fanfiction writer who only writes for female readers. these fanfictions are mature content intended but are also written for purely entertainment. i will put warnings ahead for nsfw so minors won't interact with that material.
I write for these fandoms. . .
— the pitt, asoiaf universe, love & deepspace, k-dramas, k-pop, & many more!
A senior, a summer away of entering medical school and away from her dull life suddenly gets a weird text from her weird highschool bully who suddenly disappeared near the end of your senior year- not like she was looking for him...
tags . . . situationship that goes on for half of their living life, seongje is a fucking chud for revolving his life around her, they reunite, he gets jealous and mad, she gets confused about her feelings, he can't be nice to a girl he's obsessed with, reader has a nickname which is bambi because she's a orphan, always surprised and a cutiepie. (also reader's appearance doesn't limit to the moodboard. she can be whoever!!)
Ser Duncan The Tall is the type of masculine I wanna see on my screen (and irl) more often. He's big, strong, and manly, but he's also sweet, stands for what's right, and he does it because he truly believes in the cause, not for money. He's awkward. He respects women. He doesn't repress his emotions. He treats kids and animals right. This man should be the role model for young boys instead of the misogynistic edgelords
Worked to wealth and not being born into was something admirable to Titus Danforth's eyes. You simply looked like you belonged beside him. Your kindness is sickening but it makes his head buzzy and eyes blurry.
tags . . . blood, biting, dubious consent, obsession, perverted Titus, power play and age difference (r is 26, Titus is 51)
(Titus Danforth x Yin&Yang!Reader)
— You weren't poor nor rich. You were just there. A young assistant for Ursula Danforth. You slaved yourself to be recognized as someone worthy to Ursula and she had difficult standards for peers.
— You met Titus when he visited his twin sister at her office. You were intimidated by him. He was insulting, laughing at you like a child and it made you feel like you're back to square-one as if you're still that college student who's naive and full of dreams.
— If it was possible, Ursula noticed it. She saw way through, you gulping that lump inside you, your fingers mindlessly gripping the edge of the iPad you use to organize tasks and schedules. She looks at her brother and sensed that he's making her assistant play a game she never even considered starting.
— The visits became frequent as their father's heath started to decline. You know it's just family business and matters. You started being alone in her office as she's away and you're left to do her work for her.
— Titus knocks on the glass door. You jump at the sound. It was nearly 2AM. What could have he possibly want?
— He shoved you so close to him and his fangs, he bit so hard by your jawline that it started to bleed. You push him as much as you can muster.
— The shock and fear on your face only made you more insatiable to Titus.
— To everyone, it's just a game for Titus that will be ended soon. To him? It's not. It seems like you were promised to him by Mr. Le Bail.
A senior, a summer away of entering medical school and away from her dull life suddenly gets a weird text from her weird highschool bully who suddenly disappeared near the end of your senior year- not like she was looking for him...
tags . . . situationship that goes on for half of their living life, seongje is a fucking chud for revolving his life around her, they reunite, he gets jealous and mad, she gets confused about her feelings, he can't be nice to a girl he's obsessed with, reader has a nickname which is bambi because she's a orphan, always surprised and a cutiepie. (also reader's appearance doesn't limit to the moodboard. she can be whoever!!)
So I used to have a fanfiction writing blog a few years back and it's kind of scary how different readers leave feedback to fanfictions. Before the like and reblog ratio doesn't have a humongous gap but now all I see are likes. They're also new users too. No wonder I feel unsatisfied coming back to writing.
DESIRE MAKES A FOOL OF US ALL — aerion targaryen
xii
⋆˙⟡ summary becoming the targaryen’s ward captured you the interest of a princeling
⋆˙⟡ warnings 18+, sex, mentions of death, hightower!reader and aerion develop a codependent situationship, out of character aerion, sexual tension, not proof read, some things might not fit canon or be accurate to lore, aerion is a bit of a switch
⋆˙⟡ notes omg I can't believe their story is done. this was so fun to write. the sex scene was written to tempest by ethel cain and i feel like its so obvious.
⋆˙⟡ masterlist
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Aerion's threat to his Father had been dismissive in tone, abandoning the room before his Father could retaliate, but it sat on his Father's chest, even as he pondered it the remainder of the day.
It will not cease because her protection is sworn to another, Maekar's mind twisted as his sons words ripped through his mind, it will go on, just not in a way the Gods would favor.
He had drafted a letter, shaking hand gripping the quill as it bled the ink onto his parchment. Telling your Father of his idea to wed you to Aerion, claiming the two of you made for a stronger match than anyone in the Seven Kingdoms. He wrote of your success in your studies, how your heart had softened for Aerion as his had for yours. It singed his heart to write such a foolish tale, but it preserved your honor, and his House. He did not write of the indulgences you shared with Aerion, he did not even allude to it. He promised you he would fix this, and he would see that promise kept.
He had not yet sealed it nor signed it off, and would not do so without your approval. The parchment sat in his hands until you had been ushered in, reddened cheeks and timid smile. It settled his heart to see your cheeks were fuller, eyes not quite so vacant as they once were.
"Lady Hightower." He greeted, rising from his chair to approach you. He placed a hand on your cheek, a whisper of a smile on his face.
"My Prince, you summoned me?" You asked, leaning into his touch. Maekar had burrowed comfortably into his paternal role toward you, he would gladly welcome a child who was not so difficult as the rest of his kin.
He bowed his head, handing you the rolled parchment in his hand. Your brows tangled, eyes glancing between him and the small paper. Your fingers pulled it taut, quickly dragging your gaze over the freshly dried ink. It detailed the proposed offer of your betrothal to Aerion, but not a mention of your dishonor.
"It seems my House colors agree with you." He mentioned, though tension sat on his tongue. "I will not send this unless you are accepting of such a fate."
It was not something you believed needed a second thought. Despite the ache in your heart, the irreperable damage Aerion had done to your soul, you would not feel this satisfaction with another. You would suffer with a dull life; a safe, dull life.
"I agree to it, my Prince." You spoke. "Send it to my Father."
Maekar bowed his head once more, dismissing the rolled parchment to the Maester, who was stationed beside the solar's door. You waited in silence, as Maekar mumbled unintelligible words as he ushered the Maester away.
It was gone. It was done. There was little chance of your Father declining such a notable offer, a chance to have a merging connection with the Royal family. Your heart felt clearer for it, the intimacy you felt in Aerion's chambers had not ruined you as a woman. Though it would take a while for your heart to feel that way.
Maekar allowed you a moment to yourself. You were soon to be part of this family, this House, wedded to his monstrous son. He would give you as much time as he thought you would need. Soon, you would scarcely have any time for yourself at all.
"My late lady Wife would always say there was a reason to every happening within our lives." Maekar spoke aloud, resting against the edge of his bureau. He twisted the ring that sat on his smallest finger, the memory of Dyanna still stung his mind.
You glanced at the Prince, your eyes glassy at his limited exposure to you. You said nothing at all.
"I never did believe her words. I could not see a reason to for such things to happen as they did." He admitted. "I only believed her in Death."
His gaze lifted toward you, that faint smile gone, his usual scorned face remained. "I cursed the Gods every day for taking her. Leaving me with six children— difficult children."
A tear swept your cheek. You could not fathom losing your Mother and having only your Father, let alone losing your Wife. A woman you were bound to, in Love and Life as much as Death.
"I believe you are what Aerion needed." He stated, the name of the Prince tightening your chest. "My children tell me he has not been such a cruel boy since your arrival. Though that is not a good thing. You do not deserve to be treated such a way."
"I do not know the intricacies of his wrongdoings," you spoke, swallowing thicky at the tension that coiled around your chest, "but I do believe he is misguided. And I can only hope as his Wife to guide him correctly."
"I bid you well wishes for such a task." Maekar grumbled.
"He listens when I speak. He does as I tell him to, even begrudgingly." You admitted. "I would rather him torment me than Egg, or you. Or Daeron. Or any poor soul in his path."
Maekar firmed his lips at your admittance. "I commend you for such a valiant thought. But he can never outgrow a stern hand from his Father, do well to remember that if your efforts prove difficult."
You smiled, matching the vague one he adorned. "Thank you, my Prince."
Aerion had not found you so quickly when he had returned home. He visited your chambers, for nothing except your neatly tucked sheets. He visited the library, and no signs of you lingered. He even visited the tree, not a book, not a strand of hair.
He began to think in his absence you had left, returned home, or worse, wedded that boring wetland Lord. But he had spotted a statue of ash on the cliffside, the darkness that consumed him had materialised before his eyes. You stood, clad in his colors, your hair an entanglement of braids and curls. All he needed was a Septon to confirm your wedding and you would be his in the eyes of the Seven, though you were his long before this moment.
"Sweetheart," he breathed, the word slipping past his lips without a thought.
You turned, and you looked different. No longer gaunt and suffering, your color had returned. Your cheeks full and lifted, a flame burnt low behind your gaze, your dress fit deliciously against your flesh.
"It seems you only grow in my absence." He observed, advancing toward your position on the cliffside. "You look… like a Dragon."
"Well I am not. I do not have your blood." You stated, returning your gaze to the plains below you. It stretched to the skyline, you wished to run amongst it, fly above it.
Aerion was quick to hold you, drag the flesh of his jaw against your face, the feel of your skin against his weaving his soul back together. Intertwining it with your own.
"Say the word and you will have my blood. It is yours." His voice was but a whisper, the trace he held you both in only intensified as he clung to your body. He oft looked down at his brother for succumbing to the wine, losing the battle every day the moment he held a cup, but he paid no thought to his addiction, you.
It had seeped into his skin over time, spending his days at Summerhall believing he was in control of his feelings. And leaving had only disproven that. The way his heart did not beat as fast, his limbs felt heavier, less patience for the way the world existed around him. It felt as if he were living without his skin, or his eyes, a fundamental part of him vanished when you were gone.
You did not recoil at his touch though, it seemed you suffered the same fate as he did. You could not exist without him, your heart simply would not carry on. Even if it hurt, if it bled, if it stripped you of your life, you would thank him.
"Where did you go?" You hissed against the skin of his neck, Aerion still entranced by the charge between your skin. It felt like the milk of the poppy he would be forced to drink when he'd suffered a wound as a child.
"You left me to suffer, to die here. To lick my wounds alone." You continued, your voice faltered at the threat of sadness gripping at your throat. A familiar feeling, you invited it. The way your neck ached when you held back tears, it reminded you of him, his command on your soul. And you were helpless to it.
Aerion breathed you in deeply, not a morsel of space in his lungs that was not you. "I rode for nigh on four weeks for you."
You pulled back from his grip, and you could feel the detachment in your chest. "For me? Seven Hells, what are you talking of?"
Aerion just grinned. His wicked smirk less prevalent as of late, yet you did miss it. The way in which it lit the fuse in your stomach, tightened your lip, only angered yourself at the sight of him. "I shall show you, sweetheart. You will like it."
His hand took your arm, dragging you further from the cliff and toward the castle. Your feet bounding after him, mind twisting over what he had ridden such a while for. It could be a plainly simple thing, and Aerion would make a spectacle of putting in such efforts. Though you would appreciate any effort from the Prince, you had hoped it would settle the grievances your mind and soul were warring about.
He stood behind you, hands instructing your hips into your chambers. And you were quick to notice the gifts as they lined your shelving. In a sunny, stone-clad room, a whirlwind of foliage brought it to life. Familiar colors, smells, shapes of petals clambering against each other to be seen.
"Gods be good!" You exclaimed, breath shallowing at the sight of home. "You rode… to Oldtown? For foliage?"
Aerion wore a satisfied smirk, body leant against the doorframe of your chambers.
"This is the sweetest thing that has ever been done for me." You confessed, hands tangled on your chest as your eyes welled at the sight. "Aerion, you astound me."
He closed the distance between you both, a commanding grip on your back to pull you into him. "I met your Mother, she reluctantly assisted me in choosing them. I do not know why you bother with such uneventful things."
"Then why did you gift me these?" You retorted.
The Moonblooms sat in abundance in the jars of water that housed them, your Mothers favorite flower, as it were yours. You could smell her with you now, not needing a near fifteen days carriage ride to be coddled by her any longer.
"Because I much like bothering with you." He admitted into the flesh of your neck, just below your ear. It was a weak spot of yours, Aerion drifting towards it often.
"And?" You waited for him to elaborate, not convinced his taste for you would have him travel across the Reach for some flowers.
"Must there be a reason for such loving acts toward my betrothed?" He countered, swaying your body with his. No music, just the humming frequency of your hearts crawling for each other.
"Yes. You are not the most tender of men."
Aerion's eyes lit up. He was drawn to your courage, your unfiltered tongue towards a Prince, your spirit. Most folk did not have the advantage you had, pretty face aside, he would not allow another to speak with such venom toward him. He would have their tongue for such an act. But you, you got away with it. It only signalled to the same fire in your soul as he had. Born into the wrong House, as he had been born into the wrong form.
He hesitated, a newfound trait since your lasting mark on him appeared. "I do not want you to feel as low as you did, those feelings are not worthy of you. I do not want to find my Wife dead in the water."
You choked on your breath, mind spinning viciously in circles. Had Camilla shared what had happened? Had he seen it with his own two eyes? You stayed silent. You would not indulge that hollow flooring of thought. You only looked up at him, willing him to forget that night. But it seemed stained in his memory as much as it was your own.
"Will you be earnest with me?" You reasoned, it only seeming opportune to confront him when you bore your souls to each other in such a raw moment.
Aerion nodded. "What is it, my Wife?"
You swallowed, maintaining his gaze. "Did you burn my tree?"
His eyes shut with frustration, you and that fucking tree. "Must you carry on with this? It bores me."
You detached from him, drifting over to your bed and sitting on the edge of it. The sheets soft under your hands as you fisted it tightly. "You should know why I carry on with it, that tree was important to me."
"It is wood and greenery! That is all! How can such a thing be so important?" He argued, but you did not react in such a submissive way. You did not shake as you once did, when the Princeling was no more than a body in the castle.
You said nothing. But you palmed the gifted dagger from under your pillow, the textured hilt hard against your palm, and brought it to your stomach. The blade dug gently into the fabric of your gown, not enough to cause hurt, but enough to incite panic in the Prince's voice.
"Unhand the blade! Are you mad?" He yelled at you, stomping over to settle his fingers over the it. His strength over yours was enough for you to drop it, the metal falling into your lap.
"Perhaps." You whispered, his lips inches from yours. "Answer my question."
Aerion grunted, forehead colliding with yours in all but a gentle way. He looked burdened with his desire for you, hating how weak his heart was for succumbing to such a woman. "I did. I burnt your fucking tree."
"Aerion!" You shouted. You knew, you had known the moment you looked upon it. You had been waiting an age for him to admit it.
"You had left, my Father told me you were to be wed." Aerion tried to throw his reason toward you, all of it had fallen to your feet. "What would you expect of me? To allow the tree to stand as an echo of you? Plaguing my life as you settle in the arms of some lesser Lord?"
"You did not do it for any reason beside your foolish handling of your own feelings." You hissed back at him. "Do not ask what I expect of you, you will only be betrayed by such an answer. Gods be good, I do not want to know the outcome of such a truth."
Aerion fell silent. He did not feel quite so commanding in this moment, he battled with his pride and his obsession, his addiction, to you.
"What must I do? Crawl across the floor and beg like some hungry mutt?" He scoffed, a pace back from where you sat on your bed.
You held a thoughtful look, considering the satirical option he had offered unto you. Aerion thought you had taken leave of your senses entirely, eyes fixed upon you like you would soon enough sprout a second head.
"Yes." You answered. A simply powerful answer.
Aerion was quick to drop to his knees, despite the blow to his pride. "Let me show you my sorrow, sweetheart. Do not make me say it."
His hands settled on your waist, where the blade once sat. Where the beginnings and ends met with your feelings, your arousal. One moment too long and you would soon be at his feet begging.
You shook your head, unsatisfied with his submission. "I want you to tell me you are sorry. I will not take your affection for remorse."
He was silent in accepting his fate, a deep sigh to begin his torment. "Sweetheart, I am sorry. I did not think you would return as mine. Though that will never be a truth, you will be mine in any form we take, in any shackle of duty that happens upon us."
You thought back to your conversation with Maekar, his apprehension in letting you accept the offer he brought upon your House. He knew, more than you did, the fate you were due to suffer. He knew his son could show restraint no more than he could show kindness. It felt as if he were giving his own daughter to whatever lies beyond the Wall.
Tears stung your eyes, a freeflow of grief in its many forms. It had eaten at you, it had pushed you to find peace in the Strangers grasp, it had woven you tightly against a conniving Prince. A doom you would suffer even if you rejected it.
"What saddens you, my Wife?" His voice was so soft, it shared the grace of a dancing flame. It only deepened his claws into you. He kissed your tears from your face, hands still fixed where you harbored your feeling for him.
"It hurts. I hurt." You whispered, eyes clenched to expel your grief. You knew in his soft moments, you were most vulnerable to him. It allowed him to trick you, assuring you the grip he had on your heart was purely one of concern and love.
"Where does it hurt?" He whispered back to you, the world around you both dark. The flames in your eyes being the only harbingers of light. He remembered moments when he wanted to take it from you, for selfish gain and betterment of his own soul. Now, he wanted to feed it. He would take from his to fuel yours.
You took his hand, placing it against your chest. Allowing him to feel your ache, the hum of your heart through the cracks of your chest, the crackling of your fire. His hand, his touch, calmed you. Pressure against your bones muffled the slamming of your heart against them. He stole the ache as it drummed at you.
"The Gods have cursed me to love you." The words fell from your lips, eyes still closed to shut out your grief.
"And I will make every day that passes worthy of such a feeling." He spoke back to you, lips grazing the skin of your jaw.
He kissed you, bit at your jaw, all whilst he furthered you onto the bed. That familiar feeling of desire scratched at your stomach, his touch felt charged against your own. You did not want to be in any other moment than this one, you wished you could spend your days like this. Aerion pushing against you, willing you to let him in and make you feel better. Take the ache away.
"You weaken me." He hissed at the pit of your neck, making effort not to make you bleed for such an act.
"You weaken yourself," you remarked, your voice but a moan into the open air, "I did not force you to tempt Death with me at the cliff, nor did I ask you to ruin me for any other."
He grunted at your words, only daring to drop down your chest with his tongue and teeth. He stole your breath from your flesh, you could not inhale as he kissed at the top of your breasts. You clawed at your gown, wanting rid of it to make room for his affection. He aided you in doing so, ripping it from your body, no thought to another dress ruined. Three now, he had destroyed, in various acts of passion and obsession.
"I did not think such a woman would be deserving of a Dragon." He spoke truths into your flesh, kissing the base of your breasts as he gripped at them. He was not soft in action, never a light touch when he wanted you.
"And does your mind falter at the thought now, my Prince?" You whimpered, his hand abandoning your breast and slipping down the flesh of your stomach.
"Yes. In fact I believe you to be the only one deserving." He moaned, taking your thigh into his grip as he lowered to where you burned for him most. "The only one to share the same heat as I. Even my House has forgotten the sigil we parade around, leaving the formidable beasts but a moment of the past. You care, you choose to learn of it."
Your fingers knotted into his hair as his tongue scraped along your skin, passing your walls and dancing around your desire. The sounds escaping you had no restrictions, you held no control as he coaxed them from you.
"Yes, my Wife." He hummed back, muffled against your heat. "Tell me how good I make you feel. Tell me I take your suffering from you."
"Aerion," you breathed out, not wanting this moment to end, the thought of it soul-shattering, "you take the ache from me."
He did not stop, did not alter the dance of his tongue, his only objective to keep your pleasures vocal. You were lost amongst your feelings, the mess of them all swallowing you whole. You clawed to fight above them, desire tying like a rope around your neck and pulling you to the surface. You feared his disconnect from you would stop your hearts rhythm.
A sharp pain at the flesh of your thigh had pryed you from inside your mind, eyes shooting open to see Aerion's mouth nestled against it. His teeth sunk into you in carnal desire, grunting into the wound he had created. He pulled from your skin, looking up to observe your face, your eyes, if your soul responded how your body did.
"Blood of my wife." He groaned, the red sat between his teeth, painted down his lips and chin. He looked predatory, plucked from the frightening tales your elder brother would tell you before you slept to torment you.
"My wife." His words dragged up your skin and toward your neck once more. "Mine."
It was a deep, dark moment that held you both. You paid no thought as he took the clothes from his body, no silent permission to enter you. You let him do as he pleased, he could read your mind as it thought the words you would say.
He slammed into you, taken over by animalistic nature. His eyes were wide, mad, so very Targaryen. His wife, his, you were his. Every bit of contact proved it, marked you with him. He would claim you in every way, he would take your ache away every day if it kept you like this for him.
Your bodies moved in motion, no words to coax you towards finishing, you were in a spiral of desire and hunger. He did not move his eyes from yours once, he wanted to see how he heightened the fire in them, how you willingly allowed him to break you, mold you into what he wanted. And it was fair, for you did the same to him. Knowingly and unknowingly.
He did not speak a word to warn you of his impending seed, letting it spill into the heat of your desire. Eyes still bore into yours, the wobble of his eyebrows only told you he was done. You soon followed, arching into him, forcing this connection to last for as long as you could.
You were bound to him, a dark ribbon coiled around your hearts. Forever entwined, whether the Gods witnessed it or not. The fight for dominance would be infinite, and he had ruined you. He was right in that when he claimed you the first time. Nobody would compare to his bruising grip, his iron fist that held your heart, it all belonged to him. And for as long as he drew breath, you would take the torment, the marks of love and possession. Even in Death, you would beg the Stranger to take you with him.
Aerion did not hold the kind, patient love you might have earned from sweet, humble lords like Lord Warrek. Even after the act was done, and he laid beside you, fingers tracing the outline of your features, tormenting you with his touch to overstimulation. That kind, patient love would not fulfil you as Aerion's did. And you did not want it another way.
OH!!! IM IN LOVEEEEE! You wrote their relationship so beautifully. Lady Hightower is a minx but she knows her worth. Aerion loves her in his own very very terrible way but it suffices... After all he did travel for her to give her home back to her... Maekar, it's not a father in law, he's the father that stepped up. Daella, Rhaena and Aegon would be so happy to finally call her sister 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷 one of the best series I read
