I was making myself ramen when it came to me! Jealous reader. I'm kinda skipping ahead in the timeline, but like picture you've gotten used to Nikto's presence and you decided that you want him to meet your friend since she's the reason you met in the first place. Maybe he'll feel comfortable with her. He wants to make an effort for you since you've been practically bouncing off the walls with excitement since you told him about the idea. Only when the night finally comes you see the pair getting along really well. He's conversing easily (well as easily as he can) with her in their native tongue. You get this sick twist in your stomach because it took so long for you to get him to open up and speak more than a few words at a time, but they're practically chatting like old friends :(
I'm of two minds of where this could go. He recognizes that you're jealous and thinks its adorable while you sulk. OR he doesn't understand why you seem so grumpy when you were the one who wanted him to meet your friend. Your friend at the end of the night explains to him that you're jealous and then leaves him to wonder why the fuck you'd be jealous as he follows you home
Anyways just a thought for you~
-🥷
@141ce first of all sorry this took me so long! But I adore this idea so I thought why don’t I do a little side quest for husband Nikto. He’s such a romantic at heart bless him! 🥹
Also i apologise for my poor Russian in advance!
I haven’t proof read this but:
“I can’t believe you found a big, strong man at the supermarket and you didn’t think to tell me!”
Your friend is eyeing you with amusement, hand poised over the potato she’s peeling.
“I only ever come across old women there who want to set me up with their weedy grandsons.”
“I didn’t find him. He sort of followed me home.” You snap, treating your own spud with unnecessary ferocity in your embarrassment. “Anyway, I don’t even know if he thinks about me like that.”
She scoffs, throwing down her knife and folding her arms across her chest in a no nonsense kind of way.
“The man has remodelled your entire house da? These are not the actions of a man who doesn’t want your киска!”
“My what?”
Grinning she pinches your cheeks fondly.
“It means pussy.”
Nikto is at your door right on time, large frame rocking very slightly on the balls of his feet as he stands on the top step. You never understand how he manages to do that, arrive without a minute to spare. It’s like he runs off some internal clock, as if everything is carefully planned out in his day to ensure he never runs late.
“Hi.” You smile and the sight of that makes the darkness loitering at the back of his mind lift slightly. He’s doing this for you, his little treasure, the only slice of love he’s ever found in this world. Nikto hates meeting new people, doesn’t remember the last time he attended a social engagement of any kind that didn’t involve rough liquor and even tougher men. But this is very different to the impromptu gatherings on base, it’s an occasion important to you. He gave himself a severe internal talking to in his bathroom mirror, furiously forcing every uncouth aspect of himself to comply with behaving for this night. Then he put on aftershave, regretted it immediately and got water all over his smart shirt trying to rid himself of it.
You sniff appreciatively as he passes you in the hall, a crisp blue shirt mirroring his cool gaze, balaclava firmly in place creating a restless contrast between mystery and normality.
“You look nice.” Nikto blinks at you, thankful his face is covered so you can’t see the red flush creeping across his marred cheeks.
“Thank you.” He tilts his head lightly, the space between you feels constricting as his pupils fix on your own, leaden black singing against the aquamarine. Nikto is so broad, he seems to take up all of the oxygen inside your small hallway.
“Your plant pots need water, I told you to do this no?” He blurts out suddenly, his voice marginally rougher than before.
“I’ll do it later.” You sigh in response, some things don’t change and evidently Nikto’s bluntness is one of them. There’s a short pause, while his hand twitches at his side, then he brushes your cheek carefully with it.
“I will do it for you little one.”
The touch of his fingers feels cool against your flesh, tiny snowflakes dancing on the surface of it and melting there. Then he stalks towards your kitchen, shoulders set in a way that reminds you of someone heading to an execution, as opposed to dinner with friends.
The meal is a rambunctious affair. Your pal, having consumed several glasses of wine during the preparation of it, gives Nikto several kisses on each masked cheek and greets him in Russian. They make what sounds like polite conversation, before switching back to English for your benefit.
You can’t help but feel warmed by him, the obvious effort he’s making, the fact that his hands shake slightly when he rolls up his mask to eat. Your friend has been throughly briefed on the situation, and true to her promises, she directs her attention away from him and fully onto you for most of the time. Nikto’s thick thigh nudges yours under the table, and gently you return the pressure.
Gradually his silence becomes stilted answers, then before long morphs into active participation. Your friend and he begin to converse like old friends, more words leaving his mouth than he’s ever spoken around you in the entirety of knowing him. Now a little hazy yourself, you try to ignore a tiny pang of jealousy at that. The fact they can both clearly communicate on a level you don’t understand. Fleetingly you wonder if you should learn Russian too, if he’d prefer to speak that with you. But then you jolt yourself out of it. You don’t even know the man’s last name, what he does for a living. Learning a new language for him seems slightly thirsty.
Their speech has taken a serious turn, you can feel the air thickening with it, less laughter and quirks underneath Nikto’s mask. You jolt as the weight of his palm rests on yours, while he stares at your friend entirely sincerely, sapphires shining in the slits of his mask.
“надеюсь, твои намерения честны?”
“да, я глубоко забочусь о ней.” He replies earnestly, rubbing soft circles on the inside of your wrist, glancing over at you intermittently.
“I hope you’re not talking about me!” You scowl at your friend, who just gives you a roguish wink in response. Snatching your hand away, you start to clear up dinner, silently fuming that your mate has managed to encourage more romance out of this man in one evening, than you have in months.
Two kisses a piece are placed on your cheeks and his before she departs, while you shoot her a meaningful glare under your lashes.
“I will call you later!” She promises. “Nice to meet you!”
Nikto nods.
“до свидания”
Quiet lapses around you both again, while Nikto settles into his familiar routine of making you both a cup of tea. Utterly absorbed in loading the dishwasher, you don’t hear him until he’s almost behind you.
“I can finish this, sit.”
Knowing it’s fruitless to argue with him, you perch against the countertop, sipping your drink as you watch him reorganising the plates you’ve haphazardly thrown into the machine.
“Did I do a good job little one?” He asks you quietly.
“A good job?”
“Da. In spending time with your friend?”
You swing your legs, letting the steam of the mug dampen your lips. When you don’t reply immediately he stops, staring at you purposefully.
“No? Or yes?”
“Does it matter?”
Nikto catches the mulish tone of your mouth, pacing forwards like a panther and caging you in with his muscled arms. His face inches from yours now, he smooths the wrinkles on your brow, while his own crease.
The most important part of this night for Nikto was to make a good impression, show you he can be civilised, a good partner. Allowing himself to dream that one day this will be your shared normality, if he ever lets you out of his bed that is. To love you, is to want to please you in Nikto’s mind, if that means being grilled by your friends then so be it.
“It matters. But only because I live to see you happy.”
You thaw quicker than an icicle exposed to sunlight at that.
This is so good. Him giving reader little looks here and there, rubbing and holding her hand, being attentive, wanting to make her proud by getting along with her friend even though it's something he struggles with. Everything about this was mwah
Female reader, possessiveness, size kink, oral (receiving), p in v sex
ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ
"Süßes Mädchen, du nimmst mich so gut, es spielt keine Rolle, ob du berührt wurdest, bevor du jetzt mein bist"
Sweet girl you're taking me so well, doesn't matter if you've been touched before you're mine now....
König was more than you could've ever hoped, seeing the man on a hookup app you made the decision to meet up at a hotel after exchanging some dirty chats and images with one another for the past few days. His profile had left a lot to the imagination, looking like an executioner however when he liked your profile your interests were immediately peaked. The two of you had no issues with language barrier over text, but he assured you he can speak english fine in person especially to communicate needs. You actually enjoyed letting him send messages and just translating them as you went, finding he was more creative with his words when using his mother tongue. Outside of the filthy things he said that had you kicking your feet giggling, he would ask about your day- doing his best to make small talk almost leaving you baffled, he is just a hookup no? His messages were oddly romantic for a pervert, sweetly possessive as he essentially begged to meet you.
"Ich brauche dich, um dich persönlich zu sehen, Süße, ich will dich ganz verschlingen..."
I need you to see you in person sweetie, I want to devour you...
When you nervously arrived in the hotel lobby you appreciated the business around you, it wasn't the fanciest spot in town.. Yet what mattered is it wasn't secluded worst case scenario, plenty of witnesses around. You're shocked when a large hand gently but firmly presses on your shoulder, spinning you're faced with the most lovesick eyes you've ever seen in real life. König is towering above you, one hand tenderly still on you as the other offers a little white flower wrapped in paper and tied in a neat little string. Your heart melts at the sight, breathing a sigh of relief you accept the flower from him and can't help but smile. Thanking him, it's hard not to feel your heart beating under his intense eye contact, he only seems aghast at your smile. "Gods above..." He smiles back, he looks so smitten like you're the first girl he's ever met in his life.
He pulls a key card from his pocket and motions to the elevator and to follow. He watches the top of your head through lidded eyes on the ride up as he relishes in the fact you're real, that you came to see him and already being so docile and sweet for him... He never once doubted you'd be perfect, he did however face so much anxiety that he'd be stood up- or worse scare you off.
"Get on edge of bed angel, let me undress you."
You had heard his soft noises in videos he had sent, but hadn't heard his accent like this in your ear before... You nod and ecstatically seat yourself on the bed, when he kneels before you the image had your head reeling and you've barely done a thing. His eyes are pitiful, while his presence is so commanding his face betrays his stature, his pupils wide and shaky as he reverently removes your shoes and socks. His eyelashes tickle your skin as he places soft kisses to your ankles and calves, his voice almost hoarse when he speaks. "Sweet engel... so soft..." He looks more emotional than you even were prepared for, intense doesn't begin to describe the way this man undresses you.
Hooking your legs over his shoulders he laughs at the the way you gasp being tugged up into his space, your still clothed bottom-half seeping through the thin fabric before him. König places his open mouth to your panties and groans, the sensation so new it rips a cry from you immediately. His hot mouth soaks your underwear even further, he huffs into you as if he's breathing you in. The way the man beneath you grips your hips desperately as he whines into your panties has you gasping, begging him to please just pull them off so you can feel his actual tongue on you.
"Of course, my pleasure, my everything..." He's obliging you as soon as the words leave your mouth, a wicked grin is spreading over his face as he thinks about the success he's found so far in giving into every urge he has with you. He places his mouth over your sensitive mound and buries his face as he eats, sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves until he hears you whine for him to pull off. There's no hesitation to the way he breathes you in, praising your taste he moans shamelessly before using his fat tongue to try and prod inside you. His eyes meet yours as he buries his face further, the way your eyebrows are knitted together, the fluttering of your tight muscles around him, all these things only encourage him to thoroughly use his long tongue to try and satisfy you. His eyes only flutter shut after he watches you finish on his face, he relishes in the way your thighs twitch, listening to your pants and feeling the slick on his face only makes his leaking hard cock press even more painfully against his trousers.
You're brought back to the realm of the living when you feel a soft kiss press to your lips, finding it impossible to complain about the taste of yourself when he just looks so peaceful kissing you.. His hands coming to hold your face in place his kiss is all consuming, the same tongue that had made you see stars callously invades your mouth and throat. König pulls you into his lap as the two of you sloppily kiss, his fingers knead at your hips and ass- he paws at you in ways where the sensitive muscles underneath will most definitely bruise from his grip on you, he's pulling you as close as can be. Your oversensitive pussy rubs against the rough fabric of his pants as the two of you kiss, he bucks his hips and keens when the bulge firmly slits between your folds in a way where he can feel your heat so teasingly through the fabric. Why he's torturing himself like this? He knows it's because he wants to enjoy every second of this and make it last.
When he's had enough frotting against you, pulling apart he's drooling and has the best description of bedroom eyes known to man. "Please... I need to feel you angel...Ich möchte dich in jeder verdammten Hinsicht als mein beanspruchen" He's freeing his cock and it's so heavy you're unable to even worry about the german he's mumbling, you don't need to comprehend much else other than how thick he is and how desperately you want him to stretch you. He allows your much smaller hands to wrap around him, sitting back he sucks air through his teeth and tries to keep his hips pinned while he allows you to explore him. God he can't get enough of you and if you'll touch him he'll sit here and let you do whatever you please, he's so grateful however though when you're straddling him and attempting to line yourself up. His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he watches you sink the tip inside you with a tight push, he groans out and his hands fly up to his head as he attempts to hold back from bucking up into and hurting you. He watches your face contort and praises you relentlessly,
"So so so good, doing the best.... Can't get enough of you."
When you're about halfway sunk onto him you can feel the searing stretch already starting to push you past what you were used to, firm hands stop you where you are and his eyes are shockingly calm despite his typical composure so far. "You're hurting yourself for me." He sits up slightly, and despite his incessant urge to destroy you he'd much rather lull you into his arms forever by cherishing you. He takes a thumb and draws circles around your clit, inching closer when he hears your whines increase in volume- following your sounds to push and prod where he has you leaking and sinking further onto him before you're even aware of it. Finally he's bottomed out inside you and you can feel his scruffy pubic hair against your pelvis as well, can feel his bulbous head prodding at your cervix in a way that has little gasps leaving you sporadically. He leans forward and sucks marks into your neck and collarbone as he grinds up into you, feeling him press so deeply into you as he presses loving kisses making the moment feel so so so much more intimate than a hookup ever has before. When he hears you quietly asking him to move he can't help the way you make him want to tease, the cute way you're now rolling your hips to meet his.. "Tell me you need me." His words accidentally coming off so beyond desperately needy his intention was to dirty talk, his true feelings bubbling up instead however. You cry out that you need him more than anything, he feels so good and you just need him to hit the spot he's already in over and over and you'll be so good for him- Your words have him losing his mind, his pupils blown he fucks up into you as if he'll die if he doesn't. His jackhammer pace is cruel, contrasting his whiny sweet moans as he babbles on and on while hitting that spongy spot inside causing you to lean over him, gasping for air.
"Mach dich ganz zu mir, meine süße kostbare Frau. Du wirst dieses Schlafzimmer nicht verlassen, bis uns versprochen wird, jede Nacht so zu sein, meine Liebe."
Make you all mine my sweet precious wife. You won't be leaving this bedroom until we're promised to be like this every night my love..
He's rambling on about things you can't understand as he holds your hip in place to fuck the spot that keeps making you cry out and beg him to keep going right there, you really can't be bothered because he's listening to you so well and you've never come so quick from just penetration like this. While you had discussed being on birth control prior to this phase of the session, the actual thought of König pumping you full now that he's so thoroughly fucked you has you clenching around him. He feels you spasming around him and with an expletive he's flipping the two of you to pin you underneath, the look in his eye has you giggling dangerously as he fiercely fucks you past overstimulation. König whines once more, calling you his as he presses his fat cock all the way in, twitching and spurting load after load inside. He watches the spot where you're connected as he finishes, pride searing through him seeing your happily fucked out expression still folded into a mating press all for him. He pulls out and relaxes only after watching some of him leak out of you, his heart fluttering the same as when he first saw you.
As he catches his breath he wipes your hair out of your face, gingerly stroking errant hairs and tracing the curve of your neck down to your back he watches you breathe steadily his eyes following the rise and fall of your chest. He springs up from the bed surprising you only to grab his pants, he fetches something from the pocket before returning to your side. You're blinking up at him as a ring slides onto your ring finger, it's honestly perfect- so modest and the band is a delicate twirled pattern. You're still blinking at him and he starts to panic, his eyes so sad he's asking what's wrong is the ring okay? You are wanting to console him but you're still buffering, does this man not understand you met on a hookup app?
"König I think the rings beautiful actually... I just didn't expect this to be what you wanted from me at all..." You finally speak trying to relieve his anxiety, "The app we met on is typically for meeting one night stands?"
Any relief washes from his face as he now is blinking at you. "You... only want me one night?" He seems so hurt, his head tilting confused and his eyes almost fuzzy.
"No! No. I like you so much more than that obviously... I ... I'm not sure how to feel at all i'm just caught off guard that's all sweetheart..." You take the hand with the ring on it and place it over his, he's immediately recovering from his hurt seeing your affection and clarification. While he thought he was being clear saying "you're mine." and "i'm making you mine." you had chalked these things up to regular dirty talk... Not having outright been rejected his heart was soaring, if you're giving him more than one night he'll absolutely make you his wife eventually. He holds you close as you fall asleep together in the nice cold comfy hotel bed, he is lulled to sleep by thoughts of marriage while you admittedly push off weighing the pros and cons of marrying the half-stranger until breakfast.
ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ
Happy Valentines to the mutuals, the readers, anyone here! It's really nice to be motivated to create and waow the feedback i've received has been great!!! Hope yall enjoy because I did!
SYNOPSIS: Penacony is riddled with rumours about infighting within The Family, resulting in Penaconians and tourists to question the stability of the Dreamscape and whether the Five Great Lineages are actually ‘harmonious’. As a solution, the Dreammaster assigns you—Third to the Iris Family Head—to marry Sunday, the revered Head of the Oak Family. A symbolic pair meant to embody harmony within The Family and refute hearsay.
Beneath the spectacle, however, lies unresolved affection, quiet hesitation, and the painful question of whether your ‘perfect’ marriage is merely performance—or something real.
CONTENT WARNING: arranged marriage, halovian!reader, actress!reader, reader is referred to as miss & mrs, loosely follows canon lore, fluff, angst, SLOW BURN, one sided pining but eventually turns to mutual pining, requited unrequited love, childhood friends, forbidden lovers if you squint, petname (my love), OCs mentioned, plot with p*rn, smut (mdni), virgin!sunday, masturbation (m), body worship if you squint, guided fingering, virginity loss (m), p in v, creampie, sunday cums a lot lol, not beta read.
WORD COUNT: 22,994
NOTES: this is prob the most slowburn fic i’ve ever written >< sunday fic for my birthmonth hehe enjoy!! div: diviniyae
Moment of Morning Dew
The chandeliers of Dewlight Pavilion glimmered like suspended constellations, their fractured light spilling across polished marble in soft gold and pale violet. Even in the Dreamscape—where beauty was manufactured to perfection—this place still carried a certain weight; a stillness that pressed gently against one’s lungs. Amidst the grandeur of the Pavilion, you stood a step behind Maeven Ellis’s absence—your adoptive mother—her authority as Iris Family Head lingered in your posture in the way attendants lowered their gaze as you passed.
Third to the Head of the Iris Family, yet today, you felt oddly like a child again; waiting in a suffocating office as you were summoned by the Dreammaster himself, you weren’t aware of the reason why he had called upon your name but judging from your senses, you weren’t going to like it.
Across the room, not far off from where you stood, was Sunday, he was situated beneath a stained glass window, its colours painted him in shifting hues of amber, indigo and rose where it bounced off his gleaming halo, depicting him as some kind of reverend being. When you had entered the Dreammaster’s office, you were greeted by the Oak Family Head—a mere formality, a simple nod of his head. No words, no nothing.
It had been a while since you’ve last stood in his presence like this, most of the time you’d see him around Penacony or during grand Family banquets but that was about it, nothing more than a hollow distance between the two of you.
Minutes of deafening silence passed before the doors to the office opened once again and in came Mr. Gopher Wood, it wasn’t his original form, merely someone else’s body—presumably someone from the Oak Family—he had possessed.
“Come closer.” He had instructed before taking a seat behind the wooden desk, his tone was calm yet it held unparalleled authority—as a child, it would always send chills down your spine; countless Family gatherings where he spoke to your mother in such a tone. The Dreammaster was a kind man yet something about him unsettled you.
Without another word, you stepped forward just short of his desk, heels echoing faintly against the marble floors. Sunday mirrored your actions, standing a few centimetres away from you—it was enough to get a whiff of his scent.
Vanilla and musk, something sweet yet pierced one’s senses. You tried to ignore the way his shoulder almost brushed your own and how his figure towered you.
“I’m sure you’re both well aware of rumours that are circulating around the Dreamscape,” Mr. Gopher Wood began, hands folded neatly atop the desk.
You sucked in a small breath, you’d heard them too. Whispers that drifted through velvet corridors, murmured between the cracks of reality that there was in-fighting between The Family lineages which ultimately questioned the Dreamscape’s stability. For a space designed to eliminate unfavourable factors, it wasn’t hard for negativity such as baseless rumours to start circulating within its walls.
Dangerous words which challenged The Family.
But . . as for summoning you and Sunday, you were clueless. Why did the Dreammaster specifically choose you? You weren’t skeptic about Sunday as he held authority over the Oak Family, in other words, he was Mr. Gopher Wood’s successor but as for you . . it didn’t quite make sense.
Neither of you answered, instead, you both waited for the Dreammaster to speak once more.
“Rumours are . . fragile things, if they are left unchecked, they fracture trust. And in Penacony, trust is the foundation upon which dreams stand.”
The Dreammaster continued, “Thus, we shall give Penacony something stronger than baseless rumours—a symbol of eternal harmony.” Something inside your stomach tightened, you didn’t like the tone in his sentence, as if it was final and had no room for if’s or but’s; an idea that was already concrete before it came into existence.
“You two will be married.” Mr. Gopher Wood stated as if discussing something as simple as a change in décor.
Silence fell.
If the previous silence felt suffocating, this one was much, much worse. It felt heavier and pressed onto your skin tighter as though it was determined to live inside your bones. For a moment, all you could hear was the faint hum of the warm chandeliers—even its glimmering lights felt hot against your skin, a searing burn.
Was the Dreammaster serious? An arranged marriage between you and Sunday? In your eyes, marriage weighed more than a coin being tossed in a bucket, it symbolised unity between two individuals who loved and cherished one another, not a façade to combat baseless rumours, and especially not a lie.
A million emotions surged through you; the thought of eternal unity with Sunday was something you had always dreamed of ever since you were a child. The first time you laid eyes upon him was when you were both naïve and wide-eyed, and something inside your young heart stirred when he laughed at your jokes or tugged at your hands with his, running away from panicked attendants assigned to look after you.
Back then, your adoptive mother would bring you over to the old Oak Family manor for play dates with Sunday and his younger twin sister—a young trio built on mischief and pure wander. The three of you were inseparable until the day duties and career came into talk, where days filled with innocent laughter turned into monotonous lessons that prepared one for the burden of authority.
Yes, you weren’t going to deny it, you had feelings for Sunday that stemmed a long while back but being married to him under a contract that screamed nothing but business was not what younger you would’ve wanted, no, she had dreamed of a blossoming, genuine love.
There was also unease for the role entrusted upon you; how would being in a false marriage affect your naïve heart? You were well aware Sunday didn’t mirror your feelings at all but having him pretend and play the part of a husband was beyond dangerous. It was ironic to think that this marriage was akin to Penacony’s Dreamscape itself—a dream becoming a reality.
But . . was it your dream to be married off to Sunday in the name of falsehood?
With the Charmony Festival inching closer, it wasn’t a surprise the Dreammaster was becoming desperate for a solution.
You laughed. A humourless sound that conveyed the disbelief in your heart; you were raised to be a respectful, refined woman especially in the presence of esteemed Elders but not when said Elder proposed such a bizarre idea. This was marriage the Dreammaster was talking about, a life long commitment—a life long role that was anything but real.
“Pardon my brazenness, Mr. Gopher Wood but . . are you serious?”
The Dreammaster didn’t so much as blink, “Completely.”
At his affirmative reply, you slowly turned your head to the side towards Sunday; he remained expressionless, the glimmer in his citrine eyes hiding more than just pure emotions. His posture remained straight, one hand tucked behind his back just as he had been taught by the Oak Family Elders. Whether the idea affected him or not, Sunday didn’t let on, not even a twitch of his brow nor a rustle of his ivory wings.
“A union between the Oak and Iris Family presented as one of harmony—of perfection. A model pair for Penaconians to look up to, and once the people see The Family’s harmony upon supporting this marriage, rumours will fade.” Mr. Gopher Wood continued, which turned your attention back to him.
The Dreammaster had a point, with two significant figures in the five lineages getting married, Penaconians would witness The Family working together to ensure it happens flawlessly—the Oak Family would be tasked with organization, the Alfalfa Family with financing, the Bloodhound Family with security, the Iris Family with reception entertainment, and the Nightingale Family with decorations. All in perfect harmony.
“And what it needs to see,” You murmured quietly. “Is a lie?” You knew it was only a matter of time before the Dreammaster exhausted his patience and snapped. He had always been fond of you but knew to draw the line at disrespect.
His gaze remained fixated on you, it wasn’t unkind but it was firm, unwilling to back down from the challenge you had presented; he noticed the way your wings rustled imperceptibly, how it curled inwards as if to display silent retaliation.
“The Dreamscape needs stability.”
That wasn’t the answer you were looking for.
Slowly, you exhaled then fully turned toward Sunday, his golden halo glimmered brighter than ever, “Sun—Mr. Sunday.” He looked at you, really looked at you, and for a split second—just a flicker—you saw it. Something from years ago when he used to grin at you over ice cream and toys.
“Are you okay with this?” The question came out softer than you’d expected, laced with vulnerability. Sunday held your gaze for a moment longer than necessary, then, parted his lips to speak,
“As Oak Family Head, it is my duty to ensure that everything within the Dreamscape remains in order.”
“. . That’s not what I asked.”
Were you surprised, though? You’ve always known Sunday was a selfless individual, especially when it came to Robin but you wished—more than anything—that he’d be a bit more selfish; to do something that he truly wanted and not because he was bound by duty and expectations.
“This arrangement fulfills its purpose.” As expected, Sunday spoke like this matter was nothing more than another responsibility to be managed, throwing out the fact that he was to be married off to someone he didn’t love.
You nodded, “Right.” A small, hollow sound. And once more, you were hit with the harsh reality that this Sunday wouldn’t run away the same way he did during the lessons he found boring, no, instead this Sunday would build the cage himself if it meant keeping everything intact and under his control.
Hesitantly, you looked away first, directing your attention back to the Dreammaster—any second longer looking at those citrine eyes was far too dangerous for your heart, “Apologies, Mr. Gopher Wood but I need time. This isn’t . . exactly a small decision.”
But did you even have the luxury to make a choice? Nonetheless, Mr. Gopher Wood inclined his head slightly and indulged you in your request, “You will have what time is necessary but do understand, the longer uncertainty lingers, the more damage rumours may cause.”
A gentle threat wrapped in silk.
You nodded calmly, though your thoughts were nowhere nearly as composed. Marriage. To Sunday. It was as though the stars were playing a nasty elaborate prank on you but as twisted as it was, a part of you—one buried within the depths of your being—was happy.
Could you blame yourself though? You’ve pined for Sunday for eons because maybe, just maybe, he would finally look at you the same way you’ve looked at him: under the light of romance.
“Then, I shall take my leave. Mr. Gopher Wood. Mr. Sunday.” After necessary formalities, you turned to leave, light from the chandeliers above stretching your meek shadow across the marble floor.
“Maeven Ellis’s daughter.”
You paused. It was the Dreammaster’s voice once again, “You are an actress, are you not?”
Glancing over your shoulder, you spoke up, “Yes.”
“Then think of this as your most important role.”
At his words, your lips pressed into a thin line. That was easier said than done. A performance, of course, everything in Penacony was. You didn’t bother responding, instead, you kept walking, heels echoing with each careful step, out of the Dreammaster’s office and away from Sunday.
Moment of Golden Hour
Despite the name of Golden Hour, sunlight didn’t spill like liquid gold in the Moment but the Dreamscape was as beautiful as ever. After the impromptu meeting with the Dreammaster and Sunday, you found yourself sitting on an iron bench at Aideen Park—a quiet corner devoid of commotion to collect your thoughts. In the distance, laughter echoed and soft music the band performed.
On your lap rested an important document for an upcoming film, pages and pages of a bound script to read and remember but for once, you didn’t feel like reading. Not when your mind wandered off to the encounter a few system hours back, you couldn’t help but replay Mr. Gopher Woods words—that you’d be married to Sunday.
Amidst the serenity of the Moment, your ears perked up at the sound of familiar footsteps coming closer—calculated and sharp—but you didn’t bother looking up.
“I thought you might be here.”
The owner of the calm voice was no other than Sunday, you were more than certain of it because only he had the power to make your heart stutter. You didn’t let on—didn’t show an ounce of emotion just as you’ve been doing for the past years you’ve known him. Slowly, you exhaled, gaze still fixed on the inked pages atop your lap.
“The Oak Family Head seeking an audience with me? What a lucky woman I am.” You chuckled humourlessly. Sunday didn’t reply and you almost felt bad for greeting him with such a sour state, so you spoke up again, “. . Are you surprised? You know my hiding spots better than anyone.”
Growing up, Sunday learned that whenever you had something in mind, you always seemed to seek out quiet spots to unwind and one of them happened to be in Aideen Park—a tucked little area away from everyone while still able to bask in the Moment’s luxury.
“You never changed them.” Sunday whispered in a soft tone, if you hadn’t caught it, you’d think he was merely murmuring to himself. There was something in his voice you didn’t quite recognize, one that made you curl your fingers tighter around the pages.
“Is there . . something you need, Oak Family Head?”
As much as he appreciated authority, Sunday never did like it when you addressed him with formality but he’d rather sever his halo than admit it to your face. After all, it was merely a silly thought. He let your question linger in the air for a while, letting the background noise of the park fill the space between the two of you, then, he spoke,
“I came for your answer.” Straight to it. Of course he did.
A quiet, humourless laugh slipped past your lips, you finally turned to look at him. The golden lights of Aideen Park engulfed his pale blue strands, it softened the edges of his otherwise composed expression but it didn’t make him easier to read. You couldn’t lie, Sunday looked absolutely breathtaking and it pained your heart at how effortless it was for him; his citrine gaze shone the same way his halo did, bright and blinding.
“My answer? That’s what this is to you? And here I thought you came to seek me out as a—I don’t know, maybe a friend?”
It was microscopic but you saw the way Sunday’s shoulders sagged and how the wings behind his ears lowered but you weren’t about to be moved by something minute; what the Dreammaster had asked of you—and Sunday—wasn’t something simple, it asked for your soul, to play a never ending role built on lies.
“It’s a matter that requires resolution.” He replied evenly. Your chest tightened, “Do you know what you’re asking of me, Sunday?” The question came out sharper than intended but you didn’t take it back and for the first time, something flickered across his face, maybe it was surprise, maybe it was discomfort, you didn’t bother deciphering.
“I am aware of the implications—” “No.” You cut him, shaking your head as you stood, the script on your lap swiftly falling onto the ground, long forgotten. “No, you’re aware of the politics of it—the outcome.”
Frustration rose within your body, a scowl forming on your face as you stepped forward. Sunday had never seen such a look painted on your face, he had only ever seen pleasant expressions from you, especially directed towards him.
“You’re asking me to stand beside you in front of all of Penacony and smile like it means something. To let them believe—” Your voice caught slightly but pushed through it, “—to let them believe this is real.”
“That’s the role we’ve been assigned.” He said quietly. “Assigned,” You echoed, almost incredulous. “Is that all this is to you? Another duty? Another piece of the Dreamscape you have to keep polished and intact?”
“If you think I have the luxury to treat it as anything else then you are sorely mistaken.”
“Then, let me ask you one thing, Oak Family Head. Did you have a hand at choosing your . . partner?” With Sunday willing to fulfill such a role, you were certain Mr. Gopher Wood had already told him about the proposal prior to the meeting earlier, and you were sure the latter had at least given him freedom to choose.
Sunday nodded, “Yes.”
You let out a shaky breath, your scowl turning into something much softer. Sadness. “But why? Why me, Sunday? Don’t—Don’t you know how cruel that is? To ask for something that big?” You looked away, unable to see the way regret briefly shadowed his face. His chest tightened at your pitiful form, he didn’t mean to put you in a troubled spot but he wasn’t entirely innocent either.
Marriage meant the two of you were bound to each other for eternity with divorce was absolutely out of the table, especially for prominent figures like you and Sunday; it made sense for a planet that worshipped the Aeon of Harmony.
“. . Because I assumed you wouldn’t be scared doing it with me, at least—doing it by my side.”
Oh, your foolish, foolish heart shouldn’t have skipped a beat at his reply but it did and it angered you even more that it did because despite it all, you still loved him. And maybe you were willing to comply but a greater part of you was stubborn.
“Do not try to mold me with flattery, Sunday. What about us, hm? We’re not symbols—not the ‘model pair’ the Dreammaster deems us to be. We’re people with lives of our own! I cannot dictate for you but I know marriage is something I want to be organic. To fall in love with a man who cherishes and loves me back.”
Words hung heavy in the air, fragile and bare. For a split second, you were convinced he was going to take a step closer and say something that wasn’t measured or wrapped in a silken ribbon called duty. And maybe some twisted part of you wished Sunday would have told you that he’d at least try to love you—to reassure and tell you that your heart has a home in his hands but he didn’t.
Instead, he said: “We are what Penacony needs us to be.”
Silence settled once more, you didn’t answer this time as you were reminded that you and Sunday held very different dreams. You closed your eyes to steady yourself briefly, and when you opened them again, your expression had shifted, something more resigned, “. . Fine.”
Sunday’s ears perked, wings spreading ever so slightly as if to convey shock. You straightened slightly, smoothing the invisible wrinkles from your clothes—a habit you’ve picked up before you stepped in front of rolling cameras.
There was no use arguing with Sunday or pushing your ideals to him, he was stubborn and he’d do anything to ensure the stability of the Dreamscape, even if it meant carrying the weight of falsehood his whole life. Besides, arguing like this in public was sure to garner unwanted attention, it was only a matter of time before someone heard of the conversation.
“If this is the role entrusted to me then I’ll play it. I’ll accept the marriage.” The words felt foreign on your tongue—too final but you didn’t waver.
Sunday carefully studied you as if to search for something beneath your composure, “Are you certain?”
You laughed humourlessly, “Do you think I have a choice? But if you want me to be honest, no. But I’ll do it anyway.” For you, you wanted to add. You bent down to swiftly pick up your script, dusting it off lightly, and when you returned his gaze, your expression had settled into something practiced.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make it believable.” The corners of your lips tugged upwards despite its heaviness.
“I . . never doubted that. You are one of Penacony’s greatest actresses.” Sunday intended to lighten the mood, to flatter your skills and forget about the tension in the air but for some reason, his words hurt more than anything else. You put too much faith in me, Sunday. You thought.
Sure, acting came easily to you but not when you had to play the eternal role of a loving wife for a man you’ve pined for. For years. It was a twisted game that tested the borders between a dream and reality, and you could only hope to build a cage around your naïve heart.
Moment of Morning Dew
Wedding preparations commenced shortly after meeting with the Dreammaster once more to confirm your stance on his idea; everything was a blur, from colleagues and close friends congratulating you on your engagement (even Robin who sent a congratulatory letter despite being aware of everything) to exclusive interview appearances—sometimes accompanied by Sunday—to talk about every detail.
Of course, since the engagement came out of the blue, it was met with a lot of speculation, and rightfully so as not a single soul had seen you and Sunday together outside Family gatherings but even in banquets, neither you nor him would really converse.
But, those speculations were easily dismissed by letting interviewers know that you hid your relationship with him for personal reasons; it wasn’t foreign for celebrities to do such things. Though, the only truth you uttered during those interviews was probably the fact that you loved Sunday.
There was no denying that, and for Penaconians, that alone was believable. Aside from planned appearances on interviews, you hadn’t seen much of your . . fiancé but maybe it was for the best, the more he remained at a distance behind closed doors, the more your naïve heart wouldn’t mistake the relationship for something real.
Silk draped from the ceiling in soft, cascading layers, mirrors framed in gold caged you in, it reflected you in every angle, each one just slightly more flattering than the last. Assistants moved like whispers—adjusting and smoothing but never loud enough to cause unnecessary chaos.
The Dewlight Pavilion served many purposes for The Family—the main being a place where Heads discussed important matters but you didn’t expect it to host a fitting room specifically curated for wedding preparations; it only made sense with how busy your schedule was, not to mention how you just finished a table-read two system hours ago which meant the script was still swimming in your mind and so was exhaustion.
“Hold still, please.”
A quiet exhale escaped through your nose, resisting the urge to fidget as a pair of hands adjusted the fall of fabric at your waist; you just wanted to go home. “I am still.” You murmured.
“Still-er.” The head assistant replied gently.
Tired, you bit back a comment, there was no point arguing with anyone. It was evening and you wanted this over and done with, the more you cooperated, the faster this whole thing would be finished.
The gown itself was unsurprisingly perfect. White—of course—but not the stark kind, it shimmered faintly like it had been spun from light filtered through clouds. Intricate golden embroidery traced along the bodice, delicate and intentional.
“There. All done! How does it feel, miss?”
The head assistant’s dainty voice faded into as you looked at the mirror, it was the first time you stared at your reflection since standing inside this fitting room yet strangely enough, an actress stared right back—the ‘you’ all of Penacony knew, the one in front of flashing lights and rolling cameras.
“You’re truly beautiful, miss!” Another one of the assistants gasped, her reddened face tucked between the hearts of her palms.
“. . Thank you. The dress feels . . fine, it’s not too heavy.” The staff dismissed the absentmindedness laced in your voice, mistaking it for pure awe. You didn’t know what to feel seeing yourself in a wedding dress because even with an exquisite ring wrapped around your finger, you still couldn’t believe you were getting married.
“Turn slightly, please.” The head assistant instructed and you did. The skirt fanned out like a blooming flower, its silken fabric faintly glimmering beneath the lights.
“Perfect.” She breathed out.
Perfect. The word followed you everywhere these days—about your relationship with Sunday, about the engagement ring, and now about the dress. You were about to give her a practised reply, the same one you’ve been giving everyone else—a ‘thank you’ and a smile that reached your eyes—until the atmosphere shifted.
The curtains behind you weren't drawn yet but you knew who was beyond them and you were certain the attendants knew as well from the way their backs straightened, immediately stepping away from the raised platform you stood upon.
“Pardon my intrusion, may I step inside?”
Sunday’s voice filled the silence. As if on cue, heat blanketed your cheeks, heart racing at the thought of him seeing you in a wedding dress. Your gaze landed on the head assistant through the reflection, giving her a slight nod to which she immediately understood and swiftly drew the curtains back.
As Sunday stepped inside, both attendants silently bowed their heads and headed out, closing the curtains behind them to give privacy. Alone in a small space with him with too many mirrors; you swallowed thickly and smoothed down the skirt of the dress, “I wasn’t aware of your visit.” You murmured, tucking a loose strand behind your ear.
“I was told preparations were underway. I wanted to ensure there were no complications.”
Of course.
“Well?” You started, head tilted slightly. “You came all this way, you should at least give your evaluation.” Your hands found its way atop your clothed hip. It was half a joke, half a challenge yet you awaited for his words.
Sunday didn’t reply immediately, instead, his gaze settled on you—steady and unreadable. You observed how his amber eyes lingered on the bodice of your dress a second or two longer before moving on to the bloomed skirt. Beneath his wandering gaze, something in your chest tightened, cheeks burning deeper, it almost felt like a thousand needles prickling your skin.
“. . It suits you.” He said at last.
You blinked, brows knitting together, “That’s it?”
“You expected more?”
“I expected something. I’m about to be married off to the Oak Family Head and become the half of Penacony’s model pair, surely that warrants something far better than ‘it suits you’.”
“You always did prefer honest reponses.” That caught you off guard. Sunday wasn’t one to reminisce about the past—at least not with you—but he has done it twice now, once back at Aideen Park and once today.
You didn’t reply nor did you acknowledge how his gaze softened slightly, “Well, if you want honesty then . . you look exquisite and the dress harmonizes with your beauty perfectly,” The end of his sentence ended awkwardly, as if he wanted to speak more but ultimately decided to hold back.
You were well aware there was no romance behind his compliment, it was merely an honest, straightforward one but you couldn’t help suck in a breath. You looked away, clearing your throat lightly, once again smoothing a none existent crease on the dress, “That’s the goal, isn’t it? To make me look presentable for the big day.”
Sunday hummed absentmindedly causing you to risk a glance at him once more, his eyes were still on you but this time he wasn’t assessing, he was admiring.
“How is it then? Convincing enough for you, Mr. Sunday?”
His gaze finally drew upwards ‘til it met your own, a strange glint flickered in his honeyed eyes, “. . Too convincing.”
Whatever that meant
Before you could respond, the head assistant spoke just beyond the drawn curtains, effectively breaking the . . moment between you and Sunday. Akin to a deer caught in headlights, you slightly stepped away from the latter; funnily enough, there was already a great distance between the two of you but somehow you just felt like distancing yourself further.
“Miss, we need to finalize the veil fitting.”
You cleared your throat, trying to burn down Sunday’s weighted stare, “Of course.”
“. . I should take my leave then.” His gaze lingered on your face but you didn’t dare meet it. With that, he let out a soft sigh, turning around to part the curtains and leave but before he could even take one step, you called out his name, tone laced with . . desperation?
“S-Sunday . . ?” You weren’t sure why you did it or what possessed you to even utter his name yet somehow, you felt it was necessary to do so; though, you didn’t know what to say because now, Sunday looked over his shoulder—citrine gaze, full of hidden curiosity, just above his ivory wing—waiting for what was to come next.
“I’ll see you later, okay?” What did that even mean? Why did you say that? You were certain Sunday was just as confused about your reply as you were but he didn’t seem to let on, in fact, without so much of a hitch, he tilted his head, gave a little smile—one that had you biting the inside of your cheek—and replied, “Of course.”
Then, without another word, he gave both attendants a nod of acknowledgement before heading for the door.
Moment of Blue Hour
After two strenuous weeks of running around the Dreamscape—whether it be for work or for wedding preparations—the big day finally came, and in all honesty, you weren’t sure what to feel. The morning felt like a huge blur, attendants rushed in and out of the bridal suite to tend to you, and several loved ones visited in between, it served as a gentle reminder that you weren’t entirely alone. At least not today.
The first to check on you was Robin, she had peeked into your suite with a warm smile on her face, though, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. You didn’t blame her, she knew of the situation and you assumed she also didn’t know how to feel for you—happiness seemed too cruel but sadness would also dampen the unsteady mood that lingered within the atmosphere.
The least she could leave you with was encouragement and a few good words about her brother: “I know you know my older brother well enough so I won’t say much but . . he will never hurt you. You and I both know he wants the best for everyone, and that includes you.”
The next two who visited were Ms. Maeven Ellis and Siobhan who stayed a little longer with you, especially the latter—out of the three, Lady Siobhan was probably the only one who understood your emotions the most as she, too, was pressured with countless expectations within the Iris Family as the second to the Head.
Being an adoptive older sister, she always looked out for you, most of them during young days where Ms. Maeven Ellis would push you to take acting classes. Though, despite the former’s efforts of letting you choose your own path, you did eventually end up in the artistic industry just like everyone else in the Iris Family.
The Eventide was as romantic as ever, docked in the Sea of Dreams where its tranquil waters lulled guests with awe. Warm lights illuminated the expansive boat, it bathed everything in a gentle gleam of gold; its cathedral-like structure effortlessly blended reverence and spectacle, a quiet yet bold message that The Family did not hold back on this grand event.
Rows upon rows of guests filled the hall, a sea of fine silk and polished smiles—though, however warm they may be, all you could feel were the weight of their stares, a sense of anticipation that settled over your shoulders, it seemed to be heavier than the gown you wore.
The cameras also didn’t help, the subtle click of the shutter every second or so, they hovered discreetly and blended within the crowd but you knew they were there, capturing every movement and emotion etched into your face.
And as you stood at the altar facing Sunday, your hands resting atop his bigger ones, you trembled slightly—a barely noticeable crack on the surface of the glass. He must have noticed because within the next second, his hands squeezed your own, a gentle action to ground you, to serve as a reminder that only you and him mattered in this moment—not the officiant, not the guests, just you and him. A soft, shaky breath escaped your crimson-stained lips, you mirrored Sunday’s action. A small thank you.
The officiant’s voice carried smoothly through the air, unwavering as he spoke of harmony and unity, of two individuals converging into one for the sake of something greater; you heard his words but they felt far away, almost muffled and dream-like. Your focus drifted over to the feeling of Sunday’s hands in yours, to the warmth of it, to the quiet reminder that despite everything, this moment was real
Well, at least parts of it were but you wanted to believe that softness in Sunday’s gaze as he watched you walk down the aisle earlier was genuine—that it wasn’t a mask he prepared and wore for this ceremony but you’d be lying to yourself. To you, Sunday was the hardest book to decipher, the more you read in between lines and paragraphs, the more you’d doubt your thoughts.
“. . And by the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you—”
Your breath caught and the room seemed to still.
“—Husband and wife.” The officiant paused for a split second, letting the words linger in the air and manifest into existence. Then, he continued,
“You may now kiss the bride.”
As his words echoed in your mind, your gaze slowly lifted to Sunday’s and for a moment, you both hesitated. He was the first to move, his head inclined towards you—eyes fluttering shut—slowly leaning in, his hands rested on either side of your waist; the quiet hum of the Dreamscape faded into the background as the space between your faces narrowed with each long second.
This was a part of the performance, you both knew that but it wasn’t something that was rehearsed, and even though you were an actress yourself—where kissing co-actors came naturally—this felt entirely different.
You closed your eyes, heart stuttering, the traitorous beast banging against the cold bars of your chest; for a second, you wondered if Sunday could hear it but upon noticing the unreadable expression on his face, you assumed he was focused on how to approach the kiss everyone anticipated—the subtle pause in his breath was enough to tell you it wasn’t easy for him either.
And just as Sunday was about to seal the kiss, he gracefully lifted a wing to obscure the view, leaving everyone unaware of the small distance between you and him; it was deliberate yet to everyone else, the veil of feathers seemed natural given the way your faces were angled slightly. The perfect illusion of an elegant kiss.
“Forgive me, I do not wish to make you uncomfortable in front of everyone. This . . should suffice, we do not have to go all the way.” Sunday whispered dangerously close, your knees almost buckled at the feel of his hot breath ghosting over your lips.
Your hands, which rested atop his clothed chest, curled slightly, nails digging into the hearts of your palms, “Right . .” You whispered back.
You told yourself it didn’t matter, that Sunday only thought of respecting your boundaries—as a matter of fact, you should even be grateful that he didn’t force you and yet something in your chest dipped in disappointment. Albeit small and quiet, it was significant enough to feel it within your ribcage, the low murmur of your heart.
Of course. Sunday would never force something like that and you respected him for it! But . . you couldn’t help think that he simply didn’t want to kiss you. As childish as it sounded, you were convinced.
You bit the insides of your cheeks, lids tightly pressed against your eyes, you didn’t dare take a small peak. Not when his face was barely centimetres away from your own and absolutely not when his intoxicating scent invaded your senses. The wings behind your ears rustled briefly, brushing against Sunday’s.
Slowly, the moment passed; each camera click and quiet gasps from the guests enveloped the enchanting scene at the altar. A few seconds later, his wing lowered—as graceful as ever—once again revealing you both to everyone else, and it was like the entire room breathed out a long sigh.
The guests responded instantly, applause swelled throughout the Eventide, everyone wore a smile on their faces, completely convinced by what they’d witnessed.
You pulled away first, immediately turning to the crowd with the most genuine smile you could muster, trying to mirror everyone else’s joyous expression.
Among the guests, you caught Robin’s gaze who sat on the front row pew—she wore a smile like everyone else but her cerulean eyes gleamed with apology; you assumed she felt partly responsible for her brother’s decision regarding the marriage but you never blamed her, if there was anyone to blame it would be the Dreammaster but you’d never dare utter it into existence. After all, you were just pawns in his Dreamscape.
Funnily enough, as the person who decided you and Sunday to be married, he didn’t attend today, you’ve heard whispers within the Dewlight Pavilion that the Dreammaster wasn’t feeling too well these days, not that you cared about the man. You may have grew up with him around but that doesn't mean you’ve warmed up to him; he still carried the same unsettling aura he had when you were a kid.
After the long awaited ceremony, everyone settled into the reception where an abundance of congratulatory greetings and hugs were given to you and Sunday; most of them came from close co-actors who you’ve worked with on previous films, they also took the time to converse with him and didn’t hold back with such questions.
“Okay, this might be a bit silly to ask but who fell in love first?” Cassian—a co-actor you’ve grown close with—asked with pure curiosity, his hazelnut gaze darted between the two of you, he nursed a half empty glass of SoulGlad, swishing the golden liquid within as he stood before the table you and Sunday sat on.
You briefly looked over to Sunday who already had his eyes on you. “I did,” You started, setting your gaze back to Cassian and pairing it with a small smile.
“This is actually the first time I’m admitting this but . . I’ve had a crush on him ever since we were kids so I’m assuming it was me who fell in love first—I mean, who wouldn’t, right? He was kind and caring, and from then on, my young heart knew who it wanted.”
With every word that rolled from your tongue, heat that blanketed your cheeks intensified. Obviously, everything you stated was the truth but saying it aloud in front of him was rather embarrassing even if he didn’t have a clue how real it was.
A confession veiled as a lie.
You could feel Sunday’s honeyed gaze boring into the side of your face but you kept your eyes on Cassian who animatedly cooed in response, “Well, aren’t you a lucky one, Mr. Sunday!” The brunette inclined his glass towards the two of you as if making a toast.
Sunday chuckled softly in response, uttering a small ‘Indeed, I am.’ You ignored the stutter in your chest.
“Do you guys have a destination for the honeymoon? There are so many worlds to choose from!”
You let out a cough, the heat from your cheeks spreading down the column of your neck and onto your chest where it bloomed, “A-Ah, well! Sunday and I decided that we’ll have to push back our honeymoon for a while. With the Charmony Festival approaching in less than a few months, he’d be busy with preparation and as for my schedule, it’s packed with shoots—you should know.”
Cassian enthusiastically nodded, “That’s right! We’ve an upcoming film together—I can’t believe I forgot! Well, I shouldn’t take up anymore of your time, the two of you should enjoy your first few moments as husband and wife. Haha! I’ll get going then. Oh and I’ll see you on set!” With that, the brunette excused himself and headed for the open bar.
“I wasn’t aware Mr. Cassian is going to play the lead role along with you.” Sunday curiously stated. You shrugged, “I wasn’t aware you were interested in my matters but yes, we will be in a romance film together. Why? Interested in seeing it in the theatres once it comes out, Mr. Sunday?”
He let out a humourless laugh, “I liked your little story earlier. The one you told Mr. Cassian.”
Little story. Well, little did he know how true it all was.
This was supposed to be a happy day but with the amount of times Sunday had unknowingly shattered your naïve heart into more and more pieces today alone, you weren’t certain how long you’d last in this foolish charade, and you couldn’t blame him at all—not that you had anyone else to blame but your feelings.
“What can I say? I’ve been told I’m amazing when it comes to improvising.” You didn’t meet his gaze, instead, your eyes scanned around the room, pretending to skim and scan, feigning interest in the uninteresting.
Well, at least the guests looked like they were having more fun than you—they laughed over clinked glasses and exquisite Penaconian dishes, a genuine expression of joy painted on their alcohol tinted faces.
Sunday left the conversation at that and tended to his own glass, briefly swirling the liquid inside before taking a calculated sip; the golden beverage blanketed his tastebuds, its familiar sweetness putting his mind at ease. He wasn’t certain of the reason but he felt somewhat odd upon hearing your reply, the feeling irked him down to the bone.
Clearly, it was an uncharted territory and Sunday despised places he couldn’t control—the unknown and the unpredictable. He hated the thought of not knowing how to unpack his emotions.
But the real question was: Why did he feel this way? and what was the root of it? Maybe it was stress getting to him, he rarely got decent sleep and his daily schedule was always packed. Yeah, definitely stress.
Old Oak Family Manor (Reality)
A few tiring system hours later, you and Sunday were finally surrounded by pure silence—no prying eyes, no endless questions, just silence. The two of you found yourselves inside the old Oak Family manor, a separate building from the Hotel that stood in Reality but remained just as grand and expansive.
“So . . you’re the only one who lives here now? What about the Dreammaster?”
The manor stood like a quiet declaration of wealth—just as you’ve always remembered it to be—it gleamed like polished marble kissed by dawn, its towering windows framed with intricate carvings and draped with silken curtains.
Everything felt all too familiar and with every turn of your head, an old, tucked memory resurfaced like a bubble floating upwards—the curved staircase you and the twins would sit on to tell ghost stories, the expansive field outside where you’d spend afternoons running around, and . . Sunday’s room where he and Robin would ‘perform’ concerts .
The very room both of you stood in.
You had spent enough time in the old Oak Family manor to know that his room barely changed—sure, his toys were replaced with endless stacks of books and documents, and his bed no longer housed soft plushes but apart from those, everything was the same.
“Ever since I was appointed Head, this manor was entrusted to me. I am not aware of Mr. Gopher Wood’s whereabouts nor do I question it.”
“You don’t have company?” “I have attendants.”
You let out a snort which earned a raised brow from him, “That’s different, Sunday. The attendants work here.” The manor used to be so lively, now it felt completely empty and a little cold; you couldn’t help but wonder if Sunday ever felt lonely, especially with a building so vast—was he haunted by the echoes of his lone footsteps? Did he ever avoid eating in the dining room because he’d be the only one sitting at the long table?
“Nevermind, disregard my last question. Though, I do have another one, are you sure you’re comfortable with me sleeping here? I mean, there are tons of other rooms in this manor.” Naturally, since you were now married to Sunday, it only made sense to reside together in the Oak Family manor, however, you didn’t expect to actually share a room with him.
“You’re my wife, are you not? If anything, it’d only rouse suspicions from attendants about us sleeping in different rooms,”
He had a point.
“And just because our marriage stands on falsehoods does not mean I won’t uphold my role as your husband. I’m sure you’re aware I’m not that kind of man.” Sunday continued. Again, he was right, he certainly wasn’t the type of person to slack off just because he was out of the spotlight and you didn’t know whether that was a blessing or a curse.
“I suggest you wash up first, it has been a long day, after all, and your clothes are in the closet.” Oh, that’s right, you almost forgot about your belongings, thanks to the help of the Bloodhound Family, all of them were transported to the manor safe and sound; you assumed the attendants must have unpacked it all for you.
You absentmindedly nodded, trying to process the fact that you were now bound not only to Sunday but the manor as well for the rest of your life—that you would come home every single night and sleep beside him.
A foreign feeling washed over your body, the feeling that would grow from the depths of your core in response to a drastic change in your life. It wasn’t unsettling nor uncomfortable per se but it was extremely hard to ignore.
Bathing beneath the warm water took a lot longer than you’d intended, the feel of it against your bare skin soothed you so much that it almost felt like someone had wrapped you in a cozy hug, one that you’ve been deprived of these days.
Now, sitting on your side of the bed—the left side—in your silken nightie, you carefully combed your freshly dried hair, a thousand thoughts coursing through your mind and none of them were coherent.
Sure, what you were wearing was designed entirely for sleeping but Xipe above! You felt absolutely exposed; the way its flimsy straps slid down your shoulders every other minute didn’t help at all.
Even the way Sunday’s honeyed eyes widened when you walked out of the bathroom clearly meant he was taken aback by the brazenness of your attire—or the lack of it. But could you really blame yourself? Prior to tonight, you lived alone and that meant you could wear whatever you wanted to bed with no one to judge.
Setting the comb on the night stand beside you, you quickly tucked yourself beneath the ivory duvet upon hearing the shower turn off; if you hid yourself inside the bed, it would make you feel less exposed to Sunday, you pulled on the duvet ‘til it covered all the way up to the base of your neck.
Yeah, this seemed about right.
He stepped out of the bathroom, clad in a pair of matching pyjamas, hair and wings damp, it took him only about three steps before he stopped in his tracks, gaze fixated on you.
“Is the temperature too cold for your liking . . ?” Sunday stood there dumbfounded at the silly sight before him—you, on the bed with just your head and neck sticking out from under the duvet.
“No, it’s perfectly fine. Why do you ask?” You shook your head, blinking up at him. He replied with a small sigh, “If this is about your . . attire then rest assured I do not mind but if you feel uncomfortable, I can offer you a top to wear over.” He immediately looked away, feigning a cough.
His reply may have been nonchalant but you caught how the tips of his ears flushed a deep pink hue; obviously he, too, was as embarrassed as you were, only he was better at hiding it.
Once again, you shook your head, “I don’t want to bother you with such trivial matters. Besides, I’ll be going to sleep soon.”
Sunday wordlessly nodded before turning off the lights and proceeding to walk towards the shared bed—towards you.
As darkness filled the entire room in an instant, you swallowed thickly, trying to calm your poor, poor heart as his footsteps echoed closer than the last; you closed your eyes as he lifted the duvet—a breeze of cool air momentarily enveloping your bare skin—he slipped inside and the mattress dipped beneath his weight, it made you realise just how small of a space there was between your bodies.
Not enough to have your bare arm brushing against his clothed one but enough to feel warmth that radiated from him.
“Pardon me but would you have trouble sleeping if I turned on a lamp?” Sunday whispered into the darkness.
“I don’t mind but are you not going to sleep? It’s well past midnight.” You opened your eyes and inclined your head, facing him.
“I’ll be writing for a bit as sleep has not yet caught up to me.” The bedside lamp turned on with a soft click which immediately illuminated his half of the bed, casting a warm gentle glow on his softened features. You replied with a wordless nod before turning your back to him and letting the faint sound of pen and paper sully you into endless clouds of dreams.
A couple of pages and half a system hour later, Sunday finally looked up from the inked pages of his book. Curious, he glanced over at your sleeping form which remained with your back towards him, he watched the rhythmic rise and fall with every shallow breath.
Compared to earlier, more of your torso peeked from beneath the duvet, he noticed how the flimsy strap of your nightie had fallen from your shoulder and took the initiative—after whispering an apology for his brazen behaviour—to lean over and fix it.
Sunday let out a sigh, he pulled the shared duvet upwards to cover your shoulder before returning to his side of the bed.
For some reason, he couldn’t help but feel that you held disdain for him—and honestly? Rightfully so because truthfully speaking, he had foolishly roped you into an eternal duty without your consent, without considering how you would feel about the entire idea. It wasn’t like him to involve others in such serious matters, and if given the opportunity to shoulder the problem alone, he would’ve done so in a heartbeat.
Sunday gazed down at his book once more, catching a glimpse of glimmering gold wrapped around a digit of his left hand—his wedding band, it shone quietly beneath the warm glow of the lamp. He brought his hand up to examine the piece of jewellery, honeyed gaze following each curve of the intricate pattern engraved on it. Despite its small size, it sat heavy on his finger and whether it was the weight of burden or something more, he had no idea.
Funnily enough, never in a million years did he think he’d be married before Robin; sure, he was the older twin but relationships and marriage rarely crossed his mind, and as embarrassing as it was, flirting definitely wasn’t for him either.
Moment of Morning Dew
“So what you’re suggesting is a date?”
“Indeed.”
“Wow, I didn’t know you were quite the romantic, Oak Family Head.”
“To be frank, it wasn’t my idea. It was merely suggested to me and I think it’d be appropriate to make occasional appearances in public as husband and wife.”
Well, there goes romance out of the window. So it was tied to duty after all, and here you were thinking Sunday acted out of his own will for once but if there was anyone to blame the feeling of slight disappointment, it would be none other than you and your naïve heart.
It had only been a little over a month after the marriage yet you’ve already been met with disappointments and you hated yourself for feeling that way because it wasn’t even Sunday’s fault—he was only upholding his role but you? You had mistaken his actions for reality.
The chaste forehead kisses whenever he visited you on set paired with a humble bouquet of flowers, the endearments he called you in front of your co-actors, holding your hand—all these were initiated by him and every single time, like a fool, you had mistaken it for something sincere.
How ironic that between the two of you, Sunday would be the better actor. You’ve paid him a visit countless times in Dewlight Pavilion when you weren’t needed on set—brought him food, offered him a shoulder massage whenever he seemed visibly stressed, and even tried convincing him to take a breather but you were rigid and hesitant.
Today just happened to be one of those days where you visited him. As usual, you were as stiff as a board and your words barely held any sincerity in them, as if you merely read off a script.
And maybe that’s why he took the initiative to lead because he had sensed your hesitancy regarding everything.
“Where are we headed?” You raised a brow, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.
Sunday gathered every document on his table and stacked them neatly in a pile before placing it to the side, “Aideen Park. I heard there was a small event happening there and I thought we could pay a visit.”
Moment of Golden Hour
Aideen Park was livelier than normal, people lined up for several reasons—food trucks, photobooths, and even a mini ferris wheel ride. Naturally, the band which usually performed at the heart of the Park gained quite a crowd as well, they played an upbeat melody to fit the joyous atmosphere. Several booths and signage within the vicinity was enough to deduce that this public event was run by SoulGlad with their iconic logo plastered everywhere.
“Hm? Did SoulGlad release a new flavour?” You fell into a step beside Sunday, eyes fixated on a stall where a staff happily gave away freebies and judging by the unfamiliar packaging of SoulGlad in his hand, it had to be a new flavour.
He nodded, jutting out his right arm which you wordlessly held on to, “Indeed, SoulGlad has released a new flavour called Charmony to honour the Charmony Festival. I figured I’d acquire several bottles for Robin.”
You hummed at his reply. It was nice knowing he still thought about his sister even in her absence, at heart, Sunday was truly just an older brother taking care of his family and it warmed your heart more than anything.
You’ve always wondered how he felt when Robin left Penacony; from what you could remember, it was a crucial turning point in their lives as well as yours—her music career was taking off, Sunday was training to be Bronze Melodia, and you had just secured your first lead role.
“Have you had the chance to try the new flavour?” You asked, shaking the thoughts away.
At your question, he shook his head, “I have heard from several people that it has its own unique twist to it. Now, I know we have personal security around but it’s best to stay close to me with this many people present.”
With his free arm, he adjusted your hand on his clothed bicep, allowing you to hold him better. “It’s not like I’m going to run away.” You murmured, ignoring the blanket of heat settling on your cheeks.
There had already been a few instances where you had held Sunday by his bicep like this or his hand but you’ve never gotten used to the feeling of his body pressed closely against your own.
Even through the fabric of his blazer, merely touching him seared your skin like a thousand flames—it felt like it was forbidden to do so yet at the same time, you couldn’t quite pull away even if you wanted to.
Sunday led the two of you to a food truck lined with customers and on the way there, you were both excitedly greeted by many event goers and passerbys, with some even coming up to you for autographs and photos.
You only managed to get through three autographs and two photos before Sunday came up behind you, a chivalrous hand hovering on the small of your back as he gently ushered you away, a wing curled around the back of your head, “We should get going before people start shoving one another to get signatures and such.”
Nodding, you smiled apologetically before bidding them good bye, “It was nice seeing you all! I hope everyone enjoys this SoulGlad event!”
“Pardon my intrusion but I noticed you were getting quite flustered so I took matters into my own hands.” Sunday apologised, not realising his hand—which rested on your lower back—had protectively snaked around your waist, it pulled you closer to him, effectively turning your legs into jello. If it wasn’t for his hold, you would’ve already kissed the grounds of Aideen Park.
Oh god, you hoped he hadn’t noticed how your torso shook with a small shudder. You feigned a cough, “T-That’s quite okay, Sunday. Thank you. What did you want to ord—”
“Mr and Mrs Sunday! How lovely to see Penacony’s harmonious couple in our humble event!” One of the SoulGlad staff at the food truck rushed over to the back of the line where you and Sunday stood, effectively gaining attention from customers in the queue. They turned around and whispered amongst themselves, not-so-subtly pointing at you both.
Sunday greeted the Pepeshi staff with a smile, “Ah, hello. Thank you for having us.”
“Are you two seeking to order? I can take it in advance so the two of you won’t have to wait!” He excitedly spoke, the fluff ball atop his head vigorously swinging back and forth.
In unison, you and Sunday both shook your heads, declining his kind offer, “We shan’t. She and I are here as humble customers, we don’t mind waiting a little while. It would be unfair for those who are before us.”
“No such thing! Mr. Sunday and Mrs are our esteemed guests! You know what? I’ll go ahead and get two servings of our best seller—Clockie Pizza!” Before the two of you could humbly decline once more, the Pepeshi had already taken off towards the food truck, excitement budding with every step he took.
Within a few minutes, he came running back with two servings of Clockie Pizza on a paper plate, steam which radiated from the slices indicated it was freshly taken from the oven.
“Here you are! Two slices for our very special customers, enjoy!” Both of you thanked the Pepeshi staff as he handed the plate over to Sunday, he gave the two of you another excited smile before skipping off towards the food truck. You and Sunday could only exchange lopsided smiles, not really knowing what to make out of the situation; as much as you felt bad, you were pretty hungry so you were absolutely more than thankful.
After eating, the two of you found yourselves in one of the photobooths (Embarrassingly, Sunday had noticed you were staring intently at them while you were eating and asked if you wanted to go). Naturally, the booth had limited space inside which meant you two had to squeeze yourselves on the bench—arms and legs flushed against one another.
You tried not to think about how your wing momentarily brushed his own, his ivory feathers tickling yours; Halovians’ wings were a sensitive area and one couldn’t just reach out and have a feel of it, many Halovians treat their wings as the most important part of their body and consider it an intimate gesture if they willingly let someone touch it.
“How does one operate this?” He drew the crimson curtain on his left side to close off the booth before turning to you with a hint of confusion on his face. At his question, you mirrored his expression, brows drawn together, “Have you not tried one before?—Nevermind. We simply press this button on the screen to get started and once it starts, the camera takes three pictures so we have to think of different poses for each frame.”
“And oh, it’s timed so efficiency is needed.”
“Seems quite pressuring, no?” Sunday humourlessly laughed. This was his first time trying out a photobooth machine and the thought of coming up with three different poses in a span of mere seconds . . He couldn’t even think of one off the top of his head.
“Oh? Is the Oak Family Head intimidated by a photobooth? Well, if you ever feel stuck, you can go ahead and copy my poses. Ready?” You glanced over at him who only nodded in response, honeyed pupils gleaming beneath the harsh lights of the booth.
Without another word, you leaned over and pressed the button in the middle before quickly getting into a pose—the classic smile with a peace sign.
On the other hand, Sunday blinked as he watched numbers on the screen count down. 3. Ah, what pose should he do? 2. Maybe just a smile? Would that be too formal? 1. He quickly looked over to you to imitate your pose but before he could even get his hand in position, the camera brightly flashed indicating that the first photo had been taken.
“Quick! Finish off the other half of this heart!”
As the screen began counting down once more, Sunday hesitantly mirrored your gesture with his left hand. Four fingers curl like so . . and how does the thumb go? Ah, straight down at an angle. Then, place it against her hand. While he mused over how to complete the hand heart, the camera flashed once again. Another photo taken, another frame where he wasn’t ready. Why are photobooths so hard?
“Why don’t we just do a smile?”
Finally, something he could get behind. The two of you instinctively squeezed closer, inclining your heads towards one another with smiles on your face, then, the camera flashed. Sunday let out a soft sigh, it’s as if weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
A small laugh escaped your lips as the two of you exited the booth, “Not bad for your first photobooth experience, huh?” You didn’t notice how heated your skin had become ‘til the air outside pressed against you like an icy envelope.
“You are teasing.” Sunday stared at you with a deadpan expression which only pulled another laugh.
The small machine whirred to life, producing two copies of the strip, you took them both and handed one over to him, “This one is yours, Mr. Oak Family Head.”
You took the time to examine each frame and couldn’t help but crack a smile at how clueless he looked in the first two photos; the first one was him blankly glancing over at you while on the second one, he wore a confused expression while glancing down at his half of the hand heart.
As for the third photo, you didn’t want to look at it for too long. Not because it was hideous or any of that sort—quite the opposite—but because both of you looked like an actual happy couple, a pair who loved one another. You swallowed thickly.
“Where shall we head next? Up for a ferris wheel ride?” Tucking the photo strip inside the pocket of your jacket, you looked up at Sunday with a calculated smile on your face. His gaze lingered on you for a second longer as if to search for something but nonetheless, he nodded.
The ferris wheel carriage was quite small, meaning either you and Sunday would have to squeeze together—again—on one side of the carriage or sit on opposite sides; obviously, both of you opted for the latter, which despite facing one another, at least gave you room to breathe.
You avoided fully facing him by slightly angling yourself sideways to gaze beyond the carriage; the ride wasn’t as grand as the one in Clock Studios Theme Park but it was able to reveal a great area of Golden Hour once at the top.
Below, Penaconians went on about their day as usual—whether it be shopping, working or simply taking a leisurely stroll in the Moment, you watched as they led their own lives, wondering what it felt like to be a normal Penaconian.
But what did normal mean for you, exactly? You wished you had the answer.
Sunday knew it was rude to stare but he simply couldn’t bring himself to stop either. Earlier, when you were examining the photo strip, he had noticed the solemn expression on your face; how the corners of your lips sunk ever so slightly and the faint gleam of sadness in your eyes.
A wave of regret hit him once more, the same way it had done for the past month—hard. And now as he watched you observe the Dreamscape below, he couldn’t help but feel responsible for your sadness. There had been many instances where he had caught you with a somber expression but he never dared address it, though now seemed like a great opportunity.
“Are you quite alright?”
Turning your head to him, you drew your brows together, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Sunday pressed his lips in a thin line, “You . . can always talk to me. As a friend.”
You chuckled, adjusting your body so you could face him fully, “Is the Oak Family Head missing his Bronze Melodia days?”
Deflecting—that’s what you were doing, a habit he never once liked from you but as concerned as he was, he didn’t press any further. Doing so would most likely only worsen whatever you housed inside your chest, and he didn’t want to be the cause of that. Maybe some day you’d finally open up to him about all your worries and feelings but for now, he’d wait even if it meant waiting for eons.
Moment of Sol
“Ah, Mr. Sunday! Lovely to see you here once again. As you can see, we’re about to start filming so it’s best to keep quiet. Other than that, feel free to watch.” The director—who he had come to know as Thaddeus—gleefully whispered before heading to his seat. The former wasn’t old, most likely in his early forties but he did don several silvery strands on his head along with a full beard.
Sunday made his way over to a quiet corner behind all the film crew with a decent view of the scene unfolding before him. The set was a large bedroom dimmed to convey a sultry atmosphere, in the middle sat a large bed draped in crimson sheets where you and Cassian were positioned. Judging by this, he could easily deduce that the scene you were filming was rather intimate—it was a romance film after all.
During the previous times he had visited you, the scenes he witnessed were more . . family friendly. Scenes where Celestine—the character you played—merely caught up with her friends in a coffee shop and all of that sort; there was one that Sunday particularly took a liking to, where you and Cassian argued back and forth—an intense quarrel between two lovers.
It reminded him how much of an amazing actress you were, he didn’t want to admit it but that scene moved him enough to make his eyes water, he could only imagine what it would look like on the big screen. But this scene was entirely different, Sunday had never seen you act intimately before and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.
“Quiet on set! Pictures up! Roll sound! Roll camera! Marker . . and action!”
Clap!
The slate’s sound echoed throughout the entire set and Sunday watched as you and Cassian instantly got into character. He sucked in a breath as the two of you slowly inched closer to one another, sealing each other’s lips in a heated kiss.
Soft, wet sounds filled the room, the kiss deepened and turned into something less innocent and for a brief moment, Sunday forgot he was in a set, and that the scene before him was scripted.
He swallowed thickly, shifting his weight from one foot to another as Cassian roamed his hands all over your body, even going as far as raking his palms along your clothed chest and the area behind your wings. A dainty whimper slipped past your kiss-bitten slips in between breaths, followed by a whisper of his name.
Something strange bubbled within Sunday’s chest, he was well aware everything was scripted but seeing another man brazenly touch you with lust and fervour, and hearing you breathe out someone else’s name did not feel right at all. Was he jealous? No. But he wasn’t entirely fine with this either.
Nonetheless, Sunday didn’t have the right to have a say on these matters so he kept quiet and continued watching how Cassian eagerly shoved his tongue past your lips like a hungry beast. He didn’t even realise his jaw had tightened and the tips of his fingers had dug into the hearts of his palms ‘til the Thaddeus yelled ‘Cut!’ ultimately breaking immersion. The two of you pulled away from one another, breathless and hair mussed.
“Cassian, remember to angle your arm slightly or else we won’t be able to see her face—”
As the director gave him instructions, you managed to spot a familiar face within the small crowd of film crew, his golden halo shone lightly beneath the artificial set lighting—Sunday.
Xipe above, you almost forgot he was going to pay you a visit today, not that you didn’t want him to come, it’s just that having him watch an erotic scene with yourself and Cassian felt odd. You were embarrassed, to say the least. As an actress, you took yourself out of comfort zones countless times for different roles and they were no easy feat but who knew you’d be struggling to act in an intimate scene before Sunday?
With a lopsided smile, you shyly waved at him to which he responded with an incline of his head. Whether he had a smile on his face or not, you weren’t sure, you couldn’t see clearly beyond the lighting.
Sunday, in fact, did not have a smile on his face
It was childish and idiotic to sulk over such a minor thing and if he could stop his chest from tightening weirdly, he would have done so already but he couldn’t, and now a subtle frown blanketed his face. He tried to look at the bright side—how talented you were at acting and how proud he was that you’ve come so far but god he was powerless to his own thoughts.
“Alright, from the top! Sound! Cameras! Marker and . . action!”
Clap!
Again, the entire room snapped into place, including you and Cassian. For the second time, Sunday watched in silence as the two of you passionately made out once more, this time the scene escalated to him pushing you down on the mattress below, lips still locked onto your own, and hands pinned against the pillows.
Even with your eyes closed and even with Cassian smothering you like there was no tomorrow, you could feel the heat of Sunday’s gaze from beyond the cameras and lights—the intensity of it. Getting into the zone was second nature to you yet you couldn’t shake off the nagging thought that he was watching you, it felt like you were cheating right in front of his face; Sunday probably didn’t mind at all but still.
This went on for a few more minutes until Thaddeus was satisfied with the outcome and wrapped up the scene, “Actors, we need you in a wardrobe change and can we please rearrange lighting on the set for the next scene?”
With that, you stood up from the bed and walked over to Sunday who greeted you with a small smile, “Hey, I’m glad you’re here.” You mirrored his smile before loosely wrapping your arms around his waist. A simple performance in front of everyone. He did the same and placed a chaste kiss on the crown of your head.
“You did well, my love.”
Your heart stuttered.
“Mm, really? I’m glad you think so.”
“Well, I shan’t take up any more of your time. Mr. Thaddeus did mention a wardrobe change for you, right?” Sunday slightly pulled back, a warm smile on his face as he gazed down at you. Ah, you wished he stayed for a little longer even though embarrassment ate you alive in his presence but alas, he was a busy man, so you simply nodded,
“I’ll see you around?” The corners of your lips curled into a smile.
He hummed, he gave you another chaste kiss, this time on your forehead before completely letting go of you. Oh, god. Was it merely your imagination or was he acting extra . . touchy? You wouldn’t even dream of putting Sunday and touchy in the same sentence—they were like two magnets with the same side that repelled one another but his actions proved otherwise. Or maybe you were highly delusional.
Before he could walk away any further, you called out to him, “Sunday?” He turned around, an expectant look painted on his face.
“I . .” Love you? Was that what you were going to say? There was no harm in that, right? Right? Come to think of it, neither of you had ever uttered those words—were you about to start now? Technically, the two of you were married and expressing love to one another was normal. God, why were you even overthinking—
Whatever.
“I love you.”
Sunday’s wings momentarily rustled, a hint of shock washed over his face, albeit subtle, you caught on. His chest tightened but it wasn’t the same feeling as earlier, it didn’t hurt, instead, it felt like a dainty butterfly fluttering inside his ribcage. He stared at you momentarily, the rush of everyone else around fading into the background, his breaths turned shallow and slightly uneven. Was he sick?
“I . . love you, too.” And without another word, he left.
Fake. Fake. Fake. Fake!
You reminded yourself this marriage was fake and so was his response but your heart believed otherwise because now it pounded against the bars of your ribs, it wanted to leap out and find comfort in the warmth of his palms. Heat spread from your cheeks, along the column of your neck, and all the way down to your chest—it bloomed like a fiery flower, its blazing petals hungry for more.
The urge to tell Sunday as soon as possible settled in your heart.
The night before the Charmony Festival, Old Oak Family Manor (Reality)
Unfortunately, with both your schedules tightly packed, you rarely saw Sunday within the past week—only some nights during ungodly hours where he carefully slipped next to you in bed but other than that, no words were exchanged, and as much as you wanted to talk to him, exhaustion weighed on your body. And as soon as you were enveloped by the softness of the bed, it immediately lulled you into a deep sweet dream.
Tonight wasn’t any different, you came home to yet another empty house—save for the attendants—without Sunday and frankly, you were worried he wasn’t getting the proper rest he needed. You did leave him a couple of messages earlier between your shoots simply asking how he was but he never replied to them, though that wasn't surprising given how close the festival was.
The shared bed felt a lot colder and bigger as you slipped beneath the covers, you turned to face Sunday’s side, stretching out an arm as if to reach for him only to be met with emptiness. A small sigh slipped past your lips, you silently prayed to Xipe that THEY would answer your wishes to see him soon.
For now, you closed your eyes and went to sleep.
11 system hours later
Ri█—ng!
█Rin█g!
Ring!
At the sound of your phone, you stirred awake in bed, sleep still weighed heavy on your body. Was that your alarm? You didn’t remember setting one last night . . Nonetheless, you slowly opened your eyes and reached for the device atop the wooden nightstand, bringing it to your face. You blinked a few times, doing your best to adjust the blur of your vision to see better.
Mr. Oti Alfalfa
Huh? Why was the Alfalfa Family Head calling you? As if your entire body was doused in icy water, you quickly shot up, fingers raked through your mussed hair as you answered, “H-Hello?”
“Ah, it seems you’ve finally woken up, Miss.”
“Mr. Oti Alfalfa! My sincere apologies, it had been a long night . . May I ask why you’re calling?” You rubbed your temples, looking at the wall clock to check the time—11 system hours?! You’ve been asleep for 11 system hours? Just how tired were you last night? Though, with the weight of sleep on you, it did feel like you slept for quite a while, almost like a never ending dream.
“The Family has cleared your schedule for today, we require your presence at the Dewlight Pavilion right this moment. There are important matters to be discussed.”
At the mention of The Family’s residence, you looked over to your right. No Sunday, an empty space. Seeing as how they required your presence, that meant they asked for him too, right? He must’ve been at the Pavilion already but why didn’t he wake you up from your sleep?
There were a thousand questions that ran through your mind regarding the whole situation but what could they possibly need to discuss with you? They even cleared your schedule which meant it had to be something very serious, not to mention how you could sense the urgency in old Oti’s tone as he spoke of important matters.
It made you somewhat uneasy.
“Alright. I will be there in a few minutes.”
With that, you quickly got dressed and headed for the Dreamscape.
Moment of Morning Dew
The Dewlight Pavilion housed more members of The Family than usual, its entrance had at least six Bloodhound Family security officers guarding the doors, and the inside wasn’t any better. What was going on? Today was the Charmony Festival, right? So why was almost everyone present in the Pavilion? You walked down its long halls, each step taken heavier than the last.
There was a slight tension in the air, you felt it and it made your stomach churn; you noticed how some attendants gazed at you as if you were some kind of criminal.
Was . . something wrong? Nonetheless, you ignored them and kept walking ‘til you reached the Council Chamber.
Inside, gathered four Family Heads, they gathered at the heart of the chamber, sitting around a vast circular table. Robin was also present but where was Sunday? Shouldn’t he be present as well?
“. . May I ask what this is all about?” Your brows furrowed, a small frown forming on your lips; you looked over at Robin who only gave you a solemn expression, even the look on your adoptive mother’s face was hard to explain.
“Are you aware of what has transpired in Penacony?” Oti Alfalfa spoke up.
Slowly, you made your way over to situate yourself next to Robin. “No . . I have been asleep and only woke up from your call. Did something terrible happen in the Dreamscape?” You felt asking that question would do more harm than good but there had to be a clear reason as to why they needed you here.
The atmosphere was unbearable. Every Head, including Robin wore an unreadable expression, it’s as if all of them were in on some kind of secret and no one dared to inform you about it. Sunday’s absence in this meeting made you all the more nervous. All of them shared strange looks with one another before Oti Alfalfa spoke up once again,
“. . The Oak Family Head and the Dreammaster had committed the highest act of treason—not only to The Family but to the entirety of Penacony. Sunday usurped the Harmony and revived Ena The Order to use THEIR power to create an eternal dream paradise.”
You didn’t know what to say. Was there even anything appropriate to say?
It didn’t feel real at all, you were hoping they were merely playing a sick, elaborate prank on you but the look on their faces proved otherwise. Old Oti’s words reached your ears the same way nightmares did—fragmented, disjointed, and absolutely impossible to process all at once.
Sunday. Treason. Eternal dream paradise.
No. That wasn’t the Sunday you knew, he couldn’t have possibly done something like that, not the man who had spent most of his life looking out for others—putting their needs before his. It felt contradictory to everything he was. But did it really? Your mind scrambled for reason and context, for some kind of missing piece that would make everything make sense but there was nothing.
Among the million of questions, your mind raised another: What exactly had your marriage been for?
You stood with him before all of Penacony yet all this time he secretly worked with the Dreammaster to dismantle the very concept you and he were assigned to uphold—Harmony. A deep, aching sorrow settled beneath your ribs.
“Rightfully, the former Oak Family Head was imprisoned but it has come to our attention that he had managed to flee from prison, he is now deemed a wanted fugitive. We asked you to join this meeting because we have a few questions regarding your husband.” Flee from prison? How? And who aided him? A part of you was relieved that Sunday managed to flee from The Family’s wrath but you were also scared of what he might face once they found him.
You knew what was coming next.
Maeven Ellis parted her crimson-stained lips, she still held onto that unreadable expression, “Oh, Triple-Faced Soul, please sear her tongue and palms with a hot iron, so that she will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows.”
“Everyone in this room is aware regarding the status of your marriage with the former Oak Family Head, orchestrated to refute rumours within the Dreamscape. Were you an accomplice to him and the Dreammaster? Was your marriage merely a disguise to direct Penacony’s attention from their dark schemes?”
You shook your head, “No. I was only aware that our marriage was a solution against those rumours.”
Why were they asking you this? Each Family Head had already agreed to the Dreammaster’s proposal of having you and Sunday marry one another, why was Oti Alfalfa acting as if he wasn’t in favour of the proposal?
“Did you have a hand at helping the former Oak Family Head escape?”
Once again, you shook your head, “No. As I mentioned earlier, I just woke up. I came home from a long shoot last night and went to bed as soon as I could.”
“Did the former Oak Family Head tell you of his schemes?”
You were getting sick of this, twice you’ve already told them you weren’t aware of the Dreammaster and Sunday’s plans, why were they so insistent you had a hand at their schemes? Your mother—out of all people—knew you’d never get involved with something like that. Sure, you had the third highest ranking in the Iris Family but you were merely an actress and stayed out of The Family’s business.
“No.”
Oti Alfalfa nodded, briefly glancing at the golden band around your finger, “That is all but let me tell you this, once The Family finds out you have made contact without any notice or you are actively helping the former Oak Family Head hide, you will be met with punishment for aiding and abetting. This applies to you as well, Miss Robin.”
He didn’t have to verbally say it yet you knew between those words he spoke, he wanted to remind you that The Family was always watching.
After being dismissed by Old Oti, you headed straight to Golden Hour to clear your head—you still couldn’t wrap your head around the whole incident. Did he really manage to revive a dead Aeon? The one that Xipe assimilated? The severity of the entire thing was beyond you and there was no easy way to process all this.
Moment of Golden Hour
“You know, Sunny, won’t it be better to bid farewell to her instead of staring at her poster like a total creep?”
“That implies we won’t see each other again and I do not intend to keep it that way. Even so, I simply cannot bring myself to face her like this even with a disguise. It’s far too risky, Wonweek. I am a fugitive, after all.”
Amidst the glittering luxuries, billboards, and rush of people in the Moment, Sunday—disguised as an Intellitron—stood before an expansive poster of you at Oti Mall, his honeyed gaze traced over your features once, twice, thrice as if to engrave them in his mind.
He was aware the poster was merely an advertisement for a skin care brand yet you looked extremely happy in it and he could only wish the same for you now. With the amount of Bloodhound Family security patrolling around, he assumed news had already broken out regarding his escape, and that you were also aware of it—of everything he had done.
The Pepeshi—Wonweek—who stood next to him hummed, “Oh, really? Not even when she’s right there crying?"
Sunday immediately turned to his companion, “What?” He followed the Pepeshi’s line of sight, it took a few seconds before finally spotting your familiar figure—you sat on a bench in front of Clock Diner, arms crossed over your chest, seemingly staring into nothing. Even though you wore a hat and sunglasses, Sunday could still tell it was you.
“W-Well, maybe not crying but she certainly doesn’t look okay to me.”
“Stay here . .” Sunday absentmindedly murmured, his eyes remained fixated on you, and as if his feet had a mind of its own, he started walking towards you.
“Hey! What the heck happened to ‘I simply cannot bring myself to face her like this’!” Wonweek called out to him, mocking his voice but didn’t bother interfering, he figured the two of you needed to talk, even if it was indirectly.
This wasn’t Sunday’s plan at all, he wasn’t supposed to approach you yet here he was merely three steps away; he had to remind himself not to get carried away with things and that he had a disguise which meant he was a stranger to you.
“Pardon my intrusion, Miss but are you okay?”
At the sound of an unfamiliar voice, you immediately snapped out of your thoughts and shifted your gaze to its owner who stood to your left, just beyond your line of sight—it was an Intellitron clad in a long plum coloured dress. Despite their unmoving facial features, you could sense the hint of concern in their voice.
“O-Oh, um! Yes, of course thank you for asking . . Apologies for my rudeness! Did you want to sit down?” You feigned a cough and adjusted the sunglasses atop your nosebridge before scooting to the edge of the bench to make room. The Intellitron murmured a small thank you as she sat down, smoothing the skirt of her dress.
“My apologies if you were taken aback by my brazenness.”
“Not at all! I’m grateful to have someone look out for me, Miss . . ?”
“Wonweek.” The Intellitron replied.
“Miss Wonweek! What a lovely name . . Thank you, again. It’s just that it’s been a long day and, uh, a . . dear friend of mine has gone somewhere far, far away from me, and I am not certain when I will see him next. Or if I will ever see him again.” You tried your best to stabilize your voice but as each word slipped past your lips, they trembled harder than the last, and the only way to calm yourself down was to caress the golden band wrapped around your ring finger.
“This friend . . he seems quite important to you, no?”
Letting out a shaky sigh, you nodded, “He’s someone I hold very dear to my heart and all I wish for is to talk to him. I’ve been meaning to tell him something.” Sunday swallowed thickly, what could that something possibly be? He’d rather not get his hopes up.
“Your friend may have gone off somewhere far away but I am certain once the time is right, destiny will intertwine your paths once more.”
“Of course. And should the path he chooses not include me in the future, I can only hope it’s a path where he is genuinely happy. I am willing to sacrifice that.” After all, your ties with The Family would make the situation difficult—Oti Alfalfa had already warned you earlier that they had eyes and ears everywhere.
“I may not know your friend well but I am certain he would not want a future without you in it.”
3 months and 3 weeks later, Consternation Starzone, Planarcadia
“Ugh, come on! You already picked the last movie, Stelle! Let me pick one for movie night this time!”
As Sunday walked into the hotel room, he was immediately met with a scene of his bickering companions, however, one of them remained seated in a corner with his arms folded across his chest and eyes closed.
“Great, Sunday’s here! He can back me up on this one! Can you please convince her to watch this movie?” The pink haired woman —who he had come to know as Miss March 7th—eagerly walked over to him and shoved her phone before his face, presenting an opened browser tab for an overview of a movie.
Love and Devotion (1h 49m): Estranged childhood best friends find their way back to one another which results in a trip down memory lane and a blossoming love. Faced with obstacles from their contrasting paths, they navigate through difficulties together, ultimately challenging their relationship.
Cast: Mr. Cassian Noctis, Mrs.—
She swiftly pulled away her phone before he could read any further, an expectant look in her eyes. That was your movie, March 7th wanted to watch your movie—he made a promise to himself he’d make time to watch it once it comes out but ever since he boarded the Express, it had only been missions after missions. Though, he was updated enough to know that it received a lot of love not only in Penacony but across the cosmos as well.
“Do you even know what you’re asking of him? That’s his wife in that movie!” Stelle—the other woman March argued with earlier—scratched the back of her head, whisper-yelling the other half of her sentence. She sat on the edge of the bed, a pillow tucked beneath her arms.
The latter quickly connected the dots, her eyes wide with realisation, “O-Oh! Um! You know what, I think we can go with the movie you picked!”
It wasn’t a secret among the Crew that Sunday was married but they figured the topic was sensitive to him as he barely talked about you, even the mention of Penacony had him wearing a solemn expression.
Though it was the complete opposite for him, Sunday wanted to talk about you—about his homeworld but he was afraid doing so would only get his hopes up for nothing. For the past few months he had been hoping to at least get a glimpse of you during his journey around the cosmos, you were an actress after all, you occasionally went on film press tours.
“I don’t mind at all. I had the opportunity to watch behind the scenes while they were shooting and I was more than intrigued to see the finished piece.” Sunday shook his head, he handed March their room keycard she gave him earlier before sitting next to his dark haired companion on the couch.
“Really? That’s so cool! Ugh, I wish I could get her autograph! You know, I was quite surprised when news broke out that she was engaged! I’ve also seen some of the wedding photos and you two looked absolutely stunning! Anyway, how about you Dan Heng? Do you have any movies you wanna watch?” March turned to the man next to Sunday.
Dan Heng opened his eyes and slowly shook his head, “I’m okay with any movie you guys pick.”
After a few more minutes of going back and forth, all lights were turned off and everyone eventually settled on Love and Devotion. Sunday was the most intrigued—even more than March 7th who initially convinced all to watch the movie; he knew of your acting prowess yet he was completely speechless.
Every single time you appeared on screen, his heart seemed to skip a beat or two, he chalked it up to not having seen your face for a while which is why excitement enveloped him every now and then.
However, half way through the movie while a particular scene played—the scene he vividly remembered watching on set—a foreign feeling enveloped his entire body, a hint of heat and something more.
Subtly, Sunday looked around to see his companions’ reactions, March 7th and Stelle who were sitting on the bed were unfazed by the escalating scene of the movie whereas Dan Heng merely scrolled on his dimmed phone, a slight blanket of pink dusting his cheeks.
With the volume turned all the way up, wet kissing sounds filled all four walls of the hotel room, it made Sunday’s stomach churn in a way that had him digging the tips of his fingers on his palms.
You and Cassian were only kissing but the intensity and lewd noises you made sent an icy shudder down his spine.
This wasn’t good.
A quiet, shaky sigh left his lips as his pants tightened with each passing second. Oh god, was he . . aroused? He didn’t remember feeling this way when he was on set—quite the opposite—so why now?
Sure, the room was dark enough to hide his growing erection but it wasn’t exactly ideal to experience one around three people. Besides, it was uncouth and he needed to leave. Now.
Sunday immediately stood up, gaining curious glances from everyone else, he tried to subtly cover pants, “Uh, I-I need to get something in Dan Heng and I’s room. Feel free to keep watching.” He didn’t bother waiting for anyone else to respond and immediately headed for the door.
As he stepped out onto the hallway, he breathed out a sigh of relief, at least there wasn’t anyone else around the corridors this late at night. Carefully, he walked towards the shared room, trying his best to avoid further friction in his pants or else it would be a very embarrassing moment for him—it was humiliating enough to walk with a weird gait, anything more and he’d bury himself in the ground.
Thankfully, Sunday reached the room which he hastily opened with the keycard tucked inside his pocket, he swiftly slipped inside and sat on the edge of his bed with his eyes closed.
Silence settled in the air, it was accompanied by his heavy, uneven breaths as he tried to calm his racing thoughts. He felt extremely filthy—to think of you in such a lustful light without your knowledge, it was beyond unmannerly.
“F-Forgive me . . for my vulgar thoughts and for what I am about to do.”
In the blink of an eye, Sunday found himself inside the bathroom, door locked and back pressed against it.
Dizziness washed over him and embarrassment ate away at his feverish skin as he reached for the waistband of his pants, he hastily pulled it down with his underwear, a sharp hiss leaving his lips, cock slapping against his lower abdomen. It wore a deep blush of pink and oozed with pearlescent pre-cum, he wondered how his cock would look against your face while you licked and sucked at it.
The soft fabric shamelessly pooled around his ankles which completely exposed his lower half, the cool air against his legs left an icy shudder. Sunday brought the hem of his shirt to his face, biting down at it so it didn’t get in the way.
He wrapped a trembling hand around the base and squeezed, a loud moan immediately spilling from his lips, pre-cum that decorated his sensitive cockhead trickled down.
A pearlescent sheen covered the entirety of Sunday’s cock as he eagerly spread it from tip to base—up and down, up and down, a couple of languid strokes that had him panting heavily.
A vivid imagery of you pumping his cock plagued his mind as he shut his eyes closed, both hands wrapped around the length of his shaft while your tongue gave experimental licks, “Ngh—ah! Mhm!” Sunday whimpered, free hand gripping the cool surface of the bathroom door behind him, he hadn't been doing this for long yet his knees were ready to give up from the immense weight of pleasure.
His chest vigorously rose and fell as each inhale and exhale turned more shallow than the last, he picked up the pace, stroking himself a little faster.
Pure bliss gnawed at his feverish skin, it sank its teeth into him ‘til it reached his very bones, engulfing his entire body in an intoxicating pleasured state.
“Ah—! Haah! Oh, god!”
Despite the sound of blood rushing in his ears, Sunday replayed the sinful moans you made in the movie, how your face contorted in pleasure as Cassian kissed down your neck—lips parted and brows tightly knitted together.
You sang the most exquisite melody he has ever heard and he could only hope to pull the very same ones, maybe something even better, one that would flawlessly intertwine with his own to create an immoral tune.
He bucked his hips into his curled hand at the thought of having sex with you. Embarrassingly, Sunday had never gotten intimate with anyone—his days were packed with duty on top of duty and he wasn’t given the chance to get into a relationship as it was the last thing he had in mind as (former) Oak Family Head. All he knew was to govern the Lineage he grew up in.
But he wondered . . How would you feel around his cock? Were you warm and soft?—maybe even a hint of greediness where you readily swallowed him whole.
It almost pained him that you weren’t in front of him right this moment because now, he had to settle for his inexperienced hand and just the thought of that grew a bud of frustration within his chest. Sunday wanted you—he needed you.
Badly.
He desired to bury his shaft deep inside and have you come undone around him once, twice, as much as you wanted—‘til your legs trembled around his waist, ‘til your throat ran dry from repeatedly calling his name like a sacred prayer, and even then, he wasn’t sure if his thirst would be satiated.
This wasn’t just lust anymore. No. Sunday wasn’t merely aroused by a heated scene in your movie, he held something much deeper for you in his heart. It had always been there from the start but remained dormant and quiet enough to go unnoticed by him but now that it has bloomed into something greater, he realised that what he held for you was love.
Sunday loved you. Deeply, truly, and agonizingly.
At the sudden realisation, the coil inside him snapped instantaneously, spurts of hot cum spilled from his cock, he came with a loud wanton moan which echoed throughout the bathroom walls. His body trembled and pleasure which engulfed his entire body took him to places he’s never been before.
Sunday grunted as he milked his cock, shamelessly pumping it ‘til it emptied; he slumped against the door, filth settling over him while he tried to catch his breath.
Despite his lust-clouded mind, he only thought of one thing—to tell you how he truly felt.
As morning finally came, Sunday stepped outside the hotel to gather his thoughts after last night’s realisation, he figured getting some fresh air while walking amongst the locals and taking in the beauty of Ahatopia would quench the yearning in his heart.
Duomension City was as busy as ever with students, office workers and early risers trying to get through the morning rush, even at this hour the City remained lively—this world wasn’t entirely different from Penacony, teeming with large and colourful animated posters, it reminded Sunday of Moment of Golden Hour which also brimmed with bright billboards, music, and the surge of Penaconians out and about, it made him miss home even more.
But Planarcadia was different, it was a world that devoured silence and perhaps that’s why Sunday had grown to relax a little because silence left too much room to think. He adjusted the collar of his coat as he stepped through the crowded avenue, weaving between strangers with practised ease.
The cool air smelled faintly of freshly brewed coffee and expensive perfume, it blended seamlessly with the sounds of passing conversations and the quiet hum of cars.
A group of students rushed past him suddenly, laughing too loudly and nearly colliding with his shoulder. Sunday stepped aside instinctively, accidentally knocking into a stranger; the sound of a distinct thud reached his ears, an object falling onto the ground.
He halted his tracks to pick up the fallen object—a bottle of iced coffee—and return it to its owner. Ah, he should really watch his surroundings.
“My apologies for bumping into you, I should’ve been more aware of my—” Sunday stopped mid sentence as he faced the owner of the beverage.
The world didn’t go silent, no, if anything, Planarcadia only grew louder around him—footsteps rushing past, the distant sound of train announcements echoing, laughter from down the street but all of it blurred into meaningless noise because standing only a few inches away was you.
There was no mistaking it with your ivory wings and gleaming halo.
Was he dreaming? It had to be an elaborate prank, no? This was the world of Elation after all, maybe some Fool decided to play a sick joke on him. But the look on your face mirrored his own—shock and confusion.
For a moment, neither of you moved, the sea of people in the vicinity weaved their way around—they split and reformed like water around stone. Strangers brushed against his shoulders unaware that his world had just tilted violently off its axis.
You weren’t doing any better at all, it's as though your heart had forgotten how to beat. Sunday looked different, it wasn’t a drastic change but it was enough for you to notice.
The pristine perfection once attached to him had frayed at the edges, his attire was less . . uniform, and his eyes gleamed with more sincerity but there was undeniable exhaustion on his face, as if the last few months had carved something deeper into him.
And yet it was still him—your Sunday.
“. . You’re here . . ?” He broke the loud silence first.
“So are you.” You breathed out.
He looked down, suddenly remembering the bottle which rested on his palm. Carefully, he stepped closer and held it out, you took it with your left hand, fingers brushing against his gloved hand.
Sunday sucked in a sharp breath as he noticed the familiar band of gold around your ring finger, “You—You still wear your ring?” He asked with a hint of hope evident in his tone.
You almost laughed at the absurdity of his observation but curiosity soon followed, “We are still married, after all. People notice everything, if they don’t see a ring on me, they’d immediately assume divorce. It’s not exactly easy given your absence in Penacony. Why? Do you not wear yours anymore?”
Oh. So you only kept the ring on to avoid speculation and here he thought it meant something more to you but he didn’t have the luxury to sulk about it because every second spent in his presence faced bigger punishment for you—he knew The Family, they weren’t lenient.
He didn’t wear his ring anymore but kept it with him at all times, it was tucked safely inside the inner pocket of his coat, close to his heart. He refused to wear it for the same reason he severed his halo back in Penacony—to feel pain. Albeit not physically, he felt the emotional pain of being undeserving of loving you and being loved by you.
“I think I should go. We—We shouldn’t be talking . .” Sunday shook his head and slowly stepped backwards which earned a baffled expression from you.
That’s it?
After not seeing each other for months, he was just going to chicken out and refuse to talk? You were well aware he only cared for your safety but you believed you needed answers from him and besides, the confession in your heart sat long enough—it was finally time to set it free.
“Really, Sunday?”
The sound of your voice uttering his name had him swallowing thickly. “Because if I remember correctly, you still had the guts to talk to me back in Penacony hours after you became a fugitive.”
He stopped in his tracks, now it was his turn to be confused, “You saw through my disguise?”
“. . I had a hunch it was you. I’ve replayed that conversation a million times for the past few months—over and over ‘til it finally dawned on me. So, please, let’s talk? You told me in that very conversation you wouldn’t want a future without me in it, right?”
Sunday couldn’t refuse.
The two of you found yourselves back at your hotel room—he would’ve offered his room if he wasn’t sharing it with Dan Heng—both of you figured it wasn’t best to talk about such matters in public, especially since merely being seen together with Sunday was already a crime itself.
The hotel you stayed at was more luxurious, a suite which offered a generous view of the bustling city below and its panoramic skyline, and carefully selected artwork adorned its beige painted walls.
“Are you here for a press tour?” He asked, eyeing the expansive room.
“I’m here on vacation.”
Silence stretched and tension grew thicker with each second, you and Sunday stood a few metres apart from one another, sticking out like sore thumbs. Neither of you dared to speak with the amount of thoughts that raced in your minds—there was simply a lot to talk about that none of you knew where to start at all.
Should you address the elephant in the room? What he did back in Penacony and the fact that he was now a wanted criminal? Or should you tell him the very words in your heart that desired to be known?
Yes, Sunday committed the highest act of treason against his homeland, its people, and The Family but what exactly could you even say to him regarding that matter? Get angry and berate him further like everyone else did in his absence? Doing so still wouldn’t change what he had done. You’ve heard every word The Family higher ups spoke of him—they were rightfully angry, of course, you wouldn’t deny them that feeling but it pained you.
“I need to tell you something.” Both of you spoke up in unison, urgency in your tones equally evident.
“You go ahead first.” Sunday cleared his throat. If he was being honest, he hasn’t been able to sit still ever since he last spoke to you in Penacony—you mentioned how you wanted to tell him something, and judging by the look on your face, he could only assume what you wanted to say was regarding that matter.
Letting out a sigh, you nodded, never in a million years did you think you’d be confessing to him in a luxury hotel room, in a foreign world, stars away from Penacony,
“I know our marriage requires us to . . act in certain ways to make it believable but I have something I’ve buried inside my chest for as long as I can remember and no matter how many times I push it down or simply ignore it, it just won’t go away . . What am I even rambling about? What I’m trying to say is . . I have feelings for you, Sunday—even before this whole marriage act, ever since we were children.”
You looked away and stared at the abstract painting near the bed, you simply couldn’t handle returning Sunday’s stare, especially not when silence grew. Maybe you should have just kept your mouth closed and let him go first because now you were starting to regret it—what if he wanted to get a divorce?
Clearly there was no point in your marriage anymore, he has been absent in public for months and there was no reason to keep up the charade.
Even though your marriage was sealed with a legitimate contract, none of The Family Heads acknowledged its authenticity; your mother and Robin were a different case—it was more so out of respect while the rest did so out of disdain but still, the Dreammaster who orchestrated this unity was already dead which meant it held no significance at all.
Just an empty legal document.
“I . . feel the same way.”
. . What?
“It was foolish of me not to realize sooner. It was easy for me to show affection for you because what I have in my heart is genuine but I merely hid it behind the reason of duty because I wasn’t entirely sure of these feelings at all.”
Now, it was Sunday’s turn to look away in embarrassment, a hue of deep rose graced his pale cheeks and heat prickled his skin.
Your breath stopped and the city below seemed to disappear, his words weren’t grand but they were honest, probably the most honest it has been since for as long as you could remember, it was a simple truth laid bare beneath a foreign sky.
For a long moment, you couldn’t speak because part of you had wanted this—you dreamed of this for so long now that it felt entirely cruel.
Cruel because you couldn’t be with him, not by your side, not in Penacony, not elsewhere, and now that your hearts were on the table, you simply couldn’t stand the thought of separation.
But for now, you wanted to cherish this moment. To convince yourself that you and Sunday had a future together where he didn’t have to run from The Family and face consequences, that the two of you weren’t bound for interminable separation.
“This is so unfair.” With a shaky breath, you buried your face in the hearts of your palms. You were certain if Aha was aware of the situation you and Sunday were in right now, THEY would be laughing. What a cruel joke from the cosmos.
He closed the distance between the two of you, protectively wrapping his arms around your body as he rested his chin on the crown of your head. It’d be absolutely selfish of him to ask for something more but he couldn’t bear the thought of you being with someone else.
He pulled back and pried your hands away from your face, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheeks as he cupped them, tentative in a way that almost undid you more than certainty would have.
“. . May I?” He whispered. The warmth of his hand against your skin sent something sharp and aching through your chest.
“You may.”
Sunday slowly leaned in and for a moment, you remembered the ‘kiss’ at Eventide, only this time, it was as real as it got. The kiss wasn’t dramatic nor theatrical—it was merely his lips pressed against your own, soft with a small tremble, as if almost unsure if this was the right thing to do.
One hand found your waist carefully, drawing you closer with a reverence that made your knees feel less reliable all of a sudden. The kiss deepened but not with force but with feeling, slow and tender.
It felt like grief and relief at the same time, as though the two of you mourned the past few months but also treasuring the fact that, somehow, there was still the present and the future.
His lips were warm and softer than you’d imagined in moments you had long since stopped permitting yourself to imagine. Every slight shift was careful, as though he was memorizing the map of your lips. For the first time, this moment was entirely yours and Sunday’s—no ivory wing to shield the kiss, no cameras, and definitely not out of duty.
Your hands found their way to his collar, fingers curling more firmly into him which pulled the faintest sound, something quiet and surprised that sent a shiver down your spine. When you finally parted, it was only enough to breathe; your foreheads rested together, the city below spinning while the morning seemed to hold itself still around you.
“. . So,” You whispered, still breathless, “That was significantly better than the wedding.”
Sunday’s shoulders shifted slightly, he laughed, “I would hope so.”
You smiled before you could stop yourself, and perhaps he saw something equally dangerous in your expression because his gaze softened into something so openly affectionate it nearly stole your breath all over again. You pulled him back down on you, this time the kiss was less hesitant but just as tender than the last, and maybe also a bit rougher—full of desire and hunger.
Sunday’s hand remained at your waist, steady and warm as though he feared everything might vanish if he held on too tightly but this second kiss had already undone that illusion, there was nothing uncertain left in the way you leaned into him, nothing hesitant in the way your fingers dug into the fabric of his coat.
The kiss deepened not with urgency alone but with the quiet ache of something long denied, every touch seemed to carry the weight of love restrained far too long.
“Tell me to stop.” Sunday breathed out between kisses, a shaky whisper. His words weren’t obligation, they were reverence as he would simply not take what was not freely given.
Your answer came not in words but in the way your hands rose to cradle his face, the way you kissed him again with a certainty that made his breath hitch, and that was enough for him. His restraint broke softly akin to silk slipping loose, not reckless, never reckless but what laid beneath the silken veil was a brewing storm of desire—the feelings of yesterday suddenly coming back to him.
The hand on your waist carefully slid upward, the tips of his fingers tracing your clothed body before he gently ushers you out of your jacket, it fell onto the polished floors with a soft thud—one layer deeper, closer to what you both wanted.
But before you could go any further, Sunday completely pulled away from the kiss, cheeks bitten with pink and lips parted as he breathed heavily.
There was a hint of hesitancy in his face, “I’ve never done this before but I want you . .” He whispered, trailing off as embarrassment engulfed him.
You gave him a small smile and leaned in to kiss his lips, “That’s okay,” Then, the column of his neck, “You can simply,” And the spot beneath his wing, “Follow my lead.”
Oh, you’d be the death of him.
Soon, your hands slid down to unfasten his coat, easing him out of his outer layer ‘til it met yours on the ground.
There was something so heartbreakingly human about this moment—two individuals who had once stood at the altar of Eventide, beneath thousands of watchful eyes, now trembling more in private than both have ever had in public.
No words were spoken as each layer was shed, only the quiet rustle of fabric, shared kisses, and the growing anticipation as you bared your feelings to one another.
Sunday barely noticed you had guided him over to the bed ‘til his back kissed the soft ivory sheets, he was so caught up in the heat of the moment he almost forgot to drink you in—to bask in the sheer beauty of your naked body.
Through tinted cheeks and wet lashes, he looked up at you with pure desire and slowly raked his honeyed gaze all over your body—from your breasts, to the dip of your waist, and all the way down to the apex of your thighs. Sunday let out a shaky breath as he felt his cock hardening even further.
“You’re exquisite.” He breathed out. Paired with your glimmering halo and the wings behind your ears, you were a sight for the heavens.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Sunday.”
A small chuckle escaped your lips, it was clearly a tease to mask the fact that his naked form drove you to the brink of insanity. Beautiful was an understatement—there wasn’t a word in the thesaurus that could describe the angelic sight before you.
The shy look on his face was ironic because his cock stood prouder than ever, begging to be inside you. It flushed pink and leaked a generous amount of pre-cum, and it took all your will power not to lap it up right then and there.
“Wait,” He started. “I want to please you.”
At his request, you switched positions, only this time you sat up on the edge of the bed. Sunday slowly got on his knees before you as he placed a trail of chaste kisses down your neck, collarbones, and just above the valley of your breasts. Sensing slight hesitation from him, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and guided his hand to your chest,
“It feels good when you massage and squeeze it—ah! Just—mhm! Just like that.” You moaned as he gave an experimental squeeze, brain short-circuiting at your immediate reaction to his touch; his palms were expansive and his fingers were long which allowed him to stimulate most of the sensitive area.
Sunday brought both hands to cup each breast, gently massaging them while his eyes darted between your chest and face, he wore an expression full of wonder and curiosity, rosy lips lightly parted as he breathed heavily.
Curious, he eagerly wrapped his lips around a mound, tongue swirling around your hardened nipple, causing your hands to fly to his hair.
“S-Sunday—!”
He responded with a hum which sent vibrations across your skin as you gently tugged at his hair. If he was being honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing and his actions were merely fuelled by the sounds and expressions you made.
With one hand still on your other breast, he gently fondled your sensitive nipple between his lithe fingers, you arched your back, pressing your chest further into his face. Your skin was extremely warm and soft beneath his touch it almost felt unreal; he couldn’t believe he was right in front of you, intimate and vulnerable.
Sunday then switched between your breasts, giving the other the same amount of attention and stimulation before he trailed downwards.
Gentle and hot, he placed wet open-mouthed kisses between the valley of your chest and along your stomach, taking the time to lap up the sensitive area just above your bellybutton.
Once he reached your sex, he looked up at you briefly to look for any discomfort in your face, and upon not finding any, he slowly pried your legs open, revealing your sopping entrance.
All for him?
Though, it felt rather daunting not really knowing where to start. With two fingers, Sunday gently rubbed up and down your slit a couple of times, observing your reaction—you bit the bottom of your lip and your brows slightly knitted together.
So far, so good.
“Y-You can—ngh! Wet your index and—ah—ring finger with your mouth and put them inside.” You let out a soft moan, one hand planted firmly on the mattress to support your crumbling torso while the other explored his hair. Sunday may have been inexperienced but god did he pleasure you effortlessly, he hasn’t even touched you properly yet you were already trembling.
At your words, he paused slightly. Put his fingers inside his mouth? What a bizarre thing to do. His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red as he wrapped his lips around his digits, effectively wetting them as instructed, he could taste a hint of you.
You could only watch in awe as the sight before you unfolded, never in your lifetime did you think you’d see the revered Sunday—former Bronze Melodia and former Oak Family Head—stick his fingers inside his mouth.
“Now, with your palm facing the ceiling, slowly push them in one by one.”
A soft pop echoed in the silence as he removed his digits from his mouth and brought them down to your sopping cunt. Slowly, he pushed his index finger past your folds and immediately sought your reaction—a soft sigh.
Oh, how warm you were, it felt like he was dipping his hand in a pot of warm honey, slick and smooth, and maybe even as sweet. Sunday gave a few shallow experimental pumps before adding the second digit, eliciting a shaky whimper from you.
“Haa—ah! C-Curl your fingers upwards and—yes! Oh, god! Just like that, Sunday—mhm!” You threw your head back as he curled his fingers, face contorted in pure pleasure.
At your pornographic reaction, he swallowed thickly; he tried not to think about how much his cock ached, being untouched for so long, it’d have to wait for a little while, he wanted to please you ‘til you were satisfied.
Deep in a haze of lust, you tried your best to form a coherent sentence, “Can you—oh, that feels good. Can you feel a spongy texture? Gently apply pressure and rub it back a-and forth—hngh!”
Sunday absentmindedly nodded, he could feel the area you mentioned just above the pads of his fingers. As you instructed, he pressed on it lightly, afraid he’d hurt you if he did more. With a grind of your hips, you let out a wanton moan in the shape of his name.
“Is this okay . . ?” He breathed out.
“Y-You’re doing good. Just keep a delicate, steady pace . .” Your hand on his hair snaked down to the apex of your legs to spread open your cunt, “If you want—haah! You can also kiss at this spot here at the top and—oh, fuck! Sunday!”
Before you could finish your sentence, his lips were already flushed against your entrance, closely following every word you uttered. A slight shudder washed over your naked body as his feathered wings brushed against the insides of your thighs.
“Yes! Lightly suck on it like tha—aah! Ngh! Haah, I’m so close. Don’t—mhm! Don’t stop, please”
With the combined stimulation of his fingers inside you and his lips around your clit, a string of colourful moans left your lips as you slowly sank deeper into the depths of bliss. The sounds you made were music to his ears which only fuelled his actions further.
With a forceful grunt, you threw your head back as you came on Sunday’s fingers—toes curling and thighs shaking at the immense wave of pleasure that hit you.
He slowed down his movements and resorted to languid strokes which allowed you to grind your hips and ride out your orgasm. He let out a shaky moan at the sensation of your walls tightening around his fingers, oddly enough, it felt satisfying for him.
Coming down from your high, you slumped down on the bed, face extremely heated and lips parted to catch your breath.
Wide eyed and in slight awe, Sunday slowly pulled out his slick coated fingers which earned a low whine from you, he curiously examined his soaked digits, they were faintly trembling from the repeated motion.
Without a second thought, he wrapped his lips around them with the sweetness of your taste settling on his tongue. Oh, how dangerously addicting you were. Wet sounds slipped from his mouth as he sucked his digits clean from your saccharine slick, earning a curious glance from you as you lifted your head off the mattress.
He was trying to kill you.
The two of you found yourselves situated further up the bed with Sunday slotted between your parted legs, he hovered over you with one palm firmly planted beside your head while the other languidly pumped his hard cock just before your wet cunt.
He let out soft pants above you, flushed face contorting with pleasure, “A-Are you sure?” Even with his mind entirely clouded by lust he prioritised your comfort.
“As long as it's you, I can never be more sure.”
He smiled in response and placed a chaste kiss on your lips before slowly guiding the tip to your folds. Snaking a hand between your bodies, you helped Sunday position his cock correctly—a few centimetres down—then, you loosely circled your arms around his neck, allowing him to go at his own pace.
The morning glow surrounded him like a serene aura, it bounced off his pale skin which gave him a heavenly glow. With a shaky exhale, he pushed his cockhead inch by inch which immediately earned a sharp gasp from both of you.
The feeling of you around him was foreign yet oddly comforting, your walls were warm—extremely warm—it almost felt like he was soaking inside a hot tub of water and it made his head spin in a good way.
Sunday met your gaze with his starry ones, a light sheen of tears coating his eyes at how amazing you felt around him.
He couldn’t believe he was inside you, buried deep inside the woman he truly loved; he prayed in the back of his lust-fogged mind hoping that this wasn’t a dream.
You bit your lip as he bottomed out, watching the way Sunday’s body reacted to everything—how his wings curled inwards, how his abdomen tightened and untightened, and how his breathing grew uneven with every passing second. He genuinely looked like he was on cloud nine.
Unwrapping an arm from his neck, you slotted your hand against his jaw—just at the spot below his ear and wing—to caress his cheek, “You okay . . ?”
A small nod, then, his eyes fluttered shut, the tips of his lashes brushing against his rosy stained cheeks. Sunday leaned into your touch with a faint whimper, one that had your brain short-circuiting.
For a minute or two, he stilled inside, allowing you both to adjust to the feeling; this wasn’t your first time but the sheer length of his cock reached spots you didn’t know even existed to the point where you had to count to ten just to steer yourself away from spiraling and cumming right then and there.
“S-So tight—ngh. You feel good.” Sunday slowly pulled back about halfway before thrusting back inside, drawing wanton moans from both of you.
He resorted to languid, deep thrusts which allowed you to feel every inch of him—for your sopping cunt to remember the exact shape of his cock—and each time he bottomed out, his cockhead deliciously kissed your sweet spot.
With the slow rhythm set, the bed creaked and groaned in time with the movements of his hips, sounds of light skin slapping and lewd squelching filled all four walls of the entire room.
Everything felt sinful—from the pornographic moans you let out to the slick that covered his cock and your inner thighs but god was it completely addicting.
Sunday’s face remained a mere breath away from yours, keeping eye contact, his honeyed gaze pulled you into the depths of warm bliss, akin to a gentle hug that enveloped one’s body.
Every intentional push and pull of his hips knocked out oxygen from your lungs which had you incoherently gasping for his name.
A light sheen of sweat coated your bodies as the morning air grew impossibly thick, the ivory sheets beneath your back clung onto you like second skin, and Sunday’s hair stuck to his forehead but neither of you cared about the filthiness of it, not when your bodies pleasured one another like there was no tomorrow.
Not when he firmly pressed his cock with every thrust inside you.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, effectively pulling him closer and allowing him to reach you a little deeper than before; your hands spread across his shoulder blades, curling inwards to decorate his back with rubied streaks.
The sharp sting of your nails sent Sunday forward, his head fell onto the pillows beneath your own, shamelessly moaning dangerously close to your ear.
At the sound of your moans, he picked up his pace, his cock hitting your g-spot a little harder. He also neared his climax and with the way your greedy cunt tightened around him and he knew he wasn’t going to last any longer.
Using all the strength he had left, Sunday lifted himself with trembling arms and gave you an open-mouthed kiss, it was messier than he had intended but the mere feeling of your mouths slotting against one another with your saliva mixing only fuelled the drive of his hips further.
He pulled away slightly, a thin string of spit connecting his lips to yours, “Please cum for me! Ngh—ah! Haah! C-Cum with me!”
With a few more sloppy thrusts, Sunday sheathed the entire length of his cock, firmly pressing into your sensitive spot as he came with a loud, shameless moan, ear feathers shaking from pleasure. You followed shortly after, nails digging into his skin which left red crescent shaped marks all across his back.
Ribbons of thick, warm cum generously coated your walls, you’ve never been this full before but you weren’t complaining, the feeling of Sunday filling you to the brim had you whimpering beneath him.
His cock several times twitched inside you as it emptied itself; he came so much to the point where his cum had started spilling out of you and dripped onto the sheets below, effectively soiling them but he couldn’t just simply stop himself even if he wanted to—it kept coming out in waves ‘til there was nothing left.
Embarrassed, Sunday buried his face at the junction of your neck, prickly heat creeping up his cheeks. A breathless chuckle left your lips, hands soothing over the reddened trails you left on his back, who knew he could actually get embarrassed over something as little as cumming too much?
How adorable.
He rolled over with a grunt and plopped onto the empty spot next to you, you curled next to him, the uneven rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheeks somewhat pulling you back into reality.
One of his arms rested loosely around you, absentmindedly tracing slow, soothing patterns against your back as if he reassured himself that you weren’t just a dream, that you were real and remained right next to him.
For a while, neither of you spoke—the quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, just your breaths slowly steadying itself with each second.
A saddened expression washed over your face as reality settled on your shoulders akin to cold seeping through glass—slowly yet adamant—and you were immediately reminded of the predicament you both faced. Your fingers tightened slightly where they rested against him and Sunday noticed immediately,
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” He whispered, confusion painted on his face; his voice was much softer—achingly gentle.
You shook your head, gaze lifting towards the expansive windows and the horizon beyond it, “I just . . I was just reminded of what you and I have to face and I’m scared, Sunday. What—What if The Family finds out you’re here in Planarcadia and—I don’t even want to think about what they’ll do. I’m scared for us because . . I finally have you and I don’t know if that means we’ll be separated again . .”
Really, there was nothing you could do but you wanted to be with Sunday, you wanted to spend your days with him out in the open, not a single care in the cosmos about The Family being after him—you wanted him back home and beside you.
Beside you, he shifted closer, he carefully tilted your chin upward ‘til you had no choice but to look at him. Funnily enough, for all the uncertainty ahead, his gaze remained steady, “We won’t lose one another.”
“Sunday—” “Listen to me.” He softly interrupted, thumb brushing lightly beneath your eye before tears could fully gather.
“I do not know what the next month will look like—or the next year, and I cannot promise you our union either but I can promise you this: when the time comes, I will face it all and I will do everything in my power to rightfully earn the spot beside you.”
Your lips trembled, not only from sadness but from the fragile, terrifying hope that began to bloom beneath your chest.
“The Family won’t stop.” You whispered.
“I know.”
“They won’t forgive easily.”
“I know.”
“There’s a real chance we could be eternally separated.”
Sunday smiled, not because it was funny but because somehow—despite everything—he felt almost fond of your catastrophizing, “Then we shall simply find our way back to one another the same way we did today, no?”
Your laugh came unexpectedly—it was humourless and full of disbelief but purely light hearted, “You make that sound very simple.”
“It won’t be but difficult has never meant impossible.” He murmured, brushing a strand of stray hair from your face with unbearable tenderness.
Mirroring his smile, you shifted closer to bury yourself against his bare skin as though you were anchoring your heart to him. Sunday’s arm tightened around you immediately, protective without thought before pressing a quiet kiss to your forehead.
And as though all worries dissipated into the skies of Planarcadia, the once lonely suite had transformed into something far more lived-in—the bed remained half unmade, blankets tangled and abandoned, heated remnants of earlier faded into something more wholesome. Room service trays sat on the wooden coffee table, silver lids pushed aside in favour of half-finished lunch.
Sunday was seated on the floor—pants and top messily thrown over his body—eating a fruit. He looked up from where he sat, brows lifting slightly as you eagerly rummaged through your luggage near the entryway. You returned to him with your arms full, a couple of somewhat familiar-looking objects tucked inside.
“What is that?” He blinked
You grinned with entirely too much satisfaction, “Emergency provisions.”
His confusion turned to suspicion but nonetheless, you carefully set your haul onto the polished floor one by one like priceless contraband:
Sweet dream cloud candies in iridescent wrappers. Golden lullaby honey crisps. Starfall sugar biscuits dusted in edible shimmer. Moondew fruit chews. SoulGlad. And finally,
“Chocolate pudding tarts.” Sunday breathed out. He stared at the familiar dessert packaging as though it had appeared through divine intervention.
“I brought these snacks with me so I wouldn’t get homesick while on vacation. I often do the same during press tours—”
Before you could speak any further, the lighthearted atmosphere shifted subtly but you noticed it—the way an expression of sadness crept up his face.
Sunday was homesick.
You hadn’t thought he’d be—no, that wasn’t true, you had thought about it, you just didn’t expect something so minor to make it visible.
Slowly, you opened the packaging and offered the pudding tart. For a second, he simply stared at it but carefully took it nonetheless. He grabbed a silver spoon from one of the trays and scooped a small amount, as if indulging any further was forbidden.
Its familiar sweetness melted on his tongue and you watched as his expression changed into something more nostalgic.
You knew where he had immediately gone—to childhood, to the happier memories where he only worried about how to sneak in more pudding tarts in between music lessons, and what to write in the letter he’d regularly send to Robin (There was just too much to talk about!)
“It tastes the same as I remember . . I—thank you.”
You shook your head, “You don’t have to thank me. I just thought you’d miss some snacks from home.”
You and Sunday spent the entire morning and afternoon holed up in the suite reminiscing about the colourful past, revealing how one deciphered their feelings for the other; he also took the time to give you a proper apology for involving your name and reputation in his affairs to which you accepted.
Maybe it was fate playing a hand.
Once full of worry and fear for the uncertainty that the future held, you learned to slow down and appreciate the present—the fact that Sunday was right beside you, safe and healthy.
For now, you’d cherish this moment in a foreign world, and whatever the future may bring, you knew nothing could pry you and Sunday apart, that was something you were certain of. And this time without any hesitation, you spoke up,
Imagine playing an elaborate game of Hide and seek with them... But you're really determined not to loose
Not your fault that you're good at their game
★★☆★★☆★★☆★★
A/n: an idea... Hehe enjoy
Oh btw, I think this will have a few endings... I'll post them separately but will try to link them once they're up. Hope you enjoy:)
Tw: mentions of reader being eaten, fear, some dark themes maybe, being chased, Harlequin being Harlequin, slight mentions of explicit things
Disclaimer: This is a work based on an 18+ visual novel, and even though there is not much explicit content here, it is not intended for those underage
★★☆★★☆★★☆★★
"Looks like our little pet is getting agitated" Jester mused after yet again you tried to sneak out of the circus.
"You know, dear guest, this was unnecessary and out of line..."
"This is dumb. I'm allowed to leave the tents. I've left before"
"Not without informing us first" Ticket Taker says. What you hear is 'not without permission'.
"Darling, you know how easy it is to kidnap people," Jester's tone carries slight notes of mockery.
You sigh, "Seeing as I am practically kidnapped by all of you right now... Yeah, I do"
"We just worry for your safety, My Lady" Pierrot's head rests on your shoulder, so you have to turn to grab his face in your hands. A light blush coats his cheeks at your action.
"As much as I love you, Pierrot, and as much as I want to believe it, I'm afraid you're the only one who is actively concerned for my safety in this case. The others... just really like telling me 'no', for some reason"
That earns a chuckle from Jester.
The Doctor cocks his head to the side: "It is hardly our fault your reactions to refusal are so... intriguing. Ranging from bickering and giving a cold shoulder to outright disregarding whatever we say."
"Is that so? Maybe I should add rearranging your supplies to the range... Or running away from the circus and getting married in Vegas?" You cross your arms and pout, feeling even more outraged when Doctor takes out a notebook and jots something down.
"Perhaps your energy should be redirected elsewhere... How about a game, darling?"
"A game? What, like hide and seek?"
"Could be hide and seek"
★☆★
"You'll have an hour to hide... Anywhere, wherever you desire"
You bite your tongue tempted to ask if you could buy a plane ticket and leave the country in that one hour... If you timed it right and was very lucky you'd probably manage it.
"Once the time is up we begin our hunt"
"Weird word choice," you mumble
Their smiles widen.
"Be assured dear, this word choice is intentional" Harlequin leans into your personal space, curling a loose strand of your hair around his finger. He's making it hard to focus.
"Alright... And once you capture me..."
"Once you're caught... You're at the complete mercy of your captor"
"What?" This sounds absurd, so it takes for Jester to reiterate it, for it to trully sink in.
"Once you are caught... We'll do as we please"
"Oh..." You stare at your feet for a few seconds
They all wait patiently for you to say something else.
"Did- did you have dinner tonight? You're... Not hungry are you?"
It takes them a moment to process your question, before they laugh.
"Your worried face is adorable"
"There are different types of hunger, dear... And I'm already starved for you" Harlequin runs his fingers down the side of your face and stops at your pulse point. He presses lightly to feel it beneath his fingers
"My Lady, don't take him seriously, we won't eat you"
"Thanks..."
"It would do you well to remember, darling, that Pierrot can only promise for himself... The night is long... Who knows how we'll feel about devouring you by the end of it..." The whole situation seems to be highly amusing to Jester.
Your eyes widened again at this.
He grins, "I merely jest"
Despite yourself you let out a giggle. It's rare to have Jester in such a good mood... He must be thoroughly enjoying the whole ordeal.
"Be assured, guest, your death would inconvenience us, we shall refrain from harming you, as long as you follow the orders"
"Leave it to Ticket Taker to validate your feelings and make you feel needed" Harlequin laughs.
You send Harlequin a small smile, before asking a question that has been bugging you for half of the conversation:
"And if you don't succeed in getting me?"
"I wouldn't worry your pretty head with that improbability. We have the entire night"
"I don't think this is very fair. You guys have a clear advantage. I mean, there's five of you... And I'm only one"
"Ah, but here's where you're mistaken, darling... We do not like to share." There was a dangerous glimmer in their eyes. You realised they would not be playing as a team... No... For this night they'd be enemies, all striving to win. And you're the prize.
They savour your expression for a moment, before Jester gives you a little shove.
"Now run along little mouse. Hide. Run. Do what you like... We already know how this ends"
His words are enough to send you sprinting out of the tent and into the night.
★☆★
That was 40 minutes ago. Now you were wandering the streets. Still 20 minutes of protected time and you were keeping a steady pace, trying to put as much distance between yourself and them as you could.
You had to silence your phone 10 minutes into the game - it was going off incessantly with messages from Harlequin - brainstorming what he'd do to you once he caught you. Apparently waiting was taking a toll on him if he decided to bombard you with such very descriptive imagery.
At the 45 minute mark your phone rings. You automatically decline. Harlequin has tried calling you 10 times in the past 10 minutes. He really is getting impatient. Apparently just texting you his fantasies isn't enough anymore.
It buzzes with a text. With a sigh you take it out, fully intent on blocking Harlequin for the duration of the night. Will it make him more vengeful if he catches you? Definitely. But at this point you're willing to take your chances. Besides. Him catching you is only a 1 in 5 probability.
There are worse candidates to piss off. Like Jester.
The text is from Ticket Taker. Brief and to the point:
"It would do you well not to decline Jester's calls next time, doll. You wouldn't want to anger the one who could hold your fate in his claws by the end of the night..."
Ah... Guess you jinxed it.
You try dialing Jester again a few times. But apparently he's taking pleasure in declining your calls after you declined his. Great.
Instead, you call Ticket Taker. He picks up, bit it's Jester who speaks, "Darling, learn to pick up your phone. You have it for a reason"
"Sorry...I thought it was-"
"I'm aware. Which is why I'll let this one slide"
"Really?"
"No" there is laughter and mirth in his voice, "I'll consider it. The events of the night can sway my opinion," he muses, "speaking of...There is a slight change in rules"
"Midgame?"
"Yes. We'll start our hunt a bit early"
"How early?"
"Now"
"What? But- that's not-" you sputter.
"Unfortunately your lack of engagement made Harlequin really impatient. He has already started. And we can't have him get an advantage, can we? Besides... Pierrot is not taking the wait well, especially now that Harlequin is out and about"
"Of fucking course it was Harlequin" you mutter.
"I wouldn't waste your breath on curses, darling, now, run along, don't make the chase end too soon... Make it interesting"
★☆★
By the third hour you get an inkling that perhaps this was never meant to be a simple game. Perhaps they treated it as more of an elaborate foreplay than an actual competition. Perhaps you were meant to let them catch you. You debate searching for one of them. But quickly brush the idea aside. Then you debate calling Jester or Ticket Taker... Probably not Harlequin... To ask for clarifications... But you can easily imagine how that conversation would go:
"Hi, I'm a bit dense. Was this meant to be foreplay or something?"
No... You are not ready for that type of humiliation yet.
Besides. You've already made up your mind. You would really love to see their faces at dawn. After you have successfully evaded capture. You can practically taste the sweet flavour of victory... Oh that would be just marvelous... Simply exhilarating. The mere thought of beating those monsters at a game you were never meant to win fills you with adrenaline and it's all you need to keep going...
You always had a bit of a competitive streak. It made everything that much more fun...
★☆★
Four hours in and you get a call from Pierrot. You contemplate letting it go to voicemail, but begrudgingly pick up. He tends to worry more than necessary. And while it's endearing... It's probably not great for his state.
Besides, he should not suffer just because Harlequin annoyed you into not picking up calls (that already happened with Jester and you had no interest in expanding the list of people you ghosted).
"My Lady? Are you alright?" His tone is laced with concern, making your heart swell.
"Of course I am, why? Should I... Not be... Alright?" You laugh nervously.
"We haven't caught you yet, I thought something happened to you."
"Oh Pierrot, I promise I'm alright. I'm just really good at running and hiding."
"You are, My Lady, but I'd prefer you didn't. At least not from me. I miss you already."
"I promise, once the game is over, I'll give you as many cuddles as you want, deal?"
"But My Lady, you could tell me where you are now... And we wouldn't have to wait," he sounds so convincing you're tempted to give in.
You chuckle, "But Pierrot, that's probably against the rules"
You can sense him pouting through the phone. You're about to say something more comforting, when you notice a looming presence out of the corner of your eye. Instead, you say:
"Pierrot? I gotta go, unless you want me caught by someone else"
You turn towards the figure, stuffing your phone back in your pocket. Tall, broad shoulders. Would be very very intimidating if you didn't know him as well as you do, and even now in the dark, illuminated by the moonlight, he still sends shivers down your spine.
"Hey," you try for a casual greeting. You did not expect to be caught so quickly.
He nods in acknowledgement, his soft steps resonate quietly on the ground as he approaches slowly.
"Your little escapade is about to be terminated"
"Interesting hypothesis, I'd love to disproove it"
"I'm afraid you don't have a chance, sweetie, I do not like leaving my patients unattended for a long time" he smiles and approaches you, there is soft fondness in his demeanour, which goes in dissonance with his menacing figure.
"Ah, but tonight I'm more of a riveting experiment, you must agree... And experiments are not to be interfered with"
"I've had enough impartial observations for tonight, dear, I would like to move on to a more hands-on approach"
"How did you track me down?" You try to prolong the conversation, giving yourself precious seconds to find a way out. You can't have this end so soon.
"You will be disappointed, sweetheart, pure chance... Or perhaps good intuition of what my patient likes"
You hum noncomitally, a plan already half-formed in your head. It's only fair you use any and every means of escape you have, you reason. Especially considering you're not caught, yet...
Jester told you to make it interesting... And you will...
You begin your motion, careful not to alert him. Though you're already certain he clocked in that you're up to something.
"You do know me pretty well..."
In fact, you have an inkling he even knows what you're about to do... In vague details... But is letting you proceed, curious to where it may lead...
"Well enough to know you do not intend to give in so easily... Tell me, why is that?"
"A secret," you grin.
"You must be mistaken, sweetheart, a patient does not have secrets from their Doctor... I am disappointed my favourite one would forget such an important rule"
"That's fair... I suppose I just enjoy the thrill and the taste of freedom.. or maybe I just want to win."
The lights right ahead signal the approaching bus, you pay it no mind, afraid even a flicker of eyes in that direction might betray your intentions. No, until the very last moment you will not look.
"You look mesmerising... When your heart pounds in your chest and adrenaline courses through your veins," he observes, "It is a good look on you"
The bus stops.
"I'm sorry, Doctor, but I think I might have to reschedule my appointment," you say before making a mad dash for the already closing doors.
He watches the bus drive off with an almost fond smile. He was always one of the most lenient towards you, somehow.
You get a text message:
"Of course, sweetheart, the Doctor always wants what's best for their patient. But I do hope to rendezvous with you tonight once more... Perhaps you won't run off the next time"
You grin. His response makes your heart beat just a bit faster. That and how he always manages to clock in your every mood and craving - much how right now you absolutely need to continue the game (and to win, of course)
★☆★
You halt at the train station to catch your breath. The lit up sign says the next one out of town is in 10 minutes. Of course you weren't planning on leaving. That's not the point of the game. Which by the way, has really grown on you. But it was a very good opportunity to tease your favourite monsters.
You take a photo, posing where they could see the sign and the ticket purchasing machine.
And scramble to get some distance between yourself and the station before sending it to the group chat.
You: Jester told me to keep it interesting and the prices are low enough... Is that entertaining enough for you?
Pierrot: My Lady?
Jester: I didn't take you for such a fool as to give us a beacon of your location
Doctor: Such an unpredictable subject...
Ticket Taker: An inconvenience is more accurate. I told you she'd pull a stupid stunt like this
Harlequn's was the most concerning. It came a minute after the others and was a photo of the very station with a caption "Nowhere left to run... Since you can't escape anyway, you might as well review the texts I sent you while waiting"
Such a cocky text. It deserves an equally arrogant response:
You: dumbass. You'd think I'd send you a pic from my actual location? Try again:)
★☆★
The forest was a stupid idea after all... You'd think that they all would stick to the city... The actual place you'd most likely to be at... But somehow, Harlequin and you had both ended up in the forest. In the exact same spot. Cool...
His eyes glimmer a menacing green in the dark, like two emeralds. You take a step back, contemplating whether running back was still on the table. Probably not anymore... His agility was something to be envious of.
"Looks like I win, and I'm here to claim my prize"
You purse your lips.
"Technically, you still didn't catch me." You state stubbornly.
"Really? You still insist on not loosing? Hah... Let's wrap this up quickly and get to the fun part, what do you say, hm? What would you count as me catching you?"
If you were going to loose, you might as well make the loss fun for yourself, "You'd probably have to pin me down or wrap your arms around me."
His grin widens, "Oh how I love when you get so bold, my dear," he takes a slow deliberate step towards you, savouring the moment, no doubt, "Let's not make a technicality halt us then."
Neither of you get a chance to get much further, as Harlequin gets struck in the shoulder by a dagger. You yelp in surprise and look around in alarm before spotting a grim looking Pierrot. And he has at least a few more daggers on hand.
"Pierrot... Right on cue to ruin the moment... If I felt more charitable I'd have suggested you join in, but I don't share"
Before you can so much as blink Pierrot is on Harlequin. They merge into a blur of taunts and fists and maybe knives.
You take a tentative step back. They don't notice - too engrossed.
"I'll uh... Leave you guys to it" you give the two fighting figures a thumbs up before running out of the forest.
Technicalities fucking matter
★☆★
You halted only for a few minutes, to catch your breath, and on a rooftop, no less. How in hell did Ticket Taker manage to find you that quickly... You would never comprehend it.
He stood, hands behind his back, calmly surveying as you desperately intake the cold night air. Your whole body felt heavy and tired, so your rather less than graceful leaning on the railing could be excused. It took you embarrassingly longer than it should have to spot him. In fact, you only noticed his presence once he placed his jacket over your shoulders.
The sudden grounding heaviness of it startled you. Your legs almost gave out under you.
It was stupid to think you'd get even a few minutes of a reprieve. With shaking arms you pushed yourself from the railing, stumbling, but ready to run at a moment's notice, he nodded in acknowledgement.
"I wouldn't do that, dearest"
You frown, "Of course you wouldn't want me to start running. I'm easier to catch if I don't"
"You look too tired to even make it down the stairs. It would be advisable to rest"
You heart was still pounding in your chest - undecided whether from all the running, the jumpscare he gave you or from having his jacket over your shoulders, while he stood mere centimetres away from you.
He surveyed the night city, while you were still catching your breath. Now that the adrenaline and the constant anxious pounding in your skull over getting caught subsided, you were immensely grateful for his jacket. Only now did you notice how chilly the air was and how absolutely frozen you felt. You huddled the jacket tighter around your frame.
He glanced at his pocket watch, "Rest time is over. Now, we shall proceed with what I have planned for this eventuality" his lips stretched into a smile, as his gloved hand reached towards you.
Before he could touch you, you pushed off the railing, taking a few steps back.
"Tsk. Didn't I tell you that obedience looks better on you? I shall be disappointed if we waste precious time here because of you"
You were eyeing the exits, your mind running ten miles a second, coming up with escape plans and routes. But help and an opportunity of escape came from the least expected source.
"No need for such haste, Bil," a dark hand fell on Ticket Taker's shoulder. He seemed startled at it and at the silky words of the speaker.
You were already inching yourself towards the exit. Jester crossed the distance, halting your escape and blocking you from Ticket Taker with one arm.
"Jester? I thought we were above such petty squabbles, unlike certain other members of the troupe"
"Rest assured, dear friend, we are. Unfortunately, those very members of the troupe left quite a mess. It must be dealt with."
You take your chances where you can:
"Nice move, Jester, send him away to deal with the mess to have your way with me unobstructed"
Jester narrowed his eyes at you, but snapped his attention back to Ticket Taker:
"Really now, Jester? The girl was mine... And I do not appreciate my schedule being interfered with"
You leave them to discuss it alone. It'll buy you a minute tops - they really are above petty squabbles and can easily spot your attempts to sow discord... But you'll take what you can get... Besides, a busy street is right around here somewhere. Getting lost in the crowd is exactly what you need right now...
You feel two pairs of eyes burn into your back as you disappear amongst strangers and street lights.
★☆★
The two figures on the rooftop sighed at your departure into the night. The taller one clad in dark purple turned to the other:
"I didnt expect her to be so stubborn in her escape. One could think she'd be smart enough to recognise this game for what it is."
A beat of silence.
"You don't think she truly believes we'd devour her? She should know by now that we have no such inclinations towards her"
"Hmm, our inclinations towards her are..." Jester gestured vaguely, searching for a word, before settling on: "Different. That is true..."
"Perhaps your attempt at humour earlier frightened her" Ticket Taker ponders, a quiet jab at his friend
"I think we have simply miscalculated."
"Miscalculated? You?" There is incredulity in his tone
"Our darling Y/n is a bit more clueless and has a far deeper competitive streak than I imagined... Still, makes the victory that much more sweeter."
★☆★
You shivered as the sky slowly turned from midnight to a dark violet, soon to be rosy with sunrise. The jacket Ticket Taker so courteously lent you - what a gentleman - provided meager warmth as you huddled it tighter around you. You walked the empty streets, briefly wondering if the monsters have given up on finding you.
You shoot them a quick "given up yet?" text and see 5 typing bubbles. A few second later you receive your responses:
"Of course not, My Lady" - Pierrot, ever so sweet.
"No, but you should... If you let me get you now, I promise to be merciful~" - Harlequin, the flirt he is...
"Fascinating confidence for someone right within my reach" - Jester, his mysterious and thinly veiled threats that sent your heart racing just like his compliments and affection did. He truly had a way with words.
"No. I have quite a lot in mind I want to do which would require your assistance" - Doctor, ever so blunt, so forward with his intentions
"You have already taken more time out of our schedule than you ought to. Let's not prolong the inevitable, dearest. Now, be a good girl" - Ticket Taker, he can be so uptight... But just as charming when he wants to be
They were persistent. And you've had a lot of close run-ins throughout the night. They remained ever so determined to get you.
You smile softly at the memories. You are rather fond of them. Perhaps fondness is too weak of a word... With the cool night air and sky the colour of violets another word burrows it's way into your mind - Love. It startles you slightly... But settles in so naturally in your mind you can't refute it.
The game is coming to a closure. A shame. It was fun... It would be nice to maybe watch the sunset rise on some rooftop and then show up to the circus beaming with victory. Or maybe it would be more fun to... Let one of them catch you... After all, it's not a complete loss for you if you let them. And there just might be one who really deserves a win...
★★☆★★☆★★☆★★
A/n: let me know what you think and I'll start on some of the endings... Soon... Yeah
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Can I make a request about the house wardens like how would their friends react when they walk in on their house warden making out with their lover and they had no clue they were dating like make it spicy but also funny as hell and if you want to do this like in parts like I mean not just the house wardens I won’t mind either honestly I have no favorites go crazy 🤪
P.s I loved your heat of the moment fanfic soooo much !!!
❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥
" 𝒞AUGHT RED-HANDED " ― HOUSEWARDENS PT. 1
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
✧˖° Content Warning ── mild suggestive, making out, sfw, caught making out, established relationship, embarrassing moments, teasing, they are WEAK honestly they folded too easily, implied female reader, grammatical mistakes!
✧˖° Author's Note ── this seems like something i can do with other characters, but for now i'll do the housewardens !! hope you enjoy <3 please read end notes !
⋆.˚ ℛiddle
it was supposed to be a simple study session. it never is. you needed to focus more on your studies, yet life had other plans. the tension in the room was hot, it was sickening. when your fingers touch his when you moved too close, it how your thighs graze his when you adjust in your seat.
It was your fault for wanting to study beside him on his bed, where the sheets are messy and scrunched.
he felt a blush in his cheeks when you full-on grabbed his thigh to steady yourself, he cracked. he dropped his textbook from his lap, pages scattered to the floor, as he grabbed your collar and smashed his lips to yours.
how unprofessional. as the housewarden of the queen of hearts house, he certainly isn't following any rules at this moment.
you were in his mind, and his lips were on yours.
things led to another, until he had you pinned to his mattress. red sheets messy under you as he pulled back just enough to stare into your eyes.
he apologized, but didn't move away. instead, he leaned closer to kiss your nose.
he pants, a hand reaching to brush your bangs away from your eyes―your hands at your head as he cups your chin gently, leaning back down asking if this was acceptable.
of course it was, he was your boyfriend. you loved his. you were more than comfortable whenever he got intimate like this, not like anyone else will know.
his lips danced over yours with warmth and passion, a little bit rusty due to not being the best at intimate moments such as this, but he's willing to try, for you.
just as your hands found their way under his vest, his thumb brushing over your cheek mid-kiss―the door suddenly bursts open.
trey and cater stand at the door, frozen.
they take in the scene, cater forming the image in his head far too into detail. their own housewarden, straddling one of their classmates with his fingers tangled in their hair and hands under his vests, clothes messy and almost stripped off.
it was, blantly, obvious they walked in on you two making out―trey and cater are both relieved that is all they walked in on.
the room fell into a complete, awkward silence. faces flushed, riddles eyes wide and his face redder than his own hair. collar crooked and body limp.
he twitched upon hearing caters laugh, " ohoho, this is GOLD― didn't take you for the top, riddle. i guess i owe ace twenty-aauh, i mean ... "
trey immediately spoke over the other beside him, making sure he could not snatch a picture of the scene in front of them.
" ah, we seem to have forgotten to knock, "
riddle's chest was heaving when he pulled back from you. far, far back. face hot, trying to fix his clothes as subtle as possible.
" sorry for intruding, ah please― continue. we just wanted to remind you about five pm crochet, housewarden. "
" but we totally understand if you're too busy to―"
" both of you. out .. " riddle speaks under his breath, but when the two didn't move fast enough, his voice rose. " NOW !! " a finger pointing to the door, the third years' scrambled out and shuts the door quickly.
there's a beat of silence that echoes through the room longer than expected, riddle adjusts his clothes and cleans the mess. trying to keep his cool.
" so, " you spoke up softly, cuddling the blankets to your chest you shift awkwardly on his bed. " didn't they technically break rule #24 ? shouldn't that cover this whole .. situation ? "
you let out a nervous chuckle, the mood unfortunately ruined.
riddle blushes, hard, his heart beating out of his chest. " it does now. " he pauses, " i'll worry about it ... tomorrow, however. "
he's just thanking the sevens it wasn't ace and deuce to walk in.
⋆.˚ ℒeona
he claims it wasn't his fault, it was yours, for being so close to him. leona gets handsy very quickly, mostly when he's bored and what's more boring then studying for a class he could probably pass with his eyes close if his actually wanted to put in the effort.
your skin was soft, too soft, he wanted to sink his teeth into your body so bad at this point―he was not slick. your thighs graze his tail when talking about a certain topic and he snapped.
" yah, were done. "
" and since― wait, what? "
leona slams the textbook on your lap shut and tosses it to the floor of his bed, already taking it's place by crawling into your legs and pushing your hair behind your neck.
" leona, wait, are you serious― "
" do i look serious ? "
and he proves it by leaning close to your neck and kissing you. it was soft at first, barely there, testing the waters. waiting for you to push him away, but you didn't.
and that, forced a smirk, you felt it on your skin. he suddenly sucks your neck mid-kiss, his hands already getting busy.
" l-leona, wait― we didnt lock the door― ! " you were cut off by his lips smashing into yours for a quick moment to shut you up, pulling far back enough to mummer, " as if anyone would be stupid enough to walk through that door during these hours. "
well, there is one certain hyena.
he kisses you again, following you down to the bed until your back was at the mattress and he was proudly pinning you down. his lips dance across yours, coordinated and impatient. his hands found the hem of your shirt and just as he shoved his hands under the fabric, the door clicks open.
" leona-san ! i got your laundry― "
the room fell into a dead, cold silence.
ruggie stares.
you stare back with the same, eye widened and blushy face. thank god leona's body covered most of you, you felt less exposed as leona groaned into your neck.
his hands are now at your thighs, squeezing' them as a way to de-stress the situation before he started throwing stuff. as leona stayed where he was, ruggie was already moving.
" im just ... gonna pretend i see absolutely nothing and use this as an excuse for you to pay me fire. " he shrugs, dropping the basket of Leona's clean clothes in the corner and turned on his heel to leave the room.
but ... he takes a moment before fully leaving. " because if ya don't, " know he was just acting smug. leona groans, finally leaning back, eyes flickering at the hyenas direction.
" you're still here ?? "
ruggie leans against the door frame and grins, but the tint of pink on his ears and cheeks weren't subtle. " you're the reason he's skipping classes and spelldrive practices, huh ? " his eyes linger at you, and you hide in leona's pillow.
" what are you getting at, ruggie ? " the housewarden rubs the bridge of his nose, waiting for the boy to leave. " i've had to cover for your ass all this time, you OWE me ! "
" fine, put it on my tab. " leona sighed, already adjusting himself back into in hopes that would scare the hyena and thankfully, it did.
but not without,
" old ass man, "
leona flicks his tail in anger, " OKAY, I'M LEAVING ! " and off he was, ruggie rushed out of the room and shuts the door with his tail between his legs.
you stare back at leona once the best of silence passes, arms wrapped around his neck while his hands rest at your hips.
" hey, at least ya don't gotta worry about telling everyone now ! " you teases, knowing this will probably be brought up again the next day.
leona grunts, pulling you close as his lips brush against yours. " sounds like a tomorrows' us problem, now shut your trap and kiss me. "
⋆.˚ 𝒜zul
he's weak. he can't stop staring at you no matter how hard he tries to keep focus on his papers, many contracts to sigh and put away, client appointments needed to be reviewed and verified.
but you were making it so difficult ! you needed a quiet place to study without the distractions of other students or your friends, so you went to your boyfriend―who was glad to help in any way he could.
he wasn't prepared for how beautiful you were when entering his office―hair tied in a neat bun, collar straight and your makeup flawless. you put in so much effort for yourself, he was swooned.
hook, line and sinker.
you were sitting at the couch in the middle of the room, legs crossed and face relaxed as you scribble down notes and answers from the textbook on the table to your notepad on your lap.
and azul ?
staring. it wasn't subtle, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses and his fingers fiddled with his pen. you felt a pair of eyes on you, so you turned your head to find azu staring at you.
he panicked and looked away for a moment. " azul ? " you called out, his shoulders shook. " is something wrong ? "
yes. yes, there was. but he can't explain what this feeling was in words.―he can in action, however.
" forgive me, " he spoke suddenly, rising to his feet he quickly strides toward you and sat beside you. glasses almost falling off his face when he suddenly kisses you, your eyes widen at the action but ... you didn't pull away.
his kisses turned messy, gloved hands finding their way to your school uniform and fiddle with the buttons, your thigh riding up his hip as he leans closer.
you find yourself pinned at the cushions of the couch, azul hovering over you with his hat forgotten on the floor, hair messy and cheeks red.
how unprofessional.
but he couldn't bother with business, work or contracts at the moment―right now, you were all that mattered. just as he leans back down to kiss you, mummering an apology for his actions, the door suddenly creaks open.
" azul, are you in― "
time froze. a pair of twins stared from the frame of the door the two of you straddled together on the couch. floyd peaks over jades shoulder, for a moment his face was curious and innocent―but soon it slipped into a sharp grin.
jade just kept a poised, subtle look―lips in a small pout and eyes wide open.
what's worse is that you were the only one to notice their presence, azul suddenly feeling your body tense and your hands stiff at his shoulders, the man lifts his head and spots the twins are the door.
his hat barely made them visible, but when floyd wiggled his fingers at him in a teasy wave, azul felt his body jolt like he was electrocuted.
he turns off of you so past, the papers on the table almost to flying. he adjusts his hat, glasses and clears his throat when the two twins just watch.
both of them, now fully amused.
" my, my ~ and too think you would have locked the door, " jade starts, knocking on the door, a sly grin on his lips. floyd wasn't any better, he simply leaves against his twins' shoulder and lets his teeth shine on display.
" it's NOT what it looks like― "
" it's looks like the two of ya' were playing tongue twister a few seconds ago~ "
azul blushed mad, " DO NOT CALL IT THAT― "
" so he can't deny it~ "
azul groaned into his scarf, a gloved hand up to his head as he asked what the two of them wanted. jade simply shakes his head, " we can come back later, boss~ we wouldn't want to keep you two from, your private meeting~ "
" yeah, it looks like you're busy~ "
you choke back a laugh, azul looks like he's going to explode.
when they both leave, the room falls into silence. you look over at azul, who is hiding behind his hat and sits at the other oxich across from you.
" you don't have any contract to forget about this scenario, huh ? "
he fixes his bow with a shaky hand, " if they value their life, they will keep their traps, shut. "
⋆.˚ 𝓚alim
kalim is not subtle. at all. he loves you and your body, so when you show up to his party all glamour up and looking all pretty, he can't stake his eyes off you.
it's a miracle he's keeping your relationship a secret all this time. even if someone would question it, he would've simply said you were a really nice person to be around and possibly blow it in case they were calling you out for being ugly or he can do better than you.
not the point.
the point is, he can't take his eyes off your legs. the way you sway across the floor, your dress twirls with you as you step and spins, ugh he's dying to kiss you right now.
you look so pretty on the dance floor, he actually might explode.
this is when he takes the spot of your friend yo what u invited, a soft blush on your face when you realize how close he is to you and he quickly drags you away front he crowd.
he finds a small closet and is quick to hide you both in there, he's so excited he forgot to lock it. he shuts it and immediately smashes his lips on yours to kiss you, hands going to to your waist while your arms wrap around his neck.
through the kisses, he pulls back just to remind you how beautiful you are and he goes back again. the kisses are messy and hot, the strap of your dress threatening to fall at any second.
kalim's hands find the bottom of your dress and while he pins you to the wall, the door suddenly creaks open. despite the very little stream of light that pooled in the floor of the closet, it was obvious to see jamil standing at the frame.
he just wanted to know where kalim went, annoyed he ventured off without telling him until he realized he could have been kidnapped so ... this is where his worries led him.
" ahah, jamil ! " kalim awkwardly laughs, pulling back and fixing your dress and wiping the lipstick from his lips. " i guess― i forgot to lock the― "
" no need to explain yourself, i'll just leave. " and so he did. very quickly, the door shuts as fast as it opened. during this, kalim fiddled with your fingers as the closest turned dark once again, you found the light switch close to your shoulder and the orange light illuminates the small enclosure.
" you're gonna have to face him again, " you chuckle when he sighs against your shoulder, skin hot against his. " yah, but he'll be happy for me ! "
ah kalim, you made your girlfriend's night<3
end notes ― decided to make a part two of this after my requests are done <3 WHY IS NOTHING IM TRYING TO EDIT SAVING ACTUALLY STOP.
In a world, in which the red string of fate exists and mocks him so cruelly...
Warnings: 2nd person pov, basically the first encounter, slight angst, brief mentions of religions, not proofread, gargoyle yap in the middle
Wordcount: 1.8k+
...part 2?
It was funny. Cruel, yet funny. For years–millineums–Malleus had repeatedly heard about the story of the red string on one’s finger that led to their soulmate at the other end. A single string tied to their pinkie that only the two of them could see. The string that appears once you turn eighteen and leads you to your fated lover. Then, when he turned eighteen–in the dragon equivalent at least– he waited for the red string to appear but…it never did.
He thought it would, that's all he was told for his whole life. A million thoughts and theories went through his head on why his soulmate wouldn’t be attached to him. Were they not born yet, that would be a weird age gap? Were they dead? Or was he supposed to be alone forever? It wasn’t until Lilia saw the look on his face did he speak up from the other side of the ice cream tubs he had set out for the occasion, “Don’t worry about it. Sometimes it doesn’t appear until both turn eighteen! It’ll appear soon, just wait.”
So he did. For years, that’s all he did: waited. It got to the point that Malleus had come to terms that he wasn’t supposed to be in love. It pained him, sure, seeing all the other couples in both stories and real life having what he was always told would once be his. Hearing of stories from his family members and theirs on how they meet their soulmates. Living through the many times Lilia had gotten in way over himself and flooded Malleus’s ears with tales of rendezvous and fleeting nights. It hurt, but he was a prince. A future king. The chances of him actually ending up with his soulmate was slim, he had to keep the bloodline going and all.
So, why was it that the string had appeared now?
And attached to you off all people?
Malleus thought it was a cruel joke. His soulmate, the magicless prefect that came from another world that had nothing of the sorts that his world had? A mere human who couldn’t perform any trick better than a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat, and that was real magic there. Years and years of waiting only for his soulmate to appear from a fated encounter that was caused by the horses of Night Raven College to take them from their world to his. Cruel, that’s what it was.
—
It was the first night that you were there. The barren and broken down walls of Ramshackle greeted you like a forgotten home. The ghosts were off with Grimm, scouring around the torn down dorm as they tried to find a suitable sleeping spot for a human and a beast. “This can’t be real,” you told yourself repeatedly. Blinking over and over again with deep breaths, hoping that you would somehow wake up and appear back in your bed in your home. Only, you never did. You had no feeling of being in a dream. Only a feeling of an invisible tug on your pinkie, the urge to follow after it. You had assumed you fell on your hand when coming out of the floating casket, assuming that's what the tingling feeling was even if it was only in one of your fingers. Strange, you thought.
The pulling sensation on your finger only grew stronger as the night grew darker. You turned towards the front doors of ramshackle that creaked with every gust of wind. “What,” you made your way to the door, pushing it open before looking around at the barren lawn to the pointed gate. “Wait,” you froze as you saw the figure.
A tall, dark figure that seemed to glow under the moonlight. With what appeared to be horns that rose above his head and eyes so green that they shined in the night. It took everything in you to not run away and scream right there and then. You were seeing another strange being, and he saw you.
For whatever reason, one you questioned yourself later on, you made your way over to the gate. “Hello,” you called out under the wind. Stopping a few feet away from the gate, you looked up at the unfamiliar and unhuman figure. “Can I help you…?”
He looked up at you, and it was at that moment that the universe seemed to change. A strong, crashing feeling washed over the both of you, like a string ringing before pulling taut. The two of you stared at each other in shock, eyes wide and mouth agape. It felt like forever until he finally spoke, “It’s you…”
“What,” you paused at his words before coming back to reality. “It’s you? What do you mean by that?”
Malleus’s breath seemed to leave him at that moment. Quickly, he glanced down at the red string attaching the two of your pinkines, glowing red and hungry. Do you not see it? He thought to himself, it was then did he remember your magicless origin. Slowly, he looked back up to you or he looked over you. Ears round, teeth duller, unmistakably human. Oh how his grandmother would die hearing this. “Pardon me,” he excused his throat before bringing a hand up to his chin in a thoughtful gesture. “I didn’t know that this place was inhabited. I had always though it was…abaondon.”
Suddenly, the realization of your sleeping situation became more embarrassing. Glancing back at Ramshackle you couldn’t help but stare at the obvious holes in the walls and the cracks in the foundation. The whole dorm seemed to creak and groan with every gust of wind, moaning in pain as it stood on its last limbs. “Oh well,” you muttered quietly before turning back to him. “It’s sort of a fixer-upper. I just moved in…sort of.”
“Hmm,” he hummed quietly as he looked from the wreck of a building to you. “How unfortunate, I would come here often to admire the gargoyles. Such a shame it’ll be changing soon.”
“Oh,” you looked back over at the building as he mentioned the added detail. It was then did you notice the large and monstrous looking gargoyles that adorned the outline of the dorm’s roof. There was something about them that gave the building charm, which could be bad depending on how you looked at it. “I hadn’t noticed them,” you looked back and saw his rather disappointed expression at the comment. “Actually…did you know they added gargoyles to ward off evil spirits? That’s why they were placed in more religious settings, but actually they acted as rain spouts for the building so they were functional and-”
Your words slowly got tuned out by Malleus. A sense of shock and an undercurrent of longing washing over him. Gargoyles, the one thing he hadn’t expected anyone else to know about due to past experiences. Interesting, he thought, I knew there was something mentioned about shared interest but this…slowly, he came back to reality as he realized you were still talking. He didn’t know if it was the topic or the way you spoke but you sounded melodic, heavenly even. “Intersting,” he slowly smiled, his sharp teeth showing. “I didn’t think anyone else shared the same passion for gargoyles as I did.”
His words made you freeze, embarrassment crept up into you as your cheeks reddened. “Sorry,” you laughed nervously as you ran your hand on the back of your neck. “I just thought they were cool so I did some research when I was younger and I guess I remember some stuff.”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he chuckled softly before looking down at you with a growing smirk, “I find it rather amusing that you know all this information.”
“Oh,” you muttered quietly with a smile. Suddenly, the strange pulling sensation came again. The urge to step closer to him grew stronger as you two spent more time together. Weird, we only just met. He seemed to notice your thinking, judging by the way his face turned. It feels as if we’re on the same wavelength…”So, uh…what’s your name?”
Names, he forgot. You two are essentially strangers and he’s already seem to fall in love with you. “My name,” he muttered quietly. If only it was so easy. He knew he wouldn’t imprison you or force you to be his pet but he doesn’t know if the feeling is the same visa versa. If only you were a fae like him, or…if only he was a human. “Unfortunaly,” he started quietly, “I can’t give you that. For names have power.” He noticed the slight drop in your expression, clearly it wasn’t a response you were expecting. “But…we could exchange something else.”
“Something else,” you repeated softly, curiously. You thought quietly to yourself before suddenly getting an idea. “How about nicknames? That way we could still call each other something!”
“Nicknames,” he mused quietly before smiling and nodding. “I like that. What ideas do you have?”
“Uh,” you suddenly quieted down after being put on the spot. Looking around for ideas you were met with nothing but natural beauty of the world around you and soft silence. If only you two had known each other earlier, that way it would have been easier to come up with some nicknames. “How about…hornton? You know,” you looked up at him before putting two fingers on your head, mimicking horns. “Because of those.”
The answer only seems to humor him. Chuckling softly, he brought a hand up to his mouth to hide his smile. “How amusing,” he hummed quietly before crossing his arms and looking down at you. “Well if we’re going with things that are obvious then how about I call you Child of Man? Because you’re…”
“Human,” you mused quietly with a growing smile. It was as if the air between the two of you shifted into something lighter, lovelier. You two were so caught up in the topic that you hadn’t noticed the strange pulling session growing stronger…or the two approaching figures in Diasmonia uniforms.
“Lord Malleus!” A sudden voice from afar called out frantically.
Malleus sighed as he looked towards the voice before back down at you. “Seems I have to go, I hope we meet again.”
“Me too,” you smiled and looked over at the area the voice had come from. “Maybe we could-” you turned back to him only to see he was gone. Nothing but a cloud of glowing green fireflies stood in his place. It was as if he had suddenly vanished, and so did the sensation…
–
“How cruel,” Malleus muttered to himself as he sat near the window of his dorm room. Looking down at the red string so melodiously tied around his pinkie that only seemed to grow in the moonlight. “How cruel indeed….”
Lilia watched from the doorway, arms crossed and mouth shut. His lips pursed together as his brows furrowed. Never had he once seen Malleus so distraught, it was as if the sky started to turn gray and gloomy, the clouds storming overhead. Slowly, he closed the door and turned back to walk down the hallway. “His grandmother needs to hear about this…”
You get isekai'd into the worst novel you've had the misfortune of reading because apparently your life is a cosmic joke. Now all you have to do is not act like the character you've possessed and it'll be fine, you think?
Your fiancé being Vil Schoenheit makes it a little harder to behave like a human being with functional braincells, but hey, atleast he likes you, you think?
2. Villain System vs World || Riddle Rosehearts
You have a guilty pleasure: trashy villainess stories. So when you die a frankly, humiliating death, and end up in one of the worst ones you've had the pleasure of reading as the villainess, you're in denial. Then the villain system shows up. Well, there goes your second chance at life
So what do you do now? Do villainous things and cause as much chaos as you can, of course. And maybe, just maybe, bag the male lead, Riddle Rosehearts while you're at it.
3. I'd Rather Date the Male Lead's Dad || Lilia Vanrouge
When you end up in your best friend's favourite but absurd novel about breaking a fae prince's curse as the heroine, you didn't expect to get attached to his little family too.
Even more unexpected? You fell for the male lead's dad, but hey it looks like he likes you too.
4. Accidentally Falling for a Fae Prince || Malleus Draconia
When you get dragged into a novel which ends with the heroine in a polycule with the most annoying men in literature, as the heroine herself, you decide that you're gonna skip town. ...Only to trip over the fae prince, Malleus Draconia.
5. Not Another Royal Mess || Azul Ashengrotto
As a proofreader who gets isekai’d into a cringeworthy novel as the villainess, you decide to take revenge on the heroine and male lead for their awful story. With Azul—who just wanted to sell you a magic rock—pulled into your chaos.
6. Love Triangles and Royal Rumbles || Leona Kingscholar
When you get isekai'd as the male lead in the novel where your favorite character, Leona Kingscholar is the second male lead, all that's left to do is rewrite the romance!
7. I Want To Retire! || Idia Shroud
You write a novel that reads like a dumpster fire and while trying to delete the draft, you accidentally get isekai’d into it.
Now, as the villainess, you have to get Idia Shroud on your side as well as survive high society. You have your work cut out for you.
8. Stealing the Plot for Drama || Jamil Viper
The book you've been looking forward to turns out to be a piece of crap, and you have the bad luck of getting pulled into it as the villainess.
So you decide to steal the main character's show, just for sport with the help of your fiancé, Jamil Viper.
9. Falling for the Sun in a Cold Empire || Kalim Al-Asim
You lose everything you've worked for after a freak accident and end up getting transported to the novel that you read when you were a teenager.
As the villainess. It's time to rebuild yourself, one step at a time with a little help from Kalim Al-Asim, your betrothed.
10. My Consort Calls Me Shrimpy || Floyd Leech
You get isekai'd into a novel where the perfect Empress got absolutely wrecked by the plot, and now you have to juggle a bland heroine, 15 weird consorts, a traitor and a delightfully unhinged eel who’s oddly good at solving your problems.
11. Get Me Out of Here || Rook Hunt
You’re isekai’d into a trashy novel and stuck as a tragic side knight character. All you want is survival, but your boss is Rook Hunt—a poetic, eccentric duke.
Now you’re caught in his chaos and, worse, you kinda don’t mind.
12. How to Ruin a Plot || Jade Leech
When you end up as the villainess in a story that's hellbent on making her suffer for no reason, you decide to make the main characters suffer just for catharsis.
Good thing that your fiancé, Jade Leech seems to like chaos as much as you.
13. I Want a Refund || Trey Clover
When the universe dunks you into a dumpster fire of a novel as the villainess, survival is key.
Except your husband, Trey Clover, turns out to be such a green flag that it gets a little harder to function.
14. I Don't Want the Heroine || Ruggie Bucchi
You get isekai’d into what could only be described as an affront to literature, as the second male lead.
So you decide to cut all ties with the heroine and live a peaceful (wealthy) life with your secretary, Ruggie Bucchi. Except life doesn't go as planned as you get more chaos than you signed up for.
15. My Knight is Too Loyal || Sebek Zigvolt
You wake up as the villainess in a novel that had to be written as a joke. The heroine is trying to ruin your life, but if you refuse to acknowledge her, then it’s not happening. Right? …Right??
It doesn't help that your knight, Sebek, is annoyingly endearing.
16. How to Escape a Kingdom || Silver
You get isekai’d as the heroine in a bad novel. The prince is awful. The villainess is worse. The only thing keeping you going is your gorgeous, tired fiancé, Silver.
17. Speedrunning Marriage Fraud || Ace Trappola
You get isekai’d as the heroine in a romance novel, but instead of dreamy suitors, you’re stuck with a yandere cryptid, a billionaire with no impulse control, and a knight who thinks he's in a Shakespearean tragedy (and more).
Your solution? Commit marriage fraud with your best friend, Ace Trappola, and hope no one asks for a marriage certificate.
18. Gaslight, Gatekeep, Get Married || Deuce Spade
You get isekai’d into a garbage novel as the villain, so you take it as a sign that morality is optional now. So, you do what any reasonable person would: you set the world on fire (metaphorically… mostly) and somehow bag your knight, Deuce Spade in the process.
19. Accidentally Wooed the Crown Prince || Cater Diamond
You get isekai’d into a terrible rofan as the soon-to-be betrayed fiancée of the Fifth Prince—so you hijack the plot, swerve hard, and end up fake-engaged to his chaotic crown prince brother, Cater.
Now you're stuck juggling palace scandals, dramatic in-laws, and your growing crush on your emotional support fake fiancé.
Hi! I wanted to say that I love, really love your Leona fic! It was so good to read and I was wondering if you could do the same but with Malleus?
Guess What I Just Heard!~♡
I heard a rumor that our resident prince of briars has been keeping a watchful eye on a certain prefect. I don’t just mean the friendly neighborhood check-in, either (though he’ll gladly do those too!). I mean the watching behind walls, asking Lilia to inform him of your whereabouts kind of thing.
I heard a rumor that some may consider Malleus a bit… stalkerish? But that’s only by human standards! Remember, he’s a fae. The faerie way of showing your admiration is to watch from afar, track your every move, your routines, how you go about your day, or the little tells you give when you lie or feel a certain way. Plus, it’s not like you’ll see him! He’s made extra sure to not be too obvious.
I heard a rumor that these methods of courting include looking through your window at night, gazing at your sleeping figure longingly. You look so peaceful, so serene (yes, even if you snore!), so… human. Can you really blame him for getting a hard-on?
I heard a rumor that unlike certain rumors being spread about Leona, Malleus cannot hold back any noises he makes. He’ll mutter out your name when touching himself to the thought of you, and try tirelessly to hide his groans and whimpers as his fags sink into his bottom lip. He may try to act coy but secretly? He hopes you somehow heard him.
I heard a rumor that his horns are a major erogenous zone. Well— sort of. It depends on where you touch! The horns aren’t just regular keratin horns you’d find on a goat or bull, rather they have nerve endings of their own! Granted, he won’t feel as much when you touch his horns as when you touch his skin, with the tips of his horns being the least sensitive. The base of his horns, though? Tracing your fingers where skin meets horn is a sure fire way of getting him to moan out, especially if you brush against his scalp as well. It sends a full body shiver down his spine. But, be warned, the consequences that may follow may be more than what you bargained for! ;)
I heard a rumor that he adores seeing you in his colors. “But green and black look totally awful on me!” I hear some of you cry, and to that, I say, he begs to differ. He’s a hopeless romantic, truly. Something about seeing you match him in any fashion has his heart swelling in his chest— and his cock throbbing in his pants. Unfortunately, the clothes may not last very long once he gets you alone.
I heard a rumor that Malleus can be very petulant when it comes to you. Remember— most people are scared of him, which means his social awareness could use some… work. If you’re so much as even five minutes late to your agreed upon meeting time, expect to find a very irritated and very pouty dragon fae. And yes, he WILL expect extra time with you as payment.
I heard a rumor that he sometimes likes playing into his inexperience, purposely biting a tad too hard or making you gag on his absurdly long tongue. He’ll play dumb, kiss your cheek as a silent apology, but the smirk on his face speaks a thousand words— none of which really scream “I’m sorry.”
I heard a rumor that Malleus likes your sleeping body way more than he should. You’d have to do quite the prodding in order to actually get him to admit to such thoughts, but if you were to suggest it first? He’ll use a spell to knock you out right then and there— just say the word and he’ll do it. Something about you being so vulnerable— so calm and comfortable around him that you’d trust him with your sleeping state— it makes him shiver with anticipation and fuck you with just that much more fervor.
I heard a rumor that he loves using his tongue on you. Dragging across your skin, feeling the way you shudder beneath the drag of it. He also likes fucking you with his tongue too, watching how your eyes go wide at the feeling of it reaching deep inside you. It’s a thing he prides himself on, honestly.
I heard a rumor that he’s actually quite… vanilla? I know, I know, that may be shocking considering the whole “fucking you while you sleep” thing, but really, he likes when the majority of sex with you leans more on the domestic side. For once, he doesn’t feel like some kind of dangerous monster to hide from, or a grand mage to praise. Seeing you above or beneath him, not seeming scared or reverent— but rather pleased, even loving, makes him feel like his heart is about explode. If you were to go so far as to whisper sweet nothings, or flash him an easy smile, expect to not move from that bed for the rest of the night. Hell— not even Lilia could tear him off you, at that point!
But you didn’t hear this from me, got it? <3
FIRST ASK DONE AND PUBLISHED!!! A very special thank you to the anon that suggested this (*≧∀≦*)!!! The ask box is very much still open, so keep ‘em coming! More to follow soon, my lovely little gossips! Thank you as always for reading! Byeeeee!!!
✦suggestive! MDNI Ovulation hits hard so you target your poor boyfriend
Trey Clover
The heartslabyul kitchen smells like warm butter and vanilla. Trey’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, forearms flexing as he kneads a massive dough on the floured counter. You’re sitting on one of the tall stools opposite him, legs swinging slightly, chin in your hands, trying (and failing) to look patient. Everything is too warm, too sensitive, too aware of him. The way his glasses keep sliding down his nose when he concentrates. The quiet hum he makes under his breath when the dough finally starts cooperating. The thick veins standing out on his forearms with every push and fold.
You’ve been staring for twenty solid minutes. Your patience has officially disappeared. “…Trey?”
“Hm?” He doesn’t look up, focused on the dough. “Almost done. Just need to let it rest for another thirty, then I can…”
“How long until you’re actually finished?” Your voice comes out calmer than you feel.
He pauses. Finally glances over, one brow raised. “Why? You got somewhere to be?”
You slide off the stool. You walked up right beside him. “Because I’m about to climb on this counter and take you right here at front of the cupcakes and everything.” you say like you’re discussing the weather
Trey freezes. Fingers splayed wide on the dough like he’s forgotten how hands work.His ears go pink. Then red. For three glorious seconds he just stares at you eyes wide, mouth slightly open, the picture of stunned baker boy innocence. Then understanding crashes over his face.
“…Oh…” he breathes. “It’s… that time again, isn’t it?”
You don’t answer with words. You just step even closer, slide one hand up the center of his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric over his heart, and look up at him through your lashes.
Trey swallows so hard you can see his apple move. He glances toward the kitchen door then back at you. At the way your pupils are blown, the way you’re practically vibrating with need.
“Okay…” he says, very softly. Very calmly. Like he’s negotiating with a wild animal. “Okay. Not here.”
Before you can protest (or actually start climbing), he scoops you up in one smooth motion, strong arms under your thighs, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist.
“You are going to be the death of me.”
You grin, feral and needy. “Promise?”
The rest of the afternoon is lost to muffled moans, the creak of his bed frame.
Jamil Viper
You’ve been plotting this. You sweet talked Kalim into taking a “spontaneous day trip” to one of the Asim family vacation villas. No sudden “Jamil, come taste this” No emergency parties. Just… free time. Glorious, uninterrupted free time.
You even cooked his favorite spicy curry! You spent the afternoon in the Scarabia kitchens, measuring, stirring, tasting, adjusting. Now you’re in Jamil’s room setting the low table with careful hands. The curry steams gently in the wide bowl.
Jamil walks in, wiping his hands on a towel after whatever last minute task he was tying up. He stops in the doorway.Takes one look at the table. Takes one look at you, dressed nicer than usual, and then hungry smile you only wear when you’re up to something. His eyes narrow. But you know that look.
“Surprise!” you say sweetly, gesturing to the food. “I handled everything today. Kalim’s gone until tomorrow night. No one’s going to knock on the door. No emergencies. Just us. So sit. Eat. Relax.”
You start spooning curry over his rice with care. “I made it with extra love and care.”
Jamil slowly lowers himself onto the cushion across from you. He accepts the plate you hand him. Takes one slow, deliberate bite. His lashes flutter. He chews. Swallows. Sets the spoon down very carefully. Then he looks straight at you, eyes calm, voice velvet soft and dangerously even.
“I know what you’re doing… succubus...”
Your mouth drops open.The spoon in your hand freezes mid air. “E…excuse me?!”
You were fully prepared to defend your honor (even though he was technically correct). You open your mouth to launch into a “I am simply being a thoughtful girlfriend who cooked for her overworked partner, how dare you imply such a thing” speech. But Jamil just raises one hand. Cuts you off without raising his voice.
“20 minutes” he says.
You blink.
He picks up his spoon again, takes another bite like this is a normal dinner conversation. “I finish this plate. I take a shower. Then…” He meets your gaze again. Something dark and promising flickers behind the calm. “…I’ll take very thorough care of your whatever… urgent needs… have you so generously cleared my entire day for.”
Heat floods your face so fast. He doesn’t smirk. He doesn’t need to. That tiny upward curve at the corner of his mouth says everything.
You stare at him. He stares back perfectly composed, eating your curry like he has all the time in the world. You swallow. Hard. “…20 minutes?”
“20 minutes.” He nods once. “Unless you want me skip the shower.”
You make a small, strangled noise. He calmly reaches for his glass of water. You sit there, suddenly very aware of your own heartbeat, the way your thighs are pressing together under the table, the faint ache that’s been building all day now screaming for attention.
Who are you to deny him?
You manage a shaky laugh, set your own untouched plate aside, and lean your chin on your hand. “Eat fast” you whisper.
Jamil’s eyes flick to yours again, amused and victorious. “Careful what you wish for.” He takes another slow, deliberate bite.
The clock on the wall ticks. You’ve never hated (and loved) 20 minutes more in your entire life.
Malleus Draconia
The two of you were curled up together in Malleus’s room. Malleus was in full gargoyle nerd mode. “And then… oh, my dear, you would not believe it! I discovered a new gargoyle today behind the old bell tower! It had three horns, but only two were functional. The third was clearly broken off. Can you imagine? The craftsmanship was…”
He continued, voice deep and hands gesturing with genuine excitement as he described every ridge, every crack, every tiny detail. His eyes were bright with that boyish enthusiasm.
You were trying. You really were. You nodded at the right moments, hummed in agreement, even managed a soft “That sounds fascinating…” once or twice. But your mind was a complete traitor. Every time his long fingers moved, you imagined them sliding over your skin instead. Every time his deep voice rumbled, you pictured that same voice groaning your name. The ache had been building for hours….
!Oh Seven, I’m going to burn in hell for this’ you thought miserably. ‘He’s talking about stone architecture and I’m over here fantasizing about him bending me over that stupid gargoyle he just described.’
Malleus suddenly paused mid sentence. His head tilted. “…my love? You have been unusually quiet. Are you unwell? Did my rambling bore you? I can stop if…”
“No!” you blurted, sitting up straighter. Guilt twisted in your chest. “No, I love listening you talk about gargoyles. Really. Your passion is… it’s adorable. And hot. Weirdly hot.”
Malleus blinked slowly, one brow arching. “Hot…?”
You felt your face burn. The last string of self control was fraying fast. You took a shaky breath and decided to just… rip the band aid off. “I love you. And I love how excited you get about weird stone statues. But right now my brain is filled with very inappropriate images of your hands on me instead of gesturing about gargoyles, and I’m about two seconds away from losing the last scrap of modesty I have left and just climbing into your lap like some kind of desperate, hormone crazed gremlin….”
Silence. Pure… silence…
Malleus stared at you. Then his lips twitched. Then he let out a low, surprised chuckle. “A… gremlin?” he repeated, clearly amused.
You groaned and hid your burning face in your hands. “Yes. I’m a terrible girlfriend. You were so happy talking about the three horned fashion gargoyle and here I am mentally undressing you. I deserve to be turned into a statue for this.”
Malleus gently pull your hands away from your face. His fingers were warm, careful, and… Seven help you! “I see…” he chuckled. “So while I spoke, your thoughts were occupied with… my hands?”
You nodded miserably. “Among other things.”
He brushed his thumb along your cheek, eyes glowing faintly with amusement. “I must admit… the idea that my voice alone could reduce you to such a state is rather flattering.”
You peeked up at him through your lashes. “So… you’re not mad I zoned out?”
“Mad?” He tilted his head, lips curving into a small smile. “I could never. How could I be angry about such a thing?.”One large hand settled on your lower back while the other cupped your chin, tilting your face up to his.
“Though I must warn you.” he murmured against your lips, eyes sparkling “ after this I might start over telling you about my discovery.”
You giggled. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Both” he answered simply, before kissing you deeply and slowly ending any remaining thoughts about three horned gargoyles for the rest of the night.
Summary: During a visit to a tourney, you were given an erotic book from the Free City as a cruel joke to your husband, after reading the book, you learned of a technique that you've been too shy to bring up to your husband, until now
Pairing: Daeron Targaryen x F.Reader
Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Lazy sex, kinda somnophilia (Daeron is half a sleep), vaginal sex, scratching, praise kink (Daeron deserves to be praised, okay?), kinda bottom Daeron, top reader?, but they're also just a healthy couple so ya know, face riding, cum drinking, insecurity for cuming
Notes: Fanfiction isn't enough, I need to teleport to Westros and ride Daeron to he's unable to dream anymore
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The fire in the hearth was nothing more than a few sad embers of charred logs, barely casting a single warm flame of light across the rumpled furs and tangled silks of the bed. It was the early morning, or late night more like it with how the sun hadn't even peeked from the horizon yet, leaving the world in a hazy, alcohol thick limbo.
The sweet scent of wine was thick in the room as the blankets ruffled, a nightmare for a servant to try to fix later, but Daeron couldn't care less about making the servant's job easier.
Daeron's chest was practically on fire against your back, his skin clammy and radiating that desperate need he tried to hold himself back from. He was heavy against you, pressing you down into the mattress as if he was trying to merge his body into yours. His face was buried into the crook of your neck, his breath hitching in uneven puffs against your shoulder. You could smell the wine in his breath, a permanent scent you'd learned to get used to.
He wasn't moving like a prince was expected to. it was slow, uneven and lazy. Daeron's cock was buried within you, an feel of your cunt around him soaked and needy for him felt like the only solid thing in the spinning room. His thrusts were clumsy, his hips stuttering, driven more by half conscious need for his own pleasure than any proper effort to bring you to the horizon with him.
"Gods," he rasped, the word broken and thick with the remnants of his sleep, if you could even call it that, "stay...stay like this."
His hands were roaming the front of your body with a desperate, wandering possessiveness to feel every inch of you. One palm was flattened against your stomach, fingers digging into your hip to drag you on his cock when his hips grew too tired. His other hand was clamped over your breast, his grip would've been bruising if it wasn't driven by the need just to make you as close to him as possible.
You arched your back, tilting your head back to catch the corner of his jaw with your lips. The stubble was rough, a sharp contrast to the sweet friction happening between your thighs.
"You're doing so well, Daeron," you whispered, your voice a honeyed lure in Daeron's ringing ears, "just like that. Don't stop."
A pathetic, needy whine caught in his throat. The praised seemed to spark something into his sluggish muscles. He groaned, a deep sound, and shoved his hips forward. It wasn't exactly coordinated, sliding into your cunt with such force that it made you gasp, not expecting it from him. He let out a long, shuddering breath, his forehead dropping against the back of your head.
"Liar," he muttered, though his grip tightened on you until his knuckles turned white, "I'm a...I'm a mess. I can barely see the damn wall."
"It doesn't matter," you murmured, reaching back to tangle your fingers through his sweat damp hair, pulling him closer until the air between you two became non-existent, "you feel perfect, every bit of you."
He let out a sharp, ragged exhale that was half a laugh, half a moan. He began to move again, his pace slow and rolling his hips in a motion that might have brought you to the heavens if he went a little faster. Because he was both too drunk and tired to find a proper rhythm, every time he bottomed out against you, it felt completely different; sometimes shallow and tentative, other times a deep, bruising feeling that made your toes curl against the sheets.
He moved like he was a man who was drowning and you were his source of air and maybe in a way you were. He wasn't the 'Drunken Prince' here, he wasn't the disappointment or the prophetic dreamer. He was just a man, desperate and needy for his wife.
His hand slid down your breast, his fingers trembling as they fumbled to find the space where your bodies joined. When he found the slick nub of your clit, he let out a choked sound, his hips hitching in a series of short, frantic thrusts that were entirely devoid of any grace but overflowing with that sweet need.
"Don't leave," he pleaded, his voice cracking as he buried his face deeper into your skin, his nose brushing against your earlobe as you heard him inhale the scent of your sweat, "please. Just...keep talking. Tell me I'm...Tell me."
"You're mine," you said firmly, knowing that's what he loved to hear from your lips as you shifted your hips against his, helping him find the depth that he was struggling to maintain, "right here, Daeron. I got you. You're doing so well."
The sweetness of the words seemed to settle the tremors in his body. He settled into a more consistent (still sluggish) pace. It was heavy, the sound of your soaked cunt feeling the room that was slightly muffled by the blankets that moved with every thrust of his hips against yours.
He began to nuzzle the skin behind your ear, his lips grazing the curve of your ear with a series of clumsy, desperate kisses. "Sweet girl," he slurred, the words almost lost in his breathing, "only thing...only thing that doesn't hurt. My sweet girl."
His high was coming at him harder that he ever thought it would, his movements growing more and more frantic with the desperate thrusts of his hips. His hips had been bucking with a series of stuttering jolts, his lanky frame shuddering against your back. He couldn't find a peace; he was just a mess led by his own lust and the alcohol in his veins that made him all the more needy to feel you. His fingers, long and elegant unlike his father's, dug into the soft flesh of your hips, his nails catching slightly.
"Gods, I can't-I'm-" he broke off with a wet, ragged hitch of his breath, his chest heaving against your spine.
"It's alright, Daeron," you whispered, your voice a soothing peace against the frantic noise in his head. Your hand fell from his damp hair to his cheek, feeling how feverish it was under your touch, guiding his face back to your neck, "give it to me. Just let go, my love. You're doing so well."
As the word love, a shaky whimper left him, vibrating directly against your skin. It was a sound of pure surrender as he thrusted a couple more times, deep and uncoordinated until he buried himself as far as his cock would allow, his entire body locking into a rigid tremble.
He groaned your name, thick with a kind of worship as he began to empty himself inside of you. You felt the pulse of his cock with every release, his most likely failure of a seed coating your beautiful walls in a way that Daeron knew he didn't deserve. His entire body was shaking, his forehead pressed so hard against the side of your neck that it was almost painful, his breath coming in sharp gasps that smelled of the wine you two had shared lastnight.
"That's it," you encouraged, your voice somehow steady despite the feeling of his cock still emptying itself more inside of you, "everything you have. Give it to me. You're perfect, Daeron, so perfect."
But as the wait of his own high began to ebb, leaving him limp and heavy against you, the sweetness of the moment began to sour in his mind. The haze of the drink was still there, but it couldn't quite shield him from the crushing weight of his own perceived inadequacy.
He didn't pull away, he couldn't, even if he forced himself. He stayed buried deep, his heart hammering against your back. His grip on you didn't loosen, but it was less of a needy possession and more of an apology. His fingers ghosted over the red marks his own grip had left, a trembling caress that felt like an unspoken plea for you to forgive him.
"I'm sorry," he practically cried, a heartbreaking noise. He nuzzled the back of your neck, his lips dry and trembling, "I'm selfish. I didn't...You didn't get-"
He choked on the words, his face hiding in your hair as if he couldn't bear for you to see the shame written in the lines of his face. To him, this was just another thing he had failed, another moment where the wine had robbed him of the ability of being the man he thought you deserved.
"I just took," he whispered, a sharp edge of his self-loathing cutting through the post orgasm fog, "I always just take. You're lying here praising me like I'm a man to be proud of, and I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to see you. I didn't even make it good for you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
He started to try to shift his weight, a clumsy attempt to withdraw from you and perhaps curl into a ball on his side of the bed.
You didn't let him. You caught his hand, lacing your fingers with his and pinning them back against your hip, keeping him exactly where he had been.
"Don't you dare apologize," you murmured, turning your head just enough to see the corner of his mouth trembling with a kiss, his body seemingly betraying him to melt into the feel of your lips, "do you have any idea how much I love feeling you like this?" You laughed breathless when you pulled away, admiring his sad, wet eyes, "just being the place where you can let go? That was exactly what I wanted, my love."
He let out a long, shuddering sigh as the scent of sweat and his own release hit his nose, making him tighten his hold on you, his gorgeous but mess of hair draping over your shoulder just barely.
His fingers were still hooked to the soft curve of your hips, twitching with a reflex that was entirely out of his control. He tried to push himself up, his elbows shaking as he attempted to find the leverage to move, to do something more than keep his soft cock inside of you and do nothing about it.
"I should...I want to..." He groaned as the words tripped over his tongue the need to fall into a dreamless sleep as he pushed his hips to let his cock fall limp out of you, the missing pressure making you frown, "I want to make you...fuck I can't even hold my head up. You deserve...not this. Not a man who can't even stay awake to thank you properly."
He slumped back down, his forehead thumping softly against the nape of your neck. He breathed you in deeply, his nose buried into the silk of your hair, seeking comfort in your scent to drown out the metallic tang of his own self-disgust. He was drifting into a tide of sleep, leaving him tethered to the world only by the fact he was nestled against you.
"Shh," you whispered, reaching back to stroke the fine hair from his damp brow, "that's alright, my love. Just breathe. Stay right here."
The sweet name you coined for him made him shiver, a small noise catching in his throat that he usually only did when you rode him. He didn't deserve the name, and the fact you gave it to him so freely only seemed to twist the knife of guilt further. He was too tired to argue with you, too drained to play the part of your sweet but drunk husband. He simply held onto you, his grip on your hips turning into a squeeze.
As he began to go lax against you, his breath turned heavy, the breathing turning into a peaceful soft snore, a memory slowly flickering into the back of your mind.
It had been weeks ago, during the suffocating heat of a tourney you couldn't even remember where it was. You had been walking near the edge of the camps when one of the women shamelessly dressed like those brothels that you refused to step into had stopped you with her painted lips calling your name.
"A gift for the little Princess," she sneered, thrusting a small, leather bound volume into your hands, "since your husband is usually too far gone to remember which hole it which, perhaps this will keep you company while he sleeps it off."
It had been intended as a cruel joke, a mockery of your marriage to the man that Westros named 'Daeron the Drunk'. But when you retreated back to the room that the Lord had so generously offered you and Daeron for your stay and opened the yellow pages, the mockery had vanished. The book was a collection of 'Essos' "arts" - explicit, detailed, and utterly scandalous illustrations and paragraphs describing the ways of finding pleasure that the Septons would call demonic.
When it came to the book, you saved it as a fake prayer book, always claiming that you were just reading on the history of Westros and the Seven when asked about it; but that was far, far from the truth.
One of the middle chapters where the ink had smudged from where your thumbs rested too long. The illustrations were vivid, charcoal sketches of bodies entwined in ways that you hadn't even thought possible. Most of the women in the book were depicted in positions of power, their bodies draped over their bodies like a conquerer.
There was one page in particular that made your pulse thrum in your ears when you tried to hide how your hands slipped under your skirts while Daeron slept beside you. It showed a man, not lying beneath a man, but straddling him, her thighs framing his face as she lowered herself over his mouth.
Daeron had used his tongue to bring you pleasure of course. But it was always a quiet, almost apologetic affair in the dark. He would pull you to the edge of the bed or crawl between your knees while you lay back, his movements soft and slow, as if he was afraid of offending you, or more likely, afraid he wasn't doing this right. He would hide between your thighs, muffled and shy, never truly meeting your gaze as he worked.
But this...this book suggested something entirely different. it suggested a woman taking what she wanted, using her partner's mouth as her own private altar while he looked upat her, trapped and adored all at once.
A slow heat bloomed in your gut, sharper than any satisfaction you'd felt before it. You looked down at his pale, slender hands and then back at the tangled gold of his hair. He was exhausted, yes, but he was Daeron. He was the man who had looked at you with those sad, violet eyes and told you were the only thing that made him feel he wasn't living a nightmare.
If he felt like a failure for finishing too soon, for being to tired to 'perform,' then perhaps the answer wasn't for him to do more work. Perhaps the answer was for you to take the lead, using the wicked Essos knowledge to turn his exhaustion into a different way to show your love for him.
You began to shift, slowly as you turned around to face him, your breasts brushing his chest but he didn't seem to notice in his sleep.
"Daeron," you whispered, your voice slowly filling with a daring confidence.
He let out confused and sleep filled grunt, his eyes fluttering open to find you looking up at him, slightly hovering as you used his weight to help push him onto his back. The wine made his gaze unfocused, but there was flickers of a genuine curiosity in his expression, a spark of the man who lived beneath the 'Drunk Prince'.
"Mmm? What is it?" He slurred, his hand wandering up to find your waist, his touch clumsy but gentle.
"I have an idea," you murmured, reaching down to take his hands and moving them to rest firmly on your thighs, "something I read. Something I want to try."
The mattress groaned under your shifting weight as you began to move, a slow shuffle. Daeron was a languid, golden haired mess beneath you, his limbs heavy and loose from the wine as his hands rested on your hips, sliding down to your thighs the closer you came to him. He thought the night was over; he thought he had already failed you and was ready to drift off into the murky depths of his dreams, his punishment to himself.
But as you pulled yourself upwards, your knees braced against his ribs and than his collarbones, and the sudden shift in gravity seemed to tether him back to alertness.
You moved with a confidence that felt foreign, fueled by how many times you stared at the image drawn in the book, imaging it was you on Daeron's face as you straddled his shoulders, your thighs framing his neck, the heat of your cunt radiating onto his pale, clammy throat. You could feel the spike of his anxiety raise at the position.
Daeron's eyes snapped open, blinking rapidly as he tried to process the view. From his perspective, you were a silhouette of soft curves and moonlit skin, towering over him like a conquering queen. He looked up, his head lolling slightly to the side as his brow furrowed in a genuine, drunk confusion.
"What...What are you doing?" He croaked, his voice cracking with a mixture of exhaustion and alarm. His hands tightened on your thighs, not to shove you away, but to steady himself to what he had just properly woke up to, the world still spinning, "you're...you're up there. And I'm down here. Did I...Did I fall out of the bed?"
He sounded so genuinely bewildered, so characteristically out of sorts, that a small, breathless laugh escaped you. You leaned forward, your nose brushing against his.
"I'm staying right here," you whispered, your voice thick with a daring sort of hunger that Daerion wasn't used to hearing out of you, "I was thinking about that book I told you about. The one that girl at the tourney gave me."
Daeron squinted, his mind churning through the fog of the past year, "the one with the...the very energetic drawings? I thought it was a jest. A nasty poke at my...well, at my lack of stamina." He let out a self-deprecating huff, his fingers digging softly into your thighs, "I told you. I'm better a poet than a prince, and I'm a better drunk than a lover. I'm spent, sweet girl. I'm a hollowed out cask."
"The book wasn't a joke to me," you murmured, shifting your weight just enough to press your ache cunt against his chin. You felt him hitch a breath, his nostrils flaring, "there was a page...a way for me to take what I want. I don't want you to work, Daeron. I don't want you to worry about 'performing' or staying upright, you just need to lie here. I want to sit on your face."
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the crackle of the dying fire. Daeron looked at you with a look that could only be described as 'weird' - a mixture of utter disbelief, mind scandal, and a tiny bit of interest. He looked like a man who had been offered a seat at a feast he didn't think he was invited to.
"Sit on...my face?" He repeated, the words sounding absurd as they left his lips. He let out a shaky, incredulous laugh, his gaze wandering up to where your thighs were careful to not pull his hair, "you want to...use me like a chair? Gods, you really have been reading that filth, haven't you?"
He looked up at you, his violet eyes searching yours. He saw the sincerity on your face, your lack of judgement, and the raw desire for him, specifically him, in all his clumsy, drunken glory. The self-loathing that usually defined his post orgasm mood seemed to waver, replaced by a bashful and stunned curiosity.
"I mean..." he started, his thumb tracing the point of your hip bone, "if it would...if it would truly make you feel better. I suppose I could manage to keep my mouth open. It's not as if I have to do much heavy lifting, is it?"
He let out a long, shuddering sigh, his head sinking back into the pillow as he surrendered to your lead. A small, crooked smirk touched his lips, the first real smile you had seen all night.
"Go on then," he muttered, his voice holding a more amused tone that sent a small shiver down your spine, "show me what your scandalous book taught you. If I'm to be a piece of furniture for the evening, I might as well be a useful one."
You let out a shaky, almost hesitant breath at his acceptance to try it at least once before positioning yourself. Daeron was laying beneath you, his pale skin slightly flushed and his eyes were hazy but mesmerized as they stared up at you. He looked different like this, but a good kind of different, stripped of his attempt to be the husband he claimed you deserved so badly, and instead just being your husband that you love.
You tilted your chin down, your eyes catching his. "If it's too much," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of nervousness and lust, "if you can't breathe or if I'm too heavy, just tap my thigh, twice. I'll get up immediately. Do you understand?"
Daeron gave a jerky nod, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. "I think...I think I can manage to survive being smothered by you, sweet girl," he rasped, though his attempt at bravado was sheer thin, "it's certainly a more dignified death than the wine will give me."
With a shaky breath, you hoisted yourself up, your muscles straining as you moved your cunt directly over his mouth. The sensation was a definitely new, the cool air of the room hitting your damp, bare skin, followed immediately by the radiating heat of his breath on you.
As you lowered yourself, the evidence of your earlier union made itself known. The thick, almost clear substance of his own release, mixed with your own wetness, escaped your cunt with a slow, heavy drip. It landed directly on his chin, a glistening contrast against his pale stubble. You froze for a second, a flush of heat creeping up your neck at the lewdness of it, but Daeron didn't flinch. Instead, his eyes seemed to darken to a darker violet. He didn't bother to wipe his chin clean as he simply watched you, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.
You braced your weight on your hands and knees, hovering just inches above him. You didn't want to crush him, mindful of his slight frame and already labored breathing. You admired him, the way the moonlight in the window caught the violet of his eyes, the way his chest rose and fell in jagged hitches, and the beautiful vulnerability of him lying there, offering his mouth to you.
He looked like a martyr, or perhaps a devotee to his god.
"Daeron," you breathed, your voice breaking as you slowly lowered yourself further.
He didn't bother to wait for you to settle. With a sudden, desperate initiative that caught you off guard, Daeron tilted his head up. He strained his neck, his mouth opening as he reached for you. His tongue met your cunt with a long, greedy drink of his tongue. He lapped at taste of his finish mixing with your arousal before his tongue found your clit, his favorite place to be when he could hear his name leave your mouth.
A sharp hitch of breath escaped your lips, your fingers grabbing onto the headboard of the bed and your fingers curling around the wood as your back arched.
He was clumsy, as always, his movements lacking the practiced finesse of a man who wasn't half starved for sleep, but there was the honesty in the way that he tasted you that mattered most. He used his tongue in broad, sweeping licks, his nose pressing into the soft folds. He groaned against you, a muffled sound that traveled through your entire body, making your knees shake.
He was looking up at you the whole time, his hooded eyes staying fixed on your face, watching your reaction with a desperate sort of pride. He saw your head fall back, the way your lips were gasping for air, and it seemed for the first time, the prince who felt like he had nothing to offer was proving himself wrong with every wet, dragging stroke of his tongue and moan that came from you.
As you hovered over him, the strain in your arms and thighs began to turn into a dull ache, growing weaker and weaker. Your muscles, already weary from earlier were heavy and sweat slick, finally gave away under you. With a small, breathless gasp, your knees buckled, and gravity pulled you down, sending you properly sinking downwards until you were firmly seated on his mouth.
The sensation was overwhelming, the heat of your cunt meeting the stubbled line of his jaw and the feel of his breath on you properly made your skin chill. You panicked for a fleeting moment, mindful of your weight and the warning you'd given him, and you instinctively tried to push yourself back up, your palms slipping against the pillows.
"Daeron, I-"
But before you could retreat, his hands snapped into action. His fingers dug with a sudden, bruising intensity into the soft meat of your thighs, his knuckles white against your skin. He held you down, his thumbs pressing into your hip bones to pull you down flush against him.
He didn't tap your thigh. He didn't ask for air. Instead, he titled his head back into the pillow to create a better angle, his nose buried into your folds as he let out a muffled groan of pure hunger.
Usually, when Daeron did this, you were on your back, staring at the canopy of the bed while he worked with a slow, patient pace. In those moments, he treated your pleasure like a grueling penance he had to serve. He would linger for an hour or more, his movements sluggish, punishing himself with the endurance required to keep going while his own head throbbed with a hang over and his jaw had gone sore twenty minutes ago. It was his way of apologizing for being the 'Drunken Prince', a way of him saying he was sorry when he knew he'd upset you; whether it was passing out at dinner or forgetting a name at court. He would make your pleasure last until it was almost a torture of its own.
But tonight, with the weight of your body pressing his head into the mattress and your thighs framing his vision, the apology felt different. It wasn't a plea for forgiveness, it was him devoting himself to you, letting you punish him your way, in a sweeter way.
His tongue began to work again, flat as it swept from your soaked entrance to your clit. He didn't bother to be careful, he was being greedy again and he knew it. The taste of his own release, still wet on his chin had acted as a lubricant that made every slide of his tongue flicking into your walls feel like his cock was inside of you all over again.
You looked down at him, your breath hitching as you saw his violet eyes rolled back, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He looked possessed, his jaw working to drink everything he could from you. He knew now, he didn't need to be a knight or a prince; he just needed to be this, the man who could make you lose your mind.
The thrill of the position only seemed to make your heart race faster, the power of the position mirroring the smudged charcoal drawings in that book, it sent a surge of adrenaline through your veins. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his head even tighter against your cunt as you ground your cunt against his tongue, feeling how his tongue curled and drank your arousal like it was the finest wine.
"Thank you, Essos," you choked out, the words a nonsensical whisper that only made sense to you and the book that was currently hidden in your wardrobe.
The name, the acknowledgement of the pleasure you were taking for yourself, seemed to snap something inside of your husband. Daeron's tongue darted out in a series of sharp, flicking laps, focusing on your clit with pinpoint accuracy. He suckled the bundle of nerves into his mouth, his lips practically snogging the nerve, making your entire body go rigid.
The pleasure didn't build slowly like it usually did during his hour long apologies. It arrived quickly and unpredictable. Because you were sitting on him, every muscle in your body was coiled and pressing down, there was nowhere for the sensation to go but up.
"Daeron! Oh, Gods, Daeron!"
You began to grind your hips needlessly against him, moving with uncoordinated circles as you chased that final, shimmering edge. He met every moment, his tongue tireless and refusing to let you go. He was breathing through his nose just barely, the heat of his breathing stoking the fire between your thighs.
The friction of his tongue against your clit was relentless, the sound muffled by your thighs but still loud enough you could hear how soaked you were. Daeron wasn't the hesitant, apologetic lover of your usual nights; he was instead a man who acted possessed on your taste alone, needing to prove a singular goal that he could shatter you like you made him. His fingers locked onto your hips, his knuckles white and straining, keeping you pinned firmly against his mouth so that every frantic tremor of your thighs only served to grind you more onto his mouth.
When you finally made it off the edge, your entire body went rigid, your toes curling into the rumpled blankets as a high, broken cry of his name left your throat, not caring who heard. You were shaking so violently that your vision blurred. But even as the peak washed over you in waves of staggering intensity, Daeron didn't pull himself away. He stayed there, his tongue continuing to lash at you, his lips drinking in your release.
"Daeron! Stop, please-" you gasped, your voice failing you. It was too much. The sensation was so overwhelming that it was almost dizzying.
You reached down, your fingers tangling desperately at the fine, sweat dampened strands of his hair. You gave a firm, pleading tug, pulling his head back just enough to break his mouth away from you.
He let out a muffled groan, his eyes rolling down from the back of his head to focus on you. He looked utterly wrecked. His face was flushed, his lips swollen and slick with the heavy, glistening evidence of your shared release. A slow, pearly drip of his own arousal, mixed with yours, trailed down from the corner of his mouth to his chin, catching the dim light.
You looked down at him, your chest heaving as a small laugh escaped your lips as adrenaline began to recede leaving you pleasantly limp. "Gods," you whispered, brushing a stray lock of his head from his forehead, "did you...did you like that?"
Dareon didn't bother to wipe his face. He didn't even reach for the wine flask that usually sat on the table beside his side of the bed. He just laid there, staring up at you with a look of lazy, triumphant exhaustion. He gave a small, nonchalant shrug, though the satisfied glint in his eyes gave him away.
"Just a little," he says quietly, his jaw a little bit sore, "I suppose it's a more efficient use of my time than stumbling my cock into you immediately."
With a shaky exhale, you began to detangle yourself. You moved to climb off of him, but your legs felt like they were made of water. As your feet hit the cold floor, your knees buckled immediately, your strength having been thoroughly drained.
Before you could hit the floor, Daeron's long arms shot out. Despite his own fatigue, he caught you around the waist with a surprising strength, hauling you back towards the edge of the mattress so you didn't tumble.
"Careful, sweet girl," he murmured, "I've spent the better part of an hour making sure you couldn't walk, I'd hate for you to break your neck now."
You leaned back against him, not bothering to cover either of your naked bodies as your heard thudded against your ribs. You reached up, your thumb grazing his lower lip, intending to wipe away the dampness on his chin, to clean up the mess that the world would've called a scandal but you called a masterpiece.
"Let me get that," you murmured softly.
But as your hand moved, Daeron caught your wrist. His grip was gentle, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of your wrist. He looked at you, the self loathing that usually haunted him replaced by a genuine and soft warmth he rarely allowed to be seen.
"No," he whispered, his eyes searching yours, "I think I have a better way to clean up."
He leaned forward, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to pull you down. When his lips met yours, the kiss wasn't filled with lust but instead love; deep, slow and incredibly sweet. He tasted of salt, wine and your own arousal. He kissed you as if he were trying to memorize the feel of your lips., his tongue tracing your lips with a tender possessiveness.
You pulled back just an inch, your foreheads still resting against one another, your breaths mingling in the cool, quiet air of the pre-dawn chamber. You let out a soft, shaky huff of a laugh, your fingers reaching up finally to wipe a stray glistening smear of arousal from the corner of his mouth.
"You stink of me, Daeron," you whispered, your throat slightly sore from the amount of moaning, "if you walk out the chamber now, everyone is going to know exactly what we did."
He simply shrugged, a languid movement of his shoulders as he pulled you closer into his body. His lanky arms wrapped around your waist, holding you against him.
"And what of it?" He muttered. He nuzzled his face into the curve of your neck, his stubble grazing the sensitive skin, "there are worse things to smell of than the woman I love. I've spent half my life smelling of stale wine, I think I much prefer this alternative."
He let out a long, contented sigh, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he simply held you. The frantic energy of the night had faded away, replaced by a sweetness that always seemed to find you both in the quietest of hours. Here, in his shared bed chambers, he wasn't the disappointment son of Maekar.
But after a moment, a glint of that mischievous curiosity returned to his violet eyes. He pulled back just enough to look at you, a lopsided and sleepy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"So," he started, his thumb tracing a slow line up and down your arm, "that book. That...Essos pleasure thing. You said it wasn't a joke?"
You felt the heat rise in your cheeks immediately that certainly had nothing to do with him mentioning the book and all about the charcoal stained images that flashed through your mind, "it...it certainly wasn't a joke, Daeron. It took itself quite seriously."
"I can see that," he chuckled as he shifted his weight, pulling the heavy fur blankets up around both of your shoulders to shield you from the chill seeping through the window, "it seems I have much to learn. Tell me, sweet girl, what else did it say? What other scandalous positions did those free cities dream up?"
You bit your lip, a memory of one particular chapter towards the end of the book resurfacing; a chapter that involved a very specific type of role reversal that had made you gasp out loud when you first read it. The illustration had featured a woman equipped with a harness of sorts, taking the more...assertive role that was usually reserved for the men of Westeros.
"Well," you stammered, your voice dropping to an embarrassed whisper as you looked down at his chest, "there was one section...about a woman being the one with the...the cock. About me taking the lead in a way that...well, let's just say I would be the one doing the thrusting."
The silence that followed was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. You dared to peek up at him, see the way that Daeron's brow furrowed as he tried to process the mental image. He looked down at you, then down at the space between your bodies, and then back at your face with a look of pure, bewildered skepticism.
He let out a sharp snort, shaking his head as his hair fell over his eyes.
"Absolutely not," he sad, though there was no malice in his voice, just a firm, amused rejection a man who found his limit, "I am a man of many vices and I am perfectly happy to be your chair...but I think I'm drawing the line at being the maiden in that particular story."
He let out a tired, genuine laugh, pulling you down so you were both horizontal again, tucking into the nest of blankets. He wrapped his lanky limbs around you, tucking your head under his chin.
"Let's just stick to the face sitting for now," he murmured, his voice trailing off into a yawn as sleep finally began to win the fight, "I think I've had enough fun for one Tuesday."
Ever since you found out there was a Horny Ghost trapped and living in your house, you’ve been trying to help him move on. It started out when you moved into your new place, a house you got for a steal. You thought it was too good to be true until you saw the place in person and realized it was actually perfect.
With one little flaw that perhaps proved it was too good to be true.
Only days after you first moved in… weird things started happening. At first your panties just kept going missing. You figured the washer must be eating them up but no matter what you tried you could never find them.
Then you started waking up to your sheets soaked and the room reeking of sex. You never remembered having any steamy dreams but you must’ve if your bed was this soaked by morning.
But then things got even more physical. Strange sensations of pulling and tugging stretched at your towels as you were leaving the shower and at your clothes whenever you’d walk around in your pajamas. At that point it was impossible to deny the fact that you weren’t alone in this place and the other entity wanted something from you.
That’s when he finally appeared. Horny Ghost was perhaps the sexiest man you’ve ever seen even with his frame completely transparent and his skin a deathly hue. Your first thought when he revealed himself to you was literally, ‘awe, what a shame he’s dead. I so would’ve tapped that.’
And as if he read your mind he actually managed to reach out and touch you. His excitement made the atmosphere buzz with electricity and power around him. It shot straight down to your core, already making you more horny than before. The next few hours were a blur of fucking each other in the air in positions you never dreamed you’d be able to go in. If anyone had walked in they’d have thought you possessed.
Ever since then you’ve been working with him, trying to help him figure out ways to move on. Though it doesn’t seem to be as important to him as it is you. Whenever you try and get him to focus on figuring out why he’s stuck he just leans in and says you look so beautiful when you’re trying to think. Somehow you always end up fucking each other again after that.
In the midst of one of these fuck sessions, the pounding of his girthy ghost cock fucks a thought right into your head. A first for you but you weren’t gonna complain. It would take some planning but you were positive you’d finally found the key to sending him to the other side.
So the next time another attempt leads into a lustful distraction, you oh so subtly insist on taking control… and then you make him absolutely regret it. Dragging countless orgasms from both of your spent and overheated bodies. Even his usually freezing frame is now a sizzling warmth that practically encourages more of your gooey slick to trickle out and paint your bodies in a mix of combined release and new arousal.
Horny Ghost’s jaw drops, his eyes rolling back into his head, and a smirk playing on his lips. He can’t believe you right now, feeling a joint emotion of respect and rippling anger. His hands desperately pinch into your plush sides, needing to mark you, wanting to affect you more than you’re currently wrecking him.
As much as you’re trying to hide it, you’re not doing too much better. Your body trembles every time you bounce up and down on his cock, begging to let yourself fall and allow him to take control. It takes all your energy to keep going, your poor pussy spasming like it’s begging both for rest and to cum again.
“How you- hhng!- feeling, baby? So blissed out you can’t help but find p-peace?” You ask in between choked moans, his shaft rubbing up against your sopping walls, igniting every nerve of ecstasy within you.
His eyes widen, chest heaving as realization dawns at what you’re trying to do. You’re actually trying to get him to cross over. The fact that you were serious about all that astounds him. Why would he ever wanna leave when he’s finally found a perfectly tight cunt that massages his length like it was made just for him? The way she clutches onto him like she wants to suck him dry. That pussy is a work of art. No way he’s giving that up.
“You sneaky lil aahh! minx. Someone ought to teach you a lesson— fuck!” He snarls, fucking up into you even harder and jostling your body so deliciously. For a moment he’s entranced by the alluring jiggle and movement of your drool-worthy breasts before he snaps back into focus by your breathless giggle. “You think it’s gon’ be that easy?”
“I almost have you. I know I do,” you reply oh so confidently that it has him seething.
During your time together when have you been the one to get the upper hand on him? He thinks you need a serious reminder about that.
“Do you really? Mmph, yeah, we’ll see about that.”
With a speed as fast as the wind he gets a burst of energy and the air around you crackles. Before you can catch your breath he’s flipping you around like you’re nothing but a doll to use for his pleasure. Pinning your wrists above your head with a force you can’t see, he picks up the pace, pounding away at your insides like he’s trying to rearrange your guts. And with his powers he just might.
Your screams of pleasure are almost as loud as the squelching of your cunt every time your bodies meet. Despite the fact that his body has no affect on the outer world, the force of his thrusts drive you up the bed, causing it to creak with resistance and smack against the wall in warning. Yet he doesn’t slow down. If anything it fuels him to go even harder.
Shockwaves course through your body as your orgasm slams into you. You’re unsure if it’s his powers or just the sheer intensity of your climax as your insides buzz with pleasure and shake you to your very soul. As you feel your release gushing out of you the world goes dark and still.
Then you wake with a scream, your eyes flying open to find him still going. Heaving breaths leave you as another orgasm begins to build. Looking around you’re not sure how much time as passed or if he ever really stopped. But just like before he revealed himself to you, your bed is drenched with a mess of your slippery fluids. Soaking the mattress to its very core.
“Awe, how cute. Look who’s a-awake. The one so nngh! confident just a few hours ago.”
Hours?
You can’t even begin to think about that right now as his still rock hard cock swivels around inside you, hitting every spot that drives you to a blissful insanity. Screams pour from your lips and you’re unable to stop them. No energy left for anything but taking you over that edge once again.
And when you do your world fades away. All that’s left is each rocking of his hips as he rails into you. He’s taken possession to a whole new level as he transcends your body to a new plane is existence. Your cunt milks his cock, begging him to join you in this sensation. After all this time he can’t hold back any longer, coming right after you with a snarl that shakes the shutters and makes the house groan.
He buries himself to the hilt, ejecting ropes of hot sticky semen straight into your narrow channel. Together your bodies tremble against each other, barely any energy left between you, but the heat still well alive.
“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” he purrs in your ear and a chill shoots down your spine, swearing you can almost feel his hot breath ghost across your skin.
It seems it’ll take a lot more than this to get him to pass on and rest. In the meantime he’ll find a perfectly good resting spot right in your arms and in your perfect cunt.
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could you please write the akotsk men with their newly-wed wife who struggles adjusting to her new life, maybe they find her crying because she feels homesick but she didn’t tell them because she didn’t want them to worry? thank you :)
HOMESICK — akotsk men
⋆˙⟡ summary in which they help you deal with homesickness
⋆˙⟡ notes short bc there’s only so much a man can do to help, these are so fun.
⋆˙⟡ warnings mentions of general unhappiness.
masterlist
AERION
he would believe you were better off at his side than your home.
instead of appeasing your homesickness, he would make his home more appealing.
learn of what you liked, have it scattered around the castle walls.
he would send for your local foliage to be brought back to the castle, and have it scattered in vases as far as your eye could see.
even if you would cry to him about missing home, missing your family, he would simply divert your attention.
“you belong to the dragon now, sweetheart. you must learn to live with them.”
VALARR
this man would offer to take you home for a short few days.
visit your familiar sights, give him a tour of your familial castle.
he would do it as oft as you felt homesick, asking forgiveness from his duties as a prince and take leave with you.
he would sneak things home from your old bedchambers, making sure to have it in a proud display in your shared bedchambers.
he would happily ride across the realm if you had even a yearning thought of home.
“i would live within this carriage, to and from our homes, just for your smile, my wife.”
BAELOR
he would do exactly as valarr does, except he is tethered to responsibility a lot more than his son.
so there are days where you barely see him, let alone long enough to tell him of your pining for home.
he would find you weeping into one of your old dresses, a dear color you traded for his house’s black and red.
you need not say a word, he would have your dresses brought to your new home.
he would allow you to wear what you liked, but complimented you more when you wore your house’s colors.
“my sweet wife, your home is forever a part of you. as am i.”
MAEKAR
would bring home to you.
would invite your family to stay, would arrange luncheons and suppers for them.
would put up with the added stress of hosting unfamiliar people, if it made you smile.
he would distract you with tasks, arrange for you to make up the castle as you wished to, hoping such a grand task would settle you within his walls, with him.
“this is your home, too, my wife. whatever makes you feel at ease will be done.”
DAERON
this man would up and move back to your home if you asked him to.
but he knows you would follow duty as expected of you, so would in stead settle for taking you home.
he would do whatever you wanted of him, would visit a myriad of taverns, markets, castles and moors.
so long as you promised to return home with him.
“i would claim the plainest land and have us lay there, or live at the foot of your family’s castle. as long as our hearts lay together.”
DUNC
again, i think he would move you both back home if you asked him to.
any home was better than where he hailed from.
he would tell you “the realm is our home”, hoping for it to ease your sadness.
and it kind of did.
he made you feel home was with him.
“sweet girl, you are my home as i am yours.”
LYONEL
he’s a mix of aerion and the rest of them tbh.
he would understand feeling misplaced, missing your familiar home and surroundings.
but would show you where your home was, where you felt most important and most treasured.
he would do as you asked, waiting on your hand and foot, to get you settled with him.
he would wear a mix of your house colors, allow your sigil to sit upon your yellow gowns.
whatever made you feel like you were home.
“fuck it, we’ll bring your family here. the castle is big enough.”
pairings: modern! valor valarr targaryen x fem!reader; modern bsf!daeron & fem! reader (mentioned)
synopsis: valor valarr targaryen continues to fumble, and we love that for us, but we take him on trip on the wild side
a/n: a continuation of this (part 1), and this (part 2)
modern! valarr whose mind straight up blanked for the first minute after you asked him
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"Wanna play?"
Valarr didn't say anything - or more, he couldn't say anything. His entire mind went blank. No, no - that wasn't right either. If anything, he had too many thoughts.
"You look beautiful in that dress."
"What did you think of the final?"
"Are you excited for your time at Summerhall?"
but his tongue felt like lead.
You snapped your fingers in front of his face. "Dude!"
"Hm, what?" He blinked and staggered back. "Sorry, what did you say?"
You held up your game console again, waving it in his face, "Hello? I asked if you wanted to play."
"Oh...oh, no! No, no - I, um," he cleared his throat and tugged the bottom of his sports jacket to straighten it out. "No, thank you."
You raised a questioning brow, "What? Too good for 'Cooking Mama 2'?"
Oh, is that what it's called?
"I, um...I don't really play video games much," he stated, absolutely refusing to admit that he's total shit at them and makes more of a fool out of himself in front of you. "I enjoy reading, though."
The mention of books piqued your interest, "Oh, cool. What kind?"
"Mostly non-fiction and modern contemporary," Valarr replied, only slightly hoping to impress you. "Have you ever read Sabrina Imbler's memoir?"
"No, what's it about?"
"It's actually a really interesting collection of essays - sort of a hybrid between marine biology and her own personal memoir."
"Oh, cool!" To your credit, you looked genuinely interested, even if you were unfamiliar. "I don't really read any nonfiction, so that sounds interesting to try out."
"Yeah, I recommend it!" Valarr wanted to high-five himself - this was going so much better than he could've hoped. "So, what books do you like reading?"
"Oh, nothing impressive," you replied. "Lately, I've gotten into graphic novels."
"Really? Like what?"
"Well, um - oh! I've been binge-reading the 'Heartstopper' series. The art's adorable, and the characters are so sweet."
"Oh! That sounds like something my little cousin would like!"
As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Valarr wanted to immediately take them back. Watching the excited spark in your eye dim a little after he so carelessly insulted you.
"Yeah, no," you looked down at your feet. "I'm sure she would. It's, uh...it's really great."
Valarr stammered his apology, frantic to correct his mistake. "I-I wasn't insulting your tastes! I just meant...uh...well, see - Daella! She's my cousin, and...and, her, um - her birthday's coming up, so I...I thought..."
"Dude, seriously - it's fine," you laughed him off. You looked unbothered, but Valarr clearly saw that you just didn't want to hear him stammer like an idiot any longer. "Don't worry about it." You nodded to the empty side of the bench. "You can sit if you want."
Truth be told, he'd find it more fitting to find a rock to crawl under.
The Westerling grounds covered at over 40 acres of land. That’s over 160,000 squared meters, which could roughly cover 25 footie stadiums in length alone.
So what were the odds that of all the tiny hidden corners you crawled into to escape this overstimulatory nightmare, Daeron’s younger cousin wandered into YOURS???
He wasn’t even making eye contact with you anymore! Just staring at a wall and holding his drink like a fucking lifeline - like, BRO, if you hate being here so much, fucking MOVE! You were literally here first!
You scooted away from Valor, “Um, so,” you were just at the edge of the bench. “I’m just gonna…”
“Wait!” He grabbed your wrist. It was so sudden you had no idea how to react, so you only bewilderedly stared at the hand. “Are you enjoying the match?”
You blinked. “Um…yeah, sure, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Well, I mean, yeah, I guess it’s pretty cool,” you shrugged as the lie easily rolled off your tongue. You knew Daeron’s family were patrons of the foundation that hosted this championship, so you knew it wouldn’t look good if you told his cousin how you really felt. “I’m enjoying everything.”
Valor narrowed his stare, scanning for any tells of dishonesty. “You’re lying.”
To which he found - fuck.
“Yeah, I am. Sorry.” You sheepishly grinned, embarrassed at being caught. Glancing down, you noticed his hand was still around your wrist. Was…was he seriously still holding it? “Um, so…can I have my hand back?”
“Hm?” Valor looked down, the tips of his ears turning red at the realization. He pulled back as if your skin was suddenly contagious. “Sorry!”
You did your best not to look offended. “It’s cool.”
Not really, but why bother?
The air between you two shifted back to tense awkwardness. The both of you went back to sitting apart, staring at walls, and not speaking. You could go back to your game - but how could you relax in all this tension?
You sneaked a side glance at Valor’s face. Listen, there was no point in denying it, alright? The guy was downright gorgeous. Although, to be fair everyone with the Targaryen name won the face card lottery. As if it weren’t enough they pretty much owned everything in the country. Even Aerion, fucking pain in the ass as he is, was fucking beautiful with his sharp jawline and plush ‘do-me’ lips.
But, alas, the feminist in you persisted. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to impair your judgement to the point of tolerating his presence for five minutes, let alone for a good hate-fuck sess.
Probably for the best anyway - guy was way too much of a narcissist to give good oral.
Valor cleared his throat. “Care to share what you find so fascinating regarding my face?”
Shit, without realizing it, your discreet side-eye turned to full-on staring.
Well, no point in hiding it now.
“You’re pretty,” you admitted bluntly.
A beat passed. And then another. On the third, Valor gave off a self-satisfied preen.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting,” he sat a bit taller, looking rather pleased at this information. “Which part?”
“Which part what?”
“Which part do you like best?”
You thought about it for a bit. What part, indeed? Everything about Valor gave off the appearance of a charming prince. Polished and perfect. But there was one feature that struck you the most.
“Your eyes,” you answered with confidence. Listen, Jareth from the Labyrinth made a very lasting impression on preteen you, okay? What, were you supposed to not notice it? “Heterochromia suits you.”
“Does it?” Valor seemed to glow brighter with each compliment paid. “I’ll have to thank my father for that.”
Your brows furrowed at this new information. “You got it from your dad?”
For whatever reason, that question absolutely deflated him of all confidence. “You really don’t pay attention to our family, do you?”
“Not really,” you shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “Everything I know is basically what Daeron told me.”
“And that includes...what, exactly?”
“Not much,” you admitted, catching onto his new interest. “I know more about his side of the family than yours from experience.”
“Such as?”
“Egg’s my favorite,” that was first thing to pop in your head. “And Maekar’s fun to mess with.”
Valor’s eyes widened with surprise, like he hadn’t expected that response. “Egg? Not Daeron?”
“My favorite bald terror,” you declared with a firm nod. “And Daer’s in the top 10.”
“He’s got to get it up.”
“That’s what she said.”
Valor looked so genuinely caught off-guard by that last part, like he couldn't believe those words were actually spoken aloud. But then, the shock of it, plus your deadpanned expression, made him snort so loudly that it caught you off guard, to which he immediately ducked his head, cheeks a tad flushed from the noise. You didn’t mind - if anything, you wished he did it more. But he did. A lot, too - because he looked around, as if to check if anyone had accidentally caught him sounding human instead of posh and porcelain.
“Why’d you do that?” You asked, genuinely curious.
“Do what?”
“Just now,” you pointed out, “you acted human and then looked like you committed a class-A felony.”
What you said clearly hit some sort of nail, but the guy looked at you like you were crazy. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I did not,” he insisted stubbornly.
“You did,” the corners of your mouth twitched in glee.
“Did.” Valor was growing frustrated by the exchange. He leaned forward to stare straight in your eyes. “Not.”
Ooooooooo, now this was getting fun.
“Diiiiiiiid,” you were full-on smirking. “Did, Did, did, did Di-di dadedadeda.”
Your shoulders shimmied and shot fingers-guns at him, taking full and total advantage of this opportunity. Absolutely reveling in how he was staring so resolutely at some random foliage, absolutely determined to show his ire and maintain his ‘princely’ image. But you see the way his jaw clenched with turned eyes and the bright redness on his cheeks that cannot be blamed on the summer heat.
Valor opened his mouth, only for nothing to come out, and he closed it again. He repeated it, and your smile grew wider with each failed attempt of defense before he finally gave up.
"I don't need to dignify this any further," he grumbled, turning away so you couldn't see his embarrassment, nor could he see your look of smug triumph.
You couldn't help yourself and laughed. Loud and genuine. Head thrown back and stomach almost hurting. What a turn of events. You came to this stupidly boring event because Daeron promised you free food and well-deserved gossip, but seeing this new side of Westeros’ ‘Young Prince?’ It was an unexpected surprise. Not unwelcome, thought. Every time he talked to you, it felt so…forced - like he was trying to make you like him. What’s weird was how obvious it looked. Today, you saw how he acted around his girlfriend. It was so comfortable and easy. And not just her, but everyone who came up to greet him and his family.
Five minutes, though? There was the slightest terror beneath the charmed visage. But now? You could see yourself getting along with this guy.
"Are you quite finished?" Valor flatly asked, not at all humored by your continued amusement at his expense. It was obvious this was not how he expected this conversation to go. "People are starting to look."
"Oh, really?" You looked around, the laughter calming down a bit. "Who?"
"Reporters, tabloids, nosy influencers. Literally anyone with a camera."
"Oh, what? Scared the public seeing their 'golden prince' act like a human?"
"They won't see it that way," he replied bitterly before taking a swing of his drink. "Vigilance is a learned necessity. Believe me."
Your smile dimmed a bit - you didn't mean to make fun of him. You really didn't; you were just so used to Daeron's flippant nature and casualness. If it wasn't to report his "latest stunt" or some appearance at some obscure gala, the cameras left him alone for the most part. But then again, that may have more to do with the public having long given up on Maekar Targaryen's eldest son making any notable contribution to the family name than anything else.
But that wasn't the case for Valor. No, he was the 'golden child,' a moniker Daer told you with pity rather than bitterness.
Fuck, you were a jerk.
...And you were going to make it up to him.
Closing your game and tucking it in your bag, you stood and brushed off the imaginary crumbs from your dress. Turning to the frowning prince, you held out your hand.
"Let's go."
Valor blinked at the order, looked at your open hand, then back at you. "Wh...where?"
"Don't know yet, let's just go."
He pointed outside, lost and very confused. "The match is still-"
"Oh, c'mon," you rolled your eyes, "do you actually care?"
When he didn't reply, you took a page from his book earlier, grabbing his wrist, and without a word, you walked to the back with him being dragged by your wrist. Your grip wasn't strong or anything, but he didn't pull away or try anything to break it - only continuing to walk behind you.
If you ever turned around, once - just once - you would've seen the dazed, dreamy look in his eyes that stayed locked on the way you held onto his hand. Not a clue where the hell you were taking him, and not daring to ruin it.
Valarr didn't have a goddamned clue what the hell you were planning. So far, you have the following:
Dragged him out of the Rose Court, away from the crowd, and into the parking lot to where, in a sea of Rolls-Royce, Bentleys, and Aston Martins, sat your blue Honda Civic
Shoved him into the backseat, tossing him a knapsack of what he assumed to be Daeron's clothes before you slid into the front
Ordering him to change, leaving no room for him to ask questions, because you had started the ignition and begun driving out of the parking lot
What's worse, he didn't even bring his phone or wallet.
...Fuck, his father was going to kill him.
And he didn't ask out of equal parts of not wanting you to stop, and maybe a tiny bit of fear - plus, you pulled the car to the shoulder once you saw he was done changing, so you could change.
No, he was not at all tempted to take a peek, not in the slightest. Nor was he at all jealous of the fact that you and Daeron had clearly made plans, since the two of you co-planned a change of outfits for today.
Nope, not jealous. Not jealous at all.
"Okay, I'm decent now!"
Valarr turned around and thanked the seven for his years of media training. You were stunning in your dress and heels - as if you could look anything less. But, this? Wearing a pair of blue denim overalls with a crop top and well-worn Converse? You looked...looked - loose. Or, no - unbound was perhaps the more appropriate term.
Was this your typical style? Your preferred clothing aesthetic? Or was it reserved for more special occasions? Occasions where you and Daeron were together...alone?
No, no - he was not jealous. Not at all. Not even a bit.
What Valarr felt, however, was self-conscious. He looked fucking ridiculous. His cousin's closet was filled with oversized tees and jeans that dragged on the ground, whereas Valarr preferred a trimmer, more fitted cut of Oxford button-down and fitted slacks. Even worse, Daeron was 6 ft and 2 in - literally half a foot taller than him! The faded 'Simon & Garfunkel' graphic tee drowned him, almost making it look like a dress, and jean shorts that he needed to roll the waist up three times just to keep it from falling down.
Valarr huffed. Here he was, at the side of some back road, looking like an oversized hipster, while you resembled a delightfully niche urban-boho fairy.
"Gods, I look fucking ridiculous," he thought, wanting to bury himself in a whole somewhere.
"Aww, you look cute in 60s memorabilia."
Never mind, he needs to buy ten of these shirts in this exact size.
"Are you going to share where you plan to take me?" Valarr finally questioned after the two of you settled back in the front. He watched you type an address into Google Maps. "Or should I expect a ransom class to be made?"
You flashed a cheeky grin full of teeth, and Valarr had to pretend very hard that it didn't squeeze his heart a little, "Not today, gorgeous."
Fuck, you were trying to kill him.
a/n: next one will go back to the bullet-point hcs format - comments are appreciated! ❤️
credit to @cursed-carmine and @222luvr for the beautiful dividers!
tagging (lemme know if you wanna be tagged in all akotsk works or only for a specific character!): @ethereal-athalia, @witch-of-letters, @cardeakelsey, @sphynxestrel, @magpie-dimes, @theoriginalwifeofhanjumin, @fanatic1080, @priscsstuff, @lovelyreader17, @mypizzawizard, @ksuumin, @calicospirit, @a-badbitchwithwifi, @juliettesenna, @baelorandmaekarinparis, @shiningdyingmoon, @ae-gax, @2345perez, @thekingswin, @bitchyfestivalbouquet, @mxunchxkin, @sparrowwithaquill, @iron-way, @auroraawakenings, @renaissancewhxre, @toomuchcoffeetoolateintheday, @calkstis, @thatbird-fromrio
WARNINGS: dark themes, arranged marriage, fluff, aerion is a warning himself, gentle!reader, aerion's only soft with her, obsessive behaviour, ooc aerion.
⸺ disclaimer : english isn't my first language :/ upd : omg ??? thank you so much for your love !! gifs cr : @ lady-arryn; @ s_attayee
⟢ He says he doesn't love you, but he never leaves your side at the wedding.
You still remember your mother’s one wish before the mysterious fever had claimed her life – the same words she had been telling you since you were a child.
"Let love always be your choice, darling. Do not repeat my fate."
She never spoke in long speeches, yet you knew. Your mother was too wise a woman – she never put things plainly. There was no need for it; you've always been a clever girl.
Never marry a lord out of duty. It will eat you alive, until nothing of you remains.
And here you were, from head to toe in your wedding attire, dressed entirely in red – the colour of his house.
At least you didn't break the promise you had given to your mother, did you? He is everything but a lord.
Your husband. The one you were meant for.
A cruel prince who has gone mad – that's what people say about him. A monster who takes pleasure in hurting others.
Aerion Targaryen.
A dragon in human form – his heart is too cold to be tamed, too hot to be approached.
Yet your father didn't care enough to do something about it.
After all, you were truly your mother's daughter.
Turning your head slightly, you studied his profile: pale silver hair that he had run his fingers through countless times, a tense jawline and eyes filled with nothing but irritation.
You couldn't blame him, honestly. The air was thick with the smell of wine, meat, and sweat. Men, treating your wedding feast as just another excuse to get drunk, glance at you with an interest that bordered on the obscene.
"Dragons don't need love," he had said when you first came here. "Don't bother trying. It will make you look pathetic."
But he was there, sitting beside you, even though most of the wedding has already passed, leaving only the drunkards behind. You had expected him to leave as soon as his father had returned to his chambers, but he hadn't.
Instead, Aerion's eyes stayed fixed on someone else.
"I'm going to rip that scum's eyes out right here."
Frowning at his sudden threat, you followed his gaze and noticed an older man with a shaggy beard staring at your cleavage.
Oh.
You let out a soft laugh. "He's not the first."
"He will be the last."
⟢ He says he doesn't love you, but he was mindful of your pleasure on your wedding night.
Aerion's footsteps were loud in your quiet chambers as he slowly entered, still wearing his finery. It seemed you were the only one who needed such preparation.
The wedding night. To consummate the marriage, to fulfill the very reason you had been sent here: into the dragon’s grasp.
You recalled all your aunt’s stories about such nights of pain and impassive husbands. Your heart skipped a beat at the realization that your fate was no different from your mother's – perhaps even worse.
Your father was an honest man. He never loved your mother, nor did he seek to pretend – not for you, and certainly not for his wife.
He wasn't cruel. He never laid a hand on you, never spoke harshly, never punished you for the kind of whims children are prone to. Not once did he force your mother to bear one child after another to secure an heir.
And maybe that was the problem: he felt nothing at all.
Aerion noticed your mood shift – of course he did. He notices everything, you thought. He had taken you to the garden when you could no longer endure your family’s expectations, and after a silent walk, you parted ways to prepare for what was to come that night.
The longer the servants prepared you, the more you felt their sticky, pity-laden gazes. Words never left their lips, but there was no need: you knew exactly what they meant.
“A cruel fate for one so young.”
“You’ve done nothing to deserve this, my princess.”
"May the Gods have mercy upon you."
You smiled softly in response. There were fates far worse than yours.
Lost in thought, you didn't even notice when Aerion came close enough for you to feel his presence. He ran his hand through your hair, slowly combing it with his fingers.
Gently, almost tenderly.
"They're softer than I imagined," he murmured, as if mesmerised.
You froze, his touch somehow soothing you, then slightly leaned towards him, unsure of what to expect.
You slowly turned around to look at him and felt your breath hitch in your throat. His gaze was already roaming over your face, as if he wanted to remember every detail.
He wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you closer until you shared one breath. "You are the dragon's wife now," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "And I'm not interested in hurting what's mine."
Then his lips crashed onto yours with such force you’d have fallen if he weren’t holding you so tightly.
There was nothing gentle about it, nothing subtle. He made no attempt to play the part of a good husband. Aerion kissed you like a man certain of what was his. Hungrily, he pulled you in, while you responded at your own pace. You kissed him slowly, as though you had all the time in the world.
He broke the kiss and let his lips wander along the line of your jaw to your neck, lightly grazing your skin with his teeth.
"Aerion," you whispered his name, and he let out a sound that was almost a growl. His teeth sank above your collarbone, his tongue leaving a mark that would remain as proof of your night.
A part of you wondered if he’d allow you to do the same.
You kept your thoughts to yourself. One day, maybe.
A little moan slipped from your lips, making him lift you so effortlessly – as if you had always belonged in his arms – as he guided you towards the bed. You gasped, wrapping your legs around him as he claimed your mouth once more.
"Perhaps this time," you thought, "your aunt was wrong."
⟢ He says he doesn't love you, but he won't let you sleep apart from him.
"Egg isn't feeling well, and I need to be there for him." You were supposed to return to Aegon’s chambers to read him a bedtime story about knights. Yet here you were – Gods knew for how long – in your chambers, arguing with your husband about... about what, actually?
"If he is not feeling well, he can call a fucking maid who'll read him those stupid stories. And you certainly don't need to waste your night on him."
"I can’t bear the thought of him waking up in the middle of the night, Aerion," you stepped closer to him. "Terrified that no one is there."
You stopped in front of him and tried to meet his eyes, but he stared somewhere far off, his jaw tight. You did what you’d learned over the last month, what you knew would soothe him. You leaned against him, laying your head on his chest; his heartbeat is quick under your ear. His hands almost automatically – instinctively – wrapped around your waist and squeezed you lightly.
"He's our brother, our little treasure," your voice is soft – as always – you never raised your voice.
That made him snort. "And I'm your husband."
You blinked.
Then pulled back enough to face him and finally understood what the problem was.
How could you have missed that?
Since that night of the wedding, you’d always slept together. He never let you go to your own chambers.
Your hips burn with a sweet pain; you feel every mark he left on your body, every grip that will surely turn into bruises. You are exhausted; your husband is lying on top of you, his nose tracing your neck. The skin-to-skin contact feels so intimate, it’s almost laughable considering what just happened.
You know, however, that comfort like this is only temporary and you can’t let yourself get used to it. You try to get up, the pain in your hips makes it impossible to think clearly, but that’s a worry for another day.
"Where are you going?" his voice is hoarse, heavy with pleasure and something else you can’t quite recognize yet.
You tilt your head slightly. "To my own bed."
He fixes you with a look that leaves no room for argument. The decision has already been made, and all you can do is accept it.
“You will sleep here.” He pulls you back against him, his arm wrapping around your waist in a possessive hold, your back resting against his chest.
You can't help but smile. He wants you to sleep beside him. Together.
He buries his nose in your hair, deeply breathing in the scent of lavender – the soap used by the servants to wash the princess's hair. His hand rests on your stomach in possessive grip, as if protecting what has yet to exist.
"I thought dragons knew nothing of love," you lean towards him, speaking tenderly, causing him to murmur something under his breath. A sense of calm and something you can't name yet blooms in your chest.
"They don't." His voice is rough, but his grip hasn’t loosened at all. "You are my wife, it’s my duty to sleep with you. Do not be fooled."
But when you wake up, sunlight pours over the bed, and he is still holding you as if you could vanish at any moment – you knew better.
And now, waking beside him – even though you clearly remembered falling asleep by Egg’s bedside – you saw that he was not the monster everyone else believed him to be.
⟢ He says he doesn't love you, but he spoils you.
Taking off another bracelet engraved with his initials, you found your gaze was drawn to the jewelry box, filled with pieces he has given you - dragon pendants, countless bracelets in black and scarlet. Your eyes then move to the armoire, filled with dresses of the purest silk, tailored just for you by the best.
The books you've only ever mentioned once in your morning talks rested on the shelves, which seemed to appear by some unseen hand whenever you spoke of a new one.
"It is likely the servants," he said, avoiding your gaze. "Or one of my stupid brothers who wants to impress you."
A gentle laugh escaped you as you move towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands clung to you immediately, almost without him realizing.
You swayed lightly. "Maybe."
⟢ He says he doesn't love you, but he comes to you when things get difficult.
It was late at night when you had decided to walk through the garden, enjoying the quiet and breathtaking view that had become so familiar.
You had spent the day guiding Aegon through the history of his ancestors – he couldn’t care less, he only wanted to outdo Aerion – before finally deciding to rest because you had started feeling dizzy.
There had been no time to see your husband; you had simply assumed he was busy with his training.
How wrong you were.
When you entered the chambers, he was already there, standing with his back to you, staring off into the distance.
He didn't acknowledge you when you entered, yet you noticed the signs of recognition. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, as though he was finally letting himself be at ease beside you.
"Husband."
He kept silent.
Instead, he turned and walked toward you slowly. There was none of that teasing sparkle or even a hint of mockery in his eyes—only fatigue and acceptance, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Then, to your surprise, he leaned in and buried his nose in your neck, inhaling the scent that reminded him of home.
"My mother would've loved you," he whispered, a quiet, wry smile in his tone.
No pretense, no show. Sincere.
It was only then that you realized: Egg's sudden urge to learn something new, why it had been so quiet – no servants bustling about, no Daeron pestering you with his philosophical debates.
Their mother. They all needed something to distract them.
You lifted your hands to the back of his head, caressing his hair gently, making him pull you closer. A quiet hum escaped him, followed by a small kiss on your neck. It felt as if you’d melted into him - he held you so tightly as though the slightest distance could carry you away forever.
“I’m sure she was a wonderful woman,” you said, kissing him beneath his ear. “She gave me you, and a few more sisters and brothers besides.”
He smirked but didn't let go for a moment. "Could’ve just stopped at me, my precious wife."
You smiled, not falling for his little act. He tried to play it off as a joke, to hide his weakness - but you wouldn't let him. Not here. Not with you.
“I’m here,” you whispered, leaving small kisses to soothe the tremble he desperately tried to suppress.
His hands roamed across your back, fingers spread wide, his breathing deep and rapid. He clung to you like his life depended on it, and you didn't complain.
You could feel it. He didn't say much, but you knew. He needed you just as much as you needed him.
“You’ll always be here,” he said in a voice so low you’d hardly have heard it unless you were right there. “You’ll never leave me.”
⟢ He says he doesn't love you, but he cannot stand your tears.
In all the time you’ve spent here, you had never shed a tear. There was no reason to - everything you needed was already yours. People starved, gave their lives for the land; a princess's tears would have seemed ridiculous.
But this time you couldn't keep it in.
It was supposed to be an ordinary day like any other - jousts, a feast honouring the noble guests. Yet everything went wrong when word reached you that Aerion had lost his mind and broken the fingers of an innocent girl.
Your heart ached for the girl who had only been playing and having fun, unaware of how it would all turn out.
He would never hurt you, but that didn’t make it any easier seeing him harm another so calmly.
The door opened and you sensed his heavy steps before you heard them. You didn't give him your usual gentle smile - the one he's used to seeing from you.
"She mocked our family, our very blood," he said. There was a note of irritation in his voice at having to justify his actions so openly to you.
Dragons owed nothing to anyone. They acted, and they took pleasure in the results. Yet here he stood behind you, covered in blood and still proud, unable to bear even the thought that you might be hurting.
You didn't respond.
"This is treason," he continued, unused to your silence.
You were barely holding back your tears - you didn't want him to see them. Not from shame, never. But because crying wouldn't change anything. But what he said next shattered you completely and your gentle heart couldn't take it anymore.
"She's lucky it was just her fingers. I’d have taken her head if I’d told the King."
A quiet sob escaped you, one you couldn't hold back.
It was foolish. You knew the man he was. Even softened by you, dragon blood still ran through him. And you knew why he was frustrated, why that play had offended him so deeply - after all, his bloodline had been insulted, ridiculed.
And yet the image of a young girl of your age appeared before your eyes; her gaze swimming with tears, her hands powerless.
At first, Aerion froze at the sound. You’ve never cried, he thought. You’ve never looked away from him.
Then, as if the realization struck him, he strode across the room and turned you to face him, gently taking you by the elbow.
His eyes wandered across your face, as if he physically needed to ensure you were unharmed. You knew he would behead anyone who even dared think of hurting you.
And for the first time that didn't bring you any comfort.
It didn't scare you either - he had never scared you. He was your husband, the other part of your soul and you would always choose him. You would always stand by his side.
Still, a tiny piece of sorrow remained inside you – a quiet awareness that no one else would ever know just how loving and caring he could be.
He would always be a monster to them.
His eyes didn't leave yours, which were now red and swollen from tears that wouldn't stop falling. You noticed the frown that crossed his face as he realized why you were like this.
He leaned in and kissed your damp, flushed cheeks, letting his lips linger a moment longer than expected.
“Dragons do not pardon traitors, my love,” he said softly, confused as to why you were so concerned about a mere commoner, unworthy of any of your attention. Your normally bright face was covered with such a deep sorrow that his heart ached.
I’ll let her go,” Aerion murmured. “Would that make you feel better?”
You nodded slowly, still unsure whether he would keep his promise, unsure whether your wish alone could tame his temper. “Yes, my love.”
His eyes remained on you, studying your face for the smallest sign of doubt that might hurt you further. When he found none, he nodded and pulled you into his arms.
Imagining Daeron x Cousin!Reader rn mmhhh 🤤 ( a lil something)
Daeron, who had never really thought of you–his pretty little cousin–in a dirty or remotely sexual way...
Until you help him stumble back to the castle from some tavern, arm around his waist, while he gets an amazing view down the cleavage of your dress.
Your pretty tits sitting snugly against the fabric, making him drool like a damn dog. His mind was fogging up with the primal instincts of his ancestors.
Get it together. She’s your cousin for fucks sale.
He’d try telling himself, but it was far too late. Daeron finally let himself notice how your curves had filled out over the years and how your face had matured into a woman’s beauty rather than the cute, chubby girl you were before.
“Maybe next time stick to the castle’s ale." You tried to give fruitless advice to the man, "I’m sure it would taste better,” you laughed, suddenly choking on the noise as you saw a couple barely hidden in an alley.
The woman’s skirt was up while the man had his head pushed into her mound. Eating like a starved man at her cunt. The sloppy noises making your pearl throb and breath hitch.
Daeron's eyes followed the direction of your gaze, his gait faltering for a few seconds before he quickly looked back at you.
Daeron was all too aware of the effect the scene had on him, his breathing getting a little quicker. His eyes flicked to you, still struggling to get the image out of his head.
"Don't look at that," he muttered gruffly.
You let out a shaky breath, looking behind you once more before letting him pull you away. “I’ve always wondered what that feels like…” You muttered under your breath, barely audible.
Those words went straight to his cock, feeling it twitch as it began to harden at the mental image you had given him.
“I’m just curious,” you defended yourself in a small voice. Not wanting him to think of you as some insatiable harlot.
"Curiosity is normal," he said in a gruff voice. "It's natural. Especially for a girl your age."
Daeron was suddenly very aware of how close you were standing to him, his body feeling taut as a bowstring, the urge to just... give in almost overwhelming.
"You... you want to experience that?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
You nodded, cheeks flushed. Feeling small and dumb in front of him. “I mean- I guess. It seems kinda dirty, but. But if regular kissing feels good, then so should kisses down there, right?”
He froze, his eyes widening in disbelief at your innocent yet bold words.
Gods, you were going to be the death of him like this. The way you described it so casually, yet so innocently, just made his heart beat even faster.
The images running through his head were downright unholy. You, on his bed, hands in his hair while he devoured your sweet cunt. Crying out his name while he gave you pleasure you had never experienced before.
His gaze darkened as he took in your expression, his voice rough as he answered.
"It does," he rasped. "It feels even better, I'd say."
He could picture it so clearly - the look on your face, the way you'd feel under his touch, the sounds you'd make. How wet you'd get for him, little hole clenching around nothing as he'd tease your clit.
Oh, how he wanted to be the one to teach you all the depraved things a man and a woman could do together. Show you how good it feels, corrupt your pretty little body.
Without even noticing, you had made it back to the castle, opening the door to his chambers as you let yourself inside with him. All because you simply wanted to help him... not because you liked how his arm wrapped around you as he leaned on you, or his scent and bodyheat so close to you.
It was almost like something inside him snapped, his control slipping as he shut the door with a sharp click and then turned towards you.
His gaze was dark, intense, as he took in your figure. He closed the distance between you in almost two strides, his movements almost predatory as he crowded you against the door.
It's as if all the alcohol had suddenly left his system, feeling completely sober with your breasts pressed against his body.
"Would you like me to kiss you down there?" He hummed, nose nudging against your lobe. "I can show you just how good those kisses feel."
— summary: at prince valarr’s name day feast, ser duncan makes the fatal mistake of assuming his terrifyingly composed wife must be another of maekar’s daughters.
— pairing: valarr targaryen x wife!reader
— word count: ~2.2k
— content: sunshine x grumpy, domestic fluff, humor, valarr is so in love with his scary wife, himbo!dunk, protective!valarr, romance, pda.
⋆ . ۰˚ ౨ৎ ── series masterlist with different characters’ versions: here!
Dragonstone has always smelled of sea salt, smoke, and something eerily ancient. Ser Duncan hardly ever enjoys the company of a few members of the royal family, and there, at their ancestral home, he finds himself stranger than ever.
That's why Egg had spent most of the day guiding him around the surroundings rather than the interior of the castle itself, showing him the cave nest where the dragons had once lived, the cliffs from which they used to launch into flight, and the soggy coastline. Dunk would ask him again and again to go over the names and traits of everyone present, since he didn't want to confuse or offend anyone.
Inside the castle, the flames of the torches glow brightly that evening, flashing off the glossy black walls of the Great Hall as the heavy Targaryen banners dangle over the tables of the feast.
It is Prince Valarr's name day, successor to the heir, and although he would never have demanded it, the celebration has been arranged with the formality that his name would require.
You had arranged everything, naturally, from the decorations to the color scheme to food choices. You had spent an entire week organizing this, as it was the least you could do for your beloved husband.
You are seated at his right at the head of the high table. Dressed in midnight black, embroidered with silver thread reminiscent of dragon scales. Hair pulled back modestly, back held straight. Expression... stern.
Most people are chatting animatedly at the table, but not you.
You just observe, as if that were your absolute favorite way to spend your time, and just let others talk. You move your sharp eyes back and forth across the faces of those present, studying their features and gestures, listening attentively to their stories or funny anecdotes, occasionally nodding your head to confirm that you are indeed listening to the conversation.
Duncan has picked up on that. You rarely say more than is strictly necessary, and he has only seen you smile a couple of times since he first got to see you.
You are undeniably one of the most breathtakingly beautiful women he has ever seen, as well. Your face is gorgeous, your eyes—though they can be intimidating—are bewitching, you are a charmer in your own quiet, nonchalant way, and that mysterious aura that you carry around like a shadow is something he finds strangely appealing, to say the least.
Valarr, on the other hand, seems to cope with the attention with polite patience. He smiles when appropriate, appreciates every toast, and laughs sheepishly at every memory shared about his childhood. But every few minutes, his hand would reach for yours under the table for reassurance.
And you always respond when he gives you a little appreciative squeeze, aware that you must be having a particularly difficult time dealing with all the extra attention and loud noises.
“You're squeezing too hard, Val,” you warn him without looking at him.
“It is my name day, my heart,” he replies softly, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I'm allowed a little indulgence, aren't I?”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see a broad smile grow on his pretty lips when he senses you squeezing his hand back, and placing them together on your lap, caressing his fingers affectionately.
At the far end of the hall, the doors burst open.
“Valarr!” calls out Egg as the opened gates reveal him, striding toward the table with enthusiastic steps, overjoyed.
Behind him comes Ser Duncan the Tall, strolling along with clumsy steps, bowing his head respectfully in salutation to everyone present, as several of them have turned to look at the boisterous entrance.
Valarr sighs, looking at you with a warm smile. “My cousin never arrives unaccompanied by a spectacle.”
Egg stands before you two with a bright smile, his face and clothes dirtied from the journey through Dragonstone's grounds. At that, Prince Maekar looks at him with a frown of disapproval. “Happy name day, cousin! I brought you a gift.”
Duncan shifts awkwardly beside his squire, shaking his head as Valarr looks up at him, amused and curious. “I'm—I'm not the gift, m–my Prince. H–happy name day”
One of your eyebrows barely arches at the terrible way he presents himself.
“Iugh,” you huff, not amused by his silly joke.
Valarr glances at you for a moment, with a look that is both reproachful and playful, clearly amused to see you in pain, and then he turns back to the knight, bowing his head in appreciation. “Thank you, Ser. It's good to have you here.”
And as Egg rummages through the contents of his small shoulder bag and Valarr shares a humorous glance with you, Duncan seizes the moment to take a better look at you.
You. He doesn't even remember ever asking Egg about you. There are so many Targaryens that he could barely name three.
You must be a Targaryen, judging by the way you carry yourself.
You’re seated next to the prince, leaning back in your seat with an air of weariness, your gaze flicking over the faces of those who are starting to turn toward you with curiosity, and you’re clearly displeased by the attention.
Duncan is overcome by a familiar sense of dread when your terrifying eyes finally fall upon him. They are cold and menacing, making him feel as if he could be squashed to pieces by them if they could.
Oh, no. He thinks, swallowing hard. Maekar's spawn. Another one.
He truly should say nothing at all, especially when you're staring at him like that.
That has always proven the safer choice in rooms filled with dragonlords. Dunk should have learned that by now, he should know better.
And yet, he clears his throat.
“My apologies, Princess,” he begins, voice respectful but just a touch too loud for the quiet pocket of space around the high table. “I—I don't believe we've been formally introduced before. I'm Ser Duncan. I did not realize Prince Maekar had another daughter.”
Silence. Devastating silence.
His words echo around the walls and the musicians fall out of tune, reducing the music to an uncomfortable, eerie silence.
Daeron, somewhere, seems to be drowning in his own wine. And at his side, Prince Maekar closes his eyes briefly, as though praying for patience.
“What the fuck, hedge knight?” his angry voice cuts through the silence, one hand patting his eldest son on the back to help him breath again.
Egg stands motionless, his hand still in his bag, staring up at Dunk as if the knight had grown a second head, a particularly stupid one.
Valarr slowly turns his head toward you, seemingly intrigued to see your reaction to such offense.
You are frighteningly calm. Your eyes, which Dunk already found unnerving, narrow into two slits of seething indignation, looking much more offended than annoyed.
Your husband brings your entwined hands to his own lap, pulling you closer to him to reassure you. This causes Duncan to frown.
The prince chokes out a stifled laugh, doing his best to save the poor knight's life.
“Ser Duncan,” Valarr says, his voice buzzing with amusement, “I’m afraid you’re terribly mistaken.”
But Duncan isn't even listening to him, he's too focused on not letting a single muscle twitch as he stands there under your scrutinizing gaze.
“Maekar's...?” your voice is low, drawling, and fraught with the kind of venom that makes Dunk take a step back, nearly bumping into Egg. “Daughter?”
Duncan feels the ground slipping, finally noticing how quiet the room has gotten, and how everyone seems to be holding their breath, waiting for your reaction.
He must have done something wrong.
“I only meant—” he stammers, “I didn't mean to offend your father or your family—you carry yourself very much like—well—”
Your head tilts slightly, urging him to continue speaking.
“—like someone who belongs to Prince Maekar’s line,” Duncan finishes weakly, knowing now that he has said something wrong. Very wrong.
Your head remains tilted and your face is finally beginning to show emotion—discomfort. “W–what?”
Egg looks seconds away from either fainting or laughing.
Valarr squeezes your hands in his lap, thumb brushing across your knuckles in a slow, grounding stroke.
“She is not my uncle’s daughter,” he says then smoothly, rescuing the knight at last. His smile vacillates between amusement and pride, “she is my wife, Ser.”
Duncan's jaw drops.
Understanding dawns slowly upon him.
“Oh,” he breathes.
“Yes,” Egg whispers helpfully by his side.
Duncan clears his throat again, this time more cautiously. “Then… my congratulations, Your Grace. You are a fortunate man.”
“I am,” the prince agrees.
“I chose this family, Ser Duncan,” you say very cautiously. “It did not produce me.”
The knight bows his head in remorse and shame and apology, babbling out words of forgiveness incessantly.
“My deepest apologies, my lady—truly—I meant no insult—only that you possess a... a presence.”
“A presence,” you repeat flatly, definitely irritated by all his nonsense. Your eyes squint contempt, not even understanding what the man was really alluding to.
“Yes. A strong one. A royal one.” Duncan persists in trying to make amends, yet only seems to be getting worse. “Well—and you're so beautiful—just like a r–real princess, so I only assumed—”
He shuts his jaw shut when he notices Valarr's brow gradually furrowing at his choice of words.
“Careful now, Ser Duncan,” the prince says pleasantly, the warmth in his eyes dimming by a fraction.
Then, he lifts your entwined fingers, brushing his thumb along your knuckles in a steady, calming rhythm only you seem to notice.
“You must forgive Ser Duncan, my love,” Valarr says to you. “I don't think he's meant to offend you in the slightest. He has been on the cliffs all day. The sea wind muddles the mind.”
A few cautious chuckles ripple through the hall.
Egg nods vigorously. “It does! It really does.”
“You may rise, Ser,” you say at last, almost bored, gesturing dismissively with your hand. “And get out of my sight before I decide to have you thrown off the cliffs—if only to determine whether your head might function better upon the rocks below. You're disturbing my husband's day.”
He realizes only then that he has half-knelt without meaning to and scrambles to his feet so fast he nearly knocks over a goblet.
“Yes, my lady. Thank you, my lady. I will—ah—not test the rocks,” he mutters, retreating one careful step at a time.
Somewhere down the table, a snort of laughter escapes Prince Daeron before he smothers it in his sleeve.
“Mhm,” you hum, still staring at him, unamused.
Egg, traitor that he is, beams, finally placing the small gift he had brought for his favorite cousin down in front of him on the table.
As the noise swells once more, Valarr leans closer to you.
“My wife,” he says charmingly, voice pitched only for you, “you cannot threaten to execute my guests on my name day.”
“You are indulging,” you remind him, teasingly. Only for him. “So am I.”
That does it.
A quiet, helpless laugh escapes him—bright and warm and so very unlike the tense hush that had fallen moments before.
“You were magnificent,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek, which immediately softens your face into a warmer, more sheepish expression.
Your lips curl into a small pout as you turn to look at him, still visibly upset. “I was insulted.”
He bites his lower lip, unable to resist the urge to lean closer to you so he can kiss your little pout away. “You were magnificent while insulted.”
Your fingers loosen slightly in his grasp, and your lips twitch.
It is subtle, barely even there. But it is a smile.
“You find this amusing.”
“I find you terrifying,” he corrects, teasingly. “It is one of my greatest comforts.”
“You are impossible,” you mutter.
“And yet,” he smirks, his hand casually wrapping around your waist to bring you closer to him, “I'm your husband.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “That fact does not grant you immunity.”
“Oh? No?” he hums, far too pleased with himself. “I was under the impression I possessed certain privileges.”
“Delusion is not a privilege.”
He laughs softly at that—warm, bright, entirely unbothered by the hall still watching in poorly concealed fascination.
“You look overwhelmed, lover,” you remark after a moment, quieter now.
“I am,” he admits.
Your thumb brushes lightly against the inside of his wrist, the smallest gesture of comfort.
“Five more toasts,” you say. “Then I will invent an excuse and steal you away from all these people.”
He exhales a laugh, softer this time, and presses his forehead briefly against your temple in a gesture so intimate it nearly goes unnoticed by the rest of the hall.
Nearly.
From below, Duncan dares one more glance upward and feels deeply horrified.
Because the woman who just threatened to dash him against the rocks is now looking at Prince Valarr as though he hung the very moon above Dragonstone.
Your sharp edges soften in his closeness, the line of your shoulders relaxes, your thumb traces idle circles on his blushing cheek.
Egg nudges him with his elbow.
“Told you,” the boy whispers smugly.
Duncan shakes his head in disbelief. “She doesn’t glare at him.”
When Valarr says something low and teasing in your ear, you lean in—just slightly—and answer with a whisper that makes his ears turn pink.
Yeah, you're definitely scarier than Maekar.
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