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swordgrace · 6 months ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader.

SYNOPSIS: a blissful marriage to an honorable man — it is more than you could’ve asked for. with the heir on the way, you make a request of your husband.

anonymous request. unofficial sequel to wolfsblood, dragonsblood.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 6.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), overprotective cregan, reader is pretty horny for cregan (valid), pregnancy, reader is pregnant, sexual activities while pregnant, cregan is a father in his mind, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, cregan loves munching, vaginal fingering, teasing, biting, hair-pulling kink, obvious size difference + size kink, slight face-riding, lots of cregan admiring in this one-shot, very soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I love writing for Cregan so much, y’all don’t understand the depths of my adoration for him. I churned this out pretty quickly, but I loved writing it, Father Cregan is the best! I hope that you all enjoy, & thank you for your support! ❤️

𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

It was easier to breathe, you’d realized — King’s Landing had always been so stifling and pungent, the population too thick, the air acrid. Here, in the North, it was sprawling with open spaces, regions of untouched forest and unsettled countryside.

The bite of the harsh, Northern chill was not an easy adjustment to make after a lengthy life spent in Southern regions — the gnawing wind often seared your extremities, and it was not any easier on Silverwing. Fire ran through your veins, tempered by your tender heart and kindly disposition.

Your beloved husband would not have it any other way.

What had started as an unsteady, tumultuous betrothal marked by obvious bitterness from your family and wariness from his own House, had blossomed into a fruitful union. You couldn’t have asked for a better partner, and it made you realize how fortunate you were.

Snow was uncommon in most of the South, yet it remained constant in the North, mountains blanketed in endless horizons of white. It was a particularly icy day, winter winds stinging your cheeks, prickling your flesh with its pinpricks.

Mounds of pale, grayish fur swaddled your form, lined in the finest fleece, downy and plush against your skin. The trodden path to the Godswood was marked by frozen dirt, dusted over with a fresh layer of snowfall. Sprinkles of crystalline drops fell from the cloudy skies, and your breath emerged in hot wisps of air.

Lilac hues drifted toward the mountainous form of your husband, whose back was turned to you, swathed in the dappled pelt of a direwolf. Ice hung from his shoulder, a massive longsword of Valyrian Steel, an heirloom passed down through generations of House Stark.

Someday soon, it will pass to your firstborn son.

You recalled the night that you were wed, beneath the crimson leaves of the Weirwood Tree. It was serene, a moonlit dusk that struck the snow with an ethereal glow, your hands bound as you recanted your vows. It had been some moons now since that day, and you had only felt joy since then.

Cregan listened to the light crunch of snow beneath your footfalls as they reverberated throughout the Godswood, the pond frozen-over with a layer of ice. Pale bark marked with a foreign face peered back at him — this was a place that he and Rickon visited many times.

Before his little brother had passed, they pretended to fight wars here, forge their weapons, sticks found from the forest floor, and envision themselves as Knights. He could still feel his brother sometimes, his presence a whisper in the blood-red leaves, somewhere within the forest’s song.

Religion was a complicated thing for you. Your mother wielded the Faith of the Seven like a crudely-worn shortsword, letting it strike to her advantage even when it was rusty, at best. You had little interest in it, and Cregan seemed to respect your growing distance from your old roots. The Old Gods were his — you had nothing.

Inklings of snow drifted from the pale skies, growing darker as evening approached. The North became unyieldingly harsh after the sun began to wane, the sting of biting wind swirling around you, seeping into your bones. You were rather cold, but persisted for Cregan.

“Ser Rodrick said that I might find you here,” Silence dissipated, filled with the sound of your voice, as soft as feathers, a soothing balm. You stepped closer, beneath the boughs of the great tree, the canopy thick with vermillion leaves. “How are you faring?”

With Winter approaching, spreading its cold, brittle tendrils across the North, Cregan’s duties had increased tenfold. Preparing his people for winter, ensuring that food was plentiful, that they were safe — it was the burden of leadership, but there was no one better suited for it in your eyes.

“Well enough,” Cregan murmured, storm-colored hues drifting over the Weirwood tree before they turned to you, completely and utterly transfixed. You stole every wisp of air from his lungs with your beauty, clad in the trappings of his people. “I apologize for running off.”

An amiable smile crossed your features as you reached for your husband, slipping a gloved palm against the crook of his arm. “You needn’t apologize, husband. You are owed your solitude, and I wouldn’t dare tell you otherwise.” You have his bicep a gentle squeeze.

Cregan’s gaze softened, sparkling with a warmth reserved only for you, his beloved. Your presence always seemed to melt away his hardened exterior, but he much preferred it that way. He stepped closer, towering above you in all of his indomitable glory, craning down to press a kiss against your brow.

The gloved leather of his hand moved to cup your abdomen, and the growing life within. The joyous news of your pregnancy had been the talk of the North, the new Lady Stark, preparing to birth an heir of Winterfell. Those thick furs you wore obscured your belly quite well.

“I should be asking you how you fare, carrying our child,” Cregan insisted, gingerly caressing around your stomach with the pride of a doting husband. “Here you are, walking all this way to the Godswood, when it is I who should be by your side.” If there was one word to describe Cregan, it was overprotective.

Gods, he was attentive — if he did leave your side, he ensured that you were well looked-after, under the watchful protection of his guardsmen. You couldn’t fault your husband for his safeguarding nature, given that it was to be your firstborn.

Sometimes he forgot that you were a dragon-rider.

“Being beneath the open sky has done me a world of good, husband,” You mused, canting your head to one side. You were not completely round and waddling just yet — halfway through, as the Maester stated. “I cannot stand to look at that dreadful cobblestone for days on-end.”

Cregan did not protest, nor invalidate your claims. He was not the one carrying a child — he did not have a right to speak on behalf of you. A shiver rolled down your spine, due to the bitter chill of the wind, coupled with the encroaching snowfall.

Instead, he reached for your jaw, cupping your face within the roughened texture of his leather-clad palm, presenting you with a kiss. It was kept brief, yet the ardor lingered, as strong as a burning flame. “You are shivering, beloved. Let us return to the Keep.” He rumbled, shielding you beneath his cloak.

A respite from the cold would be welcome. Even if you possessed the blood of the Dragon, you did not fare well in such blisteringly glacial conditions. The thick cover of your husband’s cloak brought a sense of comfort, coupled with the natural heat that radiated from him.

Snow crunched beneath his heavy footfalls, your own masked by his boots. Cregan made sure to guide you every step of the way, hovering with his impressive shadow. “I have been contemplating a name for our child.” You spoke softly, a smile toying upon your lips.

“Have you?” Cregan appeared appeased, a stoic smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t know if we are to have a son or a daughter.” He remarked, letting your hand wrap around the bulk of his forearm, guiding you through the Godswood.

“Perhaps not, but I wanted you to hear,” Such ideas had been stirring around within your mind for weeks, and with Cregan so preoccupied, you hadn’t broached the topic of conversation. “Gilliane, after your mother, should we have a daughter, and … Rickon.” You hesitated. “Should we have a son.”

Cregan’s steps began to slow, and he looked upon you with such love and devotion that it was nearly overwhelming. He couldn’t have loved you anymore if he tried — and he had tried. Towering over you, he pressed a kiss against the top of your head, one that blossomed with fondness.

You gave him the greatest honor of all — that of fatherhood, and now, you had bestowed upon him sentimental names, those of his family. Love flourished within his storm-colored hues, and he seemed to soften at your words. “You would honor me beyond words, wife. Do you not wish to pay tribute to your own family?”

Placing a hand over the growing swell of your stomach, you seemed somewhat indifferent to talk of your family. Helaena and Daeron were the exceptions in this, but it did not pain you any less. “I pay tribute by carrying our child,” You replied, your smile threadbare. “That is enough.”

Solemn, Cregan simply nodded, understanding your strained relationship with the family you had left behind in King’s Landing. From what you told him and from what he discerned, you seemed much happier here, liberated and free of such poisonous clutches. “Of course.” A soft rumble reverberated throughout his chest.

Winterfell’s snow-laden gates were now within reach, as guards in Stark tabards harkened the return of its Lord and Lady. He thoroughly enjoyed watching you interact with the denizens underneath his protection — you often greeted them with smiles and laughter.

He watched you grow into your station as Lady Stark, a growth that showed such promise. You had been shy around Northerners at first, but you now walked as if you had been in Winterfell your whole life. Cregan kept you close, his stance that of a protective husband, hovering above you with his hulking stature.

The Keep was close, and you could feel the crackling warmth of the hearth lick across your skin in the forefront of your mind. Cregan was characteristically stalwart, keeping you wedged against his side, swaddled in the thick furs of the direwolf.

Once inside, you welcomed the gust of warmer air. The Keep burned many fires and braziers when winter became sharp and bitter, your cheeks stinging from the cold. “Shall we retire this evening, or are you lacking in nourishment?” Cregan inquired, knowing that your penchant for foodstuffs had increased while pregnant.

“Could something be brought to our chambers? Perhaps a stew or a broth, that sounds rather warming.” As if on-queue, your stomach lurched with inklings of famish, as if your child also demanded something to eat.

“It will be done,” With his stoic assurance, your husband bent down to press a kiss against your temple, smoothing a palm across your back. “I will join you shortly, wife.” Cregan had a tendency to walk the Keep before retiring — spare a word to the guards, those in the kitchens, and anyone underneath his care.

“Do not keep me waiting for too long.” You mused, lips curving into a warm smile that could melt even the hardiest of ice — including that of your husband. The vulnerability that seemed to come to him in your presence was a comforting thing.

With a soft huff, Cregan cupped your chin, looking upon you with tempestuous hues, as gray as a winter’s storm. “I wouldn’t dare.” He assured, presenting you with a tender kiss. Gods, you had sorely missed his mouth in many ways, and you were swift to reciprocate.

After you had become with-child, fuller and round with the heir to Winterfell, you had not engaged Cregan as much in terms of intimacy. He wanted you to relax, to not have to lift a finger. You missed your husband in more ways than one, giving way to your own basic desires and carnal instincts.

The kiss possessed a charged edge, tension looming above, the fringes of it seeping into your lips. You held onto his forearm, an audible sigh slipping past your mouth when Cregan withdrew. He could detect your yearning — the sentiment was a mutual one, but he feared hurting you, as any man would.

With a gentle hum, you allowed your husband to leave you, watching as his impressive form encapsulated all space within the corridor he walked in. You let him tend to his duties, and you made for the spiraling stairwell, making your way to your chambers without a hitch.

Thick, wooden doors gave way to the sanctuary within, the hearth being stoked and tended-to by one of the servants. “I thought you might want it warm, m’lady.” She mused, having laid out a series of new wardrobes for you across the foot of your bed.

“Thank you, Tanea.” The new gowns and dresses seemed to be made with your new specifications in-mind, accommodating for your growing belly. Part of you felt self-conscious when it came to your pregnancy — you no longer seemed to fit into your own skin.

“You must be excited, with the babe on the way,” Tanea was easy to speak with, an exuberant young woman with cherubic features. “Your Lord-Husband certainly is.” She chimed, finishing with the hearth as she moved about.

“Is he?” Cregan was sometimes difficult to read, countenance permanently etched with that stoic Northern scowl of his, but you knew how happy he was. Knowing that your servants could see it filled you with delight. “I may need your assistance, Tanea.”

“Very much so, m’lady. He speaks as if he is a father already,” She fluttered to your side, assisting you in relinquishing the weight of your fur cloak and overcoat you wore. Tanea arranged the garments back into the large, wooden wardrobe. “Do you need anything else?”

“I do not,” You smiled, moving to sit atop the fur-laden footlocker at the end of your shared bed. “You have my gratitude, Tanea.” The girl curtsied, a proper gesture, before making her way from your chambers.

Intrigued, you happened to admire the new gowns strewn across your bed, many of them styled in the Northern way of dress, save for your evening shifts. One in particular caught your eye, made of sage-hued silk, translucent and frilly, the sleeves billowing.

Pinching the fabric between your fingers, you decided on wearing it to bed, pushing yourself up right as you organized the rest elsewhere, into the space of your wardrobe. Heavy footfalls resonated outside of your door, with it creaking open to give way to Cregan.

Your mountain of a husband carried two bowls of steaming stew, placing them down along the small, rounded table. The intricate carving of a wolf rested along the table’s edge, made of wood from the Wolfswood. “Are you tired?” He inquired, removing Ice from his shoulders, scabbard and all, placing it near his bedside.

After you had become with-child, he kept it close, in case of any unsightly, dire circumstances. He would not ever allow himself to be defenseless in your presence. You had thought it to be somewhat overly cautious, but you did not dissuade him otherwise.

“Not really,” You hummed, reaching for the many pins keeping your braids in-place. You removed them one by one, placing the ruby-studded needles upon your vanity. It felt better to let your hair down, pale tresses cascading across your shoulders in soft waves. “I am perfectly awake.”

Cregan’s visage was one of clear appreciation and adoration as he stepped closer, admiring the way you looked. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He insisted, hands moving to assist you in unlacing your dress. This was a common practice with each passing night — you enjoyed it.

Warmth crept along your features as you stood still, allowing him to untie your bodice with his calloused fingers, until the garment loosened. “You are much too kind, husband.” Stepping from your gown, you were left in a white slip, one that had grown somewhat uncomfortable with its tightness.

“It is not a kindness, but the plain truth.” Cregan replied, pressing a kiss against the pale crown of your head, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. “You are my beautiful wife.” He affirmed with a grunt, and moved away to change into his own smallclothes. Abandoning his leather and armor always felt unusual for him.

There was no debating your husband, whose stubbornness was sometimes renowned. Instead, you smiled, abandoning the snug, ivory fabric for your field of sage, hastily pulling it on over the swell of your stomach.

It gave you ample time to observe Cregan, whose musculature ensnared you time and time again. He was impressively thick, broad-shouldered and built like the Wall itself. Seeing him standing there in just his trousers made something hot stir between your legs.

You crept forward, shamelessly wrapping your arms around him from behind, and you could feel a tremor throughout his body when he huffed. “I have a handsome husband, a perfect husband — and that is the plain truth.” You hummed, cold cheek burying itself against the warmth of his skin.

Wordlessly, you peppered soft kisses against his spine, and to any scars and bruises that you could see. You listened to the sharp exhale from your husband, who did not protest your actions. Your lips felt like the kiss of snow, still cold from the chilly outdoors.

Cregan let you stay that way, and in-truth, he enjoyed it thoroughly. Those large, calloused hands placed themselves atop yours, lifting both to his lips as he kissed your knuckles. He let them drop, and you caressed him wherever you could. The gesture was soft, but he couldn’t deny the growing sensuality present between you both.

“For the blood of the dragon, your hands run cold, wife.” Cregan rumbled, soothingly tracing his fingers across your wrist, feeling your physique against his back, including the swell of your belly. You pressed your palms against his abdomen, able to feel the taut, subtle muscle there.

“It is a good thing that I have you to warm them,” The silky, soft resonance of your voice brought him comfort. You sounded so relaxed and blissful, feeling him sluggishly turn around within your hold. Cregan cupped your cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing across your lips. You kissed his thumb. “Kiss me.”

Cregan’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, and he instead gestured to the meal he’d brought with him. “Once you eat and have proper sustenance, I might indulge you then, beloved.” He mused, noticing the twinge of disappointment on your face.

“Might?” There was an upward inflection within your tone, as if the mere suggestion of might had offended you to some degree. Your burly husband then caged you within his embrace, palms soothingly caressing along your hips. “Must you insist on tormenting me?” You teased.

With a low grunt, Cregan reached for his tunic, eyes twinkling with mirth. “For now.” Tugging on the dark blue linen of his nightshirt, he gestured for you to eat, sitting beside you at the table. His own chair groaned in protest, and before he knew it, you were devouring your stew.

A mouthful of warm, seasoned broth filled your maw, accompanied with hearty chunks of venison and stewed vegetables. The cuisine in the North differed greatly from the South, not that you minded. You often felt more fulfilled after meals than you used to.

“Gods, that was wonderful,” You groaned, the stew satisfying your cravings. It warmed you to the bone, causing a shudder to roll down your spine as you finished, nudging the bowl aside. “I could eat several servings of that.” Your confession prompted Cregan to smirk.

“Famished, were you?” Cregan mused, watching as you moved out of your chair, cradling your stomach with one hand. He very nearly rushed to assist you, but he knew you would’ve swatted him aside.

“Quite, but I am eating for two. Your child needs it as much as I do,” You remarked, wandering toward the hearth as you extended one palm toward the fire. The comforting heat licked across your flesh, the orange light dancing over your features. “Much better.”

Cregan joined you not long after, guiding you to sit atop the large footlocker at the end of your marital bed, closest to the open flames. His rough fingertips glided over the plane of sage-hued silks, as he admired your womanly form through the fabric. “This suits you.” He rumbled, gently tugging on the silk to accentuate his point.

“Tanea had the seamstress craft me new clothing, given that I’ve grown quite a bit,” Admittedly, you felt some insecurity in your current state, afraid that your husband may not enjoy you as he once had. “I am glad that you like it, husband. I was worried that you wouldn’t.”

Perplexed, chestnut brows furrowed together, his countenance one of clear concern. Slipping an arm behind you, he calmly stroked your side, silently beseeching you to tell him of your worries. He knew what it pertained to, even if it was left unspoken. “Your worries are misplaced. I love you.” He assured.

“It isn’t just that, I — I suppose I feared that you wouldn’t still enjoy me this way. Most husbands in the capital seemed so disinterested when their wives began to show.” This wasn’t the South, and Cregan was as far from a disinterested husband as one could get. He kissed your jaw, letting you rest against him.

“You are carrying our child, the heir to Winterfell — I would continue to love you regardless of what your body might look like. Damn the Southerners,” Cregan murmured, planting a hand atop your belly. “I look at you and I see my wife — I see perfection. My heart calls your name.” For a man so rugged and rough, his words made your blood surge with exhilaration.

Joining his hand, you placed your palm atop his, the one firmly perched against your belly. If Cregan were being truthful with himself, he found you to be painfully beautiful like this, swollen with his child, knowing that he put a pup in you. Those lascivious fantasies had now become reality.

“Ñuha dōna zokla,” My sweet wolf — your High Valyrian often brought him to heel, bringing out the siren’s lull within your voice. Cregan had made a valiant effort to learn some of the language for you, but it never sounded as pleasant on his Northern tongue. “I am yours.” You beamed, lilac hues glistening with ardor.

Bringing a calloused palm to your face, he traced the fine plane of your cheekbone, reveling in the velveteen texture of your flesh. A wolf, brought to heel at his dragon’s side. Cregan studied your Valyrian features, basking in your beauty, coaxing you in for a kiss.

Your mouth was disarmingly soft, catching him off-guard, stealing away all of his coherency. He felt you turn inward, palm planting itself against the thick, corded muscle of his thigh, gripping him tightly as he deepened your kiss.

Something warm stirred within him, a longing to feel your body against his, able to detect the hitch within your breath as he drew you closer. Your wanton need radiated from you in thick, permeating waves, enough to bring him into the intricate web of your desire.

“Easy, wife.” Cregan rumbled, wanting to temper your carnality before it raged into that of a dragon’s flame. Your pleading gaze suggested otherwise, prompting him to caress along the length of your spine. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

A begrudging sigh escaped your lips as you incessantly tugged at his tunic, staring at your husband with furrowed brows. “You wouldn’t,” You uttered, tracing your fingers over his heart. “We do not have to commit the entire act. I simply want to enjoy you in other ways — I miss it.”

Subtlety wasn’t your strongest suit, and Cregan knew this. Arousal stirred within him, cock twitching at your lascivious insinuations. “Hm,” A soft growl left him, one that seemed to share your sentiments. “Is that what my lady commands of me?” He murmured, holding you close.

“She does,” You hummed, treating him to a playful smile as you reached for his chestnut tresses. One of your hands slithered beneath his tunic, feeling along the solid, thick muscle of his abdomen. He stroked at your belly, a stern hum reverberating within his throat. “Gods, I need you.” You exhaled.

With your need laid bare, Cregan heeded you with a fire swirling within his gut. His hand dipped down to the apex of your thighs, pushing beneath your silken shift until he found your cunt. Gods, you were wet already, a tantalizing thing, one that he found delight in.

“You are warm already, beloved.” Cregan’s thunderous timbre raked down your spine, effortlessly gaining your subservience with ease. You shivered, feeling his thick fingers deftly caress across your slit, teasing and toying with you, gathering your slick.

Feather-light touches would have to suffice as Cregan lazily pressed one digit against your clit. His mouth found the slender expanse of your neck, delivering hot, passionate kisses against your throat.

A simpering whine tore past your parted lips, one filled with such urgency as you shifted closer, writhing against the sensation of his hand. Any lick of friction would do, consuming your body with its amatory heat. He grunted into the hollow of your throat, kissing you wherever you could.

Your own mouth found the impressive bulk of his shoulder, seeking to bring your teeth into his flesh. A sonorous, rumbling grunt left your husband when you bit him, leaving behind the crescent marks of your teeth. If it weren’t for your pregnancy, he would’ve marked you in this way, too.

Seeking the softness of your mouth, Cregan’s mouth twitched into a threadbare smirk as he kissed you hard, letting it linger as his hand withdrew from your skirts. A groan of disappointment left you, but he intended on making up for it fully.

He moved off of the footlocker, planting a lasting kiss against your brow. Towering over you, Cregan’s shadow eclipsed most flickers of firelight, gray hues swirling with warmth as he bent the knee to you, his beloved. It was a mesmerizing sight, one that you reveled in.

His massive musculature bullied its way between your thighs, warm palms shifting to caress along your legs, from ankle to calf. He had never seen someone as resplendent as you, breathtakingly beautiful, the blood of the dragon, his wife.

Gathering your skirts within your hands, you fisted the silks, dragging them up until they pooled around your hips. Warm lips embraced the crook of your knee, peppering kisses across your leg, until he reached the velvet flesh of your inner thighs.

Your hips began to tilt forward, seeking the pleasant heat of his mouth, a heat that he gladly granted you time and time again. Cregan kissed his way to the slick warmth between your legs, a thunderous exhale escaping him, chest vibrating with a grunt.

Cregan gingerly adjusted your position, letting your legs rest against his broad shoulders, your back sloped against the furs and footboard of your bed. He pressed a kiss against your mound, nose buried near your pelvis before he made his descent.

A warm lap of his tongue dragged itself over your core, like hot embers raking across your cunt. You sighed, blissfully succumbing to wanton desire, reaching for his crown of chestnut tresses, gripping at the back of his skull. “Cregan.” You whined, head rolling forward just a bit.

Pale waves framed your face, countenance contorted into an expression of sheer and utter bliss, brows furrowing together. Your husband happily found his solace between your legs, mouth pressing hot kisses across your cunt. His hand gripped at your haunch, the other trailing against your leg.

It was ambrosial, your taste; a finest stout, sweetest of nectars that stained his lips with your perfection. Cregan lapped at your cunt, dutiful and attentive, ensuring to find every spot that made you gasp for air.

Nimble digits fisted into the furs at your side, mouth agape as a myriad of throaty moans escaped you. Your hand roamed through his tresses, tugging and pulling whenever his tongue graced the pearl of your cunt.

Splitting past your folds, Cregan tasted every inch of you, tongue seeking your cunt with a fervor. He was vigorous in his ministrations, not shying away from consuming every drop of your arousal. His nose brushed against your mound, hands kneading into your thighs to reassure you, let you know that he had you.

Any inkling of roughness had dissipated from him in the wake of your pregnancy, replaced with a passionate devotion, a rapture reserved only for you. His strong hands held you close, caressing you wherever he could.

You tasted sweet upon his tongue, honey-thick and a feast to sate his appetite. If he would choose his fate, it would be in between your legs, listening to the myriad of moans and throaty whimpers leave you. It was satisfying to know how much you enjoyed this; derived pleasure from it.

A tremor gripped your legs, little spasms of delight making their way throughout your body. Cregan’s mouth forged a blazing path from the hood of your cunt to your entrance, tongue greedy and hot, before he went back up again, seeking your sensitive pearl.

“Cregan!” Gods, he brought you such pleasure, a pleasure that seemed to seep into your very bones, sate your endless yearning, for now. Your legs curled inward, tight atop his shoulders as you rocked yourself into his mouth, doing little to suppress the volume of your moans.

He pressed closer with a wolf’s appetite, throat burning with carnal hunger as he continued to lap at your slick cunt. Your arousal felt honey-thick upon his tongue, something reserved only for him, chin glistening with your nectar. Your legs squeezed at his head, and he knew that he pleasured you well.

Molten heat churned within the pit of your stomach, a sensation that you had been longing to feel again. Cregan did not relent, yet he happened to slow just enough to savor you, dragging his tongue toward that clutch of nerves at the hood of your cunt.

As soon as he pursed his lips around your clit, you nearly forgot your own name, thoughts completely derailed, scattered into a blissful abyss. Your body reacted with shivers and tremors, hand gripping at the nape of his neck with a reckless abandon.

Your back arched slightly, collarbone glittering with perspiration through the thick, warm haze of your chambers. The hearth had brought about a feverish heat, coupled with the throes of your intimate entanglement. Cregan derived satisfaction from your pleasure, delighted to please his wife.

Pliant flesh filled his palm as he cupped your derrière, bringing you closer, letting you grind yourself against his mouth, use him and take whatever you needed. A grunt stirred within his chest, reverberating within his throat as he went about seeking your clit, suckling on the pearl of your cunt.

“Oh Gods,” You moaned, nearly clasping a hand over your mouth to hide the salaciousness of your voice. Surely, the servants had heard you by now — you would be fortunate if all of Winterfell didn’t hear you. “I — I’m close!” Rocking forward again, you let out a whimper.

With a strangled whine, you desperately chased after your release, one that you had sorely needed. Cregan’s cock twitched at the sound of your delicious moans, a shudder rolling down his spine whenever you whimpered his name. “That’s it,” He rumbled, hot breath fanning over your core. “Go on.” His encouragement was softly spoken through his Northern timbre.

He wanted to stay there, rooted between your legs, mouth consuming your cunt as if it were his last meal; a man wrought with starvation.

Cregan favored it, thoroughly reveling in the way your body reacted to him, visceral and ecstatic. He gingerly suckled on your clit, feeling your fingers tighten within his chestnut locks, gripping him tight. He wanted you to have your release, built upon this pent-up feeling.

He could feel your encroaching release, feel the tension in your grasp, the way you let your hips continue to lurch forward. Without relenting, Cregan continued to suck at your clit, letting it intermingle with hot laps of his tongue, dutiful and fervent between your legs.

A comfortable silence filled the gap between you, intermingled with the sounds of your pleasured cries and Cregan’s sonorous grunts. That heated coil within your stomach began to unfurl, bringing an onslaught of arousal with it as you bucked into his mouth.

At last, your peak consumed you in a white-hot oblivion, and you very nearly saw the stars themselves. With a strangled gasp, your legs tightened on either side of his head, followed by a blissful rush of liquid heat. Your grip began to slack upon his tresses, chest heaving from exertion.

Cregan lingered there for a few moments more, tongue caressing your cunt, cleaning up any last drop of your nectar. His mouth glistened with it when he did inevitably withdraw, lashing across his lips before he kissed your thighs, showering you in affection.

“Do you feel better?” He mused, kissing the crook of your knee before standing to his feet. You were positively hot, feeling a feverish warmth crawl across your skin, thighs shaking in the aftermath. You hastily adjusted your slip, regarding him with a gracious expression.

“Very much,” Your confession made him smirk as he helped you into bed, abandoning his tunic at the iron-wrought foot. As he settled down, you joined him, curled within the space at his side. “Would you like me to return the favor?”

Cregan never expected you to do anything that you didn’t want to — never feel obligated, either. He would survive without a night of release. “Tomorrow, perhaps.” He murmured, moving to rest a hand against the swell of your stomach, caressing your growing bump.

“Thank you, husband — for everything.” A gentle hum left you as you placed your hand over his, allowing him to protectively cradle your stomach. You let your head rest against his shoulder, his arm holding you at his side.

A bemused huff escaped him as he peered at you with mirthful hues, gray eyes that resembled a thunderstorm. “You needn’t thank me,” He assured, briefly pressing a kiss to your temple. “You needn’t ask for it, either.” Cregan enjoyed the taste of your cunt more than anything else.

You couldn’t help but smile, sheepishly moving to press a kiss against his jaw. “I love you,” You sighed, letting your ardor for him be known as you felt your eyes grow heavy. “Tomorrow, I would like for us to see Silverwing. She grows lonely in my absence.”

Cregan knew how much the creature meant to you. He had met Silverwing before, but he dared not climb upon her back — you’d asked it of him several times before. “Of course, beloved.” He murmured, basking in the heat of the firelight.

A sharp, fluttering sensation blossomed throughout your abdomen, prompting you to gasp. It was sudden and unexpected, but not painful. It was foreign, and had been happening on rare occasions.

“What is it?” Cregan questioned, visibly concerned before you dismissed it with a bright, delighted smile. You gently guided his hand elsewhere atop your stomach, pale brows furrowing together as you searched for the source.

“There,” You mused, joyous laughter escaping you as another kick fluttered against your joined hands. “Do you feel it?” It was heartwarming to watch the happiness glisten within his eyes, the way in which he adjusted his position to truly feel. Cregan’s true smiles were a rarity, and you saw it now.

The blood of the wolf and the dragon stirred within, prompting you to smile appreciatively at your husband. This was something the both of you had made with your love, the heir to Winterfell. “They seem strong,” Cregan remarked, leaning over to plant a kiss against your brow. “Perfect, just like their mother.”

His hand never left your belly, even as he maneuvered the furs over the both of you, letting you move to lay against the warm expanse of his chest. Cregan exhaled, staring into the dying embers of the heart, tracing his digits along the swell of your stomach.

“Strong, just like their father.” You whispered, pressing a kiss against his jaw before you settled down for slumber, shielded by the protective grasp of your Lord-husband.

#house of the dragon #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #cregan x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #cregan stark #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones

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lokischocolatefountain · 7 months ago

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home in three days, do not wash

Fandom: Gladiator II Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Wife!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: age gap, mild choking, mentions of child death, hurt comfort, breeding kink, lactation, reader has children, taboo for the time oral sex, talk of war. Word count: 3.6k words Summary: Your General returns home ravenous for you and you cannot decline him, even if any exposure of his act would bring him great shame. A/N: Thanks to @saradika-graphics for the awesome graphics. Napoleon said 'be home in three days, do not wash' and what was I supposed to do? Not use it for our big thicc roman general returning home from war to fuck us? I did research and shit and came to know that eating pussy was a big no no back in the day. dj Khaled would love to be an ancient roman ig. also learned that rich ladies didn't breastfeed and used a wet nurse but they knew that breastfeeding could help and some women did it. Outside all that research, it's just depravity, baby. Anyway, validate my depravity with some comments pls.

Laughter echoed through the hallways of your palatial home and you stood at a balcony with the best view from atop the hill. The campaign that had taken your husband away had finally come to an end with victory for Rome. Far from the hustle and bustle of the city, you were always one of the last people to receive the latest news of importance. This time was an exception to the rule.

Home in three days. Do not wash.

All you wanted when you received the message was to run in the direction of the roads that would bring your beloved home. Three days were too long. You wanted to curtail the long wait, run to him so you would be in one another’s arms in a day and a half.

But you chose the more realistic path and prepared the home for his arrival. The servants polished every surface, your handmaiden ensured you had all your most preferred clothing— that which he loved to see on your body. The kitchen was busy preparing every meal that the master loved. Your two older children with your general busied themselves recollecting everything they learned from their private tutor to impress their father.

Your youngest, your first son, was still so young he had never met his father. He was the child your dearest had longed to have for so long. For all the luck the gods had given him in the battlefield, they had given very little in the way of children to carry his legacy. In his heart, he was father to seven daughters and six sons. The gods had only allowed four daughters to live. Two of his sons passed in infancy, one passed in birth, taking his mother with him. One other was taken by disease and another killed in battle.

He now had only one son and he hadn’t yet the joy of holding him in his arms. Everyday that Marcus was in the battlefield was torture. Babe on your breast and fear in your heart over whether his father would live to see him. Fear sometimes subsided for anger to have its way. That very anger remained in your chest, prepared to unleash on him the moment he stepped into the home.

When the sun dimmed, night crept in and so did Marcus. You refused to greet him at the door. A warm welcome was reserved for men who told their wives where they were going before they left. You had half a mind to ask for a bath to be prepared. To wash yourself with milk and fragrant oils in front of him so he could see your defiance in action.

But you remained in the balcony, eyes set on the moon who served as your companion when he left you. For all the fury you had for him, there was also an ache of sympathy. You wouldn’t sour his mood the moment he entered. He must see his son first. Then you would see to that he groveled at your feet for his cruelty.

Just as you thought, you had a long time to relax on the settee. He always went to his children first. Be it after months away on the battlefield or a mere day in the city. You asked for your son’s crib to be moved to your daughters’ room so he would be able to see them all at once, saving him the battle of choosing between his great loves. You’d sent word to him on the battlefield after you gave birth, sent him the name of his son so he would know to include him in his prayers.

You heard whispers of his voice conversing with a servant. Your heart quickened its pace, each thud against your ribs matching the thuds of his feet against the floor. Oh how you wanted to turn around. It had been so long since your eyes were blessed with him. His towering height, broad frame, the pink of his lips and the curls you so loved to comb through with your fingers. You trembled, the cold breeze reminding you how devoid you’d been of his warmth. Yet you were resolved to not give yourself up to him so soon. You stayed in place and closed your eyes.

He stopped behind you and your name spilled from his lips like honey. It had been so long since anyone spoke your name so… The servants called you mistress and your children called you mother. Your birth family only wrote your name in their many letters. He was the only one who spoke your name, leaving you without hearing your own name since his departure. But you stayed, did not turn, did not open your eyes. He spoke it again, his voice gentle but louder as he stopped at your side.

“Open your eyes, dearest.”

“Where have you come, General?” You asked, your voice cold enough to be the envy of the winter breeze.

“General?” He asked, a hint of amusement playing at his lips.

“Are you not a General?” You taunted, finally opening your eyes. He looked weary from battle and travel. You longed to take him to your chambers and strip him of his armor to count his wounds, kiss each one be it new or old. His hair was grayer than when he left, his skin duller, but his eyes were still the soft brown that gave you peace when you first saw him as his young bride.

“Your General,” he said with a small smile as though his words were supposed to make you forgive him at once and shower him with kisses. It only strengthened your resolve. If he wouldn’t treat you as a wife, you wouldn’t give him the respect of a husband.

“You have a son,” you said, stretching your legs out in the settee just as he made to take his seat there. His hand wrapped around your ankle and you kicked it off, daring him to make another attempt at moving your legs so he could sit. He smiled softly, conceding as he moved to stand by your head.

“He is beautiful, mellilla,” he said, caressing your cheek. You slapped his hand away. All of Rome may fall at his feet and welcome him back with praises of his victory. He was deserving of course, not only for his achievements but for his undying loyalty to Rome. If Rome were a woman, she would be his principal wife and you— you would only be a tavern whore he fucked and left in the dead of night.

“You block the moonlight, General Acacius.”

“Marcus,” he said, moving to allow you sight of the moon once again. He sat in the little remaining space on the settee and looked down at you. Despite the toll war had taken on him, he was incredibly handsome. Bold nose, pink lips and graying curls that only made him look ever so slightly more distinguished. He bent down and pressed a kiss to your lips. You did not return the kiss, but you did not push him away. There was an limit even to your anger. You placed a hand on his shoulder, the act of denying yourself the joy of your lover weighing heavy in your heart.

“I’m afraid I haven’t such an honor.” You bit down on your lip, annoyed at yourself for the trembling of your voice as you spoke. Your anger for him had a foundation of pain after all.

His face fell and he sighed. He looked down at his lap and you hoped it was from shame.

“If you have nothing to say, you may leave. If you need it, you may summon the servants for your meal. But I am sure the emperor did not send his best general hungering for food or cunt,” you spat, rising to sit up on the settee. Hand as strong as iron wrapped around your wrist, coupling with his strong torso that trapped you in place to keep you from getting up. You squirmed in his grasp, but he did not budge.

“Listen to me.”

“Is that an order?”

He wrapped an arm around you and held your cheek in his hand. You looked up at him, giving him biting fury to his firm yet gentle gaze. “If it is the only way I will have your obedience, then yes. It is an order.”

“You may speak, but you cannot make me listen and you most certainly cannot make me respond.”

“I am your husband.”

“A husband doesn’t leave for a year long war at the dead of night with no explanation to the woman swelling with his child,” you screamed, fist slamming against his chest. It didn’t affect Marcus. Nothing affected the great General Acacius, you thought with derision. You hit him in the chest again, tears brimming in your eyes and clouding your vision.

“Forgive me,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You ceased your attacks as his apology coupled with the pain in his eyes reduced you to tears. You’d kept everything in for so long, put on a brave face for your daughters and hid your heart in your letter to your father. It was only with Marcus that you didn’t need to hide. He always tore your fears down and pulled you into the safety of his arms.

“I wouldn’t have been able to leave had I said goodbye.”

“I was so afraid,” you confessed, leaning into his chest. Every pretense of strength and composure left your body as you let him hold you to his chest. The gold earrings you wore to please his eyes pressed cold against your skin under his hand. He moved next to your hair and then you neck, the hand that held swords and spilled blood only to return home to love you.

“Carissima…You were all I could think of after I left. Forgive me,” he begged, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to each finger.

“Later. I have missed you. Marcus,” you whispered, craning your neck to kiss him. He returned your kiss in an instant, arms cradling you as you devoured each other. He smelled of war— blood, soil, sweat, and leather. It was far more pleasing to your senses than any fragrant oils and flowers. Your Marcus and his distinctly masculine scent was above all but the fragrance of your newborn.

You whined as he retreated. He laughed and returned to scatter kisses along your jawline like Rome scattered rose petals along the steps of the Colosseum for his feet. He reached under your layers of silk and linen, making you tremble and press yourself closer to his chest.

“So soft…”

“I need you, please.” It was all he needed to hear before he walked up to the doors of the balcony and slammed them shut. What he did with you, for you, wasn’t for anyone else’s eyes but your own.

He unlatched the gold clips that held your palla to your shoulders and set them aside. Your stola and tunic followed, piling up on the marble floor. Cold air caressed your bare breasts, bigger and fuller now as you nursed your son yourself. You traced your hand up his arm, feeling his vambrace before finding his muscular arms. You whimpered from just how big he was in your hands. You squeezed, feeling the hard muscle and rough skin.

Your General knelt before you and you sat up straight, confused by his action. He couldn’t be… You sought his apologies and regret, but by no means would you ask him to humiliate himself for you. Such a man, superior to you in every way.

“Dominus!” You shrieked, reminding him who he was even when he came home.

“Shh…”

“Are you going to—?”

“Lick you cunt? Yes. Sit back, now,” he said as he guided you to lean back on the settee. You shook your head from side to side, appalled by the circumstances and confused as to how you were supposed to stop him. He spread your legs wide, planting your feet upon the seat. He licked his plush lips and looked up at you, his eyes those of a ravenous beast.

“You cannot. I only want you to understand the torture you put me through, not debase yourself in front of me. It’s not right.”

A corner of his lips curled up slightly. He spat on his hand and rubbed it into your cunt. You arched into his palm, your cunt chasing any contact you could have with your beloved. “Tell me, who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“Speak fully and speak my name.”

“I belong to you, Marcus.”

“Correct. Why do you think then, that you can tell me what I can and cannot do with you?”

He parted your cunt lips and slid a finger inside you. “You belong to me. All of you. This cunt belongs to me. Does it not?” You nodded as he pumped his thick finger in and out of you. It had been so long since you’d been touched that even his finger felt a little much for you to take. You shuddered as you thought of his cock, promising the virility that came with such a size.

“Speak,” he commanded, every bit the fearsome General who led men into battle. When even warriors couldn’t defy him, how could you?

“It belongs to you, Marcus.”

“Mmm,” he rumbled, curling his finger inside you, making you whimper. “If I want to lick this cunt then, do you have any right to stop me?”

“N-no,” you cried, grabbing his wrist and imploring him to slow down for you couldn’t take such intoxicating pleasure. “If peo— Marcus! If someone knew—”

Then he dove into your core and licked the nub above your cunt, eliciting a squeal from you. He looked up at you from between your legs, tongue still licking you as he smirked. It was sinful, the sight and the act of a man serving a woman. You shook your head, your senses already addled from being so close to him after a long year. It was wrong. Wrong. But oh gods, he made all the wrongs feel right and who were you to deny him?

Tears rolled down your cheeks, no longer from the agony of separation from your dearest but from the building pressure in your core.

“Marcus…” you said, unable to say anything else. You reached your hand towards him, needing to be anchored to the Earth as he flew you to the heavens. He enveloped your hand in his and gave a small squeeze. His other hand and his lips were unrelenting, giving him new ways to torment you.

How did anyone deem it submissive for a man to kneel and lick cunt? Your Marcus still looked as majestic as ever. The picture of victory that Rome worshiped. The Marcus Acacius who slew and killed was home and ruthless in his conquest of you. Even as he licked your core, he was the one with all the power in hand. This was but a new way for him to take you.

You gasped inaudibly as he inserted another finger in your cunt, stretching you in preparation for his cock. You felt your unraveling come closer. He pulled you deeper into whatever spell he had you under whenever he touched your cunt. You squeezed his hand tighter, saying everything your lips couldn’t. Hold me, keep me safe, never let me go.

The waves crashed against the rocks on the shores of the beach as you came crashing down from the heavens. Marcus kept his wordless promise. You tightened your legs around his head yet he held you in place and kept you safe.

When you came to, you found your fingers tangled in between his dark curls. You loosened your grip on him but did not let go, needing to feel him even if it was just his hair.

“I should not have liked that.”

He laughed and gave your cunt another lick, smirking as he watched you shudder.

“But you did,” he said, getting up at last. “I knew you tasted divine, but having you directly from your cunt is something else, melilla.”

“I have not washed in days because of you. I am sure I taste horrendous.”

“Good girl, following orders well. But you are wrong. You taste and smell like a woman. Not a perfumed woman. This,” he said in a low voice as the tip of his nose traced up your neck. He inhaled your scent and moaned. “This is nothing you can find in a vial. This is your true scent,” he said, stopping at your ear and placing a kiss.

“I would recognize it anywhere.” He reached under his pteruges and toga and retrieved his cock. Your cunt clenched at the mere sight of him.

He was far too covered. As much as you loved to see your General in his armor, you loved more to see him bare. You needed to run your fingers over his bare chest and dig your fingernails into his shoulders as he wrung his pleasure out of you. You found the ties that held his armor in place and began to undo them.

“Impatient girl,” he chided as he aligned himself with your cunt.

“Help me out then,” you snapped back as you struggled with the knots. He ignored your request and continued on his path of destroying you, plunging his length inside you much too quickly. You cried from the pain and pleasure of being stretched out by him once again.

“Marcus!”

He bent forward and whispered your name against your lips before claiming them. You moaned into the kiss as you rubbed yourself against him for friction. You were loath to pull away from his cock even the slightest as you ached for him too much to part from him. You wrapped your legs around him and pressed your heels down on his back, pulling him deeper inside you.

He wrapped a hand around your throat, tightening and loosening every now and then. “Day and night, I longed for you,” he whispered, his breath mixing with yours. “Dreamt of the day I would be inside you again.”

You echoed the sentiment, but he quickly silenced you with a hard thrust that you felt in the deepest part of your core. He wasn’t the gentle Marcus who treated you like you did your fine silks but the General who conquered every land he set foot on. He rammed in and out of you, reclaiming you as his. Your cunt opened up to take its master, molded itself around him like it did each time since your wedding night. He had taken you, his young bride, and shown you a world only he could. He’d taken and taken, made you a woman by showing you what your body could do for you.

He licked up your neck, growling like he was tasting the finest delicacies from the emperors’ table after being starved for months. “You smell sweet, Carisimma.”

“You lived in tents with men for a year. I’m sure a pig would smell sweet to you now,” you said, making him laugh even as he wrecked you. He reached down to your breasts and grabbed one in his hand. He pinched your nipple between his fingers and tugged, making you cry out in pain.

“Marcus!” Drops of milk trickled from your breasts and he swiped it with him thumb before licking it.

“I only regret that I could not see you grow bigger with my seed.”

“You ha- you have seen it before.”

“Yet I am not satisfied. I need more, I need to fill you up with my seed, keep you full with my children in perpetuity.”

“Marcus! Please…”

“What do you beg for, girl?”

“Give me sons, Marcus. Let me give you heirs,” you cried, overcome by the need to become his in that primal way. It was more than just your duty as his wife. It was an innate desire. As frightening as pregnancy was, you wanted it again and again at the hands of your husband. To give him sons carry his name and daughters who would control the great General with their laughter.

“Give me sons,” he repeated, the hand around your neck squeezing tight. This time, he did not relax, holding your air hostage as he used your cunt for his carnal desires. You gasped for breath. Your cunt squeezed around him, keeping him in so he would give you his seed and refusing to let go even for a moment.

Every thrust after sent delicious ripples of pain. You knew that you would wake the next morning unable to walk as usual. You would hear your servant girls giggle when they thought you couldn’t hear. He would wreck you day and night, make you scream for all the house to hear. He would take you to high places in the city, an arrogant smile on his lips as he showed you off, rounded again with his child.

As though he could read your thoughts, he spilled inside you with a cry of your name. You held him close, afraid he would part from your body and rob you of his warmth.

He showered you with kisses, beginning as a downpour and ending with a drizzle. You melted into his arms, the tension in your muscles leaving now that you had your Marcus home. You were no longer alone, he was here and he would take care of everything.

“Am I forgiven now?”

You smiled, burrowing into his chest as draped your discarded silk over you and picked you up in his arms. “I will consider it if you make sure I don’t bleed this cycle.”

You felt his chest rumble as he laughed. A kiss on the top of your head.

“As you say, melilla.”

Fic notifications blog

#marcus acacius #general acacius #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x y/n #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius x ofc #general marcus acacius x reader #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fanfiction #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator ii fan fiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal

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ominouspositivity-or-else · 6 months ago

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*The Eucharist is the body of Christ under the appearances of bread and wine.

**God is bound to these sacraments, meaning he always gives grace through them when they are done, but he is not bound by these sacraments, meaning that God can do literally whatever he wants and can of course go around them and provide grace in other ways.

***7 sacraments, listed: Baptism, Confirmation, Holy Eucharist, Confession, Anointing of the Sick, Holy Orders, and Matrimony.

Feel free to add nuance in the tags or talk about why you find the teachings strange! Let me know if there's anything utterly baffling that I didn't include!!!

Also please remember to be respectful!!! Not everyone knows theology like you might!!!

#catholic #catholicism #christianity #christian #protestant #theology #religious studies #religion #world religions #theological insights #catholic things #polls #tumblr polls #poll

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the-forest-library · 3 months ago

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Free & Discounted Election Day Rides 2024

Election Day is nearly here, and if you haven’t already mailed in your ballot or gone in for early voting, you might need a ride come November 5.

Here’s a roundup of some of the freebies, discounts, and information on getting to the polls that organizations are offering.

Lyft

Lyft announced that riders can preload the code VOTE24 for a half-price discount of up to $10 on rideshare, bike-share, or scooter rides on or before Nov. 5. The code is only valid between 5 a.m. to 10 p.m. every time zone.

Uber

Uber also announced it will offer half-off rideshare costs of up to $10 on Election Day for users in most states.

Using a new "Go Vote" tile displayed on the app, users can book a ride to the nearest poll with the discount unless they are in California or Georgia. The offer works between 4 a.m. and 11:59 p.m. local time on Nov. 5. The company will also offer 25% off food orders up to $15 with a minimum order of $25.

Lime

Lime is offering free rides to and from your polling place to vote early or on Election Day. Riders can use the promo code VOTE2024 to get two free 30-minute rides in the U.S.

Bird & Spin

Bird and Spin are also offering two free rides as part of their Roll to the Polls initiative. Riders can use the code RockTheVote2024 in the app.

Rideshare2Vote

Rideshare2Vote helps voters in need of a ride get to their local polling facilities for free. Ridshare2Vote is available in seven swing states (Arizona, Georgia, Michigan, Nevada, North Carolina, Pennsylvania and Wisconsin), as well as Alabama, California, Colorado, Florida, Illinois, Kentucky, New Hampshire, New Mexico, Ohio, Tennessee, Texas and Virginia. If you live in one of these states and have a car, you can also volunteer to drive others to the polls. Go to Rideshare2Vote.com or call 888-977-2250 for more information.

Rides to the Polls (Georgia Only)

The New Georgia Project's Rides to the Polls program will give free rides to voting sites for Georgia residents on Nov. 5 from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. Go to newgeorgiaproject.org/rides or call 800-874-1541 for more information.

Moovit

Moovit has integrated tens of thousands of polling locations from 130 counties across 11 states into its trip-planning app. The app also provides users with quick access to voter registration information and which transit agencies are offering free rides.

Transit Agencies / Public Transportation

There are countless transit agencies offering free rides on Election Day — everywhere from Detroit to Des Moines to Durham — so be sure to check with your local authority.

Please share any additional resources you’re aware of. Let’s make it easy for people to get to the polls!

#please vote #get out the vote #voting #voting rights #get to the polls #vote #free rides to vote #2024 presidential election #2024 election #tflo

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venmondiese · 2 days ago

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MELT AN IGLOO

-ˋˏ| summary: Summer in the south makes the temperature go high, so when your friends say that their cousin's house has a pool, you'll take the chance to refresh yourself... and maybe do more.

✧ | Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x reader

✧ | word count: 5.8k

✧ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, age gap (reader is 20, aemond is 27), P in V sex, Oral sex (F receiving), creampie, reader is a menance... aemond is a perv.

✧ | notes: based on Igloo by Kiss of Life

Summer was the time of the year where you shined.

College in Old town was a good option, and you made tons of new friends, including Baela and Rhaena, both twins with different majors. Rhaena studied arts while Baela studied Literature. Though you studied the same thing as Baela, you and Rhaena had more in common.

You two liked flirting, and giggled when you got a new crush. You were young, and a bit stupid. Whatever, you just turned twenty and life was barely starting with an intense feeling of juvenile freedom.

While Rhaena settled more for relationships, you were more into casual things. You never paid in clubs as most guys would invite rounds of drinks for you and your friends, and you surely rewarded that behaviour. You got rides from men when you went to parties, and some times, you’d go out on dates. Your friends always joked that you never lacked Vitamin D.

You were from the North, and so the south provided you with more freedom, thanks to you being completely on your own and not on the judging eyes of your surroundings, no one knew you in Old Town. The restrictions previously provided felt something far away now, as your life was different.

With that, something annoyed that came along with living in the South was the weather. You almost forgot that Old town was so near to Dorne, and the heat was unbelievable. The hot weather every fucking day, and you couldn’t escape it. No matter what you did, it was impossible to stay away from it.

Since Rhaena and Baela lived in the same complex of apartments (provided by the university) that you, you three got together to discuss what to do:

Go to the beach. Natural decision, since Old town has beautiful beaches and clear water, and the docks were beautiful. That’s the main issue, if you didn’t get in the right time, all of them where full.

Install Air Conditioning in your rooms. No, too expensive.

Go to one of the water parks. It was madly expensive for them to be full of people. }

Go to one of your friend’s apartments that had a pool for the residents. At first it was cool; you went and had a great time. But after a while, it was starting to look as if you three were taking advantage of it.

After those infallible four ideas, and a week full of high temperatures Rhaena and Baela got an idea. Even if they were raised and bred from one of the most prestigious and rich families, their parents wouldn’t just gift them an apartment, so they rely on the one provided by the scholarship in college. And their family was miles away…

Except their cousin.

You weren’t exactly sure of their relationship with this cousin of theirs, since they were open about other family members, always with a fond tone. The only thing you had heard is “He is our cousin who lives here in Old Town” and that’s all.

The background information they give you is that he is twenty seven, finishing his doctorate and giving classes about Valyrian culture or Philosophy in the faculty. When you asked them why they didn’t live with him, they just shrugged and said that he was kind of a lonely dude and they weren’t that close.

“And he is okay with us… going to his house to use the pool” you say as you three are on the uber to get to the house of this mysterious cousin of theirs.

“I meaaaan…” Rhaena says “We have the key to his place; he gave it to us in case of emergencies.”

“Valid reason. Dying of heat seems like an emergency to me” you shrugged.

“And besides, we bring ice cream, beer and we bought him a red velvet cake to bribe him” Baela adds with a confident nod. “Just straight out to the pool, and no getting into his stuff and we’ll be okay”

“And he doesn’t have like a… girlfriend” You ask amused. “If you aren’t close, she might think we are robbing the house”

“Yeah, right” Baela chuckles, her eyebrows rising playfully “As if we would steal in our swimsuits”

“Besides he isn’t dating. He isn’t married either”

“I thought you said this dude is old”

“Twenty six is old but not old old” Rhaena objects, almost meekly.

“We are not going over the Corwyn thing again. He is sixteen years older than you!” Baela reminds her twin

“I am with Garmund now, duh”

The conversation dies when the uber informs you that you have arrived at the sector of Houses where their cousin lives. Even if Rhaena and Baela take some time trying to figure out which key is it to open the house, after a while you were in.

The house was as if come out of stock. It had some sober colours and one fine painting, but if your friends hadn’t told you otherwise, you would think no one lived here.

As Baela sets the food in the fridge, Rhaena moves the sliding door to the pool. “Nice… I never thought his yard would look this modern.”

“Why?” You ask, setting your thing in one of the chairs nearby as you take off your dress.

“He is such a nerd for ancient Valyrian stuff. I figured his house had the same style.”

At least the first hour was calm and at peace. Baela had music at a fair low volume, as you three swam and hanged around, using the floats that the twins brought along, since they were 99% sure that his cousin didn’t have anything fun, like a Bluetooth speaker, floats for the pool or ice cream.

You weren’t a big fan of beer, not like Baela was, at least. Rhaena and you liked more sweet flavours, but you weren’t going to be picky in this situation. You chat all the time, as you take sun in the reclining chair that was in the yard. Rhaena speaks about her new relationship with Garmund, about meeting his family and her dad’s reaction. Baela instead tells you about her friends of her career, who were clinically insane.

When it was your turn to speak, the twins’ cousin comes home.

“I believe I told you the key was for emergencies” He says in an annoyed tone as he turns off the speaker. He was wearing a suit (in this heat…) and you noticed the scar on his left eye. “And it was to keep your mother not freaking out about you two being alone in this part of the continent.”

“Aemond, we are sorry, but it is so hot! We needed somewhere to hang out” Rhaena says, standing up. She was wearing a pink swimsuit, and her hair was beautifully braided. “You wouldn’t have let us come here without an excuse”

“You are right, I wouldn’t” he says crossing his arms. He would obviously refuse. “And why is your little friend here?” He asks raising one eyebrow upon seeing you.

“Oh, come on, she is our closest friend” Rhaena says. “We won’t trash anything. We won’t put loud music, we won’t enter the house while wet… please, cousin!”

“You are our only family here” Baela adds, not quite begging as Rhaena, but still. “We bought you beers…, and ice cream…. and red velvet… we know you like it”

You see as Aemond roll his eyes. You sit up, pulling your glasses to your head to look at him better. He was hot. Hot with bold, capital letters. He was HOT. He had the same Valyrian features than the twins, but his were sharper and much more distinctive. He wore black and white even in a day this hot and that was commitment, to which you thanked because he looked hotter in a suit and tie.

He also looked older than you three, obviously, he was six years older than the twins, and seem more mature and serious, if anything a bit stoic and cold, but God damn you if it didn’t make him more attractive. You wanted this man. You wanted this man bad.

“Fine. You can stay” He agrees reluctantly, a hand on his forehead as a disappointed dad would. Fuck, he is so hot “Don’t do anything stupid. No destroying my house, no destroying my pool, no getting drunk. Am I clear?”

“Yes” both twins say under their breath.

“And control that little friend of yours” He orders before stepping back inside, leaving you three to it.

Baela and Rhaena sit by your side, on the other chairs as they sigh.

“You didn’t mention your cousin was hot” it’s the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“Ewww” Baela says scrunching her face. “It’s our cousin!” She says, low so he can’t eavesdrop. “And he is old”

“You say he wasn’t old old”

“He isn’t that old, Baela”

“Come on, he is Aemond. The guy who used to bring his lizard pet in all family functions, I have never seen him with a girl except with that weird aunt that Jace has… still, never brought her to family functions”

“Yeah, like he is… okay, I guess, but I don’t think a pretty girl like you can take Aemond’s… personality so lightly”

“Yeah, and he looks like he has the weirdest kinks possible”

“He is still hot to me” You say playfully. “Come on. Look. Let’s say… I manage to fuck him” You start your chat, and Baela makes a disgusted sound, but you ignore it “Then he’ll let us use the pool more often. Problem solved, everyone happy”

“You think Aemond would be up for that? Not to be on Baela’s side but Aemond is a bit…” Rhaena leans to whisper the last part. “Cold. Like an igloo… or an Iceberg”

“A man that has sex with you won’t miss a chance to see you with little clothes.” You say it as if reciting wise words. “I lose nothing trying.”

“We might lose the access to this house, mind you” Rhaena says amused.

“Come on, we’ll even invite Garmund. Isn’t he like Aemond’s cousin?” you ask her.

“Yeah”

“Well, then. I am fucking that man”

With that, you stand, wrapping a sarong around your hip, and put on your sandals in quite a confident mood as you her Rhaena say to her sister.

“I sure hope the house have thick walls”

You give them a wink before you walk inside. You were pretty dry thanks to the sun, and you usually didn’t swim a lot. Your hair was in a messy bun, slightly wet with some messy strands.

You want this Aemond guy. You like him. He has that aura of mystery that you like in a man. You liked cold men; they usually were the most sexually frustrated, and therefore, a great fuck, in your opinion.

“Oh, hey...” You say softly, looking at him, sitting on the couch as he held the computer on his lap, a hand resting on his mouth as he was focused on reading some work related stuff or something. “Do you mind if I have a beer…?” you ask nonchalantly.

“Help yourself” he says dryly, not moving his gaze from the lecture on his computer. “Beer’s on the fridge”

You went to the fridge, and took two cold beers. You silently prayed to get that dick.

“I brought you one, if you wanted…” You say softly, extending one to him pretending to be clueless.

“I don’t like beer”

“Oh…”

“I’ll have it anyways, darling’.” He says, finally moving his gaze away from the computer.

He takes a sip, and before he can throw you out to the yard, you say. “I am sorry to… invade your home”

“It’s fine” He murmurs, turning his eyes to observe you. You do not know what is it that his mind thinks, but you can see his eyes moving along your body, even if they are subtle. “How long have you been their friend?”

“Quite a while, now. Maybe… like two years?”

He nods softly. He isn’t chatty or open. But he doesn’t make you leave either.

“Are you anything like them?” You look at him with a confused expression, to which he chuckles lowly. “As immature, I mean”

“I am mature for my age, I have been told”

“Oh, so you have, Hun…” He says amused, watching something on the screen of his computer.

“But, I am like them, I guess. Me and Rhaena are twins” you say smirking proudly. You loved matching with her, clothes, music, sometimes you would make out with a dude and her with his twin. It was great.

“Let me guess, you are into pink, and men just thinks you are so pretty” He says in a mocking tone as he types some things on his computer. It seems effortless to focus at two things in the same time when you are Aemond Targaryen.

“Well, they do. And I think I am” you say sitting slightly on the armrest of the chair, holding the still closed beer bottle in your hands.

Aemond raises an eyebrow as he types a bit more, and once he finishes, his gaze turns up to see you. He seems…intrigued. Looking at you as if you were a foreign creature on his territory, which, to be fair, you are.

Yet there is something else on his gaze, which you can with certainty say that it’s lust. When he sees you, as if judging for himself, you think what your next step should be. You look at him with the same intensity, and also sharing the same feelings. He was hot, and totally your type. You liked serious guys, who wore suits and seem over your shit. It was hot, and it made you horny. Sometimes guys were following you around like puppies, but this… Coldness was much more exciting.

“Well, yes. You are pretty”

“Thank you.” You say simply, seeing how he accomodates the laptop on his lap, his jaw tense. “You are handsome yourself”

“You should get back to your friends before they come inside, all soaking from the pool”

“Oh, they know I am here” you say shrugging, looking intently at him.

“Well, aren’t you a clever girl”

There was an implication about his tone, the way his hungry gaze looks at you as he closes his laptop. Could you really have made it? You don’t believe it.

He stands up, his beer almost empty, and he walks past you as he holds it out for you. “Finish it, if you want.”

Perhaps it was a test, as you were still holding your own cold beer bottle. Damn, you don’t even like beer that much. It is a bit bitter, and it leaves the taste on your tongue far too long for your taste. Still, you do not care for that. Whatever, fuck the taste. You grab the beer with a faint, almost too taken aback to come up with something witty or even remotely seductive.

He goes to his kitchen, and you can see him check the window, to see Baela and Rhaena, probably, before opening his fridge. The open kitchen allowed you to see his every movements as you drink the beer, letting it past without a second thought, the faster, the better; so the taste isn’t impregnated on your tongue.

“You have a girlfriend?” you ask, trying to sound disinterested and innocent enough.

“Ha, now you are being cheeky” he mutters closing his fridge leaving the food on the countertop.

“I am just curious…” You say standing up, and walking towards the kitchen. He is half amused, as he scoffs.

“I don’t.”

“Oh. Good...”

He doesn’t answer.

You aren’t a silly girl, as most men think you are. You just like to play around, and ‘use them for evil’ as you colourfully put it. And besides, most men that were interested in you were older. You are in pubs, bars and parties. Beaches, and in the houses of your friends, enjoying the parties. You simply don’t go unnoticed, and you don’t mind that, even if men older than you, by more than ten years, approach you with a different pick up line and practically an imminent erection.

You can’t deny the attention, of course. With Aemond is no different, but this time is you the one approaching him, trying by any way to manage to melt his icy facade, the one who lets out all of his carnal, primitive desires. It seems as his stoicism is stopping him from doing things he’d enjoy. And with that, anything could be what tips him off the edge.

“Are you that busy?” You ask as he makes himself a cup of coffee.

“Nothing I can’t handle, but I haven’t had a moment to myself in days”

You watch him make himself a cup of coffee, as you bit your lip softly. You are getting squirmy, not knowing how to go forward. There is something, he is interested but not quite to take a step. And you don’t know how to push it, should you simply pull the strings of your bikini top and wait for the best? Should you just get in your knees and undo his belt?

“Look, darling’, no offense, but the last thing I need is a pretty girl hanging around me” He says as he sips his coffee, as he moves from his spot, coffee in hand, probably to go back to his laptop.

Before he can walk past you, you say. “I think you do need a pretty girl around you”

He stops upon hearing your words, dangerously close to you. You look at him, as if the answer was obvious; and for you, it was. You were practically naked on his kitchen, throwing yourself at him and more than willing to be fucked mercilessly by him, however he wants. You wouldn’t reject it, and you think that he knows that too.

“You think so?” He asks, his gaze turning shamelessly down at your lips, and then at your face as his tone is one of pure smugness.

“Yes. And you have one right here now”

Perhaps he knows he shouldn’t. A friend of his cousins, younger than him… yet even if he thinks that, it does not stop him, not after you have been persistent, trying and following him like a puppy.

One of his hands finds it was to her hip, pressing her closer to him as he lets himself feel you before capturing your lips in a hungry, sloppy kiss. It wasn’t delicate or gentle, but rather raw and full of need – by both parties. You longed this, and this feel like a sweet reward, your body against his as you two share quite the messy kiss, for god knows how long.

Aemond held you in his arms, a bit possessive, if anything. You liked a possessive man, and in Aemond seem like the perfect trait. As the kiss stop, you lean to press a little kiss on his jaw, and it only serves for him to wrap one of his arms around your waist.

You let a little moan of satisfaction as you feel his big hand move down to your ass. Your body is pressed against his, and he wastes no time when his hand starts groping your ass, his breath hits your cold shoulder as you bite your lip.

Gods, he was so hot. You were so into older dudes, and Aemond was a perfect combination of everything you fancied on a man.

“You really are a cheeky slut, uh?” Aemond asks his voice sultry as he gropes your ass.

“Yes, sir” you say in a sigh, and his hand moves away to spank you hard on the ass. It made you let out a whimper; it was a delicious sting that you loved.

“Good” he mutters.

You were too horny, and followed him blindly to his room. You know this will be worth it. A good time, a free pass for his pool for you and the twins… and having a good fuck.

He closes the door of his bedroom, and he sees you sitting on the feet of his bed.

“You’ll be the death of me” he says, tsking as he undoes his belt, you take off your sandals quickly as well “You little brat”

You bite your lip as you see him. He is infuriated with you, and part of you wonders how it would be if you were his girlfriend. He’d fuck you in the morning, surely, and at the evening when he gets back from work too. Maybe he’d fuck you at night too.

He’d probably plan dates just to get to fuck you long and hard afterwards, you hated when men did that. But with him? You didn’t mind.

“Lay back, doll”

You don’t need to be told twice. When you try to take off your bikini, he stops you.

“I said, lay back” he says again, sternly. He had that inherent scolding tone, the same he used for Baela and Rhaena when he got home. It made you so wet, it was wicked.

He takes off the sarong, and you look at him, biting your lip. “I’m really horny” you whine.

“Hmm…” he hums, moving his hand from your stomach and higher, pulling the top of your bikini up. You could easily take it off, but with clothes on and open… it was hotter.

He gropes your tits, as he settles between your legs. He seems to enjoy the view of it as well, as he bites his lip and his breath becomes heavy with uncontrollable lust.

“You body is perfect, princess. But you know that, hm?” He asks, meeting your gaze as you bite your lip. You nod softly, as if coy of that. “Is your pussy as perfect? Hm?” To your silence, he keeps the lustful tone “Shall we see?”

He holds your calves with one hand, and he doesn’t care about removing the panties of your bikini. He pulls it to the side with his other hand, crouching down to be at the same height of your already wet cunt. Gods, you were so wet for him, it was driving you insane.

He murmurs something you can’t hear completely, before he leans his head closer to your puffy cunt. You feel his breath, and his tongue is what makes you sigh in delight. His tongue delves into your folds, savouring the taste of you. A little sweet, a little bitter.

The position makes it all more cramped, yet Aemond moves both of his hands to keep your legs just like that, not so tight together, but still. A groan rumbles on his chest, as he laps consistently at your folds. It’s as if he wanted to take his time, yet he was eager for more of your taste.

“So wet already” He murmurs, his face separating a bit as he leans back to see your pussy.

Without missing a beat, his mouth is against your dripping sex, as he delights himself. He is making you let out moans, and some pretty embarrassing sounds. You move one of your hands to your mouth, biting your index finger as if to shush your sounds.

As Aemond focuses his attention on your clit, it had you rolling your eyes, his mouth around it suckling the nub and his hands spreading your legs further to allow him more access. The twins lied when they pictured him like some kind of hermit, because he knew how to eat a pussy.

His tongue swirls around your clit with too much expertise for him only to have had ‘one casual girlfriend’. His thumb moves to your hole, as if stroking it gently, rubbing circles around it but not pushing it inside yet.

“Wait...” you moan breathlessly, trying to move your legs away from his from grip. “I don’t wanna cum yet”

You definitely can’t wipe the smirk on his face, as he pulls back. His hands pull your thighs together, then to move his right hand to wipe some remnants of your wetness out of his face.

“You were the one insinuating yourself to me, princess.”

“Just fuck me, please…” You find yourself asking for it, as you look at him. Aemond simply does not let you move your legs, but you are at his mercy in this.

“Oh, I will” He says, standing up as he runs a hand through his hair, messy from the amount of times he's been running it over it and movements of his head when eating her out.

He pulls your body closer to his, your hips were resting above a pillow, close to the edge of the bed, and you have to re-accommodate the other pillow under your head.

Totally a pillow princess, but you do not care.

Aemond undoes his belt, and pulls out his cock. It’s a nice cock, and you can say that confidently, after seeing tons of different ones. His is nice, a nice girth and big as you like. He is groomed enough, he isn’t hairless, but you notice that he does take care of himself, seeing the pale bush at the base of his cock and to his pelvis. You wanted for him to take out his clothes, but since there were still the twins around, it was a better idea to do it with the clothes on.

You can see how red the tip already is, leaking and almost asking for relief. How you’d suck that cock, starting by suckling the tip and then deep throat the rest of it, probably gagging and choking in the process. Aemond seems like type who likes a girl gagging on his cock.

And his balls? You would not neglect them either, you’d have them in your mouth, and making sure they don’t go unattended by either your mouth or your hands. Hell, no part of him would go unattended by you at this point, no after the way he eats pussy.

“Ready, princess?” He asks, his stiff cock pressed on your hole, and you nod softly. “No witty words?”

“You are making fun of me” You say, as he moves your legs to be more pressed against your chest. You feel the head of his cock probing into your folds, teasing you.

“I am not, doll”

“Just fuck me” you say, almost impatient. You were on the edge of your orgasm when he ate you out, and you pushed it away to be able to cum in his cock like you wanted to do when you first saw him. “No need of a condom, I am on the pill since forever”

You don’t really need to pursue him any longer, as he positions himself on your entrance and pushes inside little by little. He tries to be a gentleman, you can notice, but he is holding back still. By how his grip is more than just to keep your legs firm, is more to keep his control, which little by little he is letting it, slip away.

You know a perv man when you see one. Maybe not your most admissible type, but whatever, everyone has a dirty secret. And maybe this was Aemond’s; you know he is a pervert. You don’t know how, which category… you can’t even think when his cock is pushing inside you in such a delicious way. You just know it.

By the way once he manages to be deep inside you, and he starts to push back to thrust inside you, and the way he mutters curses under his breath.

“Feel how deep inside it is, darling?” He asks, his tone strained as he bites his lip.

You can feel it, alright. And you look at him with half lidded eyes, yet you see how he keeps his groans for himself by biting his lip.

“Fuck me hard” you whisper softly. “Don’t think about it. Just do it.” You say, trying to get him just to lose himself up.

“You have no idea what you are askin–”

“I know exactly what I am talking” you cut him, your voice strained as you feel his cock. “You don’t think I am a fragile girl still, do you?”

His chuckle is low, as if he was annoyed. “There it is. Atta girl”

“And” you say as he moves his hips softly, in and out. Your feet curl at the feeling of his girth sliding through your walls, feeling each movement of his cock. “I want you to cum inside me, and feel your cum dripping out of me. Make me feel you for days.”

That seems to have pushed him over the edge. At least, you hope that it did, because you are eager for it. And in your opinion, it did.

“You are going to be the death of me” With that, his hips pounds into you like a feral animal.

That’s what he was, feral. He leans slightly more, his face above yours but still not as intimate as missionary should be. Your legs, still held together by his hand, would be all crampy by tomorrow, and he moves them both over his shoulder. Your left calf is resting against the curve of his neck, while your right one was a bit more stubborn, moving to the pointy bone at the edge of his shoulder. His other hand was at the side of head, as his hips just fuck into you as you requested.

His pounding is brutal, and he barely lets you breathe before he pounds again. The sound of his balls hitting your flesh is obscene, and it is consistent, yet it made you grip his other shoulder, as you let a series of high moans.

“Ah, ah. Fuck…” you moans are loud, hopefully not so much, and your brow furrows in pleasure as his cock reaches all the right spots for you. This man could turn you into his sexual doll and you aren’t quite sure if he knows it yet. “So big inside me…”

“You asked for it, princess” he reminds you, as if reminding himself as well of it. His tone is rough, and he is focused on the tad at hand, fucking you merciless.

You feel his hips crash on your to each brutal thrust, and the way his balls also does. It was dirty, and so hot that had you whimpering and letting out little squeals. He was definitely leaving you sore, yet it was a delicious stretch from everywhere.

Your mind is all foggy and practically numb from pleasure, yet it leaves the wicked idea of sucking his cock. The sight had left you wanting more, to choke on that dick.

You imagine how heavy it would feel on your mouth, how it would leak on your tongue. You’d love to suck him dry with your mouth right now, as he fucks you. Having both would be paradise, yet his cock can only do one at the time.

Instead, you take the hand holding your legs, and you decide to take his thumb in your mouth. His hand cups your face instinctively, and you moan at the feeling of satiating your craving.

“Dirty minx” he mutters seeing your lewd display, yet it has him grunting more. “All of your holes need attention, hm? All of them are equally needy”

The wet sounds from his thrusting make it all more erotic, as you nod to his words, sucking his thumb for a bit. Your moans and feeling close to your orgasm make you stop sucking it, but enjoy.

Aemond is enjoying it too, you can see how his face is pure pleasure as he grunts, his hand moving to move you legs lower his shoulders, but he grips on them as if to gain impulse to thrust you.

“Aren’t you close, doll?” He asks, his face leaning closer to yours.

“Yes” you moan, breathlessly, you tone is pathetic, almost like a sob and a whine. “Yes sir” you say, wickedly adding the nickname.

“That’s it, doll, just like that” he says, close as well. His balls tighten up, and he leans down to capture your lips in another sloppy, messy kiss.

You moan into his mouth, as the kiss becomes desperate and wetter than it needed to be. Whatever, you think. He fucks you just right.

His hand falls to spank your ass, as if urging you cum. It does it three times in total, as he doesn’t separate your mouth from his. He was consuming you, and you didn’t care.

Your orgasm is strong, it has you rolling your eyes to the back of your head and twitching your legs from how good it feels. You tried to calm down your moans, but it felt too good to be good. To be fair, when you cummed you weren’t as vocal, but you tended to lose your voice in the middle of it, as if you were lacking the proper air distribution.

Aemond, on the contrary, when he cums, he says multiple praises “Your cunt is perfect, princess” followed by “Squeezing my cock just right” and “Filling you up, baby, all full”

And he does. You feel his cum settle inside you, and you had to bite your lip as he does so. It was a great feeling, having him cumming inside you so naturally… and raw.

It was pure, raw feral sex. And you loved it. He was made for this intensity, and you were made to take it as he pleases.

Even if your legs do hurt a bit, when you lay on his bed, with a blanket atop of you.

Aemond instead, goes to wash himself a bit. After all, he still has visits, in his pool. He assured you that the house was pretty much soundproof, and your friends would have leave at the first moan they heard.

“You seem pretty comfortable” his monotone tone says, as he walks out of the bathroom tidier.

You felt without energy. You could do multiple rounds at a time, sure, but delaying your orgasm plus the roughness of it, plus the previous swimming exercise and the water… makes you lazy.

“I am”

“Your friends are waiting downstairs” he says, and now you can see how he is amused at that idea. You had said it, a wicked perv.

“I know, but I am leaking cum”

“Hm. Does it stop you?”

“Not much. But I am tired and sleepy”

“I have work to do” he reminds you again, as he makes sure he is all buttoned up and he applies his cologne on himself. It is strong and masculine.

“Well, I’ll lay here” you say shrugging. To his questioning eyebrow raise, you can only add “I haven’t sucked on your dick yet. I am not leaving anytime soon, you know?”

To your childness, he rolls his eyes, but ultimately agrees. “I am not telling my cousins a thing about this.”

“I will” you say, waving a hand dismissively.

“And you can stay, but don’t let this think you have some kind of…”

“I won’t” you say smirking playfully, and he rolls his eyes.

“You are prettier when you are getting fucked”

“I knoooow”

When he leaves, you take your phone from the ground and open the text chat.

Guaranteed free pool pass ;) you are welcome bitches.

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tritoch · 6 months ago

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i have seen people be like "if you think what the dawntrail protagonists do in zone six is valid you have to conceded emet's approach/perspective was valid, what you do is basically what he does" and it's like...nah. it's obviously intentionally very similar ("it's like poetry, it rhymes") but there's some key differences:

emet is disgusted by sundered life, which he sees as inhuman, and longs to return to the unrecoverable past. so he does seven(ish) planet-wide genocides. the endless aren't new life, their ability to grow and learn is specifically in question (at the very least they are fundamentally incapable of taking in new sensory experience of certain forms), they're shades from the unrecoverable past, and you are destroying them in favor of those still alive.

also, we aren't disgusted by them nor do we think anything is fundamentally justified if done to them (everyone pretty much no-sells cahciua "we aren't alive so it doesn't matter if you kill us :)," in fact). we don't have like 12,000 years and the most advanced magic known to anyone alive. we are forced by serious exigency to destroy them due to a political impasse with their leadership's policy re: resource extraction. this tonal difference is in fact extremely important.

the endless themselves seem pretty ambivalent about the whole deal. they're bored or they're wary of the way their world keeps shrinking, and it's very explicitly neither a functioning society by any recognizable human terms nor a paradise.

related to the above, basically every named endless turns to the person most relevant to them (cahciua to erenville, krile's parents to her, namikka to wuk lamat, otis to you) and is like, huh, i really appreciate having this moment of grace at the end of my journey to see that it was all worthwhile and to resolve my lasting regrets, but i understand what you're here to do and yeah, it's probably time for us to go. (does the writing put a finger on the scale by doing this? sure, but the writers also designed and built the scales and everything they're weighing on them, so i find it hard to discredit any one aspect for being the writers' invention.)

finally uh no one in the party has kids with the endless or lives a full human lifetime as one of them lol.

it's important to remember that emet was definitely at least somewhat lying about not seeing the sundered as real people. the fact that he has "lived a thousand thousand of your lives . . . broken bread with you, fought with you, grown ill, grown old, sired children and yes, welcomed death’s sweet embrace" makes everything he did soooooo much crazier than what you do. if i managed to convince an endless to fall in love with me and i had a kid with them and i loved that kid so much that their death threw me into a permanent grief spiral then like. yeah i guess i would have to be like "well hats off to emet, folks." but luckily the game doesn't make you do that.

even if you insist everyone in living memory was a full living person that we killed, you're still weighing like a city of people versus 7+ planet-wide mass murders. you do not under any circumstances got to hand it to him.

living memory absolutely is evocative of everything that happens in shadowbringers. but rather than placing us in emet's shoes, it forces us to relive what we already did, to really fully face up to what we have done by promising to remember emet's culture after destroying any chance of its return. after two games going hard on the hope part of the game's central theme of hope arising from grief, now we're doing grief. we are forced to see the past of our memories not as a cold, ghostly art deco cubus-plagued socratic method hellscape but as the most beautiful technicolor theme park where everyone's happy and no one's sad and there's parades every day and your parents are alive and they love you so much. and then the game's conclusion is, yeah, you were still right to let go. in fact, you were and are morally obliged to let go. the living were and are worth more than the dead. our grief in letting go of them may be immense and turns our world to bleak nothingness for a time, and that is important to recognize, but at the end of the day our most pressing duty is to those we can yet save, not those we have lost.

#dawntrail #dawntrail spoilers #dt spoilers #meta: durai report

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lizzyiii · 3 months ago

Note

hey, so ur works are literally heaven in itself (im in love with u)

you guys reading my works are what validate me in life (i'm so in love with you too, babe)

Scales and Arpeggios

pairing | aemond x wife!reader word count | 4.3k words summary | aemond and his wife share tender moments with their children, engaging in music lessons that bring warmth and joy to their family amidst the shadows of the dance of dragons.

note | slight angst, hotd au (greens win), KING AEMOND, toothrotting fluffff, children, no description of reader, fluffy Aemond, soft aemond, pregnant!reader a/n | aristocats inspired (duchess and her kittens), I thought of this this morning. I really needed this fluff after all my negative thoughts and feelings. also don't worry, I have all my requests in the making, and in my draft's - prepare for the angst and feels.

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Aemond was tired.

Day upon day, his life was mired in endless council meetings, audiences with quarrelsome lords, and grievances of the peasantry, all in the name of healing a realm ravaged by war.

It had been two years since the Dance of the Dragons had torn through the land, yet the scars remained, as fresh as the charred ruins left in the dragons’ wake.

And here he was, King of the Seven Kingdoms—but at what bitter cost. He had bested Daemon in the fierce clash over the God’s Eye, and his half-sister, the self-styled Queen, had been devoured by her own madness.

She met her end as Sunfyre tore her asunder upon Aegon’s command. Not long after, Aegon himself succumbed to his wounds, leaving the crown a hollow prize.

Aemond had defeated the Blacks. The traitors were vanquished, their cause snuffed out. But his family had been taken in the fires of war. Jaehaerys murdered; young Maelor torn apart; Daeron slain.

Helaena, dear Helaena, had taken her own life. And Aegon—Aegon had burned away with his dragon, his defiance crumbling under the agony of his wounds.

All that remained of his bloodline were fleeting shadows of memory and ashes of kin. Only his wife, the woman bound to him since he was but fourteen, remained steadfast.

Through the dark days of the war, you had been his only constant, his sole source of solace. In the end, that was all he had left: his bride, his son Aeron, his niece Jaehaera, and his mother, Queen Alicent, who clung to life with a frail resilience.

It was his wife, too, who had stayed his hand when he considered the fates of Daemon’s daughters. You had urged him to spare the lives of Baela and Rhaena, allowing them sanctuary with their sole surviving brother, Aegon the Younger, now far away in Driftmark.

And yet, his mother had been torn asunder by grief, the madness that followed the loss of three of her children consuming her like a wildfire. Just months ago, Alicent had succumbed to the cruel grip of Winter Fever, and with her passing, the warmth of their family had dimmed further.

He blamed himself, for in his fervor to protect his own—the children he adored and his beloved wife—he had allowed himself to be blind to his mother’s decline. Each day, he devoted himself to the care and nurturing of Aeron and Daenys, ensuring Jaehaera felt the presence of family, while the ever-looming responsibilities of the crown overshadowed his duties as a son.

Now, he barely caught glimpses of the life that remained. He would rise in the early hours, the dawn light casting a soft glow upon his wife’s sleeping form, a fleeting moment of peace before he was swept away by the relentless tide of royal obligations.

In the fleeting minutes before he departed for court, he could only admire the serene lines of your face, knowing that the day would steal him from your side again.

The children were no better; brief encounters in the corridors felt like whispers of a past he could hardly grasp. Aeron would be playing with his toys, and Daenys might be crawling after the palace cats, laughter echoing softly in the halls, but those joyful sounds seemed distant, muffled by the duties that consumed him.

But on this day, a flicker of fortune shone upon him; he had managed to complete his duties earlier than usual. Typically, he toiled long into the night, only to return to the warmth of their chambers when all were asleep. Though it was after supper, a glimmer of hope sparked within him that perhaps he could still find them, to grasp those precious moments he had so dearly missed.

Through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, the young Prince Aeron and Princess Jaehaera raced, their laughter echoing against the cold stone walls as they hurried toward the music lesson that awaited them. The air was filled with the thrill of their spirited competition, each eager to claim the title of first to arrive.

As they rounded a corner, Jaehaera noticed Aeron pulling ahead, determination etched across his small face. In a quick, daring move, she reached out and tugged at his tunic, managing to pull him back just enough to dart ahead. “Me first!” she shouted, her voice ringing with triumph.

Not to be outdone, Aeron swiftly grabbed hold of her arm, attempting to halt her advance. “And why should you be first?” he challenged.

Jaehaera strained against his grip, lifting her chin defiantly as she met his gaze. “Because I am the future queen, that’s why!” she declared, her voice bold and unwavering.

With that, she broke free, dashing down the corridor, but Aeron was quick on her heels, bumping her to the side in a playful shove that almost sent her sprawling against the wall. “You’re not a queen! You’re nothing but my cousin!” he yelled.

Jaehaera shot him a fierce glare, her brows knitting together. “I’ll show you if I’m a queen or not,” she murmured under her breath, determination simmering in her tone as they neared the door to the music room.

In a last-ditch effort to claim victory, Jaehaera pushed Aeron aside just as they reached the threshold. He stumbled slightly but quickly regained his footing, throwing a frown her way. “Fight fair, Jae!”

Without missing a beat, she rolled her eyes and slipped into the room, only to be met with an unexpected shove from Aeron as he followed closely behind. He hadn’t meant to, but the force sent Jaehaera tumbling to the ground with a hard thud that echoed in the hall.

She shot him a fierce glare, her lips forming a pout as she rubbed her side. “Now that hurt!” she exclaimed, the hint of a whine creeping into her voice.

“Aunty! Aunty!” she called out, her tone shifting to one of urgency.

Moments later, you entered the room, carrying Daenys on your hip. A mixture of sternness and affection danced on your face as you regarded the two children. “Jaehaera, my darling, Jaehaera,” you said, your voice firm but softening with a smile. “You must stop that; it is really not ladylike.”

Your gaze shifted to Aeron, your tone turning slightly admonishing. “And you, Aeron, such behavior is most unbecoming of a lovely gentleman.”

Aeron’s cheeks flushed, and he scowled at Jaehaera, ready to defend himself. “Well, she started it,” he retorted, crossing his arms defiantly.

Jaehaera, unfazed, lifted her chin in a gesture of regal disdain, pointedly turning her gaze away from him. “Queens do not start fights,” she declared, her voice dripping with authority. Then, with a scrunch of her nose, she added, “But they can finish them.”

Aeron rolled his eyes dramatically at Jaehaera, sticking out his tongue in mockery, but the jest was short-lived as he heard his mother’s voice call out from across the room. “Now, Aeron, don’t be rude,” you scolded, your tone firm but laced with affection.

He turned to you, flashing an innocent smile, his eyes wide with feigned innocence. “We were just practicing fighting and pushing,” he replied, his words punctuated by an exaggerated shrug that only added to the mischief of the moment.

You felt a jolt of discomfort at his words, a wave of haunting memories crashing over you. The echoes of past conflicts flickered in your mind—battles fought and lives lost, the heavy price of such lessons. “Targaryens do not practice fighting and pushing and things like that,” you replied, your voice low, the irony of your own words hanging heavily in the air. “It is just horrible.”

With a determined effort, you sought to redirect the conversation and lighten the mood. “Now,” you began, your expression softening as you turned your gaze to Daenys, nestled in your arms, her tiny form clearly on the brink of sleep.

You smiled adoringly at her, a sense of calm washing over you as you looked back at Jaehaera and Aeron. “Why don’t you two head over to the piano, and let’s begin our lesson?”

“Yes, Aunty!” Jaehaera chirped, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as she practically danced toward the instrument, subtly shouldering Aeron aside.

Aeron glared at Jaehaera, his indignation flaring up momentarily, but he quickly turned to you with a soft nod. “Yes, Mama,” he replied.

“It’s time to practice your scales and your arpeggios,” you encouraged, as you moved toward the piano. You settled onto the chaise beside it, Daenys resting her head comfortably against your shoulder, her eyes half-closed as she watched her brother and cousin with a sleepy fascination.

Jaehaera stood poised beside the grand piano, her back straight and shoulders squared, a picture of determination. She cleared her throat, the sound echoing softly in the air, and waited expectantly for Aeron to begin.

However, she cast him a pointed glare as he took his sweet time, leisurely warming up his hands as if the lesson were no pressing matter.

Finally, after an impatient moment, Jaehaera announced, “I’m ready, Maestro,” her voice ringing with a blend of authority and hautiness.

Aeron shot her a sideways glance, his mischievous grin returning as he subtly shifted his foot and stomped down hard onto Jaehaera’s, eliciting a sharp squeak from her.

“Aunty, he did it again!” she exclaimed, turning her wide eyes toward you, indignation clear in her voice.

Aeron, unfazed, looked away, propping his chin on his hand with an exaggerated air of nonchalance. “Tattletale,” he whispered in response.

You carefully rubbed Daenys' back, the gentle motion soothing your daughter. Your patience was unwavering, as you said, “Now, Aeron, please, darling, settle down and play me your pretty little song.” Your voice was calm, and your tone both firm and nurturing.

With a resigned sigh, Aeron nodded, his playful demeanor shifting as he positioned himself at the piano. “Yes, Mama,” he murmured, fingers poised above the keys. As he began to play, the room filled with the soft, melodic strains of his music.

Aemond was at a loss, frustration tightening his chest as he searched the sprawling halls of the Red Keep for you. He had scoured your shared chambers, his personal solar, and the children’s bedrooms, but you were nowhere to be found.

The sinking feeling in his gut only grew as he realized he needed assistance, and at last, he sought out one of the guards stationed nearby.

The guard cleared his throat and straightened slightly, sensing the prince’s impatience. “At Her Grace's music lessons, sire,” he replied, his tone respectful.

“Music lessons?” Aemond murmured to himself, brow furrowing in confusion. He had not realized such an event was taking place, nor had he been informed of it.

Without another moment's hesitation, he rushed in the direction indicated, making his way down a seldom-used wing of the castle, its walls lined with faded tapestries and the whispers of history.

As he drew closer, he heard the unmistakable sound of a piano, its notes cascading through the air like a gentle stream, drawing him forward.

Coming closer to the door, he opened it quietly before he peeked his head inside, his heart melting at the sight as he heard Jaehaera's voice.

"Do mi sol do do sol mi do," the girl of six summers sang, her voice young and somewhat pitchy as she sang confidently, "Every truly cultured music student knows. You must learn your scales and your arpeggios Finger music ringing from your chest And not your nose. While you sing your scales and your arpeggios"

Aemond stood just beyond the doorway, a swell of pride filling his chest as he watched his five-year-old son, Aeron, seated at the piano. The boy’s fingers danced across the keys with a mixture of enthusiasm and concentration, his small face lit with determination.

To Aemond’s surprise, Aeron broke into song as well, his voice sweet yet tinged with the tremor of youth. “If you’re faithful to your daily practicing, you will find your progress is encouraging,” he sang, each note imbued with his budding confidence.

Beside him, Jaehaera stood, arms crossed and a hint of exasperation in her eyes as she rolled them subtly at Aeron’s exuberance. Aeron continued, his voice growing bolder yet still wavering, “Do mi sol me do, mi sol me fa la sol, it goes. When you do your scales and your arpeggios.”

Jaehaera lifted her voice to sing her part again, “Do mi so do,” but she was abruptly cut off by Aeron, who had become overly enthusiastic at the piano, his fingers now racing across the keys with fervor.

“Do mi sol do, do sol mi do,” you chimed in, your voice ethereal and melodic, casting a gentle spell over the room. Aemond found his gaze drawn to you, the light catching your features as you sang alongside the children.

Jaehaera quickly fell in with you, her voice harmonizing beautifully, “Do mi sol do, do sol mi do. Though at first it seems as though it doesn’t show, like a tree, ability will bloom and grow.”

In your arms, Daenys, who had previously been drifting off to sleep, now sat wide awake, her bright eyes filled with wonder as she attempted to mimic the words you and Jaehaera sang. Her babbling intermingled with the melody.

The three of you continued in unison, your voices intertwining, “If you’re smart, you’ll learn by heart what every artist knows. You must sing your scales.....and your arpeggios.”

Aemond leaned against the doorframe, a small smile gracing his lips as he took in the delightful scene unfolding before him. The flickering light of the candles cast a warm glow across the room, illuminating the joy radiating from his children.

Aeron beamed at you, his face aglow with pride as the final notes of the song faded into the air. “How was that, Mama?” he asked, his bright eyes shining with eager anticipation.

You turned to him, your heart swelling with affection. “Absolutely wonderful, my love,” you replied, your voice laced with warmth and encouragement. Just as you opened your mouth to add more praise, a small, excited voice broke through the moment.

“Kēpa! Kēpa!” Daenys cried out, her tiny hands clapping together in delight, her wide lilac eyes fixed on the door where Aemond stood.

All three of you turned your attention toward the threshold, and Aemond couldn’t help but feel a slight flush of warmth at the sight of his little girl’s enthusiasm. He stood there, somewhat awkwardly.

“Do you wish to join us, my king?” you teased gently, a playful amusement dancing in your tone as you gestured for him to enter.

Aemond gave you a small smile before striding into the room, the familiar weight of his crown momentarily forgotten in the presence of his family.

Daenys, her cherubic face lighting up with excitement, eagerly raised her arms toward him, and he scooped her up effortlessly from your embrace, her giggles filling the air. “I was not aware there were music lessons in the first place,” he remarked, an amused glimmer in his eye.

“Merely for the children’s entertainment, I assure you,” you replied softly, your heart warmed by the sight of your husband.

Aemond shot you a skeptical glance, an eyebrow arching slightly as he nodded. “Oh, I am sure,” he replied, a hint of teasing lacing his tone.

“Father, did you see how I played?” Aeron asked eagerly, his small hands still resting on the piano keys, a bright grin spreading across his face.

“Yes, I did,” Aemond said, his expression softening as he smiled down at his son. “Much better than any bard I’ve heard.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable, and Aeron beamed at the praise.

“And did you see how I sang, uncle?” Jaehaera chimed in, her voice a melodic chime that danced through the air like the notes of the piano.

“Yes, of course,” Aemond replied, nodding with genuine admiration. “One day, you might even come to rival the Queen’s voice.” The compliment brought a bright flush to Jaehaera's cheeks, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“She’ll be even better than me,” you murmured, a soft smile gracing your lips as you watched the exchange unfold.

As the children chattered excitedly, desperate for their King's attention, your gaze drifted to the doorway, where you spotted your maid, Emery, standing patiently, signaling that it was time for bed.

You cleared your throat gently, drawing the children's attention back to you. “Children, it’s time to go to bed,” you announced softly, your voice laced with warmth yet firm.

Aeron turned to you, his wide eyes shimmering with innocence as he clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture. “Do we have to, Mama? Father just got here,” he implored, his lower lip jutting out in a way that made your heart ache.

You sighed, feeling your resolve weaken under the weight of his pleas. However, Aemond came to your rescue, his hand affectionately ruffling Aeron’s fluffy silver hair. “And I’ll come say goodnight once you are in bed, little king,” he promised, his voice soothing and reassuring.

You tilted your head toward the door, giving a gentle nudge. “Emery is waiting for you,” you murmured, the soft authority in your tone guiding them toward the inevitable.

Disappointment flickered in both Jaehaera’s and Aeron’s eyes, yet they nodded reluctantly. Jaehaera approached your side and planted a tender kiss on your cheek, her small frame radiating warmth as she bid you goodnight.

Following her lead, Aeron hurried to do the same, his kiss lingering a moment longer before he bent down to press his lips against your swelling stomach, his sweet gesture eliciting a smile from you.

Aemond, observing the tender moment, passed baby Daenys into your arms. She giggled excitedly, her laughter a delightful sound as you smothered her with kisses, before you handed Daenys to Emery, who was prepared to lead the children out.

As the soft patter of little feet faded down the corridor, the lively laughter and chatter of the children ebbed away, leaving you and Aemond cocooned in the warm embrace of the cozy chamber.

A serene silence enveloped the two of you, a precious moment amidst the storm of duties and the remnants of grief that lingered in the air.

“Hello, husband,” you greeted softly, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to shatter the comfortable stillness that settled between you.

“Hello, wife,” Aemond murmured in return, his tone low and warm as he lowered himself onto the piano bench beside you.

With a gentle grace, he let his hand drift over the piano keys, pausing just short of touching them. It was a silent acknowledgment of his lack of skill, yet he seemed fascinated by the instrument nonetheless.

You watched him, the lines of his face illuminated by the soft glow of the chamber, and felt a pang of affection.

“I apologize for not informing you about the lessons,” you said, your voice steady yet filled with sincerity.

“Tis alright,” he replied, though his gaze remained fixed away from you, a flicker of concern shadowing his features. “When did it begin?”

“The day of your mother’s funeral,” you replied gently, choosing your words with care. “Your duties had taken you away, and Aeron and Jaehaera were feeling very down. I thought music might lift their spirits, and it has. Jaehaera even asked me to teach her to sing and play.”

At the mention of that day, Aemond’s expression shifted. Guilt washed over him, and memories flooded back—his mother’s service at the Sept, the heavy atmosphere of sorrow, and how he had been swept away in the currents of his responsibilities, never given a moment to truly mourn.

He nodded thoughtfully, his voice barely above a whisper. “Aeron seems particularly skilled.”

“He is a very intelligent little boy,” you agreed, your eyes not leaving his as he continued to stare at the piano, lost in thought. “He has an eagerness to learn that reminds me of you.”

Aemond chuckled softly, the sound breaking through the solemnity that hung in the air. “I fear he has far more talent than I ever did,” he said, a hint of pride seeping into his words. “But I’m glad to see them find joy in something so beautiful.”

“Music has a way of healing,” you remarked, a wistful smile playing on your lips. “Especially in times like these.”

He turned to face you fully, his piercing violet eye searching yours. “And what of you? How do you fare amidst the shadows of loss?”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his concern. “I carry the grief, as we all do. But I find solace in our children. Their laughter reminds me of the light we can still find in our lives.”

Aemond’s gaze softened, and he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing over yours with an intimacy that sent warmth coursing through you. “You are stronger than I,” he said earnestly. “I often wonder how you manage to bear the burdens we both carry.”

With a gentle squeeze of his hand, you replied, “We bear them together, my king. That is what family is for.”

Aemond's brow furrowed slightly, and he murmured, “Aeron... he shall be a better king than I.” His voice held a weight of expectation and uncertainty, a reflection of his own doubts.

You turned your gaze toward him, a hint of sadness flickering in your eyes as you stood and swiftly settled beside him on the bench.

Reaching out, you cupped his face in your hands, grounding him with your touch. “Only because he shall learn from your mistakes. Every king should be better than the former.”

Aemond stared into your eyes, his heart swelling with gratitude. In truth, he had often wondered what he had done to deserve your steadfast presence. Memories washed over him—of the day he first met you when he was merely fourteen, a boy angry and hateful at the world.

He leaned his forehead against yours, finding solace in your warmth. “You are very wise, my queen. You never lead me astray.”

“Destiny has its designs,” you replied softly, a small smile gracing your lips. “And I am merely fulfilling mine. To guide you, to stand by your side.”

He chuckled lightly, the sound a blend of affection and admiration. “Even when I do not deserve it?”

“Especially then,” you countered, your tone playful yet sincere. “Every king needs a queen to keep him grounded, to remind him of what truly matters.”

Aemond took a deep breath, the weight of the realm and his responsibilities momentarily lifted. “And what is that, my love?”

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It is love, loyalty, and the hope for a better tomorrow. The kind of future we want for our children.”

Aemond leaned back, a rare lightness settling in his chest for the first time in what felt like an age. He placed his hand over your round belly, feeling the warmth radiate from within. You tilted your head, an amused smile blossoming on your lips as you caught his gaze.

“Aeron has taken to kissing my stomach,” you said, your tone playful. “He believes that if he shows enough affection, it might persuade my body to grant him a brother. He claims it would make his chances of having a fair fight against the girls much better.”

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head in bemusement. Then, nodding toward the piano, he added, “Teach me. I may never reach the heights of Aeron’s talent, but perhaps I could aspire to match little Daenys’ skill.”

Your laughter chimed like music in the air, a sound that warmed his spirit. Aemond grinned at the absurdity of comparing his potential to that of his infant daughter. “Very well,” you said, your eyes sparkling with delight. “First, let us see what you can do.”

You guided him closer to the piano, instructing him to place his large, slender hands over yours on the keys. “Feel the movement,” you encouraged, your voice soft and patient. “It’s not merely about the notes; it’s about the rhythm and the heart behind them.”

Unbeknownst to you and Aemond, enveloped in your own intimate world, three pairs of curious eyes peered in from the slightly ajar door of the chamber. Jaehaera, Aeron, and little Daenys had quietly slipped away from their caretakers.

Jaehaera, though only six years of age, sighed wistfully as she watched her uncle and aunt. “How romantic,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with a sense of longing.

She cradled baby Daenys in her arms, the infant unusually calm, her wide eyes reflecting the gentle glow of the room as she took in the scene of her mother and father together.

Aeron, standing beside Jaehaera, observed his parents intently, a thoughtful frown furrowing his brow. “Do you think our marriage will be like that?” he asked, glancing over at Jaehaera to gauge her reaction.

Jaehaera turned to him, her gaze sharp and serious, her little brows furrowing in determination. “It has to, Aeron. It has to.”

“Do you think we’ll be that happy?” he pressed, his youthful innocence shining through, even as the shadows of doubt crept into his mind.

She nodded vigorously, her long silver hair bouncing with the motion. “Of course! The king and queen love each other. If we love each other like they do, it will be just as wonderful.”

Aeron pondered her words, his gaze drifting back to the sight of you and Aemond, lost in your shared moment. “And what if…” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “What if things become difficult, like they do in the stories?”

Jaehaera frowned slightly, her youthful optimism momentarily faltering. “Then we fight for each other, just like they do,” she declared with conviction.

Aeron nodded, a small smile creeping onto his face. “I like that idea,” he said softly, his gaze drifting back to the happy scene of his mother and his father.

“We’ll make it the best story ever.”

[Jaehaera, Aeron, Daenys]

headcannonsss:

— aemond and reader end up having six children in total: aeron (18), daenys (15), mikael (13), jaemes (10), elaena (7) and aelora (4) + jaehaera (19)

— aeron and jaehaera marry

— daenys falls in love with aegon (rhaenyra's son)

— mikael comes out as gay

— jaemes and elaena marry

— aelora refuses to marry and part with her mother (sophie/donna relationship)

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

#aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x you #aemond targaryen imagine #prince aemond

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cherryxbooo · 1 month ago

Text

We are a team

Summary: Y/N and Jungkook’s secret three-year relationship is exposed by Dispatch, leading to a wave of hate toward Y/N. Overwhelmed, she distances herself and spirals into self-doubt, but Jungkook’s unwavering love and public defense bring her back.

Note: First time writing for Jungkook even though I've been in the fandom for ages (ikr it's a shame). I tried giving it my own spin, so let me know what you think! Have a nice reading time cherries!

Reader x Jeon Jungkook

Genre: fluff/angst

I always knew my life was different, but I never really understood the full extent of how different it was until I started dating Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook wasn’t just any person; he was an idol, an icon. One of the seven members of BTS, the global sensation that had taken the world by storm.

He was everything anyone could dream of. Beautiful, talented, and charismatic beyond measure. And somehow, against all odds, I ended up with him. The truth is, it still doesn’t feel real sometimes.

But before all of the glitz and glamour, before the screaming fans and flashing cameras, there was just him and me.

It started like any other relationship, but it quickly turned into something that felt different from all the others.

The quiet dinners, the stolen moments at his apartment or mine, long talks about our dreams, our fears, and everything in between. We shared the same kind of energy, an unspoken understanding that didn’t need to be explained.

He could say so much with just one look, and I could do the same. It was a beautiful dance of balance—where I didn’t need the world to know us, where our love didn’t need to be validated by anyone.

For the first year, it was perfect. We kept our relationship private, just the way we wanted it.

His fame was an overwhelming beast, and my life, simple as it was, didn’t need the attention of the public.

Our love existed in these hidden pockets of time, these quiet, beautiful moments where only we mattered.

We could escape from the world and just be. And I loved it.

I had never expected to fall in love with someone like Jungkook. He wasn’t just a celebrity; he was kind, grounded, and so incredibly caring.

He was the type of person who would send me a message in the middle of a busy day just to ask how I was.

Or send me a random picture of something he thought I’d like, just because he knew it would make me smile.

I remember the first time he told me he loved me. It wasn’t a grand gesture or an elaborate confession.

It was on a rainy evening, curled up on the couch after a long day of practice. He looked at me with those deep, dark eyes, and said softly, “I love you, you know.”

I smiled, squeezing his hand in mine. “I know. I love you, too.”

It felt so simple, yet in that moment, it felt like the most important thing in the world. And that’s how it always was with him. Everything was simple, but it was everything.

But things change, even in the quietest of lives. The world has a funny way of pushing itself into places where it doesn’t belong.

It was the end of the year, a time when the media and Dispatch were notorious for revealing celebrity relationships.

Every year, they’d release the identities of new couples, always making headlines. I knew it was coming.

The pressure was mounting. People were starting to whisper. I had seen articles, blogs, and even fan accounts speculating about my relationship with Jungkook.

But none of it felt real. They didn’t know. No one did.

Then came that one fateful day. It was just like any other morning until I got the message.

I had just finished breakfast, my phone buzzing on the kitchen counter. I reached for it, not expecting anything out of the ordinary.

But there it was.

A picture of Jungkook and me, a candid shot from one of our rare outings in public. We had gone to a quiet café to grab some coffee, and somehow, someone had managed to snap the photo.

And just like that, Dispatch had their story. They had their moment.

It was one of those things that hit me like a freight train, a hard, cold reality. As soon as I saw the post, I felt the room spin. The caption was simple, yet it felt like a wrecking ball:

BTS’s Jeon Jungkook and his mystery girlfriend revealed!

dispatch

Liked by kpopteagiver, jungkookupdates, and 1,232,458 others

dispatch BTS’s Jeon Jungkook and his mystery girlfriend, revealed! Here's what we know: Jeon Jungkook member of BTS has been spotted several times with the same girl. Our sources confirmed the two to be a couple. The girls identity is also revealed, she's a normal university student that goes by the name of y/n. The pair has been together for 3 years apparently. Why Jungkook chose a regular girl instead of an idol is still a big mystery.

View all comments

jjk97lvrrr Ew what the hell?! Who is that. 🤢

bangtan4rver Jungkook can do so much better 🙄

boraaajk1 💔🤮

btsmylovly7 I can't believe this my babyyy jk 😭😢

jkfancam2019 Yesss fandom cleanse 🤭

hobixtaetae7 Some of you need to grow up smh he isn’t going to notice you so sit down damn 💀

chimschubbycheeks1 Nah fr, I mean we all saw it coming these fine men can't be single forever besides she seems nice

jinnymytime77 I agree, the ones that act like that are such a shame to our fandom.

The comments flooded in almost immediately.

“She’s so basic, why is he with her?”

“Doesn’t she know she’s just using him for fame?”

“I’m so disappointed in him. He deserves better.”

I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t even notice the tears that had started streaming down my face until I felt them drop onto my phone screen. It was like the world was collapsing around me.

I threw my phone onto the couch and buried my face in my hands. It wasn’t just the hate; it was the fact that the world now knew.

My private, peaceful life with Jungkook was no longer private.

The silence that had once surrounded us had been shattered.

The days that followed were a blur. Jungkook tried reaching out to me, sending me texts, calling me—but I couldn’t bring myself to answer him. I couldn’t find the words to tell him how broken I was.

I tried to ignore it. I tried to push it all down. But it was hard, so hard to ignore the flood of comments, the constant reminders of the hate and judgment that had suddenly filled my world.

I didn’t leave my apartment much. I spent most of my time locked in my room, scrolling through the endless comments that tore at me piece by piece.

It wasn’t just the hate from strangers, though. It was the pressure, the weight of it all. Jungkook had always been in the public eye.

He was used to it. But me? I was just a regular person, living a normal life. The spotlight that had never once been on me now seemed like a blinding floodlight, burning away every bit of my peace.

I distanced myself from everyone, even from Jungkook. I didn’t want him to see how weak I had become, how much the hate was getting to me.

I didn’t want him to feel guilty. I didn’t want to burden him with my pain.

But Jungkook wasn’t about to let me do that.

I was lying in bed one evening when I heard a soft knock on the door. I didn’t even have to guess who it was.

“Y/N,” Jungkook’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “Can we talk?”

I wanted to say no. I wanted to lock myself away and pretend everything was fine. But I couldn’t do that anymore. Not with him.

I stood up slowly and opened the door, and there he was—his face drawn, worried, but still, unmistakably, the same Jungkook. My Jungkook.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, his gaze never leaving me. I could see the worry in his eyes.

“Y/N, why are you doing this? I’ve been trying to reach you. You can’t just shut me out like this.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“I just... I can’t handle it, Jungkook. I can’t handle the hate, the comments, the constant pressure. I feel like I’m suffocating. I’m not strong enough for this. I don’t know how to handle the spotlight. It’s too much.”

Jungkook’s eyes softened, and he reached out to gently cup my face. “You don’t have to handle it alone. I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“But it’s not just about us,” I said, looking away. “It’s about you too. You’ve worked so hard for everything, and I’m just... messing it all up.”

He shook his head, his fingers brushing away the tears from my cheek.

“No, you’re not. Don’t you ever think that. You mean the world to me. The hate... It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re together. That’s all that matters.”

I felt the weight of his words in my chest, and slowly, I let myself lean into him, resting my head on his chest.

“I’m so scared, Kook. I’m scared of losing you, of ruining everything for you.”

Jungkook held me tighter, his voice soft but firm. “You won’t lose me. Never. I won’t let the media or anyone else get between us.”

I looked up at him, the tears still falling. “But what if it’s too much? What if I can’t do this?”

“You can,” he whispered, his hand gently stroking my hair.

“You can, because we’re a team. And I’ll be right here beside you, every step of the way.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to believe that everything would be okay.

That maybe, just maybe, we could get through this together.

Jungkook and I spent the next few hours sitting together, his presence a balm to the sharp pain in my chest.

He didn’t try to force words out of me or ask for any promises. Instead, he sat beside me, patiently waiting, letting me gather the strength to speak.

We didn’t need words to communicate. It was as if he knew exactly what I was feeling.

His hand, warm and reassuring, held mine, grounding me in the chaos of my emotions.

But even though he was here, with me, I still felt the weight of the world pressing down.

The constant barrage of notifications, the insults, the assumptions. All of it was suffocating.

I had always tried to live a quiet, unassuming life, away from the public eye.

I hadn’t signed up for this level of scrutiny. Yet here I was, caught in a storm I had no control over.

The following days were no easier. Despite Jungkook’s gentle reassurances and attempts to keep me grounded, I felt more alone than ever.

He would send me messages, voice notes, and even pop by my apartment when he could, but the pressure of it all was too much.

I couldn’t bring myself to face the outside world.

One day, I woke up to an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. The weight of the previous weeks had drained me, physically and emotionally.

The constant tension in my body had made it hard to sleep, and my mind felt like it was on a never-ending loop of worst-case scenarios.

I could hear the voices in my head telling me that maybe I wasn’t cut out for this life, that I was never meant to be a part of his world.

I looked at my phone. The notifications were still there—more comments, more articles, more people voicing their opinions. Some were kind, but many were filled with venom.

I read one comment that stood out:

“She doesn’t deserve him. She’s just another girl trying to ride his coattails. When is she going to leave him?”

I wanted to throw my phone across the room. The hurt was unbearable, and no matter how many times Jungkook reassured me, I couldn’t escape it.

The world was so quick to judge me, and I felt as if every part of my life was under a microscope. Every action, every word, every gesture was scrutinized.

I felt like I was drowning, and the shore was so far away.

But then, Jungkook did something unexpected. Something that, in that moment, I never knew I needed.

It was late in the evening, and I was once again buried under a mountain of blankets on the couch, staring at my phone.

The silence in my apartment felt suffocating, the glow of the screen the only thing that kept me company.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed. I saw Jungkook’s name on the screen.

“I’m coming over. We need to talk.”

I knew he could sense my distance. He had been trying so hard to break through my walls, and for the most part, I had been shutting him out.

But this time, I couldn’t ignore him. My heart ached just at the thought of his face. I needed to see him.

I threw the blankets aside, quickly running my fingers through my hair, trying to make myself presentable.

By the time the doorbell rang, I was standing in the entryway, a mixture of relief and dread swirling inside me.

“Jungkook,” I whispered as I opened the door. He stood there, looking at me with a mixture of worry and determination.

His expression softened as soon as he saw me, and he immediately pulled me into a hug. His arms enveloped me, warm and familiar.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I should’ve noticed sooner. I never should have let you go through this alone.”

I could feel his heart pounding against my chest, and in that moment, I knew he was just as scared as I was. We were in this together.

No matter what the world said, we were a team, we are a team.

“Jungkook, I—” I started to speak, but my voice caught in my throat. The tears I had been holding back for days finally began to spill over.

My body shook with the force of my sobs, and I clung to him like he was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

“I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to handle all this hate. It feels like I’m losing myself.”

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes. His fingers gently wiped away my tears.

“You don’t have to do it alone. I’m here. Always.”

His words didn’t magically make the pain go away, but they made me feel something I hadn’t in days—hope.

A small glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, I could get through this with him by my side.

“I don’t want to lose you, Kook,” I whispered.

“I don’t want to be the one who drags you down. You’ve worked so hard for everything. I don’t want to be the reason your career is affected.”

Jungkook’s expression darkened, a fierce protectiveness overtaking him.

“Don’t you dare say that. We talked about this already. I don’t care about any of that. You are my priority, Y/N. Always. What they say... what they think... it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is that we’re okay. That you’re okay.”

His voice was firm, unwavering, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a sense of calm wash over me.

He was right. The world could say whatever they wanted, but as long as we were in this together, nothing else mattered.

The following weeks were a battle. I tried to keep a low profile, but the world seemed determined to keep me in the spotlight.

The media, the fans—everyone had an opinion. The comments never stopped, and the hate continued to pour in.

But Jungkook refused to let me face it alone. He was by my side every step of the way.

He would show up at my apartment, bring me food, hold me when the weight of it all became too much. He knew when I needed comfort, and he never hesitated to offer it.

There were nights when we would just lay together, talking about everything and nothing, trying to distract ourselves from the world outside.

He kept reassuring me, telling me that this was just a phase.

“People will come around,” he would say, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“They’ll see the real you, Y/N. And when they do, they’ll love you as much as I do.”

And slowly, over time, I began to believe him.

A turning point came when I received a message from one of my close friends, who had been keeping an eye on my social media accounts.

She told me that there was a shift happening. People were starting to see me for who I was—not just as Jungkook’s girlfriend, but as a person.

The comments started to change. There was more positivity, more support.

“I don’t know how this happened, Y/N,” she said, “but you’ve become something of an icon. People are really starting to love you. Your personality shines through. Keep being yourself. That’s all you need to do.”

It was a revelation that hit me like a ton of bricks. In the midst of all the hate, there was love.

There were people who saw beyond the headlines, beyond the rumors. They saw me. And that made all the difference.

As time went on, the media’s obsession with me began to fade. People who once tore me apart started to support me, praising my strength, my resilience.

The negativity was still there, but it no longer consumed me.

Jungkook, too, seemed to find peace in the shift. As he saw the public warming to me, he grew more relaxed, even a little playful.

He would tease me, jokingly asking if I had become the “queen of social media” now that everyone loved me.

“Don’t get too big-headed now,” he would say with a grin, pretending to be jealous of all the attention I was getting.

I would laugh, playfully nudging him. “Maybe I should start charging for autographs.”

“You’re already stealing the spotlight from me,” he would joke, but there was always a warmth in his eyes. “I’m the jealous one now.”

And in those moments, everything felt right again. I knew we had weathered the storm, and no matter what the world threw our way, we would face it together.

The day finally came when I stood in front of the mirror, ready to face the world again.

The pain, the heartbreak, the endless nights of crying—everything felt like it had been worth it.

I had fought, and I had come out stronger. The world had tried to break me, but I wasn’t going anywhere.

And Jungkook? He was right beside me, as always. Together, we had survived.

Months passed, and life seemed to return to some semblance of normalcy.

The media had moved on to other scandals, other stories to report. The spotlight on Jungkook and me had dimmed, but the consequences of the past still lingered like a shadow that refused to fade completely.

Jungkook and I had become experts at navigating the delicate balance between public attention and private moments. We’d learned to take the good with the bad.

On days when the media tried to spin stories that were less than flattering, we laughed it off, knowing we had each other.

On days when the weight of the world felt unbearable, we leaned on one another and found comfort in our shared silence.

It wasn’t always easy. There were still days when I would scroll through my social media and see a comment that hurt—something cruel, something unnecessary.

The pain would flare up, and the temptation to retreat back into myself would always be there.

But Jungkook’s words echoed in my mind: “We’re a team. Together, we can handle anything.” And with him by my side, I slowly began to believe it.

One afternoon, we sat together in our favorite café, a quiet little spot hidden in the heart of Seoul.

The world outside was bustling, but inside, it felt like we were in our own little bubble, away from the chaos.

Jungkook leaned over the table, his gaze soft and tender as he reached for my hand.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice serious yet filled with a hint of playfulness.

“We should go somewhere. Just the two of us. No cameras, no distractions. Somewhere where we can be ourselves, without all the noise.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Where?”

He smiled, that mischievous smile that always made my heart flutter. “It’s a surprise. But I promise it’ll be perfect.”

I didn’t need to ask any more questions. I trusted him completely. Jungkook had always been someone who knew how to make me feel special, even in the most ordinary moments.

It was one of the reasons I fell for him in the first place—his ability to turn every moment into something meaningful.

Days later, we found ourselves on a private jet, heading to a secluded beach on a small island far from the hustle and bustle of the city.

It was just the two of us, free to be whoever we wanted to be without the weight of public expectations hanging over us.

The air was warm, the sky a perfect shade of blue, and the ocean stretched out before us in a shimmering expanse.

It felt like we were the only two people in the world.

Jungkook took my hand as we walked along the shoreline, the sound of the waves crashing against the sand filling the air.

“This is it,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “Just us. No one else.”

I looked at him, a sense of peace washing over me. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe freely again.

The media, the hate, the drama—none of it mattered in this moment. All that mattered was that we were together.

“You’re right,” I said softly. “This is perfect.”

Jungkook stopped walking and turned to face me, his expression soft and earnest.

“I know it’s been hard, Y/N. I know I can’t take away all the pain you’ve been feeling, but I hope you know that I’m always here for you. Through everything.”

My heart swelled with emotion as I looked into his eyes.

“I know, Kook. And I’ll never take that for granted. You’ve been my rock, even when everything seemed impossible.”

He smiled, pulling me into a tight hug. “You’re stronger than you think. And you don’t have to face anything alone. I’ve got you, always.”

We stood there for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in each other’s arms, surrounded only by the sound of the waves and the soft rustling of the breeze.

It was a moment of pure tranquility, a brief respite from the chaos that had ruled our lives for so long.

The following days were filled with laughter, adventure, and a sense of freedom I hadn’t felt in months.

We explored the island, tried new foods, and spent hours simply enjoying each other’s company.

There were no cameras, no headlines—just us, living in the moment.

On the last night of our trip, we sat on the beach, watching the sun set over the horizon.

The sky was painted in shades of pink and orange, and the air was thick with the scent of saltwater and sand.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” I murmured, leaning my head on Jungkook’s shoulder.

He chuckled softly, wrapping his arm around me. “Maybe not forever. But I’d like to come back here with you someday. Just the two of us.”

I smiled, the warmth of his words filling me with happiness. “I’d like that too.”

We sat in comfortable silence, watching as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky. For once, the weight of the world felt light. It was just us, and that was enough.

When we returned to Seoul, the world seemed to have shifted. The media had, for the most part, stopped hounding me.

I was no longer just Jungkook’s girlfriend. Slowly but surely, I had carved out my own space in the public eye, not as a reflection of him, but as my own person.

People began to recognize me not just as an idol’s partner, but as someone who had her own strengths, her own dreams, and her own voice.

It wasn’t easy. There were still days when the negativity would creep in. But now, I was able to handle it with more confidence.

I had Jungkook to thank for that. His unwavering support, his belief in me, and his constant encouragement had helped me rediscover myself.

One day, as we were walking down the street, hand in hand, a group of fans approached us.

They were excited, but this time, instead of shying away, I smiled and waved. They returned the gesture, some of them even shouting how much they loved me.

It was a surreal feeling—a far cry from the hate and venom I had experienced not long ago.

Jungkook squeezed my hand, his grin wide. “Look at you. You’re practically a star now.”

I rolled my eyes, playfully shoving him. “Stop being dramatic. I’m just me.”

But in that moment, I realized something. I had become more than just “Jungkook’s girlfriend.”

I had become my own person—someone people admired, someone they saw for who I truly was.

Jungkook chuckled, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Well, I’ll admit it. I’m a little jealous of how many people adore you now.”

I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Jealous? You? The Jeon Jungkook is jealous?”

He smirked. “What can I say? You’re a hot treasure.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re the only one who matters, Kook. Don’t forget that.”

As time passed, our relationship continued to thrive. The media, while still watching us closely, began to accept us.

People no longer saw me as an outsider, but as a part of Jungkook’s world, and in many ways, a part of the K-pop community.

I wasn’t just his girlfriend—I was Y/N, a woman who had fought through adversity and come out stronger on the other side.

And through it all, Jungkook remained my rock. He never wavered in his love for me, and I never wavered in mine for him.

We had weathered the storm together, and we knew that, no matter what came next, we would face it hand in hand.

One evening, as we sat together, watching the sunset from our apartment, Jungkook turned to me with a thoughtful expression.

“You know,” he said, his voice soft,

“I don’t think I could’ve made it through all of this without you. You’ve taught me a lot. You’ve shown me that love isn’t just about the good times. It’s about sticking together when things get tough.”

I smiled, resting my head on his shoulder. “I think we’ve both learned that. And we’ll keep learning, together.”

He kissed the top of my head, his lips lingering for a moment. “I love you, Y/N. More than you’ll ever know.”

“I love you too, Kook,” I whispered back. “And I always will.”

"You're such a sap when being emotional."

"Shut up y/n, you love it."

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