“hey, can i borrow your phone for a sec?” satoru asks, looping an arm over your shoulder. when you raise an eyebrow, he flashes that blinding smile. “wanna look up that new dessert shop in ginza. the one with the limited-edition parfaits? i’m taking you there the second i’m done kicking sukuna’s ass.”
typical satoru. prioritising his sweet tooth literally minutes away from the greatest battle in jujutsu history. you shake your head, a soft chuckle slipping past your lips as you hand over the device. he taps away furiously for a minute, tongue poking out slightly in concentration, before handing it back with a wink.
-
fast forward to your birthday.
your phone buzzes. it’s a scheduled text from your calendar:
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my favorite person in the entire world !!!! i love you so much. my baby girl (^_^)”
the bright text begins to blur into ugly neon dots as tears hit the glass. you try to wipe the screen, but the moisture keeps coming, smearing his words until you finally just give up. you wish with everything left in you that he was actually here to say it to your face, wearing that stupid, beautiful smile.
wanderer doesn’t like the look in your eyes every time you stare at lohen, a young knight from mondstadt. the mint-haired man personally came to deliver important documents. as to why he would go so far to deliver such letters was irrelevant. he vaguely recalls the man talking about his grandmaster sending him on a quest to explore teyvat. something of a break. not that it matters to wanderer. he could care less about the origin of one man. even less when he is standing too long within your presence.
wanderer knew to some extent lohen was clever to many. eye-candy to some. a treat for the lady’s eye. he doesn’t want to say he’s jealous. he isn’t ashamed of his emotions. he has learned over the years this was the feeling that made him human. the feeling in his chest stems from the fear of losing you—the person who meant the world to him. it was you. it had always been you.
people have called him many things. childish and vain. an arrogant man. too cocky for his own height. but he knows his worth, only because you have shown it to him one night, when the ground felt like it was crumbling beneath him, sending him into a spiral of hell, you came to him with loving arms, embracing him—grounding him, helping him remember that despite everything, he was alive. there would be a place for him in this world. even if he erased it with his own hands, smudging his name over textbooks, you would rewrite him into the story, giving him a home you always promised.
he doesn’t say anything in the moment, only basking in your warmth as you reach for his hand, pulling him into frame. your fingers intertwined with his own. thumb brushing against the back of his hand, feeling for a cold pulse. when you turn to him, asking him a meaningless question about the taste of valberries, the thought of you letting him go seizes. there was no point in getting rustled over another man. not when your eyes soften at his presence, melting the frost off of his heart.
he doesn’t need anyone else—doesn’t fear anyone else, not when it was always about you.
obsessed with the idea of college!au yuuta with a gf who likes to party.
he doesn't mind partying—there's nothing wrong with it, and he understands the appeal of unwinding after a difficult week with a drink. he'd prefer to be at home with you, but he doesn't hate it. he'll gladly accompany you to whatever random house party you drag him along to, and he'll nurse his little red solo cup for a few hours while still maintaining enough sobriety to bring you home.
he has no shortage of people to talk to, either. you're popular, and he's pretty well-known by extension. everyone knows him as the nice, pleasant, relatively unassuming guy who likes to hang out in the corner of the room (whenever he's not dancing with you).
and every guy knows to steer far clear of you.
because though yuuta is so, so nice, they remember what happened to the last guy who wouldn't take your no for an answer.
yuuta doesn't mind that his reputation precedes him. doesn't mind that people remember the blood on the floor, the crack of his fist against the guy's jaw. it makes it easier for him to relax and enjoy the party.
and, most importantly, you don't have to worry—because you know yuuta is always watching.
Omega!Yuta who's your beloved neighbor, showering you kindness the moment you moved into his neighbourhood. Waving every time you walk in and out of your house.
Omega!Yuta who's very helpful, he helped you carry all of your heavy old things to your new house, making side comments on your adorable antiques.
Omega!Yuta who's the sweetest of them all! He gives you fresh strawberries from his yard for free, even wrapping the container in a bow tie and attaching a small motivational quote on a sticky note. "Keep pushing! Don't give up! ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ"
Omega!Yuta who keeps you updated from everything that's happening in the neighborhood! Hey, have you heard about the new serial killer on the loose who targets lonely women like you? Now you do!
Omega!Yuta who gives you the sweetest kind smile he can, reassuring you that he won't let you get taken away by that shady killer!
Omega!Yuta who you felt super safe with, that he was the first person you called when some sus black hooded man was following you on your way home from your shift at the convenience store.
Omega!Yuta immediately answered and told you that you can stay at his apartment for the meantime! His keys are under the rug outside his door as he reminds you to lock it.
Omega!Yuta with a very organized apartment, it looks like those houses you only see in Pinterest as the scent of strawberries linger on the air.
Omega!Yuta who seems to be hiding something from you. The moment you walked inside his room, you were immediately hit by the musky scent of something bold, dominant and.. powerful. A scent of something an omega surely can't have.
Omega!Yuta who turns out to be an Alpha. You found out after skimming through his things inside his room.
Alpha!Yuta who seemed to be obsessed with you. His walls decorated with polaroid pictures of you. His desk was overflowing with every item you owned that you swear suddenly disappeared one day- wait is that your missing underwear?!
Alpha!Yuta who had already arrived at the apartment before you can even leave, staring at you with a concerned look as he noticed your betrayed expression.
Alpha!Yuta noticed that his room's door was wide open and immediately turned to you in panic, begging to give him a chance to explain but you don't and immediately reach over to grab your bag. You don't even make it halfway through the hallway yet when his hand reaches out to grab your wrist in a tight grip.
Alpha!Yuta who can't let you go, after everything he's done to put up a perfect facade? He can't risk losing all of this, losing you. So you find yourself getting dragged back into his room by him, covering your mouth shut because you just won't shut up.
Alpha!Yuta opens up, saying that he's never gotten so brave to get a mate his entire life, until you came in. He swore the moment he saw you, he knew you were meant to be his.
Alpha!Yuta who slightly got pissed that you landed a hit on him. Don't you understand he loves you? Why are you still resisting? Now you're chained to the bed. You did this to yourself.
Yandere Alpha!Yuta who keeps you in bed every day, only letting you up when you need to use the bathroom (with him of course). He brings you daily meals and water but his favorite hobby gotta be feeding you those sweet strawberries from his yard that used to be a symbol of kindness and innocence you thought he had.
First thing I wrote in tumblr, Yay! 😼
Comments and reblogs appreciated! ✧\(>o<)ﾉ✧
Puppy!Yuuta, who catches your eye the second you step into the shelter, despite the fact that he’s not at all what you were looking for. You need a service animal, and as cruel as it feels to say, hybrids of undeterminable origins with less-than-stellar past homes aren’t known to be very consistent, let alone trainable when it comes to such a high-stakes job. You were supposed to meet a pure-bred, highly recommended husky hybrid whose previous owner was no longer able to take care of him, but it was over for you as soon as you saw those big, dark, watery eyes – nearly hidden entirely by overgrown hair and jet-black ears that seemed to droop even lower whenever you threatened to look away from him. You’re already a lost cause by the time you ask a shelter employee for his name, and the paperwork’s signed within the hour. He leaves with you the same day, eyes on the ground and tail wagging a mile a minute.
Puppy!Yuuta, who was always meant to be someone's spoiled pet. He's shy, at first, scared to talk too loudly or cling too tightly or do anything that'll get him sent back to the shelter (no matter how clear you make it that that's a non-option), but it only takes him a few days to warm up to you, a couple weeks to come out of his shell, just under a month to start sleeping in your bed and trailing you around your apartment. He almost trips over himself when you ask if he'd like to wear a collar, and soon enough, he's more akin to a second-shadow than a dog. He does have some aggression issues, particularly when it comes to human men, but he's an angel with other hybrids, and when he bows his head and pouts, you really can't help but forgive him. With a life like the one he must've had, you can't really blame him for being so quick to bear his teeth.
Puppy!Yuuta, who's more than ecstatic when you mention still needing a service animal. He might not be qualified on paper, sure, but he's already constantly at your side, constantly worrying about you - it'd just feel wrong to go out and get another hybrid for a job Yuuta is more than capable of. He says he likes that idea of being able to take care of you, too - like you take care of him. You want to ask him not to be so sappy, to think of a slightly less sentimental way to say it, but when he's so happy and so, so proud of himself, it's hard to be even that strict.
Puppy!Yuuta, who cums untouched the first time you comb your fingers through his hair. You don't seem to notice, and he does his best to hide his face in your lap, to bite back the little, pathetic whimpers that crawl up his throat whenever you scratch at the base of his ears. He doesn't want to scare you, to be so needy so suddenly when you've been so kind.
Puppy!Yuuta, whose one and only flaw is that he can't seem to stop riffling through your dirty laundry. He can't be left alone for more than an hour without stealing one of your oldest, most threadbare shirts or worse, claiming a pair of your underwear as his newest chew-toy. You really should chastise him for it, but it's such an awkward thing to talk about, and he has such a sweet face - it's hard to believe he could ever do anything deliberately wrong. You've resigned yourself to just trying to limit the damage and salvage the less damaged items, even if those mysterious stains are a little hard to get out.
Puppy!Yuuta, who wishes he didn't have such a big, bulky knot. It's too thick and too heavy and seems to swell up whenever he gets even a little hard. If he didn't have a knot, he'd be able to actually thrust into you, rather than just fucking his fist over your sleeping body and imagining how tight you'd be, how pretty you'd look, how nice it would be to make you feel as warm and as soft as he feels because of you. He does what he can with his tongue, but you don't seem to like waking up with his saliva soaking everything between your thighs, and he always gets too excited when he tastes you. If he has to rut against your thigh that desperately again, he's afraid you might wake up and scold him.
Puppy!Yuuta, who can't wait until he works up the courage to mate with you properly. He knows it's still too soon, that it'd scare you to do it so abruptly, that he doesn't deserve it yet, but soon, he'll be able to to step up and take care of you as something more than just a pet. He's not there right now, but one day, he just knows he'll be the perfect mate for you <3
gonna be a bit pretentious for a sec. i reallyyyy don't think aventurine would spoil his partner with lavish gifts. not in the sense that he just throws luxury gifts and money out of nowhere, anyway. showering people in luxury is something he does when he's trying to get something out of them, because money is often the only leverage he has. i think he would early relationship, when he's still scared to get close to you, when he needs control, when he pushes down his genuine feelings, when he thinks he has to try to get you to stay. but i think as he dates someone longer and longer, he realizes that he doesn't need to do that to keep someone. and so he does it less, shows his love through cooking or cleaning the house or drawing you a bath. you know you've won him over when he buys you that fruit you've been wanting to try, instead of a luxury handbag.
Imagine Venti married to someone very different from him. He’s the wind carrying the freedom and happiness of his people, alongside him, and weaving his instrument with a wide smile on his face. He’s always cheery and smiling.
While you, on the other hand, are the epitome of stoicism. You don’t indulge in displaying your emotions publicly, unless you’re alone with your husband. For thousand of years, you two had been wed, bearing the titles of spouses, you are naturally born to eternally serve and protect Barbatos as his knight in shining armor (as Venti quoted, much to your dismay). A task meticulously given to you by the mother of time to watch him in her divine stead.
Mortals and divine beings have learned not to cross your unbending fury when it comes to inviting a disruption of peace and order to your husband's beloved nation. Mondstadt had become your home as much as it had become his, and never been safer under your vigilant eye.
You never second-guessed killing anyone who dared to threaten the tranquility of the city and your husband's divine authority. Their reasons be damned; you wouldn't let anyone else grant a privilege to see another day if it further distressed your husband. Be they drunkards attempting to assault Venti because of his petite stature or agents of chaos seeking to sow discord among the citizens.
You aimed to clean up the pests swiftly and mercilessly, leaving no room for mistakes to have your husband questioned or disrespected. And have him find out about your series of calculated and efficient eliminations; you would rather execute yourself than face his disappointment and anger.
Even if the inhabitants of Teyvat had declared Venti a scheming trickster god, your role as his devoted spouse and protector would gladly accept the position of receiving the wrath of the foolish humans rather than betraying the one who had been kind enough to bestow upon you freedom to chase after mortal interests outside of your lifelong commitment to him.
The freedom of choosing to stand by Venti's side, to marry him in both name and spirit, was a decision you made for the first time with unwavering conviction.
Yan!Targaryen Men (Aenys, Jaehaerys I, Brynden, Maekar, Baelor Breakspear, Aerion, Daeron the drunken) with sister!Darling
note: once again, here I stay awake in the middle of the night as I write this, also reader is adopted (how that works idk), apologize for brynden and maekar being shorter than the others. MINORS DNI AND PLEASE READ THE TAGS
Who else can care better for you than your older brother
Tags: YANDERE, SMUT, Incest (could be psuedo), DUBCON/NONCON, Loss of virginity, corruption kink, toxic relationship, jealousy, possessiveness, Period sex, power dynamics
Aenys I Targaryen
Your brother Aenys was always frail and soft-hearted. Standing so different from your father and other brother. While Aenys was never close to his brother, you and he were attached at the hip, kept by your father’s side in king’s landing. As children, you were constantly praised and doted on by Aenys; the countless flowers he would pluck for you, the beautiful poetry he would send your way, even holding your hand beneath the table during supper.
As children, it was seen as playful and almost endearing. Still, half the court whispered that it could be something more, given your family’s queer customs. But as you both come of age, what was once innocent could no longer be defended as such. It was your father who finally put an end to shared beds. Still he’s ended with a headache upon receiving news that Aenys was still found in your bed when the sun rose. That your chambers were moved so far, making it nearly impossible for your brother to find a way to reach you.
Aenys has an unshakable urge to be loved by everyone; to please, to be adored. But most of all, he wants it to be you. He is terrified of losing your affection, terrified to see you disapprove, terrified someone will one day take his place. You have him wrapped your finger; he would move heaven and earth just to see you smile. Your laughter to him, sounds as sweet as wine. All the women in the realm could dote on him as much as they all pleased, yet his eyes are always on you, his sweet sister.
Aenys shares the same jealousy that affects all Targaryen men. He can’t stand to see you speak warmly to another. He’ll just stare at you with sad eyes and pout, even your ladies in waiting know it won’t be long before your brother calls you to his side once more. Even Maegor, the brother Aenys tries so hard to be on good terms with, isn’t allowed near you. He knows Maegor is stronger, taller, stubborn and fierce, qualities to make any maiden swoon. Aenys will hand his brother lands, titles and even his sword, but never you.
Your first kiss was with Aenys, he made it so given much he hogs your time. There was always a curiosity between you both. It started off innocently enough with Aenys pressing a soft peck to your lips or pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. But as time went by, a small kiss is followed by more, each kiss lasting more, each one more intense than the last. He can’t help himself at times, stealing kisses in the halls or in the gardens where he thinks no is looking.
At times, the kisses turn in something more. There was a line Aenys and you have long known not to cross; despite the rumors your father might finally grant your wishes and wed you two. Still, a whisper or two says he considers other houses for better alliances. Yet none of you seem to care when you’re climbing on top of him, mouth to his, sucking his tongue. Your core pressed against his thigh as you move your hips. Aeny’s hand grip your waist while you palm his cock through his pants, heavy breaths shared.
Aenys adores your body. Believes it should be a pinnacle of worship; if it were not for his duties; he’d devote hours, days, weeks giving it the revering it deserves. He cherishes your body, no matter if it’s laid with freckles, scars or stretchmarks. If you wish it, he’ll get down on his knees, kiss your inner thighs tenderly and work his tongue between your legs.
Aenys will not be able to endure a life where he’s not yours and you’re not his. He would rather not live in a world where you’re forced to marry some lord, bear his children, be taken far away where he can’t see you again. Aenys will cry, beg, fall to his knees if it meant keeping you by his side. He will promise to be better, to love you more deeply than anyone ever could. If you were to leave this world, Aenys would follow right after. He cares if it’s not what his father wishes. Nor does he care if the faith will look down upon you or if the entire realm will revolt against you. As long as he has his sister on his side, Aenys has no other care.
Jaehaerys I Targaryen
Jaehaerys to you, was the perfect man. Or at least that’s what you were raised to believe. He was brave, skilled with a sword, told to be wiser beyond his years even as a little boy. He was able to recite prayers and poems faster than you could think of them. He was fair-spoken, able to talk his way out of any trouble and make others see his reason. And there was your sister Alysann, who shared his intelligence and determination; the perfect pair.
Your life was a muddle filled with tragedy and remaining in shadows. Your brother had become king and wed your sister, a marriage that stirred uproar across the realm. You’ve lost two brothers and spent much of your life hidden away. Your only purpose is the same as any other lady; serve as a bridge of alliance through marriage, or serve the faith as a septa. Yet strangely you remained in court, remaining by your brother's side, the king’s side. You couldn’t possibly think why, but your brother cared for you more than any other man in the realm. Everything he did was for your safety and well being.
It never crossed your mind at first that it could be because your brother yearned, no desired you. He had a kingdom to rule, a realm to keep at peace and a sister wife already. What reason would he have for another? Jaehaerys was attentive in your care, he couldn’t have you sit idle and slouch off your duties. You are to memorize every house and their words, to courtesy better than any, to embody an image of royal grace.
Lords knew to ask for your hand, they must go through the king first. Jaehaerys will nod and listen, pretending to consider before giving his reasons for refusal. You want his sister up in the north where she will be so far away from her family? You with your troubling rumors, think you deserve his sweet and gentle sister? And if a man tries to woo you without his knowledge first, they’ll find any privileges they had with the king, perhaps a seat at the council or a position in the court stripped away.
Truthfully it’s because your brother cannot bear the idea of another man claiming you. Even your wishes to travel will be dismissed, doesn’t matter if it’s only dragonstone. You are needed here at court, your brother demands it and who are you to refuse your king? Gods forbid you even seem interested in that feeble lord who was pursuing you; Jaehaerys will put an end to it and ensure you never mention the name of that lord in his presence again.
Jaehaerys has your chambers not only close to his, but has yours connected to his by a private passage. It’s such a secret not even the rat catchers know it. Jaehaerys is a man of quiet hypocrisy, it’s something he shall never admit or face. It’s merely for convenience. He must know where his dear sister is at all times.
Nights when not even the servants walk by. When the knights are stationed elsewhere, their eyes hardly open and the crickets chirping. Your brother comes to visit, you can see his figure moonlight before the bed creaks beneath him as he climbs on top of you. You’ve learned to make things easier for him, wearing your night dresses short and flimsy. If one were to press an ear to your door, they would hear your soft moans muffled by his lips as his beard tickles your skin.
Jaehaerys knows the risks when he’s thrusting in and out of you. Your cunt tightening so sweetly around his cock, and yet every time he cums deep inside you. Leaving you with a mess to clean up after. Still, Jaehaerys forbids you from drinking moon tea. He made the realm accept his first union, accept the children that he brought from the same union. He’d have exiled his kids if they had ever done this, but he never claimed to be a perfect man, did he?
Brynden Rivers
No one really cared for you at court. You could roam the halls and attend ceremonies and hardly anyone would remember your face or name. But you were treated better than most, you had a roof over your head, a belly full with food, and warm baths. That was until you came across the bastard prince – your supposed brother. He was a fascination even as children. His pale skin, his red eyes, the birthmark upon his face. You would stare at him from afar, only to jump back when he tilted his head and his crimson eyes met yours.
Brynden always noticed when you stared. Whenever you pretended to be interested in something else when he caught you looking. In truth, he noticed everything. Unaware that you were a fascination to him too. That he saw you before you ever laid eyes on him, quietly watching. He knows your every secret, your thoughts and your dreams.
His spies are everywhere. And you can’t shake the uneasy feeling at the raven that stays perched at your window no matter how many times you shoo it away. Brynden knows who you spoke to that day, the books and letters you’ve read, when you weep at night assuming not a soul will hear. He appears suddenly at times, stepping out behind a column or approaching your table as you’re lost in thought. Making you jump as you greet him, almost out of breath.
Brynden's love for you is all consuming and must be sated, much like hunger. He knows it’s wrong, there is no use to justify, to excuse. He knows what it is. Brynden wants to fill that deep void inside of you, to also satisfy your craving. Aware of your lack of poise, the erotic books you read in the corner. How you try to please yourself at night, clumsily using your fingers between your legs.
Brynden makes it very evident that you only belong to him. You are his, either by fate or by choice. He has no care to hide his possessiveness. Will outright tell you no man will touch you as long as he draws breath. He will know if they try. Besides by how good he is fucking you, with your pussy squeezing him so hard. Who else will you run to but him?
Your brother is a more generous lover than you may have thought. He lives for the sounds you make. Biting your lip or burying your face in the pillows to muffle your sounds will make him stop his movements. He wants to hear you, let them know who you belong to. Feeding his fingers into your pussy while he presses kisses to your neck. He simply can’t get enough of you. Sometimes he wonders if you cast a spell on him, must be, there can be no other possible explanation.
Has asked you to marry him more than once. Be his wife. Doesn’t he already lavish you with attention and care? You are the only softness that remains within him; gentle in his touch, in how he speaks of you. Wouldn’t you make him a happy man? His red eye staring at you with such adoration as you lay on top of him, both bare. Brynden confesses he is tempted to keep you somewhere, far from here, so he can be the only man to gaze upon you, to have you like this. A bad jest, you think, but there is no smile in sight.
Maekar Targaryen
Growing up, you were the only daughter, surrounded by four brothers. Maekar was often distant, not as much as Aerys, but distant enough. For he spent most of his life in the battlefield or in training grounds, while you were taught courtesy and to smile. He was stern where your brothers Rhaegel and Baelor were more gentle. Soon, even the court began to notice how Maekar had taken the role of your protector. As a little boy, he scared off other boys who sought your attention and was quick to your side when you scraped your knee.
Surely it may just be a brother looking after his sister. Yet, he had guards follow you everywhere, even beyond the castle gates. Scold you for wandering without their watch, without his permission. He can be quite harsh, snapping at you when you ask too many questions. Times you catch him staring at you from the corner before looking away with a frown clear on his face, as if he’s angry at something he can’t name.
It was an internal battle within Maekar when the realization struck. He wanted his sister. He wanted you. To his ancestors, such love was nothing to be ashamed of. But without their dragons, it’s as if the realm expects the Targaryens to acclimate, to abandon their old ways. To love you, to desire you like this feels almost like corruption. He tries to suppress it, but the more he pushes it down, the stronger it burns.
His jealousy also burns just as fiercely. Maekar won’t forget the one time he nearly struck a man because he simply praised your beauty too boldly. Excusing himself before his temper got the better of him. Maekar even refused marriage offers that came your way, Baelor raises a brow asking his brother why he seems so interested in your affairs only for Maekar to excuse that he merely wants the best for you – not some lord with countless bastards and an unbearable ego.
At times Meakar is tempted to curse your name. You think he must enjoy this torment? He does not. He just wishes you weren’t so tempting. Why must you speak so softly, are you not aware how much he must keep the beast within him at bay. Your hand reaching for his out of concern, please don’t look with those pleading eyes of yours, don’t utter his name. You will drive him mad.
He was wounded once, a foolish mistake on the training field. It was neither deep nor fatal. He cursed his maester for offering milk of the poppy, and when you came to visit, offered to clean his wound yourself; he broke. He grabbed you suddenly, pulling you on top of him, hearing your startled gasp. You tried not to touch the side where his wound was. But you couldn’t think of anything else when his lips crashed into yours, his beard scraping against your skin. There was no taming the dragon that night.
Maekar, while known to be ill-tempered and impatient, tries to maintain an air of composure. Yet his lust is unquenchable. On some days, he still has some vivacity left, wanting to vent his frustrations. It’s both fortunate and unfortunate you end up as his remedy. Powerless to stop the moans that climb out of your throat as he plunges his cock in your cunt. Your brother is just so big, you can do nothing but take it. Take each push and pull of his hips. His every deliberate and precise thrust.
Your brother’s love could not be kept a secret. Every decision, word and glance screams it. You are his very conscience, his very weakness. Maekar rather faces a thousand swords then give you to another and it’s clear to the king and queen both; you are his, either by choice or not.
Baelor Breakspear
To the entire realm, Baelor was the perfect prince; honest, dutiful, and kind. Noble to the morrow. A man every lord, every prince, every knight would dream of being. To you, he was simply your older brother, so thoughtful and gentle. You absolutely adored him. Even as children, you were known to trail after him through the grand halls, sneak into the training yards just to watch him. You trusted him with every secret, every doubt.
Baelor understood long ago that what he felt for you was more than some brotherly love. And it distressed him deeply. It’s a betrayal to him, what kind of brother is he? He is to protect you, guide you, care for you, instead his mind is playing with him, terrible thoughts consume him.
He tells himself he can’t get jealous, he can’t be envious. Baelor can’t help but stare when he sees you enjoy the company of another, your sounds of laughter reaching him. Whoever is speaking with the prince might as well not exist as he can’t remove his gaze. And when you catch him, he forces a polite smile. When lords approach him with their talks of a proposal, Baelor has that sick twisting feeling in his stomach. He nods along, they would treat you well. They say the right things but he just can’t. He can’t bring himself to agree to it.
Baelor does whatever to drain out that voice. That whispers that you belong to him, that he should just get it done with. He rides for hours, busies himself with training, in council just to quiet it down. Sometimes your brother sends you away or avoids you completely; it can go for days. It feels so sudden, finding your feelings hurt after all, he is your dearest confidante. But he comes back eventually. For he can’t breathe when you are not near.
Oh, how he loves you — so desperately, his heart aches with it. Doesn’t know if he can bear it any longer. How his hands stay too long at your waist when he helps you unmount from your house. How he cannot deny you when you come to him in the middle of a storm, or perhaps trembling from a nightmare. He gathers you in his arms, burying his face in your hair. Or when you tend to a cut, you’re under his gaze for too long. How tender sweet sister comes from his lips. Looking up in confusion when he abruptly stands, apologizes and leaves the room without explanation.
There comes a day where he just breaks. Everything buried, finally coming out; face pale, hands trembling as he confesses it all. Begging you to forgive him, he tried, gods, he really did. But everywhere Baelor went, he saw your face, heard your sweet laughter, felt the ghost touch of your soft hands. And when you lay a touch on his cheek; he shudders. His lips are soft when they meet yours and when you both pull away, you are quick to meet again, the kiss hungrier. Baelor feels your fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt. Every rational thought in his head screamed him not to, but his hand followed yours, stripping his shirt away before finding the ties of your dress.
Baelor’s guilt dissolves when he beds you. His cock pushed into you. You are so tight, so warm. As if you were made just for him, his cock stretching you in ways you didn’t think was possible. His forehead pressed to yours as you both share sighs and moans of pleasure. He doesn’t want to pull out even as he spurts out hot ropes of cum deep inside. He wants to stay here, he will gladly die like this; buried inside you.
But when the morning comes, his guilt comes back heavier than ever. He has tainted you, ruined you. A terrible brother he must be to take your virtue. Baelor avoids you, pacing back and forth in his room. He must do what is right, he must fix it. Baelor will marry you to protect your honor. He is willing to take the brunt of it, informing his father, the king. His mind has already been decided and as he stands in front of the king, confessing his wrong. There is a flicker of hope as he imagines the future you’ll have together; to see you in such a beautiful gown, where one day you’ll be surrounded with children, one he hopes they take your eyes.
Aerion Targaryen
Even as children, you have always learned to step carefully around your brother. Out of everyone, he was drawn to you the most. Aerion demanded every bit of attention – every ounce of it. The girl you choose to play with instead of him was pushed into the mud with Aerion claiming she must have tripped. The dog you were gifted gone missing days later; you remember crying to your parents, desperate to find it only for you to never know its fate.
Aerion firmly believed your father will wed you to him when you’re both of age. He didn’t think his love for you was a sin as the stupid faith keeps preaching. These laws are made for men; we are not men, we are dragons, he says. It’s his destiny and his right to wed you. Sure you didn’t have the Valyrian features, but no worry, he’ll ensure your children would. Aerion even hovers over you more than your own septa. Don’t slouch, it's unbecoming of you. You must eat more fruit, you need to be in perfect health to bear his children one day.
Your brother grew into an arrogant, cruel, beautiful man. His fixation over you hasn’t faded over the years; unfortunately, it just consumed him more and more. He still loves seeing you tremble and his touches have started to linger a little too long. You’ve come to realize that Aerion is the reason why you never receive letters, no matter if it’s an old friend or some potential suitor. He’ll read them before tossing them into the fire. He demands you dine with him everyday and will send guards to fetch you if you don’t go.
Even your first kiss was something Aerion claimed as his right. He’s to be your husband after all; it’s inevitable. Despite years having passed and your father gave no indications he wanted to wed you both. It’s not uncommon to find yourself suddenly pushed against a wall as you go about your day, your brother’s hand gripping your side as his open mouth claims yours, kissing you hungrily.
One would assume Aerion with his vigorous desire would have taken your maidenhood from a long time ago. But oddly he has let it wait longer than you anticipated. The first time he has seen your body bare was out of mere curiosity. Interrupting you mid preparing to take a bath. Aerion pulled the straps of your loose dress, lowering it till it hit the floor. His hands trail down until they reach the side of your breast and your breath hitches when you feel his thumb close to your nipple.
When Aerion takes you for the first time; he’s not gentle. After all, there will be many times after this, you’ll grow used to it won’t you. You will even grow to beg him for it. But your sobs are getting a little too loud for him and he hates the odd feeling it leaves in his chest. Slowing down as he pulls out, coating the tip of his cock against your pussy rubbing on it back and forth before sliding his cock inside you once more.
There is no end to the carnal desire Aerion has for you. For the longest time, you dared to think his speeches and declarations of being a dragon were merely just talk, but he carries the tenacity of one. A simple supper will turn into your back laid on the table or how he’ll invite himself to your morning baths. Even horse riding ends with him groping a chest and the other hand between your legs. Informing Aerion that you are bleeding won’t deter him; if anything it arouses him to see his cock covered in your blood.
It’s a miracle your father spent so long before he found out. A servant walked in to find Aerion in your bed. While you dread what your father will think, Aerion thinks it was bound to happen. His patience was wearing thin and he despised sneaking in and out of your chambers. Maeker is furious, but he knows there is no way out of this other than to wed you to Aerion. To save your dignity, for no man will take you; not only did you lose your maidenhood, you lost it to your brother. And if he were to exile Aerion, he’d have to send you with him. Perhaps it’s for the better, it will only be just you and him.
Daeron the Drunken
The court loved making your brother the subject of talk. He was seen as a sure disappointment to the family; to your father and it wasn’t far from the truth. Your father looked down at him, even forbade you from spending time with him. Claiming he’ll do nothing but taint your reputation. Yet despite this, you and Daeron grew to be as thick as thieves.
You could never bring yourself to look at your brother with the same disappointment. You still remember him as the little boy who used to bring you flowers plucked from the gardens. Who held your hand when you were scared, promising to protect you. In return you were there for him; tending to his drunken stupors and defending him from harsh words.
Your brother has no care for appearances or what others think of him. But the second he hears you'll be at a feast or some tourney, suddenly he is tempted to attend. Daeron spends the entire evening distracting you; he’ll steal a seat beside you, ignoring his father’s glare. He has even bribed your ladies in waiting so they tell him who exactly you’ll be spending time with. Your brother will even tug at your sleeve and convince you to sneak away with him, just like you always did as children.
There was once a time where you were courted by some Tyrell lord, he was young and handsome. A match so well even you briefly considered it. Only to receive a word your brother has gone missing again. When he was finally found, he was in some tavern, his knuckles bloodied, and the whore he’d been apparently with swore she heard your name whispered from his lips over and over. That night, he came to you drunk; laying his head in your lap with his arms wrapped round your waist. As you gently run your fingers through his hair, you know what has driven him to such a mood.
Your first kiss was casually stolen by Daeron. There was no passion, no excitement, just your eyes flickering in surprise when he pulled away. He only smiled, teasing you. Why make such a fuss, it was just a kiss, you take things too seriously sweet sister. But Daeron is no fool. He knows it's wrong, what he feels for you, of all the things he thinks of doing to you. He will even admit you deserve better than all of this. You deserve better than him. But when has he ever known to be selfless?
Daeron is a pervert, even deep into his cups. Fully knowing what he is doing. His head resting on your shoulder while his fingers occasionally play with the laces in front of your dress. His hands have groped your chest accidentally more times than one can count. Why don’t you just show him; he is your brother not some stranger. Pretty please. Don’t make him beg. Your brother promises to just look so you do what he says. But his fingers still reach to touch and squeeze your breasts.
With every request, comes a false promise. Where he promised to only curiously touch. There is your brother’s tongue circling your bud as you mewl. He then takes your nipple into his mouth, a loud pop sound resounding when he lets go. He will ask for you to spread your legs. Show him what lies there. He promises to only look. Then before you know it, you are feeling his breath on your inner thigh, he nudges a leg over his shoulder, his mouth devouring your cunt.
Last but not least, your brother promises he’ll just put his dick between your thighs. Having you firmly press your legs together while he moves his hips, your thighs massaging and rubbing his dick. Daeron lets it go for a few moments before he just opens your legs and slides his dick inside you. Making you gasp and claw at his shoulder, but he just coos, saying you’ll like it soon. His mouth on yours serves as a distraction as you feel him slowly fill you up and your small sounds of whines turn into soft moans. For a brief moment, you could only think of your father's fury before you’re completely overwhelmed with pleasure.
I just watched Episode 4 and I simply couldn't help myself. This idea got stuck in my head the moment I saw him huddling into his cloak…he looked so small and weary.
This is my first time actually posting something publicly instead of hoarding my writing like a dragon hoards its gold. Please forgive any linguistic slips, as English is not my native language.
A few notes before you read:
This story doesn't claim to be canon. It’s just a little scene I needed to get out of my system.
Just a poor, sweet, pathetic Prince and his wife.
The Wife (OC). I haven't chosen a specific House for her. She could belong to any noble family in Westeros. Her appearance is also left to your imagination.
I hope you enjoy this little soft (and slightly sad) moment.
(I’m still figuring out how to make text posts look pretty on Tumblr, but if I post anything else, I’ll do my best to learn the ropes.)
***
"You’ll catch a chill," a woman’s voice rang out in the night silence.
The two men turned around. Duncan straightened up as he saw a lightly dressed lady walking purposefully toward him and Prince Daeron. It wasn't just her beauty that commanded attention. She carried an air of authority, looking very much like a mother coming to scold a child. Prince Daeron, on the contrary, smiled slightly and leaned toward the young woman. Only now did Duncan notice the Prince huddling into his cloak, even though the night air was not particularly cold.
"Not at all…" the Prince murmured, distracted from his conversation with the knight about dreams and visions. As the lady reached them, he leaned in even further, bowing his head before her. She could only offer a sigh in response.
"You’re shivering," she whispered, draping a warm cloak she had been carrying over his shoulders and fastening it. Her gaze shifted as she looked up at the towering man. "Oh, you’re the knight who floored my husband’s brother. Thank you. He’s been in need of a lesson for a long while… and please, forgive the foul things my husband said to you. Aegon told me everything. I am glad the boy was able to relax." She let out a soft chuckle, leaving Duncan unsure of how to respond.
"You are welcome, my lady," he stammered. At that moment, Daeron pressed his cheek against his wife's shoulder, seeking her attention. Just a minute ago, he had been speaking of his dreams and portents, but now… now he wanted her eyes only on him. She was right; he was cold. He was hungover and weary, despite having managed to stay sober for a month before this. His legs ached from his father’s punishment. The only thing he craved was to finally lie in bed in his wife’s arms, even though he knew she would first make him wash and then give him a proper scolding.
Duncan looked away, feeling out of place. He was no longer part of their world. The young woman tilted her head to kiss the Prince’s temple, pulled his hood over his head, and led him back toward the castle along with Aegon.
After sending Aegon to his room (from which the boy would likely escape), Daeron and his wife entered their chambers. As the door closed behind them, Daeron remained silent, his pale, reddened eyes fixed on the floor. His wife helped him out of his heavy outer layers, kissing his cheeks as she worked…perhaps to give him strength, or perhaps to check for a fever. The Prince’s head leaned into every kiss, but his eyes were clouded with shame and disappointment.
"I’m sorry…" he whispered as she knelt to remove his boots and inspect the treated injuries on his legs.
"You have nothing to apologize for. I am not angry with you," she murmured, standing up and setting the boots aside.
"You are," the Prince looked at his wife. "You’re biting your lip and frowning again. You always do that when you’re holding back your anger." His voice and hands trembled; he wanted to reach out to her, to touch her, to bury his face against her, but the shame of his failure kept him rooted to the spot.
The woman sighed and knelt before him.
"Fine, perhaps I am angry. Perhaps I am angry that I left you with Egg when you both needed me, when YOU needed me. Perhaps I am angry with myself for that." Sighing, she stood between his knees and drew his face to her stomach, running her fingers through his hair. "Forgive me. Sometimes I forget how tangible my anger is… especially to you," she whispered.
Daeron shuddered and then immediately relaxed, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around her hips.
"Don’t apologize."
"I will. I was wrong."
Daeron lifted his head to look his beloved in the face. In moments like these, he couldn’t understand how she could still be here, by his side, knowing what a disappointment he was to everyone. Yet here she was…the woman who hadn't turned away after their wedding, the woman who knew more of his soul than anyone else, the woman who looked at him as if he were the most precious thing in the world.
His eyes began to sting, whether from the wine or the tears, he didn't know. He let out a sob and buried his face against her again. They were tears, after all.
All Men are Fools, and All Princes Too - Daeron III
Rating: Explicit
A/N: I wanted smth light and why not papa and the Maekarlings going to a tourney! Also full quote of Maekar’s to @sugarpoppss2 ily
Tags: Fluff, smut, humor, INCEST, Targ reader, Daeron’s a shit knight, jousting!, banter is their bond besides boinking in inappropriate places, Maekar and co., Daeron and wine orders, quickies, pnv!sex, desperate and needy little dragons, Men WHO whimper, creampie, one mention of The Dreams
W/C: 2.9k
You leaned against one of the wooden poles in the grand daytime tent for your family. Your lips quirked up as you watched your elder brother drink from a cup as his squire suited him in simplistic iron and leather armor. He didn’t quite have the showmanship or pomp of the men in your family.
Nor care. He despised tournaments.
The prince grumbled as the squire tightened his gorget, nimble fingers on the straps. Daeron’s pale eyes flicked to you and back, dark brows pinched. A sour expression crossed his features as the squire adjusted the iron piece.
Daeron waved the boy off, huffing, “Just have the shield and lance ready, my helm. Whatever.”
You approached your elder brother, fingers toying with the black padded fabric under his armor. He scowled, taking another pointed swig of wine. You took the cup from his hand and drained it, dropping the empty goblet on the carpets.
Daeron’s face morphed into further annoyance, long fingers pinching at your sides. You laughed, grinning up at him as he stepped towards you. The blonde grumbled, “I needed that. You know I detest these…elitist mummer shows.”
You tapped his chin, replying, “Oh, lighten up, you can beat a knight shittier than you with my favor? Else I’m giving it to Ser Corbray.”
He scoffed “The sheep fucker?”
You both looked around for someone who might be listening. Maekar fought with Corbray in the Blackfyre rebellion. The Kingsguard from the Vale was regarded as a hero. If your father overheard that…well…you’d both get a stern look or lecture.
“He’s a hero. A good lance. So win a damn tilt. I’m sure there’s some green boy you can knock off, they’re like to put some mewling lordling out there.” you teased, tracing a finger down from his chin to his chest. Your brother softened some, eyes darting to the tent flaps before looking down at you. His hands tightened, sliding down to your hips.
“Fine. I’ll come and get your silly favor and hope the horse likes me.”
Ah. Right. The horse problem.
You sighed, “Daeron, you were but a child getting thrown off that steed. The horses smell fear, be gallant or act as if.”
“Gallant,” he echoed, rolling his eyes, a mere smile on his lips.
“You know what I meant!”
In one swift movement, the prince pulled you flush against him, lips splitting into a sharp smirk. Daeron rumbled, “Aye, I’ll be your gallant prince, riding the steed to victory with my lovely princess’s favor.” He playfully pinched your arse, earning a squeak from you.
Movement shuffled from outside. You slapped your brother off and made way to a settee, picking up your needlepoint. Daeron poured more wine to your chagrin. “For some courage,” he deadpanned, tilting the cup as if toasting you.
Your father dipped into the tent with Daella and Rhae in tow. Maekar’s eyes narrowed as he looked between you two. He was a sharp man, he knew you and your brother were…close. It didn’t help that Aemon and Egg caught you and Daeron rutting like animals by the ponds at Summerhall.
Gods— if only you could erase their young minds.
“Are you ready now?” Maekar gruffed, taking a perfunctory walk around Daeron. He snatched the wine from your brother’s hands, smacking it down. He looked on with thinly veiled annoyance.
“Now how the fuck are you going to tilt if you can’t see straight?”
Daeron let out an exhaustive groan, rolling his shoulders.
Your little sisters came over to you, eyes wide. Daella babbled about some Wylde boy winking at her. The tourney was held by House Errol at Haystack Hall, deep in the Stormlands. Most of the houses in attendance were from the rain soaked lands. You snorted, pinching her cheek.
“And did you say hello to this lordling?”
She blushed, eyes down, “No.”
You leaned in to whisper below Maekar and Daeron’s bitching, “Well, give him a wink and you’ll have him bringing you flowers and sending love letters by raven.”
Rhae’s eyes widened along with Daella’s— the two intrigued.
You stood up, grabbing their hands, “Come now, we have to get to the box.”
Maekar gave a rare pat and shake of Daeron’s shoulder, muttering, “You’ve had training, just dig in boy. Fucking dig in.”
Daeron sighed extravagantly once more, sounding like the damn horses he so displeased. You took the girls down the row of tents and nobles, squires darting around and whores laughing by a fire. The weather was balmy, the sun in the sky. A rarity for the Stormlands.
You took your seat at the box, Daella and Rhae flanking you. It was only your branch of the family, less pressure when your uncle and perfect cousins were not present. You gave a nod to Lord Errol, eyes flicking to the tiltyard.
Daella held a hand over her mouth as she whispered, “Will Daeron eat shit? That’s what Aerion said.”
You snorted and gave her red sleeve a sharp tug. You reprimanded your sister, “Aerion says horrid things, don’t speak like that. It’s not ladylike.”
You settled further into the seat, fingers on the woven favor of dark, thorny vines and red ribbons. The master of revels came out, the small crowd cheering. You glanced at Daeron on his horse, his eyes wide and distant. He looked to you, spurring the horse on.
“The Prince Daeron will be facing-“
“Hold, hold the fuck on!” the Prince ordered, riding past the master of revels up to where you sat. Maekar grimaced, hands tightening so hard on the chair that his gloves creaked. He muttered, “Idiot boy.” Rhae snickered, her little cheeks going pink.
Daeron’s perpetually tired eyes glanced up under his helmet, the lance lifted up as he spoke.
“A favor from the princess?”
He cleared his throat as Rhae and Daella’s heads cocked in confusion.
Smith’s steel balls…really?
“The eldest…princess.”
You grinned immediately, gracefully rising and leaning over to gently place the favor on the lance. Daeron’s lips quirked as the ring slid down the length of it. He held your gaze a moment longer before someone coughed. Loudly.
He exhaled all at once before trotting back to the starting position. The horse reared, Daeron’s hands clutching for dear life, his lance shaking. Your father glared at you as you sat down with a smirk.
“Prince Daeron Targaryen will be facing off with Ser Gyldan Swann of Stonehelm!”
Another cheer from the crowd. Your father straightened up, violet eyes taking in the lordling with the swan on his helm. Aerion looked smug on the other side of Maekar, snorting, “How droll. A dragon to be routed by a swan.”
“Quiet,” Maekar grunted.
You sat back, hands in the velvet of your dress as the two men readied for the charge. The horn blasted, Daeron’s feet kicking the sides of his black steed. You held your breath as they barreled ahead, lances raised.
Your father nearly shouted, “Dig in! Dig the fuck in boy!”
They broke lances. You shuddered as they rounded the rails, Daeron almost missing the lance tossed his way. He was unsteady this charge, lance beginning to drop. You watched in horror as the Swann boy struck true— your brother’s shield cracking in his face and sent flying into the trodden dirt along with him. A collective sigh came from the box— yet the crowd mindlessly cheered for the display.
Daeron rolled a few times before lying on his back as his squire ran to aid the prince. You glanced at the favor far across the tilt yard. Maekar grimaced, rubbing his forehead as Aerion cackled with glee. Daella murmured, “Well! He made the first charge.”
Daeron was escorted away, barking for wine.
Maekar sighed and looked at you.
“Go on, see to him.”
You nodded gratefully, shocked as you grabbed his hand.
“Thank you Father.”
He waved you off with a roll of his eyes as you got up and hurried out of the box. You made your way to the tent, popping your head in.
“Gallant, so gallant,” Daeron lamented as his squire was undoing his armor. He grumbled as a maester pressed a cold rag and poultice to his darkening cheek. The older man murmured, “You have splinters my prince, I will have to extract them to prevent infection.”
Your brow raised as Daeron’s eyes widened. He nearly spat out his wine, stammering, “Extract. As in- in hot needles or- ah- tweezers.”
His pale eyes moved to you, sculpted features turning into a scowl. He drained his cup and handed it to you. The maester replied as he turned to the kit laid out, “Yes my prince, tweezers, not boiling, the splinters are superficial. It will be quick.”
Daeron sighed, “Seven fucks. More wine before you poke at my face.”
You refilled the cup, handing it over to your brother, a subtle smirk on your lips. He snatched it from your hands, sulking magnificently.
You sat on a nearby bench, watching as he gulped down more of the red liquid. He was wearing a padded tunic and simple breeches now.
“You rode quite well. I was impressed.”
He scoffed, wincing as he attempted a glare— a splinter coming forth within the tweezers at the movement. The maester kindly urged the blonde to keep still. You got up and stood next to him perched on the table, hand reaching for Daeron’s shaking one. The other gripped the goblet like a vise.
“I mean, you rode well considering your usual display of martial skill, Dare.”
“Spare me the bullshit sister, you know I’m born to lie in the dirt.”
You cast him a gentle look, squeezing his larger hand as you hummed, “You tried. Now you can nurse your wounds and do as you please the rest of the tourney.”
He huffed a laugh, amusement gracing Daeron’s features, “Small mercies.”
It was followed by a curse as another splinter was pulled from his cheek, Daeron’s hand gripping yours back. You surveyed the scene, humming, “Father shooed me off to see you, I believe that’s a good omen.”
“Liar. He detests our,” his eyes met the maester’s as he amended, “Detests you coddling his untalented son.”
You laughed at the man, thumb brushing his.
“Perhaps. I find it kind of father to send me to see if you were well.”
Daeron grunted as another splinter came out, pale orbs flicking over in your direction. He scoffed again. The maester was dabbing crushed herbs on his cheek, finishing up.
“Splendid. Have I become so pathetic that the Anvil pities his heir?”
“Mayhaps he’s pleased you didn’t outright refuse to enter the lists,” you suggested.
“Tch.”
The maester patched up his cheek and murmured, “Change the linens and apply more of this poultice, it should heal quickly my prince.”
The small man glanced at your hand intertwined with Daeron’s before bowing out of the tent. You snorted, coming round to sit between long legs, your hands moving to Daeron’s thighs.
Your brother finished his cup, eyes heavy as he regarded you. The prince’s hand relinquished yours as he cupped your cheek, humming, “You look so pleased, you know that? Here I am, splintered and sore, my nerves in disarray and you’re grinning like a fool.”
You rolled your eyes and cooed, “Poor, poor Prince Daeron. You’ve been down to the seventh hell itself.”
He helplessly smiled again, a rare one with teeth, eyes gleaming. He leaned closer with stained lips, spiced wine on his breath. You inhaled softly, closing the distance until your lips were mere inches apart.
“I’d go again for you,” he murmured vaguely, lips ruefully turning up. You frowned some. You knew damn well he dreamed of horrors unspoken, but he would try now and then to appear less fearful. To try made your bewitched heart thumb.
He nipped your lip before adding, “You were supposed to laugh. Melodrama is my specialty.” His hand shifted on your cheek, tilting your head to the side.
“You’re a fool,” you hummed.
His lips touched yours before pressing with more intent. You leaned against Daeron, slotting snugly between his thighs. You kissed back, a lackadaisical pace of lips brushing against another, soft smacks in the quiet tent.
Daeron’s hands slid around to cup your arse, groaning as his palms slid across the velvet, your giving flesh soft beneath the touch. Your breath hitched, heaving breasts pressed tight to his body. You whined into his mouth, tongue lapping into the warmth.
He let you take over, moving along as your tongue flicked against his playfully before massaging sensually. Daeron’s hands were growing restless, greedy. He pulled back— pale eyes blown dark with lust.
You whined, chasing his lips. Your lover exhaled, “Hold on.” He promptly picked you up to your surprise and squeak, walking you over to one of the plush settees. You clung to his shoulders, breath quickening as he nosed at your throat, pressing sweet kisses.
Daeron eased you down onto the crimson cushions, arranging himself between your thighs. He laughed against your throat, throwing a leg out to get settled. You grabbed a fistful of sandy hair, swallowing down a whine as the prince kissed your chest and your breasts popping up from the bust of your dress.
“We need to be quick about it, we’ll take our sweet time back in Summerhall, sweet sister,” he rasped, mouth hanging open as he eyed your tits. You squirmed under his weight, snapping, “On with it then, suppose Ser Donnell will not want to see your pale ass.”
He gave you a precious toothy smile, a hand diving down to unlace his breeches. You bunched up your skirts, eyes wild with need. He groaned as his cock was freed, eyes slipping shut.
His long fingers slipped under your bunched skirts, tracing along your slick core. The prince practically whined, dark brows furrowing as he spoke, “Gods, always ready for me aren’t you? My knightly show of favors and eating dirt really got you going.”
You rolled your eyes, reaching down to wrap your fingers around his cock. You huffed, “I’ll admit, I quite liked the favor, yet I find you just as tantalizing with your horrid poetry.”
He paused, an indignant look on his face, moaning as you pumped him a few times.
“H-horrid? You beastly woman.”
“Fuck me,” you hissed.
Daeron rolled his eyes as he gently batted your hand away, reaching forth to swirl a thumb around your swollen bud before nudging his cock against your entrance. The prince hissed, eyes closing again, lovely lips open with shuddery breath.
You wrapped your legs around his hips, heels digging into Daeron’s ass, head falling back as he eased into your cunt. You bit down on your lip at the utter fullness, the heat and pressure forcing noises up.
“Yes, seven glorious hells, fuck me beloved,” you groaned, arching into him.
He began to fuck into you at a breakneck pace, your dress muffling the lurid slaps and squelches of coupling. Daeron began to kiss you again, chasing the pleasure with his lower body. Yet his lips and tongue were gentle— savoring any part of you he could.
You gripped his shoulders, whimpering between kisses as hoarse whines left his throat, the pair of you moving in sync now. He began to thumb your clit again, sucking on your bottom lip, nipping before the prince babbled, “Close, ah- can you feel it, hah, I can feel you, such a perfect body for me.”
You trembled as his cock struck much better than his lance, hitting a soft spot that sent your thighs to quaking. Your brother let out a gutted wheeze, cursing before rubbing you faster, the pace of his hips growing disjointed.
You could almost laugh as he covered your mouth with a big hand— Daeron knew your whines would grow louder. You huffed against his palm, lashes fluttering as your belly grew tight, pleasure striking up your spine and settling in your tender nethers. Your cunt clamped down and gushed along his prick as you cried out, fingers digging in.
Daeron’s eyes rolled back as he fucked in desperate little thrusts, whimpery little noises leaving his throat as the prince’s seed spilled within you— thick and molten. He whined through his nose, a few more thrusts before he fell onto the floor beside the settee, heaving.
You dazedly glanced over before beginning to snicker.
“I didn’t want- hngh- fuck- crush you,” he puffed.
You rolled onto your side, hiding your giggles. “So you fell onto the floor?”
“S’what I’m good at, sister dear,” he exhaled, glossy periwinkle eyes on you.
After a moment of gathering yourself, you found a rag to clean the dripping mess of your cunt. You grunted as you got up and knelt to tuck Daeron’s soft prick back in his breeches, lacing them up.
You were rewarded with a half smile and a tender kiss to your palm.
You kissed Dare one more time before getting up, nudging him with your stocking-clad foot, “Get up and act like we didn’t just defile the place.”
When Maekar and the younger ones arrived later your stern father stopped, eyes narrowing at you two playing a simple game of dice and cards. Egg ran over, chirping, “Let me play, let me play.”
You shrugged and handed the boy his deck.
Maekar stood imposingly. Impassive. Calculating.
Daeron turned around, cheek still bandaged and his formerly mussed hair brushed. He raised a brow.
“Something the matter father? Aerion stab another horse?”
Your father remained stern, Daella and Rhae watching on with fear…perhaps amusement. He rumbled, “There is a scent in here.”
You shrugged, eyes wide, “Oh, Daeron opened some bad wine. Then spilled it.”
Silence. A tilt of his stern head.
“Stormlander piss no doubt,” he huffed, going to sit at his desk.
You and Daeron shared a look— the not-so-hidden secret unspoken for now.
riding daeron and his mouth is just hanging open and he’s so fucking loud, panting and moaning and whimpering, someone is going to hear. so you stick your fingers in his mouth and he sucks on them while giving you the biggest most pleading fuck me eyes, convincing you to ride him harder.
his favourite position is you riding him. he gets to be lazy and have a show. in return you get to use him however you want to make yourself feel good. he’ll take whatever you give - he’ll get clingy and squirming if you tease him, but he’s too much of a sub to try to take control back from you when you’re on top.
he wants to stay buried in your tits. doesn’t matter if your’s are big or small - large breasts he can suffocate in, smaller ones he can nuzzle and listen to your heartbeat. he has a bad night and he wants to stumble into your room and pull down your dress far enough he can hide his face against your breasts until he falls asleep. he also wants his face in them while you ride him.
he is CLINGY and holding you but in a way that is absolutely subservient and desperate
he is LOUD. L O U D. man does not shut up and he can’t be sneaky or quiet about it. mostly noise or unintelligible begging rather than words. lots of pants and whines and moans. little ‘uh uh uh’s. and fuck, he whimpers.
call him a good boy and watch him cum about it
he gets pussy drunk. will eat you out and whine if you pull away after cumming, trying to pull you back on to his face. begs you to keep riding him even after he’s cum and is overly sensitive.
in line with the above point, if he’s on top he’s basically just flat over you and humping. sometimes doesn’t even have his cock inside you or it slips out and he just keeps humping.
do you think that since sunday was so used to ruling the dreamscape and making sure to realign people straying from the Family values that he'll sometimes walk into other peoples dreams post charmony festival.
do you think he ever ends up wandering into your dreams, where you as your sleeping think hes apart of the dream. and bc its a dream and youve had dreams about him before dream you just assume its dream sunday and you pout over how hes late to your date before dragging him all around wherever your dream is located.
do you think he has trouble looking you in the eye the first day after he stumbles into one of them. do you think he ends up stumbling into them more and more because he likes you and in your dreams you are so honest about how you feel about him.
do you think one day he slips up and greets you good morning with a kiss. do you think he doesnt even realise what he did because it felt so natural until one of the others (probably march) squeals over it and he turns as red as a cherry and hides his face in his wings.
the village women always talked too loud near the market .
your plan had only been to buy silken thread and fresh scallions , but somewhere between the flower stalls and the cloth merchants , you had gotten stuck in the middle of their giggling .
you weren’t part of their circle . you never really spoke enough to be . but you listened .
and today , they talked about their husbands . in graphic , unfiltered detail .
“you should’ve seen his face when i wore that sheer yukata — he couldn’t even wait until the door was closed .”
“mine nearly broke the table last week . you ever bent over for him while kneading dough ?”
“oh , and the look he gets when i wear those little ankle bells — makes him rut like an animal .”
you nearly dropped your basket .
ankle bells ? sheer ? kneading ??
your body was warm all the way home .
they sounded so sure . so knowing . like they had some power you didn’t . and it wasn’t that madara ever made you feel unwanted — he had a possessive touch , firm and hot and claiming — but you’d never initiated anything .
never teased . never tempted .
you didn’t know how ; but you wanted to try .
which is how you ended up in front of the mirror , nervous hands smoothing down the front of borrowed lace , trembling just a little as you smudged gloss over your lips and tried to remember what they said about perfume .
you weren’t sure if you were even doing it right .
the lace was scratchy , your thighs were bare , and the way you tried to pose made you look more like you were falling than flirting .
still , you waited . you perched on the edge of the futon , shy and soft and mostly naked , until you heard the door open downstairs .
his footsteps were heavy . mud tracked in . boots carelessly kicked off . his chakra rolled ahead of him like heat from a fire , loud and rough . he’d just come back from a skirmish — dried blood stained his sleeves , and his expression was unreadable .
“tadaima ,” he muttered gruffly , unbothered , before his gaze fell on you . ( translation : i'm home )
then he stopped .
his brows drew in .
you squirmed under his stare .
“… what are you wearing ?” he asked .
your voice was barely a whisper . “… lace .”
“i can see that .”
silence stretched .
“i thought ,” you started , hands twisting in your lap , “you might like it . i heard the women in the village talking about… things they do . for their husbands .”
he stepped closer , slow and towering . his fingers came to your chin , tilting your head to really look at you .
your lips were painted . your lashes curled . the lace did little to hide the soft curve of your breasts or the way your thighs pressed together in nervous anticipation .
his jaw clenched .
“they said their husbands liked this kind of thing ,” you added .
madara’s voice was low ; flat . “and you listen to them now ?”
“i just wanted to try .”
his thumb swiped along your bottom lip . “this gloss — tastes fake .”
you flushed . “i’m sorry …”
“hn .” he pushed the straps of the lace down your shoulders , letting the garment fall to your waist . his gaze drank you in like he hadn’t seen you bare before . like you were something new .
“… you did your makeup for me ?” he asked , quieter now .
you nodded .
his eyes softened — but only barely . then he was lifting you into his arms , bridal-style , carrying you across the room and laying you flat on the futon like you were something fragile .
he hovered over you , one large hand pressing into the mattress beside your head , the other gripping your thigh , spreading it wide .
“you’re nervous ,” he said . it wasn’t a question .
your voice was a breath . “a little …”
“i told you ,” he murmured , dipping his head to kiss your cheek , your jaw , “i like you as you are .”
“but i wanted to —”
he silenced you with a kiss — slow , deep , possessive . his tongue tasted your gloss before devouring it , lips moving over yours with too much skill for how still you laid beneath him . you whimpered , hands sliding up his bloodstained uniform as your thighs fell open further , accommodating his body .
then you felt him — hard , thick , grinding between your slick folds through the lace still bunched at your hips .
“oh — madara —”
“still pretending to be a temptress ,” he whispered against your throat , “when you’re this wet just from my mouth .”
he bit you then . hard . right above your collarbone .
you yelped , clutching at his broad shoulders .
his laugh was dark . “lace can’t make you into something you’re not .”
and yet , he was obsessed — with your trembling , with your squirming , with how you arched into him every time he muttered something cruel .
his fingers pushed the lace aside , dragging through your folds , circling your clit until you were gasping and glassy-eyed .
“you going to show me how those women told you to act ?” he teased , voice like gravel . “or are you going to keep falling apart like always ?”
you could barely answer .
your hands fisted in the sheets as he pushed into you , thick and stretching , each inch a devastating intrusion that made your toes curl .
madara growled at the feel of you . “still tight . you never learn .”
your whimper was wordless , thighs shaking as he set a rhythm that made your head spin — deep , sharp thrusts that grazed everything tender .
his hands held your waist , lifting your hips to meet him with bruising strength .
and you were vocal .
desperately so .
soft moans spilled from your mouth every time he bottomed out , every time his thumb found your clit , every time his mouth sank to your throat to bite .
“look at you ,” he hissed . “you thought this little outfit would tempt me ?”
you nodded helplessly , tears brimming from pleasure .
“you’ve got no idea what you’re doing ,” he sneered — but he was holding you tighter now . thrusting harder . voice ragged . “but fuck , you’re mine .”
you broke first , of course — sobbing into his shoulder as your climax tore through you , your voice wrecked and breathless . he came just after , buried deep , growling your name like it hurt .
he stayed inside you for a moment . breathing hard .
then —
“i liked the makeup .”
you blinked up at him .
“but don’t listen to those damn women again ,” he muttered . “they don’t know what i come home for .”
I think most of us agree that the Strifesodos Soulmate fics from skyeec2 were amazing. So at the risk of being a copycat, I’m doing some too…in random order…and scattered about.
Ma always told him he was a picky eater. He’d move around his peaches on his plate but gobble up his grapes; scarf down his broccoli, but not touch his green beans.
It was, of course, to Cloud’s misfortune that his soul mate was not. He got used to it over time, the bland and sometimes horrid taste of whatever that person put in their mouths and ate, but that never meant he liked it. His mother laughed at the face he made before lunches and suppers. He ate carefully…trying to mask whatever the poor soul on the other side was undoubtedly being forced to eat.
But it became a game for him. What could he mix in to make it taste better? He learned his problem with peaches wasn’t the fruit, just the syrup that they came in the can with, and a little honey stopped him from gagging on them. The cheese their neighbor made from her goats set a good contrast to the dry, tasteless bread the other ate oh so often.
His mother gave him the revelation though. Since he was forced to taste his soulmate’s diet…his soulmate also tasted his.
Good, he thought, at least I’m easing their suffering.
Leaving Nibelhiem was a tasteful adventure all on it’s own. He had intended to join the Military, but only got as far as Junon before someone noticed he had a gift with food.
Cloud thought he was sharing part of his lunch with a down trodden stranger. Instead his rotten luck actually worked for once. The stranger owned restaurant.
“You made this?” he said, eyeing the sandwich. Cloud nodded not knowing why turkey on rye was such a revelation…or maybe it was his homemade dressing…
Cloud found himself in a kitchen in front of a very cranky looking chef who eyed him for a long while. He stumbled and fumbled his way around the kitchen, beet red the whole time. This was nothing like his Ma’s stove at home.
But the look of surprise on the chef’s face when he took the first bite…
“All right,” he said, “you got talent with food…just not with the tools.” And Cloud decided maybe Junon wasn’t so bad since he got a job…er apprenticeship really.
And as Cloud got better and better at cooking, the meals from his soulmate somehow grew worse.
“How can you even swallow this?” Cloud wondered out loud before trying to gargle the taste away.
Cloud always loved the dinner rush, the chaos, the heat…and the fact that he could sneak little nibbles…mostly to check that it tasted the way he wanted it to.
Mostly.
Cloud would swear up and down that he was used to his soulmate’s cursed palate and could handle how gross his diet was. He really thought he was used to it.
Until he realized that the taste in his mouth wasn’t making him think about gagging. It was down-right delicious, it nearly made his mouth-water.
He was so shocked about the change he almost missed the most important detail.
It was the house special for tonight: Cloud’s signature Mac N’ Cheese specialty. He’d cooked this himself.
“God Damn I’m good,” Cloud sighed before drifting out the kitchen doors. He waved over a waiter looking at everyone who ordered macaroni. They all looked pleased with it. He zeroed in on someone who looked positively transported. Cloud ducked back in, ignoring all of the stares from his fellow cooks, and stole a piece of cheesecake. And a fork.
Strange green eyes blinked up at Cloud as he marched over, plate in hand. Silver bangs bobbed as his head turned.
“Don’t ask,” Cloud said, “just eat it.” There was a long moment of tension…and Cloud realized this man was not eating alone. His friends were staring at him. Then he took up the fork and took a small piece of the cake. The flavor spread across Cloud’s tongue and understanding spread across the man’s face.
“Thank god,” Cloud said, “I don’t know what the hell you’ve been eating…but no more. For the love of god, no more.”
