#her brother was NOT taken by her mother for the rest of them to be taken by their dad😍😍

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. XIV

chapter fourteen

tags: @hueanhdang @beebeechaos @emery-aka-emmy @r-3dlips @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @purple-1995 @littleblackcatinwonderland @fall-winter-heart97 @mandeepandee1997 @pedro-pascal-love @thelastemzy @reyndaisy @saintkittykat @theadharablack @thatkindofgurl @alexandra-001 @itsaslaminak @iv7867

After being 'haunted', as Cregan might have called it, Daenys was throughly disoriented throughout the rest of the night. Taken back to her chambers and held in Cregan's protective embrace, she told him of what she saw.

Frowning, he could only offer her words of his Northern wisdom. "Your brother wouldn't blame you for that. Nor the Princess or young Prince." He said, soothing a piece of hair behind her ear.

In the dim light, she looked up at his porcelain features. The white light of the moon made him look statuesque, with only small scars along his face disrupting the smoothness of his skin. The largest being the one across his chin, from the fall he took as a boy. Delicately, she traced over them, then to the faint freckles dotting the apples of his cheeks.

Finally, she nodded. "Mayhaps he would not. That doesn't change the fact that it is true. If I had flown down to Storm's End that night...Aemond wouldn't have killed Lucerys."

Cregan lifted a straight brow, "how could you know that? He might have simply taken you both, to spite the Queen by taking two of her children."

She shook her head, "I don't believe he killed Luke to spite my mother. He must have known Luke would be sent to the closest place to find an ally, just as he was. Years ago, when Luke took his eye, he became a completely different person. Because of Vhagar or his eye, I do not know." She sighed.

"Anyone with a dragon is dangerous—intentions be damned."

Daenys smiled shortly, huffing a laugh. "Am I so dangerous to you?"

Cregan matched her smile, running a thumb over her cheek. "Indeed, the fierce dragon of the South, who rides the Lightbringer. A fearsome sight." He paused, "I would hate for you to face Vhagar again. I have only heard tales of her size and ferocity, but I can only imagine given the sight of Caraxes and Morningstar."

Tensely, she nodded. "As big as Harrenhall itself, perhaps. Or Dragonstone, I do not quite know. If I had gone alone, I would not be here now."

"The same goes for the incident at Storm's End. You would have only suffered the same fate as Lucerys." It was a brutally honest thing to say, but perhaps it was what she needed to hear.

Daenys hesitated slightly, "I could have talked to my uncle. It was only the night before that he proposed to join our families in union. If I had offered him something greater than revenge..." She trailed off, looking away from his eyes.

"You're not a bartering object, Daenys. Even if you had offered your hand—you couldn't have wed in this time of war. He knows that. You'd be a prisoner under the Red Keep or dead below the depths of the sea." Cregan sternly told her.

"You asked for my hand in exchange for 4,000 fighting men. Is that not a barter?" She asked in a hushed whisper.

He stilled, shifting away slightly from her as if sobering up. His face changed between various expressions: confusion, guilt, and another she couldn't quite capture. "I am sorry for that." Cregan murmured. "It wasn't my intention to make you feel like an object, something to be coveted and traded. You are the furthest from it. I treasure you in my heart, and I always will." He took both of her hands in his, kissing her wrists in a display of apology.

"It is too late to recind our betrothal. The North does not forget. They would be furious with the Crown if I wed another. But—If you wish it, you can have your choice of lover after we are wed."

She tensed, brows furrowed together angrily. Does he not understand that is not possible for a woman? Men may do so as they please, fuck a million whores and father a hundred bastards with no consequence. She would be the one carrying the heirs to Winterfell, not him. Her mother did the very same thing, taking on a paramore for her marriage with Laenor. Rhaenyra suffered for it then, and has her claim to the throne weakened now because of it. For him to ask that of her, knowing it was impossible, was frustrating.

For him to doubt her loyalty was appalling.

"I would not." She grit out, pulling her wrists away. He was so intent on allowing her freedoms within their future marriage, without acknowleding that there was no freedom to be had in a marriage for her. An offer of peace, he intended, to soothe her fears and worries.

His words only served to complicate her feelings more. Daenys returned the sentiments he had spoken to her back on top of The Wall, some weeks ago.

Daenys forced the tense thought from her head. Cregan wasn't the target of her anger. He never was. Taking it out on him would be cruel.

She started, "I am not regretful of our engagement, Cregan." The honest truth. "I wish it had been in different circumstances, perhaps, but I..."

The hopeful look in his eyes returned, reminding Daenys of a kicked pup. "You...?" He trailed, offering her a start.

She shook her head, unable to find words to place her emotions. She never could, it seemed. Not in the way Cregan so easily could. No grand confessions of love and affection nor comfort could be provided from her. Her heart felt heavy at his downtrodded look as he nodded in acceptance.

Instead, he settled back into the sheets, allowing her space to do so too. Further apart now, the air felt tense with unspoken words and misunderstanding. Daenys wished to balm the wound she had given Cregan so cruelly, but found her throat tight and tongue unmoving.

Cregan, deep in his thoughts, could only think of the first day he had seen the dragon Princess. She had the exact look she wore now, filled with a sense of longing and loneliness.

🗡

Cregan, one and ten at the time, had been ecstatic at the offer his father gave him to visit King's Landing. As any important Lord, it was Rickon's duty to occasionally make appearances in formal events at least every few years. The last visit had been over ten years ago, when Rhaenyra Targaryen was named heir to the Iron Throne by the King Viserys.

The reason for celebration: Rhaenyra Targaryen's eldest daughter's nameday. Daenys Velayron, the young girl who had many rumors attached to her name. Some called her a dragon dreamer, like her ancestor Daenys Targaryen. Others called her mad, or a witch, telling of screams that kept the Red Keep awake for fortnites at a time. Cregan was intrigued by the girl, curious as to what or who she truly was. Perhaps she was like his father, who was able to warg into his companion falcon. Many in the Stark line could, Rickon had told him once, and perhaps more than just their line that they were unaware of. Thinking on it further, his father was never scared or in pain when he warged, so perhaps not.

Now, Rickon decided it was a fine time to head South once more to formally present his oldest son to court. And perhaps, to show the young man the true ways of the Southerners and the snake pit that was the Crownlands. Any Lord needed to know how to navigate such tidings, even if visits were few and far between.

It was months travel on the King's Road, though Cregan didn't mind. He enjoyed the ride on his horse, Red, an eighth nameday gift from his Lord father. He had heartily chuckled when Cregan told him the foal's name, commenting that if his son continued with such a simple name streak, his children might one day be called 'Boy' or 'Girl' to follow suit. Though Cregan blushed, he remained steadfast in his choice of name. To this day, Red remained a reliable steed.

Along the way, they had passed a massive stone structure with ornate pillars in the front.

Welcomed through King's Landing's gates, Cregan was in awe of the differences between the capitol and the Northern keeps. The architecture, the peoples' apparel, the accents. It was all so overwhelming for the young boy, who had never been so far from home.

The heat did not help. Cregan found himself sweating through his tunic, face shining with sweat that he was unused to dealing with besides in the training yard. Winterfell had its moments of warmth, during the peaks of summer moons, though it never got hot enough like King's Landing apparently did.

He had no clue how these citizens faired in such weather their entire lives. He wished for the coolness of a stone floor—or even a damp field of grass. Why couldn't the Princess have been born in winter? It was only spring, yet the sun shined as if it never turned from the Crownlands.

Turning to his father, Cregan asked. "Is that the Red Keep?" In a hushed tone.

Rickon laughed, shaking his head. "That is the Dragonpit. All of the Targaryens' dragons lie there now, in the depths."

Shivering at the thought, despite the warm weather, Cregan was both scared and intrigued at the thought of witnessing a real dragon.

Guided by the steady hand of his father, Cregan was led through crowds to the stairs of the onlooker stands of the arena.

They were able to sit beside many other high Lords and Ladies, none recognizable by Cregan. Rickon shared curtious greetings with a few before sitting by his son. The other side of the stands, past the dirt field that the joust would be held in, was filled with citizens of King's Landing.

Leaning forward on the edge of his seat, he glanced at the royal box. Shaded and decorated by many colorful flowers, servants rushed around before the event started to fill cups and ensure the comfort of the royal family.

He wriggled around in his seat, craning his neck to try and look past the rushing people. Was the Targaryens' hair truly silver, like people said? With eyes as purple as violets? Gasping, he caught a glimpse at a tall woman surrounded by two brown-haired boys fluttering about in front of her. The woman had shiny silver hair, like the tales said, and a flawless, smooth face like a statue.

The boys in front of her must be Jacaerys and Lucerys Velayron, her sons. The only two of the royal family to have brown hair. Rhaenyra Targaryen, he knew now. 'The Realm's Delight' she was named years ago, which Cregan thought did not do her enough justice for her great beauty.

Announcers called for the first joust to commence, great trumpets almost bursting his eardrums from how loud they were. Out, on a silver mare, rode a handsome man with tan skin and pure white hair. Glancing at the royal stand and guaging the cheers, he could attach the name Laenor Velayron to the man. Another one stood beside Rhaenyra, quietly clapping though not cheering like the boys were. Ser Laenor's competitor rode in on the opposite side, though he maid his name and House little mind.

The girl had silver hair and pale skin, an image of her mother. Daenys Velayron. The one who's nameday was being celebrated. She looked embarrassed to be standing and clapping, knowing hundreds if not thousands of eyes were right on her as she did.

The other tales must be true, too, Cregan grimaced. Bastard princes, the realm whispered when the two were born with curly locks of brown hair. Daenys, too, could hardly escape the allegations, looking too much like her mother and not anything like her father. He sympathized with their struggles, knowing how his sister Sara struggled with finding friends and allies in her own home beyond just her family.

Rickon nudged him to pay attention as the joust commenced, telling his son that it was rude to stare. He nodded eagarly, sitting up to watch the joust.

Though Ser Laenor had won, Cregan found himself bored immediately by the event. Throwing men from their horses with sticks, not the most appealing sport to a young boy who grew bored so easily. He slipped off, telling his father that he needed to relieve himself before running down the stairs.

Glancing at the royal box, he found that the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra was missing, though Rhaenyra didn't seem to have a worried expression at all, as if it were normal for the nameday girl to be missing at her own celebration. Shrugging it off, he continued on his way.

He wished to explore the Red Keep while he had the chance. From the arena, the great fabled Red Keep of King's Landing could be spotted. It was close, just a quick walk and he'd be back before his father could be suspicious.

Bumping into something, he immediately stammered out an apology to the offended person. Finding it to be a young lady, perhaps a few years his elder, he flushed in embarrassment. The girl was a picture of beauty, with tan skin and perfect curly black hair framing her brown eyes. She looked at Cregan with an annoyed but uninterested corner-eye glance, turning back to her two friends beside her.

"Oh! Are you okay, Lady Tyrell?" The red-headed one fussed, presumably her lady-in-waiting.

"I'm fine, Lyra." Lady Tyrell sighed before turning to Cregan with a spark in her eye.

He nearly flinched at the intensity, though he recovered quickly. "My apologies, my Lady. I did not mean to run into you like that." He bowed his head slightly in sincere apology. The last thing he intended was to offend a Lady.

Lady Tyrell giggled before covering her mouth quickly to cut herself off. She hummed, nodding along with a widened smile. "Pray tell, my Lord, where are you from? I've never heard such a unique accent." She said demurely, clasping her hands in front of her with her folded fan.

He glanced between them all, unaware of their shared looks. To him, she was the one with an accent. Though, not an unpleasant one. "The North, my Lady." He answered simply.

The blonde one next to the redhead giggled in turn. Whispering to the Tyrell in a not-so-hushed tone. "The Nawrth, my Lady." She repeated in her ear. Lady Tyrell quickly swatted her away, though bit the inside of her cheek to prevent a laugh.

"What's your name?" She asked, keen eyes watching like a hawk.

"Cregan Stark."

"Cruh-gun?" She awkwardly pronounced, looking to her entourage coyly. "I've never heard that. Must be a Northern name." Lady Tyrell pronounced the 'Northern' in her sentence the same way Cregan had previously, earning a sharp giggle from her friends.

He could only watch on, utterly bemused by the interaction. Did he say it wrong? Perhaps she did not hear his name right.

"So, you are a Stark, then? I've always heard they were tall. And pale. Long face, tall nose, and my, are you sick?" She asked, concern dripping in her honey-sweet tone as she leaned close to him and felt his cheeks and forehead with the back of her hand.

Confused, Cregan shook his head. "No? I feel just fine." He slightly leaned back, unused to a stranger in his space so carelessly.

Lady Tyrell tutted, shaking her head like a worn mother. "I think you are. Poor thing, all skin and bone forced to live in a desolate snowstorm like Winterfell. You must be sick, with that color missing from your skin, its all gone to your cheeks. My mother says that is what happens when one is sick." She nodded to herself, sure of her own words.

Cregan hesitated. He felt fine, of course. Perhaps Southern sickness had gotten to him in the days he had stayed in various inns. Were there different illnesses for different lands? True, he was thin and gangly now, growing much faster than other youth his age, but his father assured him that he was the same way as a boy, and he grew to fill out his frame naturally.

"I—Yes, thank you. I must be off now, my father is waiting for me." Flustered, he rushed off on his original path, hearing the unfiltered laughs fill the space behind him. Finally, he made it to the stairs of the Red Keep, surprisingly unguarded as the doors were left open so that servants could easily flit in and out of the courtyard and keep. Trays of food and caskets of wine filled busy hands that passed Cregan, none sparing him an eye as a feast was prepared for after the tourney.

Carefully, he slipped by each of them to not disturb their duties. The ceilings were hung high, Cregan having to turn his neck at an uncomfortable angle just to gawk at them. Pillars rose from floor to roof, and stone carried his feet as he walked to the throne room. The doors were wide open, and the Iron Throne stood menacing at the end of the room. His steps echoed as he strided in, though did not dare get too close. If anyone saw him, he may be accused of trying to sit the throne himself.

Cregan moved on fast, hoping that no one saw him. A long winding hall was his next curious trail, each passing window overlooking a new view. From the height of the castle, he could see crowds of people flocking below, noble and common alike. At the corner of a hall, a room opened up before the turn. Peeking his head in, he found it to be a small nooked library. Perhaps a lounge room, hence the pillows and low tables on the floor. On the windowsil, another cushion sat on a flat and long bar. The Princess, Daenys, sat atop it.

From afar, Cregan could not notice such details that Targaryens held. Now he could, with such a short distance between them. The silver hair was silky, yes, but also held a satisfying curl to it even though most of it was held in intricate braids. Pink pearls lined her braids, matching her pink dress and white lacing across the necklace and wrist cuffs. A soft blush held to her cheeks, perhaps natural or the work of rouge like his mother wore at fine occasions. Pretty, was his first thought. Normal, was his second. Daenys Velayron did not look crazy. She looked like a young girl locked away in a maddening castle. She did not whisper spells or curses towards the bystanders below, nor carry a crazed and vengeful look on her face.

As he was about to take a step forward to announce his presence, and perhaps make a friend of the girl, he stopped himself.

He paused, not taking another step further. She looked peaceful at first glance, but upon further inspection, Cregan found the look in her eyes told a different story. Deep, glossed violet eyes seemed to be longing to be part of the crowd. She hugged her knees to her chest as if she could shrink herself into the cushion. Small hands fiddled with each other, picking at any skin on the edge of her fingertips. He could spot traces of a bright red on some of her fingers, showing that she picked them raw and hardly even noticed. Similar to her posture in the royal box, where she seemed to want to disappear from view the entire time, she looked quite unlike her heiress mother. Though they shared all the right features, the younger was not the picture of confidence and regality as the elder. Many said that the heir had been a fiery and rebellious woman as a youth, only maturing and calming after her marriage to Ser Laenor. It seemed her daughter did not share such a boisterous disposition.

Daenys looked lonely, though he guessed people surrounded her all the time. King's Landing was never without eyes or ears.

Would he sound strange to her? Look sickly pale so she might think he would contaminate her with a foreign illness? Cregan thought long and hard, eventually backing away from the room and leaving the solemn princess in peace. None in the South could be his friend, only his ally.

Cregan went back to his father's side, disappointed at his own hesitance.

Years later, after nearly three years of his Lordship over Winterfell and the North, Daenys came to him in ask of fighting men. He thought her to be just as beautiful as she was upon first sight, only growing from her soft features that childhood gave her into sharper and more refined graces.

The look in her eyes stayed the same, too. Lonely and longing, though her own hesitation held her back from her wants.

He became determined not to back away this time.

🗡

Neither slept for the remainder of the night, only laid in a distant silence until the sun rose. Together, they dressed again. Routine had become their grounding, something to look forward to at the beginnings and endings of every day. When Cregan moved to fix his hair half-up as he usually did, Daenys stopped him. Guiding him to her vanity chair, Daenys started to gather strands of brown hair in her hands.

Confused, Cregan looked to his bethrothed but did not argue. The feeling of her hands carding through his hair left shivers down his spine. No one had done his hair for him—ever. Though he spent many hours with Sara's hair, trying whatever styles she wished, Sara had assumed he would hate styles in his own and consequently never offered.

Daenys braided his usually simple strands of hair back, tying them together with the black tie that blended to his hair well. When he was about to stand, she reached over his shoulder to grab the little grey pearl. Carefully, she used the loose ends of the braids to wrap around the pearl snug into the center of his hair.

"Cregan," she spoke up, wringing her hands nervously. Her cresent nails dug into her palms and wrist back and forth, alternating to keep her mind busy with the stimulation.

He craned his neck back, reaching to grab her hand and squeeze assuringly after he was sure she was finished. He waited for her to start, knowing not to interrupt her thoughts.

Cregan stood from the stool, comically small next to him, to properly face Daenys. He cradled her face in his ungloved hands, the warmth and roughness a familiar contrast to her skin. "I know." Was all he said, eyes warm and understanding.

"I'm not good with words. You know this." She glanced at his eyes through the mirror before moving her gaze back to their joined hands. "I don't know if I'll ever be, not like you are. But...I want you to know I have no regrets with anything concerning you."

It was no direct confession. No romantic display of true feelings like Cregan had done for her. Perhaps she could, one day, but not now. Not when death was looming at the steps of their door, waiting for them to take one clumsy step and fall into its arms.

When they had gotten ready, packing their things up, Cregan and Daenys went to the entrance of Harrenhall. There, Simon had been informed of their plans and met them to bid farewell.

Daenys bowed her head slightly, taking Ser Simon in a brief hug. "Thank you, Ser, for your kind accommodations. I know we haven't been the most discreet guests, but we are most appreciative."

The older man smiled, though not the placating and tense one he always wore around Daemon. This one was genuine and understanding as he nodded and waved the young girl off. "It was no trouble. There are worse guests to host here." They shared an amused smile, and Cregan and Daenys were off to Morningstar.

The young dragoness was lying in a field of damp grass when they came out, Daenys attaching their bags to her saddle bag once more. "Just a short flight, girl. I'll get you to the dragon keepers." She swore, petting the dragon's snout and earning a chuff in return.

Cregan settled behind her, slightly less tense than he was for his first flight. Still, he clutched her abdomen tight, ever cautious and expecting the worst.

Morningstar took off swiftly, swaying slightly as she found steady flow to her flight. The wound didn't seem to falter her much, Daenys noted gratefully.

It was a quick flight, only filled with anticipation in different manners from Daenys and Cregan.

Daenys, both excited to see her family and scared to see their reactions to Rhaenys' untimely death, was gripping the handlebars with whitened knuckles. Cregan was thinking of the Black Council and how he could fit himself into their already established motions. He wondered if the Queen would accept him, as young as he was compared to the rest of her advisors. His mind strayed to Dusk and his marching men, reminding himself to check in on their progress when he was alone.

When approaching the island, Cregan's brow furrowed. "I knew Dragonstone was a large castle, but it is much more daunting than I imagined. A...heavy presence to be sure."

Daenys nodded. "It is the home of the first Targaryens to grace Westeros. Many have lived and died here, and a certain presence of the people who lost themselves to fate has not left it's halls. Quite eerie, I prefer to spend my time on the beaches or in the dragonpit."

The dragonkeeper standing at the archway gaped at the sight. "Princess!" He shouted, bowing to the young princess. "We did not expect your arrival. The Queen is currently readying to hold council."

The landing was swift, if not slightly rough from Morningstar having to fold her wings to fit through the cave's mouth. Cregan seemed tense from the confinement, scanning the cave intently. The dragon landed at the perch, allowing the two riders to slip off without trouble from the cave's depth. Around them, rumbles could be heard from dragons waking at the sound of kin coming in. Vermithor, perhaps, or Syrax. Silverwing spent most of her time sleeping, having nothing to do but guard her clutch close to her. Daenys had been eager for the eggs to hatch, for Morningstar to have more young dragons to play with. The elders were busy slumbering most of the time, choosing to not be active anymore with no riders.

Tyraxes, Vermax, Arrax, and Moondancer were her main company. Now, perhaps it was only the three left to roughhouse with her in the skies as she liked. Though Syrax was closest to her size compared to her brothers' small dragons, the golden beast did not 'play' outside like they did, enjoying her nest with Caraxes. The white dragon would not have any dragons her size for a long while, with Vermax and Moondancer growing at a much slower pace than she was.

"Please take care of Morningstar for me. She has been wounded."

"Wounded, my Princess?" He asked, a heavy frown dragging his old face down.

Narrowing her eyes, she thought for a long moment. No ravens were sent informing Rhaenyra or anyone else at Dragonstone of Daenys' surpirse visit to Rook's Rest. Lord Staunton's keep was still under the Green's control, heavily guarded and watched. All they knew was that Rhaenys and Meleys were not coming back—dead.

"Claw marks, on her shoulder." She stated vaguely.

She passed the silent dragonkeeper on her way into the castle. He could only watch on as the mysterious man accompanying her followed suit close behind her heels, like a protective guard dog. The Princess had never taken a passenger on Morningstar before, save for her younger brothers, so the sight was jarring to the man who witnessed most of the girl's youthful years.

Daenys, in only a simpler Lady's gown, dained to dress herself properly in her own clothes before presenting herself to court. Cregan waited patiently outside her chambers as Franny attended to her Princess. While waiting, he uneasily scoped out the parts of the castle he could see. Though it was daytime, the halls still seemed dim and droll, echoing every step Cregan took on the way to her chambers.

A door a few yards down the hall creeked open, a deep sigh escaping the man exiting it. Taking a few steps, Cregan was swiftly noticed. The dark, curly hair revealed himself as Prince Jacaerys, if Cregan's memory served him well. He bowed politely, "My Prince."

Keen brown eyes narrowed in a way that contrasted Daenys' greatly. He was made of the sharp, polished features befitting of a Prince, though only lacked the Valyrion traits most people in his family shared. "Lord Stark." He spoke, a graveling and almost spiteful spit.

"What are you doing outside my sister's chambers?" He asked, resting his wrist upon his sword's pommel and standing up straight, sizing the man in front of him up.

Cregan was unmoving, though felt slightly scandalized by the unspoken allegations. "I am waiting for Daenys to finish getting ready." He answered, careful not to shift Ice at his shoulder to draw attention to the longsword. He was not to be made a threat in the Prince's own castle.

The Prince in front of him seethed, "Daenys? Is it common for Northerners to call a Princess by her given name? I was unaware of such...traditions."

"Of course not, my Prince. I apologize—" As he was attempting to balm the miscommunication, Daenys popped her head out from the chamber door. "Jace!" She said, rushing to hug her brother. Now, in more suited clothes, Daenys wore a deep crimson dress with embroidered golden laces on the corset and sleeves. Black dragons wrapped around her waist, a detail she must have done herself in passing time. Her sleeves reached down to taper at the wrist, covering the bite mark. Though her hair was tied back in a bundle of romantic tuck braids, leaving the scar on her neck for all eyes to see if they looked close enough. Cregan thought the powerful colors suited her, though the soft pastels of Harrenhall's dresses had given her a youthful and soft appearance that he admired too.

Though Jace easily accepted the hug, he glared daggers at Cregan still, only placeted when Daenys tore herself from him and guided him closer by the arm to her bethrothed. "Jace, this is Cregan." She introduced, squeezing his bicep when Jacaerys did not speak at first.

He sent a look to his elder sister, pursing his lips before nodding. "It is a pleasure to meet the Lord of Winterfell."

"And it is an honor to meet the Prince of Dragonstone." Cregan said, matching his tone cooly.

Daenys smiled, looking between the Prince and Lord. "Let's go to the council room. I'm sure they are impaitient to start." She said, urging Jacaerys on with still-interlocked arms. Passing Cregan, who fell in step with her, Daenys glanced up at her bethrothed with annoyed eyes, nonverbally apologizing for her younger brother's brashness. He stifled a smile, looking forward to center himself for the meeting.

Entering the room, Jacaerys and Daenys were formally announced. They matched a refned grace in their powerful strides down the steps and towards the glowing table, which Cregan took interest in. It was a mirror of the Targaryen legacy, painted in 'Fire and Blood' just as their namesake called for.

Daenys stepped slightly forward, clasping her hands together. "Your Grace." She first acknowledged, nodding to her mother. "This is Lord Cregan Stark, here to stand place as your Master of War in Ser Broome's place."

Lord Staunton's seat was empty, too, right next to the head of the table. The loss seemed heavy on the council's shoulders. The older men who knew the Lord well were saddened by his cruel death at the hands of the Greens. The Lord was one of the wiser amongst the members, and the Blacks had taken a heavy loss with his demise and Rook Rest's new occupation.

"You are welcomed to Dragonstone, my Lord, and to my council. I trust my daughter's opinions, and in lieu of that, I extend my trust in you. We are to be family soon, more than merely allies in a time of war or peace. I hope that the union of our two Houses can prove to be fruitful for all of us." She gestured towards the seat at the end of the side of the Painted table, only one space between where Rhaenys had sat only yesterday morning.

Daenys took an end table seat next to Jacaerys, and the freshly joined Baela, parallel to her mother. "He is still making progress with the liege House. Oscar Tully is still waiting for his grandsire's move to choose a standing. He expressed his wishes to join us but cannot act without being officially Lord Tully.

Rhaenyra swiftly moved on, discreetly nodding to her daughter to welcome her back, too. Though warmer greetings could be shared later in privacy. "I received a raven from Ser Simon Strong of your residence at Harrenhall, though still have received nothing from the King Consort. What is the progress of the Riverlands?" She asked, brushing her black dress down to take a seat.

The Blackwoods have sworn to us. Though, after the battle at Burning Mill, tensions are high between the Riverland houses. Those who have chosen their fealties are already eager to fight amongst each other before orders come from Your Grace." She finished, leaving out any unimportant details. Daemon's frustrating lack of communication was his own fault, not hers.

Rhaenyra nodded, taking in the information appreciatively before moving to question another. "What of Rook Rest's state?"

Lord Celtigar spoke up, "Lord Staunton has been executed in his home, leaving his daughter Lady Kalla to take his place, though she is held prisoner and at the mercy of the soilders watching over the castle. Duskendale, too, has been taken by Criston Cole. We still have no ground army but the one Daemon is in the midst of raising."

Cregan spoke up, "I have 4,000 men strong marching down as we speak. They will have neared the Twins by now, it is only a matter of time until they are in the South and ready to be stationed at the Queen's command."

"I am sure the Blackwoods will be sending a strong force to support your cause." Daenys said quickly after. "And, if we are lucky, the Tullys will decide soon enough that their rightful queen is to be supported. With the Tully's support, the whole of the Riverlands will shift to our side, surrounding the Crownlands and the Reach once the Northmen join them."

Rhaenyra nodded to Cregan and Daenys, grateful for the information. "I cannot afford to simply wait around for Lord Glover Tully to either choose a side or for the young heir to take his place. Send to Maidenpool and Crackclaw point. Let them man their garrisons and give them stores or weapons if they find them wanting."

"We must answer Rook's Rest, my Queen."

"They are lost already. But, Vhagar is depleted after such a hard fought battle between her and The Red Queen." Lord Celtigar spoke up, interrupting the knight in front of him.

"We will hear of Vhagar's state soon. Her return to King's Landing was said to be a clumsy one. I would wager that Rhaenys landed a few solid blows to the old beast."

Daenys looked between Cregan and Rhaenyra, fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve as the men continued to interrupt and speak over each other. Cregan met her eyes, nodding encouragingly as he grasped her hand under the table.

"Vhagar and Sunfyre are injured." Daenys spoke up.

The council stilled, earning sharp and confused looks from different people. Rhaenyra, growing to a realization, asked. "Injured? How do you know of this?"

Jace looked to her, too, a concerned look gracing his face.

"Morningstar was able to bite off a good chunk of her tail, in the midst of battle. Though Meleys fell, Vhagar will be taking time to recover at King's Landing. Sunfyre, too, will not be defending anything with his injuries—his wings are burnt and torn. I doubt he will be able to fly again, if he and Aegon survived the fall and his injuries."

Silence met her words. The Lords and knights exchanced bemused glances, wondering how they were so unaware that the Princess had joined the fight. Jace was pale, though silent, too.

Rhaenyra spoke first. "You went to Rook's Rest. Alone—with two dragons." She rubbed her forehead, seemingly having aged ten years from the news her daughter gave her.

Sheepishly, Daenys nodded. "I..." She glanced around, aware of the outsiders listening carefully. "I heard news of Sunfyre and Vhagar on their way to Rook's Rest. I knew something was amiss, so I followed in hopes that they were not going directly to Dragonstone for an ambush."

Rhaenyra nodded, understanding her underlying meaning. "And Aegon joined this battle? How was his state?"

"I am unaware of it, I saw him and Sunfyre hit by Vhagar's flames and go down, but I don't know their status otherwise."

"Aemond struck down his own brother?" Ser Steffon asked, horrified by the Green's apparent infighting.

"I can go again." Daenys offered, glancing at her brother and cousin. "Perhaps with Vermax or Moondancer. We can easily take back Duskendale and Maidenpool with three dragons against a small force of men."

Rhaenyra thought for a moment, considering the proposal. She turned to Lord Celtigar next to her. "These two keeps are absolutely needed for our fleets, correct?"

The Lord nodded quickly. "If they have a standpoint so close to our waters, our ships could be burned down easily."

The Queen pursed her lips, solemnly conceding. "Very well. Moondancer will be sent to Duskendale, which is reported to have the least amount of men stationed to protect it. Vermax and Morningstar will go to Rook's Rest."

The three across from her glowed with acknowledgement, firmly nodded at the command.

"However—" She paused, lifting a hand.

"If there is a dragon still stationed at Rook's Rest, you will turn around."

Jacaerys and Daenys agreed, and the council was formally dismissed. Cregan squeezed Daenys' hand once again before standing, glancing at the Queen. "I will meet you by your chambers." He was beckoned out by Franny, who flitted to quickly show him his prepared guest chambers.

Daenys was left with only Jacaerys and Rhaenyra. They all stood to circle, exchanging tender hugs of greeting. When Rhaenyra pulled away and pushed a strand from her daughter's face, her dark eyes shot to her neck. "What is this?" She gasped, tracing the scar with a ghostly touch. Jace leaned in to see the fuss, glaring down at his sister for a proper answer to the new wound.

🗡

"It is old by now." Daenys sheepishly brushed her mother's hand away, attempting to quell their worries.

"Old? You did not have that before you went to fetch Lord Stark." Jacaerys said.

"I did." She stated firmly. "I got it on my trip to the Wall—"

Jace threw his hands up in frustration, pacing around a few feet from his mother and sister. "I told you, mother! Lord Stark can not possibly keep her safe in a place like the North. He took you to the Wall, alone?"

Daenys, as if realizing only now that her travels alone with Cregan were not a proper way of doing things—especially considering their stations—flushed. "He did protect me. This is simply a consequence of my own misjudgement. Which, I might add, I handled."

Rhaenyra pursed her lips, stepped back from Daenys. "It is too late to recind a bethrothal anyway. Daenys has stated her content with it, so I must trust that she is being truthful. You as well, Jace." She reminded her ornery son sharply.

"Now, about Rook's Rest..." Rhaenyra turned her intimidating ire to Daenys.

Jace shrugged when she glanced over her mother's shoulder in a desperate plea for help. There's no getting out of this.

Daenys sighed softly, avoiding her mother's intense gaze. "I saw Criston Cole's army marching in the cover of a forest. From Ser Simon's tellings, it was Rook's Rest they were approaching. They led scorpions and arches, I knew it was an ambush meant for a dragon. In a place so close to Dragonstone—I feared it might have been one of you they were intending on meeting." She said, eyes glossy from the memory of her grandmother.

Rhaenyra nodded sympathetically. "I am not happy with you running into battle with Vhagar like that, but I am sorry that you were alone when Rhaenys fell. Did she...?"

Daenys nodded solemnly. "Morningstar almost saved her, but she refused my hand when the time came. She knew her fate, I suppose." Though she wished to have her wise and sturdy grandmother still at her side, her one comfort was the acceptance on Rhaenys' face when she last saw it. "Aemond did not give chase, even when he had the opportunity to."

Rhaenyra nodded thoughtfully. "Even if he did, Morningstar could easily outfly him."

She shook her head, ashamed of her actions. She had only survived out of luck and not skill. "If he did, I would have put every resident in Harrenhall in danger—Cregan, Ser Strong, Alys. All the servants, too." She wrung her hands, letting a shaky breath fall from her lips. If Aemond wanted, he could've burned Harrenhall completely down with no issue.

"It didn't, sweet girl. That is what matters. You are alive, safe again at home." Her mother soothed, squeezing her hand. Behind, Jace nodded his agreement.

Rhaenyra faced him, gesturing for him to stand by Daenys, which he did smoothly. Together, the pair looked alike only in skin tone and clothes, though any could tell that they were siblings. Rhaenyra looked over them with clouded eyes, knowing that a third and fourth were missing from the picture. Little Joff, sent away to ward with strangers. Young Luke, taken by the salt and sea. They were only half of what they once were, though stood tall despite the absence weighing on their minds.

"When you go to Rook's Rest, I want you to do no more than I have asked. The sight of two dragons alone should be enough to send the men running, and even if it is not, they will be easily defeated. The matter of Lady Kalla and her younger brother, Kallus will be more difficult, I presume. They will be guarding inside, where your dragons cannot follow."

"We will simply drag them out." Jace said, determined as ever for the cause.

Rhaenyra eyed him, grateful for the eagerness yet worried for she knew his recklessness grew every day. "You have not fought real battle like these men have, Jace."

He scoffed, "what have they fought, a few battles along the Crownlands from House to House, outnumbering the Lords in their own homes? I reckon most have their swords unbloodied still."

He had a point. A time of peace had been carried since before Viserys' time. Most swords were unused beyond petty fighting between Houses, tourneys, and duels. Daenys had to wonder if the only ones in Westeros left with real experience were those up North guarding the South from Wildlings.

"We will take care of it when the moment arises, mother. We have no way of knowing until we get there." Daenys said calmly, looking between her mother and brother.

The Queen sighed and agreed. "I am putting my faith in you three to get the coast back from the Greens. I have no doubt that you will succeed, but promise me you will be safe."

Daenys and Jacaerys tensed at the words. The very same ones she had spoken to them and Luke before Lucerys had died. They all stayed true to their oath, indeed, but at the cost of Luke's life. They nodded together, no book to swear upon but their own hearts.

"We will."

🗡

Cregan had used the time in his guest chambers to warg into Dusk again. There, in his direwolf's body and mind, he had discovered the location and status of his bannermen. The greybeards were not far from The Twins, as he had expected, while the younger soldiers were only a few days behind and approaching steadily.

With his mind eased, Cregan allowed his bannermen to lead themselves once more. He grew antsy with all the sitting around he was confined to, though dared not complain. There was nothing he could do until his men made it deep into the Riverlands.

Outside of Daenys' chambers, Cregan found her waiting. "Apologies, Princess, I found myself held up."

Amused, she smiled and accepted the apology with ease. "I will leave with Jace and Baela soon. Hopefully, I will be back before the morrow."

Cregan felt his chest tighten at the words, though he already knew of her assignment. At the Painted Table he was unable to express his concern for her, but he knew it had to be done. Jacaerys would accompany her, which brought him comfort. He was unaware of the princeling's sword skills, but knew he had no experience besides training.

"Is there no way I could accompany you?" He asked, bringing her hands to his own and squeezing slightly.

Daenys squinted slightly, pondering his ask. "Perhaps...I could use you for ensuring Lady Kalla and her brother come out safely from the guards' watch. I don't know how they will respond to us at the gates, and we do not have time to starve them out."

He gave her control of the decision. "Whatever you choose, I will stand by it." He swore.

To clarify, he meant for her to be allowed to take a mistress/lover if she took moon tea or whatever so there wasn't bastards in their name yk

simon def thinks Daenys is his grandniece I can't lie

About Winterfell-I imagine it NOTHING like GOT shows it to be. It is unbelievably tiny in the show, with silly round roofs, short and thin walls, and a tiny Godswood. In the books' depictions, the walls are super thick and 80 feet high, the Godswood is acres long alone and so is the city, and the roofs are pointed to actually let snow slide off. Winter Town is just outside the walls, making it a more lively place than we see. In the show it always shows Winterfell being completely isolated in the middle of nowhere, which would be super inconvenient for its people.

was it casual when you were the first person to do my hair?

Had the Rook's Rest scene planned for a few chapters for I know the plot for it just haven't written it yet. Though, I don't know if I should bring Cregan or not. On one hand, he would sit useless at Dragonstone. On another, he might steal the spotlight from Daenys slightly if he did come. What do y'all think? The main plot of it wouldn't change anyway hehe

sorry for delay again, I CANNOT catch a break these past weeks. 🥹 action next chap finally, wanted to get this out.

[capesandshapes]

Seeing on TikTok that Republicans are trying to get Kamala pulled from the ticket via the Dred Scott case and being like this has to be a lie, there's no fucking way that any Republican on earth is this dumb only to see my insanely stupid second cousin repost a shitty pixelated meme supporting it on Facebook with "damn right, proud that we know and respect our history"

[kindheartedgummybears]

Was listening to talking in your sleep and knew I had to draw...

Her😍😍😍😍🥰🥰🥰🥰

It's nothing but a rough stretch and I didn't put too much thought into the coloring but I'm in love😍🥰

[s4pphoiduser]

blind (2022) is driving me insane. im begging my friends to watch it but theyre either busy with exams or almost exclusively fluff/romance-watchers . i need to talk ab this w someone just hit me up or something GOD

[nebulaafterdark]

The Rats Pt. 2

Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI

Part 1

“Princess Y/N of house Velaryon.” The guard announces.

Rhaenyra’s heart skips a beat, surely he is mistaken.

“Mother,” Y/N says, racing toward her. “Your grace,” she corrects herself.

Rhaenyra wraps her eldest child in her arms. “Mother will do just fine.”

Y/N buries her face in Rhaenyra’s shoulder.

“How did you get here?” Aegon would never let her go of his own free will.

“Daemon,” Y/N breathes. Knowing that her stepfather will owe her for the half truth.

“Where are the children?”

“In King’s Landing.” Y/N tells her, “to keep Aegon’s wits about him in my absence. He wants to come to an agreement, he’s more than willing to bend the knee. I only ask that he and Helaena be spared…as for Aemond Targaryen, he is a murderer.” Y/N’s voice breaks, “we will avenge the murder of my brother.”

Rhaenyra’s strokes a hand over her hair, feeling the dark waves that remind her of Lucerys. “Aegon and Helaena will receive full pardons based on your testimony. Rest assured I appreciate what you have done on my behalf.”

“Thank you.” Y/N pulls back marginally, realizing her mother’s pregnant belly should be between them. “Where is the babe?”

Rhaenyra shakes her head.

Y/N covers her mouth with her hand, “I am terribly sorry.”

“It is no fault of yours, darling girl.”

“I should have been here with you.”

“When I offered your hand in marriage, I had no idea Aegon was capable of love. It has complicated all of this.”

Y/N nods, “speaking of my husband. I should send word that I am well, lest he take out his frustration on Dragonstone.”

Rhaenyra taps her chin, affectionately. “I will fetch a scroll.”

————————————————————————-

Aegon’s youngest son is the only one of his children to share Y/N’s dark locks. His wife insisted they name him Aegon. After my dearest love. She said.

Aegon agreed of course as he can deny her nothing. The child wails nonstop, in the absence of his mother. At all of four months old, Aegon is the only one who can quiet him besides Y/N. As such, the King is now attending the small council meeting with a babe in his arms.

Their daughter, Dahlia, the eldest of the twins will sit the iron throne one day, through his line of succession and Rhaenyra’s. At all of six, she is sitting at the table. His other children Visera and Laenor have not been properly protected under the guard, they too must stay in his sightline.

“Gods be good.” Alicent frowns at her son.

“What is it?” Aegon huffs, arching a brow at her.

“The small council is no place for children, your grace.” Alicent explains. “They would be better tended by their maids.”

Aegon nods, “right. As you all know, two nights ago, the Princess Helaena was attacked in the children’s chambers. Our heirs were threatened and Queen Y/N was taken from us. During which time, not a single guard could be found on the entirety of the royal floor! Because you were-”

Aegon looks to his children in turn, “cover your ears my darlings.” He smiles, waiting until they have done as they’re told, holding his own hand over his infant’s ear. “Where were we, mother? Oh, that’s right, no one was guarding my children because you were fucking the royal guard.”

The council members lower their heads in acknowledgement.

“The men who carried out this attack, entered under the guise of rat catching. I want them found and swiftly executed.” Aegon demands, patting his sleeping son’s leg.

“We have been interrogating rat catchers for days, thus far we have no leads.” Otto explains.

A slow smile spreads over the King’s face. “Then hang them all.”

Alicent blanches.

“Anything else?” Aegon asks, watching Visera begin toying with Otto’s chair.

“A letter arrived from Dragonstone, your grace.” Lord Tyland informs him.

“Oh?” Aegon says, “from Rhaenyra?”

“From Queen Y/N.”

Aegon swallows, “did you read it?”

“No, my King.”

“Good,” Aegon reaches for the rolled parchment.

‘My dearest Aegon,

Please know that I am well. We would like to begin negotiations to end the blockade and create a peaceful transfer of power. This will require your cooperation, I hope you will meet me at Dragonstone to discuss this matter farther.

Forever yours,

Y/N’

Aegon exhales, sharply.

“What is it, your grace?”

“The children and I are off to Dragonstone.”

“Whatever for?”

“To negotiate the terms of Y/N’s return.”

“My King…”

“And if you cannot agree on said terms?” Alicent asks.

Aegon frowns, lifting a shoulder. “To war then.”

“He is unhinged,” Otto whispers to his daughter.

“As I warned he would be.” Alicent rises from her seat. “He is quite…devoted to her.”

————————————————————————

“It has been three days since you sent word to King’s Landing. We must assume Aegon’s silence is his response.” Daemon seethes, around the drawing table.

“Give it time.” Y/N insists, “you owe me that.”

Daemon smirks, “I owe you nothing, spoiled thing.”

“Mmm,” Y/N hums. “My mother does not yet know how I came to be here.”

“And you are not going to tell her. Otherwise, my distaste for your usurping cunt of a husband will be demonstrated at length.”

Sunfyre roars, calling their attention to the nearest window.

Daemon huffs, “I’ll be damned.”

“And he’s brought the children.” Y/N rejoices, running out to join her family.

Jacaerys is already helping to unload her children from the makeshift carriage on the dragon’s saddle.

“Mother!” Dahlia and Visera charge Y/N nearly knocking her backwards.

Laenor runs after them with his little legs as Aegon the fourth, stares at her, babbling in his father’s arms.

Y/N is moved to tears, “you came.”

“You didn’t think I would?” Aegon cocked his head to the side.

“It’s a rather large ask,” Y/N explains.

“For you, the world.” He replies, with a kiss to her temple. “Now, where is Rhaenyra? We have much to discuss.”

“Her grace will join us soon.”

Aegon nods, “I request a small audience, before the council.”

“That can be arranged.”

“After which your brother might tend the children whilst you show me your quarters.” Aegon whispers.

Y/N smirks, “of course.”

Part 3

Taglist: @minttea07 @callsignwidow @fallout-girl219 @syraxnyra @vickynephilim @jeondeluxe111 @geeksareunique @arya-brooke @7minutes-tomidnight

[entitled-fangirl]

The middle of war.

Aemond Targaryen x Valyeron!reader

Summary: the reader was taken right under Aemond's nose. He's determined to get her back, no matter the consequences.

part 2

Masterlist

................................................................

Aemond was calm and calculated. 

Stern and Proud. 

But it all crashed violently when he returned from a dragon ride to see her gone. 

His wife. Gone. 

He growled at the guards to search the castle. 

She had to still be here. 

…

Y/n sat on the back of a horse with a hood over her head. She had her mother's silver hair, and the Strong curls that could be easily spotted from miles away, "He will have your head for this!" She said worriedly. 

"That is if he catches us before I get you back home," Jace said with a grin. 

"Jace, this is supposed to be my home," she reasoned. 

"But it's not. Your home is with us. With mother."

She leaned against his back, "She's going to be angry that you risked so much to get me."

"We will deal with it as it comes," he shrugged.

"And if Vhagar appears on Dragonstone's doorstep for me?"

When he doesn't answer, she continues, "Despite what you think, brother, I do love Aemond."

Jace stared straight ahead with a set jaw, "After all he's done?"

"Mother loves Daemon, does she not? He is hardly redeemable."

"Aemond killed Luke!"

"And Daemon had a child killed for it, Jace!" 

Silence swallowed the two as the horse rode on.

"But does he love you back?" Jace finally asked softly.

"I suppose we shall see, won't we?"

…

Aemond stormed into the throne room, "Brother!"

Aegon looked up from his friends with upshot eyebrows, "Aemond! Come join us for a drink!"

"Where is Cole?" Aemond asked coldly.

"I… I dunno, brother." Aegon shrugged. "Something the matter?"

He let out an angered chuckle, "'Something the matter?!' You sit here and drink while my wife is taken from her chambers."

Aegon's brow furrowed, "Taken? She's gone?"

Aemond couldn't sit by with idle chatter while she stayed missing. He turned on his heel and walked from the room. 

…

Jace had gotten them safely to Vermax, who had stayed miles away to avoid suspicion. Once the two mounted the dragon, the rest of the travel was easy. 

And they soon arrived at Dragonstone. 

Rheanyra's jaw almost dropped completely at the sight of her only daughter walking through the door. 

The entire council completely paused. 

"Mother," Jace smiled. "I have brought her back home."

Y/n braced for a scream. Yells from her mother. A stern talk. Something. 

She didn't expect a relieved hug. 

"Oh, my dear," Rheanyra almost sobbed into her hair. "I've been so worried."

Almost as quickly as the cooing had began, it had stopped. The queen slapped Jace on the shoulder, "What were you thinking?!"

"I've brought my sister- your daughter- home… and you're upset?" He asked confused. 

Her eyes narrowed, "Do you not think that Aemond will not wish to slay us all for this? It is an act of war!"

"Not if she came willingly," Jace shrugged. 

Daemon let out a breathy laugh, "That's not how Targaryens see things."

The entire council turned to Y/n, who could only stare. 

…

Word had quickly spread of the Princess's disappearance, and the truth had shown itself just as easily. 

A guard announced that he had seen a dragon fly off only a few miles from the castle.

Vermax. 

Aemond threw his chalice at the wall, not caring for the wine that spilled from it.

The entirety of Aegon's council jumped at the sudden display of the otherwise collected man. 

"We shall send a raven," Alicent reasoned. "They will return her."

"Or what?" Aegon asked. "What punishment do we possibly have to threaten?"

"I will retrieve her myself," Aemond growled. "I will not have her bartered for as if she is a prized goat." 

"And what if that's what they are expecting?" Alicent said. "They either attack you there and kill our greatest dragon, or they are planning to ambush us here while you are away."

"I will not merely sit around. My wife was taken from her bed!" He roared.

"And we will get her back," Alicent rebutted. "Just give us time to gain a strategy."

"Strategy?" Aemond asked with a calming grin. "I care not for it this time. Let them take all of King's Landing for all I care-"

"Please, my prince." Cole finally chipped in. "We must act carefully."

"Do not speak to me as if you did not abandon your post the day she was taken!" Aemond stood. He began to walk around the table with a calm facade, "Tell me why you would dare abandon your post, Sir Cole." He leaned down behind him, "What were you doing rather than guarding the people you are sworn to?"

"Aemond, enough," Alicent warned. "I'm just getting started," Aemond sneered. 

Aegon sighed and leaned back in his chair, chugging the wine in his cup.

…

"Mother, you know they did not talk to strategy with me. And even if they did," Y/n shrugged. "I do not wish to be in any of this war."

"You are in the middle of it now," Rheanyra said.

She looked to Jace and cocked her head, "That is not from any fault of mine."

Jace held his hands up, "You are my sister and you belong here."

"Do not force her to pick a side, Jace." Their mother reprimanded. "She is a Targaryen by blood and a Targaryen by marriage. Do not make her choose one now."

"And if Aemond comes looking for her?" Jace asked. 

Rheanyra looked between her children, "Then you will go back peacefully."

Jace's eyes widened, "You will not just let her be taken?!"

"It is not taken if she goes willingly!" Rheanyra sneered at him. "Is that not what you said only days ago?"

…

Aemond laid for the tenth night on the bed that she had once slept next to him in. 

He stared at the ceiling.

It felt cold. 

He let out a sigh before grunting and getting up in an angered huff. 

The sun would be up in only a few hours. 

Perhaps they wouldn't notice him until he's gone. 

…

Y/n couldn't sleep that night. 

She had woken up hours before the sun, getting dressed, eating an early breakfast and spent her time reading by candlelight in her bay window. 

The sun had began to rise and she welcomed the feeling of its rays on her through the window.

But it flickered for just a moment before she heard cries from the guards. 

"DRAGON!"

Her head shot up to look out of the window. 

Vhagar. 

She quickly got up, tying her shoes as quickly as she could and ran down the corridor, despite the yells from the guards at her door. 

They had all been caught off guard by the hour of Vhagar's appearance, and no one had proper defense against her. 

But strangely enough, Aemond had landed her not far from the doors to Dragonstone. He stood on top of her saddle patiently for Rheanyra to appear.

But when it was his wife running to him, he felt his heart jolt. 

He slid down Vhagar as quickly as possible and held out his arms for her. 

He grunted from the impact of her body against his, but it was far from unwelcome. 

One of his hands found purchase around her waist tightly and the other cradled the back of her head as she tucked her face against his neck. 

Only then did Rheanyra appear. 

She stood on top of one of the walls, overlooking the two. 

Aemond's hands did not move, but his head rose proudly, as if challenging her to defy him now. His voice was soft so only his wife could hear, "Mount Vhagar."

She pulled away and wiped her cheeks, "W.. What?"

"Mount Vhagar now," he commanded as he continued his glare.

Y/n quickly moved to the beast. Since Aemond had introduced her to Vhagar, the dragon had found a love for her. Aemond worried that sometimes his own dragon cared for his wife more than him. 

 But at this moment, he hoped that she truly did. 

Next to Rheanyra now stood Daemon with a bow and arrow in hand, the arrow notched and the string pulled back. It was aimed directly at him. 

Aemond felt a chuckle bubble from his throat. A single arrow against a dragon?

"Take her back, Aemond!" Rheanyra commanded loudly from the wall.

Aemond tilted his head with a light hum in thought. It was too easy. 

That's when Daemon moved his bow and aimed directly at Y/n atop Vhagar. 

"What are you doing?" Rheanyra muttered to Daemon. 

"Whatever I have to." He muttered back. 

Aemond felt a fire light behind his eyes. He studied mathematics quite a bit. If he were to call Vhagar to light the castle, would Daemon have time to release the arrow?

He feared that he did. 

But the girl's own mother wouldn't allow this to happen, would she? 

Aemond was beginning to think that she would. 

"Aemond, please." Y/n called from the saddle. 

"I do not retreat so easily, my love."

"It is not a retreat if you have what you've set out for!" She called back. 

He hummed as he thought over it before nodded and moving back to the dragon. 

He began to climb Vhagar. 

"You're lucky that worked," Rheanrya sighed. 

"I'm not done yet," Daemon smiled. 

"What do you mean?"

The man smiled, "You'll see."

Aemond now mounted Vhagar, set behind his wife as he had done so many times before. He tightened her ties to the dragon before tying his own around his legs.

He leaned forward to her ear, but never took his eyes off of the two atop the wall, "Are you alright?"

She nodded, "I'm fine."

He relaxed just barely at that. "Alright. Hold on now." He grabbed the ropes in a firm grip before shouting, "Sōvēs! (Fly!)"

Vhagar began to move, unfolding her wings and pushing from the ground. 

Y/n let out a surprised laugh, as she does every time, but Aemond is far from gleeful. 

Daemon had yet to drop his bow. 

Perhaps this war would be over if he just commended dragon fire on all of them now. 

But Vhagar made quick work of getting in the air, and only then did the Prince begin to relax. 

He made the dragon circle Dragonstone once with a smirk.

But Daemon's smirk grew. 

Rheanyra noticed. "What are you doing? Daemon don't-"

The arrow shot from the bow. 

Aemond noticed it at the last second, pulling at the ropes in an attempt to block it with the tough hide of the dragon.

When he didn't see it whiz past their heads, he let out a sigh. 

Y/n let out a gut wrenching scream. 

Aemond leaned forward immediately, looking over her shoulder to see the arrow that had lodged itself into her stomach. 

He let out a scream of his own, feeling his entire body flood with grief. 

He looked down as they passed Daemon, who held the proudest smirk he'd ever seen a human wear. 

But Rheanyra's hand was held over her mouth in horror. 

Aemond's eye flickered with a lit fire as he began to pull the ropes for Vhagar to circle again to kill them all. 

Y/n's hand moved up. It shook violently as she tried to will herself to touch the arrow in her. 

Aemond grunted at her, "Don't touch it."

She let out a whine in pain and frustration as her body leaned back against his.

He doesn't have time to release dragon fire on them all now. 

"Naejot! (Forward!)" He yelled at the dragon, who pushed forward past Dragonstone.

Every second had become precious. 

Aemond shouted at Vhagar every few moments in urgency, and only then was he so relieved that he had one of the largest dragons in the world for her quick travels. 

The woman's cheeks paled and her forehead had developed a thick layer of sweat.

Aemond was beyond panic. 

They landed a few hours later at King's Landing and he began shouting commands at guards as he untied her from the dragon.

…

Aemond made no move to leave her side. 

Still covered in sweat and grime and his riding gear, he stood in their chambers silently and watched as the maesters worked to ease her wounds.

Alicent stood not far behind from him, "Will she make it-"

"-GET OUT!" Aemond's voice cracked from the volume. He had practically lost it long before from commanding Vhagar so harshly. 

Alicent flinched, "A… Aemond, I-"

He turned around to her, "I said get out."

The queen regent moved to say more, but knew better, and nodded, leaving the room.

…

Two hours later, the maester finally spoke to the Prince, "We believe she will make it. There is no fever in the wound. If she survives the night, she will make a full recovery."

Aemond hums, "and what may I do to ensure that she does?"

The maester thought for a moment, "Maintain her temperature. Do not anger the wound. And when she wakes, do not let her move or get carried away in extreme emotions."

The prince hummed again, "Thank you."

The maester nodded, "Of course, my prince."

They all soon took their leave, leaving only the prince and the unconscious princess.

…

The night was torturous for the prince. 

He would never will himself to sleep. He worried that each breath could be her last. 

Deep into the night, she finally stirred. "Ae… Aemond?" She asked groggily.

He managed a smile and sat next to her on the bed, "Hello, my love."

She looked around before pushing herself up.

His hand quickly moved to her shoulder and pushed her down, "Woah, woah, woah. You must remain down."

She let herself fall back down on the bed, "It hurts."

"I know it does," he cooed. His fingers brushed the hair from her forehead. 

"I'm sorry I left."

"I'm sorry you were able to."

The two stared at one another for a while before Aemond stood. He opened the door and spoke to the guard, "Have a raven sent to Rheanyra. Tell her the princess will live."

He quickly returned to her side, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips. "I've never been scared before, my love."

"Me too" she hummed. "What if that arrow had hit you?"

He leaned back with a confused look. Of all things, she was worried for him? 

"You disappear from our chambers with no trace and then when I do find you, you have an arrow shot in you, and yet you believe I am worried that I may have been the one injured?"

She hummed again, "You should apologize to Vhagar. You shouted at her so harshly."

Aemond couldn't stop the chuckle from escaping him, "You worry for my dragon as well?"

"I cannot help it." She mused.

"If I apologize to Vhagar, will you promise me not to leave again?"

She considers his words, then nods.

He smiles and pulled her hand up, kissing the back of it, "Thank you."

Perhaps the two wouldn't choose sides to the war at all. It only ends in destruction and dragon fire for all who dare. 

And as long as the two had one another, they didn't believe that to be too bad.

................................................................

part 2

[rin-may-1103]

The Disappointment.

This may or may not have multiple parts, depending on whether I feel like writing more. (dcxdp, demon twin au.) also based on some post I read a while ago... can't remember for the life of me who wrote it but if any of you guys do, let me know.

"This way," Mother hissed, snatching Danny's wrist tightly. Damian lagged behind, twisting his head this way and that, keeping an eye out for anyone following them.

"Quick now, we must hurry." She hissed again, her eyes darting back and forth, eyeing the small nicks and scratches she had left previously to lead them away.

Danny glanced back at his brother, watching as he scowled and defiantly lifted his head. His baby brother would die before he allowed anyone to see him defeated.

Glancing back to the path, Danny watched as Mother took down anyone who was in their way, killing without hesitation. As he watched another body hit the floor, Grandfather's muttered words from when he left dinner, ran through the back of his head, "Bring the disappointment to me after sundown. I've seen enough."

There was nowhere in the world they could hide that Grandfather wouldn't follow. They would be hunted for the rest of their short lives, hiding in fear like cowards. Grandfather would not rest until he drew blood.

"In here, Habibi, quiet now. Quickly, both of you." Mother finally let Danny's wrist go, darting across the hall to open the secret door. Danny moved to the side, signaling to Damian that he would keep watch. His brother nodded his head and quickly made his way over, ducking into the small, dark, and eerie corridor.

Mother crouched next to Damian, running her hands over his face like this would be the last time she would see it. knowing her, she probably expected it to be. No one went against their grandfather without severe consequences.

Glancing over his shoulder, Danny studied the shadows; there was a lookout patrol moving closer, which meant they only had a minute before they were discovered. Gritting his teeth, Danny darted across the hall, but instead of joining his mother and brother in the dark corridor, he pushed the wall back, leaving only the missing brick his mother had initially taken out.

"Danyal!" his mother hissed, her voice full of stern panic.

"Apologies Mother, but I can not let you do this," Danny replied, glancing to the side to see how much time he had left. Forty seconds. Crouching down, he picked up the brick and looked back at his mother. Damian stood next to her, his brows furrowed in confusion. Obviously, he hadn't figured out Danny's plan, otherwise he would have started shouting at him.

Mother stared at him for a second, her stern eyes wavering for the first time in Danny's life that he could remember. "Take care of him for me, keep him safe when I can not," Danny asked, grabbing the hood hanging around the back of his neck.

Mother's eyes teared up, but she straightened her back, her black hair framing her pretty face. "You've made up your mind then," she said, her voice low and steady. She rested her hand on Damian's shoulder, giving Danny a nod of understanding. "You are like your father, his love makes him weak."

"But," she continued, kneeling down in a bow, "You are of the demon's blood, it runs in your veins just like mine. Your actions will not be forgotten, nor will they be for nothing. You have my word, tifl alqamar. I love you, Habibi."

Danny nodded his head, unable to voice the thoughts clogging his throat. Instead, he took a silent breath, pulled his hood and mask into place, and shoved the final brick into place. Sealing off his precious family just in time to hear the guards around the corner.

Turning around, Danny silently stalked forward, drawing his shoulders back. The group rounded the corner and stopped, watching him in anticipation. Pitching his voice just slightly to the left and rolling his tongue, Danny spoke in a neutral voice, "take me to grandfather."

The two guards in front shared a look, but the ones in the back straightened up and moved aside. Marching forward, Danny passed the two hesitating guards and with a quick slice, brought them to their knees. He needed this to work, there was no room for mercy, no matter how much he hated it.

"I am the grandson of the demon head, you will respect me as you respect him. there will be no next time." Danny continued walking, pretending to not care if the two managed to follow or not. the remaining guards trailed behind him, silently observing him.

Danny was glad Mother had insisted on them matching today. otherwise, his plan would have failed long before he made it to his grandfather's door.

Stopping in front of the painted carved wood that was grandfather's door, Danny idly studied the carvings and statues around the grand hall. He remembered all the stories of how grandfather had collected them over his lifetime; grand stories of bloodshed and cunning manipulation.

His eyes settled on the one farthest away, with the least interesting story. It was considered ordinary, placed next to art worth billions. But it was Danny's favorite. It was a simple green crystal, carved like a crescent moon.

so simple, yet the most beautiful piece in Danny's opinion. He had always hoped he would die beneath the stars and his ever-faithful friend the moon. Maybe, instead of beneath them, he could die amongst them.

He would take it with him, he decided.

Turning sharply, Danny marched over to the small pedistal and plucked the crystal into his hand. Wrapping his fingers around it, he shoved it into a side pocket and returned back to his position.

They only had to wait for another minute before the door opened, grandfather's servants clearing a path for Danny to walk through.

"I see your mother did not drag you away," Grandfather mused, sitting in his large chair. His dark eyes studied Danny's form, taking in the katana on his back, and the hood and mask concealing his face. He was dressed like he would for a mission; no discernable features, no sign of who he was or wasn't. The perfect image of an assassin.

"at least you aren't a coward," Grandfather hummed, standing from his seat. He slowly pulled out his own katana, aiming it at Danny in a challenge. "no, just disappointing. but you are my blood and that earns you the right to die an honorable death. Draw your sword child, and fight like the warrior you are."

Danny bowed like he had been taught, then without another moment of hesitation, drew his sword and lunged.

He wished he could say it was a drawn-out battle of strength and minds, but it was not. for Danny was only ten years old, and his grandfather had hundreds of years of training and discipline behind him.

he gazed up at his grandfather as his knees hit the ground, his katana dropping to the ground as his hand reached up to the sword impaling his chest. Grandfather's eyes were filled with nothing but contempt, contempt for the useless boy he had just sentenced to death.

but his contempt did not bother Danny, no instead it drew a smile to his face. As much as Grandfather lorded his sharp mind over them, he had never been able to stop Danny from surprising him. So, with a burst of adrenaline, Danny allowed the small shuriken he hid in his sleeve to drop to his left hand and buried it deep into his grandfather's chest.

grandfather lunged back, pulling his katana with him, removing the only thing keeping Danny upright. Danny's body hit the ground, and with the last of his strength, he twisted his head so he could listen as his grandfather cried out in anger.

Grandfather's breath was heavy, the sound of him removing the dagger filling the silence. the shuriken was dropped to the ground with a sharp clatter, falling just a few feet from Danny's face.

"you," Grandfather huffed, "aren't such a disappointment after all. I'll grant you one last honor and keep you in the family tomb. Rest now, Damian, you have fought well."

Danny smiled, the cold feeling of blood loss crawling through his body, but not fast enough to block out the pressure of the moon crystal still in his pocket. He hoped Mother had gotten Damian out in time, and he hoped Damian could forgive him for what he had done.

[targaryen-dynasty]

A LITTLE PREDICAMENT.

Aemond Targaryen x female!Targaryen!Reader x Aegon II Targaryen

While you share little sympathy with any of the people present, you know you can’t get any closer to learning about your heritage than you are right now. Aegon and Aemond are served to you on a silver platter, and if there is one thing your grandmother has taught you, it’s that there certainly is one way to charm yourself into a man’s heart to get what you desire.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MDNI; canon typical incest/targcest (reader is the granddaughter of Saera Targaryen), threesome, p in v, oral (m receiving), semi public sex, voyeurism, high valyrian, reader has silver hair and lilac eyes

WORDS: 4.3 K

NOTES: I finally put my thoughts of this scene into words! Enjoy! Thanks to @sylasthegrim and @zaldritzosrose 🤍

The stench of sweat and wine alike fills the brothel, following you as you roam through the crowd of patrons and whores, pushing past the several curtains that separate the lounging chambers from the more… private areas. 

Is that what your grandmother had in mind when she sent you away to learn more about your Targaryen heritage? You highly doubt it, but the madam, Sylvi or so you have learnt, does everything in her power to make your stay as pleasant as possible. Perhaps that is just because she owes your side of the family something neither women dare tell you, yet you care too little to delve deeper into the topic. 

Saera Targaryen has grown frail over the years, approaching the age at which the Stranger had taken her own mother back in 100AC, and rests on her laurels she’s earned herself over the years working in the pleasure gardens of Lys before she eventually built her own kingdom in form of a pleasure house in Volantis. 

Therefore it definitely is not a surprise you’ve taken after her. Partly, at least, because although you wander through a brothel, your long, silver curls and lilac eyes catching the attention of several men around, it has always been up to you to decide if you grant them your attention or not – the earned, well-deserved respect and reputation of your grandmother clearly coming in handy. 

You balance a tray with a chalice full of wine and two goblets on your hand as you prowl through the busy rooms, even though getting drunk is not what most men come here for. There is nothing out of the ordinary taking place – until a flash of silver hair comes into your vision. 

You have grown used to the presence of the late king’s second son, Prince Aemond Targaryen, by now, visiting the brothel almost every night to seek comfort in the arms of Sylvi. And since tonight was no different, you’re certain the brothel has been granted the presence of not one but two Targaryen men at once; the newly crowned king donning an attire no commoner could ever afford. 

Blending in with your surroundings never was too difficult, not when everyone was occupied anyways. You place the tray aside and cling to the walls and curtains as you follow him and his entourage, trying your hardest to make out what they say while not getting caught. 

But even before you can fully process the bits of information you’ve gathered, Aegon starts to pull aside one curtain after the other, revealing the private quarters for the well-paying patrons. While most of them do not care, that much can not be said about the patron within the third room. 

Where you haven’t heard his voice before, his howling laughter all but bounces off the walls. “Aemond the fierce,” he mocks in between laughter, pointing at his younger brother. “You have come so far, and yet you still lie with your very first.”

With Aegon stepping towards the settee, an embarrassed Aemond comes into view, and while you share little sympathy with any of them, you know you can’t get any closer to learning about your heritage than you are right now. Aegon and Aemond are served to you on a silver platter, and if there is one thing your grandmother has taught you, it’s that there’s one way to charm yourself into a man’s heart to get what you desire. 

In a quick act, you slip out of the flimsy piece of Lysene silk that hugs your curves, baring yourself completely. You swallow thickly as you make your way toward the room, striding past the king’s men and into it. 

“Nyke gōntan daor nūmāzma naejot mazverdagon ao umbagon, ñuha dārilaros,” you say, clearly talking to Aemond. Your voice is smooth, despite the slight Lyseni accent weaving itself through it. I did not mean to make you wait, my prince. 

The prince is clearly dumbfounded, but not as much as the king whose laughter has suddenly died off again, the cocked eyebrow indicating that he’s just as surprised as his younger brother is. None of the people involved speak, yet curiosity is written all over their features. 

“My… My apologies for letting you wait, Prince Aemond.” Your eyes flit over to Sylvi, a meek smile on your lips. “Thank you for keeping him occupied while I tended to another patron, madam.” She gives you a soft smile, one that a mother gives, and nods to you before she leaves the room – figuring your intentions. 

You walk around Aemond, softly grazing your fingertips over his shoulder as you come to stop in front of him. From where you stand, you can see Aegon sitting up a little straighter, curiosity and lechery alike flickering in his eyes.  

“Have you found a new whore, brother? Do you fuck her like a hound? Woof!” Aegon mocks, his eyes dragging over your naked frame. 

While the prince clearly is surprised by your actions, there’s also some sense of vulnerability still surrounding him, making him shun away from the encounter. 

Raising a brow, you tilt your head down to look at Aemond who’s not meeting your gaze. “My apologies, my prince, but have I known that His Grace intended to join us tonight, I would have prepared… finer quarters for us.” It’s a bold statement, you know that, one that allows Aemond to take charge in this conversation, to save himself from any more embarrassment. 

And much to your surprise, that finally stirs something in him. 

Aemond tilts his head, meeting your eyes, before he turns slightly to look at Aegon. One of his large hands clasps around your wrist, effortlessly pulling you on the settee right next to him. There might be a hint of protectiveness and jealousy coming over him, having no desire to let his brother take advantage of you now, but it’s also the want to consolidate and prove his superiority, that he’s not the failure his brother makes out of him. He has looked more like a wounded dog rather than the fierce dragon prince he is when Aegon has caught him with Sylvi, but that is no more.

“Oh, this is completely sufficient for His Grace. Besides, we do not mind the company, do we?” Aemond asks you now, trailing his hand over the curve of your waist. “The more the merrier.”

The proximity and his touch causes a shiver to run down your spine, and for a moment it’s you being at a loss of words. You lean into his touch, an amused smile on your lips as you look over to Aegon. “Are you sure that is what you want, my prince?” you ask in a low whisper that’s only for Aemond to hear. “I am certain there would be another woman gladly taking care of His Grace…” you speak louder now, gaze flitting over to the king’s dumbfounded entourage, silently watching the exchange. “... or rather his squire.”

But the king wouldn’t be a Targaryen, if he didn’t enjoy a challenge every now and then. 

His lips curve into a wide smirk, almost smug, as he flicks his hand to dismiss his following. “Ah, it seems you have found yourself a feisty one, brother,” he notes. “I wouldn’t mind being entertained by both of you at once,” he suggests, the smirk growing even wider. “It would be a shame not to share such beauty with your own blood, would it not?”

You feel Aemond’s grip on your waist tighten, squeezing your flesh almost painfully harsh. “Very well,” he agrees, his jaw clenching almost as if he’s biting down the words. “You may stay and watch if that’s what you desire so much, Your Grace, but you will not touch her.”

The elder raises his hands in feigned surrender, chuckling. “Of course, I won’t, brother,” he assures in a sarcastic tone. “I shall only watch the delightful performance you two are about to put on for me. And it will be my turn to join when she begs for me to finish what you can not.”

“Save your breath,” he spits. “You will not hear such words leave her lips. I guarantee it.”

Sensing the tension growing between the brothers, both very clearly sharing the hot blood of the dragon, you know it’s your time to de-escalate the situation before it goes any more wrong and ruins your chances of retrieving the desired information. 

You gently place a hand on Aemond’s chest, your fingers tracing a soothing pattern, and flash him a reassuring smile. Only once you notice his tensed muscles easing very slightly do you turn to Aegon, smile widening as you speak in a sultry tone. 

“Now, my king, do not get ahead of yourself,” you say. “You first ought to see what your brother is capable of. But I assure you, you do not have to worry about me being unsatisfied.”

The prince’s annoyance at his brother momentarily vanishes with your gentle touch and words, the possessive heat he feels only fueled by it. His hand moves up from your waist, gently wrapping around the back of your neck, bringing your face closer to his. “Indeed,” he agrees with a smirk. “You best watch and learn, Aegon. I shall be generous enough to give you a show worth watching.”

With his warm breath fanning over your lips and his intense gaze all but burning into yours as he speaks, you feel yourself unable to wait any longer for something that initially was not what you wanted, acting before thinking and pressing your lips to his for a heated kiss. 

A sense of urgency weaves itself through his movements when both his hands clasp around your waist, pulling you right into his lap without breaking the kiss once. He is hard and heavy beneath you, nestled tightly between your soaked and swollen folds. You subconsciously start to grind against him, sliding back and forth and coating him in your essence. 

Aemond’s soft grunts and groans rumble in his chest and you swallow them greedily. Your hands entangle into the hair at the nape of his neck, and you tilt your head back to whimper against his lips the moment the tip of his cock rubs against your pearl. 

You have all but forgotten that it’s not just the two of you in this private space, at least until Aegon’s heavy breaths ring in your ears. But you can’t bring yourself to look at him, not because you’re embarrassed by the current predicament you’ve found yourself in, but because Aemond seizes all of your attention by lifting your hips to align his hard cock with your entrance. 

A shuddered breath slips past your lips at the feeling of his cock slowly stretching you open as you sink down, his grip on your hip growing harsher with the tight embrace of your wet and warm cunt. 

Once you’re fully seated, his grip urges your hips back and forth, not giving you a moment to adjust to his size and the painful sting of accommodating his girth. The tip of his cock brushes your sweet spot with every movement, coaxing one sweet sound of pleasure after the other from your lips already. 

You dare looking at Aegon sitting on the settee with you, albeit not longer than a few seconds, and while you notice his gaze neatly fixed on you and his brother with a smirk remaining on his lips, you also see that the sense of mockery in his eyes slowly starts to fade away to something entirely different.

Quickly averting your gaze, you focus on Aemond, leaning over him to brace yourself with your arms slung around his neck. Your walls clench around his solid weight inside of you as they start to move faster, the grinding becoming more determined and purposeful. 

It’s the quiet, strained ‘fuck’ the prince beneath you releases with his head tipped back that causes a surge of boldness and confidence to soar through you, tearing your gaze off of him to lock it with the king’s. Flitting down, your glossy eyes fall to his hand rubbing and squeezing his hard cock through his black breeches at the sight of you mounting his brother like he mounts his beloved dragon. 

With his back facing him, Aemond does not seem to have a clue about what his brother is doing, yet you’re not quite sure if he even cares about it or his presence in general. If anything, it could be counted as the validation he’s come to crave. 

Blissful moans start to pour from you as you finally find the most pleasing rhythm, the tips of your fingers burying themselves into the plane of Aemond’s broad, muscular shoulders. He barely hisses at the pain, too occupied dragging his nose along the curve of your neck and shoulders to your tits, before one perky bud is immediately embraced by his lips. 

You continue grinding down on him, sucking his hard member in with each movement, sobs and moans of pleasure steadily streaming out of your mouth. It’s the gentle nips of his teeth that make your eyes squeeze shut in delight, the fire inside of you causing you to tear your eyes off Aegon. 

The angle in which you grind your hips down on his allows you to rub your pearl against the base of his cock, the wispy, silver hair at it dragging against it enough to slowly tighten the knot inside of you. 

But much to your surprise, the pace and rhythm doesn’t seem to be sufficient enough for Aemond, despite the grunts and groans that rumble in his chest, and you soon enough find yourself ripped away from the growing pressure inside of you, flipped over to lie flat on your belly, facing Aegon now and looking up at him with wide eyes. 

You hardly have time to catch a glimpse of Aemond from over your shoulder before he positions himself between your parted thighs, forcing his cock inside of you in one, swift thrust that knocks the air straight from your lungs. You scramble for anything to hold onto to keep yourself grounded, knuckles turning white from how tightly you're fisting the sheets. 

His upper body slightly bends forwards and towers over yours as he rests one hand at your shoulder and the other at your hip. The pace of his thrusts is nothing short of ruthless, and he uses the grip he has to pull you back onto his cock for your bodies to meet halfway, the most obscene sounds of skin slapping on skin perfectly audible, hardly drowned out by Aegon’s grunts and groans. 

“Are you enjoying the show, Your Grace?” Aemond suddenly rasps between heavy breaths, voice laced with a hint of mockery and challenge. “Perhaps even learning something useful about how to pleasure a woman?”

You spot Aegon’s gaze darkening slightly at his brother’s words, clearly trying to hold back any sarcastic remarks that tingle in the back of his throat. “Oh, I am enjoying this very much,” he replies, voice strained. “But I do not need any lessons from you. I know my way around a woman’s body just fine.”

Aemond huffs, and although annoyance sparks within him, he masks it well behind a smug smirk and a low chuckle. His hands grip your flesh tightly, surely leaving some bruises the following days. 

“Oh, truly?” Aemond says sarcastically. “Then perhaps you would like to indulge us and demonstrate your skills, hm?” 

No matter how hazy and clouded your mind has grown by the reckless pounding of Aemond, it turns crystal clear the second you fully process his words. Aegon seems just as dumbfounded by the offer as you are, yet he’s quicker to speak and act.

Rising from his position on the settee, he lets out a low chuckle. “Well, I’ll play along,” he rasps, already undoing the laces in the front of his breeches. “I shall certainly not decline this invitation.”

He pulls them down enough to free his cock, hard and standing to full attention. You swallow thickly at the sight, and clench down harshly around Aemond which makes him choke on a groan. 

Aegon walks up to your side as if he means to drive his brother away to take his place, but Aemond merely scoffs at that, and serves a harsh slap to your arse that makes you squirm and whine. “You may use her mouth, and her mouth only,” he clarifies, tone firm. “She is mine, and I shall not let you claim more of that.”

Cocking an eyebrow at his words, Aegon raises his hands in surrender. “Very well, then,” he replies, climbing onto the settee. Not a moment is wasted by him once he’s settled in front of you to tap your lips with the tip of his cock, silently commanding you to part them for him.

But you don’t allow him to slip past your lips right away, and instead drag your tongue over the tip, following the small slit and gathering some of his arousal before you trace it along the vein on the underside of his cock. He’s all but purring at that already, your little performance riling him up to the point he’s just desperate for relief. 

Aemond’s stones are heavy and the pouch they sit in is slightly slagged, hitting your pearl perfectly each time he snaps his hips into yours and fills you to the brim, sending shivers up your spine. It only makes your desire to have Aegon’s cock in your mouth more adamant, and eventually you stop your teasing and take him inside. 

While you’re propped up on both your elbows, you wrap your hand around the bit of his cock that doesn’t fit into your mouth, moving it along in rhythm with the bobbing of your head. 

Each one of Aemond’s thrusts pushes you toward Aegon, forcing him deeper down your throat as if you aren’t struggling already. “That’s it,” Aemond grunts, voice strained, and the snaps of his hips increase to the point your whines become hiccuped, caught in your throat and muffled by Aegon’s cock. “Such a damn good girl for us.”

Aegon is generous enough to pull back completely every once and then, allowing your lungs to fill with air before he sinks back into the warmth of your mouth again. You bring one hand up to rest on his thigh as a means to slow his pace and force, but his desire is getting the worst of him. 

Droplets of your saliva dribble from the corners of your lips, down your chin and throat with how fast he pushes into you, meeting his cock halfway with the force of Aemond’s thrusts. The lewd sounds of their soaked cocks sliding in and out of your holes fill the room, hardly drowned out by their bawdy grunts and groans and words of praise.

You hollow your cheeks and press your tongue flat to the underside of Aegon’s cock, allowing him to claim your mouth however he pleases, the added stimulation causing him to choke on a gasp. He trusts frantically into your mouth at this point, and you know he’s close already with how he throbs on your tongue.

Aemond forces his hips into yours with such determination, he is close to shoving you up against his brother with the force of his need, your arms almost buckling under the weight he puts onto you. You can tell he’s racing for completion, effectively pulling you with him in the process. 

With the pace of his hips not faltering once, your peak washes over you in an ambush. The pleasure in your body gets intense enough for your legs and arms to tremble, his hand that rests at your neck trailing down to seize your hip to support you. Your walls clench around his cock tight enough for him to draw in a sharp breath, but the assault on your cunt doesn’t cease. 

Yet he’s not the first man to surrender to the pleasure. Despite your struggles to please him accordingly, Aegon’s peak follows closely behind yours, ripped from him by the reckless pace his brother has set up. 

“By the Sev–” he heaves, interrupted by a strained groan. 

It might have been the tight embrace of your cunt around his cock, or the sight of you eagerly swallowing every drop of his brother’s seed, but not long after his throbbing cock spends itself deep inside of your quivering walls, causing you to roll your hips against his to prolong his peak. 

His hands trail up and down your sides in pure bliss, and when it’s all over, he releases a sigh of relief, almost as if some sort of pressure has been taken off of his shoulders. 

But you don’t get the chance to relinquish it for too long, both men pulling out of you at once. Aemond’s almost comforting grip on your body leaves far too quickly, prompting you to topple onto your side. 

Your wide eyes flicker between them, and while Aegon is busy tucking himself back into his breeches, not caring about you and your overall presence, Aemond has a somewhat suspicious glint flickering in his eye. 

Even if he’s aware of your antics, it’s now or never, for you certainly won’t be welcomed around him again after the brazen takeover – it was not what he requested after all. 

Putting on a confident front, you roll onto your belly, propping yourself up on your forearms and dangling your feet in the air. 

“Now, I believe you both owe me something,” you start, keeping your eyes locked on Aemond. He’s of more importance to you despite his brother being the king, solely based on the rumors you’ve heard. “A reward for my services, if you will.”

They exchange a glance and scoff, both of them clearly surprised by your audacity. “You will receive your coins on the morrow,” the elder states, shrugging his shoulders before turning towards the exit.

“‘Tis not coins I want,” you retort with a shake of your head. 

Aemond’s still completely bare as he speaks, standing in the room with his newfound confidence. “And what exactly is it you desire, hm?” His tone is slightly derogatory, subtly remembering you of your place – making clear that you’re in no position to desire anything at all.

You know he’s not asking because he wants to fulfill your wish, but rather because he’s just curious to learn what else you could possibly want from them, and it seems to be the same for his older brother for he’s turned around to look at you again. 

“What I desire is the chance to learn more about my heritage,” you reply, gaze scanning both men. “I have only just recently come to Westeros to learn more about the mighty House Targaryen, although my grandmother has told me several stories. But I want to hear it from those with first-hand experience, and I do not think there is someone better to help me with that than you.”

Aemond’s eye narrows in suspicion. “And who might your grandmother be exactly?”

“Princess Saera Targaryen.”

While Aegon releases a scoff of disbelief, Aemond’s eye widens in surprise. “The Saera who left Westeros and disgraced our family name?” 

The weight of your grandmother’s reputation is heavy to bear, and you struggle to acknowledge this part of it. “Yes, I am her granddaughter. And I understand the disdain many might have for her, however, all I know is that she left Westeros and lived her life in Essos, never to return. I am merely curious about my family, and hoped that you, as the sons of the late King Viserys, would have the knowledge I seek.”

Aegon laughs out loudly, but this time you’re the one at the end of his humiliation and mockery. Averting your eyes to the ground, you press your lips into a thin line. There is unease in both their faces, and you figure that you probably won’t get the answers you desire from them anytime soon.

“I… well… it seems that you are not quite yet willing to share your knowledge,” you say, quieter, before rising from the settee. You walk towards the curtains, pushing them aside to make your exit, and continue without looking at them, hesitating to truly leave them. “Do not worry, I shall not trouble you any further. Perhaps I ought to seek answers in Dragonstone, then.” 

The glance they exchange goes unnoticed by you, but soon enough you feel Aegon’s sturdy chest press against your back and his heavy breath fan over your bare, sweat-covered skin. “Ah, no need to rush off so quickly,” he says, planting a hand on your waist. “I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss us just yet. Maybe we’re just a bit hesitant to open up. Perhaps a little persuasion on your part might… convince us.”

You feign a sigh, pretending to be reluctant but secretly enjoying the attention. “I am all for persuasion, Your Grace,” you say, your voice sultry. “But I believe I should be rewarded first… at least a little. After all, my services have proven to be quite delightful, have they not? And I do not plan to persuade you for free.”

Spinning on your heels, there is little space between you and Aegon. But you don’t budge, not when you’ve your mind set on it. 

“You are quite demanding, aren’t you, my dear?” Aegon asks, his voice deep. It’s clear he’s amused by your bluntness, judged by the smirk draped across his features, yet he’s also enticed by the prospect of sharing you with his brother for a second time. “But if that’s what it takes. What kind of reward do you desire, then?”

And so it happens that, after they have given you bits of information about House Targaryen that have not made it into the history books, you find yourself entangled in the sheets again, a mess of limbs and sweat and promises to give you answers to everything your heart desires. 

Aemond Taglist: @persephonerinyes @dr-aegon @schniiipsel @thekinslayed @baizzhu

@legitalicat @eponaartemisa @peachysunrize @blackswxnn @decaffeinatedparadisepost

@mfedits @luvdella @jays-bullshit @justarandomgal @gelacat0413

Aegon II Taglist: @dr-aegon @palmer-hjp

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

heyy, I just saw the first episode of season two and I’m completely destroyed. I need to read something with Jacaerys in which reader gives him a hug after what happened 🫶🏻

Request: Helloooo! I saw you were open to requests sooo with this episode- how about instead of Baela being the one to take Jace to Rheanyra, its reader who had been waiting for him since he landed? Jace x reader relationship is up to you!

I have written this a few weeks ago, but let's do a small blurb. Seeing Jace break was just so sad. Grab your tissues 🤧

Warnings: mention of character death, grief

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

On the journey back to Dragonstone, Jacaerys swallowed back his tears. Vermax could feel that his rider was in pain, but he stayed focused on flying home. 

Although you couldn’t predict when they would arrive, you knew Jacaerys would fly home immediately upon receiving the letter. 

You greeted him outside when he landed, but Jacaerys refused to meet your eyes, focussing on princely duties because he could not bear to face his role as brother and son in that moment. He spoke like a prince, asking to be taken to the Queen so he could give her his report. 

Without speaking a word, you walked him to Rhaenyra’s chambers. The guards opened the door for you, nodding their heads at the prince. As you stepped inside, Rhaenyra turned at the sound of your footsteps on the stone floor. 

You bowed to the Queen, casting a last glance on Jacaerys before you left the room. ‘’You know where to find me,’’ you whispered to him, your voice barely audible. 

He didn’t respond. 

While he spoke to his mother about the Vale and the North, Jacaerys was trying to remain professional and keep his composure. He needed to stay strong for her. His voice was steady until he mentioned the North. The name of Cregan Stark brought back the images of the northman delivering the news of Lucerys’s death, causing Jacaerys to choke up on his words.

Rhaenyra held her eldest and they cried together. 

When he thought the tears were over, Jacaerys left his mother’s chambers. Servants were politely nodding their head at him on his way to his own chambers, a veil of sympathy on their faces. But Jacaerys paid them no attention as his emotions were threatening to spill again. 

As promised, you were sitting on his — your — chambers when he stepped in, waiting for him. You stood when hearing the door, and he broke down completely, his body shaking with sobs as he collapsed into your arms. 

You held Jacaerys tightly as he sobbed uncontrollably, his grief pouring out with each shuddering breath. 

You always knew him as the strong son of Princess Rhaenyra who held his head high and never let anything affect him. The strength he usually exuded was gone, replaced by the vulnerability of a boy who had lost his brother. It was gut-wrenching to see him cry, his hands clutching at your dress to anchor himself through the storm of his emotions.

‘’He died because of me,’’ he whispered between sobs, his voice raw with pain. ‘’It was my idea to go on dragonback instead of sending ravens.’’ 

Guilt laced his voice, and you pulled his head back, seeing his eyes red and swollen. You knew no words would stop his guilt. He would have to live with his for the rest of his life. But you could try to show him he was not entirely at fault. It was Vhagar at the commands of Aemond targaryen who killed Lucerys. Not him.

‘’Mayhaps it was your idea, but you couldn’t have known Aemond would be at Storm’s End asking for support from Borros Baratheon. He is the one responsible for this barbarous act,’’ you said, holding his gaze.

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale@mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron  @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit

All and more taglist: @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade@mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog@queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff   @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity  @Anouknani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21

[bluerosefox]

Gray and Graysons

One of the Bats has a secret. Something they never told to the others.

They were so very young but they have memories of a sibling, so small and tiny. They remember the burst of warmth they had in their heart when they held the tiny baby for just a moment.

But they weren’t allowed to keep them, their family couldn’t raise them. Money was tight, just enough for three but not for four, despite their shows always bringing in a crowd it was getting harder and harder for the world to be wowed by them in the new age and their sibling was too small and tiny and needed to be cared in a single place than for them to be on the road. Their lifestyle was not good for his tiny sibling apparently.

They had to watch as their parents gave his sibling away to people in suits, them promising to give his baby brother to a loving family when they find a ‘home’ for him. He watched his parents try to be strong only for his mother to break down once the car left down the road, his father holding her and apologizing, the rest of the circus troupe all silently coming over to give the heartbroken family condolences.

Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson had tears running down his face when he last saw his baby brother.

A brother he got to name before he had to be given away.

Daniel ‘Danny’ Grayson.

-x-x-

Dick never told the others. If anyone dug deep into his past they might find his brother’s birth records maybe, if someone got around to digitizing the paperwork for him but given the fact he was placed in the US childcare systems just a few days after his birth and the fact that Dick was still pretty young they most likely believed he didn’t remember his baby brother now. Not after so many years.

But they were wrong, Dick remembers. And he kept the secret close to his heart and memories.

And the only physical evidence he had was a single picture of him holding his brother, a smile on his tiny face towards their father who had taken the photo of them together. When he had lost his parents, lost most of the things that connected him to them, to his past in the circus that had been his whole life, had been taken from him in Gotham’s ruthless childcare system, he held on tight to the picture in secret. Hid it away from anyone trying to rip it from him, hid it from Bruce when the man took him in days later, hid it from Alfred despite how gentle the butler was towards him. He couldn’t, wouldn’t risk losing his photo at the time, he hadn’t trusted anyone and by the time he did he didn’t have the heart to reveal it.

So yes, the existence of his baby brother Danny was his most guarded and best kept secret.

So that’s why Dick, as Nightwing, nearly died from a heart attack when leaving a Justice League meeting he spotted a familiar face among one of the new engineers working in the Watchtower.

It was like seeing a young version of himself. Only, Dick could see that the young man was more than a copy of him, so much more than a clone. He held many traces of John Grayson but also had a bit more of Mary Grayson than Dick did. Small details that Dick foggely remembers taking note when he had held his baby brother.

“Hey, hurry up with that report Gray!” Shouted the head engineer from down the hall, his hand beckoning the young adult to come over.

“Coming! And boss, I told you Danny is fine!” Danny shouted back before hurriedly leaving a stunned Nightwing.

[fayes-fics]

Second Son

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: The second son is, for once, the first choice...

Warnings: none really... mild angst, family dynamics, love at first sight.

Word Count: 2.9k

Authors Note: Request fill for anon here, about Benedict being the second choice for everything.... until his love turns up. Thanks for this request; I hope this is angsty enough for you anon. Im not sure about it tbh. Sorry that it's taken more than three months to get to it on my WIP list. Unbetaed. Enjoy <3

Benedict Bridgerton was born into privilege and can have few complaints. Except perhaps that he is always second. The spare. The just-in-case option. Being a familial insurance policy lends one more freedom than the burden of being the titled first son, perhaps, but it also feels like your whole existence, in some respects, can seem like a contingency plan.

____

His stomach swoops with excitement as the arrow pierces the target dead on the bullseye. And on his first ever archery lesson, just after his twelfth birthday.

He turns around to see if anyone is there to witness his triumph, but it goes unmarked. All his young siblings gathered around Anthony, patting him on the back for his achievements in doing the same moments before. Being a good shot is an essential skill for the next Viscount indeed. The fact that he has been receiving instruction for months already and this is Benedict’s first lesson hurts a little.

But he doesn't bother to bring attention to his arguably more impressive feat. It seems pointless now. Wordlessly he shrugs and walks towards the target, plucking out his arrow and starting again. Perhaps next time, they will notice.

____

“Is that the new Viscount Bridgerton?” Benedict hears a young girl murmur as he sweeps into the first societal event of the season, the spring following his father's death. 

“Oh no, my dear, sadly not; I believe that is one of the brothers,” her mother replies, acting as if he has no sense of hearing, even trying to ignore it as he is, surveying the crowd.

“Such a shame,” the young girl huffs, “he is so very handsome.”

“Yes, dear, but sadly not titled. We can do better,” her mother chides, moving them along out of earshot.

He will never get over how cutthroat the Ton can be, a part of his tender seventeen-year-old heart sinking. Not that he had a potential interest in that girl, more the principle that he will somehow be rendered as an also-ran, at best a consolation prize, for the rest of his life.

What is most galling, perhaps, is that, when his mother needs their presence the most on a night like tonight, the new VIscount is nowhere to be seen. Has not even bothered to show his face, running off to some spurious gambling den and brothel, spending the night indulging himself rather than facing society. 

So here Benedict is, stepping up to play the dutiful son that his elder brother should be. Being the support their mother so desperately needs at her first event as a widow, her arm looped heavily through his, her whole bodyweight seeming to use him as her literal pillar of support. As he escorts her around the room, he is filled with admiration at her brave face. He can see the overwhelming sadness in her eyes every time the word dowager is invoked, and his heart cracks a little at the loneliness he can feel emanating from his mother’s very soul. 

“Tis a shame the Viscount did not deign the first event of the season worthy of his patronage,” she states pointedly as she sips champagne.

“I am sure he has very good reasons for his absence,” Benedict replies soothingly, covering for his errant brother, attempting to shield their mother from the truth of his philandering ways. Benedict knows it is Anthony’s way of dealing with the responsibility of the title of Viscount being thrust upon him so young. But sometimes, just sometimes, Benedict wishes he could escape his grief in such a manner, Anthony taking his turn attending a stuffy ball and playing guardian to a grieving woman. Their burdens may be different, but the wish to escape them is often not, Benedict realises.

____

She catches his eye at a garden party at Aubrey Hall. She is a pretty young lady, maybe eighteen to his twenty-three, with bright eyes and a sweet, happy face. She makes his palms slightly sweaty. He watches her from a distance, uncertain how to approach or what to say, feeling a little tongue-tied, even. 

Just then, Anthony materialises at his shoulder.

“Who is that pretty young thing?” Anthony asks, tracing Benedict’s line of sight.

“Miss Bradstreet,” he replies, watching as she turns to face the sun, closing her eyes, basking in its warmth. The light captures her cheekbones perfectly, and he itches to have his sketchbook and capture her likeness. He would very much like to get to know her better.

“Let's go provide a warm welcome,” Anthony smirks, clapping a hand on Benedict’s shoulder and practically dragging him across the lawn.

Benedict reluctantly follows, a flutter of excitement as her eyes land upon them as they approach. 

“Miss Bradstreet,” Anthony swaggers. “Viscount Bridgerton at your service; I am so very pleased to be your host today,” he bows.

Benedict's stomach plunges as he watches her practically melt into the lawn right there, virtually swooning at Anthony’s feet.

“Oh, and this is my brother, Benedict,” Anthony adds, almost as an afterthought. 

She flicks her head to the side briefly to politely acknowledge Benedict before returning to Anthony. All of her undivided adoring attention on him as he regales the story of his latest hunting triumphs upon her insistence. Benedict heaves a sigh and watches as yet another young lady he likes chooses his brother over him. He is almost used to it now, but it doesn't stop the sting every time.

____

Your world grinds to a halt as you see him. He is descending the stairs with what you assume is the rest of his family. He is very much in the middle of a tight circle, walking behind what appears to be his mother and perhaps older brother. Quite the most beautiful man you have ever seen, your heart pounding in your ears, your throat suddenly dry despite the lemonade in your hand. You assume they must be the hosts, seeing as they are the very last to enter the ballroom here at Bridgerton House, and there is no announcement of their name.

“Who is that?” you whisper, leaning towards your elder sister. She has been out among society for a year and knows the Ton better than you.

“That is the Bridgerton family, of course,” she replies. “Illustrious in the extreme. Our hosts for this evening. The Viscount there is the most eligible bachelor of every season… and every season, he has resisted a match. So I wouldn't bother if I were you,” she sniffs.

“Which is the Viscount?” you check, your eyes unable to leave the beautiful man with a cravat tied in the most unconventional fashion.

“The one with his arm looped with their mother, the dowager Viscountess, naturally,” your sister rolls her eyes as if patently obvious.

“And what of the others?” you inquire keenly, realising the man you admire cannot be the one your sister is referring to. “Do you know their names?”

“I do not,” she admits, “such things are not really important when one is looking for a titled husband,” she points out airily. 

You nod, knowing the responsibility your sister must carry as firstborn to find a suitable match that can provide for your widowed mother and, indeed, perhaps yourself and your younger sister should neither of you be able to find a husband. You don’t envy her position one little bit. 

You are, however, desperate to get closer to the most beautiful man you have ever seen. And so you spend your evening working towards them, in as polite of a fashion as you can, your stomach in knots of excitement to know him.

“Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you,” you curtsy, heart pounding as he now stands a few feet away, unable to look at him so close by.

“Hello, my dear and you are?” she asks politely.

“Miss y/n y/l/n, it is my very first season; I am so honoured to be here,” you explain. “I must provide the apologies of my mother, Mrs y/l/n, who could not attend tonight due to a cold, but she is so very thankful for the invitation.”

“Oh, of course,” the viscountess smiles. “I am so sorry to hear of her illness; please pass on my best regards… Anthony!” she turns to her side to grab the attention of a man. The viscount’s head whips around from where he is in discussion with another. “Come meet Miss y/l/n,” she needles pointedly. “Miss y/l/n, this is the Viscount Anthony Brdgerton, and he is so pleased not only to make your acquaintance but also for your presence here tonight,” she welcomes on his behalf, and you do not miss the subtle nudge in the ribs she gives him.

Then his regard is drawn to you. He is handsome certainly, and you appreciate his polite but absent-minded greeting. His attentions are obviously elsewhere, but then you cannot fault him as yours are the same. Your gaze strays over his shoulder to the man who first captures your attention. And your breath is stolen by how his hazy blue eyes stare intently at you.

____

Benedict is twenty-six years old when he is struck by lightning. Not literally. But that is the sensation that runs through his body when he first lays eyes on you—politely introducing yourself to his mother and thanking her for your invitation to this ball. 

He thought he knew what attraction was until this point. He thought he knew the depths to which one could fall in love in an instant. He was an utter fool. He looks at you, and at once, everything is so quiet and loud all at once. He is desperate to know you in a way he has never felt. To grab your hand, take you somewhere, and ask you a million questions to get to know your soul. He also wants to kiss you so much that his lips tingle. And inside, his lungs want to scream as his mother does the natural thing and introduces the beautiful, polite young lady to her most eligible son… Anthony. 

Then his heart jolts as your eyes stray from Anthony and meets his, your pupils dilating in a way that makes his lungs too small to inhale air. It is the first and only time a young woman has had Anthony’s full attention and has looked away from it. And to him, no less. The tidal flood of chemicals in his system makes it feel like he is vibrating in his very shoes.

____

You try your best to be polite and look at Anthony as he speaks, but your sight is drawn to this other man like a moth to a flame. From appearance, the second son, as you are the second daughter. A flare of understanding and sympathy in your chest as to how that is. You want to grab his hand and run away with him.

“My lord,” you find your voice and snap your eyes back to the Viscount, “would you do me the honour of introducing me to the rest of your wonderful family?” your ask, almost timid.

He looks temporarily taken aback, as if mystified why anyone in the Ton would care about the status of anyone beyond his mother and himself. You smile at him expectantly and do not miss, from the corner of your eye, how the beautiful man’s face is awash with surprise at your request.

“Oh, most certainly,” Anthony seems to snap out of his temporary stupor and turns to introduce his siblings in attendance. A tall, baby-faced young man stands to attention as Anthony moves from left to right. “This is Colin; he has just returned from his travels in Greece,” you nod and smile politely, knowing nothing of the subject. “And this is my sister, Eloise; it is her first season, and she is not in the slightest bit happy about that,” he adds dryly, and you can't help but giggle and feel a kinship with the spirited young lady who returns your wry smile. “My eldest sister, the Duchess of Hastings, who is visiting us,”

You curtsy and bow your head. “It is an honour, your Grace,” you add, and she smiles sweetly at you, her arm looped in her mother's.

“Obviously, you have met my mother,” he continues, and suddenly he is the last in the line. You feel your palms clench, sweaty in anticipation of learning his name “... and this is my brother, Benedict; he hopes to be an artist.”

You are finally brave enough to meet his eyes again. He is so achingly beautiful that the rest of his family, indeed the whole ballroom, melt away from your view—he is all you can see.

“Oh, I adore art,” you stutter, mesmerised, offering your hand to him, the first and only person in the family you do so to. Unseen by you, your gaze only on one man, Anthony’s mouth drops open in surprise.

Nothing can prepare you for when Benedict’s gloved hand gently touches yours, him bowing to kiss the back of your hand. You catch a woody citrus scent that makes your mouth water as he does so. And then you feel the warmth of his lips through your glove, and you are utterly undone.

“Miss y/l/n,” he rumbles quietly, the sound making your insides melt even more; it's deep and resonant and makes every inch of your body tingle.

“Please call me y/n,” you murmur, moving closer, knowing how scandalous that might be, but seemingly unable to stop yourself. He has a hypnotic hold over you that you don't want to fight.

“Only if you shall call me Benedict,” he breathes, and it takes Anthony clearing his throat to make you spring apart, suddenly remembering where you are.

____

His lips touch the silk of your glove, and he is gone. 

Already planning a future, his mind supplying images of you at his cottage out in the country, the lady of the house. Tending to the herb garden, reading happily curled up in front of the fire in the drawing room, fearlessly plucking a bow as you stand in front of joint archery targets gently teasing him for losing to a girl, and finally, the image that truly knocks the wind out of him, you naked under him, desperately moaning his name as you move together, entwined in ecstasy.

He hears your sharp inhale, and his heart skips at the idea you feel it too. That you are the first woman ever that sees him and not Anthony. Really sees him. Not as the second son. Not as a consolation prize. 

And when your body seems to sway towards him, he is already mentally asking his mother for a betrothal ring from her grandmother, which she said she is keeping just for him.

____

“Benedict,” his name feels wonderful in your mouth, like a gift from the heavens. “Please, may we take a turn around the gardens?” you implore, the boldest you have ever been in your whole life. 

“It would be my very greatest pleasure,” he responds.

And you know with absolute certainty you have met your husband, the father of your children, your very future. 

____

“It is not as if this is my show….” he sighs.

“You should not do that, darling,” you say affectionately, ruffling his hair as you move to fix his cravat; it definitely needs to be more jaunty, in your opinion.

“Do what?” he breathes, his wedding ring catching the light as he places his hands gently over yours and stills your motions.

“Think of yourself as second,” you argue, running your hand over his cheek. “This gallery opening may feature others' work too, but you are the star of the exhibit,” you reassure, tilting his forehead down so it rests upon yours.

There it is again. That look that always floors you. Even now, a year later. Like you are the most wondrous creature, and he can scarcely believe you are his.

“Never forget, you will always be first to me,” you utter fiercely, watching his eyes soften with devotion. “And not just me….” you guide his sizeable warm hand onto the swell of your belly, “to us. We love you so much, Benedict,” your tone is ardent, wanting him to believe he deserves this recognition, that he should believe in himself the way that you do.

“I love you, too,” he responds quietly, reverentially. “So very much. Both of you are my whole world,” his voice choked with emotion, and you throw your arms around him and squeeze hard, wanting to telegraph just how much he is the very centre of your universe.

An hour later, you clutch your hands over your chest as you watch him being brought onto the raised stage and introduced to the crowd as they applaud him and his work rapturously, awaiting to hear him talk of his art. As he does so, you stroke your belly unseen under your cloak, beaming with pride for your wonderful husband.

____

He sees your face in the crowd, and as ever, it calms him, especially at this landmark moment. So as he finishes the speech that he has rehearsed for days now, he decides to do something perhaps unconventional but something he seems unable to resist.

“Lastly, before I allow you back to your champagne,” he jests, finally at ease with the attention and recognition. “I want to thank my life’s inspiration, the very reason I stand before you today. My wonderful wife. Thank you, my love, for being the light of my life; for always making this second son your first choice. You will always, always be my first choice. I love you.” 

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep

[utterlyotterlyx]

Eden

Azriel x F!Reader

Summary - You had heard the rumours of the illustrious Shadowsinger, and you knew better than to get involved with him despite his eyes finding you. Though, everything changes after one fateful night, and you find yourself unwilling to be another one of his conquests.

Warnings - angst, swearing, mentions of blood, fluff, fuck boy to angel Az, jealousy, some sadness, suggestive tones

Based on this ask

Word Count - 11.5k (oops)

"You know that sleeping around isn't going to make your mate miraculously appear, right?" Cassian pretty much shouted across the table to Azriel, wincing and the loud thumping of the music and squealing laughter drifting through the dancefloor of Rita's.

Shrugging, Azriel continued to sip on his potent drink, so potent that it took the edge off of his misery for a few hours to allow him to enjoy being buried inside another female before he went home to only be surrounded by every single member of his family acting sickly in love.

At first Azriel only did it to forget about Elain and Lucien, at how she chose the fox over him, but then it spiralled into something more. It had become to poisonous and filled him with so much venom that he despised being around his family at all. He had moved himself out of the House of Wind to a small but cosy apartment on the outskirts of the city, mainly so that no one truly knew how many women he was bedding each week, but so that he could also escape the turmoil of mating bonds and happiness.

"I don't have a mate," Azriel admitted, truly believing that the Mother had chosen to restrict him of that single purity he had always yearned for.

His eyes scoured the crowd, trying to find a female he hadn't taken to bed yet, not wanting to fuck the same woman twice and lead her to believe that he wanted anything more from her than what he did.

"Don't say that," Cassian scolded lightly, frowning at his brother and worrying about the dimness laced in his eyes as they lazily dragged across the crowds. "She's out there, Az. You just have to be patient."

Cassian's words gave Azriel no hope. The Shadowsinger knew that Nesta disapproved of Cassian joining him in the evenings, and he knew that Rhys and Feyre were worried about his wellbeing, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

To care was to open himself up to more pain, and he couldn't do it again.

"No, I don't," Azriel downed the rest of his drink and rose from his place in the booth, rolling his shoulders and feeling his shadows peak up from behind his wings, just as solemn as their master. "You should get back to Nesta. I'll see you for training tomorrow," he mumbled, fixating his gaze on the woman he knew for certain he'd be taking to bed that night to forget how lonely he truly was, stalking toward her and leaving Cassian more worried than he ever had been.

There was something about clubs and alcohol that you despised. Maybe it was the way males kept on knocking into you without apology, or how they would lean in and shout down your ear in an attempt to get you to dance with them.

No. It was definitely the heat that you hated the most. How the sweaty bodies would writhe and pulse to the beat of the music with little care of the world raging on beyond the doors. A world you had ventured across to set up a practice in the Night Court, believing that it was where fate needed you to be.

"Loosen up, y/n," your slightly inebriated friend, Alana, childishly begged as she grabbed your hands and swung them in time to the melody. "This is your first night out since you got here. Have some fun."

Part of you wanted to listen to her, to truly give in and push yourself outside of the bubble of comfort your solitude had gifted you. It wasn't that you hadn't tried to, it was just that you enjoyed your quiet nights in curled up with a good book, and your days of healing and walking about the city. It was routine, and you were happy living within it.

Allowing Alana to twirl you around in the tight black cut-out dress she had forced you to adorn for the evening, you couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the most beautiful male you had ever seen as the world span. Stopping in your tracks, you watched his grin widen as a stunning blonde female wearing little to no clothing swayed against the front of his body, grinding her hips and ass onto him whilst his fingers tightened around her waist.

"Who is that?" Alana came to your side sporting a knowing smirk, biting her lip softly as she too watched the male move in rhythm with the woman in front of him.

Just as his lips floated downward, whispering and nipping at the shell of her ear, did Alana admit, "That's Azriel. He's part of the Inner Circle," her eyes moved to you, dragging from your feet up to your face, "And he'd ruin you, sweetheart."

"I'm not interested," you lied.

Alana saw straight through it, "Liar," she nudged, "There isn't a single unmated female in this city that doesn't wish that he wouldn't beckon them to his bed, and he's had many of them."

There was no way that you could compare to the woman in front of him, she had golden blonde hair and rouge painted lips, and she had a wildness to her that you'd never be able to own. And, like he knew that fact, his eyes moved upward to yours and you felt like he was searching the depths of your soul. The stare was so intense that you felt the heat rise to your cheeks and had no choice but to break the contact, and you felt his smirk rake over your body as you turned away.

For the rest of the evening, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop yourself from finding Azriel from wherever he was in the room. Women flocked around him, but it was clear that he had made his choice, and you had to watch as the woman sauntered from the bar, dragging him behind her for an night of ruin.

And all you could do was wonder what exactly that would be like.

Nursing a hangover and little to no sleep thanks to the blonde feline Azriel had taken to bed that morning, the last thing he wanted to do was train with Cassian, but he knew he'd never hear the end of it if he bailed.

So there he was, clad in his leathers beneath the scorching sun, regretting all of his life choices.

At least he found something new out, something that his shadows didn't deem necessary to tell him. There was a new female in the city, one who reeked of Dawn, who was as beautiful as a setting sun in the depths of summer. Azriel couldn't help but picture her face whilst he fucked that woman, imagining her lips breathless and perfectly rounded, imagining the smoothness of her skin under his touch, and the subtle waves of her hair spiralling down her back.

It seemed that his wish to know more of her was answered the moment Feyre and Rhys stepped onto the training grounds atop the House of Wind, muttering about a new healer that Nyx had become obsessed with.

"Nyx just adores her," Feyre spoke with wonder, clad in her custom made training leathers that Rhys had made for her. "He let her give him his injections, he won't let Madja close enough to even try."

Rhys hummed in response, smiling at the memory and clearly pleased by the being he had welcomed into the city, "Well, Thesan did say that she is the best he's seen in a long time. I'm glad that she's here. It means that Madja can retire now if she wants to."

A new healer? From the Dawn Court?

No wonder she was so beautiful. She had been born in the most serene court of Prythian, she had probably grown up with the Peregryns, and had been trained by Thesan himself.

Turning his attention back to Cassian, Azriel couldn't help but let his mind wander to the healer he had seen the night before. It was strange how he found her eyes, pools of innocent bliss gazing at him from across the room that he couldn't help but be infatuated with. He still felt the pang of disappointment in his soul when she had looked away.

Training ensued without any issues, and by the end of the session Azriel was sure that he was going to throw up whilst Cassian seemed as chipper as ever. Nesta must have been nice to him when he returned home last night.

Just as Azriel went to flex his wings and return to his apartment as far away from the House of Wind, and thus Elain and Lucien, as possible, the clearing of a throat caused his feet to stick to the ground. "Az, a word?"

Rhys stood a mere few feet behind Azriel and watched as his tensed wings folded between his shoulders before he slowly turned to face him. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Rhys narrowed his eyes, still anxious about approaching Azriel considering the last time he had expressed his worry it had caused Azriel to move across the city. "I have a mission that I need you to go on. It's urgent. There's been increasing reports from the mountain camps that wing clipping has made a return. I need you to verify it."

It was one of the few things that truly got under Azriel's skin, the removal of wings from Illyrian females, usually little girls. Wordlessly, Azriel nodded, turning his back to Rhys and stepping toward the ledge that would plunge him downward, "I'll leave this afternoon."

And with that, Azriel extended his wings and propelled himself upward, ebbing and flowing over the scape of the city and trying to pinpoint where exactly the new healers practice was located. He had even sent his shadows out to continue the search when he had returned home, needing nothing more than the wash away the sweat and stench of alcohol alongside the lingering teeth marks peppered along his collarbone.

It made him feel disgusting. Azriel awoke each morning with a different female coiled around her torso feeling less like a man and more like a personal whore to the women of Velaris. It was tiring, but it was the only way he could tear his mind away from the pits of his immortal loneliness.

During his preparations, his shadows returned singing their findings.

The Sidra.

Beautiful.

Angel.

Sad.

Azriel wondered what in the world could cause something so incredible to be sad. And he vowed to delve deeper into the female upon his return, to find out what was the cause of her sadness and rid her of it.

If he couldn’t fix his own life then perhaps he could fix it for someone else. Someone who deserved it.

The sun had began to wane by the time Azriel was ready to leave for the mountain camps, he was dressed in his usual leathers with siphons glowering under the descending light. He didn’t bother looking back at the mess that was his apartment, he was used to looking back and saying goodbye to Cassian, and ruffling Nyx’s black mass of hair whilst promising the child that he wouldn’t be long.

But he was alone now, he had nothing to look back to.

It didn’t take The Shadowsinger long to reach the mountain camps. He landed far enough away to not be detected and approached the camps on foot, taking the time to try and evaluate when his life had become so unsatisfying and lifeless.

Looking into the eyes of that woman across the room at Rita’s was the first time he had felt alive, truly alive, in what felt like eons. And he was sure that he’d be chasing that feeling for the rest of his miserable days on the earth.

His wings were drooped at the tips, almost dragging along the floor, and his shadows continued on their melancholy journey slithering over his spine and shoulders before shivering and returning to where they had come from, searching for a speckle of warmth.

It was only when he heard the cries echoing from the centre of the camp did he truly focus on why he was there. The cries were whimpering, pleading, begging whoever it was to stop, and the voice was so gentle, so childlike and innocent that Azriel was beginning to lose the taut grip he usually had over his self-control.

Truthteller sang at his side, thirsty for a taste of blood, eager to take another life especially if it meant ridding the continent of another monster. Azriel was happy to indulge it.

Without wasting a moment, and without thinking, he entered the clearing in the centre of the camp and moved as fast as a phantom wind in cutting down the Illyrian males that deemed the barbarity acceptable, starting with the poor excuse of one that was towering over the cowering girl who had blood leaking from her ears and nose.

It was a bloodbath, and Azriel couldn’t bring himself to stop, not even when the arrows embedded themselves into his thigh and torso and caused his vision to blur. He could make out the pools of blood, and he could feel his shadows tightening around his limbs in attempt to get him to stop, and only when his breath became latched within his throat did he realise that there was no one left for him to maim, no one that would dare to face him anyway.

He hissed at the spreading pain being carried through his body, grabbing one of the three arrows and pulling it from his skin, smelling the arrowhead and cursing at the faint scent of nightshade laced to it.

Azriel knew that he didn’t have long, a few hours at most to make it home and get to Madja before the poison claimed him. Part of him wondered if there was any point, if living was something he truly wanted to do, but then he remembered her and the look in those beautiful eyes that had him craving life and adventure.

He decided to try. For her.

The last thing you were expecting that night was to be awoken in the early hours of the morning, when the moon was still alight in the star glittered sky, by a shouting High Lord and one of your assistants.

Your day had swam by like they all did, you healed, prescribed tonics, created balms and ointments from scratch, and visited the orphanage in the centre of the city, carrying out health checks so that everyone could rest assured that all of those beautiful children were healthy even if they weren't exactly happy.

Every patient that stopped by during the afternoon had much to tell you. After seeing you at Rita's the night before, they felt more comfortable in gossiping to you, realising that you were committing to their culture and activities. So you weren't exactly surprised when your fifth patient had something to say about Azriel.

You doubted that he even saw you through his drunken, lust-filled haze, but you saw him; you saw his hazel eyes lazily hooded and warm when they found you, you saw his lips tilt upward into a smile, and you saw the clear pain that lingered beneath the surface. Alana had told you, sternly, to not think of him, that he would be the ruin of you, but you couldn't help but think about him.

Now that you had the image of him, it was impossible to remove it from your mind.

Your mother would have scolded you for it if she were alive, she would have said that you had worked too hard and spent too long training to heal those who needed a kind touch to throw it away for some pretty male that hadn't even uttered a single word to you. She was right. As always.

Which made the entire situation a lot more strange, so strange that you had genuinely believed that you were dreaming when your assistant entered your bedroom above the practice and shook you awake.

"Y/N?" Priscilla asked, sheepishly shaking you before fumbling with her fingers at her front. "I'm sorry to wake you, but it's an emergency?"

Light spilled in from the slightly ajar door, and you could hear Rhys talking frantically from the floor below, his voice drifting up the stairs and into your ears.

It wasn't a dream at all.

You sat up quickly, causing all the blood to rush to your head, and you didn't bother to put any shoes on as you slid a plush cream cotton cardigan over your arms and barrelled down the stairs.

A gasp escaped your lips.

There lay Azriel on your examination table, blood smeared over his leathers and siphons, his skin pale and sickly, and his shadows limp in a circle above his head.

"Y/N." Rhys spoke, voice tense and wobbling, and your eyes snapped to him. He was also coated in blood, Azriel's blood, and the High Lord looked between you and his brother desperately. "Please."

Running your fingers through your unbound hair, your quickly threw it up into a loose set bun at the back of your head and quickly disinfected your hands before you moved to the Shadowsinger, to the same male who couldn't look more different than he had in Rita's.

"What happened to him?" Azriel groaned at the sound of your voice, not fully coherent but it was like he knew that it was you tending to him, and his shadow perked up for but a moment before slumping back onto the table.

Rhys was beside himself, raking his fingers through his hair and down the sides of his face. "I sent him to the mountain camps to verify a rumour," he told you, not wanting to give too much away, "He was shot with arrows, I think they were poisoned. He came back to us like this, barely breathing and mumbling some nonsense about wanting to look back."

"Did you bring the arrows?"

Within seconds, Rhys produced two of the arrows, and you noted that Azriel must have taken the third one out himself at left it in the mountains. You run your fingers along the wood, bringing the oaken arrows to your nose and scenting the oozing liquid coating the head.

"Nightshade," your voice faltered. It wasn't often that you saw anyone with nightshade poisoning, they usually didn't last so long, and the fact that Azriel had was a miracle.

You flew around the room, gathering various ointments, balms, and rags, ordering Priscilla to fetch a bucket of tepid water to keep his fever down.

"Azriel?" you called to him softly, and his head moved in the direction of his voice, "I'm y/n. I'm going to help you, alright? You just need to stay with me for a little while longer. Can you do that?"

A low whine passed through his lips, tugging at the strings of your heart, and you took that as his voice of agreement. Ordering Rhys to stand back and for Priscilla to press the dampened rag to his forehead, you began to work.

Slowly, you cut through his leathers to expose his chest to the Velarian air, noting every ripple and tense of his muscles and they writhed from the effects of the poison in his system. Without thinking, you rested your glowing palms against his abdomen, calling on every morsel of your power to dive into his veins and extract every drop of poison that lived within him.

Rhys and Priscilla watched in awe as the poison began to vacate his body through the entry wounds left by the arrows, they watched that black putrid filth run down the sides of his body and drip onto the stone floor. But you didn't stop, you wouldn't let a single tear of that poison live inside of him, and once the last drop had left him, Azriel opened his eyes and gasped.

The relief he was feeling must have been profound. His eyes trailed along your face, much enjoying this version of you than the one he saw at Rita's, noting the long lashes of your closed eyes as your power surged through him to ensure that his blood was clean. You didn't even realise that your eyes were closed until his clammy, trembling fingers curled around your wrist.

His eyes were weak and drowsy, he was rightfully exhausted, and you pulled your hands away slowly, the glow in your palms weakening more by the second. Then you moved your eyes to his face, his sickly pallid face and equally pale lips that were parted in shock.

And then you felt it, that golden thread withering in solitude connecting with its other half, entwining and thrumming in clear skies, burning gold in the pits of darkness.

"Mate." Azriel rasped, eyes wide and fingers fumbling to keep a hold on you, his thankful shadows trailing up your arms to steal the warmth locked beneath your skin.

You could feel Rhys' eyes on you, examining you, not knowing what to do or say in the moment.

"Right. Yes." Azriel's wounds were still open and angry, and that is why you couldn't fully adapt to what had just happened between you, not when you could feel his pain laced with hope flow down the freshly unlocked bond.

The rest of your work was done in silence. You applied thick balms to his wounds to urge them to close and disinfect before bandaging his entire torso and thigh, apologising when each wince would sound from his lips. And all he did was watch your face whilst you worked, he watched the furrow of your brow and the concentration within your eyes, and he realised why his mind was focused on you since the moment he had seen you.

You were his mate.

His mate.

His.

When you had finished, you turned to Rhys who was perched upon a nearby chair, observing in perfect silence, and beckoned him to follow you onto the porch of your practice, closing the door softly behind you whilst Priscilla continued to clean the blood and dirt from his skin. "He would have died if you had come five minutes later."

Rhys took a step toward you, "Will he be alright?"

Part of you had to admire Rhys for his care, for the way he cared about every member of his found family and how he would go to the ends of the earth to ensure that they lived, but another part of you hated him for sending Azriel to the mountain camps in the first place.

"He'll be fine. I suggest letting him rest, someone will need to watch him," your voice trailed off slightly, not knowing whether to offer or not considering the revelation that he was your mate, "I'll stop in and do regular checks over the next couple of days, but for now he just needs to be somewhere comfortable."

"I'll take him to the River House," Rhys promised, knowing that was the only place where Azriel could truly rest, and the only place where you could enter without having to go through the rest of their dysfunctional family. "How are you feeling?"

A thin smile tugged at the corners of your lips, "I'm fine."

"I meant," he took another step toward you, glancing down at the blood that now stained your cardigan and skirt of your night dress, "How are you feeling about Azriel being your mate?"

Peering over your shoulder and through the window, you saw Azriel looking up at the ceiling with a gentle smile on his lips. "I know who he is, his reputation. I'm someone who has given their entire life to be amazing at what they do, which means that I'm inexperience in other aspects. I don't think I'm the kind of woman that he wants."

Shaking his head, Rhys brushed against your side, "Trust me. You are everything that he has ever wanted."

All you could do was hum in reply, and you folded your arms over your chest to protect against the chilled winds as you stepped back inside, internally grinning at Azriel's effort to sit upright the moment you were back in his presence. You stopped at his side, "I've told Rhys to take you somewhere comfortable so that you can recover, and I'll stop by over the next few days to make sure that you're healing properly and that there aren't any side effects from the poison."

Azriel furrowed his brow, "But what about us?"

"Let's just get you healed first," you told him, doing your best to stay calming, "Then we can revisit everything else."

He wanted to say more, he wanted to take your hand and bring it to his mouth, he wanted to know what your skin tasted like on his tongue. He wanted to know everything he could about you, and he was desperate for it, so desperate that no words fell from his fumbling lips as he tried to force a reply.

Azriel felt like a schoolboy approaching his crush for the first time, and you noticed that the illustrious Shadowsinger was truly lost for words.

"You can take him now, Rhys. I'll come by in the morning."

"Thank you, y/n."

Azriel watched as you bowed your head to Rhys in acknowledgment, "Of course," you told him, your eyes finding Azriel one last time before all he could hear was the patter of your feet against the wooden stairs and smell the lingering scent of fresh berries and sweetened citrus.

Waiting for the morning was driving him insane already, but he would wait for you. He would always wait for you.

The morning had come too quickly, but sleep hadn't found Azriel that night, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the stabbing pains in his chest or the excitement bubbling in his gut at the thought of seeing you again.

After being fixed up, Rhys had winnowed them both back to the River House, Rhys refusing to let Azriel be anywhere else considering you have given him strict instructions to ensure an eye was kept on him, at least until he could walk on his own two feet.

He had forgotten how peaceful the River House was in his miserable meandering through life, he had forgotten its comfort, he had forgotten what it had been like to be around family. His room had been left untouched, his bed made and books still open on the last pages he had read splayed across the desk.

By the sunlight pooling onto his bedroom floor, Azriel could tell that it was nearing midday, which meant that you were going to be arriving any moment. Any movement made him wince, but he found enough strength to be able to sit up in the bed, he knew that you'd want to check the wounds beneath his bandages and wanted to make it easier for you.

His wings were tucked neatly behind his back, and his shadows were sleeping soundly atop his shoulders. Azriel was too busy watching them to notice the opening of his door, only realising that someone else was there when their scent worked its way into his bones.

"You're sat up," your voice was light and soft as you entered, medical bag in hand and dressed in a plain but beautiful taupe gown with low looped sleeves and a corset of brown leather. "That's a good sign."

Azriel's heart stopped at the sight of you, at your hair unbound but the front pieces held back by a cream coloured fabric headband, at the dress and the glowing of your skin in the warming sunlight.

With a small smile, you perched on the edge of the bed, unclipping the clasp of your bag and retrieving some small vials and tubs, setting them down on the bedside table and turning to him. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. Much better," was all he could manage to say, completely mesmerised by the hue of your eyes in the light and shape of your lips, "Thanks to you."

"It's no problem," you told him softly, reaching for the bandages around his torso and taking your time in unwinding them.

In a couple of days he would be as good as new thanks to his other-worldly healing beginning to kick in, and you told him as such as you reapplied the balm and placed two patches to the effected areas on his torso, carefully massaging the balm into the wounds to make sure that it did its job.

"I need to talk to you," he took your wrist in his hand before you could move your attention to the wound on his thigh, his eyes were pleading to talk about something other than his pain, you could feel it flow down the bond that you were trying to adapt to. "I need to know where your head is, with us."

"The moment you looked at me that night was the first time I felt that someone had actually seen me, even if you were drunk," you spoke with a huff of amusement, "You looked at me, and then you took a woman home who is infinitely more beautiful and wild than I am, and then I had to hear everything that everyone says of you. Forgive me if I'm feeling apprehensive and would like to just focus on making sure that you live."

Azriel understood, truly he did, but that didn't make the words sting any less. "I'd like to show you the real me, if you'll let me." His heart thundered in his chest at your silence, and the nerves settled in his gut and swarmed within his heart that was beating for you.

Unable to deny those rounded eyes brimming with hope for a brighter tomorrow, you sighed, "Fine," you told him, "Once you're back on your feet, I'll give you a chance. Now let me work."

The tone of your voice made Azriel release your wrist and settle back into the cushions of his bed, and he didn't make a single sound whilst you worked on the wound buried into his thigh, applying the same balm and wrapping it up before giving him instructions for the ointments and tonic to help the pain. "Thank you for saving my life."

Your eyes found his again and you could have melted at the pure desperation within them, "Well, I couldn't exactly let my mate die now, could I?"

"Will you be back?"

Azriel observed you as you packed up your things, disposing of the bloody rags and bandages in a wisp of smoke. "I have some errands to run but I'll stop by on my way home. Is there anything that you need?"

"Just you."

Even in his state Azriel was a shameless flirt, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop the innocent smile from taking over your face, but you couldn't stop the blush from prickling at your skin, and a part of you didn't want to.

"I'll be back later. Eat something and rest, you need to build your strength back up. The tonics can help with the rest and the pain."

Azriel tilted his head in your direction whilst you gathered the last of your instruments, clasping your bag shut and rising from the bed. He knew there was a reason why he had been drawn to you, why you hadn't left his mind, and it was because you were his mate. The one fated to be his. The one thing he thought he'd never be able to have.

And gods, you were the most perfect thing he'd ever seen.

With a gentle and reassuring smile, you squeezed his forearm softly before removing yourself from the room and taking your time in making your way downstairs, dawdling in the halls to examine the artworks and ornaments lining them. Though, you weren't expecting to come face to face with Cassian the moment you moved from the last step.

He wore a shit-eating grin and stood before you with his arms crossed tightly over his chest whilst his eyes slowly drifted to the stairs and what, or rather who, lay resting on the floor above. "Always in the right place, aren't you y/n?"

Luckily for him, you had often been in the right places when he required some healing or tonics, whether it be for him or Nesta during her most recent cycle. "It's quite literally my job, Cass."

Cassian grinned and chuckled deeply, his orbs morphed into sincere and he cleared his throat, "Thank you for what you did last night. Azriel may be difficult but he's family. We'd be lost without him." He laid his large hand on your shoulder in thanks, it was light a weighted blanket, comforting in a way you'd never found in anyone else. "And," he began, sighing, "Rhys told me about the bond. How are you feeling?"

Dropping your shoulders, you shook your head slightly and looked toward the ceiling, worried that Azriel was going to hear what you had to say before finding Cassian's gaze. "I'll tell you what I told Rhys, and Azriel. I don't think I'm the kind of woman he wants. I've heard the rumours, I've seen the kind of women he takes home every night and I couldn't be more different to them. I'll give him a chance once he's better, but that's all I can do right now."

"I understand," Cassian smiled sadly, removing his hand from your shoulder and glancing down at the bag loosely held in your fingers. "Isn't today supposed to be your day off?"

Rolling your eyes, you lightly swatted his chest as you passed by, "Stop analysing my schedule, Cass. I never have days off anyway."

"How else am I meant to know when to come to see you?" Cassian called after you, unmoving from his place at the bottom of the stairs.

"You don't need an appointment to come and see me," you waved him away without turning around, pacing into the lounge and instantly feeling your confused mood lift when you saw Nyx wobblily walking about the room.

The small child, under the watchful eye of Feyre, instantly moved to you, babbling and reaching upward, and you swept him into your arms and felt your soul blossom when he rested his head on your chest. "He loves you," you craned your head to the side at the sound of Feyre's voice, a pencil was lazily held between her fingers and the sketchbook resting in her lap was kissed with the first swirls of grey, "Nyx that is, though I'm sure that Azriel does too," she spoke, setting her things down on the centre table.

"Well I only care about Nyx right now."

You were sure that Azriel could feel your joy and love for the child flowing down the bond, you seemed to be able to feel everything the other felt. His hope, pain, and blissful desires, and your exhaustion and innocent joys.

"I just want you to know that Azriel is probably the best of us," she began, rising to her feet and smoothing down the wrinkles in her skirt, she approached you, eyes flitting between you and Nyx with a serene smile, "He is patient and kind, courageous and gentle, and he has so much love to give. I think the recent period in his life was caused by the belief that he wasn't worthy of it." Feyre ran her fingers through Nyx's short onyx hair, "You deserve to see the real Az, in the way that we see him."

"Thank you, Feyre."

The High Lady hummed softly, "Always," you gently passed Nyx over to her, allowing him to grab your finger in his tiny palm in an attempt to get your arms wrapped around him again. "Are you going into the city?"

"Yes. I have some supplies and orders to pick up, and I'm going to try to enjoy the little time I get to spend by myself."

"Well, have fun. We'll be seeing you later? Why don't you stay for dinner?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude-"

"You're not," the deep voice of Rhys reverberated from behind you, his chest brushed against your back as he passed, heading straight toward his mate and child and kissing them both lightly on the forehead before turning his attention to you fully. "You save us all on a daily basis. You're always welcome here."

"I appreciate that," you swayed back and forth on the balls of your feet, wanting the ground to swallow you whole, "I should get going. I'll see you both later."

It didn't take you long to gather the supplies and orders that you needed for the practice, and once you had dropped them back of Priscilla, who admitted that the day had gone slowly, you decided to take a walk around the city. You browsed the endless bookshops and headed to the markets to see what garments they were selling, settling on a flowing ivory skirt and shimmering pale blue dress.

The sun was setting by the time you were done, bags in hands full of new treats for yourself as well as a new toy for Nyx that you had seen and couldn't not buy.

Scents of honey cured meats and roasted vegetables drifted down the stone path that led to the River House, and you could faintly make out the silhouettes of Rhys and Cassian through the window. And, like she knew that you were stood there watching, Feyre opened the front door and smiled at you, beckoning you closer.

Feyre took all the bags from your hands bar one, the one that you needed to take to Nyx who was already on his feet and swaying over to you the moment you stepped through the door. You knelt on the ground to greet him, the paper bag settled on the floor beside you, "I got you something today," you teased, diving your hand into the bag and retrieving the small stuff bat you had spied at one of the many market stalls that afternoon.

Nyx beamed, taking it from you and babbling his thanks as he moved into your arms, looking up at you expectantly to pick him up, and you did so without question.

"You spoil him too much," Rhys moved to sit beside you on the couch, watching Nyx with a faint smile as he played with his new toy. "Azriel is walking around. Seems that whatever you did is working."

"I would say that it's because of his own determination but we both know that was all me," Rhys laughed at your words, especially at how you had modified your tone to be Nyx-friendly.

"That it was," a sultry voice drifted through the air, sending involuntary shivers down your spine. You glanced over you shoulder, spying Azriel in the doorway with his hands buried into his pockets, looking as perfect as he had that night at Rita's.

His hair was messy, like he had raked his fingers through it with frustration, his skin was golden, and it looked like he had gotten some kind of rest given the disappearing bags that lingered beneath his eyes. The shirt he wore was unbuttoned toward the top, allowing you to see his still intact bandages and the tattoos that swirled the area. His wings were poised and neatly tucked at his shoulders, like he wanted to appear as unthreatening as possible to you.

Azriel appeared shy and sheepish, eyes floating through the room, finding Cassian and Rhys before landing on you and Nyx. So that was what the joy down the bond was, it was Nyx, it was a child that made you feel so light and happy.

Recognising the tension between you both, Cassian took the opportunity to plop himself down on a nearby armchair, setting his feet upon the table where Feyre's art supplies still lay, and spoke, "So, you two are mates?"

Closing his eyes, Azriel wanted nothing more than to punch his brother through the ground and into the realms of hell. Instead, he inhaled deeply, "Yes, Cassian," he gritted through his tensed teeth, noticing that you had chosen to take your awkwardness and pour your attention into Nyx.

"Well? What are you going to do about it?"

Slowly realising what Cassian was doing by the cock of his brow and slight smirk, Azriel decided to play along, "I'd like to take y/n out. I'd like to get to know her and see if she would like to accept the bond."

Cassian turned to you, innocent mischief laced in his orbs, "Y/N. Would you like to go out with Azriel, get to know him and figure out if you'd like to accept the bond?"

Rolling your eyes at his antics and slicing a glare to Rhys who had slightly sunk into the cushions of the seat, you replied, "Yes. I would."

"Great," Cassian shot to his feet with a clap of his hands which made you jump slightly, "Tomorrow. Az will pick you up from the practice."

"Fantastic."

"Amazing."

You and Azriel both spoke in unison whilst Rhys' foot tapped against the floor, raking his fingers across your mind and slipping into your lowered walls. I'm sorry about him. He's always been a meddler unfortunately.

You don't say.

The first date was going well up until it wasn't.

Azriel had arrived at the practice at sundown, flowers in hand, looking more incredible than you could have ever thought he could. It was clear that had spent the entire evening planning your first night alone together, he had taken you to the restaurant along the Sidra and had spent most of the time asking you questions about your work, appearing genuinely interested in the journey you had taken to get you to where you were.

He was intelligent, and soft, and funny in his own dry way, and you were beginning to understand what Cassian and Feyre meant.

It was going perfectly until a woman approached the table, batting her eyelashes toward Azriel and looking to you like you were the biggest pile of nothing on the continent. She was beautiful, long brunette curls and feline honey eyes, and it didn't help like she had the body of a goddess, carved from the finest of marble. You didn't want to admit it, but she made you feel so inferior, so disposable.

Azriel was polite, his fingers drifting against yours the entire time she was at the table, trying to reassure you whilst she essentially asked when she could see him again. In the nicest way he could, Azriel told her that he wasn't interested and asked her to leave, and all that had earned you was a venomous glare and a scoff.

He apologised profusely, and you accepted it, you were willing to let it go. After all, you could understand why women would approach him. Azriel was gorgeous, perhaps the most gorgeous male in all of Prythian, and you couldn't blame anyone for approaching him. If you had that level of confidence then maybe you would have too.

The second time it had happened, it dampened your hopes that a life with Azriel could work.

The Shadowsinger had asked you to go on a walk with him to the markets, he had picked out jewels and other beautiful items that he was sure would look beautiful on you. You had insisted that you didn't need them, that you could but them yourself, but he wasn't having any of it.

It was all going well until another woman showed up, curling her painted fingers around his bicep and pressing her body up against his side. Azriel looked visibly uncomfortable, you'd give him that, and like the same women he sent away at dinner, he told her that he wasn't interested and to leave him alone. The woman all but snarled at you, and you knew that you were going to be the talk of the city, that you were going to be known as Azriel's newest flame.

Unfortunately, it just kept on getting worse.

The people of Velaris had begun coming into the practice faking injuries just so that they'd be able to speak to you and pull the situation between you and Azriel from your lips. It was tiring. Everyone had their pasts, you knew that and you were fine with Azriel's, but it didn't mean that you wanted it waved around in front of your face.

Every single fake patient that waltzed through the doors to your practice served as a constant reminder that you'd never be good enough for Azriel. But you had seen the good in him, you had seen how much he respected you, how his eyes lit up when you spoke about whatever it was that you were passionate about, and you felt his adoration flow down the bond whenever you would see Nyx. You knew that Azriel was smitten, but you also knew that he had no idea just how much everything was effecting you.

It had all come to a head the night he had suggested to make you dinner at his apartment, to minimise the risk of anyone approaching you, and you deduced that it must have been Feyre's idea. Not even the Inner Circle were free of the city gossip mill.

He had done his best to be as comfortable and romantic as possible, and you knew that he wasn't expecting anything to happen, he just wanted you to see how serious he was about you. Candles lined the ledges, and he had placed pillows at the coffee table before the large arched windows which allowed you to see the entire golden valley of Velaris.

It was beautiful. It was perfect.

Then, halfway through the dinner he had impressively made by himself, the door to his apartment opened, and before your eyes stood the same blonde bombshell he had taken home the night you had seen him for the first time. Your breath became lodged in your throat, and all you felt was disappointment and sadness at yet another date being ruined.

"Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt," she walked further into the room, eyes drifting about the candle-filled ledges with a smirk. "I was hoping that you'd be alone tonight," she was brazen enough to remove her coat, revealing little clothing beneath in an outfit that extenuated her curves and breasts.

Azriel's eyes were trained on you, but you couldn't look at him. You folded your hands into your lap and kept your eyes on the floor, trying your best to not cry in that moment, to not appear as weak. But he could feel it, he could feel the sadness and anger bubbling inside of you.

"Come on, Azriel," she purred, golden hair flowing over her shoulders, "Say goodbye to your latest conquest and come back to me. We both know that she clearly isn't what you want."

That was it.

Wordlessly you rose to your feet, hastily gathering your jacket and satchel in your arms before rounding her toward the door. "Don't take it personally, sweetie," she called after you condescendingly, "You just aren't what he needs."

You had never run anywhere, not because you didn't want to but because you enjoyed your slow meandering, you enjoyed watching the world go by slowly, but you sprinted home that night, ignoring his pleas down the bond and instead deciding to shut it off completely as you slammed the door shut to your bedroom.

A couple weeks passed by, weeks of silence which you channelled into your work, opting to take a research trip to the Autumn Court to sample their botanicals for a new balm you wanted to craft. The best part about leaving the city for awhile was that you could work undisturbed by Azriel and the Inner Circle.

Luckily for you, Eris, the new High Lord, was happy for you to experiment your skills and craft on his soldiers and injured townsfolk, knowing of your reputation and passion for healing. He had offered you a place in his court, doting on you often in a bid to get you to stay, but nothing would get you to leave the wonder that was Velaris, no matter how much you wanted to burrow yourself away and hide for eternity.

That morning, you were nestled at the edge of a brook that was passing through the forest just east of Fir Manor, drawing flowers and examining their properties when you heard the leaves crunch from behind you. From the scent, you knew that it was Eris coming to check on you again. He looked good, he adorned a pair of sage green briefs and a cream blouse, and you couldn't forget the brown leather riding boots you loved so much to the point he had gone out and bought you your own pair.

"This is the third time you've stopped by this morning alone," you spoke, not lifting your gaze from your notebook that was littered with colourful sketches and text.

Eris fell to your side, finding a comfortable place on the blanket you often carried around with you so that your body didn't break against the rocks. "I've been invited to the Night Court to see Lucien. I think that they're hoping that you'll join me."

The pencil in your hand froze against the parchment, and you straightened your posture to look at him, at the amber eyes and fire-red hair that he had recently had cut. Eris had been kind to you, understanding the need to escape for awhile, he had immersed you in his culture, had given you many dresses to fit the season, and not once did you see a droplet of hatred within him.

You were aware that the time was approaching to go back, that you couldn't leave Priscilla on her own for much longer even if Madja was back from her holidays and taking the brunt of the patients in the city. Though, you wished you could have a little longer to enjoy the serenity and joy of your work without everything else weighing down on you.

Looking to him, you smiled thinly, tapping the end of your pencil against the parchment of the notebook, "I suppose it's time that I went back anyway. I'm surprised that the practice hasn't burned to the ground yet."

Eris chuckled, his shoulder brushing against your own, "If things are still tense when we're there, you're always welcome to come back with me."

"Thank you, Eris. I really appreciate everything you've done for me."

"Of course," he smirked, "Anything for Prythian's best healer."

The High Lord jumped to his feet, wiping away any small rocks and pebbles of dirt from his briefs before offering a hand to you and helping you up off of the ground. "Always an ulterior motive with you," you lightly scolded him, looping the strap of your satchel over your shoulder whilst he folded the blanket over his arm.

"Can you blame me for wanting you all to myself?" Eris nudged into you, falling in step with you back toward Fir Manor. Once inside the safety of the walls, Eris asked you to pack your things, including the items he had gifted to you, and winnowed you both to the boarder of the Night Court where Rhys was already waiting.

Eris had never seen anyone so desperate to leave his side in years, he watched intently as you babbled some nonsense about needing to get back to the practice, muttering a soft goodbye before disappearing.

"Are you trying to piss Azriel off?" Rhys asked, eyes following your figure through the woodland until he couldn't see you anymore. You reeked of Eris, of Autumn, and wore a dress of burnt orange and riding boots that matched Eris' own. "You know that they're mates."

"For now," Eris quipped with a smirk, causing Rhys to look toward his new ally with confusion, "Can you blame her for questioning it? Considering every time they've been together it's been ruined by one of his one-night whores?"

Rhys was all too aware of what had happened thanks to Nesta who had heard from Cassian, she was too worried about Azriel to not divulge what she knew even though she couldn't stand to be around Rhys. Plus, Nesta liked you, from what little she had seen, she believed that you were a gift from the mother to them all.

"I can't say that I do," he admitted, frowning at the place where you had been stood, eager to get away from him.

It must have been hard, to find out that you had a mate, to give him a chance for it all to be ruined by his past conquests sticking their noses in where they weren't wanted. Then there was the matter of the gossip, of people truly believing you had slipped him some kind of love tonic to get him to want you. It had infuriated Rhys when he had found out, so much so that he had visited those spreading such vile accusations and ordered them to stop or otherwise be banished from the City of Starlight.

Rhys wanted to protect you, he wanted you to be happy even if it wasn't with Azriel.

But not with Eris. Never with Eris.

Unwillingly, Rhys escorted Eris to the House of Wind to be with his brother and new sister-in-law, and returned home to Feyre as fast as he possibly could.

It didn't take you long to catch up with an extremely thankful and tired Priscilla, her blue eyes were brimming with exhaustion and stress, her lips were cracked and her skin was dry. You apologised to her profusely, and thanked her for keeping the practice going whilst you took some much needed time away from the city.

Perhaps Alana was right, maybe Azriel would be the ruin of you.

Priscilla told you that she understood, but that she was happy that you were back. So, you gave her the rest of the week off, feeling alive and ready to dive back into the occupation you adored so much. It turned out to be a quiet day, shipping off some balms and ointments for some follow up patients, some minor cuts from training scuffled that were quickly treated and males sent on their way, and before you knew it the sun had began to set.

The chiming of the bell at the entryway signalled that someone had entered the practice past opening hours. Wiping your hands on your tatty apron, you headed into the waiting foyer, not paying much mind to anything until the scent of cedar and mountains kissed your lungs.

Azriel stood before you, eyes wild and appearing somewhat dishevelled, black bags beneath his eyes from lack of sleep and a certain worried paleness clinging to his skin. His shadows sensed you immediately, shooting from his shoulders and dancing around your waist.

In your haste to work you had forgotten to take a shower or change out of the clothes Eris had gifted you, and you saw that Azriel had noticed the style and scent that surrounded you. But, he swallowed harshly and rasped, "You look beautiful."

His tired words threatened to cleave your heart into a million pieces, "Thank you."

Silence hung between you, heavy and tense, and you weren't sure what to say. Should you apologise for the clothing and the scent of Eris that lingered around you? Should you apologise for disappearing without a trace with no way for him to contact you?

Azriel looked lost, like he hadn't slept since the night you left his apartment in such a hurry, but the words of that woman still lingered in your mind. Conquest. Not what he needs. It dawned on you that he may not have known just how deeply it had effected you, how inexperienced you had realised you were, how insecure these women had caused you to feel.

"I'm sorry, for that night at my apartment. I didn't invite her, I don't know why she even showed up," he took a step toward you and you didn't move, not knowing what it was that you wanted in that moment, "I should have gone after you. I should have stopped you from leaving but you silenced the bond and I thought I was the last person you wanted to see. I was wrong."

"Azriel, I-"

"Please," he took another step toward you, and kept on moving until his fingers caressed beneath your chin and pulled your gaze up to meet his eyes. "I didn't think that I deserved to be loved, not after what I've done. I thought that the mother had taken one look at me decided that I wasn't worth it. So, yes, I slept around, I wanted to do all I could to forget the fact that I was destined to be alone forever even though having a mate, having you, was all that I've ever wanted."

"You are magnificent, y/n. Truly. No woman even holds a candle to you. You are intelligent and passionate, you are beautiful and peaceful in ways that I never thought I'd be able to witness or feel. I stopped wanting to look back, I stopped wanting to say goodbye to the people I love, and then I met you and I knew I'd found the one I wanted to look back to every night and look forward to every morning."

"You are not a conquest to me. I was ready to accept the bond the moment you entered the room that night when I was lying there dying. You are my everything, you are my reason to live and breathe, you are my salvation. I don't want to live my life without you, not after I've gotten to see you in a way I know that no one else has. Please, y/n. Please come back to me."

You could feel the tears pooling atop your bottom lids, his touch was feverish but unrelenting, his hands cupped your face and his eyes searched your soul for a hint of acceptance.

"Azriel, I don't think that I can," your bottom lip wobbled, and the pain of your insecurity bloomed devilishly inside of your chest. "Your past doesn't bother me, and I never want you to think that it does. Every moment I've spent with you has left me wanting you more and more every day. But I'm not like them, I'm inexperienced in intimacy and dedicated to my work, and I can't allow myself to tarnish everything I have accomplished. I can't allow myself to feel small and insignificant anymore."

"You're not small or insignificant, y/n," his brow furrowed and he felt you slipping away, he didn't need the open bond to understand how much pain you were in, not when he could see it all etched upon your face. "You're everything that I've ever dreamed of. Please."

The moment you stepped away from his embrace, Azriel visibly winced, like he had been shot with a nightshade arrow through the heart. "I need time to think, Az. I need space to figure out if I can do this. Be yours but also be mine."

He didn't want to pester you, he didn't want to beg and make you feel like you owed him anything, but gods, did he want to crawl onto his knees and kiss the ground that you walked on. To Azriel, you were the sun, you were the moon, you were the seasons. You were everything.

Azriel swallowed his words, his pleads, and gently nodded his head, stepping forward and placing a chaste kiss on your cheek before retreating from the practice, carefully clicking the door behind his exit.

It took you a few minutes to be able to gather yourself, to be able to move from that spot, but you did, if not for yourself then for Alana and Eris that were making it their mission to take you to Rita's for a few drinks, to allow you to let off a little bit of steam.

In the next hour, you were bathed and donned in a tight metallic bronze dress with a high slit that reached your hip, a plunging neckline and hair waved down your spine. Eris was always barking at you to live in the moment, and for once you were inclined to agree. So when he and Alana saw the light spill from your opened door, did they turn around and gasp at the woman who stood before them.

"I didn't know that you could clean up this well," Eris mused, earning a light slap on the shoulder as you moved from the practice to join him and Alana on the walk up to Rita's.

"I told you that I could look good when I wanted to."

Alana hummed knowingly, "And this has nothing to do with the fact that you told Azriel you needed space?"

"Maybe a little bit."

Eris laughed, bold and proud, "Showing the Shadowsinger what he's missing. I didn't know that you had it in you."

Rolling your eyes, you noticed Rita's in the distance, and the queues of fae waiting to be allowed in, "This is actually for me. I'm tired of feeling inadequate and looked over. Tonight everyone gets to see that I'm not something to be ignored."

After a short walk up the paved hill, the two fae guards on the doors quickly ushered you inside, and the scent of alcohol and the thick wall of sweat instantly crashed into you. Alana excused herself to go and get drinks for you all whilst Eris led you over to the booth where Lucien and Elain sat, across the room from the others but in their direct eyeline.

Whispers sprouted around you, causing your shoulders to tense up. The healer that had been meddling with the Shadowsinger was now latched to the hip of the High Lord of Autumn.

What a cunning little thing.

So much ambition.

You did your best to ignore them as you walked behind Eris toward his brother and Elain, smiling sweetly at the pair as they rose to greet you, hugging you tightly and telling you how nice it was to be able to finally meet you. Elain was charming and kind, and Lucien was warm and welcoming, and they took you under their wings effortlessly, blocking out the demeaning whispers from the fae surrounding and watching you.

After a few more drinks and shots, thanks to Alana, you found yourself leaning into Eris' side, hazed by the heat and slightly tipsy. You laughed with Elain and shared your love of flowers with her, and you spent time with Lucien telling him how beautiful you found his home court, speaking of the markets and the food in detail. "Sorry brother, but I'd like to steal y/n for a dance."

Eris was stood at your side, looking down at you expectantly with his hand offered out to you. Part of you should have known better, you should have known that Azriel was watching you from across the room, watching as the love of his life was swept away by another Vanserra.

Nudging you to your feet, you sent Lucien a wry smile as you took Eris' hand and allowed him to lead you to the centre of the dancefloor. He pulled you close to his chest and swayed with you to the beat of the music that flowed through the room.

"Does Azriel even know what he's missing?" Eris spoke lowly into your ear, lowering his mouth to the shell of it so that you could hear his voice in your soul. "If I were him, I'd crawl across the fires of hell to have you."

Eris was being brazen. He raised his fingers to your face, the tips of them flitting across your cheek to a strand of hair that had fallen down the side of your face, pushing it back eloquently behind your pointed ear. His fingers lingered, sparks of fire nipping at the skin of your neck as his fingers travelled downward.

You weren't sure what to expect, but you couldn't exactly blame the fist that had flown into Eris' jaw, sending the High Lord crashing to the floor. Azriel stood over him, the crowd had parted to watch the spectacle vying for your attention. Your eyes had blown wide, and it took you a moment to come back into the room. Azriel turned from Eris and stalked over to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and resting his chin on the crown of your head as he made the world dissipate in swirls of colour until you were stood in the centre of his apartment.

Azriel towered over you, eyes wild and possessive. You hadn't seen him look to territorial before, but the look in his eyes had you in a chokehold. "My past with females isn't what bothers you. It's having it in your face constantly, it's the whispers and cruelty that bothers you. I understand that now, and I'm sorry that I didn't see that before." Azriel's voice was calm, too calm, like a predator prepping their prey, luring them into wings of security.

His marred fingers traced where Eris' had once been and his eyes flickered with fury, "But Eris does not get to touch you like that. You are mine, y/n. I refuse to let you go."

"You are not what they say you are," he took a step toward you, the force of his knees against your thighs ushering you backward, "They are jealous of you, of us, because they'll never get to know what this is like. They'll never get to know the taste of your skin or the way your name sounds on my lips. They'll never get to know the love I have for you," his hand gripped your waist, and Azriel continued to walk you backward until the backs of your legs hit the ledge of his couch.

"Because I do love you, y/n. With everything I have, I love you. I knew it from the moment I saw you, I knew that I was going to fall in love with you. Nothing could ever take me from you," his lips brushed over your collarbone, igniting a fire within you that you had never felt before, "I am yours forever. And I promise you, I vow that no one will ever make you feel insignificant ever again. Not unless they want to die by my hand. I would rip the world apart to ensure your happiness."

Azriel's words struck a chord inside of you, and you couldn't help but allow the bond to open, to allow his flood of emotions to crash into you like waves against the Summer Court rocks.

"Azriel," you spoke his name breathlessly, too focused on the sensation of his lips peppering soft kisses along your collarbone and neck. "Please."

He pulled away from you, placing his hands on either side of your neck and stroking his thumbs against your ears, "Tell me."

You had known for a long time, since the moment he had turned up at the steps of your practice holding flowers with a love-sick smile plastered on his lips. "I love you too," and you felt the bond sing at your admission, so brilliant and bright that your heart felt like it was going to lurch from its cage. "Please, Az. I need you."

Azriel lowered his lips to yours, hovering a feathers touch from your own, his breath scented with the faint aroma of whisky fanning over your face. With your slight nod, Azriel closed that gap and felt the bond fall into place, thrumming and secure, on the cusp of being fulfilled.

Your mouths moved in sync against one another, and Azriel effortless scooped you into his arms and carried you over to his bed, setting you down as gently as he could before climbing on top of you. His hands roamed your body, the curves of your hips and the mounds of your breasts, his fingers traced circled into the skin of your exposed thigh, teasing the sensitive area and smirking against your lips as you writhed beneath him under his touch.

His lips moved to your neck, sucking and nipping the skin there between his teeth, allowing you to begin unbuttoning his shirt to expose his toned chest. Azriel pulled away slightly when your fingers began drifted over the areas where his wounds once were, the wounds you had saved him from. "They're gone," you told him quietly, lips swollen but smiling under the dim light.

Azriel brushed your hair behind your ears and brushed his nose against yours, dragging the tip down the slope of it, "I told you that you were my salvation. I wasn't lying."

"I'm starting to believe that."

His eyes sparked with mischief and he sent a wave of love down the bond as he kissed your lips once more, "Let me show you."

And so he did.

Author's Note

SORRY THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭

Really hoping that this has done the amazing ask some justice 🥺

Also I was so close to writing smut for this fic - looks like I'll need to do a part two or something...

Taglist

@mokansa @killseinx @lady-targaryens-world @brieftriumphnightmare @thesunloveschips @whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP: The Real Blood Son

It's a year after Damian came to live with them that he decides it is an excellent time to bombard Bruce with his news.

"I had a blood brother." He says to Tim after the other commented how important blood meant to Bruce-ie, not enough to make him get rid of his other sons. "He was the first from the artificial womb mother made with Father's DNA; however, he was disposed of once his heart condition became known. I highly doubt you will last even twice as long Drake-"

"What"

Bruce didn't know that he could make his voice that cold. That dead. What in the world does he mean disposed.

Damian goes still. The kind of still where he isn't sure if he just earned a punishment and is trying not to react to the fear. "My elder brother. Did mother not inform you?"

"Damian," Bruce struggles to level his tone at Dick's hard stare. "She hadn't even informed me of you. Please, can you explain more about your brother."

The youngest nods. "He had no name, but he was my biological brother. He was forced to grow to age of three before they realized he was defective. Grandfather had him sacrificed to the pit."

Jason growls "what do you mean?"

Damian looks confused- as confused as he can with his league training kicking in. "The Lazarus pit is made from the bodies of young virgins. No older then ten. They are sacrificed in exchange for the Infinite Realms' power to sink into the water. The children are not aware of what is happening to them until the very end. They do not suffer."

Bruce feels sick.

They talk a bit more, on how certain followers throughout history were more then happy to offer the great Ra's their own children to renew the pit. How Damain had watched three children when he was seven be sacrifice- it happened every five years- and how the children were given the best week of their lives.

They purposely given the most joy they could feel before the blades to make the Pit as pure as possible. He talked a lot about watching the youngest- five years- be laughing and splashing in the Lazarus water before his mother cut him down, his screams drowning in the green liquid.

"They say the Pit absorbs the last emotion of the sacrifice. Grandfather hopes the children realize the importance and honor they have to be ended for a glorious cause, but occasionally a few are disloyal. When Todd had taken a dip, the previous Renew, had a brilliant girl who figured out what was happening and attempted to escape. She failed, of course, and her arm was amputated in a mission, but she died angry. That's why Todd had such strong madness compared to-!"

"SHUT UP!" Jason roars suddenly, eyes glowing green, and for a brief moment, Bruce swears he hears an undertone of a young girl in his scream "SHUT UP! YOU DONT KNOW ANYTHING! YOUR OWN BROTHER IS IN THERE"

Damain scowls "it's a honor. My brother's body was defective. But he at least had aidded in a glorious ritual."

Bruce can't help it; he leans over the BatCave Railing and hurls his dinner. Damian finally realizes that something is wrong.

They host a funeral for his three-year-old son, who died without a name, and place his gravestone next to his parents. They explain to Damian why the Renewal ritual is horrific but Bruce feels it take years before his son can see that.

Jason, went out into Crime Alley to let off some steam and had been going on a rampage against the underbelly of Gotham. He can't find it I'm himself to stop him.

Bruce asks Constantine to come over and do a small ritual, to hopefully unbound his child and let his son soul move on. Constantine warns that with the kid's name it may not work and that they could only free souls they share blood to but the English man tries anyway.

They send his son their prayers, and hopes. And they try to put him to rest.

Across the Infinite Releams to three dimensions to the right of the Wayne's soul resting ritual, The Fenton's adoptived son, Danny Fenton jolts in his English Class.

The strange stabbing scar above his heart- which is why he never takes off his shirt- burns then cools as if someone had tried to place the temperature-changing ointment. He rubs his best, confused.

What was that?

He'll have to check with FrostBite. Maybe his heart condition is acting up again. It happens every five years even though no doctors his parents have taken him to could figure out what it was.

Until Frostbite. The yeti claimed it had something to do with dark arts, but he's unsure what type.

Frostbite is still doing more testing.

"I wish you had lived, brother. I wish I knew you name"

The wind whispers, and Danny feels a flash of deep longing and grief before it's gone. Yeah, he needs to talk to Frostbite.

[ellebakers]

☆ Beastly. (+18)

• Cregan Stark x Reader Targaryen.

Summary : Your mother sends you to Cregan Stark to make an alliance, and that's what you intend to do.

Warning(s) : SMUT, Language.

As Rhaenyra's eldest daughter, you were surprised when she asked you to fly north to create an alliance with Cregan Stark, you expected her to ask your brother Jacaerys to take care of it. That's why, before flying away, you turned one last time to your mother.

“Can I ask you something ?”

“Of course my dear.” Rhaenyra replied with a tender smile.

"Why me ? Why didn't you ask Jace to take care of it ?"

The queen smiled and gently grabbed your face "My dear, I have heard of Cregan, I have heard only good things about him as a warrior, a man and... a potential husband."

You raised your eyebrows "I was thinking of negotiating for a war alliance, not a marriage.." you snickered.

“Y/n, I know that you have heard of Cregan too, I also know that you confided to your servant that you wanted to be wed to him.”

Your mother says with a smile.

“I.. um..” You cleared your throat.

"I'm not asking you to marry him, but if you feel like it, know that you have my blessing."

You bowed “Thank you mother”

☆

After flying for what seemed like hours, you arrived at the Stark castle, a servant took you to the Throne room where Cregan sat, waiting for your arrival.

You couldn't help but notice his beauty, everything about him was attractive.

“My lord” You bowed to him.

Cregan stood up and with a smile bowed in turn. "Princess"

You smiled at him. ““Have you received the letter from my mother ?"

Cregan nodded "Sure, let's talk about it over a meal, you must be starving and freezing." He tells you with a seductive smile.

That evening, an alliance was signed between the Starks and the Targaryens, but not as you had imagined, since he had taken you on the meal table between the main course and the dessert, he had made you moan and arch your back more times than you can count.

☆

This is how, six months later, while the war between the Greens and the Blacks was knocking on the doors, you found yourself in Cregan's bed, a wedding ring in your hand, and this morning was the same as every morning for six months .

“Shit” You moaned, straddling Cregan’s face and gripping the headboard.

Cregan was moaning too as he tasted your juices, he gripped your hips as you moved your pelvis for more sensation, his tongue moving in and out as he sucked on your pussy.

"Do not stop" You cried in pleasure.“I’m going to cum.”

It only takes one movement of his tongue inside you and you cum on his tongue. "Oh my-"

He waited for you to come back from your hight to place you gently on the mattress.

"Good morning my love." he whispered as he kissed each of your breasts, taking your nipples into his mouth and sucking on them.

“Good Morning” you moaned.

“I want you” He whispered to you while pressing his hard member between your legs, making you moan. “I can tell.”

He smiled and placed his member at your entrance, he kissed you and with a single movement he penetrated you, making you both moan.

“Still so tight” he moaned as his pelvis movements became faster and harder.

You arched your back and moaned, “That feels good.”

He withdrew completely and turned you onto your stomach, you leaned on your elbows and he penetrated you again, moaning.

“Like that” you moaned, getting wetter and wetter.

His thrusts grew harder as he let out beast moans.

This is how you love your lord, beastly

He grabbed your hair and pulled lightly, making you moan louder. “Cregan, I’m going to-”

“I know, me too” He moaned and soon you felt something hot running down your thighs as he buried himself inside you to leave his seed there.

You gripped the sheets and hid your cries of pleasure in the pillow. He sighed in pleasure as he pulled out of you and gently roll you on your back, letting his head rest on your chest.

"I can't wait to see a baby grow inside of you" He whispered as he caress your belly with his fingertips.

You chuckled and caress his soft hair "Someone's eager to be a father ?" you teased.

He smiled and pressed his lips to your stomach “You have no idea.”

You smiled softly and whispered "I love you."

He smiled back and whispered "I love you too."

.

Author's note : I know Cregan has been cast but i remain in denial and i want Leo in this role even if Tom is gonna be a great Cregan.

[thewritetofreespeech]

pairing: Gwayne x fiancé reader

summary: Gwayne may have lost the tourney, but he gained a better prize.

tags: female reader, reader is from the Reach, heterosexual relationship, hand job, mentions of injury, subtle Gwayne daddy issues (not sexy, just Gwayne being Gwayne), Gwayne being a simp for his lady

-----------------------------♟️----------------------------------

When Gwayne told his father one day, at about the age of six, that he was going to take up the sword and learn to be a knight, all his father said was, “are you sure?”

His opinion on the announcement did not seem to sway one way or another, much like his opinion on the actual son. Their lady mother had given him an heir, a spare, a daughter, and Gwayne. His brothers would be learned men like their father, so Gwayne thought he could be useful by being a marshal man for his family. He was actually quite good at it too. All of his instructors said so. His training partners. The men of their House bannermen.

But no one would know that now as Gwayne was quickly unseated in the first round of the tournament. A lucky shot. Luckier still as it could have been fatal, but instead just a wound to his left side and pride. To fall in front of his father and beloved sister wounded him still.

Gwayne had taken what was left of his pride and limped off the tourney grounds. Making it to an awaiting sick bay as injuries in tournaments were more common than not. He had to be stripped out of his armor like a pleb. Been tended to like an invalid while he grit his teeth and let the maester wrap his broken ribs. Just the one, actually. But it was enough to knock him out of the tournament for the rest of the week.

He sighed and rested his head against the headboard. All he wanted was to show his family that his efforts had not been in vain. To show them what he was working so hard for while they were in the Capital. Now he would have to wait for the next tournament. If his father even bothered to show up.

“Gwayne?” The knight looked up from his self-pity musing at the door and found his fiancé there. In his pain and grief over his disappointing show, he had completely forgotten she had been in the crowd too. Wonderful. Another beloved to witness his failure. “Are you alright? That fall…it looked rather nasty…”

“It wasn’t ideal.” He winced as he tried to move his arm to pull his shirt on. Finding it immodest to be in just bandages in front of a lady. She came to his side instantly, helping him pull his arm through with as little discomfort as possible. “Sorry you came all this way to witness such a poor showing. Or waste your favor.”

“It is not a waste Gwayne. Do not say such things.”

Gwayne reached in his pocket and pulled her ribbon from his trousers. She had given it to him the night before, in private, wishing him good fortune & safety in the events to come. He had had it in his breastplate when the games started, and squirrel it away into his pocket after he was injured so it wouldn’t be thrown away. “You should give it to a better knight then I. I’m done for.”

“You fell off a horse Gwayne, not the edge of the world.” She told him. “And, there is no better knight than you for me.” She pushed her offered ribbon back at him with a stern look. “If you keep speaking this way, I shall have to give back your favor and return to the Reach.”

His eyes lit up in alarm. Knowing that she meant his ring, and he could not have that. “Alright. I’m sorry.” To lose the tournament was one thing, but to lose her. Gwayne couldn’t stand it.

She smiled at him. Seeming pleased that he had gotten the hint on not being so hard on himself, and looked around quickly before she leaned in for a kiss. “I know you’re disappointed. But you’re alive and relatively unscathed.”

“And handsome.” He quipped back as he was starting to feel in good spirits. “Do not forget that.”

“Oh, how could I.” His beguiling fiancé leaned in to kiss him again. Longer this time. “Thank the Gods for fine helmets.”

It took Gwayne’s brain a bit to catch on that her hands were moving around his waist band. Perhaps it was the loss of air from their kissing. Or that his bell got run pretty hard in the fall and he was still recovering. Or perhaps still it was simply just her. But he caught on just about the time the cool air brushed against his nether regions, and he sprung up. “What are you doing?” He asked. His back teeth setting against the pain of his sudden movement as he fretfully looked over towards the door.

“Helping you relax.” She replied with some cheek. “I heard the maesters say you needed to do that and rest if you were to heal.”

“And you think undressing me in a room where just anyone could walk in is going to help me relax??”

“Well, no. Perhaps not that part.” Gwayne wheezed in a breath, as much as his battered ribs would allow, when she reached in and took hold of him. “But this part might.”

Gwayne knew not the touch of another, save his own hand. Though he took no vow like the King’s Guard when he became a knight, he had made a personal vow that he would be stalwart in his honor & practice. Dutiful to his House as to not sully it by laying Flowers at their doors. He does not ask how his future wife knew of such things. In all honesty, he did not want to know. All he could think about in that moment, after the shock and panic of getting caught, was how good her soft hand felt around his cock.

His member hardened quickly under her touch. Gwayne was still a young, virile man, with adrenaline still lingering in his veins, a strong breeze could get him up. He moaned quietly as his lady’s hand stroked him. Long steady pulls of her hand up & down. Watching as he was transfixed by this surreal experience that was happening to him.

“Does it feel good my love?” Gwayne nodded. His lord’s education failing him as he could not articulate in this moment how good it felt. “Good. I want to know how you like it, so I can prepare for our wedding night.” He moaned, or perhaps whimpered, at the thought. Just another 3 months. Just another 3 months and she would be his wife, and he would have her all to himself. Her body, her mind, her heart; though she had been clear that he already had the latter two. His hips bucked up at the thought of her beneath him and Gwayne let out a sharp cry that was crossed between one of pleasure & pain as his ribs were jostled again. Then he heard a flurry of scurried motion behind the door.

Panick set in, the fear of getting caught welling up inside him. Not just for himself but her as well. How would they explain such lewd behavior if they were caught? Her reputation would be besmirched. His father might call off the engagement in the face of such scandal!

Luckily his wife to be was not only beautiful but clever. Like all fine roses of the Reach. She quickly pulled a blanket over his midsection and placed their hands together over the spot where the obvious tenting would be. “Forgive me, my lady. I thought I heard his lordship call for help.”

“Such a steward of care you are, Maester Callen.” Her voice was sweet, complimentary, and hypnotic to Gwayne. “Just a twinge of the ribs from a sudden movement. The injury is new. Our silly Ser must have forgotten he had it for a moment.” Gwayne swallowed as her little finger brushed against the outline of him through the blankets. His jaw having to set as to not moan in a very indiscrete way in from of the maester.

“Are you sure he is alright?” Maester Callen asked. A curious look all men of learning seemed to get when they asked questions. “Your lordship looks feverish. There could be an underlying infection from the trauma—“I’m fine.” Gwayne barked quickly. His noble resolve hanging on by a thread thinner than this blanket. “I just need rest, as you said. Please,” ‘oh Gods, please, please, please!’ he thought as his lady continued to stroke him with just the finest touch to the point of madness this whole time, “leave us so I might finish my conversation with my lady and be about that.”

The maester seemed still curious, but asked no further questions. He bowed his head, then closed the door behind him as he left. “Good Gods….!” Gwayne hissed through his teeth as he writhed freely now that they were alone again.

“That was a close one.”

“You insufferable minx!” He hissed at her. That cheeky grin on her face was infuriating but also the vision from his dreams. “You nearly got us caught!”

“I’m not the one who inadvertently called him in here, now did I my love?” Gwayne had a few more sharp words for her but they all vanished as her hand pulled back the blanket again and stroked him fully.

His head tilted back with a moan. The fear of almost being caught, damning though it would be, had only heightened the sensation. He warned her that he was close, not sure if she knew what that meant, and let her swallow his final moans in a kiss as he came all over her hand and his linen dressings. She let him go, a soft kiss on his lips like a seal before she pulled away, and he slumped back against the bed like a witless fool.

“There. Now you can relax & rest completely, my love.” Gwayne nodded. Not sure what she was talking about right now, but rest sounded nice right now. “I shall come to see you tomorrow once they move you back to your quarters. We’ll have the whole afternoon to ourselves, since everyone will at the tournament.” Oh right. The tournament. He was supposed to apart of that. Showing his family & father how much he had trained for them. It suddenly didn’t seem all that important anymore. “Get better, my love.”

She kissed him one last time and then saw herself out. The picture of civility and the dutiful fiancé come to shower well wishes on her mate to be. No one knew, or would know, what had happened between them. Gwayne felt his spent cock twitch a little as he watched her walk away. Just 3 more months. Just 3 more months felt like an eternity all of a sudden.

[thewritingrowlet]

The Tireless Wife, ft. Red Velvet Irene

tags: creampie, deepthroat—you know what, just read the whole thing, hm?

length: 8k+

author's note: I speedran this fic so please forgive me if it's too messy; I just wanted to make use of this free time.

p.s. this fic takes place before and after The Determined Wife.

-

Irene walks in the bedroom as you’re gathering your consciousness after a very good, post-sex sleep. “Ah, good morning, my love.” She high steps towards the bed to join you, taking her rightful place in your arms. “Love, on a scale of 1 to 10, how awake are you?” “Seven, probably.” You rub your eyes to see if maybe you can improve that score. “Okay, maybe eight and a half,” you revise.

Irene thinks that it’s not good enough; she wants you to be 100% in the right mind this morning, which is odd. She sits on your lap and starts kissing you passionately, seemingly in high spirits; she’s likely very satisfied with the fact that you’ve granted her wish to be bred.

“Tell me again.” “Nine and a half,” you tease. Your wife rolls her eyes. “Ugh, please don’t play hard to get.” You chuckle. “Aww, come on, love; I just want more kisses.” She puts on the beautiful smile that’s unique to her and only her. “Ah, fine, you win.”

She comes in for one more deep kiss, going as far as invading the space of your mouth with her tongue—it’s unfortunate that she breaks it soon after, though. “If that didn’t make it 10, I’m going to suck you off,” she says. “Sounds tempting,” you tease, “well, maybe later—let’s get to your point first.”

With a smile, Irene fishes something out of her shorts pocket and hands it to you with a closed palm. It is only when she lets go that you can see what it is: a pregnancy test device with two lines on it. “I’m a mother, love,” Irene starts breaking into tears, “I’m a mother, and there’s no question that you’re the father.”

Tears, endless of them, start flowing freely out of your eyes and onto your cheeks. “Y-you’re pregnant, my love?” Your grip on the little test kit weakens as your hand starts trembling—oh, look: a tear lands on the device, right where the little screen is. “I am,” Irene joins you in crying, “thank you for granting my wish.”

You put the small device to the side because you want to use your hands to hug your wife. “No, no, no,” you say, “thank you for giving me such a huge blessing.” Irene starts crying more freely, and you can’t help but do the same. “We’re going to become parents, love—isn’t that crazy?” “It is,” you agree with her, “thank you for making it possible for us, love.”

Irene pulls away from the hug, placing her hands on your shoulders instead. “You need to get ready for work, don’t you, love—let me start your shower.” You shake your head. “Screw work,” you say, “I want to spend this wonderful day with you and only you.” Your words draw a wide smile on her face. “Sounds great, love.”

She turns around before leaning against your chest, placing your hand right on her stomach that���s now occupied by the little one—your little one (the fetus hasn’t formed yet, yes, but the point still stands). Irene giggles as you rub her belly gently. “You’ll need to come up with some names, love.” “You first,” you say, “do you have ideas?” She taps her chin as she thinks of a candidate. “Jihoon-ie if it’s a boy, and Hyewon-ie if it’s a girl.”

You’re a little startled; Jihoon was the name of your little brother who passed away just before he turned 9 years old (you were 13 at the time) due to cardiac arrest. Your parents, specifically your mom, took his passing heavily, falling into what you learned years later as depression, which explained why they weren’t at home a lot—they were busy seeking help from professionals, both at home and abroad.

Irene knows about this story, obviously; you’ve taken her to his resting place a few times. “His memories can live on with our child, love,” she explains the reason behind the idea. “I’m glad that you have that idea, but personally, I think I’d let him rest,” you say, and Irene dares not argue.

“What about your ideas, love?” You take a few deep breaths as you try to come up with some names. “I don’t have any boy names in my head, but Yeseo if it’s a girl,” you say. Irene likes your idea; she thinks that it’s such a pretty and cute name for a girl. “Well, we’ll need to wait until they can tell if we’re having a son or a daughter.”

-

Mr. Hwang, the cook, has made some fettuccine for breakfast, since Irene said that she’s been craving pasta—a pregnant woman shall have what she wants. So, here you are: sitting at the table in the dining room with Irene, ready to fill your stomach with this tasty-looking dish.

Seeing the tall glass of water reminds you of something important that you want to address with Irene. “My love,” you place a hand over hers, “now that we’re going to become parents, let’s stop drinking alcohol, hm?” She nods enthusiastically. “I was about to suggest that idea to you, hon.” You smile. “I’m glad that we’re on the same page.” “About that, though,” she backtracks, “what about our collection? We have some nice wine and champagne.”

You ring the kitchen bell, and Mr. Hwang appears after a few seconds. “Yes, sir?” “Do you drink, Mr. Hwang?” “I do, sir, occasionally,” he admits. “Nice,” you put on a thumbs-up, “would you like to keep our liquor collection? We want to stop drinking now that we’re expecting.” His eyes widen in surprise. “I would be honored, sir, but as far as I know, they’re expensive.” You smile kindly while placing a hand on the side of his arm. “The only thing I care about, Mr. Hwang, is my wife and my child’s health—I don’t care about those bottles.” “If you say so—oh, and congratulations on the pregnancy, sir.”

After convincing Mr. Hwang to keep your collection of liquor for himself, you return to your wife. “Mr. Hwang will take care of those bottles, love; we won’t have to throw them out,” you inform her. “Erm, actually,” says Irene, “can we give the Masseto to my parents, love?” You agree with her request, thus officially marking the start of the transition to a clear-headed life without alcohol.

-

You invite Irene to join you on the sofa because you think that you have some things to discuss with her. “What do you want to talk about, love?” “Which hospital do you want, and how do you want to deliver the baby?” After thinking about it for a while, Irene says she wants to try delivering without surgery but is open to it as the last option. As for the hospital, she chooses the Sacred Heart Hospital, which is a very good hospital that’s also not too far from your house.

“Next up, our stuff,” you say, making Irene confused. “What do you mean?” “Well, we’re going to need a new car; I don’t think transporting the 3 of us in that 911 or your Genesis is a good idea.” “Do you want to sell the 911?” No, you don’t want to; Irene bought that silver speedster as a birthday present for you. “I was thinking that we should just buy a new one—something that can accommodate us and our child comfortably.” She pulls out her phone to search for options, but you stop her. “That doesn’t have to happen today, love,” you say, “we can think about that later on; I was just trying to get it out there, you know.”

Irene moves to sit on your lap. “I have some things to ask from you, love,” she starts on a new subject, “tell me what you think about them, okay?” You nod to get her to continue. “First, whenever possible, please come home early and don’t spend too much time working.” You say yes without hesitation, which satisfies her. Work will always be there, but your child’s growth and other important moments only happens once—wouldn’t want to miss your child’s first word or first step, would you?

“Second,” she puts up two fingers in front of your eyes, “please have mercy on me when we have sex.” You ask her to elaborate further. “I know that we can get rough sometimes, so let’s turn it down a bit to make sure the child isn’t in danger or anything.” “What about the frequency?” You take your turn to ask. “Just the usual, please; I’ll tell you when I want it, and you can tell me when you want it.” Again, without hesitation, you agree to her terms, which apparently serves as a segue for her next point.

“Can I have you, love?” You grin as you feel your cock getting hard. “You certainly can, love—can I have you as well?” Irene giggles cutely. “That goes hand-in-hand, doesn’t it?” “Just wanted to make sure, baby.”

Because of the time and day, there are other people in the house (i.e. the cook and the cleaning staff), so the only place you can have sex in is the bedroom. On your way to the bedroom with Irene in your arms, she taps your chin to get your attention. “Love, Miss Jo wants to take a leave to visit her parents,” she says. “We’ll go out later and get her some stuff to take home.”

You set Irene gently onto the bed in compliance with her request to take things easier during sex. “Ah, my gentle giant,” she comments. She hasn’t used that nickname in quite some time, now that you think about it. That name was given to you by your fellow student council members (including Irene) back in university when you refused to beat up a toilet peeper and would rather have him formally punished by the university and charged by the victims. “I thought you’ve forgotten that name.” She lets out a giggle. “How can I forget, love?”

You come in for a kiss to indicate that you’ve had enough chatter, and Irene welcomes you warmly as usual. “Please, love,” she gulps, “please start already.” You reach for her pajama top and undo the first button. “Patience, baby; I still need to undress you.” She cooperates by undoing her top starting from the bottom button and meeting you halfway. “There, I helped,” she says, making you laugh a little. She then proceeds to pull down her shorts just as you’re about to ask her.

Your gaze lands on her firm belly where your child is being safely kept. “I hope you won’t hate me when my stomach gets bigger.” You shake your head rapidly. “There’s no way I’d hate you for that—you’re my wife and that’s our child in your belly,” you say, and you see that Irene’s eyes are threatening to burst.

You join her in bed after undressing yourself and after she has taken off her underwear. You then pull her into a hug and peck her head everywhere, making her let out that lovely laugh that’s special to her. Once you stop, she places her hands on each side of your face. “I swear on everything I have that I’m so glad that I ended up with you and not with that Kim Junghwan guy.” “He never deserved you,” you say, demeaning. “That is true,” she agrees with you, “you and only you, love.”

You take the bottom position today, letting Irene have her way with you. “I have a feeling that I’d not be able to ride you as well with a big belly,” she comments as she moves to sit on your lap. You’re starting to get ticked off, but at the same time, she’s coming from a good place, so for now, you simply let out a sigh. “Love, please don’t worry about the sex; we’ll adapt as the pregnancy continues. Just focus on your health and stress levels, please.” Irene places her hands on her chest. “That’s touching, love—thank you.”

With your cock in hand, she aims it at her entrance. “Here I go,” she notifies you, as if you couldn’t see what she’s doing. Irene slowly goes down on your shaft, hugging it with her tight and warm walls. You breathe deeply as she starts moving up and down. “Fuck, that’s good,” you praise her to rile her up. “Yeah, daddy?” There it is: the kink that you love the most—Irene has always been quick to use it.

Irene bends backwards slightly and fixes her grip on your knees. After making sure that she’s steady, she starts moving faster on your cock, and you desperately want to hold those bouncing plump tits of hers. “Daddy, daddy,” she chants, “oh, you’re so deep in me, daddy.” “Keep it up, baby—fuck, you’re doing so well.”

Irene might not be the best at working out, but damn is she good at managing her stamina during sex; it feels like she has this extra battery pack that’s specifically used for sex, and as long as praises and words of affirmation keep flowing out of your lips, that battery will never die.

“Oh, no, daddy,” she slows down a little, “I think I’m about to cum.” “I don’t see the problem with that.” You slap her butt a few times to get her to speed up again. “Go on, baby; be good and cum for me.” Irene nods and picks up the pace again, trying to adhere to your command to “be good.”

Irene’s thighs shake violently when her first orgasm hits while her walls are gripping your shaft very tightly, making it very hard to you to not just bust right here. You pull her towards you and hug her. “Good job, love—very good job.” “You—oh, you always bring the best out of me, daddy,” she replies despite the heavy pants. “I can say the same about you, love,” you whisper back.

Without retreating from her pussy, you roll over until you’re the one on top. “You’re so sweaty, love,” you comment while wiping her forehead, “that must’ve been exhausting for you.” Irene shakes her head feebly. “A-anything to make you happy, daddy.” The way she always puts your pleasure as the top priority is touching. “Alright, let’s take a breather first, okay?”

“Take a breather,” you say, but you’re still slowly moving back and forth in her pussy, making her let out soft moans despite the exhaustion. “Ha-have mercy—please, daddy,” she utters faintly, almost too quiet to reach your ears. “Don’t worry, baby; I’m being gentle.”

As you keep fucking her like this, you can feel your orgasm inching closer, so you pause for now. “Okay, I’m going to stop here—I don’t want to cum without your full attention.” “B-but you have my attention, daddy.” You chuckle. “Your eyes are barely open, love.” When you see her opening her mouth to make an argument, you quickly lean in for a kiss to interrupt her. “Relax, love, we have all day.”

You’ve spent the last few minutes kissing (while still being inside her), and Irene is the first to break it. “When are you going to give me your cum, daddy?” You assess that she has recovered enough for you to finish this, so to answer her, “Right now.” You straighten your back and prepare to start. “Where do you want it, love?” Irene scoffs. “Where else?” “But what about your career?” The callback to the career vs. child argument makes her laugh. “I’m literally pregnant right now, in case you forgot—fill me however much you want, daddy.”

You place her legs together on one side of your shoulder and start fucking her. Irene promptly places her hands on her tits, doing whatever she can to add more stimulation on top of that you’re giving her. “Daddy, you’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it, you know.” You let out a hum to answer her. “Give it to me whenever, daddy.”

You fasten your grip on her legs as you turn up the pace to the maximum of your ability. Your wife has now been reduced to moans and screams; she no longer has the headspace to play with her tits and instead just puts her hands on each side of her head.

“Love, I—” Before you can finish your sentence, semen escapes your shaft and enters her body, making her let out a long, sensual moan because of the warmth. “Oh, daddy,” she gasps, “oh, God, you’ve filled me again.” You let go of her legs and fall limply onto her body. “I love you, baby,” you say right into her ear. “I love you more, daddy.”

-

As you roll closer towards your house, you see your wife patiently waiting for you in the front garden among the flowers. She turns her head and puts on a smile for you, and you swear to God that exhaustion and stress from work has been taken away, and along with it, your breath.

You quickly jump out of your car, stumbling on your own leg in the process. “Welcome home, love,” she greets you with open arms. You take your rightful spot in her arms, and you can feel her belly bump against yours. “Tired, love?” “I was but not anymore,” you say. “It’s like magic, isn’t it—the moment you see your significant other, everything else just disappears.” “Absolutely,” you agree with her.

Irene invites you to sit on the garden bench with her, but you opt to take a knee in front of her instead. You rub her belly gently to greet your little one, and Irene looks at you with a smile of approval. “I want to say that I’m tired, but it doesn’t feel right.” You furrow your eyebrows. “Why not?” “I mean, it’s you who went to work, not me.” “That’s absurd; you might be at home, but I imagine being pregnant is tiring.” You can tell that she wants to make another argument, but the way you’re looking at her right in the eyes makes her bury that intention.

“Have you eaten, by the way?” Irene nods. “I asked Mr. Hwang to make me lentil soup for lunch.” Lentil soup sounds nice and healthy, which is important for a pregnant woman. “It was so delicious, by the way.” You laugh. “He’d be in deep trouble if it wasn’t.”

You think that this is enough catching up for now and that it’s time to get into the house, so you carry her inside safely. Irene says she wants to watch TV because she’s “tired of being in the bedroom,” so you put her down on the sofa and hand her the remote. You then tell her that you’ll join her after taking a quick shower.

When you get back to the living room to join her, you see that Irene is watching this little documentary on Giethoorn, this beautiful hamlet in the Netherlands where rivers run everywhere. She keeps letting out wows as shots of the area are shown on screen, deeply immersed in the show. “Do you think we can move there one day, love?” “Oh, man, I hope so; that looks like a really nice place to live in.” Irene turns your head towards you. “Maybe if we can’t live in the Netherlands, we can live in some quieter place instead—Damyang or Jinhae, perhaps?” You smile at her. “We’ll see what we can do, alright?” Not satisfied with just words, she makes you make a pinky promise that you’ll seriously consider it.

-

You didn’t know that you fell asleep, only waking up because you feel soft pokes on your thigh.

“Hngh?”

“Love, you’re tired, aren’t you?”

“A little.”

“Please, that doesn’t look like a little.”

“A little lot, perhaps,” you change your answer.

“I was going to invite you to sleep, but you haven’t eaten yet.”

“That’s fine, love.”

“No, it’s not fine—do you want to have food delivered here?”

“Eh, sure,” you accept her offer, “order something light for me, please.”

Irene doesn’t say anything, presumably busy scrolling through the food delivery app to find something for you. “Light, light, light—what’s something that’s light?” “A lamp—haha, get it?” Irene slaps your thigh for your joke. “Daddy is really funny, isn’t he, Hyewon-ah?” Hearing your wife say that name startles you a tad. “Hyewon-ah? Really?” “I don’t know,” Irene shrugs, “I just like that name.” “Oh, I thought we’ve found out if we’re having a daughter.”

Irene focuses on ordering food again, and something finally catches her fancy. “What about some toast, love?” “What toast?” She shows you the available options, from peanut butter toast to kimchi and cheese toast. “Get me one peanut butter toast, please.” She says that it’s a better deal to order at least 3 toasts, so she adds some other toast to the order. “It’ll be here in around 45 minutes, love.” You thank her for the help and then invite her to rest her head on your lap.

“Love me, please,” she says in this aegyo-esque voice. You bend down and peck her on the forehead. “Anything specific, love?” Irene opens and closes her mouth a few times, seemingly trying to judge if she should speak her mind. “You’re so tired, though,” she utters, and you can already tell what she’s getting at. “You want me between your legs, don’t you?” Your wife covers her red face. “W-well, if you put it like that…” “We’ll wait until I have some food in my stomach and see how we can proceed—do we have a deal?” “Yes, deal!” The way her voice cracks makes you laugh. “My, my, aren’t you a cutie?”

-

The toasts are here: you’ve grabbed the bag from the delivery man and put it on the living room table.

You pick up the box with the text “PB” written on it. Irene says that she has bought some toast from this place before and hopes that you’ll like it like she does. You nod in satisfaction after taking the first bite. “I think I know what brand of peanut butter this is,” you comment. She scratches her head in cluelessness. “I don’t know, love; they all taste the same to me.”

You notice that Irene has two hands on top of each other on her stomach and keeps licking her lips while watching you eat. “Want to have a bite, lovely?” She nods timidly. “It looks so good,” she admits, “b-but I don’t know if I should eat.” You tilt your head in confusion. “Why not?” “Erm, I think that’s ultra-processed food—that’s one. Two, I don’t want to gain too much weight.” Weight can be quite a sensitive subject, especially considering that your wife has always been paying close attention to it.

You keep chewing as you think of a reasonable answer—well, here it goes: “I’m sure that you have good intentions, but I’m almost certain that one toast won’t hurt you or Hyewon-ie.” You can tell that she’s starting to get swayed, as proven by how she has a box with “CHOCO” written on it in her hands. “Forgive me, Hyewon-ah, but I really want this toast.”

You panic a little when Irene sheds a tear after taking a bite. “Oh my, are you okay, love?” She nods again. “T-this is so good, but I feel so guilty for eating this—oh, I’m so sorry, Hyewon-ah.” You put down your and her toast on the table so that you can hold her hands. “Love, love,” you try to get her to focus on you, “it’s okay, no one is yelling at you for eating one toast—not me, not Doctor Shin, and certainly not Hyewon-ie.” “A-are you sure?” “Yes,” you say in a resolute tone. “We’ll be just fine, trust me.”

Feeling decently comforted and assured by your words, Irene asks if she can have her toast again, so you give it back to her. You make sure you don’t forget to wipe that random tear off her cheek while you’re at it. “Thank you,” she utters softly. “You’re welcome, my love,” you say equally softly.

-

After finishing those tasty and quite filling toast, Irene asks if she can have you between her legs, so you stand up from your seat and stretch your body to warm up. “I apologize in advance if I finish too fast; I’m kind of tired.” Your wife shakes her head. “As long as your load is mine, I don’t really see the problem with finishing fast—I’ll probably finish before you, anyway.”

There’s only you and your wife in this house right now, but that doesn’t change the fact that sex should only happen in the bedroom for the next 6 to 7 months; it’s more comfortable for her and safer for your child.

After getting undressed, Irene asks to be helped sit on the stool that she prepared earlier today. “It seems like you have an idea,” you comment. “Yes,” she says, “I want you back there.” “What happened to turning it down?” “This isn’t our first time, is it—just remember to be gentle.”

You open the bedside drawer to find the lube and see that it’s not there. “We don’t have lube?” Irene looks away to hide her red cheeks. “Erm, I might or might not have used it earlier.” You furrow your eyebrows. “You used it? For what?” She shyly admits that she fucked herself in the rear with a dildo this afternoon. “I-I wanted to prepare for you, because I know you like it when I think ahead.”

It’s not strange or new to you that your wife is lustful; you’ve known that for years at this point. That said, you’d think that being pregnant would turn that lustfulness down, but it doesn’t seem like it so far—in fact, it feels like she’s more lustful than ever.

You stand in front of her and hold her chin. “Oh, love, what would you do without me—who could satisfy you if not me?” “I don’t know, daddy; it’s always been you since day one.” You reward her with a kiss for answering correctly. “May I, then?” Irene giggles slightly. “Certainly.”

You walk around and look for your target. “I’m pulling this plug out, alright?” After getting a nod of approval from your wife, you gently tug on the plug. “Ngh!” Irene clenches her fists when she feels her rear being stretched by the wide part of the plug. “Relax, love—it’s almost out.” With a pop, the plug is finally out of her tight ass, and you quickly put your mouth on it for the first time ever in this marriage, making your wife gasp in shock. “Daddy, no, I’m dirty there.”

You ignore her and keep running your tongue on her puckered hole; quite fun, you must admit. Occasionally, you try parting her cheeks apart so that you can put the tip of your tongue in her rear.

Feeling weak, Irene starts tumbling forwards, but you catch her just in time to save her from going face first onto the floor. “God, you’re so crazy, daddy.” “Your new task, baby, is to keep it clean all the time—is that clear?” Irene nods in obedience. “Y-yes, sir; I will try my best.” You squeeze her butt cheek lightly. “Good girl,” you praise her.

You get on your feet and hug the panting woman from behind. “Are you alright?” “Y-yes—fuck, you’re fucking crazy.” You pinch a nipple, more surprising than painful. “That’s not how you speak to me, woman.” “S-sorry, sir, b-but you are indeed crazy.” You kiss her on the back of the head. “I hope you didn’t mind, by the way.” Your wife shakes her head. “Not—oh, not at all.”

“Sir, daddy,” Irene can’t choose between the two, “would you fuck my ass, please?” “Thought you’d never ask, baby.” You stroke your shaft to make sure that it’s properly hard and ready while your wife spreads her butt cheeks to give you access. You place the tip right on the entrance of her forbidden hole. “Are you ready, baby?” “Yes—oh, God, fuck, yes.”

You waste little time and go deep right away into her warmed-up hole. “Fuck, you’re always so tight right here.” “Hngh! Ngh!” Irene can only let out grunts as she’s getting overwhelmed by the stimulation you’re giving her. “No one can touch you like I do, hm?” She shakes her head weakly as a response, still unable to say anything back.

You hook her arms backwards as you get ready to fuck her to make sure she doesn’t fall off the stool. “I’m yours, daddy—fuck me however you want,” she says, as if it was ever a question. “Bet.”

With this steady posture, you start fucking her ass roughly, forcing Irene to scream with each thrust delivered. “My husband is fucking amazing—Hyewon-ah, daddy is fucking amazing,” Irene thinks as the sounds of your hips crashing against her butt enter her ears.

As time goes on, everything starts to get blurry for Irene, and it doesn’t help that from this position, she has no control over how fast you’re fucking her. “P-please stop,” she says weakly, hoping that it’ll still reach your ears amongst the clapping sounds. It doesn’t seem like you heard her, though; you’re still fucking her ass recklessly, which leaves her no other choice but to just yell out loud. “DADDY, STOP—PLEASE!” Hearing her scream makes you stop abruptly with more than half your shaft still lodged in her ass. “Daddy, please, let me breathe,” Irene begs.

Still panting, you gently retreat from her gaped ass. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you just realize how rough you’ve been. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, love,” you repeat to show sincerity. You pull her into your arms and take a seat on the edge of the bed, and the sight of your wife crying (from getting fucked in the ass, nonetheless) twists your heart like nothing else. You keep repeating apologies while rubbing her stomach gently, hoping that doing so could also tell Hyewon that you’re regretful of your actions.

Irene feebly reaches for your face. “I-it’s okay; it was good until it became overwhelming, daddy.” You lie her down on her side and inspect the result of your recklessness—it seems like she didn’t get injured by your shaft. “I think you’re fine, baby.” “Great,” she replies, “so what are you waiting for?” You blink rapidly in confusion. “I thought you were in pain?” “I never said that,” she shrugs. Seeing that you’re silent, Irene piles on. “C’mon, look at yourself, daddy: you’re still hard and ready to fuck me—let me finish the job, please.” “Fine,” you give up, “I’m not getting in your ass again, though.”

Irene says that you have a deal and asks you to lie down so that she can take control, which is fine by you; you’ve had enough “fun” being dominant tonight. You keep an eye on your wife as she aims your shaft towards her entrance from the cowgirl position. You grit your teeth when Irene slowly sits down on your cock—you’re in her ass again. “Oh, fuck, welcome back, daddy.” “I thought we had a deal.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Irene deflects, “anyway, I hope you enjoy the ride, hihihi.”

Irene rests her subtly bulged belly on your body while her hips are busy bouncing up and down along your length. She keeps chanting “you’re in my ass” as if you can’t tell that you are indeed in her ass. You reach around and slap her butt. “Go faster.” Having planted her hands on your chest, Irene tries to bounce faster on your cock. “Oh, oh, yes—how’s this, daddy?” It’s you who can’t respond this time; just like earlier, the way her muscles are squeezing you prevents you from thinking straight and coming up with words to say.

You rest your head on the pillow while your wife is busy fucking herself on your cock (while moaning so freaking freely), and for some reason, your eyelids feel like they weighed 100 kilograms—what the hell are they so heavy for? “You must be close, daddy,” Irene makes a keen observation. “Uh-huh,” are all that escape your lips. Hearing that you’re close serves as fuel for Irene to keep up the tempo and make you bust with her ass; this tireless woman can be very crazy in bed, pregnant or not.

“Love, I’m about to—oh, fuck, I’m about to bust,” you warn her. “Yeah?” Her voice is barely heard thanks to the endless clapping noises. You grip the pillow your head is resting on as your cock starts twitching wildly in her rear. “Baby, please,” you let your desperation to cum be known to her.

Irene slams herself down onto your body, and you instantly erupt, surprising the both of you at the same time. She throws her head back as your warm semen floods her ass. “Oh, oh, yes, daddy.” It was her who did all the work, but it’s you who’s panting heavily.

“Love, thank you so much.” Irene removes you from her ass and lies down next to you. “Even when tired, you’re still so strong,” she praises while her hand runs along your length. “What’s your secret, daddy?” “You’re my secret; if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be like this.” You let out a low moan when your wife manages to squeeze the last bit of semen out of you. “You’re so cute, you know that?” You chuckle. “No, I don’t.”

-

It feels odd to not have Irene welcome you at the driveway, especially since she’s been doing that consistently for the past few weeks, too. Her Genesis is parked neatly in the usual spot, so she must be at home, but where is she?

���I’m home.” You close the door behind you and scan your surroundings—still no sign of your wife, making you wonder if perhaps she’s asleep. You make your way towards the bedroom, and your jaw drops immediately when you see her kneeling on the floor while being almost entirely naked. Irene buckles a little, presumably because she feels a fetus kick. “Even Hyewon-ie doesn’t approve,” you comment.

You rub the side of her face gently. “What on God’s green earth are you trying to do, love?” The ball gag in her mouth prevents her from answering, but she has this little spanker in her hands that she’s trying to hand over to you. “Love, please, what are you doing?” Irene just looks at your feet while her hands are on her thighs. “This isn’t how a woman in her second trimester is supposed to behave, is it?” You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to get yourself together. “Fine, I’ll play your game.”

Your wife steals some glances as you undress in front of her, and when you’re finished, you take the time to take off her bra, exposing her tits that you swear have grown bigger recently. You then lift her onto her feet to remove her panties, and Irene instantly drops back down onto the floor after you’re done. “Oh, you’re that serious, aren’t you?”

You pick up the slim paddle from the floor and prepare to swing. “Wait, where do I hit her?” You look for places to hit her on, but the more you think about it, the more that you don’t want to do it. That said, you imagine that it’d disappoint her if you chicken out, so you decide to play along until she taps out.

You hit her on the right shoulder once. “Ngh!” Irene lets out a yelp of surprise when the paddle lands. “That’s one.” You move the paddle to your other hand and hit her on the left shoulder. “I’ll count until 29, okay?” Irene nods in response, and that’s when you look for other targets.

You ask her to show you her palms and hit them successively. “Any ideas?” Your wife taps her thighs, indicating that she wants to be hit there, so you hit those two spots, harder than you’d like to admit, making her grunt in pain. “Sorry.” That sounds less sincere than you’d like, but it’s okay, you’ll make it up to her later.

Before you continue, you join her on the floor and unlatch the gag. “This doesn’t look comfortable, so I’m taking it off,” you say. Irene relaxes her mouth now that she’s free. “Thank you, master.” You sigh. “Master? Really?” Irene nods enthusiastically. “Yes, master.”

You stand back up and swing at her tender breasts out of nowhere. “Fucking naughty, aren’t you?” As Irene opens her mouth to say something, you hit her breasts again. “You’re pregnant, and this is how you fucking act? Explain yourself.” You tell her to explain herself, but you don’t give her the chance to do so, interrupting her with a hit on the forearm. “M-master, please.” “Please what?” You subconsciously raise your tone. “Please punish me; I-I’ve been naughty.” You roll your eyes. “Fuck it, we’re going back to zero.”

You hit her on different places in rapid succession, and Irene screams after each one. “How many?” “S-six, master.” “Good,” you praise her emptily, “count to 18, slut.” You initially chose 29, which is the date she was born, but changed it to 18, which is the date you were born. As much as you’re putting on a cold charade for her, you don’t have the heart to hit her 29 fucking times.

You tell her to get on her hands and knees to expose other parts of her body. You smack her on the back a few times before moving on to her butt and hitting it a few more times. “How many?” Irene chokes up momentarily before she manages to get her answer out. “T-twelve, sir.”

To end the show, you give her some hard hits on the back of her thighs. “E-eighteen, master.” “On your knees,” you command, and Irene obeys right away. “Explain yourself, or else.” “I-I was just trying new stuff,” she says. “Is that it?” Irene just nods, and you can’t help but sigh, feeling somewhat frustrated by her simple answer.

“Love, be honest with me: why are you acting like this?” After taking a deep breath, Irene proceeds to explain the whole thing, from how she tore the left rear tire of her car against an elevated curb while trying to pull into a gas station this afternoon, to the fact that she touched herself thrice while thinking about you. “L-like I said, I’ve been very naughty.” You exhale deeply. “Those few things don’t require punishment—especially not of this sort.” Your wife shakes her head. “But I want to be punished,” she insists.

“Have you had enough, or what?” Irene slowly shifts her gaze to meet yours, and you know that she knows that you’re aroused, as shown by your erect cock. “Do whatever you please, master,” she says, hiding her excitement behind the façade of obedience.

Still kneeling in front of you, Irene eases you into her mouth. You place a hand on the back of her head and pull her towards you, forcing your cock deeper. She’s taken you deep plenty of times, so this is neither new nor difficult for her. “Hold it there and count to 10.” After finishing her count, Irene retreats until only your tip is in her mouth. “Very good—now do it 9 more times.”

Irene does as you command, doing each repetition passionately, much to your satisfaction. “That’s very good, love,” you make sure you don’t forget to praise her. You retreat from her wet mouth to let her breathe, and she promptly inhales sharply. “I-I hope I did well, sir.” You smile kindly. “Of course; you always do everything so well.”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed while you wait for Irene to get herself together. “Anything else, master?” A lit bulb appears over your head. “Is it just me, love, or have your breasts gotten bigger?” She takes a quick look at herself. “I-I think they have indeed grown, master.” “They look so soft, don’t you think?” She nods to your question. “Would you like to touch them, sir?” “I have a better idea,” you say, “put them around my cock.”

Irene crawls towards you and places your cock right between her extra plump tits. “Like this, sir?” You moan in a low voice as your shaft grinds against her tits. “You—oh, fuck, you’re so good at every-fucking-thing.” Your wife blushes. “I aim to please, master.” “Oh, trust me, I’m very pleased right now, love.”

Much to your pleasure, Irene presses her chin against her chest and catches your tip with her mouth every time it pokes through her tits. You pet her head gently. “Good fucking job, baby—fuck, I’m about to bust.” “Please, give me your cum, master.” Irene moves her tits faster, eager to have your first load of the day.

You throw your head back and close your eyes as semen spurts out of the tip of your cock, landing all over her face and chest. “Oh my, very thick,” she comments. “I love how you taste, master; your diet works well for me too, you know.” You chuckle. “Good to know, baby.”

You invite Irene to lie down in bed with you. “You haven’t cum yet.” “Yes, I have; I told you I touched myself a lot today.” You get your tie from the messy pile of clothes. “Hands above your head, please.” She puts her hands together above her head, and you tie them together. “Are we ready?” Irene looks at you nervously. “Please have mercy, master; I’ve had a lot of orgasm today.” “That wasn’t my doing, was it?”

Irene gasps in shock when she feels your hand on her little nub. “Sensitive much?” “Please, master.” “Please what, baby?” “I need to cum again, master—make me cum with your hands, please.” “Well, since you asked so nicely.” You use one hand to stimulate her nub and use the other to play with her tits, going fast and fervent right from the gate.

In the moment of high stimulation, Irene accidentally kicks you in the head—how did that even happen? “That’s not nice.” “I-I—fuck, I’m so sorry, master. I didn’t mean it.” “That’s strike one, Miss Bae,” you warn. To punish her behavior, you increase the intensity of stimulation on her pussy, making her jolt around more. It’s fine if she were to kick you again; you have some more ideas in your head to get her back.

Your wife keeps moaning loudly and freely as her fourth orgasm looms ahead. “Master, master,” Irene begs for your attention, “I won’t last too long, master.” “Oh, is that so?” You plunge two fingers into her pussy and finger-fuck her, and Irene can’t help but moan, possibly until her voice disappears.

Your hand starts getting tired, but as timing has it, she’s also very, very close to orgasm. With an ear-piercing scream, Irene explodes: her legs are shaking violently, and her juice is coming out torrentially. “Very, very good, my love—you’re such a big bomb, aren’t you?” You free her hands and move to barrage her sweaty head with pecks. “We’ll wait until you’re relaxed before doing anything else, alright?”

Amid all this, you notice that you’re getting rock hard again. You start stroking your cock with the sight of your naked wife in front of you. Irene, in her exhausted state, looks at you. “Don’t waste your cum,” she says vaguely. “What do you mean?” “Put it somewhere in me, master,” she clarifies. You stop for a moment. “You’re very exhausted, love. I don’t want to burden you with more sex.” Your wife shakes her head. “I can take it, don’t worry.”

You take a position in between her legs, aiming your cock at her pussy in the process. You announce that you’re going in, and Irene moans weakly at the first contact. She tells you that you need to do all the work this, citing her exhaustion. “Never thought I’d hear such words from you; you’ve been tireless recently,” you say, earning a little chuckle from her.

You kiss her while your shaft goes in and out of her, dropping whatever charade you’ve been using these past few hours. “I love you, baby—I love you so fucking much.” “I-I love you more, hon—you’re the best for me.” Her warm words make you smile. “I’ll stay by your side until death do us part, my love.” “You have a deal.” You hug her tightly when your second load of the day enters her body.

“We’ll rest a bit, if that’s okay with you.” “Sure,” Irene says, “I can’t even stand up right now.”

-

You feel rapid taps on your chest, making you wake up crassly in surprise. When your eyes are open enough to provide vision, you see that your wife is seated in bed with Yeseo in her arms. “Yes, love?” Irene doesn’t answer your question and instead, starts breaking down in tears. “C-can you take care of her a little? I-I want to rest.”

You slap yourself as hard as you can for leaving your wife to sleep and, in turn, forcing her to tend to your child alone. “My goodness, I’m so sorry, love.” You open your hands to receive your daughter who is wrapped snug with a little blanket, and Irene immediately falls flat onto the bed—she’s still crying, though. “Go to sleep if you can, love; I’ll keep her safe.” “I’m such a bad mom,” she insults herself unnecessarily, “I can’t even stay up for my daughter.” “No, you’re not a bad mom—trust me, you’re not.” To offer her some peace, you tell her that you’ll be in the living room with Yeseo until morning. “I’ll see you later, okay?” You give her a peck as a parting gift.

“Yeseo-yah,” you whisper softly, “while mommy catches her breath, we’ll hang out in the living room, okay?” Having been born just a few weeks ago, Yeseo can’t respond much aside from a small head movement, which you’ll gladly accept as an answer. “We’re going to get along very well, aren’t we, sweetie?”

You turn on the TV to watch something in an attempt make sure you don’t fall asleep, and that’s when you see the time: 02:09 a.m. “We’re staying up late, sweetie—I hope you won’t make this a habit when you’re grown up,” you comment.

You make sure that the TV is muted so that it doesn’t startle your daughter when this video starts. “Oh my, look at that place, Yeseo-yah.” A shot of beautiful countryside scenery in Jeju steals your attention, and it’s very hard to resist the temptation to move there with your family. “What do you say we move there, sweetie?” Yeseo lets out a small squeal, and you guess that she’s interested in living there. “Aha, great minds think alike, hey?”

You remember your wife asking if the family can move to somewhere quieter to raise Yeseo in, and now that she’s actually here, you’re really contemplating the opportunity. In your head, you try to think about what work would be like if you lived in a place like Jeju, which is even farther from the big capital. Your brain suggests stepping down from your post and earning from dividends, which sounds like a sound idea. Irene had stepped down from her position of director of risk management two months before Yeseo was born, so it’s not the craziest idea to follow suit.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and mommy, Yeseo-yah.” You want to say that you’re willing to die for them, but Irene’s words enter your mind: why die for family, if you can be healthy and stay by their side instead? You laugh a little as you recall that exchange. “Mommy is an amazing person, sweetie. Sometimes I can’t believe I ended up with her.”

-

Irene wakes up around 6 hours later, feeling somewhat refreshed after a decent night’s sleep. The first thing she does is obviously to check up on her husband and daughter.

“Look at you: sleeping with Yeseo in your hands.” Irene unlocks her phone and takes a picture of you sleeping with your mouth wide open while Yeseo is chilling in your arms. She gets teary eyes looking at this scene in the living room.

She never had the idea of being childfree and has taken a more neutral stance about it, but at the same time, having Yeseo is quite the surprise turn of her life.

Irene quietly joins you on the sofa to not disturb your peace. “Love, love,” she whispers, trying to get you to wake up, “wake up, please; it’s time for work.” “Screw work,” she hears you say, “I’m stepping down.” She knows that you’re referring to your job. “Are you sure?” “Yes,” you reply again, “we’re moving to Jeju.”

Before getting too excited, Irene makes sure you’re awake. “Love, seriously, wake up.” The way you’re suddenly looking at her with eyes wide open makes her jump. “Yes?” “Were you serious about moving to Jeju?” You nod. “I’ve talked with Yeseo about it, and she agreed.” Irene bursts out laughing, shaking her head in amusement. “Sure, she did.” “Just ask her yourself if you don’t believe me.”

She plays along with your joke and asks Yeseo about her opinion on moving out of the big city, to which she replies by crying out loud, taking the two of you by surprise. “What, what, what,” you panic, “is she hungry? She’s probably hungry, right?” Irene unbuttons her pajama to expose a nipple Yeseo can latch on, so you hand your daughter over to her to be breastfed.

“Sorry, love, but these tits aren’t solely yours anymore,” Irene quips. You start laughing out loud, finding it difficult to stop. “What—what are you talking about? Why did you say it like that?” Your wife joins you in laughing. “I don’t know—it just felt right to say it.” You shake your head, highly amused by your wife’s odd statement. “It’s fine; I’m totally content with sharing them with Yeseo,” you clarify.

-

You take one last look at your house that is now empty. “We spent a fortune on this house, didn’t we, love?” You nod in agreement. “It’s crazy how much we bought this place for,” you reply. “I hope you won’t regret moving out,” Irene expresses her concern. You look at her right in the eyes while your hands are on either side of her waist. “We’re doing this for Yeseo—this is bigger than just the two of us, love.”

You walk with her outside towards the driveway, where Yeseo’s stroller is parked. “Isn’t she so cute?” “She is,” you say, “I swear I will do and give everything for you and her.” Irene puts on a big smile.

“We’ll give her a good life and a bright future, love.”

“We absolutely will.”