The concept of goodness left me SPEECHLESS. The tension???? Valarr being an actual flawed character despite having like two lines in the show? I have so many questions about this fic but I mainly wanted to ask what is reader's connection to Daeron? When he mentioned wanting to boop her nose I was like hmmmm. We know he's her former boss but it seemed like there sorta was more there?
Reader and Daeron are not friends and they are not lovers. Instead they are a secret terrible horrible no good third thing () that each of them refuses to acknowledge. Nose booping is as tender as our drunk prince can offer methinks. Thank you for the ask and as a treat I’m offering you a scene I wrote out when I was trying to figure out the characterization of him in this fic! 💕
part of ‘the concept of goodness’ universe
You’re high on top-notch weed and the colors of the world seem sharper, music brighter, every touch more electric. It’s a celebration of a deal closed and Maekar being happy (The word ‘content’ is perhaps more fitting) with his oldest son for once. The club is shady. Real hole-in-the-wall type place you’d feel unsafe in alone. Somewhere where nobody knows his name and privacy begets ignorance of senses.
Daeron’s tall body, lithe and fine-boned, shifts to the music, hands wandering over your arms, the dip of your waist, the patch of skin where your top ends and your pants don’t yet start. Like he can’t hold enough of you or push you away in a sufficient haste.
“I want you to know that I will not fuck you. Not tonight, not ever. I want to be very clear.” Daeron murmurs into your skin, his kisses hot and searing against your neck. You want to ask if he’s telling you or merely reminding himself.
“You’re grinding into my thigh, Daeron. Wouldn’t be so confident.” You respond, not even feeling your voice over the music, the bass thrumming until it seems to replace the blood in your veins. Your hands wander, urged by his. The fine silk of his shirt, the cold leather of his belt, fingertips aching to reveal each new sensation; to find more.
“You are a sweet girl. A terrible girl. A terribly sweet girl.” Daeron cups your cheeks, holding too tightly, then too loosely. Like you’re water that’ll slip from between his bony fingers. His nose brushes yours. Once. Twice, “You see, I have a sort of a Midas touch. Just that instead of gold everything turns to bullshit. Was wired this way, I would wager. Bred to fail and make other peoples’ accomplishments seem greater. I’m an awful man, really. You want nothing to do with me, trust me on that, angel.”
The words spill past his lips quickly, almost warbled in their wavering quality. He speaks them into the air you’re sharing and nods your head for you in a subconscious touch. Putting distance between you where there is none.
“Love and sex are different things. I don’t want to date, I don’t crave to wake up next to you each morning and have coffee together before leaving for work. You can’t ‘ruin’ people who are not attached. Can’t ruin people at all, that’s selfish fucking thinking - that you alone can undo somebody completely.” You answer, eyes not leaving his, “I know what I’m doing, I’m not- not this fragile thing to be put away into bubble wrap and protected. There’s no complete goodness or complete evilness. We all exist in a mudded grey.”
“God, even the words you speak are pretty and a touch poetic. Pretty angel darling sent from heaven to make ruin my own code of morality.” Daeron groans, tossing his head back slightly. His adam’s apple bobs against the thin skin of his throat, “But even you know that you are.”
“Am what?”
“Attached, terribly attached to a te- sorry, a grey man like me.”
“I’m-“ You start your sentence, a real defense case laid out in your mind like trying to convince a judge against a ruling of life imprisonment. Two of Daeron’s fingers - cold as winter’s bite - press against your lips. Map out the shape of them softly, press and probe. They slip just the slightest between your teeth, press to your tongue in a touch so brief it might’ve been imagined. Daeron withdraws as if burned, lips parting and closing and parting again, the darkness of his pupils swallowing the lilac.
“Not to worry your pretty angelic head. You’ll get over it once you get to know me more.” Daeron fumbles with his hands until they ultimately end up in his pockets.
Daeron takes a step back, then another. People pass in front of him, blurring the edges of his figure, shattering the electric energy that seemed to have kept both of you entangled in an intricate web of desire just moments ago.
“I do know you.” You answer, not sure that he hears you over the chatter of the crowd, the clinking of glasses, the music still thrumming its way through your body. I see you, you want to shout, you think that nobody does, but I see you as you see me. Do you know that we are a reflection of one another? I’m all you could’ve been and you’re all i’ll ever be. I have known you for months and you do not scare me. Do I? Do I scare you, Daeron?
“You don’t.” Daeron mouths across the dance floor. For a moment, the light that falls on him is a painfully dark midnight blue that could be mistaken for black if the eye was not careful to follow. He disappears into a crowd of bodies and re-emerges a moment later, sharing a drink with another girl and eagerly leaning down to accept her kiss. You don’t stay long enough to catch the edge of his hands wandering.
