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arabellasleopardcoat · 18 hours

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Hi babe, congrats on your milestone!❤️

It's so hard to pick between all these choices😩

Would you please write for Harwin Strong - spanking🧎🏻‍♀️

Win some, lose some (Harwin Strong x Reader)

Summary: Harwin and his wife have a disagreement over communication skills. The end result is exactly as the title says.

Warnings: Mature language. Spanking. Established dom/sub dynamics. Light aftercare. I'm not sure it counts as smut but smut?

Requested: Yes! I get it, tough choices. Hope you enjoy!

A/N: Due to a mistake on my part, I did not erase the space for spanking on time. I got two requests. So, Alicent anon, don't worry. I will write yours too, but I will try to space it out to not post two similar fics.

You sit on a small armchair by the fire with a sullen expression. Nerves pool on your stomach, but they are quickly won over by the feelings of annoyance. You have been told you will get punished after he is done working, but you are more angry than scared. You did act out to get his attention, and even then, Harwin cannot even pretend to care. He is just treating your punishment as another task in a long list he has to fulfill before going to bed.

Harwin sits at his desk, going over something that has countless numbers and math. A budget, most likely. You know the Master of Coins has been pressuring the gold cloaks into tightening their belts, or so to speak.

The transition of leadership has not been an easy thing. Many of the men were loyal not to their cause, protecting the citizens of King’s Landing, but to their previous Commander.

You do not begrudge Harwin for taking the position. It was an honorable one, being the Lord Commander of the City Watch. It spoke of the trust both his father and the King had in his abilities at combat and leadership. Yet… You can’t help but feel that the change has taken its toll on your marriage.

He is always busy. Gone are the days that you would spend lazing around in bed or curled together by the fire. Or even the days Harwin took you for a ride or hunt. Now, he comes to your shared rooms at odd hours, and gets up every day at the crack of dawn.

You try to remind yourself that Harwin is a busy man, and that his attention and opinions are required elsewhere. The men need him to direct the training exercises, the council wants his input for the security of the King as he visits the small folk. It’s a good thing.

You squirm in your seat, pouting. Harwin looks up from his papers and tuts.

“Don’t. You will only get yourself in more trouble if you keep pouting.”

“I just don’t think I deserve to be punished.” You answer, bravely. And it’s the truth. You don’t feel like you deserve a punishment. Why did you have to obey his silly rules when he was not there to witness the consequences of your disobedience? What was the point, even? Harwin was never home.

“I doubt that’s your decision to make. If it depended on the rule breakers, all the cells would be empty.” Harwin’s voice was collected and calm. Cold, even. Yet, it was not that what made your blood boil. His words were. The comparison. It reminded you of the reason all of this started. Why did he have to bring work into everything? It seemed that even in your time together, he was not fully present. He simply cared more about his job than he cared about his wife.

“… You said I was allowed to stay in your study if I didn’t distract you.” You retorted, gritting your teeth. Your whole face was heating, not in shame but anger. Your ears were burning, your neck felt hot, and you were about to do something that you would really regret. Closing your eyes, you breathed in deeply.

“And what did you do?” Harwin put the parchment and quill down. He looked at you for the first time. His expression was unreadable. You thought of getting up and grabbing that dammed budget and tearing it to pieces.

“I was not distracting you! I was only… Playing with myself.” And what if you were? Really. It could hardly be called that. You had only been squeezing your thighs together. And perhaps rolling your hips a little. “And I never touched myself!”

Why did you have to obey his silly rules? He was never here. The prohibition for touching yourself had started as a fun way to spice up your bedroom activities. Harwin enjoyed your neediness, when you had not been touched for a while. You suspected he also enjoyed the idea of being the only one that got to touch you in such a way.

Before, it had not been hard to comply. As any self-respecting young maiden, fearful of the Seven, you had never even approached a hand towards your cunny. Only for washing yourself, and never lingering or exploring too much.

Harwin had been the one who had introduced you to the pleasures of the flesh. It had been him who had encouraged you to explore all the wondrous feelings your body had to offer. Doing it without him seemed silly. You had touched yourself at his instance, and found great pleasure, but it was not the same that when it was his hands on your skin.

But after nearly a month of not being able to have sex with your husband, you understood exactly why you would want to please yourself. You craved the release. Even if you knew it would not be the same, you were so desperate, any peak would be better than no peak. Even if it were one brought on by yourself.

It was hardly your fault. Anyone would feel aroused after nearly a month with only stolen kisses to get you by. The sight of your husband in only a linen shirt and pants, bent over his desk had been too much. Watching as the muscles of his back flexed, how his big hands swallowed the quill he was using to take notes. All that, mixed with the goblet of wine you had been nursing and the fact that Harwin had handed you his cloak to keep warm. Surrounded by his smell, inhibitions lowered by the wine, it was a miracle you had not jumped his bones yet.

You felt like you were burning up with need. So you squeezed your thighs a little, and rubbed against the edge of your chair. You didn’t try to be subtle, secretly hoping that the sight of your neediness might entice him to do something about it.

“That’s hardly better, little one. You were purposefully looking for loopholes.” Harwin said, oblivious to your thought process. He wore a stern expression that made you want to fold immediately.

A month, you reminded yourself. You had been feeling alone for a month.

“I know, but you had not been paying attention to me!” You complained, steeling yourself. This was a discussion you truly wanted to have beyond brattiness. It had not only been the lack of marital duties, but you missed spending time with him.

It comes out whinier than you intended. Much more pitiful, too. You don't realize, but Harwin's mood immediately shifts, from playful to serious. He can tell this is truly bothering you.

Harwin pulled his chair back and spread his legs slightly. Your mouth nearly watered at the sight of his thighs spread in a pose that was so dominant.

“Come here.” He ordered, brows pinching together. You didn't want to, knowing only punishment could await from your defiance. But you still did. Once you were in front of him, Harwin caressed your cheek with his thumb. “Was my poor wife feeling neglected?”

To your horror, your eyes started to feel watery.

“You spend all your time with the gold cloaks. Never with me.” Then, in a whisper so small, it tugged at Harwin's heartstrings. “Do you not want me anymore?”

“I had not noticed you missed me so.” He confesses, pulling you into his lap. His touch is gentle, as always. His hands feel warm and solid against your waist. You straddle one of his thighs, still pouting. Harwin pulls you even closer. “I will make time for you, from now on.”

“Thank you.” You mutter shyly on his neck. It's what you needed to hear. You stay on his lap for a while, cuddling in silence. The steady thump of his heart and his warmth comfort you. It's something you have deeply missed.

Despite wanting nothing more than just curl into his lap and sleep the night away, you still feel restless. Your button throbs between your legs, wanting attention. You cannot help but wonder what it would feel like, getting ravished by your husband after so long. How his hands would feel on your skin, deliciously calloused. How his face would pinch in the sweetest agony. How he would sound, entering you.

Would he be capable of sliding right in, with how wet you are? Or would Harwin have to open you up as he had done on your first night together?

You squirm. Harwin, thinking you are uncomfortable, shifts you to sit properly on his lap, resting his forehead on top of your head. The casual display of strength makes even more wetness gather between your thighs.

“Are you alright, Wife?” Harwin starts running his hand over your hair, soothingly. He is unable to see your expression, and you are glad for it. You are so embarrassed it's starting to be physically painful. Here is Harwin, trying to comfort you, and you can't think of anything else but getting him into bed.

"You are much too pretty to be shedding tears over the likes of me. I apologize, for being so lacking lately. I have been paying so much attention to my duties with the King and forgotten about my most important ones.”

“Harwin…” That he regrets it had not even crossed your mind. Too blinded by your feelings, you had never thought about how your outburst would make him feel.

“As your husband, I made a vow. To be always yours. To protect you. I have not fulfilled either of those duties, being so far away.” He whispers, very quietly. You want to reassure him, but are unsure how.

“You always come home to me.” You go back to your previous position, straddling his thigh, to be able to look him in the eyes. It breaks your heart. His brown eyes are all hurt puppy.

“Perhaps physically. But my mind is still away, even when by your side. It's not right. You are my Lady. Mine to cherish. I have been a poor husband to you.” And it is true. You had thought about it, using much harsher words. Harwin clearly didn’t mean to hurt you, but you had been trying to rile him up on purpose. It makes you feel awful. You don’t want him to feel bad about himself, you just wanted to air out your frustrations.

“Never say that. Never.” You muttered, fiercely, touching your forehead to his. “I have never thought you a bad husband.”

“Only because you are too kind. I will do better, Wife.”

You sigh, knowing it's no use contradicting him. Instead, you pull him in for a kiss, hoping he can hear all you cannot say. The kiss starts to get heated very soon, his hands grasping greedily at your hips. It has been a month since you had the time to do more than just kiss. Time to play one of your games. Both of you crave it, need it.

As you pull apart, you give him a naughty little grin.

"I still broke your rules.”

Harwin chuckles. His eyes have turned dark, pupils blown with lust.

“Dirty girl. Do you want a punishment?”

“Yes, please.” You look up at him, all starry eyed. Perhaps he will tell you to spend the night on your knees, serving him. Or perhaps you will have to obey his every command. Or, if you are very lucky, you will get to peak over and over until you pass out.

Your breath hitches in excitement. You can't wait.

“Over my lap. Hike up your nightgown.”

The words burst your bubble immediately. Your shoulders slumped and you went back to pouting. Spanking was not what you had expected. While the physical side of it was fun, a little pain to go with your pleasure, it always wore you out mentally. There was something about it that left you feeling very vulnerable.

You understood why Harwin did it, though. It was an easy way to put you in your place. Spanking you in such a manner tugged at your subconscious. It was the manner in which children were punished. He doesn’t need harsh words or much pain to force you into submission. In fact, it stings even more when he does so with gentle words. You feel silly, after it. Harwin will coo and call you his good girl, and you will melt for him and do as he says.

"But… But…” You protest, despite knowing it’s useless.

“You thought you would get something else?” Harwin asks, carefully tucking your hair behind your ears. His hands almost swallow your face. It gets you all shy. “My poor wife. Where did all your intelligence go? You know you did a poor job of communicating your needs. Instead of telling me of your loneliness, you threw a tantrum."

“I… Harwin…” You plead, looking up at him. You are not sure what you are begging for. For Harwin to guide you, perhaps. You feel helpless.

“Over my knee.”

Faced with the choice, you cannot bear the thought of disappointing him further. He is right, in a turnabout way. You could have done things different. In another life, a perfect one, you would have knocked the door to his study and asked to talk. You would have sat, like two adults, and told him you were frustrated because you missed him. Instead, you had mixed the games the two of you play with your real anger, turning into a bratty mess.

You want to fix things. To not have to think, anymore. You take off his cloak and fold it neatly. Then, you hike up your nigh shift and lay down on his lap. You rest your hands on the floor, stretching to be able to do so.

“Don't. You could hurt yourself.” Harwin rubbed your arse, gently. Warming you up. Then, without warning, his hand came down. You nearly shrieked. The sting was harsh, yet he seemed unwilling to let up. His hand came down again and again, in the same spot. You knew Harwin, though. Soon, it was not only going to sting. He liked building you up to it.

His hand moves to your other cheek, spanking you with a slightly curved hand. It hurts differently, that way. It allows him to feel the overheated skin, how the flesh wiggles with each impact.

Shame curls around your spine, twisting your stomach. You are still wet. It’s a deeply humiliating feeling. You are unable to think clearly, your mind slow and weary. As if you were treading through molasses.

“I will not make you count, but you have to behave. No trying to get away.” Harwin warned, before spanking you again. This time, you started wiggling your toes in discomfort, fighting the urge to kick and scream.

Your bottom feels already hot and abused, but Harwin is not letting up. You are really starting to hurt. Your vision starts to blur, and you try to grasp at the carpet, fighting to stay afloat. It’s no use, no use at all. Soon you are weeping with all you have.

“Are you going to stop being a good girl for me?” Harwin asks, rubbing soothingly at your shoulder blades. It’s only then that you realize you have been wiggling around, trying to get away from the pain.

“I’m… Har-…Harwin… Sorry.” You blubber, unable to form the sentence right. You want to speak, but you are crying too hard for it. You feel dumb. Look at you, a noble lady with access to the best education Westeros has to offer. You had the best tutors, a Septa all to yourself. An education fit for a Princess. Yet, you can’t create a single sentence, overwhelmed by your feelings.

Too big feelings, Harwin had called them once. You were, after all, a silly girl who needed her husband to guide her. Sometimes, your feelings get the best of you and make you unable to think clearly.

That was why you liked these games. Submitting quieted all the voices in your head. There was nothing except obedience requiring your attention. Harwin made all the tough choices and took care of you, and you could focus on only being.

“You are doing so good.” Harwin whispered, as he rubbed at the already abused skin. You hated how much it made you preen, getting praised. “So good for me. Just a little longer, and we will be done.”

You slump on his lap, defeated. The hits keep raining on your vulnerable behind, and this time you are unable to quiet down. You whine, and weep and scream, but do not move an inch. You are sweating with the effort from keeping still, and there is nothing you want more than to bang your palms against the floor in a fit of rage. But you do not. You keep still and focus on being good for Harwin.

Your mind slows down. There is nothing but the pain, and breathing through it. Like being submerged in syrup, thoughts barely form before sinking heavily. You blink, trying to focus, but are unable to. There is only Harwin.

His smell, his hands so big against you. His warm thighs under your stomach. His erection pressing against you, the way he sounds, excited little inhales at each hit. How he times them, alternating the placement in a predictable two-one count. Reliable. To care for you, hold you down, push you when you need him too.

Time drags on. Perhaps it’s only a few minutes, or perhaps hours pass. You are unable to tell. Harwin lowers you gently to the rug and lays down beside you, careful not to press into your arse.

“How are you?” He asks, tenderly brushing your tears away. You blink up at him, hazily. Still trapped in molasses, the words seem uttered from far away. You sniffle.

Harwin smiles at you. You don’t feel capable of speaking just yet. With great effort, you raise your hand and brush his cheekbone. He leans into your touch.

“I see, I see.” Harwin chuckles, and pulls you closer to him. You go willingly, nearly purring in contentment.

You drift off like that, head on his chest, nestled close to his heart.

#self reblog of a personal fave #harwin strong x reader #i loved writing for him #got my tyrell reader in the works

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arabellasleopardcoat · 23 hours

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Speak now (Alicent Hightower x Reader)

Summary: Alicent is not too sure of how she feels about you. Or about the fact you just proposed to run away. But she is sure about how she feels about the wedding.

Warnings: Canon typical angst. Mature language. Violence. Screaming at Viserys.

Requested: Yes! Enemies to lovers + Alicent. Not answered in the original ask because it contained two requests.

Alicent stayed kneeling before the statue of The Mother. She paid no mind as Rhaenyra and you exited the Sept. The two of you were little more than a pair of heathens, in her eyes. Neither took seriously the worship of the Seven, believing in your foreign gods.

Not her, though. She knew her duties.

“Forgive me Mother, for I have sinned by pride in my abundant evil iniquitous and heinous thoughts.”

And Alicent had. One would say, being the daughter of the Lord Hand himself and a close companion to the Princess, she was the most envied maiden in all the Kingdoms. Men praised her beauty, she was often called the prettiest girl at court.

But as of late, Alicent had started to experience what most girls her age experienced when looking at her. And it was all because of you.

A daughter of Corlys Velaryon, your arrival at court had come at the prompting of the King himself. He was looking to remarry, and who was better suited to the task than the eldest daughter of one of the last houses of Old Valyria?

Everyone praised your grace and intelligence. You were nowhere nearly as beautiful as Alicent was, or so her father said. But you had the striking coloring of the Velaryons, and knew more languages than she could count. Light as a feather on your feet, dexterous as a hawk on your dragon, there was no way Alicent could compete.

Rhaenyra had eyed you with distrust, then. She hated the idea of you sweeping in and taking her mother's place. Alicent, though, had been secretly relieved. Her father's plot had been trumped.

The King had asked to take a walk in the gardens with you, one morning. You had gone, nearly shoved towards it by your father. Whatever it happened during that walk, you had both come back changed. The King, deathly pale, and you, triumphant with a grin like the sharpest steel.

Your father had been angry, but had not dared to pull you from court. No, because whatever you had done to deter Viserys had cemented you as Rhaenyra's most trusted companion.

Alicent had started to envy you, then. What was it about you that made you so fearless? Why could you say no to a man like Viserys? Her father said you had ruined your chance, but to Alicent, you had not. Instead, you had done the brave thing and fought for your freedom. And not only that. You had won.

She wished she could be a little more like you. Women never won, in her experience. Not Rhaenyra, not her. Not even her mother, not even the late Queen Aemma. What made you so special? Whatever it was, she wanted it.

Rhaenyra just loved you. She praised you constantly, and asked you to go everywhere with her. Even, where Alicent couldn't follow. You had a dragon. An awful, ill-mannered beast that had the foulest temper. Just like her owner. Rhaenyra and you spent the mornings flying and playing chase, while Alicent remained forgotten on the ground.

Every time you entered a room, Alicent's blood boiled. She felt as if she was on fire from how much the thoughts consumed her. She hated you. She hated you. She hated you because she wanted so badly to be you.

With no one to divert King's Viserys' attention, Alicent found herself cornered. Her father said it was a good thing, that the King realized he didn't need a spirited wife. You were a wild, willful maiden, with teeth as sharp as the ones on your dragon. Were you made Queen, you would have bled Westeros dry. Alicent was much better suited to the task, meek and subservient as women should be.

But if she was all those things, as her father said, why did she feel such rage? By the Seven, when you were near, Alicent wanted to scratch your face to shreds.

Envy. It was envy and it was a sin. She often tried to remind herself of that, when she saw you parading around the Red Keep, surrounded by Rhaenyra and a round of age appropriate suitors.

It didn't work to calm her heart.

“Are you still in here?” Your voice brings her out of her contemplation. You stand at the entrance of the Sept, a quirky little smile on your face. "It's been quite a while.”

Alicent looks at the candle she had lit, when the three of you had come to the Sept earlier this morning. It's burned almost completely, only the smallest piece of wick and wax remaining. She has stayed here for hours and barely noticed. That strong of a hold you had over her thoughts.

“Evidently.” Alicent answers, tone harsh. Your face drops slightly.

“I didn't mean to disturb you. Rhaenyra is looking for you, that's all.” You are not even that pretty. Alicent is much more comely. Your features always glimmer with a hint of intellegence that's just not proper for a lady of your station.

“I'll go when I am ready.”

You leave her alone with her thoughts and the sparks of the fire. If you were a better person, perhaps you would have stayed. But you are not, so you run off as always, chasing whatever inane pleasures you are always up to.

Not even a week passes before that awful announcement. No one tells her. She finds the same as anyone else. Rhaenyra's look of betrayal is etched into her memory.

She isn't quite sure of what to feel. Alicent knows this is a great thing, she will turn into the most powerful woman in the realm. Nothing could bring her house more honor, there is no greater achievement of her duty.

At the same time, she is terrified. King Viserys is not the kind of man she ever dreamed of marrying. Alicent had hoped for a groom closer to her age. The fact that he is Rhaenyra's father makes her skin crawl with disgust.

When she had thought of marriage, she had always envisioned it as being like what her parents had. Alicent remembers the times when her mother was alive, how her father had tended to her, how much he had mourned her. That was true love, she had thought. True love a thousand times. A love so powerful her father never remarried, never even looked at another woman.

But while Viserys was old enough to be her father, he was not half the man Otto Hightower was. Instead of remaining in proper mourning, he had started making arrangements immediately to marry another.

Even your sister, tiny Laena Velaryon, had been considered. Alicent had found out because of the hell you had raised, when she was sent on her own walk with the King. You had screamed at your father until you went hoarse, and received a hearty slap as a reward. Not even that had stopped you from looming menacingly at the entrance of the Red Keep, watching them with hawk's eyes. Viserys had decided he would not marry her either.

What was it about you? Gods, Alicent knew she should be the happiest maid in Westeros. Her father's plots to secure a future for her had been well rewarded, she was about to do her duty in the most spectacular manner. No longer would her father have to fear for her like yours did. The most important man, the one blessed by the Gods themselves to rule Westeros, had chosen her. Yet, Alicent still envied you.

It made no sense. You could not be in a worse position. You were spinning out of control, or so everyone said. First, it had been the rejection of the King's advances, then the screaming match with your father. There was a certain strength in your rebelliousness, though. You braved the rumors with your head held high, strolling through the halls of the Red Keep as if you owned the place.

Rhaenyra was never far from you now, either. That, too, she envied. Before your appearance, they had been thick as thieves. Suddenly, she was all about you, and none about Alicent. This marriage proposal had been perceived as the ultimate betrayal, and she didn't seem to believe Alicent when she had tried telling her she had not known.

You tried to go on with your normal routine regardless. Every time you got the chance, you tried reuniting Rhaenyra and Alicent in one room. You must get a lot of enjoyment out of seeing Rhaenyra yell at her because once more, you had organized for the three of you to have tea. It was not going well. Or it was going very well for you. Alicent could not tell.

“You could have refused him.” Rhaenyra slammed her hand against the table. Unperturbed, you stared between the two of them.

Alicent felt the urge to scream and scream and never stop. This was terribly unreasonable. But instead, what came out of her mouth was…

“He is the King!”

“He is my father!” And with that last shriek, Rhaenyra was out of the parlor.

“He never asked.” Alicent growled, slamming her own hand on the table. She couldn't afford to scream, less the guards hear. But she surely felt like it.

You sprawled back on your seat, an amused expression taking over your face. Alicent wanted to slap the smug look off your face.

“He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.”

“He asked you?” Alicent's head turns. Of course he would. You were so important, after all. So freaking perfect. So learned and special. Oh, how she wanted to grab you by all that pretty hair and tug.

“I said no. And I said I would rather die than marry him, for he was as old as my father and a bad man, who would sacrifice his wife as if she were a breeding bitch…” It is as if once the words start tumbling out of your mouth, you can't stop them, blurting them without a care. There is a strange look in your eyes. “And then I said I would feed his limp dick to my dragon if he ever tried to force me, and raze his fucking Kingdom to the ground.”

Fear. You are scared, Alicent marvels. Scared of Viserys. Just as she is. Your words are feverish, you seem to be drowning in them. Like you need to scream, and scream and never stop.

“And his guards didn't say anything?” She says, still in disbelief at your words.

“Oh, I said it all in High Valyrian.” It's not even funny, but it cracks both of you up. Alicent realizes, startled, that perhaps you are not so bad after all.

A few days pass before you come to her again. This time, you are wearing riding attire, sweat making your hair flatten against your skull. You are so much like Rhaenyra in that instant that Alicent's heart stutters.

“I have been thinking about your problem.” You say, perching next to her in what surely you believe to be extreme daintiness. You are also the sort to think her dragon a baby, so it's not like it's unprecedented.

“Excuse me?” Alicent frowns. She wasn't aware she had a problem, much less that you were intent on fixing it. She had thought her hatred reciprocated. But was it? Suddenly, all of your interactions are in a new light. All of your snide little comments, all of your interruptions. You had never been trying to argue, you had been trying to befriend her.

“Run away with me.” You whisper, grabbing her hands. “Don't marry him.”

Alicent stumbles back. What you are suggesting could be considered treason. Perhaps you did hate her after all.

“Why should I trust you? You might be plotting my ruin.”

“I might. Or I might be saving you from the worst mistake of your life.”

She only thinks back to your proposal on the day of her wedding. Alicent spends the days leading up to it in a state of such nerves she can barely think of anything beyond how doomed she is. Your words don't register as an actual possibility.

Alicent's father says she is the most gorgeous bride he has ever seen. He says she looks just like her mother did on her wedding day, that he is making him proud. And she clings to that. But it's not until she is entering the Sept and sees you on the front row, clapping, that she breaks.

You stand in a blue gown, clapping almost aggressively. Her eyes search for yours, as she is about to say her vows.

You stare back. You arch an eyebrow.

“I am…. I can't do this.” Alicent drops her cloak, gathers her skirts, and runs. She passes you and grabs you by the arm, forcing you to run too. You catch up quickly.

The guests stare. King Viserys opens and closes his mouth.

“What..?”

“Alicent!” Her father screams. “Come back here, you foolish child!”

“Good for you!” She can almost make out Rhaenyra's voice, from the crowd. It only pushes her to run faster, harder.

“Hurry, before they recover!” You scream, pulling her even more.

The two of you share your first kiss hours later, with no one but the endless ocean and your dragon as witnesses.

#self reblog of a personal fave #to go with my other taylor swift song titles #alicent hightower x reader

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arabellasleopardcoat · 2 days

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two slow dancers.

prints + merch + commission info

#hotd fanart #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x alicent #dont mind me screaming in the corner

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arabellasleopardcoat · 2 days

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you’re cool as fuck + your meat is huge

#thoughts reblogs

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arabellasleopardcoat · 5 days

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Chloé Zhao, who just won an Oscar for best director, writes fanfiction.

That's the kind of validation I needed in my life. Thank you, ma'am.

#thoughts reblogs

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arabellasleopardcoat · 6 days

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Gold Rush (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Your whole life you have been Daemon’s voice of reason. Tonight, you choose to be the impulsive one.

Warnings: Velaryon! Reader (And POC!) Friends to lovers. Fluff. Eloping. Tender, loving smut.

Requested: Uh, I don’t know for markers of arousal, but they are a mess. Sub Daemon and POC reader, as requested. I finished the bingo! Yay!

You clutch the letter in your hand, a joyous smile slowly starting to spread on your face. Uncaring of the guards, or the people around you, you hike up your skirt and race to the courtyard, screaming with all your might.

“Daemon!” You say, laughing. “Daemon, Daemon, come quickly.” The letter is still clutched in your hand. Your light blue slippers, matching your dress, are starting to get mud soaked; you have avoided the paths to get there faster.

Your childhood friend is in the training yard, his armor glinting under the sunlight. For once, he is not wearing the full Targaryen regalia, but rather a simple chest plate. You find yourself a bit taken aback by how handsome he looks with the sun hitting him from behind, hair shining like polished silver. He reminds you of the statues of the Seven you have seen in the royal Sept, a halo around his head.

Daemon sets Dark Sister down when noticing your arrival. He steps aside from his sparring partner, a knight from House Lannister, as if he were meaningless. The man shouts something, probably in indignation from the abandoned match, but Daemon only has eyes for you.

Standing on the steps near the courtyard, his full attention is a heady feeling. It nearly makes you sway. He manages to look even more handsome when a bit roughed up.

“Is that…?” He asks, pointing at the parchment in your hand. You nod.

“He said yes! My brother said yes!” You shout, laughing. Daemon runs towards you, even more mud soaked and sweaty than you are and hugs you to him, spinning you around. It only prompts you to laugh louder.

“You wonderful, wonderful woman.” He says, peppering your face with kisses, uncaring of the stares from the rest of the knights scattered around. You squeal when he squeezes you to him a little too hard, only to laugh right after at his eagerness.

At the noise, Ser Harold lifts his head, but when he realizes that it is Daemon and you once more, he only shakes his head in exasperation before returning to his guard duties.

“And has the Queen..?” You ask Daemon, in a low voice. Sudden doubts make your heart clench. Convincing her of allowing Daemon to marry you had been hard, especially considering she had a match in the Vale already lined up for him. It had taken the two of you nearly a year, and you had only managed to soften her heart by reminding her and her brother husband were once a love match too. She had agreed only if your brother agreed to it too.

And that had been another can of worms. You knew Corlys was ambitious and wanted to see his wife, Rhaenys, on the throne. Marrying Daemon was the utmost betrayal in his eyes, for it was clear your friend would side with his own brother if there was a succession issue. Thankfully, he had given you permission, swayed by the promise that you would keep Daemon and Caraxes out of it if the worst came to pass.

Finally, Daemon and you could marry. You were holding the very proof of it in your hands.

“She has. But still…” Daemon gently grasped your face, tilting your head up so he could look into your dark eyes. “We must not allow them to change their minds.”

You looked up at him, chewing your lower lip. It was not the first time Daemon suggested eloping. Running away to Dragonstone to be wed in the traditions of your shared ancestors and damn to your families. You had never dared. Despite being oddly similar to the romance tale of the Queen and King, you doubted they would take kindly to it.

“Corlys said…” You start, softly. You do not mind being the voice of reason. It is how it has always been. Ever since you were the little girl sent to foster under Queen Alysanne’s watchful eye. Your father had thought, back then, if you could claim the Cannibal, you surely needed a strong woman to teach you to be one.

His plan had worked. Perhaps you had not learned much about being a proper Lady, that didn’t track mud into the halls or stab others with practice swords, but by the Gods you had learned strength. Both of you had, under her. The thing was, Daemon always thought that strength meant charging right at problems while you thought it was better to watch and think first.

“Give me that.” Daemon complains, taking the parchment from your hand. You yelp and try to take it back, but he raises it high over his head, where you cannot reach. You try regardless, holding his shoulders and jumping up and down in a quite undignified manner.

Daemon watches you with a smirk, eyes lingering on the bodice of your dress. It is once you exhaust yourself that you notice he is leering at your breasts, and you give him a good shove for it.

He laughs. He pulls you by the waist and places a kiss on your forehead.

“You are a pig.” You complain, crossing your arms over your chest. It is not the first time you have caught him looking at you, but it is the first time it feels so intentional. Daemon and you have never crossed that line before. Sure, he has looked, and you have too, but it is only natural. You are the only girl he has been around in a consistent manner. The two of you have been partners in crime since you were children.

Daemon has had his dalliances outside of you, of course. You know he is fond of brothels and Gods know what else. You do not mind it. This wish for a match between the two of you is not about physical attraction, but rather that if you had to pick one man to be bound with and him only one woman to belong to, both of you choose each other. It’s simple.

You love him, of course you do. But then, how could you not? Everyone loves Daemon. He is just that charming. Maidens want to be with him, knights want to be him. He is a true dragon, the finest his House has to offer.

And you are… You. A daughter of House Velaryon, a bit too wild, a bit too unladylike. Nothing to your name but your dragon. At least in that you take pride in. What a foe, your child was.

“Only for you.” Daemon says, brushing a stray curl away from your face. He twists his finger in it, making it coil tighter before springing back up.

“Sure.” You laugh, and Daemon gives your hair a harsh little tug, making you yelp.

“I am serious.” He warns, a bit threateningly. His grip on your hair is firm enough to force you to keep your attention on him. His eyes are locked with yours. “From today on, you are mine. And I am yours. I won’t… I don’t want anyone in my bed that is not you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. It might as well be a declaration of undying love, coming from Daemon. He is not one for monogamy, your friend. That he is now saying he wants you and only you means… It means everything.

“But you have never touched me.” You say to him, confused.

“Of course not, you silly thing.” Daemon shakes his head. “My father would have strangled me.”

You fight the urge to laugh. Baelon Targaryen had never been too fond of Daemon not being a proper Prince. Unfortunately, he was often so busy with his duties he had little chance of teaching either of you manners.

No, instead, the older Prince was much more decisive. Every time he caught Daemon with one of the maids, he got rid of them and paid them a pretty sum to forget the incidents ever happened.

“They would have sent me back.” You realize, voice barely above a whisper. If he had ever caught a whiff of impropriety between the two of you, Prince Baelon would have sent you back to Driftmark so fast you would have gotten whiplash.

“Yes. They would.” Daemon agrees, softly. His grip on your curls soften. Instead, he starts scratching at your scalp, as if to soothe the hurt. “And I didn’t… You are good. I wouldn’t have brought you dishonor.”

The admission embarrasses him. Daemon wants everyone to think he isn't concerned with that sort of thing. It is his armor. Being the Rogue Prince, the one who makes the unexpected move, the one who doesn’t care about consequences. But he does. When it is someone he loves on the line, Daemon does.

He loves you. You love him. Why do you have to wait a full moon for Corlys to get here? He is not the one getting married. You don’t need a fancy gown, nor do you need to be wed in a Sept, under a religion that is not yours.

You look up at Daemon, a mischievous smile starting to form on your face. He looks at you. Not a word is needed. Daemon knows what you are thinking right away.

His brows pinch together.

“Are you sure?”

“Daemon.” You say, exasperated. Who does he think he is speaking to? You had not claimed the most dangerous dragon in Westeros because you lacked boldness.

“Tonight?” Daemon searches your eyes. He finds no hesitation.

“In the traditions of our houses.” You agree.

“You understand that if we…” Of course you know. The bedding. Being married usually implies that. The thought fills you with dread and excitement in equal parts. You have been trying very hard not to think of Daemon in this way since the two of you were teenagers. But now, it is not only expected, but encouraged.

“I know.”

His hand on your waist tenses. You can feel his grip tighten, greedily. There is so much want in his eyes that it warms your blood.

“Alright, Lady Confident.” Daemon teases, pressing another kiss to your forehead before letting you go.

“The dragonpit, tonight. Get us the robes and Viserys.” You point at him, sternly.

“And what will you get?” He pulls you in again, pressing your bodies flush against each other. You tremble against him, unable to help it. Daemon has such a magnetic pull on you, sometimes you feel like the two of you are never truly apart. He is constantly pulling you to him, into him, even when not in the room. He owns your thoughts, your feelings, your desires.

But you are not about to tell him that. You like running too much, and by the Seven he likes to chase.

“Is my presence not enough?” You tease, deftly slipping out of his grip. You start to walk away, hips swaying. Before you are truly out of his reach, you casually speak, as if it were the most normal thing to say. “My riding gear. I intend to ride a dragon tonight.”

Daemon grabs your wrist, pupils blown. He stops you from leaving.

“A dragon?”

“My dragon.” You snicker. “I suppose, while we are busy with that, Caraxes and my Cannibal can get to know each other.”

His joyous laughter chases you all the way to your chambers. You spend the afternoon getting yourself ready. You bathe, soaking in the hot tub until you feel dizzy from the heat. Choosing to elope has made you unable to seek any advice from the only female presence in your life. You doubt Queen Alyssane will take well to the news of what Daemon and you are planning to do.

Nerves clench in your stomach at the thought of bedding him. It is needed, if you wish to really be wed in the manner of your ancestors, and it has to happen tonight. Otherwise, the tradition would not be complete.

Having grown around Daemon, you are not fully innocent. Not only have you listened to his exploits, but you also know your body well. What worries you is the fact that he has a lot of experience on you.

You scrub yourself clean and get up, taking out your secret stash. Pearls are one of Driftmark more prized exports, and you have quite a few. Some have been ground into a fine powder that you apply over your eyelids. You like how the shimmery white contrasts against your brown eyelids, drawing attention to your eyes.

Some women, especially near Dorne, use black pigment to make their eyelashes look fuller. You have always enjoyed the contrasts more. Velaryons have striking coloring, or so most say. The shimmery silver hair all Valyrians share, with darker skin to offset it and make it pop even more. It’s the same logic you apply to your makeup.

Once you have scrubbed yourself to your satisfaction, you fret over choosing a shift to wear under the robes. Daemon has sent them to your chambers already, wrapped in a cloth as to not let anyone see what they are. You note that he has selected ones with a red sash, and you frown. You will no longer be a Velaryon after tonight, but you intend to honor your House.

Perhaps the followers of the Faith of the Seven have the right of it, with the exchange of cloaks. With no Corlys to attend your wedding, you feel oddly adrift. You exchange the red sash for a light blue one.

Finally, with no other excuse to stall, you put on your black cloak and make your way to the dragon pit. The dragonkeepers barely spare you a glance, used as they are to your antics.

Caraxes has been brought forth, as has Balerion. Their growls and cries greet you as you step into the lower part of the pit. Your own mount is near, but kept carefully separated. He has an unfortunate tendency of biting other dragons.

“This is an awful idea.” It is the first thing Viserys says to you, once he sees you approach. “The two of you will kill our grandmother one of these days.”

“Good evening, Viserys.” You say, taking off your cloak. “Why, thank you for congratulating us.”

“Thank the gods.” You hear Daemon’s voice before you see him. You turn, finding him dressed in his own set of robes. You had not doubted him for a second. “I thought you were playing a cruel joke on me. That you were… Oh.”

He finally sees you, dressed in your version of the ceremonial robes. He freezes.

“You look beautiful.” Daemon says, still a bit stunned. The images of him superpose in your mind. The boy he had been, the man he is now, lips stretching into the most joyful smile you have ever seen. It makes something warm and syrupy sweet nestle inside your chest, covering you in a golden glow. So of course, he has to be a bit crude. “And all of it mine by the end of the night.”

Viserys sighs. He looks very put upon, your recently appointed officiant. You decide not to make him wait any longer. Daemon and you marry under the traditions of your Houses that night, with only Viserys and your dragons as your witnesses.

After the deed is done, palms and lips bloody, you race each other to Daemon’s chambers. The few servants left behind turn to stare, and as you pass, chamber’s doors open. Everyone wants a look at the two troublemakers that are making a ruckus near midnight. Gasps and scandalized murmurs are heard as the onlookers take in your appearance. The runes are painted brightly on your foreheads for all to see if your attires were not damning enough.

You are sure the news will reach the Queen before the night is over. But as you stop in front of Daemon’s door, you can’t bring yourself to care. He lifts you up into his arms and opens the door with a well-placed kick.

“Finally.” He says, carefully placing you inside. You laugh. Daemon busies himself with closing the door after the two of you, and it is then that you realize.

You are married. To Daemon. Your best friend. Your childhood companion. Daemon, rider of Caraxes, the Rogue Prince, Daemon. Fuck.

Daemon seems to be going through a similar thought process because when he turns to face you, his face is frozen into stunned realization. Now what? His eyes seem to be saying to you. So you step closer. And closer.

And then his hands are on your waist, and he is kissing you for the first time.

It’s devastating. There is no other way to describe it. You have been looking at Daemon ever since the two of you met, unable to look away from him, and you finally have his full attention on you. It’s terrifying. His lips move with yours, soft and tender, as if you are something to be treasured. No one knows you as he does, no one could break you as easily as he could.

You grasp at him like he is your lifeline, hands clinging to his shoulders. There is no finesse in the way you undress him, greedy hands grasping at his robes. Daemon allows you to do so, his hands on your hips steady and calm. It is not until the robes have fallen from his shoulders, exposing his bare skin, that the two of you separate.

“What do you need?” Daemon asks you, voice low. You look up at him, hoping to see the same desperation you feel reflected in his eyes. What you see takes your breath away. Daemon’s eyes are almost all pupils, the black having swallowed the purple you so love. His lips are swollen from your kisses, mouth slightly agape. “I’m here.” He says, and it sounds wrecked. “I am here.”

The softness makes you want to cry. You feel overwhelmed with how badly you would like to be close to him.

“I want… I need…” You articulate, barely. You try to take off your robes, but your hands, so deft at removing his, are slow and stupid when it comes to removing the knots.

“Let me.” Daemon unties the knots, taking your robes away. His hands wrap around your back, pulling you close. “You are gorgeous.”

His hands are warm against your ribs, caressing softly. He traces the curves of your waist and hips as if committing them to memory. You do not feel exposed or embarrassed, with Daemon touching you like this. You have belonged to him, heart and soul, since before you knew what the word meant. It’s only right that it is him who you give yourself to.

Daemon kisses you again, slow and soft. His lips trace your jaw, and then, the shell of your ear. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge.

“I seem to remember you saying something about dragon riding.” He whispers, and you can hear the devious smile he must be sporting in his tone alone.

Because you are mean, and so much like him, you bite at his naked shoulder. You expect him to yelp or curse, but are fully unprepared for hearing Daemon moan.

The both of you look at each other, before a giant grin takes over your face.

“You like that.” You smirk. Daemon’s brows raise.

“So what if I do?” He challenges, with a smirk of his own. You run your nails down his sides, almost experimentally. His eyes almost cross, expression morphing into half pain and half pleasure. “Seven Hells, you are not allowed to do that!” He complains, and you laugh.

“I do intend to ride, you know?” You whisper to him, not a hint of shame on your face.

“Good.” Daemon goes sit on the bed and takes off his breeches. He parts his legs, letting you see his cock for the first time. “Princess, come sit on your throne.”

You shiver slightly, feeling arousal quickly taking over your best senses. His cock is pink and almost angry looking, perfectly placed for you to sit on his lap and sink on it. You want nothing more than to have him inside you.

“No.” You say, instead. “Get me ready first.”

“Come here, then.” He orders, impatiently. “Let me touch you.”

“You have no manners.” You complain, a bit irked. Daemon has the bad habit of issuing commands, instead of asking. Ever since he was a child, the people around him have yielded to his position or his charm, even to his good looks. Daemon always gets what he wants.

And you don’t want him to think it includes you. Being taken down a few pegs is healthy, once in a while. So you remain rooted to your spot, naked and confident in your own skin. You start to run your hands along your neck and breasts, tantalizingly. You can feel yourself starting to get wet.

His eyes track your movements in the same way a man dying of thirst might look at running water. Hungrily, greedily.

“And you intend to be the one who teaches them to me?” Daemon’s voice comes out much breathier than he probably expects.

“It is never late to start.” You agree, mischief making your eyes light up. One of your hands pinches your soft buds, getting them hard and alluring. Your breath is heavier, soft little sighs leaving your lips at the stimulation.

“Fucking… Come here.” Daemon says. You ignore him, running your hands over your breasts. “Please.” He adds, a bit desperate.

You smirk. You take exactly one step towards him. The way he looks at you makes you feel bolder. Your stance widens, one hand dropping between your legs, teasing.

“Please. Please, by the Gods let me touch you.” He interrupts, before you can do anything more. “Come here, just… I’ll behave.”

You run your hands over your sides and wait a bit, as if pondering his question.

“Please.” Daemon repeats. He looks wrecked and you haven’t even touched him. You wonder if this is what he likes about sex, how powerful and in control you can feel knowing that you have another person wrapped around your little finger.

“I suppose I’ll allow you to get me ready.” You say, very graciously. You make your way to his lap and pull him in for another kiss.

As soon as your hips are over his, Daemon tries to cheat. He lifts his own hips, trying to grind his erection against your core. You pull at his hair, in warning. He growls against your mouth, and insists on attempting to grind against you.

You pull back from him, bracing your hands on his knees. Almost on instinct, one of his hands goes to your waist, to steady you.

“Was that what I asked you to do?” You ask him, frowning. Daemon pouts.

“I was getting you ready. You are so wet and warm, I bet I could just slide right in.” He complains, much like a scolded child.

“Really? Then you must not know what getting a woman ready means.” You grin. “Allow me to teach you. Sit back and watch.”

Daemon growls at you, face slowly starting to flush. You are not sure if he is more enraged or aroused by what he is seeing.

“You can’t be serious. My balls are turning blue from…”

“Not my problem.” You answer him, cheerfully. You remain sitting on his lap. The hand he keeps on your waist allows you to not need to support yourself so much. You free one of your hands and direct it to your pearl, where you rub slow, steady circles.

Under the candlelight, your cunt glistens. You wonder what you must look like to Daemon, wantonly touching yourself on his lap. By the awed look on his face, it must be quite the sight.

“Do you..?” He licks his lips, throat suddenly dry. “Do you need my help?”

“Yes. Put a finger inside.” You spread your folds, feeling how slick you are. Daemon groans.

“Fuck. That’s…” He presses his finger into your hole, slowly. It sinks right in. You sigh, please. Fascinated, Daemon pulls it back a bit, only to push it back inside and feel your walls swallow it.

“Another. Open me up.” You say, voice a bit shaky. “Curl… Ah. Like that.” No other order is needed. Daemon adds another finger and curls it, a bit mean. It makes you sit up straighter, hands clutching at his shoulders. For a while, nothing exists, except his fingers moving inside you. Want is making you burn up, sweat collecting in the small of your back. You rock your hips against his hand, looking him right in the eyes.

Daemon’s expression is open in a way you have never seen before. He looks entranced by you, as if he is in the middle of a religious experience. His eyes are fixed on your face, watching your mouth form soft little pants. His other hand is on your hips, aiding your movements.

“I love you.” He says, sounding a bit broken, a bit in awe. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You press a kiss to his temple. “Ready?”

Daemon nods, hiding his face on your chest. You grab his erection and line it up with your hole. He hugs you, tighter still, and it’s then that you sink on him.

You curse, eyes going wide. Daemon lets out a groan.

“Daemon.” You say, urgently. You feel like he is carving out a space for himself inside of you, as if he had not owned it already. “Daemon.”

“I know.” He whispers back, rubbing slow circles on your back. He lifts his head and cradles your face, as if you are made of the most fragile porcelain. “My lady wife.”

“My lord husband.” You answer, equally tender. And it is then that you lift your hips and bring them down again. Daemon gives a punched out moan, hands tightening on your hips.

You push him down to lay flat on the bed, bracing your hands on his chest to get better leverage. You lift yourself, up and down, until you have worked yourself into a frenzy and cannot stop moaning.

Under you, Daemon has his eyes closed. His mouth is parted open, and he gives soft moans every time you bring yourself down. His hands are curled around your wrists, gently holding you to him.

It’s not enough. It’s not enough, it feels like you cannot breathe if you are not near him. You need to be as close as you possibly can, and you need it now.

You lay yourself down on top of him, until your breasts are squished against his chest. Daemon’s eyes open. He hugs you to him, kissing the crown of your head.

“Thrust your hips.” You say, starting to lavish his throat with kisses. “I need…” You grind your hips against him, his pubic hair rubbing against your pearl just right. With the way you are laying on top of him, Daemon can’t get enough leverage to do anything more than shallowly thrust. You nearly cry from frustration.

“Shh… Just…” He rolls the two of you over, ungracefully. He grinds his hips against yours, with little to no technique. His back is hunched, hair in complete disarray. The blood - drawn runes on his face have smeared, leaving only red lines in their wake. You wonder if you look as fucked out as Daemon does. The thought makes you clench around him, pleasure building up, and up, until one well aimed thrust makes you scream and reach your peak.

Daemon collapses next to you, his release painting your thighs. There is silence, for a while. Both of you look at each other, sated and exhausted by the day you have had. And suddenly, there is a pounding on the door.

“I swear to the Seven, Daemon Targaryen, when I get my hands on you…” The Queen screams, and you dissolve into a fit of giggles.

#self reblog

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arabellasleopardcoat · 6 days

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I want you to know I saved this to read as a treat for almost a whole month. Today I did my laundry, studied, did my assigned readings, wrote a request and sat down for you to... Absolutely break my heart.

I was not surprised, of course, because I always read the warnings (I am a big anxious girl, obviously💁‍♀️)

I know the "...Say it." Line absolutely snaps but may I humbly suggest...

Of course, we were young fools in love. Deep down, we knew we could never be; attachments were dangerous. And yet he promised me himself and I promised him myself, and somehow he believes that was the same as us being married.

Like, Miss?! Excuse me? I thought it meant that too? Am as I as delusional as he is? Then it wrecked me.

I love it. My heart needed a good rearranging today, thank you!

Hii!

I just came across your empress work with kylo ren and i absolutely loved it.

But i was wondering...

Could you maybe write something like that but with kylo marring a jedi reader to restore balance and peace to the galaxy?

Say That Again

"-- say it," Kylo mutters. His voice becomes shaky, "I want to hear you say it."

Kylo Ren x Jedi!Reader | 1k+ | cw: gender neutra!reader, implied kidnapping, violence/mentions of injury, lovers to enemies, pining, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: this req is remix of this anon's and @copiasratsstuff request where basically YN refers to Kylo with his first name and it makes him snap. also T_T i had to send myself this anon ask because i accidentally posted this WITHOUT ANYTHING on the post LMAO. i hope you enjoy it my loves <3 <3 <3 tbh I think this turned out better than what I had in mind slayyyyed

My heart pounds as I run down the halls. My hands were tingling and moistened with agitation. I huff when I catch sight of the space craft.

I swipe an arm and, using my Force, a pair of stormtroopers crash to the side, clearing my passage.

The footsteps thundering towards me grows louder when I get to the ship and pry the door open with my Force. Just as I'm about to get into the vehicle, a scorching blow hits my leg, then my shoulder. A loud cry leaves my lips before I can even think.

Similarly, I hear painful screaming from afar. "Didn't I say to hold your fire?!"

My panic heightens at the echo of that voice. Through the excruciating pain, I tell myself to push forward. This was it, after all, this was the opening to the freedom I was waiting for.

But the next thing I knew, a dark Force overcame me, and I didn't have enough strength to break free of it.

I thud into the arms of my captor, and whine in pain. I clench my jaw and slowly lift my eyes, glaring at him.

My expression is vaguely reflected on the Supreme Leader's black mask. He sighs before speaking, "you reap what you sow."

I growl and hiss, "and soon will you."

He carries me in his arms, all the way back to my prison cell. He sets me down on his bed l, and as he takes off his helmet, I fling him back with Force, making him loose his balance.

The man doesn't topple though. What only happens is his dark hair falls onto his face. He tilts his head, "childish."

I scoff, "I'm glad you're self-aware."

The Sith Lord says nothing in response. He walks off, props his helmet on his cabinet, and opens a drawer. He walks over to me with bandages and ointment.

I raise a brow as he sits on my side, "you're not going to heal me?"

"The pain will be good for you," he replies, grabbing my injured leg with little regard.

I whine and shift to lessen my discomfort. He begins to lather ointment on my laser gash.

As he does this in silence, and as I behold his profile, his nose, his lips, his lashes, I see flashes of the past from his face. I see a memory of when we were younger, both still under the guidance of our master, Luke. I see his sweet smile, hear his soft laugh, feel his tender kiss... my Ben.

That was why he captured me. That was why he was binding my wounds. That was why he was unwilling to let me go. According to him, I was the balance the galaxy craved, I was the balance he long yearned for.

"We are married," he says, a-matter-of-factly.

My face sours, "get out of my head."

"Even did, even if you managed to run," he turns to me, one hand gripping my knee, "you think I would just let you go?"

We stare at each other for a while.

"After all I've done to have you?" he narrows his eyes.

"You wouldn't be able to find me," I lean in as I retort.

He leans closer, "and yet you would eventually surrender because your heart is weak."

I whine when he pulls the bandage around me tighter than necessary.

"Your soft heart would not bear the destruction I'd exact on the stars to find you," he ties the bandage and turns back to me. He scoffs under his breath, "you and your empathy."

The last of what remained of Ben Solo stared at me. Perhaps I was the only one delusional enough to see it. He was barely there in face, and in soul, I fear he may be lost forever.

I turn away.

He releases my leg and grabs my arm, "take your top off."

I decide not to put up a fight, there was no point. I take my burnt top off so he could wrap the injury on my shoulder blade.

He moves me so my back is turned to him. He stares at my wound for a prolonged moment. I am tempted to look back at him when I realize he felt pity for me.

"You shouldn't have run."

I don't look back, "you shouldn't have chased after-" I hiss when he applies ointment on my burn.

"You shouldn't have run," he repeats, harder this time.

"Kylo, please-"

"What?"

I look over my shoulder.

"What did you just call me?"

His expression is that of shock and excitement. I quickly correct myself, "Ben. Your name is B-"

"That's not my name," he raises a finger, "that's not what you said-"

"That's what I mea-"

"Say that again, say it," Kylo mutters. His voice becomes shaky, "I want to hear you say it."

I clench my jaw and shake my head. "Your name is Ben Solo."

He releases a deep breath.

I grab his cheeks. It was the first time I had ever willingly touched him, and so tenderly at that, "that is your name. That is who you--"

"Ben is dead," Kylo grabs my wrists, yanking me away from him.

My heart races when I feel the hot air from his lungs.

"I am all that's left," he whispers, brows furrowing. His voice is shaky again, "Ben was weak. He could not even speak his love for you out loud," he shakes his head, "not me. I would make sure the whole galaxy knows my love for you."

I gasp when he grabs my face and kisses me. I immediately shove him away, and when I do, this man with wide, glassy eyes stares back at me.

For once, his face evokes something more than anger out of me. I see his desperation and it pinches my heart.

"Ben-"

"That's not my name," he blurts, snapping out of his trance and jumping to his feet. His moment of vulnerability was over. Staring down at me now was no one else besides the Supreme Leader of the First Order. He wipes his face and blankness falls on his features.

I mean to call his name out again but he speaks before I can.

"I will have a medic attend to your wounds," he says flatly, "don't think to flee while I'm gone."

I watch him walk out of the door.

#kylo ren fanfic #cristi reblogs fics #from other fandoms too!#kylo ren x reader

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arabellasleopardcoat · 6 days

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About this (https://www.tumblr.com/arabellasleopardcoat/748402314449158144/my-dear-cristi-i-was-looking-at-your-bingo-and-i?source=share) I am anon and my dear, don't apologize and don't worry. Storylines are great, but every now and then all a girl needs to start her week is a good and old pwp. I know it will be amazing!

I am so glad! Because here it is! Enjoy 😉

Originally it was about Laena's sister and much more rough. I wanted to write friends to lovers instead.

#answered asks #notes from cristi #this didn't post before because tumblr is evil

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arabellasleopardcoat · 6 days

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My dear Cristi, I just read "Gold Rush" and OMG, this is perfect! I said it would be amazing, but this exceeded my expectations. Seriously, you are wonderful and I loved it ❤️❤️❤️!!! Thank you so much for taking the time to write my request.😘😘😘

I am very glad to hear back from you! And I love that you enjoyed it. I had so much fun writing it too, it broke me out of a bit of a writer's block.

#answered asks #gold rush

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arabellasleopardcoat · 7 days