#inclusive reader

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・Your wedding was a traditional one, from Old Valyria. The sharing of blood (cut each other’s lips with a fine blade of dragonglass), the drinking of special wine. 

・You both wore the traditional wedding gowns of Old Valyria; white tinged with red that blended to the bodice 

・Rhaenyra knew she was going to marry you the moment you met. But you did not have the same opinion of her. You thought she was haughty and much too hot-headed. 

・And yet, over time you got to know her. You got to know the real Rhaenyra. 

・Your relationship started as a best friends with benefits. It was a secret; sneaking into one another’s rooms and trying not to get caught in the mornings.

・No one was supposed to know but some started to figure it out - Rhaenyra still had the mindset that she was royalty and nothing bad could happen to her. It was an arrogance that Alicent was right about - but every royal has it.

・It wasn’t until you had been sent home that Rhaenyra changed

・In those years you were gone, and where you found Silverwing, Rhaenyra cut a deal with her father.

・Since you had bonded with the mighty and gracious Silvering, the King saw you in a different light. But all he wanted was the best for his daughter. 

・With you having your own dragon, the beautiful mount Silverwing, who was originally bonded to the Good Queen Alysanne. She was known as one of the greatest Targaryen Queens ever to exist and brought about a lot of good change, specifically for women in Westeros. 

・For you to have bonded with Silverwing, she had to see you as worthy. Very worthy. And as a person who was destined for greatness. 

・So, the King knew this as well. Viserys understood how important it was that he keep you close to the council. Because this solidified the fact that you were going to do amazing things. 

・And that meant he had to physically have you close as well. 

・He allowed you back into King’s Landing, to Dragonstone, to anywhere near his daughter

・And your relationship grew.  

・So much so that you had a hidden wedding on Dragonstone, where Viserys named Rhaenyra, Princess of Dragonstone (a great honour). Which gave you a whole castle to do as you pleased. 

・Including secretly getting married. 

・You adore her hair. The length, the colour, the braids the servants create. You got a particularly skilled servant to teach you how to do them

・And then you surprised Rhaenyra by brushing and braiding her hair the next day. She was so happy that she couldn’t stop smiling. 

・You have your own cute relationship with Syrax. Although it’s forbidden for bonded dragon riders to ride other dragons, that doesn’t mean you can’t form a connection with another dragon. 

・Sassy, fierce but affectionate - that’s how you see Syrax.

・And since Silverwing was such an open-minded, gracious and kind dragon (the kindest one there ever was), she never minds when you talk to Syrax

・You never liked the thought of keeping Silverwing in the Dragonpit whenever you visited King’s Landing. But Rhaenyra promised you that nothing would happen. (Not that she couldn’t take care of herself, but you didn’t like knowing that men with pointy spears might hurt her)

・You had a strong bond with your dragon, and it was almost like whenever one of you got hurt, the other could feel it. You wondered if Good Queen Alysanne felt it as well?

𝑰𝒇 𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝑭𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆/𝑭𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈:

・Then your marriage between Rhaenyra and yourself is hidden

・Everyone thinks you’re just really good friends 

・And Alicent was very jealous of the relationship between the two of you. It’s what she wanted. 

・So the tension between the Blacks and the Greens grew even more (while you were away - you had been gone a long time. 10 years, and in those years Rhaenyra had her sons with Harwin)

・Laenor knew of your relationship and was happy to play along as the husband in official events 

・You have a different relationship with each of Rhaenyra’s sons. With Jace, it’s a tad stiff, since he’s caught on to the truth. But you’ve asked him if he wanted to meet Silverwing and have a fly with you. The first few times he denied, and Rhaenyra was so upset. 

・But after making him laugh and standing up for him in front of his cousins, he grew warmer to you. 

・And then he agreed and it solidified your relationship with Jace as protector. 

・With Luke, that boy was the sweetest thing to ever exist. He brought both you and Rhaenyra flowers. And often asked to see Silverwing. Even though all three boys had dragons of their own, none were trained like yours. Who was absolutely brilliant with other people. 

・Silverwing is actually a very social dragon and loves to be in conversations and to be doted over. 

・Oh and she absolutely adores being petted, to the point that she has a favourite spot to be rubbed. 

・And little Joffrey, oh he was so young when you first met him. He sees you already as another mother, even if you haven’t said to think of you as that. 

・You had said to the boys - I will always be there for you. I will protect you no matter what, and whatever problems you have, you can come to me. 

𝑰𝒇 𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒍𝒆/𝑴𝒂𝒍𝒆𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈:

・Then as the same as above, when you were sent away, it was for a long long time. 

・Rhaenyra had her three boys with Harwin, but his place was effectively taken by you when he died. 

・You weren’t like Criston Cole, where you had to have a true marriage to Rhaenyra. You were happy being her ... side piece. 

・But Laenor could see how happy Rhaenyra was with you, how you two would be the perfect King and Queen of Westeros. 

・So, he asked Rhaenyra to help him run away with his lover and make it look like he had been killed. 

・She agreed, only because she loved you so much. 

・When you had heard, you were shocked. Shocked that you weren’t consulted or included. That they had lied to you. 

     “I’m telling you now, though!” 

“But you were sneaking behind my back. And now your aunt has no children!” 

・It took a few days but you forgave her. Only because you realised how far she would go to have you. As her King. 

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:

Give Me All Your Love by Alabama Shakes

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

"You wear the pants in this relationship" (You say to Rhaenyra) x "oh I wish, I cannot control you at all" (She replies back)

Two damaged, vulnerable people, swearing to each other no matter what 

Accidental confession during heat of the moment/fight.

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆  

Undying Loyalty

𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 🔞 no one under 18 read past this point!

・Your wedding night was like any other - you had been entranced with each other from the very first time you met. 

・Secretly meeting in each other’s bedrooms since you were 18, you knew one another’s bodies well. 

・You knew what the other liked, what names you liked to be called and how you lusted to be touched 

・Rhaenyra liked to be both dominant and submissive; letting you take control, biting her neck as she rode you, doing what she was told, waiting for your commands. 

・And other times she liked to pull your hair and hear her name shouted from your mouth 

・She loves to rut against your body, any part of your body. Especially if you’ve been in a fight, and she wants to make it up to you or wants you to make it up to her. 

・Rhaenyra loves her nipples played with - especially them being sucked and nibbled on. She has the most glorious pink, puffy breasts that you day dream about often. 

・They’re the same colour as her lips, as well as her cunt. On some days you’ll back her against the wall in your bedrooms and widen her legs and pull up her dress

New York always looks different painted in white—it sort of catches you off guard every time. Not in a bad way, but a more or less hopeful way. The world is still spinning and you’re still living. Somehow.

So after months of having little to no tension with your family mid-winter, you were sort of shocked at the sudden conflict that arose. You didn’t want to ruin an otherwise perfect winter—so you did what you always did whenever such things happened. Run into the always open arms of the Morales’.

“I’m sorry for bothering you all again,” You whispered. You were always on the quieter side but whenever fights went down you lost your voice far easier than any other time.

“Nonsense! You know us, we’re always going to be like a second family to you.” Ms. Rio said. She never failed to make you guilty, not because ever purposely did so—but because her kindness was overwhelming. You felt as if you could never repay that.

“Yes, we always have a home for you here,” Mile’s dad gave a rare smile, not that he didn’t smile, it was just more heartfelt than the ones he showed when he was joking or laughing. All these observations you knew over the years because you depended on them often. It had been easier when you were younger though, mostly only coming over because you were playing with Miles. You balled one of your hands up into a fist trying to fight that overwhelming nostalgia.

“(Name)? Are you alright? I’m going to call Miles to come dow—,”

“N-no sir. —Go up there myself… th-a-ank you.” You fought back tears and made your way to Mile’s room, avoiding his parent’s concerned gaze.

A knock on a door. Just a simple and quiet knock that takes you back that far. You can almost see your younger self racing around with glee, being reckless. When you didn’t lie about being loud and extroverted just to please a crowd; it felt so long ago but it was just a few years ago.

“Dad I’m not hungry!”

“A-ah! It’s not—!”

The door swung open before you could finish and you were quickly wrapped into a tight hug. You couldn’t help melt into it. It was so warm and comfortable—you could feel your heart pounding. You did your best to cling on to the wall that was holding back the hot tears that were basically begging to be released, but you kept it in anyway.

“It’s pretty snowy outside, huh? I’m drawing a picture of it—actually.” He always did his best to distract you. And who were you not to give in?

You nodded, signifying that you wanted to see. You entered his room and immediately felt calmed down by the familiar atmosphere. The tranquility of it was dear to you, but so ways a utter messiness of it that made it feel like home. The windows had those same yellow curtains draped over them, but in between the cracks you could see a winter scene outside.

Hopping onto the bed, you wrapped yourself with the blankets. Miles sat next to you, bringing you into his arms. He kissed your forehead and flipped through the pages of the art book, reaching a page with a sketch of Mile’s home from the exterior view. “Alright, now give me those art skills.” He nudged you.

Alright, yeah, you did art every once in a while. You didn’t do it as much though. Not after…

“Dunno… em…phasize the frost in the window. They wouldn’t look that normal.”

“See! You’re good at art without even trying.” He started to add shading to the windows, making sure to leave snowflakes on top of them.

“Th…” You didn’t want to stutter but at this point it felt like at any moment you were going to overflow. So you stayed silent. It engulfed the situation uncomfortably. In between those non-existent lines layers of trauma was stacked in your words. And it was separating you and Miles. You knew it was.

A tune interrupted the silence. It was so soft and quiet that if the two of you had been speaking neither would notice. You gradually made your way to the window and looked out down onto the street. There it was—a double decker bus decked out with Christmas decorations and playing to the tune of Jingle Bell Rock. You stared at it in awe with child-like wonder. Then the feeling of nostalgia hit you like a truck.

You remember begging your parents to take you on one of those busses, so short that you thought the top of those busses might as well be the empire skate building. That if you reached high enough you could touch the stars. Did you ever end up going on one?

You already know the tears are falling down your face. They are just as silent as the room was before. And you can feel the comfort of the Miles’ hands wiping them away, and just for that night, your fears and terrors were wiped away too.

Every Friday night was reserved to you and Mickey since you two had started dating, some months after the beginning of your first college year. It had been agreed by the two of you, because you had soon realized that college life was messy, difficult and crowded; and a little bit of bonding time reserved for your relationship sounded like a good idea. Slowly, it escalated from cute little dates in the campus’ cafeteria to coffee shops outside the enclosure, until you two finally retreated to one plan and one plan only — movie night.

Fairly chosen, one week he was the one to choose one of his movies in between his precious collection, worthy of a Film student; and the next one you would choose, sometimes with better or worse criteria, but always having fun. Popcorn, candy and a blanket pulling you close together, his hand either around your shoulders or wrapped around your waist, letting you lean into him. It was a great plan for a Friday night.

This week it was your turn, and you had purposely chosen a movie that would piss off his movie buff extraordinare’s taste; something like Dirty Dancing. Mickey had bitched around for quite a while, not letting you hear the somewhat awful dialogues, but amusing you anyway because even if he could be annoying, Mickey was still funny and charming, in his own way.

The movie ended not too late, to Mickey’s relief, and as soon as the credits rolled in your little TV he jumped out of the bed with the empty bowl of popcorn in his hands, while he roasted the movie like it had personally offended him.

“It just makes no sense.” He said, putting the bowl in the only table you and your roommate had in your shared dorm. Your friend had always been kind and comprehensive enough to allow you to have the dorm whenever Derek, Mickey’s roommate, didn’t want to leave his. Mickey turned to you, still in bed, with a wide grin. “And seriously, Baby? It’s just so unrealistic for someone to spend a whole summer being called Baby by everyone.”

“Mickey, it’s a movie.” You laughed quietly, your head cocking to the side. 

Mickey pointed at you with his index finger. “That’s not an excuse, and you know that.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Whatever.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that sight, and you watched him do so. Mickey looked really handsome when he laughed, as his face filled with joy and beaming happiness — you liked the way he enjoyed himself around you. It was something sweet.

“I’m dead.” Mickey was able to say as soon as he stopped laughing, exhaustion washing over him after a hard week. His body felt sore, you could tell by the way he crawled to your side in bed. His body next to yours, even on top of the sheets and blanket, felt so familiar. A smile was shot your way. “Let’s go to sleep, uh?”

Something inside you crumbled suddenly as soon as you saw him getting inside the bed, without bothering to look if you were doing the same because he thought it was rather obvious. It produced you a feeling close to anxiety, thinking about sleeping while you slid by his side — this week had been hard on both of you, but what had kicked your ass the most wasn’t assignments and classes, like it had happened to him, but sleep. 

A series of all-nighters the last week had thrown you off, and now your sleep schedule was messed up. You had laid in bed every night, eyes closed, waiting for Orpheus to sweep you out of the world and into sleeping, but it hadn’t happened — as much, an hour or two before your alarm went off you would fall slightly asleep, producing you low headaches that you had successfully avoided with a few pills.

“But it’s so early.” You said, and your voice went a little higher like it used to do whenever you lied, catching Mickey’s attention.

His eyes drifted to your alarm clock behind you, head tilted. “You’re not tired?”

“I am.” You sighed, and then you stuttered a bit, before confessing. “But… I haven’t been sleeping well. It’s– It’s silly.”

Mickey’s body language changed instantly. His back straightened, so he could sit up with it against the headboard, body turned to look at you and give you his full attention. His eyes scanned you slightly, making you look away in embarrassment — you were a grown adult, and not wanting to go to sleep without a good reason was childish, you knew. 

“Is this about the murders going on?” Mickey asked quietly, like someone else apart from you could hear him talking about the matter that had been hunting everyone in your circle for the last couple of weeks. Two people had been murdered in the new, based on real events, slasher’s opening night. “Because if it’s that, I can promise you, you have nothing to worry about.”

“No, it’s not that.” You shook your head, to prove your point, then just shrugged. Mickey watched you curiously, carefully. “I think I’m just too stressed. The exams, and all… College life isn’t as good as they paint it and, I don’t know, maybe I can’t take it.”

A beat of silence, then two, before Mickey’s brows furrowed together. “That’s bullshit.” It surprised you enough to not let you speak instantly, giving him time to speak first. “I mean, I understand you being stressed, it’s natural. But if you can’t take it, then no one can.”

“That’s not true.”

“But it is!” He insisted, seriousness written all over his face. You had only seen him this serious once or twice before, when he was passionately defending a horror movie from Randy’s criticism, and when he had asked you out for the first time. “I think you’re taking it all too seriously. You stress too much about every single test and—”

“But it is serious, Mickey.” You interrupted softly, wrapping your arms around your knees for comfort. “I can’t slow down.”

“It shouldn’t take your sleep away.” He retorted. His hand reached out for you, comfortably squeezing once. “You’re doing great. I mean that. But you need to chill.”

Nodding slightly, your gaze fell down and away from him, processing his words. The silence settled between you, but Mickey needed to know what you were thinking — not anymore to have the upperhand, but because he was worried, and if there was something pure in him, that was his love for you. 

His hand left yours to barely graze your chin, lifting your head and gaze up. “Is that all of it?” Mickey asked softly. His eyes shone. “Nothing more on your mind?”

“That’s all.” You muttered, nodding slightly. He gave you a smile.

“Wanna go to sleep now?” 

Also, if there is any mistakes please let me know. This is pretty much the first fic or fic adjacent thing I have written and I wrote this when I definitely should have been sleeping. I also put this through Google Docs for spell checking, but that does not really help with wording and such.

~Thanks and enjoy~

You were everything that Brahms could have wanted. You were everything he needed.

You took care of the doll and followed all of the rules to the best of your abilities. There were days where you couldn't be bothered to check the rat traps, but who could blame you, it was a dreary task after all.

That aside, you did everything daily. You'd wake up at roughly the same time every day, then you'd get ready for the day in almost 20 minutes (which included a quick shower, some face care and teeth brushing and getting dressed). After getting yourself presentable for the day, you would go to Brahms' room and ever so gently wake him.

You’d always say something along the lines of "it's time to wake up, Brahmsy" or "time for breakfast little one".

And once you had said that you'd gently pull the covers from the doll and sit it up, then you would place the softest kiss on its forehead before going to the dresser and choosing an outfit for the day. You would make the bed (moving the doll to sit on a nearby chair and placing it back on the bed once it's made) wash the doll's face with a soft cloth and lukewarm water, then you'd dress the doll, brush its hair and take it downstairs for breakfast.

Breakfast was Brahms' favourite.

You always made it so fun. You'd choose something healthy and put a sweet spin on it, even if it was something a bit boring like peaches and cream or pancakes and whipping. You'd add a little bit of granola to it or oats, sometimes fresh berries and a very little bit of sugar or cinnamon. You always spoiled Brahms when it came to breakfast, always gave him some kind of sweetness.

He'd begun to imagine that the saccharine things you fed him were little pieces of yourself you were giving to him, little pieces of sugar and candied love with a little bit of a roughness to it. He loved your breakfasts.

When you were done with your breakfast you'd leave the doll's plate in front of it and clean whatever dishes were in the sink, then you'd clean up the breakfast and put it in the fridge and do whatever dishes were left. Then you'd grab the doll and move to the library to start his lessons.

Sometimes you'd start with a poem, sometimes you'd sing him a song.

He preferred the latter.

Your voice sounded as though it were liquid sunlight dripping onto his skin, warm and soft with a small amount of sticky to it, almost like freshly scraped honey. He could listen to you for hours, but you'd stick to the schedule his mother gave you and eventually stop, much to his chagrin.

His least favourite lesson was history. It was repetitive and it annoyed him, but your sap-like voice trapped him into listening. Kept him struggling and yearning for more. Eventually, however, the lessons had to lead into lunch and you’d take the doll back to the kitchen.

The thing that had Brahms smitten by you the most was the fact that you were always talking to the doll, telling it even the tiniest details of stuff, no matter how miniscule most would deem the information. To you it was always important enough to share with Brahms, to talk with him even though you never got a response back.

Brahms was always listening, and watching, from the walls. Everything you did and said imprinted into his brain, tattooed upon his veins and heart. Your words like a life preserver in the black ocean of emptiness that was his soul. 

So by lunch, he was dizzy with every essence that was you. Dizzy with need and want, hungering for the feel of your soft delicate skin. Craving to caress every little part of your body, to smooth every pore and imperfection until it was full of him. Until there was no end to him and no start to you.

So by lunch, on most days, he would please himself behind the comfort of his mask and his walls as he watched you fuss over the doll and its lunch. He was always over eager, however, and couldn't last for long. So, instead, he'd continue watching you and listening, sometimes going for another round, most times just appreciating the artistry that was your figure until lunch was over.

After lunch, which usually consisted of sandwiches, you would continue with Brahms' studies. However, once a week on the same day, Malcolm would drop off groceries.

Brahms despised the grocer.

Malcolm always flirted with his nannies, and it pissed Brahms off. Especially since the man always had a way of making the nannies forget their duties and neglect him.

You, however, were different. Unlike with the other nannies, Brahms never had to remind you of your duties, you kept your contact with Malcolm very low and never invited him to stay in the house longer than necessary.

Only on very rare occasions did you entertain Malcolm's flirting, but you never broke any rules when you did. You'd sit on the porch, a tea in your hand and the doll at your side, and you'd just listen to Malcolm. Brahms knew it was because you craved human interaction, but it still made him envious.

The first time you'd gone outside to talk with Malcolm, Brahms threw a tantrum. It was also the first time you were made aware of his presence. You had your suspicions, of course, especially since so many of your things disappeared a bit too frequently.

But actually having your suspicions become true was quite terrifying to you, it even took you a while to recover from that terror. For nearly a full week you stopped talking to the doll, it took you quite some time to actually speak to him once more.

When you did start speaking outside of the lessons once more, you explained to him that you merely craved human interaction. You did understand that he was frightened of being abandoned, so you promised you wouldn’t talk for too long.

So, Brahms agreed.

Other than that, there were few instances of Brahms needing to remind you of your duties to him. The one other time that he threw a huge tantrum was because you'd fed him what you called Mexican food. According to you it's a quite popular quick style of food for when someone doesn't feel like cooking a huge meal. Brahms felt that you needed a bit of a break, as a thank you, but never again. His poor tongue didn't stop burning until the next day. 

You learned your lesson, and didn't cook Mexican again, or at least you didn't tell Brahms when you did you just made sure his portions weren't spicy.

Out of all the new little additions you made to his schedule, his favourites were the books you ordered from online. The first one you read to him was a book called Frankenstein.

Brahms, at first, thought it was ridiculous, but by the ending he was heart broken. For he understood the wanting desire of companionship, for him it too was something he wouldn't be able to live without. Or, that was his interpretation of the story, and yours was quite different. According to you it was a common thing for people to have differing interpretations of the story, he found that very interesting.

The other additions happened slowly. Like you singing to him on occasion, or your little walks out in the cold autumn afternoons. Of course you would take the doll with you, but Brahms wouldn't dare leave the house. Instead he'd watch you from a window, still making sure you weren't trying to relinquish your duties and leave him.

After lunch, on normal days anyways, you'd continue with Brahms' studies, which you would finish early. Or atleast earlier than his mother did when she'd help with his studies. This was when you'd read to him, or sometimes sing to him, or go for your walks.

Then came some chores such as cleaning and dusting. You'd keep the doll in the same room as you, and you'd talk its little ears off. After your chores came supper. On colder days you'd make a soup or stew, on nice days some type of pasta or roast. On warmer days, which were infrequent even in the summer, you'd make something quick, just not Mexican. 

Once more, you'd do dishes and put away the doll's untouched food. Pretending to not notice that the food from previous mealtimes was gone. Then you'd sit in the lounge and continue reading to the doll before getting it ready for bed. You'd dress it in clean nightclothes, tuck it in and give it a goodnight kiss. Then you would go to your room and prepare yourself for bed.

Sometimes, if Brahms was lucky, you'd shower before bed.

Your shower before bed was your special time. You didn't clean yourself, but you'd stay in there for a while. Soft noises emitting from your mouth as Brahms watched you please yourself, Brahms would please himself at the same time usually. Sometimes he wouldn't, instead opting to save the images for later so he could be a bit louder, and not in such a confined space.

Then you would get out, dress for bed and lay down.  Brahms would wait until your breathing became slow and even before leaving the walls. Then he would watch you sleep, all of his worries and anxieties would drift away as he stared at your peaceful face. At times he would gently stroke your hair, or caress your cheek. When you first began as his nanny he was afraid of waking you, but as time went on he became bolder.

Maybe a bit too bold as he never thought he'd look into your eyes as deeply as a lover might. Nor have you actually take in his giant form leaned over you. He never thought he'd ever have to face any of his anxieties or fears of you leaving him, but now you two were face to face. His wild eyes staring down into your own fear filled ones. His face was so close to yours he could smell the shampoo you showered with only moments ago. Slowly, as though you were on the verge of bolting, he brought his hand up to your face.

Unsure about him nor his intentions you slightly flinch which causes him to pause momentarily, which lasts a mere second as his hand is lightly placed upon your cheek and his thumb begins to softly caressing your lips. He leans in closer to you, enough that you could hear his heavy breaths right next to your ear. In a child's voice, one you've heard only a few times before, he whispers into your ear.

"My pretty songbird"