#as i was setting up the positioning i was like. hm. this is reminding me of smthn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whatifyoulivelikethat · 11 months ago

Text

not allowed xvii, m | jjk

pairing(s): est. poly relationship – yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: The date of Jeon Jungkook's mandatory military service is drawing close. There's a heart-to-heart... following by fucking all three holes. What? That harsh training is easier to endure when Jungkook has nice memories of his girlfriend's sweet, sweet ass.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; JK and reader only; relationship talk; all the feels and heart eyes; smut (fem reader, all the kisses, nipple play, fingering [pussy + ass], f and m-receiving oral + face fucking, slight edging, anal doggy, vaginal penetrative sex, mentions of m-masturbation, multiple orgasms); idol!BTS - Yoongi x reader x Jungkook; reader is JK’s noona; based on real time (before 2023.12.11) this is late but I can't not send off the bunbun :D

part of ‘not allowed’ series, but can be read alone. basic summary: your bf asked JK to fuck you, twice, and then on the regular. blue haired JK. 2021 YG birthday, ‘Butter’, wiyllt remix. new skill acquired, JK’s sheer pj punishment, 2021 JK birthday, during PTD in LA, 2022 HNY, 2022 YG birthday, PTD in LV, 2022 JK birthday; 2022 Christmas, before YG's service

“Yoongi warned me.”

“Hm?”

He didn’t have much time left. But he made time for you. He had made your favorite food (crispy samgyeopsal, hehe), bought you a gift even though you didn’t want to accept them (ended up being Google Play gift cards, which you gladly accepted; however, they came with a stipulation – “you better buy all of my and SUGA-hyung’s in-game outfits with this”), and made you take off your shirt (???????) to yank one of his white Calvin Klein t-shirts over your head. You always refused physical items from him. After all, you didn’t date him for the money, plus you didn’t want anyone to notice that you had any lavish gifts. They would think you had a suga daddy or something.

Hehe.

“Noona, it’s a t-shirt. Most people can afford a Calvin Klein t-shirt. Why do you think I accepted the campaign?”

“So you could be shirtless for a reason?”

“Hey!”

“Hmm, all for ARMY, huh?”

“That includes you too, you know.”

You had grinned at Jeon Jungkook then and, just this once, you accepted his gifts. He had smiled back with those round cheeks, bright white teeth, sparkling eyes, and a newly bald head. It was a strange look to see him in, but he made it amusing, joking about it all night, not addressing the why even though you both knew the part of life that was yet to come. He puffed his chest, shirtless, and jokingly pumped up his muscles.

“You remind me of The Rock right now,” you quipped.

His head tilted in confusion. “Eh?”

You pulled up a photo of Dawyne Johnson. “I expect your biceps to be this big after eighteen months.”

“Woah! That’s impossible!”

“Just imagine ARMY’s faces when you show up at the first concert as buff as The Rock. Still bald,” you laughed good-naturedly, setting your phone down. “We gotta pick someone to People’s Elbow.”

“Seokjin-hyung would never agree.”

“You said it, not me.”

Jungkook was laughing with you. It slowly died out, your smile remaining, and he was smiling back. You had noticed this feeling all night. Something weighing on him even though he was trying to be as normal as possible. It suddenly occurred to you that you were in a unique position now. You always had to hide your true emotions about Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook, staying silent until you were behind closed doors and only in their presence. After all, who would understand the love between you and two men, let alone two of the most talented and most famous world-class superstars of BTS? You could confide in no one. But now, everyone knew the timeline of their service to their country. It would not be strange for you to say out loud, in public, that you missed them being around.

It was…

Comforting.

Just knowing that you could say it out loud and people would likely say, me too, even if no one really knew what you truly meant.

Those big brown eyes searched your face. You smiled softly at him and didn’t back away, letting him find what he needed. You knew Jungkook wanted to say something, but you didn’t press for it. He would tell you on his own time. He was always like that.

“Yoongi warned me.”

You paused. “Hm?”

He came closer and held your shoulders. You looked up, seeing the infinite sky and the endless universe in those eyes. The strangest adjustment for you was not the hair but the lack of piercings. They had remained constant (or as constant as Jungkook had allowed, heh) even when his hair changed. He had removed all of them now, leaving only earrings in his lower earlobe that he would have to eventually have to remove too. Still, it was the same person looking back at you. No matter how many years passed, no matter how much his appearance changed, the pureness of his emotions always shone through those big peepers.

The original Magic Shop was that big heart of his, after all.

He made wishes come true all the time.

“I’m not… good at speaking or anything…” Jungkook mumbled, chewing the left side of his lower lip, exposing that familiar and well-loved underlip mole. He always started off with that. You didn’t interrupt even though you wanted to tell him he was always super obvious to read. Especially to you. “I… I wished I spent more time with you.”

You stilled, not expecting that. “Well, you know I understand–”

Jungkook smiled and shook you a little, telling you to shut up. You only did because of the faint sadness in his expression. “That’s what Yoongi-hyung warned me about. That you would understand. That you would always understand, no matter what. But, still… I know, I spent a lot of this year working on my album and flying to places and trying new things and recording content I knew ARMY would like. I really wanted to prepare stuff everyone could enjoy while we were gone.”

You chuckled. “Am I not included in that? You just said so earlier.”

He stubbornly shook his head. “You are different, noona. There are not enough hours for all the time I want to spend with you.”

You waited for him to look back to you again. He looked apologetic. He had run out of time. There was no one more time. But he never needed to give you more. You had always been grateful for every second, every minute, every hour that he gave you.

“Any time with you is enough for me, Jungkook.”

He held you tight.

“But it’s not enough for me.”

He was holding onto your shoulders very firmly. You could tell he did not want to cry. You gave him a moment to breathe. He blinked hard and swallowed, letting out a heavy exhale, expansive eyes full of glistening stars.

“I know you’ll be fine, noona.”

He tiled his head down, leaning his forehead against yours, and there were no shadows of his hair, just soft warm light all around.

“I have saved thousands of photos,” you murmured, and he cracked a smile. “And I’ll definitely still see your face all over Korea. I won’t be able to escape you, I promise.”

He stared into your eyes.

“You’re the strongest person I know.”

You closed your eyes and breathed in, imprinting Jungkook’s clean scent into your memory.

“Even stronger than Yoongi,” he whispered, and you imprinted his voice into your memory too, even though you already had many of his words archived already.

“Don’t let him know you said that,” you whispered back. “He’ll get sulky.”

His breath trembled against your lips.

“But I won’t be fine knowing I should have done more.”

You reached up and wrapped your arms around him, hooking your hands behind his shoulders.

“There is no should here. And you are stronger than you know. You’ll be golden, my love.”

You used to only use that for Yoongi. You both mostly hated pet names. Somehow, my love snuck its way in there. It was never used lightly. There was weight to it. And now you used it for Jungkook, in the same tone, with the same softness. My love. Every time you felt him shiver and hold you tighter. Tilted his head to close the distance. You kissed him back, letting it linger, letting it take shape as a core memory. You let him be the one to break it. You let him take one of your hands and hold it up to his, palm to palm, fingertips touching.

He looked down at your joined touch for a moment.

At the same time, your fingers and his fingers curled forward and interlocked.

“Hyung and I are lucky to have you.”

“Dunno, sometimes my jokes aren’t smooth like butter.”

Jungkook squeezed your hand tighter, chuckling lightly. “You know what I mean, noona.”

“Do I?”

Then he surprised you.

“I’ve never heard you complain about your situation even though you had every reason and every chance to.”

He had noticed.

He really is growing up, huh?

“There’s nothing I need to complain about. I’m pretty lucky, I think,” you hummed.

“With adamant-almost-insufferable personality SUGA-hyung and very-difficult-to-handle Jungkookie?”

They were light-hearted words but the way he said it was not so. His tone indicated this was something spoken about between them. You didn’t mind it. In fact, you preferred it. Not only did they have complimentary personalities but they had someone who understood their unique situation well. But you also understood the apprehension. They had expressed it before.

“You two are my favorite challenges,” you chuckled, rubbing your nose against Jungkook’s. “Life is too boring without you.”

It had probably been a bad decision back then. After all, the agency was against Min Yoongi and you dating from the start, telling him repeatedly that romantic relationships were not allowed. But with youth and stubborn personalities came resilience. And becoming really good at lying to authority. Whoops. The agency both had to low-key accept what was going on and slowly relaxed over time. But life had other ideas to make your love life even more unconventional. And hectic.

(And loud. Jeon Jungkook was very loud.)

Of course, life was hard, but every life was. In fact, maybe challenge was the wrong word as it had possible negative connotations. The odd hours, the lost sleep, the sneaking around, the no-gifts rule, the creative dates behind closed doors – these things were a small price to pay in the light of the unbreakable connections you had between Yoongi and Jungkook.

Not one red line of fate, but two.

One silver.

One golden.

Jungkook held your face in his hands.

“ARMY is the reason I live, but you are the reason I know my heart is always safe.”

You tried not to wince and shifted your eyes from side to side. Eerily similar to a certain someone. Hard to tell if it was a habit that you picked up from Yoongi or one he had picked up from you. You could tell Jungkook was being sincere, but it was still a dramatic cheesy compliment that you weren’t used to accepting. He laughed and deliberately peppered theatrical smooches all over your face that you tried to squirm away from, successfully breaking away and starting a chase throughout his home where he would catch you and pick you up to yell that he loved you straight into your ear, followed by a kissing frenzy. You would temporarily lose hearing and wiggle away to start the cycle all over again, knowing full well that you couldn’t run faster than him. Maybe something to think about for the new year.

In those moments, everything was perfect.

In those moments, the world was only you and him.

In those moments, no one could break the wholeness between you and him.

No one but time.

You both tumbled into his bed, laughing, childish, holding onto each other. Somehow, your hand landed on his waist and his ended up in your hair, playing with it, and Jungkook asked you how you did it.

“Do what?” you teased with a smirk.

“I sometimes think about if I could love someone else, but I really can’t,” Jungkook frowned, running his fingertips over your temple. “I just get obsessed and can’t stop.”

“Oh, I know.”

Everyone knew that, keke.

“I got jealous of hyung, really,” he admitted. “Not only because he had you, but because it seemed to work so well. And then it turns out that you guys really are perfect.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’re not perfect–”

“It made me love you even more,” Jungkook continued, talking over you. “You pair with him so well. You pair with me well. You’ve always listened to me. Really paid attention. You know what I want before I say anything. You sometimes even know how I feel before I know. You know everything.”

“I definitely don’t know everything,” you scoffed. “Stop making stuff up.”

“And you never get mad at me.”

You shrugged. “The trick is to always be mad.”

“Hey!”

You grinned. Softened a bit when you saw his narrowed eyes and pout.

“Life’s too short to be mad at you.”

Jungkook’s expression changed at your words.

“When you’re young, you think you have all the time in the world, but that’s not true,” you sighed, remembering how it was. “Time is finite. Why waste it letting things pile up and be resentful? It is better to know yourself, to articulate how you feel, and to approach problems with confidence that you can solve them. There are things people can do and things people can’t. Even if… Even if things don’t work out tomorrow, I will have lived knowing I did what made me happy and knowing I did everything I could to make you happy.”

You squeezed his waist and exhaled softly.

“Maybe I can’t do that forever. But is that a reason to stop? I don’t think so. So what if people think it’s wrong? So what if people don’t believe in my heart? So what if they think it can’t be done? Wrongness is not as easy to define as people would like it to be. I only need you and Yoongi to believe in my heart for it to be true, and my toxic trait has always been that I think I can do anything, hah…”

A year and a half was a short time. And a long time, perhaps, but dedication and loyalty were always the foundation you built these precious feelings on. Maybe it wasn’t very romantic to rely on your stubbornness to stay in love, but it did help keep promises.

“You ask me, how do I do it?”

You had hesitated in the beginning not for your sake, but theirs. It was hard to live complicated. It was harder to love in a complicated way. It was impossible made possible through sheer determination, and maybe everything would become more impossible in the future, but it would be disingenuous to right now if you let those worries consume you, and it was important to you for your love to know that every moment with them was never taken for granted. As long as you made that promise, you would spare no expense.

The only way to do that was to, of course, live like that.

“I love you because I want to, with everything I have. And I will never make a promise I don’t intend to keep.”

Jungkook stared at you with awe.

“You’re so cool, noona.”

You half-smiled. Not denying it. “Can you tell Yoongi that so he stops disagreeing with me?”

He grinned mischievously. “He actually thinks you’re really cool too, but he didn’t want me to tell you that.”

“That punk–”

Words fell away. You wouldn’t say the conversation was surprising, but you hadn’t expected that level of depth. You appreciated it. Maybe it had been Yoongi’s idea, but it had been up to Jungkook to vocalize it. You understood that it meant a lot to him who thought he wasn’t elegant in his communication. He didn’t have to worry though. You could feel his sincerity in other ways. In the way he looked at you, turning to lift himself over your body, fitting his hand over your wrist above your head. You shifted to be on your back, looking back with a playful smile. In the way he leaned in and kissed you. In the way his free hand grazed the hem of the t-shirt and slid over your skin.

He showed rather than told.

So show me.

You felt him whimper into the kiss as your tongue slid against his. Felt the shiver of desire as his thumb grazed over your nipple and his fingers close in around your breast. You smiled against his lips. Nothing had changed since the first time. Jungkook still touched you with the same earnestness, the same unflinching lust, pushing away your clothes with the same frustration, as if they personally offended him by existing. But he was different too, savoring the moment, letting his hot exhale wash over you, kissing down your neck in the way you liked, sliding his arms under you so he could dig his short nails into your back and make your spine arc and your chest press against his, his teeth biting into the curve of your shoulder and sucking hard.

You gasped, gripping his shoulder tightly.

His forearms tensed against your back, kissing back up to your ear and biting down just under it, leaving his marks on your skin, your pulse thundering under his devouring lips.

Good thing winter called for turtlenecks and scarves.

You looked down at him when Jungkook scooted back and licked up the center of your torso, slow and dripping saliva, feeling the heat and wetness and possessiveness in the action, opening his eyes slowly as he lifted his head from your cleavage, those brown irises dark and heavy with desire.

“The baldness makes it feel like I’m sexing up a stranger,” you admitted with a snicker.

He glared. “Shuddup. I’m tryin’ to be sexy here.” His Busan satoori came out more when he was done with your bullshit.

“Keep trying. It’s fun,” you cheerfully remarked.

What?

It was fun to annoy him. It worked too, for his anxious need to make this a perfect moment dropped and was superseded by raw emotion and carnal need. He dropped his head and worked his mouth all over your breasts. Lips, tongue, teeth. Your breath caught in your throat, back arching, sparks over your skin, and his arms pulled out from under you. He gripped your thighs, curling his tongue around your hard nipples and making you moan from his mouth. Flaring his tongue over one, pushing it around, sucking, then moving to the other, sinking his fingers into your thighs, groaning as your hands encircled his head and pushed him closer, more, your head pressed to the soft pillows he always brought out when you stayed over.

Jungkook’s usual sleeping pillow was not optimal for fucking.

Facts were facts.

(You still didn’t understand how he was comfortable on that cylinder but he was one of the seven wonders of the world. The other six being the rest of BTS, of course.)

It was never about what, but how.

It was never about who he was, but about who he was with you.

He kissed up your collarbones, leaving your skin tingling with the strange sensation of missing lip rings. His fingers dipping inwards, your thumbs prickled by his short hair, and your eyes connected as his fingertips slipped under your panties, stroking your wet slit, shuddering as he felt your heat while basking in the heat of your gaze, stilling your inhale.

The moment settled into memory.

Burned.

He pushed two fingers inside you and your moans were cut off by his lips, roughly kissing you as your hips rose and your pussy locked around him, closing your eyes to turn low-lit reality into a continuous dream. One of your hands sliding down and into his pants, cupping your palm around his erection still constricted by his boxer briefs. Creating a rhythm, his fingers pushing in, your erratic breath making his, rubbing his hardness with each wave of pleasure, feeling the fervor build between bodies, layer by layer, the physicality becoming more intense with the depth of emotion, deeper, his cock throbbing under your touch, catching his tongue, feeling his saliva mix with yours and trickle down your throat.

Pleasure seeping into every fiber of your being.

“J… Jungkook…”

He ducked his head, your hand falling out of his pants, but your protest was cut off by the overwhelming ecstasy of his lips around your nipple once again, flicking it with his tongue, fucking you with more force, and your hips matched his pace, your head tipping back, throat exposed to the air, unafraid, moaning to the ceiling, close, closer, there.

Gasping sharply, and your walls clenched around his fingers, spasming, the heavy and sweet scent of sex bursting into the air, coating his fingers, sticking to your thighs, racing electricity up your stomach and into your lungs, the orgasm leaving you shockingly breathless.

Then your eyes rolled up into your head when Jungkook pushed himself down the bed, peeling your soaked panties down your legs, and he shoved his face between your legs, moaning hotly when his tongue met slick skin, your hands immediately gripping the sheets, your hips bucking into his face, ravenous for the sensation of circling tongue and soft lips, your eyelids fluttering as your swollen clit pulsed against wet muscle.

“F-Fuck…”

It wasn’t elegant but it felt fucking good. Your legs hooked around his shoulders and Jungkook lifted your lower body, his strong hands squeezing your ass, thumbs pressing in and spreading out your holes to give his greedy mouth more access while your thighs suffocated him, your palm pushing down on the crown of his head, shuddering as his tongue circled your trembling pussy.

He sucked up your cum.

Eyes opening and directly looking up at you.

You dug your fingertips into his head and fucked his face.

His eyes rolled back and he thrust his tongue into you, moaning again into your wet heat as you flexed around it, and then he shoved his thumb into your tight ass. Thankfully you had come prepared (and knowing him too well), so it didn’t surprise you, although you were a bit amused at his audacity. It was easy to forget about though, especially when his lips sealed around your clit, licking fervently. His thumb began to push in and out, in, out, his muffled groans vibrating through your core, fingering your ass while sucking your engorged clit. You would think he wouldn’t dare without checking with you first. Then again, he told you all the time to let him in your ass.

He was lucky you had foresight.

He was also right, though, because clearly you were letting him do whatever he wanted and enjoying it.

Hah.

You came again, hard, all the blood rushing to your head and gasping for air.

“Oh? It’s clean.”

“Yeah, something told me you’d try and go for the ass tonight,” you chuckled between pants, only to lose all breath once more as Jungkook planted his knee above your shoulder, mysteriously missing pants and underwear somehow (the spedy efficiency he was capable of when horny was remarkable), pushing down the dark red head of his stiff cock onto your open mouth, shifting his leg as you expertly adjusted your hair out of the way.

You raised an eyebrow at him but all Jungkook did was throw his head back and moan as your tongue wrapped around his girth, molding your mouth around him. His hips flicked forward, and you had the angle, swallowing him deep in your throat, deep enough for your lips to press against the base, his balls smacking into your chin. The tip of your tongue slid out and licked them. He groaned, low and erotic, slowly fucking your face, his pitch hiking as your tongue ran up to the thin skin under the head and down to his balls, smoothly not missing a beat as he dictated the pace. He didn’t touch your head, giving you the chance to move away if it was too much, but he didn’t have to worry. He was getting harder and thicker with this steady pace, his length twitching wildly between your lips, giving you all the control in the world, tilting your head to keep it at the perfect angle, curling your tongue to the underside of his cock to press it to the roof of your mouth and down your throat, anchoring yourself with your hands clutching his hard thighs, his girth stretching you out.

A desperate whine above you and he slowed, almost to full stop.

“N-No… w-wait…”

You calmly continued to move your head back and forth, leisurely, your lips pressed against the base of the head, licking around and around, flaring the slit with the tip of your tongue, his strong flavor invading your taste buds.

His hips nearly buckled and Jungkook cried out, tapping your upper arm hurriedly.

“I… I w-want to fuck your ass…”

Oh.

So that was why he wanted to be as hard as possible.

“You act like I’m gonna let you do anything you want,” you fake complained, choosing to roll onto your elbows after he backed up. Hey, you were going to picking the position here, even if you were succumbing to all his wants. Once again you guessed right. You looked back to see sweat glistening on Jungkook’s collarbones and his wide eyes honed in onto your perky round ass bouncing in the air, on your knees with your chest against the mattress. He carelessly dumped the hand towel back onto the nightstand and ripped open the condom, oblivious to you witnessing his hard dick bobbing up and down in the air as he climbed back onto the bed.

This guy was spacing out staring at your butt.

“Hey, I’m still here,” you joked.

“Uh huh,” was his distracted reply.

You turned back to face forward as his expression disappeared behind you, half-amused but not offended by his one-track mind. You figured he was busy carefully rolling down the condom until you felt his thumb once again press into your tight ring of muscle and heard him moan as he sank inside.

Um.

“Fuck, it’s so tight and so soft inside you…”

While you appreciated his complimenting observations, some warning would have been nice, but, then again, who cared about that, certainly not you as you gripped his sheets and survived on shallow breath and the repeated shallow fullness, in, out, in, out, this time using more force and stretching you out, acutely aware of Jungkook watching your body’s reaction in fascination, his rough pants deepening, hauling himself up.

Forget it.

You didn’t want any warning.

He pulled his thumb out and replaced it with his cock, bottoming out right away.

You clenched your jaw and felt your core tighten involuntarily, his wanton moan striking the air, somehow remembering not to move for a second despite you knowing that he desperately wanted to, his entire body trembling as he gripped your hips. There was a dull ache, of course. His fully hard cock was a lot bigger than a finger, but you knew what was about to happen, experience helping you relax, and then you snapped your ass into his crotch.

Which meant, fuck me.

Pussy dripping, ass full, face down into the sheets that smelled just like him, you pushing back as he thrust into you, any pain fading into a heady euphoric state that was inescapable, overwhelming, unforgettable, his grasp imprinted onto your skin, loud smacks melting into the air filled with your joined, unashamed moans, both giving pleasure as much as receiving it. Sensations piling on sensations, everything you wanted and more. Everything he wanted and more, fuck, I love your ass, probably because you didn’t have as much control over him as you did with your pussy, damn, maybe he was smarter than you thought, gasping as you dropped your torso lower to give his cock a more comfortable angle.

“N-Not fair, y-you can’t go low like that…”

You would have replied, oh yes I can, but you were face-first into his bed getting fucked in the ass, being pounded so hard that even your thighs were shaking, so you only focused on what little breathing you could do, although you did evilly snicker in between thin inhales.

You heard a disapproving huff behind you.

Oop, he heard you.

His grip on your hips tightened and you barely had time to gasp before he slammed into you, deliberate and rough and focusing on giving it to you as hard as he could without cumming too fast. You could tell because his noises were turning into stifled grunts, probably biting down on his lower lip, but then again there wasn’t much you could do to go against what you enjoyed most. Pure, intense fucking, digging the base of your palms into his mattress and throwing your head back, driven by his pace and the rapturous passion, your leaking pussy throbbing with need, filled up in other ways, pulse roaring in your ears and pushed to the brink of tension, deep inside, his name tumbling from your mouth, drawn-out and shaken, your core clenching, adrenaline striking to a feverish high.

Jungkook choked on your name, losing control faster than he could speak.

He came hard and with a tangible jerk that you could feel, even within you, and the thought and sensation sent you over the edge, burying your face into the pillows and letting out a wanton string of curses, powerful pulsations shuddering up your spine, so intense it was nearly an out-of-body experience, heart beating so hard and so fast that you felt like it was going to leap out of your throat.

Well, shit.

Maybe your age was catching up to you.

No time to worry about that though, because the most awkward sound came out of you after Jungkook pulled out with a shuddering gasp.

“Uh…”

“Damn, that’s hot.”

You shot him a look.

Jungkook was sweaty, panting, and pointedly stared back at you, brows furrowed and eyes big, very serious and twice as defiant. “What?! I don’t give a fuck. It means I fucked you so well your body can’t help it but make embarrassing noises.”

…

You were speechless.

Well, he was kind of right and also kind of wrong (gravity and displacement and other various scientific explanations), and strangely sweet for not making you feel bad about it, but also… what the fuck? How are you supposed to respond to that? You gawked at him, scooting to the edge of the bed, intending to leave as he peeled off the used condom and threw it in the trash, but then he blocked you and pushed you back down, unmoving hand on your stomach.

“Um…”

Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed.

“I didn’t say you could go,” Jungkook huffed, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, I wasn’t asking for permission–”

His hard dick smacked your thigh, smearing the remnants of lube and cum onto your skin.

“Hey!”

Then you realized he was holding up another condom in his free hand. Menacingly. Er, would be if he wasn’t so cute. You raised your eyebrows at his stern face, not intimidated in the slightest, but apparently Jungkook didn’t care.

“I want to feel all three of your holes before I go serve my country.”

You blinked slowly.

Was this guy for real?

“Ah, hmmm, I mean I would have let you even without that milestone – woah!”

Despite your (pretend) protests, you weren’t opposed to the back-to-back-to-back nature of each hole being used. Impressed, even, that he planned(?) this, willingly letting yourself be yanked to the edge of the bed with your legs open and propping yourself onto your elbows to watch him roll down the condom on his once-again hard cock. Driven by his insatiable horniness (relatable). You then looked back up to his face, trying not smirk at how sweaty he was.

Failing, obviously.

Jungkook lined up and then glanced at you, realizing your attention on him.

His gaze darkened, turning sly.

“Don’t look so smug, noona.”

“Who, me–?”

Then you choked on your words as he thrust into you with one swift stroke. Unlike your ass, Jungkook knew he didn’t have to wait with your pussy – you had already cum twice and truly loved the tightness that you gripped him with – so he lifted one of your legs and pressed it to his chest, snapping his hips into you over and over, looking down at you. Your body reacted accordingly, back arching, arms outstretched and clawing at the sheets, shallow breath, heatedly staring back at him.

There was a very brief power struggle in which both of you tried to silently assert dominance.

Brief because suddenly neither of you gave a shit. Too lost in the lust. Your other leg wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, and Jungkook fell forward, catching himself with his right hand and still clutching your leg, fucking you harder. Locking eyes. The love in them so real that they glistened, and you held onto his arm tightly, your touch alone reminding him you were always with him, bodies moving in unison, breathless and sharing oxygen, the corner of your lips rising.

Jungkook smiled back.

It would have been chaste if he wasn’t ramming you into the edge of his bed.

His inhale caught and so did yours, realizing you must have shifted your hips slightly, making the angle suddenly perfect, right there, that depth he loved and that spot that scattered all your thoughts, trapping you and him in entangled limbs, chasing the tightness, the heat, the physical overtaking everything. So hard, so solid, his taste still lingering on your tongue, his lips gasping your name, your walls squeezing his length and drawing him in, closer, fuck, I love you, his sweat sticking to your thigh and calf, I love you too, o-oh, you feel so fucking good, and you lifted your body as much as you could to meet his and Jungkook pressed down, his heavy body burning with passion, wanting to feel more too.

You shuddered and your head tipped back.

He groaned, gravelly and hoarse, smacking his hips into your throbbing pussy, and you felt his orgasm after your own, maybe even stronger than before, his cock twitching in your constricting, flinching inner walls, strongly massaging him through his high, digging your nails into his tattooed forearm and hoping no one would notice the marks. Wave after uncontrollable wave, closing your eyes to savor it, inhaling his familiar scent mixed with sex and sweat.

The afterglow lingered.

Jungkook rested his forehead on your breasts, gasping for air.

You ran your fingers over his fuzzy head, breathing heavy and slowing back down to normal. Hm. Somewhat therapeutic, to be honest. You still preferred his longer hair but he pulled off the egg cut better than most. Probably because he had the cutest face ever.

“Your pussy is too good,” he mumbled.

“You lasted pretty long.”

“Not long enough,” he complained to your tits. “Let’s go again.”

“I really need to clean up. We can go again after.”

“Okay, then I’ll just follow you and jack off while you’re cleaning up.”

“That isn’t awkward at all.”

“Why would it be awkward? You look the best naked. My eyeballs and dick have to soak in every second of it.”

“… You do realize you have vacation days, right?”

But, of course, you let him do whatever he wanted, because he was Jeon Jungkook and you could never deny him. Ah, such is life. Hard, but apparently not as hard as his dick was for you.

“That’s really impressive.”

“What? You make me horny! I’m gonna go until I or he literally passes out from exhaustion.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me, noona.”

Welp.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #yoonkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #yoonkook x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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writingoddess1125 · 1 year ago

Text

Carbon Copy

Mihawk x FemReader + OOC Alucare

Support me on Ko-Fi!

Old Men Series <- Click to read more

It had been far too long out at sea, especially with the growing irritation of Mihawk and Alucare- Maybe It was their personalities being too similar or the fact they were training daily but had to be careful. However it looked like two monsters about to Duke it out any day- You sitting there trying to keep the peace.

But finally the 3 {almost 4} Of you made it to the Grand Line and Kuraigana Island- You didn't know what to expect... but it sure wasn't nightmarish hellscape with a dark castle!?

Alucare and You standing there on the docked ship staring up at the Gloomy place- Your son slowly turning to look at his father.

"Are you some vampire we don't know about?-"

Mihawk sighed at this and gave a half glare to Alucare.

"No... it is ruins of the Muggy Kingdom that I have converted into my home" The two Dracule men glared at each other and you knew then.. this wasn't going to be as positive as you hoped.

It had been some weeks since arriving at Mihawks home and you had hoped the tension would disperse between Mihawk and Alucare.. but it honestly just got worse somehow? Maybe it was a father son thing but it seemed now both were fighting over everything- Food, Books, and even for your attention.

"I am warning you now Alucare- If you continue your attitude I will take something of value to you" Mihawk said with a narrowed gaze- The teenager cocking his head to the side in almost amusement.

However most recent was Perona, The young women taking a liking to Alucare who was the younger version of Mihawk in her eyes- While she was still too old for him, That didn't keep Alucare from flirting and trying. Much to Mihawks ire...

The older male taking Alucare out to training one day- Glaring at his spawn.

"Alucare- I do not appreciate you trying to flirt with my pupil... Not only is she too old for you, I know you're doing this to irritate me" Mihawk spoke calmly, Alucare giving a emotionless stare.

"Whatever do you mean?" He said calmly, Mihawk taking a breath.

"Oh? What like taking me away from the place I was raised? my mother? Throwing me across an island?" Alucare said with some venom in his tone. Mihawk taking a breath through his nose to calm himself.

"You son of a bitch!!!" You heard Alucare shout from his room, Mihawk smirking slightly as he sipped his coffee. You heard Alucare rapid footsteps march right to the kitchen area and you gasped at the sight- Alucare long hair had been cut- While before his hair was down to his waist it was just past his shoulders and fairly evenly cut, The shortness making the thick hair spike more and it reminding you of Mihawks more natural hair.

"Alucare- I am being serious. Stop it with Perona and stop testing me.." He demanded, Alucare giving a smirk at the man.

"Or what?" He said calmly, Mihawk feeling something snap inside of him.

"..." The older man just nodded and ended the training then and there- The rest of the night being oddly quiet between the two..

By Mornibg you had started breakfast and was talking to Mihawk when you heard it-

"Mihawk you didnt-?!" You start, Glaring at the male who continued to sip his coffee.

"Hm?- I warned him... if he kept up the disrespect I'd take something precious of his as punishment-"

"SO YOU CHOSE MY HAIR!? YOU CRAZY MOTHERFUCKER!" Alucare yelled in pure rage, Mihawk smiled at his choice of wording and winked.

"Yes that is a fair insult- I am a Mother Fucker" He said calmly setting down his teacup and picking up his newspaper to read. You groaning in your hands in both embrassment and irritation at your partner. Alucare was red in the face from anger and marched outside angrily and slamming the doors behind him- He was most likely going to train somewhere far away from the island.

"Must you antagize him Hawks?.. that was way to famn far and you know it-" You start now mad and standing up from the dinning room table.

"No- I'm giving him something he needs and something I didn't have-" Mihawk said calmly, this making you huff in frustration.

"Oh and what is that?!" You place your hands on your hips, feeling that the hormones were working you up and ready to bite Mihawks head off.

"The opportunity to be a teenager-" And just like that he took the wind from your sails... confusion being written on your face at his words.

"You said it yourself.. Alucare acts just like me- From the stoic attitude to hiding one's emotions... He has matured far too early for his age to protect you- But taking away his need to be strong for you, it's allowing him to express bottled up emotions and act as he should for a 16 year old.. Is he angry? Yes. Is he being dramatic? Absolutely. However it's better for him to express these in a environment that can handle it and then be taught how to work through them.... then to never feel them at all again-" Mihawk said truthfully and with a twinge of regret in his voice. Your heart Sinking as the realization of this all hit you...

Mihawk was wanting to let Alucare experience teenage emotions since he was never able to and help him grow as a person.. Mihawk didn't want his son to be like him- But better then him..

Sitting down you felt your eyes water.

You didn't see Alucare that night- or the next night. While you were shaken with worry Mihawk had insisted that Alucare was fine and he had checked in him from time to time- simply camping out on the north side of the island.

By the second night you went to the study and saw Mibawk drinking his normal wine, Seeing what looked to be a cheese and fruit board prepared as well.

"Ah (Y/N) thank you for the wine and snacks" Mihawk said calmly, finishing off the last cracker and cheese. You didn't remeber setting them out yet- But you usually did so it wasn't a huge surprise especially if you forgot.

"Hm I guess I forgot I did that- But no problem honey" You kiss his cheek and he smiled up at you touching your rounded stomach.

"It's normal- What did you call it? 'Pregnancy Brain?'" You nodded and smiled quite pleased he'd remembered. After some brief conversation Mihawk yawned and tried to shake the sleep away- He looked more tired then usual, Rubbing his eyes as he finishes his final glass of wine.

"Hm.. I'm exhausted" He mumbled, you watching as he seemed a bit uneasy on his feet when standing. You assumed he had drunk too much so it wasn't surprising, so the two of you walked back to the bedroom and he fell asleep quickly and soundly that night, you following suit soon after.

Unknown to both of you a pair of yellow eyes was watching the whole time-

The next morning you were the first one up, deciding Mihawk could sleep in and headed downstairs. Much to your surprise to see Alucare- bathed and dressed with his hair in a short low ponytail. Cooking a nice and large breakfast.

"Sweetie you're back!" You said cheerfully and kissed your sons cheeks. He smiled softly, finishing cooking.

"Couldn't miss the show" He said almost cheerfully, you raising a questioning eyebrow at this as you made a plate for yourself.

Perona was the next down, Chatting mindlessly with Alucare and even saying his hair didn't look bad either. Which he clearly appreciated but you could tell his mind was elsewhere- Soon the heavy footsteps of Mihawk approaching alerted all of you.

"Morning-" You heard Mihawk start as he stepped in the kitchen and it was like someone threw bricks at you all..

Perona choked on her eggs suddently and started to cough hard as she turned away. Your jaw dropped as a surprised shriekd left you- damn near dropped your plate as well, Alucare sitting there with a smirk on his face as he ate another bite of his breakfast calmly.

"M-Mihawk.. Honey" You start, The tired man looking at you confused at your reactions.

"Are you okay? Is something wrong?... I do apologize you had to make breakfast- I feel drowsy for some reason.." Mihawk admitted as he rubbed his temple to try and ease the drowsiness away.

"I'll be out training..." Alucare said calmly as he stood up and left the kitchen quickly. Perona now starting to laugh which confused Mihawk more-

"Your face... oh my God your face" You manage out and cover your mouth- Unsure if you should laugh or cry first.

"My what?-" Mihawk said quickly and went to the closest mirror which was in the hallway and stared at himself. There he saw it- half his facial hair had been shaved off paired with an eyebrow and some very nice pen work which had 'Dickhead' on his forehead with a detailed cock on his cheek.

It then clicked- The wine and snacks... The little fucker must have drugged him and did this to him while he slept-

"..."

You closed your eyes and sighed, practically feeling Mihawks anger from the hallway and you prayed your son would survive whatever was about to happen- Especially when Mihawks voice boomed across the castle and island.

"ALUCARE!!"

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x reader #one piece mihawk #dracule alucare #dad!mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk #op mihawk

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lightsofthe-living-gvf · 8 months ago

Text

Eucalyptus

18+ minors DNI

Sam Kiszka/Reader

Summary: A movie night with Sam takes a pleasant turn.

Warnings: smut, dare I say porn with plot? koalas and koala facts mentioned but not in like a weird way I just feel it needs a warning, moving on… unprotected penetrative sex (don’t do that!), dom/sub undertones, Sam has a praise kink, he’s also quite needy (have y’all noticed a trend yet), a tiny bit of overstimulation, dirty talk-ish things, teasing, marking, pet names, let me know if I missed any!

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Hello, all! Thanks for tuning in! I thought since Sam’s birthday is coming up, I’d post a fic I’ve been working on for what feels like forever. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

It was Sam's turn to choose the movie that night. He made sure you knew it, too, with a sing-song reminder as you both made your way into the living room, pillows and blankets from your bed bunched up in your arms. You situated yourselves on the couch after an unnecessarily tumultuous few minutes, during which you'd managed to be only centimeters from driving your knee into the small of his back and he'd accidentally jabbed one of his bony elbows into the soft part of your side. He had also totally crushed your fingers beneath that same elbow and when you told him he had better watch it, he defended himself vehemently, claiming that your fingers "crushed themselves, why would you put them under my elbow?" Eventually, you wound up on your back with Sam at your side, his head on your shoulder and your arms tangled together across your torsos.

"Sammy," you murmured, as a harrowing--and kind of humorous--realization set in.

"Hm?"

"We forgot to grab the remote..."

"What? You think I'm gonna get it?"

He huffed and nuzzled further into the warm skin of your neck, as if he were trying to ignore the consequences of you both having forgotten the damned T.V remote... Those consequences being that one of you was going to have to move out of your comfy, cozy position to retrieve it. And you knew--fully well--that Sam would not be moving from his spot until the credits of whatever movie he chose were rolling. So, it was up to you.

Still, you decided to press his buttons a little. "Could you...?"

"Pfft- you're dreaming. And you're closer," his reply came an adorable snark, muffled into your skin.

With a giggle, you shimmied over to the edge of the couch and ignored the pouty look Sam shot in your direction, as if it were your fault the remote was still on the coffee table. You stretched your arm out and in what was an amazing feat of strength and balance, managed to grab the remote without tumbling to the floor. When you returned to your spot, Sam latched onto you, pulling you back into his arms. The act made your heart swell with adoration, and you couldn't help but to let out a quiet, fond laugh.

"What?" Sam sounded softly.

"It's nothing, Sammy. I love you."

He popped his head up and looked at you with narrowed eyes. "No, no, what is it?"

"Nothing!"

"Y/N, I swear if you don't tell me--"

"Alright, alright! It's just--" you couldn't even finish, you cut yourself off with another laugh.

"Babyyy,"

"It's just- I love it when you get so cuddly. You're like... a little koala bear."

"A koala?"

"Yeah!"

He made a face. "Koalas are kinda ugly." Then, he gasped in mock-offense, "Do you think I'm ugly?"

"No, Sam!" you laughed. "They're not ugly, and neither are you."

"I mean, they're pretty ugly."

"No, they're not! They're cute!"

You and Sam spent the next few minutes looking at 'ugly koala pictures'--as he had typed into the search bar on his phone--and you had to admit it: koala bears could be pretty foul-looking sometimes.

"So," Sam said after he'd finished proving his point and set his phone on the side table. "If I'm a koala, what does that make you? My tree?"

"Oh, so you're fine with being a koala, now?"

"Yeah, as long as you're like, my eucalyptus tree, or something."

You raised your brows in amusement. "Why do I have to be a tree?"

"Well, what else are you gonna be?"

"I don't know, maybe you koala-girlfriend?"

"Nah," he shook his head with a playful grin. "I like you better as a tree."

You poked a finger into the ticklish spot on his side, just to see him squirm. "What's that supposed to mean, huh?"

"Whatever you want it to mean, my darling eucalyptus tree. Will you pass me the remote?"

With a roll of your eyes, you dropped the remote on his chest. "What do you wanna watch?"

Moments later, a koala bear documentary popped up on the television screen.

"You think you can stay awake for a whole documentary?" you prodded, and Sam gave an annoyed huff.

"I'm not gonna fall asleep."

You knew that Sam was definitely going to fall asleep. Something about watching a movie--especially at night--always put him right out. Maybe, it was the coziness of the soft lamplight and the plush couch cushions. Or maybe, it was just being snuggled up together. It didn't matter and besides, you'd never tire of turning off whatever old, corny movie he had put on and watching your show while he dozed soundly in your arms.

"Whatever you say, koala boy."

He grumbled rather cutely for a few seconds--things like, "I'm not gonna fall asleep this time" and "that's not even a cute nickname"--before settling at your side once again with a few gentle kisses to the side of your neck. You let one of your hands move upwards and into his soft hair to rub delicately at his scalp and smiles when he voiced his appreciation with a hum.

Though you wouldn't ever admit it to Sam, the koala bear documentary was actually pretty engaging. You learned things that you never would've known about the not-so-adorable marsupial you compared your boyfriend to, such as the fact that the majority of them have chlamydia. Did you really need to know that? Probably not.

The documentary was a little more than half-way through when you began to assume that your Sammy had fallen asleep. You hadn't heard a single word from him, not even when the narrator revealed that koala bears have incredibly small brains, and you were sure that if he were awake, he would have some more words about being called a koala. You decided to leave the documentary on, anyway, as grossly informative as it was. Maybe, you could fall asleep to the drone of the narrator's voice, too.

And, you were just beginning to feel drowsy when Sam shifted from where he had pressed himself into your side and jolted you from your spot. You resituated yourself, snuggling in close to him and resting your cheek comfortably against the top of his head. Then, he moved again, and in turn, moved you again.

"What are you doing?"

"Sorry," came his murmured reply.

"Do you want me to scoot over or something?"

He shook his head, then tightened his arms around your waist. You felt yourself beginning to relax in his hold once again, and you were so so sure you were going to doze off. Until he squirmed again, that is.

You pushed yourself up and out of his arms with an annoyed huff, "Sam, what--"

That's when you felt the brush of his cock against your thigh, half-hard and just beginning to strain against the flimsy fabric of his shorts. His brows furrowed upwards just a touch and he made a sound so pretty and so soft you almost didn't hear it. At once, your body warmed with arousal.

"Oh," you sounded, smirking a little as you watched a flush color Sam's cheeks. "What's got you all worked up, baby? It wasn't the koala thing, was it?"

"No, you sicko! Just--" he huffed. "--touch me?"

You sat up straighter, then let your hand rest on Sam's collarbone for a moment, before dragging your fingertips downwards. You moved leisurely and kept the pressure feather-light, until you reached the delightfully exposed skin of his hip. Then, toyed with the waistband of his shorts and he bucked his hips upwards, as if to plead with you. So, you tore your hand away.

"Come on, baby," he whined. "Don't tease."

"Don't whine," you countered with a chuckle. "I've hardly even touched you."

"That's the fucking problem..." he muttered.

You rolled your eyes at his complaining. It was useless, really. He always got whatever he wanted.

Sam opened his mouth to complain even further, so you surged forward and captured his lips in a kiss before he had the chance to actually get any words out. He reached up and held your face in the palm of his hands and when he deepened the kiss with a tilt of his head, you had no choice but to follow. You basked in the moment, melting against the warmth of his fingers on your cheeks and the sweetness of his lips on yours. Sam always kissed you like he needed you; he breathed in every drift of you essence and left nothing behind.

When he broke away with a quiet gasp for air, you took the chance to slip your hands beneath his shirt and smooth them up his chest. His skin was soft and a little warm and completely addicting. You wanted to take your time and kiss every inch of it, but you knew that Sam wouldn't have the patience for that. So, you raked your blunt nails down his side and watched him shudder, just to give yourself a little rush of satisfaction.

With grabby hands, Sam tugged at your waist until you were seated in his lap.

"You're so lovely, Sammy. The sweetest man I know and the prettiest thing I've ever seen," praise feathered unrestrained from your lips. He was so lovely, and outstandingly so when he was looking up at you with sweet eyes and lips just a little swollen and parted slightly. You wanted to snap a thousand pictures of that very moment and hoard every single one of them like gold stolen from the sea.

And it just came so naturally to you to praise him. It was damn-near impossible not to voice the thoughts whenever they made themselves known. He soaked it in, too; he never denied any of what you said and always put a little quirk to his brow that said tell me more, please, if you were to see fit. And, of course, you would always acquiesce to his desire. How could you ever deny him, anyway?

"Thank you," he returned in a whisper, giving your hips a little squeeze.

"How often do you think I tell you that?"

"Every day, maybe," he answered with a shrug. "Don't stop, though."

You giggled, "I won't. Couldn't if I tried, actually."

He connected your lips again, before moving downwards and pressing soft, urgent kisses to the skin of your jaw and throat. You tilted your head, giving his lips more flesh to rove over and then, you selfishly tangled your fingers in his hair to keep him from moving from where you wanted him. He was quick to make his way to your collar bones, kissing and nipping and tugging at your top to reveal more skin to his wandering lips.

"Lemme take this off," he huffed, adorably displeased with the fact that your shirt--his shirt, actually; you'd stolen it from the dryer--was hindering him from getting what he wanted. The moment you nodded in affirmation, he tugged the garment over your head and tossed it aside. He then continued his work with an pleased hum and a playful bite to the skin just above your breast. He had always liked to mark you up a little; you didn't mind.

Before Sam could get much further than that, however, you took his face in your hand and created a distance between his lips and your chest. You slanted his chin and guided him to look at you. He stuck that plush bottom lip of his out and you chuckled. Truthfully, seeing him pout just because he couldn't kiss you was flattering, and it went straight to your head.

You spoke with a sultry edge to your tone, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Sam's ear as you did, "So, really... What's got you all needy, sweet boy?"

"You just look so pretty," he said softly, his cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink. "And you're wearing my shirt, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know." You punctuated your words with a kiss to his jaw. "Do you think it looks good on me?"

"So good," he agreed, still with that pouty look on his face, as if he were trying to garner your pity, or something- how cute. "It looks better on you than it does on me."

Sam's hands began to roam, then, grabbing at your hips and your thighs and pulling you so close you might have been able to feel his heartbeat if you were to sit still enough. He blinked up at you as he voiced a request, his eyes so sweet you nearly lost your sense of control. "Ride me."

You were tempted to just take him right then and there. It would be so easy to just free his cock from his shorts, slip your panties to the side, and-- No. You forced yourself to take a steadying breath. If there was anything you loved more than indulging Sam, it was making him beg a little. You wanted to tease him some, you wanted to dangle his treat in front of his face and yank it out of reach when his fingers got too close, just to hear him whine like a spoiled brat.

"Hm," you said, dropping your fingers from his face and crossing your arms over your chest. "Ask me nicely, first."

He let out a displeased huff that had you biting back a smirk. "Please, ride me?"

"You just want me to do all the work, don't you?"

"Come on, baby," he complained. His fingers tightening their hold on you, and petulantly so. "You know I could flip you over and fuck you, right now. And you know you wouldn't have to lift a damn finger."

"Why are you asking me to ride you, then?"

He gave an over-exaggerated groan of frustration and kissed you again. After a few moments, you pulled away to speak, "It's okay, Sammy. I know it's just because you're a little pillow princess who likes being treated."

His cheeks colored and his mouth dropped open in faux-offense. "I am not!"

You laughed. "I'm not saying it like it's a bad thing." You pressed a kiss to his chin, then another to the corner of his mouth, as if to make up for your words. You weren't sorry, though, not truly. You continued on, "I love when you get all pretty and willing for me."

His eyes went a little moony then, but he didn't reply. A rush of desire swelled in your stomach, and you knew you had him right where you wanted him: under your thumb and desperate to come, though you'd barely just started.

You chose then to reach up and unclasp your bra. Sam watched with a bitten lip as you slid the straps from your shoulders and dropped the garment to the floor. Your fingers were at his waistband, next, and you were motioning for him to lift his hips and shoving his shorts down his thighs. His cock sprang free almost instantly, apparently unrestrained by anything other by the silken fabric of his bottoms. You glanced up at him with a quirked brow.

"No underwear?"

"Nah, why would I need it?"

You laughed a little as you brought your hand downwards, your fingers appreciatively stroking the skin of his inner thigh. He was so, so soft there, and the thought of leaning down and nipping at that flesh until he squirmed briefly crossed your mind. If he wasn't already so impatient, you would have. But you knew that it would be cruel to prolong his wait much further.

So, you lifted your hand back up, slowly and lightly dragging the pad of your thumb along the length of his shaft. You stopped once you reached the head, rubbing at the velvet-like skin beneath the swell for just a moment before pulling away. You were going to give him what he wanted soon enough, anyway, so why not make him just a little more desperate? In response, Sam bucked his hips and sucked in a sharp, shuddering breath.

"Stop being mean," he voiced, whiny and alluringly desolate. "I'm so hard it hurts."

"Awe, baby, I know," you cooed, rubbing at his hip as soothingly as you could while also not making any move to give him what he needed. "You've been so patient, haven't you?" He nodded at you, and you could feel your panties grow damp as you praised him, "That's right, Sammy. You've been so good for me."

He whimpered, holding your cheeks in the palms of his hands and kissing the noise right into your mouth. Those hands didn't stay still for long, however; they never did. He let them roam your body, reminding himself of every curve and revisiting the spots that made you shiver. Though a little distracted by his fervent lips and hands, you reached down and pulled your panties to the side.

"Before I sit on that lovely, needy cock of yours, I want you to tell me what you are." It wasn't a question, it was a demand, spoken with a voice as desperate as Sam's as you shifted your hips and ground your core softly against his shaft.

He laughed, shaking off his poutiness for just a moment. "Are you really going to make me say it?"

"Tell me," you reiterated firmly, rolling your hips once more.

"Fuck-" he huffed, his brows tipping upwards. "I'm a pillow princess- no, yours. Your princess."

"Good," you lauded, pleased with his response. And as a reward, you raised your hips and finally sank down on his cock.

His reaction was instant: a sweet moan as he tossed his head back onto the arm of the couch. You worked up to a steady pace rather quickly; no longer could you make Sam or yourself wait. His hands found their rightful place on your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh their, all desperate and rough. You reveled in the sting of the pressure.

"Fuck, baby- that's it," he sputtered with a gasp.

"Yeah?" you implored with a sharp pant, your fingers grasping his chin and tilting his head so that you were facing each other. When he gazed at you with those eyes as sweet as caramel candy, you could feel your core give a pathetic throb. Why did he have to look at you like that? Like you'd hung the moon and painted the stars and breathed life into the sun? To keep yourself from faltering over the rush of adoration you felt for your lover, you continued on, "Tell me about it, sweet boy. I wanna know just how good I'm making you feel."

"Feels so fucking good. You're so tight- and soft. So soft and warm. Like-" he cut himself off with a sob as you began to move your hips at a punishing pace. You couldn't fucking take it, anymore. You needed to make him come, perhaps more than you even wanted to come yourself. He began to moan in earnest, then, depraved sounds broken by curses and sharp intakes of breath.

You knew he had to be close. He was shaking and he couldn't even keep his eyes open, even as you planted your palm at the base of his throat and requested he keep his gaze on you. And his cheeks were so red, too- Fuck, you were close, you could feel it rising inside of you sooner than you would have expected it. Well, you supposed you should've expected it. Sam just had that unbelievable, irreversible effect on you.

"I need-" he panted brokenly, his hands moving to claw at your ass and pull you in closer. "Harder, sweetheart. Please- need it harder."

Without a word, you complied, rising and falling and grinding with an increased force. Your thighs were burning and you knew your skin had a sheen of sweat, but it didn't matter. The only thing you could think about was Sam: the warmth of his fingers on your skin, the debauched sounds tumbling from his lips, and the furrow of his brow as he came with hardly any warning.

The sensation of it warmed you to your core, and your slowed your heavy movements to just slow, steady rolls of your hips, aiming to hit that electric spot deep inside. You knew you weren't going to last much longer- he fit you so well. Every pronounced ridge of his pretty cock rubbed against your walls so pleasingly that it was enough to drive you mad.

"You were fucking made for this," you voiced raggedly. "Made for me."

"Uh-huh," he whined in agreement.

You moaned, your head falling forward as warm sparks began to shoot up your spine and dance along the tips of your fingers and your toes. "I'm so close."

"Come, baby. Need it- it's too much, please."

"Get me there, Sammy," you urged brokenly.

Sam's fingers tightened around you with a force, then, as he flexed his thighs and plunged into you. He looked like the most divine picture of beauty beneath you, with his hair all strewn about and his lips parted ever so slightly. It was that, alongside his sweet pleas, that made you come undone with a gasp and a curse.

You worked yourself through it, slowly and surely coming to a stop. Your breath was coming in heaves; you couldn't help it. You noticed that Sam's fingers had ceased up on their relentless hold, and were instead lovingly stroking at your hips.

"That was so good, baby," he murmured. "Always so good."

With a flush on your cheeks, you leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss to his plush lips. When you parted, you replied, "So are you, my love."

Smiling, Sam glanced over to the television, only for his brows to furrow. "What the fuck?"

"What?" you pulled away, confused.

"That stupid koala documentary is still going!"

You looked over and sure enough, the koala bear documentary was still playing, and seemed to be nowhere near its end. You smirked. "Do you wanna finish it?"

"Nope," Sam replied with a pop on the 'p', sitting up and jostling you from where you were still sat in his lap. "I just put that on so I could fall asleep."

"I knew it!"

#greta van fleet #greta van smut #greta van fic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #sam kiszka #sam kiszka smut #sam kiszka fic #sam kizka x you #sam kiszka x reader #gvf #danny wagner #jake kiszka #josh kiszka

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years ago

Text

Entanglement.

Yan Kafka x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, unwanted kissing, mild not SFW implications. Word count: 1k.

“You’re still refusing to wear the clothes I gifted you, dearest?”

A dulcet voice smoother than the finest silk coos from behind.

You don’t deviate from your original task. Just outside the window, the cold, unforgiving vacuum of space looms. A mere panel of specialized glass is the only barrier between you and infinite nothingness. The concept used to frighten you, to a paralyzing extent. It got to the point your oh-so-benevolent captor had to make adjustments. Using some technology you’re unacquainted with, the dark canvas morphed into a familiar, more palpable set piece: the scenery of your home planet.

You’ve since overcome this hurdle and no longer require the mirage’s services.

Space isn’t what you fear anymore. No, it’s the woman with the future in her eyes who holds that distinction.

“It isn’t to my taste.”

“I know,” she agrees. Her perfume is near stupefying when it invades your senses. “It's to mine.”

Kafka is either aggravatingly unassuming or laser-sharp with her intentions. You’re never given time to adjust to her fickle ways, the second you think you might understand her, she reveals just enough that you’re right back where you started.

Gloved fingers hover over your wrist, causing your hair to stand on end. As if she’s playing a glissando on the piano, her fingers slowly creep up, from your forearm to your bare shoulder. Presently, you’re wearing one of the few garments you were allowed to bring. It’s a plain, white dress that she longs to stain with her own palette.

Her arms envelop your midsection from behind. She nuzzles her nose into your neck, swaying you back and forth while she hums a haunting ballad. Can she hear the skipping of your heart? Does she consider it just another instrument to compose her hedonistic harmonies?

“Are the stars truly that interesting?” she murmurs against your skin. “Surely, they aren’t prettier than I am, hm?”

“Maybe. At least they understand the concept of personal space.”

“Oh, I do as well. I just choose to ignore it when it comes to you.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

You can feel her smile.

“You’d be lonely without me. Maddeningly so.”

“Insanity is tempting if you’re the alternative.”

She laughs, the sound low and husky, belying any offense taken, if you had the hubris to think anything you said could hurt her. Before you can register anything, she twirls you around. In this new, uncomfortable intimate position, you’re forced to look her in the eye. There’s no quality of hers that unsettles you more. They draw you in and devour you like a black hole, picking apart actions you haven’t even committed yet.

It reminds you, similar to the path she walks, that nothing you do will ever amount to any meaningful change in your circumstances.

Kafka settles her gloved pointer finger and thumb on your chin, tilting your head up. Whatever she’s thinking is as unknowable as the universe itself. Her fondness for you is an illness without a cure — even she must know how sick it is. Something tells you that if a remedy for it ever existed, she’d refuse to take it, and would instead crush the vial before your eyes.

“What a beauty you are,” she praises through lidded eyes. “There is no greater joy than knowing you feel every second we’re apart, just as I do.”

Irate, you try moving your head away, but this causes her grip to tighten. Never enough to hurt — it’s only meant to warn.

“I take it you don’t like the cosmetics I brought back, either?”

Kafka delights in asking questions she already knows the answers to. If she had anything resembling a hobby, you suppose that would be it.

The skin beneath her eyes crinkled with amusement at your abrupt vow of silence. You fight off a shiver at the look. It’s all-consuming, dangerous in a way that rouses your primal instincts. She leans down close enough that you can feel her breath fan against your face. Her head tilts in a deliberate show of faux curiosity.

“Is your tongue frozen? Should I think of a way to warm it up?”

The hand that isn’t holding your head in place toys with the strap of your dress.

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head. You know when to surrender in a losing game.

“... No.”

“No?” She repeats, mimicking the inflection of your voice. “Ah, well, that’s a shame.”

You almost sigh in relief when her hand retreats. She reaches into a pocket on the inside of her coat and pulls out a tube of lipstick. She applies the roseate pigment, maintaining smoldering eye contact with you all the while.

After what feels like an eternity, she descends upon you, her lips seeking yours in a fit of scathing passion. You freeze up at the unexpected boldness. She takes advantage of your reverie, interlocking your lips in a languid motion. There’s no urgency to the kiss, she takes her time with you, just how she likes it.

Her hand presses against your back, urging your chest to arch into hers. It isn’t until her hand starts venturing down that you return to your senses. In a fit of panic, you raise your hands to push her away. The defiance gets you nowhere — she catches your wrists with ease and holds them in place.

Fortunately, she pulls back, although she doesn’t relinquish her grip.

“I knew this color would look good on you,” Kafka sighs, almost wistful. Then, she raises your wrist and presses a lingering kiss against your pulse point. It leaves a smudged lipstick stain behind. “That leaves the issue of the outfit. Hm, what to do, what to do…”

As if hit with an epiphany, her eyes light up in microscopic supernovas. “I know. If you need my help applying makeup, then why should getting dressed be any different? Why, you should’ve said so sooner.”

Indignant, you seethe, “That isn’t…! Fine, I’ll put it on myself. Just— just turn around, okay?”

“Of course. Anything for my sweet, shy girl.”

Surprisingly, Kafka acquiesces. She pivots on her heel and covers her eyes with her hands. A teasing gesture, if you had to guess.

Just when you believe you’re regained a semblance of control over the situation, she throws in a comment that snuffs out this fledgling hope.

“I’ll give you to the count of a ten before I come and help you myself.”

#just wanted to write a little something for my Woman #kafka x reader #yandere kafka x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #my stuff

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awkward-walking-potato · 1 month ago

Note

Hello could I request a Remy LeBeau x reader where she has bad insomnia and he tries to help her sleep?

Sleepless Nights and Cajun Comfort

It was one of those nights again—another sleepless, restless night. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, your mind racing, unable to shut down. The clock on your nightstand blinked with red numbers that seemed to taunt you, reminding you of just how long you’d been awake. Insomnia had always been your worst enemy, stealing away any hope of a peaceful night.

You sighed, shifting for the hundredth time beneath the sheets, wondering if you’d ever fall asleep. Just as you closed your eyes to try again, a soft knock came from your bedroom door.

“Chère, y’ still up?” Remy’s voice, low and smooth, called out through the door.

You hesitated for a moment before answering, "Yeah… can’t sleep."

The door creaked open, and there he was, Remy LeBeau, leaning against the frame with his usual charm, eyes filled with concern. He stepped inside, wearing that soft smile he always reserved just for you, carrying a cup of tea in his hand.

“Figured as much. Thought y’might need some company,” he said softly, walking over to your bedside.

You sat up slightly, giving him a grateful look. "You didn’t have to do that."

Remy shrugged casually, but there was warmth in his eyes. "What kind o’ gentleman would I be if I let ma fille struggle on her own?" He handed you the cup, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you.

You took a small sip, the warmth of the tea soothing your frayed nerves, though you knew it wouldn’t be enough to knock you out. Still, the gesture was sweet, and you appreciated it more than you could say. “Thanks, Remy… but you should be sleeping too.”

He chuckled, the sound low and comforting. “I’ll sleep when y’do, chère. Besides, I’ve been ‘round long enough t’know sleepin’s better when y’got someone t’share it with.” He raised an eyebrow, a hint of teasing in his voice as he gently nudged you.

You smiled softly, despite your exhaustion. It wasn’t the first time he’d stayed up with you like this, trying his best to help you sleep, even when you were sure nothing could.

Remy reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek. “Why don’t y’lay down, hm? Let ol’ Remy help ya relax.”

You hesitated but nodded, setting the cup aside and laying back down on the bed. He followed, positioning himself next to you, propped up on his side so he could watch you. His touch was gentle as he reached for your hand, his thumb rubbing small circles into your palm.

“You know, back in Nawlins, when someone couldn’t sleep, we’d tell ‘em stories,” he said, his voice low and soothing, like a lullaby.

You chuckled softly, turning your head to look at him. “You have a story for everything.”

Remy grinned, his eyes sparkling. “Maybe. But tonight’s story is ‘bout a beautiful girl who’s got all these thoughts racin’ in her head, keepin’ her awake. Lucky for her, she’s got a handsome Cajun who’s willin’ t’stay up all night t’help her find some peace.”

You smiled at that, feeling the weight of your insomnia lifting just slightly. His voice was enough to make the world feel a little quieter, a little less chaotic.

He shifted closer, his arm draping across your waist as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Close your eyes, chère. I got y’.”

For the first time all night, your eyelids felt heavy. You closed your eyes, letting the sound of his voice and the warmth of his presence lull you into a sense of calm. His hand stayed resting gently on your waist, his thumb occasionally tracing light patterns along your skin.

“You’re too good to me,” you whispered, already feeling sleep pulling at you.

“Only cause y’deserve it, ma belle,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple as he settled in beside you. “Now, sleep. Remy ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

And just like that, with his warmth surrounding you and his soothing voice in your ear, you finally let go. Sleep came, gentle and quiet, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t have to fight for it. You had Remy beside you, keeping the sleepless nights at bay.

#marvel imagine #x men imagine #gambit one shot #gambit x reader #gambit imagine #remy lebeau imagine #remy lebeau x reader #remy lebeau #x men 97

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gilbirda · 5 months ago

Text

Ouroboros

Sequel to "Another Harley Quinn"

Go to the first fic: "Deal"

After everything is said and done, it is no secret that Bruce doesn't approve of Jason's choice of partner. How far is he ready to go to reject her, and what are Jazz and Jason willing to give?

[Read on AO3][Read on FF]

---

She was running.

She was running and the streets were too dark, the shadows too long, the air too cold. She was running through a city she had come to know but was alien to her, a place she wanted to call home and yet she couldn’t call hers.

Jazz was running. Her chest hurt. Her feet hurt.

That’s when she saw it.

It was familiar, something that looked like home between the streets she didn’t belong in, and yet, it wasn’t home.

(Nothing was really home since Danny—)

She knew it. Jazz was sure. It was a ghost, she was positive, but a ghost she had never encountered before. It was bright, glowing in the dark streets, its light making its features difficult to discern. The body was more like a floating torn bed sheet than a human body.

It had a face.

It opened its mouth, jaw unhinged, and screamed.

***

Jazz woke up with a start, the only thing not letting her fall forwards and faceplant on the coffee table was a strong arm around her waist.

“Easy there, love.”

She looked up at Jason, blinking the sleep away. “Did I fall asleep? I’m sorry.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. She usually doesn't fall asleep like this, but lately…

“It’s okay,” Bruce set his cup on the table, “you must be tired after last night.”

Last night… Right, she had been up late taking down a drug operation at the docks. That Batman knew about it even if she did it alone wasn’t surprising. The slight judgemental glint in his eyes wasn’t a surprise either — she had killed the lieutenant after destroying the cargo.

It had been the third chance she had given him and that person decided to mock her for being soft, claiming that “a man would have pulled the trigger already”. If that wasn’t enough to kill him, the fact that his ex-girlfriend had filed for a restraining order for the second time, and had been dismissed by the police again, was a deal breaker for her.

Not that Bruce would care about things like that.

“She's been having weird dreams lately and wakes up really tired.”

Jason, as always, jumped to protect her. Maybe he was trying to remind Bruce that they were in this together, that it didn’t matter that she was taking over while he got his GED and started college. That if Bruce had a problem with her he had a problem with the two of them.

“I think she’s trying to tell me something,” Jazz sat straight, cracking her back. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep like that, now her back was going to be sore. “I mean Gotham.”

“Again?”

“Is the same dream over and over again, the same noise. I thought after Joker…” Jazz trailed off, remembering that encounter with the Spirit. She had been another person then. Another woman. Felt like long ago and yet like yesterday.

“Hm?”

Both ignored Bruce’s clear “hm” demanding her to elaborate. Right. They never explained what happened with the Joker.

“I think she is trying to warn me about something that’s coming.” Her mind went back to the screaming ghost, to the dark alleys. That wasn’t Gotham, even if it gave the illusion to be. “Something more in my, uh, expertise.”

“Well, that’s ominous,” Jason was deliberately only looking at her face, “and vague. Wanna go over it when we get home?”

Any thought was derailed when he lifted a hand to comb it through her hair. It felt nice. He was very warm.

“Sure.” She picked his hand and kissed the palm. “I’m going to check if Alfred needs help with dinner.”

Still ignoring Bruce, Jazz stood up and left what was going to be another interrogation.

***

“Elaborate.”

Jason watched her walk away, conflicted. She had been a bit distracted lately, spacing out more and more; and even if he was positive she was not actively hiding anything from him, he was sure something was going on with her.

The thought that not even she knew what was happening was not helping.

“Jason.”

He looked up at his father. “What?”

“Elaborate.”

Jason didn’t like that it was worded like an order. Or that Bruce used that tone with him, with Jazz. Honestly? He was fed up with Bruce’s behavior about his girlfriend. She said it was okay, that Bruce would eventually let it go, but Jason didn’t like that she had to endure that constant drilling because of—

No. It wasn’t because of him.

Jazz had been firm when she insisted it was never his fault. That if Bruce decided to be a dick about her it was not because of Jason.

But Jason knew his father better than her, he knew what made the man tick, what he was thinking with each gesture. Sure, Jazz had investigated Bruce Wayne, Batman, and everything about Gotham — but she hadn’t lived any of it.

What Bruce hated about Jazz is what he hated in Jason, the new Jason, and what he refused to accept. It didn’t take a genius to see that the man berated her for things Jason taught her or did with her. It was obvious at this point, after all these months, that Bruce just couldn't let go of the little boy that died.

Listen. If Jason had problems with Bruce, it was his problem, not Jazz’s. She was innocent.

“Bruce.” He cut whatever the other man was about to say. “You have to stop.”

This made him blink in surprise. Yeah right. As if he didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Stop what?”

“Don’t give me that crap. You know what I mean.”

They looked at each other in tense silence.

Bruce sighed, leaning back on the sofa, rubbing his face before looking elsewhere but him.

“I just —” he started, unsure of what he really wanted to say. Was he going to be honest, for once? “I don’t — There is something about her… I don’t like it.”

There it is.

I don't like her.

I don’t trust her.

Of course he doesn’t. That stupid control freak. Jazz was a bat trained individual that didn’t go through him or was approved by him. She had access to the Cave and to all their technology, just like Jason, just like Bruce promised they could.

But that wasn’t the problem. Jazz could be temporarily banned and put on trial phase until she passed all of Bruce’s tests and yet she would never be enough.

“We are a package deal, Bruce.”

The look the man gave him was equally annoyed and defeated. “I know.”

“She’s not a villain.” It hurt. How Bruce’s jaw muscle tensed like he wanted to say otherwise, it hurt. If he considered her a villain, he considered him a villain too. He was just too chicken to say it. “She’s my partner. She’s my other half.”

“I know.” He grumbled.

Bruce didn’t like her. He didn’t approve of her. He never would.

“Why do you hate her so much?” Jason swallowed the discomfort. He needed to know. He needed to understand if it was a stupid dream to think he could have both his family and his partner. If he had to put distance between them and Jazz, he had no doubt who he would choose to go with. “Why is she the villain and not me?”

Bruce looked at him like he grew another head. “That’s ridiculous. You are not a villain. I don’t agree with your methods, but—”

“But nothing! She’s just the same as me. I trained her! I brought her into this life! If there is someone you should distrust is me!” He stood up, angry at the argument.

Surprisingly enough, the older man was unfazed. He thought his words carefully, looking down at his clasped hands. After about a minute, he finally said.

“She killed her own parents.”

That was it? “What are you talking about? I was the one that did the actual killing.”

He still remembered it like it was yesterday. How he took his time, how he made it hurt. He let them know on whose orders he was doing that to them and why.

“She hired you to kill them,” Bruce shook his head, frowning, “is not the same.”

“What the fuck do you mean with ‘not the same’? Bruce, you weren’t there, you didn’t see what happened. They killed her brother.”

“It still doesn’t justify—”

“They tortured him, Bruce. Their own son. They deserved to die.”

Bruce blinked, eyes searching Jason’s face, like he was seeing him for the first time.

“They deserved to face justice. Not— Not whatever she asked you to do.”

She never asked him to torture them. Sure, she said ‘I want those two to suffer’, but she never specified how and what she wanted. She was angry and filled with rage, and she wanted to make them pay for what they did — but she didn’t ask him to break every bone in their bodies and keep them awake during the whole process.

It had been all him.

“That’s the thing, Bruce. She tried to seek justice, and the system failed her. If just—” Jason looked away, uncomfortable with sharing memories that weren’t his “ — If ‘Justice’ actually had helped her, her brother would still be alive. But she took too long with the longer route, and by the time she decided to fix it on her own, Danny was already gone. Torn apart by his own parents.”

“What she asked of you wasn’t justice either.”

“No.” He conceded. “She wanted vengeance.”

He remembered her dark eyes, so empty of any emotion except cold fury. It was easy to forget now that she smiled and regarded him with warmth, but not that long ago she had been an empty husk running on rage and rage alone.

“I still don’t understand… How?” At his questioning look, Bruce added: “We researched her, her family. There was no reason to believe they hurt either of their kids. Danny disappeared and run away and yes, it was suspicious as hell, but—”

“Are you listening to yourself? The investigation of Danny’s disappearance is a joke and obviously a cover up. Are you so dead set on making her the bad guy that you overlook something so simple?”

Bruce thought his words for a moment, maybe finally noticing how his rejection of his partner was affecting his own son. He was making that soft face he had every time he talked about how he messed up with Dick and how he could have done it better.

“A cover up by who?”

“What? The GIW, obviously.”

Did he not know?

Wait.

Bruce stood up, eyes wide. “The Ghost Investigation Ward?”

He doesn't know.

“Bruce?”

“They were supported by the GIW?”

He really doesn’t know.

“Bruce… they were the lead scientists of the GIW.”

Jason watched the pieces start to fit in Bruce’s mind, the whole story taking shape in his detective brain. Did he know about project P-001? About how Danny exactly died? About what they did to other ecto-entities?

“Did she know? Did she allow it?”

What was with Bruce and always assuming the worst? With a sigh, Jason gestured towards where the kitchen was, asking Bruce to walk with him. If what he needed to stop being hostile was answers, he would give them.

“About her parents working with the GIW? Yes. About the experiments? No.”

“And Danny—”

“Danny was taken away when she was away in college. Came back home to find her brother gone and her parents uncaring about his whereabouts.”

He truly didn’t like speaking for Jazz, but he also didn’t want her to relive all of this just because Bruce couldn’t let it go.

When Bruce didn’t ask another question, he continued. “She and Danny’s friends tried to get him back, but nothing worked. They were just kids against a whole shady fake government agency — they never stood a chance. They tried anyway.”

“They could have called the Justice League.”

Jason was already shaking his head before he finished talking. “And say what? ‘Evil organization that’s barely legal has kidnapped my brother’? Bruce, we both know that by the time a thorough investigation happened it would have been too late.”

“But we did investigate them. Sure, a lot of it was destroyed but the little we could find we completely tore down.”

He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know.

Jason took a deep breath as they arrived at the kitchen, smiling when he saw Jazz completely engrossed with her task of cutting the vegetables. She was smiling and chatting with Alfred about something he couldn’t hear from there, but she looked… good. At peace.

“There was an anonymous tip to the Justice League, yes?”

“How do you—”

Jason looked back at Bruce, not hiding his thoughts. The older man made the correct connections and the correct assumptions. Who destroyed the GIW bases, who killed all those people, who brought the Justice a lonely soul desperately needed.

“Bruce. She has suffered enough. Let it go.”

The other man was also watching Jazz cook; and as if she felt their gazes, she looked up at the pair. Jazz smiled, the emotion not quite getting to her eyes, and she waved with the hand that still had the knife.

Bruce’s mouth twisted a bit.

“I didn’t know.”

“You shouldn’t have to know. She’s what I want. That should have been enough.”

Jason didn’t imagine the pain in his father’s eyes when he looked back at him.

***

Tim glanced nervously at the woman quietly watching the horizon next to him.

What was Bruce thinking? Making him do patrol with her? Alone? What if she snapped and killed him?

“I know you are scared of me.”

He jumped at the mechanical voice, finding her smiling down at him. He wasn’t sure. With the mask in the way it was difficult to know.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Yeah, right.

“Really. I don’t hurt children.”

“You shouldn’t kill people, period!” He snapped. “Sorry.” Tim muttered at his outburst. Murder girlfriend or not, he had manners and Alfred wouldn’t like it if he was rude to a guest.

Jasmine looked away, humming in thought, her eyes watching the shadows of the night. Did she see something special in them? Apparently she had some kind of enhancements due to her parents’ experimentation — something about contamination? — but no formal testing of her abilities had been done. Yet.

“Am I that scary?”

Tim almost missed the quiet question.

“It Isn't that — uh…” He tried to find the correct words. Scary? She was not scary per se. Her outfit was not made for intimidation, she looked pretty average with her dark pants, combat boots and black shirt. The most noticeable parts of her outfit were the full utility belt around her waist and the guns strapped to her thighs. And the red hair. But she was not scary. “I’ve seen scarier people.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” She turned to look at him.

Her eyes. He didn’t like her eyes.

They were an uncanny shade of blue that looked green under certain lights. Eyes that sometimes glowed Lazarus Pits green. Eyes that gave him goosebumps.

“Why do you want to know? You are the head of the Crime Underworld of Gotham, of course you are scary.” She found his words funny. “You don’t kill the Joker with kindness, either.”

She tilted her head, looking back at the city. “Yeah. You might be right.”

“Of course I’m right.” He scoffed, walking closer. She didn’t react to his proximity. “Did you really kill him, though?”

“B didn’t tell you?”

“He just said… He said he found him dead. That Hood and you sent him in a wild goose chase and it was all so he couldn’t stop you from killing him.”

“There you go, then.”

“He also said there were screams and that he couldn’t get in the room.” He looked at her profile, since she refused to look back at him. “We reviewed the cowl footage but it was all noise and snow.”

Jazz hummed.

Tim narrowed his eyes. “You know why, don’t you?”

She thought for a moment before answering. "I do."

"Well?"

She smiled. "Why would I tell you?"

Robin groaned in frustration, like he did every time she deflected his questions. Jazz was very private and didn't share any information that wasn't already guessed or known; and even in the case of the former, she usually smiles and let him ramble theories of what actually happened and never confirm or deny them.

Tim was still deciding if he hated her. Well. Hate was a big word.

Dislike.

Did he mind the murdering? Yeah, it was disturbing to know the woman smiling in front of him hired a hitman to massacre her own parents and then decided to become a crime lord. Just because.

But Jasmine was kind and patient and understanding, and she didn't bend even after how mean Bruce had been with her. And she loved Jason, really loved him, which made it difficult to reduce her to a mindless criminal.

"I'm curious." He finally admitted. "Truly. No suspicion, no investigation. I want to know."

"You are such a curious bug, huh."

Again she looked at him without really seeing him.

You remind me of him. You have the same spark. I hope it's never beaten out of you.

Tim wasn't stupid — he knew she was seeing her dead brother in him and it bothered him. It bothered him more than when Bruce called him 'Jason' those first months.

"I can talk to ghosts." She said out of the blue. Like it wasn't even that important. "The Spirit of Gotham asked me to kill the Joker."

Tim did a double take, surprised. "Why?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. For real. She just contacted me and told me to do it. So I did."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

There was more story to it, but Tim was going to count his blessings and let it slide for now.

Patrol progressed like normal without any surprises. Just minor crime, barely anything that required Bat intervention, but it was good to be seen around, especially with The Ghost at his side. The people loved Robin, and if they wanted to make them trust that The Ghost was not out there killing everyone, pairing her with Robin was the quickest route.

Was that why B did it? Had he turned a new leaf?

By the time they called off patrol for the day, Tim noticed Jazz being quieter than usual.

"What’s wrong?" He asked her.

Her eyes were hesitant when she looked at him. “Are… I mean, it is— uh…”

“Just spit it out.”

The Ghost was nervous. She shifted a little when they landed on a rooftop to talk.

“Everything okay at school?”

Tim did a double take, watching her like he was seeing her for the first time. What the heck? Was she for real? Asking about school, out of the blue like this? What was the point?

What was her angle?

“Why would I tell you?”

She chuckled. “I had that coming, huh?”

He laughed too, amused by her switch in behavior. It was relaxing to see her act like a human — Jazz was a quiet presence glued to Jason’s side, always watching with those sad eyes.

“School’s good, but boring.”

“Boring?”

“Too easy.” He scoffed. “Teachers don’t know what else to throw at me to make me shut up.”

She hummed. It felt good to not get the speech about school not being just about good grades and that he should be kinder to his teachers, that they were doing their best.

“Any friends?”

What was she doing? Was she trying to be his older sister, trying to fill a void left behind by her loss?

Danny was dead. She wouldn’t bring him back by adopting another kid.

Tim almost laughed, amused at the similarities between Bruce and Jasmine.

Before he could open his mouth to gently ask her to stop, she tensed, looking at a nearby rooftop.

“Robin.” She switched back to The Ghost, the ruthless crime lord. “Go home. Call Batman.”

“What—”

“Do it.”

Tim hesitated a second too long, the glint of a sword on the edge of his vision put him in fight mode. He blocked in time, his staff and his arms straining to withstand the impact of a sword that had been aimed to his neck.

He jumped back, closer to Jazz, watching as a group of ninjas quickly surrounded them.

“We have a situation,” he heard The Ghost’s voice coming from the comms and his ears at the same time. “Requesting back up.”

“En route.” Bruce’s voice was a relief. Even if Tim had been trained and he wasn’t alone, he was starting to get overwhelmed by the quick moving ninjas that were hellbent on killing them.

He didn’t recognize the uniforms and their motivations were unclear. No obvious target either, since they weren’t trying to crowd one of them specifically. The Ghost held her ground, dancing around the assailants with ease and practiced moves, some of them reminiscent of Dick and some of Jason, and he was grateful that she hadn’t whipped out the guns and started shooting at them.

Robin stepped back, staff ready, feinting to the left to do a sweep under the closest ninja, making them stumble enough to elbow them in the side of the neck, knocking them out.

One down, three more to go.

He focused on his own fight, watching them, expecting their moves, dodging the very sharp blades they were swinging in his direction. Tim knew he was fast and he learned even faster, something Bruce always praised him about, and he decided to prove he was worth the chance to be Robin as best he could do.

The second assassin made a mistake, one tiny misstep, and he used his grappling gun to tie their legs together, leaving them dangling from the edge of the roof.

Now that he was facing only two of them it was easier to keep up with the speed. His staff was very useful to keep them at a safe distance, and he used that advantage as best as he could, even if the ninjas understood that they were losing the upper hand.

They changed tactics, instead of going for the kill they were planning on tiring him out — when he blocked one he had to be watching the other and expecting their move, not having a second to breathe. He was starting to get light headed and his arms starting to hurt after blocking impact after impact, when he finally saw his chance with one of them.

He attacked fast, staff ready, doing a series of katas that were meant to confuse the opponent and end with a strong push to the chest. Tim even managed to knock the sword out of their hands. When he hit them on the head and the guy was down.

“Ha!” He allowed himself the shout of victory, turning around to face the other one—

Only to find wide eyes on a partially covered face, a choked scream escaping the trained assassin. Tim looked down to find the point of a sword right on his neck, barely digging in his skin. He continued looking down and saw rivers of blood coming down the assassin’s front from where another blade was piercing their chest.

The body hit the ground with a soft thump, leaving The Ghost standing, her face blank, her eyes glowing toxic green, her hands stained with blood.

Both turned to look when a new person arrived at the scene.

Batman didn’t look pleased.

***

Jazz was tired and needed a bath, but she couldn’t even think about going back home yet.

Jason. She needed him, she needed his comfort, but he wouldn’t be home until his fight with Bruce was over.

A fight about her.

She knew killing the assassin would have consequences. She could have simply reduced them, she could have pushed Tim away and gotten hit instead, she could have thrown a smoke bomb and given Tim enough time to run away.

But she killed, and it had been a deliberate choice. Bruce knew that, Tim knew that — even if he had tried to defend her a few times before being completely shut down — and Jason knew that.

She just couldn’t think about anything else the moment she saw the black silhouette approach the boy from behind. Tim was just that, a little kid roped into hero life, and she needed to protect him. She needed—

Jazz was not stupid. Tim wasn’t Danny, she didn’t have any right to be any kind of older sister to him. She had one chance at that and she lost it, she couldn’t just act like she deserved another.

The Ghost looked at the rising sun on the horizon, her ears ringing with the screams and threats Jason and Bruce had been throwing at each other by the time she quietly stepped out and left the Batcave. She doubted any of them noticed her leave, too engrossed in the moral question of taking a life and the what if’s and could have’s.

Jason looked distressed and unhappy, not just angry. She knew him, she knew he didn’t like to fight with Bruce like this.

It felt that was the only thing they did when she was near.

“Finally caught you alone,” a smooth feminine voice purred behind her.

Jazz turned, finding a dark skinned woman looking down at her, her long black hair flowing in the breeze. She was tall, and strong, her common-looking t-shirt and jeans not hiding the powerful stance of someone that knew she was in charge.

She didn’t miss the gun on her waist or the sword at her back.

“Talia.” She recognized her from the photos Jason showed her. She never thought they’d ever meet in person. “If you are looking for Jason he is busy at the moment.”

“I’m not looking for him.” Her deep green eyes were fixed on her, analyzing. “I wanted to have a chat with you.”

Jazz tensed. Knowing what she knew about Talia, that couldn’t be anything good.

“I wanted to make you an offer.”

She arched an eyebrow. “An offer?”

“Yes. I have been following you and I’ve seen what you can do. What Jason made of you.”

So Jay was right. Talia was watching. She really couldn’t let it go, huh.

“And?”

“I think we can benefit each other.”

This made her scoff. “What makes you think you can give me something I want?”

Danny was dead, he had been avenged. She didn’t need anything else.

Somehow, Talia found her response hilarious. She chuckled with that silky voice of hers and approached Jazz to watch the city besides her.

“This is not your world. This is not your place. You have been aimless since the death of your brother.”

Jazz didn’t give her the pleasure of seeing her react to her words. Talia was a snake that dealt with information, she taught Jason some of her tricks. She would know about Danny and the GIW and how she came to meet Jason, of course.

“I’m not aimless.” Jason’s smiling face came to her mind. He had given her a home when she thought she had nothing to come back to. “I have—”

“Jason. Yes.” Talia hummed. “But do you really?”

This made her tense. “What do you mean?”

Talia’s smile was pitiful when she turned to look at her, the rising sun painting half her face with warm colors.

“You are in the way of his happy ending, dear.”

Jazz blinked, her heart skipping a beat. She knew that, she knew that things were rocky with Jason’s family, but to hear it put bluntly like that…

“You can have him, sure, but you’d make him lose everything else. Everything he wants. Jason lost his edge when he met you, and since that day he has gotten as dependent on you as you are on him. He has been declawed and what he wants now is a happy family to come back to, something you cannot give him, but he is too blinded by love to see it.”

Jazz hated that it made sense, that Talia was wording her troubled thoughts like this. She knew Talia pulled stunts like this, manipulating people until she had you working for her, but it made so much sense.

“Let him be happy, let him get his father back. Get his family back. If you love him, truly love him, then let him get his happy ending.”

Jazz watched the sunrise without blinking until it hurt. Her eyes watered.

She swallowed the knot in her throat and asked: “And what do you want?” What was her angle? What did she gain by this?

She didn’t turn to look at Talia when she answered, knowing she would crumble the moment she saw her cunning eyes. “I can help you become better, become perfect. I’ve seen what you can become and I’m positive you could use those skills to make sure no one else gets hurt like your brother was hurt.”

“You are talking about becoming an assassin for you.”

Talia chuckled. “Not ‘for me’, dear. You’d be your own person, you could choose your own targets. All I’m offering is resources and training Jason can’t provide. And Bruce wouldn’t ever approve.”

Jazz didn’t answer and Talia didn’t push, both stayed quietly watching the sun climbing in the sky as the city woke up and started to pulse with life one more day. One more day where people would get hurt somewhere in the world, people she could help and yet she was in Gotham feeling like an intruder in someone else’s family, trying to play house.

Talia was making sense. She didn’t like it.

“I’ll think about it.”

***

When Jason came back to the apartment he shared with Jazz, he was ready to drop dead and nap for the rest of the day. He was completely spent, his mind frayed and reeling with the argument and following screaming match about Jazz and how Bruce didn’t like her.

He had been doing so well after the conversation they had, he had been trying, smiling more and including her in things and putting her on patrol with Timbo so people got used to seeing her fight crime with the Hope of Gotham.

She killed the assassin, true, but she had saved the kid’s life. Could she have done something else? Sure, of course, but it wasn’t like the assassins were playing games and letting many chances or going easy on them. If Jazz thought the best course of action was killing him, he trusted her.

Bruce didn’t. He kept going back to the recordings of Robin’s mask, marking places where she could have done better, where should have taken another route. It didn’t matter that the kid said he agreed the assassins were going for the kill or that it was his fault for being careless — Bruce was set on banning her from the Cave, from the Manor and from operating in the city altogether.

Jazz was nowhere to be seen at the Manor when Jason decided that arguing with Bruce was pointless and got on his bike and rode off without explaining more. He was tired. He needed his girlfriend.

Just as he thought, she was at the apartment, waiting. She was not in her usual chair reading or at the kitchen having her post patrol tea; but he found her on the bed still wearing her suit, sitting with her back against the headboard. She was looking at the opposite wall with unblinking eyes, brows furrowed.

“Darling?”

She blinked, turning to look at him with empty eyes. He never wanted to see her look at him like that again, he hated that the situation had made her this upset.

“Hi.” She smiled, but it was wrong. “How did it go?”

“Bruce’s pissed but I don’t give a shit. He can choke for all I care.” Jason huffed, sitting on his side of the bed to start on getting rid of the suit. “I know this isn’t over, but whatever. He’ll get over it.”

Jazz hummed softly, with her ‘I’m considering something that you wouldn’t like’ voice. He stopped unlacing his boots, turning to watch her. She looked… off. Not just upset, but genuinely like— like she was back to that empty shell that accepted his offer of coming to Gotham with him.

“Jason,” she started, “was this… a mistake?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I… If…,” she licked her lips, looking away from his eyes. “If I left, do you think Bruce would drop it?”

Jason felt like ice crystals started growing in his chest. She couldn’t mean…?

“I understand you love me, but I can’t pretend to understand the relationship you have with your father. All of… this — “ All of me, he knew she wanted to say “ — is putting a strain in that relationship that I don't want you to have.”

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t seriously be talking about breaking up. Not like this.

“I love you too, and—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He had the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake the stupidity out of her head. “Are you seriously thinking about breaking up with me over this?”

She shook her head. “Not just over this. I’m talking about everything else, too. You have been sweet and I love you with all my heart, but darling, this is tearing you apart.”

He couldn’t argue otherwise. He couldn’t deny he had been thinking about not coming back to the Manor and just say fuck it to the whole thing.

Jason was tired of arguing. He didn’t want to fight anymore. If he tried to argue with Jazz right there, right then, he would give up and let her leave without a fight.

“Can we— Can we please put a pin on this conversation?”

She was going to say something else, but closed her mouth, nodding. “Of course. I’ll… There is food in the kitchen. I’m going to shower first, if you don’t mind.”

It’s true that they didn’t bathe together all the time, but he really, really had been looking forward to her affection and, for once, her physical contact. It felt empty, watching her stand up and leave the room without looking back. Felt like an ending to their story, even if Jazz had agreed she would want to talk about this when both were in a better headspace.

This was not how he expected his day to end, how he wanted this to go. He wouldn’t let the best thing to ever happen to him to either leave him or regress to that broken woman he extended his hand to.

Jazz carefully avoided him after the shower, and she chose to sleep on the couch instead of the bed with him. Jason didn’t have enough energy in him to convince her to get into the bed.

When he woke she was still there, calming down his instinct that she just packed her stuff and left while he slept — Danny’s rocket model was still on her night table and the apartment smelled like freshly made coffee.

She was looking outside the window at the sun going down, a still steaming cup of coffee in her hands. Coffee, not tea.

“Hey.”

She turned to smile at him, eyes still haunted, deep bags under her eyes. Did she sleep at all? “Hey.” At least her smile was more normal.

“Feeling better?”

She shook her head, but approached him to kiss him on the cheek before sitting down on the kitchen table. “Wanna talk now?”

With a heavy sigh, Jason got his own cup of coffee and joined her at the table.

“Let’s talk.”

She nodded. “Talia came to see me.”

Jason choked on his coffee. “What?” He managed to say as he coughed out the liquid.

“She made me an offer.”

“You know her offers—”

“Hear me out.” She stopped him before he continued, lifting a hand to signal she wanted to talk. “I’m not going to accept. Talia’s motivations are not clear and I trust you when you say she is shady about her offers.” She tilted her head. “I also think that she is the one that sent those assassins to provoke me”

This made him sigh in relief. That did sound like Talia, and it was good that Jazz caught on that quickly. “Okay.”

“But she made a good point.”

“She told you to break up with me?”

Jazz hummed. “Something like that.”

“Well that’s stupid.” He scoffed. “That wouldn’t solve the problem.”

“And what’s ‘the problem’, then?” She arched an eyebrow, daring him to say otherwise.

“It doesn't matter if Bruce hates you. It doesn’t matter if you stay, or you leave or if we don’t see each other again.” He leaned in to take one of her hands and smiled when she didn’t move away, and even squeezed his hand. “Bruce’s beef with you is actually with the stuff I taught you, the stuff that’s a part of me I wanted to share with you. If he cannot stand you because of that then he is making the active choice to not see I am the same.”

Jazz’s eyes were fixed on their joined hands as she considered his words. She sipped her coffee without looking away.

“If the condition for him to love me is for you to go away then he doesn’t deserve me — and that has nothing to do with you personally.”

Seconds ticked by in the quiet kitchen.

He was firm about what he said and was completely ready to fight Bruce on that if it came to it. It was beyond if Jazz was a ‘bad influence’ or not, beyond trying to play perfect son for Bruce, beyond trying to make him see that they couldn’t go back to how they were before he died.

“Okay.” Jazz said, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Her smile was watery, her eyes shining with tears, but she looked less pale and less like she was about to crumble down.

“I love you.” She said. Neither commented on how shaky her voice was. She wanted him, he could see it in her eyes. It wasn’t because she thought he would need her, or because she thought that was what he wanted — she wanted to be with him.

“Love you too.” He stood up and walked around the table, extended a hand to touch her cheek. She leaned into the touch. “We’ll figure this out, but we have to do it together. I need my partner in crime.”

A few tears went down her cheeks as she nodded.

***

Jazz kept her distance from the Manor the following weeks and focused on things on the crime side of their lives. Jason had been taking on more tasks since they were doing patrol with Batman and Robin as well; but she was now going to focus completely on the Narrows and Crime Alley and let Jason take care of things with his father. He asked her to trust him and she trusted him. They were partners.

She was going back home thinking about her cup of tea and maybe convincing Jason to cuddle under a blanket and read together for a bit; when she saw it.

It was bright and just at the corner of her mind, and she understood she had to follow it.

Not one to question Gotham after all that happened, Jazz followed her gut instinct further and further away from their territory, across the bridge and deeper into the business district. There were some people walking around at night, better dressed people, that looked at her as she followed the faint signs of something other. She ignored them all, how men and women alike chose to get away from her as soon as she was in their sights.

She knew what the “nice” people of Gotham thought of her, it didn’t take a mind reader to understand that it took more time for these people to realize she was no Harley Quinn.

In any case, it was good that she found no resistance as she pursued the white form across the serpentine streets. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was being guided somewhere, but she still needed to investigate.

The chase ended in a deserted street that had an opening to an abandoned metro station — if her memory was correct, it was part of the first metro line in the city, and the route was adjusted after the city grew in another direction.

Jazz wasn’t looking at the art decó structure of the metro opening, though. Her eyes were fixed on the white form floating in the middle of the street.

It grew and grew, quietly and quickly taking a longer shape — a human shape. Legs, arms, torso and a head. It was so bright on a dark background that it hurt her sensitive eyes, but she kept looking at the humanoid shape, wondering what or who it was.

The white light started to dim around the body, a white sheet, torn and dirty, gently floated in an invisible wind, hiding the actual shape of the body. It’s face was still too bright.

“Hello?” Jazz asked, testing the waters with a step towards the ghost. Because it was a ghost, she was positive. “Do you need help?”

She never thought she would need to help another spirit, but if this lost soul needed assistance to find peace, she was the only person that could help.

It was also what Danny would have done.

The bright figure’s face was too intense to really see the features, but as she walked closer she could see short red hair floating around their face.

“I can help you. My name is Jazz.”

It was like she had said the magic words. The slight humming she didn’t realize she had been hearing stopped. The light stopped pulsing. The figure froze mid-air.

Two eyes opened in the creature’s face. Deep black eyes, full of hatred.

A mouth opened, impossibly wide open, in a way that a normal human could never be able to do.

It was a split second — just a tiny moment as the light in its face dimmed enough for her to clearly see the features — but she recognized that face.

The creature screamed a high pitched sound that blasted the windows of the buildings around them.

***

A ping on the phone and Bruce’s slight frown was the first sign that something was wrong.

“A rogue attack?”

The older man looked up from where he was tapping on the phone screen, the chessboard totally forgotten. It was “bonding day” and Jason had spent the day with Bruce doing whatever. They were in the middle of a post-dinner game of chess, and Jason would leave after they were done. Surprisingly enough, there hadn’t been new arguments that day — but after a few weeks of screaming at each other they were too tired to keep at it.

Jason didn’t miss how Bruce’s mood lifted once he learned Jazz was not coming to the Manor anymore.

He didn’t miss either how Dick, when he came by one weekend, and Alfred were worried at that fact. Or how Tim frowned and looked down, distraught at the development. He didn’t know the shortstack actually liked his girlfriend.

“The Ghost is on her way here.” He tapped the phone screen. Jason hoped he was deactivating security. He better be, at least.

He checked his phone in case there was an emergency and he missed her calls, but there was nothing. She had promised to follow his lead regarding Bruce and he told her to not come around the Manor until he said it was ok, so why was she doing exactly that?

His mind reeled with all the possibilities, since she wouldn’t break her promise for something light.

Jason abandoned the game and approached the door, quickly opening it and running his eyes over the pitch black darkness, trying to identify her silhouette against the dark.

He barely saw the two green eyes before a body slammed against his. Her arms and legs circled around him like a koala, her maskless face buried in the crook of his neck. She was also trembling and her face was wet.

Something was very wrong.

“Jazz?”

She sobbed, rubbing her face against his exposed skin. Her breaths were accelerated too. What could have sent his girlfriend into a panic attack like this? She was made of the tough stuff, she had seen and done a lot of bad shit with him, so why…?

“I…” Her voice was rough. “Jason…”

He squeezed her tighter against him, frowning. “Just breathe with me, darling. Okay? Breathe with me.”

She continued muttering his name, but mimicked his exaggerated slow breaths. In and out, in and out, in and out. The shaking diminished a little bit even if her body continued to be tense.

“Is she okay?”

Jason turned to find Alfred and Bruce looking from the door. It had been Bruce who talked, genuine concern painting his expression. They’ve never seen her out of it before, not even during patrol.

“She’ll be.” He said, walking back up the steps of the porch and into the Manor, registering how Bruce moved aside to let them pass, one hand reaching out to help but not actually touching Jazz. “Alfred, could you—”

“Immediately, sir.”

Jason took the whimpering form of his girlfriend back to the sitting room, walked by the abandoned chess game and settled down on one of the comfortable sofas. He maneuvered her to be on his lap and let her cry in silence as they waited for Alfred to bring a glass of water. He didn’t acknowledge Bruce taking a seat in front of them.

“It was her, Jason. Her… How could this be?” Jazz’s voice was hoarse and spent, barely above a whisper.

“Her?”

“Is not fair.” She rubbed her face against his shoulder. “Not fair.”

He tried really hard to follow her. A quick glance at Bruce told him he also had no idea what was going on, so it wasn’t anything Bruce had done.

Not that he suspected Bruce to try going behind his back and harm Jasmine, but… Well, he wouldn’t put it past him after everything.

Alfred walked right in with a tray with a glass and pitch filled with water, a teapot and some cups. His face didn’t betray anything, but Jason saw his eyebrows furrow for a moment when he glanced at the trembling figure on his lap.

“Thank you.”

The butler nodded and moved to stand behind Bruce, watching them as well.

It was a bit longer before Jazz uncurled enough to accept the water, which she gulped down like a parched man in the desert. She accepted a second glass rather quickly, only giving it a tiny sip before placing it on the coffee table with a frown on her face.

“Jason. She’s back. I don’t know when, I don’t know how. But she—” her voice cracked. “Is not fair.”

“You keep saying that. But who could be—”

“My mother.”

Jason’s memory supplied the tear stained face of Madeline Fenton as she begged for her life. Her screams in the secluded basement where he tied her to a chair. Her void eyes when he explained for the last time why he was doing this.

“She’s dead.”

Jazz laughed, but it wasn’t nice. “Haven’t you heard? Sometimes the dead come back to life.”

“That’s impossible.” He watched her die. He buried her body.

“She’s come back and she’s in Gotham.”

“A ghost?” Bruce spoke, voice carefully low.

Jazz flinched, suddenly too aware of their audience. She kept her gaze on the abandoned glass of water on the table. “A wraith, I think. It’s a type of ghost,” she explained further, feeling the older man’s pointed stare demanding more information, “a subclass, if you will.”

Jason wanted to signal Bruce to stop talking, to not ask the next question. He knew what a wraith was in modern folklore, and he knew that Bruce knew as well.

“What does that mean?” He asked anyway.

Jazz looked him in the eye for the first time since she arrived. “It means she died a painful death and wants revenge.”

The words lingered in the following tense silence. Jazz had never talked about it, especially not with Bruce. He already had a poor opinion of her and she tried so hard to not throw more wood to the fire, so to speak. Her direct admission of what she did, what she asked Jason to do, settled like a block of concrete in their minds.

Bruce’s shoulders tensed for a moment before forcibly relaxing them. He glanced at Jason, expression unreadable.

“Is she going to be a problem?”

Of all the ways to word that question, of course he had to choose the worst one. Jazz took it anyway, licking her lips before picking up her tea cup. She took her time blowing off the steam and taking a sip of the liquid.

The fine porcelain made a clicking sound when she put the cup down, too loud in the quiet room. “She won’t stop until she eliminates her killer.”

Even Alfred looked at Jason with worry.

“We have to—”

Jazz cut Bruce off. “No mortal weapon can kill her. Nothing we can do can stop her.”

They looked at each other, both very tense. Bruce was trying hard not to cave in and take over the situation, push everyone away and fix it himself. Or at least Jason thought so, given what he knew about his father.

The older man unclenched one fist, reaching for his cup of tea. He took his time, considering Jazz’s words, looking at her form still curled on Jason’s lap.

“There’s one thing that can kill her.”

Jazz’s anxious confusion was almost palpable. Bruce let her ruminate his cryptic words like the sadist he could be, gently placing the teacup on the table. He didn’t make any sound, his pinky properly cushioning the porcelain.

“The Justice League seized all that was left regarding the Fenton’s research on Ghosts. Including their—”

“ — weapons.” Jazz finished for him, realization dawning on her.

All the tension left her body, her limbs untethered like a puppet that got their strings cut. Jason felt her heartbeat pick up against his chest, the implications of Bruce’s admission rolling in her head.

***

Bruce waited patiently in his office, watching the soft moonlight coming in from the windows casting shadows on everything. He felt more comfortable in the dark, he was used to it, so he didn’t bother turning on the lights. He could see just fine with the full moon illuminating the room.

Jason, when he was done helping Jazz calm down enough to sleep, would be fine with it too — when he came stomping into the office to make demands and scream at him again.

It was the only thing they did lately.

And it was always about her.

He didn’t hate Jasmine, contrary to what Jason must think. He knew that she was capable of kindness and was a damaged person trying her best. He knew she had a rough childhood and had redirected all that trauma and rage into something constructive.

But so did Bruce, and he didn’t become a mercenary.

Jason taught her how to kill, but she was the one encouraging that behavior in him. She was the one selling him the idea that what they were doing was okay. Bruce had long discarded the idea that she had brainwashed Jason; but Bruce knew how equally damaging toxic love could be for people in their line of work.

Did he think Jason could be nudged in the right direction if Jasmine stopped pulling him further away? That she was knowingly, or unknowingly, associating that life of crime with love?

Yes. Deep in his heart, he knew that sometimes even the purest love could drag you down. He wanted to protect his son from falling deeper than he was.

“Alright, here’s what we are going to do.” Jason said as he opened the door to the office, not giving Bruce time to interject. “I’m going to talk and you will shut the fuck up and listen, ok?”

At least he wasn’t screaming. Probably because his precious Jasmine was sleeping.

Bruce let out a deep sigh and stood up to see Jason eye to eye. His son’s stance was tense and guarded, his eyes shining with controlled emotions.

“You will help — No, it’s not your turn to speak.” He said when Bruce opened his mouth. “You will go to your stupid castle in the sky and you are going to bring down all the weapons you can bring. I don’t care how you do it, but you will convince your boyband to let go of the goods.

“In exchange —” his voice broke a little, but he quickly hid it by clearing his throat and combing back his hair with his fingers. “In exchange I’ll be the perfect little son you always wanted. I’ll come every Sunday for brunch. I’ll patrol with you, with the shortstack and with the Golden Boy. I’ll give up the guns, the killing, everything. I’ll even wear a stupid bat symbol so everyone knows who — that I changed sides.” Bruce knew that was not exactly what he wanted to say. “I don’t care what you do to me. But you will help us and you will leave her out of — out of everything.”

The first crack in his mask. His eyes shone with unshed tears. Angry tears? Jason used to cry when he was a child and rage was overflowing his little body.

“You won’t make her beg. You won’t humiliate her with silly little tests and sadistic games. No power plays. No punishments. I killed her parents. The wraith is coming after me. I will be the one that fixes this and after that… After that we will act like you never met Jazz and like I never died and like — I don’t know.” He breathed, shoulders slumping. “I’m done fighting, Bruce.” The expression he made couldn't be called pleading. It was too angry to be considered in the same category. But still it was a face he hadn’t seen Jason make, ever. “You win, I guess. That’s — That’s the deal.”

Night was quiet as Bruce looked at Jason, really looked at him, for the first time in the whole night. His son has grown into a big man, a bit taller than himself, and nothing like the child he lost years ago.

In that moment, in that place, his boy never looked so small. So disarmed.

Not even in the first days after bringing him to the Manor, when Jason was distrustful and thought he was going to be kicked out at any moment, he looked like that.

He saw the exact moment something changed in his mind, because the emotions in his eyes turned into a wall of ice. “And if you do — If you hurt her in any way,” his hands clenched around the empty space where his holsters usually rested, “if you don’t keep your word and go after her anyway — You won’t like the person I become. And that… that is a promise.”

Frozen and speechless, Bruce couldn’t stop Jason from turning tail and leaving the office as quietly and quickly as he arrived. By the time he made his legs follow him to the hallway, his son was nowhere to be seen.

“Master Bruce?” He turned, finding Alfred standing next to the door, quiet as always. “How did the conversation go?”

“Did you hear us?”

Alfred’s expression was unreadable. He had been unusually somber as he helped the couple prepare a room for Jasmine to rest, once it was decided they would spend the night at the Manor.

“The lack of screaming, while a good sign, made it difficult for me to eavesdrop.”

Jason never raised his voice, but it would have been better if he had. Then Bruce wouldn’t feel like he had messed up again.

He looked so… so angry and defeated. Tired. Weary. He talked about coming back home and being part of the family, but he said it like a prisoner accepting his fate in the gallows.

“Master Bruce?”

Bruce blinked back to reality, focusing on Alfred’s worried eyes. “Yes?”

“How did it go?”

He wanted to say “good”, but somehow his voice wasn’t working. “I don’t know.” He finally managed to say.

Alfred nodded, understanding anyway. “I suggest sleeping on it. Things will look simpler in the morning.”

He was right, of course. He nodded at the butler and bid him good night before making the trek back to the Family Wing of the Manor.

Still considering Jason’s words and the disconnection between his promise and his body language, Bruce walked past Jason’s old bedroom. It should be closed, but the door was open.

Right. They were staying the night.

He almost ignored it and walked past without giving it a second thought, but then he heard a quiet sniffle coming from inside. Was Jason crying? He doubted so, but he still approached the door, peeking inside.

“Bruce.” Jasmine called from inside the dark bedroom. A lamp was turned on, revealing her sitting up, alone, on the bed. Her eyes were puffy and red, so she’d be crying for a while. “What do you need?”

He didn’t want to be in this situation, but he couldn’t say that.

“Just checking on you.” He lied.

She smiled, knowing that it was a lie.

“Well, I am fine. Thank you.” Another lie.

Awkward silence. Jasmine took a deep and fortifying breath and gestured towards the reading chair next to the bed. Probably Jason had moved it from beside the window, where it usually was, and sat next to her before going to talk to him.

“Please sit.”

“I don’t think—”

“Sit.”

It was easy to forget she was the Head of the criminal Underworld of Gotham. That she held power Bruce would never dream of grasping in his own city.

Jasmine and Jason never talked about that part of their lives when they were at the Manor, and she very carefully avoided talking about anything regarding their time together before coming to the city or how they operated in Gotham. She stuck to gentle memories about her childhood, about her brother and vague mentions about picking up hobbies in recent months.

In front of him was the whole Jasmine, he knew. Like the moment before with his son, all pretense was dropped and what he could see was the truth.

In Jasmine, that truth looked cold and hurt.

Bruce walked closer and sat down in the comfortable reading chair, his hands placed on his lap. If she wanted to talk then so be it. It was about time they had a heart to heart.

“We need those weapons.” She opened.

“I know. The League—”

“I speak. You listen.” Jasmine interrupted and lifted her chin, her back completely straight. Bruce wanted to laugh at the gesture since it was all Jason. “We need those weapons and you are going to get them for us. I don’t know how, but I swear if I have to go up there and beat the shit out of every member of the Justice League, believe me I would do it.” She narrowed her eyes.

He held her gaze, letting the seconds pass. As amusing as it was watching her tired visage making vague threats to his colleagues, he was not going to poke the bear and make fun of Jason’s girlfriend.

“I don’t care what I need to do. I don’t care if I have to pass some kind of cryptic test or if I’m banned from operating in the city or if I have to — I don’t know.” She breathed in and out, her hands gripping the sheets with white knuckled fists. “I don’t care how many little dances or how many promises or how much of my soul I have to sell for you to give me those weapons. Believe me I would do it all.

“Do whatever you want with me, but leave Jason out of it.” Her glare was all hers, though. Her teal eyes glowing Lazarus Pits green, the bioluminescence adding shadows to her face that completely changed her expression. “Don’t make him choose between me and you like some kind of immature toddler refusing to share his toys.” She spat. “Give me those weapons and in exchange humiliate me as much as your heart desires, I don’t care. Just—” she let go of the sheets, her eyes dialing back to the dull teal he was more used to “ — Just don’t hurt him anymore.”

Bruce watched new tears gather in her eyes, but unlike Jason, she didn’t even try to contain them. She didn’t acknowledge them either.

“That’s… That’s the deal.”

A strong sense of déjà vu hit him. Did they rehearse this? Some kind of pincer movement with a similar speech? What was her version supposed to do, tug at his heartstrings and pin Jason’s suffering on him?

He wanted to scoff and walk out of the room.

“If you break your word or your only condition is for me to leave the city, to leave him, I swear on my brother, Bruce Thomas Wayne, that there won't be a shadow or bunker in this world that could hide you from me.”

It was a threat. It should be a threat.

Jasmine was trembling. She tried to hide it, and if Bruce were any other person, if he didn’t spend most of his days watching people and analyzing their tells, he would have missed it.

She was terrified. Of her mother, who came back as a vengeful spirit? Of a life without Jason?

He was tempted to smile, but he stopped himself in time.

“What did Jason tell you?”

She blinked, taken aback by his words. “What?”

“Did you guys practice long? They were good speeches, I have to concede it. Yours is a bit over the place, but good enough.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jason had the exact same conversation with me less than half an hour ago. He didn’t come to tell you?”

He saw it, clear as day. She didn’t know. She looked at the door and then at him, then at her hands that were still shaking. She fisted the sheets again, breathing in, breathing out.

“That idiot. What did he promise you?”

She truly didn’t know. Huh.

“Did he promise to give up his work? That he would be the son you want him to be?” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm and her laugh was hollow. “Of course he did. I don’t even need to ask.”

She folded her legs to hug her knees close to her chest. She looked at Bruce, more tears flowing down her cheeks.

“Don’t let him do that. Bruce, that could very well be the thing that breaks him for good. Living that double life, wearing a mask when he’s with you, burying a part of him... Please, I’m begging you, don’t accept that deal.”

She rested her head on her knees, eyes fixed on him. Her shoulders were tense and her posture was deceptively calm, but he could see her slowly curl on herself as if she were trying to give herself comfort.

“Don’t let him hurt himself like that, Bruce.” There was barely any more fire in her voice. “I love him.” Jasmine smiled, the gesture as weak as everything else in her at the moment. “But I guess it doesn’t matter what I say.”

The switch was subtle. Her eyes stayed on him for a second before straying away; and when they did, her blue glazed over like she was not even there with him anymore.

“Good night, Bruce.” She whispered, still not looking at him.

He stood up, ready to leave, staying a moment to watch this new facet of Jasmine he hadn’t seen before. She was always guarded, quiet, and had this sad air around her that only went away when Jason smiled at her.

Jasmine never cried. She never begged.

And she never looked like this.

Bruce ignored the pinch in his chest, murmured a quick ‘goodnight’ and walked out of the room.

***

Next morning found him looking at his coffee with unblinking eyes. Alfred had already tried to ask what was wrong, but gave up after the third grunt in response.

Bruce watched his own reflection in the beverage, eyebags on his face after spending the whole night unable to sleep. Good thing he didn’t have anything to do that day, because he was ready to drop and the sun was barely rising.

You won’t like the person I become.

There won't be a shadow or bunker in this world that could hide you from me.

He frowned, taking a sip of his coffee. Bruce wasn’t a stranger to his kids threatening him. The echoes of Dick screaming at him in the tumultuous era back before Jason’s passing rang in his ears.

What was new was how… how final they were. How ready to follow through they were — Dick had thrown around threats and tried to act tough, but at the end of the day he always came back. These two threatened him with the desperation of an animal in a cage ready to bite off their own paw if it meant getting free.

But you will help us and you will leave her out of — out of everything.

Do whatever you want with me, but leave Jason out of it.

This is the part that confused him the most. If they had a strategy then why contradict each other so blatantly? Why sacrifice themselves for the other and demand they stay safe? It didn’t make sense.

I’m done fighting, Bruce.

Just don’t hurt him anymore.

Hurt him? He wasn’t—

Well. He knew he was being difficult. He knew that his rejection of his partner was taking a toll on Jason, and he felt so horrible about it. He had been meaning to talk to him about it, and he tried a few times, but it always ended with them screaming at each other.

If Jason could just listen—

I’ll be the perfect little son you always wanted.

Jason’s eyes. Hurt and guarded and his brows furrowed. His hands clenching and his shoulders tense, as if he was bracing for the worst. Even under the sunlight he still saw that interaction in a weird light — why was it such a difficult thing to go back to how things were?

Don’t let him hurt himself like that, Bruce.

What did she know about Jason? They may have spent months together, but Bruce had Jason for years. He knew his son, and he knew the kind of person he could be. Sure, his time in the League and then with Jasmine he might have been influenced — but he could be good, if he tried hard enough.

Bruce looked up when he heard footsteps, hoping he could catch Jason and tell him he would accept his offer. It was the most logical solution, and even if he still didn’t understand why his chest kept being weird when he thought about their conversation; he knew it was best for everyone and that it was the most peaceful solution.

Jasmine was glued to his side, of course, when they walked in. She still looked pale and her eyes were distant, but she had a solid grip on his son’s hand as he guided her to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Master Jason.”

Alfred’s greeting went unanswered as the couple froze in the doorway. Jason frowned a little, and Bruce didn’t miss the slight gesture to place Jasmine behind his back. She also glanced at him without really looking at him, flinching when Bruce lifted his cup to them in greeting.

Alfred cleared his throat. “Breakfast will be ready shortly, the table has been already set.”

Jason’s relief could be tasted in the air. “Thank you, Alfie. Let’s go, darling.”

Jasmine hummed and quietly followed him out of the kitchen.

Bruce sipped his coffee. It was impossible to miss the mood shift. Even these past weeks, when they couldn’t be in the same room without an argument breaking out, Jason never acted so guarded.

Something was breaking. Something was changing right under his nose. Jasmine —

I love him. But I guess it doesn’t matter what I say.

Jasmine had flinched.

He remembered her trembling hands, how raw fear completely messed up her threats. How she looked at him with complete defeat.

Jason had explained before how she tried everything over the table before coming to him, and how broken up she was when they met. He had given a description of the things he found in his own research, but Bruce knew he was omitting some details, probably because they were too private or personal for Jasmine.

He had said that she gave up everything to avenge her brother, and how she had to beg and promise her godfather, a sketchy individual, for the money to pay the job.

Jason also had talked about her nightmares. How she saw her brother being pulled apart again and again by the GIW, by her parents, as she watched. How helpless she felt. There was a lot unsaid, but it didn’t take a genius to understand that Jasmine had many reasons and many people to fear.

And she was terrified of Bruce.

The thought made him stop.

Jasmine was terrified of him?

Is that why Jason was acting like… like this?

I’m done fighting, Bruce. You win, I guess.

Win? What did he win? There wasn’t a competition to win. He just wanted his son back, was that too difficult?

Jason’s voice cracked when he said he would do exactly that. Jasmine had said that it would break him.

Bruce looked at his hands grasping the coffee cup, suddenly not feeling tired anymore.

“Alfred.”

The older man hummed, going back to prepare breakfast for the couple. They didn’t even cross the threshold. They didn’t look at him more than a glance.

“Why do I feel like a villain?”

Alfred didn’t hesitate. “Because you have been acting like one.”

He hadn’t, had he?

It’s just—

He remembered Dick’s worried face. Alfred’s judging frown. Timothy lying to his face claiming homework as an excuse to not go on patrol with him.

Either Jasmine had managed to somehow brainwash everyone into feeling sorry for her enough to look past how she was taking Jason down with her—

Or Bruce was wrong.

About her, about everything.

“What do I do?”

The butler placed the scrambled eggs on a plate just as the toaster pinged and released the freshly toasted bread.

“As far as I can see, you have one last chance to make it right.”

He did. He didn’t have to take Jason’s or Jasmine’s offers, there was another option.

He stood up, taking the cup with him to refill it. As he did, he didn’t dare look Alfred in the eye. “Do you think there’s enough for three?”

The older man chuckled. “Way ahead of you, Master Bruce.” He turned, showing him there was enough toast and eggs prepared for everyone.

***

Jazz contemplated the zeta tube, trying to not get her hopes up just yet. Bruce may have done a one eighty, but that didn’t mean everything was fixed.

Once he apologized and acknowledged he had been a grade A asshole for the best part of a month, he promised to help. No strings attached. No mention to them giving up their life of crime or jabs at Jazz about killing her parents.

Jason had been distrustful for a few days but in the end he accepted it if she accepted it.

They still had to convince the Justice League.

Bruce warned them — he was still just one member of the League, and if the others were unconvinced, he couldn’t just steal the weapons for them. He could vouch and talk about his time knowing her, and he promised he would try his best to help.

Jazz’s relief was evident, guarded as it was. Hope was difficult to come by in their line of work, and she knew the tall task of convincing the Justice League that giving her confiscated weapons to re kill her mother was the right thing to do, as bad as it sounded.

“Are you sure?” She looked up at her boyfriend, smiling at his worried expression.

“I’m positive.”

Only one of them could go with Bruce to the Watchtower, and Jazz volunteered. It made sense — she was the only one deeply entwined with the problem, and she was the one that made the call to kill her parents.

“I worry.” He placed a hand on her cheek, the cold material of his gloves wasn’t uncomfortable at all.

“I know.”

“I want to go with you.”

“You can’t.”

“I know,” he sighed, leaning in to gently place his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes, feeling her presence. “I hate this, but— “

She hummed in agreement. This wasn’t the first time they had this conversation, and having it again in front of the zeta tube was not going to change the outcome. She was going, disarmed, with Bruce.

Jazz trusted Jason, and Jason trusted that Bruce was being truthful. That was enough.

A throat being cleared made them jump away from each other, turning to find Alfred and Dick, with Bruce approaching from the stairs. Dick’s little smile was refreshing after so much pain. He had been quick to like Jazz once he got to know her.

“Ready?” Batman asked, now next to the couple.

Jazz nodded, getting on the tip of her toes to quickly give her partner a kiss on the lips. “For good luck.”

“You think you are going to need it?” He asked, a smirk stretching his lips.

“I just wanted one.”

Both chuckled at the memory of another time, another place, and basked in the cozy feelings.

With a final nod, Jazz turned and joined Batman closer to the gate of the tube, head held high and shoulders thrown back.

Time to make her case.

***

Bruce watched Jazz closely since the moment they entered the Watchtower — maybe still wary about her murder tendencies, maybe to observe her behavior now that she was separated from Jason. Whatever he expected she was not it, since she looked exactly the same as she always did; a little bit sad but determined with the task in front of her.

She was very task oriented, so she didn’t stop for idle chat as they made their way through the Justice League base. Her steps were quiet, eerily quiet, just like his. He still couldn’t brush aside the discomfort of having another person know his techniques when he never actually participated in her training.

He heard her gasp, and turned to see what was wrong.

Jasmine was frozen in front of the nearest window, which gave an amazing view of the Earth from space. From being at the Watchtower so often, Bruce had gotten used to the views and usually just walked past without giving it much thought. Watching Jazz approach the reinforced glass holding her breath made him notice the astonishing view more than he did the first time he set foot in the space station.

He noticed one of her hands went for her neck and fished a necklace from under her shirt.

He had seen the chain before but he never asked about it, assuming it was a gift from Jason or something like that. Jazz didn’t strike him as a jewelry kind of woman, but he wasn’t curious enough to ask about it in case it was indeed a romantic gift from his son.

What an idiot he had been. He acted like he was concerned about their love being toxic but he actually just didn’t acknowledge their relationship as much as he possibly could.

“This was Danny’s.” Jazz’s voice cut him from his thoughts. He approached her and quietly waited for her to continue. “The only thing I could take from— When I ran away, there wasn’t much I could take.” He watched her fingers rub the piece of metal with a hole drilled in it. It was shiny from being rubbed like this many times. “Danny loved space. He had rocket models he put together himself.”

She looked back to the blue planet from the window, her voice trailing as much as her thoughts.

This was the first time Jazz actually talked about her brother to him directly, Bruce noticed. The first time she brought him up when they talked alone. She was usually fine with Jason doing the talking, or with him talking about her past to the others, including her past life back at Amity Park.

But she never talked to Bruce like this. She looked… vulnerable. In a way that wasn’t as broken and all over the place as she was when she tried to beg him back at the Manor.

“He would have loved the Watchtower.”

“Hm.” Bruce didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. He didn’t know the kid.

She glanced at him and smiled. “But it is better for all of us that he is not here now.” She put the makeshift necklace back where it usually rested, safe and sound. “Right?”

Bruce swallowed, unsure what would even be the right thing to say in this situation. Was she implying that Danny was better off dead? That he would hate confronting the Justice League? That he wouldn’t like having to kill their mother, who was turned into a wraith?

He nodded without really knowing what he was agreeing to and gestured towards the hallway that led to the meeting room he had prepared. She nodded back and continued walking.

Soon they were at the correct place, and Jazz froze at the door. He watched, waiting to see what she would do. She took a few fortifying breaths and nodded at him, signaling she was ready.

The meeting room was as it always was — pure chaos. The Justice League loved to appear professional and put together on TV, but reality is that sometimes Bruce almost yearned for his Gotham and herding Robin and Batgirl around every minute he spent with the League.

He cleared his throat, calling everyone’s attention.

Jazz’s feet make a bit of noise as she shuffled in discomfort at the looks from all the heroes in the room.

“Hi, Batman.” Clark greeted first with a polite smile. “And guest.”

Someone swallowed.

The others had been roughly briefed about the topic they would discuss that day, and Bruce could already see some of the frowns of clear disagreement. The weapons and technology they found in the Fenton household had been deemed too dangerous to even try to analyze. They were stored safely and untouched next to the other artifacts they keep hidden, just in case.

If he didn’t know Jazz and her situation like he did, he would have joined the ranks of the people against letting her have them.

“This is Jasmine Fenton,” her eyebrows twitched at hearing her real name, but she had agreed that she wouldn’t try to hide anymore, “and you should hear what she has to say.”

Without any other comment he glided towards his seat and gestured to Jazz to begin. No need for pleasantries. With a wraith loose in his city he wasn’t inclined to waste time.

He ignored everyone’s eyes on him. It was unusual for the Dark Knight to blatantly show this support with an unknown, specially when dangerous weapons were involved.

“Hi,” her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “I am… well.” She ran a hand through her hair and glanced at Bruce, who nodded in encouragement. “As Batman said, I am Jasmine, Jasmine Fenton,” she swallowed hard as she said the last name. “My parents were Madeline and Jackson Fenton, who created all that anti-ghost technology you guys removed from my house about a year ago.”

Bruce could see a bunch of people were already twitching to interrupt her and speak up, ask her more about her story, ask her all the unanswered questions back when they were alerted of the Anti-Ecto Laws and found the destroyed labs.

“My… I need those weapons.” Jazz approached the table and placed her hands on the surface, eyes glaring at the pristine white material. “I knew they would be safe with you guys, it has always been my intention to bury everything, every gun, every device, every research; I knew it would be best if it was stored away wherever the Justice League keeps the doomsday devices and cursed amulets.

“But things have changed — my mother is back. Madeline is back. And those weapons,” she jabbed her finger against the table, making a point, “are the only thing that can stop her. I need you to help me kill my mother again.”

***

Jazz felt spent after defending her case for about an hour and a half. It was hard, and the Justice League loved to get distracted by questions that didn’t matter — what were ectoentities, who did the GIW really work for, who else was involved, how did they die, how did Maddie and Jack die.

No more secrets, she promised. Bruce helped her go through some of the questions since he knew all that information already. She watched as he skillfully redirected the questioning far away from Jason’s involvement in this whole thing without actually lying, offering just enough truth to satisfy his colleagues.

What a hypocrite. Always obsessed with knowing everyone’s secrets but refusing to give his own.

But she promised to behave, so she did, and after reliving the worst years of her life in front of a crowd of judging superheroes, she was asked politely to wait outside for the verdict.

She could still hear them discuss though. Did Bruce forget about her little ectoplasm-related enhancements? Or maybe he didn’t and he counted on her listening in.

Whatever was the case, Jazz paced outside the meeting room as she listened to her supporters and detractors pull apart her words and memories, talking about things she didn’t want anybody else to know. Danny would have hated sharing so much about his secrets, but Danny…

Danny wasn’t there.

Danny was—

“Jasmine.”

She looked up, startled. She didn’t hear the door open. Wonder Woman was there, gesturing her in with a warm smile. Diana had been supportive of her cause almost immediately, with the reasoning that if Batman vouched for her then she trusted her.

“Yes?”

“We have decided.”

She nodded and followed back inside with her head high and her back straight. She had been listening to the discussion go back and forth, but missed the actual verdict.

The heroes watched her intently, some with a slight frown, some with a curious smile.

Bruce was smiling one of his invisible smiles. Jason always said that understanding B’s microexpressions was an art in itself, and by this time she was starting to understand his wisdom.

Superman cleared his throat. “You can take the weapons,” she let go of the breath she didn’t know she had been holding, “but we will supervise and log what you take. And when it is… done,” he made a face, the topic of Maddie’s murder and wraith status had affected him, “you will return everything as it is. Do you accept these conditions?”

Jazz was already nodding. “Yeah! I don’t think I’ll need a lot. Just let me see what you managed to salvage.”

Having decided, the meeting was adjourned and almost everyone left the room as soon as it was declared done. Bruce stayed behind with Jazz, same as Diana, who watched Jazz with curious eyes.

“You have suffered, child.” She said in a soft voice. “I grieve for you.”

Jazz nodded, not knowing how to feel about the comment. Grief? Grieving was for the dead, and she was still alive. For a long while, that had been her problem.

She looked aside, feeling uncomfortable with her thoughts.

“Shall we?” Bruce took pity on her and asked her to follow him towards wherever the Fenton tech was stored.

The walk was long, but she didn’t mind it. It gave her time to focus back on the task and recenter herself after the grating discussion of her past in front of total strangers. She just had to suck it up and power through the discomfort, get what she needed and go back to Jason’s arms and brainstorm strategies with him.

Bruce guided her deeper and deeper into the guts of the Watchtower, sadly away from any windows that showed Earth and the stars.

“Here,” he stopped at a seemingly inconspicuous wall and placed his hand against a panel. There was a beep and the wall opened to show a computer. He typed something on the keyboard and a robotic voice requested a code. “Batman, B01.”

Another beep and the walls hissed before splitting open to show a giant storage room.

He went first, Jazz followed.

The room was floor to ceiling full of different things — weapons, jewelry, paintings, anything you could imagine. Some were easy to guess why the Justice League kept under lock and key, but others were more mysterious in nature.

Finally, he stopped at the back of the room, where a few crates were pushed to the side. They were labeled and carefully cataloged with numbers she couldn't decipher, but probably were some kind of League storage organization.

She did recognize her own last name written on the label.

This was it. Everything that was left of her childhood, reduced to a bunch of boxes.

She chuckled at the situation.

Under Batman's supervision she got to work. After a moment it was easy to ignore his quiet presence and got into the flow of opening a crate and rummaging through the items looking for what she knew was familiar.

Sometimes Bruce asked her questions she found easy to answer — what does this device do, what's an ecto signature, why did her parents use a toaster as a base for that. Jazz got into a comfortable stream of words and memories, feeling lighter as she revisited a past she had been trying so hard to forget. Maybe it was exactly because it was Bruce, and not Jason, who listened that made the detachment of her emotions and her memories work. It was less raw, it was less painful, but she still got lost in the memories and remembered facts that had drowned in the grief for so long.

Soon she made a pile with weapons and devices she knew she would need and aligned with Batman how exactly she planned to use them.

“What is this?” Batman asked with the same neutral but curious tone.

Jazz turned, finding him holding a wooden box in his hands. It wasn't a gun, and it wasn't anything she had ever seen before. She'd think that Bruce misplaced an artifact with her family's stuff if she couldn't clearly see the Fenton symbol burned on the lid.

She took the box and turned it in her hands, trying to guess what it was. Inside something rattled, something made of glass, and she decided against shaking the box just in case.

She opened it.

Inside she found a single glass marble. It was dull and cracked and she could guess it was supposed to be a light blue in color.

Jazz screamed, one hand rushing to her mouth.

She knew what this was.

How?

Why?

Bile rushed up her throat and she barely had time to push the box away from her before throwing up on her shoes.

“Jasmine?” Bruce carefully closed the box and put it on a shelf, but Jazz wasn't paying attention.

How?

“Jazz? Talk to me. Breathe.”

Breathe? She tried to breathe but air wasn't coming. She was hyperventilating. She needed to calm down, she needed to leave, she needed to close her eyes and disappear.

But the box was still there. On the shelf. He was still there. In the box. On the shelf.

She went back to the box, slapping Bruce's hand away. She needed to see it again, see with her own eyes, to feel it.

The marble — the core — Danny's core was still there, in the box, on the shelf. But Danny was gone. They looked for him. They looked so hard for him.

She opened the box and the dull piece of glass greeted her back. She lifted a hand to touch it, expecting it to be cold. One time, Danny explained he had an ice core and that if a human tried to touch it they would be frozen in seconds. He had been excited about it, talking about thermodynamics and ghosts' wacky physics.

But Danny wasn't here anymore.

The piece of rock was warm to the touch.

Danny is dead.

He was dead and his core was stored amongst velvet in a repurposed jewelry box.

Danny is dead.

“I can't feel you.”

***

“They're taking their sweet time huh?”

Jason ignored Dick and continued reading his book, not at all glancing at the zeta tube and wondering if he should start assuming the Watchtower was on fire and Jazz needed a rescue. Bruce promised he would be there for her and Jason believed him.

But it has been hours and he knew how difficult the situation was for his girlfriend. He wished he could be there for her but Bruce could only take one guest at a time and Jazz was the best option and of course, she's a strong independent woman, but still, after everything he worried and—

“Oh finally.”

The telltale rumble of the zeta tube coming back to life was a blessing. He immediately stood up and approached the machine, ignoring his brother's snickers as he followed.

He expected to greet his beloved with open arms, maybe a twirl or two to celebrate her success — because of course he knew she'd be victorious — but he didn't expect to be pushed aside and be left in the dust with a confused sibling and their silent father. Jazz ran directly towards the stairs and disappeared before he could question why she was crying.

He turned towards his next best target.

“What did you do.” It wasn't a question.

Bruce had already removed his cowl. He looked tired.

“I didn't do anything. Calm down.”

“Did the League say no?”

Bruce shook his head at his eldest son. “Agreement was favorable. She can take what she needs as long as she gives it back.”

Jason looked between the stairs and Bruce. Console Jazz or get answers.

“Then what—?”

Bruce brought out a box from somewhere in his cape. Robins still had a theory the cape was some kind of bag of holding.

“From what I could gather,” his expression was very serious, more than the usual, “this box contains what remains of Jazz's brother. It was left behind at the house amongst the weapons so we took it, assuming it was some kind of power source. It… It wasn't.”

He opened the box, showing a cracked little glass sphere. This is all that remained of Danny? And it was with experimental weaponry?

Dick and Jason looked at each other, their minds going to the same places.

***

Jazz had thrown up everything in her stomach and more, and she was past the guilt of ruining Alfred's carefully maintained garden. She hoped the old man understood.

She was hiding next to some bushes right outside the kitchen backdoor. It was the first place she collapsed in after finding a door and it was in the shade and outside and it was all she needed.

It was also quiet and away from everyone, and she sobbed in peace.

Danny is dead.

Danny has been dead and gone for a while.

How long?

Given how her parents had his core in a custom box, she guessed it had been a while, probably since the moment he died. Knowing them like she did, they would have harvested his organs for further analysis.

More bile shot up her throat. She almost didn't have the strength to retch this time.

“Need some water?”

She didn't look up, not wanting to face Dick.

“I came as a stand in. Your darling is being calmed down by Bruce and talked out of looking for your parents' ghosts and… well. You know him.”

This made her chuckle. Jason would descend to the deepest pit of hell and shoot everyone in his way down if a single soul hurt her.

Jazz accepted the offering of a cold water bottle. “Thanks.” Her voice was rough but she didn't care anymore.

Dick hummed and sat beside her, carefully away from where she had thrown up. He didn't mind the smell. Or her pathetic state.

“My brother is dead.”

The words came out on their own, as if a supernatural force dragged them up her irritated throat.

Dick nodded, but didn't say anything. He waited for her to continue.

“My brother is dead and my parents killed him.”

If it was another time, she would have hated sounding so small. She was being silly. Danny died a long time ago, why was she feeling so raw as if it just happened?

She had grieved. She had done her time.

More tears ran down her wet face. She thought she had run out of those but apparently not.

“They tortured him and then kept his core as a trophy.” She drank some of the water, feeling her mind getting sharper as she talked. “No. Not a trophy. It was research.”

It was used. Cracked. Dull.

Dick hummed again and this time she finally looked up.

“They experimented with him after his body was gone, right?”

The man controlled his face well as he nodded. “We think so too.”

Danny was dead, and had been for a long time, but didn't rest.

He didn't rest. And his core was used until there was nothing left of him.

He wasn't dead. He wasn't gone. If only she found him sooner—

“It's not your fault.” Dick stopped her spiraling thoughts. “Your brother's death. Is not your fault.”

“I could have contacted Jason sooner. I could have found his core sooner.”

Why didn’t he understand? Danny was her little brother and she failed him. She was supposed to take care of him and she let him fade.

And here she was, playing superheroes and getting cozy with some guy and trying to fit in with a new family?

Danny would never have that.

Danny was dead.

“But you didn't. You did what you could and it was enough.”

She shook her head. Nothing was enough. Her baby brother was gone.

“I didn't learn about Jason until I was back from a mission offworld. It was weeks. I learned my brother was dead because people told me they were sorry for my loss.”

Jazz already knew this, but nodded in encouragement.

“I… I felt like I failed my baby brother. We didn't start close but I grew fond of him and tried to be there, but I had the Titans and my team needed me more and more. I always thought that the kid was fine without me, that it was fine if I pursued my hero career away from Bruce's shadow and away from Gotham. Until I learned what happened. How Jason died. How Bruce pushed him away. And then I thought ‘If only I was around more, if only Jason felt more comfortable telling me things, if only.’”

“It wasn't your fault.”

Even as she said the words she understood the irony.

“I know that now, but I felt that way for so long.” He smiled, showing his dimples. “It really helped having Jason back, having this second chance.”

“Danny is gone.”

He nodded. “Danny is gone.” After a moment of silence he added: “There won't be a second chance and we can only guess. But from what you told us about him, he wouldn't like you thinking that any of that is your fault.”

She watched him, his calm smile under the sunlight, his strong shoulders. Is this what having an older sibling was supposed to be like?

She tried to speak but only more sobs came out. Dick made the choice for her and pulled her into his arms and flushed against his chest.

He didn't say anything else as she screamed and sobbed for the life she never had, for the brother she wouldn't have back and for the second chance she had been robbed of.

***

“You know, I can try to figure out the portal schematics.”

Jazz looked up from the Fenton insignia on the lid of the box. Tim looked small and unsure, looking at her briefly before averting his eyes.

The kid hadn’t been present for the worst of it, but the others must have told him what happened. He wouldn’t be so careful if they didn’t.

Jazz felt annoyed. She wasn’t going to break if her brother was mentioned. “Why would you do that?”

Tim took her question as an invitation and walked closer, sitting down next to her on the steps of the back porch.

“I read,” he made a face, both knew whose research he had read exactly, “that spirits can be dormant in their core and the right amount of ectoplasm could jumpstart it back.”

Jazz opened the box, proud when her hands didn’t tremble. It’s been a few days and she was still recovering but at least it didn’t hurt to see the little glass core as much as it did.

“Like a car battery?”

The other chuckled. He sounded so much like Danny. “Yeah. Like a car battery. But with ghosts.”

She smiled but couldn’t gather the energy to laugh. “Would you do that for me?”

The kid didn’t hesitate. “Of course! You saved my life.” He said it was a no brainer. “And you are part of the family now.”

If Jazz had the mental capacity to deal with it, she would have commented on the tone Tim’s voice had when he said the last comment — the longing and desire and frustration. She knew the circumstances in which he became Robin and how he felt about taking a mantle that wasn’t his.

But she just couldn’t deal with any of this right now.

“It’s okay,” she closed the box, breathing in slowly, “I don’t think it will be necessary. The world doesn’t need another Fenton portal. One had caused enough grief already.”

She ignored the look in Tim’s face and how he opened his mouth to comment but wisely chose to close it.

“What are you going to do?” He asked instead.

Jazz hadn’t seriously thought about it, but after a chat with Bruce the seed of an idea started taking root in her mind.

“Did it help? Having a funeral, the tombstone, keeping it all after he came back?”

She could see her own face reflected back when he answered. “It helped… for a while. What is harder is what to do after.”

“I think I’m going to bury him.” She lifted the box. “Danny never got a funeral. He was actually never declared legally dead. He was just… missing.”

Missing implies the possibility of him coming back. Missing meant she didn’t have a place to mourn.

She had asked Jason what he thought about his tombstone and he shrugged. “Funerals are for the living.” He had said.

Danny was gone and he wasn’t coming back.

Maybe it was time for her to move on.

***

Killing her own mother should have been a harder task than it actually was.

If it was another time, another place, she would have had a difficult time. Maybe she would have hesitated, or lacked resources or her plans would have crumbled down the minute her target’s erratic behavior overwhelmed her.

But she was not that person anymore.

Jasmine Fenton died when Daniel died. When her innocence was shattered by the same people that were supposed to protect her and her brother.

She had made something new, someone new, with the parts left behind in the destruction. She had become someone who knew how to plan, how to kill, how to pull the trigger when it mattered.

If she was another person, in another time, she would have found the emotional detachment aberrant as she took the shot that ended her mother.

But that was not her mother and she was not her daughter. The cycle of violence had to end.

Jazz was met with her favorite dish and plenty of hugs and a foot massage when she got back home. Jason didn’t ask her, and let her talk as much or as little as she wanted. He hummed or clicked his tongue as the conversation needed, but never stopped listening.

Bruce accepted her bag with the weapons without making a single comment, trusting that she was returning everything exactly as it was supposed to be. He didn’t ask anything, but pulled her into a hug and gave her a pat on her head that meant more than anything he could have said.

Tim and Dick never wandered too far, and helped her with figuring out the plans for the funeral. Her only request had been to plan it after she finished the business with her mother, and they patiently waited until she asked about it when she visited the Manor to give back the Fenton tech.

Jason was there every step of the way.

***

It wasn’t raining the day of Danny’s funeral. A miracle being Gotham.

Tucker had commented that maybe the city was giving her grace on such an important date.

Jazz chose to invite Danny’s friends after a long back and forth. Their parting words had been hurtful and they were completely against what she had done to avenge her brother, but she also felt like they deserved to know. About the funeral, about the core.

They booked the first flight to Gotham and stayed with Jason and her the week before the actual day, getting to know her and reconnect and reminisce about Danny.

They still didn’t approve of her life choices but at least had the decency to behave.

They guessed the whole Ghost and Red Hood thing pretty quickly, not that either of them was hiding. Fortunately for all the parties involved, nobody brought up the Batman elephant in the room, not even when they met the rest of the family.

The funeral was simple and to the point, and a very small event. Only the family and Sam and Tucker were there, who said a few words before Jazz put the wooden box with Danny’s core in the ground.

She didn’t cry during the ceremony. She had already cried enough.

“I still think it’s hilarious that you have a tombstone, dude.”

“What can I say? I dig it.”

Sam groaned while Tucker and Dick chuckled.

Jazz smiled and glanced at Jason’s grave next to Danny’s. It was weathered with time and the elements but you could still easily read Jason’s full name and date of birth and death.

Danny’s chosen death day was a hard debate between Sam, Tucker and herself — the date of the accident? The date when he was taken away? Or the date that Project P-001 perished, according to the GIW records?

In the end, just because Danny would have found it hilarious, they put the date of the portal accident.

Jazz almost jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned, finding Bruce watching her with a worried expression. Well, as worried as his usual neutral face could be.

“I’m okay.” She said, and it was the truth.

She was okay. More than okay — she was content. She had a home, she had love, she had a goal, she had hopes and dreams. She still missed Danny and mourned the life they could have had, but she had so much more than grief and pain inside now.

The clouds parted and sunshine fell on the cemetery, blinding her for a moment. She lifted her face to smile at the sun, basking in the warmth that enveloped her body like an embrace.

She was okay. She was alive.

It’s what Danny would have wanted.

---

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celtigxr · 8 days ago

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𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 is with your 𝖇𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 18+, MDNI PAIRING: Fem!Aegon x Aemond, established relationship, targcest

Story summary: In an alternative timeline, set during the events of 1.08 (Lord of the Tides). What would the story look like had Aegon been born a woman, and Aemond was Alicent's heir? Well, as it turns out, Aegon is very much the same lecherous fool, but the difference is that the consequences are far more devastating, and Aemond is determined to remind his sister of her place in his life. Word count: 13,963 (not sorry) Cross Posted on Ao3

Credits: Title inspired by: Cry Little Sister by Gerard McMann (Lost Boys Theme), cover art and fem!aegon edits made by me. Dividers not by me, I can't seem to find the original poster anymore. Story tags: Slow Burn (suffer for your smut), enemies to lovers, hate that I love you, established relationship, targcest (siblings, uncle/niece), angst, unrequited feelings, toxic relationships, yearning, jealousy, mxf, fxf, brother x sister, uncle x niece, master x servant.

Content warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, gender bent canon character, brief canon violence, angst, misogyny, slut shaming, targcest (brother/sister, uncle/niece), Aemond frequently calls her his sister, infidelity (everyone?), breastfeeding, creepy uncle behaviour, mention of underage 'fooling around', mentions of sex work and brothels, pregnancy mention, unwanted pregnancy, allusions to abortion (via moon tea!), post partum depression, withholding child from parent, labour pains and blood, abusive parent, verbal abuse, physical abuse (a slap), dubcon (power imbalance, and alcohol), toxic relationships, alcoholism, typical canon tw's. There are no good people here.

MOOD SPOILERS BELOW

P+V, sexual tension, breeding kink, cream pie, lactation kink, ass worship, breast worship, targcest, fingering, pussy grabbing, hickeys, degradation, allusions to anal, rough sex, hair grabbing/pulling, bending her around like a pretzel, oral (f receiving), over stimulation, orgasm repression, bit of spanking, edging, man handling, rimming with finger, clothes ripping, mirror sex, various positions.

“Get up,” Alicent’s sharp voice cut through her eldest child’s peaceful slumber like an executioner’s axe. Though her daughter did not move, did not show a moment of acknowledgement of her presence. “Aenys!”

Again, no response. This, of course, successfully pushed Alicent to the point of frustration. The Queen ripped off the sheets that covered her daughter, displaying her nude form to the room. That was when Aenys finally stirred, her eyes covered by a curtain of dishevelled white-gold hair.

Aenys sighed, grabbing her sheets back to cover her body, then promptly rolled over, “Mother.... What is it?” Her voice was hoarse with sleep as she turned to snuggle back into her pillow.

“‘What is it? What is it, what is it?’ Is that all you can say for yourself?” Alicent leaned over the bed like a vulture ready to pick at a corpse.

“Has something happened?” Aenys’ voice was muffled by her pillow, though her tone still successfully conveyed her disinterest. Her eyes were closed as she tried to chase back the dream she was having; she was naked on Sunfyre, flying while someone was pressed against her back, their hand cupping her mound and rubbing her pearl deliciously.

Alicent looked upon her incredulously and with barely contained fury. How could Alicent produce such a creature? Her own daughter, her first born, with beautiful violet eyes, bright white-blonde hair and the sweetest face. She was everything Alicent was not, and the Queen had absolutely no idea where she went wrong with her.

“Ser Willis Fell,” The knight’s name was stressed through Alicent’s teeth.

“Hm?”

“Ser Willis Fell, one of your father’s sworn guards,” Alicent stared at Aenys in disbelief. The Princess remained buried in her pillows. “Oh, for gods’ sake. Aenys, the Kingsguard that you coerced into breaking his vows.”

Aenys groaned in frustration, arching her back as she stretched out across her bed like a cat, “Oh, it was just harmless fun. He didn’t need much coercing either, he was very willing.” Aenys rubbed the butts of her palms into her eyes as she rolled onto her back, her shoulder length hair fanned around her in messy tendrils.

Alicent gaped down at Aenys’ audacity, “Think of the shame you brought me. Think of the shame you bring to your husband, Aenys. Do you not realize how dangerous it is for you to fraternize with other men? You not only cuckold your husband, but you risk getting pregnant with a bastard!”

Aenys scoffed as she cracked open her eyes to blurrily glare up at her mother, her frustration growing with every passing second that she wasn’t allowed to sleep. “I am not some unseasoned mare, mother, I know how to prevent such accidents,” Aenys swung her legs over the side of the bed, the sheets bunching up around her waist while her breasts hung broadly displayed, littered with love marks from last night’s tryst. “Besides, what me and Ser Willis did, there was definitely no way we could have conceive—”

Alicent slapped her hard across the face. The clap echoed in the bedchamber, shocking them both into a silence that deafened them. Aenys’ face was sharply turned away from her, her cheek stinging with her mother’s love, her eyes bleeding fresh salty tears. Alicent breathed heavily through her nose, staring daggers into her daughter’s profile. Only a flicker of regret passed by her brown doe eyes before it was quickly replaced with contempt. She bent down so she was at Aenys’ eye level.

“You are no daughter of mine.”

“I’m sorry, my Princess, but he refused to latch. He’s been crying all morning,” Joy was bouncing the screaming baby up and down in her arms, trying to calm him down. Her large breast was exposed, showing that she had just recently tried another attempt at getting the babe to latch onto her.

Aenys rubbed her furrowed brow as she approached the two of them, and then mutely picked up her son from the wetnurse’s arms. “That’s because he is the blood of the dragon,” she holds her son to her bosom as she walks over to an armchair and sits down, “And therefore has a refiner pallet. Isn’t that right, Aerys? My boy is an Arbor Red man.”

Aenys cooed at her youngest son while she unlaced her bodice with her free hand and pulled her arm out of her dress so she could release her breast with ease. It did not take much for the babe to latch on, successfully silencing him. Aenys hummed contently at the sight, her hands moving along the crown of his silver-haired head, and then relaxed into her seat.

Joy seemed utterly relieved as she tucked herself back into her dress. Her fingers went to massage her temples where her headache had taken root due to the hours of Aerys’ unrelenting screaming. “He misses you, my Princess,” the wetnurse said with a tender voice. “They both do.”

Aenys swallowed thickly as she stared down at Aerys, her second child, the spare to her husband’s heir. He had only been born two months ago, yet it felt like years. Much like when she had given birth to her first, when the sex was identified as a boy, her son was swiftly taken away from her and into the breast of the wetnurse, Joy. When her first was born, Aenys had cried throughout the first night.On the second she marched through the corridors demanding to see her son; a trail of blood from her healing cervix following her angry strides. They only complied because she was making a scene, but she was never alone with him. Either her grandsire, mother, wetnurse or his father was present.

She wasn’t stupid. Nor was she deaf. Aenys could hear their whispers when they think she isn’t listening, or too drunk to pay attention. They do not see her as a fit mother, they think she’ll accidentally kill her children in some drunken escapade, or just from negligence or ignorance. When her eldest got older, when he started talking, she saw less and less of him. His father didn’t want Aenys to influence him. He needed his heir to be perfect; groomed to be the epitome of Targaryen excellence, something that Aenys was very much not.

As Joy went about the room to clean up, to change the sheets in Aerys’ crib, Aenys spent the entire time in silence. She just watched her son latching on her nipple, the sounds of his sighs and suckles sending a wave of calm throughout her body that felt inherently natural. His large purple eyes were starting to flutter close, exhausted after hours of being denied his right to his mother’s breast. Aenys’ finger grazed the apple of her son’s cheek, feeling the dampness of the tears he had shed. She couldn’t help but feel the sting of resentment towards her family; it was their fault that her babe was famished to the point of screaming. If they had simply let her be with him, to let him nurse off of her in the first place, it never would have happened.

The sound of the door handle turning snatched her attention. There was no knock, no announcement from a Kingsguard, it was just him walking in as if he were already king.

Aemond’s eye landed on her instantly– Well, more specifically on her tit in their son’s mouth. Her milky white mound was decorated with fading bruises of love marks from her previous lover, evidence of her infidelity that he was well aware of anyway. The fact that she was having their son nurse from the same breast that another man was nursing from surely twenty-four hours ago made his gut churn with disgust.

And yet… The sight of her nursing made his black heart thump uncomfortably.

He sharply turned away from the sight, displaying the profile of his taut jaw where she could see the muscle of his cheek twitch from the strain.

“Where is Aegon?” He questioned sharply, his hand still on the door handle, conveying that he had no intention of lingering.

“I thought he was with you?” She raised an eyebrow at him, her hands holding onto Aerys a little more tightly as if he was going to snatch him away from her.

“He is with Maester Orwyle, my Prince,” Joy is quick to answer before the two parents could fret over the whereabouts of their child. “He is learning his numbers today.”

Aemond hums and is about to leave, but Aenys is quick to ask him what he needed him for.

“It is time for him to learn how to use a sword,” Aemond’s answer doesn’t surprise Aenys in the least bit, but it does make her give him a look of incredulity.

“Use a swor–? Aemond, he just turned six,” She shook her head at him.

“And? Six is a fine age to begin sparring,” he turned back to her, his eye trained to her face deliberately. “The earlier he begins, the more skilled of a warrior he will become when he is older.”

Aenys rolled her eyes with a scoff, “Aemond, he is too small to lift up a training sword–.”

“How would you know what my son is capable of?” His words cut her deeply. It was a well placed shot straight to her chest that snapped her lips shut, but only for a moment.

The creases between her brows deepened, “I am his mother.”

Aemond nearly laughed at that, “You were his mother for nine months. A wetnurse for two weeks, and then a stranger for the rest. Do not presume to know what is best for my heir, Aenys. Not when you do not even know what is best for yourself.”

Her husband and brother left absolutely no room for her to respond. Aemond dismissed himself with a flourish of his pin straight hair and a bang of the door.

Aenys pulled Aerys tighter against her bosom, her head bowed over the crest of his warm scalp, and her eyes tightly shut. Fresh tears fall on the babe’s face, but they do not belong to him.

The arrival of Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon and their brood came with much noise. It was no friendly family reunion, but a necessary arrival to preserve their bastard sons’ inheritance. Vaemond Velaryon would be arriving soon to petition the line of succession to the Heir of Driftmark in the anticipation of Lord Corlys’ possible death. With King Viserys still abed, mind addled with milk of the poppy, and decomposing with every passing day, the petition would be presided by the Lord Hand and the Queen Regent.

Aenys couldn’t care about anything less. She knew the weight of the petition; if Lucerys loses his inheritance, it would be due to his legitimacy, which would in turn put Jacaerys’ legitimacy into question. Which is ultimately what Alicent and Otto want, but that would not change Viserys’ line of succession. The crown will go to Rhaenyra upon the King’s death, and when Rhaenyra is Queen she could just simply legitimize her sons, or make her eldest son with Daemon her heir. It changed nothing, no matter how much Alicent, Otto, and Aemond delusion themselves into thinking that this petition would.

She was three cups of wine in when her uncle found her laying on a lounger beneath the domed roof of a stone gazebo, nestled in the heart of the royal gardens. Aenys was watching in mild amusement as a plain pigeon attempted to do his courtship dance to a much fancier female. Her feathers were mostly white, not quite a dove, given the grey feathers around her neck and the beautiful iridescent sheen they held. She was not at all impressed by the male.

“Well, if it isn’t little Aenys,” Daemon’s monotonous drawl was enough to pull her attention away from her pigeons. Her uncle’s tall willowy figure blocked the sun that was peaking through the shrubs and trees, making him look like a shadow. She could still see him tilt his head at her, “Bit early to be that well into your cups, don’t you think? Particularly for a princess.”

The smirk on his lip conveyed he cared less than what his statement implied.

“Are you going to tattle on me, uncle?” She slurped her wine noisily, which made his smirk widen.

He didn’t answer her, instead he descended into an armchair situated at the feet of her lounger. His long legs sprawled out in front of him, his large hands resting on the arms, and his plum purple eyes roamed the length of her legs like a predator sizing up its potential prey.

“You’ve grown up since I last saw you.”

“That’s because I was three the last time you saw me.”

His smirk transformed into a wolfish grin. Daemon paused to look around at their setting, to the empty parepets that loomed overhead, to the loggia on the second floor that faced the garden’s direction, to the pigeon who was still trying fruitlessly with his courting dance. When he was satisfied with what he saw, or rather what he didn’t see, he leaned on his knees towards her.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Aenys raised her eyebrows for a moment before narrowing her eyes at him. However, there was an expression of ease and intrigue upon her features, “Where do you want to go?”

“I was thinking somewhere less polished. Less green.”

A knowing and curly smirk dimpled her cheek, “Ah, the Lord of Flea Bottom wishes to return to his people. Fee ling sentimental for your own stomping grounds, uncle?”

That lecherous smirk barely wavered; if anything it amplified when his tongue flicked out to run along his bottom lip, “From what I’ve heard you have inherited and elevated the title in my absence. The Queen of Whores. Quite a step up from a lord.”

At the mention of the title Aenys’ smirk flattened a bit and her eyes drifted away, “Hm, or a step down, some might say. Alas, I have not done my queenly duties these past few years.”

“Because you are married?” He asked this as if it isn’t a sufficient enough excuse. “From the rumours I hear, niece, that still does not deter you. I’ve noticed that my brother has one less White Cloak guarding him.”

“He broke his vows.”

“So did you.”

Aenys tapped her wine glass as she assessed Daemon, wondering what he was trying to achieve with this conversation. Taking a thoughtful sip, she tilted her head at him.

“Are you suffering from bed death already, uncle?” Her question managed to enlist a bodily reaction from him. Daemon leaned back in his chair, his smirk flattening for a moment before returning the moment she continued. “Got bored with one niece and now trying to pursue the other?”

He chuckled at that, his hand running over his chin before resting it on his palm, his elbow placed on his knee. “Am I wrong to assume that you suffer the same affliction with your beloved husband?”

It was now his turn to pull a bodily reaction from Aenys. Her lips fell into a pout, and she shifted uncomfortably in her lounger; her left leg moved up as she shifted her bottom on the seat so she was sitting straighter, but in doing so her gown lifted just enough to expose her pale ankle. Daemon’s dark gaze found it in an instant.

“I doubt my nephew meets your needs sufficiently, sweet niece,” his voice is a pur that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “I would have suspected a woman with your…appetites would have more children by now. But I’ve noticed the age gap between your sons. Is that by design, I wonder? A well placed lemon top, or a convenient cup of moon tea? I imagine you’ve learned all sorts of tricks from the brothels you frequented.”

Aenys had been pregnant in between her sons, yes, but the father was not Aemond, and was swiftly taken care of by moon tea and several excruciating hours of heavy bleeding and a pain that rivalled active labour. It took years after Aegon’s birth to even convince Aemond to try for a spare– and as soon as Aerys was conceived, her brother stopped acknowledging her.

When she didn’t answer, Daemon was undeterred as he continued, “Mayhaps we can help each other.” His hand reached out the short distance to her ankle, using one long finger to draw lines on her exposed joint before trailing up her calf, moving along the hem of her dress. “And…should there be any consequence from it… None would be the wiser.”

Aenys’ eyes observe his ministrations, not even denying to herself that it was causing her loins to stir with longing. Her sex hungered for attention, even if it was not that long ago that she had a courtier’s head nestled between her thighs. However, there was nothing like a good cock rutting in and out of her like she was a mare in heat. Even more so when it is so forbidden and taboo. Not that he being her uncle was– no, bizarrely in their world that was normal, if not expected. She was, afterall, married to her younger brother and sired two children with him. What made it taboo was that they were both married, and their spouses were silently competing for a seat on the throne.

But something whispered in the back of Aenys’ mind, which sounded a lot like a conscience. It was enough to make her feel a bit queasy at the prospect of stepping over the line between her and Daemon. Maybe it was because she was a mother now, maybe it was the berating she suffered from her mother last morning, maybe it was because she hadn’t enough wine to shut off that little voice in her head. Or maybe it was because she felt the looming presence of a foreboding character lurking in the shadows, his blazing eye burning a hole into the back of her head.

Aenys was getting out of the bath when Aemond barged into her living quarters. The sound of the door shuddering at the force of his body caused her poor maidservant to startle, effectively dropping the towel she was trying to wrap around her mistress.

“Seven Hells, Aemond,” Aenys quickly snatched up her towel and wrapped up her nudity before she could even clocked the look he was giving her. That one lingering look with his one haunted eye that drank up the sight of her rear like a famished beggar. But that look was quickly wiped away and replaced with his ever present facade of antipathy. “Knock, for Mother’s sake.”

“Why?” He bit the question as he strode further into the room. The maidservant immediately knew that she wasn’t wanted, and swiftly curtsied before sprinting out of the room and hastily closing the door behind her. “I am your lord and your husband, I am entitled to this room and everything in it, including you. Or have you forgotten that after all these years?”

The last time Aemond felt ‘entitled’ to her rooms was nearly a year ago when they conceived Aerys, and even then he approached her door like it was the gates to the hells. The hypocrisy of his statement made her blink rapidly around the room in disbelief.

Clutching the knot of the towel at her chest, she widened her stance in preparation for a verbal altercation. “No less than you have forgotten, husband. You haven’t darkened my doorstep for elven moons.”

He strode closer to her until all that remained between them was the cooling copper tub and the milky water that remained swirling around. It smelt like vanilla and lemon, with just a hint of mint leaves. An aroma that was very distinctively Aenys; one that he had come to loathe and crave like a bad habit that he was actively trying to detox from.

“And that gives you a right to do as you please? Your debauchery when we were younger was bad enough, Aenys, but now your lecherous behaviour has gotten out of hand.”

“Now? Now it’s gotten out of hand?” With one hand clutching the towel, the other waved around in exaggerated movements. “I was worse before we wed, Aemond. I have been trying to be good… But it’s never good enough, is it? Nothing I do is ever good enough.”

His hands braced the edge of the tub as he peered at her like she was speaking maddening nonsense, “This is you trying?”

“I have not set foot in Flea Bottom in years, have I not?”

“That changes absolutely nothing! You’ve just changed your hunting grounds, setting your sights on honourable guards, servants, and weak-willed courtiers like the succubus that you are.”

Aenys scoffed dismissively at this, “Oh, do not look down upon me as if you are any better, Aemond. At least I do not skulk in the dark when I commit my sins.”

“What in the Seven Hells are you talking about?”

“I am aware of your little visits to Madam Sylvi’s, Aemond,” Aenys crossed her arms over her chest, pressing the towel firmly against her aching breasts. “I would have found it sweet that you still lie with your first – might’ve even been flattered that it is the same whore that I bought for you as a name day present after all these years, but your shocking display of hypocrisy is offensive. I am not the only adulterer in this marriage, Aemond.”

Aemond stared at her with the full capacity of his fury. His shame for his indulgences in the arms of Madam Sylvi was enough of a burden for him to bear, but the fact that Aenys knew about it was something he could not accept. It would be one thing if it was his mother that had learned of it, but with Aenys, it was a different story. She led the entourage of his childhood tormentors, taking pleasure in emphasizing how little, dragonless and weak he was at the time. And now… Sylvi was his only weakness he allowed himself, and Aenys fucking knew about her.

He rigidly straightened up and strode purposely around the tub, each step calculated and predatory. “I am your husband, Aenys, and therefore you are my property by law, not the other way around. What I do to seek out my pleasures is none of your fucking business.” He is towering over her now, crowding her space, making her step back until her thighs meet the edge of an accent table flushed against the wall. “But what you do, wife, is my business. You made vows to me, Aenys, in holy matrimony, to serve only me, your lord and husband!”

Having Aemond this close was making her knees weak, but Aenys wasn’t a simpering lap dog that rolled over in the presence of a larger one.

“I did not ask for this, Aemond!” She shouted, her chin lifted in defiance. “I did not ask to be your wife! If there is anyone to blame for your predicament, it is mother, not me!”

“Believe me, sister,” He seethed through clenched teeth, his eye turned black by the vast void of his widened pupil. Aemond stretched his neck forward, leaning so was nose to nose with her. “I rue the day mother told me that you would be my wife. I would have never chosen such an unworthy woman for the title. It should have been Helaena. It should have always been Helaena.”

Aenys’ nostrils flared at his words; each one was like a dagger sinking another inch deeper into her chest. The mention of Helaena sent a wave of insecurity through her gut, making her eyes sting and her nose to twitch. Helaena was the daughter that Alicent always wanted; delicate, kind, soft-hearted, beautiful in such an effortless way that she did not even need to wear extravagant gowns and bold jewelry for people to notice it. Alas the greatest sin Helaena had was being born second to Aenys. With her fragile mind, she was moved to Oldtown to live with Daeron, until a suitable betrothal is made for her. A decision that Alicent freely admits was a mistake, particularly to Aenys, when she reminds her eldest of how undeserving she was of the things freely given to her. Undeserving and unworthy.

Unworthy. She was unworthy.

Unworthy of being a wife.

Unworthy of being a mother.

Unworthy of being a daughter.

Unworthy of love.

“If you hate me so much Aemond, then just leave me be,” Her lips twitched as she said this through clattering teeth and a taut jaw.

“I wish I could,” his voice came out a little softer than the tone he had used seconds before. But the softness quickly dissipated when he reached out and grabbed her face, his fingers sinking into her cheek possessively. “But your infidelity has shamed me enough, Aenys. The Realm already laughs in my fucking face over you cuckolding me at every turn. Thank the Seven that our sons look like me, because if there was even a whisper about their legitimacy, Aenys, my claim to the Throne would be just as weak as Rhaenyra’s. And it would be entirely your fault.”

Despite the grip he had on her face, she scoffed at him, a derisive little smirk split her cheek, “Do you still believe that you will be king, Aemond?” The question effectively made his eye flash fiercely. “Father had twenty-one years to name you heir, and he didn’t. He still steadfastly declares Rhaenyra his heir–”

“Shut your whore mouth,” He pinched her face viciously, pulling it closer to him, making her body press against the lithe structure of his form. Aenys immediately reached up and clung to his elbows, but not entirely understanding if she did to push him off or pull him closer.

“I am no whore, brother,” She twisted her face out of his grasp. “Whores get paid–”

Suddenly his other hand was on her again, but this time it was nestled between her thighs, cupping her mound harshly. Tendrils of electricity crawled along the surface of her skin, blooming from that centered point. The touch of his warm palm, pressing against her labia just above her pearl made her thighs quiver. The feel of the pad of his finger on her slit made her hips involuntarily buck into him. Her sex ached for his penetration, as evidenced by her slick essence dampening her curls.

“No, you’re a curse. My curse,” his nostrils flared as his eye seared into her face, devouring every tremble of muscle he caused. He seeked to dig the knife deeper, to make her feel his hatred for her. To remind her of her place, to break her spirit. It was what she deserved for all that she did to him. He plunged and curled his fingers into her, causing her to gasp and arch her back into him. Aemond did not move his digit, just kept her there like a fish on a hook.

“Aemond–” She put her hands on his shoulders, not pushing him away, but anchoring herself to him. In doing so, the towel around her body loosened, her breasts were painfully pressed against him, likely leaking with milk. She breathed hard, her heady desires rising rapidly at his rare touch.

Even during the whopping two times they coupled, Aemond was not nearly this lascivious with her. At most, he had rubbed her clit and fingered her for a minute or two just so it made his descent inside her easier for both of them. He always took her from behind, always kept her face pressed against the mattress so he wouldn’t look at her.

But he was looking at her now, with knuckles deep in her cunt, showing his claim to his property. The heat that bloomed in her chest and core blotted out her anger towards him, and Aenys eagerly showed him how much she wanted him by rolling her hips into his hand, encouraging him to pleasure her. “Aemond– please, I need–”

Aemond had nearly broken and bent like a weak-willed man. The crotch of his breeches were already tight, and now the laces strained against the thickening of his cock underneath. But something snapped awake in him, reminding him of who he was lusting for. Aenys, the bane of his existence, the great Whore of King’s Landing. He pulled away from her in an instant like she had just burned him with an iron poker. The hand that was buried inside stretched and curled at his side as if he had just touched something vile.

The towel crumpled on the floor, her vanity exposed, making it look like the trembling body of a wounded doe, waiting to be killed. The hurt of rejection was clear upon her face, with wide eyes and quivering lips.

He still had the knife, he still wanted to drive it home into her heart. Aemond wanted to hurt her as much as she hurt him over the span of their marriage, over the span of their childhood.

“You are merely a duty, Aenys. One that was thrusted upon me against my will, and being the loyal son that I am, I accepted this fate without complaint,” He turned away from her, keeping her on his blind side as if the very image of her naked form repulsed him… Or weakened him. “That is all this marriage is. The gods were merciful enough to grant me two heirs from you, and I see that as a fulfillment of my duty. I need nothing more from you.”

With that he strode around the tub, his steps quicker than his usual gait. His fingers still flexed at his side before he reached for the door to see himself out, but before he did, he paused. Aemond looked down, slowly reached for something in his pocket, then turned back to her.

Aenys stood there, crestfallen, her head bowed, making her damp hair a curtain around her face like limp strands of white seaweed. She had her arms folded around her chest, her knees were slightly caved in the middle as she tried to hide her pelvic region. His jaw slacked at the sight of her, and a flicker of regret passed his features like dust in the wind. The hickies were still on her chest, splotches of yellowed skin with purple hues at the center, reminding him why she did not deserve his pity.

“Here,” Aemond growled. With his thumb, he flicked something in her direction. It sang in the air before landing with a noisy clank, and then rolled on the hardwood floor before it clattered to a stop. When Aenys’ eyes flickered to it, her brow furrowed. It was a single copper star coin.

“That’s all you’re worth.”

Then, he was gone with the slamming of the door. The singing of the coin still rang in her ears, along with the chanting of voices saying over, and over again:

Unworthy.

Unfit.

Unwanted.

Unloved.

Whore. Whore. Whore. Whore.

It happened so incredibly fast that Aenys was tugged violently back into sobriety.

Two days passed since the argument with Aemond, and she had not seen him at all since. It was not like she was seeking him out, but his avoidance felt more like a conscious effort rather than a coincidence. Even when Aenys visited Aegon in the library while he was learning the geography of Westeros, Aemond was vacant for the entire lesson. Which was strange, since Aemond liked to be a part of Aegon’s lessons, often shadowing the Maester or replacing him altogether to ensure that his son was getting a proper education.

When Aenys did see Aemond, it was during Vaemond’s petition.

The petition started off dull and boring, at least to Aenys, even when she was already four cups of Arbour Gold in. She stood there with her hands laced in front of her, rocking on the balls of her feet, wishing she was in the Dragon Pit with Sunflyre, the only living soul that seemed to care about her. She wasn’t paying a lick of attention to what Vaemond was saying – he gave a long speech about Velaryon blood and yada yada yada. At one point Rhaenyra cut him off to defend her son’s blood status, which was quickly shut down by the Queen.

It didn’t really get that interesting until the doors opened and the broken and hollow footsteps of King Viserys forced everyone into a stunned silence. Aenys and Aemond watched with baited breath as the ailing King hobbled over to the dais of the Iron Throne unaided. His crown fell from his head, which was quickly scooped by his rogue brother. Daemon helped his brother into his throne and then gently placed the gold crown back upon his head with such tenderness, it was easy for Aenys to forget her uncle's reputation. Easy to forget the proposition he offered her days ago.

It was easy to believe that deep down, he might have actually been a good man. And Aenys’ heart ached in envy over her half-sister’s luck to have such a husband at her side. Infidelity aside, Daemon had not once displayed disinterest to his wife since they arrived. They reared their children together, they walked together, shoulder to shoulder, they conversed normally without argument. It begged the question as to why he propositioned Aenys in the first place…

But when he turned away from Viserys to join his family, Daemon caught her eye. Then Aenys fundamentally realized something: She reminded him of not only himself, but of the girl Rhaenyra used to be.

Then something utterly bizarre happened in that same exact moment when Daemon strode past her. She felt Aemond shift closer to her side; the heat of his body near unbearable, given the cold shoulder he had been giving her their entire marriage. Then she felt his arm slither around her waist, his fingers digging into the meat of her hip. Aenys’ brow furrowed, then she slowly turned to Aemond with a budding snarl on her lip. However, Aemond wasn’t looking at her; he was too busy glaring at their uncle’s retreating back.

After that moment, all hell broke loose; Rhaenys spoke for her husband and Viserys declared the matter being settled. Lucerys would keep his inheritance, even though anyone with eyes knew it was unjustly deserved. However Vaemond was not fixed to roll over that easily.

The words “Bastard” and “Whore” echoed in the Throne Room, and Aenys felt herself flinch as if they were directed at her. Though it wasn’t, they were directed at her half-sister, Rhaenyra. Who arguably out of the two sisters was the least whore-ish of all, and yet the consequences of her affair with a single man were regarded far more viciously than the lecherous reputation Aenys harboured.

But would that be her fate if she gave birth to bastards? If her current sons weren’t Aemond’s, or even just failed to look like him at all? Would she be standing there in Rhaenyra’s place, pleading for everyone to believe that her sons were legitimate?

Vaemond’s head was chopped in half. His body slumped, the top half of his skull slipped off with a squelch of blood and flesh as his tongue flopped out of his bottom half.

“He can keep his tongue.”

In the chorus of screams and gasps, Aenys’ reaction was no different to any other gently bred lady of the court. Her hands went flying to the sides of her face and she rushed to turn away. In her horror she didn’t even completely register Aemond’s arms wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest to shield her from the gruesome display.

“Are you alright?” Aemond’s question was almost as queer as the tone he chose to speak it in.

“I’m fine,” her eyes narrowed at him, her goblet of wine was cradled to her chest as if he was about to snatch it away from her. “Why?” Her voice was gritty and filled with suspicion and seven cups of wine.

“I went to your quarters earlier; your guard told me you were adamant on not being disturbed,” he said it so cooly, Aenys was almost convinced that he actually cared. Even though she knew better to assume otherwise, the fact he had gone to her quarters at all (and to concede in her need to not be disturbed) felt incredibly out of character to him.

“That’s because my maid was busy distracting me with her tongue in my cunt,” she sipped her wine casually, ignoring the flash of annoyance in Aemond’s eye.

“Aenys–”

She scoffed at him before he continued. Their argument the other day was still fresh on her mind; his words echoed in her nightmares and branded itself to her insides. “Do not start, Aemond,” she rolled her eyes and waved her cup-bearing hand at him dismissively. “It is about time that you come to peace with my nature, just like I have come to peace with the fact that my name sounds a lot like ‘anus’. So in peace, in fact, that anal has become a speciality of mine–”

Aenys could sense his rise in outrage, but they weren’t alone in the small hall, so there was no room to react. Their entire family gathered around the table in anticipation of the King’s arrival so they could be seated for their family dinner. The first of its kind in many, many years.

Before Aemond could grip her arm and pull her into some dark alcove to berate her, the doors opened and four guards came in carrying their ailing father on a litter. Slowly and one by one, people took their spots at the table, not sitting until the King was situated at the center.

The small hall was painfully quiet, even when King Viserys spoke, declaring that it brought him joy to see all of them at the table as one. Alicent led the dinner with a prayer, and everyone in the table complied by clasping their hands, some bowing their heads, some closing their eyes. Aemond had done both, making Aenys roll her eyes instead of closing them. She didn’t even bother clasping her hands; there was no point. The gods hated her, she was a sinner most foul. There was little dignity in pretending otherwise.

After that, Viserys explained how the night was one of celebration, and went on to congratulate the betrothal of Jacaerys and Lucerys to their cousins and step siblings, Baela and Rheana.

As everyone raised their goblets for a toast, Aenys couldn’t help herself but lean into Jacaerys’ side, her features mockingly soft and considerate.

“Well done, Jace, you can finally put those skills I taught you to good use,” Aenys managed to keep her face straight when Baela sent her a sharp look. Jacaerys didn’t bother acknowledging her with a glance, instead he drank a generous helping of his wine, puckering his lips as he staved off the urge to make a sharp remark.

As Viserys congratulated Lucerys for his preservation of his title, (The Lord of the Tides! Here, here!) Aenys caught Aemond’s eye. He was heatedly staring at her over the rim of his goblet, his jaw taut with agitation. The knowledge that Aenys and Jacaerys had done little experiments with each other in their mid teens was an open secret, at least between the four of them. It was a fact that Aemond was openly not fond of, though Aenys didn’t entirely understand why. She and him weren’t betrothed at the time, and as far as she was aware, her brother resented both her and Jacaerys equally during that era in their life. What with them and Luke being the primary villains in his childhood.

Aenys turned back to Jacaerys, leaning against his chair by draping her arm on the back of it, crowding his space.

“You do remember how the act is done, right? At least in principle, seeing as we never got around to sticking your cock in–”

“Enough, cousin,” Baela whispered harshly from the other side of Jacaerys, who was already losing his temper.

“You can play the harlot if you wish, aunt, but hold your tongue before my betrothed,” Jace whispered, his words were more of a hiss as he braced himself on the edge of the table.

Aenys blinked at him and nodded, “Mhm. Whatever you say, my dear nephew.”

As she settled back into her chair, she felt fingers snake onto her knee and grip tightly. This brought her attention back to her husband, whose lips were pursed and his eye blazed with warning. Aenys merely smiled at him as if they were in wedded bliss, her hand reaching down to her knee to grab his, then pulling it up on the table, where she laced her fingers with his. The action earned her a little rumble from deep in his chest, and she half expected him to tear his hand out of her grip, but he didn’t.

He just looked away from her, eye trained on something (or someone) at the other end of the table. There was a twitch in the muscle under his injured eye, and in that moment she felt his fingers tighten around her own.

The sound of Viserys’ cane hitting the floor silenced the whispers around the table and garnered the attention of everyone in the room. The frail King rose from his seat, and everyone watched with bated breath and concern, as if he would topple over at his attempt.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world, yet grown so distant from each other in the years past,” Viserys paused as he slowly reached for the bronzed mask that hid half his face. Unbuckling the fastens, he let it fall onto the table. His right side exposed, the empty socket, the decayed flesh that lay underneath.

He was already half a corpse, half dead. It made Aenys’ breath hitch and her mind sober at the sight. She had never seen her father like this before; frail, weak, dying, his wounds displayed to them and yet stood above them all. Aenys only ever saw Viserys as a crippled man with no backbone, and eyes full of hate and disappointment when he looked in her direction. His most distasteful daughter.

“My own face… is no longer a handsome one… If it indeed ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just as the king, but your father, your brother, your husband, and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems... walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the house of the dragon remains divided. Set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man... who loves you all... so dearly.”

There was a palpable taste of shame, guilt, remorse, and heartbreak in the room. One that Aenys had to chase down with a drink from her cup. Unbeknownst to her own mind, her fingers had curled slightly around Aemond’s hand, which still remained in hers. Her eyes were settled on the table, but Aemond’s focus was their intertwined fingers, a deep, pensive look in his eye.

Soon after the King was back in his seat did Rhaenyra stand up with her goblet, declaring she was raising it for the Queen. She spoke of her loyalty to her father, and her devotion and love. Sentiments that Aenys found illinformed, knowing what she knew about her mother, knowing that she was no different than her estranged eldest daughter. If only Rhaenyra knew about Ser Criston…

But then Alicent spoke in kind, looking directly at the Crown Princess with soft eyes; eyes that Aenys had never seen when her mother ever looked in her direction.

“We are both mothers, and we love our children,” the statement stung like a band of hornets. Aenys pursed her lips and tore her attention off of the center of the table, feeling bile eat up her throat. She washed it down with more wine, making her cup empty.

As everyone toasted and silently resumed to their plates and idle chatter, Aenys turned towards the pitcher that sat between Baela and Jacaerys. Her mouth was parched and that bile wouldn’t go away. She found herself standing and unlatching her hand from Aemond’s as she strode around Jacaerys’ chair, making her way towards the pitcher. She could feel Aemond’s eye on her every move.

Clearing her throat, she gently squeezed between the two chairs so she could reach for the pitcher of wine. Once she got it in her grasp, she stood up and innocently began to pour it into her cup with her back facing the direction of their parents.

“I, um,” she started, tongue moving along her teeth as she addressed Baela directly. “I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But, if you two ever need a couple extra helping hands, all you have to do is ask–”

Jace’s fists slammed against the table as he stood, eyes piercing Aenys as she walked casually around him, innocent as ever as she returned to her seat. The Strong Prince’s heated onyx gaze watched her with pure hatred, his body vibrating with the need to yell, or worse. When all eyes were on him, looks of surprise or mute apprehension, Aemond slowly stood up, towering over him at his end of the table. Aenys simply looked around the table innocently, only briefly catching the knowing look from her grandsire.

Her husband’s eye was trained on Jacaerys, his stoic demeanor emanating an underlying threat; daring Jace to say something or do something. To give Aemond a reason.

Instead, Jace sucked in his lips and quickly swiped up his goblet. With a slight turn of his shoulders, he faced Aenys, a painfully forced smile on his plush lips as he gave her a little pat on her head.

With a deep inhale, he raised his cup, “To Prince Aemond and Princess Aenys… We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth.”

“Mmmhm,” Aenys hummed in her seat, her smirk tugging at the end of her lip. Aemond remained standing, but he took a split second to send her a withering look.

“And as men and women, I hope we may yet be friends and allies,” he raised his cup in their direction. “To the health of your young family, my dear uncle, and my sweet aunt.”

Jace sat back down, giving her a pat on the shoulder as he did. Not long after, Aemond finally settled back in his seat, looking a tad disappointed that he wasn’t given a reason to throw hands. As everyone raised their goblets to Jace’s toast, Aenys sighed and rolled her eyes. Her tongue was moving around in her mouth, the desperate need to say something in turn. It really didn’t take much time before she let the pettiness win, and soon it was now her time to rise from the table, full goblet in hand.

“I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena,” she began, a disingenuous smile stretched across her face that was instantly read by her family. Aside from her father, who looked like he was having trouble keeping his head up at that point. “You will be married soon, and I feel it is my duty as a member of the league of blissfully wedded women to impart some of my sage wisdom…” She trailed off, actively ignoring the glare from her mother, brother, and grandsire. “The key to a good marriage is communication and patience. And when you’re angry with each… lemons, loads of lemons,” Aenys ended her toast with a cheeky grin before she felt her sleeve get yanked by Aemond, forcing her to sit back down.

Daemon was the only person who chuckled at the table, catching her jest immediately. Everyone else either looked confused or conflicted on what to make of Aenys’ little toast.

With the tensions still thick, Viserys requested music to fill the void. Aenys felt Jacaerys shift in his seat, pushing back his chair to stand up. With a pompous air of superiority, he offered his hand to his soon-to-be bride, who looked up at him with equal levels of fondness and delight. Before Jace and Baela left the table, Aenys caught her nephew’s smugness as he shared a look with Aemond. When the couple walked around the table towards the open space to dance, Aemond’s eye found Aenys’ in turn, a silent dual recognition of Jace's intentions.

Despite her little toast, it was common knowledge that her marriage with Aemond was not the blissful one she had claimed. It was not a secret either that he rarely touches her, nor was it unknown that Aenys had a long string of lovers to compensate for the lack of physical affection. Jace asking Baela for a dance seemed innocent, but it very much wasn’t. What it was, was a statement: “We are better than you in every way.”

Aenys crossed her legs under the table as she nursed her wine. She was practically slumped against the chair as she watched the couple with poorly concealed contempt and jealousy. As time went on in a haze of music, soft laughter and chatter, the tension eased from all seated except for the young married couple at the far right end of the table. Neither of them touched their food the entire time.

From the corner of Aenys’ eye, she could see Daemon shift in his seat, as if he was going to get up. However, the anguished sigh of the King stopped him, as well as everyone else in the room. The tired and ailing King was carried out of the small hall on his litter, everyone stood and paused as they gave him their regard and respect. Not long after his departure, however, did the atmosphere shift.

Servants came through the doors a minute after, holding a large platter that was the bed of a roasted, sizzling pig. The large plate was carefully slid in front of both Aemond and Aenys. The former had been impassively staring at Jace and Baela still dancing, but the moment he heard giggling from the other end of the table, his head slowly turned towards the smirking boy, the one who made him half blind.

Aenys’ cup was halfway towards her lips when she noticed her husband’s look, and she immediately clocked the twitch in his cheek and the tightness of his jaw. She slowly placed her cup down back on the table, now that a real show was about to begin.

When Aemond’s fist landed in the wooden table, Aenys felt a spike of adrenaline shoot down her spine, straight down to her cunt.

“Final tribute.”

“Aemond, are you listening to me?!” Alicent shouted, her chest heaving as she stared at her son with wide disapproving eyes, marbled by the glossiness of her embarrassment over her son’s uncharacteristic and unprovoked confrontation at supper.

Aemond wasn’t listening to her, of course. It went in one ear and out the other. After Daemon had wedged himself between him and his nephews, with that smug-ass look on his face, Aemond strode out of the room and went straight to his quarters. His mind was reeling and his muscles were tense with adrenalin at what transpired that evening. Of course, he felt an immense amount of satisfaction for putting his nephews in their place, of reminding them who their competition was. But that wasn’t what plagued his mind, oh no.

It was Aenys.

She had been a pain in his ass the entire eve, from the moment she walked in, already well into her cups. Despite the tense argument they had the other day, Aenys still had no qualms flaunting her sexual deviances around like a badge of honour, in front of him no less. However, her taunting Jacaerys the way she did, making him and Baela squirm with just her words stirred something in him that evening. Of course, he abhorred the knowledge that Jace and his wife fooled around as young teens (back when Aenys was closer to him than she ever was with Aemond), it was simply the act of her using that as a weapon that Aemond couldn’t help but respect. Begrudgingly.

But it wasn’t just that. When Aemond’s final tribute took a violent turn, Aenys wasted no time in joining him. When Jace approached Aemond and raised his fist, Luke had approached to do the same thing.

It was very reminiscent of the night that Aemond lost his eye; they all gained up on him, and at the time he was alone. Aenys was somewhere with that male servant she had been flirting with at the funeral, likely getting her holes fingered. At the time, Aemond resented her for not being there with him. She was his older sister after all, and the closest blood he had aside from Helaena and Daeron who were both in Oldtown. Though he knew logically that Aenys couldn’t have possibly known that Aemond was even outside in the first place, claiming Vhagar. But still, it was the budding reason as to why he had pointed his finger at her when their father asked where he had heard the ‘lie’ about Rhaenyra’s children being bastards.

However at supper, when Luke strode to join Jacaerys’ assault, much like he had done that fateful night, Aenys was on him in an instant. With a strength he had absolutely no idea she possessed, she had grabbed onto Luke’s arm and pinned him on the table, hovering over him with a self-satisfied expression on her face. She enjoyed putting the Strong boys in their place as much as Aemond did, reminding them that they were the true Targaryens, the rightful heirs.

When Rhaena went to grab Aenys, she had no choice but to pull herself away from Luke in order to fend her cousin off. In doing so Luke twirled off the table, and raised his hand to grab Aenys by the back of her haid. Aemond’s heart spiked. Though, just as he was about to bound over there in quick strides, Aenys twirled around and landed a swift punch of her own to Luke’s left eye.

“Be lucky I wasn’t holding a dagger, you bastard,” Aenys spat in her nephew’s face and stepped over him, leaving him sprawled on the floor, clutching his bruised eye.

Aemond was staring at his wife with a wide eye and a hardening cock/ But before he could even grab her, Daemon had stepped between them all as guards scrambled to pull Rhaenyra’s brood away. The sight of his uncle immediately infuriated him, particularly the smug way he was looking back.

“Aemond,” Alicent’s word sliced through his reverie, and brought him back to the present. He turned to look at her, his face completely impassive. She was berating him for the past ten minutes or so, and he sat there in quiet, not bothering to respond.

He wasn’t listening, he didn’t care. He would have done it again and again and again, if it meant he could watch Aenys punch Luke over and over again.

“I cannot believe you, of all people, Aemond, would have said such things in front of everyone. After we had just established peace!”

“Peace?” Aemond repeats the word like it is the most vile thing he’s ever tasted. He stood up from his arm chair and sauntered over to his mother. “You lost the right to peace long ago when you told me that I was Rhaenyra’s challenge. When you and grandsire groomed me to be the future king, despite father’s steadfast decision of keeping Rhaenyra as his heir. You lost the right to peace when you married him in the first place, effectively creating a war when you gave him more children. And Rhaenyra lost the right to it when she opened her legs and sired bastards.”

“Aemond–” Alicent took a step forward, her face slowly cracking as she pleaded with him, but he put his hand up to stop her. His face was twisted in disgust.

“You said to her… That she would make a fine Queen. You said that to her, in front of me, mother,” Aemond pursed his lips and gritted his jaw as he turned away from Alicent. “After all you’ve told me… After years of preparing me for the throne, telling me how I would make my ancestors proud. Did you believe any of it, or were you just stroking your own ambition?”

Alicent gaped at him, her brown eyes wide and glossy. The truth of his words bit her like the chill of a winter breeze, causing her to freeze over in the consequences of her sins.

When Aemond saw that she was not going to answer, his nostrils flared and he sharply turned away from her. His long, heavy steps ate up the floor within seconds until he’s reaching for the door.

“Wher-where are you going?” She questioned, turning to him with a flash of fear crossing her features, as if she suspects him of doing something heinous.

Aemond hesitated, his fingers flexing around the handle of the door, his shoulders taut and the muscles in his cheek twitching under the strength of his gritted jaw.

“To my wife.”

When Aemond barged into Aenys’ quarters for the second time that week, she was sitting on a settee with her maidservant straddling her lap. Aenys was sucking on the girl’s perky nipple while her hand was buried under her skirts, knuckles deep in the servant’s cunt.

When the maid turned to see who had entered, her eyes widened to saucers and she immediately pulled herself off of the Princess’s lap (much to Aenys’ chagrin), releasing her nipple from her mouth with an obscene popping sound.

“What the hells, Aemond,” the Princess growled.

Aemond ignored her statement. As the maid scrambled to fix her bodice, he jutted his thumb towards the exit, “Out.” With barely a nod and a curtsy, the maid scrambled out, still lacing up her bodice.

Aenys glared up at him as she slumped in her seat, her face was flushed (from drink or from the activities that were interrupted), and the laces of her bodice were loosened, threatening to release her breasts.

“Way to be a cock block, husband,” Aenys huffed when the door slammed shut. She stood up then, her hands thrown in the air in exasperation. “What do you even– Aemond!”

He had grabbed her waist, lifting her with ease as he tossed her over his shoulder. Aemond took wide strides towards her bedchamber and once there, he tossed Aenys onto the bed, kicking the door behind him closed.

Aenys stared up at him, wide eyed, gobsmacked, and utterly confused. Her plush, swollen lips were parted, her hair was in a disarray around her face as she sat propped on her elbows.

“Wh-what are you–” Her eyes traveled to his hands, where he was unbuckling his belt and scabbard, his one lilac eye trained on her like she was a rabbit and he the fox.

“Reminding you that you’re my wife,” He said the last word with a growl as he jerked off his belt in one swing. Aenys’ eyes flashed with excitement and alarm at his words, his hands, and the hungry look upon him.

“I-I thought… I was merely a duty,” she swallowed thickly as she moved further into the cushions, crawling backwards on her elbows as he slowly approached the edge of the bed. Aemond put his knee into the mattress, his large hands bracing themselves on either side of her knees as he crawled over her body. “A duty you already fulfilled.”

Aemond hummed, his expression nearly unreadable. His eye was dark with the blackness of his wide pupil as he carefully examined her body and her face.

“I was mistaken,” he finally said, his voice low but dangerous. “My duty won’t be fulfilled until this castle is teaming with our progeny.”

A shock of arousal goes down her spine, punctuated by how he grabs the laces of her bodice at the front and yanks so violently that the seams rip off her dress. She gasped, looking down in both horror and fascination as Aemond proceeded to rip her dress in half from the neckline down, leaving her in nothing but the shift underneath.

Aemond drank the image of her body, just visible underneath the thin muslin material of her shift. The image of her punching Luke replayed in his mind’s eye over and over again. The way she stood there with her chest heaving, the turn of her little waistline, the shape of her pear shaped hips and thighs. Her ass. Fuck, her ass.

His hands gripped her hips and tossed her on her stomach, withdrawing a gasp and yelp at the rough and sudden movement. Aemond was quick to tear off the rest of the torn dress from her, snaking her arms out of it and tossing it aside. Then he pulled her hips up towards him, and Aenys was quick to assume the position.

This was how they always coupled; with her face buried in the pillows, her ass up for him as he bred her like a bitch in heat. He told himself that the reason he chose that position was because he did not want to see her face when he released his spend in her. That their coupling was solely for the purposes of procreation, and seeing her face would simply soften his cock. But, no, that wasn’t it at all… The truth of it was that Aemond absolutely loved Aenys’ ass. And what’s more, it even seemed to get bigger when she became a mother.

Aenys’ eyes fluttered closed when she felt his fingers slowly run up her thighs, pushing up the fabric of her shift, exposing her rear to him. She was so fucking wet, so needy, she could feel her walls clenching around nothing in eager anticipation. It originated, of course, during her budding tryst with her maid, but it was amplified the moment Aemond grabbed her.

Gods, how she hungered for his touch. He cruelly deprived her of it for years and years, forcing her to seek it in others, only to find shallow fulfillment. Aenys had no idea what got into him that evening, but she wasn’t complaining. Mayhaps it was the supper, the adrenalin rush of what conspired. Even she would concede watching Aemond dominate a room with a simple toast had riled her up. Had she known her husband had similar sentiments, she would have fucked him right then and there, in front of their entire fucking family.

Aenys let out a whimper of anticipation, waiting for the sounds of his laces to be undone so he could sink into her impatient core. It wasn’t coming. All she could feel was the heat of his body, the gentle brush of his breath on her exposed skin, and the searing brand of his stare. Aenys moved her hips closer to him, coaxing him to take her, to fuck another son into her.

“Aemond,” She sounded so pathetic, so needy.

Aemond hummed, a little bit amused by her reaction to him. The end of his lip curled in a devious little smirk. “Tell me, wife, are you always this impatient with your lovers?” He punctuated his question as he leaned over her and grounded his clothed hips against her rear, his hardened length painfully evident.

A small gasp escaped her parted lips, “N-no–”

“No?” His voice was a quiet rumble, one hand gripping her hip as he grinded against her ass, and the other was planted on the mattress to keep himself steady. “An wanton whore like you? I am surprised, Aenys.”

“They’re… They’re not–” She softly moaned when his fingers slid down the slope of her spine.

“They’re not what?” Aemond’s voice was low and rough and so close to her that it sent vibrations down her ear canal.

“Not you.”

Aemond paused his grinding when she said that, his eye watching her closely as if he was processing this confession. Finally, he hummed, his smirk returning, “No, they are not.”

He pulled away from her, both hands finding the globes of her ass and pulling them apart so he could see her puckered hole and the sheen of her wet core. “How many men have been inside these, I wonder…” His thumb inches deftly close to her hole, recalling the comment she made earlier that evening about how anal had become her ‘speciality’. Aemond decided he would have her prove that statement, but not right now.

“Hells, Aemond, please, just fucking touch– Ah!” She yelped sharply and jerked forward when he slapped her ass. He was then quick to rub the area he had struck; she could have sworn she heard him chuckle softly as he did.

“Whores do not make demands,” Aemond gripped her hips again and pulled her flush against his thighs, then he reached over and gripped the scruff of her hair at the back of her head. His fingers curled at the roots as he pulled her back, arching her painfully. “You want me to touch you, sweet sister? You want me inside of you again, hm?”

Aenys’ face was twisted in pain and pleasure. Her mouth was hanging open and her eyes were shut as she endured the uncomfortable position he was bending her in.

“Yes, yes, fuckin’ hells, Aemond,” her plea was laced with budding frustration. She could feel her thighs tremble from not only the position, but from the sheer eagerness for him.

“Then you will renew your vows right here, right now,” his grip tightened on her hair, making her whimper again. “You belong to me, and only me. Say it, Aenys.”

“I-I,” she struggled to speak as her neck craned back. “I belong t-to you, Aemond.”

“You will take no other lovers.”

“I will take no other lovers,” she echoed his words without hesitation.

“Your body will belong to me, and only me.”

“Only you, Aemond, my body belongs to you, please–please– Ee-ah!” Her mouth widened as she let out a loud whimper when he bucked his hips into her behind.

“And why is that, sister? Why do you belong to me?” His nose hovered next to her ear, the waft of his hot breath making her eyes flutter.

“Because—Because I’m–I’m your wife. ‘Nd- And I’m your-your property,” her tongue darted to wet her drying lips.

Aemond’s eye shut, his head leaned back as a rumbly moan reverberated in his chest. Hearing Aenys say those words gave him the same feeling he had when he claimed Vhagar. A lightness bloomed in his belly, warm like the sun as it pooled into the veins of his cock, making him harder than he already was.

He claimed the unclaimable mount; Aenys, the wild dragon of King’s Landing.

Incapable of waiting any longer, Aemond lets go of Aenys’ hair, making her collapse back on the bed with a strangled sigh. Soon after his hands were around her waist, sharply flipping her over again, and gripping the front of her shift and tearing the fabric open much like the dress before it. The shift was shredded in seconds, exposing her completely before him, looking like a gods damn feast, and it was all for him.

Aemond’s eye settled on her core, the tufts of ivory curls glistening with her essence. He felt his mouth water at the sight.

Aenys was breathing hard, her back aching from being bent in half a moment ago. But that didn’t matter, her mind was reeling with desire and her limbs felt like they were worming around slowly, involuntarily, like a coiling snake. Despite her needy state, she couldn’t help but comment about her shredded attire.

“Are you going to make it a habit to rip up all my clothing, Aemond?”

Aemond’s heated gaze shifted from her core up to her face, “If it keeps you like this for me, yes.”

Before she could respond, his arms are wrapping around her thighs and he’s dropping on his stomach, pulling her sex towards his face. Aenys’ eyes bulge open as he buries his face into her nest of curls. Aemond did not gift her a second to compute what was happening, because he was immediately devouring her with relentless vigor.

“OOooh, fucking hells, AEMOND!”

His tongue was lapping up her pearl like he was trying to slurp it up from an oyster. Then brought up his fingers to join, delving into her folds, curling into that spongy spot hidden within her. Aemond was relentless in his speed and force, putting his wife into a frenzy of torturous pleasure. Aenys’ thighs were jerking and trembling uncontrollably, forcing Aemond to hold them down so he could continue his assault on her cunt unimpeded. But the stimulation was virtually agonizing, making Aenys writhe and kick her legs, her pleas for him to slow down were almost incomprehensible.

“A-a-a-aemon-mon– fuck-f-fufufuck, s-sto-p—” But his lips wrapped around her pearl and he started to suckle on it. Her hips sharply buckled into him, as a long guttural moan vibrated her lungs.

“F-f-f-f-fuck, ‘m gonna-’m gonna—”

And just when she was going to reach that blinding peak, the fucker pulls away. Aenys falls into a heap on the mattress, her muscles release its tension, but her loins are tightly wound up and flushed pink from Aemond’s last meal.

When Aenys looks up with bleary eyes, a furrowed brow, and panting breaths, she sees Aemond put his fingers into his mouth, sucking off her juices from his digits. He’s still looking at her like he hasn’t eaten a damn thing all day.

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” She questioned through her rapid breathing, her heart thrumming wildly in her chest.

“Do you really want me to stop just to answer that question?”

There was no deliberation, “No.”

“Good.”

Aemond stands at the foot of the bed, starting to unbuckle his jerkin. Aenys is quick to scoot to the edge of the bed to help him unlace his breeches. Within several seconds, Aemond was just as bare as her, all except for his eyepatch. Though that wouldn’t last for long.

Aenys got on her knees on top of the bed, making her almost eye level with him. Aemond watched her unblinkingly as she raised her fingers to touch the side of his face, following the scar until her nail hit the eyepatch. She took it off with a surprising amount of tenderness, being that it was the first time he had ever let her near his injured eye.

Aenys' eyes started to gloss over as she really took in the sight. To finally see the carnage up close, the gnarled skin, the scar slicing down the middle, pink at the ridges. His damaged eyelids fluttered at the feeling of her fingers ghosting around it. Suddenly the weight of the past came flooding back to her; the guilt clawing up her throat. She should have been there for him when it happened, she should have been there to protect her little brother. Aenys opened her mouth to say something, but before she could let out a noise, Aemond took the hand that was on his cheek and placed a kiss on the palm, a gesture of forgiveness.

“We will make them pay, Aemond,” her tone was soft, but the threat was laced in a venomous promise.

Something flashed in Aemond’s eye. A spark of fire that reflected the one in Aenys’ violet orbs. With a low growl, Aemond grasped the front of her neck like she was a goblet of fine Arbor Red and pulled her into a devouring kiss, as possessive as it was searing. This was the first time the two of them kissed since their wedding.

In a flurry of limbs and a ballad of moans and groans, Aenys and Aemond grasped, grabbed and fought each other as they both tried to fill the dominant role, all the while keeping their lips glued together. Aenys' legs wrapped around his middle, Aemond’s were holding her thighs from underneath as they rolled and bumped around the room, hitting every surface they could find, colliding into things and causing stuff to crash and break on the floor.

Aemond’s cock was pressed against her cunt, twitching and leaking and eager to be inside of her. The blunt tip would brush against her pearl every once in a while in their clumsy wrestling, making her whine and then growl in frustration. Before too long, their bodies were entangled on the bed again, as Aenys tried to fight for her position to be on top. However, in the process of that, the two of them went tumbling onto the floor, with Aemond hovering over her body and Aenys laying flat on her belly.

Groaning, Aenys pushed herself on her knees, giving Aemond ample opportunity to grab onto her hips and pull her against him. With his cock nestled between her thighs, he stood on his knees, gripping the hair at the back of her head and pulling her flush against his torso. In front of them stood her floor length mirror, the display presented to them was lewd, humiliating and insanely arousing.

Aemond stared at her reflection, his eye blackened by his pupil. He peered over her shoulder as one arm wrapped around her waist and the other pulled her hair back, craning her neck. Aenys had no choice but to balance on the balls of her feet, her legs straddling his as he sat on his knees. Aemond’s curved cock pressing against the slit of her mound, brushing against her pearl when it twitched.

The arm that was wrapped around her middle slowly moved down until his palm reached her mons. A long finger dipped through her curls until he found her abused nub, instantly sending her thighs into a tremble. Unlike earlier, his ministrations were slower, building her high back up at a steadfast pace. Aenys' hips rotated against his hand, her whines gentle, but the sweat on the back of her neck and brow showed her desperation for release.

“Look at yourself, sweet sister,” Aemond purred into her ear, the vocal fry of his tone sending a shiver down her spine. “So desperate for me and only me. I always wondered, Aenys: is it my cock you imagine when you fuck your lovers? Do you close your eyes and imagine it is my body pressed against yours?”

Aenys was panting desperately, a soft mewl on her lips when she nodded.

“Use your words, darling, or I’ll stop.”

She groaned in annoyance, knowing she had no choice but to comply. With his cock hot against her slit, she couldn’t take the waiting any longer.

“Y-yes,” she finally admitted begrudgingly through her clenched teeth. Both of her hands were grasping his forearm, the one wrapped around her, the one whose hand was massaging her pearl. “Yes, Aemond, I– I crave you so fucking much, it drives me insane. Aemond, please–please–”

Aemond chuckled into her ear, his grin of self-satisfaction looking like a wolf about to devour the doe he had been trying to chase down for days.

“Oh, Aenys,” he nuzzles his nose into her hair, next to the shell of her ear, “I’m going to make sure the whole damn Kingdom knows who you belong to. There won’t be a year in your life where you won't be carrying my child.”

Aenys' eyelids fluttered at his statement, the heat pooling down to her cunt like a rush of lava. Aemond uses both his hands to grip her thighs, forcing her to squat above him, letting the blunt tip of his cock align with her sex. With one of his hands, he moves it along the sopping wet folds, brushing against her sore pearl before finding the entrance below. His mouth pops open as he slowly pushes her hips down, spearing his cock into her until he reaches the hilt.

Aenys threw her head back into his shoulder and Aemond buried his face into the crook of her neck, a guttural groan emitting from his throat. Her warmth enveloped him like nothing else he’s ever found before. Not Sylvi, not the random whores he endured when Sylvi was not available. Aenys' cunt fit him perfectly, like she was made for him, and yet still hugged around his girth in a velvety vice. And when her walls fluttered around him, Aemond nearly collapsed into her back, a grumbly sigh of satisfaction filtering through his lips.

He feels his wife grinding her hips against his, her mewls of pleasure tickling the inside of his ears tantalizingly. Regaining his composure, Aemond straightened up and wrapped his arm around her, gripping her hip with one hand, and using the other to grasp onto her left breast. With his calloused fingers, he pinched and pulled at her over sensitive nipples while he made sharp and short thrusts into her, effectively having her bounce on his cock.

Aenys softly mewled and squirmed in his grasp, trying to match his thrusts with the backing up of her hips. Her hair pooled over her left shoulder, while Aemond hovered over her right. They were watching each other through the mirror, mouths hanging open as they devoured each other with their gazes. Panting, gasps, and gentle moans filled the room, making the air sticky and hot. Aenys suddenly gave a loud whine when he tugged on her nipple, causing Aemond to nearly pause his thrusts when he felt a lukewarm liquid on his fingertips.

Aemond blinked in surprise when he looked down and saw the milk leaking from her nipple. He only had to process it for a few short seconds before he turned absolutely feral. In a flash of movements, Aenys was suddenly hoisted up and turned around, and Aemond was perched on the edge of the bed now. In a quick motion, he wasted no time in slotting back into her like a sword swiftly sheathing into a scabbard. Her head snapped backward as her mouth gaped widely open to let out a loud grunt of pain and pleasure, thanks to Aemond’s cock punching against her cervix.

Her husband gripped the curve of her rear in both hands, fingers digging into the meat as he spread open her cheeks, his middle finger rubbing against the puckered entrance there. His head dipped to her chest and quickly captured her nipple between his lips, and immediately Aenys could feel the sensation of milk leaving her. The tension of her sore breast was immediately relieved as Aemond nursed her; a feeling that was elevated as he pistoned into her still, his grip on her ass making her hips grind against his length, and the curve of his cock to rub against her the sensitive spot inside of her over and over again.

“Oh, gods, Aemond–” Her head tilted back, her spine rigid with the steady stream of pleasurable sensations he was gifting her.

He moaned in response against her tit, his fingers tightening into the flesh of her plush rear. The taste of her mother’s milk on his palette was absolutely heavenly; she tasted so sweet, so warm, and the texture felt like liquid silk. Coupled with the fluttering of her walls around his cock, Aemond could already feel his balls tighten and the base of his spine tingle. His release was near, and based on the increase of her whines as she bounced on him, so was she.

Reluctantly, Aemond pulled away from her breast and looked up at her, his sister, his wife, his Aenys. She looked down at him with parted lips, swollen and flushed with desire, her pupils blown wide and tears forming at the corners. Her hands moved from his shoulders to cup the arch of his jawline, bringing him close to her until their noses bumped and they were breathing each other’s oxygen through their panting parted lips. “Aenys,” her name fell from his lips like a plea, a stark contrast to the dominant commands he had given her the past hour or so.

“Aemond,” she replied, her voice light as she felt the rise of her impending orgasm, punctuated by the flutter of her cunt. Aemond’s curved cock was relentless in his thrusts, bullying the spongy part inside of her that sent electric thrills throughout her core. It wouldn’t be too long before she is sent hurtling through all seven heavens.

His grip on her ass tightened, his thrusts became more erratic and the creases in his brow deepened. Aemond gritted his teeth and shut his eye as his growls and groans built up higher and higher. He was reaching such heights he had never experienced before. Though it was like his body knew to wait, until the precise perfect moment, because he didn’t reach his peak until his wife did. Aenys' walls clenched around his girth like a python’s grip, her hands curled into his hair as she sharply gasped and moaned, long and primal. Aemond watched with wide-eyed fascination as her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

With a few more erratic thrusts up into her, Aemond’s hips stuttered and he gripped tightly onto her. His nose was buried into her neck as he pulled her flushed into him, stilling her movements so he would not get overstimulated. Her name was a gospel of sin and love and longing, sounding guttural and animalistic coming out through his teeth. Ropes of his seed filled her, painting her walls over and over again, filling her awaiting womb.

Their combined orgasms sent spasms through their limbs, prolonging the pleasure for a few more moments before their muscles loosened and they were left panting on the edge of the bed. Aenys could already feel their combined releases trail down her canal, collecting around the base of his cock and dampening her thighs.

Feeling utterly spent, Aemond collapsed backwards, bringing her down with him. His softening cock remained inside of her, not willing to release it from the hot velvety embrace. He instead kept his hand splayed on her back while she rested her ear on his heart, both of them panting and silent in the afterglow of their love making.

Slowly their breathing eased. When they were able to breathe through their noses, Aemond broke the silence, his voice was rough and coarse, yet uncharacteristically tentative.

“Aenys–” He cleared his throat, his large hand caressing her spine in small circles. “I-I–”

“Shh,” she gently hushed him. Lifting her heavy head, she looked up at him with soft and sober eyes. “I know, brother. I know…”

The words known, but unspoken hung in the air between them. As she and Aemond stared at each other, Aenys couldn't help but feel whole for the first time in her life.

She felt worthy.

She felt loved.

Notes: Criticisms are always welcome, but if your only criticism is that dared to make a gender bent character, I'm going to respectfully delete/ignore it. This story came out more tragic than I intended, but eh. I realized while I was writing it that Fem!Aegon would have been in a worse position as a woman, and I decided to explore how she would've been treated had she retained the same personality as canon Aegon. Anyway, hope it was worth the wait, and the long read. The smut itself was over 4k words, lol. Go big or go home, ammirite?

Important: The characters in this one shot do not belong to me, but to GRRM and HBO. Everything written in this short story is written by me, with out the aid of an AI. This is a fanfiction, and therefore free content. Please do not re-post, re-distribute, or translate without my permission. Doing so will be an act of plagiarism, even if you credit me. The only other place this story is posted on, is on my Ao3, under the same username.

Tag List: @aramiv , @aegonisdrunk, @helaegonlover, @startledmonster

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