At least he did.

"Prince Daeron" You say with a smile, making a polite bow, not thinking beforehand how the parasol hits his head slightly "Ow, sorry!"

"No it is.. fine" he says, a hand moving to where you accidentally hit him. "I have been hurt worse"

You knew that after the Ashford Tourney, and the infamous Trial of Seven, Daeron had lost part of his ear. It was not as grotesque as it had been, and after a moon, it looked less painful. 

"Oh, well, I have been hurt too" you say animatedly. "My mother used to drag me by the ear when I misbehaved" you say with a cheerful smile, the weight of your words and your behaviour confused him.

He knew you were rather clumsy, as you had accidentally stepped on the curtains of the main ball, making a scene when they fell. Your father had apologised, while he saw how your mother scolded you in front of everyone. 

That’s the first time he noticed you, and since then, he was head over heels for you. He tried not to make it obvious, since he was pretty sure he would be a shitty husband for you, and he dared not ask his father for permission, even if you were a proper lady. He had seen you from a distance, curious about why you were away from court, as he always tried to search you in these events to appreciate you from a distance. You were a comely girl, and he did find you beautiful, delicate and so different from the rest. 

He had spoken to you before, amused by how you did not have a filter with your thoughts. It was cute, and he could hear you speak all day. How he wishes to hold you close, and let you yap about anything.

“Sorry. It was rude to say” You say quickly, a soft smile with apologies. 

Daeron remains a bit quiet, unsure what to say.

“In this season, frogs start jumping and playing” You point out at the pond. “And there are golden fish in there too, but the beauties are the turtles, they move incredibly slow, and it is mesmerising to see”

Daeron had never taken a second look at the frogs, turtles or fish, and he had been found passed out drunk in the pond more than once. 

“I never noticed,” he says quietly, drinking from his cup. He was not drunk yet, barely starting drinking. “It comes naturally for you to notice those things?”

“Oh, yeah, my mother says it is the most obnoxious thing” You say without a second thought. “She says I am silly and notice unimportant things, and when I was little, she would make me count all the birds in our backyard while she tried to get suitors for my sister”

"Oh" He says, unsure what to say. How does one can comfort a lady when she says that? "How bad"

He wanted to drown himself in the pond by how lame he was.

"Yeah, I do know that! It was very mean"

Daeron frowns “Why she asked you to do that?”

You turn to see him with a smile, and say “Because I would scare any suitors away. I am very chatty, and my father says that no one wants to know about my weird dreams”

Daeron pauses for a second, speechless at that comment, as if getting a deja vu all at once. “I do have weird dreams too”

“Really? Last night I dreamt that I was so small I fell into my chamberpot, and then I travelled to the far land of the Summer Islands. Did you know they have a lot of butterflies there?”

Gods, you were chatty. Daeron thinks, trying not to grin like a fool. It made his heart go crazy for you.

“I did not know”

“What are your dreams about?”

He pauses for a second, finishing his second glass of wine before answering. It was not something pleasant to remember, and when questioned about it by the lady he fancies, his mind panics “I… I dream about… many things”

“I was looking forward to meeting you, because my sister says you do have weird dreams”

“Ah… I suppose I have that fame…” Daeron says, scratching his head. He really does not wish to speak about the matter, and before he can finish a sentence -or a thought- you speak once again.

“Do not worry. I think that weird dreams are great, and more so if you learn how to control them”

Daeron frowns “Control your dreams?”

“Yeah. Like when you know that you are dreaming and you can do whatever you like”

He had never heard of such things. Daeron tried many things before to suppress his dreams, and so far, wine was his only option. If he passed out drunk, no dreams would torment him. 

“How do you do that?” 

“I am not sure. I have a book about it” 

“Another wine” He says to a servant who walked past them with a bottle full of wine. “Leave it here.”

You look at him, holding your parasol as you see him pour himself another cup. It was most indecorous for a prince to serve his own cup, but you do not mind.

“Does your father truly despise me? For ripping his curtains?”

“He despises everyone. Do not feel bad” He consoles you, watching your curious face. 

“Oh, that’s good. My mother said he would send me to be a silent sister, but then she said he might as well just cut my tongue out because I never shut up”

As he drinks up, Daeron cannot help but to sigh at how horrible he is at courting a lady. He hears your wild stories as you speak like a chatterbox, yapping any thought in your pretty head. He liked it, as it helped him to think of something else rather than his misery. 

He knew you were different, he knew everyone found you obnoxious and strange, but he liked that about you; people found him strange as well, more so because he was drunk all the time, calling him a rake more than once. But it wasn’t just for the pleasure, it was the relief. 

“Do you…” He tries to speak, trying to think how to ask without being improper. “Have any suitors?”

“Mmm, not really” You say, looking at him. “And you?”

He frowns slightly “If I have suitors?”

“Yeah”

“...No”

As silence falls between you both, only filled by the sound of the birds chipping and the faint sound of the bard playing for ladies at court. Daeron sucks at courting ladies, he always knew that, hoping that his father would simply marry him off with a lady, and be done with it. 

Whores were easier, as he simply gave a bag of coins, and he had company for the night. But he could not pay a highborn lady, and he isn’t a fool to try to compromise one. But he had no idea how to interact with one. Less more with one as strange as you.

“Would you like to… ehm, well…” he says, pouring himself another cup trying to not panic as you watch him with those big, curious eyes. “Fuck!”

He says, as he tilted the bottle too much, staining his velvet doublet, and making a mess on his breeches as well, feeling the fabric getting damp and sticky. His father would kill him for making a mess, much more for being a drunkward. 

“Oh, do not worry!” You say to him, as he steps back. “Surely, we can ask the maids…”

He gulps the wine on his cup as he simply turns away, in shame, going inside the castle without saying goodbye. 

What an idiot! To think that he came to you with intentions to court you, to make you see how charming he could be when he was not drunk, just to make a fool of himself. 

Daeron has dreamed of you. 

In his dreams, you were full of life and wonder, still chatting and yapping to him about anything in your way, but he could not make the words. He saw you in your pink dress, in your silver one, yellow one… Always glowing with a smile and a giddy, warm personality. 

In the spring, you fell asleep. In a field full of flowers, he finds you in your chemise, alongside his cousins, both Valarr and Matarys. 

He avoids you like the plague, then. He knows one thing about his dreams: always dreaming of someone meant something bad. If court is taking place, he simply wanders the other way. If he knows you’ll be at the gardens, he stays in the library. In days he mostly stayed inside, getting drunk for the night and for when he went to the taverns near the castle. 

But how he saw you from the distance, hearing your chatting and giggles in every corner of Summerhall. He dared not to get close, afraid that his proximity might cause your doom, but he was allowed to stare from afar, and sigh as he was head over heels for you, thinking about you most of the time. 

“Prince Daeron!”

His father had asked him to meet him in the yard, perhaps to force him to train the sword with him, as if another Blackfyre rebellion might start anytime soon. With Aerion, Aemon and Aegon gone, he was down to three children, and only Daeron was a boy to pick up a sword.

So, he was trying to go hide in his chambers, walking toward the stairs. And your voice stops him, as he sees you leaning in the stair railings above him, waving at him with a smile.

“Stay right there! Do not move”

He sighs, his heart beating more quick as he hears you going downstairs quickly. 

“I was looking for you” You say without a breath, holding out a book for him “Here!”

He sees the cover, almost faint letter of the title. “Guide for dreams? Really?”

“I sent a letter to my home, so the servants could fetch it and bring it here.” You say proudly “And I highlighted the important parts, so you can control your dreams. It’s a gift to you.”

Daeron is a bit surprised, because he had forgotten you mentioned a book. He was too ashamed, of being clumsy to throw wine into his clothes in front of you. 

“It is from Volantis, a gift from my uncle. But I already read it, so it is yours”

He was a bit speechless at first, as it was a cute gesture, he had to admit. Only his mother and father would worry about his dreams, when he was a child, but now it was something no one spoke of. Sometimes Egg and Aemon would be curious, as children were, but some dreams came true, some did not. 

“Thank you”

“When one is courting someone it is proper to gift things” You say with your hands clasped together, proud of yourself. “So this is my gift to you”

Daeron blinks for a second, confused at your words “Courting someone?”

“Yes. My mother said that if a man wants to court me, he must give me things.”

That did not explain your comment. “And this was a gift…?”

“Yes, but it is from my uncle. Not a courting gift, of course, that would be silly, But it is my courting gift to you”

“You intend to court… me?”

“I do not intend, I am.”

Speechless was one word. But he was frozen in place at that, confused and unsure what to say. Women did not court men, that was sure, less  a maiden to a prince. But again, you cared little for social norms, it seems. 

“Oh”

You smile proudly of yourself, as you get on your tippy toes to press a soft kiss on his lips. 

It was ridiculous, him of all people, getting wooed like he was the maiden, and not the drunk prince who would always ask a serving man to fetch him a wench. 

“You can refuse me, if you like. I would not ask for the book back” You say then, with a giddy smile in your lips, proud of yourself. 

“I… I… I am not refusing, I just… I have never been… courted?” He says, unsure of his words and the situation. Was he not having a ridiculous dream now? Could you have infected him with your queer dreams?

“I haven’t either. But I think I am doing a good job”

“I think so too, I suppose”

“You do not need a septa to chaperone you?”

“Ehm… no. I think not”

You grin, and say “Then, you must hear my dream from last night! Have you ever heard that the Yi Tish emperor has concubines? Well, I dreamt that I had many concubines, but all of them were made of water, and so they could not see the sun, because they would evaporate…”

“That it’s silly” He notes, allowing you to hold his hand as you two walked across the halls. 

“I know, but thank the Gods that you are not made of water!”

Daeron was unsure how a strange lady could simply take care of him, courting him. But he would not refuse your attention to him. And besides, not all his dreams come true, and you have always loved the gardens.

bokuto’s ears are ringing, his head feels light, and his temples are pulsing as he vigorously bobs his head along your pussy. when was the last time he came up for air?

the white sheets below you are translucent with how much slick and saliva is pooling below your ass. your thighs are trembling, stained and shining with how much cum bokuto pulled from you.

“need more,” bokuto gasps, further pushing his face as he buries his tongue in your tight walls. his eyes roll to the back of his head as he ruts against the bed, a dark and wet patch on his briefs as he devours you.

it’s common for bokuto to lose himself when it comes to you, and it’s no surprise that he also forgets to breathe. his lips are swollen and his tongue is sore but frankly, he doesn’t care because he doesn’t want to separate himself from you, not one bit.

so you’re the one who has to use whatever strength you have left to push his big head away from your drooling cunt just so he can come up for air.

“bo, bo! breathe!”

your squeal snaps him from his stupor, and he whines indignantly when you push his face away. the pupils in his eyes are gone, and his nose, lips, and cheeks are slick with his saliva and your juices.

he huffs childishly, teeth nipping the skin of your thighs before he moves at breakneck speed and you see the flash of his underwear flying to the floor.

his large body hovers over yours as he pushes your knees to your chest, squishing your thighs in between your bodies as he guides his leaking cock to your empty cunt.

he doesn’t give you any warning before he starts pistoning his cock in your pussy, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as he sloppily licks and bites your lips.

your broken cries and hiccups are music to bokuto’s ears. the scrape of your nails on his shoulders as you beg him to slow down, bo! oh my god! spur him on, his thrusts becoming harsher and heavier, as if he’s trying to mold your body into the mattress.

he doesn’t listen to you, too pussy drunk and slightly miffed that you stopped him from eating his favorite meal.

but it’s okay, because carving and imprinting the shape of his cock in your cute pussy isn’t deterred by trivial things such as breathing.

mma!bakugo who doesn't know how good he looks when he's wiping sweat from his chin or chugging water from his massive 2-liter water bottle, a trickle of cold water dripping down his chin to run down his neck, his adam's apple bobbing as he gulps down the water, smacking his lips as he wipes his mouth on the back of his bandaged hand; doesn't notice the way that every girl (and a lot of the guys tbh) are staring at him, but he'll glance towards where he saw you last, standing helping a new guy sign up for the gym membership, smiling and laughing, and he knows it's what you're supposed to do but it doesn't stop the way his gut twists or the way he goes way too hard at the punching bag, hard enough for his coach to hike an eyebrow and ask what's gotten into him today? it's not like him to "lose control" like this

mma!bakugo who never calls you by your name where other ppl can hear, always says like "hey sweetcheeks, can you hand me a water?" or "dollface, can you do me a favor?" and you'd always roll your eyes and remind him that "that's not my name, bakugou-kun," even as you're doing whatever thing he asked for anyway.

mma!bakugo who keeps quiet and watches when a guy tries to hit on you (unsuccessfully) bc he knows you can handle yourself, but the moment the guy reaches out to try and put hands on you, he's on his feet, stalking across the gym to shove his way between the pair of you like "oi. she ain't interested." and by now, everyone's gone quiet, their eyes trained on him and the guy and you; the guy sizes bakugou up, puffing out his chest for a second, but the next, he seems to notice the thick cords of muscles braiding down bakugou's arms, the expertly wrapped knuckles on both his hands, and he puts two and two together fast enough to know that this really isn't a fight he should be picking.

so he scoffs and makes as if he weren't ever really that interested anyway, turning around and muttering beneath his breath that you weren't even that pretty to begin with.

"thanks," you say, but bakugo just frowns and cocks his head.

"don't let anyone talk to you like that, got it?" and there's still that signature grit to his voice, the sharpness to his eyes, but something about it is different today -- it's ever so slightly softer than he usually is. he opens his mouth like he's about to say something more but pauses at the last second and turns around, shoulders a little hunched, and you could swear you can see the tips of his ears go red.

mma!bakugo who, after you get him an omamori from a shrine visit that says "certain victory", can only stare down at his, mouth open, a lil speechless, until he looks up to find you blushing just as hard as he is, purses his lips, clears his throat and glances off towards the side, tucking the charm into his training shorts like "thanks. now i've really got no excuse huh."

mma!bakugo who when he wins (as you knew he would), throws up his hand, the charm you gave him clutched in his palm, catches your eye in the crowd, smirks and jerks his head; when you squeeze your way up to the barrier, he boops your nose with a gloved hand before tugging it off with his teeth, letting it drop to the ground, bending down so his eyes are level with yours, his chest still heaving, his skin flushed from the recent fight, there's a cut on his lip and a bruise blossoming high on his right cheek but neither of you seem to care -- all he can see is you.

he tugs on a loose strand of hair, cocks his head, you smile and glance at the omamori clutched in his hand and say, "guess the lucky charm really worked."

mma!bakugo who hikes an eyebrow at your words before his eyes track down to your lips and he sighs, leaning against the soft barriers, not caring that there are just about seven different cameras trained on the pair of you right now, runs a finger down your jawline till he can tip your chin back --

"or..." his voice is just a little hoarse, his normally bright eyes dark, his pupils nearly completely blown out, a total eclipse of the usual ruby red of his gaze --