#‘time is supposed to run out time is supposed to. sun is supposed to go down sun is supposed to’

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 || 𝐇𝐚𝐧 𝐉𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠-𝐖𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one: angel of satisfaction || part two: here

summary_the fallout of your love story with jeong-won and how he begged long enough to drastically change your life.

warnings_ age gap (not specified but reader is in uni), implied sex, cheating, fluff, angst but happy ending , reader smokes, is implied to be American and PLOT TWIST at the end, NO PROOFREADING

notes_ need to watch goblin and the silent sea :( using the salesman tag to avoid the flop allegations

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 gong yoo

✰ Index (+ fics here)

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ———୨ৎ───୨ৎ

The smell of cigars filled your home: you never thought you would deliberately find yourself smoking.

But there you were, looking at the cloudy skyline while you threw out the unhealthy smoke.

Your phone rang and you pulled it out of your pocket.

The ninth call of the day. Three times three is the charm.

“What the fuck do you want?” You neutrally ask, ignoring the beating of your heart.

“…y/n? Thank goddess you’re answering” You roll your eyes. “We need to talk, there’s a lot you-“

“Jeong-won, I don’t want to talk about anything with you” The exasperated tone in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by him, which makes him feel even more stressed out. “In fact, I don’t want you to keep calling me. I don’t want you messaging me. I don’t want to have your follow on social media. I don’t want to hear your music in the clubs. I don’t want to ever fucking see your face again”

“Please, y/n. I don’t deserve to explain myself but-“

“I told you, you only had to pay for that dinner and forget about me. I suppose you didn’t mend things with your wife…” you abruptly cut him off, watching the smoke of the cigar fly out of your place.

“It’s complicated…” he sounds tired, sad and pathetic.

“Yeah… Everything’s that way with you. I just didn’t want to see it” you spit out, hanging up, leaving him to make a mess over the deadline.

You didn’t know how, but you would try everything just to forget him. But when you get out of the apartment the first thing you notice is the public trash can.

There lies the flower bouquet that appeared at your door three days ago. It had been Jeong-won’s first attempt to say sorry.

But so far it wasn’t working.

…

Three weeks into trying to move on. The first days felt like walking throwing a dark alleyway with no return. Tears always find a way to run out of your eyes, but you couldn’t deny, that you felt better.

Your friends helped a lot. Seoun-mi was the only one who said that if Jeong-won insisted, you could let him explain himself. Ruby and Jade immediately said no.

The spring was right around the corner. The rain was slowly coming to an end. The coats were being replaced with sweaters and cardigans. Even the sun cooperated, warming enough to make you go out to run.

Jeong-won crossed the street to walk towards his car. He had submitted a mini EP of music, expected to release mid-spring.

The city looked active, almost as if everyone had been trapped by the winter. He pulled out the keys to his car when he looked up.

His feet dragged him away, noticing a woman jogging down the street.

His face turned in awe after realizing it was you. Your matching grey tracksuit was hard to miss. He remembered you mentioned you were asthmatic, he wondered if you carried your inhalator.

“Y/N!” Jeong-won couldn’t care less if everyone stared at him as if he was insane. He started running hoping to get your attention.

His heart started beating so fast, the rush of seeing your face again, the hope of having you by his side again.

But that didn’t happen, you didn’t even listen. Music was playing so loud through your wireless headphones.

Jeong-won stopped running. He stared at your blurred vision and sighed in dismay.

His phone rang and he answered, still looking at you.

“Are you busy?” In-ji asked.

“No. I’m going home…” the man answered.

…

As the desperation started to burn you, the need to go out also grew stronger.

Ruby and Seoun-mi had seminars, and Jade had a meeting with her major advisor.

The outcome? You dancing all alone in a club.

You couldn’t go to the same one where you used to go. That’s where you met Jeong-won, it was too painful.

But as the alcohol sinks in, you start to feel tipsy, alerting you to stop drinking.

For a second you thought it was already too late but Han Jeong-won was actually there.

He gently pushed people to come to you.

There isn’t even time to feel angry, nervous, or panicked.

“What are you doing here?” You ask loudly.

“I came with a friend…” he admits, looking hopeful.

When you try to sneak away, Jeong-won grabs your wrist and pushes you against his chest. Only to then kiss you.

In his arms, you felt safe.

With his kisses, you felt cherished.

The man who urgently smashed his lips with yours in the middle of the dance floor while music blasted from the speakers was the love of your life.

He couldn't resist the temptation. Couldn't miss the chance and needed to let you know he always loved you. That everything was true.

"Please, believe me..." he pleaded, holding your hands.

"Fuck you, Jeong-Won"

Frivolously, you leave the taste of poison on his lips. His hand tried to grab yours again, but you slipped, leaving him.

Like you had already done before.

But it didn't make it easier, because tears started falling down the first step out of the club.

And in the middle of the cold night, you slip into your coat and start a quiet walk towards home.

You wished you knew he was mourning a life he had before you.

…

Caffè Americano…

The smell fills your nostrils and the warmth of the cup soothes the cold of your hands. Too many thoughts have run through your head over the days. And it was very rushed to say you were over Jeong-won. Walking through the same streets you once walked while feeling in love was devastating, as dramatic as it sounded.

But it’s a good day. You can feel like you are reaching peacefulness and it’s enough.

It’s been a month and a half since you last saw him. The world is not fresh, but it’s still open.

You walk out of the coffee shop, your boots sound with every step you take and the cool air makes the very few cherry blossoms in the trees fall.

Your eyes scan the street; everyone is just there living.

When would you start feeling like yourself again?

Apparently not at that moment. After coming down the little steps of the coffee shop, you look up and meet two people talking, just inches away.

Why was life so cruel? Why do you have to meet your ex-boyfriend and his wife right then and there?

They feel someone standing in their eyes, but they try to act so normal, like you hadn’t seen them. You start walking away. With firm steps and a well-hidden urge to run as well.

His hair looked the same, but his face looked less tired. She looked younger if that was even possible, with longer hair and more casual clothes.

Jeong-won and In-ji stare at each other awkwardly.

“Go after her” she softly tells him. Jeong-won stares back at her with unease before turning back his attention to you.

He knew you wanted to run away the moment you saw them.

“We already met once. What if we met again and she’s in the middle once again?” He can’t deny the anxiety growing as you stop waiting for the traffic lights to change.

“Jeong-won, perhaps we were really never meant to be together…” his face almost turns into a childish pout.

But maybe… In-ji was right.

She was kind, supportive and caring. She would’ve been a great wife. But their marriage started as a contract, Jeong-won never knew her completely.

He never felt the same way he did with you.

“We couldn’t even say ‘I love you’ to each other…” the woman admitted with a sad smile.

Then both turned to look at you.

“Go, explain her everything. And if we see each other again. It’s because we are meant to be friends. But that’s it…” Jeong-won almost felt his eyes turn glassy. But he nodded, gave Noh In-ju a brief kiss on the forehead, and literally started running towards you.

For a moment he thought about

You are still waiting for the green light when you hear him. You spot a cab and make him a sign to stop by you.

“Y/N !” When you look back, you see Jeong-won running, out of breath with his hand waving in an attempt to make you notice him.

You sigh, already feeling stressed out.

“This needs to stop. I can’t take it anymore!” You almost yell as soon as he ends up face-to-face with you. “I know it was just a coincidence and she’s your wife, but it’s not fair. I can’t do this anymore…”

You’re so mentally exhausted that you don’t even notice your eyes tearing up until the cool air makes you aware of the tears.

“Please, don’t cry. If you just let me explain… you and I-“

Boom. You explode…

“YOU AND I, NOTHING!”

It spills out of your mouth. The words even hurt you since you know it’s not true. People around stare but you don’t care.

“This is why I can’t go out anymore. I’m so scared that I will have to see your face again… “ his heart breaks, he can’t stand your tired and hurt tone, your burning cheeks, and your red eyes.

He wants to make it better but doesn’t know how.

“I never wanted to hurt you…” he admits with his broken voice and you find the strength to chuckle. “I will remember that when I’m gone…”

“You’re leaving?” Jeong-won finds himself panicking, already desperate to make you stay.

“If the office approves my petition, yes. I’ll leave in three weeks” his face goes pale. “And even after everything… I can’t hate you, Jeong-won”

Your cab arrives just in time, and you disappear without saying anything else. You don’t even look at him again.

And as the cab drives away, you begin to think about anything else. In hopes of forgetting about everything, starting with his face.

…

2:00 am…

You can’t sleep. It was the following night after a hangover day. Your friends almost cried, pleading you stay at least the rest of the semester. You hadn’t thought about leaving the apartment and all of the good memories built there.

You look through the open curtains at the skyline. The same crystal diving you from the city that once was your lullaby as Jeong-won hugged you and combed his fingers through your hair.

You were so sober that you even questioned if he deserved to explain himself.

What if he was in a bad marriage and he couldn’t get divorced but started seeing you? No… Then why did they look very happy talking to each other the last time?

What if he actually never meant to cheat on his wife but tremendously fell in love with you? No… He still cheated and never told you about it.

But he said he loved you.

And he looked sincere while doing so…

*beep beep*

Your phone makes you touch the ground again.

After hours of being in the dark, the light of the screen blinds you for a second.

Five new messages…

Jeong-won ♡

You never removed the heart beside his name in the contract.

Jeong-won ♡ ׂ╰┈➤

I can’t sleep again.

and not because I’ve taken

the pills again. I miss you like

you have no idea.

I know I hurt you despite not

wanting to. But as I said, it’s complicated.

Jeong-won ♡ ׂ╰┈➤

My first wife and I had issues.

She always wanted to

control me. We almost had a kid,

but we lost it and that shattered my

life once again. So she urged me

to sign a fake marriage, now I see

how twisted and stupid it is.

Jeong-won ♡ ׂ╰┈➤

I was so uncomfortable when this

new woman appeared at my place.

It was already a bad place

and it added up to my neglect. It was

never my intention to cheat on In-ji.

I was only being friendly

that night we met in the club. But the

more I heard you, the more I realized

how lonely I was. It was luck or a fluke

that you were in that burger shop

days after.

Jeong-won ♡ ׂ╰┈➤

I swear to you, y/n, that every

word, caress, and moment I shared

with you was real. Never in my life

I’ve been more sure about

feeling like this. I wanted to tell

you about the marriage, but I

didn’t know how. I thought that

no matter how much I tried to

explain, it would sound terrible.

I was so close to falling in love

with her. But thank goodness

I didn’t, because I would have

settled for so little compared

to you. The marriage contract is

over. That day you saw us together,

it was the first time I saw her

in months. She told me to go after you.

Jeong-won ♡ ׂ╰┈➤

I don’t think it’s enough

explanation. But I hope it’s

enough for you to believe me

when I say I truly love you.

I’m so sure I want to waste as

many years as needed as long as

you forgive me. Please don’t leave,

I need you. Even when I don’t deserve

it.

✓ ✓

You don’t cry, you don’t panic, you don’t even blink. You just lock the phone and set it aside. Your eyes locked on the ceiling as you start drifting off, succumbing to sleep.

…

It could’ve been any other day. But it was raining when you decided to drop the final papers to withdraw from the study abroad program and return home. The apartment was a mess, half of it already packed up inside carton boxes and the other half resting as if nothing was happening.

The decision was not properly made, that was clear.

Your head was a disaster, a swimming mess.

Your life has been quite boring but comforting ever since you entered your teenage years. Never in your wildest dreams, you thought you would be stressing over a failed relationship where the man was married.

Three months after that embarrassing night at the restaurant, you are in a very different place and situation.

The rain has stopped, the sun peaks between grey clouds but the streets are still a wet mess.

You avoid the puddles of water that form across the sidewalk. Your cable earphones get tangled with the bunch of papers in your arms. It’s annoying until you slow down to take them off and hold the papers properly.

You bump into someone. The altercation being a little violent makes you almost fall to your knees, but the stranger holds your shoulders.

And the papers fall from your hands, drenching in the water.

“Fuck…” you whisper, hurrying to kneel, not caring that your knees get wet, you can only save the top papers. You see the hands of the stranger also trying to save them. That’s when you look up at the stranger.

Without a warning you end up smiling, Jeong-won smiles back at the instant. Both of you chuckle.

The half-drenched papers slip from your hands again, completely drowning in the puddle of water.

“Is it too late?” He asks.

“For what?”

“For begging you to stay with me…” your hands snake to grab his. He had a black turtleneck sweater and a jacket hanging over his shoulder. He looked painfully gorgeous.

You think about all those hours you spent re-reading his messages.

“I think you have begged enough” you reply.

Needless to say… you just know it was meant to happen.

Your arms lock around his neck and it’s you the one kissing him. Jeong-won mentally sighs, feeling relieved and renewed.

You can feel his arms embracing you tightly, as if scared you would slip away from him again.

Out of breath, he rests his forehead against yours, witnessing how the pain slowly washed away.

“It’s okay…” you almost whisper, he nods, briefly smiling. “Jeong-won, let's go home”

You knew he understood. Both of you knew home was wherever the two of you were together.

…

The heat was slowly building up. The windows started to remain open all day and night. Jeong-won was slightly stressed out, he had an upcoming trip and was in a mall, outside of a candle store.

His phone was almost burning when he realized the day was indeed hot.

“Jeong-won?” He turns only to encounter In-ji, smiling brightly at him.

“In-ji…”

His ex-wife appeared upon him, looking gorgeous. She looked happy, with her long hair now dyed chocolate brown.

“How are you?” He asked giving her a quick hug. “I haven’t seen you in… a long time”

It had been a year, to be exact.

“What happened with y/n?” She asks straight to the point and Jeong-won chuckles. “Why are you laughing?”

“It was bad… Remember?” In-ji nods, then he points at a woman squatting while looking at candles inside the store.

It was you, wearing a sundress that hunched over the floor. A purse hanging from your shoulder with many keychains. And when you stood up and turned to the side, In-ji noticed your left arm was also busy, holding a newborn baby.

“HAN JEONG-WON, YOU HAD A BABY?” the man starts laughing while nodding. “Oh my goddess! Congratulations!”

“I can’t believe it myself” he admits after accepting the hug In-ji gave him.

It felt nice to see her. She was right, they functioned better as friends.

“It’s a girl, right? What’s her name?” His eyes brightened at the subject.

Jeong-won had a baby with you…

“She has two names. June Iseul” the name of the baby rolled over his tongue and he found himself smiling again.

June Iseul was born in the peak of the winter, weighing and measuring less than expected, with matted raven hair and grey irises that were slowly becoming like yours but shaped just like her father’s.

“That’s adorable!” In-hi admitted, feeling awe at the sight of the baby in your arms, wearing a rainbow onesie.

“And I guess you married her?” Jeong-won huffed.

You never denied how June Iseul had been an accident. She came to slow down your academic career, she also made you gain weight and lose some hair but her arrival amidst winter gave you half a year to recover. You felt amazing and June Iseul was growing healthy.

Jeong-won was happier than ever. He was just a little worried about the reason why they were in the mall. Your parents were slightly mad and very confused as to why you left home being single and a full-time student and you were going to visit them being a part-time student, with a boyfriend and a baby.

Jeong-won was nervous, excited, and eager to marry you.

“Well… happens that y/n doesn’t fully believe in traditional marriage. I’ve asked her on multiple occasions but she keeps saying that we shouldn’t push it yet” Jeong-won admits rolling his eyes, she chuckles, turning her head to see you invested in the newborn section. “She’s very smart”

“She is…” he agrees, joining the chuckles and smiling like an idiot at the sight of you with his daughter.

“Well I didn’t have a baby, but I got married” In-ji revealed, making Jeong-won almost gag.

“What? When?”

“Two weeks ago. I met him in Thailand and… I don’t know. I’m just… very happy” Both smiled, feeling in peace knowing everyone had moved on. “I’m happy for you, Jeong-won. I can tell you are living a dream”

“I’m also happy for you…” both smiled at each other.

…

An hour later, you are done shopping and the most important thing is in your hands; a stroller for June Iseul.

Jeong-won pushed the stroller as both of you walked towards a pasta restaurant.

“It sucks that you got me pregnant before my twenties ended. I should be in the club!” you object, exaggerating. You can hear Jeong-won huffing in disbelief.

“You literally go out to the club every week!”

He was right. Your life pretty much remained the same.

“And that’s one more reason I love you so much”

Even with the arrival of June Iseul, Jeong-won had no problems with staying with the baby while you attended classes or decided to hang out with your friends. He used to have a lot of free time, but now… he found the perfect routine.

“What are we ordering?” He asks, grabbing a menu as you both wait your turn to order and pay.

“You pick the pasta and I want a pizza with truffle oil. What do you say?” You negotiate with a smile.

He gets so lost in your beautiful face that he ends up smiling back like an idiot.

“What?” You ask again, chuckling at his silly face. “Nothing, I just love you so much”

You blush. And before you can say anything.

You hear some coos.

“I’ll order, you pick a table and feed Junjun” Jeong-won reassures you, knowing very well his daughter was demanding and using the silly nickname he had given her.

You take a seat at a secluded table and turn the stroller so you can uncover it.

June Iseul was awake.

“Hello, little blossom” she smiled and it melted your heart. “I know you’re hungry…”

She was very small and soft. She had that baby smell but as her mother, you thought your baby smelled perfectly compared to the others.

She locked her eyes with yours as you breastfed her, not caring about the attention because your back was facing the world, and the table was secluded enough to cover you.

June Iseul’s pale skin resembled her father’s, making her look a little like a porcelain doll. Like the one your friend Jade gifted her from Japan months ago.

The doll was very sophisticated and rested along with some baby books and toys.

“Your father isn’t very good at conversations with strangers, right?” You ask your baby as you pull her out of the stroller and into your chest. Your boyfriend seemed to awkwardly be exchanging words with the woman taking the order. It made you chuckle.

After a long night talking and him telling you every single detail of his life, everything changed.

Just when he got a little house in a modest neighborhood and asked you to move in, you accidentally got pregnant.

What seemed like a challenge turned out to be easier than expected. Jeong-won had been the perfect partner all along.

Ignoring the judgment from your peers in classes after you waddled around campus with a baby bump, everything was perfect.

Also ignoring all the insults you threw to Jeong-won while he held your hand in the delivery room, everything was perfect.

So seeing him come with the receipt of the order and taking June Iseul from your arms to burp her made you realize how lucky you were.

How fucked up things were until they weren’t.

You have a boyfriend begging you to marry him and a perfect baby that looks like him. Both are in wait to visit your homeland and parents for the first time.

The flash of your phone pulls Jeong-won out of his trance with June Iseul.

“Are you taking us a picture?” he asks.

“Yes, you both look so adorable” you admit looking at the screen. June Iseul perfectly locked eyes with his father and you captured it in a picture.

You would print it, use it as your lock screen, and send it to your friends.

Ruby immediately replies in the group chat, then Jade, and lastly Seoun-mi.

Rubz <3 ׂ╰┈➤

DILF + adorable baby spotted!!!!

Jadore ׂ╰┈➤

Is that the onesie I bought her?

June Iseul my baby 🩷🩷🩷

misu :) ׂ╰┈➤

Tell Jeong-won he’s not

holding her neck properly:)

misu:) ׂ╰┈➤

I love her <3

you ׂ╰┈➤

Everyone gets In-N-Out and

animal fries after we come

back to Korea (cold ofc)

you ׂ╰┈➤

For being such a good

trio of aunts 💋

You lock your phone with a smile on your face as you stand up.

“Where are you going?” Jeong-won asks.

“To wash my hands, silly” You lean forward to kiss him briefly and you can feel him smiling amidst the kiss.

It’s inappropriate but since the table is secluded, you feel playful enough to add tongue and have a little touch with his.

And then you remember your daughter is in the middle of you two and had just burped.

“She spilled some milk…” Jeong-won hurriedly says, breaking the kiss.

You chuckle and kiss your daughter’s matted hair.

“Then clean her, Jeong-won,” you say before leaving to finally wash your hands. As your steps grow further, you can hear your boyfriend talking in Korean with June Iseul.

“Your mother is a little spitfire. That’s why I want to marry her…”

There’s an embarrassing smile on your face when you look at yourself in the bathroom mirror.

___________________________

Taglist: @stargirl-mayaa @czarinera @dovediva @dreamersparacosm @girlythings111 @love2fangirl @migueloharassoulmate @fangirl4lifetime @wonallofme @otakusimp1 @muchwita @preppyfella @xcinnamonmalfoyx

[mameillieureennemie]

i decided on angst. 😞

fwb!vi x reader

summary: you and vi are friends with benefits. so why does it feel more than that now?

the sun sets low, dipping behind the horizon and colouring the world in warm hues. it throws oranges through the window, made into stripes by partially opened blinds, and it's all so...peaceful.

simple.

you stare out the window at the city beyond, take in the skyline as it slowly starts to shimmer. it's coming alive; just in time to greet those who favour the night's darkness. you wonder if you could be drawn out; your friends have been dying to take you to a classy restaurant downtown.

all dressed up in glittery dresses, sloping silhouettes, and too-high heels reveal pain-tinged regret far too late.

still, you could be tempted.

but.

"you okay, sweetness?" vi says from behind, her arms finding their home around your waist. she pulls you in until no space can possibly exist between your back and her chest. her chin hooks over your shoulder, perfectly like a puzzle piece, and it really makes you think.

"i'm fine," you assure her, resting your hands over hers, because you are fine. better than you've felt in days, perhaps. you can't really pinpoint why, but deep down, you know. you're just unsure if you want to accept the reason. "i was thinking about going out tonight. there's this new restaurant my friends want us to try. very fancy; pretty sure you need a reservation."

"aren't you friends with mel medara and caitlyn kiramman?" vi teases, and you can't help but laugh. you see what she's aiming for, and of course, you'd never have to make a reservation for anywhere high brow in the city.

"your point?" you ask, just because you can, and yelp when vi nips at your neck's curve. "hey—!"

vi shushes you. "easy, princess," she murmurs, and you fall at ease. only because you want to. not because vi's voice can command you to do almost anything, especially when it's still a little sleep-heavy, a little hoarse around the edges. "if you want to go out, we can. i was kinda thinking we'd stay in. order some food and watch something funny."

you try not to focus on how vi said we instead of you. you try not to focus on how that made your heart skip.

you keep your eyes on the darkening skyline, noting how the lights in the buildings shine like stars. your throat feels dry; it almost hurts to swallow. there's so much running through your mind right now, so much that makes you want to turn around and go:

this isn't a part of the deal.

this isn't supposed to happen.

all of this is dangerously verging into a—

"i'd like that," you say quietly, already dooming your heart to a tragic end. you take bitter solace in the smile vi presses into your skin, it almost makes you feel sick. but you don't pull away when she turns you in her arms. you don't draw back when she leans in to kiss you.

you don't place a hand on her chest and say what you should say.

we agreed this wouldn't be more than sex.

but vi's mouth is the sweetest nectar you've tasted, highly addictive and forever on your lips. she draws you in until you're back on the bed, underneath her as you surrender to her touch.

the skyline's fully alight by the time you're both sat on the couch, watching some sitcom. you're freshly showered, curled up together with forks digging into take-out cartons.

vi laughs loudly at something on the screen, eyes closed and mouth wide. she's got some sauce at the corner of her mouth, and she's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen and...

no.

you can't do this.

[rafayelsbelovedbride]

Does Rafayel really have to choose MC over Lemuria?

Of course, it looks like in a world where Lemuria is revived, MC cannot be there with him; and similarly, in a world where MC is by Rafayel’s side, Lemurians are forced to live on land, subject to all kinds of abuse out of human greed.

But I don’t think Rafayel even considers MC and Lemuria as separate sides. He did try to do that but in the end, I think, he doesn't want to choose one over the other. The thing is, even without the bond he shares with MC, Rafayel truly cares about all of his followers including MC (even the cat that he took care of for a short while).

If we look at how he acts with people around him, it is so easy to see that he is a very caring god. He attends Talia’s wedding to give his blessings. He prepares a gift for her, he designs her a necklace that would match her wedding dress. Through all the bickering, he sees that Thomas looks up to him and he lets him be by his side. He makes Thomas his manager and invites him to the new year’s celebrations.

He helps others hold the Seamoon ceremony for the deceased, and if that is not possible, he brings the flowers for his follower to the funeral of the man who harmed her.

He cares about the children enough to held special workshops for them, and donates art supplies. He cares about the students he gave lectures to in Linkon University when he was just there to keep an eye on MC. He gives them honest feedback, he lets them criticize his works and he remembers them by their names.

And even when he realizes that one of his students was working with Ever dissecting Lemurian hearts, even when he gets angry at the sudden reveal, Rafayel gives the student a chance to explain himself and lets him go, trusting that the student will maybe find the right path in the future.

Honestly, I think, you have to be a special kind of evil to attract Rafayel’s wrath. Because no matter how hasty he may come of time to time, he is a very patient and understanding person. That’s why he still respects the elder Lemurians even if he keeps running away. That’s why he is still with Amund, listening to his advice even when he obviously doesn’t really like him that much.

No matter how much he tries to appear as a cold person, people around him are always aware that they are in the embrace of his warmth.

And, I really don't think he values one over the other or even makes the MC vs Lemuria comparison at all. The thing is I don’t even think Rafayel’s conflict is directly related to his love for MC. Because, even before MC became his follower and he gave her his heart, Rafayel considered Lemuria’s flame as a poor imitation of the sun, a fire that is not hot but just merely warm. And, he did not like the weak warmth emanated from a flame placed in the middle of a cold and dark room. He wanted to break through the surface and bask in the sun’s glow. Maybe, he had doubts about how the Lemuria worked, how the ceremony was held from the very beginning.

And I think that’s also related to why the Sea God ceremony appeared to “fail”. That disastrous ceremony happened the exact way it was told in the prophecy, stating the fire would go out only to be reignited by him. He still left that ceremony with a newborn flame in his hands. A flame that shook the foundations of Lemuria. And I think the flame Rafayel was supposed to have and the flame he actually has after that ceremony is as different as the fire in the temple and the sun.

I kind of think there were two souls in the beginning. One was supposed to take the heart of the other, and make the heart itself the faith that ignites the flame. And the other was supposed to mix into the sea and disappear, only to come back again and reclaim the heart. And continue this never-ending cycle. This heart, taken by force in such a violent way, could only provide a lukewarm flame that cannot be compared to the power of the sun.

Past Lemuria existed as these two souls stole their warmth away from each other to keep this place, in the bottom of a fissure in the deep sea, warm. The past Lemuria existed through the torturous cycle that had to be upheld by Rafayel and MC.

And, maybe that’s why Rafayel considers his attraction to MC as an addictive painful feeling. Maybe that’s why he’s willing to burn by his love for her. And maybe that’s why it is really important that we see Rafayel leaving these feelings behind and embracing love as an inspiration rather than pain. He's ready to break the cycle now and bring Lemuria the sun, instead of a small flame.

I think what happened during the ceremony was MC showed Rafayel a way out of this cycle by giving him her purest faith without Rafayel taking her heart. Although, they still failed in the end. And ended up continuing this cycle for many more years.

So, maybe the good ending for this story is a good ending for both MC and Rafayel, and Lemuria. A good ending where the Lemuria thrives under its new sun’s glow, and a good ending where MC and Rafayel are always by each other’s sides like two koi fish swimming in a pond.

A good ending where Rafayel doesn't have to choose a side and keeps all his followers safe as the caring god he is.

[sabrinasopposite]

friends or lovers?

pt. 2 of drinks or coffee / college!charlie baker x photographer!reader

summary: stolen kisses, polaroids, photo booths, coffee and a questionable situationship. y/n waits till charlie ask her finally out, or are they just friends?

Autumn folds itself over New York like an old, beloved quilt—warm, golden, frayed at the edges. The air smells of cinnamon and rain-damp pavement, and somewhere between the red-brick college buildings and the quiet hum of late afternoon, y/n finds herself seeing Charlie Baker through a different lens.

They are not together. Not officially. But there are Polaroids of him in a box beneath her bed, tucked between receipts of late-night coffee runs and half-melted red lipsticks he once pressed a kiss against. There are moments—his laughter curling like smoke in the cold air, his hands brushing against hers when he hands her a camera, his eyes catching hers across a room—that make her wonder if she is something more than just a passing season to him.

She never asks. And he never says.

They start hanging out after class, in the spaces between their lives where time stretches slow and golden. She teaches him how to take professional pictures, and he watches her like she is the one worth capturing.

“Like this,” y/n murmurs, adjusting the lens. Her fingers, delicate but sure, guide his hands over the camera. Charlie is a quick learner, but he’s distracted today—his gaze flickering to the way her lashes kiss her cheekbones when she blinks, the way the afternoon light pools against the dip of her collarbone. He wants to tell her she is beautiful, but instead, he just says, “I think I like this.”

y/n only hums in response. Photography. Her. He isn’t sure anymore.

but later, when he isn’t looking, she takes a picture of him—grease-smudged and sun-drenched, working on his car, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A moment preserved. A secret, just for her.

He buys her a camera with his own money.

y/n doesn’t expect it. She unwraps the box with careful fingers, her breath catching when she sees the sleek, familiar frame—the model she had offhandedly mentioned wanting months ago.

“Charlie…”

His hands are stuffed into his pockets, but he shrugs, looking almost sheepish. “Your old one’s been acting up.”

She swallows around the lump in her throat, her heart pressing against her ribs like it wants to escape. This is more than a gift. It is him paying attention. It is him remembering. It is him saying something without saying it at all.

She doesn’t know how to thank him, so she just steps forward and wraps her arms around him, her cheek pressed against his chest. He stiffens for half a second before exhaling, his hands finding the small of her back. He holds her there, warm and solid, and she wonders how she is supposed to go back to being just his friend after this.

Their first kiss happened in a photobooth.

It is supposed to be a joke—crowding into the small space, laughing as they press against each other. The first photo is blurry, their smiles mid-motion. The second, exaggerated faces. The third—something quieter. Softer. A moment where y/n’s breath stutters because she is suddenly aware of how close they are, of the way Charlie’s gaze drops to her red lips, of the way time seems to hold its breath.

The fourth click of the camera catches the moment his mouth brushes hers.

A kiss, caught in black and white, immortalized before either of them fully register it.

Later, y/n keeps the photo strip in her box, between a napkin from the coffee shop where they sat too close and the memory of his hands laced with hers. But they do not talk about it. They never do.

Her friend asks one day, with an arched brow and a knowing smile, “Are you and Charlie dating?”

y/n hesitates. Laughs it off. “No, we’re just friends.” The words taste strange on her tongue. Because in her lenses, they looked like a couple. Like a couple of a movie or a book, simply the good looking guy from college likes the photographer girl. But it was more than that, Charlie was more than that. 

He was like a shot of espresso, being bathed in sunlight when he was around y/n. She made him feel like the best version of himself, without even trying. But for y/n, Charlie was her eternal sunshine. He was perfect for her imperfectness.

But then she hears it—Beth’s name, mentioned in passing by one of Charlie’s friends. His ex. The one who texted him after he soft-launched y/n on Instagram, a blurry photo of her in golden light, captioned with nothing but a heart.

It’s nothing, they say. Probably just a casual message. But y/n feels it settle in her stomach like a stone. What if she’s just the in-between? The girl who is there because Charlie is lonely, because it’s easy, because autumn is fleeting, and so is she?

She doesn’t want to be the other woman. The placeholder.

So she pulls away.

Missed messages. Half-hearted smiles. Excuses.

Charlie notices.

It was a Friday afternoon, where the sun was disappearing from its sky and the stars were slowly shining around. Charlie found y/n in Central Park. She had left her phone in her dorm, wandering the city with her camera slung over her shoulder, trying to quiet the thoughts unraveling inside her. She took pictures of golden leaves reflected in puddles when the sun was still there, of strangers lost in laughter, of the sky stretching endlessly above her. She had planned to go to her favorite vintage cinema, lose herself in old film reels and dim lighting, but before she could, Charlie was there—winded, breathless, searching.

“There you are,” he exhales. y/n looks up at him, the weight in her chest pressing deeper.

“Where have you been?” he asks, voice softer now. “We were supposed to meet at our coffee shop.”

Her hands tighten around her camera. And then, before she can stop herself— “What are we?” she blurts. The more she looked at him, the more she felt. That was simple. Thats what she liked when she was around Charlie, he wasn’t an adjustment like in cameras. He was there that she could simply just tell everything, without pulling back or like adjust her camera for its perfectness. 

Charlie’s expression shifts, his features caught between surprise and something more careful. “What do you want me to be?”

y/n thinks of the Polaroids, the coffee receipts, the soft-lipped kisses caught in frozen frames. She thinks of the way she feels when he looks at her like she’s something worth capturing. “I want us to be us,” she whispers. “More than just friends.”

Charlie’s face softens, and then— A slow, brilliant smile spreads across his lips, like the first crack of sunlight after a storm. “I was waiting for the right moment to ask you,” he admits. “But it seems you stole my moment or idea.”

Her laugh is a breath of relief, a quiet surrender. And when he kisses her this time, in front of the vintage theater, beneath the endless city sky, it is not something to be tucked away in a box.

It is something to be lived.

Something to be real, which was more worth than a camera pic.

y/n would have never guessed that being stuck in a lame and bad party, would give her the best thing like Charlie.

🍒 ps: I heard that y/n has polaroid pictures of shirtless charlie------ 💌: @blackynsupremacy @alelo23 @angelsgalore @collywobblvs @tvdelrey @tinainaction @seulgi-burgundy @floralscented @artyandink

[28harryssunflower]

Broken paradise

The Italian coastline stretched endlessly before you, the deep blue sea kissing the golden sand beneath the balcony of your villa. The warm breeze carried the scent of salt and citrus, and the soft sound of waves filled the quiet space between you and Harry.

Everything was supposed to be perfect.

And for the first few days, it was. Mornings tangled in the silk sheets of his bed, afternoons spent floating in the infinity pool with glasses of white wine, evenings filled with laughter and whispered confessions over candlelit dinners. Harry had made sure of it - meticulously planning every moment, every detail, down to the playlist that played softly through the villa’s speakers. It was your own little world, untouched by reality.

Until now.

Now, you were standing on opposite sides of the bedroom, voices raised, hearts pounding - not from passion, but from frustration.

Harry scoffed, running a hand through his curls. “You can’t seriously be mad about this.”

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “I’m not mad… I’m just tired of you making me feel like I’m being ridiculous every time I bring something up.”

His green eyes flashed with exasperation. “Because you are being ridiculous!”

Your stomach twisted. “Wow. Thanks for that.”

Harry exhaled sharply. “That’s not what I meant. But really? You’re upset because I said you overpacked? It was a joke.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “It wasn’t just that, Harry. It was the way you said it - like you were rolling your eyes at me, like I was being annoying. And it’s not the first time.”

His jaw tensed. “So now I’m not even allowed to joke with my wife?”

“Not when it makes me feel like an idiot!”

Silence fell between you, thick and suffocating. The golden light from the setting sun spilled into the room, casting long shadows across the marble floor. Somewhere outside, the waves kept crashing, oblivious to the storm brewing inside.

Harry let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You know, I don’t know why we even bothered with this honeymoon if we were just going to spend the whole time fighting.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he snapped. “This was supposed to be perfect. I planned everything to be perfect. And yet, here we are, arguing over nothing.”

Your hands balled into fists. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you bit out. “Did you expect us to just exist in some fantasy where we never have problems?”

“No, I just didn’t think we’d be like this. Not now, not so soon.”

His words stung.

Your voice was quieter when you asked, “So soon?”

He hesitated, rubbing his jaw, his frustration evident. “We just got married,” he muttered. “And we’re already fighting like this. It makes me wonder if we’re going to be doing this for the rest of our lives.”

The air in the room shifted.

Something in your chest ached, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. “Well, if you already regret it, maybe we should just get a divorce now and save ourselves the trouble.”

The second the words left your mouth, you wished you could take them back.

Harry’s entire body stiffened. His face paled, the anger in his eyes flickering into something else - something shattered.

“What?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling sick. “Harry, I didn’t mean-“

But it was too late.

His expression darkened, hurt flashing across his features before he masked it with more anger. “Right,” he said coldly, nodding as if he finally understood something. “So that’s where we are now? One fight, and you’re already throwing divorce in my face?”

“That’s not what I meant!” you said desperately. “I was just frustrated!”

“Frustrated?” he repeated bitterly. “Frustrated enough to throw away everything we just promised each other?” He let out a dry laugh, stepping back like he couldn’t stand to be near you. “Unbelievable.”

Your throat tightened. “Harry-“

“Don’t.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You don’t just say things like that. You don’t throw divorce at me like it’s nothing.”

Guilt twisted inside you. You had said it to hurt him, to make a point, but you hadn’t expected it to cut this deep.

“I don’t want that,” you said, your voice trembling now. “I don’t want anything but you.”

His jaw tensed, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. For a moment, you thought he was going to turn away, to walk out.

But then, his shoulders sagged, and his face softened - just barely. He dragged a hand down his face, letting out a slow breath before looking at you again.

“I don’t either,” he murmured. “But you can’t say things like that. Not when I mean forever with you.”

The fight wasn’t gone, but the anger had faded, replaced by something more fragile. More raw.

You hesitated before stepping closer, reaching for his hand. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean it. I was just upset, and I wanted to hurt you the way I was hurting.”

His fingers tightened around yours, warm and steady. “I know,” he said softly. “But I hate fighting with you. And I hate even thinking about losing you.”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes. “You’re not going to lose me,” you promised. “I love you. Even when we fight. Even when we’re both being idiots.”

That finally brought a small, tired smile to his lips. He sighed, pulling you into his arms, burying his face in your hair. “I love you too,” he murmured. “Even when you overpack.“

You groaned, but there was no bite behind it. “Too soon, Styles.”

His laughter rumbled against your skin, and just like that, the tension eased.

The honeymoon wasn’t perfect.

But love wasn’t about perfect. It was about choosing each other - even when it was hard. Even when it hurt.

[swappedman]

The Fratty Jacksons Final Part

For Ryan, Jake, Connor, Matt, Brad, and Luke, their annual “brocation” was supposed to be a week of sun, surf, and no responsibilities. Exchange Island sounded like the perfect spot—a tropical getaway with a bizarre twist. The idea of swapping bodies with someone else for a week sounded hilarious, especially after a few beers. They all figured it would be a fun prank to pull on each other, but none of them were prepared for what actually happened.

When they stepped into the transition pods, they were full of jokes. “What if I get stuck in the body of some old dude?” Brad laughed, flexing his muscles. Moments later, a flash of light overtook them, and the world went white.

Ryan was the first to come to. He blinked, confused by how low the pod suddenly felt. “What the—?” he mumbled, his voice high-pitched and unfamiliar. He glanced down and froze. His arms were short, his legs even shorter, and his hands were tiny. He was wearing a collared shirt, tucked neatly into little shorts.

“Guys?” he called out, his voice cracking. He stumbled out of the pod and saw five other small figures. Jake, now with blond curls and a freckled face, was staring at his hands in horror. “Bro, I’m a kid! What happened?”

Connor, who was now barely four feet tall and missing a front tooth, looked at his reflection in the polished pod. “No way. This can’t be real.”

Matt, in the body of a sandy-haired, wide-eyed six-year-old, clutched his sides. “I feel so small. And weak. This is a nightmare.”

The realization hit all of them at once: they were in the bodies of a family. Not just any family—a picture-perfect, matching-outfits-on-vacation family.

“Dude, look at us!” Brad exclaimed, now in the body of the dad. He patted his chest and groaned. “I’ve got dad vibes.”

Luke, who was now the mom, ran his fingers through his long hair in disbelief. “This… this is too much. How do I even—?” He froze, looking at the kids. “Wait, am I their mom now? Oh, no. Nope. Nope.”

They were all so distracted by their predicament that they barely noticed the real Jackson family—now in their athletic, toned bodies—cheering and running off down the beach, whooping at their new physiques.

The frat boys, meanwhile, were left to figure out how to navigate their new reality.

Day one was a disaster. Luke, still in denial about being in a mom’s body, accidentally burned dinner while trying to figure out how to cook. Ryan and Connor—now the younger boys—were forced to endure naptime because none of them could figure out how to avoid the overly attentive resort staff. Jake, who was now in the body of the 14-year-old daughter, spent most of the day sulking.

“I can’t believe I’m a teenage girl,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, well, I’m your mom,” Luke snapped, adjusting his sundress with a scowl.

By day three, the group started to adapt—kind of. They realized that no one took them seriously, which made it nearly impossible to enjoy any of the resort’s adult activities. “Hey, we’ll just act like kids,” Connor suggested.

“Works for me,” Ryan said with a shrug.

The next day, they went all in. They built sandcastles, splashed in the shallow waves, and even entered the resort’s limbo contest. Brad, stuck as the dad, tried to win over the other parents by talking about lawn care and barbecue techniques, but it didn’t go well.

By the time the week ended, the frat boys had developed an odd respect for the family lifestyle. “Dude,” Brad said, lounging in the family cabana, “this dad life is exhausting.”

“No kidding,” Luke said, sipping on his mocktail. “Moms are superheroes. I don’t know how they do this every day.”

Ryan, meanwhile, found himself surprisingly attached to the carefree world of a six-year-old. “I kind of get why kids have so much fun,” he said, digging his toes into the sand. “No responsibilities. Just, like… living.”

When the day came to step back into the transition pods, they were more than ready to reclaim their original bodies. As the flash of light restored them to their tall, athletic selves, they couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the week.

“That was insane,” Jake said, flexing his arms. “But… kind of fun, right?”

“Yeah,” Brad agreed, grinning. “Maybe next year, we try something a little less… humbling.”

And with that, they left Exchange Island with a new appreciation for both their own lives and the chaos of family vacations.

[11queensupreme11]

Hi, I wanted to ask you a question about a hypothetical scenario: Let's suppose that the time between dimensions is different, so while Hera thinks that 2 years have passed, for Percy many more have passed, he got married and had a son, in this case there is only one, Hera seeing that he does not want to return decides to kidnap the baby to use as a hostage. How would the Yanderes and the Pantheons react? (Considering how much they love Percy, let's say that the baby completely resembles her)

HERA IS SOOOOO FUCKING DEAD OMG 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

poseidon: oh gods in pjo universe can't die that easily??? PERFECT, BECAUSE HE WANTS TO SKIN THIS BITCH ALIVE. he will put hera through the worst sort of torture once he gets his hands on her, it'll be so bad that she might actually fade away just from the despair and agony alone 💀

hades: welp, looks like cerberus got a new chew toy! 😍 okay but seriously, the beings of helheim have NEVER seen hades so furious before, not even when poseidon killed zagreus. some goddess breaks into his home in an attempt to kidnap HIS wife only to snatch their BABY instead??????? hera better fucking run because the entirety of helheim is gonna come after her now

apollo: this man damn near almost blew up the sun when he witnesses pjo!hera flee through the bifrost with his baby in his arms. the only reason he doesn't is because percy's already dragging him to the bifrost to get their son back. once he gets to the pjo verse, THEN he'll blow up the sun to plunge the world in darkness and then hunt hera down alongside his wife. she better hope apollo never catches her because he's always been very good with dishing out slow punishments

beelzebub: this man has LOTS of experience in experimenting with gods, but hera is a different kind of god that he's never experimented on, and now he has the chance to! yaaaaay! congrats hera, you've gone from queen of the heavens to another one of the devil's lab rats. he will pluck this goddess into pieces and sew her back up again, study everything about her (and thus, learn how gods work in pjo), and create some sickening curse that could only slowly kill pjo gods. this is the worst yandere to piss off because not only will he hurt hera, but he'll find a way to hurt every OTHER god in the pjo universe too

cú chulainn: YOU TRIED TO KIDNAP HIS WIFE AND THEN YOU GO AND KIDNAP HIS NEWBORN SON????? this dude was an absolute MENACE when he was a demigod, and now that he's a god he's 1000000x worse 😭😭😭😭 he doesn't know how pjo gods work yet, so he can't kill hera but man is he gonna give her a brutal beatdown. the worst is that he'll get so angry he shifts into ríastrad mode and rampage everything in his path, so it's not just hera that's gonna get hurt

anubis: this had to have happened during the ONE time he was away from his baby's side cuz he's too attached to stay away. he'll be at a meeting one minute and rushing back home the second he senses something off with his mate and then he goes absolutely feral when he finds out that percy got attacked, nearly kidnapped, and their baby got taken. hera's become the prey to his predator, he's hunting her down now and once he gets his hands on her, HE WILL RIP HER TO SHREDS

loki: idek how hera managed to get past all his protective wards and spells, but well, she did it! oh, but did you really think he wouldn't put a tracking spell over his baby in case this exact scenario were to happen??? HAH, well hera better run fast because loki's already hot in her heels ready to cut her open like a fish

as for the pantheons, they're all ready for war 😂😂😂 hell the whole UNIVERSE is ready for war. this isn't just a simple kidnapping. a goddess from a DIFFERENT UNIVERSE broke into theirs, tried to take one of their own (percy), and then successfully took another (the baby). aside from personal reasons, hera's actions aren't something that they can let slide. they ALL are ready to work together to get the baby back and punish the criminal

[blueosman]

Stepping outside of her apartment, Blue suddenly felt jolted into another world. Conwill was lively, but she had never quite seen it like this; every inch decorated, gold adornments glittering, paper ornaments swaying in the light breeze, and everyone seemingly outside of their apartments. It isn’t very early, and somewhere beneath her indignation she understands that 11 am is a reasonable hour where most are already going about their days. It is, however, much earlier than she'd dare get out of bed. The hours she works are late and long, and normally the sun is making its decent by the time her eyes open. But, It is clear that the fanfare that had initially woken her up won't be stopping any time soon, so she decides to leave. She can't shake the tenseness she feels moving through the city. She is offered many momentos that she refuses, not quite understanding what is happening. A small flag with some sort of symbol painted on it waves high in the air, gripped tightly in the fist of a small boy who almost knocks into Blue as he runs past. Too many people around, all of them smiling. She wonders if she should smile too. Maybe it would be nice to play along? She decides that it is simply too early, that she isn't getting paid to play right now. Her feet guide her to one of the few places she feels comfortable. Paloma city itself felt shiny and hard, everyone in it reminding her of dolls or sellos. But the Small Talk felt like reprieve, a release of breath she didn't know she was holding, a soft spot amongst the jagged edges. Approaching the front of the shop slightly hazy, her eyes flicker to the bright sign above the cart. “Coronado Day”. Now she understands. She almost scoffs, a bitter taste suddenly on her tongue. Something didn’t feel right about these people celebrating this place. It doesn't feel right to see them so.... so exultant, but she pushes the thought out of her mind. She supposes now is the time to play along. "I need the strongest thing you've got," she says brightly. She is only slightly earnest, more so repeating what she says every time she comes into the café, a form of greeting. She offers the other girl a smile. "And,” she starts, pointing around their general area, “What are those pastries that everyone's got? Do you have one of those too? Should I?"

TITLE: Oral Tradition as History LOCATION: Small Talk Café, Paloma City TIME & DATE: TBA, January 25 PARTNER: OPEN

It was the same as it had always been for the last however many years. Truthfully, she doesn’t keep track anymore. It may very well be a tradition, but it isn’t hers. Coronado Day. Although it’s a “non-working” holiday, that never mattered much to her. She’d still wake up at 6 AM, gussy up, take the train, and set up shop. Josephine is in that kind of business. But this time, it’s for a festive reason. A fun reason. And, at the end of the day, she liked to give back. That’s why she had the mobile cart stationed at the storefront, with a Happy Coronado Day! banner hoisted on its front—and a smaller From Small Talk Café printed below. “Everything’s half-off!” she chirped, “Coffee, pastries—and free taste tests!”

[sophiethewitch1]

me and what we want are going through a lovers spat rn because i desperately want to write more for it but i constantly feel like shit so its really getting in the way of our relationship. also if youve sent me any asks that i havent responded to i am geniunely so sorry about it i am in the trenches right now

[ofmermaidstories]

i don’t normally think to share my current listens bc music taste is so subjective but i really like this album, and thought i’d share it. light, dark, light again is such a chill, hopeful album. i’ve shown the lyrics to exploding here, because it’s in one of my bakugou playlists (💀 weeb), but it’s also one of my favourite songs. 🥺 if you like florence + the machine’s vocals i think you’d like angie’s. she’s less opera and drama tho and more… soft rock, maybe? 🧐 folky-rock?

[just-slightly-chayotic]

why is it that prime kimchay writing time is 5am. it’s not that i don’t appreciate the braincell working i just think it would be neat if it didn’t fuck with my sleep schedule so much

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

i watched My Neighbor Totoro for the first time, here's my chronological viewing experience:

woo-hoo! dusty old japanese house with japanese architectural details aplenty

these kids got some ENERGY my goodness

family dynamic's adorable. peak quality dad humor

kids: our house is haunted. parents: that's so cool!

hell yeah, wrinkled old lady rep. we need more friendly old women with potato faces and warts like storybook witches. the backbone of society, these ladies

Plot Summary: Small Child Bothers Local Wildlife

sacred tree sacred tree sacred tree

Introducing Totoro! nobody said this fucker's got TEETH???

Uh-Oh! Inadequate Parental Supervision Detected

(you misplaced your four year old! you're not supposed to do that)

4-year-old: i met a magic forest spirit. dad: oh shit fr?

4-year-old: *angrily hugs sister* missed u bitch

this small child has a smile like a toad. like a really really cute toad. like the cutest toad in all existence. i love her she's perfection please just let this child be happy

rice paddies are so pretty....so back breaking....rice is such a prissy crop

*my crush is stranded in a rainstorm* takethisumbrellait'syoursnowBYE *runs away in panic im so good at flirting*

Giant Chinchilla Learns To Hold Umbrella, Is Fucking Delighted By Experience

take this, it will help you on your quest! *hands u trail mix wrapped in a leaf*

LO-FI HIP HOP STUDY LIST!

crouching down to peer at dirt--A++ top notch foundational childhood experience

mom has a big ass forehead

honey! the chinchillas are performing Rituals in the backyard again

help yeah let's jack and the bean stalk this shit

huh so we're all just climbing aboard the giant chinchilla's tiddies now ok

class trip!

the pure adrenaline of Vegetable Gardening

no! the small child is crying! she is bawling her eyes out. no no no. i can't cope with this. emotionally i cannot cope 🥺🥺🥺

i've only had Mei one hour but if anything happens to her i will raze this earth and everyone on it

please someone make this small child smile again

oh no the tall child is crying too

i can't take this. my heart can't take this.

i need a drink

small child running determined to deliver magic veggies to the hospital. this kid is my hero

she is also unsupervised. so, so unsupervised

babe you are FOUR

godDAMMIT ghibli, you cannot give me watercolor sunsets while a small child is missing. u are killing me. my heart is giving out. this is me, experiencing heart failure.

Totoro to the rescue!

no wait CATBUS to the rescue!

i admit i initially thought the cat was a creep. alice in wonderland prejudiced me. i have revised my notions of smiling cats

i've decided the cat is a metaphor for the magic of a robust public transport system

MEI'S OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and so is mom. she's a lovely lady im sorry for what i said about her forehead. it's a noble forehead.

happy ending YES bitch!!!!!!

ok. ok ok ok. that was magical.

(as a first-time adult viewer i was worried i wouldn't be able to Access the Magic. but i could and i did and it was incredible. that was culture. that was ART. joy distilled into animated form. holy rites of childhood. i understand now. how glorious, this world we grow out of. how full of marvels. i'm going outside to smell grass and sun and get dirt under my fingernails. miraculous.)

[i-love-ptv]

Stacy’s Mom Has Got It Goin’ On ˚̣̣ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣

Pairing: Husband!Rafe Cameron x Soccer-mom!Wife!Reader

It’s not easy being a soccer-mom, especially when dads hit on you at every game as if you’re not married to Rafe.

Wc: 1,596

Fluff, Protective Rafe making an appearance, kinda pushy guy (idk what to say)

An: I’ve really wanted to write a fic based on this song, and this idea randomly popped into my head so! Am I using the names I wanna name my kids? Yes, yes I am.

Not proofread tbh

Feedback always appreciated lovelies!! xx

“I’ll be back, ‘mkay doll?”

You hum in acknowledgement, eyes peering back at the field after looking up.

Your husband, Rafe, leant down and places a firm kiss on your forehead.

“Yeahhh, Daddy’s gonna be back, baby.” Rafe coos at your two year old, who was sitting on your lap, babbling freely while peering at him with her big doe eyes.

Rafe walks off the bleachers in search of the concession stand to buy food for the three of you.

You brush your hand over your young daughter’s head, making sure her somewhat oversized hat is still covering her head entirely. Her hand wraps around your index finger.

It was oddly humid today, if you continued moving, you’d break a slight sweat. You can't even imagine what your daughter—Stacy must be feeling, running around on the large grassy field under the beaming bright sun.

You were proud of your baby girl though, nonetheless. And so was Rafe, of course.

You shout loudly when you notice the game is about to start, bellowing out a “Go Stacy!”

Stacy’s eyes easily found yours, for you and Rafe would always sit in the same spot on the bleachers.

Her eyes were slightly wide due to your shout, despite you and Rafe always cheering for her during her games.

She’s motioning for you to ‘shh’, putting her fingers to her lips before getting into her position.

“Which one’s yours?” You hear to the left of you, the unknown voice makes you tear your eyes away from the field.

You smile shortly at the unfamiliar man next to you, “Number 22.”

You can’t help but notice how he’s rather scruffy looking, an odd contrast to your upkept husband with his neatly buzzed hair.

“Mine’s number 13.” He says, flashing his teeth at you.

You gasp and shoot up a little, making you look down at your daughter on your lap. “Valerie’s yours? Oh she’s just the sweetest!”

The man chuckles, looking deeply in your eyes. This makes your eyebrows raise, slightly in confusion, but mostly in discomfort.

He hadn’t done anything out of the norm, you’d randomly talk to the other moms around too, but something about him made you uncomfortable.

“My name's Brandon, and yours?”

You introduce yourself briefly, before turning back towards the game.

His eyes dart to your left hand, looking for a ring, for any indication that you belong to someone else. He smiles sharply when he finds your fingers bare. This goes unnoticed by you.

Little does he know, you do have your ring on, just around your neck.

Your biggest fear was your youngest accidentally pulling off your ring, resulting in you losing it. Or, even worse: it pokes her eye or something of that nature.

You suppose you could be considered a ‘Helicopter-mom’ at times, simply going to the extremes to make sure your kids are happy and healthy at every point in time.

Rafe is the exact same way, maybe even a little worse. But you knew he was just protective, he loves this life that he has with you, since he had no idea the two of you would’ve been together for so long.

You had started dating Rafe when you were 18 and he was 19. It was good for the first few months, disregarding the few arguments that you had. But then, you had caught Rafe doing cocaine.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to shake the look on his face from your memory.

You weren’t supposed to be at the party, you said you were busy filling out college applications.

So when he was mid-line, and he saw you standing there all dolled up, watching him with glossy eyes, he felt his heart shatter into pieces.

You weren’t supposed to find out, he wanted to keep this away from you, to keep you close to him.

He promised that he would try and stay sober for you, but eventually he’d give in every time the opportunity was in front of him. This resulted in several arguments, and surprisingly, a break up.

But things are different now. You both are in your 30’s, you got married, and of course, had two beautiful babies together.

Rafe knew he’d be crazy to fuck things up now, when he has the perfect life right in front of him.

Speaking of which; you’re really starting to wonder what the hell is taking him so long just to get some goddamn hotdogs and drinks.

You’re bouncing your knee anxiously, which makes your daughter giggle. You wish she wasn’t finding this amusing, but you know she can’t help it.

“Well who’s this cute girl, huh?” The man coos, tickling your daughter’s side.

“Her name is Noelle.” You huff, your mood quickly shifting due to this stranger touching your daughter.

He lets out another chuckle, you wish you never had to hear it again. “Sounds like you’re quoting Teenage Dirtbag to me.”

You give him a pointed look, you’re really getting sick of his pestering. “That’s where I got it from.”

Abruptly, the crowd starts cheering madly. You look around and see Stacy's team celebrating briefly; they had just scored a goal.

You cheer and clap, grabbing Noelle’s chubby hands and making her raise her arms wildly while giggling with her.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we could-” Before Brandon could finish his sentence, none other than Rafe Cameron comes stomping up the bleachers, huffing and puffing angrily.

He sits down and sighs, “God, I’m sorry babe. The line was so long! I swear I’m going grey right now.”

“And I missed the goddamn play!” Rafe exclaims. He looks over at you and immediately goes quiet once he sees those wide baby eyes that look at him curiously.

“Da?” Noelle mutters, reaching her tiny hands towards Rafe’s larger ones.

“Yeah. Da’s here babygirl, do you want your food? Huh sweet girl?”

Rafe hands you your food, setting his food aside so he can put Noelle in his lap. He begins to split half his hotdog in pieces for her.

You glance to the left, you notice Brandon looking like a fish out of water.

Rafe is the CEO of one of, if not the biggest business company around. And Brandon had just borderline harassed his wife, who was holding his child.

Brandon sneers at the two of you in silence while the game continues, nearly boiling at the fact that he couldn’t have you.

Your head is laying on Rafe’s shoulders, you’re rubbing circles on Noelle’s shoulder as she settles down.

“Everything alright babe?” Rafe asks, trying to peer down at your face.

You untuck your necklace with your wedding ring from your shirt, fiddling with it. “Yeah, now that you’re here Ray.”

There’s silence between the two of you for a few seconds.

“…What does that mean?”

You hesitate to answer, but you do regardless, “Nothing! It’s just uh..That guy next to me, was kinda like hassling me I guess.”

This makes Rafe straighten his back.

“He do somethin’ to you doll?” Rafe questions in a whisper. You know you have about 30 seconds to try and calm him down before he’s banned from every soccer game left in the season.

“No, okay? I’m fine, it’s cool. I need you to calm down Ray.”

Rafe’s nose is flaring, “What about Ellie? Did he touch her?”

You feel your throat closing up, your heart is damn near pounding out of your chest.

You don’t say anything to Rafe, but that look in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know.

You grab his bicep, trying to keep him grounded. Even though he’s changed, some parts of him haven’t.

Rafe speaks lowly in your ear, but not too much to frighten you in any way. “I’ll take care of it, okay? Don’t worry y’pretty little head about it.”

Rafe presses a firm kiss against your cheek, then presses a softer one to your lips.

After 30 more minutes, and 2 more goals, Stacy’s team wins.

You and Rafe cheer loudly, letting out “That’s our baby girl!”

You meet Stacy at the bottom of the bleachers, holding Noelle in your hand as the littlest claps her hands between Stacy’s face.

You’re too busy congratulating your daughter to notice Rafe pulling Brandon aside while his daughter, Valerie is off talking to her friends.

Rafe puts a firm hand on his shoulder, “Hey man.”

Brandon lets out a nervous laugh, “Hey there, Rafe Cameron, right?”

“Yeah, let’s keep this short. I better not see or hear you talking to my wife again, do you hear me? I don’t give a shit what happened.”

Rafe continues shortly, “And keep your fucking hands to yourself, if I find out you touched my either of my daughters again, I swear to God himself I’ll put you under.”

The two men are holding eye contact, one looks with confidence and borderline rage, while the other looks with fear.

Rafe walks down the bleachers, meeting you and your girls.

“You were amazing out there sweetheart!” Rafe smiles while pulling Stacy into a bear hug.

“Jesus dad, you’re crushing me!” Stacy laughs with a slight wheeze.

Rafe ruffles her hair and puts his arm around your neck.

“All good to go?”

You nod your head, and with that, the four of you begin to walk to Rafe’s parked car.

Rafe realizes that this isn’t the first time you’ve been hit on at a soccer game, or anywhere in fact. And this definitely won’t be the last.

Cause everybody’s in love with Stacy’s mom.

[barbieaemond]

Religion

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: mild angst, misogyny, banter, pregnancy, childbirth, oral sex, p in v, fingering, orgasm denial, dry humping, overstimulation, brief lactation kink, breeding kink, manipulation (to get some), some good ol' tying up, slandering of the Gods lol

Author's note: this is the third and final part following And I dream of a grave and A curse for a curse but can be read as a standalone. Just keep in mind that Aemond did not cheat on his wife while in Harrenhal. He used Alys only for her visions.

Word count: 13k. Ye have to suffer for your smut darlin'

MASTERLIST | English is not my first language.

taglist: @multyfangirl @ladystarksneedle @arcielee @darylandbethfanforever9 @zaldritzosrose @alphard-hydraes-blog

Her mother had come to King’s Landing three days after she gave birth. Peering through the door, the Princess didn’t know if the woman was more surprised to finally see a baby safely tucked between her daughter’s arms or to witness that she was still breathing. She had chosen to believe both.

Since she was a little girl, she had been instructed in what was coming, for her and all the girls like her: how to serve men, how to serve the Realm. She knew pregnancy could be a time of great distress, physical and otherwise, and for her, it turned out to be nothing more than that.

She spent the first moons plagued by sickness, glaring at the Maesters who told her that morning sickness was perfectly normal. It would've been, if only it had lasted the hours the sun was at its highest. Instead, she couldn’t keep down her breakfast, just like her lunch, or dinner. She had lost weight, she couldn’t stand any kind of smell with the risk of rushing to her pot and empty her stomach.

Then, on one fine morning, while she was walking the gardens with two of her maids, she had suddenly bent over, hissing with pain while clutching her maid’s arm, dreading the trickle running down her thighs.

The Maesters said occasional bleedings might happen, that she only needed to rest and take some tonic to strenghten her body. But that day signaled the end of her peace and the beginning of her confinement.

Because clearly, at the first sign of something going wrong, slipping out of his control, Aemond would panic, albeit showing none of it, standing as tall and stoic as ever and somehow more than he’d ever done now that the Conqueror’s Crown weighted on his head. But she knew better. She knew how to look through all his walls. She knew he was scared—for her, for the baby, for his sister, for his whole family. It was simply too much for a single person to carry all of that on their shoulders. And it was precisely for that reason that she didn’t object to any of his orders. After all, she couldn’t. He was the King now, even if he didn’t choose to style himself as such.

Thus, her chambers became her prison.

Cobwebs didn’t have time to grow because she was quick enough to point them out to the servants. She was aware of the slight drop in the stone tiles just behind the terrace, as of the strategic point where to linger to gain some cool breeze from the sea. She knew the baby liked to sleep upside down in the early afternoon, occasionally kicking hard as he, or she, settled comfortably in her womb.

Aemond had picked some books for her, mostly about history, having her yawning at the third page. She had tried needle work, putting all her good will into it for the sake of doing something, and she had deliberately chosen to believe she was undeniably good at it. But that was a very generous lie. 

“What is that supposed to be exactly?” Aemond asked one day, peeking over her shoulder as he reached her on the terrace.

She didn’t look up, keeping her eyes fixed on her embroidery tambour, working the needle in and out. “Isn’t it obvious?”

He leaned down until she felt the long silver strands tickling her head and even without turning, she could feel him grimacing. “A bird?”

At that, she had raised her head, reading all the disbelief on his face. “It is a dragon. For the cradle.”

Aemond had simply furrowed his brow, unable for the life of him to consider what he saw as something even remotely resembling a dragon. But he thought better than to anger his pregnant wife, given her late sour spirit, but especially in light of how fiercely she had started to stick the needle in, likely picturing to stick it into him instead. He had built the most fake pleasant smile he could master and said “Very well. Excellent work, my love.”

“Thank you, husband.”

The trouble was that, as time went by, she only became sourer. She grew more and more uncomfortable, too tight in her own skin. Her back hurt, her breasts hurt, and she was starting to believe she was carrying a real dragon, with fangs and all; she had no other explanation for how hot she constantly felt, forced to lie in a thin white chemise all the time, despite the winds carrying the winter.

But maybe there was another reason why her spirits were so low and sour. She had come to learn that pregnancy affected every aspect of her life, including the most pleasant one.

She would grow wet for a kiss. She would close her legs and rub them together upon seeing him rise from the bathtub. She would moan into his mouth if he so much as grazed her nipples with his knuckles. But as she grew bigger and bigger, along with the discomfort, kisses and some intimate brushing were all she would get from him. Aemond had grown distant, not only with his presence, due to all the duties he had to fulfill wearing the Crown, but even when he was there, in their chambers, sleeping next to her, she felt him leagues and leagues away.

“Pregnancy is a very hard time for a woman.” The Dowager Queen had said to her “It is overwhelming to think that you are never alone and yet...somehow you are.”

She’d never understood what her good mother meant until she was confined to her chambers, alone with her thoughts and her fears. She didn’t expect Aemond to do something, this was women’s business. And she knew his reluctance to lie with her rested solely on concern and love for her.

No matter how much he craved to take her, he had decided to put his husband’s rights away for the delicate final moons until the baby was born. He still felt guilty, for Harrenhal, for the witch, for forsaking her only to get drunk on visions and prophecies. Yet, those visions turned out to be true. He had shut that voice in his head and tried to make amends. But they didn’t have the time to mend themselves together, to knit all the distrust and suspicions into something good; the baby was coming, and it seemed he or she did nothing but grow them more apart. 

He saw how tired she was, how some days she couldn’t even get out of bed. And how useless he felt when he would catch her crying, like that night when he found her all alone on the terrace at the hour of the owl.

She was sitting on her chaise filled with cushions when Aemond walked around her. Given the state of his white shirt and hair, he had likely just awakened and hadn’t found her beside him.

“What are you doing out here? You will catch a cold.”

“I cannot sleep.” she had kept her eyes far, on the Black Water Bay, far from him. But he saw them anyway, her reddened eyes.

“You cannot stay here in your condition.” He said almost tiredly, but when she didn’t even blink at his words, he called her name, with the tone he used in the Throne Room.

“Aemond, please.” She whispered, turning her head. “I—” she bit her tongue, unwilling to put this on him, but she knew he wouldn’t let go until she was safely back in bed. So, she said “I don’t want to hear her.”

It took him less than a moment to understand what she meant. Helaena. Helaena who lost a child, who saw her flesh and blood horribly murdered before her eyes. Helaena who couldn’t stop wailing in the dead of night.

She had looked at him, seeing that torn thing, broken and raw like a split wound; shame and guilt and rage all at once. Then, he lowered himself onto his knees until he took her cold hands and squeezed them tight. His mouth opened, but she was faster. “Don’t say it.”

You cannot keep such a promise, you cannot keep us safe. No matter how many times you say it. But she wouldn’t take that solace away from him, not that plainly. The more he said it, the more he seemed to believe it. So be it.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, and there was a beautiful, heartbreaking desperation in his hushed voice. “Tell me what to do.”

She had built a convincing smile, running her hand through his loose hair and pushing some strands back. “Go back to sleep. I’m fine.”

Her spirits during the day would slightly improve. And between the Council and some hearings in the Throne Room, he always saved some time to go visit her in their chambers. She didn’t seem to enjoy being watched like a toddler, but deep down she cherished his concern. She cherished the way his hands would gently hold her own, or caress her hair, her belly. She found it hard to believe those hands could bestow such reverence and violence at the same time. And even in his absence, he managed to ensure she always had anything she needed. Even blackberries in early autumn.

“Myra, where have you been?” She asked in a late afternoon, when one of her most loyal maids entered her chambers after disappearing for the whole day.

The young girl had an awful look. She seemed exhausted, as if she had walked the entirety of Flea Bottom, twice. “Apologies, my Princess. It took me quite a while to find blackberries.”

“Seven Hells, it is only a craving. You did not have to go all the way through King’s Landing to find me blackberries.”

"No, I-I ought to.”

The Princess paused, frowning at the young girl. “Did someone else tell you that you ought to?”

“Well…yes…” the maid said, sinking her gaze to the floor “The King—uhm Prince Regent.”

She sighed deeply, and with heavy steps, she walked towards the terrace; her maid was immediately at her side to help her. “What did he tell you?” the Princess asked as they reached the chair outside.

The girl waited for her to sit, slowly and awkwardly given her big belly; then, a little timidly, she said “He…ordered me to go look for blackberries and not to…bother coming back if I didn’t find them.”

The Princess rolled her eyes in quite an unlady-like manner, “How in the name of Seven did he know about it?” She asked, grimacing as she desperately tried to find a comfortable position. “I have barely seen him this morning.”

The young maid helped her, fixing some cushions behind her back and whispered “The White Cloak at the door…I suspect he reports everything to his Grace.”

The notion didn’t seem to strike her that much, or maybe she was too tired, too uncomfortable and too hot to comment on the matter, or even scoff at it.

She grabbed a fan from her maid’s hands and unceremoniously shook her shoes off, placing her swollen feet on the cool tiles. Closing her eyes, she basked in that small relief; the floor was cold, the sun was about to set, and the baby was sleeping.

According to the Maesters, her time was close. She was eager to meet this little person but in truth, she just wanted it to end. She hated having no control over her body, her spirits, her marriage. She missed being a wife and being treated as such, not just as the mother of his child. She had come to think that, deep down, any woman felt that way, but they were forced to hide everything behind a joyful smile while sinking to their knees to thank the Mother. Wasn’t that the sole purpose of any girl in the world? To bleed on a birthing bed? Wasn’t that the way men measured women’s value?

She swallowed hard as the question spun in her head. Am I finally worthy of you, Aemond?

She wouldn’t dare ask him. 

“What is it? Are you unwell?”

She was too lost in her thoughts to even hear his footsteps on the terrace. As her gaze flew up, she read the deep concern on his face, all lumped in the steep furrow between his eyebrows. He must’ve seen her grimacing, thinking she was in some pain. She was, but she was too much of a coward to tell him.

She resumed her fanning, averting her gaze and stretching her legs out further on the floor. “I feel like I’m boiling.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He deadpanned, raking his eye over her disheveled state; sprawled on that chair with her legs slightly open, her white chemise all crumpled and unbuttoned, and a bead of sweat on the forehead, in the crevice of her swollen breasts. He thought the times when a mere look at this woman would make him hard were gone once the novelty of having a wife, someone rightly and thoroughly his, had dissipated. He was wrong.

“I’m well aware of my lack of decency.” She replied, seeing how he was staring, the little inquiring curve in his eyebrow. “I’m afraid I care very little about decency at this moment. Blame it on your son.”

His lips curled up, watching her gather her loose hair with one hand while she kept fanning herself quickly with the other.

“Are you still inclined to believe for certain that it’s a boy?”

“I know it’s a boy. Only men can be this insufferable.”

That little smile on his lips lingered, deepened, and then he moved, going to stand behind her. “Let me.” He said, and took her hair between his hands. She couldn’t see what he was doing but got the gist as she felt his deft fingers moving and her neck free to get some air. When he walked around the chaise to sit beside her, she saw that his hair was loose. He had tied her hair with the black lace he always wore to prevent the silver strands from ending up in front of his eye.

She loved to see him like this: hair loose, eyepatch lost somewhere in a drawer, sitting next to her, even without saying a word. The sapphire seemed to match his eye, glowing a soft violet under the setting sun. She felt that familiar lump in her throat, as she stared at him, a restless thing flowing through her whole body, demanding to be released only to be trapped under her teeth, biting down her lower lip, starved and yearning.

“A little bird told me you put a hound on my trail.” she said at one point, shutting her little fan.

Aemond didn’t look surprised to acknowledge that she knew. He had actually ventured with himself about how long it would have taken her to realise he was spying on her every move.

“You are well aware of my duties now.” He said, turning his head to look at her. But not quite. His eye seemed to linger everywhere at once, fleeting, snatching a look here and there, her legs, her sweated neck, her belly…his own testament, as if she wasn’t one already.

You left your mark on her just as she did on you. Those were Alys’ words, at which he had ugly sneered. And she had laughed at the sight, eerily, as someone who owned the truth. I’m your spoil of war and yet, you speak to me ten paces away. What are you afraid of, Kinslayer? That your skin would burn like brimstone if you touched another woman?

“Besides,” he resumes “any lady would be flattered by her husband’s genuine concern.”

“You could flatter me in different ways.” was her prompt answer and she moved incredibly fast, given her impediment, getting close to him until she filled his nostrils. She smelled different since she was pregnant. A thick smell, musky. She tasted differently. Sweeter and somehow sourer. He swallowed at the mere memory. “We have talked about this.”

“And I’ve talked to the Maesters.”

His head spun around, forcing her to stifle a smile at his ever strictly reserved nature.

“They said there’s nothing wrong, or remotely dangerous, if we…engage in our conjugal duties.”

He tried to ignore her hand, her fingers traveling up his arm like a spider’s legs. “Did you need the Maesters to learn that?”

“No, but you do. You hang on their lips…I wish you hung on mine.”

Aemond heard her voice dropping a tone, and dropped his chin down, looking at her hand roving on his chest, shamelessly slipping beneath his dark green doublet, skin to skin. She glided on his planes slowly, making sure to trap one of his nipples in the little hollow between her index and middle.

“I don’t need them to know about my private matters.” He said mindlessly, trying to hold a grip on his thoughts.

“Seven Hells. It baffles me to witness how prudish you desperately want to appear while I perfectly know how debauched you really are, to the bone.”

“My debauchery is confined to these four walls.”

“Oh, is it? What about that time on our way to the Grand Sept?” She tilted her head, so she was talking almost in his ear. “Do you remember?”

Her hand on his chest was burning, or was it his own skin? His own flesh simmering wherever she touched him.

“Don’t do that.” She whispered when she saw his long legs cross. “Let me see. You have condemned me to do nothing else.”

His eye chased her hand as she grabbed his knee and pushed to uncross his legs, so that she could see, the outline of his cock through the breeches, see how he ached for her. “Do you remember what you did in the wheelhouse?” She asked again, looking at him; the sapphire was the only thing flashing violet now. His eye was pitch black.

“You put your hand beneath my gowns…” she said and her hand slid up against his thigh “you grabbed me, harshly.” And she did the same, forcing his mouth open and a shallow breath out of his throat. “And you grinned…because my garments were soaked.” he closed his eye for a moment, perhaps recalling, or maybe because her hand was moving, palming all his length through the breeches.

“And then you slipped your fingers underneath…” and again, she did just so, unbuckling his belt and sinking her hand in. He opened his eye, and basked in what he saw: that sort of silent, desperate plea in the little wrinkle between her eyebrows, in her heaving chest, in the way she was rubbing her legs together.

Thus, just when she was about to grab him, he grabbed her wrist instead and crashed his mouth against hers with a low growling sound. She could do nothing but moan, giving him open room to slip his tongue in and taste every corner, driving his body closer and closer, but not too much as to crush her.

She, on the other hand, felt free, finally, to roam, to rummage. Her hands grabbed and pulled everywhere, at his doublet, the collar, the buttons, the thin white shirt underneath it all, until everything was loose, and she was free to touch him, all the while making the sweetest wanton sounds, close to desperate whines. “Please, Aemond…” she begged freely, holding his face “just this once…please…”

He shushed her with another harsh kiss and with a free hand, he clutched her white nightgown into his fist, pulling up, enough to stick his arm between her legs. She spread them for him, panting with anticipation, and stopped breathing altogether when he cupped her core with the large palm of his hand. Aemond trapped her lower lip with his teeth, biting softly upon feeling how wet she was, dripping on his fingers, so much that he wished to fall on his knees and wipe it clean with his tongue.

“Please…” she breathed, barely rocking her hips to urge him to touch her.

“Hush.” he said, and curled his fingers, brushing his fingertips against her centre, gaining a delicious wince from her. “Tell me of the wheelhouse.”

She smiled breathlessly, her eyes hungry and heavy, full of lust. “It was the first time I wore green.” she started to tell. “We were still betrothed. I wanted to impress you.”

“Hmm. You certainly did.” He remarked, watching her closely while rubbing his index pad against her entrance, teasingly, making her squirm. “Go on.”

She felt like burning, her face hot for the sun, the baby, the ache in her lower belly, stirring and coiling. “You told the White Cloak to take another round…” she said, breathing with her mouth open. “You grabbed my waist and forced me on your lap.”

“And you pushed me away. Twice.” he’d laughed, flashing a grin that made her willing to shove him away, to pull him closer. “What a farse you put on.” he continued, leaving a chaste kiss on her neck that resulted in her writhing some more, pushing her pelvis against his hand. “I had to cover your mouth for your mewling. You were so fucking loud.”

It was then that he finally granted her some mercy, slipping one finger inside her drenched lips, spilling a long gasp from her.

“No. Not quite.” He observed cruelly and slid another finger, this time gaining a proper loud moan. “That’s more like it.”

His two fingers started to pump slowly, and yet she was making the lewdest sounds he’d ever spilled from her, arching her back as far as she could, scrunching her face almost in pain and pulling at his collar, twisting, as if he were torturing her instead of giving her pleasure. She made his cock stir painfully, his teeth grind for the ache, for the fact that she was coating his whole hand. “Easy now…” he warned her, his tone all husky. “You don’t want to come already, do you? ‘Tis the only thing you’ll get from me, sweetling…you better make it last.” 

She whined in annoyance, forcing another grin on his ruthless lips, and with that same ruthlessness, he slowed his ministrations, only to cup one of her breasts with his free hand, squeezing softly until the thin, silky fabric slipped down, revealing her pink, swollen nipple. “I must say…I’m relieved you will summon a wet nurse…so these will be all mine.”

She had to stifle a breathless laugh at that. “Being jealous of your child is a bit too much, even for you…”

“Oh, my love” he crooned, freeing the other breast “I am jealous of the clothes on your skin.”

Wasting no time, he wrapped his lips around her nipple, causing her to arch against him once more, one hand flying down his shoulder, fisting his doublet, twisting it as he swirled his tongue and hummed with delight dripping from his tone, as if he were tasting honey, and the sweetest ever made.

His fingers resumed their frantic rhythm, sinking deep inside and stretching, hitting that special spot that made her sight go black, reduced to a mess of sweat coating every inch of her skin and a string of moans growing hoarse and high-pitched.

“Are you close? Hmm?” he rasped “How about another? Can you take another for me?”

He slipped a third finger in, causing her to wince and cling to his shoulders with her mouth open in a silent scream. “Good girl.” He praised at the sight. He wished he could savor it for a little longer, he wished to keep doing that again and again, until the sun went down and rose again, until there was nothing but ruin around them.

But she was so close now, he could feel it in her tensed arms around his shoulders, in her clenching walls around his hand, and quite frankly, the ache in his breeches was unbearable, twitching at every moan and squelching sound of his fingers inside her flesh. 

She came loudly, curling her ankles on the ground and writhing in his hold as if in a delirium. He kept her still, his hand buried inside her, feeling the quick pulsing that rivaled the one in her heart. And he watched her, gasping for air and throwing her head back, utterly spent, hair all sticked to her forehead. In his eye she had never looked this beautiful.

He pulled his fingers out, making her wince slightly, and brought them to her mouth, smearing her spent desire on her own lips, like the final touch to a painting. And then he kissed her, humming at her bittersweet taste. He held her face gently, grabbing her jaw and angling her head to taste her better, eliciting a blissful sigh from the back of her throat that made his hardness throb. As if she had felt that, her hand had slipped between them with purpose, sinking past all his layers and taking hold of him.

She rejoiced in the little whimper he gave her, and started to work her hand up and down, making it impossible for him to kiss her any further, if not for a sloppy and panting mess of spit and teeth. 

Given the unbearable pressure building past his navel, he knew he wouldn’t last long. And she knew that too. But she didn’t want to have him this way. Awkwardly, she stood up and spread his legs to make herself some room, but as soon as Aemond, despite the lack of blood in his mind, caught her intentions, he stopped her, grabbing her arms firmly.

“No…” he croaked. “Not on your knees.”

She couldn’t help the little surprise on her face. Aemond had never been this considerate, especially in bed. He could be gentle in his own way, subtly. Little hidden things in the way he would run his fingers through her hair once she had reached her peak, the way he would regain air once he’d spilled inside her, breathing into her neck and running his lips lazily against her skin. But most of the times, he was very diligent, all focused in giving her and himself the pleasure they both craved; he was somehow harsh, ruthless, a mirror of who he was outside the bedroom, possessed by some kind of urgency that would break her in the most beautiful and cruel way and put her back together at once.

But then again, she imagined the promise of his heir living inside her was affecting even one of the most ruthless of men.

She sat down again and watched him stand up, his breath labored and open-mouthed as he looked down at her, working the few laces of his breeches still tied. She didn’t need an invitation, an order, a mere tilt of his chin to sit upright and put her hands alongside his snatched waist.

She looked up, and he found himself swallowing hard, cursing silently at the sight of her looking straight into his eye with his cock a breath away from her, all hard and glistening on the tip. Shamefully, he thought that would have done it for him.

A coarse grunt left his lips as soon as she wrapped her mouth around it, teasingly swirling her tongue on the slit without ever averting her gaze from him. He hissed painfully when her lips started to travel along his length, trying with all his might to hold back and not spill into her mouth so soon.

She, on the other hand, seemed eager to watch him come undone, just as he had done to her a few moments earlier. She started to suck him eagerly, like a starved creature, because on all those nights and days when he had taken her apart, learning every inch of her and how to bend it to his will, she had done just the same.

She knew how to make him wince and moan openly, while on her knees on their bedroom floor or on a fucking terrace during a late afternoon, with likely anyone to walk on them at any moment. With the Gods watching.

She didn't care. The Gods didn't care for them anyway. Let them see to whom she fell to her knees.

He couldn’t stop looking, how pretty she was like this, swallowing him whole, up to the hilt, hitting her throat with a gagging sound. So lecherous, so holy.

He was so close he had to bite his lip to restrain himself, letting out a string of curses until he felt the pressure growing stronger, and then, he thought, he might as well have it his way.

“Stop…” he croaked, grabbing her cheek but delicately, slipping out of her mouth and running his thumb over her sore jaw. She closed her slicked mouth, a drop of spit running down her chin and she looked at him, with such devotion he thought he had nothing to envy the Gods.

“Let me…” he pleaded, wiping her chin clean with his finger. “Let me fuck your mouth, sweetling. Would you?”

A question that needed no answer. Indeed, he wasted no time and grabbed the back of her head, tilting it slightly up for a better angle. He sheathed himself all the way in, gasping deeply at feeling the hot walls of her mouth, her cheeks hollowing.

His fingers curled into her hair, but never in a hurtful way, enough to keep her still as he started to move his hips against her face back and forth, his open mouth quivering as the pleasure began to build where it left off.

“Fuck—” he cursed once, and then twice, fucking her mouth faster to chase his peak, pulling ever so slightly at her scalp until he went still altogether, pushed his waist hard against her, and grunted loudly, in a pretty uncharacteristic way, as his cock twitched and spilled down her throat until the last drop.

Panting harshly, he pulled himself out and watched her close her mouth, eyes fixed on him, working her cheeks and making no mystery of the white essence on her tongue before swallowing it, thoroughly.

Aemond let himself fall on that chaise and she watched, she drank that sight: his hair all disheveled and damp with sweat, a shade of pink on his cutting cheekbones as he slowly pulled himself together, breathing through his open mouth while buckling his belt and breeches.

“I think I’m going to take a bath.” She said at one point, clumsily standing up. He had mumbled something in return, still caught in the throes of what they had done, but before she got back inside, she turned and said “Oh, just so you know…all of this was a ploy.”

She smiled cunningly at his frowning. “I never had any cravings. And I knew about the White Cloak at the door since the first day you put him there. You are not as subtle as you think you are, my love.”

A man of few words, but loud actions.

Her pains came during a peaceful afternoon.

In haste, nursemaids began their frantic rounds in and out of the Princess’ rooms like soldiers, carrying hot water and boiled rags. The Dowager Queen abandoned her perch beside Queen Helaena, or what was left of her, and went to assist the Princess. Having borne four children, she had quite a bit of advice to dispense, things she had learned on her own skin, things that any Master would never have told her because oblivious and convinced they knew what happened to a woman's body at such a delicate time based on how deep they had buried their nose in an old dusty tome.

Alicent helped the Princess rise from the bed, clutched her arm firmly and helped her walk. She said it was vital to walk, that it would ease her pain and help the baby come sooner. She told her to squat when the pain hit. She rubbed her back and wiped the sweat off her face as if she were her own daughter. It felt like that. Even though the Princess seemed to face it all with a stiff lip, Alicent could see that she was scared and in terrible pain, that she probably wished for her mother to be there. She had wished the same, no matter how many times she had faced it.

“Your Grace?” The Princess asked after another wave of pain had come and gone.

“Yes, child?”

“Do you think your son would forgive me If I said this one is both the first and the last?”

The Queen had smiled at that. “If the Gods bless you with more children, it will be easier, I can assure you. The first time is always rough. But it shouldn’t be long now.”

Well, her good mother turned out to be wrong. Because the pain plagued her for a full night, giving her no peace. At the hour of the nightingale, the nursemaids forced her to bed, and she gladly went. She was exhausted, she could no longer walk without hissing at every step, and by that time she was so used to the pain she no longer whined or anything, only scrunched her face and ground her teeth.

The servants stripped her bare and replaced her sweat-soaked nightgown with a fresh one. They dabbed her face with a wet cloth, but she could barely register anything, floating into unconsciousness only to be brought back to the present as another pain choked her breath.

“Perhaps some Milk of the Poppy?” One of the nurses said at one point.

“No.” the Maester said. “She may need to start pushing any moment now. We need her vigil.”

Her heavy-lidded eyes opened, wandering helplessly around the room. Useless research, for she knew he wouldn’t be there. She didn’t expect him to be. The birthing bed was no place for men, save for the Maesters, although she was starting to doubt their real usefulness when all they could do was pull her nightgown up, take a close look and shake their heads. They might as well let Aemond be there.

She imagined he must’ve been waiting outside, or in the Council, and yet she ached to see him. She closed her eyes and searched for him in her mind, clutching the sheets in her fist as if she could clutch his hand instead. And then she felt someone’s hand closing around her own, loosening her grip. Alicent, smiling down at her, and holding her hand tight.

It was holding her good mother’s hand that, at the first light of dawn, she gave birth to her child. A boy, healthy and all screeching as soon as he was out of her womb, clad in blood and grease.

Aemond had decided to name the child Aenar, if it was a boy, after the first Targaryen Lord, and she couldn’t quite believe her eyes or force her tears back when he was finally admitted to their chambers and took their son in his arms for the first time. 

Alicent was beaming at the sight, squeezing his arm. “Congratulations, my son.”

But Aemond didn’t seem to even register her mother’s words, or presence, utterly enraptured by his little creature. He cast a look at his wife, a secret little look that told her how proud he was of her, how relieving it was for both to have come this far after all that happened, to have this little thing, this little ounce of peace amidst all the chaos of war.

What she didn’t know at that time was that Aenar was not exactly a peaceful child.

She had believed there had finally come the time when she could be herself again. But from the earliest days, Aenar proved not to be an easy child to deal with. The newborn cried and cried for hours, plagued by belly aches, and seemingly able to calm down only when in his mother’s arms. They had obviously called on a wet nurse; highborn ladies did not feed their children themselves, let alone a Princess. But Aenar had categorically refused to latch onto his wet nurse’s breasts. Alicent had proposed to summon another one, but as they dawdled and wavered, the Princess felt her heart break into pieces each time she held her little baby in her arms, all red in the face, hungry and in pain, turning his head towards her cleavage, desperate for her milk. Thus, she had put aside ceremonial court and all of that and chose to feed him herself.

But it was a strenuous task. The Maesters had warned her it would be tiring, sleep depriving, but she really had no choice. She had to do it every three hours, sometimes less, because being latched onto her breast seemed the only thing that would prevent the baby from screaming at the top of his lungs all day long. The nursemaid had recommended fennel and chamomile for belly aches. And, instantly, Aemond had ordered an astounding amount of both to be delivered to the Red Keep’s kitchens.

Queen Alicent taught her to hold the baby on his stomach, to rock him, but not too fast. They told her to take several breaks during breastfeeding, to make the baby belch often and prevent air from his belly. In the first week after Aenar was born, her mind was all but a vessel of do this, do that. No, not this way. Don’t ever wake the baby when he’s sleeping. Try to sleep when he does. Don’t eat spicy dishes.

In the midst of all of this, Aemond turned more and more suffocating in all his well-hidden, self-consuming concern. A handful of white cloaks, the most trusted by Ser Criston, were constantly guarding the door, day and night. He had a secret passageway that led to his rooms walled up, and she could swear he slept with his dagger beneath the pillow. Evidently not at peace with such extreme measures, he had the cradle moved to his side of the bed, within his reach, so that every time she had to wake up because the baby was wailing, she had to walk around the bed and pray that she would not tumble to the floor in the dark.

However, she was at least grateful to have Aemond’s support, for the little he could do. If he wasn’t occupied with warfare or hearings, he spent all the time he had with her and their child. And in those moments, no matter how exhausted she was, she would always find the strength to smile at the view when he held their baby, tracing his long fingers over the velvety grizzled skin of Aenar’s small hands; even when he’d speak to him in Valyrian, at which she had frowned at first.

“You do realise he’s one week old?”

“”Tis never too soon.”

“Mh. What’s next? Bring him to the skies on dragonback?”

“I’ll have you know Vhagar is perfectly safe to—“

“Over my dead body.” 

He had smiled and stood up, going to place the baby in her arms. Aenar immediately began to fuss, whining and turning his head against her chest. She had started to unbutton her chemise but then stopped, looking up, where Aemond stood still like a sentry, and watching.

She raised an eyebrow. “Am I putting up a show?”

“Usually, you do.” He drawled. “Am I not allowed to watch? It seems my son and I already share a few interests.”

She looked away, smiling, and then she freed her left breast, watching as the baby immediately latched onto it. A moment later, Aemond took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. He stared at her, and she saw that familiar glint his eye.

He trailed his thumb over her lip, barely breaching inside. “Soon?” was all he asked.

“Soon.” Was all she answered.

The soreness and the bleeding were reducing, and she was back in her tight flesh.

But the Gods must have cursed them some more, because that “soon” never seemed to become “now”.

The sickness didn’t seem willing to leave the poor child alone, along with his parents and the entirety of the Red Keep who had to suffer through his heartbreaking cries day and night.

The Princess had started to feel hopeless and guilty, no matter how many times the nursemaids, and even Queen Alicent, told her it was not her fault, that it was natural. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself they were right. Her heart broke any time the baby cried, wriggling desperately in her arms, in Aemond’s, in the cradle. She would end up crying too as she tried to soothe him, caressing his back with her cheek resting on his timidly silver-haired head.

She was working herself up to exhaustion, often falling asleep with the baby still latched onto her breast. It was Aemond who would take the baby to the cradle, it was Aemond who would button her chemise and pull up the blankets.

She hit rock bottom two weeks after Aenar’s birth, when she realised she hadn’t bathed in four days. Even Aemond, she could swear, was starting to look a little ragged around the edges. You don’t want to be King and take decisions in the middle of a war only to come back to a screaming infant at night.

But then, like a curse lifting, the sickness stopped. Amidst all those days she had stopped counting or even being aware of which was which, Aenar stopped crying. She was ashamed to admit that the first night he slept peacefully in his cradle, she had gone to check on him five times, to see if he was still breathing. 

She began to gradually return to her former self, able to enjoy motherhood with a more rested mind, at least. Physically, she still felt worn out, given how much time she spent breastfeeding or rocking the baby to sleep. But now she was strong enough to take the baby out, walking the gardens with her maids and smiling proudly as the court ladies stopped to congratulate themselves and say how beautiful her baby was.

By doing this, though, she also became aware that she had lived in a bubble for so long that she had almost forgotten there was a war raging, there were battles being fought across the realm.

Reality hits her one day when Alicent goes to visit her and her grandson, bringing the news of a very important victory near the Honeywine, a large river flowing in the Reach, thanks to Prince Daeron Targaryen who had arrived all victorious on that very morning, riding his blue scaled dragon, Tessarion.

The news stuns her for a moment. She had no idea of it, partly because she had been too caught up with Aenar, but also because Aemond had not told her. Yet her family came from the Reach, they lived there, not very far from the Honeywine; her older brother fought for the Green Army. Still, not a word from Aemond.

Taking advantage of Aenar sleeping and the fact that Alicent offered to watch him, she leaves her chambers and heads for the Council. There’s a bustle of lords coming out of the door when she gets there, barely paying her any attention as they hastily babble about armies and supplies and men; always more men to be sent to slaughter.

She stops at the door, widening her eyes at the silver head crossing the threshold, one she hadn’t seen in a long time. “Prince Daeron.”

The youngest son of Queen Alicent and late King Viserys was nothing but a boy. But war had taken its toll on him too. He stood like a man, a Prince, and more than anything, a skilled dragon rider.

“Princess.” He says, tilting his chin down.

She curtsies and sees an immediate gentle smile softening his Valyrian features. “I believe some congratulations are in order.”

“Well, in all fairness, you shall be the most celebrated, my Prince. I’ve just heard of your recent victory.”

His gentle smile lingers, but loses its sparkle. “I must say I much prefer to celebrate life…rather than…the death of innocent men and women.”

There can’t be objections to such a statement; she just nods and casts a distracted glance inside the Council.

“Please…” the Prince says then, making room to let her pass “I won’t keep you away from my brother.”

She turns her head and smiles, tightly. “I’m afraid it is your brother who keeps himself away from me.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the Crown.”

“Indeed.”

The Prince bows to her and leaves.

Closing the door behind her, she glances at Aemond sitting at the head of the table, in the King’s chair, with such effortlessness that he seems to have been born exclusively for that purpose.

“I thought I heard you.” he says absent-mindedly, scribbling down a small piece of parchment. She slowly walks to the windows, casting a single furtive glance down, but she can’t possibly make out what he’s writing, or to whom.

“How’s—"

“Aenar is fine.” She cuts him off. “He’s with your mother, sleeping.”

He stops scribbling, glancing up for a moment. Her voice is tight, cutting. He knows that tone. It’s the same one she used in Harrenhal, as if he should have fallen to his knees and be grateful for the mere fact that she was speaking to him. But he doesn’t have time today to circle around her like a coiling snake, so he goes straight to the point. “Is something the matter?”

“You didn’t tell me of the Honeywine.” She says after a moment, gazing at the Bay.

Aemond sighes, a sign that he was expecting such a question. “You were looking after our son.”

“And?” she’s quick to rebut, quick to reach him at the table and stare down at him. “You didn’t deem it appropriate to inform me of a battle raging in my family lands?”

“I am your family.” He says, stoically, as if common law, and she has to stifle a bitter laugh. The nerve of him. “That is a very lovely concept. Strange how it got lost on you in Harrenhal.”

“Enough!” he barks, and the sudden harshness makes the quill pierce through parchment. “I thought I’d made myself clear.” He warns. “I don’t want to hear another word about the witch. Ever.”

She obediently looks down, regretting having said that, but not entirely. Perhaps she has spent so much time beside him that she, too, can’t let go of her grudges.

“I did not tell you, for I did not want to upset you.” He says, resuming his collected tone. “You were worn out by the baby, I didn’t want to put more weight on your shoulders.”

She knows he’s sincere. Still, her nod is stiff as she looks away, biting her cheek. She is just so sick of it all. Of being regarded as a cunt to be bred at first and now a weakling nailed to a cradle with an infant sucking the life out of her. She knows she’s not the first, and she won’t be the last.

Aemond leaves the quill and stands up, circling until he’s close to her. “Your family is fine.” He tells her, lingering behind her. “Daeron spoke to your brother this morning.”

She keeps nodding, keeping her gaze down on the table, all scattered with maps and little dragon-shaped tokens, some black, some green. She frowns, letting warfare soothe her petty spirits. “What is this?”

“Our next move. A defense plan…which happens to be an attack plan too.”

“A pincher?”

She turns just in time to see the little surprise on his face. “My brother talked of nothing else when we were children. He slept with warfare books as pillows.”

“Hmm.” He muses, and takes a step closer, slipping his arm around her waist and resting his chin on her collarbone. “Show me.”

She shudders at his sudden proximity, at his breath blowing on her neck. She shudders at anything these days. A hand on her back, his legs fumbling beneath the covers and casually brushing against hers. She’s tight as a fiddle string.

“A pincher is nothing else but a decoy.” She explains. “You let your enemy believe they have you trapped…” and in saying this, she grabs his hand and moves it across the map. “And then…at the right moment…” she makes him hold a green token between his fingers and brings it near a little division of black ones “you strike on both flanks.” And with a swift flick of her wrist, his hand scatters all the black tokens across the table. To do so, she must lean over the table, accidentally brushing her lower back against his bulge. He’s not hard, yet, but it thrills her to feel the lightning quick effect she has on him.

“Hmm. Good. Very good.” He praises next to her ear as she withdraws her hand; his voice is so low it makes her spine shiver. But she keeps herself grounded and asks “When will this happen?”

“Soon.” he whispers, placing his hand flat on her stomach. “There’s another Small Council shortly but Aegon wanted to be present. They went to fetch him.”

“Well, then I shall retire to my chambers. I feel a bit lightheaded from all the thinking.”

He ignores her jab and keeps her still by the arm when she tries to move. There’s a little sly smirk pulling at his lips. “I have some time to spare.”

“And how do you propose we spend it?”

“Enough with your pantomimes. I can feel your legs squirming.”

Curse him.

He slips the other hand straight into her corset, cupping her breast and humming with delight at how full she is, how it fills his large hand entirely. “Are you wet for me, my love?”

His teeth sink down her lobe, and at the same time, he pinches her nipple between his thumb and index, forcing an indecorous whine out of her. “My, my…” he laughs darkly, torturing her sensitive skin until he feels something wet on his fingertips, probably milk. “I could make you come just by doing this.”

Powerless, she yields, leaning completely against him, rubbing her lower back for some friction. “What if someone enters?”

“We’ll make it quick.”

“But I don’t want it to be quick.” She pants, grabbing his hand on her breast and squeezing; the other crawls behind her back to try to feel him through his breeches. 

Hissing, when she starts to palm him, he says “Then we let them watch. They get to see how pretty you look when you come on my fingers, or my cock. Which should it be?”

“Both. Anything.” She answers hastily, pulling at his collar to bring him close enough to kiss him. He hums contentedly when she does, twirling his tongue around hers. It soon gets messy, each of them fighting for dominance, winning and losing in turn, until he spins her around, so he can look at her and with both his hands, he seizes her gowns and pulls up, furiously rummaging through them.

“How many fucking layers have you on?”

“I’m not pregnant anymore.” she points out, unbuckling his belt.

“Pity. Perhaps I should fuck another one into you to keep you in your skimpy robes.”

“Don’t you dare, Aemond—” 

“Gods be good, brother! That eager to make another one?”

They both startle like little children caught doing something naughty, turning their heads towards the door, where two servants are carrying King Aegon on a chair. Aemond sighs annoyingly, letting go of her gowns as she does with his belt, trying to compose herself.

“My King.” She says, greeting her good brother with a tight little smile.

Aegon’s appearance has improved since Rook’s Rest, just as the burnings, but he carries with him the smell of Milk of the Poppy and rotting skin everywhere he goes. 

“Good-sister. What are you doing here? Apart from being ravished by my brother... should you not be breastfeeding?”

Aemond gives him a level stare and then looks at her, hoping she will not take the bait. Aegon and his wife never got along well, to say the least. Things had only escalated with time, to the point that whenever they found themselves in the same room, one of them would wisely leave, his wife most of the times, lest they start to hiss at each other like two cats fighting for territory.

“What if I intend to stay and attend the council?”

Aegon giggles, as the servants put down the chair, and after a quick glance below her neck he says “I’m afraid you would be a little distracting. And my brother is not one for sharing.”

Before she can ask what in the Seven he is blabbing about, Aemond takes her arm and makes her turn, shielding her from his brother and the Lords coming through the door.

“You should retire.” He curtly says.

“Are you taking his side again?” she asks, wriggling her arm to free herself from his hold.

“You’re leaking.” He informs her, flatly. 

At that, she frowns and dips her chin down, watching the front of her dress practically soaked in milk. “Oh.”

“I shall join you when I’m done here.” He tells her, and lets her out through the side doors.

Aemond did not join her.

The council lasted until the evening, a recurring thing when Aegon attended. Aemond was stern and concise in his decisions. Aegon liked to laze around, enjoying the wine in his cup, rattling his younger brother’s nerves. Deep down, she was convinced that Aegon did not really want to attend the Council because really interested in what to do, but only to remind his brother that he was still breathing and that the Conqueror's Crown on Aemond's head was a temporary measure.

But it didn’t matter. She would join him for the banquet in honor of Prince Daeron.

She was thrilled to go. It was not a proper feast. Since Helaena had fallen into grief, the atmosphere within the walls of the Keep had become rather austere. But a banquet still meant an occasion for conviviality, and after weeks and weeks spent locked up within four walls, the Princess was eager to spend some time outside her chambers. She had felt like a terrible mother at the mere thought. She loved Aenar, how could she not? But she also loved herself, her family, her marriage, Aemond. Especially Aemond.

Once she had put the baby to sleep, she had ordered her maid to prepare one of her favorite dresses, a green one, and to tie her hair in an elegant braided bun. When she had looked in the mirror, she had almost grunted. The scarce and troubled hours of sleep were all evident in the dark circles under her eyes, but it was nothing a little egg-white couldn't temper.

When she arrived at the banquet, Aemond was already there, standing in his usual soldierly stance, intent on talking to his mother. She approached them from the side, Aemond's blind side precisely, so that when she announced herself, he had to turn his shoulder to look at her. He cast a glance at her hair, ran his eye over her entire figure. She wasn’t expecting any kind of sappy words, and certainly not in front of his mother, nor did she desire them. She could feast on that look alone.

Queen Alicent excused herself to give order about the banquet, and they were left alone, while some musicians gathered in a corner of the hall.

“You said you would join me. I thought they abducted you.”

“More or less.”

“Ah. Yes, I'm sure it must have been so hard for you to listen to the lords snapping like little soldiers at your command.”

“It pains me to acknowledge how little you know me, when you think I'd rather talk war with those wimps who can't even hold a sword than fuck my wife till dawn.”

“That was your plan?”

“We have some unfinished business, don’t we? And don’t play dumb. You’re wearing green. You’re not as subtle as you think you are either.”

“Good. I’m sick of subtleties. So, are you going to ask me to dance?”

Aemond rolled his eye and gave her a stare that told her he’d preferred to walk barefoot on lava.

“Still not fond of dancing, eh?”

Prince Daeron suddenly appeared between them, with his cheerful manner and his head of silver curls, dressed in dark green just like his older brother. “Strange. You were the only one listening to the lessons when we were children.”

“Yes, because you and Aegon acted as court jesters the whole time.”

“I’ll have you know, brother, I have refined my dancing skills in Oldtown. So…may I dance with my good sister?”

Aemond gave him a simple nod, and Daeron bowed to her gallantly, raising his palm up.

She kindly accepted the invitation and placed her hand on his. “Don’t sulk too much.” She whispered to her husband before following his brother.

Aemond watched closely as they started to dance, stealing all the attention, and despite that little primitive tug at the sight of his woman dancing with another man, even though that was his brother and there was absolutely nothing malicious in his or her intentions, he was glad to see her like this, spinning and twisting around instead of lying still in the cold with dread eating her alive.

When the dance ended, Daeron escorted the Princess back to Aemond and took his leave. “Remind me again,” she asked as she watched the young Prince leave “How is it that your brother is still unmarried?”

Aemond sighed deeply and took her arm to escort her to the table. “I’d give you one week before you’d get bored of him.”

While they waited for dinner, the lords and ladies of the court were obviously very eager to hear Prince Daeron. Alicent in the first place, after so much despair, and after being separated from her youngest son for years, seemed to smile with her eyes every time she heard him speak.

“Hear, hear!” one of the lords cheered after listening to Prince Daeron’s retelling of the Battle of the Honeywine. “A brave soldier and a brave dragon rider! I propose a toast.”

At once, everybody stood up, raising their glasses. “To Prince Daeron, to House Targaryen!”

“And to House Hightower.” The Prince proudly stated, raising his glass towards his mother.

As they sat back, the Queen ordered the servants to serve the dinner. The table was gradually filled with a great variety of dishes, many of them Prince Daeron's favourites, specifically ordered by his mother to make him feel at home. It had been weeks and weeks since such a banquet had been seen at King's Landing. Prince Daeron seemed very pleased and grateful, as did all those present who watched the rich dishes crowd the table, and lastly, the huge tray of fresh fruit that a servant laid in the middle.

“I can’t quite believe my eyes. Blackberries? This far in the season?” said Lady Bracken.

“I’m afraid that is entirely my fault.” The Princess chirped, catching Aemond’s attention from across the table.

“I had a sudden craving, while I was carrying Aenar.”

“I had one too with my first.” Lady Redwyne joined in. “Plums, specifically.”

“Did you find them agreeable, Princess?”

“Oh, very much indeed.” She stated, casting an innocent glance around, but lingering for just a moment longer on her husband. “I devoured so many…I still feel the taste on my tongue.”

Devious woman, he thought, fighting back his cursed smirk. He had half a mind to excuse themselves and retire to their chambers, if he managed to endure it all the way and not take her in the middle of a hallway.

She seemed able to read his mind, judging by the way she was looking at him, unfurling a napkin on her lap. He knew her well enough to foresee when she was in a teasing spirit, and he was all in for it.

But then, just when they were about to start eating, her trusted maid came in, going straight to the Princess. “Apologies your Grace.” she said to her ear “but the Princeling is awake.”

Aemond saw the concern instantly widening her eyes and then a shadow passing over her face. “Yes…” she said, and stood up talking to all the present. “My apologies. I must retire.”

“See?” said Lady Bracken as Aemond watched his wife leave the hall. “This is why I refused to breastfeed. No matter how my second would scream…”

By the time she had done breastfeeding, her chest hurt so much that the maid had to place some rags soaked in cold water directly on her nipples; the instant relief had made the Princess close her eyes and almost moan. She had planned to go back to the banquet as soon as Aenar had had his fill but as she gained relief by pressing those wet rags to her breasts, she realised her son wouldn’t let her get away that easily.

As soon as the maid had taken him, trying to put him to sleep, he had begun to fuss and wriggle, whining in what she knew would soon turn into a high-pitched, deaf inducing crying.

Perhaps he’s cursed too. She had thought exhaustingly, promptly kissing his silver little head.

She gave up on her plan to go back to the banquet and rocked the baby herself, pacing before the windows while whispering sweet soothing words.

As soon as he had dozed off, she put him in his crib and absent-mindedly grabbed a book from Aemond's desk, lazily leafing through it while rocking the cradle with the other hand.

Aemond finds her like this when he opens the door on his way back from the banquet. She looks up from the page and sees him striding purposefully towards her, snatching the little book in her hands and throwing it on the bed.

She’s shocked, to say the least. One might say he treats books far better than his subjects.

“What—“ she tries to say but he takes her hand and pulls, forcing her to stand up and follow his steady gait.

“Aemond?” she asks down the corridor, a girlish grin climbing on her lips. “Where are you taking me?”

He doesn’t bother to answer but she doesn’t have to wait long to find out. They stop before a door down the corridor opposite to their chambers, Aemond pushes her inside without so much grace and shuts the door behind them. 

She looks around briefly; the room is warm, the fire in the hearth is lit, as the candles scattered all around. This is all familiar. “These are my old chambers…” she says with a little frown, turning to him.

“Quite the observer, wife.” He drawls, and takes a few steps. His stride is different now. Slow, contemplating, as his gaze raking over her, as if he in the first place doesn’t know why he brought her here and he’s assessing what to do. A war map, and he knows where all the faults lie.

“I thought we could spend some time together” he starts, walking past her to go sit near the fire “Alone.” he adds once he leisurely sits down, crossing his long legs and resting his hands on the armrests. “What better place than a vacant room? No one will come looking for us here.”

She tries as hard as she can to stop the little smirk at the corner of her lips; she walks closer, stopping right in front of him, staring down. “They might hear.” 

“Hmm. And that is much of a trouble for you, isn’t it?” he asks with the most fake genuine tone, taking a cup from the nearby table, and then “You sucked my cock on a terrace and begged me to fuck you in the Small Council…I thought I told you to quit your act.”

She smiles openly now, watching the wine pouring in the cup, his eye fixed on the liquid as his eyebrow shots up. “Besides, I know exactly what to do to muffle your noises.”

“You should be proud of my noises.”

“I am.” He says, taking a sip of wine, his eye piercing through her above the cup’s brim. “But for once, Aegon is right. I’m not one for sharing.”

His arm moves to put the wine aside but she takes it, only to feel his hand pulling the cup away from her. “You cannot drink.”

“Fine.” She concedes, leaning on him. “I’ll have it my way.”

She holds his face and with her left hand she glides her fingers on the left side of his face, delicately but with purpose, pushing the eyepatch off. And then she kisses him, eagerly, licking his lips and then breaching inside to taste the wine on his tongue, on the roof of his mouth.

She sighs deeply when he locks his tongue with hers, and feels his lips curling.

“Did you hear it?” He says breaking the kiss, breathing into her mouth. “That one is my favorite.”

“Your favorite what?” She asks mindlessly, chasing his lips but to no use, because he tilts his head back, his cursed smirk ghosting.

“Noise. It’s a little thing…” he tells her, locking one hand around her neck “in the back of your throat, close to a sigh but not quite…” his fingers trails against her throat, chasing her swallowing “It tells me you’re dying to.”

“To do what?”

“Fall on your knees for me. Be a supplicant.”

She grabs the back of his neck, driving his head close and looks down at his arched mouth “You cannot live without God, can you?” She looks up, her mouth open to breathe “Seven of them seem to have cursed me. I had to find my own.”

His eye widens at that. He looks straight into her eyes, so devoted, so raw. She’s right. The Gods would curse her some more if they saw she looks at him the way she should look at the Gods.

“Then do it.”

“What?”

“Flatteries don’t work on me, sweetling. You should know that.” With his hand on her neck, he slightly pushes her away, making some distance between them. “You will have to show me.”

“What would you have me do?”

His hands let go of her completely, resting on the armchair. The gemstone glints blue, and yet it’s nowhere near the bright cursed thing in his eye. “Get on your knees for me. Now.”

She should be ashamed of the pull in her bones, the muscles willing to move on their own accord and fall to the ground. But why, why does it have to be sin? Why can it not be religion?

When her knees hit the ground, she sees his chest rise, his long fingers spreading flat on the armchair. But her eyes fly back to his face as soon as he speaks, as soon as he commands. “Take off your dress.”

His eye sinks down, watching her hands work the corset, steadily. It’s the only sound in the room, this tugging, at the dress. But she tugs at his cock too. She tugs between her own legs.

When the dress is nothing but a pool of green on the ground, she goes to pull down her white chemise, but she suddenly stops. Aemond uncrosses his legs and the air hitches in her throat as his hands go straight to his belt, unbuckling it.

He revels in the little lump in her throat. Perhaps later he will let her have what she’s craving, but not so soon. “Give me your wrists.”

“My—”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

Swallowing, she keeps her eyes on him and raises her hands, like an offering. Aemond takes off his belt and leans forward, enough to take her hands and cross her wrists. She shudders at the sharp tug when he wraps the leather around, tying them tight.

“On your feet.”

And up she goes, testing her hands briefly but finding soon that she cannot move them, at all.

“Come.”

It takes one swift movement of his leg, bending the knee while the other rests loosely on the ground, for her to get the gist and walk closer, sitting on his knee, sideways.

“No. Like this.” Quite harshly, he grabs her hips and turns her so that she’s straddling his thigh. He can hear her little gasp when he pushes his thigh firmly against her core. He can feel her warmth through the fabric, stirring his cock. But he pays it no mind, for now.

“What now?” She asks, poised precariously on his thigh. 

Aemond tilts his head, and he just looks at her. In the spur of a moment, a boyish one that doesn’t sit well with how he’s built, he thinks he might be quite contented by merely looking at her. Because she’s beautiful and mine, mine, mine.

But his hands are burning, they might fray and wither if he doesn’t touch her. He unties her hair, running his fingers through them as they fall around her shoulders. The Maiden. The Mother. And yet something better, something worse. Because her eyes are hungry, her mouth is starving for air, for his flesh.

“You must toil to find God.” He says, and then he grins. A savage thing, full of promise. “Bring yourself to come.”

A flash of thrill lights up her face, darkens her eyes and Aemond tilts his head again, biding all the time in the world, for he knows she will.

Tentatively, she pushes her body down, against his thigh, feeling a timid shot of pleasure traveling up from her core, ending in a short, labored breath.

That noise, that might be his second favorite.

Soon, her hips start to move back and forth, each time trying to push herself down as hard as she can, making little breathless cries each time she fails to give herself the friction she needs. She has little balance due to her tied wrists, so she rests her palms on his chest to gain some leverage. And that seems to do the trick.

She tilts her head back, moving faster, doing little jumps on his thigh, panting harshly as sweat lumps on her forehead and pleasure coils in her belly.

Aemond hikes up her chemise, watches her cunt brushing back and forth against his leg, leaving a trail of wetness on the fabric of his breeches. He has to choke down a growl. “Gods, you’re soaking me…”

She looks down at him, her cheeks pink, her lips open in a little o. He can’t help himself. He sticks two fingers inside and how relishing it is that she waits for no invitation or order. She laps, twirls her tongue around his fingertips, sucks them.

“Look at you…” he croons, taking his fingers out, leaving a trail of saliva down her chin. “But you can’t, can you? Perhaps I should fuck you before a mirror, so you see. You see how pretty you are when you’re desperate for me.”

His hand travels down her neck, tossing her hair back and then grasping the strap of her chemise, pulling it down, revealing her swollen, turgid breast. He leans forward immediately, cupping it in his hand, and takes the nipple into his mouth, crooning contentedly and then some more when he feels her wince and cry out loud.

Her tied wrists writhe in their merciless hold and he stops her, gripping both her hands with one of his own, keeping her still, lapping and sucking at her nipple until he feels something wet and saccharine on his tongue, humming all the better. He grazes his teeth over the sensitive bud, and she cries out again, bucking violently against him, turning sloppy and frenzy as she feels the fall close.

He feels it too, feels her thighs trembling around him, and that’s when he takes her hips in a tight hold and forces her to stop altogether.

“Did you think I would make it so easy?” he asks spitefully, seeing her dazed expression. Wasting no time, he holds her firmly close to him and stands up. It takes him only two of his long steps to reach the bed and place her above. In a moment of illusive freedom, her tied wrists fly to his breeches, to his evident hardness, but he’s quick to stop her, bringing her arms above her head, keeping them there with a firm hold. “Stay still.”

“Aemond—“ she pleads.

“Hush. Spread your legs.”

She obliges, eager for him to do something, anything to stop the aching. Aemond wets his fingers on his tongue and brings them down, breaching inside her with two of them, watching her gasp, arch her back and twist her wrists in his hold, uselessly. “Easy…” he cruelly laughs “I have just started.”

But she hasn’t. She’s a few steps away from the precipice of her previous denied peak, it would take him so little to push her over the edge. Instead, his torture is so slow that the whole coiling in her belly falls apart and she must climb her peak again.

His two fingers slip in and out ever so easily, their wet sounds echoing through the room, mixed with her panted breaths and his own. He aches for her to touch him, he aches so much that his cock is pulsing, painfully, but this is just too thrilling. Now he knows exactly how she felt in Harrenhal, when she had him chained up to a chaise.

Her hips rock frantically against his hand, trying to speed him, to get there faster. Mumbling nonsense, her legs tense like iron, her cunt clenches and sucks his fingers in like a vice. “Yes…yes, please…Aemond…please don’t stop—‘m so close…”

And just like that, he slips his fingers out; a dark pleasure dances on his candle-lit features as she writhes and whines for the loss of his fingers, swinging her lower back and forth, desperate for the barest friction that would end her misery.

“Aemond, please…” she says, and even with only one eye, he can’t mistake the tears of frustration at the corners of her eyes.

“What, my love?”

“Plea—” she’s cut off by his hand, pushing his sticky fingers inside to make her clean up her mess.

“We said enough with subtleties, did we not? Speak. Tell me…what you need me to do?”

“Let me come please…please…”

At that, he finally lets her wrists go, and she almost winces in pain, for the time she had them tensed above her head. He stalls for a moment, unsure, running his eye over her whole body, sweating and feverish, and so beautifully plump because of motherhood. He unbuttons his doublet, and then his shirt, his breeches. He bares himself completely, catching her eyes following his deft hands everywhere, breathing heavily.

He kneels between her legs, spreading them. And it’s embarrassing, really, the way she tumbles as soon as he puts his tongue flat against her drenched folds. If only she cared.

It takes only a couple of twirls of his tongue around her lips, and she comes undone, shaking all over, canting her slit against his face. He helps her ride out her climax, by not stopping at all. Instead, he doubles his efforts like a man possessed, pushing his mouth open against her cunt as if he wished to devour it, sucking harshly until she whimpers hard, choking on a loud sob. “Aemond—wait—I can’t—”

She cannot take more so soon. But he’s utterly deaf to her complaints.

He feasts on her, lapping and dipping his tongue in, parting her folds to go as deep as he can, humming while drinking all of her; his voice reverberates through her flesh, it makes her bones rattle.

His long nose rubs against her bud and he looks up: she trashes about the sheets, cutting herself as the belt leather scratches her skin. She tries to push him away with her tied wrists, to no use. She clamps her legs around his head, in a desperate attempt to chase him away, sobbing for the unbearable stimulation. And yet…and yet her hips move on their own whim, bucking with sharp jolts until the wave starts to rise, higher and higher, and she drowns in it, letting go a high-pitched cry, clutching his scalp with both her tied hands, scraping, pushing him against her as she rides her peak against his face.  

He swallows everything, licking her clean, moaning softly at feeling her pulsing on his tongue.

“Enough…I—Aemond you have to stop…” she rasps breathlessly.  

“Why?” he asks, finally rising from where he had perched himself; he climbs on her, until he speaks to her face. “I am only making up to you. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

She can smell herself on him, she can see herself, glistening on his mouth, chin, even his cheekbones.

“Answer me.” His hand grips her jaw “You said you wanted everything.”

She chokes down a whimper when he leans completely on her, feeling his cock against her cooling flesh, while he’s hot and hard and heavy.

“I will give you more.” He says, brushing a strand of her sweat-soaked hair from her temple. “I will give you another child. Keep you all aching and wet for me while you swell with my child. Do you think I don’t know? How you ached for me? D’you think I didn’t?” he presses himself down, so she can feel it thoroughly, furrowing her brow as her body already answers to his call.

 “I can feel you in our bed…” he keeps rasping “rubbing your legs together. And you know how much that bothers me. Your pleasure is mine to take…and to give.”

Her lips part, gasping roughly. She was so hung on his lips that she hadn’t even registered that he had taken hold of himself, bending her knee on his left hip, and guided himself in.

She arches against him while he slowly sheathes himself all the way in, moaning with long-awaited relief. He stays still for a moment, adjusting, but also because he takes her wrists and sets her hands free.

Thrilling as it was, he wants her hands on him, he craves her touch.

He wants her to cling to his shoulders as she always does, digging her nails down.

He wants her to clamp her fingers on the back of his neck, scraping and pulling his hair to keep him close enough to moan into his mouth.

He wants her hands on his back, sliding down, to push him even deeper while rutting inside her.

And she does all of that. She finds God.

[wwooyology]

Glowing Caverns | C.SN

「pairing」 : san x fem!reader 「word count」 : 4.5k

「synopsis」 : you were on vacation, taking the time to get away from your chaotic city life and enjoy the tranquility of the beach. it was supposed to be an easy laid back few weeks yet you weren't expecting to catch the eye of a lifeguard who just couldn't seem to keep his eyes off of you.

「genre」 : smut, lil bit of fluff, lifegurard!san, summer fling au

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, kissing, flirting, unprotected sex, biting/marking, messy makeout, rough sex, slight clit play, dirty talk, teasing, dom!san x sub!reader, overstimulation, pet names (princess, baby, pretty, pretty girl...), multiple orgasms, slight buldge kink, creampie, dumbification, slight manhandling, praising, breeding, lmk if I missed anything!!

「notes」 : this has been sitting in my drive half finished for at least a month now and I can't believe that I'm just now getting back to it 😭, but lifeguard san was the first thought that came to mind when I saw the crazy ass video he posted 🥴. special shout out to @kitten4sannie for listening to insaneness and letting me share my crazy ideas, this ones for you babes! also, HAPPY NEW YEARS!! 🥂

The sun was shining brightly in the sky, warming you to the core as you walked along the beach. The book in your hand is long forgotten as you soak in the warm rays, enjoying the sea salt air. It was refreshing to finally have a place that didn’t have you running around like a chicken with its head cut off or a manager that would yell at you for every little thing that you did wrong and even the aches in your body due to overtime were melting away the longer you stood in the summer breeze.

Moving your hand up, you shielded your eyes from the bright sun as you looked around, you saw only a few families on the beach, parents lounging around on their towels under large umbrellas while the kids were off playing in the water or giggling with one another as they attempted to build sandcastles a little too close to the water. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched the three kids jump to their feet with squeals as a wave crashed over their newly built sandcastle, completely demolishing it.

This was the life that you had longed for, and you would give anything to be able to call this your ‘every day,’ but you knew that it would never be true. You couldn’t leave your life in the city behind; as much as you would love to, there was just too much at stake.

Letting out a conflicted sigh, you turned back to the ocean and watched the waves roll calmly on the surface. The gentleness of it all lured you in like a siren's call, tugging at every fiber of your being, and you took a step forward, allowing the cool water to wash over your bare feet, the temperature causing a chill to run down your spine.

After a few moments, you could feel the burning gaze of someone’s eyes, the hairs on the back of your neck standing tall. Peeking over your shoulder, you met the eyes of one of the lifeguards; he was perched on top of the watch-out chair. Heat flushed your cheeks as you took in his appearance, his shaggy hair falling in front of his eyes, but it didn’t hide the intensity of the look he was giving you. Your eyes took in more of his appearance, and you felt like your face was going to burst into flames at any moment. His honey skin was on perfect display. The only thing he was wearing was the bright red swim trunks that all of the lifeguards were wearing.

Swallowing thickly, you raised your hand, sending him a small wave, and your heart nearly stopped when he smiled, waving back. A smile of your own spread on your lips as you turned back around to look out at the ocean once more.

San’s eyes stayed glued to you even after you turned back around; something about you intrigued him. He’s never seen you around town before, and he knows almost everyone. The town doesn’t have very many tourists, so he was curious. It was like there was an invisible string tethering him to you, and he felt a pull, one that wouldn’t go away until he learned more. So he leaned over the other side of the lookout chair, searching for someone.

“Hey, Jongho!” He called out to the other male, who turned around a pair of dark sunglasses adorning his features. “Can you cover for me for a few minutes?” San asked, causing the younger to cock an eyebrow.

“What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll buy your lunch for the rest of the week.” San bargained, and Jongho thought about it for a second before ultimately nodding and agreeing.

“But don’t think I won’t throw your ass under the bus if boss shows up,” Jongho told him pointedly, and San chuckled before patting his shoulder.

“Thanks!” San then turned and jogged over to where you were standing while Jongho climbed up the ladder, drink in hand, as he leaned back in the seat.

You were crouched down, your book in your lap, as you combed through the sand to find any seashells. The sound of footsteps nearing you tore your attention away, and you pulled your hand from the water. Looking over, you found the lifeguard from earlier making his way towards you, so you shook your hand, trying to dry any of the leftover water before standing to your feet once more. Your heart fluttered when he got closer, and you were able to see his dimpled smile and his teeth peeking out from behind his lips.

“Hi.” He greeted you as soon as he got close enough, stopping just a few feet away from you.

You turned to face him, returning his smile as your fingers curled around the spine of your book, “hi.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around town before.” He tilted his head a little bit, causing some of his hair to fall further into his eyes, but he didn’t seem to mind.

The only thing that came to your mind as you watched him look at you curiously was that he was cute. His soft brown eyes drew you in like a freshly made batch of brownies, and his sweet smile left you wanting more. 

You laughed softly at his statement before nodding your head, “That would be because I’m new around here.” You told him before quickly adding on, “Only for the summer though, then I’ve gotta go back home.”

San didn’t miss the solemn look that crossed your face when you mentioned going back home, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for you. However, hearing that you were going to be here for the summer gave him an idea, albeit possibly a horrible idea, but an idea nonetheless.

“Would you care for a tour of the town? I can show you all the best places around.” He gave you a cheeky smile, and you felt your stomach flutter.

The last thing you expected was for someone to offer to show you around the foreign town, let alone someone who was like a godsent. You thought it over for a few moments before ultimately deciding that it wouldn’t be a bad idea, seeing as you were going to be in this town for at least another three months, so you nodded your head with a smile of your own.

“I’d love that.” You told him before you heard shouting from behind him causing both of you to turn only to find an older man marching down the beach.

Chuckling nervously, the boy turned back to you, rubbing the back of his neck, “That would be my boss, I should probably get back. Do you know where the ice cream parlor is?” He asked, and you nodded, recalling seeing it as you were on your way to the beach. “Awesome, I get off at six. Meet me there?”

“San!” You heard someone shout causing the male in front of you to look over his shoulder, seeing the older man now standing next to the lifeguard post with Jongho.

“You should probably go,” You laugh softly. You would hate to see him get into any more trouble for staying and talking to you.

“Probably…” He sighed, turning back towards you, “I’m San, by the way.”

“I’m y/n.” You smiled up at him, and San felt his stomach swirl at the sight, but the moment was ruined when his boss once again yelled at him to get back to his post, causing the poor boy to let out a defeated sigh.

“I’ll see you later y/n.” He waved at you softly before turning and started jogging towards the lifeguard stand but stopped short when he remembered something, “Oh, y/n?” You looked at him at the sound of your name with a hum, “Make sure to wear your bathing suit.”

You nodded softly before watching as he walked back over to the lifeguard stand where his boss started giving him an earful as the boy who was sitting on the chair watched, a straw in his mouth. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. This might just be the best summer you’ve had yet.

Just like San said he would, he showed up at the ice cream parlor a little after six. He found you sitting in a booth off to the side with an empty cup in front of you as you scrolled through your phone. Walking over, he stopped just short of the table with a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked, causing you to lift your head, and as soon as you saw him, your face lit up, a smile spreading across your glossed lips. You shook your head before telling him to sit down, to which he happily obliged, sitting across from you and propping his arms on the tabletop.

“So, where are you taking me first?” You asked, taking a sip from your watered-down soda only to grimace slightly due to the bland taste, causing San to chuckle, ‘cute,’ he thought, watching you push the cup away with a small pout forming on your lips.

“Well, I was thinking we would just make our way back down to the beach.” He told you, and you looked at him with scrunched eyebrows. Weren’t you guys just at the beach? Noticing your confusion, he added, “There is a cavern just slightly off the beach that glows at night.”

Your eyes widened at the thought, you have heard of them before but you never thought that you would actually be able to go and see one in person. It would also make sense why he told you to keep your bathing suit on. However, a sudden unease starts to settle in the pit of your stomach at the thought of the sea life that normally comes out after dark.

“What about sharks and whatnot?”

“We won’t have to swim to get inside, plus the underwater entrance is too small for anything big to get in,” San reassured you, and your unease died down as you took in the sincerity that gleamed in his eyes. “If you’re ready, we can start heading that way.” 

You nodded with a bright smile before standing from your seat and turning to grab your trash, but San was quicker. He walked over to the trash can, throwing it away as you followed behind him closely.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You pouted slightly, not used to people doing anything like that for you.

San just offered you a smile, walking to the door and opening it for you, “after you.”

–

About an hour and a half later, you walked side by side with San down the beach, your sandals in your hand as you talked. He had shown you so many small shops that had all kinds of things that you couldn’t find in the bigger cities and even took you to the small animal shelter where he volunteers from time to time. It was refreshing to see, and you wished that you could make it your everyday life, but alas, you couldn’t.

“The entrance is just over here.” San pointed off to the side of the cliff, the flashlight in his hand illuminating the ground underneath your feet. You followed after him until you made it to more rocky ground, so you stopped to put your shoes back on.

You had managed to put one on without too much struggle, but as you were putting the other on, you lost your balance, toppling over. However, instead of crashing on the ground, you felt arms wrapped around your midsection, keeping you upright. Looking up, your breath hitched in your throat as you noticed just how close San was. Stammering out an apology, you pushed away with a flustered face, and San watched in amusement as you avoided his eyes.

After your shoes were on, San led you to the entrance, “it's just through here.” He pointed the flashlight at the small entrance, glancing back at you. You followed after him, making sure to stay close so you don’t get separated. Then, finally, you broke through the entrance with a deep breath; the air smelled heavily of sea salt.

A small gasp fell from your lips when you looked up as San turned the flashlight off. The whole cavern was illuminated in an oceanic blue. The reflection of the water from the ceiling made it feel like you were underwater.

“It’s beautiful.” You spoke quietly as you stepped forward, and San looked over at you with a silly smile on his lips.

Heat flushed his face as he took in your appearance. The lights from the algae made your skin glow. You were breathtaking, and every fiber in his body was yearning to reach out to touch you, but when you looked over, catching him staring, he decided against it.

“C’mon, let’s get in the water.” He quickly spoke before you had a chance to even question why he was staring and jogged over to the edge of the water. 

You stood there in confusion for a moment before looking back over at the taller male as he kicked his shoes off and pulled his shirt over his head. Your mouth watered slightly at the sight of his bare skin, watching the muscles in his back ripple as he threw his shirt off to the side.

Heat crept up your neck as he looked back at you with a small smile, but there was a gleam in his eyes that made your stomach flip. Swallowing thickly you walked over to the water’s edge as San dove in and kicked your sandals off once more.

“This is safe, right?” You asked, your voice coming out shaky as you took in San’s appearance after coming out from under the water.

“I’ve been swimming here since I was a kid. I promise it’s safe.” He offered you a reassuring smile, and you nodded before reaching for the hem of your shirt.

San couldn’t tear his gaze away from your body as you pulled your shirt over your head, revealing the bikini top that you were wearing underneath. He could feel his whole body start to burn as you pulled your shorts down your legs before tossing both items over with his discarded shirt.

You could feel his eyes burning into you as you threaded through the water, which was surprisingly warmer than you expected it to be. When you got close enough to him, he swallowed down the lump in his throat, but then you got a mischievous idea.

Cupping your hands together, you splashed water at him, drenching his face and hair. You broke down into a fit of giggles at the shock on his face after he wiped his eyes.

“Oh, you’re playin’ a dangerous game.” He chuckled deeply, and you felt a shiver run down your spine at the noise, heat pooling in your gut, but you tried to ignore it as he sprayed water right back at you.

A squeal fell from your lips as he rushed at you, and you ran from him, the whole cavern filling with the sounds of your guy's laughter. 

You tried to get away from San’s outstretched hands after splashing him once again, but your foot slipped, and he managed to grab your arm. He pulled you towards him, your body almost weightless in the water.

“Got you.” He huffed, looking down at you as your hand fell to his chest to keep your balance. 

The air around you grew still; the only sound was your heavy breathing. San’s eyes were glued to your face, and you could feel your body growing warmer by the second. He started to lean down, his lips ghosting over yours, and your eyes fluttered closed as he closed the space between your bodies.

San’s lips were soft against yours; the kiss was sweet, but it didn’t take long before it started to fill with need. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip, groaning at the taste, a mixture of sea salt and your strawberry lip gloss. The sound was enough to leave your core dripping as you parted your lips, allowing him to invade your mouth.

A small whine fell from your lips as he bit down on your bottom lip gently before trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck. You rolled your head to the side, giving him more space to leave wet, open-mouth kisses along your skin.

“San…” You let out a breathy moan as he nipped at your skin, his hands wandering your body while yours squeezed his shoulders to try and ground yourself. Your breath hitched in your throat when his hand cupped your boob over your bikini top.

“You sound so pretty, moaning my name.” He groaned against your skin, his senses going haywire as he kissed back up to your lips. He just couldn’t seem to get enough. He wanted more.

A small yelp fell from your lips when he picked you up effortlessly, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you out of the water. His lips then found yours, capturing them in a heated kiss.

Not a word was spoken as he laid you down on the smooth floor of the cavern, fingers dancing across your skin. Every fiber of your being felt like it had been set aflame as his hand crept down your stomach, tracing the hem of your bottoms.

He pulled away from your lips, taking in your disheveled appearance and your swollen lips glistening under the light. The sight made his dick swell in his trunks, the material straining, causing him to groan. Pulling back a little more, he curled his fingers around the fabric of your bottoms and looked back at you with a questioning gaze. After giving him the green light, San wasted no time in discarding you of your bottoms, leaving your dripping core on full display.

You felt small under his gaze, and you started to close your legs in embarrassment. However, San was quick to stop you. Grabbing your knees, he spread your legs once more, his cock twitching at the sight of your glistening pussy.

“Fuck.” He cursed, mouth yearning to latch on to your clit, but his aching cock was telling him that there was no time. So he prayed to the gods that he would get another chance to eat you out before the summer was over.

“San–” You were cut off by a choked moan when he pressed down on your clit suddenly, groaning at how wet you were. He leaned back over your body, caging you under his as he looked at your lust-filled eyes.

“Shit princess, you’re so fucking wet.” His head leaned down, his hot breath fanning over your ear as he continued to toy with your clit.

“San, please!” You whined, back arching off the ground when he added more pressure to your clit. Your body felt like it was on fire, and your core ached, begging to be filled. The growing desire becomes insatiable.

“Please, what, pretty girl?” He cooed, raising up to look at you with a teasing smirk, and that’s when you noticed the chain dangling from his neck. 

Biting back another moan, you reached up and wrapped your fingers around the cool metal before pulling him down until his lips brushed over yours, “stop teasing and fuck me.”

San chuckled before removing his hand from your little bundle of nerves, “so demanding.” 

You were about to retort, but all words died on your tongue as he leaned up to pull his trunks down just enough to let his weeping cock pop out. Noticing the shocked look in your eyes, he smirked before leaning over you again, lips brushing over your ear.

“You were the one demanding that I fuck you, so take it like a good girl, hmm?” His voice was deep, causing you to clench around nothing, a small whine falling from your lips.

Your whole body jolted when you felt his tip running over your slit before bumping into your clit. Then he started pushing into you without so much as a warning, causing you to choke out a broken moan of his name.

“San!” You cried out, nails clawing at his back, nearly breaking skin, and tears brimmed in your eyes. “‘S too much.” 

“But you wanted this baby.” He cooed, thumb brushing under your eyes as tears started to fall, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find his forcefulness hot. Your walls squeezed around his aching cock, sucking him further in and he groaned, “plus you’re sucking me in, your pretty little cunt is just begging to be filled.”

Your eyes rolled back when he finally bottomed out, your mind fuzzing over from the full feeling. San watched you intently as you pulled at his body, wanting him close to you, a pathetic whimper falling from your swollen lips.

“Sannie!” You cried out, and his cock twitched at the whiny tone in your voice. The pressure was overwhelming, and you felt like you were about to combust if nothing was done about it soon. Your hips rolled up against San’s, and a choked gasp fell from your lips when his tip brushed over your sweet spot. “M-Move, please. San, please.” You spewed pleas like a mantra, and San’s lips curled into a smirk as he took your hips in his hands.

He pulled out until just the tip was left before pushing back in with enough force to make your tits bounce. A strangled cry tore from your lungs, and your hands flew to his forearm. His pace was slow but deep, hitting all of the right spots and turning you into a blubbering mess.

“Look at you taking me so well,” He cooed, pistoning his hips into yours until his tip hit your cervix.

Stars danced across your vision when his pace picked up, his grip so tight on your hips that you were sure that it would leave bruises the next day. However, all thoughts melted from your brain when his hand pressed down on your lower stomach, making you feel him even more.

“S-San– fuck! You feel so good, oh my god!” You cried out, back arching off of the ground when his thumb made contact with your clit. Your legs trembled around San’s waist as he brought you closer to your climax, your velvet walls squeezing around his throbbing cock like a vice.

“Shit, if you keep squeezing me like that, I’m gonna cum.” San groaned, his body leaning over yours to litter your chest with sloppy kisses. “Is that what you want, pretty girl? Me to cum in this sweet pussy of yours? To claim you as mine, is that it?” He growled against your skin, and it felt like your brain turned to mush at the thought of him cumming in you, and you tightened around him once more, giving away exactly what you wanted.

With just a few more thrusts, he sent you toppling over the edge, a string of broken moans falling from your lips as he fucked you through your high. Detaching his lips from your collarbone, he leaned over you, chain hanging just in your peripheral. Without so much as a second thought, you grabbed the jewelry and pulled him down, slotting your lips over his.

The kiss was anything but neat; he kissed you with a bruising force, and a mixture of spit covered both of your chins. Any sound you made from his relentless pounding was swallowed by his lips. Tears of overstimulation clouded your vision as you tried to tell him to slow down, but all that left your lips were incoherent babbles.

“Fuck! I’m sorry, pretty, just hold on a little bit more; you can do that, can’t you?” He grunted through gritted teeth as he sat back up, using his hold on your hips to plow you into oblivion. Your nails dug into his forearm, threatening to break skin as he pushed you closer to another climax.

“S-San!” You choked out a moan as he brushed over your sweet spot, causing stars to cloud your vision.

“Shit.” San groaned as he felt his own high right on the tip of his tongue. His hand then moved from your hip, trailing up your body until he caught your chin between his fingers. “Look at me pretty girl, I want you to watch as I fill your womb with my cum.” 

His words were enough to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your body trembling as another high washed over your body. Your pussy spasmed around his cock as you continued to gush out your own cum. An incoherent mixture of his name and curses spewed from your lips as he continued to fuck you through another high until his own thrusts became sloppy.

“Eyes on me, princess.” He tapped your cheek, watching in amusement as you tried your best to focus your attention on him despite all of the pleasure your body was receiving. “F-Fucking–” His voice cracked as his climax hit him like a freight train, his warm seed spilling deep into your walls.

“Sannie!” You whine at the sudden feeling, back arching off of the ground once more when he stilled inside of you.

“You did so good for me, baby.” He huffed, leaning over to pull your lips into a gentle kiss, and your shaky arms wrapped around his neck, wanting to keep him as close as possible.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments more until San pulled away, causing you to whine at the sudden loss of contact. With a chuckle, he slipped out of your spent hole, watching as a mixture of his and your cum pooled on the ground beneath you. Swallowing thickly, he tore his eyes away, afraid that he would get hard again, and instead pulled his trunks back up before helping you back into your clothes.

“C’mon, we can go back to mine and watch a movie or something.” He smiled sweetly at you as he helped you pull your shorts over your hips, and you felt your face flush.

“Throw in some snacks, and I’ll be yours.” You teased, and he chuckled before grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers.

“I can make that happen.” He then pulled you back towards the entrance of the cavern and back to the beach before the both of you headed back to his place for the rest of the night.

You couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, if you kissed your city life goodbye, you could be happy here. The thought of having to leave San at the end of the summer after what just happened left an ache deep in your heart. So that’s all it took, was another flash of San’s dimpled smile to call your boss and tell him that you were going to quit.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[luv-lock]

⸻ ꜱ ᴘ ɪ ᴅ ᴇ ʀ ɢ ɪ ʀ ʟ ⸻

Pairing: Yandere Batfam x Fem Reader

Headcanon: How is your relationship with batfam in general?

Notes: Reader is a pervert. Reader have the same abilities as spiderman. Again another silly fic that should not be taken seriously. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

At 22, you were a far cry from the scrappy little thief Bruce and Dick had caught all those years ago. Sure, you were still crass, still brutally honest, and still had a penchant for letting your intrusive thoughts win, but now? Now you were hot.

Like, objectively hot. Your tight black spider suit left very little to the imagination, clinging to every curve and muscle as you swung through the city. And you loved every second of it. The attention? Oh, the attention was your lifeblood. You basked in it like a lizard in the sun.

Dick was still wearing those tight pants, wasn’t he? You couldn’t help but stare. I mean, seriously, the guy had a killer ass. You were supposed to be on a mission, but all you could think about was how the suit hugged his figure in ways that made you forget everything except your growing thoughts. You even compared your ass to his when he wasn’t looking—just to make sure you were still in the running for the Best Butt in Gotham.

“Hey, Grayson,” you called out, voice dripping with amusement. He turned his head slightly, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah?”

“Nice ass.” You grinned, winking.

He blinked. “What?” He stopped walking and spun around, completely thrown off by your bluntness.

“Oh, nothing, just admiring the view,” you shrugged, taking a step forward and pretending to actually pay attention to the mission. His cheeks turned red, but you didn’t care. You were busy eyeing his backside like it was a prize you were about to claim.

You convinced Dick to teach you yoga, but it wasn’t for flexibility—it was so you could watch him stretch.

“Wow, Dick,” you said, laying on the mat and pretending to follow his moves. “You’re really… bendy.”

He flushed. “It’s not like that!”

“Sure it’s not,” you teased, snapping a quick photo of him in a compromising pose. “This one’s going on the Batfam group chat.”

“Y/N, don’t you dare!”

You were bleeding out. Your side was burning, your vision blurry, and yet you were having the time of your life. Why? Because Jason Todd—walking sex god and part-time vigilante—was carrying you in his arms like you were a damsel in distress.

“Don’t worry,” Jason said, sprinting through an alley as explosions sounded in the distance. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be fine.”

You stared up at him, dazed but grinning. “You’re so pretty.”

“Y/N, stay awake,” Jason barked.

“I’m awake my angel,” you slurred. Your eyes drifted downward to his broad chest, the tight shirt doing little to hide the muscle underneath. You reached out, resting a hand on his pec. “You got...man boobs.”

Jason groaned. “You're hallucinating, stay awake please.”

“They’re perfect,” you whispered, leaning closer. And then—because you were you—you bit him.

Jason skidded to a stop, staring at you in disbelief. “Did you just—”

“I couldn’t help it,” you said, grinning despite the blood trickling down your chin. “They’re so biteable.”

You discovered Jason was ticklish purely by accident, and you never let him live it down. Anytime he annoyed you, you’d jab him in the ribs or poke his sides until he squirmed.

“Stop it, Y/N!” he growled, swatting at your hands.

“You wish,” you said, chasing him around the room.

The rest of the Batfam watched in stunned silence as Jason “Red Hood” Todd ran from you like a child.

You declared the Batcave chair yours one day and refused to let anyone else sit in it.

“It’s my throne,” you said, lounging dramatically as the others stood around, glaring.

“Get up,” Jason said, crossing his arms.

“Make me,” you replied, sticking your tongue out.

He grabbed you, but instead of throwing you out, you ended up on his lap, smirking. “Guess this works too.”

Anytime you were in the middle of a Dick and Jason argument, you somehow always ended up physically between them. And, oh, you weren’t complaining.

“Move, Dickhead,” Jason growled, pushing into your right shoulder, his broad chest pressing into the side of your face.

“Not a chance, Hood,” Dick snapped, leaning in on your other side, his own muscular frame trapping you against Jason.

You? You just stood there, smiling like a cat with a bowl of cream. “Ooh, I love this. It’s like being sandwiched between two very attractive brick walls.”

“What?!” they shouted in unison.

Jason shot Dick a death glare. “See what you did? You’re giving her ideas.”

“Me? You’re the one pressing into her like some kind of Neanderthal!”

You just smirked, leaning back into the tension. “Don’t mind me, boys. Please, continue. This is very entertaining.”

Dick was your favorite pillow, and you made sure he knew it. Anytime you were hanging out in the Batcave, you’d just casually rest your head on his shoulder or lean against his chest.

“Comfortable?” he asked, chuckling softly.

“Very,” you replied, closing your eyes.

He smiled, wrapping an arm around you. “Good.”

You peeked up at him, grinning. “You know, you make a great pillow. Very firm, but also soft in the right places.”

Dick laughed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thanks,” you said, smirking.

Dick’s ass was basically your personal stress ball at this point. It didn’t matter if you were on a mission, in the Batcave, or just walking through Gotham—if the opportunity presented itself, you’d take it.

SMACK!

“Jesus, Y/N!” Dick would jump, spinning around, his cheeks flushed.

“What?” you’d say innocently, shrugging. “It’s just so perfect. You work hard for that, right? I’m just appreciating the effort.”

He’d sigh, rubbing his neck, but you knew he secretly loved it.

Jason’s chest was another favorite of yours, especially when he was shirtless (which, let’s face it, happened a lot). You’d walk up to him, your fingers twitching, and—pinch!

“Damn it, Y/N!” Jason would glare at you, rubbing the spot where you’d gotten him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” you’d say with a cheeky grin. “Just checking if these are real.”

He’d groan, shaking his head, but you’d catch the tiny smirk he tried to hide.

You loved teasing, and nothing was off-limits. During a mission, your suit "mysteriously" ripped—right in front of Jason and Dick.

“Oh no,” you said innocently, looking over your shoulder at the tear just below your back. “Guess I’ll have to fix this later.”

Jason’s jaw tightened. “Y/N, stop.”

Dick looked away, flustered. “Maybe cover it up or something?”

“Why? You guys can’t handle a little skin?” You smirked, adjusting your suit to make it worse.

Jason grumbled, “I’m about to shoot that suit off you if you don’t stop playing.”

You had zero shame. Once, during a stakeout with Dick, you leaned over and kissed him right in the middle of his report to Bruce.

“Nightwing, report—” Bruce’s voice came over the comms, but you cut Dick off with your lips, pulling him into a deep kiss.

“Y/N!” he protested, his face red as he tried to pull away. “Bruce can hear us!”

“So?” you replied, shrugging as you went in for another kiss.

The first time you met Superman, you were not prepared.

“Y/N, this is Clark Kent,” Bruce said, his tone clipped as ever. “He’s Superman.”

You blinked up at the man of steel, all 6’4” of farm-boy perfection, and immediately zeroed in on one thing: the bulge.

You weren’t subtle about it either. Your eyes widened slightly as you stared, your head tilting to the side like you were trying to calculate something.

Clark, oblivious, smiled warmly. “It’s nice to meet you. Bruce has told me a lot about you.”

“Uh-huh,” you muttered, still staring. “Damn, you’re packing. Your wife must be so lucky.”

The room went silent. Bruce closed his eyes, looking like he was about to have an aneurysm. Clark cleared his throat, cheeks turning bright red.

“What—what does that mean?” Superman asked, clearly flustered.

“Oh, nothing,” you said, shrugging. “Just making an observation. By the way, you ever need help with Lois, let me know. I’m excellent at teamwork.”

Bruce groaned audibly in the background.

“Anyway,” he stammered, shifting awkwardly, “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about Damian and Jon.”

You didn’t hear a word he said.

Poor Tim. Sweet, awkward Tim. He didn’t deserve you, and yet you tormented him at every opportunity.

You were taller than him, which you used to your advantage constantly. One day, after a successful mission, you wrapped your arms around him from behind, pulling him into a tight hug. Your boobs pressed against the back of his head, and you could feel him stiffen like a deer caught in headlights.

“Good boy,”

“Y/N,” he croaked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Hmm?”

“Let go.”

“But you’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

“LET GO!”

Tim was your little puppy, and you made sure he knew it. Anytime he looked stressed (which was, like, always), you’d grab him by the shoulders and pull him down onto your lap.

“Shhh,” you’d coo, stroking his hair while he sat there stiff as a board. “You’re working too hard, Timmy. Just relax.”

He’d blush furiously, stammering out a protest, but you’d silence him with a kiss to his forehead.

“Good boy,” you’d whisper, your voice soft but teasing. “You’re doing great.”

Poor Tim would be a mess, his face redder than Jason’s helmet, but you didn’t care. It was adorable.

Jason walked in once and nearly gagged. “This is the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen.”

When you first met Damian, you were charmed. Not by his skill, or his intellect, or his reputation as the Demon’s Son. No, you were charmed because he looked like an angry little bird.

He’d just finished beating the crap out of Tim in the training room when you walked in.

“Who is this?” Damian demanded, glaring at you.

You clasped your hands together, grinning. “Aww, you’re so cute!”

Damian bristled. “I am not cute! I am an assassin!”

You squealed, bouncing on your heels. “Look at him! He’s like a tiny murder pigeon!”

Tim, still lying on the mat, muttered, “Please kill me.”

“So adorable,” you said, holding your hands together in a “squee” motion, jumping up and down like a fangirl. “I didn’t know you were so mad! Look at you, little angry pookie!”

Damian, of course, was not impressed. “Shut up, woman.”

But you? You couldn’t stop giggling. “You’re, like, a pocket-sized villain. So cute.”

Since then, you’d taken to treating Damian like a literal baby. You’d sit him on your lap, spoon-feed him during meals, and ruffle his hair at every opportunity.

Damian was your baby, no matter how much he tried to argue otherwise. You gave him the most attention—whether it was ruffling his hair, pinching his cheeks, or straight-up kissing him on the forehead during missions.

“Y/N, cease this nonsense!” he’d shout, trying to push you away.

“Aw, but you’re so cute,” you’d tease, holding his face in your hands.

Damian would glare, but the faint pink on his cheeks betrayed him. You knew he secretly loved it, especially when you called him your “adorable angry bird.”

Jon Kent adored you. But when he let it slip in front of Damian?

“Y/N is… well, she’s amazing,” Jon had said shyly, scratching the back of his neck.

Damian froze, his eyes narrowing. “What did you just say?”

“Uh, nothing!” Jon backpedaled, but Damian was already chasing him across the Batcave, sword in hand.

“YOU THINK YOU HAVE A CHANCE?!” Damian yelled as Jon flew for his life.

Bruce wasn’t immune to your antics either. You’d long since dropped the “old man” or “Bruce” in favor of something much more fun: “Daddy.”

“Good work tonight, Y/N,” Bruce said one evening, his tone professional.

You leaned against the Batcomputer, smirking. “Thanks, Daddy.”

Bruce froze, his eye twitching slightly.

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? You always been my suger daddy, it's only make sense if I call you daddy.”

He walked away without another word.

You made it your life mission to annoy Bruce whenever possible. During one of his infamous brooding sessions in the Batcave, you casually walked up to him, poked his nose, and said, “Boop.”

He froze, slowly turning to glare at you. “Don’t.”

“Boop,” you repeated, doing it again.

Dick and Tim were in hysterics in the background, and Jason muttered, “She’s got a death wish.”

Bruce, exhausted, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why am I not surprised?”

It started as a joke. You stole one of Bruce’s button-up shirts and wore it around the Manor. Now it was a regular occurrence, much to Bruce’s annoyance.

“That’s mine,” he’d say.

“Yup, and it’s comfy,” you’d reply, lounging on the couch.

Once, during a mission debrief, you leaned on the table and purred, “What’s the plan, Daddy?”

Jason choked on his drink, Dick coughed awkwardly, and Tim turned bright red.

Bruce didn’t even look up. “I will ground you.”

“Kinky,” you replied with a grin.

You had a thing for flirting with dangerous villains, and the Batfam hated it.

“I could totally take Deathstroke,” you said once after a fight.

“He tried to kill you!” Jason snapped.

“Yeah, but did you see the way he looked at me? Sparks, I tell you. Also who said I was talking about fighting?”

“She’s insane,” Damian muttered, but you just shrugged.

During a fight with the Joker, you’d stopped mid-battle to tilt your head and give him an appraising look.

“Y’know,” you said, webbing one of his henchmen to the wall. “You’d be kinda hot if you didn’t look like a corpse. Ever thought about skincare?”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Dick had yelled, dodging a swing from Harley Quinn.

“SHUT UP!” you shot back. “I CAN FIX HIM!”

Despite all the chaos and teasing, there’s a hidden, vulnerable side to you that craves attention—not just the kind that’s lustful, but the caring kind.

After a long night of missions, you’ll often crash in the Batcave. The family can be in the middle of an intense discussion or debriefing, but you’ll barge in, throw yourself onto Tim, and use his lap as a pillow.

Jason will grumble and say something about you “acting like a child,” but then you'll casually climb onto his back, burrowing your face into his shoulder as you cling to him.

Of course, Bruce just looks away like he’s done with all of you, but deep down, he knows that if he even tried to stop it, the whole family would turn on him. You're the glue holding them all together.

Main Headcanon

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.