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valyrianvibranium · 1 year ago

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SET ME ALIGHT AGAIN.

Cregan Stark x female!Targaryen!Reader (Part 2 here)

"It was on request of your younger brother's small council that Lord Cregan Stark agreed to take you to the North with him to prevent you from succumbing to grief like your aunt did. And now it's at his hands that the haze in your eyes is replaced by an emotion you haven't felt in so long, an emotion he’s giving back to you. And you let it flood you."

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; p in v, oral (fem receiving), angst (?), breeding kink, size kink, size difference, romantic fucking in front of the fireplace, afab reader, post dance of the dragons

WORDS: 4.8 K

NOTES: I dedicate this to @sylasthegrim. You're not only one of the few people I really grew fond of in the short time we truly got to know each other, but since both our minds basically came down to the same idea, this is for you! Thanks for beta reading this. 💕

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

You’ve been in Winterfell for a moon’s turn by now, and have quickly noticed that the ancestral castle possesses a beauty and calmness the Red Keep can be jealous of. But even that isn’t enough to make you feel at home – as if you could ever call a place your home again. Not after you’ve witnessed almost everyone in your family, no matter whether you liked them or not, perish at the hands of each other.

It was on request of your younger brother, now dubbed King Aegon the third, or rather of his small council that Lord Cregan Stark agreed to take you to the North with him to prevent you from succumbing to grief like your aunt did. And while you’re grateful for the chance to flee the one place that has caused you more hurt than good, riding in a carriage up to the far North like a commoner wasn’t exactly pleasant.

But how else should you have gotten there when your precious mount died along its kind as the common people stormed the Dragonpit?

For the past month, you’ve very rarely seen the sun – or anyone else than your maids.

Your days are spent in your chambers, not leaving the safety of the Guest House as you often try to find the sleep you can’t seem to get at night. And during the night, when the Hour of the Owl strikes and no light other than that of the moon reaches Winterfell, one often finds you wandering the quiet halls of the castle. Sometimes one even spots you outside in the Godswood, regardless of the low temperatures that make the three pools fed by an underground hot spring look even more inviting.

But warmth and comfort are never what you’re after.

You feel incredibly daring tonight, sitting beneath the ancient weirwood tree on one of its roots. Although there is a thick fur coat draped around your frame, the thin nightgown beneath does not allow you to be kept as warm as one usually desires, your bare feet hidden inside of the coat not a big help either.

Tiptoeing barefoot through the snow was the hardest part, but it was worth it as it gave you exactly what your body longs for.

You’re far too absorbed by the reflection of the moon dancing on the pool of black water beneath the tree, and the peaceful allure of the snow-covered night that you don’t notice you’re not alone anymore.

“Princess?” a husky voice rings out from the shadows, one you’d even recognize in a room full of loud and drunken men.

Almost as if he doesn’t want to startle you, the tall frame of the Lord of Winterfell approaches you without any sudden moves, becoming more visible with the moonlight shining down on him. “What are you doing out here this late?”

Only when he’s stopping not far away from you do you avert your eyes from him to the water again. “I could ask you the same, Lord Stark,” you reply softly.

A chuckle rumbles in his chest at your remark, and you can’t help the tint of heat hearing it brings to your cheeks. “Indeed you could,” he says. “I have not slept well, and the night has a peaceful allure. But you should not be out in the open without any guards, especially not this late at night.”

You drag your index finger through the snow at your side, drawing a mindless pattern in the dark as you do not pay any mind to his words. “And why is that, Lord Stark?” you ask, a certain snarkiness to your tone. “There is nothing worse that could happen to me than what I have already endured.”

Cregan sighs, and even in the dim light you can make out that he’s scratching his stubble covered chin. “And yet, should something else happen to you, I would not like myself for neglecting you and not protecting you just as I have sworn to the king,” he explains. “Besides, there is a cold chill in the air that I can not believe you are not feeling right now.”

“Perhaps that is the answer you’ve been looking for, my lord,” you mumble. “Perhaps I came here to feel something.”

The Wolf of the North doesn’t immediately answer you. Instead, there lingers a pause between you. But it’s not uncomfortable or feels as though it doesn't pass, no, you find yourself to actually enjoy his company.

His next words, however, even surprise you as you didn’t think he was capable of it. “Feeling the cold of the snow has its way to make one feel alive, that much is true,” he agrees, and then looks up to the dark sky. “You wish to feel something else than the pain of the absence of the people you’ve lost in this war, I understand… I think.”

His words make the feeling of emptiness, the hollowing ache of loss just worse, while at the same time, he seems to know the feeling of craving pain when you’re just so used to it.

“This cold bite, the chill that lingers on the skin — no one should want to feel it, Princess. It makes even my bones shake, do you know that? Surely you must be shivering, and we should be getting you inside. I should be getting you inside.”

You know he‘s right. While his words are blunt in nature, they are very much that of truth. You shouldn’t be out here, nor should you want to be out here. There‘s nothing to enjoy about this cold chill and the snow, not when you‘re as sparsely dressed as you are. You‘re not yet used to the chill of Winterfell, of the North.

Cregan offers you his hand, but you‘re still hesitant to take it. Albeit you reach out, your significantly smaller hand hovers over his, not yet grabbing it. “You‘re not exactly wearing proper attire to be out in this wretched cold for very long,“ he remarks. “Let me help you get up, your feet must be in agony by now.“

“And what if I don‘t want to?“

“Then I will still get you up.“ There is a tinge of amusement in his voice now, seeing this little bit of rebelliousness from you, your strength of mind. Even if he doesn’t exactly approve of it. “I shall simply pick you up myself, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you inside to your chambers, even though I‘d get you quite angry and don‘t imagine you want me to do just that.“

You don’t believe he actually has the gumption to do something like that at first, although you know he’s able to muster a decent amount of strength that would easily allow him to lift you up. But then, you wonder if he would truly do it if challenged. “Try that, if you dare, my lord.”

He lets out a snort of amusement, enjoying the teasing that slowly shapes between you two. It still is a challenge, and as a man of his station, he could never let words like this go unspoken. “Oh, I dare, Princess.”

Putting forth his arm, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and easily pulls you forwards onto your feet without applying too much pressure. You’re certainly caught off guard by his actual willingness to lift you up, and a squeal escapes your lips before you’re tossed on his strong shoulder as if you are some silly, helpless girl.

Cregan carries you through the Godswood and towards the Guest House, though you don’t resist too much as you’re hanging there over his shoulder – a part of you is grateful you don’t have to walk through the snow with your bare feet once more.

“Lord Stark, put me down at once!” you demand with a little twinge of laughter in your voice. You feel so light, much lighter than you imagine he’s used to lifting up, almost as if it’s taken all of the pressure off your shoulders.

But when there doesn’t come an answer from him, you grow slightly frustrated. “What if anyone sees, you madman!” you remark, embarrassment warming your cheeks.

“Madman? That’s rich coming from the woman who was willing to freeze to death in the snow,” he says jokingly, approaching the large doors. “Who do you think could see us at this hour, princess? The rats? And what if they do? What if someone sees me carrying the poor princess, who had the gall to get out of her bed after midnight and wander the Godswood while in her nightgown?” Although there is amusement in his voice, you also notice the faintest hint of flirtation laced within. “Will they judge me for carrying her, or would they judge her for her imprudent midnight excursion?”

You stay silent thrown over his shoulder, not sure how to reply. You thought you had a good comeback, but it seems Cregan is one step ahead of you. The flirtatious teasing you’ve heard catches you off guard, not expecting to hear it from him at all. It makes your cheeks flush with even more embarrassment when you notice that he’s actually right. But you don’t want to admit the truth in what he’s said.

“You mock me, but you shall see there would be much scandal if someone were to see this,” you retort, trying to keep calm as you’re now a little bit flustered by these sudden developments. “Besides,” you say, trying to remain unbothered and nonchalant, “who says I won’t tell a tale of you being the imprudent one?”

“Ah, you little rascal,” Cregan replies with a chuckle, giving your thigh a tight squeeze. “I see you’d find a way to turn the tides and have it end up with me being the bad guy, taking my chances on a vulnerable woman in the guise of protecting her.”

You’re clearly enjoying the teasing a tad too much, enjoying these quick and witty back-to-backs with him, taking your mind off of your grief. Drawing in a deep breath, you hold onto Cregan’s thick coat. “What would you have been protecting me from, Lord Stark?” you ask with feigned innocence. “Were the trees too menacing that you just had to sweep me off my feet to carry me away from their clutches?”

“No, I am afraid it was not the trees that had me worried, Princess,” Cregan replies as he brings you further into the Guest House, easily opening the door to the sleeping quarters with one hand. “The cold was the greater menace, and it had you in its grasp.”

Your words die in your throat when he puts you down on your bed, the soft furs very welcomed beneath your cold feet. You look up at him with wide eyes and a heaving chest as he towers over your significantly smaller frame, and you wait for him to make the next move.

There’s a moment of silence between you, obviously he’s considering his next words.

And boy do they disappoint you. “I shall make sure a fire is lit for you to warm yourself, princess,” he says, turning around to approach the hearth on the other side of the room.

Cregan crouches down to build and start a small fire in the hearth that should last the night, not wanting you to stay too cold. But you wouldn’t be a thoroughbred dragon if it didn’t mean for you to take any risks. And so you get onto your cold feet, the coat still draped around your shoulders sliding down to the ground.

Feeling a bit too exposed too quickly, you grab one of the thick fur blankets laying on your bed instead and wrap it around your frame, before you tiptoe towards the large wolf kneeling in front of the fireplace.

“I have something different in mind,” you speak softly. Cregan, startled by your words and your sudden approach, turns around and faces you as he rises to his feet. You reach and bury your hands in the collar of his coat, the blanket falling to the ground in the process, and when you use your grip to pull him close, you find that he does not shy away in the least – if anything, he follows the tug to connect your lips in a heated kiss.

He brings his large hands to your waist with ease, and presses his body against yours. The wolf feels like he’s drowning in you, in your lips, your warmth, your presence and scent. Wanting to lose himself in the moment, in you, his hands wander lower to your hips.

“I did not expect you to do this tonight,” he breathes against your lips, breaking the silence.

“And I did not expect some things from you tonight either,” you reply, breathlessly, voice breaking with every breath you take. “Is that a bad thing?”

His voice is low and smooth as he speaks, shaking his head. “Quite the contrary.” There is a flirtatious smile on his lips, and a playfulness you haven’t seen before in his gray eyes. It’s as if that small spark between you has quickly evolved into an inferno that now burns bright in the both of you.

It’s a fierce and burning kiss when your lips connect once more, fueled by the fires coursing through your veins. You release a soft whimper with his large paws trailing over your sides, feeling the fabric of your nightgown.

“If we continue this, I won’t be able to stop myself,” he rasps.

You tilt your head back to look at him, a cheeky grin on your lips. “Perhaps I do not want you to.”

Cregan’s eyebrows raise at your reply, and you feel his hands tighten around your waist once more. He can’t help but feel a jolt of arousal run down his back, which prompts him to release a low chuckle. “Well, if you wish for it that much…” he whispers in response, before pulling you back toward him, kissing you passionately.

A breathless chuckle slips past your lips as you pull back from him, licking your kiss swollen lips. “But there are a few things we need to get you out of first,” you tease, tugging at the thick, furry coat that’s draped over his broad shoulders.

“Are you this eager to have your hands over all of me?” he replies with a flirtatious smirk, but still unclips the coat and lets it fall to the ground. He doesn’t mind you seeming quite intent to get him out of his armor, allowing you to fumble with the clasps and buckles, and eventually helps you remove the heavy bits until he’s left wearing nothing but his breeches. But even those are quickly unlaced by you, left to be a puddle around his feet.

“My my, do you not feel a little too hot still, Lord Stark?” you tease, letting your fingers wander over his exposed stomach. You can’t help but feel warmth creeping onto your cheeks as you see him in such little clothing, so exposed. He’s a muscular man, tall and large, and the sight of his bare skin with the dark of hair on his chest and a trail of it running below his undergarments is a welcoming one.

Through the linen you see that he’s already hard and begging, waiting for you to take things further. Truly a shame you seem to relish in the teasing.

Goosebumps prickle on his skin in the wake of your finger, making you smile. You drag your finger along the waistband of his undergarments, hooking it beneath to tug on it. He knows what you desire, and he’s not ashamed to give you just that. “I do not see you so eager to remove your own clothes, Princess,” he teases, undoing the laces in the front for his undergarments to join his breeches. “It is hardly fair you want to see all of me, yet I am not allowed to do the same.”

You take in a sharp breath at the sight of his hard cock, standing to full attention. It has you licking your lips. Batting your eyelashes at him, you’re quick to pull your nightgown over your head, a smirk on your lips. A flimsy piece of linen conceals what lies between your legs, but it’s still enough for him to all but devour your almost bare frame.

“There,” you whisper, “now we are on equal grounds.”

Cregan takes a moment to look over you, licking his lips at the sight of your breasts fully exposed mto him. He knows you’re no maiden who’s completely untouched, you wouldn’t be as confident if you were, but it doesn’t stop him from appreciating the sight in front of him.

“Equal grounds, truly?” he asks you, taking a step toward you. One arm snakes around your waist, pulling you against him, as his other hand fists the linen of your smallclothes. “I think you still have an advantage over me, Princess. Because I have yet to see what lies beneath your undergarments.”

Your palms rest flatly against his chest, and you press a chaste kiss to his skin. “I will not stop you, Lord Stark,” you whisper, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“Then let’s make these ‘equal grounds’ a little bit more equal, hm?” Cregan whispers as well. He sinks to his knees with his mouth trailing a path down your body, licking and kissing over your skin until he reaches your navel. His large hands trail over your sides and thighs on his way down, the movement and sight making your breath hitch in your throat.

A shudder ripples through your body as he tugs your smallclothes down your legs, and while you watch him with your hands buried in his dark curls, his eyes are all but focused on what’s between your legs.

He drapes one of your legs over his broad shoulder, his dark blown eyes darting up to meet yours, and before you can make any teasing remark, his mouth is on you. A gasp catches in your throat. “Cregan, please,” you whimper, forgetting all courtesies the moment his tongue drags through your slit. There’s no softness, no gentleness in the way he all but devours your cunt, the previous teasing having made his patience run thin.

Your head tips back in pleasure as his tongue alternates between sliding into you and swirling around your pearl, noticing both options have you grind your hips against his face. The tip of his nose rubs so perfectly against your pearl when his mouth pays attention to your entrance, and Cregan’s fingers dig into your flesh with your body tensing up already, keeping you steady.

The Wolf of the North growls against your cunt as if he’s truly turned into one, devouring you with all he’s got, the sheer pleasure brought by his tongue and lips taking over you.

As you look down at him again, you find him already staring up at you, watching you carefully as you slowly but surely unravel on his tongue. It’s intense, but you’re captivated enough not to break eye contact.

“Gods, yes, I–” you whimper, and fall apart all over his tongue with a shudder. If it wasn’t for Cregan’s paws on your body, you would have lost balance by now, especially with the way he seemed to work his tongue in and out of you faster just in rhythm to his nose rubbing your pearl.

He pulls away from you slowly as your peak subsides, and with his beard and lips glistening with the remnants of your arousal, how could you not pounce on him right then and there?

He supports his body with one arm placed on the ground and stretches his legs as you push yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his strong neck. The taste of yourself on his tongue makes you moan against his lips before you deepen the kiss.

Cregan’s hard cock is nestled between your bodies, and you can’t resist wrapping your hand around it, stroking him once, twice, before you shift your hips and slowly sink down on him.

Muscular arms completely wrap around your waist, making you very well aware of the size difference between the two of you. You’re significantly smaller than him, and relish in the feeling of being safe and protected with him around. You two haven’t been too close upon your arrival in the North, but it seems that there has been a hidden attraction lingering for quite some time.

You know your hips would sooner or later become sore from pumping him with your core, hence you stick to rocking your hips back and forth with his cock stuffed deep inside you. It’s intimate and slow, but with the coarse hairs around the base of his cock dragging over your pearl with each swivel of your hips, you’re still racing for completion.

While he mouths along your jaw and the curve of your throat, one of his hands comes up to cup your breast. Rolling the perky bud between his index finger and thumb, the slight sting works wonders to amplify the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“By the Seven,” you whimper, grinding your hips against him with more determination.

There comes a sharp hiss in return from him, barely audible between the open mouthed kisses he presses to your collar bones. You’re clawing at his shoulders and neck by now, scratching it despite the sensuality of your movements, and it feels as though you’re even drawing blood. But he doesn’t care about that – he rather enjoys having a woman that doesn’t hold back.

Trailing his lips up to your throat, he nudges your chin with his nose, prompting you to tip your head back. “It’s not them you need to pray to right now, Princess,” Cregan rasps, a clear strain to his voice. “But perhaps I should take that as a compliment, hm?”

His words cause you to chuckle, and you’re grateful that he’s quickly distracted by kissing your throat again, because otherwise he might have noticed the heat his words bring to your cheeks. “If that is…” you trail off panting, burying your hand in his curls to tug his head back, forcing him to look up at you. The sight of his dark blown eyes hungrily gazing at you sends a shiver down your spine. You feel desired. “If that is a compliment, then I shall have to say it much more often.”

You’re not sure if it’s the fact you state wanting to compliment him more often, or if he’s just not used to having an appreciative lover in general, but your words seem to flip a switch inside of him. You quickly find yourself lowered on the fur blankets, warming your back while the flames heat up your skin and Cregan your blood.

Nestled between your legs, he’s growing more determined now, the sensual rocking of your hips clearly not enough for him, but you don’t mind it. As much as you enjoy being in control, setting the tone, you also revel in following the lead.

He’s propped up on one elbow, supporting himself as he thrusts into you, rolling his hips that make his cock drag so expertly against the sweet spot inside of you.

With one hand, you hold onto his broad shoulder, digging your nails into his skin, while the other gropes at his chest, teasing his bud just like he’s done with yours before. The feeling of his coarse hairs beneath your fingers feels somewhat strange at first, for Aemond hasn’t had as much chest hair as Cregan does, but it’s also comforting.

The familiar coil in the pit of your belly tightens slowly with his hips snapping into yours over and over again, split open by his hard cock.

“Will you fill me up, my lord?” you moan breathily, arching your back with your breasts pressing against his sturdy frame.

Cregan releases a choked groan at the question, and for a moment you can feel his hips stutter. You briefly wonder if you’ve pushed your luck too far, especially with him not replying immediately, until his raspy voice cuts through the heavy pants and moans.

“Only if you let me take you to wife, Princess.”

You inevitably clench down around him as a small, hiccuped gasp catches in your throat, resulting in Cregan drawing in a sharp breath. The haze in your eyes is replaced by an emotion you haven't felt in so long, an emotion he’s now giving back to you. And you let it flood you.

Your hand comes from his chest to his biceps, holding onto it as you gather your thoughts. His hips haven’t slowed down one bit, and he’s truly expecting you to answer as if he wasn’t repeatedly impaling you on his cock right now.

Staring up at him with wide eyes, your voice isn’t any louder than a whisper. “It would be foolish of me to turn this offer down,” you reply.

An impish smirk dances along Cregan’s features. “Is that meant to be a yes?”

“Y-Yes, it is, “ you whimper beneath him, arching your back once more.

The warmth of his body, his weight and scent cloud your every being, and his thrusts are determined and harsh enough to render you speechless, your mind and body completely claimed by him.

His hand snakes between your bodies, aiming for your sensitive pearl. Though the coarse hair around his cock has granted you at least a bit of friction, it’s not enough to bring you to your peak. His thumb circles over the little bud, fully coated with your arousal, and the thread in your belly is close to snapping.

“Then I just might,” he grunts in return.

Your body jerks at the sudden touch, but his muscular frame between your legs is enough to keep you pinned to the ground. “I need you… Cregan,” you whimper, bringing a hand behind his head to pull him down for a heated kiss. Your lips hardly part to release whimpers and moans, swallowing each other’s sounds of pleasure without any shame. “Let me give you a spare.”

It appears that your words give him a new-found vigor that leaves you gasping, the pace of his hips increasing. As you start to roll your hips against his thumb, you not only create some friction that feeds your pleasure but his as well. It’s not long after that your peak washes over you with a soft gasp, walls clenching around him like a vice.

With your small frame trembling between his strong arms, Cregan releases a strained grunt, his own peak being milked out of him by your cunt fluttering around his cock. He keeps on dragging his thumb over your sensitive pearl, prolonging your peak and the pleasure that comes with it.

You stare up at him with wide eyes as you’re milking him for every drop, because there’s something so vulnerable in this wolf of a man, towering over you with his skin glistening with sweat, so desperate to fill you with his seed and breed you.

The last jolts of his peak force him to languidly rut his hips into yours, desperately chasing the feeling of bliss that courses through your veins. His chest heaves with every heavy breath he takes, and the dark curls are damp and fall into his face.

Only as Cregan is certain there’s not one drop of his seed left inside of him does he slowly stop his ministrations, and the hand that has toyed with your bud seizes your hips, stilling them.

His erratic breaths fans over your sweaty skin with his lips pressing to your temple. The feeling of being whole with him doesn’t leave you, not when his weight pins you down and keeps you grounded, easing your tumbled mind.

“I shall welcome the arrival of any child you bear me,” Cregan says, inevitably breaking the silence.

A smile spreads across your lips as you wrap your legs around his hips, and your arms around his neck. “Be careful what you wish for. My children will certainly be just as stubborn as me.”

His heart is practically pounding against his ribs, and he can feel himself on the verge of being lost by your touch alone again. You make him go wild and feral, your bold and flirtatious nature bringing out another side to him that’s completely unexpected. And yet it feels so right.

The teasing banter brings a smile to his lips and a light to his gray eyes, your wit and humor shining through. “Let them be stubborn, then,” he chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “They only need to be half as feisty as you, and I shall be the happiest man in Winterfell.”

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jinusajas · 8 months ago

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11/29/24; 03:03pm

dragon!sylus x fem.reader

notes: for all the sylus girlies out there, this is going to be my thirstiest and most self-indulgent dragon!sylus fic (⺣◡⺣)♡ again, this is all just my interpretation and it may not even be close to canon!

warnings: monster f-cking oh my god i can't believe i'm going to do this since i've never written this type of spicy story before 😭😭😭😭😭 i'm sorry if this ends up sucking so bad !! i just want to type out my spicy thoughts hhhhhh

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

night had fallen across your small village, painting the once lively desert in somber hues of blue. with the moonlight as your guide, you drape your shawl even closer to your body to help with warding off the cold air.

as you made your way to the oasis, your mind was filled with anxious thoughts pertaining to your mother. she had once again fallen ill, her frail body being taken over by a fever as she struggled to even breathe while she lay motionless in bed. your heart was filled with love for your mother as you spent the night wiping the sweat from her brow with a damp cloth, not wishing to leave her side.

feeling your presence next to her, her eyes blearily meet with your gaze as a tiny smile paints her expression. "you should...rest..." even with her reassuring words, you refused to leave her side.

yet when your bucket of water runs dry, you knew you had to leave your mother to get more water. you needed to help her with breaking her fever, and in order to do that, you had to get more water from the oasis. leaving the damp cloth across her brow, you told her that you would return soon before setting off towards the crystalline pool of water. each step that you take brings an image of your sickly mother and the thought of how much weaker she had become-

with a click of your tongue, you banish such intrusive beliefs, refusing to even entertain the thought that you would ever lose her. fighting back against the cold, you push forward as you made your trek across the sands, noticing the palm trees and the sight of those ruby red flowers in the distance as they swayed in the wind. anticipation was felt coursing through your veins, your legs now breaking out into a run until you were just a mere few feet away from the crystalline waters of the pond-

but as fate would have it, you were not alone.

settled in the midst of the pond was what appeared to be a winged demon, his wings remaining spread as you felt pinpricks of fear clenching around your heart. your breathing was uneven and heavy as you slowly backed away from him, only to see the demon lift his head, his silvery hair seeming to glow beneath the moonlight.

"your heavy breathing is a dead giveaway." you gasp, feeling your heart jump within the confines of your throat the moment he suddenly appears before you. rufescent eyes gaze down at you in amusement as full lips remain tilted up in a smirk. your eyes trail toward his silver locks of hair and finally noticed the two horns settled atop his head (the image reminding you of a dark and regal crown). from his broad chest to the alluring crimson gemstone settled in the middle of his pale skin-

the demon was equal parts devastatingly beautiful and terrifying to you.

his wings end up engulfing you, trapping your body against his as he takes in a deep whiff of your hair before trailing the tip of his nose against your skin. as he takes in your scent, you were certain that he could hear the way your heart seemed to pound from out of your ribcage.

"yet perhaps what's more distracting than your breathing is the lingering scent of death you have..."

his words succeed in making your heart cease its beat, your fear now replaced with anxiety as you narrowed your gaze at him. "w-what do you mean?"

a look of intrigue was seen settled within his crimson gaze. "there's no need to be so frightened, treasure. you look to be as healthy as a mare... yet someone close to you-"

mother...!

you gripped at the demon's shoulder, allowing your nails to dig into them while your gaze became wild, "my mother... you're referring to my mother. please, can you save her?!"

he doesn't answer your panicked words, but at this point, you were willing to do anything to save the only family you had left-

even if it meant forging a deal with the devil.

"please, i'll do anything for her! if you have the means to save her-"

the demon lets out a deep chuckle, the sound being enough to send almost pleasant vibrations down your spine. using his free hand, he wraps it around your waist, bringing you closer to his naked chest while at nearly eye level with the ruby settled on it. "relax, treasure... if you're willing to do anything, then i suppose i can give you this."

as if it were made by magic itself, he gently pulls something out of your hair, extracting a vial that held a deep red liquid. "give this to your mother, and it shall heal any ailment that she has."

hope erupts within your chest, yet before you could utter another word, the devil whispers into your ear, "remember your promise to me, treasure."

and with those final words, he disappears away from you, leaving you alone with an empty bucket and a mysterious vial. not wishing to wait another second, you rush back to your mother, nearly pushing your body to its limits.

your lungs were burning now when you finally reached home, a quaint little hut settled near the edge of your village. you enter and immediately go to your mother, holding her frail frame closer to your chest as you uncapped the vial and open your mother's mouth, pouring the crimson liquid inside.

she coughs a bit, but manages to swallow the entire contents of the vial. once you were certain the vial was emptied, you toss it to the side, watching your mother with baited breath.

despite your anxiety, you felt your hope continue to grow when there were noticeable changes seen within your mother. the color slowly came back to her skin, her lips no longer appearing ashen and dry. along with those changes, you noticed how her hair slowly became glossier, and as she opened her eyes, it was clear that they were livelier than ever.

"mother...!" letting out chocked sobs, you cling to your mother, basking in her soft coos of your name as she places a gentle kiss against the top of your hair.

and as you sought the comfort of your mother's arms, you remained blissfully unaware of glowing ruby eyes watching your every move.

{ ... }

your life had gotten brighter with your mother by your side, healthy and glowing with vitality. now that you had her back, the memory of the devil and your promise to him became a distant memory-

however, it would quickly become apparent that not even demons would go back on their words.

one late evening, as you were in the midst of making supper with your mother, the sounds of a stampede approaching fills your heart with dread. the commotion doesn't go unnoticed by your mother as her eyebrows remain furrowed in response.

"what is going on?"

you put a finger over your lips, blowing out all of the lit candles as you listened intently to the conversation from outside of your home.

"our king has requested that we find her and bring her to him."

"but of course, as if i would be foolish enough to go against the drake borne from shadows."

upon hearing such a strange title, your mouth goes dry as your mind goes back to that fateful night-

the night the demon had helped with saving your mother from appearing at death's door-

he had remembered after all.

the sounds of footsteps grow louder and heavier, giving you little time to react when the flimsy door of your home was kicked down. dozens of men dressed in suits of armor began crowd around you, and your mother's panicked cries made your head spin.

"it's her, his bride...!"

"get your hands off of my daughter!" your mother's shrill cries echo within your ear as she tried to claw at the men who had captured you.

"get this wench away from us!" the broad man holds you close to his armored chest while tossing your mother a large pouch filled with gold. "take this as a gift from our king... consider it a dowry of sorts."

"you bastard, give my daughter back to me! SHE'S WORTH MORE THAN JUST A MERE FEW PIECES OF GOLD!" your mother cries out to them, about to reach out to you once more when you stopped her.

"no, it's okay... i'll be okay..." you swallow back your tears and meet her gaze, "i-i was the one who made a deal with the devil. h-he saved your life... and i promised to repay him."

a pained expression crosses your mother's features, "w-what do you mean...?"

the knights remain silent, yet still kept you in a tight grip to prevent you from running away, "that night when you suffered from a fever... you were close to dying... and he had sensed that. i didn't wish to lose you, so he gave me this vial filled with a deep crimson liquid-"

"you have been blessed by the shadow dragon's blood, do not let my king's sacrifice go to waste."

you felt your heart break the moment your mother's face crumpled a bit when she realizes the truth, with her hands immediately covering her lips as she watches you being taken away from her.

as they began to carry you out of your hut, you didn't wish to worry her as you cried out, "i'll be back soon... just please... do not worry about me! i'll come home soon..."

the last sight you had of your mother was of her falling to her knees with tears streaming down her face.

{ ... }

tarus city was what they called this place-

and you felt as though you were living in a dream, surrounded by glittering gemstones and polished gold. your eyes seemed to water with each new sight that came to you.

even with all of this beauty, you felt a little numb and homesick-

but a promise was a promise.

your devil held up his end of the deal by saving your mother-

and it was your turn to repay him.

you were broken out of your thoughts and given little time to take in the new sights as you were lead even deeper into the city. while the knights dropped you off in a golden palace, you were surrounded by women who helped with preparing you for their king. your body was stripped of your tattered clothing before being dunked into a luxurious tub filled with water warmed by what appeared to be heated stones. the sweet scent of rose petals fills your senses, putting you in a daze as the other maids worked on washing your hair.

once your body was cleaned, the women placed a thin sheen of rose oil against your skin, making sure that you were glistening before wrapping a sensual dress made entirely of silk around you. the finishing touches were added when they painted your lips in a light pink hue before taking you out of the palace.

and you were given little choice but to follow.

settled in a line, you follow the maidens as they walked across tarus city, keeping their heads down with every intention of bringing you to their king. your eyes take in the townspeople and felt a sense of discomfort fill you at how they were looking at you-

like you were someone that was meant to be worshipped.

your reveries were cut short when the women stopped walking, not daring to enter the gaping cave as they parted, settling your form dead in center as they made a path for you. with your heart racing with fear and anticipation, you step forward into the cave with your head held high.

the deeper you walked into the cave, the more you realized that the man wasn't a demon at all, but a dragon after all. when you were younger, your mother would read fairytales to you pertaining to dragons and how they liked to hoard and collect treasure.

and surrounding you was just that- an infinite amount of treasure.

you had never seen such riches before in your life. from rainbow gemstones and rare diamonds of every size to varying gold coins, it was no wonder that your mother had received such a high 'dowry.'

your eyes continue to scan all across the cave only to stop when you saw a familiar sight settled before you.

the devil's drake's back was facing you, and you watch as his serpent-like tail sways back and forth almost lazily. he lay on what appeared to be a smooth marble tablet, his wings nowhere in sight as he was dressed in his dark armor (was it even armor after all? or were they just a part of his body?)

"your footsteps are noisy, and you breathe heavily." the drake manages to reach out to your trembling form with his tail, wrapping the armored appendage around you as he brings your form down against the marble tablet. you land on your back with a gasp, heart beating wildly out of your chest when the devastating man smirks down at you. you were left gazing up at him through your lashes, watching as he closes his eyes before breathing in your scent, "ah, but it seems as though the lingering scent of death no longer haunts you."

he brings up a heavily armored and clawed hand up to your face, gently caressing at your skin with the back of it. even as your heart began to race within the confines of your chest-

you felt no fear-

only a sense of duty for fulfilling your promise to him all while ignoring the strange ache and tingling sensation felt between your legs.

"there's no need to be frightened, treasure." he leans closer to you, placing his lips against your temple. "sylus... you may call me sylus, for only you can call me by my name."

you shiver in response to his voice, feeling it reverberate throughout your body as sylus keeps his head hidden within the curve of your neck. "mmm, they did a good job, making you appear so utterly delectable for me..."

you gasp when you felt the tip of his tail travel between your legs, with sylus purposely sliding the underside of his scorpion-like tail against your slick folds. the odd sensation makes you writhe beneath him against the marble slab, your gasps echoing throughout the cave as you felt a strange pressure build up from within your abdomen.

"hah...ah... this feels... weird b-but so good." your mind was going drunk and hazy from the pleasure as you looked down to see his tail lazily going up and down your pussy lips, collecting your honeyed arousal. sylus lets out a soft groan before removing his tail.

"you smell so fucking sweet..." you tremble when sylus meets your gaze momentarily before descending upon your form. the tip of his horns gently gracing at the silk fabric of your dress, making paper thin tears in them as it slowly fell away from your form. with you remaining utterly bare for the powerful drake, you tremble as he lets out a guttural groan of your name, settling himself between your legs while breathing in your pure feminine scent.

with your slick entrance so close to his lips, sylus wastes no time diving into you, pressing his lips against your entrance as the sheer amount of pleasure he gifts you reaches almost dizzying heights. your hands grasp at his soft strands of hair, yet when he introduces a finger inside of your heat, you opted to cling to his horns for support.

sylus knew of how soft and pliant your body was compared to him, and he was able to maintain a certain amount of gentleness when he allows his hands to trace at your pussy lips. your sweet taste was all that filled him, and when he gently pinches at your hardened, bundle of nerves, he knew he was on the right track when it came to making you fall apart for him.

your back arches against the marble slab, hands gripping at his horns when you called out his name before allowing the tightness felt in your abdomen begin to snap. something warm and hot rushes out of you, earning yet another guttural sound from sylus as his tongue laps up everything you had to offer.

in the midst of your pleasured haze, you watch as sylus stands back to his full height, his hand gripping at the leather the covers his lower body before ripping them away from him. while watching him, you felt your eyes go wide upon seeing such a magnificently terrifying sight.

you had never once been subjected to witnessing a man's arousal before, watching as his cock goes hard while ready to be mated-

let alone two hard cocks that appeared pulsating with an angry shade of red. clear fluids were seen escaping from the tip, but perhaps what was more interesting were the ridges seen decorating the underside of his cock. sylus catches your wide (and admittedly, scared) eyes and smiles down at you. gently framing at your face with his free hand, he uses his other hand to help with further stroking his two cocks. "erase such expressions of fear treasure, for these exist for the sole purpose of pleasuring you."

sylus purposely leans over your, stroking his cocks against your slick folds. with a shaky sigh of his name, you wrap your arms around his broad back, feeling the strange ache become even more intense the moment sylus continued to rub himself against you. "my bride... my precious bride... i'm going to mark you as mine for all of eternity."

with those final words (sounding very much like an oath), sylus thrusts both of his cocks into your slick heat, making you cry out to him as your body struggled to take him all in. not wishing to overwhelm you with the flurry of new sensations, he keeps only half of his cocks within you, sliding them in a rhythmic, back and forth motion inside of you, making you feel not just every inch of him-

but each individual ridge as well.

the pain of having your purity taken was there, but more so than that was the intense pleasure you felt upon feeling his cock taking over the entirety of your slick walls. with his eyebrows furrowed in intense concentration, sylus works on pumping his cocks in and out of your aching cunt, basking in the squelching sounds that seemed to echo across the cave each time he rammed his hips back into yours.

"ngh, s-sylus!" being a now former virgin, you had never experienced such intense pleasure before, with your release rushing out of you in what seemed like an intense wave. the red hot sensation courses through your veins as you spilled your love juices down each of sylus's shafts, earning a broken groan from him.

"f-fuck, i can't last even a second inside of you!" stilling his hips, your moans quickly morphed into broken sobs when he pumps your womb full of his thick cum, with your aching entrance unable to hold it in as his seed spills out of your core in soft spurts.

sylus ends up landing on top of you, his chest pressed achingly close to your breasts as his cocks continued to pump you full of his seed. the intensity of his own release makes him let out a string of curses as he kept his hands in a fisted position next to your head.

when the twitching finally stopped, you were able to catch your breath, feeling the droplets of sweat running down your brow. it takes a couple of minutes for the post, lovemaking clarity to kick in, with sylus letting out a dreamy sigh of your name. he was ready to pull out of you, yet you had stopped him with your legs now wrapped tightly around his waist.

"wait, don't leave me..." you admit to him with heat felt against your cheeks. sylus meets your gaze while giving you a cocky expression, "oh? is my treasure getting greedy now?"

sylus lets out a rich chuckle before tossing both of your legs over his broad shoulder, making you moan when you felt both of his cocks harden while remaining buried deep inside of you. he begins yet another rapid pace while telling you, "hah, fuck, i wanted to go slow and be romantic with you... i had thoughts of spoiling you as my mate by promising to protect you and your mother... but that'll have to wait. right now... i wish to witness your further descent into impurity as i make you dumb and needy on my cocks..."

needless to say, your now husband and mate had successfully accomplished such hedonistic goals.

end notes: man sylus being canonically a dragon makes me so h-rny for him,,,, i need him so bad someone send h e l p. this is unedited, but my goal is to make all you sylus girles just as needy as i am with this post 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#sylus smut #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #lads x reader #lads smut #lnds x reader #l&ds smut #lnds smut #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #writings 📖

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badlydrawnmanic · 4 months ago

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doodled some baby ultra beasts (edit: now it’s all of them!)

info below the cut :3

baby nihilego (UB phoresis) is a pure rock type. it doesn’t have access to its adult form’s mind-altering poisons, but it will still try to sit on other creatures’ heads, possibly hoping they will transport them somewhere new as they aren’t very good at the whole “moving efficiently” thing yet, either. it’s more or less just a smaller nihilego, given how baby jellyfish are just smaller versions of their parents

baby buzzwole (UB pest) is a pure bug type. while it has wings, it isn’t very strong yet and can barely fly, though it is incredibly determined when going after prey. it’s more of an annoyance than a threat, and typically has to go after slow moving or sleeping prey to actually get a chance to bite them. it’s based off of a mosquito larvae (albeit with wings) and the red parts on its head resemble overinflated pool floaties

baby pheromosa (UB nymph) is a pure bug type. they lack adult pheromosa’s pheromones, but will follow their parent’s scent trail very closely, learning crucial behaviors through mimicry. despite adult pheromosa’s aloof appearance, they will fiercely protect their young, keeping the curious, exploratory child out of trouble. it’s mostly just a smaller pheromosa, since baby cockroaches also just look like smaller versions of their parents, but the antennae shape is supposed to resemble a bow

baby xurkitree (UB spark) is a pure electric type. they will float on the wind to disperse from their parent, plugging their tails into the ground once they find an adequate spot. they will sometimes be seen linking together, forming long, twinkling strings. they are based off of christmas lights, specifically the spare bulbs, and when they evolve, it’s like a lightbulb bursting

baby celesteela (UB sprout) is a steel/grass type. as seen in the anime, they can be found buried underground in a dormant state awaiting proper growing conditions. once unearthed, they grow at a rapid rate, evolving quickly into celesteela. i didn’t design it, but its design is based off of a bamboo shoot and a swaddled baby

baby kartana (UB cut) is a grass/steel type. while they seem small and harmless, they have a tendency to spin rapidly towards anything that catches their attention, struggling to stop and slicing into it or even getting stuck in walls and trees. sometimes adult kartana can be seen commanding small swarms of them. i struggled with this one, but they’re based off of paper fortune tellers and ninja stars

baby guzzlord (UB hangry) is a dark/dragon type. they will gladly eat anything that is presented to them, remaining jovial and endearing so long as they have something to snack on, but will throw rather destructive tantrums once they get hungry again, letting out terrible, shrieking cries. adult guzzlord often abandon their own young out of annoyance, preferring to pursue their own gluttony alone. their design is mostly just a smaller version of guzzlord, though they vaguely resemble a jack o lantern, and the patterns on their knees resemble band-aids

baby stakataka (UB component) is a pure rock type. it is less of a baby and more like a single piece of the group making up an “adult” stakataka, these pieces very rarely being seen on their own. when crossing paths, adult stakataka won’t redirect their movements, each group sort of passing through each other and swapping pieces in the process, potentially as a way to share their knowledge. researchers disagree on whether it an individual piece would be called a “stako” or a “taka”

baby blacephalon (UB pop) is a fire/ghost type. when hit with a physical attack, the balloon making up its head will expand, stronger attacks causing larger growth. when significantly stressed, it will explode into a shower of confetti meant to stun or distract its attacker, allowing the body to run away, regrowing its head shortly after. i mostly just wanted this design to look weird, but it is loosely based off of those carnival games where you hit a target and it inflates a balloon, those confetti balloons where the confetti mostly sticks to the sides, and those toys that can’t be knocked over

#pokemon #nihilego #buzzwole #pheromosa #xurkitree #celesteela #kartana #guzzlord #stakataka #blacephalon #ultra beasts #not an ask #ooc #manic’s personal projects

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crimsonspring · 7 months ago

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The young dragon is still alive.

The red he sees on his hands is possibly even redder than the crimson of his own eyes - God, it’s so much blood… and Sylus isn’t even a stranger to violence and blood but he swears he has never seen this much blood. Perhaps, everything is magnified now since it was her that was bleeding. She could get a paper cut, and he’d wage a war against the trees in the Amazon for causing such a grievance against his beloved.

But this.. this is too much blood, still. Calm and collected Sylus, one has never witnessed him shaken, is now found trembling as he stares at the carmine pool surrounding them both. The smell of iron is nauseating, even for him and he feels the taste of bile threatening the back of his throat. He heaves, mouth agape in small pants while he scrambles to make sense of the situation.

“Sw..Sweetie.. This is not right, c’mon. You have to… stop this.” He feels small, suddenly. Useless, as shaking hands continue to practically beg the wound on her chest to stop bleeding. The most powerful man of N109 zone deemed completely inadequate at this current moment. There was nothing he could do to stop the profuse bleeding, nothing he could do to save her - and he knew this deep down.

The same young dragon who was so confused and vulnerable, whose frustration only grew as his horns continued to do the same. So shameful of his fate and destiny, yet knowing there was simply nothing he could do to change it. The same sentiments of ignominy - this time however, he feels like he’s deserving of the humiliation. Waited years upon years for her return, only for her to be dying in his arms. His beloved was going to leave him, and prayers of desperation for their roles to be reversed escapes his cracked lips.. For her to drill the claymore into the depths of his chest, again and again. Then, again and again. The only fathomable passage was for him to die and her to live for thousands and millions more years before she dies a natural painless death, after a fulfilling and happy long life - not this.

“I don’t know what to do, I’m sorry. I am sorry, I don’t know what to do.” He apologises repeatedly, his tears dampening the hair at the top of her head as his body curls atop hers, his last desperate attempt to shield and protect her, but it’s no use. Nothing can save her. He knows that, too. This dragon is afraid and desperate.

A silent sob escapes his agape mouth, the sight of her choking on her own blood as she fights for her final breaths has him begging the Lord to shower him with mercy. He’d bear the punishment and atone for all of the sins both him and all of mankind has ever committed, if it meant that this world that his beloved would walk on was free of any atom of darkness. Let it be a safe place for her to roam and live unreservedly - because that would have been what she deserved, not this. “It should’ve been me. I’m sorry, it should’ve been me.”

And as her hand falls limp, this dragon roars in pain.

#bc sylus is still a young dragon at heart :(#can u tell who i enjoy writing the most hehe #no beta we die like grandma #(literally)#sylus #sylus x reader #sylusmc #sylus x you #lnds #lads #love and deepspace #love and deepspace angst #sylus angst #dragon!sylus

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hometoursandotherstuff · 3 months ago

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Normally, I don't like rustic homes, but you HAVE to see the over-the-top features they have in this place. 2009 mansion in Branson, MO has 8bds, 12ba, 13,803sqft, $6.999m + $596mo. HOA.

Lots of stone, and at the top of the stairs, cherub newel posts.

The fireplace in the living room is massive. (Not to mention the size of the living room, itself.)

Look at the clay lion fireplace in the dining area.

A plaque with a cherub head on the exhaust hood says "Villa Helene," I think.

Guests sit on real saddles at the bar.

Check out the faucet and life size fish in the guest powder room.

Huge primary bedroom.

They've incorporated other styles, so it's not just rustic. The piece above the fireplace looks like architectural salvage.

The gigantic stone ensuite.

This bedroom features a crushed velvet head board, a nice fireplace, and access to a terrace.

The mirrors in the ensuite match the fireplace and bedroom set. Nice stained glass window.

Bunkhouse style bedroom.

Here's a 2nd bar.

Look at the sink in this powder room- it's some sort of green stone and the base looks like a tree stump.

Down here, there's more. It could be a guest apt.

Some decor- looks like a sun with weird little men holding lanterns.

A kitchen/living room combo.

Plus a bedroom.

And, a bath. There's also a 2nd bedroom suite.

Very large patio with a pool. There are supposed to be fire breathing dragons, too, but I don't see them.

Your own bridge and boat slip.

0.94 acre lot on Table Rock Lake.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/88-End-Of-Trail-Dr-Branson-MO-65616/236153338_zpid/

#mansions #rustic homes #estates #houses #house tours #home tour #lake houses

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satorushousewife · 6 months ago

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souls of the forest

dragon!satosugu x healer!reader - part 1.

warnings: blood, depiction of wounds, use of magic

you exclaim, “damn it!”

at the moment, you were brewing a new potion. just as you were about to finish it, you realized you’d run out of dandelion leaves. for most potions, this wouldn’t be an issue, but this one required constant stirring and focused intention throughout the entire process.

you sigh, glancing at the clock on the wall. stopping your stirring, you place your hands on your hips, calculating. it would take eight minutes to reach the dandelions and eight to return, plus five minutes to gather the leaves. twenty-one minutes until you could resume stirring. maybe if you hurried...

grabbing your gardening bag—filled with pruning shears, gloves, a small spade, a hatchet, and several pots (some filled with herbs, others empty for collecting)—you step briskly out of your cabin. to save time, you prepare to cast a small spell to clear your path and guide you to the exact spot. but the moment you step beyond the protective boundary of your cabin, something feels deeply wrong.

the forest’s magic is off.

all places have their unique magical essence, shaped by the lives and creatures within them. this forest, usually teeming with calm, vibrant energy, now feels heavy with death. but it isn’t the natural death that feeds the cycle of life—this is something darker, filled with pain and sorrow.

wasting no more time, you pick up a leaf from the ground and conjure a small flame to burn it. as the leaf ignites, you murmur, “nozle-ne we ke tyoi” (show me what hurts), and blow on it. the ashes float upward, spiraling before drifting into the forest, leaving a faintly glowing trail in the air.

gripping your bag tightly, you follow the trail. inside, you have enough supplies to treat severe injuries—assuming the creature is still alive.

the closer you get, the heavier the magic becomes, almost suffocating. whatever lies ahead, it’s not just a disturbance; it’s a convergence of two powerful presences. the magic here is so dense it’s almost tangible.

you slow your steps as low growls and whimpers reach your ears—sounds of frustration and pain. the noises suggest a large creature. the burning leaf halts above a bush further ahead. cautiously, you peer from behind a massive tree trunk, and what you see shocks you.

two dragons. both drenched in blood.

the first, a black dragon with scales that shimmer purple under the light, is nursing a mangled front leg. its violet eyes gleam with desperation as it nudges a limp white dragon. the white one, slender and elongated, bears a deep gash across its abdomen, blood pooling beneath it. the black dragon’s whimpers sound like a lament.

even in their current state, they are unmistakably dragons, though they’ve shrunk into their smaller, draconic forms—a sign of severe injury or depleted magic. dragons, the most powerful and pure magical beings, should have been able to heal themselves. whatever caused this must have been catastrophic.

swallowing hard, you step closer, clutching your bag. focused on the dragons, you accidentally step on a twig, the sharp crack echoing in the tense silence. the black dragon stumbles back, then plants itself protectively in front of the white one, letting out a feral growl. its message is clear: one more step, and it will tear you apart.

instinctively, you raise your hands and crouch slightly, trying to appear smaller. “i won’t hurt you!” you blurt out. the dragon’s stance doesn’t waver. “is he alive? if you let me, i might be able to save him!” you say, taking a cautious step forward. it growls louder.

“you can feel it, can’t you?” you plead. “my magic is part of this forest. i’m the healer of the village.” reaching into your bag, you ignore the warning snarls and pull out jars of herbs, holding them up. “see? these can stop the bleeding. let me help, please.”

the dragon hesitates, its eyes flicking between you and its companion. its growls quiet slightly, and it seems to weigh the risk.

“you can sense my magic,” you continue, your voice steady but urgent. “it’s not strong—just enough for healing and protection. he’s dying. please, let me help him.”

finally, the black dragon glances at the white one, worry shining in its violet eyes. after a moment, it huffs and steps back, though its gaze remains wary.

wasting no time, you kneel by the white dragon and begin pulling out everything you might need. the wound is still bleeding heavily. you’ll need the most potent potion you can manage with what you have.

you declare your intention aloud as you crush herbs in a wooden bowl, chanting, “bese arre asce, eprusce e tus. bese arre gmus, eprusce u renjselandu. bese arre seox, eprusce u lehvuvetu” (for this herb, absorb the pain. for this herb, absorb the bleeding. for this root, absorb the wound)

you repeat the chant over and over, imbuing the mixture with your magic. after two minutes of stirring, you pour the glowing liquid onto the white dragon’s wound, continuing to chant. the dragon twitches and lets out a low whine of pain, causing the black dragon to growl and step closer. but as the bleeding slows and the white dragon’s breathing steadies, the black dragon relaxes slightly.

the wound still looks severe, but at least it’s no longer worsening. when the potion runs out, you hover your hand over the injury, channeling a bit of your energy into the dragon to stabilize it further.

“this will stop the bleeding and ease the pain for now,” you explain. “to fully heal him, i need to bring him back to my cabin.” you look at the black dragon, noting its bulk compared to the white one. “i can stabilize your wound too,” you offer, “but i’ll need your help to carry him. alone, it’ll take too long.”

its violet eyes narrow, but after a tense moment, it nods. you smile faintly, hoping to convey reassurance, and quickly prepare another potion. the black dragon growls softly as the liquid touches its injured leg, but soon its posture relaxes as the pain subsides.

once finished, you tear a strip from your pants, layering it with healing herbs before wrapping it around the white dragon’s torso. fortunately, the white dragon’s slender frame makes it easier to secure the bandage.

“how will you carry him?” you ask, glancing at the black dragon. “he won’t feel pain for now, and neither will you.”

without hesitation, the black dragon maneuvers beneath the white one, lifting it effortlessly onto its back. even in its weakened state, its strength is awe-inspiring.

the black dragon looks at you expectantly. gathering your supplies, you lead the way back to your cabin, the glowing path from your earlier spell guiding you through the darkened forest.

you just hope you could help him, that your magic was enough for healing a powerful dragon. you hope he would survive. part 2

end notes: you ask i shall deliver 🫡 also the language used for spells is some sort of stone language... idk i used an online translator mwehehe

taglist: @moncher-ire , @jinjen , @frozenmallows , @shuzoku , @aqua5ky

♡⃕ xoxo mikki

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #satosugu x reader #satosugu #satosugu x you #jjk #satorushswfwrites #dragon au #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen au #healer reader

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msb-lair · 2 months ago

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Dragon: Luciel - Fae Cirrus Female

(Cirrus scroll applied on 2025-05-27) (Rabicano scroll applied on 2025-05-27) (Roan scroll applied on 2025-05-27) (Greenskeeper scroll applied on 2025-05-27)

Purchased For: 15,000 treasure Hatched On: 2025-05-01 ID: 102611135

Parentage: Ciana/Leafae Flight: Nature

Primary: Caramel Jaguar Basic Rabicano Secondary: Moss Stripes Basic Roan Tertiary: Strawberry Capsule Basic Greenskeeper Eyes: Unusual

Comments: Purchased as a mate for Lucian.

Apparel: TBD

Familiar: Cumulus Companion

Progeny Testing:

[Test] Lucian

Broods:

Mated with Lucian on 2025-05-27, 4 eggs [Clutch]

Bred with Lucian on 2025-06-16, 2 eggs [Clutch]

Crossed with Lucian on 2025-07-06, 3 eggs [Clutch]

#Luciel Dragon #Dragon Queen #Dragon Record #Cirrus Female #Cirrus Breed #Tree Dragon Pool #Ancient Breed Pool #Caramel #Rabicano #Rabicano Caramel #Moss #Roan #Roan Moss #Strawberry #Greenskeeper #Greenskeeper Strawberry #Nature Flight #Unusual #Cumulus Companion

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honeykaes · 1 year ago

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to land and sea

neuvillette x adepti!reader II 2.7k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, yandere themes, adepti!reader, reader is from fontaine, monsterfucking, pool sex, biting, creampie, cunnilingus, overstimulation, praise, hurt/comfort, angst, cucking, non consensual voyeurism, mention of blood, fontaine story spoilers, unedited

synopsis: with lanturn rite finally done, you decide to go relax at luhua pool only to find your former lover you haven’t seen in centuries confused on what your doing there.

The end of Lanturn Rite always felt freeing to you. With fewer responsibilities of protecting the harbor from threats to ruin the event, you finally had an opportunity to use your time as you saw fit—and most importantly, get away from him for a little while.

You walked along Luhua Pools, letting your bare curl themselves in the soft sand. The area was desolate from humans and adepti alike, for now, only accompanied by an occasional singing sparrow or the soft ruffles of swaying trees. You always admired the pools. The blues and faint greens of the vibrant waters always reminded you of your former homeland.

Your eyes gazed at a sparrow beginning to flap its wings heading northwest beyond the large mountains of Liyue. Your eyes softened as your smile began to falter wondering if that bird would be headed towards Fontaine.

How long has it been since you were in that nation…at home? Was there still a home there for you?

You pull the robes of your attire, folding them up and placing them on the base of a nearby tree before picking one of the smaller pools and dipping into the waters. You shivered, your body trying to adjust to the temperature before letting your body completely submerge itself in the pool.

Would the cobblestone be the same? Would the food and culture be the same?

You knew how quickly humans adapted, even in Liyue. You had already heard and witnessed Fontaine’s technological feats during this Lanturn Rite. They were the nation now leading in technology, a far cry from how things used to be when you were there.

You wondered what happened to Furina.

…To Neuvillette.

“What became of you, Neuvillette…” you whispered to yourself. Your mind spiraled trying to remember his appearance from hundreds of years ago. Did he still keep that noble shape of his?

Did the reincarnation of the former dragon sovereign still have those lilac eyes of his that softened whenever he tucked a rainbow rose in your ear?

You dipped further in the water, blowing bubbles in the salty pool before sighing once more.

“I miss you…”

A few hours pass as sunset begins to settle. Golden hour begins brightly as its rays highlight your skin as you sway your arms admiring the ripples of the water.

Swoosh.

Your eyes dart up, looking around you to search for where that strange noise is coming from. Was it him? You didn’t exactly want to deal with your lord at the moment; you had plenty of time forced at his side for Lanturn Rite.

Your eyes whipped around scanning the land, but you didn’t see anything unusual. As you moved your gaze to the sea where the various pools resided you narrowed your eyes seeing a strange blue glowing coming from beneath the waters. It was moving fast, whatever this was, was an adept swimmer.

Before you summoned your weapon and left the pool to get your clothes, you gasped watching a head pop up from where the glowing was coming from. His hair was long and as white as snow, flowing behind him like a small river adorned with two stripes of blue. His skin was pale and dewy from the water, also illuminated in gold from the sunset.

Your eyes felt misty focusing on every curve of his face: his high cheekbones, his thin rosy lips. After all these years, he kept the same form.

“Neuvillette…” you called out. You couldn’t stop those words from leaving your mouth. His head slowly turned to meet yours, eyes widening in recognition as he looked at your form in the pool.

The two of you remained frozen, drinking up each other's appearance desperate to make sure each other's eyes were not playing tricks.

His gaze softened before he soon swam near you. Water clung to his suit as he descended up to the pool you rescinded in. He kneeled near the edge, leaning down to your size.

“It’s you right? (Y/n)...” he muttered before placing his hand on your cheek. You leaned into his touch, chuckling as tears cascaded down your cheeks. The corners of his mouth curved upwards as his thumb tenderly caressed you.

“I thought the usurpers would never allow my eyes to gaze upon yours again. I should have come to this nation much sooner,” Neuvillette whispered. You shook your head, hastily wiping your tears.

“What are you doing here anyway? How’s Furina?” you asked. Neuvillette’s eyes twinged in pain, a sad smile coaxed over him as clouds began to form blocking the golden light of the sun.

“ She…freed her people of their curse. The nation of Fontaine is thriving more than ever,” he replied. He turned his head away, smile faltering, recalling the months that still haunted him.

“...Furina did? I wish Egeria lived to see it. I’m sure Furina is as happy as ever—”

”...The cost was a part of her life. She destroyed her throne for her people. She is now just a human, set to age as all others do,” he admitted. Your gaze leaves his, looking down at your bare body.

“I see…” you trailed off. Your heart ached. You wondered if she still remembered you. Both she and Neuvillette had to go through such troubles alone. You wondered if they felt abandoned by you.

You take a deep breath trying to process everything. You were even sure if you’d be able to see Furina in her human lifetime.

”I hope she didn’t think I abandoned her before she passed. I hope you didn’t either. I left to try to find a solution to our problem, asking the other Archons for their help or ideas but…I ran into trouble as you can imagine,” you whispered. The softness in Neuvillette’s eyes hardened quickly momentarily.

“If you’re in Liyue, I’m guessing it has something to do with Morax?” he asked. You ball your fist tightly beneath the water, nails harpooning against your palm before sighing and letting it go.

“I was almost killed by these..abyssal beasts and their poison before he found me. Apparently, he was familiar with my work in Fontaine. He offered his help to save my life and give me a solution to Fontaine’s problem. In desperation, I agreed. I was forced to become one of his adepti by that contract,” you revealed.

Neuvillette sighed, anger coaxing his brows but he didn’t touch further on your life with Morax.

“Shouldn’t your contract be fulfilled now that Fontaine is saved?” Neuvillette asked. You clenched your jaw, slowly shaking your head.

“...No. Our contract had been written that he had to give me the solution. By not telling me himself, our contract is now fulfilled and I’m stuck subservient to him. I tried to go back to Fontaine but…”

You sighed, pressing your lips against his soft palm resting on your cheek. You missed his touch, it always calmed you in times of uncertainty. Neuvillette’s gaze softened once more as he leaned in, pressing a kiss on your forehead.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

“I missed you more. Furina always said I looked happier whenever you were with me,” he replied. Your arms reached out, placing your hands on his cheeks. His eyes still had that same love and loneliness peeking through his long white eyelashes as you last saw them. He was the same as before…but yet different.

Whatever had happened in Fontaine had changed him.

You slowly leaned, pressing your lips against his own. The juxtaposition of the softness of his lips and the electricity igniting by his touch in your once barren veins was jarring; but yet it remained as slow and sensual, desperate to reclaim the hundreds of years they’ve been apart from.

At the moment, you two felt as though you were back in Fontaine 500 years ago, in a field of rainbow roses near the sea, promising each other everything was going to work out.

You leaned away feeling a sharp pain on your bottom lip and the taste of iron on your tongue. The haze in Neuvillette’s eyes lightened up, realizing his mistake as he tongue grazed one of his elongated canines. He cleared his throat in slight embarrassment.

“I apologize. It’s been a long time since I had these types of desires and affection,” he admitted. You smiled as your hands trailed down finding their way on his neckpiece, slowly taking it off.

“As have I,” you whispered. One by one, his articles of clothing that were soaked in seawater—adorned in the finest materials and jewels—fell onto the sand of the beach. In his nude form, he slowly dipped in the pool, joining you.

Your hands wandered through his body, admiring the sapphire scales that sometimes shined on his shoulders. As your hands gently glided on them, his body shuttered in response. He sucked a sharp breath in, feeling your hand grab his hardening cock, pumping gently.

His cock held unnatural bumps and ridges. As it grew thicker and longer in your palm, you could see the bluish tone beneath the water. This was one indication that he wasn’t human; he was the incarnation of the hydro dragon sovereign after all.

Neuvillette bit his lip hard, showing off the elongated fangs peeking through his lip. His thigh moved your leg as his hand dipped beneath the water to cup your cunt. A soft moan escaped from your lips feeling his long fingers rub between your folds before settling on your clit.

“Neuvillette,” you whimpered out. It was a forgotten melody he had missed, your voice in that tone—it brought shivers throughout his body.

His other hand, grab your hand that was wrapped around his now pulsating cock before lifting it and placing it on his chest.

”I don’t want anyone else to take you away from me…” he whispered. Neuvillette leaned in once more, pressing a soft kiss on your lips before diving beneath the water of the pool. You paused, blinking to try to process what he was up to.

“Neuvillette what are you— Oh!” you yelped. You feel his tight grip on the globe of your ass and thigh. He widened your legs, admiring the view of your quivering hole beneath the glistening light above. He leaned in, opening his mouth wide, before taking a long stripe of your cunt.

”God, I miss this taste. I always went crazy going through my ruts without getting to taste you again,” he muttered but you couldn’t hear as all that came up to the surface was bubbles. His tongue swirls against your clit, sucking the nub hard as you can feel his nails beginning to elongate and prod at the skin he clung onto.

You squirmed under his touch, trying to grind your pelvis to get any bit of friction you could to satiate your desires. Neuvillette offered a tender kiss on your clit before smiling.

”I hope you can forgive me if I become too rough..” Neuvillette murmured.

He opened his mouth again, prodding his tongue out, and soon began to grow longer and thicker in size. Pressing itself at your entrance, his elongated tongue slowly sank inside of you— shuddering at the taste of your arousal mixed with the waters of the Luhua Pools.

Your hands grabbed at his now glowing antenna on top of his head as he groaned beneath you in response. He pumped his tongue inside of you, keeping your body in place, as you tried to squirm from his touch.

Moving his grip around, he moved one hand to toy with your clit. While he rubbed tight circles along the bundle of nerves, his tongue curled against your spongy walls. You grabbed a mound of your chest, arching your back as the muffled noises of his name came from above.

Your essences flooded his tongue as Neuvillette desperately drank every drop that gushed out of you. As he slipped his tongue out of you, he left your overstimulated clit with one more kiss before lifting his upper body to the surface. You leaned against his firm chest, catching your breath.

“Was that too much…?” he whispered, pressing another kiss on top of your head. You shook your head, breath heavy as you tried to come down from your high.

”No. I want more of you Neuvillette,” you whispered, gaze half-lidded looking up at him. His thumb pressed against your bottom lip as he leaned in with a soft smile.

”Then more you shall receive,” he replied. Neuvillette lifted your chin before capturing your lips once more.

Neuvillette hooked your leg up as his cock slid itself against your puffy folds. Your body trembled as his blueish tip grazed against your clit. He soon sank his cock inside of you slowly. As he sheathed himself deeper inside, you could feel the faint burn from your walls stretching out to accommodate his large size.

His lips peppered themselves throughout your chin and neck before he finally bottomed out. Letting your leg go, you quickly wrapped your legs around his thin waist as he reached deeper inside of you.

He lifted his head, leaning in close to let his nose graze yours.

“I don’t want this moment to ever end. I loved you then, I love you now. I always will,” he whispered. You two share another kiss before he begins to move. His hips rocked as the waves rippled in the pool to his pace.

One of his large hands found a way to your ass once more, gripping it tight as he rutted against you faster. You can feel his tip curve and nudge against your cervix.

As your head lulled to the side, focusing on the pleasure ripping through your body, Neuvillette gently grabbed your chin while grunting.

”Please don’t look away…I want to burn your expression into my mind…” he softly begged. His thumb pressed against your bottom lip, wiping the drool peaking out before you gently bit down the tip of it.

Your walls fluttered, squeezing against Neuvillette’s cock pulsating and thrusting inside of you. You feel his nails sinking into the spongy flesh of your ass.

”Neuvil…ette. Neuvill—ette. Neuvillette!” you stammered out. Your eyes shut tight in pleasure, as a whine left your lips. With an inhumane growl, Neuvillette buried his face into your neck, cock throbbing inside of you before his hips began to falter.

Tears pricked your eyes as you clung to him tighter, crying out his name. Your walls clamped down, quivering as you climaxed. Neuvillette struggled to continue, his ruts getting slower and sloppier.

With a few thrusts, he shuttered, holding you tight as he emptied himself inside of you. You could feel globs of his thick cum filling you up as he gently bucked inside of you, nursing himself from your high.

You kept your eyes closed. Sweat clung to your forehead as you tried to catch your breath. Neuvillette lifted his head from the nape of your neck admiring your look. Just as he gently caressed your cheek, his eyes narrowed, noticing an odd sigil glowing that wasn’t there before.

A Geo sigil.

Neuvillette held you tight, shielding your form as he watched a man emerge from behind you in silence.

”I thought avoiding you would have been the best situation, but to think you’d find them…” the formerly known god as Morax murmured with a practiced saccharine smile on his face.

Neuvillette was thankful your back was to him. His golden eyes were slitted in pindrops and glowing in envy. He was trying to hold his anger back.

”The Usurper Morax, know this: I’m done with you all taking things that don’t belong to you,” Neuvillette stated, narrowing his eyes.

Zhongli simply put his hand behind himself, closing his eyes as he pondered Neuvillette’s words momentarily before a soft chuckle left his lips.

“And that’s where you're wrong. Although you control the notion of justice, I still have authority over contracts,” Zhongli replied. His eyes opened, much colder than before. The earth began to shake slightly—a warning of what he was still capable of.

“You got a taste of your desires. Now, you should head back to your newly settled nation. I don’t think after such conflicts, a war is what you would look to have. No?”

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette smut #neuvillette imagines #neuvillette scenarios #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader

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majestyeverlasting · 9 months ago

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𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Paring Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary In the wake of a storm, you seek out Eddie because he gives the best hugs and may be the only person in Hawkins who has the answers you need [fluff, 2.1k]

A/N Eddie didn’t come back wrong. Not in the way you’re thinking, at least. But he does hear things from time to time…

The sweet scent of wet earth lingers inescapably as you pedal, bike wheels whirring softly as they weave around potholes filled with rain. The familiar stillness that follows every storm has settled over Hawkins. Cool droplets fall from tree branches onto your skin, contrasting the warm fall air. With the wind at your face, the heaviness in your chest begins to lift as you travel further from home.

When you arrive, rain drips from the Forest Hills entrance sign. The old, chipped wood has survived years of vandalism and wear. Puddles of water have collected on the gravel road, and colorful toys have sunken into muddy portions of front yards. The closer you get to Eddie’s trailer, the more you hear muffled music permeating from within the four walls.

The lights are on, visible through the curtains. It isn’t until you’re close enough to dismount your ride that you realize you’re hearing Ozzy Osbourne. Eddie’s voice passionately joins in as the chorus circles back around, a smile pulling at your lips as you rest your bike against his trailer.

The moment you knock on the door, he quiets. There’s brief shuffling, then purposeful footsteps until he’s finally swinging it open. The way his eyebrows shoot up at the sight of you is comical. A guitar solo pours out to greet you as well.

His curly hair is pulled back in a low, messy bun and a black pair of pajama pants ride his hips. Every time you see him, there seem to be more designs inked across his pale skin. They’re down his arms, splayed across his chest. The dragon was your favorite of them all. Snaked along the side of his rib cage with its mouth bared, shielding a splotch of scars.

“You’re goin’ off the rails, huh?” There’s a playful lilt to your voice as you quote the lyrics back to him, tilting your head.

His cheeks flush as he opens the door wider for you, your perfume wafting as you walk in. “Every day of my life—fuck me, I can’t believe you heard all that,” he groans, running a hand down his face.

After shutting the door, he turns off the stereo. You sigh as you toe off your vans and take a relaxed look around the small space. With Crazy Train having come to an end, you can hear the TV quietly droning about the possibility of more rain.

For as much as there was that changed in the world, this place seldom did. With its warm lamplight and eternal coziness. The air smelled of pine, underscored with smoke. Even the mug shelves and baseball caps hanging on the walls have stood the test of time.

When your eyes meet again, he offers a boyish grin that settles under your skin. “Wasn’t expecting your pretty face today.” He tucks some wispy flyaways behind his ears.

“Sorry I didn’t call first,” you say. “I just needed to get out of the house...needed to see you.” Eddie doesn’t miss the brief shadow that flickers in your eyes, as though another thought is protesting from a cage in the back of your mind.

As much as he’s tempted, he doesn’t coax it out. “Nothing wrong with a good ol’ change of scenery.” He lifts his brows in that charming way of his. “Not that this is the Four Seasons or anything—”

Before he knows it, your arms are around him. A hum vibrates through his chest as you tuck your nose into the warmth of his skin. As he hugs you in return, the remaining tension melts right from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. Once he’s sure you’re feeling better, he starts rocking from side to side until your smile slips through.

You try to pull away, but he only squeezes tighter. “Eddie,” you whine through a giddy laugh.

“Nope, you’ve gotta commit now,” he quips. “I don’t make the rules, angel.” Hearing that, you relax into him, exhaling at the playfulness and familiarity of his embrace.

“How do you do it?” You murmur into him like he’s some sort of magic.

He smooths his palm up your back, gently massaging at the base of your neck. “Do what?”

“Make everything better,” you whisper, feeling the rest of your worries dissolve under his touch.

A weak chuckle rumbles through his chest as he pulls back to look at you. The honesty in your eyes makes him feel like he’s an imposter. Like he’s somehow got you fooled. “I don’t know about everything...”

Life has been different since the Upside Down. There were scars from that day that were never going to fade, engraved beyond skin deep. It was the voices from before, the rumors and taunts, that made him feel like he was that same punk teenager who corrupted everything he touched. Like being himself was innately wrong.

It was hard to believe that someone like you genuinely enjoyed his company, found him helpful, thought he was good. But he was getting better about it because he didn’t make it this far for those old voices to hold the same power. These days, new voices echoed around him, not confined to memories but strikingly real, intimately near. Never unkind, just disembodied and drifting through the in-between.

They didn’t scare him anymore. He learned when to listen and when to tune them out. Something was bound to follow after he crawled his way back to the land of the living. Nevertheless, he’s grateful for a second chance at life. If things had ended any differently, he never would’ve seen how much better things could get—or cross paths with you.

You think for a moment before speaking up again, “Then we’ll agree to disagree.”

Eddie takes your chin between his forefinger and thumb, eyes flitting over your face in awe. You grow shy under his gaze, and that’s when he leans in to kiss you, his plush lips soft and slow. A satisfied sound rises in your throat as you trail your hands along his waist, feeling the different textures of his scarred skin beneath your fingertips.

Caught up in the warmth of your mouth and the pleasant stirring in his gut, he doesn’t feel you pull the elastic from his hair, letting it cascade down over his shoulders. However, he smiles at the feeling of your fingertips gently scratching his scalp.

“I got something for you,” he eventually whispers, pecking your lips one last time before heading to his bedroom.

Butterflies dance in your stomach as you trail after him, toying with the hem of your shirt. You take a seat on the foot of his bed, watching him saunter to his nightstand, humming under his breath. Your eyes drift to the dagger tattooed between his shoulder blades, the blade descending a short way down his spine.

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, turning back around with something hidden behind his back. Eddie snickers as he approaches, your eyes adorably shut. It’s a contagious sound. The bed dips as he takes a seat, his thigh pressing against yours.

He taps your nose with something soft, prompting you to open your eyes.

It’s a small stuffed ghost with two black buttons for eyes, and an even smaller one for a mouth. You’re quiet as you take it from him, thoughtfully turning it over in your hands. Shaped like a comma, it has two adorable arms raised up from the sides. Faint stitching is visible along the perimeter like it was homemade. Eddie shifts and scratches the back of his neck, unsure how to interpret your silence.

A smile finally breaks across your face. “He’s adorable. Where’d you get him?”

Eddie runs a relieved hand through his hair. “You’re not gonna believe me, but Wayne and I went to visit Ruth in the nursing home the other day. You remember her? The lady who used to live a couple trailers down.” You nod, encouraging him to continue. “They happened to be having one of those activity days where someone comes in to lead a craft or whatever…“

“And you stayed?”

He kisses your cheek. “Bingo.” Then his voice grows fond. “All I could think about was making one for you.”

Warmth spreads throughout your chest. “I’m gonna name him Ghostie.“

The distant sound of a car door shutting makes you jump and look towards the window. Eddie almost laughs, but stops himself at the way your shoulders slump in dejection. Like you’re upset at yourself for reacting.

He leans in, talking carefully, “You alright?” You shake your head in dismissal, but his attentiveness doubles down. “Talk to me, Goose.”

The reference makes you smile, and you nudge him for it. “I’ve just been a little on edge.” There’s something else you want to add, but don’t. Eddie’s ready to prod it out this time around, but you’re quick to tap his nose with the stuffed ghost. “I might just be going off the rails like you and Ozzy.”

He huffs an amused breath. “Not gonna let that go, huh?”

“Never.”

•••

The rain starts back up again. Slowly, before pattering down harsher against the roof. By then, you’ve already eaten dinner and settled on the couch for Beetlejuice, the sun long set. Eddie’s arm rests over your shoulders as you lay asleep in his lap, Ghostie tucked into the crook of your elbow. He had a feeling things would end up this way.

When he shakes with a chuckle at yet another wacky scene, you stir. He doesn’t realize until you shift with a soft hum. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he practically coos, squeezing your shoulder.

“How dare you laugh and be amused.” Your voice is soft and groggy in that way he adores.

“I know, I’m awful,” he agrees with feigned gravity. “Gotta go turn myself in. Tell the kids I love them.” You snort as you sit up, snuggling into his side with Ghostie in your lap.

The lights flicker as a strong gust of wind blows outside. A concerned furrow forms between his brows at the way you gasp and stiffen. This jumpiness is unlike you. He rubs your arm in hopes of loosening you up, but darkness promptly envelopes the room. You can hardly see aside from mere outlines.

The sides of the trailer creak as the wind continues, a bit fiercer than before. Eddie curses under his breath at the inconvenience, while you’ve grown even more rigid and silent. There’s a false glimmer of hope when the lights briefly flicker, but darkness soon prevails again.

“It’s okay,” Eddie assures, pulling you closer. “Wind’s just disturbing the lines. They’ll be back on in a second.” The lights flicker before dying out again.

Tears well in your eyes. Your voice wavers as you speak, “Eddie?”

“I’m here,” he assures. “I’ll go grab a flash—”

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Now it's his turn to still. It’s not a foreign question, not by a longshot. It’s one that was peppered throughout his childhood, and always returned in the later half of every year when the nights began to grow a little longer. It’s the sound of your voice that sets it apart this time around. You’re not seeking an answer for fun or on a whim. You’re searching for a second opinion. Deep down you knew, out of every other soul in Hawkins, he’d have one to give. No one came back from the Upside Down without a few ties that lingered.

He’s quiet for a while, the sound of wind and rain filling the space between you.

“It’s not a matter of belief,” he finally says, swallowing hard. “If something’s real—God, Satan, ghosts, whatever…” he pauses. “It’ll keep existing whether you believe it does or not.”

“So do you think…are ghosts real?” He can’t see your attentiveness, but he can hear it.

He chuckles humorlessly, blindly taking your hand in his so you know he’s not making fun of you or messing around.

The two of you start talking at the same time, “I—”

“Can feel them,” you breathe. “At my house. It started a few days ago after you left.”

Like he may have left them behind.

The lights stutter back on as the TV bursts back to life, somehow picking right back up. Eddie reaches for the remote and turns it off, his finger lingering on the button. When his attention settles back on you, there’s a sense of disbelief in his dark eyes, like he’s looking into a mirror for the first time in a while.

“Feel them?” he slowly repeats, searching your gaze for more.

“Hear their voices... like soft whispers,” you continue. “So I know they’re real.”

There’s a thoughtful beat of silence.

“Me too.”

Thanks for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #halloween 2024 #joseph quinn #stranger things s4

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heartsiebyul · 1 month ago

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Holy shish kabob you get requests out so fast is there any way i could request shy reader x malleus its fine if not thank you anyway

Malleus Draconia x Shy! Reader

Soft Words Beneath the Stars

It was well past curfew when you found yourself sitting again beneath the massive, ancient tree in the Diasomnia courtyard. The moonlight pooled like silver ink at your feet, and the cool night air was thick with the scent of blooming nightshade and jasmine.

You weren’t sure why you came out here. Maybe it was the stillness. Maybe you wanted to be alone… but not too alone.

"Ah… there you are."

You startled slightly, a quiet squeak escaping your throat as you turned to see Malleus Draconia approaching from the shadowed pathway. His tall, imposing figure should’ve frightened you—he was the Crown Prince of Briar Valley, after all. But something about his presence always made you feel more seen than scared.

“I did not mean to startle you,” he said softly, halting a few steps away, gaze warm. “You often come here when the moon is full.”

“I—uh…” Your voice caught. You swallowed, looking down at your hands. “I… didn’t think anyone would notice…”

Malleus tilted his head thoughtfully. “I notice you often.”

Your heart skipped. Did he mean that the way it sounded?

The silence stretched. You wanted to speak—to say anything—but words felt sticky in your throat. You were never good at talking, especially not with someone so... magnificent. Every glance from him made your face feel too warm, your words too clumsy.

“Is it alright if I sit with you?” he asked.

You nodded, quickly scooting aside, your fingers digging nervously into the hem of your jacket. He lowered himself beside you with the fluid grace of a dragon in flight. Then, for a while, there was only silence. But it wasn’t heavy. Not uncomfortable.

“You don’t speak much,” he murmured, voice like low thunder wrapped in velvet. “But I find your silences rather soothing.”

You blinked, surprised. “...Really?”

“Mm. Most seek me out to flatter or fear me. But you… you don’t force yourself to speak. You simply are.” He turned to look at you, green eyes glowing faintly in the dark. “I like that.”

You felt your cheeks blaze. “I… I like being around you too.”

His smile was slow, gentle. “Would it be too forward if I asked to hold your hand?”

Your breath caught. You looked down at your lap, your fingers twitching uncertainly… before slowly—so slowly—you offered your hand to him.

His fingers curled around yours, warm and firm. You didn’t speak after that. You didn’t need to.

And for the first time in a while, your silence wasn’t a burden. It was a gift. One he cherished.

#twst #twst fluff #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst disney #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus draconia

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novaursa · 11 months ago

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A Union of Ice and Fire

- Summary: After your mother, Queen Rhaenyra, approves of the marriage between you and Cregan Stark, you marry under watchful eyes of gods of old. And one week later, a raven arrives carrying dark news.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is only daughter of Rhaenyra and her second born child. The reader is also a dragonrider. These events happen right after The Dragon and The Wolf. For the full list of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 663

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @21-princess

- A/N: since the last part have gotten more then a hundred likes in less then 24 hours, here is the continuation of it. Your guys are awesome. I have not slept for days as I'm trying to push everything out on schedule, but you are making it all worth it. ❤️

The godswood is still beneath a canopy of winter's fading touch, its ancient weirwood tree standing tall and ominous. The red leaves shift in the cold wind, whispering the secrets of ancient times as you, Y/N Velaryon, stand before it. You can feel the eyes of the old gods upon you, watching from within the carved face, its mouth twisted in a silent scream. The eyes of the heart tree, pools of deep crimson, look upon you with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

You are dressed in the finest gown Winterfell could muster—one that suits both a dragon’s daughter and the lady you are to become. Your gown is silver and red, reminiscent of your lineage, shimmering in the dim light of the godswood. Your silver hair, braided with strands of black wool, cascades down your back, and a simple circlet rests on your brow, a mark of your high birth and future station as the Lady of Winterfell. You feel the weight of history and duty pressing down on you, yet within that weight lies a spark of something new—a bond forged with the North and the man who now stands beside you.

Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, is a figure of rugged strength, his presence commanding yet not overbearing. He wears a heavy black fur cloak over his dark grey tunic, the stark wolf sigil prominent across his broad chest. His dark hair is tied back, exposing the harsh lines of his face—his strong jaw and storm-grey eyes that have a softness only you seem to have unlocked. Though his expression remains solemn, the corners of his mouth twitch as he glances at you, the unspoken warmth between you growing stronger with every passing moment.

You stand together in front of the weirwood, surrounded by the Northern lords who had pledged their loyalty to your mother. Despite their stern faces, there is respect in their eyes. These are not men given to idle chatter or false pleasantries. They value loyalty, honor, and oaths—things your union represents.

The wind howls softly through the trees as the words are spoken. An elderly man, one of the old greybeards Cregan trusts, steps forward to perform the ceremony. He bears the weight of tradition in his voice as he begins, "Before the eyes of gods and men, here in the presence of the Old Gods, we witness the union of Lord Cregan Stark and Lady Y/N Velaryon."

The words reverberate through the godswood as the old gods bear silent witness to this union. You feel the chill of the North seeping into your bones, but beside you, Cregan’s warmth is a constant presence. He takes your hand, his grip firm yet gentle, a silent vow of protection and partnership. You look up at him, catching his eye, and in that moment, everything else fades away—the whispers of the leaves, the weight of duty, even the biting cold.

He speaks his vow, his voice deep and resonant, “By the laws of gods and men, I take you, Y/N Velaryon, as my wife. In the warmth of summer and the depths of winter, I am yours.” His eyes remain locked on yours, and there is no doubt in his words—only sincerity.

You return the vow, your voice clear and strong despite the flutter of emotions within you. “I take you, Cregan Stark, as my husband. I am yours in joy and sorrow, in strength and weakness, until the last breath leaves my body.”

With those words, you feel a binding, something deeper than mere words can convey—a connection woven with the strength of dragon and wolf, the blood of Targaryen and Stark, old and new. The old gods seem to hum in approval, the wind growing still for just a breath as if the gods themselves acknowledge your vows.

A simple silver ring is placed upon your finger, and you do the same for him with a band of dark steel, forged in the cold depths of the North. The greybeard raises his hands to the sky, sealing your vows. “It is done. By the Old Gods, let this union be blessed.”

Cregan leans in, his breath warm against your cold cheeks, and presses his lips to yours—your first kiss as husband and wife. His kiss is firm and sure, unyielding yet tender, a promise in itself. The lords of the North around you nod in approval, murmuring words of congratulations, and you are aware of the new title you carry now: Lady Stark of Winterfell.

The feast is held in the Great Hall, warmth radiating from the roaring hearths. The long tables are set with rich food—roasted meats, thick stews, and dark bread—simple fare compared to what you’ve known in King’s Landing, but rich in flavor and warmth. The hall echoes with laughter, the booming voices of the North pleased with this rare celebration in the harshest season.

You sit beside Cregan at the high table, your hand resting near his, fingers occasionally brushing as you speak with those who come to offer their congratulations. The conversation flows easily now, the tension of duty replaced with the comfort of companionship. Cregan leans in at one point, speaking low enough that only you can hear. “I never expected that a dragon would bring warmth to Winterfell, but here you are.”

You smile softly, feeling that warmth within you too. “And I never imagined the North could feel like home,” you reply, and there is truth in your words. Despite the cold stone of the castle, there’s a fire kindling here, one that grows every time your gaze meets his.

As the night deepens and the mead flows freely, the toasts begin. The lords raise their cups, shouting their oaths of loyalty to House Stark and to the new Lady of Winterfell. Cregan raises his cup as well, his voice clear over the noise, “To my wife, Y/N, who brings fire to this cold land. May our union stand as strong as the walls of Winterfell and burn as bright as the flames of a dragon.”

The hall erupts in cheers, and you lift your cup in return, the warmth of the mead settling in your chest. Your gaze meets Cregan’s again, and this time, the unspoken promise between you is undeniable.

This is just the beginning—a union of ice and fire, of dragon and wolf. And as you take another sip, the sound of laughter and joy surrounding you, you can’t help but feel that, together, you might just weather whatever storms the gods have yet to send your way.

The Great Hall of Winterfell buzzes with life as the feast reaches its height. The low, flickering light from the blazing hearths casts dancing shadows over stone walls, illuminating the gathering of lords, bannermen, and their kin. The long tables are laden with Northern fare—boar roasted to perfection, trout caught fresh from icy rivers, steaming bowls of mutton stew, and bread so dark and hearty it could sustain a man through the longest winter. Jugs of spiced mead and strong ale are passed freely, filling cups to the brim. The warmth of the hearths contrasts sharply with the cold that clings outside, yet the room feels alive with the camaraderie of the North.

You sit at the high table, beside your new husband, Lord Cregan Stark. The feast is different from the courtly banquets you grew up with. There is little of the polished elegance and courtly games found in King’s Landing—no fine silk hangings or delicate dishes of fruit and honey. Instead, the feast here is raw and primal, filled with the hearty laughter of men and women who understand that life is a harsh, fleeting gift, to be savored when they can.

The Northern customs are as stern as the land itself. Men challenge one another to bouts of strength, arm wrestling contests, and tests of drink—seeing who can down the most ale without falling over. Women engage in singing competitions, their voices strong and clear, carrying the melodies of old Northern ballads. There’s a rugged, unrefined beauty in the festivities, a sense of unity born from shared hardship and deep-rooted traditions.

A few of the Greybeards who pledged to your cause earlier have gathered near the hearth, exchanging old tales of battles and victories. Occasionally, their eyes glance your way, nodding approvingly, as though silently acknowledging the part you now play in their world.

As the night deepens, you feel the weight of more eyes upon you, lords and ladies watching with growing anticipation. The atmosphere shifts subtly, laughter and talk giving way to murmurs. You can almost sense it coming—the bedding.

The first to raise the call is Lord Umber, his face flushed from drink, his booming voice ringing out across the hall. “It’s time!” he bellows, slamming his fist on the table. “Bring out the bride and groom to the bed! Let’s show the lady how it’s done in the North!”

The hall erupts with cheers and laughter, the men pounding their fists on the tables, ready to tear away the finery and see the marriage consummated in the rough, loud tradition of the North. A few women cackle, egging the men on, while others smirk knowingly.

You tense instinctively, your eyes darting to Cregan. You see the storm flash in his grey eyes, a deep frown pulling at his features. He stands, and the hall quiets, expecting him to give in to the custom, to allow the lords their entertainment. Instead, he raises a hand, his voice cutting through the din like a sharp blade. “There will be no bedding tonight.”

A ripple of disbelief courses through the crowd, followed quickly by grumbles of dissatisfaction. Lord Umber, unsteady on his feet, glares at Cregan with drunken indignation. “What’s this, Lord Stark? Denying tradition? Are we to let the lady keep her gown on, untouched and unproven?”

Cregan’s gaze hardens. His voice remains calm, but there is steel beneath the words. “I am Lord of Winterfell, and I will not have my wife paraded like some prize sow for your amusement. The old gods have blessed our union, and that is enough.” His tone brooks no argument, and a dangerous quiet settles over the hall.

Lord Bolton leans forward, his voice dripping with condescension. “It’s not the way things are done, Stark. We’ve had our feast, our drink, and now we demand our right to the bedding ceremony.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you stand beside Cregan, lifting your chin proudly. “There will be no ceremony, and I stand with my lord husband in this. I am not some maid to be stripped and gawked at for your sport. If any man thinks he can force his will upon us, then he can come forward now and see what the Midnight Fury and Winterfell’s wolves think of it.”

The hall falls utterly silent. Your words, carrying a trace of the Valyrian fire that flows in your blood, hang in the air. The image of your dragon, Thraxata, looms over their thoughts, the Midnight Fury’s violet eyes mirroring yours. Your defiance reminds them that you are no meek Southern bride, but a daughter of House Velaryon, with the blood of Rhaenyra Targaryen in your veins.

Cregan’s hand subtly brushes yours under the table, a silent reassurance. His voice, now low and firm, cuts through the tension. “Any man who wishes to question me can take it up tomorrow in the courtyard. We can settle it with steel if words are not enough. But tonight, I will not have my bride humiliated.”

Several of the lords look away, muttering into their cups. Lord Umber slumps back into his seat, cursing under his breath. None are fool enough to challenge Cregan, not with his hand already resting on the hilt of his sword.

One of the women, Lady Mormont, raises her cup with a grin. “Well spoken, Lady Y/N. I’d wager no man here could match your fire, dragon-born as you are.” Her toast is echoed by a few others, and slowly, the hall returns to its revelry, though the grumbling doesn’t entirely fade.

You share a look with Cregan, a silent understanding passing between you. He inclines his head slightly, a ghost of a smile on his lips, before he stands again, addressing the hall. “The night grows late. My lady and I will take our leave. Enjoy the rest of the feast.” With that, he offers you his arm, and together, you leave the hall.

As you exit the Great Hall, the distant sounds of merriment and music follow you down the stone corridors of Winterfell. The cold air bites at your cheeks, but you feel warmth bloom in your chest as Cregan’s hand covers yours, holding it close. He leads you through the winding halls, the firelight casting long shadows along the ancient stones.

When you reach your chambers, Cregan pauses at the door, turning to face you fully. There’s a softness in his eyes now, the hard edge he wore in the hall melted away. “Thank you,” he says quietly, his voice warm and sincere. “For standing with me back there.”

You squeeze his hand gently, meeting his gaze with a smile. “We stand together now, Cregan. In all things.”

He nods, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Then let’s face whatever comes next together—wolf and dragon, side by side.”

With that, he opens the door, and you step inside, ready to begin the next chapter of your shared life in the North. As the door closes behind you, the echoes of the feast are left behind, and all that remains is the quiet of the night and the warmth of the partnership you’ve begun to forge together.

The chamber is dimly lit by the soft glow of a single hearth fire, shadows dancing across the stone walls. The furs piled atop the bed emit a faint, musky scent of the North. The air is heavy with the lingering warmth of the feast, yet there is a different tension in this room—a tension born not of duty or politics, but of anticipation.

Cregan’s eyes are on you, dark and intense as he moves closer, the depth of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. There’s no rush in his movements, only a measured patience as he approaches you, one hand gently cupping your face, thumb brushing your cheek. His touch is warm against your cool skin, rough from years of sword work yet unexpectedly tender now. He studies you as if memorizing every detail—the gleam of your violet eyes, the curve of your lips, and the cascade of silver hair that falls around you like moonlight.

"You’re certain?" he murmurs, searching your gaze one last time, his voice a rumble that’s both reassuring and laced with a restrained hunger.

You lift your chin, meeting his eyes with unwavering confidence. “I’m no fragile maiden, Cregan. I won’t break. I know what I want, and I want you.”

There’s no fear in your gaze, only want—raw, unfiltered, and clear as dragonfire. A dark chuckle escapes him, his fingers tracing down the side of your neck, making your breath hitch. “Dragon’s blood runs in your veins. I should’ve known better than to treat you like some delicate thing.” There’s admiration in his voice now, mingling with desire.

He moves behind you, fingers deft as they untie the laces of your gown, the fabric slipping from your shoulders with a whisper. You don’t shy away, holding his gaze in the reflection of the mirror across the room as he lets the gown fall to the floor. The firelight catches the contours of your body, accentuating the smooth planes of your skin. You stand bare before him, unabashed and fierce, a vision of Valyrian beauty—both alien and mesmerizing in this land of cold stone and shadow.

Cregan’s eyes darken as they roam over you, a mix of reverence and primal hunger in his gaze. “You’re a sight to behold, Y/N. Fierce and untamed—a dragon among wolves.” His words are heavy with the desire he’s been holding back, and there’s a certain awe in how he takes you in, as though every curve and line is something to be worshiped.

You reach out, tugging at his tunic, impatient now. “Enough staring, my lord. I need you.”

There’s a flash of amusement in his eyes, quickly followed by understanding. He obliges, undressing with practiced efficiency, discarding his layers until there’s nothing between you but the warmth of your shared desire. His body is strong, every muscle honed from the harsh life of the North, but it’s his eyes—dark, stormy, and focused solely on you—that make your pulse quicken.

When he finally steps forward, he pulls you into a kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s heated, his lips firm against yours, claiming and giving in equal measure. You answer with equal fervor, fingers threading through his dark hair, pulling him closer, wanting more. The kiss is a battle of wills—passionate, wild, neither of you holding anything back.

His hands move to your hips, lifting you with an ease that speaks of his strength. He carries you to the bed, laying you down on the soft furs as he leans over you, his weight pressing against you in a way that feels comforting, possessive, and thrilling all at once.

His hand trails down your thigh as he settles between your legs, eyes locked onto yours as he positions himself. There’s a pause, a moment where he searches your face for any sign of hesitation, but all he finds is your unwavering gaze, filled with want and a flicker of challenge.

“Hold on to me,” he whispers, his voice rough as he begins to push forward, entering you with a deliberate slowness. There’s a sharp sting as he breaks through your maidenhead, but you bite down on your lip, refusing to flinch. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him close, adjusting to the sensation as he stills, giving you time to accommodate the fullness.

His forehead rests against yours, breath ragged as he murmurs, “Easy… I don’t want to hurt you.”

The pain gradually subsides, replaced by a deeper ache that burns with need. You move your hips slightly, testing the new feeling, and when you find pleasure laced within the discomfort, you whisper, “Move, Cregan. I can take it.”

He grins, a low, appreciative sound rumbling in his chest as he begins to move, slow at first, letting you guide the rhythm. The first few thrusts are measured, careful, but soon the pace quickens as the heat between you builds. You meet him thrust for thrust, each movement sending a jolt of pleasure through you, until the initial discomfort fades entirely, replaced by a growing intensity that coils in your belly.

You clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you encourage him to go faster, harder. “More,” you gasp, voice breathy as you ride the wave of sensation. He obliges without hesitation, his control slipping as the primal side of him takes over.

It’s wild and untamed, your bodies moving together in a rhythm as old as time itself. The room is filled with the sounds of your shared passion—breathless moans, the rustle of furs, the slap of skin against skin. There’s no pretense, no holding back. It’s raw, a clash of fire and ice, of dragon and wolf.

Cregan’s grip tightens on your hips as he drives deeper, his breathing harsh and ragged. “Gods, Y/N, you’re—” He breaks off, unable to finish as he loses himself in the pleasure, his focus entirely on you, on your gasps and the way you move beneath him.

You arch against him, chasing the rising tide within you, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. “Don’t stop,” you pant, your voice a breathless plea.

When your release finally crashes over you, it’s powerful, your entire body tensing as you cry out his name, fingers digging into his back. The sensation is overwhelming, pleasure radiating outwards as you tighten around him. Cregan’s control shatters as he follows you over the edge, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he spills inside you, his pace faltering, then stilling as he buries himself fully in you.

For a moment, the world is nothing but the sound of your shared breaths, harsh and uneven, as you both come down from the intensity. He collapses beside you, pulling you against him, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.

You’re both silent for a long while, simply savoring the closeness. Eventually, Cregan presses a kiss to your forehead, his voice a low murmur in the quiet room. “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed, Y/N.”

You smile against his chest, content in the afterglow. “And you’re everything I knew I wanted.”

The night stretches out before you, the fire crackling softly, and for now, there’s only warmth—no cold, no politics, no war—just the shared comfort of two souls bound by desire and destiny. As you drift into sleep in his arms, you can’t help but feel that this is just the beginning of something wild and fierce, something that can withstand even the harshest of winters.

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows across the snow-covered courtyards of Winterfell. The icy air bites at your cheeks as you walk through the godswood, hand in hand with Cregan. The week since your marriage has passed in a blur of quiet moments, shared laughter, and the gradual weaving of your lives together. In those precious days, you’ve come to find comfort in the North’s cold embrace, and in the steady presence of the man who has proven himself to be more than just your husband—he is your equal, your partner, your anchor in this unfamiliar land.

But that newfound warmth shatters with the arrival of the raven.

You’re back in the Great Hall, lingering by the hearth, when the doors creak open. A servant rushes in, holding a sealed scroll. You don’t need to see the wax to know who sent it—your heart tells you. The servant approaches, bowing low as he hands the message to you. The dark wax bears the three-headed dragon of your house, sealing the words of your mother, Queen Rhaenyra.

You break the seal with trembling fingers, your pulse quickening with a nameless dread. Cregan stands beside you, his brow furrowed as he watches your face closely. He knows by the change in your expression that whatever this message holds, it isn’t good.

The words on the parchment seem to blur as your eyes scan over them, each line a knife driven into your chest:

Lucerys Velaryon is dead. My sweet boy was slain by Aemond Targaryen, along with his dragon, Arrax. He did not survive the fall into the storms of Shipbreaker Bay.

The world tilts beneath you, and it’s as though the breath has been stolen from your lungs. Your vision narrows, the words echoing in your mind until they’re the only thing you can hear. Lucerys is dead. The little brother you helped raise, who smiled so sweetly, who always looked up to you with those wide eyes filled with trust and affection—he’s gone, stolen away by your cousin’s cruelty and Vhagar’s monstrous power.

Your hand loosens, and the letter slips from your grasp, fluttering to the ground. You’re dimly aware of Cregan’s hand on your shoulder, his voice low and steady, calling your name. “Y/N? What is it?” But you can’t form the words. The grief wells up inside you, sharp and overwhelming, until it’s too much to hold back.

Your knees buckle, and suddenly you’re sinking to the floor, your body trembling uncontrollably. Tears blur your vision, hot and relentless, as sobs tear from your throat. It’s not the delicate, quiet grief of a lady; it’s raw and fierce, like the storm you imagine your brother faced in his final moments. The cry that escapes your lips is a mixture of pain and rage, the sound reverberating through the Great Hall, silencing all who might hear.

Cregan is at your side in an instant, dropping to his knees, pulling you into his arms. “Y/N, what happened? Tell me—what did the message say?” His voice is firm, but you can hear the worry in it. He’s never seen you like this, never seen you break. You’ve always been the dragon’s daughter—strong, unyielding. But right now, you feel like nothing more than a shattered, grieving sister.

You choke out the words between sobs, your hands clutching at his tunic as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the world. “My brother… Lucerys… He’s dead. Aemond… Aemond killed him. He’s gone, Cregan. My little brother is gone.”

Cregan’s arms tighten around you as he processes what you’ve said. For a long moment, he’s silent, his jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with anger. When he finally speaks, there’s a steel in his voice that matches the ice in his veins. “The bastard. Aemond will answer for this kinslaying. I swear it.” But even his promise of vengeance can’t reach you through the fog of your grief.

You bury your face in his chest, letting the tears flow freely, uncaring of who might see. You’ve lost people before—friends, kin—but this is different. This is your brother, your sweet Lucerys, who still had so much life ahead of him. He was just a boy, trying to do his duty, and he was cut down for it. The injustice of it burns like acid in your veins.

Cregan doesn’t let go, even as your sobs wrack your body. He holds you through it all, his large hands rubbing soothing circles on your back, his presence a steady rock amidst the storm of your grief. He whispers soft words meant to comfort, though you barely register them, lost in your sorrow. “I’m here,” he murmurs. “I’m here, and I won’t let you face this alone.”

Minutes pass—or maybe it’s hours—before the tears finally subside, leaving you hollow and exhausted. You pull back slightly, looking up at Cregan with tear-streaked eyes. There’s no judgment in his gaze, only unwavering support and a simmering rage on your behalf. His thumb gently wipes away the last of your tears, his expression softening.

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” he says quietly. “I know the North is not your home, but I am. I will stand with you, no matter what comes next. We’ll face it—ice and fire, dragon and wolf. Aemond will pay for what he’s done.”

You swallow hard, nodding, though your voice is barely above a whisper when you finally speak. “We’ll make them pay, Cregan. For Lucerys, for my mother’s grief… for all of it.”

There’s a hardness in your words now, a resolve born from the depths of your pain. You may be grieving, but beneath that grief lies a core of molten steel—a fire that won’t be quenched until justice is done.

Cregan leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, grounding you in the warmth of his presence. “When the time comes, we’ll fight—together. Until then, rest. You’re stronger than you know, Y/N.”

You nod, though the weariness of grief still clings to you. With Cregan’s help, you rise to your feet, your legs shaky but steady enough to stand. As you take a deep breath, you feel the fire rekindling within you, fueled by the love you have for your family and the support of the man who now stands at your side.

You may have broken in this moment, but you won’t stay broken. You are a daughter of House Velaryon, a granddaughter of House Targaryen. You are forged in fire, and though grief threatens to consume you, it also gives you strength.

The war has only begun, and you’ll see it through. For your brother. For your family. For all those who stand with you.

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen #cregan x y/n #cregan x you #hotd cregan #cregan x reader #cregan stark #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #house stark #house targaryen #house velaryon

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xoxo-surfergirl · 7 months ago

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dawn of winter

aemond targaryen x fem!stark!reader

abstract: just moons ago, the realm was at peace and you were stealing kisses with aemond in the red keep. now, the dance of the dragons has begun, aemond has arrived at winterfell knowing your brother would bend to rhaenyra, and nothing feels certain. themes: winter vibes, lovers to enemies to lovers, light smut, romance, angst (because they enemies!), forbidden romance if you squint, hand stuff, you are lady stark, aemond goes for what he wants, the northman not being happy abt it

lucy's notes: ao3 link. just a little something for the new year :) the north is cold and that is my holiday connection 😤 (that's what i'm telling myself because I really wanted to write SOMETHING for this time of year but didn't fully know what). jacaerys did not leave for his mission quick enough and aemond beat him to winterfell 🫢 cregan still hates him tho. and since aemond didn't go to the stormlands lucerys lives too. this will probably be a one shot, though I started a short epilogue which might be posted. it's just an excuse for romance and vibes. i hope you enjoy this story! any interaction is deeply appreciated <3

word count: 7.2k

What little sun there was fettered a white glow in the ever-churning snowfall. The winds of winter had begun their journey south from beyond the wall just a few moons ago, but their strength had built furiously since then. The treetops hadn’t seen a pale morning’s dawn in over three moons, and the wolf’s choir had grown in numbers near Moat Cailin. The elders of Wintertown had spoken of a harsh winter then, noting the heavy fog in late summer, thicker tails on the burrow rats, and tougher skins on the onions.

It had certainly come. The storm that had hung low over Winterfell, carrying all the way from Castle Cerwyn to Deepwood Motte, had settled thick winds and heavy snows on every stone, tree, and fort. And to mark the special occasion, the Great Hall of the castle would be set alight for winterfest.

All families of bannermen were being called to share in the centuries honored tradition of hosting a great feast and celebration in honor of the coming snows. And, as happenstance may have it, there was urgency to discuss the matter of succession in the south.

As if the usurpation of your Queen wasn’t enough, unexpected guests had descended upon Winterfell. One of which had bronze wings as wide as a small keep, and another bearing a halo of Targaryen silver hair.

Upon your return home, you had dreamed of a moment like this: Vhagar bared in the snow, each frozen flake blistering against her scaled skin. A mountain of her own, even the closest ground to her steaming from her eternal heat.

But things were not as they were those moons ago, hands and touch lingering under the beat of the southern sun. The water there had been warm enough to swim in, ankles brushing against the lapping tongues of the break and toes worming through the sand. There was no snow, and the realm was united.

The men had armed themselves at the sight of her shadow, hands gripping their weapons tight. Movement in the castle was always a flurry of feet, but now all were either frozen or frenzied at the arrival. All the feelings of summer pooled in your belly, the taint of winter now upon them. Shouts of men filled the battlements, calling for the warden of the north to meet the crown prince of the realm, the unspoken part following in silence: brother to the usurper. Your belly sank, dragging your heart with it.

Any pleasant thoughts of Aemond’s arrival had long faded the moment a raven had arrived from White Harbor. Things were different now. Vhagar’s proximity to the gates of the castle had to be an intentional act of dominance, her wings spread to their fullest length in a show of size and prowess. The thought certainly soured things more than they already were.

Men in heavy blue wools and leathers ran past you, gathering at all posts. Servants gathered the young children and corralled them inside. Your feet caught on the ground, unsure whether you should run or join the entourage gathering to meet him. Watching from above, you could see the doormen heeding orders to open the gates to the castle, hesitation in their every crank of the pulley for what awaited them on the other side. As the gate lifted, so did what felt like your last defenses, no matter how meager they felt against a dragon.

The Umbers and Flints flanked your brother on their exit from the Great Keep, and you knew you must act now. It calmed you to watch them: each northman walked with pride, furs sitting as a second skin against their long dark hair. It was a show of strength you needed, though you were sure you were not alone.

Your boots clicked in a scurry down the steps of the battlements, pushing hurriedly past any servant or workman that stood in your way. Ultimately, you decided that if Aemond did have any care left for you, your presence might de-escalate any arising tension. By the time you had entered the courtyard, the east gate had opened and Aemond stood as one against many in greeting.

A black fur sat wide on his shoulders, but the large cloak that fell beneath it hardly concealed the hilt of the swords he carried at each hip. He looked every bit as lethal as his dragon’s head rearing over the gates. Your heart ached against your rational judgement at the sight of him, and you slowed your movements.

A figure made in the image of Gods, you were sure of it. Imagining his silver hair and sharpness in your mind’s eye did no service to the beacon of beauty he was in the flesh. For a moment, it was summer again, and your stomach bubbled in cheerful anticipation and not caution.

Tentatively, you emerged from behind your brother’s side, snow crunching lightly beneath your boots. The moment he noticed you, the air turned warmer.

“My Lady Stark,” he bowed to you, his eye fixed loyally to yours.

It was beneath him to honor you with a bow. Your belly twinged at the thought of him being so brazen, and the eyes that gazed upon you with a new peculiar interest.

The formalities felt foreign and out of place, but arising more suspicion with familiarities felt worse. “Prince Aemond, I welcome you to my home.”

Before another word could be spoken, Cregan placed a firm hand on the back of your shoulder. “The prince is here to talk over some official matters. Come, let us get warm inside.”

Introductions were passed away from you, Cregan continuing his tight lead on your shoulder.

Northern furs suit him quite well, you thought.

—

The sun had long descended over the hills, the icy night’s breath beyond the wall welcoming anyone who stepped outside. The Great Hall was adorned in pine wreaths and winter berries, and cedar cones and noble fir dressing for the festivities. Candle holders layered upon another to flay light across the walls, the wax of days upon moons dripping down the sides of the holders like heavy icing on cakes.

It felt like ages since all of the Stark bannermen had been together, and old friends across families traded stories and card games over spiced ale and honey mead. The raucous had already begun, the succession crisis and Aemond’s presence be damned.

But you were less immune than the others to southron matters. If it was any other night, you would have abandoned your seat to join the Mormonts the moment dessert had been served. You had hardly flinched from your seat, Aemond sitting on the other side of Cregan.

It wasn’t just you that struggled to enjoy the festivities. Rickon sat solemnly, and though you couldn’t see her, you could feel Alysanne’s itch from across the table. In your memory, there had not been a sup as tense as the one before you now. Not even during the most raucous moments of Bennard’s regency.

From what you could see, Aemond sat chin up at your brother’s right hand in the Great Hall, daring to meet the eye of anyone who looked directly at him for too long.

Did he remember? Joining in the merriment felt far as Aemond’s closeness held your mind and heart in the great bind that you had all fallen into at the defiance of Aegon’s coronation. Between the warmth of your southron days in a peaceful realm and the uncertain tidings of the inevitability of your families splitting across enemy lines, your stomach turned at the matters in Aemond’s head.

Cregan stood, the jolly room following the attention of their liege loyally. “Prince Aemond Targaryen has graced us with his presence for our winter festivities.”

“The honor is mine to be in the north at such an important time.” At his own recognition he stood, raising his cup.

“Hear, hear!” Cregan cheered, the tension in his jaw visible to no one but you. Cups flew in celebration, horns clattering and ale spilling. With a signalling of his hand, the bards began fiddling with strings and bells.

Dismissing himself from the table in what you knew was an act meant to soothe himself before he swung Ice at the nearest unlucky post, your brother stepped down to greet the Reeds. Mulled wine danced in your cup, the dark purple echoing cinnamon and anise. There was now nothing between you and Aemond besides the empty chair of the head of house Stark. The hearths were lit—the giant towering stone was hardly cold—but there was no stopping the twinge of a shiver.

So many words had been shared before Aegon had stolen the crown, and you wondered if he remembered all of them. It had been moons since you had seen each other last, and there was no promise of what played in his intentions anymore.

Your mouth was in front of your head. “These are curious times, but winter comes anyway. The one force we must all bow to.”

“And you celebrate instead of damning it?”

You had imagined begging the gods to bring you two together again. But winds can switch within weeks, days even. It was a child’s folly, or a wish upon a monkey’s paw—you couldn’t decide which.

“Aye, we do. The longer nights, nature calls us to rest and gain our strength,” you paused. “We could stare at it for the death it brings, but it’s more than that.”

“Hmm,” his eye washed over the scene below: jubilant dancers shedding their furs, others shoving their faces with cranberry roast goose while the songs bounced in the high halls of the winter kings. There was a carefree nature of your fellow northmen that you had never seen in the south, and you wondered if the warmth built up more layers than it shed.

“I know you southerners don’t understand our ways. I’m sure this is very new to you.”

He turned, eye dancing over your face. “I find it interesting.”

Dragons rarely came north. Aemond stood lone.

Perhaps it was the merry presence of all those you loved dearly, or the choke of death you could sense from miles away, but the distance between you and Aemond felt treacherous. Or worse, traitorous.

You met Aemond’s eye. For so long, he had been a figure in your mind, his presence almost a hypothetical. He existed in a warmer land, one where the sun and sea sparkled off of one another and the dirt sprouted grass and red brick rose the heights of the cliffs to the heavens. Crisis in the south were always so far away, great rivers and mountain passes requiring over a moon’s journey lying between. But he was here now: skin flickering in the flames burning not for light but for warmth as well, Targaryen silver hair feathered down his back like the hands of a ghost, scar dividing his face, as beautiful as the day you had first seen him.

He studied you just the same. Between you, wintry tunes twiddled by the practiced fingers of the musicians sung of the kings of winter, slayers of skinchangers and defenders of what lies beyond the wall, the keepers of knowledge that southerners can not begin to grasp find their home here carried through your blood.

This was your time to share those stories, celebrate the old kings and the promise of winter’s darkness with the singers and all of those that had gathered here for what is thoroughly a northerner’s celebration. Yet here you were at an invisible crossroads with the prince of the realm who would not stand to be denied in mind or matter. His royal blood continuously pulled at you to attend as if you were still in the Red Keep and not in your very own halls.

A Targaryen or two had visited Winterfell once, though the last was under much less grievous circumstances. Alysanne’s was the last dragon to brave the frozen lands, her and Jaehaerys on a true diplomatic mission with no threat of doom hanging over their heads.

You lot were wolves, fur thick and jaws tight, sturdy and hard enough to endure the ice—and yet dragons cowed the winter kings. Aemond’s presence was a cold reminder of that. Dragonfire had never teased Winterfell with ash, but the threat of it lingered now like a stubborn ember in the hearth ready to erupt if a nasty draught came through.

Cregan settled back to the table, his face stern and carrying judgement. He took his seat between you once more, dissolving your attentions.

“My father swore an oath to Rhaenyra,” he began, unbreaking of his eye contact and at a level only detectable by those sitting closest to him. “A Stark never forgets an oath. I would have assumed our reputation would be well met.”

“I understand this, Lord Stark.” Aemond began. There was no hesitation spared from the proud dragon prince. “I simply wanted to make our stances official in the name of the crown.”

Apprehension and distrust hung in the low firelight. The bells beat on behind the attention of the table, singers caroling the haunt of winter between the silence of the prince and the lord.

“Your dragon may be fierce, my prince, but we will not be intimidated.” At Cregan’s declaration, you could feel the ears of the northmen sitting the closest to your table perk up, straightening their backs and harden their own faces—an assertion of pride and a foregoing of the fear that painstakingly had etched itself in their movements at Vhagar’s every grumble.

“I do not seek to intimidate you. Only to draw our lines.” Aemond sat back in his chair, eyeing you.

“Very well then. Our lines are drawn.” Cregan’s brow tensed, and you knew he was biting down hard in restraint.

The singers sang their songs of winter’s past, and the promise of an eventual spring.

—

“He wants us to see that fire breathing monster—

“He’s come to sabotage our army, or count our numbers, or—”

“Aye, I don’t trust him. There’s something not quite right, the Targaryen madness—”

The hour was late. Spittle had spattered across the table, fists flying, heads nodding, voices climbing higher and higher to be heard. The bards had returned to Wintertown, and all the celebration left with them. The northmen were restless, and understandably so with bellies full of too much ale and a dubious dragon prince lurking in the halls. All you lot had prayed the days of clandestine meetings were over once Cregan took the seat of Winterfell, but it had been too soon to hope.

Volleys of theories here or there made their rounds back and forth from all ends of the table. A pack of barking dogs was no better than the fur cloaked rowdy men who were in the heat of spitting at each other now. Cregan’s fist slamming on the wood was enough to draw quiet. “Enough. I demand order to this conversation.”

The hounds had been admonished, tails sinking between their legs at the scolding of their master. There was a moment of reprieve, where sensibility was able to override unordered chatter.

Satisfied with the settlement, Cregan nodded. “Aye, let us speak about this reasonably.”

It was most prudent to speak quietly anyways, considering the halls reeked of dragon. The candle marks were ever shrinking and your energy with it into what had to be the longest night you’d endured in ages. No amount of shouting could awaken you, though you prayed a reigned conversation would allow you to slip into your chambers faster.

Until the words spilled from Wylis Manderly’s mouth and promptly stole not only any draft of sleep in your body, but the breath in your chest as well.

“I know why he’s here,” Manderly started. “Her.”

It wasn’t supposed to be an accusation, but it sure did feel like one, the way it made your chest nearly cave and your defenses rise. The finger he pointed at your forehead felt like an arrow finding its target: lethal and sure of itself. The rest of the eyes at the table followed suit, curious.

“He’s here for her.” Manderly repeated, as if his pointing wasn’t enough.

There were very few times that you had been the subject of a council meeting, and you preferred it that way. It was no fun to have yourself torn apart and examined, no matter the purpose. Your eyes found those of your brother’s reflexively, breath catching in your throat in disbelief.

He returned it carefully. “Explain, Wylis.”

“His eye finds ‘ers. I know the look. He fancies her.” Manderly cocked his head. “She spent more than a few sun’s turns in the South. ‘Twas not more than about seven moons do I remember you comin’ home. Enough time to court our fine lady of the north, don’t ya think?”

The Lord of White Harbor might as well have stripped you bare, prying each layer of your dress with his claw-like hands to leave you exposed in view of the table. It wouldn’t feel any different.

“Is it true, sister?”

Fingers danced across your flesh, platinum hair sliding through your fingers. His thick, masculine moan vibrated on your tongue as his hands tested the weight of the flesh of your hips through squeezes and shakes. It wasn’t a sennight before that when your own fingers twirled your bud and you discreetly thought of him, despite everything.

“Prince Aemond and I were acquainted as friends. Nothing more.”

There was hesitancy in the way the men looked at you now, men of your own blood and land. A separation only possible between those with a cock and those without: the innate distrust that comes with the potential of reaching across enemy lines for the sake of living in a singer's tale. If you could sink down between the floorboards, you would have.

Cregan furrowed his brows, eyes never leaving you. “To you, maybe. The prince may feel differently.”

A bow of your head was all you knew to do. There was no need to deny anything further and spin a mummer’s tale. Lies never sat well in your stomach, to your brother no less.

The lords were dismissed per the late hour and the dreadful sense that Manderly was right. The back of your chair scraped along with the others, but your leave was halted.

“Not you, sister.”

It felt like being a little girl again, and your shoulders tensed to be scolded.

Voice small, you obliged. “Yes, brother.”

He walked towards you, placing his hands on your shoulders. Cregan’s grey stormed eyes passed through yours in a knowing, but you dared not say a word. Once the door had shut behind the very last man, he exhaled.

“He’s a dangerous man.” You could see the other words on his tongue, but you never heard them.

“I know.”

He held you there for a moment, and you wondered if he would tell you what was on his mind, what exactly he believed, and you wondered how you would react if he did. All you needed to spill yourself was one more weak push. One more word and he would know how you knew Aemond cared for you, he had promised several moons ago that he would come see you.

But he never asked, and the truth stayed buried in your throat.

—

In the darkest cave of the night, silence was unyielding. Every wolf’s howl was clamped over the mouth by snow, each sound buried alive in the cold white. It made each scurry of a mouse or crackle of a hearth in the castle stiffeningly louder.

Including your footsteps, which you were carefully navigating for discretion all the way to Aemond’s chambers. There would be no sleeping without putting your own matters to rest.

Unthinking, you reached for the door handle and rattled against the lock that held it tight. Your urgency felt out of place in the quiet tranquility of the night. His footsteps within were hesitant and slow. When the door opened, Aemond stood dagger pointed. For a moment, you felt what it was like to be on the other end of his blade, neck laid for the slaughter and his own eye hardened at the intruder who dared seek him at this hour.

At your wide eyes, he softened.

“Lady Stark.”

You didn’t want to waste any time. “Why are you here?”

“Hmm. I think you know why I’m here.” Aemond stalked closer. “I told you I’d come, little wolf.”

“They know.”

“Do they now?” a faint smirk played on his lips now. He stepped aside to welcome you in. “And what did they say about their fairest maiden and their newfound enemy?”

You stepped inside, unable to meet him. “I did not tell them.”

Aemond’s movements stopped. “Why not?”

For all the time you knew him, Aemond was supposed to be smart. A learned man who you could count on not just for knowledge but strategy and cleverness. His stubbornness to see your reasoning surprised you.

“It’s too dangerous. We’re entering war times.”

He scoffed. “If Winterfell wasn’t the safest place for you to be, I’d drag you on dragonback to King’s Landing. The second most safe place to be is by my side.”

“My father swore an oath to Rhaenyra.”

Aemond hardened then, cocking his head. His silhouette reflected that of his warrior nature.

“Are you sure you Starks are strong in your word?” His glare tore through you and you knew the memory he had held on so tightly to come all this way. So he did remember everything.

“I never promised my hand.” The moment the words left your lips, you felt their harshness. Guilt crept in, sinking in your heart.

Aemond exhaled sharply. “Did you have to? Was a pledge of your feelings not enough?”

“Aemond,” you warned, a careful hush of urgency in your voice, “I can’t.”

He burned. You could see it plain. “War is coming. You will stay here in Winterfell.”

It wasn’t as if you wouldn’t—he had told you nothing you were not already beholden to. But you saw Cregan and the others, thick in furs and heavy swords strapped to their backs marching south. Every further thought sickened you: dragons overhead, iron-melting flames casting over them.

There was a promise in his words, unspoken but just as present in the implication of safety. I will not bring war to Winterfell.

“I don’t want this.” The words slipped mindlessly. It was helpless to speak aloud. Aemond knew it, as did you.

He stalked towards you, face solemn yet set in the firmness of him. Gently, he took your hand in his, raising it to his lips. “I will come for you when the war is done.”

“But my brothers—”

“I don’t give a shit about your brothers.”

“Aemond,” you scolded.

“Do you not want this?” Aemond said in both query and anger, as if he could not fathom the idea of not being with him.

In truth, you couldn’t either. Memory melted in the sun, the cold that knocked on the gates of the castle chased away by the bright burn of a summer’s passion. Days watching the sweat on his brow as he swung his sword at Ser Cole, using the trivial training yard victories as reason to celebrate with your hands on his chest and his on your waist. Feasts spent sending cheeky looks to each other in a tease as he sat on the high table with the royal family, until he could come down and join the likes of you.

There was something precious between you, far beyond drunk desire in flesh. It made each kiss you shared all the sweeter.

You enjoyed it, the way that at first, he pretended like he wasn’t desperate for your affections. It made things fun, because the truth rested in his eye the moment of your first meeting. Over time, the mask melted and the truth was in his words, actions—and nothing he felt for you wasn’t returned.

At the time, your secret tongues and lips found themselves in the only shadow that you knew existed. but there were many more beyond your knowledge, whispering about what you had believed to be a decided matter of succession.

Winter had come and things were so, painfully different now.

“I want this, but I can’t.” Every bit of what you felt was evident in your voice. “How can you not see that?”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“We are on opposite sides, Aemond.”

He shrugged. “You’re a lady. It’s not like you’re going to fight.”

“My brothers are. My men are. They will be on the battlefield, as will you.”

He pursed his lips, looking away from you in resignation of the truth. “Let us hope that our paths do not cross.”

The sink of your stomach was heavy enough that you took small steps backing away. The depths of the winter night whipped at your window. The wind sang a deathly tale, a warning to any who may try to brave it. Or maybe it was for you, the old gods finding a way to tell you that you were damned, as was he, as was whatever it was that lay between you both. Aemond stood, all of the fire in the hearth catching in his long starlight hair, the determination of the warrior he was—and would soon become—deep in his being.

“Don’t look so afraid of me.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? You’ll be commanding armies against mine. And you have a dragon.”

He took careful steps towards you, reaching a tender hand towards your face. “I would never hurt you.”

Words came to your tongue, but the feeling of his skin on your cheek dissolved any refute. He was even nearer now, the bend in your neck needed to find his eye. Aemond’s other hand found your bare cheek, and you stopped yourself from melting in the comfort of his gentle hold.

“Let me just be Aemond, not a prince,” his thumb caressed the pillow of your cheek lightly. “Let yourself just be you, not Lady Stark. Just this once.”

It was a nice thought: an escape from the lurking turmoil of metal on metal, metal on skin. The sword at his hip pressed into the side of your belly, the very thing that by winter’s end will have the blood of hundreds soaked through. Prince Aemond Targaryen, the deliverer of souls to their eternal sleep, whether it be damning them for choosing black or for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dragonflame was like that, wild and uncontrolled.

And you, Lady Stark, sister to the keeper of the north who had chosen black, who must follow in the steps of your kin for the sake of upholding honor. Who will sit in the dead of the north by the weirwood each day and pray to the gods that her brother will return, that her burly friends will join her by the fire once more to shoot the shit, that no one will be so unlucky to be caught beneath the wings of the beast that lay outside the castle walls or under the blade of the man in front of her.

No, you couldn’t be her. Not right now. Your lips parted in a pitiful protest—the very last you had in you, you knew—but his desperation silenced you.

“Please,” he nearly panted. His lips came closer, breath hot on your lips.

Was it honorable to feel the tongue of someone your family had sworn against? No, perhaps not. But—you reminded yourself, in a sorry attempt to make excuses—for now he was just Aemond.

And ‘just’ Aemond had delightfully silky locks to lightly twist your fingers in as your kiss deepended.

His doublet was thick and you wondered if he had it made for his visit. His visit to you. Running your hands along the sides of him, you felt the daggers at his hip, subtle but ready. Aemond was already feeling through your own dress, sifting through the layers to get to your skin. Each of you searching for one another’s flesh.

The heel of your foot lifted out of your slipper with the help of your other toes. Aemond was reaching to unclasp the buckles of his doublet, the both of you doing your own part while keeping your mouths on each other in your climb to get close.

Of all your frolicking, you had yet to see each other so bare. Your time in the Red Keep hadn’t allowed for many private moments. Kisses were frequently stolen between training sessions and feasts, but the risk of being found in Aemond’s chambers—or him in yours—could be far too incriminating for your reputation. The one or two moments where you did find yourself alone in his chambers solely to see a book or another in his favor, and you were never there over a candle mark.

Winterfell was different from the Red Keep. There were far fewer vipers and spiders on the hunt. The hour was late, even later than any potential vipers may burden themselves to stay awake for. If one happened to see you, they served wolves and not dragons anyway. It was freeing to have him like this, a moment you had been long waiting for.

Aemond’s kiss was a seal of your condemnation, for from the first touch of your tongues those moons ago, you knew that at no point after tasting such a sweet nectar would you not seek it out over and over again. It was just as mind bending as it had been every other time: soft at first and leading into fullness. You had dreamed of his tongue on yours again, down your throat and lips on yours to consume you. He was hungry and you gladly fed the beast within him. The blood beneath his flesh burned hot, and the buds on your chest hardened at the feel of your bareness against his.

Long platinum locks lightly brushed over your shoulders in a sensual dance. Your hands roamed his body in curiosity and a thirst for closeness. It was hardened and soft all at once, the shape of him only feeding the burn of your desire.

It was difficult to admit to yourself how much you had needed this, having pushed it down when the sun set day after day and you struggled to remind yourself that Aemond was now a traitor to your queen and therefore your honor. His hands in your hair, feeling the dips and curves of your own body. Now, such things dissolved in the spit that passed from your lips to his, the animal of desire breaking through any code you clung to.

Holding you by your hips, Aemond backed you against his bed. His hands urged your thighs upward so your back may rest on the bed, as if he was preparing you for himself. You followed his lead dutifully, each graze of his fingers along your bare legs sending your belly alight.

Aemond leaned above you now, having joined you on the bed. “You’re all mine.”

“Yours,” you replied, rejoining your fingers to lace in his locks, holding his face as if it were a holy grail.

His fingers trailed lower across your stomach, past the heat between your legs and the dip where your leg met your hip. At their slight movement, you could feel more wetness begin to drip out of you, the teasing motion of his hands feeling so close…yet so far. Wide palms and lithe fingers moved to caress the skin just deeper than the inside of your knee. Featherlight touches on your skin reached outward towards your

Aemond moved patiently over your wetness with time to spare, despite your squirms and soft moans telling him that you were more than ready to feel the pads of his fingers. Soft kisses lined your cheek before dipping his lips and tongue into your mouth in deep union. His cock, covered by the cotton of his small clothes, sat heated and heavy on your leg. Every feel of him made you want him more.

Breaking you free from your prison of desire, his fingers finally brushed over your center. They most delicately gathered the nectar at your lips, playing with it against the flower of your entrance. The simple movement, yet another tease of his touch, weakened you into a puddle beneath his hand. His thumb found your clit, beginning slow circles there.

He was winding you up like a toy, playing you on his hand to make pretty noises. If he had asked you to do anything at that moment, you would have said yes.

Aemond’s other had reached up to meet your bottom lip, letting the pad of his thumb rest there. With wide eyes you accepted it to sit on your tongue, drawing it softly into your mouth before pulling back once more.

“That’s it, my little wolf” he said, releasing your lips their fixation.

There was little else you cared for, sitting on your bed in the humble guest chambers, hearth warmed and Aemond’s fingers sinking deep into your core and curling deliciously.

“Shh. You don’t want your northmen to hear, do you?” He said it, punching his words with another tight movement at the perfect place deep within you in a smug maneuver that he knew would have a moan choking from your throat despite the deep silence that surrounded you.

He was right, you didn’t, but you hardly cared if it meant his hands continued their sync. Every drop of hesitation and secrecy you had so desired earlier had been drowned out by the tight wanting of your core, wetness slipping down his fingers and coating the very inside of your thighs.

When your pleasure peaked into ecstasy, your honey soaked walls squeezed and fluttered around him, arms looped and holding him tight to you in breathy moans that were meant for him only. There were truly no boundaries wrapped between you now, even if just for a moment, the long absence of his touch and feel sinking deep into your essence.

Humming in satisfaction, Aemond slid his forefingers coated in your syrupy sex into his mouth. “I didn’t know the honor of a Stark tasted so delicious”

All the furs that had once sat heavily on the bed had slid off. Flesh against flesh, you were content in your afterglow, pushing away thoughts of tomorrow or the day after. Aemond’s hands were hungry more, his own desire hardly satiated. His cock weighed on your stomach, hips needily pressing into yours.

“Baby, you’re so soaked. Your body needs me inside you,” Aemond brushed his nose with yours, cock sliding over your pillowy lips.

He must have been a devil of some kind, the enemy, for trying to convince you that your maidenhead could be sacrificed while he was on a diplomatic mission.

Sensing your hesitation, he hummed into your mouth, drawing you into another kiss.

“Who would I be to leave you like this? You need to be fucked.” he purred into your ear, and your own hips flexed in release.

It was tempting. It was. But your virtue remained imperatively prudent, and no amount of Aemond’s want would change it. “I’m a maiden. You know this.”

“Does it matter if I want to marry you anyway?” His voice was lust-drunk, buried in your neck and leaving traces of kisses there.

You giggled, shifting under him. “Yes, Aemond.”

“Hmm.” He grumbled, lifting himself onto his elbows to look you in the face. “Guess I’ll just have to do it now then.”

It passed between you then, a faint look of heartbreak at the reality of what such things would mean, or what they would take. The betrayal of your brother, of your fellow bannermen—the question of Aemond’s truest allegiances, marriage or not, always sitting in the back of your mind. Roiling dragonfire and singing blades sliding against another in strain.

“I don’t care where we stand. You’re mine, Lady Stark. Nothing will ever change that.”

A kiss was your only reply, caught in the trouble and pleasure of his words, a sentence that fulfilled everything and nothing that you wanted to hear. Desperate and searching it was, searching for an end to the madness you were both inevitably walking towards and away from your unity.

With your limbs intertwined, heart to heart, each of you felt all of the possible flesh you could. You let yourself close your eyes in his embrace, candles dying in the latest hours of the night. Maybe, you thought, this moment could be eternal if you let it: if you were truly present in his warmth and flesh, it could anchor you both in time, allowing you both to feel and hold each other for centuries. No blood would soak into the dirt nor stain your hands. Never had you clung to an idea of peace so hard.

In another world, Rhaenyra ascended the throne just as the realm had thought. Your journey south would have been fulfilled just the same. Someone of importance would take note of your affinity for each other, and given that you were not being clearly stowed away for one dragon versus another, a marriage proposal would be signed and sent to your brother north. He would read it and scowl at the thought of his sister being tied to the Targaryen blood almost all Starks were partial to hating, but at the sight of your ease, he would relent. A wedding would be hosted in the Great Sept to please your prince and southron overlords, and another at the heart tree of Winterfell’s godswood.

You clung to your fantasy in the low hours until your knuckles turned white, Aemond’s soft breathing warming your cheek. But clinging to anything fleeting often meant bloodying your hands or being dragged until you let go.

Those in the south lived in an endless summer, whether they realized it or not. Many would claim a chill or swear they felt the winds change. Perhaps snow even fell occasionally—but such a faint dusting would cower in the face of the fronts from beyond the wall. Such a front scratched at the window of Aemond’s chamber now. It was a most cruel master to any bare skin unlucky enough to bear it, beating it raw until cracks formed and blood spurred. A similar iciness was threatening to drown you from the inside, only made stronger by the beat of Aemond’s blood in your ears.

No matter how much you wished it not be true, your honor could not allow you to stay in his arms for another moment. Especially not after you had indulged yourself on his fingers and lips.

Sloughing off the furs, you crept carefully to the mess of layers of your dress on the floor. It was late—or early, put differently—enough that you could do your best to get away with not wearing your full dress back to your room. As long as your previous state of savagery wasn’t obvious, the essentials would do.

When your eyes awoke once more in your own bed, it was to the ancient cry of a dragon. Your heavy legs and eyes ran to catch up with what you knew was happening, what you must confirm quickly in a hazy winter’s light. From the window, you could see Vhagar lifted her bronze head into the sky, fire threatening to leave the cavern of her throat. Her solemn grumbling echoed through the valley, swirling with the wind singing through the trees.

Cradles of snowflakes fell as falling stars, silver embers burning in the early light. It was still night—constellations just barely beginning to fade. Grabbing your furs to quickly wrap around your shoulders, you rushed out of your chambers. The torches in the hallway burned low. It was the last hour before they would be re-lit for another day’s warmth. Flames flickered past you in your hasty steps to the outermost walls of the castle.

You caught sight of Aemond, stalking into the arms of the frosted northern wild, a sickened determination—or resignation, you didn’t know which—in his steps. The black of his furs cradled his silver hair, a delicate, feathery mix of dark and light.

A goodbye wouldn’t have been wise, for you knew if you hadn’t left his chambers you would both wake up and refuse to leave each other’s side—or rather, he’d refuse you to leave his. If he was in front of you, he knew he could convince you of anything. There was too deep of suspicion for the prince to arouse the maiden Lady Stark, and Aemond was a smart man.

Or at least you told yourself so, hoping that he wasn’t bitter like he was in your fears, and that he understood.

The battlements on which you stood were tall enough to rise over any enemy that Winterfell might face. Thousands of years had seen enemies fall in front of the stone giants that guarded the innermost castle. Enemies of centuries past faltered against all kings of winter, sound in their defenses and strong in their charge. Any enemy but Aemond.

Heavy wings wafted through the north wind, the shadow of Vhagar draining the moon and snowlight from the sky in the shape of war-torn wings. With a large curl of her body, she turned to the walls on which you stood. Muscled and bronzed, Aemond and his beast came closer. You had never seen a dragon in flight so near to you. Her heavy legs hung in the air, the claws themselves thicker than your largest studs.

A few men below began howling in fear, but you knew something they did not. Even as she drew nearer and her wings covered Winterfell in shadow and her maw roared close enough you could see her blood soaked teeth and feel her boiling breath in the chapped air. It was warm against your cheek, a balm against the pale morning’s frost, comfort blooming where it touched. Near everything but the foundation of the castle itself shook against the dragon’s cry, mountainous wings curling wind through your hair.

There was a time when Harren the Black had seen a similar sight: the interchange between day and night, a beast larger than a small keep looming over his home, an impenetrable castle. Fire had burned deep in Balerion’s chest, and his black teeth were the gates of hellfire to all those who rested in Harrenhal. Aemond and Vhagar loomed above Winterfell now in a fierce stand, leaving you and all of your men as nothing but ash in the wind if he so desired.

You knew he didn’t.

Vhagar roared again, something painful desperately clawing from her chest, and you could feel the solemn echo of Aemond’s own turmoil. Her wings lifted higher through her cry, large body clawing through the sky until the darkness of her ascended into the heavy snow clouds.

The next time you saw the prince, the crown of the conqueror sat on his head as if it was made for him, and winter had licked your skin raw.

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