ALIEN

tyler harrison, bjorn

GROTESQUERIE

father charlie mayhew

DUNE

paul atreides, feyd-rautha harkonnen

OUTER RANGE

rhett abbott

TOP GUN

bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw, jake ‘hangman’ seresin, robert ‘bob’ floyd, mickey ‘fanboy’ garcia

BAD TIMES AT THE EL ROYALE

miles miller

THE GRAY MAN

sierra six

SALEM’S LOT

ben mears

EUPHORIA

fezco

WIZARDING WORLD

theseus scamander, newt scamander

MARVEL

joaquín torres, marc spector, bucky barnes, tom holland

DC

bruce wayne

UNCHARTED

nathan drake

THE DEVIL ALL THE TIME

lee bodecker, tommy matson

SUITS

harvey specter

FORMULA 1

When the time is right – the moment you’ve had your first flowering.

You’ve known it since you first learned about a woman’s moonblood. You’ve thought about it constantly ever since you’ve had your first bleed. Ever since you begged your septa to keep it a secret so you wouldn’t end up with someone like your mad cousin Aerion, or a distant uncle at least three decades your senior.

You were only twelve back then…

“You know, it’s actually difficult to believe you have not have your first blood yet, cousin,” Daeron whispered across the table, bringing you back to reality.

He looked entirely unbothered by these news as he stirred the arbor in his cup with a quick flick of the wrist, leaning over the table to lower his voice.

“Like… Aren’t you unusually old for a maiden – woman, I dare say – whose flower is not blooming red yet?”

You looked up into his drunken eyes, jaw slightly hanging open in disbelief at your cousin’s words.

“Excuse me?” 

“Well, I just think it’s quite peculiar,” he noted. “Compared to all the women I know…”

“Well, I guess I simply am not like the whores you’re gallivanting with,” you spat back. “Naturally. Since I’m a princess. Not a disappointment.”

Daeron tried not to react to your comment, but you saw the slight twitch in the corners of his mouth as a grin fought to form on his face.

The dragon feast felt like an entirely fabricated event solely for your public humiliation. At the announcement of your betrothal to Daeron, you could see heads turn and hands covering mouths in hushed judgement, not unlike two days ago when your uncle first shared the news.

Daeron the Drunken. And the old maiden who was still waiting for her first flowering. 

Two clearly unfit prospects for a successful Targaryen marriage. Two… leftovers.

But you knew you were better than your cousin. So, if anything, he was the unfit prospect, he was the leftovers, and he an embarrassment to you.

In fact, he was already proving it perfectly as he downed cup after cup after cup of the realm’s finest red arbor wine.

“A bit of public decency would do you well, cousin,” you remarked with a sharp tongue and an even sharper side glance. 

“They’re already talking anyways,” he shrugged, taking another large sip from his wine. “What’s a little extra talk about Daeron the Drunken gonna do?”

“Embarrass me,” you hissed, straightening in your seat and moving away from your betrothed ever so slightly as you rolled your eyes. “Even more than this betrothal already is.” Daeron laughed, shaking his head. “You worry about that bleeding issue of yours.”

“Well, maybe I should just spill some of your beloved wine on my sheets and be done with all this bother. But… seems like you cannot spare a single drop, can you, cousin? Or else I’ll find you licking it off my bed, and the realm’s gonna talk about a lot more than your lust after arbor, eh?”

With that, you stole the cup from his hands and excused yourself from the long table, making your way to the much quieter, much cooler corridors of Summerhall.

The cool air of the hallway wrapped around your heated figure, bringing to the surface an  acute awareness of your rapid heartbeat, and realisations about just exactly how much distress this entire betrothal was causing you. 

Your pulse started racing as you near-stumbled along the wall, a torturing ache between your legs that you didn’t know what to do about. One hand gliding along the stones, the other pressed against your chest, you took deep breaths in and long breaths out. 

“Leftovers, eh?” His voice ripped you from your thoughts as it suddenly appeared behind you.

You turned around, quickly regaining your composure. Never showing any weakness. Not in front of the disappointment.

“I never said that.”

“But you thought it.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” you protested, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Oh, I know you were,” Daeron insisted. “You’re always having some kind of thought in your pretty little head. Always busy making up a witty remark… some… sharp insult, perhaps, for your  beloved cousin.”

You laughed. “My insults are never made-up. Merely true observations.”

He didn’t respond, simply watching you, taking in your entire figure from head to toe. His eyes stopped momentarily when they landed on your corset, clearly observing the way it pushed the soft flesh of your chest up and down with each breath you took.

“You left too early,” he eventually said, casually playing with something in his hands. “The party’s not nearly over.”

You pursed your lips, one eyebrow raised. “I didn’t leave. I merely meant to get some air. It tends to get quite stuffy next to you. Besides, I doubt the party’s ever over for you.”

He took slow, measured steps towards you, closing the distance inch by inch. You flinched, your tough façade slipping slightly, but only for a split second.

“I meant you left too early,” he explained, standing in front of you now, holding open his hand and revealing what he had been fidgeting with. “For this.”

Daeron presented to you a beautiful ring with intricate designs typical to House Targaryen woven around a large ruby. “A gift. To seal the betrothal.”

It was gorgeous, and surely your eyes betrayed you with the way they lit up at the sight of the gemstone’s sparkle. 

“Your hand.” He spoke softly, reaching for your ring finger to slip on the ring. He did so with a cheeky smile on his face. “Looks splendid, cousin.”

You quickly pulled away your hand. “I know. I always do,” you said matter-of-factly, grinning at him when you noticed a trace of an eye-roll.

“Well, I ought to go,” he then said with a quick bow and walked past you.

“Where to? Finding some whore who’s desperate enough?” You called after him, grinning, but only so that he couldn’t see.

But he didn’t answer, didn’t turn around; only shook his head, and this time he was unable to fight that stupid smile from creeping on his face.

You didn’t care much for going back to the feast, either. Sitting there on the dais all by yourself with the seat of your betrothed empty was another embarrassment you didn’t want to have to endure. 

Deciding it was late enough to greet the night and get ready for bed, you made your way back to your quarters.

But even after a hot, relaxing bath, the turmoil of the day and your new responsibilities made it hard to find sleep. And then there was that recurring ache between your legs…

This new sensation you could not quite make sense of. Maybe didn’t even want to.

Because deep down it seemed like your cousin had something to do with it. And you certainly didn’t want that.

“Maybe a leisurely stroll through the halls could help you find some rest, m’lady?” Your lady-in-waiting politely suggested when you paced up and down the length of your bedchamber.

“Should I come with you?” She asked.

“No, thank you. I should like to go by myself. I won’t go far,” you eventually decided.

Once again, the cold air of the corridors welcomed you with a cooling embrace as you made your way along the sleeping quarters. Images of the day replayed in your head like the flipping of a picture book.

The feast, the announcement of the betrothal, the people’s faces and hushed whispers, your cousin without a care in the world, drinking himself to indifference as per usual. 

The humiliation of it all, really. It made your heart race rather than quiet your nerves and lull you to a state of almost-sleepiness.

The hallway was quiet except for your soft steps as you walked past your family’s bedchambers. Everyone was either asleep or still out drinking or fucking whores after the feast. Especially Daeron.

You didn’t even register the faint light coming from his room, or the noise disrupting the rhythm of your steps. Not until you had almost walked past the door.

It stood slightly ajar, just enough to allow a glimpse into his chamber. You stopped with your back to his door, just out of view. You knew you shouldn’t be here, certainly not all by yourself.

But curiosity got the better of you, especially when you noticed the sounds echoing from his room.

You had heard them before. Faintly. During other celebrations and festivals. Always sounding from the tents that men liked to frequent. You knew enough to know what was happening inside.

And you knew what was happening inside your cousin’s room right now.

Soft noises of skin slapping, heavy breathing, the occasional mumbled ‘fuck.’

It was awfully enticing. It accelerated your pulse. It ignited the blood pumping through your veins. It quickened your breath.

You wondered who was there with him, but you didn’t dare sneak a look inside. 

Probably that one whore who was eyeing him the whole time during the betrothal ceremony, you thought, then wondered: Was that jealousy? 

You squeezed your back against the wall seeking the cold of the stones, your head falling back, eyes closed as you listened.

No way. That wasn’t jealousy. That was entirely impossible. You didn’t even want to be with your cousin, so why should you care if he was with someone else?

And then. Your name.

Eyes shooting open in an instant, you felt your heart racing again, and that unfamiliar tingle returning between your legs.

“Fuck, what are you doing to me?” His voice sounded from the room.

Asking yourself that same question, you squirmed in your own skin, knowing you should not linger and listen, yet at the same time you found yourself entirely unable to sneak back to your chambers and pretend this whole thing had never happened.

So there was no one in there with him after all…

…and so your hand travelled down your chest, over the hills of your breasts, gliding down along the soft, thin fabric of your nightdress until it almost reached that aching part between your legs. 

Your fingers seemed to have a mind of its own, entirely divorced from your own consciousness, as they slid past the ache only to bunch up the thin layer of the skirt. Your hand moved back up, pushing the fabric aside just enough to slide down your smallclothes.

You gasped when your fingers connected with your soft and unusually wet folds. Immediately biting your lower lip to stifle any other sounds from escaping your throat you stopped, holding your breath as you listened closely to what happened inside your cousin’s chamber, worried he might have heard you.

“Fuckin– Seven hells,” he whined, almost as if he could sense that you were right outside his door. As if he knew you just discovered yourself, and that he was the reason. 

You pressed your eyelids together, feeling that ache turn into a much stronger tingle as you allowed yourself to move your fingers further inside your heat. It felt–

“So good,” Daeron hummed as if finishing your thought for you. You hummed slightly, almost inaudibly, as you moved your hand back up until it grazed over this small bundle of nerves that made you feel like you were going to explode.

“Fuck, what are you doing to me?” Your cousin’s voice rang from inside.

Breathing heavily through your nose with your chest rising and falling at a rapid rate, you began to draw circles on that one spot. You felt something build up inside of you, that ache between your legs intensifying with each repeated ministration.

Your other hand came up to cup your chest. You didn’t have to think anymore about what to do, it was like your body knew what was right. 

You could feel your taut nipples through the sheer fabric of your dress. The way they rubbed against the thin cotton. How much the sensation of pinching them between your fingers turned the ache in your core into a soft pulsing rhythm.

You hummed in pleasure, barely audible as you pressed your lips together tightly, your breath coming out in short, intense huffs through your nose as you felt your core get tighter and tighter, the juices squeezing through the gaps in between your fingers and running down your thighs, soiling your smallclothes.

Your cousin’s moans got louder as you heard the sound of slapping skin increase. Then, again, your name. Over and over again, mumbled, hissed through clenched teeth, groaned, then dissolved into a string of whines followed by a string of curses to the Seven Gods themselves.

Your hand moved faster, fingers rubbing tighter, legs pressed together with the sticky mess clinging to your thighs as you felt that ache snap and your core squeeze around nothing, leaving you equally satisfied and yearning for more.

Chest heaving, singular beads of sweat trailing down your temple, you rode that high until the pulsing ebbed away. 

Left entirely breathless, with your head falling back against the rough stone wall, you were only granted a short moment of pure and utter bliss until reality came crashing down on you.

Your heart jumped against your ribcage when you heard your cousin walk around in his chamber, his presence on the other side of the wall reminding you of what had just happened. Of what you had done. What he’d made you do.

But most importantly, what this night had revealed.

Daeron wanted you.

He wanted you despite your relentless teasing and taunting. Or maybe… exactly because of it?

Quickly pushing down your skirt just as much as you pushed down those thoughts, you hurried down the hallway back to your bedchamber, swearing to yourself that no one should ever know about tonight…