#save me rooks arms…

[ukkipeach]

I'm gonna pass away

when i told twst to give me more FUCK I REALLY BEGGED SO HARD THEY'RE SMIRKING DOWN AT ME RIGHT NOW HUH I CAN'T I CAN'T NOT TWO IN A ROW I CAN'T TAKE THIS I CAN'T FIGHT BACK ANYMORE THEY'RE STEPPING ON ME THEY'RES PITTING ON ME THESUYR'ES TRUDIGNY TO DEVOIURDS ME WHOLES THGEY'ERS WINING RHYUER;E WINING I'AM SIGNING OFSF

[attractthecrows]

i really really want there to be a sequence where Rook & Co go meet the former Inquisitor mostly so my daydreaming about it will be justified

[scarlet-star-witch]

His Sacrifice

Summary: Aemond makes the decision to save the one he loves over his brother.

Reader is Rhaenyra's daughter and is in a secret relationship with Aemond

WC: 1.5 K

Tumblr is a piece of shit that deleted the request but to whoever sent this, hope you enjoy xx

Part 2

~~

The screams of men below were almost inaudible over the roar of her dragon. She felt powerful, she felt vindictive, a smug satisfaction washing over her as she decimated the Green army below, the traitors who dared to usurp her mother.

Yet her heart was aching. 

Her eyes scanned the skyline, nervously awaiting Vhagar’s presence, awaiting his presence. 

Her throat tightened and she blinked rapidly to stave off the tears that threatened to fall. She’d cried enough tears over him, over the divide that wedged between them, threatening to break them apart completely. She had to be done. 

A trill made her perk up, looking over her shoulder, her eyes wide, her chest aching, but as she caught sight of the smaller, gold dragon headed her way, her devastation soon turned to anger. 

Aegon. 

Her face shifted, her agony now hatred. Her teeth grit with effort as she pulled at the reins, swooping dangerously close to the soldiers below her, a smirk painting her lips at their cries of terror. 

“Vermithor… attack.”

The dragon below her roared, a mighty sound that shook the bones of those who watched from below. 

She distantly heard Aegon’s call and held onto the handles of the saddle in a white-knuckled grip as she swerved out of the way of the stream of fire Sunfyre spat at her. She winced, flinching away from the barrage of flames that met her too closely. 

The dragons fought a vicious and bloody fight, Vermithor’s talons tearing Sunfyre across her belly, her cries echoing, shaking the ground below. 

Over her dragon’s head that now had the other poor dragon’s neck in his jaws, she met Aegon’s eyes, her gaze alight with hateful glee as she noticed the fear in his eyes. 

But suddenly, his expression shifted, a smile growing as he breathed out in relief. 

Turning, she saw the enormous figure of Vhagar looming forward, like a killer stalking its prey, ready to devour her with ease. 

Her heart dropped, the grip on the reins slipping from her hands, as if she already accepted her fate. 

Swallowing against the lump in her throat that grew, she closed her eyes, refusing to see the look on her lover’s face as he ended her. 

~~

They met in the dead of night, as they always had, meeting on a nondescript island halfway between Dragonstone and King’s Landing. 

He was already waiting for her as she descended from the skies, landing Vermithor beside the hulking figure of Vhagar. 

He was approaching her before she could unsaddle herself. 

His hands were on her before her feet met the ground. 

She was brought into his arms before she could say a word. She embraced him as she always did, desperately, as if it would be their last. With the state of their families, it might just be. 

“Are you alright?” She asked worriedly as she pulled out of his arms, her eyes frantically searching for his face, finding only despair.

“You cannot go tomorrow.” He told her swiftly.

“What-”

“They commanded me to take Vhagar to Rook’s Rest.”

Her face remained impassive as she took in his words, though the storm that raged within her was devastating, shattering every ounce of hopeful excitement she’d felt when she received his raven to meet her that night.

“Aemond, I-”

“You cannot go. Please.” He begged her. 

Her gaze met his and the frantic desperation she saw in his lone eye stirred sadness within her, the divide between their families that had slowly been tearing them apart delivering another fatal blow. 

“I have to. You know I have to.” She answered quietly, mournfully, as if she was already accepting her fate. She couldn’t fight Vhagar, she couldn’t win against him. 

He cursed and took a step away from her, placing his hand over his mouth as he tried hard to rein in his anger, his fear of what would happen to her, to them, as they met on the battlefield.

They always knew it would happen eventually, but it didn’t mean they were ready for it. They had been content to live in a fantasy together, as if they could pretend they weren’t living their reality, that they could’ve lived a happy life together. 

He stepped towards her again, taking her face in his hands. 

“Please, you cannot- I cannot-” He stammered and let out a shaking breath, his tortured gaze locked on hers. “Love, please, don’t go.”

“We always knew this would happen.”

His anger flared at the resolution he heard in her voice, at how quickly she was willing to accept this, that they were to meet on the battlefield, with only one of them returning victorious. He couldn’t accept it, he wouldn’t.

He shook his head wordlessly, his brows furrowed as if in pain. Her arms wrapped around him and he was quick to return the hug, holding her to him tightly. He let out a shaking breath, his eyes squeezing shut as he held her, silently praying it wouldn’t be for the last time.

“We should’ve left while we still had the chance.” She spoke with a small laugh that held nothing but sadness. Aemond nodded, his hands gripping her firmer, his thoughts a mirage of what their life would be if he had taken her up on her offer to escape to Essos all those years ago.

He desperately wished he had agreed. 

“Whatever happens tomorrow-”

“Don’t.” He begged, his heart already aching at the thought of what they would face. 

“Whatever happens,” She repeated more sternly as she looked at him intently. “It won’t change what we have. Nothing will change how I feel about you, even if I cannot feel anything at all.”

He practically shuddered at the thought, the mere notion of losing her too much to fathom and bowed his head until his forehead met hers, their shaking breaths shared. 

“I’ll love you even after the end.” 

He couldn’t hear any more. He kissed her firmly, pouring every bit of love he had for her and had felt for her for years into every caress of his lips, every tantalizing swipe of his tongue, every heated touch that he bestowed onto her beautiful body he had worshiped in secret. 

~~

I’ll love you even after the end

The words echoed in his mind all night. As he left her side to return to King’s Landing before the sun rose, they wouldn’t leave his head, torturing him over and over again, until he felt as though he couldn’t take another breath. 

Now, as he sat atop Vhagar, eyeing the battle in the skies above with bated breath, he knew he had only one choice to make. 

A choice that came all too easily, a choice he would make again each and every time. 

He commanded Vhagar to fly, her large frame taking to the skies slowly, his eye locked onto Vermithor, his heart in his throat as he saw her small frame duck out of the way just in time before Sunfyre’s jaws locked onto her. 

He felt nothing but relief as Vermithor trapped Aegon’s dragon in his jaws, he felt nothing as his brother’s dragon cried out in pain. 

But the blinding rage he felt as he watched Sunfyre swiped her claws against Vermithor’s face, dangerously close to her, made his blood boil.

His hands clenched, his jaw tight, his lone eye dark with resolve as he soon accepted the consequences he would face, the judgment the Gods would place on him. 

But he didn’t care. He would slay his brother if it meant she lived. He would slay millions to save her, without thought. 

“Dracarys!” He yelled, his eye remaining on Aegon who tried to shield himself from the flames that descended upon him. He grunted as Vhagar crashed against Vermithor, harshly nudging the dragon out of the way, Vermithor growling menacingly at Vhagar, before jerking to the side, her command of the reins forcing her dragon not to engage. 

He watched, his heart racing, as she flew away from the scene, away from Aegon as he fell alongside Sunfyre’s broken and burning body. 

He paid little mind to anything else and followed after her. They flew for a few minutes, away from the chaos of battle, away from any prying eyes that would reveal their secret.

He descended just a second after her, landing Vhagar next to Vermithor, his hands shaking as he undid his ties, jumping down his dragon’s frame unsteadily. 

“What the fuck was that?!” She yelled as she stomped towards him, tears in her eyes, unsure of what to make of the emotions overwhelming her. “Do you know what you have just done?”

He ignored her yells and grabbed her hands, pulling her to him, his arms wrapping around her tightly. She squirmed in his grip for a moment, her adrenaline still thrumming through her veins,  before finally giving in as she felt him shaking against her. 

She let out a trembling breath, her arms coming up to wind around him. She let her eyes fall closed as his hand rested on the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. 

“What did you do?” She asked wearily, her voice hoarse and weak with exhaustion.

“What I had to.”

[swordgrace]

𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ gwayne hightower x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: After your husband returns from Rook’s Rest, mostly unscathed, you are quick to indulge him to make up for lost time.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 5.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), first time writing for gwayne, please be gentle, gwayne is very cunt-struck in this fic, sub-ish gwayne, armor removal descriptions, mild wound tending, making out, both of them are desperate, unprotected sex, p in v sex, bathtub sex, riding (fem on top), handjob, oral sex (fem!rec), hair pulling kink, choking, breast play, cockwarming at the end

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I absolutely adore Gwayne and I felt like this was a really good way to warm up and get used to writing for him! I’m really glad that I’m seeing more Gwayne requests, this was ridiculously fun to write! ❤️ Thank you all so much for your love & continued support, it means more to me than you realize!

At the precipice of the gates of the Red Keep, emerald banners flew, embellished with the golden sigil of a dragon — the King’s dragon, laying half-deceased in the Dragonpit and the King himself, ripped apart and scorched beyond recognition.

A horrible thing, to be sure — your sister-by-law had become miserable and despondent when the news of her son’s maiming reached her. Whatever comfort you attempted to offer had been dismissed, but it was commonplace, not that you minded. You understood her desire to be left alone.

It was a cloudy, dismal day, marked by the overcast of gray and gloom, a dour portrait that only seemed furthered by the King’s potential demise. Rook’s Rest was outwardly displayed as some great victory, a vanquishing of Queen Rhaenyra’s forces and her allies.

Yet, the countenance of your Knight Hightower told a different tale altogether.

Becoming betrothed and wed to Ser Gwayne Hightower had been the hallmark of your family’s importance, a union of prosperity to further your standing in the realm, but it meant more to you than that. Gwayne had grown on you with the passage of time, witty and sharp-tongued, a proficient fighter with a calm rationality.

As the gates swung open to welcome those survivors of Rook’s Rest home, you desperately searched for the velveteen tabard and copper mane, wringing your hands together beside the Queen Dowager.

His armor glistened beneath the sheen of clouds, dingy and speckled with cruor and mud, his visage stained in dried crimson and soot. He was so comely and debonair, yet he seemed rather sour when he dismounted from his gelding, swiftly tugging his helmet aside.

Your feet moved before you could summon any logical thought, rushing to him across the Keep’s courtyard and into his expectant embrace. Plate-clad arms held you close as he inhaled a gust of your scent, marigold and honey, just as saccharine as he remembered. “My love.” He sighed, loud enough for only you to hear.

Before you could cage him within your own embrace, he let out a strenuous grunt, attempting to be subtle with the painful noise. “Husband,” It delighted you to see his face again — it had been weeks. “Are you hurt?” You fussed, brows knitting together as you inspected him for any critical wounds.

Gwayne bore the scars of battle beneath, save for the cut upon his lip and bruising around his cheek. His body was undeniably sore, riddled in bruises from falling, muscles aching from wielding a blade and weeks on the road. “You needn’t worry yourself into a stupor, dearest. I will survive.” He sighed.

“You do understand that it will only prompt me to worry more, instead of less.” Begrudgingly, Gwayne decided to let you dote over him — he quite enjoyed the attention whenever you did. “Perhaps we shall draw you a bath, and a proper meal to accompany it.”

Relief settled within his features, knowing that he would be well cared-for. He counted on you to ensure that he was pampered after every conflict — it was a habit you had developed. Despite the dull throbbing that consumed his body, he offered his forearm to you, delighted to have you at his side again.

He was rather captivating in his armor, shimmering and broad, a true Knight of the realm. Despite the tarnish and wear of his plate, he still seemed flawless, as if he were incapable of possessing any imperfections.

The Red Keep loomed overhead as many soldiers fought to lick their wounds, much of it from the angry bite of dragonfire. Gwayne was fortunate to remain mostly unscathed, aside from his pride. He could not stomach another day with Criston Cole, whose overconfidence often felt like a burden.

The sight of men being obliterated into nothing more than ash and bone was a harrowing sight, one that he desperately attempted to purge from his memory. It was good to be here with you, holding you again, giving him a worthwhile distraction.

Gwayne sought the solace and sanctity of your shared chambers within the Keep, but he missed Oldtown above all. Your marital quarters there far outweighed those here in the capital in terms of lavishness and comfort, but whatever lodgings offered to him now, he wouldn’t refuse. A feathered bed and pillow seemed heavenly after weeks of sleeping on rock and coarse rags.

Pale cerulean hues appraised you with a subtle hunger, finding the supple curves of your physique through the sage silk of your gown. Once you were in private corridors, he made his desire known, manifesting it into reality. “I must say, you look rather fetching, my dear.” Gwayne hummed. “Did you know of my return?”

“Perhaps,” Countering his flirtation with a teasing smile of your own, you gently nudged past the set of heavy oaken doors, making your way into your chambers. The servants there acted at your beck and call as you had them prepare a bath. “Perhaps I simply prefer to wear lavish silks each day.”

With a bemused scoff, Gwayne ogled you through half-lidded eyes, and as soon as the doors slammed shut behind you, he coaxed you in for a kiss. His mouth tasted like the bitter sting of copper coupled with brimstone and woodland musk, but you didn’t care in the slightest.

He cared little for prying eyes, desiring to claim your mouth for himself — it had been far too long. Passion and want were interlaced into each stroke of his lips, and you matched his caliber of desire, palms seeking to perch themselves atop his chest.

Gwayne exhaled, savoring your saccharine taste, the insatiable warmth of your pliant mouth. “I missed your mouth, wife,” He groaned, pearlescent teeth greedily capturing your lower lip as he caged you in against him. His blood ran hot even still, the adrenaline of war still lingering, yet you spurred him on. “Perfect as ever.”

“Gwayne,” His eagerness surprised you, but it wasn’t unwelcome, not in the slightest. “What about the servants?” You mumbled, skin crawling with heat as he insistently tugged you closer, auburn brows furrowing together.

A twinge of desperation followed from your Knight-husband, watching as he palmed at the swell of your hips. “What of them?” He murmured, caring little for the wandering eyes of handmaidens. They were like a flock of hens, squabbling after any scrap of gossip. “Surely, you would not deny your husband a kiss.”

“I would, if my husband vexed me.” You were able to both get a rise out of Gwayne and charm him all in the same turn, turning your head at the last moment. His mouth fell against your cheek instead, much to his disgruntlement. You would make it up to him.

Once the servants finished pouring a bath for your husband and preparing a hearty meal that transcended field rations, Gwayne felt as if he could relax, the tension in his shoulders unfurling. He stepped toward the washroom, unceremoniously falling against one of the velvet-cushioned chairs.

The wooden frame groaned in protest, rickety and barely able to bear the weight of his armor. He tossed his head back, finally able to breathe and relax within the sanctuary of his own quarters. No muddied tent above his head or the swaying of trees, no rancorous men, and no Dornishmen to tell him what to do.

With a steady exhale, he began to unfasten the innumerable amount of buckles and straps upon his armor, beginning with his gauntlets and vambraces. His brow remained creased with concentration, strands of copper stresses glued to his temples, lip curled with inklings of mild irritation.

“Would you like help?” You inquired, knowing that Gwayne would be too stubborn to accept it, but you were pleasantly surprised when he became subservient. With an indignant huff, he sat back, sluggishly offering you his body with a low hum.

“If you feel that you must toil over my armor, I suppose you can lend your assistance,” Gwayne prattled on, though his breath hitched slightly when you neared him, standing in between his legs as you went about freeing him. Cerulean hues traced over your form, desperate to see your naked flesh. “Hm.”

His quick tongue and eloquent speech once irked you, but now, it was simply him. You rather enjoyed when he regaled you with his flowery words and streak of arrogance, a haughtiness that seemed to run predominantly within his family.

As you set yourself to the task of unburdening your husband from his armor, Gwayne busied himself with ogling your bosom, jaw tense and tight. A warm coil formed within his stomach, the onset of arousal as he carefully admired you, his enchanting paramour.

Unclasping his cloak, Gwayne shifted enough for you to remove it, neatly folding it into a rectangle as you draped it over the arm of the lounge. “I missed you,” You confessed, knowing that his ego would momentarily swell tenfold — it was simply in his nature. “These past few weeks were rather tense, wrought with strife.”

“Allow me to guess,” Gwayne guffawed, a smirk toying at either corner of his mouth. “Something to do with my nephews, or perhaps my sister.” Admittedly, you were lonely without him — the capital didn’t suit you, nor did any of its hostile inhabitants.

A soft huff of amusement escaped you, but you happened to shake your head, lifting a wet cloth to his lips as you dabbed at the dried blood. “One would think,” With an amiable smile, you rid your husband’s stunning visage of cruor. “I yearned to have my husband by my side, that is all.”

Gwayne’s gaze became soft in your presence, fluttering across your captivating features and gentle smile. Knowing that you missed him happened to evoke some semblance of delight, filling him with a familiar warmth that eased his aching bones.

“I am here now,” He assured, reaching for your hand as he cradled it within his own. Rough lips pressed themselves against your knuckles. “You shall have your husband for as long as you please.”

Stepping inward, your lips moved to bury themselves into his disheveled tresses, presenting him with a kiss. You always feared Gwayne riding off to fight in a war, coming to terms with the painful idea of never seeing him again. “As long as I please? That is forever, then. Cole cannot take you from me again.”

You were an excellent wife, perhaps the best — he had gotten incredibly lucky with you, a rare jewel, resplendent and glittering all for him, something to covet. He watched as you unfastened the leather straps with haste, placing each piece down atop the footlocker at your side.

Gwayne winced when you happened to tug just a touch too hard, body wracked with aches and pains, pale flesh flourishing with the wounds of war. “Gently, wife. I am still needed in one piece.” A low grunt tore past his lips, one that happened to come across as a suppression of mild agony.

Perplexed, you reached for the collar of his gorget, attempting to be as gentle as possible in its removal. It was difficult, given how much he wore — plate and chainmail weren’t exactly comfortable to wear. The relief he felt was visible, scrawled into his handsome features as he reclined into the cushions.

Broad-shouldered and corded with taut muscle, you often found Gwayne to be beautiful in some ways, painfully handsome to behold. When you’d gotten rid of his upper armor, you noticed the battlefield of flourishing bruises littered across his flesh.

The somber, softened stare you’d given him happened to temper his tongue, copper brows beginning to slack, visage contorting into more of a concerned expression. “They do not feel as horrid as they look,” He assured, smoothing his palm across the swell of your hip. “Such is the nature of battle.”

With a tender hand, you lightly traced your fingertips over each bruise, some angered and dark, others lighter in complexion. Gwayne shuddered at your delicate embrace, bluish hues glued to where your hand traveled — over his throat, toward his collarbone, and then cascading across his chest.

“Where does it hurt, my love?” The silky resonance of your voice stroked his mind in a perfect way, one that brought him to heel. Your doting attention happened to subdue him, cock stirring in the confines of his linen breeches.

He often pondered what went on in that beautiful head of yours, the way your mind operated. You were an intelligent woman, thoughtful and poised with a comely grace, becoming of a maiden. Gwayne swallowed the growing lump within his throat, feeling your palm smooth across the plate of his cuisse.

“Here,” He briefly motioned to the series of marks tangled along his collarbone — he was fortunate that it hadn’t been shattered. You stooped inward, mouth carefully hovering above the ugly bruises dotted along his collar, and kissed the injured flesh. “Hm — here.” Gwayne tapped his right pectoral.

You kissed where his hand gestured to, pliant lips akin to a gentle caress as you showered him in your sensual affections. Enraptured, Gwayne watched you, hunger swelling within him, a ravenous gnawing that he felt for you. It burned his loins, filling him with the ache of desire.

If it weren’t for his damned tasses and greaves, he would’ve had you slotted in his lap. Gwayne’s hands tightened around the back of the settee, digits curling into the wooden embellishments. “That’s all?” You murmured, gingerly caressing along his chest, watching as he immediately straightened.

Gwayne grit his teeth together, motioning toward his bruised bicep. “Here,” The soothing softness of your mouth soon followed, filling him with a warm rush of dull ecstasy. You kissed his bicep, peppering your lips upward until they landed atop his shoulder. “Here.” At last, he motioned to his mouth, marred by a cut.

“Here?” With a gentle hum, you smoothed the pad of your thumb against his lower lip, carefully avoiding the cut and any bruising. Gwayne kissed your fingertips, hand still poised against your hip, groping into your pliant curves and soft physique.

“Damnable vixen.” Gwayne muttered, though his cerulean hues oozed with warmth and ardor, a gallant love reserved only for you. It was a loving jab, and he immediately hauled you closer, bringing your mouth to his for a fiery kiss. The honey-sweet embrace of your lips were ambrosial, making his head spin around.

You reached for his auburn tresses, raking your fingers through his mane, kissing him hard and without an ounce of hesitation. His hands lowered themselves to your derrière, sinking into your supple flesh, treating you to the fervor of his hold. A low moan emerged from your throat when he nipped at your lower lip.

Gwayne relented, tongue seeking entrance into the warmth of your mouth, forcing you to part your lips. In a hurried clash, you kissed him again, open-mouthed and deliciously hot. Your stomach began to churn, arousal seeping from your core, slick between your thighs.

“Gwayne,” You whimpered, attempting to catch your breath as he parted from you, licking at his lower lip. “We needn’t carry on if you are hurt.” You insisted, but he scoffed at the notion, gazing at you with bewilderment and a clear dismissal of your concerns.

“Nonsense,” Gwayne countered, clearly feeling his blood sing with lust, bitten by desire. It was a fire that you had so diligently stoked, and now, it needed to be extinguished. “I would suffer through torture unimaginable if it meant I could have you properly.”

With a bemused huff, you pressed your lips against his bruised brow, watching as he stood up, chest bumping into you. The closeness only seemed to intensify, tension crackling between the both of you. “Are you still in-need of assistance?” You hummed, tone indicative of your lascivious wants.

Gwayne’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smirk, catlike and salacious as he released an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose,” Truthfully, he basked in your affections, even if it was all playful, a steady buildup to more lewd proclivities. He allowed you to do it all as you unfastened his cuisses and tasses, placing them aside. “Perhaps I should take you along to the next conflict. I will have need of your skilled hands, sweet wife.”

Seeing your striking husband in nothing more than his linen smallclothes made you itch with ardor, desire beginning to fester within your heart. His necklace, adorned with his mother’s ring and yours, hung around his throat, relics resting against his sternum.

A battle was certainly no place for a lady, but you digressed, lowering one hand toward the slight bulge in the front of Gwayne’s trousers. “Is that so? I’ve become quite proficient, husband.” A silky purr escaped your lips as you kneaded one hand against his erection.

Seven Hells, you would be his undoing.

With a sharp exhale, Gwayne let out a husky groan near the shell of your ear, hands steadfast atop your hips as you caressed him over his clothes. “Quite proficient, indeed.” He uttered, teeth grazing along your neck as you let your hand slither beneath the coarse linen. The warmth of his cock met your palm, and he shivered.

A breathy sigh escaped you as you bared your neck to him, palm encircled around the base as you dragged your hand from bottom to tip. The pad of your thumb stroked along the head of his cock, causing him to jerk forward into your embrace.

He had sorely missed your touch, the smell of your skin, the plush feeling of your body beneath his capable hands. Gods, if you kept touching him like that, he felt as if he would explode — and so quickly, too. Gwayne refused to resign himself to such a thing.

“I would be delighted if you’d join me,” Gwayne murmured into your neck, lips suckling just beside your jugular. The mark he left flourished, soothed by the lap of his tongue. “Only after I’ve ravished your sweet cunt, of course.” Even crude words sounded so pretty upon his tongue, and you felt your skin crawl with warmth.

A sharp inhale escaped you, anticipation churning within the pit of your stomach as Gwayne found the laces of your gown. You nodded several times over, lips parted as you sought his mouth for a blazing kiss. With dextrous fingers, he tugged on the silken ties, loosening the garment with ease.

The fabric pooled around your feet in a heap, and you hastily kicked it aside, standing in nothing more than a sheer slip. It was nearly translucent, made of a shimmering gossamer that left little to the imagination. Transfixed, Gwayne allowed his hands to travel along your body, kneading and caressing wherever he pleased.

He coaxed you toward the settee he’d been situated in minutes prior, allowing you to sit as he stood above you, hand slipping against your thigh. “Gods, you are divine.” Gwayne sighed, roughened fingertips stroking at your silky skin, like warm velvet. “Lift your skirts for me, dearest.”

Kneeling as a sacrilegious individual would, as if begging for forgiveness within the boughs of a sept, Gwayne sought his peace between your thighs. He observed in quiet rapture as you brought your slip to your hips, revealing your body to him.

Broad shoulders bullied their way between your legs, hands more than happy to have their fill of your haunches. “Gwayne,” You whimpered, feeling him adjust your hips to a proper angle, cunny glistening with a thin sheen of your arousal. “Please, I need your mouth!” Hapless at the talons of your husband, you pleaded with him to taste you.

There was nothing he wanted more in this world than to oblige you, lips pressing all along your legs, mouth steadily finding the apex of your thighs. Gwayne took care in spreading you apart, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt, your taste ambrosial.

A stirring fire of lust roused him, cock twitching within his breeches as he delved deeper into your core. His mouth was a thing of beauty, tongue sluggishly tasting you from your clit to your entrance. Your chest heaved with wanton pants, hands gliding toward his tresses.

Tangled within his copper mane, you coaxed him closer, digits digging at the base of his skull. Gwayne released a groan into your core, hands clamping down on your thighs with an ironclad grasp. Your nectar fell heavy upon his tongue, the sweetest of honey.

Gwayne thoroughly reveled in the feeling of your hands within his hair, hips occasionally stuttering and bucking forward, desperately seeking his mouth. He was attentive, lapping at your cunt with a fervor, allowing his mouth to drift to your clit.

Silk bunched up around your belly, thighs quivering like leaves as you continued to move inward. Most of your writhing was done unconsciously, pleasure continuing to wrack your body whole. Arousal pooled between your legs, spilling onto your husband’s tongue — and he consumed every drop.

Gwayne found his place between your thighs, as any devoted husband would. Every sound that he evoked from you, every shudder of your body, the slick of your arousal, he knew that it all belonged to him. Your needy moans filled your chambers, reverberating off of the walls.

“Gods, Gwayne!” You huffed, countenance screwed into a look of complete and utter bliss, lips agape and eyes fluttered shut. Without shame, you rode your husband’s face as best as you could, wrestling with his auburn locks as your knees squeezed at his head.

Perfect — it couldn’t have gotten any better than this.

His calloused palms ran along your thighs before finding their purchase against the swell of your hips, drunk and delirious from your cunt alone. He was positively whipped, a notion that he rarely admitted aloud, let alone shared with himself. The way you took his mouth with glee filled him with pride.

Another deliberate barrage of licks assailed your clit, causing you to shiver and moan, the sounds tapering off into a series of breathy pants. “Sweetling,” Gwayne crooned, timbre shifting into a delicious husk as he called you by that affectionate nickname. “You are incomparable.” He mumbled, nose brushing along the hood of your clit.

A pang of delight rippled through you as you preened beneath his desire-ridden compliment. Gwayne had a way with words, especially if he found himself in the mood to regale you with lewd whispers. The moment wasn’t now, but you hoped that it would be, soon enough.

That familiar coil of tenuous heat festered within the pit of your stomach, signaling the encroachment of your release. Gwayne buried himself into your cunt, spreading you apart, tongue greedily lapping at your core. His cock was desperate to be inside of you, slick with precum, straining against his trousers.

You chased after your release with reckless abandon, a low wine tearing past your lips as you tugged on Gwayne’s tresses with a sense of urgency. His lips found themselves pursed around the pearl of your cunt, suckling on that sensitive bud until you cried out.

It was an undeniable surge of utter bliss, an amalgamation of pleasure that made your thighs twitch and tremble. You threw your head back against the velveteen lounge, moaning your husband’s name as if it were the only word you knew.

Between the deliberate, timed strokes of his tongue and the stimulation of your clit, you could hold out no longer, digits curling inward, stomach sloshing with a molten warmth. “I— Gwayne!” You mewled, the sound deliciously innocuous as you approached your release.

It slammed into you with the force of a tidal wave, sending spasmodic shivers all along your body, making your skin undeniably hot. Gwayne groaned into your cunt, finding great pleasure in cleaning you up, reveling at the taste of your nectar, like a fine stout.

His cock throbbed with a pleading ache, wanting nothing more than to be inside of you. He was patient, but he could wait no longer, face appearing from between your thighs as he huffed. “I cannot continue to wait,” Gwayne murmured, voice laced with desperation. “I must have you, sweet wife.”

Still trapped within the white-hot throes of your release, you nodded, wanting more from him just as he did you. “I am yours completely.” You breathed, watching as he made for the bathtub. The water inside had gone from steaming to warm, not that he cared.

It was like a race, an eager clamoring to see who could get themselves into the basin first. Gwayne hastily unlaced his breeches, leaving them behind along the stone floor before he sank into the water, muscles unfurling almost instantaneously.

You stood, legs quivering from the might of your peak as you attempted to rid yourself of the silken slip, but Gwayne didn’t have time to watch you fiddle with your gown. “In,” With a sharp timbre interwoven with lust, you seemed surprised, but obeyed his command. “Come here.” He hissed.

Without delay, you stepped into the bathtub, still clad in your silken slip, which Gwayne paid little mind to. Eager, strong hands gripped your hips, dragging you closer until you were in his lap. Auburn tresses were slick with water, visage upturned into a look of sheer delight.

The gossamer silk stuck to your body, hitched around your hips, the wet garment clinging to your flesh. Gwayne lowered you enough to let his cock nudge against your folds, burying his face into the hollow of your throat. He pressed strings of needy kisses there, feeling you grind yourself against him.

Tugging at the thin, lace-woven straps of your slip, you revealed your breasts to him, fabric sagging along your midsection. You listened to the audible hitch of Gwayne’s breath, continuing to slide his cock along the length of your slit. “Sit,” He commanded, hands firm atop the swell of your hips. As you lowered yourself onto his length, he shivered, jaw tensing. “That’s it.”

His cock filled you perfectly — nothing of indomitable size or girth, but it was pretty, just like the rest of him. You gasped, palms moving to perch themselves atop his freckled shoulders. Gwayne groaned, slumping back against the slick, metallic wall of the tub, keeping one hand steady against your hip.

What sweet torment, Gwayne thought, tantalized and entranced by the way you began to ride him, sluggishly through the constant sloshing of water. He assisted you somewhat, guiding you along, occasionally lifting his hips to buck into you, but the efforts primarily rested with you.

“Seven Hells,” Gwayne huffed, cerulean hues drinking in the sight of you, disheveled and damp, countenance contorted into a look of pure bliss. “I missed that cunt of yours, wife. There is nothing like it.” A low grunt tapered off into a breathy sigh as you came down harshly, nails digging into his pale flesh.

Instead of cajoling him with sultry praises of your own, you kept quiet, one hand slinking toward the base of his throat. The newfound sensation left Gwayne visibly perplexed, but he enjoyed your little domineering streak, mouth curling into the ghost of a smirk.

His palm moved to cup your breast, toying with your nipple, slick from water, beginning to pebble with the cooler air. “Gwayne,” You moaned, bouncing upon his cock with all of the eagerness of a brothel whore. Enraptured, he observed you through a greedy, half-lidded stare. “You feel incredible.”

Before his cockiness and ego could come swinging into the fray, you lightly squeezed at his throat, evoking a sonorous groan from him. It was effective at silencing him, but his gaze burned for you, burned with something incendiary as he gently tweaked your breast, kneading at the soft mound.

You were divine, a goddess incarnate, made for him to worship at your feet. He simply couldn’t get enough of you, savoring the way in which his cock continued to bury itself within your tight walls, over and over again. That tenuous coil of warmth tightened within his belly, a rush of heat soon to follow.

His hips jolted again, bucking up into you until he hit that perfect spot inside of you. You gasped, mouth agape as your nails dug angry-red crescents into his shoulder. Gwayne’s own sounds of pleasure caressed your ear, feeling him lean in enough to press a string of kisses all over your breasts.

The hold you had upon his throat began to slack, thighs burning with a dull ache as you rocked yourself upon his cock, continuing to ride him. His cock bottomed out before you lifted yourself up again, only to fall right back down, letting him bury himself until he could go no further.

He looked gorgeous, crown of copper tresses lolled back against the tub, visage one of pleasure, hands continuing to grope and caress along your body. It was only when his length began to pulse and throb within you that he grit his teeth, bracing himself for his release.

A low, subtle ‘fuck’ tore past his mouth, goosebumps coalescing along the length of your spine. You didn’t relent, continuing to rock yourself upon his cock until he was bursting at the seams. With a noisy groan, Gwayne’s hips stuttered, filling you with ropes of hot seed.

Even the ache of war and sex could not spend him entirely, and if it were up to him, he would’ve had you on your back the second you stepped out of the tub. With a sigh of relief, he stroked your hip, watching as you came down with him.

“I will never tire of that,” Gwayne confessed, hand repositioning to stroke at your brow, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Will you stay and help bathe your husband?” He inquired, tone jocular and somewhat playful, but he seemed serious.

“Perhaps,” You mused, reaching for a bar of herb-laden soap, attempting to move off of him. Gwayne tutted, clicking his tongue with mild disdain as he pulled you right back down onto his cock. “Gwayne.” Issuing a soft-spoken warning, you gasped, brows furrowing together.

With a debonair smirk, he pressed a kiss against the hollow of your throat, lounging back within the tub, either arm perched along the sides. “You can stay just like that, dearest. You are well within arm’s reach.” That lascivious purr of him stoked yet another fire, and you relented, staying slotted atop him.

“You’re insufferable.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not translate my work onto other platforms, copy, or steal my work and claim it as your own.

[robo-milky]

SAVANACLAW ROOK SAVE ME…

He has arms for days…

[entitled-fangirl]

I won’t burn you.

Jace Velaryon x Targaryen!reader

SMUT

Summary: After the Battle at Rooks Rest, the reader is upset at Dragonstone. Her betrothed comforts her.

Warnings: oral (f receiving), fingering, heavy makeout, talks of death

Masterlist

…………………………..

Jace's eyes didn't leave her body.

Y/n Targaryen stood among the small council table of Queen Rhaenyra. A green at birth, Alicent's second daughter and youngest child, she now stood next to the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Across the table, Rhaenyra’s heir and the girl's betrothed, Jace.

The two had been betrothed to make amends between the two houses during Luke's petition of Driftmark.

And when Rhaenyra decided to take her children home and return later to King's Landing, she had proposed taking Y/n with them so she may get to know Jace more. Though hesitant at first, Alicent was persuaded to agree by Viserys.

Now, Y/n remained loyal to Jace through the betrayal of her brothers.

Rhaenyra admired the girl's bravery throughout the ordeal.

Now, months later, Y/n stood at the table, utterly silent and motionless, save for the steady stream of tears that ran down her face at the news of the Battle of Rook's Rest.

Her brother injured beyond repair. Rhaenys dead. Sunfyre gone. Meleys paraded around King's Landing like a war prize.

It was the first time she had cried at Dragonstone.

Jace stood on the other side of the table, watching in pain as she weeped in silence.

The council was speaking, he was sure of it, but he couldn't tell what. Nor did he quite care.

He had offered to fight that battle.

In anyone world, Vermax may have been the war prize paraded.

He wanted to help. He did. It seemed he never knew how to help.

The moment Rhaenyra called an end to the meeting, Jace rounded the table to his betrothed. He took her face in his hands. His eyes darted across her face rapidly before his voice came out softly, "Please stop this."

Y/n's eyes finally looked up at him with her teary gaze, and Jace felt breath leave his body.

"My love, please," Jace tried again, not caring for the others in the room.

Her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, "Why must it all end in fire?"

He wasn't sure what to say to that. "It's… it's in our blood."

She pulled herself from his grip, wiping at the tears herself. "My brother did not even wish to be king, and now he lies in a bed, half-dead. And for what? The feud between our mothers??"

"Watch yourself, my love." He warned, "Do not say the wrong thing just because you are upset."

She pushed his chest lightly, "You don't understand!"

His face morphed into one of anger, "I don't understand? Your brothers live. Where is mine? Slain by one of yours! I DO understand. More than you know!"

She shook her head as fresh tears warmed her face, "Please do not shout at me."

Jace scoffed lightly and crossed his arms, "Do not be unreasonable."

"I wish I was not who I am."

She began to rush out of the hall.

Jace opened his mouth to call out to her, but nothing came out.

…

Y/n had spent hours in her chambers with the door locked. No servants or guards were to bother her.

Her weeping could be heard throughout Dragonstone, making the Prince's gut tear itself in two.

But only when his betrothed's servant came to him to tell him of Y/n’s refusal of food did he do anything.

…

A knock sounded at the door.

Y/n sniffled and her soft voice called out, "Leave me."

"It's Jace."

"I said leave me."

"No."

She turned to look at the door. "Leave."

"Not until we speak."

She cursed lightly for his Velayron stubbornness.

"I won't come in until you say the words."

She finally gave in. "Fine. Come in."

Jace slowly opened the door, a tray of food in his hand. He closed the door behind him before his eyes settled on her frame.

Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy from the tears, a few still escaping down her cheek as she sat on the floor in front of her bed.

He stood awkwardly, not sure what to do.

Finally, her meek voice spoke up, "Forgive me."

His head tilted, "W…what?"

"Forgive me." She sniffled, "I said awful things to you. You know the pain of loss more personally than I ever shall."

"That's not true," he said as he stepped towards her, setting the tray on a table. "You lost your father only months ago."

"He was your grandsire."

"Still."

She continued, "And you've lost Luke, Princess Rhaenys, your father Laenor, your-" She stopped herself. "Your mother's… guard."

Jace looked down at the floor. "Yes, but I… it is different with me."

"I don't see how."

When Jace finally looked back to her, unshed tears swam in his eyes. "I don't know."

She sniffled, "Please just say you'll forgive me."

He knelt down next to her, looking deep into her eyes. "You know I will."

She reached up, brushing his unruly curls from his face before connecting her lips with his.

Jace's body wracked with sobs as he pulled her into his lap. Her kisses became more passionate, intent on showing her feelings through them. His tongue darted out to her bottom lip, and he was quickly granted access to her mouth.

"I love you," he whispered against her lips.

"You know I love you, Jace."

He stopped himself, pulling his lips from hers, "We should stop here."

She leaned forward, connecting their lips again, "I want you, Jace."

He shook his head, "We're not to marry until after this war. I won't sully you."

"I don't care. I need to feel you. Please."

He nodded, his hands pulling her hips closer and reconnecting their lips.

Her hand moved to his hair, pulling lightly.

"Onto the bed," he murmured.

She quickly left his lap, standing and beginning to pull at her dress.

He smiled as he wiped his tears and stood with her, "Let me."

He stood behind her, his lips leaving open mouth kisses against her neck as his fingers unbuttoned the small ones down her back.

She let out a small moan, resting her head on his shoulder.

When the buttons were undone, he tugged her dress down, making it pool at her feet. Now only in her shift, she turned in his hold and kissed him again.

His hands moved to her hips, and he walked her into the bed, playfully pushing her onto it.

She let out a grunt as her back hits the covers, but she laughed lightly at his antics.

He made quick work of tugging off his clothes, leaving him in his small clothes. He then joined her on the bed.

As he crawled over her, she grabbed his face gently, "How do you do it?"

He sniffled from his past tears, "Do what?"

Her thumb brushed over his bottom lip, "Suddenly I don't mind being consumed by fire as long as it is from you."

His lips pulled into a bright smile, "I won't burn you.”

She pulled him to her again in a desperate kiss.

Jace's hands began to pull her shift up to her hips. He pulled away to look at her, "Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"Please, I have to hear it. Please."

She smiled, "I want you, Jace. As much as you'll give me."

He pushed her legs up by her thighs, "I'll give you anything you want." He then made agonizingly slow movements as his body began to move lower and lower down hers. She waited with bated breath.

Jace had never pleasured a woman before. He was rather terrified of failing. But he was intend on trying.

His face lowered between her thighs. He felt breath leave him at the sight that laid before him.

He slowly lowered himself the rest of the way, licking a long stripe up her slit.

She let out a gasp from deep inside her.

He looked up with a hesitantly, "Does that feel good?"

Her hand trailed to his hair, "Please don't stop."

She could feel his smirk against her as he continued his motions.

It was experimental, continuing the things that made her gasp or when her grip on his hair tightened.

When his nose brushed her clit, her hips jerked back as a sinful moan left her mouth.

He reached up, holding her hips steady as he continued.

His tongue moved deep into her now, wanting to moan along with her.

"Jace…. Oh gods, Jace…."

He pulled away and brought himself up to her face again, kissing her deeply. She let out a small whine at the taste of herself on his tongue.

He grinned, "Not like it?"

She let out a calming breath, "Just feels strange."

"Want to stop?" He asked with a tilted head.

She immediately shook hers, "No. No, please don't."

He smiled, "Pretty girl."

Their lips connected again in a heated makeup.

She let out a small gasp when his fingers began to toy between her thighs, and he took the opportunity of her open mouth , letting his tongue explore her.

All-consumed by Jace, she gave in completely, her eyes closed and her lips slowing against him.

When his fingers slowly entered her, her entire body froze.

"This alright?" He whispered when he noticed her stiffness.

She gave a whimper but nodded her head.

"Jace…"

"You're so beautiful."

His fingers began to pump very slowly, his pants tenting at the feeling of his fingers in her.

She pushed herself up to kiss him but his fingers curled and her open mouth paused inches from his own.

He couldn't help the smirk that came to his lips. "You like that?"

She breathed out heavily, her eyes meeting his. "You… You know I… I love you."

"I love you."

"Burn me, Jace."

He kissed her jaw lightly, "I'll never mar your pretty skin."

…

They returned the next day to the council meeting in new spirits. Daemon's eyes moved between the two with a knowing look.

He knows the look of a man that's pussy whipped.

Perhaps he could get Rhaenyra to move the wedding closer.

……………………………

[uhbambii]

Sweet as Frosting

The Dellamorte villa was alive with warmth and laughter. The golden light of the kitchen illuminated the flour-dusted counter, where Rook stirred a bowl of batter with a bit more enthusiasm than technique. Her hair was tied loosely back, strands already falling free to frame her flushed cheeks.

Lucanis Dellamorte leaned against the counter beside her, his dark eyes brimming with quiet amusement. He was dressed in casual crow attire, nonetheless a bit intimidating to outsiders, though the frosting smudged across his sleeves made him look just a little less intimidating than usual.

“You know,” he drawled, his voice smooth and laced with mischief, “if you whisk any harder, the bowl might retaliate.”

Rook shot him a look, one brow arched. “I’m trying to make this perfect. You’re the one who insisted on cake instead of pie, so…” She trailed off, gesturing to the mess of ingredients around them.

Lucanis smirked. “Don’t blame me for your ambitious standards, tesoro. You’re the one who said you wanted to impress me.”

“Impress you?” Rook laughed, pausing to flick a pinch of flour at him. “Amorino, I think you’re already impressed enough.”

He tilted his head, watching her intently as though agreeing with that sentiment entirely. Then, without warning, he reached into the nearby frosting bowl, scooping a bit onto his finger and dabbing it across her nose.

“Lucanis!” she yelped, dropping the whisk and swiping at her face.

He was already laughing, the low sound resonating deep in his chest as he stepped back. “You’re much cuter when you’re messy, you know.”

“Oh, you’re asking for it now.”

Rook grabbed a handful of flour and flung it at him, hitting his dark shirt square in the chest. Lucanis stopped short, glancing down at the pale smudge on his otherwise pristine attire.

“You’re going to regret that,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

But Rook wasn’t waiting for his retaliation. She darted around the counter, laughing as Lucanis chased after her with a determined gleam in his eye. They ended up tangled in a playful scuffle, smearing frosting and flour on each other’s faces and hands as they stole kisses in between bursts of laughter.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The cake batter was forgotten for a while, though neither seemed to mind.

It wasn’t until much later, after the cake was baked and half-decorated, and Rook was perched on the countertop with Lucanis standing between her legs, their foreheads pressed together, that she glanced at the clock on the wall.

Her heart sank. “Andraste’s ashes,” she muttered, pulling back.

Lucanis frowned, his brows knitting together. “What is it?”

“It’s one in the morning,” Rook said, sliding off the counter in a panic. “I was supposed to be home by eleven. Viago’s going to kill me.”

Lucanis caught her hand before she could rush away, his expression softening. “Stay,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “I can smooth talk Viago tomorrow, save you some trouble.”

She sighed, torn between the warmth of his touch and the dread of her brother’s wrath. Finally, she leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered against his mouth before pulling away.

“And yet, you keep coming back,” Lucanis said with a smirk, watching her gather her things.

Rook rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that crept across her face. “I’ll see you soon. Try not to miss me too much.”

Lucanis chuckled, “try not to get scolded too much,” his gaze following her as she slipped out into the night.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The De Riva villa was quiet as Rook climbed through the open window of her room, carefully lowering herself onto the floor. She thought she’d gotten away with it, until the light flicked on.

Rook froze, turning slowly to find Viago sitting in a chair by the door, his arms crossed and his dark eyes narrowed. He was still dressed, his usual sharp crow attire despite the late hour, though his expression betrayed his annoyance.

“You want to tell me where you’ve been all night?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm.

Rook scrambled for an excuse. “I was out with Teia,” she said quickly.

Another chair turned, and Teia spun into view with an equally unimpressed look. Her brown hair was loosely braided, and though her expression was softer than Viago’s, it was no less effective.

“Wanna try again?” Teia asked, arching a brow.

Rook winced. “I… was baking. At a friend’s place.”

“Baking,” Viago repeated, his tone flat. “Until one in the morning?”

“It’s… a very complicated recipe?” she offered weakly.

Teia exchanged a look with Viago, her lips twitching as though she were trying to suppress a laugh. Viago, however, didn’t seem amused.

“You know I don’t like it when you’re out this late,” he said, his voice softening slightly but still firm. “Anything could happen.”

Rook sighed, guilt creeping in. “I’m sorry, Vi. I lost track of time, that’s all. Nothing happened. I was perfectly safe at the Dellamorte villa.”

Viago’s brows furrowed, but his expression softened slightly. “Lucanis, huh?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Look, I’m not going to lecture you about seeing him. He’s… decent, as far as men like him go. Better than I expected, even. But, Rook—” His tone sharpened, the protective older brother coming through. “One in the morning? At his villa? What were you thinking?”

Teia gave him a small nudge, her tone gentler. “Vi, let her explain. She’s fine. Don’t make a scene.”

“I’m not making a scene,” Viago shot back, though his raised voice said otherwise.

Rook held up her hands, trying to de-escalate. “We were baking. Baking, Vi. I wasn’t sneaking off to plot assassinations or rile up the Antaam!”

“That’s not the point,” Viago said, standing now, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “The point is you said you’d be home by eleven. If you’re going to see Lucanis, or anyone for that matter, you don’t just vanish into the night like some teenager with no sense of responsibility.”

“Vanish?” Rook repeated, indignant. “I didn’t vanish, Viago. I was with someone you know and trust.”

“I trust him to keep his blades sharp and his secrets buried,” Viago said. “That doesn’t mean I trust him not to make a bad decision with my little sister.”

Teia sighed, cutting in before the argument could spiral further. “She’s not a child, Vi. She’s more than capable of holding her own. And it’s not like she’s going to take any nonsense from Lucanis or anyone else.” She turned to Rook with a wry smile. “But maybe let your brother know next time if you’re running late? He gets… dramatic when he’s worried.”

Rook couldn’t help but grin at Teia’s dry humor, though she turned back to Viago with a more serious expression. “I’m sorry, Vi. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just lost track of time, that’s all. It won’t happen again.”

Viago exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction. “Good. Because if you keep sneaking back at this hour, I might start sending messages to Lucanis about curfews.”

Rook’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His lips quirked into a sly smirk. “Try me.”

Teia snorted a laugh, nudging Viago toward the door. “Alright, that’s enough. She’s apologized. Let her sleep, papa corvo.”

Viago huffed but relented, though not without a final glance at Rook. “Just… take care of yourself, okay? And next time, send a message through a crow.”

As the door closed behind them, Rook sank onto her bed, letting out a breath of relief. Her brother could be a pain, but at least he wasn’t trying to put Lucanis on some sort of watchlist.

But the lecture was worth it, she thought with a smile, the memory of Lucanis’s flour-dusted grin still fresh in her mind.

———————————————————————————

I wanted to write something with a little bit of comic relief, sprinkled with a touch of protective older brother Viago (My headcanon for crow! Rook).

————————————————————————-

Inspo for story: @trialsofthedas

Rook: *sneaking in through their window after a night at the villa*

Viago: *turning in their chair and flicking the light on* You want to tell me where you've been all night?

Rook: I was out with Teia?

Teia: *turning in their chair* Wanna try again?

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

[twstedpurple]

Care for a Dance?

✧ How unforgettable the night would be if you could share a dance with him under the moonlight?

After putting a stop to Rollo’s grand scheme of ridding the world of magic, the ball proceeded as planned that night. You observed from the sidelines as students swarmed the center of the hall, a small band playing music in the corner while people danced under the warm glow of chandeliers.

You, however, weren’t a fan of fancy social events. But being a student at the prestigious Night Raven College, you found yourself attracting more attention than you thought. You could feel your face aching from the forced smiles and politely turning down every students' requests for a dance. Luckily, your friends swooped in to save you.

“You alright, Y/N?” Epel asked, his head tilted with concern. Rook had already distracted the crowd that had surrounded you, drawing them away with his usual flair for conversation.

“Yeah. Thanks for the help.” You flashed Epel a grateful smile, adjusting the mask on your face. “Talking with so many people really drains my energy. But I didn’t want to be rude by pushing them away."

“You should probably take a break,” Epel suggested, his tone soft.

You nodded. “Good idea. I’ll get some fresh air outside,” you said before waving and slipping out of the hall.

Once outside, you exhaled a sigh of relief. The cool evening breeze kissed your skin, and the moon hung high in the sky, casting a serene glow over the school grounds. You sat on one of the courtyard benches, pulling your mask off and leaning back, savoring the moment of solitude as you unwind.

“There you are, Child of Man.”

Your heart skipped at the familiar voice, and you quickly turned to see the Diasomnia housewarden standing at the courtyard’s edge, his imposing figure somehow even more striking under the pale light.

"Malleus?" You stood up, a bit surprised. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be inside, enjoying the ball?"

“I noticed your absence from the ball,” Malleus said, his voice calm as he approached. “After asking your friends, I came to seek you myself. Why are you out here? Does the gathering not suit your tastes?”

“Oh, it’s not that,” you said quickly, waving your hand. “I’m just… not good with crowds. It’s overwhelming.”

“I see.” Malleus tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing with understanding. "The clamor of such events can be taxing, especially for those unaccustomed to it."

Malleus tilted his head slightly, gazing up at the moon. "The moonlight looks beautiful tonight. “It would be a shame to let the night pass without enjoying its splendor.”

Before you could ask him what he meant, Malleus extended a hand toward you, his green eyes glowing faintly beneath his mask. "Would you care for a dance?"

You blinked, taken aback by the unexpected offer. “A dance… out here? B-But I’m not really good at dancing,” you stammered, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze.

Malleus chuckled softly, his deep voice resonating in the still night air. “Then allow me to lead. You need only follow.”

With a slight hesitation, you placed your hand in his. His grip was firm yet gentle, the music from inside the hall a distant hum as he guided you effortlessly into a slow waltz under the bright moonlight. For a while, neither of you spoke, simply letting the tranquility of the moment envelop you. It was only when Malleus gently spun you out and then back into his arms that he broke the silence.

"It seems you can dance just fine," he remarked, a soft smile on his face as he looked at you.

You smiled up at him. "That's because I have a good partner."

Just then, you heard the sound of footsteps, followed by two familiar voices calling for Malleus. You sighed, stepping back reluctantly. "It seems Silver and Sebek are looking for you."

You exchanged a glance with Malleus, and a small, almost regretful smile tugged at his lips. “It seems our solitude is at its end.” His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before offering you a slight, regal bow. "Shall we return, then?”

Still feeling the warmth from the dance, you offered him a smile. “Yes, let’s go back.”

[cy-cyborg]

It's been confirmed that there are 3 amputees in the main cast of Dragon Age: the veilguard - Neve (leg amputee), Bellara (arm amputee) and your inquisitor (arm amputee). So as an amputee myself, here are some things I'd like to see.

Note: these aren't predictions, just things I'd really like to be included.

The inquisitor doesn't use a prosthetic (I already talked about this in its own post but with 3 amputees, and 2 of them already being shown to use prosthetics that, lets be honest, do look like "perfect replacement" prosthetics, it would be nice to see at least one who doesn't)

We will get to customise our inquisitor in chatacter creation, so I would love, if they do use a prosthetic, for there to be some customisability to it (im not holding my breath there but still).

Neve and Bellara's prosthetics aren't perfect prosthetics, and they are actually acknowledged as being disabled while still being active members of your party.

There's some kind of party banter between Neve and Bellara about some of the downsides/problems with their prosthetics, not necessarily in a "poor them" way, but in a "ugh, don't you just hate it when you can't get the stupid thing on in the morning" kind of way.

I get a kind of jokey/adventurous vibe from Bellara, I hope they aren't affraid to let her use her prosthetic for pranks or jokes. I don't think neve would, but I can see bellara having a blast with it.

I hope the prosthetics come off during down time. No amputee wears their prosthetics 24/7, it's uncomfortable, and they get heavy and sore after using them all day.

I hope we see Neve express some frustration or see her alter her walk animation on rough terrain. It's hard to get a clear look because the trailers she's been shown in are so dark, but her foot doesn't look articulated, which is going to change how she walks, even just a little bit.

I hope the prosthetics don't break - this is a trope I'm starting to notice more and more, where someone has a perfect prosthetic that is only not a perfect replacement when it breaks, usually for plot reasons, at which point the character in question is forced out of the action until its fixed. DA has forced companions out of your party for story reasons before (e.g. solas after you free his spirit friend and he needs to cool off) so I can see this being used for plot, and I really hope it's not.

The inquisitor, Neve and Bellara compair prosthetists (the maker of the prosthetic) and maker techniques.

I really doubt they'll do this but I'd love it if random NPC's approach you if you have any of the amputees in your party to ask what happened and/or make weird comments at them ("but cy, that would be so annoying and inconvenient!" That's the point. So many people do that to irl amputees, and it's never at a convenient or even safe time, and I've never seen it happen in media. A game is arguably the best place to have it happen, in, say, a random event similar to the ones that could happen in origins)

In that same vein, I'd love to see a scene where someone approaches the inquisitor to call them an inspiration- you and the inquisitor assume it's for, you know, beating corripheus (I know I spelled it wrong lol) and saving the world, but it's revealed the chatacter has no idea who the hell the inquisitor is and just means it's inspiring that they're out in public "like that" - referring to their arm. This also happens to me all the time, and you can't tell me some snooty orlesean or tevinter noble wouldn't make those back-handed compliments, lol. You also can't convince me that any version of the inquisitor would just accept that

I hope none of the chatacters are used as inspiration porn ("don't you worry Rook! I can still pull my own weight on the team despite being an amputee, you just have to give me a chance to prove myself!")

At least one of the chatacter's stories of how they lost their limb is left untold in game (we don't always need to know how it happened if it's not relevent to the plot).

Like I said, these aren't predictions, just my hopes. I wouldn't hold my breath for any of these to be honest (bioware has not been the best in term of disability rep in the past) but A lot of them wouldn't be hard to implement and could take the representation from hardly even acknowledging their disability to something actually pretty decent disability rep-wise. It's also pretty rare to have so many characters with the same kind of disability in the cast of such a mainstream piece of media, and I really, really hope they do something with that because you can have a lot of fun with that.

[novaursa]

The Fire That Binds Us

- Summary: The aftermath of Blood and Cheese. Aegon and you find comfort in each other once more, and later, make plans with your council for attack on Rook's Rest.

- Paring: reader (twin!wife)/Aegon II

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N. Aegon has two surviving children with a reader. And the reader is bonded with a dragon called Starfyre. These events happen after The Silent Pyre and before Eternal Blaze. If you want to read all parts in chronological order you can find a list of my works on my blog. The list is pinned on the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 3 613

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The echoes of the past haunt the halls of the Red Keep, each stone a silent witness to the horrors that have unfolded within. The shadows of mourning drape over the castle like a shroud, heavier than any nightfall. Your chambers, once filled with the innocent laughter of your sons, are now cloaked in a grief that is too vast, too consuming to ever truly fade.

You sit by the window, staring out at the sky where Starfyre soared a week ago, her radiant scales shimmering like the night sky filled with stars. But even the memory of her brilliance cannot pierce the darkness that has taken root in your heart. The weight of your grief presses down on you, suffocating, as if the air itself has turned to stone. Your body feels numb, cold—almost as if you’ve become as lifeless as the small bodies that were taken from you so cruelly.

The door creaks open, but you don’t turn your head. You already know who it is. Her presence, once comforting, now brings only pain, a reminder of the tragedy that unfolded under her helpless watch.

"My sweet girl," Alicent’s voice trembles as she speaks. There is a rawness to it, a wound that has never healed. "You must eat something. You haven’t touched a morsel in days."

Her words fall flat, meaningless. How can she speak of food when your very soul feels starved, stripped of the light that your sons brought into your life? Aeron and Vaelon—they were your stars, bright and full of life. And now they are gone, snuffed out by the cruelty of war, by the hatred of your own blood.

You shake your head slowly, the movement taking more effort than it should. “I can’t, Mother. I can’t stomach anything. The thought of food…” Your voice breaks, a sob threatening to escape, but you force it down. You’ve cried too much already, and yet the tears never seem to run dry.

Alicent’s face crumples, her own sorrow breaking through the fragile mask of strength she tries to maintain. She reaches out, her hand trembling as she places it on yours, the warmth of her touch only a painful reminder of what you’ve lost. "Please, Y/N, you must take care of yourself—for Daena and Baelon. They need their mother."

Her words, though well-meaning, feel like another weight upon your chest. How can you be a mother to the children you still have when your heart is buried with the ones who are gone? The sight of Daena’s silver hair, so much like Aeron’s, and Baelon’s innocent smile, a mirror of Vaelon’s, only twist the knife deeper into your soul.

You pull your hand away, the motion sharp and cold. “And why haven't you warned anyone, Mother, when they came in to take my sons?” The bitterness in your voice surprises even you, but it’s a poison you cannot hold back. “You were there before me, in the nursery. But you didn't scream or resist, you just surrendered to them as they gagged you.”

Alicent’s breath catches, her eyes wide with shock and guilt, the guilt she has carried since that cursed night. You know it’s unfair, that she did all she could, but the rage within you needs an outlet, needs someone to blame besides the nameless killers who stole your children away.

“I tried,” Alicent whispers, her voice breaking as tears well in her eyes. “I tried to stop them, Y/N, you know it. I held Aeron in my arms with you, I tried to save him, but—” She chokes on her words, unable to continue as she’s overcome by the memory. “I felt his blood on my hands... I can still feel it, and it haunts me every night. Please, forgive me.”

But forgiveness is a luxury you cannot afford. You stand abruptly, the motion causing a wave of dizziness to crash over you, but you refuse to let it pull you down. You walk away from her, your steps unsteady, and collapse onto the edge of the bed that once held your children when they were babes, now cold and empty.

Before you can say anything more, the door opens again, and Aegon steps into the room. His presence is both a balm and a wound, for he too is a reminder of what you’ve lost—of what you both have lost.

“Leave us,” Aegon says to his mother, his voice a low command. Alicent hesitates, her eyes flickering between you and Aegon, but she knows better than to argue. With a final, sorrowful look, she exits the room, leaving you alone with your husband.

Aegon approaches you slowly, as if afraid that you might shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment. And perhaps you will. He kneels before you, his hands gently taking yours, and the warmth of his touch makes you flinch. How can anything be warm in a world so cold?

“Y/N,” he whispers, his voice thick with his own grief. “My love, my sister… please, look at me.”

Reluctantly, you lift your gaze to meet his. His eyes, so much like yours, are filled with pain, with sorrow, and with a rage that simmers just beneath the surface. The rage that has kept him going, kept him breathing, when all you want to do is stop.

“We will avenge them,” he swears, his grip on your hands tightening, as if he can tether you to life through sheer force of will. “Rhaenyra and Daemon will pay for what they’ve done. I swear it on the blood of our sons.”

His words are meant to comfort, to give you some semblance of hope, but they only deepen the chasm within you. You pull your hands from his grasp, turning your head away. “Vengeance won’t bring them back, Aegon,” you murmur, your voice hollow, devoid of the fire that once burned within you. “No matter how much blood you spill, it won’t return Aeron or Vaelon to us.”

Aegon’s face hardens at your words, the pain in his eyes turning to steel. “But it will make them pay,” he insists, his voice rising with the anger he cannot contain. “It will make them suffer as we suffer.”

You shake your head, tears finally spilling over as your resolve crumbles. “I don’t want more suffering, Aegon. I just want our boys back.” Your voice breaks into a sob, and you collapse into his arms, the weight of your grief finally pulling you under.

Aegon holds you tightly, his own tears falling silently as he presses his face into your hair. “I know,” he whispers, his voice raw. “I know, my love. And I would give anything to bring them back. But all I have left is this rage, this need for vengeance. I can’t let their deaths go unanswered. I can’t.”

You cling to him, the only solid thing in a world that has crumbled around you, and for a moment, you allow yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, his vengeance will bring you some peace. But deep down, you know that nothing will ever fill the void left by your sons. Nothing will ever make you whole again.

Aegon’s arms tighten around you as if he could shield you from all the pain in the world, as if his embrace alone could mend the shattered pieces of your heart. His breath is warm against your hair, mingling with your tears as you bury your face against his chest. For a moment, the world outside ceases to exist; there is no war, no death, no sorrow—only the two of you, clinging to each other in the darkness.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up so that your eyes meet his. There’s a tenderness in his gaze that you haven’t seen in what feels like an eternity, a softness that cuts through the cold numbness within you. Slowly, as if testing the fragile connection between you, Aegon leans in and brushes his lips against yours.

The kiss is gentle at first, almost tentative, as though he’s afraid of breaking you further. But when you respond, when your lips part to welcome him, a hunger sparks between you—a need for closeness, for the comfort that only each other can provide. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more desperate, as if you can fill the void left by your grief with each touch, each breath shared between you.

His hands move to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the lingering tears as he kisses you again, this time with a fierceness born of longing. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a plea, a silent cry for the connection that has been stolen from you both by the weight of your loss. And you answer it, pouring every ounce of your sorrow, your love, your need into him, hoping that he can feel it, that he understands.

“Aegon,” you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling with emotion. “Don’t let me go. Not tonight.”

“Never,” he breathes, his words a vow as he pulls you closer still, his hands beginning to roam, tracing the curves of your body as if reassuring himself that you are still here, still real.

The need for each other becomes overwhelming, a tidal wave that sweeps you both under, and before you know it, he’s guiding you to lay on the bed. The same bed where you’ve spent countless nights in tears, in mourning, now becomes a sanctuary, a place where you can find solace in each other.

He lays you down gently, as though you’re something precious, fragile. But there’s no haste in his movements, no rush as he leans over you, his gaze searching yours for any sign of hesitation. You reach up to touch his face, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, his lips, memorizing the feel of him beneath your hands.

“We’ve been lost for so long,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I need you, Aegon. I need to feel alive again.”

“And you will,” he promises, his voice rough with emotion as he begins to undress you, each piece of clothing slipping away like the layers of grief that have kept you apart. “I need you too, Y/N. You’re the only thing keeping me from falling apart.”

There’s something sacred in the way he touches you, in the way he lays you bare before him, his hands reverent as they caress your skin. You respond in kind, your fingers working to undo the ties and clasps of his own garments, your need for him growing with every second, every inch of skin revealed.

When there is nothing left between you, no barriers of cloth or grief, he pauses, his gaze sweeping over you as if committing you to memory. The weight of the world seems to lift in that moment, the sorrow and rage fading into the background as all that matters is this—this moment, this connection.

He leans down to kiss you again, his lips lingering on yours as his body presses against yours, the warmth of him chasing away the cold that has settled in your bones. The kiss deepens, growing more intense, more desperate, and you lose yourself in the sensation, in the feel of him—of Aegon, your husband, your twin, your other half.

As his hands roam your body, exploring the familiar terrain with a tenderness that borders on worship, you feel something shift within you. It’s not just about the physical act, not just about seeking comfort in each other’s touch. It’s about reclaiming something that was taken from you—your love, your bond, your life together.

When he finally joins with you, it’s like coming home. The world falls away, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you are whole. There are no words, only the sounds of your shared breaths, the gasps and sighs that fill the room as you move together, as you find solace in each other’s arms.

But as you reach the peak of your passion, as the world seems to blur around the edges, you find your voice again, whispering his name like a prayer, like a promise. “Aegon… we will survive this. We have to.”

“We will,” he replies, his voice thick with emotion, with the weight of the love and the grief you share. “As long as we have each other, we will.”

The words are a vow, a promise that despite everything, despite the darkness that surrounds you, you will endure.

And as the night fades into dawn, as the first light of morning filters through the curtains, you find a fragile peace in each other’s arms, a brief respite from the pain that has become your constant companion. It’s not a cure, it’s not an end to your sorrow, but it’s enough—enough to remind you that you are still alive, that you still have each other.

And that, for now, is enough.

The days following your shared moment with Aegon are a blur of whispered plans and unspoken grief, the fragile peace you found together now threatened by the storm brewing within the walls of the Red Keep. The small council meeting looms ahead, a gathering of minds meant to steer the course of the war, but you can already feel the tension crackling in the air like a brewing tempest.

As you and Aegon make your way to the council chambers, his hand rests lightly on the small of your back, a silent reassurance that you’re in this together. But you know him too well—there’s a fire in his eyes that betrays his intentions, a need for action that cannot be quelled by mere words.

The council chamber is already filled when you arrive, the lords and advisors gathered around the table, their faces set in various shades of concern and determination. Lord Tayland is whispering something to Grand Maester Orwyle, while Lord Jasper taps his fingers impatiently on the table. Ser Criston Cole stands by the door, his gaze sharp as he watches you and Aegon enter. Prince Aemond, your younger brother, is already seated, his one good eye burning with intensity. Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, occupies his usual place, his expression unreadable as always, but you sense the unease lurking beneath his composed exterior.

“Let us begin,” Aegon announces, his voice carrying the weight of command as he takes his seat at the head of the table. You settle beside him, your presence more than ceremonial—Aegon has insisted that you be involved in these meetings, that your counsel is valued, even if the others in the room might silently question your place here.

Aegon’s gaze sweeps over the assembled lords, his eyes narrowing as they settle on his grandfather, Otto. “We can no longer wait for whispers and rumors to guide our actions,” he declares, the impatience in his tone unmistakable. “The time has come to strike at Dragonstone directly, with our dragons. Sunfyre, Vhagar, and Starfyre will be more than enough to break Rhaenyra’s hold on the island and crush her forces before they have a chance to regroup.”

The room tenses, all eyes turning to Otto. The older man doesn’t flinch, though the slight tightening of his lips betrays his discomfort. “Your Grace,” he begins carefully, “we must be cautious. We still await word from the Free Cities and Lord Dalton Greyjoy. The alliance we are proposing is crucial. Without their fleets, we cannot break the blockade of the Gullet, and we risk being isolated if we act too rashly.”

Aegon’s expression darkens, his hand curling into a fist on the table. “We cannot afford to wait any longer, Otto. Every day we delay gives Rhaenyra and Daemon more time to gather their forces, to prepare for an attack of their own. The longer we sit idle, the weaker we appear. They will see it as a sign of our hesitation, of our weakness.”

Prince Aemond leans forward, his voice cold and sharp as steel. “The time for caution has passed. We need to strike now, decisively. Dragonstone is vulnerable, and with Vhagar and Sunfyre, we can take it within days. Let Rhaenyra know that her stronghold is not as secure as she thinks.”

Otto’s expression hardens, his voice taking on an edge as he replies, “And what of the Gullet? What of the supplies and reinforcements that will be needed once we engage Rhaenyra’s forces in earnest? Without the ships, without the support of our potential allies, we may find ourselves trapped in our own capital, besieged on all sides.”

Aegon slams his hand on the table, the sound echoing through the chamber like a thunderclap. “Enough! We cannot continue to play this game of waiting. Rhaenyra has already shown her hand—she murdered my sons, our heirs! And you ask me to sit here and wait for a letter that may never come?”

The room falls silent, the weight of Aegon’s grief and rage pressing down on everyone present. You can feel his fury radiating off him in waves, a storm that is barely contained.

Otto meets Aegon’s gaze, his eyes hard. “Your Grace, my only concern is for the stability of the realm. Rhaenyra is a threat, yes, but if we lose the support of our allies, if we spread ourselves too thin—”

“No more excuses, Otto,” Aegon cuts him off, his voice icy. “You speak of stability, yet all your cautious plans have brought us nothing but delay and indecision. I need a Hand who will act, not one who will hesitate at every turn.”

Otto’s eyes widen slightly, realizing what’s coming, but before he can speak, Aegon rises from his seat, his decision made. “You are relieved of your duties as Hand of the King. Ser Criston Cole will take your place.”

The shock ripples through the room, though no one dares to speak. Otto stands slowly, the lines of his face deepening with the weight of his dismissal. “As you command, Your Grace,” he says, his voice strained but steady. He turns to leave the chamber, his exit a silent acknowledgment of the power shift that has just occurred.

As the door closes behind him, Aegon turns back to the council, his gaze hard. “We march on Duskendale. Sunfyre, Vhagar, and Ser Criston will lead the assault. We will cut off Dragonstone from the mainland, and then we will take Rook’s Rest. I will not allow Rhaenyra another victory.”

Aemond nods in agreement, his expression grim. “You must remain in the capital for now, brother. Let us secure Duskendale first, and then you can join me at Rook’s Rest. We need to draw her out, force her hand. Rhaenyra will retaliate, and when she does, we will be ready.”

You listen to their words, the cold logic of their strategy, but all you can think of is the danger they are about to face. The thought of Aegon flying into battle, of him facing Rhaenyra’s dragons alone, sends a chill through your blood.

“I’m coming with you,” you say suddenly, your voice breaking through the tension in the room. “Starfyre and I will be at your side.”

Aegon turns to you, his expression softening for a moment, but there’s a firmness in his eyes that you recognize all too well. “No, Y/N,” he says quietly but firmly. “You must stay here, in the capital. Daena and Baelon need you. I need you to watch over them, to protect them.”

Your heart clenches at his words, but the resolve within you burns stronger. “And who will protect you, Aegon? Who will keep you safe when the battle begins?”

“Sunfyre,” he answers, stepping closer to you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “I cannot risk losing you, Y/N. You are my heart, my strength. Stay here, where it’s safe.”

You want to argue, to fight him on this, but the look in his eyes, the plea behind his command, makes you pause. He’s not just ordering you—he’s begging you, in his own way, to stay, to keep the last remnants of your family safe.

But even as you nod, your mind is already made up. You will not let him face this alone. You will follow him, no matter the cost, and protect him with everything you have left. The silence between you is thick with unspoken words, the council around you forgotten as you lock eyes with Aegon.

“I understand,” you say finally, your voice soft, but there’s a fire in your heart that refuses to be extinguished. “I’ll stay.”

But the promise you make to yourself is unbreakable. You will not remain in the capital while your husband flies into danger. When the time comes, Starfyre will fly with Sunfyre, and you will be at Aegon’s side, no matter what.

The meeting concludes with final orders and plans, but you barely hear them. Your mind is already racing, thinking of the preparations you’ll need to make in secret, the steps you’ll take to ensure that when Aegon leaves, you will not be far behind.

As the council disperses, Aegon takes your hand, guiding you out of the chamber. He thinks you’ve agreed, that you’ll stay safe in the capital with your children. But he doesn’t know the resolve that has taken root in your heart.

You will protect him, even if it means defying his command. Even if it means risking everything.

As you walk together back to your chambers, the weight of your decision settles over you, but there’s no turning back. You’ve already lost too much. You will not lose Aegon too.

[pomefioredove]

if its okay with you, could you write for rook and vil (separate) braiding our hair? js something fluffy! :3

ROOK REQUEST... SAVE ME ROOK REQUEST

summary: braiding your hair type of post: headcanons characters: vil, rook additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, FLUFFY, giggling so much

𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

you're seated next to each other, somewhere quiet and private, while he attempts to help you with a potionology essay you're stuck on

Vil is never one to ignore detail, and thus by the fourth or fifth time he catches you awkwardly pushing your hair out of your face, he's already itching to offer his help

he asks first, of course

what is he, Rook an animal?

as soon as he has your approval, he rises, pushes in his chair, and stands behind you

it's actually quite soothing

each little movement is precise and delicate- he braids his own hair every day, after all

will lean down towards your ear and whisper advice on the assignment while he's braiding

(sevens help you)

Vil takes his sweet time, first combing through your hair with his fingers, then intricately separating the strands, and then weaving them together with expertise

all while you can feel his breath on your neck as he reads your paper

good luck focusing after that

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭

it's nice out today, and you find yourself sitting outside under the shade of an apple tree with Rook

you take your eyes off him for a second, and he's suddenly stroking the back of your head

...petting you?

if you're acquainted with Rook, you're already familiar with his tendency to touch without asking

(he'll stop and apologize if you ask him to, of course)

but there is something nice about how gentle he is with you

like you really are just a cute little animal

Rook doesn't miss a beat. just keeps talking about whatever it is he was talking about while petting your head

most normal thing in the world to him

though, his touch is quite nice

his hands are warm, and his voice is soft and steady as he speaks

by the time his fingers are lacing through your hair, delicately weaving a strong, sturdy braid for you, you're half asleep on his shoulder

he wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer, and talks until you're surely sleeping

[remireee]

what do you think about Reader being the older sibling than Grim? they have the same ears and tail but Reader can transform into a human and their cat form isn't as fat as Grim and they control their magic very well *LOL*

Omg, that sounds freaking adorable! But I can imagine how spiteful Grim would be especially if we kinda follow the original story of the game where in the MC was invited to NRC. Like, he's the best around, why would they choose you instead of him? Prompting him to sneak away onto the carriage with you.

Crowley's decision to lump him with you as a single student at the school also didn't help with his bitterness. What- just because he's a beast and his magical prowess is only slightly out of hand, that it makes him only half as valuable to this school? Plus, he don't wanna be stuck with you for a whole four years!

Definitely goes off on Ace and Deuce, especially when the two decides to tease him about it.

Speaking of Ace and Deuce, if you ever decide to turn back into your little cat form to converse your magic (because you're kind of forced to stay in your human state on campus) and the two of them just so happen to walk in on you. You better hope to run, cause those two are never gonna let you down when they discover about your cute little furry form (especially Ace).

Actually, everyone would not be able to get their hands off of you if they ever discover you had such a form.

Don't even get me started on Rook or even... Floyd- you know, he'll try to catch you ever chance he gets, and when he does you know it won't be pretty. Long arms literally squeezing the soul out of you as his body swayed like a little child who got himself a new toy. "Ah~ you're so soft like this little shrimpy... why did you decide to hide such a cute little secret from me, hm?"

As any sibling would, Grim would literally bark at people to stay away from you if that ever happens, no matter how salty he is of you. He's just naturally protective of the one person who does nothing but save his ass time and time again.

Overall, he may say he hates you but secretly he appreciates every part of you <3

[felassan]

New today on DA:TV from Game Informer:

"A Deep Dive Into Dragon Age: The Veilguard’s Expansive Character Creator by Wesley LeBlanc on Jun 27, 2024 at 02:00 PM As BioWare prepared to show me the character creator for Dragon Age: The Veilguard in its Edmonton, Canada, offices, I expected something robust – it's 2024, character creators have come a long way, and Bioware has a rich history of good customization. Despite my expectations, I was not prepared for how robust it actually is in Veilguard. Robust enough, even, that BioWare used it to create most of the NPCs in the game, save for mainline characters like companions. Setting hyperbole aside, it is a staggeringly rich creation system, and I look forward to seeing player-created near-replicas of celebrities and monstrous creations that'd be more at home in a horror game.  But I'm also looking forward to the community's reaction to the Dragon Age series' best character creator yet. At the heart of it is inclusivity, Veilguard game director Corinne Busche tells me before letting me guide her through creating my own character."

"As is usual, there are four races to choose from: Elves, Qunari, Humans, and Dwarves. After selecting Qunari, Busche pages through various presets, explaining the game allows for more detailed looks at each and the ability to choose pronouns with she/her, he/him, and they/them separately from gender, select different body types, and more. You can view your character, referred to as Rook in-game, in four different lighting scenes at any time, including The Veilguard's keynote purple hue, a bright and sunny tropical day, and a gothic night.  I joke with the team that after spending upwards of an hour creating my Dragon Age: Inquisition character in 2014, I immediately restarted the game after seeing him in the first cutscene; the in-game lighting made my hair color look terrible amongst other issues I had with my Inquisitor. Veilguard creative director John Epler says the team is aware of countless stories like that with Inquisition and its green-hued character creator, adding BioWare worked hard to squash that concern in Veilguard.  Head and body presets can be selected individually and customized to your liking with 40 different complexions that include smooth, rugged, youthful, and freckled skin tones, skin hues ranging from cool to neutral to warm, undertones to those skin tones, and even a melanin slider. Busche tells me BioWare relied on consultation to represent all people authentically. There's a Vitiligo slider (where you can adjust the intensity and amount of it) and sliders for your forehead, brow, cheeks, jaw, chin, larynx, and scalp. You can select your undergarments, with nudity as well because "this is a mature RPG," Busche adds, and use the "Body Morpher" to select three presets for each corner of a triangle and then move a cursor within it to morph your body or head into a mix of these presets. It's an impressive technology I'd like to see adopted in other games. [link to embedded DA:TV gameplay reveal video]"

"I can keep going: You can adjust height, shoulder width, chest size, glute and bulge size, hip width, how bloodshot your eyes are, how visible cataracts are, the sclera color, how crooked your nose is, how big its bridge is, the size of nostrils and the nose tip, and there are as many sliders, if not more, for things like Rook's mouth and ears. On ears alone, I see you can adjust asymmetry, depth, rotation, earlobe size, and even add cauliflower ear to your Rook. Busche says makeup blends modern stylings with the fantasy of Dragon Age with more than 30 options, including eyeliner intensity, color, glitter, eye shadow, lips, and blush. Tattoos are just as customizable alongside options for scars and paint. Tattoos, scars, and paint are very culturally relevant to some lineages, BioWare tells me, with unique tattoos for elves, for example. You can add tattoos to Rook's face, body, arms, and legs, and you can adjust things like intensity, too.  Im most impressed, however, by the hair options on display; there are a ton, and as someone with long hair, I'm especially excited about the fun selections I can make. You can finally dye your hair with non-traditional colors, and it's gorgeous. EA's Frostbite engine uses the Strand system to render each style fully with physics. "The technology has finally caught up to our ambition," Dragon Age series art director Matt Rhodes says. After customizing all of that and selecting our Qunari's horn type and material (of which there are more than 40 options to choose from), it's time to pick a class out of the Rogue, Mage, and Warrior – read more about Veilguard's classes here. Since we built a Qunari, we went with Warrior. For the penultimate step of the character creator, at least during the demo BioWare shows me, we select a faction. Out of the six options, we select the pirate-themed Lords of Fortune."

"Rook ascends because of competency, not because of a magical McGuffin," BioWare core lead and Mass Effect executive producer Michael Gamble tells me in contrast to Inquisition's destiny-has-chosen-you-characterization. "Rook is here because they choose to be and that speaks to the kind of character that we've built," Busche adds. "Someone needs to stop this, and Rook says, 'I guess that’s me.'" Ready to begin our Rook's journey, we select a first and last name and one of four voices out of English masculine, English feminine, American masculine, or American feminine options. There's a pitch shifter for each voice, too, allowing you to tweak it to your liking further. Don't stress too much about locking in your character creations before beginning the game – the Mirror of Transformation, which is found in Veilguard's main hub, The Lighthouse, allows you to change your physical appearance at any time. However, class, lineage, and identity are locked in and cannot be changed after you select them in the game's character creator.  From here, we're off to Minrathous, and you can read more about that famed city in our cover story, which is available here. For more about the game, including exclusive details, interviews, video features, and more, click the Dragon Age: The Veilguard hub button below."

[source]

[elinoracia]

⁑ Someone else flirts with you // Hogwarts legacy characters reactions x reader ⁑

~ Hogwarts Legacy headcanons ~

Warnings: Jealousy, fluff, f!reader, use of Y/N, not proofread, swearing (censored) Pairings: Sebastian x reader, Ominis x reader, Garreth x reader, Amit x reader, Poppy x reader, Natty x reader, Imelda x reader, Leander x reader.

Feel free to request anything!

→ [All characters are aged up to 18 y.o. or more (7th year)] ←

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

Context: Following the events that took place during the 5th year, you became more popular without really wanting it. A few people have started to take a closer interest in you. But you still only have eyes for one person since you arrived. However, a boy has started flirting with you and talking to you more and more often. His name is Spencer Rooks. Spencer is the captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team, also in 7th year. His soft blue eyes, freckles and blond messy hair could make anyone feel flustered around him. But he only has his eyes on you and the person you like took notice of that. Today, Spencer passed you a note to meet him after class. You chose to accept his offer and listen what he had to say to you. Someone seems to not be too pleased by that... (pre-relashionship)

THEIR REACTION:

Sebastian:

Oh he's pissed. You're his! Well...not yet but you are his! He tolerated Spencer's flirting for way too long. He has to intervene.

"Spencer, leave her alone. Can't you see Y/N is not interested?"

All means are good if it makes him leave you alone. But if Spencer insists too much to talk to you, Sebastian will definitely raise his wand at him. He's not scared to be in detention again.

"Let's leave Y/N. He's not worth you time at all." He takes your hand and leads you somewhere else.

"What a prick! Touching you like that and flirting with you. Trust me, he's not good enough for you."

You ask him if he's jealous and you see him frown.

"I am not jealous, I would just prefer if he didn't exist near you! I-I mean...I know you can take care of yourself but- I just don't like others around you that can't respect you."

He'll cross his arms and will stare into your eyes.

"Next time, tell him you're mine. Tell him you're my girlfriend. And if he tries anything, I won't need my wand to hurt him. Besides, I bet he only likes you because you're Hogwarts hero or something like that...NO! I'm not jealous! I just think you deserve better!"

He will make sure that everyone knows you're his, even if you're not yet in a relationship with him.

He WILL be more affectionate and touchy in public.

He's very possessive and will remind you that you both were best friends before you saved Hogwarts and the wizzarding world in general.

"I liked and still like you for you, don't fall for guys like Spencer who only notice you for what you did. He's an opportunist! And you deserve someone who can see how wonderful you are."

Ominis:

Now he is more discreet about his feelings for you and how he handles jealousy. But when Spencer asked you to meet him after class, Ominis couldn't let that happen. He realises he was too slow to be the first to ask you out and he had to do something...quickly.

"Y/N, is that true that you planned to meet Spencer after class? Well...I advice you to reconsider. He does not seem like a very proper gentleman."

You ask him if he's jealous. You see his cheeks redden.

"Jealous? Why should I be jealous Y/N? You obviously are too good for him. And he does not seem like the type of individual you would be into...isn't he?"

He is worried you are into another boy but he tries to keep his composure.

"I heard a few people gossiping about him. Apparently, he has a new girlfriend every month. You deserve to feel special Y/N."

This might be the first time he pays attention to meaningless gossips. But he just has to convince you not to give Spencer a chance.

"Besides, I might need your help after class to prepare myself for our next potion exam. My concoctions are still utter rubbish and you seem to be the only one who actually make me improve my skills."

Any reason is a good reason if it makes you stay away from the Hufflepuff.

He will sit next to you in every class to make everyone understand you are with him, even if you're not his girlfriend yet...

He will frown everytime he hears you talking to another guy. And if Spencer dares to speak to you, he will drag you away and find an excuse to justify it.

"I hope he was not bothering you. I can make the Headmater expel him if he tries anything inappropriate. Just tell me if anything happens."

He didn't mind boys talking to you but when Spencer got a little to close to you for his liking, he became a bit more protective of you. He doesn't want to let that happen again.

Garreth:

He is not usually the jealous type because he knows you're not interested by the other boys/girls who are flirting with you on a daily basis. But Spencer seemed to have your attention for some reason... And when Garreth is jealous, he is not very classy about it.

"What is going on with Spencer and you? I heard you two whispering during class. Since when the both of you are that close?"

You explain to him you planned to meet up with Spencer after class because he had something to tell you. You hear the red-haired boy scoff.

"I bet he'll confess to you...that idiot. Hum...please tell me you don't reciprocate his feelings?"

He'll try to invite you somewhere else so you don't join Spencer after class. He thinks he is being sneaky about it.

"Please I can't find those ingredients without you, it's very urgent matters! Screw Spencer! Besides, you'd rather spend time with me than him...right?"

You're making the poor boy anxious. He is scared you might find Spencer better than him.

"I can also play quidditch you know? And I bet Spencer is not a talented potionist like I am! I'm just saying..."

You ask him if he's maybe...jealous? He left you no time to finish your last word that he quickly retorts.

"Me? Jealous? Please Y/N, you can't be serious. Why would I be jealous? We're...friends... and he is just some guy. I simply don't want you to shift your attention on him and forget about me, alright?"

You try to reassure him with some light-hearted teasing that he was your favorite flirt and that you couldn't possibly forget about him, even if you tried.

"Well...now I know. Could you maybe repeat the part where you said you could never forget me?"

Amit:

He is really not the jealous type because he understands why and how popular you became. But when he is jealous, he does not dare to talk about it to not seem possessive or selfish. But the way Spencer acts around you doesn't sit right with him...

"Y/N? I hope you don't mind if I bring up a rather...private subject. It's about you and Spencer. I noticed you two during class... Are you perhaps- please stop me if you do not feel comfortable sharing- b-but are you two...together?"

You ask him if he's just curious or maybe... jealous? You see him stiffen at your question.

"J-Jealous? I'm really not! I swear! I just think he might not be the right fit for you... You deserve someone who sees you for who you really are; the shiniest star in the sky. Nothing less..."

You reassure him by certifying that you were not in a relationship with Spencer. You then explain he just asked you to meet you up after class to tell you something. You see Amit slightly frown.

"I...I don't think you should meet with him."

He then instantly apologizes. His facial expression is a mix between confusion and fear. He's torn between telling you not to go or let you do what you want...

Out of the blue, he gently grabs your hand.

"What if I said I also... wanted to see you? Who would you choose?"

You can't help but let out a small chuckle. Of course you would choose Amit over him...over anyone actually. But he is so cute when he is jealous. But you finally give in to his request.

"R-really? You'd rather be with me? Then let's go to Honeydukes after class! I could also let you try the new lense of my telescope!"

Seeing him compete for you attention definitely made you feel really hot... He is so adorable.

Poppy:

She is way too obvious when she is jealous. She just can't hide it. This Spencer boy is seriously getting on her nerves...Why can't he just leave you alone? She's the only one who has the right to be glued to Y/N!

"Hum...Y/N...Are you and Spencer a thing? Because he seems really interested and you don't seem to mind it. I-I'm just curious, that's all! You know you can tell me anything."

She looks nervous and you can see it. She is twisting a strand of her hair between her fingers.

You tell her that Spencer actually asked you to meet him after class. Seeing the look on Poppy's face, you might have actually thought she saw a ghost. She was petrified.

"M-Meet him after class? Does he like you? Do you think he'll confess? Oh Merlin... Do you like this guy?"

She bombards you with questions. You're trying your best to reassure her but she doesn't seem to focus on what you're saying. You then take her hands into yours to calm her down.

"I-I'm sorry. But, as your friend... of course... I am just worried this guy is just not any good for you at all. He doesn't seem like the type to treat you right or anything. And you're worth so much better!"

"And who do I deserve then Poppy?" You asked with a playful giggle. You like to see her all flustered. It was so cute.

"W-Well...maybe someone who like you before all the stuff that happened during 5th year...A-Anyway! It's not about that, we are talking about Spencer here!"

She pouts at your light teasing. She is so terribly obvious about how she feels.

You have to reassure her and tell her that you don't feel anything for the Hufflepuff boy. She lets out a big sigh of relief.

"Good...So...does that mean you're free after class? Wanna do something with me?"

Natty:

Now Natty is very mature and can handle her jealousy very well...that's what she thought until Spencer grew a little too close to you. She usually doesn't mind your multiple admirers but this time it felt different. She has to do something...

"Y/N, I was wondering... Spencer seems quite persistent. Maybe you need help to tell him off?"

You explain to Natty he actually became a good friend and that he wanted to talk to you after class. She keeps a neutral face, not wanting her emotions to get the best of her.

"That is good to hear. I wonder what he has to say to you."

Natty knew exactly what Spencer wanted to talk to you about. But she felt selfish... She was biting her tongue to not say anything more.

"I hope he is not in love with you Y/N. I heard he was quite a flirtatious guys and that he treated his ex-girlfriends very poorly... Yes those are gossips but sometimes they are right! Well...maybe he is just pretending to be nice to you for now, you know how boys are."

She would let you meet Spencer after school but she would overthink about what your response to his confession would be.

"So? What did he say? Tell me everything!" She was trying to keep a smile on her face but she was really really anxious.

As you explained to her, you see her gently relaxing her shoulders. You don't share the same feelings as Spencer, to her delight.

"That's good. He was not right for you anyway." You then dare to ask her why she was so happy you didn't reciprocated his feelings. She was taken aback.

"P-please don't think I was jealous. I just know you well enough to assume he was not your type at all. You deserve someone who will treat you like a princess."

She has never been more relieved you rejected someone. She will keep a close eye on you the next time someone talks to you. She can't let that happen again.

Imelda:

When she is jealous, she usually just bullies you. She hates to see you with other people no matter who they are. So, you can be certain that she cannot stand Spencer being all flirty and chatty with you.

"He just can't leave you alone, can he? Always trying to get your attention. It's so pathetic. Don't give him the time of the day, he's a twat."

You tell her that Spencer asked you to meet him after class. You see her almost explode of rage in front of your very eyes.

"What the f*ck? Who does he think he is? I mean, please let him embarrass himself, I know he doesn't stand a chance...right? Don't tell me you like him? Oh good...not that I care or anything, you do you."

You ask her if she's jealous. She lets out the meanest laugh you've ever heard. Ouch...

"Me? Jealous of him? I can prove it to you that I am, in fact, better than him. I'm also a MUCH better quidditch player. Just saying... Don't look at me like that! I'm not jealous! Just stop hanging out with him, that's all!"

She might sound agressive but she really just needs to be reassured.

"And you promised me to be there at every one of my quidditch practices. And if he doesn't like it, I'm not afraid to punch him in the throat and break his precious broom."

You notice how agitated she is by the fact that Spencer might like you. You say nothing to preserve peace but...how cute it was that she wanted to fight someone for you.

"Forget about him. You deserve a much better contenders for your love. You also deserves someone that is as good as me on a broom. Spencer is way too slow. Why are you smiling at me like that? What did I say?"

She'll make sure you only look at her during practice and during other classes. She'll make sure to remind you that she is the best person to hang out with you.

Leander:

Now he will go about it the hard way to keep people who are interested in you away. He usually straight up lies and tells everyone you are actually his girlfriend so nobody will flirt with you. But Spencer just directly asked you...not fair. He has to do something about it... and now.

"What? He asked you to meet him after class? Well...just don't go? Or tell him you have a boyfriend? Oh come on, it's just a little white lie."

He tries to convince you not to go. But you still want to hear what Spencer has to say.

"Okay but only if I go with you. I can't leave you alone with that creep. Do we have a deal?"

When you wait for Spencer after class, Leander was waiting with you. Leander just couldn't hold back the urge to mark his territory and show that you were his...not officially but in his mind your were his.

"So, please tell us what you wanted to say. Don't be shy."

Leander is touching VERY inappropriately while Spencer tries to speak. He runs his hands down your back, around your shoulders and…on your hips.

You want to stop it but you can't. You...like it. It makes you feel all nervous and you feel your cheeks redden.

At the end, the poor Spencer just gave up and excused himself from the conversation.

"I think he got the message. You're not interested by him and you'll never be. I was helpful, see? "

You scold him gently, telling him how innapropriate that was. He just smirks and chuckles at you. He's so childish...

"Oh don't pretend you didn't like it Y/N. Maybe I should do it more often, that seems to keep the others away."

You stroked his ego unintentionally.

But...what if...nobody stopped you from going?

Spencer:

He waits for you after class. He looks so nonchalent, you almost refuse to think he might confess to you.

"You came! What a relief. I just wanted to tell you that...I know that we've not been friends for long but...hum...I like you. I almost lost my last quidditch match because you were the only thing on my mind."

You were just speechless. Your face was burning up and your cheeks were red. He took notice of that.

"Sorry, I just blurted it out but I'm really serious. I like you Y/N. And if you just let me one chance to prove that I'm worthy of your affection, you won't regret it! Does it sound too corny? I just really like you sorry, I'm letting my heart speak for me right now."

The Hufflepuff's face was also red. He looks so sincere. His blue eyes staring right into yours.

"Do you need time to think about it? I can give you some space. I just... I would give you the world if you ask me to. You're just...so wonderful. But I'll give you the time you want to think about it! Or maybe we could go on a date? Just to make sure I'm your type."

He lets out tiny nervous chuckles as he speaks. He is a blushing mess and he is trying his hardest to speak clearly and not be overwhelmed by his emtions.

Will you give him a chance?

[emmg]

Imagine for a second everyone ends up happy and Lavellan and Solas get back together. Cue Dorian popping a blood vessel.

Dorian: “You’re back with this fuck?"

Lavellan, flustered: "I can explain—"

Dorian: "With this living omelette?"

Lavellan: "It's not—"

Dorian: "This balding crypt keeper with the emotional range of a brick wall and a wardrobe that makes him look like a discount drapery store threw up on him? The same one who poofed away after saying some cryptic shit about I WiSh iT CoUlD vHenAn?"

Solas: “The mark would have—"

Dorian: "Shut the fuck up, cue ball. I don't care if the mark was going to explode, you still look like you wash your clothes in your own self-pity. And you—" jabs a finger at Lavellan, "what’s your excuse? Has it really been so long that the sight of a naked skull and endless 'mystical' speeches turned you on again?"

Lavellan: “It’s more than that—"

Dorian: "More than that?! He abandoned you, took your fucking arm, and now you’re letting him back in your bed? Are you out of your mind or just starved for terrible decisions? You could’ve had anyone. But no, you pick the fade's worst motivational speaker.”

Solas: “Master Pavus, this is between—”

Dorian: “Oh no, don’t even try that ‘Master Pavus’ nonsense with me. You’ve got the emotional depth of a wet mop and a sex appeal that makes a mud pit look enticing. And yet here you are, again, trying to guilt-trip your way back into her pants with your world-saving speeches. What is it, Solas? You gonna whisper sweet nothings about 'the averted apocalypse' this time? Maybe throw in a lecture on why she was just not woke enough to understand your big, tragic plan but it's fine since everything worked out?"

Rook and Emmrich in their happy, non toxic relationship: :0

Solas: "Dorian—"

Dorian: "No, no, shut the fuck up. Seriously, what do you even do that’s remotely appealing? What did you do for the past ten years? Did you just sit there, staring at a wall, philosophizing about how it’s not 'connected to the Fade' while Lavellan was over there, not that far, mind you, actually trying to live her life?"

Lavellan, miserably: “Dorian, please—"

Dorian: "Do you know how many tears she cried over your wrinkly, bald ass? The sleepless nights? And for what? So you could show up with the same damn sad expression, like a dog that got kicked, expecting her to fall right back into your arms? Well, congratulations, you manipulative little twat, it worked. You got her again. But if you think for one second I’m going to sit here and let this farce play out without letting you know exactly what I think—"

Solas: “This is not your concern—"

Dorian, grinning viciously: "Not my concern? Oh, it’s my concern now, you ancient, egg-headed disaster. You took her arm, and now, what? You’re back for the other one too? What’s next? Gonna steal her dignity too? No, wait—" He flips both of them off. "You already did that. Honestly, Lavellan, were you that desperate? Did your standards drop so low that this walking mid-life crisis seemed like a good idea AGAIN?"

Lavellan, trying to hide: "I just thought—"

Dorian: "No, no, you didn't think. You never think when it comes to this pointy-eared monk reject. You just let him walk all over you with his cryptic, brooding bullshit and now here we are—again. Tell me, Lavellan, how many bad life choices does it take before you finally learn not to open your legs to misery?"

Lavellan: “Dorian—”

Dorian, rounding on Solas: "You’ve got some nerve coming back, Solas. You with your ‘oh woe is me, I didn't fix the world so I'll ruin this woman's life instead again’ schtick. And for what? What do you even have to offer besides a fucking headache and a masterclass in celibacy?”

[helaelaemond]

Dragons Abroad - Aemond x lover!reader

Rating: Universal

Category: Angst

Pairing: Aemond x you

Set prior to Rook's Rest

Words: 1k

"There are dragons abroad."

You look at him. Across the table you sit from him and watch him. Around you, he is bare. No shirt, no breeches, no eye patch. Falsehoods gone, inhibitions left at the door. Yet his gaze avoids yours now. "So there are."

His voice is a quiet mumble. "I must go to meet them."

"I think that is not true," you reply. You look down at your hands and try not to pick at the skin around your fingers. Scabs make it sore already.

"I wish to meet them."

"That is true," comes your soft reply.

"And our time together is ended."

"Another falsehood." The words are confident, despite the ice in your chest. Frosted steel has pierced you between your ribs and into your very heart.

Aemond glances up. His fingers drum lightly on the wooden table. So many meals you shared with him here in the sanctity of his rooms. "I cannot take you with me."

"I never asked you to. I only ask that you come home to me."

"That, I cannot promise."

"Then promise what you can."

He opens his mouth to reply, but words fail him. He retreats into his comfortable silence. Prince Aemond leans into you when you stand and cradle him into you. He wraps his arm around your back and presses his face into your stomach as he sits in his chair and you stand at his side. The touch against his hair is welcomed, and he leans into your hand when you run it down his scarred cheek.

"I can promise nothing," he murmurs after a long time.

'You can promise to come home to me."

"I might not return. If I do, I do not know what will be left."

"I'll take whatever there is."

Aemond sighs your name and you go to pull away, but his strong arm around you does not loosen. And so you allow yourself to stroke his hair again. Part of him melts against you. The blade in your heart does not warm.

"I will destroy my enemies out there. I will paint the skies with fire and blood and-"

"That is all very noble," you interrupt softly. "But it will not make you whole."

You look down at him and see his face twitch. "I'm not a knight from one of your stories. I will not be the gallant hero you so desire."

It happens without you thinking, really. You sink to your knees in front of him. It would be folly to think it would make him smile this time, like it so often does. A place of worship before him. Now a place to beg. "I don't want a knight on his horse to come and save me. I just want you. As you are. Please."

"Do not beg."

"Please, Aemond, please don't make this the end, pl-"

"This is not becoming of a-"

"Please. Please, please." Your voice is steady but you can feel your throat beginning to close. "I am good for you."

And the fierce, stoic, hard Prince Aemond looks at you on your knees, utterly soft and warm, and his brow creases. "You are," he replies, oh so gently.

"I make you feel good."

He nods, head tilted to the side. "You do."

"I make you happy."

And he nods again. "I will not destroy you. I must leave you."

You lean up and try to kiss him, but he turns so you catch his cheek. It is only then that you realise your hands and his are grasped tightly. They have come out in a cold sweat. Strange, you think. He is never clammy.

You press your forehead to his temple. Some of your tears fall onto his pale cheek. "If you leave me, I will be destroyed. I can weather any storm but this."

You feel his jaw clench. A thousand words fall silent on his lips.

"Please."

Suddenly, his hands wrench from yours and then you feel them, strong and damp, on either side of your head. Your eyes open as he pulls you closer, closer, and you think yes! Yes, he understands! He will leave but come back to me! Yes-!

But your lips are not granted a kiss. Instead, a long kiss is pressed to your forehead. It is tight and hard and full of agony. It is farewell.

After it is ended, he has little left to say.

"I will wait for you, you know."

He watches while you move back to the other side of the table, while you smile sadly at him.

"If you want me to."

"I do not."

But his denial is not one that makes you sad. For anyone else, he might be cruel. But for you, he cannot bring himself to do that. There is only honesty between you, both kind and cutting.

"Do you wish to be with me?" you ask one final time.

Aemond cannot lie to you. Not after all the beauty you have shared, not after all the ways you have grown to know one another. Not after all the true and deep love between you. "I do," he says slowly. "More than almost anything."

"What do you wish for more than that?"

He sighs quietly. "To keep you safe."

"To force me to be free will not keep me safe from anything."

"It will" he insists gently. "You shall be safe from me."

Despite the agony in you, you can still force a smile. For him, always for him. "That is not safety. That is a fate worse than death."

"Worse than what I could be?"

"Worse than you could ever become. The worst you could be, Aemond, is gone."