#i will hold these words so close to my heart and use them as my own light on gloomy days!!

[misayani]

MAGNETIC — SQUID GAME WOMEN + THANOS AND YOU BEING THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF THEM HCS

◜ featuring ... kang mi-na (player 196), no eul (guard 011), se-mi (player 380), jun-hee (player 222), hyun-ju (player 120), young-mi (player 195), + thanos (player 230)

𔗨 author's note — IM FUCKING BAAAAAAAAACKKKK RAWGHHRRR !!!!!! writing this had me SWEATING considering the lack of information of them in the show. anddd im closing the requests for now. id like to work on the current requests in my inbox before i open it again ♡ [lowercase intended]

mi na —

- at first you were hesitant to confess your feelings to her because why  would she want to be with someone like you?

- and then you kept avoiding her and denying your feelings to avoid getting hurt 

- then, life surprises you, she kissed you on the night she took you out for a 'girlFRIEND date'

- AND THEN BAM !!! dating

- she's feisty and confident, you're gentle and shy

- mi-na is the type to be sassy and bitchy to everyone and then when it comes to you she turns into a total softie

- "thanos, i swear if you don't shut the fuck up—" "mi-na?" "yes honey?"

- SHE LOVES CALLING YOU SWEET NICKNAMES JUST TO SEE YOU MELT

- you'd think mi-na likes to be treated like a princess and then it turns out that she's the one treating YOU like a princess

- when you're speaking and someone completely cuts you off, without a second thought, she'll speak up

- "my girlfriend is speaking??"

- when someone's rude to you, she'll handle it for you

- "excuse me? watch your words when you're talking to her."

- she doesn't do this all the time though

- she wants you to learn how to speak up for yourself 

- but she definitely doesn't let it pass when someone crosses the line

- there was this one time where mi-na legit got into a catfight after someone humiliated you in front of many people

- she got humiliated in front of the people too but she DIDNT feel humiliated at all

- the bitch just messed with her girlfriend, and she just stepped up for you. what's humiliating about that?

- (outside squid game) let's say thanos is a mutual close friend you both have

- whenever he pisses her off, he immediately runs to you for defense since mi-na has a soft spot for you

- overall, mi-na likes taking care of you and you're gentle to her sooo it's a win-win for the both of you !!!

- she loves her shy gf so much, it makes her all mushy and softie

no eul —

- she's hard, you're soft

- oops i may have worded that wrong

- GRUMPY X SUNSHINE 

- you always wake her up with kisses and she'll open her eyes to the sight of you smiling at her

- then she'll complain, grumbling about your "unreasonable" optimism. but she literally lets you kiss her the whole time anyways !!

- no-eul constantly furrows her eyebrows at your cheery attitude as if she was judging you. BUT DEEP DEEP DOWN, her heart swells for you

- she might be grumpy through words, but it's the actions that speak louder

- if someone's mean to HER sunshine, expect their face to get fucked up

- her love language is acts of service btw!!!!

- you will never ever get to hold a door ever again when you're with her cs she'll always open them for you

- AND SHE LOVES GIVING YOU 'JUST BECAUSE' GIFTS

- "here." she hands you a boquet of sunflowers with A CUTE LITTLE NOTE ON THE SIDE THAT SAYS I LOVE YOU, "awhh thank you! but, what's the occasion?" and then she just shrugs

- back then, whenever the two of you got into an argument, a bad trait she used to do is to shut you out. while you, on the other hand, always wanted to talk things through and find solutions 

- after a few attempts, you eventually break her walls down and then she finally lets you in

- "...i'm sorry" "it's okay! we're in this together, 'kay?" 

- she feels so bad because what if you're just trying to put up with her 

- and then that worry completely washes away when she feels that you're actually genuine. 

- you don't just say sweet shit, you act them out.

- and she'll forever be thankful for you

- you're the reason why she wakes up everyday, you're the reason why she takes care of herself, you're the reason why she learned to love herself

se mi —

- this woman has a sharp tongue

- which can definitely be used in multiple ways but mostly for saying sarcastic remarks

- (in the games) she's expressive but then she's emotionally guarded at the same time. she won't be scared to speak her mind but she rarely shows her expressions physically

- oh gosh. her and her fucked up humor

- others may think she never takes shit seriously, but it's actually THEM she's not taking seriously

- she absolutely doesn't like openly-vulnerable people. it's not anything personal, she just thinks that it's stupid to show emotions like that in a death game like this where anyone could literally take advantage of you.

- and then here comes you, kind and empathetic

- you're the type to put others first before you, and she hates that fact, but not you

- you're expressive with your feelings also, but instead of being like her, who masks it perfectly with her sarcastic exterior, you're genuine.

- you believe that showing real emotions is a way to connect with people

- se-mi had observed you during the six-legged pentathlon. it amuses her seeing you work well with your team.

- she fucking hates the fact that you're just so kind and open to every one, not even thinking twice to help others.

- (outside squid game) while se-mi sees the world as harsh and unforgiving, you always tell her about the bright side and hope and some happy shit. and she didn't like that

- she didn't like how you're actually starting to make her see even just the tad bit good in some things

- and then the next thing she knows is that she literally starts to think about you in every single fucking thing

- she sees sunlight, she thinks of you. she sees flowers, she thinks of you. she sees butterflies, she thinks of you. man, even whenever she buys her favourite cherry ice cream, somehow the ice cream legit reminds her of you. because apparently, to her, ice cream gives off positive vibes ????? 

- and positive vibes are YOU !!

- over time, she may not admit it but she definitely cannot deny that she's starting to soften under your influence

- and who knows? maybe she's starting to see that kindness isn't always a weakness. 

jun hee —

- she's an introvert, you're an extrovert. need i say more

- junhee mostly keeps to herself, but unlike no-eul, she isn't totally closed-off

- she's quiet and won't react unless needed

- you on the other hand, reacts to everyfuckingthing

- somebody's hand gets too close to her belly? "GET AWAY!"

- you even audibly gasp when someone gives her a dirty stare

- (outside squid game) when jun-hee gets excited about something, she'll just smile. but it immediately drops as soon as she turns her head to look at you who almost fell on the floor, face first, because of jumping around like crazy.

- it amazes her a lot how you make it look easy to just start a conversation with a complete stranger

- now whenever you make friends, she also makes new friends, because you always introduce your girlfriend to them !! <3

- between the two of you, you're the one who usually initiates physical touch

- just simple and cute hugs here and there, sometimes kisses, sometimes more than kisses

- she's the type to show her love to you through simple gestures like making you your favorite tea, playing your favorite song on the TV, writing you notes before she goes out while you're still sleeping (awwhdjsjssk)

- and then you're the type to express your feelings VERY LOUDLY

- telling her "i love yous" whenever you always get the chance to which is like every minute—but you mean every single one everytime—, giving her tight hugs, prepping soft kisses on her face, demanding her to give you cuddles.

- everything needs balance, so jun-hee learned to socialize more and have fun while you learned to be more mindful whenever she needs her own quiet time

hyun ju —

- hyun-ju tends to be cool-headed and calm in most scenarios, while you are always on your toes and stressed and just so energetic overall

- hyun-ju shows love in subtle ways, like doing your hair or giving you quick pecks on the cheek ♡

- she never fails to notice it when you're stressed. she'd grab your hand and start massaging it softly

- whenever your friends invite you to a night out, you always ask them if you could bring hyun-ju !!!!

- it's simple: they refuse, you aren't going. if they say yes, then be prepared to have one of the best nights out in your lives BECAUSE hyun-ju is fun!!!! hello ? being an introvert does not mean you're not any fun

- hyun-ju would literally chug up every drink your friends give her

- and then theres you who's worried as fuck because what if she vomits???? and you HATE vomit, eugh !!

- the next morning comes and then hangover finally hits her

- you, being a good girlfriend, always brings her water and some pills to help her with the headache

- 'hyun-ju drink this' 'hyun-ju drink that' which results to her needing to pee like every 5 minutes

- she calms you down, telling you that she's fine and all she needs is you beside her

- literally just your presence

- and then despite having a headache, she would ask you to yap for her, she just loves hearing your voice

- overall, hyun-ju is forever thankful for you. she appreciates the fact that you're always alert about things but she also reminds you to let loose sometimes.

young mi —

- she's shy, you're not

- you're so mean for always teasing the poor girl

- but you can't help it, not when you always catch her staring at you

- "do you need anything? or do you just need me?" 

- give her a damn break

- not a day goes by without you hugging the hell out of her

- "you're so flufffyyyyyy babyy" "...thank you?.." 

- she always seeks comfort in you, since you're the one who keeps things exciting

- in public, young-mi doesn't speak up much, so you speak for her when needed

- "excuse me, you got her food wrong." "it's fine i swear!!"

- it's surprising but she's actually the one who initiates affection most of the time, she'd just shyly do it

- during arguments, she might struggle to express her feelings sometimes through words, and even when you're supposed to be mad at her, you still try to keep your calm and help her speak for herself

- it always ends up with the both of you apologizing to each other. you would never let your girlfriend sleep with a heavy heart, never.

- sometimes you'd surprise her with cute gifts like small trinkets or cute plushies !!! 

- as time goes by, young-mi slowly learns to speak up for herself, because, of course, you're not always going to be by her side. 

thanos — 

- PLAYFUL BF + SERIOUS GF

- he thinks you have such a hot resting bitch face

- LIKE HE'D LITERALLY INTERNALLY SQUEAL LIKE A HIGH SCHOOLER

- babygirl bf + girlboss gf <3

- you're never scared to speak up for yourself. thanos insists on punching anyone who does you wrong but you assure him that you're fully capable of doing that yourself

- "THAT'S MY GIRLFRIEND BRO!!"

- literally brags you to nam-gyu and talks about you almost all the time

- nam-gyu's fucking tired of it.

- people thinks this man fears no one?? he's fucking scared of YOU

- FOLDS WHEN U CALL HIM BY HIS FULL GOVERNMENT NAME

- "cmon baby, give thanos a kiss." "choi su-bong." "what:(("

- but when nam-gyu learns about his full name and starts teasing him about it and calling him that:

- "hey, only she's allowed to call me that. mind your business." "dang okay bro" 

- literally goes crazy when he texts you something and you reply with an "ok."

- "the fuck did i do nowww"

- he internally cheers when you're on your period because that'll mean you'll ask him for kisses and hugs

- "baby, let's cuddle please" "oh look at what we have here now—" "nevermind." "NO! yes, yes, let's cuddle"

- to others, he's tough and mighty but when it comes to you, he submits

- LMAO when he tries to call you by your full name to try and reverse the roles, you just give him a weird look and that made him want to bury himself 6 feet under.

- he's very very clingy, would literally sulk when you don't give him a goodbye kiss before you leave the house 

- when you're in a bad mood, he tries his best to cheer you up, like rapping random sweet shit to you or attempting to dance in front of you. keyword: attempting

- and as soon as he saw that small smile form on your face, he almost felt like everything went slow motion

- you're so gorgeous, he's down bad for you

- but he genuinely feels happy once he knows that you're fine now because of him !!

- he's so silly :3

@misayani

𝓜isa mentions — @joc3lynx @mymel1008 @justredsw @wlvlurvsfimmia @azansstuff @dvrk-hoon @yersang-dreams

[chevroletdean]

slowly kissing down the body [49 + dean] ── ✮⋆˙

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff, smut (MDNI) To note/warnings: Established relationship, spooning, body worship, oral (m receiving), cussing, not proofread Word count: 1.4k A/N: @xpurdyglambertx requested this one in our Discord server and I hope I did it justice 👁️👁️ Thank you, Liz! Sorry it took me so long.

kisses askgame here 💋

It’s a rare occassion — or maybe it’s been happening more frequently lately. Either way, it feels special and you’re pretty sure it always will.

His back molds perfectly against your chest, both your bodies forming a seamless curve together. Your limbs are wrapped around him like some koala’s, as Dean likes to phrase it.

“Shut up,” you smile softly, your voice half-muffled by the way your face nuzzles the nape of his neck. “You enjoy being the little spoon, admit it.”

A gentle chuckle escapes his lungs, the deep vibrations of which buzz lightly against your palm, which he holds close over his heart.

“Guilty as charged,” he hums sleepily, before bringing your fingers up briefly to press a small kiss to your knuckles.

You know you’re lucky to be able to unwind with Dean like this.

Such a long day, so much work to do, a long drive after a complicated hunt — it’s all worth it once you can cuddle up with your boyfriend in clean sheets, comfy pillows and each other’s body warmth.

After coming back to the bunker, you had shared a warm shower. He threw on his sweatpants, you stole his shirt and thus you turned into two puzzle pieces that connected into one on the bed.

You sigh happily, all but melting into him. If you could crawl into his skin, you would. Your lips automatically find home at his bare shoulder, pecking a freckle there.

“I’m startin’ to think you just enjoy being the big spoon way more,” Dean teases.

Your smile widens into a smirk and you hum, practically feeling the shudder that runs down his spine.

“Mhh, maybe,” you mumble back and brush your lips at the spot between his shoulder blades. His skin is warm, the perfect balance between smooth and roughened. “Wanna know my favorite part of it?”

Dean’s breath hitches before he can answer. All thanks to your teeth grazing down his naked back.

“Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he utters through gritted teeth and ragged breath, voice all husky and heavy.

You could get high on the effect you have on him.

Your mouth latches onto an old scar of his, your tongue hot and wet as it trails down lower and lower. Another kiss follows, that one carefully exploring a faint bruise on his ribs, before you continue your exploration further south and add a purple mark of your own.

Dean’s hand squeezes yours tightly, pressing it impossibly closer to his chest and you swear you can feel his heart drumming against your palm.

Then, you sit up slightly, using that exact palm to push his back against the mattress. Shifting, you position yourself on top of him, straddling his lap. The plush of your thighs drapes on each side of his hips perfectly, pulling his hands to them like magnets

“This is my favorite part,” you mumble sweetly, wide eyes feigning innocence as you bat your eyelashes down at him and trail both your hands over his torso. Over his stomach, to his hips, where you toy with the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Right here,” you add with a not so innocent smirk and roll your hips against his slowly.

You feel his cock hardening beneath you right through the thin lace of your panties and you feel yourself clench around nothing at the broken grunt you’re able to pull from Dean. The way his fingers sink into your supple flesh has your mind reeling.

It’s about him though.

Your plan is to make him feel good and from the looks of it, you’re doing a fine job at it.

Dean’s body, lax and compliant from a stressful hunt, tenses and squirms just enough to signal you which spots are the most sensitive.

You lean down, claiming his lips in a chaste kiss, to which he eagerly lifts himself, only to be nudged down by you again.

“Sit back and relax for me, babe,” you smile, before repeating your previous steps. Your pecks and kisses and nibbles wander down his jaw and throat, over his chest, his tattoo, lower and lower.

You map out every freckle and scar, each dip and curve.

You know his hands are itching to touch you all over, fingers itching to paw at every inch of you, but for now it’s his turn to be pampered.

Your tongue leaves behind a trail of slick, warm saliva cooling against his flushed skin. By the time your teasing kisses reach his navel, he’s impatiently bucking his hips.

He’s getting desperate, so you throw him a bone by ghosting your fingers over his clothed cock.

“Quit— shit, babe, fucking *shit*,” he interrupts his own whimpering briefly to swallow thickly, “quit teasin’ me already.”

“I just wanna take my time with you,” you breathe sweetly, while tugging the fabric down. “It’s supposed to be relaxing, remember?”

“You just wanna drive me crazy.”

A grin tugs at the corners of your lips and you look up at him theough heavy lidded eyes and a glimmer in your widened pupils.

“Is it working?” You ask teasingly.

“Obviously,” he quips back, unable to contain a grin of his own. Christ, he’s so smitten with you, it should be illegal. You have him wrapped around your little finger. Though your fingers are wrapped around him, pulling his twitching dick from its confines at last.

Dean’s head falls back against the pillows, eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy as you begin to pump him slowly.

Your other hand gives his thigh a firm pat.

“My eyes are down here,” you joke while you lower yourself into a more comfortable position, your knees tucked neatly beneath you, head resting between his thighs.

“’S very funny,” he huffs back and his chest is heaving as he pants heavily.

Still, his green eyes lock with yours and you reward him by placing your lips right at his base.

Dean’s brow twitches and it’s obviously taking all his self-control to stay still.

He’s already ruined, but God, what are you doing to him? You’re taking him apart at the seams, making him crumble. Whatever did he do to deserve you?

“Just a little reward for such a hardworking hunter,” you giggle coyly.

Had he said his thoughts out loud or are you just able to read his mind so well?

You kiss up his shaft and he thinks his soul is about to leave his body and ascend to heaven. He’s been to about every plane of existence fathomable, but this is like a spiritual calling. The sight of your tongue swirling around his red tip, your lips stretching around his head as you begin to slowly take him into your warm mouth.

You let him place his hand on top of your head and hum in approval as his fingers run across your scalp. His actions are tender as he lovingly wipes some of your hair out of the way. He can’t help but grasp at it, especially when you hollow your cheeks and suck.

Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, putting angel’s choirs to shame

After a second, you force your jaw to relax further and waitingly look up at him. While Dean would never want to hurt you, he takes the cue and pushes your head down more — gently, but definitely to the point of your eyes getting glassy with tears.

You nearly sputter around him and his grip loosens.

“Shit, sorry,” he hisses through his teeth. “Did I hurt you?”

You hum a negational “mhh-mm”, that pretty little mouth of yours still stuffed with his thick cock. You take him even deeper, until he almost slips down your throat and your nose bumps against him.

You know exactly how to snuff out any doubts of his. Whether or not he thought about pulling you back, now he can’t help meeting your head halfway with shallow thrusts of his own as it bobs up and down.

“So good f’me, sweet girl,” Dean praises and strokes his fingers through your hair. “Takin’ such good care of me, hm? ‘S like your pretty mouth was made for me. Taking me. So. Damn. Well.”

Each word is punctuated with another thrust, making you — and him, consequently — see stars.

Because as much as this is to help Dean unwind, you know you could end every day like this, worshipping every inch of him.

Dean Winchester Taglist (Put a green heart 💚 in the comments to be added to the Dean x Reader taglist):

@ladysparkles78 @winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126 @zepskies @calibootsgirl @hot-and-confused @spookyfunhottub @berryblues46 @midnight--raine @emmy21842 @whichwitchwanda @foxyjwls007 @lyarr24

[celestialmatcha7]

fragmented | nam-gyu

pairing: nam-gyu x gn! reader

genre: angst with some fluff

summary: nam-gyu relapses into drug use, and when y/n finds him in a fragile state, they offer comfort and reassurance. y/n promises to help him through the struggle, reminding him he’s not alone in the fight.

author’s note: i love nam-gyu. i just wanted to contribute and provide something for my fellow nam-gyu admirers. this imagine takes place prior to the games.

The dim light of the apartment barely illuminated the chaos inside. Clothes were strewn everywhere, a chair overturned, and the faint, acrid smell of smoke lingered in the air. You had come straight from work after Nam-gyu hadn’t returned any of your texts or calls all day. A pit of worry had settled in your stomach, and now, as you opened the door to find him sitting in the corner of the room, trembling, that worry turned to a heavy ache in your chest.

His knees were drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, his head resting on top as if the weight of the world was too much to bear. His once-vibrant eyes were clouded, red-rimmed, and glassy. A crumpled packet lay nearby, damning evidence of the fight he had tried so hard to win but lost today.

“Nam-gyu…” Your voice was soft, cautious, not wanting to startle him.

His head snapped up anyway, his face crumpling the moment he saw you. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, voice hoarse, as though he’d been screaming or crying—or both. “I—I tried. I swear I tried.”

You immediately knelt in front of him, reaching out, but he flinched. The sight broke your heart into a thousand shards. “Hey, it’s okay,” you whispered, even though it wasn’t okay. Not for him, not for you. But right now, he didn’t need reminders of failure. He needed you to anchor him before he drifted further away.

“I promised you,” he said, voice cracking. His hands shook violently as he pressed them against his temples, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “I promised I’d stop. I just—I couldn’t. It hurts, Y/N. It hurts so much.”

You inched closer, carefully wrapping your arms around his hunched form. He stiffened at first, but then his body crumbled into yours, his face burying in the crook of your neck. His skin was clammy, his breaths erratic.

“I’m here,” you murmured, stroking his disheveled hair. “You’re not alone in this. I’ve got you, Nam-gyu.”

He clung to you as though you were his lifeline, sobs wracking his frame. “What’s wrong with me?” he mumbled against your shoulder. “Why can’t I just be normal for you?”

“Nam-gyu, listen to me.” You pulled back just enough to cup his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and the sight of his anguish nearly undid you, but you steadied your voice for his sake. “You’re not broken, and you don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here, and I’ll keep being here, okay? We’ll get through this together.”

He nodded shakily, though his eyes still brimmed with self-loathing. You pressed your forehead to his, letting the silence stretch between you. Your steady breaths guided his, slowing his erratic rhythm until he could breathe without gasping.

“I’ll call the counselor tomorrow,” you said gently, brushing a tear from his cheek. “We’ll get you back on track. One step at a time.”

Nam-gyu sniffled, his lips trembling. “You really don’t hate me?”

You gave him a small, tender smile. “I could never hate you. You’re fighting, Nam-gyu. Even when you stumble, you’re still fighting. That’s what matters.”

His arms tightened around you again, and for the first time in hours, a faint glimmer of hope flickered in his tired eyes. You stayed like that for a long time, holding him close, reminding him with every touch and every word that he wasn’t alone—that you’d always be there, even when the battle felt impossible.

[endursent]

WHAT IF astral express sunday would be too nervous to hold readers hand or hugging them bc his brain goes 💥 until he gets used to it and softens up to reader waa 🎉🎉

HES SO SILLY i want him to explode

【 content; sunday x reader , astral express sunday , fluff , character exploration, mild suggestiveness in one section , gn!reader 】

【 note; see sunday mention. NEURON ACTIVATED. i have neglected sunday writing for too long, it's time to sunday post more. 】

【 word count; 1.818 | read on ao3 | masterlist 】

Even after properly defining your relationship as “definitely happening”, Sunday still struggles to adjust to it—not because he doesn’t know what to do specifically, but because he fails to follow through with a lot of it. 

  As soon as he meets your eyes and feels the warmth of your skin at the same time, his brain halts in place like a deer caught in headlights—something about the affection and love in your gaze causes him to freeze, to hesitate and draw back. 

  He wants to enjoy that warmth, he wants to touch your cheek and gaze into your eyes for hours on end, examining every detail of your iris until he has it mapped better than the back of his own hand… but his heart tightens and his arms tingle when he tries. 

  He’s afraid, scared to overstep thresholds whose doors have long since opened wide for his presence. Afraid to take a wrong turn in the endless hallways of his thoughts and what-ifs.

  You don’t push him, you give him time to consider his movement and actions and proceed in the ways he feels comfortable—but you don’t let him pull back too far either. You grasp his hand as it pulls too close to his chest and he swallows when you bring it to yours, you press his palm against your chest and allow him to feel your heartbeat—quickened, excited, yet nervous as well. Sometimes, you’re also nervous. It’s okay to hesitate. 

  Mere moments like brushing his fingers against yours on accident are enough for his head-wings to shoot up into the air. You had simply been reaching for a pistachio in a bowl on a table where you sat with Sunday next to you, and he had coincidentally reached out as well. “A-ah, my apologies,” he pulls his hand back, wings lowering again as one moves halfway up his cheek in a meagre attempt to disguise the dusty red of his cheeks. 

  A small smile tugs on your lips and you take an additional nut to give to him. “It’s okay, here.” He holds his palm open for you to place the pistachio in, but instead of doing so, you peel the shell away with a click and hold it towards his lips. “Open up.”

  Five or so muscles in his face twitch as he leans back, surprised by your sudden approach and the very intimate gesture of trying to feed him—his eyes flicker to the left where Himeko is positively destroying March 7th in a card game, they’re not paying any attention to the two of you at all. 

  Sunday’s lips press together and for a moment you wonder if you might have pushed him a little too far, the red hue of his cheeks deepening as he avoids your eyes… and opens his mouth, just a little—barely enough to fit the small pistachio there.

  Your fingers touch his lips as you manage to set the pistachio on the tip of his tongue hiding only a little behind the bottom row of his teeth, and Sunday thinks he might explode. The way his upper lip lifted a little and a small drop of drool slid under his tongue—thankfully out of sight but definitely not out of mind—when your finger pushed under it to set the nut in his mouth…

  He swallows the pistachio quickly and nervously without chewing it and it almost stops in his throat before he could even realise what he was doing. Sunday might have just perished from embarrassment before the lack of oxygen would kill him were the pistachio to stop in his throat.

  Sunday hasn’t stepped off the Express in a while, he does so rather often, all things considered—usually choosing to at least peek out at the worlds you explore. After all, how can he find himself if he doesn’t look? 

  But he has never experienced a planet like this… you could convince him this is some intergalactically funded horror exhibition if you tried. Long stretches of trees and branches reach into the skies, casting dark shadows on the dull grass that covers the ground as far as one can see. The skies are dark when you hop off the train and practically drag Sunday along.

  He walks close to you, unsure if to reassure himself of your presence among the shadows, or to be ready to give his assistance were you to catch your foot on a root and crash on the ground—you’re walking so fast he can't help but think it’s just a matter of time.

  You feel something touch your thumb and look down, only to see Sunday’s gloved hand retreat. He’s looking ahead and pretending there is nothing strange happening. “Are you scared?” you wonder, tilting your head to get a better look at his face.

  A small frown tugs at his lips, so faint you could barely see it. “Of course not, but I am concerned about us getting lost—do you know where we’re going?” 

  “Kind of,” you sway your hand a little, seeing if you can fish at where he has retracted his to. “Pom-Pom mentioned there a huge city not far from where we dropped down, this world has some real good puddings if I read right.”

  Sunday merely hums in response, following you along. You did finally find the city—high buildings made of darkened wood, but with bright lanterns and strings of lights hanging between buildings to illuminate the streets in a comfortable orange. All the ambiance needs is rain (and for you two be inside a nice café) and it’s perfect.

  The streets, however, are a labyrinth. 

  You get lost only seven minutes after reaching the city, and no matter how you squinted at your phone, you couldn’t wrap your head around the map—and it doesn’t help that despite the darkness, it’s midday, and thus the streets and crowded near shoulder-to-shoulder. This place must be popular despite the gloomy atmosphere. 

  Having almost lost sight of you wandering around trying to get your bearings in the crowd, Sunday gathers his courage and stomps down his thoughts—and takes your hand. 

  You stop where you’re going and turn to look at him. “Hm? Is something wrong?”

  He still avoids your eyes, but his grip is firm. “You’re… still going in the wrong direction.”

  “I am?” you look back down to your phone and tilt it sideways. “Ah! Like this, I get it now… I think.”

  Sunday sighs, stepping closer to you as a person shoulder past your positions—and suddenly the two of you are standing far closer than planned, nearly pressed against the wall of a building that leads to the corner of the street. He can’t stop thinking about your hand against his gloved one, and he also can’t help but notice that your fingers feel cold.

  As you try to figure out the best path towards the mythical pudding, holding your phone out for Sunday to see as well, his fingers and palm engulf yours and try to move some of his heat to you. His thumb rubs over your palm as you speak and the lack of proper reaction from you, yet still laying your hand out to him, helps him find the gesture more natural and comfortable… something he wouldn’t mind indulging in more often. 

  Sunday is a very passive person when it comes to affections, he’s rarely the one to reach out first and needs a bit of a push to even come up with romantic gestures. He considers the time you spend together and the understanding between you to be much more precious and indicative of his affections.

  However, he gets an idea one time from something he saw when scrolling his phone… to leave notes around. Sunday wasn’t sure of it at first—and a little embarrassed that someone else might find them before you do—but gradually began to find it as an easy way to show his attention. 

  Sometimes, the notes have a small message on them (mostly reminding you to sleep more) but other times, there’s no message at all. He came to use it as a ‘I thought of you’ message, where he leaves a blank, small post-it on something. 

  One time you forgot to buy new toothpaste on the Express’ most recent stop and dreaded having to borrow from someone again—until you opened the drawer to fetch your toothbrush and saw a full tube with a small blue post-it on it… now you need to go over to his room and rub his cheeks and thank him for remembering your complaints about always forgetting to buy a new one. 

  Sunday is a surprisingly good caretaker, you caught some sort of cold or flu on a recent trip off the express and have been miserable in bed for days. Up and down, hot and cold, snot-filled and gross on all ends. But he sits down by your bedside and takes your temperature, lays the back of his hand against your heated skin and does all he can to help. 

  One aspect he struggled with was when you got whiny one evening and reached out for a hug…

  While you might mistake his hesitation for disgust, as you are snot-nosed, puffy eyed and half crying from misery—it’s far from what was on his mind. But Sunday feels his chest tighten at the sight of you so miserable, temporary as it is, and he doesn’t have the heart to refuse your embrace. 

  He leans down and lets you wrap your arms around his shoulders, your clammy forehead rubbing into his shirt as he stiffly pats your head and tries to soothe you. “It’s alright… your fever is going down, you’ll be okay soon, just remember to drink the water on the nightstand, okay?” he mumbles by your ear, and the more you nod and thank him for taking care of you, the more his muscles ease and he shifts a bit to lay down with you, allowing you to burrow into the crook of his neck and find comfort in his presence. 

  Sunday rests his chin over your head and rubs your back. “Would you like me to sing for you?”

  You nod into his shoulder and he closes his mouth to hum familiar tunes, the beginning of a familiar song as the vibrations in his chest rumble against you. His voice is soothing, and his singing is surprisingly soft and gentle. 

  As you drift to well-needed sleep, Sunday stays with you until he’s certain you’ve fallen asleep… and then for a while more, just long enough that he can’t imagine tearing himself away from you—or risking waking you up by rising from the bed. Perhaps it’s alright if he stays the night here, after all, he needs to make sure you hydrate through the night.

[s-brant]

Downburst

Trapped in King’s Landing with the Greens as they plot the usurpation after Viserys’s death, Y/N must navigate the fragile line between her loyalty to her husband and her contempt for his family. (or judas part six).

13k (18+)

Warnings: sexual content, strong language, fluff, angst, and death.

Y/N has been trapped in her and Aemond's bedchamber for hours.

No one has come to see her except for Nyla, her favorite handmaiden. Despite her pleas to the guard stationed outside her door, she is met with outright refusal to see her weeks-old daughter. There isn't much for her to do except pace around the room and nervously ramble to Nyla about what may be happening. In the past six hours, she has bathed, dressed, styled her hair, finished the blanket she was making for the babe before her labors began, and read a few pages of the book Aemond left on the table.

The braids secured to her head in complicated patterns keep her hair half-up, half-down and out of the way as she leans down to pick up a box of old letters from her parents. In this time of uncertainty, she seeks comfort in the love of those who brought her into the world. The letters date as far back as the first day she spent without them in King's Landing as a wife. The first one is from Rhaenyra, ever the attentive mother no matter how old her first and only daughter becomes.

She rifles through them until she finds the most recent one from Daemon. It is dated a fortnight before she gave birth and, as always, written in the family's native tongue to keep it from being read if it ended up in the wrong hands.

"Ñuha dōna riña,

Aōha muña vestās bona kesā rhaenagon sikagon aderī. Lo jaelā īlva naejot sagon paktot ao syt bisa, ao jorrāelagon mērī epagon. Aōha valzȳrys sȳrkta jurnegon tolī ao. Lo ziry gaomas daor, jikagon udir naejot Zaldrīzesdōron se kesan sōvegon bē Caraxes gō se vēzos ropagon ezīmagon se embar. Ao gīmigon iksan daor hae sacchārine hae Rhaenyra, yn gaoman bōsa naejot ūndegon ao arlī. Nyke krenyikhé umbagon syt se māzigon hen ñuha ēlī—"

"My sweet girl,

Your mother told me that you will begin your labors soon. If you want us to be beside you for this, you need only ask. Your husband best look after you. If he does not, send word to Dragonstone, and I will fly upon Caraxes before the sun falls into the sea. You know I am not as sentimental as Rhaenyra, but I do long to see you again. I gladly await the arrival of my first—"

The doors to their chambers are flung open, but the person who walks in is not the one she had hoped to see all day.

Seeing Alicent stride into their chambers, with the doors closing quickly behind her to prevent escape, makes her heart sink into her abdomen. Still, she refuses to accept this as defeat. She rises from her chair, holds her shoulders back with her chin high, and clenches her hands into fists at her sides. As far as she is concerned, this is an act of war. To imprison her in her own home...it is unthinkable.

Before the Queen can get a word in, Y/N asks in a sharp tone, "Where is my daughter?"

The sigh that Alicent lets out threatens to boil her blood.

"Please, you know that I of all people would never allow anything to happen to one of my grandchildren. So, if you fear she's been mistreated in any way—"

"She has been mistreated," the younger royal counters, taking a couple of steps forward to confront her face-to-face. "She is a weeks-old babe being kept from her mother against her will. Every pleading request I screamed through this door for her to be brought to me was met with silence and inaction. So, I beg of you, abandon the pretense. You are usurping my mother's throne and keeping my daughter as leverage for your cause."

This makes Alicent to stop for a moment.

The red-haired beauty takes this as an opportunity to steel herself for the arduous conversation ahead. Her palm flattens against the side of her green dress to soak up some sweat before she brings her hands together in front of herself, picking at her cuticles in a repetitive, compulsive manner.

"I know you will likely not believe what I have to say, but I have love for you. You are your mother's daughter. In a way, you are now my daughter too, I suppose. As you know, Rhaenyra and I were once the closest of friends. I myself said she'd make a fine queen the night my husband betrothed you to Aemond..." She trails off, looking down at the floor for a second before looking back up. "But I spoke with Viserys last night before he died in his sleep, and he spoke Aegon's name. He wanted him to be king, and I see no other choice but to honor his dying wish."

Y/N's face twists into an expression of bewilderment.

"You cannot believe that," she says. "My grandsire dragged himself, wheezing and weak on his deathbed, to his throne to declare for my mother as heir."

The two women stand across from one another, bisected by the window on the wall opposite the entrance that overlooks the courtyard, and neither wavers. Despite the turbulent emotions that dwell within them, they manage to stand strong against the tide of change cresting over them. With her pale hair styled as it is, the younger Targaryen princess reminds Alicent of her dear friend from many years ago. Time has changed both her and Rhaenyra, physically and spiritually, so she accepted that she would never have her closest companion back. Not in the way she had her as a girl. But when she looks at Rhaenyra's daughter, she almost sees her again. Almost.

It is for this reason alone that her demeanor softens as she walks forward to take Y/N's hand and speak to her once more.

"You may believe what you wish. I cannot take that from you, but whether you think it is right or not, Aegon will be crowned." There is a hesitant pause. "And you should consider yourself lucky I will not let my father get to him first. He'll advise Aegon to commit horrific acts of violence to protect his claim to the throne...Once he is found and brought to me, however, I will urge him to be merciful toward your mother, father, and brothers. They will be offered generous terms and need only bend the knee."

For a moment, she thinks she may have gotten through to Y/N. There is no discernible expression on her face other than shock, and she does not smack Alicent's hand where it squeezes hers.

Then, her features sour. Although she does not drop the hand entwined in hers, she does not hold it either. Her fingers turn lifeless and limp in Alicent's grasp.

"My father will never bend the knee to Aegon, and I do not know if Jacaerys will either. There is no such thing as mercy when dragons battle dragons. It is proven in Valyrian history, yet it seems that will become inevitable."

Unable to deny what she has said, too far gone in a mess of her father's making, Alicent lets loose a soft, tired sigh and gently releases her hands.

"Perhaps your father could be persuaded if he were under the assumption that you declare for Aegon as the true king at his coronation for the sake of keeping the peace. It will be witnessed by hundreds of the smallfolk on the morrow."

"And if I refuse? I would wager that I am worth more to you as a prisoner than I am hanged for so-called treason."

"You are my son's wife, a princess; you will not be a prisoner—"

Y/N cuts her off, her voice raising to a shout, "Then let me out!"

The moment of quiet that follows is charged with an energy too powerful for either of them to ignore. As Y/N's purple irises flare with a temper reminiscent of Rhaenyra's unyielding passion and Daemon's cold, seething rage, Alicent stands still before her. It is now that both women realize that nothing they say will change the other's mind. Despite the fondness they have genuinely formed through the marriage to Aemond, they now find themselves on opposite sides of the coming battle.

Picking at her nails again, Alicent speaks, and a sense of finality can be heard in her tone.

"My father would have me keep your babe from you until you agree to bend the knee. I, however, being a mother, find that too harsh. She will be brought to you within the hour, but you are not free to leave yet."

She turns on her heels and strides for the ornately carved doors, knocking to get the attention of the guard on the other side.

At the last moment, she cranes her neck to meet Y/N's eyes once more and says, "You will be at Aegon's coronation, standing beside your husband without protest."

A second later, the doors close behind her and lock the princess inside.

The babe has yet to stop crying.

All that can be heard in the bedchamber are the shrill wails of the infant girl brought to her hours ago by Nyla. It is bound to drive her insane. It does not matter what she does—feeding her, changing her, rocking or shushing her—nothing will suffice. Her head throbs from the mixture of stress and irritation. With one arm, she bounces Daenaera. With the other, she rubs the side of her head with her fingertips to keep the ache at bay. It doesn't work, however, and she is left with a pounding sensation in her skull that refuses to relent.

"Please, my love," she whispers in a soothing tone, "Muña iksis kesīr." Mother is here. "I may be frightened, but nothing will harm you under my watch."

The moment the last word escapes her lips, they are both surprised by the sound of the doors opening for a second time today.

Y/N, having just sworn to protect her daughter, quickly stands from the couch she had been sitting on uncomfortably to prepare herself. But there is no need. A glance at his face is all it takes for her to start walking across the room with tears flooding her eyes and the babe cradled against her chest.

"Aemond!" she calls out to him.

His eye hesitates for a second to raise and meet her gaze, but it does. Regardless of the emotions running rampant through him, the sight of her in tears is one he cannot ignore. Swiftly, they meet one another across the middle of the room, and he takes her into his arms without uttering a word. When she settles into his embrace, he can feel her trembling. All of that bravado his mother spoke of when she pulled him aside to inform him of their conversation is nowhere to be found. It only took one glance at him for her to let herself break apart.

And now, gently pressed between her parents, Daenaera's cries start to dwindle into a soft sniffling. For the first time in hours, both of his girls have found a moment of peace in his arms.

"I woke up, and you were gone!" Y/N exclaims between sobs. "They locked me in here and refused to let me see her."

"My mother said—"

"Your mother has gotten what she has always wanted, it seems." The words are harsh, but when she pulls away to look up at his face, her teary-eyed stare does not match them. "Even so, if it wasn't for her, Otto would have ensured that I be kept prisoner from our daughter until I bent the knee to Aegon and sent a raven urging my family to do the same."

His body turns stiff and still at this, and his face, as softened with emotion as he is capable of expressing, displays an unhinged ferocity that could frighten even the bravest of men.

"She did not tell me that."

Every word is said carefully, as if he fears speaking his mind too freely in front of her after all that has transpired since they last saw each other. It is clear that his grandsire has committed a grave error in holding their daughter against her will to sway Y/N's mind, but that is all she can gather, and it unsettles her. It took a long time, but he has become accustomed to sharing his thoughts and feelings with her. Since she found out she was with child, their relationship has blossomed into something neither of them could have seen coming. Something beautiful and rare in a realm where most noble women are content to be sold off by their fathers for the sake of survival.

Pushing this aside for now, she speaks in a quiet, eerily calm tone he recognizes well.

"If she is ever taken from me again, I will kill them all. I swear this to you." The look in her eye is crazed and wild, the reaction of a mother lashing out to protect her child. Not once does she let him escape her stare. "I'll leave with her on dragonback if I must."

"You will not leave with her."

It is an order, not a request. In any other moment, she would protest the notion that he has any authority over her, but she is too perplexed to speak right now. Thankfully, she does not need to. Instead, she watches him closely and tries to read him as he mulls it over in his head. After a moment, he shakes his head and tightens the grip of the hand resting on her waist.

"There will be no reason to...Leave Otto to me."

He is already pulling back to leave and confront his grandsire for what he has done, but the feeling of her hand around his wrist halts him before any distance can be made. With his back to her, he intends to yank himself out of her grasp, but then she yells at him. Somehow, her words manage to melt through his cold exterior and bring him back from the precipice of madness.

"No, don't leave us! She needs you!"

After a moment, the sound of Daenaera's slowed cries finally outmatches the ringing in his ears. Another couple of seconds pass, and he takes a heavy breath to steady himself before turning to face them. What he sees causes him to let loose a heavy breath. Tears shine in his dear wife's eyes as she holds their babe flush against her body with trembling hands. Her arms are so sore from bouncing and rocking the child all day that she can hardly stand it any longer.

Knowing this, Aemond reaches out and takes their daughter from her arms without hesitation. She squirms and coos at first, startled by the sudden movement, but calms down the second she realizes who is holding her. Still, he mutters sweet nothings against her head in Valyrian, inhaling the distinct, clean scent that somehow only infants have.

When his eye finds hers again, the first tear has fallen off her chin.

"And so do I," she says.

The hand hanging at his side raises to cup her face and wipe away the tracks of tears sliding down her rosy cheeks with his thumb. His touch is ever so slight, like a feather brushing against her skin. It is contrary to how he typically handles her with confidence and bold familiarity but welcome nonetheless.

"You have me," he responds, and he says it so softly, so gently, that she starts to believe it. In the face of everything that has happened and now will happen, she remains blinded by her devotion to him. "Kesā va moriot emagon nyke." You will always have me.

Y/N smiles through her tears, and Aemond is once again stunned by the fact that there is nothing that can make her appear less than perfect for him. She is pretty even when she cries. Yet, the tender moment is soon interrupted by her need for answers.

"Where did you go today? If you didn't know what was going on here, you must have been elsewhere."

In lieu of answering her question, he first decides to find a place to sit before starting this conversation. It would be awkward, he thinks, to stand here holding the babe while he debriefs her on the mission his mother sent him on this morning. He decides that the couch will do just fine, turning and walking toward it with one arm holding Daenaera and the other hand guiding Y/N.

After settling down on the couch, Aemond's hand finds its way to her waist. He pulls her close until she is pressed up to his side. The touch of his rough hand against her body is both comforting and familiar, his grasp on her almost desperate...as if he cannot bear to let her go. In one arm, he holds his wife. In the other, he holds his daughter.

There's a tense moment of silence, then he speaks. His voice is low, tinged with a hint of frustration.

"Mother sent me on an errand," he explains. "I left you to train with Cole as I do every day, but she had the guards intercept me on my walk to the yard. Father died, and, of course, Aegon was nowhere to be found. If anything can be counted upon, it is his appetite for fucking disease-ridden whores in Fleabottom rather than remaining with his wife and children for any longer than he's required."

She swallows thickly as he speaks, her hand braced against her chest. What she is bracing for, she does not know, but with all that has transpired today, she refuses to lower her guard. As much as she wants to have hope, to look on the bright side of things, she knows she must prepare herself for the cold bite of reality.

Aemond can feel her tension secondhand—a coiled rope ready to snap at the slightest pull of the thread that holds it together. He is painfully aware of how much he mislikes seeing her in distress. To see her bright, lively eyes dimmed by worry does little to mollify the anger that still roils within him from the thought of their babe being kept from her all day. To imagine the sound of Daenaera crying, her shrill wails piercing the ears of the handmaidens when all she wanted was to be with her mother...

"Go on," she says.

The expression on her face is unable to be read despite his best efforts. Yet, even as she forces a neutral expression, her body language tells a different story. Her shoulders are taut, her back straight, and her hands tightly clenched in her lap.

"I was sent to find Aegon," he says, his voice soft yet somehow firm. "Mother feared that Otto might find him first and urge him to put Rhaenyra and all of her heirs to the sword without offering a chance to bend the knee." As he emphasizes the word "all," he looks into her eyes, and for the first time in years, she sees fear when she meets his gaze. "I know it was not easy for you to stay here, alone, but if I did not find him first..."

One of the hands clenched into a fist on her lap reaches out to touch him, offering a sense of comfort as she rubs his back in a repetitive, soothing motion.

"Your grandsire would have me killed?" she finishes for him. "So he can hold our daughter hostage her entire life and indoctrinate her into supporting Aegon's claim?"

His eye is overflowing with a storm of emotions, a tumultuous mix of fear and madness. But when her hand finds its way to his back, his muscles involuntarily start to relax, the tension unknotting under her healing touch.

He nods carefully, and the act of doing so makes the words all the more real. "Yes," he says. "Now that my mother has gotten to Aegon first, it seems he intends to use our girl to ensure your compliance rather than strike you down outright."

"That much I gathered myself," she says sharply, then shakes her head in disbelief. A second later, she continues to prod him for answers. "So you found Aegon, then?"

"Yes," he replies. His hand clutches at the soft fabric of the couch as he speaks, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. He found his brother, but what good is that when the fate of his wife and daughter hangs in the balance? "I did. Otto sent Erryk and Arryk to find him. Find him, they did. Before they could bring him back, we saw Aegon running from the Sept. It took little effort to catch him while Cole kept the guards busy."

There's nothing she can do to soothe herself but take Daenaera from his arms and hold on tightly. Her tiny head is supported in the bend of her arm, and the little girl does not protest. Her father is still close enough for her to remain calm and satisfied.

He opens his eye and looks at her, his gaze intense beneath his brow.

"We brought him back to Alicent. She's having him locked in his chambers till morning," he explains, his eye boring into hers. "It will happen, ābrazȳrys." Wife. "Any chance of stopping it is gone...Aegon will be king. The best you can do is comply."

The words make her sick to her stomach.

Everything she has always feared is coming to fruition, and here she is, powerless in every conceivable way. Every word, every breath, every move she makes will be watched as long as she remains in the Keep. There will be no freedom, she realizes. Soon, this room will be her prison for the rest of her life. Never again will she soar the skies on dragonback and savor the cold wind against her face. Never again will she return to Dragonstone to kiss her mother and embrace her father. Her heart breaks at the thought of not being able to see her brothers again. If she had known what would happen, she would have spent far more time with them when they visited.

Her eyes glaze over at this point, her gaze far away and hazy. She is looking right through him.

His gaze softens when he catches sight of the discomfort on her pretty face. He reaches out and takes her hand in his, his fingers wrapping around hers with a tenderness that is so unlike him when it comes to anyone but her. He lifts her hand to his mouth and brushes a kiss over each of her knuckles. Then, he brings her hand against him, her palm over his chest, to feel the heavy beat of his heart in the hope that it may snap her out of her thoughts.

"It will be alright," he says even though he does not know if it's true.

Aemond brings his other hand up to cup her face, his thumb tracing over her cheek. If he could, he would take her away from all of this. To a world where it is just the three of them—him, her, and the babe. But he can't. For now, all he can do is offer her the comfort of her husband's presence. At least she knows that no harm will befall her as long as she remains by his side.

"Listen to me," he whispers, his voice stern in a way that instinctively compels her to hear him out. "You will attend the coronation at my side. You will do so not out of loyalty to Aegon but out of loyalty to me."

Tears well up in her eyes at the mere thought of betraying her mother, even if the support she will be showing is feigned, and she starts to shake her head as she cries.

"No." She tries to scoot away from him with the babe still cradled in her arm. "My love, I cannot. I cannot! Please, I want to go home! To Dragonstone! I want my mother—"

"Enough!"

His voice is sharper than the swift crack of a whip. The forcefulness of it makes her freeze, her body running cold as her instincts tell her to obey. He has commanded her with that same tone a few other times throughout their marriage, but never has it felt so chilling. If she didn't know any better, she would mistake that feeling in the pit of her abdomen for fear. Not of the unimaginable situation at hand but of him.

For all she talks, she crumbles beneath the pressure behind closed doors and calls for her mother like a frightened little girl.

"You will not leave my side," he all but growls the words.

His hand still grasps her face, his fingers digging deep into her skin. Of course, he never wants to hurt her, not if he can help it, but he refuses to let her withdraw.

"Cry if you must," he tells her. "I will not leave you here alone. Mourn tonight. On the morrow, you must pretend. You cannot let anyone other than myself see you this way. Do you understand?"

"No! I most certainly do not understand, Aemond! How can you ask this of me? How can you ask me to stand there and do nothing as they place my mother's crown—my birthright—upon his head?"

She continues to try and pull away from him, her body caving in on itself with sobs, but he holds her tighter the more she resists.

"Calm yourself," he warns her.

He has never seen her like this—broken and weeping and weak. It is jarring to see her so far removed from the willful woman he married. The woman who held a knife to his throat with a promise to kill the last time he laid a hand on her younger brother. He has never seen her this way and prays he never will again, not only for her sake but for his. To see her suffer is utter agony. It's not something he thinks he can endure more than this one time.

He threads his fingers through the overgrown strands of her silver hair, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He lowers his voice, speaking as softly as he can to her now that he has taken a moment to compose himself.

"You have to think about Daenaera," he says, his mouth against her hair. "You are her mother. She comes before all else. She is your duty."

The sudden reminder of their daughter has the effect he intended. Her body goes still, the sobs that were tearing through her beginning to quiet. His fingers run through her hair repeatedly in an attempt to soothe her, and it seems to work. At least for the time being.

She goes silent for a long time, her breath ragged and uneven against his chest. When she finally speaks, her voice breaks from the endless sobs that have plagued her since she woke this morning.

"I don't know if I can..."

Aemond simply says, "You must."

For the duration of the jolting carriage ride to the Dragonpit, Y/N sits in silence with Aemond on her right side and Helaena to her left.

The only indicator of her emotions that he can pick up on is how she nervously twists her wedding band around her left ring finger, toying with it incessantly to give herself something to do in a moment where she is powerless. If not for her unwavering faith in Nyla, he would not have been able to convince her to leave their daughter behind for the sake of attending the coronation.

Not even his best attempts at placating her worked. It was only when the plain-featured, frail servant girl walked up to her, took her hands in hers, and promised her the babe would never leave her arms that she allowed the others to help her dress. And that was another battle entirely—the dress.

As he looks her up and down out of the corner of his eye, he must clench his jaw in frustration.

The only gown she would wear is, unsurprisingly, black. The neckline is embroidered with threads of red and gold hues, and the bodice covered in pieces of fabric fashioned to appear as dragon scales. The same unflinching tenacity that allowed him to fall for her now smacks him across the face, and he cannot be mad at her for it. In some twisted fashion, it endears her to him further. To see that she is not so easily conquered, not willing to go down without a fight, makes his stomach flutter like it had the night of their wedding. Even when it is he and his family that she opposes, he cannot help but admire her refusal to surrender.

Out of the blue, as though she has read his mind, Helaena speaks in her typical soft and whimsical tone.

"I quite like your dress. Dragon scales..." A small smile crosses her face, then she says a bit more resolutely than before, "Beware the beast beneath the boards."

Unsure of how to respond, especially seeing that most of the family ignores the strange things Helaena says from time to time, Y/N simply nods and reaches to entwine their hands.

"Thank you, sister," she whispers. "And I shall."

Before Aemond can warn her not to do so, to tell Y/N that she does not like to be touched and often flinches from physical contact, Helaena's smile widens a little as she allows her hand to be held. If he hadn't found his wife's existence confounding already, this would do the trick. He may never come to understand how, but she has a way with people and things that he does not. Mayhaps it is a blessing from the Gods. As if her beauty, wit, and strong heart were not blessings enough.

Before he knows it, the carriage comes to a gentle halt, and he is brought back from his thoughts by the sound of the smallfolk chattering within and beyond the walls of the Dragonpit.

As Helaena is aided in stepping out of the carriage, Y/N turns to him and says quietly, "I will comply. Not because I believe Aegon to be the true heir. Not because I want to. Not because I am not angry with your mother for supplanting mine own as heir. But because I love you."

This vulnerable admission makes him falter for a second, his frustration melting and his harsh features softening. It's the first time she has said it like that. She has called him "my love" many times, but this is the first time she has said those three words.

"I know..." he whispers, not quite ready to say it back.

All she can manage is a nod in his direction before she is ushered from the safety of the carriage by members of the Kingsguard.

Aemond follows closely behind her, his hand hovering over the pommel of his sword like a hound ready to attack as they are escorted into the Dragonpit. While they make their way through the room, following behind the rest of his family, he notes how the smallfolk stare at his wife with expressions of shock and awe. Their gazes linger, and whispers fill the air as they watch her walk through the parted crowd, the sun shining against her from behind to set her silver hair aflame.

The second he stares back at them, their eyes avert to the floor in what most would assume is a display of respect for the Gods that walk among men. A sign that years of propaganda intended to keep those with the blood of the dragon on a pedestal above the rest has worked. In truth, Aemond in particular falls victim to the illusion of Targaryen exceptionalism more so than his wife, but it does not blind him to the fact that these people in particular are not avoiding his gaze out of respect. They do it out of fear, and he cannot deny the sick sense of pleasure it gives him to witness that.

Quicker than she anticipated, they reach the platform where Otto, Alicent, Cole, and Helaena await their arrival, and Aemond silently offers his hand to her once they reach the small set of stairs leading up. She takes his hand gratefully and prays it may steady her for the nauseating turn of events that have come to pass. At the last step, his grip on her hand loosens like he intends to let go, but she does not let him. Her fingers, adorned with rings in a fashion reminiscent of her mother, close tightly around his as their hands fall back to their sides.

Even after they fall into place, standing in a line alongside his family, she does not let go of his hand.

Aemond's eye flits down to their joined hands, fighting the urge to raise his brows in surprise at the display she is giving everyone. Yet he does not pull his hand away. Instead, he gives hers a comforting squeeze.

As his gaze moves from their hands to her face, he notices the tightness in her clenched jaw and the tension in her stiff posture. He knows she is struggling to maintain her composure, to keep herself in one piece in the face of what might as well be the end of the world as she knows it. But he also knows that she is strong, fiercely so, and not so easily defeated.

Otto begins a speech to the people once they've all settled, his voice echoing in the wide-open walls of the room.

"Today is the saddest of days!" he shouts. "Our beloved king, Viserys the Peaceful, is dead!"

The sounds of shock and sorrow that reverberate through the room in the second after it is announced are surprisingly filled with emotion—as if these people knew him personally.

"But it is also the most joyous of days. For as his spirit left us, he whispered his final wish that his firstborn son, Aegon, should succeed him."

Otto's last few words act as a cue for the fanfare to begin and the guards to raise their swords together as they part the crowd, clearing a path for the soon-to-be king. Across the wide-open interior of the Dragonpit, sudden movement catches her eye from where she stands atop the platform. True to her word, she does not balk at the sight of Aegon appearing at the entrance to the room. Passing beneath the raised swords, he looks ahead with a blank expression in his eyes.

"It is your great good fortune and privilege to be here to witness this. A new day for our city. A new day for our realm. A new king to lead us."

Her hand does not grip Aemond's tighter, nor does it let go as they watch her eldest uncle make his way through the crowd acting like he is walking to his death. One would think he's to meet the hangman's noose atop this platform. It takes everything in her not to scoff at his attitude. Grandsire and mother dearest have placed him upon the Iron Throne, and he can't even pretend to care. Beside her, she knows that her husband is tense with anticipation of her doing or saying something, but she minds herself. She tries her best to be an obedient little wife, a puppet dancing on strings held tightly in the grasp of Ser Otto Hightower, and it is difficult.

Finally, Aegon has ascended the stairs to join them.

He comes to a natural stop before his mother, and she gently takes his face in her soft hands, guiding his head down until she places a kiss on the top of it. Once they have parted, all it takes is a firm look from Otto for him to sink to his knees with his back facing the crowd.

Septon Eunace is, of course, waiting for this moment. A moment that will surely go down in history, not as one of joy or triumph but of defeat. It signifies the end of a peaceful time. The reigns of both Jaehaerys and Viserys were without war and widespread destruction. The same cannot be said for what is to come.

Under her breath, she whispers, "Kostagon ñuha muña gūrogon arlī skoros iksis zȳhon lēda Perzys Ānogār." May my mother take back what is hers with fire and blood.

Aemond's posture stiffens at the sound of her quiet voice.

No one around them, save for Helaena, shall know what she just uttered except for him. Everyone else standing around them could not speak or understand the native language of their ancestors, and the crowd before them would not hear her even if she spoke in the common tongue. Few may have witnessed her moving lips, but only he hears her. Is it a threat or prayer? He does not know.

"May the Warrior give him courage," the Septon speaks aloud as he anoints Aegon with oil. "May the Smith lend strength to his sword and shield. May the Father defend him in his need. May the Crone lift her shining lamp and light his way to wisdom."

He then hands the bowl off to another in exchange for the crown. Not the crown of the conciliator. The crown of the Conqueror. Valyrian steel, fitted with a ruby at the center, gleams beneath the light as Septon Eunace takes the crown into his hands and turns to give it to Ser Criston Cole.

No doubt smug with the sweet taste of victory over her mother, Criston thrusts it into the air and declares, "The crown of the Conqueror, passed down through generations."

At the last moment, Y/N allows her hand to slip from her husband's clutches.

"Let the Seven bear witness," Criston proclaims as he lowers it onto Aegon's head. "Aegon Targaryen is the true heir to the Iron Throne."

With that, the young king, born anew beneath the weight of the steel sitting upon his brow, rises.

"All hail his Grace, Aegon, Second of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!"

The bells toll so loudly it threatens to rattle their teeth.

"Aegon the King!"

At first, there is silence, and everyone is unsure what to make of it. But then, most of the spectators packed too tightly into the room begin to applaud him. When he draws Blackfyre from its sheath, there is nothing Y/N can do but look ahead at those who cheer with tears shining in her eyes. To her left, she sees Alicent looking at her from the corner of her eye with a face of disappointment. Her stifled cries must have drawn her proud gaze away from her eldest son, now anointed before his subjects and crowned king.

"Worry not, child, he will spare your mother," Alicent whispers under her breath.

Before she can turn to watch her son raise his sword in triumph, Y/N says softly, but not weakly, "It is you who ought worry."

A look of horror flashes across Alicent's face.

The sound of the crowd roaring, chanting, and clapping for her son does little to distract her from the conviction with which those words were spoken. But she doesn't have the chance to respond. No, because the floor beneath the crowd explodes with a cloud of debris that hangs in the air and causes Y/N to stumble back in surprise.

She almost trips over her own feet, but a pair of strong hands quickly snatch up her waist to keep her upright. Her back hits his chest, a solid wall behind her that does not flinch at what she now realizes is a dragon bursting through the floor of the pit.

Aemond stands stock-still, his grip on her waist tight as the dust and debris settle. For a moment, his heart is in his throat, his mind fighting to process what just happened. And then, as the dust clears, he sees it—a dragon with crimson scales and copper horns. The beast shakes off the dirt and rubble, gazing around with a glare that promises violence should anyone dare to approach.

Before the rest of them can catch a glimpse of the woman perched in the saddle atop the she-dragon's back, his wife says with a wavering tone of shock, "Rhaenys..."

"Seize her!" Otto commands, pointing at Y/N.

Not willing to risk it, he has Ser Criston Cole haul her from her husband's arms and drag her up before Meleys—a shield to protect Alicent and King Aegon's fear-stricken forms from the threat of dragonflame. It is a stroke of genius that infuriates her equally as much as it impresses her. The only people left to keep Aemond from rushing after her are Septon Eunace and Otto himself, who manages well enough on his own to block him by ordering him to protect Queen Helaena.

Meleys advances until she is far too close and unleashes a furious roar that blows Y/N's hair off her shoulders. Still, she doesn't look away. She knows Rhaenys well enough to know that she will not slaughter them outright, especially not with her standing front and center.

The Queen Who Never Was remains silent when their gazes meet. She does not have to utter a word. Even with the smallfolk fleeing in terror for the doors to the Dragonpit and Otto screaming for them to be let out, everything is understood. Everything left unspoken can be felt like a current of energy buzzing between them, and the tears streaming down Y/N's cheeks are more powerful than words could ever be.

Then, as quickly as she burst through the floor, Meleys retreats, claws digging into the ground beneath her to help her turn around and take flight.

All they can hear over the sound of the injured and dying scattered across the broken floor is the sound of wings flapping in the sky.

Y/N picks at her lip as she sits outside the small council chamber six days after Aegon's coronation. It's easy to hear the muffled sound of voices within, but hearing what exactly they're saying proves to be a great deal more difficult.

The aftermath of what happened in the Dragonpit was chaotic. As soon as Meleys flew off, Aemond rushed from Helaena's side to where his wife stood before them all. Seeing that there were still people watching, he couldn't grab her face in his hands and pull her to him. Public displays of affection have never been his forte. At most, they hold hands or he keeps his hand on the small of her back as they walk. Ignoring the eyes that followed him with every step he took, he held both of her hands in his and looked her over to see if she was alright.

Knowing him too well, she said before he had the chance to ask, "I am unharmed." Her hands squeezed his. "Lykiri, ñuha zaldrīzes." Calm, my dragon.

The entire carriage ride back to the Keep, he did not let go of her. Sweet reassurances were whispered in her ear—in Valyrian, of course, to prevent Aegon from overhearing and taunting him for it later—and she managed to stop crying after a few moments.

Once they arrived, Aemond made sure to help Y/N down, keeping her close to him, not wanting to let go for fear of what may happen if he did. He saw his brother lingering nearby, and they shared a knowing look. Aegon nodded toward him in a silent expression of concern.

"Come," Aemond said, his grip on her tightening as they trailed after Alicent and Otto.

The very second they crossed the threshold into the Keep, he pulled Ser Criston aside to entrust him with the task of escorting her to their chambers.

"No," she retorted and pulled on her husband's arm, "I want to go with you."

"I do not want you to hear what I have to say to my grandsire, ñuha dōna ābrazȳrys." My sweet wife.

A look toward Criston showed he shared the prince's opinion as he nodded and said, "Such words are not fit for the ears of a highborn lady with delicate sensibilities."

It took all the strength she had not to roll her eyes at the implication of his words, and she simply ignored the knight in favor of looking up at her husband.

Aemond said, "I simply wish to settle this matter myself."

And she obliged.

Even now, as she sits and awaits the end of the meeting when her husband will finally be free to leave with her, she does not know what happened after Criston escorted her to Maegor's Holdfast. Whatever he said, it must have been enough to put Otto in his place regarding his treatment of her since Viserys died. The older man made it clear in his expression that it isn't something he goes along with happily, but Alicent is now the one who oversees his wife when Aemond is not present.

The freedom she was once afforded has been ripped away in the blink of an eye. Being the daughter of the enemy, she is under constant supervision. Alicent's orders appointed Criston Cole as her "sworn protector"—prison guard, more like—and he stands beside her now.

With a glance at him out of her peripheral vision, she gathers that he cannot hear what is being said in the small council room either, and it leaves him visibly irritated.

"Do you think Otto has reached Dragonstone yet?" she asks suddenly. "He left three days ago. Surely he must be there by now..."

There's a moment of hesitation, but he eventually responds.

"You know as much as I do, Princess. We can only pray for his safe return. There's no telling what Daemon may do."

To this, she cannot help but chuckle in amusement, and it becomes apparent now more than ever that she is, in fact, the daughter of the rogue prince.

"Mind your tongue, Ser Criston," she says with a haughty air of authority much like her father. "Prince Daemon."

The knight can do none else but swallow his pride. She is, after all, his superior, and she is right. Only in the privacy of his conversations with Aemond and Alicent can he speak freely.

"Apologies, my lady, for my lack of...formality."

The doors are flung open.

Aemond steps out of the small council room, his face set in a cold expression. His hands are clasped behind his back, but they are clenched tightly. The meeting had gone just as he knew it would.

He turns his gaze to Y/N, and a slight relaxation settles within him. Seeing her waiting for him is like taking a breath of fresh air or feeling the wind against his face when he rides the skies atop Vhagar, and it doesn't come a moment too soon.

"You are dismissed, Cole," he says as he walks past.

The act itself is a silent command for her to follow, and she does. His presence is a vast step up from that of her sworn sword. At least her husband is smart enough not to taunt her at a stressful time like this by speaking ill of her father.

They remain quiet on the walk to their chambers. It has become routine for them to make this walk in silence after he leaves meetings with the small council, to wait until nobody can overhear to speak about what may happen next as they wait for word from Otto and his men. It's a sense of structure she cannot help but cling to amidst the constant uncertainty. And, at the very least, she is thankful that Aemond trusts her enough to confide in her still. Even though everyone else regards her as a spy behind enemy lines, he doesn't. Not yet.

When the doors to their chambers close behind them, his emotionless facade disappears. With only her to witness it, the anger and frustration he feels come to the surface.

"What happened in there?"

Just as he opens his mouth to speak Nyla makes her presence known before she can be found out by the prince and accused of trying to eavesdrop.

"I am sorry, your Grace," she announces her presence with a dip of her head and moves away from where she'd been warming bathwater by the fire. "I will leave at once."

Aemond considers this, then decides against it.

"No. Finish your duties, girl." A sharp look from his wife, a reminder to treat her more kindly, makes him pause for a moment before finishing a touch softer. "You may leave once the bath is filled for my wife."

"Thank you," Y/N adds.

Aemond takes his time to undo his leather doublet, the tension in his shoulders visible under the fabric before he unceremoniously yanks it from his body. He rolls his shoulders a couple of times to relieve some of the stiffness, craning his neck until he hears a slight cracking sound that is swiftly followed by a sigh of relief. His annoyance is plain to see when he tosses the doublet on the couch.

Her eyes track his every movement, and the sound of Nyla's humming in the background filling the gaps of silence during which they don't speak.

He tells her, "Iksan issare jittan naejot jelmāzma mōris naejot mazverdagon iā dīnilūks rȳ Daeron se mēre hen Barāthēon riñi." I am being sent to Storm's End to arrange a marriage between Daeron and one of the Baratheon girls.

"Sīr skoro syt issi ao ribazmoqitta?" So why are you frustrated?

The only part she leaves out is a taunting reminder that Borros Baratheon's father swore fealty when her mother was named heir all those years ago. Hopefully a marriage pact with a third son is not incentive enough for oaths to be broken. But, still, in another language or not, she'd rather not argue in front of Nyla.

"Kesrio syt issa doru-borto, se ziry gaomas daor gūrogon ziry." Because he is stupid, and he does not deserve it.

"Nūmāzma jēda ao ūndegon va." About time you caught on. She says the next sentence in the common tongue, not caring since Nyla has no context for it, "You speak of something we already know."

Y/N comes up behind him and slides her hands up his back, feeling the warmth of his skin through his clothing. The sensation of her touch makes his eye flutter shut in appreciation, and his mouth tilts up at each end in a slight smile. Slowly, her hands descend until they reach the hem of the plain shirt that sits at his hips. It would be inappropriate to undress him in front of a servant, so she opts for slipping her fingers underneath his shirt to massage his back. It's easy to tell just from an exploratory touch that his muscles are tense from the stress of the week since Viserys died.

"Naenie kessa sagon mundagon skori pōja kepa morghūljagon." Many would be sad when their father dies. A pause. "Nyke āryon daorun." I feel nothing.

It is no secret that King Viserys favored his firstborn daughter over the rest of his children. She always knew this. She saw it in how he cared for her mother—or, perhaps, the glimpses of Aemma he saw in her mother—but to see the impact it had on the rest of his children firsthand colors all of those fond memories of him in a bad light. Flaws and all, if her father were to die today, she would weep and mourn him as most would someone so close to them. But her husband does not mourn his father. Not in any way she recognizes as being normal.

Her thumbs dig into the muscles on either side of his spine at the southernmost point of his back.

"Tis understandable," she says softly. "Ziry gōntan daor ivestragī ao gīmigon zirȳla sȳrī." He did not let you know him well.

For a while, they remain this way, standing in silence as she massages his back for him and he lets out little sighs of relief to show his gratitude. They are so focused on this, trapped in their own world, that they don't notice Nyla preparing to leave until she is standing at the door with one hand on the handle and the other holding the empty bucket brought to warm the bathwater.

It is Y/N who sees her. All she needs to do is nod once to dismiss the girl, and she is gone before Aemond can open his eye. The only thing that alerts him to this is the sound of the door closing in her wake.

The hands massaging him stop in their tracks.

"Come with me," she instructs. "Let's clean up before you leave."

Their footfalls are quiet as she leads him from the couch to the large, copper tub filled with hot water. A familiar aromatic scent invades her nostrils, bringing a smile to her face because Nyla remembered her favorite bathing oil and mixed it into the water before she left. Soon, their clothes are left in a messy pile on the floor that another servant will have to collect after dinner, his eyepatch discarded next to them, and they sink into the steaming water together.

Aemond settles with his back against the tub, one hand still holding hers as she steps in and sits in front of him. Her hair falls down her back with the ends soaking in the water. There's no sign of her typical braided hairstyle today, so he wastes little time in grabbing the small pitcher set aside for them and using it to pour water over her head. One hand guides her head into a tilted-back position until her hair is fully saturated and ready to wash with her precious lemon and lavender soap from Lys.

One time, as a small girl, Daemon gifted her a bar of it after he visited with Laena from Essos. She may not have known for certain that he was her father at that age, but she cherished the gift regardless. For the years since, the soap has been delivered to her by ship every moon.

"You were right," she says.

His hands work the soap through her hair and rub her scalp the same way she did to his back.

"About?"

"About Aegon. He is unfit for the role that has been thrust upon him."

There's an obvious tone of resentment to what she says, and it's a sentiment he shares, although the cause of it is different. For him, he resents Aegon for being born first. For having everything he has ever wanted handed to him and turning his nose up at it. For her, she resents Aegon for the actions of his scheming grandsire and his mother who happily played along. For letting them use him to steal his sister's birthright. For Aegon, all he ever wanted was someone to love him, and if that love couldn't be found within his family, he would seek it elsewhere.

"You should see him in the council meetings," Aemond says. "He hasn't a clue what to do. Just sits there like a confused child while the rest of us talk."

She hesitates for a second before pointing out, "Perhaps that isn't such a bad thing..."

His silence is a signal for her to elaborate.

"If he is as unfit to rule as we think, it may be a good thing to let him sit aside while those better suited for the job do the heavy lifting. That is if you consider any of the traitorous fools on that council to be fit for the job."

He goes still.

"We have been through this, ābrazȳrys. I had no hand in what my mother and grandsire did..." Wife.

"But you do not care. If anything, you curse the Gods for not making you the firstborn son so you could have been the one they crowned in her stead."

In response to this, he just sighs and reaches for the pitcher to get the soap out of her hair. It takes a couple of rinses for it to sit in the form of bubbles at the surface of the water, but it eventually washes out.

"Wash my hair?" he asks, not wanting to acknowledge what she said if it means quarreling with her before he leaves. "Do not worry, I wouldn't dream of stealing your special soap. You may use the other one on me."

Wordlessly, she reaches to take her favorite soap from his hand and moves to crawl onto his lap.

The water sloshes with her movements, and when she straddles his hips, she can feel his cock half-hard against her. With the changes that have wreaked havoc on her body in the aftermath of pregnancy and childbirth, she questioned whether or not he would find her as attractive as he once did. Needless to say, it pleases her to know that he still cannot resist the sight of her bare body before him.

Those strong, callused hands find purchase on her plush hips to keep her in place and prevent her from leaving now that she has gotten so close to him. He closes his eye, breathing in deep, and allows himself to relax against the hard wall of the bathtub. He listens as his wife washes his hair, the small splashes and the soft scent filling the air. Her hands are gentle as she works. Her touch is tender and reverent. In truth, Aemond finds her touch to be soothing. Any anger that sparked from what she said is softened by the feeling of her body pressed against his.

"Ao jurnegon sīr gevie hae bisa," Y/N whispers. You look so beautiful like this. "Lēda daorun naejot ruaragon aōha laehurlion hen nyke." With nothing to hide your face from me.

She dunks the pitcher into the bath to collect enough water to rinse the soap out. Her fingers run through his hair with every pitcher she carefully pours over his head. It isn't until she puts it to the side and wipes the water from his face that he opens his eye to look at her. When he does, she is staring at him longingly—as if he is not a cold, disfigured man who most women turn away from. It is not lost on him that he isn't the easiest person to love. If anything, he has always been painfully aware.

"Se ra jaelan naejot gaomagon naejot ao..." he trails off. The things I want to do to you right now...

Their faces inch closer and closer with each passing second, and before they meet in the middle, she murmurs, "Tōma tolī tubissa." Five more days.

His lips are soft against hers. The instant they touch, she can feel the hands on her hips squeeze to absentmindedly pull her closer. She presses a palm to his chest and feels the hard pounding of his heart as they deepen the desperate kiss. He follows her lead, chasing her whenever she pulls away with a hunger that sets his blood aflame.

"So sensitive," she croons and grinds against him.

The feeling of his cock sliding against her wet folds elicits a soft moan from the back of his throat. It takes a few seconds, but he manages to control himself and uses the hands on her hips to keep her from moving again.

"No. We have waited this long."

"Five days might as well be an eternity, Aemond, I want you now..."

If he were standing, he's certain what she just said would make him weak in the knees, but it won't make him throw caution to the wind and fuck her when her body is not ready for it. He shakes his head and lifts one of his hands to grab her chin, forcing her to pull away enough to let him see her face.

Gods, he looks handsome right now, she thinks. With his hair wet and unbound, it falls around his face in a way she only sees in the privacy of their bedchamber. Then, there's that sapphire gleaming in his scarred eye socket. There's something about his beauty that is so haunting, so unusual, so statuesque. The very image of ethereal Valyrian beauty.

He looks into her eyes as he says, "It will pass quicker than you expect. The very moment those days are up, I will do everything I've dreamt of doing these past five weeks."

She wraps her arms around his shoulders and warns him with an exaggerated pout, "Do not tease me."

His response is immediate.

"Not a tease, a promise."

As he says this, the door to their room creaks open, and a nursemaid stands in the entryway. The babe's cries are enough to capture the attention of both parents, who abruptly cease their playful banter to look at the servant standing with her eyes averted from their naked bodies. Her face is flushed a deep shade of scarlet. As soon as she realized what they were doing, she turned her face away.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Your Graces, but she keeps crying and we are running out of ways to soothe her. I was told to ask if you would like to try."

Sighing, she scoots off of his lap.

"Bring her, then. I shall take her."

The girl nods, trying to summon the nerve to intrude on their private affair, then walks from the door to the bath. Y/N reaches out to take the babe into her arms, shushing her as she cries and cradling her little body to her chest. The servant does not dare to look at Aemond One-Eye. No, her gaze remains fixed on the floor where his eyepatch sits. What might he do if she looks at him in this state? She does not wish to stay and push her luck.

"May I please be dismissed, Princess?"

"You may."

The speed with which she scurries off has Y/N fighting the urge to laugh, but she maintains enough self-control to wait until the door shuts before erupting into an uncontrollable bout of giggles.

"Stop it," Aemond says, his mouth twitching as he stifles his laughter. "Quit laughing at me, woman."

"Skoros gōntan gaomā naejot mazverdagon zirȳla sīr zūgagon hen ao?" What did you do to make her so scared of you?

Seeing her like this—laughing with her hair wet and their babe nestled into her chest, little hands grasping at her skin—is how he imagines the smallfolk feel witnessing the otherworldly presence and power of the dragons when they fly over the city.

"Mayhaps it is because of this"—a gesture to his face—"Most ladies, noble and common alike, are frightened of me," he muses, stating it like it is an unavoidable fact of life because it is. Ever since that day at Driftmark, people have treated him differently. He adds the next part with a soft smile, a rare sight for most who know him, "Excluding you."

"Those ladies are fools. What happened with your eye makes you no different than any other man, not where it matters," she states. "You are a Targaryen prince, Vhagar's rider no less, and what are they?" A scoff escapes her. "Frightened hens, that's what they all are."

The mere sound of their voices going back and forth lulls Daenaera into a calm, sleepy state. Her mouth hangs open, and drool coats the shoulder her face is smushed against. His girls truly are a sight to behold. He leans back against the bathtub, his eye still fixed on them with a look of disbelief.

How did this happen? How did the arranged marriage that he dreaded blossom into the overwhelming feeling tugging at his heart right now? It's such a foreign feeling. He only ever felt it as a child, when his mother fought for justice on his behalf after his eye was so brutally taken, yet even that was different. The type of love he felt for his mother that day does not hold a candle to what he feels for his wife every waking moment.

The prince cannot help but smile, watching in awe as she rocks their little girl in her arms, careful to keep her above the surface of the hot water.

He reaches out to gently stroke the soft wisps of silver hair growing from Daenaera's head. Slowly, the hand touching the babe's head moves up the length of Y/N's arm and keeps moving until he cups her cheek. Seeing that he cannot make himself say it any other way, he says it in Valyrian. The words that have remained on the tip of his tongue since he first saw her holding their child finally break free.

"Avy jorrāelan."

The words have an instant effect. She falters and almost loses her breath, her gaze fixed on him as her heart hammers in her chest.

"Say it again," she whispers, each breath coming in quick succession.

The distance between them wanes little by little until all that stands between them is their newborn daughter, and she can feel the heat of his exhales clouding against her face.

Softly, he tells her, "I love you."

She cannot tell if it's the heat from the water in the tub, the warmth of his body, or the passion in his words that makes her press her thighs together to satisfy the ache between them.

"Again," is her one-word plea, whispered against his lips only a second before they converge in a kiss.

It's nothing too passionate. Of course, they know that she is holding their babe between them, so it is a sweet, slow kiss. One that does not rouse the child from her half-asleep haze but still contains all of the affection and feeling a more heated kiss would have. After the better half of a moment, she pulls away to hear him say it again.

He is reluctant to part from the kiss, but when he does, he moves to whisper in her ear.

"Avy jorrāelan," he repeats. In the heat of the moment, he lets his lips graze her earlobe before drifting down her neck, planting a trail of chaste kisses against her skin. But before he can advance any further, he stops at the feeling of the babe's head brushing the side of his face. He then tilts his face down to plant a sweet kiss on her as well. "Se Avy jorrāelan, zaldrītsos." And I love you, little dragon.

Y/N lets out a breathless chuckle, her chest still heaving from the rush of adrenaline his confession and the subsequent kiss brought her.

"I never would have taken you for a man that swoons over an infant."

Aemond chuckles softly at her questioning his affection for their daughter. He runs the bar of soap over his chest, lathering his skin with it and scrubbing until he feels sufficiently clean. The sweet scent of it hangs in the air. It reminds him of all the times he has smelled it on her in intimate moments much like this, and it warms his heart to think that this will be another fond memory for him to look back on the next time he smells it on her.

He hums in response to her question, rubbing the soap down his arm.

"What do you expect me to do? Hate her?"

As she passes the child, squirming at the sudden disturbance of being moved from one parent's arms to the other's, she rolls her eyes at him.

"No, of course not. I always knew you would make a fine father one day. At least, better than Viserys was." As she coats her skin with the soap, he follows the movement of her hands cupping her breasts and caressing down her soft stomach. "I just...I did not expect you to fall in love or care for us the way you do. Tis a rare thing for people of our station."

He is quiet for a second or two before answering her.

"I did not expect it either."

Once they are both rinsed off and clean from any stubborn suds that wish to cling to them, she gets out first to lay the babe down on their bed. Knowing her parents are near and fed with a tummy full of milk, Daenaera does not cry as she had with the nursemaids. She finds enough comfort in the soft feather mattress to drift off into a light sleep while her mother dries herself. The linen cloths were left folded beside the bathtub for her, courtesy of Nyla, and after they are done, she hangs them out by the open window to dry in the sun.

With her help, he dresses in his typical leather ensemble in preparation for the journey to Storm's End.

Fortunately for the both of them, flying is far quicker than traveling by land or sea, so it should not be long before he returns to her. He fastens the buckles that hold his doublet together as she wraps the belt around his slim waist, checking to ensure it is secured before attaching his sheathed sword. This is a practiced routine they have gone over countless times. Day after day, she helps lace his boots and buckle his belt. Not because she is his wife and it is expected of her to serve him, but because she wants to. It's a small act of service, but it shows him how much she truly cares.

Next, he sits on the couch and lets her help him with his hair.

They told the servants not to bother them until dinner, but she could manage his simple half-up style herself. On days when she feels particularly lethargic, she forgoes her intricate braids for something quite similar that only takes a few minutes. But, she decides without asking him, she will braid the hair pulled back from his face rather than tie it off. It's nothing compared to the magic Nyla works when weaving her hair into complex patterns each morning, but the simple braid holds more securely than it would be tied back. Seeing that he will be flying for hours, she thinks it best to prevent it from becoming a mess.

When he leaves, she is there to walk him to the stairs—with Ser Criston following her every step like a shadow.

"Sagon ȳgha, ñuha jorrāelagon," Y/N says softly, touching her forehead to his for a moment. Be safe, my love. "Kesi sagon umbagon syt ao." We will be waiting for you.

In her dreams, Y/N floats in a churning swell, abandoned and left to the mercy of the open sea with a storm overhead. Saltwater burns in her throat with every dip she takes beneath the surface. When the waves crash, she is sent tumbling beneath the surface with nothing but dark water surrounding her. It isn't until the current calms, only for a second, that she may kick her way back up. Strands of hair stick to her face as she tilts it toward the sky and sucks down breath after frantic breath of air. No matter how hard she heaves, it isn't enough to get her through the next wave that pulls her under.

Beneath the surface of the water, she cannot help but try to breathe once the pressure from holding her breath becomes too great, which causes her to inhale a mouthful of water into her lungs. Her legs and arms flail in a desperate bid to save what will be inevitably lost.

But, as she struggles, she sees something crashing into the water not far from where she is.

At first, the bubbles in the water obscure her vision and keep her from squinting to see with the salt of the sea burning her eyes, but it isn't long before she can make out the shape of a body. A man—no—a boy. Now that she sees him, she no longer wants to make it to the open air. Her lust for survival is dimmed by the confounding sight of a young boy with no visible injuries sinking into the depths. Those flailing limbs now move her in his direction, desperate to save him before he disappears into the dark that lingers below like the ever-present shadow of death.

It feels as though her chest may burst as she swims for him, and she knows she is running out of time, but she cannot bring herself to abandon him. He looks no older than her brother. It's a thought that propels her through the water faster. She can't stop thinking...I must reach him. I must save the boy and give him the very last bit of air in my lungs. The harder she tries, the further he drifts away, and there isn't anything she can do but scream into the yawning void of the open ocean.

She wakes from the nightmare with a gasping inhale. Her hands claw at her throat and chest like they had beneath the surface of the water, but when she opens her eyes, she is sitting upright in her bed. The hand clutching her throat instinctively reaches for the other side of the bed, for Aemond, yet no one is there. It takes another few seconds of panicked searching before she remembers when and where she is. Before she remembers that her husband left to fly to Storm's End.

She glances at the position of the moon visible through the opened window and deduces that it is the hour of the wolf. Morning is coming soon, but the moon is still high, and it will be another few hours before Nyla comes to wake her.

Every breath she takes is labored and heaving, but she slowly begins to feel better. Being grounded to reality by the scent of the dying flames in the hearth, the pressure in her chest and throat eases. In another moment, she will forget the suffocating sensation of drowning that startled her so deeply, and knowing this helps calm her even more. It is strange to navigate these frightening feelings without Aemond, though. It used to be her mother whose arms she crawled into after a nightmare, but then she became a wife. He would always be there to wrap his arms around her and shush her as she cried. Now, she is a mother with a child of her own, and there is no one around to soothe her but herself.

To her left, Daenaera rests in her cradle.

Ever since the incident after Viserys died, Y/N has refused to allow her to sleep anywhere other than beside their bed. Her sleep is interrupted as a result, but there's no amount of sleep worth more than knowing her daughter is near.

The sound of Y/N's footfalls on the floor is near-silent. It is precisely what she needs to check on the babe without waking her. Daenaera is swaddled in a blanket made for her by her mother, and she appears to be in a deep slumber. A cauldron sits on the floor beneath the cradle. Although plain and unassuming, it holds the dragon egg Rhaenyra sent when news broke of her only daughter's pregnancy. One of Syrax's clutches, she assumes. It has yet to hatch, which has worried her husband sick. After what he endured as a child, he is quite fearful of what her life may be like as a Targaryen without a dragon. But having been born without hatching a dragon of her own, having to risk her life in claiming hers, she does not worry. There is no way a child of hers and Aemond's blood, even if she is unlucky in hatching her egg, does not claim a dragon one day.

For some strange reason, she feels drawn to the egg tonight. So, she kneels down as quietly as possible and reaches for the handle of the heated cauldron. Just as she sets the lid down, the sound of someone knocking—banging, actually—on the doors to their chambers draws her attention away.

"Hello?" she calls into the darkness. "Whoever you are, quit making such a racket. You'll wake my daughter."

The door creaks open only enough to allow the same nursemaid who interrupted her and Aemond in the bath to peek her head in. Freckles smatter her pale face like splotches of brown paint, and her red hair is pulled back from her face, hidden beneath a head covering all of the servant girls wear as part of their uniform.

"What is it, Edyth?" Y/N asks with an exaggerated sigh.

"I apologize for disturbing you, Your Grace, but it is a matter of great urgency. Ser Criston Cole is here with me. I feared your modesty may not be protected at this time of night, so he has permitted me to speak for him."

This piques her interest enough to make her stand from where she knelt beside the cradle. Her stomach churns with anxiety as her mind runs through every possible reason she could be summoned at such a late hour. If Daenaera weren't here with her, she would assume something happened to her, but that clearly is not the case. That only leaves...

"Aemond," she thinks out loud, looking to the servant girl to confirm her suspicions. "Something has happened with my husband, hasn't there?"

All Edyth can offer in response is a frantic nod, and it takes less than a minute for Y/N to throw her robe on to meet her at the door.

"Stay and watch after Daenaera until I return. Do not take her from this room. Do you understand?" The nursemaid nods once more in response. "Good."

With that, the princess is gone.

Ser Criston walks alongside her, his armor abandoned in favor of the comfortable clothing he sleeps in at night. It seems that he too was roused from sleep to respond to what she can only assume is a terrible emergency involving her husband. She soon realizes, though, that she does not know where they are going and turns to Cole for guidance with a look of confusion. Part of her still feels as though she's trapped in the nightmare with the storm, sea, and the drowning boy. Trapped in the place between being asleep and awake, her body sways with exhaustion with every stumbling step forward.

After they have traversed enough halls for her to recognize where they're going, she realizes they are heading to the small council chamber...in the dead of night.

As he opens the door, her view of the room is blocked by him walking in front of her with one hand on the pommel of his sword. Her heart nearly bursts from her chest from the anticipation that has built within her since Edyth first poked her head into her room, mind racing with every outlandish possibility regarding why she has been called here.

Yet, there Aemond is.

There everyone is—Alicent, Aegon, and the rest of the council excluding the Hand. Since he is delivering terms to her mother at Dragonstone, it would be impossible for him to return in time to deal with whatever issue has arisen. Her husband stands next to his brother's seat at the table with his head down and his hands behind his back. The closer she gets, the more unnerved she becomes at the sight of him. His hair is wild—obviously, he flew through a storm, and it dried in the wind as he made the journey home—and his utter refusal to look at her...

She hurries across the room to him, with each pair of eyes around them following her there.

"You aren't hurt?" Y/N asks as she cups his face between her hands and lifts his head so she may look at him.

There's a drawn-out beat of silence that follows her question, and it feels like everyone in the room watches the pair with bated breath.

It is Alicent who speaks first.

"No, sweet girl," she says, though it sounds as though she may weep. "He is not hurt."

"Then what is the matter? Edyth made it sound like..."

Taking a look around the room for reassurance only makes her stomach sink even more than it already has.

Aegon sits at the head of the table with a vacant expression, likely exhausted and heavily drunk given the time of night. Alicent stares at her with such guilt present in her wide, doe eyes. Grand Maester Orwyle and the others, who were no doubt woken from a night of good rest like the royal family, all look varying degrees of horrified. It seems that she is the only one who does not know what has happened, and she can't stand it.

She turns to her husband, her hands sliding from his face to hold onto him by his shoulders.

"Aemond?"

Aemond tenses up at the touch of her hands, and the tension in the room has become palpable and thick. So much so that she doesn't look away from him until he tells her what is wrong.

"What is it? Tell me, please."

He slowly looks up to meet her eyes.

"Your brother..." he starts, then stops for a second to take in a deep breath.

No matter how difficult this may be, he doesn't avert his gaze from hers. He holds it, hoping that she may be able to see the shame he has locked away inside of himself to avoid being seen as weak in front of the others, and keeps talking even though he knows the truth will damn him to a fate worse than death. A fate wherein he is the object of her hatred from this point forward.

"Lucerys is dead."

Her eyes well up with tears at the thought, her head shaking erratically as if doing so will make the news any less true. Suddenly, images from the nightmare flash inside her head, and she realizes that she was being warned of this as she slept. By who or what, she does not know, but the image of the sea dragging him under was not one she conjured. The faceless boy now has the familiar face of her little brother. In a way, he felt like a child of her own with how she always doted on him and let him sleep in her bed when he had his own nightmare.

Just when she opens her mouth with the intent of asking how it happened, as well as how they all discovered this before her, Aemond confesses.

"I killed him."

omg omg it’s so fun to be back with this story it’s getting so dramatic! please let me know your thoughts on this chapter and show it some love if you enjoyed it!

Tag List: @m-indkiller, @tinykryptonitewerewolf, @hopebaker, @bcon24, @eleganttravelercloud, @the-blue-banshee, @saramayu, @merakiaes, @its-sam-allgood, @grungegrrrl, @singitoutgirl26, @scarlettmoon98, @itisjustwhatitis, @cl-0-vr, @d34d-4c1d, @hargrovehoe, @leahjean, @captainweirdo42, @magnificantmermaid, @dark-night-sky-99, @ladybug0095, @bellaisasleep, @blackravenart, @reneki, @heylosers06, @izzicle, @bucky-thorin-winchester, @hangmanscoming, @harrypotteranna23-blog, @fan-goddess, @glame, @barnes70stark, @lv7867, @kckt88, @callsignwidow, @aspookiepookie, @palomavz, @minttea07, and @shintax-error.

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Maybe Simon Riley and famous reader?? Like the reader is a singer and dedicates a song to him and we get to see a sort of soft and proud side of him?

I had to actually go through my playlist to find the right vibe for this. Such a sweet request 🥹

Song on repeat while I wrote this is "Just the two of us" by Bill Withers and Grover Washington, Jr. Cover version by The Macarons Project. Listen to the gorgeous cover here

Pairing: Simon x famous!reader

pov: Simon's

Title: To my Love.

"Okay, Manchester, it's almost time for me to close out for the night!" Her voice rings out above the cheering of the stadium. People are chanting encore and begging for another song. She laughs into the microphone, "I love you all, but I most certainly promised someone that I would try and wrap up on time."

There's a shout from somewhere closer to the stage for just one more song, please. She relents with a soft laugh, "Fine, but I'm thinking a new song for the city that has my heart."

There's more cheering and backstage, Simon tilts his head to the side because he understands the double meaning. His girl is always saying in interviews and on hot mics that her heart is in Manchester, England. She's not even from here, and when people ask about her own hometown, her smiles turn shy and sweet. She never says what or who she means, choosing to keep their relationship private. It's for her safety and his peace at mind.

Sure, he doesn't do the award shows, the public facing red carpets, and he blends in as one of her body guards; but her inner circle knows who he is and sees the two of them behind closed doors. He's a little shocked at the mention of a new song. He knows every lyric that gets written down in the little song book he got for her.

She looks off stage towards him and bless the smile she gives him. It makes his stomach flip and flop, and he knows that he is smiling like a love struck fool. The corners of his eyes crinkle, and the surgical mask on his face shifts, a clear indication that he is smiling back. This woman makes him feel things he hasn't in years. She kisses his scars, holds his hand with a grin, and every time she says his name, it's like hearing an angel whisper to him. He's not a praying man, does not believe in God or karma, he's lived too bloody a life for those thoughts, so finding someone to love him was never a possibility.

Yet here she is getting ready to debut a new song that she just told him was written with only him in mind. No other hands have touched this song, and it was written for him, and she's singing it as a public declaration of her love for him. The sentiment makes him ache in the best ways, turns him into puddy.

"What is that girl doing?" Her manager hisses, "did we approve of this?" She's fussing with a stage hand demanding to know what track is about to be played. The DJ cues up the music. It's a sweet swell of music. Light on the ears, there's no producer tag, no booming base, or 808s. The flip from high energy to sweet melodies instantly calms the crowd to silence.

Yeah, this wasn't planned. It's in the same vein as their relationship, unplanned and sweet. Simon didn't mean to fall in love with her. It sorta just happened. What was supposed to be a favor for a friend of John's, just the team providing extra security for some starlet, turned into a miracle.

She sings about him, sweetly. A true love song. She sings about loving someone at their best. She sings about loving the ugliest parts of someone. She belts her heart out on the bridge, words about finding true love and knowing that it won't always be easy. Her voice cracks, warbling on lines about broken people and loving them and slowly putting them together again, pretty gold holding the pieces together.

By the time the song is over, the longest and shortest four minutes in his life. And to think, someone wrote about how they loved loving him for four minutes, him of all people, he's got tears in his eyes. His body is moving before he can process it. There are people calling for him to stay backstage. He thinks he hears one of his teammates, and he doesn't know or care. All Simon Riley can see is his girl, his song bird, the mask is off and he's pulling her into a kiss.

There's distant cheering he is sure of that. The audience probably thinks that this is staged. It's not. Her manager will probably try to spin some silly narrative to the press and all of her fans. Whoever is on lights earns their paycheck because every light except the spotlight on them goes out.

And then slowly even that light fades, too, to the sound of thunderous applause.

ngl...I'm crying. Thank you anon.

[stardancerluv]

What the Emperor Wants

Part Fourteen

Summary: Passions arrive before tasks of marriage come to the Domus of Geta and Caracalla

Notes/Warnings: 18 & up👆🏻, Very smutty…& squint some angst & fluff!! A handjob, mentions of climax (female & male!) fingering, squint its exhibition since it takes place on a throne. Old, retro mentions/beliefs of old god/goddesses. Retro views of women.

❤️s, reblogs, comments & feedback are always welcome!

“Geta.” His name was your breath as you exhaled with the pleasure his lips brought you.

He glanced at you from around your hand.

You reached and gently, nestled your fingers to his short curls. They were rebellious from the hood that had tried to stifle them. Continuing to hold your wrist, he held you close as he continued to kiss your forearm, occasionally you’d feel his teeth.

“Who knew, the sweetest blossom in Rome could make me feel good just with a mere touch.” His voice had deepened.

“Being astride you, Geta such as this and the feel of your lips makes me feel great pleasure as well.” You kept running your fingers through the fiery curls.

He pressed his lip against your wrist before placing your hand back to where it belonged in your lap. His face grew serious, he looked off to a distance you could not see.

“Geta?”

“Leading up to our ceremony. We will have to be reasonable, chaste even in our relations.”

You had heard what was expected. You had seen of the marriage of one of your brothers and a cousin, and yet all of this was never what would imagined. You were left wondering what now was meant for her or the two of them.

“I will follow and do as you wish.”

His eyes moved back and looked at you. A smile curled his lips. His hand cupped your cheek. “I chose so wisely with you.”

“Thank you.” There was something you were curious about but you knew better now than to question him.

“Speak, blossom.” A soft edge entered his voice making it echo in the small throne area.

You took a breath. “Promise to not take my head.”

You said the words lightly, but there was a small snare of worry.

He rose an eyebrow. “For the moment.” His smile returned.

Good spirits continued to fill him, you mused.

“You have led us down our path. Why can’t we carry on such as that?”

He nodded. “We are very much doing that. Though there are some things that bring us good tidings and blessings to our marriage.”

You brought a hand to his thigh.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together at your touch.

“Is there anything we should accomplish or relish in specifically?”

His lashes fluttered against his cheeks before he looked at you once more. “We do have some time before a new day dawns. Before we allow the world, the people of Rome are told of our betrothal.”

“Yes. That is true, Geta.”

Taking ahold of your hand he slipped it into the folds of the fabrics he wore. You gasped as he brought you to his arousal.

Your fingers wrapped around his length.

A soft sound came from Geta’s lips.

You looked at him concern filled you.

“That feels as it should. I will show you.”

His breathing deepened and shorten. His much larger hand enveloped and guided yours.

Pleasure began to fill you as you felt as he appeared to grow within your hand. Passion had filled his face, his eyes were aflame.

“Geta, shall I lay down for you?” Though, you truly did not want to lay on the cold stone, and be like a common dog or animal. For him, you did not truly mind. You would always follow his lead, wherever it may take you.

“No, we shall stay here.”

He swallowed, another soft moan poured from his lips.

“It will be our tribute to the gods and goddess as close as we can.”

Your heart squeezed. It made the pleasure you were already feeling twist in an unexpected, pleasurable manner. He was growing more breathless.

Glancing down, seeing his hardness as it slid and move between your fingers and a soft sound escaped from you. You could remember how it felt inside of you.

His hand slipped from yours as his lips twisted into a smirk briefly. “You relish the sight of your emperor, your future husband?”

“Yes.” You swallowed. “You made me feel so good.”

Your fingers tightened before loosing and continuing to move up and down his length.

“Your body welcomed me as it should.” A smile appeared on his face. “I need to look upon my blossom.”

His hands easily, opened your stola. Your breasts, your body was bared to the cool air. Some of your curves were still cloaked by the fabric.

“Does it miss me?”

How he looked at you, made you tremble. Once again your fingers tightened around him. The sound that poured from his lips caused, a pleasurable ache once again to grow in you. It was a pleasure he brought to you. You could never imagine not knowing this pleasure given to you from him and the heavens above.

“Yes, Geta.”

His hand was warm as it rested on your thigh. “Open yourself to me.”

As you opened your thighs, you felt as your cheeks warmed. His hand easily slipped between your thighs. A moan softly, came from deep within you as you felt his finger tips merely graze you. You trembled and shifted on his lap.

“That’s my blossom.” He trembled as you felt his body tightened once again.

When you had felt him like this before while you lying as one, you had felt something. His seed had filled. You wondered if you would feel it now.

“Yes. Relish the pleasure.” You shook as you felt his fingers tease your opening.

You remembered how he had quicken his pace when he was above you. So you moved your hand as such.

“That feels so…” His voice trailed off, his body shook before straining against you. A moan poured from his lips.

You gasped as his seed spurted from him. Several ropes erupted from him, as he moaned and shook under you. His body jolt with each spurt. The sounds that came from him gave uou that pleasurable ache once more. His head tilted back. He closed his eyes, his chest was heaving.

“Geta?”

*************

He licked his lips as his heart thudded hard.

“Geta?” Your soft voice reached his ears.

Opening his eyes, he was met with concern awash on your face. His lips twitched with a smirk as he took you in.

“Blossom. Look at you, I have filled you with my seed and now I have covered you.”

He tilted his head to one side taking in the sight before him.

“I’m yours.”

Eyeing a cloth, on side table he easily snatched it up. Easily, he moved quickly and tidied you up. He tossed away the now soiled cloth.

“You are that.”

He could feel a fresh knot of passion tighten in him. How was he to avoid, being close with you before the ceremony. Looking you over, he swallowed.

He drew close. “Shall I touch you here? As you have touched me?” He made a soft thoughtful sound. “Would it make me weak?”

He felt a slight tremble come over you as he spoke. As you caught his eye, he could see the passion that burned in them.

“Geta, you will never be weak.”

“I cannot allow myself to be ensnared by passions even if it is with a woman who shall be my wife.”

You let a seriousness fall over you. “You make men whither with fear.”

Your breath caught as he drew his hand between the softness of your thighs.

“The man who had the desire to snuff out the flame that burns within you, cowered with fear.”

“That is true.”

He moved his hand so he cupped you. “Your mound, is beautiful like the rest of you. A soft temple of love and passion all for me.”

“It’s yours.”

He enjoying seeing how breathless you grew because of his touch. Remembering how you moved, sounded so he touched your little bud once again.

“Oh Geta.”

He heard you manage to say before a moan poured from your lips.

“So my fingers can make you feel good too?” He slowed his touch.

You trembled under his touch. Licking your lips, you nodded and whimpered. “Please, please;” You begged. It made the knot in his stomach tighter. “Don’t stop it feels so good.”

“Since you begged me so nicely.”

He watched, as he touched you more firmly like he had before. Your cheeks had a rosy flush and in the flickering flames your eyes shone with your passion.

You trembled and called out, a moan that caused him to bit his bottom lip. It was delicious to his ears.

You were soft and wilted in his arms like flower petals. He watched as you regained your breath, your eyes fluttered open. That feeling, you had brought to him was back. It almost stole his breath. He let his fingers graze the line of your jaw.

“And now, we shall retire for the night.”

You easily got up from his lap.

He adored watching how you fretted over your dress. Standing himself, he said easily pulled you close.

“I am grateful the gods brought us together. May they continue to bless the two of us in our coming union.”

“Yes. The gods have been kind, I send them my gratitude.”

*******

Geta, stopped and went to where he knew some bread was kept. With it in hand, he went over to alter for Vesta. Gathering, his clothes he knelt before. He was pleased to see the candles were alit and flickering. He ripped the pieces of the bread. He laid them down with lowered eyes and murmuring his appreciation of her and what she had planned for him and you.

Not long after he was pleased to see his guards were alert and stood, very straight outside the door of his chambers.

“Gallus. Can you go in and make sure no one is lurking in the shadows.”

“Yes, sire.”

*******

Once back in your room, you went to the window and knelt. Peering up at the crescent moon, you whispered your prayers to the powerful Luna, to grant you fertility in the coming marriage of Geta. You truly hoped you could take his seed. You laid a hand on your belly. Your imagination grew before you. A baby boy of his would look so beautiful. He would have his father’s strength.

Pleased with your prayers, you finally removed the pins and ribbons that held your hair in place. You placed them on the small table that also held your brush and strigil. In a transparent shift, you sighed as relaxation finally came over you. Going over to your bed, you pressed a kiss to the ring on your finger before crawling into the bed.

Moving till comfort finally found you, you let yourself melt into the blanket and pillow. Moments from the day shifted before you; the carriage ride to Dondas coming over to you and those last moments with Geta lingered. You could still feel his touch. With memory of him still fresh; sleep finally came over you.

******

Geta, glanced into his room as Gallus, walked in wide strides around the room. With a sharp turn, he came back to him.

“There is no one. May sleep bring the peace and rest that is needed.”

He nodded. “When the sky turns purple, please take some food and rest. I will want you near, later after the second meal.”

Gallus, clapped his chest and nodded. “Advised, sire.”

Once the door was closed, Geta relaxed. He stripper the last of his clothes. The cool air felt good on hid body. Walking to his balcony he looked out at the expanse of Rome, his Rome. He felt fantastic. Just as he was about to turn and retire to his bed. A flurry of feathers, black in nature settle near him. After some shaking and appearing to settle itself, he saw that it was a crow that had indeed decided to pay him a visit.

“Hello, mighty crow.” He tilted his head and looked at it. It did the same to him. He smiled and the crowd let out a loud cry.

“Thank you for your visit.” He paused, taking in the crow’s beauty. “I will show my gratitude and thankfulness at my alter.”

He glanced over at where he saw the crow, wanting to see it a final time and he did. He smiled. Shortly, afterward the crow shook its feathers and then easily took off into the night that was black as him. The moon barely gave any light tonight.

His excitement had calmed despite you so easily reigniting his passions. Lying down, echos of your pleasure echoed in his heart. You, were lovely and pleasing. You would give him the future of Rome that none other can give.

*******

You do not think there will ever be a day that passes, where you accustomed to life in the Domus of Geta and Caracalla. The bathing was just that more special with the oils that were so pleasing you felt as if you had become a flower yourself or how the ribbons, and curls were twined and twisted in your hair.

You paused by one of the larger columns, to take it all in. The sky was clear, sun’s warmth drifted in and the flowers that drew were flush with their freshness. Their scent making the air delightful. From where you hid, you watched people you had never even see before.

Taking a breath, you gathering yourself. Today was a new day, back in Rome. You could already feel how different it was from the country side.

Today, was your first day as the emperor’s betrothed. You had to take Aelia’s reassuring words given while she looped and twined your hair into a new look. You still did wonder where she had run off in such haste. Life was already so much busier here in Rome than in the country side.

Though, as you reflected back onto your betrothal with Geta, and your spirits already began to loft. It made any of your other thoughts of unease float away.

Feeling as a hand gave you the extra guidance you needed, you made your way to the Triclinium.

“My Blossom.” Geta stood from the sofa he had been reclining on, as you entered. A smile spread across his face.

He ushered you to the sofa beside him. “Plans are already being set in place.” He said once you sat down.

“Wonderful.”

A figure came in with a shadow shortly after you. You looked in the direction. It was Tertia, you had finally remembered her name. Your stomach knotted at the memory. Seeing her once again, did not bring you contentment.

Reaching, you grabbed a plush, and pleasing looking strawberry.

“Is there anything you wish to drink?” Her voice, intruded in your thoughts as you watched as she gave Geta his glass before turning her attention to you.

You were about to reply when Aelia, arrived. She looked flustered

“Yes, Aelia.” Geta took a sip from his glass. “Do you have news from any of the dispatches?”

“We have heard from your mother.” She turned and looked at you. You paused and didn’t take a second bite from strawberry you held. “Yes, we have heard from the village you were born in.”

Your heart quickened its pace.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @laura-naruto-fan1998 @helsa3942 @marrowfrog00 @misspendragonsworld @therealjomarch @deliciousfestsalad @justalittlebitshy @aspiringcokewhore

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[yourcutelittlegayfriend]

hi hope your having a good day!

do you have any headcanons for a yandere Clark Kent, I just think he's neat

Hi! I have slightly great day actually but I hope yours is much better!

In regards to Headcannons about Sups yes, Superman really is a pretty great character loved the guy since I saw him on TV but kinda scared about how they keep making evil superman these days, anyway lemme just open my old notes and please forgive me for typos this isn't really proofread much.

Yandere Clark Kent/SuperMan

HeadCannons

[General, Platonic and Romantic]

General

In the terms of a yandere Clark I think he's somewhat-

Obsessive - loves to pick up even the tiniest things you do or the little stuff that makes you -You! especially with that perfect vision that can literally see for miles.

Example: The tiny baby hairs that curls at your nape when you tie your hair up, The habit you do when something catches your eye or interest and even the slight twitch of your muscle when you're about to do something.

Controlling - but I say he let's you have some freedom, this golden boy is raised by the Kents to hold his temper when things doesn't go his way-

Like when you disagree with what he wants he will then try to hear out your reason first and maybe work something out, it breaks his heart to see you angry, distress or just sad.

But if it's been life or death? your life and wellbeing on the line? There's no talking your way out of this, his words are final.

Hero Complex - He thinks its his responsibility to protect and save you from everything, He's Superman, Man of Steel and a Hero, Yes of course you can get groceries for yourself but atleast let him come with you, you don't know what some people are planning or what goes inside their head until you just find yourself at the end of the barrel of a gun.

[Platonic]

As a Yandere Platonic it's like just in a very over protective family.

Whether you're like a parental figure, a sibling or even like his own child, He'll become to protective over you.

If he ever has the chance to show you of he will but not to the point of telling anyone everything about you, they'll know who you are, your name , what you are or relation to him and what you do but that's it, he'll try to avoid anymore discussion or talks about you, he gets to keep that informations to himself.

Like how you really like your puppy and you want everyone to know you have one but you won't let them pet it or even just look at them in general, it's your puppy, you're not obligated to share them to people.

Very family Oriented guy, he likes to have his family close to him and celebrate any important events with everyone, memories are precious and he wants to keep them forever, we have this thing here -a culture you might say- where in some families it's not really required or force upon the children to move out and become independent sometimes it's still okay to live under the same roof with your grandparents, parents, siblings, in laws, along with your wife and children and your siblings children (dear lord u don't know how true this is in my country)

I like to think that if you want to be a bit independent to Clark, he'll be like 'Oh! I understand so I thought about this instead'-

and literally build either a separate house that reaches his parents farm house in one full walk or extended the house where you get your own space and still be with the family.

He coddles you even more when you don't have superpowers or is a kryptonian, He freaks out when your hurt and acts like you'll die from a little scratch after falling, still kept baby proofing the house even if you become an adult

You can use accidents or possible injuries as a leverage but you can never talk or joke about kys because he will literally get angry with you and gives you lecture about how important your life is.

[Romantic]

As a romantic yandere I think he's a bit on the Hopeless Romantic side.

Believes in love at first sight or soulmates and continue to fall more and more in love with you day by day, thinks about how romantic it is to swoop in and save you as Superman, likes to pop out everytime you stand on your balcony and sneak up on you and how you fit right in his arms as he carries you in the sky with you and him alone above everything and everyone.

Will give you gifts that has more sentimental value than the price tag, like the scarf his Ma made even meals and treats for you, simple things maybe art supplies or notebook for journaling and if he can get a good raise he'll get you that jewelry that brings out your beauty, he loves to see anything he gifts to you on your person a bit like marking on you that kind of stuff.

Doesn't really like Poly-relationship, he's not really against it but He likes to keep you to himself, you're both made for each other and he likes to keep it that way.

Family - adding this again but really wants to get married to you soon after like what 2-3 dates? wants you to move in and become a stay at home spouse where you'll spend more time with his folks and maybe take care of the kids.

Is dying to see you round and prego like goodness lord you are even hotter to him when you stand there either cooking or walking around with your hand on your hip and the other under that bump may or may not.

If you're willing in this relationship maybe 2-3 kids? if not forced pregnancy might become possible.

And if you can't have kids it's alright adoption is available, he would still look like a highschool boy in love when you hold a baby or a tiny kid in your arms

I'm a bit soft on my Yandere stuff so a bit srry for that

And that's all I got for the Big Man supes, I hope you like this and I hope did this right, been writing this one at 3am, Thanks for the ask btw.

[woozinhos]

Hello !! How are you doing? Can I ask you how Jun dominates me PLEASE I THINK A LOT ABOUT HIM

I’m okay thanks anon slipped on some ice today so not the best my fic writing is cheering me up!

Suck me

Jun has always had a certain presence that you can't help but be drawn to. He's confident, assertive, and exudes an air of authority that leaves you feeling both intimidated and excited. One day, as you're sitting on the couch, lost in thought, Jun walks in and immediately pins you down, straddling your waist and holding your wrists above your head.

"You look like you're thinking too much," he says, his voice low and husky.

You gasp as Jun pins you down, your heart racing in your chest. You've always been attracted to his dominance, and having him so close, so in control, is sending a thrill through your body.

"Jun..." you murmur, trying to squirm out from under him.

He just smirks down at you, his grip on your wrists tightening. "You're not going anywhere," he says. "Not until I'm done with you."

You stop struggling, a mixture of excitement and anticipation coursing through your veins. Jun's eyes darken as he looks down at you, his gaze filled with desire.

"Good girl," he says, his voice rough with lust. "You're going to do exactly what I say, aren't you?"

You nod, unable to form words under his intense gaze. Jun's smirk widens as he sees your submission.

"That's right," he says, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "You're mine to use however I want."

He releases your wrists and moves his hands down your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. He starts to undress you slowly, his eyes roaming over your body as more skin is revealed.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing over your curves. "And all mine."

Once you're fully undressed, Jun takes a step back to admire the view. His eyes rake over your body hungrily, taking in every inch of your skin.

"On your knees," he commands, his voice firm.

You quickly get down on your knees in front of him, your heart racing with anticipation. Jun looks down at you, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"That's a good girl," he says, running his fingers through your hair. "You know exactly how to please me, don't you?"

You nod, your eyes fixed on his face. He looks so powerful standing over you, and you feel a shiver of submission run through your body.

"Use your mouth," he says, his hand tightening in your hair. "I want to see how well you can please me with that pretty little mouth of yours."

You lean forward, your hands on his thighs as you start to mouth at his bulge through his pants. You can feel him growing harder under your touch, and it only serves to fuel your own desire.

Jun groans, his fingers tangling in your hair as he looks down at you. "That's it," he says, his voice rough. "Just like that."

You continue to mouth at him, your tongue tracing over the outline of his cock through his pants. He's fully hard now, straining against the fabric, and you can feel his hips starting to twitch with impatience.

"Stop teasing," he growls, tugging on your hair. "I want your mouth on me now."

You look up at him through your lashes, a coy smile on your lips. "Are you sure?" you ask, your voice innocent.

Jun's eyes darken with lust, his patience wearing thin. "I'm not going to ask again," he says, his voice low and commanding. "Take me out and suck me."

You quickly unbutton his pants and pull them down, his cock springing free. He's already hard and leaking precum, and you can't help but lick your lips in anticipation.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his fingers still tangled in your hair. "Now get to work."

You take his cock in your hand, stroking him a few times before taking him into your mouth. You start slow, swirling your tongue around the tip and tasting his precum.

Jun groans above you, his grip on your hair tightening as he watches you. "Fuck," he breathes, his hips bucking slightly. "That feels so good."

You take him deeper into your mouth, your tongue working along the underside of his shaft as you start to bob your head up and down. He's thick and heavy on your tongue, and you can feel your own arousal building with each passing moment.

"That's it," he says, his voice ragged. "Take me deeper. I know you can."

You try to take him deeper, your jaw aching slightly as you try to accommodate his size. You look up at him, your eyes watering as you struggle to take him all the way down.

"You're doing so well," he praises, his hips starting to move in time with your movements. "You're taking me so deep, baby."

You keep going, your tongue working over his length as you try to please him. He's moaning above you, his breath coming in short gasps as he gets closer to the edge.

"I'm going to come," he warns, his grip on your hair almost painful now. "Swallow it all, baby."

You nod as best you can with his cock in your mouth, determined to do as he says. You can feel him tensing up, his body going taut as he nears his climax. With a deep groan, he spills himself into your mouth, his hot cum flooding your throat. You swallow it down, milking him for every drop until he's spent. He slumps back against the wall, panting heavily as he tries to catch his breath. "Fuck," he breathes, looking down at you with a mixture of satisfaction and desire.

"You're amazing," he says, pulling you up onto his lap. "I could get used to this."

[aishangotome]

[Gilbert] Cleaning Time with Love - Part 1

In the mighty military nation of Obsidian, its ruler, despite their noble status, keeps no servants by their side.

Therefore, they must attend to all their personal needs, except for meals ––

Emma: Gil, what should we do with that shelf?

Gilbert: Ah, please take care of it. I don't believe it holds any classified information.

Emma: Leave it to me.

Inside Gilbert's study, a place strictly off-limits to outsiders, I take items from the shelves, dust them off, and put them back in their places.

It's a simple task, but the study is vast, and before I knew it, the sun has set.

(But it's visibly getting cleaner.)

(It's tiring, but rewarding and fun.)

It seems that in the past, Roderich used to help with this, but since I arrived, I've been given that role.

Gilbert: It's just that...

Gilbert: I'm bored.

Emma: We're almost done, so let's keep going.

Gilbert: That 'almost done' is the troublesome part.

Gilbert: Little rabbit, how can you keep going without getting bored?

Emma: Of course I'm going to do my best if Gil needs me!

Emma: There aren't many ways I can be useful, so I want to give it my all when I have the chance.

(...? What's in this box?)

While talking, I take a document box engraved with a rose carving from the shelf.

It's unexpectedly heavy, putting the arm strength I've developed from my bookstore job to the test.

Gilbert: What are you saying? You're always helping me.

Gilbert: Thank you.

Emma: !?

It seems Prince Gilbert had approached me from behind without me noticing. Surprised by the kindness in his "thank you" whispered into my ear, I accidentally drop the document box I was holding.

Emma: I-I'm so sorry!

Gilbert: Ahaha, you're so easy to startle.

The impact of hitting the floor scatters the contents of the box, documents flying everywhere.

Prince Gilbert is laughing, but I feel like I'm about to faint.

I hurriedly gather the documents, trying to put them back in the box.

––In doing so, the words inevitably catch my eye.

Emma: "Rhodolite's Periodic Report"?

Gilbert: Ah.

Emma: ...This is...

––This week's visitors: 17. Of which, 8 female, 9 male. No suspicious behavior. The subject's health is also good. Matters of concern: Movements are slower compared to normal times. Possibility of injury. Requires follow-up observation. A detailed report will be sent after investigation at a later date.

(This must be something I'm not supposed to see...)

Gilbert: Oh dear, you saw it.

Prince Gilbert gently places his hand on my frozen shoulder.

Gilbert: What should we do?

Emma: ...You said there wasn't any classified information...

Gilbert: Yeah, I forgot about that.

Emma: ......

Gilbert: I have to silence the little rabbit who saw something she shouldn't have.

Prince Gilbert kneels before me, brings his face close with an amused look, and lightly pecks my lips.

Emma: ...So it wasn't anything that bad, huh?

Gilbert: Ahaha, you're starting to understand me better, aren't you?

(If it really was something I shouldn't have seen, Prince Gilbert wouldn't be so forgiving.)

(Besides, he's not the type to carelessly reveal secrets.)

I calm my racing heart and lower my gaze to the documents in my hands.

The more I look at it, the stranger this report seems.

Prince Gilbert, as Obsidian's Field Marshal, is intently eyeing Rhodolite's territory.

But the contents of this report, to an untrained eye, seem to have no value whatsoever.

It's just a record of the actions of a certain bookstore employee. There's a possibility it's some kind of code, but I can't imagine it's worth the attention of a royal from a major power.

(No, wait...)

(A bookstore in Rhodolite's territory?)

(...)

Emma: .............Gil.

(There's only one bookstore Prince Gilbert would have his eye on.)

Emma: Could this report...be about me?

Gilbert: Ahaha, you got me.

(Just how long has this been going on...?)

Judging by the dates on the report, it seems to go back quite a while, even before I was chosen as Belle –– several years, in fact.

(Perhaps since I started managing the store for the owner?)

I knew Prince Gilbert had spies in the city, but I had no idea such detailed reports existed, leaving me speechless.

(This explains why he was so strangely well-informed about my past.)

It seems like he's gotten more information from spies than from the owner.

Emma: I had no idea.

Gilbert: The spy I assigned to you is one of Obsidian's best.

Gilbert: His name is Michael. Does that ring a bell?

Emma: Eh...? No way, Michael was a spy!?

(I know him well. He's a regular customer who started coming in after I began looking after the store alone.)

I've had casual conversations with Michael from time to time, so there's no way I could forget him.

Gilbert: I'm sorry. I didn't intend to have you followed at first.

Gilbert: You were just an ordinary citizen of Rhodolite, not someone a royal from a military power would be concerned with.

Gilbert: But I was forced to assign a spy to you.

*flashback*

Gilbert: --Akatsuki. Are you serious?

.

.

.

Part 2

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[peachversace]

[ sfw ] — fluff ; gojo satoru x reader

You’re crouched in the soft, rich earth, planting forget-me-nots under the midday sun. The meadow is quiet except for the occasional whisper of the wind through the tall grass and the steady rhythm of your hands working the soil. There’s a strange peace here in the afterlife—a lightness that still feels foreign to Satoru. He steps outside, his tall frame casting a shadow over you, his sharp blue eyes catching on your figure.

For a man who has always been larger than life, the afterlife itself should feel small. And yet, Satoru can’t seem to get used to this serenity, this weightlessness. For so long, he was the strongest, the indomitable force, the invincible protector. Now, he’s just… Satoru. Your Satoru. Your Cyclops, your Daredevil, your Wannabe Kakashi. That thought alone sends a ripple through his chest—a pang of something tender and indescribable.

You look up at him, catching his gaze, and your lips curve into a smile that could rival the sun. Satoru feels his heart stutter, a sensation he’s still not used to, and then he grins, letting his playful nature take over.

“Professor X,” he drawls, his voice teasing and warm, “you’re gonna ruin your dress. It’d be a real shame if it got, y’know, taken off so soon.”

Your eyes narrow, but there’s a spark of amusement behind them as you shoot back, “Shut up, Daredevil. As if you’re not dying for it.”

He laughs, a rich, carefree sound that blends perfectly with the breeze, and crouches down beside you, his long legs folding awkwardly. “Looks good,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, filled with a quiet sincerity that only you get to hear. His fingers brush against your golden necklace, the one he gave you in the life before this one. His thumb grazes the turquoise pendant that dangles from the chain.

He remembers every word you said when he gave it to you:

“Well, the color gold reminded me of how you treat me. You treat me like I’m gold, always keeping me close and being nice to me, and uh… And the blue reminded me of your eyes. I remember that I once saw on the internet that turquoise is the December birthstone and you’re born in December, so… I don’t know. I loved it, I guess. Having a piece of you beside me.”

Those words had wrapped around his heart like a vice then, and now they linger, still potent, still sacred. He fingers the pendant as if it holds the essence of that memory, as if it’s the link between your shared past and this perfect present.

The softness of the moment makes something in him ache, in the best way. He feels weightless but grounded, like you’re some divine being tethering him to a world he never wants to leave. He leans in closer, the scent of the earth and your presence filling his senses.

You glance at him, your hands still working the soil, and your lips curve into that familiar, knowing smile. “Of course they do. They remind me of you,” you say simply, your voice steady and warm, like a melody only he gets to hear.

Satoru’s mind flashes back to something you told him in your former life, about the very flowers you’re planting now:

“Well, they’re called forget-me-nots because I hope you cherish them and don’t forget about me. They symbolize luck and protection. And uhm, this color blue reminds me of your eyes. I think it’s handsome and, uh, lovely.”

His throat tightens slightly at the memory. Even then, you’d seen him as more than just ‘the strongest.’ You’d seen Satoru—the man beneath the limitless power. And now, in this new life, you see him even more clearly.

He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering against your skin. The gesture makes you pause for a moment, leaning into his touch instinctively.

“I love you, Satoru,” you murmur, your voice so soft it feels like a prayer.

His grin is boyish and teasing, but there’s an unmistakable tenderness in his eyes as he replies, “I love you too, my sweet little angel honey bun.”

You pull back slightly, rolling your eyes with a huff, though your smile betrays your amusement. “Barf. You know I hate those pet names.”

He chuckles, unfazed. “You hate a lot of things, Gandalf, but you still stick with me.”

You shake your head, planting another flower as you retort, “I guess I do, Cyclops.”

The banter flows so naturally between you, lighthearted and easy, but beneath it is an unshakable foundation. You finish planting the forget-me-nots, brushing dirt from your hands, and before you can rise, Satoru pulls you toward him for a kiss.

It’s unhurried, tender, and yet it holds all the passion he has for you. When you pull away, you see it in his expression—the way his eyes soften, the way his grin curves into something more genuine.

Yeah, he thinks, this is it. This is the life he never dared to dream of. You’re his Professor X, his Gandalf, his Might Guy. His dear and most beloved.

You’re his, and he’s yours. And nothing else in any world matters.

[trixter-god]

Just for shits and giggles here’s a very old self insert fanfic i wrote in high school instead of doing my homework.

It’s in first person (I know I’m sorry) and I don’t think the “main characters” name is ever actually said… lmao.

Richard Grayson X random female (me duh) Jason’s also makes an appearance <3

It’s very short so if you’re bored give it a look.

The moon was full, the night was loud and my head was pounding. Being hung upside down is not the best way to spend your Friday nights. I look to the fight below me. Nightwing and the Redhood were back to back fighting off the goons. Pretty much owning them actually. Batman raced off about 10 minutes ago after the joker to who knows where.

“Hey boys, as much as I like hanging out, My leg is starting to fall asleep'' I yelled. Nightwing and Red Hood both looked over to my detection then to each other. Redhood kicked a goon into another before racing his way to me. Throwing something in my detection. I close my eyes knowing what’s coming. A small snap and I’m falling. My head stops protesting as I feel myself rush to the ground. Holding a scream, two fit arms brace my fall. My head pulses in shock and the pounding seems harder. “Are you alright?” nightwing says, rushing next to hood. The goons laid in piles on the floor. I give him a glare while I’m lower on my feet. “Besides my head wanting to come off my shoulders and the fact that I can barely feel my legs, I'm fine.” My words were then, like always, used against me as an unknown pain shot through my leg. My leg gives out, sending me back into red hood arms. Gently I try to stand only for the pain to return.

“Okay maybe not” Red Hood transfers me into Nightwings arms, most of my weight lying now on my right foot and nightwing.

“Hanging upside down probably pulled your ankle out of socket” Red Hood grumbles in agreement as he takes his time detangling me from the rope while nightwing keeps me grounded. I rested my head on his shoulder. The dizziness of being upside down for that long was finally catching up with me.

“Go for nightwing” His right hand came up to meet his ear. I could tell he was keeping his voice light to not cause me any more pain. Hood Finnish off the ropes now using them to tie up some of the forgotten guards.

“She’s safe and sound” Nightwing hummed effectively.

I shifted my weight seeing if I could stand my own. Another sharp pain runs up my leg. Deciding that was not going to happen I relaxed in defeat. Resting my head in the crook of his neck I closed my eyes not realizing how tired I truly was. Must have been the adrenaline. Nightwing continues to replay what I had witnessed upside down over to I assume Batman. His voice was light and clam but I could hear his heart betting a mile a minute.

“We’re on it,” dick said after a good pause. “ you wake down there” he quips as he pulls me up bridal style. He smelt like sweat, kevlar and Vanilla. “No” I half mumbled, wrapping my hands around his neck. “We’ll let you rest when you get to the hospital” nightwing informed. I rolled my eyes playing with the zipper on the back of his collar. “Let’s move,” Hood said at the door nightwing did like he was told to and raced after Red Hood. I was given the civilian runaround answering random questions they asked until I was reluctantly placed on a stretcher and loaded into the ambulance. Nightwing gave one last wave to me before the doors were shut, leaving me in professional hands. Doctors spoke and prodded my body to check for concussions or breaks. I answered the same basic questions as before as I drifted off the sleep with the permission of the EMT.

I woke to the sound of solf beeping and the hard kick of an air conditioner starting up. Slowly opening my eyes. I let myself process where I was. It was dark in the room, the only light coming from a lamp over in the corner. Walls were a sickly white with a matching ceiling. It smelled of cotton and lemon cleaner, Gotham General Hospital. My eyes adjusted to the little light enough to read the bright red clock numbers from across the room. It was almost 5 in the morning meaning I had been out for at least four hours grimacing at the thought of how long I have been here for I rubbed my eyes now, aware of the weight that is pinning my right hand down.

Dark hair seemed to disappear into the shadows of my blanket as an unseen hand held my own. I wondered lightly how it would have looked to the EMTs that brought me in to have seen Dick Grayson racing through the door. lightly wiggling my captured fingers was just enough to stir the oldest Wayne as he turned his head to smile up at me.

“Hey.” His voice is a little raspy from sleep.

“Hey.” I repeated back to him with a smile.

His tawny skin seemed to glow in the darkness as it did in the city lights.

[thequietkid-moonie]

Sailor Moon request: Usagi and Rei with S/O's that have trust issues due to family troubles, but eventually opens up to them (Wanted to do a prompt and add some context to it)

S/O has trust issues because of family problems

[ HEADCANONS ] [ Usagi, Rei ]

[ Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon / Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon ]

Thats actually cute! I liked it! A comfortingly cute fic coming!

I also have problems with my family so i can say fromy own experience that respect should be win, no matter if is family or not

Usagi Tsukino

Usagi can be childish, loud and a bit carried away by the fact that you two are together but something that will never be doubted is how caring and loving Usagi actually is

She has being clingy and affectionate from the start and she expected that from you but with some time Usagi learned to hold back herself a bit for your comfort, she normally acts before thinking and is carried away for her feelings but for how caring she can be it end up being a bit easily to win the trust of her friends, still at some point, while still being in the process of meeting you she noticed the small hints of distrust, like keeping some distance or just giving her friendly answers that doesn't show the same excitment or familiarity she had

Honestly, Usagi used to complain a lot about it to her friends, she wanted to get close to you but it seems that your defense is always up wich makes it dificult, but it will be her friends that will make her realice that maybe you just can't trust others easily or doesn't want to get hurt by trusting someone too quick, wich lead Usagi to try again with a more kind approach

Usagi decided that if she wants to get close to you she most go at your rythm, and she is trying really hard to show you that she will wait until you are ready and even will give you your space, despite falling in love pretty quick she uses those feelings as even more motivation to make you trust her, because she want the person she loves be comfortable and be able to relay on her

Once you two got together Usagi usually gets carried away for her love, clinging to your side and gets incredibly affectionate but she also expresses constantly how important you are and that she will be willing to do everything in her power to protect you, at this point she have just forget about your trust issues a little because she and the others Sailor Scouts treat you as if you were family (still leaving you enough time to get used to it)

Once you feel comfortable enough to finally open up to her and tell her why you has so much troubles to trust others Usagi gets serious and put all her attention on you, she knows how serious this is and she wants to respect the trust you are putting her. Knowing that you feel like needed to protect yourself from everything because problems you had in the past (or even problems that are still present today) with you family definetly break her heart, she sometimes argues with her mother but she knows her family loves her sincerily and unconditionally, so she definetly doesn't understand why your family would do something bad towards you

Still, she respects it and promise that with her and her friends you will never have to worry about being abused or left behind, you will be loved and respected (and she is even probably crying a bit because she hates the idea of you suffering), and that doesn't get just in words because everyday she takes the purpose to remind you how loved and apreciated you are, how safe she feels with you and how she will do everything in her power so you can feel safe at her side too

She may end up telling part of your story to her friends because she was too worried about you but will definetly apologize (the rest will do it too if it have upset you) and will try to make it up for you (Usagi will be so scared that you feel like she have betrayed you that she even apologize with tears)

Rei Hino

For Rei to fall in love and be in a relationship it take time, she needs to get to know you better since she also has some troubles before opening up to someone but once she does there is no doubt that she feels comfortable around you by how freely she is able to express herself

Its more likely that both had to take time to slowly get to know each other and first be friends, speaking to each other a bit too polite at first before slowly winning each other's trust

Rei is sincere, she has no reasons to lie so even when she always tries to be kind and polite to whoever comes to the Temple once you two grow closer she start to leave clear that she will need time before stop keeping some distance, besides, she can easily tell that you don't trust her quickly nor easily so she does it for your comfort too

As you two grow closer Rei also start to give small hints to show that she wants to be closer, always greeting you with a sincere smile and start talking more about herself, telling you more freely about how has being her day at school or work and speaking her mind off a bit more so you can see that she is willing to open up sincerily, still, most of the time she just talks about her new friends and even start to complain more and more about Usagi and Minako's childish behaivor

Also, when you start to open up more and start speaking more sincerily about yourself Rei is definetly happy, she feels quite proud about the fact that you are starting to trust her more, but she isn't going to brag about it since she understand the weight of it and holds a lot of respect out of it

Once you two start a relationship Rei is sure that you know and feel like you can trust her and even leave clear that she does trust and respect you, is something setle down even before accepting because is thinking in the comfort of both, but aside from that she tries to don't make a big deal out of it, not your relationship nor you trust issues

She introduces you to her friends and tell you that, despite how the act sometimes they are trust worthy, but also make sure to tell you that you don't have to force yourself, you can take all the time you need to feel comfortable enough with them, they will understand but still treats you like family from the start

Getting to know that you don't easily trust others is because of problems you once had or even still have with your family is a bit surprising for Rei but has no problems accepting the idea, when you finally tell her she makes sure to heard you until the end and don't interrupt before telling you how sorry she is that you had to go throught sometime like that, there are chances that she already told you how her father just left her in the temple with her grandfather, if not she says it right now just so you can see that you are not alone on this

Rei make sure to tell you that she doesn't judge you nor will tell you to change since she not only understand you to some extent but also respect that you have your own way to dealing with your past, still she remember you that she still loves you no matter what and that you will always can count on her

[swordduels]

Clarimonde screamed from the top of their lungs while sinking down on their knees. One hand laid against their chest with a hard grip as they felt Pan’s presence disappearing. The last thing they felt and heard was his confusion about being taken away. His scent of sweet tree sap and the strong grip of his tiny hand was already beyond the horizon. With him being dragged away Clarimonde felt so empty not to feel his heart when it had always been laying beside her own ever since he was slowly developing in the womb. Pan’s mind had not been with Clarimonde as long but they still missed its presence filled with curiosity and wonder. They couldn’t feel Pan’s many emotions or what could only be described as his inner voice. Though it wasn’t words per say but images of what they wanted to convey. Pan had no concept of how to form words or understand what was told around him but Clarimonde could communicate with him mentally and use feelings or send images back. “Please be safe…Pan. My little boy.” 

Clarimonde didn’t waste time once they had properly grieved the abrupt separation. Their first task was to search for warmer clothes, proper footwear and weapons of any kind. Weapons in this small goat herder area were very sparse and next to inconsequential. 

The lord owning this land had felt no need for sword productions or spending money on preparing soldiers since she spread money around to keep a peaceful agreement. Unfortunately for Clarimonde and the nobles it did nothing to prevent Capella’s intrusion and destruction. It also gave Clarimonde less to work with regarding self defense. After much searching through crumbling ruins they found a kitchen knife sharp enough to cut through animal bones, a pair of sickles and an ice pick. Each tool was good enough for close combat and had to do until Clarimonde could get a hold of a sword. 

While looking through the area Clarimonde found themself back to what once had been a home for them since leaving Capella’s coven. They slowly picked up Pan’s plush toy resembling a grey goat with buttons for eyes. It was hand sewn by Clarimonde during their pregnancy but before leaving the coven. While reminiscing about sewing it they held it close to inhale Pan’s scent. “I’m coming for you. I promise.” Clarimonde took a shivering breath before placing it in a backpack together with his blanket with yellow ducks, survival equipment and food supplies. The knife and ice pick were properly in their blade protections in leather straps to hold them at Clarimonde’s hips. At the opening of their backpack lay both sickles. Clarimonde looked around one last time before using a ribbon to tie their long hair into a ponytail and taking the backpack before leaving to reach south for a larger city. - - - Pan whimpered in a low tone as he was met with cold air during the long flight. Everything was vibrating under him and it almost reminded him of when mama gently moved his crib back and forth in a lulling motion. When looking around he was met with a large female animal with scary eyes. Other than that he saw a wide sky with fluffy white clouds. Mama always told Pan where they were going but this time he wasn’t prepared at all. His eyes flickered in different directions before he began to suck on his thumb. Soon he couldn’t see the sky anymore as Capella closed her claws into a ball. After a long, long time he was seeing new strange things hard for him to grasp. A large mountain. More big animals. Bright candles. Pan began to whimper again before crying loudly as he was laid down. It was so cold. He wanted his blanket and his crib. Where was his soft goaty? Where was mama? Arms and legs moved around aimlessly while he tried to call for help. Mama always came running when he cried. Soon the cries slowly turned into curious blurbing noises as he saw and heard people. His small little heart was beating so loudly while he blinked away tears. The thumb snuck into his mouth again- Pan didn’t know these people.  Everything smelled so strange.

Pan furrowed his eyebrows and moved his hand to grab hair as someone picked him up. “Mmammmmummnam.” He moved around restlessly and let out loud sounds while being carried through strange roams. His tiny hand gripped harder. “Ma, ma, mam, mama.” @fallesto

The dragon's fortress was a massive structure of black stone, jutting out of the mountain like a jagged tooth. It was a place of awe and fear for the infant, a place where no human ever dared to venture. The journey was swift, the dragon's wings beating against the air like the drums of war. Pan clutched into the claws and slept, the tiny fists balled up in the fabric of there clothes, eyes squeezed shut as the world below grew smaller.

As they approached the fortress, the air grew colder, the wind more biting. Pan’s eyes widened as they took in the grandeur of the dragon's abode. 

The walls were etched with ancient runes that danced in the flickering torchlight, whispering secrets of power and protection. The gates were massive, easily twice the size of any Pan had ever seen, and made of a metal that gleamed even in the fading light of the setting sun. The sound of metal grating against stone echoed through the mountain pass as the gates slowly parted to reveal a courtyard filled with dragons of various sizes and colors.

The dragon's landing was gentle despite the fierce beating of her wings. She set Pan down on the cold stone, her eyes never leaving the child's face. The other humans here, followers and servants parted to make way for them, their curiosity piqued by the human presence. Pan looked around, his eyes wide with wonder, tears drying on there cheeks as they took in the new surroundings. 

The dragons' scales shimmered in the torchlight, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the ground. The cobblestones beneath their feet were worn smooth from centuries of dragon claws, and the smell of burning wood and roasting meat filled the air.

The fortress's interior was warmer than the infant had expected, with large fires roaring in the hearths and thick fur rugs scattered across the floors. They walked through winding corridors, passing by storerooms filled with gold and treasures that made Pan head spin. Yet, all they could focus on was the pit of dread in their stomach, the fear for themselves growing with every step they took deeper into the dragon's lair. This was there home now, until payment would be sent and the deal finished.

[unriding]

MY SWEET EVIE YAY I CAUGHT YOUR INBOX BEING OPEN MWAHAHA 💖

i just wanted to send you a lil message of gratitude for going into the new year! you’re a star in the sky, a sunshine ray on a cloudy day, an absolute joy to know! your radiance shines through so beautifully. im thankful to know you and share this little space on tumblr, your talent and support and sweetness is so inspiring and precious to get to see ! LOVE YOU SWEETPEA !! i am marching arm and arm with you into 2025 for more joy to experience !! ✨

GRAY !!! HEHE YOURE HERE !! i always have an urge to call you gray bunny — though that must be why i see others calling you graybun ?! it’s so cute to me! and of course since you’re here, please let me share some words with you as well! i could go on & on about how much i adore your selfships ( they are so important to me ) or i could talk about how kind you are for being so encouraging of other people’s selfships ( you really make others feel so comfortable and safe, and i love that about you !! ) but i think i would like to talk about just you — just gray for this post !! because you are so lovable. a heart full & overflowing with kindness! you really do remind me of a cute rabbit in the sense that yes — rabbits are adorable!! SO . ADORABLE. but one thing i love about them is how strong they are!! x0x super duper strong omg .. how to carry this strength in such a body !? it’s why they remind me of you! you’re so sweet to others, but also have such a strong and resilient heart and i think that it is very admirable and amazing 🥹 ( and side note : i think about your f/os proudly smiling at you all the time lol !! a “go gray >:)” omg. ) i hope 2025 treats you nicely !!! 🤍✨

[danithefangirlbunny]

just so y'all know inside (2021) and inside the outtakes (2022) still hits as hard as they did when they came out