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aemondtargaryenonlyfans · 10 months

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LECHERY.

Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader

Based on the request: “I love your write so much !!!!! Can you write a jealosy Dom Aemond when his wife his dance and have fun with Jace at the dinner. So he put her on his knees and punish her, after that he fuck and give orgasms to show at who she belongs. A kinda dark but not to much, he loves her in his black heart after all“

WORDS: 3.9 K

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; DUB-CON, profanity, rough oral sex (face fucking), p in v, balls worship, humiliating, degrading, breeding kink, jealous Aemond, female Reader

“Come... let us drain our cups to these three... strong boys.“

And with that, everything went downhill.

The evening had started relatively tame, considering you had supper in the Dragon’s lair with ten more or less hot-blooded Dragons surrounding you.

There was a bit of tension between the youngest present members of the family, but considering most incidents happened way before you even met your husband, you were somewhat oblivious to most of it.

Until Jacaerys Velaryon had prowled around the long table and asked you to dance, catching you off guard, considering you were in a conversation with Helaena.

Her soft and encouraging smile eventually coaxed you to accept the offer, but only because you hadn’t dared to look at your husband from over your shoulder, and felt the need to accept it out of courtesy; not wanting to cause any bad blood between you and the side of your husband’s family.

Aemond wasn’t keen on dancing. Never had been, never would be. The only exception he made was on the evening of your wedding, more because he felt duty bound than that he actually enjoyed and wanted it.

The possessive and jealous demeanor of your husband wasn’t a secret, though you suspected Jacaerys asked you to dance on purpose as a polite way to rile him off. He barely touched more than your hand during the dance, but that was already too much for Aemond, probably because he loathed his nephew.

On top of that, the giggles and laughs erupting from you didn’t help with his jealousy either. It was Jacaerys easy demeanor and his inability to dance that brought you a great sense of joy after the first rounds of swirling and circling around each other, he just didn’t take himself too seriously.

Just one look over to where your Dragon sat motionless in his seat, facing the direction of the designated dance floor to keep his stern eye neatly trained on you, told you that you were in for a lot of trouble.

That proved to be right.

Not one glance was spared into your direction when Aemond exited the Small Hall after facing his uncle Daemon. It was unusual, had he always been nothing else than a devoted and caring husband, which was why you practically bolted out of the room to follow him.

His footsteps were heavy, bouncing off the stone walls of the Red Keep as his large strides effortlessly carried him towards your martial chambers, his stance threatening enough to have every maid or person of court moving aside on his way.

When the thick wooden door finally fell shut behind you, there was nothing else than silence and the dim light the fireplace granted filling your quarters. Hadn’t you seen your husband entering them before, you would have thought he wasn’t there. But you knew he was. You felt his presence. Your eyes flickered through the room, needing a few seconds to adjust to the light.

A firm hand caught your loose tresses in a tight grip all of the sudden, the gasp that surged from your tongue replaced by a short shriek with you being all but yanked towards the large bed.

It felt as if he placed his whole weight onto your body, your knees buckling until eventually they hit the hard stone floor. Much to your luck, the gown you wore was quite thick and cushioned the impact to a certain point. It still was painful, but hadn’t had you wincing.

When your wide doe eyes looked up, you were blessed with the sight of Aemond looming over you. His jaw was clenched, probably the only indicator visible on his usually stern face that displayed the anger he felt. The eye patch was long gone, the blue Sapphire in his socket capturing the obtuse light of the fire, making him appear even more threatening.

Your courtesy had pushed his limits, and with the position you were in, you knew you were trapped.

A frown was knotted on your forehead, and despite knowing all too well what got you into this dilemma, you opted to play the innocent victim, feigning your confusion.

“What is this about, husband?“

There were a few seconds of silence between you, passing with you shifting your weight from one knee to the other to ease the tension and stiffness in the joints. When the reply didn’t come even though his narrowed eye was fixed with yours, you tried to rise to your feet again, only for him to yank you back down by your hair.

The harsh tugging was the main reason your heart rate increased, wildly thrumming against the confines of your ribcage. A stark contrast to the way he treated you normally.

“Kneel, ābrazȳrys,” a command, and with the choice of his tone it was clear that it wasn't up to debate.

“But ‘tis not comfortable,” you protested.

“You were not complaining about being uncomfortable with my nephew earlier.”

“I was not kneeling on stones either.”

“Oh, but I bet you thought about it. I saw the lecherous way that bastard-born fool was looking at you,” each word laced with venom.

“You know we were just dancing, Aemond.”

“Were you? Or were you toying with him? Or toying with me?” he accused, hand remaining in your hair, whereas the other slowly undid the laces in the front of his breeches.

“I am… I am afraid I do not understand,” your eyes had long traveled down to watch the movements of his hand, when awareness toppled over you about what he had planned to do. The front of his breeches was strained into a tent, looking incredibly painful and uncomfortable.

It happened tortiously slowly. The laces loosened enough for him to push the front down, revealing his white braises which quickly followed to expose his throbbing length to the chill air of your quarters.

The pale skin was flushed around the tip, angrily begging for attention and relief. Droplets of his arousal leaked out of the small slit, giving it a slight glow. You were accustomed to the size of his member, sheathed deep inside of you almost every night since your wedding, but the perspective had it looking even more considerable than it already was.

Just by looking at it, you could feel the soreness already creeping up to the back of your throat, straining your voice.

His stones hung low, twitching and swinging every time Aemond’s hand wandered up to stroke down the full length of him. Lascivious thoughts clouded your mind, your mouth filling with saliva as the urge to lick and embrace his jewels with your lips became unbearable.

“You are mine,” an unnerving timbre in his quiet voice, “it would be best for you to remember that.”

With the shivers running up your spine also came bolts of electricity that flickered into the other direction, filling the heat at the apex of your legs with anticipation.

His jealousy and possessiveness toward you was something you should be concerned of, showing the danger that radiated off of him, and the true threat he was. If the deliberate ruse at supper was the fruit of nothing else than your courtesy, it would not stop at that. That only was the beginning, every sense of trepidation falling victim to his temper.

Your eyes were wide, the shimmer in them caused by the anxiety you felt.

“I do remember,” seconds of silence passed in which you were looking for the right words to say, “Iksan aōhon.” I am yours.

High Valyrian did not come as easy to you, as it came to your husband. The lack of lessons and Valyrian descent were not the best requirements to learn a tongue as difficult as it. But you tried, grasping a few of the words he repeated over and over whenever he spoke to you during multiple occasions.

A bit more of the blue Sapphire was revealed when his eyes widened in surprise, unveiling some of the tenderness he felt towards you, even though it turned back to its usual cold and stern expression straight away.

The grip on your hair released, and with the feeling of your scalp finally being able to relax again, you felt your heart rate slowing down, too. And when his hand instead cupped the back of your head, fingers tentatively massaging the assaulted skin, you couldn't stop leaning into his touch. You were basking in the feigned safety, caught by surprise when your face was urged toward his erect member.

“Perhaps my sweet wife needs some help to remember her place, gaomas ziry daor?” Does she not?

“Kostilus,” you teased, your own arousal not a secret anymore. Perhaps.

Much to your husband’s surprise, not one second was wasted until the tip of your tongue was sweeping from the base of his cock up to the bulbous tip, the salty taste of his arousal spreading over your taste buds.

Your heavy breaths fannef over the flushed skin, provoking a huff of air to slip past Aemond’s lips.

The entirety of his palm was immediately wrapped with the strands of your long hair again, making it easier for him to keep your head exactly where he wanted it. Not that you minded, as long as things moved on your accord with a lot of preparation.

Knowing your job, you reached to grasp his stiff member, using the bit of your saliva that ran along the underside as lubrication. Your tongue penetrated the spot between the base of his cock and the sac of his stones, until eventually your lips parted against his stones to suckle gently as you took them in your mouth.

You felt Aemond twitching in your touch, hand slowly stroking up and down the entirety of his thick length.

It was the first time you went that far and engulfed his jewels, but your husband had little time to question where that boldness came from. The pleasure was too good, perfectly audible in the ragged breaths that spilled from him, only interrupted by a few grunts and groans. The indecency of your own ministrations surprised you all the same, but it satiated and soothed something in you that was long embedded in the back of your mind.

It was the sharp tug of your husband that pulled you out of your trance like state, his jewels generously coated in your saliva from how fervently you had sucked on them.

“You appear eager to have something in your mouth, Y/N,” he rasped as two of his slender fingers pried your lips apart, sinking into your mouth deep enough to gag you, before they were replaced by his cock, “Perhaps I can help you with that.”

His erect member laid heavy on your tongue, and you had little time to prepare yourself for what was to follow. As the feeling of your warm mouth around him reached Aemond’s mind, he wasted no time in bucking his hips into you. The ambush on your throat caused you to clutch his thighs, nails digging into the thin fabric of his ruffled breeches.

The girth and length of him left little to no space for any air to fill your lungs, especially whenever he halted for a few seconds to relish in the tightness and heat your mouth granted him. He never went deep enough for your nose to nuzzle against his lower stomach, because otherwise he would spill down your throat in a matter of seconds.

All you could do was to hollow your cheeks around him, draggin the tip of your tongue along the underside of his cock and the vein that ran from the base to the tip. His abdominal muscles flexed at the sensations you granted him, more so when one of your hands clasped around the bit of his length that didn't fit into your mouth.

However, your husband seemed to have other plans in mind, and peeled your hand off of him. Both his hands were steadily planted on either side of your face, keeping your head in place.

There was no need for him to sink into you fully, your eyes already glassy from swallowing only half of him. Tears brimmed in them, straining your cheeks on their way down. The urge to squeeze them shut was big, but you kept them trained on his violet one. This allowed you to spot the exact moment your husband lost control, his hips thrusting into you on their own accord. He grabbed your head, tilting it to try for you to take as much of him as possible, until you were doing nothing at all and allowing him to use you however he desired.

“Sīr sȳz,” the words pierced through the silence like a prayer, repeated by him multiple times. So good.

His groans grew in volume, whereas you only gripped his thighs as if your life depended on it. You gagged around him, saliva leaking down the corner of your lush lips and dripping onto your bosom, or at least the bit that was exposed through the low-cut neckline of your black dress. You relished in his praise, his appreciation making the whole assault a bit more bearable.

His cock started to grow harder, if that was even possible, indicating that he was on the verge of his peak. The mere thought of swallowing his salty spent coaxed you to hollow your cheeks around him once more, applying a bit of pressure to his cock by flattening your tongue and pressing it against him.

With his soaring pleasure also rose the pressure he applied on your face, combined with the loss of air the main cause for your vision to grow blurry, a slight headache flaring across your head.

The ability to suck in some air was short-lived, coming and going every time he chose to force the tip of his cock down your throat again. If you were to place your hand on the juncture of it, you were sure to feel him from the outside, feeling and seeing how he eased his way down the tightness.

But suddenly, the pressure eased, and you coughed when too much air filled your lungs at once.

Aemond’s breathing came in heavy bursts as he looked down at you, mouth agape and a slight pink tinting the pale skin around his cheeks, “Fuck that mouth of yours… I need to finish in your cunt.”

With that, you were yanked to your feet by your hair, turned around and toppled over the edge of the bed, landing on your stomach. The skirt of your dress was pushed up to reveal your smallclothes underneath, a damp spot visible in the center of them. The embarrassment of your lecherous desires caused you to bury your face in the bedcovers, heat radiating off your cheeks. You did not dare to look at him from over your shoulder, his mocking snicker perfectly audible.

“Do you like this?” he asked, sarcasm laced within his voice, “do you enjoy when I treat you like a common whore?”

The shame his words caused to rise in you had you clenching your thighs together to which Aemond just tsked. Both his hands grasped your thighs to pry them apart again. They inched up your arse, fingers hooking underneath the hem of your smallclothes, tearing them down your body.

From that angle, Aemond was able to see just how affected you truly were by the whole situation, your cunny pulsing around nothing, and shining with the juices that had seeped out of your swollen folds.

The sight was truly divine, and Aemond thanked the Seven for bringing you into his life.

“Oh, you undoubtedly like this,” he purred.

The bed shifted as Aemond climbed behind you, kneeling between your parted legs. One hand brushed your exposed thigh in a soothing manner, comforting you while the tip of his cock prodded at your greedy entrance. It moved up and down your folds, brushing against your little bud. Jolts of pleasure coursed through your body at that, the aching need for attention slowly being stilled by him.

It was your whiny voice that filled the silence, “stop teasing me, husband… please.”

You moaned at the sensations, fisting the sheets in both hands as you tried to push your hips back, needing to feel more of him. As that didn't work, you opted to wiggle your hips instead to coax him into you to which Aemond just served a stinging slap to your right arse cheek, not even giving you a warning first.

Your rear clenched together at the pain, not even his hand resting on the reddening skin able to soothe it.

“Stay still,” he instructed, hands gripping the flesh of your arse tightly, pinning you down.

The pressure at your hole returned. Knowing his size (and still feeling its remnants lingering in your throat) you were glad to be soaking wet for him, because otherwise it would’ve been even more uncomfortable than it already was.

Despite taking him almost every night ever since your wedding, you still hadn’t grown accustomed to his size, the pain of his intrusion causing you to gasp. For a few seconds, pain was everything you felt, until it was replaced by pleasure.

Once he had thrusted into you in a swift motion, his pubic bone pressing against your backside, he gave you time to adjust to his size. You felt full, almost as if he was to come out your throat at any given moment. The tip rested against your cervix, every throbbing of him adding to the fullness you felt.

“M-Move… please,” you all but begged him, resting your cheek on the bedcovers; and your husband complied.

A shuddered breath was heard from behind you as you squeezed his cock, resulting in him pulling out almost completely to snap his hips right back in once the tip was the only thing engulfed by your heat.

“I will never get used to your tightness,” he panted.

His hips moved to pistone in and out of your cunt, brushing your sweet spot every time he entered you. Aemond was so forceful, the tight grip on your hips was the only thing to keep you from shooting up into the headboard.

Not long after, he released one of his hands and started to slap your arse, watching the way you squirmed and whined at the pain and euphoria that simultaneously filled your veins. He was silently wishing he had allowed his jealousy to take over much sooner, seeing how much you seemed to enjoy it.

The rustling of the bedcovers and dipping of the mattress next to your waist indicated that Aemond had shifted in his position, one hand neatly planted on the bed to support his weight as he towered over your body. You reached behind you to try and grab ahold of any part of his body you could grasp, but your husband had other plans.

His hand clasped around your wrist whilst finding the other one, and brought them behind your back. His hand was large enough to envelope both your wrists, pinning them to your back and therefore forcing you to lean on your face.

You felt the steady tightening of your stomach, your cunny and thighs tingling as your moans and whines grew louder. Faint stars danced along your vision, blacked out by the pillows underneath.

Aemond felt you nearing your peak, his own already tingling at the tip of his cock thanks to the preparations you both had taken beforehand.

“‘M going to fill you up,” Aemond grunted, emphasizing his words with a row of sharp thrusts, “fill you with my seed again and again until you are round with my child.” Just the thought caused his stones to seize up. He was walking on the edge, ready to tumble down into the abyss.

He spared no time in seeking out his pleasure, letting his cock go in and out with determination, slamming his pelvis into you with reckless abandon seen only in patrons of a brothel.

The wet sound of your sweaty bodies slapping together was music to his ears, further sweetened by the quiet whimpers and moans you released every time he buried himself balls deep inside of your glorious womanhood.

His hand found your hair, pulling and twisting your mane in his hand until he forced you to arch your back for him, allowing him to thrust into you deeper than before. He was hitting your sweet spot so utterly perfect, almost spending himself at the mere thought of how deeply he was impaling you.

You, on the other hand, felt as if you had to pee, your thighs inevitably clenching together to stop the liquid from leaking out of you. The added tightness and stimulation allowed Aemond to topple over the edge. His soul was roaring in victory as his cock bursted his spent inside of you, spilling ropes of his hot seed deep inside your quivering walls.

As he peaked, he felt your cunt clamping down on him, milking him for every drop. You were peaking from being fucked like an animal, as if you were a wildling living in the lands beyond the wall.

Your legs trembled uncontrollably, and ridiculous amounts of your arousal oozed out of your cunt, coating the entirety of his member and dripping down his pulsing balls.

You laid limply beneath him, trying to tame the chaos your overwhelming orgasm had caused within you, whereas he didn't seem to have that much trouble to regain his composure.

Aemond’s tall frame towered over yours, bowing forward to press a kiss to the juncture of your shoulder. It was a welcomed gesture, but the gentleness quickly turned into something wicked, when he sank his teeth into the plumpness of your flesh. The stinging pain took you by surprise, causing you to clench around his flaccid cock. By the muffled groan Aemond unleashed against your skin, you knew he was just as overstimulated and sore as your cunt and throat.

When he let go of your skin, he admired the burgeoning bruise that showed on your skin, satisfied he had claimed you in two ways that night. Your maids were going to see his claim on you the following morning, and with them not being able to keep their mouths shut, it was only a matter of time until the gossip about it spread throughout the castle and reached the damned ears of his bastard-born nephew.

He pushed you off of him, hands grazing the reddened flesh of your arse, before he tugged himself back into his breeches. The heavy sigh that left his lips was enough to tell that his body (and jealousy) was content and sated, more so when a look over his shoulder revealed his seed trickling out of your well-fucked cunt. Another great rush of satisfaction coursing through him.

“Dawn is almost upon us, sweet wife,” he cooed, “catch some rest. We will discuss this matter in the morrow when we break fast.”

There was no response coming from you. Too many impressions were clouding your mind and perception, the most prominent one being the question about the next time you would be able to dance with another man.

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darlingofvalyria · 9 months

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❝Ask me, my prince. What a storm is to a dragon.❞

[ Aemond can only breathe through your lungs, through your adoration and love. But when betrayal is nigh, what does it truly beget? ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 6,935 ] | Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader, minor, sort of (not really) Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers.

THIS IS A DARK FIC. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

contains— angsty, smut - DD:DNE: kidnapping, coercion, manipulation, possessive & obsessive behaviour, power imbalance, violence (not to reader) (a little bit to reader... i wrote this too close to book canon!aemond), murder, death, massacre, war - canon typical targcest, canon character deaths, canon divergence - dark!aemy - pregnancy, child, allusions to infidelity, mentions of bastard - i took liberties with canon (as i usually do) - #ripellyn you (sorta) will be missed shshs - the only specific reader descript. i did is the baratheon dark hair ok? ok - nsfw: male masturbation, dubcon/noncon, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— there was this villain playlist on yt that was slowed and sexy, and my brain just. clicked. here it is if you wanna check. the real reason this is long is cos i can't help but add backstory ok? ok. lol. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

Storms have always been your favourite view in any window.

It is cliche to say, a proud daughter of the Stormlands, of course she enjoys the dark skies! But you do. There is nothing short of comforting in the rolling, fat clouds darkened in shadows. Occasionally, if the weather moved to your whim, lightning danced between plumes before you hear the boom and crack of it striking.

"It is a privilege to enjoy weathers such as these," your father once said, a hand on your darkened hair, a bluer tint to it, but Baratheon through and through. "It is our might that holds us at paramount, and thus, our privilege beckons warm fires and strong, stone fortresses to watch it all in comfort. To find enjoyment in the dark skies."

"Ours is the Fury," you replied immediately. Your father smiled.

"That, precisely. The paramount of our might and power is one we have taken and given with fury. Never forget."

"Even better than the Targaryens?" Your father's displeasure crumpled his face, and you were at an old enough age to understand his displeasure was not something you enjoy. But you had been learning all day, and the topic that day with your septa had been House Targaryen. You had learned the King's name, that he had a Queen that died, and that his heir is a girl.

His hold on your shoulders was heavy, but you do not flinch. Eyes bore into your own as if he was speaking the words into existence.

"We are the blood of the Kings too, my daughter. The White Hart proves our mark in the world, long before the dragonlords ever whispered in these lands. And what are dragons against the dance of storms?"

You had been little then, no more than six. The smallest of your sisters; Floris, though short in stature, looked elongated. A beauty. A fawn in the making. And your father is not the cleverest of men, but his words shelved itself in the corners of your brain. It eased and assuaged your fears like a quick spell.

Your spine straightens and your chin tilts upward. You are made of fury and storms, the blood of kings of old and solid, impenetrable fortresses.

You fury is your own, and 'neathe your fingers, under your very being, is a storm.

A good reminder, as when you had exchanged childhood for girlhood, a missive had been sent by the Queen Alicent Hightower, requesting for a daughter from Lord Baratheon's Four Storms, as companion for the Princess Helaena.

"Cassandra would do well."

"She hungers, husband. I am afraid of what might happen if we send her to the courts at her age. I do not yearn for a scandal."

"She would not shame her family so, do you reckon?"

"She is the eldest. You know how she is."

A sigh. "If she had a cock, she would be a good heir for my seat."

"Borros!"

"Apologies. Very well, mayhaps a good husband with no grit to him would do her well. She will lead the Stormlands by the hold of his— er, well, yes. Maris? She is clever."

"Far too clever. Even her tongue irks you, no. Definitely not. Her brain works too fast for her mouth. She will say the wrong thing and end us in war."

"You exaggerate, surely."

"I bore them, Borros, but they are your daughters. They live and breathe with your name and your House's banner under their own. What do you think? Bad enough they take so much of your heritage with them, and their looks, but they also plucked and chosen parts of you I'd rather not have for lady daughters."

Your father grumbles incoherently, you laugh under your breath.

"... Floris is too young. So..." The last one. You. You press your ear harder against the wood of your father's study, heart in your throat.

"She will be best," she says softly, insistently. She knows in her heart of hearts that though her husband is a hard, proud man, he has a softened heart for you. "Though she is clever, she minds herself well. Polite. Kind. She will do well with the Princess and her, er, eccentricities."

"Bloody weirdoes, the lot of them." A sigh. Another chastise from your mother, but she too, sounds exhausted. It has almost been a moon since the missive has been sent. Another one is bound to arrive, more order than request. It is all a political game. Princess Rhaenyra had no Baratheon ward under her court when she still resided in Kings Landing, for you and your sisters had been too young and your father had no sister. It is by chance that gives the Green Queen advantage to take a ward under your father's banner now, with a daughter she seeks to be Queen Consort.

"Send her then," your father announces. Though defeat clouds his voice, the Lord in him speaks each vowel clearly. "She will do best to represent the House out of them all. We might have a betrothal in our hands soon enough."

"She is pretty enough for a prince."

An angry snort. "She is more than pretty enough for a prince. Far better than the lot of them."

Softly, "That is because you like her best."

"Why would I not?" your father replies gruffly, making you smile. "A storm grinds and brews inside of her, wife. Even Maestre Loes, the old gnat that he is, sees my bloodline thick in her. Even if the King asks for her hand at this very moment, I would refuse. I would throw him off Storm's End with a smile on my face and a boot on his back."

You fight off a snort as your mother grumbles about treason and Maris.

"She is far better than the best of them." Another sigh. Heavier. "Why are we sending her?"

Your mother sighs. "Because as she is the best of them, she is the best of us. She will survive far better in that cesspit they call a keep than any of our daughters. Her storm can tame dragons."

You would argue that that too is treasonous given the context, but your father merely laughs. His laughter is a crackle and a boom.

"I would upheave our coffers to witness that."

Though you find her odd, you enjoy spending your time with the Princess Helaena. Mostly, she is quiet, in her own little world. Though it took time to get used to her many-legged friends, you soon realised the best times you spend with her are when shipments and gifts of pinned butterflies and books that have reached as far as Yi-Ti, to get to Kings Landing about bugs, and undeniable excitement unfurls in the Princess' face. More like a girl, a sweet one.

It makes her already cherub features appear more child-like, and she grasps your hand voluntarily as she points at each and every critter she recognises. It is so very rare to see true happiness in the princess' visage, and in her enjoyment, you see your sisters.

That is how you meet him, the Prince Aemond.

Princess Helaena had gone for tea with the Queen. It had not been planned. Though she often spent tea with family, either the Queen or the Lord Hand, or either of the Princes. Something had occurred, so now that Princess was having tea with her Queen Mother and her husband. If you had to guess, it was likely that Prince Aegon was being punished in some way.

Though there is no love lost between siblings, it makes you sniff at how blatant the prince's obscene indulgent for vices are. Princess Helaena didn't mind, rather, she didn't care unless they needed to spend time together, a clockwork patch of routine, and that was when you usually came in— you later realised, your primary job — soothing her nerves and distracting her thoughts before she had to enter her marriage chambers.

There is a resigned defeat in her, a woman's duty bearing down, looming like the Mother, and it makes you want to soothe her harder. Make her laugh.

With the change of plans, it was up to you to check for the new shipments of the Princess' things. A dictated note in your hand of the princess' handwriting, you were going through her boxes when a hand, gloved, rests on your shoulder.

"Do not move," a cool voice says behind you. Far too close for propriety.

You freeze. "Pardon?"

"I do not want to scare you, my lady, but there is a critter atop your head." The cool, calm voice waves off a steady rhythm to your heart, calming it further from the earlier panic of someone laying a hand on you (although this, is still not better. You are a lady and unmarried after all). "I will rid of it immedi—"

"No."

"... Pardon?"

"Where is it? Just atop my head?"

"... Yes?"

"It maybe poisonous, pease do not touch it." Before the owner of the hand and the calm voice could react, you pat your head until you touch a hairy, small thing with many legs. Relief spreads. "There you are."

"There you are?" The voice says, almost mocking, incredulously.

You huff, taking the spider in both of your hands, before you tilt your chin behind you, only seeing the gloved hand. "Please take your hand away from me."

The hand retreats. You turn.

Valyrian features are most uncommon than your own, and the jolt of recognising the pale, white hair is a strike to your being, a gasp falling from your lips. It is the one-eyed mask that tells you immediately who it is, but you string everything else you know of the prince.

Prince Aemond had been travelling to Oldtown, a visit requested by the Queen in the guise of seeing family, his brother. But there had been whispers of something more, as the chatter of the maids who cleaned up in the King's quarters talked about how ill he got day by day.

You had seen flashes of him before this, but fate had kept you two apart. You were not there when he visited the princess— on another errand or two, and he starkly ever looked at the ladies surrounding his sister with a vehement light as their voices, high pitched and dreary, tire him so on a good day, increasingly irritating on a bad one, and anyway, the silence that falls in a stone room just from his arrival is enough to irk him.

But here is he now, with one eyebrow rose, a good eye of icy blue iris, and the very visage of a warrior in black leathers, a braided hair pulled to one side, and pursed lips in both amusement and annoyance.

He hums. The sound kicks back your manners, blushing lightly at having gaped at him for far longer than pleasantry dictates, and you pull yourself into a bow.

"My apologies, my prince, I didn't know it was you. I was scared you were going to hurt the Princess' new friend."

"They are bugs," he says steadily. "Not her friends."

"Like so, but just because they have many a legs do not mean we cannot befriend them." A small smile plays on your lips before you place back the spider in the cage he got out of. It is something you had once said to the princess to make her laugh. You feel his stare burn at the side of your face. "Is there a matter, my prince?"

"You are the Lady Baratheon, are you not?"

"I am." A small, ironic smirk tugs at your lips. "Is it the hair?"

He makes a soft sound that exhales like a laugh out of closed lips. He's still quite close, you can feel his warmth and idly wonder if all Targaryens truly do have the blood of the dragons in them for you can feel the contours of him, burning at the edges of his being. Like a comforting little furnace.

"Hm. And the princess has taken quite the liking to you. You are all she talks about during sup."

You can't help it, you're smiling. So many rumours concerning the young prince, not all of them good, but there is a certain novelty in basking under the attention of a prince of the realm. A Valyrian beauty that brought an ethereal glow to him. As so intently stares, catching pieces and niches as if you are the most fascinating creature.

The attention makes you feel like a blushing lady.

"My apologies then, my prince."

He cocks his head, the braid dipping and you catch the movement in your peripheral. "Whatever for my lady?"

You turn to him, unable to curb the cheek to your smile. "For interrupting better conversations with the topic of my name plaguing your sups so."

His mouth twists into a smirk. In Aemond's mind, it is not oft that ladies, especially Helaena's ladies, would care to... flirt with him. Because this is you flirting, is it not? The coy gaze, the curl at the edge of your lips? Aemond has seen these faces in ladies and maids alike, but directed at others. At Aegon.

Directed at Aemond... bereave to keep their conversations to themselves, and though it is not always a fault of theirs for his stoicism is his most valued armour, one would resign oneself of an arranged marriage that will take long moons before his lady wife would see the truest him, that he would not be able to experience such... coy conversations with the opposite sex.

Yet here you are, a light dust of red in your cheeks, a quirk in your mouth, and the playful joust in your eyes, daring him into a swords' dance.

It is thrilling.

"Plaguing is too harsh of a word to say so about a lady of your stature, Lady Baratheon." He steps closer, aware of propriety standards of how close two unwedded people should be, but he feels intoxicated of the whiff of life exhuming from your visage. A light citrus, oranges? Lemons? Tart and sweet, with a powdery finish. It is so very ladylike.

Addicting.

The perfect smell for a lady wife, a musing thought.

"Is that so?"

"Intriguing, I would say, would be the better word."

You laugh, low and sweet. It sends a pleasant warm to his centre. "I'm afraid my memory is failing for I do not remember any wily adventure or conversation the princess and I had for a prince of the realm to say I intrigue him so."

"It is less... about wily adventures or interesting conversations that pique my interest, but the lady herself." His eye, though lone, the other remaining hidden behind an eyepatch with hints of scarred, twisted skin underneath, bore against yours as if he wished to gather all your strings and see what each would give him. What you would show him.

"I'm afraid to disappoint you, my prince, but I still fail to see how I can ever so pique your interest." You meet his gaze, smirking. "I am just me."

Before he can answer, step forward— whatever, he is staring at the curve of your lips so, at the enchanting shimmer of your eyes, and Aemond Targaryen felt breathless — your named is called, and the spell is broken. The prince steps back, taking more space between you that is more appropriate.

His hand flexes.

But that is not the last you see of the prince, nor the last time you are able to hold a conversation with him. It seems that since then, you find yourselves orbiting each other in the fringes before one steps forward and engages. There seems to be a band that tightens either of you so obsessed with seeing the other in the periphery, the topic whatever may came, even as inane as the weather.

It is a dance of swords, kissing blades of sharp quips and interesting parry. You are interesting. Beguiling. Devouring. Aemond searches for you in most places now, unable to stop himself from asking his dearest sister about you— even his mother and grandsire have taken notice, eyebrows rose between shared looks.

"House Baratheon is of a Great House," his mother hesitantly brought up, too focused on her soup for it to just be idle chatter above sup.

"It is." His forced passivity is not as apathetic as he can make it. For any mention of you and your origins thrums his heart in a dance.

"And the Lady Baratheon has many admirers, a kind and dutiful lady, and Helaena likes her so."

He turned to his mother then, humming. At the barest hint of a smile in her son's face, Alicent beamed.

But others from court also soon took notice, and when Aemond realises the wagging tongues had come to note your name— unkind whispers besmirching your person, he disappears from you altogether.

The differences become stark to him; realising what a foolish endeavour it is to want you. Though he is a prince, he is mutilated, a monster that will ruin you. You are too good for him, a warmth he had forgone in the face of misery, apathy, and hatred. The urge to conquer your every thought and sound, from your fingertips to the top of your hair... it is a gasping thought, one he shamefully sins at the blackest hours, tugging at his cock desperately to the thought of what you had looked like that day. The sound of your laughter, the pull of your lips when you smiled, the gasp you let out when you touched water that had been too cold— his mind bends and moves, and images of you, images that he will have to pray for the in morrow but cannot stop—

Moves him to completion, a strangle grunt of your name from his lips.

And yet, every night since, it happens again and again.

The more he pulled away from you, the more he wanted you. It is a debase urge, one more fit for his drunken cur of a brother than he, more creature than man.

But he cannot stop, so the torturous cycle continues.

Until you've had enough.

You know that during hours of inky night, the prince prefers the sanctum of the library. Not always, and lately, not often, but if there are a few things you learned in the hunting trips your father brought you that your mother never approved of, is that lying in wait, patient, deals a hand much better.

And on the fourth day of your waiting, your hair in a braid, a book on your lap, and a small candlelit close by as to not alert any spooked princes— the door opens at the Hour of Eel, the familiar and sorely missed footfalls of a quiet but sure-footed prince enters.

You admire him for a moment, hidden as you are, your stare drinks in the ever smooth of his twilight-spun hair, those pursed lips and straight lines. He's lithe but you know, having been offered his arm on every walk, he is made of hard muscle. Aemond always walks so smoothly, like a panther, or a gazelle, with the barest hint of austre he can never hide.

It's the prince in him, you giggle to yourself.

A sweet pang in your chest is the reminder of how much you missed his presence. And that ends tonight.

With his back turned, perusing a shelf, you shuffle and make yourself known with a soft, almost admonishing voice.

"Good eve, my prince."

He stiffens, hand poised against a spine of a tome. He barely turns, only his head to the floor, in the general direction of you. "My lady. I did not expect you to be here."

Frustrated, you sigh loudly. "Have I offended you so horribly? Dishonoured you in some way?"

"What?"

"Why can't you even look at me, Aemond?"

A sharp intake of breath. When he speaks again,his voice is changed. "You forget yourself, my lady."

There is an ache to your being, pursuing your lips. "You had given me permission with your given name, my prince, or have you forgotten?" Anger overcomes propriety. Fuck propriety. You charge toward him, heavy, angered steps until you're close enough. "Can't you at least look at me, look at me as you push me away as if I amnothing—"

He turns abruptly, one eye flashing as he grasps your elbows in a grip. His eyes zero in on your lips as a gasp falls, eyes widen— if you could see better, you'd notice the darkened gaze drinking you in. Your widened eyes, your open lips— and Sevens, only a robe hides your nightgown, the smooth expanse of your skin is more bare to him than ever before.

His beautiful, beloved stag.

"You have never been nothing to me, nēdenka riña brave girl," he hisses. "Konir sagon se drīve That is the reason."

"Prince A-Aemond?" you say. He is against the shadows of the moonlight, only his hands holding your own is illuminated.

A wrangled exhale falls from his lips. You follow the sound, worried.

"Are you? Injured? Are you okay?"

"I have not been okay for the moment I met you," he rasps, hands bruising in his hold.

"Well. Gods. I'm sorry. If it's such a offense—"

"It is an offence!" he growls, pulling you abruptly that you yelp, bathed in shadows and darkness together, your eyes adjust as you scramble to have thoughts apart from just being this close to him. Hearing a voice you had never heard of him before, untethered from his princely visage, from manners and proper, and it makes you burn.

The thoughts of wanting him close, of taking more of that space until you are chest to chest are blushing thoughts.

But there is honour still, for he holds you at least an arm's away.

"I have wanted you the moment I have laid eyes on you," he whispers, voice rough, exhausted. "And each day I spend with you, each hour— my honour stands in shambles, in ruins at my feet for I want you as a man wants a woman. Honourably and... and carnally."

You swallow, and he follows the movement like a predator tracking his prey. The blush in your cheeks, the way your lips press together as if you are just as starved of him as he to you— oh, you want him too, don't you?

One hand moves from your elbow to slowly reach up. Your arms, your collarbones, your neck. A thumb brushing your cheek and your eyes flutter.

Aemond wants to devour you.

"You plague me so, and I crave you."

"Then have me," you sigh.

His eye closes. "I cannot sully—"

You grasp his neck, bringing your mouth close to his. "You cannot sully what is freely given. If you crave me, I want you."

Honour unbound, a snap is tightened by the hunger that uncoils from a dragon that wants you. Aemond had grabbed the back of your head, tangled his fingers, and made a mess of your mouth.

Gasps and teeth, touching skin from where you can feel it— touching skin from where you unbuckle, tear through hem and push against cloth. When he slams you again the shelf, a moan so lewd falls from your lips that he groans, pulling your nightgown until he feels the heat from your very womanhood, and so, so wet, that when he flicks his thumb, curious and entranced, moving it around experimentally, you are a mess of sound and feeling, gasping his name, A-aemond, oh gods, please, and he is whispering, forgive me, f-forgive me, like love letters, like penitent, like a kiss from a traitor so wrong but so tasteful against your skin as he pulls himself from his confinements, holds you steady, and breaches your tight cunt.

Just before a scream tears through your throat, he devours your sound, holding you steady, until the pain bleeds pleasure and you are holding him like an anchor in dangerous seas. You cannot think or feel anyone else but him; what you are and who you are do not stand a chance as Aemond Targaryen swallows your senses.

It is harsh and fast, it is sweet and devouring, and more, more, more, you don't know what you're begging him, you feel like a devout and he feels like a god, grunting against your skin, biting through anything his teeth grazes. When he shifts you at an angle, finding a spot that feels like a lightning striking through your entire being, you are screaming, twitching, reaching a high so blinding it feels like white death.

"Is that it? That sweet spot?" he purrs, a breathless laugh, shocked and delighted drinking in your trembling and pleasure. "Your cunt is tight against my own, holding me like you never want to let go." You cry out when his cock hits that spot again. Your combined wetness makes an obscene squelch, just as pretty as the sound you utter. He smirks. "Can you hear that? Not even a whore can make a sound so sweet, hm?"

His teeth grazes your lips, sending shivers through your body as he licks the roof your mouth. "I want more of that sound. As your prince, you would grant me this, yes?"

But he isn't waiting for an answer, planting his feet and holding you steady, angling you back to that spot until he is snapping his hips, fucking into you as you can do nothing but beg and cry and tremble in the arms of a dragon taking what is his.

And you are.

You are his.

Maybe you had known it since then.

You definitely do when his seed floods your womb.

You want to say that that night was a fluke, a mistake that must be regretted. But once your gaze meets another, the fire burns, flickering and dancing, and it repeats. In quick fucks in dangerous spots, to slow, sweet love making in his room.

You are his, in mind, body and soul.

"Death is nothing but a friend," he murmurs against your neck, holding you close. Sweat cooling between your naked bodies. "It cannot stop me from finding you."

"I hope you say that to my father well," you tease.

" Marrying you is but the next step, my love. You are already mine as I am yours." He plays with your hair, brushing it past and kissing a bruise he made on your breast. "In face of every god and more, they will understand that we are but one soul."

You can plan the future in rose-coloured gaze for as much as you can, but the truth of marrying into a family with war brewing inside of it, held together by a dying king's hope and corpse fingertips— it is another matter entirely.

It all comes to a sharp clarity when Viserys I dies... and they keep his rotting corpse a secret.

And then they crown a whoremongering drunk.

"Aemond," you break into the silence, your entire being too cold for comfort. You had just come back from a privy council, a Green Council where the Queen had ordered you and your betrothed to reach Storm's End before the night fully breaks.

As if she knew where your loyalties are.

As if there is no question you will support the usurpation.

You turn to Aemond, busy with packing his things for they have bared the maids and people the of Keep. Because they are making Aegon as king and they know a revolt is underneath the floorboards.

"Aemond!"

"What? What has happened?" He looks confused, irritated. "We must make haste, my love, if we are to beat the storms at—"

"Princess Rhaenyra is Queen," you whisper but it could have been a scream. Saying it aloud gives you confidence, strengthening your resolved. You turn to him. "She is the King's heir, no one else. Aemond, this is an usurpation, unlawful in the eyes of—"

It takes little strides for him to reach you, for him to hold your neck in a tightened grip of warning.

"She," he spits, slow and careful as if you are a simpleton in need of teaching, "is a whore who is attempting to place her bastards on the Iron Throne. Rhaenys Targaryen held no chance of it, just as she. My brother is the firstborn son. He is king." His fingers dig into your skin. "You will do well as my wife to not speak of such blasphemy once more, do you understand?"

Your shock and fear melt from your visage, making way for compliance. You nod once. "Yes, my prince."

"Husband," he corrects, holding you much gentler but the weight of his hand is still there on your neck. A reminder. "Have you forgotten? We only come to Storm's End to officiate our union and your House's loyalty to the King. Once done, we will marry, yes?"

You nod, hands fisting. "Yes."

When he kisses you, harsh and needy, imprinting his will unto you— you close your eyes and plan how you make known to your Queen of their plots.

But Storm's End doesn't go as planned, does it?

Lucerys Velaryon, the Queen's son who had come as nothing more but an envoy for the rightful heir, and Aemond—what you thought to be your Aemond but a monstrous man who needed his revenge, who needed to draw blood for a grudge so deep, for an existence he finds so abysmal — had chased after him and came back to you bloodied, tearing up your dress, rutting in you in harsh, rough thrusts, as you listen to the storms from your window and think,

The Queen will never find his body. Her poor, sweet boy. Half in the belly of a beast, the rest spread and sunken into the water.

"I will not allow any marriage until the realm is at peace," your Lord Father rumbled with finality. He is not a smart man, truly, but he is a father. His gaze meets yours, full of meaning, of promises, before looking back at the seething prince. "You will have my bent knee for your king and for your war, but my daughter's hand shall be her own until the realm is at ease."

Your mother steps forward, her courtly smile on her face. "We want for her to have a grand wedding, my prince. She is the first of our charges to wed, and to a prince of the realm no less! By sure, at the time of war, we must err on the side of caution, as our coffers will no doubt focus on our troops. A future princess of the realm must be mindful, of course."

She bows in deference, your sisters following suit. Maris is the first to look up, defiance burning in her eyes.

You remember a conversation with him, feeling like a lifetime ago.

"Ask me, my prince," you teased. "What a storm is to a dragon. A creature is a creature. Even you must acquiesce to the way of nature for she has bowed to no one since her existence."

Aemond may be blood of the dragons, but he is surrounded by storms on all sides. The fiercest.

And your father will never marry you to a Kinslayer.

Yet you stay beside him, your duty now clearer than ever. Every new information you can grasp is sent back to the Queen and her council. In a courtier of the Greens and Traitors, you are the sole Black Stag. You use Aemond's adoration for you, his possessive obsession of what he thinks is love, as a protection and guise.

Any time he beds you, you sneak in moon tea. His bedding of you is just as much his hold on you and his defiance against your father's refusal. Once caught, you remind him he would not enjoy a bastard child. Especially at a time of war. Not after what they had done to his nephews.

"Do you want for me to suffer as your sister does?" The tears in your face then had not been a folly, for your heart broke for sweet Helaena and her sons. For Jaehaera. The world bleeds and bleeds, and all who die that reaches your ears are nothing more but innocents.

Aemond does not bed you after that, but he keeps you in his chambers, pulls you close as if he is trying to mould your skins as one. Times like this, your heart stutters. Your love to him and your morality as a person is at a test of swords.

You are in love with him,

He is a monster,

He has lost his nephews,

He has killed his own.

And it makes you wonder if you are a monster too, lying beside him as his bedmate, caring for him, wanting him still as his heart beats as your own, so connected to the umbilical of fate and chance while war rages, bodies falling all around you both, most from his own hand and word.

The war rages, and Harrenhal comes to view.

With it, a slaughter and a witch.

The worst of the massacre is the steely, lulling silence.

No one tells you that most of what an execution is that silence. That it amplifies each scream, each shout, each thick drop of a head as it falls on cobblestone. The sound is wet and a mouthful. Then it is nothing, consumed by that silence again.

You are locked in a room with a window that doesn't face the horror of what Aemond is doing. As if this is enough to shield you from what he is, what he truly is doing to win this war.

The worst part, committing genocide of an entire house is nothing more but a horrific grudge.

Strong blood spills, enough to make a lake.

By the time that night bleeds and a maid had entered with dinner to light a fire— your body is still so cold. No food has touched your stomach since the day before yet you retch.

Does loving a monster meant that you are just as monstrous?

Mayhaps it is still worth it, you muse in your silent madness, tears tracking your cheeks as the heaviness of your being stays. For who can say a monster can love you so monstrously? Who else can?

When Aemond comes back to you, freshly cleaned and a reminiscent of the prince that you loved, and he is making excuses of wanting you as you are, pawing at your clothes, you let him. You make love in the silence suffering from the massacre he had just finished. You hold him and kiss him in a desperation as you know this will be your ending.

That your Aemond is gone, or worse. He had never truly existed.

When you are both spent, satiated in a sweet glow, your head pleasantly quiet, he speaks about a plan.

A woman, a Strong witch, that promises him an assurance of winning with her sights and blasphemous magic. He had spared her among others, and that itself makes you look at him, truly look at him.

In exchange of what— for such things do not concede so easily as gratitude to mercy of one life, yes? Because desire devours itself. A snake eating itself.

"A child," he whispers against your battered head and bruised heart. "From my blood."

"A bastard," you murmur as he stiffens. "From a bastard Strong. Surely the irony is not lost on you? You have started this war by killing your bastard nephew, and you plan on ending it by fathering—"

"Do not question me," he says softly, grip tightening against your arms. Your eyes close, heavy with the weight of being a spy. Of loving him. "I will fuck a babe in her how many times it takes, and when the war is won, I will kill her and it. For your womb is the only place my lineage will live. I am doing this for the good of the realm. For us."

When he thinks you are asleep and leaves— you take your things and make haste to leave. Not once has your people left you in the arms of the kinslayer. Always one maid, always three guards from your father's army, loyal to only you.

You bundle up quick, and rush for the passage, you are blocked by a woman. Pale skin, dark hair, and eyes greener than wildfire. You know her before she speaks. You hold yourself to fight, and the witch of Harrenhal laughs.

"You have changed the tide of destiny, my lady." Her head tilts as if she can see past you and through you. "Once your choice has affirmed, your thread chosen, I cannot stand in the side of the One-Eyed Kinslayer without the Stranger coming for me. So instead, I will grant you one gift. One that will require no sacrifice."

"I do not want it."

"Ah, but it is a gift." She nods at your torso. "Your belly will soon take size, in it, his heir. You will not escape him as soon as he knows." Her head twists to the window. A raven flies. A storm grumbles. The sound comes first before the lightning strikes. A false storm. "Time is flowing, changing and twisting. He may have betrayed his kin, but he is still a prince. He will know soon."

Her green eyes glint as if she is seeing now and tomorrow. Now and a moon. Moon from a year. "You must run now. Hide and hide well."

You hold your stomach, bile rising in your throat. "Where? Where am I safe?"

A faint smile rises to her lips. "Your heir looks more like him than mine did. You will not escape him. But go north. As far North as you can. The fjords can hide him for a while. He will grow well there."

She moves away, letting you pass.

You never look back.

Dark locks. Baratheon hair.

A tuff of silver lock atop his head.

And the rest... his nose, his eyes. With your fingers, you pull his lids. Bloom in mullish blue with the faintest tint of iridescent violet. You know from your histories, that faint tint will overpower the blue.

Oh, he is utterly beautiful. Utterly yours. And utterly his father's son.

Rough breaths strangle out of your raw-bitten lips, brushing blood away from your babe's face, his head, his wet, silvery hair. Few they maybe, unmistakably Valyrian features they still are.

"Oh, he is beautiful," your mother murmurs, tears stain her cheeks. "Quiet as you were, as a babe. Looks just as much as you."

She is weighing his Valyrian features too. Your blood tried, but it seemed as if Aemond's grudge grasped your womb and affected your shared blood.

"We cannot stay," you say, still staring at him, admiring him. Your heart locking in place, steeling itself as you prepare to do your utmost to protect him. "We will have to travel posthaste."

Your mother swallows her grief. She had almost lost you. She will lose you again, now along with her only grandchild. "Where?"

"North. As far as North as we can."

Your mother nods. Ever a lady. "I will send a missive. The Lord Stark is loyal to the Queen and knows by how much you have sacrificed for this realm. He will protect you on his honour or he is no Stark."

You will need to hide. You will need to hide well.

You pull him close to your chest, hot tears freshly spilling from your eyes.

The witch had not lied, for your boy grew up amongst ice and warmth. He grows up with love from you, from the Lord Stark and his people, and love from his father in the way that he resembles him.

The slope of his nose, the sweet purse of his lips.

When your boy had gotten angry once, nothing but a quick burst, it shocks fear and tears from your eyes for you had seen the prince.Nothing more than a flash.

You pull him close and wound him to your heart as he cried, apologising for scaring you.

The North had granted you reprieve from the war as it came and went. Your betrayal to the Greens had mounted to the Black Queen's win. The betrayal of House Baratheon as House Stark and their bannermen joined the fray had squandered any rebellious thought on which sovereign will preside.

The last you heard of what became the Prince Regent was his surrender at the Battle Above God's Eye.

When you had cried that night, you did not know if it was from relief. Or fear.

But a black stag on white snow is easy to spot.

It takes years, yes, but the Stranger is but an old friend.

For when the day of your wedding to the Lord Stark arrives, a familiar screech of a dragon that your marrow will never forget— tolls the bell of death.

And when you looked up, snow swirling, holding onto your son that looked up in awe at the man who looked so much like him—

Aemond is smiling.

Sweet came the word— dracarys! — as Vhagar split her mouth opened and obeyed her rider.

What have I told you?

You are mine as I am yours.

In face of every god and more, they will understand that you and I are but one soul.

#dark!aemond x reader #dark!aemond #aemond smut #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond angst #aemond dark #hotd smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #hotd fanfic

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navree · 2 years

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i think the issue is that, because the dance of the dragons would be seen as a pretty black and white issue for any modern audience (is there anyone who reads fire and blood and ISN’T on team blacks), and because the showrunners wanted to make this more of a muddied water situation, they have put a lot more effort into characterizing and fleshing out “the queen’s party” than they’ve done with “the party of the princess”. we learn a lot more about and get a lot more character work for people like alicent and aemond and helaena and even aegon, far more than we ever do about jace or luke or joffrey or baela or rhaena or even rhaenys, and don’t get me started on how just fucking confusing daemon is half the time, and what we know about people like corlys is pretty one note. rhaenyra’s the only one of that side who’s getting anything fleshed out, as opposed to literally everyone else opposing her where we get things like otto’s ambition warring with his love of family, while everyone on her side of the board is ridiculously flattened out to one or two character traits, or basically being furniture, where we get things like me being genuinely confused over which of laena’s twins is betrothed to who and how does she even feel about it, who knows.

and it’s ending up in this bizarre situation (for me at least), where intellectually i’m on the side of the blacks because they’re just in the logical and moral right of the situation that’s going to create the dance, the matter of the succession, but i’m so much more emotionally invested in the greens and in their desires and growths and struggles.

#personal #house of the dragon #i do think it's a genuine issue that i can tell you a whole lot more about helaena than i can tell you about jace or luke #god i know more about what motivates criston than about what motivates literally rhaenys #(don't even get me started on daemon there's a lot of choices they've made for him that i do not understand the point of)#(i just think one of the writers has it in for him or really hated the seasons with the eleventh doctor on doctor who & got his revenge)#but like rhaenyra is the only one on team blacks that i'm invested in as a CHARACTER #(and little aegon but that's just cuz i'm ready for whoever plays him during A Certain Scene to act his little heart out)#like i get fleshing out the greens i do and i'm actually quite fine with it #as i've said show alicent is probably one of my favorite characters #but this appears to be coming at the expense of doing anything about anyone who isn't rhaenyra on team blacks #like i had to find out that one of them twins (i can't remember which one because again no characterization) was mad #about aemond claiming vhagar because SHE wanted to claim vhagar through a stan defending that on twitter #shouldn't i be figuring that shit out from the WRITING #like this is literally a writing fail because shit goes sideways for the blacks a lot more than it does for the greens #and i'm supposed to care when these people start dying and right now i don't #this entire episode is about whether or not corlys is going to kick it and i feel no emotion at the prospect whatsoever #and i think it's doubly important because one of the most egregious acts done in the entirety of the dance #(the incident with blood and cheese and what they did to helaena and her children)#is inflicted onto the greens by the blacks and it happens pretty early on and i'm definitely going to feel a lot more about THAT #than about aemond literally jumpstarting the conflict by killing lucerys for no reason #(tho i imagine even if they continue on this track i'm still gonna have thoughts about A Certain Scene entirely cuz of little aegon)#anyway point is i think fleshing out the greens is good but doing so at the expense of fleshing out any of the blacks beyond rhaenyra #is a serious writing flaw that is going to start biting them in the ass real soon

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love-marimo · 10 months

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Dancing in the Rain (Neuvillette x Reader)

Lolita's Note: ー in which you saw neuvillette standing by the porch in the midst of a downpour of rain ー you asked him to dance, and little did you know it soothed his aching heart.

This, again, is taken from the actual lore of the hydro dragon crying whenever it rains!

There is a common superstition passed down through the hushed whispers in Fontaine…

…that when it rains, it is said that the Hydro dragon weeps.

It is something that you have always wondered about. You always thought about the things that made the hydro dragon cry, because it happens quite often too.

With that said, you have come to a realization that the Hydro Dragon must have a tender heart.

One that is as gentle as a morning drizzle.

Yet one that is as powerful as a thunderstorm blaring through the darkest of nights.

When the latter happens, you seek the arms of the one you love, Neuvillette. And somehow, when your bodies find each other, you swear to the archons that the storm has calmed down.

Even just a little.

The thing about Neuvillette is he does not like to display his emotions.

But he is very polite and courteous. He does not like to make anyone feel excluded, despite working in an occupation where a cutthroat attitude is necessary.

One can say that his personality becomes two sides of the same coin.

There is a middle ground, though ー a blurred space that combines these said facets of his personality. One that he fails to hide every single time.

One that comes out when it rains.

"Darling? Neuvillette?" You shift on your shared bed in a half-asleep state, looking for him.

When you sense that he's not inside your bedroom, you lit up a lamp and searched for him in your shared home.

It's been raining pretty hard these days. Coincidentally in your point of view, Neuvillette has been acting odd. It's as if he's more uptight and aloof. You noticed that he also stays up pretty late ー sometimes you think he doesn't sleep at all.

Another strange thing he frequently does, is he stands by the front porch watching the downpour of rain.

So now you definitely knew where he is.

Slowly, you hesitated to reach for his hair, but you did anyway. Caressing it gently, he was taken by surprise for a moment before he turned to you and gave you a small smile.

"Oh, my dear. You should go back to bed. We still have two hours before it is morning." He curtly tells you before he holds you closer to him.

"It seems that you want me to stay, though." You chuckle, placing your hand on top of his.

He lets out a small laugh ー one that comes out as a content sigh.

The loud downpour of the rain calmed down into a somber drizzle.

"Do you still find storms scary?" He asked you, while he looked out to the distance. You nod in reply. He sighs once again, as if he's apologizing that it cannot be helped.

"As long as you're here, I'm going to be fine." You held his hand and took him with you outside, a sudden idea of dancing in the rain popped in your head.

"What are you doing?" He asked you, a bit alarmed.

"Let's dance in the rain!" You exclaim.

"You're going to catch a cold." Neuvillette tries to take you back inside.

"Then take care of me when that happens!" You retort.

Neuvillette laughs. It sounded more genuine now.

It continued raining, but unlike the violent storm before, it poured gently on your skin. The man brushes a wet strand of your hair that covered your face and smiles at you again.

"Very well. Lead the way, monsieur/mademoiselle." Neuvillette put his hand over his chest, while you held the hem of your dress shirt on both sides.

After you bowed, you took Neuvillette's hands and guided them ー one finds its way on your waist and the other holds your hand.

"We don't have music, so let's just pretend that we are dancing to the melody of the rain." You laugh, as you begin dancing to the rhythm of waltz.

You both shared tender laughs and danced in the rain like children, even if the only light that illuminated you were the lamps of your home.

"I am sorry. I should've stayed in bed. I don't want you to be the one seeking my presence every time you feel afraid, upset, or terrible in general." He sighs.

Just as you wonder if the hydro dragon has a human form, Neuvillette wonders if you already cracked the code.

"Hydro dragon, don't cry. Hydro dragon, don't cry." You started to chant softly, as if lulling a weeping child.

He softened at your expression. As he spun you around he asked,

"Where did you learn that?"

"Oh, nothing. I thought it would be nice if the Hydro dragon hears it. I mean, not that it would be of much help." You chuckle.

Neuvillette then finds himself repeating the same words.

"Yeah that's it, let's chant it together!"

Hydro Dragon, don't cry.

Neuvillette admires your gentle nature. One touch, one word, and one look ー all of his worries dissipate.

All of his woes disappear.

And of course, the heavy rainfall that he brings forth once he has a heavy heart stops.

Just like now.

"Oh? The rain stopped!" You squealed in excitement.

"Yes, it seems that the hydro dragon heard us." He replied.

The skies cleared to reveal the slight glimmer of light at the crack of dawn.

Looking up, you can still see the full moon.

"Come, let us go back inside and dry ourselves. We still have a few hours of sleep to catch." Neuvillette tells you, guiding you back to your shared home.

"I wonder if the Hydro dragon really heard us. I hope whatever troubles them is resolved soon." You say as he tucks you to bed.

To him, if it's you, then he can get used to your lullaby ー a hushed chanting of his name, one that seeks to comfort his sonder heart.

ー Lolita

#genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact imagines #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette imagines #neuvillette headcanons #neuvillette fluff #lolita writes #phew what an impulsive piece #gotta go to bed now :3 #this was fun to write #originally i wanted to go for childe in this but i guess i like this one now hehe #genshin impact

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missglaskin · 2 years

Text

Meant to be mine

Excuse me for the horrible smut

Tags: Soft dark!Jace OC, mentions & descriptions of parent abuse, character death (poison), childhood to lovers. EXPLICIT: Titty sucking, breeding kink (if you squint), creampie, tummy bulge (mention) Jace really taking after his parents

The dragon runs in his blood. Jace won't give you up for anything, even if your hands belong to another.

To marry well. A constant reminder of your obligations as a lady. Prepare to be disappointed. It's rare for love to blossom in such unions. Marriage is a trade more than anything-whether it's for a shipping fleet or an ally. How foolish of you to think your fate would differ from any lady.

How you've dreamed of having your 'protected' cloak placed around your shoulder to be the sigil of a three-headed dragon. Anticipating facing the man you've known for years. Instead, your 'protected' cloak's sigil is one of a golden lion and your wedding vows are exchanged with another.

Before the feast could begin, the doors opened, and everyone turned. Seeing the royal family ascend made your breath catch in your throat. They weren't invited. You were certain otherwise their upcoming presence would have been the talk around. Casting a quick glance over your shoulder, seeing your father's enraged face. Jakob Lannister, your newly husband, looked stunned.

Arriving with her husband Daemon by her side, Rhaenyra appears to be as gorgeous as ever. The rest of her children follow after. Your gaze is drawn to Prince Jacaerys.

Rhaenyra greets your father first, complimenting him on how lovely the wedding seems. She raises the corner of her mouth to smile, but her eyes remain cold. Her eyes warm when she turns to face you. “My dear Y/N.”

Her hand reaches for your necklace-an embroidered lion. "You look as beautiful as ever-we were so excited to have you in the family," she says as her eyes catch your father's. "But alas, I am sure Jakob Lannister is one lucky man to have such a lovely bride."

You mutter your thanks to her as she gives you a gentle kiss on the cheek. Leaving your side, her family follows her. Jace follows. His hand brushed against yours. Your eyes never leave him until your father grabs hold of your shoulder. Your father's hold grows tighter, reminding you of your position. Your duty.

The family had no seat as no one anticipated their arrival, still the servants rushed to grab seats for them. The other lords and ladies glare at the family when they choose the table closest to yours.

You and your husband are sitting next to one another. And you repress the urge to look over at the table. The ominous presence of your father serves as a reminder of the consequences if you dared to look.

When the two approach your table, you try to conceal your surprise. It's Daemon and Jace. For some time, Jace and you just stare at each other in silence. Daemon nudges him to reality. "I'm happy for the two of you," Jace finally speaks with a smile that stops short of reaching his eye.

“May your marriage be long and fruitful,” he says with almost clenched teeth. Your husband thanks him, oblivious to the tone of voice. With his hands behind his back, Daemon amusedly watches everything that was happening.

Jace looks in your direction and says, "I hope you don't mind, but I'd like to take your 'newdly' wife for a dance." Jakob nods. You wonder how gullible a man can be. Standing up and crossing over the table to accept Jace's hand.

You hiss at him, "What are you going?" as the two of you descend the hall's steps, but he feigns innocence, "I have no clue on what you're speaking of." You join the other dancing lord and ladies. "Don't play me the fool, Jace," but when you feel your hand on his waist, your words are caught in your throat. The jerk knows what his touch does to you.

"I'm a married woman now," you continue in a firm tone. Try to have him take this matter seriously. Yet Jace keeps looking at you with the same burning gaze. Stop looking at me like that. You wanted to tell him. Or else you'll crumble.

His face is much closer to yours than it should be, and his hands are placed much more intimately than they should be. Your gaze turns to your father, who appears indignant over what he is witnessing. It shifts to your newly husband, who is speaking with Daemon, who has now moved to his side where your seat once was. Daemon seems to congratulate him? Is this the same man you've met before.

'Focus on me, not them,' a hand reaches for your cheek, nudging you to look at him. With his breath nearing your lips, you try to warn him, "Jace.". Eyes widening. He wouldn't do it, would he? Certainly not in front of all those people.

He whispers, "You were meant to be mine, my wife, my sweet wife," one inch closer and his lips will touch yours. Everyone is too absorbed in their dancing, in their drinks, in their conversations to notice the intimate moment between the two of you. He was going to do it. In front of all those people. And the worst thing of it all. You won't try to stop him.

Then your father's voice booms across the court, signaling the start of the play. It was far too early; you frown. But you understood why your father had done it. The crowd starts to scatter, and it took some resistance to escape Jace's tight grip before anyone had the chance to focus on the two of you.

Upon seeing your father's rage, you hurriedly got back with your husband after tremblingly climbing the few steps. The play opens with a man who can allegedly spit fire and swallow a sword. The stunned crowd gasps, but your expression remains the same; unable to concentrate.

As per usual, your husband continues to be unaware of everything, too occupied with drinking his wine. Then it happens. Your husband starts to choke, but everyone is too preoccupied with watching the play to notice. Patting his back and trying to give him more wine, assuming he must have choked on his food.

The coughing, however, only gets worse, and soon he is spitting out the wine. Few around him begin to turn. Your husband is bending over, grasping the table. His cough grew louder and more started to notice.

He stands shakily, revealing his face. You couldn't help but shriek at the sight and now everyone's attention is on you both. His face is fully red now, and some sounds are heard, but he's unable to speak. Unable to breathe. He stumbles, knocking a few things off the table. Then he drops to the ground.

You hear Daemon shout, "Someone help him, you fools," and when guards and members of his family run to help him, you are shoved aside. Covering your mouth at the graphic and horrifying sight of Jakob trembling on the floor, grabbing at his throat, gagging, all the while trying to gasp for air.

An arm reaches out to you, leaning you on their chest to avoid looking at the scene. Having been in his arms so often, you recognize it to be Jace. Looking up at him-you see his gaze at the sight. A blank expression on his face. No shock. No worries.

Then you hear the cries of grief—Jakob is dead. All claim to be poisoned. Many cooks and servants have been interrogated, and some hanged. Jakob Lannister had few enemies, leaving the one who caused this to remain a mystery.

What a cruel joke the gods played on you—to marry and be a widow on the same day. You can see the pitiful looks of everyone in attendance at his funeral. And hear the murmurs when you turn away from them. The word "curse" said more than once.

The royal family was present at the funeral, as they were at the wedding. Jace is leaning against the wall with his eyes on you. He is near his great-uncle, or should you say, stepfather. Prior to your arrival, the two appeared to be speaking. Rhaenyra steps toward you, hugging and telling you what a tragedy it is, that if you need any help, Dragonstone will welcome you at any time.

As time passed, you grew tired of having everyone's sight on you. So you leave, descending the stairs. No one stops you. No one questions where you’re going. As you make your way outside a little further, you are now walking alongside the beach, feet near the water. Holding onto your shawl as the wind blows.

A touch is felt on your shoulder causing you to jump only to relax when turning to see seeing its Jace. There is a brief silence as the two of you stare; the longing in his eyes is still there. "You grieve for him?" he asks. In regards to the black cloth covering your shoulders. You shake your head.

"It's custom, Jace," you say, as if it were the most obvious thing. "There's no need for that with me," tugging on your shawl, letting the wind carry it. It falls into the water and is soon lost in the depths as the waves move it back and forth.

"Jace!" You reprimand him, already annoyed at him for that show he put on at your wedding. In the early morning, before the funeral, your father screamed at you for it. Many assumed your teary eyes were you mourning.

He grabs you as you try to move away. "You're terrified of him." He knows it's your father who opposed the marriage. Your father was a good friend of Lord Hightower, and you often heard his disdain for Rhaenyra. In some instances, you heard him even refer to Jace as "prince strong."

Despite knowing in your heart that you would have married Jace the moment he got down on one knee, you argue that it’s not just about father." Then what is it, he asks. "Jace, marrying you means one day becoming the queen," you tell him, hoping he understands. But the only response you got was an “And?”

Your father's words are now echoing in your head and you utter them word by word to Jace. How he deserved someone far more worthy, more strong-willed, more powerful. You were neither of those.

But Jace only shushes your words, holding your face in his hands. He speaks praises of you. How he believes you’ll make a good queen. You find it hard to believe. Then he says, "You're perfect," and it's difficult to accuse him of lying given the way he's looking at you.

He gazes at you with so much love, and before you know it. He kisses you. Oh, how you missed his lips, reaching your hands to the nape of his neck, returning his kiss with eagerness. This was wrong. But could you bring yourself to care when feeling his hands roam your body.

His lips leave yours soft and swollen. Grabbing your hands, kissing both of your knuckles. Then placing them on his chest, "It's beating for you," he says, "Only you." You found yourself inching near him, closing your eyes when your head lay against his chest.

You love Jace, truly love him. You love the smile he gives you when you enter the room. The way he surprises you with your favorite flowers. The way he pulls the seat out for you. The way he listens to all your rambles. The way he dries your tears. Would you have ever gotten that from Jakob or any other lord your father tries to marry you off.

On the other hand, you truly despise your father. Never understood and made an effort to learn the language of girls. So badly he wanted a son. Still, you thought you'd make him proud, being the ideal daughter, always obedient and polite.

So when you ask your father one thing-just one thing. To marry the prince and your father threw the offer in your face. Now you can rest easy, not caring about his disappointment any longer.

"Marry me." You finally utter the words. Whispered so low, but you could tell he heard them from his hands slightly tightening their grip on your sides. Opening your eyes to face him, "Take me to Dragonstone, make me your wife, Jacaerys." And now it’s you who leans in, grazing your lips over his while gently yet firmly holding his cheeks.

Jace returns your kiss intensely, desperately moving his mouth into yours; pouring his entire soul into it. His hands are back to exploring your body, holding you to him as humanly possible. A desire runs from your heart to your inner thighs.

He pulls away and you try to reach for his lips again, but he steps back. You're slightly perplexed when he starts to remove his cloak. Moving further away from the waves, he lays the cloak on the sand.

And the realization suddenly dawns on you. Here? Now? Even with the possibility of someone finding you. You cast your eyes over the distance where the funeral is still taking place. Still, you take Jace’s hand. Fuck it, you thought.

Laying your back on the cloak as he climbs on top of you. Feeling his nose nudging yours, you couldn’t help but smile and he returns it, kissing your nose. You tilt your head to allow your lips to meet again.

Then you sensed his hand reaching for the back of your dress as his fingers roughly pulled the strings holding it together. Your dress descends, revealing your shoulders to the prince. He presses a soft kiss to the skin exposed as he pulls the dress down further, barring your chest.

Your nipples harden when exposed to the cold air. Biting your lower lip at the way his eyes leer over them. No matter how many times he has seen them, he’s always entranced. With eyes closed, he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, tongue darting out to wet the bud before sucking lightly. Gods, sometimes Jace Imagines what your breasts would look like if your belly was round with his child.

You ponder what the people of the realm would think if their future king was ever found sleeping with a widow whose husband's funeral was only a short distance away. Discovered on top of her, his mouth on her chest.

He closes his lips around your nipple as you exhale a low moan and tilt your head back. You’ve always been so sensitive to his touch as he was to yours. Low moans also slip out of his mouth, seeming to enjoy the act. Possibly even more than you did. Jace would be content to die buried between your legs or with his face between your cleavage. Either way, it’s heaven to him.

Pulling away, his lips graze yours, clumsily reaching his hands down to untie his trousers. Hearing him curse while struggling to loosen the tight laces makes you chuckle. Reaching to help him, an embarrassed thank you is said under his breath.

Briefly sitting on his knees to pull the trousers to his knees; cock already hard. He pulls your dress up all the way to your hip, exposing your cunt to him. As he reaches down to take hold of the top of his head, slowly pushing it inward an inch at a time, his body rests on yours once more.

Synced moans escape the two of you as his cock slides fully into you. All while, Jace presses tender kisses all over your face. His thrusts are slow, trying to get you to adjust his size. Jace grunts aloud as your walls tighten around him.

You give thanks to the gods that the two of you are far away. You see him biting his lip to contain his loud moans. Still, they can be heard throughout the chilly air. His mind goes numb the moment his cock is buried deep inside of you.

There are all sorts of words said by him; declarations of love, but all come out slurred as if he's in a drunken haze. His face is buried in the crook of your neck. Thrusting his body, his heavy moans are heard feeling his cock surge through your hole.

His thrusts are becoming sloppy. He's close. His finger moves down, circling your clit, wanting you to feel the same euphoria alongside him. His cock is deep enough, you can feel the head touching your cervix.

His lip begins to bleed between his teeth. He’s close. Yet he’s holding himself back, twitching inside of you. He wants you to reach your high first. Then when he feels your walls squirming. How fucking tight you’re. Louder whimpers coming from you. He knows you’re close, too. His fingers fasten in their movements against your clit.

An almost scream erupts from you as you reach your orgasm, eyes rolling back. Removing his wet fingers, leaving your cunt to your hips. Not even moments later, Jace came. Harshly digging his fingers into your hips, you were certain any harder and it would start to bruise.

His lips parted in almost broken sobs, chanting your name as though it were a martyr. He releases a spurt of cum, stuffing your cunt to the brim. A few more thrusts and Jace's body collapses on top of yours. Both bodies drenched in sweat even in the chilly air.

The only sounds that can be heard are Jace's chest heaving and distant wave sounds. The side of his head is resting against your chest as you run a hand through his hair. I love you. He kept saying it almost as if it were a mantra until he became too exhausted to speak. For some time, the two of you remain in this position, soaking up the silence.

When it's time for you to leave, your thighs are trembling, sticky with dried cum. The two of you try your best to present yourselves as neatly and cleanly as you can. Your hands are intertwined with Jace's as the two of you approach Daemon and Rhaenyra.

The two knew everything they needed to know from both of your swollen lips, Jace's messy hair, and the sand stuck to some of the clothes and skin. As Rhaenyra beams a friendly smile your way, Daemon muses, "I can assume she accepted the proposal." Jace catches your confused look. Were they all on this.

When it's time for the family to depart, you climb up atop Vermax while Jace holds you fast as the dragon soars overhead. You can just imagine your father's fury, his screams of rage, and the furniture he'll probably destroy in his way. You pity the messenger who has to inform your father about the wedding.

As you soar through the air, you ignore all of your thoughts when you feel the prince's chin rest on your shoulder. With the sun behind you, the wind blowing in your faces. Jace presses his lips to yours as you turn to face him and you part ways while smiling.

After this, Jace is truly in debt to his stepfather.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #hotd x reader #yandere hotd #hotd smut #yandere house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon smut #yandere x reader #yandere smut #smut #yandere headcanons #headcanons #dark!jacaerys velaryon #x reader #reader insert #yandere asoiaf #asoiaf x reader

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starlit-typewriter · 26 days

Text

Genshin SAGAU, Creator of Teyvat, but not Humanity Part 6

Thank you to everyone who liked and commented, it really kept me motivated!

Warning for mild self harm, nothing graphic. There are no depressive feelings associated with it.

Warning for Spoilers up to 4.6

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

~~~

You’re honestly not sure how long you’ve been sitting in the beautiful meadow, enjoying the scenery and the sounds of nature.

You spent some time staring at the glowing yellow flowers, admiring their soft silken petals.

You also spent some splashing around in the small river nearby. Its crystal clear blue water lets you see all the way to the bottom.

The singing of birdsong echo through the beautiful meadow, providing a beautiful atmosphere.

It’s probably been some time now since you’ve arrived, as the sun is starting to set and the sky was getting dark.

Well, it’s no fun sitting in a dark meadow, you reasoned, may as well see if you could find someplace to sleep.

You wander over to the gigantic tree that stood as a centerpiece to this meadow and started to investigate its roots to see if there were any nook-worthy spots.

To your surprise you found, well it’s not a nook, but a cave.

Even better!

You scoot your way down, mindful of the steep incline.

In the back of your head you realize you should probably be panicked about the fact you’re in the middle of nowhere, alone and with nothing, but its only the back of your head, which means the front part that actually makes the decisions is happily powering on.

At the back of the cave, is not a wall of rock and dirt, you know like you’d expect the back of a cave to be like, but rather a glowing wall of golden symbols.

There’s also a strange energy behind the glowing wall that’s beckoning you closer.

That voice in the back of your head is outright screaming about how insane this whole situation is, but again as we’ve already established, it’s the back not the front. Therefore you reach out to touch the glowing wall of golden symbols.

You expect nothing to happen, because it’s a wall and you’re just touching it. But something does happen, to you, not the wall. The wall is fine, at least you think it’s fine because you can’t see it anymore.

Instead you see this gigantic underground cavern with a giant round rock in the center, surrounded by other large tall rocks and what looks to be a golden fence surrounding the aforementioned round rock.

Then the round rock starts to move.

Update, that is not a rock it is a living thing that looks like a rock.

You think it might be making some kind of sound, but there’s all of a sudden a loud buzzing in your ears that you can’t get rid of.

You shake your head in hopes it’ll do something, to no avail. Actually it makes it quite a bit worse, since you now have a bit of a headache.

You would like to investigate the creature that was once the large round rock so you start to move closer.

As you do the buzzing in your ears and the pounding in your head gets worse, but you can’t seem to stop your feet from moving you closer to the center. Or really your entire body because it would be weird if it was just your feet moving you closer when your entire body is trying to get away, that would probably look like a weird fusion of a tug of war and a crab dance wouldn't it.

Oh you’re at the golden gate now.

At this point your head feels like it’s splitting open. But your hand moves to touch the golden fence, only for it to shatter into golden sparkling particles.

Before you can process what just happened, the round rock creature moves towards you at a speed that your brain honestly can’t comprehend due to it being in debilitating pain.

It doesn’t run you over or attack you, but rather it nudges you gently with its snout.

Dragon

The word went unsaid.

Yet it echoed in your mind nonetheless.

They’ve never met a dragon before, not do they know what one should look like.

But now, looking into the topaz eyes of this creature, you knew in your heart of hearts that they were a dragon.

He was also talking to you.

You couldn’t understand what he was saying.

But you can sense his pain.

You can sense anger, rage, helplessness, fear

And

Relief

Your vision is suddenly filled with glowing golden particles.

The world seems to come alive with energy as it pours into your body.

Flashes of scenes and people run through your head.

These scenes,

These memories.

They’re

Yours?

But,

Also his?

Azhdaha.

His name falls from your lips as your weakened knees give out.

That was his name,

He was dying

Eroding

But, he still remembered his history

His kin

His family

He gave you his memories,

His powers

And in doing so,

It killed him.

But awakened you.

Glittering tears dripped off your fluttering eyelids as you struggled to wrap your mind over what happened.

Flashes of a history you never knew,

Memories of a family you never had.

Images of a swirling cosmos, dancing around your form. Joy, curiosity, freedom

An orb of golden light, zipping around you like a beloved pet. Fondness, concern, excitement.

The shadow of a large flying creature passing overtop you. Awe, pride, trust.

A pair of desperate golden eyes, apologetic and pleading as a searing pain overwhelms you. Betrayal, pain, hurt, hurt, huRT, HURT.

A sharp, sickening, burning pain fills your body as you fight the urge to cough blood.

Eons upon eons of pain and anger and betrayal crashes into you, bringing you to the floor.

There’s screaming, and pain.

Sounds of something crumbling and falling are but whispers in your ear as they’re filled with the sound of your pounding heart.

Your eyes burn with tears as you lay there.

Your tears stain the earth in front you.

Laying there on your side, you can feel the softness of the cool dirt, and a slight breeze in the air.

It was silent

Not a single birdsong nor the sounds of trickling water to be found.

Your heart bursting with more emotion than they could bear.

How could anyone live like this?

Every moment, every action, every thought is wracked with agony and pain.

All you could do was curl up in a ball and hope it all fades.

Little by little it does.

The fear, pain, panic, and sorrow are all stripped away.

Seeping into the cold hard dirt beneath you, replacing you with a familiar sense of numbness.

You breathe, feeling nothing

This is why you were so calm, you realized.

Even as you got transported to a foreign place, got threatened at sword point and lost all your belongings.

You knew that there was something wrong with your mindset, but you were so calm that you didn't think to question it.

But now, with the dried tear tracks on your face, you realize.

Something is very very wrong with this place.

It's like something or someone is constantly pumping you with a sedative, urging you to not focus on things that make you unhappy.

Even now, a part of you is trying to forget what just happened, to go back to wandering through the flowers.

To close your eyes and ears to the horrors and memories of the past.

No, you can't forget.

Azhdaha died for this.

He died to give you a chance at remembering.

You dug your nails into your skin until you felt it split open and something wet trickle out.

The pain helped ground you.

Helped you remember.

With all that swirling around in your mind, you had many questions.

Where am I?

What happened?

Why is this going on?

But the central one remains clear.

Who are you?

~~~

“-ao”

“-iao, please!”

The adeptus turned his head at the call.

While not many people knew his name, there were still times when those who didn’t know better used his name in vain.

Either those who weren’t sure who its was connected to, or those who didn’t care.

But this one was different.

It wasn’t full of arrogant confidence that he wouldn’t hear.

Nor the simple curiosity of an irritating scholar.

This one was full of fear and panic.

From a familiar voice.

Summoning his adeptal energy he focused on that call, and willed himself to disappear.

The next moment he opened his eyes, it was to a sight that made his blood run cold.

The Traveler, usually so strong and bright and full of life, collapsed on the ground, their flying companion panicking.

He raced over, senses on high alert for any nearby enemies.

“Xiao!” The flying pixie shot over to his side, her hands twisted into her clothing in stress.

“What happened,” he demanded, checking over their body for any wounds or abyssal energy, but could find none. All the while Paimon blabbed helplessly about how they were just walking like normal when they dropped like a stone for no reason.

The conqueror of demons pressed his ear to their chest to see if he could hear a heartbeat.

Thankfully it was beating strong.

He moved over to their head, to examine their breathing and check for head wounds.

He cradled their body in his lap and he looked over their skull for any bumps or wounds.

Unbeknownst to him, as he was checking over this head, the Traveler’s eyes snapped open.

They sat up rapidly, almost hitting Xiao’s chin in their frantic panic.

“Azhdaha,” they breathed, scrambling to their feet and taking a couple of shaky steps.

The Yaksha leaped forward to catch them as they swayed.

The Traveler blinked at their savior.

“Xiao?” They breathed, their eyes glassy and unfocused.

“Are you ok,” he asked gently, trying not to spook them in their disorientated state.

They blinked at him slowly, before pushing themselves upright. They seemed to be focused on something in the distance.

He shook them slightly, they startled at the contact. They turned to face him, the glassiness in their eyes fading slightly.

“We need to check on Azhdaha,” their tone showed no room for argument.

Xiao had many questions he wanted to ask, but, well.

The Traveler is never this serious. Only a couple times before have they seen them with this look on their face, that was always in the heat of battle.

He wanted to argue, but he knew that they wouldn’t ask like this without cause.

Not to mention they’d probably go investigate without him if he didn’t agree.

He exchanged looks with Paimon, who whilst still looking understandably stressed, seemed to to know better than to argue with the Traveler in such a state.

So he nods in agreement, offering his hand to take them to Nantianmen.

In a swirl of Adeptal and Anemo power, the three disappeared.

~~~

As the trio raced towards the base of Mt. Hulao , they noticed an issue.

A glaring issue,

The biggest landmark, the proof of Azhdaha’s sealing.

The crystalline tree that became the dragon’s tail.

It was gone.

It also seemed that they were not the only people who came to investigate.

A handsome gentleman in a brown and gold suit stood at the edge of where the tree used to be.

At the edge of a giant crater.

“Lord La- Zhongli,” the Yaksha breathed, stalling to a stop behind him.

The man in question turned at his call, his gaze tired as it swept over the three of them.

“What happened,” the Traveler demanded, walking up to him.

He sighed, seeming very old and tired. “It seems that Azhdaha has passed on.”

There was a moment,

“WHAT!” Paimon’s shriek echoed through the meadow.

“But, I thought you said that the energy from ki-” Zhongli raises a hand, interrupting her tirade.

“A normal death would result in a backlash that would level the entirety of Jueyun Karst, that is true.” He turned back to the edge of the crater, “But this is no normal death.”

The four of them peered over the edge of the crater.

A small bedraggled figure lay there in the center, their white clothing stained with dirt and soot.

“It seems,” he breathed, “that he’s given his energy to someone else before passing on.”

~~~

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

This one is a little shorter, but I just had to end it here, its such a perfect cliffhan- I mean ending.

Again, the next couple updates might take a while, but I promise I'm trying my best.

My askbox is always open if you have any question, concerns or just wanna chat about Genshin.

Behold, the taglist!

@bunniotomia,@lucid-stories, @ymechi, @chocogi, @ra404, @ash1, @esthelily, @tottybear, @mmeatt, @quacking-simp, @reemthetheme, @universallyenthusiastsage, @resident-cryptid, @fantasyhopperhea, @thedevioussmirk, @etherisy, @naynayaa ,@mel-star636, @chericia, @aithane, @mmeatt, @xrosegorex

#genshin impact #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #sagau #genshin cult au #My writing

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saatorubby · 2 years

Text

Cultural differences

Summary: Malleus's way of courting (dragon fae style) creates a misunderstanding between the two of you.

Or in which lilia is an old man™ and is having the time of his life.

A/n: In honor of the announcement of chapter 7, I decided to post this early. May all of you dragon simps get your dragon man. (it's me, I'm the dragon simps)

Genre: fluff

Pairings: Malleus Draconia x reader

Warnings: second person pov, you/your pronouns, gn!reader

"Lilia, child of man doesn't make sense." Malleus was munching on fries, with a pout on his face. He was apparently, what lilia called 'sulking'. Let me assure you he was not! Absolutely not!

Lilia brought up his hand to his face to stifle a chuckle that escaped him at the sulking fae prince, who put another one of the fries in his mouth.

Lilia finds situations like these quite entertaining, he loves observing the youth of today. They are peculiar, to say the least.

Though lilia understands malleus's crisis, he couldn't help but be amused.

After all, how many times do you see a powerful fae at his knees for a magic-less human he befriended in an abandoned building.

"Well, tell me what happened," Lilia said with as much seriousness he could muster and put his teacup down.

Malleus' eyes lit up and he visibly perked up about getting the chance to talk about how he have been trying to court you.

"I took prefect for a walk with me in the woods behind ramshackle where we danced to once upon a dream." He lets out a dreamy sigh, his chin resting on the back of his hand.

What a wonderful night that was.

The sky seemed jewel studded with how many stars there were. Your warm hand in his considerably colder ones. An impulse to hold you closer. So he asked you for a dance to which you delightfully agreed, blush adorning your face. He will never forget the night when you two sang the greatest love song in all of the twisted wonderland together while dancing.

Eyes his went to your lips many times, but he was afraid he would scare you if became too bold so he restrained himself.

"It was good until that but then I tried to give them jewels from my treasury as a token of my affection, but they keep refusing! I don't know what I've done to anger them. I just wish to mend our relationship, lilia." Malleus let out a defeated sigh his lips formed into an adorable pout.

Lilia knew the meaning of the word treasury, what malleus really meant was his hoard. Like every good dragon, malleus has a hoard as well. It has all of the knick-knacks malleus collected over the long period he has been in twisted wonderland.

Let it be jewels worth millions of madols or a weird thing he found on the street, all of them has a special place in his hoard. He was allowed to take a part of it with him to Night Raven College when he came, the rest is in his treasury room in the palace of Briar Valley.

Lilia, who was far older than Malleus and well aware of human courting traditions, couldn't help but laugh endearingly at the young prince. He then adjusted his expression, looking fondly at the child he had raised, who had now become so old that he has his first love!

Oh...Lilia distantly remembers the feeling of falling in love for the first time, he doesn't remember his first love anymore, for their existence had been erased by the cruel, cruel time that doesn't spare anybody, but he does remember how he felt with them and how gentle they were with him.

At the time he was a battle-hardened General, a war hero, not exactly used to kindness, but he remembers that they were far kinder than anybody he had met before, even now after a few centuries later, he has yet to meet someone like them.

Lilia pulled himself back from memories of long forgotten past and turned to his prince.

"Malleus, they are human." Lilia said simply.

"I am aware lilia, I still dont see what I could have done to have them cross with me." Malleus gave lilia a half-hearted glare.

"Malleus, they are human. You are trying to court them like how dragons court their mate. They don't know how dragons court their mate. They aren't familiar with your courting methods." Lilia nodded towards malleus sipping on his tea, and malleus' eyes widened in realization. Of course! How could he have been so foolish!

Malleus shot lilia a grateful look and said a simple "thank you." And headed out to find you. He must fix this. He has to.

So, you weren't even aware that he was trying to court you? He let out a chuckle.

Of course, why didn't he think of it before? Oh yes, he was too engrossed in drowning in his misery that he didn't notice.

Well, he supposes it's not all lost, after all. He could just explain things, but ah! Humans don't receive precious jewels as a confession of their feelings.

He does have other ideas as to what to give you.

You were coming back from your class, after a long and exhausting day. Professor Trein had given you to write a ten-thousand-word essay on The Human-Fae War that happened in early 1300's.

Your face bloomed into an amused smile as grim grumbled about ace taking his sandwich. You let out an exasperated sigh. They may be idiots, but they are your idiots.

You got grim settled in the bed quickly. He was complaining about not getting enough sleep the whole way back and got yourself settled on the couch in the living room.

You took out your homework, your assignment sheets as well as books you've borrowed from the library and got to work.

It was fascinating really, how two species that hated each other so much could come together like this. Humans and Fae...they have a long-standing history of hate and slaughter. It's gruesome.

The war went on for almost a century.

You were halfway through the essay when, from the corner of your eyes, you saw green fireflies shimmering in your garden. You abandoned your work to greet your friend who, you're pretty sure, has been avoiding you for the past few days.

"Tsunotaro."

"Child of man."

The two of you stared at each other for a minute. Trying to read each other, either by expressions or literally trying to read thoughts in Malleus's case. (He would never do this without your permission, but he was contemplating it)

"Look I-"

"Child of man I-"

"...."

"You go first."

"You can go first."

You scratched the back of your neck with an air of awkwardness surrounding you.

"Okay...tsunotaro, I don't know what I did so that you got mad at me but I am sorry."

Malleus' eyes widened in bewilderment.

"Child of man...I thought you were cross with me." You thought he was angry with you...? A small tender smile formed on his black-painted lips. A smile that was much different from his usual teasing smile followed by a taunting remark. How the corners gently tilted upwards, a sparkle in his eyes that reflected an emotion you couldn't yet place, but you were sure that your eyes reflected the same.

Small laughter bubbled out of his mouth, and not being able to help it you let yourself chuckle with him.

The sound of his laughter was so alluring that you were left wondering whether he had put a spell on you.

Little did you know he wondered the same about you. You had either bewitched him or he was a fool, a fool in love.

"Well, then, I shall make it up to you, beastie. Would you do me the honor of granting me your company for a stroll in the woods once again?" Malleus asked, gallantly. He was quite over the top with his dramatics -posing in a bow, holding out a hand for you to take- while smiling teasingly.

"I would love to, tsunotaro." You couldn't help but chuckle at the dragon fae's antics. Taking his arm you strode along with him to the woods behind Ramshackle.

A gentleman as ever, Malleus produced something in his arm but hid it behind his back before you could take a peek.

"Hey! No fair!" You pouted, seeing your adorable face the future king couldn't help but smile endearingly.

"You shall wait patiently beastie. Patience is a virtue," he said as you strode towards your and Malleus's special place.

He had taken you there for a walk before once. It was a beautiful, beautiful night. Perhaps you should say magical.

Malleus had taken your hand and invited you for a dance. Holding you close like you were the most precious treasure he has ever held. Spinning you around like a fairytale prince (which he was). Your eyes went to his dark-painted lips many times that night, wishing to have a taste of what you thought to be the most forbidden fruit this world had to offer.

You danced and sang one of the songs from your home. Your eyes went to your eyebrows in surprise that the very same song existed here. Malleus seemed fond of the song as well. You could see his bright green eyes soften every time a word of the lyrics left his lips.

"We are here," he announced. You looked around, finding it hard to imagine such a place could be near the desolate place you had come to call your home.

It was a mountain stream. Beautiful, clear water flowed down the steep grades. Shining moonlight above it, making the water in it shine like stars had been brought down to earth.

"Child of man," Malleus quietly pulled you out of your daze. "I brought this for you." He said, but before he could bring out whatever he had been hiding behind his back, you fixed him a stern look.

"Mal, I told you that I can-" before you could say another word, his hand-that he had placed upon your mouth- cut you off.

"I know," Malleus began with an uncharacteristically tender look on his face. "Lilia explained that humans do not court as we do. So I have brought you this." He removed the hand from your mouth and brought out a bouquet from his back.

They were gorgeous, the flowers. The bouquet consisted of red and pink asters. You chuckled, you couldn't have picked more perfect flowers yourself, they were gorgeous but not enough to distract you from the meaning of them and his words from before.

Seeing your joyous reaction, Malleus's eyes filled with hope. "Child of man, I-" he started but before he could get out another syllable, you put your hand on his mouth and cut him off. Amusedly watching as his eyes widened in surprise, clearly not used to people cutting him off, especially in such a familiar manner.

"I would love to, Tsunotaro."

I wish I had a malleus.

Edit: for clarification pink asters mean sensitivity and love and red aster means undying devotion

#twisted wonderland #twst #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia x reader #twst malleus draconia #diasomnia #twst lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #malleus draconia x gn!reader #twst disney #disney's twisted wonderland #disney tw #twst x gn reader

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