#profaned capital | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

targaryen-dynasty · 6 months

Text

INNATE DESIRES.

Next Part

Maegor Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT — MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, p in v, profanity, semi public sex, size kink, power imbalance, breeding, choking, female reader (no mentions of looks besides purple eyes)

WORDS: 3.4 K

NOTES: The events of this start somewhere between 41 AC to 44 AC, while the rest takes place around 45 AC. Visenya has not died (yet), but Cersye, Alys and Tyanna have. Aegon and Rhaena are captured at Crakehall, and Viserys is still his squire and hostage.

After the passing of your father, you, your younger siblings and mother had fled from Dragonstone to Driftmark almost immediately. It was a blessing and a curse altogether, because it meant you could keep your life after the arrival and coronation of your uncle Maegor, while you would have loved nothing more than to witness the sight of the Black Dread’s shadow devouring the castle on the eponymous island.

When the Dowager Queen and Vhagar arrived, it was her that urged your mother to come back to join the busy life at court – meaning you and your siblings were to abandon her childhood home Driftmark.

Your mother’s stay in the capital was brief, and you assumed it was because she could not stand to be separated from her children any longer, as Visenya had ordered you four to Dragonstone instead.

Two years after your arrival, it was evident that you had become a prisoner in all but name to Visenya on Dragonstone, barely allowed to leave the castle. When she was not around, her spies and vipers were.

And so it was even more surprising that, when you were summoned to the Throne Room in the midst of your lessons, you came face to face with none other than your uncle. He sat on the throne, his mother lingering not too far away. With him in the room, his big frame concealing most of the impressive seat, it was even more apparent how frail she had become over the years. If you would have to guess, she would not do much longer.

As your purple eyes met his, it was as if a wildfire ignited in your body, coursing through your veins, vividly remembering the night you had caught him speaking to your father about a possible betrothal. But it also angered you, knowing that he had left for Pentos with his second wife not long after, without even saying goodbye.

On the other side of the throne stood none other than your mother, and while both Visenya and Maegor seemed rather smug and pleased, Alyssa had a grim expression on her face.

Like an invisible string luring your body towards his, you came to a stop shortly before the first step to where he sat. “Your Grace.“ You smiled sweetly at him and slightly bowed your head, more out of courtesy than true belief, because your brother Aegon was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne after all.

At least five knights guarded the door to the Throne Room behind you, and when Maegor rose from his seat with the pommel of Blackfyre fidgeting between his thick fingers, you were certain that was the moment your life came to an end.

His steps were heavy as he walked down the steps, coming to a stop just shy of you. His domineering frame was looming over yours, and you had long forgotten the last time you had to crane your neck to look up at someone as tall and big as he was.

“Leave us,“ Maegor’s gruff voice rang out, and when both Dowager Queens opened their mouths to protest, he was quick to shush them with a simple raise of his hand. Even when they walked past you, you did not dare break eye contact with your uncle, and while he usually was a hard and brutal man, there was a hint of softness in his eyes solely reserved for you.

When you two were the only people left in the room, he directed his voice towards you. “You have grown,“ he stated, his eyes traveling up and down your body. With the defiance of a young woman, you jutted out your chin just slightly, nonchalantly looking up at him. “How would you know?“ you asked. “Five years and you have not once come to visit me.“

Your uncle chuckled dryly, one hand coming up to pinch your chin. “You know ‘tis not as easy as you make it seem.“

From how much your father had told you after Maegor’s departure, you knew he probably was right, though you had yet to find out the true reason behind it. With his longing stare making you somewhat uneasy, the pregnant pause between you two grew thicker with tension.

Until your voice cut through it.

“Why are you here, uncle? Do you not have a wife to care for and a realm to rule?“

“I do,“ he said, his tone growing a bit harsher as the memory of the stranger taking his three wives not too many moons ago flashed before his eyes. “I am here for you.“

A small crease formed between your brows at his words. “I am afraid I do not understand.“

“Maybe you will understand this.“ Where his paw had rested on your chin before, it traveled down to your waist, almost taking up its entirety with his fingers splayed out.

He dipped his head towards yours, but you were quick to bring your hand up between your faces, taking a careful step back. “We can not,“ you stated, trying to sound stern, yet you were betrayed by your fluttering nerves, your heart beating in your throat.

With his hand still on your waist, he pulled you back against his firm chest as if you weighed nothing, the sheer display of his strength bringing heat to your cheeks. “The matter is settled already. I shall take you as my wife in a sennight,“ he said. “I have waited long enough for this, and with my brother dead there is no one left to deny me.“

“My mother–“

“Has no other choice than to give me what I want.“ The threat was unspoken but clear.

Every attempt to speak against him was silenced by his lips on yours. The kiss was far from being gentle, and it was evident he claimed your lips with a carnal need. With his hands traveling over the curves of your waist down to your rear, roughly fisting the skirts of your gown, it was obvious that he intended to do the same with your body.

Your heart was racing, pounding against the confines of your ribcage when your lips parted, releasing a shaky breath. “I-I have never–,” you whimpered, trailing off as you looked at him with wide eyes. Every ounce of affection and gentleness Maegor mayhaps held before had vanished with a snap, leaving only a man hungry for your virtue.

But no matter how badly your body ached for his touch, having craved it for so, so long, you pulled away to walk past him, climbing the few steps towards the throne with shaky legs as a heat settled at the apex of them. You had to bring some space between the two of you, mayhaps that allowed your thoughts to clear again.

”My brother Aegon–,“ you started, but were interrupted when you tripped over one of the last steps, causing you to topple forwards. Taking in a sharp breath while bracing yourself on your hands and knees, Maegor was quick to not allow you to get back on your feet. Kneeling down next to you with one hand resting in the place between your shoulders, he applied just enough pressure to keep you down.

“Where is your craven brother now, sweetling?“ he emphasized the nickname with a condescending tone, and it should have you feeling sick to the stomach, not aroused. “Not here. He had the chance to claim the Iron Throne, but he did not take it.“

His hand brushed over the bodice of your dress, trailing deep enough so he could cup your arse. But it merely lingered there for a few seconds, never settling. That touch alone still was enough to reignite the flame within you, and only when your fluttered nerves calmed just a bit, you noticed the proximity between you – and how he looked at you with darkened eyes.

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you tried to gather some courage before speaking, “You are just as much of a coward as he is. Coming to claim what is rightfully his when he is besieged at Crakehall.” Another chuckle came from Maegor, but this time it sounded somewhat amused.

“Oh, I know you do not think so highly of your own kin,” he said, a smug smirk pulling on the corners of his chiseled lips. His other hand came up to cup your cheek gently, the pad of his thumb brushing your lips.

“Enough with the mummer's farce, Y/N. Are you not at least a little happy to see me, mh?” It was evident in his mocking tone that he did not really care much about your feelings. You were meant to marry him regardless of what you wanted.

With pleading eyes, you looked at him, slowly nodding your head and allowing your guard to fall – even if only for a few seconds. “Y-Yes.”

“And do you not want to be a good, obedient wife to me?”

If his question did not already choke the air from your lungs, his hand fisting the skirts of your dress to lift it just enough for his hand to snake underneath certainly did. It was him harshly groping the flesh of your arse that caused you to speak again, forcing you without voicing a command.

“I do.”

As his fingers started to drag over the dampened spot in the center of your smallclothes, he got all the confirmation he needed to proceed with his actions. The ministrations of his fingers grew in determination, dragging around your little bud in circular motions and eliciting soft whimpers to fall past your lips. As the pleasure rippled through your body, your hands grabbed the edge of the step beneath you, knuckles blanching from the force.

Shame filled your veins, and you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, instead focusing on the throne in front of you. “I–,” you wanted to repeat your previous words, but your uncle was quick to cut you off. “Then let me be the first and only. You belong to me.”

Any protest was once again silenced by your own gasp as two of his thick digits pushed the linen of your smallclothes aside, scarcely dragging through your soaked mound. Only when they were generously coated in your arousal, he eventually pushed them inside without a warning.

“Gods,” you whimpered, tears brimming in your eyes as your maiden hole tried to adjust to the girth of his fingers. “P-Please…” You did not know what you were begging for. For him to leave you be or for him to give you more?

Maegor seemed to be at least a bit mindful when it came to your maidenhead, keeping his fingers still until they were buried to the hilt. You clenched around him tightly, which caused him to hiss through gritted teeth as if it was his cock plunging deep inside you and not his fingers, hardly preparing you for what was to come.

“Please,” Maegor mocked you with a chuckle, pushing his lips forwards into a pout that feigned his pity. “You are so pretty when you beg, niece.” The ministrations of his fingers were slow, pulling out almost completely only to push right in again. The sounds of pleasure they forced from your throat were enough to drive the man next to you close to insanity.

His head dipped forward, looking you down with a sharp expression that savored the sight of your face contorting in pleasure all because of him. Your body was torn between feeling hungry for him and being humiliated because of him, the interplay leaving you utterly confused, and longing to be filled by something else of his.

When he withdrew his fingers from your cunt, they were glistening with your arousal. The warmth that slowly spread throughout your stomach had vanished just like that, and the whine that slipped past your lips at the loss of friction was the epitome of being pathetic.

He brought his fingers up to his mouth, engulfing them with his lips and humming as if he enjoyed the finest Arbor red the castle had to offer. You squeezed your thighs to soothe the aching that burned between them at the sight, feeling empty and not at all satisfied. “So, so sweet,” he purred, the tone a stark contrast from the harsh one he had used before. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath he released in the following, the purple of his eyes almost eclipsed by black.

Magor leaned in to nuzzle his nose along your cheek, taking a deep breath and inhaling the scent he had missed so dearly for the past five years.

The softness of his voice and the close contact had you losing yourself in his dominating presence, completely at his mercy. A kiss was pressed to the crown of your head before his bulky frame disappeared behind you, one leg bent at the knee while the other foot was planted firmly on the ground. Because he was so close, you felt him undoing the laces of his breeches, his hands bumping against your arse each time he pulled the strings loose.

Your impatience got the worst of you, masked as a shiver traveling up your spine. You were not sure if you had to accommodate a girth wider or lesser than his fingers, but at this point you did not care. Your body longed for something you hadn’t felt before, and it needed it. Now.

One of his hands darted to your hip, squeezing it harshly while the other wrapped around his hard member. Feeling the impatience take over your body, you pushed your hips back enough for the tip of him to prod at your hole, causing your teeth to sink into your bottom lip.

As you turned your head to look at him from over your shoulder, your hooded eyes met his, a lazy smirk draped over his features. “That is all it takes to change your mind?” he mocked, stifling a grunt as he forced himself into your tightness, your maiden walls squeezing him. “Pathetic.” All of the sudden, his raspy voice was strained, having to restrain himself from pounding into you before he even filled you to the brim. You could see it in the way he set his jaw, forcing you to avert your eyes in fear.

You released a mixture of a whine and a shaky breath, the burning of the stretch prominent enough to cloud your mind and set your body on full alert. With both his paws on your hips, you could not even intervene or squirm away. Every ridge and vein of his cock dragged along your clenching walls as you accommodated the sheer size of his member, not making the stretch any more pleasurable.

“S-Stop,” you whimpered.

And Maegor actually listened, but only because he had bottomed out completely and needed a few moments to regain his composure, adapting to you squeezing him like a vice. “It will become more pleasant soon,” he grunted, trailing his hands up and down your sides in a comforting manner you did not know he possessed. “Trust me.”

The first snaps of his hips were neither hard nor fast, but deep and determined enough to brush that sweet spot inside of you your own fingers had not reached before. Having his breeches pulled down enough to free his cock and the sac of his stones, they slapped against your sensitive bud each time his hips met yours.

With that pace, the burning slowly but surely turned into the pleasure your body had been asking for.

Looking back at him once again, you were blessed with something you hadn’t seen before. A few strands of his usually neat, silver hair hung in front of his face, every now and then clinging to the few beads of sweat on his forehead before the tremors of his thrusts freed them again.

He felt you adjusting to his size, which prompted him to increase the pace to the point he was pounding you. Each impact forced your head to tip forwards and your knees to scrape across the stone floor, barely diminished by the skirt of your dress.

Something you hadn’t anticipated was him bringing his hand in front of you to clasp around your throat. With the strength he possessed, his grip was tight, choking you regardless of him intending to do so or not.

“I want you to look at the throne,” he commanded through gritted teeth, the choking and gasping sounds you made merely a dull noise in the background. “‘Tis the seat our son will sit in one day.”

His other arm snaked around your waist as he pulled your back flush against his firm chest, securing you and keeping you steady despite the reckless snaps of his hips. Mayhaps it was the possibility and danger of the Dowager Queens barging into the Throne Room or because you finally got what you had craved for more than five years, but your peak built in the pit of your stomach far too quickly for your own liking.

“I am going to fuck you so full of my seed, making sure it will bear fruit.”

Maegor shifted his hips, angling them so he was thrusting upwards into you, which had his cock reaching even deeper than before, causing you to mewl and whine. Even if you wanted to, you could not reply, but with a renewed wave of your arousal dripping down his throbbing member and stones, you did not even have to.

“I-I–,” you stammered, his grip not loosening. It was a surprise you managed to inhale enough air to fill your lungs – mayhaps he was better at assessing his strength than you thought.

“Go on,” he rasped, squeezing your throat in a rhythm that matched his hips, sensing your impending peak.

It was embarrassing how quickly your peak took over at his words, rippling through you with soaring pleasure. Each time his stones hit your little bud, your overstimulated body tried to jerk away from him – but to no avail with his strong arm around your waist.

Maegor watched in awe as your body trembled within his grasp, the tremors growing more apparent with each second he did not pull out. His mouth pressed to the side of your face, tongue licking a flat stripe from your jaw up to your temple.

“You want my seed, niece?” he grunted into your ear, “want me to fuck a child into you? See your body swell with my seed?”

Finally loosening the grip he had on your throat to allow you to speak, you croaked a ‘seven hells, yes!’ into the chilly air of the Throne Room. “Put a babe in me… please,” you all but begged, turning your head to the side to catch a glimpse of him – enough to capture his lips with your own.

The response of your body his and your own words elicited was pitiful, but it was just the truth. You wanted his child, the thought lingering in your mind for the past five years. Your walls trembled around him, choking him so tightly the bull of a man behind you had to take a deep breath to keep his composure. But all effort was fruitless when his pulsing cock spent itself inside of your quivering walls.

Each of his grunts and groans was devoured by your lips on his, drinking them down as if they were the only things keeping you alive. Out of instinct, you started to roll your hips against his, prolonging his own peak as you milked him for every drop of his seed.

Maegor was out of breath by the time his movements came to a stop, staying buried inside of you as if he meant to make sure his efforts bore fruit. And you relished in it, despite the vulnerable position it brought you in.

Tipping his forehead against your temple, he closed his purple eyes, breathing shakily before speaking, “merely pack the bare essentials for the travel. We shall depart for King’s Landing in the morrow… on dragon back."

Bowing your head once, you fixed your undergarments and dress once he had pulled out, sitting back on your haunches. With your back facing him, he did not notice the wide grin on your lips.

Mayhaps then you finally were to witness the sight of Balerion’s shadow devouring Westeros' capital.

Maegor Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @watercolorskyy @xxxkat3xxx @baedebnam @simonedk @heavenhatesme

1K notes · View notes

aemonds-fire · 10 months

Text

The Tempest

Summary: Prince Aemond discovers his maid is frightened of storms.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 3038

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, profanity, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, p in v sex, unprotected sex and fingering.

Author's Note: This is not just my first Aemond fic, this is my first EVER fic. I am not a writer and this is my debut. Please be kind. I cannot thank @arcielee enough for beta reading and making suggestions.

Valyrian translation: sȳz riña - good girl

Hope you enjoy this! Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

Part two

You are happy to be Prince Aemond’s maid. In your sixth year of working in the Red Keep you have worked your way up from cleaning the common areas to becoming a maid for the royal family.

When you first learned that you would be assigned to Prince Aemond’s chambers you were uncertain how to feel. At first you were nervous, even a little scared, as you heard the gossip amongst the other servants. On one hand, you were glad you were not assigned to serve Prince Aegon; stories were plentiful regarding his drunkenness and lecherous behavior towards other maids.

But Prince Aemond was much more of a mystery to you. While you had rarely seen the tall and imposing prince, whispers about him said he was best avoided. The prince, who had been disfigured as a child, had grown to be an intimidating warrior. Everyone knew he spent hours training daily with the sword and shield, and that he rode Vhagar, the oldest and largest dragon in the world; the gossip in the servants quarters said he wore the eyepatch so as not to frighten the noble ladies.

Thankfully, he was not in his chambers most of the time while you were working. The first few times you had direct contact with the prince, you were shaking and were afraid to look at him, keeping your eyes downcast to the floor. Over the months you have served him you have become more relaxed in his presence, mainly because he ignores you for the most part. On the infrequent occasions you’ve had to interact with him you have found him to be distant, but polite and soft spoken. His demands are few and he has never made you feel unsafe in his presence.

Just like this evening, the prince is sitting in a chair facing a large, open window in his chambers. Dressed in a loose white shirt and loose fitting trousers, you notice that he seems to be feeling the summer heat just like everyone else in the Red Keep. He only said a quiet greeting when he returned to his chambers earlier than usual. After changing into cooler, more comfortable clothes, he simply poured himself a glass of wine and sat before the window, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

Wiping the sweat from your forehead as you finish your evening tasks, you realize it is very dark out for this early in the evening. You glance out the window and notice the darkened clouds almost upon the capital. You watch a strong gust of wind enter the chambers through the window, moving the heavy drapes, and you can see some of the prince’s pale hair moving with the breeze.

You complete the final check of his chambers to make sure everything is in order for the night. Once you are satisfied, you make your way towards the prince, who is now standing near the window.

“Is there anything else you require this evening, your grace?” you ask softly.

Just as Prince Aemond is about to reply, a bright flash of lightning streaks through the dark sky. You jump, slightly startled, and a few seconds later you wince as a loud rumble of thunder makes you shudder.

Prince Aemond turns to you with a slightly amused look on his face. “Does the storm frighten my pretty maid?” He asks with the hint of a smile.

“Apologies, your grace,” you say with embarrassment, also taken aback by the prince calling you pretty. “Yes, ever since I was a little girl, I have never liked storms. Especially at night. I cannot sleep during a storm.” you reply sheepishly.

“The storm cannot hurt you, especially within the safety of the Red Keep,” Aemond tells you. “Come and watch the storm here at the window.” Aemond raises his arm to you, beckoning you to come closer to him.

You are more than surprised by the prince’s behavior. He has hardly ever spoken to you before, except when necessary regarding your duties. You cannot help but notice his regal features. His white blond Targaryen hair is long and straight. You find his angular face quite attractive with his straight nose, sharp cheekbones and strong jaw. You do not believe that even the scar and eyepatch detract from his beauty.

Forcing your mind to quiet your thoughts regarding him, you tell the prince, “I should probably return to my quarters. I won’t be able to see the storm there and I do not wish to trouble you with my silly fears.”

“You are just as safe here with me as you would be in your quarters. Do you think I would let you be harmed, hmm?” asks Aemond. “Now come,” he repeats.

Hesitantly, you walk over to stand next to Aemond in front of the window. You immediately feel a strong breeze blow in and you can smell the rain in the air. Another flash of lightning startles you, causing you to gasp and move closer to Aemond. You can hear the first raindrops falling now and soon a downpour begins, as the thunder rumbles again.

Aemond chuckles softly at your fear. He leans closer to you and says, “I’ll tell you a secret. I was afraid of storms too when I was a young boy. Now I love them.”

You find it difficult to imagine the lithe and muscular warrior prince was ever afraid of anything. You look up at him and ask, “How did you overcome your fear?”

Aemond smiled, “One day when I was riding Vhagar, a squall rolled in much faster than I anticipated. I was careless. I should have returned sooner. I had to fly Vhagar through the storm to come home. At first I was worried, when the rain started beating down on me, the wind tearing at me and flashes of lightning in the sky. Then I realized that Vhagar was powerful enough to ride through it. Not even a storm could match the power of the largest dragon in the world. I felt invincible. That day I discovered there is no greater thrill than riding a dragon through a storm.”

You feel Aemond’s arm go around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You tremble slightly, but you are not sure if it is from the storm or Aemond’s touch. You have always thought the prince handsome and not disfigured, as some called him. But he is royalty and you are nothing but a maid.

“Tell me, have you been with a man before?” Aemond questions you suddenly.

You are stunned by his question and it sends your mind racing. You are not completely innocent about the intimate acts between a man and woman, but your experience is limited. Besides, you know this is something that you should not do. You could lose your position for a dalliance with the prince, but you also know that you would regret refusing him for the rest of your life.

“Yes, your grace. I have,” you answer in a shaky voice as anticipation begins to build within you.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel his lips against your skin. Despite the warmth of his body pressing against you from behind, you shiver as you feel the wind begin to blow rain in through the window. The next streak of lightning across the sky causes your body to shudder as now your senses are being overwhelmed by the closeness of the prince and your fear of the storm.

Aemond feels your body tremble as he pulls you in front of him. “ My pretty maid, watch the storm, feel the wind and the rain. If you wish I can show you that storms are not to be feared, but enjoyed,” he says as he leans his face closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

The rain is coming down in torrents. Wind is gusting and blowing raindrops on them. Another burst of lightning illuminates the sky, followed seconds later by a boom of thunder.

He is behind you, keeping you in place. You can feel his hard lean body against your back. You feel the hardness of his cock against your backside. The ache of desire begins to build inside you, causing your cheeks to flush.

“Do you want me to continue distracting you from your fear of the storm, pretty one?” he hums, his lips now kissing your skin, nipping and sucking. His arms wrap around you, both hands now moving up to gently squeeze your breasts through your dress. Sighing, you feel your nipples harden. You lean back against his body with a soft moan.

Aemond softly bites your neck, making you gasp. You can feel warm wetness beginning to pool between your thighs. You are no virgin, but you have not been with a man in quite some time; only a short dalliance with a steward that you thought you loved once.

“Answer your prince, pretty one. You must tell me if you wish me to continue. I do not take what is not given freely.”

As the tempest continues to rage outside in the darkness, you whine, “Please don’t stop, my prince.”

That is all Aemond needs to hear. You hear a low growl come from the prince’s throat and then he whispers, “Sȳz riña.” in you ear in High Valyrian. You do not know what that means, but the sound of him speaking in his other language sends shivers up your spine.

He quickly removes your apron and tosses it aside, his hands untying the laces on the back of your servant's dress. He tugs the dress off your shoulders, keeps pushing the garment down past your breasts and your hips, until it falls around your feet. Your thin chemise quickly begins to get wet from the rain blowing in and Aemond gathers the light material, bunching it in his fists to give him access to your small clothes. The feeling of his fingers sends arousal through your body. You shimmy your legs to help the fabric slide down, kicking off your worn slippers in the process.

The front of your chemise is becoming soaked with rain. The chill of the wind and rain causes your nipples to pebble even more, poking through the practically sheer garment. He glides his large hands over your belly and higher to your breasts, cupping them, rolling your hardened nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He continues to kiss and nip at your neck and shoulder, licking the raindrops off your skin.

One of your hands clings tightly to his arm while the other reaches around to hold onto his thigh as you brace yourself against his body.

You try to turn your head towards him, your lips seeking his skin.

“No, keep watching the storm,” he tells you.

Aemond slides a hand down over your belly, down to the place between your legs. Your legs instinctively part slightly to allow him access to your most intimate parts. You feel his fingertips part your folds, feeling the wetness that has begun to seep out of you.

“Hmmm, already getting wet, sȳz riña?" he growls in your ear. His finger finds that most sensitive nub and begins to circle around it, sending tendrils of pleasure through you. He continues to play with your breast, teasing your nipple, as he drags a finger though your wet cunt and pushes it into you as a crash of thunder roars in the sky.

You begin to pant as he works a finger in and out of your cunt. Aemond grinds himself against you and you can feel the hardness of his cock against your backside. Your body is now trembling with need. You gasp as he adds a second finger and rubs the palm of his hand over your sensitive nub over and over again.

“Do you like this? Does it feel good, pretty one?” Aemond asks in your ear. He sucks on your earlobe while he continues to pump his fingers in and out of your went cunt.

You can only whimper in response, biting your lip to keep from crying out. Your hips move to grind yourself against his hand, feeling his hard cock behind you.

Aemond moans against your neck, “So wet and tight around my fingers, sȳz riña. That’s it, cum all over my fingers. I can’t wait to make you come again around my cock.”

The coarseness of his language and desire to have him inside you sends pure lust through your body and that is enough to make you moan in ecstasy, your walls clench and flutter around his fingers. You are somewhat dismayed and embarrassed at how quickly he is able to unravel you to the point of being completely spent, with your legs shaking and trying to catch your breath. Aemond releases his grip on your breast and pulls you into his firm embrace, while sucking gently on your neck.

As the storm continues to pound the capital, Aemond pulls off the loose white shirt he wore and you feel him loosening the ties to his trousers. He turns you around to face him and brings you with him as he backs up to a nearby chair. Aemond sits and pulls you down to straddle his lap, pulling you into a desperate kiss, pushing his tongue past your lips.

“I will be your dragon through this storm. Ride me.” he says hungrily. A flash of lightning illuminates his face and you see the desire in his eye. Aemond grabs your soaking wet chemise and pulls it up and off of you, baring you completely to his hungry gaze.

He reaches down, lifts his hips to lower his trousers to free his cock, painfully hard and with a reddish tip leaking fluid. He grabs your ass lifting you enough to line his cock to your cunt. You move your hips to coat his cock with your wetness. When you feel his cock at your entrance and you begin to sink down on him, slowly taking his throbbing length inside you. Aemond groans with pleasure into your breast, his tongue lapping at your nipple.

You whimper as you feel the stretch of his engorged cock filling you as you brace yourself by grasping his shoulders. You pause for a moment to let your body adjust to his size. Slowly, you begin to move your hips back and forth feeling the rough palms of his large hands gripping your hips. You cry out softly when he thrusts up into you.

Aemond’s hands encourage you to work your hips against his. You ride him, bouncing your ass against his thighs, each movement sending bolts of intense pleasure through you. He grunts softly with each slam of your hips, fingers biting into your soft flesh.

“So tight,” he groans, licking the beads of moisture from your skin. “You’re taking my cock so well.”

Your fingers are digging into the pale skin of his shoulders. Panting rapidly, your thighs and his hands are working together pushing you up and down, up and down, each roll of your hips forcing the tip of his cock against that sensitive spot inside you. The sounds of skin hitting skin fill your ears; it's depraved and desperate, and you've never felt such intense pleasure.

As each new thrust reaches deep inside you, mewling whimpers escape your mouth between ragged breaths.

He watches you, entranced by the sight of your bouncing breasts. A hand slides from your ass to move between your legs, his thumb finding your sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing more pleasure from you. He lowers his gaze to watch his cock moving in and out of you, glistening with your wetness.

Aemond plants his feet on the floor, leveraging himself to buck his hips up against you. He pulls his head back to watch your face, flushed with pleasure. His one eye is darkened with lust and his skin glistening with rain and sweat.

“Say my name, pretty one. Who is your dragon,” he orders, voice raspy with arousal.

“Aemond… Aem…feels… so…” you whimper, your thighs are burning from the exertion, and he moves his hands to grip your ass, taking control and giving you a welcome relief. His pace is intense, almost brutal as he thrusts up into you repeatedly. He lets out a curse as your cunt clenches around him, drenching his cock in a gush of wetness.

“Fuck,” he curses, grunting with every thrust.

You lean in closer to him, placing hot open mouthed kisses on his cheek, before he leans up to take your lips into another desperate kiss, driving his length up into you with a rapid pace.

“Sȳz riña,” he groans against your lips, nipping at them gently. His thumb furiously massages your bud, pulling you quickly towards an intense peak.

“Yes…Aemond, “ you moan loudly as the first burst of ecstasy spreads through your body. You tremble with a wave of shattering pleasure that you can feel all the way down to your toes. The walls of your cunt spasm around his cock, squeezing him.

He continues to push up into you throughout your release, feeling your body shake against his. The clenching of your cunt starts to push him over the edge, making his thrusts more erratic until you can feel his cock twitching within you. As you feel the warmth of his seed begin spurting deep within you, Aemond buries his face in your neck, grunting and his breath hot against your skin.

You are both panting heavily. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you cling to Aemond as he wraps his arms around you. You rest your head against his, slowly coming down from your blissful state. Realization of what you have done begins to creep into your mind. A gentle kiss to your cheek and a sigh of contentment from Aemond calms you slightly.

“Look out the window, pretty one,” he whispers softly in your ear.

You raise your head and smile as you turn your gaze to the open window and see that the storm has passed, the rain is now just a gentle shower and the wind has faded into a light cooling breeze.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell

976 notes · View notes

loquaciousquark · 4 months

Text

Cazador's Ritual Runes, Translated

Inner: AMPLIFY + HIM + FLOW + EMPOWR [sic] Middle: WE OFFER THE FORCE OF LIFE Outer: WE GATHER HERE TO INVOKE THE POWER OF BLOD [sic]

Mephistopheles can't spell for beans.

(Detailed analysis & conjecture regarding this text, the Rite of Profane Ascension, & Astarion's translated scars under the cut.)

The second ring was the easiest, as the characters are very similar to Latin letters and clearly read out "WE OFFER THE FORCE OF LIFE." Characters were now known for C, E, F, H, I, L, O, R, T, and W. It wasn't clear yet if there were cases.

I was struggling with the first ring, though after decoding the second, I could get a likely "_M_LIF_ + _IM + _LOW + EM_OWR". Guessing the character for P, Y, and A based on context gave me "AMPLIFY + _IM + _LOW + EMPOWR", but I had doubts over the first characters for words two and three. I suspected they would be HIM and FLOW, but the H and F characters didn't match the H from the second ring's "THE" or the F from "AMPLIFY". Also, "empower" was misspelled, which made me pause.

Abandoning those for a moment, the third ring mapped well onto "WE _ATHER HERE TO I__O_E THE _OWER OF _LO_". Ruling out known letters which were not present, I could guess "WE GATHER HERE TO I__O_E THE POWER OF _LO_", but again the P from "POWER" was not the same as the P from "AMPLIFY" in the inner ring. However, it was very, very similar, and nothing else fit, so I committed, now suspecting there were capital versions of some letters included in the text.

At this point I went digging for resources. I found a copy of an Infernal alphabet on the Forgotten Realms wiki, and while it looks like the typeface Larian used is a bespoke creation for the game rather than a 1:1 copy of this alphabet, the letters for lowercase G, N, K, B, and D were nearly identical. Y (from AMPLIFY) also matched perfectly, confirming that earlier guess. This gave a clear "WE GATHER HERE TO INVOKE THE POWER OF BLOD."

This resulted in: AMPLIFY + _IM + _LOW + EMPOWR WE OFFER THE FORCE OF LIFE WE GATHER HERE TO INVOKE THE POWER OF BLOD

Looking at the wiki for capital letters, the only ones I could find which might reasonably fit the _IM missing character (assuming the Larian alphabet was based off this wiki typography) were A, B, H, O, T, V, and Y. Of those choices, only AIM, HIM, TIM, and VIM were words, and as cheesy as Cazador is, I couldn't imagine him saying AMPLIFY TIM FLOW EMPOWR. Given the alternatives, HIM was the only choice which made sense.

I went through the same process for _LOW, but this character seems unmatchable to me. By far it looks the most like the E from the Infernal alphabet, with maybe a capital Y being a distant second. However, ELOW and YLOW are certainly not words, and absent all other comparatives, the character in question does resemble a fancy F. Barring other languages, FLOW with a capital or unique F fits best.

AMPLIFY + HIM + FLOW + EMPOWR WE OFFER THE FORCE OF LIFE WE GATHER HERE TO INVOKE THE POWER OF BLOD

I did double-check the texts available in Cazador's mansion just to make sure this hadn't been translated elsewhere (after I'd done all the work, of course), and the only written text of relevance is from the Black Mass scroll you find near Vellioth's skull. It reads:

The Rite of Profane Ascension Oh, piteous dead! Oh, ravenous dead! Immortality is your gift, but darkness is your prison and hunger its gaoler. The Rite of Profane Ascension will release you. Walk in the sun. Suffer not from hunger. Grow your power beyond anything you imagined. A pact has been made with the Lord of Hellfire. Deliver unto him seven thousand souls, each bearing an Infernal mark, and you shall be free of your chains. You shall know true power. Deliver the souls. Speak the words. Ecce dominus, Has animas offero in sacrificio, Nunc volo potestatem quam pollicitus es mihi.

The Latin translates (as best I can tell with my incredibly weak Latin) to:

Behold [the] Lord, I offer these souls in sacrifice, I want the power thou hast promised me.

Which is interesting, but not clearly mapped to the Infernal above. Then I started wondering what relationship Astarion's scars have with all this, but thankfully, someone else has done the work here!

Astarion's scars have been transcribed and translated in a wonderfully detailed Reddit post by northpaw_s in 2020, but the salient points are that they appear to be in a mishmash of mangled Latin and Romance languages ("Infernal") and read:

Hoyc inferiu non iurare per igneu Naec virba loquor Eoai mundo muoat

Which appears to roughly translate to:

This soul swears no oath by fire Nor words does he speak In the realm of death

This makes sense if it's a fragment of a contract. I suspect the other spawn's scars are all identical to Astarion's for game mechanics/development reasons, but it'd be wild if they did have minor differences to complete the rest of the phrases! I know the scars don't show on their backs they way they do on Astarion's outside of the moment of the ritual, but it really does make me wonder if there's a complete text of the poem in some writer's documentation somewhere.

Anyway, what did you do with your Thursday night?

#astarion #cazador #no wonder the rite was so secretive mephistopheles didn't want anyone to know he's a terrible speller #baldur's gate 3 #plus a lot of talk about astarion's scars' meaning & the rite's text #puzzles! neat!#i don't know what to tag this so i'll be able to find it again #quark plays bg3 #quark rambles #each phrase is repeated three times on each ring by the by

336 notes · View notes

cosmicdumpling · 1 year

Text

crazy for you » jung wooyoung

SYNOPSIS: Wooyoung seems to have harbored a crush on you for a while now, and as much as he hates it, he manages to hold out just fine. A trip to the beach with the rest of your friends, however, becomes a huge threat to Wooyoung’s remaining resolve.

PAIRING: wooyoung x gn!reader (they/them pronouns used)

GENRE: romance/fluff, suggestive, humor

THEMES: best friend!wooyoung, best friends to lovers, pining, implied uni students!ateez and reader

⚠️ WARNINGS: profanities, alcohol, aggressive kissing (???), poor san kind of cockblocks and wooyoung decides to traumatize him

WORD COUNT: 8.0k

➺ MAIN MASTERLIST

Wooyoung lets out a long wheeze.

Beside him sits San, who’s withdrawing the metal straw that’s halfway through his mouth as he glances over at the coughing man with a weirded-out expression. He makes the effort to set his drink back down onto his thigh, the damp bottom of the glass creating a huge patch of wet circle on his light blue shorts. Wooyoung coughs again to draw out his previous choking, inhaling a huge amount of air before sighing, gulping, and straightening up on his seat again.

“You okay?” Asks San as he gently pats Wooyoung’s back, who grimaces but nods his head nonetheless as a reply.

“Yeah, yeah. Liquid just went down the wrong lane, that’s all.” He clears his throat, taking a careful sip from his smoothie just as his eyes smoothly dart over to take a glance at your direction again; this time, taking the time to properly take in your presence without embarrassingly choking on his own drink.

Hongjoong is the first to acknowledge your presence, followed by Seonghwa, and then the rest. Like how Wooyoung had expected, they instantly gush about your rather fresh and new look, dressed in a summery outfit that’s quite different from your usual style, but still looking incredibly good that it momentarily sends the two fashion enthusiasts to another dimension.

It’s the reason behind Wooyoung’s twenty-second choking too, but nobody’s supposed to know that.

It hasn’t been that long since you all arrived in the place― a rather cosmopolitan beach that’s a four-hour drive from the capital. The vacation had been planned months prior, but none of you had the time and the headspace to make it happen after a surge of projects and final examinations in the season. It most certainly came as a surprise when Yeosang was the one who’d brought it up after everything― considering he’s normally the silent one who goes along with whatever is decided or claps back to a stupid idea that somebody might chip in to the group. But it’s also especially because of the fact that Yeosang is the one who’d said he wanted to push the vacation through, and the fact that you had all been through hell, that the long-standing and almost completely wiped out trip to the beach finally happened.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong had everything planned out from the accommodation, to the food, down to the activities, so your arrival and checking in was fortunately a lot smoother than it’s supposed to be. After setting foot on the destination, and after a few arrangements and preparations here and outfit changes there, you’re finally coming out to gather at the beachfront for the sunset campfire, as per what’s written on Seonghwa’s very intricate itinerary.

Wooyoung forcefully tears his gaze from you, afraid you’ll catch him staring so badly and tease him about it.

He’s a huge pest himself, but he prefers to be the one on the annoying side and not the other way around. So instead, he chews on the little crumbs of ice from his smoothie and frowns ahead at the shining sun to conceal and bluff the reactions you’ve managed to contract from him.

He tries desperately to hide it because you aren’t supposed to be cute, you’re supposed to look like a porcupine in his eyes or something, and he’s supposed to tease you because of that. He’s supposed to let out a hyena laugh, annoy you to death, then play fight with you until the end. That’s how it has always been in the course of your lifelong friendship. But for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

And he swears it’s getting more and more ridiculous how this has happened a lot of times lately.

On your class reunion.

At a mutual friend’s birthday party.

At your apartment when you had a movie night and a sleepover, and you were even only in some plain freaking sweats and a comfy loose shirt!

He absolutely hates how the thought of him being attracted to you looking so homey makes him seem like a true domestic fool in love.

It also scares him even more how those times are the only times he’d begun to realize and process those feelings properly, because he’d been feeling them for so long before he’d begun to take notice of it.

Wooyoung had always thought you were pretty, and decent, too― that’s what he always says as a response to people telling him that you’re gorgeous or cute, or anything of the like.

It’s not like he’s lying though― yes, he does find you attractive, but a few years before, you were the type of attractive that was “not just for him”. His compliments directed towards you are always genuine; it has always been, but of course he’d cover that up with some sort of statement that would have been seen or deemed as offensive if he isn’t your best friend.

Wooyoung always liked showing affection, but always mischievously if not one in sadder days. And so it has been bugging him, for quite a long time now really, why he seems to be so disturbed over your presence and why it gets harder and harder for him to get the additional teasing statements out that normally followed his compliments without some offensive stuttering.

Or without averting his gaze.

Or hesitant eye contact.

Or an erratic heartbeat.

For him, it’s frustrating, really, because he isn’t as dumb as he hopes he would be and he knows exactly what it means.

“Well, how do I look?” Your voice snaps him out from his daze, and if not for the littlest bit of sanity left in him, he would have choked on his drink again. Thankfully, he doesn’t, but now you’re standing in front of him in all your glowing glory, which makes it harder for him to compose himself. It must be hilarious, he thinks, that you’re awfully oblivious to his twitchy and jumpy attitude— even twisting and turning to show off the outfit that you’ve planned solely for this trip weeks prior.

And it pains him how you look absolutely, breathtakingly, gorgeous in it.

Wooyoung hums, pretending to attentively look at you for a moment before leaning back into the bench, swinging his arm to rest against the backrest as he frowns up at you. “Like Chewbacca in a summer outfit.”

At his reply, your smile drops and you glare at him, though it’s rather lighthearted. Clicking your tongue, you roll your eyes at him before toying with the sleeves of your clothes, examining your outfit again.

“Come on, Wooyoung, they don’t look bad! In fact― oh my fucking god, you must be kidding me,” San manages to choke out after looking up from playing a game on his phone, blinking in rapid succession as he looks up at you with wide eyes. “You’re so pretty though?”

“Hey, I never said Chewbacca looked bad,” Wooyoung clicks his tongue, turning his head to look at San, who’s setting his phone and drink aside to approach you. “It’s you who insinuated some negative note on my statement and made it some sort of Chewbacca slander.”

Wooyoung’s gaze absentmindedly follows yours and San’s movement as he speaks. San holds your hand and helps you twirl around, a bright smile gracing your face at the attention you were getting from the man.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” You reply with an exaggerated flick of your foot as you twirl once more, causing crumbs of sand to purposefully hit Wooyoung, who jerks back in shock with a scrunched face. Your laughter echoes in his ear, and he opens his eyes, looking at you with some kind of fiery determination that sends you laughing even harder.

“You little―”

Wooyoung stands on his feet and grabs a handful of sand, chucking it to you as some sort of retaliation. A shriek leaves your lips and you dodge his hits by running around before you begin engaging into some hilariously intense sand battle; laughs and shrieks filling the open area as it steals much of the attention from the people around.

“You scoundrels! Look, my smoothie is full of sand― get a damn room already!” San whines, dodging the crumbs of sand that come his way while frowning down at his wasted drink. He wastes no time in grabbing Wooyoung’s drink though, making sure it’s sand-free before consuming it instead.

Continuing your little play-fight, the laughter increases, though you get closer and closer to the shore. And just as you’re planning to fight him with seawater instead, bits of the sand that he chucks your way manages to enter your eye, so you halt on your spot with a wince.

“Ow,”

Wooyoung takes a few moments to examine you from far away, watching you blink and rub your eyes before realizing that you’re actually serious, so he quickly jogs over while trying to bite back a guilty laugh.

“Let me see,” He snorts as he approaches, the small cold waves of water by the shore lightly hitting your feet, making you stumble a bit. Wooyoung’s quick to hold you close though, and he gently takes a hold of your chin.

“Stop rubbing your eyes! It’ll get worse,” He laughs, swatting your hand away, and you try to pry them open but ultimately fail upon feeling the sting as the (unfortunately) salty air hits your eyes. Wooyoung tells you to stay still just as he puts his hands on either side of your cheek; and when you just stand there, closing your eyes and not fighting him back, it’s like a bucket of ice water is dumped onto him.

Your eyes are shut close, steady breaths coming out of your nostrils as you wait for him to touch you. Before he could move, though, your hands find his button up shirt, clutching and bunching up the cloth to balance yourself with your vision blocked. Wooyoung looks at you again, this time, his gaze fixated on your lips— that’s become so, so appealing and inviting to him that he feels his breath choke high up his throat.

“What are you doing? Hurry up, stupid!” You scold, bringing your hand up to blindly strangle him (which results in you accidentally poking his eye), and he stumbles a bit with a laugh, rubbing it before blinking the momentary sting away.

Mentally, he’s already swatting and hitting and cursing himself for dazing out and thinking about kissing you― not directly, but still implied― because god, he’s literally being so weird he couldn’t take it, but it happened at the wrong time too, and he’s so fucked if any of the other boys were paying attention to him and realized how fishy he’s been acting. So, he clears his throat and gently takes your face in his hands once more, gently prying your eye open before blowing onto it.

“Why do you both hate each other so much?” Yunho’s voice comes from an adjacent spot as he chuckles, watching you both with much fondness with the others trailing behind him. Wooyoung snorts as a response, glancing scarcely at their direction whilst he cups your face and tries to pry your eyes open again, a cheeky grin adorning his lips.

“We don’t hate each other, we’re offensive soulmates. We’re used to it.” He mumbles before turning back to you.

After Wooyoung blows a gush of air onto it in a weak attempt to make the foreign object go away, you begin to open your eyes and slowly blink in rapid succession to adjust your vision. Your hands then unknowingly come up to hold Wooyoung’s that are still resting on the sides of your cheeks. The first thing that you see is Wooyoung’s face― his annoyingly handsome face at that― and you’re about to throw a jesting insult at him about it, but you see this charmed look in his orbs first, that the words get choked in your throat, unable to come out for some reason.

Wooyoung blinks, hands frozen while his shoulders are clearly tense, and his eyes trace a line from your eyes, to your nose, to the plump of your lips before the lump on his throat bobs up and down when he visibly gulps. Feeling a surge of panic from the sudden silence, he pulls his hands from your face then awkwardly shoves them inside his pockets instead.

“Now, now,” Hongjoong claps, a lop-sided grin tugging onto one corner of his lips as he catches everyone’s attention. He bites back a laugh when Wooyoung’s head snaps to his direction a little too fast in a poor attempt to feign attentiveness in the awkward atmosphere.

Because Jung Wooyoung is everything but attentive, especially when it comes to Hongjoong.

“Everybody hasten up! Let’s start the campfire.”

Mingi had been squished flatter than a pancake halfway through the sunset campfire.

He had been the scapegoat for the group’s games this time; twenty minutes into the game, and they’ve managed to have him take seventeen shots, which, apparently, is more than he could handle to make it through the night. Everybody seemed to be having their own fun even though nobody actually really got to play truth or dare― because fooling around in the spur of the moment seemed to be more appealing to everybody than the desire to play the, what San liked to call, “oldfangled and mainstream” game of truth or dare― many things had happened and the newfound comfort of just doing whatever seemed to be relaxing.

Wooyoung had thanked the heavens and around probably fifty two celestial beings for that, because had they played truth or dare with the boost of alcohol, he would surely be fucked.

Thankfully, everyone’s so distracted, because everything is fun when you’re tipsy or drunk.

Seonghwa had managed to bring in some new friends for everybody; some people he’d met alone near the floating bar. There was one girl though, who Seonghwa really seemed to especially like; bringing a very huge smile to his face the moment she did so much as laugh.

Hongjoong noticed this, of course— patting Seonghwa’s back and encouraging him to make a move, knowing if he did, he’ll have the whole cottage room to himself tonight.

Right across you, Jongho is singing along to a song he slightly messes up out of being drunk, though his voice is as lovely as ever as he leads the whole group to jam. Yunho is play-fighting hand cobra with Yeosang right beside Jongho, while San and Wooyoung chats about something you couldn’t make out or hear, but it doesn’t matter.

At least he’s distracted enough to not know how good you think he looks in his gray silk button-up with its long sleeves messily rolled to his elbows.

On either side of you sits Ryujin and Lia, the friends of Seonghwa’s “friend”, whom you’ve grown close to within the first five minutes Seonghwa had introduced them to the group. The rest of your circle of friends scattered messily across you, especially Mingi who is sprawled out cheek-flat onto the sand while a grimacing Hongjoong tries to tug him back to his seat on the log, saying it’s not his bed and that he might be lying above the home of tiny crablets― which is quick enough to make him spring up and clumsily sit back up.

From the other end, Wooyoung sits with his elbows propped on his knees, the sound of faint laughter and chatter blurring around him; San’s words slowly becoming inaudible when he catches sight of you again. You’ve been watching everybody laugh and have fun for the most time― occasionally chatting with the girls.

“Wooyoung, can you― hic― hand me some salted nuts?” Jongho pleads, which ultimately distracts him from his reverie, but he snorts and reaches over to grab the pack of nuts from the snack tray near him anyway.

From the corner of Wooyoung’s eye, he sees Lia and Ryujin whisper something to you before slipping out of their seats, heading together somewhere along the area. The sight of you sitting alone makes Wooyoung take a final sip from his drink before pushing himself to stand, taking the packs of salted nuts that Jongho had asked him for along with him.

“Hey! My salted nuts―”

“Managed to save you some before Jongho could hog them to himself,” Wooyoung mumbles, waving the packs around as he approaches you. Immediately, you snort and chuckle, seeing the rather mischievous smile on his lips while he weaves his way through the others’ horseplay.

“What a superhero,” You jest, leaning slightly to the side to peek behind him, only to see poor little Jongho struggling to crawl towards the snack tray, clumsily grabbing whatever snack he could see while a ‘stupid wooyoung’ falls off of his lips. Chuckling, you shake your head just as Wooyoung takes what used to be Ryujin’s seat just beside you. He opens his palm upward, showcasing the snack for you to take, quirking a brow when you give him a once-over.

“Thanks.” You say, slamming your hand atop his in an attempt to grab the snack, though Wooyoung’s hand tenses up, and you both lift your gazes to meet each other in the eye. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence, silence, and a little more silence before you begin to snort, and Wooyoung finally bursts into a fit of laughter.

“Since when were your hands this tiny?!” He almost shrieks, laughing his ass off once more before setting the pack of salted nuts aside to compare your hands. The sight of your hand, almost an inch shorter than his, makes you groan and roll your eyes with a smile.

“It’s not tiny! It’s just smaller than yours.”

“That counts!” He shakes his head, clearly finding amusement in the situation. Wooyoung’s gaze flickers momentarily to your face, then back to your touching hands, and his smile slowly fades as soon as he feels the tip of your skin gently sliding down to his palm. Before you could completely let your hand fall back down on your lap, Wooyoung’s fingers bend to enclose around yours, feeling and rubbing them slightly.

“Your hands are so cold though.” He gulps, continuing his miniscule actions as your fingers slowly wrap around his thumb with how he’s rubbing friction onto them. Wooyoung brings your tangled hands down to his lap before he takes your other hand, then tugging them up to his lips to blow on them.

There, you take notice of how his lashes flutter prettily against his cheek, how the point of his nose perfectly compliments the natural pout of his plump lips. He’s so effortlessly beautiful, as much as you hate to admit it, and he’s got your stomach turning into that of a zoo.

Wooyoung is handsome― he always has been, but you’ve never really seen him in the same light, or at least you think you didn’t. Or you don’t want to. Or you didn’t― or whatever. Just as if he hears bits of your thoughts, he lifts his gaze, staring at you from below his lashes before he raises a brow at you out of faux intrigue.

“What, are you immune to this huge ass campfire?”

Instantly, you find yourself shrugging, and though Wooyoung returns a little snort, it suddenly becomes awkward― not because you’re looking at each other with some hidden fondness, but because it suddenly becomes silent.

“Oh my god,” It’s Yeosang who speaks first and breaks the silence with a groan that makes you both turn to the others, who are already silently staring at you and Wooyoung out of intrigue. A small chuckle erupts from Yeosang and he shakes his head right after taking one single glance at your hands, then saying before he takes a sip from his drink, “You guys might as well just kiss.”

You feel Wooyoung’s hand twitch in yours, making you snap out of your trance and slowly pull your hands away from his. Inwardly, you try to assess his reaction but then produce to cuss yourself for letting your obvious awkwardness slip― not even bothering to respond to Yeosang with an ‘ew’ or a mere ‘yuck’ just to save yourself some embarrassment for being unreasonably awkward. But it comes even more as a surprise as Wooyoung doesn’t even bother to throw a snide remark back, because he always does it, and there’s absolutely no reason for him to be embarrassed.

He even kisses your cheek in front of the others most of the time, just like he does with them— Yeosang’s words were nothing compared to that very public act of affection he displays in the daily, so why did it seem to weigh a lot this time?

But it’s really because Wooyoung’s brain is somewhere else, his remaining sanity prompting him to think of reasons as to why you pulled your hand away. Should he have said something to block Yeosang from making you feel embarrassed? Were you offended that at that moment, you were sort of linked to him for a bit? Or worse, did you not want to kiss him?

“But please, not in front of us.” Hongjoong kids, snapping Wooyoung out of his reverie as he gives you both a rather teasing grin just as he throws a chip into his mouth. The others pay no mind to it― at least not really, just a little laugh here and there almost as if they’re… expecting it to happen.

Eventually.

“Guys, I think the live band is starting―” Mingi groans, and his excitement for the live band (that he’s been looking forward to since forever) seems to overpower his drunk state as he’s the first to hear the subtle beating of the adjacent drums whilst it’s being tested. Hongjoong, being a musically-inclined person himself, is obviously excited as well as he quickly begins asking the others to pack up and gather their own trash to throw in proper waste bins before leaving to the stage.

Thanks to Mingi’s incredible sharpness, you manage to secure spots near the front before people could crowd, which means you must make the most out of the experience. It doesn’t take more than five minutes and the band begins playing a series of pop songs to hype the energy of the crowd; the night is still young and yet to be enjoyed. Yunho’s the first to bump your side with his butt in an attempt to get you to dance, and in no time, you’re already grooving around with him like drunken fools. But it’s really just his energy that powers you to move around even when you’ve been too shy minutes prior; and you’re thankful for his existence.

You manage to spend time with each of your friends for every oncoming set of songs, and you think there’s nothing that can top the time and energy that you spend tirelessly. The band did a good job at starting and maintaining and then boosting the energy of the crowd from the start; from an exciting pop and reggae to a relaxing r&b. But as they near the peak of the night, the songs begin to reduce to calmer ones, the crowd growing as equally relaxed as they’re given time to recover from the fatigue that they just spent jumping around.

Just as you regain consciousness of what’s happening around you, snapping out from what seemed like a dream, you notice that Mingi is slightly dying near the left side of all the mingling bodies, not literally though― as he seemed to be a little too drunk after he’d continuously headbanged and drank and danced around to all the pop songs played earlier. Yunho is trying to tend to him though, trying to get him to stand up only to be as equally tired and shitfaced drunk as the other male is. You see Yeosang approaching the two of them, trying to get them out of the mingling bodies to the empty space just near the side, because if he doesn’t do that then they’ll obviously get stepped on sooner or later when they finally fall face-flat on the sand.

Jongho on the other hand somehow managed to find his way on the stage, singing along with the original singer for a duet; Seonghwa is in an adjacent corner cheering Jongho on before turning to look at his fling sweetly, who’s cuddled to his side. Hongjoong is in the front row, holding up a digital camera to film Jongho like a proud stage mother as he sings on stage.

“y/n!” Somebody calls, and from the sound of their voice, they come from behind, so you turn. But before you could face the owner of the strained voice, smoke blows out from the pair of smoke machines on the stage. The bright lights reduce to a dim tone, and you squint to make the figure out emerging from the smoke.

Bright eyes, plump lips, exposed chest...

Wooyoung.

“There you are, I’ve been looking for you,” He says, a relieved sigh escaping his lips before he reaches up to ruffle your hair.

“Hey,” Chuckling, you let the greeting roll smoothly off of your tongue right before playfully swatting his hand away. He submits to it, pulling his hand before shoving it inside of his pockets.

Before he could say anything else, the bright lights reduce to a dim tone, the music shifts, and you both barely get to hear the words the singer utters before you’re looking around, baffled, seeing how people are suddenly facing each other in pairs instead of facing the stage. Wooyoung catches the word “romantic” only, and his eyes widen just as he swears he feels his heart leap from his chest.

Is the universe really toying with him on purpose? Because as far as he was concerned, he looked for you in hopes of jumping along to that one Justin Timberlake song, but now that he’s found you, he’s bound to share a rather intimate moment with you under this makeshift romantic atmosphere.

It would have been better, had he been alone. He could have settled at the back, leaned against a tall table and watched everybody kiss in front of him; he honestly couldn’t care less. But now, his friends are too far away, dancing with each other, cuddling with some people they barely know, or are just busy puking somewhere near the shore.

As if to make things worse, you’re standing right next to him, as stiff as a pole as you both face the stage; the people couples surrounding you either kissing or hugging to the fucking death to this Madonna love song. He figures he’d better be off drunk than to stand awkwardly right beside you, but he isn’t, and nor are you.

So you both continue to stand there, listening to the singer on stage.

A little awkwardly, you begin swaying along to the song― just because you don’t want to look too stiff or weird, so Wooyoung does the same.

But of course, something just has to happen; and your hand just has to accidentally brush against Wooyoung’s, like any other romantic cliche. It happens once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Again, for the fourth time.

And going five.

With how often it’s happening, you begin to think that maybe Wooyung’s teasing again, so you steal a glance at him from your peripheral vision.

But your heart practically jumps to your throat when you see that he’s already looking.

Wooyoung clears his throat as you turn your head to him. “Nice song, huh?”

“Oh. Yeah,” You say, then it goes silent again, so you try to speak up again by saying, “It’s Madonna, after all.”

Thankfully, Wooyoung chuckles– the very single act that made you feel a little relaxed under the rather tense atmosphere.

“God, Seonghwa is actually ridiculous for finding a fling on the first day of our trip. But then again, it doesn’t really matter when he’s snuggling close with somebody while we’re just standing here, does it?” He manages to let out an actually believable chuckle to cover the underlying uncertainty of his voice.

“True,” An airy chuckle leaves your lips as you turn to Seonghwa’s direction, watching him hold the girl close to his chest while the song plays. You look back at Wooyoung and nudge his arm with your elbow. “Well I guess it’s not that bad because you’re as lonely as I am.”

And you regret it immediately the second your words leave your lips because, what is that even supposed to mean? Wooyoung doesn’t respond as you hoped he would, though― he only snorts at you instead of taking offense and playfully fighting you to the end, like he usually would, but you think it’s better than him being all serious about it... probably.

There’s silence again, though you see Wooyoung gulp and inhale and exhale as if to calm himself down for some reason, so, feeling a strange surge of courage surge through you— with him seemingly as nervous as you are— you turn to him.

“Hey—”

“Woo—”

Your words come out in unison.

Wooyoung beats you to it and jerks his chin towards you, saying, “You go first.”

Then your confidence deflates.

Fumbling slightly with your fingers, the moment heightens all the more when the instrumental starts playing and there’s a higher chance of Wooyoung hearing what you have to say. How crazy can you be, feeling all confident and then backing away in a split second? But that’s maybe because he has something equally important to tell you and what if it’s that he has a lover? Or a crush? Or something that might embarrass you if you speak first? But after gnawing on your bottom lip for a couple of seconds, gaze dropped to the floor out of worry and anxiousness, you finally decide to just let the gods have their way with your life, as long as you get this weight off of your chest. So you huff and say,

“This thing… do you feel it… too?”

―then beat yourself up for the question because, just what is that supposed to mean? As vague as it is obvious, you hope Wooyoung doesn’t really catch what you mean to ask, but somehow you also do.

“What thing?” Is what Wooyoung says though, and it takes you two seconds long to process it, that he manages to add, “Oh, your sweaty hands?” before you could say anything else.

Just like that, your widened eyes reduce to a slant, deadpanning and glaring at him for his hilarious response. It’s supposed to make you laugh, and you are supposed to laugh because he might be oblivious and you have to cover it up.

But you don’t.

Instead, you murmur a small “Nevermind,” before turning away to face the stage again, refusing to believe you just made a fool of yourself in front of your own best friend, and maybe, crush. But it’s better than to have openly expressed your feelings and then getting turned down, isn’t it?

“y/n,” Wooyoung calls, his voice airy as if he’s about to laugh at you in the most hilarious way he possibly can, so you don’t turn to him. But being the overly persistent man he is, of course he continues poking on your arm, to which you dodge by clicking your tongue and moving away.

“Shut up, Wooyoung. I can’t hear the song.” You say, which is an ultimately lame excuse because the large speakers that blast the singer’s voice are tenfold louder than Wooyoung; but this embarrassment of yours causes a smile to tug onto the corners of his lips.Wooyoung coughs into his enclosed fist in an attempt to clear his throat, bottom lip getting caught in between his teeth as he tries to bite back a smile.

One moment, you feel as though your heart dropped to your stomach, and then the next, you feel it rise up to your throat. It’s there and suddenly you can’t get words to come out of your lips because you feel Jung Wooyoung standing behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist whilst his cheek rests almost next to yours.

What I’m dying to say is that I’m crazy for you,

Touch me once and you’ll know it’s true

He sings the lyrics into your ear, and the singer’s voice seems to fade in the background because nothing is more heavenly than Wooyoung’s voice. Too stunned to move or even utter a word, you stand there, frozen in his arms while he begins to sway your bodies slowly. Then, your hand slowly finds its way atop his arm; and Wooyoung expects you to pull his arm away, but you don’t.

You don’t tell him you feel his heartbeat speed up from your back.

I never wanted anyone like this,

It’s all brand new

Wooyoung spins you around, then gently takes a hold of your hand, slender fingers wrapping around your wrist just as he tugs it upward. The feeling of his skin on yours once more makes you lift your gaze to meet his eyes, and you catch him watching you with fondness in his gaze. His eyes flicker down once more to your free hand, and he does the same to it, now holding both of your hands before he brings it up to his shoulders, swiftly sliding closer to you, your fingers now subtly touching behind his neck.

Wooyoung’s gaze becomes rather shy as he lifts his gaze to meet yours once more, a small smile tugging on his lips as he places his hand cautiously on your waist. What’s annoyingly weird is that he’d done it so many times before— placing his hands there when he’s moving past you, on crowded parties, on formal dinners, or even stupid prom nights— but this time, there seems to be something different with the way you’re touching each other; like it feels more intimate and just… more.

With a gulp, you move closer to him and avoid his gaze. But Wooyoung is just determined to have you melt into a puddle as soon as possible because in a millisecond, he’s gently taking a hold of your chin, lifting it up, only to place his forehead against yours.

Your eyes dilate at the sight of Wooyoung so close to you― his lips just mere inches from yours. It’s the first time you’ve been this intimately close with him in such an intimidating atmosphere, but you like it. You really do.

His eyes are closed, and he continues to enjoy the moment— humming to the song— which stretches your lips into a smile. As soon as you close your eyes as well, however, Wooyoung blinks his eyes open, and it’s his turn to adore the tranquil look on your face. His chest rumbles with the chuckles he’s letting out, and you open your eyes before slightly pulling away to look at him.

“What?” You ask, but Wooyoung only shakes his head with a smile that almost reaches his ears. Then, he inhales a breath of courage before lifting one hand to tuck stray strands of hair behind your ear. His soft gaze lingers momentarily on your lips before it trails up to your nose, and then your eyes. Then, he cups your face again, his fingers sliding against your cheek, the underside of your jaw, and your neck as he lets out a shaky breath.

You sense the nervousness in his slightly trembling fingers, in his breath, and in the look in his eyes. And so when he couldn’t bring the words to come out of his mouth, as much as he so desperately wants to ask if he can, you begin leaning into his touch. The action alone makes Wooyoung relax, and just as he’s quickly cupping your face with now both of his hands―

“Wooyoooounggg!”

San’s nearing voice makes you and Wooyoung jump away from each other, fast, that it even makes you both accidentally bump into the people snuggling an arm’s length from behind where you previously stood. After muttering soft apologies to the couples for ruining such a sweet moment— to which they only seem to disregard as they’re too into the mood— you and Wooyoung inhale shaky breaths, stealing awkward glances at each other just as you turn to face the stage again while Wooyoung feels San’s arm wrap around his shoulders. Unconsciously, the overly excited boy jumps around on his spot, shaking Wooyoung’s shoulders just as he turns to San with an expression he fails to read out of drunkenness.

“Wooyoung! Wooyoung, I think I’m finally going to get a girlfriend—”

“San,” Wooyoung deadpans, pursing his lips slightly to convey a contained and restrained look before lowering his voice to whisper, “I think what you’re about to get is a black eye from me.”

“If we want to be able to stick to our itinerary for tomorrow, we all have to wake up on time despite staying up late, so don’t fool around too much and go to bed as soon as you can, please.”

“How about you take your own advice? Don’t stay up too late frolicking—” Wooyoung playfully chirps back, only jolting and backing away a bit when the older male turns around and threatens to run over and get him under his chokehold. But Seonghwa couldn’t afford to ruin his rather blissful night; not when he’d obviously had the time of his life only to have the mood tumbling down because Wooyoung can’t shut up.

It happens a lot though, and at this point it’s even a regular thing that neither of them pay much attention to it. Everyone continues walking lazily, some even moving a little too slowly towards your respective cottages— like you and Wooyoung, who remains a few meters behind. Although he’s not walking right next to you, he takes careful steps, obviously wanting to match your pace as you slowly drag your feet through the sand.

The familiar cottages come to view, and the others begin racing each other to their rooms. Just as you’re about to run along, Wooyoung grabs a hold of your arm, your name leaving his lips airily.

He licks his lips and heaves a breath, hands slipping into his pockets as you turn to look at him. The air is cold and strong, making you shift closer to your best friend to at least feel his warmth.

“What is it, Woo?”

Throughout the years you’ve known Wooyoung, he’s confident, noisy, (a little?) annoying, and hyperactive. To see him so shy and nervous especially around you is something out of the ordinary, which is why you know something’s really amiss and that it wasn’t just the alcohol talking. Wooyoung’s tongue pokes at his cheek as he begins gently kicking sand to ease the pooling anxiety in his chest.

“About a while ago,” He pauses to gulp, and then there’s silence as he tries to search for his words. When they don’t come, you try to cover it up just in case he regrets speaking about it.

“Oh, don’t get too worked up about it, I’m sure we just got a little carried away.”

You even chuckle a bit after saying it, because you assumed everything that transpired was to be left at that, but Wooyoung’s eyes are glossy as he lifts his gaze from his feet to meet yours.

“You think so?”

You blink, “You don’t?”

Silence.

“I gues… I… Maybe you’re right,” Wooyoung says after a few more seconds of silence, catching his lower lip in between his teeth as he stares into blank space for a bit, right before making eye contact with you― a little bravely this time. “But I just want to let you know that it wasn’t entirely nothing for me.”

There’s silence, again, but it’s because Wooyoung allows you to recuperate for a bit so that you can listen intently to what he’s about to say.

“It’s been going on for a long while now, really, and I think we both know it. This… thing between us, the thing you asked me about a while ago? Yes, I feel it. I really do. And it's driving me crazy because I want to do something about it. I want it. I want—” He sighs, “I want you.”

Heavy breathing.

“I think I’m crazy for you,” Wooyoung says, the sigh that escapes his lips this time resembling much that of relief; as if some weight is loaded off of his chest and he’d successfully gotten the words he’d longed to say out of his lips.

“It’s not even because you wore something that’s so different from what you usually wear; it’s not even because I’m a hopeless romantic and I felt so lonely in the sea of couples while a live band sings a ridiculous love song. It’s not because of that stupid makeshift romantic atmosphere that I got carried away.” Wooyoung takes a hesitant step closer to you, but you don’t back away— lost in the sea of emotions in his eyes.

“But from the very start, I’d already thought of you. I already wanted to spend every moment with you and it’s fucking ridiculous because I don’t want to just stand next to you, cheer you on like how best friends do. I want— I want to cheer you on, hug you, and kiss you, and shower you with all the love that I have for you but as somebody more because everyday, I think of you. Of course I do, I’m your best friend, but you’ve been crossing my mind so much these days that it’s driving me crazy— you’ve been staying in my mind like crazy as if it’s your home— and I tell you that I love you everyday but I don’t mean it jokingly or halfheartedly anymore, I don’t feel like you understand my I love yous the way I really, genuinely, sincerely, love you. Yes, it’s that deep, and I know I’m rambling and not making a lot of sense but I’m being as honest as I can, and I just really want to get this off of my chest because there’s no other way I can express it. If not for San, Choi fucking San, maybe I’d be rambling less because we’d either be awkward with each other, I’d be rejected or maybe you’d feel the same, but I’m not saying you should—”

“My god, Jung Wooyoung,” Wooyoung watches you rub your temples using your thumb and middle finger before letting your hand dangle back to your sides. A small quirk is visible at one corner of your lips as you snort at him, saying, “Did somebody ever tell you that you talk too much?”

Wooyoung winces slightly, left eye twitching before he licks his lips and looks around aimlessly.

“You all do,” He shoves his hands inside his pockets, a hesitant look written across his face as he awkwardly meets your eyes again.

“Well then―”

“Let me guess,” He sighs, shutting his eyes just as he nods his head in understanding. “I should shut up?”

“Yeah. You should shut up,” A pause, and with his eyes closed, he doesn’t see the grin on your lips that you try to bite back. “And just kiss me.”

Wooyoung’s head snaps up as he whispers a stunned, “What?” that makes you chuckle, and you shrug and sigh just as he looks at you expectantly.

“To cut the drama to the chase, I feel the same way, Woo.” Is how you explain it to him subtly, right before reaching over to punch his chest playfully as you say, “Do you even know how hard it is to get you out of my head—”

Wooyoung takes large steps towards you, ready to dive in to capture your lips into a kiss― just what he’s been a little too slow at doing a little while ago. But just as he’s cupping your jaw with his one hand, the other settled on your waist to pull you close—

“Wooyoung, what’s taking you so long? I want to ramble to you about my— Oh hey, y/n!”

San’s voice almost echoes in the open, and with how he sounds, he’s a little oblivious to what’s about to happen in front of him even when you and Wooyoung are pressed unusually close to each other. And at the sound of his voice— his second interruption for tonight— Wooyoung groans, turning his head to his friend and giving him a wide-eyed look of warning.

But when San’s brows only raise as a response, Wooyoung decides to hold up a palm to him, telling him to stop and wait for a moment.

The poor stunned boy only becomes twice as stunned as soon as he sees Wooyoung lean in and capture your lips into a kiss, and you’re pretty sure he’s drowning in surprise when you begin to kiss Wooyoung back. As soon as your lips begin moving gently against his, Wooyoung grins into the kiss, and he retracts his hand after hearing San’s silence, knowing he’d successfully taken the hint.

Little footsteps pad away— which must be San escaping the scene— and it’s either he gets to his cottage, traumatized that he shuts up about it or so shocked he’ll tell the others to come out and see what’s happening. But without much care about whatever San might do, Wooyoung lifts a hand to cup your jaw instead, tilting his head to kiss you again, the kiss deepening even in the midst of small laughter and clashing teeth and swollen lips.

You don’t know how long you’ve been kissing for, but you wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

Wooyoung’s lips are like soft cushions that press ever-so-gently yet passionately against yours— way better than how you’d imagined it, that it makes you melt under his touch. He smiles into the kiss again, making a smile appear on your lips as well, and you laugh and kiss and then laugh again, until your noses are gently nuzzling against each other and your lips are hovering above each other’s mouths.

“Fuck, you really make me go crazy, do you know that?” Wooyoung mumbles against your lips, his eyes producing a faint glimmer of what anybody could only recognize as love. You slide your hands from the back of his neck, down to his shoulders, then to his chest, and you feel the terrible pounding of his heart atop his clothed chest. Chuckling, you sneak a soft kiss on his lips again just before pulling away slightly to place your forehead against his.

“Just one touch and I already know it’s true, Woo. If that's what you're worried about, just know that I'm crazy for you, too.” Cocking your head to the side, it's Wooyoung's turn to feel flustered. “Hard not to be when you're this sexy.”

“Oh you—”

Hongjoong's voice rips through the air. “Fuck inside your room, not out there, for goodness sake!”

KIA'S NOTE: another repost from my old acc! i want to know what you think, lmk through my asks or through the tags! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

#wooyoung fluff #ateez fluff #jung wooyoung fluff #wooyoung suggestive #ateez suggestive #jung wooyoung suggestive #wooyoung imagines #ateez imagines #jung wooyoung imagines #wooyoung scenarios #jung wooyoung scenarios #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x reader fluff #jung wooyoung x reader fluff

799 notes · View notes

dailyadventureprompts · 8 months

Text

Villain: The Cult of the Wyrm Eternal

Any adventurer, alchemist, or awestruck child can tell you that there is power in the body of a dragon, and like all sources of power it's only a mater of time before someone comes along to try to capitalize on it.

Enter the Cult of the Wyrm Eternal, which emerges from long buried vaults to dissect the bodies of dragonkind like flesh eating beetles. The cult originated from a time beyond remembering following the teachings of a profane text known as the Har'Khon Libram, which survives into the modern day as a sort of how-to manual for those seeking forbidden knowledge allowing them to revive the cult's practices and discover its caches of lost power.

It's in this manner that the cult has survived millennia and numerous purges at the hands of heroes, holy orders, and oligarchs: With each iteration caching away knowledge and resources for acolytes they will never meet.

Hooks:

A prominent dragonborn hero and ally of the party disappears, leaving behind few clues and a mystery to solve. Lacking a true dragon to carve up for ingredients the cult abducted the dragonborn and plans on sacrificing them after a gauntlet of strange rituals intended to suffuse their flesh with power. Its a race against the clock for the party to find their friend before there’s nothing left of them but a grisly scattering of magical items bound for the cult’s armoury.

The local warlord has a new pet, a young dragon provided to him by the cult in exchange for his protection and material support. Tales of him riding out to wreak destruction from its back send shivers of terror through the populace. What a surprise then when the party encounter it in the wild, rampaging aimlessly after slipping her bonds. Brainwashed by cult doctrine the parry find themselves negotiating with a creature with the drives of a caged tiger, the volatility of an abused teenager, and the destructive potential of an artillery battery. Talking her down will be as difficult as diffusing a bomb, but they might just come away with important information or even a new ally should they help her evade recapture.

Using knowledge purloined from the mysteries of the mother hydra herself a cell of the Wyrm Eternal has been working on a ritual to create a true dragon, experimenting with drakes, basilisks and other reptilian monsters, filling the wilderness with bounty worthy monsters that will inevitably bring the party crashing into their lair.

Background: The knowledge contained within the Har'Khon Libram is cursed, part of a scheme by the book's original author in an attempt to evade both death and those who hunt unlawful immortality. Reading the book not only imparts the authors knowledge upon the prospective cultist, but also a vestige of their cosiouness, which steers them towards the same course of action that has kept the cult alive for so long: constructing more vaults, hoarding draconic power, and propogating the Libram's knowledge so that the infection can spread through time.

Hidden in the depths of each vault are tablets of further tainted lore, which causes the seed of malign presence within the Wyrm cultist's mind to blossom, opening their mind to the space between life and death and allowing their patron's thoughts to swirl into their own. In this way the party can end up fighting the same villain through many proxies, the unseen master of the Wyrm eternal studying them as they cut down vessel after vessel before formulating a counteroffence.

Dungeon Dressing:

Wyrm Eternal vaults vary by the culture that originally constructed them, but are always in remote, sheltered areas that could endure largescale devastation. Their entrances are hidden and warded against intrusion, protected by magical cyphers that can usually only be broken with aid from the Har'Khon Libram. Vaults can also contain these doors within, locking away the greatest treasures until the acolytes have further tainted their thoughts with the Libram's curse.

Undead are ubiquitous within dungeons claimed by the Wyrm Eternal, ranging from simple servitors to looming guardians to dragonbone infused war machines just waiting to be unleashed on the cult's enemies all with green corpsefire flickering in their heads. Access to these undead armouries and the arsenal of magical items that come with them are one of the primary drivers for individuals to become cultists in the first place.

Each vault will likewise contain preserved pieces of dragongore, ranging from single skulls placed on altars to whole cellars filled with blood magically preserved in clay or glass vessels. If a cult cell reached full operation, it's likely to have atleast one mummified corpse preserved in an onsite tomb, it's vital organs ( and perhaps a few spares) preserved in canopic jars waiting nearby.

Art 1 Art 2

#cultists #villain #villain cult #mid level #rescue mission #undead #dragon #occult #cursed item #curse #dungeon tomb #Necromancer #warfare

263 notes · View notes

mailperson · 9 months

Text

Three lords of cinder Down

Abyss watchers fight real cool, Yhorm deeply uninteresting EXCEPT for Siegward’s scene, Aldrich overall super cool with a few minor nitpicks

Not a lord of cinder but pontiff sulyvahn Sucks

Also dancer of boreal valley looks so swaggy. Died immediately w a ring of sacrifice cause I wanted to level up tho

#I think it’s a LITTLE too excessive with 5 soul arrows in a row and the tracking tiny arrow spell goes on too long #makes it where sometimes boss move rng just Isn’t In Your Favor and I think that’s not cool #overall Aldrich great fight though provided you’ve got a build that can whittle him down fast enough #in terms of Yhorm why was the profaned capital it’s own mini region? why was it latched onto Irithyll dungeon??#it could’ve been it’s own area with more stuff to explore NEXT to Irithyll dungeon #same feelings w Anor Londo. too small it’s like why even have it.

1 note · View note

mangosmootji · 3 months

Text

Chapter 1 | Memento Mori

“Remember you must die”

18+ fic, minors do not interact!

Fic summary: The Red Keep stood tall on Aegon’s hill. It used to house the nobles of the realm in the old histories of Westeros but now it was home to the Targaryen family, tainting its red color with their dark and gloom. The Targaryens were a family plagued with rumors, drama and perhaps even the supernatural. It doesn’t help that King’s Landing has been plagued with murders ever since their arrival. Once a month on the morning of the first full moon a body turns up in the Blackwater Bay and everyone suspects it is the mysterious family living in isolation, safe from the horrors that plague the city.

Your father, a well-known businessman and a lover of mysteries, had received a letter from Lady Alicent Hightower that contained a marriage proposal. She wished to marry you to one of her sons who had both recently come of age like you. Your father itched at the opportunity to unravel the mysteries of the Targaryen family and immediately sent you on your way as a future bride and with a mission: uncover the secrets of the most prestigious family in the kingdom.

Chapter summary: You arrive at the Red Keep. You meet the strange family and try to get along with your distant and secretive fiancé. Meanwhile another body is found in Blackwater bay. Chapter warnings/tags: Mentions of death, gore, corpses, organs, profanities, canon typical incest, the supernatural, betrothal, family drama, family secrets if any of these things are not to your liking/ are triggering i recommend not to read it! Word count: 5.2k Rigor Mortis Masterlist | Main Masterlist

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“They say the castle is haunted, my dear sister.” Your older brother teased with a large, shit-eating grin. The two of you were being escorted to King’s Landing, the capital of Westeros, in a cramped black carriage pulled by two large black horses. The inside of the carriage was small and you had been practically squeezed up against your brother the whole ride. The cushions were covered in a dark purple velvet while the rest of the inside was painted black.

Heavy rain splattered against the roof and the window of the carriage and you pitied the coachman that drove it. It had been raining all day long. Your mother used to say rain was a bad omen, that monsters were able to lurk amongst the normal people due to the lack of sunlight and the gloomy atmosphere. However, your mother had also been sent to an asylum a few years ago. As much as you wanted to, you never visited, terrified of finding out what they did to her there. It started off with a doctor’s recommendation to visit the seaside to clear your mother’s mind but that coastal visit had quickly turned into a one way journey to the ‘madhouse’ on the Arbor. Despite all of this you were certain of one thing. Your mother wasn’t a lunatic.

It bothered you and your father more than it did your brother. Your brother and you never truly got along. Your older brother was blinded by greed, he was the heir to your father’s company and would inherit everything once your father passed. If anything, it was your brother that was the black sheep of the family, always preferring the company of his lousy, rich friends over you and your parents. You and your father, however, had always gotten along well. He would tell you stories of great mysteries and detectives or sometimes about the world outside of Westeros. You liked stories, whether they were fake or not. Despite all the stories your father and mother had told you, you never believed in the supernatural. You knew the human mind worked in peculiar ways and would often fill in the blanks if someone didn’t understand what they were seeing. Human creativity was both a blessing and a curse.

“I doubt the castle is haunted, dearest brother. They are just ghost stories to keep unwanted visitors away.”

You didn’t even know why your brother had insisted on travelling with you. Perhaps he got a sick kick out of giving you away to a bunch of rich strangers, never to be seen again.

“You’re no fun. I can’t even scare you properly-”

He was cut off by the carriage shaking for a moment and you could feel the left back wheel get stuck in a pot hole. The carriage was slanted and you felt yourself lean towards the lower point. You cursed under your breath and stared at your brother for a few seconds as if to urge him to go check it out but he didn’t move. You crawled over him and opened the door of the carriage and hopped out yourself. You immediately cringed when you felt the mud stain your new proper black boots and the bottom of the skirt of your deep blue dress. You held it up as best as you could and walked around to the back of the carriage to find the coach man inspecting the wheel. The old man was soaked to the bone due to the heavy rain and the pity you felt for him only worsened. “Can’t the horses pull it out?” You asked him as you turned your gaze to the wheel as well. The pothole was rather deep, not to mention slippery because of the dirt turning into a muddy puddle. The old coachman shook his head and took off his black top hat to run his hand through his thin grey hair. “No Lady, someone must push the carriage from behind as well. It is too slippery for the wheel to roll out properly.”

You let out a frustrated groan and stomped back to the carriage door and peeked your head back through the door. Your brother’s gaze fell upon you and he grinned.

“Benjamen, I need you to push the carriage out of the pothole.”

“Why do I have to do that?”

“Because you’re a man and you’re stronger than me.”

Benjamen rolled his eyes and glanced up and down, scanning your already soaked and dirty attire. His lips curled back up into a shit eating grin and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re already soaked and dirty, you do it.”

You groaned at his childish attitude and slammed the small door of the carriage shut. Once you were behind the carriage again you glanced at the wheel and sighed. The pothole was filled with a watery muddy puddle and you grimaced. The coachman’s brows furrowed when he saw you outside again.

‘He pities you’ You cringed at the thought.

“We should move the carriage now. I shall push it.” You replied, trying to seem as calm and confident as you could. You wore your best dress today but it didn’t matter anymore. The bottom of the long blue dress was soiled with mud while the rest of your dress was starting to get soaked. If only you had invested in a waxed cloak.

The coachman reluctantly nodded and walked back around the carriage to sit down at the front and spur the two horses in. Once you noticed the horses trying to pull the carriage you placed your hands flat against the back of the carriage and pushed with all your might. It was tedious and heavy but once you felt the carriage move forward you let out a sigh in relief and kept pushing until the wheel was fully out of the pothole and it came to a halt so you could re enter.

As you stepped back into the carriage you could hear your brother Benjamen snicker at the state you were in. You sat back down and ignored him for the rest of the bumpy ride to the Red Keep. You only listened when he said the city of King’s Landing came into view. The city was old and incredibly large. It had a harbour on the south side of the city where the narrow sea turned into a river and the city was built on three hills. Rhaenys’ hill, where a large abandoned structure stood that once had the name ‘The Dragonpit’. You had read the old rulers of the city used to hold gladiator fights or host trials by combat in it. People believed it was now haunted, sometimes disgruntled screams could be heard coming from the ruin and people avoided it at all cost if they could. The second hill of the city was Visenya’s hill, a tall hill that housed the great sept of Baelor. It was a tall gothic structure with seven crystal towers to represent the seven gods. It was an old building covered in details of the seven pointed star, the main symbol of the religion. Then, finally, there was Aegon’s hill. Aegon’s hill housed the large castle that was called ‘The Red Keep’, your future home. It was a grand structure located on the south east of the city. It had many tall towers that overlooked the beautiful, yet treacherous narrow sea. It was said that ever since the Targaryens took residency in the Keep the sea had become more wild and stormy as if it was protesting against them.

The carriage entered the city through the north western gate that was famously dubbed the Dragon’s gate. You had hoped the ride would be less bumpy now that you had finally left the King’s Road but you were wrong. It was clear the city structures and the cobblestone roads were neglected, to say it nicely. As you peeked through the window of the small carriage you could see the people living in poverty, especially once the carriage rode onto the street of the sisters and past the city district that was named ‘Flea bottom’, or so your brother had told you. The more uphill the carriage got, the wealthier the city folk became. The streets were deserted due to the rain but you could still peek through the windows of some of the houses and gawk at the interiors or occasionally the people themselves.

They were dressed like you, well, the women were. Their lavish dresses that reached the floor were in various colours. Most of them are darker colours but if the fabric was lighter the colour was muted and desaturated.

The castle gates of King’s Landing came into view and the structure seemed even larger when you stood close to it. The carriage came to a halt and you saw the coachman open the door to let you and your brother out. You saw the family standing in a part of the courtyard that was roofed over, safe from the heavy rain and looking at the carriage in anticipation. As you glanced down at your dirty cloak and dress you could feel your cheeks heating up, your hair most likely looked like a mess as well due to the rain, though it did have time to dry in the carriage. If it couldn’t get any worse you saw a bright flash in the sky followed by a loud rumbling boom a few seconds later.

Benjamen urged you to leave the carriage so you did, finally released from the cramped space. You took in the sight of the family again. A woman, clearly the mother, though still young, stood in the middle of the group. She had beautiful auburn hair braided into a delicate hairstyle. It looked complex yet elegant and if it weren’t for the horrible weather you assumed it would usually be worn with a garden hat or a bonnet. Her dress was large and ruffled. It was black and dark green, which you found quite bold. After all, your nanny had always taught you black dresses should only be worn with light colours and white dresses should be worn with darker colours. To her right stood an older man who had the same hazel coloured eyes as her. He was a tall man and wore a high black top hat. His entire outfit was dark, from his long frock coat to his shoes. The only white piece of clothing he wore was his shirt which could barely be seen due to his many layers of clothing. Resting under the man’s was a cane with beautiful golden details. You had quickly figured out the two standing in the middle were Otto- and Alicent Hightower, your future grandfather- and mother-in-law.

The other members of the family all had beautiful silver blonde coloured hair. Next to Otto stood a beautiful girl in a pale purple dress. The dress had many frilly details and ruffles. It complimented her violet eyes well. She was a little plump and her long silver hair was curled and up in a bun that was less complicated than her mother’s bun. You still thought she looked extremely elegant, especially with the white and purple flowers in her hair that served as accessories.

Next to the pretty young lady, on her left, stood a tired looking male. His silver blonde hair was unkempt and grew a little past his jawline. His eyes were plagued by dark circles and the mustard coloured double breasted vest he wore made him look ill. The vest had a darked mustard colour stripes and fitted his figure quite well, unlike his jacket. It was too large and boxy, something that would be worn 30 years ago maybe. The mustard yellow colour made his violet eyes look darker and less noticeable compared to the people you assumed were the man’s siblings.

On the far right of the group, the opposite side of the tired looking man stood a guard in uniform. The man’s skin was tan and he had dark hair that was combed back. He sported a moustache and a beard, though both were quite short and were only noticeable due to the dark colour of the hairs. His uniform coat was white with silver details and his pants a greyish colour. The man’s arms were large and you assumed he must be close to the family if they allowed him to stand beside him like that.

Finally, the man between Alicent and the Guard stood out the most to you. He was taller than most of his family members and had a sharp jawline. He had long straight silver blonde hair like the rest of his siblings and his outfit was dark with hints of green, like his mother’s. Unlike the tired looking man his coat fitted him perfectly. It accentuated his waist and shoulders well and made him look elegant. The thing that stood out the most though was the ‘subtle’ scarring on the left side of his face. It was a thin shaky line that went from his cheek, over his eye and then stopped at his forehead. In the place where his eye was supposed to be was a glass eye but instead of it having an iris and a pupil it was completely white. His left eyelid twitched occasionally, as if it wasn’t used to the glass eye yet. He was beautiful, yet his intense gaze sent shivers down your spine. He was studying your every move, you could feel it.

You knew you had to marry one of the brothers, but you had no idea which one yet. Judging by the two silver haired men you didn’t want to marry either. There was something eerie about this family and you couldn’t seem to shake the feeling.

You could hear your brother behind you step out of the carriage and he followed you as you walked towards the family. As you were to introduce yourself, Benjamen beat you to it.

“It is an honour to meet you all. Please let me introduce my dearest sister to you all.”

Benjamen politely bowed with an arm tucked over his stomach and you bowed as well. You told them your name and Alicent pulled you under the roofed area in a gentle manner.

“You poor thing, you’re completely soaked.” She cupped your face in her hands and inspected it with a large, proud smile. “You’re truly as beautiful as your father claimed in his letters.”

Alicent turned to look at the guard and nodded at him. “Ser Criston, please tell the maids to prepare a nice warm bath for the poor girl. We wouldn’t want her to fall ill because of this weather.”

The guard sternly nodded his head, turned around and entered the castle. You turned to look back at your brother who was eagerly (too eagerly, in your opinion) helping the coachman unload your wooden trunks from the carriage. You had taken most of your belongings with you, for starters, you didn’t own a lot of large lavish dresses and Alicent had assured in her letter that your future husband would order some for you as soon as you arrived.

Benjamen returned and roughly patted your shoulder as if you were one of his male companions. You winched and shot him a quick glare which he returned with a taunting grin.

“I shall miss you dearly, sister. Make sure you write home so father won’t miss you too much.” Benjamen said and roughly patted your shoulder again.

‘Dickhead…’

“She will be in good hands, Lord Benjamen. We take good care of our ladies.” The man with the scarred cheek said, the tone of his voice was icy and you could hear the passive aggressiveness in it. He was belittling your older brother and you had to stifle a laugh. It was a clear jab at Benjamen’s rude behaviour towards you. While you tried not to laugh, the tired looking brother let out a snort that he quickly tried to hide with a cough. Both Otto and Alicent sent the two men a warning gaze before looking back at Benjamin who’s cocky grin had been replaced with a scowl.

“Do not fret brother, I will be in good hands and I shall write plenty.”

You, reluctantly, hugged your brother goodbye and watched as he stepped into the small carriage. The coachman sat on his seat in front of the carriage and took off his tophat to wave at you. He spurred the horses on and you watched as the carriage walked through the gates and a loud boom of thunder could be heard again. The gates closed behind them and only now it had dawned on you that you were all alone in a castle with mysterious strangers.

You felt Alicent’s hand gently rest on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry dear, Aemond shall take good care of you.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

The room they had given you was spacious. It had a dark wood king size bed with pale blue silk covers. The furniture was in the same dark wood and detailed style as the bed. There were many items in the room. In the corner near the fireplace there was a large white porcelain vase with blue details painted on it. Instead of flowers the vase held many beautiful and neat peacock feathers. The vase might’ve lacked flowers but the rest of the room did not. The table had a centrepiece with the Bay Rose Rhododendron as its main flower. It made you frown. You walked up to the flower and inspected the pale pink petals. You were no expert in the language of flowers but you knew what this one meant.

Danger. Beware

The other flowers in the piece did nothing to ease your worries. The person that had put together the flowers had made it very clear they wanted to warn you for something.

You opened one of your wooden trunks and rummaged through it until you had found what you were looking for. An empty leather notebook, the dip pen your mother had given you and a regular pot of ink. You sat down at the table where the centrepiece stood and scribbled down the flowers that were in it with the different meanings.

- Afternoon, the fifth day of the first month of the year 1871 -

Bay Rose Rhododendron - Danger. Beware.

Cypress - Death. Mourning.

White Catchfly - Betrayal.

Creeping Cereus - Horror.

You softly blew on the ink in your notebook to make it dry quicker and hid the notebook back into the wooden trunk. Your father had gifted the notebook to you before you left. He was enthusiastic when he had gotten the proposal of Alicent to marry you to one of her sons. Not only would this strengthen his business’ reputation but it also meant insight into the mysterious Targaryen family. He wanted you to log your findings in a notebook like the detectives in the stories he told you about when you were younger.

No one knew where they came from centuries ago. It was almost as if they had appeared out of thin air. Your father was rich but compared to him they were filthy rich. Their ancestors had bought the Red Keep and had resided there ever since. There were many rumours about the family. Some believed they were vampires, stalking through the dead of night and looking for their victims in the city of King’s Landing.

Others believed them to be shape-shifting beasts, ghouls, werewolves or even the undead. You had met them only a few hours ago and you could say with certainty that they were neither undead, beasts or ghouls. Not that you believed the other supernatural rumours.

There were plenty of non-supernatural rumours about them that were equally distasteful. Some said ‘they liked to keep the family pure’. Inbreeding was one of the main things they were accused of but they never confirmed nor denied it.

The most well-known rumour about the Targaryens had to be the one relating to the cases of dead bodies found in the Blackwater bay. No one knew exactly when it started but one thing they knew for sure was that it didn’t happen before the Targaryens appeared in King’s Landing. Well, it didn’t happen before in a pattern.

Every morning after the first full moon of the month a body would be found dead in Blackwater bay. It had been happening for a century at this point and every time it was the same. The body would be found with no eyes and no one could find anything on the body that pointed towards murder. No stab wounds, no bruises, no nothing. Even the empty eye sockets showed no signs of violence. As if someone surgically removed them without a trace.

People didn’t go out on full moons, no one did. Even the animals like house cats or even stray cats found shelter somewhere inside. There weren't a lot of things the people knew about the mysterious deaths, only that they knew the Targaryen family had something to do with it.

“Do you like the flowers, dear?”

Alicent’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You hadn’t even noticed you were staring at the flowers that contained the ill message.You sheepishly nodded and forced yourself to smile.

“I do, my lady.”

“Please, call me Alicent, dear. I hope you are eventually able to call me mother as well.” Alicent chuckled and walked further into the room and motioned at the centrepiece. “Helaena arranged them for you. She is a wonderful girl and so incredibly creative.” Alicent beamed as she spoke of her daughter.

Helaena was the pretty lady in the pale purple dress, you remembered. She seemed sweet, did she really mean to combine these flowers together to send such a strange message or did she genuinely not know? No. You figured it was too much of a coincidence not to know.

“I see you have changed your clothes as well, you look absolutely beautiful. Aemond is lucky to have you as his bride.”

Alicent complimented you with a kind smile. The lady next to you had changed into her evening gown. A fully green velvet dress with many ruffles and layers. Her hair had also been braided into a much simpler style than earlier that day.

“Thank you my lady- I mean Alicent. You look wonderful as well.”

Alicent beamed at your compliment, perhaps she didn’t get them often.

“We shall have dinner in half an hour and afterwards Aemond shall give you a tour of the castle. Take that time to get to know each other.” Alicent spoke and turned around to leave your room again.

When the door closed behind her the only noise in your room was the crackling of the burning wood in the fireplace. You rummaged through your trunk to find your notebook again. You needed a more well hidden spot for it, especially since the first findings you had made about the family weren’t particularly positive. You’d hate for them to find it.

You eventually settled on hiding it beneath your mattress. The notebook wasn’t too thick and if it was uncomfortable to sleep on it was a small price to pay. Before hiding it in its designated spot you added a small note underneath the list of flowers.

Helaena arranged it.

Once the notebook was hidden in its spot you sat down on a sea green velvet couch and tried to devise a plan. You knew Aemond’s tour of the castle wouldn’t be enough to explore it to your liking but you didn’t want to make it too obvious you were snooping around.

You had mulled over it during the duration of dinner. Absentmindedly answering the questions the family asked you. Well, it was mostly Alicent and Otto that asked you questions. After a few cups of wine Aegon joined in too but Alicent quickly shut him up once the questions got too perverse.

You were now walking with Aemond through the castle and you had quickly figured out he was a stern man. His long straight hair was braided down his back and tied off with a black ribbon. He didn’t wear his coat inside the castle, only wearing his white shirt with puffy sleeves and a black double breasted vest with silver buttons.

“These are my quarters.” He said with a monotone voice and pointed at the room on the left, not even bothering to show you the inside. You continued to follow him through the hallway. He pointed at the rooms in the hallway that belonged to his siblings Aegon and Helaena. Their names were engraved on a small golden plate attached to the door in swirly letters. He skipped over one room, not even bothering to look at it. You, however, noticed it still contained a golden plate with a name engraved on it. From the corner of your eye you could only barely make out the name.

Daeron Targaryen.

‘Weird.’ You thought. You weren’t aware of a Daeron living in the castle with them. Perhaps he was a cousin or an uncle? You had learned at dinner that Aemond’s half-sister Rhaenyra lived in a different castle with her husband and five sons and two step-daughters, perhaps it was one of them.

You had also learned Aemond’s father had been ill for a long time and that he had sent his apologies to you for not being able to meet you this afternoon. You were only half-listening to what Aemond was saying, too deep in thoughts to concentrate on his voice.

“You mustn’t enter this hallway.”

You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at Aemond. You had exited the stairwell and were a floor above his chambers now. The hallway didn’t have any servants walking through and many of the white candles that lit it were almost fully burnt up.

“Why is that?” Your voice was laced with curiosity as you stared into the creepy hallway. It was long and quite dusty. The silence and darkness sent a shiver through your body but your body ached to find out what was located there.

“These are father’s chambers. He doesn’t like visitors. No one comes here except mother and the doctors.” Aemond replied sternly and gazed at you. You had made sure to walk on his right side so he could see you easily without having to turn his head too much.

“What? Really? Not even you or your siblings?”

“Yes.”

An awkward silence hung between the two of you but he eventually motioned at you to follow him to the next floor. You had only now realised you hadn’t asked him any questions about himself yet and you mentally cursed at yourself for not doing so.

“What is it that you do?” You asked him as you followed him through the hallways of the next floor.

“I plan on opening a doctor’s practice and a morgue in King’s Landing.”

You were unsure on how to reply to that. Being a mortician was a rather dark profession but you knew many places in Westeros lacked one. Usually the septs handled all the burials of the deceased.

“I studied medicine and anatomy in Old Town, I have only returned half a year ago.” He must’ve sensed your hesitancy to reply so he continued to speak but didn’t bother to look back at you. His body language screamed dominance and authority. He walked with his arms behind his back in a stiff manner. You simply nodded and picked up pace to catch up with him.

“Do you like it?”

“No.”

‘By the gods at least give me something to work with.’ You internally groaned.

“Why didn’t you like it?”

“I prefer history and philosophy.”

Now that was something you could work with. You loved history and a small smile tugged at your lips when you learned he did as well. At least there was something you and your betrothed had in common.

“What kind of history do you enjoy the most? I enjoy learning about the Old North and The Children of the Forest.”

His eyebrows raised a little in surprise and for the first time he actually turned his head to look at you instead of glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“I enjoy learning about my family history and the cultures of Essos and Sothoryos.”

He paused for a moment before speaking again.

“I didn’t expect you to like history, my lady.”

A grin tugged at the corner of your lips, your hands were now behind your back as well, only your stature was a lot more relaxed than his. It was always easier to converse when the topic was something you enjoyed.

“Well, perhaps I am full of surprises.”

You knew you had to win him over if you wanted a chance at a decent life with a husband that tolerated you. Of course, you couldn’t forget your father’s wishes as well. Investigating this family would be a lot easier with a husband that trusted you.

The rest of the tour of the castle was a lot more pleasant than the first half. He showed you his workstation with medical supplies, located on the base level of the castle. The interior creeped you out a little. In his room were bottled up organs in a mixture you did not know the name of. His supplies were neatly stored in various cabinets and he showed you the books he had to use in his studies, promising you that you were always allowed to borrow one whenever you wanted.

He had also promised to take you on a walk on the castle grounds the next day if the weather would allow it, after all, the storm was still raging outside.

He had dropped you off back at your room after the tour. Wishing you a good night whilst he pressed a soft kiss against the back of your hand. You knew he was only being a gentleman but it still made your stomach flutter. The men in the North weren’t as chivalrous as men in the south.

“Sleepwell my lady.” He said before turning around and walking away, his braid swaying a little from side to side and his footsteps echoing through the empty hall of the castle.

A few maids helped you change into your nightgown and you dismissed them before they could help you into bed. You wanted a little more time writing in your notebook about the first day in the castle. You didn’t want to write much, after all, it would be a shame if you filled it too quickly.

- Night, the fifth day, first month of the year 1871 -

I ate dinner with the family, most of them (Targaryen side) were quiet even after initiating conversation. I met my future husband and he seems like an intelligent man. All of them are quite secretive. The father of the family is ill, no one could tell me about his ailment and no one is allowed to go near his chambers.

Who is Daeron Targaryen?

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Aaaa thank you all so much for reading the first chapter. I had a lot of fun writing and researching for it. I’m still not sure at how many chapters it will have but I'll keep you all updated.

If you want to be added to the taglist let me know! 🫶

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – Taglist:

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #hotd #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond smut #the house of the dragon

100 notes · View notes

domainedewinter · 3 months

Text

The price of fire

Summary: Aemond meets a mysterious silver-haired girl on the beach while facing Vhagar. But the more he tries to know her, the deeper her secrets seem.

Warnings: DUBCON, TYPICAL TARGARYEN INCEST, profanity, innuendo, he/him pronouns, she/her pronouns, fingering, oral m receiving, oral f receiving, misogyny, toxic behaviour, Dom!Aemond, begging, underage hotd style, nsfw.

(coming soon, I will indicate the chapters containing smut with a 🔥)

Rating: 18+, MDNI

English is not my first language.

Chapter one ⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝ Roxaene ⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝

When Roxaene heard her father, Dorian, talk about an upcoming long journey to the continent - for diplomatic and political reasons - she couldn't help but bring it up to him during dinner that evening. It was a bit challenging to convince him, as he was always apprehensive about bringing her too close to King's Landing, especially the royal family.

She had to promise him not to go out without him and not to be seen without covering her hair. Dorian had never wanted to explain exactly what had happened when she was just a kid, only vaguely mentioning that he had been entrusted with a baby with silver hair and lilac eyes, and he had accepted this gift, having lost his wife and their son a few months prior.

He came from a good family and had always taken care of her properly, even teaching her how to read, write, and a great deal about the Kingdom. Roxaene quickly realized she was very different from the ebony-haired children she used to play with; she didn't blend in.

This was her secret, one of her secrets. Roxaene had spent countless days on the beach, dreaming of discovering what lay on the other side of the ocean, who her parents were, and why they had abandoned her.

Was it because of her silver hair? Her pale skin and violet eyes?

Thinking she might finally find answers to all her questions, she embarked with Dorian - persuading him with her big lilac eyes, begging him not to leave her alone for so long - and after weeks of travel, they arrived in King's Landing.

The city was immense, so different from what she knew and saw back in Dorne.

Of course, she wasn't allowed to roam the streets like she did at home, but it was already more than she had hoped for. After two evenings spent in the establishment where they were staying for their visit - a grand residence of a wealthy merchant and a friend of Dorian's - her adoptive father entered her room, finding her lost in thought on the balcony.

“Dear child, don't linger at the window for too long, someone might see you. I know you’d like to go out, and I’ll take you to see the city soon, but for now, you have to promise to stay here.”

His voice was soft and caring, as always. He was a tall man with a dark complexion and ebony hair, richly dressed and rather untouched by the years. Money had given him this luxury; being one of the main wine importers of Dorne, he had quickly made his fortune by trading with the capital and, subsequently, several other estates of great families.

His hand rested on Roxaene's shoulder, who continued to look outside, smiling, listening to the sounds of the city, imagining the lives of the people who lived there.

She had always been like that; dreamy and curious, two traits that could prove dangerous if one did not take care of where dreams and thoughts wandered.

Dorian knew it all too well and wanted to spare his daughter from falling into the wrong hands.

It was risky enough to have brought her with him.

"Don't worry, father, I'm already gratified to be here." She replied, finally turning to him. A richly decorated silk held her hair tied and concealed, but it didn't take away from her natural beauty, radiant and vivid.

"I have to go negotiate a few days' ride from here, with merchants from the city, and it's not a place for you. Behave while I'm gone. Until then, don't show yourself, don't go out and obey Lady Loyd."

Dorian's hand had quickly moved from her shoulder to her chin, lifting her gentle face. "And promise me not to unveil your face in front of Lady Lloyd. I made sure they take care of you without asking questions, but I could never answer the ones they might ask if it happens."

Roxaene nodded, placing her so pale hand on her father's tanned one.

"I know, father, I'll be careful. You can leave with a light heart."

He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead, holding her face between his hands, almost possessively; since the day he was entrusted with this small, silent, and calm baby with large violet eyes fixed on him, full of tears, he had made it his life's mission to protect her.

But staying alone in Dorne was not an option when her head could be so easily put on the line.

People could be such greedy monsters when money jingled, and promises were kept. Stealing babies and killing children didn't faze anyone when it came to being richly rewarded. Dorian refused to take that risk, to return to Dorne to find his house empty and his maids sorrowful and confused if Roxaene were to be abducted.

He left the room as he had entered; without a sound and with a heavy heart, the guilt of leaving her for days darkening his thoughts without him having any control over the situation.

⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝

That evening, Roxaene didn't have the heart to argue, and she watched him depart on horseback. She managed to obey him the first night, but her impulsive and curious nature quickly took over.

When everyone seemed busy elsewhere after dinner, she put on a dress and a cape to hide herself as best as she could from prying eyes, then slipped out through the window, heading as far away as possible.

At first, she didn’t know where she was running, letting her steps guide her, trusting her instincts. It felt so good to be outside, freely, to watch the sun begin its descent into the sea.

She headed toward the beach, perhaps because it reminded her a bit of home, unconsciously, until a towering silhouette caught her attention. Roxaene thought it was some kind of enormous rock, but as her hands started tingling, she realized it wasn’t made of stone. The more she approached, the more she could make out its contours until her breath caught in her throat in surprise; a dragon.

An immense dragon lying on the beach.

Any sane person with a shred of survival instinct would be turning and putting as much distance between themselves and the creature as possible, but Roxaene, unfortunately, didn’t seem very sensible in that particular moment.

Without hesitation, she slowly advanced toward the dragon, her steps determined nonetheless.

Throughout her life, she had dreamed of dragons, strange dreams from which she woke up sweaty, hands burning, and breathless. She could swear she heard their roar on certain mornings upon waking up and smelling the scent of sulfur, feeling the heat of the fire. She had never spoken of this, already being so different from the other children in Dorne, the young girl with moon-colored hair had preferred to keep a low profile, not drawing attention to her dreams in addition to her appearance.

But this time, it wasn't a dream, nor a hallucination or an invisible sensation; a huge dragon stood right in front of her, just a few meters away, lying on the warm sand of the beach on this falling night. Without thinking, Roxaene advanced, again and again, reaching out towards the enormous creature, and her biggest secret began to glow, brighter than ever. Inside her hand, glowing arabesques, similar to the color of fire, had drawn themselves, like molten lava, moving on her palm, becoming brighter as she approached the dragon, which, sensing her presence, began to raise her massive head.

Although her heart pounded in her chest, Roxaene listened only to her courage and instinct, dangerously approaching the fierce mouth that was starting to open in front of her.

⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝ Aemond ⤞⟢⨳⟣⤝

To escape the strange pressure that never left him when he was at the Keep, Aemond Targaryen had done what he did all too often; after the meal, when he wished his mother a good night, he slipped outside, mounting Vhagar to fly over the sky, the sea, the surrounding forests until the cold stiffened his fingers, and he decided to descend to go where no one would find him.

His elder brother, Aegon, had his own ways of escaping their family and the Keep, joining the city's shady neighborhoods as soon as the lanterns began to shine, forgetting his duties, responsibilities, and the expectations of those he could never satisfy, between glasses of alcohol and the arms of whores.

Aemond preferred the calm of the beach, the tranquility of the sea, and solitude.

A solitude that no one had dared to disturb for years, five years precisely, since he had lost his eye - violently torn out by the little bastard.

Until now.

Because as he was lost in his thoughts, the young man had felt a change, tiny and almost imperceptible in Vhagar, but his bond was so strong with the creature that he couldn't be wrong.

Standing up, he had walked cautiously, slightly hunched as he circled the dragon, a dagger in hand until he reached the spot that seemed to attract the monster's attention, to witness a very strange vision; a girl, his age or perhaps younger - he couldn't determine it - hooded, stood in front of Vhagar, reaching out as if to touch the beast. Except that her hand, as pale as it was, glowed in a supernatural, magical way.

A strange fear ran through the prince's veins, imagining that the girl wanted to harm his dragon; Aemond rushed at her, throwing her to the ground as he fell with her.

"Vhagar! No!"

What the girl hadn't seen - or maybe she had seen it but hadn't moved - was the fire building up in Vhagar's throat, the heat rising crescendo, ready to explode like a lava torrent and reduce her to ashes. But at the words of his rider, the monster's maw had closed gently, leaving the animal to rest its head without caring further about the two small humans quarreling in front of it.

Perhaps Aemond had just protected Vhagar; perhaps he had just saved the stranger struggling under his body, her wrists pinned above her face, held in the prince's one hand, her eyes looking at him with a mix of anger and fear. The fall had knocked her hood off her head, revealing her silver hair, braided to the side, with a few strands escaping around her face.

Aemond couldn't ignore the girl's physical characteristics that caught his eye, frowning as he carefully placed his dagger near her to grab her face with his free hand, looking her straight in the eyes, his inquisitive gaze seeking answers.

"Who are you?!" He asked breathlessly, trying to be firm as he struggled to hold her in place. The prince was not used to being denied anything, but the stubborn look the girl shot him almost distracted him. He tightened his grip on her face, being more directive and threatening.

"Answer me, who are you and why were you trying to attack my dragon? Do you seek death? Because Vhagar was about to grant your prayers!"

He almost seemed angry that she had been so reckless, but the girl only struggled more, apparently unimpressed by him.

"I wasn't trying to hurt your dragon, and I don't want to die, so let me go!" She replied with rage, kicking and wriggling her hips to free herself, but Aemond held on and had a clear physical superiority over her; the rigorous training he engaged in daily since the accident had sculpted his body fiercely and effectively.

However, despite all his hours of training with Cole and all the fighters he now beat, nothing had prepared him for such audacity from a woman, let alone one so young and in a definitely delicate position.

#house targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond x oc #aemond x fem!oc #hotd aemond #hotd #hotd fanfic #aemond smut #magic #house of the dragon #dragon

119 notes · View notes

transmutationisms · 1 year

Note

caden caden caden i am SO EXCITED to hear your thoughts for this episode. consider this ask an open prompt to say literally anything at all about it whatsoever <3

ok here goes. this was the payoff of an idea the show has been exploring for nearly four seasons now: that spectacle and showmanship can become reality, or more to the point, there is no essential difference between the two in the first place. politics is a particularly effective, and off-putting, demonstration of this process: the whole episode is driven by the tension between the created narrative and the material events, and through waystar's machinations, the dichotomy between the two can finally be totally collapsed and the country brought into line with atn's story of a mencken victory.

this is genuine, if genuinely repulsive, performative speech: a discursive practice that enacts or produces what it names. very few people are empowered such that they are capable of performative speech: presidents, lawmakers, judges, &c are the classic examples. and, in a world in which politics is not just a show but a profitable one, a company like atn can also join this list. this is not the first time we've seen atn use language to alter reality (for example, logan ultimately evaded the cruises scandal largely by pressuring the president through the manufacture of bad press) but it's a new height of brazenness for the siblings. what the show suggests is that the electoral process—the voting, the polls, the campaigning—is theatre, and what appears at first to be theatre—the television cameras, the graphics, the anchors touching up their makeup—is the speech that actually makes events happen, functioning of course as a mouthpiece for possibly the most powerful family in america.

succession has always been interested in the power of speech and the significance of language—"words are just complicated airflow" is from the second episode. the way characters talk is frequently bullshit, like tom and greg making up corporate-speak jargon in 'argestes' or kendall promising eternal life in 'living+'. they use profanity and metaphor to talk around their feelings, or as games in which the object is to assert dominance and the specific argument at hand barely matters. so much of the dialogue is 'meaningless' on the lowest level. yet, bolstered by a family dynasty and uttered by an anchor on an atn camera, words become not just meaningful but actually constitutive of reality. what kendall didn't understand in episode 2, and what logan understood instinctually but probably never in so many words, is that what constrains the reality-making capacity of speech is not some impotence inherent to language itself, but the social power structures its speakers exist in. speech in the hands of the powerful is itself also a technology of power.

ultimately this sort of tension between speech and event, or spectacle and reality, is why the show has always depended on the roys being a media family specifically. the commentary here is not just on a vague or generalised definition of capitalism, or on the effect of profit motives on politics. succession is specifically interested in how a corporation like waystar becomes successful by capitalising on the total spectacularisation of life, and how waystar can then use its position to create spectacle that is constitutive of a new reality without needing to be reflective of a preexisting one. it's a kind of frankenstein's monster: a beast raised by electricity whose powers far exceed what it was meant to be endowed with. this is why, as much as logan disdained certain cultural products and media (plays, music), he always valued the atn mouthpiece. what the siblings produced in this episode, and what logan valued atn for being able to produce, was not 'news' in the sense of being a reporting on reality, but 'truth' in the sense that the company simply willed it into reality instead.

#atn bts shots my beloved.#tripping the light fantastic

254 notes · View notes

kallikrein · 1 year

Text

AFTER CLASS DETENTION

— with sano shinichiro, akashi takeomi, arashi keizo (benkei), and imaushi wakasa.

genre. fluff and crack, i guess?

contains. gn!reader, school au maybe, profanities, definitely ooc, grammatical errors and not proofread!

word count. 2.3k.

note. just a little smth i wrote for the anniversary of the og black dragons. can you believe we won't get another content for the og bds ever again? we wanna know more, wakui-sensei ;; and also, thanks for @novelbear for the wonderful prompt!

SANO SHINICHIRO

His eyes traced the massive letters in front of him. It looked rushed, edgy. From the first letter up to the last, it screamed ‘I am livid’.

Detention, it said to him. In enraged capital letters too.

He thought an hour had already passed, but a quick glance away from his admiring session with the chalkboard proved otherwise. He still had ample time to spare. 55 minutes to be exact.

Damn. Shinichiro rubbed his face with his hands. He had other plans for this afternoon. Plans with his guys, with his siblings, with his beloved motorcycle. Being detained like a prisoner at school wasn’t in his schedule. And it wasn’t in his plans to get stuck with one of his classmates either.

Now, that made him ponder for a bit.

What in the world were you doing? Sitting all prim and proper, and two seats away from him?

“Hey,” he couldn’t help but ask, “what’d you do?”

To his surprise, you squeaked. Like you’d been caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar.

His eyes turned wide when you started fixing your hair, hiding them behind your ears, and clearing your throat. Was his question that invasive? He quickly stammered, “Ah, you don’t have to answer.”

“N-no...”

“Right. Sorry.”

Shinichiro slumped back on his chair. He could guess it’s because you took another student’s punishment. That’s how you always were. But as far as kindness went, that’s just wrong. Even a rowdy delinquent like him wouldn’t go that far. But of course, he couldn’t speak for everybody else.

“Sensei got mad,” he started. “He got mad ‘cause I always go to school with bruises. That and I’m always late in the mornings.”

For some reason, the words just came out. He didn’t know what to do with the soft silence. It wasn’t that strange. It’s quite comfortable, as surprising as it was. But he needed to be busy with something, to focus on something, to take his mind off this awful hour of punishment.

He started to tap his desk with a slim finger in sync with the ticking of the clock in hopes it would tick faster. When it didn’t work, he sighed and groaned, and sighed again for the millionth time. And when he lost all hope, he hummed a tune.

“Isn’t that an anime song?”

Hearing your question, he faced you and found you looking slightly amused. “Oh, yeah,” he agreed once he realized, “I think it is. My little sister makes me watch her shows.”

You beamed, “That’s kinda cute.”

He quickly pursed his lips, aware not to retort back with something like ‘No. You’re cute’. At the back of his mind, he could easily imagine Takeomi making a disgusted face at his strategy. Instead, he asked the question that’s been bugging him, “Why did you get detention?”

“Pushy, are we?” You answered back, avoiding his gaze.

He shrugged, careless and strangely confident. “Well, I think it’s because you just wanna see me.”

And there went his self-preservation. He honestly didn’t know where that came from. Blame the silence! Blame the silence! His mind told him. He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing in the purest form of shame, “I-I don’t mean that. Don’t mind me starting from now on…”

When he peeked your way, his breath got caught in his throat.

You were frozen. Your eyes spoke of panic and embarrassment and truth, and it took you a long time to say something.

If you even wanted to say something, anything; to reject his arrogant words — at all.

In an instant, he started making a sound that resembled a dying man’s cry for help. “Ahhhh…! Aaaahhhh…!”

“Shinichiro-san!”

AKASHI TAKEOMI

To say that Takeomi was a studious person was a delusion.

Even so, he worried about his falling grades every now and then. No one in the prime of their youth would want to fall back a grade. First, it’s a hassle. Two, and perhaps the worst case to ever happen, he didn’t want Shinichiro and the others to boss him around like a true kouhai.

Never in his life would he allow that to happen.

He deemed a passing grade and an acceptable ranking would suffice. Yes, that’s what he thought. He should be safe if he punctually comes to class, hands out his homeworks, and achieves decent test remarks.

Yes, that would be enough. So with a will made of steel, starting today, in this almost empty classroom, he would become studious.

Collecting his textbook and a pen, he began to lay out the materials for his self-study. It wasn’t until a few minutes of measly concentration he felt someone burning holes on the sides of his face that he threw a look at its source.

“What?” He scowled.

“What? What do you mean ‘what’?” You screeched. “You’re studying! Studying!”

“And? Do you see the world ending?” He went back to his reading but the words were now all jumbled up in his head. He couldn’t believe all the times he got into detention, this one time you just had to be in one as well.

“Yes?” You scoffed. “What happened to ‘I can buy this whole school if I want to pass’ Takeomi?!”

“Shut up. You’re disturbing me,” he gnarled. He swore he just needed a quiet time, a peaceful one to get this subject done, and he would be free as a bird.

“Nope. Not gonna happen.” Seeing how you dragged your chair closer to his, with your eyes sparkling with mischief, it’s easy to say you weren’t bothered at all to be reprimanded.

Unlike him.

“Get out of my sight,” Takeomi warned.

“What are you studying?”

“I said ge—” Before he could finish his second threat, you had already snatched the book he was just reading. You hummed in recognition, speaking out loud its contents.

“Ah, this is boring,” you tutted after a while. “Wanna ditch detention with me?”

“No.”

“Wanna ditch detention with me?”

“No. And give me back my book.”

“I’ll give it back if you ditch detention with me.”

“I won’t ditch. Give it back,” Takeomi insisted. He stood up from his seat so he would easily tower over your sitting form, but you too were quick on your feet. Jumping to get away from his hold.

“Now, this is starting to get fun.” Smirking, you ran to the other side of the room, near the exit door, and did a little taunt, “If you catch me, I’d teach you how to easily memorize this!”

“No way in hell you got that memorized.” He said that but he wasn’t too sure. Even though you’re a culprit on your own, you’re still book smart. Always have been. You have always been a great help when his procrastination becomes too extreme. “Get back here,” he grunted as he darkly inched forward.

“You need saving, Takeomi,” you mocked.

“No, I don’t,” he drawled, as a devilish grin formed on his lips. “You’re the one who needs saving.”

With that, he started chasing his book.

ARASHI "BENKEI" KEIZO

“Oh, wow. Uhm, hi…”

Benkei looked up to find one familiar face standing by the door, bag and books in their arms. He gave them a customary nod, “Hm.”

“May I sit?”

Another nod, “Hm.”

Silence passed and you were still a fidgeting wreck around him. He took a glance at you. “First time?”

“Y-yes!”

Well, not that he could be much of help for first timers anyway. He’s already used to spending his afternoons in a barren classroom. All the students that got detained with him for detention always opted for counseling or community service instead.

It seemed he scared most of his schoolmates simply by his appearance alone, so the less interaction the better.

Not that he minded, to be honest. It’s more tolerable to have people be terrified of his wordless tenacity than to have his head fuming and his blood boiling from all the idiocracy they possessed. It’s more favorable for everybody that way.

Although, he has his moments of loneliness too. Just like now, he thought the flowers below the window panes looked a bit miserable. They were one of his reasons for not listening to class. How a flower, something so gentle and fragile, gives beauty to the world around them. How delightful they exist for that reason alone.

But today, they looked poignant. And it made his heart feel a tad bit blue.

“Benkei-san? Can I call you Benkei-san?”

“Hm?” Upon realizing he wasn’t alone, Benkei gave his fullest attention to you. “What’d you just say?”

“Ah! It’s nothing super important! I just wondered if I can call you Benkei-san!” You sounded as if a soldier was asked by his superior if he had understood his orders. It was that formal and alert.

“Chill out,” he noted. “I’m not gonna bite your head off.”

“Ah… haha… then… Can I call you Benkei-san?”

“Sure. Whatever.” He might sound dismissive, but he didn’t care much if he was called Benkei or Keizo. Then again, he’s already used to being evaded by people like he’s the plague.

The thought brought him back to his senses.

“You didn’t get counseling?” The words came out of his mouth in a rush, before his mind could even comprehend what he’s inquiring about. “Community service?”

You smiled sheepishly, “No.”

“I wonder why,” Benkei wondered. Not knowing he had uttered it out loud.

“It’s not because I wanna get to know you more, Benkei-san!” You explained. “Sensei told me there’s a… a… a missing lunch box! Yes! A missing lunch box in this classroom, a-a-and I should return it to her! ASAP!”

Suddenly, you’re on your feet scrounging the tables, lifting the upturned chairs as if it could hide a lunch box underneath. And then you started checking the drawers, the windows — hell, even the freaking doorways.

“What does it look like?” He asked, standing to his full height to help.

“Erm… a yellow flowery thing… I think?”

“I think I’ve seen it somewhere,” he added. He turned his back on you, looking atop the drawer beside the teacher’s table, as he hid a playful, knowing smirk from you. “Is it Sensei’s?”

“Erm… yes? Yes. If you can find it, that would be great.”

Turning around, he had his palms facing up, showing that there’s clearly nothing in his hands. His expression could only be phrased as fun yet lighthearted, a boyish grin when he proudly chuckled, “I spy with my little eye that you lie.”

“No! Sensei… she— I didn’t want to stalk you, I swear! NO, THAT’S NOT IT! I mean—”

“Yes, you can call me Benkei,” he beamed.

IMAUSHI WAKASA

Many times in his life he was bored. Simply and excruciatingly bored. And most times when he was bored, he didn’t know what was happening or what’s gotten into his head.

He thought maybe it’s one way to keep him entertained. To do something out of his character, or perhaps to learn something new about himself.

Much like what he was doing at the present.

“Tell me,” he started, “when was the first time we talked to each other?”

To him, the question wasn’t out of the ordinary. It’s merely a subject he felt tackling at the moment. But unfortunately for you, his victim of the day, just so happened to be stuck in an afternoon detention with him.

“I wonder when it was,” he continued as he fiddled with the keychain in your bag. “I couldn’t remember. Help this poor guy out?”

“Imaushi-san…”

“Nope,” he held a pale hand out. “Just a clue. Don’t give me the full details.”

You sighed, your waning determination to ignore him going down straight to shambles, “It was Valentines.”

“Valentines, huh? Did you give me chocolates? Did you confess? Did I turn you down?”

He kept firing those questions, seemingly uninterested with whatever your reply would be. But then, he suddenly wondered, did you really give him chocolates? He must admit he had one too many every Valentines, and most of those he didn’t even want to accept.

Maybe you were one of those girls he respectfully turned down, and now you just had this desperate notion to follow him around like a cat lost its owner, needing that affection from whoever worthy they choose to be.

“I get it,” he dramatically sighed. “I really do.”

Without looking up from your homework, you asked, “What is?”

“So, I have another question.” Wakasa let go of the suddenly becoming cute keychain of yours, and he creeped his face closer to your desk, almost becoming one with your notebook, just so you’d look him straight in the eyes.

His ruffled hair fell across his forehead, and surprising as it was, he smiled. Sweetly. “Would you humor me?”

You stared at him, almost as deadpan as the thin line across your lips, “No.”

“Hmm,” he pouted. “But I feel like we’ll be good together.”

When you lost your grip around the pen, he knew he finally had your attention. “Say,” he whispered, looking at you from underneath his lashes, “would you go on a date with me?”

“What the fuck are you on about?” You quickly shut your mouth from the sudden slip of profanity and glared at him instead. “I won’t go on a date with you.”

“Why not?” He reached out a hand to brush your hair behind your ear, and seeing how you shivered, he sat up right. “I think I’m a nice boyfriend.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed, dragging your notebook away from his reach. “Shooting down my best friend’s heart on Valentine’s Day would make me do exactly that.”

He paused, “Wait…” Wasn’t it you who gave him chocolates? Oh damn, they were all blurry faces in his memory. But through the hazy recollection, he could recall someone aiming at him with a sandwich.

A sandwich.

Surely, that wasn’t you? He would remember that person’s face back then seeing how comical it had seemed.

That was you?

“Yes. You did. And I threatened you for it,” you prattled on. “I have never given you chocolates. In fact, I almost killed you with a half-eaten sandwich. That’s how I can remember our first talk.”

Well, Wakasa was certain about it now. You learn something new about yourself when you’re bored.

taglist. @baji-san and @gwynsapphire.

324 notes · View notes