such new depths of boredom, you had made a game between you. The first to find spilt ink on a page won. Won what, you had not yet gotten that far. But it evolved into a race, who could find the splotch of ink first?
Your fingers dragged over the rough page, assessing between the lines of words for any abnormalities. Ser Caine contained as much vigor as you, flipping between pages faster than you had. You were both so lost in your fun, you had not noticed your Husband enter the library.
Ser Caine raised from his chair with haste, spine straightened and hand atop his pummel. Only then did you look up from your book.
"Do not tighten your guard on my account, Ser Caine." Baelor commented, reaching for his wife to raise you from your seat. "You are at my wife's service, not my own."
The knight did not move.
"Husband." You cooed up at him, an affectionate hand on his cheek. "To what do I owe this visit?"
"I missed you. That is all." He spoke, his next words quieter. "I must speak with you."
As you followed your Husband's path, Ser Caine had shuffled to folow you.
"Stay, Ser Caine." He ordered.
Baelor had taken you through the library's doors leading toward the gardens, seating you before himself on one of the many benches that aligned with the rows of foliage. His hands held yours, cradled them in their vast size over your own, smoothing his thumbs over your knuckles.
"What is the meaning of this, Husband? You concern me." Your eyebrows knotted where they separated, eyes glassy as you looked upon your Husband's uncomfortable face.
"I must go to Oldtown." He declared. "There are trade disputes I must settle."
"And why must I stay here? I can accompany you." You argued softly,
Baelor just shook his head, only tightening his grip on your hands. "There is little need, sweetheart. If I bring you, we would only stop along the roseroad more. It is much swifter this way."
He was right. It would be quicker had you remained here, but you would not be happy. Your heart would be ripped from your chest as he rode from the gatehouse. You knew he would take Valarr and Matarys, too. The boys were ripe for learning responsibility. So you would be utterly without your family.
"I will be back with haste." He assured you, freeing a hand to pull your shoulders into him. "Scarcely a moons passing."
He peppered kisses into your hair, marking you with his love as he prepared to leave. You would feel hollow until his return, it sickened you with grief. You kissed the boys cheeks, cradled them against you to wish them a safe journey. You could not see their horses leave, you could not be near the gatehous as they rode off. In stead, remaining in the gardens, where Baelor had told you of his departure.
You turned blue in their absence. In Baelor's absence. Your bed was a vast wastland of fabric, unnessary for the little room you took up. You did not feel his affection on your shoulders come the morn, nor did you feel it between your thighs. You ate supper alone, duty says not even Ser Caine could be seated with you.
It gave you little option but to spend your efforts talking with Ser Caine. You had grown fond your sworn shield, the knight vowed to make you laugh as much as he did to protect you. He would walk aside you around the gardens, around the Keep, would talk with you through your chamber door as you bathed. It passed the time until your Husband would return.
Baelor was reeling with your absence from his side. His temper was shorter than usual, though still more evident than Maekar's ever would be. He could not believe a moons passing was wasted on journeying to Oldtown to slap the wrists of some Lords, and journeying back. Time wasted away from you, your beauty, your kindness, your touch. His mind would wander to Ser Caine, how he was undoubtedly fawning over your every breath. His gaze steadfast on the curve of your waist, or the bare skin of your sternum. Laced with his jewels, as the knight looked at his wife.
He knew your difference in age was something oft mentioned in his leave, how you were young and beautiful, yet handed to a once-before married Prince of the Realm. He was tormented by how softened the Lords and Ladies gazes upon you were, how sweetly they spoke to you. Of you. His ego was of no concern to him, he took pleasure in the Realm looking so kindly upon you. A match well made for the goodness of your Houses. But seflishly, he wanted you entirely for himself. Only he would be admitted to look upon your beauty.
He nigh on exerted the energy of his horse on the return to King's Landing, the horse scarcely halting before he dismounted. He did not conform to waiting until nightfall for you, the thought of being envious of the fabric you wore had decided it for him. You were to be reclaimed by him. Now.
Not a moment wasted.
He found you, walking aside your sworn shield, and advanced toward you. His footing was firm, his hold on you the opposite.
"Allow me to see my wife, Ser Caine." Baelor was rigid in tone, eyebrows raised in search of defiance, but was met with none. "In fact, you must guard our bedchambers from any person requiring my presence."
You could scarcely keep the pace of your Husband's, who held your hand in his on your movement toward your bedchambers. You were ravenous for him, your mind and body yearned for this very moment. Whatever conversation you held with Ser Caine now forgotten, laid to rest the moment you saw your Husband in his approach.
Baelor closed the door after ushering you inside, a passing glance at your sworn shield as he disappeared behind it. You were already tugging at the fastenings of your dress, cursing your maidens for tying it with such force this morn.
Baelor was busying his hands with his own garments, eyes remained on your frame as it lost your skirts, revealing more of your skin to him. He felt his mouth water, hungry for the taste of your flesh coated in lemon scented oil.
"Did you settle the trade disputes, Husband?" You questioned him, climbing onto the bed on your hands and knees, crawling like an animal over to where he laid.
"I do not wish to talk of the Realm with you." He grunted, taking firm hold of your hips as they settle atop him. He was already hardened beneath you. "I only wish to hear your pretty little sounds."
You giggled, placing your hands onto his bare chest as you lowered onto him. The feeling was familiar, made your toes curl as they settled on his legs. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, guiding you as you moved against him. Even as you mounted him, taking most of the range of movement, he still controlled you.
"I have longed for you around me, sweetheart." He breathed, not daring to close his eyes in fear of missing how your eyes rolled back. "So soaked for me, sweetheart?"
You only nodded, fastening your pace as you took him over and over again. The sounds coming from your cunt were just as the ones he dreamt of, in the many nights spent away from you. But the sounds coming from your mouth were new, desperate, whiny. He would not last under you.
He protected your frame against him, turning you both so your back hit the bed beneath you. "So beautiful." He sighed, kissing down your chest, giving his attention to your breasts and how they firmed under his touch.
"The Realm knows it," he kissed down your ribs, your breath shallowing, "I know it."
"But you are all for me." He paused at your hipbones, ghosting kisses at them before lowering himself further. "Isn't that so?"
You nodded, his tongue delving deep into you. The way it danced over you had your stomach tensing, you nigh on pushed him away. But you would not dare do such a thing, when he was so skilled at finding your release. Better than you ever had yourself.
"Say it." He moaned, pausing his tongue just to order it from you.
"I am all for you, Husband." You whimpered, your fingers shook as they cradled the back of his head. He could not be any further inside you, but you wished him to be.
"Louder." He ordered, lifting his head to insert two fingers and to watch your face as they entered you. "I want the Keep to remember that regardless of your beauty, you remain my wife."
"I am your wife, Baelor." You cried, his fingers curling inside you to further chase your release. You felt tears build in your eyes, lost in the haze of desire that Baelor had called upon. He knew your body so well, knew what you did and did not respond to. No other could do as he did. He would remain confident in that fact.
But his gaze was dark, that chill not yet satisfied. He must enstate himself further, in a manner no man would forget.
He tore his fingers from you, and in his gaze was not the soft Husband you were so used to. You saw dancing flames, ash, dragonfire within him. You would hunt it down, find it, assess it, take it for yourself. You hungered for him in this moment.
He gestured you to the edge of the bed, taking you in his arms and lifting you. With a strength you seldom witnessed, the Hand scarcely finding a moment to show such a feat. He carried you to your chamber doors, and your heart quickened as he pressed your back against the engraved oak.
His lips found yours once more, grunting into your mouth, the sounds undoubtedly echoing through to this sworn shield of yours. The worst had not yet come for that poor, lovesick knight. Baelor slammed into you, jolting your bodies against the door, only forcing your moans out of your chest with a volume so unladylike.
"Louder, my wife." He instructed, his forehead colliding with yours. "They all must know. You are mine."
His venomous words in your ear, the oak against your back, the way he thrusted into you, it had all mixed into a mighty charge for your pleasure. He was hunting for it, you could see the embers in his eyes heighten, taken completely by desire. He built a vengeful rhythm against you, his grip tighter than it oft was when he fucked you, consumed by something darker, twisted. You invited it, regardless.
"That's it." He grunted against your jaw, flexing his jaw to refrain from biting at you. Lost in hunger, pleasure, jealousy. "All mine."
His words sent you over the edge, your entrance tightened around him as you welcomed his seed within you. A collision of your pleasure with his, erupted from your mouths against the thick door. You had no concern with who heard you be undone, only the man that cradled you, restored your soul to what it had been before he left.
He chuckled as he held your sweltering skin, lips flush against your cheek.
"What has taken you, my Husband?" You breathed against him, the throes of desire still biting at you. He remained inside you, not wanting to part with the pleasure he brought upon you both. And the satisfying heat he felt sweep across his chest.
frat!sukuna has a massive crush on his shy tutor ! ⟡ : college au : flirting : sukuna has a soft spot for reader : pining : teasing : piv : oral sx (fem!receiving) : . . more as updated
dc: @ tsumiinum ◞ ac: @ winterrbluess
࣪ ۫𓂅 taglist : OPEN ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
𖾕𖾝꙼ᩚ𛲕𖾟 . . . fluff﹕ ❤︎ ◞ smut﹕ ✦ ◞ angst﹕ ×
# ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ title ⠀ ⠀ category
001 𓂃 frat!kuna likes to fluster his tutor ! ❤︎
002 𓂃 frat!kuna finds reasons to talk to his tutor outside of sessions ! ❤︎
003 𓂃 dream first date with frat!kuna ❤︎
004 𓂃 frat!kuna wants to hear your pretty noises ✦
005 𓂃 frat!kuna is a reward based learner ✦
006 𓂃 a very drunk frat!kuna tells you how much he adores his shy girlfriend ❤︎
007 𓂃 seven minutes in heaven w frat!kuna gets a bit heated ...
008 𓂃 “for every first i was having with him, he had already had his with her.” ×
summary: Scraping by as a photographer and bartender in new york city, you finally cave under your roommate's pestering and sign up for a sugar baby dating app. The arrangement is simple: Keep Mr Murdock company once a week, and you'll be paid enough to support your artistic pursuits without the side effect of exclusively eating microwave dinners.
"You meet Sam and Dean Winchester on a hot summer afternoon when you’re seven. You don’t know it yet, but they will become the most important part of your life."
WARNINGS
This story is Sam x reader x Dean, as well as Dean x reader and Sam x reader.
Specific warnings can be found on the individual chapters, but here are some general ones I found important to mention ahead of time.
Neglectful parents. Referenced sexual abuse. Polyamory. Heartbreak. Pregnancy & child birth. Explicit sexual content.
A NOTE ON CANON DIVERGENCE
I've taken some big liberties with canon (I hardly know her) that will become apparent while reading, but here is the gist of it:
Mary Campbell makes a deal for her lover's life with a cross-roads demon and is killed by it ten years later. John goes on the hunt for the demon and takes his infant and toddler sons with him. Sam isn't fed demon blood. The brothers aren't the warriors chosen by heaven and hell to fight an apocalyptic battle.
They are just boys, not loved enough or not the right way. Rough around the edges.
They spend their summers at Bobby Singer's house in Sioux Falls. This is where they meet you.
PARTS & CHAPTER OVERVIEW
New chapters on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
PROLOGUE - If only things could be like this forever
PART I masterlist
PART II masterlist
PART III masterlist
PART IV masterlist
PART V masterlist
I want to thank @kblognar for their amazing help with this fic, for getting my head straight when I went down the rabbit hole and for loving the bbys probably nearly as much as I do. I also want to thank @ambiguous-avery @aniresrene @bettystonewell @jollyreads @aseafullofstars, all of who I have yapped at about this and who have been there to support and help! This was two years in the making and I am ready for this baby to see the world.❤️
summary: sukuna has loved you since you were in high school, and when he finally gets his chance with you, four years after graduation, he's the perfect boyfriend.
he treats you like you're worth more than the entire world, devoted solely to you, committed to keeping you healthy and happy in his arms for all eternity.
if only he wasn't killing people behind your back.
content: 18+ mdni, smut, dub-con in the later chapters, rough sex, yandere sukuna, obsession, stalking, murder, blood, gore, manipulation, deception, unhealthy dynamics, jealousy, cheating (reader cheats on her bf with sukuna), sukuna is awful in this but he's LOVELY to reader exclusively, more tags to be added on a chapter by chapter basis!
General Synopsis: Your lord father, Lord Barthogan Stark, grows ever more troubled by the rebellion brewing on Skagos. Meanwhile, the Blackfyres stir anew, their schemes casting a shadow over the realm and deepening King Daeron Targaryen’s unease. For generations, the North has stood apart from the quarrels of the south, its silence a shield. Yet now, the unrest on Skagos has dragged the wolf from its den, forcing it to recall an alliance long buried in the annals of history—the pact of Prince Jacaerys and Cregan Stark, forged in the fires of the Dance of the Dragons. For the first time in centuries, the wolf must seek the dragon once more.
pairing: young!Baelor Targaryen x LS!(fem)reader x young!Maekar Targaryen
content: 18+, minors don't interact!
tropes: World-Building, Extensive Character Building, Intrigue, Yearning, Hurt, Comfort, Romance, targcest, Angst, Heavy themes, Arranged marriage, Suggestive content, Slow Burn
Synopsis: An omega pregnant and alone after being kicked out by their alpha stumbles upon a pack willing to take them in and care for both the omega and their pup as if they were their own, because now they are.
Genre: strangers to lovers, angsty but lots of fluff to even it out.
Warnings: a/b/o, past abuse physical and verbal, past sexual abuse(mentions of past non-con), mentions of past violence, trauma, self esteem issues, pregnancy, aftermath of abuse, panic attacks, anxiety, pack dynamics, angst but it will be okay, polyamory, mentions of vomit/vomit scenes, fem reader, suggestive, self image issues
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 19.5
Chapter 20 *18+*
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25…
Drabbles and Asks…
Showing The Alphas Your Nails
What They Love About You
How They Feel About The Bump and Physical Touch
Pack’s Reaction to Chapter 19(Chapter 9.5)
you can also find this story on ao3 here:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
summary: matt murdock is recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D. to help take down a trafficking ring run by a new crime organization that rose to power in fisk’s absence. he’s forced to work agent y/l/n, who’s just as thrilled about the pairing as he is. as the investigation unravels more webs of lies, haunting details are uncovered, and matt starts to question who he’s actually working for, especially as he digs further beneath the skeletons of his mysterious partner’s dark past. every revelation leaves matt with the same unsettling question; who’s the real villain?
a/n: there was an idea...and it got out of hand and so here we are. i'm so excited to finally share this with y'all. it's been in the works for quite some time now. if you loved the bodyguard, I really hope you'll love this one. it's another slow burn, so get comfy. there's also going to be a lot of mature themes in this series, as well as spice (duh), but as always, I will post specific content warnings for each chapter as they drop.
if you've been in the daredevil fandom this whole time, it's great to see your beautiful faces again. if you're new here from dd born again, on behalf of all of us, welcome. we're glad you're here.
without further ado, sit back, relax, grab a drink and a snack, maybe some tissues, and enjoy.
»— anything marked with an astrik contains explicit content. minors dni.
»— all work is my own. please do not repost anywhere else without my consent.
STILL IN PROGRESS (EP. 7/22)! Weekly updates on Sunday, Wednesday, and occasionally Fridays <3
summary: in a world where Elena Gilbert doesn't exist, you take her place. Four months after your parents' deaths, you return to Mystic Falls, harboring a dark secret. Your entire world spins out of control when you're caught in a turbulent feud between the Salvatore brothers, who vie earnestly for your love.
Please don't steal, copy, or edit my work!
This is where you can find the Spotify playlist. It'll update with the chapters.
THE KEY
reader x stefan chapters will be colored blue
reader x damon chapters will be colored red
*Note: this doesn't mean that pairings won't overlap, just that the assigned color is the main focus of that specific chapter.
season one // tainted hearts
i. first day blues — you prepare for your first day in eleventh grade.
ii. first day magic — while trying to protect jeremy from his addiction, you run into stefan salvatore for the first time.
iii. hitchcock-inspired — you encounter stefan and a mysterious crow for the second time.
iv. date at the mystic grill — when stefan returns your journal, you invite him to the grill to hang out with bonnie and caroline.
v. bridges & bonfires — you bond with stefan at the bonfire.
vi. animal attack — when vicki is attacked at the annual bonfire, you and your friends jump into action.
vii. therapy — you attend a secret therapy session and continue to hide your past.
viii. seize the day — you reconcile with vicki; bonnie and caroline convince you to take a chance with stefan.
ix. the fatalist — you meet damon for the first time.
x. the fashionable miss forbes — you and caroline get ready for the festival, but tragic news puts a damper on your day.
xi. harbinger of heartbreak — It's the night of the comet and heartbreaks await.
xii. bonnie's doubt — you reflect on bonnie's doubts—and your own—regarding your budding friendship with stefan.
xiii. those who can't do — in class, stefan comes to the rescue.
xiv. three's a crowd — even at dinner, bonnie is reluctant to befriend stefan.
xv. fifth wheel — unexpected visitors crash your dinner date with bonnie and stefan.
xvi. the necklace — stefan gives you an unexpected present.
xvii. game night — tensions snap between you, damon, and later caroline.
xviii. tiebreaker — damon catches you in a vulnerable moment. jenna reveals awful news, and you come to a startling realization.
xix. the invitation — jeremy's anger grows. your world continues to fall apart. but in the darkness, you find a sliver of peace.
xx. history repeats — at the founders' party, damon shares a piece of the salvatore history, hoping to drive a wedge between you and stefan.
xxi. caroline's strife — secrets are revealed, pushing you further away from stefan. as the night worsens, you continue to spiral.
xxii. resident bystander — vicki makes a comeback. after days of radio silence, you encounter stefan.
xxiii. man of the hour — you learn the truth about stefan.
xxiv. table for two — stefan surprises you with an impromptu dinner, hoping to get in your good graces.
xxv. leap of faith — trusting stefan may be easy, but life never is.
xxvi. confessions of a teenage monster — the truth is out. things will never be the same.
xxvii. interview with a vampire — you give stefan the chance to explain everything.
xxviii. final strike — when damon turns vicki into a vampire, your peaceful day with stefan comes to a devastating end.
xxix. obstinate — vicki has always been stubborn, but this time she's outdone herself.
xxx. there will be blood — sometimes hunger can't be tamed.
COMING SOON...
xxxi. haunted — overcome with grief, you turn to bad habits, and it's up to stefan to pull you back from the edge. (Friday, July 1st)
xxxii. where the water flows — while you struggle to come to terms with vicki's death, damon gives you a surprise visit. (Saturday, August 1st)
Lesson One {2.7k} ♡
--- Newly married and still untouched, you seek out your husband in the tower of the hand. Luckily, the prince is always willing to set aside his duties... for a hands-on demonstration.
Lesson Two {3.3k} ♡
--- You anxiously waited all afternoon for dinner, counting down the hours until you could finally see your husband. Little did you know he had his own ideas about what should be on the menu.
Lesson Three {4.5k} ♡
--- After days of stolen glances and empty nights, you couldn't wait another moment. So you interrupt his Small Council meeting with an urgent matter. Fortunately, the realm can wait. You cannot.
Lesson Four {4.1k} ♡
--- Weeks into your marriage, you've learned to take what you want. But after duty pulls him away mid-lesson, you overhear something that makes you doubt everything...
Lesson Five {8.6k} ♡
--- The royal tour brings searing heat, a viper-tongued nephew, and a beautiful woman who knows your husband in ways you never will. But you've learned a few things too… like how to remind him exactly who he belongs to.
Lesson Six {6k} ♡
--- Two moons late and a world away from the nervous bride you were, you discover the greatest lesson of all.
~Warmth {19k} ♡♡♡♡
↬Part One ┊ Part Two ┊Part Three↫
--- Forced into a political marriage with the most powerful family in history, you expect nothing but cold duty. Until your unexpected honeymoon reveals a man far more complex than you imagined. As fragile trust begins to bloom, danger rises back in New Orleans, pulling you into a fight for freedom, love, and the right to choose your own fate.
~Extraordinary {20.5k} ♡♡♡
↬Part One ┊ Part Two ┊ Part Three {Holiday Special}↫
--- Just a quick little ménage à trois with the boys… again… and again… and then a third time under the mistletoe.
~Indulgences {19k} ♡♡♡♡
↬Part One ┊ Part Two ┊ Part Three ┊ Part Four↫
--- After heartbreak cracks Elijah wide open, Klaus drags him to a strip club for distraction. And that’s where he finds you. Entangled in your own toxic relationship, you both seek comfort in each other. But as your connection deepens, choices must be made… and not everyone walks away unscathed.
~Pop Quiz {16.5k} ♡♡♡
↬Part One ┊ Part Two↫
--- How can you possibly pay attention in history class when your professor is that hot? Let's hope you don't fail your exam...
~Mine {10k}♡♡♡
↬Part One ┊ Part Two↫
--- One drunken mistake with Klaus sends shockwaves through your friendship with Elijah. As you attempt to repair the damage, old wounds, sibling rivalry, and unresolved feelings threaten to pull all three of you apart
~Crimson Frost {33.5k}♡♡♡♡
↬Part One ┊Part Two ┊Part Three ┊Part Four ┊Part Five↫
---Betrothed to Klaus and bound by duty, your world shatters when your village is attacked. Torn from your sister and your future, you join forces with Elijah to survive a brutal winter and take revenge. But even when reunited, betrayal runs deep, and love may not be enough to weather what comes next.
~Rules {29k}♡♡♡♡
↬Part One ┊ Part Two ┊ Part Three ┊ Part Four ┊ Part Five↫
--- As the little sister of the Salvatores, trouble always finds you. Whether it's from a vampire, werewolf or an original, you are always at the center of it. When the mysterious villain Elijah comes to Mystic Falls, everyone is trying to stop him from hurting Elena. But you? You might be falling in love...
~The Gardener {19k} ♡♡♡♡
↬Part One ┊ Part Two ┊ Part Three ┊ Part Four↫
---Raised to destroy vampires, your mission is simple: seduce and kill Elijah Mikaelson. But nothing about him is simple. As lines blur between duty and desire, your magic grows unstable, your coven grows restless, and time runs out to decide where your loyalty ... and your heart ... truly lie.
~Dark Star {45.3k}♡♡♡♡
↬Part One ┊ Part Two┊ Part Three┊ Part Four ┊ Part Five ┊ Part Six↫
--- Centuries ago, you and Elijah shared a love forbidden by faith and fate. Now, in the present, his obsession with resurrecting you drives the Mikaelsons toward ruin. As past and present collide, dark secrets resurface, threatening to unravel everything ... even the bond that once defied time itself.
~Stains {14.4k}♡♡♡
↬Part One ┊Part Two ┊Part Three ┊Part Four↫
--- One spilled coffee turns into a game of push and pull with a rich philanthropist who tests your patience, your pride, and eventually, your resolve. Between gala nights, sharp words, and stolen kisses, a reluctant romance begins to unfold… one mistake at a time.
~Drops of Affection {9.3k} ♡♡♡♡
↬Part One ┊ Part Two↫
--- You said it was just casual... sleeping with both Klaus and Elijah, no strings attached... But hearts don’t follow rules, and Elijah’s falling fast. As tension boils over, it’s only a matter of time before someone gets burned… and it might be everyone.
~Remnants {12.9k} ♡♡♡♡
↬Part One ┊Part Two ┊Part Three↫
--- After Elijah broke your heart to keep you safe, you begged Klaus to wipe the memories clean. But love like that doesn’t stay buried. As a mysterious stalker begins targeting Elijah and you’re pulled back into his orbit... But someone else wants him too… and she’s willing to kill for it.
~Sincerely {12.7k} ♡♡
↬Part One ┊Part Two↫
--- A heartbreak leaves you reeling, your best friends Rebekah and Hayley drag you to a Mikaelson ball in hopes of helping you heal. What begins as a one-night confidence boost turns into something far more complicated when Elijah shows genuine interest... and then promptly shatters your trust.
~Mercy {33.3k} ♡♡♡♡
↬Part One ┊Part Two↫
--- A spell gone wrong leaves you with a dangerous power over vampires. Captured by the Mikaelsons, you become both prisoner and obsession, especially for Elijah. As enemies close in and family loyalties are tested, you'll discover that some cages aren't built with bars... and some curses might just be mercy in disguise.
~A date with... {Anthology}
A date with Klaus {3.5k} ♡♡
--- After a long day at work, you just want to go home and relax. Fortunately Klaus knows exactly what you need to unwind.
A date with Kol {3.5k} ♡♡
--- You are drowning your sorrows at the bar, but Kol has an idea on how to cheer you up.
A date with Marcel {2k} ♡♡
--- Marcel takes you out to see some live music and then charms your pants off.
A date with Elijah {3.5k} ♡♡
--- You are at the compound to confess your feelings to Elijah, as your nerves get the better of you, he finds a way to help you relax.
~Bloodbath{s} {Anthology}
Blood Bath {2k} ♡♡
--- Aunt Flo comes to visit and the noble Elijah stands up to the bitch.
Bloodier Bath {2.7k} ♡♡
--- Aunt Flo comes to visit and the noble Elijah once again stands up to the bitch.
~Dad Elijah {Trilogy}
Devotion {7.7k} ♡♡
--- When you find out you are pregnant you are afraid of how Elijah will react. His anxieties around fatherhood get the best of him and he gives in to his darker impulses.
Family Man {4.5k} ♡♡
--- Life at the compound can be chaotic with kids and family running around, but Elijah wouldn't have it any other way.
Bliss {9.2k} ♡♡♡
--- It’s the day after your third child is born… and the best day of Elijah’s immortal life.
Moonlight {60k} ♡♡♡♡
--- As Emma navigates a life filled with abuse and darkness, a chance encounter with Klaus and Elijah, who she believes to be demons, sets in motion a tale of forbidden desires, ancient pacts, and the struggle between light and darkness. Will Emma succumb to the darkness or find liberation?
stormborns
vaporwave
