#most magnificent dragon

[thestars-inheaven]

I need the entirety of The Drowning Faith tattooed on my face

[defnotjarlaxle]

Inktober Day 28: Sparkle

[princessmacedon]

He'd let the date slip past without realizing it, the previous year. She's probably finished that tin of candies by now– did she ever find out who had sent it? Either way, an identical package is left at her doorstep this time too, accompanied by a diminutive guardian to last even after the sweets have been consumed. Carved from wood by a hand still learning and more goofy than fierce in its mien, the wyvern is likely the true gift of the items delivered to the young princess of Macedon. Diligently seated atop a folded note as if to also play the role of messenger between sender and recipient.

"Happy birthday again, Princess. I never thanked you for the recipes you gave me back then, but I appreciated them very much. May fortune bless you this year as well."

This time, she opens the door, and finds the present she was waiting for. Oh, it was never a guarantee, and Maria would never dream of holding it against her mysterious gift-giver if he-- ah, they, whoever they are!-- did not make another appearance... but there is no denying the light dawning in her eyes when she spies, for the second time, a blue-bound box.

Wrapped by a yellow ribbon just the same as the year before last, Maria understands at once that the sender is just the same as well. Though the candies had long since been enjoyed, the tin now plays the part of another one of the princess's little treasure boxes; any such tin from this parcel will share the same fate, like as not.

But before that, she must take the gift inside, one hand curling protectively around the wood-carved figure with equal parts awe and admiration. Had it been made by hand? And the expression... hee hee! For someone who knows the reputation of Macedon and its fearsome wyvern riders, perhaps it falls a bit short of intimidating... but that is what she likes most of all. This way she can remember every day just what sort of expression she would like to draw to her siblings' faces!

Crawling atop her bed, she pulls box and dragon both into her lap, the note plucked instead. She brings it up, tilts her wrist, blinks once, blinks again...

"...hee hee!" And holds her presents to her tummy as she flops onto her back, giggling at the note overhead. "I got it right!" The little princess laughs, wiggling her hand around triumphantly. "I got it right, so we're friends now, okay? Heeheehee!"

(Not that Kris is there to object, but she hopes he wouldn't, anyway.)

[minetteskvareninova]

I don’t know if I have mommy issues, like my relationship with my mother is complicated (not all of it trough her fault), but it sure as hell seems like that from my preferences for characters that make me shout MOTHER.

[crzygthumbs]

Dragon Fruit: Texas Style!

OMG! I am so glad I stuck with the annoying, ridiculously hard to train (to move indoors for winter), tropical vining cactus: the dragon fruit! I have only seen one other flower that rivals a dragon fruit flower. It was also a type of night blooming cereus. My mother had it as a house plant when I was growing up . I only saw it bloom once. The fragrance was heady. I didn’t realize the cereus…

[fthrdvs]

Dragon Fruit: Texas Style!

OMG! I am so glad I stuck with the annoying, ridiculously hard to train (to move indoors for winter), tropical vining cactus: the dragon fruit! I have only seen one other flower that rivals a dragon fruit flower. It was also a type of night blooming cereus. My mother had it as a house plant when I was growing up . I only saw it bloom once. The fragrance was heady. I didn’t realize the cereus…

[a-queer-little-wombat]

Absolutely brilliant character role-playing.

This is the best of what D&D can be.

Let me tell you about one of my high school friends’ old Dungeons and Dragons PCs.

Olaf Olafson was your pretty straightforward Northman Barbarian type. Huge, strong, pale, red-haired and with a tremendous beard. What made Olaf special was the little things.

Despite living in a world with clerical magic, demons, and other powerful alignment-based Outsiders, Olaf was an atheist. This was because his people believed the last world had already ended and the gods went with it (basically post-Ragnarok). All that was left were ‘spirits’. Powerful spirits. Who could grant deific magic. But they weren’t gods, and you didn’t have to worship them- in fact you shouldn’t, because it would just inflate their already swollen egos.

Despite being an enormous, frightening, powerful man with dubious hygeine and a propensity for going literally berserk in combat, Olaf was a gentle fellow in towns and villages, had a deep fondness for small fluffy animals and children, and was a generous tipper.

Olaf liked to drink. Not mead, but wine. He liked to sip it. It made him feel ‘civilized’. He never drank it quickly enough to get drunk. His meals almost invariably consisted of “Wine. Meat. Cheese.” Which was what he would order in literally every tavern. They’d ask him to clarify, what sort of wine? What sort of meat? What sort of- Olaf would raise a hand and repeat, slowly, as if to a fool: “Wine. Meat. Cheese.” 

Olaf spoke broken common, more or less Hulk-speak, referred to himself in the third person almost exclusively, all that fun stuff. Then we had a story arc where I sent them up to Olaf’s homeland, where everyone spoke ‘Northman’ or whatever the hell I called it. While up there, he was incredibly fluent. Even poetic. “My brothers! I have returned from the decadent lands of the south, bearing riches and glory, and tales of great deeds!” The other players caught on and talked like a pack of movie Frankensteins, barely able to communicate in the foreign tongue.

For a long time, Olaf was the most financially stable member of the party. Because he bought a tavern in their home-base-town, hired the senior barmaid/waitress lady to be the manager, and funneled the profits back into the business. He kept his adventuring money and his tavern money separate, except when he would sometimes spend adventuring money to expand the tavern. 

 There’s not a lot to do in 3rd edition with skill ranks when you’re a barbarian, so eventually Olaf sank a point into Healing on a lark. A few sessions later, they captured an important enemy NPC, but he’d lost an arm in the fighting and was about to die. Their cleric had been captured and their NPC paladin wasn’t around, either. There was no magical healing available, and no one else had any ranks in healing. The dude was about to die, and take with him the knowledge of where their friends had been taken. Olaf- with a  single rank in Healing I remind you -offered to save his life in exchange for the location, and the guy agreed. Olaf then stuck a sword in the fire, said “Olaf see this once,” and cauterized the wound.

It worked, of course. I didn’t even make him roll. I was too busy trying not to piss myself laughing. “Olaf see this once.” Jesus Christ.

[sky-high-standards]

Yandere Knight x Dragon Reader

sry I haven't posted in a while my single pringles enjoy~

Yandere Knight~ Who was summoned to rescue a princess from the clutches of the most feared dragon in the empire.

Yandere Knight~ Who indifferently agrees and begins his quest.

Yandere Knight~ Who charges to your land on his trusty steed and is then face to face with you your scales shimmering and your eyes burning with fury you were much more magnificent than he imagined...

Yandere Knight~ Who fought well bravely and was about to take the final blow ready to launch his lance into your throat when suddenly you transformed into your weakened part human form stopping him in his tracks.

Yandere Knight~ Who's eyes widened at the sight of you, you were gorgeous much more beautiful than any princess could ever be he took a moment to take in your form as you struggled to stay standing your wings spread and your fiery eyes glaring into his waiting for him to take the blow.

 Yandere Knight~ Who cautiously approached you and watched you sit there accepting your fate and smiles slightly as your eyes open confused as he caressed your cheek and horns muttering to himself.

"Ethereal..."

Yandere Knight~ Who is startled when you growl and fly away, and his eyes linger on your now distant form and internally groans when the princess runs out and throws herself at him as he fights back the burning urge to throw her off.

Yandere Knight~ Who confronts every dragon ologist to learn as much as he can about your kind, He has to know every detail about his new beloved after all.

Yandere Knight~ Who finds out your love for precious objects and always comes to your land leaving treasure and jewels behind picturing how lovely you'll look in them.

Yandere Knight~ Who outright refuses the kings proposal for him to marry the princess as a reward for saving her his mind only occupied with how stunning you looked amongst your flames.

Yandere Knight~ Who makes sure no other knight is sent anywhere near you he can't have anyone else seeing your beauty or attempting to slay you.

Yandere Knight~ Who's attempts end up being futile and is sent with troops to slay you once and for all.

Yandere Knight~ Who is furious to see the last remaining knight standing over your weakened for with his sword raised ready to finish you off.

Yandere Knight~ who charges and kills the knight slicing his head clean off with a sick smile as he watches it fall at your feet seeing your frozen expression as he caresses your face with his bloodied hands.

“No one will ever hurt you my treasure I’ll be the only one who knows your true beauty, and I’ll never let anyone else see it~”

y'all can read my new yandere dragon x knight reader

[froggiewrites]

Into the Dragon's Den

Pairing: Dragon!Ace x Reader

NSFW

Summary: This job is going to change your life. With the treasure from the dragon’s hoard, you’ll never have to work again, you’re sure of it. But when he catches you in the act, you find you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. Everything in this room is his, and he insists that includes you. But really, would it be so bad to play your part? Warnings: AFAB!Reader (no pronouns or gendered language used), Smut, Size Kink, Objectification (Reader treated as a treasure), Oral Sex (Reader receiving), Praise Kink, Biting/Marking, Tail Sex, Overstimulation, Possessiveness, Vaginal Sex Word Count: 3k Halloween Special 2024

It’s impossibly warm within the dragon’s lair. Your clothes are soaked through with sweat, sticking to you with every step, but still you press on. Your current discomfort is nothing compared to the bliss that’s going to follow, once you get this gold.

You had no idea how large his hoard was, when you first came here. You knew that even a small hoard would pay for you to live comfortably for the rest of your life, but the amount of gold, jewels, and priceless artifacts in this cave could feed an entire kingdom for a century, at least. You can’t pocket it all, of course, but if you choose wisely you’ll be able to live like royalty once you find the right buyer for it all. You’ll never have to work a day again in your life, safe and protected and cozy in a little piece of land just for yourself. You can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face from the thought.

The dragon is nowhere to be seen, hopefully out hunting or something else that will take it a while. You’re no dragon slayer, and you don’t care to be. You don’t want to kill such a magnificent creature, simply relieve it of some loose change and trinkets. Nothing it will miss. You didn’t even bring anything to defend yourself other than a tiny dagger, one that couldn’t pierce a dragon’s hide even wielded by the greatest warrior. You’re a would-be thief, nothing else.

Your eyes drag over the room you stand in, clearly burrowed out by massive claws and set with a fire that would leave nothing but ash were it set upon you. The floor is a beautiful volcanic glass, which you would love to chip away and take with you, but while your dagger would certainly be able to take off a piece or two, it would also shatter immediately on impact. You instead settle for a large pile of gold jewelry. You can see dozens of precious gems peeking out, sapphires and rubies and diamonds catching the dim light so beautifully you’re drawn closer like a moth to a flame. You spot a particularly beautiful necklace, with an orange gemstone that looks like fire itself inlaid in the center, and you can’t help but reach out for it. It’s only once your fingers have wrapped around it that you hear the rumbling voice behind you.

“Are you sure you should be touching that?” The voice is deep, rumbling, but there’s a hint of joviality to it, laughing like there’s a joke here, and you’re the punchline. You whip around to see it, or him, towering above you. You expected some horrible beast, a lizard spanning the length of the room, but standing before you is almost a man. He’s frighteningly tall, at least double your height, and his biceps and pectorals are larger than your head. His hands, which are reaching toward you, are tipped in black claws that could easily rip you to shreds. He’s hardly clothed, just a simple pair of shorts that leave nothing to the imagination, and most of his exposed skin is covered in beautiful, glistening red scales. His cheeks are dotted with both freckles and smaller scales, and his eyes are piercing, his pupils slits that you can see grow wider as he looks at you. His grin is filled with razor sharp teeth that you can imagine ripping into your throat. On either side of his head are curling horns reaching for the sky. You’d call him beautiful, were you not so terrified. There is a large tail behind him, whipping back and forth with an audible swish. You feel like a mouse caught beneath the claws of a cat, waiting to be toyed with before being ripped to shreds.

One hand wraps around your waist, while the other plucks the necklace easily from your grasp. He holds it up to the light as he pulls you closer, allowing the gem to sparkle and shine. He hums, which is more of a rumble, before holding it up to your neck. His eyes seem to strip you bare as they rake over you. His grin grows wider. “It suits you. Would you like to wear it, little one?”

You stare, mouth agape, and he laughs again, showing off every one of his teeth. You force yourself to answer. “I–I couldn’t possibly.”

His eyes narrow slightly, and you feel as though you’ve failed some kind of test. “You could. I wouldn’t have offered if you couldn’t. It’s a lovely piece.” With the way he’s staring, you can’t help but feel he isn’t talking about the necklace.

You don’t know what role you’re playing here, but you know he’s massive and gorgeous and terrifying, so you try to fulfill it anyway. “Then I suppose I would.”

He grins, pulling you close until you’re pressed against him and releasing you, delicately clasping the necklace around your neck. It’s thick and heavy, feeling almost like a collar. His claw traces gently along where it falls on your neck, leaning down to admire the shine of gold against your skin. “Lovely,” he murmurs, and you can feel his hot breath against your face, smelling of smoke and burning oak. He leans closer, his tongue, which is far longer than a regular man’s, tracing along the path his fingers took. You shiver, and you can feel him grin against your skin before nipping right at your sweet spot. 

You yelp. “Wh–what are you doing?”

His voice is low when he whispers in your ear. “I’m enjoying what’s mine.”

“What?”

“Everything in this room is one of my treasures.” His nips at you again, before his lips brush gently against the spot to soothe the marks he surely left. “And such a lovely one just snuck in to make their place here. How lucky am I?” Another nip, another kiss, then a gentle suckle against your skin. You whine at the sensation, heat flooding you, and he laughs again.

“I’m–I’m not–ah!” His hand inserts itself between your thighs, making you instinctively clench them around it as he presses into you through your pants. He slowly drags up, watching as you whimper and whine under his heated attention.

“Not what? Mine? Or a treasure?” He chuckles, and you feel the sound echo through his chest as it presses against yours. “You’re both, sweet thing. Unless you care to explain why else you’d be here?” His tone is still hot and seductive, but the words carry a challenge. His teeth are still against your throat, and for the first and only time his bite is enough to draw blood. He quickly licks it away, soothing it with his long, forked tongue, but the message is clear.

You whimper, the sound coming from deep within you, though whether it comes from fear or arousal you don’t quite know. You open your mouth to confess, to submit yourself to him, to say anything at all, but you’re met with that same tongue entering your throat. The kiss is horribly sloppy, wet and wild and wanting, as his hands slowly start to move. One keeps pressing against your clit through your pants, tortuously slow, while the other reaches for your chest. You expect to feel him paw at you, but instead you feel a slight sharpness from his claw down the front of your shirt, cutting it and your bra in two. They don’t fall off immediately, stuck to you with sweat, and he makes a discontented grunt before peeling them off of you. You involuntarily squeak at the sensation, and start to pull back, but something scaled and rough wraps around your waist keeping you still. 

His tail holds you firmly, tight enough to keep you from squirming but not tightly enough to bruise. The sensation of his scales scraping against the bottom of your breasts is interesting, and you can’t tell if it’s discomfort or pleasure that makes you shiver. He seems to enjoy it either way. The tip of it starts to make its way down, slipping below the waistband of your pants and pressing lightly against your clit. You gasp against him, and he grins against your lips.

You finally get a moment to breathe as he pulls back to admire your upper half, the way your skin looks pressed against his snails, your exposed chest and the way it heaves as you try to catch your breath. His pupils start to overtake his irises the more he looks at you. “A wonderful addition to my collection,” he murmurs hotly, leaning in to nip at your tits. “The crowning jewel, really. I’ll have to find the perfect place for you. Somewhere you’ll catch the light just right.”

He leaves marks all over your torso, hickies and bites that you’re sure will stay for days. He turns his claws to your pants, finally removing his hand from between your thighs to drag a claw on the outsides of either pant leg and quickly ripping them off. His tail still lightly rubs against you as he peels off your panties and finally exposes you fully to the heated air around you. He finally leaves your chest alone, kissing down your stomach to meet his tail blocking his path further down. His tip leaves your clit, and you let out a pathetic noise that he absolutely delights in.

“Don’t worry, treasure. I’d never leave you wanting.” He looks up at you, scales catching the light, and gives you a smile you could almost be convinced was filled with genuine affection. But the hunger, the wanting, the possession still reflects in his eyes, betraying him for the animal he is. His tail leaves your midriff, and his hands find your thighs, spreading them easily. “You’re dripping, sweet thing. You really are perfect. Could you really blame me for wanting to keep you all to myself?”

You struggle to speak in your lust-infused haze, but you manage. “I–I’m not perfect.”

“Oh, but you are, treasure, even if you don’t know it. You’re going to love being mine, I promise. I take very good care of my things.”

You find yourself coming unraveled underneath his gaze, bare and vulnerable. The truth comes out of you almost like a compulsion. “I was trying to steal from you.”

He chuckles. “I know. You seem a bit greedy.” He easily lifts you, placing your thighs on his shoulders, his nose pressing into your core. “It’s alright. So am I.”

With that, he dives in, eating you out like a man starved. His tongue is much longer than a human’s, finding places within you that you didn’t even know were there to be found. He makes loud slurping sounds, ones that make you blush despite yourself. You’re suspended in the air, coming unraveled on his tongue, unable to muffle your cries as he buries himself into you. You clench your eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sensation. Your hands tangle in his hair tightly, pulling at every movement of his tongue, and he growls against you with every tug. 

He murmurs against you, “So sweet, darling thing.” HIs nose brushes against your clit, and you begin to fall, only to be caught by his tail, held midair, only supported by him. Every sensation you can feel is him, from his tongue to his tail to the warmth of the air in his lair, he is the only world you are allowed to know. His claws dig into the plush of your thighs as he continues his feast, showing his strength, his lethality, but never threatening to truly puncture. You wonder how many people have been ripped to shred by the hands holding you, how many have been consumed by the mouth that presses against you.

He continues to lap away at you as you cry out, muscles tensing as you build towards your climax. He’s unrelenting as he greedily tastes you, lost in your flavor, the feeling of your thighs clenching around his head, the softness of your skin underneath his tail. You manage to open your eyes just long enough to glance down at him and see there is not a single millimeter between him and you. As he feels you grow closer and closer, one of his hands reaches for your clit, gently rubbing against it, and you finally come unraveled around him. He doesn’t slow for a moment as you cry out and clench around him. Your orgasm ravages you just as he does, pleasure bursting through you. You expect him to pull away, to begin to prepare to enter you, but he doesn’t slow for a moment, letting out soft moans against your mound as he continues.

“W–What are you–”

He growls against you as you try to pull him back. “Mine.”

“Please, it–it’s too much!” You cry as he hits a particularly sensitive spot again.

When he hears your noises shift from pleasure to discomfort, he seems to find himself for a moment, finally pulling you off of him slightly. His chin is dripping with your juices, his cheeks shining from the wetness covering them. His eyes are completely blown out, and he looks almost lost as he pulls back. He only focuses again once he looks up at your face, and he seems to remember where he is. You maintain eye contact for a moment, as one of his hands comes up to lightly brush against the necklace you’re wearing. “A treasure, a feast, a beauty. You really are perfect.” His voice is filled with a quiet awe, enough that you allow yourself to ignore the heat of possession burning beneath the words. “And you’re all mine.”

Some part of you wants to deny it, but more of you is lost in the haze of it all, and you find yourself muttering, “Yes, yes, yours!”

“Yes, treasure, yes.” He kisses your thigh before he begins lowering you, holding you with his arms instead. Something scaly and hard begins to slither up your thigh, and you whine as you feel his tail dip against your entrance. “Just a bit more, sweet thing. To make sure you’re ready.”

“Please,” you mutter, for mercy, for more, for whatever he’ll give you.

“Of course.” His tail slowly enters you, stretching you easily after all of his attention earlier. He pushes and pushes, making you feel wonderfully full. His tail grows wider as it continues, threatening to tear you in two, but you manage to accommodate him anyway. “So good for me, treasure. Doing such a wonderful job. You were made for this. For me.”

You feel the alien sensation of his scales against your walls as he slowly pulls it out and pushes it back in, testing how far you can stretch, how much of his you can take. He murmurs soft praises with every inch you’re able to fit, about how perfect you are, about what a wonderful addition to his collection you’ll be, about what a prize you are. “You’ll stay with me forever, treasure. I have the perfect space for you in my bed, and the firelight will illuminate your beauty just right. You’ll wear all of the jewels you could ever desire. And you’ll feel pleasure like this every night.”

You cry when he pulls out of you, but you’re quickly silenced by the sensation of something far larger poking against your entrance. “Don’t tense up now, treasure. You’re doing so well. It’ll be alright.”

A strangled moan leaves you when he inserts himself, stretching you wider than any point of his tail did. Tears prick at your eyes, and your thighs tense, but you force yourself to take a breath and relax.

“Just like that. You can do it.” He slides and slides for what feels like forever, and you look down to see where he meets you. His cock is monstrous, and you clench around him when you see the bulge in your belly from your body trying to accommodate it. He moans. “Ah, just like that. Perfect. So perfect.”

He pulls you impossibly closer, kissing you with something resembling tenderness. Then, all at once, he pulls out and slams into you quickly, a single hand on your hips moving you up and down at a breakneck pace. You cry out, and he quickly silences you with another deep kiss, bouncing you on his cock like you were made for nothing more than this. His hips pound against you as his other hand reaches for your clit. His claw briefly presses against your skin, but mercifully you find his fingertip rubbing against you instead. You can hear nothing over the blood rushing in your ears and his heavy breaths as he continues to rut against you. His lips leave yours and you whine. He’s saying something, but you can’t make out the words. His tone is enough, wanting and desperate, for you to know he’s singing your praises again.

The heat of it all is quickly becoming too much, and you can see he’s losing himself as well, as his thrusts become even faster and his hand tightens around your hips. The fire moves through you without mercy, pleasure blinding you and taking your breath away as you come cum on his cock. He follows soon after, and you can feel warm spurts of cum fill you as he moans loudly against your ear. When he does, he falls backwards into the pile of treasure behind him, taking you with him. He doesn’t pull out for a moment as he pulls you close, tucking you into him and pressing your head into his chest. His heart is pounding, his skin is on fire, and his breaths are unsteady. He’s come fully and truly undone. 

You don’t know if it’s minutes or hours that you lay there before he pulls out. You feel horribly empty when he does, cum dripping out of you onto his thighs. He laughs when you whine.

“I hope you’re prepared, treasure. We have a wonderful time ahead of us.” His grin is all teeth, his pupils retracting back into slits, and you’re forced to remember once again there is nothing human about the thing sitting beneath you. “You’re going to love being mine.”

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

[ghostssimp]

Pretty Boy //Aegon Targaryen

Aegon has always been a mind absent. His mind was mostly clouded with thoughts and he always seemed sorrow. That's what you mostly saw of him.

In the early morning, you would get up. Sometimes he wasn't even there and you found him somewhere else sleeping away. When he was there, he smelled like wine and whores. You knew from the beginning what it meant when Viserys decided to marry you to him. Aegon didn't want to do anything with you. You were his sister's daughter. His niece. And he was supposed to be the Usurper King. He took his sister's throne.

The most important part is that he didn’t trust you. You could see that in his eyes.

But he didn't care. He was hoping that you would slit his throat in his sleep. He hopped you would pierce his chest and take that damn beating thing out of there. Every night, he would get drunk and go to his whores to make you hate him. That drunk, he would lay and close his eyes in hope you would end it.

But every morning when he opened his eyes, disappointment would reach his chest. You never were in bed, your side would be long cold.

The night when he pinned you to his bed and pounded into you, he hoped you would do it. He didn't even look you in the eye. He didn't share not one kiss with you. It was all to make you hate him.

You felt pain in your body from the force he took you. He took your purity, not being once gentle about it. Not having any sympathy for you. But he is your husband. You are his wife. You are supposed to spread your legs to him.

When he was done, he just rolled off. Went to sleep. He couldn't lie to himself, it felt amazing to feel you. He hoped in the morning, they would find his King dead.

Dissapointment.

You were once again, nowhere to be seen.

That morning, you went to your dragon. A beautiful beast pitch black with gray straps on wings. Up in the clouds, it finally felt like you were free from everything. Free from the claws of The Greens.

Your heart leaped towards your mother. You wanted to go back to Rhaenyra, to your brothers. To your father. It all seems like you just could have a change of mind and fly away, but you remember the promise you gave to your mother.

Tears run down your face as she cupped it in her hands. "Mother I don't want to be away from you. Don't leave me here with them." Your voice was pleading her. As she soothed you.

"My heart hurts just from the thought I have to leave you here. But listen to me Visenya. You are the only one that can stop this. Try to reach him. Promise me."

You're here to prevent a war. And it's not doing great. Aegon is absent from you. Ignoring you with his every step.

As you lower down to the ground, you could always see on the faces of the dragon keepers that they were surprised that you didn't escape. That you didn't flee from this hell.

You slide down from your dragon and lean your head against hers. "Kirimvose ñuha gevives." Thank you my beauty.

Your dragon purred a growl to you leaning her head and nudging you. You loved her and it was you and her always. You notice your husband standing just a few feet away. His dragon, Sunfyre nuzzled his tip of the nose against Aegon.

That's when you see a smile. Beautiful smile was plastered on Aegon's face. Something in you stirred. You pat your dragons neck as you walk over to your husband, faded smile making it's way on your lips.

"He's magnificent." Aegon suddenly heard your soft voice behind him. When was the last time you said something to him? When was the last time he said something to you? He couldn't remember and it made him shocked that you even spoke to him. His eyes never left Sunfyre as he embraced the beast.

"He truly is." You heard him. When was the last time you heard his voice? When was the last time he heard yours? You didn't remember.

Your eyes didn't leave his face. To see a good emotion on him was truly rare. "You're pretty when you smile."

He froze. Did he hear you right? He was trying so damn long to make you hate him, for you to kill him and here he blew everything up, by a fucking smile?

"I wish you safe ride, husband." You lastly said as you leaved him. You knew that he wasn't bad to the core. You knew he was man starved of love. His mother never gave it to him. You knew that all she knew was to yell, scream out his mistakes and even strike a slap across his beautiful face. There was a twinge of sadness in your hear for him.

You didn't see or hear from him for the rest of the day. You didn't even think that he would come before you fell asleep. You stood by the window, undoing the last braid in your hair looking outside at silent world when you heard the doors opening.

Your head turned just a little surprise stroke you as you saw your husband entering your shared room, without any odor of wine or whores. He seemed... Normal.

Aegon found his seat on your shared bed, turned to face you. He watches your figure through your night gown. Moonlight making your face gleam with beauty your mother gave you, your hair seemed to shine. You looked too beautiful and too pure for him. He was broken. Dirty and broken from the inside. A black hole seemed to fill him everyday. It made him sick in the stomach now, to think he was ruining you.

"Why?" You heard him whisper. Your eyes found his, confusion placed on your face. "What?"

"Why?" His voice was soft, silent, kind of a broken. "Why don't you end me? Why don't you hate me? I ruined you. I took your mothers throne. I come to your bed drunk, I cheated on you and I-" He cut himself as he lowered his head down, frown on his face. "I've never been gentle with you. Why haven't you ended me by now?"

Your heart broke hearing him. You stood in front of him soon and your hands cupped his cheeks, lifting his head up. You saw pain and void in his violet eyes. "You're my husband Aegon. Everything you do, doesn't matter. You can't hurt me. I know you don't want to."

"You should've killed me."

"Can't do it. I'm your wife." He couldn't do anything to make you hate him. It drew him mad. How couldn't he fall under your pretty foot?

"Then you know your duties." He tried again, last time, he promised himself. He wanted to try to make him hate you one last time, but when a smile reached your soft features, he stopped himself.

"I do." You sat down on his lap, your legs on each of his sides, your night gown pulled up. When your lips cupped his finally, he felt like he was in heaven, something alike a soft whimper left his lips as your hands reached down and undo his pants pulling him out and stroking him slowly.

He finally starts to kiss back, his hands finding your waist holding you close. You lift yourself up and pull him by your entrance.

"Let me take care of you, my King."

[defnotjarlaxle]

Inktober Day 14: Castle

[rhaenin-time]

If they wanted Alicent to have "nuance," they should have modelled her after Hurrem.

If they truly wanted to do a compelling, "don't hate the player, hate the game" story. If they wanted her to be a woman doing what she has to do to survive. The problem is that Hurrem is trapped in a system where she HAS to fight for her security, for her life, and then the lives of her sons. She doesn't need to delude herself about Mustafa, the LAW makes it so she HAS to be his enemy. There was no named heir, there was no cooperation between brothers after one ascended, there was only survival. Literally you win or you die. The only way to avoid disaster was to carve a bloody way to put your son on the throne.

All Alicent had to do to avoid disaster was... literally nothing.

Well, after finally starting Magnificent Century and being almost halfway through the series, I still can't believe that people could compare this woman to the character of Alicent Hightower from the HOTD series. What a fucking joke...

How can you compare that ?

To that ?!

You must be crazy...

[novaursa]

Valyrian Bride (Continuation)

Requests are closed!

- Summary: When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to Cregan to be his bride, the Lord Stark did not expect what he got - a trueborn dragon. 

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: Final Chapter

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

Cregan Stark walked with the dragon princess by his side, feeling the eyes of his men and household upon them. There was a sense of pride that welled up inside him as they entered Winterfell’s stone halls. Not pride in himself, but in the fact that this fierce, regal woman—this vision of Old Valyria—was now his betrothed. It was no small thing to command the presence of such a creature, both her and the dragon she rode. The weight of that responsibility settled on his shoulders, but rather than burden him, it gave him a sense of purpose.

As they crossed the threshold into the Great Hall, the murmurs of those gathered inside came to a halt. Servants, bannermen, and even the most hardened of his household retainers stared openly. They weren’t accustomed to such grandeur, and even in a land where strength was admired, there was something otherworldly about the princess. Her silver-gold hair, the grace of her movements, and the quiet power that seemed to radiate from her drew their eyes like moths to flame.

The warmth of the hearthfire flickered against the cold stone walls, but in the presence of the dragon princess, it felt as though the heat came from her. She walked beside Cregan with an ease that belied her strength, her violet eyes scanning the hall as if she were already its lady, its queen.

Cregan couldn’t help but glance at her from the corner of his eye, watching as she moved like liquid fire, confident and unyielding. He could see the tension in the shoulders of his bannermen, the uncertainty in the eyes of the women who served the household. They were all taken aback, and Cregan couldn’t blame them. He had lived his whole life without seeing anyone like her, and he knew, without doubt, that no one here had ever stood before the true blood of Old Valyria until now.

She was a flame in the middle of a winter storm, a vivid contrast to the world of stone and snow that surrounded her.

“I trust the halls of Winterfell meet your expectations, my lady?” Cregan asked, his voice low but carrying in the stillness of the hall. He wanted to draw her into conversation, not only to ease his own nerves but to learn more of this woman who would soon be his wife.

She turned her gaze to him, a small smile curling on her lips, though it was hard to read the full depth of her thoughts. “It is as grand as the tales say, Lord Stark. A stronghold of honor and tradition.”

Her voice was steady, yet it held an edge to it, as if there was always something more behind her words. It was as though she was measuring everything, assessing him, the people around her, and the place she would soon call home.

“I trust it will serve as more than just a stronghold for you, my lady,” Cregan replied, his eyes meeting hers directly, a subtle challenge of his own. “Winterfell is now your home, and you are its future lady.”

The princess didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, Winterfell will be my home, but I have a home in the sky as well. I belong to both land and air, Lord Stark. Do not forget that.” There was a softness to her words, but it was clear. She may belong to the North by marriage, but her heart would always be tied to the skies, to her dragon.

Cregan inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I doubt anyone will forget, least of all after the sight of Vaetrix in our skies," he said, and then added, more softly, "She is a magnificent creature."

The princess's expression shifted slightly, pride mingled with affection as she spoke of her dragon. “Vaetrix is the daughter of Meleys, the Red Queen herself. Her lineage is one of fire and might. She carries the blood of dragons who have seen empires rise and fall, just as I do.”

Cregan’s brows raised slightly at the mention of Meleys. He had heard of the Red Queen, the swift and powerful dragon that had once belonged to Princess Rhaenys. Her reputation was legendary. To think that Vaetrix was her offspring made the connection between the princess and her dragon even more profound. "The Red Queen," Cregan murmured, nodding thoughtfully. "Your bond with her must be strong, then. I imagine not just any rider could command such a lineage."

Her eyes gleamed in response, as if the conversation about Vaetrix sparked something deeper within her. "A dragon and their rider are bound by more than blood, Lord Stark. We share a soul, a heart. Vaetrix and I have flown together since I was a girl. She is my closest companion, my fiercest ally."

There was a tenderness in her tone now, something almost protective. It made Cregan understand, even more clearly, the depth of the bond between her and the dragon. In a way, it reminded him of the wolves of his house—loyal, fierce, and bound by an unspoken connection. But this bond was greater, stronger, and far more dangerous. He respected it, even admired it.

“Then she will be an ally to the North as well,” Cregan said, his voice filled with conviction. "As you will be."

The princess turned her eyes back to him, her gaze sharp and knowing. "The North has been promised my fire, my lord. And I keep my promises."

Her words were more than just a vow—they were a reminder of the power she wielded, the power she had been born with. Cregan nodded in response, feeling a strange comfort in that certainty. He knew, without question, that she was someone who would fight with all her strength, for her family, her dragon, and soon, for the North.

They continued walking, Cregan leading her deeper into Winterfell’s great halls, where more of his household waited in silent anticipation. Every eye was upon them as they passed, but the princess seemed unbothered by the attention, as if she had long since grown used to the weight of expectation. Cregan noticed the way people parted in her presence, not out of fear, but out of reverence. She was the embodiment of fire, and all knew they were in the presence of something greater than themselves.

As they reached the heart of Winterfell, Cregan paused, turning to face her fully. “There will be a feast tonight in your honor. A celebration of our alliance.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “It will be modest compared to what you may be accustomed to, but we take pride in what the North can offer.”

The princess’s gaze softened slightly, a hint of warmth in her eyes. “The North has already offered me more than I expected. I look forward to seeing its hospitality, Lord Stark.”

There was no mockery in her voice, no hint of the condescension he might have expected from someone raised in the splendor of court life. Instead, there was a genuine respect, a willingness to embrace the new life she was entering. Cregan nodded, feeling that strange mix of pride and anticipation once more.

As the evening drew near, Cregan knew the feast would be only the beginning. He had secured an alliance, but in the dragon princess, he had gained something far more—a partner of equal strength, whose fire would one day burn alongside his own.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was alive with the low hum of voices as the feast unfolded, the hearths were burning high to accommodate a dragon princess in it. Platters of roasted meats and winter greens filled the long tables, while horns of ale and wine passed freely from hand to hand. The air was thick with the scent of food and the crackle of the great fires, but despite the bustle of the hall, all eyes kept drifting toward the high table, where Lord Cregan Stark and his betrothed sat in full view of his bannermen, retainers, and household.

Cregan himself sat straighter than usual, though his posture seemed almost relaxed, as if he were entirely at ease in this moment. His eyes often flicked to the princess seated beside him, watching her as she navigated the curious gazes of the Northmen with the same grace she had displayed all day. There was something undeniably striking about her here, amidst the rustic grandeur of Winterfell’s Great Hall—her silver-gold hair gleaming in the firelight, her violet eyes calm yet ever watchful.

When the time came for toasts, the hall fell into a deep silence as Cregan stood, his horn of ale in hand. The attention of every man, woman, and servant shifted to him, their lord. His voice, strong and sure, carried through the hall.

“Tonight,” he began, “we honor more than just a union between two houses. We honor the blood of dragons and the fire that has joined with the winter.” He paused, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on the princess beside him. “The daughter of Princess Rhaenyra, the only daughter of House Targaryen, has come to the North. She is now our guest, and soon, she will be my wife.”

A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd, but it was tempered by the awe that still hung in the air. Many had never seen a woman like her, let alone one of royal Valyrian descent. To them, she was more legend than flesh and blood.

Cregan raised his horn higher, his eyes never leaving hers. “To the Lady of Fire,” he said, his voice full of pride. “To the daughter of Rhaenyra!”

The hall erupted in cheers, the echo of voices bouncing off the ancient stone walls. Horns were raised, clashing together in raucous celebration as the Northmen embraced their lord’s words. And yet, even amidst the noise, Cregan saw the way his men stole glances at the princess, admiration clear in their eyes.

The princess raised her own horn in response, a subtle smile playing on her lips as she inclined her head toward Cregan. "To the North," she said, her voice soft but carrying through the hall with a clarity that commanded attention. "And to the strength of its people."

The words were simple, but they carried weight. The hall seemed to settle after that, the conversations resuming with renewed vigor as the feast carried on. Yet Cregan’s focus remained fixed on her.

As the noise of the hall filled the space around them, Cregan leaned slightly toward her, his voice low so that their conversation would remain private. “You’ve impressed them already,” he remarked, his eyes glinting with a rare hint of amusement. “It takes much to win the respect of Northmen, but I see it in their eyes.”

The princess turned to him, her violet gaze meeting his with a certain calm, but there was a flicker of curiosity there too. “I hadn’t expected to win their respect so soon,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “But I do not think it is me they respect so much as the idea of the alliance—of what we represent.”

Cregan considered her words, his brow furrowing slightly as he mulled them over. “Perhaps,” he allowed, “but it’s more than just an alliance. They see you, a dragon’s daughter, and they understand the power that you carry. You’re no simple marriage prize.”

Her lips curved upward, just a fraction. “Is that how you see me, Cregan Stark? A symbol of power?”

He chuckled softly, the sound low in his throat. “I see you as many things, princess. Power is just one of them.”

Her smile grew more visible now, and there was something lighter in her expression, as if she were pleased by his words, even if she did not show it openly. “And what else do you see, my lord?”

Cregan leaned in just a fraction more, his voice dropping. “I see a woman with a mind as sharp as the blade she wears. I see a rider whose bond with her dragon makes her stronger than any queen. And,” his eyes softened, the faintest glimmer of admiration in them, “I see someone who will stand beside me, not behind me.”

She studied him for a moment, as if weighing the truth of his words, and then nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Good,” she said, her tone firm but carrying an edge of warmth. “Because I have no intention of standing behind anyone.”

Cregan allowed himself a smile then, something rare and unguarded. It felt easy, natural in her presence, something he hadn’t anticipated. She wasn’t just a symbol of fire and dragons—she was alive, filled with strength and grace in equal measure, and with each passing moment, Cregan found himself looking forward to what the future might bring with her at his side.

For the rest of the evening, Cregan’s mood remained light, his smiles more frequent than anyone could remember seeing before. The hall, filled with food, laughter, and music, felt brighter somehow, as if the fire she had brought with her from the skies had seeped into Winterfell itself. There was a warmth there that was new, a change carried on dragon’s wings.

Years later, when scholars and storytellers recalled that night, they would write about how Lord Cregan Stark, known for his stoic nature, had smiled more during that feast than any had seen before, save for two other occasions—on his wedding day, and when the first child of the Dragon Princess was born in the cold halls of Winterfell. But for now, the legend was only beginning.

As the feast wore on, Cregan turned to her again, unable to resist asking, “Do you think Vaetrix feels at ease here in the cold North? It’s far from the warmth of Dragonstone.”

She tilted her head, her silver-gold hair catching the firelight once more. “Vaetrix is not concerned with warmth or cold,” she replied. “She is her mother’s daughter, bred for strength and flight, and the North’s cold will not trouble her. Besides,” her smile grew, more playful this time, “she knows I will not be far from her.”

Cregan nodded. “She is a creature of legend, like her rider,” he said softly.

The princess turned her eyes to him, the faintest flush of warmth in her cheeks. For a moment, the fire of her Valyrian blood met the unyielding strength of the North in Cregan’s gaze, and in that shared moment, both knew their bond would be one of legend.

The fire had come to Winterfell, and it would burn for generations to come.

[bitter-me]

Hello, if requests are open, can I ask [any twst characters you want] with a Bill or Dipper!Male!Reader ?

Have a great day ! And a good night !

The All Seeing Eye

Malleus Draconia | M. Reader as Bill Cipher

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"Remember! Reality's an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy gold! Byeeee!"

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Malleus Draconia..

Quite the infamous name.

At this point, who doesn't know about the crown prince? He's one of the most powerful mages in the world! Despite that...

...just who in Twisted Wonderland hasn't heard of [Name] Cipher? The dream demon? Well apparently both Yuu and Grim doesn't... "Oh! Oh! Twisted Wonderland! it is good to be back! Name's [Name] Cipher and I take it two are some kind of living ventriloquist dummy?" He ask with a mix of sarcasm and amusement in his voice. Wait--no! He has to show some kindness to them. They're the ones who freed him after all. So maybe he should be kinder. Maybe.. "How about this you magicless thing, I will help you.. in exchange.. I only want a puppet! Yes! A puppet! You have one of those right?" This kid is magicless! He's completely defenseless against this world's wildness and chaos! But don't worry! He's here to help! Isn't he so kind~?

----------

Some students began to notice how Yuu seem to act differently sometimes.. it's odd.. suddenly he's capable of magic..? And these.. creepy knowledge?? What? When some ask about it, Yuu merely shrugged, dodging the question or straight up ignored them and Grim? That cat is as clueless as ever! For someone that's suppose to be close with the prefect, he's completely useless with this predicament.

Of course, Yuu's strange demeanor ended up catching the attention of none other than Diasomnia's Housewarden.

"Child of Man, it has come to my attention that you've been acting.. strange.. lately.. may I know the reason for such actions?"

"Oh! It's nothing really! I'm completely fine, there's nothing to be worry about!" Huh.. the prefect's reassurance sounded a bit cheery.. maybe too cheery... is he always like this? And this.. energy.. it's strong.. incredibly so..

Not at all convinced, Malleus spoke up with caution, preparing himself for what's to come. "Is that so? Then may I know why you're acting strangely?"

"I said I'm fine--" Yuu stopped himself once he saw who it was that decided to confront him this time. Oh.. oh! He had thought it was just some no name snotnosed kid! But no, oh no.. this is the main course! Finally he had finished the appetizers! A wide grin made its way onto his face as he spoke up in a cheery manner. "Well well well! Finally! The main course has arrive! How's living, my dear dragon?"

Malleus' calm demeanor change in an instant the moment those words came out of Yuu's mouth. This.. thing.. how dare he.. how dare it decided to lay a hand on the prefect!? And now it has the audacity to use his body like a puppet!? Unforgivable...

"You..."

"Aw, I thought you would be more happy to see me!"

Malleus scoffs at the dream demon's words, crossing his arms over his chest as he sent a glare towards him. Happy? What's there to be happy about?

"Admit it~ You missed me~"

[Name] knew full well that Malleus won't lift a finger at him, not when he's possessing his precious Child of Man.. of course he won't.. the very thought of injuring this fragile body must scare him to the bone! Poor baby...

The dream demon can't help but chuckle at the very thought of it. The other's glare mean nothing to him. What matters most is...

"What's with that look for? Come on now.. I still remember how happy you look back then~"

The look of wonder that the crown prince showed.. it was such magnificent a sight.. but not enough to coax [Name] to rethink his decision in deceiving him. This world will be his.

"Come on, my dear.. let me out.. out of this dimension of mine and into yours.."

"Allow me to show you just what true power actually is."

"Let me in."

"And welcome Weirdmageddon with open arms."

[violet-eng]

f!reader reacts to Zhongli (Morax)! "apoptosis" during Rite of Descension | angst + 🔞 NSFW

So... I've always wondered how Zhongli's close friends (let's pretend he has close friends) would react to his death during the Rite of Descension...

╔══════*.·:·.☽✧  ✦  ✧☾.·:·.*════════╗

Summary: Zhongli and you are a couple, and you know he's Rex Lapis. How would you react if your beloved dragon boyfriend dies in front of your eyes during the Rite of Descension? Or worse yet, how would you react if you found out that he is actually alive?

Tw: Angst (a lot), smut, 🔞, MDNI, p i v, nipple sucking, words of hate during sex (i hate you), mentionsof death.

🎨 by: Nid417 2k words.

╚════════*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*═════════╝

The soft caress of Zhongli's fingers on your forehead woke you up in the morning, bringing you back to the earthly realm and wrenching you from the comfortable sleep you had taken as a reward for your performance the night before. Like every night, Zhongli had abused you in bed, using you until he left his empty balls in your belly. 

The light streaming through the window, the rays of sunshine heralding a new day, brighten your face as you realize that Zhongli has gotten out of bed. You watch him get dressed, the shirt covering his arms, golden marks on his dark skin, the marks of your nails on his back, crimson traces open to the passage of your passion.

"Today is going to be a long day," your ardent lover says as he adjusts his tie, "I'm sorry to have to wake you, it's never my intention to cause you any discomfort, but I'm afraid on this occasion it was absolutely necessary."

"The Rite of Descension is today, I had forgotten," you mention, leaning back on your elbows and rubbing your eyes, the locks of hair falling over the valley of your breasts, the sheet covering you sliding down to your waist, giving Zhongli a magnificent view as he adjusts his pants.

"When it's all over, we should have dinner... and then maybe try our luck at starting a family," he says, though it's hard to make out his words because of the volume of his voice. Zhongli speaks with a tinge of nostalgia, a back and forth of dark feelings and a melancholy aura, he has been in this state for several weeks now.

"I guess there's no point in me asking you again what's wrong with you today," you say, embellishing the sentence with a subtle laugh, sometimes your dear Morax is very secretive about his feelings and manages to become hermetic and unshakable as a rock, today is one of those days.

"I promise you that once the Rite culminates, all your questions will be answered," he says, sitting next to you, caressing the curve of your back and tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. One of Zhongli's favorite images is your face when you wake up...especially the morning after a good fuck. There's something about your puffy eyes that drives him crazy, or the scarlet color on your skin from his teeth the night before that makes him lose his mind, whatever it is, he finds you to be the most charming creature he's ever met in his millennia of existence.

"I only ask you," Zhongli says, continuing the conversation, keeping the cryptic tone he had a few moments ago, "I only ask you not to be afraid, no matter what you see, do not be afraid. I will come back to you no matter what happens”

"You always do," you say as you turn around, your face lit up with a smile and your breasts in full view as you reach out a hand that manages to caress his cheek, "that's our contract, darling, you always come back to me."

Zhongli fiercely fights the desire to fuck you at this moment, these words and this image you have given him.... He takes a deep breath before getting up from the bed, ignoring his instincts. There will be time to indulge your carnal desires.

You know the Rite of Descent in detail, you have witnessed it and heard it performed firsthand. This time there is nothing out of the usual, perhaps a new face or two, but nothing out of the ordinary. You find yourself looking forward to what will happen next, and perhaps during the night you will comment to Zhongli how strange it is to see him in his draconic form, and how sweet you find his empathic act of introducing himself to the....

The rumble of the lifeless body of the Lord of Liyue falling echoes through the place. The offerings table is a mess, and the ensuing uproar even more so. There is talk of murder, the Millelith rushes in pursuit of the suspects, and as the rest of the crowd disperses, you lie in place, frozen, stunned by what you have witnessed. You bring your hands to your chest in a reflex to stop the heartbeat that seems to pierce your skin, the sound of the Millelith's footsteps confused with the thumping rhythm of your heart, your lip trembling and your hands sweating, your trembling fingers clutching the fabric of your clothes, trying to bring you back to reality as you watch the body of your beloved Morax lying lifeless before your eyes.

"Tell Wangsheng Funeral Parlor what happened," Keqing orders you... or is it Ningguang's voice? " Y/n! There's no time to waste, go!"

Much to your chagrin, you find yourself running to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, your eyes on the verge of bitter tears and deep weeping, but you cannot afford to do so, not when you cannot explain your reaction to others. You walk down the stairs, wondering: Did Zhongli's recent attitude mean that he suspected that someone wanted to kill him, and if so, why didn't he trust you? The questions cloud your mind, you stumble over some people while debating with yourself, Zhongli knew it, in short, that's why he had such a mysterious attitude lately, he knew he would abandon you? No, you're cursing yourself, you can't think about him like that, especially now that he's... You can't even think of the word, Morax, Rex Lapis, your beloved Zhongli, is an immortal being who has traveled miles of life, he is a powerful being, the strongest of the gods... or he was... ....

You resign yourself to the facts, to the image of the dragon lying on the rubble, his chest motionless, his eyes lifeless... you had not even been able to say goodbye to him that morning. With regret gnawing at your heart, you burst into Wangsheng's funeral parlor and called out to Hu Tao.

"Rex Lapis," you say with a lump in your throat, as she grabs your arms and asks you to calm down, "Rex Lapis is..." you pause over your words as the figure of your lover emerges from one of the offices.

"Y/n" Hu Tao agitates you, but you are absorbed in the image coming towards you, the way Zhongli hurries to give you a drink.

"He's dead," you manage to finish the sentence without taking your eyes off Zhongli. Hu Tao is shocked by this and laments over such an unfortunate event, delving into theories that could have led to something like this happening.

"There is no reason to jump to conclusions at a time like this," Zhongli suggests, "Ninnguang must need help.

It is Hu Tao who leaves the place at his subordinate's suggestion, leaving him in charge of your welfare, your poor condition being too obvious to the average eye. It is just the two of you in the room, the sound of commotion outside is beyond reproach, but at this moment, you are oblivious to what is going on outside.

Zhongli holds out his coat to you, draping it over your shoulders and adjusting the collar over your chest, you holding the drink he offered you a few moments ago. You analyze him closely, your eyes scanning him in detail, taking in every inch of his image. 

"Y/n," he whispers as he caresses your shoulders, his hands coddling your arms, looking at you like an infant about to cry.

"Zhongli," saying his name feels like breathing out your last breath of life. You bring your hesitant hand to his face, a reflection of your desire to check if what you are observing is real. You press his skin against your palm, and he leans into the familiar touch of your caress.

"My beautiful y/n, I beg your forgiveness" he muses as he moves the cup away from your hands, to take your small limbs between his, kissing your knuckles gingerly.

The gesture causes you to burst into tears, to throw yourself into his arms and release the sea of bitterness and pain that had built up in your chest. Zhongli pulls you close to him, wrapping you in an embrace that he hopes will never break, that he hopes will prove how sorry he is for the hurt he has caused you. You ask him for explanations between sobs, you reproach him for not being clear with you, for letting you believe he was dead, you beat his chest in agony and resentment, and he allows you to do so, if it were up to him, you could actually kill him at that very moment, he deserves no less, not when he has made you shed tears for him so bitterly.

"You should have told me" you whimper, and your legs start to shake. The burning in your chest grows and you feel like you will faint at any moment. Zhongli senses it, senses every change in your organism, so he hurries to ask you to return home.

The road passes in silence, Zhongli has put his arm around your shoulder, and along the way he has showered you with pleas to redeem himself, but you ignore him, you don't even look at him, and that hurts him deeply.

You cross the door and go into the room to lie down on the bed, finally you can no longer use your legs, you have never felt so weak, so useless... You let out the rest of your cry on the pillows, leaning on your hands, your chest heaving for air, the shock hasn't completely left you...

Zhongli approaches you and puts a hand on your back, but you clearly warn him not to come near you, not to touch you, and maybe you are being too hard on him, but it is what you think he deserves. 

"Go away," you order sharply, "you're supposed to be dead... you..." you speak nonsense, it's the pain of shock that overwhelms you.

"What are you saying?" Zhongli exclaims in anguish, searching for your face, though you hide it well for him. He struggles with you, trying to bring you to your senses, "I'm here, my love, it's me... I'm alive," he says, taking your hands and pressing them to his chest, where his desperate heart beats in desperation. You look at him pitifully, your eyes drenched with tears, your lip trembling.

"This is the heart of a living man," he says, "and this is the warmth of a living man's skin," he says, bringing your hands to his neck and chest, unbuttoning his shirt in a desperate act, and as the shock of his desperation strikes your complexion, you seem to snap out of your trance.

"Zhongli..." you finally whisper.

"Here I am, beautiful, I came back for you..." he muses, pressing his forehead against yours.

"You always..." you falter, "you always come back to me," your breath mingles with his, as hot as yours. You rush to his lips, so eager to taste his breath of life, the divinity escaping his mouth like groans as you bite his lip, pressing it harder against your mouth.

"This is our contract," Zhongli says between kisses, a trickle of saliva between the two of you as he removes his shirt and your clothes.

He fucks you with anger, with desire and a burning he didn't know he was holding back. And you scream, your moans high and boisterous, not caring what is happening outside or how sacrilegious it is that you are fucking while everyone outside is suffering the death of Rex Lapis... the same Rex Lapis who is pounding on your cervix with fervor and enormous force, the same one who is massaging your clitoris while sucking on one of your nipples.

"I hate you," you spit angrily, drowning out your moans as you cling to his arms.

"It's what I deserve," he says, just as vulgar as you, sonorous and quite vocal, resting one of your legs on his shoulders, "hate me all you want, y/n, but then scream my name when you cum and when you give birth to our children."

"You bastard," you moan as your fingernails leave scarlet marks on his sculpted shoulders, "don't stop.... Zhongli, don't stop," the way he pounds you is delicious and your guts know it as they twist in a hot knot as his cock makes its way into your pussy.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," he repeats, not stopping his assault, settling on top of you to look at the bulge rising in your belly where his cock is abusing you. He puts one of his hands on yours, the other massaging your thigh and the flesh on his shoulder, looking at you with a devotion that you do not recognize, as if you were a treasure, a goddess....

His hips crash mercilessly against yours, and you, as spiteful as you are horny, can't help but make the most vulgar sounds you can. You feel Zhongli's balls slapping against your skin, the frantic movement in and out of your pussy, the way something inside you seems to snap from the force of his penetration. He has you wide open for him, fully exposed, and he gives himself to you like the devotee he is when he fucks you, seeking only your pleasure.

"Zhongli..." you moan as one of your fingers gently caresses the line that divides his scarred abdomen, your digit running down the valley of his rock hard muscles....

"Let me take care of you, darling," he says, taking your hand and planting a kiss on the back of it, leaning down to capture your lips with his mouth. His tongue penetrates the roof of your mouth and you feel your throat receive the visit of such a welcome guest.

Zhongli turns you over, your body snug against the sheets, your face deep in the mattress, and he on top of you. He continues to stir your loins as he lets his chest fall on your back, his face sinking into your shoulder, and you feel that this way, so close to him, he has better access to you. His cock twists in your favorite spot, the one that makes you let out a yelp and reach out a hand for support, grasping the silk between your fingers. Zhongli intertwines his hand with yours, and there, trapped beneath his body, at the mercy of his relentless assault, he whispers a "I love you" with deep regret.

"Zhongli," you moan, completely trapped between the bed and how well he is fucking you, your hands trapped in his, "I love you...damn it...I love you," you cry out as you convulse beneath him, your orgasm erupting as he bathes your velvety walls with his white seed.

You turn your face to breathe. Zhongli doesn't let go or leave you. You stay like this for a moment, enjoying the heat the other gives off. Zhongli kisses your shoulder blade and you feel the remains of his cum leave you as he pulls his cock out of your abused hole. The empty feeling makes you moan. He doesn't let go of you at any point, clinging to you as he lies down and sets you beside him, wrapping you in his arms, securing you in an embrace as he leaves deep kisses on the back of your neck and shoulder. Your chest heaves for air, the ecstasy you feel is unlike anything you have experienced before, no previous encounter has ever been like this.

"I didn't mean it," you say, your voice hoarse, your throat scratchy from shouting, "I don't hate you...I couldn't," you turn to him, meeting amber eyes that look at you with calm and deep regret.

"Do you forgive me?" he asks in a sweet, syrupy, insistent tone. 

"My dear Morax," you whisper, taking refuge in his chest, "I forgave you the moment I felt your aching heart beat with concern for me."

These words are enough for Zhongli to ease the weight he was carrying so that he can rest his chin on your head and breathe in the scent of your hair, mixed with the smell of sex in the room.

He strokes your back, running his fingers over your small human form, downplaying the commotion outside, focusing only on you and your well-being....

[annwrites]

⸻ the last unicorn ; part one ⸻

❝love is slowing you down, my lady. i will catch you at last, if you love much more.❞ — peter s. beagle

· pairing: aemond targaryen x unicorn!reader · type: mini-series · summary: aemond finds the most magnificent creature he's ever laid eyes upon in the kingswood. and when he returns in the evening to gaze upon you one last time, he finds himself further left for breath at the unexpected discovery before him. and rather than part with you, he contacts a witch to give him what he desires most...for forever. · tags: love at first sight, innocence, covetousness, angst · word count: 2,935

You are the loveliest mare he has ever set eyes upon.

Your coat is as white as the driven snow—untouched and gleaming. And your mane is long and smooth, and glimmers in the dappled sunlight that shines down upon you between swaying green leaves which comprise the canopy above.

You drink quietly from a babbling brook, wholly unaware of the gaze focused on you from a distance.

He takes a step forward—not measured enough, as he’s entirely enraptured by your beauty—and a twig snaps underfoot, causing your head to jerk up and in his direction.

He stills, as do you. But for him, it is not from wariness or fear, but wonder and disbelief.

“It can’t be,” he whispers. “For none now live.”

Your tail sways behind you and you crook your head.

He grins at the sight while taking another step forward, desperate to place even just one lone hand upon you. It is only through the act of doing so that he will believe that his remaining eye is indeed not deceiving him.

You take a step back and he shakes his head while extending a palm, shooshing you, hoping to calm you.

“It’s alright,” he states—gently. “I don’t want to harm you.”

You exhale and your ears twitch as you listen to words you do not understand.

“You’re quite lovely. Very much so. You are the last of your kind. Do you know that?”

His eyes travel along the polished opalescent horn that juts from the middle of your forehead before looking back into your own.

“It must be a terrible thing to be all alone in the world. I can only imagine such a fate.”

You step back again and he pauses—for he is nearly there, and to lose you when he has only just found you…he cannot bear it.

But to see you alone is a gift from the Seven.

“My name is Aemond,” he tells you with a kind smile. “Targaryen. You should know you are not the first mystical creature I have come across. I rode one once, you know. Not a unicorn, of course, but a dragon.”

He swallows thickly, ignoring the stinging of his eye. “She’s gone now. Lost during the war. To my uncle—my foe. But I repaid the favor by driving my sword through his heart.”

He’s standing before you now, and you have, most surprisingly, not fled.

Painstakingly slowly, he raises a hand and holds his breath as he settles it on your neck.

You blink lazily at him while swishing your tail curiously.

He smiles while shaking his head. “You’re far too trusting. No one has ever hunted you before, have they, sweetling?”

Your eyes move downward, toward his pack.

“You’re quite fortunate in that. Next time someone comes through these woods, you need to run. Hide. If you must, drive your horn through them. Show them no mercy, for the wrong sort of ilk will not show any to you.”

You nudge your nose against his chest and he chuckles while scratching behind your ears. “You’re too gentle for such an act, though, aren’t you?”

He slips his fingers into your mane. “I am not a gentle man myself by nature. Not usually. But for you, I think I can make an exception. I’ve a reputation to maintain, but unicorns sing no songs, so I believe it safe to assume that my secret will be kept.”

You move your snout lower and nuzzle against his bag, sniffing.

And then he snorts. “Ah, I see. It is not me you want, but instead the treats I have to offer.”

He reaches into his brown leather satchel and retrieves a shiny red apple, which he offers to you.

You eat directly from his palm and his lip twitches at the ticklish feel.

“Gods, you are truly a sight to behold. It has been believed for some time by scholars from the Citadel and otherwise that you had all gone extinct. Have you always been here, in the Kingswood? Where do you hide yourself away, I wonder?”

You nudge his pack, wanting for more.

He promptly obliges your request.

He continues to speak while you snack. “It is written that you all are immortal. Rather—you are. And the most innocent and pure of creatures. I would not doubt it now after our chance meeting. I’ve also read…you come only to virgins.”

He grins. “I am certainly not that. So, I suppose the old adage is indeed true: not to believe all you read, or hear.”

You raise your head and stare at him dumbly.

His words sound like no more than a garbled mess to you. Human voices are so unpleasant to the ears. What are they in comparison to the wind, the birds, the rustle of leaves, and the things nature has to tell, which is far more important?

You turn away from him then, suddenly disinterested.

He cocks a brow, following along beside you, so you shake out your mane and hold your head high, wanting for solitude amongst your forest friends.

Men merely think themselves welcome here due to their own hubris. They believe all the earth is theirs for the taking because they consider themselves more intelligent and higher beings.

They forget that other things existed long before they, and will continue to remain longer after their bones blow like dandelion seeds in the wind. They know only of survival. It is what they do to the land: survive off of it. Instead, you live with it as one.

He does gain your interest once more, however, by offering you another apple.

He slides his hand down your back, smoothing your fur. “What might the people think of me if I were to return to the Red Keep atop the back of a unicorn, I wonder? The last remaining one in all the world. Presumably, that is.”

He steps around to the front of you and scratches beneath your chin. “Brief it may’ve been, but the Conqueror’s crown indeed suited me far better than it ever did my fool brother. I was more suited to the role as a whole. Yet, here I am now. In the middle of the Kingswood, passing my afternoon speaking to a horse.”

He could swear that you snort quietly in response, but knows he merely imagined it.

He glances back to his own mount across the way and sighs. “It will be dark soon enough; another day gone. I suppose I should be getting back to the Keep.”

He offers you one final apple, which you relieve him of immediately, and he presses a soft kiss to your mane—a most unexpected gesture—before reluctantly bidding you goodbye.

You do not watch as he goes.

During the night, sleep eludes Aemond and finds him entirely restless. He tosses and turns upon a featherbed which provides little comfort from the incessant thoughts of you which gather like a tempest within his mind.

He is quite tired, yes, but he knows that unless he journeys once more into the Kingswood to chance at having one final look upon you, he will find no peace. So he rises.

He knew it would be a wasted journey. Especially at this hour.

You are nowhere to be seen. A fact which he’s both disappointed, and gladdened by. Gladdened that perhaps some small part of you understood the warnings he spoke to you that afternoon: to run and hide if a man came calling upon the woods you call home.

He shakes his head, deigning himself foolish for even thinking to return here during the hour of the wolf. Since when does Aemond Targaryen, previous Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm, find himself preoccupied by a thing of fairytales?

Ridiculous.

Aemond makes to turn, until he hears the quiet rustle of leaves and he catches a glimmer of light reflecting off a pond across the way. A glimmer of light which grows and grows in fervor—entirely encapsulating you.

It nearly blinds him, and forces him to cover his eyes with his forearm to shield his vision.

In a moment, the spectacle is over and the night returns to darkness. The only illumination provided now being that of the silvery-blue moon in the sky which twinkling stars surround as they wink and kiss the inky black vision above.

Slowly, he drags his gaze upwards once more, squinting to see.

And then his breath lodges in his throat, choking him.

“How in Seven Hells…” He whispers in disbelief, for he does not believe his eye.

Not this time.

For he is surely sleepwalking. Trapped within a dream.

But if such a fact is so, he will kill any man who attempts to wake him.

You rise slowly on trembling legs—only two—and long silvery waves curtain your slim, naked form. You grip the bark of a tree to steady yourself as your body shakes against the cool night air.

His eyes trail along your pale skin—so pale, in fact, that it practically glows. Or perhaps it is just the moon casting you in its light that offers such an illusion.

And soft silver waves slip over your shoulders and shimmer in the light.

Your breasts are small and soft—proportionate to your body—with delicate pink nipples. You’ve womanly curves; the planes of which blend perfectly from your stomach and into your thighs like you are the finest sculpture he has ever lain his eye upon. Crafted by the hands of the Gods themselves you are. Created by the Maiden, for you are indeed her image made flesh.

He steps forward—wanting for answers, for explanation, no matter how impossible it might be—then pauses when you jerk your head in his direction.

You stare at him with wide, lilac eyes, and he shakes his head, sure he is trapped within a delusion of his own making.

He must touch you once more to assure himself otherwise.

“This is madness,” he says quietly, taking another step forward.

You bristle, and he raises a hand slowly, shooshing you—repeating his actions from some hours ago, in hopes of comforting you to his presence. “It’s alright, sweetling. We’ve met. Just today. Don’t you remember me?”

You blink dumbly at him.

“I brought you apples. You liked them.”

Your eyes flit to the pack at his side and he fills with relief.

You recall him indeed.

“I’m not here to harm you. I merely came to see you one last time. But I had certainly not expected this.”

He has nearly made his way around the pond, and you, quite fortunately, have not fled from him in fear.

“Can you change at-will, then? Or is it only the night which brings about this other form?” He asks curiously.

You merely stare at him, remaining unresponsive.

“Can’t you speak?” He asks with a furrowed brow.

You softly cock your head to the side, and silver strands slip over your shoulders, exposing your pert breasts to him, and he takes note of your pebbled nipples.

You’re cold.

Cautiously, he removes the cloak he has wrapped round his own shoulders, then holds it out toward you.

You take a tiny step back, but he still steps forward, fans it out behind you, then clasps it just below your neck.

And then he cups your chilled cheek in his palm.

“I thought you a vision,” he mutters, brushing his thumb along the apple of your cheek. “A creature come straight to me from my most impossible dreams.”

Your eyes flit between his while your lips remain silent.

“You don’t understand a thing I’m saying, do you, sweetling?”

You stare at him in response.

His lip twitches.

How entirely innocent and ignorant you are.

Perfect to mold, he thinks.

Until sunrise, that is.

He assumes, that, come the morn, you most likely return to your equestrian form.

But why? Has it always been this way for you? Are you not immortal, then, like he previously believed? Is this some sort of wretched curse bestowed upon you by a sorceress, warlock, moonsinger, or otherwise? Why punish such a beautifully quiet thing such as yourself? What could you have possibly done to deserve this?

To always be walking between two worlds, but belonging in neither—forever alone… What a horrid thing to be forced upon something as sweet and docile as you.

Quite boldly of you, you reach toward his pack, but he shoves it away on instinct.

You frown slightly, and then he smiles. “Forgive me, my sweet.”

He retrieves for you another apple and settles it into your expectant palm.

You promptly take a bite out of the crisp piece of fruit and lick your lips where sweet juice quickly gathers.

He groans lowly in the back of his throat at the sight, and does his utmost to ignore the slight swelling of his cock beneath his trousers.

He cups your other cheek then, holding you still and close as you take bite after bite while staring up and into his eye as he studies you.

Your long, silver strands slip easily between his fingers as he cups the back of your head affectionately. “If I did not know any better, I would think you are one of us: a true Targaryen. Or a Valyrian, forged in the fires of the Freehold.”

You lean slightly into his touch, merely liking the warmth his body has to offer and provide against the chill of this late hour, but he translates the simple gesture to have a far different meaning: that already you can feel it as well—this invisible ribbon which binds the two of you into one. It wraps your destinies together into a singularly divine fate.

Once you’ve finished with your treat, you lower your arm to your side and drop it. It softly thuds against the forest floor, then rolls down the embankment and into the pond at your side.

You hear a quite splash, and you smile slightly, knowing its remaining core is now feeding one of your friends.

You look at the strange man with one eye again, and your brows furrow in confusion as he closes it and begins to lean forward while slipping an arm beneath the cloak he wrapped around you to combat the chill.

He slides his hand along your waist before settling his palm against the small of your back so you might remain close to him.

And then he presses his lips to yours.

Your body stiffens and your eyes grow wide.

What is he doing? Is this a sort of odd greeting humans give each other, then? A strange form of communication, perhaps?

You blink, then try to swallow, but it’s precisely when your lips part that he slips his tongue into your mouth.

That is when you jerk away.

Aemond chuckles from amusement, then presses a firm, tender kiss to your forehead before leaning forward and resting his own against it.

“My sweet girl,” he whispers. “The Gods blessed me by putting you in my path.”

He pulls back slightly while tucking silver locks behind your ear. “You must be terribly lonely here. Are you not?”

You glance toward the pond, then back to him, wishing he’d let you go so you might stretch your legs for awhile.

“I could change that,” he says—his voice a whisper upon the wind. “At the very least, I can bring someone here who could. Who could keep you in this preferable form…for forever.”

You glance behind him and watch as a doe trots along with her little fawn close to her side.

“I could make you a princess,” he states, earning your attentions once more. “A wife, a mother. You could have fine things and live in a grand castle. Resplendent gowns, jewels, and servants at your beck and call would be yours for the taking. If you wish it—whatever you do—I will make it so. My jester of a brother is not long for this world. And once the Gods have come to call him home, I will ascend his throne.”

His grows quite serious then. “And you might be my bride, if you so covet a crown for yourself as I do. It will be just as lovely as you, I swear it.”

He slides his hand along the soft curve of your waist, then settles it just above the swell of your rear.

“We could make perfect little heirs. Silver hair, violet eyes, and pale skin. The very image of descendants of Old Valyria. None would question their parentage for a moment as they did my dead half-sister’s. Not that I would ever indulge myself by bringing bastards into this world. I would sooner put such abominations to the sword.”

You try to take a step back, unsettled by the wild look in his eye…but he holds firm.

“I want you,” he states lowly. “And I will have it so.”

He smiles, then brushes a kiss along your cheek. “You’ll be pleased with what I next intend to do, sweetling. I swear it. And once you are mine, I will have the finest septas teach and tutor you in how to be a proper princess and wife. You will learn to speak as I do. And I will treasure the moment when you finally utter the words of your undying love, stemming from thankfulness toward me, from having given you the gift of our blessed union.”

He pulls you into his chest and holds you in his arms, knowing it is exactly where you belong. “You’ve no idea the life that awaits you at my side.”