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hisfavegirl · 19 hours ago

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Duty And Desire - Aegon I Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary : As you stood in the shadow of your duties, Aegon began to notice the smallest things about you—the way your eyes flickered when you thought no one was watching, the quiet strength you held within yourself. His words, when he spoke to you, lingered longer than they should have, making your heart race with a mixture of confusion and longing. But what began as mere moments of attention soon blossomed into something far more complicated. He was no longer just your king, and you were no longer just his wife. In his presence, the walls you had built around yourself began to crumble, and the desires you had long buried inside began to surface.

Word Count : 7.4k

Aegon I Targaryen Mastetlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

The laughter that fills the chamber is soft yet genuine, a rare moment of peace between the three of you. Rhaenys lounges beside you, her head resting in her hand as she watches you with a knowing smile. Visenya, ever poised, sits behind you, her fingers weaving through your hair with the skill and precision she applies to all things.

“You have been patient,” Rhaenys murmurs, her voice carrying the warmth of an elder sister who has always looked after you. “More patient than most would be in your place.”

Patient. The word makes something stir within you. You had been patient, waiting in the shadows while Aegon ruled, while his other queens shared his nights and bore him children. You had never demanded his attention, nor sought to claim what had never been freely given.

Visenya, quiet yet always watching, speaks next. “Aegon notices more than you think,” she says, her fingers tightening slightly around your braid as if to ground you. “He is not blind.”

You blink, turning slightly to glance at her over your shoulder. “If he notices, he does not show it.”

Rhaenys laughs, the sound rich and full of amusement. “Oh, little sister, you are clever, but in this, you are blind. The dragon may be slow to stir, but once he does, he does not turn away so easily.”

The thought lingers, curling around your mind like a whisper of prophecy. Aegon has never sought you out, never claimed you as he had his other wives. And yet, Visenya and Rhaenys speak as if something inevitable looms on the horizon.

“You think he will come to me?” you ask, almost hesitant to give voice to the question.

Visenya hums thoughtfully. “I think he already has.”

You frown, confused, but Rhaenys only smirks, as if she knows something you do not. You do not press them for answers, but as the night fades into morning, their words stay with you, curling like embers waiting to catch fire.

The morning air is crisp, the distant roar of dragons filling the skies as Rhaenys and Visenya take flight. You watch them disappear into the horizon, their dragons nothing more than specks against the vast sky. Unlike them, you remain on the ground, where you have always been—watching, waiting, but never truly seen.

You turn away from the sight, intending to return to your chambers when a voice stops you in your tracks.

“Come,” Aegon calls, his voice steady yet carrying an unmistakable command.

You hesitate for only a moment before following the sound of his voice. When you step into the dining hall, you find him already seated, a feast spread before him. His silver hair gleams under the morning light, his presence filling the room with an aura of quiet authority.

Wordlessly, you take your place beside him. The weight of his gaze is heavy, but you do not meet it. Instead, you keep your eyes lowered, focusing on the meal before you. Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words. You can feel him watching you, as if searching for something in your expression.

“You are quiet today,” Aegon finally speaks, his voice softer than before.

“I have little to say,” you reply simply, keeping your tone even.

He exhales sharply, as if amused by your defiance. “And yet, when you are with our sisters, your tongue is sharp enough.”

You glance at him then, finding a hint of something unreadable in his violet eyes. He is studying you, as he often does when he thinks you do not notice.

“If you wish for conversation, husband,” you say, voice carefully measured, “then you must ask the right questions.”

Aegon hums, leaning back in his chair. “Very well, then. Tell me—will you come to my chambers tonight?”

Your breath catches for the briefest moment, but you recover quickly. You should have expected this. You are his wife, after all. It is your duty to obey.

But you do not answer immediately. Instead, you hold his gaze, searching for something—perhaps sincerity, perhaps something more.

“Do you ask this as my husband or as my king?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aegon tilts his head slightly, as if considering your words. “Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckles—a quiet, low sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You are not like them,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “Visenya would command me. Rhaenys would tease me. But you… You always make me think.”

You lower your gaze once more, unsure of how to respond.

Aegon leans forward then, his voice dropping to something almost intimate. “Come to me tonight,” he says again, but this time, it is not an order. It is an invitation.

You do not answer. Not yet. But as you rise from the table, his words linger in your mind, curling around you like a flame waiting to consume you whole.

The candlelight flickers softly, casting golden hues across your chamber as you sit by your vanity, hands delicately folded in your lap. Your heart thrums an uneven rhythm beneath your ribs, anticipation curling in your stomach like a coiled serpent.

“Bring me the best,” you had told your handmaidens earlier. And so they had.

A gown of the finest silk drapes across your form, a deep shade that flatters your complexion. Your hair is carefully arranged, each strand in place, cascading in soft waves down your back. The scent of the most fragrant oils clings to your skin, a subtle mixture of jasmine and amber, meant to entice.

You exhale slowly, steadying yourself.

What am I doing?

It is not as if this is your first time in Aegon’s presence—he is your husband, after all. And yet, the weight of tonight feels different. He had not ordered you to his chambers; he had asked. The difference, however slight, sends your thoughts into disarray.

A soft knock at your door pulls you from your reverie, followed by the unmistakable sound of giggles.

Your eyes narrow even before the door swings open.

Visenya and Rhaenys stand before you, their faces alight with amusement, their matching violet eyes gleaming as they take in the sight of you—adorned and waiting.

“Oh, sister,” Rhaenys purrs, stepping into your room without invitation, her golden hair catching the candlelight. “You look like a bride on her wedding night.”

Visenya smirks, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Technically, she already had her wedding night. But I suppose it does not count if the groom never visited her bed.”

Your face heats instantly. “Must you both be so insufferable?”

Rhaenys twirls a lock of her hair, her grin widening. “We only came to check on you, dearest sister. Imagine our delight when we found you like this—dressed as if awaiting a lover.”

Visenya raises a brow. “Which, I assume, you are.”

You scowl, turning away as you fuss with the bracelets on your wrist. “Aegon asked me to come to him tonight.”

Rhaenys gasps in mock surprise. “Did he ask, or did he demand?”

You hesitate. “He… asked.”

That earns a genuine reaction from both of them. Visenya pushes off the doorframe, and Rhaenys tilts her head, intrigued.

“Interesting,” Visenya murmurs.

“You sound surprised,” you note, glancing at them.

Rhaenys folds her arms, considering. “Our dear brother, Aegon does not ask for things, sweet sister. He takes. For him to ask you to come to him… that is something new.”

You try not to let their words affect you, but a small, treacherous part of you holds onto them.

“So, tell us,” Visenya presses, her smirk returning. “Do you intend to go?”

You glance at the mirror, at your own reflection—the way the candlelight softens your features, the way the gown clings to your form. You think of Aegon, of his gaze lingering on you at breakfast, of the way his voice had softened when he spoke.

“I—”

Before you can answer, another knock sounds at the door. This time, it is not accompanied by laughter.

Your handmaidens scramble to open it, revealing a messenger dressed in the black and red of House Targaryen. He bows slightly before speaking.

“His Grace awaits you.”

Silence stretches in the chamber.

Rhaenys bites her lip, barely holding back a delighted smile. Visenya simply watches you, her expression unreadable.

Your heart pounds.

“Well?” Rhaenys teases. “Shall we escort you, dear sister? Or will you find your own way?”

You take a steadying breath and rise from your seat, smoothing out the fabric of your gown. You do not need an escort.

You walk past them, your head held high.

Let Aegon wait.

The door looms before you, the carved dragon sigil of House Targaryen illuminated by the soft glow of torches lining the hallway. You inhale slowly, willing your heart to steady.

Behind this door, your husband awaits.

Your fingers curl slightly against your gown as you steel yourself. You have shared meals, exchanged polite words, stood beside him in court—but this, standing outside his chambers in the dead of night at his request, is different.

The air is thick with anticipation as you finally lift your hand and push open the heavy door.

Inside, the chamber is warm, the glow of the fire casting long shadows along the stone walls. The scent of burning wood and aged parchment lingers in the air. Your gaze lands on Aegon immediately.

He is seated by the hearth, one leg stretched out lazily, a goblet of wine dangling from his fingers. The firelight flickers across his bare chest, his tunic hanging open, revealing the lean muscles of his torso. His silver hair is slightly tousled, as if he had run his fingers through it more than once.

His violet eyes lift to you the moment you step inside.

You see the way they move—slowly, deliberately—drifting from your face down the curves of your body, tracing the fine silk of your gown, lingering at the delicate swell of your waist before traveling lower. You feel the heat of his gaze as if it were a physical touch.

A shiver runs down your spine, though whether it is from the warmth of the chamber or the intensity of his stare, you cannot say.

You part your lips to speak, but before you can utter a single word, Aegon moves.

He rises from his chair with unhurried ease, his tunic slipping further off his shoulder, exposing more of the smooth, pale skin beneath. His steps are soundless as he approaches, closing the distance between you in mere moments.

Then—click.

The sound of the door locking behind you sends a jolt through your chest.

Aegon stands before you now, mere inches away. He does not touch you, not yet, but his presence alone feels overwhelming, like standing too close to a flame.

He tilts his head slightly, studying you, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You hesitated outside my door.”

You swallow. “You heard me?”

“I always hear you.”

The words send a different kind of warmth through you.

Aegon leans in, his breath fanning against your cheek. “Why did you come?”

You know why. You know what he expects to hear. But something about the way he asks—the way his voice lowers, rich and smooth—makes you pause.

“Because you asked me to,” you admit softly.

He hums, as if pleased by your answer. “And if I were to ask something more of you?”

Your breath hitches, but you do not look away. “That depends on what you ask, husband.”

His lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk. “I think we both know what I want from you.”

His fingers reach up, brushing against your wrist, a touch so light it is almost a whisper. Your pulse quickens.

“Tell me, sweet wife,” Aegon murmurs, his voice a low purr. “Will you give yourself to me tonight?”

Your breath is steady, but your heart is not.

Aegon’s fingers are slow as they work on the delicate buttons of your gown, each one undone with an excruciating patience that sets your skin aflame. His eyes, violet and piercing, do not leave yours—not even for a moment.

“You say it is your duty,” he murmurs, his voice like silk laced with something darker. “But is that all this is to you?”

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

“I am your wife,” you say, though the words feel small in the space between you. “It is my duty to—”

He exhales sharply, cutting you off. “Duty.” He repeats the word like it offends him. “I did not summon you to fulfill an obligation.”

Another button undone. Then another.

“I want all of you,” he continues, his tone lower now, rougher. “Not just because you must. But because you want to.”

You shiver at the weight of his words.

Aegon’s fingers brush against your collarbone, tracing the newly exposed skin with a featherlight touch. His warmth seeps into you, making your breath hitch. He tilts his head slightly, studying you with an expression that is unreadable.

“Tell me, sweet wife,” he murmurs, leaning in so that his lips hover just above the shell of your ear. “Do you want this? Do you want me?”

Your pulse pounds in your throat.

You could lie. You could tell him what he expects to hear, what a dutiful wife should say. But something about the way he looks at you—hungry yet patient, demanding yet restrained—makes you hesitate.

You have watched Aegon from the shadows for so long. You have seen him fight, drink, command armies, laugh with your sisters. But now, here, in the quiet of his chambers, you see him as something else. A man who, despite his crown, wants not power, but you.

Your hands, trembling yet determined, lift to his chest, pressing against the exposed skin there. You feel his heartbeat beneath your palm—steady, strong, waiting.

“I want this,” you whisper.

His breath stirs against your cheek. “Say it again.”

You meet his gaze, your voice steadier this time. “I want you, Aegon.”

A sharp exhale leaves him, and then his hands are on you—not rough, not hurried, but firm. He peels the silk from your shoulders, letting it slip down your arms, pooling at your feet. The cool air kisses your bare skin, but you barely register it.

Aegon lifts a hand to your face, cradling your jaw as he studies you, as if memorizing every inch of you.

“You are mine,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “And tonight, I will make sure you never forget it.”

And then, finally, he kisses you.

Aegon cradles you in his arms as if you weigh nothing, his grip firm yet gentle as he carries you toward the massive bed draped in silk. His lips never leave yours, and you can feel the hunger in his kiss, the restrained desperation that has been brewing for so long.

The moment your back meets the soft bedding, he hovers over you, his body pressing into yours, yet he does not rush. His thumb brushes over your cheek, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes you shiver.

"You have no idea how long I have waited for this," he murmurs, his voice thick with something unreadable.

Your breath catches. "Aegon-"

He silences you with another kiss, slow and deep, drawing the air from your lungs. He kisses you as if savoring every second, as if this moment is something sacred to him. When he pulls away, his violet gaze is darker, filled with emotions you cannot name.

"You are the only one who has never demanded anything from me," he says, his fingers tracing the outline of your lips. "Not power. Not a crown. Not a child. You have given me nothing but your presence, your quiet loyalty—" He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. "And yet, you are the only one I have ever wanted."

Your heart clenches at his words. You had always been the overlooked wife, the quiet one, the one people whispered about because Aegon had never called for you as he had his other wives. You had assumed it was because he did not desire you, that you were merely a political arrangement, a piece on the board of conquest.

But now, here he is, looking at you as if you are the only thing that matters. Your fingers trail over his tunic, tracing the exposed skin of his chest, feeling the warmth beneath your touch. "If you wanted me, why did you wait so long?"

Aegon smirks, but there is something almost vulnerable in his expression. "Because I was a fool," he admits. "Because I did not want to ruin you." He leans closer, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth. "You are not like the others. You are not meant to be caged or conquered."

Your breath shudders at his words. "Then what am I meant for?"

His fingers slide down your arm, his grip tightening slightly. "For me," he whispers. "You were meant for me."

A silence falls between you, thick with the weight of unspoken truths.

Then, slowly, His fingers skim over your bare skin, eliciting a gasp from your lips. He watches you, his gaze never straying, as if committing every inch of you to memory.

"You are mine," he murmurs, his hands framing your waist. "Say it."

Your throat is dry, your pulse wild, but you manage the words. "I am yours"

A satisfied hum leaves him. He presses his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "And I am yours," he confesses, as if it is a secret only meant for you. "Tonight, I will prove it to you."

As soon as Aegon pushes into you, a sharp pain spreads through your body, and a soft cry escapes your lips. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your body struggles to adjust to the unfamiliar intrusion. Aegon stills above you immediately, his breath ragged, his hands framing your face with unexpected gentleness.

"Shh," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your damp cheek. "I'm sorry, love. I know it hurts." His voice is rough, thick with restraint. "Breathe. Just breathe, sweet girl."

Tears well in your eyes as you cling to him, your body trembling. It is too much, too overwhelming, but Aegon does not move. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses along your skin, whispering soothing words against your ear.

"You are doing so well," he murmurs, his fingers tracing delicate patterns over your sides. "So perfect for me."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will the discomfort away, trying to focus on the warmth of his body against yours, the way his hands never stop moving, never stop comforting you.

"Tell me what you need," he says softly, his lips ghosting over your temple. "I'll do whatever you ask of me."

You hesitate, then exhale shakily. "Just... give me a moment."

Aegon nods, his forehead pressing against yours. His fingers intertwine with yours, holding your hands tightly as if anchoring you to him. The pain begins to dull, slowly replaced by a strange warmth that spreads through your limbs. You shift slightly beneath him, and Aegon groans, his control slipping for a brief second before he catches himself.

Your name leaves his lips in a desperate whisper, his hands tightening around yours. "Gods, you feel-" He cuts himself off, exhaling harshly. "Tell me when."

You swallow, meeting his gaze. His violet eyes are darker than you have ever seen them, filled with longing and something deeper, something raw. He is waiting, holding himself back for you.

A flicker of courage sparks in you. You nod. "Now."

Aegon curses under his breath, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before he moves, slow and careful. The pain still lingers, but there is something else now-a heat coiling in your stomach, a sensation unfamiliar yet not unpleasant.

"That's it," Aegon breathes, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. "You're taking me so well."

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as he deepens his thrusts, still gentle, still measured, but more confident now. A soft gasp leaves your lips as the pleasure begins to build, overtaking the pain. Aegon notices, his lips curling into a knowing smirk as he kisses your jaw, your neck, the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"You like that, don't you?" His voice is husky, teasing. "I can feel you squeezing me, little wife."

A whimper escapes you, and Aegon groans, his movements growing slightly more insistent. His hand slides down, tracing the curve of your waist, your hip, before gripping your thigh and pulling you closer.

"You were made for me," he breathes, his eyes locked on yours. "Say it."

Your head feels light, your body burning beneath him, consumed by the sensations he is giving you. "I-" You swallow hard, your voice trembling. "I was made for you."

Aegon growls in satisfaction, his lips crashing against yours. He drinks in your gasps, your moans, his pace quickening as he chases the pleasure that coils between you both.

"'I'll never let you go," he vows against your lips. "Never."

Aegon grips your hips tightly, his breath hot against your ear. His voice is low, possessive.

"Don't hold back," he murmurs. "I want them to hear you. I want them to know you're mine."

Your cheeks burn at his words, but before you can protest, he moves-faster, deeper, his thrusts becoming more demanding. A sharp gasp escapes your lips, and he groans in approval.

"That's it," he praises, his hands sliding up your back, pressing you closer against him. "Let them hear who you belong to."

Your nails dig into his shoulders as pleasure overtakes you, your body trembling beneath him. You try to muffle your sounds against his neck, but Aegon isn't having it. He grips your jaw, tilting your head back so he can see your face.

"Say my name," he commands. "Louder."

You barely recognize your own voice as you cry out, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. Aegon groans, his own control slipping.

His movements become rougher, more desperate, as if he can't get enough of you.

"You feel so perfect," he rasps. "Like you were made for me.

Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he curses under his breath. His forehead presses against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he drives you both closer to the edge.

And then—he finds it. That spot inside you that makes your entire body jolt. Your head falls back against the pillows, a broken moan escaping you. Aegon smirks, his grip tightening.

"There," he growls. "That's the spot, isn't it?"

You can only whimper in response, the pleasure overwhelming. Aegon's pace grows relentless, chasing your release with singleminded determination.

"Come for me," he urges, his lips brushing against yours. "Let go."

Your body obeys before your mind can catch up, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your back arches, your voice raw as you cry out his name. Aegon follows moments later, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as he buries himself inside you, claiming you completely.

For a moment, there is only the sound of your ragged breathing, the heat of his body pressed against yours. Aegon brushes damp hair from your face, his gaze soft despite the hunger that still lingers in his eyes.

"Mine," he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. "And I'll never let you forget it."

You looked at aegon hesitantly, the question you wanted to ask was too risky. he opened his eyes and realized that you were watching him "What do you want to ask sweet wife?"

Hesitantly you murmured, "Are you not satisfied with me?" your voice is less than a whisper.

Aegon blinks at you, momentarily stunned by your question. His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. His golden hair is tousled, his skin still warm from the intimacy you just shared.

"Not satisfied?" he repeats, his voice thick with disbelief. He studies your face, searching for the source of your doubt.

You avoid his gaze, feeling foolish for asking. "I just... I know with Rhaenys and Visenya, you wouldn't stop. I heard the servants talk about it." Your fingers play with the fabric of the sheets, unable to meet his eyes. "But with me, you just stop. I just-"

Aegon cuts you off with a deep chuckle, his hand cupping your cheek, tilting your face to look at him. "Do you truly think I would have stopped if you had asked?" His smirk is teasing, but there's something more in his gaze-something raw, something possessive. "Or do you think you could have even found the words to ask me to?"

Heat rushes to your face as the memories of the night flood your mind. No, you hadn't asked him to stop. You hadn't even thought about it. From the moment he touched you, all logic had left your mind, leaving only the overwhelming desire to have him closer, deeper, forever.

Aegon's thumb brushes against your lower lip. "I've had many nights with them, yes," he admits, his voice quieter now. "But none like this." He leans in, his breath warm against your lips.

"With them, it was duty. An expectation." He presses a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth before whispering, "But with you... gods, with you, I couldn't stop even if I wanted to."

Your breath catches at his words, at the intensity of his confession. Aegon had never spoken to you this way before-not as a husband merely fulfilling an obligation, but as a man who had wanted you, who had lost himself in you.

His lips trail along your jaw, his voice growing husky. "Tell me, my queen, did you want me to stop?"

You shake your head without hesitation, and Aegon chuckles darkly. "| thought so."

He shifts on top of you again, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare skin. "And if you still have any doubts," he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear, "perhaps I should remind you just how much I want you again."

His hands move, his touch reigniting the fire between you, and you realize that you will never again question whether Aegon Targaryen desires you.

You could feel him holding back, "You don't need to hold back Aegon" He freezes at your words, his hands stilling against your skin. His violet eyes darken, his brows furrowing slightly as he searches your face. The muscles in his jaw tense as if he's holding something back, something raw and dangerous.

"You don't understand," he murmurs, voice rough. His fingers tighten on your waist, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you grounded. "If I let go, if I take you the way I truly want, I might break you."

You shiver at his confession, at the sheer restraint he has been holding onto this entire time. Aegon Targaryen, your husband, the conqueror, the dragon-he is afraid. Afraid of hurting you.

But you are a dragon too. You have been raised among them, molded by their fire, and you are not fragile.

You cup his face, your thumb grazing the scar that runs along his cheekbone. "Aegon," you whisper, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "I know what I'm asking for. I know who you are." Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging gently. "I am not some delicate thing that will shatter under your touch. I am your wife. And I want you-all of you."

Aegon's breath shudders. His hands tremble as he grips your hips. His restraint, his control —it's hanging by a thread.

"You say that now," he mutters, his voice strained, his forehead pressing against yours. "But when I take you the way I want-"

"Then take me," you interrupt, your lips brushing against his. "Show me."

Aegon lets out a low growl, his patience finally snapping. His mouth crashes against yours, consuming you with a hunger that has been caged for far too long. His hands grip you tightly, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the shift instantly-the loss of restraint, the unraveling of his carefully controlled passion.

"You asked for this," he warns, his voice a deep rasp against your ear. "Don't beg me to stop later."

You meet his eyes, fire burning in your own. "I never will."

Aegon groans, something between reverence and possession. Then, he moves, his grip unrelenting, his body pressing you down into the mattress as he claims you without hesitation, without holding back.

You gasp, arching against him, your fingers clawing at his back as he takes what is his— what has always been his. Aegon kisses you fiercely, swallowing your cries as he moves with a desperate need that shakes through both of you.

"Mine," he growls against your skin. "You are mine."

And for the first time, there is no hesitation, no fear. Only fire. Only you and him, burning together.

Aegon's laughter rumbles deep in his chest as he watches you writhe beneath him, his grip on your chin firm but not painful. His violet eyes burn with something primal, something possessive, and the heat of it makes your breath hitch.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his thumb stroking your lower lip. "So beautiful, so perfect like this. My little queen, coming undone beneath me."

You whimper his name, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as he moves with deliberate, punishing thrusts. Each one sends shockwaves through your body, making your mind hazy, your vision blur.

Aegon chuckles darkly, leaning down to kiss your forehead, his lips soft against your overheated skin. But his next words send a fresh shudder through you.

"I want my heir in you," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. "I want to see you swollen with my child, to watch you carry the blood of the dragon inside you."

Your breath falters, a soft moan slipping past your lips at his claim. He watches your reaction closely, smirking at the way you tremble beneath him.

"Do you want that, sweet wife?" he taunts, slowing his movements to a deep, languid pace that has you gasping. "Do you want to give me my heir?"

"Aegon-" You whisper his name like a prayer, your fingers curling into the sheets, your body arching into his.

"Say it," he demands, his grip tightening on your waist, his breath warm against your lips. "Say you want to carry my child."

Your heart pounds, your mind swimming in the overwhelming sensation of him-his heat, his strength, his desire. And when you finally find your voice, you give him what he wants.

"Yes," you breathe, your eyes locking onto his. "I want it, Aegon. I want to give you an heir."

Aegon groans, his control snapping completely as he captures your lips in a searing kiss, his body moving against yours with renewed intensity. His hands roam possessively over your skin, his touch branding you as his own.

"You are mine," he growls against your lips. "And soon, the whole realm will know it."

Aegon watches you, mesmerized by the way your body moves beneath him, how your breasts bouncing with every thrusts he gave you, how your lips part as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. His name spills from your lips like a prayer, your nails digging into his arms as he drives into you with a pace that leaves no room for escape.

"Gods," he groans, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "You have no idea how beautiful you are like this, how perfect you look beneath me."

You barely register his words, your mind lost in the overwhelming pleasure he's giving you. But Aegon isn't done yet. His hands grip your hips tightly, anchoring you to him as he slows his thrusts, dragging out each movement with a teasing precision that has you whimpering.

"Open your eyes, sweet wife," he commands, his voice rough, edged with desperation.

You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze-wild, filled with fire, with something deeper, something that shakes you to your core. His hand cradles your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

"You always ask why I won't let you join the war," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your parted lips. "It's because I can't lose you."

Your breath catches, his words sinking in even as your body trembles beneath him. His grip tightens, his eyes burning into yours.

"I can fight battles, I can burn cities, but if i were to lose you-" He shakes his head, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. "I would lose myself."

Your hands cup his face, pulling him down for a kiss, slow and deep, pouring everything you feel into it. Aegon groans into your mouth, swallowing your sighs, his body claiming yours completely.

"You belong to me," he whispers against your lips. "And I will never let anything take you away from me."

And with that, he thrusts into you one last time, his body tensing, his grip on you bruising as he finally finds his release, pulling you over the edge with him.

He collapses against you, his breath heavy, his heart pounding wildly against your own. And in the quiet after, as he holds you close, his arms wrapped around you like a shield, you know that there is no place safer than here, in his embrace.

Aegon's breath hitches as you slowly lift yourself onto his lap, your thighs trembling from exhaustion, but you ignore it. Rhaenys's words echo in your mind-Aegon likes it when you take control. And now, as you straddle him, his hands resting uncertainly on your waist, you see the truth in it. His violet eyes widen slightly in surprise, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words come.

Instead, you lower yourself onto him, taking him in inch by inch, and a deep groan rumbles in his chest. His grip on your waist tightens, fingers digging into your skin as if to steady himself.

"Gods," he breathes, his head falling back against the headboard. "You're going to be the death of me, sweet wife."

A small, breathy laugh escapes you as you place your hands on his shoulders, your fingers tracing the muscles there, feeling them tense beneath your touch. You move slowly at first, rolling your hips experimentally, and Aegon's response is immediate—a low, strangled moan, his hands sliding up your back before gripping your hair and pulling you in for a bruising kiss.

"You enjoy this, don't you?" he murmurs against your lips, his voice laced with amusement, but also something deeper— something desperate.

You meet his gaze, your cheeks flushed, your breaths shallow. "You do too," you whisper, testing your power over him by shifting your hips again. His whole body tenses beneath you, his nails pressing into your skin.

His laugh is rough, almost breathless. "I do." His hands trail down to your hips, guiding your movements now, his patience slipping away as he urges you to move faster. "Take what you want from me, my love. I am yours."

The way he says it-so open, so raw-sends shivers down your spine. You move with newfound confidence, chasing your own pleasure, and Aegon watches you with something akin to awe. His hands never leave your body, touching you wherever he can, like he's memorizing you, like he needs to feel you to believe this moment is real.

"You look divine," he murmurs, his voice strained. "Like a queen sitting on her throne."

You whimper at his words, at the fire in his eyes, and he groans when you clench around him in response. His head falls forward, his lips finding your throat, his teeth grazing your skin before he kisses the spot tenderly.

"I should've taken you like this from the start," he mutters, his hands gripping your hips tighter. "Should've let you ruin me."

Your heart pounds at his confession, at the way he surrenders to you so completely. You lean down, capturing his lips with yours in a slow, deep kiss, and Aegon swallows your moans, his arms wrapping around you as if to fuse your bodies together.

He's close now-you can feel it in the way his cock start twitching inside of you, in the way his grip tightens, his breath growing heavier. And when you finally tip over the edge, calling his name like a prayer, he follows immediately after, his arms holding you close as he loses himself in you completely.

For a long moment, neither of you move. You simply rest against him, your foreheads touching, your breaths mingling. Aegon's fingers trace lazy patterns against your back, his hold on you possessive yet tender.

"You are my undoing," he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder. "And I would let you ruin me over and over again."

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you curl against his chest, and for the first time since your marriage began, you feel like you truly belong to him-not just as his wife, but as his equal, as the only one who could ever bring the mighty Aegon the Conqueror to his knees.

Aegon moves swiftly, his strong hands gripping your waist as he flips you onto your back. A surprised gasp escapes your lips, but he silences it with a deep kiss, his body pressing down against yours, molding you into the mattress beneath him. His warmth surrounds you, his presence consuming every inch of your being.

He pulls away just enough to meet your gaze, his violet eyes burning with something primal, something possessive. "Mine," he murmurs, his voice rough yet tender. "Say it."

You shudder beneath him, your hands sliding up his arms to grasp his shoulders. "Yours, Aegon. I'm yours."

A dark smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, satisfied with your answer, and then he moves -slow, deliberate, sinking himself back into you as if to claim you once more. You arch into him, your nails digging into his back as waves of pleasure roll through you.

"Gods," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "You feel-" His words cut off as he thrusts deeper, eliciting a breathy moan from you. He shudders, his lips grazing your skin. "So perfect. So fucking perfect."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, wanting to feel all of him. He grunts at the movement, his pace faltering for a brief moment before he grips your thighs, anchoring himself to you.

"I've waited for this," he confesses, voice hoarse with need. "For you." He lifts his head, his nose brushing against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "Do you know how long I've dreamed of this, of you?"

Your heart stammers at his words, your fingers tangling in his silver hair. You press a soft kiss to his lips, whispering, "Then take me, Aegon."

A guttural sound escapes him, something between a growl and a moan, and he does exactly that. He moves with purpose, with possession, as if trying to engrave himself into your very soul. His hands roam your body, memorizing every dip and curve, his lips leaving a trail of fire wherever they touch.

And as the pleasure builds, as the world outside this bed fades away, you whisper to him again and again, "I love you, Aegon."

His movements slow for a fraction of a second, his eyes widening slightly as if caught off guard. Then, a soft, almost reverent smile spreads across his lips, and he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss so deep it steals your breath.

"I love you too," he murmurs against your lips, his voice raw with emotion. "More than you'll ever know."

And with that, he drives into you once more, worshiping you, claiming you, making sure that from this night forward, there will be no doubt in your mind-you belong to him, just as he belongs to you.

Aegon watches you with hunger in his violet eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips as he drives into you relentlessly. Your body arches, seeking more of him, your hands clutching his shoulders like a lifeline. Every thrust steals the breath from your lungs, every movement sending you spiraling further into oblivion.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. "So beautiful like this-mine to take, mine to ruin."

Your lips part, a broken moan escaping as his hands roam your body. He knows exactly where to touch, where to press, where to make you lose yourself completely. You're drowning in him, your senses overwhelmed by his scent, his warmth, the sheer dominance of his presence.

"Aegon-" His name falls from your lips like a prayer, your voice trembling.

He chuckles darkly, his grip tightening on your hips as he pulls you closer, deeper. "Say it again," he commands, his breath hot against your ear.

You obey without hesitation, your nails digging into his back as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. "Aegon-please-"

He growls at your desperation, his pace growing rougher, more desperate. His hands slip beneath your thighs, lifting your legs higher so he can bury himself even deeper.

The sensation is too much, your body trembling, your head thrown back as you come undone beneath him. His gaze locks onto your face, mesmerized by the way your lips part, the way your eyes squeeze shut in pure bliss. "Gods, you're perfect," he rasps, his movements never slowing.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he shifts, flipping you onto your stomach. A gasp leaves you as he presses his chest against your back, his lips tracing the curve of your neck. His hands slide down your body, gripping your waist as he enters you again, the new angle sending sparks of pleasure through you.

Your fingers grasp at the sheets, your voice breaking into breathless cries. "Aegon-"

"That's it," he groans, his teeth grazing your shoulder. "Let them hear you. Let them all know who you belong to."

Your mind is a haze, your body nothing but fire and sensation. He's relentless, pushing you further, pulling you under until you're lost in him completely. Your world narrows to the feeling of him, the sound of his breath, the way he whispers your name like a promise.

When you shatter again, it's with his name on your lips, his hands holding you close, grounding you even as he takes you apart. And as the pleasure fades, as your body melts into his, he presses a soft kiss to your temple, his fingers tracing circles against your skin.

"You're mine," he murmurs against your ear, his voice softer now, filled with something deeper, something more. "And I'll never let you go."

You turn your head to meet his gaze, and for the first time, you see it-love, raw and unguarded, shining in his violet eyes. A slow smile curls on your lips as you whisper back, "I was always yours, Aegon."

Aegon's arms tighten around you, his breath warm against the nape of your neck as his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles over your stomach. His touch is almost reverent, as if he's memorizing the shape of you beneath his hands. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the way his grip lingers as if he's afraid to let go.

"I should have taken you sooner," he murmurs, his voice tinged with something between regret and longing. "Should have claimed you the moment you were mine."

You turn slightly in his embrace, your fingers reaching for his hand, gently lacing your fingers with his. "You have me now," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. "And I will give you what you want, Aegon. I will bear your children."

A sharp inhale escapes him, his arms tightening instinctively as he buries his face against your shoulder. His lips press against your bare skin, lingering there, his exhale warm and shaky. "You don't know what that means to me," he admits, his voice quieter now, stripped of its usual arrogance.

"Sleep, my queen," he murmurs against your ear, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your stomach.

You sigh in contentment, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Goodnight, my king."

And as your eyes flutter shut, you know this is only the beginning.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow

#hotd imagine #hotd #hotd one shot #hotd x reader #aegon fanfic #aegon targaryen smut #aegon smut #king aegon #aegon the conqueror #aegon x reader #aegon i targaryen #hotd aegon #hotd smut #rhaenys targaryen #visenya targaryen #rhaenys the conqueror #visenya the conqueror

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nowheredreamer · 3 days ago

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healing soul

Ridoc x reader

Warnings: mild spoilers of Iron Flame

A/N: Hey everyone this is my first fanfic in a loooooong time, like in probably ten years, so I am a little rusty, so be patience. Also english is not my first language so you may find some incohernet things, but I think I did the best to convey what I wanted. So if you find any error please feel free to tell me, and I would also apreciate any feedback because like I said it's been more than 10 years, so any critiscism, feedback, comments are welcome. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy xoxo

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Ridoc didn’t have many rules regarding his loving life, the man likes to explore the small and big pleasures that life has to offer. But that was a certain primary standard on his life, especially his rider life, that wouldn't trespass his love life.

One of them was that he didn’t sleep with cadets, not now that he was in his second year.

The second one was not sleeping with his squad's flings, they were a family after all and Ridoc did NOT like family feuds.

And his third and last one was he didn't sleep with infantry, scribes or healers.

It isn't like Ridoc didn't find some of them attractive, he did. But as a rider he just found them inferior or boring. It was a standard for him, even though in the last months getting with some of the riders wasn't too appealing for him, now that the first year was over most of the riders felt like his family, it was weird being attracted to someone of your family.

And that would have stayed true if it weren't for a certain girl. Ridoc hadn’t thought much of her, but his second year was a little bit rougher sending him a few times to the infirmary. That is where he met the apprentice healer for the first time.

~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~

Havoc. Wildness. Despair. Chaos. Those were the words that Y/N would refer to at this moment. Cadets and riders were entering the infirmary left and right, the smell of smoke and burned meat infiltrared her nose. Madness. She had not figured out yet what had happened, and she couldn't definitely understand what would have happened to leave so many students burned, burned by flames of a dragon.

But she couldn’t focus on that right now, not when another cadet, with his body so burned that she could see the bone of his cheek, was put in the infirmary bed before her.

“Holy shit.” Her friend gulped. Gods, even though this was their second year, she and her classmates have not seen such damage like that before.They have dealt with burns before, I mean learning to deal with burning degrees from dragon flames were a basic thing on their learning, but they haven’t ever dealt with this kind of level.

Both girls pushed their emotions aside so they could start attending to the poor boy, who was now crying of pain.

“You're gonna be okay, we are going to treat you then your body can heal and take the pain away, and it will heal, you will be fine.” She reassured the poor boy.

“ I wanna go home, please.” His voice came with nothing but a small begging whisper, both learners looked at each other. She had a lot of respect for what the riders did once they graduated, but She could never understand or accept the brutal ways they did to get to graduation point.

She took his hand on hers while attending a small burn on his elbow and promised that everything would be okay. She didn’t want to lie to him, but the only things she could do right now was trying to offer a little comfort.

“You shouldn’t lie to him.” A graved tone came from her back, she turned around to see a man, standing on the bed beside the one was attending. - “He’s gonna learn that this place is not for the weak sooner or later.” - The brown hair man said, his tone was serious and he looked at you like riders normally looked at anyone who wasn’t a rider. She shrug at his ignorant words and kept working on the boy laid in front of her until one of her professor came to continue since the boy's burns degree was way more grave than students could secure.

Then she turned to face the bed beside where the rider, from the fourth wing as his (emblema) showed , was still waiting.

“Do you need help too or are you just here to supervise our work?” She said with sarcasm and accusation. Before he could answer, Jonah, her friend and classmate, who was attending to the boy on the bed chimed in.

“His friend has some second degree burns but I’m already taking care of it, but I can see a slight burn on his back.” Jonah said while putting some leaves on the boy's arm and pointing with his chin to the annoying man on my side indicating that he also had been injured.

“I’m okay, I don’t need help.” The rider said before I could say anything. She gave him an annoyed look while appointing a chair nearby.

“If you’re here we can’t let you leave without doing a check up first. Let me do my job and this will be over so you can go back to mounting dragons.” He let out an annoyed sound but followed her to the chair. “Can you please take your shirt?” Her question left as soon as he sat on the chair wanting to get rid of him as quickly as she could.

“Wow there, people usually go on a date first, although healers are not really my type.” His tone was full of mischief but also tardiness, like the joke came automatically to him.

“Oh my poor heart, how am I going to live after this?” Her voice was so flat at this point that the man just slightly flinched and took his shirt off. She went behind him, and he really had a burn on his back, but it was a first degree, probably just needing disinfection and then some medication to calm the skin. She grabbed the cloth putting one hand on his back to stabilize him and he instantly gave a slight flinch.

“Gods, your hands are freezing.” He said rapidly between teeth.

“Good thing for someone who has a burn on his skin.” She put my hand on his back again while gentlying using the cloth to clean his injury. A shiver ran down his spine, not even the largest, biggest rider was immune to pain.

His strong back tensed with each contact, pulling his muscles together on his beautiful tanned skin. Gods, riders and their fucking beautiful bodies. It was rather annoying actually, but they definitely made up with their personality, especially this one. So annoying.

“Are you trying to kill me or something, woman?” He hissed again, pushing his back away from me.

“Crybaby” she whispered to herself while grabbing him by his shoulder and continuing to work on his back, but she Guessed her whisper wasn't as silent as she expected because he whipped his head around to look at her. She stared back with a pointing look, and he just smirked and turned around. And a small smile threatened to appear on the girl’s lips.

After finishing up on his back, she started checking for any more injuries on his backside, finding a small one on his neck right on the line where his thick brown wavy hair started. She asked for him to look down and gently touch his stiff nape, and he immediately reacted.

“Sorry.” She apologized knowing from experience that most people were very sensitive around their necks.

“It 's okay.” He assured me gently, unlike his interaction with her before. He settled his body back to her again and started cleaning the burn with the most delicacy that she could. She still could see the shivers that went on his body, and for a minute it felt like there were just she and him on the infirmary, she was so focus on his responsive body and trying to be gentle with him that her brain fogged the cries, the whimpers, the pain shouts. It was just her and the nameless beautiful rider. She shook my head finishing up and turned around to see if there were any injuries on his front. And she thanked the gods that her cheeks had not heated.

“I'm just gonna do a final check up before we are done.” His face lifted to the sound of her voice and when his eyes met hers, she could see something sad then, but quickly his facial features turned on the playful side again. She rolled her eyes and quickly moved to do her job, checking pupils. Checking for concussion, and lastly checking his abdomen to see if it had any injuries, and she swore she would try her hardest to not linger too much on his strong body.

“Do you need more time to check up on me up?” He asked so smudged that she could hear the smirk on his lips. She rolled my eyes again.

“You are done. I would recommend not wearing anything too tight and sleeping without a shirt and on the front side to avoid inflammation, giving access for your skin to heal and breathe.” She recited the recommendations almost automatically since it wasn't the first or last time she would be saying that tonight. Before he could answer, Noah stepped beside me.

“Sorry to interrupt but Leith it’s looking green again and I think he's going to… “ He hesitated looking at the rider seated in front of them paying close attention to them. But she didnt need for Jonah to complete, she knew, Leith was a really great student, if not one of the bests in class, but when came down to the practical part of it, especially on this case when wasn’t not a premeditated test, he would let his emotions ruled him, and she personally believe that he had an aversion for certain lacerations.

“ I’m finished here, I’m going to check on him, how severe is the situation?” And his face changed the minute the question left her lips, he also didn't need the words, she could see on his face. She gave him a small nod, and he left. She counted to ten to steady her breath, this was going to be a long night. When she turned to the man still seated, his eyes were already searching hers, eyes that once again show that tiredness that she saw before, his eyebrows were lower and slightly closer. And in that instant the man who had looked at her with disdain, sarcasm and playfulness, now had what she accessed as a worried look, and sincere one. She fidget her hands on her coat, not used to the kind of expression, not towards me at least.

“Remember to follow my instructions and unless if you have a family member or someone real close to you, please go to your courts, this place it's already too packed up tonight.” His expression changed to neutral and he lifted from the chair, with that done she turned to go find Leith, when his voice reached me in a low tone.

“Thanks, I am Ridoc, by the way.”

She was surprised and studied his face, his brown light eyes and the soft strands of his hair sticking on his sweaty forehead.

“Y/N. And I hope I don't see you here again.” she turned before he could answer and went to take care of the poor young life they were about to lose.

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

#fourth wing x reader #fourth wing #ridoc gamlyn x reader #ridoc x reader

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theheartcollecter · 3 days ago

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GHOUL

Chapter 2: Alive

Fem Ghoul!Reader x Monster!141

Warnings: Cannibalism, flashbacks to torture, blood (lmk if I missed any)

A/n: i will be using the template below for all the chapters I write, please use this as a guide for certain physical traits I mention. (Like her white hair)

The light that shown down on me was nauseating, my eyes blinking rapidly as they adjusted. I tried to sit, pain spreading throughout my body, wincing, I laid back down. I looked around me at what I assumed was a hospital room with one nightstand beside me and two chairs across from the bed. My brows furrowed as I looked down at my attire, I was dressed in a scratchy hospital gown with nothing underneath. I sat up again, this time prepared for the pain that came with. I looked out a window to my right and my memories came back to me. I rubbed my wrists, eyeing the faint bruises around them. With a shaky exhale I looked down at my feet, noting the white gauze wrapped around them.

A nurse bust through the door to my room, a man—-or dragon—- right behind her, the scent on human blood filled my nostrils. “Oh for Christ’s Sake! I can’t tell you her personal information! Its—“ The nurse stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening at the sight of me, awake. The dragon had the same reaction, I took this time to look at him, deep blue eyes, chocolate hair, older, muscular, and he was missing a wing on his back.

I opened my mouth to speak but was interrupted by the nurse ushering the dragon man out. She hurried by my side once the door was shut. Outside, I could see him peeking in. The nurse grabbed some water off the nightstand, offering the glass to me. “How are you? Are you in any pain?” I hesitated, before grabbing the water, chugging it as if I’d been dehydrated for weeks. Normally, ghouls don’t care to drink water, but since I have no other source of hydration, I drank it. I wiped my mouth once the glass had been emptied, handing it back to the nurse. My voice came out scratchy and unfamiliar, like my ears weren’t used to the sound. “Who are you?” I asked her, suddenly feeling cautious, “Where am I?”

The nurse chuckled slightly, “I’m nurse Baker, you’ve been out for a few days since Task Force 141 found you. Currently, we are in the military base’s hospital.” This time when she spoke I could hear the clear British accent. “Task Force 141?” I muttered. The nurse smiled, “Yes, they are the ones who rescued you… Now if you’re up for it I have a few questions as well as them regarding your situation.” My situation? I thought, but another thing I seemed to notice was the lack of ghouls here. Then it became all to clear what they wanted from me.

I stood up quickly, preparing to run, but stumbled right back on my ass. The aching in my feet still hasn’t fading, it’s like I can feel the torture happening all over again. The nurse ran to my side, “Please don’t do that again, Miss! Your still healing, I’m aware your a hybrid, but your body is traumatized.” She placed a hand on my shoulder, I looked up at her, rage plastered on my face. “I’m not weak,” I gritted out, slapping her hand off me before getting up and back onto the bed. She huffed, “They will be in and talk with you shortly.” And with that she left, a lock clicking in place.

I sighed as I waited for whoever “They” were, staring out the window. It was clear that this was a military base, no people were outside or cars vrooming past. Just trees and grass and the occasional gust of wind.

The door opened and I heard a knock, my head whipped around, hands gripping the bed as I locked eyes with the dragon man from before. I peered behind him and saw three other men as well, all uniquely different. His deep voice cut through my mind, down straight to my heart. “How ya’ feelin’ love? Can we come in?” I nodded, not trusting my voice with how my heart pounded, almost like I was human again. The dragon enter my room, sitting in one of the plastic chairs that was clearly not meant to hold a man of his size. Behind him entered an excited wolf hybrid, brown tail swishing behind him. He too had blue eyes and chocolate hair. Next was a beautiful crow hybrid with black feathered wings and talons and feathers scattered across his arms and shins. And the last man looked like death himself, a balaclava covered his face, only revealing auburn eyes and blonde lashes. From the way his skin shifted from pale to black around his forearms told me he was a wraith hybrid.

The wolf hybrid sat down beside the dragon as the other two men stood beside them. I turn towards them, cross-legged on the bed. I bite the inside of my cheek, their stares heavy on me, suddenly feeling conscious of my attire. “Wot’s ya’ name?” The dragon questioned. I swallowed before answering, “Didn’t the nurse tell you?” I said quietly. The dragon chuckled slightly, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, “Actually, she was keen on not telling me anythin’” He gave me a small smile, “Names John, this ‘ere is Johnny,” he said ruffle the wolf’s hair beside him. Johnnys tail was now thumping against the chair, a smirk of his face, “Nice ta meet ya, lass.” He said, flashing sharp canines. The dragon huffed then gestured to the crow hybrid, “Tha’s Kyle,” Kyle gave me a pretty smile, nodding his head in greeting. “And Simon.” John looked at the wraith, but his eyes were locked in mine. Simon. My lips parted as I returned my gaze back to the dragon, introducing myself.

John’s face got serious, “Let’s talk ‘bout you, eh? What kind of hybrid are you?” I glanced away from him before responding, “Ghoul. I’m a Ghoul.” Confusion took over John’s serious expression, “Ghoul? Never heard of tha’ type before. Tell me ‘bout it.” I looked down at my gown, keeping my face as stoic as possible. “Well, I can’t say much because I haven’t been a Ghoul for my whole life. There are different kinds, One-Eyed Ghouls and Pure Blood Ghouls. One-Eyed Ghouls are usually turned humans and Pure Bloods are normally born from Ghoul parents. I’m a One-Eyed Ghoul, I was turned a couple months ago and since then everything has changed….” I looked up at the hybrids, a sympathetic look on all of their faces but one. My jaw clenched, “I don’t need your pity,” I spat out, “What else do you want to know?” I said a bit too angrily. John cleared his throat, “Who.. turned you?” I bite my lip so hard blood almost started to pool out. “It was an accident, Ghouls usually don’t turn humans. It’s dangerous and stupid. The man who turned me was going to kill me and then his blood mixed with mine, and, well, here I am.” The wolf leaned closer in his chair, “What happened to ‘im?” He asked, eyes full of violence.

“I ate him before he ate me.”

A/n: I finally made a chapter two I can’t believe I did it!!! Hope you guys liked this!

#୨୧ emi’s dairy !#141 x reader #cod #monster 141 x reader #fem reader #poly 141 x reader #kyle gaz garrick #simon riley x reader #tokyo ghoul

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novaursa · 16 hours ago

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The Golden Court (what we are)

- Summary: You were taken from the royal court by your father when you were a child. Now you return as a woman grown from exile. A woman that ignites fires in her wake.

- Pairing: Jason Lannister/targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Note: Adult themes will progress more and more as chapters go on. This fic is pure filth and I make no apologies for it. You have been warned.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: wayward daughter

- Tag(s): @scarletdfox

The chamber was cool despite the warm morning light filtering in through the arched windows, the scent of parchment and candle wax thick in the air. The Small Council had convened early, their seats already filled as they waited for King Viserys I Targaryen to begin.

Tyland Lannister entered quietly, his stride measured, his expression composed. The moment he stepped inside, he could feel the weight of the conversation already brewing. The tension was subtle but unmistakable, lingering in the air like a brewing storm.

At the head of the table, King Viserys sat in his usual place, his fingers drumming idly against the armrest of his chair. His face, though lined with years of rule, betrayed his exhaustion. Beside him, the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower, sat poised as ever, his eyes flickering toward Tyland as he took his seat.

Lord Lyonel Strong offered him a curt nod, while the elderly Lord Beesbury, ever half-lost in his own thoughts, mumbled something under his breath as he adjusted his spectacles. Lord Jasper Wylde, remained silent, his expression unreadable. Grand Maester Mellos, hunched over his usual array of scrolls and vials, barely acknowledged Tyland’s arrival.

The council chamber doors shut behind him with a low thud, signaling that the meeting was about to begin in earnest.

Viserys exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples before finally speaking.

“Let us be done with pleasantries,” he muttered, his voice heavy with lingering fatigue from the previous night’s revelry. “We have much to discuss.”

Otto nodded in agreement, ever the vigilant advisor. “Indeed, Your Grace. The matter of Prince Daemon’s return to court is of great concern.”

Tyland remained silent, listening.

Viserys’s mouth tightened at the mention of his younger brother. “Daemon has returned before,” he said, though there was little conviction behind it. “It is hardly a new occurrence.”

Otto’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes, but never with his daughter in tow.”

The room shifted slightly at that, an unspoken ripple of unease passing through the gathered lords. It had not gone unnoticed—Daemon Targaryen arriving without invitation, his daughter beside him, as though they had never been exiled at all.

Lyonel Strong leaned forward, his voice even. “Prince Daemon’s return alone would be disruptive enough, but the princess… she has already begun drawing attention. If last night was any indication, she will be the subject of much speculation.”

Otto’s expression darkened slightly. “Her presence is more than just disruptive—it is a calculated move. Daemon does not act without purpose.”

Tyland finally spoke, his voice measured. “And what purpose do you believe he has?”

Otto turned his sharp gaze on him. “Daemon is a man who thrives in chaos, my lord. He seeks power where he can, influence where he must. His daughter is no exception to that.”

Tyland met Otto’s gaze evenly, not blinking. “She is a woman grown now. A dragonrider. A player in her own right, whether her father wills it or not.”

Otto studied him for a moment before continuing. “All the more reason to tread carefully. We have seen what happens when a Targaryen with a dragon and ambition is left unchecked.”

Viserys exhaled, his fingers tightening around the armrest. “She is my niece.”

“She is also her father’s daughter,” Otto countered, not unkindly. “And that alone makes her dangerous.”

A moment of silence fell over the room.

Lord Beesbury cleared his throat. “And what… what do we intend to do about it?”

Lyonel Strong folded his hands atop the table. “The princess has been away from court for years. Many here do not know her. If she remains, the lords will begin to question—who is she? What is her role? What does Daemon want for her?” He paused, glancing at Viserys. “And most importantly… what does Your Grace intend for her future?”

Viserys did not answer right away. He stared down at the table, deep in thought, his face unreadable.

Otto’s gaze flickered toward him before speaking again. “The time will come when a match will need to be made. If she is left unwed, the court will speculate. And if she is allowed to choose freely…” He hesitated. “Well, we may find ourselves with an outcome that does not favor the stability of the realm.”

Tyland tilted his head slightly. “And what match would you suggest, Lord Hand?”

Otto glanced at him, then back at Viserys. “A noble house, one of proven loyalty. One that ensures her station does not become a threat to the crown.”

Tyland chuckled softly, shaking his head. “That will be quite the task. Did you not see how the lords reacted last night? They are not concerned with ‘stability.’ They are watching, waiting, eager to stake their claim.”

Viserys pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. “I will speak to her.”

Otto nodded. “That would be wise, Your Grace.”

The room fell into momentary silence.

Grand Maester Mellos, who had been silent throughout the discussion, finally cleared his throat. “It is worth remembering that while the princess may be a daughter of Daemon, she is still of royal blood. If properly guided, she could serve as an asset, not just a complication.”

Tyland leaned back slightly, watching as Viserys mulled over those words. He could see the conflict in the king’s expression—the push and pull of duty, family, and the ever-present ghost of the past.

After a long pause, Viserys finally spoke.

“She is family,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I will not see her treated as a piece to be moved without her will.”

Otto’s face remained impassive, but there was something in his eyes that suggested disagreement.

Tyland merely smirked to himself, watching the moment unfold.

Daemon’s return had already begun shifting the tides of court.

And his daughter?

She was the storm no one had yet decided how to weather.

The corridors of the Red Keep were quieter in the afternoon, the heat of the day settling into the stones. The earlier bustle of courtiers had thinned, leaving only the occasional servant moving swiftly through the halls, their heads bowed as they went about their tasks.

Jason Lannister moved with the ease of a man completely at home, his golden doublet catching the light as he walked with a casual stride. He had spent the morning exploring the castle, reacquainting himself with the capital’s many pleasures—fine wines, finer company, and the endless whispers of court.

But there was one particular pleasure he had yet to indulge in today.

Turning a corner, he spotted exactly who he was looking for—Tyland, his ever-dutiful younger twin, standing near one of the inner courtyards, seemingly lost in thought. Jason’s smirk widened as he approached.

“Ah, there you are,” Jason called out, clapping a hand on Tyland’s shoulder as he came to stand beside him. “I was beginning to think you’d locked yourself away with that dreary council of yours.”

Tyland gave him a measured glance but said nothing immediately, already wary of whatever his older brother was about to say.

Jason exhaled, stretching slightly before rolling his shoulders back. “I’ve decided,” he announced grandly, as if declaring some great victory.

Tyland raised an eyebrow. “Decided what, exactly?”

Jason grinned, turning to lean casually against the stone railing of the courtyard. “That we’re staying. The whole family. I see no reason to return to the Westerlands so soon when there are so many… sights to enjoy here in the capital.”

Tyland let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jason—”

Jason waved him off before he could finish. “I know that tone. Spare me the lecture, brother. We both know what I’m doing, and I see no reason to be subtle about it.”

Tyland crossed his arms, regarding him carefully. “And what exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Jason smirked. “Enjoying myself.” He tilted his head, his green eyes gleaming with mischief. “And what of you? Have you enjoyed yourself today, or have you been locked in that gods-awful council chamber since morning?”

Tyland hesitated for half a beat—just enough for Jason to catch it.

Jason’s smirk faltered slightly, suspicion flickering across his features. “Tyland.”

Tyland exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “I spoke with her.”

Jason blinked. “You what?”

“I spoke with the princess,” Tyland repeated, his voice even.

Jason straightened slightly, his smirk fading into something unreadable. “When?”

“This morning,” Tyland said smoothly. “I was on my way to council when I spotted her on the balcony overlooking the courtyard.”

Jason’s expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and something else—something sharper. “And you approached her?”

Tyland met his gaze evenly. “Should I not have?”

Jason let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Well, that’s unexpected. My ever-cautious brother, speaking to the dragon herself?” He smirked. “And here I thought you were content to watch from a distance.”

Tyland didn’t rise to the bait, his gaze steady. “Unlike you, I have no need for theatrics.”

Jason chuckled, though there was something calculating behind his eyes now. “And what exactly did you two discuss?”

Tyland tilted his head slightly, studying his brother. “Oh, nothing of consequence,” he said smoothly. “A little talk of House Lannister’s twin affliction, as she so aptly put it.”

Jason huffed a laugh at that. “Sounds about right.” But then he narrowed his gaze slightly. “And? What did you make of her?”

Tyland took a moment before answering, his voice measured. “She’s intelligent. Cautious. But she enjoys the game just as much as you do.”

Jason grinned. “Oh, I never doubted that.”

Tyland let out a slow breath. “She’s also watching us, Jason.”

Jason leaned in slightly, his smirk returning. “And?”

Tyland sighed, shaking his head slightly. “And I don’t think you realize just how much she already knows.”

Jason exhaled, pushing off the railing, a satisfied look crossing his face. “That only makes the game more interesting.”

Tyland’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue.

Jason clapped him on the shoulder again, his grin widening. “Well then, little brother, let’s see which one of us she enjoys more, shall we?”

And with that, Jason strode off, leaving Tyland standing in the courtyard, watching as his brother disappeared around the corner.

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head.

This was going to be trouble.

The private dining chamber of the royal quarters was far quieter than the Great Hall had been the previous night. There was no music, no roaring laughter or the clinking of goblets raised in boisterous toasts. Instead, there was only the quiet hum of conversation, the soft scrape of silverware against polished plates, and the ever-present unease that had settled thick in the air like a storm waiting to break.

You sat at the long table draped in deep crimson and black, the colors of your house, though the setting felt anything but warm. Across from you, Queen Alicent sat stiff-backed, composed as ever, her green gown pristine, her expression carefully neutral as she picked at her meal. To your right, Rhaenyra sat stiffly, her gaze flickering toward you every so often, her lips pressed into a thin line. Laenor Velaryon sat beside her, his posture more relaxed but his expression unreadable.

At the head of the table sat King Viserys, his presence ever commanding, though his face bore the weariness of a man who had ruled for too long and suffered too much. He had insisted on this meal—a gathering of family, an attempt to foster unity.

And beside you, lounging in his seat like a dragon at rest, was Daemon.

He had said little since the meal had begun, content to observe, sipping from his goblet with that ever-present smirk playing at his lips. But you knew him well enough to recognize the glint in his eyes. He was enjoying this—this tension, this silent war of glances and unsaid words.

You, however, were growing bored.

“So,” you finally spoke, your voice smooth and unhurried as you cut into your meal. “Is this how all royal family dinners go? So full of warmth and laughter?”

Rhaenyra’s knife clinked against her plate as she set it down a touch too forcefully.

Viserys sighed, rubbing his brow. “This is meant to be a meal, not a battlefield.”

“I wasn’t aware anyone was fighting, Uncle,” you mused, taking a sip of your wine. “Perhaps I should have arrived with a sword.”

Daemon chuckled into his cup.

Alicent lifted her goblet, her eyes cool as she regarded you. “You are our guest, Princess. No one here is your enemy.”

You smiled, tilting your head slightly. “Oh? I wasn’t aware I needed enemies to be unwelcome.”

Rhaenyra let out a slow breath, finally turning to face you fully. “You disappeared,” she said bluntly. “For years. No word, no letters, nothing. And now you return with him, sweeping into court as if you had never left.”

Daemon smirked at that, but you simply regarded Rhaenyra with a measured gaze.

“I was with my father,” you said simply. “You know how he is.”

Rhaenyra scoffed, glancing toward Daemon. “Oh, I do.”

Daemon merely smirked, unbothered. “And yet you’re still surprised by my sudden return, niece?”

“It’s not just your return,” Rhaenyra shot back, her gaze flickering toward you.

Viserys sighed heavily. “Enough of this. You are family.” He turned to you, his voice softer. “Your absence was felt, Y/N. I am… relieved to have you back at court.”

You inclined your head slightly. “That is kind of you to say, Uncle.”

Alicent sipped her wine, watching the exchange. “There is much speculation about your return, princess,” she said after a moment. “Many are curious as to what has brought you back now.”

Daemon let out a soft laugh. “Oh, I’m sure there’s plenty of speculation.”

Alicent’s gaze flickered toward him, unreadable. “Should there not be?”

Viserys sighed again, his fingers tightening around his goblet. “Must we speak in circles? Daemon has returned, and so has his daughter. That is the end of it.”

Laenor, who had remained silent thus far, finally leaned forward slightly, his expression mild. “Is it, though?”

The table fell quiet for a beat.

You smiled at him, appreciating the unexpected honesty. “A fair question.”

Rhaenyra frowned, still clearly unsettled. “You cannot deny that your arrival has… changed things.”

Daemon smirked. “Good.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched slightly before she turned back to you. “And what is it that you want, cousin?”

You studied her for a moment, considering the weight of the question. The truth was, you had not yet decided. You had returned, yes—but to what end?

For now, you simply smiled, reaching for your goblet.

“I suppose,” you mused, “I’ll just have to see what this court has to offer.”

Daemon chuckled, raising his cup in a silent toast.

Alicent’s gaze remained fixed on you, her expression unreadable.

Viserys exhaled, clearly exhausted by the entire conversation.

And Rhaenyra?

She watched you closely, suspicion and uncertainty warring behind her eyes.

The game had begun in earnest.

Daemon had always been a man who moved in shadows when it suited him, and the corridors of the Red Keep were the perfect hunting grounds. He walked with measured steps, his hands clasped behind his back, the rich black and red of his tunic blending with the dimly lit stone. He was a dragon, but he knew how to be a wolf when needed—silent, patient, watching his prey before striking.

And today, his prey was Jason Lannister.

The golden-haired lord stood near one of the great stone archways that overlooked the sprawling gardens below. He wasn’t trying to hide—no, that wasn’t Jason’s style. He leaned casually against the stone railing, one ankle crossed over the other, an air of confidence about him that was so distinctly Lannister.

But Daemon was not blind to what had drawn the man’s attention.

There, in the royal gardens, you sat among a small gathering of noble ladies. They surrounded you like moths drawn to a flame, their eyes eager, their words undoubtedly laced with thinly veiled flattery. Some sought your favor, others your friendship, and a few, no doubt, merely sought to know you, to see if the woman behind the legend lived up to it.

Jason, however, was not merely watching. He was assessing.

Daemon could see it in the way the Westerlander’s green eyes followed you, the way his gaze lingered a fraction too long when you tilted your head in amusement, the subtle smirk that played at his lips whenever you spoke.

The lion had found something worth hunting.

And Daemon did not like that one bit.

With a slow smirk curling his lips, Daemon stepped forward, breaking the silence. “Enjoying the view, Lannister?”

Jason did not startle—Daemon had expected as much. Instead, the man turned his head slightly, his smirk deepening, as if he had been expecting this confrontation.

“Prince Daemon,” Jason greeted smoothly, inclining his head. “And here I thought you only skulked about in council chambers and feasts. Nice to see you stretching your legs.”

Daemon’s smile sharpened, though there was no warmth in it. “And here I thought lions only prowled in the Westerlands.” His gaze flickered toward you, still deep in conversation with the ladies below. “Yet here you are. Sniffing a little too close around my daughter’s skirts.”

Jason chuckled, low and rich. “A rather crude way of putting it, my prince.” He turned fully toward Daemon now, resting one hand on the hilt of his belt—not in a threat, but in the casual manner of a man who had never felt threatened in his life. “I prefer to call it… appreciation.”

Daemon let out a soft huff of amusement, though there was no humor in his eyes. “Is that what you call it? Standing here, watching her like a lion watching a doe in a meadow?”

Jason tilted his head. “I think you underestimate your daughter, my prince. If she’s anything like you, she’s no helpless creature.”

Daemon’s smirk returned, but this time, there was something colder behind it. “She isn’t.” He took a slow step forward, his voice lowering just slightly. “Which is why she has no need for golden-haired flatterers who think themselves clever.”

Jason met his gaze evenly, utterly unshaken. “Oh, but I am clever, Daemon.”

The use of his name—not his title—was deliberate. A provocation.

Daemon let the silence stretch between them, letting Jason feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken threat behind it.

But Jason Lannister did not cower.

If anything, the smirk playing at his lips only widened, his green eyes glinting with something dangerously close to amusement.

“I see no harm in a little conversation,” Jason continued, tilting his head toward the gardens. “The princess is an… intriguing woman.”

Daemon let out a slow exhale, stepping even closer, lowering his voice to something almost mockingly conspiratorial. “Let me explain something to you, Lannister,” he murmured, his tone deceptively smooth. “You may think yourself charming, and perhaps in some other world, some lesser court, that might be enough.”

His eyes darkened.

“But if you think for one moment that I will allow my daughter to be toyed with by some lion cub who collects women like trinkets, you are sorely mistaken.”

Jason merely smiled, unconcerned. “A father’s love is admirable.”

Daemon chuckled, slow and dangerous. “No, Jason. A father’s wrath is what you should be worried about.”

Jason exhaled, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Tell me, my prince,” he mused, “do you think you can dictate who she speaks to forever?”

Daemon’s smirk did not fade. “Not forever. Just long enough to keep men like you from getting ideas.”

Jason laughed then, a rich, genuine sound. “Then you’ll have your work cut out for you, my prince.” He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. “Because I already have ideas.”

Daemon’s eyes flickered, something dangerous stirring behind them, but Jason merely inclined his head slightly, stepping back with an easy smile.

“No need to look so murderous,” Jason said lightly. “I like a chaellenge.”

Daemon exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “Fool.”

Jason merely grinned. “Perhaps. But fools have all the fun.”

With that, the lion turned, strolling down the corridor with the ease of a man who had not just received a warning from the Rogue Prince himself.

Daemon watched him go, the smirk never quite leaving his face, though his fingers twitched against the hilt of his sword.

Let him play his little game.

Let him think himself untouchable.

He would learn soon enough.

After all… dragons always devoured lions in the end.

The gardens of the Red Keep were bathed in warm afternoon light, the scent of blooming roses and citrus trees lingering in the air. Beneath the shade of an intricately carved pavilion, you sat among a gathering of noble ladies, their soft laughter and gentle conversation weaving through the breeze.

They had flocked to you like doves to a falcon, eager to gain your favor, to see if the princess who had stolen the attention of the court would be generous in her company. Some sought gossip, others whispered of potential alliances, and a few merely basked in the presence of someone whose name already held weight beyond the capital’s walls.

But then he arrived.

Jason Lannister strode toward your gathering with all the self-assurance of a man who had never known rejection. The sun gleamed against his golden hair, and his embroidered doublet—deep crimson with golden lions stitched into the fabric—fit perfectly over his broad frame.

The moment the ladies saw him, the air shifted.

A few of them exchanged delighted glances, some straightened their postures, and one let out a breathy “Lord Jason” as he neared, her voice filled with unbidden admiration.

You, however, remained perfectly still, your expression as smooth as polished Valyrian steel.

Jason, of course, noticed.

His smirk widened as he came to a stop before you, placing a hand over his heart in a dramatic bow. “Princess Y/N,” he drawled, his deep voice laced with amusement. “I was just telling my dear brother that the gardens were lacking something today. Now I see it was you.”

The lady nearest to you blushed furiously, giggling behind her hand.

You tilted your head slightly, unimpressed. “How fortunate, then, that I am here to remedy the tragedy of your afternoon.”

Jason chuckled, unfazed. “Ah, but there is another tragedy yet to be resolved.”

One of the ladies leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming. “What tragedy is that, my lord?”

Jason exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. “The most grievous of all, my lady—our dear princess is without proper company.”

The ladies gasped softly, glancing between you and Jason with delighted curiosity.

You arched an elegant brow, setting your goblet down with deliberate ease. “Is that so?”

Jason grinned, taking a slow step closer, his green eyes gleaming with mischief. “It pains me to see a woman of your stature surrounded by girls and boys who cannot possibly understand what it means to stand beside someone worthy of you.” His voice dropped slightly, the edge of seduction slipping into it. “A woman like you deserves a man, not a boy playing at courtly games.”

A murmur of scandalized delight spread through the gathered ladies. One of them let out a soft “Oh my”, while another fanned herself subtly.

But you did not blush, nor did you react like the others.

Instead, you regarded him lazily, amusement flickering in your violet eyes.

“Tell me, Lord Jason,” you murmured, voice smooth as silk, “do you know why my she-dragon is called the Nightmare Queen?”

Jason tilted his head slightly, sensing the shift in your tone but clearly intrigued. “I can’t say I do, princess.”

You leaned forward just enough that your voice carried only to him, your lips curving into a slow, knowing smile.

“She has developed a taste,” you whispered, “for man-flesh.”

A few of the ladies nearby gasped softly, their eyes widening in half-fear, half-fascination.

Jason, however, merely let out a rich, unbothered chuckle. “Is that so?” He crossed his arms, tilting his head as if considering your words. “Well, I know nothing of your dragon, but if it is you who wishes to feast…” His smirk deepened, his green eyes dark with meaning. “Then by all means, princess—devour me.”

The ladies gasped again—this time much louder. One of them turned completely red, another let out a nervous giggle, and a third fanned herself more aggressively.

You exhaled a quiet laugh, your gaze never leaving his.

He was bold.

Reckless.

And utterly unashamed.

The perfect opponent.

You let a slow, teasing smile curl your lips. “A tempting offer, my lord.”

Jason leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. “Then I await your bite.”

The ladies nearly swooned.

You tilted your head, your fingers tapping idly against your goblet as you watched him. “Tell me, Lord Jason—are you always so eager to be eaten alive?”

His smirk widened. “Only by creatures worthy of the feast.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “A dangerous philosophy. Some things—once devoured—do not return whole.”

Jason’s eyes gleamed. “Then let me be broken, princess.”

The words hung between you, thick with implication.

And then, just as smoothly as he arrived, Jason stepped back, offering you an easy grin before turning to leave.

The moment he was gone, the ladies exploded into whispers, their faces flushed, their voices breathless.

You, however, merely smirked, lifting your goblet once more.

The lion was playing dangerously close to the dragon’s fire.

And you?

You were enjoying it.

The Red Keep’s high corridors overlooked the gardens below, granting an unobstructed view of the court’s daily affairs. The vantage point was often used for quiet conversations, unseen observations, and, in this case, a thorough study of Jason Lannister’s latest folly.

Tyland stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his green eyes fixed on his brother as he made his grand approach toward the princess and her gathering of ladies. His older twin moved with the confidence of a man who had never lost anything of consequence in his life—grinning, charming, effortlessly arrogant.

Beside him, Lord Jasper Wylde, leaned on the railing, his dark eyes keen as he observed the scene below. Unlike Tyland, who merely watched, Jasper’s expression soured slightly, his lips pursing in disapproval.

“He’s going to ruin himself,” Jasper muttered, shaking his head.

Tyland exhaled through his nose, glancing at the older lord. “You think so?”

Jasper scoffed. “I know so.” He gestured toward Jason with a flick of his fingers. “Your brother does not seem to understand that Lannister pride will only carry him so far. He is playing a dangerous game.”

Tyland said nothing for a moment, his gaze flickering back to where Jason had now inserted himself into the princess’s circle. The ladies swooned at his arrival, their eyes lighting up as if the sun itself had chosen to descend upon them. But the princess?

She was unbothered.

She played along, yes, but there was no true awe in her gaze. No softness. No submission.

Tyland’s fingers curled slightly.

Jasper sighed. “Jason does not seem to realize that this is not some naive Westerlands maiden who will swoon at his every word.” His tone was edged with irritation. “She is a Targaryen. Worse, she is Daemon Targaryen’s daughter.”

Tyland hummed, unimpressed. “Jason enjoys a chaellenge.”

Jasper let out a humorless chuckle. “Then perhaps he should have chosen one that does not come with a dragon attached to it.” He paused before adding dryly, “Or a father who is liable to cut his throat while he sleeps.”

Tyland allowed himself a small smirk at that. “Daemon has likely already issued a warning.”

Jasper exhaled sharply. “And Jason, fool that he is, will ignore it.” He straightened slightly, shaking his head. “Your brother is not thinking, Tyland. And I suspect that you know it.”

Tyland sighed, his hands tightening slightly behind his back. “Jason does what Jason wants.”

“Yes, and what Jason wants is going to alienate his own vassals if he is not careful,” Jasper said pointedly, his tone shifting toward something far more serious.

Tyland turned his head, watching the older lord closely. “Meaning?”

Jasper gave him a knowing look. “This would not be the first time he has set his sights on someone he should not.”

Tyland said nothing.

Jasper let out a slow breath. “He has already delayed a match once before. Lord Westerling’s daughter is still waiting for an answer, and that is only one of several houses he has courted.” His eyes flickered back to the scene below, where Jason was now leaning in dangerously close to the princess. “If he spurns yet another potential marriage for a woman he will never have, he may find that his vassals are far less patient than his pride allows.”

Tyland frowned, considering that. It was true—Jason had entertained matches before, played the game of alliances with practiced ease. But each time, he had drawn it out, lost interest, moved on.

And now, he was fixated.

On a woman who would never belong to him.

Tyland exhaled slowly. “I will speak with him.”

Jasper gave him a skeptical glance. “Will he listen?”

Tyland hesitated before shaking his head slightly. “No.”

Jasper snorted. “Then at least be there to clean up his mess when it all falls apart.”

Tyland’s jaw tightened slightly, his gaze locked onto his brother below. Jason was grinning, utterly unbothered, as he flirted openly with the most dangerous woman in the realm.

Tyland already knew the answer to his own unspoken question.

This would not end well.

Another day had passed in the Red Keep, but you remained at the center of its restless court. The whispers had not faded since your arrival. If anything, they had grown—multiplied in corridors and feast halls, in the idle conversations of lords and ladies who watched, waited, speculated.

Tyland had told himself he was merely observing, as any careful man would. But each time his gaze lingered upon you, each time he found himself noting the way the court moved around you—how men’s eyes followed, how women’s tongues sharpened—he began to wonder if he was watching for reasons he would rather not admit.

And today?

Today, you made it all the more difficult to feign disinterest.

He was walking toward the council chamber when he first spotted you. Fresh off your dragon, dressed for the skies rather than the court.

Your attire was nothing like the soft silks the ladies of court favored. The supple black riding leathers clung to your form, stitched with Valyrian steel-threaded clasps that gleamed against your shoulders. The deep crimson cape you wore—fastened with a dragon-shaped clasp at your throat—shifted with each step, the fabric catching the light like molten fire.

Your silver hair, usually arranged in intricate braids, was looser now, wind-tossed and slightly wild from your flight. There was a flush to your skin, a sharpness in your violet eyes—a woman who had just conquered the skies and returned to the earth only because she had chosen to.

It was no wonder you turned more than a few heads as you strode through the Red Keep’s halls.

Tyland noticed how the lords who lingered in the corridor paused, their conversations faltering as their gazes flickered toward you. Some of them tried to be subtle. Others made no effort at all.

Tyland’s fingers curled at his side.

It was not jealousy.

It was… something else.

And that was what troubled him.

So, without fully thinking, he adjusted his stance, slowed his pace, and intercepted you.

“Princess.”

The single word was smooth, casual, slipping into the space between you before you could vanish around the next corner.

You exhaled softly, as if only slightly exasperated, before turning your gaze upon him.

“Lord Tyland,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly. “You do seem to appear when I least expect it.”

Tyland smirked faintly, though his composure remained as measured as ever. “Perhaps I enjoy catching you off guard.”

You arched a brow. “You and your brother both.”

Tyland’s smirk remained, but there was something sharper in his gaze now. “Ah, but Jason enjoys announcing himself. I prefer… subtlety.”

You let out a quiet hum, studying him. “Is that what this is? Subtlety?”

His gaze flickered briefly—just briefly—over you, taking in the sheen of leather, the way the cape still fluttered slightly from your movements, the lingering scent of dragonfire that clung to you.

Something stirred in his chest.

Something unwanted.

He did not let it show.

Instead, he exhaled slowly, his smirk barely shifting. “It is merely a conversation, princess. Nothing more.”

You smiled then—slow, knowing.

Tyland knew better than to be charmed by it, but gods, you were dangerous when you looked at a man like that.

“A conversation,” you mused, stepping closer, though there was no hesitation in your stride, no shyness in the way you met his gaze. “And what does the second lion wish to discuss today?”

Tyland tilted his head slightly. “You turn quite a few heads, you know.”

Your smirk widened slightly. “And?”

“And,” Tyland continued, keeping his voice light, “I imagine it must be exhausting.”

You laughed then—soft, amused, as if the notion of exhaustion had never once crossed your mind.

“Oh, my lord,” you murmured, voice like smoke and silk, “you have no idea.”

Tyland almost smiled at that. Almost.

You shifted slightly, adjusting the clasp of your cape, though your eyes never left his. “And what of you, Tyland? Have you come to offer me rest?”

Tyland studied you for a moment longer than he should have.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached forward, catching a single strand of wind-tossed silver hair between his fingers, tucking it neatly behind your ear before pulling his hand away as if nothing had happened.

He felt you still, just slightly.

His voice was lower now, quieter.

“I imagine a woman like you does not need a man to offer her anything.” He paused, his green eyes glinting. “But I do wonder… if you ever let one try.”

A chaellenge.

A trap.

And the way your lips curved told him you had seen it coming.

You leaned in slightly—not enough to close the space entirely, but just enough that he could feel the faintest brush of your breath as you spoke.

“Careful, Tyland,” you murmured, your tone dangerously smooth. “I am beginning to wonder if you are the Lannister I should be watching.”

Tyland smirked, stepping back with an easy grace, his expression unreadable.

“Perhaps,” he said simply.

And then, just as casually as he had approached, he inclined his head and walked away—leaving you standing alone in the corridor, the scent of dragonfire still lingering between you.

His heart was beating faster than he would have liked.

But if you had noticed?

You did not let him see it.

The Lannister quarters within the Red Keep were as grand as one might expect for the wealthiest house in Westeros. The golden lions of Casterly Rock adorned the walls, rich tapestries woven with crimson and gold draped elegantly, and the scent of fine Arbor wine lingered in the air, mixing with the occasional trace of scented candles and spiced meats.

Tyland had barely stepped inside before he heard Jason’s voice—loud, confident, boasting.

“I swear, the princess is fire wrapped in silk,” Jason declared, leaning back into his chair, a goblet of wine in hand, his smirk practically carved into his face. “It would take a true man to handle her properly. Someone who knows how to tame a creature like that.”

A ripple of laughter went through the gathered Lannister men. Their cousins, uncles, and bannermen had all found their places around the chamber, indulging in drink and conversation after the long day. Some were amused by Jason’s boldness, others envious, but all were intrigued by the subject of his attentions.

Lord Alton Lannister chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re playing with fire, cousin. The king will make a match for her soon enough. I doubt he’d consider a lion worthy of his dragon-blooded niece.”

Jason exhaled, waving a hand dismissively. “Then he is a fool. And what is the alternative? Some dull, proper lordling with no idea what to do with a woman like that? No, no—I see her for what she is. She is meant to be worshiped.” He took a sip of his wine before adding with a wicked grin, “And I would gladly kneel at her altar.”

Another round of knowing laughter erupted, but Tyland merely exhaled, pressing his fingers to his brow before striding further into the room.

“You sound like an idiot,” he announced dryly, drawing the attention of the room.

Jason, far from offended, merely grinned. “Ah, but an idiot who enjoys himself.” He gestured toward the goblets of wine on the nearby table. “Come, brother, you look like you need a drink.”

Tyland ignored the offer, fixing Jason with a pointed look. “Do you have any idea what you are saying?”

Jason smirked. “Oh, I have many ideas, brother.” He leaned forward slightly, his green eyes glinting. “Some more improper than others.”

More laughter.

Tyland clenched his jaw, but Jason wasn’t finished.

“She has spirit, Tyland,” Jason continued, clearly enjoying himself. “A woman like that doesn’t just lie back and take whatever a man gives her—no, no. She expects to be challenged. Pushed.” He exhaled, shaking his head as if lost in some delicious thought. “And gods, if she ever lets me into her bed, I would make sure she—”

Tyland’s patience snapped.

“Enough,” he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the laughter.

The room stilled, eyes flickering between the two brothers, sensing the tension shift.

Jason blinked, then tilted his head, amusement still dancing in his expression. “What’s this?” he mused. “My little brother has grown protective?”

Tyland exhaled through his nose, forcing his voice to remain steady. “I am merely warning you, Jason. You talk like a man who believes he is owed something. She is not one of your playthings from the Westerlands.”

Jason’s grin widened. “Of course not. She’s far more entertaining.”

Tyland’s jaw clenched. “And what happens when she tires of your entertainment?”

Jason chuckled, clearly unfazed. “Then I will simply enjoy the time she grants me.” He took another sip of his wine before adding, “And if I play my cards right, perhaps I’ll teach her a few things too.”

Tyland’s grip on his belt tightened, his nails pressing into the leather.

Jason’s gaze flickered over him, and for the first time that night, something shifted in his expression.

He studied Tyland.

Then, slowly, his smirk returned, but there was something different behind it.

His voice lowered slightly. “Or perhaps… you’re upset because you wish to be the one to teach her.”

Tyland’s breath stilled.

A few of the men exchanged glances, sensing something beneath the surface, something that had not been spoken but had been felt.

Jason leaned back, sipping his wine leisurely, his grin never fading. “Tell me, brother,” he murmured, “did you happen to see the princess today?”

Tyland’s stomach tightened.

He did not answer.

Jason hummed, watching him closely. “Because I did not. And yet, I have the strangest feeling that you did.”

Tyland met his brother’s gaze steadily, his face a mask of calm.

Jason smirked, as if that was all the answer he needed.

Then, with a soft chuckle, he took another sip of wine.

“Well, well,” he mused. “Perhaps this game is more interesting than I thought.”

Tyland said nothing.

But for the first time, he realized Jason wasn’t just playing anymore.

He was watching.

And worse?

He had seen something Tyland didn’t want him to see.

The air in the royal stables was thick with the scent of hay, leather, and the lingering musk of horses. The late morning sun streamed through the high, open doors, casting long shadows over the stalls where the finest steeds of the Red Keep were tended to.

You stood near the wooden railing, clad in riding leathers, the supple material molding to your form, emphasizing every sharp and soft line. Your gloves were tucked into your belt, your hair loosely braided, the strands still touched by the wind.

You had sent for your horse to be prepared. You intended to ride through the streets of King’s Landing, to the Dragonpit, where the keepers awaited.

But you were not alone.

You felt his presence before he even spoke.

Jason Lannister was a bold man, but he was not subtle—not in his approach, nor in his intentions.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here,” his voice came from behind you, smooth as Arbor wine, rich with amusement.

You sighed, turning slightly, your lips curving into a slow, mocking smile. “Lord Jason, do you make it a habit to stalk women who do not require your presence?”

Jason smirked, stepping further inside, the dusting of hay barely crunching beneath his boots. “Stalking implies secrecy. I am merely pursuing—there’s a difference.”

You turned fully now, your arms crossing as you regarded him lazily. “Is that what this is? A pursuit?”

Jason’s green eyes gleamed, his gaze flickering over you—not with the admiration of a courtly knight, but with something darker, something hungry.

“Does it not amuse you, princess?” he murmured, stepping closer. “The way we circle each other? The way you let me test your patience, and yet—” His smirk deepened, his voice dropping slightly. “You never truly stop me.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head slightly. “Oh, Jason,” you murmured, “do you think this is your game?”

Before he could answer, you stepped forward, closing the space between you, just enough that he could smell the faint trace of dragonfire and salt that always lingered on your skin from the skies.

Jason’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment, just enough for you to see that flicker of something unsure beneath his confidence.

And then, with deliberate ease, he moved—fast.

His hands found your waist first, then your hips, and with one deliberate movement, he turned you, pressing you firmly against the wooden wall of the stable.

Your breath did not hitch.

Your pulse did not stutter.

You merely smiled.

Jason was so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your jaw, the scent of wine and spice clinging to him. His hands, broad and calloused from swordplay, slid upward, grazing over your waist, tracing the curve of your ribs, before settling—one at your throat, the other at your breast.

He exhaled through his nose, his grip firm, his thumb brushing over the swell of you as he dipped his head, pressing his lips to your jaw.

Your smirk did not fade.

“You’re awfully quiet now, lion,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly, granting him more access, feeling the way his grip tightened at your compliance.

Jason chuckled, but it was strained, his voice lower now, thicker.

“You play with fire, princess,” he muttered, his lips trailing from your jaw to the sensitive spot just below your ear. His hand shifted, gliding lower, past your breast, down, down—until he was cupping the heat between your thighs, his fingers pressing, testing.

For the first time, he felt it.

The slight twitch in your breath.

The way your muscles tensed—just for a fraction of a second, just enough that he knew you were not entirely unaffected.

Jason smirked against your skin. “Oh?” he hummed, his fingers pressing more firmly, parting the leather just enough to tease. “Is that a reaction, princess?”

You exhaled slowly, your hands finally moving—one lifting to grasp his wrist, your nails digging in just enough to make him hiss slightly.

Your lips curved.

“There is no victory in making a woman allow something she has already decided to permit,” you murmured. “You mistake this for power, Jason.”

Your fingers tightened around his wrist, just enough to remind him that you were letting him have this—letting him touch, letting him take—but at any moment, you could end it.

Jason inhaled sharply, his pulse thundering beneath your fingertips.

And then—

“Oh—! Oh, gods—my lords!”

The voice startled neither of you.

A stablehand, young, wide-eyed, horrified, stood frozen just a few feet away, his arms still half-lifted as if he had been coming to bow but had suddenly been struck speechless.

Jason huffed a laugh, completely unbothered, not even pulling away immediately, though his grip did loosen slightly against your thighs.

You, too, did not flinch.

You merely straightened slightly, shifting just enough that Jason had no choice but to release you.

“Stableboy,” you said smoothly, as if you had been merely discussing the weather, “is my horse prepared?”

The boy stammered, his face beet-red, his hands trembling slightly. “Y-Yes, princess!”

Jason grinned, exhaling deeply before finally pulling back, though his fingers trailed down your arm in the process, as if reluctant to let go.

“Well,” he murmured, brushing off the front of his tunic, his arousal still evident, “I do believe you’re needed elsewhere, princess.”

You smiled, adjusting the collar of your riding leathers with deliberate ease, as if his hands had never once touched you.

“Yes,” you mused, tilting your head. “It seems I am.”

And with that, you turned, stepping past Jason without another word, your footsteps unhurried, your poise immaculate, leaving him standing in the dust and hay with a wicked smirk still plastered to his face.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his golden hair.

Then, with a chuckle, he muttered to himself,

“Gods help me, but I do love a slow death.”

...

The air in the Dragonpit was thick with the scent of sulfur, old stone, and fire. The great domed structure loomed over you as you approached, its towering walls cracked with the scars of centuries, the weight of history and power pressing upon the bones of the ruined cathedral.

The Dragonkeepers awaited inside, clad in their dark robes, their staffs resting against their palms as they stood in silent reverence. They had long grown accustomed to your presence, but still, they moved carefully, their gazes flickering toward the great beast that lay within the shadows of the pit.

Haelle.

Your Nightmare Queen.

A dragon of menace and shadow, a creature sculpted from the depths of Valyrian nightmares, her black scales gleamed with an eerie sheen, the deep onyx ridges edged with molten gold that shimmered like burning embers. The horns that crowned her skull twisted in wicked arcs, jagged and menacing, gilded in gold that caught the light when she moved.

Her eyes, the color of molten metal, narrowed as she watched you enter, their predatory gleam assessing—not out of distrust, but because Haelle trusted no one easily, not even her own rider.

Her wings, vast and leathery, were stretched halfway open, the golden membrane within them rippling like liquid fire. The ridges of her spine—jagged, serrated, built for tearing through flesh—rose and fell as she shifted, her powerful tail coiling around the base of the pit, tipped with a spined club that had shattered bones of both beast and man alike.

She was ferocity made flesh, a dragon that rivaled even Caraxes in wrath, and where Daemon’s Blood Wyrm was lean and serpentine, Haelle was monstrous, built thick with muscle, a creature of raw force, forged for devastation.

The Dragonkeepers remained still, their gazes downturned, their hands steady, though you did not miss the faint tremor of respectful fear. Haelle was not a dragon who could be commanded—she allowed herself to be followed. She was your dragon, and your dragon alone.

You approached with measured ease, the remnants of your earlier encounter with Jason still humming in your skin. There was no fluster in you, no unsettled breath—only the quiet thrill of knowing you held the reins in the game being played.

Jason was a lion, arrogant and reckless, but predictable.

And Tyland?

Tyland was a far more interesting beast—one who stalked rather than chased, who measured his movements carefully, who watched with more intensity than he would ever admit.

But no matter how different they were, they shared one truth.

They were both watching you.

Haelle let out a low, rumbling exhale, the sound reverberating through the pit like rolling thunder.

You smiled, reaching out as your fingers brushed against the warm scales of her snout.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” you murmured.

The dragon’s breath came hot against your skin, her forked tongue flickering for just a moment before she huffed, shifting her massive frame. Her claws, each the size of a man’s forearm, curled against the stone, the scrape echoing in the vastness of the Dragonpit.

One of the Dragonkeepers, an older man with deep-lined skin and Valyrian silver hair, cleared his throat softly.

“She is restless today, princess,” he noted carefully.

You glanced back at him, amused. “She is always restless.”

Another rumble, this time more like distant thunder, as Haelle’s tail lashed once, striking the ground with a force that made the very stones shudder. The keepers did not flinch, but you could feel the unease in them.

You chuckled, turning back to your dragon. “Men,” you whispered to her. “They truly do not understand us.”

Haelle let out something akin to a huff, though you could have sworn there was something smug in it.

Yes.

She felt it too.

The game was only just beginning.

And you were already in control.

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iaxsl · 1 year ago

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like you're telling me that dragon actually does care about luffy and would watch him whenever he passed by????? and the reason why he left luffy is so that he doesn't get caught up in his fights or be used as a weakness against dragon?????? LUFFY GREW UP WITHOUT A FATHER BECAUSE DRAGON DIDN'T WANT TO PUT HIS ONLY SON IN DANGER????

#shut up bc i just made myself cry right now #like i had no feelings for dragon before this i just thought he was a deadbeat dad like all the others #BUT YOU'RE TELLING ME HE DID IT ON PURPOSE TO PROTECT LUFFY???#im probably reading into this too much #im feeling too much today after this last chapter #one piece spoilers #one piece 1101 #op spoilers #monkey d luffy #monkey d dragon #luffy #dragon #oda when i catch you oda i swear #one piece

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chimerafeathers · 7 months ago

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there's an essay jumbled up in my brain about dunmeshi's beginning and how clever and deceptive it is as a sleight-of-hand trick that distracts the audience from the depth and scope of the worldbuilding and foreshadowing that's being set up the entire time by dangling zany characters and wacky dishes and biology fun facts in front of us, and how that serves to catch invested viewers off guard when those elements come to the forefront, but also how it works against it with other viewers wanting "more" and not seeing it because the plot bait isn't laid out up front

how people getting frustrated with the characters "not taking things seriously" is mirrored and refuted in the confrontation between Laios and Shuro. how the characters' attitudes aren't just a result of shallow low-stakes "comedy rules" where nothing matters, but are an extension of their personalities (Laios's nonstandard expression of emotions being offputting even to people he knows) and the world and social environment (adventurers being desensitized to death and injury because resurrection magic is commonplace). the way the party refers to "saving Falin" instead of "retrieving Falin's corpse," indicating that they still see her with full personhood, and how that phrasing leads to some readers/viewers believing that Falin is alive in the dragon's stomach, conscious of being slowly digested while the party carelessly fucks around "wasting time." how the weird tonal dissonance makes sense in-universe and yet is deliberately challenged more and more the deeper the party goes

all the character building and pieces of lore slowly weaving together the shape of the larger world, laying the groundwork for the major themes that will surface later. so much is right there in the "low-stakes" early episodes if you know what you're looking for (or pass the perception checks).

it can be so satisfying to see new viewers/readers pick up on the clues even in the earliest "simple" episodes, or notice new things and make connections yourself....and it can also be frustrating to see people dismiss oddities and dissonance as shallow or bad writing because they don't expect a "cooking anime" to have depth like that. why try to question and understand and peel back the layers when you don't expect there to be any layers?

why can't laios take things seriously for once?

#mypost #i'm majorly out of practice for doing any real critical cohesive writing lol #trying to put this into coherent words has been such a mess so here's a vague gesture at my thought process about it #it's both my favorite and the most frustrating thing to see #because i've seen SO MANY people say they dropped the show after a couple eps thinking they know what it's about and where it's going #a cute but ultimately unsustainable gimmick #people for whom the characters and the food/biology infodumping weren't enough of a hook #but i wouldn't change anything about the structure to put a more obvious plot hook in the beginning #because it would give the game away TOO much #i LOVE how the audience has to acclimate to the characters' attitudes about death #only for our assumption that it's all normal and fine in this world to be thrown back in our faces #how we're left to notice the winged lion appearing in statues and carvings and coins and armor in the background #long long before it's ever brought up as a real entity by the plot #the history of the kingdom laid out in plain view but nevermind that. magic painting food!#i've seen the language around falin and her resurrection cause so much confusion #but of COURSE the characters involved wouldn't directly say 'we need to get her corpse to revive it'#bc pragmatically they already understand that as their goal. it doesn't need to be stated out loud; it's just how this process works.#but also they don't SEE her as an object. a dead body.#they need to 'save her before she's digested.' 'the spell couldn't reach her in the dragon's stomach.' 'hang in there falin'#death isn't real to them. not really. and so it doesn't quite feel real to the audience either #not until they find her skull and that realization slams home #like......i keep comparing it to gravity falls #which is episodic and goofy in the beginning but also has a much more obvious plot hook to keep people interested #(a main character entering a secret bunker indicating that he's lying about his ignorance of the town's mysteries)#the main characters in gravity falls are AWARE that there is a mystery to be solved and are trying to find more information #but i don't think that approach would work as well for dm!#laios's goals were never that lofty. not until they HAD to be because the situation demanded it of him #it's the characters trying to solve one personal problem and finding themselves entrenched in something vast and dramatic #that they weren't even fully AWARE of when they set out. and we the audience are on that journey with them!#it's SUCH a good structure i wouldn't trade it for anything. but also. tragic to see people give up and dismiss it so fast.

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definitelynotshouting · 10 months ago

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Can I ask, since you mentioned agreeing 'even if under duress' - how did the Watchers convince Player Grian to join them in hunger au?

So take this with the specific grain of salt that ive never watched Evo directly (but have friends who have ((thank you wren)), so i know tidbits via osmosis from them), but my thought has always been that the riddles the Watchers gave the Evo Players were all tests used to measure cleverness and intelligence-- the whole point of them attempting to copy the mind of a Player into a Watcher larva in the first place was to try and avoid the insanely high infant mortality rate their typical juveniles go through, bc they dont understand their own limits enough to even know they have them yet. So they needed a Player they knew they could instruct and who would listen to them, and, well. Grian, for all he was rebellious and outright defiant of the Watchers, still solved their puzzles and only had to be punished once before he stopped trying to mess with them

What ive always pictured is after the dragon fight the two main elders of the Watcher colony finally revealed themselves to Grian properly-- i have this crystal clear image of the two of them hovering above and next to the central end island, looming over Grian, and like, these guys are big. HUGE. A good 5x bigger than the ender dragon itself, at LEAST. It would be hard not to feel insanely intimidated by that, honestly, especially when there are two of them side by side, blocking your entire view of the End from that direction.

Anyway picture that with the context of these two giant floating winged worms youve never seen before, who have demonstrated their powerful ability to manipulate code in a way you cant.... telling you that they have chosen you to become one of them. Thats an immense amount of pressure, both from flattery and fear, especially considering theyve punished you before for defying them. I like to think even then, Grian balked a bit, and while i dont have exact dialogue beats here, i know the Watchers continued putting that pressure on him (likely while leveraging his friendships too-- like ive always said, if Grian hadnt been chosen, BigB wouldve been, and i can absolutely see the Watchers offering to take him in Grian's stead) until he finally caved and accepted their "offer" of joining them.

Unfortunately, he didnt find out exactly what that entailed until it was far too late.

#shouting speaks #asks #hunger au #evo watchers #watcher!grian #grian #evo smp #tldr they pressured tf out of him to do it #through both flattery and also leveraging his own fear against him #he was a Player after all. they were likely bumping his mood post-dragon fight to make him more suggestible #the most painful thing abt this to me is that the Watchers still werent being deliberately malicious here like #with the way they viewed Players this was NORMAL to them #they just. didnt rlly consider them as much more than food/hosts for their young. in their eyes the Watcher that emerged was different #than the Player it had hatched from #even though it had Grian's mind memories personality and stats #every day i feel shrimp emotions abt this #the horror he went through..... and they never once thought of it as torture #they never once regarded Player!Grian as something that needed to know what was going to happen to him #bc it was normalized to them. yeah sure Watcher juveniles hatch from Player hosts thats NORMAL thats part of their life cycle!!!#the only new thing is this one would still retain the Player's mind #it was a fucked up science experiment basically and grian wasnt told ANYTHING before it actually happened to him #sobs and cries ohhh grian i fucked you up SO BAD huh #also huge shoutout to my friend wren for giving me a little context while i wrote this and confirming my ideas slotted in #rlly well with existing canon. character understander status continues to stay intact im winning #txt

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nexus-nebulae · 7 months ago

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thinking about when i had such intense phantom limbs as a kid i told my math teacher about it

#like. I've had phantom wings since i was a CHILD and I'm not even kidding #i remember specifically saying 'i pretend to have wings so much that i can just Feel them there all the time now'#and he reacted in a way where he didn't want to tell me that's weird bc i was a Kid but also he totally thought it was really weird #which. was a reaction i knew very well at the time. that kind of quiet 'i dont know how to react to that but ok'#the trying not to make a weird face about it #so i shut up about it ever since! and then when i was 20 i found out what otherkin was #i remember them specifically being pegasus wings too we've always loved pegasi it was entirely bc of the barbie movie #i can't remember what the term is. for when you're A Fucking Lot of things all at once? poly something?#but we've always been like that #our first OC was plural coded and otherkin coded to the absolute max it was insane #and she was fully and entirely a self insert (at the time. nowadays she's her own guy)#but like. she could absorb souls on the brink of death and communicate with them inside her head #and she could shapeshift into any of those souls' forms at will #and she was supposed to be some kind of chimera #her 'true form' that i made of her was just all of her different forms crammed into one body #like. one owl wing one dragon wing. a dolphin tail. a fox paw and a pegasus hoof. scales mixed with fur. human shaped body. horns #if we weren't a system at the time then we were at least REALLY REALLY susceptible to becoming one we've always been Like This #and I'm willing to say i was an otherkin kid in the same way i say i was trans before i knew what that was #i didn't say I Am A Boy i just said I'm the closest a girl can get to being a boy (a tomboy)#i always leaned towards boys interests and boyish things. in the same way i taught myself to walk like a cat and meow convincingly #(to a point where i meowed once and my sister yelled at me to put the cat down if she's meowing. i was not holding a cat)#i didn't know what being otherkin was but i spent about as much time as possible being as animal as i could get #and i got offended when my friends didn't want to be animals with me. i had a lot of Horse Girl friends as a result #(hard to avoid horse girls in the middle of rural ohio tbh)

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kingdomoftyto · 9 months ago

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...BIG FEELS AND BIG PLOT DEVELOPMENTS AT THE END OF THAT BOOK, HUH

#Tyto reads WoF #i know it's not the most pressing issue what with the vengeful ex-Queen and the murderous sister and all #but I still want to point out how alarming it is that the new crew are all going to be wearing seemingly radioactive rocks as jewelry now #Turtle please don't pick up strange rocks that give off their own heat for the love of all that's good #ANYWAY yeah what the actual frick is going on with Darkstalker huh. I genuinely do NOT know whether he's trustworthy or not #desperately lonely and unfairly demonized? absolutely. truly cares about Moon as a friend? I think so.#capable of integrating peacefully into modern dragon society without letting his own ego turn him into the monster he denies ever being?#....... 😬 remains to be seen #god and there's Scarlet's mysterious new accomplice(?) with the maddeningly vague physical description and also THE SCROLL(!!!!)#and i just realized we failed to get resolutions in this book for EITHER the vision of Turtle attacking Anemone OR #Flame's unique and frightening ability to sense and/or attack mindreaders????#where the HECK are we going with Flame I am going lowkey INSANE over him #ugh frick and Umber and Sora are both on the run too...!! this book is nearly as cliffhangery as Dark Secret #(though thankfully i prepared for this by checking the next book out ahead of time so i wouldn't have to wait LOL)#uhh buhh final thoughts before i force myself to go to sleep:#I love Moon and everything going on with her but I do feel like on some level it's even more of a slap in the face for poor Starflight #that the only tribe to get multiple POV characters in this first. like. extended arc(?) appears to be the NightWings #and Starflight himself doesn't get any of the tribe's unique defining features or abilities #i mean i guess the same is sort of true of Sunny and yes i know it was the POINT of book 4 that the tribe had no powers #but still idk it just feels like kicking the poor boy when he's already down. in addition to him literally getting beaten up again #(... now watch me be a total fool and the arc actually extends past book 8 or something making this point moot lol)#(I'm only assuming it ends at 8 bc that's where the previews in the back of the previous books have stopped)#EDIT: LOL yep turns out this arc does extend out to book 10 and the other POVs are Turtle and Qibli so I stand corrected.#that's what I get for nightblogging

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fandom-trash-xl · 4 months ago

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Vegeta's Clip Show Mental Breakdown™ hit him so hard that his haircut somehow got worse.

#dragon ball #dragon ball gt #vegeta #it's super saiyan 4 time gang #and the catchy elevator music that comes with it #that's... gone now #ok that must have been a different soundtrack #I guess his haircut had to get worse before it could get better with Super Saiyan 4 #and did he just pull a 'search your feeling you know it to be true'#was Eric Vale watching Star Wars while writing this dub dialogue #sorry for the tag rambling; new thoughts keep coming up as I'm watching while writing the post #and the dubbed ending 4 just feels like it's trying to be a Journey song

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syluss-littlecrow · 5 months ago

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better than the devil

where you find out if Sylus really has horns, and why he avoids letting you touch them

genre/warnings: smut, pwp, unprotected sex, size kink (i mean bro is PACKING), breeding kink, sylus’s horns are ✨sensitive✨, dirty talk, sexual tension, missionary, a fuck ton of horn play, horny horns, cumming untouched, orgams galore!, so much cum♡

w/c: 2.9K

a/n: gotta thank the loml @bro-atz for helping me with this a little ehehehe >:) I hope this destroyed yall as much as this destroyed me to write it!!🥹

They say he takes the form of some dragon-like creature—with large black horns and wings.

The first time you witnessed it with your own two eyes was when he choked out a serpent wanderer ten times his size before it got to you. You were semi-conscious at that point of time, the fatigue threatening to take over, but you had caught a glimpse of his silhouette—two thick appendages that curled proudly past his dirty silver hair, and large wings that hung off his back—before you blacked out.

“Staring at me isn’t going to get any of your curiosities satisfied”, Sylus snaps you out of your thoughts. Your gaze flickers to his face, but Sylus has his eyes on his phone.

Then his gaze shifts to you.

“What are you thinking about, sweetie?”

Of course, you couldn’t just tell him outright that you wanted to see him magically grow his horns out of his head. You doubt even Luke and Kieran have seen it themselves.

“Your horns.”

Sylus lowers his phone onto his lap, then he cocks an eyebrow, which turns to a furrow in seconds.

“What gave you the idea that I grew horns?” He asks, his tone laced with mock and caution. His attention is fully on you now.

Yeah, maybe that was not a good question to ask. Then again, being around someone as direct as Sylus had made you pick up his mannerisms quite a fair bit.

“Nothing really”, you brush off, attempting to derail the conversation before something goes wrong. “I’m just curious.”

“Talk”, Sylus demands, albeit in a soft tone. “I’m listening.”

His crimson eyes burn a hole into your head, and you now only realise the way he has you cornered on his couch, his large frame looming over yours.

You sigh, realising he’s not about to let it go anytime soon.

“A few weeks ago, during one of the battles we had, where I almost died-“

“Get to the point, sweetie”, Sylus cuts, seeing through your guise.

You pout. “Right. Before I blacked out, I saw you appear right in front of me, with horns.”

Sylus raises his eyebrows, seemingly in amusement. “You sure you weren’t hallucinating?”

He earns a smack on his chest. You’re ready to let him disprove you further or whatever, but your body jolts when you feel Sylus snake his arms around your waist before he carries you effortlessly off the corner of the couch and onto his lap.

You watch his eyes grow soft when he locks his gaze with yours. His expression is unreadable.

Your eyes widen in amazement when the thick pair of horns curl past his locks, the black a stark contrast with his white hair. He looks like he’s wearing bows in a funny, demonic type of way. Not that he has to know that.

You continue to stare at his horns, visually taking in the rough yet smooth texture and patterns that run downwards as the horns grow thicker towards the base.

“What are you really?” You wonder aloud, your fingers reaching out to feel the interesting texture of his horns, only for him to pull away quickly.

“It’s not the right time for you to know”, he replies curtly. You notice the glint of concern in his eyes, shrouded under the indifferent expression he wears.

So you decide to leave it for now, at least.

Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop you from annoying the ever-loving shit out of Sylus about his horns once you found out about it.

He would stare at you with his eyebrows furrowed, muttering that he should have never told you about his horns, only for you to bat your eyelashes at him, much to his annoyance.

“At least let me touch them if you’re not gonna tell me more about them”, you would whine. With a frown, he would push your forehead with a finger, giving you his standard answer.

"No."

“Then could you at least tell me why you won’t let me touch your horns?”

He would rest his thumb and index finger on his chin, feigning a thinking stance before his expression drops deadpan and then the curt answer leaves his lips.

“No.”

You’re putting this right next to when you were fighting for your life to get that fucking brooch months ago.

While the thought continues to eat into your curiosity, you mostly let Sylus off the hook after a while. For some reason, you’ve been noticing that Sylus has been walking around his mansion with his horns freely out. Maybe because he’s shown you his full horns once that’s why?

Or he’s just straight-up taunting you.

You feign nonchalance, only stealing glances at the thick appendage that stood out against his pale locks from time to time, but never really bringing it up to him, for now at least.

You hear the raindrops patter against the large windows of Sylus's room one afternoon. At least the heavy clouds are hiding the sun on top of the dark curtains drawn, and it makes Sylus's rest a little more comfortable.

He's sound asleep beside you on his bed, but you're seated up on your phone, the sound of the rain also slowly luring you to grow sleepy. You stretch a little, careful not to wake the male beside you. Sylus grunts softly, and you feel his hair tickle your thighs.

Through your peripherals, something catches your attention. The black on white is undoubtedly hard to miss.

Now that Sylus seems dead asleep, you're considering taking a chance to take a closer look at his horns, and maybe even touch them.

Carefully, you shift your weight closer to Sylus, monitoring his expressions and movements. When the coast is clear, you lean closer, staring at his horns with much amazement. It's a lot different now that you're this up close to admire them.

His horns aren't simply a simple shade of jet black–at different angles, you notice how the scales of his horns shimmer like an oil spill under the soft light. Close up, the base of his horns are thick, and as it extends, it curls, almost fully wrapping around his head.

“So pretty”, you mutter to yourself. Your fingers are reached out as if by instinct, barely inches away from touching his pretty crown.

You pause, weighing the risks of attempting to touch his horns. How fucked would you be if you actually did?

Your eyes scan Sylus’s calm sleeping face. He doesn't seem to have even noticed his horns have grown out.

“It’s just a little touch, he won't feel it anyways”, you convince yourself softly, your resolve firming as your curiosity begins to bubble over your rationale.

You let your fingers brush his horn, feeling the cold and scaly texture beneath your fingertips. Your eyes are sparkling in amazement even more, now that your curiosity has been satisfied. You press your fingertips onto the appendage, enjoying how nice and cool it feels to the touch.

Just then, you hear Sylus groan slightly. Your hand immediately retracts before you fully freeze, watching the way he presses his head against your leg, his eyebrows slightly scrunched before it returns back to relaxed.

Close call.

You obviously don’t learn your lesson, because your fingers are on his horns almost immediately once more. You grow more curious about the feeling of running your palm across his horns this round.

So you do.

Your hand starts from the thick base, and you stroke it, following the horn's curl, enjoying the way the texture of the scales run smooth under your palm.

And then Sylus makes a sound beneath you. You squint in curiosity, wondering if you heard it right.

So you run your hand from his tip to the base this time.

And this time, Sylus lets out another moan. You definitely did not hear wrong.

Your cheeks are slowly flushing when you realise what you're doing to him. But for some reason, it makes you want to do it more.

So this is why he doesn't want you touching his horns?

With a cheeky smile, you run your fingers along his horns in various ways and places, eliciting more pretty and erotic reactions from Sylus.

You giggle to yourself, trying to ignore how he's making you aroused with all the noises he's making with every stroke you give his horns.

You want to go for the next round, wondering how far you can take this.

Obviously not very far, because the next time you do, Sylus’s hand catches your wrist before you're about to touch his horns again.

He stares at you with half-lidded eyes, pink dusted on his cheeks and his breathing shallow.

“Are you having fun, kitten?” He asks with a frown.

Fuck.

You feign a smile, trying to wave your hand from his grip, of course, your attempts futile.

Sylus’s other arm curls around your thighs, locking you from leaving the bed while Sylus lets his sleep leave his body from the rude interruption.

“Denying me of satisfying my curiosity only makes it worse”, you shrug. Well, if only Sylus had just let you have a little touch…

The corner of Sylus’s lips pull up to a half smirk.

“Right”, Sylus replies, a hint of annoyance and something else laced in his tone before he shifts above you in one swift motion, trapping you underneath him on his bed.

“Then, I'm sure you don't have to be reminded that actions have consequences?”

You swallow hard.

His hand that grabbed yours is placed on his chest, and he forces you to trail down his body, feeling his thick chest, then his abs under your touch, all the way down until he stops you right on his thick erection.

“You should take responsibility, don't you think?” Sylus asks with a raised eyebrow.

You know it's pointless even attempt to escape when he’s devouring your lips like he hasn't eaten in days. It's so intoxicating. You would never admit your greed, but Sylus knows you well enough to feed you so good. You want to pull him so impossibly close.

In between breathless kisses, your warm hands trail from his biceps to his shoulders, to his neck, and right to his hair.

You test waters–letting your fingers rake through his hair, grazing the base of his horns. You get his green light when he doesn't swat you off, on the contrary, it makes Sylus grow more desperate in the kiss.

You confidently stroke his horn, from base to tip once more, and the moans that leave Sylus’s lips sound like fucking heaven.

His crimson eyes finally meet yours, and he almost looks like he's in pain.

“If you keep doing that–ngh–” Sylus trails off with another strained moan when the sensation of you stroking his horn buzzes right to his cock that he has shut his eyes to hold back.

“This?” you tease, sliding your palm down to his base once more, rubbing the scaly appendage, watching him failing at trying to keep his composure.

“Fuck”, he hisses, diving into your lips once more, eating you up.

He pulls away briefly, pressing his lips just below your ear.

“You’re gonna be taking responsibility, kitten.”

He presses himself close onto you, so close that you feel his cock just pulsing against your pelvis, only separated by his black sweats. Sylus takes your chin in his fingers and steals your breath away once more, uncontrollably grunting with every stroke your hands play with his horns. You feel his cock twitch, then pulse before the feeling of warmth spreads across your skin, accompanied by a long, drawn out moan in your mouth.

It makes you dizzy with bliss, realising what you've done to him.

Sylus pulls away once more, catching his breath, his eyes reflecting something more feral when you met his.

But all you do is flash a cheeky smile at him, letting your fingers caress his cheek.

His fingers tug at the waistband of your shorts and he yanks them off, almost growing feral for the second time when his eyes meet the sight of the way your pussy is glistening so much that a wet and thin string of arousal sticks itself in between your pussy and your soaked panties.

Well, Sylus is holding the short end of the stick anyway, because when he tugs his sweats down, your heartbeat accelerates as your eyes land on his cock–thick, red and completely covered in white and thick cum, some staining his underwear, twitching slightly with dribbles of cum seeping past his cockhead when the fabric brushes past his balls.

He looks so fucking delicious when he's messy like that. Shit.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, staring at me like that”, he teases. He doesn't even look embarrassed.

“Maybe I should play with your horns more often”, you reply with a smile. Sylus narrows his eyes at you, his expression mixed with annoyance and affection. His fingers press against your soaking clit, enjoying the way the smile on your face gets wiped, replaced with a contorted expression of pleasure when he rubs it in slow circles.

“I’m strongly against that idea, sweetie”, Sylus responds, leaning in to take in the expression of your mind slowly growing dumb and blank just from his slender fingers rubbing you out. “It’ll give you a little too much leverage over me.”

Through the hazy and building pleasure, you still manage to reply, “that's the whole point.”

Sylus only smiles at your reply, his fingers leaving your clit. You're about to protest, that is, until he grabs you by your hips, dragging you closer to him, then pressing your knees to your chest, before his wet cock slowly enters you from below. He watches your face contort in pleasure–your eyes rolling back and your eyebrows furrowed–while soaking in the fucking delicious feeling of your cunt warm and wrapped around his cock.

“S-so good”, you whimper, his fullness knocking out any ounce of breath and sense out of you at a dangerous pace the his cock inches even deeper into you.

“Such a nice and warm pussy hole”, Sylus grits, pushing himself even deeper, his control slipping when he's buried himself all the way in. “Fuck, you're so good for me, kitten.”

You're clawing his pillows when Sylus starts fucking you, and you're looking at Sylus with such a glazed out expression–and you know it drives him fucking crazy. His palm rests on the bulge that his cock is pushing every time he enters you, and it makes your thighs shake. Your moans grow in pitch and tone on top of the sounds of lewd wet skin slapping.

He lets you wrap your legs around his waist in return for letting him scatter love bites across your neck.

So you decide that it’s the perfect time to aim for his sensitive spots once more.

Your fingers tug against his scalp, then alternating to stroking his horns once more, throwing Sylus into another round of pleasured daze.

You feel his cock fill you up even more, and it makes you greedy to how far you can push it.

“I really should make you regret this”, Sylus mutters, failing to suppress another groan when your fingers scratch against the base.

His thrusts become more like ruts, his cockhead hitting your g-spot over and over as payback. Sylus sprouts a satisfied smirk as he watches you completely come undone on his cock. You throw your head back while stars flicker in and out of your vision. The pleasure is growing so fucking good that you're choking on your moans too.

“Right there! Fuck, that feels so fucking good, Sylus”, you sob through wet lashes and heavy pants.

Sylus is mesmerised by your pretty expressions and the pretty sounds you always make for him when he's breaking you apart.

Maybe you finding out about his sensitive horns is his punishment for indulging in these sick pleasures. Nonetheless, he still wouldn't have any other way.

Your hands find his horns once more, and he falters for a split second. But he doesn't shake you off since he's much too focused on trying to force an orgasm out of you.

Your pussy squeezes him before it starts uncontrollably fluttering against his cock. Ah, his goal is slowly being fulfilled.

As your orgasm dangles above you, you react with periodical squeezes on his cock and his horns, which definitely draws a much larger reaction from Sylus.

“So close”, you whine, your orgasm slowly filling the crevices of your brain, plunging you deep into pleasure. Your cunt clenches on his cock, and you unintentionally yank his horns.

Sylus fucking growls, pressing himself so fucking deep into you, his cum fucking spurting into you–so much that some is leaking out from your plugged pussy hole and onto the bed.

He pulls his cock out momentarily, letting his cum ooze from his cockhead, his eyes darting to the loads seeping out of your hole, before he slides his cock into you once more. You gasp at the fullness, another squeeze to his horns, which only stimulates Sylus once more, and his cock fills you up with another warm and sticky load.

He’s panting, but he musters his energy to meet your eyes.

“Sweetie”, he calls out to you amidst his dick attempting to take over his brain. “If you don't get your hands off, your pussy won't be able to hold anymore, I guarantee.”

He's met with a fucked-out and sly grin from his partner.

“And I thought you enjoyed challenges.”

Sylus scoffs at your comment, realising that he really has to teach his kitten a lesson to not touch things that aren't hers.

#love and deep space sylus #love and deepspace sylus #love and deep space smut #love and deepspace #lnds sylus #lnds smut #lnds x reader #l&ds sylus #l&ds smut #l&ds x reader #sylus x you #sylus qin #sylusposting #sylus smut #sylus x reader #sylus #lads sylus #slyus #qin che

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scorpiosbite · 2 months ago

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when drew watched actress!reader’s sex scene for the first time

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ────୨ৎ──── drew’s been binging game of thrones ever since that fateful day madelyn forced him to watch the show, what was meant to be a normal binge session turns into him being the horniest he’s ever been. making the anticipation of meeting you even heavier.

𝜗𝜚 pairing: actress!reader x drew starkey

author’s note: this takes place during the filming of obx 4, before madelyn informed the obx cast that they were going to meet you when you came to LA.

drew could not tear his eyes away from the screen of the tv in his moroccan hotel room. he thought that after watching game of thrones consistently, now nearing the end of the first season he would become accustomed to see you in costume, but every time you came onto the screen his breath was taken away. seeing you in that the sliver waist length wig that looked like it was your real hair, the sheer fabric floor length dresses with the daring cuts that exposed more and more of your soft skin, and the intricate dornish jewellery with the subtle targaryen detailing made him feel like a teenager once again with how quickly his pants tightened. and it wasn’t only how you looked, it was also your performance. you were an astonishing actress, he would forget that you weren’t actually visenya in real life, that this world didn’t actually exist and that you were just acting. he was so captivated by you.

“the last dragon, that’s who you are visenya, the last targaryen left in the world, perhaps if you favoured your mother in looks, you would escape the pressures of the targaryen name, but you do not, you look just like rhaegar only with the tanned skin of elia.” you rolled your eyes and drew felt his heart jump. surrounded by the hanging gardens of sunspear in dorne, you paced with aggression, your sliver hair swishing behind you, your dress billowing as you stared down your costar. “have you come to lecture me of my responsibilities as the last targaryen, jaime? all while your bastard son sits my throne? and your sister puppets him from behind.”

“we are only married because your father knew that once i take back my throne i will come after the lannisters for your family’s hand in my mother and brother’s murders. he thought that if we were married that i would not harm you and your name would live on through my womb. but i am no fool, targaryen women have been known to kill their husbands, who is to say my coin wasn’t flipped on the side of madness. that is the saying is it not? when a targaryen is born the gods flip a coin, greatness or madness.” you now stood face to face with the man, staring him down with a smug expression and drew was once again struck with your talent as an actress, your body displayed the anger and frustration that your character felt despite the facade of arrogance on your face. then suddenly your lips connected with his, the actor who played jaime slid his hand around your waist, the cuts of your dress allowing him to touch your bare skin, your hands went to his hair and drew had never felt so jealous of another man.

jaime picked you up with ease, walking backwards to a chair sitting down with you spread on his lap, and drew thought that he would do anything to have you like that. the camera filmed you from the back, jaime’s hand caressing your exposed back down to your ass, and drew squeezed the covers of his bed in response. the camera cut to a mid shot of both of you from the side, you broke the kiss your face still so close to his, lips brushing together as you spoke in a hushed tone. “i want you to fuck me, jaime.” drew groaned at the lust in your voice, and wondered if that was what you sounded like in real life. jaime’s actor groaned in response to your statement and drew felt sympathy for the man, because he knew that if he was in that position instead of him he would be unable to stop himself from cumming in his pants, professionalism be fucked.

jaime’s hands trailed to the back of your neck and the camera cut to back to the shot of your back, closing up on his hands as his hands pulled at the strings holding your flimsy dress together the camera seemed like it was handheld making the shot feel all the more intimate, the material fell and jaime tugged the dress off of you leaving you completely bare but drew could only see your back and up, but then, the camera cut to a wide shot, and drew gasped as your entire body from the back was exposed. jaime’s hand coming down to squeeze the supple flesh of your ass and drew felt his cock harden at the sight. the camera cut to an over the shoulder shot from jaime and your bare chest came into view, this time drew couldn’t stop the moan that escaped him, your hands tugged at the strings of jaime’s pants although the camera kept on you, your hands out of the shot.

you sank down on jaime’s cock and a whine-like moan escaped you, drew felt like he was going insane, he couldn’t stop himself as he tugged his boxers down, his hard cock springing up to slap against his stomach. his hand wrapping around the thick length, squeezing, pearly beads of pre cum leaking out. drew flicked his eyes back up to the screen and you had your head thrown back as you bounced on jaime’s cock, drew knew that the pleasure on your scrunched up face was fake, that the melodious moans that were escaping your pretty lips that were hung open were fake, but the way your tits were bouncing was real and drew couldn’t stop himself from tugging his cock in time with the movements of your hips, your head tilted back down to gaze down at jaime your eyes so fucked out and drew wished that it was him you were looking at. that it was him that could run his hands all over you.

you spoke breathlessly “targaryens used to feed their enemies to their dragons, i don’t have a dragon yet, perhaps i shall just eat you myself, husband.” jaime groaned in response, connecting your lips back together and drew sped up his movements his hand stroking with fervour, the squelching sounds echoing through the room, his other hand coming down to squeeze at his balls, his eyes still glued to you on the tv. drew was close he could feel it and as your body shuddered and you collapsed into jaime’s lap, drew came with a deep groan. cumming all over his chest and stomach. drew threw his head back against his headboard, he felt just a little bit pathetic, that he didn’t have the courage to message you but he could jack off to you doing your job, but god what he would give to have you like that.

TAGLIST: @sunnybunnyy2 @percysley @wearemadeofstardust0 @idgasb @pinkpantheris @emmaaas-posts @grace-sully @chimmysoftpaws

you guys are not believe the fucking writers block i suffered while writing this for it just to turn out so shit but nevertheless I hope you enjoyed!

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hauntedfictionland · 3 months ago

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❝His dear princess❞

☾︎✰❛❀ Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem! Reader!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Jacaerys did not want you, or the vow he was bound to for life. Yet when he makes a big mistake, and potentially loses you for good. He realises just how much you meant to him.

𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Bastardphobia, mentions of death and grief, kissing, marrage of convenience and grumpy X sunshine trope, Jace is down bad, flirty!reader, guilt and anxiety and happy ending;)

🪐𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: This is one of my first house of the dragon fics ever, so I truly hope it's not too bad. Jacaerys is one of my favourite characters in hotd after Alicent so I really wanted to get his characteristics and behaviour right. Also, I didn't like the way they showed his grief after Luke died, as if he just moved on after two or three days. But overall, I enjoyed writing this:)

Jacaerys was infuriated with you.

You—his betrothed, acted like you owned the castle as soon as you strutted in. Speaking with no formality and a sharpness in your tongue that only infuriated him further. And especially when you did not seem to care for his heritage, who he was. The heir to the iron throne. Yet you acted as if he didn't exist to you. As if he meant nothing to you.

A marriage pact with the martells was only one of convenience. You, a princess of dorne, he, the firstborn son of queen Rhaenyra. Yet, they were stuck in dragonstone, and needed support to match the strength of the green armies. His mother needed this arrangement more than the martells did, and you made that very clear by acting carelessly and so freely, like you were in your own home. By taunting him, sitting at the great council table with your legs on them, a coin in your fingertips and a smirk in your lips. He hated it, he hated especially how good you looked.

He hated being betrothed to you already.

Rhaenyra had told him martells were rather, open and modern people. They took part in adultery even after being married, especially with the consent of their own partner. He did not know how anyone could be okay with such acts. He did not know what to expect when he met you, but it certainly wasn't how you commented on his face, calling him one of a beauty. It was inappropriate, calling a prince by such bold remarks on the first meeting, yet you did not seem to care.

But what edged him to his limit was the day you called him a bastard.

Jacaerys had been worried, he couldn't find you anywhere. Not that he cared, he was just stressed you would create another ruckus. He looked around everywhere, the garden, the great council, the dining hall, your room, even his room, but you were nowhere to be found. His chest tightened, a restlessness growing in his stomach. It seemed he always felt that way without being with you for too long. Not because he missed you—of course, but because he wanted to ensure everything was going smoothly.

He was going around circles, head spinning with a feeling that made him uncomfortable. Where were you? did you flee the castle? or were so bored of him you went to the city to a brothel in search of another man to keep you company. Anger and jealousy filled in his chest at the mere thought of that.

Jacaerys did not seem where he was going, many thoughts inside his head, before he harshly opened a door to the library. And to his surprise, there you were, a book in your hand. ‘Adventures of Aegon the conqueror’, he could read the name of the book by how you were holding it. He felt he could breathe again. By the loud sound of the door opening your head flitted towards him. Your usual smirk growing up your lips. Something that made his heart flutter in a way he didn't want it to. He clenched his jaw, holding his fists in a tight ball.

“Where have you been?” he asks, desperate tone in his voice.

“Ah, Prince Jacaerys.” you smile, closing the book and turning your attention towards him. He hated how your eye lashes fluttered, your hair falling down in just the perfect way. “I've been gaining some Targaryen knowledge, as you can see. Since we are to be married, I thought I should know my husband's family. Don't you think?”

Husband.

That word rose heat to his cheeks, quickly clearing his throat.

“I'm not your husband.” he spoke, in a tone harsher than he intended, “At least not yet anyway.”

You smile wider, making his heart race. He was always a bit stubborn, and uptight. Yet you were always so carefree and light, always so kind with his demise. He didn't know what to make of it all. A curious look grazed upon your face, eyebrows furrowing. You sat up, walking onwards another shelf of books, lips pursued. Before looking at him.

“I have always wondered, hmm,” you say, your finger coming up to your lips, “do tell me prince Jacaerys, is it true that you were born out of wedlock?”

His eyes widened, “What did you say to me?”

You either did not notice the offend and defensiveness in his tone, or simply pretend not to. Turning to look at him, “I mean, all Targaryen children have white hair. Do they not? Even if they did not, none of your formal parents have black, dark hair like yours.”

His breath hitches, all of the insecurities he had contained in a jar of fireflies fled out the second you brought out his hair. A wall rising inside him. You were acting as if you just did not ask the most dangerous question ever. As if it did not matter to you.

“How dare you insinuate such filthy claims?!” his voice rises, almost shouting. Your eyes flicker surprise for a moment, before turning back to the usual stoic look.

“Ah, you are offended.” you state, as if he shouldn't be, “I meant no harm, my prince. I have no problem with you being a bastard. In fact, it only makes you more interesting. The thing I don't like is your distaste for the truth. One should own up to who they are.”

Bastard.

You, called him a bastard. He isn't able to speak for a moment, too tongue—tied. You....think of him this way too? you? he can't hear as you speak further, a ringing in his head. It only intensifies. Only when you start talking about dorne is when he snaps back from his haze.

“And I have thousands of brothers and sisters back in dorne, no one cares ther—”

“I don't care, what you dornish do back there, but here you don't speak to me with filths of a claim.” he grits, his voice cold, “I am the queen's son. And if I hear you say one word about that again, I will see you hanged.” his words held so much malice in them, one would believe it to be true.

Of course, he could never actually do that, the blacks needed martells armies more than ever. His mother couldn't afford them raging war at her and joining the green's side. And, he could never harm you either. It was just a baseless threat, one he said out of anger and insecurity. He immediately regretted it when he saw the look on your face; hurt. But even worse, fear. Before he could even begin to take them back, it was too late. Your spot, where you stood, was already empty.

You had seen him less and less after that. Of course, you were your usual self. Taunting and teasing him, but something was off. Something distant. He hated it. He hated how much he missed it. Your remarks, your witty replies, your cockiness. He wanted it back. He wanted you back.

Next time he sees you, it's in a completely unexpected place. Dragon—pit. He was about to ride on Vermax to patrol the skies, when he stops. There you were, sat on the hard rock, legs swinging at the edge of it and his dragon's head in your hands. You..you were feeding him. “What the hell do you think you're doing?!” he shouts, eye wide.

You turn your head to him, a smirk on your lips grows. You enjoyed the fact he was on his nerves, furious.

“What does it look like? I'm feeding this cute little angel right here.” you coo, talking to his dragon in a baby voice. Vermax was known for her temper, yet with you it magically dis—appears? a little bit inside him was flustered, heart beating faster than ever that you and his dragon, a very important part of his life, bonded flawlessly. But he shrugs it off, he has to. Flushing over you isn't his duty.

Protecting you is.

As much as he would like to deny it, you're his now. Lawfully so. And he wouldn't let anything happen to you. Especially Vermax. He wouldn't know how to live with himself if his own dragon were to be the cause of, of.. your demise. His throat burns, even the mere thought of harm coming to you feels as if he's being drowned to death. After Luke, he cannot lose anyone. Jacaerys cannot lose you. Even if that was the first thing he tried to do after meeting you. You were the most part of his frustrations yet the only thought when he's in his bed at night.

“Have you lost your mind?” he asks, his voice harsh, as if you were his child and he was scolding you for doing something childish.

“Have you had no fear? you could have died what were you even thinking?!” you falter for a moment, upon seeing the trembling of his hands and the tightness in his voice.

“Jacaerys—”

“No!” he interrupts you, “You, you could have been...do you even realise..”

Your eyes widened as he struggled to even breath, huffing for air anxiously. You quickly get up, walking towards him. He's so much inside his head that he doesn't notice your hands coming up his face, slinging through his dark curly hair. An act that slowed and claimed his beating heart down. Your soft palms make contact with both his cheeks, a peaceful shush in your voice and he finally breathes. Properly. He sighed, eyes closing as his hands came up to hold yours.

This, you, him? this felt oddly peaceful. This felt like home. Vermax watches the whole interaction with a quiet huff, turning away back to the pits. You nudge closer towards him, resting your forehead against his. Love. This felt like love. “Promise me” he starts out, his voice low and timid, “promise you will never do that again.” Instead of putting on a fight like you usually do, you nod, gently caressing his cheek. His head leaned further into your touch, putty in your hands.

“I promise.”

That, gives him great relief. “Good.”

Time seems to slow down, Jacaerys could count every freckle on your nose to cheeks, every small cut in between your knuckles or lips, every curve of smile you put on. And all the scents coming from your body that drove him crazy. You notice his lips still trembling, and above your judgement, you decide to kiss it better. He inhales a sharp breath as your lips touch his, but makes no movement to push you away. It's gentle, barely brushing against his. Jacaerys realised how they fit perfectly amidst his, and how much he was craving it all these months until he finally tasted them.

You slowly pull away, hesitantly. His eyes are still closed. Hands crawling up your waist. He speaks again, a whisper almost.

“I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

He's talking about the library, and you smiled softly, shaking your head.

“It's okay. You can't get rid of me that easily, Jace. Should have known that when you got betrothed to a dornish princess.”

You had already forgiven him. But he didn't want you to. He didn't want to be at your mercy this easily, not when he wasn't able to forgive himself. You, you had crept your way into his heart when he didn't want you to, and now he never wanted to let you go. It was all your fault.

“No I...” he shakes his head, “I never should have said that. Not only because it was so wrong but also because it was completely untrue.” Jacaerys swallows his breath, every bit of him wanted to turn away and never look back, but he couldn't do that. “I have been called names, about my heritage. Ever since I was a child. About my parenting and what not. And it's very...when anyone talks about it, it's like a bandage ripping off a new and fresh wound. No matter how many years pass by, it's still like that for me.”

You nod your head slowly, in understanding. This was raw. He had finally told you one of his darkest parts, his worst fears, and you hadn't run away.

“I understand. I should have never said that. I did not know it was like this for you.” He feels relief in your words.

But there was still something he needed to let out.

“But I...” he didn't know how hard this was for him until he started to actually say it, “I really could never mean it. What I said. Even if you have committed the worst treason or crime, even if you had taken my heart and carved it out, I still wouldn't be able to do one thing that might be even close to harming you. Believe me I have tried. And I have failed.”

He looks away from you, cheeks closing red. Jacaerys had just poured his heart out and gave it to you. But the chances of you, and feeling the same? were very dim. He sees stars when he sees you, what do you see? just him? or even worse? a filth in the name of a true born prince. A gasp leaves his lips as your fingers trace the outlines of his jaw, trailing down to his neck to his chest. You stopped at the red and black three dragons symbol made on the polish cloth he wore.

“Why do you think I agreed to this marriage? not because of this.” you point to the very symbol engraved on his chest, of the house targaryen, “If it was just for this, I certainly would have never.”

He turns his head back to you, confusion in his face. He also feels a bit of guilt in him. At first, he only agreed to this pact because his mother had no choice. Because of your house. Nothing else. And you're saying that his house didn't even matter to you when you agreed to this betrothal? then why? you did not even know what he looked like, and you simply agreed?

“Why then?”

That's the question that's now left in him. Why, if his house and title didn't matter?

“Well,” your lips curl up, a glint in your eyes, as a blush arose your cheeks, “From years I had heard stories of Targaryen princes. How arrogant and unkind they were, your cousins, Aegon and Aemond, well I certainly didn't hear anything good about them. And then you came. The velaryon prince, the son of the realm's delight, born with a kind heart and a fierceness to protect. I knew I had to marry someday, but I only agreed to marry you because I knew—you wouldn't mistreat me. Because I fell in love with the stories of the dark haired prince who had the most beautiful brown eyes ever, who protected his brother when he was a child himself, who stole my heart before he even claimed it.”

Jacaerys doesn't know what to say, his throat falls dry. It doesn't feel real, when he's wanted something so dearly and someone just gives it to him freely; it does not feel real. You do not feel real. But you are. He knows you are when your hands tug at his collar, his face close to you as you pull him towards you and your breath fanning on his cheeks. He knows this is real, and it's better than any dream he's ever had.

“I do not want our marriage to be an unhappy one.”

You say, a plea in your voice.

He smiles, wide. And he doesn't even have to make an effort this time, “For me, the words unhappy and you? well they don't go in the same sentence.”

That seals it for you, he can see that. As you kiss his words, an unspoken understanding and passion in it. Jacaerys realises he could get used to this. Kisses, hugs, reading each other books, waking by the warmth of your body besides his; in fact, there's no one else he'd rather do it by. And nothing he would want more.

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑚:) 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛! 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒.

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novaursa · 23 hours ago

Text

The Second Daughter (the line)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (short adult scene)

- Previous part: birthright

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @alkadri-layal @ninihrtss @barnes70stark

The great solar of Casterly Rock was filled with the light of morning, yet the tension in the room made it feel anything but warm. Jason Lannister stood at the head of the chamber, his hands braced against the heavy wooden table, his expression a mask of controlled frustration. Around him sat the members of his household—his mother, Lady Leonella; his uncle Damon; his brother Tyland; and several of his most trusted advisors and stewards.

The subject of their gathering sat unspoken between them, but it loomed over them all like a shadow. Or rather, a beast.

Valyros.

The newly hatched dragon had not left Aemerys’s side since the moment it cracked from its shell. It curled in his cradle, nestled close to him, its silver scales glimmering with golden streaks that caught the morning light. The babe had yet to even grasp what had transpired, but the bond had been made—one that neither Jason nor any of his household could ignore.

And the servants were terrified.

Whispers ran like wildfire through the keep. While the people of Casterly Rock had long since grown accustomed to Silverwing—your great silver dragon who had made her lair in the cliffs surrounding the Rock, her presence more familiar than fearsome—they were not prepared for this. Silverwing, for all her size, was gentle, her presence a known constant; Valyros, however, was new, a creature of unknown temper, and small as he was now, the uncertainty of what he would become unnerved many. Maids refused to step near the cradle, wet nurses trembled as they reached for the babe, and even the castle’s sworn guards cast uneasy glances at the nursery door.

Jason ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. "We must decide what is to be done about the beast," he stated, his voice stern but level.

Across from him, Tyland leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "What’s to be done?" he repeated with a smirk. "It’s already done, Jason. Aemerys has bonded with the creature. If you think to separate them, you’d be a fool."

Jason shot his younger brother a sharp glare. "It’s not that simple."

Tyland lifted a brow. "Isn’t it?"

Lady Leonella, who had remained composed up until now, finally spoke, her voice measured but firm. "The servants are in an uproar, Jason. Even some of our sworn men are uneasy. The Westerlands have never had dealings with dragons—our people do not understand them, nor do they trust them." She folded her hands in her lap, her gaze steady. "We must tread carefully, lest we sow fear in our own home."

Damon Lannister, silent until now, exhaled heavily, fingers drumming against the wood of the table. "The problem isn’t the beast itself—it’s the fact that none of us know what to expect. This isn’t King’s Landing, or Dragonstone, where dragonlords have ruled for generations. This is our land, Jason, and it is built on order, not fire and chaos."

Jason clenched his jaw. He had expected as much.

"What are you proposing?" he asked, turning to his uncle.

Damon rubbed his jaw in thought. "If you ask me, you have two options. Either you accept what has happened and make it clear that Valyros belongs to the Lannisters as much as the boy does—or you send the beast away before it grows too large to control."

A deep silence fell over the room at that.

Jason’s green eyes darkened. "You would have me send my son’s dragon away?"

Damon met his gaze without flinching. "I would have you consider what it means to keep him here. Dragons grow, Jason. This one may be small now, but in time, it will not fit in a cradle—it will demand space, food, flight. And what then? Will you allow another dragon to roost atop Casterly Rock, like Silverwing?"

Jason didn’t answer right away.

Tyland, smirking as always, let out a low chuckle. "Gods, I’d love to see that. Our own dragon perched above the Golden Gallery? The bards would have a song for that within a moon’s turn."

"Enough," Jason snapped, irritation flashing across his face before he reined it in. His gaze flickered to his mother, whose face was carefully unreadable. "You haven’t spoken your thoughts on this, Mother."

Leonella sighed softly, folding her hands before her. "Because I do not yet know what to say," she admitted. "Aemerys is my grandson, and he is yours, Jason. I would not see him stripped of something that is his by right. But I would also not see this house fall into disarray because of it. The people of the Westerlands are not dragonlords, and they do not serve them. I fear how they will react once this truth spreads beyond these walls."

Jason inhaled slowly, controlling his breath.

"I will not send my son’s dragon away," he said at last, his voice calm but firm. "To do so would be to deny what he is. The bond is made. We cannot break it."

Damon leaned back, studying him carefully. "Then you must prepare for the consequences."

Jason exhaled sharply. "I will."

Leonella’s lips pressed into a thin line. "And what of the servants?"

Jason was quiet for a moment, his thoughts working through every possible response.

Finally, he spoke. "Let them whisper, for now. In time, they will see that the boy and his dragon are not a threat to them. I will make it clear—Valyros belongs to Aemerys, and Aemerys belongs to this house."

Tyland chuckled. "Spoken like a true lord."

Jason ignored his brother and turned to his uncle instead. "As for space… when the time comes, we will find a way to house him properly. Until then, he stays in the nursery. And I expect my men to treat the situation with dignity, not fear."

Damon studied Jason for a long moment, then finally nodded. "So be it."

Lady Leonella did not argue further, though there was a flicker of concern behind her eyes.

Jason exhaled, running a hand over his jaw. "I will speak to my wife," he murmured, quieter now. "She will not allow anyone to separate Aemerys and Valyros, and I do not intend to upset her by suggesting it."

His mother gave a small nod of approval at that.

The meeting ended shortly after, the members of House Lannister dispersing to their respective duties, though the weight of the discussion lingered in their minds.

Jason remained in the solar for a moment longer, his hand tightening over the back of his chair as he stared at the map of the Westerlands sprawled across the table.

This changes everything.

The lion had accepted the dragon. But now, the rest of the realm would have to do the same.

Jason lingered in the solar for a long moment after the others had gone, his hand still resting against the back of the chair. The candlelight flickered in the dim room, casting elongated shadows across the map of the Westerlands that lay unfurled before him. His mind was full, thoughts circling like vultures over the choice that had already been made for him.

His son had a dragon.

The weight of that realization still pressed on his shoulders, heavier than the golden lion sigil that adorned his tunic. He had expected resistance from his family, from his bannermen, from the Westerlands as a whole—but now, he had to face the one person whose opinion mattered most in all of this.

His wife.

Jason exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he left the solar and made his way down the corridors of Casterly Rock. The great keep was built for war, not comfort—high walls, stone halls, winding passageways designed to confuse any invader foolish enough to think they could take the Rock. But now, those very halls felt like they were closing in around him, the weight of his thoughts turning them into a labyrinth.

By the time he reached the doors of the nursery, he paused for only a moment before pushing them open.

Inside, the warmth of the hearth was immediate, chasing away the coolness of the stone corridors. The scent of lavender lingered in the air, mingling with the faint but distinct smell of something else—something ancient, something primal.

Valyros.

The newly hatched dragon was curled at the foot of the cradle, its small silver body stretched lazily across the furs, golden streaks shimmering beneath the dim light. Its golden eyes were half-lidded, but Jason knew better than to mistake that for carelessness. The beast was watching.

And beside the cradle, you sat with Aemerys in your arms, humming softly as you cradled him close.

Jason paused in the doorway, his green eyes fixed on you. You must have sensed him, because you lifted your head slightly, tilting your face toward him.

“Jason,” you murmured, your voice filled with warmth. “You’ve come.”

Jason let out a slow breath and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Of course,” he said, his voice steady. “I always do.”

You smiled at that, though your fingers continued tracing slow circles on Aemerys’s back as the babe rested peacefully against you. For a moment, there was only silence between you, save for the crackling fire and the rhythmic breathing of your son.

Then, you spoke again, your voice softer this time. “The castle is restless.”

Jason ran a hand through his hair. “That’s an understatement,” he admitted. “The servants are afraid. The men are wary. My family—” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “They are unsure of what this means.”

You tilted your head slightly, your lilac eyes unseeing but knowing all the same. “And you, my love?”

Jason was quiet for a long moment. He had faced battles, sat in council rooms full of men who sought to challenge his authority, fought off ambitious lords and their schemes—but nothing made him hesitate more than this moment, standing before you with the weight of his lineage and yours pressed between them.

Finally, he spoke.

“I do not fear Valyros,” he said honestly. “I do not fear what this means for Aemerys.” He inhaled deeply before adding, “I fear what it means for us.”

You frowned slightly, shifting Aemerys in your arms. “Explain.”

Jason moved closer, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed beside you. His gaze flickered toward the small dragon at the foot of the cradle before returning to you.

“This is not Dragonstone,” he said, his voice quieter now, more careful. “The men of the Westerlands do not follow dragons. They follow steel, gold, and legacy. Aemerys is my heir. He will rule these lands one day. But now, he will do so with a dragon at his side.”

You listened, your fingers brushing lightly against your son’s soft curls. “Do you regret it?”

Jason shook his head immediately. “No,” he said, firm. “He is our son, and I will never regret anything that belongs to him.” He exhaled, his hand resting against his thigh. “But I won’t pretend this won’t change everything.”

You reached out then, your fingers grazing against his arm before curling around his wrist. “Jason,” you murmured, voice full of quiet understanding. “It already has.”

Jason swallowed hard, his free hand coming up to cover yours. He ran his thumb over your knuckles, grounding himself in the touch of you.

“The servants whisper,” he admitted. “They are frightened of Valyros. Of what it means.”

You sighed softly. “Then we will show them there is nothing to fear.”

Jason let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “You make it sound so simple.”

“For me, it is,” you said, your tone gentle but unwavering. “Because I know what it means to be feared for something you cannot change.”

Jason stilled at that, his grip on your hand tightening slightly.

You smiled, shifting so that your fingers trailed up his arm. “Aemerys was born of both of us, Jason. Of the lion and the dragon. Do you not think we were always meant to raise him this way?”

Jason searched your face, finding only certainty there. You had never wavered, never doubted, even when the world around you seemed to.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for what this will bring,” he admitted.

You tilted your face toward him, your expression tender. “You are,” you whispered. “Because you have always protected what is yours.”

Jason inhaled slowly before finally nodding. “Then I will protect him. Both of them.” His eyes flickered toward the cradle again, where Valyros lay, his small body coiled in silver and gold. “No matter what comes.”

You smiled softly, reaching for him once more. He met you halfway, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both reassurance and promise.

As you pulled back, Jason glanced down at Aemerys, then at the dragon resting nearby.

“The people will resist this,” he murmured.

You nodded. “Then let them.”

Jason smirked slightly, shaking his head. “You truly are the blood of Old Valyria.”

You smiled. “And you, my love, are the strength of the West.”

Jason exhaled, finally settling beside you, letting his worries sit in the firelight for now. The world would come for them soon enough, but tonight, in this room, in this moment—this was home.

And no matter what came next, he would be ready.

The great hall of Casterly Rock was alight with candle flames, their soft glow illuminating the long dining table where House Lannister gathered. Goblets of rich Arbor red clinked against one another, the scent of roasted meats, honeyed fruits, and fresh bread filling the air. Servants moved deftly through the chamber, refilling cups and setting new platters before the lords and ladies who dined.

Jason Lannister sat at the head of the table, his goblet resting lightly in his hand, though he had barely touched his wine. His green eyes were fixed on Daemon Targaryen.

The Rogue Prince ate with the ease of a man who had never once questioned his place in the world, cutting into his meal with slow, deliberate precision. He took his time, chewing as if savoring every bite, drinking his wine without rush, completely unbothered by the tension that lingered in the air.

Jason’s jaw tightened slightly.

Daemon had been at Casterly Rock for two moons now, and though he had brought no trouble—yet—Jason remained uneasy. There was something about Daemon’s presence, about the way he maneuvered through these halls with the same confidence he might display in the Red Keep or Dragonstone, as if he belonged here.

No. As if he had claimed something here.

Jason had seen how Daemon looked at you.

Not in the open, not obviously—but in the quiet moments between conversation, when you were speaking with your mother-in-law or smoothing a hand over Aemerys’s small head. Daemon’s glances were fleeting, almost reverent, as if he were looking at something his and not Jason’s.

Jason lifted his goblet and took a slow sip of wine, though it did nothing to quell the unease simmering in his gut.

Across from him, Tyland was engaged in an animated conversation with Damon Lannister about some dull matter of trade, completely unconcerned. Jason’s mother, Lady Leonella, sat composed, offering polite conversation to her sister-by-law.

But Jason was not so easily distracted.

Daemon lifted his goblet, taking an unhurried sip of wine before finally glancing Jason’s way. He must have felt Jason’s scrutiny because his lips curled ever so slightly, his expression amused as he set his cup down.

Jason did not look away.

“You’re staring, Lannister,” Daemon finally murmured, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the quiet hum of conversation.

Jason’s fingers tightened slightly around his goblet, but his expression did not shift. “Merely watching my guest enjoy his meal,” he replied smoothly.

Daemon smirked, cutting another piece of meat. “How hospitable.”

Jason exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing himself to maintain his composure. “Tell me, Prince Daemon,” he said, his voice even. “How long do you intend to honor us with your presence?”

Daemon wiped his fingers on a linen cloth, his smirk never faltering. “Tired of me already, are you?”

Jason set his goblet down with a quiet clink, his eyes never leaving Daemon’s. “Not at all. Merely wondering if you have any business that requires your attention elsewhere.”

Daemon hummed in amusement. “Oh, I have plenty of business elsewhere,” he admitted. “But nothing pressing. I find myself quite comfortable here.”

Jason’s jaw ticked slightly, but before he could respond, you spoke.

“I’m glad you’re comfortable, Uncle,” you said, your voice smooth, calm, and entirely unbothered. You were seated beside Jason, your hands folded neatly in your lap, your lilac eyes turned ever so slightly toward Daemon. “It’s been some time since we last had the pleasure of your company.”

Daemon’s gaze softened just slightly as he looked at you, and Jason fought the urge to tighten his grip on the table.

“My little star,” Daemon murmured, taking another sip of wine. “You’ve always been a most gracious hostess.”

Jason exhaled slowly, his hand curling into a fist beneath the table.

My little star.

The way Daemon said it—like it was a truth that had always belonged to him.

You merely smiled, though Jason noticed how your fingers briefly brushed against the stem of your goblet, a small, absent movement that he had come to recognize as one of your few tells.

Tyland, oblivious or perhaps entertained by the tension, leaned forward with a smirk. “What do you think of our home, Prince Daemon?”

Daemon leaned back slightly, tilting his head. “It’s strong,” he said simply. “Fortified, unyielding—built to withstand time itself. Much like its lord.” His gaze flicked back to Jason with a smirk. “Though, I imagine it will be different with another dragon above it now.”

A hush fell briefly over the table at that.

Jason inhaled deeply, keeping his expression neutral. “We will manage,” he said, his voice controlled.

Daemon smirked knowingly. “Of course you will.”

Jason was growing tired of this game, this dance of words that Daemon so effortlessly led. He had expected it—Daemon was a man who pushed, who prodded, who delighted in making others react.

But Jason Lannister was not so easily moved.

He reached for his goblet again, taking another sip before setting it down with deliberate ease. “Tell me, Prince Daemon,” he mused, tilting his head. “Does King Viserys know you’re here?”

Daemon’s smirk faltered ever so slightly. It was brief—almost imperceptible—but Jason caught it.

The prince chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “My brother has never been overly concerned with where I spend my time,” he said smoothly. “Besides, I am merely visiting my family. Would you deny a man the right to see his own blood?”

Jason studied him for a long moment before responding, his voice even, measured. “Not at all,” he said. “As long as a guest remembers his place in another man’s home.”

A long silence followed.

Daemon’s smirk widened, but there was something colder beneath it now, something more calculating.

Tyland, sensing the tension thickening, let out an exaggerated sigh and reached for the wine. “Gods, can we at least pretend to enjoy dinner?” he muttered. “Or must everything be a battle of egos?”

Damon Lannister chuckled, shaking his head. “This is how men of their kind speak, boy. Let them have their game.”

Jason ignored them, his eyes still locked onto Daemon.

Daemon tilted his goblet slightly, swirling the wine inside before raising it toward Jason in mock salute. “To our gracious host,” he said smoothly, before taking a slow sip.

Jason merely lifted his own goblet in turn, though he did not drink.

The game was still being played, but Jason had no intention of losing.

The corridors of Casterly Rock were quiet at this hour. The evening feast had long since ended, the great hall now empty save for the servants who tidied up after the lingering guests. But Jason Lannister had not yet retired for the night.

Instead, he stood near one of the wide balconies that overlooked the sea, a goblet of wine resting in his hand though he had barely touched it. The distant waves crashed against the cliffs, their rhythmic roar providing a steady backdrop to his thoughts.

He had been watching Daemon all night. Watching him eat, drink, smirk—watching the way he so effortlessly made himself comfortable in a place that was not his own. Watching the way his gaze strayed, however briefly, toward you.

Jason exhaled, running a hand over his jaw as his thoughts darkened.

“You’re brooding, my son.”

The voice was soft, but full of knowing.

Jason turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder as his mother, Lady Leonella Lannister, approached with the grace she had always carried. Dressed in deep red with golden embroidery, her posture was straight, poised, as she stepped beside him. She did not need to look at him to know what troubled him.

Jason exhaled, leaning his hands against the stone railing. “Is it that obvious?”

Leonella gave a small, wry smile. “To others? Perhaps not. But I am your mother.”

Jason huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “And that means you see everything, does it?”

“It means I know when my son is unsettled,” she corrected, her voice smooth. She glanced up at him then, her green eyes sharp yet thoughtful. “You’ve been tense since Daemon arrived.”

Jason exhaled slowly, his grip tightening slightly against the stone. “He enjoys making a spectacle of himself.”

Leonella studied him, tilting her head slightly. “This is about more than Daemon’s arrogance.”

Jason said nothing.

His mother was too clever, too perceptive.

Leonella let the silence stretch before finally speaking again. “You don’t trust him.”

Jason turned his gaze back to the sea, watching as the moonlight danced upon the black waters. “Would you?”

Leonella sighed softly, folding her hands in front of her. “Daemon Targaryen is a man who takes what he wants,” she said plainly. “And he does not ask for permission to do so.”

Jason scoffed, shaking his head. “No, he does not.”

Leonella’s expression remained composed, but her voice softened slightly. “And you believe there is something he wants?”

Jason clenched his jaw.

He did not answer at first, but when he finally did, his voice was quieter, laced with something taut, something dangerous.

“I see the way he looks at her.”

Leonella said nothing, but Jason knew she had noticed it too.

Daemon’s glances were never overt, never long enough to draw attention—but they were there, lingering in the quiet moments, in the spaces between words. Jason knew what it looked like when a man admired a woman. And admiration alone was not what lay behind Daemon’s eyes.

Leonella inhaled deeply. “Daemon has always been… attached to her,” she admitted carefully. “Even when she was a girl, it was clear she held a special place in his affections.”

Jason turned his gaze sharply toward her. “Affection?” he repeated, his tone edged.

Leonella met his eyes, calm but firm. “She is his blood. And he is a man who values what is his.”

Jason’s fingers curled into a fist against the stone railing. “She is mine.”

Leonella nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said. “She is your wife. Your son’s mother. She wears your cloak, carries your name.” She paused, letting the words settle before adding, “But Daemon is not a man who lets go of things easily.”

Jason exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his golden hair. “I won’t allow him to overstep.”

Leonella tilted her head slightly. “Have you spoken to her about it?”

Jason hesitated.

Leonella sighed. “Jason.”

He clenched his jaw. “I will not put doubt in her head where there is none.”

Leonella studied him, then exhaled softly. “You fear if you speak of it, you will give weight to something that isn’t yet there.”

Jason’s silence was answer enough.

Leonella placed a hand on his arm, her touch light but grounding. “Daemon may provoke, but he is not reckless. Not with her.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “And she is not reckless with you.”

Jason exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing just slightly.

Leonella gave a small, knowing smile. “You are not a man accustomed to uncertainty, my son. And yet, here you are—married to a woman who was raised in a world unlike ours, mother to a child who now carries the blood of fire and stone.”

Jason let out a quiet, dry chuckle. “A lion with a dragon.”

Leonella smirked faintly. “A strange sight, indeed.”

Jason straightened, inhaling deeply before finally nodding. “Daemon will not stay here forever,” he murmured, more to himself than anything.

Leonella tilted her head. “No,” she agreed. “But while he is here, keep your wits about you. And do not let a man like Daemon Targaryen decide what belongs to you.”

Jason turned his gaze back to the sea, his grip steady now, his thoughts clearer.

Daemon could smirk all he liked, could toss his veiled jests and watch for a reaction—but Jason Lannister was no fool.

He would not let the Rogue Prince play a game with his wife.

Not in his home.

Not ever.

Jason exhaled slowly as he neared the doors of his chambers. The weight of the evening sat heavily upon him, coiling around his shoulders like a lion’s mane, but as his hand pressed against the iron handle and he pushed open the door, relief swept through him like a breath of fresh air.

You were there.

Waiting for him.

You were seated near the bed, your pale hair cascading over your shoulder in soft waves, your nightgown light against your skin.

The moment you heard the door open, you turned slightly, tilting your face toward him. “Jason,” you murmured.

Jason let out a quiet breath and stepped further inside, shutting the door behind him.

"You waited for me," he said, voice softer now, some of the tension in his shoulders unraveling.

You gave a faint smile. “I always do.”

He moved toward you, fingers unfastening the golden clasps of his doublet as he shrugged off the weight of the day along with it. The firelight glinted against the broad planes of his shoulders, but his movements were slower than usual—more deliberate, more wound.

You noticed.

"You're troubled," you observed, head tilting slightly as your hands reached out, grazing his arm as he sat beside you on the edge of the bed.

Jason inhaled deeply, his gaze flickering over your face, searching. The softness in your expression, the way your lilac eyes—blind as they were—still seemed to see him, made his chest tighten.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Your fingers trailed up his arm, brushing against his shoulder before finding his jaw, gently tilting his face toward yours. “Jason.”

A single word, yet it carried weight.

He sighed, closing his eyes briefly before exhaling. “I suppose I’ve been… distracted these last few days.”

You arched a delicate brow. “So I have noticed. And here I thought you were merely avoiding me.”

Jason let out a small huff, shaking his head. “Never.”

Your fingers curled lightly against his jaw, your touch warm. “Then tell me,” you murmured. “What has made my husband so restless?”

Jason hesitated.

The words sat on his tongue, the truth of them pressing forward—but speaking them aloud meant giving them weight, and that was something he was not yet ready to do.

Not yet.

Instead, he exhaled and leaned forward, pressing his forehead lightly against yours. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing against the silk of your nightgown as he pulled you closer.

"You," he murmured, voice rougher now, lower. "You are my peace, my love."

Your lips curled into the faintest smile. "That is not an answer, Jason."

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "No, it isn’t."

You sighed, but your touch remained gentle as your fingers ghosted along his cheek. “Will you tell me when you are ready?”

Jason swallowed, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. “Yes.”

You were silent for a moment, studying him in that way only you could. Then, you nodded, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips.

Jason’s breath hitched.

Gods, how did you do this? How did you unravel him so easily with nothing but a touch, a word?

He gripped your waist as he pulled you fully into his lap. "I do not wish to think of anything else tonight," he murmured, his lips brushing against your throat. "Only you."

You hummed, fingers threading through his golden hair. “Then let us not think, my love.”

Jason groaned against your skin, and just like that, the weight of his thoughts—Daemon, the whispers, the uncertainty—melted away, leaving only the heat of your body, the press of your lips, and the promise of something far more certain.

You were his.

And he would not let anyone forget it.

#house of the dragon #hotd #fire and blood #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #the second daughter #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #house targaryen #house lannister #hotd jason #jason lannister #jason x reader #jason x you #jason x y/n

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plutotheplum · 2 months ago

Text

I Only Bleed For Him

dragon!sylus x fem!reader

summary: amidst the blooming flowers in tarus city, the dragon claims his beloved.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, a smidge of fluff, angst, kissing, loss of virginity, oral sex, p in v, possessive sex, blood, claiming bites, mating, knotting, soulmates, canon compliant death

wc: 4.5k

a/n: the way the myth cards just keep getting depressing :( there will be another chapter after this fic, but it'll be in the actual timeline! also not very confident in my angst writing abilities, but hopefully y'all enjoy!! <3

also on ao3!

“You know, Tarus City can have flowers bloom everywhere, as far as the eye can see. But only for one person.”

Sylus’ voice is a soft murmur, his hands caressing your waist as he holds you tighter against him. Your heart lurches uncomfortably, fingers brushing across his cheek and the hard, black scale that lays fused to his skin.

“What if we stayed here?” you whisper, peering into his crimson eyes.

“Would you be able to sate yourself?” Sylus asks in return, his claws brushing through your hair gently.

You avert your gaze, cheek pressing against his chest as you stare at the swaying carmine flowers in the soft breeze. Sylus’ heart is steady, the soothing sound of thrumming coupled with the motions of his claws nearly enough to lull you to sleep.

His question holds value. Revenge threatens to pull you apart at the seams, the desire for chaos rearing its ugly head. You want more, you always want more and Sylus gives it to you willingly. Your selfish desires will be the downfall of the Fiend, you think, hands tightening into fists.

Yet, there is so much more to do. So much to take from those that had taken from you. Resentment makes you tremble, the Sacred Judicator’s words ringing clear in your mind.

The Sorceress has been judged.

You could laugh at the thought if you weren’t so angry. Some sorceress you were, powerless and yet put before the Court of Justitia as a traitor for trying to protect the statue of a dragon.

Angry tears prick at your eyes, teeth gritting together only to be drawn out of your wrathful thoughts by the press of Sylus’ lips against your clenched fists, his claws unfurling your clenched fingers.

“Just like the day we met,” Sylus murmurs, his gaze trained on you, “such hatred and defiance.”

You swallow the lump in your throat when he kisses your palms.

“Beauty,” he whispers against your skin, “and resentment, little sorceress. They make you my precious, most finest treasure.”

“I don’t want to think about the Legion,” you reply, voice trembling, “I want them gone, Sylus.”

“Pluck them out one by one,” Sylus says, his hand caressing your cheek, “but another will replace those gone. Their roots run deep, weeds that refuse to die, marring the world around them.”

You sigh, eyes fluttering shut as you lean into the warmth of his hand, the rough scales scratching your skin gently.

“I shall burn Justitia to the ground,” you grit out, eyes burning with determination, “I will make them all regret and spite them into contrition, bring them to their knees and- and-”

Sylus laughs, his expression soft as he peers up at you. “You speak sharply, little sorceress. Your fire and spirit matches my own.”

“Because I am your other half,” you mumble, pouting slightly as you feel your anger subside the more Sylus caresses you.

“You are,” Sylus affirms, “bearer of my soul, my other half. Only you could be worthy enough.”

A light flush covers your cheeks before you hide again, nosing into his cheek. You can feel the warmth of his soul inside of you as your eyes shut, lungs expanding as you suck in a deep breath, the scent of the dragon clouding your senses.

Burnt embers and a soft sweetness make you whine, body squirming as you try and press yourself closer to him, your fingers caressing his horns.

“Careful,” Sylus grunts, his claws tightening around your waist when he feels the brush of your fingers against the base of his horns.

You can feel the slight jump of his hips, your gaze lifting to find his brows drawn together, eyes squeezed shut.

“Does it hurt?” you ask worriedly, fingers pausing.

“Hardly,” he replies, his eyes opening again, “I am simply… sensitive.”

You hum, head tilting to kiss his cheek as your fingers resume their stroking and caressing. Sylus makes a small noise and you relish in it, peppering kisses here and there, across his cheeks and over the large scales.

A delighted sound escapes you when you hear what you think is something akin to a purr. Sylus’ cheeks tint with a light pink and you smile against his cheek, ears straining to listen again when he rumbles gently, his head tilting as he pushes up into the caress of your hand.

“Like a mountain cat,” you tease, tracing the slope of his nose when he purrs again, feeling his claws twitch against your hips.

“Do not use my gifts against me,” Sylus grouses, despite the pleased rumble of his chest.

“I enjoyed them,” you reply, fingers running through his hair leisurely, “if only we could go back.”

“We will,” Sylus promises, his eyes flickering open, “I shall make sure of it.”

You smile wistfully. Going back to the cavern held more challenges than worth risking. Bitterness makes your smile waver, but you brush the thought away, content to at least be given this moment of reprieve.

“We will,” you repeat after him.

Neither of you mention the emptiness of the promise. The damp coldness of the chapel latches onto you and Sylus is the only one able to make it dissipate, his claws tracing over the curve of your cheek.

You cling to him, nose brushing against his gently.

“I love you.”

Sylus’ chest rumbles in response, his head tilting as he presses his lips to yours. The curl of his tail around you holds you to him, his hands kneading at your hips as you kiss him. It’s slow and syrupy, both of your souls intertwining and interlocking in the sweet musk of the flower fields.

You can feel the pull of your soul towards him, how your body yearns for more of him, the tendrils of your very being try to claw through gaps of your ribs and pierce his chest. You’d let him hold you in the glowing stone embedded in his chest if it were possible.

“So this is what it means to love,” Sylus murmurs, his lips brushing over yours with every word he speaks, “perhaps mortals are wiser than I thought.”

You laugh, arms wrapping around his neck when he rolls you both over, your back pressing into the soft grass.

“Only some mortals,” you correct, smiling when his teeth bite onto the tips of your gloves, pulling them free from your hands, rings and all.

Sylus’ skin is warm when you touch him again, truly for the first time. His eyes flutter shut, savouring the sensation of your skin against his before he lowers his head, kissing you again.

“I wish to claim you, my beloved,” he breathes out, trailing hot kisses down your neck, “will you let me?”

“Yes,” you sigh, your own eyes slipping shut, “yes, Sylus.”

Sylus’ tail sways behind him, the pointed tip brushing across the skin of your leg before his claws join the midst, dragging down your thighs gently. You gasp, the unfamiliar sensation making you squirm as he begins to undo your dress.

You help him, sitting up as he pulls it over your head, his claws ripping through the delicate fabric despite his tentativeness. You don’t pay it any mind, cupping his cheeks to pull him down into a slow kiss, feeling his body hover over you, his tail wrapping around your waist.

The sharp spikes dig into your skin, making your body seize with discomfort until the repeated brush of Sylus’ lips over yours soothes away the nervousness.

Your panties are ripped away too, the fabric laying in tatters in Sylus’ palm. He frowns when he stares at his claws, and you reach for his hand, lips pressing against his knuckles gently.

“It doesn’t bother me,” you whisper.

“It should,” Sylus murmurs, his gaze dipping as he stares at you laying bare before him.

He can see the mark of his fangs in your neck, the subtle scent of your blood setting his senses alight. You belong here, Sylus thinks, his eyes darkening as he sees the rise and fall of your chest, the pebbling of your nipples in the cooling breeze.

An undying flame blooming amidst a field of lesser flowers.

If only he could keep you here.

The flicker of emotion in Sylus’ eyes makes you uncomfortable and you kiss his knuckles again, lips pressing against the hard scales firmly. He sighs, his hand flexing in your grip, his tail drawing you closer as he kisses your forehead.

You can hear his breath hitch when you fumble with his trousers, undoing the various buckles to have him bare before you as you are before him.

“Greedy mortal,” he murmurs, gripping your chin to plant a kiss to your lips.

“You already knew that,” you smile faintly, nipping his lower lip playfully.

Sylus rumbles, his body shifting to remove his clothing. You swallow when you see the heavy hang of his thick cock. The tip glistens and you squeeze your thighs shut, trying to quell the dull ache that has settled inside of you.

“It- it is different from mortal men,” you mumble, head tilting curiously as you stare at the base of his cock.

“I am a dragon,” Sylus supplies drily, his hand wrapping around his cock.

You watch, mesmerised as he pumps his cock with his clawed hand, brows furrowing when you see the slight swell at the base of his cock, above his heavy balls.

“A knot,” he explains, moving his cock to show you the swell of it a little better, a low hiss leaving him when you reach out to touch it hesitantly. “It- hah- it is useful for mating.”

It gives a little under your prodding, wetness pooling between your thighs at the sight of it. You try to wrap your fingers around it, but the tips of your fingers hardly touch, Sylus letting out a growl at the sight.

“I want it,” you whisper, blinking up at him, “I- I want you to mate me, and- and I want that.” You point to his knot.

Sylus lets out a hoarse laugh, his clawed hand coming up to caress your cheek.

“And you shall have it when I claim you. Although…” he pauses for a moment, his expression becoming slightly flustered, “I have never claimed anyone before.”

“Oh,” you flush with him, averting your gaze. “I have never been claimed before.”

Sylus sucks in a sharp breath, his nose nudging against yours gently as he plants a soft kiss to your lips. “My first and my last.”

You have to blink away the tears that begin to brim in your eyes, your arms wrapping around his neck tightly. Sylus kisses the side of your head, his body descending further down your body.

Soft noises leave you as he places reverent kisses along the length of your body, his tongue flicking at your nipple experimentally, carmine eyes peering up to watch your reaction carefully. When you gasp, Sylus hums, his mouth opening wider to envelop your breast with his mouth.

Your fingers delve into his soft hair, back arching as you push your breast further into his mouth, his hot saliva making your skin shine. The flowers around you sway, unbothered by the act of intimacy, Sylus’ clawed fingers pinching at your nipple lightly.

He groans when you jerk under him, mouthing at the sides of your breast, pressing wet kisses here and there, tongue swirling over your areolas before granting each nipple a soft kiss.

“You respond well, beloved,” Sylus whispers, beginning to lave over one of your areolas again, seemingly taken with the way you twitch whenever his teeth graze your nipples.

“It- it feels good,” you whine, your thighs sticky with slick.

“Then perhaps I ought to do the same here,” he murmurs thoughtfully, pulling back to pry apart your thighs.

Translucent strings of slick cling to your thighs and the folds of your pussy, Sylus’ head lowering to get a better look.

“So delicate, little sorceress,” he whispers, his claws pulling apart your puffy folds to find your glistening pussy. “A bud,” Sylus continues, the flat of his scaled finger brushing your swollen clit tentatively, “like a flower.”

A needy whimper escapes you, hips bucking up under his exploratory touch. It’s nothing like when you used to touch yourself in the privacy of your small room within the walls of Justitia. Sylus’ touch is rough, textured, heightening the feeling that makes your clit pulse with want.

“Please,” you beg breathily, fingers reaching out to grasp his horns, “please, I- I need more.”

“But I am not yet done,” Sylus replies, peering up at you to watch the expression on your face when he rubs your clit more firmly.

“Sylus!” you whine, “the ache is too much!”

The dragon between your thighs huffs out an amused breath, the hot air making you shiver.

“So demanding,” he sighs, leaning forward to kiss your clit. “Although I do enjoy seeing you so… uninhibited, beloved.”

You push his head towards your cunt, growing impatient, although being careful not to jostle his horns too much. Sylus groans when he tastes you for the first time, his rough tongue gliding through your wet folds.

A gasp leaves you when he flicks his tongue against your clit, a tremor settling through your bones as you writhe atop the grass. Sylus holds you in place, a pleased purr sounding as he nuzzles deeper into the wetness of your cunt, his tongue lapping and laving over the velvety flesh of your pussy.

“Oh,” you breathe out, eyes squeezing shut when you feel the dig of his claws into your flesh, coupled with his mouth on your pussy, “S- Sylus, oh yes.”

Sylus hums into your cunt, his tongue swirling around your clit, collecting your slick into his mouth, drinking it down as if it were the very essence of your soul.

“You taste sweet, my little love,” Sylus rasps, his claws pulling apart your folds so he can prod at your aching hole, feeling the needy clench of it around his tongue when he presses it in. “Sweeter than any wine I have ever tasted.”

“You- nghh- you exaggerate,” you mewl, tugging at his hair gently, your fingers stroking the base of his horns.

Sylus shudders, his head tipping forward into your touch. “I do not,” he growls, nipping at your thigh in a show of disagreement. “I would keep you on my mouth every night if you allowed me and drive you mad with pleasure.”

You smile hazily when you hear his words, hips rolling up to meet his mouth when he sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue stroking across the swollen bud lazily.

“Are we not already mad?”

“Perhaps we are,” Sylus responds, his hips grinding into the clothes beneath him. “But I should be glad to be mad with you.”

A soft, content sigh leaves you as you lose yourself in the sensation of his tongue. It swirls through your folds, presses into your cunt every so often whenever Sylus loses interest in your clit for a brief moment.

He never strays far however, his chest rumbling with his own contentedness as he buries his face deeper into your cunt, breathing in your scent. Sylus sucks at your clit with renewed fervor when he feels the tensing of your thighs against his claws.

“I can feel you, little love,” Sylus rasps, his voice low and rumbling. “Come undone on my tongue.” He presses an affectionate kiss to your clit before latching his mouth onto it more firmly.

“Sy- Sylus,” you whimper, legs beginning to jerk as the pleasure grows.

He growls into your pussy, his mouth working faster, tongue swirling and slurping until you have no choice but to cum. You cry out, his name leaving you in disjointed syllables, heavy pants breaking your cries.

Your thighs squeeze around his head, until his tail wraps around one of your legs, pulling you open so he can drink from you until sated. Overstimulation makes you sensitive, whimpers and whines leaving you as you pull at his horns.

“It is too much,” you mewl, “I- I cannot-”

“You can,” Sylus murmurs, spreading you open wider, exposing you completely, “you will for me.”

The dragon devours you again, his fangs sinking deep into the flesh of your thigh. Your blood and slick mixes together and Sylus feels as though he is being torn apart from within, your taste heating his own blood until he can no longer hold back.

You cum again on his tongue, back arching before you writhe violently, fingers grasping for anything and everything, uprooting the flowers nearby as you attempt to gain some semblance of stability.

Sylus gives you some reprieve, his tongue lapping over your puffy pussy gently, his lips pressing against your clit and the mark his teeth have left on your inner thigh.

He rises up to find you limp, unable to stop the shudders that jerk through your body from the immense pleasure.

“Little love?” he murmurs, a claw tapping against your cheek.

A pout makes your lips jut out when you blink up at him blearily, brows furrowing into a glare. Sylus smiles, his head dipping to brush a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“You are beautiful,” Sylus says, his hand stroking over your hair soothingly, claws running through your hair.

“I want to do the same,” you whisper, your hand reaching down between your bodies to find his cock. “I want you in my mouth.”

It’s harder than before, pre-cum smeared across the tip, warm globs dripping onto your stomach. You wrap your hand around him, squirming around in an attempt to get onto your knees.

“Another time,” Sylus murmurs, stopping you from getting closer to his cock, his tongue licking into your mouth.

“Now,” you demand, blinking up at him, still a little dazed. “Now, Sylus.”

“Another time,” Sylus repeats firmly, his lips descending upon yours again.

“There- there will be no other time!” you protest, peering up at him desperately, your lower lip trembling.

You only speak the truth, and it angers you. The cruelty of fate has begun to wrap its remorseless fingers around your heart, squeezing and squeezing until you feel your heart give, clenching painfully.

“Never say that!” Sylus snaps suddenly, his hands cupping your cheeks. He presses himself against you, forehead touching yours. “There will-” there’s a tremor in his voice, “there will be another time. Always.”

How many more lies will you both tell yourselves?

You bite back the sob building in your throat, crushing the sense of helplessness by pulling Sylus closer and pressing your lips against his feverishly.

The dragon grips you harder, his tail winding around you tightly, holding you to him as he returns your kisses.

“Take me,” you beg when he lays you down again, “Sylus, claim me, please.”

“I will,” he hushes your cries with a kiss, “I will, little love. You will be by my side till the end of time.”

Sylus grasps his cock, breathing heavily, your panting breaths mixing together. He notches his cock against your drenched cunt, pushing in slowly. You both share a moan, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. The scales dig into your skin, his claws digging into your hips deeper, pain flaring across your skin.

It’s enough to distract you from the rampant thoughts of loss however, your mind clouding with every inch of Sylus’ cock that sinks into you.

“So- so tight,” he grunts out, his hips moving slowly.

You can feel his knot, slipping in and out of you, tugging on the edges of your cunt every now and again with how swollen it’s become. His cock splits you open, your soft moans sounding into the vast flower field as you reach up, hugging him to you.

Sylus thinks you sound as sweet as the scent of the blooming flowers.

He lowers his body, his weight almost crushing you but you need this, need him as close as possible to convince yourself that this is happening.

“More,” you whimper, pressing sloppy kisses to his jaw, “ruin me, take me apart.”

“You- hah-” Sylus’ eyes squeeze shut when he feels the tight clench of your cunt around his cock, “you mustn’t say such things.”

“And yet,” you whimper, dazed eyes finding his, “and yet, oh- I desire- ngh- it desperately.”

“If that is what you wish,” he whispers, kissing your forehead gently.

You moan loudly, the wanton sounds mixing with his low groans and growls when he swirls his hips, cock pressing into you deeper. His heavy balls slap against your ass, both of you uncaring of the lewd sounds as he thrusts his hips in and out of you, cock driving in deep.

Sylus’ knot sinks into place with each deep, rolling thrust he gives you, popping out whenever he draws his hips back. You’re slurring, hardly able to see him properly, clinging to him, legs wrapping around his waist.

He grunts, shifting your legs higher, away from the sharp, spiked scales that line his tails.

They say the dragon is dangerous, the epitome of sin and yet he cares for you dearly, his lips trailing across your skin with such reverence that makes your body ache.

“You are mine,” Sylus growls, his carmine eyes glowing as he peers down at you. “Every inch of you, half of your soul, it is all mine.”

“Yours!” you hiccup, the pleasure making you feel numb, “always yours!”

Sylus moans deeply, and your hazy eyes catch the frantic sway of his tail behind him, his hips snapping harder and faster, your pussy struggling to accommodate and keep up with the ever-swelling knot at the base of his cock.

The sheer feral nature that seems to take over your dragon has you whining, a sharp scream leaving you when you feel his fangs bite into the still healing wound on your neck.

Blood flows freely from the bite and Sylus growls at the taste, losing his grip before tightening again. His claws prick at your thighs and hips, drawing more blood until it’s smeared across your skin. Your skin is just as red as the flowers in the field.

Your nails rake down his back, feeling driven wild by pain and ecstasy. Your own teeth sink into his shoulder, a soft whimper escaping you.

“Bite,” Sylus rasps, his hand on the back of your head, urging your teeth to sink in deeper, “harder, little love, harder.”

And you do bite. You mewl as you sink your teeth into the flesh of his shoulder, his blood wetting your tongue and lips and the taste is intoxicating. Your mind swirls as you feel the harsh thrust of his cock bullying inside of you over and over again, tongue lapping at the marks your teeth have left on his shoulder.

You can taste his blood and you can feel the searing pain and you- this- this is real.

This is real. This is real. This is real.

Your mind chants the affirmation as you tell it to yourself firmly, biting harder into him as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Take it, beloved,” Sylus whispers hoarsely, pressing his face back into the crook of your neck, “take my cock and my knot. Let me claim you.”

“W- wait,” you begin to gasp, eyes widening with panic when Sylus manages to bully his cock into your pussy enough, the knot catching finally.

You squeak, unable to comprehend the feeling of being plugged up so full. It’s entirely too swollen to pop free, your poor pussy fluttering around the thickness of it. Sylus isn’t faring much better, his hips jerking and halting when he feels the clench of your cunt, and how his knot has practically held you both in place.

“Yes,” he snarls, low and throaty, his hips swaying a little to grind his cock into you. “Mine, finally mine, little love.”

The press of his scaled claw against your clit has you screaming again, his name leaving you hoarsely as you cum on his knot. Your orgasm is violent, the tight coil in your lower stomach snapping sharply as you come apart, thighs twitching and body shaking.

Sylus sinks his fangs into your neck again and you cry out, softer this time, holding him to your neck and letting him lap at your blood.

He shudders, the taste of your blood coupled with the feel of your fluttering walls around his knot making his cock jerk and balls clench. Sylus cums with a throaty roar, his claws landing on either side of you as he hunches over.

Pleasure racks through his body whilst hot, thick cum floods your pussy unable to leak out and instead held in place by his throbbing knot. You whimper, mind feeling syrupy when Sylus rumbles and purrs, nuzzling into your breasts and then your cheeks, another hot load of cum spilling into you when his cock kicks at the squeeze of your cunt.

You kiss him clumsily, motions clouded by the haze of intimacy. Sylus sighs into your mouth, stroking your hair gently. You both lay there, surrounded by flowers, panting and unwinding.

His knot deflates after several minutes, softening cock pulling free. His cum spills out of you and Sylus watches with a frown, wishing his cum would stay stuffed inside of you.

Sylus rolls off of you when you tap his shoulder, his tail curling around you to bring to lay atop him. You don’t say anything, face pressing into the crook of his neck.

“Your desires are cruel,” you whisper, feeling his arms tighten around you.

“As are yours, little love,” Sylus says softly.

You sniffle, pressing a kiss to the steady beat of his pulse just under his jaw before shifting to kiss the glowing stone embedded in his chest.

Sylus shudders, his claws flexing around your skin. You kiss the stone again, beginning to cry when the stone’s glow begins to dim.

There’s a strange chill that makes your skin crawl, the familiar scent of the chapel invading your lungs.

“No,” you sob, peering up at Sylus, “not yet, please, please!”

Sylus smiles down at you, his expression forlorn. “I love you,” he says quietly, brushing a kiss to your forehead, sitting up to pull you onto his lap.

“I need more time,” you whisper, kissing him despite the growing coldness in the air. “We need more time.”

Hope had made you both fools. Sylus had claimed you in a withering graveyard.

You’re weeping when you ask him the question.

“Will you make the flowers bloom for me, Sylus?”

Your dragon kisses you fiercely.

“Always.”

Sylus’ emboldened oath is the only memory your fingers can latch onto when the dank atmosphere of the chapel awakens you.

The bell of the chapel rings loudly and you sob, scrabbling at his shoulders, trying to pull Sylus closer. You scream when the Sacred Judicator tears you from Sylus, the pull of his soul tugging violently at your chest.

A week later, the dragon’s curse rings true.

You no longer feel the warmth of his soul, for your beloved is dead.

#sylus smut #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace #love and deespace sylus #lnd sylus #lnd smut #sylus qin #sylus angst

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