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themotherofhorses · 1 year

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pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

warnings: explicit language. secret relationship. nsfw smut. lactation kink. breeding kink. mentions of previous pregnancies. absolute fluffy and simpy shit because aemond is head-over-heels for his handmaid.

notes: okay so no one asked for this shit, but please enjoy this lil smutty drabble I randomly decided to whip up before my pilates. thanks. love y'all. mwuah.

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

Prince Aemond prefers his nighttime baths with heat.

It is something you’ve learned as his personal handmaid.

“Mine is the house of the dragon,” he once told you while watching you fill-up the bath with hot water from the kitchen. It was your first night acting as his servant, and you were terrified of making any foolish mistake. But there was a proud smirk on his lips when he said it and a strange gleam in his eye too. You had mentioned your fear of accidentally burning the prince aloud, and he shook his head at that, demanding a hot bath. “It can never be too hot for a Targaryen. The fire is in my blood, sweet girl.”

And now you empty the last of the hot kitchen water into the tub, slowly running your fingers through the water before reaching for the fragrant oils- new ones from Essos, gifted to the family by an old Tyroshi merchant. The older prince liked the way they smelled. So did you.

Soon comes a soft knock at the door. “Is my bath ready?” Prince Aemond asks, standing beneath the archway. He is without his leather eyepatch, and his sapphire catches the dim candle lighting. You stand to your feet and bow your head, nodding. “Good,” he mumbles, tugging his cotton tunic over his head and unbuttoning his pants, “I trust it is still hot?”

“Yes, my prince, just the way you like. I had just finished scenting the waters before you arrived,” you say, taking his hand to help him into the tub. True to your words, the water is scalding hot, but Aemond neither flinches nor cries out; instead, he sighs in delight as he sinks himself further into the water. You wash his long, silver-pale hair and gently comb out the tangles and snags, all in silence as he keeps his head tilted and eyes closed.

It is a soft moment, intimate and peaceful, and you notice the hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Do you wish for me to wash your back as well, my prince?” you ask.

He shakes his head.

When his hair is clean, you sit back and gently undo the knot around your neck that holds up your plain servant’s gown. Aemond twists to watch as the cloth falls down your shoulders, leaving you bare and beautiful before his very eye. He finds himself unable to tear his gaze away from your breasts, still heavy with milk and incredibly sensitive and soft and heavenly to behold. “C’mere,” he whispers, pulling you close to bury his face within your chest.

“You are so beautiful,” he hums, glancing up at you while brushing a finger against your swollen nipple. “The most beautiful woman in the world,” and he brings it to his hot mouth, sucking at it. You gasp, entangling your hand in his wet hair as you press his face closer, arching your back. His hand tweaks and pinches your other nipple, stirring a flood of high-pitched, loud moans and whimpers. “Beautiful and all fucking mine,” he slaps at your breast- once, twice, three times before switching his mouth to suckle there. Your milk soon floods his mouth, and the delicious taste leaves his poor, aching cock too hard and damned painful for him to ignore.

Aemond has you suddenly on your feet, flushed and trembling, poor knees ready to buckle at any second, before guiding you into the bath. Like him, you do not flinch or wince from the heat, and it makes him so fucking proud, settling you over him and grabbing at your hips, too impatient, wanting nothing more than to sink himself into you.

“My seed has done you well,” he blusters in awe, marveling at your beauty. “My sons have given you their fire as well, it seems.”

You smile, rocking your hips back and forth. “I am merely your humble servant, my prince,” you giggle, dropping your face low to collect his lips in a hot, wet kiss. Meanwhile, your thighs shake, and your pretty face soon scrunches up in pure bliss as you take his fat cock deep in your belly with little bounces. “Who am I to deny my prince…!” you gasp out, gripping his shoulders as he wraps his own arms tight around you, jackhammering into your pussy. It causes water to splatter outside the tub in tiny puddles.

“No,” he grunts, sliding a hand up to your neck to press you downwards as close to him as possible. Your forehead flattens against his as you do your best to match his thrusts, eyes locking with his. Aemond’s stare- it is intense and passionate, and you cannot break away. “No,” he repeats through a hiss, knotting his other hand within your damp hair, feeling your heavy breasts brushing against his chest. “Not just a-a fucking servant,” he says, slipping a hand between your thighs to find your clit with his thumb, “You’re my fucking everything. All fucking mine. Imma put another babe in your belly so that everyone fucking knows who you belong to.”

Aemond looks down to see the slightest bulge of his cock, pushing in and out of your soaking cunt. You hiccup, pretty eyes red and teary and glazed-over as you nod feverishly, kissing him again. “Please-please-please-please,” you babble, heavy pants against his mouth as you unashamedly plead and beg and cry, “I-I want- I need it- please, please, I need it again.”

His thrusts quicken at the mental image of you with another swollen belly, trailing after him as his devoted and sweet handmaid. Once again, you’ll be glowing with motherhood, absolutely gorgeous, leaving lowborn bastards to stare at him with sheer envy. “People are going to look at you, my sweet girl,” he pants, his thrusts growing sloppily as he feels himself ready to cum. “They’re gonna know that babe in your belly is mine. All mine. Your back is gonna ache, and your tits will leak, and it will be because of me.”

His hot mouth glides across your jawline, down to your neck, leaving countless bites and bruises. You’re much too beautiful like this. “I want our next one to look just like you,” he mutters, pinching your clit between two fingers. You shriek, flinging your head back at the pleasure spiking up your spine. “Can you do that for me, sweet girl? My lady, my love. Give me a babe that looks like you?” He slams his mouth down on yours again in a heavy and wet kiss, sucking on your tongue.

When he pulls away, his fingertips run across your bottom lip as he leans to kiss your forehead, feeling your cunt tighten around his cock. A new babe will soon join his precious twins sleeping in the nursery. He smiles at the thought. “I want a daughter,” he whispers, “-who looks exactly like my pretty handmaid so that the entire fucking world knows how much I love her.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond smut #aemond drabble #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #handmaid!reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #vic writes 🧸

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yandere-wishes · 9 months

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‧ ₊˚✧ Do Not Weep Hydro Dragon ‧ ₊˚✧

Summary: There's a crack in Neuvillette's heart that bares your name. He sheds a tear for you each day. Yet once you return to Fontaine with your fiance. The cracks and tears begin to grow.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, stalking, arranged marriages, affairs.

Author's note: I'm sorry 😭💔😭💔

There've been rumors circling around Fontaine. Ghostly whispers floating between coral-tainted lips and fervid ears. The rumors spoke a bittersweet name. One Neuvillate had long since buried. At first, the notion of your return had felt like a bad dream. like the roar of a tsunami before it crashes on shore. Terrifying yet, ultimately unreal. He'd summed the rumors up to some traveler who bore your mien. To an erroneous article by the steam bird. Anything. anything at all.

Anything that wasn't you.

It wasn't until after a particularly grueling trial that he'd witnessed the truth behind these rumors. There you were in all you're glory. Gleaming akin to the finest pearls laying dormant in the primordial sea. Your expression, when he could catch it, was gleeful, delighted, A drastic contrast to his last unfortunate memory of you. His eyes follow the delicate movement of your gloved hand as it stifles a cheery giggle pouring from your cherry lips. It's only after noting your delight that he becomes conscious of the gentleman accompanying you. A ginger with bloodthirsty eyes and a soul that reeks of carnage.

A splash of heat rolls down Neuvillet's cheek. Right before a splash of cold splatters across his temples. his attention narrows on the sky, as the

clouds begin to weep. What once was a peaceful sunny day shatters like a wine glass on porcelain tiles. Humidity threads through the air robbing him of his breath.

It's raining.

How fitting, Neuvillette thinks as he watches you and your companion run to find shelter.

Neuvillette recalls your smile almost as clearly as he recalls your pulse under his teeth. The taste of your flesh as his teeth left bloody love bites in every wrong place. He remembers saying I love you, albeit there was more to it than that. It had started with I love you and ended with every truth he'd forgotten how to tell. He had shed his human masquerade, in the hope of finding true love. You had screamed that night. You had screamed every night since.

Neuvillette thumbs through his memories. As the rain outside grows more ferocious. He remembers you standing by the sea, he remembers you telling him the phobias that ran deeper than blood.

You hadn't been from Fontaine, not originally. A fallen gear from an ancient automaton whose kin resided across the sea.

You'd been raised in the ways of the hydro court. Even if 'raised; was too generous a word. Morphed or sculpted may have been more appropriate synonyms. You grew up clawing at your own skin, trying to find who was underneath the layers of mindless expectations. You'd been raised as a lady and grew into a harrowing beast that feasted on the stars.

Yet even creatures of unparalleled strength had their weaknesses. Even ever-blessed vision wielders bore a certain Achilles heal.

Yours so happened to be your incompatibility with your foster nation. Or rather with the water itself.

When people asked, as some had tended to do. You'd weaved them tales about serrated Pisces and dorsal-finned leviathans with open maws awaiting their prey. You don't tell them about the vastness, the dark blue landscape that feels all too wide and all too endless. You don't tell them about the things you swore you've seen lurking beneath the infinite waters of Fontaine. And you most certainly leave out the parts about the creature who engraved fear upon your bones many moons ago before you even knew how to walk.

Neuvillette remembers your eagerness to leave. That had, ultimately, been your bonding point. He'd been an outcast. The supreme justice was ever only relevant when he upheld the law. And whilst Supreme Justice Neuvillette was revered and adored by all. Plain Neuvillette was nothing more than a shadow of evaporated water that hunted the streets of Fontaine. You had never wanted to mingle with the people. Keeping everyone at arm's length. Maybe it was fate that had brought two lonely souls together all those moons ago. Maybe it was something else.

He had loved you. He swears it on the Hydro archon ( or any other Archon who lacks Furina's fickleness) He'd tried to show you that the waters of Fontaine meant you no harm. He'd even shown you his true form, the utmost assurance. Maybe that's why you fled. Maybe that's why you'd left him heartbroken one morning when the sun didn't rise.

It had rained that day. As well as the following days. Until the surrounding islands ceased to exist.

You'd left him hollow and alone.

Yet your return made the cracks in his heart fester.

Neuvillette had taken it upon himself to cloak you in his watchful gaze.

He'd come to notice how you and that dreadful Fatui Harbinger you'd come to associate yourself with. Rather liked taking long walks

where the sea kissed the shore. He'd also noticed a ring of Snezhnaya Alexandrite perpetually wrapped around your finger.

Neuvillette's footsteps are heavy as they collide with the concrete. He's closer today. So close he can practically smell the scent of citrus and eucalyptus. If he reached out with his powers he could surely touch you, feel the warmth of your body bleeding into him, just like old times. He misses you, yet a part of him pities your return. Neuvillette's grey eyes follow your desolate gaze. It rips open one too many wistful wounds.

"So then Teucer said...Hey darling are you listening?"

Childe's eyes follow your frozen glare, tracing your line of sight straight to the menacing waters that refuse to part from your side. You hear your lover mumble a faint 'right'. Before you feel his silk-clad fingers dance across the back of your neck. Flirting with the chilling fear that rolls off you in waves. You pin your body to him, finding comfort in the familiar scent of his cologne as you bury your head in his neck.

"I'm truly sorry for this darling" Sincerity rolls off his tongue, percolating into the tender kiss he presses to your temple. "I've just been feeling...down lately. Like this inexhaustible sadness is going to swallow me whole. Fontaine was the only place I could convince the Tsaritsa to transfer me for a short while. I just, I need a break from it all." You answer him in a low melodic hum. You get it, truly you do. Sadness is a poison, acidic in nature. It engulfs one's soul. Melting away their purpose, their resolve. Eating away until it reaches their hearts, their desires. It leaves behind empty shells and broken pieces too fragile to ever fully mend.

Who better than you to understand the pains of being soulless, bereft? A mere shell awaiting a miracle that had died long ago.

There's a voice, carved from velvet and silk. It rolls across you like a tidal wave. Potent yet soft. It whispers your name and calls out in hopes of mending broken hearts. You turn to look behind you. All you see is the endless sea.

It's only on the fourth day of your visit that Neuvillette permits you to see him. Actually, see him. It's no longer his ghost that haunts you nor the empty waves that he commands beckoning you by name. It's him, really him. His glare is relentless as he leaves a prolonged kiss on your knuckles. You're in the middle of a conversation with that dreaded harbinger. Something about his older sister wishing to take to shopping upon your return to Snezhnaya.

"My darling it's been all too long, how fare thee my-"

He's cut short, how rude. Yet far be it from him to expect proper mannerisms from the Fatui.

"Hey, I'm having a conversation with my betrothed. Don't interrupt." Childe's eyes morph into his own glare. One which promises blood and violence. The fates of those caught on the other end of said glare are never pleasant.

"As the chief justice of Fontaine, I have to right to interrupt any conversation I see fit."

Despite yourself, you let out a laugh. Choke the fear down with a cup of Fonta and ask Neuvillette to join the two of you. It's the nostalgia talking really. Some remnants of the past collide with the present causing your heart to adopt an unsteady rhythm.

It's after that event that Neuvillet permits his presence to be seen by you and your "lover". He's always a mere breath away, following under the guise of being a gracious "tour guide". But tour guides do not wrap their arms around a lady's waist when her fiance isn't looking. Nor do they sneak kisses behind open parasols. You haven't protested about any of this. Maybe your fear of the hydro dragon has perished, replaced with a yearning for your former lover. He prays to every star in Tyvat for this to be true.

It's on the day of your departure that you receive the bad news in the form of an army of Gardemeks. Childe is being arrested, something about a serial disappearance case. Something about a trial. It's a ruse you feel it in your bones. Neuvillette personally appears at the docks and holds you in his arms as you weep. He assures you this will all be cleared up soon. That you have nothing to fear.

But you do, you have all so much to fear. Neuvillette permits you to stay at his house whilst the trial takes place. He traces the shimmering blue of your veins with his lips. He says he loves you, that he refuses to let you slip from between his fingers ever again. He'll keep you here. Keep you safe. Away from the Fatui.

Away from Ajax.

How he wishes he could tear the universe apart with his teeth. Part the oceans and bury the two of you under it. He dreams of keeping you by his side away from everyone else. Neuvillette is the chief justice of Fontaine, it's a prestigious role, one that demands trust. Yet maybe, just this once. He'll have to find the accused guilty regardless of the evidence.

Tag list: @rebeccawinters @fangirl-katwithclaws @starshiningsirius

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dreamofjoys · 7 months

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DAY 3 KINKTOBER 2023

7 min in heaven? More like 7 days inside you!

Main Masterlist + Rules / Next Day of kinktober (4)

A/N: Please read the rules on my kinktober 2023 main masterlist before proceeding. Rule breakers will be blocked.

Characters involved (separated): Malleus draconia(TWST), Wriothlesly(Genshin), Ayato(Genshin), Nanook(HSR), Luo Cha(HSR)

Sypnosis: After getting officially married, you and your husband decided to finally go to your long awaited 7 days honeymoon in a resort at private island specially reserved by your husband! Those 7 days were meant to be fun and relaxing, but why are you so tired by the end of it?

C/W: Public pool seggs, fem reader, dubcon, reader wearing bikini, choking(malleus), no prep, teasing, nearly get caught (ayato), ya'll got caught in nanook's part, npc death (nanook), luocha calls you a liar

BY OPENING THE TAB BELOW, YOU CONSENT TO READ DC/SMUT WRITING + HAVE READ THE RULES

Day 3 Scenario

"Mhmmm, it's nice seeing you wear something like this once in awhile." Your husband compliments, eyeing your body up and down like a hungry beast. You are currently wearing a set of matching black laced bikini that hugs your body in the perfect shape while your husband is only wearing a simple black trunks. “Of course! I specially bought this set while I was out shopping, it looks pretty nice right?” You gave your husband a quick twirl of your outfit, smiling sheepishly at his flustered reaction of your boobs and ass bouncing. “Let’s not start something that we can’t stop, wife.” Your husband mumbles under his breath, but you paid no attention to him as you dived straight into the pool, beckoning him to join you. He follows you suit after, jumping into the pool with a loud whoosh as the water splashes onto you. You laughed, playfully splashing water back at him while avoiding the water that was being splashed towards you. "Oh no, a monster is trying to catch me!" You shouted at your husband, faking a tear and pretending to be scared as you "desperately swim away" from him, who was the supposedly monster. "Tsk, naughty girl." With one powerful kick of his legs, your husband instantly plunges himself forward, swiftly catching up to you. "Got my prey now." He mocks at you in a teasing manner, hugging you from the back to "catch" you. "H-hey! Let me go!" You laughed, squirming in his hold that seemingly tightens whenever your ass accidentally rubs onto his cock. "Wife," his hot breath fans over your ear, a hand sliding down to cup on your sex while the other holds onto your waist tightly. "I am going to claim my prize now."

𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗨𝗦 𝗗𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗔

You should have known that dragons are hunters that likes to devour their prey in an instant. Malleus is definitely not an exception. Despite being in a public pool, he has no problem tearing off your underwear, stuffing it into your mouth while his hand snakes forward to grab on your throat, forcing you to stand upright.

Malleus pulls his trunks down slightly, enough to just free his member from restraints before slamming it into your pussy. Why bother prepping you when you are so used to this?

"Mffmmm hnnng-" You tried to tell your husband that this is a public area and that really, anyone could catch you right now! But all you can do is to moan pathetically on your underwear while your husband fucks you upright in the pool. His free hand fondles on your breast, occasionally pinching onto your nipples and laughing when he feels you clench around him.

"My mate is so pretty~"

𝗪𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗟𝗬

"Th-thats very unprofessional of you! Wrio-" You gasped again when the tip of his cock kisses onto your cervix, making you squeeze tightly around him as you came in an instant.

"Dear, I think the pool water is going to taste like you now." Wriothlesly snickers, pulling his cock out with the tip just touching onto your labia before slamming himself back in, the water around you ripples rapidly at his powerful thrust. "Fuck!"

"Language, dear. What if people catch us?"

"B-but you are the one who started this! Hnng-" You were sure that nothing can convince your husband to stop fucking you in the pool when you caught sight of his wild lusted eyes staring back at you while fucking you into oblivion. Of course, Wriothlesly would definitely find joy in fucking you in the pool in your bikini outfit and watching you getting anxious at the thought of getting caught and drowning - not like he would let it happen to you.

𝗞𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢 𝗔𝗬𝗔𝗧𝗢

"W-why are we do-doing this again?Ya-yato." Your face was flushed in a deep red as Ayato's cock slides in and out of you in an agonizingly slow pace. Your back was leaning on the edge of the pool, legs wrapping around Ayato's waist for support as he fucks you slowly.

"You just look delicious in this outfit, wife." Ayato pants, before diving in to give you a passionate kiss on the lips. You moaned into his mouth when his cock abruptly touches onto your sweet spot. You tighten your legs around him, hoping to pull him close so that his cock can once again give you the touch of heaven that you need.

In the corner of your eye, you saw a couple of black figure walking past. You instinctively tried pulling away but the iron grip on your ass says otherwise.

"Don't pay attention to them, sweetie. I am the main focus here."

𝗡𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗢𝗞

The Aeon of Destruction pays no attention to your whines. He strips off your bikini and his trunks in an instant, letting the articles float on the pool as he maneuvers you into missionary position. Nanook literally folds you half, letting your back rest on the edge of the pool while fucking you relentlessly.

You want to yell at his sudden actions, but all that fell out of your lips was high pitched moans and the screams of his name. Nanook knows how to make the both of you feel good. He knows that one angle and position to aim for that gets your toes curling and eyes rolling to the back. The exact depth he should fuck himself in just to have your pussy walls grip onto his cock like a personal cock sleeve before coming all over him.

"Hey! You can't do this in public!" Somebody tried to stop the both of you, but one look from Nanook is all it takes for that person to burst into flames, leaving nothing behind but ashes.

Your mind was too fucked to process that you have just been caught and Nanook had just killed someone for stopping his fucking session.

𝗟𝗨𝗢 𝗖𝗛𝗔

"Let's do it discreetly, shall we?"

"H-how about we don't do this at all?" You shyly glanced at Luocha who only laughs at your suggestion.

"There's a first time for everything, wife."

"Lies! We did this yesterday for breakfast too!" You pout, wondering why your husband has been having such high hormones.

Many would think that Luocha was just purely back hugging you like a clingy golden retriever. Little do they know, he has your panties pulled to the side, his cock already found it's way to your insides. "But you like it when I do this, right?" With one hip thrust from your husband, you let out a sweet moan that only fuels the beast inside him to do it again.

"I like it be-better when we do it on bed." Luocha only smirks at your statement, hands reaching down to toy your clit, rubbing it in circular motions.

"Why are you lying? You just squeezed on my cock as if my actions are turning you on."

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rockingbytheseaside · 2 months

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✦ Moonlit Tides

Tw: slightly suggestive themes hinted at the end. Otherwise, SFW. Idk what this is, just an artistic literary piece of a fanfic w/ Neuvi

“The Chief Justice of Fontaine must exercise impartiality, thus he cannot form intimate relationships with the people of Teyvat.”

… Is what Neuvillette told you, as you sat ashore during a still night. Although his words were directed at your curiosity, it felt more like he was speaking to himself, recalling his duties as a judge. After all, remaining objective and unbiased is the single most crucial concept that sets the Chief Justice apart from the common folk.

At least, for the 500 years that he’s been the Iudex of Fontaine.

Yet something about the tone of what he said pulled a melancholic string. His eyes remained on the still waters of Liffey Region, the peaceful silence between you and him sublime. Yet you stood there, beside him, and in a completely relaxed manner, you said:

“...But I’m not from Teyvat.”

A simple answer, really. However, the silence followed was not so subdued, as Neuvillette turned to stare at you with widened eyes. Of course, you’re not from this world, you hail from beyond the stars; a simple glance at your star-shaped pupils reflects the truth of this statement.

So why was Neuvillette pondering the possibility only now? He knew that about you, that’s why he recruited your aid in Fontaine, that’s why he let you close as a confidant, that’s why he often poured his troubles to you behind closed doors during late nights. You knew the taste of the Hydro Dragon’s tears.

But the Chief Justice sought more. On paper, his impartiality means nothing when it comes to you - he cannot judge you, and you cannot be placed on the same scales as the people of Teyvat. Thus the Hydro Sovereign took it upon himself to place you on the scales of his heart.

At first, It began discreetly. Neuvillette would often invite you for late-night walks by the beach. Away from the courthouse’s commotion, the two of you would stroll and chat away past Marcotte station, letting the salty breeze serenade your minds. Even more so often, The Iudex hand would clasp yours to keep you closer.

“Take a step with me into the water.” - he would later ask one day.

He knew of your resonance with hydro, therefore diving into Fontaine’s sea must be harmless for you. He would extend his plam and wait for you to bask your feet into shore. Although you initially gave him a hesitant look, he beckoned you closer. “Only to relish the water’s coolness. We don’t have to dip any lower past our knees.” - he would reassure. And so you two would often dip your toes in water during the warm nights, letting his gentle grasp lead you further from shore. It became a routine, and surprisingly, not a single drop of rain would pour from Fontaine’s clouds. Instead, the two of you would be greeted with a clear, starry sky; and Neuvillette worshiped the way your gaze shone when you observed the stars above. The endless cosmos paralleled your star-shaped pupils.

But days standing ashore wasn’t enough for his draconic instincts, which led Neuvillette to invite you underwater. To stand on the open surface didn’t satiate him, any human could eavesdrop on your tête-à-tête by night. Thus, you would often follow him to the depths of Fontaine's seas, surrounded by lush seaweed and blooming Romaritime flowers. He would hold you close in his protective embrace, leading you to the sandbed of the depth where many Lumitoile starfish are scattered. Like the stars in the sky, you would be in awe at them, too.

Many nights, he would spend with you leisurely exploring the profundity of the seas, talking about the many curiosities one would find in the deep. He would gift you with small chunks of raw pearls, or compel you to enjoy finding seashells. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason he would swim with you here. The underwater provided ample privacy… and ample noise reduction.

Words didn’t need to be spoken anymore. His lips would seek your own, knowing you’d provide relief to the turbulence in his heart. Only you knew the taste of the Hydro Dragon’s tears, after all. Neuvillette’s body and intuition screamed for him to keep courting you, albeit not in the same sense as mortals do. That’s why he invited you to many peaceful walks by the water, that’s why he valued your company when sea gazing or star gazing at night, and that’s why he slowly warmed you up to his numerous gifts and trinkets, consisting of luminescent pearls and ancient seashells. Because his leviathan side was unintentionally pursuing you.

In the depth of the ocean, where minimal sea light pierced through and no human dared to venture, the hydro dragon sovereign would love you, relishing your muffled whimpers and shivers. His keen sense of smell picks up your scent and savors it until your pheromones and cries are mixed with his heat. Body and soul entangled on the soft seabed, and Neuvillette’s sharp teeth desiring your skin. At least, for these tender moments in the depth of the world, he could forget he was the impartial Chief Justice.

Ultimately, you’re not from Teyvat, and only you were a witness to his biased side - a passionate and delicate dragon, whose sharp eyes always lingered on yours and sought you. Like the ocean tides pulled by the moon's unreachable allure.

Yes, the title is inspired by Fontaine's OST "Moonlit Tides". As always, any art in my writing is my own artwork. thank you for reading so far.

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #dragon neuvillette #gender neutral reader #neuvillette fluff #fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fanfic

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littleprincepaladin · 5 months

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i don't think people in the fandom talk enough about how stupidly traumatising the abduction and the whole nautiloid thing must've been for Tav... or, really, any of the characters that were there. like i don't think its even ever addressed in the game, at least to my knowledge? so have this soft Raphael thingie, comfort for the nightmares.

------

Tav tossed and turned, bedsheets a mess below their stiffened limbs as heavy breaths escaped their throat. How long have it been? Months, years, maybe even a decade at this point? In dreams time is as elusive as a sea snake, just as slippery.

They relive it more often than they'd like to admit, but who wouldn't? The nautiloid was a nightmare. The scent of burning flesh, the slime on their hands mixing with blood, the faintest wriggling somewhere above their right eye.

Everything is unfamiliar, and they feel like a cornered animal. The painfully quick way their heart started to race and thud against their ribs, the blur in their vision as they looked out into the broken crimson wasteland that is Avernus. The cold realisation.

They taste the iron on their tongue, and the edges of their peripheral are soft and way too bright as they stumble their way out of the room, past the corpses and the tadpole sludge. They barely remember the gith woman's face, barely remember the trapped girl in one of the pods - have they saved her or not? Have they even got out?

Perhaps they got there too late, the dragon took the last strike and the vessel fell to the ground like a bird with an arrow through it's throat... perhaps it didn't. Did the ship fell into the depths of Hell, or has it fell onto the shore? Were they surrounded by imps and devils, or by goblins and the gnolls? Have they even made it out at all?

It wriggles somewhere underneath the surface, biting into the soft flesh, taking out chunks until it gets to the main course. Their brain is succulent, a perfect meal, a perfect nest. It's slimy tail wags with excitement as it crawls and crawls and crawls and crawls to the depths they never knew they had, bites into tissue they never felt before, and crawls once more.

They feel the skin of their face break and fall apart, they feel the bone of their jaw crack under the pressure of the tendrils as their body splits open, and its nothing but blood and gore and slime.

There is heat somewhere on their back, hellish heat, and Tav tenses as they try to get away even as their limbs won't listen. From the nautiloid, from the ash and the sulfur, from the war-torn land below as the vessel continues to fall.

They arrived too late to the helm, the illithid laid dead at the hellspawn's feet as it moved to take hold of them, and the heat got so much worse, surrounding, suffocating, they scream as the cambion grabs them, as they are pushed down into the ground, as the flaming sword comes closer to their rigid body and...

"Calm yourself," a familiar voice hisses somewhere at the back of their mind, and they snap awake, gasping for air as though they are a fish learning to breathe out of water. There is heat all around, including on their cheeks, trails of tears so hot they're convinced they will soon start to sizzle. But they stop thrashing about, their vision slowly coming back to sharp and clear as they open their eyes.

Raphael doesn't look pleased in the slightest. He looks irritated, face scrunched up in a scowl, his hair a mess as he holds them down, warmth prominent where his fingers almost bruise into their shoulders, where his claws leave faint marks. He's not particularly sorry about either of those.

"Quite done? Good," the devil chides, his voice hoarse and heavy with slumber as he holds them for a moment longer, and only then lays back down on his side of the bed, tail thumping against the mattress in annoyance. "One more stunt like this and I shall have you sleep on the floors of the dungeon instead," Raphael quips as he rubs his side, where Tav accidentally kicked him in their sleep, and from what it looks like, the kick was a critical success.

They look into the ceiling as they still lay there, cold sweat running down their forehead and slicking up the palms of their hands as their brain settles on one simple truth: it is over. It was over. Its been over for a while.

Nothing writhes behind their eye no longer, and the surrounding heat, although hellish... is familiar. Is comforting. Is his.

Raphael lets out a brief 'oof' as he is pulled almost painfully closer to the mortal, their arms tight around his body as Tav buries their nose in the crook of his neck, frantically breathing in the fading, faint smell of cherries. For them it's grounding, for the cambion not so much.

"Do refrain from testing my patience, mouse," he hisses through gritted teeth, but his voice carries less threat than he so obviously wants it to, instead being full of simple mortal exhaustion. But when they refuse to remove themselves from him, Raphael scoffs, relenting. They are lucky, right now anyhow.

The devil settles against them, hands coming down around their waist as he pulls them into a curled up embrace, his wings covering them like a crimson blanket. Raphael rests his cheek just above Tav's head, his nose against the pillow as he hears their breathing slowly start to even out and shuts his eyes.

Silence and darkness hangs over the two in a comfortable heavy weight, pressing down onto their bodies as the devil's heat renders Tav soft and numb, but they are far from sleepy now. They sigh into his throat, feeling the slightest stubble of his chin scratch ever so slightly against their forehead.

They don't want to close their eyes. That faint writhing and wriggling, it lingers somewhere in the depths of their subconsciousness, waiting in deceitful obedience. Tav spends what feels like an eternity just laying there, breathing in the cambion's scent.

"I dreamt of it," they whisper into his skin, and are surprised just how strained their voice sounds at that moment. Only then they realise the tears are still running down their cheeks, pooling onto the fabric of the pillow underneath and onto Raphael's neck. "Again... it's all of that again."

The noise in their ears subsides and they can hear their sobbing, and his breathing. Their eyes begin to sting as they try to calm down, but it makes the matters worse, their own breathing turning into sharp inhales once again, and as they breathe out it sounds like a quiet whimper everytime.

Tav tries to speak, but their words end up slurring together into an incoherent, quiet mess so much so even they themself don't understand what they wanted to say. They grip tight onto the devil's body, fingers finding the familiar ridges on his back, almost using them to cling onto sanity.

Raphael brings them close, his touch firm as he rests one hand against their cheek, brushing his thumb against the tear-stained redness of their skin. He sighs as he presses his own face against theirs, his breath hot.

"Quiet now, mouse," he lets out in a humm, his tone - a stone wall, cold, but just what a tired soul needs to lean on, and so they do. The claws against their scalp feels comforting as he brushes a lock of their hair behind their ear. "Don't mull over business long concluded, its unproductive."

They sniffle, and he grumbles in irritation and the want to go back to sleep.

"Not even the baldurians talk of it by now and yet your mind persists," Raphael scoffs, settling firmer against them as he hooks his leg over their own, practically trapping them in a haze of heat and crimson red. They welcome the pressure even when they feel the air leave their lungs from the sheer weight of the cambion.

So soft... it's not the first time Tav touches him like this, no, but the softness of his body surprises them everytime. They almost want to squeeze his thigh, affectionately. Perhaps another time.

He sighs against their face as he feels them calm in his arms, and lets his tail circle over their ankle, making it certain they cannot leave... or accidentally kick him again.

"Whoever touches you is sure to burn, little mouse. Now calm yourself," Raphael murmurs, closing his eyes, and only after a long moment of staring at his face does Tav, too, closes theirs.

"It's quite enough for you. Sleep."

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael the cambion #can you tell this wasn't proofread either #I'm not too fond of how I write his speech. but. ah well. I'll learn #because by the looks of it this horned bastard will be in my head for a while #istg if this also gets shadowbanned 😭

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twistedkans · 9 months

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j’en ai rêvé (part one)

→ Yandere! Neuvillette x Reader in which he receives a mysterious letter...

Warnings: Fontaine Spoilers? Not really. Dragon! Neuvillette, Reader isn’t human. Also writing this before the rest of the AQ is completed. (As of 4.0) Characters: Neuvillette, Sedene, + mysterious admirer... Word Count: 620 (A/N: I haven’t written something in a long time and I am quite sick but I hope this will suffice! The title is inspired off of the French rendition of ‘Once Upon A Dream’! :) Also, this is relatively slow-burn for this first part, but it will get more yandere later on. I promise! (Well, hopefully.) -🪞) Comment below if you would like to be added to the taglist.

The envelope being creased in the places that the Melusine had usually handled wasn't a surprise in the slightest to the Chief Justice, but how the paper was presented. It appeared to be tinted a sky blue with tasteful gold and white accents, a wax seal of a Romatime flower symbol pressed onto the back. When he opened the envelope, a dewy and aromatic perfume graced his sharp nostrils, surprising him.

It certainly wasn’t quite like any of the numerous letters of complaint and formal documents that sat neatly on his desk. It wasn’t like he hadn’t received such things before, but most of the time they were never forwarded to him. Most of the time, they contained feelings of confession or bribery within. And most of the time, his attendants weeded them out and threw them in the waste bin.

Why had this one been forwarded to him?

Curiosity festered in his mind, and he drew out the letter with a steady hand. This one hadn’t been typed up on one of the latest and most popular inventions in Fontaine, rather handwritten in a neat and calligraphic penmanship.

Greetings, Monsieur Neuvillette!

It is such a pleasure to know that this letter has graced your prestigious eyes, as I have made sure that no other being has touched this parchment other than you and I.

I am writing to you in great concern, as I have noticed that the rain storms have been very frequent and quite intense. While I usually do not mind the water, the amount and times it has been occurring is a little worrying. Have you been doing alright? Probably not.

I wish I could give you more care directly, but all I can say is that you are one of the strongest people I know, and I know it must be hard to keep being that way with how demanding your job is, even if you do not show your vulnerability outright. I know you feel that something is amiss.

Dry your tears, hydro dragon. Do not worry about yourself any longer.

I am here for you, and will watch over you as best as I can.

Warm regards,

Romatime.

(P.S. No need to write back! Fret not, I shall meet you soon.)

Neuvillette felt chills go down his spine, blankly staring at the contents of the letter. How did they know of his identity? How did they know of his feelings so well? He thought he had done a good job at hiding it, the only people knowing of this being Focalors and a select few of the Melusine that have heard his weeping from behind closed doors. Their ears were always sensitive to noise, no matter how muffled it may be.

He stood up from his cushioned seat, robe tassels touching the floor as he made his way to the door, and called for Sedene. She rushed over as quickly as she could, leaving her station, and approached his side.

“Yes, Monsieur Neuvillette? Whatever you need, I may help.”

“Thank you, Sedene.” He started, bringing out the letter. “Did you perhaps leave this on my desk this morning?”

Sedene thought it over, squinting at it and curiously touching her chin in thought. “No sir. I checked all of your documents and had your office cleaned this morning. I haven’t seen that before. I’m not sure who the sender is.”

“How intriguing. Whoever sent it didn’t write their name, only an alias. Could you possibly trace who sent this to me? I would like to talk to them.”

“Of course.” She bowed, and soon left his vicinity to pass the message on.

Whoever it was, they needed to be dealt with, and fast.

#˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ mod vivian #˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ j’en ai rêvé #genshin impact #yandere #yandere neuvillette #neuvillette #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #reader insert

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taki-yaki · 2 months

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Draconic Sorcerer Tav Headcanons

not an anon request this time but this was sitting on my wip for ages so I'll put it out now. Hope my fellow draconic sorcerer/dragonborn(?) fans.

As a draconic sorcerer, the blood that runs in your veins is filled to the brim with the magical potency of such grand beasts. The scales that lie across your skin are a clear sign to others of your ancestry.

Despite the power within you, it can’t transform you into a dragon but rather changes the physical appearance of your body, from the tips of your fingers becoming sharp-like claws, to your fangs ready to tear anything or one that stands in your path.

Many upon hearing of such graphic descriptions would tend to avoid your kind, but not Astarion, he’s enamoured with the way you look and act.

Astarion would be interested in your draconic tongue, listening as you speak to Gale and Lae’zel with each syllable hissing off the end of your tongue, akin to a growling beast, in comparison to the soft-spoken tone of elvish that he speaks in.

Later he tries to ask Lae’zel and Gale to teach him some draconic phrases, under the guise of wanting to learn such a uniquely rare language. Gale would attempt to teach him more simple dull phrases whilst Lae’zel would teach him phrases that mainly translated to battle cries. But soon he would tire of the dull lectures. Deciding to just stick to common instead.

After your first night together in the forest during the tiefling party, he would go around bragging about how he got to “ride” a dragon first before poor lae’zel. She’d quickly rebuttal with the threat to slice off his head, lest he continue with his antics.

When he drinks your blood, apart from getting a slight boost to his magic, the flavour changes based on your blood ancestry. acid has a slightly sweet-sour aftertaste, fire has a spicy flare, lighting leaves a jolting taste on his tongue and cold creates a slight tingly numb sensation.

Other elements of your ancestry also affect your day-to-day life, from fire blood making you his personal hot water bottle, full of blood. Or your cold blood, creates a faint aura of ice upon your skin, causing you to have Gale create an enchanted heated blanket to keep you both warm.

Using your wellspring of magic within your body, you attempt to twist the arcane magic that flows in your blood in an attempt to transfer some of your arcana magic into Astarion when he feeds from you. Mainly in the hopes of making him stronger in difficult fights.

However, this backfires causing your blood cells to temporarily produce faster, causing you to get Astarion to help. He does chastise you for doing something dangerous but doesn’t say no to the offer of having seconds of your blood in one day.

A few days later, you learn how to replicate the same spell, but on a lower scale, which assists in not only keeping Astarion well-fed but also stopping the effect of bloodless afterwards.

Some traits that emerge from your ancestry is the habit of hoarding objects, from gold coins to silver plates. Even taking one of Astarion’s spare nightshirts to sleep with much to his annoyance, so he tries to steal things from you in retaliation, which becomes an unspoken agreement between you two.

When your wings finally come through, he tries to help you become used to them, mainly in the hopes that you could fly him around places, eliminating the need to walk around all the time whilst carrying such a heavy pack.

Preening habits also start to be displayed, mainly done in an attempt to impress Astarion. Everyone at camp teases that Astarion has been rubbing off on you, with his usual morning beauty care routine usually holding everyone up some days. He would find this to be cute but attempts to get you to kick the habit, by brushing them for you.

“Darling, I know you want to take care of your wings, but would it kill you to just fix up your hair as well.”

In return, you show your affection by wrapping your wings around him both when you embrace each other, acting as a sort of comfort blanket to both of you.

If you’ve grown out a set of dragon-like claws, he does your nails if they get too sharp, ensuring that you don’t accidentally scratch yourself. And if you have a tail, similarly to tieflings, you would have a habit of wrapping your scaled tail around his leg, which he would endlessly tease you for.

Later on in your relationship, you both give each other unique pet names, you call him your Isk meaning star in your draconic tongue, whilst Astarion in return calls you his miniature dragon.“An elf and a miniature dragon, hmm quite the pair wouldn’t you say love?”

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x durge #astarion headcanons #bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate 3

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oncewhenalongtimeago · 9 months

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Always an Angel, Never the God Pt 2

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Runaway!Reader

Words: 3119

After a few months alone in the sky, you find yourself with an unlikely roommate.

Tags: Gender neutral/intended Female, Runaway Reader, Angst, Unrequited love, Requited love, Heartbreak, grief

You grind your teeth, eyes watering as a heavy booted foot pushes you down further into the wooden ship floor. The ship rocks angrily as does your dragon, struggling against the barbed netting.

“Who are you? A new vigilante?” The leading trapper, Erik son of Erik or something, asked, bending down above you. He had, coincidentally, been the one to shoot you down.

“Where is your… hideout?” He leaned down into your ear at your silence, speaking in a raspy whisper. You got the vague impression he was trying to be intimidating, though the end results were more in favor of making you blush.

You were thankful for the hard wood covering your face and, therefore, your embarrassment. Of your belongings, you were only able to manage a mask and had taken to running around ensconced in furs with nothing but a dagger to your name.

You’d recon you looked much like a wild animal, straddling your nadder bare of a saddle. You had not done too well on your own. It was hard. You had always been a team player if by team player you meant a leech on society. At least, you had been told so.

So of course you had, unwittingly, stumbled onto dragon trapping territory. Extreme sport dragon trapping territory. It didn’t help that you and your nadder hadn’t been on the same page, you two being unable to sync in the way you’d seen the other riders with their dragons, which left a bitter taste in your mouth.

He’d go left when you were trying for right, and when you finally decided to just go with it, he would change his mind and throw you for a complete loop. It was safe to say that even if you got out of this mess you never wanted to step foot on his back again.

You breathed a silent sigh of relief just as the trapper let out an annoyed one, stepping off of you in favor of yelling at his men for damaging their goods. Meaning, your nadder. Was he really yours, though? He did try and make a break for it without you.

While debating whether or not you should try at the ropes shackling your arms together, you grunt frustratedly, noticing a new tear in your garb.

After running away and getting captured, you had not expected to be kidnapped again by some insane-looking madman in a mask. Though you did look like two of a kind, so it was fitting.

Your nadder had its wings torn irreparably, so, unfortunately, you had to retire him early.

You found small comfort in that it hadn’t abandoned you on the ship that one final time, though the irony that it had led you here was not lost on you.

He visited sometimes. He took to life in the sanctuary very well.

You didn’t, a borderline prisoner before you’d been able to win over the trust of the resident feral gorgon. Sort of. She was a woman who let you see her face, more on accident than anything else. You hadn’t let her see you or hear yours. However you weren’t inclined to speak of her nicely, least of all in your head, after the number of weeks you spent trapped in a cave at her behest.

Finally, you’d been let out. Let out enough to walk more than just the short stretch of stone and greenish ice that made up your prison. The endless turquoise was beginning to make you sick.

Recently, you found a real friend in the sanctuary, and this dragon, it was truly yours. Affectionately named, fed and groomed, you two were almost inseparable. It was the kind of friendship with a dragon you’d completely missed out on on Berk.

It was hard to maintain given your captive status, but that was alright.

There probably wasn’t any social profit involved in being a vigilante, which is why you assumed the crazy dragon lady had taken to speaking at you in her spare time. About the dragons, what they ate, what she had to do. Pointedly she gave away nothing of their true secrets, not that you wanted them, nor anything of her vigilant-ing. Not verbally, though the influx of injuries both on her and the dragons spoke volumes.

She did give away her name.

You groan, rubbing your eyes under your mask as you cradle the thing to your face with the other.

“You’re quite attached to your mask,” Valka said amusedly, shifting the logs roasting in the fire with a stick, pushing them back and forth as you sat in silence. You hardly ever spoke a word, nowadays.

Her dragon, the stormcutter, stared at you with large eyes through the licking flames.

Neither of you mentioned that the only real reason you’d been able to keep your mask so long was that she’d been kind enough to let you. An allowance you’d been given on a whim. One you clung to with all the nervous energy of Fishlegs to his dragon cards.

“... I’d rather not be,” You grumble, voice raspy from disuse, “It’s stuffy.”

“Oh,” Valka looked at you, amused and maybe a little surprised to hear you speak at last, before going back to tend to her fires, “I was starting to think you couldn’t speak.”

“Funny.” You said, lifting a sharpened stick off the ground, spearing it through a slimy, gutted fish from the basket beside you. Your nose wrinkled as you heard the sharp point break skin. No amount of faux stoicism could make it seem pleasant to you.

“I have a few questions,” You grimace under your mask as she asserts herself. She can ask them all she wants, but there’s no guarantee you’ll answer.

You might, probably, as keeping secrets hasn’t always been your strong suit. She’s certainly been trying to open you up for a while. You’ve not given her any leeway before though, no reason to give her any now.

“How did you tame your dragon?” She asked, pushing a particularly thick dragon searching for morsels. Valka guides its head gently away with her spare hand before any of the other dragons crowding around them get any ideas.

You wait for a moment, still wondering whether you should follow along. Eventually, you decide to answer.

“Wasn’t me. Someone else back home did it,” You huff, “I just followed along.”

“...But not very well,” Valka hums. It’s obvious she doesn’t believe you. Unfortunately for her, that is not your problem.

She pulls a small trout off her own stick, tossing it to a crowd of young dragons, who you knew had acquired a taste for the cooked, through no fault of your own.

You should feel offended, but you know she’s right. You lean away from a wandering dragon snout as it searches you for morsels. The stormcutter, after a look from Valka, shoos it away with a large wing.

“Where are you from?”

You feel the embers from the fire as they rise, the furs of your coat becoming nearly unbearable, your skin heated up rapidly. You wrinkle your brow with annoyance as you feel a drop of sweat slide down the side of your face.

“Where are you from?” You retort pointedly.

She studies you cautiously, as if she could glean your intentions from your body language. And she very well could. Or the heat was getting to you, the wells you’d spent in solitude had finally done some real damage to your psyche, and you were hallucinating.

“Berk,” She says. You sit back, surprised, “And you?”

“...None of your business.” You wonder how long it had been since she had left. You pray she would not know you.

Valka raised her eyebrow.

“I’m serious.” You ground your heel into the dirt. It was a touchy subject, still.

“Berk, too. …Stop looking at me like that.”

Valka leaned back against the ice wall where you rested, looking out over the empty ocean as dragons flooded to and fro the sanctuary. You squinted far into the distance, as if you thought you might be able to see through it if you tried hard enough.

Your hair tugged wildly by the winds out from behind your mask as you sat, one leg extended and the other bent as you leaned back against one arm.

You probably looked as you felt, weary and unkempt after a long flight over the seas with your dragon, who clambered among the icy spike-lined wall with clawed hands. You felt refreshed yet somehow at odds with yourself still.

You cared little for your bedraggled demeanor the same way you hadn’t cared for much at all in a while. It might have made a cool picture had you not slipped and fallen onto your face on the ice just a few minutes prior. Whether you had broken your nose or not on your mask had yet to be uncovered. All that mattered was that Valka hadn’t seen.

Dragons crowed. Through the cracks in the walls of the sanctuary, the wind would whistle through if it hit the right angle. Louder than anything else were the sounds of the waves crashing against rock.

But between you and Valka, it was silent. A contemplative silence, the kind of silence you shared with others after a long thought or a hard day’s work. That’s how you knew she was going to break it.

“Why did you leave?”

You are annoyed at the prospect but are no less expectant. After the moment passes, you are not surprised. However, it feels as if you are the one who should be asking.

“Why did I leave?” You ask, “Does it matter?”

A loose chunk of ice falls off the side of the sanctuary as a large titan scrambles violently down the side, chasing after a bright yellow baby. You spot a shape through the fog, distant and blurry enough to resemble a bird though there are no birds here. You pointedly do not think of your small hut, even less of green eyes, and tiny, fading freckles.

Valka tilted her head in your direction, reaching a hand out to scratch Cloudjumper under his chin as he lowered himself towards her, “It mattered to you.”

You open your mouth, but you are only able to choke on your breath. No one has ever said something like that to you, not in a long while. You don’t understand why it’s hitting you so hard. Maybe it’s the isolation.

You blame the burning of your eyes on the biting wind.

“Why did you leave?” You ask in return, once you’ve taken time for yourself, though you have an idea. You can’t keep your voice from sounding a little bit scratchy.

You unhook your dagger from your belt, trying not to seem so attentive. Instead, you take to carving random shapes into the ice. A gronkle. A nadder.

“I was taken.” She sighs, quieter now. Lost off in memory as you both often are.

The nadder’s spikes are much too long. The gronkle looks more like a sandwich than a dragon.

“Taken?” You prompt and you begin on the outline of a fury. The result is shallow and scratchy.

It’s one of your own designs, not the same as the one Berk uses. Astrid liked the other one better, not yours, so that was the one Hiccup went with.

“I didn’t leave,” She insisted, almost as if she was trying to convince herself of the fact, “I had a son, and a husband.”

You’ve seen her by the fires, while trying to sneak out of this hellish ice maze. She talks to herself then. On particularly paranoid days, she’s slept by you, in the same caverns, so you’ve heard it. She talks in her sleep and says things she would never say awake, or had you been around. It’s all so very unsettling.

“Really?” You remarked with false astonishment. The facade is flimsy, but you figured you’d give her the benefit of the doubt. The grace to assume that you’d no idea what she was on about.

With prompting, you might have seen it earlier. In her slim form, the one she kept hidden under thick furs and thicker armor. You squint. They have the same eye color. The same hair. They both have higher cheekbones, though her son more resembles his father in that aspect. That is all.

Valka shoots you a reprimanding look. Cloudjumper, now creeping down the wall behind you, taps you on the back of your head with its tail at her behest.

Valka was of the air. Though he had the same flighty tendencies, he was very grounded, like his father, though he might either be proud or loath to admit it. He loved flying, yes, but he loved inventing and processing and routine just as much, if not more.

He did when you were close. Of course he did, he spent his whole life on it. You couldn’t really say you knew him anymore.

You didn’t pin Valka as the type to enjoy the same in any sort of manner. But that suited you just as well. You found that as time went by and as you were granted more freedoms, you appreciated it. It made it easier for you to forget. To ignore.

In the end they, you and she, she and you, were one and the same.

“But what does it matter, if you never went back?” You grumble, pushing your dragon’s head away as it nudges you towards the cliff, crooning for more flying time.

You guessed that was why she clung so viciously to the safety of her sanctuary. Why she hated other people so much, why she’d had no faith in the humanity of other people, why she’d held you here so strictly. If things could have been different, then what did she give it all up for?

Though you’d never had something else. Not even the option. You’d never been given it. Valka hadn’t been given it either, but there was a sure difference between something being there and not.

The atmosphere is silent again, tainted with some darker undertones. If you’d had to put a name to it, you might have called it grief.

“I want to leave.”

Valka doesn’t look surprised at your request. And indeed, it’s been no secret that you wanted to leave. Maybe she was glad for it, or maybe she was sad at the news.

After all, you settled into each other's presence long ago. You had a good sort of companionship.

And from that companionship, you learned a lot without even trying, just by watching. Eventually she took notice and she took an active part in teaching you the truths she learned during all her years in self-imposed isolation.

You two weren’t incredibly close but you could tell Valka was grateful for the company, grateful to have someone maybe even a little bit like her, even if most of it was spent in silence.

You still left the Drago fighting for her. It wasn’t your fight, it was hers, and you made that clear.

Neither of you brought up Berk. Ever.

You were content to just come and go as you pleased, for a while. Nonetheless, despite your freedom, you felt restricted to the small world of the Sanctuary and the empty skies around it. There was no place for you on the ground or by the seas, where hunters and trappers swarmed by the thousands and Drago’s armies grew by the day.

You spent so much time learning from her and yet it felt like no time at all. Which was why you were shocked when you’d truly learned how much had come and gone in full.

You were out slinking in the shadows, seeking shelter from a storm on the same small rocky outcropping of island that had a shipful of trappers stranded, in a rage and a panic as they attempted to recover their assets. The winds had been too rough to fly, so you had no choice but to wait and listen.

You didn’t believe it at first. It had been…

Months.

You wondered if he’d been married, yet.

Years.

The idea hurt, not as much as you’d thought it would, still not as little as you’d hoped.

Under clear skies, you found an inn, untouched by everything except grass and trees.

You asked, “What day is it?”

The large man, a burly viking scrubbing down a wooden cup with a torn old rag, had looked down at you skeptically from behind a beaten pine and stone counter.

Two years. It had been nearly two years since you left Berk. Just as Valka’s attachments kept her at the Sanctuary, you needed to go. To run.

Since you had heard it, spoken it, the urge to run, to fly hadn’t abated at all, going from a wispy thought at the back of your mind to a full blown need. Your dragon too had become antsy, maybe feeding off of your nervous energy. Eager to take off, to fly new skies.

“Are you sure?” Valka asked searchingly. You two were stationed over a heavily planted cliff over a large main pool which consisted of the main cavern within the Sanctuary, once again in front of a fire, eating your own meals as the dragons below ate and exchanged fish.

You were already packed, your mask secured as it had been for all two years you had been in this place stuck between confinement and dwelling. You almost regretted it, not telling her your name, but you couldn’t bear yourself to her knowing who she was, not truly. Not until you’d washed yourself of that particular weight.

“Yes,” One day you would, if you ever saw her again. Once you were released from the heartache and pain of your own making, “I am. Thank you.”

You started out into the pale foggy sky, mounted your beast as smooth as you’d ever done, which is to say, not smooth at all. You’d only ever managed it right when Valka was watching, anyhow. It was odd how that worked, maybe the peer pressure was finally starting to kick in.

As you took off and the sanctuary became smaller and smaller both to your eyes and your mind, as the tight bundle of chains in your chest dropped and the world opened up to you once more, you felt light, and free.

Once again, there was no one to watch you and no one to hurt for besides your and your dragon. Endless opportunity. Thousands of ways to keep going.

You wondered what your face looked like.

You couldn’t wait to see it again.

#hiccup haddock #hiccup x reader #how to train your dragon #httyd #x reader #fanfiction #httyd imagine #httyd fanficiton

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wri0thesley · 7 months

Note

Corruption kink thoughts hitting hard but it's Wriothesley corrupting darling and Neuvillette both. Darling is so precious, a handful of warm sunshine, but also oh-so-human and very easily falls prey to the cardinal sin of lust. And Neuvi, precious old dragon; he doesn't understand much about humans, but what he does know is that he wants to watch darling cry under Wriothesley - and maybe lick their tears away too. How will it taste compared to fresh water from across Teyvat? -44

one thing i love with the older immortals in teyvat is them rediscovering their power; the possessive nature hidden beneath the surface. especially with a dragon like neuvillette - finding himself wanting, for the first time in a long time. and wriothesley being the catalyst; the mixture of jealousy of wriothesley being the one to take them but also desire because oh, doesn’t the duke work you over so very beautifully? delicious…..

#nat.txt #genshin impact posting #not sfw text #44 anon

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bedoballoons · 8 months

Note

Could I get vampire Neuvillette x Zhongli? I neeeeed content of them, preferably with subby and pathetic Neuvillette? Thank you so much!!

OOOOOO VAMPIRE NEUVILLETTE! First spooky request right before october eeee!! Thank you for your request and I hope you enjoy! <3

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ🎃𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ🎃

{༻~Subby and Pathetic~༺}

CW: MDNI! NSFW! Sub Neuvillette! Dom Zhongli! Face f*cking, dacryphilia, choking, and hair pulling!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Zhongli sucked in a harsh breath as Neuvillettes tongue slowly slid up his member, teasing the normally stoic patient man with his own desire and lust, managing to somehow maintain eye contact despite his flustered state. The geo archons gloved hand found its way into the others silvery white hair, strands of it entangling themselves around his fingers as he pulled on it harshly, the man between his legs to moaning pathetically from that alone.

"Neuvillette...when I invited you over for tasting...I thought we could enjoy tea or perhaps water, I didn't expect-" His sentence was cut off by a deep groan, his dick suddenly deep into the hydro dragons hot mouth, sharp teeth grazing the sides in a way that could make a groan man shiver, it felt so good...he couldn't even keep himself from wanting more.

"Very well then...you've asked for it~" He bucked his hips forwards, his dick hitting the back of Neuvillettes throat so hard it made him choke, tears welling up in his pale blue eyes as Zhongli started to fuck his mouth, showing no remorse. Neuvillettes lips became red and puffy with each swift movement, his moans vibrating around his friends cock...why was he enjoying being used so much?

"Nnnmm~" Zhongli gave a low growl, his finish coming up sooner than he had originally expected...but it was fine...afterall dragons could go as many rounds as they liked~

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

◥(•̀￦•́)◤☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 ☾𖤓~Happy kinktober~*⁠.⁠✧

#kinktober #genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin smut #Neuvillette x Zhongli #neuvillette smut #hydro dragon #zhongli smut #Zhongli x Neuvillette #geo archon

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greenlyren12 · 2 years

Text

The Mask You Wear

Chapter II

Find Chapter I here

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

warnings: smut, fingering, thigh riding, physical violence

word count: 3.1k

Summary: What type of feelings will your returning to King's landing bring out in you?

=================================

Where your Princess went you followed close behind, the strings of allegiance clinging to the flesh of your palms.

Dragonstone had turned you into resilient woman, your fingertips as calloused as your character was. As if the waves had pummeled at your being instead at the shore cliffs. The romanticism of girlhood had departed from your soul years ago. Living transformed into existing, every month becoming grayer than the previous one.

Face swept by dragon fire and turned to cold stone. Experiences hardly moved you nowadays, violence bled into every corner of your lusterless life. You did what was expected of you, perform your duties and nothing more. Heart locked deep within, allowing no one the proximity of your intimacy.

Everything you cherished seemed to always slip from your grasp, so you cherished no more. Princess Rhaenyra the anchor of your existence. Her children you once cared for as if they were your own siblings, were now pushed away. As the oldest from the bunch, Jacaerys respected your wishes, whereas Luke had the difficulty to understand.

At first the stoicism you had ingrained in yourself by force wasn’t easy, but what was? Your once fond memories of your real family, little Aemond, had now faded. Little bits you remembered, pained you too greatly to be relived again.

Now standing behind your Princess, mind blank, you listened. As she was Informing her beloved children on the departure for King’s Landing, you felt a bolt in your heart.

You stilled, vigilant. Face an impenetrable wall but at your core you shook. The despised sorrow of feeling small filled your heart. As if immune to decision, you were flaunted around on a minute’s notice. Feeling like you were 13 again, fingers trembling, you stood silent.

Life had begun to feel normal again after years of endurance. Dragonstone was your home, now once again, you had to take your leave. The holes that the Red Keep had left in you, had been patched up with such precise care. A fortress now lied around your heart.

You thought of how different things would be. Had it been years ago, you would’ve cowered in fear. Yet you remained quiet.

Aemond crossed your mind numerous times but you shoved it away. There were no possible reality in which you would allow yourself such feelings, after so many years. Only if you’d known that denying their existence was futile.

Anger poisoned your mind, caused by great fear of rejection. Could you face your Aemond?

==============================================================

The sail to the capital was troublesome. With each mile the weather seemed to worsen, grim clouds above your weary head. Situated on the bow of the ship, palms tied behind your back, you stared. Children laughter echoed in your ears, longing in your eyes. The rhythmic waves, which rumbled below your feet, brought your thought to fond memories.

“How could I try to forget?” Rang in your head.

A tear escaped your cold eyes and joined the mass of water below, forgotten.

The fear of what he was now seeped into your bones. Would he remember?

Doubt and salt made you sick, removing your gaze from the Castle in the horizon you faltered.

=================================

Being in your Princess’ chambers after such long time had the taste of nostalgia on your tongue. In contrast to Dragonstone’s cold colors, the Castle bristled with orange hues. Warm lights from lit candles, you took care of Rhaenyra’s moonlight locks.

Carefully putting each strand over the other, you exhaled. This task had become your favorite over the years, it helped you calm down your nerves. Being in such close proximity to the Princess gave you a piece of mind, though conversation always came to an end, due to your concentration. You enjoyed the quiet which you rarely had.

Now determination fueled your being, to not think about him. Putting all the care into fitting the Princess into her inky coloured dress.

Avoiding all eye contact, you attentively put a necklace around your Princess’ neck. Timidness was unlike you and she noticed.

“What’s the matter?” Giving you a crooked smile, Rhaenyra tenderly stroked your shoulder.

“Nothing, my Princess.” Returning a forced one, eyes gluing to the ground below you once again.

Your Princess pushed no more, knowing you would not be honest.

=================================

Following behind your family, Rhaenyra and Daemon leading, you looked around the halls. The walls seemed to judge the change in you, they remained the same, unmoved.

With back straightened you entered the room last, King Viserys catching your eye first. Your King was rotting from the inside out, mask hiding the left side of his decaying face. He was brought in already in his chair, which was placed in the middle of the table.

Turning your head away to find your position, back facing the Royal family, you could feel it.

Taking your place by the wall, ready to assist your Princess, hands glued to your back, you gazed straight ahead.

He was clear in the corner of your eye. While everyone was busy with sitting on their places you found the bravery to look at him.

What was supposed to be a quick glance turned into a longing stare, your throat acting as a cage to your breath.

Your Prince sat right there, this was no little Aemond.

A man full grown, elongated face and sculpted jaw. Hair now twice the length it used to be, the strands which framed his handsome face kept in a knot behind. Eye concealed by a contrasting patch, lips formed a beckoning smile.

Violet eye already boring back at you, greed in his gaze. Jaw clenching, your Prince would not move. As if a sculpture carved out by the Gods themselves, he remained still, face illuminated by candles.

You felt naked, not in a dishonorable way for a lady of your position, but bare. Clean, as you came from your Mother’s womb. No walls and no shells remained unpenetrated by Aemond’s unwavering intent. Years spent to protect yourself, to constructing endless soul barricading layers. In spite of that, he now held you in the small of his palm, little and sincere.

The connection was too intense for you, especially during responsibility, so you broke the seal first.

Hard eyes set ahead of you, a shivering exhale left your lips. Seeing him in the edge of your eye, the devil had a smirk plastered across his enchanting features. He had bewitched you, in a trance you felt his pull to you.

He had grown a substantial amount, probably two heads above you. His childish clumsiness had transformed into an elegance that draped around his lean posture. The intensity you remember him containing deep inside was now plastered for all of Westeros to see. The hideous cut that used to slash trough the half of his face, now served as a menacing warning.

He was divine. A being closer to God, as the common folk said.

The next hour was spent in silent suffering, sweat breaking out on your forehead. It was clear your assistance would not be needed tonight, nevertheless your presence was obligated.

His Grace, the King moved you to tears with his speech. Peace was enjoyed for a few more blissful hours. Your heart fluttered at the sight in front of you. Tranquility quietly sat upon in the air, laughter accompanying it. The family you thought was shattered forever, seemed to succeed in being orderly.

Until a certain silver head decided to charge the air with tension. Jacaerys managed to put out Aegon’s assertions while Aemond’s one eye was on the mission to set your face on fire. But you dared not glance back, afraid of the repercussions.

Four servants entered the room with a roasted pig, decorated with goods served on a platter, and placed it in front of Aemond.

You knew it before it even began.

You felt the sweat between your limp fingers when they twitched with stress.

Luke laughed in the Prince’s direction and you shamed him in your mind for his lack of tact. You found it difficult to understand what humor the situation possessed. Giving the brunette boy a venomous look for disrespecting his uncle.

A hard slam on the wooden table made you jump in your place. Aemond was the focal point of attention. His hair swung forward, falling over the leather on his chest. Hunched over, fist firmly ingrained in the mahogany surface, eye clouded by malevolence. A predator seeking pray, Luke was a fool for tugging on his insecurities.

As if you were a rabbit in front of him, ready for him to swallow whole you froze in place.

“Final toast.” Aemond spat out.

It was the first time he honored the room with his voice. You shivered, velvet enlaced with callousness.

Though you could never possibly admit, you were proud of his speech. The kid you once knew, who came crying to you, was now grown and ready to defend. Never breaking the imposing image, cruel and precise he apparently managed to hit the right nerve in Jace.

The brunette hit first and Aemond’s reaction made something twist inside of you. Unwavering, piercing stare and a mocking laugh was all he graced Jacaerys with. As if to ridicule Rhaenyra’s oldest even more, he hit him off balance and made him fall.

If it weren’t for the years of practice you would not have been able to stifle your laugh. Yet Aemond had caught the glimpse in your eye, remembering it from all that time ago. He knew you from the inside out.

Daemon put the end to the conflict before it had escalated even more and Aemond took his leave.

=================================

After attending to the Princess’ nightly necessities, you were dismissed to your own chambers.

Slowly crossing the Castle aisles, you took in everything around you. Comparing your memories to reality. A rare fondness set deep in you, allowing the ghost of a smile appear on your lips.

Until you heard the faint steps of someone behind you. Not too close but near enough for it to be intentional. You knew exactly who it was. Only one person in the Red Keep possessed that threatening intensity.

As if preying on you, he toyed. You could almost feel his wicked smile on the back of your neck.

You would enjoy yourself as well. Quickening your pace a bit, you strode in the dimly lit corridors.

“Hm.” A quiet, guttural sound was stated behind your back.

Something sick stirred your insides, shivers followed close. The amount of steps increasing behind you.

You wouldn’t dare turn your head, partially scared of what your eyes would see.

It excited you.

Stopping in front of your room’s doors you remained that way. A shadow following close behind, now right behind you.

A sigh escaped past your lips and in the drowning quietness it sounded as loud as bells.

Unsurely, you gradually turned on your hill to face your perpetrator.

A sinful smile plastered on his face followed by a half lidded probing eye welcomed you. The Prince studied you, trying to decipher the new persona you had put on.

“You’ve changed.” Silk out of his mouth.

“And you haven’t? My Prince.” A mischievous grin across your face.

“Don’t do that.” The man almost whined, gaze never leaving your lips. As if you pulled him by some otherworldly force, he came closer and had difficulty with constraint. A finger ghosted over your wrist.

“Careful, Aemond.” His name, honey leaking off your tongue for him.

He didn’t entertain you with an answer, just proceeded to intensify his already burning stare.

Granting his wish, you grasped him by the sleeve and pulled him inside your chambers. Now in the privacy provided by closed doors, only for the Gods to judge you, Aemond closed the space between you even more.

Not wanting to break, he allowed himself to put his hands below your elbows, gently holding you in place. Noses dancing in synchrony, inhaling each other, eye contact unbreakable, he spoke between the vulnerability of the two of you.

“Has there been anyone?” A firm whisper you swallowed.

“Only you.” Exhaling.

“It will always be you.”

A grunt from his chest escaped his throat. His palm climbed upward and spasmed on your skin when he registered your response.

“Please,” Desperation spilling from his gaze, which never left your mouth.

The softness you knew him by could be seen on his face now, a stark comparison to his escapades in the dining hall. The prince nudged your nose with his and marveled at you with fondness. As if you were a bird in his hard embrace, about to fly away any second.

The desire to trifle with him grew by the second. Cupping the side of his face, you positioned his lips by your cheek and you quietly said.

“Kiss me, Aemond”

The Prince planted his lips below your cheekbone with such sentiment you melted into his touch. Meeting his eye with a half lidded, lustful look you took a moment to take his beauty in.

“Kiss me.” Aemond almost childishly insisted. His hands gripped at your sleeves with whatever control remained in him.

You grabbed both sides of his face and planted a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose. Your Prince granted you with a vexed look. You were getting to him.

All kind of courtesy had been thrown out the window now, his palm travelled up your arm and found its designated place. With a firm hold on your jaw, he angled your face upwards and enveloped your lips in a kiss. With his other arm he pressed your bodies even more, two fingers between your chin, he pulled away to look you dead in the eyes.

As if the start had been set or maybe it was the way you clung to him, he devoured you. Palm traversing to the base of your neck, forbidding distance. It was hungry, full of need. Teeth clunked and hands roamed. You found the back of his head and grabbed a fistful of silky hair, resulting in a moan from the man before you.

As if not by your own control you grinded against the leather of his pants. Lips never leaving yours, he clutched you by the hips and fixed you upon his thigh. Your moan was used as an entrance to go deeper into your mouth. Feeling a bite on your lip, you turned to liquid in his embrace. Pulling away for air, you gasped in each other’s faces, foreheads pressed together. You could not contain your adoration just for yourself anymore.

“You’re beautiful.” You muttered against his disheveled appearance.

Aemond growled and grabbed you below your ass, hands kneading at the flesh, mouth attacking below your ear. He started moving towards the cushions by your bed. Already drunk on his touch, every move made you squirm and whimper, which excited the beast who held you even more.

Your Prince gently placed you on top of a bunch of pillows. Continuing his attack on the front of your neck, sloppily marking you as his. Palm found the base of your breast and experimentally squeezed, followed by wanton moan from your mouth which rang in the air. Studying your reactions and committing everything to mind, every crevice and reaction. You were his treasure to explore.

Mouth travelling south, leaving sinful trails behind, Aemond paused and looked at you.

“Where did my nickname disappear, love?” He slyly remarked. Hands travelling below to bunch your skirts up.

“You think yourself little, my Prince?” You played his game.

Receiving a bite below your breast as an answer. Your hands clung to his hair, pulling and loving.

While Aemond took to tend to your other breast, twirling your nipple between slender fingers, he found himself under your chemise, pressing two digits against your core.

A lecherous moan fell from your mouth, lids closing.

“One would think you were excited to see me, my lady.” He huffed while bumping his knuckle against your clit.

“You’re already so excited.” Promiscuousness laced in his tone.

You were a tangled mess, huffing and breathing heavily, hands taped to his body, desperately trying to find friction.

“Please, Aemond.” You pleaded.

The Prince was close to receiving what he so desired.

“It is impolite to not use your words, my lady.”

You grabbed him by the collar around his neck and whispered into his mouth.

“Touch me, my Prince, it is unknown to you for how long I have desired this.” Kissing him hard as to prove your point.

It was all he needed.

“You will have to excuse me for the rudeness later, love” He plainly stated then proceeded to rip your dress open. Mouth latching to your already red nipples and giving it all the love it deserves.

He moved your undergarments aside and pressed a thumb to your pearl. All the moans and pleads which left your mouth spur him on more. Palm dug into your side, while he inserted a finger into you.

“I missed you so much” True sadness in his tone.

Finger pumped in and from your heat.

“And why is it you looked at me only once during dinner?”

His tongue travelled to the sensitive spot below your ear, sucking hard. Adding a second digit he continued massaging your clit.

No coherent thoughts were left inside your mind so an answer he did not receive. Feeling you clamp around his fingers, he pulled them out. A gasp of protest escaped you but you were quickly shut down. The digits which glistened with your arousal were now inside his mouth, savoring them.

“Sit up.” He commanded and you obliged your Prince.

He made you sit on his lap. Firm grasp on your hips held you down. His length prominent against your heat, you moved against him. Receiving a hiss, you perked up against Aemond even more.

“I want to watch you come undone on top of me,” Placing a hand on your chin making you look him in the eye. “..and for you to look me in the eye”

Anchoring on his slender shoulders, you started grinding against his thigh. Your mewls fusing with his grunts, he kissed you sloppily. It didn’t take you long to come close, so you latched off his mouth, cupped his cheek.

“I need you, my Aemond.” You puffed, out of breath.

You reached your peak and collapsed on top of him. Trying to catch your breath, you stroked silver strands which fell over his chest. Feeling whole again, as if life had color again.

“You will always have me.” Your Prince longfully expressed.

==============================================================

Taglist: @dudfahsn @jeyramarie @stillinracooncity @rapoficeandfire @poohxlove @bobamai1

#hotd aemond #prince aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #game of thrones #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #hotd imagine

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gold-rhine · 7 months

Note

for the newest ask game: fan favourite neuvillette! can’t wait to see what you’ll do <3

Headcanon: I can muster a cogent argument for why it would make more sense or make for a better story if this were the case

Okay, so. This is gonna turn into character analysis, but I think there is a huge misconception about Neuvi and the rain. People think that bc it rains when he's sad, then rain = his own tears and that being under rain is sad and bad for him, bc like. well, humans don't like crying and you wouldn't want to get showered with your own tears!

But this is completely missing the nuances of him being a hydro dragon. He LIKES the rain. He loves being under the rain. He daydreams about it:

"Some days, my mind wanders, and I fantasize about walking into the rain... *sigh* Ah, but don't worry, my flights of fancy don't distract me from my work."

And he likes to stand under the rain without umbrella and is a bit peeved that humans find it strange:

"People seem to respond to the sight of a man in the rain without an umbrella as if it were some sort of strange spectacle."

And this is his quote about weeping hydro dragon rhyme:

I don't think that the Hydro Dragon would "weep," per se. I think he just finds himself a little stirred when he gets a taste of the tears that have been shed on this land, on account of all the emotions they contain.

So taking all of this under account, I don't think rain = tears, bc he's not human and crying is not one of his natural reactions. Instead, I think that rain is just his soothing mechanism. When he's stressed, sad, overwhelmed, etc, he instinctively summons rain to be engulfed in his own element. Bc like. humans would react even more badly to the sight of Chief Justice laying face down in a lake than to him just standing under the rain.

And now Wriothesley is released and he has a line about how he saw Neuvi under the rain and put him under umbrella and I already see a lot of fanart of this being romantic etc, and I have nothing against the ship, but this specific scenario for me triggers like cute-or-not reaction of "not cute! hydro dragons like to be under the rain and covering them from it is like blocking sun for the plants." Wriothesley himself even says Neuvi looked visibly distressed, despite being polite!

So instead, consider: kisses under the rain are some of the most hot, cinematic and passionate tropes

But also: where Neuvi doesn't like being, is under the sun.

I find that the, um... beauty of bright sunlight is best appreciated from the indoors through a window.

If you bring him to the desert, he says this looks like assassination attempt. So for cute, romantic and gentlemanly gestures, consider putting him under sun parasol. And maybe sprinkling him from water bottle too.

Heartcanon: I don’t have a particular rationale for why this ought to be the case, I just like to imagine it’s true because it gives me the warm fuzzies

I already talked about how two of his coat-tails glow at the same time as his hair antennae thingies and have same coloration, and move and look differently from the rest of his coat. I like to think that he was born in standard-shaped human body and just instinctively imbued the strands of his hair and two coat-tails of his robes with his power to act like as fins and antennae he used to have in a dragon form.

Gutcanon: it’s not that I actively want this to be the case – it just unaccountably feels like it should be

okay, look at his hair.

let's be real. this hair was not brushed even once in 500 years. This is not a braid. This is just uneven strands sticking out all over the place, with the longest ones caught with a pretty bow.

I think bc dragons do not have hair and especially do not CUT hair or any body parts on purpose, he just never did it. Like, for him it sounds cutting cat's whiskers. He heard that hairdressers will cut your hair and went "Thank you, but no thank you" and just never let anyone touch it, until like, melusines gave him a bow and butterfly clips that he wears to keep hair out of one side of his face.

Junkcanon: I like to imagine it’s true because it gives me the other kind of warm fuzzies

first of all, since his emotions both manifest and affect the water around, i think it would be v fun to use as a reaction to... stimuli. i don't want to go into details to keep this post pg, but you know. storms forming out of nowhere. geysers, most obviously. a little tsunami or a whirlpool perhaps...

also, from his lines about vishaps, he says that hydro organisms are affect by the moon cycle, like the tides. so, you know, there are fun things to do with that too

Spleencanon: I insist that this is the case specifically to spite the author, because, like, fuck you, sir or madam

He should not drown when you run out of stamina in water outside of fountain. Why is hydro sovereign drowning in a puddle, hoyo?!

#rhine talks #neuvillette

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pandamorphic · 2 months

Text

Beneath the salty waves, a young dragon cried.

She swam, fighting currents and undertows she didn’t yet know, her tears indistinguishable from the home she fled. Fear and sadness and uncertainty dragged her drowning mind ahead until finally she crashed to the surface and coughed away the waves that filled her mouth. She blinked at the sky and seethed with indignation.

It wasn’t fair. The placid ocean gently released her to the beach as little stars twinkled in the clear blue expanse. Why weren’t they angry, full of righteous vengeance on her behalf? Why didn’t the waters rage and churn and spew into black clouds pounding with lightning? As she collapsed into the soft sands, she tried slowing her merciless heart.

“Oh, my dear, sweet Siren. Why do you run from me?”

She froze. She frantically searched the ripples for the telltale glow of scales. But there was nothing.

Why couldn’t she just get away from him? From them all? Even when she managed to leave, he still whispered in her ear, taunting her. She backed away from the water, sand sucking her talons as if they wanted her to stay. The light fractured around her as something blocked the moons. Clouds were gathering quickly, coming from the mainland and clawing towards her. She ran with a strangled wail—

—straight into something solid. She collapsed, the forest that edged the beach spinning around her. She looked up to find a looming figure haloed by moonlight. It had a strangely alluring presence wreathed in the scent of… was it dried coral? Or saltwater taffy? She realized she couldn’t pin down the smell but she knew it as soft and beguiling, like the rare days her parents let her play around the Wobbegong Carpets with the servants’ dragonets.

The world began to settle into its rightful place, and as it did, she realized the figure was a dragon. A huge NightWing, in fact. What was a NightWing doing around the SeaWing kingdom? she wondered.

“Oh, hello there, little one,” the dragon rumbled.

(Cut for insta)

Her eyes stretched wide as she tried hiding her fear.

“That’s it, sweet Siren. Never let them see your true feelings. Chin up and smile. You belong to the palace. To me.”

A sob escaped before she could catch it. Then, like a dam bursting, the onslaught of tears came.

“Ah, shhh,” the NightWing soothed, immediately wrapping herself around the dragonet. “What troubles you, dear?”

The dragon was warm. Not at all like the deep waters she hatched in, or the stiff royals who planned her every move. There was something tender and motherly in the way she caressed the webbing along her back. It was a feeling she never knew herself.

“My— they—“

She couldn’t stop hiccuping and could taste the familiar sharpness that would follow whenever she stuttered or flinched in front of her parents. However, no slap came, and instead the strangers pale eyes held concern rather than anger. So she swallowed and tried again.

“My… my parents. They were upset, and… they hurt me.”

The dragon tutted quietly. “When parents harm their own children… Is there no greater injustice?”

She buried her head in the stranger’s side and whimpered.

“Child, what if I told you I could help?”

She looked up slowly, confused.

“If there was anything, anything you wanted in the whole world, what would it be?”

She paused. What did she want? She was sick of being told what to do, what to say, how to properly act among which dragons. She hated that her parents treated her few friends poorly just because they were servants and commoners. No one listened to her. And she wanted him gone.

“To tell others what to do.”

“A simple enough wish. I can make that happen, little one. I just need something from you…”

———

WHEW this took me a while 😭 first real attempt at a lil comic thing!! Also more oc lore YEAH!! This is the origin of Siren’s power (and how her eyes changed as a result) and another connection with Lady Sybil 👀

#dragon #dragon art #wings of fire #wof #wof dragon #dragon comic #ocs #wof ocs #ocean #seawing #wof seawing #nightwing #wof nightwing #dragon ocs #beach #story blurb #oc lore #my art #art frenzy

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irenadel · 27 days

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And if the devil... 5/9

Smut: The Chapter, Aemond x Maid!Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

It isn’t the failing light of twilight that drives you both out of the sky, but a drizzle that turns into a storm. Vhagar herself does not care and leaves you both stranded inside a damp seaside cave, just so she can go hunting, with Aemond shouting after her in mock outrage, while you laugh so wildly and girlishly he thinks he’d rather stay here forever if you’ll just keep laughing like that.

You are better than him at gathering what little dry driftwood is to be found and he is better at setting it aflame. Neither of you are any good at fishing with bare hands so you content yourselves with drinking rain and trying to wring the water out of your clothes.

He turns his back to you the moment you pull off your drab servant’s dress and start undoing the ties of your shift. His heart is hammering in his ears and he feels the traitorous flushing return to his face and throat.

If you don’t want to shame yourself, his brother had warned him, not knowing that was all he was now, shame and longing.

You reach for the rapidly warming skin of his neck, through the soaked, beautiful strands of his silver hair, to turn him back to you.

It is his undoing.

The fear in your own face, clammy and white, cheeks starkly red. The way his hands move on their own, to the laces of your shift, taking over your clumsy, cold fingers. He has seen your naked calves before, dreamt of them locked around his waist as he plunged into you, thrown over his shoulders as he kisses the flushed red tips of your toes. He is unprepared for the gut-wrenching, dizzying strength of his arousal at the sight of your bare arms, the ribs he could count, your pert, pink nipples, the angry red scar below your collarbone and the bright purple bruises on your stomach that your nakedness can no longer hide from his hungry, avid eye. He will kill your uncle, string him from his feet and make a present of his useless hand to you. Later. Tonight, he is tearing your underskirts off, unheeding of the ripping sound some of them make, prick hard and ready because you help him, your hands are shaking, your own breath shivering, but still you offer up your long, powerful legs to him. You are white as a ghost all over, as a fresh sheet of vellum, and by all the gods he intends to leave his own mark on you.

He undoes your braid, as he has dreamt of doing incessantly for the past months, wishing to inhale the scent of your wet hair, bring it to his lips and kiss it at long last. Aemond can only hope he could offer you such a tenderness, but all he knows is the cruelty of his urgency for you.

He wraps your hair around his hand, panting madly, almost smiling, once, twice, enough to pull your head back so you will look at him. Enough to wrench a broken sound of pleasure from your throat, a sound that travels directly to the root of his cock.

“What did you say to Vhagar in Dothraki?”

“Davra nayat… good girl”

He doesn’t laugh now, not at the sheer nerve of you speaking to a dragon as if she were a nervous filly. Sees you again, on a saddle at the zenith of the world, face reaching for the wind, as he urged Vhagar higher and higher, to please a stupid, beautiful girl, born of nothing, who owned nothing… except the horizon… except himself.

He rips the ties of his doublet open, grabs your hand, grip so painful he fears he will crush your fingers in his, and places your palm on his heaving chest, his wildly beating heart. Sees you hiss in a breath and presses his face to the naked expanse of your exposed throat.

“Davrat nayat,” he says to you as he shows you how to undo his clothes.

When Aegon’s whore had undressed him, her hands had been soft as silk, her perfume so heady and potent his eye had watered because of it. When she stole kiss after kiss from his lips he had tasted the mint leaves she’d chewed before bedding him. She had called him beautiful and praised the whiteness of his Valyrian skin.

I’ve never been a prince’s first fuck, your grace.

He’d been too dazed to correct her address to him.

Your hands shake as you undo the clasps of his doublet and you curse when one of them resists you. There’s a red ammonia burn on one of your palms, right below your thumb, kitchen scrubbing no doubt. You chew on your lower lip as you peel each layer off him, toss his white linen shirt to one side. Your fingers find the slender, muscled expanse of his waist, brush his own pink nipples, unexpectedly sensitive and ready for touch. And Aemond finds the furious, shivering eagerness of your calloused hands on his chest and neck a hundred times more convincing than the whore’s honeyed words.

When you get to his breeches he pulls your chin up so you can face him. He knows he needs to look at you when you touch him, when you find the hard, eager evidence of how low you’ve brought him.

Your eyes close, brows together as if in pain, when your fingers wrap around his cock and he feels adrift suddenly, by how you fall into his body, into his need, his hips wonderfully, deliriously ready to chase your hand pulling at him.

He grips your chin hard enough to keep his own hand from shaking, bares his teeth in a snarl to keep a strangled moan in and whispers into your ear, as he steps out of his breeches.

“You don’t fight me anymore.”

You don’t answer immediately, and for a few minutes it’s just your panting breath and the slapping, wet sound of Aemond coming apart in your hand, one pull of his cock at the time.

He feels like he is going to lose his fucking mind.

“I decided to stop fighting myself.”

He does not know how to manage for himself. When you tear another kiss from his lips and go on all fours, he does not know how not to strangle one more hungry growl from his throat. When he catches the sight of your pale, pink cunt soaked and ready for him, he does not know how to stop himself from grabbing for your hips, leaving bruises of his own, or how to stop from warring within his breast the twin desires of fucking you like this, with your cunt on display for him or flipping you around so he can watch your face as you fall apart on his cock.

And it strikes him deliciously and unexpectedly that he need not decide, as he flips you on your back, drunk on the resistance of your kicking legs and the capitulation of your arms around him. He can do this as much as he wants for the rest of his life, in as many positions as he can think of.

He near sobs when he finally pushes inside you. No resistance in his way, just the warm, wet, grasping embrace of your cunt around him, clenching, milking him and he can’t stop. His face buried in your neck, your mouth kissing his temples, your breasts pressed against his chest. There’s so many things he wants to do to you. But he can’t stop pushing inside you, grinding into you, snapping his hips against yours. He can’t talk, can do nothing but clench his teeth against the mess of words and sounds that threatens to consume him.

It’s why he hears you, through the slap of skin against skin.

“My prince.”

He’s dreamed of it so often. Desired it so much. Craved it so ardently… that he can’t help but come at your strangled words. The noise he makes against your neck is shameful. He would have torn himself from your arms if his body hadn’t still been burning. He would have cursed himself for a fool if he still had breath in his lungs. But you are not deceived by his stillness.

“Aemond, are you—“

And he turns from you so quickly you are left more than confused, as dazed and humiliated as he. Both of you, naked in the chill of the evening while Aemond tries very hard not to think of a woman comforting him, the smell of mint leaves, and his brother’s scornful laughter.

“Touch me and I’ll take your fucking hand off,” he snaps back at you, unable to remember why his name on your tongue should be so odious to him, unable to think clearly except that you know so much of him, you should have known better. You have tasted him so thoroughly that he cannot think how to face you after this. No one should know him so well but Vhagar.

You stand up, despite how suddenly cold you are, with your thighs smeared in royal seed, a horribly familiar dread in your stomach as you are once more confronted with a prince who will not to look at you. You had not thought it could have been worse than humiliation, but shame and heartbreak together are too much of a burden to bear. You almost give in again, dismissed again. You almost leave and Aemond almost lets you.

And you will never know who turned around first, but you know your mouth is on his again, kiss so cruel and hungry your teeth draw blood from his dry lips. You know he fights you for control for a moment before you have him on the floor, powerful legs straddling his waist, your dull nails scraping against his nipples so that he chokes back a whine and you bite it off his lips with an angry sound of your own.

“That belongs to me,” you say, as this time, you pinch one of the tender buds on his chest, looking directly into his face, into amethyst and sapphire, before you make him cry out again. “I will not be robbed, little khal.”

He should have chastised you for your presumption, for your nails digging into his chest and your teeth closing around the sharp edges of his jaw. And he would. In time.

It isn’t over until it’s over, Ser Criston had said to him, when he was tired of Aegon’s taller frame and stronger reach giving him the advantage. It isn’t over until you decide it’s over.

And Aemond had decided, ages ago it seemed, that this would never be over.

His hand in your hand and you guiding him between your legs, until he remembers all the things he knows how to make your body do. That you do them on top of him, your hips swaying over his hand, only makes it sweeter.

He gives you the moan that belongs to you the moment his fingers find their way inside you, ripping a hungry noise from your own lips. One, two, three digits inside you until you can take no more and he is hard again, surprisingly, painfully hard. It is the sight of your beautiful, pale hair barely hiding your grimace of pleasure, your body moving of its own accord, fucking yourself on his hand, until he can take it no more, grabbing a handful of yellow hair and hissing recklessly, thoughtlessly against your bruised lips, “Ride my hand, come on my fingers. I’ll get you a dragon to ride if you do this well.”

He does not know where these promises come from. All he knows is the way your insides clench on his fingers, the way you throw your head back and he can feel you coming all over his palm, as his thumb abuses your hard, eager pearl. He can feel his cock twitch both at the thought of being inside you again and you, pale hair in the wind driving him to distraction, on dragonback.

But it is when you grab ahold of his face, looking straight into his soul, ruby-red eyes still half-lidded from your peak, that he cannot hold back any longer. Because you say it through a half-choked moan and he will make you say it again and again, as many times as he wants, in any position that he so desires, “I’ve got a dragon to ride already, my prince.”

He’s inside you again in seconds, giving you no quarter or preamble, your sex over-sensitive from your recent climax, but Aemond One-Eye is as cruel as any kitchen gossip ever named him to be. He is inside you, bigger than his slender fingers, deeper than any man had any right to be, reaching places you had never even dreamed existed, whispering delicious filth in your ear. Every wonderful, shameful thing you had ever desired from the men who had used you and so easily discarded you.

But not him. Not your prince.

“You are mine,” he says to you, too sharp and too guttural to be entirely Westerosi, with the taste of Old Valyria still on his tongue, drunk on his own blood and the one he takes by nipping at your greedy, eager lips. “To fuck you and use you as I want. Mine and no one else’s, issa jorrāelagon. My sweet, stupid girl. I’ll be the death of you. Come for me, come for your prince.”

And you do. Chasing pleasure, fucking yourself on this beautiful, idiot man’s cock. Knowing he is right about everything and you are lost to him, to the taste of his tongue and his anger and his scorn. And he is coming after you, in wonderful, warm spurts inside you, still hard as you chase your peak, long and drawn, seeming to last forever, with Aemond’s hands tangled in your hair again, urging you on with a rhythmic yes, yes, yes, still hard, still hungry for you.

Still willing after that second peak of his, to put you on your hands and knees, hair undone and more beautiful and perfect than any man you have ever seen before. Eye wild, sapphire glinting in the light of the dying fire, mouth curling in his cruel, hunting-cat smile, that you will never again be able to live without. All of it as he brings your sweet, pink cunt to his lips, dizzy from the smell of your combined lovemaking, dizzy from the knowledge of how that marks you as his and only his. And Aemond, Prince Aemond of the House Targaryen cannot know what it is to you when he runs the first, long, languorous lick against your cunt, smirking at your ragged moan of pleasure. He cannot know that every time you have been on your hands and knees for a man you had known it to be no more than a sham. A sordid, sorry fraud of a union. As if your body had known from the start that no cock and no hands and no tongue could ever serve but Prince Aemond’s. As if you had been waiting all your small, dreary life for his mouth against your cunt, ruthlessly tearing more pleasure out of your exhausted body.

He fucks you like this. The Dothraki way. Remaking the world for you with his claim on this position. Near laughing through the delicious, lingering burn at the pit of his stomach. His thighs straining and tingling because he’s come twice and is looking for a third and the sound of his legs slapping against your ass could've been enough to make him lose it. Except he knows now. That he gets to watch his cock pull in and out of you forever. Any time he wants. Gets to feel you arching against him, deliciously wanton, as desperate for his flesh as he was for yours, as many times as he so desires. And it is perfect, as he pulls your hair, one more time, one last time to prove he can, to drag you back up against him and lick a hot, wet brand up the skin of your neck, until he can whisper in your ear.

“Davrat nayat.”

And when he feels the merciless clench of your cunt he shouts against your fragrant hair, panting, kissing it, as Vhagar lights the night sky, somewhere over the sea, in a torrent of joyous flame.

#aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #maid reader #dothraki reader #iresmut #my writing #and if the devil...

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void-f3lt · 2 months

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1st🐍Chap: A New Roommate Snake in a Panther’s Cage Now

.*•——————————————————————————•*.

Six months.

Six Fucking Months.

It has been six months—probably—since he’d last been back on Earth.

Him and Loki, his younger brother, were on a plane together to go see their Father and then the plane got intercepted/fucking abducted??? by actual fucking aliens, people knew that aliens existed but they usually didn’t fuck with humans, something happened during WW3 or some shit and a very thin peace treaty was passed around, and some new laws got added to the Geneva Convention along the line of just because they ain’t human doesn’t mean they have to be experimented on.

After failing to escape stupid space jail, yes he knew it is a trafficking ship but he didn’t care. Alistair had just waited for something. Anything other than a trip to The Gladiator Ring. Though after a while he waited for that too, even got excited when it was time. Yes he is a sadist, why do you ask? It’s fucking revenge. (he knows it’s not the bastards he’s fighting fault but it’s still therapeutic) He memorized how often the guards walked by. He painstakingly counted the seconds when he realized there was an actual schedule.

Two and a half hours of the Light Cycle and around every five hours of dark because they don’t have nocturnal Fuckers or timetable’s apparently, resulting in only two switch overs. Assuming he didn’t screw up his counting at any point. The alien wardens brought food and water. Their food smelled like this one time that he lost a muffin under his bed for about a year and it grew black mold, mixed with rat poison. So yeah, he obviously refused to eat it.

Normally he just takes out one of his granola bars and eats half of that. He’s down to twenty-four so far and he eats one every three Day cycles so he’ll last about (*Math Later*).

There was that one time when an alarm had gone off for some reason. That had been somewhat interesting and fucking hurt. His dragon roommate didn’t seem as bothered, behaving how Alistair probably would at a fire alarm back home. But to him? It was unbearable. It drove him to tears and he ultimately passed out. It hadn’t happened again, yet. He guessed it was either a false alarm or a breach somewhere else on the ship. That would also confirm that there were other floors with prisoners.

He tried to find a way out, looking for loose bars and checking out the locks but he genuinely couldn’t figure those the fuck out(he really should have been taking notes whenever Father went on one of his engineering rant) and when he first tried to he could barely get a grip on the bars due to the stupid electric force field science fiction bullshit. Yes earth, and human settlements almost everywhere, has similar tech but he’s still gonna call sci-fi bullshit ‘cause it is.

Eventually, his captors figured out he wouldn’t eat the rat poison, and they brought something else. A lot of something else, actually. He avoided what didn’t smell or taste right, hoping for the best of the things he did eat. Raw, yellow meat? Questionable. Some kind of pink and orange slugs? Absolutely not. The plant lookin’ things that were probably fruit were fine. He liked the almost carrot. And they had jerky. The rest he gave to his dragon roommate as a peace offering.

At one point, some of the wardens came in, like they usually do, only this time they tried to take the alien dragon. When the dragon started struggling, Ailstair decided that helping them might earn him some kind of favor with it. (Definitely not because he grew attached to them and feared for their safety) So he attacked the guard that had tried to keep him back.

And bit the Bastard arm off.

Aliens are… really fucking squishy. Their taser baton things didn’t really phase him, but it killed a Guard whenever he snatched it and used it against them. As it fell, its arm tore off. Inside of his mouth. It was disgusting. It tasted disgusting. He knew the fuckers were fragile, he once just lightly stepped on one that he knocked to the floor—didn’t even jump on the fucker— and snapped its rips but still, That was a lot.

They didn’t open the cell door anymore after that. Food and water were delivered through the little slit under the door, pushed by sticks. He tried to grab the sticks but they pulled back as soon as he started to approach. It was starting to piss him off. Maybe next time he’ll take more than an arm.

Currently he’s just sitting in said cage with his dragonborn frien-Roommate staring at the ceiling after his newest escape attempt. Seriously, these fucker’s are so dumb. Thinking that watching him from all angles will make it any harder for him to escape. News flash, it won't stop him from trying as he’s tried four times by now, and almost succeeded 2 & 1/2 of those times(the half is cause he killed a fucker then took a hit to the bottom of his spine which kinda scared him and his dragon).

He trying his very best to ignore all the chatter around him. Just because he can technically make them shut up doesn't mean he wants to let them know he can understand them. He normally takes the thin but still metal food trays, that they give him everyday, bend and snap and sharpen into shanks during when he’s bored but he ran out. He’s pretty sure they either can’t figure out what he’s doing or know what he’s doing and are to surprised to realize it’s a threat and try and take them away. And if they try and do that they’d have to pry them out of his cold, dead hands.

Alistair is getting real off track with his thought process tonight but what else is he supposed to do? It’s in the middle of the Night and nothing ever hap- oh wait, never mind something’s happening maybe they’re probably just gonna take him to The Gladiator Ring I swear to god if I have to fight another IRL nomu from MHA, I will go for the crowd next time. But he can hear a Fucker carrying something… no someone? large?? alien, with the way they're yelling at another Fucker.

“You are such a hujari axten! Just lift the hujari thing for once you DRIDE!!!” Fucker One said. “Look, I told you with the other one. I. Can’t. Touch. It.” Fucker Two responded with exasperation. “The dride is three times lighter than you would think, but still hujari huge and heavy and one the most violent and capable of this species we’ve taken alive!!” Fucker One yelled.

“Oh well I’m oh so sorry, that only me and you are walking around doing quiores right now. If only we could take one of the other guards that are on patrol just to lift this thing to a cell, when it is obviously easy for you to lift… you are just krefftin lazy and want to go back to sleep, well guess what ya’ blasted axten SO DO I BUT SOMEONE HAS TO BE WITH YOU JUST IN CASE SOMETHING KREFFTIN HAPPENS YOU AXTEN’VERN!!”

Alistair was kinda shocked that they were just casually arguing while dragging someone to a cell where they will either be killed, experimented on, or put into The Gladiator Ring, or even just to sell the poor souls to the highest bidder. He wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t uncommon to see other aliens that just sell others cause, y’know, Money. Alistair is preeetty sure Father is either a cannibal or just sells human organs.. or both.

As he glares at the cage door with a new found hate. He doesn't mind the others in the cell block because they're in their own cages but he absolutely hates sharing his personal space. (Loki and his dragon are entirely different stories thank you very fucking much) While most of the other poor souls are asleep or close to, he must stay awake, his paranoia demands it what if they put.. whatever/whoever the hell, in his cage.

He waits as the arguing gets closer and closer, louder and louder, more annoying by the second because the other Fucker should just help the other other Fucker because it will get the work done faster.

He’s very glad that he is already used to very low light levels he and Loki both hate having the light on in their rooms, everyone (including themselves) are very confused by how well Loki’s eyesight actually is. His eyesight is also a whole ‘nother miracle and a half ‘cause both his mother and Father have reading glasses. After what felt like way too long they finally make it in the cell block. And stop right in front of his cell, Lovely. Alistair glares at them, bringing in another poor soul into this shit-hole, how many have they done this too.

(Oh my gawd, why do I caaarreeerrhhr)

Alistair just watches as they open his cage, if this was a good time he would use his new knifes to stab these dumbasses in their dick-equivalent so he could escape. IF it was a good time but Alistair still doesn't know where Loki is being held and his dragon roommate is both seven fuckin’ feet tall and asleep curled into a ball a couple feet away from the wall in front of him, doing something like that now would also be a death sentence cause off how many Fuckers he maimed.

It seemed they finally stopped yelling at each other, probably trying to restrict the information they might let slip in front of him. Both of them looked at each other for a second, having some seyelent conversation.

And then in quick succession, Fucker one turns off the electricity, opens the cage, as Fucker two throws the body bag as hard as they can, and when he says as hard as they can, this is a being getting tossed so hard they hit the back of the cell.

He hopes that didn't electrify whatever or whoever was in the bag. Then as soon as whatever is in the bag left the guards arms, the cage closes and the electricity gets turned back on. Poor bastard might be dead with a hit against the bars like that. The back bars were still electrified so that just added moredamage. Alistair wanted to keep glaring at the guards as they walked away but he couldn’t, this Stupidly lowng bitch in a bag(might be a snake or ferret.. why was That the second option)may not be dead. He flicks his glare back and forth between the Fucks and bag but ultimately picks the bag.

Alistair slowly makes his way over to the bag and hears some chuckling from the Fuckers at the door. He doesn't care about them right now, he needs to make sure what ever is in the bag is 1) dead or not 2) if it’s sentient, prey or predator so he can either make it afraid of him or take his chances with the bars 3) if sentient and not hurt to bad, can they be useful.

He’s getting closer to the bag when he finally notices it’s moving a little bit. He tries to get a little closer again but stops at the sound it made. It sounded like a growl from a demonic lion that is half reformed from being blended in a blender about to claw its way out of hell, might be from the pain, might be because it’s stuck in a bag, or it’s sensing him and telling him to back up.

Whatever it is (probably) can’t see him so, it shouldn’t end up as badly, he’ll just be even more careful. Dragon(who woke up when they heard the loud crash and clang, apparently) whispered at him to “Do not go and open that fucking bag.” He’s so glad he actually know common so he doesn’t have to guess what the curse words are. Ignoring his concerned frRoommate and moving as slowly as he can, Alistair gets right beside the cursed creature in the bag. It’s moving a bit more and making more, demonic clearing throat noises, but he has deducted that it must just be waking up, surprised that it’s hurt, and/or pissed.

He stares at whatever this thing is, pocketknife in hand ‘cause those shanks are not thick nor sharp enough(yet) to cut through the bag. He runs different ways he could get killed doing this in his head and decides that whatever it is, it would be more upset if it was still stuck in a bag, better to make sure he’s the one to get it out. Alistair was about to raise his pocketknife to cut through the bag but jumped back as the bag started thrashing back.

Absolutely not, safety first! He thought as he backtracked to his claimed corner, Dragon looking him like ‘I told you so’ and looking at the bag like it was going to eat them, the thing would probably kill him the moment it saw him going by the fact that it sounds like The Horrors and is like fifteen feet longso. Alistair eyes zero in on the bag and is amazed by how much it’s thrashing around in that thing. But it stopped thrashing almost as fast as started and he thinks he can see little impression of cat/maybe dog ears.

It’s quite around them besides the huffing breaths, growls and the untranslated probable curse words he can hear from the bag. Everyone is just staring at them now.

Alistair watches to see what it might do, does it have claws or something to cut the ba- Why is it gripping where the knot is? They usually don’t do that! Others in the past, either claw their way out or someone else cuts through the bag, either way no one goes for the knot.

He watches as the top of the bag that is tied off gets pulled into itself a bit. It’s confusing trying to figure out what this thing is doing. Does it think it can somehow bring the knot into the inside of the bag and untie it or? If it somehow, by a sheer miracle, gets it fully through the bag…. What will it do now?

Alistair watched in silence, honesty amazed, horror as the now untied knot got tossed out and then the bag opened up. “Finally,” was said followed by more probable very creative insults directed at the Fuckers given their faces. He waits slowly breathing in the forgotten breaths for when it will leave the bag, he hasn’t known any sentient race that can do that.

His eyes track the….

Hand?

I mean it’s furry and has built in claws, but still, HAND???

Slowly exiting the bag first, It has long almost metallic black claws and the hand looks to be short charcoal black but dense fur, from wrist to a little below the elbow the fur seams to be compacted down. (And a little glittery as he reflects on later) The other hand reaches around a little as the opening of the bag opens to let themself through better. The guards at the door froze in fear as the creature’s eyes stared down into their souls, then it pounced.

#humans are space australians #magic #writing #i don’t know what i’m doing #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #earth is space australia #space religion #space gods #Gods #Second pass/draft #Lex Siderum Canon #Lex Siderum

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daydreaming-en-pointe · 5 months

Text

⌦ .｡ guys, the desis are at it again… .:*♡

Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar x fem!Indian!Reader (Platonic!!) (Gwen, Miles and Hobie are there too)

Type: Oneshot - Fluff

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Usage of Hindi ig? (It’s all translated dw) Some cussing, Indian-British jokes and I think that’s it

A/N: I had this in my drafts for a while and only finished it now after eating the spiciest samosa I have ever had in my life so yay :D

I know it makes more sense for Pavi to be a strictly vegetarian Hindu considering how he got his powers, but here he eats chicken and mutton because some of the spiciest Indian dishes I’ve ever tried have meat in them (COUGH COUGH LAAL MAAS)

Also uh I hc that Pavitr’s middle name is Bhim after his uncle bc yk Peter has Benjamin so he has Bhim

“How the hell are you doing this?!”

Gwen forfeited by chugging a glass of water after a bite of the biriyani, joining Miles on the couch where he was still wheezing slightly, his eyes watering and throat burning from the spice.

“They’re bloody insane, Gwendy. They’re Indian and they ‘ave a spice tolerance that could put dragons to shame. Wha’ d’ya expect?” Hobie, sprawled precariously on the edge of the sofa arm, stole a piece from the bowl of butter chicken that lay forgotten on the side, gleefully watching you two. He had done the smart thing and quit fairly early into the round, before the food actually got spicy.

You faced off from Pavitr across the coffee table, sitting cross-legged and eating a bowl of the spiciest biriyani you both had ever tasted. You could see small tears pricking the corner of his eyes. You were almost tempted to call him a coward, but you figured that wouldn’t go so well since you could feel your eyes watering too.

See, if he hadn’t challenged you to a spice-tolerance taste test contest then this wouldn’t be happening. He could’ve kept quiet while you accidentally choked on a samosa and not assumed it was from the spice level (which wasn’t even that high), but noooo. He had to make a comment about how he could take more spice than you could.

So, technically, this whole thing was his fault.

And that was why you both were kneeling at a coffee table in Maya Aunty’s house, stuffing your faces with the spiciest foods you could find. So far, you had gotten through Maya Aunty’s saag paneer and dal makhani without any rice, which would have been a feat in itself… to anyone less competitive.

Hell, you had even gotten through dhansak and vindaloo without batting an eyelid, much less reaching for a glass of water. But for some reason a single bowl of this damn mutton biriyani was making both of you sniffle like sick kittens.

“Didi, I’m going chutney you,” Pavitr gritted his teeth and forced down another bite of the biriyani. You copied his movements, feeling the masala burn in your throat as you swallowed. (Didi means sister, usually a term of respect for someone you consider a sister and they’re older than you)

“Hei bhaghvaan, apni chachi ne ismain kya rakha?” (Oh God, what did your aunt put in this?) You coughed slightly and Pavitr dropped his forehead onto the table, groaning slightly like he was dying. Which, in all honesty, didn’t feel that far from the truth.

“I don’t know! All I know is that biriyani isn’t supposed to be this spicy!”

“‘Ey, Miles. ‘Ow much you wanna bet that Pavitr folds first? ‘E’s practically turnin’ red, isn’t ‘e - y’alright, bruv?” Hobie smirked down at you both, his border flickering. You snorted in amusent then immediately regretted it since some of the masala was now caught in your nose and oh, good grief, you could feel it burning.

Pavitr glared up at him. “You’re one to talk, Hobes. Didn’t you quit when we just started off? Arre, poor little Britisher couldn’t take the heat? Angrezi log ham jaise masale nahi kha sakhte.” (English/British people can’t eat spices like we can)

Hobie raised an eyebrow as Pavitr bit down on a green chilli that had been mixed into the rice and doubled over, tears streaming out of his eyes.

“Maybe it’s best if you call it a draw? I mean-” Miles shut his mouth quickly when you turned to glare at him.

“I’m not stopping till Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar admits that I can eat more spice than him.” You emphasised his middle and last name, narrowing your eyes as Pavitr weakly flipped you off without lifting his head.

Hobie chuckled softly. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, Pavi, she’s bringin’ in the full name. Take it from me, mate, you’re screwed when she does tha’.”

“Shut up before I use your full name,” You warned, turning your wrathful gaze on him. “We both know you wouldn’t want me to do that.”

His eyes widened and he mimed zipping his lips and tossing the key away. Miles looked at you curiously, tilting his head to the side. “Wait, what’s Hobie’s full name?”

“Funny you should ask, Kilometer Morality,” Pavitr muttered under his breath, his forehead still resting on the table. You had learnt about half an hour ago that when Pavitr got a spice overload he tended to make random “snarky” quips which usually didn’t make any sense.

“Yeah, I’m gonna go get some ice cream for when this thing blows up,” Gwen got up from the couch, giving Pavitr a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and moving to the kitchen.

“Wimp,” You muttered to Pavitr as a tear rolled down your cheek. Forget burning, your tongue was almost going numb from the sheer amount of masala that you were trying to ingest.

“Weakling,” He countered as a bead of sweat trailed down the side of his forehead. You shovelled another spoon of the biriyani into your mouth, relief flooding you as the spoon hit the bottom of the bowl. Good, you had almost finished. But would you make it that far?

Pavitr tentatively took a bite and immediately choked, giving in and reaching for one of the two bowls of curd sitting appetisingly in the centre of the table. He was essentially tapping out.

You threw your arms in the air triumphantly, almost giddy with victory. Actually, maybe that was from the spice. Yep, definitely the spice.

You downed the bowl of curd, letting out a long sigh of relief as the cold, thick liquid dowsed your tongue and took the initial edge of the buildup of spice away. Gwen returned just in time to see Pavitr and you lapping at the curd as if you were a pair of stray cats, like the ones you both faithfully fed and played with.

“I take it you won?” She asked you, her eyes sparkling a little bit in amusement as she saw Pavitr drop his head down onto the table the moment he properly realised that he had lost. She slid two cups of vanilla ice cream to you. A little basic, maybe, but still good and definitely a relief to your mouth.

“Barely,” You admitted, taking a small spoon from her. “Arre, Pavi. Don’t feel bad. Hum donon ne apana sarvashreshth prayaas kiya, naa? C’mon, sit up.” (We both tried our best, right?)

“Haan, Didi,” He grumbled sulkily, lifting his chin as you fed him the ice cream from his bowl. (Haan just means yes)

“Let’s do something else. Should we get Hobie to pronounce the names of these foods?”

“Oh, sure, throw the British guy under the bus,” Hobie protested, but a fond smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth as Pavitr chuckled softly.

“To be fair, you are in Mumbattan right now,” You pointed out, and Hobie heaved an exaggerated sigh, a grin already forming on his mouth as he prepared to butcher the pronunciations on purpose to get a reaction out of you and cheer up Pavitr.

“Fair enough. Alrigh’… That’s, uh… that’s sag panner, and that’s…”

@l0starl @hobiebrownismygod @therealloopylupin2099

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