#This is the SMUTTY smut chapter

[alphawave-writes]

Kill your Darlings Chapter 12: The love and the Light | Tom Zane the Filmmaker x Dr Casper Darling

Dr Casper Darling and Thomas Zane have done it: they have escaped the Dark Place and returned to Earth.

But not before the Dark Presence gets one final laugh.

[flowercrowngods]

Kas!Eddie where Steve uses positive reinforcement to help him feel like less of a monster. As Eddie becomes more human, the rewards get steamier. cw: explicit (ish??)

"Oh, baby," Steve coos, cradling Eddie's cheek and tilting up his chin to meet those beautiful eyes. Blown and black, the red glow beneath them pulsating in time with his heavy breathing.

This magnificent creature, more Kas than Eddie now, is strong enough to tear into the world and rip it to shreds. But always so docile for him. Always so lovely. Steve licks his lips as he trails his gaze down from wide eyes to plush lips, a trickle of blood drying on his pale skin that always seems to gleam in when Steve touches him like this. Tenderly. Lovingly. And with promise in his fingertips.

"You're no monster," he promises, daring him to disagree. He watches with fascination as a pointed tongue slowly, carefully licks up the remnants of Steve's blood. "No, you're no monster," Steve coos again, tilting Kas's face up higher to trail his lips along his jaw, kissing his way towards his chin and up the trail of wetness left behind.

Has whimpers, ducking his head just a fraction to chase Steve's lips and ask for a kiss, but Steve pulls back with a chuckle low in his throat, his grip on Kas shifting down to his throat as he moves in, hovering above him.

It shouldn't be possible, because his physical form has several inches on Steve, but something about him is always so small in Steve's hold. Like he's molding himself to Steve's figure to be so, so perfect for him.

He hums as he almost lets their lips touch, aware that he's driving Kas wild with it, and thrilled to have him like this. To hold him, hand around his throat, and tell him, "You're my good boy, hm? You're my good, good boy, isn't that right?"

Another whimper, and Kas shifts against him. Not to move in for a kiss, but to grind against him, rubbing his half hard cock into Steve's leg.

Steve chuckles again, a wave of fondness overcoming him as Kas takes what he wants. What he needs. Rubbing off against him were weeks and months ago, he would stand still until the shaking started, and Steve would have to bring him from the edge with gentle touch and loving words.

He trails one hand down to his ass to help him, to take control and give him a better angle. The effect is immediate as Kas lets out a guttural groan and pants, moaning around the syllables of his name.

"Yeah, you're doing so good, baby, taking what you need. You're so good. So good for me."

Kas nods, leaning their foreheads together as he loses himself in the delicate friction, and Steve finally relents. He ducks his head and claims those lips, moaning as Kas's sharp fangs catch his lip, drawing more blood and adding to the mess on their lips.

His resolve breaks when Kas's moans rise in pitch and frequency, knowing this is not enough for him. Knowing he wants to give him more. Steve reaches down, past the thin fabric of sweats Kas is wearing, and finds his magnificent cock, hard and leaking for him.

Always, always for him. They moan in unison as Steve begins stroking him, sucking on his tongue in time with the movement of his hands, rendering Kas almost motionless as he loses himself in the pleasure.

One day, Steve things, he'll have him writhing on his bed, hand fisted in his sheets, tearing them to shreds as Steve fucks into him with slow deliberation. Fucking the monster out of his memory and leaving only human remains, cock dumb and high on it. His name falling from those lips, blood-smeared and plump, the only thing these walls will hear aside from Good boy, and You're so good for me, and Fuck yourself on my cock, baby.

He'll take his time.

Soon.

Tonight, he doesn't get the luxury of taking his time as Kas grows desperate against him, coming with a keen as Steve bites down on his bottom lip and pulls.

"So good, baby," Steve pants as he strokes him through it, milking from him every last drop before bringing his hand up to those lips, kiss-swollen and blood red as they close around his fingers, gratefully licking up the come Steve feeds him.

That sight alone is almost enough for him to come in his pants, too, especially when Kas looks at him like that, pulling off his fingers with a slurping sound. Looking at him with hungry, hungry eyes that were made to destroy the world and rewrite history.

And yet all they do is give. And build. And smile, as he falls to his knees and pulls open Steve's belt, swallowing his cock to the hilt, massaging him with his fingers, his tongue, and vibrations that run through Steve's whole body until he, too, comes with a drawn-out groan.

He pulls Kas to his feet, combing his hair out of his sweat-slick forehead and having him meet his eyes with a gentler hold on his chin this time. "Say it."

Kas hesitates for just two seconds before a smile blooms on his face and he ducks his chin a little. "Good," he says. "I'm a good boy."

Steve hums around a smile himself, drawing a nonsensical pattern into the overheated skin of his cheek. "Whose?"

"Yours."

nonnie asked, i felt inspired. might turn this into a Thing.

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Hi! I would love to see Billy Hargrove and #37 👀❤️ Maybe also a secret relationship? I love your writing!

(37. Public sex) This had me going feral! Enjoy, lovie xoxo

Warnings: basically just smut. NSFW

It was a Saturday night out at the cocktail club on the high street and you had arrived on Nancy’s arm. Two intelligent and strong independent women— or so you led everyone to believe.

The bare truth was that you and Billy had been seeing one another secretly for a few months now. It was this exciting game you liked to play with one another; who could resist the other the longest? And how much could you drive the other insane?

You found ways to tease and toy with Billy’s emotions. You knew exactly what to do to earn his attention and Billy was often shameless with how he eyed you. It was as if he had been starving for days and you were a whole banquet of the most delicate and exquisite foods. He couldn’t wait to devour you.

And you made it all too easy for him. The short dress you had chosen for the evening barely covered your ass and it granted Billy smooth access to your pantie clad core beneath the dinner table.

His dark lustrous gaze drank in your facial expressions as you bit down your bottom lip hard enough to possibly draw blood; luckily your red lipstick would campflauge that if it were to happen.

You were already so wet for him, your lace panties damp with arousal as he skilfully pulled them to the side and plunged his fingers deep inside of your aching hole, thrusting his two digits softly and revelling in how your eyebrows frowned together in frustrated concentration as you fought to keep your pleasure hidden from your friends.

“Are you alright? Was the food not any good?” Nancy peers down at your empty in complete confusion before her eyes rest on your strained features. You looked as though you were in pain, but really, you were just in heaven.

“She loved it, didn’t you? Must’ve tasted so good for the plate to be clear, right?” Billy mocks you with his tone, a concealed teasing that only you were familiar with as his fingers twitch and curl into you, stretching you out so well that your lips almost elicit a moan and the sound of your wetness threatens to meet uneasy ears.

“Y-yep. It was so so good…” You choke down a whimper and decide to take a swig of water from the glass you had perched on the table. Billy lifts a forkful of chicken from his plate and places it onto his tongue casually, like he isn’t finger fucking you beneath the table cloth.

Nancy hums in approval and turns her attention back to her glass of wine which she necks back quickly before waving a waitress over for a refill. It was her third glass of the night and you were hoping she would be drunk enough to totally overlook the way your hips were swirling and bucking down onto the leather booth seat beneath you.

“Soaking my fingers, pet,” Billy’s voice is low and husky as he whispers slyly into the shell of your ear, his lips brushing your skin and setting your body alight, “Can’t wait to fill your sweet pussy with my cock later. I bet you’re so excited, hmm? Dirty fucking girl.” His thumb finds your clit and your eyes roll involuntarily to the back of your skull, forcing your eyes to pinch closed as you chase your high against the palm of Billy’s large palm that is massaging against you in such an intoxicating way, “Cum for me, slut. Cum all over my fingers in front of our friends.”

And as Billy’s teeth gnaw on the flesh of your earlobe you feel your thighs tremble against the leather seat beneath you and your hips buck mercilessly as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave; causing your thighs to clench around Billy’s wrist and lock his fingers inside of you as you pulse hungrily around his long meaty digits.

“Good girl,” He purrs reassuringly into your ear, his fingers still sliding slowly in and out of you, “I can’t wait to see how fun this night is about to get.”

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Ninety-Six

Let’s see. How does one start a letter to your half sister-in-law, who has murdered your nephew, ordered an attempt on your own life and is currently sitting the throne that belongs to your husband?

The Queen sat at her desk that evening, her mind a tangle of thoughts as she stared at the blank parchment before her. The dim light of many candles flickered throughout the room, casting long shadows on the walls. Outside, the waves crashed rhythmically against the rocks of Dragonstone, their constant roar muffled but ever-present, a reminder of the ancient fortress’s isolation. The crackling of the hearth added a comforting warmth, but the room felt colder to Maera tonight. Aemara had been sent to the nursery with her dragon, Sȳndor, so that Maera could work without distraction. But the absence of her daughter’s soft snores left an emptiness that gnawed at her concentration.

She tapped the page with her quill, her brow furrowed in concentration. Several crumpled pieces of parchment littered the desk, each one discarded in frustration after she had deemed the words inadequate or inappropriate. The ink on her quill blotted against the parchment as she tapped it absentmindedly, leaving a dark splotch that marred the page. With a groan of irritation, she crumpled up yet another piece of paper and tossed it aside, adding it to the growing pile of failed attempts.

How would you even address her? Queen? No, that would mean you acknowledge her claim to the throne. Princess? She may find that too patronising. Sister? You haven’t seen her since you were a child and she would probably not even remember you. She doesn’t even know you now, and you don’t know her!

“Gods,” she muttered under her breath, pressing her fingertips to her temples as if that might somehow help clear her thoughts.

Across the room, a voice taunted her, laced with amusement. “Having trouble, are we?” Aemond’s voice was low, almost teasing. He was seated at his own desk, clad in nothing but his nightshirt and trousers, working on his own correspondence. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on his sharp features, making his expression difficult to read.

Maera shot him a glare, her frustration spilling over. “Shut up,” she snapped, her tone sharper than she intended. “I need to focus.”

Aemond hummed and she could see the sly smile on his lips as he returned to his own work, the soft scratch of his quill against parchment mingling with the other sounds of the night.

She sighed deeply, pushing her hair back from her face. She knew he was only trying to lighten her mood, but this task weighed heavily on her. The stakes were too high, and she couldn’t afford to get this wrong. The fate of the realm could hinge on the words she chose, and that knowledge made it even harder to begin. But she couldn’t put it off any longer. Taking a steadying breath, Maera dipped her quill in the ink once more and set the tip to the parchment.

Rhaenyra

Yes, that seems like a good place to start. No titles, no formalities. It was a subtle choice, but one that stripped away any pretense of superiority or hostility. It was as if they were just two women, writing to each other as friends rather than enemies. Once she dipped the quill into the ink and began writing, the words flowed easily.

Too much blood has already been spilled, mostly that of the innocent and children. I write to you not as an adversary, but as a fellow mother. We have both brought life into this world, and I believe we both wish to leave it better than how we found it, for the sake of our children. Our blood ties us together, as does the responsibility we bear for the future of our House and this Realm.

I know that the smallfolk are abandoning the city, fleeing from the chaos and fear that has taken root. I know of the whispers that you have heard. Of treachery and deceit, that snakes lurk within your council, plotting to turn this conflict to their advantage, caring little for the cost in blood.

It need not be this way. The realm is weary of war. I have prayed to the Mother, seeking guidance in this time of strife, and she has shown me a path of mercy. A path I wish to share with you, as my sister in blood. My husband, your brother, Aemond, and I wish to speak of peace.

The tension that had knotted her shoulders loosened as she crafted each sentence with care, balancing sincerity with diplomacy. A faint smile tugged at Maera’s lips as she saw her thoughts take shape on the page. She was proud of what she had written so far, confident that her words carried the weight of her intent without sounding weak or overly sentimental. She could feel the letter’s persuasive power growing with each paragraph, the quill moving almost of its own accord as her thoughts flowed onto the parchment.

I implore you, for the sake of our family, for the sake of the Realm, surrender the Iron Throne and renounce your claim, a claim that is scarcely recognised anymore. Do what you set out to do; protect the Realm, maintain peace and bring forth prosperity, without the burden of a crown on your head.

In return, I swear to you that your family shall be allowed to hold Dragonstone and live out your days in peace, far from the machinations and dangers of court. Let the fires of war be quenched in the waters of mutual accord, rather than the blood of our kin.

Behind her, she heard the scraping of Aemond’s chair as he pushed it back, likely rising to approach her. She dared not look up, afraid that even a brief interruption might break the fragile spell of her concentration.

To ensure the lasting peace between our divided kin, we propose marriage pacts between the children of our houses—the Blacks and the Greens—so that House Targaryen might once again stand united, as it was meant to be.

I wish you no ill will, Rhaenyra, nor do I bear any hatred for your family. What is done is done. and now we must look to the future. The only thing that can destroy the House of the Dragon is itself, and I fear that we are on that path. The gods frown upon a war between kin, and I beg you to choose the path of peace, for the sake of our children, and for the sake of our house.

Yours in hope,

Maera

Fucking finally. The Queen leaned back in her chair, her muscles relaxing as she exhaled deeply. Relief washed over her, and she closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to savor the satisfaction of having completed the task. The weight that had pressed down on her shoulders all evening seemed to lift slightly, replaced by a quiet sense of accomplishment.

Suddenly, a hand darted over her shoulder and snatched the letter away. Startled, she whipped around to see Aemond, already striding away with the parchment in his grasp, his keen eye rapidly scanning each line. She watched him, nervously pinching at the dark fabric of her nightgown, her heart beating faster as she wondered what he might think of the words she had so carefully chosen.

After what felt like an eternity, Aemond glanced up from the letter, a teasing smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “More marriage pacts, wife?” he remarked, his tone light but his eye sharp with amusement. “Your preferred method of persuasion, it seems.”

Maera huffed, crossing her arms. “Only if you agree to them, husband.”

He hummed in response, his attention returning to the letter as he continued reading. “Rhaenyra has only sons, and our own daughter is already promised.” His voice was thoughtful, but there was an undercurrent of something else—perhaps a bit of resignation or even a challenge.

Maera quirked an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Then I’ll give you more daughters someday.”

Aemond paused, lowering the letter slightly as he looked at her with curiosity. “And what if we only have sons after Aemara?” he asked, his tone half serious, half playful.

Maera shot back without missing a beat, “And what if we only have daughters?”

Aemond hummed again, considering her words as he placed the letter down on the table. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, a mix of uncertainty and contemplation. Maera could see the gears turning in his mind, weighing the possibilities, the responsibilities, the future that was uncertain for them all.

With a soft sigh, Maera rose from her seat and approached him, taking his hands gently in her own. “If we have a son,” she said softly, meeting his gaze, “he will be King, just as you are now.” There was a tenderness in her voice, a quiet assurance that she hoped would soothe the doubts she sensed within him.

Aemond’s gaze softened at her words, though a shadow of uncertainty lingered in his eye. But as he looked down at her, his fingers tightening around hers, the resolve in her expression seemed to reach him, and he nodded slowly, acknowledging her words.

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the letter forgotten on the table as the candlelight flickered around them, casting long shadows on the walls. An inner anxiety gnawed at Maera, a subtle but persistent unease that refused to leave her.

She knew deep down that giving Rhaenyra a chance to surrender was the most diplomatic and merciful path, but doubts began to creep in, whispering fears that this tactic might only delay the inevitable and possibly weaken their position. Worse still, she worried that her husband might be unhappy with her suggestion, that he might see her mercy as a form of weakness.

With a small, hesitant voice, Maera broke the silence. "Have I angered you?" she asked, the words almost faltering as she spoke.

Aemond sighed, a sound that was neither harsh nor impatient, but rather thoughtful. He hummed softly, and then, with a tenderness that surprised her, he cupped her cheek in his hand. The warmth of his touch eased some of her anxiety, but only just.

"You have the right temperament for a Queen," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "Kind, just, and merciful." He studied her face as he spoke, his eye lingering on her delicate features—the big green eyes that looked up at him with worry, her rounded cheeks tinged with a soft blush, and her lips, pursed as she listened intently to every word he uttered. For a moment, Maera felt a flicker of relief at his words, but it was short-lived.

"You need to prepare yourself, though," Aemond continued, his tone becoming more serious. "Rhaenyra will most likely reject our offer, or not reply at all."

Maera nodded slowly, absorbing his words, though she couldn’t help the frown that creased her brow. She knew he was right—Rhaenyra was not one to bend easily, especially not now, with so much at stake. Still, hearing it spoken aloud made the reality of the situation press down on her even harder.

"And when that happens," Aemond added, his voice firm but not unkind, "we will attack the Capital. You will need to come to terms with that."

Maera’s stomach twisted at his words, the anxiety that had been gnawing at her now coiling tightly within her. She knew in her heart that he was right, that the road ahead would likely be paved with blood and fire, not peace and diplomacy. And yet, despite the unease, she also knew that this was the reality of the war they were entrenched in—a war that would not end without sacrifice.

With a heavy sigh, Maera rested her forehead against Aemond’s chest, her eyes closing as she tried to reconcile her hopes for mercy with the brutal truth of their situation. In that moment, she felt the weight of the crown more than ever before.

She breathed in his familiar scent, a mix of leather, smoke, and something uniquely him, grounding her in the moment. She mumbled against his chest, her voice almost lost in the fabric of his nightshirt, “I don’t think I was made for war.”

Aemond’s hand moved up to stroke her brown and silver curls, his touch soothing as his fingers threaded gently through her hair. He was silent for a moment, and then he surprised her by saying, “I agree.”

Maera’s head whipped up in surprise, her brow furrowing in mock offense as she looked at him. She had expected him to say something to comfort her, perhaps even to tease her out of her doubts. But instead, he had agreed with her, and she couldn’t help but frown playfully at him, searching his face for some sign that he was joking.

His expression softened, the hard lines of his face easing as he looked down at her with something akin to affection. “I think,” he said quietly, his voice a low murmur, “you were made for me.”

A sigh escaped Maera as she pressed her forehead to his, her eyes fluttering shut as she brushed her nose gently against his. Their lips hovered close, barely touching, as the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in the quiet intimacy of their shared space.

Aemond’s voice broke the silence, warm and reassuring. “I’ll have the letter sent on the morrow,” he promised, his hands sliding down her sides, the touch light and deliberate, until they came to rest on her hips. There was something possessive yet tender in the way his fingers curved around her, as though he was anchoring himself to her presence. He leaned in slightly, his breath mingling with hers as he suggested, “But for now, we should cease working.”

She looked up at him, a small, almost tentative smile playing on her lips. "Are you tired?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, his expression was unreadable, but then a dark, unmistakable glint entered his single blue eye. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered against her lips, "No."

Before she could even process his words, the hand in her hair tightened into a firm grip, pulling her forward with an urgency that made her heart skip. His lips crashed against hers, forceful and demanding, their kiss a fierce clash of tongues and teeth. It was not gentle, but passionate, a meeting of fire and need that sent a shock of heat down her spine.

She felt his tongue sweep across her mouth, probing and teasing, and she opened her mouth to him, surrendering to the intensity of his kiss. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip, tugging just enough to make her gasp against his mouth, and she could feel the smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips in response.

Maera could feel the heat radiating off Aemond's body, the hardness of his chest pressing against her as she leaned into him. His hands were everywhere, rough and insistent as they moved over her body, gripping her waist, her hips, sliding up her back to hold her closer still.

The warmth of his skin beneath her fingers was intoxicating as she let her own hands wander, tracing the defined muscles of his back, the curve of his shoulders, the powerful lines of his arms. There was nothing delicate about the way they touched each other-everything was rough, impatient, driven by a desire that had been simmering under the surface all day.

Layers of clothing were shed in hurried, frantic movements, Maera barely registering the fabric slipping away as she focused entirely on the feel of his body against hers. Her nightgown was the last to fall, pooling around her feet as she let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding in her chest. Aemond's hands found her hips again, guiding her down onto the bed with a possessive grip that left no room for hesitation.

Before she knew it, she was on top of him, straddling his lap, her bare skin pressed against his as he lay beneath her on the bed, completely exposed. The feel of his body beneath hers was overwhelming, the heat of his skin, the tautness of his muscles, the sheer power that seemed to radiate from him even in this vulnerable state. His hands roamed her body, gripping, kneading, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

Their kisses became deeper, more frantic, as if they were both desperate to consume each other, to erase the world around them until nothing remained but this moment. She could feel herself grinding against his hardened length, her slick coating his long, thick cock as his fingers pressed so hard into her hips that more bruises would litter her pale skin.

Lost in the heated passion of their embrace, she barely registered when his hands slid down her waist, gripping her soft, plush thighs with a firm yet gentle touch. It wasn't until she felt him begin to move her forward that she looked down, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to understand his intention.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice a breathless whisper, her eyes searching his face for an answer.

Aemond looked up at her with a devilish smile, the sapphire in his socket catching the light as his single eye gleamed with mischief. "I find myself hungry, wife" he murmured, his voice low and filled with a dark promise. "And there's only one thing that will satisfy me."

Maera's eyes widened in surprise as she realized his intent. She tried to protest, opening her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. “Aemond, I cannot, I-I,” she began, her concern genuine as she worried about crushing him, about doing something wrong. But her words were silenced the moment he pulled her closer, his hands guiding her forward with a determination that left no room for argument.

All thoughts of protest evaporated as his rough hands brought down to his eager awaiting tongue, which quickly found its target, exploring, tasting, teasing her folds. The sensation so overwhelming that she instinctively gripped the headboard above her, her fingers curling tightly around the wood as she gasped in surprise.

His hands began to rock her hips against his face in tandem with his mouth, and every nerve in her body seemed to come alive at once, her worries melting away in the face of the pleasure that surged through her. His tongue, lapping at her essence deep within her core from this position, was like nothing she’d ever felt before. The one-eyed King’s perfectly angular nose nudged deliciously against her clit, causing one of her hands to fly to the top of his head, her fingers curling around the roots, attempting to find some form purchase.

Yet as began to grind against his face, she could not help but worry that she was hurting him, or that he was somehow suffocating. She attempted to lift herself up ever so slightly, to give him a chance to breathe. However, that thought was shortlived as she let out a surprised yelp, feeling her husband dig in his nails to her thighs, pressing her firmly back into place on his face.

“Do not fucking deny me this,” he growled. “You taste so fucking good.”

No words came from her mouth, just a whimper as he continued his ministrations. That beautiful, familiar feeling began building deep with her stomach. It only intensified when he replaced his tongue with his fingers, plunging two of them deep within her as he licked and sucked at her clit with a renewed vigour.

“Fuck. Just like that, my King,” she panted, rutting against his face like some sort of animal in heat. He groaned at her words, sending vibrations through her as she dug her nails into his scalp, feeling that coil wind tighter and tighter within her.

Feeling the bed moving slightly, she turned her head to seek Aemond’s cock weeping against his toned stomach, glistening with precum in the moonlight shining through the windows. She watched as his own hips bucked upwards as he devoured her, moving in sync with his tongue, as if was finding his own pleasure from having her sat on his face.

The sight of him pushed her over the edge, her orgasm crashing over her with such intensity she screamed his name. She felt herself clench on his fingers, her essence dripping down onto her husband’s face, who growled as he lapped it all up greedily. The King held her tightly, his grip firm and unyielding as he guided her through the final throes of ecstasy, not letting her go until she had completely finished.

As her climax ebbed away, her body finally relaxed, and Aemond released her. She collapsed onto the bed, her chest heaving against the sheets as she struggled to catch her breath. Her body was covered in a sheen of sweat, each rapid breath a reminder of the intensity she had just experienced.

The cool breeze from the window swept across her exposed back, raising goosebumps on her flushed skin. The temporary chill only lasted a moment before it was replaced by the warmth of Aemond's body as he moved over her, his solid frame covering hers. His chest pressed firmly against her back, his presence overwhelming. She felt the nudge of his knee against her thigh, gently coaxing her to widen her legs beneath him. She complied without hesitation, her body already responding to him instinctively.

He pushed himself through her soaking wet folds, hissing at the feeling of her around his cock before sheathing himself inside of her fully. Aemond immediately began to thrust in and out of her harshly, his hips slapping against the round and soft meat of her ass. His breath was hot against her ear, each exhale sending shivers down her spine. His soft groans, deep and primal, echoed through the chamber, mingling with the crackling of the hearth.

She pushed herself back to meet him, raising her hips and arching her back slightly as his cock hit that sweet spot within her over and over again, shutting her eyes and grabbing desperately at the sheets beneath her. His lips found the sensitive shell of her ear, planting kisses that made her toes curl. He licked a slow, teasing path down her neck, his tongue leaving a wet trail that only heightened her sensitivity. When he reached the juncture between her neck and shoulder, he bit down harshly, the sharp sting drawing a gasp from her lips, her cunt clenching around him.

Aemond grabbed a fistful of her hair, her head jolting upwards as he continued to fuck into her with reckless abandon. “You’re going to give me one more,” he purred into her ear, his other hand sliding down her body to push against one of her ass cheeks, spreading her open and allowing him to thrust deeper.

“I can’t!��� She cried, tears beginning to fill her waterline as his cock bullied the spongey spot within her, treading the delicate line between pain and pleasure. She thought she would not peak again, but by the way she was squeezing him so tightly, he knows she’s not far off.

“You will,” he growled, pulling her hips upwards and increasing his speed, causing her to bury her face into the pillow to muffle her screams. A long, loud moan leaves her lips as her second orgasm was ripped from her, her entire body trembling beneath him as tears soaked her face.

Her mind was utterly blank, consumed entirely by the overwhelming pleasure her husband, her King, was giving her. There was no room for thought, no space for anything other than the way he made her feel in that moment.

Aemond was lost in the same storm of sensation, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he grunted in her ear, his voice a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down her spine. His movements grew more urgent, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With a few final, deep thrusts, he groaned loudly and released himself deep within her, his body stilling as he found his own peak.

He remained inside of her for a while afterwards, the royal couple breathless and spent, the aftershocks of their shared pleasure slowly fading away. Aemond rested his forehead against Maera’s back, his breath warm on her skin as his long silver hair fell around his face in soft strands.

He peppered gentle kisses along her spine, each touch filled with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of their previous passion. Maera sighed, the sound one of contentment, a deep satisfaction settling over her as the last remnants of their lovemaking lingered in the air.

She turned her head, giving him a tired yet utterly contented smile. Aemond leaned forward, his sharp nose brushing lightly against hers, the gleam of his sapphire eye catching the flickering candlelight and casting a soft, otherworldly glow across his features. Maera’s captured his lips in a soft yet consuming kiss, their mouths moving together slowly, savoring the connection. She could taste the remnants of herself as his lips pressed against hers, gentle yet insistent, as if he wanted to draw out every last bit of closeness between them.

A soft whine escaped Maera’s lips as he withdrew from her, the sudden emptiness making her body ache for him all over again. She felt their mixed essence pool beneath her, warm and sticky on the sheets, a physical reminder of their passion.

Her eyes followed him as he rolled onto his back beside her, his chest rising and falling steadily as he tried to catch his breath. He raised an arm behind his head, the motion casual yet commanding as he stared at her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken once more. Maera stared back at him, her gaze tracing the contours of his face, the strong line of his jaw, the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and the soft curve of his lips.

After a few moments of silence, Maera suddenly giggled to herself, a soft, bubbly sound that broke through the quiet of the chamber. She quickly covered her face with her hands, trying to stifle the laughter, but it only made her giggle more. Aemond turned his head toward her, a curious smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“And what, pray tell, do you find so amusing?” he asked, his tone light, though his single violet eye gleamed with interest.

Maera peeked out from behind her hands, her cheeks flushed with warmth. “It’s just… I was thinking, it’s a wonder anyone in the castle gets any rest when I scream like that.”

She heard Aemond breathe out a laugh, the sound low and deep. He leaned in closer, a smirk tugging at his lips as he whispered, “The servants should see it as an honor to hear their Queen’s screams of pleasure.” His voice was playful, but there was a glint of possessiveness in his eye that made Maera’s heart skip a beat. “But I’d hang those who dared to speak of it.”

Maera scoffed, rolling her eyes at his comment, though her lips curved into a fond smile. “Of course you would,” she muttered, though there was no malice in her tone, only affection.

Her gaze drifted down to her arm, where she noticed Aemond tracing delicate patterns on her upper left arm, the one marred with deep scars. His touch was light and reverent, and she found herself smiling at the gentle care he took with her, as if those scars were a testament to her strength rather than something to be hidden.

After a moment, she spoke again, her voice softer now. “Honor or not, I wouldn’t appreciate someone screaming all night when I’m trying to sleep.”

Aemond cocked a brow, his lips quirking into a teasing smile. “So you wish to scream all night, then?”

Maera felt her cheeks heat up, a blush spreading across her face as she giggled at his words. Before she could reply with a snarky comment, a sudden throbbing pain in her breasts made her wince. She looked down and noticed a small, wet patch spreading on the sheets where milk was leaking. A soft sigh escaped her, but then she heard the echoing cries of Aemara from down the corridor, growing louder as the seconds passed.

With a tired yet affectionate smile, Maera sighed, pushing herself up from the bed. She reached for her discarded nightgown, picking it up from the floor, and began slipping it over her head. "Our daughter needs feeding," she murmured, mostly to herself but loud enough for Aemond to hear.

As she tied the front of the gown, pulling the soft fabric into place, she heard Aemond's voice behind her, rich with a mix of teasing and desire. "Don't be too long," he said, the words laced with a promise.

Maera paused, looking back at him. He was lounging against the pillows, his silver hair cascading over his bare chest, that ever-present smirk curling his lips. "We're not finished yet," he added, his tone low and suggestive.

A matching smirk played on Maera's lips as she caught his gaze, her eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and desire. She didn't need to say a word; the look they shared was enough. With a knowing smile, she turned on her heel and headed toward the nursery, the sound of her daughter's cries guiding her down the corridor.

As she walked away, the thought of returning to Aemond lingered in her mind, making her steps a little lighter despite the exhaustion beginning to tug at her. The night, it seemed, was far from over.

Notes: we’re back to plot next chapter, I promise 🤣 (but I don’t think some of you are complaining) 🖤

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[leafjoon]

Between the Lines - pt. I

tbhc!alex x reader this chapter is bascially a slow burn, fluffy vibe charged w some sexual tension between the reader who is in college n our beloved alix who becomes her editor. warnings: age gap, alex is 33, reader is in her 20's, cursing, alcohol.

In the heart of the university campus, a quaint café served as a haven for students. Seated at a cozy corner table Y/N and her best friend, Sophie, found comfort in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the hum of hushed conversations.

The soft glow of pendant lights cast a warm ambiance over mismatched wooden furniture, creating a warm atmosphere. Amidst the rustling of students immersed in textbooks and the distant murmur of espresso machines, Y/N and Sophie navigated the labyrinth of academia.

"Ugh, I suck," you groaned, holding your English lit paper in your hands.

"You don't," said Sophia.

"I got a C, Soph."

"Didn’t you do this on three hours of sleep?" she looked at you.

"Yeah," you grumbled.

"You'll do better next time."

"Ugh. I know. It's just such a blow to my confidence," you said, sipping on your ginger tea.

"I know. But this grade doesn't determine your skills. You're great at writing," she said, swirling her spoon in her iced coffee.

"Well. That's debatable," you replied.

She glared at you.

"Fine, fine. I'll stop talking shit about myself," you rolled your eyes.

"Good." She said pleased with your answer. 

You scanned the coffee shop and saw students going about their normal routines. Some of them were hurrying to get to their lectures on time. Others were lazing around in their seats, talking to their friends. Chatter filled the room as you let out a stressed out sigh. You sulked, not knowing how you were gonna recover from this grade.

"Anyway, as I was telling you. I asked my dad about Mr. Turner. He said you can give him a call and ask him to check out your novel."

"Oh god,” you groaned. “I mean-thank you so much. I don't wanna seem ungrateful, I just-I don't know. It feels awkward showing someone my short novel. If you can even call it that,” you rambled.

"I get it. I get embarrassed when I show my tutor my paintings. And he always has something to say," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Soph, your paintings are incredible. And your guy is good."

"That's true," she said, a light blush coloring her cheeks.

You smiled at her. You loved your best friend. You met in high school and became close friends senior year. You used to spend hours at each other's places, watching shows and mulling over the characters. She was one of the few people who was there for you through thick and thin and you weren't afraid to show your vulnerable side to her, insecurities and all.

"I'll send you his phone number and you can contact him whenever."

"Okay. Will do." You said, scrunching your face.

"If you don't do it, I will.”

"Ugh, I'll do it, I promise."

"I'll hold you to it."

"I can't wait to go out on Friday. I need to get drunk and forget," you groaned.

"Same. We've been too stressed out lately. We need to let loose," Sophie added.

You and Sophie had a tradition. No matter the circumstances you always went out on the weekend. You often drank alcohol at your favorite bar or club and danced until your feet were numb and your hearts were pounding. Then you stumbled to one of your dorms and ate junk food or watched a shitty movie.

Sophie looked down at her phone, her clock reading 1:47 PM.

"Well, I have to run. I have Literary Criticism soon,” she remarked.

"With Mr. spits when he talks?" you replied.

"That's the one," she said, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

You chuckled. "Good luck."

"I’ll see you later," she leaned down, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

You, on the other hand, finished your lectures for the day. Your Mondays weren't as rough, consisting of only two lectures in the morning and god, were you thankful for that.

Your eyes darted to your phone screen, after you received a notification from Sophie.

Alexander Turner

+378 09 998 890

Anxiety gnawed at you. You took a deep breath and told yourself It’s fine. He gets paid for this kind of job. He’s probably seen worse writing.

You decided to be brave and text him as there's no way you were calling him.

Hello Mr. Turner. Peter Herring recommended you as an editor. I am currently working on a short novel and I am interested in hiring you. Would you be interested in that? Thank you in advance.

You typed it out, reading it again. You erased the words ‘short novel’ leaving it blank. 

"Ugh." You said out loud. You decided to retype it and send it without thinking too much, letting out a sigh of relief.

As you were scrolling on your phone, it suddenly started vibrating and a number appeared. It read Mr. Turner.

Oh god. Why the hell is he calling me? Doesn’t this guy know how to text?

You answered your phone hesitantly, bringing it to your ear.

"Hello?" you said.

"Hi." a low voice spoke.

"Um. Is this Mr. Turner?"

"Yeah. What's your name, love? You didn't introduce yourself," he said in a thick British accent.

"Oh-um, I'm (Y/N)."

"Alright, (Y/N). You're interested in hiring an editor, is that correct?"

"Yes." 

"Great. How's Wednesday evening work for you? 7pm, my office? We can discuss the details then."

"Um, Wednesday evening? Yeah I'm good with that," you said.

"Alright. I'll send you my address then. Don't forget your novel," he added.

"Yes. Thank you," you sputtered.

And with that he hung up the phone. You stood there bewildered at this phone call. You just agreed to go to this random man's office on a Wednesday. You had no idea he was british. Why didn't Soph tell you he was british?

Well I guess you have an editor now.

*

In the sanctuary of your dormitory, you and Sophie nestled on your sofa as you found comfort beneath your favorite blanket.

"I had no idea he was british! His accent was so thick Soph. Like, I had never heard it before."

Sophie was laughing at you. "I thought I mentioned it."

"Well you didn't. Nothing could have prepared me for that. He was so swift and straight to the point. Skipped all the usual bullshit."

"Yep, that's Turner for you," she replied.

"How did your dad meet him again?" you inquired.

"Oh, he was his student in college. Mr. Turner lived in London for a few years and then moved here after my dad recommended him for this sort of writing position," she shrugged.

"Huh. That's interesting," you said. "Hey, what does this guy look like?" you asked, your curiosity peaking.

"Hmm. Let me show you his Facebook," she said. 

"His Facebook?" you asked, furrowing your brows in confusion.

"What? He doesn't have Instagram. He's in his 30s." she added.

"Right," you nodded. You got up and sat next to her, both of you staring at her phone. She found his Facebook page and clicked on his photos.

"He's kinda cute," you said, breaking the silence. Sophie chuckled at your reaction. "He’s good looking," she shrugged.

He had big brown eyes and medium length hair that went past his ears, down to the nape of his neck. His beard seemed neat and trimmed.

"Don't get any ideas now," she looked at you, teasing. "I'm not. I want to see how he looks like so I'm not completely blind sided when I get there."

"Anyway," you continued. "Do you wanna sleep over tonight? My roomie's not here."

"Oh my gosh, yes. I'll go grab my stuff," she exclaimed. "Okay," you said in a singsong and slumped down on your sofa, stretching out your legs.

You couldn't help but feel jittery for Wednesday. You let your thoughts wander for a little, wondering what he was like.

*

The week was passing quickly, and it was finally Wednesday. You were preparing to leave and go to Mr. Turner's place. To say you were a little nervous would be an understatement. Your palms were sweaty, and you weren't sure what you were wearing was appropriate.

You questioned if you looked like you were trying too hard as you opted for baggy brown suit pants and a red shirt with long sleeves.

Ugh. I'm sure he doesn't give a rat's ass about what I'm wearing.

As you put on your big leather jacket and wrapped a black scarf around your neck, the words he spoke echoed in your mind. "Don't forget your novel." As you went back to your room, you made sure to grab your novel and quickly stuffed it into your tote bag as well as your dorm keys. You couldn't help but wonder if any of his clients had ever forgotten theirs.

You decided to take the bus to his office and followed the instructions he texted you.

102 Ave Street. Nr. 32. If you have difficulties finding it, call me.

As you strolled around the neighborhood, you spotted a house with the number 32. You walked past his charming little garden and couldn't help but admire how nicely maintained it was. 

Now, standing in front of his door, a mix of excitement and nerves crept over you. Unsure of whether to give a knock or press the doorbell, anticipation filled the air. You decided to knock.

As you took a moment to take in your surroundings, the sound of the door being opened reached your ears. Stepping into the view was a figure of a pale man.

"Uh, hello," you said, extending your hand for him to shake. "Good evening," he said, a slight awkward smile on his face. He glanced down at your hand for a few seconds before finally reaching out to shake it.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Turner," you said, maintaining the handshake. "Likewise. Please, come inside and feel at home," he invited you.

"Thank you," you quietly replied as you stepped into his house, though a slight feeling of uncertainty lingered. It almost felt like intruding. "This way to my office," he directed, gesturing towards the left.

"Would you like a drink? Coffee or tea?" he asked. "Uh, tea would be fine. Thanks."

As you walked into his office, you settled into one of the inviting chairs positioned near his desk. Your gaze wandered to the oak wood bookcase that adorned the room, its shelves overflowing with a collection of books. Your eyes were drawn to the carefully placed plants that created a warm and inviting atmosphere. You wondered if anyone else lived in this house, although it seemed empty by the looks of it.

"Here you go," he interrupted your thoughts, setting down a mug with hot tea. "I brought you ginger. I don't know if you like it or not," he said with a serious tone. "Oh, that's my favorite actually," you said, smiling awkwardly.

"Great. Careful, it's hot," he looked at you and gave you a half smile. You blushed a little and brought the mug to your mouth, taking a sip. "So, did you bring your novel?" he said, staring at you.

You tried to speak and swallow at the same time and ended up choking on your drink. You coughed for a few minutes as Alex stared at you, his face laced with concern.

"Erm.." he shifted so he could tap your back. "Try to look up. It should help," he said.

You followed his instructions and looked up at the ceiling, coughing. Your throat seemed to calm down.

"S-sorry," you barely managed to say. "No worries. You alright?" 

"Yes," you exhaled and took out the novel, handing it to him, trying to move past the awkward situation. "Thank you," he muttered.

He took your novel and opened it, setting it down on the desk. Your legs were only a few centimeters away from each other. You shifted slightly, not wanting to invade his personal space.

You realized he hadn't asked you to send him your novel and wondered if you had made a mistake. Perhaps you should have asked him about it.

"Um... should I have sent a digital copy of it to you?" you questioned. "No, it's quite alright. I prefer reading it in front of my clients," he said, his gaze not leaving the book.

You felt awkward, to say the least. It wasn’t pleasant having someone read your work right in front of you. Especially when you thought editors usually familiarize themselves with your work beforehand.

You fumbled with your fingers, unsure what to do with yourself. Bringing the hot mug to your lips, you took a few sips. Your eyes wandered around the room and settled on Alex. He looked like he was studying your work, wearing a serious expression on his face, his eyebrows furrowed.

He looked handsome. When a few strands of hair fell on his face, he tucked them behind his ear. You felt your cheeks heat up and looked away before he could catch you staring. 

As you anxiously awaited his response, doubts clouded your mind about whether any of the sentences you wrote were coherent. You nervously retrieved your phone from your bag, feeling the clamminess on your palms. However, before you could reach out to a friend, he abruptly spoke up.

“S’good,” he looked up at you nodding. “Really? But you didn’t read that much.." you weren't sure what to say.

“I don’t need to. I can see that it’s straightforward and has a clear direction. It’s a bit wordy though and needs some work.” He added.

“Oh, okay,” you nodded. He noticed you slumped a little and found it endearing. He had to remind himself of your age and sensitivity.

“But don’t fret. It’s nothing we can’t fix,” he said, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Right,” you smiled politely. You looked at him for a split-second and then glanced down at your hands.

“Well. I need to read the rest of your novel now. I only wanted to give you a clear picture of what we were gonna do in the upcoming weeks and how this works,” you nodded.

“For now we can meet once every two weeks and then see how your work progresses. Does Wednesday work for you, around this time?” “Uh-yes. I can do that.”

“Perfect. I want to recommend two books for you to read that could help you with your writing. Could you grab “On Writing”, by Stephen King from the bookshelf there?” he pointed to a book with a brown hardcover.

You stood up and spotted the book he was talking about. “This one?” you asked. “Yes. And also the “Bird by Bird” on your left.” You looked around but didn’t see the book he was talking about.

He stood up, approaching you, his chest pressing lightly against your back. His hand reached out just above your head, and a tantalizing scent reached your nose. The subtle blend of cigarette smoke and lavender emerged from his clothing.

“That’s your right,” he said behind you, amused. “Oh, right,” you chuckled awkwardly.

He got back to his desk and handed you the book, your fingers grazing his.

“You don’t need to read these in over a week. This isn’t school,” he chuckled. “But they should help you improve and explore different methods of writing.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Turner,” you mumbled. “Oh, feel free to call me Alex,” he said. “Okay. Alex,” you replied.

You felt strange saying his name in such a casual manner. It felt like you were talking to a friend your age, not a 30 something year old accomplished editor and god knows what else.

“Oh uh, how do I pay for this?” “My secretary will contact you for that. The first session was meant for us to get acquainted and make sure that we are a good fit."

“Great,” you said.  “Alright.” He looked at you. “Right. Then I’ll be going. Thank you, again. It was nice meeting you,” you mumbled. 

“It was nice meeting you too,” he smiled and guided you to the door. You waved goodbye, and exited his house, the cold autumn air surrounding you. Well, now you really have an editor.

*

Alex didn't expect, well, you. He knew you were younger but god, were you a pretty little thing. His usual clients were a lot older and well, half of them were men.

He tried not to get carried away as his mind swirled with different thoughts about you. He didn't want to be creepy and he never wanted to give you that impression. So he tried his best to be professional.

But you were making it so hard. With your pouty lips and your fumbling hands every time you waited for a response from him. You wore these perfectly fitting tops that hugged your body. Occasionally when you moved around, the fabric would subtly reveal a glimpse of your midriff, making it impossible not to gawk at you. He thought you were simply adorable.

"So, how are your classes going? Anyone giving you trouble?" He asked, genuinely interested. "They're going well," you trailed off, sighing. 

"It's one of my professors. I don't think he likes me," you murmured. "Who?" he asked. 

"Professor Miller," you slumped a little. "Oh. Well I don't think he likes anyone if that makes you feel any better," you laughed. "No but seriously, what’s the problem?" he asked.

"I have the lowest grade in his class," you said, rolling your eyes, a little embarrassed to admit. "Grades aren't everything (Y/N). I've had my fair share of shitty grades too."

"What if I just suck though?" you asked, finding it unbelievable how comfortable you felt talking to him after knowing him only for a few weeks. "Nah. I would have dropped you by now," he teased you.

You gasped. “I’m only joking. You have a lot of potential,” he said, softly gazing into your eyes.

You smiled, feeling at ease.

"If you want I can help you with your assignments. Give you tips and such. Free of charge," he joked.

Both of you couldn't help but notice that your knees were touching but you felt comfortable staying close.

"Are you sure?" you asked. "Yeah. What else am I gonna do with my time?" he said. "Thanks," you said, feeling like this is beginning to border on inappropriate. But you didn't care.

"How about tomorrow, after your classes, you come by and we can see what we can do."

You nodded. "Okay. Sounds great." 

*

You had entranced him. He knew it was inappropriate. He was your editor, after all. And much older than you. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't stand the idea of any of these college guys having you. You were too good. Too sweet.

He wanted to be the one who owned you. He often imagined what it would be like to graze your delicate skin with his fingers. Make you shiver under his touch. Or how you mouth would feel around his coc-

"I hate writing!" you exclaimed, getting up from his couch and pacing around. You guys had moved from his office to his living room. He wanted you to feel comfortable.

He listened to you intently as you explained what you meant to convey in your latest pages. He could have easily done this over an email, but no, he had to see you. Your low voice, sweet like honey, reached his ears.

You sighed. "I don't know. I feel like I'm losing sight of my story. I have no idea what to do next." You said, biting your lip.

"Maybe you should leave it be," Alex replied.

"Huh?" you questioned.

"Well you've been working really hard at it lately. When was the last time you did something else you were passionate about?"

"I-," you paused, "I don't know," you mumbled, sitting down next to him again.

"See? You need to forget about it for a while. Create some distance."

You mulled over his words. "Is that what you do?"

"Course. Every artist does."

You looked at him like the world hung on his lips.

"Yeah. I can try that," you said, a worried expression on your face.

"No," he laughed. "Don't take this as another assignment. I mean really forget about it. Do something that doesn't make you think about writing."

You thought about it for a while and asked "Like what?"

He hesitated. "Well." Fuck it, he thought. "I have two tickets to the theater tonight," he raised his eyebrows slightly. "One of my friends canceled on me and you can join me if you want.”

His gaze met yours as you registered what he asked you. He looked at you, biting his lip, worrying if he had been too forward.

"What's the play about?" you asked, caving in. He tried to contain his smile and continued "It's ballet. The last swan lake."

"Oh, I've always wanted to see that," you said. "Great. We can meet in front of the theater at 7:30. That alright?" he asked. 

"Yeah. Sounds good," you replied, trying to contain your enthusiasm. "I'll see you later then."

*

As you were getting ready in your small bathroom, you couldn't help but feel nervous about tonight, butterflies swirling in your stomach. We can meet for a drink beforehand, if you want. My treat. He told you a few hours ago, wearing a shy smile.

You had reluctantly agreed. You wanted to spend time with him so badly but you felt like you were doing something wrong. You hadn’t even told Sophie yet.

You got dressed, slipping on your silky tights past your legs. You decided to wear a delicate black dress with long sleeves that exposed your plush thighs. Pairing it with your leather jacket and your red scarf, you slung your small handbag over your shoulder, getting ready to leave.

You decided to take your earphones with you and listen to music to calm your nerves.

When you arrived at the charming bar he had picked, you flung the door open and entered. lThe cozy ambience enveloped you as you stepped inside, a welcoming contrast to the crisp evening air outside.

Alex, already seated at a secluded corner table, looked up from his menu, a genuine smile spreading across his face as he caught sight of you entering.

As you made your way towards him, the gentle flicker of candlelight played on the edges of his features. "You made it," he said, rising from his seat and pulling your chair out for you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, your cheeks rosy from the cold. You sat down, not knowing what to do with your hands or where to look. This felt strangely intimate.

“What do you want to drink?” he asked you.

“Uh. What are you getting?” you replied.

“Probably a beer.” He said.

“I guess I’ll get a glass of white wine then,” you replied, feeling somewhat awkward. You didn’t expect in a million years to have drinks with your editor.

“You sure? You can get anything you want. Like I said, it’s my treat.” He smiled.

“Thank you. Yeah I’m good,” you replied bashfully.

After the waiter brought your drinks you started delving into conversation.

"So, um, tell me more about yourself," Alex prompted, his gaze lingering on you.

You giggled, sipping your drink. "Well, there's not much to tell. Just a struggling student trying to make it out alive."

He chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "From what I've seen, there's more than meets the eye."

You met his gaze, and the air shifted, charged with an unspoken tension. "You know, I never expected my editor to be someone who could make me forget about writer's block."

He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. "Maybe I'm just that good at my job."

The conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving between discussions of literature, shared interests, and personal anecdotes. As the night progressed, the topics ventured into more intimate territories, the subtle dance of words revealing layers beneath the surface.

"You have this way of making the mundane sound interesting," you remarked, now both on your second drink. You could feel your face heat up from the alcohol.

Alex leaned in, his gaze intense yet inviting. "Maybe it's the company that makes it interesting."

The words lingered in the air, a palpable tension settling between you. Unspoken desires sparked beneath the surface.

"Well, I find the company interesting too," you replied.

A hint of a smirk crossed Alex's face as he took a sip of his drink. "Careful now," he said. "Interesting company can be quite... distracting."

A subtle blush crept onto your cheeks. "Distracting can be a good thing." you replied.

"What are you distracting yourself from?" he asked, his gaze lingering on yours.

“I’m not sure. Everyone has problems, I guess,” you looked down at your hands.

“Anything you want to share?” he asked. 

“Wouldn’t want to bore you,” you chuckled. 

“You could never,” he replied, his tender eyes meeting yours. You stared at each other for a few seconds before you cleared your throat and looked at the time. “Oh, I think we should get going,” you said.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Alex said and he gestured to the waiter for the bill. You thanked him for the drinks and promised you would return the favor next time you saw him. He agreed but knew he wouldn’t let you pay for anything, especially since you were just a student.

You had an amazing time seeing "Black Swan" at the theater. The ballet was captivating, and the music was incredible. You also noticed Alex glancing at you a few times throughout the show. 

After the show, Alex walked you to your cab. Under the streetlights, there was a quiet moment filled with something more than words. You exchanged a look that said it all, a shared understanding between you. As you got into the cab, Alex stood on the sidewalk with a thoughtful smile and waved goodbye.

When you arrived at your dorm, your phone vibrated. 

Did you get home safely? - Mr Turner. 

Your heart fluttered.

Yes.

Great. Good night. 

Night.

After washing your face and brushing your teeth, you huddled into your bed and drifted off to sleep, embracing your pillow. The night ushered you into a world of dreams.

[strawberryfairi]

Synopsis🌹: After discovering a strange yet alluring red book in a boutique bookstore, you find yourself sucked into a strange world, where all of your inner most desires exist…

Pairings: Wakasa Imaushi X Musician! Black Fem 🤎 Reader (ANYONE CAN READ🧚🏾‍♀️) Content: Author AU, scifi, Musician! reader, reader is a talented nerd, smutty (slow burn) romance, tiny doses of angst, adventure, futuristic city, magic?, !!sexual tension!!, etc (just find out the rest, lol)

w.c: 3.4k💠 Released: October 12

Previous | Next | Chapters Masterlist

A/N🧚🏾‍♀️: I figured I'd bless y'all with a little Saturday night smut, teehee🤭

C.W: Oral Sex (fem receiving)

Tags: @nixalozt @lilthana @wakasaishot (I hope y'all enjoy this chapter as well🌹)

↳ (Let me know via inbox or the comment section if you would also like to be tagged here for this story🩵). Enjoy guys!!

𝟑 || 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐬

(Bliss Theme: Fantasy - Lost Traveler)

"Mmmm." You moan, licking your lips and raising the glass to take a much bigger sip than last time. And another one, then another.

"Easy, Doll. Don't drink it too fast." Wakasa muses with a grin.

You blink, as suddenly, the world around you seems somehow even brighter.  Then when you glance over at him, your heart does an overdramatic flip. His voice had sounded so different. It's like he has some kind of natural reverb affect, with the way it echoed softly in your mind like a faded whisper. It's much more sensual than before. But wait, now that you think about it, everything about him seems at least ten times more attractive than before. And that's saying something since he's already damn fine.

You go to open your mouth, but your words catch right in your throat. And that's when you feel it. This odd sensation in your eyes, a gentle little thrum that makes you blink again.

You blink once more, and one more time, then catch a look of your reflection in a nearby glass bottle on one of the bartender's shelves. Your eyes, they're glowing. But not just glowing like the bartender and other people's eyes, they're pulsing. With little, cute, neon pink hearts.

You do a double take, before turning back towards Wakasa, wondering if he's noticed the change in your eyes too. But as soon as your eyes land on him again, it feels like you've been pulled into some kind of trance. For a moment, the world around you seems to slow like a scene out of a movie. It almost plays a trick on your mind, making you believe for half a second that maybe time really has slowed down.

You stare at him openly, unashamedly, and for the first time in the history of you checking a guy out, you don't even try to hide it. The edges of your lips curl into a lazy, content smile as you tilt your head, fully taking in his appearance as if it were the first time.

Wakasa is striking in a way that seems almost unfair. His lilac colored eyes gleam under the dim lights of the underground club, their half-lidded, relaxed gaze giving the impression of someone who doesn't even need to try to be this devastatingly attractive.

His full lips are so dangerously tempting. Every word he speaks, every grin, it's like a bold dare for you to lean close and steal a kiss. Each little detail about him feels meticulously perfect, yet somehow completely effortless.

"You're feelin' it now, huh?" He says softly. His voice is almost tangible, like a gentle caress against your cheek that sends shivers down your spine. You giggle, the sound light and bubbly as it escapes your lips before you can stop it. Your fingers raise to toy bashfully with a coil of your thick hair, twisting it this way and that as you keep your heart eyed gaze locked onto him, unable to look away.

"Yeaah." You nod dumbly, "I feel so amazing." Another small burst of giggles leaves your lips.

Wakasa notices the shift in your demeanor, of course. His half-lidded eyes flickering down towards you as a faint smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. "You're lookin' at me like you've never seen a guy before." He teases.

You don't bother trying to deny it. Why should you? The drink in your system made it impossible to pretend, and honestly, you don't even want to. You let out another soft giggle, biting your lip as you continue to openly admire him.

"I've never seen one like you. You're beautiful." You sigh, your voice low yet airy. "Like...really beautiful."

Wakasa chuckles, the sound warm and amused, clearly enjoying your new found boldness. "Oh yeah?"

Your eyes lower subconsciously, shamelessly lingering on his tempting lips again before drifting back up to his eyes. "Yeaah." You reply, your voice almost a hum. You're still sitting there twirling your hair, cheeks on fire as the pink hearts relentlessly pulse in your eyes.

You feel so giddy, a little dazed by the effects of the drink, but mostly just completely and utterly captivated by him. It's like some kind of love spell, keeping you locked onto him and nobody or anything else.

"You're staring, Doll." He teases softly, leaning in towards you just a little.

"I know," You admit with a coy smile. "I can't help it."

He takes another long sip, finishing his drink with that smirk still present on his lips. "You're lucky you're cute."

You let out an excited little gasp, your heart catapulting itself against your chest. As soon as his words leave his lips, he blinks, and you notice those neon pink hearts begin to pulse from his eyes.

Excitement bubbles from deep within, and the only thing you wanna do, for some odd reason, is get on that dance floor with him.

"I wanna dance," You say softly, "I wanna dance with you."

Before he can answer, you take his hand and lead him away from the bar, the touch sending a ripple of electricity through you. Without protest he follows behind you onto the dance floor, the crowd parting for you both before closing back in like a tide. The music is much louder here, the bass thrumming deep in your chest, and the synths vibrating all through the walls of the place. It feels like stepping into another world.

You move to the center of the floor, surrounded by bodies swaying and shifting to the beat, each lost in their own euphoric trance. You turn to face him, his lilac eyes and pink hearts glowing under the flashing lights. There's a mischievous glint in them, but something more, too—something that makes you feel like you're the only person in the room.

Wakasa's hands rest low on your hips, pulling you close to him until there's barely any space left between you. His chest presses against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his body seeping into your own through your clothes.

You tilt your head up to find his eyes, and for a moment, the rest of the world falls away. There is only him. His sultry eyes, the way his hair frames his face, dyed strands catching the neon lights, and the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips.

The music swirls around you two, the deep bass thudding in time with your heart. Every movement feels like a silent conversation—a brush of fingers, a sway of your hips, a tilt of your head—and the more you dance, the more you feel yourself getting lost in him. It's like he's drawing you in, pulling you further without any fight into his orbit. Into his world.

You don't even notice how close you both have gotten until your back is pressed tightly against his chest, both hands resting on your waist and holding you in place as you move together. The faint whisper of his scent triggers shivers to race down your spine. Your hands boldly place themselves overtop of his, adding a whole new level of closeness to your beautiful acquaintance.

Wakasa's lips brush faintly by your ear past your hair, and you can just feel the little smirk that tugs at them as he murmurs, "You look good with those little hearts in your eyes."

You blink, startled, realizing that the neon pink hearts are still there, pulsing and thrumming with fervent life in your eyes, all centered on Wakasa.

"How does Bliss even do this to our eyes?" You ask curiously.

"It's hard to explain the how, but I know you get these hearts when you're with someone you're attracted to." He explains with a hint of amusement in his tone.

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you don't shy away. Instead, you allow yourself to lean back into him and close your eyes, feeling the solid warmth of his body against yours.

"It's just 'cause you're so close to me," You reply playfully, your tone light and airy.

"Mhm." Wakasa agrees, but there's something in his voice, a knowingness, an intensity that makes you think he's fully aware of exactly the kind of effect he has on you.

"And maybe it's 'cause you're so close to me." His fingers trace feather-light patterns on your upper thighs near the hem of your dress, and you feel a deep flutter in your stomach that has absolutely nothing to do with the Bliss and everything to do with the man that's holding you.

The song shifts once more, slowing down, and you both move in sync, swaying gently to the softer beat. The crowd around you fades into the background, their movements becoming a blur of color and light. You bask in the way his hands leave flirtatious trails of electric fuzziness as he continues to slowly stroke your sides up and down. It's as if his hands are hypnotized by your body.

Then, in a low, deliciously sultry tone he asks, "What d'you wanna do now?"

You don't even hesitate with your response as you turn around to face him. "I wanna have smokin' hot sex with you; all night long." You tell him, your voice dripping with want as you look him right in the eyes.

His brows raise, for the first time looking genuinely caught of guard, though the amusement is clear on his face. Without another word, he wraps an arm around your waist, his other hand cupping your cheek as his lips crash onto yours for the most intoxicating, toe curling kiss you've ever received. It's searing like fire, and electric at the same time. His lips move against yours masterfully, caressing your lips and eliciting a soft moan that reverberates against his.

Your arms don't dare delay to wrap around his neck, his tongue coaxing your lips apart, and deepening the kiss. You feel so amazing, so alive. You're more alive than you've ever felt before, ever. And with everything in you, you don't want this to end. You love it here, right in this moment, somewhere far from reality, far from the dull monotony of real life.

It's magic here, and you wanna stay.

You can't help the small whine you let out as he slowly pulls away, the hearts in his eyes pulsing at a much faster pace than before as he gazes down at you.

"Come on." He says, his tone a bit breathless as he guides you through the sea of people by your hand. You nod, biting your lip excitedly.

He leads you down a hallway, painted electric blue with neon pink heart signs all over the walls and in a straight line along the ceiling, resembling the hearts that appear in people's eyes from the effect of Bliss. There's two other signs, one that points to the men's and another to the women's bathrooms.

You aren't completely sure which one he takes you into, as you're way too focused on being amazed at the way his lips move against yours yet he manages to skillfully enter the bathroom with you at the same time.

He picks you up with ease and sets you down on the edge of one of the bathroom sinks, hiking up your dress in the process. Wakasa pulls away, only to lay down a trail of fiery kisses along your exposed neck. Your face explodes with heat as you bite your lip, overwhelmed by the feeling of him hungrily sucking on your neck in between each kiss.

The sound of his lips against your skin and your soft, airy whimpers begin to echo like distant music in the dimly lit bathroom. He gives you hickeys everywhere you're most sensitive, licks your neck, kisses your collarbones.

"Wakasa, I-I-..." You trail off shyly, already losing whatever it was you were trying to say like it's a forgotten memory. He leans up, lifting his head to meet your gaze.

"What?" He murmurs against your lips.

"I don't know." You whisper back, your eyes immediately getting themselves lost in his.

"You gettin' shy on me now?" He teases, then sucks on your bottom lip gently, earning himself a needy, low pitched moan from you. "Mm mm."

"Good, 'cause I'm gonna spread your legs and make you cum on my tongue. How's that sound?" He asks sensually, the hearts in his eyes combined with the seriousness in his voice hypnotizing you. You feel your breath hitch as your heart clumsily skips a beat, and a deep, unmissable flutter between your legs. His words nearly knocked the wind out of you. You can't think of a time a man has ever been so sexually bold with you.

"That sounds fantastic." You sigh wistfully, your cheeks impossibly warm. Had you been fully in your right mind, you would've never agreed to doing something like this in such a risky, public place. But a part of you deep down knows full well how much you've always wanted to try it.

Looking at you with an amused expression, he pulls away, taking his hair down from it's previous style. You're mesmerized for a moment as his dyed hair cascades down to his shoulders, pretty purple mixing together with blonde. Then, he puts his hair back up, this time in a lazy bun. He kneels down in front of you, his hands gently stroking your plush thighs before spreading them open.

You bite your lip, the thrill of possibly getting caught pumping through your veins as he slowly pulls your black lace panties to the side. You whimper as cool air makes contact with your pussy. Wakasa stares hungrily for a while, cussing under his breath as he licks his lips. It's like he's a starved man, and you, his first meal in thirty days.

"I want you to watch me. Don't look away." He instructs lowly as he kisses your inner thighs. Butterflies erupt all throughout your stomach, giving him a lazy nod in response.

"Your pussy's so pretty..." He hums seductively, almost sounding like a moan.

You let out a deep gasp as he abruptly brings his face in, and runs his warm, wet tongue between your folds at a sickeningly delicious pace. He begins with open mouthed kisses, his tongue flicking upwards against your touch-starved clit every time his lips pull away. You jump a little with every abrupt stripe of his tongue, letting out a mixture between a startled whimper and a moan.

Then he sucks on your pearly clit, and his warm hands massage and caress your soft legs. Your own hands fly downwards, gripping onto his luscious hair as you let out a long, drawn out moan of pleasure.

Unconsciously, your legs try to close, clamping down and caging his head in place like a trap. He reacts quickly, grabbing underneath your thighs and holding your legs open.

He picks up the pace, fluttering his tongue and sucking on your clit a little rougher, forcing your moans to rise in volume. "Uuuughh!" You close your eyes, throwing your head back in pure ecstasy. He lets out a deep, low moan, the sound vibrating against your pussy and sending shockwaves up your body. He turns you on so much.

His tongue ventures down to your little, pink hole, pressing and prodding against it teasingly before sliding inside.

"Wakasa!", You cry out with a gasp, "That feels so goooood!" Your legs shake, and your heels slowly slide off of your feet, clacking against the hard ground. The moans you give him spur him on, and his movements become much dirtier, slurping you up messily.

"Ohh, uuugh!" Your small hands tighten their grip on his hair, subconsciously using it to press his face closer. You have officially become a coalescence of pants, and more whinier, sob-like moans. You get the feeling he likes it when you pull on his hair with the way he moans a bit louder against your pussy. You hear him panting, and occasionally taking a deeper breath, completely engulfed in this like it's his only purpose. He's on a mission.

You may not know much at all about this man, but one thing is for certain...

He is, indisputably, the king of oral sex.

It's the way he has your body twitching, toes curling, head thrown back and lips parted wide as mewls escape them like a running faucet. Every movement of his tongue is well thought out, strategically planned to sink you deeper and deeper into ecstasy. He's amazing. He's gotta know what he's doing to you.

Then, your eyes meet, and you swear you could cum just from the sight of him alone. Watching him worship your pussy has you instantly skyrocketing towards an orgasm that you can tell is about to be mind-fuzzing. His eyes are ablaze with lust, the hearts only working to further emphasize it. And his cheeks, you notice, are dusted lightly pink. He looks so damn good like this.

"Wa-Wakasa, mmm...'s so good! Please don't stop! I-I'm gonna cum!" You cry loudly, the slight anxiousness of being caught long forgotten. Your fingers tangle in his hair tighter, holding on like it's your sanity. You become a mess, nothing but loud moans and cries. 

You throw your head back, both hands pressing his head further against your throbbing pussy as your little toes curl. You can feel the pink hearts in your eyes pulsing at a rapid fire, reacting along with the rest of your body to his touch. It's overwhelming, his tongue working you up like this. He's freaking amazing.

"There you go, angel." He murmurs against you, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers through your core. "Lemme taste you."

And that was all you needed to finally reach the peak. You cum so satisfyingly hard, crying out loudly as your legs tremble. It's astounding, the way he so easily guided you straight into heaven. No man has ever made you cum so hard, so fast. Even you couldn't make yourself reach this level of pleasure.

He allows you to ride it out, then gives your pussy a gentle little kiss before he pulls away. You pant, your grip loosening as you lean back against the mirror behind you. With a blissful sigh, the corners of your lips shift into a little satisfied smile.

Wakasa gives you an amused look, "Looks like you liked it." He says, placing his hands on your waist. You look at him, heart eyed and dazed, pulling him gently into a lust filled kiss. Your all goes into it, giving him a silent show of gratitude. Then as you finally pull away from his soft lips you mutter, "Loved it."

His grin widens, and something in his eyes glimmers, making your stomach do a small flip. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watching you with that same knowing smirk. Wakasa leans back just a bit, giving you a moment to collect yourself, though his hands on your waist stay firmly in place, grounding you. 

"Good," He says, his tone light but with an underlying edge of satisfaction. "'Cause I’ve been thinkin' about doing that all night."

You feel your breath hitch at his words, your pulse quickening once more. Your mind is still reeling from just a moment ago, and now his words are making you feel even more off balance. You lick your lips, trying to steady yourself, but all you can think about is the way his mouth had felt on your pussy, and how much you want to feel it again.

He must have sensed it, the way you're still stuck on cloud nine, because he chuckles softly, his fingers stroking your sides in a way that sends those familiar shivers up your spine. "So," He starts, his voice smooth, almost too casual. "You wanna get out of here?"

You blink dumbly. "And go where?" 

Wakasa’s grin turns playful, that glint in his eyes never leaving. "My place," He replies, his voice a low murmur. Then, with a slightly teasing raise of his brow, he adds, "If you want."

The suggestion hangs in the air between the two of you, the weight of it making your pulse race even faster. For a moment, you just stare at him, your heart thudding wildly in your chest. The idea of leaving the crowded club, of being alone with him, makes you feel a tidal wave of exhilaration.

And honestly with the way he's looking at you, the astounding sex preview he'd just given you, and the bliss in your system—it makes your decision all too easy. You nod, your lips curling into an excited little smile, and despite the few butterflies swirling in your stomach, you tell him, "I'd love to." 

[ellesthots]

🦇 masterlist 🦇

⭒ battinson!bruce wayne x reader ⭒

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

ongoing: ♡

completed: ♥︎

contains sexual content: ☾

contains graphic violence/disturbing content: 𖦹

all 18+ - FAQ/DNI page ༝༚༝༚

series:

➤ fateful beginnings ♡ ☾ 𖦹

Bruce Wayne is an angsty mess, and you get thrown right into his tornado when you accidentally discover his secret identity.

read on AO3 ❤️ on Wattpad 🧡 fic playlist 🎧

I. the club within the club

II. research

III. the alley 𖦹

IV. unmasked

V. the interview

VI. dinner

VII. peaches

VIII. as the rain settles

IX. goodbye, Gotham

X. discernment

XI. lying through teeth

XII. exceptionally qualified, equally eager

XIII. already spoken for

XIV. losing grip

XV. mutually-assured destruction

XVI. sweetener

XVII. orientation

XVIII. indebted

XIX. (im)mortality 𖦹

XX. close call

XXI. belonging

XXII. gone missing

XXIII. desperation

XXIV. natural curiosity

XXV. Mr. Wayne

XXVI. grave responsibility 𖦹

XXVII. tender loving care 𖦹

XXVIII. eleventh hour 𖦹

XXIX. uncanny valley 𖦹

XXX. gut feeling 𖦹

XXXI. deflection

XXXII. superglue

XXXIII. night light 𖦹

XXXIV. the affliction of pity

XXXV. bittersuite domesticity ☾

XXXVI. whiplash

XXXVII. Luminol ☾

XXXVIII. for love 𖦹

XXXIX. why, why, why?

XL. priorities ☾

XLI. guilty as sin? ☾𖦹

oneshots:

➤ punished ♥︎ ☾

after a disappointing night as Batman, Bruce wants you to make him suffer.

read on AO3 ❤️

[ddeongies]

pretty please

established relationship, rough sex, power bottom shin ryujin, service top hwang yeji, "i want that twink obliterated" the fic | word count: 11.8k (2 chapters) 🔞

Ryujin honestly doesn’t have any complaints. She and Yeji have been dating for a couple of semesters now, and it’s been really fucking great. Sure, they’d butted heads in her early days with the JYPU Dragons, but it turns out that like 90% of that had just been sexual tension. Go figure. Once they finally got their shit together (with a little bit of help from their long-suffering teammates), they realized they just click. Yeji really is the perfect girlfriend: sweet, smart, fun, caring, and hot as hell.  Sometimes Ryujin thinks her favorite thing about Yeji is how gentle she is. How kind. It makes Ryujin want to protect her even though the girl is perfectly capable of protecting herself. Yeji likes it though, likes the way Ryujin looks out for her, makes sure she’s taking care of herself.   Other times, she thinks her favorite thing about Yeji is how grounded she is. No matter what’s going on around her, she always keeps her head on straight. She’s rational, calm, and relaxed in a way that almost hides how observant and vigilant she is. It’s part of what makes her such a good captain and such a good partner.  Scratch that. Her favorite thing about Yeji is the sex. Yeah, that’s it. Ryujin is no stranger to Yeji’s physicality, focus, and attention to detail on the court, and it absolutely translates to the bedroom. She’s never had a more dedicated, attentive, or athletic lover. Power forward in the streets, power forward in the sheets. Or something.  Lately, though, Ryujin has found herself wanting more.

Keep reading

[moonspirit]

Hello Moon,

So we have talked about how Armin in Glassess is a massive turn-on for Annie,

But maybe one day, she is just milling about in his office and decides to put on his glasses just for fun; he walks in and is just left stunned.

“Welcome back Mr. Arlert,” Annie says in a seductive voice

Without so much as a beat, he yells for Connie to cancel all his appointments and that he is not to be disturbed under any circumstances.

With that done he closes and locks his office doors and proceed to shut the windows as well.

Not 5 minutes later, Annie’s clothing lays on the floor and they are going at it like rabbits, Armin insisting she keep the glasses on even though she can’t see a danm thing

Needless to say Annie in glasses is a major turn on for Armin.

Hello again :3!

But oh my fucking god 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

[N/SFW]

It's a very hot summer day. Annie is bored out of her mind in Armin's office - he went to that meeting an hour ago and still isn't back yet. Trying to kill time, she spots both his glasses and his discarded suit jacket and decides to try them on. See, Armin always wears this very dignified and professional persona when he's in public as an Ambassador - even after a year of their duties as political figureheads, she still marvels at the switch he makes from Serious Diplomat before an audience to Silly Goofy Boy when they're alone.

So, in a moment of playfulness, she shrugs on his suit jacket (obviously too big for her) and pretends she's Mr. Ambassador.

"Yes, yes, I'll take it into consideration," She whispers in an imitation of his voice to the empty room. "The issue is that the problem cannot be dragged on too long because blah blah blah blah blah."

(For a brief second she freezes up because this is embarrassing and stupid as hell, but ...um... it's actually.. kinda... fun?)

Continuing, Annie paces the room, frowning - an excellent imitation of Armin when he's pondering something serious and terribly boring - and nods slowly at the floor. "I've got a plan," She says, copying his tone of voice. "We should just jump off the cliff and then nobody will be able to say we didn't sacrifice anything."

She pauses for a giggle before clearing her throat, composing herself.

"What's that? I've got a meeting scheduled at five? Oh well... let's see, what's the time now..." She lifts up her arm, pretending to hold a pocketwatch. The sunlight streaming into the room, however, makes the ring on her finger glimmer, and she remembers something she'd heard Armin tell their foreign secretary two weeks ago, and begins to furiously blush. "I'm not sure about that... I-I have plans with my f-fiancée at five... so..."

(It's momentarily too much and Annie breaks down, unable to stop blushing. Oh god she IS actually engaged, FUCK, when is she going to finally get used to this?!)

(but then she recovers yet again because by GOD, playing Armin is So mUch of FUCKING FUN!)

Her next act is to pick up a pile of papers from his desk and lean on the edge, half sitting, the way he does sometimes when he's reviewing some information. Unfortunately, she can't really copy it down pat - she's too short to half-sit, so she proceeds to just hop on and let her feet dangle, pretending to flip through the boring-ass papers.

And then she puts on his glasses.

"Hmmm, hmmm, yes..." She murmurs seriously, slipping the glasses down her nose to peer at the print. "These are very well prepared, but I would suggest tweaking this portion a bit--"

The door opens, and Annie freezes.

Armin enters, looking exhausted from the heat and the long meeting, his sleeves rolled up and tie slightly undone.

And then it's his turn to freeze, staring at her, sitting on his desk, feet hanging cutely, his jacket over her shoulders nearly drowning her frame, his papers in her hold, his glasses on her nose.

His mind wastes no time commanding his brain: burn this image in your head, burn this image in your head, burn this image in your head-

(also um- start pumping blood downward-)

What ensues is them, indeed fucking right there on his desk until her (his) glasses fog up and slip off her face entirely and Armin decides it's actually a very good idea to not wear his glasses ever and instead leave them lying about in her vicinity.

[noblecorgi]

Chapter 15: I Pray

This is the chapter that boosts the fic from M to E. 👀

‘Nuff said.

@alexalexinii @artsyunderstudy @aristocratic-otter @angelsfalling16 @asocialpessimist @ahbutwhatisaheavenfor @skee3000 @stitchy-queerista @fiend-for-culture @facewithoutheart @hushed-chorus @lonleyhumanbeing @letraspal @captain-aralias @cosmicalart @confused-bi-queer @cutestkilla @beastmonstertitan @basiltonbutliketheherb @ninemagicks @nausikaaa @messofthejess @monbons @mooncello @martsonmars @wellbelesbian @whatevertheweather @emeryhall @emjaydellyone @erzbethluna @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @youarenevertooold @rbkzz @raenestee @rimeswithpurple @roomwithanopenfire @thehoneyedhufflepuff @theearlgreymage @thewholelemon @that-disabled-princess @ic3-que3n @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @palimpsessed @prettygoododds @philaet0s

[loveshotzz]

what is this secret third au that u have been thinking about ….

….

[analogwriting]

Star-Crossed

Chapter 20: Kardiá

Donquixote Rosinante x gn!reader word count: 3k first|next a/n: whoops didn't mean for this to take so long but thus is the price of me working every single day for two weeks straight ayeo.

You woke up with a loud gasp, sitting up quickly and falling into a coughing fit as the tubes in your throat moved around from your sudden intake of air. You felt a hand begin to rub your back and a voice followed by footsteps running into the room and yet another voice, but it was far away and you couldn’t understand what they were saying. You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes and your already raw throat began to hurt even more.

A glass of water was held in front of you and you took it, giving yourself a moment before trying to swallow some of it down. It helped a bit, your coughing subsiding. Everything still hurt, your head absolutely pounding from the suddenness of everything; consciousness, the coughing, your body moving, etc.

After a few more moments, you were able to settle yourself back down. You were concentrating on regulating your breathing and making the room stop spinning. “Are you feeling better?” You blinked, honestly forgetting where you were at the moment. Right - the hospital. You looked over, seeing Corazon sitting there with concern sketched all over his face. 

Everything seemed to hit you all at once. What your father did, the heist, the dream - and tears began to roll down your face. The concern only grew on Corazon’s face. “Y/n?” 

“I’m sorry,” you rasped out, your voice completely gone from not using it for so long. You felt terrible for everything you had put everyone through. For all the worry and stress, just all of it. 

Corazon said nothing, pulling you into his arms. Being surrounded by such warmth and love, it reminded you of what you once felt all those years ago with your parents, bringing forth the dream or whatever it was that you had while you were out. Emotions began to run absolutely wild and you buried your face in his shoulder as you cried, clutching on to him for dear life. 

You were worried that if you let go, he’d disappear. That this was the dream and you’d actually chosen death somehow. You knew that wasn’t the case logically, but your mental fortitude wasn’t exactly rock solid at the moment. 

It was even a while after that before you finally calmed down again. Your body hurt, heavy from the sudden activity it was experiencing. You’d lied as a vegetable for the past month and now you were exerting yourself, overly so. As you slowly calmed down, you felt your body slowly becoming heavier and heavier.

Fuck. You didn’t want to fall asleep. You’d just woken up, after all. You wanted to be able to see and converse with everyone. You wanted to get out of this room. Sure, you were a doctor and you loved your hospital, but you sure as shit hated being a patient. You hated being sick - even if you technically weren’t. You hated being the patient.  Besides, what if you went to sleep and then didn’t wake back up? Or what if everyone was gone somehow? What if the hospital was overrun again? Not that you could even do anything in this state.

You pulled away from Corazon, barely able to keep your eyes open, but determined to stay awake. He could see this, trying to get you to lie down. “Get some sleep, you need it.” His voice was soft, soothing. Ugh, you wanted nothing more than to curl up with him and do just that.

You shook your head. “No. I’ve been out long enough. I…” You trailed off, your train of thought becoming lost. You knew that was due to being tired. You knew how the human body worked, that was your livelihood.

“See? You need to rest. I know you’ve been out, but it’s okay this time. I’m sure you’ll wake back up in a few hours.” 

You shook your head again. “No,” you mumbled, pinching yourself to keep from falling asleep. This made him hiss softly as if he’d been the one you did it to. “Stop.” His voice was still gentle, but firm as he took your hands in his.

You looked at him, frowning as fear started bubbling up. “What if I don’t wake back up, though? What if this is the last time I see you? The last time I’m alive? There’s so much I need to do. To say. I-” 

“You don’t need to worry. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.” Corazon offered a warm smile, trying to keep you calm. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you felt a wave of calm wash over your body.

You didn’t even know what you were saying. Logically, you knew this wasn’t true. You knew the human body well enough to know what state you were in. You’d sleep and wake up in a few hours feeling a whole lot better. Then you could eat a proper meal and get some more rest in. Recover was going to be a piece of cake from here since your bullet wounds were already mostly healed.

So, why couldn’t you just let yourself sleep? Why were you still scared? Why were you saying these things? It didn’t make any sense. You weren’t making any sense.

Suddenly, you felt a wave of something wash over your entire body and you weren’t able to fight anymore. You looked behind you, spotting Marco. “Oh, you fucking bastard,” you mumbled, feeling yourself slowly sink into the bed. 

Marco sighed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. It’s for the best. You need to rest.” 

You didn’t say anything else as the sleeping agent he’d put into your IV took over and the world around you went black.

--

When you came to, your entire body felt sluggish - must’ve been due to whatever Marco drugged you with. You were still slightly salty, but from a doctor standpoint, you understood. Technically, if he’d done that to a patient it was a pretty big no no since you weren’t exactly a danger to yourself or others other than making yourself sleep deprived, but it was you. 

You would’ve done the same thing to him if roles were reversed.

The room was darker. The curtains drawn, but no light peeked through so you assumed it was nighttime. The tubes that had been lodged up your nose and down your throat to help you breathe were no longer there. Since you were conscious again, you didn’t exactly need them. You were glad too, you hated that shit. Most of the IVs you were hooked up to were gone as well. You only had your heart monitor on now, probably to make sure you didn’t freak out or at least they’d know if you did.

 You heard someone mutter something next to you, noticing Corazon sleeping at your side once more. A small smile stretched across your face. You weren’t sure what you did to end up with someone like him at your side, but you were grateful and hoped he stuck around.

Though, if he was still around after all of this, you supposed he might keep at it. And you were thankful for that.

You slowly sat up, trying not to disturb the sleeping man next to you. You knew he needed his sleep just as much as you had. He had looked absolutely exhausted. Whenever he woke up, you were going to make him go home and get some real rest. 

“You’re awake.” You looked over, seeing Law standing there with a shocked look on his face. “I heard you had an episode earlier, I wasn’t expecting you to be awake already.”

He entered the room, but stayed near the door. You watched him for a moment, thinking with amusement. How the tables have turned. You had taken care of him so long ago and now he was taking care of you. You’ve come full circle. “How are you fairing, Law?” you asked, watching him.

“I should be asking you that question.” 

“Too late. I’ve already asked you.”

Law shook his head, a hint of a smile on his face. “I’m doing just fine. Now that you’re awake and fine, I can stop having to worry about Cora.” He rolled his eyes, folding his arms. You could tell he was really concerned. For you or Corazon you weren’t sure, though you assumed it was his father. 

“That’s true. When he wakes up, can you make sure he goes home and sleeps? He needs some proper rest in a proper bed.” 

“I’ve been trying for a month and he won’t listen to me.” He was pouting slightly and you couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to yourself.

“Well, now that I’m awake, he should be more willing to listen, no?” 

“Hopefully.” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He walked over to you, seemingly over whatever weird spell that had been keeping him from coming close to you. He began a standard check up. “Now you answer the question. How are you feeling?”

You let him do his check up, shrugging. “As good as I can after waking up from a coma and having my entire life turned upside down.” 

That made the corner of his mouth turn up a little. “I suppose I can relate to that a bit myself.” 

You didn’t know Law’s backstory. You didn’t know what he went through before Corazon had found him and you didn’t exactly plan on asking either. It was probably a sensitive topic that you didn’t want to touch.

“Life be like that sometimes, huh?” A small smile stretched across your face and he just looked at you before nodding. He probably expected you to ask, but he also looked relieved that you didn’t. 

“It sure does.” He stood back up, writing down on his clipboard.

“You’re doing a great job, by the way. Stellar check up.” You winked at him and his cheeks tinted slightly. Technically, he was still your intern and you were still his boss. You just also now happened to be dating his dad. A little messy, but you weren’t going to let that get in the way of your job.

“You’re just saying that beca-”

You cut him off by holding up your hand. “Absolutely not. It doesn’t matter if I’m dating your dad or not. I will always judge fairly. If anyone can separate work and home - it’s me. Don’t undersell yourself - you’re shaping up to be an excellent doctor.” 

Law bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. “Ah, y-yes, doctor.”

Just then, Corazon stirred a bit, grumbling slightly. You watched as his eyes cracked open slightly. They looked towards you before shooting open, sitting up as he noticed you were awake. “You’re awake!” 

You laughed softly, nodding. “I am.” You felt your heart race at his excitement. For fuck’s sake, you loved his man. 

Despite his excitement, you could see the exhaustion catching up to him. The bags under his eyes, the puffiness of them. You reached over, touching the side of his face gently. He looked caught off guard, but his features softened, only further making him look more tired.

“Go home and get some rest.” That made him perk up. He shook his head. “No! I’m fine. I’ll just-”

You shook your head. “Go home. Get some rest. Law.” You looked at your intern and he jumped. “Take him home.”

“But I work overnight tonight.”

“I know Marco is here. It’s fine. Take Corazon home. If he gives you trouble, send him my way.” You looked back at your boyfriend. “Go home and get some real sleep or we’re going to have an issue.”

Corazon frowned deeply, pouting. “But I just wanna stay with you,” he mumbled with a slight whine to his voice. You shook your head, fighting the urge to giggle at his antics. “You can come back tomorrow after you’ve rested up. I won’t be going anywhere.”

There was a bit more back and forth, but eventually Corazon folded, leaving with Law. You sighed, sinking back into the bed. You stared at the ceiling, thinking.

“I hear you’re sending Law home?” You looked over, seeing Marco standing in the doorway.

“Yeah. He needs to keep an eye on Corazon. Make sure he sleeps and takes care of himself.”

“Can’t argue with that. The man’s barely left your side since you went under.” Marco sighed, walking over to your bedside.

“How ya feelin’?”

You just looked at him with an expression that could kill and he held up his hands. “Don’t hate me. Just doing my job.” You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Whatever.”

You were tired, but you weren’t necessarily the sleepy kind of tired. Not the kind that taking another nap would fix. Just overall body exhaustion.

“How are my charts lookin’?”

Marco pulled out his clipboard, flipping through the pages. “Everything is fine. You just need to rest and eat to regain your strength and then you’ll be good to go.” He shrugged. “The bullet wounds on your back are all healed up, but don’t overexert yourself and it should be hunkydory.” He immediately pursed his lips and cringed at his word choice.

You looked at him, a shit eating grin spread across your face. “You sound like Pops when you use words like that.”

He groaned, shaking his head. “I know. I don’t know why I said it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. He looked positively exhausted too.

“When was the last time you slept?” 

He shrugged. “I had a nap in our office earlier.” Technically, Marco didn’t have an office. You two just shared once since the two of you were always at the hospital. Eventually, he just started referring to it as the both of yours. 

“Well, you should go home and get some sleep too. I’m sure everything will be fine here.” Marco scrunched up his nose before shaking his head. “I think I’m good.” 

You rolled your eyes. Unfortunately, you knew there was no arguing or winning with Marco. At least not right now. He was the one currently in charge. You could probably convince him later. “Then could you please bring me some food? I could probably eat a horse, honestly.”

Marco snorted, nodding. “Will do. I’ll send a nurse in to bring you something shortly. I need to check on some other things.”

After he left, you sighed. Once the room fell silent, your stomach growled loudly. You were sure the sound traveled down the hallway. You groaned, holding your stomach. It hurt with how hungry you were. Sure, you’ve been hooked up to machines and fed that way, but now that you were back to running normal, you were starving. 

It wasn’t long before a nurse walked in. Lo and behold, it was another one of the interns. Shachi bounded over to you. “I heard you were awake!” He smiled widely, setting your food down on one of those lap trays and setting it on the bed over your legs. “Glad to see you’re doing better.”

“Yeah.” You looked over at him. “Thank you for the food. I trust things have been going okay? How are you adjusting to the hospital?”

He looked at you for a moment before chuckling. “Always the workaholic. You’ve barely woken up and you’re already back at it.” He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “Things are great. I’m enjoying my time here and the people are really nice. Got pissed on the other day, but that’s whatever.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Glad it didn’t deter you, then. It’s good to have you. Hopefully you’ll be able to stick around.” Besides, after everything that happened, you thought about having all staff or at least more than what you had previously be staff that isn’t unfamiliar with the underbelly of the city.

People like you who wanted to leave that life. People like your underground staff who were looking for a way out. People who have seen the ugly and wanted to help. If you had people like that on both sides, the hospital could be more well rounded and you could probably rest a little easier.

Part of the reason you were at the hospital so much was to keep it safe guarded, but if you had more people that were aware of the stakes, it might be better.

“Oh definitely!” Shachi tore you out of your mental tangent. “I plan on staying for as long as you let me! We all do.” A lopsided grin appeared on his face. “A lot of people are fond of you, doc. And we’re all relieved to hear you’re doing well.” He nodded, his comment stunning you slightly. “Well, I’m off. Holler if you need me!” Then he sprinted off and you watched him with a fond smile. He was full of life and seemed eager to help people. That was good. You hoped he’d be able to keep that energy for a long time.

You turned to your dinner. It wasn’t much, some soup and some bread to cut up to eat with it. Since you hadn’t ate in a while, your stomach was small - it’d be a while before you’d be able to eat any big meals again. This would be more than enough for the time being.

You cut into your small loaf of bread, making bite size pieces for you to soak up the soup and pop it in your mouth. The first bite made you groan. It tasted like it was the greatest thing in the world. It probably wasn’t like a five star restaurant level good, but it tasted like it after not eating for so long.

You finished up your meal, setting the tray to the side on the table. Someone would probably come and get it later. As you set it down, you felt the air immediately shift in the room. You immediately tensed and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You looked over to the doorway and you paused, eyes widening.

There he was. Your father, Anthony.

next

[chaptersleftunwritten]

NSFW

Best friend Eddie walking in on you with your vibrator pressed to your clit and instead of allowing you to shy away beneath the covers he helps you cum, his fingers inside of you.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Ninety-Three

The chamber doors burst open with a forceful shove, the wood crashing against the stone walls as Maera stormed in, her heart heavy with dread. The sudden noise shattered the stillness of the room, the echoes reverberating like thunder. Inside, the space was dimly lit, with only a few candles flickering in the corners and the hearth roaring with tall flames, casting a warm but ominous glow.

Aemond was immediately visible, seated at his desk near the fire. His long, straight silver hair gleamed in the firelight, the pale strands catching the amber hues and reflecting them like polished metal. He had disrobed from his formal green and black doublet, now dressed in only a loose white nightshirt that hung open at the collar, a belt on his hips and simple black trousers. The sight of him, usually so composed and impenetrable, made Maera’s breath hitch, but she pressed forward, driven by the letter clutched tightly in her hand.

At the sound of the doors crashing open, Aemond looked up sharply, his reflexes honed by years of practice and vigilance. His single violet eye, clear and piercing, instantly assessed the situation. His face, which had tensed in a moment of defensive readiness, softened into concern as he recognized Maera’s distressed expression. Without a second’s hesitation, he put down his quill, the ink still wet on the parchment he had been working on, and rose swiftly from his seat.

He crossed the room in long, purposeful strides, his worry for his wife evident in the way he reached out for her as he approached. When he finally stood before Maera, he placed his hands on her shoulders, his grip firm but gentle. His eye searched her face, which was red and tear-stained from crying, trying to understand what had caused her to enter so suddenly and with such force.

“What is wrong? Are you ok? Is Aemara?”

Maera managed a sad, fleeting smile. “We’re fine,” she reassured him, though her voice trembled slightly. She took a shaky breath, her eyes flicking down to the letter clutched tightly in her hand. “But… I need to show you this.”

Aemond looked at her questioningly, his gaze moving from her face to the letter she held out to him. His eye immediately caught the broken wax seal, stamped with the familiar three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

“It is from Helaena,” Maera declared, her voice soft but heavy with emotion. Without waiting for a response, she pushed past him, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for the jug of wine and a goblet resting on Aemond’s desk.

Aemond watched her in silence, his expression unreadable as he slowly opened the letter. Meanwhile, Maera sank down onto the black fur rug in front of the fire. The flames crackled and hissed, casting flickering shadows across the room. Her hands were unsteady as she poured the wine into the goblet, the deep red liquid sloshing slightly over the rim before she set the jug down.

Bringing the goblet to her lips, she took a deep, desperate drink, hoping the warmth of the wine would calm her frayed nerves. The rich, bitter taste filled her mouth, but it did little to ease the tightness in her chest. She stared into the fire, the flames dancing before her eyes, as she tried to steady her breathing, hearing his footsteps approaching.

She kept her gaze fixed downward, nervously fiddling with the loose material of her black nightgown. Her fingers twisted the fabric as she spoke, her voice wavering slightly. "I know most of it is nonsense," she began, "but I thought... maybe you could make sense of it. See if the words mean anything to you."

Aemond lowered himself beside her onto the rug, his movements graceful and controlled. The glow from the hearth accentuated his sharp features, casting deep shadows across his face. His single violet eye moved swiftly across the page, taking in every one of Helaena’s chaotic scribblings. His expression was tense, his lips pressed into a thin line as he read.

After what felt like an eternity, Aemond looked up, his gaze softer now, though still troubled. "Maera," he said quietly, "the person who understood Helaena best was you." He gestured for her to take the letter, holding it out to her. Maera hesitated before reaching for the parchment, her fingers brushing against his as she took it back. Her green eyes dropped to her goblet, and she took another swig of wine, feeling a pang of disappointment that the words hadn’t revealed anything more significant.

Aemond watched her closely before speaking again, his tone measured. "The words on the page mean nothing," he said, his voice edged with frustration. "That's likely why the Blacks allowed her to send it." Maera glanced up at him, noticing the way his jaw clenched, the tension radiating from him.

"They knew," Aemond continued, his voice thick with anger, "that they could use this letter to provoke an emotional reaction from us. To make us worry, to make us weak." His eye flared with barely contained fury as he stared into the flames, the firelight dancing in his violet iris.

The Queen scoffed, her emotions roiling beneath the surface, a volatile mix of anger and sadness. “Well,” she spat, her voice laced with bitter sarcasm, “their master plan worked.” She dropped her head into her hands, rubbing her face as if she could wipe away the frustration and pain that had settled there. When she finally looked up at Aemond, her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “I want to go to her, Aemond. To ease her suffering. That’s why I was sent to King’s Landing as a girl in the first place, to be with Helaena. To protect her.”

As the tears began to fall, she let out a shaky breath, her voice breaking as she continued. “Is there any way we can get her out?” Her desperation was palpable, a plea that hung in the air between them.

Aemond watched her closely, his own emotions simmering just beneath the surface. He listened quietly, letting her vent her frustration before sighing deeply, his gaze turning to the fire. The flames flickered and danced, casting a warm glow over his face, but his expression remained dark.

“Lord Larys has spies in the Keep,” Aemond began, his voice low, almost growling. “But none of them can get close to my mother or sister.” Maera noticed the way his fist clenched, the tension in his body apparent in the way his broad chest heaved beneath the open collar of his nightshirt, his breath quick and shallow.

Aemond finally turned his gaze back to his wife, his expression softening as he tried to offer her some comfort. “The people love Helaena and Alicent,” he said, his tone reassuring. “And whilst hostages, they are no threat to the Blacks. If the old whore is smart, she will keep them alive.”

Maera slumped her shoulders, a sad acceptance settling over her. She knew he was right—Rhaenyra would keep them alive whilst she sat the iron throne, but that didn’t mean their lives would be worth living. She nodded slowly, acknowledging the harsh reality of their situation. For a moment, silence fell over the room, broken only by the crackling of the hearth and the distant crashing of waves against the cliffs outside. It was reminiscent of her room in Kings Landing that faced Blackwater Bay.

At the sound of sea, Maera’s thoughts drifted back to her childhood with Helaena. She remembered the shy, quiet girl who had once hidden away from the world, finding comfort only in the presence of her bugs and the intricate needlepoint she loved so dearly. But Maera had brought her out of that shell, coaxing her into laughter with silly games and stories, and teaching her to see the beauty in the world beyond her own quiet corners.

Swirling the wine around in her goblet, Maera broke the silence, her voice quiet but thoughtful. "I think a lot of people thought she was slow,” she murmured, her gaze fixed on the wine. She turned slightly to see Aemond’s brow raise in response. She offered him a sad smile before continuing, "But I don’t think she was. I think she saw a world that none of us could see."

Aemond listened intently, his expression softening as he gazed silently at his wife.

"The words she spoke," Maera muttered, her voice laced with both admiration and sorrow, "no matter how vague, always seemed to resonate with what was going on around us. It was as if she could see into the very fabric of things, even when no one else could."

The memories were bittersweet, but in them, Maera found a flicker of comfort. Helaena’s mind, though often misunderstood, had always been sharp in its own peculiar way. There was a wisdom in her that others had overlooked, and Maera had always felt privileged to see it, to be the one who could understand Helaena’s world, even if only a little.

Maera picked up the letter once more, her hands trembling slightly as she attempted to make sense of the chaotic scribbles. Now that the initial shock had worn off, she felt a desperate need to understand Helaena’s words. Holding the letter up to the flames, she turned it this way and that, searching for any hidden marks or shadows on the paper that might reveal a secret message unseen by the naked eye. But the parchment remained stubbornly blank, offering her nothing but the jumbled text scrawled across its surface. Her eyes fell on a particular phrase that seemed to call out to her:

The river was indeed harsh and nearly drowned you.

She read it over and over again, her brow furrowing deeper with each repetition. Rivers had rarely, if ever, featured in Helaena’s cryptic musings. The only time Maera could recall her friend mentioning a river was many moons ago, during a conversation that had seemed irrelevant at the time.

Two dragon eggs are laid. One in the rivers, one in the maelstrom

Taking a deep breath, Maera looked at her husband, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his contoured features. “I think she knew. About Alys,” she said slowly, the words heavy on her tongue, as if voicing them made the nightmare real again. “And her child.” She paused, her breath catching as the traumatic memories flooded her mind. She forced herself to continue, though her voice wavered. “I think she was trying to warn me.”

Aemond shifted uncomfortably beside her, his gaze fixed on the flames that danced in the hearth. The tension in his body was palpable; she could see the way his shoulders tightened, his jaw clenching as he processed what she had just said. His usually impassive face betrayed nothing, yet the way his hand curled into a fist at his side spoke volumes.

The Queen chuckled to herself, the sound bitter and low, as she took another sip of her wine. “I still can’t fucking stand the smell of lavender,” she muttered, the words slipping out as she remembered the scent mingling with smoke and charred flesh—the final remnants of Alys Rivers, burning after Ēbrion’s fire had consumed her. The memory was sharp, vivid, and the bitterness in her voice reflected the lingering resentment that clung to her.

She glanced at Aemond, whose gaze remained fixed on the glowing hearth, his face illuminated by the flickering flames. Though his expression was stoic, Maera could see the pain in his single violet eye, a subtle yet unmistakable cast of shame shadowing it. She sighed softly, her breath catching in her throat. What had transpired between them—Alys's manipulations, Aemond’s betrayal, the violence—had left deep wounds on them both. And though Maera had endured the brunt of Alys’s cruelty, both physically and emotionally, she knew that Aemond was haunted by his own failings, by the choices he had made that had led them to this point.

Silently, Maera scooted closer to him, the fur beneath them shifting slightly as her leg brushed against his. She felt the warmth of his body through the fabric of her nightgown as she stared into the hearth alongside him, the flames dancing in her vision as she collected her thoughts. This was not a moment for anger, nor for reopening old wounds. She did not wish to argue with him, nor to cause him more pain. What she wanted, more than anything, was to find a way forward—to move on, not by forgiving or forgetting, but by learning to live with what had happened.

After a long moment, she turned to him, and he instinctively turned to face her, their eyes meeting. They studied each other in the dim light, their expressions mirroring the weariness and sorrow that had taken root in their hearts. Maera’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, as she murmured, “A shadow has been cast over our marriage.”

She paused, her hand lightly touching his arm, her gaze steady despite the emotions swirling within her. “I no longer wish to breathe life into it. Into her ghost. Into your betrayals. I want to lay it to rest.”

Her words hung in the air between them, laden with the weight of their shared history. Maera searched Aemond's face, hoping to find in his eye the same resolve she felt—the desire to move beyond the darkness that had plagued them for so long.

The King’s voice was low, almost a murmur, as he asked, “Tell me what to do.” His words were tinged with a desperation that cut through the silence, and Maera could hear the raw edge of his guilt and uncertainty. She paused, thinking to herself—what could he do? The scars of their past had already been carved into the fabric of their lives, etched deep into Maera's skin and heart. The past could not be undone, no matter how fervently either of them wished it so.

She reached for the jug of wine and poured it into the goblet in her hand, the dark liquid swirling as it filled the cup to the brim. Then, without a word, she outstretched her arm, offering the goblet to her husband. Aemond looked at her, his expression puzzled, as if uncertain what to make of the gesture.

"Talk," she said softly, her tone gentle but firm. It was not a command, but an invitation—a plea for honesty, for him to open the door that had long been closed between them.

For a moment, Aemond hesitated, his gaze lingering on the goblet before slowly reaching out to take it from her hand. He brought it to his lips, gulping the contents in one swift motion, the bitterness of the wine matching the turmoil in his heart. When he had drained the cup, he set it aside, the empty goblet clinking softly as it met the stone floor.

He then turned his attention to the hearth, his gaze fixed on the flames that roared within. It was as if he were searching those flames for the right words, his thoughts tangled in the light and heat. His fist clenched and unclenched, his jaw working as he chewed the inside of his lip.

Maera also looked into the flames, waiting in silence for his response. The fire’s crackle filled the room, each pop and hiss echoing the tension between them. She could feel the weight of his struggle, the battle between what he wanted to say and what he feared revealing. Finally, the one-eyed King began to speak, his voice low and measured.

“The second son is no more than a spare,” he muttered, his tone bitter. “With high expectations placed upon his shoulders, and yet he stands to inherit nothing.”

Maera knew this well, how deeply Aemond detested the order in which he had come into the world. He had always been everything Aegon was not—disciplined, intelligent, driven—and yet it was Aegon’s birthright that had placed the crown upon his head. Despite her familiarity with his grievances, Maera remained silent, listening quietly as she continued to gaze into the hearth.

Aemond’s voice grew softer as he continued, almost as if speaking to himself. “The witch and her prophecy gave me purpose. She promised me everything I wanted since I was a boy.” His words were heavy with a longing that Maera could feel deep in her bones. “Alys demonstrated she could follow through, unlike those around me who failed me as a child.”

She contemplated this silently, her mind turning over the truth in his words. When Aemond’s eye was carved out, he had been promised justice—promises made by those who were supposed to protect him, to uphold his honor. But no one had delivered. No one had made it right. It was a terrible burden for a young boy to bear, an injustice that had festered within him and ultimately changed him.

The King scoffed, the sound sharp and self-deprecating, acknowledging the bitter truth. “I should have been wiser,” he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. “There’s always a greater price to be paid.” He turned to look at Maera, a deep sadness pooling in his violet eye. For a moment, the hardness that usually defined him softened, and in that vulnerable space, he quietly confessed, “If she had told me what would become of us—of our marriage—if I followed the path she laid before me… I would never have dared to tread it.”

Maera felt a lump forming in her throat at his words, the weight of them pressing against her chest. She thought back to the beginning of their marriage, a time that, though not perfect, had been a happy one. But everything that happened with Alys had shattered that bond, tearing down everything they had painstakingly built. As Aemond continued to speak, she kept her gaze averted, unable to meet his eye for fear that her own emotions might overflow.

“The King of Kings born directly from my blood,” he recited, the words almost mechanical, as if they had been etched into his memory. “I would ascend the throne, and you would be my Queen.” Maera shook her head silently, her heart aching at the words. The prophecy had promised him so much, yet had delivered nothing but pain and ruin.

Aemond paused, his gaze flickering around the dimly lit room, taking in the stone walls and the roaring hearth. “A part of me always doubted Alys,” he confessed, his voice almost a whisper. “And after she attacked you… I concluded it was all a lie. Mere pretty words from a whore trying to save her own skin,” He glanced around once more, as if searching for some anchor in the chaos of his thoughts. “And yet, here we are.”

The Queen followed his gaze, looking around the room that had become their new home. Dragonstone, the ancient seat of their ancestors, loomed around them—a symbol of Targaryen power and legacy. Her eyes caught sight of the Conqueror’s Crown resting on a nearby table, its steel and rubies glinting in the firelight, a stark reminder of the price they had paid to be here.

She felt Aemond's fingers brush against hers, a tentative touch as if he were testing the waters of an unknown sea. His hand lingered there, his fingers curling slightly around hers that rested in her lap. She looked up at him, her gaze meeting his as he spoke words that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I ordered the murder of your aunt and her family," he declared, his voice low and steady. To anyone else, the statement might have sounded cold, emotionless. But Maera heard the deeper undertones—a clear admission, an acceptance of the weight of what he had done. It was as if he were finally owning the darkness of his actions, taking accountability in a way that he had not done before.

"And I allowed the witch to…touch me," he continued, the words almost catching in his throat. "I let her take my seed for her own gain."

She felt his nails dig into her fingers, the pressure sharp yet grounding. She didn't pull away. Instead, she turned her head to study his face, the familiar contours of his sharp jawline and high cheekbones illuminated by the flickering light of the hearth. His eye was wide, his expression one of pure horror.

For so long, Maera had pictured Aemond's liaison with Alys as a passionate affair-a moment of desire, perhaps even of ambition, driven by a shared goal. But now, as she looked into her husband's face, she saw something far more tragic. The horror etched into his features, the shame that clouded his eye, revealed a different story.

She recalled the few snippets she knew of his previous sexual escapades, how Aegon had dragged him to brothels, forcing him into situations that filled him with disgust and self-loathing. The look on Aemond's face now, aglow with the orange light of the fire, struck her with a deep pang of empathy.

Without hesitation, Maera carefully placed her other hand on top of his, enclosing his hand in both of hers. It was a gentle, deliberate gesture-one meant to convey that she was here, that she was receptive to his pain, and that she was listening. She didn't press him to say more, didn't push him to relive the torment that haunted him.

Aemond’s voice was barely above a whisper as he muttered, “My seed took root, giving her more influence that I did not stifle.” His violet eye locked with Maera’s green ones, the air thick with the unspoken pain between them. Aemond’s voice trembled as he continued, “And I abandoned you, and our child, leaving you in the same dwellings as that witch, without any protection. It nearly cost you both your lives.”

The words pierced through Maera’s heart like a dagger. The tears that she had held back for so long began to flow freely, streaming down her cheeks in hot, unrelenting trails. It wasn’t just the pain of Aemond’s absence that broke her—it was the crushing realization that he had left her, vulnerable and defenseless, in Harrenhal, under the same roof as the woman who would ultimately try to end her life. Alys had plunged the knife into her, had left the deep, jagged scars that marred her arm and leg. But it was Aemond, the man she had once trusted with all her heart, who had failed to protect her from such a fate.

Through her teary green eyes, Maera saw Aemond reach up to her face, his hand trembling as it cupped her cheek. His thumb gently wiped away her tears, the touch tender and full of regret. She leaned into his palm, craving the warmth and comfort he offered, despite the deep wounds that still lingered between them.

“I will not insult you by saying I have changed,” Aemond whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “But my beliefs have. And it is not just because I now wear the crown.”

His words resonated within her, cutting through the haze of sorrow and anger that had clouded her mind. Aemond leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers, the silver strands of his hair cascading over his shoulder like a moonlit curtain, glowing softly in the firelight. The intimate gesture, so small yet so profound, seemed to bridge the chasm that had formed between them.

Aemond's voice was firm yet tender as he proclaimed, “You and Aemara—you are my higher purpose, Maera. My true calling. The Gods’ divine plan for me.” His words hung in the air, filling the room with a profound silence as they held each other close, the crackling of the hearth the only sound breaking the stillness.

Maera raised her hand to cover his, pressing her head against his, her heart pounding in her chest. In that moment, they shared a fragile understanding—a tentative step toward healing the deep wounds that had festered for so long.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, lost in the quiet comfort of the embrace. Then, with a voice heavy with emotion, Aemond muttered, “I’m sorry, Maera. Truly sorry, for all of it.” The sincerity in his tone, the raw vulnerability, broke through the final barrier Maera had held within herself. She nodded against him, letting out a sob that she had kept buried for far too long, feeling as if a weight had finally been lifted off her shoulders.

Aemond pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her tear-stained face, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles on her cheek. He gazed at her with an intensity that was both heartbreaking and beautiful. “And you need not stay if you do not wish to,” he assured her, his voice tinged with sadness. “I only wish for you to be happy.”

The Queen furrowed her brow at his words, studying his face with a mixture of disbelief and tenderness. His expression, usually so controlled and composed, now betrayed his fear—fear of what her answer might be. It was plain to see in the way his violet eye searched hers, desperate for reassurance yet ready to accept whatever decision she made. He was willing to let her go if that was what she needed, if it would bring her happiness.

It was love, in the only way he knew how. It wasn’t perfect, far from it, but it was Aemond. And she loved him for it, for everything he was and everything he was not. They sat there, holding onto each other as if they were both afraid to let go, knowing that while the scars would never fully fade, they could at least try to move forward together.

“I am bound to you, Aemond. Because I choose to be,” she whispered tearfully, her voice, though soft, carried the strength of her resolve. She took a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking, her voice firm yet filled with warmth. “I am your wife. I will stand by your side and support you in your duties as a husband, as a father, as a king.”

She watched as Aemond’s usually stoic expression softened into a small, genuine smile. In that moment, she swore she could see an unshed tear glistening in his single violet eye, a sign of the deep emotions he often kept hidden.

For a moment, all felt right between them, but a lingering unease remained in Maera’s heart. She needed more—an assurance that nothing like this would ever happen again. Sniffling slightly, she continued, her voice trembling with the weight of her request. “But I need to see commitment from you, Aemond. Not just to your duties as a king, but to our marriage, to us.”

Aemond nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of her words. He looked around the dimly lit chamber, his gaze searching for something. Maera furrowed her brow in confusion, watching him intently as he seemed to be seeking something specific.

She saw his eye widen slightly when he spotted it. Without a word, he stood from the rug and strode over to his desk. He opened a drawer, rummaging for a moment before retrieving something small. Returning to sit beside his wife, he opened his hand, revealing the item nestled in his palm.

“Do you know what this is?” Aemond asked quietly, his voice tinged with a solemnity that caught her off guard.

Maera looked down at his hand, her eyes focusing on the sharp, pointed rock he held. It was almost black, but as the firelight played across its surface, she could see the sheen of deep green that marked it. Recognition flickered in her mind, and she met Aemond’s gaze with a knowing look. “It’s Dragonglass,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded in agreement before looking back at the flames of the hearth. After a moment he spoke, his voice soft, his words filled with quiet intensity. “I married you before the Seven, in the Grand Sept,” he said, his gaze unwavering as he looked into Maera’s eyes. “In front of a crowd of a thousand onlookers, most of whom I did not know. Most of whom were unimportant.”

Maera couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound filled with a mix of nostalgia and warmth. She thought back to their wedding day, nearly a year and a half ago. The extravagance of the event still made her smile—a grand spectacle, meant to uplift the spirits of those in attendance during a time of war. It had been a day of splendor and joy, but also one steeped in tradition and expectation.

Aemond’s lips twitched in response to her laughter, but his expression remained serious as he continued. “We had a wedding in line with the values of Westeros, yes. But we are also Targaryens. The blood of Old Valyria.”

Maera’s laughter faded, replaced by a puzzled expression as she looked at her husband. What was he getting at? She watched as he raised the Dragonglass in his hand, the dark stone catching the firelight, its green sheen glimmering ominously.

Aemond’s voice was firm, almost reverent, as he explained, “I re-commit myself to you, with only the fire as our witness, as our ancestors committed to one another.”

Maera’s breath caught in her throat, a gasp escaping her lips as she began to underhand is intention. Her late mother had often spoken of Valyrian traditions, recounting tales of the ancient ways with a wistful tone. The matrimony of Old Valyria was something she had heard of but never expected to experience herself. It was a bond forged in fire and blood, one that transcended the rituals of Westeros—a true, unbreakable connection.

Aemond’s gaze softened as he saw the surprise and emotion in her eyes. “If you will allow me to?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper, filled with a vulnerability she rarely saw in him.

Tears welled in Maera’s green eyes as she nodded, her voice catching as she whispered, “Yes.”

In that moment, the world around them seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them, bound by their shared history, their pain, and their love. This was no grand ceremony with lords and ladies in attendance, no vows spoken before the Seven. This was something far more intimate, far more sacred, far more profound.

He looked into Maera’s eyes, his voice steady as he asked, “Do you know the words?”

Maera nodded eagerly, unable to contain the nervous giggle that bubbled up from within her. She quickly wiped the tears from her face, her heart pounding with anticipation. This was something sacred, something shared only between them. A bond that went beyond the grand displays of Westerosi tradition, reaching back to the ancient roots of their Valyrian heritage.

With a reverence that sent a shiver down Maera’s spine, Aemond lifted the shard of Dragonglass to his lip. The sharp edge glinted in the firelight for a brief moment before he pressed it against the soft flesh, slicing through until a line of blood welled up. The crimson liquid stood out starkly against his pale skin, and his voice, deep and resonant, filled the room as he began the ancient vows

“Hen lantoti anogar. Va syndroti vãedroma. Mēro perzot gihoti,” Blood of two. Joined as one. Ghostly flame, he intoned, each word weighted with the gravity of their shared history.

He then dipped his thumb into the blood on his lip, the gesture both deliberate and intimate, before gently swiping it across Maera’s forehead. The warmth of his touch was in stark contrast to the dampness of the blood, and she felt the thick liquid marking her skin, binding them together in this moment of sacred commitment.

Aemond handed the Dragonglass to her, and she took it with trembling hands. With the same reverence, Maera repeated his action, drawing the stone across her lip until she felt the sting of the cut, the warm blood spilling forth. Her voice, though soft, was filled with determination as she echoed the ancient words.

“Elēdroma iãrza sir. Izuli ampã perzi. Prumi lanti seteksi,” And song of shadows. Two hearts as embers. Forged in fourteen fires, she declared, her voice growing stronger with each phrase.

With her thumb now stained in her own blood, Maera reached up to Aemond’s forehead, swiping the crimson mark across his skin. Their eyes met, and in that moment, the words of their vows seemed to resonate through the very air around them. The room seemed to pulse with the energy of their commitment, the fire in the hearth crackling as if in approval of the ancient rite being performed.

She offered the Dragonglass back to him, her hand still trembling as he took the sharp stone from her, his expression solemn and unwavering as he affirmed, “Hen jeny mäzilarion. Qēlossa ozundesi.” A future promised in glass. The stars stand witness.

With the same deliberate movement, he pressed the jagged edge against the center of his palm, cutting deep enough for blood to rush to the surface, pouring from the wound in dark, steady streams. The firelight cast a glow over the crimson droplets as they pooled in his hand, the room filled with the scent of iron and flame.

Maera watched, her breath hitching as she took the Dragonglass from him once more. Without hesitation, she drew the sharp edge across her own palm, biting back a hiss of pain as the skin split open. She held the wound out towards him, their gazes locked as she replied to his vow, her voice a mix of fervor and reverence. “Syndroro oño jedo. Ry kivia mazvestraksi.” The vow spoken through time. Of darkness and light.

With a sudden, decisive motion, she threw the Dragonglass to the floor, the shard clattering against the stone before settling in the fur. She reached out, her hand slick with blood, and grasped Aemond’s wounded palm. Their blood mixed, warm and thick, binding them together in a way that no words alone ever could. The heat of the fire seemed to intensify, casting their entwined hands in a golden glow as if the flames themselves recognized the power of their union.

Without warning, Maera yanked him forward, her grip firm and unyielding, and pulled him into a bruising kiss. There was nothing gentle about it— all teeth and tongue and filled with hunger. It was born of raw emotion, of passion and pain, of love and regret.

He responded with equal fervour, lips meeting hers with a force that spoke of everything they had been through, every trial they had faced, and every vow they had just made. She cupped his face with her bloodied hands, the warmth of his skin under her fingertips mingling with the slickness of the blood, leaving crimson streaks across his sharp features.

His large hands grasped her hips, fingers pressing harshly against her skin, pulling her against him with an intensity that made her gasp against his lips. Deciding she was not close enough, he splayed his hands on her thighs and scooped her onto his lap. She straddled him as her black nightdress was hitched up, his hands caressing her scarred, rounded leg with a gentle touch.

Her heart raced as she felt the solid muscle of his chest against her breasts, her fingers tangling in his long, silver hair, now stained with streaks of their mingled blood. She moaned against his mouth as she felt the unmistakable hardened bulge in his trousers, straining against the fabric as her bare core pressed against him. The taste of blood lingered on their lips as they pressed together, Aemond breaking away as his mouth began to roam her neck, kissing, licking, biting down her throat, marking her as his. Only his.

Maera whined as he bit her skin harshly, finding herself subconsciously grinding against him, a slick forming between her legs as she attempted to find some relief. He hissed against her neck, his hands landing on her rounded ass as he pressed her down against him, bucking his hips up to meet hers.

Rocking against each other, find solace in each others touch, Maera’s hands found their way to the expanse of his chest, just beneath his thin cotton nightshirt. Mapping out his body after so long, her fingers moved with a feather-light touch, tracing the hard lines of his torso, feeling is broad chest. She slid her hands down, listening to the soft subtle breaths he took, her fingers skating across his stomach before she reached the bottom of the fabric. As she tugged on it, he lifted his arms and she slid the shirt up his body before slipping it off him, discarding it on the floor.

His own hands had begun to wander, snaking up to land on her breasts, thumbs brushing over where he knew her perked nipples to be through the dark fabric. She could feel the dampness of her milk beginning to seep through the fabric at the contact, gasping as he squeezed the flesh of her chest harshly.

She looked down at him, her jaw slack as she continued to grind against his confined length. Her bloodied hand shook as she reached out to touch his scarred cheek, her thumb catching on the leather eyepatch as she searched his violet eye for any sense of hesitation or unease. She could not find any. Reaching for the strap behind his head, she unclasped it, removing the patch and staring lovingly at the shimmering sapphire in place of his eye, the gemstone glowing ominously as it caught the light of the hearth.

Maera pressed a kiss to his scarred cheek before she felt his hand in her hair, pulled her down to his lips in another searing kiss. She felt his other hand on her thigh climb even higher, brushing against her mound. She gasped at the contact, allowing him to invade her mouth with his tongue, licking into it as if savouring the taste of the evening wine and the blood spilled as they said their vows.

When she whined at the feeling of the coil beginning to wind in her belly as she rocked against him, Aemond suddenly pulled away, his breath ragged, his violet eye intense as he looked up at her. His face was flushed from exertion, streaks of blood smeared across his sharp features, and his shallow breaths caused his bare chest to rise and fall rapidly. Maera couldn't help but smile down at him, knowing her appearance likely mirrored his— disheveled, bloodstained, and utterly consumed by the heat of the moment.

Aemond held her gaze, his voice low and gravelly, “We needn’t go any further,” he told her, his concern clear despite the fire in his eye. But Maera only pressed his face back to hers, her lips capturing his in a fierce kiss as she whispered against his mouth, "I want to."

He groaned at her words, a sound deep and primal, his hands tightening their hold on her. "Thank the Gods," he murmured, before claiming her lips once more in a kiss that was even deeper, more intense than before. The hunger between them was palpable, an all-consuming need that had been building for far too long.

With a sudden burst of strength, Aemond roughly pushed her back onto the black fur rug where they had been sitting, her body hitting the ground with a soft thud. The fur beneath her was warm and welcoming, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Aemond's body hovering above hers. He looked down at her with a dark, lust-filled gaze, his eye alight with desire and something else-something deeper, more primal.

"It was torture to be without you," he growled, his voice thick with longing.

Maera chuckled, her own voice breathless as she replied, "I think you deserved it, my King." There was a playful gleam in her eye, but the truth of her words hung in the air between them, a reminder of the pain they had both endured.

“I cannot argue with that.” Aemond's lips twisted into a wry smile at her remark, but the intensity in his gaze only deepened. Without breaking eye contact, he reached for the belt at his waist, his movements slow and deliberate as he unbuckled it. Maera watched with hooded eyes, her breath catching in her throat as he slipped the leather from his trousers, the sound of it sliding free echoing in the silence of the room.

Her heart pounded in her chest as he leaned over her, his hands firm as he gathered her wrists together above her head. The leather of his belt was cool against her skin as he wound it around her wrists, binding her securely to the spot. His touch was slow yet rough, as if he was savoring every moment of their closeness.

Once she was bound, Aemond leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, “But allow me torture you this night, my Queen.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, a delicious anticipation that made her body tremble beneath him. Maera's breath hitched as she felt his mouth press against her ear, his lips tracing the delicate shell before moving down to her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She was at his mercy now, her hands bound, her body pinned beneath his, and yet there was nowhere else she wanted to be.

Aemond's lips continued their descent, teasing and tormenting her with every touch, his hands roaming her body as if he was rediscovering her all over again. His calloused hands found her large breasts once more, cupping them through the fabric, and starting to knead them gently. Maera bit her lip trying to stifle a moan. His touch felt amazing, especially since they had not been touched like this in so long.

He skilfully undid the ribbon at the front, unfolding her nightgown, and exposing her full breasts to the chill air. She gasped at the sudden chill in the air but her gaze found her husband who was towering above her between her legs, his gaze focused on her large chest. Looking down, she noticed what had him so enthralled. Droplets of her milk, used to feed her daughter, were seeping out of her nipples, trickling down the swell of her breast.

“Fuck.”

Maera felt her cheeks redden, starting to feel embarrassed, until she watched the one-eyed King lick his lips. He tipped his head forwards and engulfed one of the breasts in his mouth, causing her to gasp. His tongue swirled around the hardened bud, whilst the other hand grabbed and squeezed at the neglected breast. As he suckled like a starving babe, she felt a rush of excitement go straight to her core, the pleasure and relief that his mouth brought her too much to bear.

Aemond bit down slightly, making her arch her back and buck her hips upwards to meet his. She wanted so badly to hold the back of his head, to bury her fingers in his silver locks, writhing against the leather of the belt. This is what he must have meant by ‘torture.’ As he swapped to the other breast, he grinded against her, his hardened length pressing firmly against her bare core, the fabric of his trousers the only thing keeping them apart. She couldnt take it any more, whining as he rolled his hips against her.

“Aemond, pl-please.”

She heard him chuckle darkly as released her nipple with a lewd pop, pressing a kiss against her mouth, licking her bottom lip so she could taste her own milk. The king then slid down her body like a serpent, planting kisses of her softened belly, acknowledging every stretch mark, blue and purple, before pressing a kiss to the coarse hair above her mound.

When he was face to face with her cunt, he gave her no time, licking a long stripe up her slit. He then began to eat her out like a man starved, moaning as he tasted her essence, fucking her with his tongue as his nose pressed against her clit. She was crying out, so loud she was sure everyone in the castle would hear her. But she didn’t care, not when the knot in her stomach was beginning to form, winding tighter and tighter and she bucked against her husband’s face. When he suddenly stopped, she whined in displeasure, only to gasp when he plunged two fingers deep inside of her.

Once again running his tongue teasingly up her wet slit, relishing in the sweet sounds she was making for him, Aemond then began to lap at her clit as she pulled against her restraints, her nails digging into her palm as the coil within her lower stomach was on the verge of snapping. Her body jolted as he placed open-mouthed, sloppy kisses on the bundle of nerves, curling his finger upwards and finding that oh-so-sensitive spot within her.

“Gods!” She cried out, arching up off of the black fur rug, her orgasm washing over her as her entire body convulsed, her cunt pulsing around his fingers as he fucked her through her peak, her clit throbbing as his tongue continued to lick at it greedily. He watched in satisfaction from between her thighs as she came down from her high, her body trembling, a sheen of sweat forming all over her. He drew back with a wolfish grin, his chin glistening with her slick.

Pulling his fingers out of her, he brought them up between them, seemingly admiring the way they gleamed in the firelight, completely covered in her essence. Keeping his gaze in hers, Aemond presses his soaked digits against his bloodied bottom lip, his skilful tongue darting out to taste her, sucking and licking until her juices were gone.

Maera whined, bucking her hips up, writhing against the belt that bound her, the leather digging into her skin. It was as if all the months of longing for him, his touch, his skin on hers, bubbled to the surface all at once. He smirked down at her, as if he could read her thoughts, and she scowled at him playfully.

The one-eyed King, growing impatient himself, quickly pulled off his breeches, his cock slapping against his stomach, the tip glistening with arousal, showing that, despite his control, he desired her as much as she desired him. He wasted no time as he once again settled between her thighs. Aemond furrowed his brow as he eased himself into her, the pair of them breathing shallowly as he sank deeper into her heat, not stopping until he was full buried within her.

Placing one hand beside her bound hands, Maera’s heart pounded with anticipation as he thought he would free her. Instead, he used the hand to hold himself up, the other gripping harshly against her hip as he began to move slowly, simply allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of her, not wanting to hurt her after being apart for so long. The sting was like that of losing her maidenhead, as was to expected after childbirth, but she breathed deeply, whimpering as the pain began to slowly morph into pleasure.

A silver curtain of straight hair fell onto the King’s face as he quickened his thrusts, looking down as he watched her cunt take him so well, cock twitching as it slipped in and out of her, a wet noise echoing around the room. She felt so full of him, like he was always meant to be inside her, fucking her. As if they were made for one another.

“Avy jorrāelan, issa dārys,” I love you, my king, she whispered to him, causing him to growl as he thrusted particularly hard, hitting that spot within her once again. As she gasped, the sound was swallowed by a heated kiss that sent another jolt to her core.

“Sepār avy jorrāelan, issa dāria,” And I love you, my Queen, he uttered like a prayer, his hips beginning to thrust erratically as he lost his grip on any control he has left. She screamed as his cock slammed into her, hitting that spongey spot over and over again, her peak creeping upon her once more. Aemond reached down to wrap one of his hands around her throat, squeezing lightly as he stared intensely at her.

“Don’t stop, Aemond. Please don’t stop!”

It was exhilarating to see his jaw go slack, his single eye roll into the back of his head as he groaned at her words, clearly enjoying himself as much as she was. He thrusts grew sloppy as he chased his own high, his fingers pressing even harder into her throat that there would surely be bruises left behind. Without warning, his head dipped down to her chest, suckling at one of her milk-filled breasts once more, the feeling pushing her completely over the edge.

“Fuck!”

Her entire body tensed as a second wave of blinding pleasure, so intense it made her eyes water, crashed over her. Aemond groaned at the feeling of her walls fluttering around him, slamming into her repeatedly until he came apart with a loud groan, his hips stuttering as he emptied his seed into her, completely and utterly spent.

Aemond stayed buried inside her long after his cock had softened, peppering soft and lazy kisses on her face. He undid the belt that bound her hands and she swiftly wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him close to her, burying her head in his neck as she breathed him in. With a hiss, he slowly pulled out of her, and she could feel him the warmth of his cum leaking out of her onto the plush fur rug below, which was already covered in a mix of her own arousal, blood, wine and her milk.

He collapsed beside her onto his back, the flames from the hearth warming their already flushed skin. The air was thick with the scent of fire and the remnants of their passion, both of them panting, still trying to catch their breaths.

Maera slowly turned her head to look at Aemond, and he did the same, their gazes locking in the soft glow of the firelight. The intensity of what had just transpired lingered between them, but there was also a sense of peace, a quiet understanding that had settled over them like a blanket. She reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she slowly traced the scar on his cheek with her finger, the mark that had become as much a part of him as his silver hair or his violet eye. A soft smile played on her lips, tender and full of affection.

Aemond grabbed her hand, holding it gently as he brought her fingers to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to each one. The simple gesture caused Maera’s heart to swell with emotion, a deep warmth spreading through her chest. In that moment, she felt like nothing else mattered—no past mistakes, no lingering doubts, just the two of them, together, as it was always meant to be.

Notes: they’re back 🖤 this may or may not be based on real events 👀 in the words of my husband “You’re welcome, sluts.”

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[virtie333]

A 6K smutty one-shot for Christmas anyone!

I think I'm done!

[strawberryfairi]

Synopsis🌹: After discovering a strange yet alluring red book in a boutique bookstore, you find yourself sucked into a strange world, where all of your inner most desires exist…

Pairings: Wakasa Imaushi X Musician! Black Fem 🤎 Reader (ANYONE CAN READ🧚🏾‍♀️) Content: Author AU, scifi, Musician! reader, reader is a talented nerd, smutty (slow burn) romance, tiny doses of angst, adventure, futuristic city, magic?, !!sexual tension!!, etc (just find out the rest, lol)

w.c: 4.2k💠 Released: November 3

Previous | Next | Chapters Masterlist

A/N🧚🏾‍♀️: Lowkey the ending of this chapter...idk like it's kinda not giving to me idk. Like it's ok but it's not at the same time. I'm probably just in my head😭 But anyways I hope y'all enjoy this chapter! Also, the smut is coming very soon so don't worry....gotta love a lil "slow burn"😈

C.W: None

Tags: @nixalozt @lilthana @wakasaishot

↳ (Let me know via inbox or the comment section if you would also like to be tagged here for this story🩵). Enjoy guys!!

𝟔 || 𝐀𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

The scent of old wood and a faint metallic hum filters through your foggy mind as you stir. Slowly, your eyes flutter open, met by the dim glow of muted blue and purple neon lights seeping through the cracks of a wooden ceiling.

You wince as you shift into a sitting position, a dull ache spreading through your limbs. Your fingers flex against the cold, hard surface beneath you. You're lying on a white floor.

"I'm gettin' tired of waking up in random places like some drunk..." You grumble under your breath, massaging your lower back with a hand.

As you move, something warm slips off your shoulders—a blanket quilt that must have been thrown over you while you were unconscious. Confusion gnaws at you. Simultaneously, you hear a small thud on the floor right next to you. You shift the blanket off of you, noticing that same purse from the first time you were here is next to you. 

You grab it, checking the contents like before. 

This time, it's different. Yes, there's a handy lipgloss and liner, but now there's an actual wallet inside. 

"Where the hell were you when that robot was all up in my face...?" You grit out, narrowing your eyes as you snatch the wallet. 

It's sleek, and actually metallic which is strange to you. Leather is usually the go-to for wallets back on earth. Metal is mind blowing. There's an ID inside, your picture and a citizen number like that cyber police bot was asking for. 

Citizen ID: 1186-25

It shows your status as immigrant, your sex, it even somehow has your birthdate on it too. 

How is this possible?! 

A slight unwanted panic begins to rise in your chest, but before it can fully take hold, the sound of muffled footsteps reaches your ears. Your head snaps towards the source—a door just beyond the workbench, cracked open with the words "Employees Only" etched into its wood in fading silver paint.

Then, the door creaks open fully now, revealing a tall figure in the doorway. For a split second, you tense up, but then you catch sight of his face—a kind face. The man standing there is older, though not elderly, with gelled back dark hair that has a striking silver streak running through the front. His lavender-colored eyes, oddly familiar, were filled with concern.

"You're awake," the man says, his voice low but gentle. He takes a step forward, hands raised slightly as if to show he means no harm. "You had me worried. I found you passed out in the back here, but there weren't any sign of injury, so I figured I'd let you rest."

You blink, the fog in your mind beginning to clear as you take in your surroundings. The room around you is small and cluttered, filled with what looked like old tools, spare parts, and strange devices you don't recognize. There's an unmistakable smell of dust and the faint hum of something electronic, though not in the modern, sleek sense you've become used to in Neon City. Everything here seems...dated, though not necessarily from your world.

"Where am I?" You ask, your voice raspy from the lack of use.

The man smiles softly. "You're in my shop. It's called 'Echoes.' I deal in musical instruments, sound systems, and the like."

"Is this...the underground?" You ask cautiously.

The man lets out a hearty laugh, "No, but I can see why you'd think so."

"So, I'm in Neon City?"

"Yup. You're on the Lower East side of the city." He nods, "You must've had a crazy night."

"I definitely did." You chuckle, recalling the events of the last time you were "dropped" in Neon City.

"Well, feel free to look around if you're feeling up to it. Take as much time as you need."

You smile lightly, genuinely appreciative of his thoughtfulness, then nod. "Thank you."

You stand and make your way out of the backroom, stepping into what was clearly the main area of the shop. As soon as you cross the threshold, your breath catches in your throat. The space before you is a literal treasure trove of musical artifacts—some familiar, some utterly alien.

Shelves line the walls, crammed with instruments and sound equipment. Old record players with intricately detailed designs, boom boxes that looked half-scrap and half-art installation, and microphones that seem to shimmer with a life of their own.

Curiously, you wander down an aisle, fingertips grazing the objects as you pass. A sleek, silver device caught your eye—it looked like a cross between a violin and a guitar but had no strings. Instead, it hums softly when you pick it up, vibrating beneath your touch.

"What is this?" You ask aloud.

The shopkeeper, who had followed you out of the back, smiles faintly. "Ah, that's a Virelax. It's a stringless instrument—well, stringless in the traditional sense. It uses sound waves to produce music. You control the pitch and tone by adjusting the frequency with your hands, like so." He demonstrates, running his fingers over the air just above the device. A soft, ethereal melody began to play, the notes shifting with each subtle movement of his hands.

Your eyes widen with a gasp. "Woooow!"

The shopkeeper chuckles. "It's one of the newer instruments in my collection."

You set the Virelax back down carefully and continue exploring, your heart filled to the brim with excitement. You come across a large, circular object with glowing blue orbs embedded into its surface. When you touch one of the orbs, a deep, resonant bass note echoes through the shop.

"Oooo! What's this one?" You ask, intrigued.

The shopkeeper nods appreciatively. "That's a Tymbrys. It operates on a similar principle as percussion but it's entirely digital. Each orb represents a different frequency, and you can create complex rhythms by pressing them in sequence."

"Ha, an electric bass..." You murmur with a grin.

Your fingers dance over the orbs, creating a spontaneous rhythm that pulses through the air. You grin, momentarily forgetting your confusion and the strange circumstances of your second arrival. For now, you're completely lost in the world of sound.

As you move further into the shop, something else catches your eye—a large object in the center of the room, partially covered by a thick, dusty cloth. There's something about its shape that tugs at your memory, something so familiar. Without thinking, you approach it and slowly pulled the cloth away.

You gasp loudly, your eyes sparkling with excitement. It's a concert grand Steinway & Sons piano!

The sleek, black surface is worn with age, but the instrument is unmistakably from Earth. The keys, though dusty, gleam faintly under the neon lights, and for a moment, you can almost hear the soft hum of music that had once been played on it.

The shopkeeper appeares beside you, his brow furrowed in curiosity. "That's an odd one," he remarks. "I found it many years ago, though I never could figure out how it worked."

You can't help the small giggle of amusement at his deep wonder of the instrument. "It's a piano," You inform, your voice soft with reverence. "It's from Earth; where I'm from. An acoustic instrument."

"Earth..?" He murmurs with furrowed brows.

"You can get real interesting with the keys—that's another name we call it. You just press down on the keys and there's—have you never thought to try it?" You ramble, thoughts coming out a mile a minute.

The shopkeeper chuckles at your burst of enthusiasm. "Of course not. I didn't know what it was."

"No no, I feel that. That's valid." You nod. If there was a strange object as huge and heavy as a concert grand piano, you'd leave it alone too.

"Can I...?" You trail off, pointing towards the pretty instrument. 

"Please. You're the expert." He raises his hands in surrender. Without another word you go and take a seat on the piano bench, adjusting your skirt as you do. You sit there for a minute, grazing your fingers along the keys before finally striking the first note, and slowly building a song.  As your fingers get accustomed to the new chord changes your heart makes up, some lyrics begin to follow after, meshing with the melody line you made.

The shopkeeper's eyes widen in awe as the music washes over him. "Incredible..." He murmurs under his breath. Nearly stumbling in the process, he goes and places his hand on the holographic panel by the front door of his shop. The door slides open, and the neon sign that say "OPEN" flickers to life.

The sound filters out for the outside world to hear. Almost instantly passerby's stop in their tracks. The citizens of Neon City are accustomed to synthetic, electronically produced music. The natural, acoustic sound of the piano is foreign to them—alien, yet captivating. One by one, people begin to gather outside the shop, peering through the windows to see where the strange sound is coming from.

As you play, more and more people gather until there's a large crowd, their faces pressed against the glass, eyes wide with wonder. Some even venture inside, drawn by the unfamiliar yet beautiful sound. Soon, the whole shop is filled with a crowd, all listening in rapt silence as you play. You aren't sure how much time's gone by when your hands finally slow to a stop, your right foot on the damper pedal creating a soft resonance from the last chord you played. And the, as you lift your hands from the black and white keys, a roar of clapping and cheers nearly makes your heart leap out of your chest. You turn around, just now noticing the crowd that's formed. There's strange looking phones out, recording still or just finishing up as others continue to cheer for you. 

Your cheeks warm from the praise. It's something you've never been able to get used to even after all these years of performing. It's crazy having so many eyes on you, so much attention. But it's heartwarming nonetheless. 

The people begin to disperse, going back to their regularly scheduled programs. You fiddle around haphazardly with the keys some more before the shopkeeper makes his way over to you with a warm smile. 

"Here," He says, handing you a small handful of what you could only equate to reddish pink, gem-like coins. "You put on quite a show earlier, something I've never seen, and I figure you need something to eat after that. Consider it a 'thank you' for...whatever that was." His expression softens, and his tone takes on a more serious note. "I haven't heard sounds like that in...well, I've never heard them."

You smile flattered as you look at the foreign currency in your hands. "Thank you, really. But... I don't want to take your money," You mumble, feeling both touched and conflicted. "I'll be fine."

The shopkeeper chuckles and shakes his head. "You're not from around here, right? Look, let me help out—it's no trouble, really. Just a couple credits for a bite. And who knows, maybe I'll see you around again."

After a moment's pause, you smile gratefully. "Alright...thank you so much." You clutch the "coins" in your purse, glancing back to give him one last appreciative look before stepping out onto the streets.

In the morning light, the streets look almost ethereal. The glow from the enormous holographic ads seemed less intense in the sunlight, more muted yet still mesmerizing as they pulse across towering screens. Large advertisements hover above the streets, holographic models and products being promoted by smiling faces and energetic gestures. A soft hum fills the air from the thousands of small mechanical parts working in perfect harmony throughout the city, powering its lights, transportation systems, and other technologies you could hardly recognize.

You wander down a broad avenue, marveling at the towering buildings that stretch up to meet a bright, cloudless sky. Many of the structures seem designed with metallic finishes, causing them to glint and gleam as the sunlight hits their polished surfaces. The streets are bustling with people of all different looks and styles. Many wear clothes embedded with tiny, flickering lights, some with holographic patching that changed designs as they moved. Others have more minimalistic but edgy styles, their eyes shielded by sleek, transparent visors.

Lost in the flow of the city, you let your feet carry you forward, absorbing each new sight. Vendors line the sidewalks, with food carts offering strange, colorful snacks that you can't even begin to name, and tiny drones buzz around, delivering parcels or providing live updates about city happenings. You feel yourself moving in tune with the morning vibe—a different rhythm from the nightlife you'd experienced, but captivating in its own way.

Eventually, your eyes caught sight of a small diner on the corner of a bustling intersection. Its design was a blend of sleek metal and soft, ambient lights, and a neon-blue sign flickered with the words "Circuit Diner." The place seems busy enough but not overly crowded. Through the large, clear windows, you can see customers seated in metallic booths with robotic waiters gliding past them, delivering plates of vibrant food.

Curiosity got the better of you as you push open the glass door, and the inside is even more entrancing than it looks from outside. The walls are adorned with minimalistic light strips that cast a soft glow, making the space feel both futuristic and surprisingly cozy. Screens play holographic images of abstract art that seem to move in time with a soft, ambient soundtrack playing in the background.

"Good morning, citizen," Chirps a robotic voice, and you turn to see a sleek, mid-sized metallic server gliding over to you, its faceplate reflecting your curious, semi-bewildered expression. "Welcome to Circuit Diner! May I recommend our most popular breakfast combination?"

You blink, unsure of what exactly a "breakfast combination" would entail here in Neon City, but nod nonetheless. "Uuuhh, sure, I'll try it."

"Excellent! Your order will be ready soon." The server says with a polite and chipper "beep" before gliding away.

As you wait, you take in the sight of other patrons around you. Some sat alone, scrolling on transparent screens projected from tiny devices worn around their wrists or in their hands, while others sat in groups, chatting animatedly about topics that sound damn near alien to you. You catch snippets about racing, new tech upgrades, trending styles, and names you don't recognize but file away, curious to learn more about this city that feels both familiar and otherworldly.

After a few moments, the robot server returns, setting down a tray with a strange yet appealing meal. The food looks almost too beautiful to eat—perfectly shaped and colored in a way that makes you wonder if it's meant to be eaten at all. There's a glass of ombre purple liquid that seemed to shimmer slightly, along with a small plate of neon-colored bites that look vaguely like fruit but don't smell like any you know.

Taking a tentative bite, you're surprised by the burst of flavors—sweet and slightly tangy, with a soft texture that melted in her mouth. You can't help but smile, savoring each bite and sipping the purple drink, which tastes like a refreshing blend of berries and mint with a hint of something you can't quite place, but it's amazing.

As you sit by the window, enjoying the quietness of your breakfast, you feel a prickling sensation on the back of your neck, an unshakable feeling that someone was looking at you. You glance outside, and your heart involuntarily skips a beat.

Wakasa stood there, just beyond the glass, his lilac eyes locked onto yours. A storm of emotions passed across his face—surprise, confusion, then something darker, almost like hurt or frustration. You can't look away, mesmerized by the intense gaze he had fixed on you, like he’d been searching for you without even realizing it. For a second, you forget where you are, that you're just two people in a bustling, neon-lit city; it feels like the whole world has gone quiet, leaving only the two of you in a strange silence.

Your heart began to race, and you quickly drop your gaze down to the table, hoping he didn't notice the flustered look on your face. But by the time you look up again, he's already pushing through the diner door, his steps quick and purposeful.

You watch, your nerves on edge, as he moves through the space with that effortless confidence of his, like he's barely aware of the way people turn to look at him. He scans the diner, eyes narrowing until they land back on you. In an instant he's at your table, his expression unreadable. A strange mix of irritation and relief, but his gaze is intense, like he has something he needs to say but can't quite find the words. You decide to speak your piece first. 

"Hey, Wakasa!" You smile brightly, "I didn't think I'd ever see you again-

"Are you serious? Where the hell have you been, huh?" He cuts you off, not at all interested in your little chit chat.

You're completely caught off guard, your face contorting into a look of bewilderment. He looks so genuinely upset, and you've never heard his voice come across so stern before.

"I-I was..."

"You-you were? Do you realize it's been three whole days? You had me out here searching for your ass thinkin' something happened to you! You got the audacity to be sitting here in your little cutesy ass outfit eating breakfast!" His words spill out in an uncharacteristic rant, frustration and annoyance evident in his tone. He shakes his head, glaring down at you as if you'd committed some grave offense.

You try not to laugh at the sight of him—the usually laidback, stoic man, standing in the middle of a diner, upset because he couldn't find you. It's actually sweet, in its own strange way. You can't help but mess with him a little.

"Well, yeah," You shrug casually, forcing yourself not to laugh too soon. "I mean, don't they say to always keep a man on his toes—"

"Don't play games with me," He snaps, his tone serious, though there was an edge of something softer beneath it. "You disappeared. Like a ghost. No trace, no word, nothin'. I thought—"

"Not you being worried", You giggle, hovering a hand over your smile, "Not you...caring."

You laugh out loud at the way his eyes narrow at you, his jaw tensing up as he tries to keep his annoyed expression. "You're pissin' me off..." He grumbles.

"I'm sorry! Ok, really, I am sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry." You reply, forcing the smile down so you can try and get serious. He only gives you a low grunt in response.

"You forgive me? Com'ere." You say softly, taking his hand and looking up at him with your best doe eyes you can muster. His scowl deepens, but it doesn't last very long. He sighs heavily, his shoulders relaxing just a little.

"Yeah, whatever." He glances at the seat across from you, then back to your beaming face. "You gonna let me sit, or am I just s'pposed to stand here while you finish eating?" 

You chuckle and scoot over, gesturing to the seat across from you. Wakasa takes a seat, still grumbling under his breath about how you're such a pain, but the relief in his eyes is unmistakable.

"You know," Wakasa starts, leaning back against his seat, "I've got a race later tonight. Pretty high-stakes one, too. How 'bout you come and watch me?"

Your eyes light up immediately, a spark of excitement unmistakable in your expression. "You want me to watch your race?" You couldn't even try to hide the enthusiasm in your voice. Last time he was so adamant about you not coming along to watch that kid Jaxon's race, now he actually wants you to go. 

"Yeah. I mean, you missed the last one," He replies, the corners of his mouth curving upward, almost like he's enjoying your reaction. "Figured you'd wanna actually watch a race this time." 

Another rush of excitement washes over you; after all, you'd heard Wakasa and even Benkei briefly talk about street racing and its wild world of high stakes and pride, and whatnot. So to be able to see Wakasa in action makes your heart race. You laugh lightly, "Yeah, for sure, sounds like fun. I'll be cheering for you."

A/N🧚🏾‍♀️: Why my name for that instrument (virelax) sound like a damn medication for people 60 and above with like 99 different symptoms that come with it😭💀 absolutely do not entrust me to name instruments🤡