#GOING TO THE WOODS WITH HER NOW 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

[angelic--kitty]

okay, hear me out... TRANSFEM! XILONEN IN HEAT 🗣️💥💥🗣️💥

ପ( xilonen in rut )ଓ

warnings: smut (mdni), wlw content, transfem!xilonen x sub!fem reader, xilonen is in rut and her dick is spiny (🤧), breeding kink, size kink, cunnilingus

a/n: the double ask was crazyyy bro really wanted me to hear them out on xilonen 😭😭😭 but i got you 🫡 though im gonna call it rut 😭

"xilonen-"

she stares blankly at you, ears tilted back slightly and twitching, her nails digging into the wood of the table.

"are you listening-"

she stares at your body, the soft curves of your frame, picturing her hands on your hips, yanking you back against her-

"xilonen, the table!" your voice finally snaps her from her thoughts. she looks down, seeing the nasty marks her claws have left in your shared kitchen table.

"shit," she sighs, smoothing the placemat back down over to cover it. "sorry, i've been so out of it." her eyes glance away, tail lashing, showing her irritation as you frown.

"is something wrong?" you ask softly, your hand covering hers as she bristles, and you move closer. "you're burning up." the back of your hand lays against her forehead, your body nearly pressing to hers.

xilonen grunts, pushing your body away. "i'm fine, really. i should get back to work-"

you scoff, finally having enough of her dismissive attitude. "okay, now i know something is wrong and you're just hiding it. you? finding an excuse to work? and not to mention after you've come home already. so, what's going on?"

you watch as she sighs, hand pushing her hair away from her face. "it's my rut." she says plainly, not one to beat around the bush. "normally, it's no problem for me. but for some reason i just... it's you." she bristles, catching you off guard.

"me?" your voice is sharp, confused as she finally sits up, ears flicking with irritation. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"i mean it's you. i can't stop thinking about you. archons, you make it impossible for me." she shifts around in her seat, and for the first time, you finally notice the bulge in her shorts.

"oh- oh fuck. i'm sorry-" your eyes are wide, concerned, and archons, it makes xilonen harder imagining you looking up at her like that while she fucks you. "i didn't think- archons, you've been working like that all day?"

normally, you would avert your eyes until you were in the bedroom, but you just can't help yourself, eyeing her shyly. "you know, i'm your partner. if something is wrong, i want you to tell me plainly." your face feels hot as you finally make eyecontact with her again. "which obviously you did, and you're really good at it." you mumble.

she can tell you're embarrassed, but you collect yourself, slowly standing up and walking towards her chair.

you slowly ease into her lap, your clothed cunt pressing to her barely contained bulge as she hisses.

"fuck." her hands grab your hips, claws lightly digging in.

"why were you keeping your rut a secret? you know you can have me anytime you-"

"you don't understand." she asserts, her head falling forward, resting on your shoulder as she breathes softly against your neck. "it's more than just fucking you."

her sharp teeth graze your neck as her hand tugs your shirt down to give her access to your skin. "i need to breed you."

you go silent for a moment, feeling her press you down against her harder, the firmness pushed up to your clit. "xilonen-" you gasp for her, grabbing at her biceps. "yes- yes- please-"

she is about to argue, when you begin to roll your hips against her, wringing out gasps of her own.

she lifts you up with ease, your legs wrapped around her hips as she rushes the both of you to the bedroom. it's messy and hot, your tongues sliding over each other, sharp teeth making their home in your neck as she kicks the door open, tossing you onto the bed.

before you can sit up, she pushes you down, one of her hands easily caging both of yours down against the soft blankets. her tail tickles you as it sways, and her eyes trail slowly up your body, drinking you in.

your clothes are practically shredded off, and you find yourself on all fours, face pressed to the sheets with her tongue inside of your cunt.

she kneels for you, one hand holding you open while her other remains occupied, wrapped around her cock as she jerks herself off. you can feel her shaking from the movements, feel her moaning into your pussy, and it drives you insane.

her hips jerk up, cock sensitive and desperate to fuck you full as she pulls away, saliva connecting you to her as she pants. "are you ready?" she asks you gently, uncharacteristically, really.

you turn around, gently cupping your cheek, nodding as she mounts you, sliding herself through your wetness. before you can beg her, she begins to slide herself in.

you whimper, feeling that she's much bigger this time, and the spines are more pronounced. not painful, but designed to keep you locked together. your hands grasp the bedsheets. "xilonen- you're...why are you so-"

"i know," she grunts, her full chest smushed against your back. "sorry- m'sorry." she rushes to apologize, giving you kisses and licks across your skin as she stretches you further than you've ever felt with her.

you melt from how soft her voice is, how she tries desperately to restrain herself from fucking you roughly, like you know she wants to. you see claw marks in the sheets, hear her grunting and mumbling to herself, and so you lay lax beneath her. "fuck me- please...need it so bad-"

you don't even finish your sentence before she shoves herself impossibly deeper. generally, xilonen isn't one to have this much energy, though it seems she has much to spare in her rut with how she jackhammers into you.

she can't help but picture you as a cute, noisy little toy. you practically disappear under the size of her body anyways, and the grip your pussy had on her left her throbbing. her spines catch on your walls, refusing to let her out as you cry for her, hips grinding back against her cock.

she leans down, shoving you against the mattress, kissing your neck to get you to relax as she fucks you, leaving such a pretty bulge in your lower stomach. her hand smooths over your skin, groaning at the feel of herself inside you. all the while, you whimper for her, squirming beneath her body.

her fingers slide down to your clit, ensuring that you cum first. even in her rut-filled fantasies, she puts you first.

when it comes time to fill you up, she shoves herself as deep as she can, biting down on your shoulder, holding you still as you feel her cum flood your pussy.

your left speechless, writhing, yet being held still as you pant, your cries turning to soft little mumbles as she lays you on your side. she doesn't pull out, nor does she move, only flopping down next to you, pulling you close.

"xilonen..."

"mmm."

"i need to clean up."

xilonen only scoffs, peering one of her eyes open. "oh? but it'd be a waste. you didn't think we were done yet, right?"

[uyunto]

hii! i was making my own oc for tginf and decided to make mine into a balatro card like i did into all the other characters, and i also made your tginf oc as well! i saw it on arrimorr’s blog, but it didn’t mention the name. if it has a name, what is it? i’ve just been calling it “the construct”. i like how its a covblement of a bunch of parts oxygen probably found around the woods from all the unfortune travelers that ended up there! i really like your art btw (especially the cardboard dolls, that was the first thing i saw you make!)

HIII WHAAAT I CHOKED what a nice beginning of the day😭🙏💖💖💖😳 HE'S SO BEAUTIFUL... and thank youuuuv

his name is Junk! Junk in fact consists of any sort of garbage, so you're right! it's everything man-made and inorganic that has ended up on the Road or left over from people absorbed by the Forest. Junk is literally a walking dump of broken road signs, car pieces left after car crashes, roadside cenotaphs, artificial flowers and wreaths, cigarette butts, food packaging, personal things from car glove compartments, etc.

when i came up with the idea of junk-consisted character in Tginf, i was thinking that all the garbage and litter on the Road had to go somewhere since the Forest can't absorb inorganic things (i guess). i thought, like, hey there's just have to be some junkyard with cars and litter left by travellers ended up on the Road. and there could be some folk who would be interested in keeping the Forest and the Road itself clean.

when i was sharing my idea with Arrimorr, she said he could be an Oxygen's follower. what i think: the Oxygen create things "out of nothing", and you know, a bunch of garbage is pretty much a material thing, but there can still be a chance she could create another being that would be used to "clear the environment and the air", since we talk about Oxygen. after all he could be just a place with all the "ugly" and inappropriate things Oxygen wouldn't want to see around. but it's just my thoughts, basically i let Arrimorr do whatever she wants to Junk (like it's just a guy i made inspired by her Tginf setting)

Junk's occupation is being something like a traffic cop on the Road (i couldn't find the way to translate his name in English in order to keep the pun, but the thing is that in Russian language the word meaning "garbage" is also how people call policemen). If ordinary police officers have flashlights, then Junk's flashlights are his eyes themselves, basically their role is played by two car headlamps. there's also two-colored emergency police lighting installed on his chest, you know, like a ribbon bar:

usually, Junk doesn't speak. he haven't got a mouth basically, but he came up with a way: if necessary, he can "speak" by cutting up words from different songs from music discs using a car radio. before he learned this communication, he just "shout" by activating the alarm or using car horns.

i was thinking he could have sort of a sword, which is basically a road signs post sharpen on the end, but now i don't think it's necessary since Junk is about 4-5 meters tall. also he can sort of "fall apart" and pretend to be an ordinary junkyard and then reassemble himself like a construction set (the lego they have at home..). and so he can literally use parts of himself as a weapon if there's a fight lol

by the way, due to his height, Junk can easily pick up radio signal, and he generally really likes listening to music through a radio that is located somewhere inside him.

excuse my being weird but i just wanted to say i ship Junk and the King of the Road🗣️🗣️🗣️ because Junk is literally a concentration of human creations, and the King is fascinated by humans as far as i remember. and King doesn't care it's basically just a garbage. i mean im dying when i think of Junk taking out of himself silly little human things and explaining it's meaning to the King (Junk listens to the human radio and music, the guy know what he's talking about). also i was thinking about Junk and Oxygen, how Junk do a "penguin pebbling" by bringing her nice shiny little things and she honestly doesn't find them beautiful but at the same time she can't reject them

thank you for giving me a chance to rattle about him!!🥺🫶 have a great dayy

[bbettygroff]

art I made of my Eternal Winter! au !!! the entire au (copy paste message) is down below 🗣️🗣️🔥🔥

like a winter that's going to last forever due to what he did in the past 🙏 basically the entire shnick is that Simon in this AU (Called simply "Winter" cuz he don't want to be associated with the crown since it ruined his life and such) made a rlly dumb wish, he already knew about the crown's wishing power and wished for him and Betty to live forever cuz he's a lil coocoo, but that backfired badly and the crown went banaynays, he couldn't control the powers and accidentally killed Betty by freezing her and evaporating her into a single snowflake, Simon quickly grabbed the snowflake to protect her and from that point on he hated himself and that crown, fast forward a few years and Finn and Jake come into the picture (psst, in this universe Jakes a husky and is normal, no magic here) Finn was living with his Mom, Minerva. Finn still loved adventuring and would often go on adventures with Jake, but he went to little bit too far into the woods and stumbled upon Winter's castle (think of it was Elsa's castle sort of) Where he lived in solitude and lonelyness, due to Finn's curiosity he entered and began to explode the castle, before meeting Winter and got scared and surprised (Finn's like 4'9 and Winter's 8'1 😭) Btw I forgot to mention that Bonnie's a human and so is Marceline, their Finn's friends and r basically aged down to around 15-16, Finn's 15. and theres a bit more but that's pretty much it 4 now

Fanart from my pooks on Instagram 🙏🗣️

[magpod-confessions]

I’m gonna say this here because I’m too scared to on my blog, but I really hate Martin. I feel like a lot of it might be a lot of the fandom saying what a nice sweet person he is, but even within the podcast I really just don’t like him.

(Sorry this is so long.)

In season 1 he was fine, a bit annoying maybe, but I also kinda think his voice is annoying (I am sorry Mr. Newall)

Again, in season 2 he was fine, I guess.

In season 3 he was a bit more annoying to me but still fine.

In season 4 we hardly even saw him, but it was during the “let’s gouge our eyes out and make out” scene that I really disliked him, he just seemed unnecessarily cruel to Jon. Like, laughing at him and mockingly telling him he’s not going to do it, I don’t know if we were meant to think Peter was listening or something, but he never apologizes to Jon, I think, or explains why he reacted that way. Also in this season, we get to see just how petty he can be, when he talks to Daisy and ask her about the coffin, it just seems cruel; she was in the coffin for nine months and had only been out of it for two, and now Martin’s bringing it up and compares him reminding her of her trauma to that time a year and a half ago she was mean to him. Yes, I’m aware it was abuse of her authority, and maybe I just think it’s so petty because Jon didn’t hold a grudge against her even after she dragged him out to the woods to kill him.

Anyway, season 5 is where I have the most issues with him, he just complains half the time, has such a “I know better than you” attitude to Jon, who can know almost literally anything, and he’s such a Hypocrite. I absolutely hate how he was in season 5; he’ll be like “Jon, don’t make it my decision” and then immediately complain about Jon’s choice, or “Jon, You need to kill this person right now, their torturing children, what do mean you’re not going to? You need to because I say so, never mind the fact that you know way more about the situation than I do” and so many other things.

Honestly though, I’d be fine with him if anyone actually called him out on his behavior, but anytime Jon snaps at him Jon immediately apologizes, which does fit Jon’s character, but there’s no other character to really call him out, because every other character hates Jon too much to criticize Martin.

I don’t know, am I being unfair to him? Is there something I’m missing about him?🗣️

Yeaa. I would say Jon does hold a grudge, but Martin doesnt rly know that and Jon definitely doesnt outwardly act like he holds one. Anyways I get what youre saying and agree, Im not a fan of martin either

[leonenjoyer69]

*Inbox Invasion* Free ramble card!! Make it a long one, About literally anything, anything at all, can even switch topics constantly. This is literally just for fun.

LGOWKFLEKVK LET'S GOOO 🗣️🗣️

Okay so, starting off strong, let's go music. Will Wood and the Tapeworms, right? A few weeks ago I listened to both versions of every song twice to find which versions I liked better for when I eventually burned CDs (my car is old af, bbg ain't even got an aux, but also her ass ain't got an engine rn 💀) for the albums.

My verdict for Self-Ish? Literally all the songs are the exact same, except Self-, -Ish (which just sound a wee bit different), and Dr Sunshine is dead (which just has a longer outro in the original).

EVERYTHING IS A LOT THO? Some big differences in some songs. So here's my preferences:

6 up 5 oh- Remaster, the "oh how I know how I go.." Part just sounds better to me

(Bones)- Remaster, the radio/tv talk at the end isn't glitchy and stuff, like the OG

Front Street- Original, I like the snaps (tapping?) Behind the pre-chorus, along with the dialogue clip. But, also, I like how much clearer everything is in the remaster, so I'm kinda torn.

¡Akiado!- Original, I am,,,, not a fan of the extra end part in the remaster

White knuckle Jerk- Original. The background(?) Voices are quieter and sound kinda different. Idk I may be wrong about that tho.

Cover this song- Original. I hate hate HATE Batman will wood growling in my ear, please never make me listen to that version again, it was a genuine jump scare. (EDIT: THE REMASTER JUST PLAYED ON MY SPOTIFY AND??? HE'S NOT BATMAN ANYMORE??? IS MY SPOTIFY BROKEN?? PLZ IK I'M NOT CRAZY)

Thermodynamic Lawyer- Remaster. Not really a fan of the robot voice in the original.

Red Moon- original, his voice seems quieter or more drowned out in the remaster.

Lysergide Daydream- Original, don't remember why, so vibes ig lmao, there's not really a difference between the two

The First Step- Remaster, I think it just sounds a little clearer

Jimmy Mushrooms- either, they're literally the same lmao

Chemical Overreaction- original. WE CAN'T STOP HERE, THIS IS BAT COUNTRY 🗣️🗣️ need I say more?

Everything is a lot- Remaster, so then I don't have to listen to construction noises (or destroy to enjoy in general) 😋😋

So yeah, ig that's my dream Everything is A Lot album.

BUT NOW!! more music! But Chonny Jash this time!! Specifically the Ballad of Dr Jekyll and Bargaining/compromise.

First of all, I love the lyrical differences!! Ballad Jekyll leaning more towards blaming Hyde for everything and being way more self-pitying, while B/G Jekyll seems to have more of a subdued acceptance? Like, Ballad Jekyll is a lot more emotional and bitter, while B/C seems to take more of the responsibility. Also!! I like how in B/C Jekyll seems to be with someone else, while Ballad Jekyll seems to be alone. The contrast between the last lines ("but if it takes Mr Hyde with me, then I'm glad to hang" V.S. "so take my hand, hold it till the end") really does show that bitter self destructiveness vs that sad, duty-driven acceptance. AND LIKE UGHHH JUST THE LYRICS OF B/C IN GENERAL!! I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!

Also, the Mr Hyde Jive? I love Hyde being a silly fellow. Literally just being like "damn, I'm not the villain, smh, lemme go have some fun for you gayboy 🗣️🗣️ (might still ruin lives tho!! I am vice, teehee)"

Yk what? Fuck it, this whole ramble will be music. THE JEKYLL AND HYDE MUSICAL 🗣️🗣️🗣️ I love Anthony Warlow so much, all the Jekyll or Hyde-centric songs are so eoughhhh ughhhhh AHHHH. Favorite songs rn? Board of Governors, His Work and Nothing More, The World Has Gone Insane, This is the Moment, Transformation--I JUST UGHHH I love listening to his screams idk man. also Alive. I also love you, Gabriel John Utterson. His parts are so fun to sing.

BUT!! the absolute hold Board of Governors has on me is insane. Every time I hear the intro begin to play through my tv I look up. I'm literally pavlov dogged to that shit. It's basically a requirement for me to go "THE BOARD OF GOVERNORS OF ST JUDE'S HOSPITAL IS NOW IN SESSION!" every time it plays. I love sassy Jekyll and Stride, it's so funny, like yes!!! The girls are fighting!! The absolute sass of half that cast is crazy. I have every part memorized, I AM the entire cast and recreate it expertly 🗣️🗣️

Anyways, yeah, I love Utterson too, his voice is in my range perfectly, he's literally my bbg. All his parts in How Can I Continue On and His Work and Nothing More? Kdoelvkskfldk I love him I love him. JEKYLL THO? shaking him aggressively (lovingly) I want to chew on him and rip him apart. Warlow's voice for him is so EOUGJDJDKKD ‼️‼️‼️

OKAY THAT'S ALL FOR NOW, TYSM FOR THIS!! ILY, LOYAL SCIENTIST 🗣️🗣️🗣️

[maggie-chaos23]

1. 🎮: What Kirby game or what point in the Kirby series timeline would your OC first appear?

Most likely a couple of months after “Fright to the finish” from Hoshi no kabii.

2. 🤝: Does your OC have any important connections to any canon characters?

when she had first arrived in Dreamland, her and tiff were good friends and as time progressed she made good friends with most of the residents in Cappy Town as well as a few of Kirby’s dream friends! And despite knowing of Meta knight, she had never actually met him until about a year into living in Dreamland.

She’s also really close to Magolor! Treating him like an older brother.

3. 🏠: Where does your OC live?

A little further than the outskirts of Cappy Town/close to Whispy Woods

4. 🪄: Does your OC use magic? If they do, how did they gain their magical abilities?

Yes! She was trained by Magolor in the arts of magic! (Levitation and Telekineses)

5. 🍎: What are some foods that your OC enjoys eating?

Rice and crunchy Peanut-butter😀 (yes, mixed together)

6. 🗣️: If you could cast a voice actor to voice your OC who would you choose?

That’s a pretty difficult question… perhaps Elsie Lovelock? Or Maybe Lizzie Freeman

7. ❤️: What is your OC’s love language (Words of affirmation, Quality time, Physical touch, Receiving gifts, or Acts of service)?

Physical touch and Gift giving🫶🏼✨

8. 🏳️‍🌈: What is your OC’s sexual orientation?

Straight Biological female

9. 🪪: Does your OC go by a nickname? If they do, what is their full name?

After arriving in Dreamland, she couldn’t remember her full name, but she did remember her first name “Maggie” after meeting Magolor, and practically becoming family, she took the middle name “Lor” and the last name “Starcutter”

10. 👑: Is your OC royalty?

No. Girly pop is broke as a joke🚫💰

11. 🗡️: What is your OC’s weapon of choice?

“You can use anything as a weapon if you throw it hard enough” — Maggie

She prefers using swords in close range combat though

12. 💏: Is your OC in a relationship?

Relationship? No. WANTS to be in a Relationship? Yes😌

13. 🙅: Does your OC have any enemies?

Not to her knowledge

14. 🍱: If your OC had a dish themed around them at the Kirby Cafe, what would it be?

Probably some kind of blueberry mango mochi

15. 🧸: If your OC had any merchandise themed around them, what would it be?

Probably acrylic keychains

16. 👶: Does your OC have children? If they don’t have any children, would they like to have some one day?

No, she does not have any children. But she does love kids and would love to have her own someday. As of right now though, she treats Kirby as her Son (This caused her and Meta knight to grow closer)

17. 🎨: What are your OC’s artistic skills? Are they a good artist or is art something that they struggle with?

she’s pretty good at art! But she needs to work on her realism😅

18. 💎: Does your OC like to collect anything?

She likes collecting sparkling water cans and bottles as well as commemorative pins and a other little doodads

19. 🛒: If your OC owned a shop, what would they sell?

Probably crochet items and baked goods🧶🥖

20. 🤫: Does your OC have any secrets?

She may or may not have a teeny tiny little crush on Meta Knight

21. 🃏: Is your OC a good liar, or is it easy for others to tell when they’re not being truthful?

She is the living breathing dictionary definition of a bad liar

22. 🪽: Can your OC fly? If they can fly, how do they do it?

Yes! Maggie was taught levitation by Magolor! She can levitate small distances off the ground! She can’t float any higher than about four-ish feet off the ground

23. 👍: What is your OC most proud of?

Her friends🫶🏼

24. 🥺: What is your OC’s biggest regret?

Not being able to remember what her life was like before Dreamland

25. ⭐️: If your OC got their own spinoff game what would it be about and what would the gameplay be like?

It would probably be an RPG similar to Miitopia where instead of faces being stolen, it was dreams and they would replaced with Nightmares so now all of Dreamland refuses to sleep, causing everything to fall into ruins because nobody can think straight (it’d practically be a mix between Meta knight’s revenge, Kirby’s Adventure, Star allies, and Miitopia)

A Kirby OC Ask Game!

Thought I’d make one of these for people to reblog and send each other asks about their OCs. You can send a number or an emoji, I’ve included both for all of the asks here so people can send whatever is easier for them.

1. 🎮: What Kirby game or what point in the Kirby series timeline would your OC first appear?

2. 🤝: Does your OC have any important connections to any canon characters?

3. 🏠: Where does your OC live?

4. 🪄: Does your OC use magic? If they do, how did they gain their magical abilities?

5. 🍎: What are some foods that your OC enjoys eating?

6. 🗣️: If you could cast a voice actor to voice your OC who would you choose?

7. ❤️: What is your OC’s love language (Words of affirmation, Quality time, Physical touch, Receiving gifts, or Acts of service)?

8. 🏳️‍🌈: What is your OC’s sexual orientation?

9. 🪪: Does your OC go by a nickname? If they do, what is their full name?

10. 👑: Is your OC royalty?

11. 🗡️: What is your OC’s weapon of choice?

12. 💏: Is your OC in a relationship?

13. 🙅: Does your OC have any enemies?

14. 🍱: If your OC had a dish themed around them at the Kirby Cafe, what would it be?

15. 🧸: If your OC had any merchandise themed around them, what would it be?

16. 👶: Does your OC have children? If they don’t have any children, would they like to have some one day?

17. 🎨: What are your OC’s artistic skills? Are they a good artist or is art something that they struggle with?

18. 💎: Does your OC like to collect anything?

19. 🛒: If your OC owned a shop, what would they sell?

20. 🤫: Does your OC have any secrets?

21. 🃏: Is your OC a good liar, or is it easy for others to tell when they’re not being truthful?

22. 🪽: Can your OC fly? If they can fly, how do they do it?

23. 👍: What is your OC most proud of?

24. 🥺: What is your OC’s biggest regret?

25. ⭐️: If your OC got their own spinoff game what would it be about and what would the gameplay be like?

[bitchubby]

farmer!bakugou x chubby reader

N.A: I couldn't stand it and tried to write something about it. I hope you like it and sorry for anything, I'm still getting the hang of things around here.

N.A.2: Some parts were based on real events 💀💀💀

Imagine our chubby reader who, tired of city life, decides to move to the countryside.

As in stardew valley, we can say that she received the farm as an inheritance and had no better opportunity to leave everything in the city and go towards the quiet life she needed.

She really thought life would be calmer, but things didn't start off too well.

How she did everything on the spur of the moment, didn't plan much or even research about the city or how to plant something lmao

She just went. very impulsive, so to speak.

It all started to go wrong when she was late at the bus station to find the bus and ended up missing it.

And the break was 4 hours because the fleet was ridiculously small 💀💀💀

(I know a lot about this, my journey is at least 2 hours and the fleet I use only has 3 buses 🗣️🗣️🗣️)

The poor was moldying at the station.

When she arrived in the city, the dirt floor was obviously very rough and unstable.

And she had 2 huge suitcases 💀💀💀

The sun hitting her head and the poor thing just "ok, I can do it. I've faced worse in that motherfucker's office."

Another 30 minutes of walking, long puffs and a lot of dripping sweat. Any vestige of "beauty" at that moment was already blown away.

There is no base that can hold a 39° sun on her head.

When she finally sees the end of the dirt road and the farms starting to appear, chaos ensues.

Halfway there she sees 3 cows and thinks "ok, cows. This is a rural place, obviously there would be cows somewhere." And she keeps walking.

But the path was rather narrow and two of them occupied the passage.

She stops and watches, wondering what to do. With two large, heavy suitcases.

She decides to go through the bush with one and then another. And it initially worked.

She walks past them with the first one without making much of a fuss. And she passes with the second.

"God is always good." She thinks.

When she doesn't even walk 200 meters, she hears a very loud moo in the distance, where she had come from and when she looks back...

A horse. Unruly and crazy. Simply running.

The cows start running towards our reader and she ???what now???

Just drop your bags and run.

"There won't be any Dior foundation to use if you die." She thinks.

There comes a time when she realizes that there is nothing else to do but throw herself in the woods and she doesn't think too much beforehand.

She hears another trot and suddenly her field of vision is filled with muscular arms twirling a rope, wild dirty sandy blonde hair and a face with not very friendly expressions.

Eyes as sharp as a katana look at her there, lying on the ground and overgrown in places that only God knows, and a clear sneer is heard.

She doesn't know if she feels horny, ashamed or angry.

Horny over your not-so-innocent initial thoughts, shame over your current state, and anger for the same reason.

Ensnared, the horse finally stops running, but the cows follow the horizon.

"Is that horse yours?" You ask as you get up and try to get the grass out of your clothes.a.

Mas bakugou não responde.

Ele está muito ocupado amarrando seu cavalo a uma árvore e se perguntando se vale a pena gastar sua saliva com mais um turista idiota que decide se aventurar no campo.

"God, maybe the horse was right to run away." You exclaim heading towards the disaster that left your suitcase.

"What did you say?" His thick voice sends a shiver up his spine.

"Apparently, besides being rude, he's deaf." You bite.

Oh, sweetie. For what?

"Bull"kugou, as many call it, is known as the biggest bitch in town. Always grumpy and stressed out about everything and everyone. Nothing escapes. Animals, people, plants. He's always kind of hard to deal with, especially for tourists.

imagine you hope to find peace in the countryside and suddenly comes a blonde hurricane?

It is no wonder that he is responsible for scaring so many people away and is constantly taking calls from the mayor for affecting the local economy with his outbursts of humor.

But you had a shitty day.

And since you were in hell, why not sit on the devil's lap soon?

and there is none better than a devilish blonde.

"Listen here, little girl." He starts and you soon cut to the chaotic state your clothes are in.

"Listen here you! Look what your crazy animal did? My bags, my clothes, my things!" You start poking and gathering your stuff on the floor, all dirty and/or broken. "Your fault."

Bakugou gets close to his stuff and kicks a book with a shirtless man's cover.

"Junk and more junk." He keeps poking at his stuff with his foot. "Are you going to some kind of 5-star ranch or has the shit in town gotten to your head?"

"For your information, I'm coming to live here." You respond by throwing your stuff into the destroyed suitcase.

"You? I doubt it." He raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms, making the hard-worked muscles increasingly bulge and visible. "Must be just another city snoop who pet an animal and thinks he's become a farmer."

"How about you go fuck yourself?" You answer and watch him duck.

"Alone is no fun." He sees your bra and directs his hand to grab it, but is stopped by a slap from you. "What the fuck is that?"

"Don't touch my stuff."

"But I was just going to help you." he laughs. "Who would have thought that these little hands would have this strength, you can work on my ranch now."

"Thank you so much for the offer, but I'm not interested in anything coming from you."

As you watched what you could salvage from your stuff, bakugou stared at you with a shitty face. You thought he was just a country troublemaker, after all, you were used to dealing with a few in the city. Being a big girl there wasn't easy, and as much as they said that in inner cities was different and that girls like you were really appreciated there, you doubted it a little. Life is not a fairy tale for a girl like you.

But you didn't let things like that get you down. When they came with one stone, you came back with three.

On the other hand, Bakugou was really wondering if it was worth scaring you like he was used to doing with the other unwanted visitors. After all, you weren't that undesirable to him. You was pretty, plump and had that acidic tongue he liked so much. Even a little messy and with grass in your hair, he thought you were pretty.

Even more so when you had that expression ready to throw whatever came your way at him.

People didn't usually have the guts to stand up to a guy as well built like him, let alone curse him like you did.

If anyone who knew him was afraid. Guess who doesn't?

He was mildly shocked when you told him to go fuck himself right off the bat, but he managed to disguise it and get around it just fine.

"You're going to have to improve your manners." He talks loving seeing your face contort in disbelief. "Around here people are solicitous anyway."

"I hope you're not including yourself."

"You'll have to get used to one man poking his nose into other people's stuff too. Small town stuff, you know how it is, right?"

"Are you still talking?"

"Your attitude too, you'll have to improve." He gets up and starts walking away. "Well, anyway, it's going to be a pleasure."

"What?"

"to be able to tame one more animal by the reins." He laughs walking away. "I'm not just rude and deaf, you know? I'm also a great tamer."

"A-ANIMAL?!"

[valentinamasked]

TENTH DOCTOR/READER 🗣️🗣️

(In which the Reader and Doctor are separated and he is captured. The reader, actually a shapeshifter, saves the Doctor from a werewolf, reader is critically injured in the process and the two barely make it out alive. Back in the TARDIS, he helps bandage her wounds and waits for her to wake up. Fluff ensues 🤞🤞, first time doing this)

Tags; angst, near death experience, gore, fluff, friends to lovers

‘How the hell did this happen?’ The Doctor thought to himself, ‘One minute I’m with y/n, exploring 1604 London, the next we’re separated and I’m in the woods, chained to blessed tree.’

The Do for huffs, tugging on his restraints once more, the chains were digging harshly into his skin. He glanced around, no one was here. Other than the cage before him, which would rattle on occasion and the beast inside would growl. He knew what it was, he had heard the growl many times before.

He was going to be fed to a werewolf, apparently.

‘Wonder if y/N’s alright, I hope so.’ Even in danger he still thought of his recent companion, Y/N L/N. A girl whom he met a few months ago. He had learned very quickly she wasn’t human, by the way her eyes were an unnatural golden to the sharp fangs that appear occasionally. Course the golden eyes were a dead give away, they stood out the most. And he’d admit it, they were..enchanting. Such a pretty color, they were.

When he found out what she was, he was intrigued greatly, asking many questions? To which she’d answer honestly.

“What does that form look like?” “Brown fur, I’m taller than the average human. Though, I’d be just a few inches above you.” “Is your whole family like this?” “Only my mothers side, and even then it’s a rare gene.” “Have you ever fought in that form?” “No.” “Why not?” “..because I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Y/N was a remarkable woman, she had both the brains and brawn. Apparently, before he came along, she was the best tracker in her family, and the fastest.

She showed him her culture, taught him her language, taught him dances and sang her people’s songs. Everything about her was so interesting and the Doctor loved learning about everything she had to offer. She loved her, regrettably. She was such a genius, it was hard not to love her.

He looked at the ground, silently hoping she was okay.

He perked up when he heard footsteps, watching with honey colored eyes as three humans adorned in black cloaks appeared from the shadows. They circled around towards him, the tallest looking down at him.

“You should feel lucky.” He said, voice low and gruff, “You will be the first sacrifice to our king.”

The second tallest hummed, “With your blood, he will grow stronger.”

“And even stronger with the next sacrifice.” The smallest added.

“I’m sure he will grow to be a strong king, though I do hope not as bad as the king right now. I mean..Jane isn’t exactly popular is he? With that laziness—“

“SILENCE.” The tallest shouted and The Doctor allowed himself to smile goofily. He liked annoying his captors. “Behind us, in that cage, is our king. As soon as we release him, he will feast upon you.”

“I’m not sure I’d taste too good, I’m quite lanky, don’t have a lot of meat on me.” The Doctor bit his lip, sensing the tallest’s annoyance. “I mean..shouldn’t you go after someone else? Someone with more meat on their bones?”

“Can we just let the king out already?” The smallest whined, impatiently.

“Enough of this. Marcus, I’m letting him out!” The second tallest quipped as she turned and walked towards the cage. Marcus, the tallest, accompanied her.

The Doctor watched as the smallest walked off into the shadows, giggling like a madman. He looked around as he heard someone call out; “”. He smiled, she was here.

The call echoed through the forest and the werewolf in the cage growled loudly, the two tall humans letting it free. Just as they did, it leapt from the cage and but down onto the woman’s shoulder, tearing her arm off and allowing her to fall, screaming in pain. Marcus went to rush after her, but his so called kings fangs engulf his throat and ripped it out.

The Doctor watched as the werewolf snarled at him, saliva dripping from its lower lip. Blood stained it’s snout and it stalked towards him, beady red eyes staring him down. It was a beautiful white werewolf, long fur, curly too.

As sudden as a thunderbolt, a large brown wolf revealed itself and tackled the white one.

Y/N pinned the white one to the ground, grabbing its cheek and shaking it around, blood spilling from the new wound. The werewolf kicked her off and she fell back, quickly standing. Her tail whipped around behind her as the two circled one another, both letting out loud growls and snarls.

The white charged towards her and charged as well, the two hitting one another in a way that forced them onto their hind legs. They bit at one another, Y/N latching onto its throat and sinking her sharp teeth into the fur and flesh beneath. Blood pooled into her mouth and she heard it scream in pain.

She reared back and but it’s ear, ripping it clean off. With the werewolf distracted by the pain, she pinned it one more and sank her teeth into its neck once more, pulling harshly. The beast beneath her kicked and pushed, attempting to get away. She growled, tears of anger and rage filling her eyes. She would kill this beast! She would! So it wouldn’t hurt The Doctor! Not anyone!

She heard a soft voice call her name and she froze, before she snarled and threw the werewolf down a small hill. She could hear it’s heavy breathing and small whines of pain.

Scoffing, she made her way to her friend, watching him smile lazily at her made her roll her eyes. She carefully grabbed the chains between her teeth and crushed them with her jaws. The Doctor stared at her, amazed.

“That-you are so remarkable! How did you do that? How powerful are your jaws—!”

Y/N wailed in pain as a searing pain entered her shoulder and she turned to the left, attempting to bite at whatever was attacking her. A glance of white and she knew.

She should’ve killed it!

She growled, feeling her blood course through her brown fur. Rushing forward, she leapt into the air and brought herself down upon her back. She heard the werewolf roar in pain and she stood, going to attack once more until it latched onto her throat. She growled, placing her paw upon its stomach and taking her claws against it, effectively ripping its stomach up and open.

This didn’t stop it though, and she began to jump around, trying to get it off. It was no use. At least it would die with her.

Suddenly, something was being shot at her and she screamed, feeling the werewolf let go and scream as well. That noise—!

She looked at the Doctor, of course, he was using the screwdriver! He saved her! As the sound stopped, She rushed forward and used her head to throw him onto her back, running off into the forest.

She felt fingers entangle her fur and she growled lowly, leaping over a fallen tree.

“It’s chasing us! I’ve got it!” That sound again, though it wasn’t directed at her it made her ears ring. She growled louder, shaking her head around. “Oh-! That hurts you too, sorry, love!”

The ringing stopped and she jumped out of the woods, into a dirt road, where a man and his horse came to an abrupt stop. Y/N was quick to continue running, The Doctor tightening his grip.

“You’re bleeding! We won’t get far-“

‘SHUT IT.’ Y/N growled, the Doctor smiling.

“There you are! He’s not following us anymore- I think you killed him. Which, by the way, that fight was incredible! You are incredible!” The Doctor rambled on, possibly in order to keep her from passing out. “So..where are we going?”

‘TARDIS. I can smell it.’

“Oh! What does it smell like?”

‘…’

Y/N didn’t answer and instead made a sharp left, running through a field of grass. The sun was beginning to rise and she felt herself getting lightheaded. No, she wouldn’t pass out, that would hurt the Doctor. She needed to get him somewhere safe.

“Y/N, you need to stop for a second. You’ll pass out if you don’t-“

‘Need to get you..somewhere….safe.’ Her breathing was accompanied by high pitch whines and the Doctor felt himself grow uneasy.

“I appreciate it, but you are the wounded one-“

‘QUIET.’ Y/N growled lowly and the Doctor furrowed his brows, annoyed.

“Rude.” He mumbled.

A few more minutes of running and Y/N came to a stop, panting slightly and snarling, ears twitching this way and that, listening. She sniffed the air. She walked forward, stopping a few inches before a clearing.

She lowered herself and the Doctor carefully got off of her, being mindful of her injuries. The TARDIS appeared before them and he unlocked the door, opening it and letting the giant wolf inside first. He went in last and closed the door.

As soon as she went in, she began to walk slowly and whined as she shifted back into a human, naked.

“Y/N, here, let me..” The Doctor was quick to remove his coat and cover the bleeding woman. He gently picked her up, carrying her into a room.

There he unfolded his coat and looked at her body, beautiful, magnificent, perfect. Plump and soft, absolutely beautiful. He began to work, grabbing medical supplies from another room and cleaning her wounds; her throat wasn’t as bad as her shoulder. It would definitely leave a horrible scar.

After he finished bandaging her, he put away everything and laid her back down, pulling the covers over her. She sat down beside the bed, gently grasping her hand in his and sighing.

She would be okay, she’s breathing fine and her heartbeat is normal. Still..she could’ve died saving him. Even if she didn’t, it still hurt to know if he hadn’t have located his screwdriver, she would’ve been dead.

An hour or so later, Y/N woke up. She groaned and in an instant, the Doctor was on his feet and helping her sit up.

“You’re okay, just need to rest. Here, I thought you would be hungry.” He hands her a sandwich and she eats it quickly, chasing it down with some water he handed her. “You doing okay?”

“‘M fine, Doctor, are you?” She asked, looking up at him with those beautiful golden eyes. He smiled.

“Always.” A beat of silence, “Thank you, Y/N, for saving me.”

The girl gave him a smile, “Anytime, Doctor.”

I MIGHT CONTINUE INTO A PART TWO BUT IDK

[thelordofgifs]

For the ask game: 🗣️Talk about your favourite WIP

(WIP It Good ask game)

(also for @wren-of-the-woods and @minamvrray!)

Although I sometimes want to murder it, my favourite WIP is tfs by a mile. Writing it is usually so much fun, I am genuinely learning a lot about plotting and characterisation and story structure, and everyone who reads it is so so lovely!! It’s over four months old now and has absolutely been one of the highlights of 2023 for me.

Anyway, I ramble about it so often that I’m not sure what hasn’t been covered yet! Hmm let’s see. Without spoiling too much, I am very excited for where things are going to go in the third arc, if I can get it all right. The cast of characters has already expanded and is about to get even bigger (SO excited for the people showing up in part 23), Lúthien is back and I am being reminded of how deeply I adore her, I am starting to get a very clear idea of how the various plot beats coming up are going to serve my main themes, Finno is going to have stuff to do and I love him, and if I do decide to do that Thing at the end of the arc – which is looking more and more likely – it’s going to be such a fun twist and one of those moments when you’re like ohhhh. so this arc was actually about [redacted character] the whole time. Although I still have no idea how I’d resolve the situation aahh.

Thank you for the ask :)

[just-some-random-blogger]

"I didn't want to overstep"

My honest reacton

NOW *make a man out of your plays in the background* LETS GET DOWN TO BUSINESS

The splash of cold water against your ankle makes you grumble more. You hated getting your shoes wet. Or your ankles. You fix your hair scarf, worried that the sea breeze will make it come loose.

She is so me

As you look up, you see him. A man, with silver hair and a smug look on his face, riding atop a dragon. He is showing off, ducking low, the dragon’s tail dipping in the water before springing back up again. It is what is causing the breeze.

🙄 gago I hate him stfu

You marvel for a second, wondering how such a gigantic beast can be so nimble.

I WOULD LITERALLY HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON CARAXES AND LEAVE THIS PLACE

The man smiles. He winks at you.

The few captains and sailors that were on the docks alongside you have fled. But not you. Alone, silver hair in full display, you stand frozen in the same spot you had been before seeing him pass.

Main character things

Daemon would have so enjoyed to play such a game himself. His future bride was far too young to do little more than court under her parents’ watchful eyes.

🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢 YUCKKKK CAN HE JUST BE FUCKING NORMALLLLLLL CAN HE JUST BE FUCKING NORMALLLLLLLL YUCCKKKKKK

Your laughter was the first thing that caught his attention, a sound so girlish it seemed improper among the men carrying saws and woods for the ships.

We love to see it. DIVINE FEMININE

Daemon seethed. He hated sharing. With whores, it was to be expected, yet it didn’t make it anymore palatable. It was why he enjoyed taking maidenheads so much. Yet, he could ignore it if the woman was pretty or well-trained enough, like he did with Mysaria. To watch a whore with her lover, though, it was intolerable.

❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨 SHUT THE EVER LOVING FUCK UP????????? A MAN WILL WANT SOMETHING THEN THINK THEY ARE ENTITLED TO IT????? EAT SHIT AND DIE?????????

The man tickled your side, and you laughed again. You handed him the basket and kissed him on the cheek.

🧍‍♀️ oh. I personally don't fuck with strangers tickling me please goodness I hope it's addam

Whores were professional liars. You paid them to pretend to be someone they were not. But watching you with a man you truly loved would forever break the fantasy. There was no way he could believe the sweetest lies on your tongue, not when he knew what you looked like when truly in love.

Men shouldnt have rights

“I looked for you in the brothel, but you were not there.”

CRISTI WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS BULLSHIT I WILL RHAE ROYCE THIS FUCKING DEGENERATE

“I… Excuse me?” Your voice is shrill, more angered than panicked. “Do I know you?”

🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️STAB HIM????!!!!!

And oh, the nerve on you. The nerve to question him, as if he were just a passing man on the street and not a Prince of House Targaryen. The same nerve that drove you to stand your ground against Caraxes.

❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓ LICK THE BOTTOM OF MY SHOE YOU CAME TO ME???????? 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱

“You should be more careful on how you address your betters.”

?????????????? DONT TALK TO SOMEONE BENEATH YOU????? 100 YEARS IN JAIL????

You shove him, hard. And Daemon feels his rage bubbling up, and raises a hand to do something he will most likely regret… But before he can strike you, the man you had been smiling at steps in.

HE WAS WHAT????? 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪 IM GOING TO FUCKING GOUGE HIS EYES OUT

“And who are you? The husband? The brothel owner?” Daemon sneers, getting in his face. Your hand comes up in between them, fragile and unadorned. Yet, you hit with strength, palm flat against his chest. Daemon laughs and grabs it between his. You attempt to pull back, but his grip is much firmer. “Ah, cupping a feeling, sweetheart?”

??????? BEAT HIS FUCKING ASSSSSS STAB HIM AND BASH HIS FUCKING FACE IN ALYNN???????

“I do not care. Unhand her. We do things different in Driftmark.”

STAB HIM CORLYSSSS

“YOU DO THINGS different here, for certain.” Prince Daemon says, appearing at your window while you knead bread.

CASUALLY BREAKING INTO PEOPLES HOUSES????????? POLICE 🚓🚨

“I won’t hurt you, my lady. I didn’t mean to scare you, either.” His voice is gentle, as if dealing with a spooked animal.

STAB HIM GURL STAB HIM RIGHT FUCKING NOW

As a child, you used to watch Laena Velaryon and pretend you were her.

You are no lady. You are a bastard girl, and you have gone to bed nearly starving more times than you could count.

)))): my poor girl. My baby girl

“Any child of mine, even if natural-born, would never have to go hungry. Your father should be doing more for you, not hiding you three like a shameful secret.”

Am I supposed to be impressed? Am I supposed to pat you on the back?

“Here.” Prince Daemon pushes the parcel through the window. “Consider this my apology for my behavior. Rather uncouth, huh?”

Baho mo gago

Curious, you peer into one of the parcels. It’s full of cured meat.it would have cost him a pretty penny, having it already preserved for you. It is a luxury Addam, Allyn and you never get to have. Not since your mother passed.

))): I hate this so much for them

He says it is because he enjoys the walk. You are not entirely sold, but thinking it is to see you seems a bit conceited.

Be conceited diva WHO IS THIS DIVAAA

Daemon laughs. He uses his now free hand to tug you towards his side. You love when he does that. The gesture feels very protective. He never lets you walk too far from him, or on the side next to the ocean, so you never stumble or get soaked by an errant wave.

Ew

“Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere else?” You ask him, watching the waves lap at the shore. Then, feeling stupid for asking, you lower your eyes. As much as you feign blindness, you are not blind. He is probably ashamed to be seen with the likes of you. Even your father is. Why wouldn’t a Prince?

I believe all men should experience the pain of child birth and labor constantly forever

Your eyes feel warm, and your vision blurs. Gods, you hate crying.

“Close enough. A tad more lemony than the one at Driftmark, but I like it.” He smiles. You fight the urge to beam. He has been coming almost daily after bringing you the lemons, but it is the first time you allow him to taste your creation.

First of all fuck you second of all you're not cute third of all ITS HER FIRST TIME fourth of all I'm glad you can AT LEAST make her happy. THE BAR IS IN HELL

Your mother and you are different. She didn’t know your father was using her. You know Daemon is using you. And you intend to use him right back, milk him for all of his worth.

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔 MILK HIM BLEED HIM SUCK HIM DRY

What your father is like, too. How they use women as if they were little more than things, how they produce children and leave them to their fates.

Not all men EXPLAIN THIS THEN

“Do you listen to yourself?” You scoff, getting up. “Maidenheads, as if I were some great lady. I can handle it. Handle him.”

😬 yeesh famous last words

“To my room. The two of you have ruined my appetite.” But it wasn’t the two of them, not really. Daemon is ashamed of you, the voice in your head whispers. Ashamed of you, just like your father was. He only wants to use you, and once he has had his fill, he will discard you. Just like your father did to your mother.

MY POOR GIRL MY POOR POOR GIRL

Yet, your dark eyes were so kind, your face full of such happiness, Daemon dared not to sully you. Something in you screamed at his instincts to protect, something tugged at his heartstrings when he saw your face scrunched up towards the sun, and told him to gather you in his arms and never let anything touch you.

BROTHER EUGHHHH GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER GIRL RUNNNN ILL WWE ROYAL RUMBLE SMACK DOWN ELBOW TO THE FACE STEEL CHAIR THIS BOZO

Bedding you would ruin you. Daemon enjoyed playing the role of mentor, teaching you new things, helping you gain experiences you would never get as a bastard girl. Yet, you had such a tempting figure, with a mouth made for sin, and a body that begged for worship. You were a little girl, but you had all the self-possession and looks of a grown woman.

MY FUCKING GOODNESS CAN HE JUST BE FUCKING NORMAL IS IT SO HARD FOR HIM NOT TO FUCKING THINK WITH HIS COCK FUCK YOU DIE

“I was thinking…” Daemon says, watching your expression closely. “We could go to a tavern tonight.”

You think? Terrible idea btw fuck off

“It’s rowdy, but in a good sense.” Daemon cannot help it. Your curls are a bit mussed, from wearing the ugly headscarf for too long. He fixes them, fluffing them up slightly at the roots in the way he has seen handmaidens do for Laena. He then tosses the damn thing into the sea, for good measure, ignoring your outraged cry. “Drinks, music, people, greasy food. You will love it.”

NOTHING IS FUCKING SACRED LITERALLY KEEP YOUR HANDS RO YOURSELF MY SCARF IS MY BUSINESS YOU HAVE TERRIBLE MANNERS AND YET IM THE PEASANT FUCK YOU CHOKE ON YOUR GREASY FOOD I HOPE THE ROWDY CROWDS TEAR YOU APART

“I hate drinking.” You wrinkle your nose, cutely. He fights the urge to bite you. The face you make is too sweet, too tempting.

Why would you write him this way. Why is this endearing. HAJIMA STOP

“Because you have only drunk swill. I’ll teach you to drink real wine.” He tugs you into his side, and begins walking back into the city.

Ok alcoholic.

Still, you face it all bravely, as you had that morning at the docks. The two of you manage to get a cozy table in one tavern that Daemon had visited before. He calls for wine to be served, an expensive barrel from the Arbor he is sure they had kept around for years before anyone had the coin to buy it.

No cuz she's better than me I fucking hate being stared at I hatttttteere it she's so much better than me

“Come here, hunes.” His own voice sounds strange to him, low and demanding. When he calls you bunny, he is not exaggerating. Does the fox feel as wrong as he feels when becoming over his prey? Does his gums ache like Daemon’s do, with the urge to bite, to tear apart, to wound? Does he mourn the little bunny whose innocence he is about to shatter? “There is something I wish to show you.”

So you agree

You're a predator

You splutter, but Daemon holds you down, arms held by your side. He forces you to take and take some more, chasing the tart taste of the wine into the honeyed one of your mouth.

NDJDJD YUCCKKKKK (I'm into this shit) YUCCKKKK FUCKING HELL DIE RUNNNNN GIRL RUNNN

“Do you trust me?”

Absolute the fuck not. Eat broken glass

“I did not think it to be true.” A woman’s voice, one he knows too well, says. Rhaenys. Her face is a mask of absolute rage. She gives you a shove that sends you stumbling before Daemon can even get out of his chair. “You have much nerve.”

RHAENYSSSS NOOOO PLEASEEE NOOOO NOT THE VILLAIN ARC NOOO PLEASE )))): I DO NAWT BLAME HER BUT NDJDJNDKSKSKKSKS

“I am talking to you!” Rhaenys insists. You cower behind him. It only makes Rhaenys angrier. “No, not you, you stupid girl. You, Daemon.”

THE WAY I FUCKING SCREAMMMEDDS

BEATTTTT HISS ASSSSS

🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️BEATTTT HISSS ASSSSS

“Are you calling me a whore?”

Well I ain't callin yo ass a prude IF THE SHOE FITS DIPSHIT

He feels the slap before he even sees her move. His head gets forcefully turned to the side, and he hears you whimper. His cheek stings. Daemon has to blink back tears, Rhaenys has hit him that hard.

IM DOING A DANCY DANCE LITERALLY EXPLODE

What Daemon had done to you had seemed purposeful. You had not realized when he had stolen the kiss from you, giving you your first taste of fine wine, but you understood it now. Had Princess Rhaenys not been there, or had she been any less merciful, a much different fate would have awaited you.

😭😭😭😭😭 IM CRYING MY POOR POOR GIRLLLL

“Daughter.”

😃🔪🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕

“It’s a pleasure to finally have you join the family.”

BURN IN HELL ❤️

Addam and Allyn are still in the crowd, unacknowledged. They are your family, not this man who is grasping your hands with a calculating gleam in his eyes. Wondering, as all highborn do, how he might use you. How you might serve to further his own ends.

))))))))))))))))):

“I figured you wouldn’t have one of these.” Her smile is strained as she reaches for your hands. “Since you weren’t raised the proper way.”

FUCKING HELLLLSSSSSS DAMNNNNN MDIRNSJJSJSNSJSMSKANSNNSSJAJAKAKAKAKAKAKJANANAN STOPPPPPP

“I do not think I will.” Daemon cups your cheek in his hand, hands gentle despite the calluses on them. It was one of the things you had first liked about him. His hands were artisan’s hands, like the ones of your brothers, despite being highborn. He had seemed so different from the rest of the men you knew, back then. “Not when my betrothed is nearly weeping in her own feast.”

? I don't like you never have never will I hope you have a heart attack

You bloom under his praise.

I hate that for you.... *Sigh* congrats ig

There is no other word for it. It warms you, from head to toe, and your stomach fills with butterflies. A small smile forms, even through the tears that threaten to fall.

)))): I hate this for you so much baby girl

“There she is.” Daemon brushes his thumb over your cheek. “That’s my girl.”

? Ok? Get it ig. Fuck shit up for her. It's the only thing you're good for.

“Be mine instead.” Daemon whispers, and when you nod, he kisses your forehead.

Oh that's not

“I would protect you.” You say, and it warms something inside Daemon he wasn’t even aware that he had. “If only because killing a Prince is a crime worthy of the ax, and I wish to have nephews.”

😭😭😭😭😭 my girllllll. Get it ig. I'm glad she's happy. That's all that matters

THIS WAS A RIDE. I LOVE HOW MUCH I HATE HIM. I HOPE HE DIES 😃😃😃😃

On a real level, it made me think how fascinated I am in exploring themes such as gender class whatnot and how I as a writer myself am unashamed to admit 'yeah I write daemon fucked up, s'part of the appeal' while simultaneously just being unwilling to let him take the piss ya know HAHAHAH LIKE I WONT DEFEND THIS MAN HES FUCKED UP AND FICTIONAL DIEEEEE ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

The Brave (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: A collection of first times with Daemon.

Warnings: Bastard! Reader. Daddy issues. Corruption kink. Innocence kink. Age difference, power imbalance. Poorly translated HV. Angst. Enemies to lovers (Sort of?) Happy ending. Usual warnings for Daemon (Sexual thoughts, mature language, violence)

Requested: Yes! My first after Halloween, life has been crazy.

THE FISHERMEN SAIL too early for your liking. You know it has little to do with their personal preference, and more to do with the tides. It doesn’t mean you are happy about it, though.

Your job is to ensure all your ships are in good condition and ready to transport whatever those men bring home. Your mother had made a small fortune by expanding her father’s fleet, and after her passing, it was your turn to handle it. You preferred to oversee things personally, knowing that only an owner’s touch could ensure the quality of service you prided yourself in.

No one loved these ships more than you. Small and old they were, but they tied you to your mother. You lacked her knowledge, and sometimes, they made you far less money than you hoped for, but you insisted on keeping them. Your siblings had not shown such an interest, choosing other pursuits.

Allyn, much more practical, had preferred to learn the trade of a shipwright. He now worked under Lord Corlys. It embarrassed you to say it, but it was him and not you who was the breadwinner of your family. Some months, if not most, it was far more lucrative than your business with the ships.

Addam worked occasionally as a shipwright too, but he didn’t have a steady source of income. He was far too young to be hired anywhere, lacking the experience most lords wanted from those building their ships. Sometimes, he also helped you.

Today wasn’t one of those days. Otherwise, you would have forced him to come here in your stead. With a grumble, you jumped from the ship to the dock. Everything was as it should, so you had to move to the next one.

The sunrise makes Hull look even more beautiful, the city slowly beginning to rise under Driftmark’s watchful eyes. The white marble and ivory of the castle provide a backdrop for the goldens and pinks that color the scene. It would make you smile, were it not for the fact that the peaceful morning is ruined by every damn bell in the city tolling.

Visitors. Noble ones. By the amount of noise, they are announcing the visit of someone very high ranking.

The splash of cold water against your ankle makes you grumble more. You hated getting your shoes wet. Or your ankles. You fix your hair scarf, worried that the sea breeze will make it come loose.

You shouldn’t have bothered. A harsh gust of wind takes it fully off and nearly sends you caroling into the water. The dock shakes underneath you, the ships and water agitated by the same thing. You scream, as do the rest of the sailors who are near.

As you look up, you see him. A man, with silver hair and a smug look on his face, riding atop a dragon. He is showing off, ducking low, the dragon’s tail dipping in the water before springing back up again. It is what is causing the breeze. You marvel for a second, wondering how such a gigantic beast can be so nimble.

You had never seen a dragon up close before. You are not allowed to go near Driftmark, where the Princess and the Lord and Lady keep theirs.

The few captains and sailors that were on the docks alongside you have fled. But not you. Alone, silver hair in full display, you stand frozen in the same spot you had been before seeing him pass.

The man smiles. He winks at you.

You lower your eyes and do not stop running until you are safe at home.

DAEMON SEES YOU again when he least expects it. He has looked for you in every pleasure house on this island and has not been able to find you. The brave little maiden with silver hair, who had screamed bloody murder but stood her ground on the docks when she saw him approach.

You must be of Valyrian descent. There is no other explanation for your lack of fear. You were young and comely, so he had guessed that you must be a whore. It was what happened to girls who looked like you. Men loved pretending they were either a Princess or the daughter of some lord. And so close to Driftmark? They probably asked you to pretend you were little Laena Velaryon.

Daemon would have so enjoyed to play such a game himself. His future bride was far too young to do little more than court under her parents’ watchful eyes. If he could sneak a bit of a taste in advance, you wouldn’t catch him complaining about it.

When he had agreed to accompany Corlys to oversee the progress being made on the news ships for his fleet, the last thing he expected to encounter was you.

Your laughter was the first thing that caught his attention, a sound so girlish it seemed improper among the men carrying saws and woods for the ships. His head had turned instinctively towards the sound, and it was then that he saw you.

The dress you had on was a plain gray, as it was the headscarf you wore. But Daemon would know that face anywhere. He had sought everywhere for it. You were holding a small basket, next to some shipwright. The man looked older than you, already bald. You were all smiles and animated gestures, seemingly taken by him.

The man tickled your side, and you laughed again. You handed him the basket and kissed him on the cheek.

Daemon seethed. He hated sharing. With whores, it was to be expected, yet it didn’t make it anymore palatable. It was why he enjoyed taking maidenheads so much. Yet, he could ignore it if the woman was pretty or well-trained enough, like he did with Mysaria. To watch a whore with her lover, though, it was intolerable.

Whores were professional liars. You paid them to pretend to be someone they were not. But watching you with a man you truly loved would forever break the fantasy. There was no way he could believe the sweetest lies on your tongue, not when he knew what you looked like when truly in love.

Is it in bad taste to approach you when his future father-in-law is distracted by his sailors? Probably. But he cannot stop himself. Because the only thing Daemon can think of, the only thing that would make him feel better, is to bring you as low as he. Ruin your little fantasy as you had ruined his.

He marches towards where the man and you are, and gently cups your chin in his hand. The sudden interruption startles you, and you try taking a step back, but his sweet hold has turned into Valyrian Steel. There is no escape for little whores.

“I looked for you in the brothel, but you were not there.”

“I… Excuse me?” Your voice is shrill, more angered than panicked. “Do I know you?”

And oh, the nerve on you. The nerve to question him, as if he were just a passing man on the street and not a Prince of House Targaryen. The same nerve that drove you to stand your ground against Caraxes.

Begrudgingly, Daemon has to name the strange feeling taking place in his stomach. Awe. Admiration. You had fire in your belly, and steel on your spine. You were a truer Valyrian than many of his own family members.

They were weak. Soft. You were not. But you were still a mere peasant, and he couldn’t allow you to disrespect him such.

“You should be more careful on how you address your betters.”

You shove him, hard. And Daemon feels his rage bubbling up, and raises a hand to do something he will most likely regret… But before he can strike you, the man you had been smiling at steps in.

“Unhand her.” He says, voice firm. His expression doesn’t waver, the same steel you have mirrored in his brown eyes. Up close, he is much younger than Daemon expected, tall and muscular from what seems like a life of hard work. He tugs you behind him.

“And who are you? The husband? The brothel owner?” Daemon sneers, getting in his face. Your hand comes up in between them, fragile and unadorned. Yet, you hit with strength, palm flat against his chest. Daemon laughs and grabs it between his. You attempt to pull back, but his grip is much firmer. “Ah, cupping a feeling, sweetheart?”

“Daemon.” And really, things were just turning interesting. Why does Corlys have to interrupt at the worst time possible? “Unhand her immediately.”

At his appearance, both you and the boy turn an awful gray shade that matches your dress and headscarf. Fear of their liege, perhaps?

But the boy’s jaw ticks, and your dark eyes lower in a manner that they hadn’t when facing him. Something else is at play here.

“I was just…” Daemon slowly retracts his hand, studying the surrounding faces carefully. You, sullen, the boy enraged. Corlys’ cold as ice. Neither of you speak, yet it is clear you are not strangers.

“I do not care. Unhand her. We do things different in Driftmark.”

And the tone Corlys uses is strange, for a man unbothered by the costs of power. What are two peasants to the favor of a Prince? Why does he know them? He had never struck Daemon as someone concerned by his subjects.

And then, a piece of your hair falls out of your headscarf. Silver against a dark background. And it is then he knows it. You are no dragonseed. Nor is the boy with the shaved head.

“YOU DO THINGS different here, for certain.” Prince Daemon says, appearing at your window while you knead bread. His presence is as unexpected as it is unwelcome. It is the first time you are home alone after the incident, not Addam nor Allyn willing to risk this stranger attempting anything worse than he already has. Three days had passed, and they had considered it enough. If the man had not approached you during that time, it meant he wouldn’t, right? Clearly no. He had just been bidding his time, waiting for both of your brothers to go. “Corlys's little secret.”

Your hands shake. You wished Allyn wasn’t so set on teaching Addam his craft, and hadn’t gone out today. Being home alone with a strange man around didn’t spell anything good for you.

A quick glance at the door reassures you that it is still barred. You take a not so subtle step back from the window.

The prince lip’s quirk upwards, not quite a smile, but betraying his amusement. Does he find your fear funny?

“I won’t hurt you, my lady. I didn’t mean to scare you, either.” His voice is gentle, as if dealing with a spooked animal. The title makes you scoff. No one has ever called you a lady, much less a Prince.

As a child, you used to watch Laena Velaryon and pretend you were her. Wondering what life would have been like if you didn’t have to hide, if your father acknowledged you. Wondering what it would feel, to be a Lady and never go to bed hungry, to be surrounded by beauty all day.

You are no lady. You are a bastard girl, and you have gone to bed nearly starving more times than you could count.

As if sensing your thoughts, Prince Daemon lifts one of his hands. He holds up a package, wrapped in bright white silk. Both he and his gift look deeply out of place here, near your window. In his fine clothes, in brighter colors than you can afford, he sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Any child of mine, even if natural-born, would never have to go hungry. Your father should be doing more for you, not hiding you three like a shameful secret.”

You do not take the parcel. You merely look at him and fight an overwhelming urge to cry.

“Here.” Prince Daemon pushes the parcel through the window. “Consider this my apology for my behavior. Rather uncouth, huh?”

You open it carefully. Two smaller parcels fall from it, both as carefully wrapped.

“You can wear the silk.” He tells you, gesturing to your hair. “And the rest…”

Curious, you peer into one of the parcels. It’s full of cured meat.it would have cost him a pretty penny, having it already preserved for you. It is a luxury Addam, Allyn and you never get to have. Not since your mother passed.

With rushed hands, you open the other parcel. A small sack of flour, lemons, and pages torn from a book. They are all expensive things, nothing like the flour you buy at the market to make bread or the bruised fruit you get when Addam craves something sweet. You squint at the pages, puzzled by their presence.

“Mix one cup of flour with… Is this..?” You ask him, astonished. A small smile begins to form on your face.

“The recipe for lemon cakes. For your baking.” He smiles back. He then gestures to your hands, still covered in flour. “I hear you enjoy it. Just… Save me a piece.”

“Thank you.” You beam at him. He gives you a bow, and leaves. You find yourself smiling like a fool the rest of the afternoon.

You cannot believe it. Prince Daemon has just given you the recipe for lemon cakes. As far apologies go, this is a great one.

Addam and Allyn go to bed with full stomachs. You go to bed with yours full of butterflies. No one has ever ensured such for the three of you.

“IS IT CLOSE enough?” You bite your lower lip, watching Daemon chew a piece of cake. His brows furrow a bit, and he lets out a small, throaty moan.

“Close enough. A tad more lemony than the one at Driftmark, but I like it.” He smiles. You fight the urge to beam. He has been coming almost daily after bringing you the lemons, but it is the first time you allow him to taste your creation.

He says it is because he enjoys the walk. You are not entirely sold, but thinking it is to see you seems a bit conceited.

“I got excited.” You scratch the back of your neck, sheepish. The batter had smelt and tasted so heavenly, you had just kept adding more.

Daemon laughs. He uses his now free hand to tug you towards his side. You love when he does that. The gesture feels very protective. He never lets you walk too far from him, or on the side next to the ocean, so you never stumble or get soaked by an errant wave.

It’s peaceful here. He often says he cares not for the ocean, but the two of you always walk the same route. From your home, towards your ships, then back.

“Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere else?” You ask him, watching the waves lap at the shore. Then, feeling stupid for asking, you lower your eyes. As much as you feign blindness, you are not blind. He is probably ashamed to be seen with the likes of you. Even your father is. Why wouldn’t a Prince?

Your eyes feel warm, and your vision blurs. Gods, you hate crying. You try to focus on something else. Your scuffed shoes. His boots. The sand under your feet. The urge to run away, and scream, and die from the humiliation of even asking.

Daemon sighs. He sits down on the sand, patting the space on his side. His clothes, despite their simple design, are very fine.

“Your clothes…” You mumble, without sitting.

“Bah, I have three other cloaks like this one.” As if proving a point, he takes it off, laying it down for you to sit. You feel even sillier at his patience. “Come. Sit down, jorrāeliarzys.”

You obey him because there is little else to do. You have already messed up, you don’t wish to make any other mistake. His company has become precious to you, a welcome respite from your brothers. Living with two boys, you are never alone. But every so often, you wish for more engaging conversation.

“I am not ashamed of being seen in your company. I just… I thought you preferred it here.” Daemon explains, softly tucking a stray curl behind your ear. “Would you like for us to meet in the city, instead?”

You think of meeting him in the city’s market. Of the rumors that would sure follow, of the names you would be called. Of your father finding out. You know what it would look like to him. That you are making the same mistake as your mother did.

You are not dumb. Daemon is not here to simply plan an alliance. Alliances are always sealed in blood, and your half sister is barely old enough to be considered.

Your mother and you are different. She didn’t know your father was using her. You know Daemon is using you. And you intend to use him right back, milk him for all of his worth.

So why does it hurt like this, why does it feel like something inside you is breaking?

You take the parcels he gives you without any shame. That night, as the three of you are eating a generous serving of venison, Allyn scowls.

“I don’t like it. Can’t you see what he wants?”

Addam’s fork freezes midway to his mouth. He looks down at his plate, as if he is truly seeing the meat he is being served for the first time.

“I am not mother.” You say, icily. The venison tastes bitter on your tongue, but stubbornly, you keep eating. Allyn is just angry that it is not longer him who is putting the meals on the table. “I know what highborn men are like.”

What your father is like, too. How they use women as if they were little more than things, how they produce children and leave them to their fates.

“All the more reason not to allow him to take your maidenhead.”

“Do you listen to yourself?” You scoff, getting up. “Maidenheads, as if I were some great lady. I can handle it. Handle him.”

Allyn looks at you, eyes full of pity. You cannot bear it. Your eyes sting again. You hurry out of the table.

“Where are you going?” Addam reaches forward, as if to grab you.

“To my room. The two of you have ruined my appetite.” But it wasn’t the two of them, not really. Daemon is ashamed of you, the voice in your head whispers. Ashamed of you, just like your father was. He only wants to use you, and once he has had his fill, he will discard you. Just like your father did to your mother.

Alone, in your room, you tear the headscarf he had given you to shreds. You squeeze the rests on your palm, you make a ball, you throw it against the wall.

The next morning, you have sobbed your throat raw. You still go to meet him in the afternoon.

SOMETHING IS WRONG. Daemon can tell when he picks you up that day. Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot, and your complexion an awful gray. The headscarf he had given you is nowhere to be seen, and you are back to your severe gray one.

Like a bad case of heartburn, the lie he had told you comes back to him, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth.

Daemon is not ashamed of you, but doesn't want to be seen with you either. The consequences for you would be too great. He had learned his lesson with Mysaria. The double stain would have made you a pariah, both because of your birth and because of whom you were bedding.

Because it was all that people would think about when they found out. No one would believe Daemon had yet to touch you.

He was unsure if he ever would.

You were an extraordinary girl, yet still a bastard. There was nothing to be done about it. All you could be was friends and lovers, and nothing more.

Yet, your dark eyes were so kind, your face full of such happiness, Daemon dared not to sully you. Something in you screamed at his instincts to protect, something tugged at his heartstrings when he saw your face scrunched up towards the sun, and told him to gather you in his arms and never let anything touch you.

Daemon had been like you, once. When younger. He, too, felt a lack of acknowledgement by those around you, and an urge to prove himself. His father had passed when he was still young, and Viserys had received all laurels. It would have never bothered him because he loved his brother, but Viserys had left him behind. Married Aemma. Had children. Gained the love of his people, found new friends.

Never once Viserys had looked at Daemon. No matter how hard he tried to reach for him, his brother always evaded his hand. Daemon had been left there. He, too, had stood on the shadows and feigned indifference, burning up with secret resentment.

The idea of you growing up to be like him was both appealing and horrifying. There was a sweetness to you, a naïveté that he had lacked even in his younger years. He wanted to preserve it. Shield you from the world.

Bedding you would ruin you. Daemon enjoyed playing the role of mentor, teaching you new things, helping you gain experiences you would never get as a bastard girl. Yet, you had such a tempting figure, with a mouth made for sin, and a body that begged for worship. You were a little girl, but you had all the self-possession and looks of a grown woman.

You would taste exquisite on his tongue, crumbling from his caresses. Your cunt would feel like wet velvet around him, and you would sound your sweetest when he was spearing you open on his cock.

And how would you smile, joyous and fierce, his brave girl. Some maidens cried, but not you. You were made of sterner stuff, a heart that burned brighter and stronger than the Fourteen Flames. You had stood your ground, terrified but unbowed, in front of Caraxes himself.

Such a face you had, all Valyrian empress. A sovereign nose, the fleeting shadow of your eyelashes, and a slippery laugh that always gave you an air of mischief. A face not made for sadness. It is what prompts him to do what will become either the greatest mistake of his life, or his greatest triumph.

“I was thinking…” Daemon says, watching your expression closely. “We could go to a tavern tonight.”

“A tavern?” The surprising offering shakes you out of your sadness. Your face changes from a sad little frown into a curious one.

“Have you ever gone to one?” Daemon tugs the hair scarf from your hair, softly. The silver curls fall free, in a lovely mess. You scowl, trying to get it back, but he holds it just out of your reach. It’s a lovely thing, to watch you give little jumps on your tiptoes, curls bouncing with the motion. “Ah! None of that, now. Answer my question first.”

“No, I haven’t. Addam and Allyn go from time to time, but it sounds too rowdy for my liking.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“It’s rowdy, but in a good sense.” Daemon cannot help it. Your curls are a bit mussed, from wearing the ugly headscarf for too long. He fixes them, fluffing them up slightly at the roots in the way he has seen handmaidens do for Laena. He then tosses the damn thing into the sea, for good measure, ignoring your outraged cry. “Drinks, music, people, greasy food. You will love it.”

“I hate drinking.” You wrinkle your nose, cutely. He fights the urge to bite you. The face you make is too sweet, too tempting.

“Because you have only drunk swill. I’ll teach you to drink real wine.” He tugs you into his side, and begins walking back into the city.

The walk to the city is awkward. Not because the two of you have nothing to talk about, but rather, because of the stares. Your silver hair, despite your simple clothing, commands attention. So does Daemon’s presence, and the arm he has around your shoulders.

He had not been wrong. This would cost you. A cost too steep for someone he sought to keep safe.

Still, you face it all bravely, as you had that morning at the docks. The two of you manage to get a cozy table in one tavern that Daemon had visited before. He calls for wine to be served, an expensive barrel from the Arbor he is sure they had kept around for years before anyone had the coin to buy it.

It’s delicious. But when he serves you a goblet, you take a big sip and begin to splutter.

“Mittys hunes iksā.” Daemon tuts. His silly bunny. “You are not meant to drink it such. You ought to savor it.”

“Savor?” You arch an eyebrow. “Tastes like dragonfire.”

And perhaps it's the choice of words, or the glint of your silver hair under the low light emanating from the torches, but something about you reminds him of the way he had loved Rhaenyra and admired Laena, the other Valyrian beauties in his life. They are not here, he cannot reach them. But you are.

“Come here, hunes.” His own voice sounds strange to him, low and demanding. When he calls you bunny, he is not exaggerating. Does the fox feel as wrong as he feels when becoming over his prey? Does his gums ache like Daemon’s do, with the urge to bite, to tear apart, to wound? Does he mourn the little bunny whose innocence he is about to shatter? “There is something I wish to show you.”

You eye him warily, but get up from your chair and move until you are standing in front of him. It's not enough for Daemon. It never is. He always wants you closer, closer to hold, to protect, to own.

He tugs you between his parted legs.

“Do you trust me?”

There is a slight furrow of your brow. The barest hint of hesitation. Yet, your voice is firm when you answer him.

“Yes.”

His girl. His precious girl. If you had been his, he would have never hurt you like Corlys had. Never allowed to become easy prey for men like him. You shouldn’t trust him.

Daemon shouldn’t be doing this, either. It is a good thing he has never claimed to be a good man.

He takes a sip of his wine, and leans towards you, capturing your mouth in his. At first, you fight him, the suddenness startling you. It’s only when he gives your lower lip a sharp nip, that you melt into the kiss. When your mouth parts slightly, he passes you the wine.

You splutter, but Daemon holds you down, arms held by your side. He forces you to take and take some more, chasing the tart taste of the wine into the honeyed one of your mouth.

Your obedience and compliance only makes him wilder, drives him to grasp at your hips, pull you closer. Just when you begin to lean into Daemon, dutifully swallowing the wine, someone jerks you out of his grip.

“I did not think it to be true.” A woman’s voice, one he knows too well, says. Rhaenys. Her face is a mask of absolute rage. She gives you a shove that sends you stumbling before Daemon can even get out of his chair. “You have much nerve.”

Your face turns ashen. You look like you are about to cry, or worse, flee. Daemon jumps up, and gets between Rhaenys and you.

“You were always a whore!” She screams, her index finger digging into his chest. You let out a sob, quietly. Daemon’s heart feels like it is being wrenched from his chest. At this point, the screams have attracted all the tavern's attention. Daemon doesn’t doubt that by this time tomorrow, the whole island will know.

You will be shunned. Just as he had feared.

“I am talking to you!” Rhaenys insists. You cower behind him. It only makes Rhaenys angrier. “No, not you, you stupid girl. You, Daemon.”

Daemon feels utterly stunned. Never in a million years he would have thought Rhaenys was referring to him.

“Are you calling me a whore?”

He feels the slap before he even sees her move. His head gets forcefully turned to the side, and he hears you whimper. His cheek stings. Daemon has to blink back tears, Rhaenys has hit him that hard.

He wasn’t even aware that a woman could land such a blow.

“You dare! You toyed with my daughter and this girl as you saw fit.” And Daemon cannot even get a word in because she is too angry. He feels his cheeks reddening, and its unsure if he is feeling embarrassment at being scolded like a child, or rage at her words. “But worry not. I will make this right.”

Rhaenys has a manic gleam in her eyes. For a frightening second, Daemon thinks he sees in her the famous Targaryen madness.

Instead of setting you both on fire, she lunges, avoiding Daemon, and grabbing you hands in hers.

“I shall not allow you to make the same mistake your mother did.” Rhaenys says, and she is gone before Daemon can answer anything.

THIS IS YOUR greatest triumph. Why, then, does it taste like ashes on your tongue?

You are wearing the finest dress you have ever owned, gifted to you by Daemon. Princess Rhaenys has forced both him and your father into complacency, and even forced King Viserys to allow your betrothal. Still, you feel adrift. Even betrayed.

What Daemon had done to you had seemed purposeful. You had not realized when he had stolen the kiss from you, giving you your first taste of fine wine, but you understood it now. Had Princess Rhaenys not been there, or had she been any less merciful, a much different fate would have awaited you.

The stink of shame that followed you around, the whispers of dishonor and the looks of distaste, would have been even more intense. You would have been ruined, known as little more than a whore. And your family no longer had the money that had shielded your mother during her pregnancies.

You had not known it. But Daemon must have. He had a reputation for taking maidenheads as he saw fit, Addam had informed you. You were a fool for not knowing, and a fool for believing he wanted something else from you.

The royal decree is read by a Maester, in front of all the Lords of near castles, the smallfolk of Driftmark and the Velaryons. Even in the first beautiful dress you own, you feel small. Out of place. The looks your half siblings are shooting you do not help you feel better.

Once the bill is read, Lord Corlys steps forward.

“Daughter.” He says, grasping your hands in his. He is cold. He is cold, and it makes your skin crawl, even when it is all you wanted as a little girl. It’s the first time he acknowledges you, and he is not at all like the man you imagined, when dreaming as a child of what it would be like for him to look at you. Because even a glance would have been enough back then. “It’s a pleasure to finally have you join the family.”

Addam and Allyn are still in the crowd, unacknowledged. They are your family, not this man who is grasping your hands with a calculating gleam in his eyes. Wondering, as all highborn do, how he might use you. How you might serve to further his own ends.

Your brothers could not be recognized as you were. You had shyly asked Princess Rhaenys, and if she thought you dimwitted before, she had probably confirmed her suspicions. They were men, she had explained, and a threat to Laenor’s rights once your father passed. You, instead, were nothing but a girl who had sullied herself, whose honor had been compromised so thoroughly you had turned even less important in the great scheme of things.

She was helping you because you had been taken advantage of by Daemon, Princess Rhaenys had said, but also to spare her daughter from your fate. Wife to a husband that would most likely betray you and sire bastards.

Lord Corlys was just happy to have another pawn to marry off and forge alliances. Freeing his daughter from a disloyal husband was an added bonus.

Every time you heard them, your hands turned into fist, and you could barely fight the rage from clouding your expression. You had not done the thing everyone was accusing you of, and yet were being judged for it all the same. Daemon, too, did nothing to correct them. Not even when the most scandalous rumors surfaced, saying you would wed him with a child already in your belly.

You had not let him touch you like that. You were not as stupid as everyone thought. As a daughter to a single mother, you knew all about scorn and loneliness. You would never doom a child to your same fate.

The day doesn’t pick up from there. The feast to follow feels just as empty, and you turn down an insincere offer from your father to be housed here. You cannot wait to run back to your brothers.

It would be impolite to leave so soon, though. Lord Corlys has thrown this feast in your honor and is making the lords and members of his household present you with gifts. You admit it is a clever strategy, to avoid having to spend money in your trousseau. Hence, you need to stay a little bit longer.

You get handed new quills and parchments, alongside a new seal for your correspondence by Laena.

“I figured you wouldn’t have one of these.” Her smile is strained as she reaches for your hands. “Since you weren’t raised the proper way.” It says a lot about the company you are in that it is the most polite greeting you receive all afternoon.

When it all begins to become a bit much, and your eyes are stinging after a lady said you had no grace and no manners, you decide you need to run. But when you are stepping a foot outside the hall, Daemon appears by your side.

“Rather improper, isn’t it?” He asks, grabbing your hand in his. You try to jerk away, but he merely interlaces your fingers together. “A lady cannot quite run around unescorted as you used to.”

“Leave me alone, Daemon.” You say, still trying to free yourself. The last thing you want today is to deal with him.

“I do not think I will.” Daemon cups your cheek in his hand, hands gentle despite the calluses on them. It was one of the things you had first liked about him. His hands were artisan’s hands, like the ones of your brothers, despite being highborn. He had seemed so different from the rest of the men you knew, back then. “Not when my betrothed is nearly weeping in her own feast.”

“You heard all those people. I do not belong here.” You look up at him, fighting your tears. You feel like such a whiny child. What happened to you is something that only happens in fairytales, it's the stuff songs are written about. No bastard girl gets acknowledged by her father and marries a Prince.

“Who cares what those cunts think?” Daemon scoffs. “You are above them. You always were.”

You bloom under his praise. There is no other word for it. It warms you, from head to toe, and your stomach fills with butterflies. A small smile forms, even through the tears that threaten to fall.

“There she is.” Daemon brushes his thumb over your cheek. “That’s my girl.”

His girl. There is nothing you would like more.

“I never wanted to be a Lady.” You lower your eyes, embarrassed at the admission. You feel ungrateful for saying it, but it’s the truth. You had never imagined a home away from your siblings. The marriage will mean you will be taken away from them, and only see them if Daemon feels like it.

You do not own a dragon, after all. And you aren’t too sure Allyn and him will be the best good brothers.

He grabs you by the waist and gives a little tug.

“Be mine instead.” Daemon whispers, and when you nod, he kisses your forehead.

MARRYING YOU HAD never been in his plans. Yet, when he saw you walk down the aisle, dressed in Velaryon blue and looking awkward, Daemon was sure you were the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

You were not a lady or a princess, yet you and him were alike. Birds of the same feather. For the first time, Daemon could say there was someone who understood him.

Daemon had never been poor, nor had he been born a bastard, but he too, had lost his parents while young. He, too, was considered too wild by his brother. And he knew all about of trying to fulfill an impossible task while honoring the legacy of his ancestors.

Laena was a mere child by your side. Her innocence and Valyrian looks had appealed to him once, but after meeting you, Daemon knew no other woman could compare. There was an edge to you, beneath all the innocence and beauty. A fire that burned bright in your belly, and could not be quenched. An anger that both amazed him and scared him, and drew him in like a moth to a flame.

You would have been great if you had been born into his house. Great but terrible.

Or perhaps you wouldn’t have. Perhaps, if you had grown acknowledged by your father, you would have not been the lost little girl who dreamed of recognition and slept lulled by the sea. You wouldn’t have grown into the woman who got the recognition and understood she did not need it at all.

A shame that recognition had come at a price so steep. Recognition in exchange for rumors of dishonor, whispers of the shame of your existence and the shame you had brought on yourself. These cunts did not see you for what you were. Not some malicious creature, some silver tongued temptress. No. You were determined and fierce, brave and true. You honored your house’s words. Your ancestors would have been proud.

Yes, Daemon decided. He would marry you and take you away from here, from this horrible little island where people behaved like they were above you. The cunts should be honored that you were even looking their way.

The distance might even help those stubborn brothers of yours to forget all about the way Daemon had become part of their family. When the grudge was forgotten, he would bring you back, less the eldest skewered him alive.

Not because Daemon feared Allyn. Of course not. But because killing him would be such a nuisance, and you would cry, and… Ugh. He couldn’t stand to see you cry.

You were about to burst into tears right now. He could tell. Daemon grabbed your hands in his, uncaring he was breaking protocol, and pressed his forehead against yours.

“We can still marry on the beach, with only Caraxes as witness.” He whispers, gently. “Hells, I would prefer it. We can run still. The Septon has not spoken.”

You laugh, a bit watery.

“Addam and Allyn would drop dead, thinking we will not be wed.”

“Allyn looks like he would attempt murder.”

“Attempt?”

“I doubt he would succeed.”

“I would protect you.” You say, and it warms something inside Daemon he wasn’t even aware that he had. “If only because killing a Prince is a crime worthy of the ax, and I wish to have nephews.”

Daemon's mouth opens and closes.

“You little..!”

You laugh, but before he can lunge and throw you over his shoulder, the Septon clears his throat.

“If the two of you are done..?”

“Just get to the part where you handfast us.” Daemon says, giving him his best lecherous expression. “I have many things I wish to show my new bride.”

And there were. He had taken many of your firsts already, he wasn’t about to stop now.

[just-some-random-blogger]

HOLY FUCK YOU CAN PUT KEEP READINGS ON THE APP NOW 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 WHAT A DAY TO BE ALIVEESEESEEEE

A bid for peace between the two kingdoms has been proposed. Prince Daeron Targaryen is to travel to Sunspear to be hosted by her family, and in exchange Sylva will be housed under the roof of the Targaryens. A prince for a princess.

It be like that ))))))): poor bbies

Sylva blinks back her tears, hardens her heart and allows her fury to consume her. She decides she hates King’s Landing the moment she steps out of the carriage. She wrinkles her nose at the unfamiliar smells and shivers at the chill she feels in the air. The people are pale faced and ugly, their manner of dress looks frumpy and uncomfortable. Her heart aches for home, she wonders when she will see it again, if she will see it again.

No but the imagery is insane. Poor sunflower livin in an ugly dragon shit infested wasteland

“Are you not too warm in that, dear?” Alicent leans across, brown eyes filled with concern as she touches Sylva gently on the arm.

MOOOTTHHHEEEERRRRRRRRR IM SO LUV U ALICENT

She is overwhelmed by the sense that if she looks away then somehow she will lose in this exchange, and so her dark eyes lock with his blue one, until Otto announces that it is time they all retire for the evening, and they shift their focus away from each other.

DAMN. THEY BUILT DIFFERENT HUH

🌚🌝

She is about to ask him what he’s doing when he speaks. They are the first words she’s heard come out of his mouth since she arrived and she is surprised by the softness of his voice, a contradiction of how intimidating he appears.

OMG SAY LESS

“I’m sure you have.” He says smoothly, keeping his arms clasped firmly behind him. Sylva wonders if perhaps there is a rod of sorts inserted down the back of his tunic, such is the rigidity of his stance. “But now you are here you will learn what it is to be a proper lady.”

What

Aemond tilts his head as though thinking carefully about his response. “There is a certain depravity that is common among your people. You’ll learn what it is to be civilised here.”

🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹NEVER FUCKING MIND HES STILL A MAN AFTER ALL HAHAHAA

The anger that has been simmering inside of her all day finally reaches its boiling point. “My people?! Isn’t it your people that marry off brothers and sisters?! I would rather hail from a land that celebrates depravity, as you like to call it, than one that operates under the illusion of propriety while brothers and sisters fuck behind closed doors!”

YOU TELL HIM SISTER BEAT HIS ASS

Sylva rolls her eyes at this. “In Dorne, women fight alongside men. There is a higher likelihood of me hurting someone than the other way around.” She folds her arms, looking at Criston indignantly.

Yuh GET IT BESTIE

“I’m not going to be able to change your mind, am I?” He says with a sigh.

I love how he just folded like a stack of card. Haha lame ass rat

“Cole! Surely you are not allowing her to spar? She is a woman!”

She blocks his attack with her shield, discarding the now useless wood as it splinters beneath his blade. The impact causes Aemond to stumble back a little and Sylva seizes the opportunity to square up to him in his vulnerable position, the tip of her sword mere inches from touching his throat.

Ok edit cos my phone glitched and reblogged this against my will before i was done

"That isn't fair!" Aemond calls out to him. "She didn't best me, I tripped!"

Ok

"You didn't trip, you lost." She smirks, bumping his shoulder with hers as she moves past him towards the training yard shed to discard her light armour.

🗣️WHAT🗣️ SHE🗣️ SAID🗣️

Aemond huffs, facing away. "Nothing. Merely surprised there isn't the body of a man hidden beneath your armour."

🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🫤🫤🫤🫤🫤🫤🫤🫤🫤🫤🫤🫤🫤🖐️🖐️🖐️🖐️🖐️🖐️🖐️🖐️🖐️🖐️🖐️🖐️🖐️ EW HE DID NOT

Braving the chill she feels in the air, she opts to leave her fur behind when she heads down for the evening meal. Her long, flowing silk gown cuts in at the waist and leaves her shoulders bare. It is a style that is common in Dorne, but Sylva knows it would be considered entirely inappropriate in King’s Landing. The only reaction she cares about though is Aemond’s.

SLLLLAAAYYYYYYYYY💅💅💅💅💅✨✨✨✨💕💕💕💕💕👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑

“It is good to see you aren’t feeling the cold so much today.” Alicent offers with a tight smile.

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 MUMMAE IM SO SORRY NOT REALLY BUT ITS TO PROVE A POINT

“I hadn’t realised you Dornish could read.” He says with an amused smirk.

You thought you ate? You thought did something?

“Fuck off.” She spits, turning to leave.

SAME REACTION WE HAVE ONE BRAIN

“For…everything, I suppose. The manner in which I have treated you since you arrived has not been befitting of a Prince. Forgive me.”

BUT THEN HES SUDDENLY APOLOGIZING YUCKKK

“If I’d have done that I’d have missed my opportunity to torment a Targaryen prince, a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

🧍

She turns to face him fully. “So why are you letting me win? I have seen you train properly Aemond, you aren’t even trying.”

👎 L behavior

He takes a deep breath, directing his gaze towards the ground before back up to her. “You’ve never once mentioned my eye.”

///////: SIR LITERALLY WHA THEE FUCK DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH THE CONVERSATION ❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓

Well fuck i didnt copy the part that answers this where he says he cant bare to hurt her cos

“I have wanted to do that for so long.” He whispers. “Our union will be what finally unites Dorne with the realm, and secures my brother’s succession.”

👹👹👹👹👹🪓🪓🪓🪓🪓🪓🪓 WHAT

“I have wanted to do that for so long.” He whispers. “Our union will be what finally unites Dorne with the realm, and secures my brother’s succession.”

🧍🤠 BONK 🤠

Sylva feels as though she has been submerged in ice water, she pulls back from him, hurt and anger contorting her features into a snarl. “You are no better than my father, I am just a political asset to you. I trusted you!”

[passes tissue box]

If I had been able to speak my mind I would have said that you are all I think about. You drive me to distraction. My underperformance while sparring is not entirely due to my desire not to cause you harm. When the sun catches the beautiful brown of your eyes, they turn an amber colour that looks like liquid gold, I am unable to look away and so I falter in my movements. The exceptional shade and warmth of your dark hair leaves me longing to run my fingers through it. When I touched it for the briefest of moments when we kissed, I had never felt anything softer.

..... Why he kinda

Closing the gap between them, Sylva places her hands upon Aemond’s chest, his flesh is warm against her palms through his undershirt. “And what if I want to fuck simply for pleasure, and drink moon tea afterwards?”

Do it ❗🫵

“You are infuriating.” He mutters, before his mouth descends upon hers.

As she should 😌

The Colour of Blood

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Sylva Martell) Warnings: Canon typical sexism. Canon typical violence. Enemies to lovers. Smut. Word count: ~5.3k

Summary: Unity between Dorne and the realm is long overdue. While Qoren Martell is not prepared to yield his beloved country to the rule of the Targaryens, he is willing to compromise with peace. In exchange for Daeron being sent to live as a ward of House Martell, Qoren surrenders his youngest daughter, Sylva, to House Targaryen. Peace, however, is the furthest thing from Sylva's mind. Based on this request.

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

“Go to King’s Landing and make me proud.”

The words of her father repeat over and over again in Sylva’s mind as her carriage and the accompanying entourage make the long journey from one capital city to another. She already misses Sunspear, the air grows colder the further north they travel. The gooseflesh prickling the tawny flesh of her arms serves only to stoke the anger that has been simmering inside of her ever since her father broke the news that she is to be a ward of House Targaryen.

Since the Dornishmen helped the Triarchy to beat back the realm’s defenses in the war for the Stepstones, King Viserys has been desperately trying to unite Dorne with the rest of Westeros. Sylva knows her father will never bend the knee; Qoren Martell is too proud, but she is less than pleased with the compromise that has been struck.

A bid for peace between the two kingdoms has been proposed. Prince Daeron Targaryen is to travel to Sunspear to be hosted by her family, and in exchange Sylva will be housed under the roof of the Targaryens. A prince for a princess. Sylva hates it. She knows being the fourth and youngest child puts her in a tricky predicament. Aliandra is set to inherit her father’s position as ruler of Dorne once he passes, while Qyle and Coryanne are in the midst of being partnered with highborn suitors. She has never felt more like a spare part, something disposable to be traded like livestock in her father’s politicking.

Sylva blinks back her tears, hardens her heart and allows her fury to consume her. She decides she hates King’s Landing the moment she steps out of the carriage. She wrinkles her nose at the unfamiliar smells and shivers at the chill she feels in the air. The people are pale faced and ugly, their manner of dress looks frumpy and uncomfortable. Her heart aches for home, she wonders when she will see it again, if she will see it again.

As she is guided around the Red Keep she is startled by the lack of imagery of R'hllor. It appears to her that everyone here follows the faith of The Seven, the lack of reverence towards the Lord of Light makes her uneasy. She is shown to her quarters and immediately struck by how dull and grey everything seems, she longs for the vibrant hues of the tapestries and furnishings of Sunspear. All of the colour has been sucked out of the world here.

She is grateful, however, for the furs she finds tucked away in the armoire of her bedchamber. She keeps one clutched tightly around her shoulders throughout the welcome feast that’s held in her honour that evening.

“Are you not too warm in that, dear?” Alicent leans across, brown eyes filled with concern as she touches Sylva gently on the arm.

Sylva does her best to bite back her resentment, Alicent has been nothing but kind to her since she arrived and none of this is her fault, yet she cannot help her sullen tone as she responds. “No, I find it rather cold here, compared to home.”

Alicent nods in understanding, retreating back into her own space and continuing her meal.

The food is bland and tasteless in Sylva’s mouth. The spice of snake sauce, mustard seeds and dragon peppers are alarmingly absent on her tongue. She picks at the food on her plate, unsure of how she will struggle through it.

She is broken out of her train of thought when she feels the hot sourness of wine upon someone’s breath fill her nostrils. She turns to see the Queen’s eldest son, Aegon, leering at her.

“You know,” He slurs. “If you are cold, I have ways of warming you up.” He winks, raising his wine cup to her before taking a long drink.

She grimaces, turning away as he titters beside her.

“Oh come now, I was jesting. I thought your people were supposed to be promiscuous.”

“Enough.” Alicent warns him sternly. “Go back to your seat, or I will have Ser Criston return you to your quarters.”

Aegon huffs, obviously deflated, and slumps down into his chair.

When Sylva looks up she notices the single eyed gaze of Alicent’s second son, Aemond, upon her. It is intense and unblinking. She expects him to avert his eye, embarrassed to have been caught staring, but he continues, his expression passive and unreadable.

She is overwhelmed by the sense that if she looks away then somehow she will lose in this exchange, and so her dark eyes lock with his blue one, until Otto announces that it is time they all retire for the evening, and they shift their focus away from each other.

Sylva is glad that the day is finally at its end. She is exhausted from her travels and utterly miserable. She is unsure of how she will ever get used to it here.

As her hand reaches for the handle to the door to her bedchamber, she feels a presence lingering behind her. She turns to see Aemond hovering behind her, stoic and unreadable as he has been all evening.

She is about to ask him what he’s doing when he speaks. They are the first words she’s heard come out of his mouth since she arrived and she is surprised by the softness of his voice, a contradiction of how intimidating he appears.

“I wanted to apologise for how my brother spoke to you earlier.”

Sylva nods, giving him a tight lipped smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “It is fine. I have heard worse.”

“I’m sure you have.” He says smoothly, keeping his arms clasped firmly behind him. Sylva wonders if perhaps there is a rod of sorts inserted down the back of his tunic, such is the rigidity of his stance. “But now you are here you will learn what it is to be a proper lady.”

“What do you mean by that?” She asks, as her eyes narrow with a combination of confusion and mild irritation at the direction this interaction is taking.

Aemond tilts his head as though thinking carefully about his response. “There is a certain depravity that is common among your people. You’ll learn what it is to be civilised here.”

The anger that has been simmering inside of her all day finally reaches its boiling point. “My people?! Isn’t it your people that marry off brothers and sisters?! I would rather hail from a land that celebrates depravity, as you like to call it, than one that operates under the illusion of propriety while brothers and sisters fuck behind closed doors!”

It is the first time she sees any visible trace of emotion on his face as his eye widens, he opens his mouth to speak but she holds up a hand, cutting him off. “I have heard enough from you. Have the evening that you deserve.”

She storms in her chambers, slamming the door heavily behind her. Her sleep is fitful that night, her surroundings too unfamiliar for her to ever drift off properly.

The next morning when she awakens, she is saddened not to be greeted by bright sunshine when she looks out of the window. The sky is overcast and bleak looking, a sight she is not used to. As her eyes scan the surrounding area of the Keep, she notices a group of men sparring and for the first time since she arrived in King’s Landing, Sylva feels excited.

Her father had trained all of his children in the use of a sword, ensuring they were all proficient fighters. It was one of the things she enjoyed most in the world. Wielding a weapon made her feel powerful.

Hurriedly, she braids her long, dark hair and dresses in breeches and a loose fitting shirt over her underclothes, before pulling on boots and rushing her way out of the castle, towards the training yard. She approaches the man she assumes to be in charge; a Knight that Alicent had introduced her to as Ser Criston Cole. He stands watching the fighting while delivering instructions.

He bows his head when he sees her. “Good morrow, Princess. Have you come to watch?”

“I’ve come to join. Where may I find a sword?”

His eyebrows raise as his mouth parts in shock. “Princess, ladies cannot join. You could get hurt.”

Sylva rolls her eyes at this. “In Dorne, women fight alongside men. There is a higher likelihood of me hurting someone than the other way around.” She folds her arms, looking at Criston indignantly.

“I’m not going to be able to change your mind, am I?” He says with a sigh.

“No.” Comes her flat response.

“Very well. If you can find something that fits, there’s light armour and blades over there.” He points to a shed on the other side of the yard.

Sylva nods and goes to retrieve what she needs. When she steps out she is immediately met by the sight of Aemond. He visibly bristles when he sees her.

“Cole! Surely you are not allowing her to spar? She is a woman!”

“The Princess insisted, Aemond. Who am I to deny her?” The Knight responds with a perplexed shrug.

“Well, I’m not sparring with her.” He says indignantly.

Sylva laughs, though it is mocking and without any genuine mirth. “Why? Afraid you’ll lose?”

“A fight against a woman would be little challenge.” Aemond says haughtily.

“Prove it.” She counters. “Unless you really are scared?”

Aemond’s nostrils flare as he exhales with irritation. “Fine.”

He raises his weapon, and widens his stance. Sylva does the same.

Aemond swings at her, always ensuring to keep her clear of his blind side; he is quick, but not quick enough for her.

Sylva laughs as Aemond's eye widens in surprise as she rounds on him with her sword, beating him backwards.

"No wonder your uncle lost so spectacularly to my father if this is how you Targaryens fight." She hisses.

Aemond's nostrils flare again, a noise low in his throat rumbles, indicative of anger. "I am not my uncle!" He seethes, charging at her.

She blocks his attack with her shield, discarding the now useless wood as it splinters beneath his blade. The impact causes Aemond to stumble back a little and Sylva seizes the opportunity to square up to him in his vulnerable position, the tip of her sword mere inches from touching his throat.

"Well met, Princess." Criston calls from across the training yard, signalling the end of her and Aemond's sparring.

"That isn't fair!" Aemond calls out to him. "She didn't best me, I tripped!"

"You didn't trip, you lost." She smirks, bumping his shoulder with hers as she moves past him towards the training yard shed to discard her light armour.

She hears Aemond enter behind her a few moments later and begin to remove his own. Feeling his gaze upon her now she is just in her undershirt, she turns to face him, eyes narrowed.

"What are you staring at?"

Aemond huffs, facing away. "Nothing. Merely surprised there isn't the body of a man hidden beneath your armour."

She scowls, snatching up her clothes and moving to leave, she will dress in her quarters she decides. She pauses as she reaches the door, casting a look at Aemond as he stands in a similar state of undress.

"I am surprised to see there is the waist of a woman hidden beneath yours."

As she bathes in preparation for dinner that evening, she casts her mind back to how Aemond had looked at her earlier. She smiles at the thought, knowing she had clearly flustered him. She wishes to rile him further.

Braving the chill she feels in the air, she opts to leave her fur behind when she heads down for the evening meal. Her long, flowing silk gown cuts in at the waist and leaves her shoulders bare. It is a style that is common in Dorne, but Sylva knows it would be considered entirely inappropriate in King’s Landing. The only reaction she cares about though is Aemond’s.

She sweeps into the dining hall, her raven tresses loose around her shoulders, as the skirt of her dress billows behind her. She smirks, feeling all eyes upon her as she takes her seat.

“It is good to see you aren’t feeling the cold so much today.” Alicent offers with a tight smile.

“Yes, I worked up quite a sweat beating Aemond in the training yard earlier.”

She turns from Alicent to him, catching the way his eye flashes up from her chest towards her face, the faintest tint of pink in his cheeks.

The dress was clearly having its desired effect. Good.

He clears his throat, turning his attention to his plate, ignoring his mother’s questioning stare. The rest of the meal passes in silence, though every time she glances towards Aemond, his eye is fixed upon her. He doesn’t dare to entertain the notion of yesterday’s staring contest, this time whenever she catches him he looks away.

Sylva goes to bed that evening with the smug satisfaction of knowing she has bested a Targaryen Prince twice that day.

Disappointed to see the training yard empty from her window the next morning, she decides to explore the Red Keep. She remembers little from the brief tour she was given on her day of arrival, her mood was too sullen to listen properly.

Her fingertips trail along the cool stone of the corridor walls as she wanders, until eventually she finds a set of large oaken doors. She pushes one open, slipping through to be met by the sight of floor to ceiling rows of books. She studies the titles on each of the spines, awed by the sheer number of tomes a single room can encompass. 

“What brings you to the library?”

She startles, broken from her thoughts and looks to see Aemond seated in an armchair by the fireplace, a book cradled in his long fingers.

She scowls. Sylva does not enjoy being taken by surprise. “I don’t see how that is your business.”

“I hadn’t realised you Dornish could read.” He says with an amused smirk.

“Fuck off.” She spits, turning to leave.

“Wait.” Aemond stands from his chair. “I…owe you an apology.”

Sylva quirks an eyebrow at him. “For what?”

“For…everything, I suppose. The manner in which I have treated you since you arrived has not been befitting of a Prince. Forgive me.”

“I’ll try.” She says, a hint of a smile playing upon her lips.

She is certain she sees the faintest flicker of one of his own tug at Aemond’s mouth, and then he speaks again. “You fight well, Princess, your father must be proud.”

Sylva sighs, chuckling bitterly. “If my father was proud of me he wouldn’t have sent me a thousand miles away to live with strangers.”

Aemond softens. “At least yours notices you. Mine doesn’t seem to realise I exist.”

“I am a spare.” She shrugs. “My oldest sister will rule Dorne in my father’s wake, my other siblings will marry into highborn families. I have been sent here purely for my father’s benefit, he doesn’t care about me.”

“Then perhaps we have more in common than we realise.” He concedes. “My brother will sit the Iron Throne once my father passes, an obligation he doesn’t want or deserve. Meanwhile, I study history and philosophy, train with the sword and ride the largest dragon in the world and I am overlooked.”

“Why aren’t you using any of that to your advantage?” She steps closer, her eyes never leaving him as she becomes more animated. “Like you say, you ride the largest dragon in the world and yet you allow yourself to be fettered here, when it serves no benefit for you to do so.”

Aemond hesitates a moment, looking uneasy. “It is…improper. I have a duty to my family.”

Sylva throws up her hands. “Who cares what is proper? Well behaved people seldom make history, you claim to study it, you should know that.”

“And what about you?” He counters. “You could have fought against your father’s decision to send you here, why not take your own advice?”

“If I’d have done that I’d have missed my opportunity to torment a Targaryen prince, a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

She grins and the smirk he returns is genuine. From that moment on, something between Sylva and Aemond shifts.

An unlikely kinship is struck between them, forged from an understanding of knowing they have rank without any real place in the world.

Over the course of the following month Sylva and Aemond grow closer. No longer does he object to her joining in in the training yard. Instead he asks to be paired with her, and the two learn from each other’s differing fighting styles, enjoying the challenge of attempting to best each other.

He sits beside her at meals, helping to fend off the unwanted attention of Aegon. They read about Dornish history together in the library and Aemond recites to her what he already knows, while Sylva entertains him with stories from her own personal experiences of her homeland.

Eventually, Aemond introduces Sylva to Vhagar. She has never seen a dragon before and the sheer enormity of Aemond’s leaves her speechless. She gasps at the roughness and warmth beneath her palm as Aemond guides her palm to stroke along her flank.

“You will need to meet her a few more times before she is comfortable having you on the back of her, but perhaps we could go flying together once she is?” Aemond suggests, not pulling his hand away from hers as it moves over Vhagar’s scales.

Sylva’s eyes light up with excitement. “Really? Where would we go?”

“Anywhere you like.” He smiles down at her.

“Could we go to Dorne?”

“Are you really so eager to return?”

“No.” She replies, and is surprised that she actually means it.

Her friendship with the One-Eyed Prince has brought colour into her life in King’s Landing, where previously it had been dull. The food no longer seems quite so bland. The feeling of homesickness that has sat heavily upon her chest feels like less of a burden to carry. For the first time since her arrival at the Red Keep she feels happy.

However, as the weeks press on she begins to suspect that Aemond is not fighting to his full potential when paired with her in the training yard. She no longer has to make an effort to disarm him, his attacking blows are not quite so aggressive as they once were. She is sure this is deliberate.

“Well fought, Princess.” Aemond says cordially as she knocks his sword from his hand yet again.

She throws down her own in frustration. “No, it wasn’t!” She snaps, before stalking back towards the shed. She has had enough for today and is tired of Aemond not taking it seriously.

She groans in irritation when he follows her a few moments later.

“Have I done something to upset you?” He asks, a trace of uncertainty in his tone as she keeps her back to him.

“Do you not think I am a worthy opponent?” She asks, peering over her shoulder at him.

“You are one of the most capable fighters I have ever seen.” He replies without hesitation.

She turns to face him fully. “So why are you letting me win? I have seen you train properly Aemond, you aren’t even trying.”

He takes a deep breath, directing his gaze towards the ground before back up to her. “You’ve never once mentioned my eye.”

Her brows pull together in confusion. “So? Why should I? It makes you no less of a man, you wield a sword better than most with the full power of sight.”

Aemond draws closer to her, the way he stares at her makes her breath hitch. In her relatively short life no one has ever looked upon her with such reverence before. “That is why I cannot bear to hurt you.” He admits softly. “No one has ever cared for me so deeply before, and I must confess, I…care for you too.”

Sylva is unsure of who moves first, but their lips meet and she feels a flutter of excitement in her belly as they kiss. His movements are uncertain to begin with, and she wonders if this is the first time he has ever kissed anyone. He learns quickly, however, a hand moving to the back of her head to tangle into her hair as his mouth works with more urgency against her own.

When they finally break away from each other, he rests his forehead against hers, his breathing heavy.

“I have wanted to do that for so long.” He whispers. “Our union will be what finally unites Dorne with the realm, and secures my brother’s succession.”

Sylva feels as though she has been submerged in ice water, she pulls back from him, hurt and anger contorting her features into a snarl. “You are no better than my father, I am just a political asset to you. I trusted you!”

She pushes past Aemond, leaving him to stare after her as she stalks back towards the Keep, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

She shuts herself away in her chambers and finally allows herself to fall apart, grieving for the life she has left behind in Sunspear, for the loss of her only friend in King’s Landing and for how utterly humiliated she feels for allowing herself to be fooled by him.

Aemond knows how much she resents being used as a pawn by her father and yet it seems to her he has had the same intentions all along. The betrayal of this stings more painfully than being passed off to the Targaryen family in the first place.

Sylva spends the next two weeks avoiding Aemond. She keeps away from the training yard, despite wanting nothing more than to run him through with a blade. She knows that would be unwise and likely cost her her own life. Dinners are an awkward affair, she keeps her eyes fixed firmly on her plate, refusing to look at him. The library becomes an area of the Red Keep that she no longer sets foot in, eager to avoid being in close quarters with the man who has broken her heart.

As the days drag on, Sylva hates that she is missing Aemond. She has no one to confide in, all of the colour has drained from her world once more, food is bland upon her tongue again. Everything that ever brought her joy in this wretched castle is so deeply entwined with him, she cannot bear it.

Apparently neither can he. 

The hour grows late and she is about to climb into bed when she sees the parchment slip beneath her chamber door. Gingerly she picks it up, unfolding it and beginning to read.

My dearest Sylva,

I have never been good with words, at least not ones that are spoken, it is often why I elect not to speak at all. You must forgive me, but I was a lonely child and have not had the practice of conversing quite so eloquently as I can when I put quill to parchment. It is why I have chosen to write you this letter.

I have been raised with a strong sense of duty and honour to my family. It was not my intention to hurt your feelings when I foolishly said what I said - I shan’t repeat the words, you know of what I’m referring to. I said what I thought I ought to, not what I wanted to.

If I had been able to speak my mind I would have said that you are all I think about. You drive me to distraction. My underperformance while sparring is not entirely due to my desire not to cause you harm. When the sun catches the beautiful brown of your eyes, they turn an amber colour that looks like liquid gold, I am unable to look away and so I falter in my movements. The exceptional shade and warmth of your dark hair leaves me longing to run my fingers through it. When I touched it for the briefest of moments when we kissed, I had never felt anything softer.

I do not want our union to be a political one, though I would be remiss to deny its advantages. I am a Targaryen Prince. All my life I have never considered the possibility of existing outside of that, but you see me exactly as I am. You see beyond my title, you see all that I could ever dream of being. And I want to be all of that, for you. I see you too, and I have grown to love the hot bloodedness that comes with your vivacious nature, the stubbornness that accompanies your unwavering integrity.

For me, it is not a want to be with you, it is a need. I hope you need me too. We will have whatever future you see fit for us. The last two weeks without you have made me realise that whatever path I take in life does not matter, as long as I have you by my side. If you will allow it, I will spend an eternity earning your forgiveness for my careless words. I hope the ones you are reading at this moment serve in some way to bring you comfort.

Yours faithfully,

Aemond.

Sylva clutches the letter to her chest when she is finished reading, her heart hammers wildly against her ribcage. There is only one thought in her mind; she needs to see him.

Abandoning all thoughts of sleep, she hurries from her quarters towards his, throwing open his door without bothering to knock. He hasn’t begun to ready himself for bed yet and she sees him turn towards her, startled by her sudden appearance in only the shift she wears to sleep in.

“Whatever future I see fit for us?” She repeats the line from his letter back to him.

He nods, his face hopeful as he stares at her.

“What if I want us to abandon our duties and travel the world?”

“Then we have Vhagar at our disposal to do just that.”

“What if I wish for us to remain unwed?” She steps closer towards him, eyeing him carefully.

“My love for you is more infallible than any marriage vows.”

Closing the gap between them, Sylva places her hands upon Aemond’s chest, his flesh is warm against her palms through his undershirt. “And what if I want to fuck simply for pleasure, and drink moon tea afterwards?”

His breath hitches, as his eye widens. His fingers wrap around her wrists, holding her in place against him. “If…if that is what you wish.”

“I thought you were going to teach me to be civilised?” She whispers.

“You are infuriating.” He mutters, before his mouth descends upon hers.

Desperate for each other after weeks apart, it is a messy clash of lips, teeth and tongue as they move towards Aemond’s bed. As they fall back against the mattress, Aemond breaks away to kiss down the expanse of her throat and chest.

Sighing in pleasure, Sylva threads her fingers through his silken hair, shrugging her shift away from her shoulders.

Aemond seizes the opportunity to pull it down, his hands smoothing over the supple flesh of her breasts. “You are beautiful.” He breathes.

“I want you, Aemond.” She murmurs.

Each of his touches feels like it leaves a trail of fire against her skin in its wake. Desire pools, sticky and warm between her thighs. She has not felt this kind of heat since she left Dorne, it is a sensation akin to the taste of fresh fruit after weeks of starvation.

“May I touch you?” He asks timidly, his fingertips grazing the inside of her thigh.

“Please do.” 

He exhales a shaky breath as the pads of his fingers make contact with the warmth of her center. “You are so soft here…”

“Have you ever touched a woman like this before?” She asks, as he drags his fingers experimentally through her sodden folds.

“No.” He admits, embarrassment heating his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Sylva smiles, cupping his jaw and kissing his lips softly. “Lay back. I will make it feel good for both of us.”

Aemond does as he’s told and Sylva makes quick work of undressing him, tugging his undershirt over his head and pulling his breeches off.

Her mouth runs dry at the sight of his hardened length. The tip rests against his lower abdomen, flushed pink and glistening with pearlescent fluid. She wraps her hand around the shaft, stroking softly and Aemond hisses through his teeth.

“Does that feel good?” She asks, cocking her head to the side.

“Gods…” He grits out. “You know it does.”

She giggles. “It will feel even better inside.”

Sylva straddles him, positioning him at her entrance and sinking down slowly. Aemond’s eye goes wide as his jaw slackens at the sensation.

She gasps at the stretch of him inside of her and once he is fully sheathed within her, she leans forward, pushing Aemond’s eye patch away from his face with her middle and forefingers.

She marvels at the way the sapphire within the socket glimmers in the candlelight.

Aemond swallows thickly. “Do you wish to stop?”

“No.” She replies with an experimental roll of her hips. “Just admiring you.”

Aemond leans up, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her down to him in a passionate kiss. “You are remarkable.” He whispers into her ear, once he pulls away.

Sylva sits back up, bracing herself against his chest with the flat of her hands as she begins to rock herself against him. Every drag of his length inside of her makes her feel light headed as her breathing becomes more laboured with the effort.

Clearly growing impatient, Aemond seizes her by the hips, meeting her thrust for thrust, the pace suddenly becoming much more intense. There is an insatiable hunger within his seeing eye, Sylva can see none of its usual blue as she stares into it, it is utterly eclipsed by the dilation of his pupil.

She snakes a hand between their bodies, circling her pearl as Aemond plants his feet flat on the bed, continuing to drive up into her.

“Fuck…I think I’m going to…” Aemond trails off, screwing his eye shut and biting his lip.

The sight of him so wanton with desire beneath her, causes Sylva to clench around him, her own climax steadily approaching as she continues to work at her bud.

“Let go for me, I’m close too.” She coaxes.

His strokes become sloppier as he nears his end, his stomach muscles contracting, with one last push up into her, he stills, pulsating inside of her with a groan.

The sensation provides the added stimulus that Sylva needs to fall over the edge and she comes apart around him with a strangled cry, tightening and spasming as he spills himself inside of her.

She collapses against him, panting for breath, and they lay together in silence for a few moments, simply holding each other and recovering from their respective highs.

“You have made me the happiest man in all the Seven Kingdoms.” Aemond rasps, pressing a chaste kiss to her hairline.

“Dornish depravity will do that to you.” She says with a lazy smile.

“You are infuriating.” He chuckles, pulling her tighter against him. “But I would have you no other way.”