dialogue-uk-fr

[actuallykiwi]

Inner Dragon  Chapter 5: The Return of Dragons

A long hot bath and a night at the Sleeping Giant Inn later, Annie sat contentedly at a table in the corner of the tavern. The Riverwood tavern was quiet, as early in the morning most patrons had already headed home. She munched on her apple as Kaidan emerged from his room, looking much cleaner and well rested than the night before. “And how are you feeling this fine morning?” She asked as she wiped the apple juice from her mouth.

“Enjoying a warm tavern and a good ale, you’ll get no complaints from me,” he plopped down in the seat across from her and downed the mug she got for him. “Ah, so what about you? How’re you holding up?” 

She thought for a minute. “Feeling much better after a bath. Nervous, maybe? Empowered? I mean I’ve never delved into a ruin like that, let alone to get an artifact as important as this.” She patted the Dragonstone that was nestled safely in her bag. “All in all, I feel... adventurous.” She finished with a smirk. 

Kaidan grinned back at her. “Glad to hear it. Good to get you out of the books, metaphorically speaking.” She rolled her eyes, “Haha, I’m a nerd, I get it.” 

There was a few quiet moments where they enjoyed their breakfast before Kaidan broke the silence. “I am curious about you, though.” Annie looked at him inquisitively. “What did you wanna know?”

“Well, where are you from?” 

“Chorrol, down in Cyrodiil. Not too far from the Imperial City, which is where my brother frequents for the Legion. I was in our city’s chapter of the Mages Guild, so, y’know, hence the nerdiness.” She shrugged. Kaidan scratched his head, “Still unsure what ‘nerd’ means, but I’ll take your word for it. Cyrodiil, huh? You must miss your homeland. I hope the war hasn’t made Skyrim too... unwelcoming.” She laughed dryly. “Yeah, we did get one heck of a welcome party. But thanks. It’s warming up on me.” She smiled at him, and he returned it with a nod.

She cleared her throat. “Anyways, what else did you wanna know?” 

“I know we’re looking for your brother, got any other family out there?” 

“Yup, our parents! Brienna and Jace Sinclair. They’re both back home in Chorrol.” “Do you miss them? Ah, perhaps that’s a daft question.” 

“No no, you’re fine. And yes, I do. It’s only been a couple weeks since I saw them last, but with all that’s happened with Alec, the war, and the dragon in Skyrim...” she trailed off, and Kaidan placed his hand on her wrist. “It must be hard to be away from them right now. But I know they miss you, too. They must be proud of you both.” 

The amount of sincerity in his voice and his grip on her arm surprised her. From the look in his eyes boring into her, she knew he meant every word. It was almost enough to make her tear up, but she smiled warmly at him. “Thank you. It is hard being away from them, but that’s why it’s so important we find Alec. And we will.” “Aye, we will.” He nodded firmly and removed his hand. 

“Sooo, enough about me. Your turn! What brings you to Skyrim?” 

“I’ve spent a long time wandering; this is where my feet led me.” She waited for him to continue speaking. “And...?” He chuckled. “To own the truth, I’ve come back to Skyrim to learn something of my heritage, my bloodline. The few clues I have pointed me here, but it takes time to decode. So, I’m paying my way by collecting bounties.” 

“You have no family to ask?” “No... not anymore. Perhaps I do have blood kin out there, but I’ve never known them.” Annie couldn’t imagine not having a family. Being without hers right now was more painful than she let on, but she was surviving. She studied him a bit more. His skin was a soft honey tan, almost golden like an elf, and somewhat leathery. And his eyes... she had never seen them on men or mer. Sharp, pensive, and a deep crimson-like hazel. The red tattoo that coated the right side of his face was also not familiar to her. “You don’t even know your race? You definitely don’t look like a Nord.”

“No. I was raised as one, by one. But I have no Voice of the Emperor or Dragonskin magic... I don’t even know the race of my mother. All I have is a hunch, but I need proof.” She perked up. “Well, I do like a good mystery! Maybe I could help?” He blinked at her. “You’d do that?” She nodded. 

“I suppose I could use the help. The best clue I have is my sword, but I’m certain we can find out more in our travels.” “You got it. I’ll keep an eye out! And speaking of travels, time to get moving?” 

“Aye. Let’s return that Claw first.” She agreed, and the pair rounded up their belongings and headed out. 

***************************************

The shopkeep was very grateful to have his shiny golden trinket back, and his sister was a little... too grateful. Kaidan and Annie got back on the road before things got too uncomfortable. 

“You’d think with two guys pawning after her already, she wouldn’t flirt with a total stranger, right? She was pretty, though.” Annie thought aloud as they crossed the bridge and started their journey back to Whiterun. “Hey, you weren’t the one getting groped. They can have her,” Kaidan shuddered. “Agreed. She was really forward.” Annie thought about how Carlotta came right out and offered to “pay him back in full” and ran a hand down his arm. “Ohhoho, Miss Annie, do I detect a hint of jealousy?” He grinned slyly and nudged her. “Hah! Not a chance! I’m just using you for your sword.” She teased.

“My sword, eh? That could mean a lot of things...” She turned beet red and punched his arm. “No no that’s not what I meant!! Kaidan!!” He laughed as they trekked on. 

The rest of the trip to Whiterun, they talked more about Annie’s family and shared childhood stories. Eventually, the Plains opened up and they arrived at the city gates around noon. Fog blanketed the land, and the sky cast long grey shadows. By the time they reached Dragonsreach, the fog had mostly cleared, but the sky was still overcast. Annie always loved rain and storms, but this felt... symbolic, somehow. Almost foreshadowing. 

She didn’t dwell on it for too long as they entered the keep and made their way towards the court wizard’s chamber. As they rounded the corner, Annie heard voices. She put a hand up to Kaidan as they stood against the wall. There was a voice she didn’t recognize speaking to Farengar. 

“You see? The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier. I'm convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with other later texts." Farengar rambled. 

"Good. I'm glad you're making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers." The other voice was female. She sounded impatient.  

"Oh, have no fear. The Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, so I'm now able to devote most of my time to this research." He rifled around some papers.  "Time is running, Farengar, don't forget. This isn't some theoretical question. Dragons have come back." The voice was not quiet. Annie and Kaidan shared a look.  "Yes, yes. Don't worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable... Now, let me show you something else I found... very intriguing... I think your employers may be interested as well..."

They shared one last nod before Annie gently knocked on the wall and they peeped around the corner. The source of the voice glared up at them from beside Farengar. A woman in leather armor pinned Annie with her glare, her pale blue eyes narrowed in suspicion and shadowed by a hood. She nudged Farengar without moving her gaze. “You have a visitor.” 

 It took the wizard a moment to drag himself out of his notes.  "Hmm? Ah, yes, the Jarl's protege! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn't die, it seems.” Annie glimpsed down at herself. “Uh, yeah, it seems not...? Here you go.” She shook her head and handed him the artifact. “Ah! The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way. My... associate here will be pleased to see your handiwork. She discovered its location by means she has so far declined to share with me.”  He looked pointedly at the hooded woman, "So your information was correct after all. And we have our friend here to thank for recovering it for us." She now eyed Annie and Kaidan with surprise. 

"You went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that? Nice work.” With a nod of approval, she turned back to Farengar. “Just send me a copy when you've deciphered it." They exchanged a few more words and the hooded woman began to leave. As she exited the room, she almost ran right into Irileth, who was sprinting into the room. The woman evaded her and scurried out into the hall. Irileth was panting and looked agitated. 

"Farengar! Farengar, you need to come at once. A dragon's been sighted nearby!” She glanced at Annie. “You should come, too." Annie blinked at her and was about to reply, but Farengar quite literally jumped from his hoard of papers and approached Irileth.  "A dragon! How exciting! Where was it seen? What was it doing?" The elf shook her head.  "I'd take this a bit more seriously if I were you. If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don't know if we can stop it. Let's go." She gestured for all of them to follow her, which Farengar excitedly obliged.

Annie looked back at Kaidan. “Fighting a dragon? I’ve been face-to-face with one before but there’s no way I can-” “Let’s just see what’s going on. We’ll go from there.” He reassured her. She nodded, and they followed Irileth up a flight of stairs. 

Jarl Balgruuf was standing in what seemed to be a small war room behind the throne room. He was speaking to a guard that was covered in scorch marks, and seemed worse for the wear.  "So, Irileth tells me you came from the western watchtower?" The guard nodded. “Yes, my lord.” Irileth approached them. “Tell him what you told me, about the dragon.” The guard seemed nervous, scared.  "Uh... that's right. We saw it coming from the south. It was fast... faster than anything I've ever seen."

"What did it do? Is it attacking the watchtower?" Balgruuf seemed to be in deep thought.  "No, my lord. It was just circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fast in my life... I thought it would come after me for sure." The Jarl patted his shoulder.  "Good work, son. We'll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You've earned it.” The guard nodded and limped back down the stairs. “Irileth, you'd better gather some guardsmen and get down there." Irileth stood at attention. “I’ve already ordered my men to muster near the main gate.” 

“Good. Don’t fail me.” Irileth bowed and stepped to the side as Balgruuf’s attention diverted to Annie, who was watching timidly but stood straighter as he approached. He seemed almost remorseful for what he was about to ask.  "There's no time to stand on ceremony, my friend. I need your help again. I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon.” Annie eyes went wide. “But, Jarl, I’ve never-” “You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here. But I haven't forgotten the service you did for me in retrieving the Dragonstone for Farengar. As a token of my esteem, I instructed Avenicci that you are now permitted to purchase property in the city. And please accept this gift from my personal armory." 

The Jarl picked up a scabbard from the table and handed it to Annie. She reluctantly took it from him and unsheathed the sword a few inches. The blade of an iron sword gleamed up at her, with a slight fiery glow. “It’s enchanted.” Kaidan noted from over her shoulder with a nod of approval. She looked back up at the Jarl. “Sir, just because I’ve seen a dragon before doesn’t mean I can fight one! In fact, that same dragon almost took my life!” She thought back to the moment the dragon Shouted at her, sending her and several others flying. Her head still sometimes ached from the impact of hitting the wall. 

 Balgruuf placed his hand on her shoulder. “I know it’s scary, but you will not be alone in this fight. From the moment I met you, I knew something was different in you. I still haven’t pinpointed what, but I know that you can do this. Trust your instinct. Trust your friends.” With this, he glimpsed at Kaidan and backed away. Kaidan gripped her shoulder as well and gave her a reassuring look. She glimpsed back at the sword, hooked it onto her belt, and took a shaky breath. “Okay.” 

Annie and Kaidan made their way out as Farengar approached the Jarl.  "I should come along. I would very much like to see this dragon." "No. I can't afford to risk both of you. I need you here working on ways to defend the city against these dragons." Farengar seemed disappointed, but did not argue. "As you command." Balgruuf called out to his housecarl. "One last thing, Irileth. This isn’t a death or glory mission. I need to know what we’re dealing with.” She bowed again. “Don’t worry, my lord. I am the very soul of caution.” With that, she gestured to Annie and Kaidan, and the three of them ran out of the hall. 

By the front gates, Irileth was giving an inspiring speech to her men, who all seemed just as nervous as Annie. Kaidan watched her as she had a death grip on the hilt of her new sword, trying her best to listen to the speech. “You okay?” He asked gently. “Kaidan, I’m not a warrior. I’m not even a soldier! I’m just a mage that loves studying, learning- I-I mean I know destruction spells, and I can hold my own in a fight, but a dragon?? Back in Helgen, I’ve never been so scared in my life, and now I’m being asked to go through that again...” She was biting her nails, but got a nasty shock when she realized her hands were tingling with electricity. “Listen, Annie.” He stood in front of her so she had to look up at him. 

“Remember what the Jarl said: You’re not alone in this. Trust me. I’ll be there the whole time. I swore to protect you to repay my debt to you, and I’m standing by that promise. You can do this.” Annie stopped trembling and met his eyes. He wasn’t grinning, wasn’t frowning. His eyes were filled with fierce determination. He truly believed in her. 

“...The glory of killing it is ours, if you're with me! Now what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon?" Irileth finished off her speech with rallying cries from the soldiers. Kaidan held up a hand to Annie. She glimpsed down to make sure her anxiety-driven Sparks had worn off, and when she knew they had, she gripped his hand. He firmly squeezed it, and with a heartfelt, possibly excited grin, he took off running with the group, Annie close behind him. 

*******************************************

It was a short run to the Western Watchtower. But what lie in its place was not a tower, but still-smoldering ruins. The tower was half crumbled to the ground, nowhere near its original height. A walkway and barricades were torn down and burning with still-roaring flames. Worst of all, charred corpses lie scattered amid the ruins. The dragon had definitely left its mark. 

Irileth led the group up to a short hill across from the carnage. “No signs of any dragon right now, but it sure looks like he's been here. I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out what happened. And if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere. Spread out and look for survivors. We need to know what we're dealing with." She and the soldiers brandished their weapons and charged onto the scene. Annie and Kaidan made their way toward the tower and quickly found something. 

A guard, scorched like the other was, crouched by the doorway inside, trembling. His eyes grew wide when he saw them enter. He shakily stood and shooed them out.  "No! Get back! It's still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!" Irileth, who was nearby, came to investigate.  "Guardsman! What happened here? Where's this dragon? Quickly now!"

He shook his head. “I don’t know!” As they approached the bottom of the tower, he froze. His head turned slowly south and he fell to his knees. “Kynareth save us, here he comes again...” 

Everyone turned toward where he was facing, and listened. Sure enough, Annie heard it. It was in the distance, but she knew the sound all too well. A roar. A dragon’s roar. The clouds were still thick and blocking the sky, but they could faintly see a shadow move from the mountain top and disappear overhead. “Here he comes! Find cover and make every arrow count!” Irileth found a spot by the crumbled walkway and readied her weapon. Kaidan pulled Annie over behind the tower where a small outcropping covered them. 

They all waited. Listened as one last roar, much closer this time, echoed just overhead. It was quiet. Still, as everyone held their breath and watched the skies. 

Then the dragon dropped from the clouds and snatched up a guard from the walkway in his mouth. With a sickening crunch, the dragon flew back above and flung the guard’s body back to the ground. Annie was going to be sick. 

A war cry rose from the brave troop as they unleashed all they had upon it. Arrows and spells sprang up from all directions. Kaidan unsheathed his own bow and landed a few himself. Annie stayed behind him as he crept around the tower and followed the beast wherever it went. The dragon made a few laps around the premises, then landed with an earth-shaking crash. It took a breath, “Everyone get down!!” and Shouted. 

Flames roared out across the ruins as everyone ducked for cover, some not so lucky were still out in the open. Kaidan yelled and covered Annie behind a broken wall. Even through him, she could feel the immense heat that surrounded them. Once the fire stopped, everyone brave enough emerged from their hiding and began to strike it again. Annie found herself hyperventilating on the ground as Kaidan stood up from shielding her. “Stay here!” He shouted, and went back to attacking. 

She was doing everything she could to calm down. Her pulse was racing, her vision was blurry, she couldn’t breathe. She watched from behind the wall as men began approaching the dragon and attacking head-on, but the dragon’s strong jaws had them quickly, and they were gone. She closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down again. 

Suddenly, everything went quiet, and time seemed to slow. The sounds of the battle were muffled. The fire that raged from the beast roared around her, a distant rage. Her gaze found Kaidan, who was rising from his cover and launching another assault. Kaidan, a stranger fast becoming a friend, who believed in her. Her brother Alec, somewhere out there, probably looking for her too, believed in her. 

She was terrified. The sparks igniting her whole body at this point proved it so. But now was the time to use that fear, and prove them right. 

Something burned within her. Something shifted within her, and she found herself standing up from the rubble. 

The dragon paused, very briefly, and made eye contact. Its face registered something which she would later realize was recognition. The guards were doing a number on it, but it wasn’t enough. 

With her body still running on pure adrenaline, and whatever fire was now raging inside of her, she mustered all of her magicka into her hands, and struck out towards it. 

An amount of electricity that could instantly kill a man was pouring from her outstretched arms. She was screaming, but you couldn’t hear it over the shock. 

It wasn’t killing it, but it certainly caught the dragon’s attention. With it distracted for just long enough, the other men moved in and hit it once again with everything they had. It was Irileth that dealt the final blow, with a sword through its head by way of its eye. Its other eye met Annie’s again, this time with fear. And then she heard something she never expected. She heard it speak, to her. 

“Dovahkiin!? No!!!” 

Irileth removed her sword, and the beast collapsed, lying still. Annie fell to her hands and knees, all of her magic drained from her. The handful of surviving men were already rejoicing. Irileth approached the body. “Now let’s see if this overgrown lizard is really dead.” The guards approached with her, but froze in their tracks. 

The body was igniting. Flames appeared from inside it and engulfed it. “Everyone, get back!” Someone yelled, and they all ducked for cover. All except Annie, who was still too weak to stand. Kaidan rushed over to her and tried to help her up. “Annie!” 

She was barely standing when the body was fully ignited, and then a strong wind moved through. Something was coming out of the dragon, and into her. The shock of the absorption knocked her out of Kaidan’s grasp, but she was still barely standing. This power flowing into her was blindingly burning, but felt... natural. It wasn’t forcing its way in, although the force was strong. The dragon’s body dissolved into nothing but bones, as if all its life force was now moving into Annie. 

After a moment, it finished, and all the wind and fire faded away. Annie dropped to one knee and began panting. “By the gods... what just happened to you?” Kaidan knelt next to her and placed a hand on her back, but quickly snatched it back. She felt like she was on fire. 

“I don’t.. I don’t know...” All the others were gathering around her, silent with awe. One guard stepped up, his mouth agape. “I can’t believe it... you’re Dragonborn!” Annie used Kaidan’s shoulder as a crutch to help herself stand. She was cooling off and touching the metal of his armor, which he was quietly grateful for. “I’m a what?”

“Dragonborn. In the very oldest tales, back when there still were dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power. That's what you did, isn't it? Absorbed that dragon's power?" The guard explained. Annie felt her chest. She was warm, but not burning anymore. That roar and power that she felt earlier was louder now. Whatever just happened, it definitely awoke something within her. “I mean... it certainly felt like it...” 

“There's only one way to find out. Try to Shout... According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the dragons do." The other guards began debating the legend. Annie looked down at her hands. They were still hers, but they felt... different, somehow. Stronger. She felt stronger. Kaidan was watching her intently. “How do you feel?” She looked up at him. “Honestly? A little freaked out.” He chuckled. “But... I feel stronger, somehow. And really, really warm. And my chest kind of, burns? Not like heartburn, but like... something is... alive. Am I making sense?” Kaidan chuckled again and shook his head, “Not really, but after what just happened, who knows?”

The men had dragged Irileth into the debate. They finished arguing, and looked back at Annie. "If you really are Dragonborn, like the old tales, you ought to be able to Shout. Can you? Have you tried?" She looked at Kaidan. He shrugged. She sighed and walked a distance away, facing away from the handful of survivors. 

She definitely absorbed something from the dragon. The burning in her chest was working its way up to her throat while she thought. Okay, Shouting. I can do that? Think, Annie. If dragons can Shout, that means it’s in their language, right? What do you know about their language? Nothing really. Except... one Word... from the Barrows... The burn sat dead center of her throat. She envisioned the physical form of the Word she saw, how it engulfed her vision, how she heard and felt it through her entire body. She gripped her fists, and took a deep breath and, 

“FUS!”

The volume of her Voice shocked her. She couldn’t help but cover her mouth out of surprise. She Shouted. “I did it...” She whispered. 

The others gasped and murmured. The same guard from before approached her.  "That was Shouting, what you just did! Must be. You really are Dragonborn, then..." Annie turned to face Kaidan, who was right behind her, his shocked face matching hers. “Well, I’ll be damned... I’m traveling with a Dragonborn...” She couldn’t help but nervously chuckle. 

"That was the hairiest fight I've ever been in, and I've been in more than a few. I don't know about this Dragonborn business, but I'm sure glad you're with us. Jarl Balgruuf will want to know what happened here. I'm taking command here for the moment. You head back to Whiterun and let the Jarl know what happened." Irileth seem unperturbed by the discovery, but impressed nonetheless. Kaidan nodded and gently guided Annie back to the road and towards Whiterun.

“This... changes everything, doesn’t it?” She asked aloud. “It only changes what you want it to. You’re still Annie, just, a little louder now.” She chuckled. “I never knew I could get that loud.” He shook his head. “Quick way to win an argument, though.” 

Annie was beginning to feel a little weak by the time they reached the city stables. It felt like the heat was wearing off, and she was back to feeling the drain of her magicka. She stumbled a bit, and Kaidan caught her arm over his shoulders. “I’ve got you.” 

They had just made it past the first gate when a loud clap of thunder shook the earth, sending them tumbling to the ground. But through the rumble, Annie heard the unmistakable Shout, 

“DO-VAH-KIIN!” 

Her head was ringing. She couldn’t hear anything, even Kaidan who was shouting something in her ear. The world was spinning and everything was fading away. Somewhere, she heard Kaidan call her name, and then all went black. 

Previous

[justaz]

arthur (prince of camelot) still has to study under a tutor bc yknow uther wants him to be very intelligent before becoming king or something bc its super important idk idc anyways merlin is doing chores in his chambers while arthur is squinting at a book and merlin eventually caves and asks him what he’s reading and arthur gruffly explains that its a collection of stories from greece that make absolutely no sense so merlin asks him to read them outloud to him. arthur of course teases him and calls him an idiot and asks how he could possibly help but does as he’s asked and reads the stories to merlin as he does his chores. merlin (being crushed under the weight of destiny and tormented by the prophecies that kilgharrah spews) understands the stories almost immediately and gets all excited and starts rambling about them with arthur. arthur is glad to have someone who understands so he can give something that reflects a hint of understanding to his tutor who accepts it and moves onto the next unit of education.

the thing is, arthur finds more stories in camelot’s library and brings them up to his room to read them aloud to merlin under the guise of completing his studies but really he just wants to watch as merlin’s eyes gleam when he understands whats happening and listen to him ramble on and on about them bc he’s gay. the stories stick with merlin though and he realizes that they’re cautionary tales, that the heroes who were told too much of their future doomed themself to fulfill them - that them fighting the prophecies led to their completion. merlin takes it to heart and gives a big “fuck you” to kilgharrah before forging his own fate and helping morgana with her magic and handing out an olive branch to mordred and now everyone can live happily and peacefully in an albion teeming with magic.

[possamble]

re: falin having a choice when it comes to having a longer lifespan

makes me think about her choice to save and even feed the dragons soul in the last chapter. i like to think that its this choice she makes that gives her draconic traits? like if she hadnt saved it then she comes back pretty much normal. falin seems to be proud of how different she looks now if how she dresses post-canon is anything to go by.

she also mentions that maybe its the dragon that wants her to travel to different places but i think shes always had the heart of an adventurer. when laios mentions being able to travel she was so so excited. and as a little kid she went out and discovered that dungeon all by herself.

like!! a lot of people write her being fiercely loyal and protective, as well as giving gifts (especially to marcille) as something the dragon makes her do. but from all the memories we see of her, shes always been like that (protecting her brother as kids, attacking the kelpie when laios rides it, saving her brother from getting beat up, giving marcille berries and nuts etc).

if it came down to having a longer lifespan, i dont think its out of the question if falin could just Decide for herself whether or not she wanted that. i think she’d have a good enough relationship with her inner dragon to do so, considering how much she acted like a dragon beforehand anyway

the. the fucking idea of her having had the option to completely stamp out the extra dragon soul inside herself by leaving it behind. and literally choosing not to. not even consciously but because she as a person reflexively wanted to take care of a little creature even knowing that it used to be a monster that hurt her and her loved ones. this time she gets to choose she gets to CHOOSE to live and how to live and it's always with kindness oh god oh fuck

[valdeswan]

Cale and his family are so fucking touch starved that it is not even funny. Give them all the platonic physical love they need.

Hugs anytime, because why fucking not? Let the kids run in their room and give Cale hugs at random times in the day. Make him try to awkwardly hug Rosalyn to congratulate her for her achievements. Allow Mary to receive all the hugs from the wolves when she lets them ride the skeleton dragon.

Good greeting cheek kisses and goodbye kisses: This is a tradition that started with the tiger, but everyone adopts it when they see each other after a long time or if someone is going to be far away from the Rock Village.

Forehead kisses, mostly from Lord Sheritt, who shows affection to the kids, but also to Cale because he has this cute and weak appearance.

Nap time with all the wolf kids because they are just big dogs and everyone has a weak spot for them and their puppy eyes. In the nap time, Beacrox puts soft blankets and pillows in the grass and sits with the kids while reading; he says it´s because someone needs to take care of them, but everyone knows it's a lie.

Rosalyn making hairstyles and taking care of Cale's hair. Loving how soft and easy to brush it's.

Cuddling with the tigers—that is just all of them sleeping under the sun in the garden. Cale not very secretly love this moment of the day because is literally big cats with fluffy and soft fur to lie with.

Basically, he and his family fixing and taking care of all the touch-starved lives they had. Alberu, Choi Han, Rosalyn, I bet nobody touched them nicely too much I'm their fucking lives.

[bbygirl-aemond]

Aemond's baths either look like this:

Or this:

There is no in between.

[greypetrel]

Ooh "a tentative, exploratory kiss between friends" because I'm curious about the first one between Aisling and Cullen 👀 but if there's someone it fits better, that's okay too!

You have wonderful timing, I was about to write this for the next fic chapter. 💜🤣 (Spoiler? If anyone here follows the Wordy Monster.)

The chapter have more build up and Science Bros making things explode (themselves included). You can read it here!

Following the original cutscene because I honestly find it cute, adding here and there (and modifying a line because it doesn’t make sense for them anymore and I didn’t really like in the original, as usual it’s a “It could have been phrased better)

Tis the prompt list

"a tentative, exploratory kiss between friends"

That really won’t do.

The morning’s War Council has been a disaster. Josie was talking about the preparations and uniforms for the Ball and how everything was ready for the fittings, and silks and whatever and guests- And Aisling didn’t listen to one word. She couldn’t, because Cullen was frowning at a pile of reports, brows furrowed in concentration and eyes intent, focused on the task ahead. He looked good, his cheeks seemed fuller and he wasn’t that pale. Maybe the last brew she gave him worked better, she should ask him. Go back in professional mode, yes, that she could do. As long as he was healthy and she could keep him so, maybe make him smile and laugh once in a while, it was ok if he thought she dislikes him. It didn’t make him less kind towards her, less of a friend. And yet, she was longing for more, the very word “friend” is too little, getting stretched more and more. She was longing to just cup his face and yell at him that she didn’t care, she never cared if not in a foolish moment when she thought he was scared of her, and she didn’t want him to be afraid or uncomfortable, not anymore and not with her. She was too concentrated on noticing how his hair almost looked silver when hit in full sunlight. She was wondering how that scruffle would feel under her hands, rubbing on her cheeks and under her lips. And-

- and, she was brought down back to earth from her reverie by a smirking Leliana who made a too witty, too knowing joke about her daydreaming. Aisling grumbled that she was just tired, she slept little the last night, and Leliana just -smirking horribly- suggested her to count lions before sleeping. Josie snorted a laugh, and Cullen just sighed, begging them all to please go back to work, too concentrated, luckily, on his reading to mind that Aisling just turned the exact shade of red of the velvet Josephine was favouring for their uniforms.

This really won’t do, not at all, she couldn’t go on like this. She refuses to start blabbering.

So, she decided to do what the grown-up, responsible First of Keeper Deshanna Isthimatorial Lavellan would do. Open up and confess, come clean and start again. Whine a little over it, cry, get drunk with Dorian, Sera and Bull and get on with her life. She and Cassandra were friends, now, it hasn’t been easy, but they made it.

The plan is simple: go to his office, ask him for five minutes alone. Tell him that she has this stupid crush on him and please, ignore any weird behaviour from her, and please, let’s stay friend and keep things just as they were before. Assure him that she never disliked him on principle, she would never have approached him. Now that she knows she just admires him greatly for realising his situation and acting towards a real change, it wasn’t easy. And then, once everything was out and she had nothing else to hide and overthink about, she would have just got on with her life, less uneasy from all those secrets.

On paper, it looks easy.

As she stands there, staring at his door with a raised hand, stalling before knocking, it’s one of the most difficult think she could think of. A part of her mind is screaming to just… run for cover, take her horse and spend the time until the Ball with Keeper Hawen’s clan. Dig a hole in the garden to bury herself into, become fertilizer for the elfroot, it would just be fitting for her.

The other part, tho, knows better. The other part has the voice of Cole and of Radha and knows she needs to spit it out for it to go away, and go on with their lives.

So, she takes a deep breath, checks another time she’s in good order, fixing her doublet -the nice one, the one in teal velvet and golden buttons and pointy shoulder pieces that matches her Vallaslin- on her trousers, combing her hair more tidily behind her ears- Or maybe not? Are they too big? No, no, ok, that’s a stupid doubt. Combing her hair more tidily behind her ears. And with a big breath and a small prayer to Mythal for strength, she knocks.

He seems surprised to see her. It’s not lunch time, and he’s a little confused to see her so early. Asks her if something happened, jumping to emergency mode and leaving his desk, reaching for his sword instinctively. At least, seeing him so full of nerves helps in calming her down. A little, at least. Just enough to ask him, after some formalities and small talk about health and the situation in the Keep, if he has some minutes to speak with her.

Alone.

She puts emphasis on the adjective, bracing herself for a refusal, some frowning, some scolding because he has evidently, by the amount of paper piles on his desk, a lot of work to do and no time to lose with a silly elf that should be working and isn’t. And yet, he just fumbles more, puzzled by the “Alone”, and… And just leaves everything as it is and opens the door for her, leading her to the battlements and walking by her side.

Silence, between them, has always been comfortable, it has been from the start of their friendship, none really needing to fill the silence or force the other to speak at all costs. Which is something Aisling never likes to do, if she hasn’t anything to say. Cullen never required words, never expected her to speak and put her at ease. Now, their silence is charged, both embarrassed by a single, decisive word that the elf is now rethinking and reconsidering again and again. They pass the second tower. And the third.

“It’s… A nice day.” It’s Cullen, finally, to break the silence.

Except that Aisling is yet again in her own head, screaming internally as words elude her. And, allegedly, realising he’s speaking to her with half a minute of late. Enough that she just has to ask him: “What?”

Another pause, they both look at the other not knowing what to do.

“It’s…” He starts, rubbing his neck, but decides better right away, shaking his head and looking at her, instinctively straightening up. “There was something you wished to discuss.”

She nods, nervously. Here. That’s it. Moment of truth. Mythal have mercy, or tell Elgar’nan to open the earth and swallow her whole.

“Cullen, I care for you, and I-” She stops, words dying in her throat again, realising that he’s looking at her in the eyes and she really has not the guts for it. So, Aisling groans, averting her eyes and sighing, looking down.

“What’s wrong?” And now he sounds worried. Great.

“You left the Templars… But you wrote in your letter implying that the majority of people still dislikes you on principle. And…” A pause, trying to recollect her thoughts. “… I wanted you to know that I never disliked you on principle. And that I’m very sorry if I ever gave you this impression, really. But…”

He tries to reply, but she raises a hand, signalling to no, please, let her finish. He gets it. She’ll be damned because he somehow always gets what she’s saying, is probably the only one that had never troubles understanding her messy cursive, and right now it makes her heart clench because she’s about to ruin it.

“… but I know we’re friends, and… Well. I also know that you don’t have the best experiences with Mages…” She swallows. Spit it out, da’len, don’t let it poison you. “… Could you think of me as anything more than just that? Than an Apostate and… And a friend…?”

There. It’s not direct. It’s not blunt, because right now she can’t deal with directness. She hopes it’s enough, as she shily turns her head to peek at him, see what he’s doing and his expression.

“I could.”

He blurts out, abruptly, without a hint of hesitation in his voice. Aisling perks up, mouth open and eyes big in surprise and wonder at his admission, looking at him in the eyes.

"Wait... What?"

Wrong thing to ask, apparently, even if it burst out of pure surprise, out of needing a confirmation that she, indeed, has understood correctly and it's not just deluding herself. The result, all in all, is that Cullen shies away immediately, a hand coming up to rub his neck and turning away. He starts to walk again, as he fumbles with words again. Aisling just follows him, hope blossoming in her chest and butterflies doing evolutions in her stomach.

“I-I mean. I-I do.” A pause. “Think of you.” He starts to massage his temples. “… And what I might say in this sort of situation.”

She trots after him, heart hammering fast in her throat.

“What’s stopping you?” She asks, managing to slip in front of him and turn to face him, arresting his steps. The irony is not lost to both, and they exchange a smile as he, indeed, stops.

“You’re the Inquisitor, and we’re at war.” He states a note of regret in his voice. “And, you’re my friend. My best friend, before of everything else and I… I didn’t want to ruin it. Also I…” He sighs, shaking his head. “…I didn’t think it was possible.”

“And yet I’m still here.” She smiles, encouragingly. She can’t help but smiling, as she steps back to rest against the wall in a crenelle, both hands propped on the border. Heart full and near to bursting.

He smiles back, cheeks flushed pink as hers, stepping forward slowly to get closer. And closer.

“It seems too much to ask…”

“I’m your best friend, right? I don’t mind doing you a favour. If you want to, we can try...” She banters, half that and half fumbling herself, speaking too quickly and with not much sense, tying strings together just to fill the silence and vent some restlessness.

“… I want to.” If she’s restless and hyped, he’s soft and delicate, placing a hand over hers on the stone, looking at her right in the eyes as he gets closer and closer.

She’s pinned in place, she can just nod when he furrows just a little, to silently ask for permission, the way he does when they play chess, words are over and he asks her if he can move. The same way they communicate if they’re all right from one side to the other of the War Table. Aisling closes her eyes, floating in anticipation, feeling his breath -delicate, still, he must be keeping it, smelling faintly like elfroot and the herbs she put in his brew- she’s leaning minutely forward and their lips brush against each other, very tentatively before-

“Commander.”

He draws back, inhaling sharply through his nose. Aisling, on her own, thrown back to earth too abruptly, lowers her gaze and turns her head away from the newcomer, clearing her throat and straightening her spine.

“You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report.” The Scout continues, and as Aisling looks at him, he has his head bent down on a writing board, not looking at where he goes or his surroundings.

She is grateful that he doesn’t, because like that he probably missed the Commander and the Inquisitor being far too close for propriety’s sake, and at the same time she knows that Cullen will get absolutely pissed by that attitude. He surely barked against her enough times in drills to always, always, mind your surroundings, how many enemies are around, terrain.

“What?” As on clue, Cullen barks, seething in irritation as he turns from her and marches to the poor, still incredibly unaware Scout.

“Sister Leliana’s report, sir, you wanted it delivered right away.” The Scout seraphically goes on, calm as if it was asking a friend to pass him the salt during a picnic on a sunny day.

Finally he raises his head, and Aisling can see all colour draining from his face. She’s trying her best to merge with the surroundings and pretend she’s not there, or she’s invisible, but she can’t help looking. Looking as the Scout suddenly realizes that he manages to step on at least three buttons of Commander Rutherford, enough to have him silent and most likely with a murderous expression on his face - again, Aisling knows that look he has with the particularly arrogant recruits that have him repeat very simple questions twice, explaining his work to him. The Scout looks at her, finally, and before Aisling snaps her head and eyes on the other side of the battlements, clearing her throat eloquently, she spots him absolutely terrified, putting 2 and 2 together.

“Or… Or…” The poor boy swallows. “… or to your office! R-right!”

It’s almost comical how he retreats walking backwards, not leaving Cullen’s eyes as one would do with some sort of wild animal very angry at you. As if he was afraid that by turning and running, the Commander would have understood that he was prey to run after, and jumped at his throat.

As the door to the guard tower slams behind the Scout again, Aisling speaks.

“Cullen, if you need to- oomph!”

He’s on her abruptly, heavily and roughly. He doesn’t really centre her mouth at first, and needs to readjust. But like that, he scrubs his beard against her face, slightly, and it’s rough and blissful and very weird, in a good sense. He cups her face, keeping her close and moving her slightly for a better position. She closes her eyes and kisses him back, not knowing where to put her hands. Tentatively, she decides that his ribcage, on his sides, is a good position. He doesn’t seem to mind, at least, when he moves away, red till the point of his ears, smiling goofily at her, eyes sparkling.

“I’m- I’m sorry. That was… Uh, that was nice.” He sounds not really convinced. It could be shyness, or not, she needs to know.

“… You don’t regret it, do you? I mean, we can always pretend it never happened, go on as before…” She prods, offering him a way out. She wouldn’t be able to go on as before, but she can try.

He just looks at her, tho, awestruck as if it is the first time he really sees her. Sees her for real, eyes shining and a smile not leaving his lips, bending his scar just so in that way she likes. She really hopes he doesn’t regret it, tho, because she doesn’t want him to look at her in any other way than this, and moreover she really, really wants to kiss him again. Kiss him better. Longer.

“No!” He answers her, and they both smile wider, one following the other. “No, not at all… Do you?”

“Mh. I’m not really sure. Care to try again? For science?”

And yet, she moves slightly closer, not going the full way, but making it clear that she’s up to it. He laughs, shaking his head and resting his forehead against hers, thumbs gently caressing her jaw where they’re still placed.

“Yes. Well…”

They try again. Slower, more tentatively, savouring the moment more. Aisling hugs him properly after a minute -she restrained herself-, bringing him closer despite his armour and cape. It’s really different than Ydun, it’s less soft and less delicate, movement less precise. It’s ten times better – more heartfelt, for once.  She manages to shift a little and indeed kiss his scar, humming in contentment, before Cullen seems to remember something and moves a little back, concern on his still flushed face.

“I- I wanted to say, forgive me for what I wrote. I never… it came out wrong, I’m awful with letters that aren’t report, I didn’t mean to say that I think you disliked me on principle, I don’t think that. It’s just that… I mean-”

He’s fumbling so much, looks so concerned even if he stull is blushing madly, ears deliciously pink. He’s fumbling so much that she starts to laugh, slipping her arms in front of him, her turn to cup his face and bring him back for another kiss - regretting she did wear gloves today, but she guess it would mean they’ll have to do it again.

“Shut up.” She tells him, giggling as she kisses him again. And again.

[https-furina]

this puppy boys work is <33 hurting my soul

[chaoticnerdsstuff]

U don't understand how I love the idea of dragon turning human

[moonlitmmarie]

Is the fic reference on Trunks’ outfit the pearl necklace? 🤔😃

It is 😎 I’ve never seen it on any kind of Trunks fanart (or fanfic, but I don’t read that many of Trunks-centered ones), so if there is only one particular work where you’ve seen him with the thing in then it is ^^

Thanks for the ask! (and for catching my drift)

[florallychaotic]

*shouting into the void* YOU KNOW MAYBE WRITING MORE OFTEN WOULD BE EASIER IF YOU DIDNT HAVE A WILDLY DIFFERENT STYLE FOR EACH PROJECT, THUS CAUSING YOU TO FEEL AWKWARD AND WEAR OUT QUICKER WHILE WRITING BECAUSE IT DOESNT FEEL "RIGHT"

[actuallykiwi]

Some news, friends... I am stopping Inner Dragon indefinitely.

Not that I've lost any inspiration for it, but more of... a new look on it. This is my second fanfiction I've ever written. Also from Skyrim. It's really just been me taking someone else's story and changing it my way, not me making up my own stories.

I still really want to write fluff pieces with Kaidan, of course. That's kinda my thing! But from now on, full stories that I write should be my own. Not a story where everyone already knows what happens.

Thank you to those that have been reading it so far, and those that have stuck with me since Once a Thief. Your support is invaluable to me. I will continue to grow as a writer, and I hope to make you all proud, or at least impress you.

'Til next time ❤️

[swordgrace]

𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘.

༺ aemond targaryen x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: in the aftermath of rook’s rest, you seek aemond out to inquire about his wellbeing. instead, you find him somewhere else — somewhere unexpected. (set after S2 EP4).

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — not requested.

༺ WORD COUNT: 5.2K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni) , spoilers for s2 ep4, public sex / risk of getting caught, knifeplay, imbalance of power, rough sex, darkish!aemond, dom!aemond, p in v sex (unprotected), oral (f!receiving), fingering, brief tiddy sucking, groping, biting / marking, hair pulling, choking, fucking right in front of the iron throne, inaccurate high valyrian, brief dirty talk, lots of aemond’s inner thoughts, breeding kink if you squint, aemond is extremely possessive of the reader to an unhealthy degree.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: to preface, I am working on requests, this just happened to make its way out of my brain before anything else did. This was inspired by the single shot of Aemond standing in front of the Iron Throne in the S2 EP5 trailer, you can tell how desperate I got as soon as I saw it. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! There will be a Jace fic dropping tomorrow, too! ❤️

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄 — a seat of power constructed by Aegon the Conqueror in the aftermath of a bloodied war, forged from thousands of surrendered swords.

In the days of Aegon the Conqueror, it was said that the Throne was sometimes too high to climb, a jagged labyrinth of blades melded by dragon’s fire, a throne fit for any ruler. Men impaled themselves upon one another’s blades for it, turned against one another, endless betrayals and treacheries ensued all for the sake of the endgame, to see themselves upon the Throne.

Brother turned against brother — you didn’t expect anything less from Aemond, whose desire to exact revenge boiled just beneath the surface. The Battle at Rook’s Rest had proved a slaughter on all fronts, between the decimation of both Cole’s armies and the castle they laid siege upon, to the death of the Princess Rhaenys and her dragon, Melys.

Whispers spread through the Red Keep in regards to King Aegon’s condition, bones crushed beneath the weight of Sunfyre, who plummeted from the skies in a ball of fire. His flesh was scorched, half of his body melded to the Valyrian Steel armor he wore, burnt beyond recognition.

If they were to be believed, King Aegon was gravely wounded — and if a fatality ensued, who would then bear the mantle of King?

A restless dusk gripped King’s Landing as the surviving soldiers from Cole’s armies arrived at the city gates, King Aegon amongst the wounded. In what you considered to be a mass panic and hysteria, Maesters rushed to diligently attend to their King, who seemed to be meeting a simmering grave inside of his armor — it would be his tomb if they weren’t careful.

Merely a handmaiden and servant to nobility, the antics of your masters didn’t interest you — you were wholly preoccupied with your own survival and self-preservation, amongst other things. It was said that Aemond and Vhagar had swarmed the battlefield and come to King Aegon’s defense, but by the time they had, Aegon had been swallowed by dragonfire.

Part of you had difficulty believing that Aemond truly attempted to save his elder brother, given Aemond’s embittered sentiments. Your relationship with the Prince had transcended all bonds of propriety — and if anyone were to find out, they would likely have your head for sullying his virtue.

Nevertheless, as chaos swarmed around you, you knew exactly who to seek out. Queen Alicent had little desire to be hounded by handmaidens while her eldest son struggled to hang onto his own life, something you could understand. Instead, you made for Aemond’s chambers, the route embedded into your mind.

You sought him — all of him. His lilac hue, a maelstrom of forlorn emotions, and his silvery tresses, like cascading silk, embedded themselves into your mind. His cunning countenance and beguiled expression were like hot-iron brands cast onto your thoughts, tormenting you with each waking moment.

As you stepped closer to the Throne Room, no longer guarded by Kingsguard, you saw the great door ajar — no King atop the throne. You wondered if he would live, Aegon — a drunken, broken man who preferred his cups and whores over ruling — or if he would perish.

You knew who would sit the Iron Throne, should Aegon fall.

A heavy darkness had befallen the throne room, fitting for the many tragedies, like the gloom of a shadow haunting all who dared to enter. Curiosity gripped you as you stepped inside, a place well above your station, yet you wondered if there was anyone inside.

The doors remained shut, save for the one you slipped through, the gap slim. Flickering braziers provided some illumination to such a grandeur hall, but it seemed so dour and lifeless without the presence of the day, without subjects fluttering in and out. Instead, it provided an ominous sense of dread, as if luring those inside with dark omens and false promises.

A familiar crown of silvery tresses stood at the very center, before the throne — he didn’t need to turn around for you to know who it was. He seemed entirely unscathed by the battle at Rook’s Rest, hands carefully folded behind his back, posture poised and dignified.

Aegon’s dagger flashed within his right hand, clutched tightly at his side. You wondered how he had acquired the blade so swiftly after a tragedy — but you knew. You had always known of Aemond’s nature, of his restrained resentment towards his brother, the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Aemond.” Your voice reverberated throughout the throne room, carrying a fair distance as you closed the door behind you. The studded mahogany groaned in protest, yet bent to your will as it closed with a noisy thud. Admittedly, you were surprised to see him here, and not in the comfort of his chambers.

He didn’t move, rigid and still as you quietly approached, dresses sweeping across the smooth stone beneath you. His violet hues remained transfixed upon the Iron Throne, a throne that would soon be his, if fate favored him. So many swords, so much strife and conflict that forged such a chair — so much bloodshed.

Aemond often wondered what the weight of the crown would feel like upon his brow — and even then, he knew he would wear it better than Aegon ever could. He had stood by the wayside for far too long, learned in his studies and a talented swordsman, wondering if it would all have some reward, some payoff.

Now, his opportunity was swiftly approaching.

Whatever anger he’d often kept leashed, it had struck out, like the bite of a poisonous viper, sinking into its prey with all its bitter viciousness. It was the same tempestuous rage that had lashed at Lucerys Velaryon, and now it had struck his brother, Aegon the Magnanimous.

A stupid sobriquet for a stupid man — a drunken fool. Aemond would simply pass it off as an unfortunate accident, with Aegon carelessly stepping into the line of fire whilst tangling with the Queen Who Never Was. Swift decisions had to be made on his part, his brother a victim of such action.

Any silver-tongued words that would placate his Mother, he was prepared to let them fly. Aemond knew enough to know that the consequences would be slim, and those of true action and cruel intentions would take Aegon’s place — men like himself.

Soft footfalls fell across black stone, and you called his name again, like a siren’s song luring the sailor into deeper waters. “Aemond.” It was saccharine, dripping with genuine warmth that the Prince was simply unaccustomed to.

The unexpected lull of your voice broke his fixation, and he looked to you with a gaze full of desire. It was a farcry from the frustrated, despondent man you’d encountered days prior following the incident at the brothel. There was a newfound fire within his eyes, a confidence restored — a sense of triumph.

Admittedly, you were rather perplexed by this invigorated side to Aemond — that wild gleam within his lilac eye only seemed to grow in intensity as you approached him. “I heard the news of what happened to your brother,” You began, pondering his reaction. “You have my deepest sympathies.”

The admiration he had for you only seemed to blossom, knowing that you were simply keeping up appearances for his sake. Aemond’s mouth tilted into the ghost of a smirk, feigning melancholy despite the truth of his own actions. “It was a horrible thing, what happened to the King,” He uttered, glancing toward the throne. “I wish for his swift recovery.”

A facade was a mere understatement — you could almost taste the smug bemusement that rested within Aemond’s tone. The slight quirk of his mouth, the manner in which he spoke — his sympathies for Aegon were nonexistent.

“As any good brother would.” You replied, stepping closer until you stood before the Iron Throne, gaze falling upon the thousands of swords swarming the seat, blades of many shapes and sizes. You wondered about the people behind each sword — who swung it, what their lives must’ve been like.

A brief hum escaped Aemond, who observed you hawkishly as you approached, violet hue greedily drinking you in as he had many times before. You had stood so faithfully by his side, never admonished him for the brash actions taken against his family, never deemed him pathetic for what happened at the brothel.

He cared little for your station, little for your status as a lowborn — if he sat the Iron Throne, he could have whatever he wanted. It didn’t matter if you were a commoner, Aemond could envision you as his wife, a Queen — no longer bowing to the whims of greater men and women who cared little for you.

“Did my Mother dismiss you this evening?” Aemond questioned, digits tense around the pommel of Aegon’s knife — now his. Seeing as he was no longer fit to carry the weapon, it was only just that it pass to his brother, his next of kin.

“She did,” A gentle exhale escaped you, one that allowed you to maintain your composure. Being in Aemond’s presence seemed to make you dizzy with desire with each passing moment — not a new sentiment, but an intoxicating one. “I was coming to find you, to see if you were well after the battle.”

Shamelessly, Aemond became quite aroused at the thought of you wandering about the Red Keep with the single-minded desire to see him. His blood ran hot after the battle — the surge of adrenaline did not lessen in your presence.

His jaw tensed slightly as he appraised you, taking a step closer, brazenly closing the distance between you both. He could smell your perfume, the warm bouquet of flowers and a touch of honey. “How thoughtful.” His voice dropped to a low purr, dripping with the first inklings of lust.

Your breath hitched, words turning to ash upon your tongue as your fingers curled into your dress. Aemond enticed you in ways that no man had before — and he saw you, a woman beneath the gowns of a servant. The hammering of your heart within your chest had stirred something powerful — your want for him consumed you like a tidal wave.

Before you could utter his name, he descended like a starving wolf to kiss you, open-mouthed and bleeding lust. You shivered, wanting to coax him into returning to his chambers before things became heated. His hand dropped to seize your hip, hauling you closer to him until no space was left between your bodies.

You reciprocated his kiss, able to hear a faint growl of approval building up within his throat. It was fiery and hot, with little concern of who might see you. Aemond was growing emboldened, brazen knowing the power he now held within his grasp.

“We should return to your quarters,” You whispered, a strained whimper tearing past your lips as Aemond kissed your jaw, sucking at the flesh of your neck. “Aemond, we can’t — not here.” Your breathy pleas fell upon deaf ears — what better place to claim you than before his new throne?

“We can,” Aemond murmured, pushing your tresses aside as he claimed your throat, laying waste to your flesh in his rabid kisses and hungry bites. “The rest of the Keep is preoccupied.” His reassurance was threadbare at best, but you were beginning to slip off of the deep end, fingers clawing at his tunic.

“What if someone sees?” Fear trickled into your voice, a subtle fright that Aemond found to be enticing. You worried for your own skin — he could understand that. A moan escaped you as Aemond nipped at your jugular, squeezing at your hips.

You failed to comprehend that he would protect you, shield you if needed. He did not need to justify his obsession for you, just as Aegon never offered any justification for his nightly whore hunts. Aemond seemed quick to soothe your worry, hand clasping at the nape of your neck.

“Then I will have their head,” His delectable purr dropped an octave, scratching the itch within your head. “You needn’t worry, ñuha dōna. I can do whatever I wish.” Aemond assured you, a great fire burning within his lilac hue. The leather of his eyepatch concealed the listless sapphire beneath.

He only needed to serve himself — his family cared little for him, and the world was often against him. He looked forward to facing Daemon whenever the time came, should he be bold enough to challenge him. Aemond dismissed it all — Aegon, his mother, Criston Cole — the only thing that mattered were the both of you.

Aemond’s streak of possessiveness had grown into something uncontrollable, a festering desire to keep you close, spiraling into obsession. You were many things to him, many things he coveted for himself.

After a moment of hesitation, you decided to make things tempting for Aemond, loosening the bodice of your dress. His breath hitched, the noise subtle if one wasn’t observant enough. He seized the back of your head once more, hungrily pressing his lips to yours, consuming you in another heated kiss.

A dour portrait of dusk hovers around the Red Keep, its shadowy tendrils slinking into the throne room. Only moonlight and dying braziers are your guide, and Aemond is at his prettiest whenever he’s touched by the silvery rays. It strikes his narrow visage, paints his silky tresses in pale light.

He is closer to a god now than he is a man — fortunately, you were willing to return to religion if it meant that Aemond was who you worshiped. As much as you liked to believe it was the foundation of your relationship, he thought of it alternatively, the roles reversed.

Your digits slip beneath the overcoat he wore, marred by speckled dirt and brimstone. His broad, sinewy shoulders are concealed by his tunic, and he seems vastly overdressed compared to you, still wearing your servant’s clothes. Aemond had gotten you a dress to wear with him before — you never wore it otherwise.

There is a certain intensity in the way he kisses you, as if each embrace might be your last. In the aftermath of a battle, you understand such sentiments, given the fate of the King and the Princess Rhaenys.

A growl reverberates within the depths of his throat as he pries his mouth away from you, gesturing toward the flight of obsidian steps that ascend toward the Iron Throne. “There,” He uttered, more of a command than a suggestion. “Lay down.”

A shudder rolls down the length of your spine, followed by an onslaught of goosebumps that snake across your flesh like a fever. Your stomach churned with anticipation, filling with the sensation of sloshing heat, burning brighter as each moment passed.

Without question, you step toward the throne, noticing the sharpness of some blades, the dullness of others. You find your footing upon the last step, feeling Aemond stalk closer. The rustling of his belt makes you shiver, only to find the steely chill of the Conqueror’s knife pressed against the dip between your shoulder and neck.

Aemond closes in behind you, caging you against his chest, like a predator swarming hapless prey. His narrow nose brushed along your soft tresses as he dragged the tip of the knife from your shoulder to ribcage. “Shall I cut this from you?” He uttered, digging the Valyrian steel into the fabric of your dress.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you brace yourself for the bite of the knife, for the unruly tear of fabric, but it never comes. Instead, Aemond’s mouth pressed vigorous kisses against your neck, hand seizing you by the throat.

“Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke.” Aemond purred, feeling you turn within his grasp. Desire oozed between you both, an onslaught of carnality soon to follow. His lilac hue flickered over your countenance, drinking in your beauty with unrestrained rapture. You belong to me.

From what little High Valyrian you’d learned in the time you’ve been with Aemond, you strung enough of the sentence together to know what he meant. “Iksan aōhon.” A soft whimper emerged from between your parted lips, noticing the way his pupil dilated with amorous intent.

I am yours.

A flame of obsession roared within his gaze, enough to burn you alive where you stood. Aemond reveled in your submission to him, drank in your devotion — a devotion that would prove fruitful, should he ascend the throne. The tip of the knife prodded into your sternum, and you absentmindedly leaned forward.

Aemond captured your mouth once more, laying claim to you — his paramour. There was nothing sweeter than your desperate mewls and reciprocated passion, the succor of your mouth, the saccharine scent of your perfume.

The both of you descended to the floor, icy and stony as it prodded into your back. He knelt between your legs, gaze momentarily flickering between the shadow of the Iron Throne and your mesmerized visage. Aemond kissed you again, nipping at your lower lip before rucking up your skirts, pushing them toward your hips.

With one knee, he bullied his way in between your thighs, breaths heavier, wrought with anticipation as he lowered his mouth to your collarbone. In one smooth tug, he loosened your bodice, wrestling with the coarse material as he buried his face into your silky skin.

The throes of passion filled the air — short gasps and labored pants accompanied by the constant shuffling of fabric. “Aemond,” You moaned, watching as he bit the leather of his glove, removing the garment in one jerk of his head. Flesh to flesh, he moved to drag his digits along your weeping slit. “Aemond.” Urgency crept into your voice, strung-out by need.

“Hm,” His cajoling hum sent shivers down your spine, heat sloshing around within your stomach. Arousal pooled between your thighs, nectar sticky and gathering swiftly. “What a delicious gift you’ve given me.” Aemond uttered, slender digits continuing to stroke at your cunt, his pace agonizingly slow.

Lifting his fingers to his lips, he let them rest upon his tongue, gathering your juices to taste. A satisfied grunt of approval escaped him, one that made you meld into the floor. It was an uncomfortable surface, yet any thought of discomfort dissipated the moment Aemond’s lips pressed against the inside of your knee.

Instinctively, your hands flew toward his crown of silken tresses, digging in with an ironclad hold. Aemond released a low hiss of satisfaction, pressing hot kisses along the inside of your thigh. He dipped lower, breath fanning across your cunt.

His tongue raked hot embers across your aching core, delivering a series of deliberate strokes that were sure to make you squirm. Aemond preferred to savor you, consuming every drop of your nectar as if it were the finest of wines.

“Aemond!” Your voice rose above the cacophony of lewd noises ensuing below, noisy enough to reverberate throughout the throne room. It worried you, the potential of someone finding you with the Prince-Regent between your legs, but pleasure began to outweigh logic.

His name felt sweet from your mouth — if Aemond had it his way, he would make you say it a thousand times over. The sharp bridge of his nose buried itself into your mound, cock twitching within the leather of his breeches.

Another breathy moan left you, stomach pooling with a rush of molten heat. It oozed between your legs as your arousal fell upon the Prince’s tongue, much to his delight. He did not waste a drop, mouth traveling wherever he pleased, lapping at every inch of your cunt.

The Iron Throne overshadowed the both of you, a jagged mess of swords surrounded by dusk. Slats of moonlight trickled in from the stained glass above, falling across his visage, violet hue sparkling with lust. His lips greedily kissed at your clit, causing your hips to lurch forward.

“Look at me.” A pointed demand spoken from an edged tongue, one that commanded your attention without wavering. With a strangled moan, you turned your head to him, furthering the fire within your belly. Your doe-eyed stare locked onto him, lips falling apart.

As your eyes flickered over his poised features, your hand tightened within his tresses, coaxing him closer toward the apex of your thighs. Aemond wasn’t sly at suppressing the delight he felt in that moment, greedily lapping at your cunt.

You watched, enthralled by the ministrations of his mouth, the flick of his tongue, the tantalizing efforts made to draw you back in. His features were carved like marble, by the steady hand of a sculptor — godly, in the best way possible.

Aemond hoped that your blissful cries would alert the guards — perhaps, all could bear witness to his carnal delights, know that you belonged to him and him alone. His lips crawled to a sluggish pace, made only to torment you as he peppered feather-light kisses against your clit. The lack of pressure nearly made you wretch, digits curling into a fist.

Every fiber of your being felt as if it had been set ablaze, washed within the fires of his affection. He knew your body well, as well as he knew his own, tongue dipping to have a taste of your core as it lightly jutted against your entrance. You whimpered, the noise pathetic and pitiful, yet overwhelmingly eager.

“Please,” You moaned, breathy and clawing for some shred of release, canting your hips forward. Aemond retreated, just enough to leave you writing upon the steps before a sly chuckle reverberated between your thighs. His torture of you was playful and intimate, intended to make you beg. “Please, Aemond!”

How could he deny you when you sounded so sweet?

With a soft hum, Aemond returned to devour your cunt, drink from the nectar that oozed between your legs. His hands situated themselves against your thighs, nails digging in enough to leave behind traces of angered crescent marks.

The heat between your legs intensified, arousal stinging your bones, body bent underneath Aemond’s will as he lapped at your core. His lips were accompanied by his spindly digits as two fingers prodded at your entrance, feeling the crescendo of your whimpers before sinking themselves into your tight cunt.

Squelching intermingled with that of brazen pants and your myriad of moans, a cacophony of lust that permeated the throne room. It felt sinful, to defile the steps of a seat of power, but that shame swiftly contorted into bliss — it felt good.

It felt good to be desired, for Aemond to feel not an ounce of regret or remorse for being with you or for the carnage his actions wrought. The darkness that festered within his eye only grew, once a flickering shade, now growing into something sprawling.

At last, his lips pursed around your clit, stimulating that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your back arched from the stone, thighs rattling like falling leaves as he brought about your ruin. His digits viciously pumped in and out of your cunt, preparing you for the act that was to follow.

His tongue lashed across his lower lip, not wasting a drop of what sweetness you provided him with. Aemond’s mouth hastily abandoned your cunt, yet the curling of his fingers seemed to make up for the loss of pleasure. You felt his wet lips purse around the pebbled peak of your breast, suckling like a greedy babe.

Aemond’s senses drowned in desire, cock throbbing within his trousers, desperate to be inside of you. It wouldn’t be much longer now as he bit and kissed your chest, letting the work manifest as love bites, evidence of his carnal want for you.

“I need you, Aemond. I need you inside of me.” The suddenness of your words left him reeling, a snarl stirring within his chest as his teeth gnashed into the soft flesh between your breasts. You longed to feel his cock lay waste to your cunt, for him to fuck away his anger, his frustration.

Hastily, his hand flew to the ties of his breeches, loosening the threads of leather. You grabbed the front of his tunic, enough to effectively grab his attention as you pulled him in for a hot kiss. Passion bled through, and you could taste yourself upon his tongue as it danced with yours.

The warmth of his cockhead prodded against your folds, already slick with your cum and his own. It was messy, an entanglement born of desire, of the will to possess one another — a claim eternal. Aemond’s hand snaked toward your hip, the other keeping himself afloat before he snapped forward.

His cock invaded your cunt without any sluggishness to it, the deliberation gone entirely. A wild shimmer glistened within his eye, a domineering edge that seemed to wrestle with itself. Aemond wanted to submit to you, but in the wake of Rook’s Rest, adrenaline and a desire for power simply wouldn’t allow it.

As he fucked you like a hound, as Aegon had colorfully put it, Aemond could see you seated beside him, a crown upon your brow, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. A commoner, crawled from dirt and from nothing, into his arms — into a seat of power that none would dare challenge.

Fantasy consumed him, making him mad with lust. He wanted to crawl beneath your flesh, reside there, hear your heart hammering within your breast. He seemed pleasantly surprised when you claimed his mouth, your tongue advancing past his parted lips.

With your skirts having fallen to the swell of your hips, you hitched one leg around him, hand clawing at his back, between his shoulders. “Aemond,” You moaned, overwhelmed by his barrage of erratic thrusts. His stamina was something to witness as he kept a rather vigorous pace. “My King.”

A low growl stirred within his throat, a stark warning not to continue with your current line of thought. Aemond bit at your lower lip, prompting you to moan into his mouth, but you surprised him again when you reciprocated. Things were intense, far more fiery than they ever had been before.

Battle made him hot — such a sensation wasn’t aided by your presence, intensified tenfold. With Aegon wasting away inside of his chambers, steel melting into his flesh, swarmed by flocks of Maesters, Aemond felt no remorse — none at all as he fucked you before the Iron Throne.

He felt no remorse when he ordered Vhagar to burn his brother, he felt no remorse when he brought you into his bed — and he would feel no remorse when he ascended the throne and made you his Queen.

His cock furiously battered away at your cunt, the lewdness of flesh and intermingled breaths being the only sounds that mattered. That lilac hue of his studied your countenance, the devotion and rapture that rest upon it, your complete and utter joy. Aemond had been blessed with the loveliest creature — you.

The stretch you felt as Aemond invaded your nethers was a pleasant one, your walls tight around his length as he continued to fuck you. Face to face, chest to chest — there was no room left for deception, nowhere left to turn to. With a groan, Aemond kissed you yet again.

“Kesan mazverdagon ao ñuha dāria.” I will make you my Queen; he growled into your ear, biting at the shell, the act enough to make you whimper. He filled your cunt with his cock, the only one that it would ever take. In the heat of the moment, he bit at your neck, hand gripping your thigh so hard that it was bound to leave bruises.

Darkness swallowed the hallowed halls — braziers flickering out completely, leaving only moonlight. Even through the silvery haze, Aemond’s face remained a picture of living perfection, his brow creased with concentration.

The fervor of his pace began to slow, cock throbbing with an onslaught of arousal, one that flooded his body with waves of bliss. He wasn’t neglectful of your needs, swiftly placing a hand between your bodies, thumb rubbing circles around your clit.

Heavy footfalls of guardsmen resonated from outside of the sealed doors, a nightly patrol, prompting you to shiver from worry, but Aemond did not stop — and he wouldn’t. His blazing eye bared down upon you, glistening with the sheen of lust, of obsession, a man starved of the love and devotion he so desperately chased.

Your lips felt swollen, a byproduct of Aemond’s biting, of the many shared kisses that had turned into hunger. You were ravenous for him in ways that you had little knowledge of, scraping the surface of what desire truly meant.

Silky, pale tresses fell through your digits as you threaded them within his hair, gripping it in fistfuls as you continued to kiss him until every wisp of air was stolen from your lungs. Aemond did not relent, continuing to adopt a rhythmic pace of fucking you, cock halfway out before he thrust forward again and again.

As the both of you approached the precipice, falling into a white-hot abyss, you could hear him murmuring something in High Valyrian, strings of sweet praises and compliments. His thumb continued to circle your clit even after you had your release, milking his cock with an onslaught of your nectar.

Aemond grunted, forehead nudging against yours as he snapped forward one final time, cock sheathed inside of you as he found a warm place to spill his seed. The recklessness of it was of little consequence to him — an herbal tea could remedy it, yet the thought of filling you with an heir became tantalizing.

Not yet — not now.

If his seed were to take, it would sow discord across his house, and there was enough of that already. Aemond huffed, gathering his composure as your whimpers dwindled into soft pants. His claws sank so deep into you, talons wrenched into your heart, your body, everything.

He placed a kiss upon your brow, a subtle gesture that reminded you of his lingering duality. Aemond pulled himself out of you with an onslaught of stickiness, a mess that would only be remedied by a long soak in the bath — something he would need you for.

Your chest felt tight, both from exhilaration and the intensity of it all. As you adjusted your skirts back into place, Aemond gently coaxed you to your feet, pressed close against you as he stared at the throne. “Perhaps, once I ascend, we will have to make use of the throne.” His salacious purr made you shudder.

“There is no law forbidding us from acting upon that now,” You challenged, and Aemond had to restrain himself from acting upon such a lascivious impulse. For as coy as you could be, you were just as lustful as he was at times, a quality that he greatly adored. “Your Grace.”

As much as the teasing title seemed to provoke him, Aemond grabbed your hips, lips twitching into his familiar smirk, a near-permanent expression. “Aemond,” He corrected, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “For now, I will need assistance with drawing a bath.”

The Throne’s harrowing shape cast its shadow as the both of you abandoned the dark halls and into the light of Aemond’s chambers.

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not attempt to steal or translate my works onto other platforms or claim it as your own.

[happilyhertale]

Fire and blood - Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Author’s note: Before I got into my usual summary, this fic is part of a collab with a bunch of my lovely moots! @lady-phasma came to us with an ask about period sex and Daemon and being as lovely as she is, she offered us all the chance to collab on it. Choosing our own characters and how to play the story.

Please find the masterlist of everyone's fics here.

English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Summary: You haven't been married to your husband Daemon Targaryen for very long - but you've learnt to enjoy your marriage to the Rogue Prince. But unlike normality, you haven't sought out Daemon for a few affectionate visits throughout the day, and that makes him suspicious…

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Period smut; fingering (f in v), p in v sex - implied

Word count: 2.2 k

Other stories of mine

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Daemon opens the door, but only darkness reveals itself to him. He raises his eyebrows slightly, but steps into your shared chambers. He is looking for his wife, who has been by his side for several moons now.

During this time, he has already become accustomed to you seeking him out throughout the day, sometimes just to get a little peck and sometimes because you want to tell him something - but today you have not sought him out.

His heavy footsteps sound in your chambers as he walks further inside.

"Are you hiding from me, woman?" he murmurs.

He walks over to a small table with fruit and sweet dishes on it. He takes a bunch of grapes between his fingers before letting them disappear into his mouth.

"Has another moon gone by?" he asks into the room and turns to your bed, where he recognises the outline of a figure under the covers. A slight grin plays around his lips before he walks towards the bed.

But as he gets closer, he picks up an unusual scent.

"What's that smell?" he asks.

And suddenly your voice rings out, "It's oak bark tea... My abdomen is a cramp," you mumble from under the covers.

He's still smiling and comes closer to the bed.

"What have we got here? I wonder what trouble could be brewing under here," he says, reaching lightly for the blanket.

"No... Go away," you say quietly and try to hold the blanket tight.

But Daemon pulls the blanket down further and kneels on the bed with one knee.

"Ah... there you are... what a view," he says sarcastically as the blanket reveals your face. Your hair lies dishevelled on the pillow, your face a little sleepily puffy as your annoyed gaze meets his. "Yes....my beautiful wife," he says and smiles. He pulls the blanket down further and a "Go away," sounds from you again.

He smiles at your words, "Why would I do that when I have such a sight in front of me?" he says, a hint of sarcasm still in his voice again.

You sigh and try to turn away, but you feel Daemon kneel down further on the bed and his hand grips you gently.

"Ah, ah, ah," he says and lies down next to you, his arm wrapped around your middle.

His warm breath brushes the back of your neck as he presses his face into yours, "What's wrong," he whispers.

You sigh again and already feel his large, surprisingly warm hand on your abdomen... a warm touch of your dragon.

"I'm bleeding..." you say almost inaudibly, but Daemon hears your words and smiles slightly. He knows how you feel during your period. You're vulnerable and sleepy. The cramps force you to lie down and only warmth and strange teas from the maesters give you some relief... well, and other things.

But you're his wife and according to him, you should always feel carefree - but he can't refrain from teasing you a little.

"Pardon?" he whispers, smiling slightly, while you sigh lightly again.

"I'm bleeding..." you repeat your words and mumble into your pillow.

"Love..." he whispers again.

You close your eyes and feel this inner tension that tickles your fingertips.

"I'm on my period," you say a little louder into the pillow.

"Love... Sorry, I don't understand," Daemon replies and his lips graze your neck.

His behaviour makes you seethe, why can't he leave you alone?

"Daemon! Seven hells! I'm on my period! I'm in pain and I'm bleeding!", you call out and raise your head slightly.

He chuckles, "It's fine... no need to shout like that..."

You shake your head slightly, wanting to push his arm away, but he has a firm grip on you. His hand slides slowly downwards, his fingers make light, circular movements and you stiffen slightly.

"Daemon, what are you doing," you suddenly whisper.

"I want you to feel good, love... It'll help you relax..." he murmurs into your ear, nibbling lightly.

You gasp and hold his hand back, "Daemon... there's blood... a lot... it's the first day..." you say hesitantly.

He continues to nibble on your earlobe, his fingers sliding along your thigh, not in the least impressed by your words.

"You know there's nothing to be ashamed of. A woman's body is a natural, beautiful thing.... It's beautiful because it's you," he kisses your cheek and lets his nose glide gently along it. His hand strokes along your thigh and you feel a slight throbbing between your thighs alongside the numbing pain in your abdomen.

"Do you want me to take care of you?" he whispers, kissing the soft skin behind your ear.

You bite your lip lightly, but you shake your head slightly.

"Daemon... There really is a lot of blood..." you repeat your words quietly.

He chuckles softly again, another kiss landing on your neck, "Love... a true warrior isn't afraid of a little blood..." he murmurs.

His hand slides further, "Just relax..." he whispers and you try. Slowly, you close your eyes and try to concentrate on his touch as a heavy breath leaves your lips.

Gently, he kisses your neck and shoulder as he holds you close."It's nothing to be ashamed of either. Especially not my wife. It's natural," he whispers in your ear.

His fingers pull your nightgown up, very slowly. His fingers leave a fiery trail on your thigh and you try to ignore the dull ache that runs through your abdomen.

You can't suppress it, your hips begin to move in slight circular motions as his fingers glide through your pubic hair, caressing you. You gasp as you can already feel his arousal from behind as he presses himself lightly against you.

His fingers reach their destination, slowly running along your folds, and you gasp again – your legs spread slightly.

"That's it... I'll take care of you..." he whispers in your ear and you nod slightly.

The sweetest moan escapes your lips as his fingers find your pearl and apply light pressure. Your legs spread wider and a smile graces his lips.

"Daemon..." you gasp.

"I know..." he whispers, nibbling on your earlobe again as his fingers rub gently over your clit.

"Your body is natural and beautiful. Even in all its bloody glory," he whispers and you nod, your breathing quickening.

He kisses you on the cheek again as his fingers tease over your glistening entrance, gently spreading your folds.

You feel the familiar stretch as his fingers slide inside you. But not all the way in, he teases you a little and you exhale heavily, your hips moving towards his fingers, longing for his touch. And then he fulfils your craving – his fingers stretch your walls, trying to find a good angle, pushing deeper. He revels in the slickness that coats his fingers, the evidence of your arousal mingling with the blood that flows.

"Feel how wet you are for me," he whispers teasingly, his smile pressing against the back of your neck.

"Daemon!" you gasp, but also a small moan leaves your lips.

He chuckles briefly, but your concentration is once again fully on his movements as his fingers penetrate deeper.

"Gods..." you gasp and he grins. Slowly, but firmly, his fingers push forward. He can feel your walls clench, longing for release.

"You know I love all the sounds you make, but I love your moans the most. I can feel your walls tighten around my fingers as if your body wants to hold me inside you while I make you tremble..." he whispers in your ear.

You moan again as his thumb grazes your pearl. He continues his expert ministrations, he is determined to make you forget the discomfort, to lose yourself in a wave of pleasure that only he can provide.

His fingers curl inside you, beckoning you as his thumb presses against your clit again.  You press your arse against his hardness and he moans into your neck. As he feels your hips moving towards his fingers, urging for more, he complies, increasing the intensity of his movements. He curls his fingers, angling them to hit that sweet spot within you, knowing exactly how to drive you wild with desire.

"Moan for me…" he commands, his voice laced with dominance, "Let me hear your pleasure, let it echo through these chambers."

And you obey as his fingers thrust deeper. He bites into your neck as his fingers tease your walls. His fingers continue their exploration, delving deeper inside you, seeking out the spots that make you writhe with pleasure. He maintains a steady rhythm, his touch skilled and attentive to your body's responses.

Smacking noises echo in your chambers as his fingers pump in and out faster. His fingers sliding in and out of your wetness with ease. With each thrust of his fingers, he can feel the slickness and warmth of your arousal, heightening his own desire.

He starts to apply more pressure and lets a third finger slide in. He knows what you like and he gives it to you the way you need it. He stretches your walls while they continue to clench around his fingers. Daemon's eyes gleam with a mixture of desire and possessiveness as he feels your response to his touch. He revels in the power he holds over your pleasure, his fingers moving with a practiced precision.

"Oh, my sweet wife," he murmurs, the words laced with a mixture of possessiveness and anticipation. "You are so responsive, so eager for my touch."

His body presses against yours, his hard length grinding against your backside as he continues to pleasure you with his fingers. His lips find your ear, his breath hot against your skin. Your fear of smearing him with your blood is forgotten, you need more.

"Daemon... Daemon," you whimper again and again, your arm reaching back, to the back of his head. Your fingers reach into his silky hair and he grunts. As he continues to drive you towards the peak of pleasure, Daemon's own desire grows, his need for release becoming undeniable. But at this moment, he's focused solely on your pleasure, on taking you to the edge and beyond, on helping you forget your discomfort.

"Yes... my love... Come on, come on my fingers, milk them like you always milk my cock when I fuck that delicious cunt," he growls into your neck.

And that pushes you over the edge. You cry out, your walls tightening around his fingers and Daemon grunts out.

You whimper, your hand gripping his hair tighter as he kisses your neck. Your eyes are closed, your breathing rapid as he pulls his fingers out when your walls stop clenching. A pleasant warmth flows through your abdomen, soothing away the pain more effectively than every maester's tea could.

As you catch your breath, you glance slightly over your shoulder and look at Daemon. He chuckles as he looks at his fingers, they're covered in blood.

"This is a sight I couldn't have imagined at the beginning of the day..", he kisses your neck again, "But I'm going to enjoy it“, he whispers into your ear.

"Daemon, no!" you say with wide eyes.

He just grins as you avert your eyes and blush. You hear the smacking sound as he licks his fingers.

But now you have to laugh as you stare at him again – his eyes are closed and he seems to be enjoying it.

"You're impossible..." you say softly as he still licks his fingers.

"Daemon, stop it!" you say and giggle, but he just grins and pulls you closer to him again.

"Delicious," he murmurs.

He starts stroking and caressing your belly again.

His breathing slows down as he holds you close. The sounds and smell of you, your little body in his embrace, it's almost more than he can bear at this moment.

He gently grabs your chin, as if he were holding something fragile and precious, and gently pulls your head upwards. When you return his gaze, it is gentle and tender.

"And you are my wife. You may feel sick, you may bleed, sometimes I may even be the cause of your anger. But that's all part of your body's natural rhythm. So please, my sweet girl, never hide from the pain, never keep your misery a secret. Otherwise, I promise you, it will cause me more grief than your blood..." he says gently. These moments with him are rare, but you savour them – your lovely husband. You lean towards him and let your lips slide onto his. He growls slightly and you feel his hand on your arse. You giggle slightly and feel his smile on your lips.

But the grip on your arse tightens and he pulls you towards him, positioning you perfectly against his crotch. He still can't hide his excitement and you gasp slightly. Your lips are still dancing around each other, you can feel the coppery taste on his tongue as he starts to undo his trousers. He growls again as his hand spreads your cheeks slightly and presses his hardness between your thighs from behind. You whimper as his cock slides along your folds.

"Let's see if we can give you a little more relief, shall we?" he growls against your lips and you moan as the tip of his cock presses against your slick entrance.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

[arkhammaid]

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ OF DRAGON BEHAVIOUR AND OLDE TRADITIONS. 

fandom. genshin impact

pairings. neuvillette, zhongli x gn!reader

content warnings. sfw + nsfw, MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI, heavily influenced by 'dragon' behaviour (is a bit leaned on a/b/o), 5 + 1 fic type (the + 1 is nsfw), possessive neuvie/zhongli, sfw: collaring, scenting, marking, nsfw: nesting, both of them have big dicks lol, talk about breeding, not edited/proofread, written in lowercase

word count. 1.8k

notes. i'm so down bad...

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ flaunting. 

once a dragon is mated, they like to show off their mate proudly. to enhance their physical aspects and to proclaim their trust in them, mates get draped in the dragon’s treasures. treasures this mythical beast usually hoards with jealousy. the shinier and bigger the treasures, the higher is the mate in social standing. 

neuvillette is less lavish with his treasures, simply because his priorities in his riches lay elsewhere. this is why you often where the brightest pearls, adoring your neck or shiny shells around your wrists. he enhances your beauty much subtler, but nonetheless you’re still worthy to be called his mate. after all, he’s a dragon of water, it’s only right for him to drape you in the gifts of the sea. 

zhongli prefers you in the finest silk and your skin adored with gold and other treasures found in the rich land that belongs to him. as a dragon of earth and especially as geo archon, all the gems are crafted in the most beautiful jewelry. everything to enhance your beauty. he especially likes you in cor lapis, a jewel in a color that he claims as his— and seeing you in this soft hue of orange swells pride in him. 

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ collaring. 

collaring can be seen as a step further of flaunting. the dragon creates an individual collar for their mate, to not only protect one of the weakest points of their body, their neck, but to also immediately signal that they belong to them. it signals protection and ownership, which is why mates rarely part with their gifted collars,as they’re also the first gift they receive as a dragon’s mate.

neuvillette knows that collars, by human standards, are not something normal. this is why he takes great care to create a collar that not only shows his strength but also fits within the domain the two of you move. this is why your collar is not a traditional one, instead resembling a tight necklace adorned by pearls and silver. it’s just enough to calm his instincts but also a fashionable item— one for which you’ve received many compliments. 

zhongli on the other hand has crafted a collar of which his elders would be proud of. it’s heavy on your neck, made by his own hands and not your usual jewelry. despite that, the collar is made by the best gems and jewels zhongli could find, and of course in his colors. and to ensure you’re comfortable wearing such a heavy collar, the inner side is embellished with the most expensive velvet he could find. 

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ acknowledgement. 

another important aspect between the relationship of a dragon and their mate is the acknowledgement of the hunt. once the dragon has successfully brought home the game, it is now up to the mate to appraise said game. only once they give their approval can the food be shared between them. this also includes all their offspring. 

neuvillette is always very careful with the food he brings to you. he ensures he’s the only one touching it, as tradition demands, and satisfactory enough for your plate. to him, keeping you fed and happy is much more important than to take care of his own needs. even when you always scold him, when he neglects himself, in this aspect he won’t bulge. 

zhongli himself has a very expensive taste and only the best is just good enough for his mate. no matter what you say, he will hunt on his own and pick all the herbs and berries himself, or else he wouldn’t even present the food. your approval is the highest praise, only one of the many reasons why zhongli takes so much care and time to honor this tradition. 

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ scenting. 

scenting is one of the few habits and traditions that are more intimate. a dragon scents their mate for several reasons. firstly, it’s one of the final steps of their ‘ownership’ over the mate. clothed in their treasure but also bathed in their scent. secondly, the process itself is very calming for the dragon, almost meditative. 

neuvillette likes to scent you when he comes home. it calms not only his dragon but also his mind. because of that, he never scents you in public, thinking it as a private matter and a treasured one added to that. it’s not something others should witness— you in his arms, pliant to his nosing, his gentle kisses and nibs on your skin and especially when he removes your collar to scent you on your neck. 

zhongli, despite being an old dragon, behaves as if he’s freshly mated and a young blood when it comes to scenting you. he dislikes smelling others on you or any artificial scent that’s not you. he has no shame scenting you in public, but over the years living with you he has reduced to the almost scandalous behaviour to nothing more but scenting on your wrists and a quick nosing on your cheeks. 

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ marking. 

marking is quite similar to scenting, only this behaviour varies from dragon to dragon. for some, a so called ‘mate-bite’ is enough, others like to add new markings everytime they couple with their mate. but there are even some dragons, who enjoy being marked by their mates, a most unusual behaviour. 

neuvillette has always enjoyed marking you, but is very gentle with it. his mate-bite, another physical sign that you belong to him, is located on your right shoulder, a wound healed a long time ago. he much prefers when you mark him, your teeth sinking in his much sturdier flesh. it leaves him breathless, just the mere thought of you marking him making his head spin— he loves to leave his marks on you, but he even loves it more when you mark him, to tell the whole world that he belongs to you. 

zhongli always loves to admire the marks his sharp teeth leave behind, trace his fingers over your reddened skin— he’s fascinated by your vulnerability and your eagerness to please him. but what matters most to him is that you love to wear his marks, never hesitate to show them off by not hiding them. social decorum would demand for you to hide them away behind draped fabrics, but instead you proudly wear them, as if they’re badges of highest honor. 

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ nesting. 

as every other animal, be it mythical or not, dragons go through a cycle. at it’s highest point, their fertility is much more prominent. to ensure the increased chances of success in producing offspring, the biology of dragons demands them to nest during the cycle. if the dragon ignores this inner instinct, it grows irritated or even aggressive to everyone who is not their mate. nesting ensures the comfort of both the dragon and their mate and helps them to properly prepare for their coupling. 

the moment the first child of the couple is born, nesting becomes a daily thing until said child passes the first stages of growth. the dragon builds a nest in their den, a different one from the ones in which the parents couple, and ensures that both mate and offspring are within this nest. the warmth and scent of both parents help the child to imprint on them and to recognize them later on as their sires. 

neuvillette, when it comes to nesting, is very picky about it. his nest has to be ready before his cycle starts and you have to be in it as well, pliant and ready for him. if you’re not comfortable, he gets stressed and that doesn't end well. 

for the most part, he has his instincts under control, but when you’re in his nest, naked and flushed, he tends to get feral. and once he lets go of that tight control he has over himself and his body, the dragon in him comes out. 

his pupils turning to slits, fangs sharpening and nails becoming claws. scales appear on his skin, his horns grow— neuvillette lets go of his human skin and becomes the closest he can be to a dragon without hurting you. it always excites you, seeing your usual calm and stoic mate all excited about the thought of breeding you. 

he’s an attentive lover, even if he could just slide into your hole and start fucking you stupid. instead he takes immense care to prepare you, hours even, lips and hands leaving marks on your skin while he makes you cum on his tongue several times. 

and then, when you see stars behind your closed eyes, your thighs shake around his head and you try to calm your breath— then he slowly slides into you, his giant cock hitting you in all right places, making you scream again—

then, only then, when you’re pliant and open for him, a flushing mess beneath his massive body and moaning his name— only then he would truly start to fuck you. 

zhongli is very attentive during nesting, but especially as your lover. he always puts your needs above his, simply because he finds pleasure when you enjoy yourself. 

despite being mated for a long time, you’re always nervous about nesting, especially about the most intimate part of it. zhongli is big and it’s always a tight fit, even if he prepares you with his fingers and mouth. you’re never in pain, he wouldn’t forgive himself if he would make you cry, but you’re still understandably nervous. 

zhongli doesn’t mind it, he understands and instead makes sure you’re distracted enough to not lose yourself in spiraling thoughts. it also helps when you’re breathless from the countless orgasms he has already given you, your hole wet enough, almost gushing, so the slide is smooth and painless for you. 

and you can’t lie, you enjoy his big dick, but sometimes it’s too overwhelming. yet the many years together has taught him many tricks and especially things you enjoy. 

you flush beneath him, when he starts praising you, his rich voice causing goosebumps all over your body. you whimper, when his fangs craze over your skin and moan when he actually bites you. 

but you truly lose your mind when he starts fucking you, slow but deep thrusts, taking his time while you writhe beneath him. it seems so effortless, how he’s destroying you, as if he isn’t going crazy when his mate is in his nest, calling his name, clinging onto him, begging him to go faster, harder, begging for more. 

taglist. @trailblazernet , @themercyverse , @lem-hhn , @verxsyon , @auraxins , @lupicalbestwolf , @the-dumber-scaramouche , @spiriteddreams , @kiiyoooo , @8-xnny , @spiriteddreams

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ARKHAM MAID 2023

[sonolynn]

Death's Grasp

request | Omg your prompts!🧎‍♀️Requesting an intense "I'll make death pry me away from you." with aegon x highborn reader?

summary | After a disturbing vision, the court's Seer fears for Aegon's life.

pairing | Aegon x Fem!Seer!Reader

tags | TW!!! Descriptions of blood, murder, and battle. Swearing, OOC Aegon, swearing, implications of sexual themes, mentions of war

w.c | 1.6 k

note(s) | This fic is out of the cannon of either the show and the book for my own sanity. Also, mixing a little bit of Norse mythology into the mix! Also, I took more of a creative liberty with this request so I hope it's okay!

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Aegon was screaming on the battlefield, pointing towards the field and motioning for people to run. He looked frantic. His silver-blonde hair messy with soot and blood. He was panting, almost hyperventilation as the fear and anxiety coursed through his veins like a raging flood as he sent more soldiers to their death. 

You were imobile, cursed to watch as Aegon fought freakishly messy; so different from how he normally fought. You saw it clearly now, you saw his demise before him. You watched as your lover was impaled by a sword. How convenient that it was through his back. 

As if in shock himself, Aegon looked down at the sword as he fell to his knees, holding a cupped hand underneath the blade as the blood pooled from the wound. The man behind Aegon put his foot on the king’s back, grunting as he pulled the sword from your lover's body. Blood spilled from Aegon’s mouth, causing the man to choke violently. 

Aegon looked up, straight into your eyes as he coughed out your name; a final tribute to the women he’d never see again. As he breathed your name one last time, his face fell and he slumped against the ground. 

You felt sick as the next part of your vision flashed before you, a clear vision of Aegon’s head, eyes closed and unevenly severed, held in the hand of the enemy. 

____________________________________________

You awake with a scream, holding your shaky hands over your mouth as the images of Aegon’s death stay fresh in your mind. You had had visions before, all of which had come to pass. But this one was more vivid than the others, more integral than the others.  

You breathed heavily, placing your hands in your hair and taking deep breaths to ground yourself. Your breath slowed, and your hands stopped shaking. But, the anxiety that stemmed from this vision stayed on your mind like that of the smell of a newly lit candle. 

Unable to deal with the beads of anxiety burrowing themselves in your veins, you hurriedly threw the covers off of you and rushed to Aegon. 

____________________________________________

“Aegon the Dragon Cock!” One of Aegon’s imprudent men that surrounded his inner circle shouted. You walked down the steps of the throne room, and looked around,  seeing the men and their drunken display. Aegon laughed at the notion, smiling and pointing to his friend as he bounced happily like a child seeing a new toy. 

“Yes! Yes, that one!” 

“Aegon.” You spoke softly, and the minute your face broke through the laughter of men, Aegon turned, a smile on his face. 

“My love! Don’t you agree! “Aegon the dragon cock! Isn’t it perfect…” His voice trailed off. He watched you closely, noticing your disheveled appearance and bare feet. “My love?” He was quick to dismiss his men, quickly walking down the steps of the throne to stand before you. He placed a free hand on your cheek, cocking his head to the side as he studied your expression. 

“Having fun, your grace?” Aegon rolled his eyes at the question and he gave you a look. 

“You are my betrothed, you needn’t refer to me as such.” His voice was soft, and he smiled gently at you whilst stroking your cheekbone. “What is with the look?” You stayed silent for a moment, not wishing to truly tell him the cause of your displeasure. Aegon had never truly believed in your gift; The gift to see what others didn’t. Only recently, when you had told him he would become the next king of the seven kingdoms did he acknowledge that perhaps you did have a gift. 

“...I’ve missed you.” You replied, the lie hot on your tongue. Aegon smirked at this, turning and placing his cup on a nearby table. 

“We saw each other a mere..two hours ago. Was I that good, my love?” The sight of his teasing smile, and the look on his face made you breakdown. Tears ran down your cheeks, and your hands started to shake again as you were reminded of what your vision had held within itself. 

Aegon gazed at your melancholic expression made him stop, and he paused. He quickly walked back towards you.

“Darling-” He stopped when you took a step back and held a hand out. Aegon frowned deeply and he gave you a look. “...You’ve had one of those visions, haven’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“And it has something to do with me, I presume?” You nodded. In frustration Aegon groaned, holding a hand to his forehead as he sighed. “You and those pointless visions-” 

“They are not pointless, Aegon! They hold meaning. The gods gave me this gift-” You stopped, seeing how he was muttering the same words you were. Your face hardened. “You think this to be funny?” 

“No-well, yes a little but my love-” Aegon came to you, taking your hand in his as he sighed. “These-These visions you call them are nothing but superstition!”

“My vision is what told you about your descent to the throne!” 

“A lucky guess!” You scoffed at his words, grabbing a hold of his half buttoned up shirt as you glared. 

“Why do you think my suffering funny, Aegon?!” Aegon’s face softened, and he sighed. He gently grabbed your wrist, giving you a kind look as he brought your hand up to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, before he breathed out your name slowly. You stopped, hearing him say your name in such a manner reminded you of that awful vision. 

“I do not find your suffering funny. I find your incessant need to base your superstitions off of pure nightmare’s-” He spoke faster as you started to pull away from him. You avoided his gaze, clenching your jaw. You knew the look he was giving you, one of sympathy that you did not wish to see right now. 

“Tell me what you saw, sweet girl.” He came to you again, slipping a hand behind your head and holding it in his grasp as he looked down at you. He desperately tried to meet your eyes, but you were insistent on pulling away from him and his gaze. 

“You’ll think me silly.” 

“Come now, I think you silly no matter what vision you tell me of.” He smiled, though, even as he joked you couldn’t get the image of his death out of your mind. Tears started to fill your gaze, and you pulled away.

 “Sweet girl, stop pulling away from me!” He pleaded, grabbing your arms in a futile attempt to make you stop moving. You pulled your arms up, your fists resting on his chest. He breathed out your name again and that is what did it for you; what made you break.

“I saw your death, Aegon!” You yelled, which indirectly caused the drastic movement of back and forth between the two of you to stop. Aegon stared down at you, his eyes hardening and his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “I saw you…not much older than you are now. You were on the battlefield, and..you…” You trailed off, refusing to revisit the gruesome and sickening vision. 

Aegon watched you, he had seen you and your reactions to these visions before but this…this was new. The look of fear that crossed your features and the tears that filled your eyes made his heart break. He could barely handle you when you woke from one of these visions normally, but these looks and the unease that settled on your face caused his mind to go blank. 

“My sweet girl, no-” “Yes Aegon! Do you not get it! You will die and you will die at the hands of your enemies with no one around you and your head will be taken-”

“My head?” 

“-And-And you’ll be scared and I won’t be there-” 

“My love-” 

“You’ll die and you’ll leave me alone, Aegon!” You screamed. At those last words, Aegon suddenly grabbed your face, making you look at him. His own eyes held tears of his own, and he grasped your face with little strength so as to not hurt you. Your eyes widened, and you watched him closely as he maintained a fierce look in his gaze. 

“I will not leave you-” You started to pull away, crying. You always knew Aegon was a fool, but a fool to this extent? You almost wanted to laugh. 

“Not even you can defy death, Aegon!” He looked almost offended at your words. Offended that you think he would just let death take him away from you. His hands grew tighter on your cheeks, locking your eyes again as he leaned forward and pushed his forehead against yours. He took a breath, steadying the anger in his voice before he spoke. 

“I’ll make death pry me away from you.” He spoke softly, his voice slipping with emotion as he leaned forward and kissed you. And you let it happen. 

You enjoyed the kiss, letting nothing but Aegon and his lips consume your thoughts. It was nice, for a while. The notion that a mere mortal could defy the will of the gods. You knew that visions could change, and you sure to gods hoped this one would change. But, for now, you were happy to just bask in his arms and be with him. 

When Aegon pulled away he looked down at you. As you went to speak he shook his head and smirked a bit.

“Don’t speak.” He whispered, and you obeyed. The two of you stood in the middle of the throne room, Aegon’s hands holding your face and grounding you from your anxious thoughts, and you let him. You stayed in his arms, letting him kiss your face and your lips softly until you no longer thought of his death; until you only thought of him.

[punkeropercyjackson]

Nonblacks in fandoms are literally brainwired to not care about black characters.When it comes to Disney Princess ship aus it's always Ariel and Eric or Rapunzel and Eugune but never Tiana and Naveen or Brandy's Cinderella and Paolo's Prince Charming.Hazel is a trio with Nico and Percy but is always replaced with Jason for 'The Big Three Boys' despite Percy being closer to her and Jason only becoming friends with Nico being used as a pity case for him by witnessing him being force outed and is defanged even though she's on par with Percy and her design whitefeminized because Pjo fans can't comprehend black girl features as feminine.Allura was the only good part of Voltron but she was bashed for daring to be the love of the lives of the two fan fave male characters instead of them realizing they only 'think' they hate eachother and applied every misogynoir stereotype to her under the guise of progressiveness

Duke is forgotten as a Batkid,Robin and Batboy based off a requirement rule that's never been said in canon or even joked about by official sources and Kory and Tam are shoved out of their romantic narratives with Dick and Tim to fit the 'redheads and blondes' rule even though Dick's dated more black women than redheads and Tim's first girlfriend dyed her hair blonde because she thought that's why he liked Stephanie more and he made a twisted expression of horror as his thought box said 'I...hate it'.Luz has her blackness invalidated almost always by NONblacks only,Gus is a canon black4brown mlm in a teenage romcom-esque ship but Toh fans ignore him and Mattholomule to obsses over Hunter and Edric as they 'roast' Huntlow too when Edric might as well not exist in comparison to Willow's depth and abundance of screentime,Camila was never given a chance and branded an abusive mom or spicy latina armcandy for Eda and Darius gets jackshit despite Hunter's whole ass entire dad and having a canon backstory with Eda,Raine and Lilith as classmates

Gumlee and Bubbline have much less content than completely noncanonical white gay ships and even after we saw Elise Marceline still wasn't popularly drawn black as human despite her being confirmation for Marcie and by extention Marsh being biracial.Oscar is said to have no personality by the same people who run blogs dedicated to fucking JAUNE AND SUN and his importance to Ruby downplayed for a mean white girl who bullied her for being a younger autistic girl and Emerald is easily the most deep and prettiest antagonist but hardly anybody hardcore stans her or ships her even including Mercury

Miles has zero crossover genres and i mean GENRES a la Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons not the occasional one-off fanart and niche fic despite everything about Spiderverse being prime crossover material especially now that we have Atsv yet Danny F/P gets in on all of them including being JASON'S COUNTERPART when MILES is exactly like him while Danny's literally just ghost-themed and has nothing in common with Jason including being different flavors of deaths and ressurections and Margo is made out to be a desperate loser over Miles even though he showed even MORE more interest in HER and Hobie is passiveaggressively turned into Gwen's 'canon brother figure' despite the FIRST thing we learned about him is that they were gonna be a thing and it made it into the final project as confirmed by the creators who said the viewers can choose if they were dating or not and Jessica did nothing but be a good adoptive mom to Gwen after her cop dad kicked her out,have chemistry with Miguel,her own inner turmoil too and serve cunt and y'all either hated or ignored her for it BECAUSE she's a black woman but not a m*mmy or a minstrel show,don't even lie

And they notice NONE of this despite it happening every.fucking.time.They never prioritize or treasure black people in their lives if they even have any and they smacktalk black celebrities for the same reason they worship nonblack ones too.They make a mockery of black culture with butchered aave and whitewashed black aesthetics and calling our food disgusting and our romantic tactics inherently perverted(see the oversexualization of 'babygirl' when just means 'sweet black girl' and is meant to be comforting and can even be used platonically by older male relatives).They don't see color.They don't see us at all.They deliberately turn a blind eye to all the nonstop microagression they do towards our representation which they've NEVER limited to fictional characters-see how every black actor ever gets harrased!!!-yet act all 'woke' because they unlearned queerphobia and ableism.Yeah?Unlearn THIS propaganda too snowroaches