#determination deliberation and dragons

[detdeldragons]

Probably my favorite quote from How To Train Your Dragon. I actually used this as my high school yearbook quote. Hiccup becomes quite the hero, not by changing anything about himself, but by learning that his way of being and his way of doing things is okay even though it's different.

Check out our creative writing podcast, "Determination, Deliberation, and Dragons" for discussions of books and films like HTTYD, The Owl House, Avatar the Last Airbender, and more! You can find it wherever you get your podcasts.

[daybreakrising]

since hyv won't tell us if neuvi can give visions of any kind to new fontainians or just hydro ones, i'm making the executive decision that he can bc the idea of him being the one to give vautrin his vision is just. let me have this-

(though i won't force this onto any neuvi i write with. if you have a different opinion i'll concede to it!)

[creature-wizard]

Continuing on the topic of connection being not a feeling, but a rather a set of circumstances in which you are engaging and participating, I think a lot of people out there just don't realize how dangerous the way many of us have been taught to think of feelings in relation to spirituality really is.

Like Zan pointed out, Evangelical Christians are taught that positive emotions are actually the Lord moving through them, rather than their own personal reactions to their experiences. Meanwhile, Evangelical church services are deliberately engineered to elicit these kinds of of feelings in people. It's pure emotional manipulation.

Similar ideas are found in New Age spirituality, where "spiritual discernment" is frequently boiled down to "does it make me feel good or not?" People are taught to evaluate politically charged information based on whether it, for lack of a better term, sparks joy. Now, determining whether or not something sparks joy is a wonderful way to decide whether you want to keep your old tea kettle, but here we're talking about information that people will base crucial personal and political choices on.

Meanwhile, New Age influencers do everything they can to make sure they're sparking joy for you. Let's take Paul White Gold Eagle, for example. His videos are constantly talking about things that sound exciting, like messages from archangels, dragons of light, and emerald transmissions. This type of baiting - joybaiting, I'll call it - is meant to hook you emotionally and make you think that this has to be true because it elicits that oooough, shiny reaction. Next thing you know, you've been joybaited into falling down the conspirituality pipeline and you believe some version of QAnon's conspiracy theories.

This kind of thinking is even dangerous in pagan circles. You find yourself thinking about a thing and noticing a lot? You feel an intense pull to study it? You'll find people out there telling you that you have a spiritual connection to it, like, maybe you were part of it in a past life. And maybe you go and get a past life reading, or even undergo hypnosis. And now you, the whitest gal in the surburb with zero familial connections to any Native people, feel entitled to appropriate some form of Native spirituality because you felt fascination with it, or what you thought it was, and now you're contributing to white sage decimation and spreading around some sort of Native-flavored form of neopaganism as if it's actual Native spirituality.

Or maybe you fall in with a neopagan cult leader who uses your fascination to convince you that you knew each other in a past life, and you were led to them in this life so you could continue some important work in this life, and they pull you completely into their bullshit.

Finally, it's dangerous because it encourages stalkers. A lot of stalkers are people with incredibly powerful fixations on others. These types of beliefs get them convinced that their victims are actually their soulmates or twin flames or whathaveyou, and make them feel justified in engaging in stalking behavior.

All of this is why it's important to recognize that connection is a circumstance, not a feeling. Your feelings are utterly irrelevant to whether you are actually connected. What most people take for "feeling connected" is literally just fascination or fixation, maybe reinforced by the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon. Real connection is something you cultivate and build, and it does not exist outside of your actual, physical engagement and participation.

[moonstonejj]

You shall refer to me as your king

Summary: The new prince regent is determined to reclaim the desires he long denied. In the depths of a brothel, he wages war against his own restraint.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Whore!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Mature, 18+, oral (m receiving), Fingering, P in V Sex, Dom!Aemond

The thrill of the recent victories burned in his veins. Once a dragonless Targaryen prince, he now ruled Westeros astride an unstoppable dragon. Never again would they mock him, not without paying the prince in blood.

Aemond departed the Red Keep and made for the Street of Silk. He was not a man given to seeking comfort in the arms of courtesans, yet his recent encounters with Madam Silvy had opened his eyes. At last, he understood why Aegon favored such haunts. There was a kind of release only flesh could grant, and there, coin could purchase even the most depraved of desires.

The prince often concealed his silver hair beneath a hood when he walked in the streets of King's Landing. But not tonight. Tonight, his hair flew loose in the wind, a pale banner of Old Valyria, and every head bowed as he passed—in reverence and fear. And he welcomed their fear. 

When he entered Madam Silvy’s, he took pleasure in how the room fell silent. The couples stilled mid-motion, and the working girls turned their eyes upon him, eyes that shimmered with longing. A hint of a proud smirk touched his lips.

The music played on as the prince made his way to the seats before the small stage, where nude girls moved with practiced grace. A globet of fine wine was placed in his hand almost at once, though the women cast puzzled glances among themselves. It was unlike His Grace to linger—why had he not gone straight to Madam’s chamber?

But Aemond had other plans. He beckoned the nearest girl with a flick of his fingers. “Tell Silvy I have no need of her tonight.”

The girl had meant to seek Silvy, but the madam was already striding toward him. They met halfway, and, even at a distance, Aemond caught the moment the words reached her. 

The flicker of incredulity in her eyes pleased him.

The new Regent had sought out the courtesan only days prior, intent on reclaiming the part of himself she had taken when they first met—on the boy’s thirteenth nameday. After that night, he had shut his mind to all carnal longing, locking desire behind a wall of discipline.

So many moons spent in tireless pursuit—mastering the sword, honing strategy, forging the voice of a leader.

Yet all of it had been shadowed by a mind bound in restraint.

But now, he was ready. 

Ready to taste true pleasure—on his own terms.

The fierce prince surveyed the brothel’s chamber, his eye keen, searching for the one who might stir the fire within him.

One by one, the girls fell short, until he saw her.

She moved across the small stage in a sheer, flowing gown, each motion deliberate, each curve a calculated invitation. Her body spoke its own tongue, slow and sinuous, hands twisting through the air like silk caught in the wind.

She exhaled sensuality. 

A sight worthy of the King.

The hardened peaks of her breasts pressed against the useless fabric, offering him welcome before a single word was spoken.

She felt his gaze and answered it without hesitation.

He watched her like a predator studying prey—calm, intent, unblinking.

And yet, there was beauty in his menace.

That sharp jaw, the proud poise, the simmering fire behind his single eye. He was silent and ferocious, and she found herself drawn to the storm within him.

She did not fear being devoured.

She craved it.

The dancer drifted closer, never breaking the rhythm of her performance. With her back to the prince, she swayed her hips in time with the music, each movement a slow seduction.

She turned and bent low in a languid bow, her almost bare chest offered freely to his gaze.

“Your Grace.”

The prince regent had never imagined that a woman clad in such shameless attire could move with such elegance. 

As she rose, their eyes locked, and she drank in the lust burning in his gaze.

“I seem to have bewitched you, my prince,” she stated, a hint of triumph in her voice. 

Aemond’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk. He could not deny it. His mind was already aflame with wicked imaginings, each more debauched than the last.

“You did,” Aemond said as he rose from his seat, his eyes never leaving hers.

“But I am not one to indulge in pleasures before an audience.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

She took his hand with practiced ease and led him through the halls to a quiet chamber tucked away at the back of the brothel.

The velvet curtains enclosed the chamber, and the low, golden candlelights wove a cocoon of shadow and warmth, an atmosphere ripe with promise. The night was his to command, and he hungered to taste that power, to revel in the dominion it offered.

Aemond said nothing as he began to undress.

He unclasped the golden fastenings of his high-collared leather coat, and it slid from his shoulders with a whisper. Beneath it lay a fine linen shirt, clinging slightly to his skin. He pulled it over his head in one fluid motion, hurried, yet deliberate, as though shedding a second skin.

“May I be of service, my prince?” she asked, her eyes lingering on the lean muscles of his abdomen, lust flickering behind her lashes.

“You are not to speak,” the prince said, his voice low, absolute, and slightly irritated. “Not unless I command it.”

Her lips parted, but no sound escaped. She lowered her gaze, in silent obedience. 

Piece by piece, the prince unmade himself, until only the man remained, fierce and bare in the candlelight.

“Look at me.”

Her gaze obeyed, drifting upward over the hard lines of his body. Each inch she traced left a silent mark on her mind—firm muscles, pale skin, the strength of a prince laid bare.

For days, the young courtesan had longed to be the one the prince sought in the dark hours. Each time he chose the Madam, envy bloomed like thorns within her. She craved him—not just his body, but his gaze, his favor, his fire, his blood. And tonight, she would give anything to be the one he returned to.

He relished the way she looked at him.

“Kneel.”

The girl obeyed without hesitation, dropping to her knees in one fluid motion. Her gaze never wavered as the prince stepped before her, towering, imperious. His shaft was so close, she opened her lips, waiting for his command.

The prince pressed his thumb past her lips, resting it upon her tongue as he tilted her chin upward. A silent moment passed between them.

“A whore such as you must know her duty,” he said, his voice smooth. He loomed above her like an almighty god. “Am I mistaken?”

He withdrew his touch, permitting her to speak.

“No, you are not mistaken, my prince.”

His hand slipped about her throat, firm enough to make her breath catch.

“You shall refer to me as your king.”

A shiver passed through her at the command, lighting a flame low in her belly. The sound of the words on her tongue was a promise her body quickened to fulfill.

“As you wish, my king.”

The title sat upon him like a crown forged for his brow—king—yes, the word rang true, as though it had always been his. No other could wear it half so well.

The girl laid her hands upon his thighs, her touch slow and deliberate as it rose until they reached the seat of his desire. Her thumbs moved in gentle circles over the sensitive flesh beneath, coaxing pleasure with each delicate stroke.

Her right hand encircled the base of his shaft, and she began a slow gliding rhythm—upward, then down—each motion in reverent care. Beneath her touch, he swelled, hardening with every breath he drew.

She brought her lips to his tip, pressing a soft kiss upon it. With slow licks, she teased his glans, each motion a silent vow of devotion.

The courtesan held his gaze, her eyes steady and unashamed, as her lips parted to receive him. Slowly, she drew him into her mouth, inch by measured inch, her tongue gliding along the underside of his shaft in a silken caress. The heat of her breath wrapped around him, wet and wanting. The king exhaled a low, shuddering sigh, the sound heavy with pleasure, his fingers tightening in her hair as though to anchor himself against the rising tide of sensation.

With unyielding intent, his left hand gripped her breast, the force of his hold both commanding and raw. She welcomed the heat blooming beneath his touch, knowing his fingers would leave their fierce mark, a silent testament to his dominion.

His length stood fully hard, and she sensed the mounting weight of his testicles, swollen with the wave of his approaching release.

Aemond clasped the nape of her neck, drawing her up from her knees.

For a moment, they stood close, breathing shallow, trying to steady the storm between them.

Her lips, wet, reddened, and swollen from her recent exertions, parted slightly as if awaiting his next command.

“Onto the bed. On all fours.”

The girl moved with quiet urgency, gliding onto the bed. With a fluid motion, she lowered her chest to the silken sheets, arching her back in perfect submission. Her hips rose, an offering shaped by desire. Aemond watched in silence, enthralled by the grace with which she surrendered.

He approached, positioning himself behind her. With deliberate care, he gathered the sheer fabric of her dress, lifting it to her waist and unveiling the full splendor of her bottom. She was flawless—sculpted for sin, every curve and exquisite invitation. 

Aemond slid his hand between her thighs and found her folds slick with want.

“I daresay my little whore took some pleasure in worshipping my cock,” he murmured, fingers gliding through the heat of her arousal. “Is that true?”

She moaned quite loudly as two of his fingers plunged into her without warning, driving into her with a swift, relentless rhythm. 

Though her moans stirred his blood, the absence of her reply hung heavy between them, a defiance he would not let pass.

Aemond took her throat in a measured choke, drawing her back against his chest with quiet strength.

“I asked you a question,” he said, his voice low and edged with warning. “I expect an answer.”

She moaned beneath his grip. “You spoke truth, my king,” she whispered, tilting her head to meet his gaze. 

“Never have I known such pleasure as I found in the act of pleasing your cock, my king.”

Their lips hovered so near that Aemond could feel the heat of her ragged breath upon his own. She longed to kiss him but knew such liberty was not hers to take.

He could wait no longer. Her words, spoken with sweetness, carried a boldness meant to provoke, and they had succeeded.

The king pressed her chest back down to the bed, took his shaft in hand, and stroked it quickly. Then he brought the tip to the edge of her entrance, poised at the threshold of possession.

She was wet, open, desperate. Her hips rolled instinctively, seeking him, craving to be filled. The wait was agony; the denial, divine torment.

Aemond seized her hips with one hand, holding her steady, while the other guided his length in slow, maddening strokes along the slick seam of her core.

“Tell me what it is you crave,” he said in a hoarse tone.

“I crave to be fucked numb by you, my king,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need. “Please.”

He drove into her in a single, claiming thrust. Her wall tightened around him, as though made to hold him, the pleasure sharp and blinding for them both.

The king drew back until only his tip remained, then drove into her once more with ruthless force, claiming her again and again. Each thrust sent a jolt through her spine, her hands clutching the bedclothes as her body yielded and tensed beneath his rhythm. Her flesh slapped against his with wet, echoing sounds, and the deeper he plunged, the more her breath came in broken gasps. Her walls tightened around him with every stroke, greedily milking his length, as if her body had no desire but to keep him locked within. Aemond’s grip on her hips grew bruising, his pace relentless, the drag and drive of his cock turning her thoughts to ash.

Pleasure surged through her in waves, building with every relentless thrust until it broke all at once. Her body trembled violently. A cry tore from her lips, raw and involuntary, as her walls fluttered around his length, the force of her release pulling her apart from the inside out.

The king felt his own pleasure reaching its peak. With a final, shuddering thrust, Aemond buried himself deep, his grip tightening at her hips as the heat of his release poured into her. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat as his pleasure overtook him. He held her there, impaled and still, as if to brand her with the very act, every pulse of his spend anchoring him further inside her.

Aemond’s chest rose with quiet triumph. The weight of command settled deep within him—not only the crown he now bore but the certainty that no longer would he be bound by past shadows. Tonight, he reclaimed not only his body but the reins of his life.

He drew back, and the courtesan met his gaze with wide, beseeching eyes. Aemond could not deny it: she was flawless, every breath, every curve, every shiver. A fierce longing stirred within him, and he found himself eager to claim her once more, yet the weight of duty pressed heavily upon his mind. 

“Wait for me in this very chamber on the morrow’s night,” he said, already drawing his garments back over his skin.

The girl watched him, her heart thundering beneath her ribs. For nights, she had dreamed of this very moment. A slow smile spread across her lips as she sat on the edge of the bed.

“Gladly, my king.”

Aemond left the brothel with newfound vigor. He would win the war and seize the Iron Throne. Nothing and no one would stand in his way.

[idkyetxoxo]

Gwayne Hightower - Shackles of Loyalty

Summary - A queen, bent on securing her power, uses her loyal knight, Gwayne. As loyalty and fear intertwine, a dangerous obsession between them grows, revealing dark depths of devotion. In a world where power and manipulation reign, their bond threatens to consume them both.

Pairing - Gwayne Hightower x Velaryon reader

Warnings - Violence, mild language

Word count - 2414

Masterlist for Gwayne • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

"Your Grace," Gwayne began, his voice steady but laced with pride. He stood tall, his broad shoulders squared as he regarded me with a smile that bordered on self-satisfaction. "The prisoner has been successfully captured."

I turned to face him, letting my gaze linger on the man who had proven himself time and again. 

"And this," I said, my voice as smooth as silk drawn across steel, "is precisely why you are my most loyal, Ser Gwayne."

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, and he bowed his head ever so slightly. "The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms deserves nothing less than resolute loyalty." 

The way he said it as if the words were etched into his very soul, made my chest swell with a dangerous mix of power and satisfaction.

The Seven Kingdoms had not welcomed me to the Iron Throne with open arms. 

A Velaryon on the throne—a bastard Velaryon, no less—was an affront Otto Hightower could not stomach, regardless of Viserys's decrees. But the late king's determination that Rhaenyra would rule after him had set the course of history. 

Nothing Otto schemed could change that, nor the ascension of her firstborn daughter—me.

What vexed Otto even more, I imagined, was his own blood working against him. Ser Gwayne Hightower, his eldest son, had become hopelessly devoted to me. 

Not just as a knight sworn to his queen, but as a man entranced by something deeper, more dangerous. He was loyal to a fault, and that loyalty was a weapon I wielded mercilessly.

"Lead me to him," I commanded, clasping my hands before me. 

Gwayne gave a curt nod, his armour clinking softly as he strode ahead, guiding me through the stone corridors toward the dungeons.

As we descended, the air grew cooler, damp with the scent of mildew and despair. The flickering torchlight cast jagged shadows on the walls, and the faint groans of the unlucky few who had defied their queen echoed through the murk. 

Most cells were empty—only the boldest or most foolish found themselves here.

We stopped before one of the cells, where a man knelt on the filthy stone floor, his wrists shackled and his head bowed. 

The moment he noticed me, his gaze snapped up, and I saw defiance blazing in his eyes.

"Your name?" I asked my voice calm but edged with authority.

He spat at the floor near my feet, sneering. "As if I'd ever tell you," he growled, his voice thick with venom. "Your reign is a blight on this kingdom, you whore."

Gwayne stiffened beside me, his jaw tightening. 

Before I could respond, his hand moved like a striking viper, the back of it colliding with the prisoner's face with a force that echoed through the dungeon. 

The man's head snapped to the side, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

I sighed, the sound deliberate and measured as if disciplining a wayward child. "Enough," I said, tilting my head slightly. 

Gwayne stepped back, his nostrils flaring but his obedience unwavering. With a subtle motion of my head, the two guards flanking the prisoner stepped forward, yanking him to his feet.

I stepped closer, just enough for the man to feel the full weight of my presence. 

"You'll find," I said, my voice low and smooth, "that defiance earns you nothing but pain. Speak now, and perhaps you'll live long enough to regret your words."

The prisoner's eyes were defiant, his lip curled in a sneer even as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth where Gwayne's strike had landed. His shackles rattled as he shifted on his feet, his discomfort evident despite his bravado. 

I regarded him coolly, my expression unreadable, as if deciding whether he was worth the effort.

"You'll talk," I said with calm certainty, folding my hands before me. "It's only a matter of when—and how much pain you wish to endure before you do."

He barked a harsh, humourless laugh. "You think your threats frighten me? I've stared down lords and kings far greater than you, girl." 

His gaze flicked up and down my form, dripping with contempt. "You're just a bastard playing at queen. The Seven Kingdoms deserve better."

Gwayne's fist lashed out before the last word had even left the prisoner's mouth, the sound of the blow cracking through the dungeon like a whip. 

The man stumbled, his head snapping to the side as fresh blood spattered the grimy floor. Gwayne loomed over him, his chest heaving with restrained fury.

"You will address Her Grace with respect," Gwayne growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Another insult and I'll break your jaw."

I raised a hand, signalling Gwayne to hold. He did so reluctantly, though his glare never wavered. 

I stepped closer, looking down at the prisoner, whose resolve was beginning to fracture beneath the weight of his situation.

"Your resistance is admirable," I said evenly. "Misplaced, but admirable. Now, tell me—who sent you?"

The prisoner spit blood onto the floor, his expression twisting into a sneer. "No one sent me. Not that you'd understand. You sit on that throne like it was made for you, but you're nothing. A bastard. A stain on the bloodline of kings."

Gwayne's hand clenched into a fist, but I held up a single finger, stilling him. My patience was wearing thin, but I wanted him to break on my terms, not his.

"Let me guess," I continued, ignoring his insults. "You're one of Otto Hightower's little pawns. Or is this the work of someone else? A jealous lord who thought he could plot in the shadows without consequence?" I tilted my head, studying his reaction. 

The twitch in his jaw was enough to confirm I was on the right path.

"Traitors always reveal themselves in time," I said with quiet authority. "Even the cleverest rats eventually scurry into the light."

He growled, his shackles clinking as he shifted against his restraints. "You think you're so clever. So powerful. But you're wrong." 

He lifted his head, glaring at me with unmasked hatred. "I came for you because you don't belong on that throne. You're no queen. You're an abomination, born of a bloodline that should have died out generations ago."

This time, Gwayne didn't wait for my permission. 

His fist connected with the prisoner's gut, doubling him over with a guttural gasp. A knee to the ribs followed, the force sending the man crashing to his knees, his chains rattling loudly.

"Enough," I said, my voice cutting through the tension. Gwayne stepped back, though his body was taut with barely restrained fury. 

The prisoner wheezed, coughing up blood as he struggled to lift his head.

"You'll never—never rule the Seven Kingdoms," he croaked, his voice rasping. "They'll rise against you, and when they do, you'll fall just like your mother should have. Bastard queens never last."

For a moment, I said nothing, letting his words hang in the air. Then, slowly, deliberately, I turned my gaze to Gwayne. 

Our eyes met, and I nodded once, the motion subtle but unmistakable.

Gwayne's lips curved into a satisfied smile, and before the prisoner could react, he drew his blade. 

The motion was swift and precise, a clean arc of steel that silenced the man mid-breath. 

Blood sprayed across the dungeon floor, the sound of the blade slicing through flesh punctuated by the soft thud of the prisoner's body collapsing.

Gwayne wiped the blade on the edge of his cloak, stepping back to stand at attention. His eyes met mine, his expression calm but brimming with pride.

"My queen," he said simply, his voice steady as if he had just completed a mundane task.

I regarded the lifeless body for a moment before turning on my heel. "Have the mess cleaned up," I said coolly, the authority in my tone leaving no room for debate.

Gwayne inclined his head. "As you command."

As I ascended the stairs, leaving the darkness of the dungeons behind, I felt no remorse. Loyalty had its price, and so did treachery. 

Today, both had been paid in full.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

The candlelight in my chambers flickered as the evening breeze slipped through the partially open windows, carrying the scent of salt from the sea. 

I sat at the edge of my desk, a goblet of wine in my hand, staring into its depths as though it held the answers to questions I dared not ask aloud. 

Tonight had gone as planned, but I could not ignore the weight of the choices I'd made. Power always came at a price, and it was one I was willing to pay. But not alone.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. I straightened, setting the goblet aside. "Enter," I called, my voice steady, controlled.

The heavy door creaked open, and Gwayne stepped inside, his armour glinting faintly in the warm glow of the room. He bowed low, as was his habit, though his eyes lingered on me longer than protocol demanded.

"You summoned me, Your Grace?" he asked, his voice reverent, tinged with something deeper—something raw.

"I did." I gestured for him to approach, and he obeyed, stopping a few paces away. 

The space between us felt charged, the silence stretching just long enough to make him shift slightly, uncertain.

"You performed admirably today," I said at last, my tone soft but laced with intent. "I asked for loyalty, and you delivered it without hesitation. The Seven Kingdoms have few men as resolute as you, Ser Gwayne."

His chest rose with a sharp inhale, and for a moment, I saw the mask of composure crack. 

Pride flickered in his eyes, mingling with something more dangerous—adoration. "To serve you, Your Grace is the greatest honour of my life," he said, his voice trembling with sincerity.

I rose from my seat, closing the distance between us. Standing before him, I tilted my head slightly, studying his face—the hard lines of his jaw, the intensity in his gaze.

 "You've proven time and again that your loyalty knows no bounds," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "But tell me, Ser Gwayne...how far would you truly go for me?"

His breath hitched, the question clearly striking a chord. His gaze locked with mine, unwavering, as though the answer was the easiest truth he'd ever spoken. 

"As far as you command, my queen," he said, his voice rich with fervour. "And even further, if it pleases you."

I felt a rush of heat at his words, the devotion in his tone like a salve for the wounds I didn't even realize I carried. 

He wasn't just a knight swearing fealty to his queen; he was a man consumed by something far greater—an obsession that fed his every action, his every word. And in the quiet recesses of my mind, I realized I didn't want to stop him. 

I wanted to let the fire burn.

Stepping closer, I reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. His breath caught at the touch, his body tensing as though he was torn between leaning into me and holding himself back. 

"Your devotion is...remarkable," I said softly, my fingers lingering for a moment before retreating. "Few would go to the lengths you have for me."

"There is no length I wouldn't go to, Your Grace," he said, his voice almost trembling. "Your will is my purpose, your happiness my only desire. I would burn the Seven Kingdoms to ash if you asked it of me."

His words should have alarmed me, but instead, they sent a thrill coursing through my veins. His obsession was dangerous, yes, but it was also intoxicating—a power all its own. 

"You speak of fire and ash, Ser Gwayne," I said, my lips curving into a faint smile. "But what of the heart? Would you risk that as well?"

He stepped closer, his armour clinking softly, his eyes blazing. 

"My heart belongs to you already, my queen," he said fervently. "It has since the day I first swore my sword to your service. And if it must be broken, I would endure the pain a thousand times over, so long as it served you."

For a moment, I was silent, the weight of his words pressing against me. Then, almost without thinking, I reached out, my fingers brushing against his cheek. 

His eyes closed briefly at the touch, his entire body leaning subtly into my hand, as though the world itself had stopped in that moment.

"You are...irreplaceable, Ser Gwayne," I said softly, my voice betraying a hint of the emotions I had so carefully concealed. "Never doubt that."

His eyes opened, shining with something unspoken, something I couldn't name but felt all the same. "I live for you," he whispered. "And I would die for you, should you ever ask it."

I let my hand drop, stepping back to reclaim a measure of the space between us. 

"Then pray that I never have cause to ask," I said, my voice firm once more. "The Seven Kingdoms need men like you. I need men like you."

He bowed his head, the gesture reverent. "You will always have me, Your Grace. In this life and the next."

He looked up his eyes searching mine, and I saw the question there, unspoken but undeniable. He was holding himself back, waiting for permission, for a sign. 

I didn't let him wait long.

Leaning in, I closed the distance between us, my lips brushing against his in a kiss that was softer than I intended, yet no less consuming. 

For a moment, he froze, as if the reality of what was happening was too much to comprehend. 

But then his arms encircled me, pulling me closer as he deepened the kiss with a fervour that took my breath away.

Time seemed to dissolve, the firelight casting shifting shadows around us as the kiss stretched on, filled with all the unspoken words, the unfulfilled desires that had lingered between us for so long. 

When we finally broke apart, his forehead rested against mine, his breath warm against my skin.

"My queen," he whispered, his voice reverent, almost worshipful.

I smiled faintly, my hand still resting against his cheek. "Goodnight, Ser Gwayne," I said softly, my tone carrying a promise that this was far from the end.

He pulled back reluctantly, his gaze lingering on me as though memorizing every detail before he bowed and stepped away. 

As the door closed behind him, I sank back into my chair, the taste of him still lingering on my lips.

Power was a dangerous thing, but in his devotion, I had found something even more potent. 

Something I couldn't bring myself to let go.

A/n - My new current fav because men hopelessly in love with their queens is just >>>

Gwayne tag list - @deniixlovezelda @randomnerdyfan @callsign-blue

[misswynters]

Aemond Targaryen as your husband: headcanon

[a/n: there are some sensual undertones here so if you don’t wanna read that you can skip it. it’s after the seperator

[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

similar | jace | aegon | cregan | daeron | gwayne

Aemond is fiercely protective of you. His intense loyalty means he is always by your side, ensuring your safety and well-being. He often places himself between you and any perceived threat, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword.

Aemond isn’t one for grand romantic gestures, but his love for you is evident in the small things. He brushes your hair out of your face, ensures your chambers are always warm, and leaves books he thinks you’d enjoy on your bedside table.

As your husband, Aemond values your opinion on matters of state and politics. He seeks your counsel in private, trusting your judgment and treating you as an equal partner in all decisions.

Aemond admires your intelligence and enjoys engaging in deep conversations with you. Whether it’s discussing the histories of Westeros, strategy, or philosophy, he relishes the intellectual stimulation you provide.

Aemond respects your strength and encourages you to train with him. He enjoys sparring sessions where you both hone your skills, often leading to playful banter and mutual admiration.

You and Aemond have an unspoken bond, sharing secrets that no one else knows. He trusts you implicitly and confides in you about his deepest fears and ambitions.

Despite his stern exterior, Aemond has a soft spot for you. In private, he’s tender and gentle, often holding you close and whispering sweet nothings that contrast sharply with his public demeanor.

Aemond enjoys gifting you rare and precious items, from intricate jewelry to exotic silks. He takes pride in finding unique treasures that reflect your tastes and interests.

One of your favorite pastimes is riding Vhagar together. The thrill of soaring through the skies, feeling the wind in your hair, and the shared experience of dragon riding brings you closer. Aemond often points out landmarks and recounts stories from his childhood as you fly.

Aemond’s loyalty to you is unwavering. He defends your honor fiercely and would go to great lengths to protect you from harm. His love is intense and all-consuming, leaving no room for doubt.

Through your relationship, Aemond learns to open up more emotionally. Your patience and understanding help him grow, allowing him to express his feelings more freely and strengthening your bond.

Aemond is your biggest supporter. Whether you’re pursuing a personal project or navigating court politics, he’s always there to offer encouragement and practical advice.

Aemond is devoted to your future children. He takes an active role in their upbringing, ensuring they are well-educated and trained. He often tells them stories of his own adventures and the legacy of House Targaryen.

Despite the challenges you face, your bond with Aemond is unbreakable. Together, you are a formidable team, facing the world with strength and determination. Your love for each other is a constant source of comfort and inspiration, guiding you through the trials of life in Westeros.

Aemond’s eye always finds you in a room full of people. The way he looks at you, with a mix of desire and admiration, sends shivers down your spine. His gaze alone can make you feel cherished and wanted.

In private, Aemond’s touches are gentle and deliberate. He traces his fingers along your skin, memorizing every curve and line. Whether it’s a light touch on your hand or a caress along your back, he makes you feel treasured.

Aemond’s kisses are a mix of urgency and tenderness. He captures your lips with an intensity that leaves you breathless, his hands cradling your face as if you’re the most precious thing in the world.

Late at night, when the castle is quiet, Aemond whispers sweet and sultry words in your ear. He tells you of his desires, his dreams, and how deeply he loves you. His voice, low and husky, wraps around you like a warm embrace.

Aemond takes his time when you’re having sex. He believes in savoring every moment, exploring your body with a careful and practiced touch. His focus is entirely on your pleasure, ensuring you feel loved and satisfied.

There’s a powerful, unspoken connection between you. A single look from Aemond can communicate a thousand words. In moments of intimacy, you don’t need to speak; your bodies and souls understand each other perfectly.

After a long day, Aemond loves to hold you close. He wraps his arms around you, his body shielding yours. The warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart are the ultimate comfort, making you feel safe and adored. Giving you the love that his mother didn’t give him.

Aemond is particularly affectionate in the mornings. He wakes you with soft kisses on your neck and shoulders, his hands gently exploring your body as he whispers good morning. These moments set a loving tone for the day ahead.

Aemond enjoys sharing baths with you. The intimacy of washing each other, feeling the warm water and his hands on your skin, creates a deep bond. He loves to see you relaxed and content, and he takes his time, making sure every touch is soothing and sensual.

Despite his duties, Aemond finds time for secret sex. Whether it’s a secluded garden or a hidden room in the castle, he ensures you have moments of privacy to express your love and passion freely.

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[kezdispenser]

FIERCE ALLEGIANCE

Chapter 1: Where the Air Holds Its Breath

Summary: Y/N, a Miyagi-Do student, accidentally walks into Sensei Wolf’s training room during the Sekai Taikai. She watches him train, captivated by his raw and aggressive style. When he notices her, he doesn’t mind the intrusion, and their brief exchange leaves her intrigued. As she leaves, she’s left wondering about the man behind his cold, egotistical exterior.

The Sekai Taikai tournament was a battlefield, and Y/N knew it all too well. As a student of Miyagi-Do, she had been prepared for the intensity of the competition, but nothing could have fully prepared her for the simmering energy that came with facing the Iron Dragons—the reigning champions. The pressure was palpable, even as the other dojos warmed up, preparing for their matches.

Y/N stepped away from the buzzing crowds, looking for a moment of peace before her own fight. Her mind was a blur of strategy, focus, and nerves. She needed space to breathe, to clear the tension building in her chest. As she walked through the hallways of the arena, she caught glimpses of her senseis—Daniel LaRusso, Johnny Lawrence, and Chozen Toguchi—speaking with other competitors, their eyes full of determination. Each of them had trained her differently, but together they had prepared her for this moment. Her teammates, Hawk, Demetri, and the others, were scattered throughout, doing their best to stay focused as well.

Despite the strong bond she shared with her dojo, Y/N felt isolated for a brief moment. It wasn’t fear; it was something else—a sense of being on the edge of something bigger. Miyagi-Do had its philosophy, its values, but facing the Iron Dragons was a new kind of challenge. A test that went beyond just karate—it was about strength, resolve, and the will to win.

She wandered the corridors, past doors marked with dojo names, before spotting an unmarked door. It was cracked open, and the quiet darkness inside beckoned her. Figuring it was an unused space, she stepped inside, only to freeze when she saw him.

Sensei Wolf.

His back was to her, his body moving with an almost predatory grace as he struck the punching bag. The room was dim, with only the light from the hallway filtering in, casting long shadows across his sculpted frame. His movements were sharp, deliberate—each strike landing with the intensity of a man who had spent years perfecting violence.

Y/N swallowed, not knowing whether to turn and leave or to stay. But before she could make a decision, he spoke.

"Lost, huh?"

His voice was low and almost amused, without turning around. The tone was familiar, as if he knew exactly who she was, though she had never seen him up close before. And yet, there was something about him—something that drew her in despite every instinct telling her to walk away.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she muttered, feeling her face flush as she stepped back toward the door.

Wolf finally turned, his dark eyes locking onto hers for the briefest moment. A fleeting smirk appeared on his lips before he returned to his practice, as if she were nothing more than a passing distraction. “You didn’t,” he said, his voice carrying an edge. “But now you’re here.”

Y/N hesitated, caught between wanting to disappear and wanting to understand more. She didn’t belong in this room, in this space that seemed to belong to him and him alone. But something about the way he moved, the power in every strike, pulled her in.

The tension in the air grew thicker as she stood there, watching him. The silence between them was heavy, charged with something unspoken. She couldn’t look away.

Just then, the door behind her opened, and she heard the familiar voices of her Miyagi-Do teammates. Hawk, with his trademark confidence, followed by Demetri’s usual anxious energy. They had clearly been looking for her.

“Y/N?” Hawk called out, seeing her standing in the doorway. “You okay?”

Y/N quickly straightened up, pulling herself out of the trance-like state Wolf’s training had put her in. “Yeah, just—lost track of time,” she muttered, feeling embarrassed. Hawk raised an eyebrow but didn’t press the matter further.

Demetri, always the curious one, peered around her into the training room, eyes widening when he saw who was there. “Sensei Wolf?” he asked, his voice faltering slightly.

Wolf stopped mid-punch, turning to look at the group of Miyagi-Do students. He didn’t show any sign of surprise, though his expression remained as cold as ever. “You’ve found me,” he said, his voice almost taunting. “It’s a shame the same can’t be said for your dojo’s chances in this tournament.”

The words hung in the air, but Y/N could see the quiet smirk on his face, the way his eyes gleamed with challenge. He had no respect for their dojo, and in that moment, she felt the weight of that disdain. But instead of answering, she simply turned to her friends.

“Let’s go,” she said softly, the unease lingering in her chest. She didn’t want to engage with Wolf any longer, but part of her also felt like she hadn’t even begun to understand the enigma that was Sensei Wolf. She wasn’t sure if she ever would.

As they left the room, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. The Iron Dragons were more than just fierce competitors; they were a force—one that was ready to do whatever it took to win.

As they left the room, Y/N felt a sudden chill on the back of her neck. She turned slightly, almost instinctively, only to find Sensei Wolf’s eyes still on her. His gaze cut through the air like a blade, sharp and unwavering.

She froze for a heartbeat, his intense stare locking with hers from across the room. There was something unreadable in his eyes—a challenge, a warning, maybe even something darker—but it was too quick to decipher.

The silence between them felt heavy, thick with unspoken tension. Y/N felt the weight of it like an invisible rope pulling her back toward him. The rest of her teammates were already stepping down the hallway, oblivious to the charged moment that passed between them.

Without breaking eye contact, Sensei Wolf gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod, as if acknowledging her presence in his space. It was a silent acknowledgment of something deeper, a challenge yet to be faced. Then, he turned back to his training, the sharp sound of his punches reverberating in the silence.

Y/N swallowed hard, heart pounding as she turned away, forcing herself to walk down the hall with the others, but the feeling lingered.

--------------------------

A/N: This was in my drafts for too long , so all my sensei wolf girlies, this is for you <3

[sulkingheichou012]

Into the Dungeon with You

Pairing: Jinwoo x Reader

Genre: RomCom, Action, Future Smut

Warning: Description of violence and profanity.

Summary: Jinwoo frowned as a new system notification appeared before him.

[Special Reward Successfully Claimed.]

Author's note: I'm happy that some of you are enjoying my silly work! Yes, if you're asking to be tagged—sure! 😊

Chapter 12

The ground trembled beneath an army gathered at the heart of humanity’s last stand. Hunters of every rank stood shoulder to shoulder, their weapons clenched tight in their grasp, faces grim but determined. Even the weakest among them stood their ground, refusing to abandon the front lines, because behind them was home—and family.

And at the forefront stood the Shadow Army. Ten thousand strong. Silent. Unflinching. Giants towered over mountains, the air thick with Tusk’s arcane incantations. Bellion, Igris and Beru knelt at Jinwoo’s side, their auras blazing in anticipation.

And standing just behind him was Y/N.

Her scythe rested over her shoulder, and at her feet was a massive, slumbering shadow—her dragon. Its pitch-black scales shimmered with deep violet veins, its breath rumbling like distant thunder.

She whispered to the dragon, “Be ready.”

The portal in the sky pulsed ominously, dark tendrils spilling out, distorting the air itself. And then— A tear ripped through the clouds.

He came.

Antares arrived like a black sun blotting out the heavens. Wings outspread, talons sharp enough to rend continents, his descent cracked the earth itself. His molten glowing red eyes swept the battlefield with disdain.

And then, they settled on Jinwoo.

“You’ve gathered quite the resistance,” Antares said, his deep voice like the grinding of mountains.

Jinwoo stood tall, unmoved. “They’re not here for me. They’re here to protect what matters.”

Antares chuckled. “Protect? When the end is inevitable?” He spread his claws wide, gesturing toward the swirling abyss above. “The Primordial Hunger stirs. Even if you kill me, you’ve already lost.”

Jinwoo tightened his grip on his blade. “I haven’t lost anything yet.”

Antares tilted his head, his gaze shifting—landing on Y/N.

She froze.

Her shadow dragon rose, snarling low at the Dragon Monarch. Antares’ interest piqued. “You,” he murmured. “The Balance Keeper. Ashborn’s broken anchor.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “I’m not broken.”

She wasn’t ready for the sheer heat of that stare. It was like staring into the heart of an active volcano. Her chaotic brain, ever unhelpful, whispered: Majestic Daddy Dragon… Which was immediately followed by her own mental slap: Stop that!

But Antares noticed. Of course he did. Instead of fear, he found curiosity. Sparkle.

Antares gave a slow, cruel smile. “Perhaps not. But you will be.” he said, voice lowering as if it was a secret shared between them.

“I expected terror. But I see… fascination.”

But Jinwoo’s shadow swelled, and he took a deliberate step in front of her. “You will not touch her,” Jinwoo said, his voice dropping an octave.

Antares sighed. “A shame. She’s… intriguing.”

Antares’ offer came. Alliance. Partnership. Protection from the Primordial Hunger that was already stirring.

But Jinwoo refused. Exactly as Y/N knew he would.

And as Antares’ disappointment turned into lethal intent, Y/N found herself gripping her scythe tighter. This was it. The calm was over.

Jinwoo gave no warning. In a blink, he was in motion— Sword clashing against Antares’ talon in a blinding explosion of black and red.

The shockwave blew back the front line of Hunters. Tusk threw up shields of magic to hold the line.

Above them, titans clashed. Antares was relentless, his strength honed by eons of conquest. Jinwoo was faster, cutting deeper, shadow blades slashing like lightning strikes.

But it was not enough. Every time Jinwoo pressed forward, the portal tore wider behind Antares. The Primordial Hunger pulsed, screaming to be let loose upon the world.

Y/N didn’t stand still.

While Jinwoo fought Antares, she ran to the front lines. Hunters were falling, their ranks breaking under the weight of lesser dragons and corrupted beasts spilling from smaller tears. Y/N swung her scythe in wide arcs, cutting down monstrosities with brutal grace.

“Hold the line!” she shouted. Her dragon roared beside her, unleashing streams of black flame that consumed the enemy.

When a Hunter was about to fall, she was there. When a squad was about to break, she summoned shadow manifestations of ancient warriors, spectral heroes, and great beasts to bolster them.

But it wasn’t enough.

The monsters kept coming.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. But Y/N didn’t hesitate. She called forth more of her Shadow Manifestations—warriors she didn’t know, yet who stood for her as if they’d been waiting for the call their whole afterlife.

“You fight for me,” she whispered. “Then I fight for you.”

Y/N was everywhere. Her control of the battlefield was flawless.

And Antares noticed.

Through the corner of his eye, he watched as she rallied the broken, her dragon shielding the weak. The Balance Keeper… restoring the fragile thread between life and death, holding the tide back.

He sneered. “She’s interfering.”

But Jinwoo heard none of it. He was locked in a brutal exchange, his blade carving deep into Antares’ scales, his strength driven by something deeper—someone he couldn’t lose.

Antares roared, shifting back into his true form—massive wings blotting out the light. The heat of his flames scorched the land. The Shadow Legion roared in response. And Jinwoo’s shadows surged forward to meet him.

Jinwoo glanced once toward Y/N. And found her already staring at him.

He spoke through their minds. “I’m proud of you,” he said. And then, “Stay alive.”

Y/N’ throat tightened. “You too, idiot.”

And yet, the Primordial Hunger continued to awaken.

Y/N saw it. The portal above was too vast, too hungry. Even if Jinwoo defeated Antares, the world was moments away from being devoured.

And then it struck her.

Ashborn’s final battle. The memory of his agony as she gave her life to seal the rift. History was repeating itself.

Y/N bit her lip hard, her scythe trembling in her grip.

She turned back toward Jinwoo. He was fighting with everything he had. For her. For everyone.

Tears stung her eyes.

Jinwoo was struck hard by Antares.

He flew back, smashing into the ground with an explosion of debris.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She sprinted toward him, throwing herself down beside him.

He coughed, blood painting his lips. But his eyes were on her immediately, searching her face.

“You have to stay back,” he rasped. “I can do this.”

Y/N’ throat closed. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

Before he could react, she leaned in— And pressed her forehead to his. A soft, lingering moment in the chaos.

“I’m glad I met you,” she whispered, tears threatening. “You… you are my home.”

Jinwoo’s breath hitched. “Y/N, don’t—”

But she was already rising. Running.

The battlefield had descended into utter chaos. The skies tore open with gaping maws of endless blackness, spilling the influence of the Primordial Hunger. Portals bled into each other, rupturing reality as monstrous distortions clawed at existence itself. Even Antares, locked in deadly combat with Jinwoo, glanced up once— And smiled. “The beginning of the end,” he whispered with cruel satisfaction.

But Y/N had already made her decision.

She exhaled shakily, lifting her gaze to the sky. Her fingers trembled as she reached out, calling to the massive shadow coiled nearby. Her dragon responded instantly, rising from the ground with a thunderous roar that shook what little was left of the earth.

Y/N vaulted onto its back. Her scythe stabbed into the beast’s hide—not to harm it, but to anchor herself as they surged skyward. The dragon’s wings spread wide, obsidian membranes shimmering like oil on water as it carried her toward the heart of the apocalyptic storm.

Below them, the Hunters were frozen in place, gazes lifted. “Lady Y/N…” murmured one of the low-rank Hunters, eyes wide in awe.

“She’s going for the portal!” shouted another.

“She’s going to close it!”

A rallying cry rose from the ranks. Their voices shook with desperation and hope.

Beru and other shadows knelt in the dirt, his mandibles clicking anxiously. Bellion and Igris, battered but standing tall, silently lifted his sword toward the sky in salute.

As Y/N and her dragon climbed higher, the winds howled violently. The Primordial Hunger’s influence battered at her, tendrils of dark energy lashing at her skin. Blood streaked her cheeks, but she gritted her teeth and pushed forward.

“Just a little closer…” she murmured. The dragon’s muscles coiled tight as it reached the apex of its flight. With a final, guttural roar, it unleashed a torrent of shadowflame, scouring a path directly into the heart of the portal.

Y/N rose to stand atop the dragon’s neck, arms wide. Her scythe vanished in a ripple of shadow. In its place, black tendrils erupted from her fingertips—long, thick shadow chains, glowing faintly with ancient runes.

“Bind,” she commanded. Her voice was steady, though her body shook.

The chains shot outward, spearing into the edges of the largest rift in the sky. The entire world seemed to groan under the strain as the chains anchored themselves deep into reality’s seams. Then— She pulled.

Y/N screamed. Shadow energy exploded from her body in a shockwave that sent the dragon tumbling beneath her. But she did not fall. She hovered, suspended by sheer will.

The chains groaned and tightened, inch by agonizing inch, dragging the portal shut. Each moment was a battle. For every meter the portal closed, the Primordial Hunger pushed back twice as hard.

Blood poured from her nose and ears. Her vision blurred. But Y/N smiled through it all. “Not this time,” she whispered. “I’ll finish it.”

Below, the Hunters watched in stunned silence. They saw her glowing like a dying star, her dragon dissolving beneath her into black dust. And still, she pulled the chains tighter.

Relief and sorrow warred in their expressions. “She’s doing it…” whispered a Hunter. “She’s winning.”

But others wept openly. “She’s… she’s not coming back, is she?”

Jinwoo felt it the moment Y/N gave herself to the Balance Keeper’s duty. A tearing sensation in his chest, as if something inside him was being ripped away.

He roared, driving Kamish’s fang deeper into Antares’ hide. The Dragon Monarch snarled, retaliating with brutal fury— But Jinwoo was relentless. Fueled by desperation. By rage.

He drove Antares back, deeper into the broken ruins of what was once a city. Every strike Jinwoo delivered cracked the air itself, his shadows swarming in a black hurricane.

Antares smirked through the pain. “You’ve already lost her,” he hissed.

And Jinwoo snapped. He unleashed everything. Antares’ massive body was thrown back, smashing through the remnants of a skyscraper, pinned by a forest of shadow spears.

Jinwoo didn’t wait. He turned and sprinted toward the sky.

The portal was closing. The chains had nearly finished their work. The sky was clearing.

But Y/N— She was falling.

Her dragon was gone, disintegrated into stardust. And she followed, her body fragmenting into particles of light and shadow. Each breath she took scattered her essence a little more.

Jinwoo’s heart stopped.

He leapt. Shadow teleportation blurred his form as he raced to catch her before she was lost.

“Y/N!” he shouted. Her gaze found him, dazed but soft. She smiled. “We did it.”

He caught her— But there was nothing solid. Her form dissolved against his chest, leaving faint warmth and motes of light behind.

“No. No, no, no… Please... not like this…” Jinwoo’s hands scrambled to hold her together, but his fingers passed through smoke and fading light.

And she was gone.

The portal sealed behind her, its edges stitched closed by shadow chains that dissolved into the ether.

Hunters dropped to their knees, some crying and roaring out in relief, others in grief. They had won. The world was saved.

But the cost…

Jinwoo stood in the center of the ruin, arms empty, head bowed. Shadows swirled around him, restless and mourning.

The silence was deafening.

Jinwoo knelt there for a long time, hands still out as if cradling something that wasn’t there. His head bowed. His shadows stood frozen behind him, unmoving, silent in mourning.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He simply… stopped.

The world was quiet. The battle was over. But the ache had only just begun.

And in the wind, A faint whisper: “I love you.”

His fists clenched. Tears dripped from his chin. But when he raised his head again, his eyes burned with purpose.

“I’ll find you, Y/N,” he swore. “Even if I have to tear through every realm to bring you home.”

And the Shadow Monarch took his first step toward a new journey.

<< Chapter 11 | Chapter 13 >>

Tag requests: @kisssleeping; @catsf0rlife707; @aorifukuzawa; @joannthebish; @ojog404; @tanspostsblog; @snowy-violet; @o-qi-shisme; @sleepyamaya; @harrystylesfan2686; @night-shadowblood-writes2; @weaponxgames; @bubera974;

Sending big hugs to every Y/N out there 😭💔

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

Can you do headcanons for Targtowers boys (Aegon, Aemond and Daeron) with bastard son of Viserys user? Their relationship with user is like Bloodraven and Shiera Seastar. They keep asking for user hand but user never agreed and has other lovers beside them

The Targaryen boys with bastard Y/N

Aegon II Targaryen

Aegon's persistent chasing of Y/N's hand is less about genuine affection and more about possessive pride. He needs to "win" Y/N because he can't stand the thought of someone he desires choosing someone else.

When drunk (which is often), Aegon becomes bolder and more aggressive in his pursuit of Y/N, often leading to embarrassing and regrettable scenes.

Aegon is consumed by jealousy of Y/N's other lovers, both male and female.

Despite his public arrogance, Aegon craves Y/N's approval

Y/N's other lovers drive Aegon into fits of jealous rage. He'll make snide comments, try to sabotage the relationships, and sometimes even resort to petty (and occasionally dangerous) things.

Aegon ask for Y/N support, Aegon ask for Y/N support because he believes Y/N is the only that can bring stability to the kingdom

Y/N’s indifference fuels Aegon’s self-destructive tendencies. He drinks more, becomes more reckless, and pushes the boundaries of acceptable behavior.

He blames Y/N for his own failings. After being rejected, Aegon will often lash out, accusing Y/N of distracting him, undermining him etc

He doesn’t woo Y/N, he demands his hand, believing it’s Y/N's duty to accept the "honor" of marrying a Targaryen prince (and future king).

He struggles to understand Y/N's disinterest. Aegon genuinely cannot comprehend why someone would refuse his advances. He interprets Y/N's rejections as a game, a challenge to be overcome rather than genuine disinterest.

Aegon sees Y/N as a prized possession he hasn’t yet acquired. Y/N's refusal fuels his desire, turning him into an obsession. He wants what he can’t have.

Aemond Targaryen

Aemond is drawn to Y/N's independence and the fact that Y/N’s not easily swayed. To Aemond's irritation, Y/N treats him more like an equal than a prince.

The first time Aemond made a formal proposal of marriage, offering wealth and security, Y/N laughed, a sound that grated on Aemond's ears. He saw genuine amusement, not mockery, and this infuriated him more.

Aemond finds Y/N's disregard for the traditional power structures of the court both maddening and fascinating. Y/N interacts with servants and nobles alike with the same sardonic charm.

Aemond is intensely jealous of Y/N's other lovers, seeing each one as a personal affront. He will often make subtle (and sometimes not-so-subtle) attempts to discredit them in Y/N's eyes.

Aemond sees Y/N as a challenge, a puzzle to be solved. The more Y/N resists him, the more determined Aemond becomes to win him over.

Aemond has considered resorting to more forceful methods to secure Y/N's hand, but he knows that such tactics would only drive Y/N further away. He wants Y/N to come to him willingly.

Aemond has had dreams of ruling beside Y/N, their sigils combined, a dragon intertwined with whatever sigil Y/N has chosen himself.

Aemond believes that Y/N is deliberately provoking him by flaunting his relationships with others. He interprets it as a test, a challenge to his resolve.

Daeron Targaryen

Daeron first encountered Y/N during a visit to King's Landing from Oldtown. He was immediately struck by Y/N's beauty and sharp intellect.

He admires Y/N's refusal to be defined solely by his parentage.

Daeron has proposed marriage to Y/N multiple times. Each proposal is carefully considered, presented with charm and logic, appealing to Y/N's ambition, offering power and legitimacy.

Y/N's repeated rejections wound Daeron deeply, but he masks it with polite acceptance and a renewed determination to win Y/N over one day.

Daeron is subtly jealous of the other lovers Y/N takes, carefully observing them.

He believes that Y/N's other relationships are merely distractions, that deep down, Y/N desires the stability and power Daeron offers. It's a comforting delusion.

Daeron defends Y/N's honor fiercely. While he may not always agree with Y/N's choices, he will not tolerate anyone speaking ill of him.

When Daeron is away from King's Landing, he writes letters to Y/N

He occasionally wonders if Y/N's resistance is a test, a way for Y/N to gauge Daeron's devotion and worthiness.

Daeron genuinely loves Y/N, but there's also a part of him that loves the challenge of winning someone so elusive and independent.

He sometimes wonders if Y/N is aware of the subtle power he holds over Daeron and if he consciously uses it.

Daeron, despite the constant rejections, never truly gives up on the possibility of a future with Y/N. He believes that with time, patience, and unwavering devotion, he will eventually win Y/N's heart.

[moonlight-joy]

Fires of Fate

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: Your forbidden love for Jacaerys Velaryon came to light when you risked everything to protect Lucerys from Aemond Targaryen. Jace’s heartfelt confession and Rhaenyra’s blessing solidified your bond, leading to a joyful wedding on Dragonstone. Defying duty, your love forged an unbreakable legacy of unity and strength.

Pairing: Reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

Your love for Jacaerys Velaryon had always been a quiet flame, one you tried to extinguish when his betrothal to Baela Targaryen was announced. The match was forged in duty, meant to unify the Targaryen and Velaryon bloodlines. You accepted it because it was expected, just as Jace did, though the way he looked at you—longing, conflicted, and full of love—betrayed his true feelings. Your bond with him was undeniable, even as the weight of duty kept you apart.

Everything changed on a stormy night when Aemond Targaryen pursued Lucerys Velaryon across the skies. The fragile peace between the Greens and the Blacks shattered as word reached Dragonstone that Aemond had cornered Luke near Storm’s End. Without hesitation, you rode for the cliffs overlooking the sea. Though you lacked a dragon, your determination was unyielding. Luke was more than Jace’s brother—he was yours, in every way that mattered.

When you arrived, the sight froze your blood. Vhagar, immense and menacing, loomed over the stormy sea, her rider intent on terrorizing the smaller Arrax and his young rider. Luke’s cries were barely audible over the roaring wind, and panic surged through you as you shouted his name. Your voice cut through the chaos, and for a brief moment, Luke’s panicked gaze found yours. Your presence gave him the clarity to act, and Arrax dove sharply, narrowly evading Vhagar’s massive jaws and disappearing into the clouds.

Aemond’s attention shifted to you. Vhagar descended, her shadow engulfing you as Aemond dismounted, his movements graceful and deliberate. His violet eye gleamed with amusement, but beneath it was something darker.

“Brave,” he said, his voice low and taunting. “But foolish.”

Your heart pounded, but you stood your ground. “You call tormenting a boy bravery? What would your mother say?”

Aemond smirked, stepping closer. “You think yourself a hero? All you’ve done is delay the inevitable.”

Before you could respond, the deafening roar of another dragon cut through the storm. Vermax descended from the clouds, his wings slicing through the air like a blade. Jacaerys, astride his dragon, landed with a thunderous crash, his fury palpable as he dismounted and stepped between you and his uncle.

“Aemond,” Jace said, his voice steady but cold. “If you harm her, I will kill you.”

Aemond’s smirk deepened, but he stepped back, his gaze flickering between you and Jace. “Another time, nephew,” he said before mounting Vhagar and vanishing into the stormy skies.

As the danger passed, Jace turned to you, his expression a mix of relief and anguish. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, holding you as though he feared you might disappear. “You shouldn’t have come,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “It was too dangerous.”

“I couldn’t let him hurt Luke,” you replied, your own voice shaking. “I had to do something.”

Jace pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his brown eyes burning with intensity. “You could have been killed,” he said, his hands gripping your arms. “Do you know what that would have done to me? I can’t lose you.”

His words hung in the air, raw and unguarded. Your heart raced, the unspoken barrier between you crumbling under the weight of your emotions. “You won’t lose me,” you whispered, tears brimming in your eyes. “Jace, I—”

“I love you,” he interrupted, his voice breaking. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t.”

Tears fell freely now, and you threw your arms around him. “I love you too,” you said, the words a release after years of restraint. “I always have.”

When you returned to Dragonstone, Rhaenyra greeted you, her eyes filled with concern. Jace recounted the events, his voice steady as he spoke of your courage and how you had risked your life for Luke. When he finished, Rhaenyra turned to you, her expression unreadable.

“You saved my son,” she said softly. “You put yourself in harm’s way to protect him.”

“I would do it again,” you replied, meeting her gaze with sincerity.

Rhaenyra studied you for a moment before speaking. “I’ve seen the way my son looks at you. And I’ve seen the way you look at him. Tell me, Y/N—do you love him?”

Your breath hitched, but you answered without hesitation. “With all my heart.”

Rhaenyra’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Then you shall have my blessing.”

Jace stared at his mother, his disbelief evident. “But Baela—”

“I will speak to her,” Rhaenyra said firmly. “This war has taught me the value of true loyalty and love. Marriages forged without them are brittle things. I will not condemn my son to such a fate.”

The day of your wedding was one of joy and fire. Dragons soared above Dragonstone, their cries echoing in celebration as you and Jace stood before the altar. His hands clasped yours tightly, his brown eyes filled with love and devotion.

“You are my heart,” he whispered as the High Septon bound your hands with a ribbon of red and black. “And I will spend my life proving it to you.”

“And you are mine,” you replied, your voice steady. “Together, we will build a future worthy of the Targaryen name.”

The feast that followed was a celebration unlike any other. Lords and ladies from across the realm toasted to your union, their voices mingling with the songs of bards and the occasional roar of dragons. Jace stayed by your side, his hand never far from yours, his smile unguarded and bright.

As the evening wound down, you found yourselves alone on the battlements of Dragonstone, the sea shimmering under the moonlight. Jace wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “I still can’t believe this is real,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “That you’re mine.”

“I always was,” you replied softly. “Now the world knows it.”

He turned you toward him, his gaze full of wonder. “Together, we’ll build something that lasts. Something our children and their children can be proud of.”

You smiled, leaning into his embrace. “And we’ll do it together.”

The roar of dragons echoed in the distance, their cries a testament to the fire that burned within you both. Your love had defied duty, danger, and doubt, and as you stood there in Jace’s arms, you knew your bond was unbreakable. Together, you would forge a legacy of love, strength, and unity—one that would endure for generations to come.

Please support my work with like and comment

[witchthewriter]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 | 𝐏𝐓 𝟐

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: So, I've sort of aged up the younger dragons a bit. Not much. And Tyraxes is now a different colour? I've read a few times that he's a bit purple-ish/red.

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

๋࣭⭑ 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘 𝐆𝐇����𝐒𝐓 ✶⋆.˚

・Grey Ghost is known for being elusive, shy, and distrustful of humans.

・At first, he might keep his distance, circling his rider warily while growling or hissing softly.

・This would not be due to a lack of care but rather his instinct to observe and assess the situation before taking action.

・His sharp eyes would sweep across the area, and his ears would twitch at the faintest sound, ensuring that the injury wasn’t part of a larger trap or attack.

・In all honesty, Grey Ghost's natural instinct is to flee or hide and this would create conflict with his loyalty to his rider. Only for the first event of such kind.

・This inner turmoil would manifest as pacing, soft growling, or circling his rider protectively while he deliberates his next move.

・But he would never leave you on your own.

・Once Grey Ghost realizes the severity of his rider’s injury and identifies that they are in immediate danger (or distress), his protective instincts would kick in.

・His usual elusive nature would fall away, revealing a dragon fiercely devoted to safeguarding his rider.

・Grey Ghost would position himself over or around you, spreading his massive wings to shield you from any threats. His pale, ghostly form would seemingly blend into his surroundings, making it hard for enemies to target him directly.

・His tail might lash aggressively, and he could stomp the ground or snap his jaws at anyone he perceives as a threat.

・While Grey Ghost is typically non-confrontational, the injury of his rider would awaken a primal rage in him if he suspects foul play. His usual avoidance of human settlements or other dragons would be forgotten in the heat of the moment.

・If Grey Ghost identifies anyone responsible for harming his rider, his vengeance would be swift and terrifying. Despite his elusive reputation, he is still a dragon—a creature of fire and blood. His attacks would be calculated, using his natural camouflage to ambush and devastate his enemies.

・He might nudge you gently with his snout, his usually cold and distant eyes change to warmth and concern. If you're conscious, he might emit soft, almost apologetic rumbles, as if to comfort you.

・Grey Ghost would likely carry you to a more secluded, hidden location, away from prying eyes and potential threats. He would be hyper-aware of your condition, moving carefully to avoid causing them more pain or distress.

・Due to his distrust of humans, Grey Ghost might be reluctant to allow even trusted allies near his rider. He could growl or flare his wings at medics or friends attempting to approach, forcing them to convince him they mean no harm.

・If you are taken away for treatment, Grey Ghost would resist at first. But following you closely or circling above.

・His deep bond with you would make it difficult for him to be apart, even temporarily.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍 ✶⋆.˚

・Known for her beauty, grace, and even temperament. Tessarion's reaction to you being injured would be a mix of deep emotional distress and protective instinct

・Tessarion would be instinctively aware the moment you were injured

・Her voice, often described as musical, would take on a mournful tone that would echo her concern.

・Despite her typically calm and composed demeanor, Tessarion’s protective instincts would flare to life in response to her rider’s injury. She would become a fierce guardian, determined to shield her rider from any further harm.

・Unlike more impulsive dragons, Tessarion’s actions would be measured. She wouldn’t lash out recklessly but would unleash her fury with precision, targeting only those she deemed a threat.

・Her flame, described as a brilliant cobalt blue, would light up the area in controlled bursts, warning enemies to stay away. The colour of the flame would entrance and create fear in allies and foes.

・When the threat is gone, she would become very gentle.

・Tessarion would lower her head to nuzzle her rider, her usually powerful and commanding presence softening in an effort to comfort you. Her large, expressive eyes would convey worry and sorrow, a silent plea for her rider to stay strong.

・If her rider were unconscious or unable to respond, Tessarion might grow increasingly agitated, pacing or flaring her wings in frustration.

・Tessarion’s even temperament would make her more likely than some dragons, to allow trusted allies or medics to approach her rider, yet she would still remain watchful and alert.

・She would recognize the difference between friend and foe, especially if her rider had established a connection with certain individuals. She might lower herself slightly to give others better access to her rider, though she would never stray far.

・After your recovery, Tessarion would definitely become more attentive, sticking closer to you during dangerous situations. She would even keep an eye when resting, ready to act at the first sign of trouble.

・Tessarion’s gentle and noble spirit would lead her to express her devotion in quiet moments. Either through soft purring sounds, affectionate nudges, or simply lying beside her rider, she would show her love in physical ways

๋࣭⭑ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐘𝐑𝐄 ✶⋆.˚

・The Golden, would react to you being injured with a combination of raw emotional and unwavering protectiveness. His regal personality would shape his actions, making his reaction dramatic, furious, and deeply loyal.

・Feeling your pain, Sunfyre would unleash a deep, earth-shaking roar, his golden body gleaming fiercely. The roar would serve as both an expression of his anguish and a warning to anyone nearby.

・Sunfyre’s proud nature would make him defensive of his injured rider, viewing your harm as a personal affront.

・He might thrash his tail or stomp the ground in frustration, his distress manifesting in physical displays. His wings would flare dramatically, creating a display of dominance

・Even trusted allies might find themselves at the mercy of Sunfyre’s suspicion.

・If he perceives any danger to you or identifies those responsible for your injury, his response would be swift and catastrophic.

・Sunfyre’s flames, described as golden and almost as radiant as his scales, would blaze brightly as he targets threats.

・His attacks would be both theatrical and overwhelming, meant to obliterate his enemies and display his dominance.

・Despite his massive size, Sunfyre would lower his head to nudge you softly, emitting low, rumbling sounds that carry both concern and reassurance.

・His golden body would give a comforting heat, as if trying to envelop his rider in his presence and shield them from further pain. This warmth could be soothing, both physically and emotionally.

・He would allow medics or friends to help, but only under his watchful gaze. Any sudden movements or signs of aggression toward his rider would provoke an immediate reaction.

・Sunfyre’s reaction wouldn’t end once his rider is treated. The event would leave a lasting impact on his behavior and deepening his bond with his rider.

・After witnessing their vulnerability, Sunfyre would become even more vigilant and attentive to his rider’s safety. He might hover closer in dangerous situations or insist on staying near them, even when resting.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐗 ✶⋆.˚

・Vermax is a spirited and bold dragon known for his youthful energy and eagerness. His reaction would be a mix of emotional distress, protectiveness, and a strong desire to "fix" the situation in any way he could.

・Vermax’s bond with his rider would alert him instantly to their injury

・Once his initial panic subsided, Vermax’s protective instincts would kick in

・If danger were present, Vermax would attack with swift, almost reckless aggression. His flames would burst forth in short, erratic bursts, his movements quick and sharp as he prioritizes eliminating the threat.

・Once the threat was gone, his focus would stay comepletely on you. Landing, he would choose somewhere with cover and natural protection. Getting as close to the ground as he can, you would hop off of him slowly.

・Then, he would position his body around you, wings spread wide and head lowered defensively. Despite his smaller size compared to older dragons, his posture would convey an undeniable determination to protect.

・Vermax would turn to you, and rub his snout on your cheek. He'd show an endearing, almost puppy-like concern for you.

・The green dragon's boldness might lead him to perceive any movement near his rider as a potential threat. He could snap at allies or growl at medics trying to help, only calming once he senses no ill intent.

・Vermax would refuse to leave his rider’s side, lowering himself so his body is near them, even curling protectively around them if possible.

・You would have to give the command to calm him, and let the others help you.

・Vermax’s reaction to his rider’s injury would leave a lasting impression on both his behavior and their bond. The event would serve as a learning experience, shaping his maturity and deepening his loyalty.

・Vermax would become more protective and attentive in the future, keeping a closer eye on his rider during dangerous situations.

・The trauma of this would influence some of his youthful impulsiveness, making him more cautious and deliberate in his actions.

・The experience would solidify the connection between Vermax and his rider, making him even more devoted and emotionally attuned to their well-being.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐗 ✶⋆.˚

・A nimble and intelligent dragon known for his responsiveness and strong bond with you, he would react to your injury with swift, calculated actions and visible emotional distress.

・Arrax has incredible intelligence and quick thinking. It would make his reaction precise and effective; perfect for a situation like this.

・His instinct is to release a high-pitched, distressed shriek or a series of short roars. These sounds would carry both his fear for his rider and a warning to any nearby threats.

・Arrax’s intelligence would shine in his ability to rapidly assess the situation and prioritize his rider’s safety.

・He would immediately survey the area for potential dangers, his sharp eyes darting around to locate enemies or hazards.

・Arrax would instinctively place himself between his injured rider and any perceived threat, his smaller but agile body coiling protectively around them.

・Despite his smaller size, Arrax’s protective instincts would be fierce. His loyalty to you would drive him to defend you with every ounce of his ability.

・If he perceived danger, Arrax would strike with precision. Arrax’s agility would allow him to outmaneuver larger or slower threats. He could take to the air, swooping low to distract enemies or disorient them with quick bursts of flame and rapid movements.

・He might use his quick movements to dart at attackers, snapping his jaws or unleashing bursts of flame.

・His flame, though less powerful than that of larger dragons, would be controlled and effective, aimed to intimidate or incapacitate rather than destroy indiscriminately.

・Once he perceived the immediate danger to be neutralized, Arrax would turn his attention fully to his injured rider, showing his concern in ways that reflect his bond with them.

・Arrax would prod you with his snout, letting out soft, crooning sounds as if trying to reassure you.

・He would want to be as close to you as possible. Lowering his body next to you, either trying to keep you warm, be a protective presence and somehow take some of your pain.

・Arrax’s intelligence would make him more likely than some dragons to allow allies or medics to approach you, though his protective instincts would keep him vigilant.

・This first time trauma, would leave Arrax different. One, it would deepen the bond with you, change his behavior by becoming more intune with you.

・As well as becoming more attentive to your well-being, staying closer during dangerous situations and reacting more quickly to threats.

・The experience would mature him

๋࣭⭑ 𝐓𝐘𝐑𝐀𝐗𝐄𝐒 ✶⋆.˚

・Tyraxes has a steady, balanced temperament. While his initial reaction might not be as volatile or dramatic as some dragons, it would be no less intense.

・Unlike more reactive dragons, Tyraxes wouldn’t thrash or panic. Instead, he might move slowly and deliberately his calm demeanor masking the depth of his worry.

・Tyraxes’ protective instincts would emerge fiercely in response to your vulnerability.

・If an immediate threat were present, Tyraxes would act decisively, using his flame or physical strength with calculated precision to neutralize the danger without endangering his rider.

・Tyraxes’ obedient and loyal nature would make him especially attentive to your well-being. He would stay close, offering physical and emotional comfort in his own dragon-like way.

・He'd gently nudge you, his large, expressive eyes reflecting his concern. His body heat would radiate toward you,making you feel at ease.

・Tyraxes might also produce deep, soothing sounds akin to a purr, an instinctive effort to calm and reassure his rider.

・His usually calm demeanor would become even more pronounced as he remained perfectly still, a silent but steadfast presence beside his injured rider.

・Tyraxes’ mature and even-tempered personality would make him more likely to allow trusted allies or medics to assist his rider.

・For strangers or unfamiliar allies, Tyraxes would need convincing.

・Unlike more reactive dragons, Tyraxes’ emotional response would be quieter but no less profound. His loyalty and concern would manifest through his steady nature.

・This occurence would strengthen Tyraxes’ already obedient nature, making him even more responsive to his rider’s commands and needs. It would have left a lasting impression; giving him a boost of confidence and moving him into maturity.

・Tyraxes’ reaction to his rider’s injury would be a masterclass in calm, controlled devotion. His docile nature wouldn’t stop him from fiercely protecting his rider when needed, but his response would always be measured and thoughtful.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 ✶⋆.˚

・Moondancer’s bond with you would allow her to sense your injury instantly, triggering an intense and visible emotional response.

・As a slender, quick, and fiercely spirited dragon, she'd react to your injury with a mix of emotional intensity, relentless protectiveness, and tactical ferocity.

・Moondancer’s body language would display a fierce determination. Her head would lower, her teeth bared, and her tail would flick with calculated aggression, warning anyone to stay back.

・Moondancer’s intelligence and combat style would come into play as she deals with any immediate threats to you.

・Moondancer’s flames would cause chaos and destruction. She'd pursue them relentlessly. Her smaller body alloing her to move through tight areas or challenging terrain.

・Once the immediate danger has passed, Moondancer’s fiery persona would soften as she turns her attention to you. Her loyalty and bond would manifest in tender, almost maternal behavior.

・Moondancer would nuzzle you with her slender snout, her usually sharp and quick movements becoming deliberately slow and gentle.

・She'd then make soothing trills or rumbles, her voice taking on a melodic, comforting quality to reassure you

・Her smaller size would allow her to curl closely around you, creating warmth and care.

・When help arrived, Moondancer may not allow others near, especially if she doesn’t trust them.

・However, if you were conscious and able to calm her, Moondancer would reluctantly allow help, though her watchful eyes would remain fixed on anyone near you

・After the event, Moondancer would become more attentive and protective

・Her fiery temperament might become more pronounced in future conflicts, her determination to prevent another injury to you driving her to act even more fiercely.

・The trauma of seeing you injured would deepen Moondancer’s loyalty, making the bond unshakable and the partnership even stronger.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ✶⋆.˚

・Morning's reaction would reflect her spirited, loyal, and deeply protective nature.

・Her youth and bond with her rider would make her response emotionally intense, with her actions blending fiery determination and tender care.

・The pink and black dragon would let out a piercing, mournful cry—loud and desperate. This cry would be both a call for help and an expression of her anguish.

・Morning would become increasingly protective. It would take over quickly as she moves to shield her rider from further harm, regardless of the danger or odds.

・Quickly, Morning would place herself over or around you, using her slender, agile body to create a protective barrier. Her pink-and-black form, usually elegant, would become a fierce and imposing presence.

・If she needed to defend you, her wings would flare wide, forming a physical barrier. Even in her panic, Morning’s movements would remain precise, ensuring you are fully covered and safe.

・Then her next actions would be absolutely destructive. Swift, agile, she would release a breath of flame. Magenta in colour with white swirling through, it would be intensely hot.

・Precise and targeted, she would strike until they were nought but ashes.

・Once the danger passed, Morning’s demeanor would shift from fiery defender to tender caretaker.

・She would curl her body or tail protectively around you, creating a cocoon-like space of warmth and security.

・Morning would create a calm stillness as she watches over you.

・Her expressive eyes would reflect her concern, locking onto you as if willing you to recover through sheer devotion.

・Morning wouldn't like anyone to come near you; even allies. She may see them as threats - her connection with you means she can feel your pain and she doesn't want you to feel anymore. So, she might growl softly or block access with her body

・When you're getting help, she wouldn't be far. Probably much too close. But she wouldn't be able to leave your side.

・This would leave a lasting impact on her. From then on, she would become much, much more protective of you. It would increase the bond, or might bolster Morning’s confidence and refine her ability to act decisively in future challenges.

𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕:

acrosaurotaurus

yok.sa_art

the_art_of_armmy

kennykwanart

𝒈𝒊𝒇 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕:

@targaryensource, @gameofthronesdaily, @daenerys-stormborn, @fireandbloodsource, @hvitserkk.

[detdeldragons]

Bad Batch as Summer Camp Counselors.

I've never been to summer camp, but I think this is right. I just want them to retire and find Tech alive and be happy at summer camp.

[flawseer]

#18 - "Fire"

Smaugust 2024

The last few submissions have been mostly visual, but today I want to do something more text-based. I'm always looking for opportunities to ramble ad nauseam about my headcanons and thoughts, but am usually hesitant if I don't think I can make a subject interesting or particularly insightful.

A few months back I was playing with the thought of publishing a speculative analysis on Pyrrhian dragon breath weapons, and how they might differ between tribes. I got up to the conceptualization stage, but then @sidyashchiy-na-plakhe came out with a better and more put-together version of what I was thinking about and touched on some similar points, so I filed those plans away to not step on any toes. If you're enjoying this type of deliberation, I recommend that you check out his take, as it is very thoughtfully put together with some cool visuals.

But, seeing as I have no other ideas for this prompt, and since it's been a while since then, I'm going to air out my scrapped draft here. I guess this is a mixture between canon information and headcanons, with a bias toward the latter.

General Information

Each of the seven Pyrrhian tribes is capable of using a kind of orally-discharged means of attack. For the purpose of this deliberation, I am going to refer to all of these as "breath weapons", even though not all of them are activated via exhalation. It will make things easier to talk about.

There are three general factors to each type of breath weapon, those being potency, range, and start-up time. In the case of fire breath--the most ubiquitous type of breath weapon on the continent--these would roughly correlate to the temperature of the flames, how far they can travel from the source while maintaining their shape and intensity, and for how long the fire must be stoked inside of the user before it can be expelled.

How developed these factors are differs for every dragon, but the two biggest determining modifiers are constitution and age. Being physically fit will make your breath weapon more efficient--and thus stronger--because you have better control over your breathing after exertion. As a dragon advances in age, the three factors all increase proportionally. A Mudwing hatchling can produce a puff of flame very quickly, but it will barely heat up the surrounding air. An elder meanwhile might take several minutes to get their fire going, but when they do, the result will be fearsome and devastating.

Fire is the most common element on the continent, with four of the seven tribes being able to command it. I will go through those first and then follow up with the other variants .

Nightwing fire is a dark purple in color, due to a slight variation in the gas component that fuels the flames.

The flames have no particularly outstanding properties strength-wise, but they emit comparatively little light, meaning they don't stand out as much against the night sky. This makes them ideal for low-profile ambushing, but very unsuitable as signal flares.

If a Nightwing ignites an object, the flames will gradually lose this characteristic as they will begin to consume the air around them and turn into ordinary, orange fire.

Nightwing flames are sometimes colloquially referred to as "Moonfire".

Sandwing fire is, on average, the least powerful among all the fire-breathing dragons. In terms of potency and range, flames emitted by a Sandwing of 20 years will be roughly equivalent to those of a twelve-year-old from the other fire-breathing tribes.

Their unique advantage is that Sandwings can produce these flames extremely quickly, usually within seconds. If readying fire takes a dragon 30 seconds, an equivalent Sandwing can do it in 5.

While for most other dragons the use of their breath weapon is a deliberate and calculated affair, the severely reduced start-up time allows Sandwings to "shoot from the hip" without having to commit to the action, making them less predictable in combat.

A popular Sandwing combat technique is to open a fight by blowing a quick plume of weak fire into an opponent's face and then using the resulting distraction to strike with their venomous tails.

Skywings command the strongest and purest variation of fire among all tribes. Their flames come out very straight and can maintain their shape over vast distances.

They can "cook" their fire by holding it inside themselves for longer than necessary. While this becomes unpleasant or even painful if done for long, it will increase the temperature and purity of the resulting flames far beyond what any of the other tribes are capable of.

Flames emitted after doing this for long enough will come out with an intense blue color that can cut through stone.

For dragons afflicted with firescales, all of the fire they breathe will be like this, as their bodies are already channeling flames at all times to fuel the burning scales.

Because Skywing fire is so intense, it is at times difficult to control. Skywings who become emotional will often start smoking from their nostrils involuntarily.

Mudwing fire, sometimes referred to as "moody fire", is very temperamental. Its strength will vary widely based on a number of different factors, not all of them fully understood, making it appear random at times.

The most commonly understood factor that influences a Mudwing's fire is the ambient temperature. Mudwings will struggle to produce flames in environments that are too cold (close to freezing weather, very cold water, etc.). This can be partially mitigated by ingesting hot stews, soups, or beverages before fire usage.

A factor that isn't as well documented is that the Mudwing's fire breath and their uncanny healing factor are fueled by the same source. This means a Mudwing's fire will be strongest when they are healthy, and begin to diminish if they become injured, as their body will divert resources away from the breath weapon to prioritize keeping itself alive, functioning, and mobile.

Mudwings hatched from blood eggs have a tendency to develop poor breath weapons, as their super-charged healing factor--while potent enough to outpace most damage sustained from fire--is even more resource-hungry than that of a regular Mudwing.

Icewings don't breathe fire. Instead, they are able to exhale a stream of frost magic. There is nothing I can think of to scientifically explain all the properties of frostbreath as they are presented in canon, especially with regards to Queen Battlewinner. Ice that makes you lava-proof? Nah, this is straight-up magic. All Icewings are born with a small piece of magic and this is how it expresses itself.

Contrary to popular belief, frostbreath is not stronger than firebreath. In terms of general characteristics, Icewings and Nightwings are actually roughly equivalent.

What makes frostbreath more overtly lethal than fire breath is the magical component. When frostbreath comes in contact with living tissue, it will form ice crystals on and inside the surface. All flesh in contact with these crystals will gradually turn necrotic. This process is very painful.

The crystals are very persistent and it requires sustained exposure to intense heat to melt them. The best way to accomplish this is via prolonged bath in warm water (close to boiling). This method, if applied quickly after the injury, will usually result in recovery after a few hours of bathing.

Getting hit while in a situation with no access to warm water is very dangerous and potentially lethal. If treatment does not begin soon after, the crystals will begin to spread, killing more tissue and making recovery increasingly less likely, especially once the injury spreads to internal organs.

It is not uncommon for soldiers who get hit by frost breath and are caught out in the open with no treatment options to cut off the afflicted body part to minimize tissue loss.

Icewings are more resistant to frostbreath than other dragons, but not fully immune. They can succumb to the same injuries.

If an Icewing suffers an intense burn, particularly in and around the face, they become completely unable to exhale frost until the burn begins to heal.

Rainwings do not have a breath weapon. Instead, they produce an acidic venom within their bodies, which can be administered through biting, or launched at targets through a pair of collapsible, hollow fangs.

The gland that produces this venom needs sunlight to develop properly. Once the Rainwing has been exposed to sufficient sunlight, venom production will begin, and may even continue without further exposure, but it is recommended to sunbathe for at least 5 hours a week to keep the gland healthy and the venom potent.

The venom is strongly corrosive and able to dissolve most organic materials like wood, plant matter, and flesh. It is potent enough that, if it enters another creature's blood stream directly (via bite, an open wound, or the eyes), that creature will die within seconds.

The venom's lethality will rapidly decrease once it separates from the user. If it hits surface tissue and has to burn through layers flesh, it will usually lose too much of its toxicity before it reaches the blood stream (though it will still function as acid and be excruciatingly painful).

Rainwings are immune to their own venom, but not the venom of other Rainwings. Mixing a sample of venom with the venom of a close blood relative will cancel out the destructive properties of both.

Seawings are amphibious dragons who prefer to live in water, but can also go on land and exist there in relative comfort for a decent while. Their body contains an organ that stores water, from which it periodically draws to keep the Seawing's skin from drying out.

When under duress, a Seawing can forcefully expel the contents of this organ through their mouth as a pressurized jet of water. While this is not very destructive, it can momentarily stun aggressors and allow the Seawing to retreat to the safety of a nearby lake or river.

If the blast is held inside and charged up similar to the fire breath of other tribes, the Seawing is able to draw from their body heat to increase the water's temperature to scalding degrees.

[kirain]

The air in the room was tense, thick with the heat of Taash's temper, so loud they muffled the clatter of the patrons below. Emmrich stood across from them, his lips parted as though searching for words he'd forgotten. And Vae, who had walked in only moments before, stood between both of them, hands raised as if trying to diffuse a bomb.

"You sabotaged it!" Taash hissed, their arms lashing about. "You deliberately ruined my lure!"

"I did no such thing!" Emmrich shot back, though his voice cracked ever so slightly. "I don't know what you think you saw, but it wasn't—!"

"I saw you!" Taash's voice rose, echoing off the walls. "You think I'm stupid? Think I don't have eyes? I know you did it on purpose! You hated this plan from the start!"

Vae stepped forward, her tone placating. "Both of you, let's calm down. We're not at the Lighthouse, we're at an inn. Taash, why don't we give Emmrich a chance to—?"

"No!" They snarled. "Don't you dare tell me to calm down! I spent weeks perfecting that lure! Weeks, just to distract the dragon long enough to loot its cave. And then he," they jabbed a clawed finger towards Emmrich, "ruined everything by setting off a ballista! The dragon nearly killed us!"

Vae frowned. "That doesn't sound like Emmrich. Why would he purposely rile up a dragon?"

"He tried to kill it!" Taash snapped. "He just missed. But of course you'd take your boyfriend's side."

"I don't need her to take my side," Emmrich interrupted. "Because that's not what happened." He stepped closer, his hazel eyes determined. "I didn't set the ballista off intentionally. It was an accident."

"An accident?" Taash's laugh was bitter, dripping with disbelief. "You're the embodiment of careful. Dainty and precise. So why, now, are you suddenly clumsy?"

Emmrich's jaw clenched as he tried to form an answer. For once, it seemed as though he didn't want to speak, but he exhaled with a defeated, "The dragon... startled me, Taash. It flew closer than I expected, and I stumbled back. My hand caught the trigger mechanism. I didn't mean for it to fire."

Taash's gaze narrowed, their molten-green eyes boring into him. "That's bullshit. You hate dragons. You never want to talk about them, never want to help with them. You wanted to wreck my plan."

"I don't hate dragons," Emmrich said quickly, though his voice carried an undercurrent of defensiveness.

"You don't?" Taash crossed their arms with a scoff. "Oh, right. You're not 'fond' of them. But isn't that the same thing?" Emmrich tried to reply, but Taash cut him off. "Don't sugarcoat it. You hate them," they pressed, their voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "And if you hate dragons, then you must hate me."

"What?" Emmrich blinked, taken aback.

"You heard me," Taash said, marching closer. "Qunari are descended from dragons, right? Do I disgust you, too?"

"Taash, that's ridiculous," Vae tried to protest. "Emmrich would never—"

"Answer me, death mage! You hate me, don't you? You hate me, you hate dragons—you hate everything I stand for!"

"Of course not!" Emmrich vowed, his voice tinged with desperation.

But Taash didn't relent. They drew in a long breath, their chest expanding, then expelled a billowing cloud of fire. The flames scorched the air between them, illuminating Emmrich's pale face and the glister of fear in his eyes. The fire didn't reach him, but he staggered back instinctively, curling into the wall like a frightened animal.

"Taash, stop it!" Vae gasped, grabbing their arm.

The fire died out, and Taash wiped their lips, their expression stormy. "I don't believe a word you say, death mage. Anything related to dragons, you hate," they said coldly, though their gaze faltered when they took in Emmrich's quivering form.

While he and Taash were similar in height, he seemed smaller somehow. He stood frozen, his eyes wide, his chest heaving as if the flames had torn the air from his lungs. His hands trembled, his fingers gripping his robes, and he wasn't able to focus on anything but the spot where the fire had erupted.

"Emmrich?" Taash's voice softened, shame creeping into their tone. They took a step forward. "Did I... did I singe you? Are you hurt? You know I wasn't actually aiming for you, right?"

He didn't respond.

"Emmrich," Vae called, hurrying to his side. She reached for his hand, but he recoiled with a panicked mewl, his body rigid and quaking. "Oh no... not here. Not now." In a rare bout of anger, she turned to Taash and yelled, "What were you thinking?"

Taash's ears drooped, and they looked away, regret panting their features. "I... I didn't mean to do that to him. I was just—"

Before they could finish, Emmrich bolted. He shoved past them both, his boots scraping against the filthy wooden floor as he vanished down the hall.

"Emmrich, wait!" Vae yelled, but it was too late.

Taash stared at the empty doorway, their fists balled at their sides. "Fuck," they muttered, their anger giving way to a gnawing guilt. They looked at Vae, their shoulders slumping. "I didn't mean—I was just pissed. What's wrong with him? What'd I do?"

"Taash..." Vae sighed. She wanted to reassure them, but Emmrich was her first priority. In his state, he could get himself hurt. "Stay here, I'll find him."

"Vae?" Taash said, catching her before she left. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

The night breeze was cool and sharp, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of Taash's fire and the dense, smoky atmosphere of the inn. Fortunately, Emmrich hadn't wandered far; Vae found him only a few feet from the path, slumped against the jagged edge of a cliff. His hands clutched his chest, his breaths shallow and erratic. She recognised the signs immediately. Emmrich's attacks were infrequent, but devastating when they struck.

"Just... bring him back so I can say it to his face, all right?"

-----

"Darling," she said softly, keeping her distance. She waited a beat before moving closer, her arms extended in a gesture of calm. "It's me. Vae."

His wide eyes flicked towards her, but he didn't respond, his entire body shaking as if crushed by an unbearable weight.

"It's all right," she hushed, her movements steady. "I'm right here. Just listen to my voice. Can you try to breathe with me?" She drew nearer, careful not to overwhelm him, then gradually placed her hands on his arms, her touch feather-light. "In," she demonstrated, taking a deep, spirited breath. "And out."

It took time—agonisingly long moments where his breaths strained painfully—but after a while, her kind persistence pulled him back from the precipice.

"Emmrich?" she said, searching for a hint if recognition in his eyes.

His breathing slowed, though his body sagged with exhaustion. When his knees buckled, Vae caught him, easing him down to the ground.

"Forgive me," he rasped, burying his face in his hands, his shoulders trembling with the remnants of his fear.

"No," Vae said, kneeling beside him. "Don't apologise. It wasn't your fault."

Gently, she coaxed him to lie back, resting his head in her lap. Her fingers moved to his temples, rubbing slow, soothing circles into his skin. His eyes fluttered closed, his breathing steadying further under her tender ministrations.

"Thank you..." he choked. "Thank you, my love."

"Shhh. Just relax."

They sat in silence for a while, the cool wind threading through their hair. When Vae finally spoke, her voice was low, cautious. "What happened in there, Emmrich? What triggered this?"

He hesitated, a streak of embarrassment flushing his face. "It was... everything," he admitted. "The dragon. The argument. Taash's fire. The closed space. It was all too much."

Vae's fingers stilled briefly before resuming their gentle rhythm. "The dragon," she repeated. "I know you don't hate them—you don't hate any creature—but I can tell they unsettle you. Can I ask why?"

Emmrich failed to stifle a groan, his expression tightening, as if some dark memory clawed its way to the surface.

"Stay with me," Vae urged, realising the depth of his pain. "I'm sorry, forget I said anything."

"...8:99 Blessed," he wheezed.

Vae tilted her head. "What?"

"8:99 Blessed," he said again, clearer.

"That was fifty-three years ago."

He nodded, forcing himself to look up at her, his gaze distant. "I was four years old."

"A bit before my time," Vae teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Emmrich's breath hitched as he looked away, steeling himself. "It was the year the dragons came in force," he winced. "They ravaged the countryside of Orlais and Nevarra, burning villages, razing buildings… and killing thousands."

Vae flinched, a dismal understanding settling in. "Your parents," she whispered.

He nodded, his voice trembling. "I can barely recall their faces, but their screams… I remember those. Vividly." With her help, he sat up, his hands folding in his lap, his head hanging. "I told you... a building collapsed on top of them, but I spared you the details." He paused, his nails biting into his palms. "We fled to the Chantry—my parents and I—along with countless others. It seemed an adequate shelter, at the time." His teeth clinched. "But the dragon unleashed its fire on the towers. The exits collapsed, trapping us inside, and the roof... the roof burst into a blazing inferno."

"Emmrich..." Vae's breath caught as she envisioned the horror. "How did you survive?"

"My parents," he said, his voice breaking. "My father broke a stained-glass window, and my mother... threw me out just before the roof caved in. When I hit the ground I looked back, but—" He trailed off, his eyes welling with tears. "I could hear them. Burning. Screaming. And then... nothing.

"Emmrich... I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry."

"I-I tried to help them." He stuttered, gripping his gloved hand. A searing burn echoed in his scars, from his fingers nearly to his elbow. "I tried to dig them out, but—"

"Enough," Vae begged, cupping his cheeks. "Don't relive it, my love."

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. "I've spent my whole life trying to forget that day," he whimpered. "But I can't. It haunts me." He chuckled solemnly. "And now... in the age of dragons, I'm nothing but a coward."

"You're anything but," she said, pulling him into a fierce embrace. "Every day you face your greatest fears, and I admire you for it."

Emmrich didn't argue, the sudden motion, the benevolent praise, all prising the grief from his heart. An eternity passed as he clung to her, his face buried in her chest.

"Thank you for telling me," Vae said, only when his sobs subsided.

Emmrich nodded as he pulled away, his face weary but less burdened. "Thank you, my love. Thank you for coming after me."

"Always," she promised. Then she added, "Taash feels awful about what happened. They're worried you're afraid of them now."

Emmrich paused, then let out a dry but playful huff. "Afraid of their temper, perhaps."

Vae laughed, leaning in for a kiss. "I'll let them know you said that."

"Don't you dare," he warned, melting against her lips.

They closed their eyes, exploring each other's taste; Emmrich's hand gliding up to cradle her neck. Vae's presence was his refuge, her arms his sanctuary. She kissed him deeply, held him tightly, and then she pressed her forehead into his, her fervour giving way to quiet concern.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "Really all right?"

"I am now," he whispered, his blushing smile the proof.

Vae matched his smile, warmly. "Then let's get back inside, before we freeze."

Hand in hand, they rose, their fingers entwining as they walked back towards the path.

[novaursa]

Here's my request: Aerion Brightflame has always been creepily obsessed with his shy quiet sister who has always been scared of him due to his treatment of her. He is determined to take her as his perfect Targaryen bride but he already knows that his family will likely turn down his idea of marrying her. So he decides to sneak into her chambers one late night to claim her as his knowing his family will likely have no other choice but to wed her to him after he sullied her.

When questioned about the incident the next day, being the liar that he is, Aerion tells everyone that his sister came onto him and being the kind caring older brother he is he couldn't reject her. His sister tries to say what really happened but Aerion claims that she's lying because she's too ashamed to admit to her behavior the night before. Their father Maekar has always been willfully ignorant of Aerion's true behavior and so he hesitantly believes Aerion's version of events and lets Aerion wed his sister much to his sister's horror.

Consumed by the Dragon

- Summary: Aerion coveted you since he was a boy, and like the dragon he believed himself to be, he took you.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Aerion Targaryen (Brightflame)

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (Aerion is warning just being him)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The corridors of Summerhall are dimly lit as you make your way back to your chambers. The evening air is cool, and you pull your shawl tighter around your shoulders, your footsteps echoing in the empty hall. You’ve always preferred the quiet, the solitude of being alone with your thoughts. Here, away from the prying eyes of the court and the watchful gaze of your parents, you can breathe freely, without the weight of expectations pressing down on you.

But tonight, the silence feels different. Heavy. As if the shadows themselves are watching, waiting.

You turn a corner, your heart skipping a beat when you see him leaning casually against the wall, his hair glowing faintly in the torchlight. Aerion. Your brother, your tormentor. His presence in the quiet hallway feels out of place, as though he has stepped out of a nightmare and into your reality.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice low and smooth, a serpentine hiss that slithers through the darkness. His smile is a slash of white teeth, predatory and hungry. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Your heart pounds, your instincts screaming at you to turn and run, but your feet are rooted to the ground, as if the stone itself has come alive and trapped you in place. “Aerion,” you manage to say, your voice barely more than a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

He pushes off the wall, taking a slow, deliberate step towards you, his eyes never leaving yours. “I was looking for you, little sister,” he murmurs, his tone deceptively gentle. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

There’s something in his gaze, a darkness that makes your skin prickle with unease. You take a step back, your shoulders pressing against the cold stone behind you. “It’s late,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound calm. “I should go.”

“Don’t be so hasty.” He moves closer, his body looming over yours, the heat of him seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. His hand comes up, fingers brushing your cheek, trailing down to your neck, your pulse fluttering wildly beneath his touch. “You’re always running from me, Y/N. Why is that?”

Your breath hitches, your mind racing for an excuse, for anything that will get you away from him. “I’m not—”

“Liar.” His voice is soft, a mocking whisper, as his fingers trail lower, skimming the neckline of your dress. “You’re always so frightened. But I would never hurt you, little dragon. You’re too precious for that.”

The endearment, so similar to the words he will use years later, sends a shiver down your spine, dread pooling in your belly. You try to push his hand away, but he catches your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. “Aerion, please...”

He leans in, his breath warm against your ear, and the words he whispers make your blood run cold. “Do you know what I am, little sister? I’m a dragon, trapped in human flesh. I can feel the fire burning inside me, the power coursing through my veins.” His voice is a dark, dangerous purr, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “One day, I’ll unleash it all. I’ll set the world ablaze, and you... you’ll be right there beside me. My queen. My consort.”

You tremble, your heart thudding painfully against your ribs as he continues, his words wrapping around you like chains. “You and I, we’re meant to be together. Blood of the dragon, bound by fire and flesh. When I am king, you’ll rule at my side. We’ll burn anyone who dares stand against us.”

He’s so close, his body pressing against yours, his scent—smoke and something sharp, metallic—filling your senses, making your head spin. His hand slips lower, his fingers grazing the curve of your breast, and you flinch, panic clawing at your throat.

“Aerion, no—” You try to twist away, but he pins you in place, his hand tightening around your wrist, his body a solid wall of heat and strength. He laughs softly, a low, wicked sound that vibrates through you.

“Shh, little dragon,” he whispers, his lips brushing your neck, sending a wave of revulsion and something else—something dark and unwanted—through you. “You’ll see. You’ll love it, just as I do.” His free hand roams lower, his touch burning through the fabric of your dress, and you gasp, your body rigid with fear and confusion.

He murmurs in your ear, his voice a dark, twisted lullaby. “I’ll make you mine, Y/N. I’ll teach you things that will make your pretty little head spin. I’ll make you scream my name, beg for me to touch you.” His words are crude, filthy, the things he describes making your cheeks burn, your stomach churn with a sick mixture of dread and something you can’t name, something that makes you feel like you’re falling, spinning out of control.

His hand cups you between your legs, his fingers pressing against you through the fabric, and you cry out, your body jerking against his. “Please, stop,” you beg, your voice breaking, tears stinging your eyes.

But he only chuckles, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, his gaze fixed on your face, watching every flicker of fear, of confusion, of helplessness. “You’re so sensitive, little dragon. So responsive.” His breath is hot against your skin, his voice a wicked caress. “Imagine what it will be like when I finally take you. When you’re writhing beneath me, begging for more.”

The things he says are vile, each word a knife twisting in your gut, and you can’t breathe, can’t think, your body trapped between the cold, unyielding wall and the searing heat of him. His fingers press harder, and a strange, terrifying sensation builds within you, something that makes your thighs clench, your breath hitch.

And then, as suddenly as it began, he pulls away, his hand leaving you, the cold air rushing in to replace his touch. You’re left gasping, your body trembling, tears streaming down your cheeks as you stare at him, your mind reeling.

He smiles, a cruel, satisfied curve of his lips as he steps back, his eyes gleaming with dark triumph. “Remember this, little dragon,” he says, his voice soft, almost tender. “Remember what I can do to you. What I will do to you.”

And then he’s gone, his footsteps echoing down the hall, leaving you alone, your body shaking, your heart pounding, your mind spinning with the horror of what just happened, of what he plans to do.

You don’t move for a long time, your back pressed against the cold stone, your knees weak beneath you. When you finally find the strength to stumble back to your chambers, you feel hollow, your body numb, your mind struggling to grasp the full, awful reality of what Aerion has just promised.

You know, deep in your soul, that this is only the beginning.

(a few years later)

The candles in your chamber have long since burnt low. The night is quiet, and the only sound you can hear is your own breathing, soft and steady as you lie in your bed, staring at the canopy above. You try to calm your mind, but your thoughts are restless, swirling like the winds beyond the window. You’ve always been anxious in the dark, your dreams haunted by things you dare not name aloud.

The creak of the door startles you, making your heart lurch painfully in your chest. You sit up, clutching the covers close, your eyes wide as they lock onto the figure standing in the doorway. His presence is unmistakable—the silver-gold hair that shines even in the dim light, the sharp, angular features that are both beautiful and terrifying. Aerion.

Your older brother steps inside, closing the door softly behind him. There is a glint in his dark violet eyes, a hunger that sends a shiver down your spine. You’ve seen that look before, in the darkened halls when he would corner you, whispering words that made your skin crawl and your cheeks burn. You try to speak, but the words catch in your throat, your voice a timid whisper.

"Aerion... what are you doing here?"

He takes a step closer, the distance between you shrinking as he beckons with his hand. “Come to me, little dragon.” His voice is smooth, almost gentle, but there is an edge to it, a dangerous undercurrent that makes your pulse quicken with fear.

You shake your head, your body refusing to move. “Why are you here?” you manage to ask, though your voice trembles, betraying your unease. You’ve always been wary of him, your wariness turning to dread as you grew older and his attention on you became more... intense.

His smile is slow, predatory. “You know why I’m here.” He closes the distance between you in a few strides, his hand shooting out to grab your wrist, pulling you to your feet with a force that makes you stumble against him. His other hand cups your cheek, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your lips. “So perfect.”

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, his body pressing against yours. “Aerion, please—” Your plea is cut off as his mouth crashes down on yours, silencing you with a bruising kiss. You freeze, your body going rigid as his lips move against yours, demanding, insistent. His hand slides down your back, pulling you closer, and you can feel the hard lines of his body through the thin fabric of your nightdress.

You tremble, confusion and fear warring within you as his hands begin to tug at your clothes, the cool air of the chamber brushing against your skin as he bares you to his gaze. “Don’t,” you whisper, your voice shaking, but he ignores you, his eyes dark and filled with something that makes your stomach churn.

He undresses you with a kind of reverence, his hands lingering on your skin as if committing every inch of you to memory. You want to scream, to push him away, but your body feels heavy, your limbs unresponsive as he strips away the last of your clothing. You are left standing before him, vulnerable and exposed, your cheeks burning with shame.

“Aerion, please, don’t do this,” you plead, but he only shushes you, his fingers trailing down your arm in a caress that makes you shiver. He pulls off his own clothes with a casual grace, his eyes never leaving yours as he reveals himself to you, the heat of his gaze making your skin prickle.

He nudges you back towards the bed, and you stumble, the mattress catching you as you fall onto it. He follows, his weight pressing you down, his body a cage that you cannot escape. “Spread your legs,” he orders, his voice rough, and you hesitate, your body trembling with fear and something else, something you don’t want to name.

His hands are on you then, parting your thighs, his touch firm and possessive. You gasp as his fingers brush against you, your hips jerking involuntarily at the strange, foreign sensation. “You’re always so sensitive,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a dark amusement. “Have you thought about this, little dragon? Thought about me touching you like this?”

You shake your head, a whimper escaping your lips as his fingers slip inside, the intrusion sending a shock through your body. “No, please—”

“Shh,” he breathes, his lips curling into a smirk. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, the way you blush when I’m near. You want this, don’t you?”

You shake your head again, but your body betrays you, a soft, helpless moan escaping as his fingers move inside you, a strange heat pooling in your belly. “Stop,” you beg, but he only laughs, a low, wicked sound.

“I’m going to make you mine,” he whispers, his mouth descending to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that makes you shudder. “You’re going to scream my name, little dragon. You’ll see.”

He moves over you, his body pressing you down, and you feel something hard and hot against your thigh. Your eyes widen, panic clawing at your throat as you realize what he’s about to do. “No, Aerion, please, don’t—”

But he’s relentless, his hips driving forward, a sharp, searing pain tearing through you as he enters, breaking the last barrier between you. You cry out, your body arching in agony, but he swallows your scream with a fierce, punishing kiss, his hands pinning your wrists to the bed.

“Quiet, little dragon,” he growls against your lips, his voice a harsh rasp. “You’ll get used to it.” He holds himself still for a moment, his breath ragged, and you feel tears slipping down your cheeks, the pain radiating through you, blotting out everything else.

And then he begins to move, his thrusts deep and powerful, each one driving the air from your lungs. You bite your lip, trying to stifle your cries, but the pain is too much, the sensation overwhelming as he claims you, his body relentless, unyielding.

“Mine,” he whispers, his voice raw with need. “You’re mine, little dragon. No one else will ever touch you like this.”

Your body starts to react against your will, the pain slowly giving way to something else, something dark and shameful. You can feel yourself tightening around him, your hips lifting to meet his, and the realization makes you want to die of shame. How can you be feeling this, how can your body be responding to him?

Aerion’s laughter is low, almost triumphant as he feels your surrender. “Yes, that’s it,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “I knew you’d love this. You were made for me, Y/N.”

His words are filthy, the things he says making your cheeks burn, your skin tingling with mortification and a sick, twisted thrill. He moves faster, his thrusts becoming erratic, his breath harsh in your ear as he drives you both towards the edge.

You can’t stop the sounds that escape you, the cries that mix with his name, your body shuddering beneath him as something inside you breaks, a wave of pleasure crashing over you that leaves you gasping, trembling. Aerion’s voice is a harsh, guttural sound as he follows you over the edge, his body going taut above you, his grip on you almost bruising as he spends himself deep inside you.

He collapses against you, his breath ragged, his heart pounding against yours. You feel broken, shattered in a way that has nothing to do with the physical pain, and everything to do with the man lying atop you, his arms wrapping around you in a possessive embrace.

“You’re mine now, little dragon,” he whispers, his voice soft, almost tender. “No one else will ever have you.”

And as you lie there, your body aching, your mind numb, you know he’s right.

Morning comes too soon, and with it the cold, harsh light of reality. You stir, the ache in your body a bitter reminder of the night before. Aerion’s arm is draped possessively around your waist, his body pressed close, his breath warm against your neck. Panic flares in your chest as you remember, but before you can move, a shrill scream pierces the air.

Your eyes fly open to see your chamber door thrown wide, your handmaids frozen in the doorway, their faces pale with shock and horror. The sight of you and Aerion tangled in the sheets, both bare beneath the thin fabric, is unmistakable. You instinctively try to cover yourself, shame and fear flooding you, but Aerion only laughs softly, his hold on you tightening.

“Good morning, ladies,” he drawls, his tone mocking as he props himself up on one elbow, the blankets slipping to reveal his bare chest. “I trust you’re not too shocked?”

The servants avert their eyes, their hands trembling as they drop to their knees, mumbling apologies and making hurried excuses as they scramble to leave. Your cheeks burn with humiliation, your entire body tense with mortification. Aerion watches them go, amusement dancing in his eyes, his lips curled in a satisfied smile.

“They’ll spread the word,” he says, his voice low and pleased. “It won’t be long before Father hears.” He leans down, his lips brushing your temple. “We’ll be married by the end of this moon, little dragon. Just as I promised.”

You swallow the bile rising in your throat, your heart hammering with a desperate, futile hope that this might still be a nightmare. But the stark reality of Aerion’s weight against you, the soreness between your legs, the mocking light in his eyes—all of it is real. All of it is happening.

You try to push him away, but he only laughs again, a low, mocking sound as he lets you go. “Get dressed, Y/N. We’ll have an audience with our dear father soon enough.” His words are a command, not a request, and you obey, your hands shaking as you fumble with your clothes, feeling his eyes on you the entire time.

The morning drags on in a haze of dread. You are summoned to the throne room, your steps heavy as lead as you make your way through the corridors, Aerion’s presence a dark shadow at your side. When you enter, your father, King Maekar, is seated upon his chair, his face a mask of anger and confusion. His gaze shifts between you and Aerion, his jaw clenched.

“Is it true?” His voice booms through the chamber, the weight of his authority pressing down on you like a physical force. “Have you... done what I’ve heard?”

You open your mouth to speak, to tell him the truth, but Aerion steps forward, his expression a perfect mask of remorse and sincerity. “Father, it’s true,” he says, his voice steady and calm. “But you must understand, it wasn’t as it seems.”

Your heart stops, a cold knot of dread forming in your stomach as he begins to weave his lie, each word like a drop of poison. “Y/N called for me last night,” he says, his eyes meeting Maekar’s without a flicker of guilt. “She... begged me to come to her chambers. She pleaded with me to take her innocence.”

“That’s not true!” The words burst from you before you can stop them, your voice desperate and shaking. “He’s lying! He came to me—I didn’t want this, I—”

“Enough.” Aerion’s voice cuts through yours like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. He turns to you, his expression softening in a way that makes your blood run cold. “She’s only ashamed, Father. Ashamed of what she asked for, what she begged me to do.” He reaches out, his fingers brushing your arm in what might seem a tender gesture to anyone else. But you can feel the threat beneath it, the unspoken command to stay silent.

You shake your head, tears pricking at your eyes as you look at your father, trying to make him see, to understand. “Father, please, you have to believe me—”

“We love each other, Father,” Aerion interrupts, his voice filled with a false warmth, a twisted sincerity. “She told me so last night. She said she loves me more than anything in this world, that she couldn’t bear the thought of being married off to someone else. She asked me to make her mine, and I, loving her as I do, couldn’t deny her.”

You stare at him, your mouth dry, your heart pounding so hard you can scarcely breathe. The audacity, the sheer gall of his lie, leaves you speechless. You glance at your father, seeing the uncertainty, the hesitation in his eyes. He doesn’t want to believe it. You can see that much. But he’s always been willfully blind to Aerion’s true nature, to the darkness that lurks beneath his handsome face.

“Aerion, she’s your sister,” Maekar says finally, his voice weary. “This... this isn’t right.”

Aerion’s smile is a thin, cruel line. “She’s more than my sister. She’s my other half. Our blood is pure, Father, as it should be. We belong together, and she knows it as well as I do.” He glances at you, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

You feel as though you’re suffocating, the room closing in around you, your father’s gaze heavy on your shoulders. There’s no escape, no way out of this web of lies that Aerion has spun so effortlessly. You open your mouth to deny it again, to scream the truth, but the look in Aerion’s eyes silences you. It’s a promise, a threat. If you say anything more, if you contradict him, there will be consequences. And you know, deep in your heart, that no one—not even your father—can protect you from him.

“I... I don’t...” Your voice falters, the words choking in your throat.

“See, Father?” Aerion’s smile is triumphant, his grip on your arm tightening. “She’s just overwhelmed, embarrassed. But we love each other. We want to be together. Make it right for us. Let us be married.”

King Maekar rubs his temples, his eyes closing for a long moment as if the weight of the decision is crushing him. When he opens them again, they are filled with resignation. “If this is what you both want...” His voice is slow, reluctant. “Then I will not stand in your way.”

The world seems to tilt, your vision blurring as the full horror of his words sinks in. Aerion’s hand squeezes yours, a mockery of comfort, his smile a dark, twisted thing. “Thank you, Father,” he says, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’ve made us both very happy.”

You can’t breathe, can’t think, as your father’s decree seals your fate. There’s no escape, no way to turn back. Aerion’s grip is a shackle, his presence a dark shadow that you will never be free of.

“Now, little dragon,” Aerion murmurs in your ear as you leave the throne room, his voice soft, almost tender. “We’ll be together forever. Just as it should be.”

His words are a prison, and you are trapped, caught in the web of his obsession, with no hope of rescue. There is no way out. Not anymore.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Next Lesson (Kinktober)

Word Count: 4.0k

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

As the sun set over the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, Jaime stood behind you, his strong arms wrapped around your waist. "One last lesson tonight, pet," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "Are you ready to put everything you've learned to the test?" His hands roamed your curves, tracing familiar paths that ignited sparks of pleasure wherever they touched. "Remember, this is for your husband. Show him the woman you've become, the one who belongs to him completely." Your heart raced as Jaime's words sank in, the gravity of the moment settling upon you like a heavy cloak. This was it - the culmination of all the lessons, all the training, all the preparation leading up to this very night. You took a shuddering breath, trying to calm your nerves even as excitement thrummed through your veins. Turning to face Jaime, you met his gaze steadily, determination shining in your eyes. "Yes," you said, your voice clear and unwavering. "I'm ready." With that declaration, you stepped out from behind the screen, presenting yourself fully to Jaime. The silk robe slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet in a shimmering puddle. Naked and vulnerable, you knelt before him, head bowed in submission. "Do you think he'll like it?"

Jaime's eyes raked over your exposed form, drinking in the sight of your naked beauty. A low hum of approval escaped his lips as he circled you, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin, mapping every curve and hollow. "Oh, he'll love it," Jaime purred, his voice dripping with confidence. "He's been waiting for this moment, for the chance to claim you fully as his own." He stopped behind you, pressing his body against yours, his hardness nestling against the cleft of your buttocks. "Now, let's get started." With a gentle push, he guided you forward onto your hands and knees, positioning you at the foot of the bed. "This is where you'll greet your husband each night, pet. On your knees, ready to serve him in whatever way he desires." You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks at Jaime's words, knowing he spoke the truth. This was indeed how you would welcome your husband each evening, a constant reminder of your place beneath him. Submitting to his desires, pleasing him in every way possible. It was both exhilarating and terrifying, the thought of surrendering so completely to another person. But as you gazed up at Jaime, seeing the passion burning in his eyes, you knew you were ready. Ready to embrace this new life, ready to become the wife he wanted you to be. With a deep breath, you nodded, accepting your fate. "I understand," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "I'll do my best to please him with everything you've taught me."

Jaime smiled approvingly, pleased with your willingness to submit. He ran a hand through your hair, praising you softly. "That's my good girl," he cooed. "Your husband will be proud of you." Rising to his feet, he moved to stand before you once more, his erect cock jutting out proudly. "Now, let's review one final lesson, shall we? Open wide, pet." With a swift motion, he grasped your chin, tilting your head up as he guided the tip of his manhood past your parted lips. "Show me how well you can suck a cock," he commanded, his voice rough with arousal. "Take it deep, just like you did during our practice sessions." He pushed further into your mouth, holding you steady as he began to rock his hips, fucking your face with slow, deliberate strokes. You opened wider, relaxing your jaw to accommodate Jaime's girth as he thrust deeper into your mouth. The salty taste of his pre-cum mingled with the musky scent of his arousal, filling your senses and igniting a hunger within you. Your tongue swirled around the head of his cock, lapping at the sensitive underside as he continued to pump in and out. The rhythm was hypnotic, drawing you in deeper with each stroke. You focused on the sensation, letting go of any thoughts or doubts, surrendering completely to the act. Your nose pressed against Jaime's pelvis, inhaling deeply as you struggled to breathe around his invading length. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the effort, but you didn't pull away, determined to prove your skill.

Jaime groaned in pleasure, his grip on your chin tightening as he fucked your face with increasing intensity. "Fuck yes, just like that," he gasped, his hips snapping faster, driving his cock deeper into your throat. "Take it all, pet. Show me how much you want to please your husband." The pressure built in his loins, his balls drawing up tight as he neared climax. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, holding still as his orgasm crashed over him. Hot jets of semen pulsed into your mouth, coating your tongue and the back of your throat with his release. Jaime's thighs trembled, his entire body shaking as he rode out the waves of pleasure, finally collapsing back onto the bed with a satisfied grunt. "Good girl," he panted, stroking your hair affectionately. You swallowed convulsively, working to gulp down every drop of Jaime's seed as it filled your mouth. The bitter taste was foreign yet oddly satisfying, a tangible proof of your submission and devotion. As he pulled free, you released a shaky breath, your lungs craving air after being deprived for so long. You looked up at Jaime, meeting his gaze with a mix of pride and exhaustion. "Did I…did I do well?" you asked, your voice hoarse from the intense oral session. Despite the lingering discomfort, you felt a thrill of accomplishment, knowing you had mastered yet another crucial aspect of your role as a submissive wife. Jaime's praise and the tender way he touched your hair only served to reinforce your sense of pride and belonging.

Jaime's smile was indulgent as he regarded you, his eyes softening with genuine affection. "You did beautifully, pet," he assured you, his thumb brushing gently over your lower lip. "Your husband will be lucky to have such a talented and obedient wife." He helped you to your feet, guiding you to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. "But now comes the most important part of your training," he said, his expression turning serious. "Learning to accept your husband's dominance and control over you, in all things." He reached out, taking your hand in his, his calloused palm engulfing your delicate fingers. "It won't always be easy, submitting to another person's will. There will be times when you'll want to resist, to assert your own desires and needs. But that's when your strength and resilience will truly be tested and are you aware of what to do?" You shook your head, looking up at Jaime with a hint of uncertainty in your eyes. "No, I don't know what to do," you admitted, feeling a twinge of anxiety at the prospect of relinquishing control entirely. "How can I possibly submit to someone else's will when it goes against everything I believe in?" The idea of surrendering your autonomy, of becoming nothing more than an extension of your husband's desires, seemed daunting and even frightening. And yet, as you sat there, hand in hand with Jaime, you couldn't deny the strange sense of peace that had settled over you since beginning this journey. A sense of purpose, of belonging to something greater than yourself. You searched Jaime's face, hoping to find some guidance, some reassurance that you could navigate these uncharted waters. "What if I fail?" you whispered, the fear creeping into your voice.

Jaime's grip on your hand tightened, his expression growing more solemn as he met your gaze. "Failure isn't an option, pet," he said firmly, his voice carrying a note of conviction. "Because I won't allow it. Not while I'm here to guide you." He leaned in closer, his warm breath fanning across your cheek. "Submission isn't about losing yourself; it's about finding your truest self. It's about embracing the natural order of things, acknowledging that some are meant to lead and those who are meant to follow." Jaime's other hand came up to cup your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. "Your husband has chosen you to be his partner, and would you like to know how to make it up to him should you ever mess up?" You blinked up at Jaime, a flicker of hope kindling in your chest at his reassuring words. "Yes," you murmured, leaning into his touch. "Please tell me." The idea of making amends, of proving your worthiness to your husband, filled you with a newfound determination. You wanted to succeed, not just for Jaime's sake, but also for your own. You wanted to explore this path of submission and see where it led you. "How can I make it up to him?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. Jaime's eyes sparkled with mischief as he grinned down at you, his thumb still caressing your cheek. "By offering yourself to him, completely and utterly," he purred, his voice low and seductive. "If you ever stray from the path of righteous submission, you simply kneel before him, bare yourself, and beg for forgiveness." His hand slid down to your throat, his fingers wrapping lightly around your neck in a possessive gesture. "You plead with him to take you, to use you as he sees fit, to remind you of your place." Jaime's grip tightened slightly, sending a shiver down your spine. "And then, once he's satisfied that you've learned your lesson, he'll grant you the privilege of serving him again." He released you, sitting back with a wicked smirk. "Let me hear you beg for your wrongdoings."

You shivered under Jaime's intense gaze, his words igniting a fire deep within you. The thought of baring yourself, of begging for forgiveness and the right to serve, sent a rush of heat straight to your core. You licked your lips nervously, your heart pounding in your chest as you considered his instructions. Slowly, hesitantly, you sank to your knees before him, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for the hem of your dress. "Please," you whispered, your voice thick with need. "Please forgive me for my transgressions." You lifted the fabric, exposing your naked form inch by tantalizing inch. "I offer myself to you, to be used as you see fit." Your cheeks flushed with shame and desire as you bared yourself fully, your breasts heaving with each ragged breath. "Remind me of my place, sir." Jaime's eyes roamed over your exposed body, drinking in the sight of your vulnerability. "Such a pretty little thing, begging so sweetly," he praised, his voice dripping with lust. He stood up, towering over you as he reached down to grasp your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Look at me when you speak," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. "Tell me exactly what you're asking for." You swallowed hard, your mouth dry as you gazed up at him. "I-I want you to punish me, sir," you stammered, your voice cracking with emotion. "Breed me fully, mark me as yours, remind me that I belong to you." Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you spoke, the raw honesty of your plea hanging heavy in the air between you.

You shuddered under Jaime's piercing gaze, his command sending a jolt of electricity through your body. "Yes, sir," you breathed, your voice quivering with anticipation. "I'm asking you to breed me, to fill me with your seed until it takes root inside me." The words spilled from your lips, unbidden yet undeniably true. You craved his possession, his domination, his complete and utter control over your body and mind. "I want to carry your child, to bear witness to the fruits of our union." You placed your hands on your belly, imagining it swollen with life, with evidence of your submission. "Please, sir," you whimpered, desperation coloring your tone. "Claim me, make me yours in the most primal way possible." Jaime's eyes darkened with hunger as he listened to your desperate pleas, his grip on your chin tightening almost painfully. "As you wish," he growled, his voice rough with desire. Without warning, he yanked you to your feet, spinning you around and bending you over the edge of the bed. You gasped as your breasts pressed against the cool sheets, your ass raised high in the air. "Count them out loud," Jaime demanded as he delivered a sharp smack to your rear. "Each one is a reminder of your place, a testament to your submission." He continued to spank you, alternating between your cheeks, leaving red handprints blooming across your skin. You sobbed and writhed beneath him, the pain mingling with pleasure in a dizzying cocktail of sensation. "Thank you, sir!"

You cried out with each stinging slap, your flesh jiggling obscenely as Jaime's palm connected with your tender skin. Tears streamed down your face, but you dutifully counted aloud, your voice rising higher with each number until you reached twenty. By the time he finished, you were panting and shaking, your pussy throbbing with need. "Twenty, thank you, sir," you choked out, burying your face in the sheets. "I am yours, wholly and completely." You arched your back, presenting yourself to him in silent invitation. "Please, sir," you begged, your voice muffled by the mattress. "Fuck me now, fill me up with your cum." You spread your legs wider, giving him unfettered access to your dripping cunt. "Breed me like the submissive slut I am." Jaime's response was immediate and brutal, his large frame covering yours as he rammed his thick cock into your sopping wet pussy without preamble. You screamed in ecstasy as he bottomed out, his heavy balls slapping against your clit with every savage thrust. "Take it all, you filthy whore," he snarled, gripping your hips tightly as he began to pound into you with reckless abandon. The force of his movements sent shockwaves through your entire being, each stroke hitting that perfect spot deep inside you and sending you careening towards climax. "Yes, yes, fuck me harder!" you wailed, your nails digging into the sheets as you surrendered to the relentless onslaught of pleasure. Jaime's grunts and groans filled the room, punctuated by the obscene sounds of flesh meeting flesh and your own wanton moans. "Gonna breed you so fucking deep."

he growled, his pace becoming even more frenzied as he chased his own release. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, stretching your walls to their limits as he prepared to unleash his potent seed. "Do it, fill me up, make me yours!" you shrieked, your orgasm building rapidly as he pistoned in and out of your clenching channel. The coil of tension within you snapped, and you came with a keening wail, your pussy spasming wildly around Jaime's invading length. At the same moment, he buried himself to the hilt and let out a guttural roar, his hot cum flooding your womb in powerful jets. "Oh gods, oh gods, yes!" you howled, your body shaking uncontrollably as wave after wave of bliss crashed over you. Jaime's thrusts slowed to shallow, gentle strokes as he emptied himself into your willing depths, marking you as his in the most primal way imaginable. You felt his seed painting your insides, claiming you as his property, and the knowledge sent a thrill of satisfaction coursing through your veins. As he finally stilled, his softening cock slipping free, you collapsed onto the bed, spent and sated. Jaime's weight settled over you, his chest heaving against your back as he nuzzled your neck affectionately. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice husky with post-coital contentment. "You took your punishment well." He kissed along your jawline, his lips lingering on the sensitive skin. "Now rest, my dear. We have much to discuss regarding your future…and the future of our unborn child."

Over the following days, your sessions with Jaime became increasingly intimate, both physically and emotionally. His praise for your progress warmed your heart, and you found yourself looking forward to each lesson with growing excitement. One evening, as you lay tangled together in the aftermath of a particularly passionate encounter, Jaime traced idle patterns on your sweat-dampened skin. "You know, pet," he murmured, his voice low and sincere, "you've exceeded my expectations in every way. Not only do you learn quickly, but you also possess a rare combination of beauty, intelligence, and desire that captivates me." He tilted your chin up, his gaze locking with yours. "I find myself growing quite fond of you, little one…more than before. Our arrangement has become something far more meaningful than mere instruction." Your heart fluttered at his words, a warmth blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with the lingering effects of your lovemaking. "Jaime…" you breathed, searching his eyes for any hint of insincerity. Finding none, you leaned into his touch, savoring the tenderness of his caress. "I never imagined our bond could grow beyond teacher and student. But I must confess, I've developed feelings for you as well." A small smile played at the corners of your lips. "Perhaps it's foolish of me to hope, but…could there be a future for us beyond these lessons? Beyond my impending marriage?" Jaime's expression softened, a look of genuine affection washing over his features. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingertips grazing your cheek. "Foolish? Never, pet. Your emotions are pure and honest, and I cherish them." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "As for your question…I've grown to love you deeply, in ways I never expected. If your heart belongs to me, I would hope you'd gladly walk away from this arrangement and build a life with me instead." His declaration hung in the air, heavy with unspoken longing. Jaime's eyes searched yours, seeking permission, validation, or perhaps simply a glimpse of your true desires. In that moment, the weight of your impending nuptials seemed insignificant compared to the promise of a future with this man who had awakened your passions and captured your heart.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as Jaime's heartfelt confession washed over you. You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, and brought his lips to yours in a soft, loving kiss. When you finally broke apart, you gazed into his eyes, your own shining with emotion. "I choose you, Jaime. I want to leave this life behind and start anew with you. Marry me, if you'll have me." Your voice trembled slightly, but the sincerity behind your words was unmistakable. In that instant, you knew you were ready to abandon the path laid out for you and forge a different destiny, one filled with love, passion, and the promise of a lifetime spent in each other's arms. Jaime's eyes widened in surprise, a radiant smile spreading across his face as he returned your kiss with fierce devotion. When you parted, he cradled your face tenderly, his thumbs wiping away the tears that had escaped. "Yes, pet, a thousand times yes," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I'll marry you, make you mine, and cherish you forever." He sealed his vow with another passionate kiss, pouring all his love and adoration into the embrace. As you melted into each other, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you, entwined in a promise of eternal devotion. In that perfect moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them hand in hand, united by the unbreakable bond of your love.

With hearts full of joy and promises yet to be kept, you spend the rest of the day and night together, exploring new depths of intimacy and sharing secrets long held close. As dawn breaks, you lie contentedly in each other's arms, the reality of your decision settling comfortably within you. With a sigh of pure happiness, you snuggle closer to Jaime, your breath warm against his chest. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice barely audible above the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. "For showing me the way to true happiness." Jaime stirred gently at your whispered thanks, his arms tightening around you instinctively. He pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his lips curving into a smile against your hair. "No, pet, thank you," he murmured, his voice roughened by sleep and emotion. "For trusting me, for opening your heart to me, and for giving me the greatest gift imaginable - your love." He shifted slightly, tilting your chin up to meet your gaze. The love and adoration shining in his eyes mirrored the depth of feeling in your own. "Together, we'll build a life worth living, filled with laughter, passion, and endless adventures." With those words, he captured your lips once more, the kiss sealing not only your love but also the unwavering commitment you had made to each other. Your body responded eagerly to Jaime's renewed ardor, desire rekindling within you like a flame fanned by a sudden gust of wind. You arched into his touch, your hands roaming over the planes of his back, tracing the contours of muscle and sinew. "Make love to me," you breathed against his lips, your voice husky with need. "Show me again how much you love me, how much you cherish me." Your words ignited a fire in Jaime's eyes, and he rolled you onto your backs, his body covering yours as he settled between your thighs. Slowly, reverently, he entered you, his hardness filling you completely as he began to move. Each thrust was a testament to his love, each kiss a seal upon your shared devotion.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, casting golden shafts of light across the bed, Jaime continued to worship your body with a tender passion that left you breathless and trembling. "So good for me." His fingers danced over your sensitive flesh, coaxing gasps and moans from your lips as he brought you ever closer to the precipice of ecstasy. "So beautiful and perfect." Just when you thought you could take no more, he changed the angle of his hips, driving deep inside you and sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your core. "Tell me how much you like it." Your nails raked down his back as you clung to him, your cries of rapture mingling with his guttural groans of bliss. "Oh God, Jaime! Yes, just like that!" Your words dissolved into incoherent pleas as he pounded into you, the force of his thrusts pushing you up the bed. "Harder, please! Make me come undone!" The room spun around you, colors bleeding together as your senses narrowed to the feel of his cock stretching you, filling you, claiming you utterly. Your inner walls clenched around him, desperate for release, and Jaime's answering grunt told you he was close too. "Now, Jaime! I'm so close, don't stop!" With a final, brutal plunge, he buried himself to the hilt, and your bodies shuddered as you crested the peak together, waves of intense pleasure crashing over you in a torrent of sensation. As the aftershocks of your climax rippled through you, Jaime collapsed on top of you, his weight a comforting pressure against your sweat-slicked skin. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning over your pulse point as he struggled to catch his own breath. "Mine," he growled softly, the possessive claim sending a thrill through you even in the aftermath of your shared release. After a moment, he lifted his head, his eyes dark with satisfaction and adoration as they met yours. "Forever and always, pet. We're bound together now, in every way that matters." With a gentle kiss, he rolled off you, pulling you into his arms as you both drifted off to sleep, lost in the afterglow of their forbidden love.