#I have no womb and I must pregnant | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fan-goddess · 7 months ago

Note

can you hotd characters (mostly alicent and rhaenrya) when the reader almost passes in child birth? thank youuuu :3

A/N: Yep can do! I’ve never given birth, gotten pregnant nor seen anything resembling child birth apart from the Aemma scene in HOTD so I hope I did this justice!? Sorry this has taken so long!

Character Roll Call: Rhaenyra, Alicent, Daemon, Aemond and Jacaerys (All romantic love)

Warnings: Child birth, talk of infertility, talk of not able to have children, pregnancy, she/her pronouns used in some places for reader, talk of death during childbirth, talk about smut but no smut, dirty talk, a most likely inaccurate childbirth telling, graphic detailing of blood and gore, this is not proofread! (if I miss any please let me know in a way you’re most comfortable!)

Rhaenyra Targaryen:

It was not the typical marriage you and your husband shared. For whilst you had never had a particular fondness for goose, he understood that and went after his own interest in tasting the variety the world provided him with.

So while he was off exploring, you were in the chambers of the heir of the realm. Showing her your devotion in the most unexpected of ways.

Yet soon, after nearly two years of marriage with no children, people were beginning to become suspicious of your womb. More specifically, your husband’s own family. There was talk of them already arranging a second marriage for him as your womb was supposedly infertile. So after a talk with him, you and your husband for a whole of three months, with the help of Rhaenyra. And just when you thought your efforts were unsuccessful, the maester greeted you with a smile, and told you you were with child.

Your lover took the news surprisingly well, as Rhaenyra spent all hours of the day with you comparing possible names for the baby. Your husband had done his part in this game. Now, you and Nyra could spend your days eating the cake and kissing the days away. Acting oblivious to the hateful world surrounding the two three of you.

“What about Aurion?” Nyra suggests, a lazy smile on her lips as she places a fork with a large chunk of vanilla cake on the end between your lips.

“Hmmmmm” You hum, smiling in thought. “Perhaps let’s not raise more suspicions than we’d like my darling. How about something not so Valyrian?”

She laughs, and yet agrees with you with her smile turning strained and sad. Her hand reaches for your own instinctively and you quickly move to grab it and squeeze it tight. “Alright alright! What about Rhys? Ivan? Those are some more boring names!”

You laugh, and yet make sure to note them down somewhere in your head. You discuss names of girls also, just in case. Yet months later as you sat screaming your heart out on the birthing bed, those names disappeared as pain became all you know.

“You must push my lady! The baby is trapped you must push!” One of the ladies in waiting says as she positions herself by your bottom half.

“I’M TRYING TO FUCKING PUSH!” You scream, sweat dripping down your face as your eyes screw shut. Your voice loud as the pain spreads further through you, till eventually you feel it all over.

Soon, the pain that blooms all over becomes numbing. Especially, when you feel your eyes becoming heavy, eventually shutting so all you see is black and the world becomes silent.

“What is happening?!” Rhaenyra screams, her face becoming pale as memories of her mother come flooding to her head. “What is happening to her?!”

“The lady is haemorrhaging!” One of the maesters yells, a multitude of rags of all sorts in his hands as he attempts to stop the blood from further dripping onto the floor. The babe that had quite literally fallen out of your whilst you had fallen unconscious was quickly taken away by the ladies in waiting to be cleaned and attended to. So now, all focus was on keeping you alive. By order of the future Queen of Westeros.

It feels as thought it had taken hours to stop the bleeding. Yet that meant nothing till Rhaenyra who waited anxiously by your side with your hand in her own. Her fingers poised by your pulse so she can reassure herself that you were truly living beside her and not dead like her mother.

By the time you had finally begun to rouse from your deep slumber, the day had turned to night. And all those in the room were exhausted from the effort it took. The maesters in particular, who knew that if they allowed themselves to slack, the princess would soon be upon them with the fury of the dragons.

“My love….” Rhaenyra whispered, at this point uncaring of the multiple people in that room who’d scuttle themselves to her father and the hand at the slightest chance of a scandal. “Do you hurt?”

“As much as childbirth allows me to be in…” You laugh, yet wincing as soon as your body moves. “I am glad you were here… i fear if you weren’t-“

“Do not speak of such things!” Rhaenyra begs, her hands clutching your own tightly as if she was fearful you would drop dead. “I forbid it!”

“Do you say that as my future queen or as my friend?” You murmur, both knowing the true meaning of the word.

“I say that as both..” Rhaenyra whispers, kissing the top of your head as one of the ladies in waiting comes in holding the bundle containing your baby.

“It’s a daughter, my lady.” She says, walking over and placing her in your arms.

“She’s beautiful…” you can’t help but say, brushing away one of her curls from her eyes. You can feel Rhaenyras eyes on you, and so you take her hand and somehow manage to pull her closer.

“I wish to name her Arya.” You firmly say, locking eyes with your daughter who begins to cry in hunger.

“Beautiful…” Rhaenyra says, unable to tear her eyes from the sight of you beginning to breastfeed your child.

Alicent Hightower:

Even while Alicent was married to the king, yours and hers unique relationship had never once wavered. When Alicent had her children with the king, who did not even enter the room when the time of birth came, it was you who held her hand in place of her mother’s, and murmured soft words of encouragement and affirmation into her ears.

While you had your own, even though your mother was there to be by your side as a place of comfort, it was only Alicent name that sprung from your lips. Begging for her to come closer so you can hold her hand and beg her for mercy and encouragements.

Most recently, your third pregnancy had been said by the maesters to be the most difficult one yet. Pain was all you knew through those last few months. Pain in your legs from when you were forced to walk to the dining hall. Pain in your belly from where not only did the baby insist on kicking but also from the cramps the maesters insisted did not need to be further looked at.

Yet Alicent was always close by ready to lend a helping hand whenever the moment allowed her too. According to her, she still has the old treatment the maesters had prescribed her with just in case she fell pregnant again after Daeron.

“You… my utter darling, are my world!” You moaned, eyes shut closed as Alicent carefully massaged the soothing ointment into the base of your feet. She continues to help whenever she can. The ointments and herbs she providing you with being much better than anything the dreading maesters could’ve ever given you.

Yet like most treatments, the effectiveness wore off. Soon, not even the most obscure of medicines would work on you. Pain was always lingering in every part of your body. Even in places you had no idea were on your body.

“I just want this babe out of me!” You groan one night while Alicent once again attempts to stop your pain using this time a supposed miracle working ointments from Lys. “Nothing is fucking working!”

“Well complaining won’t solve anything!” Alicent attempts to jest, though quickly haults any other further attempt after a harsh glare worthy enough to rival the Strangers is sent hastily her way. “Perhaps it is the gods way of telling you how strong you are for having this child? A way to tell you how powerful your son will no doubt be in the future?”

“I would not care if I was to birth a dragon for gods sakes I only with for it to come out of me so I can no longer feel so fucking horrible!” You groan, “I have already told my lord husband that this shall be my last time on that fucking bed! If he even brings his cock within inches of me it’s being torn off his body and fed to your children’s dragons my love!”

“Oh hush now!” Alicent scows, a rare bout of anger coming about her. “The gods have their meanings and their ways! Though I for once shall agree with you. You will be having three beautiful children my love, and that is all you need. Perhaps you could give birth to a daughter and we can betroth her to Aemond?”

“Perhaps…”

By the time the ninth moon has passed, it is quick to say that you were very much serious about this being your last child.

“GET THE FUCKING CHILD OUT OF ME!” You scream, the maesters wincing at the volume rivalling that of a child being born. Something your own child it seems is refusing to let happen. “RIP IT OUT IF MUST BUT IF I DIE I SHALL HAUNT THIS KEEP FOREVER MORE!”

“There shall be no talk of dying on this bed from you!” Alicent yells, her grip on your hands almost as tight as your hand on hers.

The maesters voices cutting through though as they announce how they can see the babes head. Meaning to much your relief the pain will hopefully be soon over and you can hold the thing that’s been hurting you for nearly nine moons in your arms to give it a stern talking off.

You make sure to push hard when the maesters tell you too, even pushing when they don’t so you could hopefully get the babe out quicker. But even when you feel the babe quite literally fall out of you and hear its cries, the maesters make their own cries far more audible.

“Alicent what is happening?!” You ask, feeling what feels like warm liquid gushing from your lower half. Only she does not respond. Only turning paler than the sheets that with horror, you realise are turning a deep red from blood. Your blood.

And It only turns worse when you realise just how faint you feel. A once iron grip you had on Alicents hand turning weak and feeble as your eyes slowly begin shutting.

It’s all a blur when you feel your body waking. Yet still your eyes have not grown enough strength to open, so it’s with great horror you realise you are still conscious but are practically unable to move. You are alive but it is as if your body is dead.

You can hear Alicent beg for your sake. And you realise with your heart beating frantically in your chest that you can also hear her hushing a baby you had not realised was crying this whole time. Your baby.

“Your mother is sleeping now…” You can hear her say, tears building in your eyes when you hear how damaged her voice sounds. “She is strong, your mother. She will wake and see what a beautiful baby boy she has waiting for her… it won’t be long now. I promise.”

You try as hard as you can to open your eyes, yet your attempts prove to be impossible. Yet somehow, you manage to utter two words to your lover while your lower half screams in pain at you.

“Thank you…”

Daemon Targaryen:

It was no surprise to anyone when after a few mere moons after your marriage to the rogue Prince Daemon, you were announcing you were pregnant with his child.

The king had said his congratulations and announced a feast in his nephew or nieces name, and even Daemon had to admit the whole ceremony was wonderful.

Yet like everything in life, all good things must come to an end. The announcement of the first babe of the rogue prince turned sour as news quickly spread about how much pain you were in from them.

The babe refused to let you rest for even a second. All it did was kick and kick, and make you feel shitter than any other possible ailment in the world. You almost felt like having a conversation with the stranger after one too many bouts of particularly bad spells.

“You must let your muña rest ñuha trēsy… let ñuha jorrāelagon rest…” Daemon murmurs one night against the swollen bulge of your stomach. The warmth his dragon like body providing you with being possibly the best thing he’s given you since the day you married him.

“You know I do not understand a single thing you say in that tongue of yours…” You say, eyes closed as you relish in the lack of kicking and blinding pain. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was at least obvious now that your child had chosen favourites.

“Just because you cannot understand something does not mean you cannot understand the beauty of it.” Daemon murmurs, his voice gentle and nurturing as he continues attempting to soothe you.

His words to others would be considered strange and out of character. But as you’ve come to realise over the time of your betrothal and marriage, even though that shared time has lasted around only a year, you know deep down beneath the hardened dragon scale skin of his is a heart that bears solely for the life of those he loves. The latest addition being of course the babe of his own blood nestled in your belly.

It was such a lovely moment, and yet it seemed that would be the last of its kind the rest of the time your babe was steadily growing inside. The more time passed the less Daemons unusually warm body worked in soothing your unrelenting aches and pains.

“Are you okay ñuha jorrāelagon?” He asks one evening, his brows furrowed in what has become a near constant state of stress and worry for you. For is has now nearly been a full nine moons of pregnancy, and with that, it means the babe will hopefully be born.

“Unless you can get this child out of me with no pain,” You grunt, mentally cursing Daemons cock for being what it was. “Then I suggest you leave me be and allow me to wallow with the seed you yourself placed within me!”

For the first time in a while, Daemons worried stricken face turns cheery as he laughs at the familiar wit of yours that helped him to fall in love with you in the first place. The rest of the day is filled with similar circumstances, as while the babe continues to make your days a misery, Daemon is right by your side never ever venturing too far away from you.

You suppose it is why he insisted on being by your side when two days pass and you were on the birthing bed, his hand locked firmly in yours while your screams echo off the walls. You swear you can feel your cunt tear and drip with blood, yet with how much you screamed you honestly couldn’t be able to hear it.

“Please Daemon!” You beg, a multitude of tears running down your face. “Please make it stop!”

“It’ll be over soon ñuha jorrāelagon…” Daemon tries to comfort you with soft words and a tight reassuring grip, and yet his face clear as day is struck with fear and nervousness.

“You said that hours ago Daemon!” You sob, screaming even more as you feel the dragon spawn within you break even more of your innards. “I just want it out!”

“You will my love you will! You are strong and brave and a fighter! You will not die today do you hear me!?”

Daemons hands envelope the sides of your head to force you to look and him, and yet he’s utterly horrified when your eyes roll to the back of your head and your hand that was once clutching his shirt for dear life falls limply by your side.

Daemons words reach no bounds as he insults the maesters and common people alike, swearing if his wife was to die then all shall die with her. So even in the seven hells his wife can make sure she achieves the justice she deserves.

Yet it somehow enrages him further when by the next hour, the maesters have managed to successfully take out the babe from within you, and present it to him as his first born, whilst other maesters make quick work of stemming the bleeding and disposing of the evidence.

Daemons eyes watche as a wet nurse moves to take his son into her arms and takes him into another room so she can clean his son, and it’s not until they’ve left does he begin to shout.

“IS THAT ALL IT TOOK? MY WIFE WAS SCREAMING IN AGONY ON THE BED, BLOOD POURING OUT, AND YET IT IS ONLY WHEN YOUR LIVES ARE THREATENED DO YOU HELP HER?!” He yells, his hand clutching the hilt of dark sister as a reminder that he has the upper hand. He’s the prince of the realm. The rogue Prince. If he wanted to kill people then he will fucking kill someone.

The maesters faces turn ashen as they stand there, practically shaking as they fear for their lives. Daemon is almost tempted to actually kill them. To send a message that no one fucks around with the rogue princes wife. That is however, until he hears a stir behind him and feels a familiarly soft hand clutch his own that previously had clutched dark sister.

“My love!” Daemon breathes, his face one of pure joy as he drops the sword hastily and moves to clutch your still weak body in his arms. “I was so worried!”

“What have you done with my Daemon?” He can hear you say, the laughter in your tone surprising considering what had just happened.

“Don’t worry ñuha jorrāelagon, he was here a few moments ago, about to kill some pathetic fucking maesters…” Daemon begins, turning with a dark glare when he sees the said maesters still standing where they were before in fear. “But I suggest they scarper before dark sister becomes hungry for rat blood once more!”

This time, Daemon doesn’t turn back to watch them all practically run from the room. Not when there is someone in front of him so much more important.

“Where are they?” You say, your movements still sluggish as you wince while trying to turn your body to look around the room.

“Where is who ñuha jorrāelagon?” Daemon asks, preoccupied with finding the cup of milk of the poppy one of the maesters had said was somewhere in the room. A hum of satisfaction slipping his lips when he eventually sees it and grabs it, before placing it by your lips to try and force you to drink it.

“Where’s our baby?” You murmur, wincing again when the bitter taste of the drink runs down your throat. “I want to see them!”

“I will get him for you jorrāelagon.” Daemon says, moving to the direction of where the wet nurse had taken his son too. When he does find her, he does not care for whatever she has to say. Instead just moving to take the boy in his arms and walk back to you, who’s already sat up through the pain ready to see your son.

“Oh Daemon…” You breath, your eyes focused solely on the babe in his arms. “He’s beautiful…”

“He takes after you…” Daemon murmurs back. A soft smile on his face as he moves the boy into your arms. “What shall we name him my love?”

“What about Aenor? First of his name…”

“I love it…” Daemon murmurs, kissing the top of your sweat soaked head and moving to perch against the edge of the bed transfixed by the holy sight in front of him. “I love you…”

Aemond Targaryen:

Your husband wasn’t anything except attentive. Every moment after finding out you were with child he spent within meters of yourself. Even when you slept, his hand was always placed on your stomach.

“I would never allow myself to live if you were hurt ñuha vēzos.” Aemond would murmur against your skin, amongst other Valyrian words this time against the curve of your slowly swelling belly. Each one sending your skin further and further aflame with desire and love for your husband.

The whole pregnancy though, for the most of it, was smooth and ordinary. The baby had begun to kick a little after the fifth moon of your pregnancy, and Aemond was eager to experience every part of it. Yet when you’d passed the eighth moon, that was when everything began to turn on its head.

Pain was blooming in your stomach nearly everyday, and even with the maesters having to forcibly pour milk of the poppy down your throat, you had resisted firmly, not wanting the babies health to be put as such risk especially so close to the due date. Especially when you have been in the presence of the king, who openly abused the opioid near daily.

Yet the maesters with stern eyes and unwavering faces, claimed that if anything, it was the pain inside you that would risk the babies health. So whilst you wished pain on the maesters, they stood there stiffly with a near full to the brim cup of the drink. They watched every time you were needed to drink it. Even going as far as to make you open your mouth wide to make sure you weren’t resisting.

Aemond though like he had done so earlier in your pregnancy, was never as far as an arms reach. He never said anything to maesters face to face, yet he certainly did not hide his anger from you when the two of you would lay in bed holding one another in a close embrace.

“If it weren’t for the babe, I’d strike them where they stand…” He’d begun to murmur. Starting his now usual evening moan about how according to him, they weren’t good enough to care for his pregnant wife. Sometimes it’s sad as you realise how he at his lowest points believes even he is not good enough for you.

“Don’t let that stop you…” You indiscreetly murmur back, a clear glare on your face as you try to drink something to wash away the bitter taste of milk of the poppy.

“Dont you tempt me now ñuha vēzos… I very much can and will make my way to wherever those men lie and slaughter them before it’s time to break fast tomorrow.” Aemond chuckles, a comforting hand on your stomach where near instantly you can feel the babe kick twice. As if the babe was eager to say hello to its father.

“That’s right ñuha valītsos… kepa is here…” Aemond murmurs, his deep voice sending shivers down your very spine. If you weren’t already eight moons pregnant, you very well would be eager to take him right at this moment and take his seed deep inside till it takes root.

“You are getting distracted valītsos…” Aemond says, smirking at the dark blush that spreads on your face. It matters not how long you’ve been married to Aemond for, since he’ll always manage to find a way to fluster him. You suppose it’s as fun for him as it is for you to fluster him. Though you suppose by doing that is how you ended up in this position in the first place…

“How can I not, when theres such a beautiful man in front of me?” You say, grinning triumphantly when Aemonds own face turns a light pink. It’s not as dark as your own, but even seeing Aemond blush without him trying to hide himself away counts as a win to you.

The two of you revel in the rare soft moment between you both, and it’s not long before you both fall asleep holding each other.

It felt so perfect at that moment, as all the previous worries about the babe swept away. The both of you honestly didn’t think the whole ordeal could get worse. That is however, until your waters broke and you were lying on the birthing bed. Your screams breaking Aemonds heart as he tries his best to comfort you to the best of his ability.

Yet his controlled anger and frustration comes out in waves as your screams continue further and further into the day, and the maesters it seems are no further to helping you than from when they started.

Aemond withholds every single urge to kill them for their insolence for your sake, given that they are supposedly they best men available to help bring his and your child into the world. Though when he sees your eyes roll to the back of your head and your body go limp after attempting to push the babe out again per the maesters instructions, all hell broke loose there and then.

“What have you done!?” Aemond yells, his voice whilst commanding also torn with how scared he feels at that moment. His uncles wife, and his grandsires wives had died in childbirth attempting to bring a child into the world. He cannot have such a thing happen to you.

“You are meant to help my wife not fucking kill her! If she is to die today then so shall all of you! Your blood shall stain these walls if she dies do you all understand!” He yells, tears brimming in his eyes from how emotional he currently feels. Aemond refuses to let go of you hand as the maesters scurry around like rats to appease him.

It’s not long before the sound of a babes cry brings him from his sorrowful thoughts.

“It’s a daughter my Prince.” One of the maesters says, before handing her off to a nearby maid presumably to go clean her off of all of your blood and other bodily fluids Aemond most certainly does not wish to be thinking of right now.

Instead, Aemond chooses to grab a lone damp cloth free from any uncleanliness, and carefully uses it to wipe away the sweat on your face. Yet even with all of that Aemond still believes you to be as beautiful as when he first ever saw you.

The sound of your blood onto the floor that Aemond had tried to ignore for his own sake earlier finally stops, and he’s grateful that the maid comes back with his daughter then so he doesn’t have to think about any of that.

“I will give the baby to a wetnurse my Prince for her first feed.” The maid begins to say, about to walk away. That is however before she feels the princes hand clutching tightly on her shoulder forbidding her to leave.

“She will feed from her mother.” Aemond says firmly, moving to take his daughter away from the silly woman’s grasp. “‘Twas a decision me and my wife made and you shall respect that. Now leave.”

The maid stands there a moment surprised, even looking to the maesters for guidance in the situation. But when Aemond looks up at them with a cold glare on his face and a sneer on his lips, both the maesters and the maid make quick work on leaving the Prince with his daughter in his arms and his unconscious wife by his side.

He does not know how long it is till you finally begin to stir, and yet it does not matter. All that does matter is that you woke at all.

“How are you feel ñuha vēzos?” Aemond murmurs, his daughter in one arm as in the other he holds the cup holding the milk of the poppy he makes you drink. Making sure you don’t waste a drop.

“Like I’ve given birth…” You simply say, suddenly focusing on the baby in Aemonds arms. “Is that-“

“Yes ñuha vēzos. This is our daughter.”

Aemonds hands her to you, and when she begins to stir it’s almost instantly you bring down your dress and place her near your breast. Hissing slightly as she begins to immediately nurse from it.

“She’s beautiful.” You find yourself saying, refusing to take your eyes from her. “She looks like you sweet husband.”

“She may look like me but I believe she has her mother’s beauty.” Aemond says, moving to hold your hand in his. “What shall we name her my love?”

“What about Elaenor?”

“It’s perfect…” Aemond says, kissing the top of your head. “She’s perfect…”

Jacaerys Velaryon:

It appears Jacaerys was ever as loyal as they say. As even after being married in an arranged fashion, and finding out you were pregnant with his child after consummating the marriage, his presence was never far from you.

When in the middle of the night sickness plagued your body, it was Jace who was right there next to you with a bucket in hand. Even going as far as to hold your hair back with his hand so no sick could ruin it.

“Is this what it is like for all women?” Jace asks, attempting to smooth you while you once again throw your dinner up into a bucket, groaning whilst you do so.

“Only the lucky…” You moan, about to turn to look at your husband before you find yourself immediately needing to throw up again.

At first, it was strange to you to have a husband be so close and eager to be by up side, given the stories that your mother had told you. Yet now, you honestly could not think of your marriage without the little services Jace provides you with.

Whenever you find yourself craving a certain food, no matter how bizarre or disgusting it may seem to him, Jace was always willing to call a maid and inform her to make it for you.

“Thank you husband.” You sigh in delight, chewing on some honey dipped carrots in the comfort of yours and Jaces bed.

“It is no problem my lady.” He says, awkwardly perched by the edge of the bed covers while he watches you eat.

“You can come closer Jace…” You laugh, patting the side of the bed indicating your want to have him closer to you. His warmth comforting. His smile kind. “You have seen me naked before. I do not think you have the ability right now to be shy. Call me by my name Jace. It is only fair since I have been calling you by yours.”

“Of course… wife.” Jace smiles, a strange girlish sounding giggle leaving your lips as he moves himself closer and opens his arms so he can enclose you in them. “Has the babe been bothering you much today?”

“Only as much as usual.” You sigh, choosing to invite his pointed stare in honour of eating another one of your special foods. “Though not as much as I have been eating these.”

“That is good.” He simply says, softly kissing the top of your head as he touches the skin of your arms with his hand. “That is good…” He repeats again more gentler than the last.

The next few months all went smooth as they could go. You were still throwing up in the mornings and some evenings, and experienced some horrible cramps once every few weeks. What was the most difficult and painful thing you had to endure however, was the birth of the babe itself.

It felt like it was ripping out of you. Screams pierced the air as it felt as if the babe was determined to take your insides out with it.

“It hurts!” You cry, holding Jaces hand so hard he has to hide any audible winces in pain, as whilst he is not the most experience man with women, he knew at that moment to not even think about saying his own pain. Not when he could tell his pain was like a mere headache compared to your own.

“It will soon be over!” Jace says, trying to squeeze your hand in an attempt to comfort you and let you know he is here. But with how much pain is flowing through your system he honestly doubts you can feel it right now.

“I just want it out!” You yell, screaming again as the maester intruders you to push. It’s almost like a rhythm, as when the maester tells you to push, you push. And when you push, you scream at the top of your lungs. It’s like that for what feels like hours and hours on end.

Yet soon, it’s finally over, as the maester finally steps away from you holding a crying baby. The maester looks at him, and shows him his crying daughter.

“A daughter my Prince.” The maester says, placing her in Jaces arms. Your husband’s eyes unable to tear away from the smallest child he thinks he’s ever seen. Possibly smaller than Joffrey from when he saw him as a child.

He turns to you to show you with a smile on his face, but that soon disappears when he sees your face.

“My love?” Jace begins, looking worriedly at your pale sweat layered skin. “You do not look well…”

You try to answer, and yet you even with all your strength you cannot even find yourself able to move your lips, your head even.

That though is when Jace turns his own head and sees the frantic moving of all the maesters and ladies in the room. It’s when he hears a most frightening of sounds. The sound of your blood falling and dripping onto the stone floor. It’s almost worse when he sees how deeply stained your dress is by your own blood.

He’s frozen as he stands there, completey horrified by what he’s seeing and hearing and yet he cannot find himself able to move. His daughter still in his arms, only it’s when she begins to fuss and make sound does another lady in waiting take her into her own arms to put her from the room.

The maesters are beginning to yell now. At the ladies in waiting mainly but to each other a handful of times too. They sound too loud. But that may be because Jace hasn’t said a word since you collapsed against a bed. He does not know what it is he should say. He does not know what it is he should do. His mother has insisted he be in the birthing room alone with his wife, and yet here he is standing alone in the middle of it looking like an idiot.

Yet while he’s thinking, it’s like some sort of driven force when he suddenly realises he’s been holding your hand. Your skin feeling cold and damp from sweat, and Jace stays there the entire time holding onto your hand and staring at you face. He commits to memory the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe, and the feeling of your heartbeat in his hand. He blocks out the sounds of chaos and panic, and chooses to focus on you.

Jacaerys slowly watches the colour bloom back into your face when the maesters finally manage to stem the flow of your blood and keep it inside you. Yet when he sees you open your eyes sluggish and exhausted, he cannot help but have his heart speed in happiness and joy. The smiles may have to come later though.

"My love, how do you feel?" Jace asks, still clutching your hand as he edges himself closer to you.

"Like l've given birth.." You simply say, even smiling as you slowly turn your head to look around the room. "Where is the babe?"

"She is with one of the ladies in the other room, if you wish me to fetch her I shall." He asks, watching as your eyes widen and your mouth fall open in what he can only say in a comedic fashion. Not that he'd dare mention that here though that is.

"We have a daughter…" You say, so silently that he barely even heard you. "Yes. Yes I want to see her!"

"I will go get the lady." Jace says, letting go of your hand for the first time in hours and admittedly as soon as he escapes your sights wipes the thick layer of sweat lingering on his hand on his shirt.

When he arrives back with his daughter in his arms though, he cannot help but smile as he watches your entire face light up at the sight of the babe with what could only be utter awe.

"We did that..." You say, reaching out and immediately rocking the small girl when she's in your arms. "We made her..."

“Yes…” Jace can’t help but agree with you, placing his hand on you as he sits beside you on the bed, watching you as you hold his and your child closely to your breasts. “We made her…”

#rhaenyra targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #aemond x reader #Aegon Targaryen/reader #aegon targaryen x reader #Rhaenyra targaryen/reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon Targaryen/reader #alicent targaryen #alicent hightower #Alicent Hightower x reader #Alicent Hightower/reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #Jacaerys Velaryon/reader

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shenachigans · 7 months ago

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LITTLE ONES | Ningguang

PAIRING: Amab!Ningguang x Fem!Reader

CW: smut, angst, fluff, unintentional baby-making (or breeding) at first, unprotected sex, readers is ill but illness is unspecified only that pregnancy is a risk, a lot of pet names ig, bottom female afab reader

SUMMARY: Ningguang has been wanting children of her own, but she must hold her desires back during a night of pleasure, or does she?

A/N: I cringed and almost got sappy writing the fluff part but whatever, I barely do fluff for a reason. Also, this is my first post of the year :> I wrote and posted this past my bedtime, excuse my mistakes…

WORDS: 1,928

(FANFIC IS UNDER THE CUT!)

There are rumors that Lady Ningguang had a soft spot for children. You can confirm that. The children of Liyue Harbor adore her just as she adores them. She had a motherly side, giving the kids irresistible sweets to see them smile. Of course, Ningguang gains something in return, but being around the little ones relieves her from her duties and the harsh business world.

Ningguang isn’t the Tianquan of Liyue nor a ruthless businesswoman. She was merely a friendly elder sister who mingled with the common folk, and the children were the only ones who could give her that satisfaction without calculating moves — unless creating schemes to get the most sweets from her counted.

You can see joy in your lover’s eyes when she sees the children light up whenever they see her and receive delicacies. You remember the kids almost fighting each other for Ningguang’s head pats and praises for doing well in their missions (informing her about the latest news in the Harbor).

There was a time when one of the children accidentally called her ‘mom’ instead of ‘big sister.’ Ningguang wasn’t fazed and instead responded as if she were their mother. It was such a wholesome sight that it brought you to your countless dreams of having her own flesh and blood where you lived as a happy family.

The conversation of having children has yet to be brought up, but Ningguang’s eyes say more than her lips can. Even if she mastered the art of putting on a perfect facade, you can see through her. There is a visible glimmer of longing whenever she’s with the kids; it makes your chest ache.

Ningguang wants to have children with you. She does. She wants little versions of yourselves running around the floating palace and experiencing what it’s like to become a mother. But she holds back. She stops herself from painting your womb white, risking getting you pregnant. She doesn’t want you to carry her child, even if a baby bump on your tummy would make her heart swell from joy.

You always blame yourself for preventing your lover from getting what she desires, for your weak disposition makes it a risk of surviving childbirth. You were already struggling with your illness. It was a gamble she didn’t want to take. But she doesn’t know you would gladly give your life to your little one because you have been wanting children with her as well.

It was a night of pleasure. Ningguang’s hips thrust into yours, her girthy cock stimulating your slick walls. Manicured nails created light crescents on your thighs as she gripped them for leverage, slowly losing herself in the song of your moans and whimpers harmonizing with the squelching created where you two are connected.

You were ravishing in her hooded eyes, clawing onto the sheets below you, and tears rolling down your cheeks as pleasure coursed through your veins. Only Ningguang can see you like this. But her eyes subconsciously dart to your belly, imagining something she mustn’t. She longs to touch your empty womb — feel your skin on the pads of her fingers — but it will only indicate her want, and she doesn’t wish to make you solemn in the midst of pleasure. Unfortunately for her, you knew everything a long, long time ago.

“I want to embrace you,” you say, albeit interrupted by grunts from the ecstasy between your legs and your lover’s pleasured disposition. Ningguang slowed her ruts, complying with your request and letting go of your plush thighs, opting to grip the soiled bed sheets as you wrapped your arms around her neck, her free hand holding your waist.

Your lover was a sight to see. Tinted cheeks and hooded eyes — a woman lost in pleasure — which juxtaposed her usual professional disposition. Ragged breaths and relentless pounding made her seem desperate to bring you to your peak as if she were a servant pleasuring her master — and she was because everything she did was for you, all for you, even if it meant denying herself something she wanted all her life.

Ningguang could feel herself at the edge of the newfound angle as she resumed her previous pace, ensuring you were comfortable. Her body tensed and shivered at how you moaned in her ear, bringing her senses into overdrive. But she must contain herself. There have been many times when her reasonings almost slipped between her fingers, but she always triumphed in gaining control.

Your bodies hugged every part of each other’s skin, her chest against yours, erect nipples rubbing against each other. She held you close, kissing your forehead, down along your jaw, until they settled on leaving bruises on the crook of your neck as a form of gratitude for taking her so well.

Nails clawed against Ningguang’s back as you bucked your hips to meet her thrusts, back arching, and your throat now sore from your sinful noises. You were beginning to writhe under her, subconsciously wrapping your legs around her waist, your walls fluttering against her cock.

“I’m close,” you moan, your body trembling as if preparing for your upcoming orgasm. Fingers clutched into Ningguang’s hair, pulling her into a passionate kiss where your tongues languidly danced against each other. Her lips swallowed your sinful noises until a string of saliva stretched between you two as your lips reluctantly parted to heave for fresh air.

“Me too, my love,” she huffs, hips stuttering, her tip on the verge of spilling her load. Her open-mouthed kisses littered your neck and shoulders once more. A sultry, airy chuckle left her lips as she maintained her pace, guiding you to your climax. She dared not change her pace and edge you, not tonight.

The deep, moderate thrusts of her girth drove you insane as the veins of her cock pulsated against your walls. You felt so full. Ningguang's praises and constant rutting brought you to your peak with a high-pitched moan of her name. Her back would be displayed like a canvas the next morning from her dress, showing your love hold with scratches and brushed crescents.

Her free hand slithered from the soiled sheets to your sore clit, rubbing it with her thumb to elongate your orgasm. A flash of white clouded your vision as a white ring coated the base of her cock as you came, further lubricating your walls. You became a huffing mess as you recovered from your high, but Ningguang has yet to cum, and you’re overstimulated.

Ningguang became rather impatient now, she could feel her release edge on the tip of her cock. But she has to cum on your stomach. She tapped your thigh once — an indication for you to let go so she could pull out — but you refused. Another gentle tap soon turned into a slightly painful grip as she tried to unwrap your legs forcefully.

“Release your legs, now, dear…” she whines, grunting and fingers twitching from being denied of her high as she slows her thrusts. “I can’t cum like this,” she says, but her heart says otherwise. The tone of her voice shows how much she’s holding back.

“Yes, you can.” You counter with a smile, arms unwrapping around her neck to cup her face, and soothingly rub her cheeks with your thumbs, feeling her porcelain skin under the pads of your fingers. A hearty, tired chuckle left your lips when she leaned into your touch. “Why don’t you indulge yourself just once, hm? Doing it once doesn’t guarantee anything, Ningguang. Please?”

Ningguang’s thrusts slowly halted as she felt a change in the lustful atmosphere. She presses your foreheads together and closes her eyes. “I can’t take that risk, we both know that…” she sighed and suddenly you see a pair of scarlet eyes pleading at you.

“But you want to — to take that risk — and there’s nothing wrong with that, my love.” You smiled but it didn’t reach your eyes as Ningguang avoided your gaze, eyes now looking elsewhere. “Hey, look at me,” you urge and gently tilt her face toward you. “It pains me to see you like this, dearest. I…I shouldn’t have brought it up, especially right now. I’m sorry.”

Guilt washed her features as you spoke. Was her longing so obvious? It didn’t mean you needed to give her a child. But your face expressed genuine want, no fear or hesitation in your eyes. However, you were frail, and she didn’t want to risk losing you and the baby. Ningguang can live without children of her own but she can’t live without you.

If only she had an option to have both.

“No, don’t I apologize, my love. If anything, I should apologize for making you feel like you needed to give me children to make me happy,” Ningguang starts, giving you a sad smile, eyes downcast as she still ignores yours. “You make me the happiest person in the world, and having a family is only a bonus. I can’t force you to make any sacrifices. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You weren’t forcing me to do anything, love, and I appreciate that. I want to start a family with you, dearest. I’ve always had. You would make the best mother in the world,” you hum, pecking her lips before resting your forehead against hers. “Whatever happens, happens in the future and we will tackle them together, alright?”

“How did I deserve you?” Ningguang says with a smile, her heart leaping from your words, still, her stomach churned from the unknown future. It was a bittersweet feeling. Scarlet eyes observed your tired face. You see hesitance in them, but they expressed want.

“You deserve everything in the world, my love.”

Her smile widens and gently kisses you before holding your hips for leverage as she starts to pump her hips in and out slowly. “Push me away if you change your mind,” Ningguang starts, pushing the damp, stray hair from your face. “I don't wish to force you.”

“I won’t. I want all of you.”

“Mama! Mommy is being mean to me!” a child whined, pouting as tears of frustration were apparent in their scarlet eyes as they ran toward the bedroom. “She doesn’t wanna share Mama with me!”

Ningguang follows them, hiding an amused smirk with her hand. It was fun to tease them, even more now that they’re in the ‘possessive of mommy’ stage.

“Now, now, little one, your Mama might be asleep,” Ningguang said, but it was too late. The door slid open with so much force that you woke up. She grimaced, giving you an apologetic glance.

“Teasing them again?” You say groggily but flash a small smile as you lie on the bed’s headrest. The little one immediately clinging to your side with a smirk. “This teasing is all too frequent…” You pretend to ponder before your eyes light up. “Are you perhaps envious, dear?”

“I am not envious,” Ningguang said almost too quickly, but she narrowed her eyes at the cheeky child before her, clearly showing off by scrunching their nose and sticking their tongue out.

The audacity for them to mock her.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you chuckle before patting the spot beside you on the bed and cradling your belly. “Why don’t you two come here? I could use some cuddles.”

The child beams at your words. Nothing can be greater than cuddles. “Mommy, can I be in the middle?” They say, looking at Ningguang for permission.

Ningguang’s heart swells and she smiles.

“Of course, my little dove.”

#ningguang x you #ningguang x reader #ningguang smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact x reader #fem reader #afab reader #genshin impact smut #ningguang x y/n #genshin impact fanfics #ningguang angst #genshin angst #genshin fluff #ningguang fluff

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shaisuki · 10 months ago

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POSITIVE TEST RESULTS

ft. gojo satoru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, geto suguru

content warnings ─── pregnancy, babytrapping, noncon, dubious consent, stockholm syndrome, implied abuse, breeding kink, mentions of abortion, allusions to suicide. dead dove do not eat.

ᝰ synopsis .ᐟ a baby! the excitement and the incomprehensible joy they felt when they are expecting from you. a blessing or a curse? anyways, no matter what it is to keep you in place with them.

GOJO SATORU

the six eyes are everything. it can see the unknown and the forces that dwells that is invisible in the naked eye. satoru is grateful for the power he wield and it is the most useful in also keeping an eye on you. he knows it first before you can. the breath you take, the first step you make and the rhythm of your heartbeat. wether it was racing from the fear or the continuous pleasure he gives to you while he pumps his fingers into your tight hole.

there's nothing the six eyes he possess can't see and it's no different when he hears the first heartbeat of his child formed into your womb.

his child. he is having a child with you and satoru was over the moon when he found out.

long arms encased your soft form in his lap. your back in his chest while he hums a song. his lips ghosting on the expanse of your exposed shoulders. playfully nibbling on the skin when he hears the tiniest of whimper from you.

large palms drapes in your stomach. kneading the layered flesh like a cat making biscuits. satoru hums in delight. contented at this domestic bliss without too much fuss from you. you could be such a handful at times but it was fine to him. you were still adjusting to this life. a new environment for you and for him.

after numerous of escape attempts, he declares the staff and servants alike in the gojo household to be incompetent. it wouldn't happen if they were doing their job. he founds it useless and he took the matter in his own hand.

a penthouse to keep you. luxurious it was for one's taste. equipped with the latest security and glasses so thick that a bullet cannot dent it. money was no problem for it. gojo has an endless wealth to spend it especially for you. the safety and welfare of his wife always in the top of his priorities and it was worth every single penny of it. you cannot be bored taking the view of the city lights in the night time. overlooking the streets of tokyo.

pleasant it is but to you, beautiful the penthouse is but no matter how gilded it is, it is still a cage and you were the bird.

he breathes into your scent. it has been days since he touched you and satoru savors every second of it. your body a wonderland to him and he must be the only to explore it. satoru doesn't shy away from touching the parts that you didn't like. giving it the most of attention to prove it to you how much he loves it. particularly your stomach. lately, he's been obsessed with it. the talks of getting you pregnant and seeing you with child sparks the joy deep inside him.

satoru's patient. waiting for the result of the labor and love you both had poured in creating a life and he knows it is not that fast but he made sure you were properly bedded every chance he can get. now, all he had to do is wait. he may or may not been activating his technique to ensure you are with his child.

it happened in a blink of an eye when he first felt it. it was like an explosion of tiny molecules and forms into one. a dew rolling from a leaf and creating a ripple in calm waters. then he can hear the small “thump” of a heartbeat and you were rewarded by the sweetest of kiss and the next words he uttered were static in your ears.

“i'm not. it's my body. i'm the first one to know it.” you mutter. reasoning the most obvious truth and it was just a lie your ears want to hear.

“why would i lie to you, i can see and feel everything and that includes you, my wife.” he confidently counters to you. his voice never faltering in enthusiasm as he reveals the newfound joy to you.

your lashes are clumpy and the familiar stinging sensation makes way to your eyes. there is no way you will be carrying this man's child. you can't. you can't bear it. you can't carry this child. not with this man. you already feared the day it would come and now. you didn't realize the first drops of tears came cascading down you cheeks. placing your hand in your stomach and clutching the flesh like the fetus inside of you will magically disappear. this child wasn't even born yet and you're dreading you would become a mother to this one.

“don't cry, (y/n). i promised you didn't i? i will take care both of you.” he ever so sweetly convinced you to carry with this pregnancy and you felt manipulated again and then you were just a puppet.

“you've been a good wife to me. what's the difference of being a mother to our child.” he says, consoling you in his way that would only matter to him. you're carrying his child and as your husband and him being a father in the next months, you would be provided with the utmost care from him. starting on how he's going to worship this body of yours. pregnant and sensitive.

he's already kneeling in front of you. his blue eyes all of it's glory. staring at you with such adoration while he kisses the roundness of your stomach. pressing his cheek in the flesh. wanting to hear the faint thump of the heartbeat of his unborn child.

you tried to push him away. pressing your thighs together to avoid further ministrations from him but gojo effortlessly pried your thighs open. easily diving to get closer to you while his hands holds your wrist.

“satoru—ahhh” a moan accidentally slipping past your lips. his nose nudging the slit of your cunt before taking a lick from it. his hold on your wrist tighter as you tried to stop him.

“satoru, no—ahh” he chuckles. hearing you moan again and gojo takes pride of that. he ought to make you happy. furthermore increasing the success rate of you giving birth to a healthy son or maybe a daughter. frankly, he don't care. a child with you is better than none. a baby would eliminate all the problems he used to have with you and all the fuss will decrease.

such sweet cries for me, my adorable wife. he thought. your grip getting weaker the more his tongue laps up the slick coming out from your sweet cunt.

submit to him and let him do all the work. he did promise he will take care of you. for now, let him taste you. claim his reward for all the efforts.

you wouldn't deny him of his happiness, eh?

NANAMI KENTO

it's not everyday you can see a man with a built like nanami looms and searches from every rack of the pharmacy looking for a pregnancy test.

he's not getting his hopes up but rather ensuring that you are just fine and well though deep inside he's hoping that you are expecting. nanami had been dreaming of a domestic bliss lately. a child with you. hopefully one that looks and takes after you. he would be so happy.

nanami sighs, adjusting his glasses and shaking his thoughts of you being pregnant with his child. your welfare comes first before any others.

he's gone in the day before he comes home in the evening and the very first step he took in his home, he knew something was up.

the bathroom lights was on and there he sees your plush form kneeling in front of the toilet, spilling the contents of your stomach.

by the sound of his footsteps getting nearer he noticed how your body turned rigid.

“uhmmm.” flushing the toilet and standing up to turn on the faucet. letting the cold water run through the drain and wipe your mouth stained with vomit. trying to hide the evidence of you being sick.

“are you okay?” his stern voice cutting through the nervousness creeping up on you. large palms cupping your cheeks gently. you nod. “just a bit tired, actually. i'm going to bed.” you excused and with the furrows of your brows and that frown in your lips. nanami is sure what you're trying to hide.

he grabs a multiple of test kits. it's better to be sure before checking it out along with a few necessities for him to bring home.

when you see the pregnancy test kits being handed to you. you gave him a puzzled look. “i'm not. it's just the bug or something.” you reason to him. shielding yourself from the possibility of what he's implying.

“i know. better be sure than never, my love.” he managed to convince you and with that you took the test.

“why, ken? why would i be pregnant? i never missed taking the pills!” you asked him. sobs racking throughout your body as you look at the multiple pregnancy stick resting in the sink. all positive.

cruel and heartless and beyond him, nanami may or may not have tampered your pills. he never did intended to do this but lately you have been being stubborn than you are. his choices leading him to this unwanted pregnancy for you but to him he was happy. always wanted to be a good husband and a father to his child with you.

“accidents happen. we're in this together, okay?” it was never be fine with you. you can't be pregnant. “no—no!” your voice raising into a pitch. “i can't carry this child.” you could never. if kento was willing to shackle you with those cuffs, what's the difference it would be to your child. already chained to this man.

it took him a few minutes to fully calm you down. you're settled in the bed with him behind you. “i would be present throughout the duration of your pregnancy.” he assures you. bundling your hair in fist and putting it aside. kissing your nape and the gesture sending a shiver down your spine. “you are going to be a good mother.” peppering kisses to your shoulder blade and his other hand wanders until it reaches you belly. plump and squishy. in the next months it's going to be rounder and firmer. swollen with his child.

“i'm unfit to be a mother.” you whisper and nanami murmurs to your skin. “you're not.” pressing a tender kiss in the spot of your pulse in your neck. “i will harm this child.” you warned. “i will keep you confined to bed if needed then, but set aside those thoughts for me. i won't allow such things.” holding a firm hold to your jaw and then he whispers to you.

“allow me, my wife.” your body jolts in response. his index finger prodding your hole while rubbing your clit. “let me reward you for such wonderful news.” the gravel in his voice getting mellow. nanami won't allow you to harm yourself or the child you are carrying.

if it means of complete submission coming from you. nanami would not think twice of doing it over and over again. for now, he's happy you're gracing his home with a child. hopefully, it would take your mind off from the trivial things.

FUSHIGURO TOJI

it wasn't a surprise when toji received the news of you being pregnant. he did breed you well. mounting you every night like you were nothing but a fleshlight and his cumdump.

you were only given a raised brow and a cocky smirk coming from him. oh, how did he love the look on your face. scared and bothered of the reality of you being a mother to his child. toji wasn't that interested in becoming a father either but now it's a thrill. thinking of the ways he can control you without you resisting him.

“is that so?” he asks bored. disinterested even before breaking into a smirk. “now, you won't even think of opposing me.” patting your round belly in a degrading manner. once the spotlight for mockery and humiliation he used to hold you. “my brat spawning in to you. i did give you plenty of it.” he says amused.

a invisible leash wrapped around your neck for him to pull as he pleases. with the presence of the baby in your womb it looks like the future of yours is getting bleak with no hope for you along with the little one growing inside you.

it would curse you for being the mother and the father it will grow up with.

your body feels like lead. stuck in the mattress and every time you move, you sink deeper and maybe it was better until it swallows you whole. you wished it was that easy.

“spread your legs wider.”

you bite back a whimper. bile rising up in your throat as your body moves in autopilot. listening in what he orders to you. “geez, all those troubles i had to deal with and you're only this obedient when pregnant. maybe i'll just keep you pregnant all the time.” licking his lips before leaning closer to you. his breath in your ear.

there's a stinging sensation in your cunt while his cock slowly bullies inside you followed by a groan coming from him. his teeth nibbling in the shell of your ear and you bit your lip. silently taking him while he relishes on the feel of your tight hole spasming around his length.

“you're tight as ever. you don't mind me filling you up again, wife?” you remained silent. his power overwhelming you and toji chuckles. “then, don't mind me”

GETO SUGURU

there's been quite a commotion in his own little family and geto paid no mind to it. having a cult to run that requires his attention every now and then. seriously, stupid monkeys can't be trained without him and there's also those who can't keep their money running stable. quite trouble.

anyways he had to know what is causing those commotions that keeps everyone in high spirits. there he meet nanako and mimiko gushing over his chubby darling. seated in one of the chairs while the twins surrounds you. mimiko brushing your hair while the other twin, nanako holds your hand. soothing and assuring you of a situation he have yet to learn.

“geto-sama.” the twins greeted him. bowing their head a little before giggling a bit of the news they recently learned. “(y/n)-sama received news from the doctor earlier. they said she's expecting.” they broke to him and geto sees you in the corner of his eye uncomfortably shifts in your seat. “leave us.” he instructs the girls and they oblige. scurrying to leave the room in glee.

by the gods above, he worships you more. if only you knew that. it would be a weakness if he shows how much he adores you. he's in control. he's above you. you could never surpass that.

his lover on front of him shifts her gaze away from him and geto grasp your chin in his index and thumb finger. forcing you to meet his steely gaze in the purple abyss of his eyes. “i'm sorry.” you first speak up to him. biting your lower lip to hold a sob.

he can see you're scared. “what for?” he asks. searching for those gleaming eyes of yours, now misty. “for being pregnant.”

geto scoffs playfully at you. “there's nothing to be sorry. a wonderful news for us.” he assures you and you swallow the invisible lump in your throat. “is it?” you reply to him and he smiles. “it is.”

“i lay with you every night. made sure you are properly bedded by me.” no shame of that and there's a deep rumble of his laughter upon seeing your flustered expression. it's almost real how he looks so happy.

he is. when suguru decided to eradicate non-sorcerers he thought of how he's going to fill a country with sorcerers then you came to his life and he would be the creator of the new era. a bloodline. it would be his. yours and his. children that would carry his will and would be the part of a country where they are safe for him.

the news of you expecting. he can see the cogs being place to each of their respective places. already fulfilled.

his palms rough against your skin and yet it brings comfort to you. warmth. long gone he replaced the uneasiness in your heart with his and all the doubts you had of him. now, you're ready what he is about to make use of you. no questions. no qualms. all for him.

“you're mine.” he reminded you once again and you fall harder for him than the last time. “yours.” you whisper.

you were rewarded by a kiss. divinity touching you and warmth blooms all over you along with his hands wandering. to your round cheeks. squishing your chest and his palm in your round belly. imagining all the things he is already to do with your growing body with his child and geto is ecstatic.

his long and thick fingers finds the back of your obi and pulls the hem with no hesitation.

“mmm, suguru~” you mewl and geto smirks at how fast it takes for you to submit to him. “lay with me again tonight.” hands pinching to your supple flesh. fingers rubbing the spot between your legs and with a need. you grind your hips against them.

“as you wish.”

#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝#chubby reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x chubby reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #toji x reader #geto x reader #yandere jjk #yandere jjk x reader #tw pregnancy #cw pregnancy

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bia-wayne-west · 9 months ago

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Damian is going to have a little sister [Damian Wayne x Pregnant! Batmom]

Summary: You take a pregnancy test and find out you are pregnant. You will have a little girl. Bruce, Alfred and their other three children are happy, except Demian. Your fourth baby is jealous of the new member of the family.

Personagens: Bruce Wayne [Batman], Damian Wayne [Robin], Dick Grayson [Nightwing], Jason Todd [Red hood], Tim Drake [Red Robin] and Reader [You]

Word count: 1,366

Warnings: jealousy, fear of abandonment and pregnancy.

A / N: Hi. I planned this fanfiction months ago, but I only had time to write today. I always imagined what it would be like if Batmom got pregnant. Demian would probably be jealous and wouldn't admit it. So, I decided to write about it.

I hope you like the imagine

Remember that I am a Brazilian girl. I am not fluent in English and I am still learning. I apologize if I have any errors. Feel free to correct me.

Go and read my other stories on my MASTERLIST.

REQUEST ARE OPEN. Do not be shy. Ask as many imagines as you want.

The test in your hands had two blue lines and your face had a huge smile. You had some suspicions, but you never imagined that after eight years of marriage, you would have a baby in your womb.

You thought you must be sterile because you had never been pregnant before, and even though the doctors said you were healthy, you didn't believe them. The test in your hand was proof that you were going to have five babies now.

You left the bathroom, putting the test in your pants pocket. The first person you saw when you left the master suite was Alfred. He will just come out of one of the guest rooms.

You ran to the butler you considered your second father. Alfred looked at you, thinking you were going to ask for something.

“Alfred, I'm pregnant!” You said it quickly, not having the courage to repeat it. The old man in front of you looked at you with wide eyes. After five seconds, he smiled at you.

It was difficult to make Alfred smile. He always maintained his serious appearance.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Wayne. It’s great news.” Alfred said.

You showed the butler the pregnancy test. He congratulated her again and left, with the excuse that he had to clean Timothy's room. You could see a big smile on Alfred's face as he walked down the stairs to the second floor.

You remembered that Bruce was on the Wayne Enterprise, running some errands and that he wouldn't be back until after 8pm. Dick and Jason went to Wally West's house to play basketball. Timothy was at school.

Demian was the only one at home. He was probably in his room or in the garden with Titus.

You walked to the room that had the 'Do Not Enter' sign. You knocked on the door a few times, hearing your son's voice telling you that you could come in.

“Hi, my love.” You said to Damian, who was playing videogame. He was sitting on the bed. The boy smiled at you.

"Hi mommy. Did something happen?" He questioned, his eyes anxious.

You sat on the bed too, watching your son continue to play his game, but he was paying attention to you. .

“I have something new to tell you. I found out today, so only you and Alfred know about it.” You said, reaching into your pocket and pulling out the pregnancy test to show Damian.

The boy looked at the object curiously, until he realized what it really was. He looked at you in amazement, as if he thought it was just a joke.

"You are pregnant?" He questioned.

"Yes." After you nodded, you saw him give you a sad smile.

“I think this is amazing news, Mom,” Damian said. He no longer looked you in the eye, focusing his attention on the television while he played.

"Are you okay, darling?" You questioned, moving closer to Damian.

The boy just nodded, and didn't look at you anymore. Then, you realized that he didn't like the news, and preferred to leave him alone. You knew Damian didn't like expressing his feelings.

"If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen" You said, leaving your son's room and walking down the hallway.

As soon as Bruce arrived and you told him you were pregnant, he had the best reaction possible. Your husband was extremely happy and excited. And Dick, Jason and Tim also loved having a new little brother.

The weeks passed very quickly, and soon became months, and suddenly, you were seven months pregnant. You had already done all the ultrasounds and discovered that you were having your first daughter. You were excited to have a little princess, and Jason and Dick started teasing Bruce about how he really was a girl's daddy.

Everyone in your family seemed to be happy, except Damian. He never said out loud that he hated the baby, but you could see that he stopped wanting to spend time with you. The boy spent more time in his room or in the Batcave, avoiding being close to you. Bruce said the boy would accept that he would have a sister after the baby was born, but you knew you had to have a talk with Damian.

You walked slowly down to the clock that hid the entrance to the Batcave. It was difficult to walk with swollen feet. You knew that Bruce was on patrol, but that he left Damian on the Batcomputer. As soon as you got out of the elevator, you saw your son look at you, but quickly turn away. You walked over to Damian, giving him a gentle smile. The boy didn't look at you again.

"Hello, my dear." You said.

He didn't answer you, and started pretending to type on the keyboard.

"I wanted to talk to you a little."

Damian just grumbled.

"I know you're sad about my pregnancy." You said. "But you know that in two months there will be a baby here."

He continued ignoring you.

"If it's because of your father, you know Bruce loves all his children equally." You commented. "And that no baby in this world will make your father love you less."

Damian finally turned around, looking at you. He had red eyes, looking like he was going to cry.

"It's not about my father." He said. "Is you!" He exclaimed.

"What do you mean?" You asked.

"You know!" He roared. "You were the first person who liked me, even though you knew I was Bruce's biological son and that I was conceived when he was drugged by Talia." Damian continued speaking. "And now, you will have your own daughter. Who has your blood and Bruce's"

You looked at him, surprised.

"Are you afraid I'm going to leave you aside?" You wanted to know.

"My brothers don't seem to see what's going to happen. That you and Bruce are going to love the baby more than we do." He started to cry. "I love you and my dad, and I know that now you will have your own family."

You said, walking over to your son. You held him by the shoulders, making him face you.

"Damian, that will never happen!" You exclaimed. "You, Dick, Jason and Tim never stopped being my kids, my little birds."

He looked away, looking embarrassed.

"I thought you wouldn't treat me like your son anymore" He said.

"It's normal for you to be jealous and afraid of losing all the attention you receive, but I want you to know that our relationship will never change." You commented. "Now that the problem has been resolved, do you want to go upstairs so we can make some cupcakes together?"

Damian quickly got up from the chair he was in, and threw himself into your arms, hugging you tightly. He placed his head on your chest, and surprisingly, you felt him caressing your belly for the first time. You lowered your head to look at your son, smiling at him.

"Yes, I want to go make cupcakes, Mommy." He said, using the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe his tear-stained face.

You and Damian went up to the house, leaving the Batcave. He started talking to you again, saying that he had had a brief fight with Jon Kent, but that they had already made up. He also told you that he was doing a literature project for school in a group, and that it was very easy.

As soon as you arrived in the kitchen, you grabbed all the necessary ingredients from the fridge and started mixing the cupcake batter, while Damian mixed the frosting. He told you that he wanted to color the cupcakes green and red, so you grabbed the food coloring from the pantry, letting him make the frosting any color he wanted.

Once the more than twenty cupcakes were ready, you and Damian sat on the counter while eating, talking excitedly about how the last few months had been when Damian had avoided you.

"Mother?" He caught your attention. "It'll be good to be a big brother."

You gave him a huge smile, and then kissed your son's cheek.

#imagine #insert reader #fanfiction #fluffy #fic #cute #you #dc comics #dc #batman #batkids #damian wayne #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batkids x reader #batkids x batmom #you x batman

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chuluoyi · 10 months ago

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Hey you!! I am still a bit quite new to the jjk fandom and everything going around but i am reading tons of things and your page became my fave in like a blink of an eye, no joke!!! Like i swear everything you write with Gojo goes through my soul and beyond🔥💕 i was thinking if you would maybe sometime take on the idea of how would Gojo react if his wife/gf is pregnant and him the protective dude he is, looses his shit when she gets hurt (either random or an a mission)?and taking care of her after.

Also i hope you are well and send you all the hugs and love i can give from where I am💜💜💜

࿐ ࿔ before the dawn

tw: pregnancy, mentions of blood, satosugu angst, hurt/comfort. goes through your soul and beyond? omg that’s the highest praise🤧 oh and hurt/comfort is actually my roman empire! to fit in love entries, i have to put it in the jjk0 timeline... and also sending love for you too nonnie!! this is so sweet aww thank you🫶🏻✨

a part of gojo's love entries

“…geto suguru is going to unleash curses in tokyo and kyoto.”

you stood still, suddenly feeling like your world had crashed. you blinked at what ichiji had just said after stuttering many times. “huh? geto… suguru?”

you just had your prenatal checkup with shoko, and you had suspected something serious had been going on by the grim way she looked and how she tried to evade your questions. satoru too had been kind of busy these past few days, and he was sorry to leave you more often because of “a business he had to take care of.”

so this was the business.

“how? why?” you asked ichiji with widened eyes, the horror dawning on you surely and fast. “how is he—doesn’t that mean… he’s— he’s going to be hunted down?”

that was a stupid question. suguru had been a criminal for ten years, of course they were going to catch him. it shouldn’t be new, you knew it. but this was an act of terrorism. this was the gravest and he could—suguru could…

three years of your and satoru’s youth flashed in your mind. the laughs. the memories. how? why must everything escalate this way?

“they’re g-going to… eliminate him.” ichiji looked down with regret, swallowing hard as he told you this. “gojo-san… he’s going to participate in the battle too.”

hearing that, suddenly you felt sick to your stomach. another reality crashed: satoru could end up murdering his best friend.

almost immediately, your womb clenched and throbbed with such intensity that your breath hitched, and you lurched forward, gripping onto ichiji’s arm tightly—

“ahh!” a scream tore its way out of your throat as you crumbled to the ground. the vice-like gripping pressure that assailed you sent waves of pain coursing through your belly and there was something wet and scarlet trickling down your legs.

blood. you wheezed, whimpered and your voice came out in panicked gasps. “b-baby… my baby—!”

“i will get you to ieiri-san!” ichiji immediately carried you back to shoko’s infirmary, trying not to turn into a blubbering mess. your anguished cries resonated through the quiet hall as you held onto your spasming abdomen, and ichiji could only pray with all his heart that you would be okay… or else gojo would definitely have his head.

he was informed through a phone call, that you passed out due to shock.

satoru felt his ears ring. everything blanked out afterwards. you were bleeding. you and your baby were bleeding. you weren’t supposed to and he wasn’t even there.

you were already so far along in your pregnancy and there was only a little over two months left before your due date. despite the impulse to scream at ichiji for subjecting you to such shocking news, he realized it would be futile, because in the end, you deserved to know.

he dashed towards the infirmary, the bandages on his eyes unraveling to reveal the bright glint of his six eyes as he met shoko’s stern gaze.

“where is she?” his voice came out ragged, almost in a growl, and his fists were clenched so tightly.

his remaining friend solemnly guided him towards your room and he wasted no time to rush inside, heart in his throat to make sure that no harm had come to either you or his baby.

“...satoru?” you were sitting on the bed, still pale, the swell of your belly was prominent even under the blankets. he looked at you with a mix of fright and concern and pulled you into his arms, breathing in your scent.

“you alright?” he inquired, voice softened exponentially as he pressed kisses on your head. “does it still hurt anywhere?”

“no, shoko has—”

“your belly no longer hurts? baby okay?” his palm brushed against your abdomen, lips tugged into a very concerned frown, and when the baby kicked him was when satoru could finally heave a sigh of relief.

“you scared me so much,” he whispered into your ear in a rasp and a sigh, before squeezing his eyes shut and reveling in your familiar warmth. one of his hands rested on where your baby was, to feel his twists and turns inside you, while the other continued to hold you in his embrace.

“satoru…” you mumbled, leaning against his sturdy chest and sensing the rapid beats of his heart. you felt exhausted and guilty for having mortified him, but you must clarify one thing. “they said… geto will curse everyone… is that true?”

his heart sank at your innocent question. “for now… can we just stay like this? i will answer you later, but for now…”

and you indulged him. over the years, you learned that satoru needed assurance in physical form more than you did. your heart fluttered as he patted your back and rubbed your belly many times, his worry crystal clear.

“i’m sorry i wasn’t here… and i’m sorry that i tried to hide it from you,” he began. “in my defense, i don’t want you to put you through more stress. you have our baby to worry about already.”

as he explained things to you afterwards—about how your once kind, respected senior was now radically persistent in his pursuit of eradicating non-sorcerers and targeted yuta, your eyes watered with tears once again.

“can you stop him?” your lower lip trembled, beginnings of sobs welling up within you. “satoru… he’s… was—your best friend…”

geto suguru was an undeniable part of your vibrant youth. a part of you never got over how he decided to abandon everything during your last year of high school.

and you knew that your husband too must feel the same, with how crestfallen he looked now. it was the greatest betrayal for him to see the only person who understood him branched away to the worst path possible.

“shh... sweets, look,” satoru made you face him, the blue of his eyes darkening as he joined both of your hands together in his, dropping down on one knee before you. “for now, please— please, just focus on yourself. i don’t want you to get hurt.”

“but—”

“i won’t be able to forgive myself if you or our baby are not the slightest bit fine.”

you went silent at that. gojo satoru never showed his weakness to anyone, and with you, rarely. yet, in this moment, he appeared vulnerable, confessing that losing the only thing that kept him sane—this little family you made—would be unbearable.

“i’m fine, i promise,” you reassured, pulling your hand away before wrapping your arms around his neck, seeking his comfort and letting your tears to finally fall freely. “i’m sorry for earlier…”

“don’t. i should’ve told you sooner, that way you wouldn’t bleed,” satoru firmly rebuked in a grave tone, his voice tinged with self-deprecation as he hugged you again in return, stroking your hair. “did it hurt much? you must’ve been so terrified…”

“i was spooked, but we’re fine…”

“i’m going to take leave for the next few days, yeah? we’re going to be together. i can't—in this state of mind—leave you alone.”

the thought of potentially losing your baby filled him with terror. everything else be damned—including suguru’s atrocities, he had to take care of you first.

because you were the one who stood by his side when his world was at its darkest—you had came to him with the light of the dawn. he was forever grateful to you for becoming the apple of his eye, mending his broken heart, and ultimately becoming his everything.

he wouldn't let anything happen to you. that was his vow to himself. and he was a man of his word.

. . .

it didn't occur to you until much, much later, after all was said and done—after you were notified of suguru's death on december 24, that his mind had been set since then, because satoru had never promised you that he would be able to stop him.

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graveyardcuddles · 4 months ago

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Breakfast in Bed

A/N: just a dadstarion drabble. feeding as a love language. mdni.

word count: ~ 3000

tags/warnings: sfw, shameless fluff, soft spawn astarion, baby fic, mentions of reader being pregnant in past tense, breastfeeding, soft blood-drinking (? lol), tav reader, mom reader, soft vampire romance, hints of angst, just lots of sweetness, playing fast and loose with dnd lore about dhampirs and vampires.

You're enjoying a rare deep sleep when a small yet powerful sound jolts you into a state of semi-consciousness with alarming urgency. You can barely register your own body around you, attempting to roll and shift. Suddenly, you feel a familiar cool hand touch your shoulder. "Shhh, it's alright, love. I've got her."

Astarion. He must have sensed your panic at your daughter's cries before he even had the chance to grab her himself. You sigh in relief as he quickly moves to soothe her.

"Gods below, whatever could be making that absolutely hideous sound? Has a little gremishka gotten into our home?" He says with a heavy dose of sarcasm as he pads over to her cot.

Untangling yourself from the bedding, you open your eyes just in time to see Astarion gently lifting your tiny daughter out of her bassinet.

"Darling, waking up your mother so early?" He tuts. "And here I was hoping to make this a peaceful morning."

Despite his mock scolding, his expression betrays the softness of his eyes, wide with adoration. His lips curl upwards in a carefree way that you've never quite seen from him with anyone else. A secret smile that only she can pull from him. She scruches her little legs, and he places a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his hand covering almost her entire back. He coos to her as her cries taper out into little whines. Nestling her close to his chest, Astarion tucks her tiny head under his chin. Rocks her gently while shushing her until she goes quiet.

You watch as her tiny scrunched body relaxes as she calms in his hold. So enchanted you are by the two of them that it takes a moment for you to notice the aroma of food coming from behind you. You turn around and see a small tray on your nightstand with a bowl of porridge, two hard-boiled eggs, toast, and some blackberries.

Once again, you find yourself struck by how much he's changed in the years since the Nautaloid. He never used to cook for you before, and you never resented him for it. You couldn't expect him to be enthusiastic about cooking when he couldn't even taste what he made for you.

All of that changed after the news of your impending little one broke. He had quietly taken to practicing a few basic meals for you. They often lacked the amount of seasoning you normally preferred, but with your overly tender stomach, the bland meals ended up being a blessing on days you could barely keep things down.

As you eat your breakfast, you watch the two of them. Somehow, he's always had a remarkable talent for calming her. Something else you never imagined. You used to tease him about it frequently: "Oh sure, I go through all the hard work only for you to be the favorite, then?" He had simply smirked, barely able to contain his triumphant aura.

He's talking to her now; always talking with her about anything: one tangent will lead to another story and then another. He carries on conversation with her as he would any adult, despite the fact she can't even babble yet.

Even before she was born, he would speak to her in the womb. He knew your heartbeat would be a source of comfort for her when she was born, just as it was for him. She would recognize you from it, know you. He lacked the ability to provide that same comfort but hoped his voice would make up for his lack of heartbeat.

In truth, you were awed every day by how naturally Astarion had taken to caring for her, and how much she in turned seemed to take such comfort from him. You remembered how he refused to believe it at first. How something so small and innocent and precious could possibly come from him, an undead creature. Him, with his red eyes and fangs and cold skin. He had been so afraid of frightening her with his appearance at first. You had reassured him constantly, and he had seen his own likeness in the form of portraits over the years. But he could never be sure you weren't just placating him. Could never be sure those artists weren't simply flattering him.

The first time she opened her little eyes and peered up at him, Astarion let out a sigh of relief that her irises weren't a vampiric red. As her tiny eyes bore into his, he tried to discern what their true color was. You were half-delirious from exhaustion as you watched the two of them become acquainted. Barely thinking, you sleepily suggested to him that perhaps her eye color took after his original shade from before he was turned.

Astarion grew quiet and still for a long moment, something inside of him seemingly triggered by your words. A memory locked away long ago, lost to time. For the second time that same day, his body was hit with deep racking sobs. As he cried quietly into your shoulder, he clung to the little bundle in his arms, a part of himself thought long lost now given back to him.

He brings her to you now, settling down next to you in bed. You cuddle up next to your husband and baby. He's still too enthralled with her to pass her off to you, as he often is. He kisses her little hands and cheek. He smiles radiantly, far past his fears of scaring her. You're more than content to let him hold her as you eat.

She's calmed down now, her soft delicate features smoothed and her big bright eyes looking up at you both. Those captivating eyes are like faceted gemstones, a rare shade even amongst High Elves. Her skintone is similar to yours in color but with an unsettling washed-out, pale undertone that would be alarming on any other child who wasn't a dhampir. Branches of veins show through her semi-translucent skin. Her soft, silky miniature curls were the color of milkglass.

Your little one is deceptively fragile-looking, sickly even. It's easy to forget sometimes how powerful they could potentially be one day. Even at her tender young age of eight weeks, she's a formidable one. Eating and crying with equal fervor. Small and mighty. Just as opinionated as her father.

She wastes no time in letting you know both know she has needs that must be met. Rolling towards Astarion in his arms, she presses her tiny face into his chest. Her little mouth opens up as her face nudges around his shirt, seeking nourishment. You both giggle at her frustrated attempt.

"I think that's my cue, love." You place the tray back on the nightstand and gently take her from him to nestle her in your arms. Pulling down one strap of your nightgown, you begin feeding your babe in a peaceful ritual you had mastered weeks ago with her. Astarion settles in behind you with his chin resting on your shoulder. For a few minutes, he simply watches the two of you. When he takes note of your unfinished breakfast, he grabs a handful of blackberries from the tray and holds out for you to eat at your leisure as you cradle her.

It isn't lost on him, the way in which you were the first person to ever feed him. Truly feed and nourish his body, with the very blood from your own body nonetheless. Never in a million years did he ever think he would one day witness you feeding his child with that same body. An entirely brand new soul, somehow born of your union. Innocent, beautiful and alive. A part of Astarion was alive again, and he could hardly believe it even as he faced each new challenge head-on.

Since she was born, he would sometimes go without feeding for days at a time. Though the elk, deer and boars that populated the nearby woods provided ample prey for him, you knew he hated leaving you two behind even for a few hours of time that it typically took for him to hunt.

He was trying to hide it, but you could tell he was starving now. His face was a little more hollow than usual, eyes a bit more sunken, skin paler and colder. It was truly a testament to how much he adored your daughter that despite his sickly appearance, he still radiated with joy in her presence.

The blackberries run out. You tilt your head to look at him. "You should feed," eyes fixed on his. He blinks at you, obviously surprised at your suggestion. "Just a bit of my blood before you go hunting."

It takes more than a bit of willpower to stifle your giggle at his reaction. Astarion had never been one to hesitate accepting your blood.

"I- Darling, come now. You're sweet to offer, but we shouldn't. Not when you're already expending yourself," his arms snake around your waist, and his cool fingers knead into the softness of your belly comfortingly.

"Ha, trust me, this is nothing compared to feeding you while traveling and fighting for our lives in the wilderness," you assure him.

"Besides," you gesture at the jewelry around your neck. "That's what this is for."

The Amulet of Silvanus, which had already been more than useful to both of you during your time traveling, had come to have many more beneficial properties than you could have imagined at the time. It restored your blood levels, allowing Astarion to feed on you regularly. And even though he had abstained from feeding on your blood while you were with child, it had been found to also be useful in keeping your milk supply up, giving it a second use once your baby had arrived.

"It's alright," you insisted, eyes and voice soft. "I feel strong enough for this again, my love. Truly. And I trust you," your daughter continues to nurse peacefully, blissfully unaware of the conversation between her parents.

"At least let me take the edge off of your hunger, Astarion. I know you won't go too far. Besides," a smile forms on your face, unable to hold back your enthusiasm any longer. "You know I've missed it, too."

He stared at you for a moment before breaking into a smile that made your heart ache so much you swear it could have killed you.

"My love," he kisses you on the forehead, then on your lips, then both of your cheeks and your lips again. It's soft and reverent, gentle and loving.

"Always so good to me." He strokes your hair and kisses you some more before pulling away gently. His maroon eyes broke from your gaze and locked onto your little one.

"Are you sure about this, though?" There was a hint of hesitancy in his voice despite his previous enthusiasm. "I don't want to do anything that would hurt you around her," he whispered, conflict clear on his face. You considered his words carefully.

"Well..." You start with a hint of playfulness. "I don't know if you remember, dear husband, but this?" You gestured at your nursing infant. "Feeding her? It was painful at first. And we don't even know if she'll need blood one day. But if she does, I'll be providing it for you both." He looks guilty already, so before he could respond, you followed up. "But even so," you cup his cheek, gently forcing him to look you in the eye. "No matter what happens, she can't hurt me." His eyebrows raised, and he smirked at you with obvious skepticism.

"When we first found out about her, we vowed we would love her, no matter what. Even if her hunger drove her one day to drain innocent people dry." You gaze down on your little dhampir, your precious 'baby monster,' as she fed. "At the time, I was scared, but now... my love for her is so deep. I know nothing will ever change it. Nothing could ever possibly change it."

You look to him and see his eyes were round with wonder. "You don't have to if you're not comfortable, my heart. But just know you don't have to worry about hurting me. You could never hurt me, my love."

He sighed, looking at you with a sort of incredulous amusement that would normally be followed up with a statement about how nothing you say ever makes sense. Instead, he takes the hand that had been caressing his cheek and kisses it longingly.

"I'll never understand what I've done to deserve you, my dear," his nose runs along your inner wrist, savoring your scent.

"Hmm, besides helping me save the world? Well, making me laugh and being adorable definitely doesn't hurt."

"Our daughter is adorable. I am enigmatic and alluring, NOT adorable," he rolls his eyes dramatically.

"Hmm. Sorry love, but I'm afraid all evidence points to the contrary. Our daughter gets her looks from somewhere, and you know who she takes after." Astarion can't hold back his grin he looks down at her and strokes her silvery curls. The semblance between father and daughter was no small point of pride for him.

"Alright, my love. I know better than to argue with the mother of my child." He slips in behind both of you easily, pulling you up so your back is flushed to his chest, allowing yourself to lean back into him.

His arms come up under where both of yours are supporting your babe. He cradles the both of you protectively. "I've got you. I've got you both," he reassures. Your little girl continues to nurse peacefully, both parents holding her tight.

Astarion noses at the base of your neck and inhales deeply. Soft kisses pepper up and down your neck before his lips hold still in place, silently asking permission once more.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder in answer, giving him greater access. Taking a deep breath, you feel the familiar sting of his fangs breaking your skin. He was so gentle, sinking his teeth in fast enough so as not to make the sting linger, but also slow enough so as not to bruise the skin. His fangs work back and forth tenderly, taking great care to keep the bite bleeding while not opening the wound further.

You find yourself easily relaxing. "You're still gentler than she is most of the time," you joke.

His lips attach around the bite wound, gently latched just enough to keep them sealed around it. The flow of blood stayed slow and steady this way, trickling gently from you to him. In your arms, your little one is also feeding eagerly. For a moment, you can't help but giggle at how the sound of Astarion's suckling at your neck joins in with her own precious little eating noises. Her tiny ears wiggle adorably with each drink, and while he refuses to acknowledge it, you can feel Astarion's own ears make miniscule twitches when he feeds on you.

Sighing happily, you sink deeper in his embrace. You had truly missed being able to provide this for him. Time seems to slow down to a hazy crawl as you savor this moment. In the warmth of your bed, surrounded by your little family, you feel as though you could spend an eternity here. You wish you could. It wasn't easy to sacrifice so much. Give so much of yourself over to caring for your babe. But it was moments like this that had made your many sacrifices worth it.

Your undead love at your back and your tiny, half-undead infant in your arms. The feeling of his cool chest and her not-quite-warm-enough little form were somehow the most natural thing in the world. The steady beating of your heart sustaining the both of them. They were both supposed to be impossible, wrong, and profane to everything sacred and divine. And somehow, they were perfect. And you were lucky enough to have them both.

Though you're more than prepared to supplement your daughter's diet with blood the moment the need arises, you feel grateful in this moment that she's still satisfied with your milk. Melancholy borders on the edge of your warm and blissful feelings. Astarion has spoken often of how painful the blood hunger can be for him. You try to keep it to yourself, but guilt squeezes your heart when you think of her with those same hunger pains. Astarion has already sworn he will guide her through them, teach her to hunt on animals when she's strong enough. As you look upon your daughter, you can only hope to yourself that she and Astarion keep each other close, even if you one day leave them behind. There had been talks of ways the two of you could extend your lifespan, and you invested every hour you could spare into researching life-extending magic.

Yet if your endeavors failed or you died prematurely, after some time, perhaps decades, perhaps centuries in the future, you will be the one who leaves first. Astarion will remain unliving and physically unchanging, and while dhampirs were said to be more alive than undead, they were exceptionally long-lived creatures. Sources the two of you researched varied greatly, but all accounts agreed that dhampirs could outlive High Elves by centuries, possibly thousands of years if they renewed themselves with blood. Two ancient souls, undead and half-undead, largely unchanging in an ever changing world. Astarion and her would need each other.

Just as you begin to feel lightheaded, he pulls away, licking and kissing your bite to seal the wound and carefully collecting any stray strands of blood. "Easy," his arms are diligently wrapped around your babe, keeping her supported and snug. "Restore yourself, darling," he encouraged.

You nod sleepily and bring your hand up to touch the amulet. "Te Absolvo," with a soft flash of healing magic, your dizziness was instantly gone, the buzz in your head replaced with Astarion's sweet praises in your ear.

"Thank you, my love," he whispers. He presses a deep kiss into your neck, where your fresh bite mark heals. Your daughter has finished her meal now as well, and you pull your gown back up to tuck her closer to you. She snuggles up on your chest, and you stroke her back softly. She's fast asleep again already, her schedule leaning more and more each into the nocturnal with each passing day. Another early manifestion of her dhampirism.

Nocturnal sleep schedules, blood hunger, spider-climbing, shape-shifting. It didn't matter what new challenges the two of you might face with her. You trusted Astarion would be there for her. He would struggle. He would make mistakes, you know. But he has you both.

As you hum sleepily to your baby girl, Astarion nestles into your neck tenderly. He mumbles unto your skin quietly, just barely loud enough to be heard.

"You have given me everything. Thank you."

#how many times can i use the word 'soft' in the tags challenge #bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #dadstarion #tavstarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #reader x astarion #tav x astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion drabble #astarion one shot #soft astarion #baby fic #dhampir #dhampirs #astarion fic

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 5 months ago

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What is Broken IV (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader) FINALE

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: traumatic childbirth, blood, semi-suicidal thoughts, Aemond is fantasizing about murder again, all the angst

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: I don't understand why, but thanks so much for all the support I've gotten from this horribly angsty fic! This is my first go at angst so I really appreciate it. I'm gonna work on two happy-ish fic chapters before I get started on When It Breaks, but it's coming...

And a huge, enourmous thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs and @ripdragonbeans for being my betas for this! I was so anxious about getting this absolutely right and they were so kind and encouraging. Love yall forever 💜💜💜

Taglist is done via reblogs

Series Masterlist

What is Broken

She was so light, his ābrazȳrītsos.

Even while carrying their children – their sons – Aemond swore she was lighter than when he left. He held her close to his chest, her head resting on his shoulder and her legs draped over his forearm. With every step, he could feel more of the liquid that had spilled from her womb - now mixed with small, hateful tendrils of blood - dampening his sleeve.

Gods, how much blood had he seen in the past year? How much had he spilled himself? There had even been times when he reveled in its metallic tang. But the sight of her blood was nothing less than abhorrent.

He ran faster, until he could not make out the faces of those he passed, shouting for a Maester to be sent to their chambers immediately. One of them must be a servant. With luck, the Maester would already be there when they arrived.

She cried out as he began to ascend the stairs, wincing with each step, her weak grip on him tightening. “It hurts, Aemond.”

“I know, my love.” He slowed down, though his pounding heart urged him to do just the opposite. “I’m so sorry. The maester will be here soon, and he’ll help you feel better, hmm?”

“He has to stop it. It’s too early,” her voice cracked, and Aemond’s heart with it. “They’re not ready!”

But it couldn’t be stopped, not by man or gods. Their children would be born today. The only question was whether they would survive. If their mother would survive. Her poor body was so weak, and her heart… he had broken that, too.

If any of them died today, that blood would be on his hands, and he would gladly accept his damnation to the worst of the seven hells.

“Come now,” he chided gently as they reached the corridor to their chambers. “Our sons are dragons – they will be strong. And so will you, ābrazȳrītsos.”

“Sons?” She lifted her head, her entire body trembling with the effort it took. Her eyes – those beautiful eyes now gilded by the setting sun outside the windows – locked with his. “How… you sound so sure.”

Just one more lie. One more, and then he would never lie to her again.

Besides, this lie was small, nearly inconsequential. Many fathers insisted that their children would be sons until the child itself proved them wrong. It would be so easy for her to believe. The truth would hurt her – perhaps weaken her further. Aemond did not want her to hear Alys’ name. She should never have to even think of that witch ever again.

But he could not bring himself to do it. He could not sully the birth of his sons with yet another lie. He pushed their door open with a shoulder, never breaking her gaze. “Alys told me after you left. Before… she had a vision of us holding our sons. I’m so sorry, love.”

She slumped again, her face dropping into the curve of his neck. Once, she kissed him there, slept with her head tucked there. Now, it was simply where her head lolled. “I’m glad it’s sons. You’ll have two heirs…”

Her words were cut short by a gasp of pain, but Aemond heard it clearly. It echoed in his very bones. So if I live, you’ll have no more need of me. The gods had just crumbled the ground beneath him, his heart and soul with it. He was falling, falling, falling…

“I am glad, too.” He set her down gently in the bed, brushing away several tangles of hair stuck to her sweaty brow before arranging the pillows around her, hoping he was adequately managing to hide his devastation. For he could not bear to be without her, could not bear to love her only from a distance. He would go mad. Yet he would happily accept that horrible fate if it meant he would not lose her to the Stranger. “Mother will be, as well.”

“Mother!” She tried to rise, but he held her softly to the bed. “I can’t do this without Mother, Aemond. We must return home immediately!”

“I am afraid that is not an option, Princess.” Maester Artos stood just within the doorway, maids and Septas streaming in behind him. He was a mountain of a man, better suited to the battlefield than the birthing bed. But he was good at what he did – very good. Aemond had seen him work miracles on men who should have never survived their injuries.

The moment the women began attending to his wife, he approached the Maester, speaking quietly so as not to frighten her. “Something is wrong, Artos, she is bleeding. And she’s very weak.”

Artos hardly acknowledged him, looking only at the princess lying in the bed. “The blood is not the problem. She is distressed and too thin.” He stated, as cold and clinical as all other Maesters.

“Yes, I know that already.” Aemond took a shaky, calming breath. He did not like the way Artos observed her, as if she was a thing to be studied rather than a woman – a princess. Perhaps when it was all over, he’d kill the man for it. “I fear she is not strong enough to survive this.”

She cried out behind them. Two maids were pressing damp cloths to her forehead. Another was hastily braiding her hair back. A Septa had begun cutting away her dress, leaving her only in her chemise as two more maids removed her slippers and stockings. Two other Septas knelt by the windows, praying, while one woman who seemed to be neither maid nor Septa laid metal and wood instruments atop a tall, thin table.

It took every ounce of Aemond’s self-control not to go to her. To shove away each woman because it should be him – and him alone – to touch his wife while she was so vulnerable. He should be the one to protect her, but he couldn’t. He could only hurt her, it seemed.

“Artos!” Aemond hissed.

“Is her spirit weak as well?” There was suspicion in his dark eyes. The same he’d shown when he confirmed Alys was carrying a child. If he hadn’t been so proficient a healer, Aemond might have killed him then.

But for now, Aemond was glad Artos was alive. He swallowed, avoiding looking back at the bed as his wife continued to whimper and moan. “Yes.” The maester just hummed before approaching the bed. Aemond followed, kneeling at the bedside, the maids immediately clearing away.

“This is Maester Artos, ābrazȳrītsos.” She stared wide-eyed at the hulking mass of the man who now knelt between her legs. Aemond tugged on her hand, her gaze snapping back to him. “I know him well. He’s going to take very good care of you, I promise.”

She shuddered, her eyes closed tight as she squeezed Aemond’s hand so hard he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. He delighted in it. She was not as weak as he thought, thank the gods. If she needed to break every bone in his hand – in his body – to live through this, he would let her do so without complaint.

“Are you going to stay with me?” she asked, her voice already ravaged by screaming.

Aemond blinked. When they first learned they were to have a child, he swore he would. But now, it seemed impossible for her to want him there. Not after what he’d done. “Do you… want me to stay?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out but another moan of pain. Her eyes darted all over his face. The longer she stayed silent, the further Aemond’s stomach dropped, and his heart ached.

“I believe it wise to have the prince wait outside,” Artos said decisively.

Aemond felt her hand slide out of his, the sensation the same as if he were falling from Vhagar’s back—her answer.

He nodded, and though he knew he shouldn’t, he leaned over her and kissed her forehead, trailing a hand down her cheek. “I love you.”

As he walked to the door, he still held a little shred of hope in his heart, waiting to hear her say it back.

It never came.

The moment the door shut behind Aemond, she regretted sending him away. She wanted to call him back so she wouldn’t be alone with so many strangers. But panic began to set in as the maids pulled her gently down the bed, and her voice failed her.

“It won’t be long now, princess,” the maester said, but she found no comfort in it. She couldn’t even remember his name. Alton? Alyn? Amos? Aemond had said he trusted him, but…

But that meant he had been here when Aemond was with Alys. And that glint of pity in his eyes, not just for her conditions, but for what he knew. He knew. Seven Hells, he’d probably been the one to care for Alys and her pregnancy.

Alys. Alys, Alys, fucking Alys!

She did not know what to think of the woman who had stolen so much from her. Had she stolen it, or had Aemond given it? She could hardly make sense of what she’d learned in that dreary little room.

Alys was not the evil, scheming witch she had first imagined. But neither was she innocent in the affair, not wholly. She was not remorseful for her actions, but she apologized for hurting her. She had been kind.

Blinding pain shot through her, and she screamed. Wordless and desperate, her only outlet for release. She needed to scream, needed to roar, needed to breathe fire. Anything to distract from this. Gods, she even wished for a moment for Alys to be there, holding her hand. At least then, she could return some of that pain.

“Princess,” the maester said, though he sounded far away. Though it was more likely that her shouting was drowning him out. “Very soon, I will ask that you push. Do you know how, your highness?”

Push. That’s what the septas had instructed Helaena to do at the birth of her twins and for Maelor. She even had vague memories of the word from when she peeked through the open door to her mother’s chambers when Daeron was born. But what it meant and how to do it?

Her confusion must have been apparent, for the maester continued. His voice was frustratingly calm and steady. “It is fine if you do not, princess. You must simply follow your instincts. When you feel the urge, push the child outward with all your might.”

“I have no might.” She heard herself laughing through tears and only then realized she was crying. Someone took her hand – she didn’t know who. But the feeling of another’s skin on hers was heavenly.

“You have carried these babes for months,” the maester – Artos! that was his name – said gently, “while your husband and the realm were at war. In my estimation, you are the mightiest woman in Westeros.”

She felt nearly every muscle she had tense, turning her answering grateful smile into a grimace. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not have weathered her pregnancy as well as a paper boat in a storm. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not still love her husband after he betrayed her. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not have let her emotions weaken her or put her children’s lives in danger.

She was far from the mightiest woman in Westeros, and she could not do this. She wasn’t strong enough. She was only a weak and broken little girl.

A maid approached, a fresh cool, damp cloth in her hands. The princess had not looked at any of their faces, too absorbed in her pain and panic. But now, she caught the eyes of this girl—deep, rich brown, so similar to her own – to her mother’s.

“I want my mother,” she whispered to the maid, even knowing it was impossible. “I can’t do this without her.”

The maid gaped at her as if she could not fathom a princess ever speaking to her. She looked to her companions for guidance, but the princess only looked into the maid’s eyes and thought of her mother—the scent of the rosemary oil she used in her hair, the warmth of her embrace, and the soothing tones of her voice.

“Please, I want my mother,” she begged. A new surge of pain gripped her, radiating into her legs. They were coming faster now; she barely had time to breathe between each wave. “Please.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness.” The maid’s voice was high and breathy, nothing like her mother’s. “The queen is not here.”

She cried, turning away from those false eyes. She was alone – entirely and utterly alone.

“Princess, I need you to be strong now.” Artos’ sweaty brow was furrowed with half a dozen creases, his eyes wide and mouth a firm line. He looked more like a commander on a battlefield than a maester. The Grand Maester would have smiled at her, but he was not here, either. “Your labors are progressing quickly. It is nearly time to push.”

“I don’t know how,” she cried. She refused to open her eyes. If she kept them closed, she could almost imagine she was home.

Artos wrapped his hands around her ankles, pushing them upwards and further apart. “You do, princess. The Mother wove the knowledge into your body. Listen to it, and all will be well.”

“I – ”

Her next scream rattled the room, the keep, the entirety of the Riverlands.

Fire, ice, steel, and claw seemed to rake down her spine to her thighs. But Artos was right; her body reacted to the pain, her muscles moving near-unconsciously to force the babe out of her womb. She followed the instinct, pushing it harder, harder, harder.

“Very good, princess!” Was that Artos or Orwyle? She couldn’t tell anymore.

It was never-ending.

Pain, pushing, and a brief moment of reprieve.

Again.

It lasted hours, days, perhaps even years.

Was a child – a son – even worth this pain? How could she love someone who had tortured her so? Would she ever be able to look at him without remembering how she suffered?

Pain.

PAIN.

Then –

“Stop, princess!”

She went limp, vaguely beginning to feel other sensations creep in: the coolness of the water on her forehead, the slight scratching of the sheets beneath her, and the hushed whispers of the maids and midwives.

The pain was still there, but softer. Less insistent.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice nearly unrecognizable, even to her.

Artos emerged from between her legs, relief painted over his harsh face. “Nothing is wrong, princess. It is simply time to be gentle and allow your body to do its work.” He smiled, chuckling under his breath. “I can see your babe’s white hair – quite a bit of it.”

Laughter bubbled up in her throat. Deep, joyous laughter. Another slight wave of pain passed through her, but she didn’t care at all. She was thinking about her niece and nephew, how Jaehaerys was born with nearly a full mane of silver frizz while Jaehaera had not a single hair on her head until she was over a year old. “He has hair?”

“Yes, although I do not know yet whether it is a boy, princess.”

“It is. He is.”

There was one more brief surge of pain, and then she heard her son cry.

It was torture to wait outside while his ābrazȳrītsos screamed with pain. At first, Aemond stood leaning against the wall, as Aegon did when Helaena began her labors, but his knees failed him when he heard a scream that rattled the world.

He’d been on the floor since, resisting the urge to cover his ears. But he had caused her this pain, so he must listen.

He would be in that room with her if he hadn’t been a weak, damnable fool. He would have held her hand, letting her release her pain onto him. She had only squeezed his hand once, yet he still felt the ghost of her touch on his skin. He would savor that pain for the rest of his life.

It seemed to be never-ending, the torture his son was inflicting upon her. How could he ever forgive the child for doing this to his own mother?

Then, it stopped.

Aemond leaped to his feet, panic infecting his blood like a disease. Why had she gone quiet? What was wrong? Was she dead? He couldn’t face –

A babe cried—his first cry, with his first breath.

Their son.

He tried to push the door open, but it was locked.

“Let me in!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the door. “Artos, let me in!”

There was no answer, but he could hear soft voices inside. None sounded like hers. Oh gods, had she brought their son into the world at the cost of her own life?

Aemond slammed himself against the door again and again, not caring for the damage he was doing to his own body. “Open the door now, Artos!”

He threw himself against the wood again and again. At some point, it had to yield. Either it would, or his body would.

It opened just before he launched himself at it again—not all the way, but it was open. Then, Artos stared at him through the gap with his hateful, disapproving gaze.

“Let me in,” he growled. Trying to force the door open was useless, as the maester was practically a giant and, apparently, throwing all his strength into holding it closed. “If you don’t let me see my wife, I swear I’ll – ”

“Your wife has not finished her labors yet, my prince.” Damn him, the mountainous bastard. “But I am pleased to inform you that she has borne you a son.”

Though he knew it was to be a son, the words still shot through him. A son. His son. Their son.

“Is he healthy? Is she?” There was no more fight in his voice. The warrior prince had vanished, replaced only by the husband and father. By all the gods, he was a father.

Artos nodded. “The boy is small but healthy. Your maester may have miscalculated the date of conception. He is remarkably healthy for being born so early.”

“And my wife?”

“She is tired, but well. The second babe is not quite ready to emerge, so she is resting.”

The weight of all the world was lifted from his shoulders. He felt like the little boy he had once been on Driftmark, wanting nothing more than to see his zaldrīzītsos and take comfort in her embrace. “May I see her? Please.”

“I’m afraid not, my prince.” Artos at least had the decency to sound genuinely apologetic. “She needs this rest. With the first birth, she was wonderfully strong, more than I could have ever imagined. But I fear she has depleted her strength. She fell asleep the moment it was done.”

“Is… is it bad that she fell asleep?”

Artos sighed, his eyes turning to the floor. “Ordinarily, no, but with how thin she is, how weak… it worries me.”

No. No, no, no. “Is there anything you can do? To help strengthen her?”

“I am afraid not, my prince.”

“Well, do something. Do whatever you can.”

A soft moan came from behind the door. Ābrazȳrītsos. Aemond pushed against the door, opening it as far as he could to try and catch the barest glimpse of her.

Her eyes were nearly closed, her reddened cheeks making them appear as dark as night. Her chemise was soaked through with sweat and whatever other fluids came out with their child. But no blood beyond what he already knew to be there.

“Ābrazȳrītsos! I’m here!” He shouted. It took a moment for her to look his way. He could have sworn she smiled. “I’m with you! You must be strong, my love. I know you can be. I love you! I love you so much, ñuha zaldrīzītsos!”

Artos pushed against the door, forcing Aemond back. “That is enough, my prince. Upsetting her will only drain her strength.”

Aemond knew it was true, that his presence would likely upset her rather than comfort her. So, he stopped resisting and allowed the maester to close the door. Just before it closed, he whispered one final command, “Take care of her, Artos. She is my world.”

The pain returned, worse than before. The lightning crept down her spine again, but it was now accompanied by a great force set on tearing her body apart at the seams. Pushing brought no relief, nor did it seem to move her son any closer to the world.

Artos came to her bedside, resting the back of his hand against her brow.

“It’s worse this time,” she confided in the maester when it finally ebbed. “It’s so much worse. Why?”

He sighed and sat on the bedside, his massive hand nearly eclipsing her head as he stroked her hair. It made her feel remarkably like a kitten. “I cannot say, princess. There are many possibilities. This child could be larger, in a slightly different position, or…” He hesitated. “As I said, there are too many possibilities for me to be sure.”

His pause unsettled her, but it soon faded away when another wave went through her. “Is he nearly ready? I can’t do this much longer.” At least she knew what to do this time, so surely it would be better.

“Ah, another son, is it?” Artos stood from the bed to examine her spread legs. Several maids gently moved her to replace the sheets beneath her. “Not yet, but soon. Your motherly instincts will tell you when.”

Motherly instincts. Gods, she was a mother now. There was a child on the other side of the room that she had given birth to, that she had grown within her. A son who would depend on her for his entire life. Her, and his father.

Aemond would be a good father, she knew, even if he were decidedly lacking as a husband. But as a father, he would be attentive, kind, and loving. He would give their sons all the love he was denied by their own father.

They would not repeat the mistakes of the past. They would love their sons. They would not ignore them, speaking to them only to scold them. They would teach them the language of their ancestors themselves instead of relying on tutors. As soon as they were old enough, they would teach them how to be compassionate and fair rulers. They would not force them to marry for political advantage or the continuation of the bloodline but let them fall in love, as they had.

She could see them now. Both with white hair and unruly curls. Bright lilac eyes. The elder would take after her, but with Aemond’s determination. The younger would take after their father but with her gentle temperament.

As if the vision was summoning her second son, she felt her body constricting, muscles tightening. Without fear, she began to push.

“Princess, stop!”

Artos screamed as if someone was holding a sword to his throat, desperate and panicked. His eyes were wide and bulging as he looked from her face to where her second son should be emerging. “You mustn’t push now, princess. Not once. I…”

He stood, pulling one of the Septas aside. Others followed, and their frantic, poorly hushed whispers grew louder. She knew the sight should frighten her, but she forced herself to remain calm. Aemond said he trusted this man and had seen him work miracles. Whatever was wrong, Artos would fix it.

She was sure.

Artos burst out of the door without warning. Aemond pushed away from the wall. “Is it over?”

The maester sighed.

Shit. Seven Hells and all the Gods.

“Your wife is strong, my prince,” he began. Holy gods, he sounded as if he would cry. “Enough so that I would have little doubt that she could deliver your second child, but…”

“What’s wrong?” Aemond felt his heart race, his blood surge, his finger twitching for his sword. He was going into battle, but this was not a battle he could fight with steel or fire. This was not a battle he could fight at all. “Artos?”

“The babe is not in the right position.” He moved his hands as if it would somehow make Aemond understand what he was saying.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the babe cannot be born, your highness.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything she had suffered and survived.

“If she were to continue her labors, neither she nor the child would live.” Artos put a hand on his shoulder, an attempt at comfort. “I can save only one. Who survives… that is your decision, my prince.”

The gods were cruel to force this upon him – the very choice that had damned their family decades ago when Viserys chose to sacrifice his wife and queen for the chance at a son. That was where the seeds of destruction had been sown.

Aemond could not repeat the mistakes of the past. He would not be like his father. He had his son and heir. A second would be preferred, but not at the cost of his ābrazȳrītsos.

His ābrazȳrītsos, whose heart would break to lose her son. Who would never forgive him if he decided to –

He couldn’t choose. He couldn’t let her die, and he couldn’t let their son die.

He couldn't live without her, and he couldn’t take away her will to live.

He tore himself out of Artos’ grasp and stormed into the room.

Aemond threw open the door, his eyes wide and wet, and suddenly, she was not so sure that Maester Artos would fix whatever was wrong.

He ran to the bed, not sparing a glance at their new son. She burst into sobs the moment he took her in his arms. “Oh, ābrazȳrītsos,” he whispered into her hair as he kissed her temples. She entwined her fingers with his, desperately squeezing. “I’m here now. Everything is going to be fine.”

Liar. Sweet Liar. Beloved Liar.

“I want Mother. I want Helaena.” Her voice crackled with tears and exhaustion. Everything hurt. Someone – most likely her – was crying, though it sounded distant. And if Aemond was here, not waiting outside…

If Aemond was here, holding her hand and stroking her hair, it meant something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

“Mother is not here right now,” he said, squeezing her hand tighter. He wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t meet her gaze. “And Helaena… she can’t be here. I’m so sorry.”

“She told me she would hold my hand like I did for her. She promised!”

“I know. I know, my love, but it is not possible.”

Because Helaena was dead. So were Daeron, and Jaehaerys, and Jaehaera, and Maelor, and Otto, and Ser Criston, and nearly every other person she loved. Aegon would be dead soon, too, then she would only have her mother and her husband.

Her mother, who had begged her to forgive the husband who betrayed her and broken her heart.

“I can’t do this alone, Aemond. I can’t.”

“You can, I know it. You are so strong, dearest.” Yet there was no confidence in his voice.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear his hair out just to make him hurt, too. “I can’t! I’ll die if you make me, Aemond, I know it. I know something is wrong. Please, tell me.”

He pursed his lips, eyes narrowed. “My love, I…” his voice faded, leaving them in total silence, save for that distant crying.

Then, he kissed her—not the soft kisses on the temple or head of the past fortnight, but the way he had kissed her when he said goodbye all those months ago. His lips slotted against hers perfectly, and she opened for him on instinct. She knew she should stop, push him away, and scold him, but she couldn’t.

Everything felt wrong—her entire body felt wrong. But this, kissing Aemond, felt right. Her desperation for comfort far overpowered her anger and resentment. Her trembling hand rested on his shoulder, her fingers bunching in his shirt. She pulled him closer, wanting more—more rightness, more connection, more feeling.

More Aemond.

But he pulled away, resting his brow against hers as she chased his lips again. He placed a hand on either side of her face, holding her still. “I’m going to fix this,” he rasped, his voice shredded by fear and desperation. “I will fix this, I swear.”

Then, he let go.

He stood from the bed and turned away from his wife.

He was leaving. He was fucking leaving her.

She screamed his name, cursed him, begged him to come back, hurled insults, and cried for him. He couldn’t do this to her, not after everything he’d already done.

This was not love. The heat that burned in her chest was not love.

It was hate.

For the first time in her life, she truly hated Aemond.

“Alys!” Aemond bellowed as he descended the stairs to the servant’s quarters, taking the steps two, three at a time. No one dared approach him. Not even Artos had tried to stop him as he ran away from his ābrazȳrītsos.

She may hate him forever for this, for leaving her when she was so weak and scared.

Fine. It would be worth it.

“ALYS!” The door snapped from its upper hinge as he tore it open. The witch was precisely where she’d been when Aemond left, her hand on her chin as she looked into the fire. What vile hell did she see in her visions now? “Alys!”

“I heard you, Aemond.” She did not look at him, only staring at the flames, those green eyes flitting around as if she were reading a book. “The entire continent heard you.” There was no humor in her voice, no hint of a smile on her face.

He swallowed, panting. He was crying – weeping like a little boy. That didn’t matter now. Very little mattered now.

Aemond fell to his knees before the witch with whom he had destroyed his life. He would do whatever she asked, destroy what little was left of his pride if necessary. “I need your help, Alys. Please.”

“She’s dying?”

“Yes. The maester said I had to… that I had to choose who to save.”

“And you can’t choose between her and the child.”

“No, I – ” he swallowed as his voice shattered. He was going to vomit. “I can’t, Alys. I can’t. Please.”

“What is it, exactly, that you want me to do?” She was colder than the Wall, than the entirety of the lands beyond it.

“Save them, both of them.”

Alys’ eyes narrowed. Her face was painted with an expression he had never seen. He had no clue what it meant. “What would you sacrifice,” she asked flatly, “to ensure your wife and her children – your true heirs – live?”

“Anything,” Aemond croaked, “Everything.”

One corner of her sinful mouth lifted in a way that did not bring him comfort. She sighed as if taking the time to thoroughly consider his plea. The wicked bitch was gleefully stalling when the lives of his wife and child could end at any moment.

“Please, Alys,” he begged again, desperation crawling through his veins like spreading ice. “I cannot live without her, and she will never recover from her grief if she loses the babe.”

Something passed over her face, and she smiled fully. “You have always been a man of loyalty and nobility, Aemond.” Her grin sharpened as she laid one delicate hand upon her belly. “Almost always, at least.”

“Alys,” he growled in warning.

“Oh, don’t be a beast about it,” she scoffed. “I will do it – save them. If only in memory of our time together.”

Aemond sagged as relief swept through him, but it did not last long. She was still dying. The babe was still dying. Whatever Alys would do, she needed to do it now. He opened his mouth to command her to start, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“I promise it will be done.” She flung her hand to the door in dismissal. “You should be there for her. She is still so very frightened.”

He needed nothing more to run back to his wife.

She was alone. Even with Maester Artos and the dozen women hovering around her, even with her son cooing softly from the cradle by the window, she had never felt so alone.

Aemond was gone.

He’d left her. Without even a goodbye, he’d left her. He had not even stopped to meet his son.

Artos murmured something to one of the Septas, who quickly gathered the other women on the far side of the room. He approached the bed, again seating himself upon the edge, and pressed the back of his fingers to her brow briefly before petting her hair. “How are you feeling, princess?”

“Am I going to die?”

He hesitated in answering. “I cannot say for certain…”

“I know something is wrong. Please, tell me.” Her heart constricted as his fingers brushed against a spot where Aemond had kissed her. “You told him, now tell me.”

“Very well,” he sighed. His harsh face fell, and she swore she could see his eyes glistening. “The babe is breech. It should emerge head-first, but it is not. It’s… the way it is attempting to come out is nearly impossible. Should I not intervene, one or both of you will die.”

No. No, no, no, it wasn’t fair. To suffer for this long, to endure what she endured, only for her child to enter the world wrong? In a way that would kill them? She had always been good and devout. She prayed and studied holy texts, listened to her Septas and the Maesters, and avoided sin at all costs. Then why was she being punished?

Unless… the gods had not sent this to punish her.

Aemond had abandoned her and their marriage – their holy union – when he slept with Alys. It would be fitting, and very like the gods, for him to lose that which he had forsaken. She and her second son were merely instruments of punishment. But it wasn’t fair.

“There is nothing you can do?” She felt hollow as Artos continued to look at her in pity.

The warrior-maester looked as if he were about to cry, as well. “In these situations, it is usually asked of the father whom he would rather save.”

So that was why Artos left the room – to ask Aemond whether to save her or the child.

“Who did he choose?” Either answer would devastate her. He would either prove the fragility of his love for her, or he would willingly break her heart by killing their son. Whatever he chose, he would become a kinslayer thrice over.

“He… he did not, your highness.”

“What?”

“I explained the situation, and he stormed in here – to you. When he left, he said nothing. He just ran. I presumed he had…” But he hadn’t. Had not said a word about the peril she and their son were now in.

A coward. Too frightened to maintain his vows of marriage. Too weak to admit his wrongdoing. Too cowardly to even make this most crucial of decisions. The gods damn him.

If they hadn’t already.

“So… what will you do?” If she had to be the one to make the decision, so be it.

“There are three options.” None of them were very good, she knew, simply by looking at his forlorn face. She had thought him a grave man when she first saw him. Now, he looked mournful – a reluctant harbinger of death. “I can forcibly remove the child, more than likely killing it in the process. I can attempt to save it and, in so doing, certainly kill you. Or we can proceed with the birth, risking killing both of you and pray that the gods may be merciful.”

Such a choice – a decision of life and death – should be difficult. It should tear away at the soul to condemn another. It should be far beyond the limits of the heart or mind.

But it was easy.

“Save him,” she whispered. “Let me die.”

Artos frowned deeply, shook his head, and said something in return, but she did not listen – she could not and would not hear his words. She only vaguely saw him move to the end bed, ripping away the sleeve of his robes as he barked orders at the maid and midwives. Perhaps the gods were merciful to dull her senses now so she could pass peacefully.

What did it matter if she died now?

She will have fulfilled her duty and given her husband his heirs. Finding a new wife would be easy – what woman would not want to marry him? Even if news of Alys spread beyond the walls of Harrenhal, surely it was nothing in exchange for a crown. Aemond would have everything he needed to be king.

If she lived, what sort of life would it be? To raise one son while constantly mourning the other. To be the wife of a man she could no longer trust. To remain empty, a shell of her former self. She would be alive, but she would still be a ghost.

“Save him,” she said again, her voice fading.

It was easier this way. Hadn’t she already learned that it was easier not to fight? Letting Aemond take care of her was easier than fighting him. Perhaps it would be easier to let him care for the children, too. He would love them enough that they would not feel her absence.

Distantly, she felt pressure between her legs, then heard her firstborn son cry out to echo her own screams.

Her son.

Oh, he had no name.

She couldn’t leave him motherless and without a name.

Months ago, she had decided on names, but they were hard to remember now. What was it? She could grant him this one last gift. She just needed to remember…

“Daeron.”

Yes. It had been her brother’s name. Her kind, brave, daring brother. He died some months ago. There had been a battle. Why was her little brother fighting? He was too young for that.

Tendrils of pale mist crept into the edges of her vision, playfully willing her to sleep.

Once she was gone, Daeron—her Daeron—would have a little brother, too. He would need a name as well—a strong name, a courageous name. When she was dead, he would need courage.

“Aenar.”

A strong name. With courage enough to forge a new beginning.

There. Names for her sons, the little princes.

With that last parting gift, she could close her eyes at last.

Goodbye, she tried to say.

I love you, my children.

Be kind to each other.

Love each other always.

Goodbye.

The mist filled her vision, illuminated by a distant light. It was cool, like a late spring morning. She did not hurt anymore. Did not feel anything but an overwhelming sense of peace.

The distant light faded.

The mist darkened.

Through it, she swore she could see grass-green eyes and hear the faraway cry of a babe.

She was still screaming. Good.

Screaming meant she was still alive. Screaming meant Alys was fulfilling her promise. Screaming meant that Aemond was racing back to his wife – his living, breathing, beloved wife – and not her corpse.

The door was still locked when he arrived—one final obstacle between him and his family.

No, not final. Far from it. The door was the only tangible thing keeping him from his wife and children, yes, but there was far more beyond it. The pain he caused her, the hatred his ābrazȳrītsos now surely felt for him, and the third child that would soon be born still kept them as far apart as the earth and stars.

They would get past it. They had to. They were siblings, husband and wife, now destined to become King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They were meant for each other. The gods or fate or whatever else had made her for him and him for her.

They were two parts of the same whole, cleaved.

“Prince Aemond.”

Cregan Stark, the man who humiliated him and his wife mere hours ago, stood behind him. Aemond snarled. “Leave. Now.”

Stark stood strong and still. “You have been my enemy. You may be still, I have not decided. I have no admiration nor respect for you, my prince. In short, I do not like you.”

“Do you want me to kill you?” Aemond asked. He did not wish to greet his sons with blood-soaked hands, but if Stark didn’t close his fucking mouth –

“To lose the woman you love so dearly in this way… it is a pain I know all too well and one I would not wish on anyone. I have instructed all my men to pray for the Princess and the child, and I will join them soon. Negotiations will be postponed indefinitely.”

“I…” Perhaps Aemond had underestimated the brute, if he was a brute at all. And though he knew the prayers were unnecessary, gratitude still dulled his rage. “Thank you, Lord Stark.”

He simply inclined his head and walked away, leaving Aemond leaning against that godsdamned door, listening to nothing but the sound of his own panting breath.

Oh gods.

He froze.

The screaming was gone.

It was silent.

Was she dead?

Had Alys betrayed him?

He would kill her. He would tear her apart with his own hands and –

A child cried.

Then…

Oh, thank each and every god a thousand times over.

For then, Aemond heard his wife laughing.

“Princess?”

She always expected that the voice of the Father would be deep and smooth, but shouldn’t it be the Mother to greet her, given how she died? And shouldn’t the gods greet her by name, not her title?

“Princess, it is time to wake up,” the voice said again. “Open your eyes for me.”

Oh, her eyes were closed. She should open them.

The Heavens were not as bright as she imagined, nor as golden. They were dark and sparsely decorated and looked very much like –

“I am not dead?”

Maester Artos looked down at her and smiled. It reminded her of the few times she had seen her father smile at her, sparking a warmth in her chest she had not felt for years. She had not known she still remembered those smiles. “I am very happy to say you are not, your highness.”

“But, my son – ”

“He lives, too.”

It couldn’t be. After all the suffering of the past year, she could not believe it could be true. Loss had become a certainty, as sure as the sun rising each morning.

A babe cried, and she turned toward the sound. A young maid was wrapping an infant boy with a shock of white curls in a cobalt blue blanket. Daeron.

A different, softer cry came from the other end of the room. There, another boy with only a smattering of silver wisps atop his head was being gently cleaned by a Septa. Aenar.

Her sons – alive and well and here.

She threw her head back against the pillows and laughed.

She laughed with joy and relief, with eight months of eager waiting and sickness. She laughed with a body nearly dead, saved only by some miracle she did not understand. And she laughed with a heart that was both shattered and overflowing.

This was the moment she had dreamed of since she learned she was pregnant, since the moment she married Aemond. She had dreamed of this all her life. It was her destiny, even if it was vastly different from how she had dreamed it. For she was not at home in the Red Keep but within the cursed stones of Harrenhal. Her mother was not by her side but miles away. The family that was supposed to crowd around her and coo over the children were nearly all dead. And her husband…

“Let me in!” he shouted through the door, the wood pounding against stone as he threw himself against it. He had been doing that before, but she did not notice until now. It was so like him, the impatience and need to act, that she laughed again. “Ābrazȳrītsos! Is that you? Tell me you are safe!”

Taking her laughter as permission, Artos opened the door. It was mere heartbeats later that Aemond was upon the bed, his eye flitting over every inch of her, his hands roaming to try and locate something wrong, to stem blood that did not flow or relieve pain that did not exist.

“I’m fine,” she said, breathless. “I did it, lēkia, and I’m fine.”

“You did it?” He looked down at her in utter disbelief and joy before his eye drifted to the Maester. Tears slipped from his eye and caught the light of the setting sun. “She did it…”

Her gaze went to the maid that held her firstborn – the girl with eyes like her mother’s. Fitting, for her to be the one to hold him. But it was her turn. “Bring Daeron to me,” she ordered,” some strength at last returning to her voice. “I want to hold him.”

Aemond stared at her. “Daeron?”

Was he angry that she named their sons without him? She couldn’t quite tell. Her mind was still fuzzy, like the mist she had seen still lay over her, casting everything in a sweet, happy light. She shrugged. “There are already too many Aegons, so…”

He laughed. She had missed that sound – she loved it so dearly. He settled into the bed next to her, their bodies fitting together perfectly, like two halves of a broken plate. So many familiar feelings – the warmth of his arm around her, the rhythm of his heart, his lips kissing her temple in the gentle way that always sent shivers down her spine. Hadn’t her spine hurt not long ago? “Daeron is perfect.”

Indeed, he was absolutely perfect. So tiny and precious as he was put in her arms, looking up at his parents with wide lilac eyes. Neither she nor Aemond said anything as they beheld him, taking in each tiny, perfect detail. The wild curls of his silver hair. Each and every eyelash framing his bright eyes. The pink of his lips. Fingers and toes so wonderfully soft and small. A toothless smile that lit the world.

“He’s going to be king someday,” she realized aloud. How could someone so tiny rule an entire kingdom? He had a lot of growing to do before the Conqueror’s Crown would fit.

“A great king, I think,” Aemond mused. He held out a finger, and Daeron instinctively wrapped his hand around it. “Wise and strong. Daring, like his namesake.”

“He must be kind, too.”

“He will be,” Aemond assured, brushing out her damp, tangled hair with his fingers. The feeling was so familiar, but each touch had her flinching slightly. “We will raise him to be kind. His brother, too.”

“Aenar.”

Aemond stiffened. Had he forgotten they had another son, or did he not like the name she gave him? He pulled his finger back from his son’s fist to touch the babe’s hair. “The Exile?”

“I just thought…” Perhaps it had been a foolish name. But it had felt right when it came to her, when she was on the brink of death. “Our family needs a new beginning.”

“Yes… I suppose it does.” He kissed her again with slightly too much pressure. “Another fine name.”

She looked at the Septa that had been cleaning him. Maester Artos stood with her now, along with several other women, crowding so much she could not see the babe. “I want to hold him, too. Bring him to me.”

None of them moved. The room fell silent.

“Allow me just a moment longer, princess,” Artos said. His voice shook, and he would not look at her or Aemond. “I am still finishing my assessment of the boy.”

He’s dead, her mind insisted. They saved your life at the cost of his. He died because of you.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

Daeron began fussing in her arms, disturbed by how she began to tremble. She failed one son by killing him, and now she was already failing as a mother to the one who survived. Aemond tightened his arm on her shoulders, pulling her closer as his free arm gently lifted their son into his own grasp.

He hushed her, ducking his head to press his cheek to hers. “Lykirī, ābrazȳrītsos. Izūgō daor īlo bēvili gō.” Calm, little wife. Do not panic before we have reason to.

“Kostan daor,” she whimpered. If Aenar was dead…

“Is he alive?” Aemond’s hand moved to shelter Daeron’s head as if to shield him from whatever danger or heartbreak lurked. She turned to press herself into him – into the safety of his arms.

Brother. Husband. Protector.

Why did the feel and scent of him no longer make her feel safe?

“Yes, my prince,” Artos answered.

“Will he remain that way?”

“Yes…”

“You could tell me he’s green-skinned and winged for all I care.” His arm curled protectively around her, but it did not comfort her. Rather, she bristled against it, the possessiveness of it. He did not notice. “He’s alive, and that’s enough. Bring him.”

Artos hesitated but obeyed, hastily wrapping the babe in a dark blanket.

He looked whole – unbroken. Aenar’s eyes were closed as the Maester placed him in her arms, but she could feel his warmth, his little heart beating, and the faint rise and fall of his chest. He only woke when a tear fell from her cheek onto his.

Even then, he did not cry. He only looked at his mother with bright eyes – the same shade of violet as his father's and brother’s. “Ñuha trēso,” she whispered, and he smiled. My son.

“Taobosa sylvȳse,” Aemond added. “He already recognizes the language of his ancestors. He will serve his brother well. Dārys sepār Ondoso zȳhon.” Wise boy. The King and his Hand.

They had two perfect sons. So why did Artos still look like that?

The Maester’s frown deepened. “I am afraid…” he cleared his throat. “It appears that the younger prince was injured during the birth.”

She examined him again but could find nothing wrong. He was perfect. Surely, Artos was mistaken.

“May I?” His large hand hovered over the edge of the blanket.

Her instinct was to pull away, to not let this man touch her son. Yes, he had saved both their lives, but he must be wrong now. Why should she let him make a problem where there was none?

She suppressed that instinct and allowed him to uncover Aenar’s right arm. Artos’ demeanor had made it seem as though something was horribly wrong – that the arm would be missing or deformed. But it was just an arm, small and plump and pale, with a splotch of reddish-purple covering the shoulder like a pauldron.

“It… is it a birthmark?” She brushed a thumb over it, the skin smooth but slightly raised. A birthmark wasn’t an injury, nor was it exceedingly unusual. There were several families where such a mark appeared on nearly every child born.

“Explain yourself, Artos,” Aemond hissed. He looked ready to tear the man to pieces. If he did, he would likely do so without even setting Daeron down.

With a sigh, Artos ran a finger down the length of Aenar’s arm. “Note how he gives no reaction.”

“So he is calm,” Aemond spat. “I fail to see the injury.”

“Do the same to the elder.” He repeated the touch. “Gently, my prince.”

Aemond obeyed with a scowl. The moment he touched the babe, Daeron squirmed and flailed his arm.

“But he looks fine.” She looked down at her second son, her wise boy, and held out a finger, as Aemond had with Daeron. Aenar’s left arm squirmed within its wrappings, but the right was still. She touched the arm, silently pleading with the gods for it to move, for that tiny hand to reach for her.

It remained still. A desperate noise escaped her. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aemond and Artos said in unison. Her husband attempted to pull her into his chest, but she pushed him away. An embrace could not fix this. Nothing could. He did not pursue her again.

“It is not uncommon among children born breech.” the Maester explained. “I have seen many such injuries and many even worse.”

Artos offered no sympathy or apologies, and she was thankful for it. There was nothing he could say to ease the pain of knowing that her son would never be whole, just like his father. But unlike Aemond, he was never even given the chance, wounded from his first breath. What would the people call him? ‘Prince Aenar One-Arm, son of King Aemond One-Eye?’

“What do we do?” She asked her husband, the Maester, the gods. Anyone who may have an answer.

Aemond’s face was drawn with grief – for his son and for himself. “He will adapt, as I did. I will ensure it. He will be stronger for this. I promise.��

I cannot trust your promises.

The thought was a sudden gale of icy wind scattering the lovely mist coating her mind into oblivion, leaving her with only stark, wicked reality and the faint memory of green eyes.

“How did I survive?”

Too quickly, Aemond turned to her, taking hold of her chin and pulling her close to him. “It does not matter, ābrazȳrītsos. All that does is that you are still with me. You and Aenar.”

If he wasn’t holding her firstborn, she would have shoved him from the bed.Liar. Liar. Liar.

I will fix this. he’d said before he left her. The pure, unrelenting anger she felt as she watched him leave had prevented her from considering what those words meant. Now, she could think of nothing else. What could he do? He was no midwife nor Maester. He had no knowledge of childbirth, beyond the few questions he’d asked of Orwyle months ago. What could he have done for her and Aenar except beg the help of another?

Of Alys.

Alys, who had eyes the color of fresh grass and possessed a dark magic that allowed her visions of the future. Was she also able to influence that future?

How?

At what cost?

What had Aemond promised her in exchange for their lives?

“No Maester wants to admit to ignorance,” Artos smiled sadly as Aenar continued to try to wriggle his left arm free of his blanket, “but I cannot explain it. All I can think is that the gods are kind to you, princess, and for that, I am glad.”

She could not look at him or any of the others in the room who watched her as if they could see the Mother’s hand upon her shoulder.

The gods weren’t kind. They were cruel to allow her to now owe her very life, and that of her son’s, to the two people who had destroyed her. Would she ever be able to look upon Aenar and not remember? To not feel her soul torn between unyielding hatred and infinite gratitude?

Yet, she had her life – and her sons. Surely anything was worth that.

Wasn’t it?

“I’m tired,” she said. The day had seemed to last a year, and the sun had not even set. “I want to rest now.”

After what she endured, no one argued.

His ābrazȳrītsos fell asleep mere moments after Daeron and Aenar were settled into their cradles. She did not even wake when Aemond lifted her so the servants could replace the soiled bedding. Just as she had so many times before, she tucked her face into his neck as they sat in the window, sighing contentedly. Now, he lay beside her in the bed, trying to memorize how it felt to have her in his arms.

When she woke, he knew she would never allow him to hold her like this again.

She knew. Somehow, his wife knew what he had done to ensure she and Aenar survived, and she would never forgive him for it for as long as she lived.

But she would live.

Aenar would live. Though he would bear the wounds of his father’s sins forever.

After his wife had fallen asleep, Maester Artos had told him that it would likely be necessary to amputate Aenar’s arm. The purple mark on his shoulder had grown, apparently indicating further bleeding within the limb. If it grew much more before morning, the arm would be removed before midday.

It was his fault, Aemond knew.

Alys had told him that in her visions, both boys had been healthy. But that was before his ābrazȳrītsos knew that he betrayed her. Before he brought her to this cursed place. Before he failed to stop her from meeting Alys and learning the full extent of his sins.

He only hoped Aenar would not grow to hate him for it.

For now, the boy slept in his crib, limp arm hidden beneath the dark blanket he was swaddled in. Aemond rose from the bed, moving closer to his son.

How peaceful he looked now, with the redness of his skin finally faded. He did not have as much hair as his older brother, but his was wilder - more reminiscent of his mother’s curls than his father’s straight locks. At least he had that part of her, if not the warm brown eyes Aemond had hoped for.

In the other cradle, Daeron fussed slightly, though he did not wake. It seemed he resented being confined within the tight swaddle of his blanket. The thought made Aemond smile, remembering how his younger brother once did the same. It faded quickly.

He had to go to Alys. To thank her for giving him his family - a kindness he did not deserve. To say goodbye to the child he would never meet. Another cost he would force himself to pay.

He had to go now, while his ābrazȳrītsos slept.

“Before our wedding,” he whispered, careful not to wake her as he approached, “I promised to hold you every night I could, that I would do anything to return to you when I was away. I have failed to uphold that promise, and for that, I am so sorry.”

When he stroked her cheek, she turned into his touch, a small smile upon her lips. Seeing that some unconscious part of her still reacted to him with love warmed his heart, even as the knowledge that her conscious mind would never allow her to do so felt like a dagger buried in his gut.

Aemond knelt at her side, basking in her beauty, memorizing her peaceful face. “Now, I swear my devotion again. I know you no longer wish for me to hold you, and I promise I will not try to persuade you otherwise. But I swear I will always be with you, to love and protect you, even if I must do it from a distance. I will never fail you again.”

It did not matter that she could not hear his vow. Even if she did, she would not believe him. But he made it anyway, for his own sake, and so the gods, wherever they may be, would hear him. It was to them he spoke next.

“Should I ever harm you again, I pray that the gods will strike me down where I stand. And if they do not, I shall do so myself.” He kissed her brow - the sealing of a promise and a farewell - and left.

A maid shrunk away as she passed Aemond in a corridor deep beneath Harrenhal, cradling the bundle of cloth she carried closer to her chest. It was one of the same maids who had tended to his wife—the young girl with deep brown eyes. She did not wear the clothing of a midwife, but the colors of her linen dress were similar. Perhaps a midwife in training.

Strange, then, for her to be here. Stranger still for her to be seemingly performing the duties of a laundress.

He glanced down at the bundle of cloth she carried and froze.

There was blood. Too much blood.

A young midwife, carrying bedlinens soaked with blood.

What would you sacrifice? Alys had asked.

Aemond ran.

He knew what he would find. There was no other explanation. Yet he still hoped and prayed he was wrong. Loss had followed him like a loyal dog for so long, but today it was banished. It must be.

Alys stood in front of her fire. One hand rested on a stomach that was not as distended as it had been only hours ago.

His wife’s stomach now looked very much the same.

“What did you do?” His voice shook with fear and guilt and shame. Gods, he felt so weak.

Her eyes, cold and distant, slid to his. “What you asked.”

“I didn’t ask you to…” This blood was on his hands - the blood of his child.

The word that had haunted him for more than a year - the word that had nearly led to the death of every person he ever loved - echoed in his mind.

Kinslayer.

Killer of his nephew. His uncle. His child.

Aemond looked back into the corridor, hoping to see the young midwife again. Had he not looked closely enough? Had she been carrying the body of his child within those bloody linens?

“I only wanted you to save my wife and son.” His words were a justification, a plea. It fell on the deaf ears of the gods and the dead child’s mother.

“And you thought there would be no cost?” Alys laughed, cruel and cackling. “No god in the world is so generous as to save a life and ask for nothing in exchange, boy.”

“I didn’t think – ”

“You never do.”

Grief morphed into anger. Reckless, aimless, dangerous rage. “You should have told me!”

“What would you have done?” She faced him fully now, her hand falling to her side. There was no trace of the woman who had once comforted and reassured him - who had kept him sane amidst the insanity of war. There was only annoyance and derision. It reminded Aemond of his dead half-sister and her bastard sons. “If I had told you?”

“I –”

“Would you have left your wife to die? Let her son die?” Alys’ lip curled in a hateful sneer. “You could not choose between wife and son, yet you believe you could have chosen between two sons?”

The world stopped. Only Alys’ flickering fire and burning eyes remained.

“I… it was a boy?” Aemond leaned against the wall, sliding down to his knees, savoring the scrape of the rough stone against his back. He deserved every bit of pain. More.

Alys let a single hint of sorrow slip through her cold façade. “It was. Three sons within a year. What your father would have given to have had the same.”

The last thing Aemond wanted to do was to think about his father. The king who had nearly destroyed his throne by choosing one child over another.

Gods, was he any better?

Did his ignorance of his son’s sacrifice absolve him of blame? The guilt?

It certainly didn’t feel like it.

Alys sighed. “Better for his death to mean something than for his life to be spent destitute and fatherless.”

“I would not have allowed that to happen,” Aemond said. It was a reflex, a reassurance he’d grown used to giving since he learned he seeded a bastard.

“Wouldn’t you? Perhaps if my visions had not changed. But now…” She shook her head, more exasperated than sorrowful. Did she mourn the child at all? “No. You’d have wanted us as far away as possible and done anything you could to not think of us.”

“I would have ensured your comfort.” The words felt as hollow as his chest.

“Your wife would, yes.” Alys smiled fondly, just as she had when his ābrazȳrītsos sat across from her earlier that very day. She had never smiled that way for Aemond. Never truly cared for him. He should have known. “She is kind-hearted. But not you. Your resentment of me, of us, would have festered until you found some way to be rid of us.”

He wanted to deny it. To say that there was nothing that could drive him to do what she insinuated. Once, it would have been true. But now, with the man he’d become in the war and how close he’d come to losing his heart itself, it would be a lie.

If he had killed Alys along with the rest of her cursed family, would he have become this man? Would he have learned to cherish the metallic tang of blood and its warmth as it coated his hands? Would he have become so proficient a liar that false words rolled off his tongue like a Valyrian lullaby? Would he have grown so accustomed to violence that it now came as naturally to him as loving his wife?

Would he have broken his ābrazȳrītsos’s heart?

He’d trusted her visions. It had been a mistake.

One mistake that led to thousands more, and it was all her fault.

Alys was the one who lied, who deceived him. Who had pulled his strings as if he were no more than a puppet, knowing that he was married and his wife was lonely and infirm.

His failure as a husband. His wife’s pain. The death of his third son.

Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.

Aemond’s heart slowed, his breathing becoming deep and steady. No longer the heart of a broken boy or a desperate husband. Now, it was the blackened heart that had carried him through countless battles and raging rivers of blood.

“I will be rid of you now,” he hissed as he stood. “And I will be rid of you forever.”

The bitch had enough sense to look scared.

“In memory of the son you killed, I will allow you to live. But no more than that.” She didn’t even deserve that, this woman who did not mourn her own child. Perhaps it was good that the babe was gone, for surely he would have suffered with a witch as his mother.

He approached Alys, sneering down at her and the false bravery on her wicked face. “As Prince Regent of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I banish you from these lands forever. You have ten days to leave Westeros. After that, if you are ever seen here again…” He reached out and grabbed her by the throat, holding just tight enough to steal a bit of her breath - just enough to make her fight for it.

“I will kill you myself,” he promised. “Without hesitation or remorse, I will kill you. Slowly. And I will savor every moment, for it will bring me far greater pleasure than that withered cunt of yours ever did.”

She fell to her knees when he released her, clutching at her throat as she coughed and gulped for air. He didn’t care. He only turned on his heel and left, not sparing a single glance at the woman who had only hours ago been carrying his bastard child.

Only one woman mattered now, had ever truly mattered to him.

His ābrazȳrītsos was still asleep when he returned to their chamber, as were their sons. They had no idea where he had gone - that he had even left at all. No inkling of the fact that a moment ago, he had again become the man who wiped an entire bloodline from the earth, slaughtered tens of thousands, and delighted in the suffering he had wrought.

Now, as he leaned down to gently kiss his sons’ brows and muss their soft hair, he was a mere man of twenty, his heart bursting with love and affection for his family. How could a heart overflow with such love at the same moment it was fracturing with grief and regret?

It was a question far beyond him at that moment. Perhaps forever beyond his reach.

He was so tired. Too tired to consider the heartbreak that would come when he woke in the morning and his wife pulled out of his grasp. He could face that pain when it came. But now, he needed to feel whole, if only for a few hours.

So, Aemond climbed into bed with his wife, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her into his chest. He remained awake only long enough to kiss the top of her head and whisper, “Jāla tetan, ābrazȳrītsos. Īlon lentot selagon kosti.” It is over, ābrazȳrītsos. We can go home.

She woke to the sound of Daeron fussing. Strange how quickly she was able to tell them apart, even just by their little noises of discontentment. Although, considering she had been with them every moment of the last seven - near eight - months, it may not be strange at all. Perhaps that was why she felt so sure that it had been Daeron who occupied the top of her belly, constantly pestering her with his tiny fists pounding against her at the most inopportune times.

“Hush, little prince,” a soft voice said. “You’ll wake up your mother, and after what you and your brother put her through, I dare say she needs her rest.” A maid was speaking to him, a slight, old woman leaning over his crib. She had not seen the maid before, and somehow, it comforted her.

Daeron continued to grumble. She moved to stand but found Aemond’s arms wrapped around her waist. Thankfully, he was still asleep. Quite deeply asleep, apparently, for when she untangled herself from him, he did not wake.

The maid curtsied when she saw the princess approaching and stepped away from Daeron’s cradle. His fussing had now roused Aenar, but the younger prince made no sound, only glaring at his brother in what seemed to be intense displeasure at his sleep being interrupted.

“Is something wrong with him?” she asked the old maid. Daeron quieted slightly upon seeing his mother but still fussed.

“Nothing to concern yourself with, princess.” The old maid had a kind, soothing voice - that of a wise grandmother. She looked at the babes with fondness and a hint of apology. “They are simply hungry.”

“Where is the wetnurse?” She immediately regretted asking. In her sleepy haze, she had forgotten that Alys was the wetnurse at Harrenhal. Why wasn’t she here? Did she even want Alys here? No, of course she didn’t. Had Aemond requested another be found so she would not have to see Alys again?

The old maid looked away, sighing. “I’m afraid she’s left us. No wonder why, poor thing lost her babe again. Such a shame. We all thought she’d had a miracle with this one. But not to worry, Maester Artos sent some men to find another girl from the closest village.” She shook her head and again leaned over Daeron’s crib. “You’ll be fed soon, darling prince, don’t you worry.”

Alys’ child - Aemond’s child - was dead?

It was a good thing, wasn’t it? There would be no bastard son of the new king, no living reminder of what he’d done. This was good news. She should be happy, shouldn’t she?

But she wanted to cry.

“Mother, forgive me,” the old maid looked horrified as she clutched her pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star. “I should not have said that, princess. Not when you’ve only just finished your own labors. Please, forgive me.”

She glanced at Aenar, now peacefully asleep once more. How close she had come to losing him. It had devastated her. Made her willing to forfeit her own life if only he could live. If she had lost him and had to live with that loss… it would have driven her mad.

“How…” she licked her lips. “How many children has she lost?”

The old maid dropped her pendant. “I do not know, exactly. Enough that we all stopped counting.”

Oh gods. She blinked to clear her eyes, wiping away an errant tear with her thumb. “You said she’s gone?”

“Yes, princess. She left in the night. Didn’t say where she was going, to my knowledge.”

It made no sense. If Aemond had struck a bargain with Alys to save her and Aenar’s lives, why would she leave? Had whatever he offered her not been enough to keep her in the place where she’d lost so many children?

Daeron cried again, his face reddened and wrinkled. He was so hungry, she could nearly feel it herself. She… she could feel it. When she looked down at herself, she saw two dark stains on her chemise right above her breasts. Her milk had finally come in, which meant -

“I can feed them.”

The old maid looked aghast. “Princess, there is no need - ”

“I want to do it.” She was their mother, why shouldn’t she be the one to feed them? It was her body that made them, that brought them into the world. It made sense that it would continue to care for them even now. “Can you show me how?”

It took a moment for the maid to close her mouth before she smiled gently. “I’ve raised nine children myself, princess. I think I know a few tricks.”

The maid had gone by the time Aemond woke.

Daeron was still suckling at her left breast while Aenar had fallen asleep using the right as his pillow. She had not realized how heavy and uncomfortable they had felt until the boys had drunk from her, easing the pressure that she’d become accustomed to.

“You should not be doing that yourself,” Aemond muttered as he raised himself on an elbow. His eye darted from son to son, only ever glancing over her exposed breasts. Once, he loved to worship them, quite similarly to how his sons fed from her now. “Where is the wetnurse?”

Did he not know that Alys had left? Had no one told him of the death of his child?

No. Those were the faint remnants of tear tracks lining his cheeks, and there was a deep sadness in his eye that was not there when he held his sons for the first time. He knew. He knew, and he was grieving, though he was fighting to hide it. She still saw it.

Perhaps that was the real reason he never returned to King’s Landing during the war - he knew she would be able to see the guilt on his face.

“There is no other wetnurse,” she explained gently. “Alys left. They’re looking for another woman now.”

Aemond froze, his gaze growing distant. She could not decipher his expression. Rage? Guilt? Sorrow? Grief?

“I’m sorry, Aemond.” He frowned and shook his head, but she continued. “Truly, I am.”

“It’s better this way,” he whispered. He didn’t believe it. Neither did she.

He reached out to her. No, not to her, but to Aenar, gently stroking his hair. She allowed him to take the babe and hold him against his own chest.

Aenar opened his eyes and looked up at his father. Then, he smiled.

Aemond took in a deep breath. “That boy should never have existed,” he said, letting Aenar take hold of his thumb and mouth at it. “I already had what I needed. And wanted.”

So it was a boy. Another son. A brother for her own. Would he have had his father’s nose, as Daeron did? Or his stern brow, like Aenar? Gods, why did she care?

“You are allowed to mourn him. He was innocent. I bear him no ill will.” Bastard or no, a babe was a babe, blameless of his parents’ sins. Deep in her heart, she mourned him, as well.

Again, Aemond shook his head. “I cannot mourn what never should have been.” He turned his head to face her, face open and pleading. “And I am mourning too much already.”

“I am alive. Aenar is alive. There is nothing to mourn.”

“You know that is not what I mean, ābrazȳrītsos.”

She did. He mourned not for the loss of a life, but for the loss of their life. The life they should have shared, and would have, had Aemond not strayed. In truth, she mourned for it, too.

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a moment as Daeron finally finished feeding, stretching his little arms to push her breast away. She pulled her robe closed again to combat the chill.

Aemond raised a hand to help her. She flinched away. He winced in response.

“Ābrazȳrītsos, please.” His voice was already breaking, his eye watering. The sight should have tugged at her heart. His begging should have fanned the flames of her anger. But looking at him, she felt very little of anything, save a small seed of pity. “Alys is gone. My… the bastard is gone. Can we not return to the way we were? Pretend none of this ever happened? Can’t you forgive me at last?”

The answer came without hesitation.

“No, Aemond.”

Within her, there was no longer a grassland, barren with loneliness and despair. The never-ending field of raging fire had also vanished. In its place was a small, lush garden, safely contained within tall stone walls draped with flowers and a polished iron gate – locked firmly, but perhaps not sealed forever.

“I shall always be your sister, your blood, and the mother of your children.” Daeron cooed, as if he knew she was talking about him, and she could not help but smile down at him. “I will remain your wife in the eyes of gods and men. And when Aegon dies, I will be your faithful queen.”

Aemond shook as his breath quickened, failing to keep the heartbreak. “You will be a wonderful queen, ābrazȳrītsos. I know it.”

She pulled away, taking Aenar from him and into her empty arm. “But I will never again be your ābrazȳrītsos.” She forced herself to ignore the whimpering, broken cry that escaped him, the breath that carried it echoing like a death rattle. “I will not share your bed. And I will no longer allow you to hold my heart.”

Between desperate sobs, Aemond raised his head to face her. Utter devastation lay in his eye, but so too did acceptance. Anguished surrender. “My heart is and always shall be yours.”

I don’t want it, her mind told her, even as her heart cried, I will cherish it forever.

But her decision was made. In all but name, their marriage – their once legendary romance – was finished. A few fragments of love remained but would never be repaired. Could never be.

Slowly, she rose from the bed, her sons still in her arms. Aemond began to reach for her, but when she did not even acknowledge him, he covered his face with his hands and wept. Though it tugged at her heart, it was the same she would feel for any man weeping so, no longer the instinctive pull of a wife. She did not comfort him.

The soft, pitiful sounds of Aemond’s grief faded as she walked toward the eastern window, settling herself in the cushioned seat just beneath it.

Daeron smiled, watching the trembling branches of an oak tree dotted with the first tight green buds of the season. Aenar angled his head just so, until the sun warmed every bit of his fat, pink face, then promptly fell asleep. She sighed, taking in the sweet scent of spring on the wind, and realized she had not breathed so easily in months.

It was a lovely morning in Harrenhal.

540 notes · View notes

pedge-page · 7 months ago

Text

Live a Little, Give a Little ... More [Part 2]

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Live a Little Give a Little part 1

Summary: you've got one last stunt in you before you retire to have your baby--will your mystery Baby Daddy make a final appearance?

Warnings: Breeding kink, pregnancy, exhibition, groping, public sex, public teasing, dub con, manhandling, rape-esc situation that may be triggering, unprotected sex, creampie.

18+ ONLY

- - - -

You keep waving to your camera even after it clicks off and stops recording. Leaning back in your streaming chair, you close your eyes.

Well, you did exactly what you set out to do: gained a shit ton of views and earned a mega bonus from your subscribers, rating shooting up thanks to that little stunt you pulled a few months ago.

You peer down, drumming your fingers along the hefty bump that had grown in your belly since then. “Hope you’re a bit more responsible than me, kiddo,” you mumble, smiling softly as you stroke over with gentle fingers.

Getting pregnant was not exactly how you imagined achieving that feat.

In all honesty, the plan was never to fuck a stranger on a crowded train. You were on the pill, but STD and STIs were a thing, so the furthest you had genuinely planned with a few hand jobs and being groped by perverts.

But the second you felt that man on you, felt his cock pulse in your legs, something else over took you. Your whole bodies shivers with excitement every time recalling that day. Trying to etch every single detail into your memory. His callused hands, the firm, broad chest and shoulders that easily could overpower you, his warm thick fingers dancing along your skin, the trace of his breath along the shell of your ear, each beautiful little grunt and groan echoing in your ear like a broken record.

His massive fucking hung horse cock.

You’ve been fucked by big-dicked guys before. But to know how to use it so fucking well that you don’t need to be battered to a pulp just to feel it, is something that no man can compare to your handsome baby Daddy.

Slickness pools in your panties. At some point, your belly is going to be big enough that you won’t be able to touch yourself. But for now, as your hand dips into your underwear and gathers your arousal, you think about him.

If he was here now, would he make you cum on his fingers before you could have his cock buried to the hilt in you? Tell you that you’re a naughty girl, so fertile and sweet for the taking? A cum hungry dumb slut who doesn’t know how to function without his seed filling her up at every conceivable moment. Make you watch yourself in the mirror cum like a whore from his touch as he promises to breed and brand you over and over again for the world to see. You bite your lips, feeling him hot on your skin, balls twitching with each pulse of his seed dumping safely into your waiting womb to take him.

The thoughts of the faceless, nameless man who impregnated you on a crowded train during rush hour brings you to orgasm much quicker than any toy or method you’ve tested. Your jaw drops in a silent scream, a slight grin tugging on your lips as you rub your pussy through her little quakes, desperate to feel complete again.

You come down from your high, sticky fingers tracing along your belly as you drift into your current situation, ironically brought on by your insatiable horny lust.

No, you didn’t intend to have sex with a stranger that day. And when you weighed the odds in the nano-second before he impaled you… I mean, even if you got an infection, so what, just this once? What OnlyFans streamer didn’t have a disease or two? (No, please don’t take that advice)

You got tested immediately afterwards, and thankfully everything else came back negative from your fun encounter.

It only took a few more weeks after that of peculiar symptoms to get tested for something else that, to you genuine surprise, was positive.

The man must have super sperm to have blown past your supposedly unstoppable birth control, which hadn’t even failed you when you did that 5 creampie amateur gang bang porno last summer. Maybe you were only an hour late in taking your dosage on time that one day, too drunk and more concerned about fingering him cum back into you, but still…

You went into shock for a solid week, not sure what to do. Sometimes even now you feel a little jolt in your tummy, and see your body changing, and it just keeps dawning on you that you’re actually about to have a whole ass child.

And you don’t know the father.

It’s both thrilling and horrifying shook up in a bottle of hormones and currently sitting on the edge of a cliff. You should scold yourself for how stupid you were, if only you actually regretted it. Even if you’re about to be a single mother who cant explain a thing to your soon to be child about their daddy, you knew you were gonna love you baby. No doubts.

Besides, when you were more financially stable, you DID plan to have kids at some point. So what if it’s a little sooner than expected? Life is full of unexpected surprises!

You decided after the baby is born, no more streaming. You were gonna get a more stable, (more cloth required) job and raise your precious kiddo on your own.

But a few teasing streams until then, just to milk those breeding, misogynistic, baby bump hungry men out there willing to throw money at you if you rubbed milk over your belly, would be worth those extra bucks before calling it quits altogether.

Still, it would be nice feel him just one more time…

Joel’s been watching your stream obsessively since that day you brazenly showed your pregnant belly to the world. He’s got notifications going off on his phone every time you upload something.

Even with his cock in his hand, most of the time you just talk to your followers, answer their questions about your pregnancy so far, and about that day.

He sees the way your eyes glint, the corner of your lips curving into an unashamed smile as you retell details about him.

Sure, all the lonely fucks in the chat spam your inbox “that’s so hot”, “god I wish that were me,” “can I use your holes and breed you next? My bus departs in 30 mins ;)”

Honestly, who’s to say you aren’t pulling a total bluff? You’re a porn streamer; it’s your job to feed into men like his fantasies. Maybe you had fucked a dozen guys on the train that day, got pregnant from one of them, and only uploaded Joel’s session because it was the hottest? Maybe you were already pregnant, and you’re just spinning a scandalous story for your followers to hold on to? And who’s to say you don’t already have a cuck boyfriend or husband, who could have been filming or watching you two on the train that day from a different angle?

The thought of you belonging to another man, of the baby you “claim” to his being another’s makes his hand grip his cock tightly, teeth grinding down on one another while staring at your beautiful eyes and smile through the computer screen.

He drops a pool of spit on to his tip before sheathing it over with his hand, lubing his cock. You would usually end the stream with some tease:

“God, my breasts are just getting so sore,” you groan dramatically. You unbutton your blouse and reveal your naked cleavage. “Don’t even have any more bras because they’re getting so damn heavy!” You cup them and moan into the camera, relieving the ache while pinching your nipples.

Joel licks his lips. He had gotten to know you (or the version of you on your stream) a lot more intimately thanks to discovering your blog. He spent hours studying every detail that he missed. Its one thing to have dumped his load into your exquisite pussy, but to be able to see your face, hear your unashamed moans, ogle your gorgeous breasts and body that he had been denied that day makes him yearn to have you one more time.

Your belly had grown just as quickly, drooping over your pelvis just a bit more than before. You’re not at full mast yet. He watches how you maneuver, maybe a little slower or more bulky than before. It fills him with pride, seeing how much you’re having to struggle with his child growing in you. At the very least, you can still reach to get a bulbous pink dildo in your cunt and flash the camera as you masturbate, crying out as you beg Daddy to breed you again.

Joel cups his balls with one hand while the other furiously works over his shaft. His stomach tenses, building towards his release with eyes transfixed on the way that little cunt still has enough room to fit that toy. He would know, you took him with very little prep.

“That’s it baby, come on, Come for Daddy,” he groans. Doesn’t care that he’s jerking off in a dark room by himself to a brightly lit screen of his baby momma that doesn’t even know him. Yet.

You moan directly into the camera, mouth agape as you thrust the dildo in and out, hitting that sweet spot that has your eyes rolling. You spread your legs over the chair, and the skin strewn across your belly tightens as a gush of liquid squirts out of your pussy.

“Fuck Daddy, making my pussy squirt so fuckin good! M so full my cunt can’t hold all my naughty juices, too full with your cock and your cum and your baby!!”

Haggard groans rumble in his throat as his cock erupts into jets of white ribbons, shooting along the computer screen and covering your face as you smile and lick the dildo clean. He milks his sack of the last little spurts of cum before sighing and leaning back against the chair, dreaming about painting your womb white again with his next load.

When you come down from your high, and the last of the generous tips come flowing in, you usually rub along your swollen tummy. Sometimes it’s subconscious, like you’re comforting your child, other times it’s for the show, twirling around and pushing it out to show everyone how big you’ve gotten. Your voice centers him back to reality.

“And before I forget, I have one final announcement: After our little baby is born, I will be retiring.” You smile softly, but there’s a sense of gratitude mixed with sadness. “I know! It’s been such a great journey, and I’ve never felt soooo good about something as amazing as this, and to share it all with you is more than I could have ever hoped. So as a final send off, I’m doing one last exhibition piece.”

Joel leans, ignoring the stain of his cum drying along his shirt and smudged into his laptop.

“If you’re out there, Daddio, I want to meet you. Catch me in the same area, around the same time—and no I’m not going to tell you all exactly where on here! If you’re there, you’ll know—and if not, I will be streaming the whole thing live this time so don’t miss out! Even if I can’t find my blessing baby daddy, I will certainly still be putting on a show for however many lucky bastards get to grope a pregnant, single slut like me!”

You stand along the train platform, anxiously glancing over your shoulder at the random passersby just trying to catch a commute. Some men have definitely eyed you in less than innocent ways already. It’s a cest pool of perverts today.

You contemplate the biggest hiccup in your plan: You know the only chance you have to recognize him is from feeling his huge dick splitting you open again. Cinderella slipper style, if you will. You didn’t have a name, an address, any identifiable features—you wouldn’t even be able to recognize his face if it were right in front of you given that you never really saw more than a blurred partial reflection of it in the first place. That monster cock is the only thing that you’re betting your life on right now to find him.

But for the safety of your baby—you had 0 plans to fuck anybody today. And I mean it this time.

The wind from the train tunnels keeps riling up your frilly dress, the fabric now fitting a little more snug than it did before thanks to your baby on the way. There’s a sense of excitement mixed with disappointment steaming in your flip flops. No, you had no hope of actually finding him again.

But who’s to say you can’t still have a little fun, touch some dicks, get your tits squeezed and call it a successful career?

Rush hour got a bit crazy, and boy were the men just as in a hurry. You bit your lip and smiled at a man who brushed by you, his hand happily squeezing your little ass cheek through your dress. He seemed young, thin, definitely not your man, but his long fingers did feel nice, caressing your hips as he grinned to you as well. Swaying your chest in front of him, he peers over your cleavage. The two of you waited along the platform, the crowd shifting awkwardly around you waiting for the train. You twiddled your hair, angling your phone up so it could capture his hand gently caressing your lower belly.

His eyes widen in surprise: your bump wasn’t entirely obvious under the skirt of the dress, still small enough to be concealed under baggy clothing but very obvious the moment you feel it or pull the fabric tight. You giggle as he eagerly stroked over your belly, and you can barely see the twinkle of a fantasy forming behind those eyes.

The train followed forward a little too soon, and the man got on without another glance at you. Probably his wedding ring might have had something to do with it, but no matter. You remained where you were.

When the cart rushed past again, the wind blowing your dress, you caught the eye of a group of two behind you. You winked at them, lifting your skirt scandalously to show off your bare ass and wiggle at them, before enticing them to follow you behind the stairwell.

You propped your phone up quickly, conveniently cutting off from the neck up to disguise their faces before they too rounded the corner. One was a bit shorter, dark haired, maybe around 40s with a full beard. His hands were all wrong, not your guy, but you didn’t deter him as he stroked along your cheek and down your cleavage, pulling the fabric of the dress tight to see your swollen tits.

The other man, tall and muscular under that tight shirt, blond and younger, pressed firmly along your back, the outline of his cock making you rub your ass along his crotch. You quickly reached behind you and stroked his stiff bulge while they pinched your nipple through your dress, held the weight of your pregnant belly and brushed their knuckles along your inner thigh.

Their faces didn’t matter. Maybe they were your fans, maybe they were just some lucky pervs at the right place at the right time. Either of them could be your mystery man, while neither could be too. You try to brush off your disappointment with a flirty laugh, stroking both of them through their trousers as they breathed in your perfume and continued to touch your body. No, their cocks were all wrong. It didn’t feel this rigid or this plump, his tip was more bulbous than this, and the curvature is in the opposite direction.

You glanced at your camera, making sure you’re getting good angles of your pronounced body sandwiched between these two creeps. They didn’t say much, thankfully, and you didn’t care to talk. Your feed was blowing up, with them none the wiser at behind recorded. It’s not until you peep again at the screen that you see a third man entering the frame behind you.

The other guys shift uncomfortably at his intrusion, but you look up at lucky perv number three. You don’t bat an eye when he boldly put his hand between your thighs and slid up along your skin, thick digits grazing your wet folds. You hum contently. Oh, he’s here for the cake. You try not to go hazy, eying the cheeky bastard while being stimulated all over.

His height was between the other two but that didn’t make him any less imposing. Broad around the shoulders with a bit of a soft tummy, but his denim shirt hugged those biceps so well. And he’s older too, much older due to the wrinkles under his brown eyes and the grays starting to take over in his curled hair and patchy beard—

Your brows furrow for a second, not enough time to process your thoughts before he’s shoving the other two men aside despite their protests and walking you back against the tiled wall, your bum resting on the metal bar there. His torso parts your legs perfectly, and you gasp, hands gripping his shoulders to keep your balance. He only grins, something very knowing behind that look, a secret you feel left out from, and you’re about to call it all off until he rolls that massive THANG between his legs against your uncovered core.

You moan out in surprise, your head falls forward on his chest. He growls something out to the other guys, who end up scurrying away with their palms pressed on their crotches like scared dogs.

“L-Look, mister,” you say, and fuck you should be trying to fight this harder. Especially with the jangle of his belt coming undone between you. You don’t want some stranger fucking you—again—that defeats the whole purpose of the tease! You could still shout for help, there’s plenty of other people just around the corner if he tries anything funny. And your baby, your health, your safety— “I don’t —I’m not in the mood for anything—penetrative. But I could satisfy you in other ways,” you huff, dragging your lower lip between your teeth.

He smirks again. His breath is warm, so close to your face you could almost kiss him. He feels so strong yet so soft, holding you securely against him, his hand cradling your belly while his tented cock pressed along your clit. Your hearts racing, beating wildly that you don’t doubt he can’t feel it against his own. Maybe he’s considering it, something willing yet still satisfying. You feel drunk off him despite only sampling the scent of him, not the taste quite yet.

He holds your gaze with his curved nose honing yours. Its intimate.

Familiar.

You should protest at least a little when he flips you around and bends you over. He’s got one hand protectively over your belly, making sure you don’t fall into the wall. You glance up, and the sight of your body positioned perfectly centered at your camera. Fuck—he knew where the camera was? Was he a fan watching your stream before he came over? Your shocked expression fills the screen as his torso and hips press against your ass, yellow dress flipped over your hips for his private view.

Your mind is reeling, unaware of the thick slap of his length against your folds—that jolts your attention. You know that cock…

He thrusts in all at once. No voice escapes your parted lips to convey the cross eyed, fantastic, unbelievable, one in a million stretch that you had been missing for months, now filling you up to the brim and suffocating every available micro meter inside of you, and making you whole again. The same stretch, the one that’s making you cum on his cock right now, flooding your senes as arousal electrifies every nerve in your body.

The man behind you only chuckles, still getting the perfect view of your gaping mouth and furled brows reflected on the phone scream. he hisses lowly between his teeth as you continue to clench around his cock with your sweet wet little cunt. It’s like scanning a membership, and your body finally recognizes the owner of the shop. You pant harshly into the bar, walls convulsing over his thick length buried deep to your occupied womb.

The man that had placated your mind, your pussy and womb for the last 6 months, the man who left the best gift you’d ever received, the man right here in the flesh, that you had almost considered a dream were it not for the growing swell of his child in your womb occupying your delirium…

He leans over you, just enough so that only his lips are visible at the top of the screen, his voice ghosting along your ear: “Hi babygirl. Missed you. Looks like you have a little surprise for Daddy.” You feel his bear palms caress your swollen tummy.

Your lips curl into a delirious smile, lashes fluttering in blissful patterns of love as your entire being welcomes this man into the home he’s already carved out of you.

Even your baby nestled small in your womb wiggles excitedly at the recognition of her Daddy.

Neither of you look away from another as he begins thrusting into you, rocking your body back and forth along his member like the toy you’re so good at being.

He was amazing—no, better than before if it’s possible. Impossibly hard, long, thick and throbbing, all shoved up your pussy with desperate ruts, impaling your soaking pussy over and over again. You had to remind yourself, still lost like a love sick puppy in his eyes, that you were still in public, being fucked raw, pregnant, behind the stairwell of a crowded train station during rush hour. Nosy chatter echoed through the tunnel as the two of you humped against one another, partially clothed minus your genitals connected in a haze of passionate fucking. The phone in front of you is only forgotten, and you can only imagine the comments and tips blowing up at the fact that you’d actually found him.

Despite the openness, the vulnerability of your position, it feels far more intimate, just the two of you fucking to your hearts content. You’ll wonder later about the wondering eyes from trains beginning to enter the station and seeing the two of you in the blurred windows , but right now, you’d be ready to take his second bastard child right this second.

Your handsome hero reaches past you and turns the recording off, flipping the phone down. If he’s going to have you again, really have you, it would be his own little private show. No camera. No show. He abruptly pulls out before spinning you around and nestling himself between your thighs again, his cock aligning to your entrance before sliding right back in. Right where he belongs.

“Oooooh shiiiit. Shit Momma, you’re so good at taking it,” he rasps into your neck. He presses a wet kiss along your throat, each thrust pushing you back but he holds you close and sucks you right into his grasp again. Your open lips hover over one another as he sets his pace again, his tip now kissing your cervix with each kiss of your pregnant belly to his naval.

“It’s mine, isn’t it?” He growls with an edge of desperation. “Tell me it’s mine.” Beads of sweat begin to form along the creases of his forehead, but he didn’t once consider slowing his pace. With the pay your ass jiggles at each slap of skin.

“It’s yours,” you cry. There’s no doubt. your heart screams with joy just as the knot in your stomach snaps. he grips your mouth with his strong hand as your head rolls in ecstasy, wailing out into his flesh with unfiltered moans.

Harsh breaths are forced out of his nose, his lips switching between a snarl and a grin as he nears his end.

“Inside,” you hum into his ear.

He wasn’t planning on putting it anywhere else. With one final heave, he lifts you off the rail briefly, your weight balncing under his arms and your tiptoes on the ground as he bursts inside of you, painting your walls with his hot cream.

You both breathe in the polluted air. Distant echoes of the rafters rattling in the darkened caves ahead while footsteps rustle down the metal stairs behind the two of you. The breeze of the caverned tunnels cools the sweat along both your bodies. He hasn’t let go, still glued to you, holding you close as if you’d slip away.

You sit upright in his lap, trying to catch your breath. You survey one another, pupils blown wide yet calming. The two of you just giggle as your pants slowly sync together. His rough yet gentle fingertips stroke your cheek before brushing away the strands of messy hair that had covered your beautiful face, and for the first time, he can really get a full look at you in person.

“I’m Joel,” he says sweetly. He brings your knuckles to his lips and presses a gentle and long kiss, never once breaking eye contact with you.

You shake your head and laugh, offering your name to him as well.

Although, at this point, with his cock still impaled deep inside, his baby growing in your womb— its safe to say the two of you are well past such a redundant formality.

-----

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